#That it would start at his ankle and go all the way up to his armpit

[kisakunt]

HAVE YOU TRIED THIS ONE?

their favorite position!

S. GOJO

yab yum.

Sue him. Gojo is a loud man, and a freaky one too, but God forbid he enjoy a little bit of intimacy. It’s a bit awkward when you first try it; his legs are so long that even criss-cross, there’s a little too much room in between each thigh, once you have yours around his waist and your arms around his neck it’s awkward trying to even get it in, and the rocking is a rough start. But when you perfect it? Gojo is through the fucking roof. Satoru’s eyes hurt like hell, but he loves eye contact during sex and there’s no better time for it than in yab yum. He lets himself go; the closeness between you two, the way he can feel every inch of you, the fact for once he’s not in control. He’s vulnerable, he’s connected, and it feels so fucking good. When he cums, his legs tense a little bit more, making it easier for you to keep up with your pace. He falls apart under you, grabbing your face weakly as his head falls back. Literally perfect position for him.

T. FUSHIGURO

full nelson.

The motherfucker. Toji is strong. He’s a big guy, it doesn’t matter how tall you are or how much you weigh, he can support it. Part of the appeal is how defenseless you are, how much he gets to show off, the fact you’re like prey to him basically. It never goes too particularly deep, so if he’s itching to bruise you, he’ll let go of your legs and have you put your feet on the bed while you lie on him so he can fucking hammer you. But, in the real full nelson, he keeps it up for as long as he can. He knows just how to hit your g-spot with it, he curves to where you clench on him just right in that cute little way you do, he’s mean in the shortness of each stroke. He loves feeling your body go limp on him, he loves watching your head struggle to fall with his arms behind your neck, he loves feeling your ass move perfect against him. He’s got good stamina, too. If you begged and pleaded, Toji could cum quick— but he never would. He likes to torture you with his dick. He likes to make it hurt, make you weak, make it to where you can’t walk for days after, and the full nelson gets you sore fast.

C. KAMO

the hook.

Another intimacy lover. Choso worships you. He loves everything about making love to you. He loves your noises, the way your body folds on itself when he contorts you, how wet you get for him. The hook is perfect. It’s deep and, above all else, he thinks it’s the position you feel most good in. Whenever he can, Choso has each of your legs up on top of each of his shoulders, angled up perfect with you. He likes looking down at you, seeing your face all scrunched up and beautiful. He likes the way you beg for him. He likes how simultaneously close yet far he is from you. And when it gets all too much, he throws his head back and you get to look up at him and watch him fall apart above you. Your moans intertwine, he strokes perfect, and when he’s about to cum, he’ll break position and lower your legs just to wrap his arms around you and pull you incredibly closer.

R. SUKUNA

hands behind the ankles.

The fucking freak. No, seriously, the fucking freak. It doesn’t take him long to suggest— demand— the position to you. Obviously, Sukuna likes control. There’s never been a moment he hasn’t liked control and there’s never been a moment he’s had to worry about not having it. So that’s hardly been any different in your sex life. But when he first pulled out a pair of police grade handcuffs, you laughed— albeit a little anxiously. It’s a fucking workout for you, honestly, to hold yourself up with your legs in the air and your hands cuffed behind them. Sukuna lives for how you’re even more at his expense than you already were. He fits snug in the place between your legs, balls slapping against your lower ass every time he thrusts, pelvic bone meshing with your plush. You’re weak like this, defenseless, a perfect little toy for Sukuna to fuck, and he’d be damned if he weren’t obsessed with it.

[izvmimi]

When Luffy bursts into your bedroom, you’re in the process of tripping due to your ankles being caught in the bedsheets and seconds away from planting face first into the ground, but Luffy’s quick enough to break your fall from the door with his arm, turning you gently but assertively back into bed.

“Looks like you’re still being clumsy!” he exclaims. He’s plopped on your bed almost just as fast as he pushes you back into it, and you pout at him.

“Good morning, Luffy, have you considered starting with that?”

He laughs in response. “Have you considered not falling on your face?” 

His hands squish your face together, and you pull away, worried about your unbrushed teeth being more than a little unpleasant. Not that Luffy would mind.

He never does mind, does he?

“Does your ankle still hurt?” he asks.

Your ankle, untangled from the sheets does appear a bit swollen, and that perhaps might have contributed to your almost-fall, but it’s improved from yesterday.

“A little, but better.”

He nods, reaching up to gently place a hand on it, as if he knows what to do. You don’t wince at the pain and he’s glad, beaming ear to ear.

“That’s good!” 

You offer a smile at him and try to thank him for checking on you, but he’s already scooped you up in his arms, and is walking to the door.

“It’s breakfast time!” he exclaims. “I wonder what Sanji’s cooked up- Hey!”

You’re pushing at his face with your hands.

“Are you crazy? I haven’t even washed my face or brushed my teeth yet!” you hiss at him, and he frowns.

“But I’m hungry…”

He doesn’t let you down immediately, worried about the pressure on your ankle so you sigh. “Just take me to the bathroom.”

He does, letting you down for a moment but remaining close by to be used as a crutch as you wash your face. Brushing your teeth is a similarly and unnecessarily monitored task.

“Do you have to be hovering?” you ask him, and he cheerfully replies, “Yeah, so you hurry up.”

“You can go ahead and have breakfast,” you remind him. He shakes his head fervently.

“Not without you.”

You pout at him, but you have to admit you’re moved. 

“I can use one of the crutches Chopper got me, I’ll be okay.”

He pauses for a moment, watching you carefully. It would catch you off guard if it were anyone else, but it’s Luffy, and he simply takes your chin, holding you still as he kisses your forehead.

“Just let me do something for you, okay? I’ll take you there.”

His voice is quieter, but gentle and it warms your stomach before any food can fill it. You wonder if it’s his way of apologizing for letting you get harmed in the first place. It’s not the worst of injuries you can get throughout all your adventures, but Luffy has always insisted that he never wants you to get even a scratch on you.

So when he’s here, doing his best to take care of you, you consider you might as well let him.

“Okay.”

“Thank you,” he grins, and lets his hands wrap around your waist as you finish the rest of your morning routine.

[merakiui]

jade is absolutely getting off to the thought of drugging you up with mushrooms and then using them to fuck you

Oh, most definitely. 😌

“You’re an ash-hole,” is the first thing to tumble out of your mouth. The insult isn’t nearly as biting as you’d hoped it would be, for the slurred way in which you pronounce the expletive dulls its sharpness tenfold. It does earn you a quirk of the mouth from Jade. The exact opposite of what you wanted.

You’re sweating out of your skin, body temperature rocket-high. It almost rivals the stifling humidity of the off-campus woods, which you think might be your resting place if whatever shit Jade spiked your salad with stops your heart. Pre-hike salad, your foot!

He’s found a comfortable clearing, the lush grass more inviting than the cool breeze tickling your cheek. It feels like the wind has a dozen tiny tongues and they’re all lapping at your face. With a shiver, you smack Jade’s arm away when he offers to ease you down. The world is breathing beneath you. The tree trunk you prop yourself against has a heartbeat, and you watch the lines in the bark undulate like saltwater waves.

“As a member of the Mountain Lovers’ Club,” Jade says, lowering to his knees in front of you, his backpack now shrugged off. When you blink, he’s right in front of you next, checking to make sure you’re still lucid. Mostly. “You must be able to discern dangerous flora from the safe ones. The mushrooms mixed in with your salad have hallucinogenic properties. In small amounts, they’re fine. Quite the exciting trip, one might say. But there are some species that have hazardous effects…”

You squeeze your eyes shut again and inhale a shuddering breath. There are spiders beneath your eyelids and in your skin. It prickles. You move to slap nothing off your arm and find that, in the seconds or maybe minutes your world has been turned over, your shorts have been shucked down to your ankles. Jade’s spidery digits creep in close, parting your legs, sliding along your hole through the fabric. You’d kick him if your body wasn’t so keen on melting like candle wax. All you can do is wilt and take in big gulps of air as he presses in, fingers curling beneath your underwear, prodding inside such a private, sensitive place. You’re not sure how much time passes. You swim in and out of consciousness, occasionally snapping back to yourself like a boomerang.

When you come to, it’s with a keening cry and he hums, sounding quite pleased. You’re not sure how or when it happened, but you came around his fingers. The embarrassment doesn’t settle for long, not when your skeleton is jittering in its fleshy confines. You think you might be sick. Something is crawling up your throat. Hands? Vomit? It feels weird. Just what was in that salad? What terrible mushroom did he experiment with this time?

And that’s just it. Everything he does is experimental. Never on himself. You’d quite like that—to give him a literal taste of his own medicine and watch him crumple. What a glorious day that would be.

Like a surgeon, Jade slips a pair of latex gloves on. For a horrified moment, you wonder if he really is going to bury you out here. But instead he procures a particularly sizable mushroom from a plastic bag. It looks familiar, but right now there are a dozen names rushing through your mind and none of them can be correct. You watch with even more horror as he tears a little square package open and slides the condom over the mushroom’s stipe, all business. Perfectly clinical.

“Today, we’re going to learn to identify mushrooms and their uses.” He beams. “Starting with this one.”

“I…” Your tongue feels all wrong. Numb. Too long. And then too short. You try to pronounce your next words, but they come out in a messy splutter.

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s edible.” Jade smiles angelically.

Gee, thanks for the help. That narrows it down by a lot, you think, sarcastic.

“Maybe this will jog your memory,” he adds, and when you blink the stipe is pushing against your puckered hole. His fingers are wrapped gently around the cap of the mushroom, holding it steady.

“Wha…” You attempt to crawl back from him, but the tree holds you firm. “Jade—”

“It’s a very popular ingredient in soups and risotto,” he continues, undeterred in his approach.

You dig your fingers into the ground and rip up clumps of grass. It feels wrong. Intrusive. This strange, foreign thing. You squirm weakly, but it doesn’t shake him off.

Dunno, you think, your mouth moving mutely.

“It’s part of the genus Boletus.”

Oh, you hate him something fierce. This smart-ass eel. As if you’d know the scientific name or the genus and whatever-heenus-gleenus. You’ll kill him.

Not really. Because who could kill Jade Leech? Not you.

But the feeling comes something close to death as you imagine yourself weaponizing the blazing sun in your scowl and burning a hole through him like he’s an ant under a magnifying glass. Instead, your expression falls and you give a short, sweet whine. The mushroom presses in shallowly. Jade watches with a delight that can only be described as exhilaration. His smile is preternatural.

It turns out it’s a penny bun. Boletus edulis. He tells you that halfway into working the thick mushroom in and out of you.

“I’m sure you’ll have better luck with the next one,” he assures, and then you see it. The many mushrooms packed neatly away in his backpack, each one packaged in that chilling, serial-killer-like precision only Jade Leech could have.

[floralscented]

Hii! I really love your stanford!dean drabbles, soooo may I request a stanford dean fic with a shy!reader?? (kinda like nerd x jock dynamic) in which dean is trying to pursue reader but reader isn't sure if he really means it bc of his personality (mostly bc he is really flirty) and all with a bit of angst but also a lot fluff ofc (sorry if it's a bit cliche I'm a whore for this trope😭😭😭)

Btw hbd!!!!💝💝💝

thank u for the happy bday omfg 😭 it's still two months away unfortunately. LMAOFIDKDJ BUT I AM PUTTING THIS IN MY BACK POCKET TO REMEMBER THAT DAY !!!

anyways ahem let me lock in.

it's not that dean didn't have game, it seemed to be that dean had too much game. you didn't like when he leaned against the doorframe you were in, posing in that way that girls liked; ankles crossed, arms crossed, head tilted down to look at you. you didn't like the arm stretch pose over the top of the doorframe either. if he wasn't so attuned to how your face lit up in a blush when he was around, he would have been convinced that you just hated doors or something.

but no, you could talk to your friends just fine, it was just─ him. which is a hard pill to swallow in of itself, but some truths just couldn't be changed.

he'd make effort too, you know. really, desperately, lay it on thick to play the nice guy, the boy next door you seemed to want. it was hard, since that was the role he'd worked so damn hard to break out of, but he'd do it. there was something about the chase that had him coming back to you, even though the game wasn't nearly as fun for you.

dean didn't think, really, was the main point. didn't think about how intense this must have been for you, didn't think about the possibility of you just ─ not liking him back? didn't think at all.

he's outside your dorm to walk you to class. a habit for him, and an irritation for you. you never could get yourself to argue with him about it, though, the words always lodged in your throat. how did you, politely, tell a football guy to get fucked? he'd take it some other way. you knew football guys, and specifically, knew this one.

dean snatches your backpack from your arms before you can shrug it on, carrying it in front of him like a little purse. maybe, you kept him around for that, too. schoolbooks were heavy, okay?

but it's the little twitch in his mouth that seems to break you. "can you just... find someone else already?" you've come to know that smile as his only preliminary warning before he says something that burns your cheeks red and almost makes you believe that this pursuit is genuine, and not just to get in your pants.

dangerous smile. those dimples could just about make anyone's panties drop ─ you'd know, you were a self proclaimed part of that statistic.

dean actually looks taken aback, slowing his steps, and you'd almost feel relieved if you didn't feel so sick that you'd hurt his feelings. and, he had your backpack, so now it was awkward. now you'd have to snatch it back before you could scramble away.

"find someone else?"

in his head, he was breaking down your walls. slowly, but surely. and here was this painstaking reminder that every wall he broke was just replaced by another.

you stare at him for a long few seconds, the halls of your building thankfully empty, except for the two of you and every question hanging in the balance.

"i don't want someone else, sweet girl," he says, his face contorted in a wince like he actually was hurt by the suggestion at all. you recoil, too, but you don't back down. quiet as hell but a viper when you had to be. backed into this conversational corner, you had to be. "hell, you think i've been chasin' you around this whole damn campus because i'm waitin' to get bored of it and start somewhere else?"

he acts like it's an unreasonable suggestion. boys like him didn't go for the girls in the bleachers. boys like him liked short skirts and pom poms. at least, that's what the movies taught you. what was he going to do next, take off your glasses and tell you that you really were beautiful, who would have guessed?

when you don't answer, dean seems to shrink back a little. he shrugs his shoulders to adjust his backpack on his back, and yours that, at some point in these ticking minutes, he had slipped on his front. "believe me, honey, this is torturous for me, too."

"torturous?" you shake your head, internally wincing at how, of all of what he said, that was the thing you latched onto. "so go find─"

"someone else. i heard you the first time." dean shakes his head, clicking his tongue after another strenuous break of silence. "it's torturous," he says slower now, like you're the one who needs to be talked in gentle words to, not him, who's seen more concussions than he's seen his family, "because you are a breath away, and yet you are so damned determined to keep that breath between us. because you seem so weary, and strung up, like at any moment, i'm gonna pull the rug away and tell you that this was some joke, and you're gonna fall on your ass and feel awful."

well. it's not like he was wrong. but now the embarrassment is worn so prominently in the pink of your face, and those awful feelings he brought up are right there, if only because you'd been so convinced that he was a terrible guy without having any sort of evidence to back it up.

dean takes a step forward, not like approaching a wounded animal but rather like he's approaching a feral beast determined to snap at his fingers. "all i want," he breathes, shaking his head, palms up in some miniscule effort of surrender, "is to buy you a coffee."

