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

[mattsweethrt]

can you do one where cowboy matt and sweetheart reader have sex in the bed of his truck? love ur writing!

「 fucking cowboy!matt in his truck ᵎᵎ 」

smut, p in v, public sex, unprotected sex, cursing, pet names

matt’s old red pick up truck creaked and swayed softly as he thrusted into you in a steady rhythm, jeans pooled at his ankles and he bunched your dress up at you hips.

he was spending the day at your family’s farm, offering to run errands and go into town so your father could work. at the sound of matt’s proposal, a smile spread across your lips as you ran to your dad, batting your lashes and pleading to go for a ride with matt.

now here you were, sprawled out in the bed of his truck parked in an abandoned lot, matt’s cock plunging deep into your gummy walls.

“y’okay sweet pea?” matt muttered huskily into you skin, mouthing at the spot were your jawline met your neck.

a soft sigh escaped your parted lips as you gave him a nod, your fingers desperately grasping at his flannel shirt. “fuck, yeah, yeah, feels so good.”

he chuckled softly, his mouth trailing up to yours as his tongue slipped in, parting your lips in a deep kiss.

you moaned into his mouth, messily kissing him back as his dick repeatedly pulled all the way out, slamming fully back into you as he bottomed out. your pussy clenched around him, your cunt oozing with the both of your fluids.

“you hear that, right?” matt whispered as he pulled away from your lips, referring to the squelching sound as his skin slapped against yours, “you’re so wet, hm? gettin’ me all stuck inside ya.”

your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he continued to hit your sweet spot, jaw slack as you moaned loudly. your legs were wrapped around his waist, your boots digging into his lower back.

matt’s large hands slid between your bodies his pointer and middle finger rubbing in slow, deliberate circles against your bud. the pressure in your stomach was beginning to build up, your breathing coming out in ragged pants.

“what would your father think about this, darlin,’” matt tsked in your ear, “his little girl in the back of my truck getting her brains fucked out, isn’t that something?”

“shi-it,” you gasped, your voice hitching.

“come on, sweetheart, make a mess f’me, let go,” he murmured, burying his face in your neck, “i’m right there with you.”

bree’s corner ⸝⸝⸝ yummy cowboy!matt 😛 i want him SOOO bad omf. if anyone has any requests or asks for this au pls send !!! also gonna start working on my chris au soon :) love all 300 of you !!?? <33 so crazy

[bucketgetter535]

No Margin for Error: Chapter Nine

WC: 5.9k

CW: None

Notes: Long time no seeeeee. Send thoughts to my anons plz it’s my fav part of the day… might even motivate me to get ch 10 out sooner

The hum of the plane engine had become background noise an hour ago, steady and hypnotic, like the rhythm of breath. Paige had her legs folded beneath her on the cream leather seat, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her knuckles, a half-empty bottle of water rolling gently near her ankle every time the jet shifted altitude. She didn’t bother to catch it. Just watched it drift like it had somewhere better to be.

The cabin was dim except for the soft blue glow of the windows and the yellow-white reading light Azzi had on across from her, illuminating the pages of whatever novel she was pretending to focus on. Her socked feet were propped up on the seat in front of her, posture lazy in the way only someone completely at home in this kind of space could manage.

Azzi’s jet was nice. Quiet. Private. Which made it all the more jarring when Paige’s phone buzzed in her lap with three back-to-back notifications. First from ESPN. Then The Race. Then a push alert from her own F1 app.

Her stomach dropped a little when she read the headline.

“BREAKING: Red Bull’s Top Driver to Retire at End of Season.”

She blinked, tapped into the article without thinking, skimming the lines about “tenure” and “graceful exit” and “opening the door for a new generation.” The typical send-off language. But that wasn’t what her brain stuck on.

It stuck on the last sentence of the third paragraph.

“…likely to spark immediate interest from top-tier drivers currently in contract negotiations.”

“Azzi,” Paige said, too casually.

Azzi didn’t look up from her book. “Hm?”

“You see the Red Bull thing?”

Azzi’s eyes flicked up now, sharp and curious. “What thing?”

Paige angled her phone screen toward her. “He’s retiring.”

That got Azzi’s attention. She leaned forward, taking the phone from Paige’s hand and squinting down at the headline like maybe she hadn’t read it right the first time. She exhaled low through her nose. “Damn.”

“Right?”

“Didn’t see that coming.”

“Neither did I.”

Paige took her phone back, but before she could lock it again, a new email appeared — top of the inbox, urgent flag marked red.

Subject: Meeting Inquiry: Red Bull Racing

Her mouth went dry.

She clicked into it.

Hi Paige,

Hope you’re well. We’d like to schedule a brief conversation this week, if possible, no pressure, of course, but we’re evaluating options and would love to hear your thoughts.

Best,

Helmut Marko.

Driver Development, Red Bull Racing

She stared at it a little longer than necessary. Not because she didn’t know what it meant, but because some part of her — the part that had started all of this at nineteen, when she didn’t know better — still couldn’t believe this was her life.

Azzi was watching her now. The quiet kind of watching. The “I know something just changed” kind.

Paige closed her phone slowly and didn’t look up. “I just got an email.”

“From who?”

“…Red Bull.”

Azzi sat still for a beat.

And then: “Do they want a meeting?”

Paige nodded.

There was a silence between them now, not awkward exactly, but heavy. The kind that made your ears ring just a little.

Azzi set her book down on the armrest. “Do you want to go to Red Bull?”

The question was simple. Too simple. It hit Paige harder than she expected.

She looked at her lap, hands twisting the hem of her hoodie, heart knocking a little too fast against her ribs. She wasn’t supposed to say it out loud. She hadn’t even decided anything yet. But some part of her deep down (the unguarded part, the one she only seemed to access around Azzi) wanted to let her in anyway.

“I don’t know,” Paige said.

She meant it.

Azzi waited.

“They’d probably offer more money,” Paige added after a second. “And they’re Red Bull. The car’s always fast. Always evolving. They’re ruthless about it.”

Azzi’s voice was quiet. “But?”

Paige hesitated. “I’m used to the Ferrari car. The handling. The engineers. Luka. You. I know how to win in this car.”

Azzi didn’t smile. She didn’t tease or joke or pretend it wasn’t a big deal. She just nodded once, like she’d already played out this entire conversation in her head and was waiting for Paige to catch up.

Paige exhaled. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I’m glad you did.”

That surprised her.

Azzi leaned her head back against the seat, gaze shifting to the ceiling like she was talking more to herself now. “I’d rather know than guess.”

Paige didn’t answer. She didn’t trust her voice enough.

The plane continued east across the Atlantic, clouds scattered below them like pieces of some forgotten quilt. The air up here felt cleaner. Lighter. But no altitude in the world could stop Paige’s stomach from twisting into the shape of a question mark.

She stared out the window for a long time.

She was headed to New York first. Then Minnesota. Then probably Italy again, or Japan, or wherever the hell the next GP was. Her life, as always, was measured in terminals and tire compounds.

But somewhere between the breaking news and the unread email and Azzi’s eyes on her, Paige realized she was standing on the edge of something. Something big. Something she hadn’t planned for.

And maybe the part that scared her most was how badly she wanted to take Azzi with her, wherever she went.

–

The landing was smooth, quieter than Paige expected for a private jet touching down at JFK. She blinked against the sunlight as it streamed through the windows, golden and warm despite the haze of city smog. Azzi was already halfway through her phone the second the wheels hit the runway, thumb scrolling through emails like they’d never left Europe. Her focus, as always, moved faster than the plane.

The car waiting for them outside was black and sleek and forgettable in that New York way that screamed wealth through silence. Paige climbed in after Azzi and let her head fall back against the leather, eyes half-lidded as the skyline began to unfold in front of them. Azzi’s driver knew where to go without being told — straight to the penthouse.

Azzi’s place was exactly what Paige remembered and also somehow not at all. High ceilings. Cold marble. A wall of windows framing the city like a movie still. Everything smelled faintly like vanilla and something expensive Paige couldn’t name.

She dropped her bag by the couch and stretched her arms up toward the ceiling with a groan. “I’m starving.”

Azzi glanced up from where she was unlacing her shoes. “Me too. Let’s go eat.”

Paige blinked at her. “Right now?”

“Yes,” Azzi said. Then she paused, surveyed Paige’s wrinkled hoodie and sweatpants. “But, like, get real clothes on.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “These are real clothes.”

Azzi smirked, already heading for her closet. “Not dinner-in-Manhattan clothes.”

Paige made a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh but followed her toward the guest room anyway. Fifteen minutes later, they emerged from their rooms. Paige was in dark slacks and a crisp navy button-up. Her hair was tied back in a low bun, collar open just enough to pass as effortless.

