#my teeth are so fucked and I haven’t seen one in so long

[crippled-peeper]

the only thing worse than going to the dentist is not being able to go to the dentist

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: none

A/N: bacon sounds so good rn

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P6: Choking on Meat

wc: 1900+

The warmth of the morning sun filtering through the curtains makes my skin pulse with a lively feeling. I admire the golden glow cascading in the room, my mind waking up as I recognize the semi-familiar surroundings—Chris’s room. 

Fuck. I need to be home. 

My body twists under a heavy weight. I look down to see his arm wrapped around my waist tightly, his lips tickling my neck as light breaths push through his lips. Oh. He’s spooning me—well, practically cradling me. It’s not even just his arm over my waist, his other arm is under my neck, caging me in against him completely. 

The rise and fall of his chest against my back is slow. His hold on me is so secure, almost as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear. And part of me doesn’t want to move. Maybe I should just stay a little longer…

“Hmmmm.” He hums into my hair, pulling me even closer as he sighs. It’s odd. The feeling of butterflies in my stomach is overbearing. 

I need to leave.

“Chris—” My words are interrupted as he lets out some sort of grunt, holding me even closer. “I need to—” 

The whine that murmurs through his lips makes my chest tighten, the feeling of his lips against my neck sending a wave of butterflies into the pit of my gut. 

It’s so… different. He seems so soft—so gentle. 

I maneuver my feet just the slightest, the heavy weight of Trevors small figure nowhere to be found. Sitting up slightly, I huff as Chris practically yanks me back down into his hold. I roll my eyes, my eyes drifting uncomfortably up towards the door. 

Oh fuck. 

His door is open just a crack, the room barren of any dog. Someone came in here—someone saw. Was it Matt? Had it been his dad? Honestly, I didn’t know which one was worse. 

The digital clock glares back at me as I stare over to his nightstand. 

11:37 a.m. 

My eyes bulge, my entire body tensing with pure horror. I never sleep in this late. Even though I know it’s a Sunday, my mom had probably come to check on me—she had probably seen the empty bed. 

Maybe there’s a small chance she hasn’t noticed yet. Any chance, I was willing to take at this point. 

I nudge Chris a bit. “I need to go home—”

“Shhhh,” he breathes, nuzzling his face further into my neck. “Haven’t slept in so long. Please,” he begs, his gruff words barely coherent. 

My body falls limp, my teeth biting into my lip as I stare at the surroundings of the room. Why hasn’t he slept? 

As my mind runs in circles, I fail to hear the pummel of paws get closer to the door, the slight scratch making me smile as I see Trevor jump up on the bed. He walks directly in front of me, plopping and curling underneath Chris’s hand around my waist. 

He’s so cute. 

“Sleep good?” 

Shit.

My face falls as I look up to see Matt staring at me from the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest while raising a brow at me. 

“Matt get the fuck out of my room,” Chris spits.

Matt sighs as he closes the door. “Dad came in earlier to get Trevor, so have fun explaining that.” 

Oh god. Could this get any worse? 

“Chris, I need to get home,” I announce, trying to pry his arm off of me slowly. 

“I’m fine, I just—nevermind,” he puffs, releasing me from his hold as if he had been burned. I feel a dull ache in my chest, a sinking sensation spreading through my body. Chris gets up quickly. He stands up, running a hand over his face with a deep sigh. 

“I need to go home—”

“What? You need me to walk you like a dog?” 

Ouch. 

My face falls as I recognize his bitter tone, his eyes dropping to a cold glare as he rummages around the room mindlessly. Is he even looking for something? Or does he just want to ignore me?

Trevor nuzzles further into me, letting out a small grumble as I get up off the bed. I pet my hand soft on his head, my lips curling into a sympathetic smile as I try to take a deep breath. 

“Get out of my room. Go home,” Chris tuts, barely brushing past me as he storms out the door, leaving it open as if he’s trying to urge me to be faster. 

He doesn’t spare me any sort of acknowledgment before disappearing down the hallway. I hear a door click shut, the sound of shower water buzzing from the other side of the wall. My eyes drift to Trevour. I feel my lip quiver, a wave of chaos floating into my mind. Why did he have to be so cold?

It felt good to be in someone’s arm, for them to want me. And it had perished as soon as he really woke up. I thought we had some sort of understanding, but I guess not. 

I walk out the room, my arms folded across my chest as I take soft steps towards the living room. My feet freeze as I enter the main room. 

The living room is barren, the messy blankets still strung along the dented couch cushion. My eyes stay frozen towards the door, the bodies in the kitchen moving in my peripheral vision. 

Matt is sitting at the counter. He’s staring at his phone with a dumb smile, his thumbs tapping profusely on the screen. 

“Do you want some breakfast?” 

The question from the older man catches me off guard. My mouth gapes open, my hands gripping tighter around myself as I blink quickly scanning the surroundings. 

“It’s, um—it’s not what it looks—”

Before I can finish, he interrupts me. 

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, kid. I’m just askin’ if you want some breakfast,” he explains, laughing as he holds up a plate full of food. Bacon. My mouth waters just from the smell. When’s the last time I didn’t have protein pancakes or a smoothie for breakfast? 

“I, um—I should get home, I’m sorry for intruding,” I huff, trying to take a couple more steps towards the door. 

As my hand lands on the doorknob, I feel something bump into my ankles—Trevor. The dog nips at my sweatpants, tugging and pulling.

“I think he wants you to stay,” the older man remarks, laughing as he swings a spatula around. 

He reminds me of Matt, but a bit more outgoing. I shake my head, going to awkwardly refuse the offer, but the older man sets the plate on the counter next to Matt, nudging for me to come over and sit. Trevor drops my clothes from his teeth as soon as I start walking back over. 

“You can call me Jimmy by the way—or J-Dawg, I’m cool like that,” he winks, handing me a fork as I settle into the kitchen stool. 

Matt shakes his head beside me. “No one calls him that except himself.” 

“Oh, well—thanks,” I smile awkwardly, pushing my fork into the hashbrown sizzling on the plate. My eyes go wide, my words falling rushedly out of my lips, “Oh—I’m Y/n, sorry, I…” A blush covers my face as I realize just how quickly the words left my mouth. 

“Lovely to meet ya,” he remarks, smiling with a cheery grin before turning around and moving the spatula in the pan. “Can’t remember the last time Chris had someone over,” he puffs, his words barely audible over the sound of food cooking. 

“Yeah, I… it wasn’t really planned,” I explain, cringing as the words muffle from the food being stuffed in my mouth. 

Matt shifts from beside me. I notice how his posture is hunched over, completely invested in his phone. “You good?” I ask, elbowing him lightly. 

“Ugh, I just,” he looks over at me, turning his phone off and placing it down on the counter. “Mia said yes to a date. I wanna take her to the museum since she loves history and art, but I… what the fuck do I wear?” 

I nearly choke on my food. As I cough repeatedly, I hear the clink of a glass, looking down to see Jimmy pushing a cup of water in front of me. 

“You good, kid?” Jimmy asks, his eyes furrowed together as he watches me catch my breath. 

I look between the two. My eyes focus on Matt, my face crinkled as I stare at him with concern. “You just curse in front of your dad?” I ask, my voice high in pitch. 

A gut laughter makes me shrivel, my neck heating up as I maneuver my weight in the stool. Jimmy is practically crying, tears welling up in his eyes. “Oh kid, that’s what scared ya? I don’t care at all—or should I say, J-Dawg don’t spare any damns!” he remarks, pursing his lips as if he’s posing. 

Spare a damn? 

My lips flubber with a muffled giggle. I let out a sigh of relief as I take a long sip of water, grabbing onto a piece of bacon and starting to munch on it. I like his dad. Why couldn’t Chris be more like him? Or even more like Matt? Why did he have to be so… ugh. 

“Anyhow,” Matt start, staring back at me as he nervously fiddles with his hands. “I don’t really know, like, what to wear. Do you think you could…I don’t know…help me?” he questions. 

I nod my head affirmatively, covering my mouth as I struggle to eat the warm food. I should’ve just waited for it to cool down, but it looked too good. “Yeah, I—wait, when does Chris usually come out?” I ask.

Matt shrugs. “Usually after he takes a shower, why?”

The dull ache in my chest returns as I spare a quick stare down the empty hallway. “I, um—I should probably go before he sees me, he didn’t exactly want me to be here.” 

Scratching my nails into my head, I try to chew quicker, wincing as I swallow too soon. I should be in a rush to get home for the sake of my mother—not for the sake of being caught by Chris in his kitchen, talking to his dad and brother.

“He looked like he wanted you here earlier,” Jimmy puffs. 

My eyes go wide with his statement. I look over to Matt, watching as he shrugs. “Dad always gets Trevor in the morning. I told you this, remember?” he retorts. 

Well, fuck. I almost forgot he had said that earlier. He saw me cuddled up with his son. How fucking awkward. 

“Yeah, I thought I was delusional when I saw that Chris was actually asleep for once. Imagine how shocked I was when I saw someone else with him, ha!” Jimmy laughs, my anxiety easing as I analyze his comforting humor. He turns to face me, waving the spatula as he speaks, “You’re welcome anytime. If my dog likes ya, you can hang out whenever—he loves to be pet.”

I smile fondly. “Yeah, he does. I like him too,” I say, looking down to find the fluffy dog beneath my feet, curled in a tight ball and letting out soft snores. 

“Will you help me with my outfit though? Please?” Matt asks, his eyes mimicking Trevor’s when the dog begs from pets with a small whine. 

How could I say no? 

[doiliedaze]

Constant Craving

Warnings: dry humping, vi is wearing a packer, marking, groping, vi’s nipples are sensitive and pierced, nipple sucking (v! receiving), cumming inside their underwear, messy makeout, vi licks your face, lip biting, spit transfer, vi rambles, reader squirts for the first time, reader gets fingered, thigh riding

Genre: smut

A/n: for anyone who doesn’t know what a packer is, it’s this !! They talk about it beyond a sexual use which I think is really important and I’m gonna input that into my stories because this is the second time I’ve mentioned packers/butch bulge and I don’t want to come off that I only view it sexually because I don’t.

───────┈ · ·

“Fuck” vi groans as she ruts against your clothed cunt. Straddling you and pushing her weight on you. The two of you haven’t seen each other in two days which is two years for y’all.

Your nails scrape her back as you lift her shirt. Her pierced nipples brush up against your top and she moans.

Already her humps were desperate, her voice wavering as she mutters about how much she loves your pussy. Your hands guides her hips as you near your first orgasm of the night.

“Need you babe—fuck” she moans and closes her eyes. “Where do you want me?” You whine knowing she wants you to toy with her tits. She straightens her posture so you have access to her.

A moan flowed out as the hotness of your mouth met the coolness of her piercing. Your plump lips attached themselves to her eager nipples. You tongue swirled and your teeth pulled. Heavenly whimpers left her swollen lips.

“Pleasepleaseplease” she babbles, her nails seeping into your skin. You moan against her breast as you feel your orgasm crash over you. Your hazy eyes look up at her blown out pupil’s. She lifts your face away from her nipple, a string of saliva follows. “Open your mouth.” She whispers as her humps got more aggressive. You could hear your wetness as her bulge presses against you.

You listen to her command and slowly a string of her spit drips down your throat. The view alone made vi cum.

Harshly she grabs your face to steady herself to lean down for a kiss. The kiss escalates as both of your second orgasms build. Her hand rips your shirt open, needing to touch you. Her wet nipples rub against your stiff ones. Vi pinches your nipples and pulls it drawling moans out of your hoarse throat.

She’s gotten so lost in the kiss that she licks your face. Your tongues slides against each other and she uses her free hand to hold your jaw and suck on your tongue. She bops her head up and down on your tongue. Her teeth sink into your tongue not enough to make it bleed but enough to make you grip her hips and moan.

Her body shudders as she moves her head into your neck biting down. Her teeth drag across the same areas till your skin turns a dark purple.

“Love ‘m pretty girl” she moans into your mouth as she moves back up to kiss you. Her hand sliding into your wet panties. “Fuck you feel so good” she pants as she positions herself to grind on your thigh. Eagerly she pushes two fingers in and it doesn’t take long for you to cum.

Wanting to push you, she thrusts her fingers faster and curls them to hit your g-spot. The speed and the movement had your back arching and your hips shaking. You kiss her, sliding your tongue against her, biting her lip and drool slipping down your chin.

Your third orgasm comes quicker than your last. A loud moan that could be compared to a scream ripped through you as you squirt against vi. The two of you stop and look at each other, “that’s new” vi laughs and you join her although your voice was shaky. “Let’s do it again.”

───────┈ · ·

A/n: This got me out my smut funk, I needed to write intimacy!

Taglist: @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven @femme-historian @furrytaesss @milanyas @highnfemme @5seos

Dividers- @dollywons

[coffee-and-geto]

HAVE YOU SEEN MY PANTIES?

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: in a lazy, hot summer afternoon, it’s your boyfriend’s turn to do the laundry. but why doesn’t he respond when you’re asking where’s your panties?

warnings: +18, smut, nsfw, gojo is your boyfriend, needy! gojo, cute! gojo, fluff, nipple play, panties sniffling, masturbation (m), oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, sex (p in v), also based on a @/yunonoai’s comic!

wc: 2,128

“Babe, can you do the laundry? I have a call.”

“Sure,” Satoru replies, standing up from the couch where he was lazily lying down, chilling out in front of some tiktoks.

He steps towards the bathroom, the laundry hamper waiting for him to be emptied and washed. With a resigning sigh, he looks down at the heap of dirty clothes. One of them overhangs them all: your favorite panties — the one he bought you last month. 

The lace surrounds with finesse the satin fabric of your favorite color.

So how can he not be hard at the only sight that reminds him how long you both haven’t had sex?

Fuck.

His breathing becomes heavier, each inhaling being a trial to not pay attention to the prominent bulge swelling down his gray jogging pants. Of course, the memory of your whimpers will always be like music to his ears, the fwap sounds of his cock buried deep, so deep, inside of your wet pussy, and his balls, so much filled with his cum and tightening when he's about to climax, slapping against your ass at each pound into you.

He is grouching now, at the edge of whining in need of your full attention — but of course, you needed to have a call at this very moment.

His hand twitches to his crotch, palming his already hard erection through the soft fabric of his pants, electricing at quiet moans, Satoru’s beautiful face wincing in pleasure. He swallows thick, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and gives in. With messy movements, he lifts up his black shirt to grab the hem at his watering mouth and muffle his cute sounds between his clenched teeth and jaw. The fresh air blow at his hard abs, making him tensing his belly with scorching skin.

His big, calloused hand fiddles with his erection, so ready to free himself from the torturous sensation of your pretty panties, which he holds between his fingers and brings to his nose to inhale your scent, which makes him like a little puppy for you. Satoru utters a desperate whimper and finally buries his hand under his clothes to release his quivering cock.

It’s much bigger than usual, beads of precum glistening on the angry red tip, and veins sinuating the flesh. Of course, it’s perfect. That’s why it will never seem strange to anyone to see him stroke himself. He lazily fucks his tight fist, picturing your sweet pussy as he closes his eyes, beads of sweat leaking from his temples a flush spreads all over his cheeks.

His length girth throbs between his digits, coursing waves of lust through him as Satoru quickens the pace, as the same as his heartbeat. Saliva damps the fabric of his black shirt, and the idea of substituting the hem of his shirt with your panties carries out straight away, increasing his arousal until it’s twitching in a maddened way. With each stroke, the pre spreads along his shaft to allow it to be lubricated, at the point that if you all of a sudden show up in the bathroom, you both can skip the foreplay but damn!

“Toru? Did you see my panties?” Your voice echoes through another room.

But he doesn’t answer anyway.

“Fuck,” he grunts in a quiet whine, “miss you so much, babe.” His balls tighten, following the next moment — and it doesn’t take that much time he expected, because a few seconds after he twists his wrist in an upstroke movement — the exact way you’d do to him — he’s already cumming on the heap of laundry, dirtying them even more they already were, puddles of a viscous liquid, spreading out in droplets as the orgasmic peak subsides.

Panting heavily, he doesn’t hear you burst into the bathroom as you exclaim, “Satoru? You serious? Look at the state of the laundry now!”

With a swift gesture, he removes your panties from his mouth and turns his head suddenly towards you. He’s unable to justify himself and simply watches your disapproving pout ruffle your pretty lips. “Sorry babe, I'll clean it up.” He also notes how your mere presence makes him hard immediately despite having softened a moment earlier with the moment of “relief” he wished to provide for himself.

“Where are my panties?” you ask a second time as you rummage, eyebrows furrowed, through the basket of dirty laundry.

Satoru rubs the back of your neck nervously and hesitates to hide your underwear in his palm. “Uh... here,” he murmurs softly, slightly discomfited as you pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

“You’re that much needy?”

Satoru looks down, a little boyish pout on his lips that breaks your heart. “Sorry...”

Your frown softens. “Oh, um— No, Toru, please don’t gimme that look,” you whisper, walking over to him, your hands instinctively cupping his cheeks to make him look down at you. “I’m sorry, my love. You need to tell me when you need me, okay?”

Satoru nods slowly, still guiltily pouting. “Can I have you? Please? Just one round, I swear I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs.

His request makes your lips curl up. “My boy does want me? You’re cute, almost begging like this.” You graze a kiss on his cheek. “Get on your knees.”

“Like that?” His knees make contact with the floor, his cock still outside his dangling jogging suit. He so fucking cute, listening to you so obediently.

“Good boy,” you coo, sliding pants down your thighs. Your black panties hug the swell of your hips, your intoxicating scent spreading toward Satoru’s nostrils.

He moves towards you using his knees to grip your hips and sniff your scent once more. The action makes you giggle so much that it makes you suck in a breath when he pulls down your underwear to kiss your groin. “Love you,” he whispers. “I want to taste you, please.”

“Satoru, just wait I—” But he cuts you off, darting out his tongue to lick a strip enough to feel your bundle of nerves. A moan escapes your lips, driving your breath as crazy as he’s doing with his skillful mouth.

“You’re dripping,” Satoru comments, kissing your lower lips swiftly before grabbing you by the thighs and lifting you up, dropping you off the washing machine. “Spread your legs,” he mumbled, all needy and flushed to eat you out.

And how long he hadn’t—

It’s like he’s drunk on you, ignoring your moans and whimpers as he rests his cheeks on your inner thigh to wrap his wrist around your thighs. His fingertips dig into the flesh of your thighs, trapping you firmly. “Keep ‘em spread, baby,” he purrs, lapping your soaked core and sensitive, puffy clit. “It tastes s’good, I’ve missed you.”

His dick twitches and throbs afterward, your sweet sounds re-hardening him and making him more swollen than he was even after the few rubs he did to relieve himself.

“Hmm, ah, Satoru, you—” you trail off, throwing back your head against the wall, your hands grabbing the washing machine’s edge until your knuckles turn white. “I’ll be close, I—” you babble, and the realization of how much not having sex with him for so long is turning you into a virgin-like. And also, the clenching feeling of your pussy, lips parting and closing around nothing hits you so hard.

You need to cum on his cock.

“Satoru, stop,” you gasp, your fingers snaking gently through his white lock and tugging them carefully.

He stops the moment after your whine reaches his ears — a sound ringing like music to his ear. “But… I haven’t made you come yet,” he murmurs, rubbing your clit slowly with his forefinger and middle finger. His cute pout is now begging you to give him grace.

“I want to cum on your dick,” you clarify, leaning in, your lips pressing down a gentle, loving kiss on this beautiful forehead of him.

“You sure? I haven’t stretched you beforehand.” He rises from his former crouching position and holds his sensitive length closer to your core.

“I don’t mind, I just want you right now,” you blow out, kissing his free hand.

Satoru blushes — and oh, how can anyone fall in love with this cute little face you want to madly shower with cuddles and kisses? “Can we put it in while I kiss you?” he requests, bringing his lips closer to yours.

You let out a little laugh, pressing a first kiss on his lips. “You’re so cute.”

But something makes your eyes drop lower, and you feel it. Satoru’s hand holds his shaft enough well to tap the tip and the length below on your core, teasing your squelching cunt.

“C’mon, don’t tease me, I want you n— Ah!” He shuts you down by crashing his lips on yours and sliding himself easily in you, stretching you impossibly wide. “S-Satoru, you’re bigger than usual,” you whimper. 

Your hands grab his broad shoulder, nails sinking in his compressed black shirt, lips moving on their own to taste yourself on his wet lips. His tender tongue asks to enter you, and you allow him, soft strokes on each other’s tongue.

Satoru moans in the melting kiss, waiting for you to adjust, and starts gentle back and forth hips moves, hissing through his teeth by the sweet, delicious tightness of yours. “You feel so good,” he squeals between kisses. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You gasp, swallowing hard because of the different paces your brain can’t focus on — stolen kisses and perfect pounds into you. It’s so deep, so mastered, that it’s driving you mad and making you see stars.

Breaking the kiss, Satoru wraps his muscled arms around your back and encircles you flush against him, your heartbeat matching with his, and your fingernails slide down his back as you almost lose strength and balance every time his tip brushes against your cervix, etching red scratch marks for sure on his back as soon as he will remove his shirt.

With another buck before pulling out fully, he slides back in and manages to reach your deepest point, making your back arch and cry out. “Satoru, please, I’m so close,” you whine, wincing because of his hips rocking in you faster and harder. 

The washing machine sways to the same rhythm, threatening to give way under your weight. Your heavy, ragged breaths fill the air in a kind of steam room. Blood beats at your ears, your gummy walls clenching around his long, big dick without ceasing and have mercy for you.

But as if that wasn’t enough, Satoru slides your top off with a swift movement of his hand to free one of your breasts and taste the nipple. He sucks hard, tongue pulling and swirling at the nub like no other. The action makes you roll your eyes, the overstimulation engulfing you like a wave would.

He then uses his head to tease your nipple with a gentle tug, his cerulean-blue eyes captivated by your curve. You squeal, your walls swallowing up his thrusts inside you, tightening more and more until he gives in and takes you back into his arms, but this time with a hand under your thigh to lift it up and enable him to reach an even more precise and deep angle, making you scream out his name.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” Satoru warns you, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and his jaw tense from clenching. “Please, where—”

“Inside me, Satoru,” you whimper in the hollow of his neck, closing your eyes before the following ride crashes the two of you.

Pussy clenching around his length, you squirt on him with a small cry, and Satoru does likewise, twitching as he grunts and his hips jerk to reach your womb and fill you up with his cum.

Muscles trembling from the aftermath, you pant against him, as weak as after an intense workout. “I’ve missed you so much,” Satoru whispers in your ear, in the same state as you. His large, quaking hands stroke your hair, soothing you.

White strings escape from your full, swollen-lipped pussy, the sound of trickling filling the silence of the room.

“I promise I’ll do the laundry, but please, can we have cuddles?” Satoru demands, blinking down at you with puppy-dog eyes.

You rest your cheek on his shoulder and nod, a smile stretching your lips, as you reach out to stroke his cheek.

“Of course, my baby.”

DING DONG.

The ringing of the front door echoes in your ears and a memory pops into your head, slapping you in the face.

“Wasn’t Suguru supposed to come to borrow the washing machine here because his is broken?”

Satoru froze, flickering his eyes. “Huh?”

a/n: feelin to write something cute and smutty haha! i think writing things easy like this is unwinding me.

see how he’s so cute? 🥹 pls God give me one…

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappenedtobees @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t

[joelsgoldrush]

“never is a promise” | 12.4k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him. 

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces. 

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”

“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.

Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.

Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.

In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Alright. You don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.

But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.

You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions. 

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.

Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.

“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you?  “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.

Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.

As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.

Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.

Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.

One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.

While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.

Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.

Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.

As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.

There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.

The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.

The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos. 

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.

The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.

Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.

The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?” 

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life.

The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.

Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.

The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.

On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.

But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.

All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.

He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.

Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.” 

“I don’t—”

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.

Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time. 

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.

Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.

Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds. 

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.

You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes. 

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.

You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.

Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.

Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.

“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.” 

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.

Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.

Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.

“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.

Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.

He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.

“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.

Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.

The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.

“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.

Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?” 

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.

Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.

You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.

He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?” 

“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t. 

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers. 

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.

Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation. 

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs. 

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.

“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is. 

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off. 

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.

You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.

Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you. 

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are. 

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.

You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to. 

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.

He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.

Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.

You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.

But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.

He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.

You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.

It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”

Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake.

His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.

Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of this man.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”

You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.

Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.

The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip. 

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.

Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.

You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open. 

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.

He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length. 

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.

“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.

You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while. 

