#note: fight. not ‘win against’. just fight.

[hsnlv]

morning chaos | s.jy

pairing: jake x reader

synopsis: a sleepy morning in the kitchen turns sweet as jake teases you about your wild curls. when you mention straightening them permanently, he launches into a mix of playful banter and heartfelt reassurance, insisting your hair is part of what makes you, you.

others: reader has curly hair in this story (if that isn’t obvious🤭)

wc: 946

a/n: honestly, idk if this is a weird concept to write abt since i rarely see people write stories like this! but i love this (and i love how this hits so close to home) and i hope you’ll love it too!

the kitchen smelled like freshly brewed coffee and a hint of maple syrup. you shuffled in, bleary-eyed and wrapped in an oversized hoodie that hung past your hands. your curls were in their full, chaotic glory—sticking out in random directions, defying gravity like they had a personal vendetta against you.

jake was already at the counter, humming some unrecognizable tune as he flipped pancakes. his hair was still messy from sleep, sticking up in tufts, but somehow he managed to look like he belonged in a morning coffee commercial. it wasn’t fair.

he turned when he heard your footsteps, his face lighting up in that way that made your heart do a little flip. “good morning, sunshine.”

you mumbled something unintelligible and plopped down at the kitchen table, burying your face in your arms.

“wow,” jake teased, setting the spatula down and walking over to you. “you’re absolutely radiant this morning.”

“shut up,” you grumbled, your voice muffled by your sleeves.

he laughed, grabbing a mug and filling it with coffee. “here, this should help,” he said, sliding the mug in front of you.

you lifted your head just enough to take a sip, groaning in satisfaction as the warmth seeped into your soul. “you’re lucky i love you, or i’d throw this coffee at you for being so chipper.”

“noted,” he said, grinning as he leaned on the counter, watching you with that soft, amused expression he always seemed to have around you. his eyes flicked to your hair, and he tilted his head. “your curls are extra fluffy today.”

you groaned, tugging at one of the unruly strands. “don’t remind me.”

“what? they’re cute,” he said, reaching over to twirl a curl around his finger.

“cute?” you echoed, giving him a deadpan look. “jake, i look like i stuck my head in a blender.”

“a very stylish blender,” he quipped, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

you rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

“i’ve been thinking about getting a rebonding treatment,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence.

jake froze mid-reach for the syrup. “a what?”

“a rebonding treatment,” you repeated, playing with the edge of your sleeve. “it straightens your hair permanently. no more frizz, no more wild curls…”

he blinked at you like you’d just suggested shaving your head. “wait, wait, wait. you mean… you’d straighten your hair forever?”

you nodded, taking another sip of coffee. “yeah. i mean, it’d be easier, right? less maintenance, less… chaos.”

jake set the syrup down and walked over to you, crouching so he was at eye level. “but why would you want to do that? your curls are you.”

“because they’re a pain to deal with,” you said, gesturing at your head. “you don’t understand, jake. every morning is a battle. half the time, i lose.”

he gave you a look so serious, it was almost comical. “but you win the other half. and that’s what makes you a champion.”

you snorted, trying to fight the smile creeping onto your face. “jake—”

“no, hear me out,” he interrupted, holding up a finger like he was about to deliver the world’s most profound speech. “your hair is like… a majestic lion’s mane. wild, beautiful, and full of personality. do you think lions wake up and think, ‘ugh, my mane is so annoying today’? no. they wear it with pride.”

“jake, i’m not a lion,” you said, biting back a laugh.

“but you could be,” he said with a grin. “and honestly, your hair matches your personality—fun, unique, and kind of unpredictable. and i love all of that.”

you felt your cheeks heat, but you tried to play it cool. “you’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“ridiculously in love with your curls,” he shot back without missing a beat.

you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “oh my god, you’re so cheesy.”

“cheesy, but correct,” he said, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “look, i get it. if it’s really what you want to do, i’ll support you. but i just think your curls are perfect the way they are. they’re part of what makes you… you.”

you looked at him, your heart squeezing at the sincerity in his eyes. “you really think they’re that great?”

“i know they’re that great,” he said confidently. “besides, where else would i get this much entertainment?”

“entertainment?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah,” he said, his grin widening. “like when you get mad, and that one curl right here—” he reached out and gently tugged on a strand near your forehead—“sticks straight up like an antenna. it’s adorable.”

you swatted his hand away, laughing. “you’re the worst.”

“but you love me,” he said smugly, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

“unfortunately,” you teased, though the warmth in your chest betrayed your words.

“seriously, though,” he said, his voice softer now. “i love your hair. i love you. and if you want to change it, that’s okay. but i think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

you looked at him, his messy bedhead and his hopeful, lopsided smile, and you felt a surge of affection so strong, it almost overwhelmed you.

“thanks, jake,” you said quietly.

“for what?”

“for being the weirdest, sweetest boyfriend ever,” you said, leaning forward to kiss him.

he smiled against your lips, pulling back just enough to say, “you know what they say—find someone who loves you and your crazy curls, and you’ve hit the jackpot.”

“nobody says that,” you deadpanned.

“well, they should,” he said, reaching for your hair again.

you laughed, swatting his hand away. maybe your curls weren’t so bad after all.

© all rights reserved | hsnlv 2024

[stargazsblog]

how to lose a girl in 10 days | ch.2 first move

ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

ʚɞ ryomen sukuna is tall, devastatingly handsome, and the campus heartbreaker. everyone knows his name, and his reputation for leaving girls with broken hearts. but then there's you uninterested and completely unimpressed by him. you're the only girl who couldn't care less about him. when his friends tease him about it, everything changes. they challenge him with a bet to make you, the one person who isn't affected by his charm, fall in love with him in just 10 days, sukuna accepts the challenge, thinking it'll be an easy win. it's just a game, a way to prove he can get any girl he wants. but the more time he spends with you, he finds himself wanting something he never expected.

ʚɞ warning/tags: angst, fluff, romance, use of cigarettes and alcohol, jealousy, asshole sukuna, heartbreak, inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days, college au, enemies to lovers.

ʚɞ now playing - no. 1 party anthem by arctic monkeys

note: and the game begins…

masterlist

You were still thinking about the party as you got back to your apartment, shaking off the strange vibe that lingered after your conversation with Sukuna. He wasn’t exactly rude, but something about the way he talked, the way he acted so sure of himself, rubbed you the wrong way.

You threw your jacket over the back of your chair, saying goodnight to Shoko as she walked into her room. You plopped onto your bed, pulling your phone from your bag.

You opened Instagram, scrolling through posts finally loving the peace.

Until a notification popped up.

Sukuna Ryomen started following you.

You sat up in shock, staring at your screen. Sukuna had followed you?

Your thumb hovered over the notification, the tension building as you debated your next move. Block him? Ignore him? Or… stalk him?

The smarter choice would’ve been to block him, but knowing yourself, you clicked on his profile.

His account was exactly what you expected.

Post after post of candid photo, Sukuna at some party. A drink in his hand and his arm slung casually around a girl who looked like she’d won the lottery. Sukuna leaning against his car, looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine.

He had thousands of followers. The comments were full of heart emojis and flirty compliments. He had only followed 20 people, mostly his friends and family.

You raised an eyebrow, fighting the growing curiosity. He didn’t follow anyone unless they were important, so… why was he following you?

Ignore it, you told yourself, he’ll get bored eventually.

As your stared at his profile, a second notification popped up.

Sukuna Ryomen sent your a message.

Your stomach flipped.

2:40AM Sukuna Ryomen: took you long enough to notice me

You scowled, your fingers itching to respond. He was so full of himself that it was almost comical.

2:40AM You: is this part of some weird social experiment?

His reply came almost instantly.

2:40AM Sukuna Ryomen: what me following you? nah just curious

2:41AM You: curious about what?

2:41AM Sukuna Ryomen: about what kind of stuff you post don’t worry i won’t judge… much

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against your headboard. the nerve of this guy.

2:41AM You: wow, lucky me

2:41AM Sukuna Ryomen: relax sweetheart i’m just here to see if you’re as boring online as you are in person

Your jaw dropped. He had to be kidding. You stared at the screen, debating weather to let the conversation die or put him in his place.

2:42AM You: bold words for someone who posts the same three poses over and over

This time, there was a pause before replying. When it came it was shorter than you expected.

2:42AM Sukuna Ryomen: touché

For a moment, you almost smiled.

2:42AM You: now that you’ve satisfied your “curiosity” you can go ahead and unfollow me

2:42AM Sukuna Ryomen: nah i’ll stick around

You sighed, swiping away from his message leaving him on seen. You stared at the screen, the notification still visible: Sukuna Ryomen started following you.

You glanced at his profile one more time. The same images, the same cocky smirk in every picture.

With a deep breath, you pressed follow back.