Azzi grinned when she saw her. “Wow. You’re actually wearing something real tonight?”

Paige rolled her eyes. “You went full outfit. I’m just balancing it out.”

“Sure you are.”

The restaurant was a few blocks from the penthouse, upscale but quiet, one of those places you only knew if you knew. Inside, the lights were low and warm, the air perfumed citrus something. A waiter led them to a booth in the corner, just private enough to feel separate from the rest of the world.

The menus were handed out and barely touched. Azzi knew what she wanted before she sat down.

As the drinks arrived, sparkling water for Paige and some fruity mocktail for Azzi, the conversation shifted. It wasn’t about racing. Or sponsors. Or media days. It was light and slow, looping through stories they hadn’t had time to tell all season. Paige noticed it in the small things — the way Azzi tilted toward her slightly when she spoke, the way their knees brushed under the table, the way neither of them checked their phones unless they were mid-laugh or reaching for their drinks.

Halfway through the main course, Paige caught a flash of something near the window, the glint of a camera lens in the hands of a man sitting alone at a neighboring table.

She didn’t make a show of it. Just leaned in slightly and murmured, “Don’t look now, but camera guy, two tables down.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. Just reached for her fork and smiled like Paige had said something funny. “Got it.”

For a few minutes, they talked around it. Then the food arrived: steak for Paige, some complicated pasta dish for Azzi that smelled like heaven.

“This is so good,” Azzi said around a mouthful. “I’m never eating airport food again.”

“Liar,” Paige said.

“Okay, fine. But I’m dreaming of this next time we’re stuck in Belgium.”

They were laughing again by the time the waiter came back. “Any dessert for the table?” he asked, poised with his little notepad.

Azzi lit up instantly. “Yes. Absolutely.”

Paige gave her a look. “You’re still hungry?”

“I have a sweet tooth,” Azzi said, unapologetic.

“I’m good,” Paige said to the waiter, who nodded and turned to Azzi expectantly.

Azzi tilted her head, mock-betrayed. “Wow. So you’re calling me fat.”

“What?” Paige blinked. “No—”

“I just said I want dessert and you said I’m good, which is code for I don’t need dessert, which is code for some people do, which is code for—”

“Oh my god, Azzi.” Paige ran a hand down her face, laughing now. “You’re impossible.”

Azzi grinned, victorious. “I’ll have the chocolate thing. And she’ll have one too.”

The waiter nodded, utterly unfazed, and disappeared.

Paige gave her a look. “I said I didn’t want dessert.”

“You said it. But you didn’t mean it.”

Paige shook her head, but when the plate arrived, she picked up her spoon without another word. The chocolate was warm and rich and exactly what she hadn’t realized she wanted.

Azzi leaned her chin on her hand and watched her take the first bite.

“Told you.”

And Paige, in spite of everything, couldn’t stop smiling.

–

Back at Azzi’s apartment, the lights were low, and the sounds of the city were muffled through thick glass. Paige dropped her jacket by the couch again and toed off her shoes with a quiet sigh, already feeling the warm hush of late-night softness settle over the penthouse. Azzi disappeared into the kitchen, the refrigerator door opening and closing with the easy rhythm of someone at home. Paige didn’t follow right away. She just stood there for a second, absorbing it. The quiet. The casualness. The fact that she could walk in like this and not ask permission.

Azzi came back with two waters and handed one over wordlessly. Paige took it with a small smile, brushing her fingers against Azzi’s for a moment longer than necessary.

“Hey,” Azzi said, leaning against the counter. “When’s your flight to Minnesota?”

Paige twisted the cap off the bottle. “Whenever I want.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Right. Millionaire life.”

Paige shrugged, sipping her water. “Perks.”

Azzi held her gaze for a beat. “So… is that you saying you don’t have to leave tonight?”

Paige blinked, then smiled faintly. “Is that you asking me to stay the night?”

“Yes,” Azzi said, without missing a beat.

Paige’s smile curved wider. “Then okay.”

Azzi’s shoulders loosened, just a little. She nodded toward the hallway. “Fair warning though. My parents are coming over tomorrow.”

Paige stilled. Just a second. Barely noticeable. But something tightened behind her ribs.

“Oh. Nice,” she said, setting the bottle down.

Azzi didn’t catch it — or if she did, she let it slide. She was already halfway to the couch, flopping down with a sigh, her long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. “They want to see me before we head out to Azerbaijan. I figured we’d do brunch or something.”

“Cool,” Paige said, easing down beside her. “Sounds chill.”

It did not sound chill.

Azzi’s parents. Tomorrow morning. Paige let her head tip back on the cushion and stared at the ceiling. She shouldn’t care. They weren’t dating. They hadn’t talked about it like that. There was no label, no pressure, no anything. But still.

She felt it again — that quiet, rising panic in her chest. Not the kind she felt before a race. Not adrenaline. This was different. Deeper. Harder to explain.

The idea of meeting Azzi’s parents didn’t scare her because she thought they’d dislike her.

It scared her because somewhere in the back of her mind, Paige was starting to realize she wanted them to like her.

And that was… not a casual thought.

They’d been orbiting this not-quite-friends, not-quite-something-else thing for months now. Neither of them naming it. Both of them pretending that the in-between space was enough. And maybe it was — for Azzi. She was so effortlessly open, so fine with just being seen, being known. She didn’t flinch when her friends asked if she and Paige were something. She didn’t hesitate when she put her hand on Paige’s back in public, or wore her hoodie that no one knows is her hoodie because it’s just a Ferrari team sweatshirt.

And Paige wasn’t like that.

Not with anyone but her dad and Drew. They knew. But no one else. Not really. Not the media, not her extended family, not even most of her friends back in Minnesota. She hadn’t meant for it to be a secret. It just hadn’t come up, and then it kept not coming up, and then it got harder to bring up at all.

But now she was here, about to stay the night again, and tomorrow she’d sit across from Azzi’s parents and pretend this was nothing. Or maybe not pretend. Maybe just exist in the weird space between pretending and hoping.

Azzi turned to look at her, her eyes soft in the lamplight.

“You okay?”

Paige nodded, a little too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Azzi leaned her head gently against Paige’s shoulder. Paige didn’t move.

She just sat there, suddenly feeling the weight of something unspoken pressing into her ribs. Wanting to say something, anything, and knowing she wouldn’t. Not tonight.

So instead, she leaned her cheek against Azzi’s hair and closed her eyes.

And let herself stay.

–

Brunch was at a small corner spot that smelled like lavender and espresso and fresh bread. It was the kind of place Azzi didn’t even need to look up directions to, she just knew it by heart, like half of New York. Paige followed her through the glass doors, head slightly ducked, even though it didn’t matter anymore. They’d already been seen. Photographed. Edited into slow-motion montages over TikTok sounds. She could hide her face, but a lot of damage had been done a long time ago.

Inside, the place buzzed with quiet conversation and the sound of cutlery tapping plates. Paige spotted Azzi’s parents right away. Katie and Tim Fudd were at a corner table, both standing halfway as Azzi approached, arms open, smiles already on.

Paige braced herself.

She’d never said it out loud — not to Azzi, not even to her dad who she texted this morning — but some part of her had expected this to go poorly. Not dramatic, just… off. The stiff politeness of people trying not to say what they really thought. The overcorrection of guarded approval. The silent evaluation of her outfit or her championship standings or her carefully ambiguous Instagram captions.

Instead, Tim gave her a warm nod and said, “Nice to see you again, Paige,” like they’d had brunch last week instead of never. And Katie pulled her into a brief, not-overbearing hug before they all sat down.

And then it was just… easy.

Not fake-easy, not tension-smoothed easy. Just real.

They ordered quickly. Pancakes for Azzi, a veggie omelet for Katie, black coffee for Tim, and whatever sounded least like food for Paige, which turned out to be eggs and toast. Then the conversation started, and to Paige’s surprise, it didn’t revolve around racing. Not at first.

Katie asked about Minnesota, about Paige’s dad, about what it was like to grow up with “so much snow and so little coffee.” Tim wanted to know what books she’d been reading lately, and Paige fumbled, caught off-guard, before muttering something about having started some novel and then abandoning it halfway through a flight to Monaco. That got a laugh out of Tim. Not a mocking one, just understanding. Then somehow they were all talking about bad travel reads and books people lied about finishing.

It was bizarre. In a good way.

Then the talk drifted back to F1. Not in the press conference kind of way, but more curious. Tim asked if Ferrari felt different this year. Katie asked Azzi if the pink helmet had been a branding move or just because she liked it. Paige waited for the tension to return, for the questions to circle back to contracts or media coverage or what it was like to be twenty-two and under a microscope.

