#I will need to ADJUST but we will find a WAY if it means I am better

[dvandom]

Sigh. One of those areas where bigots latch onto an otherwise useful term or set of terms and ruin their scientific usability.

My PhD research was in science education, and a big thing in the 90s and 00s when I was active was gender differences in STEM (what actually exists, what we can do about it, etc). And it turns out that the way boys and girls are raised does have an impact on how things go for them in school, especially STEM classes. We also found that a lot of assumed differences didn't actually exist! But we still need to find ways to deal with the differences that DO. Pretending that there's zero differences in how boys and girls are raised tends to end up favoring the male students and reinforcing the "girls don't do STEM" vicious cycle.

Probably the biggest difference is that girls are raised to let boys be the ones to talk. You probably already know about the studies showing that if women participate even a little, the men in the audience think they're dominating the discussion? Part of being "socialized female" is having that hammered into you, and likely having suffered for daring to speak up. Do assertive girls and shy boys exist? Of course. And after you've gotten a chance to know your students, you can adjust for their specific personalities. But research showed over and over that a group that is majority male will result in the women mostly staying quiet and taking the "secretary" role while the guys do all the talking. If you can get it to half and half, women will participate a lot more. By being careful to not leave any "one woman and three guys" small groups, at least until you know who can hold their own in those situations, you help get them past the first few weeks. (And hopefully also figure out which guys don't like to speak up and do something about that, but that can be more difficult...the brash and talkative women naturally stand out more than the shy guys.)

How do trans students fit into the data? Well, in the 90s and 00s they weren't in the data in any significant numbers, where they were known at all. My personal experience with trans students only goes back a few years, in numbers too small to draw conclusions, especially since each has been rather different in terms of presentation (e.g. one managed to avoid being clocked even by pre-transition classmates, another was always having to argue with people who were misgendering them*, another doesn't mind being deadnamed, and so forth), so the statistical power is basically nil.

(* I have long been in the habit of referring to students as they/them when talking about them to others, as part of anonymizing. I have few enough women in my classes that if I say "she" where relevant it can sometimes be enough to ID the student, and if I only use "they" for women it's not really an improvement. So unless you know the student I'm talking about, everyone is they/them. This also means that the rare they/them student is not singled out either, because I could be talking about a cis dude...and probably am.)

And then, of course, TERFs grab the idea of being "socialized female" and use it for evil.

Is he "female socialized" or is he just a standard flamboyant sensitive artsy gay dude who would honestly be indiscernible from any other fem gay guy if you didn't see him as a walking vagina first and foremost.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Obsessed with your Dr. Robby writing!!! I need to see your take on obviously jealous Robby where a patient flirts with the reader while she fixes him up and everyone picks up on it the jealousy (and find it hilarious) except the reader who is just like “???”

Tension at The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavich x Surgeon!Reader

Summary: Being a surgeon at The Pitt meant handling chaos with a level head. You were used to high-pressure situations, fast decisions, and—unfortunately—inappropriate comments from trauma patients. What you weren’t used to was Dr. Robby getting tense over it.

The moment they wheeled the trauma patient into the ER, you knew it was going to be a long night.

Gunshot wound, mid-30s, conscious but way too cocky for someone actively bleeding out.

“You’re a pretty one,” the guy grunted as you checked his vitals.

You didn’t react. Didn’t even look at him. Just focused on stabilizing him. “BP’s low. We need to get him to the OR.”

But he wasn’t done.

“I must be dying,” he groaned dramatically. “Because there is no way an angel like you is real.”

From across the room, you heard the sharp snap of gloves.

You felt it before you even saw it—Dr. Robby stiffening beside you, shoulders tensing as he prepped the IV line.

You ignored both of them. Kept working.

But the patient loved an audience.

“Come on, Doc,” he said, shooting you a weak grin. “Let me take you out after this. I mean, after you save my life, obviously.”

“I’m literally about to crack open your chest,” you deadpanned.

“Damn,” he groaned, wincing as you adjusted the pressure on his wound. “I love a woman in control.”

That’s when Robby’s jaw clenched. Tight.

You didn’t see it, but you felt it in the air, the quiet but dangerous shift in his energy.

Still, you stayed focused. “Get the OR prepped,” you ordered.

He looked between you and Robby—who was now standing very still, his hand flexing at his side like he was trying very hard not to react.

And then the patient let out a breathless laugh. “Woah, man. What are you—her boyfriend or something?”

The room froze. Silence. Thick, loaded silence.

You didn’t stop working. Didn’t even blink. But you felt everyone’s eyes shift to Robby.

The patient was smirking, but it was weaker now. Like he had finally clocked the tension in the room.

Robby inhaled slowly, carefully. Then, in the calmest voice you’d ever heard from him, he muttered—“Let’s just focus on keeping you alive, alright?”

His tone was light, controlled, but there was something dangerous underneath. Something that made the patient’s grin drop. Something that made your pulse spike—because you knew Robby. And you knew exactly what that reaction meant.

The second the gurney disappeared through the OR doors, the ER fell into a weird silence. No one was saying anything, but you could feel it—the barely-contained smirks, the stolen glances, the way nobody wanted to be the first to break.

Until, of course, someone did.

“Okay,” Dana finally said, pulling off her gloves with a snap. “So we’re just… not gonna talk about that?”

You exhaled through your nose, giving her a look. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Dana snorted. “Oh, please.”

You sighed. “Dana—”

“No, no, I wanna hear this,” Dr. Collins said. “I mean, not to read into anything, but—”

“But you’re gonna read into it anyway?” you interrupted, raising a brow.

Dana grinned. “Duh.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for your chart, fully prepared to ignore this conversation forever.

But then—“That patient was so right,” Javadi muttered.

You froze. Robby, who had been standing at the sink washing his hands, froze too.

Javadi hesitated. “I just mean—the energy? It was giving, like… jealous boyfriend.”

Silence. Your stomach flipped.

Because that wasn’t just a casual statement but an open challenge. And before you could deflect—before you could handle this—Robby turned.

Dr. Robby. The cool, collected, always-in-control attending. Except right now he didn’t look collected at all. He looked pissed. Not at you. At himself.

He grabbed a towel, drying his hands too aggressively before muttering, without even looking at you—“Yeah? Well, maybe that’s because I am.”

A collective inhale.

You blinked. “What?”

Robby tossed the towel onto the counter, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “You heard me.”

The room was dead silent.

Then—“Oh, shit,” Dana whispered under her breath, eyes wide.

The interns gawked. Your brain stalled. Because what the hell had just happened? You were used to subtle tension. Used to stolen glances and things left unsaid. But this wasn’t subtle.

This was Robby snapping—publicly, in front of everyone—and you had no idea what to do about it.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE 🫵 EEL BUTLER AND LION SIMP. Now that we know how you feel about their new idol fits, can I ask how does your OC feel about them? iirc she’s not a sona or self insert so her thoughts might be different than yours.

[Referencing this post!]

First of all, I think it's just really funny to think about Crowley having his students wear school-sponsored/mandated idol outfits and sing on stage 🤡 The opening story to the Blazing Jewel event confirms that Crowley’s having them do a musical live for an acquaintance of his who was impressed by their VDC/SDC performance. "It's good for your futures!" he'll insist. "And good for attracting generous donations and sponsors!" "No more complaining from you boys! Get into those suits, slap on your makeup, and I'll see you out there on the bright, shining stage!" ☆～（ゝ。∂）(The boys all grumble about how much they hate this asdasvufvyofqevyefabi)

Assuming that's the situation, maybe poor Miss Raven is told to assist Professor Crewel with making sure the boys are complying (since they're usually argumentative) OTL so she's rushing around doing makeup, adjusting their outfits, etc. She apologizes to everyone along the way--after all, it's because of her uncle that they're being inconvenienced 💦

Of course, Miss Raven does think that everyone looks good, (she especially loves all the shiny bits on the outfits, how they catch the light and sparkle) but she's still plagued by the guilt of knowing most of them don't want to be here. Makes herself glance away or stare at the wall if she thinks she's been looking at someone for too long; she knows that's awkward and impolite. She has to stay professional!

Jade would find it all amusing--it's different than the usual everyday, so he welcomes the change in pace. He plays along, behaving like the perfect little angel (excluding some teasing).

"... You seem awfully pleased about this," Raven remarks as she fiddling with some chains. They've twisted, and she's beginning to suspect he purposefully knotted them to prolong the time she spends with him.

"Fufufu... Well, it does take me back to my middle school days. Floyd, Azul, and I used to play in a little jazz band of our own. The contrabass, in fact."

She quirks a brow. "You? In a band? That's... surprising. This isn't another one of your deceptions, is it?"

He laughs, and it sounds musical itself. "Is that really so difficult to believe? Music is considered a precious gift to merfolk. Being able to share a song with the world means more to me than you can possibly imagine."

"Oh, is it? That's interesting. I had no idea that music held such significance to your people. Many birds share a similar sentiment; songs and special calls may be used to find partners, so it has more of a romantic connotation."

"My, how... fascinating." His mismatches eyes glitter with mirth. "Perhaps we are more alike than I initially thought."

She sighs. "... Please do not get ahead of yourself and focus on the task at hand. This performance needs your undivided attention."

Jade leans in, his nose and hers almost touching, his smile razor-sharp. "Then I do hope you whole-heartedly accept my gift to you, Miss Raven."

Leona's the opposite; he's pissed off that he got woken up from his nap to do what is essentially a friggin' PR stunt to make the school and the headmaster look good. Bitches and moans the entire time.

"You aren't making this easier for anyone, Leona-san. Certainly not for yourself," Raven gently scolds him. He's fighting with the buttons of his dress shirt, which strain to contain him. "I understand that this is an annoyance, but please bear with it for the time being. It will go by that much faster if..."

The buttons finally give up and come free. His shirt spills open to the valley of his cleavage.

Raven frowns, raising a hand to shield her eyes out of respect. "I'm not sure that's appropriate for our purposes."

"You're soundin' an awful lot like Kifaji, Canary." Leona shoots her a scathing glare. She balks, her resolve wavering. "I gotta breathe, don't I? And 'sides, if it's publicity the headmaster's after, he'll get his damn publicity."

Raven raises a finger, but quickly lowers it and clamps her mouth shut. It's not worth it to argue with him. He's cooperating for now, just nod and move on. "... Very well, so long as you get approval from Professor Crewel before walking on stage, it should be fine."

She spins on her heel to head to the next student--but a commanding voice calls out, pinning her in place.

"Not so fast."

A shadow falls over her. Raven dares not move.

"The headmaster, Crewel. I don't care what either of 'm thinks--but what about you? I need the little assistant's approval too, don't I?" Leona steps into view, tugging on the lapels of his jacket. "I'll need ya to appraise me real carefully."

[serenityluvz]

𝗘𝗻𝗵𝘆𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝗠𝗧𝗟: 𝗦𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗖𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗜𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗬𝗼𝘂

⋆𐙚₊˚ˢᵉʳᵉⁿⁱᵗʸᴸᵘᵛᶻ

MOST LIKELY

Heeseung – “Mmm, you’re so warm, baby… Let’s stay like this a little longer.”

Heeseung is the type to crave skin-to-skin contact, especially after an intense night. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, arms locked around you, his voice a sleepy murmur against your skin. He loves the feeling of you snug around him, knowing he can still feel you even after everything. He might tease you with slow, lazy movements, just enough to make you whimper. You shift slightly, and he lets out a low groan. “Careful, unless you want another round.” Even half-asleep, he smirks, hand caressing your thigh under the sheets.

Sunghoon – “Shh, don’t move yet… just a little longer.”

Sunghoon isn’t the best with words, but his actions speak volumes. He’s not letting go anytime soon, arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if keeping you connected would make the moment last forever. He finds comfort in feeling you close, his lips ghosting over your temple as he presses himself deeper into you with a satisfied sigh. You try to shift, but his grip tightens. “Nope. You’re staying right here.” He nuzzles against your hair, heartbeat steady against your back.

Jay – “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

Jay enjoys aftercare just as much as the act itself. He’s the type to pull you against his chest, fingers tracing idle circles on your hip, making sure you’re comfortable. He loves the intimacy of staying inside you, feeling the way you pulse around him even in the aftermath. His voice is low and soothing, lulling you into relaxation. His fingers trail lazily down your spine. “I could get used to this,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

Jake – “I don’t think I can pull out just yet, sweetheart.”

Jake loves any excuse to be wrapped up in you, and this is no exception. He’s always down for prolonged intimacy, using it as an opportunity to whisper sweet nothings while pressing soft kisses along your collarbone. He might nuzzle into your neck, voice husky as he teases you about how good you feel. You shift slightly, and he chuckles. “That desperate for more already?” His fingers trail down your stomach, playing with the idea of making you beg.

Jungwon – “Just stay still, baby.”

Jungwon enjoys the control of keeping you exactly where he wants you. He’s firm yet gentle, guiding your body against his as he whispers reassurances. He’ll pull you closer, murmuring how perfect you feel, savoring every moment. You try to adjust, but his hand presses against your lower back. “I said stay still,” he warns, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice.

Ni-ki – “Too tired… just five more minutes.”

Ni-ki loves comfort, and if that means staying connected to you for a little longer, he’s all for it. He’s not necessarily sentimental about it—he just likes the warmth and laziness of the moment. If you try to move, he groans in protest, tightening his hold on you. You nudge him. “Ni-ki, we need to clean up.” He buries his face in your shoulder. “Mm-mm. Too comfy.”

Sunoo – “W-We should clean up… but… maybe just a little longer?”

Sunoo loves intimacy but might feel a little flustered about staying inside you. He wants to, but he’s shy about admitting it. He’ll bury his face in the pillow, hands fidgeting as he debates whether he should pull away or give in to how nice it feels. You turn to face him, and his cheeks turn pink. “Stop looking at me like that! You’re making me nervous…” But he doesn’t move, enjoying the closeness too much.

LEAST LIKELY

[leapingbadger]

Coffee Talk (TechPhee)

Tech Lives!

This is utter fluff and nonsense. Just Tech and Phee yapping and being sickeningly in love.

Read on AO3

���Good morning, Brown eyes,” Phee said as she handed Tech a mug of caf.

He took it appreciatively and shifted on her bunk on the Providence so she could join him once more.

“Where do your brother’s think you are right now?” she asked, sitting next to him with her own mug clutched in her hands.

“They are aware I am with you. We do not keep secrets. Secrets get you killed.” He said matter-of-factly.

She smiled, “that’s funny, in my line of work, secrets keep you safe.”

Tech thought about it and nodded his understanding. It made sense that as a pirate, or liberator as she preferred, the less people know about you, the safer you were.

“Does that extend to us?” he asked, his mouth working before his brain could catch up. An unusual sensation for him to be sure.

Phee’s face lit up with a smile, “I think everyone on the island knows about us,” she replied with a wink.

Tech smiled, “as it should be.”

Phee leaned into kiss him gently and he let her. Her soft lips were swarm and comforting like the caf within his grasp. She brushed the side of his face and giggled as she pulled away.

“I still can’t believe you let me do that sometimes, given…” she trailed off.

“Just because I sometimes do not…present my affection in the way other might, does not mean it isn’t’ there.” Tech said seriously, “you are the only one whose lips I desire.”

Phee grinned and leaned over for another kiss, more intense this time, her hand pulling on the side of his face, drawing him to her.

With his attention diverted, his cup of caf sloshed onto the covers of the bed. She pulled away and sighed.

“Don’t worry, I got it.” She said getting up and finding a cloth to wipe up the spill. “How’s Crosshair adjusting?” she asked conversationally.

Tech took a deep swig of his remaining caf and shrugged, “as well as can be expected. He was subjected to torture and experimentation, among other things. It will take him a while to get back to his full self. However, I have no doubt he can, with our help.”

Phee nodded as she threw the cloth across the bunk room and sat back down again, closer this time to avoid the coffee-stained area of the sheets.

“Have he and Hunter…talked?”

Tech sighed and shook his head. It was still new, having their brother back after their successful infiltration of Eriadu and then Tantiss,  but Hunter and Crosshair had been keeping their distance from each other. Hunter had assured him it was Crosshair’s benefit, rather than his own good.

“Not to my knowledge. But Hunter and Crosshair’s relationship has always been charged since Hunter was promoted to Sergeant over Crosshair. Now there is a great deal of resentment between them. Crosshair feels replaced and left behind. Hunter feels betrayed. Trust is not so easily won back.”

“You, Wrecker, and Omega seem to manage just fine,” Phee commented.

Tech laughed, “Yes, well we were never the focus of Crosshair’s range. He channeled all of that on Hunter. And although I know he tried not to take it personally, some of the accusations throw at him were…hard to forget.”

“There’s something  here that you’re not telling me,” She said with a purr, gently kissing his neck to try and wrangle more information.

She had a map of his body memorized and was able to play it perfectly, knowing which spots would cause him to shrink away from her touch and which would make him pull her in for more. She was patient with him, open, and always willing to listen so that their time together was spent on both of their terms.

“If you want me to continue to speak about my brothers, I assure you that is precisely the wrong way to go about it.” He said, a wry smile on his lips.

“Hey, I need to know all the family gossip, so I know what I’m getting myself into.”

“And what is that, exactly?”

“Why don’t you tell me, brown eyes?”

Tech grinned at her. There had been a time, not that long ago, when Phee’s nickname for him made him feel uncomfortable. Like most things about being in her presence. Now, he found it endearing. She had painstakingly broken down every single one of his barriers, some he didn’t even know existed, until he finally noticed her the way she noticed him.