For a moment nothing happened, you set your phone down and let out a slow exhale, almost feeling dumb for replying to him.

Just as you were about to close the app and convince yourself it doesn’t matter, your phone buzzed.

2:50AM Sukuna Ryomen: i knew you couldn’t resist

You rolled your eyes, a smile hugging at the corner of your lips.

2:50AM You: don’t get too cocky

2:50AM Sukuna Ryomen: too late already am

2:50AM You: your unbearable

2:50AM Sukuna Ryomen: only when i’m around you

You stared at the screen, for a moment, unsure how to respond. He was good at this, good at getting under your skin, making you react, and you had to admit it was starting to feel like he wasn’t just messing around.

2:51AM You: we’ll see how long that lasts

2:51AM: Sukuna Ryomen: i’ll be around as long as you let me.

A little shiver ran down your spine at his words, but you pushed it aside. You weren’t ready to admit how much you were starting to look forward to whatever this way.

Sukuna was following you everywhere. You meant it everywhere.

It doesn’t matter if you were grabbing a coffee, sitting in class, or heading to the library, whatever you were doing he was there. Sometimes he would be leaning against the wall, staring at you as you walked by, other times he would be scrolling through his phone like he just happened to be in the same place.

At first, you thought it was a coincidence. After all, it wasn’t like you owned the campus. But by the fourth time in a single day? Yeah, no. He was definitely following you.

You were midway through highlighting your notes when the chair across from you scraped against the floor. The sudden sound made you glance up, and there he was. Sukuna Ryomen.

“Are you stalking me now?” you asked, glancing back to your notes.

“Stalking is a strong word,” Sukuna's voice drawled, too close for comfort. “We just happen to be in the same place at the same time.”

You sighed, as you spun back to face him, he’s leaning back casually on the chair, one arm draped over the chair next to him.

“What do you want?”

“To talk.”

You crossed your arms. “Pretty sure we already had that conversation. Last night.”

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Yeah, but you didn’t say anything interesting, figured I’d give you another chance.”

You let out a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.” there was something about the way he was staring at you, like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve. “Why are you even bothering me? you’ve got half of the campus eating out your hand, and i’m not interested in joining the club.”

Sukuna leaned forward, just enough to make your knees touch. “Because you’re the only one who doesn’t care.” his tone was softer now, the change caught you off guard.

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “how tragic for you.”

he grinned. “See that’s why I like you.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding harder than you wanted to admit. What was he even talking about? he didn’t know you.

“You don’t even know me,” you said, your voice quieter now.

“Not yet,” he said simply, as if the answer was obvious.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do.” you said bluntly, closing your notebook with a snap.

You stood up, gathering your things quickly, but Sukuna wasn’t done. As you walked away, his voice followed you. “See you around, sweetheart.”

“I’m telling you, he’s obsessed. First, he’s showing up wherever you are, second, he’s following you on Instagram. classic Sukuna move.” Shoko says as you guys are seated at a small table in the student lounge.

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, and now he’s everywhere I go. It’s like he’s trying to prove something.”

Shoko raises an eyebrow. “Maybe he is. I mean, it’s Sukuna. He doesn’t exactly follow people around for no reason.”

You scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean? He follows around half the campus trying to get in their pants.”

“Yeah, but those girls usually throw themselves at him. You…” Shoko gestures vaguely at you. “…don’t. He’s probably intrigued.”

you snort. “Well, he’s wasting his time. I’m not interested.”

Before Shoko can respond, Sukuna’s voice cuts through the chatter. “Ouch. That hurts.”

Both of you look up as Sukuna strolls over, his signature smirk firmly in place. He’s holding a small paper bag in one hand, the other resting casually in his pocket.

Shoko grins and leans back in her chair, clearly ready to enjoy whatever’s about to happen.

“Talking about me?” His voice carries just the right amount of smugness as he stops by your table. “I can feel the love from here.”

You glare up at him, unimpressed. “Love? please your delusional.”

Ignoring your sarcasm, Sukuna slides the bag closer to you. “Here. Thought you’d like this.”

You looked at the bag like it might explode. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“Open it,” Sukuna says, leaning back in his chair, watching you carefully.

You side-eyed him before reaching for the bag, you’re fingerings brushing against the paper as you peek inside. Your favorite snacks are in there.

You looked up at him confused. “How did you know these are my favorite?”

Sukuna shrugs like it’s no big deal, “I have my ways.”

You narrowed your eyes, a mix of suspicion and frustration bubbling up inside you. “That’s not an answer. Are you really stalking me?” It all felt too strange to ignore. First, he found your Instagram without you ever mentioning it. Then, he seemed to show up wherever you were. What was next—was he going to start lurking outside your house?

He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt. “Stalk you? What kind of guy do you think I am?”

You don’t buy it for a second. “The kind who’s trying way too hard.”

“Or the kind who pays attention,” Sukuna counters smoothly, his voice dropping a fraction as he leans forward.

The words hang in the air for a moment, and even Shoko raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the show.

You stiffen but recover quickly, crossing your arms again. “You really think this is going to work? Snacks and flirty comments?”

“It’s a start,” Sukuna says with a lazy grin, standing up. “By the way, there’s a party tomorrow night. You should come.”

You don’t hesitate. “Not interested.”

Sukuna shrugs, completely unbothered by the rejection. “I wasn’t asking. I’ll see you there.”

He winks, turning and walking away without waiting for your response

Shoko finally speaks, her tone laced with curiosity. “What was that?”

You rolled your eyes, stuffing the bag into your tote. “Nothing. He’s only doing this to try to get me into his bed. It’s his thing.”

Shoko studies you for a moment, her voice thoughtful. “I don’t know. That didn’t seem like that to me.”

You huff, shoving your drink away. “Whatever. I’m not falling for it.”

Shoko grins, standing up and grabbing her bag. “You don’t have to fall for anything. But we’re going to that party.”

Your head snaps up. “What? No, we’re not.”

“Oh, yes, we are.” Shoko pulls her chair back, already starting to walk away. “I need to see where this goes. Plus, free drinks. You’re coming, no arguments.”

You groaned, grabbing your things to follow her. “You’re the worst.”

“And you love me for it,” Shoko calls over her shoulder, grinning.

Sukuna didn’t realize how hard this was going to be. Day one of the challenge, and you were already proving to be unlike anyone he’d dealt with before.

It was frustrating and intriguing.

He had done his research, of course. Stalking your social media was step one, but even that had been harder than he expected. Your profiles were understated. No attention-seeking selfies, no overly revealing posts. Just snapshots of books, obscure playlists, and the occasional candid photo with friends.

“I can’t figure her out,” he had muttered late one night, scrolling through your feed for what felt like the hundredth time.

That’s when he realized he needed help.

“You really don’t know anything about her?” Geto had asked, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned back against Sukuna’s desk.

“She’s invisible,” Sukuna muttered, tossing his phone onto the table. “No parties, no drama, no clue what she’s into. It’s like she’s living on a different planet.”

Geto smirked. “Sounds like someone’s not used to working for it.”

Sukuna shot him a glare, but Geto just shrugged. “Relax. I’ve got this.”

The next day, Geto cornered Shoko during a break between classes. He made it look casual, of course just two old friends catching up. But Geto had a knack for reading people, and Shoko wasn’t hard to crack.

“She’s into the little things,” Shoko had said, blowing out a puff of smoke from her cigarette. “You know, stuff that actually matters. Like, she’s not going to fall for some big, flashy gesture. She likes thoughtful things her favorite snacks, a good book, stuff like that.”

By the time Geto reported back, Sukuna had a plan. It was subtle, sure, but he could work with that.

After handing you the snacks, He strolled back to his usual spot with Gojo and Geto, settling down next to them with a frustrated sigh.

“So, any luck with her?” Gojo asked, not missing a beat.

Sukuna set his drink down, running a hand through his hair as he slouched in his chair. “Not as easy as I thought. You guys are right—no amount of flashing a smile and throwing out my usual charm is going to work on her.”

Geto smirked, leaning forward. “She’s in your head, huh?”

Gojo chuckled, propping his chin on his hand. “This is new. Sukuna Ryomen, struggling to win over a girl? What’s next, you’re gonna write her a love poem?”

Sukuna shot them both a glare, his jaw tightening. “Laugh it up,” he muttered. “But I’m not backing down.”

Geto raised a brow. “You sound almost impressed.”

“Maybe I am,” Sukuna said, a glint of determination sparking in his eyes. “And maybe that’s what makes this fun. I invited her to the party.”

Geto and Gojo both blinked, momentarily stunned by Sukuna’s straightforwardness.

“You invited her to the party?” Gojo asked, leaning forward in surprise. “Bold move. What’s the plan there? Just charm her in front of the whole crowd?”

Sukuna shrugged, but there was something sharper in his expression now. “It will work. I don’t think she’s the type to fall for a big scene, but if I show her I’m not like the others, she’ll bite eventually.”