But it didn’t. They just… talked.

And Paige found herself liking them.

Katie had Azzi’s calm, watchful energy. The kind that made you feel seen even if she hadn’t said a word. And Tim was like a low-stakes ESPN commentator, the kind of person who probably had opinions on your golf swing but would keep them to himself unless you asked. They loved Azzi. That was obvious. But it wasn’t overbearing. It was a quiet kind of pride, the kind that didn’t need to be stated.

And Paige… Paige didn’t feel tested.

She felt included.

At one point, while Azzi was busy explaining tire degradation to a very amused Tim, Katie leaned slightly toward Paige and said, “You’re different in person. More relaxed.”

Paige blinked. “Uh. Good different?”

Katie smiled, sipping her tea. “Very.”

There was no follow-up. No pointed glances or motherly warnings. Just that.

Later, Paige excused herself to the bathroom, more out of needing a breath than anything else. She leaned on the marble sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked tired, maybe. Or just unguarded.

Azzi had made it look easy. Paige wasn’t sure if that was a skill or just who she was. But somehow this had gone… well. Better than well.

When she came back out, Azzi had stolen a bite of everyone’s food and was grinning unapologetically while Katie fake-scolded her. Paige slid back into her seat and caught Azzi’s eye.

And Azzi — completely relaxed, pancake syrup on the side of her mouth — leaned in close enough that only Paige could hear.

“They like you,” she said softly, like it was just a neutral truth.

Paige picked up her toast and replied without thinking, “I think I like them too.”

And when she looked up again, Azzi was already smiling.

–

Paige hadn’t intended to go to Montana.

Not really. Not officially. The flight was booked late at night on a whim, sometime after Azzi had fallen asleep beside her in the apartment and Paige had watched the skyline for hours, wide awake and heavy with something she couldn’t name. The car met her at JFK just before sunrise, no public post, no press to catch it. She arrived under low clouds and quieter thoughts, and she didn’t text her mom until the wheels hit the tarmac.

Paige: u home?

Amy called two minutes later. Paige answered before the first ring ended.

She hadn’t seen her mom since the off-season. Since before testing. Before Ferrari. Before Azzi. Before everything got loud again like last time. Like F3. The driveway looked the same. It was cracked in the same corner it always had been, gravel spitting up under the tires of the rental SUV. The mountains hovered in the distance like they’d been waiting.

Amy opened the front door the moment Paige’s feet hit the porch. And Paige, despite being twenty-two years old and leading the F1 world championship, dropped her bags and just let herself be hugged.

It didn’t fix anything. But it helped.

They made tea and sat at the kitchen island like nothing had changed. Like Paige hadn’t just flown across the country on a Tuesday with nothing but a carry-on and a handful of feelings she didn’t understand.

“So,” Amy said eventually, one eyebrow raised, “you wanna tell me what’s going on, or should I guess?”

Paige gave her a lopsided smile. “You’d guess right.”

Amy took a sip from her mug. “Try me anyway.”

And Paige did.

It came out slower than she meant, with a lot of pauses and not a lot of eye contact. But Amy didn’t rush her, didn’t fill the silences. Paige talked about Ferrari. About Monza. About what it felt like to lose by less than a second to someone you might actually be in love with and not even know it. She talked about the Red Bull thing—how they wanted a meeting, how her name was suddenly in headlines again like she didn’t still have a season to finish.

And then she talked about Azzi.

Not like gossip. Not even like a crush. Just… truthfully.

“She’s the best driver I’ve ever raced,” Paige said quietly. “And also the best person I’ve ever been around. And that’s… complicated.”

Amy didn’t speak, just pressed her hand lightly against Paige’s back. Paige kept going.

“She’s so comfortable. With herself. With people. She doesn’t even think about it, and I… I’m still hiding everything from half the world. I’m hiding what I have with her, I guess.” A pause. “And that’s not her fault.”

Amy just nodded.

Then Paige mentioned the concussion. The one from July. The one she brushed off because the team cleared her after a week and she didn’t want to miss Silverstone. She told Amy about the headaches that still came sometimes, about the way light sometimes made her flinch in the garage, about how her balance felt slightly off on stairs when she was tired.

Amy’s silence was different then. Sharper.

“Paige Madison.”

“Yeah,” Paige muttered, sheepish.

“That was two months ago.”

“I know.”

“You don’t wait two months to say something like that.”

“I didn’t wait,” Paige argued half-heartedly. “I just… didn’t bring it up.”

Amy gave her a look, one Paige remembered from middle school when she forgot to ice her knees. Then she stood behind her and placed both hands gently on Paige’s neck.

Paige didn’t protest.

Amy’s thumbs worked over the knots at the base of her skull, exactly like she used to when Paige was twelve and spent too long karting after dark. There was something about it. About being home, about being touched with that kind of care that made something in her eyes sting. But she blinked it away.

“I didn’t want to sit alone at my house.” she said softly.

Amy didn’t stop massaging. “I know. That’s why you came here.”

“Yeah.”

“You staying long?”

Paige shrugged. “Just a couple days. Then I’m back to New York. Or Maranello. Or wherever.”

Amy pressed into her shoulder blade, then eased up. “You ever think about slowing down?”

“All the time.”

“And?”

“I don’t know how.”

Amy kissed the top of her head. “You don’t have to know. But maybe try.”

Paige let herself close her eyes. Just for a minute.

It didn’t solve anything. Not the Azzi situation. Not the Red Bull meeting. Not the press or the performance pressure or the concussion symptoms she should’ve told her team about weeks ago. But sitting there, with her mother’s hands on her shoulders and the smell of home in her hair, it felt like something was okay. Even if just for now.

–

Baku.

There was something about the city circuit in Azerbaijan that Paige liked more than she meant to. It wasn’t just the long straights or the tricky, blind corners. It was the way the city felt alive around her when she was strapped in. Like she was flying through a place still moving, still breathing, the world flashing by in colored lights and old stone.

The castle walls came up faster than she remembered. That tight left-right-left flick through the medieval section always made her nervous her first year in Formula One. Now, it just made her grin.

“Okay, that’s green in Sector Two,” Luka’s voice crackled in her ear, all calm efficiency. “Car’s responding well.”

“Feels good,” she replied, flicking her wrist lightly on exit. “Bit of understeer if I push into that uphill right, but otherwise nice.”

Another pause on the line. “Copy. Tyre temps?”

“Stable. Tell Fred I’m better at managing now.”

“You say that every weekend,” Luka deadpanned.

Paige smirked. “Yeah, but this time it’s true.”

Luka’s laugh was a little more real this time, brief in her ears. “We’ll see in twenty laps.”

Practice was going smooth. No heavy traffic, no weird bumps, and the Ferrari was humming through the corners like it wanted to run. They’d done a good job on the setup this week, she could tell already. Braking felt crisp. Rear traction was right there. No wobble.

Azzi was already on track ahead of her, a few laps into her first run of the evening. Paige glanced down the straight and caught a flash of her teammate’s car disappearing around the turn. Same red livery as hers, low under the lights, moving like it was skating on rails.

She didn’t mean to say anything. It just kind of came out.

“Where’s Azzi on the delta?”

And it was the way she said it.

The tone. The way her voice dipped around the name , softer, quieter, like she was asking about someone she knew from before all this. Luka didn’t answer right away, and Paige knew she’d just told on herself in the dumbest possible way.

“Oh,” Luka finally said, casual and unbothered in that dangerous way. “Now you care where Azzi’s running?”

Paige huffed, fake annoyed but not exactly denying anything. “I always care.”

“Mmhmm. She’s P4 right now. Two-tenths behind you.”

“Okay.” She clicked a paddle shift with unnecessary force. “Copy.”

“McLaren’s ahead of both of you. Gotta keep it tight.”

“Yeah, I saw. They’re on a tear.”

She adjusted her line on the next corner, just to shave off a tenth, maybe two. It worked. The Ferrari responded like it had something to prove, the kind of balance she hadn’t felt since Monza. Still, the McLarens looked quick — maybe too quick for comfort. Paige didn’t mind, not really. It made things interesting.

And besides, she was leading the world championship.

And Ferrari was running away with the constructors’.

She didn’t need to dominate every weekend. She just needed to finish higher than Azzi.

And that was becoming harder.

“She’s closing in,” Luka said a few laps later, a mild warning in his tone.

Paige didn’t answer. Just opened the throttle on exit and pushed.

–

Dr. Liao’s office was always cold, no matter what country they were racing in. Paige knew better than to complain when the doctor liked it that way. “Keeps the brain alert,” she always said, which didn’t make a ton of sense to Paige, but she wasn’t the one with two medical degrees and a license to ground drivers.