It had taken Tantiss, and the clones who had escaped with Crosshair, to do that. Life was short, shorter for a clone than most. If he didn’t make a move then, what had they all been fighting for?

He had marched off the Marauder, not waiting for the rest of his squad. Phee was waiting under the weeping maya tree, leaning up against the trunk in an effort to look nonchalant. Her hair danced in the breeze, the gold cuffs embedded throughout glinting in the midday sun.

He couldn’t remember what he had said to her, or if he’d said anything at all. He didn’t care that his brothers were watching or that most of the island was gathered on the crest to welcome them home. All he saw was her.

The planet seemed to be suspended in time in the moment their lips first met. He had no concept of how long they stood there or whether others watched or not, but it didn’t really matter. Tech realized in that moment what Phee had known all along, that they were meant to be together.

“Brown eyes?” she called smoothly.

Tech’s eyes came back into focus as he blinked away the memory he visited on many an occasion.

Tech smiled, his bright brown eyes sparkling in the dim light. “Perhaps we should put this conversation on hold for now.”

“And why’s that?” Phee asked playfully.

“I think, perhaps we are in need of some physical activity.”

Phee looked up at him, her brow knitted together in confusion, “you want to go for a swim or something?”

Tech smiled and took his goggles off, “no, that wasn’t what I had in mind at all.” He whispered with a grin as he pulled her to him, his lips searching hungrily for hers.

[mod-jazzy]

(( Officially done with work 4 the time being! Get to focus on my health, family and building up my family! So unfortunately that might mean I am back on the dash more, unfortunate. Already dancing on your feed as we speak I'm doin a lil jiggy on your dash and there is nothing you can do about it ))

[freebooter4ever]

I always enjoy it when people come up to me while im drawing as long as they're nice about it, and especially kids. And while the last two weeks only seemed to have obnoxious parents (at one point a kid was pointing like 'i want to be able to that!' and their parent replied 'you can't' and i was like ???? Wtf), this week there was a mom and two daughters who were really interested in art and were standing behind me while i sketched for a long while. Neither of the girls could have been much older than 10, and they were super shy, and were asking their mom questions, and i answered one of the questions. And the mom laughed and said 'see, she can hear you, don't be afraid to ask her questions!' and then i turned around and introduced myself a little and explained what i was drawing. And then they just stood and quietly watched me draw for like ten minutes, it was so sweet. 🥹

[abstractlesbian]

Find someone slightly annoying but in really small harmless ways so I decide none of the behaviours are worth bringing up with them → realizing: hey, Im also annoying! solidarity! → realizing we have a lot in common and starting to bond → finding out other people find this person annoying and are vocal about it behind their back → finding out this person has ADHD like me that's (at least one reason) why we have all these traits in common → fear.

[canyonmooncreations]

I can’t stop thinking about bratty princess reader x bodyguards 141

Something something your life is ruined now that your father has hired four broody body guards to be with you at all times. They usually rotate shifts, one staying with you at all times.

Sometimes events call for three of them or all of them. So when it’s time for a royal ball and three of them are needed, Simon opts to sit this one out in hopes to avoid the uncomfortable socialization.

After the ball, John stays at the palace with you and Kyle and Johnny join Simon back at their residence. Simon is absolutely baffled when the boys don’t shut up about how bratty you were and the major attitude adjustment you need.

Talking about how you refused to follow directions, even when they were for your safety. Refused to buckle up in the car and struggled so much that Johnny had to hold you down while Kyle buckled you up. Pouting the rest of the way home. Refused to eat dinner at the ball and insisted they stop at a drive through even though that wasn’t on your itinerary. Threatening to get them fired if they don’t take you.

The boys go on and on about your behavior and Simon just listens, dumbfounded.

“What’s that face for Riley? She even worse with you?” Johnny asks with a frustrated tone.

Simon shakes his head. “No attitude for me.”

The boys both start laughing. There’s no way that’s true. You’re truly a spoiled rotten brat, they think. There’s no way that he’s serious.

They never believe him until there’s an event that calls for all four of them. Simon’s with you at the palace while you get ready. The three boys pull up out front ready for you to join.

They watch as you walk nicely to the car and climb into the middle settling in next to Johnny. Simon climbs in after you. The boys are ready for the battle of asking you to buckle up.

“Buckle, princess” Simon grumbles.

“Yes, Mr. Riley.” The car goes silent. Johnny and Kyle look like their eyes are about to pop out of their head. John doesn’t miss the way your cheeks blushed red.

The car ride is silent. The boys are too shocked to say anything. Since when did you have manners and the ability to follow instructions? John drives with a grin on his face. Simon is unphased as you rest your head on his shoulder.

At the event, you are on your best behavior. You eat your food, move when instructed to move, and smile the whole time. The boys are genuinely so shocked at this new side of you. They watch in awe as Simon approaches you and the ever present feisty look is no where to be found.

“Ready to go?” Simon asks softly.

“Can we please stay a little longer?” You ask so kindly. Simon nods and finds his protective position.

“Did she just say please?” Johnny asked exasperated.

“She doesn’t even know what that word means!?!?” Kyle is just as shocked. John just chuckles and shakes his head.

They then watch as minutes pass and you gently tap Simon and tell him you are ready to leave.

When you get to the car, Johnny decides to put this to the test. Simon gets you in the car and closes the door to talk to the event staff before leaving.

“Buckle up sweetheart.” Johnny instructs.

You give him a polite nod and buckle up quickly. John lets out a chuckle and before Johnny can’t say anything before Simon is joining them in the car. “Bloody hell.” is all that is heard as the car falls silent.

On the way home, you lean over the Simon and ask if you could stop for ice cream. He replies with a simple “No, princess” and is met with no reaction from you. A slight nod and your head falls back against his shoulder.

Kyle is about to lose it. You threatening to get them fired if they didn’t take you through the drive through the other day. What the fuck has Simon done to you??

Something something and now it’s the end of the night. Simon has got you settled into bed and walks into the castle living room to review how tonight went with the security team.

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Johnny and Kyle stare at him as if he’s accomplished the impossible.

“Told ya, no attitude with me.”

John chuckles and pats Simon on the back as he grins.

Masterlist

A/n: is this dumb?? It’s been eating my brain for a four hour car ride 😭😭

[coweye]

The Honda Odyssey

Logan Howlett x Reader | smut | 6k words Summary: The car fight reimagined and it only needed to be like 10% more erotic than the original.

I got carried away. I just love Wolvie so much. I'm so happy Logan is getting the adoration he deserves. Long live the Wolverine renaissance.

Warning: smut, p in v, ass play, foul language.

If you had to pinpoint a moment when your life became the shit show it had steadily developed into, you’d say it was the moment you auditioned for X-Force.

In your tenure as besties with Wade Wilson, it's fair to say things hadn’t gone smoothly. The man was a conduit to all things fucked up, but you adored his loose morals and quick mouth. The idiot in red had weaselled his way into your heart and became something of a brother to you and more recently a roommate.

Now, if you’d have told your younger self you’d be in your late twenty’s sharing an apartment with a burn victim who regularly staples a toupee to his fucking head and a coke-head, blind, old African American woman, you’d have laughed in their fucking face.

So, you’d like to think that as these things go you are pretty damn well adjusted but traversing the multiverse was a bit of a stretch, even for you.

One moment you’re at Wade’s surprise party, the next your ass has been zapped to the TVA and you’ve been given a sacred mission; to accompany Marvel Jesus (Wade) and protect the sacred timeline.

Naturally you’re fucking mind blown, you’re a low-level mutant, fuck, you couldn’t even join the X-Men.  Your particular set of skills were a dime a dozen and your flagrant disregard of rules had made you a ‘poor candidate’.

No, the mutant powers you had been graced with weren’t extraordinary by any means. You were basically an off-brand Captain America, just without the gorgeous cheekbones, patriotism and righteous need to do good.

In layman terms, you are strong as shit and have an accelerated healing factor. Not quite the same level as Wade’s mind you. You have, give or take, an inconvenient five-minute turnaround on the more fatally debilitating wounds.

To say you were unqualified was an understatement and to say you were reluctant was a simple fact. A fact you repeated, loudly to anyone that would listen as you were bathed in rich black leather.

“I think maybe you meant to grab negasonic teenage whatchacallit… she’s great, super powerful!” You continue. “Did you mean to get Domino or Colossus or maybe one of the X-Men? “

“No Miss Y/L/N. We have not got the wrong person for the job.” The man you later find out is called Paradox, calls out as you re-enter the operation headquarters. “Mr Wilson requested your presence; he wanted your assistance on his mission.”

“Y/N/N… ten out of ten, baby girl, I one hundred percent would bang. I’m talking raw dog, Barry White on a rug, let’s go all fuckin’ night.”  Wade hollers in his own brand-new suit and even you must admit, you look fucking amazing. “Sweet angel, we’ve just gotta’ come up with a superhero name for you!”

You are enrobed in rich thick black and teal leather, your first ever hero suit and it’s a fucking good one. It doesn’t cling, but instead pulls you in securing your flesh and extenuating curves, ones you hadn’t entirely realised you had. The bottom half your face is concealed with a mask, carefully crafted to follow the contours of your nose and cheekbones.

You’d barely recognised the mysterious figure in the mirror.

“Right?! Tailor was pretty handsy though!”

“Oh yeah, ha! - that man is indeed a predator.” Wade says with a chuckle and a fond sigh.

It shames to you to say but that’s when you stopped fighting this whole thing. You looked the part of a hero; you thought that maybe the TVA knew what they were doing. That they had seen something in you and knew that you had a good heart under all the darkness that lingered on the surface.

Wrong.

You were just a demand Wade had made. He wanted his number one disciple at his side whilst he carried out his sacred mission. You were part of an attempt at appeasing him whilst they destroyed your timeline.

Little more than a pawn to be used whilst they manipulated him into a false sense of security.

Thus, you were thrown into a series of events far beyond your control when Wade being Wade decided you were hunting down a Wolverine to stabilise the timeline, only to be once again fucking zapped into some place they called the void by that little English shitbird named Paradox. It’s entirely accurate to say that you were a little less sturdy than your compadres.

Unfortunately for you, the fall from such a height into the void was fatal. When you finally awake in the desolate wasteland to the sounds of blades clashing it is disorientating to say the least.

Forcing yourself to your feet you lower your mask and gasp in the sweet strangely stale oxygen as you stretch out your newly healed spine with a groan. It was impossible to tell how long you were out as you take in the scene before you; Wade and the Wolverine are engaged in a heated battle. From the looks of it, Logan is winning this fight despite being the human equivalent of a knife block with Wade’s katanas protruding from his chest.

For a moment you pause, perhaps its head trauma that hasn’t healed (He’s fucking Deadpool, he can look after himself for two minutes) and appreciate his form, the Wolverine the two of you had kidnapped was gorgeous. Tch, as if there was any other kind.

Sure, you were biased you’d always been somewhat of a fangirl, but the Wolverine was objectively breath-taking.

You’d indulged in comics whilst growing up but when you found out he was real and looked the way he did, hell, Wolverine was your sexual awakening. He was the first man to make you feel that tingle in your lower stomach. Yes, you may have been thirteen years old, a ball of puppy fat and social anxiety but you’d been waiting for him ever since. 

You’re snapped out of your reverie when Wade loses baby knife in Logan’s shoulder blade, finally you spring into action. In good time as well as you’re not sure if even Deadpool can survive decapitation.

In the singularly most stupid act of your life you throw yourself in front of your friend’s body. “Wait, Wait! Please!”  

Wade has paused behind you, you can feel him weighing up the situation, pausing for a moment to see what you’re going to pull out of the bag.

“The TVA they can fix it, whatever you did, whatever made you the worst Logan, they can fix it! – They have the power to end universes, but they also have the power to fix yours! Help us get back there and we can fix both of our worlds! I promise, they can fix it.” You plead, it’s not quite a lie exactly, more of an Educated Wish than anything.

Okay it is a lie, but you’re sure that the TVA can most likely, probably, maybe fix his world.

Logan’s eyes lock with yours in that moment you can see that he wants to kill you both and be done with it, but that hope won’t let him. You feel a smidgen of guilt for the deceit, but frankly you’ve done worse for less. Your world was on the line it wasn’t the time to pull your punches.

Fast forward four exhausting hours, two periods of unconsciousness and one flaying to find yourself sat opposite Wade gagging down cold spoonful’s of Spam in some dusty ass diner.

You were no better than a man as you watched the Wolverine.

Those arms, those thighs, the way he had beheaded Sabretooth without even breaking a fucking sweat. You wanted him to wrap those instruments of death he called hands around your throat and fuck you dirty until the sun came up.

It had been a long exhausting day and you had been soaking wet for most of it.

Shit, could he smell that? Does that count as sexual harassment? You’d have to ask Wade.

Logan, however, was utterly dismissive of your advances in the face of what was undoubtedly utterly horrific past trauma. Something you were trying to be understanding about, but self-pity in a man, it just turned you on. I said you had some surface layers of darkness.

Unable to help yourself you gaze at him as he opens a bottle of rubbing alcohol. You are utterly entranced, watching the thick chords in his throat bob as he takes a swig.

That tanned skin where his jaw ends and neck begins, slick with sweat and dirt. You’d love to sink your canines into the strip below his ear. He must feel your stare on him as he looks up and catches your eyes dark with lust already surveying his person.

It should embarrass you, that every time he peers your way, he catches you gaping at him like a lovesick puppy, but there’s something about Logan you can’t quite put your finger on. The man heats your blood like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, maybe it’s that torch you’ve carried for him since girlhood, maybe it’s the thick thighs you’d kill to ride – who can say for sure?

In what you assume is against his better judgement, he comes to perch on the booth beside you. His broad shoulders cast an imposing figure as he gets close enough that if you were to move your hand a couple of inches to the right, you’d finally be able to touch that yellow fabric that plagued your tween dreams.

You’re burning up at the thought of him, unable to stop yourself you part your legs slightly to ease some of the pressure. Logans nose twitches, his head swivels your way and his eyes catch your own.  

Welp - at least you have your answer about him smelling your arousal.

Deciding that you were most likely verging on sexual harassment charges you decided to focus back in on the task at hand, gagging once again at another spoonful of spam.

“Be a good girl and swallow, Y/N/N, you know the rules!” Wade jokes, your chortle was your only response. What could you say? He always hit your funny bone despite the ocean that was raging in your panties.

Logan stares at Wade for a long moment before turning to your way and addressing you for maybe only the fourth time today?

“What are you doing with this fucking clown? You his sidekick? Following him round to laugh at his stupid fucking jokes whilst he gets kids killed?”

“Why I have never.” Wade is faux outraged at his words, clutching his imaginary pearls as the Wolverine throws around accusations that aren’t entirely untrue.

The Wolverine’s expression remains stern as his eyes track your face. They seem to be evaluating your character and from the flare in his nose and crease in his brow you can guess he finds you lacking. You’re embarrassed to admit how much that deflates you, so you do what you do best; you deflect.

 “I could follow you around and laugh at your jokes instead, if you like?” When you speak your voice has a sultry edge to it and there’s no mistaking your intentions.

Logan seems to think on your proposition for a second or two, before he huffs grabs his rubbing alcohol and unopened can of Spam and heads over to sit at the bar.

“Holy hot ham and cheese on rye, Y/N, you fucking slut.” Wade berates you though his voice is as light as it’s always been as he boots your shin under the table. “Trying to your holes filled by Wolvie during a world saving mission, Marvel H Christ, stay on fucking task!”

You swear you hear Logan mutter a Jesus Christ from the bar.

Though as Wade continues irritating the hero hunched against bar, you can’t help the realisation that he didn’t say no.

“You’re uh… well regarded in our world.” Wade complements, being real doesn’t come easy to him. You appreciate the effort.

“Well, I’m not shit in mine.”

“I tried to join the X-Men because of you.” You speak up finally joining their conversation. Wolverine’s back goes rigid, but he doesn’t respond. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to continue or hoping you’ll stop. “You made a difference to this world, made me think I could do the same. I just never quite make the cut.”

Logan doesn’t seem to have a response.

It seems your words have an effect as you catch him watching you more often. When Wade makes his jokes, he looks to you for validation of his withering looks.

You’re probably more distracted by this revelation than you should be when the three of you come across a real nasty variant of Colossus seeking out Wade for… you want to say… revenge?

The not-so-gentle-anymore-giant flips the Honda and tosses both Wade and Logan through the treeline as they advance on him as if they were little more than toys his mother had asked him to pick up.

One by one your bullets ricochet from his metal skin as he comes towards you. You aren’t built for this fight; you are completely and utterly outmatched.

All you’re doing at this point is buying yourself some time for your backup to pull themselves from the rubble, however during a particularly spirited cartwheel the metal oaf finally gets his hands on you. Colossus’ metal palm is cold on your throat, and you could swear you hear your neck snapping before you feel it.  

With a gasp you return to life to find a slightly dishevelled Logan standing above you. By the grace of god, his sleeves have been worn away in the fight, his arms, oh sweet lord, his arms are on full display.

“Thought you were a goner.” He offers you a hand when you simply stare mutely his way. Locking your fingers around his wrist he pulls you to your feet. You don’t release your hold on him and neither does he.

“Don’t throw the party just yet, eh?” You joke weakly, for a second you could swear there’s a slight raise of the corner of his mouth, imperceptible, if you didn’t know what you were looking for. In the past few hours you had become an expert on Wolverine’s face.  

Your mouth is dry as you take in his thick sweat laden biceps.