Gojo chuckled. “You’re really going for the slow burn, huh?”

“Exactly.” Sukuna’s lips curved into a confident grin. “She won’t see it coming.”

Geto raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “You’ve got, what, few more days to make this work? Good luck, man.”

Sukuna smirked, not looking away from you as you stood up, chatting with Shoko. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

Later that night, you were lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, trying to forget the strange encounter with Sukuna earlier. Your mind kept drifting back to the way he’d smiled when he handed you your favorite snack, the way his eyes seemed to linger on you just a second too long.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glanced at the screen, and your stomach flipped when you saw his name. Hesitating for a moment, you opened the message.

11:30PM Sukuna Ryomen: hope i see you at the party tomorrow sweetheart wouldn’t be the same without you

Attached to the text was the party’s address.

You groaned, tossing your phone onto the pillow beside you. Why did he have to be so persistent? And You told yourself you wouldn’t go—there was no way you were giving him the satisfaction.

But as you stared at the message again, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go.

taglist: @clp-84 @ssetsuka @lymsfm @monic19 @bol0-de-morang0 @strxberryicecream @r0ckst4rjk @gojocumslut @elliebelliegi @kazuuhali @luna-v-roiya @sussiesushi @nakiich @mourart7 @neuvilletteswife4ever @rusted-dolly @blueyesuguru @lillycore @yourhornysister @bnbaochauuu @ferretsqueen @anonnieghost @boogiemansbitch @sukubusss @sterzin @miazzzma @silkija @blueemochii @number0netrash

[helen-lucilfer]

some really silly (AND CANON!!!) things about chrollo that i enjoy a lot

lmao im giving you all more since i think u all seem to rlly like the fun facts on the last post🥺💕❤️

———

- chrollo has a phone, and the only times that he actually uses it is to call someone—plus, he only uses it a few in the series. an example is after his fight against hisoka (ch. 357) and another time is on the black whale trying to find his “ideal partner” (ch. 406, will elaborate more on in the next fact)

- chrollo basically uses the nen equivalent of tinder, as he steals an ability (notably from a woman) called “love dial”, in which he can put in a condition to find someone on his phone with the nen ability and the ability will give him the number of the person who is his “ideal match” (it’s not necessarily romantic). for example, if chrollo puts in “someone with a strong rage towards me”, then kurapika’s number would show up. (note: just because you call doesn’t mean that the call will necessarily go through).

- chrollo can basically use any resource to his advantage, no matter how seemingly useless. for example, in the yorknew city arc, chrollo kills all of the assassins going after him with the pen that neon used to write his fortune. another example is when shizuku and pakunoda talk about how kurapika probably came to yorknew for the auction and chrollo suddenly pieces together where exactly kurapika could be, who he is, etc,.

- according to the yoshihiro togashi exhibit in japan (which holds completely canon information), chrollo is considered a genius at nen, meaning that he is only one level away from the ultimate tier of nen use. according to togashi, anyone can reach the ultimate nen user tier as long as they train hard enough.

- chrollo has an ongoing pattern of taking someone’s nen ability and using it far better than the original owner ever could. for example, neon only used her ability with little to no knowledge about how it actually worked; meanwhile chrollo managed to take full advantage of her ability by predicting exactly what will happen in the future and managed to save numerous troupe members due to it. another example is kortopi’s ability, which was believed to be useless in combat. however, chrollo proved that to be wrong, as kortopi’s ability was crucial to chrollo’s win against hisoka.

- chrollo can TECHNICALLY win any battle as long as you give him prep time. (i know, it’s the ultimate chrollo fangirl powerscaler card, but im not wrong😔)

- chrollo actually seems to prefer letting his hair down. the only times that chrollo actually has his hair slicked back is when he is around the troupe, possibly due to not wanting to seem vulnerable around the troupe. his unmoving hair when slicked back represents that. however, when chrollo’s hair is let down, it moves and represents the more human, more fragile side of him.

- chrollo’s eyes directly contrast hisoka’s. while chrollo’s eyes are gray���a plain and dull color, they are nearly always lighted because chrollo cares despite trying to pretend that he doesn’t. meanwhile, hisoka has bright and fun colored yellow amber eyes, because hisoka doesn’t care about or feel anything despite wanting to.

- it’s canon that chrollo knows so much about Christianity and the Bible because he often visited the church in meteor city as a child (ch. 395-397). he seemed to be very close with the pastor, Father Lisores, as the pastor often complimented chrollo and talked about chrollo to the meteor city elders, talking about how chrollo might be the one to help the city.

- chrollo and the troupe actually seem to be viewed as heroes in meteor city rather than a villain. when the troupe visited meteor city to battle the chimera ants, the elders had no protests whatsoever despite knowing of their crimes. not only that, but judging from the way that chrollo spoke during his fight against hisoka, the meteor city elders also had very little, if any, issues against chrollo stealing their nen ability.

- chrollo has canonically met characters such as razor, eta, illumi, abengane, and dog man; no, that wasn’t a typo😭 his name is actually dog man (ik this isn’t really a fun fact but can u imagine how each of their conversations would go🤭 it’d lowkey be so silly)

- chrollo name in katakana (クロロ ku ro ro) has the word “kuro” in it, meaning black. the word “ro” is often added to names in japanese to make a name more masculine. thus, chrollo’s name can mean “black” or “darkness”

- chrollo’s tattoo is a type of cross called a “double vajra”

- a small plot hole in HxH about chrollo is how relaxed chrollo is with showing his face when going in public. during the yorknew city, people put chrollo’s face up on the internet. although they eventually take it down, there is still digital footprints.

- chrollo has a habit of self blame even when he is fully aware that something is not his fault (read his backstory for specific examples because there are WAY TOO MANY examples of it, especially in his backstory😞)

- chrollo seems to view himself as some sort of “higher being”. superior to humans, and yet the “being” that he sees himself as has little value. during the hisoka vs chrollo fight, chrollo says “humans are so very interesting” while looking down—and for the first time in the series, his eyes aren’t lighted. they are just dark and empty with very little emotion. chrollo doesn’t even view himself as a human anymore, and chrollo seems to view humans as some sort of strange entity.

- chrollo is an actor who acted a role for so long that he eventually forgot what his actual personality was like, and thus began to act out different roles and personalities hoping to find the one that he once was before he began acting.

———

oh chrollo, how i love you. the way that you genuinely changed my life. how dare you be such a realistic and relatable character? how dare you be such a fun and addicting character to analyze and dissect? how dare you be such an incredible character to daydream about to my ocs? how dare you be the character that made me cry the most in all of fiction? how dare you occupy such a special place in my heart?

[cognitiveoverload]

Craving (Aaron Hotchner x reader? Does it count?)

summary: Hotch shows up in your hotel room after the events of 2x19.

note: Kinda pathetic!Hotch if you ask me. Wants to be with reader despite still being married, but she says no.

After emotionally draining cases you’re usually a heavy sleeper, so no wonder you only wake up when the mattress dips in the hotel room you’re staying in. You jolt awake, eyes snapping open to see who got in the bed on the empty side next to you, and you’re shocked to see the man who wraps an arm around you as if it was the most natural thing, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Hotch, what are you doing here?” you ask, fighting the urge to bury your fingers into his hair to soothe him.

Because he’s clearly under the weather, and his warm breath smells like whisky as he rests his chin on your collar bone to look at you. “I don’t want to be alone,” he mutters.

There has always been tension between you, but he’s married, there was no way you would ever even think of giving into that feeling. Having him here, though, makes you wonder just how deep are his feelings for you. He’s not blackout drunk, he probably only drank like two glasses, but thanks to the vulnerable state of mind he was in earlier, it’s no surprise that it got the best of him.

“How did you even get in?” 

He lets out a sigh, then a small smile appears on his lips. “I have my methods,” he replies.

This sentence is followed by a soft sigh, but he remains silent for a minute or two, as if he’s contemplating how to say what’s on his mind. His thumb is rubbing circles into your arm, and while your brain knows you should stop him, you simply can’t get yourself to send him away. He doesn’t want to be alone, and there’s something he wants to talk about.

So, you wait. Rushing him wouldn’t help, and he’s stubborn enough to take his time opening up. Sometimes you wonder if he ever tells Haley about work stuff, or if he keeps it to himself since she has a lot on her plate already because of Jack. Either way, what happened earlier today definitely hit him where it hurt the most.

“It’s my fault,” he finally speaks up, his voice unusually quiet. You tilt your head to the side, urging him to explain. “I should have known, I should have gone there to see if I could help, now there’s a kid without a father and—”

You shook your head without thinking, a hand moving up to push his hair back. “It’s not your fault. You’re not a mind reader, Hotch, you couldn’t have known what he was planning,” you try.

