#can't stop laughing about how stupid this is

[killerplink]

Shameless

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Words: 10k

Plot: You're supposed to head straight home after the bar. You really are. But you're drunk, and needy, and desperate for his dick, so now you're in some alley getting fucked stupid against a wall.

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, drunk sex, praise kink, size kink, public sex, rough sex, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare

The bar is dim and comfortably loud, some old rock song spilling from the jukebox while Jason leans back against the booth, arm draped along the backrest, watching you with a lazy smile. You're already two drinks and some shots deep—which, for you, is a lot—and it shows in the way you're slumped just slightly against his side, giggly and loose, eyes a little glassy under the neon glow.

He knew you needed this. Knew this week had been a fucking nightmare for you. And yeah, maybe getting you tipsy wasn't the most responsible move, but God, you're cute like this, all soft and clingy and running your mouth without a filter.

"Y'know," you slur a little, gesturing wildly with your glass, "that bitch from the subway? The one who kept pushing into me?" Your brows knit together in offended disbelief, like you're personally wounded all over again just thinking about her. "I shoulda knocked her fucking teeth out."

Jason has to bite the inside of his cheek, his grip tightening on his beer bottle as he lifts it to his lips. You're so damn small, and the way you say it, all dramatic and dead serious, makes it even funnier. But you're not joking. You slam your palm against his chest to drive the point home, which, to you, probably feels like a decent smack, but to him, it's barely a tap.

"Right?" you demand, eyes wide and expectant, waiting for him to back you up.

Jason clears his throat, desperately swallowing the grin threatening to break free. "Yeah, baby. Totally. Shoulda knocked her the fuck out."

"Exactly!" you nod so hard your whole body sways, and Jason has to steady you with his free hand to keep you from sliding right off the seat. "No respect. None! Who does that?"

You keep ranting, every slurred complaint punctuated with another dramatic gesture or a wild wave of your drink. Jason just sits there, half-listening, half-savoring how fucking adorable you are like this, all small and feisty, tipsy and dramatic, tucked into his side like you belong there.

He loves you so much it's fucking stupid. And it's only a matter of time before that sweet mouth of yours gets him into trouble tonight��one way or another.

By the time your third drink arrives, your body feels warm and heavy, head swimming in that sweet, fuzzy way that makes everything feel a little softer, a little funnier, and way hornier than it should.

Jason's sitting there next to you, all broad and solid, wearing that black t-shirt that stretches just right over his chest and arms, showing off all that ink. His thighs, thick and spread wide, are right there next to yours, and you can't help yourself—your free hand starts to wander.

You trace slow circles along the inside of his thigh, your fingers sneaking higher each time until your knuckles almost brush the bulge straining against his jeans. Jason tenses just slightly, the muscle under your palm jumping at the touch, but he doesn't stop you right away.

He's used to your drunk grabby hands by now, and hell, it's flattering how fast you get worked up for him. But his dick? His dick's got no chill, thick and half-hard already, and your teasing fingers aren't helping.

"Baby," he murmurs, his free hand curling around your wrist, stopping you gently. "Behave."

You pout instantly, squirming closer until you're practically in his lap, your big, glossy eyes locked on his like you're about to cry over it.

"Jay," you mumble, voice all soft and slurred, "you're so fucking hot."

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he takes another sip of his beer. "Am I?"

You nod. Hard. Like you're trying to convince him of a life-or-death fact. "Hottest guy I ever been with," you say, and Jason's ears go pink at the blunt praise. "Can't believe you chose me."

Jason's brow arches, that soft smile curving his lips. "What do you mean, pretty girl?"

You just shrug, lifting your drink to your mouth again, and miss it entirely—half your sip spills down your chin, sticky and sweet. Jason sighs, amused, and reaches out with his thumb, gently swiping the alcohol off your skin.

That's when your grin turns wicked. Before he can pull his hand away, you catch his wrist, pulling his thumb between your lips. Your tongue flicks against the pad before you suck gently, cleaning off the spill like it's the most natural thing in the world. But your mind? Your drunk, horny mind immediately derails into filth.

You wish it was his cock instead—thick and hot, sliding across your tongue, stretching your lips wide, fucking your throat until you're gagging and drooling and swallowing down every messy drop of his cum.

Your thighs clench under the table, the sudden rush of slick making you squirm, a soft whimper slipping out before you can stop it. Jason's brow furrows, his beer halfway to his mouth.

"Baby," he asks, voice lower now, "you okay?"

You nod too hard again, the world tilting slightly around you as you lean in, your hand landing high on his thigh once more. "Wanna fuck," you whisper, way too loud for how crowded the bar is.

Jason barks out a surprised laugh, shaking his head like he can't believe you. But fuck if it isn't turning him on, how unfiltered and needy you get for him when you're drunk.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, tipping back the rest of his beer in one long swallow before setting the bottle down with a clink. "Okay, pretty girl. Let me pay the tab and we'll go home, yeah?"

You hum happily, already leaning into his side, and Jason's hand settles warm on your thigh, fingers tracing mindless shapes while his other hand fishes his wallet out. You're still thinking about his dick—hot and leaking, sliding into your mouth, fucking your throat open before he bends you over and makes a mess of your pussy. And you've got zero intention of waiting until you're home to get your hands on him.

Before you leave, you decide you need the bathroom, weaving your way through the crowded bar with Jason's hand at the small of your back, his touch warm and steady, guiding you even though you're not exactly steady yourself.

The bathroom is... well, a Gotham bar bathroom—dim, one flickering fluorescent light buzzing overhead, cracked mirror, graffiti covering the stall doors. It smells like vodka, faint piss, and one of those cheap lavender air fresheners, and honestly? You've pissed in worse. You handle your business, wash your hands, and catch your reflection in the smeared mirror.

You look... a little wrecked already. Cheeks flushed, lips glossy and a little swollen from how you've been biting at them all night. Your eyeliner's still holding on, but your hair's a mess from leaning into Jason every time you got touchy—and you always get touchy when you drink. Still, even a little tipsy and sloppy, you grin at yourself, knowing damn well Jason still looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.

You smooth your hands down your skirt, adjust your top, and stumble your way back out, only to immediately see her.

Some too-pretty bitch draping herself all over your man like she doesn't know he's taken, her stupid pink acrylic nails tracing up his arm, leaning way too close into his space like she's got a shot in hell.

And Jason? He looks exactly like you expect—bored out of his fucking mind. He doesn't smile, doesn't lean back, doesn't flirt. His body stays turned toward you, eyes scanning for you even as she talks, and the second you step back into view, his shoulders relax like Thank fuck you're back.

But you? Oh, you're seeing red.

"Excuse me?" you shout, voice cutting through the music and bar chatter like a fucking gunshot. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Jason groans under his breath—"Oh, shit." —but it's too late. You're already stomping toward them, small but furious, your heels clacking hard against the floor like you're about to fight for your goddamn life.

The girl barely gets a chance to blink before you're in her face, finger jabbing at her chest, your other hand pointing wildly at Jason like a woman unhinged.

"That's my man, you thirsty fucking skank. Go throw yourself at someone who doesn't have a girlfriend."

Jason stands immediately, his big hand wrapping around your waist, physically lifting you off the floor because you're already reaching for her hair, fully prepared to drag her across the bar.

"Doll," he says, low and firm, voice edged with both amusement and actual concern. "C'mon, pretty girl, let's go."

"No!" you shout, flailing in his grip like a feral little cat. "She—she touched you! You're mine!"

"I know, baby," Jason says, voice softer now, soothing, his lips brushing your ear as he starts hauling you toward the door. "I'm all yours, always yours, pretty girl, you know that."

The girl stares in shock, but Jason doesn't even glance back at her. His only focus is you—his loud, drunk, ridiculously hot girlfriend who's out here ready to commit assault over him, and damn if that doesn't make him feel a little smug.

Outside, the cool night air hits you, and you're still huffy, arms crossed tight, refusing to look at him. Jason tugs you into the nearest alley, far enough from the entrance that you've got a little privacy, and then he tips your chin up gently, making you meet his eyes.

"Baby," he says, soft and serious, "you know I don't give a fuck about anyone else, right? You're it for me. My perfect girl. Nobody else even exists."

You bite your lip, still pouting, but your heart melts, all fuzzy and warm at the edges. "Promise?"

"Swear on my life," Jason says, hand over his heart, even though you both know his heart's been yours since the day you stumbled into his world.

You sigh dramatically, leaning into him, forehead to his chest. "Okay," you mumble. "But if she looks at you again, I'm breaking her nose."

Jason huffs a laugh, arms wrapping tight around you, hiding his smile in your hair. "I know you will, doll."

Then it hits him. Fuck. He walked you both here. No car, no bike. And now he's got to get your tipsy, horny, fight-happy ass home on foot.

"Oh, this is gonna be a long walk," Jason mutters, but even with the impending chaos, all he feels is love.

Wild, messy, absolutely fucking insane love for his feral little girlfriend who'd burn the world down for him if he asked. Jason's big hand reaches for yours, callused fingers curling gently around your smaller ones, and you let him intertwine them, your palm snug against his, so much bigger, so warm, so him.

You look up at him, eyes still wide and pouty, lip poked out just a little, and Jason can't help it. He leans down, catching your mouth with his in a kiss that's meant to be sweet, but fuck, you're drunk and needy and soft under him, and it goes from gentle to hot and sloppy real fast.

You moan against his mouth, pressing up on your toes to get closer, tongue sweeping into his mouth, tasting beer and Jason and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke. Your free hand slides between you, fingers tracing down the front of his jeans until you find his dick, thick and warm, already stirring to life the second your palm cups him.

"Jesus Christ," Jason mutters against your lips, breaking the kiss with a panting breath. "Baby, you're insatiable."

"Yeah," you giggle, voice all breathy and fucked out already. "I want you so bad, Jay."

He takes a deep breath, trying to get his pulse under control, even though his cock is already hardening under your touch.

"C'mon, baby, let's get going. We'll be home in no time, yeah?"

You shake your head so violently you nearly knock yourself over, and Jason's quick, both hands grabbing your waist to steady you, brows raised in that exasperated, fond way that makes you feel like the most spoiled little brat in the world.

"No?" he asks, amusement curling in his voice. "What do you want, then?"

You pout, full-on drunk girl tantrum loading, tugging at his shirt like a needy little gremlin. "I want your dick, baby."

Jason laughs, head tipping back, the sound echoing off the brick alley walls. "I know, baby. And you'll get it." He cups your face, thumb dragging across your lower lip, eyes warm and full of affection. "Home. I'm not fuckin' you against a dumpster in Crime Alley."

You whine, actually whine, stomping your foot once for good measure. "But I'm so wet, Jay," you mumble, words all slurred and pouty. "My pussy hurts."

"Baby," Jason groans, running a hand down his face like he's in actual physical pain from trying to be a good man right now. "You are killin' me."

"So fuck me," you say, all wide-eyed, like you've cracked the fucking code.

Jason breathes deep through his nose, hands settling firm on your hips, holding you just far enough away from his dick so you can't start rubbing all over him again.

"Baby. Baby. Listen to me."

"No," you cut in, dramatically folding your arms under your tits, cleavage spilling in your too-tight top. "You listen to me. You always wanna fuck me. Why not now?"

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about needing fucking therapy, before he cups your cheeks again, squishing them until your lips pucker.

"Pretty girl, I do always wanna fuck you. But if I fuck you here, in this nasty-ass alley, I will never forgive myself. And you, my sweet, drunk little menace, will complain the whole way home about how your knees hurt or your back hurts or how you got gum in your hair from leanin' against this filthy fuckin' wall."

You blink at him, brain working overtime to process all that, and then you sniff. "Fine."

"Thank fuck," Jason sighs.

"But I'm walking all sexy so you stare at my ass the whole way."

"Baby," Jason groans, sliding a hand down to smack your ass once, hard enough to make you squeal and giggle. "You're a fuckin' nightmare."

"A sexy nightmare," you correct, wagging a finger in his face before you twirl dramatically toward the sidewalk, hips swinging like you're on a runway.

Jason follows, shaking his head, but fuck if he isn't staring at your ass just like you wanted. Even under the dim streetlights, the sway of your hips is hypnotic, that short skirt barely covering you, and all he can think about is getting you home, spreading you out, and ruining you properly.

But first? He's gotta get you both back alive.

His hand settles on the small of your back again, eyes scanning every shadow, every rooftop, every alley you pass, because it's Gotham. And drunk, horny, dramatic as you are, you're still his most precious thing—the only thing he'd throw himself in front of a bullet for without a second thought.

"Stay close, baby," he murmurs, fingers curling in your waistband, keeping you just a little closer as you both make your way down the sidewalk. "Don't need you wanderin' off."