“Where’s Wade?” You query whilst rolling your aching neck as you haven’t heard his voice in a record thirty seconds, Logan suddenly remembers himself and drops your hand.

“’fraid Metal man took your clown, was pissed with him and can’t say I blame the guy.”

“Shit.” You sigh rubbing your temples as you kneel to pick up the dismembered arm of your best friend. “Well – fuck. That’ll take him a few hours at least to grow back – He’ll be so sad about his suit.”

You peel the fabric from the limb and tuck it under the breast plate of your own suit. Wade will want his glove back when it grows back.

“He say where he was taking him?”

“Oh yeah, that along with his plan for world domination...” Logan huffs as if your mere presence annoys him.

“Thought you didn’t like sarcasm.”

“I like sarcasm just fine, Bub. It’s you I don’t like.” You can’t help but smile his way at the comment made at your expense, his brows crease. “You’re a strange one.”

“Can you do your sniffy thing?”  Its impressive, you thought he’d reached the limit with his scathing looks towards Wade, yet he somehow manages to pull a deeper frown out the vault especially for you.

“Sniffy thing?” His words are spoken with such derision, it turns you on a little. You realise that perhaps you are in fact a deeply troubled individual.

“Oh, sorry.” You pretend to clear a frog in your throat. “Please, oh, please, beautiful, handsome Wolverine, please can you locate my bestest pal with your heightened sense of smell?” His face doesn’t break despite your hands clasped in front of your chin.

“You’re just as fucking annoying as that moron.” He huffs “Get in the fucking car, we’ll follow his trail.”

“You can smell him from the car?”

“The blood, Jesus Fucking Christ, there’s a trail of blood.”

“Ah.” Is all you reply as you find your seat in the passenger side and start your own one on one team up with Wolverine. Its not exactly the way you imagined it, but beggars certainly can’t be choosers.

After a few moments of sullen silence, you decide that there’s no time like the present to form a long-lasting bond.

“What’s your world like?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Okay... What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they can save your world? I bet its something boring as fuck, like team-“

“What did you just say?”

“I bet you’re gonna do something boring like-“

“No before that.”

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they save your world?” You question, his sudden interest in your words takes you by surprise as he has been vacant from your conversation.

The breaks suddenly shriek as the car comes to a stop.

“What do you mean if?”

“I…”

“You said they could fix my world. Undo it all, is what you fucking said.”

“I mean I think they can!”

“You fucking liar.” The edge to The Wolverine’s voice is terrifying. The realisation trickles down your spine, Logan has been nice to you all this time, you’re finally meeting The Wolverine.

“I didn’t lie!” For some reason you’re ashamed of your deceit, you’ve murdered countless people and still, you’ve felt less remorse. Logan’s eyes pin you in your seat as disgust clouds his face. It hurts more than you can fathom. “Not exactly, I think they can fix your world! – I needed your help and if you killed Wade there was no hope for my universe!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about your universe!” He spits your way; his hands are gripping the wheel in what seems like an effort to keep his cool.

“I know, but I do!” You cry back at him. “You know how to save the world, you’re the fucking Wolverine! I know how to kill people, but this hero shit, this isn’t me!”

“Ha! No shit.” There is pure hate in the man’s eyes as he stares back at you.

“Please, you’re Logan. Whether you’re the worst one or not - You’re still better than me.”

“Get out of the fucking car.” The words come from between clenched teeth and are filled with warning.

“No – fuck you.”  Your rage breaks the banks to meet Logan’s. Perhaps it’s the guilt, maybe it’s the fear for Wade but something within you snaps at his constant bad temper. “It was an educated guess and a fucking reasonable one at that, get the fuck over yourself you big bird wannabe geriatric fucker! “

He slams his palms on the steering wheel, his nose flares and his teeth clamp together.  “Fuck me? Fuck you – you sad pathetic excuse for a side-kick. No wonder the X-Men wouldn’t take you, and they’ll take fuckin’ anyone. You are a ridiculous, immature, moron who spends her days following around a fucking clown to avoid facing the reality that you are no one. I have never met a sadder, more attention starved asshole in my entire life. You were right about one thing, you’re no fucking hero.”

Its shameful the way your stomach drops, and your eyes involuntarily begin to tear. To hear your hero say the words you’ve thought about yourself whilst laying awake at night. It’s a knife to the gut.

“Nothing to fucking say, huh, Angel?” The use of Wade’s nickname for you is like sandpaper on your skin, it rubs you the wrong fucking way.

“I am going to hurt you now.” Your voice is barely a broken whisper.

“You’re going to hurt – “His faux chortle is cut short by a swift punch to his face. You’re worried you may have been overzealous with your swing when his nose begins bleeding. The Wolverine is stunned for only a moment before he grabs the back of your neck and proceeds with smashing your face into the dashboard and those concerns are quickly put to bed.

The old fucker is strong, but you don’t think he’ll kill you, yet another educated wish.

“Not so tough now…” He shouts as the radio channels change with your skull. Pulling a knife from your leg strap you embed it in his thigh and pull the lever to recline your seat whilst he’s distracted, luckily, you’re not there when he swings for retribution.

Though one of his fucking steak knives catches your upper arm slicing through the leather. Warm blood trickles down your arm, staining the beige interior of the poor Honda. 

Your legs are your strongest asset, so when he attempts to restrain you with the seatbelt, you are presented with your window of opportunity. You wrap them around his neck as you pivot your hips slamming the Wolverine headfirst into the metal of the door. Once, twice, three times - on the fourth he lands a fist to your gut, luckily, he has retracted his claws.

If he was willing to kill you, you wouldn’t stand a chance.

You’re winded struggling to catch your breath from the gut punch, but you manage pull the knife from his thigh that is nestled between your legs and thrust it into his neck, you aim for the spot you’d fantasied about kissing before he’d torn your character apart piece by piece, now you just want to bathe in his fucking blood.

It was the pain that instantaneously made his claws extend. He’s quick to move them, though he slices through the sides of your suit as he buries them in the chair behind you. Your ribs are a bloodied mess though you don’t care, in a few hours they’ll be good as new.

Logan has seized the opportunity and has your arms pinned to your sides, his blood has cooled a little more than yours, he doesn’t seem to want to murder you over an argument.

Perhaps he’s more well-adjusted than yourself, that thought alone should concern you, except it just enrages you further.

“You stupid fuckin-“The Wolverine starts admonishing you, before you swing your head forward and headbutt him.

Yes.

You really do that.

You headbutt the man with the adamantium fucking skeleton– at full strength. Its sheer dumb luck you don’t crack your own skull in the process– maybe Logan was right, you are fucking dumb.

“Fucking fuck!” You cry grabbing your forehead and writhing. Noone wins with a headbutt, except Logan apparently.

“Fucking stop that.” Your writhing has pushed your core against his crotch, and he is already packing quite the heat at what feels like half-mast. He grabs your hips to stop your movement, but it only seems to push you closer. “Stop fucking moving.”

The constant arousal you’ve felt since meeting him returns in double time, Logan’s nostrils flare and his eyes darken. It’s debased and you’re ashamed that you want him, you haven’t stopped wanting him, despite the awful fucking words that left his mouth minutes ago.

“Like … a little pain Wolvie?”

Its relief you feel, you think, when instead of answering or punching you in the face, he closes the gap.

The Wolverine’s claws retract, and he grabs at your chin. Logan’s mouth utterly devours your own, your front tooth clashes with his own as you push yourself upwards, you pull your knife out of his neck, catching his grunt of pain on your tongue as you begin licking your way down his thick throat.

The vein you’d spotted hours ago is throbbing freshly healed, you sink your canines into the flesh and its as good as you’d fucking imagine. His groan is utterly beast-like as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

The Wolverine’s throat tastes like salt and iron. Thick, tangy and warm on your tongue as you soothe the bite. It drives Logan wild, thrusting his hardened member against your warmth. One of his gloved hands rises to lock on the back of your neck to pull you into yet another earth-shattering kiss.  His sharp hot tongue slides against your own, exploring the expanses of your mouth like its his to claim.

You bite at him again then, your teeth catching his bottom lip sharply.  Logan groans into your mouth before you use every ounce of your enhanced strength to throw him backwards against the dashboard.

He is taken utterly by surprise as his head slams into the windscreen cracking the glass with a grunt. When he looks your way Logan’s eyes are blackened with desire, he is utterly wild.

Slowly as if afraid to make any sudden moves, you unzip your combat boots, your eyes never leaving his. One boot and then the next.

You thank the TVA’s tailor for making your suit a two piece as you shuffle backwards into the backseat, pushing the thick leather down your legs all whilst maintaining eye contact with the beast leaning against the dashboard.

“You sure you want this Darlin’?”

“Darlin’?” You question mockingly, your voice lowering to imitate his own, as you wantonly spread your legs, your bare leg resting next to the headrest. Only a pair of black cotton panties separate him from your most intimate parts and his eyes are locked on your clothed core. “a second ago it was ��Pathetic Moron’ to you.”

Your head tilts in question as his eyes lock back on your own, you think perhaps for a moment something akin to regret passes over his face, but you’ve never been entirely comfortable with feelings, so you drop your hand into the waistband of your panties, you’ve barely circled your opening with your pointer finger before he’s on you.

“That’s my job, you fucking Moron.” He plunges two bare thick fingers into your heat. Gasping you throw your head back against the headrest, it’s a tight fit and its been a while but the slight burn eases some of the aching in your core.  “You’re fuckin’ soaking wet, you like it huh, bub? Making me bleed?”

Your grab his jaw, your nails digging into his flesh. “I’d like to bathe in-” He scissors his fingers finding that spot inside you and you let out an embarrassing noise, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. “-Your fucking blood… you mean motherfucker.”

You’re an absolute goner when he starts rubbing your clit, after a day of foreplay your body seizes, and you grab at the nape of his neck trying to find something to anchor you down. But as fast as the build was you come tumbling down just as quickly, when he cruelly withdraws his hands.

“No! - Wha- what the fuck?!” You’re almost crying as your torn from the precipice.

Logan flips you over onto your stomach before you can complain any further, your face down on the filthy upholstery as he pulls your panties from your hips. You can’t see him from this angle, though you can feel his warm hands tracing the globes of your ass.

You force your knees further apart, pushing your bare soaking pussy against the tight bulge of his yellow suit. If you had enough of your facilities about you, you’d be embarrassed that you’re currently rubbing your cunt against The Wolverine like a bitch in heat after he’d chewed you out only minutes ago.

Logan’s hand dip between your thighs, his fingers swirl along your hole, dragging your wetness along to your aching clit.

“You think I’d make it that easy?” He asks as he continues the journey back and forth. On the second pass he dips his finger inside of you for a fraction of a second before resuming its path. “What do you want, darlin’?”

You weren’t going to beg, in fact you bit your tongue to stop the traitorous words from forming, this man had already made you abandon most of your self-respect, he wasn’t having this.

“Logan…” At your breathy words the man leans forward, pressing his fabric covered cock into your ass as he folds his body over yours. One hand comes down next to your shoulder, the other explore your tits as he rocks himself into your throbbing core. It’s the perfect storm as he nuzzles into your exposed throat but somehow you manage your words. “Fuck me or don’t, I’m not begging, bub.”

He exhales through his nose in what you guess is equal parts amusement and annoyance, but you’re far beyond caring. He places a bite on the spot where your throat meets your shoulder as his body pulls back. Momentarily his hands leave your hips to deal with his own pants. You hear the clank of his belt hitting the car floor moments before you feel the head of his cock, running along your folds.

The head of his cock is thick, and it feels hot to the touch as he runs it along your slick. All of a sudden Logan pushes forward and sheathes himself inside of you with a single thrust.

You try your best to hold in your incoherent moans but to little avail as he pulls back before slamming full force back into you. If you were a human woman, your pelvis would’ve shattered from the force of his hips against your ass, instead you gather your strength and push back, allowing him deeper. The both of you moan in unison at the depth he reaches.

You grab onto the foam of the seat, ripping through the fabric with your bare hands desperate for an anchor as Logan unforgivingly pounds into you from behind, once again he folds his body over yours, wrapping a palm around your clawed fingers.

“.” He grunts something incoherent into your ear as he picks up the pace, slamming into you repeatedly, slowly picking up his pace. Your core is positively aching as you throb around him, pulling him deeper within you.  If you were expecting any further explanation, you’re sorely disappointed.

The wolverine pulls back, gripping at your hips keeping you still as he resumes his powerful strokes.  Logan’s hand dips to your clit, rubbing quick circles sending you barrelling back towards your orgasm. As you begin to clench around him, he pulls your body upwards, his head brushing against the top of the car as he holds you against him his fingers never leaving your clit.

“Come on my cock, Angel.” Unable to stop yourself you clench around him, hearing him talk like that does something primal to you.

You fucking loved Logan’s mouth, you bet he ate pussy like a champion if he played the clit this fucking well.

You stopped fighting it and threw yourself from the cliff, shattering in his thick muscle veined arms as he held you up against him, his cock still viciously plundering your depths.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He whispers against your neck whispers peppering it with bites.

Logan gives you a few moments to come down from your high before he resumes his punishing pace, you think perhaps you’ve reached your limit of pleasure, that the threshold can’t possibly be topped until he whispers into your ear in that gruff voice.

“What was it Wilson said? Filling all your holes?” The Wolverine asks, his eyes meet yours over your shoulder meaningfully, asking permission as he offers you his thumb. You merely moan your approval and wantonly draw his finger into your mouth, soaking the pad in saliva.  

Logan yanks your head into a vicious kiss. It’s a messy one, filled to the brim with need. The hand not currently locked on your neck holding your face to his, travels down your back, through the valley of your bodies. The pad of his pinky runs appreciatively over the globe of your ass, before his hand dips into the crease.

Logan’s thumb runs teasingly against the tight ring of muscle, it’s a foreign experience which makes you startle slightly.

“Anyone ever fucked you here?” He asks as he bites down your neck, delicately pushing you forward until your head rests on the backseat. You shake your head as your eyes close, his cock is buried balls deep within you as he plays with your asshole.

When his thumb finally breaches your tight hole just past the nail, he begins his thrusts once more. His cock fills your pussy from behind and suddenly you feel so fucking full, Its far too much for you.

“Fuck… Logan.” You gasp almost on the verge of tears as pounds you into the back seat. It seems the ass play has gotten to him more than expected, as his pace has increases.

“Where?” He asks breathless from the exertion as he pulls his thumbs from your ass and takes a handful of the meat on your hips.

“Inside…. Please … Logan.” You practically beg though you’ll never admit it, his rhythm becomes stunted as his hips slam into the back of your thighs.

“Give me something tight to come in, Darlin’.” Moaning at his words you’re eager to obey as you reach your hand between your own legs and rub mercilessly at your clit. The unforgiving pounding, the grunting and the fingers currently bruising your hips and the burning of your now vacant ass send you sailing over the edge.

You clamp down on him like a vice, groaning unable to hold back your whimpers anymore as he finally bites your neck and pumps his seed deep inside you as far as it can go. Logan grunts like a beast as he pulses deep inside of you.

Logan collapses beside you. Dents in the interior of the van you don’t even remember making have appeared from where a stray elbow or knee has hit the metal in the throes of passion.

The Wolverine tucks his cock back in his suit. Ever the gentleman, he uses your black panties to wipe away the cum dripping from your thighs, you haven’t got the heart to tell him that when you’re commando redressed in your suit that you can still feel him dripping from you, your pussy uncomfortably slick against the leather.

After dressing, the two of you sit in contemplative silence. Neither one of you has the emotional complexity to discuss what happened and neither one of you will accept fault for your argument that led to it, so, silence reigns.

The tension is sliced in two as Logan leans forward and pushes an errant lock of hair behind your ear in an act so goddamn endearing, you melt. You still wouldn’t apologise for lying, because you didn’t lie but you can meet him a quarter of the way.

“I’m sorry for calling you geriatric.” You whisper catching his eyes, a small spark of humour leaps into them, you’ve seen more emotions from your hero in the past half an hour than you knew he was capable of.

“I shouldn’t have-“ Logan’s heartfelt apology is cut off by the lead of this goddamn story.

“Well, well, well.  Would you look at this, My best friends, Ha! I get fucking kidnapped, an arm ripped off and you’re nowhere to be found? I thought don’t worry Wade, they won’t leave you, Y/N/N will come around that corner any second."

Wade has appeared through the passenger side window; he looks a little worse for wear and has a child’s arm growing from his stump, its kind of gross to look at.

"What if Colossus had had his way with me? What then Y/N? I expect this from Wolvie, but not from you! No, no heroic rescue for old Deadpool. I have to save myself because you fuckers are too busy playing hide the adamantium bone!  Thanks for nothing guys. Now the car has old man sex stank to it, as if this hunk of shit Honda could get any worse!”

[pucksandpower]

A Royal Surprise

Max Verstappen x Princess of Wales!Reader

Summary: in which Max 1) forgot to tell his team that he has a girlfriend and 2) forgot to tell his team that the girlfriend in question is the future Queen of England … oops?

One of Red Bull Racing’s PR officers, Leslie, sits in the back of the conference room, her pen poised over her notepad as she listens to the team debrief. It’s a typical Thursday morning, with engineers and drivers discussing the upcoming race weekend. Leslie’s eyes flit between Max Verstappen and his teammate as they offer their insights on car performance and track conditions.

“The balance felt off in turn three during the sim,” Max says, leaning back in his chair. “We might need to adjust the downforce.”

Leslie jots this down, already planning how to phrase it for the press conference later that afternoon. Just another normal day at Red Bull Racing, she thinks.