"coffee," you echo back to him. you can't help it. you glance at his double backpack situation and you have to press your mouth together to keep from laughing. maybe dean wasn't lying about this, or everything else. would someone really willingly make themselves look so silly just to keep up a ruse?

dean nods. "coffee," he says, and he notices, of course he notices, that dazzling smile of yours. he's a strong man, but he can be made into something so weak with nothing but a pair of lips and glimmering eyes. "coffee yes?"

"you have class in ten minutes."

a shrug. two backpacks lift and fall. "conveniently, i've forgotten for the next forty five minutes about that class. whoops."

you have to look away. his eyes are so earnest and he is so surprisingly silly when he's not spouting cheesy pickup lines and doing stupid poses in doorframes that you almost cannot handle to face the full onslaught of his expression. again, he asks, "coffee yes?"

you huff out a laugh. what did you have to lose, really? you'd been planning to drown in classwork for a while at the library. coffee would definitely be needed to survive that.

with an exaggerated sigh, you manage to stutter out a, "coffee yes," if only so you could see that smile on his mouth again. you were weak, too, in that regard.

and so you got coffee with the football boy, and again the next day, and suddenly it wasn't such a scary thought to hold the football boy's hand.

[frudoo]

Warnings: Explicit smut, explicit gore. Death. MDNI.

Johnny’s body is heavy on top of yours, but it’s a welcomed weight. Large hands engulf yours, intertwining fingers and pinning your arms above your head. He’s grounding, warm and solid but so gentle with you, like if he makes a wrong move you’ll split right in half. His lips are soft like cotton but his kisses are like sticky honey, a sweet, slow drip down your raw throat. All-consuming, he gives just as much as he takes, and oh, does he take. Every deliberate roll of his hips has you writhing beneath him and makes his own breath stutter. 

     “Johnny,” you whine, wrapping your legs around his waist and digging your ankles into the small of his back. 

     “Ah kno’, hen,” he grins lazily, rubbing the tip of his nose against the bridge of yours. “Fookin’- ye’re so fookin’ pretty. No’ gonna last much longer.” 

     Your hips buck up in sync with his quickening thrusts, still gentle but more desperate than seconds before. Your lover’s hands travel down to cup the roundness of your face, thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones as he leans down to lock lips with you once again. In response, you wrap your arms around his shoulders to keep him as close as possible, gasps and sighs ricocheting back and forth between both mouths. 

     “Joh-nny,” you hiccup his name once again, squeezing your eyes tightly shut as your orgasm crests, back arching violently until your fronts are practically glued together.

     “Aye- squeezin’ me s’fookin’ teit, bonnie,” if yours weren’t still closed, you would see the way his eyes are glossed over with tears. “Ah love ye s’much. S’fookin’ much.” 

     With a low whine, Johnny fills you up, flooding your body with satisfying warmth and undeniable euphoria. It’s bliss, and it’s therapeutic. It makes you feel alive again—the feeling is much needed after everything you’ve been through. 

     The Scotsman slowly pulls out of your warmth, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before rising from the bed to get a damp rag. The room is cool despite the heat radiating from your body, and it makes you shiver as you wait for his return. He comes back with a furrowed brow and downturned lips. 

     “What is it, Johnny?” You question him softly, spreading your legs to let him clean you up.

     “Almost time, hen. Ah’m worried aboot ye,” he sighs, gently pushing your knees together to let you know he’s finished his task. 

     “Oh,” you whisper, sitting up in the bed and pulling the covers over yourself. “Are they already…?” 

     “Aye, they’ve go’ him immobilized, bu’ they’re waitin’ on us tae start.”

     It’s quiet for a moment. You’re the one to break the silence.

     “I’m ready.”

     “Bon’, are ye sure? Ye dinnae handle this kinda thing well, an’-”

     “Johnny, I watched the sweetest little boy on the planet come into class bruised to all hell almost every day because of this piece of shit. I almost died thanks to him. I wanna watch him pay,” you explain, cupping your pretty boy’s face in your hands. 

    “Okay,” he nods, leaning in to nuzzle the tip of his nose against yours. “Promise me ye’ll tell us if ye ge’ scared, aye?”

     “I promise.”

     Johnny helps you get dressed and leads you back to the barn, where your other lovers have been anxiously waiting for you. They’ve gone maskless for this occasion. Kyle brightens up when he sees you, instantly rushing over to give both you and the Scot a kiss. You’re quick to notice the soft whimpers coming from the man’s hooded figure as Kyle ushers you to sit, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

     This is really happening.

     Simon is the first to speak. 

     “Gonna get started, lovie,” he mutters, nodding towards his other partners who follow him over to the man.

     John pulls off the hood covering the bastard’s head, throwing it aside. It hits the ground with a thud and a flurry of dirt rises in response. You gasp at the sight of him—beaten black and blue, knees bent inwards and eyes bloodshot. He looks every bit as shitty as he is, like he deserves. Maybe it’s because you weren’t there to watch the extent of the torture, but you don’t even feel sick. 

     “P-please, I’m sorry! Just don’t- don’t hurt me-”

     “Bit past tha’ point,” Kyle snarls, grabbing a fistful of the man’s hair and jerking his head in your direction. “Look at ‘er. Tha’ pretty face is gonna be the las’ one y’ever see.”

     “No, please, just let me go, I’ll- I won’t tell, I swear!”

     “Never heard tha’ one before,” Simon rolls his eyes, stepping behind the hanging man with a stick in his hands and bringing it up to his mouth. “Bite down. Nobody wants t'hear your whinin'.”

     “Love,” John steps up to Johnny, large hands enclosing around the sides of the Scot’s thick neck. “She was yours first. You get the honors.”

     Johnny grunts, shooting you a worried glance, but you just nod in reassurance. It’s all the confidence he needs to grab his chainsaw and rev it up. You take a sick pleasure in the muffled screams coming from behind the stick in the man’s mouth. You can only imagine the fear he feels right now is the same dread that poor Oliver suffered at the hands of his own father. The very hands that beat his innocent baby are now chained to the pulley that keeps his dangling body upright and still for his demise. A well-earned fate.

     It’s both far too fast and far too slow, the way the chainsaw penetrates his middle. Blood splatters across all four of your lovers’ bodies but they’re unfazed. It’s primal, it’s filthy, unhinged and disgusting. You’ve never seen the life leave someone’s eyes before, watched the very second their brain disconnects from their heart and effectively gives up. You’ve never watched somebody be cut in half or seen healthy organs, still warm, spill right from the source. 

     It becomes eerily quiet in the barn when Johnny stops the chainsaw, the sound of breathing and wet droplets of blood hitting the ground the only things audible.

     It’s over. The piece of shit who terrorized his wife, his baby, and tried to kill you is dead. You should feel something, whether it be fear or satisfaction.

     All you feel is numb.

[sheaabuttaababyy]

Pixie cut - Jey Uso

Jey x Camilla

Smut 18+

Wiping her sweaty hands on her outfit. Camilla sighed nervously as she sat at the kitchen table, hearing the front door unlock.

"Ayyy baeee. I’m back" Josh yelled as he walked through the door with two grocery bags.

His and Camilla’s dog Rocky quickly came barking in excitement jumping on his leg. "Hey buddy" he made his way towards the kitchen, placing the grocery bags on the counter.

Camilla stood up waiting for Josh to notice her, as he began taking out the items from the bags. "Oooh I can’t wait, to make this good food" he rubbed his hands together smiling.

"Ahem" she let out a noise so he could turn around and acknowledge her.

"Oh shit I think I forgot the onion powder"

"Ahemmm" Camilla coughed again getting a little annoyed.

"Ahh never minds it’s right here." he laughed taking it out the bag.

"Joshua!"

"Yeah babe" he turned around his eyes widening as he stared at his girlfriend. Taking in her new look. He never knew a pixie cut could look so Damn good on someone.

All the way from her beautiful body and how her pants and tube top clung onto her curves. How her gold bracelets, necklaces and earrings went so nicely with her gorgeous brown glowing skin. And now here she was adding a pixie cut to the Damn mix.

"Oh shit"

"Good oh shit? Or bad oh shit?" She asked chewing on her acrylics.

He broke out his trance walking up to her "Nah good definitely good. Damn mama you look so sexy, shit."

She smiled slightly as he pulled her into his arms cuffing her ass gripping it. "So you like it?" She questioned wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Like? Hell nah. I love it. you look so pretty. Damn mama you really tryna kill me" he spoke kissing all over her face. She giggled trying to pull away, but that made him only hold on her tighter as he continued.

"Okay okay, Joshua we gotta make dinner" she said as Joshua’s kisses went towards her neck.

"Mmm girl what’s that?" He stopped his kissing. Leaning forward sniffing her neck inhaling her sweet vanilla scent. Before kissing all over her again.

"Oh my god. Babee enough we need to start the food" she mushed his head back. Seeing how his eyes were dark and filled with lust.

"Fuck the food. I wanna you eat you." Camilla giggled stepping away from him. She kept her eyes on Josh taking off her light teal zip up, pushing her chest out a bit as she did.

His eyes dropped down to her breasts that were covered with a white tube top. Her pierced nipples poking through the thin material. He noticed that she changed her nipple rings to heart shaped ones that matched her belly ring.

He rubbed both his hands down his face, rubbing his jaw feeling his already hard dick getting even harder. "You really are tryna kill me Cam"

She giggled walking to the counter "no I’m not papa. But if you behave maybe you can have me for dessert" bending down she grabbed her ankles giving her ass a little shake.

"Definitely having you for dessert" He slapped her ass making her squeal.

As the two of them were making the food. Camilla would constantly find Josh staring at her with lustful eyes. He would randomly come up touching and kissing on her.

"Josh can u pass me the salt" He grabbed the salt walking behind her purposely pressing up against her ass.

"Boy Stawppp" she smiled as Josh leaned down kissing her right shoulder in slow lovingly kisses.

"We’re never gonna have this dinner done, if you keep doing that" She pushed him back with her butt, snatching the salt from him.

He groaned and starting punching the air. He’s been hard ever since he saw her with that new cut. He needed her right now.

Grabbing Camilla’s phone he unlocked it going in her photos app. He knew she would have hella pictures. She always did when she switched up her hair.

"Gahh Damn" he bit his lip swiping through each photo. She looked too damn fine. Selecting them all he sent every single photo to himself. "Yeahh these pictures mine now" he whispered to himself smiling.

"Boy whatchu doing on my phone?"

"Nothing just changing the song" he closed her photos app opening Spotify.

"Mhmm…right" she looked at him suspiciously before going back to making the mac n cheese.

Finding the song he wanted he placed the phone back down. Walking back to his girlfriend he wrapped his arms around her, singing in her ear.

"Wooooooooo ooooooohhhhhh. wooo woo woo waaaa wooooooohh" Camilla laughed out loud at his attempt of singing the intro of Fortunate by Maxwell.

"Baby I love you but don’t ever do that again" she laughed placing a peck on his lips.

After Josh and Camilla finished making their food. They ate before cleaning up everything going to the living room to watch a movie.

Baby boy was playing on the TV as Camilla’s back was leaning against the arm of the couch. Her feet was placed in Josh’s lap as he’s rubbed them.

Feeling eyes on her she turned her head seeing Josh wasn’t paying any attention to the movie. His eyes were fully focused on her.

"What?" She asked feeling shy slightly.

"Come here" he grabbed her waist placing her in his lap. Making her straddle him as her arms immediately went around his neck.

"You said if I behaved I can have you for dessert" his hands gripped the front of her tube top before ripping it open in one quick motion making Camilla gasp. "And I behaved mama"

Josh leaned down capturing one of her pierced nipples in his mouth. "Fuckkk Josh"

Camilla took off his backwards cap throwing it to the side. Running her fingers through his hair.

He released her nipple with a popping sound. Switching to the other one, Humming around it.

Camilla slowly started moving against his bulge. That was pressing tightly against her crotch. Grabbing his face she pulled him into a kiss.

Their tongues clashed as they sloppily made out. Her hips moving faster against him as they Moaned in each other mouth.

Pulling away Camilla stopped her movements getting up. She peeled her pants off from her thick thighs, as Josh took his shirt off, Along with his pants.

He pulled her back on him. His hand going to her pussy. "Mhmm you already wet and ready for daddy?" His fingers up and down her slit, before pushing two fingers into her. "I’m always wet for you" she moaned out from the fingering she was receiving.

He retrieved his hand, bringing it up to his mouth tasting her sweet juices. He hummed at the taste of her before kissing her again.

Grabbing the base of his dick Camilla guided it to her wet entrance. The couple let out a moan as she sunk onto his thick dick.

She bounced up and down on him. Her titties jumping up and down In his face, Clapping sounds filling the room each time she brought herself back down.

"Shit Cam. Your pussy so fucking wet ma" Josh took both of his hands giving Camilla’s ass two hard slaps.

Gripping her ass, he planted his feet flat against the ground lowering his body on couch. Raising his hips up he thrusted into Cam hard.

Her body jolted forward, eyes rolling back as Joshua was hitting that spot inside her deliciously. "Oooooh yessss. Fuck me like that."

"Like this?" Joshua got a better grip on her ass, spreading her ass cheeks apart. Going deeper in her.

"Yess yess yess" she chanted feeling herself coming close.

"Shittt baby I’m bout to fill you up." He moaned out. His thrusts speeding up a bit.

Josh pulled Camilla into a bear hug. Her chest flushed against his as his. Arms wrapped tightly around her waist, nuzzling his face right into her neck. Letting out loud moans in her ear, nibbling it.

Camilla pulled her head back putting her forehead to Josh’s. "Come with me papa. Pleasee" she whispered against his lips. "Im witchu mama. Im right there witchu."

Her mouth went wide. A high pitch gasp leaving her mouth. She felt herself coming all over Josh as he filled her up with his hot cum.

The two were hugged up in eachother’s arms. Lips kissing, as they both came down from their highs.

Josh grabbed under Camilla’s thighs lifting her up off his dick. His cum spilled out leaving a slight trail across his chest as he raised her up to sit on his face.

"What you doin- ohhh fuck" Cam tossed her head back, feeling Josh’s warm tongue lapping up at her pussy. That was filled with the mix of their cum.

Finishing their multiple rounds of lovemaking. Camilla laid on Josh. Her sweaty naked body on top of his, with her eyes were closed. listening to the sound of his heartbeat, as Josh doing something on his phone.

Feeling the bright light from Josh’s phone screen she opened her eyes trying to peek at what he was doing.

"Girl don’t be all up in my phone. Nosy" he turned it slightly away from her, making a mug form on her face.

"Tell your side hoes you busy right now" she said playfully making him laugh.

"Nah nah. They know the scheduled." he replied smirking down at her.

"Your such an asshole" she smacked his chest as he kissed her temple pulling her closer into him.

He put his phone down as the sound of buzzing constantly came from his phone.

"The fuck did you post?" Camilla asked lifting her head up a bit.

"Ion know" he shrugged a slight grin on his face.

Grabbing her own phone she unlocked it seeing multiple notifications on insta. Opening the app she saw Josh tag her in a post.

Uceyjucey✔️

Liked by Romanreigns, Trinityfatu, Jonathanfatu and others

Uceyjucey✔️ I usually don’t like sharing my baby cause I want her all to myself, But she looked too good I had to show y’all how lucky I am to have @Camilla_Moore

Trinityfatu OMG THE HAIRR!?!?! IT LOOKS SO GOOD

Faithmariee61 I don’t usually like pixies but she suits it sooo well Liked by Uceyjucey

Jadecargill sis ate that 🤩

Usofan769 oop not him being possessive ion blame him though she’s fineeee

Yeet_fan HE POSTED HER???? AND SHES FINE WTF Liked by Uceyjucey

Kayla_heart Heart been broke so many times I-I don’t know what to believe

Uso-juceyfan replied to Kayla_heart same girl same

Tally099 She’s soo pretty congratulations Liked by UceyJucey

She scrolled through comments a little more before putting her phone down smiling at her man.

