#leave it to me to make things more complicated than it needs to be :p

[sealrock]

me: hector is part of a small percentage of garleans that have psionic powers to compensate for their inability to manipulate aether, but it weakens greatly with age and causes immense mental strain

also me: *falls into a deep rabbit hole of paranormal pseudoscience and marvel/dc comic power scaling wackiness in an attempt to explain why and how that is in the ffxiv universe, but suspension of disbelief is thrown out the window*

[lady-djarin]

independent contractor

joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

fully inspired by this post

warnings/tags: no outbreak au, no sarah mentioned, but we can always pretend she’s at collage or something, infidelity by reader(reader’s hubby is an asshole), contractor!joel, age gap (late 20s/mid 50s) , masterbation (m), smelling of panties(?), sexting, oral (receiving), p in v (unprotected- don’t do that!!) general smut so children leave!! mdni 18+

word count: 6.1k

a/n: i understand not everyone is going to dig the infidelity thing so i get that, if you are not into that please just scroll on, thank you :)

* ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It was a beautiful dress but damn if it wasn’t complicated, the back had all these complicated buttons and clasps to hold it closed. You had managed to get yourself into the thin fabric but just as you needed your husband to close the dress, he had conveniently disappeared. He had been dressed for the party for a while and had been running around the house trying to organize the vendors. It was all for some charity thing he was throwing through his company. He was the CEO of some big company that even after 5 years of marriage you still didn’t understand. Something to do with finance? Maybe.

“Hon? Are you up here?” You huffed as you realized he was not in ear shot. Your husband had a habit of doing this, leaving right when you needed him in favor of something he needed.

You can now admit to yourself that the marriage you were in was a little rushed. Ok, maybe more than rushed. You were engaged within three months of meeting and married in less than a year. The first year of marriage was amazing, he would shower you with gifts and trips and practically worshiped the ground you walk on. It now felt like he only did this to rope you in. He began to take multiple long ‘work trips’ every month and you soon found evidence of an affair (or multiple). Once, there was long hair all over his clothes that was definitely not his or yours along with red lipstick smudged on a white shirt. Was he not even trying to hide it or did he just not care?

You had always told yourself that ‘you’d never be with a cheater’ and you wouldn’t fall prey to men who used women. Well, after a quick marriage, that you begged your parents to go along with, you felt like you had nowhere else to go. Your parents would not be happy and would surely find a way to blame you, and all your friends were also his. So, you kept your head high as your husband did as he pleased. You were now a forgotten trophy on the shelf he felt didn’t need polishing anymore. So you did as you pleased, with his money. One of the things you liked spending his money on was renovations to the house that you were usually alone in.

Currently, you were renovating the other side of the house to become a library/craft area for yourself. The contractor was actually at the house doing a walk through before the party got started. He happened to hear you calling for your husband from down the hall and came to your rescue.

“Sorry to disturb you ma’am, I think he went downstairs,” he was looking down when he first walked in, probably to make sure you were decent. What a gentleman.

“Of course he did, uhg,” you fumbled with the clasps behind your back and failed to make a difference.

“I can go get ‘em for ya?”

“No that’s ok Joel, thank you,” Joel Miller, one half of Miller Construction. He had been so great from the beginning, knowing exactly what you wanted for the library, seeing your vision immediately. He was very much the southern Texan gentleman, ‘yes ma’am, no ma’am’, no matter how many times you told him you hated it. “and please, Joel. I’m not a ma’am.” Your smile drew his eyes up.

”My mama would kill me if she heard me call ya’ anythin’ but, ma’am,” he stepped into the room, already coming to help even with your refusal. “I’m more delicate than ya think, im sure i can handle some buttons,” he came up behind you in the mirror and his soft touch on your shoulder blade made you inhale. You held the dress against your chest making sure he had room to fasten the small clasps. You caught his gaze in the mirror that was fixated on the dip in the front of the dress.

He matched your smile.

His surprisingly nimble fingers secure every last fastening and it feels like you can hear your own heart beating out of your chest. It had been a long time since you were looked at the way Joel was looking at you. He was a handsome man, big and rugged but soft in his features. He had these deep brown eyes that you could get lost in and lips that would make a nun blush. He was affecting you in ways your husband hadn’t done in years, he was turning you on. A complete stranger was turning you on and you didn’t really feel guilty.

Did that make you a terrible person?

You know what, fuck it. Your husband cheated and left you alone in life, you were entitled to some flirting every now and then.

“There ya are darlin’,” dear lord, his voice. The deep southern drawl made your panties wet.

“Thank you… Joel.”

”Enjoy the party,” watching him walk away was the hardest thing all night, aside from having to laugh at all your husband’s bad jokes all night. All night your mind was occupied by the sexy contractor.

~

It had been about a week since the party and the library reno was well underway. Joel and his team, including the other half of Miller Construction, his brother Tommy, were working tirelessly. In that last week your husband had been in and out of the house at weird times. On this particular day he left early in the morning without saying so much as a word to you. You used the day to mope around on your phone or read but what kept stealing your attention was the attractive contractor.

His team wasn’t around so the house was truly empty, the quiet was starting to drive you mad. As you wandered up the winding staircase, you found a sweatshirt draped over the railing. That damn husband, he leaves shit everywhere. Without thinking much of it, you threw the hoodie on as you found the library under construction.

The sweatshirt smells like sawdust and something distinctly man. That's different from what your husband normally smells like. The thought of him buying new cologne for some mistress almost made your blood boil, if you truly loved him anymore it would.

The library was really starting to come together, the plans on the table laid out the new shelves and built in table being put in and you dreamed of the days you would spend in there. The rest of your day was spent inside, no husband in sight so you did what you wanted, camped out on the couch with snacks galore and bad tv. Your husband eventually came home, after midnight, to find you passed out on the couch. You were roused by him, he woke you to send you off to bed. He used to carry you.

“Hey, get to bed, it's late… New hoodie?” Your eyebrows narrowed and you looked at him confused.

“What? It’s yours?”

”No it's not, I don't work at ‘Miller Construction’…” his tone felt like sandpaper against your skin. Also, have you been wearing Joel’s sweatshirt this whole time?

~

You wore it almost every day. Refusing to even wash it, it would get rid of the smell. The smell of him. It was like a drug, anytime your husband left you alone in that big house you wrapped yourself in Joel.

The rumble of the engine told you someone was at the house, but the deep southern drawl was what told you it was Joel. You felt giddy, like a girl with her first crush. You were already wearing the sweatshirt because you were expecting him today. He was leading his team of guys up to the library, telling them what to get started on. You made your way up there, under the guise of greeting Joel and asking if they need anything. In reality you wanted to see his reaction to you wearing his clothes.

“Morning Joel, you guys need anything?”

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. He noticed right away, scanning the hoodie and his gaze set your skin on fire. You felt your cheeks heat up as he stepped closer, the air was thick with tension and you immediately felt the mood change. His lips curved up in the corner slightly as he lowered his voice.

He looked handsome as always, the salt and pepper in his beard and hair was somehow very attractive to you. He was older for sure but you’d be lying if you said that wasn’t part of the attraction.

“Nice sweatshirt you got there…,” you could practically feel his heart beating just inches from you. “Miller.”

You had to strangle down a breath hearing his voice drop an octave like that, teasing you. This was real… Joel Miller, your contractor, was flirting with you. And you liked it, a lot. Not only the blatantly wrong flirting but the fact that your husband could come home at any time. It was making your skin flush with arousal and it felt like he could sense it somehow.

“I can wash it and get it back to you,” you wanted to gauge how into this he was. He did not disappoint.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jesus christ.

“Keep it sugar, looks better on ya anyway,” he left you there, finally with enough room to breathe without inhaling his intoxicating cologne. Holy shit, holy shit!

Your mind never strayed far from the older man, you seemed to fixate on the memory of him crowding you in your own home. The rest of the day went smoothly, you went about your business as the Miller Construction crew worked on your new library. You could hear the men working upstairs and every time you heard that one specific rumbling southern drawl your heart stopped for just a beat.

You were screwed.

~

Joel’s day could not have been longer, though he was the only one that noticed. The rest of the crew worked through the day, trying to get their tasks done sooner rather than later to be able to go home on time. Meanwhile, he was thinking about the pretty wife of the man who is paying him. He knew it was wrong but damn if it didn’t feel good. He saw the way your husband acted around you the last few weeks, he was engaged in every conversation except ones with you. Joel could even tell that the man was cheating, he clearly wasn’t trying to hide it. That’s really the only reason he was letting himself indulge with you, that and you seemed to be on the same page as him.

He knew he was in trouble, he had already memorized your features, your lips haunting him most of all. Every time you spoke he was entranced, unable to look away from your mouth. This was so wrong, he was working for you and your husband. He couldn’t help it, you were perfect, everything he could ever want. He dreamed about feeling you under him and that thought kept him half hard in his jeans all day.

By the time he was set to leave he felt like if he didn’t get himself taken care of he was going to explode. All he could think about was you in that damn hoodie, and how he would bend you over with it on. He knew it would smell like you now, it would smell like both of you. As he hopped into his truck he was so distracted that he didn’t see you coming down the driveway towards his car.

“Hey Joel…” Fuck. “I just wanted to get this back to you before I forget.” The gray fabric already smelled like you from where you held it by his car window. Why were you giving it back? He told you to keep it.

”Oh thanks darlin’,” it wasn’t lost on him how your eyes sparkled at this nickname. You were in the most delicious little shorts, showing just enough of the tops of your thighs as you walked back into the house. Fuck, he felt like such a dirty old man. You were so much younger and bright and kind. He felt like he could never deserve you.

He threw the hoodie on the passenger seat as he felt another surge of guilt and arousal settle into this stomach. Just as he was about to pull onto the street, he noticed something much darker than the hoodie sticking out of the pocket. He pulled it to reveal a pair of lacy black panties.

His heart nearly stopped. He would have never expected this, a sweet girl like you leaving her panties in her contractors sweatshirt. His jeans became even tighter than before as he pulled the panties up to his face.

He really was a dirty old man.

They had clearly been worn and it made his head spin, they smelled like heaven and you, he worried he might cum at the smell alone. He needed to get home.

As he raced home with your underwear gripped in his hand, he battled his thoughts. He knew it was wrong to mess around with a married woman but he felt different with you already. You were like the light at the end of his very lonely tunnel, no one ever looked at him the way you did. He practically tore his front door off the hinges as he rushed up to his bedroom. He felt like a teenager with an uncontrollable boner trying to find release.

The black lace was tight in his grip as he shucked his jeans off, the constricting fabric making his blood boil. He pulled himself free and the first touch to his hard length caused a gravely moan to slip from his lips. Tension and heat gathered in his stomach as he stroked himself. His fingers were rough as they circled his weeping tip but he needed to feel relief. He couldn’t even get himself into the shower, he just dropped onto the edge of his bed and never stopped moving his hand.

Those dark panties were teasing him, you were teasing him. You had to be, maybe you were making fun of his obvious crush. No, there was no way you would have grinned like you did if you didn’t feel the same way. It was an offering, a way for you to make a move without being apparent.

Holy shit. You wanted him.

That made his lower muscles spasm suddenly and his orgasm started to barrel down his spine. He pictured you in your small shorts earlier that day and he lost it. A deep groan escaped his throat as he spilled all over his knuckles. He pumped until he was oversensitive, his whole body reacting until he fell back into the bed.

All night his brain juggled wanting nothing but you and telling himself it was wrong. And it was wrong, at least on paper, of course he shouldn’t be messing with a client's wife. Even if she wanted him back.

~

Last time you saw Joel outside his car was almost a week ago. It was driving you crazy. You worried that he took it the wrong way or didn’t even see them. You couldn’t decide if you should be mortified, nervous, turned on or all the above. Then your phone went off.

Usually the texts between you and Joel were regarding what materials or paint you wanted. Now it was something totally different.

5:04PM >Joel: Sorry I have not been to check on the progress of the library personally. There was an emergency at another job.

>Joel: Also, thank you for my gift.

Only someone like Joel would thank you for sneaking him a pair of your panties.

5:09PM <You: im glad you liked them

<You: i was a little worried…

Your heart was thundering in your chest. Your husband was right across the couch, engrossed in his baseball game more than you, per usual. Was it wrong to like this so much, the fact that he had no idea you were texting another man right now, in front of him.

5:12PM >Joel: Why would you be worried? It's the best gift anyone’s ever given me.

>Joel: Any man should be so lucky.

Your pulse kicked up again somehow. He was making it all sound so meaningful. Maybe it was to him. Maybe he never took it the wrong way. Maybe he took it exactly the right way.

5:14PM <You: did you use them?

There was a pause for a few minutes.

5:20PM >Joel: Jesus…

>Joel: I’m at work, darlin.

5:22PM <You: so?

5:25PM >Joel: You got a mouth on you, huh?

5:26PM <You: and i know how to use it

5:28PM >Joel: We might just have to have you prove yourself then.

5:30PM <You: just tell me when

5:31PM >Joel: You are dangerous, angel.

>Joel: I have them in my pocket right now.

>Joel: I couldn’t help myself.

Jesus, this man was going to be the death of you. He was carrying your panties around in his pocket, while he was at work. Your thighs instantly squeezed together and it was at that moment you decided.

Fuck it, he made you feel good and your husband clearly didn’t care about your needs. You needed a divorce, and not just because of Joel. It was about you finally doing what’s good for you.

Suddenly an idea came to you, admititly a very bad idea but again, fuck it.

5:36PM <You: hey, do you have any plans tonight?

5:37PM >Joel: You know darlin, I don’t.

Thank god.

5:38PM <You: what’s your address?

5:38PM >Joel: 7 Oak Village Rd. I get home at 7.

5:38PM <You: see you then

You needed a plan. Your husband wouldn’t really care if you made last minute plans, you just needed a reason. Since he barely takes the time to pay attention to you, he definitely doesn’t know your friends very well.

“Hey, I know this is super random, but my friend Ashley”(totally a fake friend) “just got dumped, Isn’t that awful? She wants me to come over so she’s not alone. Would you care if I spent the night with her?”

It wasn’t really an odd thing, you spent the night with friends before. You should feel bad for lying so easily like this but the thrill of it all was keeping you going. You knew he wouldn’t object but he barely even looked at you. A quick glance back before he focused on the tv again as he waved you off.

”Yea, I don’t care… Johnny’s coming over anyway. Have fun.”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes, you knew you should be upset but you were too used to it at this point. You went upstairs to pack a bag and get ready. It had been a long time since a booty call and you forgot how giddy it made you feel. Knowing you were going to a man's house who actually wanted you there and actually wanted you.

Once you showered and finished packing, you went down to head out the garage. Apparently while you were upstairs Johnny and many more came over and had taken over the couch as they all debated over some play in the game. You tried to get your husband's attention, calling his name and waving at him. Anger boiled over in your gut. Just another reason not to feel guilty about tonight.

You loaded up into the car and pulled out of the massive driveway without a regret in your heart. This was the beginning of a new chapter and it felt right in so many ways. Your skin was buzzing with arousal, you had been thinking of Joel’s thick hands that would soon be on you, throughout your whole shower.

Before you left the neighborhood you sent Joel a quick text.

7:13PM <You: on my way

7:14PM >Joel: Can’t wait.

You felt the heat creep up into your cheeks and down your neck. Your nerves did start to wear on you though, all the usual stuff; Will he like me? Do I look nice? Did I miss a spot shaving my legs? You decided to wear a thin silk slip dress/nightgown under a baggy zip up hoodie. You figured it was a good way to look ‘sloppy’ enough that your husband wouldn’t care, if he even looked your way. You made the short drive over to Joel’s neighborhood and your nerves seemed to melt away as you got closer. It was odd, normally this kind of thing would send your pulse skyrocketing but the thought of seeing Joel made you calm, almost serene. He definitely made your head swim with giddy arousal though.

You found the beautiful house marked ‘No. 7’ and knocked on the perfectly painted door. Of course his house was gorgeous, he was a contractor. Only moments went by until the door was pulled open by that very sexy looking contractor. His brown curls were slightly messy on his head and he wore some kind of faded shirt and loose sweatpants that hung way too low. You couldn’t look away.

“Hi darlin’,” he rubbed his neck and his cheeks went red. He was nervous.

“Hi,” you couldn’t help the smile spreading on your face.

“Come in, here let me.” He gently took your bag from your shoulder and guided you to the couch where he had a bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table. The inside of his home was just as beautiful as the outside; the couch was large and comfortable, there was quiet music playing in the corner from an old school record player and books and plants littering the shelves. He came back and poured you both a glass and clinked the two together before you each took a long drink. He finally sat down and you turned so your feet were up against his leg, quickly feeling comfortable with him.

“I wasn’t sure if you would be ok… with me coming over.”

“Why?” God his southern accent was like honey.

“I don’t know, maybe it was…I was too forward.” You were sure why you felt the need to bring this up, maybe clear the air somehow. “I’m divorcing him, I can't do it anymore.” Saying it out loud made your heart lurch.

“I get it sweetheart, it ain’t fair that he treats ya’ that way.” You were leaning into each other at this point, unable to stop the magnetic pull between you. His arm was draped over the back of the couch, his hand near your shoulder. He started to entwine his finger in your hair, his big brown eyes danced over your face and it made you almost want to shy away from his gaze.

“You don’t think I'm a terrible person?” You looked into his eyes finally, wanting to know how he felt about you, how he felt about this.

His fingers left your hair as his thumb brushed over your lips. “Y’not a terrible anythin’ darlin’,” then he moved.

He was on you before you could take another breath. He slotted his lips over yours, his tongue sliding between them. He devoured you, stole the breath from your lungs. It was all consuming the way he kissed you, it felt like he was starved and you were all he wanted to consume. He sat back and pulled you with him, your legs wrapping around his hips leaving your core right in his lap. His hand cupped both cheeks as you pressed yourself fully to him, your hips grinding down into his. Your baggy sweatshirt was obstructing your skin from touching his, you needed more and the fabric was too warm.

You leaned back and you finally got a good look at his face as you pulled the zipper down. His lips were swollen and red and his eyes were almost all pupils. After ripping the bulky fabric off he finally moved his hands to the rest of you. He traced your arms down to where your hands laid on your thighs, he then lightly ran his fingers up your back over the thin fabric of your nightgown.

“You are so… fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” He sounded like he couldn’t catch his breath and yours caught in your throat. He pulled you into him again but it still wasn’t enough skin. As his soft lips worked over your pulse and his rough beard scratched at your neck you knew you needed more of him. You groaned as you pulled away again and tried to pull his shirt off yourself but he was just large enough to make it difficult. He smirked at you as he leaned forward to remove the shirt and your skin finally made contact with his.

You both groaned as you came together once again, finally able to feel his warm solid chest against yours. He explored your body again as your mouths did the same, he kissed down your neck, over your shoulders and between your breasts. The thin straps holding up the nightgown were quickly pulled down, revealing your chest to him. He lavished you and you felt the vibration of his groans as he licked the crevice between your breasts before closing his mouth around a peak and sucking. Your whole body arched into his, your fingers carding through his hair which made him groan deeper.

“Fuck— Joel,” your skin was on fire and you were lightheaded. You knew somewhere deep down you should feel bad or guilty but it was the furthest thing from your mind. He made you feel like you were floating, your soul somehow detached from your body.

He pulled back from you, just enough to catch his breath and look into your eyes. His hands however never stopped roaming your skin. His pupils were blown wide, almost none of the deep brown in his eyes were left now. He dipped his head and dove back into your skin, his lips attaching to your neck and it made you groan and your core clench.

He groaned into you and you felt it rumble through his chest. You felt like you were losing grip on reality, you couldn’t tell someone your own name if they asked. It was all worth it because you were lost in the pleasure of feeling him under you, but you needed more of him.

You dropped to the floor, the carpet soft under your knees. You tried to pull Joel’s pants down his hips, almost frantically as if you didn’t see all of him now you would die.

“Hol’on darlin’,” he kind of giggled as he slipped the fabric off his hips and he fell back onto the couch and looked down at you with his mouth hanging open in awe. You met his gaze before looking down at his hard length.

Fuck, he was big.

You lowered your mouth to him, teasing your lips over his silky skin. His breath caught in his chest. You ran your tongue up and his hand came up to hold the back of your head, not to force but support. Eventually his fingers grabbed into your hair when you wrapped your lips around him and pulled him in. You felt his rough moan reverberate into your body every time you dropped your head. It was difficult to take him all at once but you had to feel him, everywhere.

“Fuck, oh my—gooood…” he dropped his head back onto the couch but you knew he was watching you, his eyes never left you. You felt your arousal spread between your thighs knowing you were driving him mad. Before you even got a chance to really do much Joel pulled you up on your feet. He stayed seated and looked up at you through his lashes and your heart stopped for a second seeing him below you like this made your stomach dip and your panties wet.

His eyes were blazing a path over your body, nightgown bunched around your waist with your entire chest exposed. You should be cold but you felt like you were on fire. He ran his palms up the backside of your legs until he reached the lacy fabric of your underwear. His eyes never left yours as he slowly pulled the fabric off your hips and over your ass, his hands touching skin the whole way down and helped you step out of it. That swooping feeling settled into your stomach again as he slid his fingers back up the inside of your leg until he reached your hot center, eyes never leaving yours. You both moaned as he dipped into the slick that coated your skin.

“Mhmmm, this all f’me?” He looked at you with a mix of arrogance and pure desire as he moved his fingers in a slow circular motion. It was made easy by just how wet you were, you didn’t know if you had ever been this wet before. That’s the effect he had on you, or maybe this is just a primal kind of desire that you never had with your soon-to-be ex-husband.

Either way you were spiraling fast. You knew once you two came together you wouldn’t last long. You needed to feel him, it was driving you mad.

Joel seemed to be taking it slow, which you can admire as this is very new and he probably wanted to make sure you’re comfortable. While you admired him taking the time to make you comfortable you couldn’t wait anymore. As he kissed your chest and his fingers kept moving in agonizing circles across your sensitive bundle while you straddled his lap. His hard length rubbed against your center and both of your bodies shook with desire.

He groaned as he wasn’t expecting you to be on him so fast. His hands ran along every inch, taking you into him and never wanting to let go. You rocked your hips and slowly dragged your core across his length causing you both to stutter and moan. You were sick of waiting for the thing you had been thinking about non stop for weeks.

“Will you… make me feel good?” Your voice was squeaky and horse from all the moans and his eyes fluttered at your request.

“Oh darlin’… that bastard ain’t taking care of you huh? When’s the last time you were properly touched?”

You turned your eyes away from him, slightly embarrassed that he was able to tell that so easily. “Uhm… a while.” He gave you a pointed look, clearly not liking your non-answer. “A… a year,” his eyes widened at your admission. “Over a year…” You cringed at your final answer. You weren’t proud of the fact that it had been so long but you haven't been attracted to your husband in a long time.

”Oh… you poor thing,” he bracketed your cheeks with his large hands. “Don’t worry darlin’.”

Joel was losing composure quickly, he was ready to give you everything you deserved. His nimble fingers reached between your bodies and slid along your center, drawing a wanton moan from your chest. You ground your hips into his hand trying to create the friction he wasn’t giving you. He slowly spread your lips and ran his fingers gingerly over your clit causing your body to shake in his grasp.

“Hmm… y’all wet f’me?” His southern drawl was making his lust-drunk words slur together deliciously. The scruff of his mustache scratched at your neck but his lips and tongue soothed over the sensitive skin.

“Mmhmm… Joel— oh god please,” you sounded just as lost. Your voice cracked and your hips never stopped moving over his hand, desperate for attention.

“Don’t worry darlin’, I gotcha,” he quickly flipped you and your back hit the plush couch. A soft ‘oomf’ escaped your lips and Joel was mesmerized as you lay beneath him. “Oh look at’cha, you’re so pretty baby.”

His words were like hot honey, warm and sweet. You shifted under him and wrapped your fingers around his hard shaft and the groan that reverberated through his chest made your breath catch in your throat. You kept stroking him as his fingers found your wet center again, spreading your release over your puffy folds. As you wrapped your legs around his hips, you guided his crown to your core and felt the sweet stretch of him entering you slowly.

He paused for a few moments and looked like he was trying to center himself again before pushing his hips fully into yours and held himself there. A deep rumbling groan broke through his lips as he began to move, the stretch was making you nervous at first but you felt more and more comfortable as he kept moving. When he started to rub your neglected clit, a bolt of pleasure shot down your spine causing your back to arch and nails to dig into his arms.

“Such a good girl, baby… ngh— you-you feel so good,” his syrupy words made your head feel fuzzy and limbs heavy. His hips started to snap into yours at a harsher pace and his fingers spent up between you in tandem. Your orgasm was quickly approaching with his movements, faster than you expected. Was this the norm for people with healthy relationships and sex lives, real attraction? You couldn’t even finish the thought before Joel sped up his fingers and started to hammer into you. He was surrounding you, hovering over with those dark eyes and large shoulders. The smell of him alone was about to send you over the edge, he smelled like soap and a little like sawdust, all over man. His voice broke you out of your hazy state.

“You’re gonna— cum for me darlin’, I—I can’t hold on…much longer baby.” His voice was rough and demanding and almost like your body listened, you fell over the edge. The lewd moans and shouts of Joel’s name coming out of our mouth surprised you both. At feeling you cum around him, Joel lost all of his remaining control. He stilled inside you and you felt his muscles contract in his release.

“Oh fu—fuck! oh my… god,” he slumped against you and you welcomed his weight. You both settled into the couch as you rubbed your arms up and down his back. “I’m— I’m sorry darlin’, it's been a while. Normally I'd have… taken my time.”

He sounded almost nervous, it made you smile.

“Joel, stop. You have nothing to apologize for.”

”I’ll redeem myself next time.”

Next time? He wants there to be a next time!

You smiled to yourself and hummed at the content feeling of being under him while he still filled you.

You drifted to a place of half consciousness and woke up in, what you were pretty sure was the morning to the smell of bacon. You turned over in a bed, Joel's bed, to find it empty. You looked around the room and found it to be just like Joel, cozy and masculine. You located a shirt of his and threw it on before heading down the stairs to find a very sexy shirtless Joel standing in his kitchen, flipping pancakes.

“Mornin’ sleepy head,” his voice was thick with sleep and you walked up to him at the stove. With one large arm he pulled you into his side and kissed the top of your head. A slow smile spread on your lips at the familiarity of it all, the warmness of having someone to take care of you like this, emotionally. Something you almost never had with your husband, soon to be ex.

“Joel… thank you, for this.”

“What’cha mean darlin?”

“Taking care of me. Letting me come over last night.”

“Hey, look at me,” he tilted your chin up to meet his eyes. “Anytime you need me, I’m here.”

You tried to blink away the tears gathering on your lashes but one managed to slip, Joel’s thumb catching it before it reached your cheek. Time felt like it stopped as you leaned in to each other, lips pressing together as you moaned at the feeling.

The day was spent lazing in bed and talking about all the things you two would do when your divorce was finalized. The idea of divorce was the scariest thing in the world when you first thought about it, but now, knowing Joel would be with you every step of the way… you couldn’t wait.