But then, Max casually adds, “Oh, and by the way, you might see some extra security around this weekend. My girlfriend’s coming to watch the race.”

Leslie’s pen stills. There’s something in Max’s tone that makes her look up sharply.

“Girlfriend?” Christian Horner raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone seriously.”

Max shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, it’s been a few months now. We’ve been keeping it quiet.”

Leslie leans forward, her PR senses tingling. “Anyone we know?” She asks, trying to keep her voice casual.

Max’s grin widens. “You could say that. It’s Y/N.”

The room falls silent. Leslie blinks, sure she must have misheard. “I’m sorry, did you say Y/N? As in ...”

“The Princess of Wales, yeah,” Max confirms, as if he’s just mentioned dating a local girl from down the street.

Leslie’s notepad slips from her fingers, clattering to the floor. The sound seems to break the spell of silence that’s fallen over the room.

“Max,” Christian says slowly, “are you telling us that you’re dating the future Queen of England?”

Max nods, still looking far too relaxed for someone who’s just dropped a bombshell of international proportions. “That’s right.”

Leslie’s mind is spinning. Images of tabloid headlines and diplomatic incidents flash before her eyes. She stands up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “I need to make some calls,” she says weakly.

But before she can escape, Christian holds up a hand. “Wait, Leslie. We need to handle this carefully. Max, how long has this been going on?”

“About six months,” Max replies. “We met at a charity event in London. Hit it off right away.”

Leslie sinks back into her chair, her head in her hands. “Six months,” she mutters. “You’ve been dating the Princess of Wales for six months, and we’re just finding out now?”

Max has the grace to look a bit sheepish. “We wanted to keep it private for as long as possible. You know how it is with the media.”

Oh, Leslie knows. She knows all too well. “Max,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady, “do you realize what this means? The security implications alone ...”

“It’s all been taken care of,” Max assures her. “The palace has been very discreet.”

Leslie laughs, a slightly hysterical edge to it. “The palace. Of course. Because now we’re dealing with actual palaces.”

Christian clears his throat. “Right. Well, this certainly changes things. Leslie, I think we’re going to need to reschedule the rest of this meeting. Can you get started on a press strategy?”

Leslie nods numbly, her mind already racing with potential scenarios and damage control plans.

As the room begins to clear, Max approaches her. “Leslie? Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”

Leslie takes a deep breath. “Max, I appreciate you telling us. But next time you decide to date royalty, maybe give us a heads up a bit sooner?”

Max chuckles. “Sorry about that. If it helps, you’re handling it better than your counterpart at the palace did when you found out.”

“Oh God,” Leslie groans. “I’m going to have to coordinate with the royal PR team, aren’t I?”

“They’re actually pretty cool,” Max says. “A bit stuffy at first, but they loosen up after a while.”

Leslie shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is my life now. Okay, Max, I need you to tell me everything. How did you meet? How have you kept this secret? What are the security arrangements?”

For the next hour, Leslie grills Max on every detail of his relationship with you. She learns about secret rendezvous in Monaco, carefully orchestrated “chance” meetings at public events, and the challenges of dating someone whose every move is scrutinized by the world.

“And you’re sure about this?” Leslie asks finally. “Dating her ... it’s not exactly going to be easy for you.”

Max’s expression softens. “I know. But she’s worth it. We’re worth it.”

Despite her stress, Leslie feels a twinge of sympathy. It can’t be easy, trying to nurture a relationship under such intense pressure.

“Alright,” she sighs. “I’ll do everything I can to make this as smooth as possible. But Max, promise me one thing?”

“What’s that?”

“No more bombshells, okay? My heart can’t take it.”

Max grins. “Well, actually ...”

Leslie’s eyes widen in alarm. “What? What is it now?”

“Her father ... he’s a big F1 fan. He’s been hinting that he’d like to attend a race.”

The room starts to spin. The last thing Leslie hears before everything goes black is Max’s concerned voice saying, “Leslie? Leslie, are you okay?”

When Leslie comes to, she’s lying on the conference room couch, with Max and Christian hovering over her anxiously.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Christian says, relief evident in his voice. “You gave us quite a scare there, Leslie.”

Leslie sits up slowly, her head still spinning. “Please tell me I dreamed all of that,” she mutters.

Max shakes his head, looking apologetic. “Sorry, it’s all real. Are you okay? Should we call a doctor?”

Leslie waves him off. “No, no, I’m fine. Just ... processing.” She takes a deep breath, her PR training kicking in despite her shock. “Okay. Let’s take this one step at a time. First, we need to draft a statement.”

Christian nods. “Good idea. What are you thinking?”

Leslie stands up, pacing as she thinks out loud. “We need to confirm the relationship without making too big a deal of it. Something like ... ‘Red Bull Racing confirms that driver Max Verstappen is in a relationship with Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Wales. We ask for privacy as they navigate this new chapter.’”

Max frowns. “Isn’t that a bit ... formal?”

Leslie sighs. “Max, you’re dating the future Queen of England. Everything’s going to be a bit formal from now on.”

“She hates that, you know,” Max says softly. “All the formality. It’s why she likes being with me. I treat her like a normal person.”

Leslie pauses in her pacing, struck by the vulnerability in Max’s voice. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

Max nods. “More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. She’s ... she’s amazing. Smart, funny, kind. When I’m with her, I forget about all the titles and protocol. She’s just ... her.”

Christian clears his throat, looking uncomfortable with the display of emotion. “That’s all well and good, but we need to think about the bigger picture here. This relationship could have major implications for the team, for Formula 1 as a whole.”

Leslie nods, her mind already racing ahead. “We’ll need to coordinate with the palace on all public appearances. Security will need to be completely overhauled. And the media ... oh God, the media is going to have a field day with this.”

“Hey,” Max says, placing a hand on Leslie’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. You’re the best in the business, Leslie. If anyone can handle this, it’s you.”

Despite her stress, Leslie feels a rush of affection for the young driver. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Now, let’s get back to work. We have a lot to do before this news breaks.”

As they settle back into planning mode, Leslie can’t help but shake her head in disbelief. A Formula 1 driver and a princess. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale or a cheesy romance novel. But as she watches Max’s face light up when he talks about you, she realizes that sometimes, reality is stranger — and more romantic — than fiction.

“Oh, and Leslie?” Max adds as they’re wrapping up. “About the King wanting to attend a race ...”

Leslie holds up a hand. “One crisis at a time, Max. Let’s get through announcing your relationship before we start planning any more royal visits to the paddock, okay?”

Max grins. “Fair enough. But just so you know, he’s particularly interested in the British Grand Prix. Says it would be ‘jolly good fun’ to present the trophies.”

Leslie closes her eyes, already imagining the logistical nightmare. “Max, I swear, if you’re joking ...”

“Would I joke about something like this?” Max asks innocently.

Leslie looks at him for a long moment, then turns to Christian. “I’m going to need a raise. And possibly a personal team of therapists.”

Christian chuckles. “I think that can be arranged. Welcome to the new era of Red Bull Racing. It’s going to be an interesting ride.”

As Leslie gathers her notes and prepares to face the whirlwind that’s about to engulf them all, she can’t help but smile slightly. It’s going to be challenging, stressful, and probably more than a little crazy. But as she watches Max’s eyes light up at the mention of your name, she realizes that maybe, just maybe, it might all be worth it in the end.

After all, who doesn’t love a good fairy tale?

[rafesugar]

rafe changing his mind about leaving

warnings: s2 rafe, overstimulation, fingering, rafe getting a little bit aggressive, mean!rafe if you squint, heavily inspired by that scene in buffalo 66 where billy leaves layla in the motel

p!link

you were woken by faint rustling in the motel room. your eyes adjusted to the dim light just enough to make out rafe’s silhouette as he slid something sleek and metallic out of the room’s vault. “what are you doing…” you mumbled sleepily, unsure if he even heard you. as your eyes got used to the dim light, you realized he was about to leave. you sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes. “where are you going?” you ask in a panic, your eyes following his every move.

“i'm getting something taken care of, but for the meantime, you need to stay here” rafe said, your eyes making out the gun metal in his hand. “why can't i come with you?” you didn't want rafe to leave, ever, and especially not at this time. it was dark and quiet, too quiet.

rafe paused, his gaze steady on yours. “if someone finds you, they’ll take you away from me. we don’t want that now, do we, doll?” he said, his tone monopolizing. “when are you coming back?” he exhaled sharply, his irritation growing with each question. “you really gonna start this again? why would i even leave you, baby? really leave you.” he scoffed before taking his keys from the table.

“i really like you, rafe. i'm gonna be really sad if you don’t come back.” you prop yourself up on your knees, looking up at him. he froze in his tracks, his eyes narrowing. why couldn't you just trust him? “i’m coming back! goddammit..” his voice rose before he caught himself, throwing the keys at the tv, shattering the motel's property. you jumped at the sound, squirming in bed with unease. rafe let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. he tossed his gun onto the armchair, the pistol falling at its cushion. “look. look, baby, i'm sorry.. you really want me to stay?

“no.” you had a small pout on your face, but no way were you gonna admit that you wanted him to stay, especially not out loud. “no?” rafe let out an amused chuckle, getting in bed and pulling your hips onto his lap. “my baby doesn't want me to stay?” he teased before wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you in place as his other hand reached for your panties, ripping them off you.

he wasted no time, slamming two fingers in until he was knuckles deep. you winced at the intrusion, your walls fluttering against him. “r-rafe!” you bury your face against the pillows to muffle your moans. “shhh” he pumped his fingers in and out at an unforgiving pace, the room filled with the sound of your whining and whimpering, as well as the squelches of your sweet little cunt.

you let out a whine, kicking him and pushing his hand away in attempts to get him to stop or at least slow down. “no no no. what happened to the ‘i really like you, rafe’ bullshit, hm?” he curled his fingers to hit that soft spot of yours. you let out a cry as your orgasm hit you harder than the previous ones where he alternated between torturing your clit and drilling into your abused hole. “n-no more! no more!” you cried, kicking him in attempts to get away. “acting so needy and the second i give it to you, you don't want it? well too bad ‘cause you're gonna take what I give you.”

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Break A Sweat.

Summary: Terry ‘TJ’ Richmond was recommended to you by your brother who is a Marine. He’s now your personal trainer and Krav Maga teacher.

Warnings: SMUT, degradation, nasty talk, rough sex, 18+ content.

This is going to be a two part series. ENJOY!

Terry is a no-nonsense guy. When you’re in his gym, you follow his rules. After all, you’re the one that signed up for self defense one–on–one sessions. The rugged, burly ex-marine, wandering nomad. He’s overly domineering, striking green eyes staring you down unblinking whenever you did something he didn’t like.

“Your form is wrong…I thought we discussed this? Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart and your toes pointed slightly outward…”

“One more set. Let’s go. No days off. You want it? You gotta get it at all costs…”

“If you find yourself in a scary situation and need to defend yourself, you’ll be at a huge advantage if you know exactly how best to react to your opponent — whether or not your moves are fair.”

“You have to become the attacker and defender simultaneously…NOW STRIKE!”

Your older brother recommended Terry Richmond to you when you finally decided to crack down and focus on your overall health and well–being. Although you loved your generous curves, life and longevity were more important. It’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a bountiful beauty and work up a sweat.

Terry held your ankles as you finished your last rep. Your last set of ten. Sweat dripped from every inch of your dark skin. Every muscle was screaming at you. Angry. Your body was angry. You let out one final huff and sat up, slinging your arms over your knees. Terry patted your back.

“Halfway there.” He said, looking down at you as he stood above you.

his chiseled body with biceps the size of your head, shoulders wide enough to emphasize the narrowness of his waist, and veins crawling up his limbs even when the muscles weren’t flexed. He was a mean looking man, like a first impression recruit in the military that’s both respected and feared. Whatever he got into during his days training was truly nothing you’d want to take part in.

To add insult to injury, from the first session within his home gym, you regretted it. Terry didn’t care if it was your first time lifting a dumbbell or using the stair master, when you’re in his gym, you go hard. No ifs, ands, or buts. And that pissed you off. So irritatingly bad.

On a cloudy afternoon, you park your all black Lexus ES within his driveway. Killing the ignition, you relax into the soft leather of your seat, wary eyes glancing at the two car garage. One side of the garage was his home gym. The place you dreaded entering.

Terry’s home is an impressive single–family with a spectacular country setting with quick access to everything. You slowly open the car door, pink and green Hoka sneakers touching concrete. You push yourself up from your seat, large breasts touching your chin because of the sports bra you wore. The warm breeze caused the stray curls that had fallen from your high puff to graze the back of your neck.

Shutting the car door, you ease towards your trunk, skin tight athletic leggings almost giving you a wedgy. You adjust yourself before clicking the button for your trunk on your key fob. It popped open smoothly, revealing your Puma gym bag.

As you grab it, Terry Richmond situated himself within the doorframe of his home, bulging biceps folded over his defined pecs. You catch his eye and quickly avert your gaze because of its intensity.

“How you doin’ Y/N?” Terry greeted.

“I’m doing fine, Terry. Everything good?”

“Yeah. Good to see you still showed up. Thought I’d scared you off.” Terry said.

You glance up at Terry standing on his top steps with his hands on his hips. You do a quick sweep of his body, taking in the way the berry–red tank top he wore molded into his upper body and the thigh–hugging black shorts outlined his crotch and his ass. He had no decorum when it came down to his attire during your sessions and it was distracting to say the least.

“I don’t give up easily,” You respond, trying your hardest to appear confident.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Today you just might…”

He clapped his hands, drawing your attention to how large they are. Anticipation and excitement gnawed at your belly. He was going to touch you with those hands again. It was only the second time, but the sensation would feel like the first time all over again. 

“I’m still recovering from day one. My thighs are burning.” You admit with a nervous smile.

“That’s what comes with the discipline. Have you been stretching?”

Your lips remain sealed. Terry tilts his head at you and with a slight chuckle, he makes a slow descent towards you. The closer he gets, the more you recognize the way his skin appeared bronze from the sun. You focus on his face, his green eyes commanding attention.

“What did I tell you about that, huh? It’s important and unavoidable. You have to stretch frequently, otherwise you’ll end up with stiff joints.”

“I know. I’ll do better.”

“Will you?” Terry countered.

“Yes.”

“So, you know that adds an extra thirty minutes to your session today, right?”

You fight the urge to groan.

“No time to waste then. Let’s get to it.”

Terry leads the way towards his garage. It opens, revealing a well–equipped home gym. You both step inside, the garage door slowly closing behind you. Terry motioned for you to come over and sit your things down.

“How’s work coming along?” Terry asked.

You place your bag against the wall, crouching down to open it with a hiss from the pain in your thighs.

“It’s going. Been putting in overtime.” You replied.

“I’m sure you have a loaded schedule, being a mom and all.” Terry said, waiting patiently for you to finish. He stood with his hands folded over his crotch.

“You learn to adjust, no choice anyway,” You stand, fitting your weight lifting gloves over your fingers, “Can’t complain though, I love my baby girl.”

“What’s her name again?”

“Aria.”

“Pretty. How old is she?”

“She’s four.”

“Wow. I bet she gives you a run for your money,” Terry chuckled.

“Oh yeah. All the time,” You laugh, “So, what now, Mr. Richmond?”

Terry smirked at you, “Stretching. Go ‘head and kick off your shoes. We’ll hit the mat for about thirty minutes before we jump into our basic moves.”

Terry walked away, giving you time to kick your sneakers off. He turns on some music and makes his way over to the thick floor mats situated in front of wall–length mirrors. You join him, stopping in front of him.

“Okay, down on your back.”

You settle on your butt and then relax back until your head touched the mat. Once again, you can’t avoid Terry’s body above you. He lowered to his knees at your feet.

“We’ll start with the hold–relax technique.”

Without warning, Terry straddles your left thigh and instructed for you to elevate your right leg with your foot in the air. Your eyes blinked slowly while staring up at the ceiling, but your body reacted to Terry’s hand on your knee and the other on the heel of your sock–covered foot. Your body hummed with desire. Something you couldn’t control. And if you so much as lift your left knee, you would brush across his crotch. The little voice in the back of your mind told you to do it and see how he’d react, but you ultimately restrained yourself from being too bold. This was a passive pre–stretch, held at a point of mild discomfort for about ten seconds.

“Ready on three. One…two…three—”

You count down ten seconds in your head, still keeping your eyes glued to the ceiling of the garage.

“Good, good,” Terry tapped your knee with his hand, “Think you can go again before we do the next part?”

“Uh–huh,” You replied with a weak laugh.

You brace yourself, palms flat against the mat. Terry does it again and you count down, the aching muscles in your thighs struggling to hold on.

“Well done. Nearly there,” Terry shifted his hips over your left leg, drawing in closer, “Y/N?”

Your gaze snapped down to meet his. You wish you hadn’t. He looked good from that angle. The thin, gold rope chain around his neck dangling in your face. His hazel–green eyes blinking at you, that lush mouth with pink lips and a pink tongue looking inviting—

“Ouch!”

Terry applied a hip flexion force. You squeeze your eyes shut and roll your lips inward tightly.

“Hold and don’t let me move the leg.” Terry ordered.

You hold and resist the movement so that isometric muscle action occurs. After six seconds, Terry allowed you to relax. He slowly lowered your leg and you couldn’t control the tremors, thigh meat jiggling involuntarily. He repeats the same stretch to your left.

“Still with me? That was light work,” Terry chuckled at your death glare, “Hate me now?”