So she just sat still on the edge of the padded exam table, hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows, waiting for the light to turn green on the retinal scan.

“Still a little photophobic?” Dr. Liao asked gently, tapping something into her tablet without looking up.

“Less than I was,” Paige said. “More when I’m tired. Or if I forget my tinted visor.”

“You haven’t forgotten it, though.”

“No,” Paige smirked. “Scared of you.”

Dr. Liao smiled. “Good. I like that you’re scared of me.”

They moved through the rest of the checkup, reflexes, balance, peripheral tests. It was routine by now. Paige knew the drill and the doctor knew her, enough to know when something small was off. This time, there wasn’t. Paige passed clean.

“You rested well during the break?” Dr. Liao asked, her tone lighter now.

Paige shrugged, stretching her neck as the doctor wrote a final note. “Montana for a bit. With my mom.”

Dr. Liao raised a brow, but not unkindly. “That’s new.”

“Yeah, I know,” Paige said. “Just… wanted to see her.”

“How was it?”

“Nice. Cold. My mom gave me a lecture.”

“As she should,” Dr. Liao replied, smiling. “You’re good to go. Try not to hit anything hard.”

“Only curbs.”

“That’s a lie.”

Paige laughed.

–

The meeting room smelled faintly of engine grease and lemon cleaner. Azzi’s engineer, Mateo, always brought a bottle of something citrus-scented and sprayed the corners like a dad preparing for houseguests. Luka was already seated, coffee in hand, and Azzi had her legs kicked up on the chair next to hers, scrolling through data on her iPad.

Fred was running point on the strategy discussion. Calm, clipped French-English, all business. The McLarens had shown top-line speed in practice — more than expected — but both cars had struggled with degradation. Tire wear was going to matter, and the engineers knew it.

“It’s a long-game race,” Mateo said. “We don’t win this in the first fifteen laps.”

Luka nodded. “We can take them. They’ll push early, try to break you. Let them. Make them overheat.”

Paige watched Azzi glance at her then, just once, like they were both already thinking the same thing. They’d done this dance before. Managed races better than anyone else on the grid. The Ferrari wasn’t just fast now. It was smart. Smooth. Balanced.

Paige felt it in her ribs already. They could win this.

The meeting wrapped and most of the engineers filtered out. Some off to brief the mechanics, others to check real-time sims. Azzi lingered, eyes still scanning her tablet. Paige had her AirPods in, low but clear. A beat-heavy R&B track hummed gently in her ears.

Azzi looked up. “What do you listen to before meetings?”

Paige blinked, pulling out one bud. “Music.”

Azzi deadpanned. “No kidding.”

Paige smirked. “Mostly R&B. Sometimes gospel.”

Azzi gave her a look — a curious one, not mocking. “Gospel?”

“Yeah,” Paige shrugged. “When I’m stressed. Or if the flights are bad. Just… helps.”

Azzi nodded slowly, like she was adding it to some invisible file in her head.

“You in the gym a lot?” she asked after a beat.

Paige tilted her head, amused by the sudden pivot. “Between seasons, yeah. Like…five, six days a week. During the season? Less. I try to get a lift in when we’re not traveling but…”

“But you’re always traveling.”

“Exactly.”

Azzi nodded. “You can tell, though.”

Paige blinked. “Tell what?”

“That you lift,” Azzi said plainly. “Your arms.”

Paige looked at her, unsure if that was meant to be neutral or not, and Azzi didn’t elaborate. Just turned her attention back to her screen like she hadn’t just said something that made Paige hyper-aware of how close they were standing.

It hung there a second, unsaid, before Azzi stood and brushed her hoodie sleeves down.

“I’ll see you at briefing.”

“Yeah,” Paige said, still holding the AirPod in her hand. “See you.”

–

This might be the worst (or best) decision of Paige’s life.

It was late, but not late enough for the world to sleep. The streets below were still awake with the hum of Baku’s nightlife, headlights catching on wet cobblestones and music spilling from narrow windows. The hotel hallway was quieter, carpeted and still, muffled enough that Paige could hear the small knock of her own heartbeat in her ears as she lifted her hand and knocked gently on the door.

She didn’t wait long.

The door swung open and there was Azzi, barefoot in black sweatshorts and a threadbare Georgetown hoodie, curls pulled back and eyes soft like she’d been half expecting this.

“Hey, P,” she said, voice low.

Paige stepped inside without a word, just nodded, lips pressed tight together in a way she knew would betray her nerves. Azzi let the door fall shut behind them and leaned her back against it, folding her arms loosely across her chest.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The hotel room smelled faintly of vanilla lotion and whatever tea Azzi had brewed earlier. The scent was warm, lived-in, hers.

Paige didn’t sit down. She stood there like she had to say it on her feet.

“I don’t know what we are,” she said finally, quietly. “I think I want to. Know, I mean.”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

Paige swallowed. “I didn’t come here for anything casual. Not tonight. Not anymore.”

Azzi’s mouth twitched, not into a smile, but something close. “You don’t have to say it P. I know.”

“Well… I did,” Paige said. “Because I’ve been… holding back. From you. And I think you’ve known it. And I think you let me.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “I didn’t want you to have to tell anyone anything you weren’t ready to say out loud. Especially not about being gay.”

Paige looked down, thumb brushing the inside of her palm. “I told my mom… About us, I mean.”

Azzi’s eyebrows lifted, just slightly. “Yeah?”

“She might’ve… nudged me.”

Now Azzi did laugh, soft and warm and familiar. “I figured.”

There was a pause, the kind that only made sense when two people had lived in the same small tension for months. Azzi pushed off the door finally, walked closer — not fast, not slow — and stopped in front of Paige, close enough that Paige could smell her shampoo. Close enough that her fingers itched to touch her.

“You came to me,” Azzi said, searching her face. “I waited for that. I’m proud of you for that..”

“I know.”

“I want to be with you,” Azzi said simply. “Not for anyone else. Not for the media. Just for me and you.”

“I want that too,” Paige said, and her voice cracked just slightly on the last word. “Even if I’m still… you know..”

“I know that too.”

They stood there, barely apart, the city still humming outside but far, far away from this room.

“It’s better to be private anyway,” Azzi said. “Cleaner. Easier. And we don’t have to care what anyone else thinks. I just want… you.”

Paige let her breath go — shaky, but full. She took one step forward and Azzi didn’t move, just let her. Their foreheads touched, then Azzi’s hand slid to Paige’s wrist.

Then her gaze dipped.

“Alright,” Azzi said with a little smirk. “Now I wanna see those biceps without the sweatshirt in the way.”

Paige let out a laugh, shaky but real.

“You’ve been thinking about my arms?”

Azzi didn’t blink. “They haunt me.”

Paige grinned, finally, and reached down to peel off the hoodie. Her t-shirt underneath clung to her skin. Warm from nerves and night and maybe from how hard her heart was still pounding.

Azzi’s eyes lingered.

Paige flushed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m sincere,” Azzi said. “And sincere people deserve front row seats.”

“Is that so?”

Azzi’s fingers curled into the hem of Paige’s shirt. “You’re the one who came over at midnight babe.”

Paige exhaled. “Yeah. I did.”

And she didn’t regret it.

Not even for a second.

[c4shm0neyxxx]

“Only I Hurt You”

Oneshot were seong je finds reader in his bed after he was out handling a couple of guys who had fought her while walking home in an alley way (he told her to go home but she went to his house instead)

The front door creaked when he opened it.

Blood still clung to his knuckles, dried into the creases of his fingers. His hoodie was soaked with someone else’s sweat, maybe some of his own, and the adrenaline hadn’t fully left his bloodstream yet. It rarely did.

They’d laid hands on you. That was enough to make him see red. Enough to make him track them down like dogs.

But the house was too quiet now.

Geum Seong-je kicked off his boots and headed down the dim hallway. The rain hadn’t stopped — he could still hear it hammering against the windows. He told you to go home. Told you to listen.

You never listened.

And when he stepped into his bedroom, there you were.

Curled in his bed, soaking wet, blood streaked down one arm, your lip split and trembling. His sheets were damp. Your clothes were stuck to your skin like a second layer. Your shoes were still on.

“You walked here?” His voice came out low. Barely controlled.

You didn’t look at him. Didn’t answer.

He crossed the room in two steps.

“You walked here. In the rain. After they touched you?”

You blinked. He could see the shiver you tried to suppress, your body reacting before your pride could hide it. The blood on your shirt wasn’t all dried. Some of it was still fresh.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” you whispered.

That cracked something in him.