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And God, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[joelsdagger]

‘tis the season || one shot

joel miller x f!reader

nothing new. nothing exciting. just some pwp. major shout out to my very freaky girl @dinandwhiskey, this fic was born due to our 4am conversations about fucking Our Old Man on viagra. and to my fellow ocean unicorn @joeloverture, for the encouragement, always. and to @pedrospatch, for being my eyes, and my biggest cheerleader, you have my heart. anyway – merry christmas eve eve & happy holidays ya filthy animals. may 2025 be ever so kind to you <33

pairing: dbf!joel x reader summary: you’re back in town for christmas, and it’s been months since you’ve seen your boyfriend, joel miller. and he decides to make the most of the brief window of time you have together.  or,  joel fucks you after taking viagra. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ warnings: [no-outbreak au], implied age gap [no mention of ages but reader is in college], secret established long distance relationship [that’s a mouth full] [that’s what she said], drug use, joel miller on viagra is a beast, pet names [baby, darlin’, sweetheart, kiddo], sexualization of the terms kiddo & old man, [mocking] dirty talk, size kink, praise kink, daddy kink, brief mentions of smut that occurs off page [i.e: face-sitting, fingering, anal play, ass eating/rimming, a reach around handjob, f! & m! receiving oral], softdom!joel, unprotected piv, missionary, mating press, overstimulation [rip our girl she’s fighting for her life], dacryphilia, finger sucking, biting, smidge of a pain kink, creampie, squirting, joel fucks you while you’re on the phone with your father, mentions of christmas, (2) christmas puns [author apologizes in advance for said puns], probably [most likely] inaccurate and unrealistic descriptions to the effects of viagra [remember, this is fiction!!], omitting a few tags as to avoid spoilers!!, aaaaand lastly, they’re in love BYE! word count: 3.5k

masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for notifs on when i post my writing!

“Just one more time, sweetheart.”

You don’t respond, tongue-tied. The agonizingly slow drag of his cock inside you is too much, your mind is a blur. 

Joel’s been fucking you for hours. He’s made you come six times since you practically pranced through his front door. Twice on his face, once on his fingers, and three times on his cock. And now you’re overstimulated — cunt swollen and almost begging for relief — but Joel, driven by your high-pitched moans and strained whimpers, is unable to stop himself, working to make you come just one more fucking time.

It’s thanks to that stupid little blue pill his buddy slipped him that he’d been able to fuck you for this long. 

In truth, he doesn’t need it. He never needs it. He fucks you perfectly fine without it. But you’re home for the holidays, and you haven’t seen him or come successfully on your own since the beginning of the fall term, and Joel wanted to take advantage of that.

Send you back fucked so full o’me you’ll feel me in here for weeks, he’d groaned. 

Your drippy hole stretched out and clamped tight around the thick girth of him. It had been so long, your face contorted at the sharp sting, and a pained hiss escaped through his gritted teeth when he pushed the delicious fat tip of his cock past your puffy folds, splitting you in two. 

The warm walls of your cunt pulse around his shaft, your clit throbs against the wet thatch of thick hairs stippled gray at his base. You’re too sensitive, too tender, cunt stinging with every long stroke, but not in the way it makes you want to use your safe word. 

It’s just that Joel hasn’t let up. Two hours spent making you come and he hasn’t let up once. The only time he had given you some semblance of a break was when he got up, turned around, and sat on your face at your plea — your desire to show him how good he had made you feel all those times before. 

His cock in your hand, weak fist tugging away at his length while you lathed away at the tight little hole in the crease between his ass cheeks. Even then, Joel couldn't help himself; shoved three thick fingers into your puffy pussy — timing the thrust of them to the desperate pumps of your joint fists — jacking his cock in unison while you writhed beneath him, pulling another climax from you. 

Only when his sweaty thighs quivered around your body, chin tilted towards the ceiling and a stream of profanities poured from his lips, his body curling over yours as hot spurts of his cum painted your soft tummy when he felt your finger slipping past his puckered rim to the knuckle, had he given you a break. 

“Attagirl, just like that. Pretty little pussy’s gonna cum all over me. C’mon, baby, give it to me,” Joel’s voice is thick with arousal as he rambles above you, his hips expertly rolling into yours, head of his cock nudging that place incompetent college boys have failed to reach. 

“Joel—fuck—I don’t think I can—” You gasp frantically, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, arms wound tight around him.

He smirks with another deliberate roll of his hips. “Thought you said you could keep up. Isn’t that what you said? “Naw, I reckon you said, Try keeping up, old man, wasn’t that it?”  He mocks, imitating your words from earlier. Fucking bastard. 

A whimpering mess, your eyes pinch shut in response. 

“I can’t—” you croak, fingernails digging into his shoulders. 

Deft hands brush your hair back from your face. “You can. I know you can, baby.”  His voice softer, barely audible through the wet smack of his balls, smeared in the evidence of your earlier release, firmly slapping against the curve of your ass. The sounds obscenely echoing through the quiet of his bedroom. 

You whimper and try fruitlessly to nod. He knows you can, and he’s right. Your hips wouldn’t be grinding up off the mattress to meet his thrusts. You wouldn’t be feeling something roiling low in your belly.

“One more time, baby. Give me one more n’ I’ll let this sore little pussy rest,” he whispers, lips kissing away your salty tears. 

You nod eagerly. His hand reaches up to the headboard, fingers curling around it and locking into place, his other removes one of yours from his shoulder, pins it to the pillow above your head. And with his hand clasping your damp palm, fingers squeezing then interlocking with yours, he fucks you harder. 

The change in pace has tears spilling from your eyes and pooling into the shells of your ears. The wave swells, swells, swells —

Your phone screen lights up the dark room, buzzing on Joel’s nightstand. 

You freeze, neck craning in the direction of the vibration, eyes squinting and damp lashes fluttering at the bright screen, Dad, it reads. 

Shit. 

You gaze back up at Joel, wide-eyed, panic surging in your chest. Joel growls. “Don’t answer.” 

You don’t listen. You know your father, he’ll keep calling until you answer. Without saying another word, your hand comes up to the wooden surface in search of your phone. You take a few deep breaths, trying to quell the anxious heat swirling inside you, unplug your phone from the charger, slide a shaky thumb across the screen, and press the phone to the shell of your ear.

“Hey—” You clear your throat awkwardly, “Hey, Dad,” your voice breathy, tired.

You unstick your body from Joel’s, your free hand presses to his strong chest, a silent effort to halt his movements.

“Kid! I’m sorry to call you this late, but before you left for Eve’s, I forgot to let you know to be home in time for breakfast.” 

Jesus. That could’ve been a text. 

You sit up, scoot back into the pillows, while Joel sits back on his knees, wincing in unison as his cum-drenched cock slips out of your overflowing slit. Almost instantly, you feel a steady stream of his spend trickle out of your opening. He’d already managed to fill you to the brim three times tonight.

You fiddle with your bottom lip. “Breakfast? I thought we were just doing dinner.”

“Well, I thought since you’re only in town for a few days, we could go the whole nine yards. I missed our breakfasts together. I enjoy them, kid,” he says softly. 

Your bleary eyes flick back to Joel. The smug grin that graces his lips and the gleam of something darker in his eyes don’t put you at ease. He’s up to something, as always. 

You grumble, massaging your forehead. “Yeah, sure, Dad. I’ll be home by nine. Listen, I gotta—” 

“Oh! Speakin’ of dinner, I was thinking of inviting Joel over,” your dad says, plainly.  

Your heart stutters. “Joel? W-Why?”

The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches, dark eyes glimmer with mischief. Two heavy hands find your waist, and he’s sliding you back down towards him. Slow and suspicious, one of his hands finds your knee, and presses it flush to the mattress. You both watch as his other hand cups the back of your other knee, pushing it back down to match the other, exposing you to the sex-tainted air. With his eyes transfixed on the slow trickle of his spend, his hand then wraps around the base of his cock, tip lining up with your aching hole. 

There it is. 

“Poor guy has been asking about you, kid.” And Joel glides the head of his cock up and down your puffy seam, collecting your mixed juices on his tip then taps the heavy weight of it on your perked clit twice in quick succession; Joel smirks at the wet smack. You jolt, thighs attempting to clamp shut, his firm grip on your knee tightens, keeping you open for him. 

You pinch your eyes closed and curse under your breath. 

“What was that, honey?” 

Your eyes snap open, and you scramble to recover, “N-nothing, I just–” You clear your throat again. “Sorry. What were you saying, Dad?”

Joel chuckles lowly as he leans forward on top of you, pressing his broad frame in on you, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. Chest to chest, belly to belly, pelvis to pelvis, tacky skin against tacky skin, once again as before. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, and with his mouth at your other ear, his tongue darts out to lick at the salty droplet there before suckling ever so slightly on your flesh, you bite back a moan. 

Your dad, oblivious to your current state, continues, “Oh— Joel’s been asking after you. Think he’s getting sick of your old man if I’m honest. He keeps telling me he misses having you around, always goin’ on about how you’ve grown up right before his eyes…”

He can hear him. You know he can by the feel of the corner of his mouth curling up into a grin, teeth grazing your carotid now. He lifts his head, dark gaze meeting yours while his massive hands cup your tits, caressing, squeezing, kneading, while muttering, Goddamn have you grown up. 

Your cunt flutters around nothing, and you sigh into the phone; your dad doesn’t hear it through his rambling. You don’t register what he’s chatting away about because then, Joel’s nose nuzzles into your neck, traces a line up, up, up until his tongue snakes out and meets the curve of your earlobe. Licks the meat of it into his mouth and takes it between his teeth, your whimper cuts off into a moan when the bite turns sharp.  

His fingers fiddle with your nipples. “Naughty little thing,” Joel taunts, warmth of his breath fanning across the hinge of your jaw, “You liked that?” 

You keen and nod, his hand dips south between your bodies, wrapping around the base of his length, notches the too-wide cockhead at your too-small hole. You turn your head, pressing your mouth to the scruff of his beard, muffling the whine he elicits from you. 

Joel pushes inside, takes a moment, and just to mess with you — he fucks his tip in and out of your drooling hole in small pulses — once, twice, thrice — teasing you, making you moan. He tilts his head, nosing your cheek, breath hot and voice deep, “Listen,” he commands.

Absentmindedly, you tilt your phone away from your ear, away from your dad’s mumblings. You strain your ears to obey him. In and out, in and out. The squelch of your sticky wet reverberates  against the four walls of his bedroom as the blunt head of his cock moves in and out. 

In. And out.  

“Fuck,” you mutter, eyes flitting down to watch his cock impale you. 

Your dad’s voice cuts in through the fog, redrawing your attention.

“Sweetie? You okay? What’s wrong?” 

Your eyes widen. Shit. “I’m–I’m–fine, I– I j-just stubbed my toe. Dad, I really can’t t–” You stammer, and Joel chuckles lowly. 

Your stuttering emboldens him, taking it as an invitation to torture you further, and with his lips against your ear, a breathy moan escapes from his lips as Joel feeds you his cock, slowly working himself back into your spent cunt. So painfully slow that he ensures you feel every ridge and every vein, and in turn, he feels every inch of your warm, velvet walls sucking him in as he eases himself into you. Used cunt clamped tight around him as you welcome him back in — inch by torturous inch. 

He stills once he reaches resistance, and you bite your bottom lip hard enough that you taste copper, suppressing the moan climbing up your chest as his tip knocks your cervix, heavy balls pressed flush to your ass — finally bottoming out inside you.

He ruts into you once, tip bumps your cervix again — goading you, and you gasp in return, fingernails indenting his shoulder, half–moon crescents marking his skin. Beads of sweat roll off his forehead and onto your face, mixing with the warm tears now cascading down your face, and your tongue darts out to taste it. The flavor of him — his sweat, his musk — only feeds the dizzying blur that is your mind. But through the foggy haze and the lewd, wet slap of flesh against flesh, you think you can hear your dad saying, You really need to quit the habit of walking around in the dark, kiddo.

And you think you’re nodding, an endless litany of, yes, yeah–yeah slipping past your lips, as you rush your way through the phone call with your father, uncaring. Only interested in the shifts of Joel’s hips, slowly fucking into you in measured thrusts.

Joel tuts. “Such a dirty fuckin’ girl, gettin’ off while speakin’ to her daddy.” And your grip in his hair tightens, walls tensing in response. “Attagirl, keep squeezin’ me like that. You gonna show me just how naughty you are for me, hm? Gonna let me have it with him on the phone? Gonna cream all over my cock, naughty girl?”

You nod your head numbly, mouth dry and unable to speak with the tip of his cock prodding at the soft spot inside you on every languid stroke, hips swaying back and forth.

The wave begins to crest, and despite your eager nodding at Joel only a second prior, there’s no way in hell you’re really going to come on your boyfriend’s cock — your dad’s best friend — while on the phone with your father. 

Your voice claws its way up your throat, “D-dad, I’m — mmm — sorry I really have to g–”​ You think your thumb presses the red button, but your phone slips from your hand, dropping to the carpet with a muffled thump, and it’s too late to check if you’ve fully hung up on him, and frankly, you’re too consumed by your lover to care. 

Grinning with pride, Joel pulls back, cock halfway out of your pussy and your hands grasp at his shoulders. 

“Joel— f-fuck–please,” you beg, your resolve melting. 

He clicks his tongue. “Na-uh, try again.” 

“D-d-daddy–please,” you whine. 

“D-d-daddy,” he mocks above you. “Say it, pretty girl.” He knows, but he wants to hear you say it. 

“Harder. Please, daddy–I–I wanna come, please, I wanna come,” you mewl, voice all whiny and petulant.

He says nothing. Without pulling out of you, his long fingers wrap around to grip the backs of your knees, pinning your thighs to your chest, knees to your shoulders, feet dangling in the air beside his beautiful head, folding you in half. Then, he moves to plant his feet flat on the mattress, propping himself up, hands on your thighs to steady himself. 

You’re already a mewling, writhing mess underneath him as he fucks in and out of your wasted cunt — it doesn’t take much longer for you to get there. The air fills with sounds of the headboard hammering against the wall and filthy, sloppy sounds of where you two are connected as he bashes into you with arrant primal vigor.

The new angle has him hitting a point inside you, deeper than you ever thought to exist. And still — the wave doesn’t break. With his eyes locked on yours, you know he can tell. He can always tell. He’s made you scream his name enough times since the beginning of your many clandestine meetings last summer to know when you’re teetering on the edge. In need of more. 

And for a moment, you think you can see it in him. Hazel eyes practically glint against the pale moonlight that spills into his bedroom. Joel bares his teeth in a cocky grin, his hand releases one of your thighs to cup your face, thumb parting your plush lips when he says, give it to me, kiddo, soak your old man’s cock. 

Oh fuck. 

Your eyelids flutter shut, your head falling back onto the pillows, hands clutching and pulling at tufts of his grizzled curls. Lips closing around his thumb wedged in your mouth; licking, sucking, biting into his flesh, as the crest finally breaks and washes over you, taking you under the rogue waves.  

But Joel still doesn’t let up. One more time, my ass. 

He’s insatiable. And he shows you just how insatiable he is when his thumb slips from your spit-smeared lips and reaches between your bodies, the pads of his fingers expertly thrum at your sensitive clit.

Your face twinges up at the intense, almost painful pressure as he pinches your clit between his index and middle fingers, hard. The swing of his hips speeds up, cock relentlessly beating your sore cunt. The sight of his girth, disappearing and reappearing as he pounds your pussy at a punishing pace, and his fingers twisting your swollen clit has your belly pulling taut and snapping within the same beat. With a broken shout of his name, you gush around the root of his cock, dripping down his balls. It’s warm and sticky when it seeps down, past your tight ring of muscle, soaking his blue sheets and turning them the shade of charcoal gray. 

Joel coaxes you through your seventh–eighth toe-curling orgasm of the night. An endless stream of sweet nothings spills from him — good girl, that’s it, kiddo. I know, I know, it’s so much, I know – fuck– such a good fuckin’ girl, as he fucks you through it. 

Your sloppy cunt clenches around him, and with his cock choked tight, deep within your bruised walls, he follows soon after. Growls raggedly as he unravels, and his own orgasm rolls through him, decking the hall of your weeping cunt with warm, milky ropes of cum for the fourth time tonight. 

Joel collapses onto your sticky chest, placing open-mouthed kisses to your dampened face — your cheek, your nose, your forehead, while he pumps you full of his seed, abiding by his promise. And when he’s done, his sweaty forehead drops to yours for a moment. The waves now a steady ripple through your body as you come down.

After a moment, he lifts his head, and in retaliation for giving you what was possibly the best fuck of your life while on the phone with your father and nearly exposing your tryst, you bring one of his hands to your face, hollow your cheeks, and suck his thumb while looking up at him with wide and falsely innocent eyes. 

He licks his lips but manages to pry his post-coital eyes away. Instead, his cum-soaked cock slips out of your tired, leaking cunt. When he leans back, you swallow a moan, catching sight of the aftermath of your many arousals in his pubic hair. Graying curls swimming in a pool of your combined releases that drips down his thighs. A thin strand of your shared pearlescent spend shines in the soft moonlight, stretching from his balls to your folds, still connecting the two of you as he pulls away. 

Joel misses it, something else pulls his attention. His gaze shifts to the clock beside your head. A hint of a smirk passes over his lips. 

“You’re lucky it’s Christmas, darlin’,” voice low, dangerous. 

Your head snaps in the same direction. It’s past midnight. You smirk in turn and pull the comforter up to hide it.

You feel him shift over you, elbow popping loudly as he reaches for what he’s looking for before he moves to sit up beside you, back against the headboard. His hand pulls the comforter back down from your face, and you roll over and sit up on your knees to face him. 

His other palm opens, wordlessly presenting you with a single twig of some plant. One with moss green, teardrop–shaped leaves and plump, round berries, waxy and opaque in color.  

Mistletoe.

You take the meat of your bottom lip between your teeth, stifling a laugh that threatens to bubble through you. Because of fucking course he would. 

Though, the soft laugh is short-lived. His broad hand waves the mistletoe over him, but not where it should be. Your gaze follows the movement of his hand, and your mouth falls agape. Your eyes snap back up to Joel’s, and his wicked smirk broadens.

Joel Miller — naked as the day he was born and splayed on top of his messy sheets — dangles the mistletoe over his length, still hard as a rock and stirring in his other hand.

But it doesn’t stop there. 

Beneath the mistletoe rests a lump of bright red and velvety felt; a fluffy white cuff rounds the brim, and a matching fuzzy white bobble hangs at the end of it. 

A Santa hat perched jauntily on his cock.

You shut your mouth and swallow thickly, already feeling that familiar ache at the apex of your thighs, and you clench around emptiness, a stream of his seed dribbling out of your overstuffed cunt and further soiling his bedding. 

“But it ain’t a Merry one till you give Santa's big sack a few kisses.”

[fatherbrat]

TELL ME AGAIN, R. SUNA

sum. sequel to one last time. you visit suna after listening to the voicenote he sent you, just to talk, and end up doing a little more than that.

feat. rintaro suna

cw. cheating/infidelity, suna really got on my nerves while i was writing this and he'll probably get on yours too, arguing, choking (m. receiving), edging, cunnilingus, a little manhandling kinda, missionary, multiple instances of "i miss/ed you"

wc. 2k

Suna tries his best to keep the shit-eating grin off his face when you text him to ask if he’s home. 

He knew that voice message would get you. There was a tiny voice in his head that told him it would be a monumental embarrassment if you didn’t, but it was drowned out by all the other voices in his head telling him to send, send, send, send.

His stomach turns with anticipation. He doesn’t even answer your question, just orders an Uber and sends you the car make and model and how long it will take to get to your apartment. 6 minutes. And then 12 minutes from yours to his. 

He fishes out the fancy santal candle he knows you like from beneath the bathroom sink and lights it in his bedroom. Then he brushes his teeth and puts some music on and waits.

He jumps when the doorbell rings.

There’s a moment of silence when he opens the door, the two of you just looking at each other. It hits Suna that this is the first time he’s seen you in person in months. He used to see you everyday. There's a part of his chest that seems to ache at the realization. He ignores it.

“Hi,” you breathe.

He blinks once. Twice. “Hey.” He opens the door a little wider and shifts to the side so you can come in.

You take one step closer and then stop, eyeing him with unjust suspicion. “I didn’t come over here to fuck you.”

Suna takes one look at your outfit—shorts that are definitely too short to be comfortable in this chilly fall weather and a sweatshirt he’s pretty sure is his—and knows you’re lying. He doesn’t call you out, just grins and shrugs and ushers you inside anyway. 

You lean against the kitchen counter to survey the living room, pleased to see that it looks exactly the same as the last time you were here. Suna’s still standing by the door when you look at him again, arms crossed.

“So why’d you come over?” he asks.

It’s your turn to shrug. “You said you missed me.”

“Did I?”

You give him a sideways look. “You did.” You drag out the two words, nodding slowly and widening your eyes as if you’re speaking to a child.

Suna tilts his head to the side, smiling a little. “What else did I say?”

Oh lord. You should’ve known he’d be annoying about it. You shift your gaze up to the ceiling, pretending to struggle to remember even though you listened to his message several times, including once on the car ride over. 

“You said you weren’t happy for me…which is pretty fucked up.”

Suna just rolls his eyes. “What else?”

Eyes on the ceiling again. “You said you liked my Halloween costume. And that if I had sex with you it wouldn’t count as cheating because I haven’t been with him that long.” You put air quotes around his claim, sliding your eyes back down to meet his.

He’s standing closer to you now than he was a minute ago, looking like he’s holding back a laugh. “Now that part’s fucked up. Where is the boyfriend, by the way?”

You make a face and look at the time on the microwave. “Probably home. Probably asleep.”

“Yeah? How’s he doing?” He closes what’s left of the gap between you and tugs on the drawstring of your (his) sweatshirt to even out both ends.

“Fine…” you whisper, breath hitching when his hand brushes your ear on the way to your hoodie.

He hums after fixing the string and walks towards his bedroom, tapping your bare thigh as he passes you as a silent cue to follow.

You realize that he doesn’t believe your intentions for coming over are pure, which is true, but you don’t like that he didn’t even pretend to believe you. 

You follow his lead anyway, resting your head against the doorframe and watching him fish his phone out of his pocket and dump it on his desk. He sits on the edge of the bed and looks over at you with his eyebrows raised.

“I told you I just came over here to talk,” you snap.

Suna’s response is automatic. “No, you said you didn’t come over here to fuck.”

“Rin.”

He puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry.” He leans forward, setting his elbows on his knees and his hands beneath his chin. “Alright. Talk.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you mutter. “I shouldn’t have come.” You twist your foot to turn around and immediately hear the bed creak with relief. Suna wraps his hand around your wrist before you can fully turn your back.

“Wait, I’m sorry,” he says. “Stay. Please?”

He sounds like he’s begging. He looks like he’s begging, with his slumped shoulders and pleading eyes and desperation written all over his pretty face. 

It’s not enough. 

“My boyfriend doesn’t taunt me like this, you know,” you tell him, indignant.

Suna’s grip on your arms loosens as his face falls a bit.

You continue. “He’s actually nice to me. And he’s romantic. Treats me like royalty.”

You watch Suna’s jaw tick. His hand returns to his side. “He’s boring.”

“He’s steady.”

Suna’s tone grows terse. “Dull. Stale. Bland. Vanilla.”

“Stable and secure and safe.”

Suna snorts. “Safe,” he repeats, sarcastic. “I seriously don’t get how you can date him.” 

“Because he’s my boyfriend who I love and not just some guy I used to fuck when I was lonely.”

It’s a low blow. You and Suna were friends long before the benefits came along. Good friends. Close friends.

If he’s offended he doesn’t show it, just latches on to the first part of your sentence. “You don’t love him.”

He’s right. “You’re wrong.”

“Really? Why are you here then?” He narrows his eyes. “And don’t say it’s because I said I missed you.”

You’re not sure when you started taking steps forward, or when Suna started moving backwards, but his calves hit the edge of the bed and suddenly he’s sitting again, looking up at you with that infuriating self-righteousness that makes your eye twitch.

And then your hand is squeezing his throat and your lips are on his and you’re straddling him and moaning into his mouth.

You feel him start to smile against you before he pulls away. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. “Don’t fucking say anything,” you tell him, before tugging his face towards you neck. 

You can tell Suna’s still smiling, but he obeys, sucking the tender spot right above your collarbone without another word. His hands find the bottom of your sweatshirt and he pulls it up. 

His lips leave your skin and your hand leaves his neck so you can take your arms out of the sleeves and he can yank it over your head and drop it on the floor. Then he rests his hands on your hips and just looks at you. 

Goosebumps dance across your shoulders and arms. Suna wants to comment on how you're not wearing a bra but he doesn’t, just continues to stare. 

“What?” you ask.

He takes in the sight of you on top of him, the rise and fall of your chest—quicker than normal, a side effect of him riling you up. He revels in the weight of you on his legs and tries to recall the last time you had him beneath you like this. Your birthday? His birthday? Or maybe it was that time he tried to cheer you up after you got laid off. Either way, it’s been a long time and he hates to think about how you’ve probably been doing this with your boyfriend instead of him.

He can’t help himself. “You straddle the boyfriend like this?”

You huff and press your palm to his chest, shoving him onto his back. Your face hovers over his. “What are you gonna do if I say yes?”

Suna studies your face and puts his hands around your waist and beams. It’s the only signal you get before he flips you, putting your head on a pillow and taking his own shirt off before he drops it on the ground somewhere near your hoodie.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, glancing at the hard outline growing in his sweats as you trail your fingertips up his thigh. He leans into you and rests his forehead against yours. 

“I missed you,” he says softly. 

Your heart beats at a concerning speed. “I know.”