[simplygojo]

I Like Your Tie...

author's note ⸺ OMG ONE OF MY FAVS REQUESTED! I loved this request; thats why it took SO LONG I’m sorry my friend I hope you enjoyyyy!! <3 I needed another Nanami request so bad so you did me a favour with this one, LOLLL. request ⸺ “Your last Toji fic got me frothing like a rabid dog. Lol. in all ways it was very uniquely him indeed !Could I shy request a fic with the song 'Talk' by Hozier paired up with Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader ? Something sensual steamy but ever so romantic for the blonde? Anyway, thank you for your stories ! Thank you so much. ♡” - @erebus-et-eigengrau (lurvv uu) pairing ⸺ Kento Nanami x reader word count ⸺ 3.8K content ⸺ 18+ Content, SMUT!, p in v intercourse, reader has a vagina, reader uses female pronouns, choking, control kink(ish), pet names, friends to fucking i guess, aggressive sex, fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, I dont think this characterization of Nanami is very accurate but IT WORKED FOR THE STORY e

The late-night quiet of Jujutsu High was comforting in a way—no students rushing through the halls, no teachers around to monitor. You had been grateful for the peace, retreating to your room after a long day.

But as you reached your door, you stopped in your tracks.

There he was. Kento Nanami stood in front of your door, leaning ever so casually against the wall. 

—

You and Nanami had been friends for what felt like a lifetime, though it all began back in high school. Back then, you had a bit of a crush on him—not that you’d ever admit it. He wasn’t the type to flirt or give much attention to relationships, but there was something about him that always caught your eye. 

You had your moments, too—shared laughter, and private conversations late into the night, when the walls between friends almost seemed to blur. 

But Nanami never made a move, and neither did you. You knew how seriously he took his role as a sorcerer, and you didn’t want to complicate your friendship with feelings that you weren’t sure were mutual.

As you both graduated and eventually became high-level sorcerers, those moments of potential intimacy became even more distant. You grew into your own roles, taking on increasingly dangerous missions and fighting curses that most could barely comprehend. Nanami was often assigned to the same missions as you, his calm, steady presence a source of reassurance when things got chaotic.

There were times when his professionalism would slip, just for a moment. A fleeting look, a brush of his fingers against yours, his voice dropping an octave when he spoke your name. You always wondered if he felt it too—that same tension you tried so hard to ignore. But you never dared to ask, afraid of what it might mean if the answer was yes.

And now, standing in front of him in the quiet after everything that had just happened, you realized just how deeply those old feelings still ran.

There were times, though, when your old crush resurfaced. 

Sometimes, it was the way he’d look at you across the battlefield, silently checking to see if you were okay, his eyes filled with a concern that was more than just professional. Other times, it was the rare, gentle touch when he’d help you after a fight—his hand brushing your arm or waist as he steadied you after a particularly tough encounter.

But you always pushed those feelings down, refusing to acknowledge them for the sake of professionalism. 

The sorcery world didn’t leave much room for distractions, and you knew that Nanami was as dedicated as ever. He was the picture of control, never letting emotions dictate his actions, always focused on the mission at hand.

You convinced yourself that whatever crush you had on him was just remnants of your high school days, a fleeting fantasy that had no place in your current life.

—

His arms were crossed, his tie long loosened, and the top buttons of his shirt undone. The dim lighting of the hallway cast a shadow over his sharp features, making the intensity in his eyes even more pronounced.

He looked every bit the composed man he always was, but something about the way his gaze followed your every movement made your heart stutter.

“Nanami…” His name left your lips in a quiet murmur, not expecting to see him there, not like this.

“You’re out late,” he observed, his voice steady but lower than usual, as if the stillness of the night demanded it.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. “Well, one of the first-years wanted some late-night training…What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away, eyes flicking down to your lips before settling back on yours. 

You could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable, making it hard to think clearly. His usual restraint seemed to falter, just slightly, but enough to make your pulse race.

“I was waiting for you.” His voice was steady, but the words made your breath hitch.

Your heart pounded in your chest. 

“Waiting for me?” You said quietly, a heat beginning to pool between your thighs.

Nanami pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer to you, his movements deliberate. The space between you closed as his tall figure made its way toward you—the tension that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks finally came to a boil. 

“Why were you waiting for me..?” You questioned, “I need to talk,” He responded, his voice barely above a whisper.

He was close enough now that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, the faint scent of his cologne filling your senses.

“I used to try to talk so refined, in fear of you finding out…” He admitted, his voice lower now, almost rough around the edges. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak. 

“Finding out what, Nanami.” You breathed, watching how his lips parted just slightly while he paused. “How I’ve been imagining you." 

The air between you was thick with tension, so heavy you could almost taste it.

Nanami stood inches away, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. His normally professional demeanour had cracked, revealing something raw, something primal. The careful distance you both had maintained was no longer there.

"Imagining me…?" You repeated, your voice barely more than a whisper. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you were certain he could hear it.

Nanami’s eyes darkened, and his gaze roamed over you in a way that left your body practically squirming under his scrutiny. His jaw clenched for a moment as though fighting some internal battle, but when he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse, filled with a desire he was no longer trying to hide.

“Every time I look at you,” he confessed, his hands flexing at his sides, like he was resisting the urge to touch you, “I think about how you’d feel under my touch… under me.”

Your breath caught, your throat suddenly dry as his words sank in. The image of his hands on your skin, the weight of him pressing against you, the feeling of him between your legs—it sent a wave of heat through your body, leaving you borderline trembling with anticipation.

“Nanami…” you whispered his name, your voice trembling with the same desire that was now coursing through you. The distance between you felt unbearable.

The professionalism you both held onto so tightly was crumbling, and the temptation to give in was overwhelming.

The hallway was too quiet, too intimate, and it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away. It was just the two of you, standing there on the precipice of something dangerous and irresistible.

“I won’t deny I’ve got in my mind now all the things we’d do,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper as his thumb traced your jawline, gently tilting your head with two fingers. His eyes darkened with want, and the weight of his words hung heavily in the air.

That was all it took.

The pull between you snapped, and before you could think, your hands were fisting in his dark blue shirt, pulling him down to meet your lips in a kiss that was heated, desperate—inevitable.

His hand swiftly opened your door before pushing you into it, causing both of you to stumble into the dimly lit room.

With a loud thud, Nanami kicked the door shut before pushing you back up against your entryway wall.

Nanami groaned softly into your mouth—your pussy practically throbbing at the sound—and his hands immediately wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer as if he couldn’t stand the idea of any space between you.

His lips moved against yours with a hunger that you hadn’t expected, and it left you breathless.

You gasped when his hands gripped your hips firmly, pushing more firmly against the wall. The cool surface against your back was a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from him as he pressed himself closer, his lips never leaving yours.

His kisses were deliberate, slow—but rough—as if he wanted to savour every moment of this. 

"Mmf…Nanami," you breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him, your lips swollen from the kiss, breathless. "What are we doing?"

His forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged as he looked down at you. There was something raw, unguarded in his expression. “What I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and before you could say anything else, he was kissing you again, deeper this time. “Now be a good girl for me, y/n.” He practically purred against your lips, as he lifted you so your legs wrapped around his waist. 

His hands moved with more confidence now, sliding up your sides while you were pinned against the wall, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You tugged at his hair, your fingers desperate to feel more of him.

His hands, rough from battle and years of work, were surprisingly gentle as they slid beneath your shirt, fingers brushing over your painfully hard nipples, teasing you. You arched into him, your body responding to every touch.

He made quick work of your jacket—and that tiny tank top you wore underneath it, his hands roughly reaching for every bit of exposed skin.

Nanami growled softly with your legs wrapped around his waist, his lips trailed down the column of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that had you moaning his name.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked, his breath hot against your neck, but the fire in his eyes told you stopping was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Don’t," you whispered—pleading with him for more, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. "Don’t stop."

Nanami’s eyes darkened further at your words, and a slow, subtle smirk spread across his lips. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. 

His hand moved up to the tie hanging loosely around his neck, fingers working quickly to loosen it even further.

Before you could register what he was doing, he slid the tie off entirely, his movements deliberate and slow as he looped the fabric around your neck.

The silk felt cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body. His eyes never left yours as he gently tugged at the tie, pulling you closer, the pressure on your throat light but enough to send a thrill through you that went straight to your now-soaked pussy.

“There,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over the side of your neck as he admired how the tie looked wrapped around you, it falling on your bare chest.

In a moment, his lips were back on your skin, trailing lower this time as his free hand continued to explore your body. He kissed a path down to your chest, the tie around your neck tightening just slightly as he pulled you even closer.

He brought you to the couch in your small room with one hand while the other held the back of your head as his tongue explored your mouth.

“You look so beautiful like this, do you know that? With my tie around your pretty little neck…” He murmured against your skin, his voice laced with raw, unfiltered need. 

Hoisting you up onto the back of the couch, his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your skirt, fingers brushing against the wetness between your thighs, and the contact made you gasp. 

With one swift but gentle movement, Nanami slid your skirt and tights down your legs, and now you sat in front of him—completely vulnerable.

“Nanami—” Your words were cut off by a moan as his fingers returned, pressing more firmly, the slow, torturous circles he drew making your entire body tremble.

The tie tightened just a fraction more as he leaned back to look at you, his thumb brushing against your clit in a way that had your heart racing even faster.

“You’re so responsive for me,” he growled softly, his fingers entering your dripping cunt slowly, making sure to feel every inch of your interior. “It’s driving me insane.”

You could barely breathe, the combination of his fingers between your legs and the light pressure of the tie around your neck leaving you a trembling mess in his arms.

You clung to him, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as you fought to hold on, your body betraying you with every ragged breath and every desperate moan.

"Nanami, please..." You barely recognized your own voice, hoarse and breathless as you begged for him.

He smirked against your skin, clearly pleased by your reaction. “You want more, don’t you?” He asked, his voice thick with amusement, but the tension in his body told you he was just as desperate as you were.

You nodded, your head falling back as your body arched into his touch. “Please…”

The sound of your begging seemed to snap something in him. With one swift motion, he lifted you up with one arm and spun you around before setting you on your feet in front of him, your bare ass pressing up against his bulge as the cool leather from the couch pressed against your lower abdomen. 

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as his fingers slipped inside you again, making you gasp loudly at the sudden but welcomed intrusion. 

“I want to hear you beg for me again,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers moved with agonizing slowness, teasing you, driving you to the brink of insanity.

His other hand subtly undid his belt, lowering his pants just enough to expose his desperate cock.

You moaned, arching into his hand, your body betraying you as it responded to every touch, every whisper of his breath on your skin. “Nanami...'hmf…please...I-I need you in me.” You managed to get out between broken whines.

“That’s it,” he growled, his fingers exiting you, but they were quickly replaced by his dick as he inserted himself into you—feeling you stretch around him caused him to throw his head back in pleasure, and he gave a little yank on the tie, your head jerking backwards as your stomach pressed harder into the couch, provoking a pornographic moan to exit your lips.

“Fuck,” he growled, his breath hot against your skin as he buried himself inside you, again and again, each stroke thrusting deeper into your gummy walls, sending waves of pleasure through your body. “You feel so good.”

His pace quickened, and the slow, deliberate rhythm gave way to something more primal and desperate.

His control was slipping, and you could feel it in every rough thrust, every growl that rumbled from his chest as he claimed you completely.

The tie tightened again, the silk digging into your skin just enough to heighten the pleasure, and the sensation sent you spiralling toward the edge.

Your body trembled beneath him, your nails digging into the cold couch material as you gasped for breath, the intensity of it all overwhelming.

He leaned forward, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper into you.

He gently moved your hair off of your shoulder as his delicate fingers traced the border of his tie and your skin. “You really are such a good girl.”

His thumb pushed into clit as he thrusted into you at a dominating pace—the sensation was nearly enough to push you over the edge—but you held on a little longer.

You cried out his name, your entire body shaking as his pace quickened, he tightened the feeling around your throat with the tie around your neck pulling you closer to him.

Nanami’s body moved behind you, the warmth of him pressing against your back as his hands gripped your hips.

Bent over the back of your couch, with the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your flushed skin. “Mmhf–Nanami…Oh please.” You moaned out, practically begging him for more as he fucked you with a controlling pace

His breath was heavy, ragged, as he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, making you feel the sheer size and strength of him as he dominated you completely.

Nanami’s fingers wrapped around his tie nicely wrapped around your neck, pulling it taut.

The sensation made you gasp, your head tilting back slightly as the silk tightened around your throat just enough to send a jolt of pleasure through your already overstimulated body.

Suddenly he took his soaked dick out of you letting it land on your ass, rubbing his hand over the smooth skin.

“You look just perfect like this,” he growled low in your ear, his voice thick with lust as he tugged the tie just a bit tighter, your chin tilting up as he whispered in your ear. “Bent over—begging for me.”

Your legs trembled beneath you, your body quivering with anticipation, but before you could respond, he was inside you again. 

The stretch was immediate, deep, and overwhelming as he thrust into you from behind, filling you completely with a single stroke.

You cried out, your fingers gripping the edge of the couch as he pulled you back against him, the tie keeping you tethered, under his controlled.

“Nanami…” You moaned his name, your voice barely more than a breathless whisper as he began to move, his hips snapping against you in a relentless rhythm.

Every thrust was harder than the last, his grip on the tie tightening with every movement, pulling you back into him, forcing you to feel every inch of him.

His pace was brutal, his control slipping entirely as he watched the way your body reacted to him, the way you moaned his name with every stroke.

His free hand found your hip, gripping you so tightly that you were sure there’d be marks tomorrow, but the thought only sent another wave of arousal through you.

“You feel so good,” he growled, his voice rough as he leaned over you, his lips brushing against the back of your neck. “My good girl...”

His words are what sent you over the edge, the stimulation of your orgasm turning your vision white. 

Your body was on fire, every nerve alive with pleasure as he drove into you again and again.

The tie around your neck tightened even more, the pressure just enough to leave you lightheaded, completely at his mercy. You felt every inch of him inside you, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, along with your breathless moans as pleasure washed over you.

Nanami's body pressed closer as you shuddered beneath him, the waves of your orgasm still coursing through you. 

But he didn’t stop. 

Even as your body trembled, oversensitive and breathless, he kept thrusting into you with the same relentless intensity.

His pace didn’t falter, and each stroke seemed deeper, more demanding, as if he couldn't get enough of the way you clenched around him.

Your moans turned to gasps as pleasure mixed with the overwhelming sensation of him continuing to push you past your limit. Your fingers clutched at his back, nails digging into his skin with a painful force, but he didn't slow down. He leaned over you, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

“Look at you, taking it so well," he groaned, his voice dark and full of praise. "You feel so good, I don’t want to stop.”

Your legs shook around him, your body still pulsating from your release, and the overstimulation had you crying out, your nails leaving red marks along his back. 

"Nanami... please..." you gasped, unsure if you were begging him to stop or to keep going. You felt like you were being consumed, every nerve on fire, and yet your body responded to his touch, desperate for more.

He shifted slightly, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, his hand still pressed firmly against your clit drawing rough circles. The tie around your neck tightened just a bit more, enough to remind you of the control he had, the control you were willingly giving him.

“I’m not done with you yet," he growled, his thrusts growing rougher, faster, his body taking full control over yours. "You can come again for me, can’t you?"

You didn’t know how it was possible, but the overwhelming pleasure began to build again inside you.

His touch on your clit was insistent, his hips snapping against yours in a rhythm that left you breathless, teetering on the edge of something even more intense than before.

Your body trembled beneath him, the overstimulation and pleasure merging into something maddening.

Every nerve was alight, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. You were already too sensitive, your mind spinning as he pushed you closer and closer to the brink once again.

Nanami could feel it—he knew exactly how close you were, how your body tensed around him.

His lips brushed your ear as he spoke, his voice low and commanding. “Come for me again, y/n. I want to feel you fall apart around me baby.”

With that, his fingers pressed harder against your clit, and his hips slammed into you at a brutal pace, each thrust sending you spiraling further out of control.

The pressure inside you coiled impossibly tight, and with a cry of his name, you shattered once more, the intensity of your second orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Your body shook uncontrollably, your moans turning to sobs of pleasure as you convulsed around him.

The sensation was too much, too overwhelming, and yet you never wanted it to end. Nanami’s name fell from your lips like a prayer as he continued thrusting into you, his own breathing growing more ragged, more desperate.

"That's it," he growled, his voice thick with pleasure as he watched you unravel beneath him, his pace rapidly increasing. "So fucking beautiful."

He wasn’t far behind. The way your walls clenched around him, the way you shook with each thrust, sent him over the edge. 

His pace grew erratic, his grip on your waist tightening as he buried himself deep inside you one last time. You felt his hips shudder, groaning your name as he came.

He tugged at the tie harshly, yanking you up form your bent over position so your back was against his sweaty chest, his hand gently holding your chin up. 

“You were so good for me,” he breathed, his voice hoarse, igniting a spark in you again. You remained silent for a few moments, breath staggered as you tried to catch it, still shaking with pleasure as he held you upright in front of him. 

Finally, you opened your mouth to speak, a cheeky smile playing on your lips, “I like your tie…”

[sceletaflores]

"Dependence Is Weakness, Darling."

pairing: older!patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: it wasn’t just the cigarettes or the lighters. it was the way you still find yourself thinking about him. patrick, with his tangled emotions and overwhelming presence, had left an inescapable mark on your life. and as much as you wished it, he wasn’t someone you could easily erase from yourself.

—or: it's been a little over twelve years since you've seen patrick zweig.

word count: 7.8k (hopefully this is long enough lol)

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex but in a loving way, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), semi-public sex (fucking in a car, you know i had to...), angst, swearing, cigarette smoking as a love language, slight mommy issues lmao, hints of mean!reader cause i still live for that shit, love confessions, rain scene cause i'm corny as hell, porn with SOOOO much plot, no use of y/n.

author's note: this might me the filthiest thing i've ever written lols. i actually DID get a couple asks for some more angsty patrick fics and ofc i love writing angst i'm just a girl i live for that shit. look at me doing what was asked of me and not just whatever i wanted! i'm a giver, what can i say. this fic was revived because of a few anon's who demanded it and i'm so glad they did. you guys got me to give this a second chance and i'm so proud of how it turned out. extra special shout out to @bii-aan-ckaa who fiercely advocated and waited very patiently for this! i'm so obsessed with you and your beautiful kind words. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

Fifteen minutes. 

That’s how long you can stomach sitting in the sticky booth of the bar watching Patrick Zweig flirt with a woman you don't recognize across the dimly lit room. Fifteen measly minutes until you were giving your friends some lame excuse of needing fresh air and leaving the table to escape out into the alley.

It’s been a little over twelve years since you’ve seen Patrick. A little over twelve years since you turned your back on him with tears spilling down your cheeks and your favorite racket a mangled, smashed mess gripped tightly in your shaking hand as you walked out of his life forever. 

Or at least what you thought was forever, you guess you were wrong.

To put it lightly, your relationship with Patrick was…complicated. You met him the summer before you started at Stanford. He was tall with green eyes and curly hair and he was kind of an asshole but he made you laugh, so you let him fuck you anyway. At the time, you thought that was it. One really good fuck with a really hot guy you’d never see again.

You thought you were hallucinating when you saw him on the campus courts two months later, when he sauntered up to you with an unmistakable “I know what you look like naked” smirk on his face. He was just as tall and had the same green eyes and the same curly hair and was an even bigger asshole than he was before. You still let him fuck you anyway.

You never thought you’d get sucked into the storm that was whatever the fuck was going on between Art, Patrick and Tashi. Never thought that it would completely ruin your self esteem, your tennis, your everything.

You weren’t particularly close to Art or Tashi in college. Sure, you were all in the same circle. That didn’t make you best friends. Art was nice enough, but he never went out of his way to talk to you. You and Tashi were on the same team but that didn’t mean anything. You respected the hell out of her and her game, and you could tell she felt the same. Even with that respect, there was still a tiny part of you that resented her. 

She was number one, the pride and joy of Stanford, had a constant slew of brands and scouts up to her ears. It seemed like no matter how hard you worked that she would always be number one. It felt like you were always just inches behind her.

Clawing and scratching your way through the ranks since you were twelve to be second best was never the plan. Your mother made sure to remind you of that every chance she got.

Then slowly, she started beating you at more than just tennis. Patrick wanted her, it was more than obvious. At first you didn’t care, he wasn't your boyfriend. He was just a guy you fucked, he could do whatever he wanted. You were friends. There wasn’t a problem.

When you realized you knew more about Patrick than just how he worked dick, then there was a problem. 

At first, all the things you knew about him were boiled down to the vulgar little tidbits you’d notice when he fucked you. You know that he has a birthmark on his lower back. You know when he’d be close because he’d always bite your shoulder before he came. You know his favorite position was really missionary even though he told everyone it was doggy.

Knowing all that was fine.

You also know that he’s allergic to kiwi. You know that he only holds his cigarettes with his thumb and his pointer finger. You’d always know when he was nervous because he’d start tapping his fingers on his thigh. You know that when he’d listen to music he loved, that his right hand would drum along to the beat just a little bit faster than his left would.

You knew all those things because you were falling in love with him, and Patrick Zweig is not someone you fall in love with. Especially not with Tashi Duncan in the picture.

You tried your best to push it down, to pretend you weren’t hurt every time Patrick chose Tashi over you. When he’d miss your games because he was with Tashi, when he’d blow you off to go meet Tashi, when he started to stop returning your calls or replying to your texts. All things you never cared about before started slowly eating at you. You felt awful most days, holed up in your room wallowing in self-pity. Your GPA was steadily dropping as the semester went on. Even your tennis started slipping, and you lost your winning streak to a fucking scrub. When you finally cracked and broke down to your mother over the phone one night she just scoffed.

“Well what did you think would happen when you started to depend on that boy? Dependence is weakness, darling.”

Dependence is weakness. You blocked Patrick’s number that same night.

It all came to a head when he blew up at you after Tashi’s injury. Everyone was pretty shaken up about it. You’d never forget the way it buckled, the way the sharp snap rang through the court, the way she fell to the ground screaming. You’d never seen her cry before. 

Patrick found you later that night, all alone on the practice courts trying to burn the day out of your mind by serving balls till you collapsed. It was the first time he talked to you in weeks. He was pissed. Screaming at you, calling you every nasty thing he could think of, getting up in your face. It was a fucking mess. You both said some things that should have never been said, but it ended when Patrick accused you of somehow being the cause of all of it.

“You hate Tashi, fucking hate her. You wanted something like this to happen. I bet you’re just over the fucking moon that she’s finally out and you can take her place. You can finally be number one seed and you're fucking ecstatic, aren't you? You’re so fucking pathetic, so desperate for validation. Maybe if mommy paid attention to you for once, you wouldn’t be so fucking needy. You're just a sad, delusional fucking runner-up, grasping at whatever shreds of importance you think you still have.”

You stood there, stunned by his outburst, each word hitting you like a physical blow. It was insane, nothing but Patrick blowing things way out of proportion in the midst of his anger.

You wanted to scream, to deny it vehemently, but the hurt and frustration choked off your words. Tears welled up in your eyes, a mixture of anger and heartbreak swirling in you. Vision blurring out everything but Patrick's face twisted up with rage as he glared at you, his words lingering in the air like poison. 

You told him about your mother because you thought you could trust him. You thought he was the only person that really understood you, his dad was a piece of shit too. Him using something so delicate as material to hit you where it hurts was the last straw.

You blew up, all the things you’d been keeping bottled up for months finally boiled over in you swinging your racket down on the green concrete over and over until there was nothing left of it to break. You didn’t even look at Patrick as you walked away. You never saw him again.

You’d love to say it was also the last time you thought about him, but that would be a lie. As much as he hurt you, and as much as you hated him for it, your mind refused to let you forget him.

You still smoke Camel Blues because that was your guys’ brand, even when you should have quit years ago anyway. You still buy the same color lighter, pink. You tell yourself it’s nothing more than an easy choice, that it’s a good color. It’s not at all because you can still hear Patrick’s teasing voice in the back of your head bitching, “I can’t believe you make me use a pink lighter.” when he always forgot his and had to borrow yours. 

It’s not based on a compulsive need to be reminded of him every single time you use it. It’s just convenient, okay.

You know deep down that they were the only remnants of a past that you still couldn’t fully let go of. As much as you tried to bury those memories, they lingered, melded into the corners of your mind like stubborn stains. 

It wasn’t just the cigarettes or the lighters. It was the way you still find yourself thinking about him. Patrick, with his tangled emotions and overwhelming presence, had left an inescapable mark on your life. And as much as you wished it, he wasn’t someone you could easily erase from yourself.

Even twelve years later you’re still trying to convince yourself that dependence is weakness, that you were better off without him. But sometimes, in the quiet moments like this when the smoke curls from your cigarette and the pink lighter flickers in your hand, you wonder if he ever thinks of you, if he regrets how things ended between the two of you.

Maybe it's not that you can't escape Patrick's grip on you after all these years, it's that you just won't.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you don't hear the heavy door to the bar swinging open, or the sound of gravel crunching underneath approaching footsteps.

“Holy shit,” a deep voice rings out from your right, “someone pinch me.”

Your whole body tenses, your cigarette freezing a few inches away from your lips. Something like fight or flight starts to quietly buzz beneath your skin. You’d recognize that voice anywhere, even despite the gruffer, more grown up tone that wasn’t there the last time you heard it.

Your heart’s already kicking into overdrive when you finally start to hesitantly turn your head, time almost slowing down as your eyes sweep over the alley. You kind of don’t want to believe that your luck is this shitty. That maybe it was all in your imagination, that you were thinking about him so much you were starting to hear things that weren’t really there, that he was still back in the bar feeling up that blonde girl. But it can never be that easy, and sure enough, there he is.

Patrick Zweig is standing a few feet away from you with both hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans and a wide, achingly familiar grin lighting up his face.

You’re quiet for a few long moments, completely shocked into silence. Your mind races with a million different things you want to say but can’t find the voice to. You should be causing a scene. You should be losing it, screaming, crying, throwing things, slapping him hard across his unfairly handsome face. But you don’t, too surprised to even move. 

Patrick speaks again, taking several steps towards you. “It is really you, right?” he asks, eyes wide and mouth pulling into an easy, lopsided grin. To anyone else, the laid back, carefree tone he was going for would sound genuine. You can barely pick up on the stunned, almost breathless edge lacing his words, like he also can’t believe you’re standing right in front of him.

He steps into the light shining from a dingy lamp above the door, it basks around him in a yellow orange glow.

Same eyes, same ears, same Patrick.

For years you’ve thought about this exact moment, what you’d say if you ever saw him. You lose all of that practice the closer he gets. He’s less than a foot away from you now, an expectant look on his face. He’s waiting for you to say something. 

You feel like running, like stubbing your cigarette on the pavement and making a break for the door. You already ran from him once, but old habits die hard. 

You don’t run, you refuse to take the easy way out. You’re a grown woman, you’re stronger than you were in college, you’re going to the goddamn Olympics. It’s only Patrick for Christ’s sake.

“What are you doing here?” It sounds harsher than you meant, but that’s probably for the best. He doesn’t deserve kindness from you. 

“Tennis.” Is all he says, fishing out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. Camel blues. “What are you doing here?” He parrots back, smacking the bottom of the carton, plucking the one that shakes out between his long fingers. “I’d think that Miss. Team USA would be too busy for bar crawls.”