“Aaron.” You let out a questioning hum, but he doesn’t answer, instead he moves a little to place a featherlight kiss on your exposed skin, followed by another, and another at an agonizingly slow pace. “Call me Aaron. I hate it that you call me Hotch too,” he mumbles against your skin.

“You’re my boss, I’m not calling you Aaron,” you point out.

“But we could be so much more than that. You mean so much more to me.” 

Before you can say anything, he moves just enough to be able to kiss you—a gentle, soft kiss that feels so good, but also forbidden. You cup his face, pushing him away just enough to look into his eyes. There’s a mixture of sadness and lust in there, but you know you can’t give in, you can’t let him win this one. 

Deciding that this is your best chance to set boundaries, you move past him as you sit up, watching the way he turns on his back with a groan. “For one, you’re my boss. And second, you’re married. Keep that in mind,” you warn him.

He loosens his tie and props on his elbows. “Yeah, right, a marriage that’s falling apart,” he notes bitterly. When you give him a questioning look, he goes on. “It seems like no matter how hard I try, I can’t be the husband she wants. This job is demanding, sure, but… I don’t know.”

“You need to sleep,” you tell him kindly, not having the heart to be harsh after what he just told you. 

This confession explains the phone calls that always left him grim, but you don’t feel like prying for more details. You know that he loves his family, what he just told you must have come from the desperation caused by the trouble at home and this recent case you just closed. It can’t be more than that.

Hotch opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything for now, he just watches you with an unreadable expression. “I’ll have to return to give the letter to Abby’s son. That’s the least I can do,” he suddenly says, lying back down, but he faces you. “Come with me.”

You take a deep breath as you watch him, but then you pick up your phone from the nightstand and put on the robe you left on the foot of the bed. “I’ll beg JJ to let me sleep in her room. Or I’ll take yours since you’re clearly planning to stay here,” you tell him. “I’ll wake you up in the morning.”

“Okay, fine,” he mumbles, his face already buried into the pillow your head rested on a few minutes ago.

[sailorrhansol]

The Syndicates Collection

Collection Details: This collection contains individual fics with each member of SVT paired with a different reader that occur in the same universe/AU and timeline. Each story is a stand alone, but three of them do have a connected/overarching plot. You do not need to read all of them to understand what's going on, and all of the fics can be read as standalone one shots.

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Collection Warnings: Criminal behavior, morally gray characters, murder, depictions of violence and murder, general violence associated with mafia/criminal activity, recreational drug sale and use, depictions and mentions of death, recreational drinking and drug use - each individual fic will be heavily tagged and warned appropriately.

Main Masterlist | Tag List Request Form | Ask

CONNECTED WORKS

Baby | Omertà | Menagerie

FULL COLLECTION

Baby | Coming January 1, 2025

↪ Soonyoung has been in your life for as long as you can remember. You haven’t spoken since your wedding to someone who isn’t him, but when you uncover your husband’s plans to turn against your family, you don’t know who else to call. 

Ride or Die | Coming 2025

↪ You always knew you were different from a young age. The only person who has ever been able to understand you is Vernon. When things take a turn for the Choi Syndicate, your long-term relationship is put to the test.

Til Death | Coming 2025

↪ Being the heir of a powerful family has it's benefits - you get to go to whatever parties you want, vacation places people only dream of, and meet all the powerful entities of the city. It also has it's struggles, like being forced to marry a man you don't know - except you do know Minghao, who was your one night stand only a week prior.

Cherry Sours | Coming 2025

↪ Nothing in your life ever comes easy. Not family, not money, and certainly not jobs to pay the endless stack of bills. The only thing easy are the smiles you give Chan when he comes into your convenient store the same time every Saturday to buy his cherry sours. And then one day he arrives late, and everything changes.

Street Demon | Coming 2025

↪ You've been street racing since you could reach the pedal of a car - it's the only thing you've ever been good at. When a rival decides they're tired of losing to you, Seungkwan steps in to show he's more than just a street racer.

Omertà | Coming 2025

↪ Omertà (n) /ˌōmerˈtä,ōˈmərdə/ - code of silence, honor, and conduct that emphasizes remaining silent when questioned by authorities or outsiders. Or Jeonghan makes sure you stay on top of paying off your father's debts by making you betray everyone you've ever known during a Syndicate war.

Kerosine | Coming 2025

↪ Jihoon knew growing up he would be expected to practice law like his mother, protecting the assets and the associates of the Choi Syndicate. He's had no problem doing that so far - until he gets you as a client.

Stituation | Coming 2025

↪ Working the late night shift at the ER in the dangerous part of town sucks. Finding out the two repeat patients you've been flirting with are roommates is worse.

Corrosive | Coming 2025

↪ Trying to unravel the Syndicates that run the city isn't what Seokmin ever dreamed he'd be doing. Turns out he's good at it. At least until he meets you and everything he knows about the city's criminal empires is turned on its head.

Gin & Tonic | Coming 2025

↪ There is little benefit to working the underground fighting ring that belongs to the Choi Syndicate besides good pay. Another one? Getting to watch Junhui in the cage most nights and serving him his gin and tonic after he wins.

Dead to Me | Coming 2025

↪ You and Joshua ended things on a terrible note and you haven't seen him since, doing your best to avoid him - that is until he comes to your untimely and most annoying rescue.

Menagerie | Coming 2025

↪ Choi Seungcheol has been struggling since he stepped into his father's role leading the family syndicate. Nothing has been easy, fighting a war against both known and unknown enemies. You're easy though, making all of his troubles float away. And then those troubles come knocking on your door.

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

[wildflowerwoodsworld]

Wild's Black Clover Fic Recs Part Two

This is part two of the list, but I'm putting all the same stuff that was at the top of the other list here too. This is the shippy list

So, I've seen a lot of these floating around over the years and they all seem to have the same dozen fics on them, so I want to try and highlight some of the lesser known fics in this fandom I love alongside some of the more well-known ones. (Note: I have done my best to avoid reccing more than three/four fics by the same person to make sure plenty of authors make it onto the list, not just the popular ones)

This is not just my tastes, I have asked a lot of other people in this fandom for their own fic recs to compile into this list.

Disclaimer: despite my best attempts to be unbiased with this list, I'm human. There are some amazing fics that I haven't personally read bc they contain my NOTPs or tags I don't like or they just squick me out. This is not a complete list of fics in the fandom you should read. This is a list of fics I, and my friends, like.

I will also not be including any purely smut fics on this list.

Wordcounts have been rounded to the nearest 1000 words. They might be slightly longer or slightly shorter than the wordcount listed.

With that being said, let's get into it!

Popular Ship Fics

The Plan by ThisHopeIsADangerousThing

Rating: M Ships: YamiChar Length: 48k When Yami kisses Charlotte in an attempt to win a bet, he's unaware that their colleagues, families and friends think that he's proposed, and equally unaware that he was the cause of her broken heart. Going along with the engagement seems like the easiest solution until he discovers three things: a violent plot against the kingdom, a secret organisation hidden in plain sight and his growing feelings for her.

Not a Wink by eclipsingbinary

Rating: T Ships: YamiFin Length: 4k Finral remembers Yami saying that he couldn't sleep a wink after Finral was hurt during the Royal Knights tournament. But Yami threatens to murder him most days, so Finral would be forgiven for thinking that Yami's exaggerating as normal. Yami isn't.

Broken Angel by Acacia_May

Rating: T Ships: Astelle Length: 5k Noelle Silva was used to being told what she couldn’t do. As a magicless child born inexplicably to the Royal House of Silva, her family had taken great care to hide her and her lack of mana from the rest of the world. However, despite being told over and over again that she would never amount to anything more than her family’s shameful secret, Noelle never gave up her dream to become a magic knight. When she joins the Black Bulls and meets Asta, an orphan from Hage who dreams of being the Wizard King despite his mana-draining magic having left him a social outcast, she begins to develop a new dream: a dream to fight by his side and to protect him just as he has always rushed to her defense and always watched over her like a guardian angel. But all dreams come at a price… Written for Astelle Week 2022. Rated for action sequences & thematic elements. Thank you for reading!! <3

Black Clover Soulmate Tattoo AU (Series) by Oighear

Rating: M Ships: Astelle, Nozessa, Zobra, YamiWill, Finral/Finesse Length: 685k In a world where magic is everything, there is one thing even magic can't do anything about: Fate. As Fate inks the soulmates' first words to each other on their skins, the humans who are toyed with struggle to come to terms with what it means to have their destinies tied together. Diverges from canon from the Spade Invasion

Last of the real ones (Ongoing) by Willows_Bend (Katy_Stark)

Rating: T Ships: Magluck, YamiFin Length: 14k An AU where Magna, Vanessa, and Finral are all petty criminals in Clover City, and the rest of the Black Bulls are police. They're pretty harmless and more irritating than anything else. Still, the law is the law. But until Clover City Police Department manage to get hard evidence of their crimes, they're off the hook - at least as far as Police Captain Yami Sukehiro is concerned. Though, this is the first time Magna has actually had to use Plan C.