You hum, leaning into him for a second before dancing away, spinning in a circle because you're drunk and happy and feeling yourself, and Jason knows—knows—that if you weren't so fucking adorable, he'd have lost his mind years ago.

His hand stays wrapped around yours, big and warm and strong, fingers interlocked so tight it feels like he's afraid you'll slip away if he lets go. You're not even thinking about the way his grip has a slight edge to it, the way his shoulders stay tense, scanning every shadow you pass, every figure leaning against a wall or sitting on a curb. To you, it's just Jason holding your hand like he always does, but to him, it's the only way to stop himself from grabbing the nearest asshole staring at your tits and slamming their face into a brick wall.

Because yeah, you're loud. Laughing too hard at your own jokes, voice bouncing off every building as you tell him how much you love his biceps, actually grabbing his arm with both hands and smooshing your cheek against it like it's the only pillow you ever want again.

"Baby, I swear to God, I think your arm is bigger than my whole head," you giggle, fingers barely stretching around the thickness of his bicep.

Your cheek stays pressed against him, your lips practically kissing the fabric of his jacket, and Jason just grunts, biting back a smile.

He's trying so fucking hard to stay focused. You're walking through downtown Gotham, and even though you're getting closer to Bristol, you're still technically in territory where he knows half the guys on the sidewalk have at least one weapon on them.

But you? You're bouncing beside him in your cute little skirt, tits pushed up perfectly, heels clicking on the pavement, and every time you laugh, your nipples press against the thin fabric like a filthy little tease.

Jason glances down just once, and fuck, you're not wearing a bra. His jaw clenches so tight his teeth might crack.

"Jay, Jay—hey," you tug at his arm, nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk. He catches you before you fall, one strong hand on your hip, the other still holding your hand tight. "I'm okay!" you announce, way too loud, grinning up at him.

"Yeah, I see that," he mutters, tugging you closer so you're practically walking under his arm now. "Maybe let me steer, baby, before you snap one of those pretty ankles."

You just hum, leaning into his side, your arm wrapping around his waist, your cheek back against his ribs this time, and you barely reach his shoulder like this, even with the height boost from your heels.

It's obscene, really, how small you are compared to him, and Jason feels it everywhere. In the way your soft hand barely wraps around his fingers, the way your arm can't even get all the way around his torso, the way your chin tilts up so far just to meet his eyes.

It's making his dick throb again, especially with the way you keep pressing against him like you can't get close enough, your tits practically plastered to his side. And when your hand slips lower, over his hip, fingers skimming his belt? Yeah, his dick definitely stirs again, already half-hard in his jeans.

But Jason grits his teeth, eyes flicking down a side street where a couple of guys lean against a car, watching you both pass with a little too much interest.

He could end them. Real easy. But that means letting go of you for even a second, and in a place like this, that's too much time.

So instead, he focuses on getting you both to Bristol. Once you're there, it's different. Still Gotham, sure, but way less grime, way fewer threats.

"Baby, your biceps," you murmur dreamily, still snuggled into his side. "I wanna live here. Make me a bicep hammock. I could just... take a nap right here."

"Jesus Christ," Jason huffs, half-laughing, half-suffering.

His hand squeezes your hip hard enough to make you gasp softly, and your thighs press together instinctively, slick panties clinging to your skin.

And you know it's bad—for him, for you—because you can already feel how wet you are, panties soaked just from the feel of his hand and the size of his arm and the fact that Jason fucking Todd is all yours.

Every broad inch of him belongs to you, and you want him so badly your nipples ache, hard and sensitive, the cool night air brushing them through your top with every step.

Jason feels it too, the way your body stays glued to his, warm and soft and sweet, all that restless, needy energy radiating off you like heat. And even though his jaw stays tight, his eyes sharp and scanning for trouble, his dick is already thinking about the safety of your shared apartment, where he can fuck you in peace.

But finally, you make it into Bristol, and Jason feels like he can breathe again. Shoulders easing just slightly, the tension that's been coiled in his spine since you left the bar loosens a fraction, though he's still hyper-aware of every footstep behind you, every flickering streetlight, every passing car.

Gotham's quieter here, but it's still Gotham. And no sane person drives a cab through this shithole, especially not after dark, which is exactly why you're stuck walking home. Buses aren't much better—either they're not running at all, or they're full of people Jason would rather not share air with, let alone a seat.

But you? You're not thinking about cabs or buses or safety at all. You're too busy scanning the sidewalks like you're searching for treasure, except the treasure you want is a dark, secluded little alley where your man can fuck you until you're crying.

And you find one.

You stop so suddenly Jason nearly stumbles into you, and you gasp like you just discovered the lost city of gold.

"What now, doll?" he sighs, already bracing for whatever chaos is about to spill from your pretty mouth.

Your grin is downright wicked, that playful, tipsy sparkle in your eyes as you grab his arm with both hands and start walking backwards toward the alley entrance. It's tucked behind some trendy little wine bar, barely lit, and Jason's already shaking his head, planting his feet like a stubborn brick wall.

"Baby," he warns, voice low, but you're having none of it.

"Jay," you pout, stepping back into the shadows, fingers curling around his belt to tug him with you. "Please. Pleasepleaseplease. I can't wait. I'm so fucking wet, I swear it's dripping down my thighs."

"Jesus," he mutters, but his resolve is crumbling fast, especially when you grab his wrist and guide his hand under your skirt, between your thighs, pressing his fingers against the damp lace of your panties.

Jason hisses between his teeth, jaw clenched tight as his fingertips press into the soaked fabric, feeling just how messy you already are. "Fuck, baby," he groans, fingers stroking you through the lace until you're trembling. "You really are dripping."

You nod so hard it's almost comical, hips rocking into his touch, and he curses again, pulling his hand back before he loses whatever sliver of restraint he has left.

"C'mon, Jay," you murmur, voice all sweet and syrupy as you press your body against him. "No one's here. I need you so bad."

He's so fucking weak for you. He always has been. With a low, rumbling sigh, he grabs your hips and lifts you slightly off the ground, keeping your heels from clicking against the damp pavement, his strength so effortless it makes you dizzy.

Your arms loop around his neck, lips grazing his jaw, and you whisper, "Knew you couldn't resist me."

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, but there's already a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he carries you further into the alley.

And to both your surprise, it's not that bad. No reeking garbage, no questionable puddles, just a slightly damp brick wall and enough privacy to make this work.

Jason pins you to the wall gently, broad hands spreading your thighs, fingers curling under the hem of your skirt to bunch it up around your hips, and the cool air against your soaked panties makes you shiver.

"We're doing this fast," he murmurs, voice dark and low as he towers over you, his body heat sinking into your skin. "Then I'm carrying your ass home and fucking you proper, got it?"

You just nod, biting your lip as your hips wiggle, trying to press against him. Before you can fully grind up against him, Jason pulls you off the wall like you weigh nothing, his big hand splayed across your back, holding you up effortlessly with just one arm.

"Hold still, baby," he murmurs, though there's a flicker of fond amusement in his voice.

You cling to him, hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, legs dangling slightly until he sets you down just long enough to shrug out of his leather jacket. Then he drapes it over your shoulders, the worn leather heavy and warm from his body heat, swallowing you whole.

"Don't want you all scratched up," he says, fingers brushing your cheek before he lifts you up and pins you back to the wall, his body following, pressing tight against yours.

The kiss that follows is messy, almost desperate, like neither of you has any patience left, his mouth slanting over yours, tongue licking deep between your parted lips. You taste like alcohol and sweetness, like the cocktails you couldn't stop sipping, and Jason tastes like beer and heat and him.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against your mouth, and he rolls his hips into you, grinding his thick cock against your sopping cunt through your panties, the rough denim dragging against the soaked lace until you whimper into his mouth.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, forehead pressed to yours. "You're so fuckin' wet. I can feel it through my jeans."

"Then stop teasing," you pout, hips canting against him again, your thighs trembling from the sheer ache of needing him inside you.

"Oh, baby," Jason grins, all teeth, his hand sliding between you to push your panties aside, fingers dipping low to swipe through your slick folds, making you jerk. "Teasing's my favorite part."

"Jay," you whine, voice high and thin, your hips trying to chase his fingers as they stroke along your slit, purposefully avoiding your clit. "Please. Don't—don't tease, I'm so wet, I need you, please."

"Yeah?" He drags his fingers lower, tracing around your entrance, gathering up your slick, rubbing it slow over your throbbing clit until your whole body jerks again. "You need me that bad, baby?"

"Yes," you cry, voice pitchy and desperate, hands fisting in his shirt. "Need your dick, need you to fuck me, pleasepleaseplease—"

Jason hums low in his throat, eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he watches you come undone right in front of him. "Greedy little thing," he teases, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your clit until you're trembling against him. "So fuckin' needy."

"Because you made me like this," you snap, drunk enough that you barely have a filter, every single thought spilling from your lips. "You and your stupid big dick and your stupid perfect hands and your stupid hot face—"

Jason barks a laugh, cutting you off by sinking two fingers deep into your cunt with a filthy squelch that echoes through the alley, your protests melting into a soft, helpless moan.

"There we go," he murmurs, voice low and rough as his fingers pump in and out, stretching you open, slick dripping down to coat his knuckles. "Gotta open you up, baby. You know you can't take me if I don't stretch this sweet little pussy first."

You just whimper, hips rocking down onto his hand, your fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, your drunk little brain so overwhelmed by how good his fingers feel, how deep they reach, already curling to press against that soft, spongy spot inside you.

"Always so fuckin' tight," Jason mutters, thumb circling your clit as his fingers fuck into you, slow and deliberate.

You nod frantically, too far gone to do anything else, all your focus narrowed down to the way his fingers stretch and fill you, the slick sound of it obscene in the quiet alley.

"Think you can behave if I fuck you right here?" he asks, lips brushing your ear, fingers never slowing. "Or are you gonna be a noisy little brat and get us caught?"

Jason's fingers work your cunt like it's his job, those thick digits scissoring inside you, spreading you wide, your walls clenching down hard every time he drags them out only to push them back in knuckle-deep.

You're soaked, dripping all over his hand, slick and messy and obscene, and he fucking loves it. Loves the way you always need a little stretching, loves how no matter how many times he's fucked this pussy, you still go all tight and greedy on him like you're brand new every single time.

His thumb circles your clit, slow and deliberate, just enough to keep you right on the edge of frustration, never quite enough to let you fall over, and you whine—a long, high-pitched sound that makes him smirk.

"Jay," you slur, lips dragging over his jaw, sticky and soft, your fingers clawing at his back through his shirt, hips squirming helplessly against his hand. "Want your dick, baby, please."

"Shhh," Jason hums against your mouth, voice rough, fingers still fucking into you, that relentless rhythm making your thighs shake. "I've got you, baby. Let me make you cum first, yeah? Can't have you all tight and needy like this. You'll hurt yourself tryin' to take me."

"Don't care," you pout, sucking a mark into his neck, messy and wet, your tongue flicking over the spot before you nip at it, making him grunt softly. "Wanna be full, Jay, wanna feel you stretch me out, wanna feel you fuck me so deep, baby, please—"

"Jesus," Jason mutters, but there's no heat to it, just low, throaty amusement, like he can't believe how fucking desperate you get when you're drunk and horny like this.

He shifts his hand, fingers crooking inside you just right, dragging over that spot that makes you jolt, and you whimper, thighs clenching around his waist.

"Look at you," he breathes, eyes dark and hooded as he watches your face twist in pleasure, mouth all pouty and glossy, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to your temples from how hot you've gotten. "So fucking pretty when you're like this, baby. All fucked out and desperate for me."

"Because I love you," you slur, fingers fisting in his hair, tugging him down into a kiss that's all tongue and teeth, messy and clumsy and so fucking hot he groans into it. "Love your dick, love your hands, love your stupid face—"

Jason swallows your rambling with another kiss, his fingers never stopping, his thumb rubbing tight, fast circles over your clit until you're trembling, back arching, your whole body pressing into his like you're trying to crawl inside his skin.

"C'mon, baby," he whispers against your lips, voice low and dark and sweet like sin. "Cum for me. Make a mess all over my fingers, show me how bad you want me."

You sob—a high, helpless sound—as your cunt clenches down hard, your orgasm hitting you like a fucking freight train, your hips stuttering against his hand, slick gushing over his fingers and dripping down to his wrist.

"Good girl," Jason praises, kissing you through it, swallowing every little moan and whimper as his fingers keep pumping, working you through the aftershocks until you're twitching, trying to squirm away from the overstimulation.

"Too much," you mumble, slurring against his mouth, but he just hums, grinning against your lips.

"Fuck," Jason mutters, pulling his fingers from your spent pussy, shiny and dripping, your slick coating his knuckles and glistening under the dim alley light. He holds his hand up, spreading his fingers just to watch the strings of your arousal stretch between them, his lip curling into a dark little smirk. "Look at this messy little pussy, baby. You really are my perfect fuckin' girl, aren't you?"