"Your so sweet papa. I love you" she kissed his lips as he tugged her closer. "I love you more baby"

🏷taglist: @usoinked @mselenalovebug @theusotwinzcom @bloodlineslut @urbeez @luvrsluxe @trippinsorrows @catxo @whowrotethenote @uceyliyahh @adoreesun

[kimberbohwrites]

And now… my smutty follow up to the amazing @fic--writer Rolan fic:

The Archmage Must Get Married

(Click the link to read)

Thanks again to @fic--writer for writing the original and inspiring/giving me permission to write a NSFW follow up.

1,350 Words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ MDNI, P in V, Unprotected S*x (wrap it before you tap it!), and a healthy dose of fluff.

Rolan cast a locking spell on the office door as it slammed shut. No doubt Cal was running to tell Lia what he’d seen. But he couldn’t be bothered with that right now. Not when he had Tav sprawled out across his desk, little marks already blooming on her neck from where he’d sucked against her soft skin with too much fervor.

Her blouse was unbuttoned and Rolan’s robes had been discarded, but all modesty was still protected.

For now, Rolan thinks.

“Do you need to go after him?” Tav gasps breathlessly as she made to sit up.

“No.”

He says it firmly as he pushes her back down on his desk, the last of the parchment finally scattering to the ground.

She was honestly checking if he needed to see to his siblings right now. That was Tav, always so good. It’s one of the things that had always attracted him to her. It was irritating. But that was the best way to describe her,

“So attractive and so irritating”

He freezes with a jolt as he realizes he’s said that last part out loud. Tav’s face cracks into a wild smile as she bites her lips, clearly trying to stifle whatever surely infectious laughter is welling up.

“Hush you,” He hisses at her as he swats her side ever so lightly.

“Are you still mad about the table?” She smirks up at him as he climbs on top of the desk to draw himself over her.

“Mmmm”, His chest rumbles against her body as he thinks, “It was an expensive table, probably quite rare too.”

She leans up slightly to meet his face and kisses him softly, her eyes flutter open slowly to make eye contact with him when she says it.

“And if you’d shush you’ll find that I’m trying to pay you back.”

The distance between them closes quickly as their kisses verge on deep and desperate with an incendiary pace. His tongue presses into her mouth as his tail coils around her ankle possessively.

Between them both, he’s unsure who groans louder into the other’s mouth. The rush of knowing that his feelings are mutual is nothing short of elation.

Her fingers are loosening his undershirt from his pants with greedy little pulls on the fabric. Every time one of her fingertips slips and brushes against his bare skin, a thrill runs through his body like a powerful spell.

He needs more and he’s never been a particularly patient man.

Breaking their kiss quickly he sits up and pulls his undershirt off and over his horns, casting the garment off quickly and dipping back down to kiss Tav again. She seems to understand what he needs as her hands roam hungrily down his back and sides. The feeling of her touch alone has him half-hard as he presses his body against hers.

His hands slip under her clothes, eager for more of her cool skin under his fiery touch.

With no small amount of maneuvering, they shed the last of their clothing. She shivered where the desk must be quite cool against her skin, one of his hands slips under her to share a bit of warmth.

Leaning back to look in her eyes, he’s pleased to find the same question seems painted on her face.

“Rolan, are you sure? I was joking about paying you back for the desk,” she whispers and he forces his eyes to focus on her face and not the way her breasts heave with eager pants of want.

He can’t help but roll his eyes at her.

“I thought you were smarter than this,” He grits out in his trademark sarcastic tone, “Of course I want this, I want you… Unless…”

A sliver of doubt rises from within and ambushes his thoughts, he closes his eyes for a moment like it would banish the thought.

“Rolan, I just committed an act of arson for you,” She laughs and leans up to kiss him again, so soft and so sweet.

“Ah right, you started a fire for me”

He allows himself to be pulled deeper into the kiss, the panic fades just as fast as it had reared itself.

Before long their passionate make out renews and his hands eagerly explore her bare body. His fingers slip between them and down to her center, her groans when he finds her already wet and wanting.

She gasps his name into his mouth.

Careful of his claws, he strokes her gently as he coaxes the most sinful and saccharine sounds from her.

The little breaths of “please”, “Rolan”, and “gods” encourage him as he grows bolder — beginning to lick and suck at her neck. Better to leave her mouth free to make that sweet music just for him.

When she finishes, her nails dig into her back as she bows off the desk — screaming his name so loud he could only hope that shop had closed early for the day.

Her eyes are blown with lust and hazy when they open again and focus on his. A small blush rises on her cheeks.

“More?” He asks her as he tries to hide the nerves in his voice. Opting for a sexy and smooth tone if possible.

She bites her bottom lip and nods nervously.

“This isn’t how I was going to do this,” He says as he strokes his length a few times and positions himself between her legs, “I wanted it all to be perfect but now I find, I care very little about all that.”

Rolan grunts a little bit as the head of his cock catches on her entrance as he teases her.

“Rolan, please!” She sounds frustrated.

He angles his head in mock innocence and leans down to kiss her again with a grin.

Tav kisses hungrily up his jaw so her next words can be heard clearly.

“If you don’t fuck me right now I swear I’ll light this desk on fire next” She hisses out.

With a laugh and a kiss he pushes into her — the laugh quickly dissolving into a moan at the sensation. Her moans join his as he seats himself fully inside her. Tav pants as she adjusts to the feeling and Rolan strokes her cheek with the hand he’s not using to hold himself up.

His mind races and it’s all he can do not to fuck her into the desk. But this is Tav, he’s wanted and waited for her for so long, always too scared to hope — to dream of something like this. His reverie carries him off for a moment until he feels her shift under him. She leans up to suck on his neck, his free hand shifts down to grip her hip so hard he’s sure it will bruise.

“Tav” He hisses it out with eyes shut tight, his face is alight with pleasure.

“Please,” She whispers.

Her head drops back down to the desk when he begins to move, gritting his teeth as he works himself in and out with deep, measured strokes.

The once proud and dignified wizard crumbles under the sensations from her body.

“You… feel so…. perfect,” He grits out as his tail quivers and coils around her ankle.

Before long he’s increasing the speed, lifting one of her legs up to go deeper. His body pistons into hers as he attempts to swallow every sweet moan and whimper, she emits. He shifts and angles himself within her until those sounds turn to screams, her nails clawing into the desk under her as he drags his cock against that spot repeatedly.

She screams his name and power washes over him like a spell beyond his grasp. He feels her begin to tighten around him and it drags him to the edge he’s been fighting off, he panics that it’s too soon but his body is powerless against her.

Summoning the last of his strength he leans his forehead against hers, groaning as he angles deep strokes against the spot he knows will finish her.

“Tav, fuck,” He pants, “I love you.”

No more waiting for the perfect time, he’s not going to let her leave this spot without letting her know how much he cares.

To his great relief she doesn’t miss a beat.

“I love you too Rolan” she moans into his mouth.

At the same time he feels her clench up around his cock and a rush of warmth, her eyes nearly roll back as she comes, screaming out again around him.

He follows her right over the ledge, finishing deep within her as he legs locked around his back. His mouth drops open as he gasps and groans, grinding his hips against hers as he draws out their orgasms.

Rolan takes a last look at Tav before he flops down on to the desk next to her. She’s covered in love bites and blemishes from his rough grasp, her hair is a mess and her lips are swollen with kisses. Her eyes are barely open as she tries to stay awake, looking lovingly into his eyes.

She’s never looked more beautiful.

[chronically-ghosted]

to flame on, or just flame out

part ii of some days, you just can't get rid of a bomb

AO3 Link | series masterlist | main masterlist | marcus moreno masterlist

rating: explicit (18+)

pairing: marcus moreno x f!reader

word count: 7K

summary: can he fuck you without breaking every bone in your body? only time will tell - specifically the next five minutes because you need your hands on him. Now.

warnings: nearly 7k of just smut with just a twirling of plot because it's just more fun that way, icky gooey feelings like love (bleh!), marcus is a man who appreciates tits and i appreciate him for that, very very inappropriate use of electrical currents because behind those glasses lies a horny fucking freak, barry allen would be delighted by the use of the speedforce here, use of 'ma'am' because the voice of god told me so

a/n: all my time spent writing bad mcu fanfic has finally paid off. enjoy

"How do you want to start?"

Flummoxed. An unusual word, but categorically correct.

Marcus Moreno is flummoxed. He kneels between your thighs, his palms capping your knees. He can see how damp your thin shorts are at the cradle of your thighs and it makes his heart squeeze, hot desire dripping down his spine. What is he supposed to do with you?

Your toe against his elbow has him looking up. That smug grin makes him nervous and excited all at once.

"I think that's a question for you, big guy. You said you've thought about this. What do you do when you think about me?"

At that, Marcus chuckles. "Now I know we don't have time for all of that. At least," he runs his hands down your shins, "not tonight."

You know he's not trying to be distracting on purpose, but it stilts your breath all the same.

"We'll put in a pin in that for now," you huff as he rings your ankles with his fingers. "What do you want to do the most?"

But he's lost in thought again, the crest of anxiety breaking and spilling off his shoulders, as he examines the bones of your toes, the arch of your foot.

You know he needs this, so you wait.

"I'd like to touch you," he says slowly. "But you have to tell me when it's too much."

You nod, your heart thrumming in your throat.

From the flats of your feet, he pushes over your soft skin with flat of his palms. The knuckle of his thumb catching on your ankle bone. Then, the loose muscle of your calves, the planes of your shins. His hands grip underneath your knees and here he stops, incrementally increasing his pressure.

As always, that first flutter of pain translates to pleasure and you stifle a groan between your lips.

His gaze drifts to your face when the groan goes high into a whimper.

"Yeah, okay, there, Marcus, that's too much—,"

He releases you immediately. "Sorry." But you shake your head, reaching for him and grounding his hands onto your knees again.

"Don't—," you swallow against your dry throat, "don't stop. Keep going."

Marcus nods, that inquisitive gaze turning back to your thighs.

His fingers wander beneath the hem of your shorts, to the joint where your hips bend, dragging them inward until you feel the brush against your curly, coarse hair.

Your slow draw of breath notches up your spine. You're transfixed. His hands are so big, fingers so thick, able to span the complete breadth of your throat, you're sure of it. The sleeves of his sweater have ridden high to his elbows, exposing the flexing muscle of his forearms. They look solid, rigid in their restraint.

But his hands halt in their exploration down your body. Instead, they roam up, over your stomach, thumb briefly touching your belly button, the involuntary clench reaching all the way down between your legs.

"Not too hard?" he asks, voice low and distant, like he's asking because he is compelled, not because he's capable of listening to the answer.

You shake your head and his hands encapsulate your ribs, fingers sliding between your ribs. The hem of the sweatshirt obscures his movements from view, but not the heat of his hands.

The weight on your lungs makes it hard to breathe and you let out another soft moan. Your chest shudders and quicker than before, his hands cup the swells of your breast. He explored everything else, but knew exactly where to find what he was looking for. With a quiet gasp, you arch your spine into his hands, trying to meet his wild stare, but he won't look up. Won't look away.

"I dunno what I want," he mutters. "I've thought about fucking you while you wear my clothes and about fucking you when you are completely naked."

His thumb circles your nipple, meeting flesh with his nail on the second whirl, and you are so high, both in your head and out of it, your body throbbing for him, your gentle groan staggers into a chuckle.

"All the time in the world, remember, baby?" The spread of his hands over your chest is infinitely warmer than any heated blanket and you roll your cheek against the pillow beneath your head, drowsy with pleasure. Your arms are tucked under the pillow, stretching as open for him as you can go.

"Take this off."

You still haven't opened your eyes, but you grin anyway. "Made a decision, Sparky?"

"Yes." Heavy his voice sits in the bubbling pit of your stomach, the sound coarse, sand-speckled, thirsting for water, air — something. His voice is much closer that you remember it being, so you crack one eye open.

He hovers above you, his gaze nowhere else but you. All the breath leaves your lungs the moment you meet his eyes. Are other humans capable of this? This searing intensity that swallows up your ego and spits it out.

"Please take off your shirt," he repeats gently. "I want to fuck you naked."

You move and he's helping you pull it over your head, fumbling together. It flops to the floor and you move again, pleading silently that the press of your lips against his will settle the heat roaring in your chest —

But he sits back between your thighs and removes his glasses, neatly folding them onto your bedside table. He kneels again, in supplication.

"Show me." He says, just as softly, just as sweetly, but with all the vibrato of a rock slide. "Show me how you like to be touched."

There's a part of you that is wildly interested in voyeurism. Eyes on you at a distance, unable to feel your skin, as you take yourself apart.

But it's too much tonight. He's too much.

"Give me your hand."

"But I need —,"

"Give me your hand, Marcus. I trust you."

Without another word, he extends his hand towards you and you take it. His knuckles are dry, but his palm is warm. You drag your nails lightly over the thick vein on the back of his hand and static crackles. A light zap, but he's grinning.

"Tease." You mutter, a smile curling your lips up. You lean back fully against the pillows, your bottom inching closer to his knees. "Ready?"

He nods.

You thread mirror his right hand with your own as you both watch him cup your breast. Watch as the nipple tightens before you drag his thumb underneath it. With his nail, you catch the flint edge and nick the pink bumps.

"That —," you gasp. You're doing this to yourself, just using him, why is it driving you out of your mind? "I love that."

"You're sensitive there," he mutters to himself. "Gotta be careful."

"With your hands, Marcus, not your teeth."

His lips part, his gaze steady, direct. You wonder if he can see through your skin, your bones, your blood. The thought delights you.

"Okay."

You nod again, linking your fingers with his as you turn his hand down the slope of your body.

"I like it when you squeeze my hips. I like it when you hold my ribs. I like it when you make it difficult to breathe —,"

Your name out of his mouth is a stilted sigh, as if something sharp is jammed between his rips but he leans forward, ever vigilant, watching where and how you put his hand. You stop inches from the waistband of your shorts.

"Now, at this point, I want your shirt off too."

"Right now?" His gaze is a little unfocused, his cheeks pink. You think he doesn't even realize how hard he is breathing. You nod.

In a blink, his shirt is gone and his belt is unbuckled.

You frown. "That's cheating."

He seems impossibly wider without a shirt, his bare shoulders smattered with freckles. On anyone else, they'd probably be covered in scars. But he isn't anyone.

"I said I want to take my time with you. Nothing about me."

You can't reach high on his broad chest, so you lightly graze his tapered waist, the hint of abdominal muscles. When you reach the thatch of hair disappearing beyond the edge of his jeans, he groans.

"You're rusty, not a virgin," you giggle. "You shouldn't be this sensitive."

He huffs a laugh, his curls springing loose from behind his ears. "You have no idea."

"Then give me one."

Again, he looks at you like maybe he misheard. Or maybe you're not real. Or maybe you're going to disappear if he hold on too tight. You beckon him closer.

The bristles on his jaw tickle your hand when he bends to kiss you, your palm on his cheek. Slow, indulgent, rich kisses — against your mouth, just in front of your ear, your nose.