He gets up from the bed and snaps the waistband of your shorts before telling you to take them off and removing the rest of his own clothes. When he crouches over you again, you place the sole of your foot flat against him and tut. 

“You also said you’d do that thing I like with your tongue.”

Again, Suna chooses not to comment. He wonders how many times you listened to the message, because it’s sounding like more than once, more than a couple. He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed, forcing a giggle out of your throat before he plants his head between your legs. 

He circles your clit, avoiding making contact with it directly and making teasing strokes with his fingers until you’re panting and quivering and making shaky demands for him to let you come on his tongue. When he does, you scream his name. 

“Music to my fucking ears,” he says under his breath, licking your slick off his lips. “You scream this loud for him too?”

You can't believe you forgot how aggravating he is. “Shut up and fuck me.”

He looks so smug. You start to think that the desperation from before was too short-lived, until he’s inside you and you’re filled with him and that familiar need that makes you wrap your legs around him and claw at his back.

All you can think about is how you miss him and you missed this, and you’re telling him to fuck you harder, and then his mouth is right below your ear and his hair is tickling your cheek and a stream of yes’s and Rin’s are tumbling out of your mouth like dominoes and youre trying to pull him impossibly closer and youre so surrounded by him that its dizzying and youre whispering i miss you in his ear and hoping it doesnt sound like i love you and hes saying i miss you too and youre wondering if he really means i love you too and then youre biting into his shoulder and—  

You lose count of how many times you come. Both of you do. The two of you are coated in sweat, laying on damp sheets in a room that now smells like sex and sandalwood. Neither of you speak, busy catching your breath and being lost in thought. You don’t want to say anything, afraid you’ll break the spell.

You didn’t have to worry about that, though, because you hear your phone ping loudly and realize it’s on the floor, still tucked away in the front pocket of your sweatshirt. Suna turns his head towards you.

“You should break up with him.”

You raise an eyebrow at the seriousness in his voice and sigh. “I know.”

“Today.”

A pause. “Okay.”

There’s another moment where none of you speak. And then–

“You should date me instead.”

You turn to face him and the earnestness in his expression catches you so off guard you have to look away again. It’s not that you never expected him to bring it up, you just hadn't expected him to sound so sincere when he did.

You had toyed with the idea before, a handful of times even, but everything between you two was so easy—why would you mess it up with a what are we? conversation? Although, you suppose you messed it up anyway by getting a boyfriend and ditching Suna without warning.

It takes you a long time to respond, long enough that Suna starts to game plan an exit strategy, but then you meet his gaze again.

“Okay.”

[sugarushwriting]

cherry popper

heeseung x reader

getting your cherry popped by popular f-boy, lee heeseung

adult content featured, read at your own discretion

requests are open

tonight, you were on a mission. on a mission to get rid of your virginity! maybe a frat party wasn’t the best place to lose your virginity, but you knew who you wanted to take it.

lee heeseung.

except you didn’t know if he cherry popped girls or wanted them already experienced.

you couldn’t blame him or any guys though if they preferred not to be the one to take a girl’s virginity. there was a bad stigma around girls who had sex for the first time.

they became attached. needed rose petals and slow sex. needed to cuddle afterwards.

well, not you. at your age, you just wanted it out of the way. the term “virginity” was stupid anyway.

you’ve heard the good things about lee heeseung when it comes to his bed activities. so why not lose your virginity to a guy who was 99% sure to make you come your first time?

there’s nothing more depressing than having your first time be with a guy who is terrible in bed.

your friend knocked on your forehead with a laugh. “you okay?”

you nodded with a smile. “still on the hunt.”

“he’ll be here any minute. just remember, don’t pounce on him. you have to seem mysterious. he’s never seen you here before, so just seem uninterested. he’ll come to you.”

“got it!” you nodded and took a small sip of your cup. you didn’t want to be drunk or even tipsy, but just wanted enough to calm your nerves.

you’ve heard how alcohol ruins some people’s sex drives. even heard the term, ‘whiskey dick,’ so you’re hoping heeseung doesn’t suffer from that.

forty minutes passed, and you still hadn’t seen heeseung, giving up to even look for him. you sighed and looked at your friend.

“i’m going to the bathroom.”

“need me?”

you shook your head. “i’ll be fine.”

you made your way up the stairs, following your friends directions to the bathroom upstairs. your pink miniskirt for sure was covering nothing of your behind, but your friend convinced you to show more skin than usual. your baby tee was tight and short, perfectly flaunting your chest.

once you finished in the bathroom, you quickly gave yourself a once over look in the mirror and opened the door, only to run into a tall figure.

well if that wasn’t perfect timing and a coincidence by the universe.

“hmp, sorry!” you huffed out looking up to eye heeseung.

“no worries baby. haven’t seen you around here before?” he smiled.

oh damn he was a smooth talker.

“oh yeah—first party, with, um, my friend.” you stuttered out.

there was no need for you to pretend to be all shy around him. his aura made you shy. you still had to force yourself to not outright ask, ‘hey heeseung, can you take my virginity?’

all heeseung was doing was smiling at you and you felt intimated. how the fuck were you gonna get this man in bed?

heeseung proved to be easy.

his eyes flipped from your eyes to your lips, back to your eyes, suddenly wanting a taste of the girl who’s never been to a party before. who he has never seen before.

his thumb traced your bottom lip, his own bottom lip being caught between his teeth. “i saw you downstairs with your friend, and thought to myself, ‘damn she’s hot as fuck.’” heeseung whispered out to you.

“re—really?” you asked surprised.

how long has he been here? eyeing you? why hadn’t you seen him walk in?

he nodded, “i knew i had to have you.” he said leaning down to kiss your lips with a peck, leaving you wanting more.

yeah, he wanted you for sure because yes, you were cute, but also, fresh-meat at this party. he couldn’t let his friends get to the cute new girl first.

from observation, he could tell you were the shy type, and he was allured even more by you because of that.

the peck left you wanting more. his lips were just so soft. you’ve kissed boys before, but his lips were the softest.

“mhm, wanna make out?”

“are you twelve?” you teased at the way he asked you.

heeseung chuckled. “just trying to be polite.”

you nodded. he grabbed your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together. heeseung pulled you to a bedroom at the end of the hall.

surprisingly the room was clean and neat. you’ve seen the horror pictures and movies and videos of frat houses.

your friend had told you, the upstairs was completely off limits and they reinforced it. but if you had to use the bathroom (the clean one) sneak upstairs. she had distracted the guy blocking the stairs.

you stood in the middle of the room awkwardly, after heeseung let go of your hand, walking towards the bed.

he smirked. “no need to be shy.” he patted his lap. “you can come sit.”

he wants you to sit on his lap?

you slowly walked towards him, slowly resting on his lap. your knees on either side of his hips. his own hands went to rest on your hips.

bringing your lips down to meet his, you both started making out like a bunch of horny teens. heeseung took it slow with you at first, before his kisses became more desperate and longing. wanting more from you.

his hands squeezed your hips, catching you off guard, and he took the opportunity to poke his tongue in your mouth.

your hands wrapped around his neck, your lower half beginning to feel a bit wet. heeseungs own lower half was starting to get hard, you able to feel him through his jeans and your short skirt.

you rubbed your lower half against him, heeseung letting out a low gritted moan. “keeping doing that and i will come in my pants.” he gripped your ass from under your skirt.

you smiled against his kisses. “again, what are you? a teenage boy?”

heeseung actually loved the teasing. he squeezed your hips tighter, tickling lightly, causing you to squeal.

he flipped you on your back on the bed so he was hovering over you. his lips never leaving yours, he lifted your skirt up more, pulling your underwear to the side.

his middle finger rubbed circles around your clit and the hole of your cunt, teasing you to get you worked up, slick, and ready for him.

his finger teased at your entrance, he could feel the tightness of you.

although you’ve pleasured yourself a few times, your fingers were in no comparison to heeseung.

heeseungs finger slowly entered you, his lips still not leaving their spot from you, and as he slowly inched deeper, you whined into his mouth at the feeling.

slight sting but feeling good. heeseung slowly added another finger and began pumping his fingers in and out of you, his lips moving to suck on a sweet spot on your neck.

an odd sensation came, you riding heeseungs fingers, feeling your stomach feel tight, your cunt becoming needier.

“ride my fingers, there you go.” heeseung said to you.

you bit your lower lip and an over pleasuring sensation came over you.

did you just come? you thought it’d be more intense than that.

you felt good, and when he went to rub his fingers against your clit, you did feel over sensitive.

you didn’t realize heeseung had left a hickey on your neck.

heeseung removed his fingers from you, standing up to unbutton his belt and pants pulling them and his boxers down.

leaning on your elbows, your eyes widened at his length. aw shit.

heeseung pumped his own length a few times, “mhm, open your mouth.”

“can you be a little nicer?” you asked with a smile.

“please open your mouth?”

you nodded and scooted towards the end of the bed where you sat comfortably while heeseung stood.

you licked his tip, swirling your tongue around the head before slowly taking just the head in between your lips giving it a suck.

“please don’t tease.” heeseung sighed. your mouth just felt too good.

you smiled with his dick in your mouth, opening a bit wider to take his length in as much as you could. your hand stimulating whatever was left over and his balls.

you did have a gag reflex, and you weren’t about to test it now.

“fuck, so good. please come to these parties more often.” heeseung sighed out as your head pumped back and forth against him.

you sucked, your tongue swirling against the underside, your hand putting small pressure on his balls, squeezing just right for him.

heeseungs hand went to the back of your head, and when he pushed a bit for more than you could take, you choked, your gag reflex kicking in.

you pulled away, needing to breathe, a line of your spit between his tip and your lips.

“fuck that was hot. i love a girl with a gag reflex honestly.” heeseung moaned. he took your jaw back in between his hands, his thumb tapping your lower lip to open.

you followed, and he stuffed his dick back into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat, you gagging once again.

heeseung had to control himself to not lose control and just fuck your face.

as you bobbed your head, heeseung also moved his hips back and forth. “mhm, mouth feels so good, i’m gonna come.”

you used your hand to help stimulate what your mouth couldn’t. heeseungs moans became lower and more messy.

“fuck, can i come in your mouth?”

you nodded, and that’s all he needed before hot spurts of his come entered your throat. heeseung let out strings of curse words in pleasure.

“fuck that was hot.” he mumbled, catching his breath.

with your skirt still flipped up, heeseung undressed your lower half completely, and he finished taking off his clothing, grabbing a condom from the pocket of his jeans.

most girls would probably be like, ‘return the favor!’ but if you came one more time without his dick, you wouldn’t have the stanima to go a third round on his dick. tonight, you were okay with giving a blowjob and not getting your pussy ate.

heeseung kissed you, tasting himself, biting your lower lip, all while slipping on the condom.

you hadn’t realized how fast and skilled he was until you felt his head prodding your hole.

“oh fuck!” you whispered. your eyes squeezed shut, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other the bed covers.

“mhm so tight, like no one’s ever fucked this pussy.” heeseung mumbled out.

he slowly eased into you, feeling the warmth and resistance but thought nothing much of it. heeseung thought maybe you just hadn’t been with a guy of his size.

you bit down on your lower lip, the stinging sensation back, you fighting off the feeling of the pain trying to focus on the pleasure.

breathing deeply through your nose, you tried your best to relax, heeseungs eyebrows knitted in confusion and focus.

he slowly moved his length back and forth, feeling your hand tighten on his shoulder.

that’s when it hit him. the tightness and resistance. your eyebrows knitted, eyes closed. your hand having a death grip on him and the bed.

“are you fucking serious?” he said out loud, taking you off guard, you opened your eyes, “are you a virgin?” he narrowed his eyes at you.

a tear dropped down your cheek, you sniffling your nose. “please don’t be mad.” you sighed out a little sob.

heeseung shook his head. “it’s not that im mad, im just—i don’t know.”

regardless, heeseung didn’t pull out, but he didn’t move further. he stayed still inside of you.

you sniffled again. “it’s just—i—i was tired of being a virgin, and i heard about your reputation of being with a lot of girls and being able to please them. i didn’t want my first time to suck, and i debated on telling you, but i didn’t know if you were the type to get an ick when it came to virgins!”

heeseung lowered his head in shame. he couldn’t believe someone who sucked dick so good was a virgin.

“you suck dick too good for a virgin.” he said then raised his eyebrow at you.

you smiled shyly, “i uh, never did that either.”

“fuck! what have you done that i wasn’t your first?”

“i’ve used my own fingers, but of course that doesn’t compare to yours. and yes, i have kissed others before.”

heeseung sighed, “this is bad,”

before he could finish you cut him off, “no! it doesn’t have to be okay? i promise i won’t get attached, i am not expecting anything from you after this okay? i don’t need roses or cuddles either. i know what i’m getting myself into, heeseung.”

“you know my name, but i don’t even know yours. can i at least have the name of the girl’s virginity i took?”

you told him your name. “i’m really sorry, i didn’t mean to undermine you.”

heeseung laughed, “yes you did and it’s honestly okay and kind of refreshing. usually im the one undermining girls.”

all while this conversation went on, heeseung was still hard and sat still in you.

“i’m surprised you’re still hard.”

“my dick is in a tight pussy. a virgin pussy. must have a virginity or corruption kink, i guess.”

“i’m okay. can we please continue, heeseung?”

heeseung nodded slowly. “only if i can be the first one to eat that pussy too.”

you chuckled, “as you wish.”

heeseung began to move, his pace slow. he finished bottoming out, a loud moan leaving your lips, but you tapped his shoulder with two fingers, to let him know to keep going.

heeseung pulled out to his tip, before he bottomed out once again. although you were a virgin, he wasn’t going to be too gentle with you, and you were okay with that.

after a few thrusts it began to feel better. “mhm, feels better heeseung.” you groaned, your head resting to the side.

you wrapped your legs around heeseung, locking him in, your hand resting on his cheek, bringing him down for a kiss.

“can’t believe you let me fuck this pussy first. chose me.” heeseung moaned. “so happy you let me fuck you first. going to ruin you for anyone else. not going to want anyone’s cock but mine.”

heeseung began his spew of dirty talk, which just made you wetter by each statement.

who knew dirty talk would turn you on so much.

“looks like my cherry likes dirty talk.” heeseung laughed as his pace sped up just a bit.

heeseung sat up on his knees, taking you at a different angle so he could reach deeper, and closer to your cervix.

you looked down, able to see the outline of him inside of you. you moaned at the sight.

“look at you. taking me so well. so tiny underneath me. too big for you baby.”

heeseung slightly put pressure on your lower stomach, your legs wrapping tighter, as you lifted your hips.

“gonna make you come on your first cock, cherry.”

“please make me come, hee.” you begged, your mind going blank, your vision blurry with tears of pleasure.

spews of groans, moans, random words leaving your mouth, mixed with heeseungs name.

oh yes, this was the intense orgasm people talked about. what your friends talked about, and gloated about.

heeseungs finger went to rub circles on your clit, adding pressure which tipped you over the edge.

his dick thrusting in and out. the angle of his dick hitting somewhere within you so good. his thumb on your clit. his palm pressing down on your stomach. his dirty talk and praises.

you were overwhelmed with pleasure. and in no time, with one last scream and cry, heeseungs name leaving your lips, you came around his dick.

heeseung helped you ride out your orgasm while he reached his, stilling inside you, emptying into the condom.

heeseung collapsed above you, nose to nose, and he gave you a peck on your lips, then moved his face to the crook of your neck, leaving a kiss there.

he pulled out, your lower half fluttering at the loss of him, both of you moaning from loss of each other.

heeseung rolled on his back, and took off the condom, noting a little blood. when he looked down, no blood was on him, but he was worried about you.

he looked over to you, no blood on the sheets.

“what?” you asked sitting up, feeling a bit of an ache already settling in.

“let’s get you to the bathroom. there was a bit of blood on the condom.”

your face felt hot in embarrassment. “i’m sorry.” you mumbled.

heeseung kissed your forehead. “no need to be embarrassed. it’s normal and it happens.”

heeseung got up and you followed him to the bathroom.

you made sure to empty your bladder, just tiny spotting. you groaned. “i can’t ruin my underwear.” you sighed. this was so embarrassing.

heeseung opened the cabinet, you looked over seeing pads and liners. looking back at him with a glaring expression.

“this is jays bathroom. he’s a romantic, always making sure whatever girl he’s with at the time is covered.” heeseung explained, scratching the back of his head.

“maybe i should have had jay take my virginity then.” you joked.

heeseung didn’t laugh. “absolutely not. you’re off limits to him and any of my friends now.”

crossing your arms, you stared into his eyes, “now who’s the clingy one after taking someone’s virginity?”

“get used to it cherry.”

“cherry?”

“yeah, cause i popped your cherry.”

you pushed his shoulder. “you are so—!”

“sexy? handsome? amazing in bed? i know.”

you both laughed easing any tension or doubts between one another.

heeseung left you to finish your business in the bathroom and get dressed, as he got back dressed in the bedroom.

you felt guilty allowing him to take your virginity—have sex—in his friend’s bed.

when you came out the bathroom you said, “should we offer to wash his bed sheets?”

“don’t worry, he’ll make me wash his sheets, cleanse his room, perform an exorcism.”

you both chuckled opening the door, jay leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed, not a happy smile.

“i lock my door for a reason! you’re damn right you’ll be washing my bedding AND performing that exorcism.”

poor jay.

[pucksandpower]

Pride and Prejudice and Bullets

mafia boss!Max Verstappen x professor!Reader

Summary: your life is predictable — revolving around teaching about Jane Austen novels and grading term papers — and you like it that way … until an old classmate makes a sudden appearance that turns everything upside down

Warnings: minor character death

The sharp rap at the door jolts you from your late-night reading. You glance at the clock — 2:37 AM. Who could it possibly be at this ungodly hour?

Cautiously, you approach the door, peering through the peephole. Your heart skips a beat. Is that ... no, it couldn’t be. But as you swing the door open, there he stands — the boy who vanished from your high school without a trace nearly a decade ago.

“Max?” You breathe, scarcely believing your eyes.

He doesn’t respond, just pushes past you into the apartment, one hand pressed firmly against his side. As he moves, you catch a glimpse of crimson seeping through his fingers, staining what looks like an absurdly expensive shirt.

“Jesus, Max, what happened to you?” You gasp, instinctively reaching out.

He flinches away from your touch, his eyes wild. “I hear you’re a doctor now. Do your doctor stuff,” Max barks the order at you, his voice rough with pain.

You blink, momentarily stunned. “I’m a doctor of British Literature! What are you even doing here? How do you know my address? Why are you here?”

“Needed a doctor, you’re a doctor,” he grunts, stumbling toward your couch.

The reality of the situation starts to sink in. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I need to call an ambulance.”

“No,” Max snaps, his tone brooking no argument. “Don’t. Are you stupid? I’m here because I can’t go to a hospital.”

Your mind races, torn between concern and confusion. “Yes, right, fuck, I should call the cops. Why do you know my address?”

“Wound. Fix it,” he growls through gritted teeth.

“Yes! Wound. Uhhhh, take off your shirt?” You stammer, fumbling for your phone. “I need to Google this- oh my god that’s disgusting, oh fuck, is the bullet still in there?”

Max’s eyes narrow. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Of course I don’t!” You exclaim, your voice rising in pitch. “I write papers on Jane Austen, not ... whatever this is!”

He groans, both from pain and exasperation. “Fine. First aid kit. You have one?”

You nod frantically, dashing to the bathroom. When you return, Max has managed to unbutton his shirt, revealing a nasty wound just below his ribs.

“Okay,” he says, his voice steadier now. “Antiseptic. Clean the wound.”

With shaking hands, you do as he instructs, trying not to gag at the sight of so much blood. “Max, please, what’s going on? How did this happen?”

He ignores your questions. “Tweezers. The bullet’s still in there. You need to get it out.”

“What? No! I can’t — I’ll hurt you!”

A humorless laugh escapes him. “Trust me, it already hurts. Just do it.”

Swallowing hard, you position the tweezers. Max’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist. “Wait,” he says, fumbling in his pocket with his free hand. He produces a flask, takes a long swig, then nods. “Okay. Go.”

You take a deep breath and plunge in. Max’s entire body goes rigid, a string of curses flowing from his lips that would make a sailor blush. After what feels like an eternity, you feel the tweezers catch on something.

“I think I’ve got it,” you whisper.

“Then pull it out,” Max hisses.

With a sickening squelch, you extract the bullet. Max lets out a strangled groan, then goes limp.

“Max?” You say, panic rising in your throat. “Max!”

His eyes flutter open. “I’m fine. Just ... give me a minute.”

As you clean and dress the wound, a tense silence falls between you. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you speak. “Max, please. What’s going on? I haven’t seen you in years, and now you show up at my door in the middle of the night with a bullet wound?”

He sighs, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “It’s ... complicated.”

“No shit,” you retort. “Start talking. Now.”

Max runs a hand through his hair, wincing at the movement. “After I left school, I got mixed up in some ... stuff. Bad stuff. It was supposed to be temporary, just a way to make some quick cash. But things ... escalated.”

“Escalated how?” You press.

He meets your gaze, his eyes hard. “You really want to know?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I run the Dutch Crime Syndicate now,” he says flatly.

You can’t help it — you laugh. It’s a high, slightly hysterical sound. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate? Are you serious? That sounds like something out of a bad movie.”

“Does this look like a joke to you?” Max gestures to his wound.

The laughter dies in your throat. “Oh god. You’re serious.”

He nods grimly. “Dead serious. And now you know why I couldn’t go to a hospital. Too many questions.”

“But ... why me?” You ask, still struggling to process this information. “We were barely even friends in school.”

Max shifts uncomfortably. “I ... kept tabs on people from back then. When I heard you’d become a doctor-”

“A doctor of literature,” you interject.

He rolls his eyes. “When I heard you had become a ‘doctor,’ I made a note of it. Just in case. Never thought I’d actually need to use that information, but ... here we are.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “This is insane. You’re insane. I should be calling the police right now.”

“But you won’t,” Max says quietly.

“And why’s that?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since he arrived. “Because you’re curious. Because part of you, whether you want to admit it or not, is excited by this. By me showing up and shaking up your nice, safe, predictable life.”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not entirely wrong.

“So what happens now?” You ask instead.

Max shrugs, then immediately regrets it, judging by his wince. “Now, I rest for a bit, then I leave. And you go back to your life of Jane Austen and tea cozies.”

“That’s it?” You can’t keep the disappointment out of your voice.

He raises an eyebrow. “What were you expecting? That I’d sweep you off your feet and into a life of crime?”

“No, of course not,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well. Maybe there’s more to you than meets the eye, Y/N.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Shut up. You’re delirious from blood loss.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “Or maybe I’m seeing clearly for the first time in years.”

There’s a charged moment of silence between you. Then Max groans, breaking the spell. “God, I sound like a bad romance novel. Must be the whiskey talking.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Well, you did show up bleeding on my doorstep in the middle of the night. It’s all very dramatic.”

“What can I say? I aim to please,” Max quips, then turns serious. “Look, Y/N ... thank you. For helping me. For not calling the cops. I know I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you probably don’t,” you agree. “But ... I’m glad you came. As crazy as this all is, it’s ... nice to see you again.”

Max’s expression softens. “Yeah. It’s nice to see you too.”

Another silence falls, but this one is comfortable, almost companionable. Finally, Max speaks again. “I should go. I’ve already put you in enough danger.”

“Wait,” you say, surprising yourself. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere. At least stay until morning.”

He hesitates, clearly torn. “I shouldn’t ...”

“Please,” you insist. “For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”

Max searches your face, then nods slowly. “Okay. But just until morning.”

As you help him settle more comfortably on the couch, you can’t shake the feeling that your life has just irrevocably changed. For better or worse remains to be seen, but one thing’s for certain — it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

***

The early morning sunlight filters through your curtains, rousing you from a fitful sleep. For a blissful moment, you forget the events of last night. Then reality comes crashing back, and you bolt upright in bed.

Max. The wound. The Dutch Crime Syndicate.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. What were you thinking? In the harsh light of day, the whole situation seems utterly insane.

Steeling yourself, you pad out to the living room. Max is still there, sprawled on your couch, his chest rising and falling steadily. He looks younger in sleep, almost vulnerable. It’s hard to reconcile this image with the hardened criminal he claims to be.

As if sensing your presence, Max’s eyes flutter open. He winces as he tries to sit up.

“Morning,” he grunts.

“How’s the wound?” You ask, your voice carefully neutral.

Max prods at his side gingerly. “Better than it has any right to be, thanks to you.”

You nod, then take a deep breath. “Max, about last night ...”

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. “I know what you’re going to say. And you’re right. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you agree, relief washing over you. “Look, I won’t tell anyone about this. But I think it’s best if we just ... pretend this never happened. You should go, and we should forget we ever saw each other again.”

Max nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” you say firmly, trying to ignore the small part of you that’s screaming in protest.

He starts to gather his things, moving stiffly. You turn away, heading to the kitchen to make coffee, needing something to do with your hands.

That’s when you hear it. The sharp crack of a gunshot, followed by the tinkling of shattered glass.

You freeze, your heart pounding. “Max?” You call out, voice barely above a whisper.