“Very close to hating you,” You giggle but quickly stop because of the pain, “Is the thirty minutes up already?”

“Not even close,” up on his knee, Terry placed his right hip between your legs and his hands around the knee of the target leg, “Let’s do some inner thigh stretching. I’ll start with this leg first…”

Both legs bent comfortably with your feet on the mat, Terry pressed your right leg outward against the resistance and only goes so far as you can resist the movement. You exhale rapidly, the pain so severe that you’re unable to take even, slow breaths.

“You gotta relax for me, Y/N—”

“I can’t do this—”

Terry cuts you off, “Stop saying what you CAN’T DO. Trust me, your body is more than capable. RELAX. Ten more seconds…”

Bastard.

“Three, two, one, okay…”

You sigh, leg quivering. Startled, your right leg jerked from Terry caressing your inner thigh. You lock eyes with him, face growing hot with arousal. He may not have been aware of how this was turning you on, but the throb of your clit told you so.

“One more on this side and then we’ll do the left.”

You roll your eyes, “Terry, this is hard…”

“Bet you’ll stretch more now.”

You bite your tongue. Terry gave you another minute and then he was stretching the right leg again. Shaky breaths escaped your mouth. Terry gently placed your right leg down after thirty seconds and turned towards your left. You close your eyes and turn your head to the side, staring at the mirrors. Your eyes admire the thin material of his shorts spread over his ass. It was enough to distract you from the pain. Just a little. Every major and minor muscle in his body was defined. You were in the presence of an Adonis.

“Are you still with me?”

You blink away from the mirror and nod your head with a smile.

“Okay. One more…”

After the final stretch, Terry allowed you to stand and take a break. He offered you some water and you drink a generous amount. Terry did the same, pacing back and forth with his eyes on you.

He recapped his water, “We’ll do upper body next.”

“Do I have a choice?”

Terry tucked his chin and looked at you with a sly smirk, “I think you know the answer to that question.”

After a few minutes you were on your back again. Terry dropped to his knees above your head and motioned for you to raise your arms. He instructed for you to interlace your hands and keep your legs bent comfortably. Terry leaned over your head and brought your arms upward toward him. Your eyes look up and you’re staring directly between his legs and at his crotch…

“We’ll hold until you can’t anymore. Ten reps…”

“Okay…”

Terry stares down into your eyes. You look back, aware that your cleavage is touching your chin. He blinks away and down the length of your body before bringing your arms down. The closer he gets, the more you can smell almondy tonka bean and citrus wafting from the space between his legs and it caused the hairs on your arms to stand up.

You raise your hands a little too quickly and you almost hit him in the face. Terry’s head swiveled out of the way and he laughed, although you felt embarrassed. It was his fault, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay. That’s why I lead and you follow.” He spoke evenly with a half smile, “Don’t get too carried away now…”

Your dick smells nice and I want to bury my face between your legs.

“Breathe, almost done, okay?”

“How many reps do I have left, I sort of checked out.”

Terry chuckles, “Three more, Y/N.”

——

Days stretched into weeks.

In neutral stance, she waits for further instructions.

When Y/N exercises, Terry watches her shine like a freshly washed car in the morning light. He moves forward once she’s still, fighting the urge to run his fingers down her arms just like the mirror in his bathroom after a hot shower, always slick with condensation.

The closer he gets, the more he could smell her sweat, a mixture of musk and the deodorant she wore. He grew accustomed to her scent from heavy exertion, craved it the more he’d spent time with her. Terry stopped, staring down at her with domineering eyes. She looked adorable with her serious eyes and look of determination. Her legs are shoulder-width apart and her arms hung by her sides. This position replicates how you would stand when you are unaware of an attack.

Terry circled her body, stopping directly behind her. He didn’t warn her when his large body pressed against her back and his arms pulled her into a bear hug from behind. He pinned her arms to her body, Y/N automatically fighting to break free. Her movements almost knocked both of them off balance, but she was still unable to defend herself from Terry’s tight grip.

“What did I teach you, huh?” Terry spoke between breaths, “drop your weight…drop your weight, Y/N.”

Her ass continued to collide with Terry’s groin. He clenched his jaw to stop himself from grunting. All that plushness within his embrace is exactly what he loved. His type of woman.

Keep it professional.

She dropped her weight with a fast squat. In a wide stance, Y/N shifted her hips sideways to strike his groin with her palm. Y/N lunged forward and elbowed Terry’s stomach before escaping. None of her blows were damaging, but it was enough to free her. Terry watched as Y/N cheered, throwing her arms up and hopping up and down. She was wearing an athletic halter top in hot pink with matching shorts. Her curly fro was frizzy from sweating, some strands falling into her eyes.

Terry couldn’t ignore the bounce of her breasts and the pretty smile on her round face.

“Finally! It took me forever to get that one!” Y/N spoke excitedly.

“You did good. With more practice, you’ll be able to fight me off in no time.” Terry replied.

He gave Y/N two thumbs up before giving her a high–five with both hands. Y/N bent over and braced herself on her knees, trying to steady her breath. Terry grabbed a towel and wiped sweat from his face. Y/N’s pendulous breasts teased his eyes again. The sheen on her cleavage from her sweat made his mouth water.

“What next?”

Terry sat the towel down and pulled his gaze away from her titties just in time for Y/N to look up at him.

“Look at you, so eager,” Terry arched a brow at her, “Where did this energy come from, hm?”

“I’m already on ten, I need an outlet.” Y/N admitted.

“Mind if I ask why?”

Y/N took a seat on a bench. Terry watched her face as stress lines appeared.

“Aria’s father. Just co–parenting issues.” She revealed.

Terry nodded his head in understanding. He didn’t press her to dig deeper, so he gave her some space to calm down before they continued. He’d wondered about Aria’s father and whether or not he and Y/N were still together.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“I am,” Y/N stood, “Let’s finish this.”

They fell back into training some basic Krav Maga moves. Terry grabbed a kick shield so that Y/N could practice kicks. She was getting better since incorporating more mobility stretching.

“There you go! Get that leg up higher!”

“Umph,” Y/N struck the bag with her left foot.

“That was weak,” Terry pushed back, causing Y/N to lose her footing, “what type of kick…”

“Really?” Y/N threw her leg up and with all her strength she hit the shield, “How was that?!”

Terry rocked back on his heels. He looked at Y/N with an unblinking stare as sweat rolled down her face. She tried catching her breath, chest rising and falling faster than usual.

“BETTER,” Terry taunted her by shoving her with the kick shield to provoke her, “But not IMPRESSIVE.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at Terry. Her angry face was so freaking cute. Anything she did was cute to him. Just adorable and fun-sized.

“When will you give me my props, Terry? I’ve been going hard for nearly a month!” Y/N argued.

“When you stop doubting yourself and seeking validation with every little step then maybe I’ll ease up.” Terry fired back.

“You’re insufferable!” Y/N charged him, throwing messy jabs and kicks while Terry held up the shield, “YOU. MAKE. ME. SICK.”

“I make you WHAT?” Terry said, towering over her.

Y/N planted her foot so hard into the shield that she rocked Terry’s equilibrium. He dropped the bag at the same time as Y/N went to kick again, not realizing he’d done so. Terry grabbed her ankle with a vice grip. Y/N hopped on one foot, breath hitching and eyes wide like she’d been spooked.

“Pay attention.”

Terry let go of her ankle and Y/N stood there with shock.

“That kick is what I needed from you. That’s how you do it.” Terry said.

Y/N wiped sweat from her chin and gave Terry a small smile. He returned the smile, one hand reaching out to give her shoulder a squeeze.

“I push you because I see the best in you and I know you can do it,” Terry counted off on his fingers, “Vigilance, empowerment, good instincts, freedom. You gain all those things. It’s important that you take this seriously and you take my training seriously.”

“I understand.” Y/N responded with a sigh.

“But?” Terry bowed his head to stare down at her.

Y/N fidgeted with her short, acrylic french tips. Terry waited for her to find the words to say whatever was on her mind. His fingers itched to tilt her chin up and look him in the eye. When she finally stared up at him through her lashes, Terry held her gaze.

“I want to impress you. I seek validation because I want to make you proud, Terry.” Y/N admitted with a small voice.

Her thoughtful words warmed his heart and his eyes. His gaze softened as he watched her pretty brown eyes drop to his chest then down to her hands again. Terry’s hands grasp her shoulders. He leaned in and tilted his head to meet her gaze.

“I am proud of you, Y/N. You’ve impressed me with how easily you learn and grow. I just want you to embrace the challenges with a confidence boost.”

“Thank you,” Y/N replied with a bashful laugh, “I’m sorry I kirked out on you.”

“No need to apologize,” Terry straightened his back, “Just don’t let it happen again.”

Y/N parted her lips to speak but no words came out.

——

You pull up to your brother’s rancher, parking behind his pick–up truck. The sound of children playing filtered from behind the home, carrying you there and past the iron gate. You catch a glimpse of your daughter and her multi–colored braids swaying as she ran to kick a soccer ball. Her cousin who’s slightly older than her, Madison, ran behind her with a big smile and pig tails falling into her eyes.

You stop to watch with a smirk as your daughter kicks the ball, missing the goal as it rolled in the grass. Madison took the lead and sped past Aria, aiming for the opposite goal. Aria started having a temper tantrum, stomping her little feet and scrunching her face. Madison kicked the soccer ball into the goal and it collided with the net.

“I did it! I did it!” Madison cheered.

Aria glowered at her older cousin. You make your way over to her, Aria noticing you and her frown turned into a big, toothy grin. She ran the rest of the way towards you, wrapping her tiny arms around your neck. You squeeze her, pressing your nose into her hair that smelled of argan oil.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

“Hi my baby,” you kiss her temple, “How’s my little princess?”

“Good,” Aria kissed your cheek, “We painted in school today! I have a picture for you!”

“Ahhh! Really?! Oh my goodness. I bet it’s a masterpiece.” You spoke excitedly with bright eyes.

“It can go on the fridge next to the flowers I colored.” Aria babbled as she formed words.

You grab Aria’s hand, “It can. We have plenty of room.”

Madison walks over with her soccer ball in hand and you pull her into a hug before kissing the top of her hair.

“How’s my niece? Did you win your game today?”

“Yes! You should have seen me out there!”

Madison showed you a move that won them the game.

“I already knew you were gonna win!” You replied boisterously.

The sound of a glass door sliding open caught your ear. Out walked your older brother; James. He wore a pair of faded dark blue jeans and a black T-shirt. The glasses over his eyes made him look articulate. He’d shaved his head completely bald since his hairline started receding, but it suited him. James could pull off any hairstyle.

“Hey, hey!”

“ ‘Sup sis?”

James gives you a one arm hug and a kiss to your hairline.

“Thanks for picking up Aria. My session ran a little late today.”

“All good. You know I got you.”

You follow your brother into the house. Aria ran off to grab her things and Madison followed behind. You open the fridge and grab yourself some homemade iced tea. James was in the middle of thawing out some steaks for dinner. You glance at the family photos on his fridge before walking away.

“Where’s Jr?” You question.

“In that room playing the game.”

“Tonya’s at work today?”

James nods his head while reaching inside of his pantry for some potatoes, “She’s been working longer shifts at the hospital lately. She finally got a weekend off. Been planning it for Madison’s birthday for months now. I have everything taken care of so she can ease her mind.”

“That’s good to hear. You know I’m here to help if you need me, bro,” You take a sip of your tea, “I’m still making my potato salad and seafood salad.”

“Damn right you are! shid, before momma passed she put you in charge of that!” James replied with a laugh following.

“Like you can’t do it.”

“I’m on grill duty! You want my famous ribs don’t you?!”

“Shut up,” You sit your cup down on the kitchen island and stretch your arms above your head, wincing in pain, “I can’t wait to go home and take a hot bath in epsom salt.”

“Terry been workin’ you hard, huh?”

“Too hard. Treating me like I’m one of his cadets.” You complain.

“Stop it, Aria! It’s mine!”

“Hey! What I tell ya’ll about that bickering? Pipe it down!” James chastised.

“Aria! Behave!” You say, “These little girls…”

“Terry knows his shit, baby sis. He’ll get you right in no time.” James replied.

“I know he does.”

James started peeling potatoes.

“I see a change in you for sure.”

“I feel it too…feel like I’m getting back to myself.” You reveal.

Aria came dashing out from Madison’s room with her back pack and tablet in one hand. You check to make sure she had everything before saying farewell to your brother and niece.

“Drive safely, sis. Love you Ari,” James gives Aria and you a goodbye hug, “I’ll see ya’ll this Saturday. Shoot me a text when you make it in.”

“Will do! Love ya’ll.”

You hug Madison and make your way outside, locking the door behind you.

——

Terry handed you a jump rope and you gave him a bizzare look. His serious face with steadfast eyes was enough for you to take the rope from his hand. He watched you turn your back towards him and toss the rope over your head while holding both sides.

“Forty–five seconds.” Terry set a timer, “Go.”

He was soaked with sweat from his earlier workout. He figured he’d take a shower after his session with you. The front of his olive green tank top held a large stain of sweat. His face glistened beneath the lights and the tattoos on his arms popped from the perspiration leaking from his pours.

Terry watched you jump, short, plump legs pushing off of the gym mat. You wore a teal blue workout set. A skort with a matching bralette. The bralette had a keyhole style in the front, giving a peek of cleavage. Your feet in white sneakers tripped over the rope causing you to stumble. Terry paused the timer.

“I suck at jump rope, Terry.” She admitted with a tired exhale.

“You were doing well. Give me a full forty–five seconds and I’ll let you rest.”

You perked up at the mention of rest, big brown eyes that reminded him of hot cocoa on a winter night twinkling.

“Still gotta do glutes and hamstrings, Y/N.”

The brightness of your gaze dimmed.

“Let’s go.” Terry commanded.

You take a deep breath before positioning yourself again. Terry set the timer and you went back to jumping, face scrunched in discomfort and sweat flickering from your body with each move. Terry licked his lips as he paced, taking his arms and folding them over his sturdy chest. You catch his eye in the mirror for a second before squeezing them shut from the intense burn.

“Terry—”

“Ten more seconds. Hold on.” Terry reassured.

His deep voice and the sternness of it motivated you. The timer beeped and you stopped, tossing the jump rope to the floor and resting your hands on your hips while you attempt to calm your racing heart and uneven breaths.

“GOOD JOB.” Terry encouraged with a thunderous clap of his hands.

You nod your head. Terry walked up towards you and placed a hand on your back, rubbing it. He could feel the tension in your muscles loosening beneath his callused hands. Terry took that moment to embrace the sensation of your skin. Silky smooth. Blemish free. Soft. His eyes did a quick sweep of the tattoo teasing him on your lower back. It looked like a butterfly.

“Rest time…”

Terry dropped his hand. He hadn’t realized he was rubbing your back the entire time. Lost in the sensation of your delicate skin.

You settle on a bench and grab your water jug. Terry turned the music down and joined you with his own water. You both sat in silence for a moment until Terry turned his body at an angle to get a better look at you. Your curly hair had that freshly fucked look to it. Wild coils tightly wound from shrinkage. He could smell the shea butter. You glance up at him bashfully before your eyes focused on the bottle in your hand.

He made you nervous. More so during moments like this. When everything was still. He wanted to pick your brain, learn more about you.

“Any plans this weekend?”

She looked at him again, “Saturday. My niece has a birthday party.”

“Ah, James told me about that.” Terry revealed with a smirk.

“…you’re coming?”

Terry caught the thrill in her question. She wanted him there. He scratched the side of his face with his thumb to fight the urge to smile at that revelation.

“I planned to,” Terry licked his lips, “Support a friend and eat some good food, ya know?”

She laughed, “That’s sweet of you,” she nudged him with her elbow, “I’m making potato and seafood salad. The best in town.”

“Seafood salad is a favorite of mine. I gotta see that for myself.” Terry replied with playful banter.

She picked up a towel to dab sweat away from her face and chest. Terry’s eyes did a slow descent to her chest, his mouth watering and tongue aching to taste. He looked away and shut his eyes for a moment.

“I can’t wait to make you eat your words, Terry Richmond.”

“Not the whole government.” Terry chuckled.

“Because I don’t play about my seafood salad. When I say it’s the best, I mean it!”

You swatted his arm with your towel. Terry caught it with his hand and with a slight tug he pulled you closer. You gasp, the sound shooting straight to his semi–hard dick. Terry brought his face closer to yours, eyes locked on to your dilated pupils.

“Aht, aht…play nice. Save that energy for sparring, baby girl.”

He released the towel and it dropped to the floor. You quickly avert your gaze before bending over to grab it. At that moment, Terry’s hazel eyes studied that lower back tattoo. It was a butterfly indeed. Cute.

And is that…back dimples?

“Do we really have to lift today?”

The pout on your lip made him smile.

“YES. Better get on it now so we both can relax, right?”

You groan and take your time standing from the bench. Terry set up the squat rack while you drink a little bit more water. You make your way over and he instructs for you to get into position. Back facing him, he guided the safely squat bar over your shoulders.

“Alight, three sets of twenty.”

Still behind you, Terry counts as you squat. Your stance is perfect and so was that big ass poking out at him. Bending over like that made that ass bigger. Terry tried to focus on anything else, but no matter how many times he counted, you were distracting him. He looked down at the bulge beneath his grey shorts and how noticeable it is.

I’m in trouble, he thought.

“Last one.” Terry said.

You struggle to lift so Terry grabbed a hold of your waist to ease you back up. The moment your ass grazed his print you created space between you both. A look of embarrassment crossed your face and Terry was too stunned to speak.