"How you feelin', Sparky?" Why is the sound of your voice so breathless still so surprising?

He nuzzles your cheek, tucking his nose beneath your jaw to turn your head and allow him full exposure to your throat.

"Good. Really good. I wanna keep going."

Oh, thank god.

"Do you still need to be shown?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Christ, Marcus —,"

Sometimes you wonder if this big-eyed, blinking innocence is just an act to get into girls' pants. Well, it's fucking flawless and fucking worked, to be entirely honest.

"C'mon, show me —,"

With a deep inhale that you know you will loose, you continue from where you left off; past the waistband of your shorts, the pads of his fingers ghosting over the coarse hair — a zip of static and you yelp — "I promise that wasn't me," he lies with a big giant grin on his stupidly gorgeous face — until he runs out of skin and you bend his fingers over your folds, into the wetness he made.

He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing, no longer needing your guidance to stroke up and down. You sigh with a roll of your hips.

"Are— are," he clears his throat. "Are you always this wet?"

"When you do it right, yes."

He groans, hanging his head. "I honestly don't know if I can go this slow every time."

"You don't have to be slow. You just have to be a-ah-attentive— Marcus!"

He's spread your folds apart with two fingers and is stroking the flat of his middle finger up, dipping into where you gently leak for him, through your wetness, and daringly close to your bundle of throbbing nerves.

Fuck, you almost forgot about that.

"Marcus, at the top, there's —,"

He hushes with a kiss, the barest hint of teeth. "I know what a clit is, baby. What do you like?"

Pleasure is bursting from where he touches, from between your legs, to where he holds your elbow to the mattress with his other hand.

Focused on every twitch in your face, every spasm of your throat, he watches and waits, cataloging you beneath him until he can recognize the signs with his eyes closed.

"Baby, tell me —,"

You tug his fingers from the plush of your cunt and press hard against your clit.

He doubts you mean for desperation to be so plain on your face. Lip trembling, sweat peaking across your forehead. Breath short, fast. He can hear your heart rumble with the force of a train.

"When I'm this close —,"

"You're close?"

"When I am close," you drop your eyes closed, steady his wrist, and grind against the pads of his fingers, "I just need —,"

He sees it and hoards it all away. The tremble of your thighs, the improbable bend of your spine. He thinks he sees your nostril twitch. You actually stop breathing —

It's either his name or a stunted scream that comes out of your mouth. He isn't sure which.

"Holy fuck, Marcus, that was . . ." You open your eyes to the closest thing to a smirk you've ever seen on his face.

"Good?"

"Excellent. And you didn't finger me into oblivion. I mean, you did, but no broken bones, or open wounds, so that's good — really, really, really good —,"

Pride blooms in his chest; he's usually the one babbling nonsense, and it's a sight to behold to watch you unable to shut your damn mouth because of him. Because of what he did to you.

He silences you with a kiss. Like you taught him.

That seems to ground you, settle you back into your body. When he opens his eyes, the expression on your face can only be described as gooey.

"Mhmm, hi there, Sparky."

"You okay?" He knows he's being smug but he just can't help it. This is going marvelously well.

"Very okay." You sigh, big, and he takes this moment to lick his fingers clean, watching you come back to yourself. Tangy, strong, he decides. He can't remember the last time he's tasted pussy.

"Can you take my shorts off?" You ask, watching him pluck his ring finger from his mouth. You lick your bottom lip. "They're . . . sticky."

He obliges and tosses the article of clothing away, but he remembers where they go. (In case, you fall asleep and he doesn't.)

Or at least, he tries to remember where your shorts fly. But you're naked, curls glossy, and that sight, those smells, that sound — it liqufies everything in his brain into a dribbling mess.

He is exceedingly gentle as he spreads your legs, mouth open, the tang of your release still wetting the corners of his lips.

And then your fingers smack his forehead.

"No."

"No?"

"Not tonight. If you'd just been honest with me after that night we went bowling and you'd already fucked my brains out, then who am I to stand in the way of a man and his meal?" He blinks slowly, gulping.

"Bowling? Wait — wait a second. Bowling, that was our first date."

"Exactly," you say smugly, "but you didn't, so I need those pants gone and you right up here."

You pat your low stomach, indicating exactly how deep you need him, and he goes a bit light-headed.

"Baby, I need more practice. I'm not sure I can completely control —,"

"But you did already."

"Yeah, once."

He hears your heartbeat pick up. "How many times can you come in one night, Marcus?"

"Um," he rubs the muscle at the back of his neck, "I don't know but I do know I lost count one time."

"Fuck," you sigh, sitting up, "you really are perfect."

He definitely can't control the rising heat in his cheeks. "I don't know about perfect—,"

You kiss him and he feels every fiber of his being strengthen. Beneath the smell of sex that he hopes has imprinted on his senses permanently, the rush of your perfume floods the air with every thrumb of blood in your neck.

You part from his lips, far too soon for his liking.

"Where's the easiest for you to control yourself?"

"Mhm, what?"

"Focus, Sparky." You tap his forehead again and he grins, distractedly. "In what position is it easiest for you to stop yourself from finishing?"

"Um," he tries to rattle the memories from his sex-sodden brain, but everything in there has turned to ooze. "Um, on my back?"

Your grin widens, your finger curling around a chunk of hair near his neck. He did good, whatever it was.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"Why?"

"Because I want to feel as close to you as possible for this first time."

Oh.

Oh.

"That's dangerously close to sentimental, ma'am." You loop your arms around his neck and rock back into the pillows, tugging him down with you. He holds himself up just on his elbows, close as he can be and still see you straight. His face hurts from smiling. "Never would have expected that from an intrepid reporter like yourself."

"Don't tell anyone, I think I'm losing my edge." He ducks his head, dropping slow, marked kisses against your neck and shoulder. You smile into his hair, nails gently scratching the skin below his neck. "This guy's got me all hot and bothered and I can't think straight around him."

He pauses with his mouth over your collarbone, then bites down just enough to make you gasp. You can't help but wonder how much harder he would have to bite to break the skin, or the bone, and how easy it might be for him. Like you tearing into an apple, you assume.

"Killing is strictly against my moral code, ma'am," he says mockingly stern, noses around his bite, already purpling. His fingers circle your shoulder. "But I think I might make an exception for this guy, who's got you all hot and bothered."

"Now who's got a conflict of interest?" You tease and he laughs into the hollow of your throat. Adjusting over you, he straightens up, face serious. You're only slightly distracted by the divots his hands make in your mattress.

"Answer me honestly." You nod. He's so beautiful when he makes himself soft for you. "Do you really trust me to do this? To keep you safe, e-e-even if that means from myself?"

Your quip is ready on your tongue, the ghost of a smirk inhabiting your lips, but the gravity of his gaze plucks your flippancy straight out of your mouth.

Is it strange, then, to feel so protective of an invincible man? A man who is literally bulletproof?

Is it love that makes you worry this much?

"Yes." You comb his unruly curls back from his face, allowing the silence to let your truth sink into him. "Yes, Marcus Moreno, I trust you with my whole life."

Every part of me.

Every part you can touch and even the ones you can't.

You'd give him the organ of your heart if you could.

His head falls in the grasp of your hands, the fingers that held his cheeks now near his eyes. You feel dampness on the tips of your thumbs.

He nods.

He once told you that before Missy came along, he had been made into a weapon. Something cruel and sharp, with precision and vuglar fragility. No matter how many times his wife assured him that that life was long in his past, that as a father and a husband he had proven his immense capacity for love and kindess over and over and over again.

But that feeling, that he is only — inevitably — capable of destruction, never quite went away, he had said.

You wonder if that is on his mind now.

Marcus drags himself, kneeling again, but you take his cheek before he's out of reach.

"Hey, Marcus —," he won't really look at you, so you grip his chin and turn his entire head towards you. A frightened animal looks down into your eyes. "You deserve this, Marcus. You deserve good things. You deserve l—,"

Your voice catches.

His bottom lip trembles.

"Say it. Please. I need to hear you say it."

The knot in your throat stings. "You deserve love, Marcus. You always have."

His nostrils flare. His body lined with tension. Those words aren't enough.

And?

That bruise, the one you didn't know existed, aches because it was put there by people who you'd given your heart to and they didn't deserve it. It was put there by your father, your mother long dead, and on your own it was left to fester. Rot. It's been killing something beneath your skin for decades.

Something has been killing you, hurting you, and you didn't even know it.

But he did.

He saw it, stopped it, and in every way possible, saved you. Without powers, without his strength, without his invincibility, he saved you.

In every way that matters, he saved you.

"Marcus, you idiot, you know that I love you—,"

The words had barely left your lips before he's swallowing them down, making you taste the sweetness of your confession as he licks it against your tongue. He has your wrists pinned against the pillow as if all he wants to feel is your wet mouth on his.

You nip the swell of his bottom lip between your teeth and that grip around your wrists tightens immeasurably.

"Marcus, be gentle —,"

He plucks himself off you, horror in his eyes. "I'm sorry, shit, I'm sorry —,"

The sting in your wrists can wait. The depth of wanting in your cunt and in your heart cannot.

You continue what he started.

You yank down the zipper completely with one hand, the other ready to push both his pants and shorts down the instant they're loose.

But he has gone still above you. This means more begging, ("baby, slow down—") or he'll stop you entirely.

It's only when you see the coarse hair that you realize he hasn't done anything at all.

Glancing up at him, you worry you've pushed him too fast and he's uncomfortable or shy or — maybe he's not ready for any of this and you cruely made him do it anyway, or you — or —

"Don't stop."

It's a kind of begging, you think. Raw, unfiltered, wild — but begging all the same. His hands join yours as you shuffle his pants off together. He's breathing rapidly and you wonder, just for a second, what it would be like if he did lose control.

You lean back into the pillows, a delicious viewpoint, as his cock bobs up against his stomach. You think you may hear fabric tearing but that might just be your deranged imagination.

God, every inch of him is perfect.

He's not as long as his god-like physique might suggest, but wow, he is thick.

"When I said I'm up for any challenge, I think I underestimated you."

Marcus blushes all the way down to his navel.

His hand twitches at his side like he's thinking about covering himself, so once again, you take his hand and lead him where he's mean to go. Where you hope he'll stay for hours tonight: between your thighs.

"Oh, wait."

He takes the covers up to his shoulders before lowering himself down onto you. He seems very intent on a freckle on your neck.

"I heard it's hard for women to orgasm when their feet are cold, so I thought . . ."

You giggle like this is your first time. "You said 'orgasm'."

This time, he's the one rolling his eyes. "What are you, fourteen?"

"No, but you're trembling like you are."

"Oh. Shit, you're right. I don't mean to be."

You take his knuckles between your fingers and press light kisses in the valleys between his bones, being sure to watch him watch you the whole time. You can feel the quick pulse of his chest, his lungs snipping in air.

"Marcus." It really is warm and lovely with the comforter covering you both. The unspooling of your mind, your anxieties, your fears and anger, brought on from being touched like this — being loved like this — is already starting. Your hand on his face settles him, like you're the one who is an immovable object. Maybe you're his unstoppable force. "Marcus, the only way you could break me, or hurt me, is if you ever left me. You can't hurt me like this, okay?"

"O-okay."

"We can go as slow as you want like this. If you're close, tell me and we can switch. I'll go slow too, so you don't—,"

He chuckles, back arched, hand down between his legs. You pull your legs up and far apart, your own pulse quickening, and on the first try, he finds your hole.

Forgotten how to fuck — bullshit.

"I don't want to g-go slow just for my benefit," even with your release still coating your folds, slick as can be, he's still a lot to take. He grunts and drops his head against your temple. Another inch and you grab the curve of his broad shoulder. So full already, fuck, can you choke from being this full? "I want — relax a bit, baby, there you go — I want to fuck you slow so I can feel you. And I swear to Christ, I'll make it good for you."

There's no coherent words you can make, only gurgles and sighs. A laugh against the soft skin of your neck is strained, tightly wound.

"Baby, you can't squeeze me like that the whole time. I can't fucking move when you're doing that."

Speech somehow returns to you and you fling out your words in a gasp. "Fuck, Marcus, okay, I'm trying —,"

You've never been submerged like this. Stuffed full. His body, extended like a blanket over you, is nearly suffocating. And you like that, usually, but you know your body is panicking. Rammed this full of his cock and it thinks you're dying. And fuck, what a way to go . . .

Something in your lower body uncouples and your legs go loose. Miraculously, you can breathe again, despite feeling like his cock is somewhere around your guts.

"There you go," he murmurs. You can barely make it out he's so quiet.

You open your eyes and sensation nearly buckles you again. Marcus holds himself above you, gaze fixated on your face, and he's gently stroking your clit.

Oh. That's what that was.

You breathe out, slowly, deeply and he grins.

"Like a fuckin' bear trap down there . . ." He wets his lips, then sucks his teeth. Before you are even remotely aware of what he's doing, spit drops in a thick glob right above your pussy. He smears his own spit against your clit with his thumb and you shoot towards your peak.

"Saw that in a porno once," he mutters vaguely. "Wasn't sure if I'd like that but shit . . ."

"Please, please move, Marcus."

He blinks at you like he's surprised to see your face beneath him. "Yeah. Y-yeah. Okay. Tell me if you need me to stop."

He rocks into you and your sanity is tilted off its axis.

You can feel every inch, every slick push and pull, hear every slippery suck from between your legs. Just him being inside you has made you boneless — the best you can do is to hold on.

You chant his name, over and over and over again, his back muscles flexing beneath your flat palms, his shoulders solid beneath the roll of his hips. The bed rocks and you're pulled under.

"Open your eyes," he says. Groaning your eyes flutter open just as his thumb slides into your mouth, a reward. He compresses against your tongue and this time your eyes stay open.

Marcus is red-faced and grunting, but he stays true to his word; he goes slow. This helps, but only enough for you to find a grip around the hair near the nap of his neck and tug.

He shudders, burying his face into your throat. The next two thrusts are a beat faster and it's like you can prick your fingers on the edge of your bottomless finish. You hold him tighter to you, your legs curling up around his sides, knees pressing into his ribs. His ear is pink near your mouth.

"Faster, a little faster, please —,"

The bed officially starts to creak. His hand goes against the headboard, roughly pushing into it instead of your pussy or your throat. You claw at his forearm and he moans, long and loud.

Pleasure spins hot and fast from where his cock splits you apart, desire dancing like fireworks in your veins. Sweat drips from his throat onto your sternum and you wish he'd lick it up. The heat from the friction of your wet skin against his has reached a boiling point.

You release the grip on his bicep, register the thudding sound as the bed beating against the wall behind you, and slide your fingers under his open palm on the mattress. Half-aware you have basically put your hand in a disposal if anything goes wrong, you intertwine your fingers and squeeze as hard as you can.

Like you touched a sensitive area, Marcus groans and you feel teeth in the wet tendons of your neck.

Yes, yes, Marcus, bite me. Bruise me. Do it.

The pounding has dulled to crunching and you cannot fathom what that means for your headboard, but you nose his cheek — the bed is swaying now — and immediately he drops wet, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses onto whereever he can reach without faltering in his rthyme.

His hair smells divine, in spite of the dripping sweat and twisted grip you have on his curls.

You're set to burst.

"Marcus," you gasp, "please, I'm gonna come!"

"I know,"he whines, muffled against your throat. "I can feel it — don't hold back, baby, come for me—,"

One thrust, then another, a loud cracking sound above your head, and you gush — all over the insides of your thighs, up over your mound, against his stomach — screaming, rent apart, spilling, dripping, release like the salty breach of an ocean wave, and pleasure so infinite you can't find your body.

