#i feel like a victorian man seeing a woman’s ankle for the first time

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 12

˗ˏˋ vanilla coffee ˎˊ˗

"There's a science to making perfect coffee, he says. But there's no science to explain why watching him make it—shirtless and sleep-rumpled—makes you forget every reason you shouldn't want him."

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⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 7,4k

rating: explicit (sex)

content: jungkook literally has a vanilla kink at this point i'm sorry that wasn't even planned he's just got free will, coffee lessons that are somehow hot, tiny shorts being instigators, verbal sparring as foreplay, protected sex, titty play, titty worship, penetrative vaginal sex, him fingering her

✧ author's note ✧

Listen. LISTEN. I don’t know what kind of demonic possession took over me while writing this chapter, but I had zero control over my own hands. Like, the coffee scene? The mug sharing? The delicious moment??? I AM IN HELL. (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

I started this chapter with the intention of them being petty little gremlins about vanilla-scented products, and somehow it ended with Jungkook making a whole latte just to flex on Y/N. A LATTE. And don’t even get me started on the mug proximity crimes. The way Y/N is actively short-circuiting over his hands and forearms like a Victorian woman seeing ankle for the first time?? We are ALL in trouble. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

And then—oh, god—the sweatpants menace. If you know, you know.

As always, please send thoughts, screams, and existential crises to the comment box. Love you, stay hydrated, and if a man ever offers to elevate your coffee… RUN. (Or sit in his lap. Your call.) (¬‿¬)

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Good tired is still tired.

Your bag hits the dining table with a thud that perfectly matches how your brain feels right now—heavy and slightly bruised. 

7PM. 

You gave him way more than forty minutes. Actually gave him two whole hours, not that you're counting. 

Not that you care. You're just... observant.

But then you catch it—that familiar scent hanging in the air. Vanilla. Your mind immediately goes to that specific vanilla body wash that costs way too much but is the only thing that doesn't make your skin break out.

Oh, he fucking didn't.

Your fist connects with his door maybe a bit harder than necessary. There's a loud thud from inside, followed by what sounds like someone falling off a bed, then a muffled "shit” before footsteps approach.

The door swings open and—oh.

Oh no.

He's shirtless, because of course he is. Hair a disaster, eyes heavy with sleep, that stupid silver ring catching the light as he runs a hand down his face. There's a pillow crease on his cheek and he looks... soft. Which is absolutely not what you need right now when you're trying to be angry.

"What," he growls, voice rough with sleep, "is your problem?"

Right. Anger. Focus on that.

"My problem?" You gesture vaguely at the air between you. "My problem is you letting random hookups use my shit!"

His brow furrows, like he's trying to process your words through a fog of interrupted sleep. Then his expression does this complicated thing—confusion to understanding to something else you can't quite read.

He presses his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Phoenix, I didn't." When he looks at you again, he seems more awake. "I told her your stuff was off limits."

"Then why does it smell like—"

He brushes past you, heading toward the bathroom, and you absolutely do not notice how warm he is when he passes. Or how he still smells like rain under the vanilla.

"Are you seriously walking away while I'm—"

He stops so suddenly you almost run into him. Turns. Points at the coffee table.

"It's your candle."

You follow his finger and... oh.

There's one of your vanilla candles burning quietly on the table, nearly at its end. Which means it's been lit for...

He groans, running a hand down his face again. "You said to open the windows, and I just..." He waves vaguely at the candle. "Whatever."

"You..." The words aren't quite computing. "You lit my candle?"

"You told me to air out the apartment."

"So you used my candle to get cozy with some random—"

"For fuck's sake, Phoenix." He looks like he's regretting every life choice that led him here. "I lit it because you like these stupid vanilla things, okay? Thought it'd make the place smell nice when you got back."

Oh.

Something warm and uncomfortable squirms in your chest. Because that's... that's actually kind of...

"Well." You cross your arms, refusing to acknowledge the weird feeling. "Maybe ask next time before using my stuff."

"Maybe don't ghost me for two hours when I asked for forty minutes."

"I was studying!"

"With your phone on silent?"

"Some of us have actual academic responsibilities, Rogue."

His mouth twitches. "Some of us have other responsibilities."

"Yeah, bet ‘pussy eating’ looks great on a résumé.”

“Didn’t eat her pussy. Just fucked it.”

You grimace. “TMI.”

He shrugs. “You brought it up.”

“You were the one bragging about responsibilities like it’s a noble calling.”

“Hey, takes dedication. Skill. Stamina.” A smirk. “Not my fault you’re fixated on it.”

Fixated—

“Right. Just like I’m fixated on your four-hour recovery nap.”

“Wasn’t napping the whole time.”

“Gross.”

“You asked.”

“I literally didn’t.”

He's fighting a smile now, you can tell. Which is annoying because you're trying to be mad about your candle. Or your body wash. Or... something.

"Whatever." You turn toward your room, because this conversation needs to end before you do something stupid like thank him for thinking about the smell. "Just ask next time."

"Before lighting your pretentious vanilla candles?"

"They're not pretentious."

"They're thirty dollars each."

"How do you know how much they—" You spin back around. "Have you been looking up my candles?"

"No."

"Oh my god, you totally have."

"I was curious why they cost so much when they all smell the same!"

"They do not all smell the same, you absolute heathen."

He raises an eyebrow. "French Vanilla and Vanilla Bean are literally the same thing."

"I'm not having this conversation with someone who probably thinks Old Spice is a personality trait."

"At least I don't need a PhD to buy soap."

"No, you just need—" You stop, narrowing your eyes. "Wait. How do you know what's in my shower?"

"You know what?" He stretches, and you absolutely do not track the movement with your eyes. "All this talk about vanilla is making me crave coffee. Specifically..." He grins, slow and deliberate. "Those vanilla capsules you hide in the back of the cabinet."

"Don't you dare—"

"The ones behind the protein powder?"

"Those are mine." You follow him as he saunters toward the kitchen, still annoyingly shirtless. "I specifically said they weren't for you."

"Come on, Phoenix." He's already moving toward the kitchen, all loose limbs and bare chest like putting on a shirt is beneath him. "Let me show you how to actually make coffee. Teach you some culture. Some technique."

You swat at him as he passes. "I know how to use a coffee maker."

"Sure you do." His laugh is rough with sleep, and you hate that you notice. "That's why you murdered a perfectly good espresso shot this morning."

"I did not—"

"The beans were crying, Phoenix. I heard them."

But you're already following him to the kitchen because apparently you hate yourself. 

He's wearing those stupid gray sweatpants that hang just low enough to be illegal in at least three states, and his hair is still a disaster from sleep, curling at the nape of his neck.

"First rule," he says, running his hands over the coffee maker like it's something precious, "is respecting the machine."

"It's a coffee maker, not royalty."

"See? No respect." His fingers dance over the settings with practiced ease. "That's why your coffee tastes like sad bean water."

You lean against the counter, watching as he measures grounds with ridiculous precision. 

"My coffee tastes fine."

"Your coffee tastes like betrayal and broken dreams." He adjusts the grind size, movements quick and sure. "You probably think instant coffee is acceptable."

"Only when I'm feeling particularly spiteful."

His horrified gasp is so dramatic it actually makes you laugh. "You're a monster."

"Guilty."

He shakes his head, tamping down the grounds with absolutely unnecessary focus. The muscles in his forearms flex with the movement, and you definitely don't notice. Just like you don't notice how his hands look wrapping around the portafilter, or how his ring catches the kitchen light when he locks it into place.

"Watch," he says, flipping switches with the confidence of someone who definitely spent too much time watching barista tutorials on YouTube. "This is where the magic happens."

"It's coffee, not alchemy."

"Shh. You're ruining the moment."

The machine hums to life, and okay—maybe you can kind of see why he's so precious about it. There's something almost hypnotic about the way the espresso streams out, dark and perfect.

"See how it's not running too fast?" He's fully in teacher mode now, gesturing at the flow. "That's what you want. Nice and steady. Not that waterfall disaster you created this morning."

"Are you done being pretentious yet?"

"Never." He grabs your vanilla capsules—the ones you specifically told him not to touch—and starts steaming milk. "But I'll make it worth your while."

"By stealing my coffee?"

"By elevating your coffee." The milk pitcher moves in his hand like it's an extension of his arm. "You'll never want that chain store stuff again."

"Bold of you to assume I want anything you make."

His smile is all trouble. "Liar."

And okay, maybe he has a point. Because the drink he slides across the counter a few minutes later looks... kind of perfect. The foam is glossy and smooth, and the vanilla smell hits just right.

"Well?" He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

You take a sip and—fuck.

Fuck.

"It's..." 

No. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

But he's already grinning, the bastard. "Say it."

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, Phoenix." He leans forward, elbows on the counter. "Admit it. I made your vanilla whatever-the-fuck better than you ever could."

"I will literally die first."

"That good, huh?"

You flip him off, taking another sip instead of answering. But then he's there, right there, and when did he get so close? His fingers brush yours as he takes the mug, gentle but deliberate, and your throat goes dry.

He holds your gaze, something dark and playful dancing in his eyes. Doesn't ask permission with words—just tilts his head slightly, the question clear in the quirk of his mouth. And you should say something. Should stop him. Should—

The mug touches his lips. Your lips were just there. Three seconds ago, your mouth was exactly where his is now, and that shouldn't make your stomach clench but it does.

His eyes are too much. Too dark, too intense, too fucking knowing as he takes a slow sip. Have they always been this brown? This smoky? Like whiskey in low light, like trouble wrapped in honey. 

The kind of eyes that should come with a warning label: Danger. Side effects may include stupid decisions and ruined underwear.

His tongue darts out, catching a stray drop on his lower lip. Slow. Deliberate. The silver ring on his hand catches the light as he lowers the mug, and his voice drops to something husky.

"Delicious."

Nope. Absolutely not.

You snatch the mug back, ignoring how your fingers tingle where they brush his. "Make your own, you coffee nerd."

Retreat. Strategic retreat to the couch is definitely the smart play here. Because your brain is currently short-circuiting, trying to process how one word—one stupid, fucking word—in that voice can make your thighs press together.

His laugh follows you, low and knowing. The sound wraps around you like smoke, like the way he smelled that thunderstorm night, like—

Griffin chooses that exact moment to slink into the living room, green eyes judging you both as he hops onto the windowsill. He stretches, impossibly long, before curling into a perfect orange circle, pointedly turning his back to you both. 

At least someone in this apartment has standards.

Focus. You're focusing.

But then you hear him moving behind you. The quiet rhythm of his breathing, the soft appreciative hums as he works the coffee maker. The whisper of fabric as his sweatpants shift with his movements. Each sound feels magnified, like your brain has decided to process everything in HD surround sound.

Don't look back. Don't do it. Don't—

Fuck.