You bristle, eyes narrowing skeptically. You can’t tell if he’s making fun of you or not. “It’s not a bar crawl,” you shoot back childishly, feeling defensive under his heavy gaze. “We’re celebrating.”

Patrick just nods, letting out a small hum in lieu of replying. He's close enough now that you can see gray strands streaked through his hair. He looks older, a few barely there wrinkles creasing his skin as he pops his cigarette between his lips. “Got a light?” he asks around the filter, holding his hand out expectantly before you even answer.

It’s still just as annoying. You roll your eyes, sighing dramatically as you fish your lighter out of your skirts pocket. You place it in the open palm of his hand, ignoring the fireworks that go off at the base of your spine when his fingers catch on your wrist as you pull away.

He mumbles out a half-assed thanks, cupping his hand around the flame to shield it from the wind. If he notices the color, he doesn’t say anything. It feels wrong that he doesn’t tease you about it, staying silent as he tosses it back to you when his cigarette finally lights. You ignore the hurt blooming in your chest as you pocket it.

Patrick takes a deep inhale, the tip of his cigarette burns bright red. The way his lips wrap around the filter has heat spreading through you. “Shocked you’re still smoking,” he waves his free hand at you vaguely, smoke flowing from his lips as he speaks. “It’s not super admirable.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s really how you want to start this?

“Start what?” he asks coyly, leaning his shoulder too close to you against the brick. He’s playing dumb, the smirk on his face gives him away. 

You say nothing, not trusting yourself to speak. He has a beard now, sort of patchy and fairly new looking. You wrinkle your nose up at it. 

It doesn’t surprise you that he’s acting like this. All calm and collected like he’s catching up with an old friend, like he didn’t say all those horrible things to you. As if every single word he said that night isn’t still engraved in your mind and carried with you through your whole career. 

Patrick’s quiet for a bit, taking another slow drag. “Have you seen either of them?” His voice is hesitant, like he’s treading the water of your boundaries by bringing this up. “Or am I your first?” He lets the innuendo hang in the air, trying to joke his way through something neither of you really want to talk about.

You don’t look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the part of the street you can see through the alleys opening.

You don’t need to ask who “them” is.

You just shake your head no, not wanting to have to say anything out loud and make this into a whole thing. The smoke from your cigarette swirls through your lungs, warm and familiar. 

You’ve seen them both at multiple tennis events. Things like matches, and galas, and charity auctions. Hell, they watched from the stands when you won Wimbledon for the first time. You just make sure and avoid them like the plague, always running the other direction the second you see a short bob and cropped blonde hair.

You’ve been in the same room with them countless times over the years but you might as well have been in separate worlds. The only “contact” you’ve had with them since you all graduated was weirdly ominous.

Art followed you on Instagram after you got your third career slam, but he doesn’t like any of your posts. You’re one of the mere twenty accounts in his following. You never followed him back. 

Then, when your career first started taking off, the press somehow learned about your past with Tashi. They started using it to their advantage when picking headlines for any pieces written about you. “The only woman in the world to beat Tashi Duncan!” It pissed you off to no end. It was stupid, a way to get clicks on their sad little gossip sites. And it wasn’t even fucking true.

They finally stopped when you threatened to sue their asses. Apparently, Tashi noticed.

She sent you flowers. You threw them out.

Patrick nods back, taking his own slow drag. The sound of traffic hums in the background, the music from the bar bleeding through the wall mutely. 

“Congrats on that,” he says casually, looking you up and down slowly. You fight not to squirm under his gaze. “On making the team. That’s some serious shit. I always knew it’d be you, out of all of us.”

It’s a blatant lie. You were always four out of four in college, the one person in the group with the least potential for stardom. If it wasn’t for Tashi’s injury, she’d definitely be in your place — on top of the world.

He’s trying to pacify you, to butter you up. All it does is grate on your nerves and leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

“Did you just come out here to interrogate me? To mess with me?” you ask sharply, frustration starting to get the better of you. “Do you want a fucking autograph or something?”

Patrick laughs, throwing his head back. “Nope, I wanted to catch up. It's been a while.” he shrugs, eyes darkening ever so slightly. “I just know how much you like talking about yourself, that’s all.”

You pause, picking up on the clear implication of his words. “Excuse me?” you question, turning towards him.

“Just saying,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “When we were younger everyone always thought I was this arrogant, cocky, self obsessed prick…” he trails off, an infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. It does nothing to soothe you, only adding fuel to the fire of your anger. “And they were all right, I was. But, that’s also exactly what you are right now.” he finishes, tapping the ash off his cigarette.

You feel it, all the emotions swirling inside you of at seeing Patrick again threatening to burst. Anger and misery waging a war in your stomach. The wind is starting to pick up around you, making goosebumps break out over your skin. The fabric of your skirt swishes around your thighs. You feel clammy, but it has nothing to do with the temperature drop. 

“Was?” you ask, condescending and mean, crossing your arms across your chest defensively. “You really don’t think you’re still all of those things?”

Patrick chuckles, shoulders shaking with amusement. He goes to say something, but you beat him to it. “I’ve changed, Patrick.” you say sternly, brows furrowing in displeasure. Your tone is hard, frustration seeping into your words. Considering the last time the two of you spoke, this was almost going well. It’s just like Patrick to ruin something before he needs to.

You know distantly that you could deescalate the situation, but maybe you’re more alike than you thought. Maybe you’re just too greedy to keep the peace. “So fucking sorry that I’m not the same person I was in college, but I actually chose to grow up.”

Patrick snorts, exhaling a plume of smoke through his nose. “Yeah, clearly.” he mutters under his breath, it’s condescending and sarcastic. It pisses you off.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask sharply, cigarette now forgotten and steadily burning away at your side. 

Patrick shrugs, like it’s obvious. “You’re still so lost. I sure as shit don’t have a red, white, and blue track suit hanging in my closet, but at least I know who I am.” He doesn't sound angry, only sure of himself, like he may have been thinking about this for a while. His face is passive, body relaxed as he leans against the hard brick.

Your jaw clenches, anger running hot through your veins. He doesn’t know anything about you, hasn’t for over ten years. He doesn’t have the right to try and talk down to you, not after all the hard work you put in to get to where you are.

“My wrist alone is worth ten million. What are you worth now, Patrick?” You’ll be embarrassed about bringing up status later, you always try to stay as humble as possible, but you’re too mad to care. You just need to hurt him, to hurt him like he hurt you. You’d heard from a friend of a friend that Patrick’s parents cut him off a while ago, that he’s been slumming it ever since. “I know exactly who I am, I’m a fucking Olympian.”

The venom in your tone is sharp, each word from your lips like a knife stabbing through the tense air trying to draw blood. “You’re a fucking nobody, Patrick. You’re irrelevant. Washed up. Buried. Forgotten.” You pause when your voice starts to shake, taking a deep inhale of smoke to try and calm yourself. Your hand is shaking too, ash falls from the burnt out tip down to the gravel. Patrick just watches you, his expression doesn’t change. Smoke billows from between your lips, blowing away with the wind. “We’re not on the same level, not anymore.” 

Patrick’s unfazed, staring back at you with his cigarette dangling from his lips. He takes it between his fingers, letting his arm drop to hang at his side. “I’ve been thinking about you.” he says casually, head lolling to the side lazily. He looks at you through his lashes, eyes sweeping over your face slowly. “I was just thinking about you, and now you’re here. Right fucking in front of me.” he shakes his head with a dry laugh. “You look…” he trails off, green eyes taking in every inch of you. “You look amazing.”

Your pulse flutters wildly, you feel so light headed, like you could pass out any second. “I’ve missed you, missed you everyday since that night.” His expression is that same half cocked grin from before, all smooth bravado and easy smiles as if he’s not staring at you like you’re the very blood coursing through his veins. All the air drains from your lungs, mind racing what feels like a thousand miles per second. 

He sounds like he means it. He looks like he means it. He can’t possibly mean it.

A loud chant ringing through your skull is the only coherent thing screaming through all the mess. Don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it, don’t fucking fall for it–

“Well I don’t miss you.” A lie. “You were nothing to me, Patrick.” Another lie. “You were just easy dick.” Your stomach twists painfully, like your body is physically trying to stop you from lying to yourself any further.

His face stays neutral, it frustrates you to no end that you can’t tell what he’s thinking. Patrick had a terrible poker face in college, you could read him like a book with a single glance. It was one of your favorite things about him, how expressive his face always was.

Now he’s just staring down the bridge of his nose at you passively, the picture of indifference. It’s another reminder of how long it’s been, that he’s lived a whole life without you in all that time. He takes a long drag off his cigarette, never breaking eye contact with you as he does.

His lips are slick and pink, just how you remember them. The beard isn’t so bad, it makes him look more rugged, more like a man. It’s the most drastic change in his appearance, far different from the smooth skinned pretty boy he was before.

He exhales, a long stream of smoke blowing past your ear. “What are you still doing here then?” he muses with a small shrug. He leans in even closer, slowly, like you were a cornered animal he didn’t want to spook. You can smell him, something woodsy with a hint of musk. You can see the clusters of freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose, almost completely faded. “If I’m nothing,” he clarifies, simple, easy. “Why are you here?”

It’s a loaded question, one he obviously knows the answer to. It’s a dick move, forcing you to confront what you’re really feeling. Your eyes start to sting, complicated emotions welling up in your throat. “Fuck you Patrick.” you whisper weakly, all the bite in your tone getting lost in your dejection. Your lip wobbles warningly, you try your best to stifle it. You refuse to cry in front of him.

Patrick’s face does something funny, turning his eyes to the sidewalk. “I need someone like that again. Someone that isn’t afraid to fucking check me, that wants me to do better and not because they just see a check or a legacy or whatever the fuck else my parents expected from me. Someone that wants me to do better because they actually believe in me.”

The honesty in his voice takes you by surprise. He gets more worked up the longer he talks, chest rising and falling a lot faster than before. Rare vulnerability slipping through the cracks of his hardened exterior.  “I fucked up that night, I know. Now my life’s a fucking mess, and I need someone to help make it make sense again.“ 

You scoff thickly, shaking your head in disbelief as you fight back tears. “And I’m that person?” you ask skeptically, brow raised in question.

“You always were,” he replies easily, his face forming into a sad smile. He almost sounds like his old self. Your brain flashes the image of Patrick leaning outside the door of your science lecture, waiting to walk you back to your dorm. He’s smiling wide enough to show teeth, looking down at you with brilliant green eyes, just like he is right now.

Suddenly, he wasn’t the boy that broke your heart on a tennis court twelve years ago. 

He was the boy that held your hair back when you threw up after drinking too much at a frat party and still stayed the night even though you didn’t hook up, his chest pressed against your back like a security blanket the whole night. He was the boy that let you make friendship bracelets on the handle of his favorite racket, and secretly kept the one you made for him braided around the neck for weeks until you finally noticed the fraying blue strings still in place when he forgot his tennis bag at your dorm room one night.

Suddenly he wasn’t anything but the boy you fell in love with when you were eighteen years old.

You swallow hard, heart pounding against your ribcage. Your cigarette falls from the slack grip of your fingers, plummeting to your feet where it burns out on the pavement. 

It’s like you lose control of yourself, like all your morals get shot out of a cannon into the sun. You’re lunging forward before you know what you’re doing, fisting the fabric of Patrick’s shirt and pulling him down to meet you halfway. Your first kiss with Patrick in twelve years.

It’s a mess of teeth clashing together roughly, with way too much tongue and spit to be classified as romantic. It’s desperate. It’s angry. It’s fucking filthy and it’s exactly what you need.

Your tongue forces its way between Patrick’s lips when he gasps in shock, mapping out the familiar territory of his mouth like muscle memory. His big hands fly up to hold onto your hips as he eagerly returns your kiss, pressing you up against the brick and sucking your tongue lewdly. He tastes like smoke and bottom shelf whiskey. You moan into his mouth, wetness starting to seep through the thin material of your panties.

You stay like that for a while, just kissing until Patrick slides the hard line of his cock against your hip strategically. You moan at the size of it pressing onto you through his jeans, breaking the kiss to inhale a couple lungfuls of air. “You’re not fucking me in an alley.” You say bluntly as he trails wet kisses down the side of your throat.

He laughs, nipping at your collarbone teasingly. “My car’s a block away,” he offers between kisses.

You think about it for a second. Deciding on whether or not you’re going to let Patrick fuck you in the backseat of his car like you’re two horny teenagers and not full grown adults.

“Lead the way.” Is all you say, finally letting yourself smile when Patrick starts to drag you away from the bar. 

You shoot your friends a quick text letting them know you decided to head home early, already in the uber you ordered when you’re actually letting Patrick drag you across a blessedly empty parking lot to an old SUV parked in the middle. A completely one-eighty from the Porsche he used to drive.

He takes a second to press you against the door, capturing your lips with his again. It’s a slower kiss, sweeter than the one you shared outside the bar. You feel butterflies erupt in your stomach when he cups your face, gently rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. He fumbles blindly for the car door with his other hand, pulling it open and pushing you into the back. He follows closely, climbing in and shutting the door behind him.

Patrick’s back on you in less than a second, yanking at the buttons of your shirt impatiently, fingers too big to work them through the holes as fast as he wants to. He lets out a frustrated growl, grabbing both sides and pulling hard. The buttons all go flying in different directions, landing in different spots around you.

“That was three hundred dollars,” you mumble against his lips, not wanting to stop kissing him for even a second. He looms over you, broad and all encompassing. He sits up to yank his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside and popping open the button of his jeans.

“You can buy another one,” he says simply, shucking his jeans and boxers off all in one go. His dick is long and lovely, tip red and drooling pre-cum that drips all the way down to his balls. Your mouth waters, desperate to taste it, to feel the weight of it on your tongue and down your throat. You push it to the back of your mind. There’s no time for that, both of you too keyed up to do anything other than fuck.

Patrick leans down, biting your bottom lip hard enough to make you moan. He turns his attention to your pulling skirt down, panties going with it and getting tossed onto the floorboard carelessly. His eyes zero in on your bare pussy, wet and on display. The cool air shocks your system, making you want to press your thighs together but Patrick’s hands keep you spread open.

“Fuck,” he whispers quietly, moving to roll the knuckle of his right index finger over your slick entrance, just barely rocking it into you. You gasp, your whole body trembling with need. “Just like I remember.” He mutters to himself, pushing in the smallest bit deeper. 

Your leg kicks out, patience starting to wear thin. “C’mon, Pat.” you mewl sweetly, bucking your hips up in a clear invitation. “Fuck me.”

Patrick shifts up onto his knees, silently shuffling closer to your spread thighs. His cock juts out from his body, so thick and heavy that it doesn’t point straight up, instead hangs angry and red between his legs. His big hands slide halfway up your thighs, you shiver at the way they skirt across your skin lightly. He presses you backwards by them, leaning over you with your legs slung across his shoulders.

His cock drags across your inner thigh, trailing a sloppy line of pre-come as it does. You nearly wail, wrapping your arms around Patrick’s broad shoulders as you beg for him to give you what you want.

“God Patrick! Put it in. Please, put it in. Let me have it, please, fuck–,” you beg frantically, arms tightening around his shoulders like you’re trying to drag him impossibly closer to you. He goes willingly, burying his nose in the soft skin of your neck. He presses a small kiss directly over your pulse.

“I’m gonna give you this cock, baby.” he whispers lowly, hot lips brushing against your skin with every word. He slides the head of his cock through your wet folds, stopping to rub it over your swollen clit a few times. “Gonna get all up inside you and fuck you exactly how you like.” He slides the length down, letting his tip catch on your empty, clenching hole.

You’re so damn worked up, writhing and pushing back and begging Patrick to just fuck you already, that you can’t take anymore teasing. Your hole contracts around the tip of his dick like it’s trying to suck him in. He sinks in deeper, slowly feeding every thick inch into your aching cunt.

“God,” Your name falls from his lips in a shuddery breath that fans over your fluttering pulse. “You still smell the same.” It’s the same stunned, breathless tone from when he first saw you. He presses his face cheek to cheek with yours, the rough texture of his beard scraping against your skin. 

Patrick moves his hips against you slowly, deep strokes that drag every thick inch of him against the walls of your cunt. The tip of his cock stabbing that sweet spot inside you that makes stars glow bright on the ceiling of his car each time you blink. The angle has his balls pressing against your cunt as he fucks into you, the excessive pre-come leaking from his tip mixing with the sticky wetness of your juices leaves an obscene ring of creamy white around the spread hole of your cunt. It sticks wetly to the base of Patrick’s cock with each thrust, shining back at you on his skin when he pulls out.

The slow thrusts feel amazing, but you know it’s not enough. You need him to pound into you, to bully his big cock into your cunt like he’s getting back at you for shutting him out. You need him to fuck you. 

“Harder, Pat…” you whine breathlessly, clawing desperately at the polyester seats.

He groans loudly, hips immediately speeding up, getting rougher, meaner. He leans up to get more power behind his thrusts, breaking your tight hold on his shoulders. “This is where you belong,” he grits out, sweat dripping from his forehead to fall onto your heaving chest. The sharp smack smack smack of his hips bruising your ass gets louder, the lewd noise filling the car. “Where you should have been this whole fucking time, spread open on my cock.”

The only thing you can even get out anymore are pleading whines and loud moans of Patrick’s name as he pounds into you like he’s trying to kill you. The harsh snap of his hips inching you further up the backseat until your head’s knocking against the doors handle on each mean thrust. Your feet bounce by his ears, body almost completely folded in half so all you can do is lie there and take it.

The car rocks steadily, anyone who spares a glance at the SUV will know what’s going on inside. 

Patrick sneaks a hand between your legs, fingers sliding over your swollen clit. You scream, throwing your head back in pleasure as the calloused tips over his fingers work you over. “Fuck yeah,” Patrick mutters, turning his head to lick and bite at your ankle. “You’re so fucking sexy, so fucking beautiful. I missed you so much, missed this pussy.” His voice is pinched, hips fucking into you impossible faster.

The wet squelching noise of your cunt is filthy, splattering against Patrick’s heavy balls with each thrust. “I know she missed me too, didn’t she baby?” he taunts, eyes wild and blown out. “Taking my cock so well, squeezing me so fucking good.”

“Close,” you gasp out. Patrick pitches forward, licking into your parted lips as he rubs tight circles over your clit faster. He kisses you sloppily, smearing spit all over your lips and chin. His sweat drips onto your face and mixes with your own, it should be gross, but it makes you even wetter. The primal part of your brain overjoyed to be claimed by him. He lifts his fingers up the tiniest bit, smacking them over your clit with the smallest amount of force.

Your orgasm hits you suddenly, back arching off the seat wildly as you gush around his cock. You claw at his back desperately, nails raking down his skin hard enough to leave angry red welts in their wake.

“Shit– that’s good, milk it out of me baby, work for this fucking load.” he groans, hips not slowing down as he chases his own release. His breath puffs over your skin, the rhythm of his hips starting to falter the closer he gets. You whine, trying your best focus on clenching your cunt over his cock in your fucked out state. “That’s it, baby– God – you’re gonna make me come, squeezing me so tight I can barely fucking move…” he growls, teeth sinking into your neck hard.

You hiss sharply, nails digging into his skin as the pleasure starts to become too much. He licks over the bite mark, like he’s apologizing. “Gonna fucking come inside you, fill you up so good, fuck–”

His rambling dissolves into a loud groan, hips giving one last thrust as he buries himself as deep in your cunt as he can. You feel rope after rope of warm come flood your insides, painting your walls with it. It feels like hours, him unloading into you with cut off moans and grunts. 

You're still desperately trying to catch your breath when he finally starts to pull out of you as gently as he can. The red tip of his cock popping free lets the river of his come leak out from your abused hole, spilling out of you to drip onto the car’s seat.

Patrick curses at the sight, scooping the white, creamy mess onto his fingers so he can fuck it back into you. You hiss at the over stimulation, thighs squeezing together around his hand. Your chest is still heaving, breathing erratic as you slowly come down from your orgasm. Patrick tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, smiling warmly as he takes you into his arms and shifts around until he’s sitting up against the door with you curled into his chest.

The windows are steamy, melting all the streetlights outside into a swamp of warm colors on the glass. They shine through the car like sunlight piercing through a stained glass window. You feel light and hazy, like you’re in a dream. Patrick’s body grounds you, firm and familiar against your back. It’s quiet for a long time, only the sound of soft breathing fills the car. You're scratching your nails through the hair on Patrick’s chest when he finally breaks the silence.

“There’s…” he says into your hair, trailing off near the end. He’s idly tracing shapes on your lower back. A circle, a square, a circle, a diamond, a square, a heart. “There’s this challenger in New Rochelle in a couple weeks, I’m entering it. You should come.” 

Your heart drops, the delicate cloud encompassing you and Patrick forcefully ripped away in less than a second. You’ve already heard of this challenger, seen all the publicity it’s been getting since Art’s name came up in the conversation surrounding it. The ‘Phil’s Tire Town Challenger’ is all anyone can talk about. 

If Art’s there, she will be too. Sitting in the stands in a classy Ralph Lauren two piece, watching her husband and Patrick on the court, looming over the two of them for the first time in years. You can’t stomach the thought of seeing her. You can’t stomach the thought of Patrick seeing her, terrified that the second she spares him a glance you’ll be right back where you were in college, an afterthought left in the dust for something better.

Your stomach lurches violently, you feel nauseous. The heat of Patrick’s backseat becomes almost unbearable, making it harder to breathe. You rip yourself away from him, tearing through the backseat to find your clothes. 

Patrick startles, sitting up with a concerned look on his face. “Jesus, what's wrong?” You can feel the warmth of his hands hovering over your back, not sure if he should touch. “What did I do?”

You don’t say anything, you can’t. Your throat feels tight, chest constricted and heavy as you try to take in lungfuls of air. You tug on your skirt and panties haphazardly, grabbing the first shirt you find strewn across the car's floor and yanking it on. You know it’s not yours but you don’t care, too busy trying to shove your shoes back onto your feet and push open the door all at once.

Patrick questions you the entire time, voice confused and insistent as you tumble out into the parking lot. The cool air feels like a life jacket, the smell of rain fills your nose as you try to steady your erratic breathing. You’re still trying to tug your right shoe on as you start to speed walk away from his car.

You can hear the sound of feet slapping behind you on the pavement as you walk. A strong hand wraps around your bicep, whipping you around. Patrick only has his pants on, shirtless and barefoot in his haste to catch up with you.

“What the fuck are you doing? What’s wrong?” He sounds genuinely concerned, his eyes searching your face closely. It makes tears burn hot at your waterline, blurring your vision and falling to trickle down your cheeks when you try to blink them away.

“This was a mistake, Patrick.” your voice is thick with emotion, you try to wrench your arm out of his grip. He doesn’t let go, not squeezing tight enough to hurt but to try and keep you in place. You need to leave, to get as far away from Patrick as you can before you’re in too deep. “Please, let go.” Your voice is small, shaky and weak and so unlike you. The panic from the car is still wrapped around you, growing tighter every second you spend with him.

Patrick shakes his head wildly, raindrops slowly start to fall onto his bare shoulders. “No, fuck no! We can talk about this. We just need to talk–”

“Patrick stop!” Your voice cracks embarrassingly, loud and desperate as you double your efforts to free your arm. “Please just let me go!”

You don’t know if it’s the way you said it or the look on your face, maybe it’s a bit of both, but something makes Patrick let you go. Dropping your arm from his grip and letting his own hang limply at his side.

Rain starts to come down all around you, large drops hitting your skin and soaking the cotton of your shirt. You let yourself meet his eyes, they're sad in a way you’ve never seen before. The green turned dull and lifeless. It looks wrong on him.

When you can’t stand the hurt look on his face any longer, you leave. Walking away deeper into the rain, small puddles splashing up around your shoes with every step. You hope Patrick doesn’t follow you, that he lets you go. You’re doing him a favor by making the choice for him, it’s easier this way.

“You know, I think I really loved you.” He calls from behind you as the rain really starts to pick up. His voice almost gets swallowed by the thunder, you wish it would have. 

Against your better judgment, you look back. Patrick hasn't moved, still standing in the middle of the parking lot. The rain is making his hair stick to his forehead, starting to seep into the denim of his jeans to darken the gray. 

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, voice tiny and pathetic. Patrick probably couldn’t even hear you over the wind whipping through the air. He stares back at you, there's too much distance for you to see the look on his face. You turn on your heels and keep walking.

It’s nostalgia in its sickest form, the dark familiarity of the situation washing over you with the rain as you walk away from Patrick again. Ignoring every call of your name and desperate pleas for you to come back is new, you can’t tell if it hurts more or less than the silence of last time.

You wrap your arms around yourself, tears mixing with the trails of rain running down your cheeks. It’ll make it easier to convince yourself later on that you weren’t really crying, that it was just the rain. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and this will all be behind you. Patrick will be fine, he doesn’t really love you. In a few weeks he’ll go to the challenger and forget all about you. 

You hear your mothers voice ring out in the back of your head as you walk.

"It's for the best, my love. Dependence is weakness."

You hope to God that she's right.

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[throneofsapphics]

let our bodies talk

Rowan x Reader x Ruhn

summary: Rowan and Ruhn help you deal with your guilt around sex, and take your virginity

warnings: virgin!reader, raw p in v (wrap it up everyone), religious guilt/shame, light hair pulling

word count: 3426

a/n: based on this request!

“Do you want us?” Ruhn finally asked, running a hand through his hair, the other toying with his lip ring. He pointedly ignored the silver-haired male staring at him like he wanted to chop him into bits and either sell them at the Meat Market or feed them to the creatures at the bottom of the Istros. 

Rowan had more patience and experience with immortality than he did. If you wanted him to wait another hundred years, he would, gladly, but he wanted to know what page you were on and he was ... well, he was used to having rather forward partners, he supposed. 

It started with him as an emissary to your world, and ended with this relationship he never could have expected, but would never change for a thing. You were everything he’d ever wanted and more. 

Your mouth parted, skin flushed, and eyes widened slightly. One of his favorite looks on you. “Of course,” the words came out quickly. Adorable. Everything about you was adorable. Cthona, he really was obsessed with you. “We’re together, aren't we?” You gained back a little bit of that attitude he loved. His mouth curved into a smirk. 

“Yes, love, we are.” 

“Ruhn is asking if you want to have sex with us,” Rowan grunted from behind you. You whirled around, not having seen him apparently. He shot you a slightly apologetic look. You were the only one who got those kinds of looks out of him, and it made Ruhn respect you even more. The male would bend over backwards for you. 

“I m- I mean yes, I do, I just ...” you trailed off uncharacteristically. 

Ruhn leaned forward in his chair, forearms bracing his thighs, Rowan rounded the couch to sit next to you, leaving a careful foot or so between the two of you. This conversation didn’t need touch, not right now at least. Ruhn stayed in his seat. Just talking about this, the idea of it, was making all sorts of unproductive changes to his blood flow. 

-

You sighed, glancing between the two of them. You wouldn’t get out of this conversation right now, at least not without them getting an acceptable answer. How do you even begin to explain your relationship with sex? When it's so complicated you barely feel like you understand it yourself? 