“That was my fault—”

“No I was too close—”

“I was only trying to help—”

“I should have stepped away—”

Both of you pause. Neither of you could let the other speak first. Terry blinked slowly at you. You stared up at him with your lips parted. An unspoken glance at his crotch made it acutely aware of his stiffness. There was no denying it. Not when his dick sat fat and twisted to the side. It almost poked out the leg opening of his shorts.

“Uhm…”

Terry just stared at you.

“What’s happening right now?” She spoke.

Terry glanced sideways and then back into your eyes. At this point, might as well come out with it.

“No reason to skirt around the obvious…”

You fidget with your hands and shift your weight. Terry cocked his head and his gaze remained locked on you. Unyielding.

There goes your scent again. That musk. He was losing control. The silence was killing him. If you weren’t going to speak he sure was.

“Aight, Y/N. If you haven’t already guessed by now, I like you. A LOT.”

Terry cut to the quick.

You nod your head slowly. Unsure if what was happening was real.

“What happened,” Terry’s hands raised as he tried to explain himself, “I didn’t mean to…to get close…but I’ve wanted to…for weeks now. No sense in boiling it down to excuses.”

Terry got closer. You blink up at him like you were stuck in a trance.

“Can I get some feedback here?” Terry cracked a smile as he studied your face, “I don’t know what you’re feelin’.”

He could see that you were struggling to find the words to speak. Terry’s hands touched your arms and he stroked your tacky skin with his thumbs. A shaky exhale escaped your mouth. Pretty brown eyes filled with uncertainty met his gaze.

“I…I’m feeling the same…” She spoke softly.

“Do you?” Terry asked.

“I do. I just didn’t expect…”

Terry’s hands fell to his sides. You reach up and touch the spot where his hands once were.

“Didn’t expect me to be interested?”

“Yeah.”

Terry smirked, “Now, what would make you think that? Because you’re beyond beautiful.”

Your mouth dropped open.

“I’m James’ sister.” Y/N replied with a small voice.

Terry furrowed his brows.

“Uh…what that mean, Y/N?”

“It means I’m off limits! Right?”

“Who the fuck made that rule?” Terry replied with a slight curl of his upper lip.

“Nobody—”

“Y/N, you feel the same, right?”

“Yes,” her eyes flickered with confusion.

“So fuck it.” Terry spoke confidently with a slight hint of mischief.

You laugh nervously.

“For real.” Terry said.

——

What had just occurred?

You stand before your trainer, eyes wide and mouth open. Your fine ass trainer just admitted to having feelings for you and all you could do is stand there like a deer in headlights?

His dick is hard because of you. His beautiful eyes admired you with romantic intensity. He didn’t care what your brother thought. He wanted you. Something straight out of a book. This was a chance encounter with a man that checked off all your boxes, even though he worked your last nerve in the gym.

“For real.” He said.

This was a grown man talking. Apparently he’d been silent long enough. It took for your ass to tap his dick for the truth to emerge. Funny how that happens. Your stomach fluttered with excitement. Terry titled your head up to look at him. Your eyes danced between each other. He stroked your chin with his thumb.

“You’re so pretty.”

“Thank you,” you replied, “so are you—I mean—what I was trying to say—what I meant to say was—”

Terry chuckled, “Y/N, shut up.”

“Huh? Excuse me—”

His thick lips graced yours. He shut you up alright. Stunned, you rock back on unsteady feet. Terry’s hands circle your plush waist and he took control, walking you backwards towards the mirrored wall. Your back against it, immediately his tongue slipped into your mouth and you mold your hands against his chest, falling onto the kiss with your own tongue.

You could taste his sweat. His tongue glided over yours like a wet tentacle. It made your breath hitch and your fingernails drag down his chest. The hands on your hips planted against the mirror, trapping you while he devoured your mouth with his skillful tongue and pliant lips. Sandalwood, tarragon, and spearmint. That’s what you could smell. Woody, earthy, and with an animalistic undertone.

His tongue swiped your lower lip with a hungry growl and his large hands cupped your round face to keep you in place. He guided your movements how he wanted, your fingers trembling as they smoothed over his shoulders and down to his hips. Broad upper body gracefully narrowing down to a tapered waist much like the letter ‘V’. The coveted shape that symbolized the pinnacle of physical attractiveness. You’d never seen him shirtless, and you desperately needed to.

Lips puffy from kissing, Terry gave you a moment to breathe properly while his mouth explored your neck. He pressed kisses against your sweaty skin and the tip of his tongue stroked upward until he was latching onto your earlobe decorated with a diamond Tiffany stud. Terry’s hands were everywhere. He kneaded your curves desperately, palming your ass and hips. He did it so forcefully that you were almost lifted from the floor.

“I…need…you…” he spoke with a hushed tone.

Your breath hitches, “Take me…” you replied barely above a whisper.

Terry unlatched his head from the crease of your neck to lock eyes with you. His eyes were low and sleepy–like. As if he were intoxicated from you.

“Take you? Oh…don’t say that if you ain’t ready. I’ll take that ass to the moon. Have you seeing the fuckin’ galaxy.”

“Terry…”

His brows snapped together and his tongue sat in the corner of his mouth. He hooked his fingers beneath the straps to your bralette and with a tug he made your breasts bounce. Repeatedly.

“Big ass titties…fat titties…just how I like it…”

You couldn’t believe how he was talking to you. Terry let go of your straps and they snapped in place with a slight sting. He cupped your breasts from the sides and mushed them up. You watch with a weak gaze as he fondled like he was kneading dough.

“I want my…”

He paused.

“Your what, Terry?”

“Intrusive thoughts…you just make me weak, girl…”

This big, strong man?

“Tell me…”

Terry looked at you.

“I want my dick sandwiched between these.”

You knew that’s what he was going to say but you wanted to hear him say it. And you loved the way he said it so desperately. Like he was begging you.

“Can I see you?”

He bent down and pecked your cleavage through the keyhole of your bralette. You moan from the tickle of his lips. Glancing down you couldn’t believe your eyes. Terry was past the point of hard. You didn’t know what to categorize his dick at that moment. That long dick pitched a tent in his shorts. You’d never seen it like that before.

“Yes, yes,” you touch his tip with your fingers, “Terry, oh my god…”

Terry fit his long fingers beneath your bralette and with a hard tug he released your hanging breasts. They bounced free and Terry didn’t waste time grabbing both and pointing your hard nipples straight at his mouth. You couldn’t look away if you tried. He suckled your breasts and looked you in the eyes. Large body hunched forward to feast.

“Oh my gosh,” you had no choice but to look at him, “Terry, please don’t stop.”

This can’t be happening right now. He’s sucking and licking your nipples. Terry pressed his face between and his tongue wiggled while he used your breasts like earmuffs. You whimpered, overwhelmed with how much he enjoyed your breasts. His tongue licked all over your areolas, cleaning the sweat from your skin.

“FUCK.”

Terry resurfaced and twirled your nipples. He sought out your lips again while he tugged and pinched and rolled your nipples between his fingers.

“You gon’ make me unleash this beast and fuck the shit outta you girl.”

He was talking his shit. You didn’t have the capacity to do so at the moment. He was thumbing your nipples and it made your clit jump. Wet and tingly between your legs, you SO FUCKING NEEDED him to do that with your pussy but wait—

“C’mere…”

Terry turned you around abruptly and with a hand on your spine he pushed you forward. Your hands connected with the mirror and he locked eyes with your reflection.

“Move that ass up and down on this tip. Three sets of twenty.” Terry ordered, “COUNT.”

Hand in your hair, one on your waist, you start to move your hips up and down. Your ass brushed his tip and you could feel it poke your pussy lips from behind each time you went up.

“Six…seven…eight…”

“Feel that burn?”

“Yesss…eleven…twelve…”

“Get used to that…”

His hand on your waist reached around to squeeze your stomach.

“Keep going, I ain’t tell you to stop.”

“Nineteen…twenty…”

You were clenching around nothing. Pussy flutters out of control.

“Two more. If you keep it up I’ll stick my tongue in it just like this before I feed you this dick…”

His deep baritone sent chills throughout your body. You feel sweat dripping from every inch of your skin the more you moved with a slow motion. Your glutes burned and your thighs quaked. Terry released your hair and right before your eyes he lifted his shirt to rest under his chin.

Good GOD.

Thick ridges of muscle. Shining like he’d been oiled down. This man had eleven percent body fat. Disciplined. Sculpted. Holy SHIT.

“T–ten…eleven…”

“Good girl…not too much longer…”

He’s the epitome of sexy. Whatever control this man had he definitely didn’t give a damn now. With one more slow whine, Terry was on you like white on rice. He had a wet spot over his tip and his breaths came out uneven and rushed as he led you over to a pair of UFC pull up rings.

“Grab each one and bend over…”

“Terry, wait…”

You knew what he wanted but you were musty from working out. He popped you on the ass for moving too slow.

“NOW.” He spoke evenly and firmly.

You grab onto the rings and without warning Terry was tugging on your skort until it fell around your ankles. You stood there in a pair of panties and they were soaked with sweat and your arousal. Your frantic eyes sought out his. Terry gave you a smirk before using one hand to remove your panties. You step out of them and watch with shock as he admired the creamy essence on the crotch of your panties. Terry thumbed it and spread it over his fingers like he was inspecting it before sucking it off.

Those panties found a new home in his pocket. You watch stunned as he takes off his sweaty T-shirt and it joined your bottoms on the floor. Terry stood behind you with a bare chest and a gold chain. He used a single finger to trace down your back and between your ass cheeks. You nibble on your bottom lip to control the quivering.

“Bend that ass over for me, love.”

——

A wide ass and a back with rolls of delicious flesh.

Pendulums known as your breasts swaying from your postiton.

The way you looked back at him like you couldn’t find the words to describe how much you NEED his tongue in you.

And Terry was going to put his tongue so far up that fat pussy to the point of dislocating his jaw.

His tastebuds sizzled with gluttony to taste more. Creamy pussy with that twang that had him primal.

He got down on his knees behind your short frame and spread your cheeks. Two holes met his piercing eyes. Pink flesh with a creamy center beckoned him and without pause his tongue wiggled between hungrily.

“UNH!”

You hang your head and stand on your tip toes. Swaying forward, Terry followed your movements. When it got out of control, he’d pop your ass to keep you still.

“Fuck this shit,” He locked your thighs with his biceps.

He sucked and slurped so cruelly. Like he was punishing you for moving. Vanquished, you slump forward and from your blurry vision you could see a stream of spit drip to the floor. He was slobbering all over your folds.

“Oh, fuck,” your arms began to shake and burn, “I can’t hold it.”

Terry released your clit with a deep exhale that fanned your pussy with hot air, “Fuck my face.”

With a weak whimper, you pop your juicy pussy on his mouth. Terry’s wild tongue and thick lips had you experiencing an out of body sensation.

“Fuck, you’re eating the fuck outta my pussy!”

He got closer with one hand on the floor and he angled his head to eat it from a different direction. He was all up in your pussy and at this point you didn’t care if you weren’t showered he wanted it he could have it.

“You taste…exactly how…I pictured you would…”

He spoke between licks and sucks.

“Sweet and strong…the best thing next to my momma’s cooking…good pussy…”

You moan in response.

“So tasty…feed me…”

You fight back a groan and rock back on his fine ass face. Your back muscles burned deliciously. In the mirror you could see your ass moving like a tidal wave.

“Right there…oh, yes,” you moan.

“Mhm…mhmmmm…hmm…mhmm?” he hummed into your pussy.

There it was, sneaking up on you.

“I’m cummin’ I’M CUMMIN’!” You squeal with broken moans.

Terry sucked you up and you caught a slight cramp in your calf muscle from how drastically your body convulses. A total body vibration. He gave you soft kisses all over your pussy and that only increased the overstimulation. Terry finally came up for air and you locked eyes with him. His face was glossy and stained with cum. He helped you stand and with his hands he massaged your stiff shoulders and arms. You could smell the pungent pheromones on his lips. Leaning in, Terry caught your tongue between his lips and sucked. While kissing, you stroked his impressive length through his shorts.

“I ain’t scared you off yet, did I?” Terry asked.

“No.” You respond with a dazed look.

“You sure? Because,” Terry gripped your wrist firm and slipped it past the waist band of his shorts and compression briefs, “This what you gettin’.”

You were too late with masking your gasp. It just slipped past your lips. Your chubby fingers couldn’t form a complete ring around his girth.

“Still ain’t scared?”

Terry guided you to stroke him. The veins beneath the palm of your hand rendered you speechless. Big? No this was a behemoth. And you weren’t exaggerating about never having a dick this big. It was completely true.

“You can be honest with me.” Terry said with a grin.

“…definitely bigger than what I’m used to.”

“I think we can both agree you’ve proven that you can take whatever I dish out…”

Terry kept his eyes on you but the hand on yours in his shorts tightened. He wanted you to feel how stiff he is. Like he could withstand anything. All of this was for you. He was like this because of you.

“It’s time to take care of this.”

You drop to your knees and stare up at him. The visual before your eyes…

Shorts past his hips and resting around his thighs, you come face to face with a monster. The body matched the dick. You could pat yourself on the back for your skills but this was another hurdle to overcome. But, you had to remind yourself that you gave birth which is a challenge indeed, so sucking a big dick should be a breeze, right?

It’s a pretty dick. Darker in contrast to the rest of his body. Terry gave your hair a slight tug to focus you on the task. You hold that big motherfucker at the base and with hungry lips you wrap them around his tip and start sucking.

““Dasssit, suck that mothafucka,” Terry grabbed a fistful of tight coils, “I get to play with your mouth. Good. Eyes up here.”

You look up at him while sucking half and jerking the rest. Sunken in cheeks and a bob of your head was his visual. Terry extended his neck and started moving his hips to meet your mouth as you came down over him. He’s so thick in your mouth. You shut your eyes and suck and slurp, loud noises a reminder of how sloppy it’s supposed to be. Spit clung to your chin and made its way to your breasts in such a short time.

“Suck it like that,” Terry’s hips would jerk a little to pump into your mouth while his hand pet the back of your head, “Good girls like you get a dick in the mouth. You see this dick?” Terry pulled your mouth off of him by gripping your hair, “It’s your Daddy dick, right?”

“Y-yes,” You were horny, pussy soaked, reaching out to stroke him. 

“Cute ass. Stick your tongue out.”

You do as your told and Terry slapped his dick on it a few times before forcing more of him down your throat.

“Hold it. Just like that…been daydreaming of fillin’ these jaws with this dick…”

You gag and pinch your thumb to help control the urge to gag again. Terry wanted you messy and he did just that with the way his dick going in and out of your mouth produced more spit.

“Hands behind your back, mhm…big titty, pretty lady…”

His pubic hair tickled your nose and it smelled powdery and fresh despite the amount of sweat on his body. The taste of his pre-cum was enough for you to tongue his slit. Terry tilted his head down at you with a look akin to defeat.

“Uuuuuhhhhnnnnn, FFFFUCCCKIIIIN SLUT—”

You weren’t prepared for that brazen performance and the vulgar tone. Terry’s free hand made a fist that pumped the veins in his arm. You could see his balls jump with his release down your throat and it was magical. His cum tasted delicious and you savored every drop. After wiping away as much as you could, Terry helped you to your feet and thanked you with a sloppy kiss. He pressed his forehead against yours before his lips attacked your jaw.

——

You’re in his bedroom. A master bedroom with a king size bed, walk–in closet, a lounge area, and a large bathroom. Terry carried you all the way to his room with his tongue in your mouth and his hands cuffing your ass. He picked you up like you were feather weight.

Now, strong hands gripped your hips tightly. You can’t run from the pain and pleasure. Too much to handle at once. Nonsense spewing from your lips, you squeeze your eyes shut but the tears disobeyed you. You’ve never been this filled and fucked at the same time. He put you in position and fit that dig in despite your cries. The mantra of being stretched just fueled him. With the little strength you could muster, you try to ease off of his big dick but his hands smoothed up to your waist and with a shove your right cheek planted hard against the comforter.

“what I say ‘bout all that runnin’?” Terry barked out.

“I’m sorry!” You cry.

Without another word, he went back to fucking the shit out of you. while your spine is curling to shy away from him, his big hips clapped against your ass while you’re crawling closer easing closer to the headboard. Your trembling fingers fisted the sheets, trying your best to ease some of that pressure, that stretch, that split. His big hands smooth over the rippling flesh of your backside, squeezing on it like two handles, yanking you back where he wants you. The feeling of his tip hitting the bottom of your pussy caused hot tears to prick the corners of your eyes.

“Can’t run from me baby, remember? I train you to do. what. I. say…”

His thrusts were punctuated.

“When I tell you to do something you fuckin’ do it,” he murmurs, tongue deviously tracing his bottom lip because that pussy is his meal.

“Terrrryyyyyyyy….”

Terry allowed his hips to do all the work while he grabbed one of your ankles. Your pussy recoiled back onto raw dick. Your pathetic squeaks get shoved out of you with every plunge, riding through the burn as your pussy responded to the harsh treatment with a flood of more cream, wetting his entry just like he wants.

“That’s it, baby girl, cream like that, good girl,” Terry observes in awe, mouth dropping open and brows pinched together tightly, “Fffuck…mmm.”

You were making a creamy ring at the base of his dick, stringing in his dark pubic hair. So much slick and so much more pleasure. So intense it surged a heat so powerful all over your skin. Sweat poured from both of your bodies.