“Get down!” He shouts back. You drop to the floor just as another bullet whizzes overhead, embedding itself in your kitchen cabinets.

Max is at your side in an instant, his earlier stiffness forgotten. “We need to move. Now.”

“What’s happening?” You ask, your voice shaking.

“Rivals,” Max says grimly. “They must have followed me here. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never meant to put you in danger.”

Before you can respond, there’s a thunderous banging at your front door. “Open up!” A gruff voice shouts. “We know you’re in there, Max Emilian!”

Max’s face hardens. “The Silver Arrows,” he mutters. “Persistent bastards.”

“What do we do?” You whisper, panic threatening to overwhelm you.

Max’s eyes dart around the room, assessing. “Is there a fire escape?”

You nod. “Through the bedroom window.”

“Okay,” he says, his voice calm and authoritative. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to make a run for it. Stay low, stay behind me. Got it?”

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak.

“On my count,” Max says. “Three ... two ... one ... GO!”

You scramble to your feet, keeping low as Max leads the way to your bedroom. The banging on the door intensifies, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood.

“They’re breaking through!” You gasp.

“Almost there,” Max says through gritted teeth. He throws open your bedroom window, then turns to you. “Ladies first.”

You hesitate for a split second, then clamber out onto the fire escape. The metal is cold beneath your bare feet, and you realize with a start that you’re still in your pajamas.

Max follows close behind, pulling the window shut just as you hear your front door give way.

“Down,” he hisses, guiding you towards the ladder.

You descend as quickly as you can, your hands shaking so badly you nearly lose your grip more than once. Max is right behind you, his presence oddly reassuring despite the circumstances.

As your feet hit the alley below, you hear shouts from above. “There they are!”

“Run!” Max yells, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

You sprint down the alley, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. Bullets ping off the walls around you, and you let out an involuntary scream.

“Keep going,” Max urges. “There’s a car around the corner.”

“A car?” You pant. “How do you know?”

“I always have an exit strategy,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice despite the situation.

Sure enough, as you round the corner, you see a sleek black car idling at the curb. A man in a dark suit is behind the wheel, looking tense.

“Get in!” Max shouts, practically shoving you into the backseat before diving in after you.

The car peels away from the curb before Max even has the door closed. You’re thrown back against the seat as the driver weaves through traffic at breakneck speed.

“What the hell, Max?” You finally manage to say, your heart still racing. “Who were those people? Where are we going?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, looking more rattled than you’ve seen him yet. “Those were the Silver Arrows. They’ve been trying to muscle in on our territory for months. As for where we’re going ...” He exchanges a look with the driver in the rearview mirror. “Somewhere safe. For now.”

You let out a hysterical laugh. “Safe? I don’t even know what that word means anymore. My apartment just got shot up! I’m in my pajamas in the back of a strange car, running from a gang war. This is insane!”

“I know,” Max says softly. “And I’m sorry. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid by leaving last night.”

“Well, bang-up job on that one,” you snap.

The driver clears his throat. “Boss, we’ve got a tail. Two cars, about three blocks back.”

Max curses under his breath. “Can you lose them, Daniel?”

The driver — Daniel, apparently — nods grimly. “I can try. Hang on.”

The car suddenly swerves, cutting across three lanes of traffic. Horns blare as Daniel takes a sharp right turn, tires squealing.

You’re thrown against Max, who instinctively wraps an arm around you to keep you steady. Despite everything, you can’t help but notice how solid he feels, how good he smells ...

No. Focus. You shake your head, trying to clear it.

“Max,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I need you to be straight with me. What exactly is going on here?”

He sighs, his arm still around you. “It’s complicated.”

“Un-complicate it,” you demand.

Max is quiet for a moment, seemingly weighing his words. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate ... we’re not just petty criminals. We’re big. International. And lately, we’ve been expanding our reach. The Silver Arrows don’t like that. They think we’re encroaching on their territory.”

“And are you?” You ask.

A ghost of a smile flits across Max’s face. “Maybe a little. But business is business, you know?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re talking about illegal activities like it’s a corporate takeover!”

“In a way, it is,” Max says. “Just with higher stakes.”

“Boss,” Daniel interrupts. “I think we’ve lost them for now, but we can’t go to any of the safe houses. They might be compromised.”

Max nods. “Good thinking. Head for the marina. We’ll take the boat.”

“Boat?” You echo. “Max, I can’t just leave. My job, my life-”

“Your life will be over if the Silver Arrows find you,” Max says bluntly. “You’re involved now, whether you like it or not. I’m sorry, but there’s no going back.”

The gravity of the situation finally hits you. This isn’t some exciting adventure that you can just walk away from. This is real, and it’s dangerous.

“What have you gotten me into, Max?” You whisper.

His arm tightens around you. “I’ll keep you safe,” he promises. “No matter what.”

You want to believe him. Despite everything, despite the insanity of the past twelve hours, you find that you do believe him.

As the car speeds towards the marina, you try to process everything that’s happened. Your quiet life of academia seems like a distant memory now. In its place is ... what? Danger? Excitement? A chance at something you never knew you wanted?

You look at Max, studying his profile. He seems different from the boy you knew in high school. Harder, certainly, but there’s something else too. A confidence, a magnetism that you can’t deny.

As if sensing your gaze, Max turns to look at you. For a moment, the facade of the hardened crime boss slips, and you see a flicker of the boy you once knew.

“I really am sorry about all this,” he says softly. “If I could go back and undo it all, I would.”

“Would you?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

Max looks taken aback. “Wouldn’t you want me to?”

You consider this. “I don’t know,” you admit. “This is all terrifying and insane, but ... I’ve never felt more alive.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well,” he says, echoing his words from last night. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Y/N.”

Before you can respond, Daniel announces, “We’re here.”

The car pulls up to a private dock where a sleek yacht is moored. Max helps you out of the car, his hand lingering on your lower back.

“Last chance to back out,” he says, his eyes searching your face. “Say the word, and I’ll have Daniel take you back. We’ll figure out a way to keep you safe.”

You look at the yacht, then back at Max. In your mind’s eye, you see your apartment, your job, your safe, predictable life. Then you see bullets flying, feel the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the unknown.

Taking a deep breath, you make your choice.

“Let’s go,” you say, taking Max’s hand and stepping onto the gangplank.

As the yacht pulls away from the dock, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re leaving more than just the city behind. You’re leaving your old self, your old life.

And as terrifying as that is, you can’t wait to see what comes next.

***

As the yacht cuts through the waves, you find yourself standing at the stern, watching the city skyline grow smaller by the minute. The reality of your situation is starting to sink in, bringing with it a cocktail of emotions — fear, excitement, and a nagging curiosity that won’t let you rest.

You turn to find Max leaning against the railing, his eyes fixed on the horizon. There’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before, a reminder that you’re not the only one affected by this sudden turn of events.

“Max,” you say, breaking the silence. “Why did you really pick me?”

He glances at you, a flicker of something crossing his face before his expression settles back into careful neutrality. “The doctor part, obviously ...”

You raise an eyebrow, sensing there’s more to it. Max sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“And you have no one who would miss you,” he continues, his voice softer now. “No contact with family and, as far as I’m concerned, no friends who would notice.”

Your heart sinks at his words, partly because of the stark truth in them, and partly because of the implications. “Notice ... oh fuck, you’re gonna kill me?”

Max’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in what looks like genuine offense. “No. That’s a last resort, too many questions. You’re on my boat now, aren’t you?”

You let out a shaky breath, not sure whether to feel relieved or more worried. “So what then? Am I your hostage? Your accomplice? What exactly is my role in this mess?”

Max pushes off from the railing, moving closer to you. “Right now? You’re under my protection. Beyond that ... I guess we’ll have to figure it out as we go.”

“Figure it out?” You repeat incredulously. “Max, I left everything behind. My job, my apartment, my entire life. I need more than ‘we’ll figure it out.’”

He has the decency to look chagrined. “You’re right. You deserve answers. But right now, our priority has to be getting somewhere safe.”

“And where exactly is that?” You press.

Max glances around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before leaning in closer. “We’re headed to Monaco.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Monaco? As in, the luxury resort town on the French Riviera?”

He nods, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “The very same. I have an ... associate there who can help us.”

“An associate,” you echo skeptically. “Another crime lord, I assume?”

Max’s smile widens. “Something like that. His name is Charles. He’s the heir to the Rosso Corsa Mafia.”

You can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally getting to you. “The Rosso Corsa Mafia? Seriously? What is this, some kind of international crime syndicate convention?”

“Hey, networking is important in any business,” Max quips, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

For a moment, you’re both laughing, the tension of the past few hours dissipating slightly. But as the laughter fades, reality sets in once more.

“Max,” you say, your voice quiet now. “What am I doing here? Really?”

He sobers, his gaze intense as he looks at you. “Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. When I came to your apartment last night, I was just looking for help. I didn’t plan for any of this.”

“But you must have had some idea,” you press. “You said you kept tabs on me. Why?”

Max is quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching your face. Finally, he speaks. “Do you remember our last day of school together? Before I ... left?”

You furrow your brow, thinking back. “Vaguely. It was just an ordinary day, wasn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “Not for me. That was the day I decided to leave. I was in the library, trying to figure out how I was going to tell my parents I wanted to drop out. And then you came in.”

“I did?” You ask, surprised. You have no memory of this.

Max nods. “You were returning a stack of books. You looked ... happy. Excited about your future. I remember thinking how different we were. How I’d never have that kind of certainty, that sense of purpose.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. “So... what? You’ve been keeping an eye on me out of some kind of twisted nostalgia?”

He winces. “When you put it like that, it sounds creepy. I just ... I guess I wanted to know that someone from our old life made it. That it was possible to be normal and happy.”

“And now you’ve dragged me into your world,” you say, a hint of bitterness in your voice.

Max looks stricken. “I never meant for this to happen. If I could go back-”

“But you can’t,” you interrupt. “We’re here now. So what happens next?”

Before Max can answer, a crew member approaches. “Sir, we’ve just received word from Monaco. Mr. Leclerc is expecting us.”

Max nods. “Thank you, Rupert. Tell the captain to push the engines. I want to make it there before nightfall.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane. You know that, right? This whole situation is completely insane.”

“Welcome to my world,” Max says, his tone light but his eyes serious. “It’s not too late to back out, you know. Say the word, and I’ll have the captain turn this boat around.”

You consider it for a moment. Your old life seems so far away already, like a half-remembered dream. And despite the danger, despite the uncertainty, you can’t deny the thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

“No,” you say finally. “I’m in this now. For better or worse.”

Max’s expression softens. “I promise you, Y/N, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

As you stand there, the salt spray on your face and the wind in your hair, you find yourself believing him. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you trust him.

The next few hours pass in a blur of activity. Max is constantly on his phone, speaking in hushed tones in what sounds like a mix of Dutch and French. You catch snippets about “security measures” and “clean identities,” but most of it goes over your head.

As the sun begins to set, casting the sea in shades of gold and pink, you find yourself back at the stern of the yacht. The coastline has long since disappeared, leaving nothing but endless ocean in every direction.

You hear footsteps behind you and turn to see Max approaching, two glasses of champagne in hand.

“I thought we could use a drink,” he says, offering you a glass. “To new beginnings?”

You take the glass, clinking it gently against his. “To new beginnings,” you echo, taking a sip. The champagne is exquisite, of course. You wouldn’t expect anything less from a mob boss’s yacht.

“We should be arriving in Monaco in a few hours,” Max says, leaning against the railing beside you. “Charles has arranged for a car to meet us at the marina. We’ll be staying at his family’s villa in the hills.”

You nod, trying to process this information. “And then what?”

Max shrugs. “We lie low for a while. Figure out our next move. The Silver Arrows won’t give up easily, but they’ll have a hard time touching us in Monaco. The Leclercs practically own the place.”

“And where do I fit into all this?” You ask, voicing the question that’s been nagging at you since you stepped onto this boat.

Max turns to face you fully, his expression serious. “That’s up to you, Y/N. I won’t force you into anything. If you want to walk away once we’re in Monaco, I’ll make sure you have the means to do so safely.”

You consider this. The sensible thing would be to take the out he’s offering. Go back to your life of books and lectures and quiet evenings alone. But the thought leaves you feeling ... empty.

“And if I don’t want to walk away?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Then I suppose we’ll have to find a place for you in this brave new world of ours.”

As you stand there, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear beneath the waves, you can’t help but feel like you’re on the cusp of something momentous. Your old life is behind you now, growing more distant with every passing moment. Ahead lies uncertainty, danger ... and possibility.

You take another sip of champagne, savoring the bubbles on your tongue. Whatever comes next, you realize, you’re ready for it. Ready for the adventure, the risk, the chance to reinvent yourself.

As the yacht cuts through the darkening waters, carrying you towards a future you never could have imagined, you find yourself smiling. For the first time in years, maybe for the first time ever, you feel truly, exhilaratingly alive.

***

The yacht glides smoothly into the marina, the lights of Monaco twinkling like a galaxy of stars against the night sky. You stand at the railing, taking in the sight of luxury yachts and sleek speedboats bobbing gently in their berths. It’s a world away from your modest apartment back home.

Max appears at your side, his face tense. “Remember,” he murmurs, “stay close to me and don’t say anything unless you’re directly addressed. Charles is an ally, but he can be ... unpredictable.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The reality of your situation is sinking in again, the brief respite of the boat ride fading away.

As the crew secures the yacht, a figure emerges from the shadows of the dock. Even in the dim light, you can tell he’s striking — all lean muscles and sharp cheekbones, with piercing green eyes that seem to take in everything at once.

“Max,” he says, his accent a mix of French and something you can’t quite place. “You’ve brought trouble to my doorstep again, I see.”

Max steps forward, clasping the man’s hand. “Charles. Thank you for this. I owe you one.”

Charles’ lips quirk up in a half-smile. “Add it to your tab, my friend.” His gaze shifts to you, curiosity evident in his expression. “And who might this be?”

Before Max can answer, Charles is already moving towards you, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips in a smooth motion. “Enchanté, mademoiselle. I am Charles Leclerc.”

You stammer out your name, caught off guard by his Old World charm. Charles’ eyes sparkle with amusement.

“Adorable,” he says. “Now, shall we? It’s not wise to linger here.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the parking lot. Max gives you a gentle push, urging you to follow.

As you round the corner, your jaw drops. Sitting there, gleaming under the streetlights, is quite possibly the most ostentatious Ferrari you’ve ever seen. It’s matte black with an eye-catching racing stripe in the colors of the Monegasque flag, and sleek lines that practically scream speed and luxury.

Charles is already sliding into the driver’s seat, while Max ushers you into the back. As the engine roars to life, a thought occurs to you.

“Is this a kidnapping?” You blurt out, your nerves finally getting the better of you.

Charles catches your eye in the rearview mirror, a smirk playing on his lips. “You seem very willing for one.”

Your cheeks flush. “That doesn’t calm my nerves!”

“It is like this,” Charles sighs, accelerating smoothly as he maneuvers through the narrow streets of Monaco. “Do as Max says or we dump your body.”

“What!” You exclaim, your heart rate spiking.

Max shoots Charles a glare. “Charles, do not scare her more than necessary. The poor girl is already terrified.”

Charles shrugs, not taking his eyes off the road as he takes a sharp turn that has you clutching the seat. “I merely state facts, mon ami. Our world is not for the faint of heart.”

You look to Max, seeking reassurance. He meets your gaze, his expression softening slightly. “Ignore him. You’re under my protection, remember?”

“And what exactly does that mean?” You press, emboldened by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I still don’t understand my role in all this.”

Max hesitates, glancing at Charles. The two seem to have a silent conversation before Charles speaks up.

“You, ma chèrie, are an unexpected variable,” he says, his tone lighter now. “Max has a habit of collecting strays, but you ... you’re different.”

“Different how?” You ask, not sure if you should be offended or intrigued.

Charles’ eyes meet yours in the mirror again, a glint of mischief in them. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? But I suspect you’re made of sterner stuff than you let on.”

The car falls silent as you process this. The streets of Monaco fly by outside the window, a blur of high-end boutiques and lavish casinos. It’s like stepping into another world.

Finally, the Ferrari begins to climb, winding its way up into the hills overlooking the city. The road narrows, becoming more secluded, until you’re passing through an ornate gate flanked by high walls.

The car comes to a stop in front of a sprawling villa that looks like something out of a movie. Marble columns, manicured gardens, a fountain bubbling gently in the courtyard — it’s almost too much to take in.

As you step out of the car on shaky legs, Charles is already striding towards the entrance. “Welcome to Casa Leclerc,” he calls over his shoulder. “Try not to break anything irreplaceable.”

Max appears at your side, placing a steadying hand on your lower back. “You okay?” He asks quietly.

You nod, not trusting your voice. Max guides you inside, where you’re immediately struck by the opulence of the interior. Priceless artwork adorns the walls, and you’re pretty sure that’s an actual Fabergé egg sitting casually on a side table.

Charles leads you to a spacious living room, gesturing for you to sit. As you sink into a plush armchair, he busies himself at a well-stocked bar.

“Drink?” He offers. “I imagine you could use one.”

You nod gratefully, and soon find yourself nursing a glass of what’s probably the most expensive cognac you’ve ever tasted.

Charles settles into a chair across from you, swirling his own drink thoughtfully. “Now then,” he says, his tone suddenly all business. “Perhaps it’s time we discussed the situation at hand.”

Max, who’s been pacing near the windows, turns to face the room. “The Silver Arrows are getting bolder. This attack ... it’s a clear escalation.”

Charles nods grimly. “They sense weakness. Your recent expansion has left you vulnerable, mon ami.”

You listen, feeling increasingly out of your depth as they discuss territories, alliances, and what sound like complex financial maneuvers. It’s like overhearing a board meeting for the world’s most dangerous corporation.

Finally, unable to contain yourself any longer, you speak up. “I’m sorry, but what exactly am I doing here? I’m not a part of ... whatever this is.”

Both men turn to look at you, as if suddenly remembering your presence. Charles raises an eyebrow at Max. “Yes, do tell. What is your plan for our unexpected guest?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’re starting to recognize as a sign of frustration. “I didn’t have a plan. It all happened so fast, and I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“How gallant,” Charles drawls, though there’s a hint of genuine amusement in his voice. “But now we must decide what to do with her. She knows too much to simply let go.”

Your grip tightens on your glass. “I won’t say anything. I swear. Just ... let me go home.”

Max’s expression softens as he looks at you. “It’s not that simple, Y/N. The Silver Arrows saw you with me. They’ll assume you’re involved, whether you are or not.”

“So what then?” You ask, frustration bleeding into your voice. “Am I your prisoner now?”

“Non, ma chèrie,” Charles interjects smoothly. “Think of yourself as ... a valued guest. Under our protection.”

You laugh bitterly. “Some protection. I’ve been shot at, kidnapped, and threatened with bodily harm in the span of 48 hours.”

To your surprise, Charles actually looks chagrined. “Ah, yes. My apologies for that. I have a flair for the dramatic, you see.”

“What Charles is trying to say,” Max cuts in, shooting his friend a warning look, “is that you have options. We can set you up with a new identity, somewhere far from here. Or ...”

He trails off, and you find yourself leaning forward despite yourself. “Or what?”

Max and Charles exchange another of those loaded glances before Max continues. “Or you could stay. Become a part of this.”

You blink, sure you must have misheard. “Become a part of ... your crime syndicate? Are you insane?”

Charles chuckles. “Now you’re catching on, chérie. We’re all a little mad here.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. The cognac isn’t helping. “I’m not a criminal. I’m a literature professor, for god’s sake!”

“And yet,” Charles muses, leaning forward, “here you are. You could have called the police at any point. You could have refused to get on that yacht. But you didn’t. Why is that, I wonder?”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not wrong. Despite the fear, despite the danger, there’s a part of you that’s been thrilled by all of this. A part that’s been longing for something more than your quiet, predictable life.

Max kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his. “I know it’s a lot to take in. And I’m not asking you to decide right now. But I want you to know that if you choose to stay, we’ll teach you everything you need to know. You’ll be protected, valued. Part of something bigger than yourself.”

You look into his eyes, searching for ... you’re not sure what. Deception? Ulterior motives? But all you see is sincerity, and something else. Something that makes your heart beat a little faster.

“I ... I need time to think,” you manage to say.

Charles claps his hands together, breaking the moment. “Excellent idea. A good night’s sleep will do wonders for clarity of thought. Allow me to show you to your room.”

As you follow Charles up a sweeping staircase, your mind is whirling. Two days ago, your biggest concern was finishing grading papers on Jane Austen. Now, you’re being offered a place in an international crime syndicate.

It’s absurd.

It’s terrifying.

And yet ...

Charles stops in front of an ornate door. “Your quarters, mademoiselle. I trust you’ll find everything to your liking. We can discuss more in the morning.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help but call out. “Charles?”

He pauses, looking back at you with those piercing eyes. “Yes?”

“Why are you doing this? Helping Max, offering me a place here? What’s in it for you?”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Let’s just say I have a good feeling about you, Y/N. You might be exactly what our little organizations need.”

With that cryptic statement, he’s gone, leaving you alone in a luxurious bedroom that probably costs more than your entire apartment back home.

As you sink onto the plush bed, your head spinning from more than just the alcohol, you can’t help but wonder: what would Jane Austen make of all this? Somehow, you don’t think even she could have imagined a plot twist quite like this one.

***

The morning sun filters through the luxurious curtains, rousing you from a surprisingly deep sleep. For a moment, you’re disoriented, the opulent surroundings a stark contrast to your cozy little apartment back home. Then the events of the past day come rushing back, and with them, a sudden clarity.

You sit up, your mind made up. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you’ve never been more certain of anything in your life. You’re staying.

After a quick shower and change into clothes that have mysteriously appeared in the wardrobe (and fit perfectly, which you decide not to question), you make your way downstairs. The villa is quiet, save for the faint clinking of dishes coming from what you assume is the kitchen.

You follow the sound, finding Max nursing a cup of coffee at a marble island. He looks up as you enter, his expression guarded.

“Morning,” he says cautiously. “Sleep well?”

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I’ve made a decision.”

He sets down his cup, giving you his full attention. “Oh?”

“I’m staying,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I want to be a part of this. Of your world.”

Max’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise evident on his face. “Are you sure? This isn’t a decision to be made lightly, Y/N. Once you’re in, there’s no going back.”

You meet his gaze, unflinching. “I’m sure. My old life ... it never felt right. Like I was just going through the motions. But this? As terrifying as it is, it feels real. It feels right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face, transforming his features. “Well then,” he says, standing up. “I guess we better start your training.”

“Training?” You echo.

Max nods, his expression turning serious. “If you’re going to survive in this world, you need to learn how to protect yourself. First lesson: shooting.”

Your eyes widen. “Shooting? As in, guns?”

“No, we’re going to teach you competitive archery,” Max deadpans. “Of course guns. Come on, Charles has a range in the basement.”

As you follow Max through the winding corridors of the villa, your heart races with a mix of excitement and trepidation. This is really happening.

The shooting range is state-of-the-art, with multiple lanes and an impressive array of weapons displayed on the walls. Max selects a handgun, checking it over with practiced ease.

“We’ll start with something simple,” he says, holding out the gun. “A Glock 19. Easy to handle, reliable.”

You take the weapon gingerly, surprised by its weight. Max positions himself behind you, adjusting your stance and grip.

“Remember,” he says, his breath warm against your ear, “breathe steadily. Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull.”

You nod, trying to focus on the target at the end of the range rather than the heat of Max’s body behind you.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he murmurs, stepping back.

You take a deep breath, aim, and pull the trigger. The gun goes off with a deafening bang, and you can’t help but let out a surprised scream.

Max tuts, shaking his head. “Don’t do that, it will give you away.”

You turn to him, incredulous. “Like the loud noise wouldn’t? I shot a gun!”

“And missed,” Max points out, nodding towards the untouched target. “Now go again.”

Gritting your teeth, you face the target once more. This time, you’re prepared for the noise and the recoil. You squeeze the trigger, and to your surprise, the bullet hits the outer ring of the target.

“Better,” Max says, a note of approval in his voice. “Again.”

As the morning wears on, you find yourself falling into a rhythm. Aim, breathe, squeeze. The shots become more accurate, your stance more confident. Max is a patient teacher, offering guidance and correction with a gentle touch here, a murmured word there.

“You’re a natural,” he says after a particularly good round. “Must be all those Jane Austen novels. Secret badass under all that propriety.”

You laugh, lowering the gun. “I don’t think Lizzy Bennet ever handled a Glock.”

“Her loss,” Max grins. “One more round?”

You nod, raising the gun once more. As you fire off the last few shots, you’re aware of Max’s gaze on you, more intense than before. The final bullet hits dead center, and you turn to him with a triumphant smile.

“How was that?” You ask, breathless with exhilaration.

Max doesn’t answer immediately. He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher — admiration, certainly, but something else too. Something that makes your pulse quicken.

“Max?” You prompt, suddenly very aware of how close he is.

In one fluid motion, Max closes the distance between you. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is electric, sending sparks through your entire body. You respond instinctively, your free hand fisting in his shirt to pull him closer. The gun clatters to the floor, forgotten.