The Dragon and the Mage by CloversDreams

Rating: T Ships: MagLuck Length: 7k Every few days like clockwork the hotheaded mage showed up and challenged him to a fight. Luck hadn’t turned him down once. No matter how many times he lost, or Luck broke those silly glasses he wore, the guy always declared he’d return. And he did. Luck had started to anticipate his arrival. Their battles were a surprising amount of fun. The mage learned from all their previous scuffles and tried to trip him up, but Luck’s battle instinct was on a level all its own. He wouldn’t lose. It was probably around the six or seventh time that Luck actually greeted the mage with a ‘hello, human’. He was immediately attacked with a fireball and told not to call the guy that. Luck smiled from ear to ear as he easily dodged the flames. He moved lightning fast until he was nose to nose with the mage. He had a wild look in his wide eyes when he asked what he should call the human then. A grin spread across his face when he actually received an answer. Then he sent the guy flying backwards with one punch. This ordeal continued for weeks and Luck hadn’t tired of it yet. Humans were boring. Except for one. Luck rather liked the tenacious fire mage called Magna.

Of Course It's You by CloversDreams

Rating: T Ships: MagLuck Length: 4k Soulmates. The idea was a whisper which traveled along a breeze that stopped every now and again to tell its tale to random passersby. The concept was so obscure these days that it was nearly forgotten to history. Those that did recall never spoke of it. Most brushed it off without a second thought. The idea wasn’t widely recognized since society deemed it ridiculous. And for good reason, too. According to legend, there was only one known way to identify soulmates, which was by a mark that appeared on both of them. It might’ve been reasonable enough if not for the conditions necessary for the mark to appear. This was where things got so ludicrous that no one could bring themselves to accept that the tales were based in truth. According to the whispers upon the wind, soulmarks didn’t activate until the pair fell in love. Ridiculous. Absolute nonsense. Whose brilliant idea was that?

Over My Heart by JohnnyCremains

Rating: T Ships: MagLuck Length: 1k The names on their skin may have been the mana’s way of pointing out those who would impact them, but it was up to them to determine how. Magna has thought about things more than he’d like to admit.

Darker yet Darker by Ccaprico

Rating: Not Rated Ships: YamiChar Length: 1k Because darkness will always do what darkness does best: corrupt.

Keeping Score by solarwitchwrites

Rating: M Ships: YamiFin Length: 92k Even people who've known Yami for less than five minutes usually agree that he's an ass. Those who've known him a bit longer usually tack on, 'sadistic bastard.' If they really know him, they might throw in that he's a decent guy underneath it all, but that's what they always start with. By contrast, Yami is probably the only person who would use those terms to describe Finral. Then again, so far as Yami knows, he's the only one Finral's really shown that side to. Though he's gotten a bit snarkier with the Bulls. It almost makes Yami pity all the girls who only see the playboy routine. The real Finral is a hell of a lot more fun to mess with. (A while back on tumblr I posted a YamiFin headcanon about Finral secretly being a little shit, and this is the fic-child of that headcanon. Basically, the Keeping Score ficverse is a bunch of oneshots wherein Yami and Finral start out as friends who mess with each other as a running joke, and eventually become lovers who mess with each other as a running joke.)

Green, Pink, and Grayscale by juviin

Rating: G Ships: Astelle Length: 3k Soulmates are a thing of the past, or at least, they should be. So why does the youngest child of the royal Silva family see no colors? Asunoe Soulmate AU where you can't see color until you lock eyes with your soulmate.

Rarepair Fics

Marriage Mishap (ongoing) by nodanova15

Rating: T Ships: SilverMantis Length: 26k Nozel snapped. “I’m already married.” The lie came unexpectedly easy, and the second his words caught up with him, he cursed himself. “What?” To his side, Fuegoleon startled, eyes wide, and mouth slightly gaping. “What!?” Nebra looked far worse than his cousin. “What do you mean— You’re married!?” Or Nozel gets caught up on a lie that drags none other than the notorious Jack The Ripper into his (personal)life.

wildest dreams (because falling's not the problem) (Series) by IAmStoryteller

Rating: M Ships: YunoMimoLang Length: 85k I accidentally started a Yuno/Langris/Mimosa series, oops.

distance (Crossover) by Funky_Sea_Cryptid

Rating: T Ships: RuMagLuck Length: 26k Magna Swing is reaped for the 64th Annual Hunger Games. The odds were never in his favor to begin with.

(i think) i love you by Falahime

Rating: M Ships: YamiNacht Length: 10k Yami woke, eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, and just stared at the ceiling. Okay, just because he was having the most vivid wet dreams he’d had since he was a teenager (which was also when he met Nacht, but that had to be coincidence, right?) did not mean he was in love with the guy— With an irritated groan, Yami grabbed his pillow and shoved it over his face and let out a yell, trying to smother the sound and himself both. Rating: M Ships: YamiNacht Length: 10k Yami woke, eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, and just stared at the ceiling. Okay, just because he was having the most vivid wet dreams he’d had since he was a teenager (which was also when he met Nacht, but that had to be coincidence, right?) did not mean he was in love with the guy— With an irritated groan, Yami grabbed his pillow and shoved it over his face and let out a yell, trying to smother the sound and himself both.

"It's Called Breakfast, Stupid." by bvchivtvriko

Rating: T Ships: YamiJack Length: 4k The rituals are intricate, and Jack's deciding to slice them up a bit.

The Awful Edges Where You End by Bean_Market_Mafia, Funky_Sea_Cryptid

Rating: M Ships: YamiNacht Length: 63k Seven years after he gained a gruesome gift that he didn’t want, Yami Sukehiro moves from a temp job in San Francisco into a broken-down estate in Maine. It’s expensive and busted to hell, but it’s a place that finally, finally seems empty. This kind of story only goes one way. Watch to see if the silverware has turned black. Watch to see if the table has begun to rot. If the blood from the wall starts to glisten like oil and decay, the door will be lost to you, and you will be left with nothing but your sins to contend with.

I Can't Say Anything Clever, But Let's Chase a Cat Together by JadeGM

Rating: T Ships: YamiMorgen Length: 3k In which the Black Bulls' hideout actually is haunted, and Luck can vaguely sense/hear ghosts. ...Gordon can do it too, but nobody can hear him most of the time, so it barely comes up.

Thawing Of A Frozen Heart by eclipsingbinary, Firefutte

Rating: T Ships: YunoLang Length: 48k Daily News Exclusive: Business Scandal of the Century The esteemed owners of Vauditren Real Estate and Industrial Developments, Ledior and Liliane Vaude, were arrested at their city penthouse yesterday evening. The billion dollar company and its assets have been frozen as part of the police investigation. At the time of going to press, further details have not not been made public. A police spokesman declined our request for an interview. There has been no official comment from the company's public relations department. Board members, including the Vaudes' son and heir, Langris Vaude, were unreachable. -- Finral read the article one more time. This was bad. This was very bad. (The story where Langris Vaude loses everything, and gains more than he ever thought he could have.)

my song, my sorrow, and i (Ongoing, Crossover) by Funky_Sea_Cryptid

Rating: T Ships: Fuegoleon/Salamander Length: 47k After repeated failures, and with his devotion to the God he worships waning, Fuegoleon Vermillion is given one last chance to prove himself.

the fabula crepidata (Ongoing) by Bean_Market_Mafia

Rating: M Ships: Fuegoleon/Salamander Length: 46k With his confidence in his abilities shattered after losing his arm, Fuegoleon is enlisted to take on a case that hits a little too close to home.

The Hangover by subtleassiduities

Rating: T Ships: Solid/Langris, Silva Family Length: 13k After waking up in a strange predicament with a certain Vaude, Solid flounders to figure out what he did during a blackout while also dealing with an unexpected obstacle: A crush. He achieves neither goal with ease, but he does achieve both!