“Mmm, damn girl,” Terry hums, teeth marking the space past his lower lip as he bites down on it hard.

That clamp on your ass cheeks constricts and you know from his grip alone it’ll leave bruises, whimpering brokenly into the mattress.

“Ter–Terry…” You release an airy sigh of defeat.

“Tell me what you want, use that mouth of yours, you do any other time, right?!” He teases through a husky exhale, tipping his head back as he looks down at that pussy slurping him up making the nastiest sounds.

“I want to cum! Please–Please D–Daddy!”

You were so close. And you were afraid how intense it would be. The knot in your belly tightened and your body seized up out of your control.

“Cum on this dick!”

His deep voice through clenched teeth caused you to erupt liked you’d never done before. And Terry didn’t stop. He fucked you through your orgasm. And now, you were squirting.

“Open up, nah, wet this dick up.”

He continued to fuck you long dick style. Your titties smacked together from the force and once again another orgasm was on the horizon.

“Fuckin’ this pussy up just like you deserve.”

This man was plowing you.

“Ohmigooooddddddd—”

Clapclapclapclap

“OH!”

Terry’s hips slowed to a stop but that dick remained deep as he kissed along your spine.

“I’m so open,” you couldn’t believe it.

Terry eased himself out and the sensation made your back arch. He palmed a hefty, cellulite–filled cheek and jiggled it.

“Yeah, she open alright,” Terry admired his work while fisting his messy dick, “Time to climb on top though. I want that weight on my dick.”

Terry crawled onto the bed and you sat up on your knees, watching him settle on his back. Terry motioned for you to swing a thigh over and when you did he pointed his tip at you pussy and with both hands on your ass and his biceps curled beneath your knees, Terry entered you with an upward thrust.

“Look at me…”

You look down past your breasts and belly and the man beneath you smiled at you like he didn’t just fuck your brains out. What he did next shocked you. This man used you like a barbell and did arm curls over that dick. Two hundred plus pounds being handled on the dick.

And it was loud. Skin slapping bouncing off the walls while he bounced you in his lap. His arms circled your waist and it forced your breast to rest on his forehead. He fucked up into your pussy so good you could only pout your lip and give in. But he was talking. Terry was talking.

“Tell daddy where he’s at…you know I like it when you do that baby…uh-huh…all up in this pussy, huh? Been wanting me to fuck you? Now you get to feel this dick in your stomach…that’s it, my big girl…fuck back like a big girl…”

He had that ass gyrating. Your mouth unhinged and at the same time his balls clapped your ass you nutted on that dick again.

His stamina is out of this world. You were seeing shooting stars and the milky way behind your lids. Terry was drenched from head to toe and now he had you folded like origami with his hands on the back of your thighs to keep you locked in place and his toes digging into the mattress. Like a piston he fed your pussy more dick with his chain hanging over your face. Your feet were on his shoulders and your breasts sat up and out for him to suck on. He had a hand on your belly now and all you could do was watch him fuck you.

“You know this my puss, right?”

“It is!” You shout.

He withdrew his hips and put his lips on your pussy again.

“Terry SHIT!”

This man was too much. You could hardly see him past your big titties but he latched onto your clit and sucked. Your toes curled in opposite directions while your hands tangled in the sheets. Speaking of the sheets, they were soaked through.

He kissed your clit and sat up to look at you. You stare down at him before falling back against the pillow. Terry crawled up next to you and settled behind you. He lifted your leg and entered you from the side.

“This is probably the best session you’ve had so far, Y/N,” Terry thumbed your clit while staring down at you, “I’m not your average nigga. If you wanna keep fuckin’ on this dick you gotta keep up with me…”

You stare down between your legs at his big dick.

“Terry,” you lock eyes with him as best you could, “Terry, I’m your slut, I’m your fat pussy slut, this your wet pussy!”

He turned you out.

“That’s right, baby, know that shit!”

The amount of clapping your ass was doing could amplify a stadium. This Carolina boy had you dumbstruck. Terry reached around and cupped your fupa and put his leg up to dig deeper.

“Ohhh, ooooo, you finna’ have me paint your walls…you thick, pretty bitch…”

He cupped your chin, turned your head, and smashed his lips into yours. All while fucking you. Your sweat mingled and the smell of sex permeated the air. Him calling you a bitch had your walls gripping him up. Terry buried his face into your neck, one hand on your titty, the other on your stomach.

“I’m fuckin’ nutting in you DEEP—”

“Yes!” You cry out.

One thick leg in the air Terry gave you a finale that knocked the wind out of you. He pumped to the point of headboard banging and then hot, jizz filled you up to the brim. He would give you quick pumps while he was still buried deep. He released a huff when his dick slipped out. You push his cum out and Terry watched with lustful eyes while fingering your mixture of fluids.

“My kinda woman,” Terry smiled at you with his hand cupping your pussy.

You giggle, “Oh, Terry Richmond. You’re full of surprises.

“And you’re full of my cum.” Terry whispered.

[just-aake]

Whispered in Russian

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha teaches you how to speak some Russian during your time together on a mission.

A/n: this was inspired from a request. Not sure if it was what you expected but I hope you'll still enjoy it.

Warnings: fluff, suggestive themes, cursing, Russian translations from google (because I unfortunately do not know the language)

Words: 3250

“Bron' dlya Nataliyi Romanovoy.”

Natasha’s Russian accent flows effortlessly, her voice smooth and confident as she speaks to the front desk receptionist. Her tone carries the ease of someone completely at home in the language. 

It’s a voice you’ve grown intimately familiar with—not just as her teammate for years but also as her partner.

Which also makes it easier to pick up and piece together some of the words, though you’re still far from being fluent. 

Reservation for Natalia Romanova, you translate silently.

The receptionist offers a polite smile, tapping away at her computer until she finds the reservation. With a nod, she retrieves a key card and slides it across the counter to Natasha.

“Dobro pozhalovat, gospazha Romanova. Vot vashi klyuchi ot nomera.”

You listen intently, trying to match the sounds to meaning, but the words come faster than you can process. Your grasp falters after the first few phrases. 

Welcome…Romanova…key

You almost have it, but the rest slips through your mental filter, lost in the quick flow of syllables. Before you can catch up, the receptionist continues in a kind but rapid tone.

“Esli vam ili vashey zhene potrebuyetsya pomoshch, pozvonite na resepshn, i my s radostyu vam pomozhem.”

At that, Natasha’s lips quirk up in a small, amused smirk. The expression is subtle but unmistakable, and it draws your curiosity. 

You glance at her, silently asking what amused her, but she offers no explanation, only thanking the receptionist with a graceful nod as she takes the key card. 

“Spasibo,” Natasha says, her voice as composed as ever.

Thank you. 

That part you recognize immediately, the basic phrase standing out like a familiar face in a crowd.

Natasha’s hand finds your waist as she guides you away from the desk, her touch grounding and affectionate. 

Still, your mind lingers curiously on the exchange. 

Once inside the room, you dive into setting up your equipment for the mission, carefully pulling out the listening gear from your bag. 

Meanwhile, Natasha checks the room methodically, her eyes scanning for anything amiss. She ends her sweep at the window, drawing back the shutters slightly to observe the building across the street—the one where the targets work at.

“What did the receptionist say to you at the end?” you ask, your curiosity finally spilling over as you adjust the calibration on the gear. 

Natasha glances over her shoulder at you, a glint of amusement in her eyes. She takes her time responding, watching as you work with meticulous focus.

“She said if we needed anything, we could call the front desk,” Natasha replies casually, her tone almost too neutral.

You pause, narrowing your eyes as you turn to face her. 

“That’s it?” you ask, skepticism lacing your voice. “Then why did you react like that?”

The smirk you’d noticed earlier reappears, tugging at the corners of her lips. Natasha steps closer to you, wrapping her arms around your waist and leaning in.

“Zhena,” she repeats slowly, enunciating the word with deliberate care. Her breath is warm against your skin as she presses a quick, affectionate kiss to your cheek. “It means ‘wife.’ She called you my wife.”

“Oh,” you reply, your heart fluttering at the thought. 

You fall silent for a moment, processing, before quietly repeating the word under your breath. 

“Zhena,” you murmur, practicing the pronunciation like a secret you want to keep safe. You say it again, slightly louder, trying to mimic Natasha’s intonation.

Natasha’s expression softens as she watches your reaction, her smirk giving way to a small, genuine smile.

Once satisfied with your attempt, you nod firmly, confidence growing. 

Your gaze shifts to the small table in the corner of the room, and something catches your eye. You gesture toward it, brow raised.

“Well,” you say, “that explains the bottle of champagne.”

Natasha follows your gaze, her chuckle warm and rich as she spots the chilled, unopened bottle perched beside two crystal glasses. 

“Hill said this was the only room available,” she replies, her fingers tracing soft patterns at your sides. Her voice drops slightly, the edge of a smirk returning to her lips. “Guess that means we’re playing newlyweds.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, leaning against her as you ponder the situation. 

“Alright,” you nod thoughtfully, “and it won’t look suspicious if we don’t leave our room much since, technically, we’re on our honeymoon.” 

Natasha’s smirk deepens, her eyes glinting with mischief. She tilts her head closer, her lips brushing lightly against yours. 

“Oh, that sounds fun,” she murmurs, her tone dropping into a suggestive lilt.

You roll your eyes, though the small smile tugging at your lips betrays your amusement. 

“I meant it’s a good cover for our mission,” you say pointedly, pulling back just enough to regain your composure. You gesture toward the gear on the table before raising a brow at her. “Or did you already forget the reason why we’re here in the first place?”

Natasha doesn’t answer immediately. 

Instead, her smirk shifts into something a little more daring as she tightens her hold on your waist before pulling you flush against her. Her lips ghost over yours again as she leans in, just close enough for her voice to drop to a whisper.

“I’m multitasking,” she teases, the husky tone sending a shiver down your spine before she closes the small distance between you two.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Some time later, after you two manage to refocus on the mission, you settle in to monitor the listening equipment. 

The two of you wait patiently, earpieces in place, scanning for the key information you need.

But after a few hours of static-filled recordings, indistinct conversations, and absolutely nothing useful, Natasha notices your shoulders beginning to tense with exhaustion. 

She rests a hand on your arm. 

“Take a break,” she offers softly. “I’ll keep watch for now.”

You hesitate, but the encouraging smile on her lips convinces you. 

“Alright,” you relent, stretching out your stiff shoulders before heading to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Once inside, the hot water works wonders, the steam easing the tension in your muscles. 

You feel the stress of the mission starts to melt away, but as you finish, you realize you’ve made a small mistake. 

You forgot to grab your change of clothes for the night. 

With a sigh, you wrap the towel around yourself, water still clinging to your skin, and step out of the bathroom.

The cool air sends a shiver through you as you pad quietly toward your bag.

Natasha’s back is to you as she speaks on the hotel phone. 

Her voice flows smoothly in Russian, soft but clear, and you catch a few familiar words—borscht, pelmeni, blini—dishes you’ve heard her name before.

As you rummage through your belongings, it hits you: she’s ordering dinner. You smile to yourself, amused by the domesticity of the moment, even in the middle of a mission. 

Not wanting to take any longer, you quickly grab what you need, tossing your bag back in its original position as you hear Natasha finish up.

“Da, prosto ostav’te—blyat…”

The abrupt edge in Natasha’s voice pulls your attention, her sudden exclamation making you look up in curiosity.

Her words have stopped mid-sentence, her lips parted slightly as her eyes roam over you. Her gaze lingers on the droplets of water still glistening on your skin, the curve of your shoulders, and the towel that clings just a little too loosely to your body.

It takes her a moment to catch herself. Natasha clears her throat, her voice steadier as she quickly finishes her conversation. 

“Prostite,” she mutters into the phone. “Ostav’te yedu u dveri. Spasibo.”

You pause where you stand as you attempt to piece together what she just said. Your limited Russian skills manage to translate fragments: leave…food…door. 

It’s enough to guess that she told them to leave your dinners outside the room so they won’t come in and see all your equipment set up.

But you also notice that there’s one word missing from the sentence—the one she exclaimed earlier.

It lingers in your mind, unaccounted for, and you try remembering how Natasha said it.

“Blyat…” you repeat, testing the word carefully, sounding it out until you nod in satisfaction, confident you’ve got it.

A low groan comes from Natasha, prompting you to look back at her. Her eyes are noticeably darker now.

“Bozhe moy…” Natasha mutters under her breath, shaking her head lightly in exasperation.

Your brow quirks in amusement at her tone, a small smile tugging at your lips. “What does it mean?”

“It’s a curse word—just something someone would say when they’re surprised or frustrated,” Natasha says stiffly, her voice a little strained, though she manages to seem mostly composed.

Her eyes eventually betray her, though, drifting back to the droplets of water sliding down your skin. 

“So what’s the translation?” you press, crossing your arms at her vague response. The motion inadvertently shifts the towel, loosening it further.

Natasha’s jaw tightens. Her gaze flickers to the towel, and she exhales sharply through her nose, her control clearly fraying. 

Even though she looks like she’s about to close the distance between you, it’s clear she won’t answer your question, which makes your expression fall lightly into a mock disappointed pout.

“You said you’d help me improve my Russian during this mission,” you remind her, your tone innocently light as you step closer to stand in front of her. 

The memory of her promise lingers in your mind—how she’d caught you practicing in secret and insisted you ask her for help whenever you needed it.

Her lips twist in hesitation, probably also remembering her promise, and for a moment, it seems like she might resist.

But then she relents with a sigh. 

“It’s basically like saying ‘fuck,’” Natasha explains, her voice low and even. She fixes you with a pointed look, her gaze burning as she adds, “As in, you surprised me, standing half-naked in the middle of the room like this.” 

A laugh escapes you, though your cheeks warm at the intensity of her gaze. You move to hover a hand above her chest, tracing a finger lightly against the edge of her tank top.

“Were you surprised…or frustrated?” you ask, your tone full of mischief. 

Natasha shoots you a warning look, one that says you already know the answer.

“I don’t think learning Russian curse words was part of your original goal here,” she counters, her voice tight.

“Who says I haven’t learned some phrases already?” you reply with a playful shrug.

Her eyebrows lift, intrigued. “Like what?”

You shake your head, refusing to elaborate. “I’m still practicing my pronunciation.”

Natasha smirks, leaning closer. “I can help.”

The listening equipment chooses that moment to beep suddenly, interrupting your conversation, as it signals incoming noises.

“Too bad we’re still on the clock,” you quip with a teasing smile.

Natasha’s attention flickers reluctantly to the gear, her expression briefly clouded with disappointment.

You take the opportunity to head back to the bathroom and finish up.

As you go, a smirk tugs at your lips, the Russian phrase you’ve been practicing simmering in your mind.

Just as you step through the doorway, you hum thoughtfully, your voice low and deliberate as you mutter under your breath—just loud enough for Natasha to hear.

“How did it go again...trak-hni…menya…trakhni menya…”

You don’t need to turn around to know the effect your words have. Natasha’s sharp intake of breath is unmistakable, and your smirk widens in satisfaction. 

Behind you, Natasha freezes, her lips parting slightly, her entire body going still as she processes what you just said. The weight of your casual tone and the boldness of your phrasing leave her momentarily stunned.

By the time she regains her composure, you’ve already disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click.

A low, disbelieving chuckle escapes her after a moment, followed by a quiet grumble as she mutters to herself, “Of all the times to be on a mission…” 

Natasha shakes her head and exhales, grabbing the earpiece with a resigned sigh.

Sliding it back on, she tries to focus on the task at hand, her eyes scanning the equipment as if sheer willpower could drown out her thoughts.

But her gaze betrays her, drifting back toward the bathroom door.

It lingers there, her resolve wavering as the temptation to follow you creeps in, tugging at her self-control.

Her mind conjures an image of you inside—water still clinging to your skin and your voice low and teasing as you repeat the Russian phrase for “fuck me” over and over again. 

The imagination is enough to make her swallow hard, her grip tightening on the table’s edge.

With a sharp, frustrated exhale, Natasha forces her attention back to the mission, her eyes narrowing as if determination alone could block the distractions. 

And she does succeed in regaining her composure eventually, though, every now and again, your voice echoes in her mind—soft, playful, and full of mischief.

Each syllable you murmured is as clear as if you were still standing there, taunting her with that dangerous smirk.

The corners of her lips twitch despite herself. 

You’ve always told her how much you love hearing her speak in Russian—how the sound of it stirs something in you. 

Natasha had always found your words amusing, but hearing you just now, with your hesitant yet deliberate tone, she’s beginning to understand exactly what you meant.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

After dinner, Natasha takes it upon herself to continue monitoring the listening gear, insisting that you rest up first after the long trip here and the exhausting setup.

Her tone left little room for argument, so you relented, knowing how stubborn she could be about these things and the fact that she is more than capable of staying concentrated on the task for longer than you can.

Hours pass, the rhythmic static and indistinct chatter from the equipment blending into the quiet of the room.

Natasha barely notices how late it’s gotten until she feels your arms wrap gently around her shoulders from behind.

You lean in close, your warm breath brushing against the side of her head as you carefully remove her earpieces. 

“Poydem so mnoy spat’,” you whisper softly.

Natasha’s lips curve into a small, pleased smile at your perfect pronunciation. Turning to face you, she raises a brow, her expression amused.

“Did you learn that specifically for moments like this?” she teases.

You smirk back at her. 

“With how often you lose yourself in work, I figured learning how to call you to bed should be one of the first things I perfect.” 

Natasha shakes her head fondly, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. 