“Just listen to me, please,” you half pleaded, half ordered. They glanced at each other before turning to you and nodding. “I grew up with a lot of ... shame surrounding sex,” you could tell Ruhn was ready to interrupt and say fuck that, but Rowan fixed him with a look and although the male glared back he kept his mouth shut. Another time you might have laughed. “So as much as I fucking crave both of you, those thoughts are still trained into me. That its dirty, bad, against the gods wishes.” 

Rowan pressed his lips together at the last one, you knew it was ridiculous too - some of the gods were notoriously horny, after all. 

“So I'm a little ... behind because I avoided everything for so long.” 

“Are you a virgin?” Rowan asked, tone carefully neutral. If they cared either way ... well, then they wouldn’t be the males for you. 

“Yes,” you lifted your chin just a tad higher, trying to imbue yourself with some sort of confidence. 

“That’s not a problem for me,” Ruhn said, almost soothingly. 

“It shouldn’t be,” Rowan sent a warning look your way at the snip in your tone, and you glared right back at him. He held both hands up placatingly, almost in a ‘not policing you, I'm just trying to keep the peace,’ way. 

Ruhn caught your gaze, and you both burst into laughter, eyes lighting with mirth. Rowan snorted. Basically a roaring laugh coming from him. 

“Come here,” the unintentional dominance in Rowan’s voice bent your knees before you could think better of it. Not that you wanted to, not really. He patted the area next to him, giving you the option to close the distance. You did. 

You felt more than heard Ruhn move, as the couch dipped on your other side. You liked it here, pressed between them, your legs lining up from thigh to hip, just a few layers between your skin and theirs. The desire to remove the layers was there, but that old guilt crept in and tainted it. Your hand brushed the back of your neck, head tilting down, eyes trained on the floor. 

Ruhn caught your hand, bringing it down to rest on his thigh. You flexed your fingers, exploring the feel of the corded muscle beneath those jeans. His leg tensed, keeping hand settling over yours, keeping you still. 

“However long it takes,” he kissed the exposed side of your neck, “I'll teach you to not be ashamed of what your body wants.” 

“Of what you want,” Rowan added, running his thumb over your knee, his hand cupping your leg. 

“I want both of you,” you said the words quickly, as if they might never come out if you didn’t say them as fast as possible. 

“You’ll need to be a bit more specific than that,” Rowan’s eyes trailed you from head to toe, taking in every inch of your body. A hunger that you either hadn’t seen or noticed before flared. Tightness coiled in your stomach, you could arouse those kinds of feelings in them. You found you liked that power. 

“Relax, Rowan,” Ruhn drawled. The other male tensed. You smiled. “I think we can ask some questions, can’t we?” 

A muscle in Rowan’s jaw flexed, but he gave a short nod. 

Sometimes you wondered if you were the glue bonding them together, but they had a bond of their own outside of the one the three of you shared. Not sexual, but almost ... you couldn’t quite find a term to describe it. Maybe you’d invent one later. For now, they were capturing all of your attention. Questions. You knew what kind of questions they’d ask, but it didn’t leave you feeling any more prepared for it. 

“Has anyone touched this beautiful body before?” Ruhn breathed against your neck, his hand running down your thigh indolently. 

“You,” you said, a touch of something like defiance in your tone. One of them pinched your thighs lightly. Rowan. 

“It doesn’t work if you don’t answer our questions, love,” he said. 

“Not very well,” you sighed, throwing your head back to look up at the ceiling. Why did this have to feel so ... 

“These conversations aren’t meant to be smooth,” Ruhn reminded you. It gave you a bit of much-needed courage and you gave yourself a reminder. You loved these males, trusted them, and knew they’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you or make you feel upset. In fact, they’d usually do their best to make sure the opposite happened. 

“Did you like anything about their touch?” Rowan’s large hand covered part of your thigh, tips of his fingers digging in light enough to add a pleasurable pressure but avoid that edge of pain. Regardless, each of their touches felt like fire in your current wound up state and you doubted anything could douse it right now. 

“When it was over,” you said, honestly, and drew a laugh from each of them. 

“I promise you won’t want this to end,” Ruhn said. Tilting your head, blue eyes peered intently at you, full of heat and passion and desire. “I think we can figure out how to ask these questions without speaking,” he brushed the top of your thigh, playing with your hemline, “hm?” 

You arched towards him, hands reached out to grasp at his arms, tugging him closer, closer, closer, however you could get any contact with him. Something about his tone and words awoke a new desperation in you. The time for talking, for thinking, was over. 

Ruhn caught your hands. You frowned. He switched them to one of his and used the other to tilt your chin up. “If you want this to stop at any time, just say the word. Or tap a few times if you can’t speak.” 

“We won’t be angry or upset,” Rowan added. 

“If you were, I'd kick your asses. Before leaving them,” you grumbled.

Ruhn held his hands up. “I’m terrified,” he deadpanned. 

The pause gave space for ugly emotions to rear and infiltrate, invading your headspace. 

You heard the words of the priests and priestesses from your childhood, of your mother and father wondering what the hell you were doing before damning and cursing you. Doubt had no place in this room, but it found its way inside anyway. 

“I don’t think she wants this,” you heard Ruhn say, and your head snapped up. 

-

Ruhn hoped his gamble paid off and Rowan played along, that they could draw out your competitive side. 

Green eyes narrowed, but he said, “I’m afraid you may be right.” Rowan Whitethorn wasn’t afraid of a damn thing, but that wasn’t the point. 

“Yes I do,” you spluttered indignantly. That was the point.

“Show us,” Rowan challenged you. 

“I don’t know how,” your voice dropped to a furious whisper, and he wondered if you might call everything off. 

“Ask for help,” Rowan countered. 

“I thought we would do this without speaking,” Ruhn interjected. 

In unison, both you and Rowan replied, “that’s what you said,” and he bit back a grin. 

“One question then,” Rowan continued, “do you want us to fuck you tonight?” 

“Yes,” there was no hesitation, in fact eagerness in your tone. Bringing out your competitive side did work, and he noted that for later. 

“We’ll be gentle,” Rowan told you. 

You huffed. Ruhn titled his head, Rowan raised a brow at you. 

“I want you, not some watered down version of you - both of you.” 

“As you wish, my love,” Rowan murmured. 

“Your funeral,” Ruhn joked. 

“But I have one rule,” he sat up a little straighter at your words. 

“What is that?” 

“No magic,” you glanced between both males. “I just want you. Both of you.” 

-

“Very well,” Rowan acquiesced, not sounding too put out. “Come here,” he patted his thighs. After checking for Ruhn’s agreement to your ‘rule,’ you did. 

This part, this first step, you knew how to do. You’d kissed both of them before. Straddling him, you balanced yourself on the middle of his thighs. His fingers trailed up and down your sides, front, back, everywhere he could reach, brushing sensitive areas over your clothing. Brushing too lightly for how drastically your body seemed to react. Or maybe that was the point, less is more. 

‘Let go, stop thinking,’ you reminded and reprimanded yourself. 

It took you a minute or two to realize Rowan was waiting for something. For you to initiate. 

Leaning forward, you brushed your lips against his, mimicking the featherlight touches he was leaving on your body. Rowan wasn’t having it, and gripped the back of your head, winding his fingers through your hair before bringing you together. 

He stood, mouth still on yours, and you tightened your legs around his waist, locking your ankles, he wrapped one arm around your lower back, and snapped at Ruhn with his spare hand. 

The other male, understandably, snarled in return and you broke away from Rowan to hide your giggles into his shoulder. 

It broke the tension, and after a few strides from Rowan you were bouncing back on your bed, thrown there by him. Catching yourself against the headboard, it was your turn to glare. 

“That’s what you get for laughing,” Ruhn shrugged out of his shirt, and fuck your mouth watered. “My eyes are up here,” he teased you. 

“I thought we weren’t talking,” you snapped back. 

Not Ruhn, you could see all of him, but you felt another hand on the back of your neck. Rowan. Lips brushed against your ear, “I should just bend you over our bed and fuck you, but I think we can make it a little more enjoyable than that.” 

That sounded very enjoyable to you, and maybe scared you just a tad but not in an unpleasant way. Involuntarily, your thighs clenched. Ruhn’s chuckle told you he noticed. Heat seared your cheeks, the back of your neck, your chest. 

Half-naked, he climbed on the bed after you. Rowan stood next to the footboard, seemingly content to watch just for the moment. 

They seemed too coordinated and organized, in your opinion, and alarm bells flared in your mind and you scrambled with your hands to sit up. 

“Are you speaking to him?” You couldn’t fight the hint of accusation in your tone as you asked Ruhn.

“We’re making this enjoyable,” he pushed down lightly on your shoulders, “let us.” 

“Let go, love,” Rowan encouraged. 

You pursed your lips together in a frown, but nodded. You could let go, for tonight. Letting your hands slide out, your back hit the soft duvet cover again, the fabric silky against your skin. Relax. You were entirely capable of letting go. 

Ruhn’s lips hit your shoulder first, a soft and gentle kiss, before trailing down over your chest. The longer he went on, the firmer, you wouldn’t exactly call it rough, he got. Each touch grew more intense, his hands on your ribcage, pushing you down into the mattress as his lip ring flicked over your nipple. Teeth lightly grabbing the now swollen peak, tugging it up, drawing a gasp, before releasing. Testing how each part of your body reacted to different pressures and sensations. Learning you. 

He was good at this, you realized, with a hint of jealousy you quickly tamped down. Here and now, you reminded yourself. Focus. Capable. 

Lost in his touch, you didn’t notice the other male sliding in behind you until you were rising, your back pressed against his chest. Ruhn made a noise of discontent, like a kid with his candy taken away from him. 

“Ruhn’s going to fuck you first,” Rowan murmured in your ear, stroking down the side of your arm. “And when he’s done, I'll get to fuck that pretty little pussy, how does that sound?” 

“Great,” you barely managed to say. 

Then he was gone, out from behind you, and you were lowered onto the duvet again, head propped up on a pillow, Ruhn’s head between your - fuck. You lost all train of thought, all capability of thought as his tongue flicked your clit. Your voice left you as his lip ring, that beautiful thing, slid across your clit, a finger slipping inside and curling, putting just the right amount of pressure - and throwing you over the edge. 

Ruhn slowly worked you through your orgasm, adding another finger and twisting. You winced slightly at the stretching sensation. He stopped. 

“Just a little,” you panted, “uncomfortable. Keep going.” At the uncertain look on his face you added a, “please,” and that did the trick. 

He kept watching you intently, looking for every little change that might tell him something is wrong. But ... you didn’t feel the need to put on a performance. Instead, you found you liked the intensity he looked at you with. It made you feel wanted and desired in ways you never had before. It was bringing you to new highs. With another scream, your body melted into the mattress, legs falling limply to your sides. 

“I think she’s ready,” you heard Rowan. You nodded your agreement. Just a taste and you’d grown greedy, wanting more, more, more. All they would give you, all you could take. 

A belt clicked, clothes rustled, and you sat up on your elbows, impressed that even with the slight shake in your arms you could still hold yourself up. Maybe it was sheer determination to see Ruhn getting undressed that did it. It was certainly worth it. 

Licking your lips subconsciously at the sight of him, you realized he was pretty everywhere, including his cock. Near the same color as his skin, but with a glistening pink tip and a bulging vein running down the side, you wanted him in you. Now. 

“Get over here,” you breathed. 

“Bossy,” he said, raising his brows, but didn’t fucking move. 

Pressing your lips together, you saw a few avenues in front of you, and picked the one you figured would light a fire under him the best. 

“I guess I have to do it myself,” you sighed and let one arm slide out, snaking its way towards your center. 

It didn’t make it, not as Ruhn was there, catching your hand. “Not this time, princess.” 

His hand splayed against the backs of your thighs, pressing them up and to the sides as he knelt between your legs. 

“Breathe,” he ordered, and you’re glad you listened as he first pushed past your walls. Sharp pain hit your abdomen, catching your breath in your throat. 

An icy wind found its way down your throat, and you decided you’d thank Rowan, mentally, now and yell, verbally, at him later. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Keep going,” you hissed through clenched teeth. You might’ve had a lot of ... conflicting feelings surrounding sex, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t educated yourself. All the bodice rippers told you that the pleasure would kick in soon, that before you knew it you’d be overwhelmed by the “feel good” hormones. Gods you hoped they were real. 

He moved, but slowly. Lifting your hips to switch the angle, you gasped as he hit somewhere deep inside of you. That felt good. 

“That’s the spot, then,” he murmured, more to himself. 

“Fuck you feel good,” you moaned, nails clawing at his shoulders, searching for some kind of grip or anything to hold on to. He chuckled and lowered himself just enough you could grab them, before his hands spread against your sides, gripping you firmly. 

“Remember what you said earlier,” he paused inside of you. You wanted to scream at him. Instead you were left looking at his dumbly, eyes blinking. “About not wanting a watered down version of us. You’re still sure?” 

“Yes I’m sure, just fuck me or I'll-”

You didn’t get a chance to finish your words as he moved again, tilting your hips to that perfect angle before driving into you, over and over again. 

Not quite rough, but certainly not gentle, whatever he was doing was absolutely perfect, and as his fingers found your clit, you had your third - or was it fourth? - orgasm of the night. 

You actually whined as he pulled out, his eyes still open and fixed on you. He hadn’t finished. A pout started forming. 

As if he read the words in your eyes, he said, “someone else has been waiting for their turn, I’m sharing you tonight princess,” and jerked his head to the side. You followed the motion, and Rowan stood there, looking at you with pure hunger in his eyes. 

You swallowed. Louder than you intended to. Ruhn moved off you. 

“On your knees,” Rowan said roughly, but didn’t give you a chance before he gripped your hips and flipped you. Squeaking, your hands scrambled and slid before you landed on your elbows. His hand twisted around your hair, not pulling but gripping and tilting your head to look at him. “I still want to see your face, but it’ll be easier for you this way.” 

Easier? Just then, you realized you hadn’t gotten a good look at him, but based on how Ruhn went first you could put together a few things. 

“Alright,” you breathed. 

There was no hesitation from either side as Rowan slid in you, your body both welcoming and protesting him, your hips and thighs already beginning to ache, but you wanted more. A greedy little monster had begun to bloom in you. 

Both of them just felt right, in different ways, and you - 

“Eyes on me,” Rowan snapped. Your eyes flew to him, and his mouth indented at one corner in the way the stoic smile. “I said I wanted to see your face, love.” 

His hands gripped your hips. 

“See your pretty little face as you take my cock so well.” 

The words drew a moan from you, sending pleasure from the tips of your fingers to the bottom of your toes, making you push yourself back on him. Green stared at you, unrelenting as each slow, hard thrust nearly bounced you off him 

“Look how perfectly you’ve opened up for me,” he sounded almost teasing, “just like you were made for me.” 

Maybe you were, made for both of them as they were for you. 

-

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[inthe-dark-tonight]

i'd rather die than give you control

boston era!joel x fem!reader

summary: you fuck up on a supply run, joel decides to teach you a lesson.

word count: 5.2k

warnings: E (18+ mdni!!!) porn w/o plot, joel is MEAN, light angst, dom/sub dynamics, little bit of brat tamer!joel, established “relationship”, oral (f & m receiving), face fucking, unsafe p in v, creampie, slight dacryphilia, light spanking, this has some dark themes so if that’s not your thing pls don’t read & let’s pretend that fucking on an abandoned couch on top of an old sleeping bag isn’t unsanitary okay???

notes: this idea came to me while listening to the song head like a hole by nine inch nails so it’s veryyyyyy slightly inspired by that, i’m honestly very nervous to post this but!!! here we go. thank you so much @javiscigarette for encouraging me to keep going with this and also beta reading for me i literally love you to pieces, and also a huge thank you to @ilovepedro for beta reading pieces of this for me as well MWAH <333

Joel hasn’t spoken to you since you got to the safe house hours ago. He’s not usually one to talk about how he’s feeling when he’s angry or upset, but lately you’ve been wishing he would. Wishing he would say more, do more after all the time you’ve known each other. But you know the moments you have together are nothing more to him than the need for both of you to take out your frustrations. You can’t help but still crave those intimate moments though. If you can even call them that. 

You’re in your sleeping bag on the couch and Joel is on the floor. Most times you two will sleep next to eachother while on a supply run, especially if there’s a bed, and always after he fucks you. When back in the qz, it's a little more complicated.

You roll over onto your side to face him, the moonlight casting just enough light into the room to see that he’s laying on top of his sleeping bag with his back to you. A quiet sigh leaves your lips as you watch his body move with each inhale and exhale. You won’t be able to sleep unless you talk to him. 

You sit up, contemplating for a second if this is a good idea before unzipping your bag and standing up from the couch. It feels like your heart is about to beat out of your chest as you slowly walk towards him, a knot forming in your stomach as you get closer. He hasn’t moved so you’re assuming you haven’t woken him up as you kneel beside him on the floor. You stare at him for a moment before speaking, eyes trailing over where his flannel is stretched over his broad shoulders. 

“Joel.” you whisper. He doesn’t even flinch. “Are you awake?” Your voice is still hushed. 

You reach your hand out to touch his bicep but freeze before making contact, afraid of what his reaction may be. Your hand finally rests on his arm, shaking him lightly. Now you can see that his eyes are open, but he still hasn’t turned to look at you. 

“Please talk to me…” you bite at your lower lip waiting for a response. 

A lump starts to grow in your throat as your mind replays the events of earlier that day. He was angry at you for not listening, there was no doubt about it, but you want nothing more than for him to talk to you now. 

“I’m sorry, what do I have to do for you to forgive me?” Your voice cracks slightly, trying to hold back your emotions as you speak.

Your chest starts to feel tight, the pain of him not saying a word is too much. You can handle him being angry with you, he sure as hell has been before, but if that means not talking to you at all you’re not sure how much you can take.

You take a deep breath and remove your hand from his arm before moving to lay down behind him. His body is radiating warmth as you lay only a few inches from him. Slowly you start to snake your arm around his torso, chest flush against his warm back. He still doesn’t say a word as you lay your cheek against him and start to rub your thumb back and forth over his soft, flannel covered stomach. 

“Joel.” You feel like tears could spill from your eyes any second now, hoping he’ll say something. Anything. 

You slowly move your hand lower, not worrying about what the consequences might be. All you want now is some sort of reaction from him, anything to show that he’s listening. Anything to get him to look at you. Your hand continues to move lower down to the waist of his jeans, just wanting to feel him. 

Suddenly, before you can even process, you feel his large calloused hand quickly wrap around your wrist. His head snaps towards you as he props himself up on his elbow, glaring down at where you lay. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He sounds pissed, maybe even more than earlier. He just stares back at you, your eyes wide in surprise. 

“I- I just-” you stutter, struggling to find words. 

“This isn’t how it works. Did you forget?” His jaw ticks as he lets go of your wrist, shoving it back towards you. 

He fully sits up now looking straight ahead and you shrink back into yourself, tears welling in your eyes, afraid of what he might say next. 

“I decide when and if this happens.” He’s breathing heavily. “You should know that by now.” 

“I know I-“ he cuts you off before you can finish your thought. 

“You obviously don’t.”

You swallow back the sob threatening to leave your throat. 

“Go sit on the couch.” his head falls to look at his lap as you scramble to stand up.

You don't dare to look back at him as you quietly walk back over to the couch. You take a seat in the middle with your hands on your lap as you wait for his next move. This is how the game usually goes. 

He shakes his head slightly before looking towards you, a darkness behind his eyes. “So now you want to listen?” 

He slowly gets up from his spot on the ground and turns towards you, standing there for a moment with his hands on his hips. His eyes are glued to the floor as he stands there for a moment thinking, but you can sense the anger behind them. As he looks up, walking towards you and stopping right in front of where you're sitting, you feel your chest start to tighten even more. You just stare down at your hands in your lap waiting for him to speak.

“Look at me.” His voice is low. 

Your head snaps up without hesitation to look into his eyes.

“Lay back, keep your hands above your head.” His accent sounds thicker than usual, voice gravely as he speaks. 

You do as he says, leaning back into the couch and raising your hands to grab the back of the couch. As you do so, Joel kneels down in front of you on the floor causing your legs to naturally part for him. He takes a deep breath before wrapping his arms under your knees, hands gripping your jean clad thighs before pulling you forward so your ass is at the edge of the couch causing you to let out a small yelp.

He keeps one of his hands on your thigh, the other moving to hover over your covered core. As he rests his large hand over your covered sex, warmth spreads through your lower stomach from the contact. He looks up at you through his lashes, dark eyes burning into yours. You feel a jolt of arousal through your core. 

His thumb grazes over the seam of your jeans, immediately finding your already sensitive clit. He knows you, knows your body even fully clothed, and that fact turns you on more. He lightly applies pressure with his thumb, rubbing in circles over your jeans. The sensation of the seam rubbing against you and the pressure of his thumb causes a moan to slip from your lips. 

“Joel…” he removes his hand from your clothed core, moving up towards the waist of your jeans. 

His rough calloused hand moves under the hem of your shirt, brushing lightly against the soft skin of your stomach. You shudder at the feeling, goosebumps covering your skin as you buck your hips up towards him. 

“Stay still for me.” He glances up at you again, it’s a warning, and your chest flutters. 

The anticipation is killing you. He moves both hands to unbutton your jeans, slowly sliding them down and off of you, leaving them in a pile at your feet. His eyes immediately lock onto the wet spot growing on your panties and a smug smile forms on his face.

“Already so fuckin’ wet, haven't even touched ya yet.” he hums, leaning in closer to your core.

He wraps one arm under your leg again, the other grabbing your waist to keep you from squirming. His nose rubs against the wet spot on your cotton panties and you bite the inside of your cheek, holding back a moan as you lightly clench your thighs around his head. Joel looks up at you again, the sight of him between your thighs so heavenly. You want nothing more than to reach out and bury your hands into his graying curls.

“Gonna listen and stay still for me baby?” His voice sends a vibration through your core as he tightens his grip on you. You struggle to keep still, nodding your head in response.

“Good, wouldn't wanna have to stop.” He's teasing you. 

He slides his hand from your hip down to hook a finger onto your underwear, tugging them down as he lifts your waist off the cushion. You suck in a breath as the cool air hits your soaked core. Joel doesn't waste any time, his hands are immediately back on you, fingers slotting through your glistening folds. He watches intently as his fingers easily slide up and down, covered in your slick. His face moves closer to you, warm breath fanning over your sensitive skin before replacing his fingers with his tongue. 

The feeling of his warm tongue darting out over your clit causes you to let out a moan. His tongue runs small circles around your nub, teasing you slowly before he licks through your folds. As he removes his mouth from you, you let out a gasp at the loss, but he quickly makes up for it by inserting two fingers into your cunt. 

“Oh god.” your head falls back on to the cushion, eyes squeezed shut and fingers gripping the edge of the couch harder.  

His pace starts to quicken, fingers curling to hit that spongy spot inside of you just right. He’s focused on his motions, mesmerized by the way his fingers disappear into your tight hole. His thumb starts to swirl in circles against your swollen clit and a soft whine escapes your mouth. 

“That feel good?” You don’t have the strength to answer. 

His free hand finds its way under your shirt to meet with your breast, fingers tweaking with your hardened nipple. Your eyes shoot back open, looking down at where he’s between your legs. His mouth is slightly parted as he watches you, watches your reaction to his movements and the way he’s touching you. You clench around his fingers, trying to hold back the urge to reach out and touch him. Trying to keep yourself still. The coil in your stomach is going to snap any second and he knows it. 

“Wanna come, baby?” He asks sweetly, so soft. 

“Please Joel, please.” You’re practically begging. 

He removes his hand from your breast and swings your leg over his shoulder, quickening his pace. His hand rests on your thigh lightly squeezing as he urges you on. He applies pressure with his 

“Close.” It’s all you can get out. 

The coil in your stomach is about to snap, Joel still isn’t slowing his pace, fingers hitting all the right places. He feels you clench around him one last time, and then suddenly you feel him pull away, the loss of his fingers causing your hips to buck forward. You let out a gasp as he abruptly drops your leg from his shoulder and stands up. 

Your eyes shoot open. “What the fuck?” You’re trying to catch your breath. 

“Did you really think I was going to let you come? After the stunt you pulled earlier?” He shakes his head, a sly look on his face as he watches you. 

Your mind flashes back to the supply run earlier that day as you clench your thighs together, hands dropping to your sides grasping at the couch cushions. A tingling sensation travels through your body, mind hazy from overstimulation. You stare up at him trying to process what’s just happened, jaw slack as your eyes start to well with tears. Joel’s hand lifts to your cheek, gently brushing his thumb against your soft skin. He drops his hand and adjusts himself, turning away from you and walking back towards his spot on the floor. 

He’s never been this mean before. Never denied you an orgasm, and the feeling is overwhelming. You knew he was mad about earlier, but you didn’t anticipate him being this mad.

Earlier on the supply run you just kept fucking up. Being too loud, careless, forgetful, you name it. The two of you were sent to check out an old strip mall that had surely been raided at some point before, but not by the two of you. He had warned you that this could be an area with raiders or infected lurking nearby and that you needed to be extra cautious, but you took it lightly, after all this wasn’t your first supply run. You had ran into trouble with clickers before and handled it well, but never raiders. 

Of course when the two of you got there, you realized you forgot your gun. It was only you and Joel this time around, no Tess, so the fact that you forgot your gun of all things wasn’t great. That was the first thing to set him off.  

“Really? How the hell do you forget your gun?” 

“I don’t know, must’ve left it on the table.” You shrug. 

He sighs. “Hope your knife skills have gotten better.” 

“Sorry…” You mumble. 

He turns away and you follow him to find a way inside. 

Once the two of you started looking around the place, you found yourself tripping and bumping into things more than usual. Bumping into a shelf, knocking an old jar over while weaving in and out of isles. Joel would shoot you an annoyed look every time which only made you more on edge. 

When you got to what must’ve been an old hardware store, Joel had found a few salvageable things and the two of you started to dig around to fill your packs.  

“Alright let’s get out of here.”  He let out a low grunt as he stood up, lifting his pack over his shoulder. 

You glanced up at him before standing up, as you stood straight up slinging your pack over your shoulder your bag hit a metal rack behind you causing it to nearly fall over. Joel reached his hand out quickly, stopping it from falling. 

“Damnit.” He said between gritted teeth. “You need to be quieter I’m not fuckin’ around.” He gave you a stern look. 

“Quieter?” You gave him a playful look. “What, LIKE THIS?” You yelled out, giggling afterwards.

Normally he loved when you were like this, a little disobedient so he could put you back in your place later that night. Show you how to behave. But right now he wasn’t having it. 

There was the sound of branches snapping outside and Joel immediately looked up, wide eyes locking on the nearest entrance. In an instant he was grabbing you, spinning you so your back was against his chest and covering your mouth with his large hand. His other arm was snaked around the front of you, holding you close. 

“Fuck.” He whispered into your ear as he pulled the both of you into another room to hide. “You really had to do this right now?” 

The coil in your stomach is still tightly wound, and now you’re pissed. You’ll just do it yourself then. 