Geum Seong-je didn’t speak for a long moment. He just stood there, fists clenched, chest rising slowly. Then, without a word, he knelt at the edge of the bed and started untying your soaked laces. You flinched when his knuckles brushed your ankle.

“I told you to go home,” he muttered. “But you came here, instead.”

Your voice was barely audible. “This is home.”

He froze. Just for a second.

Then he yanked your shoes off with more force than necessary and peeled your jacket away from your shoulders. It clung, resisting, your blood and the rainwater mixing into a mess that stained his fingers.

You tried to sit up, but his hand landed on your thigh — firm, grounding.

“Stay still.”

You didn’t dare disobey.

He left for a moment. You heard drawers open, the faucet running. When he came back, he had a towel, gauze, ointment, and one of his oversized shirts.

“Take the top off.” His tone left no room for argument.

You moved slowly, the sting in your ribs sharper now that the adrenaline was fading. He watched you, eyes narrow, jaw tight, like he was memorizing every bruise so he could repay them tenfold.

He cleaned the cut on your arm with terrifying gentleness, fingertips brushing over your skin like you were something fragile, breakable.

“You should’ve called me,” he murmured.

“You told me to leave.”

“You should’ve still called.”

Your eyes flicked up. “Would you have come?”

He paused.

Then leaned in.

“I’m always coming for you.”

The silence between you tightened, thick with something you didn’t know how to name. You winced when he pressed antiseptic to your split lip. He cupped your jaw to steady you, his thumb brushing your cheek, rough with callouses and blood.

“I handled it,” he said. “They won’t touch you again. They won’t touch anyone again.”

A beat.

“Did you kill them?”

His eyes didn’t flinch. “No. But I made them wish I had.”

The room went still.

“You scare me sometimes,” you admitted.

He brushed damp hair from your face. Then leaned forward and kissed your forehead — barely a whisper of contact.

“I know,” he said. “But I’m the only one who’s allowed to hurt you.”

You didn’t know whether to cry or kiss him.

So instead, you let him pull his shirt over your head, let him dry your hair with the towel like he’d done this a hundred times before. And when he climbed into bed behind you, one arm sliding under your neck and the other over your waist, pulling you close, you didn’t fight it.

You just let yourself be held. By the boy who broke bones with his fists and still handled you like porcelain.

Because somehow, in all this cold, bleeding chaos —

Geum Seong-je was the only warmth you had left.

[writeformesinpie]

😏 with Enhypen!!

Ahhhh, hard kinks incoming …

¡All the warnings!

This man is the devil. Heeseung likes to let you know who’s in charge. Whether it’s edging you and then denying you release, blindfolding you and leaving you wondering just what he is up to, or restraining you completely. This man loves bondage. He is always ready to impress you with a new knot or material he has found.

Dacryphilia is the past time for Heeseung. Whether it’s through denial or face fucking, he loves to see those tears fall as you beg.

That, or when he springs one of his special games on you without giving you a heads up first. But you said he could play any time, anywhere, don’t you remember? You’re not going to go back on your word now, are you?

Jay loves to touch your legs while they are in stockings, the material soft under his fingertips as he kisses all the way from your thigh to your ankle. He buys you a wide variety of outfits – mostly lingerie – but also the occasional spandex number. He loves to feel the different materials on your skin; lace, silk, leather.

Sometimes you roleplay depending on the outfit he picks out, but his go-to pastime is to watch. As a voyeur Jay is able to get just as much pleasure from simply watching you then he is from the act of sex itself. Of course he loves to fuck you, but he won’t say no to you starting off the night with a little show as you pet your wet pussy for him as he watches you through a hole in the wall.

He loves the water: sex on the beach, in the hot tub, in the pool. When the water flows over his body Jake feels a sense of freedom, the way your bodies drift and float is magical. The way your breasts bob and sway with the slightest disruption of the water's surface – he can’t help but worship them. He needs to lick your breasts, to suck your nipples and, when he gets overly excited, to bite down until you cry out.

He’s calmer indoors. That’s when he pulls out the cameras. He loves to film your love making and then fuck you senseless while watching it on the big screen.

Sunghoon is addicted to your scent. He loves your perfume, your body lotion, the smell of you cooking, the candle you forgot to blow out from your bath and, of course, the smell of your cunt. He turns up the heater while you’re having sex to drown himself in your scent.

He also loves to drown himself in your juices. Face sitting. He lives for it. He crawls under your skirt while you're watching a show, licking your clit and sucking on your pussy lips. If you let him he would stay down there all day. Sometimes he just lays in your lap and breathes you in. But he never lasts long; once he’s down there his lips always find their way to your sensitive core, ending with him lapping up your cum and licking his lips in appreciation.

Two words: high heels. Sunoo wants you to wear them everywhere but especially in the bedroom. He loves to buy you new shoes to try out, worshipping the way you look in them, tall and confident. He loves the way your legs curve while you’re wearing them. Extra points if you wear matching lipstick.

Because you do so much for him he practically worships the ground you walk on and wants to make sure you’re happy.

This man lives for squirting. He knows he did well if you leave him covered in your juices.

Jungwon has introduced you to things you’ve never even heard of before. He loves to explore who he is, who you are and who the both of you are together in the bedroom, or any other room for that matter. Acarophilia, asphyxiation, collars, exhibitionism, face sitting, face fucking, piercings, constriction. These are just a few of the things he tries out with you, each session getting more and more intense.

You never know what you’re going to get with Jungwon. One second you could be sitting on his face about to orgasm and the next he has you on a lead, your knees getting carpet burn as he tells you to suck his cock. His mood in bed is ever changing and all you know is that you have no idea what’s in store for you tonight.

Condoms are a no go for Ni-Ki. He loves to go in raw.

He has a mean streak and he likes to play with temperature, hot wax and ice. The way your body reacts gets him excited. And doesn’t it make you just as excited to see him all riled up? But be careful – he has always wanted to try electric play and he doesn’t always know when he’s taking things too far.

He wants you in chastity until he is ready to use you. He doesn't like the idea of someone else touching what belongs to him. He has to control you, and not just in the bedroom. He will push your boundaries if you let him; he will tell you what to wear, what to eat and even when you can go to the bathroom. Your entire life will be at his beck and call.

😏 - Kinks from my emoji game!

[angel4astraea]

꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ft. athletic trainer!hajime iwaizumi ꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ content warnings: sfw/nsfw work, petnames used (angel, sweetheart, pretty, baby), praise, car sex teehee, female pronouns used. ꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ a/n: RAAAGHHH, i swear im not ovulating!! inspired by this: nsfw link

Firm believer that Hajime Iwaizumi is a perfect man. Let me explain:

Hajime would do whatever you’d ask him to in a heartbeat, just use manners and your big eyes to rope him in. If you need him to carry bags or boxes? He’s in, let him use his muscles to do the heavy work, angel. What about picking up groceries you forgot? Send him the list and he’s got it, right down to the right brand so that his girl’s cravings are satiated. Oh, the time you rolled your ankle while trying to keep up with him on the morning run? He carried you on his back the rest of the way without a single complaint. 

That’s how whipped he would be.

Hell, he even wears his own promise ring around his left ring finger to shoo off women trying to flirt with him. Hajime is dedicated to the pretty lady who waits for him to return from his work. Though, he hopes to have a wedding ring of his own after he finds the right ring to propose to you. God, he’d love to have a small gemstone in his thick ring that reminds him of your eyes.

Hajime would find other ways to satiate you. 

If you needed him biblically after seeing him try on suits for a friend’s wedding, he’d oblige. The look in your eyes would be telling him to hurry up, pick the one you like and let’s get out of here. And he doesn’t need more than five minutes.

“Haj,” You plead, “Hurry..” 

God, he was going to lose his mind before he even kissed you. 

Hajime had parked behind some stores, somewhere secluded. He made sure the emergency break was on before reaching over and pushing your seat back. Without much thought of how elegant it was going to be, he climbed over the centre console and into the space before your seat. A little cramped, but better than driving another twenty minutes and barely making it into the front door. 

He took another quick glance around outside before leaning down for a hungry kiss. His teeth nipped your bottom lip, dragging the glossy skin out while you whined in protest. The ache between your legs almost hurt, hips bucking to meet his clumsily. That’s when he pulled away to strip the skirt you were wearing, alongside those turquoise panties, tossing them both onto the driver’s seat. 

Hajime groaned when he felt how warm and slick you were already, all from eye fucking him in the tailor and a little kissing. “Perfect, so perfect sweetheart.” He said softly before working you open on his fingers: one, then two fingers, three after a few minutes. Curling them with some light force was enough to make your toes curl and thighs clamp around his hips. 