He makes a noise like he's been scalded, hips jerking back and out of you, cock already coated cream, and just as he escapes you, hot viscosity erupts against the curve of your ass, between the creases of your thighs, splashing and soaking your bedsheets, down to the mattress.

His subsequent whine is one of surprise and Marcus tries to lift himself up off you, but his entire arm shakes violently. He is also soft as a rabbit.

"S-sorry — I know I said — more than once — but I think —," he blinks rapidly, trying to clear the spinning, pinwheeling, neon shapes in front of his eyes, "I think I just blacked out for a second —,"

You shake your head, mouth dry, sweat and come and tears making your skin glisten.

"Don't— don't care —" you flap a loose hand at him, beckoning him back down. "Just — c'mere."

He tucks his head against your right cheek because he's pretty sure there's his come on the other.

"Just — for a second — we gotta —,"

His lungs are on fire. His head is swimming. His fucking fingers are tingling. You could have told him right now that the sky was green and he would have agreed.

"Yeah, just, just for a second, baby—,"

You're already asleep and never one to disagree with you, he follows you soon after.

You wake up to warm sunlight and a low rumbling.

Your dryer, thudding away in the minuscule laundry room off your kitchen. You, no, someone started a load of laundry.

The drowsy ache in your limbs suggests a night of cheap, box wine, but there's no headache. No puffy eyes. You don't remember drinking last night. In fact, you made it a point not to drink your break-up sorrows away because there hadn't been an actual break up —

You bolt upright. "Marcus!"

The sun in your eyes is from the open window in your living room. You are not wearing the sweatshirt or bottoms you were wearing last night, but where is he?

Everything is out of sync. Maybe you're still dreaming. What the fuck is happening and where is —

"MARCUS!"

"Sorry, yeah, I'm right here."

A large bundle of your bed sheets answers you from the hallway to your bedroom. Am I having a stroke?

He pats down the pillows and his sparkling brown eyes meet yours. He grins, waving with his fingers.

"Sorry, I wanted to be next to you when you woke up, but I couldn't in good conscious let your bedroom stay like that —,"

"What happened to my bedroom?"

The grin slides off his face. "You don't remember?"

Oh, you remember. You remember everything he said and did to you last night, and even if you didn't, that little monster between your legs definitely does. You spot a hickey on his neck and your pussy stirs. No, bad girl.

"Marcus, I know we slept together last night and it was by far the best sex I've ever had in my entire existence, but what the fuck happened to my bedroom?"

Taken entirely by surprise, he doesn't try to stop you as you wind your way towards your room.

"Best sex of your life — ever? Oh, wait, no, don't go in there. It's kinda —,"

It would have been cleaner if a bomb had gone off.

The plaster above the bed is cracked along the wall, indented and splitting where the headboard used to be. The headboard itself has been snapped in two, splinters poking out, and your entire bed caves inward, the mattress bare, as if the base had collapsed. Your metal alarm clock is stuck halfway in the wall across the room and the mirror over your dresser is shattered, its metal frame crunched and mangled. And perhaps, most surprising of it all, all of your jewelry floats against the ceiling, the metal slowly churning as if beneath an ocean current.

"— Messy."

"Yep. That just about covers it," you reply, still staring at your jewelry twirling feet above your head. He must see what you're looking at because they start to shimmer, then swirl as if sucked down a drain, where they all float neatly into your jewelry box that had been tipped on its side. Marcus closes the box with his hand and tries with some dignity to straighten it amongst the glass shards on your dresser.

"Sorry, I'm anxious and doing that helped me think all of this through."

The tone of his voice taps on the surface of your silent shock.

You don't like how he sounds at all, because it sounds like he's decided something. Something you're fairly certain you won't like.

He opens his mouth and you have your fingers pressed against lips before a single sound escapes.

"Before you fall gallantly on your sword, you need to know last night was the best night of my life." His mustache tickles your fingers, but you press on. "I love you, Marcus, so goddamn much, I hated waking up alone this morning." His eyes flash but you shake your head. "No, listen to me. I meant what I said, everything in this house is replaceable. I didn't think we'd put most of it to the test in one night but — buuut, listen, Marcus, you can't get rid of me. I'd buy a thousand more beds and dressers and mirrors before I might decide it's not worth being with you. But I won't. Ever. This is it for me, Sparky. All of my love, for you. If you want it."

He huffs against the pads of your fingers, a smile splitting across his face. He takes you by the wrist and raises his eyebrow.

May I?

You nod and he pulls his mouth free. Adoration, joy — you hope you don't need super strength to carry the weight of his gaze.

"Of course, I want it, baby." He hums. "I want all of you. Every part of you. But . . . this doesn't scare you?"

He glances helpless around the room and you take the chance to curl up to his chest. The sweet smell of his cologne is grounding, a tree taken root.

"Actually," you murmur into his throat, "I find it kinda hot."

He laughs in a way that means you know he's blushing, if you could see him. He presses gently to your lower back, his arm wrapping around you and tucking you in even tighter. He really meant it — he wants, and must have, all of you. You loop your middle finger around in a circle on his shirt.

"I'd find it even hotter if you went with me to find a replacement bed."

"You just want me there to carry it up the stairs for —," Marcus goes stiff. You pull out of his arms, frowning.

"What? What's wrong?"

Something passes over his eyes and he swallows, another decision made with finality.

"Don't buy another bed. I'll just break it again."

You roll your eyes. "Wow, what a super ego. Okay, then Sparky. What do you expect me to do? Sleep on my couch?"

"No." His gaze slips to yours as easily his hand slips between your fingers. "Move in with me."

No laugh. No punchline. But that was never Marcus's style. He never, ever did things without being intensely genuine.

"You're serious?"

"Of course, I am. I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't. Besides, this way, you won't ever wake up alone again."

As if he held a tuning fork to your skin, something inside of you ripples, expands, tries to stifle your breathing. But it only brings tears to your eyes.

"And Missy, your daughter," you sniff wetly, "she won't have a problem with it? With a complete stranger taking up room in her dad's bed?"

"One, I don't think an eleven year old actually understands what adults do in bed, much less share one." He spots something on the floor and picks it up. It's his glasses. The lenses are cracked, most of the glass missing entirely in one eye, and the frame is bent to hell. Marcus frowns. "And two, she was the one who suggested you live with us in the first place. Guess she was getting sick of all of our late nights."

With the flick of his finger against the frame, the rest of the glass shatters and spills out to the floor.

"And she knows . . ." you inhale, knowing he's inspecting his broken glasses so diligently for your benefit entirely. "And she knows I'm not trying to replace her mom. Right?"

That gets his attention. Clearly, that's not what he expected you to have reservations about. You let the silent tears roll down your cheeks as he holds you by the hands. You should get an award for this. Do they make Pulitzer's for not completely breaking down in front of your absolutely perfect boyfriend?

"What we had with Isabelle was a family." Fondly, he follows the line of your hair down your temple, twisting loose hair around his finger once before guiding it back behind your ear. To your immense surprise, he smiles. "What we could have together, with Missy, is just another family. That's all she wants and that's all I want. But what do you want, baby?"

"I want —,"

An all-too familiar siren. A faint spotlight fighting through the sun's rays. He holds you firm, frowning, a silent countdown going off in his head.

"Go, hero," you nod with your chin towards the window. But you're smiling. "Duty calls."

"But you matter more —,"

"No, I don't. And that's okay. That's probably better even. Gives me time to try to put this place back together. But honestly," your gaze flickers to the large cracked seam in the wall, "it seems unlikely I'll get my deposit back. Especially since I'm breaking my lease."

The hairs on your cheek and neck flutter, static humming in the air.

"Your deposit — you mean —?"

You laugh in his bewildered face, string him along by his sleeve and push him towards the door. "Go, get out of here. Someone needs you to save them."

And you already got me.

He touches your door frame and swings back around, as if you hadn't been shoving with all your might.

"So, when I come back home tonight — to my home, for clarification — you'll be —,"

"I'll be there, Sparky." Forget powers. His smile alone could outshine the sun. "Just come back to us, okay? All in once piece."

There's a bristle of electrical charge against your lips, a white noise buzzing in your ear, and he's gone.

Okay, now you're going to do the superhero girlfriend thing — you touch your lips and smile, glancing out into the sunlight.

It's not until you unload your first drawer — with only a little dusting of plaster crumbles in between your bra and your socks that you clear away with a rough shake — when that whisper of white noise stabilizes between the bones behind your ears.

I'll see you soon, my Chrysanthemum. I'm coming home to you.

series masterlist | part i | the end!

[lsunstreakerl]

everyone say thank you to anon, who knew better but sent the ask anyways. this is on you.

Max is curled up in the motorhome pack room, legs tangled with Natalie's, tucked under GP's arm. Callum is snoring against his side, and Johnathan has just stepped in, glasses pushed high on his forehead.

He looks startled for a moment before crouching near Max, meeting his eyes. Max doesn't like the way he's looking at him- all soft and concerned and shit.

"Feeling okay?"

Everyone keeps asking him that- Max must reek.

He shrugs, not dislodging from GP's side. GP makes a soft hum, releasing more of his scent, soft lavender and chamomile. Max relaxes despite his best efforts, even though he knows it's GP's pup scent, the same one he uses on his kids when they're stressed.

Knowing that fact unfortunately doesn't make it any less effective.

Johnathan rests a hand on his ankle, and he's pushing his own scent too, trying to drown out whatever sad stressed omega scent Max must be projecting.

He'd offered to wear scent patches when he'd stepped in, not wanting to disrupt the balance of the room, but Natalie and Callum had looked mortally offended at the concept, so Max has been stinking up the whole room with his stupid feelings instead.

It's not even-

It's stupid.

The whole thing is stupid.

Still.

"Am I a bad omega?"

He doesn't even really mean to say it- regrets it as soon as the words are out of his mouth, because he can feel GP's chest rattle with his soft growl next to him, and Johnathan's scent sours. Natalie snarls across from him, and the room is all spiced notes and metal, because Max has really gone and fucked it now, pissed everyone off.

GP's scent settles first, because he's the best at handling Max's weird questions and mood swings.

"Why would you think that?"

He still sounds pissed, incredulous and defensive. Max curls in on himself, and if his scent wasn't bad before, it's terrible now.

"It is not- I am not upset, of course, I know I am not very good at it-"

Another soft snarl across the room.

"It is just- Seb was so proud to show around Charles and Sergey today, and-"

His words get stuck in his throat somewhere. Charles he could maybe understand- he's an alpha, he's going to be far more entrenched in the drivers pack than a beta. Sergey though- Sergey is a beta, just like everyone thinks Max is, and Max doesn't understand what makes them so different.

He knows that most cultures have a respect for omegas. They're a vital part of a community and pack, and some cultures even honor them. Just because it wasn't what Max wanted for himself doesn't mean he can't recognize their importance, and it's not-

It's not like he wants to be fucking- treasured or something, but- he doesn't understand.

He doesn't get why Sergey is worth more. Seb had never-

Max has been pretty firmly categorized outside of the drivers pack. Seb wants nothing to do with him, and Lewis won't speak to him, and Nico is gone, the only other person who'd known Max was an omega before the whole airport fiasco.

Daniel knows, but Max had begged him not to say anything- even thought he'd been furious with the pack over it when he found out.

Max doesn't want to strain Daniel's relationship with the pack, he knows how important it is to have pack. He certainly doesn't want them butting heads over him.

Still- things between Daniel and the others are strained, Max can tell. He feels terrible about it.

He's pulled out of his thoughts when GP pushes his scent again, starting up a soothing rumble. He's pretty sure this is how pups are handled, but he wouldn't know, so he's going to let the mild humiliation slide.

GP's scent has an approving note when Max settles back into his side, and Johnathan finds space in the nest to lounge with his book, but he keeps a reassuring hand on Max's ankle.

"You're not a bad omega, Max."

It calms something in Max's chest, hearing GP say it out loud. Natalie's scent is still sharp and bitter when she leans forward.

"Sebastian is just an incompetent asshole who couldn't tell his head from his ass with a map- it's absolutely not your fault."

"Nat."

Johnathon's tone is chastising, but Max has to hide his grin. Natalie winks at him before tapping her foot against his, a silent show of support. She's one of Max's first (and only) omega friends- has been trying to teach him how to nest. He's not very good at it.

He leans his head against GP's chest, listening to his heartbeat against his soft rumble. It makes something low in his throat hitch, like he wants to respond, but he doesn't know how.

GP wraps his arm tighter, hand coming up gently at the back of his neck, hovering.

"Okay?"

His voice is soft, and he's asking permission, because this- it's new for them, something GP had initially done by accident. Max is still young enough for scruffing to work, and they've found that it's helpful for pulling him out of his head.

He gives a small nod, and GP's hand comes down, grasping the back of his neck firmly as he grips, and Max goes limp, head finally quiet.

It's nice to not have to worry about his limbs, or what he's doing. GP takes care of that. He's immediately half asleep, and between the scruffing and the rumble and scenting, surrounded by his own makeshift pack-

Max feels safe here, eyes drifting shut.

it's me, the anon that brought up teen max asking for help with his sim rig and getting laughed at. and NOW I am picturing that with omegaverse pack dynamics. imagine years later seb proudly talking about showing charles or another young driver the ropes of the pack and all max can think is 'why didn't anyone do that for me?'

if I have to suffer with these thoughts then so does everyone else

- 🎮

why do you have to do this every time what is with you and the suffering-

[noyzinerd]

Imagining a sterek soulmark AU, where the first thing you hear your soulmate say is tattooed on your body, but Derek is full-shifted when Stiles hears his 'first words', so Stiles' soulmark just says

"AWOOOOOO!!!~"

Meanwhile, Derek's soulmark would be an equally unhelpful:

"WUAH!!!"

From Stiles' undignified shriek due to suddenly being face-to-face with a fucking wild wolf.

[fingertipsmp3]

Another thing that’s happening is my ankle decided to grow a bone spur. So that’s fun

[gojoscinnamonroll]

mdni under the cut •

best friend! sukuna who sneaks into your room through your window uninvited as you’re watching some random comedy show in the middle of the night to “hang out”.

(well.. actually, he isn’t your best friend. he’s really your boyfriend, but your parents don’t approve of your relationship with him, so you have to keep things secret.)

best friend! sukuna who scares you by slamming your window open and jumping in with a “what’s up idiot” as you jolted in your bed and gave him a piercing glare.

“sukuna! what on earth are you doing!!” exasperating and clutching your chest as if you were about to have a heart attack. “if my parents hear or see you here, its game over for the both of us.”

best friend! sukuna who honestly does not care because you’re his girlfriend so he will simply come see you whenever he pleases. and in this time of the night, he needs you right now. “oh nothing too crazy” he looks at his nails with a teasing smirk, “just wanted to see how my little brat is doing that’s all.” as he walks over to your plushie filled, silk, comfy bed and takes a seat.

best friend! sukuna who pretends to be interested in whatever show you’re currently watching as he slides his huge and veiny hands up your thighs and into your pajama shorts.

you began protesting, “kuna, we could be caught this isn’t a good i-“ your breath hitched as he starts rubbing circles with his thumb over your clit.