Your hand finds its way to your puffy tender clit, running your fingers over it as you slowly start to move through your slick folds. Joel still has his back to you as he stands over where his sleeping bag lays on the floor, hands on his waist. Your fingers find their way back to your swollen clit, lightly rubbing circles. Your eyes rake over his form, his broad shoulders and the way his flannel is rolled up exposing his forearms. You bite your cheek, trying to stay as quiet as possible. As you apply more pressure, a soft moan escapes your mouth causing Joel to turn back around. 

His eyes immediately fall to where your fingers are picking up speed between your legs and his eyes grow dark, hand flexing by his side as he watches you. You don’t stop. His eyes meet with yours and your mouth falls open, pace never faltering. 

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” His brows pinch together forming a crease as he waits for a response. 

You can see his chest starting to heave as you look at him through heavy lidded eyes. Now you’ve done it, you think to yourself. 

He slowly walks back over to you, stopping in front of you, staring down at the way your fingers move so smoothly over your soaked core. He reaches his hand out to lightly grab your jaw, tilting your head up towards him. You let out a yelp as your eyes meet his, growing darker by the second. 

“Hm?” His jaw is clenched as he squeezes yours lightly before he speaks through gritted teeth. “Answer me.”

“No.” You croak out, stopping your motions and reaching to pull your underwear back up. 

“Well, don't stop now.” Your brows knit together in confusion. “Since you want to come so badly around nothing instead of my cock, keep going.” you let out a small gasp. 

“Rather have you.” You say breathlessly.

A smug smile forms on his face as he removes his hand from your jaw and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Hm, not what it looks like.” He’s teasing you now, wanting you to beg. And you will. He knows you will.

“Joel…” You whisper, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “It’s been too long.” 

“Should’ve thought about that earlier,” He huffs. “when you were touchin’ yourself, when you were acting up on the supply run.” 

“I know, I wasn’t thinking.” You start to sit up straight, scrambling for the right words. “I said I was sorry, just need you.” It comes out just above a whisper. 

Your eyes dart to the growing bulge in his pants then back to his eyes. He’s standing right at the edge of the couch between your parted legs and you can feel heat radiating off him, drawing you in closer. He shifts his weight and his hands fall back to his sides as he contemplates what to do next. 

“Prove it.” 

You stare up at him with wide eyes, dumbstruck. “Wha-“

“If you need my cock so badly, prove it.” His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he subtly juts his hips forward. 

Your bottom lip disappears between your teeth as you soak up his last words. Without your eyes leaving his, you reach up slowly to rest your hand over where his cock is straining against his dark jeans. He takes a deep breath through his nose as you start to gently apply pressure. You inch your hands up to the hem of his jeans and swiftly undo his belt, unbutton them and pulling the zipper down in one motion before tugging them off his waist so they’re resting around his thighs. The sight of his thick cock only restrained by his cotton underwear causes you to let out a small gasp. 

You look back up at Joel for reassurance and he nods, expression never faltering. Your hands rest on his lower abdomen right above the hem of his boxers, running over the sparse hairs leading down past his boxers. As you hook his fingers into the fabric, pulling them down, his fully hardened cock springs out causing your mouth to salivate at the sight. 

Without thought, your hand immediately wraps around the thick base of his cock causing him to let out a low groan. You lightly squeeze, teasing him as you lean in closer. Your tongue darts out from between your lips to lick at the precum leaking from his silky smooth tip and he sucks in a breath. 

“Jesus.” his hand moves to rest on the back of your neck, the other caressing your cheek.

You look up at him through your lashes, tongue still on his tip as you flash him a daunting smile. You release his cock from your grip and run your tongue from the base of his tip, along the bottom of his length back to his tip before sucking him back into your mouth. The salty taste of his precum still on your taste buds as you swirl your tongue in circles and take the rest of him into your mouth in one go. Tears start to rim your eyes as the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. 

“Good girl.” Joel praises you as he wipes away the tears starting to form at the edge of your eyes. 

Your head moves back releasing his cock from your lips with a popping sound before bringing your lips back to rest on his tip. His grip on the back of your neck starts to tighten as he begins to lightly thrust his hips forward. You slowly open your mouth, giving him access and wrapping your lips around his warm cock again. Both your hands grip onto his thighs, holding yourself still as he slowly thrusts forward again. He lets out a low groan as your mouth encloses around his thick member and your motions stop, allowing him to take control. 

“God damn baby.” Joel huffs as he begins to pull back. 

His hand caresses the back of your head guiding you as you open up wider and your nose buries into the sparse curls at the base of his cock. The tip of his cock prods at the back of your throat and you swallow trying to get some sort of relief. He holds your head there for a moment, relishing in the warm, wet feeling of your mouth wrapped around him before pulling back. Your cheeks hollow, sucking harder and he stops before the tip of his cock leaves your mouth.

As he pulls out, you watch the string of saliva connecting to the tip of his flushed cock break before he pulls you back in, swollen lips immediately parting for him once more. 

“Look at me while I fuck your throat.” His hands move to your jaw, tilting your head as far as it can go until your eyes land on his.  

You can feel tears rimming your eyes again as you dig your nails into the warm flesh of his thighs, the back of your throat is already raw. His thumbs caress your cheeks before he roughly fucks into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat once again and your eyes squeeze shut allowing the tears brewing in your eyes to finally spill over. 

“You can take it.” He continues the thrust into your mouth as he speaks. 

You open your eyes and look back at him, he tilts his head to the side as he looks down at you, and mocking pout on his face. His pace doesn’t falter, the only sound in the room is his deep voice and the filthy wet sound of his thick cock relentlessly fucking your throat. 

“This the only way I can get you to be quiet, huh? Gotta have my cock stuffed down your throat for you to shut the fuck up?” The last word comes out just as he thrusts his hips, large calloused hands nearly digging into your cheek as he lets out a low grunt.

His words cause you to let out a low moan around his cock as he hits the back of your throat one last time, and you feel him tense. His head falls back, a deep growl leaving his throat before his eyes snap back to you.

He pulls his cock out of your mouth, and before you can even focus he’s pulling you up from the couch and spinning you to lay on your stomach. You flop down, holding yourself up on your forearms as he pulls your underwear the rest of the way down, and you swear you can hear the fabric lightly tearing before he discards them somewhere on the floor. Next he grabs the hem of your long sleeve, pulling it up over your bare tits. You frantically pull it over your head and off before throwing it somewhere. He quickly pulls you up so that you’re on your knees and grabs your wrists, pinning your arms behind your back as your cheek buries into the couch cushion. 

“This what you were hoping for?” he nearly grunts as he holds your wrists in place with one hand, positioning himself over you. “Hm?” you can hear his breathing as he leans down closer to your face. 

You can’t speak, a low moan leaves your lips, but that's not enough of an answer for him. He lands a small smack on your ass and your body jolts from the contact.

“Answer me.” he says through gritted teeth. You feel him lay some of his weight against your back now and his still fully hard cock presses into you. He leans down close to your face and you feel his lips touch your ear as he speaks. 

“This what you were hoping for when you were acting up earlier?” His deep voice sends a shiver through your body, igniting the heat blooming in your core. 

You feel his weight shift as he pulls away from your face. “Hoping I would teach you a lesson?” His hand wraps around his cock, guiding it towards your tight hole, already soaked in anticipation. 

Your hips push back into him and you attempt to open your legs wider, making room for him to guide himself to your entrance, and without a second thought he thrusts into you. He places one hand on your hip holding you up, as the other keeps your arms pinned behind you. It’s fast and rough, and you can hear the sound of skin on skin as his hips snap forward, thrusting into you with all his force, taking out his anger from earlier on your cunt. This is how it always goes. You piss him off to get what you want, then he fucks you senseless until all his anger and frustration is gone, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

A small moan escapes your lips as he grips you tighter, pumping his large cock in and out of you hard enough to jolt your body forward with each thrust. You can hear him grunting above you, pace never faltering. 

“Take me so well,” he huffs. “this tight little cunt is all mine. Made for me.” His voice is deep with lust as he speaks, and it sends a burning heat through your core as a moan escapes you. 

He moves his hand from your hip, snaking his arm around your torso and grabbing onto your left tit as he pulls you back against him. He has your arms still pinned behind you as you arch your back and your upper body meets his chest. Your head falls back over his shoulder, eyes falling shut. 

“Say it.” He speaks against your cheek, lips ever so lightly grazing your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yours.” You choke out. 

He releases your wrists and wraps his arm around your waist, your arms rest over his, gripping his forearms where his flannel is rolled up as he continues to fuck into you. You turn your face to look up at him, and you find him looking down, his eyes fixated on the way he’s pumping in and out of you. Mesmerized by the sound, the way you take him so well and the way his hips snap against your ass with every thrust. Your chest flutters and the coil in your stomach that’s been building is ready to snap any minute. 

“‘M close.” It’s barely audible, his eyes snap away from where your body’s meet to look into yours.

“Think you deserve to come this time?” His mouth is slightly parted, eyes flickering to your lips and back as you nod your head. 

“Yes, please Joel.” You breathlessly beg. 

“Did you learn your lesson?” One of his hands creeps towards your sensitive clit, your hand still gripping his forearm. “You be quiet when I tell you to, and you don’t touch yourself unless I,” he grunts as he thrusts into you. “say so.” The last part is said through gritted teeth, punctuated with a hard thrust and the sound of his hips snapping against you. 

His fingers meet your clit and he applies pressure, rubbing in tight fast circles. Your head falls back and he nips at your neck, teeth just barely brushing your skin as his tongue sets your skin. 

“Say it.” His warm breath fans against your skin. 

“I’m quiet when you tell me,” his lips latch on to your skin, lightly sucking as you gasp and your hips jut forward. He uses the hand on your mound to pull you back into him. “and I don’t touch myself. Unless you say.” 

“Good girl.” His fingers pick up speed, you nearly let out a scream as a white hot pleasure pulses through your body. 

Joel keeps moving his fingers over your clit and one of your hands flies up to bury in his hair. You lightly tug, causing him to grunt, as your body starts to feel limp. His hand wraps back around your torso, holding you up against him as he continues to fuck you, panting into your neck. He thrusts into you two, three more times and you feel his pace falter then still as he releases his load with a low moan. 

He gently falls forward onto the couch, still holding onto you as he gently lays atop of you. You can feel his warm body pressed against your back, chest rapidly rising and falling as he catches his breath. You catch a quick glimpse of him, eyes closed, lips parted and damp curls lightly sticking to his forehead. His cheeks are slightly flushed and he looks divine. 

He stays inside you for another moment before lifting off of you. You hear the couch creek as he gets up, then you hear his zipper and belt as he adjusts his pants before walking back over to his spot on the floor. You don’t move, laying there with your eyes closed as you catch your breath. After a minute or two you start to sit up, looking over at where he’s laying with his back to you again. You grab your discarded shift from the floor and slip it back on before searching for your underwear, picking up your jeans along the way.

 After a few minutes you give up and slip your jeans back on, whatever. You look down at your sleeping bag spread open on the couch, then back at Joel. It might be a bad idea, but you walk over to where he’s laying and lay behind him again, wrapping your arm around his torso and pressing yourself against his warm, broad back. You let out a sigh and he doesn’t move, and as you start to drift asleep, you feel his arm rest on top of yours. 

thanks for reading, any feedback is appreciated & my asks are open to chat <3

tagging some moots: @northernbluess @gracieheartsspedro @joelsversion @isitmeulookin4 @tieronecrush @daydreamingmiller @hearteyesforjoel @demonjoel @merz-8 🤍

[bucketslutz]

Don't Be Late

(Professor Logan Howlett x F! Student Mutant Reader)

Click here for chapter index

Chapter Summary: The President of the University hears you out about Logan's behavior.

(A/N): yay!! this chapter took me FOREVER!! i'm so sorry about the wait, i just wanted to make sure i got everything perfect. i mentioned in the notes for the last chapter that i might recommend a song for each chapter and i think i will start that this chapter!! so for this chapter i'd recommend listening to sailor song by gigi perez. enjoy!

Warnings: smut, 18+, MDNI!!, unprotected sex, p in v, oral, f! receiving, dirty talk, swearing, overstimulation lowkey

Word Count: 7,055

Chapter 5

Time passes painfully slow outside of the president’s office. Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your blouse, trying not to get yourself too worked up with feverish anger as you organize your thoughts. You can’t let the president know how charged and complicated your feelings towards Logan truly are, no, all he needs to know is what Logan did wrong. You’ve never had a meeting like this before. You don’t have problems with people, you don’t argue with professors, you don’t report people. In all your years of academia, you’ve never had to do anything like this before. And you’re nervous. The president’s assistant calling your name pulls you from your thoughts, causing you to look up at her eagerly.

“He’s ready for you, ma’am,” she smiles politely, gesturing to the office door to her right. You thank her as you stand, smoothing your skirt down with your clammy hands. You open the door gently to find Dr. Charles Xavier sat behind a grand oak desk, scribbling on an array of papers. He’s a thin, older man, completely bald. You didn’t know much about him before this meeting, other than the fact that he’s paralyzed from the waist down and can often be seen traversing campus on his motorized wheelchair. He looks up from his work as he hears you come in, smiling politely as he confirms your name.

“Yes, sir, thank you for meeting with me,” you say, approaching the desk to shake his hand before sitting in a cushioned chair situated in front of him.

“I’m more than happy to accommodate you, my dear. Now, what can I do for you?” he asks, his voice seemingly coated in a genuine concern as he folds his hands in front of him.

“Yes, sir. Um, I’m not sure how much of my email your assistant disclosed,” you start sheepishly, clearing your throat in nervousness. “But, uh, I’ve been having some problems with my American Civil War professor—“

“Logan Howlett,” he cuts you off, a look of understanding washing over his face, like he’s used to hearing his name be brought up often.

“Yes, him,” you confirm, an awkward smile turning the corners of your mouth up. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“Logan can be quite difficult, at times. I’ve heard my fair share of stories from student and faculty alike,” he remarks, very matter of factly, not bleeding too much emotion into his words. Which makes it difficult for you to know which side he’s on: Logan’s or yours. “Now, tell me, what troubles you, child?”

“I—uh, I don’t really know where to start,” you admit, embarrassed as every ounce of preparation has left your mind. 

“Just tell me everything, starting from the beginning,” he advises, his voice soothing you in a way you can’t quite explain. So you start from the beginning, obviously leaving out the part about your repetitive, lewd sex dreams. You try your best to remain as polite as possible when you talk about the things you and Logan said to each other in the heat of an argument, omitting some of the more colorful language in an attempt to maintain Dr. Xavier’s respect. Once you finish detailing the past week’s events, you exhale a sigh of relief, Dr. Xavier offering you a sympathetic look.

“I see, I’m sorry to hear about all of those experiences and how they troubled you,” he offers sympathetically, “I will have a meeting with Logan and see to it personally he gets the proper discipline for his actions and the clear harm they’ve caused you.”

You sigh in relief, releasing tension from your shoulders you didn’t even know you were holding there.

“Thank you, Dr. Xavier, you have no idea how much that means to me,” you beam.

“Please, call me Charles, and I am always here if you need anything, my dear,” he consoles, a kind smile reaching his eyes in sincerity, “We must learn to take care of each other, in these trying times.”

“Yes, sir, of course, thank you again,” you reach across the desk to shake his hand, he accepts generously, using both his hands to encase yours.

His words put you at such ease, you haven’t felt this kind of relief in ages. It’s like you’ve just finished a productive therapy session. Like your mind has been tucked in and put to bed. You gather your things, and head to the door of Charles’ office. He calls your name, causing you to whip your head back around to look at him.

“Everything will work itself out, rest assured,” he remarks with a warm smile. You nod, believing in what he says wholeheartedly. For the first time in a week, you don’t feel plagued with overwhelming feelings for Logan. You often found yourself looking for him in places that you might run into him, in stores, on campus, at red lights. But you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. As you drive to work, passing by the bar, you don’t even think to see if his truck might be there like you’ve done the past few days. As you stock shelves in the store, you stop hoping that he might walk through the door to buy cigars and a case of beer again. You’ve effectively exiled him from your thoughts and feelings. He could be fired tomorrow for what he did, and it wouldn’t matter to you. There’s a warm bed waiting for you at home, and, for once, you do not wish for Logan to be there waiting for you too. 

…

You’re greeted in the morning to the sound of your alarm, no wet dreams this time that jerk you awake. This morning, you wake up by yourself. You make breakfast for yourself. You get dressed for yourself. The only thing you do for Logan, is print out your essay. You drive to class, not a worry or care in the world for him or his opinions. After your talk with Charles, you know Logan cannot, at the very least, pull another stunt like he did Monday. You didn’t see him on Wednesday, as you were in your meeting with Charles then and cared more about that than being in his class with his “bullshit lectures,” as Logan himself put it.

Yet here you are, sitting down in his class, ready to listen to another bullshit lecture. He looks almost sullen today, like something heavy weighs on his shoulders. Maybe Charles has met with him and he’s sulking now as a result of being slapped on the wrist. Maybe this is his last day. Maybe they’re putting him on a forced sabbatical and replacing him with someone who isn’t an asshole for the rest of the semester. Logan clears his throat, preparing to give his lecture to the class. He holds everyone’s attention now, the scattered murmurs of friendly conversations coming to a halt as notebooks open and pens are clicked.

“Westward expansion, manifest destiny, whatever the hell you want to call it, was the topic of your essay,” he starts, “A lot of people say that it was a cause of the Civil War. I’d be inclined to agree. Some people would say that it helped unify the nation after the war. But I disagree,” Logan states, speaking from a place you haven’t heard him speak from before. “I wat—I read about natives being killed in cold blood, kids bein’ beat in schools so bad they forget where they’re from, mountains of dead buffalo rotting to waste just so they can watch these native people die off. You can’t unify a country by hatin’ people. You can’t win a war against slavery then turn around and still treat people like vermin. You hear of these things now, you think shit like this doesn’t happen—won’t happen anymore. We all think we’re immune. Til’ one day you wake up and all of a sudden there’s a target on your back. Maybe you wake up tomorrow and they wanna put you in a school,” he points to someone in the class for emphasis, “Make you forget everything you’ve ever known, rip your child away from you like you’re cattle. It doesn’t take a lot to convince the world you’re less human than everyone else. You’re not guaranteed shit in this country. Not freedom. Not liberty. Not independence. We’re all one bad president away from becoming nazis. Don’t forget that. And don’t get comfortable.”

The room is dead quiet, almost like a collective shock has washed over everyone. Logan has never been this candid in class before. He just regurgitates facts from the textbook without much opinion or thought to what he’s saying. You barely know what to make of that, as well as the potential source of his rant. No one else dares to speak, to question, to think. Logan’s gaze flits to you briefly, you make eye contact. To anyone else, this wouldn’t be anything more than a passing glance. To you, that meant something. You don’t know what, but there was something underlying there. Jesus, what did Charles say to him, you think to yourself. And then, like nothing happened, Logan cracks open his textbook to carry on with his lecture, causing everyone to rush back to their notebooks to take their notes. You somehow bring your focus back to the curriculum, choosing to ignore his impromptu monologue and carry on with your day.

Yes, he surprised you. But you don’t care. Charles probably just knocked some sense into him so he’d stop acting like an immature prick and start caring about his job. But never mind with that, you still have a whole afternoon ahead of you, full of classes and work and not thinking about Logan. In fact, you really don’t think about him at all the rest of the day. You had too much classwork to really allow your mind to drift, the convenience store was busy with a shipment that you had to take inventory of, and you have a pint of ice cream calling your name at home.

The storm outside contrasts your state of mind as you drive home from work. You don’t feel clouded, angered, passionate—you feel quiet. But not the forced quiet you’ve put out into the world as a means of protection, no, there’s a tranquility to you now. There’s nothing to fear, as your feelings for Logan no longer threaten to reveal your powers. You can live the life of anonymity you’ve always wanted to. 

As you pull into your driveway, your stomach drops at the sight of a truck parked in front of your house. Logan’s truck. What the fuck is he doing here, you think to yourself, how does he know where I live? You put your car in park, stepping out into the pouring rain, you try to beeline for your front door, really not wanting to see or speak to him. Logan steps out of his truck and starts calling your name, you do your best to ignore him as you approach your door. Just as you think you’ve made it, he slides in front of you, stopping you from putting your key in and unlocking it.

“Logan, you need to leave,” you say calmly, avoiding eye contact with him, fixing your gaze to the ground.

“I can’t,” he says breathlessly. You look up to meet his gaze, his eyes look needy and earnest, like a puppy melting into its owner’s lap. His chest rises and falls as he pants heavily. “I have to...” He trails off, seemingly struggling to find the words. You don’t have time for this, you don’t want him here. You scoff in frustration and shove him away from you, he steps off your porch and into the pouring rain. You begin to unlock your door, despite Logan pleading your name. Your door creaks open, his pleading grows incessant, the rain pounds against your roof with intensity. You whip around to face him, throwing your things into your house before you charge towards him. 

“Goddamn you, I can’t do this anymore!” you bark, allowing the rain to soak you as you advance towards Logan further and further, watching as he backs away. “Just when I thought I was done with you, when I thought I’d never have to spend an extra second thinking about you again, you show up here, and for what? Why did you come here, huh? To beg for my forgiveness?”

Logan’s jaw tenses, like he’s unable to find the answer himself, looking like a wreck as he gets soaked by the rain without a care. Does he even know why he came here? You scoff in disbelief, almost laughing.

“Do you even know why you came here?” you ask, flicking wet hair from your eyes as you stare him down. He just looks at you. That’s all he does. God, does he have nothing to say? Nothing? “Well, if it’s forgiveness you want, you’re not getting it. I don’t owe you anything.”

You turn around, stomping to your door until Logan’s hand grasps your arm and spins you back around to face him.

“You owe me everything, damn it,” he utters passionately, his voice intense and low but full of sadness. His eyes almost look glassy, but you can’t tell if the tears in his eyes are real or a result of the rain that’s hit his face. His breath is heavy, like he desperately needs to convey something, his grip on your arm tightening slightly, “You owe me. In more ways than you know. For every time you’re in my head—in my dreams. You owe me. And you don’t even know it.”

Your breath hitches when he says that. Did he just say dreams? He has dreams about you?

“Dreams?” you question, trying your best to hide your shock as you push him to clarify, blinking the rain out of your eyes. He lets go of your arm and turns away from you, hands on his hips as he starts pacing. Like he’s considering what he wants to say—how he wants to say it.

“Almost every night since I’ve met you,” he mutters intensely, as he looks at everything but you. “You don’t know what it’s been like—the hell I’ve been through tryna’ get you outta my head.”

You’re dumbfounded. You don’t know what to say. Has he felt this way the whole time? Does he dream the same dreams as you? You’re buzzing with thoughts and feelings, ones you thought you put to bed.

“Logan, what dreams?” you press further as you take two steps closer to him, his back still to you as you search for the answer you’ve been desperately seeking from him. He peeks over at you, rain dripping off the tip of his nose onto his leather-clad shoulder, clearly hesitant to disclose the content of the dreams.

“I—I can’t,” he sputters.

You swallow hard, deciding to take a risk you probably shouldn’t be taking.

“The first dream,” you start, “Was I in your office?”

He immediately turns to face you, looking at you with utter shock painted on his face.

“How did you know that?” 

You don’t answer. You’re locked in place, incapable of speaking. Perhaps you’re too scared to say it. 

“Maybe you owe me too,” you murmur, stitching your brows together, trying to stop your chin from trembling.

He stares at you with a passion that makes you almost crumble to the earth. He walks towards you, a slight hesitation in his step once he’s no more than a few inches away from your face.

“Logan,” you whisper, almost gasp, feeling a surge of fear rise within you. You can’t give in. You can’t let him get too close to you. His hands reach up to cup your face, and you want to shove him off. You want to tell him to stop. But it feels so right when he holds you like this, thumbs attempting to brush the constant flow of rainwater from your cheeks. 

“We can’t,” you mutter, bringing your hands to his wrists, wanting to use them to pull his hands from your face. But you find solace in the way he’s holding you. He looks down to your lips, then back to your eyes, the corners of his mouth turning up into the slightest smile.

“To hell with can’t,” he husks, his voice bleeding gravel and a fervent want. His head dips down, his lips parting as he tries to capture your lips with his. But you push him off, backing away in fear of letting him get close to you. You can’t do it. Because deep down you know that if you let him kiss you, you’ll let him in to every part of yourself. There won’t be a corner of you that won’t be unknown by him. And you can’t let that happen.

“No. Logan, I’m sorry. I can’t,” you declare with a shaky voice, tears welling in your eyes as you take as many steps back as you can. Your retreat almost causing you to slam into the trunk of the oak tree in front of your house.

He utters your name, taking a few steps towards you before continuing, “If you don’t want to do this—if you don’t want me because I’m your teacher…Say the word, and I’ll never speak to you again.”

You gape at him, doe eyes staring up into him as he speaks to you with clarity.

“But if you’re backing away from this because of fear—you don’t wanna let me in,” he continues, practically pinning you to the tree as he steps closer, “Then you’re gonna have to trust me—you gotta let me in.” He brings his hands back to your face, keeping your gaze earnestly. You can’t help the tears that roll down your cheeks now. You could just say it—tell him that you don’t want to be with him because he’s your professor. Just one sentence and you may never have to speak to him again. You’d never have to see him, save for class, you can just forget about all of this. But you can’t. The words feel like poison in your mouth. You look like you’re choking on air trying to form the words.

“Logan,” you manage, “You don’t understand, you can’t—you don’t want to get close to me.” Your cries are growing louder, your words becoming choked by your sobs. Logan soothes your name, bringing his head down to your level, now eye to eye with you. You grip his wrists tightly, keeping his hold on your face firm.

“Well—maybe I do understand. But you won’t know unless you tell me!” he stresses, his voice growing in intensity as he tries to get you to understand. You go back and forth, Logan pleading your name, as you shake your head, yelling ’no’ insistently.

“Logan, I can’t!” you resist, your face twisting into a mixture of heartbreak and sorrow. He growls your name desperately.

“Listen to me, I understand!”

“You don’t!” you wept, pushing him off of you and turning towards your house, being done with this and him. He yells your name, but you stay your course. He yells your name again, you ignore it. From behind you, he lets out a vicious growl of effort before you hear a sharp ‘snikt’ and a slice, causing you to turn around to witness a broad limb begin to fall from above Logan’s head. You panic.

“Logan!” you gasp, reflexively raising your hands and using all your strength to project a large crystalline barrier between the tree’s limb and Logan’s body. You support its full weight before throwing it to an empty patch of grass, your eyes still glowing fuchsia from the use of your powers. Your stomach drops. Panic starts to set in from the reality of what you just did. Then a glint of something metal hits your eyes, drawing your attention to Logan’s balled up fist. Three prongs of metal protrude from his knuckles, sending a shiver down your spine. You almost don’t believe it. You blink in disbelief, stepping off the porch as you approach Logan slowly. The rain showers you once again, washing away your uncertainty and your fear. Logan stares at you, chest heaving, claws still bared. Teeth slightly bared, breath hitching when you’re within inches of him under the tree. Your hand reaches down to his wrist, pulling it upwards so you may get a better view of his claws. You stare at them incredulously, still struggling to comprehend how this is possible.

“The whole time?” you murmur in disbelief, eyes flicking between his eyes and the sharp blades.