Removing his fingers from your warmth, it felt like grief. Though, through kisses he promised to make the ache go away. He always does, especially when it brings tears to your eyes. Hajime undid his belt and buttons, sliding his cock past his boxers and taps the tip against your clit. Once, twice, then thrice. Your hips twitch, sensitive nerves haywiring your brain. So close to getting what you want, no, need.

Pushing in, Hajime drops his forehead to your shoulder. His right hand keeps him from crushing you, gripping the middle compartment. He starts off slow, testing the waters while observing your face. 

“How you feelin’, hm?” He starts, tone low but knowing. “Feel good, angel?” 

Oh god, he might kill you too. You nod and let your limbs relax, already feeling like jell-o. When he saw your little nod, he smirked softly and began to move his hips a little faster. The sound of skin hitting skin was loud in the cramped space, fog creeping up the windows. Small praises hit your ears, but did it sink in much? No, not when he was making you cream on him.

“Doin’ so well..” 

“C’mon pretty, take what you need..”

“Oh sweetheart, I’m all yours.”

Gentle words and never mean, that’s how Hajime was. It always hit the spot, well, other than his tip inside you. It wasn’t much longer with his tip hitting the little spot inside of you until you twitched, squeaked and wriggled around in the seat. White cream formed around the base of his cock, a medal of the sort from his meticulous work. 

With a rather deep thrust, it sent you over the edge. Your hands gripped his biceps tightly, nails paid by him digging into his skin. His lips found yours as he slowed down, your walls milking him for his worth. 

“Fuck, baby.” He laid his head on your shoulder before pulling out, reaching to open the middle console. Baby wipes saved a lot of time with clean up, calloused hands cleaning you gently, words cooed at you for being so good, so patient. 

Yeah, he’s a fucking dream.

[rs-hawk]

I saw in the ABC for Ahiga, that he wants to tie us to him and have us cock warm him. Could we see that please 🥺👉👈.

You had gone to visit your family for the day with Wyonia but Ahiga was at work so he didn’t get to come. When he gets home, he misses you so bad, and it has been nearly a day since the two of you had sex, so he decides to watch a little bit of porn. With you around, he almost never does. Why would he need to? But he had a really hard day and assumes since you’d be back late you probably couldn’t sleep together tonight.

He’s leaking as soon as he finds the video he wants- a werewolf porn where the human woman is restrained, tied around her partner as he bounces her up and down on his cock. He can already imagine doing that to you, hearing you whimper and whine as you take everything he gives you. The only reason he hasn’t brought it up is because he’s worried about hurting you, or you being scared of him. He always is so careful to maintain at least some control, but he doesn’t know if he could with this.

As soon as he hears the car approaching, he shuts the laptop, puts himself away, and by the time you come in he’s already washed his hands before coming to greet you and the baby. His long tongue drags up your face, his tail wagging hard as he tells you how much he loves you both and how much he missed you. You don’t even have a chance to respond before he scoops Wyonia out of the car seat and declares he’s putting her to bed since you hogged her all day.

You don’t mind, going to change into pajamas when you notice his laptop on the bed. Curiosity gets the better of you, and when you creak the screen open, you see the video paused. Immediately, you feel a rush of arousal making your cunt clench for a moment. Why wouldn’t he tell you he was into this?! You know he doesn’t want to hurt you, but fuck. Fuck this was so hot.

The sound of him coming down the hall to the bedroom is barely audible. You only have a few seconds to do something. You rush to the closet, looking through the restraints you use for when he shifts on the full moon- they’re the only ones you have, and despite being way too strong for you, you decide to use them anyway.

When Ahiga comes into the room, seeing the restraints being positioned on the bed with you sitting by them, he tenses. “Why are those out?” he gruffs, his ears going back slightly in annoyance. Without a word, you flip up the screen of the laptop, letting the video begin to play. His ears droop and pin with embarrassment. “I was just… you were gone so…”

“Do you want to?” you ask, looking up at him.

He hesitates, then nods. “I do. Goddess, fuck I do, but I don’t know if I can control myself. You being completely at my mercy,” he hesitates again, but his tail is wagging behind him.

“Let’s just try it. I’ll wear my silver bracelet, and if you hurt me I’ll push it against your back,” you offer, the excitement in your voice making his tail wag harder.

He immediately nods, starting to strip, nearly ripping his pants as he struggles to get them off now that he’s shifting more, his claws scraping against the zipper. You slip out of your clothes and grab your bracelet- trusting him completely but knowing that it’s a small safe guard that will make him feel better. As soon as he gets undressed, you see he’s leaking precum already. From the sheer excitement or because he didn’t finish earlier you’re not sure.

He sits on the bed, patting his lap. You crawl on top of him, letting out a breathy whine as you sink yourself onto his cock. For a moment, you think he’s not going to do it and just fuck you then, but a low growl rumbles his chest as he reaches behind him for the restraints.

It’s not perfect since he’s so much bigger than you, and even completely tightened your wrists and ankles could slip out of you really wanted to, but unless you try to escape, you’re secure. He locks your ankles around his waist, though of course they don’t go all the way around. Then he reaches like a necklace, locking your wrists around his neck.

“Easier to get my attention with the silver if you need to,” he mumbles.

His cock is twitching and throbbing inside of you, leaking precum as his knot is already partially swollen. He just wants to fuck you so bad that he’s physically restraining himself by gripping the bed under his, his claws ripping through the sheets and mattress. You’re whining, trying to roll your hips for more friction but you’re unable to with how your legs are pulled up.

Then, he starts walking around the room, his tail twitching slightly as he runs the soft pads of his paws over your back, his face buried in your neck as he forces you just to cockwarm him. Your cunt flutters around his cock, making him growl against your soft skin, but he wants to make it last. He wants to be careful. He’d never forgive himself if he lost control and hurt you.

But, when you look up at him with teary eyes, your lower lip pressed out, his resolve weakens, and it shatters when you whimper out, “Aggy please.”

Then you’re being bounced up and down, his cock slamming into your womb each time as he snarls, his teeth barely grazing your skin as his claws dig into your waist as he bounces you. When his claws break the skin just ever so slightly, and he smells your blood, he goes feral. Now he’s slamming you down harder, faster, than you thought possible. You’re a blubbering mess, your cunt a vice around his cock as his muzzle opens, his teeth now resting around your throat. If he snapped down, he’d kill you. You know he never would, but the sudden borderline violence has you cumming on his cock as your blood beads around his claws.

He growls lowly again, his teeth pressing harder, nearly breaking the skin of your neck and throat, as your cunt pulses and convulses around his cock. His already partially inflated knot starts to swell more, and unlike usually when he would just not knot you when this happens, he tightens his grip on your waist, blood now starting to trickle down your skin, yanking you down and forcing his knot inside.

His hot cum fills your tiny human body, making you cum again. Your fingers are twitching as you’re whining and moaning, careful to keep the silver bracelet pressed against the wrist above his neck so you don’t touch him with it. Your toes are curling as your body trembles against him.

Finally, he sits, panting and now nuzzling your neck, lapping at your soft skin. “Mm, my mate,” he hums.

However, the second he realizes he made you bleed he’s taking the restraints off, whining loudly and apologizing as he carries you to the bathroom to wash and bandage your (very, very minor but he won’t hear that) “wounds”. He’s a mess, his ears pinned low against his head as he apologizes and says he’s never doing this again.

You grab his wrist, looking at him seriously. “We are fucking doing that again.”

His tail wags slowly. “Yes ma’am.”