Max backs you up against the wall of the shooting range, his body pressing against yours. When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you opened your door that night,” Max admits, his forehead resting against yours.

You laugh breathlessly. “Even with me in my ratty pajamas?”

“Especially then,” he grins. “You were adorably flustered. And then you went and patched me up without hesitation. I was a goner.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane, you know that? A few days ago I was grading papers on 19th-century classic literature. Now I’m making out with a crime lord in a secret shooting range.”

Max’s expression turns serious. “Is it too much? We can slow down, or-”

You cut him off with another kiss. “No,” you say firmly. “It’s not too much. It’s ... exactly right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well then, doctor. Ready for your next lesson?”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

Max’s grin turns wicked. “I was thinking something in the realm of close combat. Very hands-on.”

You laugh, a thrill of excitement running through you. “Lead the way.”

As Max takes your hand, leading you out of the shooting range, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. It’s dangerous, it’s completely illogical, and yet ... you’ve never felt more alive.

Whatever comes next, you’re ready for it. With a gun in your hand and Max by your side, you feel like you could take on the world. And who knows? Maybe you will.

***

As Max leads you out of the shooting range, there’s a palpable tension in the air, crackling with unspoken promises. You follow him through the winding corridors of Charles’ villa, your heart racing with anticipation.

“So,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “where exactly are we going for this close combat training?”

Max glances back at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I thought we’d use the gym. Plenty of space, padded floors ... you know, for safety.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Safety, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

He stops abruptly, turning to face you. “Y/N, if this is moving too fast-”

You cut him off, stepping closer. “Max, I literally left my entire life behind for you. I think we’re well past too fast.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Fair point. Still, if at any point you want to stop-”

“I’ll let you know,” you assure him. “Now, are you going to show me these close combat moves or what?”

Max’s grin turns predatory. “Oh, I’ll show you alright.”

He pushes open a door, revealing a state-of-the-art gym. The space is impressive, with gleaming equipment and, as promised, a large area covered in training mats.

“Shall we?” Max asks, gesturing to the mats.

You nod, suddenly feeling a bit nervous despite your bravado. As you step onto the mat, Max begins circling you slowly.

“The key to close combat,” he says, his voice low and intense, “is to always be aware of your opponent’s movements. To anticipate their next move.”

You turn, keeping him in your sight. “And how do I do that?”

In a flash, Max is behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist. “By staying alert,” he murmurs in your ear.

A shiver runs down your spine at his proximity. “I thought I was doing pretty well,” you manage to say.

You can feel Max’s chuckle rumbling through his chest. “Not bad. But you’re still too tense. You need to relax, feel the flow of movement.”

His hands slide up your arms, gently adjusting your posture. You lean back into him, relishing the warmth of his body.

“Like this?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max’s grip tightens slightly. “Getting there. Now, if someone grabs you like this, what do you do?”

You consider for a moment, then make your move. You twist in his arms, using the momentum to break his hold and face him. “How’s that?”

Max looks impressed. “Not bad at all. You’re a quick learner.”

“I have a good teacher,” you reply, a bit breathless from the maneuver and his proximity.

For a moment, you stand there, faces inches apart, the air heavy with tension. Then Max moves, swift and sure, sweeping your legs out from under you. You land on the mat with a soft thud, Max following you down, pinning you beneath him.

“Rule number one,” he says, his face hovering above yours, “never let your guard down.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that so? And what’s rule number two?”

Instead of answering, Max lowers his head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You respond eagerly, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily. “I think I like rule number two,” you say with a grin.

Max laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Oh, we’re just getting started with the rules, doctor.”

He leans in for another kiss, but this time you’re ready. Using the moves he just taught you, you manage to flip your positions, straddling his waist triumphantly.

“How’s that for staying alert?” You ask, feeling a thrill at the surprised and appreciative look on Max’s face.

“Impressive,” he says, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “But you’ve left yourself open.”

Before you can ask what he means, Max surges upward, capturing your lips once more. As you lose yourself in the kiss, you feel him shift, and suddenly you’re on your back again, Max looming over you with a satisfied smirk.

“Distraction,” he says, “can be a powerful weapon.”

You laugh, breathless and exhilarated. “I’ll keep that in mind. Any other lessons you want to teach me?”

Max’s eyes darken. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more to teach you. If you’re up for it.”

You reach up, pulling him down to you. “I’m a very dedicated student,” you murmur against his lips.

What follows is less a lesson in combat and more an exploration of each other. Clothes are discarded, hands roam freely, and the only sounds in the gym are gasps, moans, and occasional laughter.

Later, as you lie tangled together on the training mats, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. Just days ago, you were grading papers in your quiet apartment. Now, you’re in the arms of a mob boss, in a luxurious villa in Monaco, having just had the most exhilarating experience of your life.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Max asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin.

You turn to face him, propping yourself up on an elbow. “Just thinking about how surreal this all is. A week ago, the most exciting thing in my life was finding a rare first edition at an antique book fair.”

Max chuckles. “And now?”

“Now?” You grin. “Now I’m learning to shoot, engaging in ‘close combat training’, and apparently joining an international crime syndicate. It’s ... a lot.”

His expression turns serious. “Is it too much? It’s too late to back out now, you know. I could have set you up somewhere safe, given you a new identity earlier, but now-”

You silence him with a kiss. “Max, I meant what I said earlier. I’m in this. All of it. With you.”

The smile that spreads across his face is radiant. “Good,” he says, pulling you closer. “Because I don’t think I could let you go now if I tried.”

You settle into his embrace, feeling safer than you have in years despite the objective danger of your situation. “So, what’s next on the criminal training agenda?” You ask, only half-joking.

Max pretends to consider. “Well, we’ve covered shooting and hand-to-hand combat. How do you feel about safecracking?”

You laugh. “Safecracking? Seriously?”

“Hey, it’s a valuable skill in our line of work,” Max defends, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Uh-huh,” you say skeptically. “And I suppose pickpocketing is next on the list?”

Max grins. “Now that you mention it ...”

You swat his chest playfully. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he points out, capturing your hand and bringing it to his lips.

“Here I am,” you agree softly. “So, what happens now? Do we stay here in Monaco? Go back to face the Silver Arrows?”

Max’s expression turns thoughtful. “For now, we stay here. You need more training before we can risk going back. And I need to regroup, strategize.”

You nod, a mix of relief and excitement coursing through you. “So I get to play princess in a Monaco villa while learning the finer points of criminality? I think I can handle that.”

“It won’t all be fun and games,” Max warns. “The Silver Arrows are still out there, and they’re not going to give up easily. We need to be prepared for anything.”

“I know,” you say, your tone turning serious. “I understand the risks. I’m ready for whatever comes next.”

He studies your face for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of doubt. Finding none, he nods. “Alright then. Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

***

The Monaco sun beats down relentlessly as you step out of yet another luxury boutique, arms laden with shopping bags. Oscar and Lando, your assigned bodyguards, trail behind you, their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

“I think that’s the last one,” you say, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice. “Who knew shopping could be so exhilarating?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “I think the exhilaration comes from Max finally letting you out of the villa, not the shopping itself.”

You laugh, conceding the point. “True. I never thought I’d be so happy to see the inside of a Gucci store.”

Lando grins. “Just wait until Max sees the bill. That’ll be truly exhilarating.”

As you make your way towards the parked Ferrari, you can’t help but reflect on the past few weeks. The intensive training, the late-night strategy sessions with Max and Charles, the growing feeling that you’re part of something bigger than yourself. It’s been thrilling, but also claustrophobic at times.

“I still can’t believe Max agreed to this little excursion,” you muse as you reach the car.

Oscar shrugs, opening the trunk. “You can be very persuasive when you want to be. Those puppy eyes of yours should be classified as a weapon.”

You’re about to retort when a sudden movement catches your eye. Before you can react, the air is filled with the deafening sound of gunfire.

“Get down!” Lando shouts, pushing you behind the car as he and Oscar draw their weapons.

Your heart pounds as you crouch behind the meager cover, the sounds of a firefight erupting around you. This isn’t like the controlled environment of the shooting range. This is real, chaotic, and terrifying.

“Y/N, stay down!” Oscar yells over the din, returning fire at unseen assailants.

You nod, too shocked to speak. But as you huddle there, a horrifying realization hits you — you recognize some of the voices shouting orders.

The Silver Arrows. They’ve found you.

Suddenly, a strong arm wraps around your waist, yanking you up and away from the car. You struggle instinctively, but your captor’s grip is like iron.

“Well, well,” a deep voice rumbles in your ear. “What do we have here? Max’s new pet, I presume?”

You crane your neck, looking up into a face you’ve seen before — in photographs, in briefings. Toto Wolff, leader of the Silver Arrows himself.

“Let me go,” you growl, trying to sound braver than you feel.

Toto chuckles, the sound devoid of humor. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my dear. You see, you’re my ticket to bringing Max to his knees.”

As he speaks, you become acutely aware of the weight on your thigh. The gun. The one Max insisted you carry, “just in case.” This, you realize with startling clarity, is that case.

Moving as subtly as you can, you reach for the holster strapped to your leg. Toto, focused on the fight around you, doesn’t notice.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, stalling for time as your fingers close around the grip of the gun. “There are other ways to resolve conflicts.”

Toto’s laugh is harsh. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t understand our world. This isn’t a negotiation, it’s war.”

You take a deep breath, Max’s training echoing in your mind. Stay calm. Aim true. Squeeze, don’t pull.

“You’re right,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I don’t understand your world.”

In one fluid motion, you pull the gun free and twist in Toto’s grip. Before he can react, you press the muzzle against his chest and pull the trigger.

The gunshot seems impossibly loud, even amidst the chaos of the firefight. Toto’s eyes widen in shock, his grip on you loosening as he stumbles backward.

For a moment, everything seems to freeze. Then, chaos erupts anew.

“Boss!” Someone shouts, and suddenly you’re being pulled away, strong arms encircling you protectively.

“I’ve got you,” Oscar’s voice says in your ear. “We’re getting out of here.”

As he hustles you towards the car, you catch glimpses of the scene around you. Silver Arrow members rushing to their fallen leader. Lando providing cover fire. And blood. So much blood.

Oscar practically throws you into the backseat of the Ferrari before jumping into the driver’s seat. Lando dives in barely a second later, and then you’re peeling away from the curb, tires screeching.

“Are you hurt?” Lando asks, twisting in his seat to look at you.

You shake your head, still too shocked to speak. The gun is still clutched in your hand, and you stare at it as if seeing it for the first time.

“You did good, Y/N,” Oscar says, his eyes flicking to you in the rearview mirror. “You kept your cool. That’s not easy in a situation like that.”

“I ... I shot him,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Toto Wolff. I shot him.”

Lando and Oscar exchange a glance. “You did what you had to do,” Lando says gently. “He would have killed you without hesitation.”

As the adrenaline begins to fade, the reality of what just happened starts to sink in. You’ve just shot one of the most powerful crime lords in Europe. In broad daylight. In the middle of Monte Carlo.

“Oh god,” you groan, leaning your head back against the seat. “Max is going to kill me.”

Oscar lets out a surprised laugh. “Are you kidding? He’s going to be thrilled. You just took out his biggest rival.”

“Took out?” You repeat, a new wave of panic washing over you. “You mean he’s ...”

“We don’t know for sure,” Lando says quickly. “But a point-blank shot like that ... it doesn’t look good for Toto.”

You close your eyes, trying to process everything. Just hours ago, your biggest concern was whether to buy the Prada or the Fendi handbag. Now, you might have just assassinated a mob boss.

The rest of the drive passes in a blur. Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the villa, where Max is already waiting, his face a mask of concern and anger.

As soon as the car stops, he yanks open your door, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “Are you okay?” He demands, his hands roaming over you as if checking for injuries. “When I got the call, I thought ...”

You cling to him, the familiar scent of his cologne grounding you. “I’m okay,” you assure him. “I’m okay.”

Max pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “What happened? Oscar said there was a firefight.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “The Silver Arrows ambushed us. And Toto ... he grabbed me. I ... I shot him, Max. With the gun you gave me.”

For a moment, Max just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, a slow smile spreads across his face. “You shot Toto Wolff?”

You nod, still unsure of his reaction. “I think ... I think I might have killed him.”

Max’s smile widens into a full-blown grin. “Y/N, do you have any idea what you’ve just done? You’ve single-handedly changed the balance of power in our world.”

“I have?” You ask, feeling slightly dazed.

He nods, pulling you close again. “You’re incredible, you know that? I knew you were special from the moment I showed up at your door, but this ... this is beyond anything I could have imagined.”

As Max leads you into the villa, his arm protectively around your waist, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. From literature professor to potential assassin in a matter of weeks. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, and completely surreal.

“What happens now?” You ask as Max guides you to the study, where Charles is already waiting, phone in hand.

Max exchanges a look with Charles before turning back to you. “Now? Now we prepare for war. The Silver Arrows won’t take this lying down, Toto dead or alive. But with you by my side ...” He trails off, a fierce pride in his eyes.

“You can be unstoppable,” Charles finishes, raising his glass in a toast.

As you sink into a chair, the events of the day finally catching up with you, you realize that this is your life now. Gunfights and power plays, luxury shopping sprees and criminal empires. It’s a far cry from grading papers on Jane Austen, but as you look at Max, seeing the mix of pride, concern, and love in his eyes, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The war may be just beginning, but with Max by your side and a newfound confidence in your abilities, you’re ready to face whatever comes next. After all, you’ve already taken down Toto Wolff. What’s a little inter-syndicate warfare compared to that?

***

Five Years Later

The small apartment buzzes with the energy of five recent college graduates, sprawled across mismatched furniture in various states of relaxation. Empty pizza boxes and half-empty wine bottles litter the coffee table, evidence of their Friday night catch-up session.

“Alright, alright,” Emily says, reaching for her phone. “What should we put on for background noise? Music? TV?”

Jake, lounging on the worn leather armchair, perks up. “Oh! What about that true crime podcast I was telling you guys about? The one about modern mobs?”

Zoe, curled up on the couch, raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? Isn’t that a bit heavy for a chill hangout?”

“No, no, it’s fascinating!” Jake insists. “It’s not just gruesome stuff. It’s all about the economics and politics of modern organized crime. Super interesting.”

Lisa, sitting cross-legged on the floor, shrugs. “I’m game. Could be fun to learn something while we drink.”

“Seconded,” chimes in Alex from his spot by the window. “Hit play, Em.”

Emily fiddles with her phone, connecting it to the bluetooth speaker. “Alright, here we go. ‘The Mob in the Modern Age: Episode 7 — The Dutch Syndicate’s Rise to Power.’”

As the podcast’s intro music fades, a smooth, professional voice fills the room:

“In the world of organized crime, power shifts can happen in the blink of an eye. But few have been as sudden or as dramatic as the meteoric rise of the Dutch Crime Syndicate over the past five years. Once a minor player on the European stage, the Dutch Syndicate now controls vast swathes of territory and influences everything from high finance to international politics. But how did this happen? The answer, dear listeners, lies in an unlikely source: a literature professor turned criminal mastermind.”

The friends exchange amused glances. “A literature professor?” Zoe snorts. “Now that’s a career change.”

“Shh,” Jake hushes her, leaning forward intently.

The podcast continues: “It all began with a chance encounter. The Syndicate’s boss, known only as Max Emilian, was injured in a firefight with rival gang members. Desperate for medical attention but unable to go to a hospital, he turned up on the doorstep of a young literature professor in the middle of the night.”

Emily pauses the podcast. “Okay, this sounds like the plot of a bad romance novel.”

“I know, right?” Lisa laughs. “What are the odds?”

Alex shakes his head, grinning. “Maybe our old prof is secretly living it up as a mob wife somewhere.”

The group erupts into laughter at the absurd image.

“Can you imagine?” Zoe gasps between giggles. “Professor Y/L/N in a shootout?”

Jake wipes tears from his eyes. “God, remember how she used to get flustered just operating the projector?”

As the laughter dies down, Emily resumes the podcast.

“What happened next is the stuff of legend in criminal circles. The professor, whose name we now know to be Y/N Y/L/N, not only patched up the crime boss but ended up joining his organization. Within weeks, she had become his right-hand woman and romantic partner.”

The room falls silent, the friends exchanging wide-eyed looks.

“No way,” Alex breathes.

“It can’t be,” Lisa shakes her head. “It’s got to be a coincidence.”

Jake holds up a hand, shushing them as the podcast continues.

“But Y/N’s true moment of infamy came just a month into her new life of crime. During what should have been a routine shopping trip in Monte Carlo, she and her bodyguards were ambushed by members of the rival Silver Arrows gang. In the ensuing chaos, Y/N found herself face to face with none other than Toto Wolff, the notorious leader of the Silver Arrows.”

“Oh my god,” Zoe whispers, her face pale.

“What happened next would change the landscape of European organized crime forever. Y/N, using a gun given to her by Max for protection, shot Toto Wolff at point-blank range. Wolff did not survive the encounter, his death throwing the Silver Arrows into disarray.”

Emily pauses the podcast again, her hand shaking slightly. “Guys ... this can’t actually be our Professor Y/L/N, right? I mean, it’s impossible.”

The room is silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought.

“Remember how she just ... disappeared?” Alex says slowly. “In the middle of the semester? The department said it was a family emergency, but no one ever heard from her again.”

Jake nods, his brow furrowed. “And it was right around the time this podcast is talking about. Five years ago, give or take.”

Lisa shakes her head vehemently. “No. No way. Our Y/N? The one who cried when we threw her a surprise party for finishing her PhD? There’s no way she shot someone.”

“But think about it,” Zoe says, warming to the idea. “She was always talking about how literature reflects real life, how the best stories come from unexpected places. What if ... what if she decided to live a story instead of just teaching about them?”

The group falls silent again, each of them trying to reconcile the image of their soft-spoken, cardigan-wearing professor with the gun-toting criminal mastermind described in the podcast.

Emily takes a deep breath. “Should we ... should we listen to the rest?”

After a moment of hesitation, they all nod. She presses play:

“In the years since that fateful day in Monte Carlo, Y/N has become a force to be reckoned with in her own right. Known in criminal circles as ‘The Professor,’ she’s rumored to be the strategic mind behind the Dutch Syndicate’s most daring and successful operations. Her background in literature and analysis has proven unexpectedly valuable in the world of organized crime, allowing her to see patterns and opportunities that others miss.”

Jake lets out a low whistle. “Okay, that part I can actually see. Remember how she could break down a text? Find connections no one else saw?”

The others nod, still looking shell-shocked.

The podcast continues: “Last year, Y/N and Max officially tied the knot in what insiders describe as the criminal event of the decade. The guest list reportedly included high-ranking members of various international syndicates, as well as several politicians and business moguls whose connections to the underworld had previously been only rumored.”

“A mob wedding,” Alex says faintly. “Our professor had a mob wedding.”

Zoe suddenly sits up straight. “Wait a second. Guys, remember that weird email we all got about a year ago? The one that looked like spam but had our names in it?”

The others nod slowly, realization dawning.

“It said something about a ‘special event’ and how the sender wished we could be there,” Lisa recalls. “We all thought it was just a weird phishing attempt.”

“Holy shit,” Jake breathes. “She invited us to her mob wedding.”

The podcast wraps up: “Today, the Dutch Crime Syndicate stands at the pinnacle of European organized crime, with Y/N and Max as its power couple. Their story serves as a reminder that in the modern criminal underworld, brains can be just as valuable as brawn. And sometimes, the most dangerous person in the room might just be the one with a literature degree.”

As the outro music plays, the friends sit in stunned silence.

Finally, Emily speaks up. “So ... do we think it’s really her?”

They look at each other, years of shared memories and inside jokes about their favorite professor flashing through their minds.

“I mean, what are the odds of two literature professors named Y/N Y/L/N getting mixed up with the mob in the same year?” Alex points out.

Jake nods slowly. “And it would explain why she just vanished. Why the department was so weird about it.”

“But ... but it’s Y/N,” Lisa protests weakly. “She used to bring us cookies during finals week. She cried when we analyzed sad poems.”

Zoe reaches for her phone. “Only one way to find out for sure. I’m googling her.”

The others crowd around as Zoe types in their former professor’s name. The search results load, and they collectively gasp.

There, staring back at them from countless news articles and blurry paparazzi shots, is an unmistakable face. It’s older, harder somehow, but undeniably the woman who once taught them about Jane Austen and Shakespeare.

“Well,” Emily says faintly, “I guess this explains why she always said Pride and Prejudice needed more action scenes.”

The room erupts into hysterical laughter, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting them full force.

As they catch their breath, Jake raises his wine glass. “To Professor Y/L/N,” he says solemnly. “May her gun be as mighty as her pen.”

The others join in the toast, clinking their glasses together.

“You know,” Alex muses, “I always thought her lectures on Crime and Punishment were a little too detailed.”

Another round of laughter fills the apartment as the friends settle in to re-listen to the podcast, this time with a whole new perspective on their former professor turned criminal mastermind.

As the night wears on, they share memories of their college days, now tinged with the surreal knowledge of where life has taken their beloved professor. And though none of them would admit it out loud, there’s a small part of each of them that can’t help but admire the sheer audacity of it all.

After all, how many people can say their literature professor went on to conquer the criminal underworld?

[sunsburns]

i have a thought, and it might be silly, but i have always wondered what a little bit of ‘innocent’ gunplay would be like with wade wilson. (18+)

he doesn’t seem like the type to be opposed to it if you asked, he might look at your a little funny at first, and make a joke or two, but once he notices the sincerity in your tone, his eyes light up like a fucking christmas tree. he's already running to your shared closet, skipping and pulling out his gold-plated fifty-calibre desert eagle pistol arrows (yes, the ones he stole from nicepool).

wade kisses you like it’s the first time all over again, a little nervous around the edges, but he looms over you with enough confidence which makes you moan into his mouth.

“oh, fuck, baby, this is the nastiest thing i’ve ever seen,”he huffs out between a laugh and a groan, holding the handle of the gun near his crotch while slowly pushing the barrel near your inviting mouth. your tongue peaks out, sticking the tip of it into the muzzle and wade enthusiastically moans. “so dirty, oh my god. we’re gonna have to get you checked for lead poisoning.”

you pull away, a playful roll to your eyes with a tinge of annoyance, “wade-“

he snorts, “sorry, i’m just a chatty bitch tonight, huh? i still can’t believe this is happening,” he pats your cheek lovingly, slowly easing you back to his gun, watching your lips part wider and take as much of it in as you can. “go on, hotstuff. suck it like you mean it.”

and you do, eyes fluttering shut as you run your tongue along the bottom of the barrel, letting the muzzle scratch at your throat. you sputter when wade pushes your head in before pulling you back, watching your spit dribble and drip, the gold sparkling under the dim lighting of the lamp next to you.

you can feel the way your panties grow damp, spot the way his dick twitches in his sweats that are resting far too low on his hips. and with the way wade is smiling at you, a little breathless, far too silent, you can’t help but grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him into a deep, hot, and messy kiss, where your teeth clash and your tongues explore each other.

wade pushes you down on the bed, running his free hand over your skin before it settles by your jaw. his other hand trails the barrel of the gun up your inner thigh, a delighted giggle escaping him when you moan and arch your hips when he presses the weapon against your clothes pussy. “you like that, huh? shit, i wish you would've told me about this kink of yours sooner. would’ve fucked you with my gun a long time ago-“

“wade.”

“right. sorry, i’m just so horny right now. you’re better than porn at this point. so sexy. i haven’t been this hard since puberty.”

[suhkusa]

OPEN ARMS.

PAIRING. Bakugou Katsuki x f!Reader

CW. ALL CHARACTERS 18+, angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, childhood friends to fwb to lovers 0-0, he’s dumb, you’re dumb, feelings, smut but it’s not detailed, dubious consent, please let me know if i missed anything!

WC. ~2.8k

A/N. If you’ve seen this before no you haven’t!!! first time writing for mha :p

I.

The first time you fucked Bakugou, it was a mistake.

It was during your 19th birthday party, which he had thrown for you “out of the kindness of his heart”, he’d say.

You two clearly had too much to drink, but so did your friends around you. Too much where none of them seemed to notice as the two of you slipped out of the living room to his own room.

The first time with him was your first time at all.

And even then, even in his drunken stupor, he still handled you with care.

Despite his rough and unruly nature he usually displayed, he was gentle. It was a funny thought though, Katsuki Bakugou fucks gently.

“Are- you sure?”, he mutters, toying with the waistband of your panties.

You managed to slur out a weak, “mhm”, before he began to slowly slip off your clothes. One by one.

And even though it was gentle, it was messy. Each kiss is filled with saliva and teeth. Every thrust is hesitant but thorough. Everything was him.

When the time came and you two were lying in bed, chests heaving as your minds tried to catch up with your bodies. You had just fucked your childhood best friend.

The rest of the night was awkward as the two of you sobered up, yes. But when morning came, it was like nothing happened.

It was a silent agreement, never again.

——

II.

The second time you fucked Bakugou, it was by choice.

Though, not for the reason you thought it’d be.