“These don’t exactly grow overnight, bub,” he smirks, retracting them back into himself, startling you slightly.

“You’re like me?” you question, though it sounds a bit more like a revelation. You run your fingers over his knuckles, feeling where the blades once were. He nods gently, bringing his hand to your cheek, your hand staying with his wrist, leaning into his touch.

“I’m like you,” he confirms, bringing his other hand to your forehead, brushing stray wet hairs from your face. His gaze flicks down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. There’s nothing holding you back now. Standing on your tiptoes, swinging your arms around his neck, you pull yourself up to connect your lips with his in a desperate kiss. He leans into you, eagerly, wrapping his arms around your back to pull your frame into his as firmly as he can. Electricity rushes through your body, almost making you shudder with excitement at the feel of his lips on yours. His tongue swipes gently against your bottom lip, you welcome it into your mouth, meeting his tongue with your own. He swallows you, moving his hands to your face like he can’t let you slip away from him for even a second. You cradle the back of his neck, slipping your fingers through his soaked hair. He deepens the kiss further, sliding his hands down to your waist, dipping you backwards slightly as he grips you tightly there. You moan gently, growing more desperate the longer you kiss him, needing to feel more of him. You break the kiss, panting heavily, sputtering as rain water attempts to enter your mouth. Logan breathes with you, your nose grazing his, not being able to help the smile on your face. He smiles back.

“Can we get out of the rain?” you chuckle, a chill overtaking your body as the rain’s assault continues. He nods, and without hesitating, he scoops you up into his arms and carries you bridal style towards your porch. You yelp gently as he whisks you away, maneuvering through your front door, shutting it with a kick behind him. After he sets you down, the next few moments are a blur—kisses growing sloppy, shoes flying off, hands pulling at jackets. Clumsily, you lead Logan up the stairs, not allowing the kiss to falter. He eventually gets tired of tripping over you, scooping you up by the ass and lifting, which causes you to respond by eagerly wrapping your legs around him. It’s messy, the way he bumps you into furniture, pressing you against the wall, attacking your lips with a feverish desire. One hand glued to your ass for support, the other searching the wall for the threshold to your bedroom, in an effort to maintain the contact of his lips on yours. Eventually, pushing the both of you through to your room before throwing you on your bed, no care for the wet clothes and hair that are soaking your sheets. 

He looms above you, his strong stance making you wonder how you can be in the presence of someone so perfect. In one fell swoop, Logan pulls his white tank top over his head, revealing his chiseled physique to you, a silver chain hanging from his neck. You don’t have time to ask about it before he’s on top of you, swallowing you, your legs wrapped around him as he grinds down into you making you gasp into the kiss. He paws at your shirt, tugging and dragging it up your body until you’re forced to remove your mouth from his to allow him to take it off of you. There’s not a moment wasted with him. His hands need to be on you at all times; whether he’s grasping your breasts, your waist, your face. He explores every inch of you with his hands. A whine escapes your lips when he breaks the kiss, but he’s swift—trailing his mouth down your neck. The kisses there are sloppy, wet, harsh as his teeth nip at your skin. His lips drag down your chest where he playfully bites at your lacy bra making your breath hitch in anticipation.

This is more than you could’ve dreamt, you have to keep reminding yourself that this is real. He’s real. He’s here. His lips and tongue coating your body is real, his hands pulling down your pants is real, the gaze you see situate between your legs is real. Everything feels heightened, each touch electric and charged. Logan sits up, roughly pulling you down the bed so your hips are hanging off the edge, the floor meeting his knees so he can be eye level with your thinly clothed pussy. He’s savoring you, biting the soft skin of your inner thigh, gripping your waist in an effort to keep you planted. You squirm under his grasp as you grow more and more desperate for his mouth on your aching cunt. 

“Logan,” you rasp, scratching at the sheets beneath you with need. He gazes at you from between your legs, a cocky grin making you melt. 

“Dreamt ‘bout this,” he husks, his hot breath fanning your lace-clad pussy before he plants gentle kisses to the crease between your inner thigh and labia. The occasional dipping of his tongue to the sensitive skin there makes you writhe more under his grasp. Hands glide up your stomach as he continues carefully teasing you, avoiding your core as much as possible with each flick of his tongue and kiss planted. He palms your tits through your bra lazily before bringing his hands back down your body to toy with the waistband of your panties. You can tell that he’s enjoying this immensely, taking his time with such passionate care you almost don’t mind how slowly he pulls down your panties. Lifting your legs to allow him to pull them the rest of the way off your legs and to the floor, you almost want to giggle that you could’ve taken them off this entire time with your powers. But you enjoy this—how carefully he’s taking his time and savoring each swell and curve of your body till you’re spread bare in front of his eyes. 

In any other circumstance, you’d be hiding away sheepishly under such an intense gaze, but Logan’s eyes aren’t boring into you possessively. They’re drinking you, digesting your appearance with such an intensity you’re struggling to comprehend how he’s been able to resist you for so long. You gasp when his tongue flicks your throbbing clit gently, arching your back off of the bed. He’s testing the waters now, priming your arousal so you’re good and ready for him. His tongue moves painfully slow, licking the inside of your lips as you squirm in anticipation. Then he moves more center, running his tongue along the full length of your pussy, causing you to elicit a throaty moan in approval. He groans in appreciation at your neediness for him, taking it as a sign to dive into you completely. You can’t help the moan that leaves your mouth as his tongue laps at your clit hungrily. The sensitivity sending shockwaves through your body as he applies expert pressure to the sensitive bud. Your hand flings to his still-wet hair, gripping a fistful as you hold him to your pussy. 

He ravishes you. Lapping at your juices noisily as he brings one hand from your waist to dip a finger into your slick core. You groan at the sudden feeling of fullness, quickly adding a second finger to pump in and out of you. His pace is consistent, tongue at your clit, fingers in and out of you, and you can barely take it anymore. His digits stroking the most sensitive parts inside of you while his mouth works expertly at your clit—practically making out with it. God, you don’t know how much longer you’ll last like this, gasping and moaning with each curl of his fingers, Logan growling into your pussy with approval of the lewd noises you make for him. Every synapse is firing inside of you as you become laser-focused on the pleasure he gives you. You’re a mess—sputtering broken moans and words of encouragement as he works you closer and closer to your climax.

“Logan,” you gasp, “I-I’m—“ Your grip on his hair growing more desperate, trying your best to not flail your body too much as he devours you. He doesn’t say anything in response to you, far too focused on your pussy to offer more than moans in approval of your impending orgasm, like he’s egging you on with his groans and grunts. Your arousal swirls inside of you, butterflies fluttering through your bloodstream as you get closer and closer. A taut cord somewhere deep inside of you gets pulled tighter and tighter, till it snaps with white hot pressure. A guttural moan escapes your throat as a flood of pleasure rushes through your entire body, all the way to the bright fuchsia emanating from your eyes. Logan guides you from your orgasm, letting your clenching pussy ride it out on his fingers while your clit throbs on his tongue. Wave after wave hits you, like your body can’t shake the pleasure he’s given you. Back arching off the bed, your body wriggling and twitching from the force of your orgasm. The pace of Logan’s tongue slows and the pressure eases gently. Eyes half-lidded, breath heavy, you’re on cloud nine as you revel in one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had. Your bliss shrouded you so much you barely noticed the pace of Logan’s tongue quickening, his fingers gently curling inside of you as he tries to bring you towards another peak. You inhale sharply at the sudden pleasure pulsing from your clit.

“Logan,” you rasp, your body barely able to contain your writhing as he pulls you towards another orgasm. He groans into you as he feels you clench around his fingers, quickly approaching another climax. Tongue flat against your clit, lapping at it feverishly, your arousal bubbles up deep inside of your stomach before reaching its boiling point, yet again, and cascading white hot pleasure throughout your body. Your eyes pulsate pink as your moans reverberate around the space. You’ve never had an orgasm induced by another man, let alone two. Chest heaving, you attempt a glance at where Logan is situated between your legs. He’s pulled away from your center now, chin wet with a mixture of his saliva and your slick. He stares at you lustfully, panting as he plants lazy kisses to your inner thigh. Logan gets up off his knees, undoing his belt before he shoves his pants down his legs, his erection visible through his boxers. Your head falls back against the bed as he crawls on top of you, trailing kisses up your stomach to your chest. He stops at your bra-clad chest, his pelvis situated between your legs.

“Sit up,” he instructs huskily. You oblige, sitting up on your elbows to allow his arm behind you so he can unclasp your bra swiftly. The straps release their tension from your shoulders, shrugging the garment off with ease. Logan resumes the kisses to your chest from where he left off, beginning to suckle and bite at the tender flesh of your breasts and leaving marks in his wake. You hum in approval, arching into him, your bare pussy grazing his erection gently—the motion enough to elicit a low growl from his throat. He kisses up your neck, leaving licks to your jaw before capturing your lips in another needy kiss. You moan into his mouth, hips grinding down into yours. You long to feel him completely bare under you, growing desperate as the kiss deepens. Deciding you’ve had enough of his boxers, you take matters into your own hands. A slight flick of your wrist and you’ve unraveled the atomic structure of his boxers, leaving him bare above you. There’s a hesitation in his next kiss, breaking it to look down at his lower half in confusion, then back up at you.

“How’d you do that?” He asks, a mixture of confusion and amusement in his voice. You grab the back of his head, pulling him back down to your face so you can resume the kiss.

“Fuck now…ask later,” you murmur between kisses, to which Logan accepts without protest. Now you can feel the full length of his cock pressed up against your center. And this shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, considering you’ve dreamt about this, but he’s big. His size has become so much more real without the dreamy haze that you’re used to clouding it. His hips snap and the tip of his cock slips into your entrance, making you both groan at the contact. Your nails bite his skin, leaving light indentations that are gone almost instantaneously, you take notice but move on quickly when you feel Logan line himself up at your entrance.

“We’re gonna take it nice and slow, baby,” he husks, the dog tags around his neck swinging like a pendulum. You’re sure now that there’s a waterfall between your legs and that the warm up won’t be necessary, but then he presses his tip in further and you gasp suddenly at the sharp pain.

“Good girl,” he drawls, clearly trying to keep his own pleasure in control, “Take some more for me, princess.” He sinks in a few more inches. Tears prick your eyes from the stretch he’s causing to your pussy, but it feels so good. You need him deeper. Your legs hook around him, heels digging into his ass in an effort to spur him on. 

“Deeper, Logan, please,” you whine, lazily and desperately capturing his lips in a kiss.

“You sure, baby?” He asks cautiously, murmured between kisses. You nod eagerly, attempting to drive him further in and before you can even prepare it, he does. Spearing you nearly in half, you break the kiss, a mixture of moans and pained groans emanating from your lips. This is so much harder than you remember it being in your subconscious. The stretch, the fullness, the way he’s reaching your cervix already without even trying. Tears escape your eyes, but despite the strain his dick is putting on your body, it feels so good inside of you. You resume the kiss hastily, bucking your hips slightly in an attempt to get Logan to begin thrusting.

“Fuck me,” you murmur against his lips, groaning when he slides out of you, then back in languidly. You both groan into the kiss, Logan having trouble keeping his mouth on yours while he begins his thrusts. He keeps the pace slow in an attempt to preserve the integrity of your pussy and not tear you in half, but you need more of him. You want to feel him in every corner of you. 

“Logan, I’m not gonna snap, you can fuck me.”

He looks down at you, lips grazing yours, when suddenly his eyes grow darker and more lustful. Clearly planning on doing just that, he readjusts himself slightly for better leverage, and thrusts into you harder than he has all night. Back arching into him, your pained gasp melts into a high pitched moan. Logan quickens his pace now, slamming into you with animalistic intent. His mouth drops to your neck, where he kisses and sucks on the skin, marking his territory with bruised intent. He bites down into your flesh as your heels press into his ass and force him deeper into you. With each thrust he prods your cervix, making you unsure if your moans are from the sharp pain or the immense pleasure from the fullness of his cock and stretch he provides for your pussy.

“So—so tight for me, babygirl,” he growls, skin clapping against skin with a speed you didn’t even know a person could be capable of going. It’s overwhelming, you’re sure that an average person would break in half from the strength of his thrusts, even with your heightened strength you’re sure you’re going to be feeling sore well into next week. His pace doesn’t falter, not even for a second, his pants fan the skin of your neck as your nails dig into his back. You’re not even sure if he’s noticed the marks you’re leaving on his skin, caught up within his own pleasure.

“Fuck, baby—close, so close,” he groans, pulling his face from your neck to lock his lips with yours. His thrusts are so fast that you have a hard time keeping up with the kiss, a part of you growing exhausted from the onslaught on your pussy and ready for him to come inside of you.

“Come for me, please,” you whine breathlessly into the kiss. Logan doesn’t need much more coaxing before his hips stutter. He groans above you, reaching his hands above your head to support himself on the wall as he reaches the peak of his orgasm. You jump slightly at the sound of his claws retracting and stabbing into your drywall, then he unloads inside of you, releasing hot ropes of his seed with a throaty moan. His lips are barely on yours at this point as you try your hardest to maintain the kiss. He slumps over you, his back rising and falling quickly as he comes down from his orgasm. You close your eyes, feeling blissful, your pussy the perfect kind of sore. Logan trails gentle kisses up the length of your neck, peppering them along your jaw before capturing your lips with his. Pulling away, you smile at him, swiping wet hair from his forehead as he returns the smile.

“Dunno about you, princess, but I could go for another round,” he remarks, to which you laugh in response thinking he’s joking. Then suddenly you feel his dick twitch inside of you and realize he’s still hard. You huff in exhaustion, almost blushing. God, you could fuck longer, but you have nothing left in you.

“Logan, I don’t think I got much more in me,” you sigh in defeat, causing Logan to let out a soft hum in thought. He plants a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Mm, d’you…want it…again?” He murmurs between kisses, the gravel in his voice making you clench involuntarily.

“I do,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a second wind of arousal swirling inside of you. Logan slides out of you, eliciting a groan from him and a quiet whine from you.

“On your stomach,” he directs, on his knees above you now. You oblige, rolling over, arching your back slightly to allow Logan easier access to your pussy. You settle into this position—a lazy doggy-style. Logan lines himself up yet again, sinking into you with a rough groan as his hands plant on your hips. He uses your body as leverage to begin thrusting in and out of you, causing you to moan throatily at the way his dick perfectly hits all the right spots. Every ridge, every spongy part inside of you, Logan glides over expertly. Mewling and moaning in pleasure, each thrust of his hips hitting you perfectly. You’re in heaven, so relaxed, feeling so euphoric as he stretches your pussy and fills you. His hands squeeze at your hips, occasionally gliding down to your ass to give it a good squeeze.

“God, how are you tighter?” Logan groans, his thrusts hard yet languid with each roll of his hips. “Pussy so good—so, so good for me, baby.”

You don’t say anything in response—you can’t, you’re reduced to a puddle of moans and groans of pleasure beneath him. Complete putty in his hands that he can do what he pleases with. You don’t know how you’re still even conscious, exhaustion seeps into every pore of your body, but pleasure is keeping your blood flowing and your heart racing. Your clit throbs between your legs, you attempt to squeeze your thighs together to alleviate the pressure, causing Logan to moan above you as you clench.

“Keep doin’ that, princess, I just might come again,” Logan husks. You sneak a flirty glance from over your shoulder and clench your thighs together yet again, Logan clearly struggling to remain upright. Logan’s pace quickens, his thrusts snappier and more desperate. You squeeze again, and again, gyrating your ass gently each time. And that’s all it takes for him, hands flying from your waist, claws unsheathing and stabbing into your mattress as Logan rides out his second orgasm. Growling and moaning as he unloads his hot seed into you yet again. He sits there for a minute, dick twitching inside of you, claws embedded into your mattress, sweat sticking to his heaving chest. Quickly, his strength regains, and his breathing slows. He pulls out of you, still hard, slumping beside your exhausted body. You roll over, wrapping yourself around him, nuzzling into his chest. You can hear his heartbeat beneath your ear, your hand coming to play with the silver tags that lay on his chest.

There’s so much you don’t know—so much you want to know. But Logan feels so peaceful, this is so peaceful. His arms wrapped around you, his breath steady. He knows who you are, and he quite possibly might be the only person to ever understand you this innately. And, for the first time in your life, you’re excited for someone to see you for who you truly are.

...

(A/N): AHHHHHHHH!!! i'm so happy i got to write this chapter. this slow burn could've been slower but im impatient. the smut took me literal days to write, but im so happy with how it turned out!! i hope you guys are happy with the way i let it all play out, i hope no one feels it was too rushed or that some things don't make sense. there are plenty of things from logan's side that will become fleshed out later on. but if some things dont make sense feel free to ask questions in the comments and i will answer (so long as it doesn't spoil things for future chapters teehee). thank you always for the support, i read every single comment and it really keeps me going🫶🏻

to view on ao3 click here

tags: @wolviesgirl @sanemis-piss @fictionalmen-dilflover @e-nonsense

[battlekidx2]

I'm making this post purely to shout out some incredibly talented fanfic writers from the Hazbin Hotel fandom and my favorite works of theirs.

Did anyone ask me for this? No. Will I post it anyway? Absolutely. The writers in this fandom are too good.

The first fanfic writer I want to shout out is @prince-liest (ao3 link)

I absolutely love their get cared for idiot (Alastor) series (not the official name but they called it that in one of their asks jokingly so it's now the default in my head).

Knock, Knock! It's Your Worst Fucking Nightmare! (this fic gets it!!!! This is what I meant when I said Alastor is growing a heart and part of him is raging against it. He still has ulterior motives and a massive amount of pride and part of him feels like that growing fondness is getting in the way, but he can't stop it. I need to stop before this becomes a long ramble. I've written a couple thousand words on this idea, but this fic is just a better use of your time than any meta I could ever write and way more entertaining :D )

Happily Ever After, and Other Shit Nepotism Can't Buy

The Last Bus Stop in Hell, Now Boarding (Please look at the tags for content warning. Angel and Alastor body swap story.)

They're amazing at balancing on that razor's edge with Alastor where there's a heart in there (really deep) and he's unintentionally growing attached to the hazbin crew, but he doesn't lose his edge. He's still manipulative and an asshole and can easily be the scariest guy in any room. He's in hell for a reason. A+ characterization at all times.

They're so good at writing the complicated dynamics he has with the residents, especially Charlie, and I enjoy how they expand on Alastor's potential dynamic with Angel Dust.

Anything they write from Lucifer's POV is gold too! My favorites are:

Take Two and Leave a Voicemail!

The Care and Keeping of Homo Angelus

I am also 100% here for their Aro!Alastor agenda and I'm enjoying their fic I Love Her, I Love Her Not so far!

The second person I want to shout out is @grayintogreen (ao3 link)

Their series Red Roses and Dead Things consistently gut punches me.

Just like Princeliest, they are also fantastic at balancing on that razor's edge with Alastor. A+ characterization for everyone and I love how they write HuskerDust. It's so soft, especially in the aftermath fic for Learn that Even Death May Die called If My Love Is Tomorrow, I've Forgotten Yesterday (that fic hurt in the best way).

The way they explore the aftermath of Learn that Even Death May Die is incredibly impactful. They capture the unique grief that comes from the reality that there are some things you won't get closure for so well that it's painful.

I can't say enough good things about their series. Genuinely go read it.

I found @lediz-watches (ao3 link) before the first season of Hazbin Hotel dropped (I've been a fan of the hellaverse for a few years now and have been enthralled with the Hazbin Hotel pilot since I first watched it in 2020) and I really enjoy their fics.

My favorite is Suffering Kindness. I love the Charlie and Alastor dynamic they explore in this story. I think I'm just a sucker for the Charlie and Alastor dynamic in general, but this fic hits all the right notes for me. (written pre-season 1 but man is it good. 100% recommend)

LeDiz also has a lot of one-shots/collections of one-shots that are very fun.

The Cure for Inexorable Boredom

Dollface (one-shots about Alastor theories. My favorite is the 3rd one. So fascinating!)

Choice Words (one of the few explorations of Alastor and Vaggie's dynamic that I've found in the fandom)

Don't Say It

I have to shout out @ckret2 (ao3 link) and their phenomenal fic You’ve Got a Face for Radio. This is such an amazing aroace!Alastor fic. (Embarrassingly it was this fic that made me realize I was most likely aroace myself. I’d had fleeting moments of suspecting it but it wasn’t until I saw my experiences laid out in a character explicitly written to be aroace that I put the puzzle pieces together. -_- some of these passages were too relatable.) I cannot express how much I love this fic.

I also like their fics Dumpster Baby and Bitter Grapes.

I have one last writer I want to mention because this is getting really long (whoops). The last one is tiredoflofteranditsshit and their Assume He Has a Heart series (because my favorite character and how I interpret them was not obvious enough already with the fics/authors I've recommended. I had to make it more obvious).

These fics are massive (17k and 26k words) and so much fun. Definitely worth the read. Yet another series that follows up season 1 and explores Alastor’s growing connections and how he lies to himself and pushes against it. Love this series and there’s a lot to sink your teeth into :D

[leoserblog]

Ok this might be an unpopular opinion but someones gotta say it...

Cassandra is a better Casey Jones than Casey Jr

Ive gotta be honest... i think casey jr is a kinda mid and i dont particularly think all the fanfare about him is warranted LOL

I want to note real quick that i dont DISLIKE him! He is a good character who only got as much development that a 2 hour movie could give him, and he filled and satisfied the role he needed to play in the movie, but the way the fandom latched onto him over the og casey... kinda makes me raise a brow

(Essay/rant about the prioritization of casey jr vs og casey under the cut :P)

Fandom spaces love a traumatized boy from the future, and believe me i do too! But the amount of attention given to casey jr after being revealed as casey is a wild amount compared to the amount of attention the original casey gets. Maybe its just me getting into rottmnt after the movie aired, but this seems a little baised?

Not only that, but the amount of... idk the best way i can think to describe it is infantilization of casey jrs character isnt helping my opinion of him. It feels like most content surrounding him babify him and reduce him only to his trauma post movie. I understand that it can be interesting to explore his trauma now that he no longer lives in the literal apocalypse, but it feels strange to see him reduced to someone who cant get around on his own and lives with the turtles when the original pitch for the movies ending has him leave to explore the world, which i feel is very appropriate for him and wish they had kept it in

In the movie when april shows us where the og casey has been and what shes been doing throughout the film, it tells us that casey is friends april which in theory, shouldve also shown us that she and the turtles are friends to some degree as well and should already have her place established within the group as this generations casey jones

However the final shot of the movie is a group shot of the family+casey jr, which subtlety implies that he's the new casey instead, and that this is the main cast moving forward (should it move forward *sob*). While both caseys being considered in the main cast could be true, it does strike me as a little odd that this was the final direction the rot team decided on for the official ending versus the scrapped ending, especially because it complicates the pre-established canon. It wouldve been one thing if our og casey was a different character, but that isnt the case.. y... (<_<)

Casey jr is an interesting character though! And i can understand why he appeals to fans, especially as his character post movie is fun to expand on aswell as developing his past involved with future versions of the main5, but one (me lol) could argue that the og casey is just as interesting of a character to delve into as she was involved, when you boil it down, a cult most of her life, and that concept, as well as the guilt she could hold for working with the foot and releasing the shredder, ontop of trying to befriend and gain the turtles and aprils trust are also intriguing concepts that could be explored, yet finding content that mentions her at all beyond her relation to casey jr is scarce

It feels as though shes been reduced to a background character within the fandom despite being a reoccuring character for the entire show.

For the two seasons of rottmnt that we did get, we are shown just what kind of character casey is and her possible dynamics with the turtles+april. Shes passionate and powerful and beyond determined to prove her worth and reach her goals. Shes also playful and reckless, a side that fits well with the main cast and their humor and, if the show was given more time, couldve developed naturally as the newest addition to the family as most caseys are. I could also argue that her characterization fits that of previous caseys more than casey jrs does (though i will admit that considering the plot of the movie, i cant positively say what hed be like outside of life or death scenarios, but i also cant imagine hes going to make a 180 in personality without it feeling jarring and ooc)

Now, i wont ignore the fact that her arc was cut horribly short and her involvement in the movie was quite literally a brief mention, both of which definitely play into how under appreciated she is. But at the same time it almost feels like everyone, including the show runners, have willingly pushed her aside for this new boy version to fill the role of casey jones. Hell, even when you look up rottmnt casey jones, cassandra barely shows up. Its casey jr which further proves my point

Idk, TLDR im pretty disappointed that despite being a consistent character for the entire show, no one seems to write or acknowledge her and if she is mentioned, its only relevant to push forward casey jrs character development or a brief cameo. As much as i do love casey jr (i can feel like hes mid and i can like him!) it seems like most people forget about the original casey, or favor casey jr in her place and she deserves more love and credit than shes given!

[nvrsaidiwasinurcloset]

hii hope your having a great day, hopefully this is comfortable for you if not that’s alright. so ethan and reader are best friends then reader gets invited to a wedding and shes allowed to bring a plus one so obviously shes gonna bring ethan and throughout the wedding ethan and reader keep making eye contact and smiling etc etc (obviously they are friends with benefits ifykyk) then suddenly reader and ethan disappear then it leads to smut yk and pls details 🙏🏻 tyy have an amazing day.

HELLO! :) I kind of kept the idea you had, but added the friends to lovers trope as well. I hope that's okay! I've been trying to right this for the last couple days and that was the only way I was getting the full inspiration to write a long fic haha.

Falling - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Summary: You need a date for your cousins wedding, so Ethan agrees to go with you. You're in a complicated friends with benefits situation, and him seeing you in your dress is too much for him to handle as he tries to sneak you away from everyone else.

Contains: 4.1k words, Fluff, FWB relationship, Oral-both m and f recieving, fem!masturbation, p in v sex. If i missed anything, please let me know:)

A/N: I'll update my master list tomorrow. Honestly a little nervous because I've written so much since the last time I updated it😅

Ethan is one of your best friends, but he’s also your friend with benefits, your sneaky link. No one else in the friend group was aware of what happened behind closed doors when the two of you were alone, or seemed to pay attention when Ethan would leave a party, that you’d slip out five minutes later. He asked about the friends with benefits thing after what you assumed would be a one-night stand, but that’s easier said than done when you see the person almost every single day.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn’t starting to get caught up in you, wanting nothing more than to have you to himself. You weren’t hooking up with anyone else, but he was always worried about you finding someone. The agreement was his idea, but you said it was fine as long as no one caught feelings. Your words played in the back of his mind every time he’d want to show you affection outside of hooking up. It took everything in him to not grab your hand or pull you into a kiss whenever he wanted to.

He still felt like he had the best of both worlds. He loved that you two could be playing video games one minute, and you’d be bent over the side of his bed the next. He thought you were beautiful, but your personality is what really sucked him in. He loved to listen to you talk about the things you’re passionate about and loved the way you treated people.

As you put your clothes back on after a quickie before your afternoon class, you started to think about your cousin’s wedding you had to go to, and how you still needed a date. You knew that if you asked Ethan, he’d say yes. You still felt nervous about the date concept, though, because your family would be there. They’d take the ‘He’s just a friend’ thing and twist it until they’d ask if he was coming home with you for the holidays.