Black Heart Scarring Darker Still by AvaCelt

Rating: T Ships: William/Patri Length: 2k William knows he's a coward, but even cowards can love, and if Zenon wants to hurt the other half of his heart, then William has no problem becoming the Devil himself. [William/Patolli, canon divergence, spoilers up to chapter 262]

Heart of the Ocean, Love of the Sea by AvaCelt

Rating: T Ships: YamiJack Length: 2k Four hundred pounds of muscle and a sword don't mean anything anymore, but lesser men have loved and been loved in return, so why can't Yami Sukehiro? [Yami/Jack, post-rescue, canon divergence, spoilers up to chapter 262]

Hey, Little Songbird, Cat Got Your Tongue? by AvaCelt

Rating: T Ships: LumiNero, Nero & The Bulls Length: 2k Secre Swallowtail atones for her sins by looking after a family of misfits. Somewhere in Hell, Zagred laughs at her, and Secre finds herself laughing with him. [one-sided Secre/Lumiere, parental!Secre & Asta, parental!Secre & the Black Bulls, canon compliant but explores Black Clover demon lore]

Crossing the Line by eclipsingbinary, WildflowerWoods

Rating: M Ships: YunoLang, Langris & the Golden Dawn, Finral & Langris As a the out of favour Vaude son, his useless spatial magic would never be what his family desired, no matter how hard he tried to force it into shapes it would never become. His long-term survival depended on being of use, and as he reached grimoire age, his use was rapidly running out. He knew they would never let him reach fifteen. Somehow, against the odds, he survives and works out how to live a life that he never expected to have. There are people who help him find a place in a new family where he is loved. He has a squad and a future, even if he is never without the consequences of that last night in Tota. Then the death of the King brings history crashing into the life he made for himself, and with it comes the brother he never expected to see again.

Oh What Am I Supposed to Do Without You? by supernaturalgrant

Rating: T Ships: FuegoNozel Length: 13k “Mercury poisoning.” The silence that follows Owen's statement is deafening. The occupants of the room share looks of utter confusion. “That’s like saying Fuegoleon has third-degree burns from that cool ass fire arm situation he has going on.” Yami’s the first to break it. Or: Nozel is diagnosed with mercury poisoning and forced to give his magic up until the can find a cure. Chaos ensues.

Ubi Amor, Ibi Dolor by supernaturalgrant

Rating: T Ships: FuegoNozel Length: 17k “He’s dumb as fuck.” She asserts bluntly. It surprises an honest laugh out of Nozel, which seems to amuse her slightly. “You know that, right?” “I can’t force him to be with me, Mereoleona. Even I am not that high-reaching.” He tells her honestly. Or- Fuegoleon and Nozel break up when Nozel is promoted to the Silver Eagles captain, neither of them really knows why.

[quietwingsinthesky]

essential to understanding millie to know that the devil himself activates her fawn fear response far less than either of her brothers has

[blueskittlesart]

someone tagged that last rabbit knight post as #prey and i get it because that piece is deliberately as dramatic as possible and they DO try to kill each other in the scene that immediately follows but it’s still kind of funny because as soon as they get past that this is their canon dynamic. straight from my sketchbook

[tenwhiteandalusians]

so no one was going to tell me if i got literally one episode further tenax drops that he’s the one who saved scorpus from his mom’s pimp AND that he’s intimately familiar with scorpus’ dick when he was younger. guys. guys.

[beepbeepmfkr]

Hello Tumblr user who felt inaction or third party voting was a viable tool to use when they were not in a historically blue state.

Before you is an election 2024 result

Your challenge is to think critically about your moral need to keep your hands clean rather than finding a way to blame the people who Did Vote Blue for something they did everything in their power to stop.

You have however long it takes for the results to solidify.

[voyter]

NNN (NO NUT NOVEMBER) ! ... thanksgiving special

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader

jungkook and his friends are all in on the internet's most ridiculous trend: no nut november. but you’re determined to make your boyfriend lose — and you know just how to do it.

word count. 8.9k warnings. stupid fucking nnn challenge. JUNGKOOK IS SOOO DRAMATIC IN THIS OML. competitive koo. oc being petty as fuck. oc a brat hehe. jungkook cannot lie to save his life. he fighting demons in his head. needy koo. slight crack. smut. oral (fem!receiving). MUNCH JK. dry humping. blindfolding (very brief lasts like five seconds). koo loves her boobies. unprotected sex. dom!jk (i dont usually like writing him like this but i didnt hate it).

ana's notes. happy (very late) thanksgiving !!! BETTER LATE THAN NEVER RIGHT. this was supposed to be posted after thanksgiving but i got so busy and then the writers block crept up on me :\ .. ANYWAYS i am so grateful for you guys and the support you have shown for my writing, it means a lot since this is a hobby that i love. heres a little silly smutty fic for the holidays !! keep your comments positive or say nothing at all <3

There was this utterly ridiculous trend that resurfaced on the internet like clockwork every year – No Nut November.

The viral phenomenon was a joke. Honestly, who in their right mind would actually take part in such a thing?  

Well... Jungkook and his friends would. 

Never ones to back down from a challenge, they had turned the trend into a full-blown competition: the last man standing would walk away with a cash prize collected from everyone who failed. And Jungkook? He wasn’t about to lose. Not to his friends. Not to anyone.  

It wasn’t like he needed the money. Jungkook was doing just fine in that department, thank you very much. But the satisfaction of watching his friends begrudgingly hand over their hard earned cash, faces red with defeat? Fucking priceless. Count him in.

Unbeknownst to you, the bet was in full effect. Therefore, in preparation for what promised to be a painfully unfulfilling month, Jungkook made the most of Halloween night. His desire was overwhelming as he pulled you into his arms again and again. By the time you were both utterly spent, he’d taken you three times — round after relentless round, ensuring he had no regrets before the clock struck midnight.

It was all part of his plan: to have you as many times as he possibly could before November hit and he couldn’t have you at all. He was dead serious about this challenge. Winning was secondary — what mattered most was that he didn’t lose.  

By the first week of November — just five days in — Jungkook had been doing surprisingly well. His restraint was impressive, and he’d managed to keep his touches brief and calculated. The physical contact between you two had been limited to sweet, innocent moments: the kisses you shared when he left and came home from work, the soft pecks exchanged before falling asleep, or the comforting warmth of cuddling. None of it lingered too long, and Jungkook was acutely aware of how easily even the smallest touch could spiral into something much harder to resist.  

But Jungkook’s plan didn’t seem to work so well after all. As the week drew closer to its end, you began to get eager.  

Your arms would wrap around his waist from behind, your chest pressing against his back as you left featherlight kisses against the nape of his neck. Each one sent a shiver down his spine, your breath warm and teasing against his skin. Your fingers trailed along his arms and shoulders a little longer than usual, like they couldn’t bear to part from him. When you kissed him, your lips lingered just a second too long, brushing against his with a softness that made his heart pound and his resolve crumble.  

And Jungkook — poor, stubborn Jungkook — felt the strain of holding himself back with every passing moment.  

The tension in his body was unmistakable. His jaw clenched, his hands fisted at his sides, as if anchoring himself in place was the only way to resist you. But it was getting harder. Your every move — a tilt of your head, a brush of your fingers, the soft hum of your laughter — was a calculated test of his willpower.

There were times where his thumb hovered over the group chat. His mind screamed at him to type out the words, to admit defeat, to let it all go so he could have you the way he so desperately craved.  

But he didn’t.  

He kept his composure, though it was a battle he felt he was losing by the second. Temptation clung to him like a warm, enticing embrace, your every move a test of his self control. You were irresistible, and he knew it. Hell, even the fucking dickwad of a neighbor — the one who always found a reason to greet you while mugging Jungkook — knew it. But as much as he wanted to give in, Jungkook had to tread carefully. Ignoring you completely would be suspicious, and pulling away would be totally out of character. You’d see right through him.  

So he found a fine line to walk, a delicate balance: giving you just enough to keep you satisfied while keeping his own burning desires tightly in check. A heated makeout session here, his hand squeezing your ass there — little gestures that made everything feel normal. Just enough to keep you from noticing anything was off, but never enough to let things spiral out of control.  

The thought of explaining the ridiculous bet to you was out of the question — he wasn’t about to tell you he’d willingly signed up to not get his cock wet for a whole month. So instead, he silently resolved to endure.  

It wasn’t easy. Hell, it was torture. But the thought of losing to his friends? That was even worse. Their smug faces, the relentless teasing — it was unthinkable. Jungkook would rather give himself the worst case of blue balls imaginable than admit defeat.  

But just as the next week was about to begin, Jungkook’s willpower met its match.

At night, Jungkook stuck to his usual routine. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and climbed into bed. He scrolled aimlessly through his TikTok for you page, waiting for you to finish up in the bathroom and join him. It was the same comforting ritual as always.  

Usually, when you slipped into bed, he’d put his phone down immediately. Without a word, he’d shift closer, press his chest to your back, tangle your legs together, and throw a protective arm over your waist. It was an unspoken rhythm you both loved, the closeness of his warmth pulling you both into peaceful sleep.  

But tonight, something felt different.  

It had been a long week — too long. You hadn’t had him, hadn’t felt his touch, hadn’t been able to drown in the comfort of him. And tonight, the ache of missing him was unbearable. You needed him, desperately.  

As you stepped out of the bathroom, the soft light from the lamp illuminated him sprawled across the bed. His focus was on his phone, completely oblivious to you — but your attention was elsewhere.  

The thin material of his sweatpants did nothing to hide the outline of his cock, pressing firmly against the fabric as he lay there in complete ease. It was almost unfair how effortlessly attractive he looked.  