“Of course you would,” she murmurs, but there’s no mistaking the affection in her voice.

Obliging you, she removes the rest of the gear and allows you to pull her gently from the chair toward the large bed.

As she moves, her gaze flickers to the nightstand, catching sight of your tablet screen. The familiar display of the language-learning app you’ve been using to practice Russian glows faintly in the dim light.

Settling in beside her, you lie back against the pillows while Natasha props herself up on one elbow, her head resting on her hand. Her green eyes glimmer with a soft light as she looks at you, a small smile playing on her lips.

“You know,” she says, tilting her head slightly, “I’m sure I can teach you Russian better than that app.” 

Her comment makes you laugh lightly. 

“I know, but our free time doesn’t always line up for me to get a lesson from Ms. Romanoff,” you tease, smirking.

“It’s Mrs.,” Natasha corrects, her playful smirk matching yours. “Don’t forget, we’re technically married right now.”

You smile, your gaze softening as you look at her. 

“Right. How could I forget that you’re my ‘zhena?’”

The word slips out in a playful, teasing tone, but it has an unexpected effect.

Natasha’s heart flutters so much at hearing you call her your wife in Russian that she has to look away for a moment to regain her composure. 

Her expression is tender when she looks back at you, her other arm moving around your midsection and pulling you closer. 

“I have time now,” she offers, her voice low. “Anything you want to learn?”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your chin as you consider. 

“Alright, how do you say…‘you look beautiful?’”

Natasha’s smile widens slightly. 

“Ty vyglyadish’ prekrasno,” she replies smoothly.

You repeat the phrase under your breath, scrunching your face slightly in concentration as you practice. Once you’re confident enough, you turn to her with a gentle smile.

“Ty vy-glya-dish’ prekrasno,” you say, your pronunciation close but not perfect.

Natasha chuckles softly in amusement when she realizes you just wanted to say the phrase back to her. 

“Are you trying to make me fall for you even more by complimenting me in Russian?”  

You smirk playfully. “Depends. Is it working?”

Huffing lightly, Natasha rolls her eyes, though there’s a clear fondness in her exasperation. She looks away briefly, but you catch her cheek gently, turning her gaze back to yours.

“How do you say…‘I love you?’” you ask softly, your voice tinged with both curiosity and affection.

Natasha’s expression softens further, her features open and vulnerable as she answers. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” she says, enunciating each syllable carefully for you. 

“Ya tebya lyu…blyu,” you repeat slowly, trying to mimic how her lips move, but the last syllable doesn’t quite land how it should.

Natasha chuckles lightly, her hand moving to cup your chin. 

“When you say ‘lyublyu,’” she explains gently, “you have to purse your lips more.”

You try again, adjusting your pronunciation, and then glance at her for confirmation. 

“Like that?” you ask innocently, unaware that you had said it perfectly, making Natasha’s heart beat a little faster at the sound of your voice saying those words to her in her native language. 

“Say it again,” Natasha murmurs, her voice soft. 

Focusing intently, you follow her previous instructions.

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Just as you say the last sound, Natasha leans in suddenly, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

Your smile grows against her mouth as realization dawns that she made you repeat it for her benefit. 

“Mmm, you’re teasing me when you're supposed to be teaching me,” you murmur lightly in reprimand.

Natasha pulls back slightly, her green eyes glinting with playful mischief. 

“Maybe I just love the way you say it,” she counters, her tone low and warm. 

You huff lightly, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation before scooting closer.

Natasha relaxes fully into the bed, letting you rest your head on her shoulder and tuck your face into the curve of her neck. Her arms wrap around you, holding you in a soft embrace.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Natasha’s voice breaks through, gentle and curious. 

“What made you decide to learn Russian?”

There’s a brief pause as you consider her question, and then you tilt your head to look up at her, your eyes filled with affection. 

“Russian is a part of who you are, Natasha,” you say earnestly. “Where you came from. To learn another way to connect with you…” You trail off, your soft smile widening. “Who wouldn’t want to do that?”

Natasha’s heart swells at your words, and for a moment, all she can do is hold you closer, her fingers brushing lightly over your back.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” she whispers, her voice barely audible but still filled with the depth of her feelings for you.

You settle back against her, smiling into her shoulder, your voice gentle as you reply.

“Ya tebya lyublyu, too.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: got distracted by a cute request and made another little fluff fic. thank you for reading! Now I'll get back to working on my series. 😅

Also here are the translations below:

“Bron' dlya Nataliyi Romanovoy.” - Reservation for Natalia Romanova.

“Dobro pozhalovat, gospazha Romanova. Vot vashi klyuchi ot nomera.” - Welcome, Mrs. Romanova. Here are your room keys.

“Esli vam ili vashey zhene potrebuyetsya pomoshch, pozvonite na resepshn, i my s radostyu vam pomozhem.” - If you or your wife need assistance, please call the front desk and we will be happy to assist you.

“Spasibo,” - Thank you

“Zhena,” - Wife

“Da, prosto ostav’te—blyat…” - Yes, just leave it—fuck...

“Prostite, Ostav’te yedu u dveri. Spasibo.” - Sorry, leave the food at the door. Thank you.

“Blyat” - fuck

“Bozhe moy…” - My god...

“...trak-hni…menya…trakhni menya…” - ..fuck...me...fuck me...

“Poydem so mnoy spat’,” - Come to bed with me

“Ty vyglyadish’ prekrasno,” - You look beautiful

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” - I love you

[tastesousweet]

⭒ crush

| hamzahthefantastic x youtuber!reader au

summary: hamzah has a crush that is extremely obvious to everyone except you ... somehow?! (both written & smau!!!)

a/n: happy new years!!!!!!

— march 2024

hamzah is hungry beyond belief.

martin's already assured him both over facetime and text that he's on his way with their full course meal of chinese takeout— currently sat in the basket of martin's rented bike, jostling up and down with every bump of the toronto pavement without a doubt. yet his stomach is still throwing a tantrum, depraved of any nutrients while his brain repeats in a neanderthal-like manner "food. coming. soon." in hopes of reducing the pressure within his poor stomach.

he opens instagram, needing some sort of an escape, because naturally a little doom-scrolling will ease his (dramatic but still very real) pain. somehow, among the ridiculous animal reels and comedic twitch clips on his explore feed, he stumbles upon a reel from you. a girl with a different quality and charm to your face and character than anything he's seen in other content creators.

not only does your bubbly yet elegant voice keep him watching but the subject matter is rather fitting— you're cooking a homemade chicken pot pie for the first time. in the video you talk about how often your mother would prepare it growing up and now it's become a popular craving for you. hamzah watches intently as if he were ready to get up and make his own pot pie alongside you.

"hey! the hell are you smiling at?" martin's voice is breathy due to his trek to and from the chinese restaurant. he walks into the living room holding a crinkly plastic bag reading: "thank you! have a nice day!" with that big, yellow smiley face in between.

"huh? nothin'." hamzah dismisses and adjusts himself on the couch, "come on, 'm starving!" he reaches his hand out to take the food from martin before patting the seat next to him.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

— june 2024

"so when are you gonna come see us?"

it was a surprise to see hamzah follow you on instagram a few months ago. you'd heard his name thrown around in certain spaces of the internet but never really indulged in any of his content.

his instagram had the format of a shitposting ten-year-old but it only made you curious about the humorous twenty-something. eventually you'd watched a youtube video of his; completely laughing your ass off and finding your eyes chasing after hamzah whenever he was in even the tiniest of frames.

it was never a serious crush by any means, just a nice piece of secret eye-candy who also happened to have a great personality and an enviously good work ethic (the effort martin and hamzah put into their videos was astonishing to you).

so you were quite nervous to be the first to dm him, in hopes of a friendship or a least a quick exchange of "hey." it was only right — you two had been liking each other's poss and stories a consistent amount.

the mellow first exchange between the two of you in april blossomed into you both constantly talking in your free time; your friendship quickly to developed a flirty back-and-forth dynamic that sometimes borders on way more than platonic. eventually martin was added to your consistent facetime calls and you’ve even let them convince you to create a discord account to play minecraft and grand theft auto online with them.

and now you’re lying on your leather couch with both of their faces displayed in your laptop’s screen, eager to hear your response.

“i don’t know…” you play with a loose end of the sweater you’re wearing, “what would we even do?”

they both stay quiet for a moment before hamzah laughs, “why are you acting like you don’t wanna say yes right now?”

a smile slowly grows on your face “okay… gimme a second,” you begin to google flight information to and from toronto.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

— september 2024

yourusername

Liked by clairedrake, hamzahthefantastic, and others

yourusername Y’all didn’t tell me they get wild in the 6 , Omg??!! Highly requested video out neow <3

View all comments

chaserutherford 🍽️8️⃣ • ♥︎ by author

yourusername I rlly do miss u already 😖😖😖😖

ynfan01 ohhhh this was so necessary thank u mother☺️!! • ♥︎ by author

yourusername Mhm!!! Olivia Wilde head nod 💞💞

slushieeee333 y/n: slurping pasta , hamzah the whole time: 😊👀😍😊

thatmartinkid hey look ma i made it!!! 🫵😂 • ♥︎ by author

ynsnumberone THE FLIRTING WENT CRAZYYYYY

slushedyn her and hamzah are obsessed with each other i fear

thatslushykid COME BACK 2 TORONTO ASAP I NEED MORE COLLABS RN!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

hamzahluver45 ok but like it’s so obvious that her trying to flirt was just irritating them the whole time !! Like girl ..💀💀

hamzahthefantastic Posting our dms is already one thing , but TAGGING ME is actually crazy 🤔🤔 • ♥︎ by author

yourusername R u mad @ me Bby???? 😕

hamzahthefantastic BruhLmaooooooooooo

freakzahfan that's one too many "o"s just say u wanna kiss her my boy

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“oh!” you accidentally trip over yourself while walking backwards and stumble into hamzah, who was standing in front of the unfamiliar grocery store, watching you prepare to give an intro. “jesus,” martin laughs under his breath from behind the camera. he lowers the camera, showing his feet but still picking up his voice in the mic, “you good?!”

the clip cuts to you stood upright again, "i'm in the six!!!" you exclaim loudly, raising your arms above your head. "and i'm here with slushy noobz to add to my series where other creators "teach me" their specialty. you tug at hamzah's arm and pull him into the frame with you, "hamzah tell them what you and martin are gonna teach me," you look up a him while still holding onto his arm. you interrupt him before he even begins to speak, "oh yeah! martin is also here by the way!" you point and martin flips the camera to himself. "they're just leaving me out it's fine, i know i'm out already, just vote just vote," he references with a sigh before turning it back to you and hamzah. "don't start! chase is on his way to come and film for us-" "listen! this is our plan-- we're gonna teach you how to mukbang; everyone knows we're very qualified in this field and know everything there is to know about the subject, so, uhh, yeah we're kinda experts. i dont know, would you say that, martin?" hamzah rambles. "yeah, i think that's a good way to describe us" "perfect! then you're teachin' me how to kiss next, right?" you ask. hamzah goes from looking at you attentively (hanging onto your every word) to a face deadpanned as he glances over to martin trying not to smile.

the video cuts to a clip with the three of you, finally, all in one shot now that chase is behind the camera. you pull a cart out from its slot and push yourself on it before standing both feet on top of the tiny foot bar, gliding through the automatic doors.

next, a clip of martin speaking to the camera while you and hamzah look through different pasta sauces together, "okay we didn't really explain this well but essentially we're all going to cook a nice dish and then eat it together in front of you guys. isn't that cute?" "yeah, can't wait for us to mukbang together" hamzah speaks. martin turns back to the camera with a smirk, "i bet you wish you were mukbanging with us huh, chase?" "no. and you just made that word up." martin's face falls.

the entire grocery shopping trip is filmed with little moments like hamzah mispronouncing a few brand names, martin talking to strangers about which pasta noodle to try, and you randomly walking off into estranged aisles "just to see if things are really different here"

now, you're all back at martin's home; you read aloud the recipe and hamzah is stood practically on top of you as he also looks down at the phone, all while martin lays ingredients out of the counter. "okay simple enough," hamzah says. "yeah, and you're still gonna make me do all of the work anyway," martin huffs sarcastically. you giggle a bit, "martin the most you'll have to do is boil water, i'll force him to do the rest." "huh???!! who??" hamzah questions, his smiley face “accidentally” leaning far too close to yours. "you, duh!" you laugh and turn away to look for a large pot.

throughout the cooking process you slowly stop helping; talking to mandy while you two eat chips and salsa while leaning on the counter or petting the pets instead of doing any of the tasks given to you from the self-proclaimed chefs.

"this is literally your video! what the hell y/n?!" martin whines when he finds you and mandy making a tiktok in his "man cave" together after you'd told them you were going to the bathroom, "seriously mandy?" all of the audio can be heard from the mics on your clothing. "where was she?" hamzah says monotonous as he scrolls on his phone. "making freaking tiktoks with mandy of course!" you giggle as you walk into the kitchen behind him, "what? the food is practically done, we're just waiting on garlic bread!" you shrug and hamzah immediately turns at the sound of your voice. "well, you gonna at least show us?" hamzah asks casually placing his hands on the counter around you, trapping you in the space between him and the marble surface. "yeah," you tilt your head so you can look at his face as you make fun of his not-so-friendly gesture, "you wanna keep breathing down my neck like that while i show you?" he laughs and moves away to cover up the embarrassment of being called out. "stop!" you laugh and bring him back into frame forcing him and martin to watch you and mandy dance on your phone screen.

the four of you sit on the carpet with plates full of chicken alfredo and pieces of garlic bread laid out on martin’s coffee table. you all talk about your experience in toronto so far, how you and hamzah first met, … et cetera.

martin attempts to teach you canadian slang: “keener is big here.” “actually? what the hell does that even mean?” “it’s kinda like a try hard— people will call you a keener if you’re doing too much, basically.” “wait tell me more!” “i mean things like buddy is way too common here. some random old guys will call me that and it always throws me off??” “yeah they always say it so demeaning,” hamzah laughs. “do you guys actually say ‘eh?’ all the time? i feel like i haven’t noticed it a lot.” you ask genuinely. “i won't lie.. i say it more often than i like to admit!” mandy says. you’ve noticed that no matter if you’re the one speaking or not hamzah’s eyes keep glancing and sometimes full on staring at you (he really doesn’t mean to but he thinks he’s finally processing that you’re actually here with them after months of wanting this) you're flattered nonetheless.

at some point hamzah and martin recreate a scene in lady and the tramp, successfully slurping at the same noodle until hamzah retreats and martin sighs at his lack of commiting to the bit. you laugh along before asking hamzah’s to share a noodle with you with a smile slapped over your face, “me next?” he fights off any blushing with a roll of his eyes and his response of, “yeah? ask me again in a sec.”

after you’ve all finished eating, you complete the video with a big smile and a promise of more collaborations in the future.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

•••

[valalice]

۶ৎ dating older gf! caitlyn kiramman and having to endure the drastic ways the two of you text. cw. age gap (two consenting adults, about a 10 year age gap). reader is a college student. slightly suggestive. a somewhat modern au?

when you first started dating caitlyn you found it endearing and rather cute at how proper she texts you. always making sure to start her sentences when a capital letter and having correct punctuation. going out of her way to correct your speach : "Remember to capitalize I's, darling." // "There should've been a comma between there." // "So many exclamation marks, my baby must be really excited."

she also became rather familiar with all of your quick abbreviations, but not without questioning them : "What does PMO mean?" // "At this point, I know that one!" // "ABT means about?" // "I know BRB. Do you really think I'm that old?"

no matter at what stage you and caitlyn are at she will always keep sending you those chivalrous texts that makes your heart flutter when you read them. they started during the early stages of dating and they just happened to stick : "Good morning, Baby. Just made it to the office, already counting down the hours until we meet up for lunch." // "I hope your classes haven't been too draining today. Remember to eat and stay hydrated!" // "I miss you, pretty girl. Would you mind if I stopped by for a moment to see you?" // "You just continue to take my breath away."

older gf! caitlyn loves to spoil you by randomly sending you money, screenshots of purchases she got for you, or secret gifts that pop up in front of your door. she doesn't think twice when she sends you money or spends money on you, it's so casual for her to care for you in this way. but, it was, and still is an adjustment to openly accept the large quantities of money she sends to your bank account : "Don't worry about it, darling. You deserve it with all your hard work." // "Got you a little gift. X" // "Spoil yourself for me while I'm away on this conference." // "Look outside your door." // "I have your rent covered for this month, love." // "Treat you and your friends to a dinner."

you love to see how you're rubbing off on her in the way she text. she isn't adapting all of your short abbreviations for words and sayings, but she had adapted the use of you "Adorable emoji faces." as caitlyn calls them, even though you try to tell her they aren't even emojis : "Going to be picking you up in a couple of hours. Can't wait to spend the weekend with you. :D" // "But you could also do homework at my place. ;)" // "The office loved those brownies you baked! You're such a sweetheart. <3" // "Work? >:( I told you I'd take care of you. No need for you to worry your pretty little head about anything."

and when you try to send her suggestive text and decide to be risky on her phone, on her internet, older gf! caitlyn is quick to put you in your place : "Don't start something you can't finish." // "You're being a little minx today, aren't you?" // "Mhm. You're too cute when you're needy." // "Where'd my good girl go, and why has she been replaced with a brat instead?" // "A please could get you a long way."

. . . as much as you tease older gf! caitlyn on being "so old" and "texting like an old lady" you find all her efforts at keeping up with you (and even correcting you) heartwarming.