“lock the door then girl.” rolling his eyes.

best friend! sukuna who pushes your shorts to the side, revealing your pretty puffy folds to his enamored eyes and licks a long stripe down your slit, making you slightly whimper— teasing you with his tongue and middle finger until he softly grabs you by the ankles and tells you to get face down ass up for him.

best friend! sukuna who pumps his thick cock a few times before slowly pushing himself into your sopping wet cunt and letting out a low groan. he’s thrusting in and out of you being careful at first, so that your parents don’t suspect anything, but the way you were gripping around his monstrous dick had him going insane and began fucking into you deeper, teasing your g-spot.

“su- mmph fuck!” becoming cock drunk off of him, tongue lolling out, eyes rolling into the back of your head. and your sly little boyfriend — best friend knowing what exactly you like and how to make you feel good, kept thrusting all the way into you to make you moan as loud as you can on purpose then taunting you, “shhh, you wouldn’t your father to know his sweet little girl is getting her guts rearranged by the boy she’s not supposed to be messing around with, now would you?” devilish grin creeping onto his lips.

best friend! sukuna who’s favorite thing is fucking you dumb on his cock to the point you’re seeing white and can’t conjecture a single thought, but still littering sweet praises in your ear such as, “you’re such a good girl, taking this dick mhm”, “fuck! you’re so tight for me.” “you feel so good gripping around me like that.”

best friend! sukuna who shoots ropes of hot cum into you just as you come undone on him still inside of you, legs beginning to shake. “oh hoho, silly girl… i’m not done with you just yet.” laying you down on your back to stuff his mess back into you with his still hardened length.

best friend! sukuna who loves fucking you full of his seed as he looks into your eyes while he’s on top and cupping your cheeks as lewd noises come from beneath you both.

best friend! sukuna who milks you of everything you got, on the brink of crying from overstimulation and how hard you were about to orgasm. “c- i’m gonna cummmm ‘kuna!”

best friend! sukuna who licks the shell of your ear and leave open mouthed kisses on your jaw as he tells you to let go and cum all over his cock like the filthy slut good girl that you are.

best friend! sukuna who cleans you up with a towel he got from your closet and leaves sweet, loving kisses on your temples as you two cuddle and fall asleep together in each other’s arms in your bed.

best friend! sukuna who wakes up at 6am to leave before your parents wake up and gives you a goodbye/good morning kiss before he exits through your window.

best friend! sukuna and you who thought you two were slick and pretty sure that your parents wouldn’t suspect anything ever happened the previous night.

until you walk into the kitchen for breakfast to your parents asking what all the noise was coming from your room last night and asking where the marks on your neck came from.

oops…

likes + reblogs appreciated <3 please don't steal/copy/modify my works!

[egglain]

Choso is everyone’s favourite boy. Even your mom’s, which is saying something. Always the gentleman, he’s so in tune with your needs and emotions— he’s a sensitive soul.

In public, he’s perfect. Holds your bags when you shop, opens doors, and always has his card out before you can think to find your wallet. He’s great at grounding you, making sure you stop for food and drinks. And Choso loves to share. He doesn’t care about stares you receive as his fork flies over your plates to give you a bite of his order.

At home, he helps you with your shoes, makes sure you park yourself on the couch while he takes care of putting things away. Even though he’s still getting the hang of cooking, you never go to bed hungry— even if it means ordering in with a movie.

He really is the sweetest.

Outside the bedroom.

explicit content under the cut. 18+, mdni.

Behind closed doors, Choso is a different creature.

Depraved doesn’t even begin to cover it.

It never starts out that way, of course— no, it’s always wholesome at the beginning. Falling asleep, Choso pulls you closer to his chest as his leg wraps over your hip. It’s an innocent gesture, cuddling in as you begin to drift off.

That is, until he starts rutting up against you.

How could he not? Your smell, your body against him, your sleepy mumbles of endearment— he couldn’t help himself.

Which is how you end up with your bottoms around your ankles and his wet, pulsing cock twitching between your thighs.

He’d hump them messily, hands fondling your chest and nipples, bringing himself to the edge before stopping to kiss you.

He loved playing this game— getting himself close just to pull away, until his legs were shaking with need and his cock was so hard and heavy it hurt.

By then, of course, he’d be too far gone.

“Just the tip— please. Please, baby— just— just the tip and I’ll stop.”

Squeezing his balls and jerking his base just a little too rough, he’d babble for it. Beg. Beg until his eyes were stinging with tears, until you were reaching down to spread yourself open for him.

One nudge of his soaked, throbbing head against your too-hot hole would have him seeing stars. Toes curling and sharp teeth sinking into your shoulder, he’d paint you white between grunts and whines.

“Fuck— wasted it— needs to go inside. Need to be inside. Please.”

Which is how you end up pinned under him, Choso drilling you into the pillows as he desperately tries to fuck his cum inside.

Your hissed gasps and choked-off moans have his cock leaking like a faucet; he slips out too many times to count, but he’s nothing if not determined. He fucks into your tight little hole with unparalleled speed, the slap of his balls against your ass sure to brand your skin.

He’s never satisfied, finishing like this— as stuffed as you are.

No, he needs to see you.

So, you’re wrangled onto your back, Choso’s shaking form above you as he slides home once more. He nestles his cock as deep as he can reach, tears falling from the overstimulation. His cock feels raw, weeping and burning from the incessant pounding, but he can’t stop his hips.

Poor thing.

Nothing gets him harder than this— your lips on his cheeks, kissing away his tears and cooing as his tip stirs your insides. Your legs around his waist, your nails clawing at his back, the feeling of your chest against his— it’s all too much.

He’d cum crying, shaking as his hips stutter, fucking his cum deep inside.

He’d fall asleep like that, plugging his seed inside you, trembling in your grasp.

You’d wake up to strong hands on your thighs, tongue prodding at your insides as he cleans you up.

“Thank you— thank you—“

Muffled into your skin, you can barely make out what he says.

But of course, you already know.

He’s your sweet boy, after all.

[pacofprunes]

let me help ya’ relax.

thanos / player 230 x reader (squid game)

warnings — noncon, public (voyeurism), tears, kissing, use of the word bitch, use of the word rape, pussy kissing, choking, slight / barely but manhandling,

by clicking read more you consent to reading this content and you are 18+

“hey beautiful.”

“the hell?”

standing right in front of you, or rather over you, player 230. it was night and everyone was asleep or sitting in a corner somewhere. you didn’t know this guy besides seeing him the first two games and seeing him act like a fucking lunatic. you sit up and gather yourself.

“what do you want?”

“oh you know, just wanted to talk to a pretty girl.”

he does a cheeky smile. you stare. what do you even say to that. thank you i guess…?

“uh—”

“no need to thank me, it’s what i do. just such a great fucking guy right?”

he picks at the cross on his neck before pulling a pill out and holds it out to you.

“you use?”

“what?”

“drugs. do you do drugs? or have you done them before?”

how the fuck did he manage to bring his shit in here for one, and for two; why the hell is he more worried about doing drugs rather than living. that’d be the last thing you’d be thinking about.

“no. i dont do them and i dont have any interest in that.”

he does a fake pouty face.

“come on babe, loosen up ya’know? don’t wanna stress your pretty little face out.”

he pops the pill in his own mouth. where was this guy going with this? he clearly wants to stay here, hence the big blue ‘O’ on his jacket. so if he’s bored he should go talk to the people on his side. how the hell could you relax watching people you’ve gotten close to or even have just spoke to once die? meanwhile this dudes been jumping around having the time of his life while he’s been here. if this game ended tomorrow, he’d join it again a million times over. or maybe he wouldn’t but the drugs in his system sure as hell would.

“yeah, no… i appreciate your kindness but i don’t even know you and i think i’m just gonna lay back down.”

he grabs your hand and starts shaking it aggressively.

“my names thanos, it’s great to meet you! now you know who i am.”

he smiles again. you just stare. that’s not how it works at all. you could tell he was waiting for you to introduce yourself but you just brush it off and tell him again you’re going to lay back down. before you go to turn over and lay though, he grabs your face with both of his hands and presses your lips together into a deep kiss. he holds you there for a good while, and it felt like you were suffocating.

“what the fucks wrong with you?”

“baby, you could be my new drug! change that ‘X’ into an ‘O’, we’d be absolutely unstoppable!”

“this is real life you idiot, not some fucking video game!”

you slap his hand away from you and try telling him to get lost, but he just grabs your wrist and pushes you back onto your bed. you yell at him to get the fuck off of you but he just presses a finger up to your mouth hushing you.

“sex is a great way to relieve stress. just let me make you feel good. don’t be too loud though, unless you want the others to see us. but by all means, do it. it’s only going to make me harder.”

he laughed and winked at you. you suck the air through your teeth and he still holds onto your left wrist with one of his hands while letting the other one push at his chest. you’re more cautious with your voice level now and in a whisper you try again to get him to go.

“i don’t want to have sex with you, can you just go? go jack off in the corner or mess with literally any other girl here!”

he ignores you for the time being and goes to push your pants down, but with your free hand you grab his hand to stop him.

“gee babe, how sweet of you to wanna hold my hand! but uh, i kinda need it to get to the fun part.”

he ignores your hand continuing to grab at his, not proving to be much use at all besides annoying him. he pushes your pants down, and then your panties to your ankles; acting as sort of some form of restraint. it would prove to be somewhat more difficult to kick at him now as your footing would get caught in the pant legs. he sits up off of your chest finally and starts to pull his pants and boxers off. you wanted to scream at him so badly to get off of you, to scream for some help, but you knew nobody would and all they’d do was watch. it wasn’t anybody’s problem and they weren’t going to make it theirs.

he cups your sex and starts rubbing circles at your tiny little hole to get you all soaked and ready for him. he leans down and he kisses it. he was literally about to start making out with your fucking pussy.

you squeezed your eyes shut and a couple tears come sliding down. god, first you’re in this game that seems normal, then people around you start getting shot, nobody wants to go home, and now you’re getting rapped by some crazy ass drug addict that calls himself fucking thanos. thanos! you’re pulled out of your thoughts when you feel his thumb on your face and him wiping your tears. you slightly open your eyes and he kisses you again. this time with your free hand you push as hard as you can at his face. he moves back and he makes an ‘ow’ face and rubs his forehead. he grabs your used to be free wrist and just pushes it to your side and holds it there.

“it’s always the prettiest bitches that play fucking hard to get.”

he lines up his cock with your somewhat wet hole. he maybe would’ve spent a little more time prepping you but you just ticked him off and he wasn’t going to help you anymore than he already has.

“it’s alright, i’ll have screaming my name and this whole place will know it by the time we’re done baby!”

oh god you were gonna be sick. you feel the sudden intrusion and you immediately tense. biting your lip back from screaming and shaking your head, tears flying left and right. you try to bend and claw your fingers at his hands that are holding yours down but it proves to be futile. you yell at him, while still keeping your voice down to stop and that he’s gotten enough and that he should go.

“agh—please—”

“please? you—fuck’—you want me to please keep going? well you don’t have to tell me that, i was already going to!”

he keeps a fast pace going, and the bed might as well of slid off of the shitty bars it was being held up on. everybody sleeping above you could definitely feel the whole thing moving. you try to fish your legs out of your pants legs to at least have some sort of way of pushing him away but it proves to be slightly harder than you thought.

“fuck babe—you feel so—fuck- so fucking good.”

he sucks the air through his teeth breathing heavy, while you’re doing the opposite and holding your breath.

“god you’re so tight, and you’re so — m’- so hot. i wish i could feel every inch of your — agh - you’re body but you’re too much of a fucking bitch, so i gotta keep ya’ still.”

he stops at an in thrust and moves his face down to yours, causing his cock to go deeper in you and causing you to bite back a moan and squeeze your eyes shut. he presses his forehead to yours, your sweat causing them to almost stick together. he whispers to you while keeping perfect eye contact.

“but you’re my fucking bitch right? you’ll be my dumbed out little whore, baby. should get a tattoo on ya’ that says thanos’s bitch.”

he laughs, now moving down to your neck, starting to kiss all over it. leaving sweet marks all over as he starts thrusting into you again. you just feel his heavy hot breath against your neck and you just stare up at the bars above you and hold in the choked up sob threatening to come out. you feel his cock tense in you, threatening to shoot his load out and your eyes widen. he starts thrusting harder. he lets go of both your wrists and before you can even breathe out, relieved from the slightest bit of less pressure, he wraps both his hands around your throat and looks you in the eyes the whole entire time.

“come on bab — fuckk’- babe. look at me pleas- come on, watch how good you — you make me feel.”

you start to scratch at his his hands and his arms. he’d most definitely be marked up all over by the morning. finding it increasingly more difficult to breathe. you finally decide to look him in the eyes, sending him a pleading look to stop and to quit choking you, your face slowly starting to turn a shade of blue. upon your eyes looking at him, seeing those teary orbs and pleading face, it sends him over the edge. he sends a curse your way before he surprisingly pulls out, his load going all over the bed. he lets go of your neck and pulls up his boxers, falling on top of you. his weight making it hard for you to completely catch your breath. you start to choke and hiccup on your own tears before he looks up at you and strokes his hand across your face, catching a few tears in his hand.

“i told you it wouldn’t be bad at all. don’t you feel a little more at ease now? are you prepared for the games tomorrow?”

not at all. was he fucking delusional? he lays his head back on your chest, looking up at you like a child, and rubs his hands up your sides.

“tomorrow when we vote, you better change to an ‘O’. wouldn’t want my pretty girl to betray me after all.”

he does a fake pout at the end of that. you go to sit up to pull your pants back up but he stops you.

“uhm, allow me. wouldn’t want you to do any hard labor! i’ll take care of it all for ya.’”

he pulls your panties and your pants up and sits up off of you, getting his own pants situated. he grabs your hand and presses a kiss to the top of it, looking at you in your eyes with a smile, your eyes still watering. and you send a glare his way.

“ouch babe! you hurt me here.”

he smacks his chest a couple times where his heart was.

“i’d stay here and sleep with you, but my friends will want a piece of you too if they find out that’s what i did tonight.”

you shudder at the thought of that.

“but dont worry. i’ll see you tomorrow. i’ll see ya at breakfast, yeah?”

he pulls you in for one long kiss and you push him away and he almost falls into the next bed over. he grabs at his heart again dramatically.

“ugh, i don’t wanna leave you. we’ll talk tomorrow though, kay? maybe have some more fun too.”

he winks at you again before turning over his shoulder and literally skipping away, running with his arms in the air and his hands in fists. you just hug your knees, crying into them, and now more than ever you wanted to go home. god this was so fucked. you just wanted to go to the bathroom and wash all over yourself but you knew they wouldn’t let you in. you just keep a tight grip around your knees, trying to find some sort of solace while you’re stuck here.

[not-neverland06]

Hey! Your writing is amazing! I’ve been checking daily for new fics lmao

I was wondering if your requests were open would you be able to write some angst with a happy ending w/ Peanut?

Perhaps a Shy!Reader who has flirty banter with Logan. They’re on a mission and Logan has to make a quick decision on who to save — Reader or Jean and he saves Jean without thinking. Reader ends up surviving with a few injuries but her and Logan’s relationship starts to deteriorate. Logan’s not good with verbal apologies so he does acts of service — bringing reader food/drinks etc. reader is stubborn and Logan starts to get frustrated. He eventually proves himself to reader.

I’m sorry if this is confusing!! I’m not creative enough to write it myself and you’re really really skilled. Love your work x

a/n: I read this request and then read them together and my brain imploded because I loved it so much, no smut in this one Summary: Logan saves Jean on a mission and it's the wake-up call you desperately needed to understand that you will never be her. You can't stand to look at him anymore and he doesn't understand why you've stopped talking to him.