And just like that, the last of your restraint snapped.  

You didn’t even try to play coy. Not tonight. Not when every fiber of your being screamed for him, for his touch, for his warmth.  

You crawled onto the bed with purpose, straddling his hips in one smooth motion. Jungkook tensed beneath you, his phone slipping from his hand onto the mattress. His dark eyes met yours, wide with surprise, but the second your lips captured his, you felt him relax into the kiss.

It didn’t take long for your lips to wander. From his mouth to his jaw, each kiss slower and deeper than the last. That’s when he knew.  

This wasn’t going to end with a few kisses.  

“It’s getting late,” he murmured, his voice breathy, like he was trying to convince himself more than you.  

“Mhm,” you hummed, your lips trailing down his neck, suckling gently at the spot you knew made him shudder.  

“We should go to sleep,” he tried again, though his words sounded more like a plea than an order.  

“Don’t wanna,” you whispered against his skin, your hand sliding down between your bodies, cupping the hardening length beneath his sweatpants.  

The guttural moan that tore from his lips was instant, raw, and uncontrollable. His reaction was visceral, his hands flying to your hips to still you, but it was too late. That single touch had ignited something primal in him.  

With a sudden movement, he flipped you onto your back, his hands capturing your wrists and pinning them firmly above your head.

“Why do you never listen to me?” he said through clenched teeth. His frustration of trying to compose his restraint thinning. Why won’t you let him win? His face was so close to yours that the tip of his nose brushed against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips.  

“Love pissing you off,” you shot back, your grin wicked as your eyes gleamed with mischief. You tilted your head slightly, your voice dropping into something softer, sultrier. “Makes me wet.”  

“Brat,” he spat. His grip on your wrists tightened just slightly, his jaw clenching as if holding himself back took everything he had.

To you, it was all in good fun — a playful game, harmless teasing. But to Jungkook? It was sweet, unrelenting torment. Every kiss you pressed to his skin, every soft laugh that spilled from your lips, and every calculated touch you offered worked to chip away at his resolve, unraveling him one agonizing piece at a time.  

He wanted to be strong, to resist, to uphold his own ridiculous self imposed boundaries. But how could he? How could he lay down beside you and simply go to sleep when your every movement, every sound, every look begged him to surrender? His body betrayed him first, drawn to you like a magnet, unable to keep his distance. The tension in his muscles, the sharp hitch of his breath every time you touched him — it all screamed of a man teetering on the edge of self control.  

Jungkook swallowed hard, his gaze flickering over you, taking in the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts innocent and dangerous. He hated how much you affected him, but at the same time, he craved it. Every fiber of his being ached for you — your warmth, your softness, the way you felt against him. He knew he was doomed the second you whispered his name, voice laced with need.  

Giving in wasn’t just inevitable; it was everything he wanted. And as much as he’d tried to fight it, there was no denying you. Not now, not ever.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his voice raw, laced with a pain so desperate it borders on pitiful. His head drops, forehead pressing against your sternum, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. It’s as if he’s trying to ground himself, clinging to the fragile threads of control slipping through his fingers.

For a moment, he stays there, his breath warm against your skin, his body taut with tension. Then, slowly, he lifts his head, meeting your gaze with eyes darkened by lust and want, swirling with a need so intense it makes your stomach all jittery. His cheeks are flushed, the faintest rosy tint blooming across his face and staining the tips of his ears. He looks utterly undone, vulnerable in a way that steals the air from your lungs.  

Before he could think twice, his lips crashed against yours in a feverish kiss, devouring you like you were his favorite candy — sweet, irresistible, and utterly addictive. He poured everything into that kiss, every ounce of frustration and need, as if losing himself in you was the only thing that mattered.  

His lips began to trail south, brushing along the curve of your jaw before dipping down to the sensitive hollow of your neck. Each press of his lips left a trail of heat on your skin, and your breath hitched, a soft sound that sent a rush of satisfaction through him. He didn’t stop, didn’t falter as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt — no, his shirt. You always stole his shirts for bed, and as much as he teased you about it, he loved seeing you in them.  

He pulled the fabric up, lifting it just beneath your chin and exposing your bare chest. Your breasts, freed from the confines of the shirt, bounced softly back into place, and Jungkook’s breath caught. His dark eyes locked onto the sight, a low groan rumbling in his chest as his hands instinctively cupped them, squeezing gently, pushing them together as if appreciating every inch of you.  

Unable to stop himself, he buried his face in the softness, his nose stuffed in between your tits, breathing you in like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.  

“Kook!” you giggled, your voice light and teasing, pulling him back just slightly from the haze of his desire. Your hands reached down, cupping his face and tilting it upward until his eyes met yours.

“Prettiest titties ever,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. He leaned forward to press a tender kiss to one breast, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your lips curved into a warm smile, and your thumb traced softly over the scar on the apple of his cheek. The tender moment was fleeting, though, as Jungkook’s mouth found its way to your chest, his lips wrapping around one of your nipples. His tongue flicked against the sensitive peak, drawing a sharp wave of pleasure through your body. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying — and failing — to stifle the moan that bubbled in your throat.  

Your hands moved instinctively, brushing back the dark strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead. Your touch was soft, almost reverent, as you gazed down at him. The sight of Jungkook — cheeks flushed, lashes kissing his cheeks as he lost himself in you, his lips tugging gently at your sensitive flesh — made your heart race and your body ache with want.  

He let out a low hum against your skin, the vibration sending a delicious shiver cascading down your spine. His tongue swirled around your nipple with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each motion igniting sparks of pleasure that left you breathless. His focus was unrelenting, his attention on you so singular it made your toes curl. The warmth of his saliva mixed with the heat of your skin, creating a sensation that was utterly intoxicating.  

You let out a quiet gasp, your fingers tugging gently at his raven hair, earning a soft groan from him in response. Jungkook didn’t stop, his lips worshiping you like you were the only thing that mattered.  

But as his mouth continued its ministrations, Jungkook couldn’t ignore the ache building in him. His cock throbbed, painfully hard and straining against his sweats, begging for relief. The urge to push everything aside and lose himself in you was overwhelming.  

Maybe he could lose. Maybe he could just not tell them.

No. That wasn’t fair, and Jungkook hated lying — especially to his best friends.

But fuck, you weren’t making this easy for him.  

With your pretty, soft boobs. Your sweet, irresistible lips. The way you tasted, the way you sounded.

He released your nipple with an audible pop, leaving your skin glistening and flushed from his attention. His lips lingered, warm and damp, as if tethered by an invisible string, reluctant to part. Then, slowly, he began his descent, tracing a line of soft, deliberate kisses down your stomach. Each press of his lips was unhurried, almost worshipful, leaving a trail of fire in its wake as anticipation tightened in your core.  

When he reached the waistband of your panties, his movements paused. His lips hovered just above the fabric, warm breath teasing your skin. He glanced up at you, eyes hooded and dark with want, as if searching your face for permission to continue. The moment felt suspended, heavy with tension, before he shifted his attention lower, redirecting his kisses to the delicate, sensitive skin of your inner thighs.  

His pace was maddening, each kiss a whisper against your skin, igniting every nerve and sending shivers rippling through you. His lips barely grazed you, his touch so featherlight it felt almost cruel, building the pressure inside you until it was nearly unbearable.  

Then he saw it. The damp patch on your panties. His movements stilled for a moment, the sight pulling a soft moan from his lips, thick with need.  

"Fuck me," he muttered under his breath, as if meant more for himself than for you. His voice was strained, low and raw, betraying the war raging inside him.  

You were blissfully unaware of the full weight of his internal struggle, the impossible battle between his ironclad resolve and the magnetic pull of you beneath him. But for Jungkook, this wasn’t just lust; it was a consuming craving, threatening to shatter the very challenge he'd sworn to uphold.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, his touch firm yet tantalizingly gentle as he began to slide them down your thighs. The soft fabric dragged against your skin with agonizing slowness, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. When the panties finally slipped off and landed somewhere forgotten on the floor, his gaze dropped to the apex of your thighs, and a deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest.

Your pussy glistened in the dim light, your slick coating your folds, the evidence of your desire laid bare before him. Jungkook's tongue darted out to wet his lips as impatience flickered in his eyes. Without hesitation, he leaned in, starting with slow, deliberate licks, savoring the taste of you like a man starving.

Your breath hitched, a shudder racing through you as you glanced down at him. His dark eyes locked with yours for a brief, smoldering moment before he closed his lips around your swollen clit, sucking gently yet firmly.

A moan tore from your throat as your head tipped back, your fingers instinctively finding one of your breasts. You cupped the soft mound, your palm pressing into the supple flesh. The room filled with the sounds of your ragged breaths and the wet, sinful noises of his tongue working you over.