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret every decision that led to this moment. Because his back is a work of art, all broad shoulders and defined muscle, and it's not fair. It's not fucking fair that even from behind he's attractive enough to make your mouth water. The way his shoulder blades move as he works the machine, the dip of his spine disappearing into those low-hanging sweats, the unruly hairs curling at his nape...

Snap your head forward. Drink your coffee. Stop being a horny disaster for five consecutive minutes.

But you can still hear him. Still feel his presence behind you like a looming cloud. Still taste the ghost of his lips where they touched the same spot yours did on the mug.

This is fine. Everything is fine. You're just tired and touch-starved and maybe a little worked up from your stupid assignments—

"Want another taste, Phoenix?"

His voice is closer now, right behind you, and you absolutely do not shiver. "Didn't anyone teach you to drink your own coffee?"

"Didn't anyone teach you that stealing tastes better?"

You refuse to turn around. Refuse to acknowledge how his words squeeze your chest. "You're impossible."

"You like impossible."

And that's... that's not something you're equipped to handle right now. Not with him standing there all sleep-warm and shirtless, voice rough like gravel, smelling like rain and coffee and sin.

"I like peace and quiet," you lie, taking another sip of your rapidly cooling drink.

His laugh is soft, dangerous. "Liar."

The couch dips as he drops down next to you, thigh pressed against yours like he owns the space. Like personal boundaries are just suggestions. He has a mug in hand now, and his coffee smells kind of amazing and you hate him for it.

You shift away, but his hand lands on your thigh—warm, heavy, there. His fingers span the width of it easily, and your brain helpfully supplies memories of those same fingers in other contexts. 

It doesn’t escape your notice, how his eyes linger on where your shorts have ridden up your thighs from your hours in the library. 

"No," you manage, swatting his thigh with yours.

"No what?" His voice is still rough from sleep, and it's doing things to you. Unfair things.

"No manspreading next to me." You try to sound annoyed instead of affected. "Keep your sweaty balls to yourself."

He squeezes your thigh, just once. Just enough to make you want to throw the mug at him. Or yourself. "My balls aren't sweaty."

"Bet they are.”

"Want to check?"

"You're actually the worst." But you don't move his hand. Why aren't you moving his hand?

"That's not what you said last time."

And fuck him for bringing up last time. Fuck him for smelling like rain and coffee and sleep-warm skin. Fuck him for the way his thumb is drawing absent circles on your thigh, like he's not even aware he's doing it.

"Lapse in judgment."

His laugh rumbles through you, too close, too much. "Which time?"

"Pick one."

"I'd rather pick you up."

You turn to tell him exactly where he can shove that line, but it's a mistake. Because he's right there, all heavy-lidded eyes and sleep-soft mouth, and your brain fizzles. His hair is still a mess, curling at his temples, and you want to grab it. Want to find out if it's as soft as it looks. Want to—

"You're staring, Phoenix."

"Untrue."

His fingers flex on your thigh. "Big word for someone who can't stop looking at my mouth."

"I'm not—" But you are. You absolutely are. "Shut up."

"Make me."

Always those two damn words. Always saying ‘make me’, like he knows how it riles you up. Like he likes how it riles you up. His eyes are dark, dangerous, and you can feel his pulse through his fingers on your thigh. Or maybe that's your pulse. Everything feels too hot, too close, too—

"Your coffee's getting cold," you manage, voice embarrassingly breathy.

His smile is slow, knowing. "Yeah?”

His eyes drop to your shorts—the ones you've been wearing all day, the ones that rode up your thighs during your study session. And okay, maybe they're a little too short. Maybe you felt Jimin's concerned glance when you stretched in the library. But it's not your fault the AC in your car is temperamental at best.

"These can't be comfortable after sitting in the library all day," he murmurs, fingers playing with the hem. “Could help you out of them."

"Thought you were tired from your afternoon activities."

"Second wind." His thumb traces the seam where it cuts into your thigh. "Come here."

You raise an eyebrow, ignoring how your body wants to lean into his touch. "I am here."

"No," and his voice drops lower, rougher. "Here." He pats his lap, and the casual confidence of it irritating. Hot. Irritatingly hot. "Unless you're scared."

"Of what? Your ego?"

"Of how bad you want it." His eyes flick to your chest, where your shirt dips just low enough to be interesting. "Been thinking about these shorts all day. Since you drove me to class."

"Didn't realize my driving skills were such a turn on."

"Your driving skills are terrible." His hand slides higher, testing. "But watching you grip the steering wheel..."

You swallow. "That's kind of pathetic."

"Yeah?" His fingers find the spot where your shorts meet skin. "Then why are you breathing so hard?"

"Because you're annoying me."

He laughs, low and dangerous. "Hop on, Phoenix. Let me annoy you properly."

"That's your big move? 'Hop on'?"

“As long as it gets you on top of me...” He smiles now, actually smiles. “I’d say it’s working.”

And fuck him for being right. Fuck him for the way his eyes are all pupil now, for how his skin is still warm, for how he smells like everything you want to taste.

"You're awful," you breathe, but you're already shifting closer.

"Show me how awful."

His fingers hook through your belt loop and suddenly you're being yanked forward with zero warning. The squeak that leaves your mouth is embarrassing.

"Rude," you swat at him, but he catches your wrist easily. His hand is so warm around your cold skin.

"C'mere," he breathes, and before you can process it, you're straddling him. 

His hands slide down to grab your ass, fingers digging into the flesh and pulling you closer until you fall forward, catching yourself with hands on either side of his head.

He hums, the sound vibrating through you where you're pressed against him. And—yeah. Well. That's definitely not his phone in his sweats.

"Ride me?" The way he says it is almost lazy, but his eyes are dark, hungry. That half-lidded look that means tarnation.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, Phoenix." His fingers flex on your ass, making you rock against him. "Don't be mean."

You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore how good he feels under you. "Mean?"

"Been hard since I saw you in these fucking shorts this morning." He bites his lip, looking up at you through his lashes. "Just thinking about your thighs spread over my lap like this..."

"That sounds like a you problem."

His laugh is breathless, a little wild. "I’ll make it an us problem."

"Thought you were tired from earlier."

"Different kind of tired." His hands guide you into a slow grind against him. "This is more... inspiration."

"You're actually insane."

"Yeah?" He rocks up, making you gasp. "Feeling pretty sane right now. Feeling like I really want you to—fuck—" 

You'd rolled your hips, just to shut him up. Just to wipe that cocky smirk off his face. But now he's looking at you like you’re his favorite dessert, and his hands are everywhere, and—

"That's it," he breathes, voice gone raspy. "Just like that, come on..."

He guides your hips into another roll, watching you with that hungry, hazy look. His thumbs dig into your hipbones, controlling the pressure, the pace.

"Been thinking about this," he breathes, voice rough. "How you'd look bouncing on my cock. How your tits would—fuck—" You grind down harder, feeling him twitch against you. "Haven't even gotten to see them properly yet."

"Poor you," but your voice shakes when his hands slide up under your shirt, spanning your ribs.

"Poor me," he agrees, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "All I got was that quick fuck against the window. Then you cumming on my tongue." His eyes are dark, pupils blown. "But this? Getting to watch you ride me? See these bounce while you—"

"You talk too much." You're trying for annoyed but it comes out breathy.

"Make me shut up then." His hips snap up. "Come on, Phoenix. Show me how well you can take it, yeah?"

"That's your big plan? Get me all worked up in the living room?"

“Getting worked up anywhere you’ll let me.” His fingers find your nipples through your bra, rolling them until you arch. “Been waiting to get you like this. Spread out on top of me, swallowing me deep in this greedy pussy…”

You let out a breathy laugh, grinding down just to spite him. “Yeah?” Your voice is pure teasing, but the heat is real. “She didn’t wring you out completely?”

His grip tightens on your waist, nails pressing in just enough to make you feel it. “Seems like she didn’t.”

You hum, dragging your hips forward again, slow and deliberate. “Mm. That’s a shame.”

“Yeah?” His voice dips, rough and taunting, but his hands—his fucking hands—are already shoving your shirt up, fingers tracing up your spine before yanking your bra down just enough to expose you. His thumb drags over one nipple, his breath warm against your throat. “You wanna fix that?”

You pretend to consider, rolling your hips again, dragging your pussy right over the thick ridge of him. Fuck. He’s not even inside you, and it’s already so good.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Wouldn’t want to overwork you.”

His laugh is sharp, incredulous. “Nix.” His voice is wrecked—the kind of hoarse, hungry sound that goes straight to your cunt. “You feel what you’re doing to me?” He thrusts up, slow but deep, and you suck in a breath. “Think I’m fucking tired?”

And yeah, okay. He’s still hard as fucking steel beneath you. Still needy. Still looking at you like he’s seconds from losing what little patience he has left.

“It’s these fucking shorts,” he mutters, grabbing a handful of your ass like he wants to leave bruises. “Oh my god, this fucking ass.”

You hold back a laugh, rolling your hips again, enjoying the way his breath stutters. “That easy, huh?”

His hands tighten on you. “You know what you do to me.” His mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping just enough to make you quiver. “S’why you wore these, right?”

You don’t answer, just reach between you to shove down his sweatpants, dragging them low enough to free his cock. And—fuck. He’s so hard it’s almost obscene, thick and flushed and already leaking. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, running a teasing finger up his shaft, watching his stomach tense. “Didn’t even get a full reset, did you?”

His jaw flexes. “No.” A muscle in his cheek jumps as he watches you wrap your hand around him. “The fuck do you expect when you walk around in these little fucking—” His breath hitches when you thumb over the head, smearing the wetness there. “Shit—shorts. The second I saw you, I knew—”

“You knew what?” You press the question into his skin, lips just beneath his jaw, hand still working him slow.

His grip on your ass tightens, grounding, punishing. “Knew I was gonna end up inside you tonight.”

And fuck. That sends a fresh wave of heat through you, has your thighs squeezing around him. Because yeah, okay, maybe you had the same thought the second you walked in and saw him standing there in nothing but those damn sweatpants.

But there’s still one thing gnawing at you. One thing that makes your brain fight for a fraction of control through the heat.

“Did you use condoms?”

His head snaps up, brow furrowing like you just asked if water is wet. “Of course I did. Who the fuck do you think I am?”

You exhale, relief flooding through you faster than the heat pooling low in your stomach. 

“Okay, fuck. Okay.” You swallow. “Where are they?”

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—instead of answering, he grabs your tits. Both hands, rough and impatient, unclasping you bra like it personally offended him.

“Jesus—wait—” You barely manage to lift your arms before he’s yanking it over your head, flinging it somewhere behind him.

“You on the pill?” he murmurs, barely pausing his focus on your tits.

“No.” You don’t even hesitate.

And to his credit, he doesn’t either. “Okay. Condoms it is.”

Respectful. A menace, but respectful.

You barely have time to process that before his fingers are pressing into the small of your back, guiding you forward, making you press flush against him as he leans toward the coffee table.