“What’re you thinking of doing after this?”

You shrug, leaning back on the uncomfortable bench seats and looking over at Logan. “Not sure, got any plans?”

Logan smirks and you immediately know whatever he’s about to say is going to send you spiraling. “Yeah, whatever you’re doing, sweetheart.”

Oh. My. God!

You know you’ve got it bad when something as simple as that has you swooning. It’s so easy to fall into this routine with him, to pretend you’re more suave than you actually are. Despite your usual tendency to fade into the background, you find it nearly impossible to do with him. 

Where someone else might let you stay quiet and go ignored, he seeks you out. He makes you feel seen and heard. Some days you don’t know if you appreciate it or despise it. You laugh a little, trying to hide just how affected by him you are. “Sounds good, Lo.”

He smiles and leans back on the seat, his arm coming around the back to rest lightly over your shoulders. You can tell from the look on Storm’s face that she’s trying not to laugh at you. You can’t blame her, you’re sure your eyes have tripled in size and you look absolutely stunned. 

Flirting isn’t out of the usual for you and him. Lately, though, he’s upped the game. Touching you more than usual, spending more one-on-one time together. You can feel it all building up to something. You’re shy, not stupid, you know when a guy’s going to ask you out. 

But it feels like he’s dragging it out longer than necessary like he’s enjoying teasing you a little too much.  “Alright,” Scott stands up and moves towards the back of the jet. “We’re almost there, get ready.”

You, very reluctantly, pull away from Logan and get to your feet. He walks past you, briefly squeezing your hand before joining Scott by the ramp. You grin, flexing your hand by your side and trying to memorize the feeling. 

The ramp lowers to the ground and Scott and Logan lead the way out. You’re expecting this to be simple. Stake out the area, find some information about the people running the warehouse, and figure out what exactly it is that they’ve been doing. 

The air is bursting with moisture. It’s suffocating, how humid it is, how it makes the material of your suit cling to your skin. You know the rest of the team can feel it. That it’s irritating them just as much. 

None of you want to be out here in the peak of summer, trying to be stealthy in these ridiculous costumes. Your thighs squeak every time they rub together. It’s beyond embarrassing. You know that that’s what has you all distracted. 

You’re struggling through ankle-deep mud and sweating buckets. So none of you are paying any particular attention to the area around you. Technically, you shouldn’t have to, you’re still about a mile out from where you need to be. 

You duck, hands coming up to cover your ears as Charles’ voice screams through your mind. It’s a trap!

Even with the warning, there’s no time to prepare. The ground around you explodes, grass and dirt flying through the air. Logan grabs your arm, he shoves himself in front of you and takes the brunt of the bullets. Splatters of blood hits your cheeks and he runs you both behind a tree for cover. 

The other three have all found their own cover and they’re struggling to figure out where the shots are coming from. You spot something in the underbrush and scream, “Behind you!”

It’s more of a warning to duck than it is to move. You throw your hands up, shoving the man away from them and sending him flying into the trunk of a tree. You swear you can hear the snap of his spine as it hits the bark. 

You look to Jean and nod towards the small clearing of trees. “Don’t,” Logan warns. But you’re already slipping out of his grip and solidifying the air in front of you. It provides enough of a cover, absorbing the bullets, and giving you all time to figure out a plan of attack. 

Jean moves beside you, eyes narrowing on the perimeter of your cover. “There are too many of them, more than I can count.” 

“How did they know we were coming?” Scott snaps, keeping an eye on the area behind you. 

Your arms struggle under the weight of your power. The more bullets they shoot into your cover, the harder it is to keep up. You’re forced to absorb their energy, push it out tenfold to try and keep the blockage solidified. 

“Guys,” you snap, “we need a plan. I can’t hold it much longer.” You grit your teeth, taking a step forward to try and push against the strain. It does nothing but make your bones ache. Logan shoots you a concerned glance, coming up behind you like he wants to take the weight off your shoulders. But there’s nothing he can do. 

There’s movement behind you, a boot snapping a twig in two. You can’t risk looking back but you can hear the worry in Jean’s voice. “Ten of them-”

You can tell by the sounds of their movement that the others don’t give her much of a chance to finish. Ororo, Scott, and Logan all shoot forward to deal with the threat. Ten isn’t much to worry about. But that doesn’t change the fact that the men in front of you haven’t let up and you’re about to weep from the weight of keeping the wall up. 

Jean stays beside you, brows furrowed in concern. She places her hand on your shoulder and closes her eyes. A second later you feel something like a cool blanket laid over you. The tension in your arms and core eases just enough for you to stop clenching your jaw so hard. Some of the strain eases away and you know she’s sharing it with you. 

But just as quickly as the relief was given, it’s yanked away. Jean jumps back with a gasp, “Flux, we need to move!”

“I can’t,” you shout, fighting to be heard over the sound of bloodshed and gunshots going off in front of and behind you. The others are steadily moving through the people surrounding you, but their numbers are still overwhelming. “It’ll all come crashing down,” you tell her. 

She glances towards the bullets, finally spotting the way they’re slowly, but steadily, moving through the thickened air. The second you let go you’ll be riddled with holes. “Shit,” she hisses. “Look, we can’t stay here much longer-”

She’s cut off by a loud bang. You’re so disoriented by the noise your hands drop to your sides. At the same moment, you hear wood splintering and cracking beside you. What has to be the largest tree in the forest creaks before it begins its descent down towards you both. 

You don’t what happened, or what they used, but it doesn’t matter. The wall in front of you is fading. You have seconds to get out of the way of the bullets and the tree, you’re not sure either of you is going to make it. 

“Jean!” There’s a flash of brown hair and Jean’s being tackled to the ground, safely out of the way of the tree and bullets. You feel something stinging against your shoulder and know the first bullet’s made its way through. 

You also see the tree is almost over top of you. You’ve always been a fight response in flight or fight scenarios. But when there’s nothing to fight, when you have nothing to go up against, you freeze. It’s horrible, you know it, but there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Even as you’re desperately screaming at yourself to just fucking move, all you can do is watch as the tree topples down on top of you. “Flux, duck!” The words trigger something in your brain just soon enough to drop to the ground. 

Scott releases a red beam, blasting through the tree and knocking it off course. You don’t even register the smell of burning flesh as you lay in the mud. Your blood is rushing so fast in your veins, there’s so much adrenaline pumping through you, you can’t focus on anything except the sound of your heartbeat. 

You let out a breath of relief, slowly lifting yourself up to your knees. You don’t hear any more fighting and you figure whoever they hadn’t taken down before, the beam took care of the rest. 

You look down, checking yourself for any bullet holes or serious damage but you can’t find anything. Something warm trickles down your shoulder, it drips across your arm and down your hand. 

You look at the blood curiously, it seems to steady a flow from the simple bullet graze you’d had earlier. “Oh my god,” Jean whispers your name and you turn around with a concerned look. 

You want to ask her what’s wrong but your eyes are trained on the way Logan’s arms are bracketing her. He’s practically on top of her, only now getting up to check on you. You get it, it was a stressful situation, he acted fast. 

But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow the lump in your throat. It doesn’t ease the burn of betrayal. He saved her, not you. He chose her even though she doesn’t want him. The anger you’re feeling only makes it harder to be aware of your surroundings. 

It’s not until Scott kneels behind you a presses a gentle hand against your back that you lurch forward with a loud cry. The pain slams down on you all at once. The wind blowing gently against your back feels like someone’s dug razor blades in your skin and ripped. 

Feet rush towards you, someone kneeling beside you and grabbing your shoulders. Logan forces you up and makes you look at him before his gaze turns to your back. “What the fuck did you do?” He practically growls, lunging towards Scott. 

He grabs him by the collar and shoves him into the dirt. Ororo and Jean leap forward, trying unsuccessfully to rip him off. You try and keep your eyes open, try and stay focused. The pain is too much, you don’t want to be awake for this anymore. Every nerve on your back feels like it’s being forcefully exposed and plucked at. 

Your brain forces a shutdown and you slump into the mud, the world going black. 

When you wake up, you’re on your stomach. You’re a little dazed, not fully remembering how you got here. You try and sit up but there’s a steady grip around your wrists stopping you. “Don’t move,” Jean warns from somewhere behind you. 

You try and look for her but you can’t move much. Your head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, stuck to the pillow beneath you. “What happened? Why can’t I move?”

Her shoes appear in front of you and then she’s kneeling down, a slightly worried look on her face. “We needed to make sure you didn’t roll over in your sleep.” Her brows crinkle and she frowns, “You don’t remember?” You shake your head minutely. She sighs, lifting her hand to your face and pressing her chilled fingers to your temple. 

The images rush towards you. You see it all from her eyes. The way Logan had grabbed her and thrown her to the ground, checking over her and not once looking at you. How Scott had tried to stop the tree from breaking your spine. His beam had just barely grazed your back as you had ducked. But it was enough for there to be serious damage. 

Through her view, you can see the way your skin had bubbled up and blistered. How horribly damaged it was. You have limited healing abilities, but it was enough to stop the nerves from being permanently damaged. 

She lets you go and you groan, the pain slowly registering in your brain. It’s dulled and you don’t know if they’ve given you drugs or if your abilities are still working to help you. “How’s Scott?” 

She chuckles and shakes her head while she undoes the restraints around your wrist. “He feels awful. He keeps coming by to check on you.”

The thought of him sitting beside you while you were strapped down to the bed makes you feel a little bad. It wasn’t his fault, he’d helped you. It was more than Logan had done for you. 

You frown, hating yourself for being bitter. If he hadn’t helped, Jean might not be here next to you. He had saved your friend. The thought didn’t bring much comfort, though. “I’m not mad at him.”

Jean eases you onto your knees and slowly helps you sit up. It causes minimal pain, but it’s still uncomfortable enough to grit your teeth and dig your nails into your palms. “I know, but he’ll probably be coming down here a lot to check on you.”

You almost ask her if anyone else has visited. If Logan had, but you don’t think her answer would make you feel any better. “He did,” she tells you and you click your tongue in irritation. 

“Out of my head,” you warn. She releases you with a small grin. “I don’t care,” you tell her, trying to appear nonchalant. 

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing on you. “Yes, you do. And I don’t need telepathy to know.” She walks towards your IV bag, fiddling around with something on the line. “He was here whenever he could be, practically lived beside you.”

“Don’t care,” you tell her again, but there’s less conviction this time. 

Jean frowns and you hate how guilty she looks. It’s not her fault he’s desperately in love with her and not you. You can’t force someone to love you or choose you. And you don’t want to. You want someone to love you for who you are, not because they couldn’t have their first choice. 

“Don’t,” you say lowly. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.”

She doesn’t get a chance to say anything before the door bursts open, both Logan and Scott sliding into your room. Scott lets out a relieved breath when he sees you. He breathes out your name and approaches with a guilty smile, “You’re awake.”

“Charles told us,” Logan informs. You offer him a brief glance before diverting your attention to Scott. 

Petty, you’re aware. But you don’t want to see Logan right now. You’d put so much effort and time into your friendship with him. It doesn’t even matter if he doesn’t feel the same way about you. You two are best friends, and he didn’t even try to help you when you needed him the most. 

So, you smile at Scott. You forgive him and you tell him you're fine. You chat with him and Jean while Logan just stares at you from the other side of your bed. You can’t make yourself face him. You don’t want to look at him, it makes you sick to your stomach.

Eventually, Scott’s guilt is slightly assuaged and he and Jean leave for the night. Logan is a heavy presence beside you, one you no longer can ignore. You shift around, pretending to fluff your pillows until he grabs your hand. 

“What’re you doing?”

You look at his hand and then at him. Whatever look is on your face is enough for him to release you and back off. “Getting comfortable,” you spit out, more venom in your voice than necessary. Something clicks for him, you can see it as it happens. 

He backs up and narrows his eyes down at you. “Right.” He frowns and sucks on his teeth, nodding his head silently. “I’ll come back when you’re feeling a little better.” You don’t miss the hidden dig underneath it all, the way he’s calling out you’re unusual behavior. 

“I think that’d be best.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, slamming the door behind him as he leaves. You jump at the noise and it makes you hiss as a twinge of pain shoots down your spine. You feel slightly guilty about the whole interaction. Then, you remember the way he’d been cradling Jean and you feel slightly vindicated. 

You’re sure he doesn’t even give a shit. He’s probably pouting in his room, wishing Jean was in bed beside him. 

What the fuck?

It’s all that’s been playing through Logan’s head since he returned from your room in the medbay. He’s waited days for you to wake up, so he can finally take a breath and let go of the anxiety that’s been plaguing him. 

He’d thought that he’d lost you in that forest. When he’d gone for Jean, he’d assumed you’d just be able to use your powers to knock the tree out of your path. Or make it melt around you. 

Honestly, he can’t put a finger on what exactly he was thinking. But he knew that you could protect yourself and that would be your priority. So he’d moved without really thinking and grabbed the person who would be collateral damage if your powers went haywire. 

And then you hadn’t saved yourself and all he could smell was your burning flesh. The smell has been stuck in his nose since you were brought back to the mansion. He can’t escape it. Everywhere he goes, he sees you burning and hears your screams. 

He’d thought that you were dead and there was a moment where he genuinely was so lost he could do nothing but watch as the others swarmed you. He couldn’t move, couldn’t help you. He could only stare at your still body and pray to anybody who could hear him that you weren’t dead. 

He didn’t know what he would do if he lost you before he ever got a chance to love you. 

He’d, irritatingly, imagined all the different ways he would finally tell you how he felt when you woke up. He’d prepared himself for every possible reaction, except this one. He hadn’t expected you to reject him before he ever got the chance to confess. 

Anger stews within him as he paces through his room. He knows that it’s unfair to be upset with you. You’d gone through something horrific and there had been doubts about your recovery. Of course, you’d act off. 

Except, you only seemed to be directing that at him. Had you been just as dismissive to Scott, the person who actually hurt you, he would have looked past it. He’s tempted to go back down and see you again, maybe try and make you see some sense. 

Instead, he decides to give you both some time to calm down. He doesn’t want to do anything he might regret while he’s pissed off. He’ll see you tomorrow and, hopefully, you’ll be back to normal. 

You’d thought Logan might have gotten the hint with how you behaved earlier. That was not the case. He’s back today and you can smell the breakfast food he’s brought you. The smell is wafting deliciously from an inconspicuous brown bag. 

But you know it’s from the restaurant that’s twenty minutes out of his way. You’re not petty enough that you can’t appreciate the forty-minute round trip he’d taken for you, but you still aren’t excited to see him. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles at you despite your clearly hostile energy. He tugs the chair towards your bed, ripping open the bag and pulling out enough food for the both of you. 

You think it should be considered a form of manipulation to call you that while you’re pissed at him. He has such a clear effect on you. You know he’s aware of it. He knows that when he calls you something sweet like that it makes your heart race and stomach flip. 

You turn your gaze towards your blanket. You pretend the thread pattern is the most interesting thing in the world so you don’t have to look at him. You’re sick of giving your all to men who couldn’t care less about you. 

You’re tired of being the second, third, fourth choice. You want someone to choose you first for once. And you genuinely thought Logan would be the man to do that. But he’d chosen Jean. You should have known. 

“Alright,” he huffs, crossing his arms and glaring at you. You’re pissed off that he’s acting like he’s the one who was hurt. “What the hell is your problem? You’ve never been this mad at me before.”