You whimper, squirming against the wall, thighs trembling where they wrap around his waist, and Jason's grin only widens. "Can't get enough of me, can you? Drippin' just from my fingers. Fuck, baby, I'm gonna ruin you."

"Please," you mumble, words all breathless and slurred, your glossy eyes locked on his mouth like you're starving for him. "Kiss me, Jay."

He doesn't need to be told twice—his mouth crashes into yours, hot and hungry, all tongue and teeth and filthy little moans that make your head spin. You taste like your cocktails and him, and you drink down his groans like they're your favorite liquor, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging hard just to feel him grunt against your tongue.

His kiss is messy, wet, his teeth catching your bottom lip, tugging until you whine before soothing the sting with his tongue. His hand stays firm on your ass, keeping you pinned, while his other works at his belt with practiced ease, the jingle making your pussy clench down hard around nothing. Your thighs squeeze his waist, your needy body rocking against him like you're trying to catch his dick the second it's free.

"Desperate," Jason teases, voice thick with amusement, but his own breath stutters when his jeans finally slide down just enough to let his dick spring free, hot and heavy, the flushed tip already smeared with precum.

He grunts softly as he fists himself, dragging his slick thumb over the head before he ruts against your messy cunt, grinding his cock between your folds until his length is coated in your slick, sliding so easily against your soaked, swollen clit.

"Baby," you moan, head lolling back against the brick, your eyes going half-lidded, all glassy and drunk on him. "Want you so bad. Please, Jay."

"Fuck, you're so needy," he groans, angling his hips just right so the thick head of his cock notches at your entrance, pushing in just a little, stretching you open slow. "Always so tight for me, baby. So fuckin' perfect."

You whimper, hands scrabbling at his shoulders, his back, his neck—anywhere you can hold onto as he starts to push deeper, the stretch making your mouth drop open, your eyes going wide as your cunt struggles to take him, even as slick as you are.

"Every time," Jason mutters, almost to himself, watching your face, your body, your perfect pussy swallowing him inch by inch. "Every fuckin' time this pussy fights me at first. Like you forget how big my dick is until I'm stuffin' you full again."

He doesn't even bother bottoming out at first, just fucking into you shallow and rough, enough to make your body bounce against the wall, enough to make you cry out soft and sweet with every thrust.

"Jay—" you whimper, too loud, but he slaps a big hand over your mouth, muffling you, his own jaw tight as he glares down at you.

"We're still in public, baby," he growls, punctuating his words with a particularly harsh thrust, finally bottoming out in one stroke that makes your eyes roll back. "Behave. I don't wanna spend the night in jail 'cause my girl couldn't keep her pretty mouth shut."

You whimper against his palm, nodding hard, eyes still wide and glassy, and he kisses your forehead like you're not split open on his dick in the middle of a fucking alley.

"That's my good girl," he purrs, letting his hand slide down to grip your waist, both hands anchoring you now as he starts to move.

And fuck, he moves—lifting you up like you weigh nothing, only to slam you back down onto his cock, impaling you over and over, your messy little cunt squelching loud and obscene every time he bottoms out. Your slick coats his dick, smearing down his thighs, dripping onto the pavement, and he's fucking feral for it, teeth gritted, sweat beading at his temples from how tight you are.

"Fuck, baby, this pussy's made for me," he groans, his grip bruising at your hips, his cock grinding so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. "So fuckin' tight—so wet for me. Look at you, baby, takin' me so good. My perfect little slut."

"Yours," you slur, hands scrabbling at his shoulders, your head dropping back against the wall, throat exposed and begging for his mouth. "Love your dick, Jay. Love you. Love you so much."

"Love you too, baby," he grunts, barely coherent as your walls flutter around him, your cunt sucking him in so tight he can barely pull back without you chasing him. "Love this messy little pussy. Gonna fuck you stupid right here, doll. Gonna make you cum on my dick, and then I'm gonna stuff you full of cum. Even if it gets me arrested."

The words shoot straight to your core, making your pussy clamp down around him so sweet and snug that Jason has to grit his teeth, his hips stuttering just for a second as heat flashes down his spine.

"Fuck—just like that, baby," he breathes, voice low, vibrating against your neck. "Keep squeezin' me like that, doll, you're gonna milk me dry."

The sound of your cunt taking him is fucking obscene, a slick, messy squelch every time he pulls out, followed by a wet, filthy slap as he fucks back in, balls-deep. It echoes off the brick walls, mixing with his ragged grunts and your soft, breathless moans, and it's so fucking dirty it makes his cock twitch inside you.

His hands cup your ass, those big, strong hands lifting and spreading you, kneading your soft flesh as he works you up and down his cock like you're weightless, his fingers sinking deep enough to leave bruises tomorrow.

The sweet scent of your arousal fills his nose, thick and heady in the cool night air, and Jason can't help himself—he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, inhaling deep like he's getting high off the smell of your pussy.

"Always so fuckin' sweet for me," he murmurs against your skin.

His tongue flicks out to taste the sweat beading there before he sucks at your neck, hard and messy, leaving dark bruises like a brand. He soothes the sting with his tongue, a lazy, possessive stroke that makes you whimper and tighten your grip in his hair, tugging at the strands like you're trying to keep him exactly where he is.

He doesn't give a fuck if you pull every single strand out, doesn't give a shit if you ruin his scalp, because all that matters is the way your pussy feels—so fucking soft, so hot, clenching around him like you were made to take his dick. His thighs burn from the angle, his back sticky under his shirt, but none of it registers because all he can think about is how fucking good you feel, how perfectly you fit around him.

Jason knows, deep down, that this is fucking insane. He's not supposed to be fucking you in an alley in Bristol. Usually, he's the one talking you down when you're drunk and horny, steering you home with that cocky little grin, promising to fuck you into the mattress the second you walk through the door. But tonight, reason flew out the window the second you dragged him into the shadows, panties already soaked, begging for his dick like a needy little slut.

And fuck, how's he supposed to resist you when you look at him like that? When you sound like this? All soft, breathless little moans, spilling past your kiss-swollen lips as you clutch at him like you'll die if he stops? When your body trembles in his hands, your slick running down his balls, every ragged little breath carrying his name?

"Jason," you whisper, so soft and sweet it fucking kills him, your voice all wrecked from the way he's been fucking you open. "So big, baby. Feels so good."

"Yeah?" His voice drops, rough and husky, fingers digging into your ass just a little harder as he fucks you deeper, cock grinding against that soft spot inside you that makes you tremble all over. "This dick's yours, doll. Made to stretch this sweet little pussy. You're perfect, baby—fuck, you're perfect for me."

Your nails rake down his back, short little scrapes through his shirt that make his abs flex, and Jason growls low in his throat, biting at your neck, at your shoulder, anywhere he can sink his teeth into.

"So good, doll. So fuckin' tight. My messy little slut, all drunk and desperate for my dick. Gonna fuck you until you can't even stand, baby."

Your walls pulse around him like you're already close, your breath hitching in soft, uneven moans, and Jason groans against your skin, fucking you harder, faster, losing any semblance of control. His hips slap against yours, your slick painting his skin, his cock so soaked it glides into you with filthy ease.

"C'mon, doll," he whispers against your ear, voice dark and sweet, dripping filth like honey. "Be my good girl and cum for me, yeah? Let me feel you soak my dick. Let me ruin this pretty little pussy."

Jason's grip shifts, just slightly, and the angle hits different—deeper, somehow rougher, but the real kicker is how his hips grind up against your clit every time he bottoms out, his skin rubbing over that swollen little bundle of nerves.

It's not even intentional at first, just the natural press of his body against yours in this position, but once he hears the choked little moan you make, he fucking locks onto it like a bloodhound, making sure to grind against you every time his cock stretches you open.

Your head falls back, clunking lightly against the brick, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him in closer, deeper. "Gonna cum," you gasp, voice thin, whiny and so fucking needy Jason feels his cock twitch inside you. "Jay—gonna cum, baby, please—"

"Yeah, you are," he rasps, kissing you quick and filthy, all tongue and teeth, biting at your lower lip before pulling back to look at you, all fucked-out and perfect. "Cum on my dick, baby. Make a mess all over me."

His thrusts turn deep and shallow, grinding against your clit with every stroke, the fat head of his cock dragging over that sweet little spot inside you until your legs start to shake. Your whole body tenses, back arching off the wall as your cunt pulses around him, gushing so hard it drips down his cock, slicking up his thighs and the inside of yours, messy and obscene and so fucking good.

"OhmyfuckingGod," you gasp, the words running together into a high-pitched moan, your body trembling in his hands. You're loud—too loud, and Jason clamps his hand over your mouth again, shushing you in that low, dangerous tone that always makes your cunt clench.

"Shhh, doll. You wanna get us caught?" he murmurs, right against your ear. "I'll stop. I fuckin' will. I'll pull out and leave you drippin', you keep bein' so fuckin' loud."

You shake your head wildly, wide, desperate eyes looking up at him, your hands clutching at his shoulders like your life depends on it. You can't stop now—you need his cum, need him to fuck it into you so deep it sticks, so deep you feel him for days.

Jason knows. Of course he knows—knows how much you love it when he pumps you full, knows how fucked-out and blissed you get when you feel him leak out of you, warm and thick and messy.

He's just about to give you what you want when—

The flash of red and blue lights paints the alley in sharp neon. You both freeze.

Jason's heart fucking stops, then kicks up so hard he can feel it in his teeth, every muscle in his body going taut like a wire ready to snap. Your eyes go wide, mouth opening in a silent gasp, fingers digging into his back hard enough to leave crescent marks through his shirt.

"Shhh, baby," he whispers again, this time more soothing than stern, his hand smoothing over your hip like that's gonna calm either of you down. "If you're quiet, they're not even gonna know we're here."

You nod fast, lip caught between your teeth, eyes darting to the mouth of the alley where the cop car slows, brake lights flaring red through the shadows.

Jason's heart pounds, his cock still buried balls-deep in your cunt, and this might actually be the stupidest, most reckless shit he's ever done—which is really saying something, considering his track record.

The car idles there for a beat too long, and you start to panic for real, breath coming too fast, your fingers clutching at him, but Jason dips down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his voice low and calm.

"Hey. It's okay, baby. They're just bored. Ain't got shit to do out here. They'll move."

And they do—after what feels like a fucking lifetime, the car finally rolls past the alley, the glow of the lights fading into the night.

"See, baby? Told you. We're good."

He grins, kissing you again, slow and sweet at first, until you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him deeper, the kiss turning sloppy and filthy all over again. Tongues sliding together, your moans humming right into his mouth, his cock twitching inside you.

"Now," Jason mutters between kisses, "where the fuck were we?"

He starts moving again, lifting you in his arms like you weigh nothing, slamming you back down onto his cock, the force of it making your whole body bounce, your slick cunt taking him so easy now after you came all over him.

Jason fucks you hard—not fast, not hurried, but with deep, brutal strokes, splitting you open every time, grinding against your clit at the end of each thrust until your breath stutters and your eyes flutter shut, head lolling back against the wall.

"Fuck, baby," Jason groans, forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged, hands locked around your waist, holding you tight like you might slip through his fingers. "You're so fuckin' tight. You feel that, doll? Feel how perfect this little pussy fits around my dick?"

You moan, soft and breathless, nails raking down his back, and Jason fucking loves it—loves how wild you get for him, how no matter how many times he's fucked you, you're still so damn tight around him.

"Love this pussy, baby," he mutters, voice thick and low, "love ruinin' you. My messy little slut, all drunk and dripping for me. Fuckin' perfect."

He can't stop kissing you, can't stop tasting your lips, your tongue, the little whimpers you feed him between kisses, his hips never slowing, driving into you over and over, fucking you so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat.

He knows you need to get the fuck out of here before the cops come back, before some nosey old lady comes out of that wine bar and catches you. But your pussy's too good, too sweet and snug, and if he doesn't cum soon, he might actually lose his mind.

Jason's pace shifts—rougher now, driven by that primal need to fill you up, to mark you inside and out, to make sure no one could even think about touching you after this. His thrusts slam into you with brutal precision, the thick length of his cock dragging along every slick, swollen inch of your cunt, stretching you wide around him, splitting you open over and over until your pussy feels raw and tender and so fucking full it's like you can't take a breath without feeling him buried deep inside you.

He knows you can feel every vein, every ridge, the blunt head of his cock grinding right against your cervix, and fuck, you're so wet—dripping all over him, down his thighs, pooling between you, every thrust making a filthy squelch echo down the alley. If anyone walked past right now, there wouldn't be a doubt what's happening here.