And you—because apparently you’re both equally insane—just let him.

His other hand reaches forward, jerking open the small drawer in the coffee table, fishing out a foil packet with practiced ease.

“You keep condoms in the living room?”

Jungkook doesn’t even blink. “Yeah. Just in case.”

“In case?” Your eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t you fuck in your room like normal people?”

“Yeah?” He grabs the foil packet, tossing it onto the couch beside him before his hands are right back on your waist, thumbs sliding under the waistband of your shorts. “But, y’know… just in case you wanted it.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “Me?”

“You, Phoenix.” He squeezes your hips like he’s grounding himself, like he has to touch you while he says it. “I usually fuck in my room. But you and me—we already did it against the window, so I figured…” He shrugs, casual as ever. “Might as well be prepared.”

“I—” You blink, processing, trying to form actual thoughts. “That’s crazy.”

He shrugs, so fucking nonchalant it’s unfair. “Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Think about it.” His mouth curls, eyes flicking from your mouth to your bare chest and back again. “Imagine I had to stop and go all the way to my room right now.” He pauses, letting the implication settle. “Wouldn’t that just kill the mood?”

And okay. You do snort at that.

Because this is ridiculous.

Because this is actually thoughtful.

Because he’s still hard as a rock under you, talking about condom logistics while casually groping your ass, like he’s planning for a fire drill and not fucking you senseless on the couch.

“No, like. You’re a complete nut case,” you murmur, shaking your head.

“Quick access,” he corrects, and then—fuck.

His mouth is on your tits again.

No hesitation, no teasing buildup, just his tongue dragging over one nipple, warm and slick before closing his lips around it.

Your breath catches, fingers twitching where they brace on his shoulders. “Jesus—”

He hums against your skin, like this is just an extension of the conversation. Like he can talk about fucking you and have his tongue on your tits in the same breath.

And then, because he’s Jungkook and apparently completely fucking obsessed with your chest, he moves to the other one, sucking deep and slow, like he’s savoring it.

“Can’t help it,” he mutters against you, voice rough. “Tits too fucking perfect.”

Which—okay. You shouldn’t preen at that, but his mouth is so fucking warm, and his hands are so fucking big—

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and his breath stutters.

And then he’s leaning back just enough to look up at you, lips slick, pupils blown. “You gonna let me fuck you cowgirl now, or you wanna keep pretending we’re still talking?”

You poke at his dick playfully, watching with satisfaction as it twitches immediately.

His breath stutters, eyes flicking up to yours, but he doesn’t say a word. Just watches—completely absorbed—as you pluck the condom from the side and roll it down over him, slow and deliberate.

His jaw flexes, lips parting slightly, and when you glance up, you catch it—his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice all low and wrecked.

You smirk, dragging your fingers back up his shaft just because you can, because you like making him twitch, like how he watches you like he’s seconds from losing his mind.

His hands are already on your thighs when you lift up, finally removing those tiny ass shorts—but when your fingers hook into your panties, he stops you.

“Keep them.”

You blink, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” His hands skim up, palms rough against your bare skin. “They’re red and lacy and fucking beautiful—” His voice breaks off into a sharp exhale as he shifts under you, cock nudging against the damp lace between your legs. “Just shove them to the side and let me fuck you like this.”

Heat licks down your spine, and fuck, maybe it is kind of hot—his voice raw, gaze locked where you’re already so wet for him.

“Yeah?” You drag the fabric aside, slow and teasing, letting him see what he’s about to have. “You want me to ride you like this?”

“Nix.” His voice is all smoke and gravel. “Fucking sit on it.”

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders.

And then, in one swift motion, you sink down onto him.

“Fuck—”

Jungkook shudders, breath breaking apart as he bottoms out inside you, hands clamping down on your hips so hard it’s murderous. His fingers dig deep into your skin, like he’s fighting the urge to slam you down harder, deeper, but he doesn’t—he just grips, holds, feels.

And fucking watches.

Because this—this—is his favorite.

The way you stretch around him, the way he can see it, can watch himself disappear inside you from this angle. The lace of your panties bunched to the side, the way your slick coats his cock, the slow, obscene drag as he throbs inside you.

His jaw clenches, his head falling back, but his eyes stay locked on where your bodies meet. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You suck in a breath, thighs trembling slightly, trying to adjust to the stretch, the pressure, the way he fills you completely. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle shift beneath your palms as he groans deep in his throat.

“You feel that, Nix?” His voice is rough, wrecked. “Feel how deep you’re taking me?”

You bite your lip, trying not to squirm at the way that sounds coming from him, the way his cock pulses inside you like he can feel every little squeeze.

His grip on your hips flexes. “Come on, let me hear you.”

You swallow hard, already feeling too fucking warm. “I—”

“I what?” His hands slide down, palms rough and greedy as they find your ass, grabbing handfuls, spreading you just to push inside you deeper. “Fuck, Phoenix, you feel so fucking good.”

Your thighs twitch, heat licking up your spine, and okay—okay, maybe that makes something inside you tighten. The way he wants you to feel it. The way he sounds like he’s barely holding on.

“Look at you. Sitting so fucking pretty on my cock like this.”

Your breath stutters.

“Fuck—” His fingers flex again, grip punishing, possessive. “Knew you’d look good like this. In this position. Been dreaming ‘bout it.”

You exhale shakily, pressing your palms harder against his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath your hands.

“Yeah?” The word slips out before you can stop it, quiet, breathless, barely more than an exhale. 

And then, even as much as you convince yourself you hate dirty talk—his dirty talk—how you tell yourself it’s cringe… You find yourself engaging. You find yourself slipping. 

“You wanted me in this position, Ro? Riding you?”

And Jungkook? He fucking relishes on it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, dark eyes flicking up to yours, mouth curling slow, dirty. “Getting bold on me, Phee?”

Heat rushes up your throat, your pulse pounding, but you don’t look away. You can’t—not with the way he’s looking at you, not with how deep he is inside you.

“God,” he groans, hands gripping your ass again, spreading you wider just to watch himself sink into you even more. “You should see how you look right now.”

His voice is wrecked—half-growl, half-moan—and you have to fight the way your thighs want to squeeze around him, hold him there.

But he notices.

And grins.

“Fucking knew it,” he mutters, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “You like hearing it, don’t you?”

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers twitching on his chest. “Shut up.”

“Nah.” He tilts his head, thumbs digging into your skin, grounding, teasing. “Think I finally got you to like it.”

And fuck—fuck—you can’t even argue, because his cock twitches inside you and your whole body reacts, a shiver running up your spine.

His smirk widens. “See?”

You exhale sharply. “Rogue.”

“Phoenix.” His hands tighten again, his voice a slow, taunting drawl. “C’mon, yeah? Ride me.”

Your thighs flex as you lift yourself up, the slow drag of him leaving you just enough to make you whimper, then you sink back down, faster this time, harder.

Jungkook’s jaw goes slack, hands gripping your ass like he’s barely holding himself together. “Christ—”

But you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You move again, rising and dropping, setting a pace that has his breath coming out in ragged exhales, his nails biting into your skin. Every inch of him stretches you open, fills you up, makes your stomach coil tighter and tighter.

And then—

His right hand moves.

Fingers slipping lower, rough against your skin, then lower, lower—

Until he’s spreading you.

His fingers part your folds, stretching you open wider just so he can watch himself disappear inside you.

“For fuck’s sake Ro—”

“Shit,” he exhales, low and wrecked, eyes locked on where his cock is sliding in and out of you, the obscene wetness coating both of you. “Look at that. Fucking dripping for me, Phoenix. Can’t help it.”

Your thighs shake, breath shuddering, and you want to tell him to shut the fuck up—but you can’t, because you may not see it, but you feel it. The way your body takes him, how slick and messy it is, how deep he’s buried every time you drop back down.

It’s filthy. He’s filthy.

“You’re so nasty,” you gasp, nails digging into his chest for balance.

He laughs, dark and smug. “And you fucking love it.”

Before you can snap back, he finally—finally—looks up at you.

And his breath stutters.

Because, of course, in this position, your tits are bouncing.

His pupils blow wide, throat working through a hard swallow, and then—his hands fly up immediately.

Grabbing. Palming. Squeezing.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice breaking apart, gaze flicking between your tits and your face like he doesn’t know where to look first. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His grip on your waist tightens, nails digging in, and then—his head falls back. His chest rises and falls beneath your hands, breath coming in sharp, desperate pants.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he gasps, voice wrecked, low and so needy you almost mewl, because you’ve never heard him like that. “Gonna cum so fucking bad—”

Your rhythm stutters. “Don’t you dare finish before me.”

“Fucking—” He grunts, muscles tensing beneath you as his hands clamp down harder, like he’s fighting it, trying to hold on, but— “Oh my fucking god, Phoenix—”

You can feel him struggling—his thighs trembling beneath you, abs flexing tight, his cock twitching inside you, buried so deep.

“How the fffffuck—” his breath shudders, “do you expect me—Jesus Christ—to hold b-back when your tits—god—”

His hands are everywhere—palming, grabbing, fucking worshiping your chest like he’s possessed—and then his mouth is there again, latching onto your right tit, tongue flicking over your nipple, sucking deep and wet.

“Shit,” you whimper, back arching.

“Fuck—fuck—” 

He suddenly leans back, dragging you down hard onto his cock as he thrusts up to meet you, hips snapping with short, frantic rolls.

Your breath shatters, thighs burning, your whole body jolting with every desperate slam of his hips. 

And his eyes.

Jesus.

His eyes are locked on you, wide and hungry, flicking between your parted lips and your chest.

And then—

“Grab ‘em,” he pants, voice rough, ruined. “Fuck—grab those titties for me, Phee.”

Your stomach flips.

“Grab’em while you ride me—” His breath catches, his abs flexing. “Fucking—God, I need to see it—”

Heat floods your spine, your pulse pounding as you do what he says—palms sliding up, gripping the soft weight of your tits, squeezing just enough to lift, to move, to give him exactly what he wants.

And his reaction—

“Jesus fucking—” His head falls back hard against the couch before snapping back up, completely fucking wrecked. “Oh my god—look at them—look at you—fuck, fuck—”

His fingers dig into your hips, forcing you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you as he thrusts up, trying to get deeper, trying to burn this into his brain.

“Oh god, oh god, Phoenix— I swear to fucking God—” His hands slide down, gripping your ass. “Fucking dripping— so messy for me—”

His voice breaks on a groan, hips slamming up, chasing it, his body seizing up as he loses it.

“Shit—shit—I’m—oh my god—fuck—I’m cumming—”

And then—he snaps.

His grip on your waist locks, his whole body tensing beneath you, and his head tips back, mouth falling open as he moans—a deep, raw sound from the bottom of his fucking chest.

He creams inside the condom, hips jerking up in short, shallow thrusts, pulsing thick and hot as he spills into it.