“The hell are you at my door for? It’s 2 in the—”

“He cheated, Katsuki,”

His eyes met with your tear-stained face, his face dropping in realization.

“Shit,” he looked around before eyes locking back onto you, “c’mere you big baby,”

Bakugou’s arms opened before you fell into them.

His scent and touch are familiar. Somewhat nostalgic of the time you two were kids and he’d comfort you after beating up the boys who’d tease you.

“S’alright,” he muttered, “you know he was ugly as shit anyways,”

You cry more after he says that, knowing he was right, but still hurting more nonetheless.

“Sheesh,” he lets you go to lead you into his house.

Without his help, you make your way into his room, welcoming yourself to the warm blankets. You hog them to yourself, whining when he tugs them off.

“Don’t cry over him, he was a piece of shit, and I told you so,” he snickers, still with a comforting tone.

You sniffle, “I know- I know, it still hurts though,”

It hurts because it was your first relationship. It hurts because outside Katsuki, you’ve never put so much effort and trust into a person. And for it to be thrown away made you feel nothing but worthless. 7 months may not have been long, but to you it felt like eternity.

Bakugou rolls his eyes dismissively, knowing that little to nothing he could do would help, “you need anything?”

To this day, you don’t know what it was. Maybe it was the way he looked at you with care instead of his usual roughness, or the way your heart yearned for touch and comfort. Perhaps it was the way that even though, yes, Bakugou warned you about your cheating ex and you didn’t listen, he let his pride down and came to the rescue.

“You,”

“Don’t say that, freak,” he shrugs your words off as a joke, moving to get up, “I’ll be in the livi—“

Your hands move before your brain can stop it, latching onto his wrist.

“Please,”

Your teary eyes watch the cogs turn in his brain. Before you realize, he’s lifting your chin with a rough hand, bringing your lips to his. And before you can catch a breath, he’s onto you, taking you once again.

——

III.

The the third time you fucked Bakugou, you realize this would become a regular thing.

There was no heartache or liquor. There were two friends, lonely but still content, bored with nothing to do.

You don’t really remember what initiated it, or who, one moment you guys were watching the latest episode of that sitcom he showed you, and the next you were on top of him.

He lifted your hips and slammed into you, over and over until you couldn’t even think about how you got into this position. Until all of your senses were just filled with him, him, and him.

“You’re mine,” he grabbed at your chin, forcing you to look at him, “you hear me?”

In the heat of the moment, you gasp a loose, “yes,” before locking your lips with his.

Your body was hot and wet, and his words only ignited the flames in your stomach even higher before you couldn’t take it anymore, falling against him as your pussy convulsed around his length.

As your chest heaved against his, your mind cleared a bit, thinking back on his words.

His.

The concept of being his was a nice thought. Though you know you could never commit anymore. Especially to him. Bakugou’s your best friend, and your love for him would always be just that.

This is casual. It doesn’t have to mean anything. People have casual flings or friends with benefits all the time. It just so happens yours is with your best friend. You two were grown adults now, you both know well what you’re getting yourselves into. Best friends can fuck without feelings being involved.

Right?

——

VI.

The next couple of times you fucked Bakugou, you noticed a shift.

It was a subtle slow shift, it came in waves that only grew every time he touched you.

In the moment, it was great. Everything about it. The way he fucked, the way he cared for you. It was just a little bonus of your guys’ hangouts. You guys still do the things you would do before this whole arrangement started. Talk, gossip, eat food, sleep. And before you knew it, sex became a part of the routine.

And if you were being honest, you enjoyed it. It filled the hole that had been left by your ex. But now that you had gotten over him, it felt like you were about to burst at the seams by the whiplash Bakugou gave you.

You never gave a second thought to this arrangement you two had. It felt normal. You guys had always been this close. Through school, college, and even having your first jobs together. Of course, there were times you guys were apart, but even still you two managed to remain as close as ever.

After the first several times, you began to experience this weird feeling in your chest. You didn’t want to put a name to the emotion out of the fear it’d create more problems than you needed.

But you could only silence your heart for so long until it begins to boil over.

It was after the second round of the day. You’re dazed as you stare at the ceiling, legs sore, cunt aching.

You feel your throat get caught on itself as you try to make up the words to come out. It feels thick as you say it. Scared to know his answer, scared that this all could fall apart— that you’d fall apart.

“Why are we doing this?” you start, hesitant.

“Not sure,” he mutters, scrolling through his phone, “it’s fun?”

It’s fun. Yeah, maybe that was it. That phrase would simmer in the depths of your mind, constantly trying to convince yourself yes, this was fun. So much to block out the painful tinge you’d feel in your chest after every time you lie in bed together after having sex.

This was your childhood best friend. Bakugou Katsuki. Anyone could have him but he’s lying here with you. You realize the possibility of going back to how things were was slim. He’s not going to be that hard-headed, obnoxious friend you’d known since you were kids anymore. It’s gone past that boundary, and you’re scared to keep exploring the uncharted territory.

It’s then you realize that maybe this was a mistake after all.

——

VIII.

It’s the 7th— no, 8th? You’ve lost count. Nonetheless, it was this time that you realized you loved Bakugou Katsuki.

Perhaps you’ve always known this, just pushing all the emotions to the back of your heart and mind for the sake of the friendship.

But you knew all too well that those boundaries had been pushed too far. Time and time you told yourself that this was all okay, but it wasn’t. And it felt like you were slowly tearing yourself apart.

He was tearing you apart, but it was no one’s fault but your own.

The words he’s been using have been getting riskier and riskier. Toying with the romantic edge of things.

Bakugou was being rougher than usual, a bad day at work being the source. Though you didn’t mind, it felt good nonetheless. It’s rare for him to shock you with his words.

“Fuck,” he groans in your ear, “you’re beautiful,”

His words make you clench around him harder, egging you on to whimper in his ear.

“You’re too fuckin’ good— way- too good,”

His cock pummeled your insides and he thrusted into you relentlessly, praise raining from his mouth like an everflowing river.

“I want you— bad,” his grip on your hips tightens, and the telltale look on his face tells you he’s about to finish.

“I fuckin’ love you,” he murmurs lowly as he cums, so low you barely miss it under your own soft gasps. So low you weren’t even sure you heard it right.

Tears begin to prick at your eyes, what an asshole.

Your insecurity gets the best of you so you just pull him tighter to your body in response to whatever he said.

His words poke and prod at your heart. It feels good to hear it. But it hurts worse knowing it’s the sex talking. It’s the frustrations from work talking. It’s all fake. It’s all talk. No meaning or emotion to back it up.

Bakugou doesn’t even realize it, but he’s encouraging you and your feelings for him. And you don’t know how much more you can take.

——

I.

It was the first time that Katsuki fucked you, he realized he loved you.

You were a constant in his life, and while you were annoying at times, you were always there, even the times where he was shitty towards you.

Katsuki knew you were pretty, always have been— even when the two of you were kids and you’d have mud and dirt all over your face after tussling with him.

But especially now you were gorgeous. Glossy-eyed and so vulnerable underneath him. It was as if he forced himself to sober up, just so that he could remember this moment.

He knew it was selfish to act upon his own desires, and so he asked,

“Are- you sure?”

Everything about you was pretty, his eyes fixated on your lips as you muttered a sweet “mhm”.

Katsuki wishes he had photographic memory so he could remember and cherish every second of it.

He knew this couldn’t happen again. The relationship you two already had was too good for him to let his personal feelings interfere. And he was okay with that. He had his own things to worry about.

There were too many things going on in his life. And even if you wanted him (the chances are slim), he doesn’t know if he’d be able to give you what you needed or wanted. He liked being friends with you for so long because you made everything so easy. He didn’t want to ruin what you had because of his stupid, selfish feelings.

But for now, he’ll indulge in himself. Just this once.

It was the first time that Bakugou Katsuki fucked you that he realized, for him, this wasn’t a mistake.

——

X.

This time would be the last, you told yourself.

You’d let yourself fall into him once more. Let him hold you once more. Be with him once more. And then you’d call it quits. You’d force yourself and him to go back to how things were. No matter what.

You want him, but that’s all it could ever be. And you couldn’t want him. He’s your best friend. The only love you should’ve ever had for him was platonic, but circumstances you forced upon yourself changed that.

You’re able to tell when he’s in the mood. He looks at you daringly with his ruby eyes, and gets touchier. It’s barely ever sudden with him, he eases you into it.

“Katsuki…” you whisper, weak to his touch as he slips his hand under your shirt and straight to your breasts.

“Mm,” he responds, lips already meeting with the soft skin of your neck.

It takes all of you, and you mean all of you, to force the words out of your mouth. You knew you didn’t want to mean it, you’d let him take you as many times as he pleases. But you had to mean it. Because it hurts. Too much.

“I can’t— We can’t do this anymore,” the words fumble a bit, you’re a bit embarrassed and wish you could take it all back.

He freezes altogether, and it scares you.

Bakugou sits back, removing his hand and lips from you before looking in your eyes.

His eyes search your face, lips looking like he’s searching for something to say. You don’t even know what to say.

“I— alright,” he says in a somewhat defeated tone. “Are you okay?”

No.

“Y-yeah, it’s just, weird, you know,” he looks confused at your words but agrees nonetheless. “You’re my best friend and I love you, we just… can’t,”

“No yeah,” is all he says before he sits back in his place on the couch, “I love you, too, I understand,”

You’re scared. His calmness is anxiety driving. Did you really not matter that much? Was the intimacy so easy to let go of? Your heart is breaking, you can feel it. It hurts.

You want to leave, you need to. It’s overwhelming and the silence is drowning. The TV plays in the back but all you hear is silence and all you see is him. It’s too much, you need to-

“Y/N,” you snap your head up at his voice, he’s closer, his hand is reaching out to you, “what’s wrong? You’re crying,”

A rough thumb pad swipes at the tears that had escaped without your knowledge. And the dam breaks.

Bakugou’s eyes widen and he pulls you in to embrace you, “you on your period or what?” He's joking, but you can tell he’s genuinely questioning you as to what the hell happened.

“You, it’s you,” you sob into his chest, and it’s so embarrassing. Shame spreads across your cheeks and body, and you babble nonsense.

“I love you, and it hurts,” you cry, “Fuck, I ruined everything,”

You can’t stop.

“I’m sorry, Katsuki, I ruined it, I ruined us. I was selfish,”

Your mouth is moving on its own.

“I can’t just fuck you and— and be just friends with you, it’s too much,”

You choke on your words, they’re heavy as they come out, fighting against the saliva that builds in your mouth.

“I want you,”

His words startle you. They’re sudden, and cut off whatever else you were about to say. He’s genuine. You can tell by the underlying softness of his voice.

“Are you an idiot? I wouldn’t— fuck,” his grasp around you gets tighter.

“I don’t fuck just anybody,” Bakugou says, “I feel like I’ve told you that,”

“But— that one time-”

“That was my girlfriend at the time, dipshit,”

You sniffle at that, and he realizes you’re still vulnerable.

“Sorry, I just,” he releases you a bit, eyes locked on you, “I love you, have for a while,”

Your jaw drops a bit at that.

“Feelings are just too complicated, you’re too complicated. I didn’t want to break whatever we had, y’know?,” you can tell he’s struggling, “but it became routine, and I was selfish and didn’t want to stop,”

“You’re sappy,”

“Shut it,” he snaps, pinching your side and earning a yelp from you. “Don’t cry, got it? I want you just as much as you want me,”

His thumbs wipe away the stray tears, “you’re such an idiot,”

“No, you are— you’re so mean, saying things you don’t mean to me,” you mutter, eyes meeting his own.

“I’ve never said anything I didn’t mean to you,” he states matter-of-factly. And you realize he’s serious.

You open your mouth to retort, to argue, but he catches you in a kiss before you’re able to. He’s warm and gentle, he’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

You feel yourself begin to tear up again, it doesn’t hurt anymore. But your heart is relieved and feels as though a heavy weight had been lifted off of it. It feels free.

It’s this time where you’re about to fuck Bakugou Katsuki that you realize it was always going to be him, and perhaps those times were never mistakes after all.

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[malsmind]

the sweetest

chris sturniolo x reader

—————

“what’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done?”

“fuck a girl on her period.”

—————

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, period sex, fingering, praising, pet names (baby,ma, angel), very fluffy n sweet, aftercare!

authors note: based on that one question lil peep was asked in an interview! i kinda hate this one 💀

wc: 1.1k

english is not my first language!

your day’s been shit. you’re on your period, your cramps aren’t as bad as they usually are, but you’re just not in the best mood. you’re tired, you can’t be bothered to get things done, it sucked. your boyfriend has been the sweetest to you the whole day. getting you food, giving you back massages, cuddling with you all day long, whatever you wanted, he did it.

you stepped out of the shower, drying yourself off, already missing the feeling of the warm water running over your aching muscles. you put your clothes on and left the bathroom. chris was laying on his bed, scrolling trough his phone while the movie you put on was on pause, ready to be watched. chris looked up from his phone, giving you a warm smile. “you feelin’ a little better?” he asked, putting his phone down.

“not much, honestly wish i could stay in the shower forever” you whine, flopping down on the bed beside him. “it’s just so relaxing you know what i mean?”

“yeah i get what you mean” he chuckled, pulling you into his arms. you cuddled up to him, his warm hands immediately landing on your lower stomach, knowing you love feeling the comfort of his touch whenever you’re on your period. he pressed play on the movie, leaning back against the headboard. you got comfortable in his arms, resting your head on his chest, watching the movie play on the TV in-front of you.

chris’s fingers trace over your stomach in a soothing manner, making you tense up slightly at the feeling.

as the movie went on, your eyes scanned over the way his fingers traced your stomach. it was so innocent, he was just making sure you were comfortable, after all. you couldn’t help but imagine the many other ways your boyfriends fingers made you feel good. chris of course noticed the way your eyes followed his fingers every movements, a small grin tugging at his lips. chris moved his fingers lower down, playing with the waistband of your shorts. your breath hitched a little when he glided his fingers along.

“you not gonna watch the movie? haven’t seen your eyes look up at the screen once in the past 10 minutes, baby.” his voice pulled you out of your trance, making you rearrange your eyes back to the TV screen. “sorry, zoned out.”

your answer made chris chuckle. watching you try your hardest to put your focus back to the movie playing, chris leaned up a little, fully aware of what’s going trough your head. he slid his hand into your shorts, watching you intently, as his fingers danced over your clothed heat. you knew what his intentions were, and you also knew that he basically read your mind. you melted into his touch, leaning your head back onto his shoulder.

“you want me to touch you?” he spoke lowly, waiting for your consent before going any further.

“i’m on my period chris…” you sighed knowing that more than anything right now you wanted his fingers to relief the tension in your body.

“i’m aware, so can i touch you?”

his words made you sink your teeth into your lower lip and you nodded. he wasted no time, pulling your panties aside to run his fingers trough your wet folds, carefully pushing them inside your needy hole. his fingers moved slowly, in and out. you let out a sigh of relief, your body relaxing and the tension in your muscles loosening.

the movie in the background was long forgotten as chris’s fingers curled up. you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, muffling your moans while his fingers picked up their pace. chris placed a small kiss on top of your head before speaking up, “could give you more than just my fingers if you want..”

“what about the mess? i don’t wanna get your sheets bloody chris..” chris pulled his fingers out, moving on top of you. his lips met yours and he kissed you sweetly, slowly moving down to press slow, soft kisses to your neck. “you know i don’t mind ‘the mess’. jus’ wanna make you feel good.” he mumbled against your skin. you agreed, mumbling a small ‘okay’.

his hands carefully tugged your shorts off along with your underwear, pulling his own down. he took his dick into his hand, rubbing his tip along your slit, lubricating it in your wet mix of period blood and arousal. chris slowly pushed his hips forward, making sure he wasn’t inflicting any pain on you when his dick glided smoothly into your pussy. you bit your lip, gripping his shoulders when he bottomed out inside of you, letting out a low groan. his hips moved slowly into yours, the squelching sound of his dick moving in and out of you filling the room, mixing with the sound of the TV playing. delicate moans left your lips when he picked up his pace, leaning his head down to press his lips to your neck again.

“doin’ sooo good for me baby, fuck..” he praised, small moans leaving his lips now.

“lookin’ so pretty, shit ma.”

his words made you go crazy. the way he always made sure you felt so good. you could feel yourself getting close, your orgasm building up with every thrust of his hips into your own. chris knew you were close too, your walls clenching around his dick while he moved in and out of you, always hitting all the right spots.

“good girl, that’s it.” he breathed out, approaching his own orgasm.

“yes, juuust like that baby.”

before you knew it, your moans grew louder and your orgasm washed over you, making your legs cross behind his back, pulling him closer into you. chris couldn’t hold back either, feeling you cumming around him did it for him. his head fell onto your shoulder, muffling his own moans and with one more thrust, his cum coated your walls.

the both of you laid there for a little while, catching your breath. he carefully moved up and pulled out of you, looking down at where your bodies were connected just a second ago. he grabbed his boxers to clean both you and himself up.

“didn’t make that much of a mess.” he smiled down at you. you hummed in response, your eyes were heavy, you were surprised at how much your orgasm wore you out. chris threw his boxers aside, laying down behind you, pulling you back into his chest.

“you okay angel?” he asked, placing small kisses over your face.

“mhmm, tired.” you mumbled out, cuddling back into his body. his arms hugged around your waist, holding you close. both of you were more tired out than you thought you’d be, with the warmth and comfort of each others body, you eventually gave in to your tiredness and drifted off to sleep. chris wasn’t far behind, giving you a few more kisses before relaxing back onto his pillow, holding you in his arms as he fell asleep aswell.

@sturniololuv08 @middlepartmatt @forgottxen @emely9274 @impossiblecollectorcat @staargazr

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒 — 𝐂.𝐒.

Synopsis: Nick has been your best friend for so long, but you can’t seem to get a long with his brother—Chris. You try to mess with Chris and it backfires….badly….

Warnings: illegal street racing, stupid driving, tension, smut with so much plot it hurts, street racer Chris, BIG MASSIVE SHLONG CHRIS, size kink, bulge kink, dick-wad Chris, p n v, raw sex, riding (wink), and more....

A/N: THIS IS OVER 5.2K WORDS. THIS IS NAWT A QUICK READ. Now, get in the car bitches, we're getting HORNYYYYYY!!!!

With love and bigs tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey, cute jeans!” I wave, my lips curling into a grin as I squint my eyes at him—Chris. He rolls his tongue, shaking his head as he stalks off further down the street. Ha. 

It’s one of those rare occurrences—I’m here—at his street race, for god knows what reason. 

All I ever do is mock him. In fact, that’s why I call him cute jeans. The first time Nick and I had shown up at one of these dumb things, Chris thought I was a stranger from behind—and my jeans? Damn. 

He had to be a real asshole and hit on me. 

That night was fun for more than one reason. It sparked something—something I didn’t know existed. 

After that, my teasing only got worse. Chris’s ego couldn’t handle staying silent, he always had something smart to say. 

“Come to watch me again, huh? Gonna record it for later, I bet,” Chris winks. My mouth snaps shut as I go to say something back. He’s already gone—not giving me a second to respond before shutting the door to his car and speeding down the road. 

Typical. 

It’s still bright out. The sun sinks lower into the horizon as more people crowd the deserted street by the minute. 

“Okay, let’s just take a couple more pics and then we’ll go. I know you hate this,” Nick huffs, adjusting the leather jacket he’s wearing—the same coat that inspired this whole photoshoot. But you couldn’t blame him, he did look hot as fuck. 

Even if his looks resemble a certain idiot lurking nearby. 

Part of me is burning with spite. I hate letting Chris have the last word. But my brain sparks with an idea, a brilliant idea. 

How much would it cost him if I stayed around? 

Those stupid bets were always placed in his favor. No one could deny he was good—really good. He drove on the street like he owned it and he never even seemed nervous. 

“I kinda wanna stay—” My words are interrupted as I feel an arm rest down on my shoulders. I look over to see Beck, a girl I love seeing. 

She’s vibrant—especially with her signature red lip that seemed to draw all eyes to her. I always blossom off her confidence, loving to sit next to her when she showed true female power all with one swing of that stupid flag in the air. 

“How are ya, girlie? Haven’t seen you in months,” she puffs, hugging me a little bit closer before dropping her arm back to her side. 

I smile over at her. “Pretty good, you still stomping on egos?” I question, the glint of mischief in her eyes reflecting back as she gives me a slow nod. 

“Oh, always. Especially Chris—and it’s just for you.” She boops my nose as her words drag through the wind, the sound of tires screeching starting to muffle the chaotic hum of the crowd forming. 

Nick stares down at the camera lens, scrolling through the pictures I had taken of him—the reason why we were here, pretty much. “Actually, I think we got enough. But are you sure you wanna stay? I can come back and get you later—”

Beck brushes on Nick’s shoulder. She scrunches her nose at me while licking over her teeth. “I got her, Nick. Go home and post those pics, I’ll return her to you safely after tonight, don’t worry.” 

“Alright…” Nick sighs, reluctantly hugging me and wandering back towards his car to head home. 

“So why’d you wanna stay? Finally like cars?” Beck interrogates. 

I shake my head vigorously, laughing as she smiles at me. “Fuck no, I just—”

“You’re gonna mess with him, aren’t you?”

Her question rings through the air as a speeding car flies by—racers already warming up.

My eyes trace towards the track, seeing a sleek red sports car in the distance doing donuts. Of fucking course. Chris was always doing some dumb shit—illegal street racing or doing fucking donuts while the other racers were repeatedly drifting around the corners or fixing up their cars. 

He’s so cocky. 

I whisper back to her as I watch his car tires mark the pavement. “Damn right.”

___

Chris is already fed up—I can tell by the way his jaw clicks and his nostrils flare when I catch him in the corner of my eye. 

And I’m looking directly at him, a stupid smile covering my face as I put my money on the bet table. It’s twenty bucks, but it was twenty bucks I was willing to spend, or rather waste. Chris hasn’t lost in a while—honestly I’m not sure if he ever has. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Chris huffs, pulling me by the arm as he drags me to the side of the road by his car. 

He roughly shoves me. The feeling of his car pressed up against my backside leaves my eyes twinkling with pride—I’m really getting to him. Just like I planned.

I shrug. “Just placing my bets. Isn’t that what everyone does at these—”

“Why are you here? Why’re you–,” as his eyes stare into mine, his rough tone falls silent, his scowl curling into a smirk as he analyzes the subtle twitch of my nose. “Huh—just comin’ to watch, right?” 

I nod to his question, my pride sinking to my feet as I try to stand up tall. Chris presses his body against mine, making my weight lean against the car once more. I swallow thickly as his hand drops from my arm. 

What is he doing?

“You know, I meant it, right?” he tuts, his eyes tracing your figure with no shame. “These jeans… baby, they look so good on you.” His voice gets deeper, his head falling forward as his lips graze my ear. “-bet they’d look better off though, hm?”  

Fuck. 

I wish it didn’t make something inside the pit of my gut burn—but it did. God, it really fucking did. My heart is hammering against my chest, the pulse in my neck pounding in my ears as slight butterflies in my stomach make it harder to breathe. 

Shoving my body quickly, I manage to escape his hold. “Shut up. You’re such a cocky prick,” I spit, my arms folding across my chest as I try to keep a stern expression. 

Chris lets out a dry laugh, grinning like he’s already won. He takes a couple steps forward, letting his hand travel into the ends of my hair, “And yet, you love it. I can practically hear how nervous I’m makin’ you, it’s a real ego boost,” he husks. 

“You don’t make me—” My lips fall open further, motionless as his hand moves to my neck, his cold fingers brushing against my pulse as my eyes go wide. 

“Not nervous, huh…” His head leans towards the side as he stares all over my face. His eyes linger on my lips as I try to look away. 

But it’s impossible. Chris swerves his head, not letting my eyes leave his as he just stares at me. 

“Chris, stop—”

“Why? Do I make you too nervous?” he urges, licking over his teeth and letting his hands drop down to his sides. 

I feel a wave of heat caress up my spine and over my shoulders. “Don’t you have some stupid race to lose?” 

The taunt seems humorous to him, the last resolve of my dignity peeking through mumbled words as he wipes over his mouth. 

“Alright, alright. Guess I’ll go try to lose, but—I might need your help.” He shrugs, walking off with a wink. 

Uh oh. 

Help?

___

I can’t tell what the fuck is going through his brain. Part of me regrets staying—but another part of me is sickly invested in whatever this twisted game is. 

Nearly all bets had been placed. Stacks of money rested on the plastic table with a heavy bais—most were betting on Chris. 

It had to be at least two grand. 

He wouldn’t give up two grand for some petty argument with me, right? No—that would be insane. Absolutely bonkers. 

…right?

I watch as Beck stands in the middle of the dark street, the only glow coming from the blue streetlights above. The sun had set quickly, the stars and moon doing nothing compared to the headlights from all the cars.

My legs hurt. I didn’t realize I had been clenching every muscle for the entirety of the countdown to the actual race. The cold bleachers sting against my skin in the night air—maybe I would’ve dressed warmer if I thought I was gonna stay. But no—I was stuck shivering in jeans, a purple lace bra peeking from under my black top, and a letterman jacket. 