Not with the way your slick coats his cock, makes every thrust slippery and obscene, not with the way your breathy little moans hitch every time he bottoms out, not with the way his hips slap against yours, skin sticky with sweat and arousal.

Your thoughts are a fucking mess—the only things running through your drunk, fucked-out brain are Jason, dick, cum, more. You can't think past the way his cock stretches you, how perfect it feels to be pinned up like this, taken apart by him like you're nothing but a toy, his strong arms the only thing keeping you up. You swear you can feel him everywhere, like he's inside your bones, like the next time you take a step you'll still feel the heavy weight of him between your legs.

He kisses you again, messy and desperate, tongues sliding together, teeth clashing, spit slicking up your chin, but neither of you give a fuck. Your fingers knot in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt into your mouth, and he swears he could cum from just this—from the taste of you, the feel of your cunt pulsing around him, the soft little whimpers you spill into his mouth every time his cock hits that sweet spot.

"Fuck, baby," he rasps, forehead pressed to yours, sweat beading at his temple, "this pussy's so fuckin' messy. So fuckin' tight. Can barely move, you're clenching so hard. You gonna cum again for me, doll? Gonna make a mess all over my dick?"

You nod, whining, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes because it's too much—too good, too deep, too full—but you don't want him to stop. "Please, Jay—wanna cum with you, wanna feel you fill me up."

"Yeah?" His thrusts speed up, hips snapping into you hard and fast, dragging you down onto him like a ragdoll. "Wanna feel me cum inside this needy little pussy? Stuff you so full it leaks out of you? You fuckin' love it, don't you?"

You whimper, nails biting into his skin, legs tightening around his waist, and you're so fucking close—right on the edge, your whole body buzzing, heat coiling low in your belly, until one perfect grind of his cock against your clit sends you over, your cunt fluttering around him, sucking him in so deep.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," you chant, head falling back against the wall, eyes rolling back, body shaking in his grip as you gush all over him, slick dripping down his cock, onto the pavement, messy and obscene.

"Fuck—there you go, baby. Fuckin' soak me," Jason groans, his rhythm stuttering, hips jerking, grip bruising around your waist. "That's my good fuckin' girl."

And then he's right behind you, cock throbbing, thick ropes of cum spilling into you, hot and heavy, pumping against your cervix until you can feel it everywhere, until you swear it's gonna leak out of your mouth.

His head drops to your shoulder, mouth open against your skin, breath ragged as his hips keep moving, slow, deep thrusts fucking his cum deeper into you, even though it's already dripping down his dick, slicking up your inner thighs.

But he's not done—not yet.

You barely catch your breath before he starts moving again, overstimulated and tender, but his dick's still hard, still hungry, and he loves you like this—drunk on him, too dumb to think about anything except the way he fills you up, the way he uses you like his personal fucktoy.

"Jason," you slur, clinging to him, nails digging into his scalp, his back, anywhere you can reach, "too much—too much—"

"You can take it, baby," he purrs, kissing you again, softer now, but still deep, still filthy. "Know you can take it for me. One more, yeah? Be my good girl."

And fuck, of course you're his good girl. Of course you'll give him one more.

He pounds into you harder, faster, sloppy and desperate, the sound of skin on skin mixing with the wet squelch of your cunt, the sweet scent of your arousal thick in the air, his nose buried in your neck, sucking messy bruises into your skin as his fingers grip your ass, kneading and spreading you, watching the way his cock disappears inside you over and over again.

Your thoughts are gone—totally fucked out, only able to focus on the way he fills you, the way his cum squelches out around his cock every time he thrusts back in.

And Jason? Jason's fucking feral—eyes locked on the sight of his cock splitting you open, cunt so swollen and puffy, all slicked up with both of you, and all he can think about is how fucking perfect you are.

"Look at you, baby," he whispers, voice low and reverent, fingers sliding between your bodies to rub your clit, even though you're already so sensitive you're trembling. "My perfect little pussy. Made to take me. Made to get fucked dumb, stuffed full of my cum. My sweet girl."

And that's all it takes—one more twist of his fingers, one more deep thrust, and you're cumming again, body jerking in his hands, cunt milking him for every last drop.

Jason kisses you through it, drinking down your whimpers, your soft little cries, soothing you with his tongue even as his hips finally slow, his cock still thick and heavy inside you, keeping every messy drop right where it belongs.

"Good girl," he breathes against your lips, forehead resting against yours, hands smoothing over your hips, "my perfect, messy girl."

Your body is deadweight in his arms, completely boneless and blissed out, every limb heavy with exhaustion and the sweet, drugged haze of post-fuck bliss. You're still trembling, but not just from the aftershocks—the cool night air prickles at your exposed skin, goosebumps pebbling over your arms, your thighs, the still-damp mess between your legs.

Jason feels it immediately, the way your soft, bare skin shivers against his, and it sends a twist of guilt through his gut—fucking you into a fucking alley like some horny teenager. But truth be told, it was your idea.

But before he can even say anything, your hands cup his face, small fingers curled around the rough edges of his jaw, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, and you kiss him. It's slow this time—messy, sure, still tasting like beer and sweat and something sweet that's all you—but it lingers, softer, deeper, your tongue curling into his mouth, tracing along his teeth, savoring him like you need to commit the taste of him to memory.

You're still trembling, but the heat between your bodies eases it just a little, your fingers combing through his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp as you melt into him, the kiss lasting long enough that his dick gives a lazy twitch inside you again, still hard even after he just filled you to the brim.

Finally, you pull back, lips red and swollen, your face glowing with the kind of fucked-out bliss that makes his chest ache with pride.

He smirks down at you, brushing a strand of hair off your face as he mutters, "You're fuckin' insane, pretty girl."

You giggle, that sweet little drunken giggle that makes his cock twitch again, and your head tilts back against the wall. "I thought I was gonna die without your dick, baby."

He groans, shaking his head, but there's no real exasperation there—just affection under the rasp of his voice. "Yeah, like I said. Fuckin' insane."

But you're already nuzzling into his neck, soft lips brushing his skin, your breath warm and sleepy against his throat. You smell like sweat and sex, all wrapped up in that sweet scent that's all you, and his arms tighten around you without thinking.

His lips press to the side of your head, lingering there as he murmurs, "C'mon, we need to get you home, yeah?"

You pout, face still buried in his neck. "Can't move. "M tired. And cold."

"I know, baby," he soothes, one big hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "I know. I'll carry you."

You scoff weakly, lifting your head just enough to squint up at him. "We're far from home."

"So?" he shrugs, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don't act like you weigh a ton of fuckin' bricks."

You giggle again, arms going slack around his neck as you settle more comfortably into his hold, cheek squished against his shoulder. Jason's hands ease under your thighs, holding you up as gently as he can while he slowly pulls out, your slick warmth clinging to his cock, your messy cunt fluttering around nothing as his cum immediately starts to drip down.

You whimper softly at the loss, fingers curling into his shirt, but before you can complain, he's already reaching down, sliding your panties back up over your swollen cunt. Not to keep you modest—no, that ship sailed about four orgasms ago—but just to keep as much of his cum inside you as possible. He watches the way the lace darkens immediately, soaked through from the mess he made of you, and his cock twitches again in the cool air.

He sets you down carefully, but your knees buckle instantly, legs still shaking too hard to hold you up. "Jesus, baby," he chuckles, steadying you with one arm as he tucks his cock back into his jeans, adjusting them like he didn't just ruin you against an alley wall. "Gonna have to work on your stamina."

"Don't be mean," you pout, swaying a little as he smooths your skirt back down over your thighs—not that it covers much, but at least it's an attempt at decency.

Then he grabs his jacket from your shoulders, wrapping it around you properly this time, tugging your arms through the sleeves before zipping it all the way up. It's way too big, swallowing your smaller frame whole, and the sight makes him laugh—your fucked-out face peeking up at him from inside the oversized jacket, makeup smeared, mascara smudged under your eyes, lips still swollen and shiny with spit and his kisses.

You pout harder at his laugh, but it only makes him grin wider. "Shut up."

"Never," he says, scooping you back into his arms like you weigh nothing at all. You try to protest weakly, but he shushes you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Just let me take care of you, baby. Bet those pretty little feet already hurt in those heels."

And you can't even argue because he's fucking right, and honestly? Being carried sounds pretty nice right now.

Jason's grip adjusts as he walks, arms cradling you tighter to his chest, your body boneless and pliant in his hold. You're so out of it, head resting against his shoulder, lips slightly parted, soft breath warming his skin every few seconds. His jacket drowns you, the sleeves hanging past your hands, and he can feel the damp heat between your thighs seeping into the fabric where you're curled against him.

You're a mess—hair sticking to your forehead, skin sticky with sweat, makeup smudged in every direction, and his cum still leaking slowly down your thigh, leaving shiny streaks against your skin. But fuck if you aren't the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

He carries you easily, years of strength training making your weight feel like nothing. His feet move on autopilot, familiar with the route home, but his mind? That's a fucking mess.

Because Jason Todd doesn't do this. Doesn't fuck his girl drunk in a dirty alley with the risk of cops busting them. He's the one who's usually dragging your ass home before you get yourself into trouble, lecturing you about safety, tucking you into bed with water and painkillers. But tonight?

Tonight you begged so sweetly, moaned so filthy, kissed him so needy that all his common sense evaporated. And now he's here, hauling your wrecked body home, knowing you're gonna be sore as hell tomorrow—all his fault. And he can't even bring himself to regret it.

The door creaks softly when he shoulders it open, the apartment dim and quiet, and by the time he crosses the threshold, you're completely asleep against him. Your breath is soft and steady, face smushed into his neck, lips still a little wet from those sloppy kisses you couldn't stop giving him.

He sighs, kissing the top of your head before carrying you straight to the bathroom, flicking the light on with his elbow. The bright light makes you stir, a soft whimper leaving your throat, but you don't wake until he starts peppering little kisses across your face. Your nose first, then your forehead, then your cheeks—until your lashes flutter, and you blink up at him, all confused and sleepy and perfect.

"We're home, baby," he murmurs, voice soft.

You look around, eyes squinting at the light, brow furrowing as you take in the bathroom. "Huh?"

It's so adorably confused, so genuine, that Jason can't help but laugh.

"Yeah, doll," he grins, setting you down on wobbly feet. "We made it."

You sway a little, legs still weak, and he steadies you with one hand while the other shrugs his jacket off your shoulders, tossing it over the counter. Then he sinks to his knees, big hands cupping your ankles as he carefully unbuckles your heels, sliding them off one by one.

His palms rub over your skin, easing the ache, and he leans in to press a kiss to your calf before standing again. "Feet hurt?"

You nod sleepily, arms looping lazily around his neck, and he smiles. "Told you."

He gets the water running, warm but not too hot, and undresses you like you're made of glass—peeling the sweat-damp top and skirt from your skin, sliding your panties down those shaky legs, until you're bare and glowing under the bright bathroom light.

His own clothes come off fast, jeans and t-shirt kicked into the corner, and then he's guiding you under the spray, his big body crowding in behind you, keeping you steady.

You whine, soft and pitiful, as the water hits your oversensitive skin. "So tired," you mumble, cheek pressed to his chest.

"I know, baby," he soothes, hands moving quickly—gentle but efficient, washing away your makeup, the sweat and cum and alley grime, fingers gliding between your legs, over your thighs, along your back.

Every protest, every sleepy complaint, gets kissed away—a kiss to your shoulder, your temple, your lips. By the time he's rinsed you off, you're barely awake, your body slumping against him as he wraps you in a towel and carries you straight to bed.

You hit the mattress face-first, towel half hanging off, and you're out like a light in under five seconds.

Jason watches you for a second, shaking his head with a fond smile. "Hopeless."

He tries—he really does—to dress you at least in one of his shirts, but you don't even budge, and honestly? If you wanna sleep naked, who the fuck is he to stop you? Less work for him in the morning. He tosses the towels back into the bathroom, pulls on a pair of boxers, and slides into bed beside you.

The second his body heat hits you, you roll into him, face pressed to his chest, soft thigh hitching over his hip like you can't stand to have any space between you. His arm curls around your waist automatically, palm sliding up the curve of your ass, along your back, tracing lazy patterns across your bare skin.

He's still thinking—about you, about tonight, about how the fuck you've got him wrapped around your little finger so tightly that one pout can ruin every ounce of self-control he's got. And it should piss him off. Should make him wanna teach you a lesson. But instead, it just makes him want to ruin you again, until you forget your own fucking name.

"Insane," he mutters into your hair, mouth curling into a grin.

But you're his insane, and that's all that fucking matters.

[edward-munson]

outrageous lingerie | E.M.

Summary: You buy an exceptional underwear and your friends are making a deal for your own benefit.

Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), oral (m receiving), masturbation (m receiving), vibrator playing

Word count: 2.9k

"Oh, you're totally going to wear this at the camping!" Robin squealed cheerfully while you were sitting on Nancy's bed as she finished packing her bag.