His hands shake as they guide your hips down, grinding you onto him, milking every last drop, needing to feel every second of it.

And you—

You’re about to sigh, about to roll your eyes, because seriously? He just came? You haven’t even—

But before the frustration can even fully settle, he moves.

One second, he’s slumped against the couch, breathless, spent. 

The next—he’s flipping you onto your back.

Your gasp barely leaves your lips before his hands are on your thighs, gripping, spreading you open like it’s his fucking right, pushing your knees toward your chest.

And then—no hesitation.

No questions asked, no smug teasing, no half-assed effort—just his fingers shoving your panties back to the side, replacing his cock with two thick fingers, burying them inside you like he already fucking knows you can taste it.

Your breath shatters. “Jesus—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, focused, dark eyes locked on your pussy as his fingers curl, stretching you open, pressing deep. “Not leaving you hanging.”

And fuck—fuck—his thumb.

Right there, dragging over your clit, pressing just right with slow, deliberate circles.

Your thighs twitch, your hands clenching in the couch cushions as your body jolts from the sudden shock of pleasure. “Oh—fuck—”

“That’s it,” he groans, gaze flicking up to watch your face, your wrecked fucking expression as he fingers you open. “Gimme that pretty little shake—know you’re close.”

You barely process your own whimper before he’s pressing in harder, thrusting his fingers faster, his thumb working you like he owns your orgasm.

“You think I’d leave you like that?” His voice is low, hushed, wrecked, pressing filthy into the space between you. “Think I’d fucking cum and not make you lose your mind, too?”

“Ro—”

“Nah, Phoenix.” His fingers drive into you, slick and obscene, thumb relentless. “You’re gonna cum all over my hand—” he leans in, breath warm against your throat, “and I’m gonna watch every fucking second of it.”

His fingers pump into you, wet and filthy, every slick thrust echoing between you. And god, the sounds are just so fucking obscene it makes you want to die a little.

“Come on, give it to me, Phee,” Jungkook rasps.

You can barely breathe. His thumb keeps dragging over your clit in these slow, devastating circles, the pressure just right, and your whole body is trembling, your thighs twitching where he holds them open.

“Listen to that,” he groans, gaze flicking down, mesmerized. “So fucking wet for me. Making a mess all over my hand.”

And then his mouth is on you again.

He latches onto your tit, sucking deep, tongue flicking over your nipple before pulling off just to groan against your skin. 

“God, your vanilla shit Phoenix. Makes you taste so good. Could suck on these all fucking day—”

“Jungkook—”

“Yeah? You gonna cum?” 

Your back arches, hands flying to grip his arms because—fuck—fuck. The pressure is too much, his fingers so deep, his mouth so hot, and you’re right there—right fucking there—

“That’s it,” he groans, hand drenched, your walls pulsing around his fingers. “Come on, give it to me.”

And then—

It hits.

Pleasure rips through you, fast and all-consuming.

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—just groans, watching you fall apart.

“Mm, yeah that’s it,” he mutters, fixated on the way you shake, the way your pussy flutters around his fingers, soaking his palm. “So fucking good, huh?”

His name slips out in a wrecked, shattered moan, and he loves it, enjoying every sound, drinking in every twitch and tremble.

He finally slows his movements as you shudder through the aftershocks, his fingers still deep, thumb pressing lazy circles to wring out every last second of it.

“Shit,” he murmurs, voice a little breathless, and when you manage to blink down at him, he’s staring at his own hand—glistening, messy, coated in you.

His throat works.

And then—his eyes flick back to yours.

And he fucking grins.

Jungkook collapses on top of you.

Full weight. No warning. Just dead fucking weight pressing you into the couch, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Oh my—get off!” You yelp, struggling beneath him, but he doesn’t budge.

“Nnngghh,” he groans into your neck, voice muffled, completely ignoring you. “Shut the fuck up and let me rest for five minutes.”

You blink up at the ceiling, absolutely fucking done. “Weren’t you sleeping, like, thirty minutes ago?”

“Your point?” His breath is warm against your skin, his body solid and heavy, still way too fucking hot from everything that just happened.

“My point,” you grumble, wiggling under him, “is that you’ve done literally nothing today except nut and nap, so why are you tired?”

“Because,” he mutters, arms tightening around your waist, “I’m a growing boy.”

You snort, smacking his bare back. “You’re a menace.”

He just hums, pressing his face into your neck like he’s about to fall asleep right there, and for a second, you let it happen—just breathing, the two of you still wrecked, bodies cooling down, silence stretching.

But then—

“Oh, shit—”

Jungkook jumps, suddenly wide awake, jolting upright so fast he nearly knocks you off the couch.

You blink up at him, still catching your breath. “What the fuck is wrong with you—”

“Wait—” He leans over you, hands on either side of your head, eyes huge and excited. “Do you have any toys?”

You stare at him. “What?”

“Toys,” he repeats, fully invested now. “Sex toys, Nix. I didn’t even think about it, but—fuck—I could’ve made you finish with one.”

You blink again, brain scrambling to catch up. “No?”

His brows furrow. “Why not?”

“Why would I—” You sit up slightly, pushing at his chest. “Do I look like I came here with a full-ass sex kit?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, genuinely baffled, “don’t you girls have dildos and shit?”

“Oh my fucking—” You shove his shoulder. “Do you really think when I was packing my shit to move in, I was like, ‘mmm, yeah, definitely need to bring my dildo’?”

His eyes narrow. “So you had one?”

“No—”

“So you’ve never had one?”

“No, Ro, my parents would’ve killed me.”

He pauses, frowning like he’s actually considering that for a second. Then, with absolutely zero hesitation—

“Okay, then we’re going toy shopping.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, no, fuck that.” He waves a hand, like this is a done deal, like you don’t even get a say. “You’re getting something. I refuse to believe you’ve gone your whole life without at least a vibrator. That’s a crime.”

“A crime?”

“Yes.” His face is serious, like this is a personal offense to him. “You deserve to cum even when I’m not here.”

“I don’t need you to cum.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“Oh my fucking—” You drop your head back against the couch, groaning. “You’re so stupid.”

“I’m being a good friend.” He grins, smug as hell. “And an amazing fuck buddy.”

“We are not friends.”

He blinks. “What?”

“We’re not friends.” You cross your arms, looking him dead in the eye. “Fuck buddies. No friends.”

Jungkook gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you just deeply wounded him. “That hurts.”

“You’ll live.”

“Aren’t we, like, friends with benefits or something?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Fuck buddies. No friends. Just the benefits.”

“That’s the stupidest logic I’ve ever heard.”

“Coming from Mr. Stupid himself? Woah.”

“Pft. Right.” He stretches, cracking his neck, still grinning like an idiot. “Then we’re going this weekend.”

“To what?”

“Buy you a vibrator.”

“Fuck you.”

“Bet.”

You swat at him, grin still on his face and all. 

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[sunshinehaze1]

I loved The Good Wife so much and totally had one of these moments when he showed up on screen (I started TGW post GoT) 🤣

Exposed forearms with a rolled up sleeve makes me feel like a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankle for the first time. 🤭

I’m so happy you enjoyed my lil fic! 🥹 I had such a fun time writing it and I loved your challenge! tysm for your lovely comment and the rb. ❤️

consensus ad idem

Pairing: Nathan Landry x f!reader

Summary: When the forecast for a run-of-the-mill Chicago snowstorm changes and shuts down the entire city, you find yourself stuck in the State’s Attorney’s office overnight. Fortunately, you have plenty to keep you busy: prepping for your upcoming case and your colleague…Nathan Landry.

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MDNI. fingering, f!oral, spanking, playful biting, dry humping, unprotected PiV, creampie, reader has painted nails and toenails, a one finger pour of whiskey for each of you, necktie as a restraint, pet names: sweet thing, pretty girl & sweetheart. No use of Y/N.

a/n: This was written for @burntheedges Roll-a-Trope Challenge. I wanted to give Nathan Landry some love and received “Snowed-In” for the trope. I took a teeny bit of liberty with the trope, since we’re in Chicago…there is no isolated cabin.

Thank you to my sweet friend @80ssong for the beta! 😘

word count: 4,952

ao3 | ml

consensus ad idem [noun] - an agreement of parties to the same thing or a meeting of minds

“Well, folks, this morning, we expected a couple of inches of snow with this front. But, as it moved in and combined with the lake-effect snow from the north, we’ve seen it dump two feet of snow, combined with high winds. We can expect to see another foot before it moves out of the city.” You turn up the TV volume as the weatherman continues his update on the snowstorm you’ve been watching from your office window. It’s been coming down for the past few hours, and the snow looks heavy, with big fat flakes falling. The weatherman continues, “Roads are impassable, and it will be a while before the snow plows can begin clearing. Out of caution, the Chicago Transit Authority has ceased all operations. We’re in for a long night; it’s time to hunker down.”

Shit. You were planning a long night of case prep but didn’t anticipate getting stuck in the office when you left your condo this morning. You love snowstorms but prefer to enjoy them from the comfort of your home cozied up in your flannel PJs, a warm fire, and a glass of wine. Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately, you must ride out the storm here, in the State’s Attorney Office. You’ve been preparing for a case that heads to trial in two days with your fellow Assistant State’s Attorney, Nathan Landry. It’s crunch time.

You exit your office to find Nathan. As you reach the conference room with the door ajar, you notice files strewn across the table and spot Nathan behind a short stack of banker’s boxes, pouring over evidence. His jaw tensed in concentration. With a soft knock, you open the door further and question, “Have you heard the latest news on the storm?”

Your breath hitches when he looks up at you. God, he’s so beautiful—plush lips, sharp nose, warm brown eyes, a clean-shaven angled jawline that could cut glass. “No, I haven’t. I’ve been nose-deep looking over these case files.” He looks over his shoulder toward the window and has trouble seeing the building next door through the wall of white. “Oh, wow! It is coming down, huh?”

“Yeah, they said two feet have already fallen and to expect another foot before it’s over. They’ve shut down the train lines and buses. It looks like we’re stuck here for the night.”

Given the forecast this morning, you only left your house in a quilted down coat over a silk blouse, knee-length pencil skirt, tights, and heels. What a difference 12 hours can make. You were not making it back home in this, even walking. Nathan was equally unprepared for a storm dropping up to three feet of snow. Resigned that his late night would turn into an all-nighter, he sighed, “Yeah, it looks that way.”

Nervousness and excitement swirl in your stomach at the thought of a night with Nathan. You’ve harbored a crush on him but have been cautious about blurring the professional lines. No power dynamic is at play since you both are at the same level. He has some seniority, but only because he arrived at this office a year before you.

You feel your stomach grumble and look at the clock on the wall; it’s already 8:30. You realize you haven’t eaten anything since lunch since you were so distracted by work. Food delivery is out of the question, so it’s time to get creative. You ask Nathan if he has eaten anything. Only then does he realize how hungry he is.