Ethan noticed that you were lost in thought, and started to think he might’ve done something wrong.

“Was I too rough?” he asked, sitting down on the side of the bed. It snapped you out of your thoughts as you started to smile.

“No, that was perfect,” you said, sitting beside him.

“What’s on your mind, then? I could tell you were thinking about something.”

You sighed, turning your head towards him, “Okay, you might think this is a stupid idea, but my cousin is getting married in two weeks, and I kind of need a date. Would you maybe want to go with me? It’s okay if you don’t.”

He started to laugh at your rambling as you said everything so quickly that it was hard for him to keep up. “I’ll go with you.”

“But my whole family will be there, and it might get a little awkward,” you said, as his hand rested against your thigh.

“I’ll go with you,” he repeated. You were about to say something else, before he continued, “What, are you nervous they’re going to call me your boyfriend or something when they introduce me to people?”   

“Yeah,” you said, as he leaned in to kiss you.

“So what if they do?” he smiled, “We’re about to be late for class if we don’t leave right now.”

Later in the week, you started to talk to Ethan about the wedding, and the dress code requirements. It was a black-tie event, meaning Ethan needed a suit.

“Does this look okay?” he asked, walking out of the dressing room. You glanced up from your phone, your mouth falling open as you gawked at him. “My eyes are up here, sweetheart.”

You started to laugh, your cheeks turning pink as you composed yourself. “Yeah, you look really good.”

“I wasn’t sure, that kind of reaction usually means really good, or really bad,” he said as he headed back in the dressing room to change back into his clothes. You almost didn’t want him to take it off. He was always attractive, but there was something about seeing him in a suit that made you a little hot and bothered.

When he walked back out with the suit bag in his hand, you couldn’t help but think how torturous the wedding was going to be if you had to look at him dressed like that all day, silently cursing your cousin’s dress code as he went up to the counter to pay for it.

Your reaction made him feel a lot more confident about being your wedding date. He was excited to go with you, but he was scared that he would look awkward when he knew you’d look amazing. He wanted to impress your family, too.

The day of the wedding, you took so long to get ready. Ethan had been in the parking lot waiting for you thirty minutes after you said you’d be out.

“We’re definitely going to be late,” he said to himself, as he pulled out his phone to text you again.

Then he glanced up and saw you walking down the stairs of your apartment complex, holding up your long dress a little so it wouldn’t drag the ground. His eyes widened as his heart pounded in his chest. He was realizing how difficult the night was going to be for him to keep his hands off you.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” you said, opening the passenger door. As you sat down, you looked at him in the suit again as you closed the door. You racked your brain for the right way to compliment him, because if you spoke your mind, you’d never make it to the wedding and just take him inside to fuck him. You finally settled on a simple “You look good.”

“You are so beautiful,” he blurted out before he had a chance to think about what he was saying. You curiously looked over at him as you giggled, before he continued, “That might’ve been a little much, but it’s true.”

“Well thanks, Eth,” you smiled, as he passed you his phone to control the music as he drove.

He stayed silent the rest of the way there. He was still a little embarrassed about being so forward with you, even though it was truly how he felt. But that’s what this little agreement has turned into. He can’t ever say exactly what’s on his mind or how he feels, because you told him he couldn’t catch feelings. The last thing he wanted was to ruin the friendship with how he felt.

Once you arrived at the venue, you rushed inside with Ethan. You knew you were cutting it close, showing up five minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to start. As you and Ethan sat down in the chairs beside your parents, you were happy that they wouldn’t have much time to grill him right off the bat.

“So, is this Ethan?” your mom asked, as he reached across you to shake her hand. “You look so handsome. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he smiled, sitting back in his seat. She glanced over at you like she was about to say something.

“What?” you asked, and she motioned with her finger for you to move a little closer.

“He’s cute. How long have you been seeing him?” she asked, as you rolled your eyes.

“We’re just friends, mom,” you whispered, “Please don’t make this awkward.”

“There’s something else going on, I can tell by the way he looks at you,” she said, before the music started.

You scoffed as you sat back in your seat, knowing exactly how the night was going to go. Yeah, he looks at you differently than a normal friend would, because he regularly sees you naked. You started to feel bad for what Ethan was going to be subjected to at the reception.

Once the ceremony was over, you searched the seating chart to find out what table you’d be sitting at. You felt anxious once you found your table, and noticed that Ethan was sitting across from you, your dad beside him.

“Fuck,” you muttered, as your mom walked up beside you and Ethan.

“Watch your mouth,” she said, sitting down in her seat.

You sat down beside her as Ethan sat down across from you. Your dad soon joined the table, officially introducing himself to Ethan. As they talked, you were trying to listen to their conversation to make sure they weren’t talking about anything that might make him uncomfortable, until your mom started to talk to you.

“That ceremony was beautiful, wasn’t it?” she asked, as you nodded.

“Yeah, I was trying so hard not to cry. Their vows were so sweet.”

“They were,” your dad said, joining the conversation, before leaving it to talk to Ethan again. “So, what are your intentions with my daughter?”

“Dad!” you said loudly, “We’re just friends.”

“She’s quite the catch, though,” he said to Ethan as he gestured to you. Ethan started to blush, the conversation making him nervous.

“Seriously? Is this how the whole night is going to be?” you huffed, as Ethan smirked at you.

Your dad started to respond as your eyes stayed on Ethan, your heart starting to thump in your chest. After months of secretly hooking up, you had these signals you used. The smirk meant he wanted to get you alone as soon as possible.

“Are you listening?” your dad asked, trying to get your attention.

“Sorry.” Ethan was smiling at the flustered look on your face as your dad started to speak again.

“I was just saying that you need to put yourself out there. You never date,” he said, as you rolled your eyes.

“I’m focused on school. You know, the education that you’re paying for,” you sighed, exchanging another quick glance with Ethan.

“Just be sure to take time for yourself, too,” your mom said, as the bride and groom were about to share their first dance.

Your parents were distracted as they watched the newlyweds dance, while Ethan’s eyes bored into yours. He’d been trying to fight off the urge to touch you since you first got in the car. It was getting more and more difficult as he watched you get frustrated with your parents. He wanted to fuck that frustration out of you.

Once they were finished, the DJ invited everyone else out to the dance floor. You took the opportunity to snatch Ethan away before your parents could make things more awkward than they already had.

His hands went to your hips as yours went around his neck. The tension was so strong between the two of you as he looked into your eyes.

“I need you,” he said, the grip on your hips getting a little tighter. You softly gasped at the feeling.

“We can’t right now,” you said, glancing around you to make sure no one else was hearing the conversation.

“What if we could find somewhere to be alone? Or we could go to my car,” he said, his hands subtly rubbing your hips.

“My parents are watching. As much as I want to, we can’t.” You looked over, smiling at them.

Before Ethan could say anything else, they asked everyone to clear the floor for the wedding games. Ethan stood behind you in the crowd of people, his hands going to your hips as he pulled your ass against him, his hard cock straining against the material of his pants.

He leaned down to whisper in your ear as everyone else was distracted, “There’s a hallway over there. Want to see where it goes?”

 You looked over to your parents who were so focused on the funny interaction happening in the middle of the room between your cousin and her new husband. You knew if you were going to sneak away, this was your chance. You noticed the hallway Ethan was talking about a few feet away from you.

He was still leaning down waiting for your answer. “I’ll go first, I need you to wait a few minutes. I don’t want this to be obvious.”

You looked at him as he nodded, his bottom lip in between his teeth as you pulled away to explore the dimly lit hallway.

You didn’t have to go very far as you eased open the first door you saw, noticing that it must be one of the rooms the wedding party got ready in. There were several empty beer cans scattered around the room, so you assumed it must’ve been the groom’s area. You slipped inside and cracked the door, waiting for Ethan to walk down the hallway. You soon saw the tall, curly-haired boy, and opened the door far enough to pull him in.

His lips immediately connected with yours as he pushed the door shut with the hand that wasn’t on your hip and clicking the lock so no one else could come into the room.

“You have no idea how hard I’ve been,” he said as he pulled away, his eyes hooded and dark in lust. “You look so fucking hot in that dress.”

“And you look hot in this suit,” you said, grabbing his tie and pulling him to you so you could kiss him again.

He backed you over to the loveseat in the room, not breaking the kiss. When his lips trailed over your jaw and down your neck, he started to hike your dress up your legs. His hands roamed your smooth, newly exposed flesh before kneading at your thighs.

“Mmh, I need you, Ethan,” you whimpered, as his teeth grazed your neck. As bad as he wanted to mark you up, he knew there was no way to hide it.

“You want me to fuck your pretty little pussy?” he asked as you nodded, his hand brushing over your panties. He realized the effect he was having on you as his fingers ran over your clothed clit. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

“I told you that you looked hot in that suit,” you whimpered out, his fingers moving faster as he rubbed them against you.

He pushed your panties to the side, his fingers not wasting any time to dip inside you. He watched your face as his fingers worked inside you, intentionally missing the spot he’s so familiar with. He noticed you were getting a little frustrated with the lack of attention where you needed it, the smirk on his face giving away that he was trying to tease you.

“Please, baby,” you whined, his smirk turning to a smile. He moved his fingers the way you needed him to, as he continued to watch you. During sex, you had a ‘no pet names’ agreement. You only called him Ethan or Eth, and he only called you by your name. His heart was swelling as you kept whimpering “Yes babe, right there.”

He leaned his head down as your dress was bunched at your hips, his tongue brushing against your clit. Your hips started to move against his hand as his licks got faster, chasing the release you needed. When he sucked your clit into his mouth, that was all it took as your pussy spasmed around his fingers, your moans flooding out of your mouth. Your chest was heaving as he kept fucking his fingers into you.

“Oh my god,” you finally let out as you came down from your high, and Ethan slid his fingers out. “What was with that teasing?”

“What was with you calling me baby?” he asked, your cheeks turning red as you stammered. “I didn’t mind it, though.”

“Oh, I uh, I guess I just couldn’t help it. It felt like the right thing to say,” you laughed a little, as Ethan eyed you curiously. “Let’s talk about this later. We don’t have much time.”

You leaned forward to the edge of the couch and unbuckled his belt as he stood in front of you. His cock was throbbing as your hand brushed over it, your lustful eyes connecting with his.

When you unbuttoned his pants and slid them down his thighs along with his boxers, he groaned at the free feeling. Your mouth went to his tip, placing gentle licks to get all the precum that was starting to drip out. You took him in your mouth, gagging a little to get to the good spit, your saliva starting to drip down his cock. His hand was about to go to your head when you pulled away and started to stroke him.

“Do you really think I’m beautiful?” you asked, your hand moving at a steady pace as he watched you. You couldn’t get his comment from earlier in the day out of your mind.

“Yeah,” he said, his answer making your hand move faster. “Oh fuck.”

“Do you think we could ever be more than friends who fuck?” you questioned, taking him in your mouth again before he could answer.

“Oh shit,” he groaned as you looked at him through your lashes, “I want that more than anything.”

You took him as far back in your mouth as you could, the gagging feeling around the tip of his cock making his orgasm build quickly. His hand went to your hair, his hips thrusting a little into your mouth.

“I’m gonna cum, baby,” he groaned out, the new nickname making you throb between your legs as his cum started to shoot down your throat. You sucked for a few more seconds, getting ever drop of his release out of him as he started to pull your head away.

You wiped your drool from your mouth and chin with the back of your hand, intently watching him.

“Give me a few minutes, I promise I’ll fuck you,” he laughed, looking down at his half-hard erection.

You took the free time to stand up and slide your panties down before stepping out of them. He watched you sit back down in the loveseat and spread your legs, his attention going to your dripping pussy. You didn’t want to overstimulate him to get him hard again, so you decided to put on a little show for him.

Two of your fingers started to rub against you, the feeling of the attention on your aching, needy clit making you gasp. You started to circle it as your whimpers got louder.

“This is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he groaned, his cock getting harder as he watched you. When you slid your fingers inside of you and started to move them, he turned his attention from your pussy to your eyes. “You wish those fingers were mine?”

“Fuck,” you moaned out, “Yes baby, your fingers feel so amazing.”

“What about my cock? Do you wish I was pounding into you right now?” he asked, his words bringing you closer to your orgasm.

“Yes,” you mewled, as he grabbed the condom he kept from his wallet.

You started to pull your fingers out, desperate to feel him inside of you, before he stopped you, “You’re so close, baby. I want to see you get yourself off.”

Your fingers started to move faster as your legs started to shake, “That’s it, baby. Cum for me.”

He rolled the condom on as he watched you hit your peak, your mouth falling open as the beautiful sounds slipped past your lips. Your hand was shaking as you tried to finger yourself through the wave of euphoria, your arousal glistening on your fingers as they slid in and out.

 When you started to relax into the sofa and pull your fingers out, Ethan took your hand and sucked your release off your fingers.

“So fucking good,” he groaned out, looking at you. “Do you think you can cum one more time for me?”

“I think so,” you said, the exhaustion evident in your voice after the strong orgasm.

“It’s okay, I’ll do all the work,” he said, pulling you up by your hand and taking you to the side of the couch. He slid your dress back up around your hips as he bent you over the arm, your face pressing into the cushion as he lined up with your entrance. “We’ve been in here a long time, so I’ll need to be quick. If it’s too much, stop me. Okay?”

“Okay,” you replied, a whimper slipping out as he slid inside you.

His pace picked up quickly, your ass jiggling as the sounds of slapping skin and your moans filled the room. He had your hips angled just right so the tip of his cock hit that spongy spot inside you with every thrust.

“You’re taking me so well, baby,” he said, his grip on your hips tightening. “Is this pussy mine?”

The previous conversation was giving him confidence that you felt the same way he did, and he wanted to hear you say that you were his so badly.

“Yes babe, it’s all yours,” you whimpered, his speed increasing. “It’s always been yours.”

He groaned at your words, close to cumming for the second time of the night. He knew you were close, too, as the pitch of your moans got higher. He was so thankful for the loud music hiding what was going on in the room, because the sounds of your moans and wetness were absolutely filthy as he brought you closer to your high.

He was trying to focus on other things as he kept his pace up, not wanting to cum before you. He started to feel your walls squeezing him, drawing him right back into the moment as you started to shake underneath him.

“I’m gonna,” was all you got out, your voice cracking from all the moaning as the feeling completely washed over you. You soon heard Ethan’s groaning get shaky and the grip on your hips get even tighter as his thrusts started to slow.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” he said, looking over your tired, fucked-out body as it stayed bent over.

The handle on the door started to jiggle, the sound making you quickly stand up and search for your panties as Ethan slid his pants back up his hips and hook his belt.

“Where the fuck are my panties?” you asked, glancing around the floor. You were so dazed from the multiple orgasms that you couldn’t find them. Ethan tried to help you look, but it was too late as you heard a key slide into the keyhole. You straightened your dress back out and ran your hand through your hair to tame whatever might be going on with it.

When the door opened, you saw one of the groomsmen standing there.

“Sorry, one of his contacts is bothering him. I was trying to help him out,” you lied, as the man smiled and shook his head.

“I’m sure that’s what was going on. Are those yours?” he asked, pointing out your panties that were sticking out from under the couch. Your face was full of embarrassment and panic as you reached down to pick them up. “Hey, I’m not going to say anything. It’s none of my business.”

He grabbed a beer out of the mini fridge before walking back out to join the rest of the wedding guests, locking the door before he closed it behind him.

“Since when do I wear contacts?” he asked, laughing at the awkwardness of the interaction.

You slid your dress back up and put your panties on before looking at him. “It seemed like a good lie in the moment.”

“You think he’ll say anything?”

“He said he wouldn’t,” you sighed, “I really hope he doesn’t.”

He started to smile, “Your parents already think there’s something going on between us. That’s just something else you’d have to deny.”

“What if I feel like there is something going on between us? More than just a friendship, and more than just sex?” you asked, your eyes meeting his as he leaned in to kiss you.

“I feel the same. If you ever want to give me a chance, let me know,” he said, walking towards the door.

“Ethan, come back here,” you said, as he turned around. “You heard me, come here.” You laughed as scoffed at your demand, but ultimately did what you asked as he stood inches in front of you. “Let’s try this and see if it can work.”

He kissed you in response, lifting you off the floor a little as his hands wrapped around your waist.

“So, does this mean you’re my girlfriend?” he asked, a goofy grin on his face as he sat you back down.

“Yes, nerd,” you joked, taking his hand in yours. “Let’s get back out there. We’ve been gone for at least an hour.”

[xnchxntmxnt]

We need more solomon x reader ffs

How about a jealous Solomon because he gets constantly cock blocked by the demon brothers and in the end he makes an angry love confession to the reader?

Jealousy

Characters: Solomon

Warnings: possibly some minor cursing

Notes: ok this ended up not being an angry love confession but i believe in talking about emotions healthily <3. Also i just liked this resolution SORRY ITS NOT EXACTLY WHAT YOU ASKED !!!

gn reader

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He couldn’t believe this. 

Again. 

For the nth time since he’d realized his complicated feelings about you, those stupid brothers found continual ways to keep him from getting any alone time with you. There you were, agreeing to make dinner with him before being called away by Mammon again so he could have your assistance with dinner. And being their attendant at this point in time, you had to agree. 

That didn’t mean he liked it. 

He ate some poorly cooked chicken for dinner and didn’t even touch the scorched vegetables—his cooking wasn't incredible, but even this was a new low. He was too distracted while he was cooking though. Too busy thinking about you. 

When you finally got back to your dormitories (that was the best thing to call it at the moment), he was still rather irritated, but instead of fuming or yelling at you, he curled up on the couch with a book to take his mind off of everything. 

“Solomon?” you asked, sitting on the opposite end of the couch from him. “You alright over there?”

“Perfect,” he said, tone short and curt with you. He didn’t mean it to be rude, but he had too many things on his mind and he didn't want to be disturbed. 

You sighed and he watched you cover yourself with the blanket out of the corner of his eye. Frustrating as the situation was, he couldn’t stand the thought that he was the reason for the small pout that sat on your face. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, placing his finger in the book and closing it. “It’s not your fault—I shouldn't be taking my frustration out on you.”

“What’s wrong?”

That was the question of the hour, it seemed. He had to decide now: tell you and risk the relationship you’d built together, or keep it a secret and leave you wondering if he was upset with you. Neither of those were lovely options, but he had to weigh his odds in a split second. 

“I…I wanted to spend more time with you this evening,” he admitted, speaking much softer than he had been. He’d deny it adamantly, but the tips of his ears were slightly pink (and gaining color the longer he spoke). “I feel like I haven’t…been able to spend enough time with you. Those pesky brothers continue to steal you away from me.”

You looked at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he continued. This was going to be the hardest part. “(Y/N), in my hundreds of years of living, I've never met someone quite like you. And I've met a lot of people. You…there’s something special about you—some spark—that I can’t ignore. You’re dedicated, passionate, and a joy to be around, frankly. And I…I guess I've grown to be quite fond of you. And maybe a little jealous…”

It took a moment for the information he just gave you to sink in. He watched as the realization dawned on your face and hated every second of silence that passed as it did. After what felt like forever, you smiled at him. Smiled. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re telling me the all powerful warlock Solomon has a crush on me?” you asked, grin spreading wider and wider on your face. 

He groaned and hit himself on the head with his book. “I take it back! You’re terrible to me. I give you my heart and you proceed to make fun of me, how dare you!” He couldn’t be angry at you, though. Really, he was trying his best to hold in his laughter. 

When he opened his eyes again, you were sitting next to him instead of across the couch. You looked adorable with that mischievous glint in your eye he didn’t exactly trust. 

“What?” he asked. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re plotting.”

“I’m not plotting!”

“You’re plotting something.”

Without any extra room to argue, you leaned in and placed a dramatic kiss on his lips, complete with a small ‘mwah’ sound. He sat there, stunned for a moment, mind short-circuiting under the circumstances. 

“You-you just-”

“I did.”

“And you-”

“Breathe, first,” you teased, smiling a bit softer at him. “You should have said something ages ago. I would have made sure to make more time for you. And for what it’s worth…I’m quite fond of you too.” You dropped your voice, trying to mock his earlier words. In response, he shoved your shoulder and laughed. 

“You’re horrible to me!” he complained again, though he couldn’t find it in himself to stop smiling. This is everything he’d wanted for ages—to have you, to love you, and feel that affection in return. Now he had it, and there wasn’t a reason in the world he’d throw it away. 

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[batneko]

bowuigi love spell idea

Some wannabe Big Bad got it in their head that the reason Mario is so successful is he's got the Ultimate Sidekick in his own brother. What better way to defeat him than to kidnap Luigi and cast an elaborate unbreakable love spell on him? Romantic love will beat brotherly love, right??? (No.)

Obviously this doesn't go well, Mario rushes to Luigi's rescue and beats the snot out of the villain along the way. But it just so happens that one of the many complicated components of the spell was stolen from Bowser, and he barges in to get it back just as the spell is reaching its peak.

Nobody notices what happened at first. Luigi is so happy to be rescued that he thinks he's just feeling especially grateful to Bowser, even though his help was accidental. On their way out Bowser finally sees the magic circle on the floor and the items placed at various points and mutters "isn't this a waxing moon heart prison?"

Later, when Luigi is lying in bed wide awake thinking about Bowser of all people, he remembers that Bowser had known the name of the spell. No need to worry Mario about this. Surely if Luigi just... asks nicely? (And he really wants to see Bowser too, that's a bonus.)

Bowser thinks the situation is hilarious, but doesn't hesitate to help Luigi when he asks. Unfortunately he's lost track of the book he read the spell in (Luigi politely doesn't ask why he was reading about love spells in the first place) and can't remember all the details. They search the castle but find nothing.

Luigi comes back a week later. They do some more searching, try out a couple curse-breaking methods. Nothing. Bowser offers to let Luigi come back again, and finally Luigi asks why Bowser is being so nice about all this.

"I know what it's like to love someone who doesn't love you back. Wouldn't wish that on anybody."

So Luigi comes back the next week. And the next. And the next. At one point he accidentally refers to it as "date night" and Bowser laughs at him but starts calling it that too.

It's nice spending time with Bowser like this. It's REALLY nice. Sure, the feelings are artificial, but that doesn't stop him from feeling them. Having Bowser's attention, making him laugh... it feels good. Luigi almost forgets he's trying to STOP feeling this way.

It goes on for months, until finally one day, after one more failed curse-breaking attempt, Bowser asks, "What if it never works?" "I'll leave you alone," Luigi says. "I'll get out of your hair for good." "Would that be so bad?" Bowser asks. "Is it really so AWFUL being in love with me?" "No..." Luigi admits. "But you deserve someone who loves you for who you are." "You're the only one who thinks that and that's just because you're cursed," Bowser says. "I mean it. Not just because of the curse, I don't think there's anybody who doesn't deserve to have somebody love them." "Then stay," Bowser says. "Be that somebody." Luigi finally realizes what Bowser's saying... what he's been hinting at for weeks, actually, and Luigi refused to see it. "I could be good to you," Bowser says softly. "I could make you so happy." Luigi gets up and leaves without a word.

It's the hardest thing he's ever done, but he tells himself it's for the best. What if the spell does break one day? He'll stop loving Bowser and shatter his heart. And even if that doesn't happen, it's not good for Bowser to settle for artificial love.

So Luigi goes straight to Mario (okay, after ice cream and a cry sesh) and tells him... most of the truth. He lets Mario believe that Bowser has been annoyed with the situation this whole time. Mario knows a lot of people who know a lot of people, so one quest later they've finally found an Old Master Wizard who remembers the spell.

"Just wait it out," the guy says. "Don't make any rash decisions, and you'll be good in a month." "...what." "Yeah the waxing moon heart prison only lasts until the moon is in the same phase it was when it was cast, then you've gotta top it up." "Is... it possible to top the spell up by accident?" "Not a chance, it's nearly as complicated as casting it the first time. Don't worry! You'll be back to normal in four weeks."

It's been four MONTHS. And Luigi never noticed his feelings changing... much. They seemed to go from infatuation to something deeper but he can't remember when exactly.

Did he fall in love with Bowser for real?

Did he break Bowser's heart by leaving for nothing?

On the way back Mario keeps staring at Luigi, waiting for an explanation, but Luigi can't give him one. He shakes Mario off before they reach home and makes a beeline for Bowser's castle.

It takes a lot of apologizing before Bowser will see him, and even after explaining that the spell has been broken for a long time now Bowser still doesn't seem interested in anything Luigi has to say. So Luigi gives a big flowery speech about all the things he likes about him while Bowser glares in silence, but at last Luigi ends it with, "I love you."

It's the first time he's actually said those words. He's talked about "the love spell" and "my feelings," but he's never said "I love you" to Bowser's face.

Bowser picks him up and kisses him.

"I love you too." "Oh! Great." "It's gonna be a while before I can remember that it's not magic making you love me." "I understand." "So you'll need to tell me. A lot." "I can do that!" Luigi says.

He's got a lot of time to make up for.

[dramalove247]

Favorite Things: Our Youth part 1

Instantly wanted to re-watch this series, but not emotionally ready for that. Pretty sure this is one of those stories that will cause me more pain the second time around. Even putting this post together caused a lot of feels. We fell in love with the story of these two broken and abandoned boys that make each other their home.

Apparently this will be part 1 of 2 because we had more than 10 posts we wanted to share and refuse to cut any more of them than we already had! So enjoy some of our favorite posts (spoilers ahead):

Starting with the end. It gave us so much sweet comfort, but there was also a layer of pain just under the surface. For us, it was perfect. It felt real and deep and complicated and matched the tone of the entire show. We love how Minase and Hirukawa have found what they needed in each other and it's the start of their healing.

Though the choice to stay in the closet, and the weight and emotional toll of that decision, may not have been the ideal ending people wanted, we think it was beautifully honest. We agree with @small-dark-and-delicious that the way this unfolded in the story fit the characters. We think the show did an amazing job of portraying the complexity of the situation and we are grateful for it's inclusion and the emotions and conversations occurring because of it.

The testing of the waters in their friend group felt like Hirukawa trying to open the door, no matter how small. We agree with @aceoflights that Hirukawa intentionally did it in a way that would protect Minase.

@putterphubase put together a beautiful post of 😍 GIFS containing some of the sweetest moments from episode 10

"Shit. That was some serious foreshadowing." We knew more pain was coming, so it only made this scene hit even harder. We were definitely with @pigglepiephi on this one.

This show sucked us in hard and fast. But this scene, WTH?!? We watched that SHIT BEFORE BED!!!! That was a mistake of epic proportions. It was way too late to feel these emotions, forget trying to confront the tailspin that was caused by this seriously toxic red flag desperate act of self endangerment for the sake of connection being romantic as fuck. How do you sleep after that?!? answer is you don't, you watch an episode of Fourever You Thanks for the screenshots of this scene @respectthepetty

And 😍 GIFS by @wanderlust-in-my-soul of just after the admission. Kill me again.