"No, I'm definitely not wearing this!" You rebut her idea and look at Nancy, who holds an amused smile on her face "Nancy Wheeler..."

"What?" She lifts her hands in surrender, holding back her wish to laugh "I mean, it should be fun. Come on, let's make a deal. If you do this, we'll give you two hundred"

"Woah, wait" Robin chimes in "I admit I'm pretty curious and excited to see how this works, but I am not gonna pay that much just for her to wear vibrating panties!"

You glare at her for being too loud and she shrinks back to sitting on the bed. And as this conversation wasn't embarrassing enough, Eddie seemed to have heard your commotion as he passed by Mike's bedroom. He halted in his tracks, walking backwards, stopping right in front of her door. You all snap your heads towards the curly haired man, who's mischievously grinning.

"Vibrating panties?" He asks and you throw them both a death stare "I'm in. How much are we talking about?"

"We" You interrupt "Are not doing anything"

"Please! I mean, the worst thing that can happen is for you to come in your pants" Robin stands next to you, snaking an arm around your shoulders "And you're making money out of it"

Eddie eagerly crosses his arms behind his back, still smiling at you as you roll your eyes in annoyance "Can I do it?"

"No"

"Please?" He begs.

"No"

"Then why did you even buy it?" Nancy asks, wriggling her eyebrows. She knew why you were willing to bring the piece of fabric to the camping. She was the one you went for help.

"Yeah, honey. Why not make good use of it since you spent your sweet money on that?" Eddie tries to convince you, but he's only making it rather worse.

"First of all, you were not supposed to hear this conversation. It's a girl talk" You shove your pointer finger on his chest and he snorts at you "And second, I wanted to do an experiment. I only asked Nancy if she had ever done it, but Robin is nosy as it is"

Your friend scoffs and pouts playfully "I am your best friend, you should've talked to me!"

"You're still a virgin, Buckley, no offense" You watch as she blushes and flips you off. "Okay, we're done with the conversation"

"How about we make it 50 each?" Eddie pressed.

Both girls shared a glance and agreed to his terms.

"Hey, this is not consensual. It's my underwear, you can't just force me to wear it!"

"It's good money, sweetie. We promise we won't tell Jonathan and Steve" Nancy goes back to finishing her bag.

"Yeah, because that wouldn't be the worst thing to ever happen"

"How would you even wear that out in the woods with all of us there anyway?" Eddie questions, confused with your idea.

"Nancy was going to help me and control the remote. Now, can we drop the conversation?"

But they didn't. Because now Eddie was curious why you picked Nancy to do that, when he could be the one just for the fun. But you bombed him with a pile of pillows, while he still mocked you and your idea. They still thought it would be a good idea if he did it and wouldn't shut up about it. Until you arrived at the far forest out of Hawkins. The place was peaceful and perfect for the moment, considering it wasn't cold nor was it hot. There was a wooden table by the lake, and there was enough space for your tent. You and Robin were sharing a tent, while Jonathan and Nancy would be sleeping together, but Eddie wanted to sleep in his own tent, leaving Steve out.

The entire day, while you were all enjoying the warm lake swimming and playing chicken, Eddie couldn't stop looking at you. He was being a dork and joking, yes, but he wasn't stupid. He couldn't stop thinking how it would happen if you wore the panties, and what you would look like wearing them. And it wasn't helping that you were wearing a nice matching bikini set, the bottom of it only being supported by the tied straps on the side.

You and Eddie were pretty close, intimate enough to make jokes of the kind, and even giving each other advice about sex life. Not that you actually needed them, and it's also not like you knew everything, but he was more inexperienced than you. He hadn't slept with many girls before. Even though it might look like he's a nerdy virgin, he definitely knows how to practice the art of being a tease. He knows you like his tattoo, he always makes sure to leave them showing whenever he wears a t-shirt, or when he's shirtless, like today. He lies on the floor above a spreaded sheet, leaning against his elbows as he gets sunbathed.

You try to avoid looking at the way his body hair trails down his stomach, reaching the waistband of his swim shorts. You love the way his abs contract when he leans back and his biceps become more prominent. And the realization that he's going to be the one in charge of the remote for the toy is giving you a headache. You tried not to make it too obvious that something was going on, because as soon as you put it on after taking a shower, it's when the show begins.

"Okay, so" He shoots you a smile, but you don't see it as comforting in any way "I'll give you the signal when Robin finishes her shower. We sit down and make our plates. You're done eating, I'll start"

Eddie says it with such an amused look, it's frightening you. You know what you signed up for. Not exactly signed up for it, but you're starting to regret buying it.

He's expectantly waiting for you to finally leave the community bathroom, clasping the remote in the pocket of his jeans as he helps Jonathan cook the sausages. Steve and Nancy are setting the table while Robin is the last to shower. You're stalling for time as you crouch in front of your bag, getting up the courage to finally go outside and sit with them at the table.

The toy is already resting against your cunt, you're wearing a skirt, and it feels completely strange. It's not an uncomfortable sensation, but it's not pleasant either. And the fact you have never tried it before seems to be another reason for you to rip it off. But the money. Think of the money. You take a deep breath and leave your tent, seeing Robin getting to her seat. You sit beside her and watch Eddie sitting across from you. He seems unfazed, holding the cutlery with both hands as it makes you feel relieved. You serve yourself and start eating.

One smooth movement and Eddie pushes the button for the first pattern. There are, like, 11 of them. In a subtle movement, your legs squeeze shut and you snap your head at him for a second. He's still eating his dinner like nothing really happened, both hands on sight. You look to your side, Robin clearly distracted talking to Steve about whatever. Fine, that wasn't bad, you could take it.

Not one minute later, he pushes the button to the fifth pattern that sends rhythmic waves of vibration. This one pushes you a little off to the edge of your seat, and it doesn't stop. When you look up at him, he's not looking back. But he's holding a smirk on his face when he eats a small piece of his omelet. Your knees start to falter when he changes the setting and the pace increases to something you can't exactly control.

There's a small faint buzz under the table, but the parallel conversation and the low music overcome the sound of it. You try to avoid giving it your attention and turn to Nancy, who's talking with Eddie naturally. And when Steve mentions your name about your last trip to Chicago, there's a jolt vibration cursing through your folds in a painful way and you almost buckle your hips.

"We got lost after we left the zoo and it took us almost one hour to find the others. And Dustin almost started crying to you, remember?" He asks in the midst of a chuckle and you force a laugh out.

You're going to fucking kill Eddie. He was not supposed to be doing this before you were finished eating. You swing one leg on top of the other to prevent the toy from continuing buzzing, but it's no use.

"He was so scared we wouldn't find them. And he gave Jonathan the biggest hug I've ev–" Your voice cracks all of a sudden and you glare at Eddie, who's seemingly enjoying your struggle. "God, I think it was a bug"

He snorts. Robin knows the reason behind your abruptness, but she's more discreet than he is. Steve resumes the conversation, not even noticing the way you sit uncomfortable. You can't stop shuffling on your seat, while Eddie keeps changing the patterns to whatever he wants. It doesn't get any better when you stop focusing on the conversations, feeling the waves of vibration tingling against your pussy. It becomes insufferable when you notice him glancing at you with a glint in his brown doe eyes, his head resting against his hand while the other hand stays under the table and he watches you.

You send him a knowing look and he smiles widely, pushing the button again and the same jolt wave hits your bundle of nerves. You squeal unwittingly and buckle upwards, the toy playing over your clit starts making you feel in complete shock from the sudden pleasure you're feeling. Your friends all look at you with creased brows and you send them a forced smile.

"Oh my God" You wince with the new patterned wave and force yourself up "I think this sausage is making me sick!"

You feel the lame excuse weighing over your shoulders when you leave the table, running out to the bathroom, screaming like there was really something wrong with the sausage. You lean over the sink, hands gripping the edge with shaking fingertips. Eddie doesn't really bother to turn it off even when you're not on the table, because the toy works from a good range and you hate it.

He stands by the doorframe, arms crossed against his chest and the same dirty smile on his face. You can see the remote against his palm and huff. "Can you give me a fucking break?"

"No can do, sweetie"

You shove him by the shoulders, walking past him as you round the community bathroom. There's a slight distance between the trees you're standing against and the table by the lake. They can't see or hear you.

"Where the hell are you going?" He asks as he follows behind, trying to catch up on you.

"To get my revenge"

"What-" You startle him as your hand flies down to his crotch and he stumbles back "The fuck are you doing?"

You slightly squeeze his bulge and Eddie lifts his head from his growing arousal to you, but he can only see your lopsided smile as a response.

"Okay, you wanna play that game?" He changes the pattern and the vibration sends you to a frenzy, your legs squeezing shut immediately.

"Eddie, please-"

"Yes, sweetheart?" His voice is almost a nagging, honeyed tone that he makes sure to use when you're this vulnerable.

"Eddie, I swear to God!" Your hands fumble with his belt, grazing the skin of his happy trail. He looks down at your fingers that quickly unzip his jeans and lower them.

He keeps pressing the buttons, changing the pace of the waves. You're in a mixture of pleasure and pain. The high and low of the toy makes you squirm.

"What the hell are you trying to do, sweetheart?" Eddie's voice drops an octave when you pull his boxer down and finally grip his cock tightly.

"Revenge" You respond with eyes locked on him. He immediately throws his head back and groans when you stroke him, but you freeze your movements and he snaps his eyes open. "See? Not so good when I do that, right?"

He wraps his hands around your fist and pulls you down to the grass with him, making you fall flat on his chest as he keeps his gaze at you. It only takes a second for you to forget the vibrator between your legs before you buckle your hips again. Your face is contorted and Eddie seems dumbfounded when he notices you're giving in to the game. He slowly holds your hand and slides it down to his aching cock again.

"Just... don't stop, okay?" He asks, uncertain. But you nod and start pumping him, using your thumb to collect his wetness, spreading the precum along his shaft. "Fuck, that's good sweetie"

He forgets the remote for a moment, relishing on your gentle fingers wrapping him up and down. His hips thrust upwards against your hand, losing his line of reasoning as he throbs into your hand. You rip him off his daze with a low moan, spreading your legs apart as you roll your hips against nothing.

Eddie presses another button and the vibration against your clit quickens, making you lightheaded, feeling your heart pounding against your chest. He's still fucking your hand absentmindedly, cursing through his teeth. You're both a mess of groans and whimpers, not even giving a shit about your friends.

"Eddie-" You feel the wetness of your pussy dripping down your ass, the fabric is soaking and you can't seem to be bothered about it.

"Ye- Yes, sweetie" He grunts when you squeeze his tip and stroke him up and down, rubbing your thumb over and back on the head of his cock "Oh fuck"

He hits the back of his head against the tree and changes the pattern in response to your movement. While you twist your hand around his length, you feel the jolt wave hit your swollen nub and it makes your arms become wobbly. You watch as he slowly starts to crumble down when you run your fingertips softly against his frenulum, flicking it from side to side.

Eddie knows he pushed the last pattern, meaning the jolt is three times more powerful and, thereafter, you're going to cum pretty soon. But he's in a shocked state when you suddenly dive your head down his slick cock, your mouth wrapping around his girth and your tongue savoring his taste. His hand rushes to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

You're in a blissful stupor of lust and you don't care. You and Eddie have been too close for like forever, and you don't think this would ruin your friendship. You feel too comfortable and safe and it's obvious how attractive he is. You bob your head up and down, sliding your mouth to the base of his cock, your throat almost swallowing his tip.

"Sweetheart, I'm gonna-" He hisses when you hollow your cheeks. And when he throbs inside your mouth, you feel your own apex building up in a twisting knot in your stomach. You only pull back to breathe and heave his name.

His hands are still tangled in your head, pulling you back only a few inches just so see him fucking your mouth. His eyes drift to your parted legs, your rolling hips and your glistening pussy that sparkles with the moonlight. Eddie hears you whimpering against his cock and praises you. He watches your belly contort and takes a sharp inhale when he sees you're finally coming. Your hips halt and you start to convulse under him, your legs immediately closing as you still cum in your panties.

You roll your tongue on the tip of his cock and suck him off, draining the life out of his body. It feels like there's something about to snap inside of him when you unconsciously push the panties to the side after your orgasm and you leave your glistening pussy exposed for him to see you. It's the uphold he needs to finally come undone. He spurts inside of your mouth, he forgets the remote was still clasped in his hand. That's the reason why you pulled the fabric to the side. You take all of him, using your tongue to overstimulate him and bring him to the edge of hysteria.

You pull back and lick your lips with his dick still on your hand, and you look up at him with hazy eyes. He's smiling at you lazily, his curls are messy and he feels the blood rushing through his veins as his head pounds.