“No, and I’m starving. It doesn’t look like we’ll have any luck ordering delivery in this mess.”

You nod. “In the mood for a little field trip?”

Nathan’s eyebrow quirks, “What did you have in mind?”

Heading out the door, you look over your shoulder, “Follow me.”

Nathan follows you out of the main office and into the quiet corridor of the justice building. He’s mesmerized by the cacophony of your heels clicking on the tile floor, echoing through the empty hall. It's so late that the cleaning staff has already left. They were fortunate enough to get home before the snow picked up. You’re a few steps ahead of Nathan, and he watches your hips sway, your ass shaped nicely in your tight pencil skirt. His eyes trail down to gaze admiringly at your legs. He isn’t sure how he’s managed to work with you the last few years, and things haven’t progressed beyond a professional relationship. You’re brilliant, witty, and gorgeous—a total package. He’s hesitated to cross any lines, but he has caught you staring at him a few times. You seem interested in him as more than a colleague. When you shared the storm update, he had to conceal his excitement that he’d be alone with you in the office for the night. He had to remind himself that the focus was the case, the clock was ticking, and he needed to find the “smoking gun” to secure a win.

You meander down a few more hallways until you finally reach your destination, “here we are!”

Metal coils hold colorful packages in place under fluorescent lighting behind plexiglass with a backlit alphanumeric keypad on the side. You both need to eat, so a makeshift dinner from the vending machines will have to suffice. Nathan stares at you, “The last time I had a dinner like this was when I would pull all-nighters, studying in the campus library.”

You chuckle and imagine a young Nathan Landry, wondering if he had always been this handsome or if he had an awkward phase like everyone else had to suffer through. Did he always have a nose in the book, or could he let loose and have fun? Hopefully, you’ll find out tonight. You each pick out a few of your favorite snacks and return to the office.

Nathan has an idea. “Glenn has a liquor cabinet in his office. Do you want something to drink?” he asks as you walk through the door to the office.

“Um, yeah! I’ll need something to wash down these chips.” You follow Nathan into Glenn’s office and look over your options. Nathan looks at you expectantly. “I’ll take a whiskey, neat!”

“A woman who knows how to take her whiskey.” Nathan grins, “I like that.”

You feel your face get warm at Nathan’s approval. He pours two glasses and hands you yours. “To all-nighters!” you cheer as you clink the glasses together.

Back in the conference room, the table is covered with snacks haphazardly. You munch on your chips as you read over the documents before you. You sneak glances while Nathan focuses on what’s in front of him, reading through the information thoroughly to avoid missing critical details. Sometimes, your glances linger for too long, admiring his forearms exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of his crisp white button-up. You try not to focus too long on the dip in his neck and the moles that dot along the top of his sternum, visible thanks to the unbuttoned top buttons and loosened necktie. His head subtly moves, and you turn away quickly before he looks up and catches you.

Nathan admires you from across the table, in awe of your focus and work ethic. You’ve spent a ton of time with him working on this case, burning the candle at both ends. But you’ve never let up, knowing how important it is for the office to win this case.

“I think I found something!” you swiftly push out of your chair and move to the other side of the table, throwing the highlighted document in front of Nathan.

You lean over the table and point to the information you found. Nathan admires your red lacquered nails and wonders if your toenails match. He inhales your scent, a floral, citrusy perfume, and feels his cock twitch. He tries to ignore it by shifting his attention to what you’re saying. You’re animated in your explanation, pointing out the different facts and how they connect the dots in the case, which could lead to the “smoking gun” you both have been after. While you’re speaking, his eyes drift down your neck to the collar of your blouse, giving him the slightest peek at your lacy red bra strap. Now he’s confident that your toenails are the same red as your nails. He lets out a quiet exhale. He realizes it wasn’t as quiet as he thought when your attention turns to him, your eyes piercing into his. Busted.

The conference room began to feel like a furnace with the intensity of your stares, completely contrasting with the bitter cold outside. Tension continues to build, and if this room was smaller, you imagine the condensation would be dripping down the windows, like the arousal dripping in your panties. You never thought the attraction you had toward Nathan was reciprocal. Reaching a fever pitch now, you lean in closer, taking a chance to see if this is real or just a dream. Without taking his eyes off you, Nathan licks his lips as he follows your lead and leans in. Your lips are almost touching when his eyes sweep down to your lips and back to your eyes, seeking permission to close the gap. Without hesitation, you grant it and seal your lips to his. It is intense as electricity courses through your veins. The swirl in your stomach builds as he gains entrance past your lips with his tongue. His hands move to pull you in closer, tenderly gripping your jaw, fingertips tangled in the hair at the base of your neck—an exchange of soft moans and grunts of approval bounce between you. Nathan sucks your bottom lip in between his, and you feel a soft bite to your lip, which shakes you out of your trance.

You straighten up, a light cough to clear your throat and the air. Your steps falter as you back away from Nathan. A mix of embarrassment, awkwardness, and arousal hangs in the air. Neither of you can make eye contact. After what feels like an eternity, but only a minute has passed, Nathan finally breaks the silence. “Umm, I’m not sure what came over me. I’m sorry about that. We should probably get back to the case.”

Sheepishly, you nod in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right. That was unprofessional.”

You return to your chair on the other side of the table. To avoid overthinking the situation, you focus on the file folders before you. Did he think it was a mistake? Was he ashamed? Is it going to always be awkward with him now? You realize your efforts are futile, and the room is beginning to feel too small, so you excuse yourself and tell Nathan you’ll be in the file room. You need to get out, overwhelmed with the need to breathe a different air. He looks at you remorsefully and nods.

Nathan watches as you exit the conference room. A wave of guilt rushes over him. He crossed a line with you, but he’s unsure how he can resolve this. He doesn’t know if you were uncomfortable. Did you regret the kiss? You both work well together, and he will regret it if this changes things between you. The internal debate on how he can fix this continues to wage war in his mind. He needs to concentrate on the case and steel himself with a renewed focus as he returns to his work.

—

Over the next half hour, he sorts through dozens of files, highlighting key details and noting dates and times of communications to create a timeline of events. He pulls another file out of the bankers box in front of him, flips the folder open, and there it is! Right there in the first paragraph is the evidence that connects all of the other pieces of the puzzle in this case. It’s the missing piece that will undoubtedly seal a win. Nathan cannot contain the smile on his face and looks up, excited to share the news with you, only to find your chair empty. He hadn’t realized you hadn’t returned from the file room. He quickly gets up and jogs down the hall to find you.

“I FOUND IT! We got them! This is it!”

You turn around when you hear Nathan’s voice echo through the empty office, stunned and confused. You can’t recall ever seeing this level of excitement from Nathan. He’s always composed and stoic, and his facial expressions are hard to read. His gait doesn’t slow down as he approaches you near the shelving unit, and you let out a surprised gasp when he wraps his arms around you, the file folder he’s gripping pressed against your back. Nathan awkwardly pulls away when he realizes he got carried away, creating another uncomfortable moment for you. Shaking his head in embarrassment, he apologizes. He clears his throat and opens the file to show you what he found, and your eyes widen.

“Holy shit, Nathan! You found it?!” you exclaim as you playfully smack his bicep.

He looks up at you and smiles. A rush of pride courses through him, and how you look at him is overwhelming. A surge of confidence takes over, and he pushes you up against the bookshelves, the file folder tossed to the floor, and brackets you between his strong arms, gripping the shelf. He presses his body against you and kisses you. This kiss is more urgent, more heated than the one in the conference room. It’s more assured. You respond with a whimper, which encourages Nathan to keep going. One of his hands moves down your body, caressing your neck. The tips of his fingers tease your collarbone underneath your blouse’s neckline, navigating down the side of your breast to your waist and down your hips to grip your ass. A moan exits your lips this time, your body overwhelmed by the feel of him so close to you. Nathan’s hand continues its exploration down your thigh, moving closer to the hem of your skirt until he finds it. He shifts his hand underneath, bunching up your skirt to your hips. Your tights are hindering his access to your core. On impulse, he rips them open at the crease where your thigh and hips meet. His lips consume your shocked yelp, having never left yours during his expedition. Pleased with your response, he resumes his journey, anxious to find what awaits him. When his fingers approach your panties, he notices the red lace. Of course, your panties would match your bra. You are driving him crazy with this matching lingerie set. He slides the gusset of your panties to the side, and his finger slides through your wet seam, trailing up to gently stroke your clit. Your head tilts back and hits the shelf behind you. But you’re so flooded with pleasure that you don’t even notice the slight pain. Nathan continues to tease your entrance until you beg, your pussy pulsating with need.

“Nathan, please, I need more.”

“Tell me what you need, sweet thing.”

You pant out, “Y-your fingers, Nathan…”

Before you can even finish your sentence, you feel his thick finger breach your entrance. He slides in easily through your drenched folds. With his index finger inside you, his thumb begins to circle your clit, alternating touches of light and hard pressure. A groan emits from you as his other hand tangles in the hair at the back of your head. He gently tugs your head back to give him better access to your neck. His lips leave a trail of soft kisses until they reach the sensitive area between your neck and shoulder. You yelp when you feel his teeth bare down with an intense but gentle pressure. His tongue lathes over the area to soothe the tiny indents he left on your skin. You release a contented sigh as his finger continues its endeavor inside your pussy. Bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“How’re you doing, pretty girl?”

“I…” you let out a gasp, “...one more…please?!” in a lustfilled plea.

“I’ve got you,” a light peck on your lips, “I’ll give you one more.” You nod your thanks.

When you feel his second finger enter you, the blissful stretch lifts you onto your tip toes. He reaches that spot, and you’re about to combust. You feel yourself plunge toward your release and let out a cry. Unable to hold back any longer. Inhibitions be damned.

Nathan pulls out his fingers from your warmth and laps up your juices. A smug smirk appears on his face. He smacks his lips and shakes his head in disbelief, “Absolutely, incredible.”

He leans forward and kisses you on your cheek as he lifts the hem of your skirt further up to your waist. You look at him questionably, “What are you doing?”

He winks at you as he slips his fingers into the waistband of your tights. Locked with your gaze, he pulls them down slowly, his fingers brushing down your thighs to your calves and relishing the feel of your soft skin. When he gets to your feet, he lifts one leg to remove the heel slowly and pulls the tights away from your foot, uncovering your toes. Mystery solved. Red. His head rolls back with a huff. “I fucking knew it!”

“You knew what?”

“That your toenails would match your fingernails.” he tuts.

You laugh with a wink, “Sure do! Need to coordinate with my bra and panties.”

Nathan groans while he removes your other heel and the rest of your tights. He makes his way back up your body, slowly kissing up your bare thighs, his lips making their way back to your center. He moves the gusset of your panties back into place and places a sweet kiss on your clothed mound. You whimper, unable to handle the overstimulation. He stands up and shifts the hem of your skirt down. Face to face again, you lean forward and kiss his nose, moving to kiss each cheek and place a chaste kiss on his lips. “Thank you, handsome. That was incredible…”

You grab the loose tie around his neck and gently pull him to follow, “...but we have to get back to work.”