Like this story? Check out my Ko-fi or Patreon

[trainsandkitties]

TW: Suicide/Self-Harm/Addiction

July 18th 1974

"I haven't written in a while. My arm healed up somewhat, at least I thought it did. But James has gotten worse only a day after my last entry. Their fever spiked really high and we weren't sure which medications we could give them. It got to the point where they began hallucinating. For some reason I started feeling guilt. Maybe because I have taken anti-infammatory pills for my arm and the stash became scarse. Maybe because I felt like I needed to know what to do. I'm not sure what urged me to slip across the wall and run. My hike lasted a good while, because the sun began setting when I was forced to stop. I wasn't really aware of my surroundings so I slipped and sprained my ankle. Only when I was in the grass I noticed my arm was in pain and I was burning up as well. I started accepting the fact that I'd perish before I'd be found by our people, when I noticed what looked like a spear pointed directly at the lense in my mask. I was found, but not by anyone from the commune. It was that lurker that made it impossible for me to sleep. Before I could say anything that bastard knocked me out with a hard object. A metal bottle maybe? I woke up hours later in the lurker's hideout. I fully expected to have missing kidneys and valuables, but to my surprise, they were all there. I was patched up, actually. Fresh bandages on my arm, my head and a wet rag across my forehead to calm the fever down. I didn't really believe salvation had arrived yet, since I could have just been taken as a hostage. Dear this is going to be a long entry. The sun started rising when my captor showed up, hands filled with canned food and water bottles. For a good while I believed my fever made me hallucinate just like James. I must have started seeing ghosts, because I was looking at Gordon. We all believed he died a year ago. However we were either facing a zombie invasion or he managed to survive. The following hours were extremely awkward. Neither one of us spoke much. We simply shared the pathetic meal of canned beans warmed up over the coal stove and shared very simple explanations of how we've been. I had a lot of shame in me. The things I've done since the blast, I'm not proud of still haunt me. Even now when we're both in the commune once more. Gordon wasn't percise in recounting his story either. All I learned is that he got blinded by the blast, clawed at his face until he could somewhat see and scream, was found and treated by Victor and once he and Kevin died in winter, he began hiking around, just trying to survive. I couldn't help but mention the hoofprints we found and I was told he found a horse. The mare was very much alive and healthy somehow, so she's been helping him get his stuff around with a carriage. Once I got better, she was the one to get us to the commune. I was in the car, forbidden to even move my leg. During our way back I've gotten the feeling things were at least somewhat like before. The conversations became less forced, we even joked a little. I was mortified when Gordon showed me his prosthetic legs, but after he joked they make good projectile weapons, I felt a little bit better. Two fingers on his left hand were missing too, but he snapped at me when I asked. I noticed he was taking swigs from a bottle that reeked of alcohol as well. I was disappointed for a while, but then understood, returning to addiction is something anyone would do in such a situation. And I couldn't really scold him for bad attitude either. I wasn't as nice myself. People were quite shocked when we returned, obviously. Quite suspicious too. But when Gordon helped them find medication for James, they grew to trust him. Even if it was just a little. They don't trust me much anymore either, after running away like that. We're both outcasts. Maybe we'll get closer on those grounds. The distance he's keeping me at is killing me."

[sunarots]

bed chem ━━━ iwaizumi hajime

18. fire ♡

“Hey hey! I was starting to think you weren’t coming!” Bokuto jumps up from his spot on your sofa to bound over to Iwaizumi, who hasn’t even fully entered the apartment yet.

You turn to Akaashi, who’s sat cross-legged on the floor with a cup in front of him. “He’s here.”

He eyes you suspiciously, as if trying to get a read on you. “You don’t sound excited.”

You can feel the butterflies in your stomach, swirling around the alcohol you’ve drank and making you feel nauseous, but not in a way that makes you want to run away; it’s weird, but nice. You adjust your position so your feet are on the floor, setting your cup down beside you. “I need a coffee table.”

“Your TV is on the floor. And it’s tiny.” Akaashi glances over his shoulder to the tiny screen and laughs. “How do you watch it?”

“Hey, don’t diss my TV!” You try to push back your laugh as you get up from your spot to grab the ballet pumps from the shoe rack by your bedroom door. You raise your voice as you continue speaking to make sure he can hear you, “That TV made it all the way from Tokyo. She’s strong!”

When you turn back to the room, Iwaizumi is settling beside Akaashi with a cup and a bag in his hand. He sets the bag down on the floor and finds a comfortable position before greeting you. His eyes flick over your outfit. “Black Swan? Looks good.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you have to fight back the smile threatening to show. “Thank you! What are you dressed as?”

He holds up a finger and reaches out to the bag. It clinks as he pulls out a hat and puts it on. “I’m a cowboy.”

“Looks good. Not as good as me, but still good.” You let the smile show now as you sit back on the sofa, starting to pull on the ballet slippers. “So, I know we said club at eight for seats, but that means we would have five minutes to get there. I think we have another round here and then go out?”

“Sounds good to me.” Akaashi instantly begins to pour himself a drink.

“So, what are you guys meant to be?” Iwaizumi glances between Bokuto and Akaashi.

“Men in Black. Simple, but effective.” Shrugging his shoulders, Akaashi takes a sip of his drink.

“Plus, I get to wear sunglasses at night and i have a cool fake gun.” Bokuto lifts the gun from behind him and shows it to Iwaizumi. “It’s pretty awesome.”

You finish tying the ribbons of your pumps and pick up your cup from the floor, taking a sip. As the boys fall into a conversation of hockey, your thoughts starts to drift away when you focus in on Iwaizumi.

He’s sat leaning back on his hands, one leg out straight and the other bent. Nodding to what Bokuto says, he keeps his eyes on him; fully engrossed in the conversation. The hat pushes his dark hair down further, brushing against his eyes. He wears a pair of light blue jeans that flare at the ankles and brown cowboy boots, a plain, white button up for a top.

A half-assed costume, but it looks good on him. Like, really good. The shirt clings onto his body so tight you’re rooting for the buttons to pop off — what a sight that would be.

“How long have you been here now? Like, two months?” Iwaizumi turns to you, a smile playing at his lips when he catches you staring. “Less?”

Feeling the heat coming to your cheeks, you take a sip of your drink and pretend to think. “Just over a month. Month and a half, maybe.”

“And you only have a TV and one, two-seater sofa?” He tries not to laugh as he interrogates you.

“I have all my furniture in my bedroom.” You shrug your shoulders and take another sip of your drink. “That’s where it matters.”

“Sure, I bet it’s just a mattress on the floor,” he teases, topping up his cup before drinking it all. “So, are we heading out?”

Nodding your head, you finish your drink and rise from your seat. “Yeah, let’s go.”

masterlist. previous | next

summary. when an unfortunate incident kicks you out of your university and risks your reputation as one of the top figures skater in the country, you find your place in sendai. but when you discover they only have one rink, designated to their a-league hockey team, your chance at a comeback slips from your grasp. your only in is with the captain of the hockey team. the issue with that? he couldn’t care less who you are.

taglist (CLOSED). @standcom @thoughtswithbbg @aboutkiyoomi @angtopia @yunavx @celestialm1nd @surfeitstar @xiaoquanquans @istann @aldebrana @mdmraz @softpia @wakashudou @mo072806 @90s-belladonna @rrosiitas @suuunarin @chaotic-neutral-ig @nanasrkives @hrithi11 @itsdragonius @sexylexy12 @0rangej0e @wordsofelie @p4lli @a-sorrowful-tune @iluv-ace @matt444nixi @charleslec-airlines @meikstv @amterasuu @rabbitcola @sickpatientt @sophiahearttss @himec @torkorpse @nscuit @labsbedamned @iloveiwaizumihajime @snoowply @followingmysunsposts @navymacaroons @lover-no-lover61 @shozuken @sunaispretty @luvvcho @idexmids @luckybibucky @h3xi2g0n3 @soy-garbage @cloudtato

[magiclwritings]

The night? That was the oddest two words that could have been put together when it came to Colter in that moment. This wasn't just for one time. This was for always as it had been intended. And even looking at him then, that was always going to be the case. What he wouldn't give to melt into him right at that moment. To feel his familiar hands on his body in any capacity would feel so welcomed. He'd been starved for it for too long. And while he'd delighted in Everett, what August and he had could never compare to what he took in the mean time. That was the way he remembered it and that was how it was going to be no matter what.

"He's not yours." Colter spat at the bar keep. Mostly because that tone reminded him of his father and the grip on that man's ankle was the very same he felt around his neck day in and day out as the crowned prince of their region. His eyes narrowed and he knew it was going to be hell if he lost it. But August was right there. This could be fixed if he could just touch him. His fingers ached to reach for him but that was the way of it. That wasn't their way. Everett's voice did little to soothe him but he knew that he'd help him.

The prince looked down at his friend in the chaos and found that the look on his face gave him pause. There was bewilderment at his actions of course but it was almost like he was afraid. But of him? Colter hadn't stopped to consider what he'd done until that moment. His eyes fell to the floor and slowly up to his own feet. Things felt as if they were getting fuzzy at the edges and he couldn't afford to lose focus. Instead he closed his eyes so tightly he could feel his forehead wrinkling with the effort.

"Wh- .." He started, taking a half step back towards Everett. He hated that he gravitated back that way but he had no choice. Whatever was going on with August and this man was out of his control and he couldn't stand for him to be hurt. It was really only then that he'd started to process what the man behind the bar wanted. His hand slid to his belt pouch, jingling the coins in it at his side but he somehow felt that wouldn't be enough. Not with how the crowd was hollering for him. It maybe him absolutely sick to his stomach but Colter had to have him back. At least to know if ... if this is what he truly wanted.