"Shit, that was so... incredible" He pants. You help him pull his jeans up and he leans against the grass.

You're still exchanging glances. The staring doesn't make you blush, it makes you feel... eager. It makes you want to cling to him. He feels a shift between you two. You didn't seem to notice your skirt had ridden up. Neither had you seen your how wet and exposed your pussy was, but the sexual tension was still in the air and Eddie didn't give you time to recollect yourself when he caught you and latched his lips against yours.

Your first reaction was to cradle his face with both hands, his tongue sliding against yours in a feverish, but quick kiss. He slithered one hand down your waist and pulled your skirt down, squeezing your ass "We're not done yet, sweetheart. Can you meet me here later?"

You only nod, speechless at his sudden action towards you. He helps you up and you walk down the path leading to the tents, where you grab your bag and follow to the bathroom, finally getting rid of the soaked panties. Your legs are still shaking when you change it to a new underwear and clean yourself. You feel the headrush taking over you at the thought of meeting Eddie later.

He most definitely wasn't thinking when he gave the idea. He didn't know how it would end up and now, as he sits next to Jonathan while they smoked a joint, he can't stop thinking about fucking you senseless in your tight little skirt under the moonlight.

You're not even sure how your friends are going to react when they hear how the story turned out.

@kellyxo1 @sammybrrr @zafetycar @andvys @hellfire--cult @skeltnwrites @stevie-petey @ghost-proofbaby

[littelovelunette]

Sevika and a pregnant reader? Reader feels self-conscious about how her body has changed so Sevika has to fix that (smut please)

Little Bump

Contains smut, oral, pregnancy sex

You knew Sevika adored your baby bump because she'd stay up most of the night talking to it which you thought was a little ridiculous.

But did you like it?

Nuh-uh, I mean yeah it was sweet and all that you were carrying a symbol of your love with Sevika inside of your body, a little human of your own— but the stretch marks and body image issues it came with wasn't so fun afterall.

Although you were partially aware something like this would've happened because of all the darn pregnancy books you binged through, let's just say it's not the easiest when slapped onto your face at the worst possible moment ever.

Sevika noticed the way your gaze lingered a while too long on the marks on your stomach and breasts as you started slowly dressing for the day.

"What's up, hun?" She asked and looked your way with a tender gaze only reserved for you and nobody else... Except for Isha, of course.

You tried your best to smile anyway and brushed it off with a simple "Nothing."

"No, it's not nothing. I saw the way you looked at your body. It felt... Wrong." Sevika said and put down the book she was reading, taking her reading glasses off too, and settling both objects down on the coffee table.

She moved her boot adorned feet down from the table and walked upto you, muscular arm draping around you from behind like a blanket of warmth.

Her metal prosthetic clinked softly behind you, grounding her imposing presence. "Talk to me."

You sighed and tried to shake it off, "It's nothing, 'Vika, please, don't sweat it."

"Love." Sevika said in a warning tone, hand still gently caressing your baby bump making you smile at the sight. She was completely entranced by her unborn daughter already. "We agreed to be honest with each other." Sevika said, her voice like a soothing balm on your aching insecurities. "I tell you how many drinks I had and you tell me all the thoughts you have, honestly."

You chuckled at her comparison. She truly was a ray of sunshine behind her tough exterior.

You looked down at the floor for a bit before looking back up at her. "I just don't feel pretty. I have these stupid marks all over my thighs, ass and stomach. It's so—"

"So pretty." Sevika said and ran her finger over the stretch mark on your stomach making your breath hitch a little. "I love them. They're like thunderbolts." Sevika grinned like a satisfied child, hands still tracing your stretch marks before slowly coming up to cup your breasts. "And look they've grown too."

"Sevika..." You whisper and gasp a little when you feel her squeeze your swollen mounds making a little bit of breast milk seep out.

You giggled watching Sevika fawn over your plumper chest before she easily picked you up, and put you on the bed. "I can't have my wife feel bad for her own body, yknow, your body does wonders." Sevika knelt down, gently parting your legs to gain access to your sensitive pussy.

"Are you sure we should be having sex?" Your voice was quiet and vulnerable when you asked her but the way Sevika held you so gently as if you could break any moment was enough reassurance that she wouldn't be rough with you.

Sevika gave you a subtle nod with a little smile that followed, saying, "If anything hurts, tell me and I will stop." She gave your waist a small squeeze of reassurance.

"That's what you told me all those times before you didn't stop. You just kept it going." You said and smiled down at her, her chin pressed against the folds of your cunt which were pretty much already wet at the mere thought of having sex while you're pregnant.

"And do you say that didn't feel good?" Sevika narrowed her eyes although it was an exaggeration of her playful suspicion, she knew that you liked it because you were moaning her name right after and cumming around her cock quite instantly.

"I mean, no, no," you laughed a little, the corners of your eyes crinkling, "Not at all."

"Then let me make you feel good," Sevika leaned in and licked up on your pussy making you gasp and grab the sheets tightly. Her mouth worked diligently on your wet cunt, sucking up the wet mess you had become at the mere thought of being touched by her.

Sevika held your thighs open, her touch surprisingly gentle as she sucked your clit in her mouth, suckling hard on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"F-f-fuck," your mouth opened and closed, moaning feeling her tongue tease your cunt. Sevika pulled back and spat on your pussy before she resumed licking and sucking. She pushed her long tongue inside your cunt, stuffing her face into your cunt as if she didn't know oxygen.

"S-Sevika, it feels so good," you said, tears appearing in your eyes as you felt the waves of pleasure shoot up from your needy pussy.

Hot tears began to stream down your face as Sevika licked and sucked on your cunt, your body shuddered. "C-cumming..." You said, your fingers tangling in Sevika's hair and stuffing her face further onto your heat as you came on her face.

Sevika pulled away, face drenched in your liquids, "So much for not wanting sex," Sevika rubbed your baby bump, kissing at the stretch marks and whatever other marks you had on your body.

"Just stay with me now," you whispered, exhausted. Sevika smiled and sunk into the mattress beside you, spooning you, "Will do."

[neigepomme]

˙ ✩°˖ ☃️ speeding hearts / zayne x reader

synopsis; you have a crush on your charming physician, and it looks like you can't hide it as well as you thought.

🍎 pomme's notes - this is my first time writing for zayne (or writing in a while), so hopefully this is not too OOC or strange!! i've got more experience writing academic papers, but i'll improve as i keep writing!!

⋆ 800 words / pure fluff / reader is gender neutral / 2nd person

"any noticeable changes since your last visit?"

you're back at the hospital after a week — some heart issues following an encounter with wanderers, nothing too serious. it would've gone unknown had it not been for that stupid hunter's watch of yours, your heart rate rose up so much, the association couldn't risk ignoring it and letting one of their elite hunters face health issues. one mandatory meeting with jenna, 3 weeks of PTO, and here you were, faced with zayne, his eyes showing concern and something else. but that might just be you. right..?

"all good, doctor zayne! i've been feeling healthier than ever", you smiled nervously.

this was stupid. you were fine, of course you were, but the sight of zayne worrying about you sent your heart into overdrive, and that seemed riskier than the wanderer encounter. stupid stupid crush. he was just so sweet, and although your text messages contained a whole lot of his nagging, you couldn't help but feel awe at his care.

was he like this with all of his patients? surely he was. despite his cold and aloof vibe, you know him. he's always put others before himself, and he probably cared about all of his patients all the same. but god, that couldn't stop your poor little heart from thrumming every time he opened his mouth to ask questions about your health. and you answered, half distracted, because how could you focus entirely on his questions about your health, when you had such a nice sight in front of you?

his pretty hazel eyes, which scanned you in search of any anomalies regarding your health.

his neatly styled hair, which you'd kill to run your fingers through.

his lips looked so soft. did he use lip balm? how would they feel on yours?

you were staring, and you knew that. get it together!! he's busy, and he probably wants to get this over with and check on his other patients. you should be a good patient and stop ogling at your physician.

"Y/N?"

"oh- yes? so sorry, i zoned out."

he hummed, eyebrows raising slightly.

"i was just letting you know i'll be checking your heartrate. the stethoscope might feel a bit cold, alright?"

as he leaned in slightly, his hand ever so steady, your brain was going hundreds of miles per hour. he's so close. his cologne smells so good.

"does your chest feel uncomfortable? your heart's been thrumming at an alarming rate."

fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck stupid stupid crush and stupid stupid stupid heart that told on you. you could feel the heat rising to your face and your cheeks getting increasingly more and more red and all you could do was laugh nervously.

"i-", you choke a bit, "i'm okay! no discomfort!! all good here!!!"

zayne frowns, clearly dissatisfied with your answer. he inhales and shakes his head a bit before speaking again.

"i'm your doctor. you don't need to hide if you feel discomfort, your face is growing more and more flush too. i'll order some more tests so we can figure this ou-"

"zayne." you interrupt him, and before you can stop yourself, your thoughts come out like a waterfall, cascading from your mouth.

"i'm fine, i promise it's just — you're just — i'm nervous. i don't have a fever, and i don't have tachycardia or whatever it is you're thinking about it's just-"

"just?"

"you're just — you're attractive!! i can't help my heart beating fast when you're looking at me like that, and i know it's stupid but i can't help it and i know that you care about all your patients the same and i'm-"

words suddenly stop coming out when you feel his cold hand over yours. you're breathing hard, only now realizing what you said, and you can feel your face turning from rosy to vermillion. now you've done it.

you lift your head slowly, to look at his face. please, please, make it so he's not weirded out, you pray silently. and when you finally make contact with his hazel eyes, you see him looking at you, oh so earnestly, his ears growing redder by the minute.

"i don't.. care about my patients all the same. i don't text my patients to nag them about their health and habits, you know."

you open your mouth, trying to say something but he speaks first.

"i'm going to finish your health report, and we can talk over dinner later. and you can tell me all about how i'm looking at you and how attractive i am and we can.. call it a first date. deal?"

his eyes soften, and he runs his thumb over your knuckles. your eyes widen slightly, and you can't help the smile that takes over your face.

"deal."

maybe your heart wasn't so stupid after all.

🍎 pomme's final notes - EEE!! baby's first post!! i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! zayne's my favorite LI (and also my ideal type) so imagining cute scenarios with him is super easy!! my ask box is also open! do let me know if you have any cute ideas for him (or any of the LIs!) and i'd be more than happy to write a cute little thing if inspiration strikes :9

[eliotwaughdeservesbetter]

Buck can't stop looking at the door of the loft Tommy closed seconds or maybe hours ago. He doesn't understand what the hell has just happened. He asked Tommy to move in with him and Tommy left him with some dumb explanation. Wait. He asked Tommy to move in to THE LOFT. Why did he do this? He hates his loft. He hates being here, that's why he's been sleeping at Tommy's almost every night for the last 3 months. Then why he asked Tommy, who has a great house, to move in here? And why Tommy broke up with him instead of laughing and telling him to move in to his house?

Buck feels he's starting to hyperventilate, he's panicking. The loft is an open place but he feels like he's in a box and the walls are pressing on him. He needs to leave. Right now. But he can't move. The door is so far, it's impossible for him to reach to it.

Suddenly, the door opens and there is a breathless Tommy. He comes to Buck with big hurried steps. Without questions he pulls Buck off the stand and nudges him to the exit. In seconds they're in the hall. Tommy closes the door and looks at Buck with worried eyes.

"This fucking loft has his own mind now and apparently doesn't want you to leave" Tommy's words sound insane but he can be right. Buck's breathing is getting better the longer he's outside. He doesn't think he can pass out from hyperventilating anymore.

"How? How the fuck that happened and how you know this?"

"I don't how it happened, Evan. But i started to think something is wrong when i left the loft. And the further i went i could see how all this conversation went out of our characters. That was not us. Something was leading us, playing us and i think it was the loft. I always felt it doesn't like me but i thought it was about no walls. But i can see now, it didn't want me to be comfortable."

Well yeah here we are with loft who has his own consciousness and likes Buck too much. At first i had an idea about Buck's loft being cursed and that's why the break up happend. But then this happened. So yeah it's some stupid explanation of the break up.