—

An hour has passed since the file room, and you and Nathan have been constructing your opening argument in the conference room. You have a strong and easily winnable case with the newly discovered evidence, but that doesn’t hinder your drive to ensure it’s rock solid. You exchange glances and smiles while you work, but it doesn’t go further. It was a good idea to remain on opposite sides of the table. It was a deterrent, but it wouldn't be for much longer.

It was the final glance from Nathan that lingered a bit too long and led to lust-filled eyes that sauntered over to his side of the table. You kick your heels off and shimmy the hem of your skirt up to your waist. Hiking your legs over his lap, you straddle Nathan in his chair. Pressing your hands to his chest, you lean in for a kiss as you shift your hips further up his lap until you feel his semi-hard cock through the fabric. He moves his meaty palms to your ass and encourages you to move back and forth. You silence each other's moans, grunts, and whimpers through heated kissing. He rips open your blouse, buttons bouncing across the conference room table. When he sees your tits confined in red lace, a groan tumbles out of his mouth. He leans forward to suck on each of your nipples through the lace, and another moan escapes you. He takes a beat and pulls down the cups of your bra, palming your breasts appreciatively before taking a nipple in his mouth. The continued soft caress of the massage, combined with the rough bite of your nipples, sent your mind into a tailspin. You feel arousal pool again in your panties as you continue to grind over Nathan’s incredibly hard cock.

“Sweet thing..” he swiftly stands up while you’re still in his lap, and you fumble to your feet. He moves so quickly you’re barely able to process that he’s turned you around and bent you over the table. Your peaked nipples pressed against the cool wood table. He stares sinfully at your bare ass cheeks and gives them a swat with both palms. You squeal in delight and feel another rush of arousal in your panties. He kneels, your clothed cunt centimeters from his nose, inhales, and finishes his thought, “...I need to taste you again.”

You gasp when he pulls off your panties. Your wet pussy is staring back at Nathan. He lasciviously licks his lips, grabs hold of the front of your thighs, and slams his face into your pussy. Lapping up your juices, he flattens his tongue through your folds. He latches onto your nub and begins to suck. You let out a wail in ecstasy as he alternates between sucking and flicking your clit with his tongue, and you reach behind to grab the back of his head and push him closer to your center. He groans into your pussy, and a throbbing sensation courses through your veins. A second orgasm edges closer as he continues his pursuit, desperate for you to come another time for him. You feel the coil in your belly lengthen until it becomes too much and finally snaps. You cry out at your release, and Nathan laps it up, careful not to miss a drop. He stands up and leans over your body for a bruising kiss. Fully sated, you stare at him dreamily, “I need you inside me, Nathan…NOW!”

Nathan begins to loosen his belt as he stands upright. His hard cock has been straining against the fabric of his dress pants, and he’s desperate for relief. He unfastens his pants with one quick motion and pulls them down his thighs along with his boxer briefs. In his eagerness to get inside you, he doesn’t even bother to pull his pants down all the way, leaving only his ass cheeks exposed. He swipes his fingers through your folds and, with a few strokes of his cock covers it in your arousal. Nathan leans forward and whispers in your ear, “You ready, pretty girl?”

“YES! Fuck me, Nathan!”

He lines up at your entrance. Teasing your opening with the head of his cock. Not willing to waste a moment longer, he pushes his cock into you. You feel incredible, even better than his imagination. He finds a steady pace, savoring your warmth and softness, committing this moment to memory. His tie is still loose around his neck, and he pulls your arms behind your back and whips the tie through his shirt collar. He loosely ties a knot around your wrists and uses it as leverage to begin a faster, more unrelenting pace. His hips slap into your ass as he pounds into you. With your cheek pressed against the mahogany, your arousal grows and drips down your thighs. You’ve never felt so full. His cock reaching areas your dildo could only dream of.

Your pussy pulsates around him, and he revels in the feel of your tight wet walls as he spears in and out. A hand whizzes through the air, and its palm lands on your right cheek, causing you to jolt forward. He grabs the tie around your wrists and pulls you tighter to him to match his thrust.

He growls, “I’m going to think about you bent over this table, my cock deep inside your pussy…every time I’m in here for a depo.”

You whimper at his admission. His thrusts become more erratic, and you can sense he’s close. It’s killing you that you’re unable to reach your clit because your hands are literally, tied. Seeking that last touch you crave to push you over the precipice, you beg Nathan for relief.

“Nathan, please touch me…” you gasp out.

“Where do you need me, sweetheart?”

You gasp out between his thrusts, one word at a time, “On…my…clit.”

He reaches around your waist to find your bundle of nerves and provides just enough pressure. He whispers in your ear between thrusts, “Come on, pretty girl…let me have just one more. You can do it.” Between the ministrations of your clit and his encouragement, the dam finally breaks. A scream of pleasure escapes your lips as your body radiates through its release.

“That’s a good girl.” He pulls you up by your tied wrists, your back pressed against his chest, and plants a kiss on your cheek. “Now, where do you want me?” he whispers.

Breathless, you whimper, “Inside. I want you inside me.”

That’s all he needs to hear. His release begins to flood your walls as he pounds into you with his final thrusts. He lets loose a loud “FUCK!” before he collapses over you, laying soft kisses along your bare shoulder and cheek.

Quickened breaths slow to a regular tempo, and you feel Nathan shift to get up. He pulls out from you and smiles with pride as he watches his release drip out of you. He smacks your ass and grabs a handful of your cheek, and then bends over to bite the other one. A squeal of delight breaks out, and you watch Nathan pull up his pants without fastening them to walk out of the room toward the bathroom. You don’t dare move from where he left you, not confident you could stand without falling over.

He returns with a warm, damp cloth. Smiling at your blissed out form, he moves closer and gently runs the cloth through your sensitive folds, cleaning up his mess. You sigh happily as he lifts you and unties his necktie from your wrists. He turns you around to face him and pulls up the lace cups of your bra while you shimmy your skirt back down. When he grips the collar of your blouse to begin buttoning it back up, he chuckles and realizes he’s ruined your top. “Well, it looks like I owe you a new shirt.”

You look at him with an exaggerated pout and scoff, “Well, damn. I liked this one, too.”

He pats the side of your hip and inches closer. With hot breath against your ear, he whispers, “I’ll make it up to you.”

A shiver runs up your spine, thrilled to confirm this won’t just be a one time thing.

—

The low hum of the vacuum cleaner outside the door wakes you up. You find yourself between the back of the couch and Nathan and smile at how safe you feel in his arms. You’re not surprised you don’t recall relocating to his office from the conference room, with how fucked out you were last night. It’s time to get up and fast before anyone catches you two in this compromising position. You shove Nathan awake and tell him he needs to get dressed. He groggily gets off of the couch and helps you up. Grunts and “ows” are exchanged as you feel the consequences of falling asleep in an unnatural, cramped position.

You sneak out of his office to grab a change of clothes from yours. When you return, clothes in hand, you quickly shut the door behind you. Hoping no one saw you. You change your clothes under Nathan’s admiring eye, watching you undress and taking in your soft form highlighted in red lace. He lets out a low whistle and smiles when you blush.

Both of you are now freshly dressed. He approaches and rests his hands on the side of your arms. “How are you feeling?”

Your cheeks bloom as a smile appears, “I feel great, aside from the crick in my neck. You?”

“Same,” he responds with a smile so wide his eyes disappear. “Listen, would you want to get breakfast and talk?” he asks.

“Yes, I’d love to. We’ve got a couple of hours before we need to be in court.”

He smiles and leans forward to kiss your forehead. Nathan is thankful he’ll have an opportunity to talk with you about the future of this now unprofessional relationship. You grab your coats, and he holds the door open for you, gently pushing you forward with his hand on the small of your back, his pinky finger touching the top of your ass. When you both see Glenn coming down the main hallway, he quickly pulls his arm away. You look at him, a silent agreement to keep this budding relationship under wraps for now.

Glenn greets you both, “Did you both get stuck in here all night with that storm?” You nod in unison.

Glenn chuffs, “Well, I hope you spent the time wisely and got a lot done.”

You must consciously avoid Nathan’s gaze when you reply, “We sure did! We have something to show you when we get back from breakfast. After surviving on the vending machine snacks last night, we're ready for a substantial meal.”

With that, you and Nathan retreat down the hall and out of the building onto the bustling sidewalk. As soon as the glass doors close, you both burst into laughter. Once you’ve both caught your breath and composure, you walk side by side toward your favorite diner in the city. Steps in stride, you feel Nathan’s fingertips brush against you before he slides his fingers between yours. He looks over to see a smile creeping over your face, and his heart skips a beat at how happy you look, knowing he’s the one who put it there.

Thank you for reading! I'd love to know what you think. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏻

[aweina]

slightly suggestive ? !┊more spiderverse content.

shirtless hobie was a common occurrence that you found yourself slowly getting used to. he’s staying at your apartment for the night? then he’s waltzing around the place fully displayed with a hand going past the waistband of his pajama pants — presenting the contoured edges that defined his small waist. oh, you wanna go out? hobie will simply throw on a fitted jacket and call it a day, a shirt wouldn’t look good with his outfit anyways — especially when he can show off his silver body piercings and his stick-and-poke tattoos.

wait, now you want him to wear a shirt? maybe he got too comfortable? too bold? well, it’s fine — he totally understands that. so then he wears a shirt and god, how he never fails to show off once in awhile. the collar of his shirts is always loose and torn, showing off his deep collarbones. the fabric was obnoxiously thin, emphasizing the grooves and cuts of his manicured body instead of doing its actual job. it’s pretty hot outside these days, right? then hobie would tug at the end of his shirt, wiping off the sheet of sweat on his forehead — showing off the narrow line dividing his solid muscles evenly and the trail of coarse hair sprinkled under his navel.

hey, you don’t look so good, you okay? hobie would quirk a curious brow at you when your quivering eyes quickly avert to the side as he tosses on another shirt — gnawing at the flesh inside your mouth. okay, now he sees why you’ve told him to cover up. hobie looks at you knowingly, lifting his shirt up without any context. can you hold out your hand real quick? now he has a firm grip on your squirming wrist, laying your palms flat over the soft skin of his abdomen. your face is scorching hot and your dazed vision is blurred between hobie’s abs and the playful smirk on his face. “if you wanted to look n’ touch, should’ve just asked.”

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[meddlehaven]

THEY’RE ALL SO CUTE WAIT OMG

[filmbyjy]

I let out the biggest gasp in my whole life

WHY IS JAKE'S TIDDIES-

WHY ARE THEY ALL (except hoon, he said stay halal brothers. okay wait his chest is still in a way shown) WEARING SLEEVELESS

[evenyvn]

DEAR GOD I'M NOT YOUR STRONGEST SOLDIER

[kaymarie-bell]

[forestslut]

DAN SMITH WITHOUT A SHIRT HELLO???? HELLO CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?????????