His gaze drifted onto Everett but he didn't say a word. Instead he simply plucked the garnet ring from his pinky finger, his mother's, and offered it to the man that had hold of August. The flash of red that caught his eye as he did so sent a shiver down his spine but he would happily give over one of the last piece of her to have him back. "A life for a life." Colter told him, dropping it into his open hand as well as the small pouch from his waist. His eyes scanned back up to find August. The look he couldn't place and it made him want to vomit. To have known this man for most all of his life and to be looked at as if he were some stranger was something Colter wasn't sure he could ever reconcile.

"Buy him outright, Everett." It wasn't a question, that was an order from the prince. And Colter rarely ever pulled rank amongst themselves but he would to ensure not a single hand land on this man was without his consent. "Whatever number he thinks of, " Colter tucked his now bare hand behind the other and pressed it to his stomach. The temperature fit how ghostly he felt in that moment. "Triple it." Colter's cool eyes fell onto August and he forced a smile, knowing this to be some game. It had to be. Colter found favor in Everett and this was his penance. Whatever this was, Colter would dive through the rivers and oceans of the underworld to bring it all back right.

"Auggie ... please?"

Asa kept his eyes on the prince as he moved across the bar. So many customers were calling out amounts they were willing to pay at Rufus, but there was only one target in his sights. He spun around the bar carelessly, blowing kisses to the crowd and winking at them all while the prince pushed his way through the crowd. He was shouting something, but the hollering of the other patrons drowned him out. 

And then the prince was in front of him, standing on top of the bar. And Asa couldn’t think of a word that described seeing the prince up close. He was breathtakingly beautiful, of course, but there was more to it. He felt familiar in a way that didn’t feel possible. August. That wasn’t his name; it didn’t feel like his name. Asa’s brows furrowed. It wasn’t uncommon that the customers who paid for him called him a different name; maybe that would be the prince’s game. But then he continued, saying I found you. It sounded frighteningly intimate. How was he supposed to respond to something like that? The prince thought he was someone else. Thankfully,  Asa didn’t have to think about it too hard. Rufus had to negotiate everything for him anyway. It wasn’t like he had a choice. 

“Hey,” Rufus said, snapping his fingers loudly and pushing Asa back from the prince. “You want him, you pay for him,” he scolded, wrapping his fingers around Asa's ankle as if he was scared the prince would haul him over his shoulder and run off into the night. The prince looked at him like he was the only person in the room. Maybe Rufus had a right to be nervous about that. “I know who you are, and I’ll book him with  you tonight, but don’t forget that he’s one of mine.” 

Everett fought for his life to get to the bar. When he finally made it, he saw Colter standing on the bar next to Rufus’s new boy. He did look strikingly similar to August, but Everett knew it couldn’t be him. August would never leave the castle to work in a place like this. And he knew that Colter longed for August and missed him, so he wasn’t surprised that he was dead set on this man being their missing Auggie. “Sorry, Rufus,” Everett said to the man. He leaned against the bar. Part of him wanted to pull Colter down, but he knew it wouldn’t happen. “He’s just excited about being out.” 

“I would prefer his excitement stays off my fucking bar,” Rufus grumbled, glaring up at the prince. “You know how this goes, Everett, he either pays for the night or I gotta give him to someone else.” Rufus waved his wand around, gesturing towards the crowd. Then he looked up at Colter, raising a brow.  “What’s he worth to you, Prince?”

[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.

[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.

[seungisms]

perv!roommate!felix who absolutely loves living with you, he couldn’t ask for a better roommate. but sometimes you just make it so hard for him and his poor cock, especially when you’re prancing around in pretty little skirts and tiny tops that just seem to get smaller and smaller everyday

perv!roommate!felix who starts to think you almost do it on purpose, just to see him squirm and trip over his words when you catch him staring at your ass - blood rushing to his dick at the mere idea of you wanting his eyes on you

perv!roommate!felix who swears up and down he’s nothing but a gentleman, he just wants you to feel comfortable around him. but he often times finds himself laying alone in his room at night, briefs tangled around his ankles and dick so swollen and needy and begging for something other than his hand, imagining it was your cunt he was dribbling into instead of his hand - wanting nothing more than to bend you over and make you apologise on his cock for being such a goddamn tease. he’ll hardly be able to meet your eyes the next morning

perv!roommate!felix who has to excuse himself every morning when you walk around in your pathetic excuse of a towel, having the nerve to actually bend down right in front him, and he almost loses all self-control the second he steals a glance at your glistening pussy, looking so empty and sad without a cock spreading it open. and he can do nothing but get himself off yet again, too passive to actually call you out on your behaviour and he swears his dick is gonna fall off if he keeps relying on his hand, just praying he gets at least one taste of your sweet cunt in this lifetime

perv!roommate!felix who innocently offers to do your laundry for you every week, feeling his cock twitch in excitement when you happily hand your basket over, barely noticing your underwear drawer getting smaller and smaller as the weeks go by

perv!roommate!felix who feels so much shame when he sees the panties he’s collected peaking out from under his pillow, knowing he should just give them back to you already but they’re all so sticky and used with his cum - he couldn’t possibly stand the thought of you knowing how depraved he actually is

perv!roommate!felix who despite all his best efforts has an obsession with stealing your underwear and using them to get himself off, fisting them around his cock and imagining it was your pretty pussy he was fucking up into instead, or shoving them into his mouth to muffle the slutty groans he lets out while humping his pillow, a mess of drool and spit and cum staining the cute pink fabric

perv!roommate!felix who can’t stand the thought of your ever bringing someone home, so he’ll claim he’s just too uncomfortable with a stranger being in his apartment - but really he just hates the idea of someone else spreading you open on their cock, knowing he could fuck you so much better if you would just give him one chance

perv!roommate!felix who likes picking fights with you when you make a mess in the apartment, wanting nothing more than to fuck away the cute pout sitting on your lips when he scolds you

perv!roommate!felix who thinks you’re so pretty if it weren’t for your mouth, almost begging him to force his cock down your throat and shut you up once and for all

perv!roommate!felix who can’t find it in himself to be mad at you for long, especially not when he stumbles past your room later that night - he didn’t mean to look!! he swears!! but he’s never heard his name whined to prettily, and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the sloppy way you fuck your fingers into your pussy, itching to be filled with something bigger and heavier

perv!roommate!felix who hates himself for it but he just has to pull out his phone and snap a few photos in this state, all drooling and sweaty and fucked out for him

perv!roommate!felix who hardly ever invites the rest of the boys over, wanting to keep you all to himself - he especially hates watching you flirt with hyunjin all night, dying to fuck the bratty attitude out of you for even daring to think of anyone other than him

perv!roommate!felix who has to settle for fisting your used panties around his dick yet again, so desperately wishing it was your cute cunt he was rubbing against instead of the stupid frilly underwear you love so much

perv!roommate!felix who sometimes sneaks into your room when you’ve left for the day, curling into your sheets and using the lingering scent of your shampoo to coax himself to orgasm - eyes shifting away when you question him about the weird wet patch left behind on your sheets when you come home

perv!roommate!felix who finds himself ‘accidentally’  walking in on you in the shower more times than he can count, tumbling out half-assed apologies but he always seems to take a tad too long to actually leave

perv!roommate!felix who tries his best to act like he wasn’t dying to fuck you, but he could feel himself cave in with each passing day, especially with the fuck me eyes you follow him around with that he was so sure he was making up in his head - until finally he gives in and finds himself slipping into your bed one night when the swell of his dick is just too hard to ignore - pressing his hot cock against your clothed cunt and whimpering out when he feels your wetness build up against the fabric of your underwear, begging him to dip in just once and he just hopes and prays you won’t wake up to find him rutting against you like pervert

perv!roommate!felix who can only think with his dick and can’t help himself from desperately humping against you, the feeling of your warmth flooding his cock and his fingers are slipping down to nudge your panties to the side before he can even stop himself, swollen dick bumping against your pussy and he’s so far gone he wouldn’t be able to stop even if he wanted to

perv!roommate!felix who gets too carried away, he knows he should stop now before you wake up and find your sweet roommate playing with your pussy, but you're whimpering in your sleep and bucking down to meet his shallow thrusts, just an inch he tells himself and he’ll leave you alone

perv!roommate!felix who can’t stop at just an inch, he’s just too greedy - before he knows it he’s stuffed you full and you're all he can think, see or taste. and he doesn't know you've been awake this whole time, legs spread and waiting for him to make his move. and you're parting your lips to mock him for being so pathetic that he'd have to crawl into your bed at night but before you can he’s hammering into you like a man starved, embarrassed sobs of please, i’m so sorry, just need t’ cum falling from his lips as he chases his high - drunk on the feel of your plush walls swallowing him up

perv!roommate!felix who gets one taste of you and can’t seem to get enough

[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!

[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.

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