The front row gave the best view, but I had no one to shield the bitter breeze. But it was worth it. This way I got to sit by Beck the entire time. 

“Racers ready?” she shouts, her voice prominent over the reviving engines as she holds the flag in the air. 

Chris is on the side closer to me, his boyish smile apparent as I stare at the side of his face. The other guy was one of the better ones—the bets had some sort of hope in him, a large stack of bills showing that he had a decent amount of skill. 

My mouth waters as I see Chris run a hand through his hair, his head turning and his eyes catching mine. Holy fuck. He looks absolutely dreamy—there’s not an ounce of anxiety, pure confidence radiating from him. 

And it makes it so hard to look away. 

“Wait, I got one more bet I gotta place,” Chris announces. 

What?

My brows furrow, my face scrunching as I watch Beck relax the flag back down to her side. “Make it quick.” 

Chris nods at her words, my stomach flutters as he stares directly back at me, leaning his head out his window while licking over his lips. “Wanna make a bet, sweetheart?” he asks. 

I look around me, my shoulder sinking slightly as I take in the amount of people staring at me. 

He’s holding up the race to embarass me. Fuck. 

As I stare back at him with squinted eyes, he clicks his tongue on the side of his mouth. “If I win, I get to take you for a drive. Deal?”

“What?” I exclaim, throwing my hand in the air as I motion to the bet table, “Why the hell would I agree to that—”

“You bet against me, remember?” he points. 

My lips smack shut, the lump in my throat gathering thicker as I try to swallow. “I’ll even give you the chance to make sure I lose a round. We gotta bet or not?” he questions, his eyes twinkling as the blue lights illuminate his sharp features.  

If he had to lose one of the three rounds, that put more hope into the other racer. And if the other race won, I’d be more than content. Getting to call him a loser would definitely irk him more than anything—especially if it was true.

I hear boos chant around me. “Hurry up and race!” someone says from behind me. 

My body stiffens as I hear the chorus of disapproval. “Deal!” I shout, biting on my inner cheek. 

Chris looks at me with a daunting grin, his hand squeezing on the wheel as he nods. “A’right—ready. Sorry for the hold up.” 

Beck rolls her eyes, holding up the flag once more. 

“Racers ready?” she glares at Chris, continuing on as he revs his engine in response, “3—2—-1, GO—”

My heart drops as I watch the smoke from the tires scratching the street float around Beck. She saunters over, settling beside me as I lean forward, my pulse pounding in my ears as I watch them race side-by-side. 

As the car rounds the corner and starts nearing the finish line, Chris’s car zooms just slightly in front of the other vehicle, only seconds of a difference. 

I can’t wait to call him a fuckin loser. 

Beck walks back out, the flag raising in the air as both cars position once again. “Alright, race two. Ready, set—” 

“Hey!” 

Stomping her heels on the pavement, Beck scowls at Chris as he shouts towards my direction. I look over, my face burning as I feel the crowd stare down at me. 

I didn’t know much about racing, but I knew enough. This wasn’t normal—this was the prime way to piss people off. 

As I go to ask what he wants, Chris curls his finger, motioning for me to come closer. 

The fuck? 

I hesitantly stand up, my arms wrapped tightly around my torso as I walk up to his car window. Chris stares up at me with devious eyes. He obnoxiously chews a piece of gum, his jaw bone protruding with each movement. 

“What the fuck do you want?!” I whisper-yell, catching angry eyes boring onto me as I take a quick glance over my shoulder. 

Oh, these people are mad—fucking furious, even. 

“Kiss me.” 

I do a double take, my eyes blinky slowly as I watch him lick over the bottom ridges of his teeth, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. 

“What?” I breathe out, a dry laugh heaving from my lips. 

He can’t be serious…

“However long you kiss me is however long I’ll wait to start drivin’. Didn’t you want me to lose? C’mon pretty girl, you saw the bet table—use your head, alright? It’s just a kiss,” he taunts.

This is how he was gonna give me the chance to make him lose a round—I should’ve known. 

I shake my head, cringing as I hear the boo’s from the crowd get louder. 

“I’m startin’,” Beck says, holding up the flag. “3—”

“Yes or no? It’s up to you,” he shrugs, his eyes drawing over my face as my lips smack open and shut. 

“2—”

The noise of his engine revving makes my anxiety settle. This is my chance—my only chance at that. 

“Fuck it,” I murmur, taking a long stride towards him. 

“1—GO!” 

I crash my lips onto his, my hands on either side of his jaw. His lips meet mine with a hard urgency, the rhythm of my movement panicked and rushed. 

My breath hitches in my chest—I don’t know if it’s because I forgot to breathe or if it’s from the feeling of his hand traveling up and tangling around the back of my neck, pulling me impossibly closer as he slips his warm tongue into my mouth. 

I nearly forget everything, gasping for air as I pull back quickly, moaning as I feel his mouth hungrily chase mine. 

Never in my life had I been kissed like this—so passionately and rough. 

“Hey! This gotta be breakin’ some rules–”

Fuck. 

The person yelling from the crow makes me pull back into reality. I stand up, watching as Chris slowly flutters his eyes open at me with a grin so cocky my hand twitches with the urge to slap him. 

Why did that feel so… good? 

Before anyone can say a thing, the other car slowly halts back to the starting line. 

Had we really been kissing that long? 

My fingers mindlessly float up to my tingling lips, my head feeling lighter as the surroundings start to spin a bit. It’s like he put some drug in his mouth that immediately became addicting. I want more. 

“See? I kept my word,” Chris points out, “Now—you gonna keep your word if I win? Lemme take you for a drive?” I swallow thickly, nodding slowly. “Good. Now go sit down and cheer for me real loud, alright?” 

I don’t have time to respond before Beck interrupts with the same question, starting to count down. I quickly stumble back towards the bleachers, a sigh of relief pushing through my lips as my head bobbles between my shoulders while I sit down. 

The loud cars barely register in my brain. All I can focus on is how light everything feels, how my lips are swollen and pulsing. 

“C’MON!!!” 

Chants behind me draw my attention back to the road. What the fuck? It’s not even close—Chris is speeding around the corners way smoother than the first round, almost as if he had been—

Oh fuck.

He was holding back. 

I tried to mess with him and he played me with ease. 

Part of me should be mad as he races near the finish line—but all I feel is excitement—anticipation. 

My teeth clench into my lower lip as I watch him storm past the line, not even waiting for the other racer to finish before stepping out of his car and walking over. 

Is he…?

My eyes bulge as he walks in front of me, holding his hand out as an offer. “C’mon, you promised, yeah?” he urges. 

I nod slowly, sliding my hand in his. He drags me to his car, opening the passenger door and shutting it after I climb in. 

“Chris! The money—”

Beck’s words fall on deaf ears as Chris slides into the driver seat, pressing his foot on the gas hard. 

“You didn’t even get the money—what’re we doing?” I ask, looking behind my shoulder to see a crowd of people turned to our direction as we speed off further down the road. 

“You know, it’s not nice to try and tick me off,” he huffs, quickly glancing at me with a harsh stare. 

Oh.

Oh.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ abou–”

Chris lets out a vocal sound of disbelief, cutting me off, “Yeah, you do. Fuckin—bettin’ against me, tryna get me to lose and shit. For what? Don’t have a boyfriend to give you any attention, huh?” he asks, his hand reaching over and grasping onto my thigh. 

He knows I don’t have a boyfriend—I know he’s aware of that fact. 

I stare down at his large hand squeezing my jean-clad leg. Something about his rough grip makes me shift in my seat, my thighs clutching together as I feel a wave of warmth settle into the pit of my stomach. 

“You like my hand on your thigh, don’t you?” he says, smirking wider as I watch the blue streetlights cast a subtle glow on his cheekbones. 

“I—”

“You like it. Admit it.” 

There’s no room to argue as he trails his hand up further, his fingers tracing dangerously high as he gives me a rough squeeze. Fuck his hands feel good on me. 

“Chris what’re you—”

“Do you know how it feels to constantly see you and know I can’t touch you?” he starts, the car rolling to a stop by the side of the road as he rushedly shifts gears to park, “-you’re always fuckin’ teasin’ me—bein’ a damn brat and I have to keep my hands to myself,” he grits, shaking his head as he stares down at me. 

I swallow thickly as I shift in the seat. “Chris, I–”

“No. None of that bullshit. You’re always tauntin’ me. Why’d you stay, hm? Why?” he questions, his tongue clicking on the roof of his mouth as his eyes deepen with intensity and dominance. 

Silence. I can’t fathom any words to say, my pulse drumming quicker as Chris pats his lap, adjusting his chair back. 

“Over here. Now.” 

“Chris, what are we doing?” I ask, hesitantly starting to climb over the center console. 

His hands wrap around the underside of my thighs, pulling me quickly while I let out a slight yelp as he sits me down in his lap. His hands are firm on either side of my hips. “I’m done playin’ these stupid fuckin’ games. I just—” 

The air is quiet. His eyes fall to my lips, his hands grasping just a little bit tighter around me. I can still feel the lingering sensation from his lips on mine earlier, the slight tingle still buzzing on the soft muscle as I let myself lean in closer. 

“We should stop,” Chris breathes, his tongue sliding between his lips as his eyes flicker up towards mine. 

“Why?” 

The question rolls off my lips with ease, my palms flattening against his chest as I lower my mouth to his neck, breathing over his pulse. 

“Because–” He lets out a hiss. I place my lips on his neck, sucking gently as I massage my hand over his shoulder. “Shit—we gotta stop, baby—this, this–” His jaw goes slack as I find his sweet spot. His hands dig into my hips, the slight bulge growing beneath me making my lips curl into a smile as I gently grind myself on top of him. 

“Why do you wanna stop, Chris?” I ask, nibbling the bottom of his ear, “What’s got you so tongue-tied, hm?” 

“You’re killin’ me,” he points, his gaze trained on me as he tangles his hand through my hair, pulling me back just enough to look at him, “-fuckin’ so annoying, so pretty and horrible, I just—I don’t know how much I can hold back–”

“Don’t,” I whisper, my hand gathering the material of his shirt in a fist as I watch him bite on his lower lip. His eyes trace over my face, one of his hands slowly tracing underneath my shirt, callusing beneath my bra. 

“Yeah? Don’t want me to hold back, hm?” he remarks, his hips adjusting in the slightest, my mouth falling open as I feel him rut against me through the fabric of our clothes. 

Fuck. I can’t take this. 

I lean forward, crashing my lips against his once more. Chris hums into my mouth. He furiously helps me peel off the bulky letterman jacket, the cold air feeling like relief compared to my burning skin. 

“Holy fuck, slow down, baby,” he husks, his hands falling to my hips as I shameless grind myself against his hard bulge. But I can’t get enough. “-’m not going anywhere—gonna stay and make you feel so good. Promise.” 

My heart drops as I feel his hand delicately caress over the purple lace covering my breasts. His nimble fingers trace around my hardened nub, a slight moan falling through my lips as I feel him smirk against me. 

“Take those cute jeans off, c’mon. Be a good girl for me—just this once, alright?” he grins. 

I nod slowly, awkwardly shifting as I pull down the denim while kicking off my shoes. Chris gets impatient, yanking the clothing to his own accord before planting me back on his lap, his jacket now discarded. 

“Holy fuck, look at these legs—would look so good wrapped around me,” he whispers, brushing my hair to the side as his lips graze my neck, “-while I fuck you deep and hard.” 

Oh my god. 

My mind is numb, every inch of my skin pulsing with a hot sensation of greed. Chris stares at me with lust, his hand moving in the corner of my eye. “Want me to touch you? Right….here,” he breathes, the pad of his finger resting directly over my bundle of nerves. 

I nod slowly, looking at him with hooded eyes as he starts to slowly circle the digit with a light, feathery touch. 

“More,” I moan, pulling his shirt into my fists as I watch him smile at me. 

“Yeah? What do you want, hm? Want my big dick in you? Want me to stretch you out and make you cum over and ov—

“Please,” I whisper, my hips moving for me as I struggle to stay still. 

Chris looks down, gesturing for me to take control. I hesitantly fumble with his jeans, pulling out his hard length as my mouth starts to water. 

Fuck. He’s big. No—he’s huge. 

As I go to pull my underwear to the side, Chris stops me, placing his hand around my wrist. 

“Uh-uh,” he tuts, “-take ‘em all the way off—wanna see all of you when I fuck your guts.” 

My thighs tense from his words, my hands quickly sliding the fabric down my thighs and discarding them without a single care. Chris pets over the top of my thighs, his eyes hungrily staring down between my legs. “Fuck—are you sure you want this? I…god, I can’t believe this is happening…”

I grab his hardness in my hand, spitting and dragging the lubricant up and down his shaft. Chris grits his teeth. His hands pinching into my sides as he lets out a deep groan. “You’re so big,” I whisper, mostly talking to myself. 

My eyes bulge as I feel Chris lift me with his hands on either side of my waist, placing me so my dripping entrance is directly aligned with his tip. His eyes bore into mine with dark passion. His jaw tense as he leans forward, kissing along my neck. 

“You gonna take it all f’me?” he dares, massaging my sides but keeping me from sinking down onto him. 

“Chris, please–”

“Gotta promise to take it all, sweetheart. Been teasin’ me all day already, I don’t need anymore of that, alright? Just—just gotta promise to let me stuff you full,” he purrs, sucking on the sensitive part of my neck just below my ear. 

“I promise, just—mmphf—” He slowly loosens his grip, letting me lower myself. I feel his tip nudge past my entrance, the stretch of his size making my body tense as my legs tighten to a halt. 

“Thaatt’s it, doin’ so good, just—just relax,” he praises, brushing my hair behind my ear, “-gotta be a good girl and keep your word again, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” I stutter, slowly starting to take more of him. A broken cry falling through my lips as I feel my body stiffen again. 

Chris is patient. His eyes are trained on my face as his hands massage over my body. “You got it, c’mon—just—holy fuck,” his hand lingers down to my stomach, my top so messed up that it’s bunched over my breasts. He’s not just admiring the skin, he’s worshipping the bulge—the distinct imprint of him inside of me as I hover over the last bit of his length. 

“Look at that, sweetheart, I mean—fuck—” 

I shriek as I feel him lift his hips upward, burying himself inside of me completely. My hands grasp onto his shoulders, my eyes teary as I watch him bite on his lower lip. “God—such a good girl, takin’ me so good,” he compliments, slowly helping me as I start to ride him. 

I feel him reach deep inside of me, my eyes staring up at the ceiling of the car while my body tenses with a wave of pleasure collapsing over every beating pulse of my skin. This is even better than that damn kiss. I’ve never felt like this before. Not ever. It’s like an adrenaline rush, so overbearingly good that it feels addicting.  

“How’s that, baby, hm?” he hums, smiling down at the sight of his length plunging into my guts with each thrust as my movements quicken. 

“I–it’s, I—” 

What the fuck was I saying? 

Everything feels so light, so impossible. 

“That’s it, fuckkkkk—look so good ridin’ me like this, keep—-shit!” he seethes. My walls tighten around him, my nails digging into his shoulder through his shirt as he lifts his hips to meet my movements.

His lips parted with pure ecstasy. 

“Fuck, fuck, I,” My words are cut off my a moan. 

Chris laughs dryly, his grip becoming tighten as he really puts in the work—using me like a ragdoll as he furiously fucks himself into me. “Mmmm, th-ere,” he rasps, smiling as I let out small shrieks and moans between each snap of his hips. 

He’s so deep. I’d never felt this good in my life. There’s a buzzing in my ears, spots in my vision as I feel my body ruthlessly convulse with the overwhelming sensations. 

How the fuck is he so deep?

How the hell is he hitting against the perfect spot over and over and over—

“You cumming already?” 

His question pulls me back to reality. I nod dumbly, my mouth drawing open as I let out a long moan, my thighs quivering as I rock myself against his movement. 

“Oh—I—”

“My name, sweetheart, wanna hear my–my name, c’mon,” he urges, the squelches getting louder as I feel my body burn with euphoria. 

“Chris, Chris, I–I—my god,” I cry out, my hips slowly rolling to a stop as I feel him pause his motions. 

I don’t have time to react—nor to recover. I feel Chris hold me tightly, flipping me over so my back hits the seat—his cock brutal as he drills himself inside of me. 

“Take it, fuckin—fuckin’ take it,” he chants. 

My hands scramble into his hair. I pull his face into my neck, letting my teeth sink into his shoulder. Every rut of his hips leaves me breathless, my body seizing as I feel his hardness drive into me over and over again while his pelvis slaps against my clit. 

“I’m gonn—”

“Wait. Wait for me, I’m—’m so close, baby, so fuckin’ close—”

I clench around him, the buildup becoming too much as he continues to drown every inch of my body with pleasure. His desperate tone lingers in the air, his breaths shaking as his hips lose slight momentum. 

“Wher–-where do you—”

“In-inside, please, just—just let me cum,” I plea. 

Chris huffs, his thrusts becoming erratic and somehow deeper. “Cu-cum with me, I—shittttttttt, so fuckin’ good, so… so fuckin’ good,” he seethes, a warm sensation flooding inside of me as I feel my body convulse once more. 

My limbs fall lifelessly. Our motions fall lazier, eventually pausing to a halt. Chris gently removes himself, pulling me into his arms tightly and positioning back into the seat with me on his lap. 

His hand finds the back of my head as I lean onto his shoulder, petting through my hair as we both try to catch our breath. 

“Holy shit,” he whispers. I let out a light laugh, flinching as I feel my stomach burn from soreness. “You good there?” he asks. 

Nodding into the crook of his neck, I lift myself to stare at him once more. My eyes trace from his sweat ridden face, seeing a clear imprint of his hand on the fogged-up car window. My nose crinkles as I inhale deeply. “It smells like sex, I’m sorry,” I let out. 

Chris stares at me incredulously. “Sorry? That was fuckin’ perfect—better than the money if you ask me. I mean… I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself anymore,” he teases, flashing me a grin as he combs my hair behind my ear. 

My lips curl with excitement. “Oh really? You like takin’ me for rides?” 

He nods firmly, biting on his lower lip. “Mhm. And you seemed to really like ridin’.” 

I let out a light laugh, shrugging my shoulders before ruffling his hair playfully. “Only with you.”

Chris cocks an eyebrow at me, “Only me, huh?” I nod shyly, letting out a brief hum. His eyes linger on mine before falling back to my lips. “You do ride good. Maybe you should be the racer,” he taunts. 

“Maybe,” I whisper, “-maybe…” 

“Let’s get you back in those cute jeans though, yeah?” 

[reidphobic]

crashing into him tonight (he’s a paradox) - s. r.

in which your lessons continue, and you want to be more than spencer’s teacher. 4004 words. part two to the neighbor!au.

inexperienced!sub!spencer x dom!fem reader, jealousy, mommy kink, mutual masturbation, fingering, praise, very very mild degradation, brief cumplay? i guess? no use of y/n, reader is still super condescending but it’s still hot

It starts to become a routine for Spencer to knock on your door late at night, wearing a nervous smile and offering a quiet plea for another lesson. It’s not every night he’s home, but it’s enough that you start to notice his absence after a couple of days. You try not to read too far into it, remind yourself that the two of you just have fun, that Spencer is just your little plaything, and it doesn’t matter if he’s away somewhere using tricks you taught him on other women. And, besides, you’re hardly celibate yourself.

But after three nights of silence, you hear something so unfamiliar you almost don’t recognise it at first. A second voice in Spencer’s apartment — in his bedroom. You can’t quite make out any words, but you can tell exactly what’s happening, low murmurs giving way to soft moans, the shape of his name reaching your ear in a high, pitchy, voice. You scowl, huff. You know Spencer knows the walls are paper-thin. Has he even noticed that you haven’t brought anyone home when he’s there since you started sleeping together?

You lie awake, listening, until you can’t take the hurt any longer. You storm out of your apartment, drown the ugly feeling in the pit of your stomach in cheap, sour liquor. It’s not long before you’re leaving the bar again, head spinning, and back in your apartment with a willing body between your thighs. The guy — whose name you’ve already forgotten — is perfectly eager, all the right words, praises, moans as he touches you. His kiss is perfect on paper, just enough tongue and teeth and wandering hands, and you moan and stretch and purr when he fucks into you.

But it’s still all wrong. There’s too much of him; square shoulders and broad chest where you crave a slim, slight body. He praises where you want pleas, calls you baby instead of Mommy. The prospect of waking up to him in your bed makes your skin crawl, and you bundle the guy out of the door practically before he’s finished cumming. Sobered up and unpleasantly sticky, you stumble into the shower and try to scrub off the night’s sins. It doesn’t feel like it works.

Trying not to think about Spencer doesn’t work either. It doesn’t work as you toss and turn in bed, or when you’re getting ready for work, not even while your shift drags on and on and your mind is filled with a billion other things. You can half-feel the ghost of his presence, his favourite of your mugs undrank-from on the counter, one of his ties slung across a dining chair, a book he’d thought you might like resting on your coffee table.

It’s worse that he’s gone for so long — he’s been away on a case for ten days, and your lasting memory is the noise of him fucking someone else. The sound is still rattling dimly around your head as you stare aimlessly at the TV, your whole body sore after a long, late shift, when there’s a knock at your door. Unthinking, you open it, expecting your food delivery guy and instead coming face to face with Spencer.

You’re half-convinced you’ve fallen asleep, that he’s a cruel trick of your subconscious, and it must show on your face because Spencer’s face screws up in concern as he speaks. “Hi,” he murmurs. He’s disheveled in a way you’ve never seen him, bleary-eyed and shirt untucked, like he’s been sleeping in his clothes. “I, uh. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I came straight here, which sounds kind of stupid, ‘cause I live here, too, but, uh… I haven’t been inside my apartment yet.” You keep your face cool, impassive. “What… I guess what I’m trying to say is that I missed you.” Never mind that he fucked someone else the night before he left.

“Is that all?” you say, folding your arms across your chest. His face crumples, and you feel guilty all over again.

“Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?” he asks, innocent and forlorn, and, God, you just want to sink your teeth into him right then and there.

But if you bite too hard, he’ll bleed. “I don’t know, Spencer. Did you? Or did you have fun?” you snap. “Did you use what I taught you?” The words taste bitter as they spill free, but you can’t swallow them back down. Spencer’s mouth opens and closes, but he stays silent. “Or, what, she wasn’t happy with you? You after one last practice run before you give the real thing another shot?”

“I… What?” He pauses. “This is because I… slept with someone else?”

You roll your eyes. “Wow. That 187 IQ really works wonders for you, huh?” You move to shut the door in his face, but he blocks you deftly, steps past you into your apartment so quickly you barely realise what happened. Right. FBI agent.

Spencer crosses the room, sits down at your dining table, motions for you to do the same. Your feet carry you into the chair without your permission. “So, you’re angry with me for sleeping with another girl, despite never communicating or agreeing on any kind of exclusivity. After… this.” He gestures vaguely to the space between you. “All started because I don’t know what I’m doing and you wanted to teach me?”

You sigh, turn his words over in your head. When he puts it that way, you sound ridiculous. And his saying I don’t know what I’m doing isn’t lost on you either. “I don’t think I knew, honey. I thought, this is just fun, just friends helping friends. And then I heard you, and I got so… possessive, I guess. And I couldn’t talk to you, because you were gone, so I just got more and more bitter.”

Reaching a hand across the table, Spencer gives you a tentative glance before taking hold of yours, running his thumb soothingly across your knuckles. “So, that night, the guy you were with, that was…”

“Fucking awful,” you joke, but he just looks concerned, doesn’t pick up on it. “No, it was… retaliation. God, that’s so embarrassing. The sex was fine, but he wasn’t you, honey.” At that, he finally smiles, and you feel it warm you from the inside out.

“And that’s what you want?” He licks his lips, touches his hair. His particular brand of skittish nervousness looks so good on him that it’s almost unfair. “Me?”

The disbelieving look on his face, frankly, is criminal. “Spencer, sweetheart, I can’t think of anything I’ve ever wanted more.” Your chairs scrape against the floor as you scramble up, grab at him everywhere you can reach, crash your lips into his. It’s sweet, soft, and you fight to hold your hunger at bay, trace his lips with gentle affection.

You work your way through the room, bumping into every possible piece of furniture and giggling into Spencer’s open mouth until you land on the couch in his lap. “This is familiar,” he says, smirking a little. Grabbing his jaw, you scowl playfully, leaning in to peck him on the lips.

Experimentally, you roll your hips down, find him deliciously eager under you. “It’s so cute how hard you get just from making out, sweetheart. So needy, baby.” You lean down, kiss his neck, suck a bruise into his soft skin. “What’d you think about?”

“Huh?” he murmurs, eyes glossy and lips swollen, wearing a pretty, dazed face. He’s oh-so gorgeous when you’ve kissed all the thoughts out of his head, operating on pure impulse, uninhibited.

Your fingers creep up to loosen his tie. “You said I couldn’t stop thinking about you. What were you thinking about?” You pull his tie off, untuck his shirt, start working on his buttons. “Was it dirty? Details, honey, c’mon.”