[apollo-the-beloved]

I want him in the most aroace way possible

[pedrospatch]

i feel like a victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time. except it’s a man’s knees.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ mad with need ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ you want him so bad that you feel like you’re going crazy so he indulges you┊3.0k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: smut!! dom logan & sub reader┊x wade wilson too, age gap, dirty fantasies from a horny reader (who is actually insecure about herself), size difference, no prep we’re dying like nicepool, riding & unprotected piv, breeding/creampie, a bit rushed i need this out my wips

➤ author's note: okay so this is actually the very first logan fic i started, but i have no idea why it took me so long to finish it? it’s a bit all over the place, but i hope some people enjoy anyway!

has he realized you were there and simply testing your self-control, or is he just being so effortlessly sexy again that you aren’t sure if you’re in love or jealous? was there any other reason for him to be laid out on the beat-up couch like something to feast on when he was simply holding a bottle of liquor in one hand to sip on and flipping through the channels of a barely-working box television with a remote in the other? why else would he be so delectable around a known pervert(s, wade is just as bad as you are, just more focused on the possible destruction of his home rather than the pansexual panic between you and logan plaguing him) if not to tempt you?

you’re constantly fawning over the sight of him and letting out dreamy sighs which have become more common lately than you would like to admit, swearing that you could gaze upon him for every second of the day and not tire of it. they say “god gives his most difficult battles to his strongest soldiers”, yet the battle assigned to you is restraining yourself from pouncing on him at the very moment and begging to suck his cock. you know that you’re horny most hours of the day and also kinda a brazen whore, but the way he makes you wet in record time should be worthy of a gold olympic medal.

every time his lips wrap around the rim of the glass bottle, you can’t help but imagine them somewhere else. the image of his handsome face between your legs and scruffy facial hair coated in your slick while he ravishes you haunts your mind whenever you try to sleep, yet the phantom sensation of his tongue on you while his nose stimulates your clit helps you rest in the end. you bet that he would be great at eating pussy too, with his sharp tongue and arrogant attitude— god. 

he’s also so jacked that even when he’s resting, his muscles still seem to bulge with prominent veins like a nurse’s wet dream and it has you downright drooling. now that the sleeves of his suit were gone, you could see how beefy his arms were, and seeing any inch of his skin had you acting up like a victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time. he could probably crush your skull like an egg if you ever found yourself head-locked in them (you’ve seen him do it to wade out of irritation, and you’ve never been so jealous).

and not to mention how peggable his shapely ass is, there’s really no limit to all the things you want to try with him if you were given the chance—

“are you finished staring?” his gruff voice brought you back to reality, refocusing your vision as he made a slight gesture to his body with one of his rare smirks, “like what you see?” it’s a rhetorical question, he knows how good he looks despite his age and you have already made your attraction towards him well-established. 

you don’t need to say anything, he can tell what you’re thinking as clearly as day, so you don’t bother making any dirty remarks like usual and just walk out the room. you paced around the house for a minute or two to calm yourself down until you eventually ran into wade. “oh my god,” you cupped your face with your hands, eyes becoming big and round as if you were going to cry, “i want him so bad, i feel like i’m gonna lose my mind if i don’t fuck him!”

“well, why haven’t you? i know for a fact that my presence isn’t enough to stop you from climbing him like a tree, so spill it!”

“uhhhh,” you pointed your fingers together to exaggerate self-consciousness, “what if… what if he doesn’t like me and just sees me as some annoying, excessively horny kid?”

“can you believe this bitch?” he scoffed, looking at the invisible audience that was always watching before grabbing your shoulders and violently shaking you, “listen here missy, he definitely likes you— i have yet to see that man smile at anything else that isn’t your face and comments that rival jjk twitter fans in vulgarity! why are you suddenly getting cold feet now when you’re such a player? you’re suddenly screaming, crying, and throwing up over peanut whom you’ve been hitting on non-stop since we found him?!”

“i don’t know! it’s different, he’s my hero, and— i know it’s hard for you to believe, but he’s not even half the asshole my previous flings were. besides, he so fucking hot—”

“yeah, but he’s also so fucking old— his dick is probably all shriveled up—” the sound of the said man clearing his throat made him jump out of his skin, slowly turning his head to look at the older man before giggling nervously and waving his hands around in some form of awkward greeting. even if he can regenerate and wounds are more like papercuts, the last thing he wanted was to get stabbed in the balls by his adamantium claws again for making such a comment. “ahaha, how much did you hear…?”

“enough,” he grunted, turning his attention to you, “and you’re coming with me.”

“huh—?” there was hardly a moment for you to properly react before he suddenly bent down to grab you by the waist and toss you over his shoulder, “you’re not even gonna ask me to dinner first?!” you must have looked like a fish out of the water with how your mouth was agape with surprise, and you heard him genuinely chuckle in amusement. both from the fact that you didn’t see this coming after all you’ve been saying to him as well as the fact that he could pick you up and throw you around like you weighed nothing.

“well, you didn’t exactly greet me with a ‘hello’ before shamelessly undressing me with your eyes when we first met, now did you?” you couldn’t see if he was smiling or not considering that you were upside-down. the current angle only gave you a close-up view of his perfect ass (not that you were complaining, you need to know his squat routine), unsure if the heat on your face was from the embarrassment of him calling you out or simply from the blood rushing to your head.

“what about me? are you lovebirds really going to leave me all by myself, lonely and yearning for the companionship of another while you two fuck like rabbits?”

“ahh, go fuck yourself.” the grin on his face dissipated the moment he opened his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to ruin his mood as he carried you away to the closest bedroom available, quickly flinging you on the bed without a bother to be careful when handling you since he knew that you could and have taken worse as deadpool’s sidekick. “why are you so nervous? think i don’t want you as much as you want me?”

“wait, actually?” your usually confident facade of the overly forward flirt was faltering more and more by the second.

“you’re so busy ogling my body that you haven’t even noticed the way i look at you, huh?” it’s obvious logan was an absolute beast of a man, but when he cages you with his arms between his bulky frame and the mattress, you feel like a little field mouse against a lion. the way your pupils dilate as you look up at him with adorned excitement has him so fucking feral, heat stirring in his stomach and blood rushing to his cock. he traced over your outfit, admiring how the skin-tight leather hugged your curved. “wearing such a slutty little things that leaves nothing to the imagination, and you expected me not to think about pinning you down and fucking you until you pass out?”

you shivered at his words, arousal pooling in your underwear and warmth spreading throughout your body under your skin. this cheeky son of a bitch can smell it too, the sweet smell of desire, sensing how needy you are for his touch and how your pussy is just begging for his attention. 

as much as he wanted to rip your clothing off and pound into you like there was no tomorrow, he wanted to take his time to properly treasure the cute sidekick who has been reminding him how it feels to be a man again, young and unafraid to pursue the woman of his dreams and treat her right the way that countless of others failed to do. (you’re going to laugh hysterically at him later on down the line when you hear him say that, never thinking you could be the object of anyone’s affection past a one-night stand, but the look in his eyes makes you realize he’s telling the truth and you’ll get all flustered over it.) 

you can taste the alcohol from earlier when he kisses you and moan into it, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer, all teeth, tongue, and animalistic want. he ran a hand down your torso to reach the zipper of your suit, undoing it in one swift motion, exposing your bare chest to his eager eyes.

“no bra?”

“i don’t need it when the suit— ah!” 

he cut you off, not caring about the intricacies of how the costume supported everything when he would only get distracted, moving his lips to take one of your perk nipples in his mouth and sucking like it was going to give him milk or something while pinching the other one in between his fingers. he’s like a kid on christmas playing with his new toy: palming at your breasts, cupping and squishing them together, and realizing that his large hands could practically cover them entirely.

“fuckk, you’re so pretty, doll,” he drawled, letting go of your teat with a ‘pop’ and kissing your neck before making you gasp by sinking his teeth into your skin. you gasped at the sudden sensation, deep enough to leave a lasting indent but not deep enough to draw blood, as he soothed the fresh wound by licking it with his tongue. everyone was going to know that you were his, especially that motherfucker he knows is listening in on the other side of the door with his cock in his hands.

 “logan…” you rasp, voice barely above a whisper.

“what is it, princess?” it was a nickname he has used plenty of times, yet it felt completely different in such a sexually charged situation, so much more intimate in a way that you feel your heart racing even faster than before and a rush of energy within. 

“need you…” you murmured.

“come on, a little louder, you need to use your words.” 

“fucking hell,” you covered your face with your hands, trying to ignore the way your cheeks burned, “i need you, logan! i’m gonna go crazy if you don’t fuck me right now!”

“hm, is that so?” he had been resting on his side up until now, laying on his back and lifting you up with both hands under your arms. you found yourself sitting pretty in his lap, straddling him, legs on either side of his waist. “why don’t you work for it then? work for what you wanted so badly this entire time?”

you inhaled sharply, looking down at this fine specimen of a mutant under you made of pure muscle and adamantium with a noticeable tent in his pants, a cocky grin gracing his features daring you to continue. only a fool wouldn’t take up his challenge. biting the inside of your mouth, you began to fully strip yourself of all clothing, kicking it off to the side to be forgotten and showing off your beautiful bare body that logan has been dreaming about since the moment he met you. “take your clothes off too,” you huffed, “it’s not fair for me to be the only one naked.”

he hummed in agreement, taking off the upper half of his yellow and blue-detailed suit, revealing his rippling abs and pecs— age has yet to make a dent in his physique, he doesn’t even look real. he’s not going to remove the bottom half though, both because you’re already on top of him and because you still need to “work for it.” 

experimentally, you rolled your hips on his bulge, feeling a twinge of amusement when he visibly had to clench his jaw to prevent a moan from slipping out. he’s just as pent-up as you are, no matter how hard he’s trying to hide it right now. you fiddled with the metal of his zipper for a moment before pulling it down, motions fidgety with nerves yet still determined to see this through. 

your eyes widen at the sight of his fully erect cock, noting instantly that he’s bigger than any other guy you’ve been with, yet still feeling your mouth water at the size and the vein trailing its underbelly. “is it even going to fit?” you manage to breathe out, reaching out to run a finger over the leaking tip and hearing him hiss.

“only one way to find out, but i think you can take it.” 

placing your hands on his shoulders for balance, you put his theory to the test and raised your body to sink yourself onto him, whimpering at the pleasurable stretch when you manage to make it past the tip. you’re so fucking soaked from your own thoughts and the few minutes of foreplay earlier that you didn’t even need his fingers to prep you, just using your slick as a form of natural lube and feeling him slip into you inch by inch.

“that’s it, doll, just like that,” he praised, the words going right to your head, really enjoying the show of you struggling to take all of him.