[butmakeitgayblog]

MBFW First Kiss snippet for Clexaweek

~~~~~~~~

The dorm bed they share is barely big enough for one, nestled tight against the wall and tucked under a single poorly hung shelf that Lexa can't seem to stop knocking her head against every time she goes to leave. 

It's a dilemma they both take as a sign that she really just… shouldn't do that anymore. 

"This is so fucking stupid, I don't even need to know this."

The groaned complaint makes her smile.

"According to the requirements of your degree, you do actually."

"Don't sass me. Who made up those requirements? Hm? Who?"

Marking her place on the page with a tiny dot of lime green highlighter, Lexa turns her gaze to the petulant frown staring at her from roughly fifteen inches away.

She eyes the way Clarke has dramatically collapsed against the evil calculus textbook in question, cheek smooshed against the pages and arms flung out above her head to dangle off the foot of the bed.

Lexa's heart trips over itself.

She finds that's been happening more and more in the recent weeks since this friendship had blossomed and subsequently taken over every facet of her life. Since this girl came crashing in out of nowhere; as if plucked from the very stars and sent right to her, to become the source of every one of Lexa's smiles.

Since she'd blazed into existence, and lit up the world with a brightness that somehow outdid the sun.

It's a feeling that's becoming harder to shake off.

"Clarke, we've been studying for… fifteen minutes," Lexa laughs after reaching over and lifting the dead weight of Clarke's wrist enough to check her watch. "Have you even gotten past the first page of the chapter?"

Clarke's head twists to bury her face further into the crease of the spine of her splayed open textbook as she answers a muffled, "No."

Pinching her lips together to smother yet another smile that threatens to double in size, Lexa clears her throat and pointedly readjusts to get more comfortable and resume her own assigned reading. 

She's barely gotten her train of thought back into the flow of Chaucer's affinity for iambic pentameter when the sound of rustling papers breaks the silence, and the overwhelming feeling of a certain pair of eyes boring into the side of her head steals her concentration.

It's feeling she's been getting quite familiar with as of late.

Lexa bites the inside of her cheek.

"You're staring."

Clarke flips onto her back and makes a show of getting comfortable.

When Lexa chances a glance at the eyes still watching her, Clarke doesn't look away.

"So?"

“So," Lexa draws out in half-hearted huff that does nothing to curb the heat rising to her cheeks. "It's distracting.”

Clarke's head lulls toward Lexa.

“Well… You're distracting,” she murmurs, lashes hanging low and eyes soft enough to make Lexa ache.

Lexa bites her lips and tries in vain to tame the wild burst of butterflies that take flight in the softest parts of her belly, willing them to behave themselves for once when she's around this girl.

She shuffles onto her side, careful not to dislodge the other occupant crammed into the postage stamp sized mattress, and rests her head on her palm. Forced to lounge half leaning over the pretty face of her friend splayed in a halo of fanned out blonde hair, the new position gives Lexa the most wonderful kind of vantage point.

“You're the one who's distracting. I'm not doing anything, I'm just studying,” she says through a poorly concealed smile. “How could I possibly be the distracting one?”

Clarke sighs and gives a grave shake of her head.

“You're always distracting.”

It's said so drearily, Lexa has no choice but to laugh and shift closer.

“Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And what about me is so distracting?”

Clarke's face somehow grows softer. More quiet in its calm. Notes of nervous twitching along the corners of the lazy grin of her mouth as she lays there, face so close Lexa can see every flit of emotion that washes over her.

"Your nose," she finally says, seeming to delight in Lexa's surprised scoff.

"My nose?"

"Mhm. You have this little bump. Right," Clarke hums as she reaches up and traces along the bridge with a delicate fingertip, "here... I like it."

Lexa wills herself to keep still as her eyes fall closed in a slow blink. The tickling touch feels electric against her skin, long after its fallen away. It curls across the heated peaks of her ears and down her spine, to land in a syrupy warm pool in her belly.

Something brave and foolish and distinctly helium-based takes up residence in Lexa's chest as she reaches out as well, and drifts her own fingertip along Clarke's chin.

"I like your chin."

Clarke tuts. "That's ridiculous."

"I'm kind of obsessed with your chin," Lexa argues right back without thinking, feeling her stomach tighten with embarrassment at the way Clarke's teeth clamp around her bottom lip.

She drops her hand back to the bed.

Blue eyes sparkle in the low afternoon sunlight the spills through the dorm's only window as they trace every curve and line of Lexa's face in the silence.

"I like your cheekbones," Clarke finally says in a soft, shy murmur.

She seems to hesitate for a moment before leaning up, dusting a kiss to the high apple of Lexa's cheek, and then the other.

Every muscle of Lexa's body sings with a joyful riot of nerves and a deadly feeling of hope. Not knowing exactly what any of this means... but unwilling to stop.

She adjusts again, closer, shifting herself to lay more snug along the length of Clarke's side.

"I like your beauty mark," she forces out on what little oxygen her lungs will allow her.

She swallows against the dryness of her throat and she traces the mark with her fingertip. More terrified than she's ever felt in her life, she leans and presses a lingering kiss to the dot above Clarke's lip.

Lexa's heart pounds and the butterflies in her belly continue their flight as she pulls back slowly. The edges of Clarke's pupils have pressed out in deep inky pools, leaving nothing but the thinnest halo of blue. Her smile is quiet, softened in a flutter of lashes and panting breath, and it's place is this look.

This look that Lexa can't place, too scared to give it a name, as it hits her like a silk-tipped arrow.

But in the thrill of the moment, oh, how that look sets her skin on fire.

She can't help but return Clarke's smile with a weak one of her own, and feels a hand slip against her cheek; a palm cupping her jaw.

A thumb brushing a lazy strokes over the corner of her mouth.

"I like the one you have here too," Clarke whispers, sweeping over and over the spot again.

Time stands still, surely the very earth halting on its axis, as they stare and stare and dangle breathlessly on this precipice that Lexa feels she's been running toward since this woman crashed into existence.

And what a wonderful existence it is when Clarke's gaze flits between Lexa's own, and the path of her thumb blazing over the bow of her lip.

Clarke holds Lexa steady through her trembling as she leans up and replaces her thumb with a soft brush of her lips, and Lexa… Lexa feels like she's floating.

Her smile stretches so wide she knows she must look every bit a fool, lightheaded and giddy in the euphoria of this moment and this girl as her heart beats out the rhythm of a hummingbird's wing.

It's pure instinct that has her swaying into the touch, to let her eyes and lips fall closed around the supple give of Clarke's bottom lip. She sighs against Clarke's mouth, so enamored with the feel that in years to come she would never quite be able to say if they stay there, connected, for hours or mere seconds.

All she knows with absolute certain is that when Clarke inches away, it's entirely too soon.

Where Lexa feels as though her lungs have collapsed — have given up on any semblance of functioning — Clarke settles back against the bed in a rush of breath, her face flaming a particularly lovely shade of pink. Her chest rises and falls so fast Lexa wonders how her friend isn't equally as dizzy. Wonders if Clarke feels just as spun out as she does.

Nails scratch soothingly against Lexa's arm where Clarke still holds her, tangled into each other and keeping her close.

"You're shaking."

Lexa tucks back a curl of blonde hair behind a very likeable ear, feeling so many emotions in the rush of this insanity, helpless to stop the way she mirrors Clarke's smile.

"So are you…"

Lips a few shades redder than they were a few minutes before slide into a Cheshire grin.

"Well, I have an insanely beautiful girl sorta laying on top of me," Clarke says as she slips her arm around Lexa's waist and pulls her more firmly against her. "I kind of think that's to be expected..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[cvnt4him]

hinting to tobio you like him is....not as easy as you think.

The kurasuno boys are practicing for a little while, you sit next to yachi and occasionally speak to her about whatever it is that comes to mind, laughing and giggling quietly to not disturb the practice.

You can't help but to admire the setter. He truly was graceful, hes so beautiful in his own way. Those luminescent blue eyes of his, so deep and full of life, full of potential. He's so sweet and stupid.

A small smile forms on your face as you watch closely, the boys bringing their practice to a final stop. You take the end of the day as an excuse to speak to him. It's not as if you guys aren't friends or haven't spoken to each other before, but ever since you've developed this silly crush on him you can't help but wanna be around him.

“ hey, nice practice, hm?”

“ yup.”

He was bland with you as he gave you a small nod as a 'thank you' for the bottle. You bite your lip with a smile as you look up to him, he closed his eyes and drank from his bottle tuning out the rest of the world. He was so pretty up close....

Again, it's not like you havent been near him before but...he's just so gorgeous....like when he's all sweaty and you can..smell him.........

You inhale deeply unintentionally, your thoughts taking over you and telling you to do it. It was so loud you think, you get embarrassed when he opens his eyes and raises one of his brows looking down at you. You groan and turn away mentally face palming and digging a hole in the ground.

You decided this was it. The worst he could say was no right? You decided to grow a pair and ask him out. Maybe like sus out the vibe before you do at least...

“ hey..so uh, tobi, are you like...busy sometime I—”

“ what did you call me?”

Huh-...he stops you mid sentence and stares at you, one brow cocked as he stared down at you. Kageyama isn't a shy person, he doesn't struggle with eye contact or talking to people like the average person would. It's almost as if he was leering over you with how tall he was...

“ uh.. i- y'know, everyone kind of uhm.. has a nickname and.. you....don't?”

He hums, one of his hands finding it's way to his hips and he thinks about it rather hard. You're honestly glad he's putting thought into it, because now you don't have to think about how cringey what you were about to say was.

“ ..hey yeah, you're right. tsukishima gets called tsukki, I think I've heard a few people call that idiot sho as well... why don't I have a nickname.”

He pouts to himself as he genuinely thinks about it more. It's so cute. He's so silly and stupid and himself, so dense to anything other than volleyball. Idiot. A smile brings itself back to your face as you giggle.

“ nicknames are normally a sign someone likes you, y'know?”

You aren't sure if he's listening or the hum he gave you was just to make you feel like he was. But you took it to heart.

“ I guess.”

His voice was rather bland, not giving much energy. Okay, you think to yourself...he's keeping it going, maybe this is the leverage you needed to sus out what you wanna hear.....

“ you're the first person to give me a nickname.”

“ is that right.”

He looks back at you, his normally stern face relaxing a bit. He nods and lets out a small 'mhm'. So fucking cute oh my goodness. You normally have such a hard time looking him in the eyes by the way he doesn't shy away or back down like you would, he holds eye contact perfectly. And goodness they are so effing gorgeous..

You let out a small scoff, one that catches his attention.

“ yeah..”

“ so what, have you never liked someone before?”

Kageyama turns his head to the side in confusion, he wasn't quite sure what you meant. Gosh he is so cute.

“ what do you mean?”

You giggle at his words, shifting your weight onto one of your legs as you cock your head to the side slightly, a smile still present as you don't look away from him.

“ have you never given anyone a nickname, y'know have you never liked anyone?”

He thinks about it once more, tobio can't exactly recall the last time he ever had feelings for someone. He's never given anyone a nickname. He's not even sure if he has had feelings for anyone.

“ hmm...no. I can't say that I have.”

Bingo. He's never been with anyone! Even better, he's never had feelings for someone!! But..its likely he doesn't even like people...not that he's in to animals or anything, but maybe he just doesn't have feelings for people.. maybe you don't stand a chance.

Your smile slightly fades as you think about it. Your eyes flickering away from his and moving towards the ground, your confidence fleeting as you're heavy in thought.

“ what uhm..kind of people would you say you're into, then.”

“ uh, probably someone with the same interests as me y'know. basics, I like volleyball so as long as they like volleyball too I think that's solid.”

You groan lightly and look back at him. It's not that you think volleyball is uninteresting or uncool or anything. You joined the club because you needed an extra curricular, y'know it helps your thing being a manager of them y'know. Getting to stare at hot boys was just a bonus.

“ huh. so I'd have to be into volleyball to go out with you. lame.”

“ yup.”

Kageyama was quick to answer before it even registered in his head.. you hum and pat his shoulder before walking away giving your 'goodnights' to everyone and leaving.

He watches you leave, his face as normal and stern. Kageyama stretches and gathers his stuff before Tanaka runs over with Hinata and noya joking and laughing

“ dude! she was flirting with you!”

Tanaka yells out slapping kageyama on the back, noya laughs and punches him in the arm.

“ wow man, I didn't know you had it like that! the rizz is rizzing.”

“ don't say that.”

Tsukishima says walking beside tadashi as he waves to everyone beside his taller friend.

“ what? y/n wouldn't flirt with me. y/n wouldn't try to ruin our friendship like that.”

“ what makes you think you can't be friends and in a relationship.”

“ that's why it's called 'girlfriend' dude.”

Noya and Tanaka tell kageyama, Hinata snickers and laughs at kageyamas stupidity.

“ I'm not surprised, of course you wouldn't know anything about relationships!”

“ SHUT UP, DUMBASS!”

Poor kageyama was all red and flustered now. He thought about it, you basically said you liked him... And it completely flew over his head..was he really that bad at relationships? He's never been in one. Would you dislike that? Why did you like him? You were friends?

Could you really be his friend and his girlfriend?

[nan-estrelas]

this is so silly

[peace-hunter]

megatron makes an off-hand comment in the middle of a battle and it makes optimus snort for a second before cutting himself off and every autobot in the vicinity freezes because it's the closest the prime has gotten to laughing since the war started. and it was because of the mech that caused it in the first place.

would that be fucked up or what

[melit0n]