Spencer smiles up at you, angelic. “Not all of it,” he says, tracing delicate little patterns across the small of your back. “Thought about kissing you. A lot. About you laying in my lap, and we’re supposed to be watching a movie, but I’m just looking at you.” Your chest clenches. “How you listen when I talk… I don’t— People think I can’t tell, if they just nod in the right places, but I know.”

“Spencer, honey,” you say softly, kissing and nipping gently at his chest as you unbutton his shirt, exposing inches of silken skin with each movement. “God, you’re perfect.” You sigh, resting your head in the crook of his neck. Spencer brings his hand up to pet your hair, blunt nails scratching soothingly over your scalp.

“But… I, uh. That’s not all I thought about.” He’s nervous, now, the embarrassment that always comes when he wants to voice his desires; you’ve been trying to train it out of him, but it’s achingly slow going.

You smile encouragingly, kissing at his chest and gazing up at him with your best fuck-me eyes. “S’alright, baby. Tell Mommy, okay?”

“Thought about you on top of me. Your pretty… How pretty you look up there.”

You grin wickedly. “My tits, is that what you mean to say? You love your Mommy’s tits, don’t you, honey?” Spencer nods, head falling forward to bury his face in your chest. You let him hide for a moment, collect himself, before you nudge him to speak again.

Spencer’s eyes are glossy, his mouth red and bruised. He looks so sweet, your pretty, pliant little toy, perfectly ready for you to sink your claws into. “Mhmm. Love your tits, Mommy. Thought about you touching me, n’when you’re all mean and you don’t touch me.” He pouts, just a little, and you can’t resist shifting your hips and dragging a thumb across his swollen bottom lip.

“You like it when I’m mean, sweetheart?” He nods, dazed. “You want me to be a little meaner?” Spencer freezes under you, suddenly seeming tense and afraid. Damn. And you’d just gotten him to relax. You stroke his face with the back of your hand to soothe him. “You can say no, honey, it’s okay, I won’t be mad. Just wanna find out what makes you feel good, alright, pretty?”

“No, I… I want it. But just a little. Please.”

“Yeah, honey, that’s alright. But you gotta tell me if it’s ever too much, okay?” Spencer nods, and you raise an eyebrow. “Words, baby.”

It seems to take him a minute to find the words, spit-slick lips parted as he stares at you with lust-blown eyes. “Yes, Mommy. I will. I’ll tell you.”

You grind your hips down in reward, let Spencer roll his up to meet you. Pressing your lips to his, you swallow his whimper. “Good boy,” you murmur, and he beams. “Love it when you get all dumb like this. S’good for you, honey, not to be the clever one all the time.” You pull off his shirt, slide off his lap to admire him from a distance. Before he can whine at the loss, you cut him off. “Did you touch yourself?” Spencer tilts his head. “Sweetheart, did you masturbate thinking about me?”

Spencer’s mouth drops in a soft ‘o’ of understanding, cheeks flushing ruby-woo red. “Yes,” he admits, avoiding your gaze until you force his eyes back to you.

“God, you really are just clueless, huh? C’mon, show Mommy, baby. Show me how you touch yourself.” Spencer blinks dumbly. God, he must be worse off than you thought. “Spencer, honey, I know you jerk off. I heard you every damn night. S’what made me decide I had to get you all to myself.”

At that, the corner of his lip quirks. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was smirking at you. “Is that why you had a box of lingerie delivered to my apartment?” It’s your turn to be speechless. “Profiler,” he adds with a shrug.

“Alright, smartass. It worked, didn’t it?” you scoff. “And stop distracting me.” You set to work on what’s left of his clothes, unbuttoning his pants and palming his cock through his boxers. “Do you take off all your clothes first? Or do you keep ‘em on, make a mess of yourself?”

“No, I… I take them off,” he says. You raise an eyebrow as if to say go on. “Oh, y- you want me to..? Oh, o-okay.” With shaking hands, he slips out of his pants, then his boxers, stained with precum; the evidence of his desire has you practically drooling. His pretty dick springs free, thuds sickly against his stomach with a wet smack.

You can’t help the pulse of arousal that throbs through you at the sight of him. “Good boys don’t keep Mommy waiting, Spencer,” you chide, careful to avoid touching him. It’s clear how acutely he feels the lack of a pet name, the implication of your words, and he babbles out an apology.

Eagerly, you watch Spencer curl his hand around his cock, but he doesn’t move. “I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s hard— Don’t,” he interrupts himself when you smirk. “It’s difficult… with you watching me like this.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” you croon. “You like to think about my tits, right?” You pull off your shirt, flick it across the room. As if magnetised, Spencer’s eyes fall to your chest as you grab your tits, roll a nipple between two fingers. “There you go, honey. S’just you and your fantasy, okay? Now show me what you do when you think of me, okay?”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, takes a steadying breath. He’s endlessly fascinating; he’ll stare down killers without so much as flinching, but a willing girl with her boobs out is just too much for him. Slowly, he starts to pump his cock, spreading precum down his length. You watch him speed up until he’s jacking himself furiously, hand flying along his dick so hard and fast he must be giving himself friction burn. He bites down on his lower lip, whimpers through his teeth, the sound familiar and erotic. “Mommy,” he whines, high and breathy, hips jerking up into his hand. You can’t watch this much longer.

Placing a palm on his thigh to still him, you slowly cover his hand with your free one. “Honey, is that how you get yourself off?” Brow scrunched in confusion, he nods. God, the poor boy is hopeless. “And that feels good?”

“It makes me orgasm quickly,” Spencer answers, as if that’s remotely the same thing. “I- I have trouble sleeping, and an orgasm releases endorphins that relax both the mind and the body. It helps,” he says placidly.

You nod slowly. “And when you make yourself come like that, does that feel the same as when I make you come?” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t, right? It feels better when I do it?”

“So much,” he breathes. “You’re so much better.”

You smile indulgently down at him. “Oh, honey. That’s because you’re doing it all wrong,” you say, syrupy and condescending. “When you get off, it makes you feel better, right? Yeah. And you’re so focused on that, you forget to make yourself feel good. That genius mind of yours’d be blown finding out how long I could spend getting myself off.” You pat his cheek. “Maybe I’ll show you someday.

A punched-out whimper slips from his lips, the sound falling straight between your legs. “What am I doing wrong?” Spencer asks, low and feeble.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Mommy’s gonna show you, okay?” He nods eagerly. Sure, you’ve jerked him off before, but this feels different. You’re not just giving him pleasure, you’re showing him how to take it for himself. “Show me again, but slow, okay?” Obediently, Spencer curls his hand again, pumps his cock. “See, honey, feel that drag? Hurts, right? And not in the good way,” you add with a grin, and Spencer gulps. A slightly wicked idea crosses your mind. “We’re gonna go to bed now, okay?”

Like a lost little puppy, Spencer trails after you, joins you on the bed. You let him kiss you again, until his whines get too needy and his hips start to twitch. “Will you open that top drawer for me, sweetheart? Got something in there that’ll help you, okay?” Obediently, he rolls over, tugs the drawer open. You study his face carefully, watch his jaw go slack as he realises what you’re showing him. Your collection of sex toys stares up at him, and he gapes like a fucking fish. An adorable fish, but a fish all the same.

“What do you… you want me to..?” he says, still staring like he couldn’t possibly compute what you’re asking of him.

You laugh, only a little meanly. “Don’t worry, honey,” you say, padding around the bed to help him out. “You’re not ready for that stuff. Not yet, anyway. You’re such a good boy for Mommy, Spencer, such a quick learner. Pretty soon I’ll have you begging for ‘em. But not tonight, alright?” You lean down to pluck a small plastic bottle from the drawer. “This is all we need tonight. Do you know what that is, baby?”

Squinting his eyes, Spencer inspects the bottle. “Lubricant?” he says, mouth forming the word into a question.

“Such a clever boy,” you croon, settling yourself between his legs and taking his hand. You turn it palm up and squint a generous amount of lube into Spencer’s hand. “Spread that on your pretty dick for me, okay, baby?” The slick sound of it fills your ears, pulses in your cunt, and you can see on his face how much better he feels even from a scant touch. Eyes fluttering shut, he groans, but waits obediently for another instruction. “That’s it. That’s Mommy’s good boy, huh? Alright, honey. Now stroke yourself for me. You wanna start nice and slow, okay?”

You’re transfixed as he begins to touch himself, cock wet and glistening as it disappears into his fist. Lube drips out across his fingers, slick noises filling your room. “Feels so good, Mommy,” he whimpers, free hand fisting in your sheets.

“Oh, honey, I know,” you murmur, sitting up and sliding your hand into your panties. You moan as you brush your clit, collect your wetness on your fingertips. “Okay, I want you to just draw some little circles across the head, yeah? Like you do on my clit. Just try it out, see what feels good.” The sight is fucking mesmerising, and from the sounds spilling from his lips and the flush in his cheeks, it’s a miracle he hasn’t cum all over himself yet. “Alright, baby. Doing so good. You can make yourself cum now, alright? Just keep doin’ what feels good.”

Your lips part around a moan as you watch him. He speeds up, slows a little, experimenting with pace and pressure. You’re strangely proud even as you rub frantic little circles into your clit, slowly start to fuck yourself on your fingers. Desire pools at the base of your spine, and you moan his name as you speed up, cunt pulsing around your fingers. It seems like that’s what does Spencer in, a pathetic whimper of Mommy, yes spilling from his lips as ropes of cum splash up against his chest. His body convulses, gasping and moaning incoherently as his orgasm takes over.

Still panting as you finger yourself, you smile blithely over at him. “Still with me, pretty? How was that?”

Gasping, Spencer blinks helplessly at you for a moment. “Thank you.” Suddenly dismayed, he looks down at himself. “Gross,” he mutters.

Your grin widens. “All messy, aren’t you? You want Mommy to get you cleaned up?” He nods, expecting you to get up and fetch a washcloth. Instead, you press him down until he’s lying supine, lean over him so your boobs hang in his face. Like he can’t resist, Spencer licks a stripe along your chest. You giggle softly, press a kiss to the hollow of his throat, start to work your way down. Carefully, you lap up the mess dripping across his chest, and he moans brokenly. Your eyes flutter closed as his taste hits your tongue, a needy ache burning between your thighs the longer you lick him clean.

He chokes on a breath when you wrap your lips around his head, clean up the last drops of cum beaded on his tip. “I can’t-” he clears his throat. “I can’t… go again… yet,” he says, cheeks pinking up adorably.

You pull off, lick your lips exaggeratedly. “S’okay, honey. I don’t need you to. Yet,” you add with a wink. “Just wanted to get you cleaned up.” Still desperately horny, you crawl up his body, kiss him furiously. “Spencer,” you moan against his lips. “I want you to make me cum. Do you wanna make Mommy cum, baby?”

“Mhmm. Yeah, I want to. What do you…? Can I, uh… Eat you out?” he asks timidly, the final few words unfamiliar on his tongue and belying his desperation.

God above, where did you find this boy? “Another time, honey. Later tonight, if you’re lucky. But I’m planning on keeping your mouth nice and busy for now, okay?” You grab his hand, slide it around to the front of your panties, grind your clit against the heel of his palm through the lace. “Want you to fuck me with your fingers, okay, sweetheart?”

Nodding frantically, Spencer tugs your panties down just enough that he can fit his hand against your cunt. You cup his jaw, kiss him hard as he slips a finger inside you. “You’re so warm,” he breathes, rubbing delicate circles into your clit as your cunt pulses around him.

“That’s it, pretty. Such a good boy. Just like Mommy taught you, alright?” you moan, arching your back as hot pleasure twists under your skin. Spencer slides another finger in, curls then expertly, as if he’s been practicing. Then, a blinding spark of pure ecstasy flashes through you. “Oh, my fucking God! There, baby, right there. Don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you babble, your kiss more spit and moans than tongue and lips. Spencer doesn’t let up, hits your g-spot over and over, still rubbing soft circles into your clit. You were already close before he started, and his glorious, frankly brutal assault on the most sensitive places in your body leaves you powerless.

You surrender to it willingly, pure pleasure wiping your mind clean. It’s so forceful you almost black out, gasping into Spencer’s mouth and writhing against him. Ecstasy floods every inch of you, pulse roaring in your ears and hammering in your chest. Spencer’s fingers are still deep inside you when you come to, and he’s staring down at the point they disappear into your cunt. “Sorry,” he murmurs, gently pulling them out. “I just really like being… inside you.”

God, you can’t wait to teach him about cockwarming. “So sweet,” you coo. He lifts his hand, sucks your arousal off his fingers, and you groan. “I think we need to have a little talk, honey,” you murmur, brushing sweat-soaked hair out of his face. He nods.

“I didn’t enjoy it,” he says quickly. “The other night. I mean, it was… It wasn’t… I don’t know. All I could think about was that she wasn’t you. I was, uh… Sort of afraid?” he says with a humorless laugh.

You make a soft, concerned noise. “What do you mean, honey?” Your fists clench at your sides, head pounding furiously all of a sudden.

“Just that… I feel so safe with you. And it wasn’t that she made me feel bad, or unsafe, or anything. But I was so worried about doing something wrong, and I never felt that with you, and all I wanted was you instead.” Spencer curls his body into yours as you hook a leg over his waist.

Brushing your thumb over his cheek softly, you gaze into his sweet, long-lashed eyes. “You have me, sweetheart. I promise.”

[rafeandonlyrafe]

wisdom teeth

words: 1.1k

warnings: dentist, blood

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @winterrrnight @drudyslut @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog

“ma’am?” the voice rings through the waiting area. your head shoots up, realizing that she must be talking to you.

“hi, how is he?” you question, slinging your purse over your shoulder and pocketing your phone.

“the procedure went completely fine. we are trying to place the gauze in his mouth now but he keeps insisting on seeing you.” the receptionist says, a slight blush to her cheeks.

“oh!” you say, eyebrows raising. 

“follow me, please.” she says, leading you back further into the building.

“he’s being quite rowdy, isn’t he?” you ask, able to hear through the shut door the incessant questions, asking where you are, asking why you aren’t with him.

“some patient react differently to the anesthesia. it’s nothing we haven’t seen before, so don’t be embarrassed, doll.” the receptionist assures you, opening the door and letting you into the post op room.

“baby! there’s my baby!” rafe says, his hair a mess over his forehead, blood dry and crusted on his chin.

“hey, rafey.” you say calmly, hoping your relaxed attitude will influence him to calm down. “i’m right here, honey.”

you cross to his bed, glancing briefly at the dental assistants, one who looks annoyed that their clean up is taking so long, but the other gives you a sweet smile.

“you’re so pretty.” rafe slurs. “i love you.”

“i love you too, honey.” you coo, taking his hand, still slightly limp, in yours. “you have to let the nice women help you though. they’re here to clean you up for me.”

“you gonna kiss me when im all clean?” rafe asks, his lower lip pouting out.

you nod. “gently though, baby.”

“what did they do to me?” rafe questions, now sitting still as the nurses wipe away the blood on his chin.

“they just took your wisdom teeth out. they were hurting you but you’ll feel all better now.” you explain softly, petting his hand and arm to calm him as the nurses continue to rub at the dried mess.

“open your mouth.” the mean looking nurse says, her voice too stern for your liking, but before you can speak up, rafe turns to her, a look of fury in his eyes.

“i will not open my mouth for you. i only do what my baby tells me to do, so fuck off.” “rafe, oh my god!” you shout as the sweet nurse cracks up. “watch your language.” “i’m sorry, but this girl was trying to flirt with me! she wanted me to open my mouth for her, can you believe that?” rafe asks, his eyes flickering between looking softly at you and glaring at the assistant.

“they just want to put some gauze in your mouth. open up and let them, sweetie.” “fine.” rafe hums, his brow scrunched together as he turns back to the nurse. “i will because my baby asked me to, not for you.”

you shake your head but smile when rafe opens his mouth, allowing them to finish cleaning up. you stay next to his bed, holding his hand firmly in yours.

“can i be alone with my baby now?” he asks them as the nice assistant tells rafe he can close his mouth now.

“we recommend waiting at least a half hour until the anesthesia wears off a bit more before trying to get him out to the car. we can leave you two in here, but try not to let him talk too much, it’s only going to cause his mouth to bleed more.” “that’ll be hard, but i’ll try. thank you.” you nod to them as they leave the room.

“rafey, be quiet for me, okay baby?” you tell him, sitting down on the side of the bed, stroking your hand through his hair to smooth it out over his forehead, back in its proper place on either side of his part.

“but i want to tell you how beautiful you are and how much i love you and how much i wanna marry you one day and how much i lov-” “thank you, rafe.” you cut him off. “you can tell me all that real soon, but for now you have to be quiet so your mouth can heal, mmkay?”

“fine, i’ll stop talking. but you did promise me a kiss.” rafe says, and then dramatically shuts his mouth before puckering his lips.

“a gentle one.” you remind him, leaning forward and pressing your lips as softly as you can against his, putting your hands on his chest to stop rafe from leaning forward and deepening the kiss.

you pull away, but before rafe can open his mouth to complain, you kiss along his cheeks, then forehead, covering his face in soft presses of your lips to keep him happy and calm.

you tuck your chin into the crook between his shoulder and neck, stroking your hand over his chest as you cuddle up to him. “i’ll talk to you to keep you entertained, yeah?” rafe nods, nuzzling into your hair. you begin to whisper stories into his ear, anything you can remember to pass the time. tales your mother told you when you were little, or recapping movies that you’ve watched enough times to remember the plot clearly.

theres a knock on the door as you straighten up, calling out for the assistant to come in. she enters the room with a wheelchair. “time to go!” “yes.” rafe says, pumping his fist in excitement. “did you here that baby? its time to go.”

“i did, rafey. remember we are supposed to be quiet though.”

“thats right.” rafe nods. “im letting my mouth heal.”

the nurse laughs gently, wheeling the chair towards the bed. rafe is able to get into it pretty much without your help, but sends the assistant a glare when she tries to push the wheelchair.

“you’re gonna take me someplace without my baby again?”

“no, honey, she’s just helping us get to the car. and then i’m gonna take you home.” you explain softly, moving to walk ahead of the wheelchair so rafe can keep you in his sight.

“we live together?” rafe asks as you help him into the passenger side seat of the car.

“we do.” you remind him, taking the buckle and strapping it across his chest. you thank the assistant, who tells you again what rafe can and can’t do over the next 24 hours, before bidding you both farewell. 

you carefully shut rafes door before rounding the other side of the car. you lean over to press a kiss to his cheek before putting the car into drive, thankful that its a short way home so you can get rafe laying and relaxing again soon.

you click the radio on, but rafe frowns and shuts it off. 

“whats wrong baby?” you question. “don’t want to listen to music?” “no.” rafe shakes his head, an adorable pout on his lips. “i want to hear more of your stories.”

you let out a soft laugh before conceding. “of course baby.”

[4unnyr0se]

Hi!! I saw your posts that you're busy writing reqs, so sorry if this ask is too much now!! Could you write a pt 2 for the tinder match with ushijima? :3 I liked your writing sm and I need more fics with him 😭

❥ tulips and roses | wakatoshi ushijima

part two of this drabble

warnings: timeskip! usjijima, fem! reader, experienced! reader, ushi isnt a virgin and he KNOWS how to fuck now, fingering, cunnilingus, making out, kitche counter sex, protected sex, ushi is so serious i adore him, lewd language, size kink but only if u squint

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 1.2k

a/n: hopefully i did this big guy justice. i wrote this when i literally just woke up lol

got a request? my asks are open!

“Fuck!” echoed through your apartment, your hands bunching up Ushijima’’s chartreuse hair in little clumps as he lifted you onto your kitchen counter with no struggle at all, his large and calloused hands squeezing the fat of your hips. You giggled as his meadow eyes stared at you with such a longing desire, a desire for more of your guidance. “You really missed me, huh?”

“You have absolutely no idea,” he groaned, melding his lips with yours in a frenzied kiss. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer to yourself. His teeth bit down onto the pout of your bottom lip, rolling it between the pearly whites. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you since that night,” he broke the kiss, aiming to pepper your neck with delicate nibbles instead. “About what you did to me.”

“You mean how I took your virginity?” you giggled, tilting your head to the side so he could suckle on your delicate skin. “I gotta admit, it was one of my better hookups.”

Ushijima chuckled into your neck, his hand wandering upwards to grope your breasts through the thinness of your white tank top. “I’m glad I could make you feel that way. You were…” he pulled his lips away from your neck, staring longingly into your eyes. “Spectacular.”

“I’m flattered,” you purred, trailing your hands across his shoulder, your fingertips dancing along the toned muscles. “So, what did you have in mind today? Since you’ve been craving me so much, ‘Toshi.”

He groaned as his given name fell from your lips, his thumb pulling down your soaked panties with ease. If he knew you had only slept in a tank top and panties, he would have offered for you to spend several nights in his penthouse. “You’re dripping for me,” he sighed at the sight, sliding the rough pads of his fingers up and down your glistening heat. 

“When did you learn to talk so dirty? Had any other encounters since last week?” you moaned softly, your face contorting in pleasure as he carefully inserted his index and middle finger inside of your cunt.

“No, it’s just been you,” his nose brushed against your clit, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of you. “But I’ve seen videos. I’ve done research.” he curled his fingers inside of you, your hands clenching onto the granite countertops. 

“Shit,” you whimpered, spreading your legs further apart for him, your glistening heat fully on display. “I-it’s paying off, your fingers are amazing, ‘Toshi.”

“I wonder if my tongue will be amazing as well?” he offered you the ghost of a smirk, gently kissing your soaked folds while his fingers continued their ministrations inside your core. He flattened his tongue, sliding the muscle up and down until he had a taste of your slick. You squirmed above him, the slow and sensual pace driving you mad. 

Ushijima practically made out with your pussy, his tongue swirling around your throbbing clit as he felt your gummy walls contract around his fingers. This meant you were close. He was sure of it. He pulled his fingers away, his mouth leaving your clit.

“Why’d you stop? I was so close!” you whined, blowing your hair out of your face. Ushijima didn’t respond, only taking off his pants and boxers. A condom rested between his soaked fingers, the metallic packaging shining in the moonlight of your kitchen. 

“Because I want you to cum on my cock,” he plainly stated, kissing you briefly. He easily ripped the foil with his teeth, sliding on the latex. “I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel the night you took my virginity.” his hands pried your legs apart even further, the tip of his cock teasing your soaked entrance.

“Don’t be a fucking tease, ‘Toshi,” you muttered, arching your back forward. “Fuck me already, please.”

“So demanding,” he whispered against your ear, snapping his hips against yours. His massive cock filled you up instantly, the sensation still being incredibly foreign to you. You choked out a sob, your hands choosing to find purchase on his sturdy shoulder blades instead of the kitchen counter. “That’s what I like about you, darling,” he thrust into you again, this time a bit sharper. “You take what you want,” another thrust. “When you want it,”

“Fuck, ‘Toshi! T-too big!” you cried, your legs wrapped around his waist once more for support as he pounded into you, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass filling the room. Every thrust was calculated. He knew exactly how to make you scream his name. He was a prodigy at everything he did, after all. 

“You can take it. I know you can,” he kissed your neck, grasping onto your hips as he fucked into you, adoring the sensation of your gummy walls squeezing around him. “So fucking tight for me, hm? Tell me, darling,” he bit down harshly on your neck for a moment, sucking on the skin. “Did you touch yourself to the thought of me?”

You nodded in agreement, letting out a cry of both pain and pleasure as the head of his massive cock finally hit your G-spot. “Y-yes, ‘Toshi! Missed your touch, fuck!”

“I missed you as well. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you wanted me,” he apologized, gently kissing the blooming bruise on your jugular. “You’re fucking squeezing me. Are you close? Use your words, darling.”

“Mhm!” was all you could choke out, pleasure causing your brain to grow fuzzy. He fucked you like a man gone wild, but yet he was simultaneously so calculated with his movements. “M’gonna cum!”

“Then cum, darling. Don’t hold back now,” he ordered, his cock twitching inside of you.

Your world disintegrated around you as your orgasm finally came, your slick coating the latex that encased his cock. “‘Toshi!” you cried, clawing desperately at his shoulders as he fucked you through your high. He did not relent after your orgasm stopped, instead choosing to chase his own nirvana. His thrusts became sloppy and uncoordinated, the thought of his release consuming his mind.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” his deep voice rumbled, his lips finding themselves on yours once more. His tongue pried your mouth open, exploring it once more as his seed filled the condom. His thrusts slowed down until they came to a halt, his cock resting snugly inside of your heat. 

“Was that good enough for you?” he asked, pulling away from the kiss. He pecked your forehead, sliding the condom off of his length and disposing of it in the kitchen trash. 

You nodded, giggling slightly. “Yeah, it was. You’ve really improved since we first met.”

“I aim to improve all aspects of my life, including how to fuck,” Ushijima offered you a small smile, a rare sight indeed. “I don’t think I’ll need any other women, though,” he placed a hand on your shoulder. “I have only eyes for you.”

He took a deep breath and pecked your cheek again, the faintest shade of pink ghosting his cheeks. “Would you like to come to one of my games sometime? I can assure you that we will win.”

You chuckled and cupped his cheek. “I’d very much like that.”