Continued in part 2:

[yanderejustforyou]

Flames of Control

Dabi x reader

The conference room was bathed in cold, clinical light, the harsh illumination starkly contrasting with the encroaching darkness of the world outside the building’s sleek, polished glass windows. The sprawling city lay beneath you like a vast, intricate puzzle—silent yet brimming with its own tension, each street and building an embodiment of ambitions both fulfilled and shattered. This city, with its dizzying skyline and pulsing heart, was one you had been meticulously learning to dominate—piece by piece, move by careful move. Yet despite all your successes, there was one formidable force you had yet to conquer.

Dabi.

He walked into the room with a confidence that seemed to warp the very atmosphere around him, his presence filling the space before his footsteps even made a sound against the polished floor. He was the CEO of one of the most powerful conglomerates in the world, a man whose reputation was built on ruthlessness, keen intellect, and an aura of danger that was almost palpable. His icy blue eyes swept over you like a predator sizing up its prey, and as his lips curled into a half-smirk, it felt as though he could read the thoughts swirling in your mind, laying bare your hidden fears and unspoken desires.

You fought to keep your expression neutral, to shield your intrigue behind a carefully crafted facade. You had spent years honing the art of control, mastering the ability to manipulate those around you with just a single glance or a well-placed word. You had made people bend to your will—men and women alike—often with little more than the force of your presence. But Dabi was different. He was a force unto himself, capable of igniting a spark of fear with merely a glance, wielding his silence like a weapon that could dissect your thoughts and leave you feeling vulnerable and exposed. His power lay not just in his dominance, but in his uncanny ability to unravel the threads of your resolve, making your refusal to acknowledge his influence feel like an act of defiance that only complicated matters further.

“Everything on track, [Y/N]?” His voice rumbled through the room, low and smooth, like a storm brewing just beyond the horizon, ready to unleash its fury. As he stepped closer, the smirk on his face widened, clearly savoring the palpable tension that hung in the air between you both like a taut wire, ready to snap.

“I’m handling things just fine,” you replied, trying to project the icy demeanor that had become second nature to you. “No thanks to you.” Your words came out sharper than intended, an attempt to reclaim some semblance of control in a situation that felt dangerously unbalanced.

Dabi chuckled, a sound rich with amusement and something deeper, something that made the air around you feel thick and charged. “Oh, I know. I’m sure you are. But you can’t do it alone. Not when you want more.” His tone was teasing, yet there was an underlying truth that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your pulse quickened slightly at his insinuation. He didn’t need to elaborate; the unspoken words hung in the air, heavy and loaded. You understood the weight of his statement all too well. Dabi had an unsettling talent for burrowing under your skin, unearthing the hidden parts of you that were desperate for acknowledgment. Those parts that craved to relinquish control, if only for a moment, that longed to be guided rather than be the one doing the guiding. It was a frightening revelation—one that you fought to suppress but couldn’t entirely ignore.

“Tell me, [Y/N],” Dabi purred, his fingers trailing dangerously close to your hand, but never touching. “What do you think about control?”

You swallowed, his words reverberating in your chest like a soft, disturbing thrum. “Control is everything,” you said, your voice tight. “It’s how you win. How you survive.”

“And you think that’s all you need?” His voice was barely above a whisper now, but it made your heart race. He wasn’t just asking questions; he was pulling you deeper into his web. “Just control? You think that’s all it takes to be... powerful?”

Your hand clenched into a fist, your nails digging into your palm as you fought to keep your composure. “Yes. I do.”

Dabi’s grin widened, cruel and knowing. His gaze was molten, as if he were about to set you on fire. His movements were slow, deliberate. He took one step closer, then another, until there was nothing but the heat between you two.

“And what if I told you that control doesn’t mean a thing when you don’t feel it?” He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, his breath on your skin. “When you don’t need it?”

His words dug deep into your chest. For a split second, the hard shell you’d carefully built around your emotions cracked. You wanted to deny it, to fight it—but you couldn’t. You did need it. His control. His praise. The way he could make you feel small and powerful all at once.

“I don’t need you to teach me anything,” you snapped, your tone sharp, but it came out weaker than you had intended.

Dabi chuckled darkly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You think you’re the one in control here, huh? That’s cute. But it’s me who holds all the cards. You think I haven’t noticed how you crave it? How you want me to take over? I can see it in your eyes. You need me.”

His words weren’t a question, but a statement—one that hit you like a blow to the stomach. You didn’t respond, the silence between you heavy with tension. Dabi was right. You hated it. But you needed him to break you down, to strip away everything that made you you—everything that made you so cold, so damn controlled.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Dabi was right in front of you, his hand on your chin, gently but firmly tilting your head back to meet his eyes. “I’ve had enough of this game, [Y/N],” he whispered. “You’re not in charge here anymore. I am.”

You felt a chill run down your spine as his words sank in, and for the first time, the feeling of control you clung to slipped just out of reach. You didn’t want to admit it, but his dominance was like fire, scorching everything in its path.

“I didn’t come here to talk business,” he continued, his voice becoming low and dangerous. “I came here to remind you of your place. I will make you beg for my attention, for my approval. And you will want it.”

Your body tensed, but you couldn’t pull away. He had you caught in his web, and you knew it. Dabi didn’t need to do anything more than look at you to make you feel like you were being consumed by flames.

“What are you going to do about it, CEO?” Dabi asked, his voice dripping with challenge, as his hand tightened on your chin, forcing you to face him completely. “Are you going to keep pretending you’re above this? Above me?”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. Every inch of you screamed for control, screamed to remind him that you were the one in charge—but when you looked into his eyes, you knew you weren’t in control anymore. Dabi was the one with all the power now.

“I won’t beg,” you whispered, but it was barely audible.

Dabi’s grin widened, cruel and triumphant. “Then you’ll learn. You’ll learn exactly what happens when someone who knows how to wield power takes control. And you, [Y/N], will crave it.”

Dabi pulled back slightly, his lips curling into that familiar half-smirk, a teasing expression that sent shivers down your spine. The room seemed to crackle with tension, charged with an electricity that made it impossible to look away from him. He could see the battle waging inside you—the conflict between your overwhelming desire for control and the intense pull he had over you. It was like watching a storm rage within you, a tempest of emotions battling against the carefully constructed defenses you had built over time. Dabi had learned long ago how to control storms, and you felt as though you were standing in the eye of one, caught between the chaos and the calm.

“Tell me you need me,” Dabi growled, his voice low and commanding, laced with a dark edge that was impossible to ignore. The way he spoke made your heart race, igniting a fire within you that you had tried to suppress. “Tell me you want me to teach you everything you’ve been denying yourself.” Each word he uttered dripped with a dangerous allure, a seductive promise that both thrilled and terrified you.

Your chest tightened as the walls you’d so carefully built around yourself began to crumble, piece by piece, under the weight of his demand. You could feel the heat of his words wrapping around you, the oppressive weight of his control pressing down on you like an anchor, pulling you deeper into the depths of your own desires. Every instinct told you to resist, to fight back against the tide that threatened to sweep you away, but you could feel your resolve weakening.

“I…” you started, but your throat went dry, the words lodged there as if they were trapped in a cage. His eyes, dark and intense, never left yours, and for the first time, you understood the full extent of his power over you. It was both exhilarating and frightening, a heady mix of emotions that made it hard to think straight.

“I want you,” you finally breathed, the confession slipping past your lips before you could stop them, a revelation that felt both liberating and terrifying. It was as if saying it out loud had somehow given him even more control, cementing the connection that crackled between you.

Dabi’s expression softened just a fraction, a fleeting glimpse of something more vulnerable beneath his usual bravado, though the dangerous glint in his eyes never wavered. He stepped back slightly, his hand still resting on your chin, fingers brushing against your skin as if he were weighing something in his mind—something crucial, something that could change everything.

“I know you do,” he said softly, his tone low and almost tender, yet laced with a dark undertone that sent another shiver down your spine. “I knew it the moment I walked in here.” The way he spoke, the way he looked at you, made it clear that he had seen through all your defenses, had pierced the armor you had wrapped around your heart.

[hlficlibrary]

HL Fic Library 🩷 Non-Traditional Omegaverse Fics

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

💜 War Of Hearts by BoosBabycakes / @boosbabycakes28 {E, 80k}

They are the bane of each other's existence, they never pass off an opportunity to remind the other of how annoying they are. Who would have thought that polar opposites could compliment each other so well?

A story about two boys, one looking for patience and trying to be strong enough to stand up for himself, and one struggling with self-discovery and strength, where facts, reality and becomings hit him in the face, and suddenly, everything that's ever been important to him is in play.

💜 What I Have With You (I don't want with anyone else) by @lululawrence {NR, 73k}

Louis smiled. “I’m sorry for how I ran away last night.”

“It’s totally fine. I’m sorry I did all that. I never asked if you were okay with it, and I really should have.”

Louis didn’t know how to respond to that. “I mean, I wasn’t really telling you no before that. How were you to know I’d be fine and then… not.”

“Well, if I had asked you first like I should have, then I would have known your boundaries.”

“How can you know my boundaries when even I don’t?” Louis scoffed. “Shit.”

Louis hadn’t meant to say that much to Harry. It’s not like he was embarrassed by who he was, but he still didn’t really talk about it openly either.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

Louis shook his head and kept his eyes trained on Harry’s chest. The shirt was old enough he could see the ghost of Harry’s tattoos through it.

“It’s a long and complicated story that is also very boring, so I don’t think you actually want the answer.”

Or Louis is an asexual alpha, Harry is his aromantic alpha friend and possible roommate, and faking a relationship might be exactly what they need to get their families and friends off their backs.

💜 Little by Little by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense {E, 65k}

Harry Styles is an omega who works at the London Planetarium, has lived in the same flat for ages, and is happy enough on his own. When he gets home from his first (horrible) attempt at dating in years, a new pregnant neighbor knocks on his door after smelling his cooking. He and Louis quickly become close, but their friendship gets complicated when Harry begins questioning who he is and what he likes.

Or Harry discovers figuring out who you are is more complicated than a potato metaphor.

💜 Take Me Down Slow (Don't Let Me Go) by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom {E, 26k}

Louis has always felt different. Not necessarily on the outer realm of societal norms, but pretty damn close to the edge. As an Omega, he’s supposed to want certain things; to want to raise a family, to want to build a life with a partner, and to want that partner to be an Alpha.

Well, two out of three ain’t bad.

OR the one where Louis wants to find the right kind of partner to love, Niall hates snowboarding, Liam wants to settle down, Harry is really good with his hands, and mother nature could be the thing that changes everything.

💜 Iron Hearts, Fire Souls by hopelesswriter / @getmesometacos {E, 26k}

"Lou..."

“I know, Harry! I know what you’ll say, we can’t right? We can’t help each other’s needs? We can’t be what the other needs? But fuck, what about what we want?! And I say we because you’ve been saying yes to all of our dates and you've been flirting back all this time and-“ He took a deep breath. “And there is nothing that I want more right now than to kiss you.”

Or the one where Harry and Louis are two single and unmated Lawyer Alphas that have to share an office and even though they shouldn't be that attracted to each other's scents, it sure isn't a big deal, right? I mean, what could go wrong?

💜 No Easy Love (Could Make Me Feel This Way) by @allwaswell16 {E, 17k}

There’s never been anyone for Harry but Louis. He had always thought their love would last forever, despite society’s pressures on an alpha/alpha relationship. When Louis breaks up with him and moves to Chicago, he’s suddenly left behind to pick up the pieces of the life they once shared. Instead of moving on, he finds reasons to keep Louis in his life and in the process begins to piece together what went wrong.

Or an Alpha Louis/Alpha Harry au where they get a second chance to make things right with the love of their life.

💜 I'll Call You Mine by @kenniewen {T, 13k}

"Harry isn’t superstitious, doesn’t knock on wood, or wish on shooting stars, but his position on ‘love at first sight’ becomes increasingly wishy-washy as his mind begins to comprehend blue, blue, blue. He feels his heart constrict and tongue go dry. The man before him is the most beautiful omega he has ever seen in his entire life."

Or: A self indulgent Omega/Omega fic with a teacher/single parent of favorite student trope.

💜 Woke Up Feeling Knotty by @jaerie {E, 7k}

Beta Louis has a kink for knotting and the secret aesthetic porn blog he runs about it is more than proof. When he accidentally finds out his alpha best friend Harry is one of his biggest fans, he knows he has to come clean after everything that has already happened between them. Harry just might be willing to help him out anyway.

💜 All at once, this is enough by @lunarheslwt {G, 7k}

“Could you help me…to make a nest?” His question was whisper soft, not daring to look at Louis’ face as he asked. For a few seconds, nothing but silence ensued. And then- “You want me to help you make your nest?” Harry’s blush deepened as he meekly affirmed, “yes.” The lack of response straightaway from Louis, and the way he had questioned the request, had Harry’s stomach churning uneasily. Why did he ask that? You don’t ask your friends to build you nests, what the fuck Harry. Louis must think him to be such a twit- “I’ll help.”

Or, Harry, overcome with burn out, wants to nest but he has never nested before, doesn’t know how to. Louis, his best friend, is only happy to help him make a nest and be there for him. Along the way, they find something more.

💜 Milk & Honey by @kingsofeverything {E, 7k}

Breastfeeding twins is no easy task, so Harry joins the local M.O.M.M. (Male Omegas Make Milk) support group.

💜 Where I'm Meant To Be by Halos_Boat / @halohamilton {E, 6k}

Harry and Louis have been sleeping together casually for a while. As two Alphas they never wanted to define it as anything more.

When Louis helps Harry out with his rut so he can get it done in time for his exam, they're forced to face feelings they were habouring for a while.

💜 Sweet Dreams That Leave All Worries Behind You by @tommokat {T, 5k}

Harry’s getting his in ears secured and watching while Zayn and Louis mess with Liam’s microphone when the idea hits him. He slept perfectly last night; there was no chance for feelings of loneliness to creep in while he was wrapped up in Louis’ arms and scent and sheets. Which means if he can continue to—yes, this is perfect. Harry grins to himself and starts on his plan for tonight.

💜 Chew You Up Like Candy by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28 {E, 4k}

As it turns out, the internet can also be used to find people that like the same things as you. However unusual they may be. Or in Harry’s case, the things he thinks he might want to try.

Which is how Harry has now found himself laying on his back, fully naked, and strapped down to a bench. With an intimidating looking fucking machine positioned right between his spread legs.

And completely at the mercy of the prettiest Alpha Harry’s ever seen.

So really, this is all the internet’s fault.

(Or the one where Alpha Harry falls down a Reddit hole, that leads him to discover a few new kinks he never knew he had. It also leads him to Louis, an Alpha unlike any other Harry’s ever met. Louis’ more than happy to help Harry explore his new interests).

💜 And I Want More by dimpled_halo / @comebackassholes {E, 3k}

Hearing Harry talk about knotting dildos makes Louis’ cock twitch. And fuck did it get hotter in here? Wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand he pulls Harry’s drawer to retrieve said dildo. It’s pink and glittery and honestly, Louis would expect nothing less from his best friend. A dazed smile forms on Harry’s face as soon as he wraps his fingers around it.

“Alright well, I should leave you to it. I’ll hang around on campus until your heat passes,” Louis informs Harry.

Harry’s eyes are open now, but they’re not looking at Louis, instead, they’re focused somewhere further south. He follows his gaze and immediately blushes when he notices what has caught his best friend’s attention. Louis’ erection is tenting in his sweatpants, a wet spot of precome darkening the fabric of his pants.

“Oh fuck.” It’s all making more sense now. All the heat he’s been feeling, the sweat. Louis is going through heat too.

💜 when we're finished saying nothing by @disgruntledkittenface {M, 3k}

Louis has barely woken up when she realizes that Harry is still mad from the night before. The silent treatment that Harry prefers when she’s like this isn’t going to achieve anything, so Louis gets up to apologize only to find out there’s more going on with her mate than she thought. That’s when her instincts take over.

An alpha/alpha AU inspired by Written All Over Your Face.

💜 dark rings of white noise by unwept / @peachade {M, 3k}

A culmination of emotions rise in him, he is a solar flare bubbling with indignation and shame and desire, three heavy emotions clashing together, threatening to explode in him and make a mess of his insides, ruin him and call the aftermath as art when he is more aftermath than art.

💜 Change of Plans by @haztobegood {G, 2k}

Harry and Louis plan to visit their families over Christmas. Sometimes, plans don't work out.

💜 When you're good to mama (he surprises you) by @sadaveniren {E, 2k}

“I hate your dick,” Harry sniffed.

“I know, baby.”

“Fucking magic beta dicks. Should have mated a damn alpha.”

aka Harry's pregnant with his sixth kid

💜 we don't fight fair by @hellolovers13 {E, 2k}

“What, you think I'll just roll over for you now?”

The smirk on Louis’ face was almost devilish. “Yes,” He breathed against Harry’s lips, cocky and sure, like it was a fact of life.

It sent all kinds of shivers through Harry. God, but he wanted to. Wanted Louis to have him right against this wall, let everyone see how he fell apart under him.

But not tonight.

Harry fixed his posture, standing up straighter and trying to get himself under control. “I don't think so, omega.”

Or: Nothing like a little chase to start off Louis' heat.

💜 Hanging Around by @homosociallyyours {G, 1k}

As a gay alpha loving alpha, Harry spent a lot of his life expecting to be single forever. Meeting Louis changed that, and after moving in together Harry realizes that he has the urge to nest. It's not a typical thing for an alpha to do, but Harry has never thought of himself as typical. Then again, neither is Louis.

💜 I got me an appetite, now I can taste it by @enchantedlandcoffee {E, 1k}

"Haz, are you sure about this? I don't want to hurt you, love." Louis asked, hovering over Harry's chest.

"Lou..." The omega whined, bringing his hands to the alpha's butt in an attempt to bring him closer. "You won't hurt me."

"Are you sure?" Louis asked again, staying rooted in his position until he was sure he wouldn't hurt the omega.

"I'm sure," Harry whined, moving his hands to the top of Louis' thighs. "How about this? If I'm uncomfortable in any way, I'll tap you twice, like this, okay?" The omega demonstrated the movement for Louis, tapping twice on the alpha's upper thigh.

OR Louis and Harry try something new in the bedroom.

[feelyourrush]

A Sonny Disposition || Tim LaFlour x F!OC || Chapter 001

Synopsis: Sonny, a freshman at Stratford University, is a bubbly and hyper-feminine fashion design student all the way from Australia. She's excited to be on her own for the first time, but settling into independence is proving to be more complicated than she anticipated. Thankfully, fellow student, piercing-lover punk, and hockey ingenue Tim LaFlour lives in the same apartment building as her and is more than willing to lend a helping hand—even if they seem to be from completely separate worlds. What will they learn from each other? What will they have the patience to teach each other?

Genre/tags: Pure fluff, no smut. A friends-to-lovers slow burn romance with mutual pining. Imagine two golden retrievers crushing hard on each other p much!! Slight age difference, big size difference.

Word count: 1,850

A/N: My first fic in the Matt Lillard tag! My first fic on this blog! My first fic in a long, long time. And of course I couldn't help but start a new series. Aiming for this to be a novella/shorter chapter book. Hope y'all enjoy and please leave feedback if you have it!!

"Honestly, Auntie Steph, Uncle Benny—" I let out a grunt, hoisting a large suitcase and out of the back of their trunk— "Don't worry too much about me. I'll be fine, and I know who to call in case I need any help."

They followed behind me, with Auntie Steph carrying a large dress form and Uncle Benny pushing a dolly with the rest of my things. "We know, love. We're just one call away, and your Auntie Steph has some clients downtown," Uncle Benny addressed me from behind the pile of moving boxes atop the dolly as we walked into the apartment building.

"Right. I'm down here at least twice a week," Aunt Steph said. She was a consultant for an interior design firm, handling top-tier clients. Famous actresses, hockey players, the like. I held the door open as best as I could, practically squished between the door and the railing of the small staircase up to the apartment building.

I was a few days away from starting my freshman year at Stratford University in Toronto. I was a late registrant, so by the time I got accepted, there was no housing left in the freshman dorms. Instead, I was assigned to an apartment typically reserved for the upperclassmen. It was still maintained by the university, but I supposed I still had perks. Living with the older students probably meant a bit more freedom, not that I was planning on doing much besides schoolwork.

My aunt and uncle were just like my parents, worrywarts. Except, I could at least dodge my parents somewhat; I came all the way from Australia where I've lived for the last... well, my whole life. They were busy with work so all they could do was drop me off at the airport. Between then and about an hour ago, when I met up with my aunt and uncle at the airport, I traveled alone and enjoyed it. Don't get me wrong, I love my family, and I appreciate having people who cared about me a lot—but my goodness, could they be overbearing!

I was trying to hide my anxiousness to get rid of my aunt and uncle, but I wasn't so sure how well it was working. "I know. I've got you both on speed dial," I said, flashing them one of my signature megawatt smiles as we careened my things inside.

Like in the movies, students were bustling across the lobby, traversing its small space with ease. They looked grown up, if that makes sense. I felt intimidated, to say the least, and had half a mind to pay a visit to the chancellor's office or find someone else in charge to see if they could squeeze me into one of the freshman dorms. I would take an air duct if it was all they had.

My apartment was upstairs, at the very end of the hall on the third floor. The building seemed older, less well-kept and modern like the rest of the university. The dusty spiderwebs in the corners of the ceiling and the scratched linoleum in my room gave the whole place a nice charm, though. It was lived-in, and felt grown-up, too.

I could feel the excitement set in as Uncle Benny emptied the dolly. Eventually, they plopped onto the sunken-in, emerald green couch in the middle of the living room. I laughed, watching them take their exaggerated breaths. We were a theatrical bunch.

"Somehow, we did it," Auntie Steph said.

Uncle Benny checked his watch. "Alright, honey. It's almost lunch time. We'll get out of your hair so you can get something to eat. Remember what we said."

"Of course," I said, giving them hugs as they stood up from the couch. Real good hugs, too, like the ones I'd given my family right before I got on the plane. It was a bittersweet moment, one that marked the end of my phase as that little kid who played dress up with her Barbie dolls and the beginning of my new chapter as a fashion design student. "I love you both."

"We love you too," Aunt Steph said. "We'll send our wishes."

After they left, I was so exhausted from my long journey that I thought I'd better rest, too. With a deep breath, I landed on the couch—and heard a crack of wood underneath me. I sank a few inches.

===

"Thanks so much," I said while signing my name on a piece of paper. I looked up at the gentleman with a polite, expectant smile.

"Are ya sure you don't need our help carrying this up?" he asked, raising his eyebrow at me. Behind him, a small crew of movers were transporting my new couch into the lobby.

"Umm..." I sized the couch up and down. It was about the same size as my old one, with three cushions. Knowing my parents, they ordered me something a bit hefty so it would last longer, made of real wood and all. I had the upper body strength of a squirrel, probably, but I didn't want to look stupid in front of the movers. I was grown up, after all, doing big girl things now. Surely I could move a couch by myself. Giving them all a thumbs up, I said, "I should be able to handle it. Got some friends coming soon to help me."

"Alright," the gentleman filed my papers away and gave his crew a shrug before walking out. "Have a good day, miss."

It was just me and a couch in the lobby now. "Hmm." I circled it, feeling its plastic wrap. At least I wouldn't have to worry about the cushions flying off while I was carrying this thing. I glanced over at the elevator, which was much too small to fit the couch on (and it probably would've been over the weight limit). Then I looked up at the stairs.

Not realizing I was taking up the space in front of the main entryway to the building, I heard someone clear their throat behind me, startling me.

"Uh... need a hand?"

I didn't know where to look first, because it certainly wasn't his face. He was a tall guy, at least a foot taller than me, bleach blonde, and he wore these giant black combat boots, faded gray jeans that had more than a little distressing on them, and a cut-off t-shirt that said The Ramones on it. He had a cornucopia of piercings on his face. Their silver beads reflected under the fluorescent light. I'd never seen anyone like him before.

I was probably gawking, because a second later, he spoke again. "You okay?"

I picked my jaw up off the floor. "Yeah! Yeah, totally. I just, um..." I chuckled awkwardly, patting the top of the couch.

"Did you order this thing?"

"Yes, I did," I said confidently.

"You know, the apartments come with their own couches, right?" He couldn't hide his smile.

"Yeah," I said, not so confidently anymore. For a scary-looking guy, he had a big, friendly smile. It caught me off guard, just like the rest of him did. "Mine, um, broke."

Despite his smile, I thought he was going to chew me out and tell me to move. But he looked the couch up and down, and then looked at me at least up (my lower half was covered by the back of the couch) and said, "Right. Well, I'm cool with it being here but I don't know if the rest of the guys will be."

"Rest of the...?"

Before I knew it, a slew of boys—men? students?—flooded into the apartment building, vaulting over the couch and brushing past me to go upstairs. They were all the same size and stature as him and for a second there, I was worried I would get trampled, so I stayed completely still, scrunching my face.

They were all carrying duffel bags and hockey sticks, dressed in Stratford jerseys and sweatpants. I put two and two together. When the dust settled was around the same time I realized I could ask them to help me carry the couch up, but they were already gone by then. I looked over at the guy and we seemed to be on the same wavelength.

"Do you think I could—"

"Hey, do you need—"

We chuckled, realizing we talked over each other. He said, "I got you." Then, he hollered up, "Hey! Sammo! Bowman! Could use a hand."

They spawned from above, almost racing each other to the bottom of the steps. I couldn't help but laugh at how rowdy they were.

"Oh, we got a new couch for the spot, eh?" asked Sammo, whose name was on his jersey. Bowman splayed across the couch for a laugh before hopping back up.

"This is..." the blonde guy looked over at me, furrowing his brow.

"Sonny. I'm Sonny," I smiled.

"Tim, you caught yourself a girl from down undah?" Sammo teased.

The blonde, who I knew now as Tim, continued. "....Sonny, and she needs our help carrying this to her apartment. Apartment...?"

"13."

"Damn. That's all the way at the end of the hall, isn't it?" Bowman asked.

"C'mon, boys. Sonny's new around here. Let's be polite and make her want to stay," Tim said. It was then that I noticed he also had a duffel bag and hockey sticks, which he set down outside. They each took a side and I went to lift my own, but I was met with a hand up from Sammo.

"Don't worry about this, me'lady. Don't want you liftin' up a finger." Sammo grinned.

So, I took careful steps behind them, figuring I shouldn't insist to be in the way, and watched them pivot with every bend of the staircase. This was a whole lot easier than careening this whole thing up myself. I wasn't sure what I was thinking when I let those movers leave.

Finally, they set the couch down in the middle of my room. It seemed to be no effort to them at all. I wore a warm smile.

"Thank you guys, so much," I said, holding my hands together.

"Ah, don't mention it. C'mon, Sammo, let's go." The pair left my place, and me and Tim, alone.

I chuckled, feeling a bit awkward. "You really saved the day," I said. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry," he told me. "Looks like we were at the right place at the right time." He smiled. "Well, Sonny, it turns out I'm actually in the apartment right underneath you. Number six. So if you need anything else..."

A sort of dread filled my stomach. You could hear every step you took in this place thanks to the creaky wooden floors. I was already a bit worried about bothering my neighbors with my endless nights of sewing and my impromptu dance parties, now I had to think about not bothering Tim. Strange and yet adorable and super helpful Tim. I tried to hide how horrified I was with a smile right back.

"Cool. I'll keep that in mind," I said. "Thanks again, and, um, see ya around."

"See ya."