So do you guys think Vessel wears a bald cap under there or what

[stlptr]

[bxriles]

Lmao okay wait. I got asked that question about Feyre/Bryce/Aelin and I went down a lil rabbit hole and somehow ended up on a subreddit of people arguing over who would win in a fight if it were Feyre vs. Aelin.

And I am CACKLING right now because it seems like the bulk of people on that thread think Aelin would win, and the people who think Feyre would win are SO. UPSET. Like they are BIG MAD that anyone would think Aelin would win hahahahahaha

I'm cackling. I can't breathe I'm laughing so hard omfg. People really do 100% project themselves onto Feyre. They really think they ARE Feyre!!!!! I'm crying. Send help I can't breathe 😂😂

[uglygirltrying]

insecure princess!reader x barbarian!ghost cw: angst, brief sexual mentions, bad writing, confusing ghost insecure princess!reader who has never had any suitors. her sisters overshadow her. her mother pities her, afraid that her daughter will never marry.

fortunately, due to an alliance that her father has made, she finally marries. he's a barbaric prince, shameless and perverted. mean and scary.

princess!reader who tries her best to make love kindle between them, to live the fantasy that she's always had. she rubs lavender oil on her neck, tugs one of her nightgowns straps down her shoulder, to be desirable like the women in paintings. her lady-in-waiting helps her make her hair silky, and her dresses pleasing to the eye. but you can't put lipstick on a pig.

the prince only has her from the back. it's a relief that he wants to make love to her, but at the same time it breaks her heart. she wants to have a face that he wants to look at.

the princess' anxiety only worsens when she notices that the prince's older brother keeps looking at her. she's not used to attention from men, she doesn't know how to interpret it. he might want to hurt her, show everyone just how disgusting she is. or maybe he laughs with his mates about her, just like everyone else. or maybe... he likes the look of her, maybe he'd like to tug her nightgown down and have her chest to chest. it's a stupid thought, she shouldn't entertain them and embarrass herself. and he's her husbands brother!! it's wrong!

then, one night during a feast, her husband's drunk antics drive her to walk away. she wanders the dark hallways of the castle, moonlight and candlelight illuminating the paintings on the walls.

the princess stops to look out of a window, a lone tear running down her cheek. it's an unending weight on her shoulder. she hates the presence of other princess', the prettier princess', they only remind her of what she isn't. knights don't fight for her, artists don't paint her beauty, and princes don't ask her to dance at balls.

a noise makes her jump out of her thoughts, she whips her head around to look down at the hallway. it's him. her husband's brother, ghost. he stands few feet away from the princess, looking her up and down.

"c'mon," he urges, his voice deep and rough. ghost nods, gesturing down the corridor, to the feast. before the princess can even respond, he has already turned around and began to walk back. but she doesn't follow.

the princess stays in place, looking down at the floor as she sniffles. why should she go back there? they don't want her there. the man in armor turns back around when he doesn't hear the princess following after him. ghost lets out a sigh, as he hears her sniffle. with couple of steps, he's standing in front of her.

"why do you cry, princess?" he mutters, reaching up and gently holding her cheek in his scarred hand.

"i hate him..." it's a silent whisper, lost to the silence of the cold castle. her face twists as she fights against more tears.

"walls have ears, and they will twist your words into treason," ghost says firmly, shutting the girl up before she can be her own doom. his thumb run over the bottom of her eye, wiping up the tears that spill. ghost sighs and leans down, pressing a small kiss between her eyebrows.

"sweet princess, you need to return to the feast... i cannot take you away tonight," he whispers huskily.

"take me away...?" she repeats, even quieter, her brows knitted in confusion.

"if i killed him, i could claim you for myself," ghost murmurs. he looks down at her, letting the princess ingest his words.

her eyes are wide in shock. kill? for her? that is the most romantic thing she's ever heard. is this what courting is? if so, then she only wants more of it. she can't tell if he's mocking her, but there's something in his voice that makes her stomach stir with excitement. the wine in his breath makes her consider for a moment that he's messing with her, but she also wants to enjoy the attention.

"h-how would you take his life?" the girl straightens her back, trying to sound more confident.

"i would slit his throat, as easy as slicing a warm pie," ghost says it as if it's nothing, his running along her cheek. "i could take you far away, we would live in a house by the sea and you could wear pretty dresses for only me to see."

her breath hitches, feeling that flutter in her stomach. jesus christ. her hands clutch onto her cute little dress as she squeezes her thighs together. now she regrets giving her virginity to that twig, when a man like this could've had it, a man who truly deserves her purity.

"now be a smart girl and return to the feast." ghost murmurs and turns to walk back to the feast.

what?

she quickly reaches forward, desperately clinging onto the man's arm, to keep him there. if she let's go now, he might just come across a wench or two and change his mind. "b-but you said that-!" she stammers, utterly confused by the change in the air. there's no one there for her. no one who she's welcome to. her heart aches. she thought that this prince wanted her. what did she do wrong? ghost scoffs, gently prying the girls hands off his forearm. "you think it’ll be like a story, a hero slaying the villain and sweeping the princess off her feet. but this is real life," his tone is suddenly colder, more detached. “you’re chasing something that will never be yours.”

her hands stay in the air for a moment when he pulls away from her, reluctant to let go. his words sting, dig in deep and leave a pit for her to collapse in. her hands fall down and settle over her stomach as she fidgets with them.

she opens her mouth to say something, but the words escape her. it all changed so fast. some wench must've bewitched him, taken him from her. why can't she have anything, not even a man who wants her?

he looks at her again, his gaze intense, unflinching. his expression hardens, though there’s still a part of him that almost looks regretful. and then, he just walks away.

the princess can do nothing else than stand in place and hold back tears. she's alone again. the moonlight makes her shaking hands look blue. did she misunderstand? did she wrongly assume the meaning of his words? or was she just so naive?

it hurts to think, and the thoughts themselves hurt even more. it'd better if she just went to bed. ------------------------------------

inspired by the fact that i'm ugly and never had a boyfriend

[halfgirl-halfdolll]

Thinking about neurodivergent!secretary!reader who absolutely despises when there's new, young soldiers at the base.

Your base instinct is to run whenever there's a teenager in front of you – it doesn't matter if you're almost 30 years old. The scars of the bullying you suffered when you were young are still tender, and you hate when their scrutinizing gazes lock onto you, tongues sharp and ready to pick and pull at every loose thread of insecurity you have; hammering you down until stop sticking out like a bent nail.

Your boys see that. And they hate it.

They just love their little doll, their favorite (only) secretary. It's the highlight of their days to see you all pretty with your dresses and your soft but purposeful steps, calling out to them with a quiet voice. You're like a little bunny – small, scared, and cute. Their nerves flare up with the desperate need to just keep you safe in their hands, always within their reach.

And when they find out that some good-for-nothing recruits are intimidating you and talking shit about you behind your back, trying to bully you for the way you chose to live your life?

Price doesn't think twice about ruining their military careers. Who cares about some stupid runts? All that matters is your pretty smile, love. Maybe bullying doesn't call for a dishonorable discharge, but hey. A little abuse of power is absolutely nothing if it means keeping you happy.

Ghost will be more than happy to beat up all of the scum that had the gall to whisper nasty comments about you whenever he's training them. You're his little piece of heaven. The only bird that has ever looked at him with loving eyes, and not fear. He wouldn't stand for anyone who badmouths the one soft thing he has going on in his life. And if he punches their jaws until they dislocate so they can't talk about you? That's on them for not blocking. And if he breaks their finger so they can't type anything? Oh, lovie. That's on them for not dodging.

Soap is a lot less subtle. He'll just knock down whoever's near him if they so much as whisper something about you. No one talks about his bonnie. Not when you're the sweetest little thing that's ever been around him. Soap sometimes daydreams of getting a nasty toothache just by biting you, so sweet you are. And no one can ever hurt you beside him and his mates, when they eventually show you the sugar pain of their affections. Interestingly, Sergeant MacTavish just never seems to face disciplinary action despite how openly aggressive he is to those new runts...

Gaz is the one with the information. He's all tight lipped smiles and fake laughs when he's talking with a new recruit and they dare to poke fun at you. Sometimes they even know you're 141's secretary and openly expect Kyle to agree with them. As if he could ever think anything but the absolute best about you, his precious doll... He wouldn't let this slander go on for much longer, though. Just a few words with Price or Ghost and the recruit would be swallowing their words with blood and bile. You can always trust him to be your knight in shining armor, love, just like you're his princess. No harm will ever come your way, if it's up to him.

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY TWO: taking choso's virginity.

kinktober masterlist

virgin!choso who, at first, lied to you about the intactness of his 'innocence'. he didn't want you to think him unworthy of your body because he didn't quite know what he was doing. so when you asked? of course he's had sex before.

virgin!choso who knows you're not stupid, who knows you pick up on the way he mewls with white hot need every time a kiss turns to a heated make-out session. he knows you pick up on the hitch of his breath each time your hands roam over that delicate chest of his. he knows you know that he's a fucking liar.

virgin!choso who still doesn't come clean until one night when he's sure you're too needy to keep your hands to yourself. when you're laid underneath him because he's finally gathered the confidence to push you into the mattress of your bed, and your hands start to roam down to the waistband of his pants.

virgin!choso who is rock hard from a few kisses, and can't bear the thought of you knowing just how desperate he is for your touch, your scent, your whole being. so he pulls back, sits back on his heels as you sit up on your elbows to give him an inquisitive look. you ask him if he doesn't want you touching him there—he knows you'd respect it if that were the case.

virgin!choso who can't deny his want—who can't help the blush that colours his cheeks as he shakes his heads and manages the words to tell you that it's not a lack of want, but rather a lack of experience. his voice is small, delicate, when he tells you, 'I've just never done it before."

virgin!choso who can't figure out why you're laughing when he's just opened up to you. you're not laughing at him, he knows you'd never do that, but the sweet giggles that fall from your lips indicate nothing other than the fact you already knew. you tell your sweet boy as such, that you'd be concerned if he had been with anyone before you, considering the logistics of your relationship.

virgin!choso who, when he asks you if it bothers you that he's got no experience, feels his achy cock twitch in his pants when you tell him that it actually turns you on. to know you're the only person to feel him inside of you—the only one that ever will—is beyond an aphrodisiac for you. it only feeds into the possessive streak you have, and god does choso find he likes being the subject of your staked claim.

virgin!choso who decides he'd like to set the pace for his first time. which is more than okay with you, because god the sight of him hovering over you with his eyes squeezed shut as you reach down and pull his cock out of his pants is heavensent. he's unsurprisingly big, and offers to prep you with his fingers first, but you decline—the notion of taking your sweet boys virginity is enough to soak you.

virgin!choso whose vision blurs once he's got your panties pulled off and he's rubbing his fat tip up and down your folds, choked for breath at only a taste of your heat. his hair is loose, hanging over his face and falling into yours as he steadies himself above you—he's beautiful, his virginity in your hands, trust struck between you as he takes a breath and pushes into you, inch by gorgeous inch.

virgin!choso who has to busy his mouth with kissing yours, because his gasps come in quick as he bottoms out inside of you, pushes to the base as he tries to acclimate to the feel of you wrapped around him. you take him perfectly, and choso often wonders just how handmade his design is, but can't deny he was made with you in mind, what with how perfectly you fit together. he moans against your lips, loud and unashamed, because he's never in his life felt so good.

virgin!choso who reels when you wrap your legs round his wait, use your hands to grab at his shoulders, trace your nails down his back, grab his ass as he jolts into you. who, when he starts moving, can't stop. the drag and pull of his cock inside of you is hypnotic—choso would swear this is a cursed technique of yours, sending him dizzy after only a few thrusts.

virgin!choso who, understandably, can't hold on for very long once he finally finds a nice rhythm. he's sent so stupid with all these new sensations that he's a babbling mess, barely comprehensible as he complains about the taut band in his abdomen that's going to snap any moment—thankfully you're right behind him, the intimacy of cho's devout lust is more than enough to justify both of your early orgasms. you decide that his first orgasm with you would be a waste anywhere besides deep inside of you, and spur him on to finish inside.

virgin!choso who cries when he cums. hot tears prickling at his eyes, rolling down his cheeks in salty drops that you kiss clean. his hips stutter, and he's simply unable to keep himself supported above you—he collapses on top of your body as he twitches and jerks with rapt pleasure. you pepper kisses all over his face, from the tip of his nose to his fluttering lashes, right before you follow in his climax and tip over the edge yourself.

virgin!choso who becomes fearful of losing this sensation. who, once you're both back in reality, refuses to pull out of you. hopefully you can handle cockwarming for a long time more, because frankly, your sweet choso has quickly become an addict.

[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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