“mmhh, lo—” his name came out in a more whiny voice than expected with your eyes rolling back and nails raking into his skin. your thighs were aching with the constant repetitive motion of working yourself up and down his cock, taking one step back for two steps forward, more than halfway there yet unsure if you could handle it all when you felt so impossibly full already.

“shhh, i know, i know, sweetheart— just take your time, i’m not going anywhere.” his words are so sweet despite being a complete asshole by laying back and letting you do all the hard work, hands behind his head and everything while watching his cock slowly disappearing between your folds.

you look at him through glossy half-lidded eyes, brain turned to absolute mush, not even realizing that you had finally taken him to the base and was comfortably nestled on his cock. it took a few moments to adjust to his girth, breathing heavily with the swelling feeling of satisfaction developing within you. you have barely even started, and yet it was already so much better than anything else— he was so much better than anyone else. 

“you okay?” he waits for you to blink to process his words before nodding slightly, letting out a soft ‘yeah’ before your eyes went wide when he suddenly grabbed your waist and positioned you under him once again. you didn’t notice because you went dumb with dick (to put it bluntly), but he had been restraining himself from flipping you over to be on top or trying to buck his hips into you before you were ready. 

he then started thrusting into you at a relentless pace, your hands flying up to his biceps and clinging on for dear life to find purchase. there was no frame to go with this mattress you were resting on, but you were sure it would be banging against the wall until it broke if it was there. your eyes were screwed shut with your head thrown back into the pillow, letting out pathetic pitched moans along with stutters of his name as the orgasm in your stomach builds.

“aah, lo-logan!”

“don’t worry, i got you,” he lazily circled your clit with his thumb, feeling you clench even more tightly at the action, “just let yourself go, relax— cum for me, doll.”

you cried out as your climax washed over you, gushing all over his cock and the pants of his suit that neither of you bothered to take off earlier. it’s a shame that you ruined his clothing so soon when he just got this costume, but honestly, he likes it a lot better when the yellow is stained with the evidence of how good he made you feel.

the way your walls spasmed around him made him quickly follow suit, shooting ribbons of his seed into you and painting your insides white. perhaps he would have been able to hold on for a bit longer when he was younger, but he can’t find himself caring in the least when you were looking up at him like he was everything right now.

he leaned down to kiss you, slowly pulling out of you, being careful not to rest on top of you and crush you under his weight, generally being uncharacteristically sweet towards you in stark comparison to how he was rocking your world like you were the last two souls on earth just a minute ago.

“so… do you like me?” it was the tone he grew accustomed to when you and wade were teasing him, feeling you wrap your arms around him with a sigh and snuggling into his chest.

“yeah… i like you a lot more than you think…”

[j-jinxee]

[ ⟡​ ] — KEEP QUIET,,

NSFW under the cut! ⊹ Nijiro x Reader

[warnings — quickie, p in v, unprotected, swearing, cumming inside, semi public]

-,' syn – Nijiro needs an outlet for his adrenaline. Shooting fight scenes as Kazutora and then having to wait for others to shoot theirs, it's throwing him off more than usual tonight.

[AN] no cuz guys, Nijiro literally never shows his arms. Like bro is always wearing long sleeves, jackets, or yk just baggy shirts in general. So this 40 second clip of him (where he's literally just in his own little world on the TR set) WEARING A SINGLET like I can't deal fr, I feel like a Victorian man seeing a woman's ankles for the first time, like it's driving me up the wall.

─────

"mm-ngh! Niji, fuck" your small whines were quickly silenced by Nijiro's hand covering your mouth. He had previously swept you away from the set, you weren't acting in the Tokyo Revengers movie but since your boyfriend was, you watched from behind the camera with the rest of the crew. It was so cool seeing your boyfriend in his element, you usually weren't allowed to be with the crew since you don't actually work for them, but the TR production was pretty laid back and let you stay to watch. Which is what you were doing, until about 5 minutes ago.

Nijiro was frustrated with the way they were filming. Usually they'd film a single characters scenes all at once, so they wouldn't have their actors coming on and off constantly, but for some reason they changed it for tonight. The night where Nijiro had to film his biggest fight scene.

It was really pissing him off, the way he'd get fully committed to the character, and then be told to go off and take 5 because they needed to shoot someone else. Why would they change the formula? It was perfect the way it was, now the production will suffer.

And above all else, Nijiro was told to take 5 right when his adrenaline would reach its peak. Naturally, he needed an outlet, a way to keep his energy up. Luckily, his favourite thing to put his energy into was standing right infront of him.

"keep quiet f'me baby.." he whispered, gently covering your mouth with his hand. The only lighting in the bathroom being from the dim street lamps outside, increasing the secretive atmosphere. You were pinned against the bathroom wall as Niji buried himself in your cunt, practically imprinting his shape into your walls. Your eyes travelled down to his arms, fuck. You mentally thank the costume team for finally getting Nijiro to wear a singlet, he never wore shirts that showed off his arms, so you made sure to remember this session over the rest. His sweat gleamed in the faint warm light, decorating his neck and collarbones, your eyes fixated on his fake neck tattoo. Fuck, you'd have to convince him to cosplay or something after this, the sight mixed with the pleasure he gave you was making your head spin.

His arms and shoulders flexed with each thrust as he held you up by your thighs, fucking into you like this was the last time he'd ever get. It took everything in you not to scream out his name, along with a nicely crafted string of cuss words, letting everyone hear how good he fucks you. Small whimpers were the most you could let out, not wanting Niji to get punished for having a quickie mid set.

"You're so good f'me... fuck baby" His voice was intoxicating, his touch made you feel ways you've never felt before. Your arms rested over his shoulders, not that they needed to — his strong hold kept you up with no issue. You were sure that if he fucked you any harder, you'd end up bringing down the wall you were currently pinned up against. He felt the need to groan louder, feeling it build — his mouth soon found your neck, sucking on your sweet spots, only bringing you closer to the edge.

You felt Nijiro's hips stutter, followed by his teeth digging into your skin a little harder than before.

"m-mmh cum, cum with me baby" His hot breath laced your jawline as he rutted into you faster than ever. Feeling that familiar knot in your stomach about to snap, you couldn't stay silent anymore.

"mmh- cumming.. cummingcummingcummi- ahh!" You cried into his neck. Shortly met with the feeling of your walls being painted by Niji's hot white seed, filling you up, keeping you warm. You could swear you saw heaven for a second, his touch made you drunk, reaching a state of euphoria you could never get anywhere else.

His arms gently let you back down, still keeping you steady with your bodies pressed together as you could barely stand. Whispering sweet praises in your ear as his hand went down to fuck his cum back into you, not letting any leak out. You smiled weakly as his words laced your eardrums, almost forgetting he was in the middle of his job.

"Nijiro! Wherever you are, you're back on in two." The director shouted.

"Fuck, 'm sorry baby. I'll take care of you when we're home ok? I love you" He said, getting his pants back on at the speed of light. Not bothering to wash his hands, but instead resorting to licking your combined juices off his fingers, and with a quick kiss to your cheek, he was gone.

You knew he'd keep his word, now all you'd have to do was wait till you got home to recieve his aftercare.

can't wait.

[axiljack]

I feel like a Victorian man seeing a woman's ankle for the first time

[ni-kisno1fan14007]

PEOPLE DIED NISHIMURA RIKI!!

THE ARMS DUDEEEEEEEE, HES SO BUFF NOW😩😩😩

THE VEINS??!!!!!!!!!! AFJUHKLLKJJHGFDSSGJJKKKKKKK *explodes*

is it freaky to say that I wanna be in a headlock by him…? Cause I do.. like real bad.. like real real bad..

Whenever I see Rikster in a tank top I feel like a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time..

Come ere snookums.. I’ll get you an Australian citizenship so you could match with Jake hyung😝😝😝

[hanfourz]

HI POOKIES i'm soso busy this week i can barely read anything here omg </3 but i loved your latests work, vamp riwoo especially... wow. happy november btw !!! i also find nnn super funny for some reason, how do you think the bonedo legal line would be like during nnn? :p

— 🐈‍⬛

🪼- oh i feel u, it's been kinda crazy lately (ᵕ—ᴗ—) thank u so much!!! im so glad u liked vamp!riwoo. as a riwoo fangs enthusiast i Had to do it. it's so funny bc cherry literally was just talking abt how she wants to do a post abt bnd doing nnn and then we saw this 😭

🍒 - im so sorry for letting this rot for so long 😭 i will try my best to explain so. it's so funny cuz i literally talked about it with ki right before we got the ask! great minds think alike☺️

warnings: SMUT [MDNI!!!], hc format, mentions of oral (f. rec), light mentions of bondage (kinda), cocky taesan & leehan lolol

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ sungho

give it a week until he falls down on his knees (quite literally). you just look so beautiful how could he NOT want to eat you out on the spot? (of course, you never wanted to admit to yourself that you badly needed it too) but knowing how obsessed he is, seeing you dressed up... you should've known the night would end with him in between your legs.

↘ rest under read more !

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ riwoo

i give it two weeks until he's way too horny and is begging you to touch him. while you refuse because you enjoy teasing him so much. he was so confident about making it through the whole month. now he's laying on the bed, tied up, waiting for you to touch him :( and how could you deny him when he whines so prettily for you?

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ jaehyun

poor guy wouldn't even last 5 seconds. :( he's so obsessed with you. he's like a victorian man seeing a woman's ankle for the first time when he sees you. doesn't matter what you're doing or how you look or how long you've been together or how often he gets to touch you. he's begging you to let him touch you, even though you both decided together to participate. you should have known neither of you were gonna last. you can't get enough of each other.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ taesan

either two seconds or he's pulling it through, no in between. you two make it like a competition to see who'll last longer. he gets needy like halfway through but he will never admit it to himself, he's so annoyingly overconfident. and he would rather die than lose to you. so he teases you until you're the one begging for him then teases you for not being able to last. like he wasn't purposely putting his hands on your tits or making you sit on his lap...

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ leehan

3 weeks until he gives in. when you tell him that you want to participate he's like "you sure you can live without my cock for a whole month?". you decide to teach his cocky attitude a lesson and you try everything to rile him up. (which really isn't difficult to do.) "you're doing that on purpose, aren't you?" what, you? never! "what do you mean? i haven't done anything." you bat your eyes at him, feigning innocence. he grabs you by your waist. "just say you want me too, and I'll give it to you" but you will not give him the satisfaction, you refuse to lose against leehan's charm. no matter how tempting it is. "i don't need anything, but it seems like you're the one who can't keep his dick inside of his pants. you just need to say that i won." is all you say and he decides he needs to fuck that smirk off your face.

[moon7jay]

feeling like a victorian man seeing a woman's ankles for the first time cuz he's always giving these small sneak peaks of what's lying underneath and I never knew that a man's underwear lining would drive me this feral I'm literally eating cement as we speak