It’s his tone of voice that really grates on you. He genuinely does not understand what he’s done wrong. He doesn’t even comprehend the possibility that you might be mad he left you to die. Have you really become such a doormat?

Yes, you’re shy and generally reserved with the people you meet. But he is so different. You two met and it was an instant connection that you thought was reciprocated. You hadn't realized that you'd become so complacent in the relationship he thought he could get away with something like this with no repercussions. 

“You left me to die,” you snap at him, voice taking a pitch it never has before. You’ve never truly gotten angry at him. Pissed off sometimes when he teased you a little too much. But you’d never plainly shown anger at him. “You fucking left me behind and expect me to, what,” you scoff and shove the food back towards him. 

“You think some shitty breakfast is going to fix this?” His face contorts. It screws up into something like hurt and you worry you might have been too harsh. He doesn’t know how you feel about him. He doesn’t know that this would hurt you so bad. 

But, it doesn’t matter. You’re still his friend. You should have at least warranted a little concern. 

Just as quickly as it appeared, the hurt is washed away by his own anger. “I thought you could take care of yourself. Isn’t that what you’re always bitching at us about?”

If you weren’t so upset you might find it funny how quickly the two of you turned on each other. Clearly, there was something repressed between the two of you. Some brewing resentment that neither of you had ever acknowledged. The words are coming quickly now, without thought.

“Fuck you, Logan,” you snap back at him. “You didn’t give a shit whether I lived or died. You only cared about your precious Jean.” You spit out her name with so much venom it stings as it leaves your tongue. 

He laughs, getting out of his chair. He shakes his head and glares at you. His anger is always a physical thing. You know he’s pacing so he doesn’t do something worse, like destroy the entirety of the room. 

“That’s what this is, you’re jealous? Don’t blame your fucking incompetence on me.” You hate the way he’s speaking to you. Like you’re a little girl who's incapable of understanding even the most basic of concepts. He has such a patronizing look on his face, you want nothing more than to wipe it off. 

The tables beside you tremble, the vases of flowers rattling against the wood. “I’m your friend, Logan. You could at least pretend like you cared about me.”

He leans against the end of the bed, tilting himself forward until he’s aggressively imposing your space. You shrink back against the pillows, narrowing your eyes in disdain. “Don’t fucking pull that shit with me. I knew that your priority would be to save yourself and I acted accordingly. This wasn’t some goddamn ploy to get into Jean’s pants. Grow the fuck up, Flux!”

You flinch back at the volume of his voice. Unwillingly, tears pool in the corners of your eyes. It’s an involuntary response. Sometimes you just get so enraged that you have no other way to get rid of it than to cry. It’s infuriating to see the moment someone stops taking you seriously and starts to think you’re nothing more than a crybaby. 

Logan’s face pales and he winces, backing away from you. “I didn’t-”

“Enough,” you stop him, voice thick with unshed tears. He never calls you by your X-men name, it’s an unspoken agreement between the two of you. That’s a formality reserved for the other members. To each other, you’re nothing more than two people who care deeply for one another. 

Or, you had been. Before this one moment had blown your life and your back up. 

“I appreciate how much faith you have in my abilities, but the fact that your first instinct wasn’t even to protect me says a lot.” You take in a deep breath and shake your head. “Thanks for the breakfast, but can you please just leave?”

He looks like he doesn’t want to. You know he doesn’t want to leave. You two never fight like this. Even if there wasn’t a lot said, it’s still not normal for you. Maybe that should have been your first hint that things weren’t what you thought. 

It’s healthy to fight, to a certain extent. Sometimes it's needed. You two never have before and you know it’s just been brewing for a while, waiting to blow up. “I-”

“Get out,” you shout, and the tables beside you finally crumble under the weight of your emotions. They drip to the ground in an inorganic form of liquid wood. “Shit,” you hiss, glancing over at them. You wave your hand and they return to their normal state, but it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have lost control at all. 

The door slams and you look up to find the room empty. You sink back against your bed and run your hands over your face. You ignore the way the skin of your back screams in protest. 

You embrace the pain, the fiery shocks running up your nerves as the bandages chafe against the wounds. You focus on that instead of how things have ended with Logan. You always had such high hopes that he might be the one you finally man up and confess to. 

You should have known you were wrong. You should have known that it would never have ended with him picking you over her. 

You’re permitted to leave the medbay the next day. You don’t see or hear from Logan for the following week. You can’t confirm if he’s purposefully avoiding you or not but you have to believe he is. You both live in the same hall. You don’t know how it’s possible to have gone this long without even catching a slight glimpse of him. 

You force yourself to suffocate the part of you that misses him. You picture the side of yourself that longs for his presence and imagine shoving a pillow over her face. You don’t want to ache and cry over someone who doesn’t give two shits about you. 

You keep reminding yourself over and over again that when things got rough he showed you his true colors. But it’s more difficult than you imagined to just completely disregard so much history with him. 

Besides, you hadn’t realized just how little you interacted with the others until Logan was out of your daily life. It’s so difficult for you to bond with people that when you’d connected with Logan you’d latched onto him. 

It’s a little pathetic, honestly. Being grown and eating lunch alone because you only had one friend. You wonder if your feelings for him were genuine or born from a desperation not to be alone. You don’t let yourself linger on the question for long. 

It’s as your training with the students that you finally see him again. 

“Has he made much progress yet?”

Jean shakes her head and purses her lips. She watches as Billy, one of the newer students, struggles with the logs in front of him. He was a firestarter, a very inexperienced one who had only ever set his curtains on fire. 

His powers were more focused on the mental aspect of things rather than the physical. Which is why you and Jean were in charge of helping him. He couldn’t start anything on his own, he only really seemed to be able to activate the ability when he was emotionally stimulated. 

That meant whenever he was mad or sad, or anything in between, everyone in a fifty-foot radius was in danger. He was a risk to the other students and you were both trying to be gentle with him. But you’d been working with him for so long and there was so little progress. It felt like he wasn’t trying sometimes. 

He’d asked Rogue out a week ago and when she’d said no, her hair had caught on fire. You know he could have been hurt and lashed out without thought or malice behind it. But you’d seen the look in his eye. 

You’re fifty percent sure he knows exactly what he’s doing. This little act he puts on is just to get himself out of trouble. You hadn’t brought the issue to Charles yet because you’re trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“Billy,” you call out. His head whips up and he sends you a vicious glare. You can’t help the sneer on your lips. “Just take a deep breath and try again. There’s nothing wrong with struggling, we all did.”

You put on your normal teacher voice, calm and collected. Assuring. But the little shit in front of you isn’t buying it for a second. He gives you a sarcastic little grin, “Right. Sorry, I forgot you’re a fuck-up just like me.”

“Billy!” Jean snaps, taking a step forward to reprimand him. She doesn’t get far before there’s a fireball shooting out of his palms and hurtling towards the both of you. 

There’s no chance to react before something slams into your side and is tossing you to the ground. Your head nearly snaps against the grass but there’s a hand underneath your skull softening the blow. 

You smell something smoking and look up to see a large scorch mark right where you’d just been. Jean’s standing over it, palm outstretched as she keeps the fire subdued. She gives you a worried look, “Are you okay?”

Surprisingly, yes. You glance up to see Logan hovering over you. He backs off when he notices you’re okay, getting to his knees and offering you a hand. Wordlessly, you slip your palm into his and let him help you into a sitting position. 

“You alright,” his hand hovers over your shoulder like he wants to pull you closer. But he resists, backing off and waiting for your answer. You nod your head, still a little dazed from the failed assassination attempt. 

He narrows his eyes, searching your face for any sign of head trauma. When he’s properly assured you’re okay he jumps to his feet. “Billy!” His voice booms across the courtyard and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen that little asshole scared. 

He’s barely on his feet before Logan is stalking towards him, jerking him forward by the scruff of his neck and dragging him towards the mansion. “We need to have a little talk,” the tone of his voice has you a little scared and you’re not even the one he’s mad at. 

Jean walks towards you and helps you to your feet. “Is your back okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod and brush your clothes off. You have to physically shake the shock of what happened off. “Yeah, I’m fine. I can’t believe he did that.”

Jean scoffs and glares towards Billy’s back. Your eyes widen in shock when you see the large scorch mark across his arm. “Jean! He got you, are you okay?”

She glances down at her shirt and frowns. “Yeah, practically a sunburn.” She gives you a reassuring smile, “I’ll be fine.”

As shitty as this sounds, you’re not concerned for her. You can only focus on the fact that she was in just as much danger as you and Logan had tackled you to the ground. You glance back towards the mansion, more fucking confused than ever. 

You’re not sure what compels you to follow Logan, but you’re running after him before Jean can stop you. He’s barely got a minute headstart on you, you’re not sure why you can’t find him. You’d gone through every inch of the first floor. 

You don’t know where he would have dragged Billy, but it’s nowhere you can find. After about ten minutes of looking for him, you give up on the hope that you’re ever going to figure out what’s happening inside his brain. 

You let out a defeated sigh, running a hand over your face and trying to shake off the funk of the day. You can’t believe that little shit tried to roast you. You’re not comfortable with the fact that he’s just roaming around inside the mansion somewhere. 

You turn out of the living room and nearly slam into someone. His hands shoot out, grabbing your shoulders and gently stopping you. “Logan,” you give him a strained smile. “I was looking for you.” You glance over his shoulder and frown. “Where’s Billy?”

Logan sighs, his hands linger on your arms for a moment before he takes a step back. “Wheels got to him before I could do anything.”

You laugh a little, the noise involuntary. “What were you planning on doing with the sixteen-year-old?”

He doesn’t find the question amusing if his expression is anything to go by. “He was really trying to hurt you.”

His words sober you up slightly and you drop the flippant attitude. “Yeah, I wanted to,” god, it feels like you could choke on the words. Just last week you were screaming at him for not helping you. Now, you could barely thank him because he had. 

“You’re always my priority.” He tells you before you can struggle any longer. Your head shoots up and you stare at him with confusion. He groans, the noise tired and resigned. “Saving Jean was a mistake. I mean it, kid, I just thought you could handle yourself.”

You open your mouth but he stops you before you can argue. “I know, that’s not the point. I should have saved you, no matter what I thought you could or couldn't handle.”

“No,” you stop him and shake your head. “No, Logan, I shouldn’t. I,” your mouth opens and he stares at you expectantly. What you were going to say gets stuck in your throat. This is a horrible idea. 

“I liked you in a way you didn’t like me and it was unfair of me to push my expectations onto you.” You wanted it to sound better, and more intelligent. Instead, it came out in one rushed breath and you’re not sure he even understood half of what you said. 

His brows furrow in confusion for a moment before a smile breaks out on his face. You’re not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that he’s smiling. You can’t tell if he’s mocking you or about to profess his undying love. 

You don’t have to wonder for long. He moves closer towards you, leaning forward until you’re practically sharing the same breaths. Unconsciously, you’re drawn into him, hands braced gently on his chest as you chase after him. 

“What are you doing?” Your whispered words brush against his lips and he gives you a small smile. His hands travel up your waist. He tugs you closer, his other hand looping around your neck and craning you up. 

“I’m gonna choose you every fucking time, kid.” His lips brush across your own and it’s like a switch is flipped in you both. Your arms twine around his neck, pulling him down until you’re practically melting into him. 

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and so different at the same time. You always thought your first kiss would be after some cheesy first date. He would have taken you out to dinner. Something would have inevitably gone wrong, you spilled something on your dress or the waiter brought the wrong order. 

You would both worry that it was a sign that nothing would work out between you. And then, at the end of the night, he’d tug you into his arms and kiss you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. 

That would be nice, but this is better. He’s not holding you like you’re something fragile or something too precious for this world. He’s kissing you like you’re the very air he needs to survive. He’s greedy with his affections and demanding with his wants. 

You’re being consumed and devoured. And you never want to stop. This is all you’ve ever wanted with him, from him. 

Sadly, you do have to breathe. You’re the one that forces the stop, you’re sure he would have happily suffocated if it meant he could keep touching you like this. You pull back, the air coming in short pants between your parted lips. 

You can already feel them swelling, the slight irritation on your cheeks from his stubble. You don’t mind, you quite like the feeling. He speaks before you can, a pleased smile on his face. “Forgive me yet?”

You chuckle, a little impressed by how cheeky he is, still slightly pissed off. “Why don’t you do that again and I’ll think about it?”

He rolls his eyes but you can see the smile fighting against his firm glare. “You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?”

You smile and nod, leaning into him again. “You’re never gonna hear the end of it,” you whisper before dipping down and kissing him again. You can’t believe you ever doubted just how much he cares for you. 

He didn’t choose Jean over you. He’s just a dumbass. 

a/n: I had to resist putting in a “pick me, choose me, love me” line in there bc that would have just been too much lol

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral  @wolviesgirl ♡ 

[kyuujo]

↳ whoops! ↳ sae itoshi x fem!reader ↳ sfw ↳ jealousy, language, kind of a creepy dude, subtle allusions to fwb, my writing

↳ sae itoshi… the man you are… this idea literally smacked me in the face so i opted to ignore my 7+ drafts and whip it up :P thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoy! <3

“… oh, and did i tell you about my time with atlético madrid? boy, the sheer amount of sprained ankles i had to deal with…”

you barely suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. how long had this dude been prattling on? you know he’d told you his name, and something about being a retired physical therapist, but truthfully, that was all the information you had retained since he started talking to you. seriously, you just wanted to watch the damn game.

“that’s fascinating.” you cut him off, eyes trained on the bodies undulating across the field. well, more specifically, trained on one body…

“… and sae takes complete control of the midfield! look at him go, he’s unstoppable!”

your heart fluttered inside your chest and your gut heated as some rather lewd memories crept their way into your central vortex. you hadn’t even known locker rooms could be so… enticing before your hookup with sae.

you’d been so focused on watching sae in his element (and daydreaming) that you hadn’t even noticed when the man scooted closer to you — at least not until you felt the heat of his thigh smushed against yours, made much more noticeable by the chilly bite of october.

you snapped your eyes to the man to glare at him — he continued to drone on about something as if he hadn’t just invaded your personal bubble. you huffed and slid your ass down the bench, disconnecting his thigh from yours. your skin was starting to crawl, and where the dude had once been perceived as annoying he now was coming off as creepy.

you hoped that your disinterest in the conversation and your very obvious attempt at putting distance between the two of you would spell out your rejection to him — but it clearly didn’t, or maybe he just wasn’t speaking the same language as you, because he simply closed the distance once more.

“what about some coffee? would you want to go grab coffee with me some time?”

you were just about to open your lips to verbalize your rejection (and tell him off for his clear disrespect) when the words were stolen right from your mouth — by the sudden impact of a ball right to the side of the man’s face.

you couldn’t stop the shocked gasp that ripped through your throat as the man fell backwards off the bench with a yell of pain. you could just see some crimson splatters atop the silver of the metal stands, and for a moment, your brain completely stopped.

“and sae itoshi sends a ball flying straight into the stands! like a rocket it split through the air — oh my god, is that man okay?!”

the announcer’s sudden exclamation had you immediately whipping your attention to the field, eyes connecting with sae’s almost instantly. he stood tall on the field, one hand atop a cocked hip, and with a shrug he mouthed one word;

“whoops.”

do i really believe sae would send a ball straight into the face of anyone who gets too gutsy with his girl? yes. yes i do. thank you so much for reading, and any likes, comments or reblogs are not required but are so very appreciated!