Jungkook's hand shot up, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist as he yanked it away from your breast. He possessively replaced your hand with his own. His large, tattooed hand cupped your tit, kneading the soft flesh with a firm yet reverent touch.

He lifted his head from between your thighs, his lips glistening with your slick, and his heated gaze met yours. Without a word, his free hand slid down, his middle and ring fingers gliding through your folds with expert precision. He paused for a moment, his fingers coated in your arousal, before pressing them slowly inside you.

Your breath hitched at the delicious stretch, your sopping wet heat greedily sucking him in with ease. A low, satisfied hum rumbled in his throat as he watched your body respond to his touch.

“So fucking wet," he whispered, voice thick with lust. His fingers curled slightly, stroking your walls with an unrelenting precision that had your thighs trembling.

Jungkook leaned back down, his lips latching onto your clit with a hunger that made your thighs quiver. He sucked and flicked his tongue over your sensitive bud, the wet, rhythmic sounds driving you wild. His fingers continued to thrust in and out of you, the steady, deliberate pace sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body as he curled them just right, hitting that spot that made you see stars.  

His other hand stayed on your breast, groping and kneading with a firm possessiveness that left you aching for more. His thumb brushed over your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.  

He was everywhere — on you, in you, surrounding you. The intensity of his touch, his mouth, and his presence consumed you entirely, leaving you trembling under him as he worked your body like he was born to do it. You could feel the tension building, the coiling heat low in your belly threatening to snap as he devoured you like a man obsessed.

“Baby,” you whimper, your voice trembling, raw with need as your fingers twist into the sheets beneath you. “G- gonna cum.”  

Jungkook doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down or falter. If anything, your words fuel him, igniting something feral inside him. He needs this — needs to feel you fall apart on his tongue, to taste every shiver and moan you can give him before he has to deny you for the rest of this painfully long month.  

A low hum vibrates against your clit, and the sensation sends a fresh wave of heat surging through you, your body arching instinctively toward him. His tongue moves faster now, precise and unrelenting, flicking and circling as if the very act is his lifeline.  

His fingers thrust into you, curling just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and your vision blur. The rhythm is perfect, practiced, like he’s mapping your body by memory, knowing exactly how to coax you to the edge.  

Another hum escapes his throat, deeper this time, resonating against you with an intensity that feels almost like a plea — an unspoken command for you to let go, to surrender completely to the pressure building inside you.  

And with each stroke of his tongue and every curl of his fingers, he pushes you closer, until you’re teetering on the brink, your body burning with the promise of release.

His hand on your breast squeezes more firmly, his thumb flicking and pinching your nipple with just the right pressure, as if he knows exactly how to push you over the edge. Your hand shoots up to grab his wrist, your nails digging into his skin, while your other hand fists the sheets desperately.  

Your head tips back, lips parting in a silent, breathless moan as the tension inside you finally snaps. Your thighs instinctively begin to close around Jungkook’s head, trembling as your release crashes over you in wave after blissful wave.  

Your body shakes beneath him, overcome by the force of your orgasm, but Jungkook doesn’t stop. His mouth continues its sinful work on your clit, sucking and licking with unrelenting precision, while his fingers maintain their steady thrusts.

Despite the painful, throbbing ache of his cock, Jungkook finds a twisted kind of satisfaction in giving you pleasure. The way your body arches, the sounds you make, the way your nails dig into the sheets — it’s intoxicating. It fuels him, spurring him on as though your ecstasy alone is enough to soothe his own torment.  

He doesn’t want to stop. Not when you’re trembling beneath him, your body so responsive to his every touch. But there’s a limit to how much you can take, and he knows it. As much as he loves pushing you to the edge, watching as you surrender completely to him, overstimulation begins to creep in, your soft whimpers turning into desperate little gasps.  

Still, there’s a reluctance in him, a battle between the unyielding need to give you more and the understanding that your body can only handle so much. Even as you writhe beneath him, pleading for reprieve, there’s a part of him that aches to keep going, to hold onto this connection for just a moment longer.  

But he’s Jungkook, and if there’s one thing he values more than his own desires, it’s you. The sight of you trembling, your chest heaving as you fight to steady your breath, tugs at something deeper within him. He takes a deep breath, the taste of you lingering on his tongue, and finally, he pulls back.  

His lips and chin are glistening with your slick, a sinful testament to his devotion. He doesn’t bother wiping it away; instead, he leans over you, his eyes dark and heavy with satisfaction as they roam your flushed face. 

“Munch,” you giggle, your voice soft and teasing as your fingers brush his hair back from his forehead.  

Jungkook chuckles, the sound deep and warm, scrunching his nose in playful protest. His pretty bunny-like teeth peek out in a smile so endearing it makes your heart skip a beat.  

Unable to resist, you lean in, pressing your lips against his. Your tongue brushes against his, exploring him as the taste of you still lingers on his lips. The kiss grows deeper, more heated, and you feel his hard-on pressing insistently against your thigh.  

Without a second thought, your hand slides down, grabbing his cock through the fabric of his pants. He groans softly against your mouth, the sound vibrating between you.  

“Mmm,” Jungkook hums, breaking the kiss as he pulls away, the warmth of his lip still lingering on yours. He stands, his movements abrupt, leaving you breathless on the bed. His lips, swollen and glistening faintly in the dim light, speak to the intensity of your embrace, but his gaze doesn’t meet yours. Instead, it darts away, like a guilty child caught red-handed. He scratches the back of his head, his posture stiff as he moves toward the bathroom door. “I think I’m gonna go shower,” he blurts out, the tension in his voice betraying his attempt at casualness.

Shower? Now? Really? His dick is literally straining against his sweats, the outline unmistakable, practically begging for attention. You can still feel the heat of him pressed against you, the way he twitched beneath you just moments ago.

He’s not serious. There’s absolutely no fucking way.

“What?” Genuine confusion coats your tone, your brows furrowed. “You always shower in the mornings.”  

“I- I know, baby,” he stammers, his pitch climbing an octave as his composure unravels faster than a poorly wrapped gift. Panic flashes in his wide eyes, and his mouth hangs open, grasping for an excuse he clearly doesn’t have.  

“Then what’s wrong?” you ask, your softer now, a thread of worry weaving through your tone. You sit up, the oversized shirt you’d stolen from him slipping down your chest, covering your boobs he wished he could stare at for just a second longer. “Is something going on?”

“I-” His eyes dart around the room like the answer might be written on the walls. “I’m just tired.”  

Your brow arches, skepticism written all over your face. “Tired?” you echo, your face scrunching in disbelief. “You’ve never not wanted to have sex.”  

Jungkook visibly winces, his ears turning a bright shade of red. Rising from the bed like it might help, he sits at the edge, his hand nervously brushing your shin. “I- I had a long day at work.”

You tilt your head. “But you love having sex after a long day,” you say, your voice tinged with confusion. “Jungkook, seriously… what’s wrong?”  

He freezes, like a deer caught in headlights, his lips parting in silent panic. “Nothing!” he squeaks, his voice cracking. 

You lean closer, your suspicion mounting. “Well it’s clearly something! Do I not smell good?”  

His head whips toward you, his face a mixture of offense and horror. “What? You smell amazing!” he practically yells, his voice high-pitched. “Honey, I could eat you all day if you’d let me!” 

“Then why are you running off like this?”  

“I’m not running!” he protests, though the crack in his voice suggests otherwise. “I just- uh- need to clear my head!”  

“Clear your head?” you ask, squinting at him. “From what?”  

“All the thinking I’ve been doing!” he exclaims, clearly grasping at straws. “It’s... exhausting.”  

You narrow your eyes, unconvinced. “Thinking about what?”  

His mouth opens, but words fail him. After a moment of floundering, he groans, throwing his head back and covering his face with his hands. “You’re impossible,” he mumbles, his voice muffled behind his palms.  

“And you’re a terrible liar,” you fire back. “Spill it. What’s really going on?”  

He exhales deeply, dragging his hands down his face in defeat before clasping them together in front of him as if in prayer. His eyes squeeze shut, his lips pressed into a tight line. “I’m trying so hard right now,” he mutters finally, his voice low and desperate, “and you’re not making it easy.”  

“Trying hard to what?” you ask, your curiosity piqued. 

“To not combust right now!” he exclaims, his voice rough with need. His eyes snap open, locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. “You’re killing me, babe. Just... let me shower first, and then let’s just have a good night, okay?” His breath hitches, barely able to keep his composure as he watches you, a mixture of desperation and affection in his gaze. 

You blink at him, your mouth slightly open, trying to piece together his words. Before you can say anything, he kisses you once more, the movement rushed and almost sheepish.  

“Go to bed, honey,” he says, practically bolting for the bathroom. “I love you!”  

The door shut behind him with a sharp, decisive click, followed by the distinct sound of the lock turning. It was jarring — Jungkook never locked the door. There was no reason to; it was just the two of you living together, no one else to intrude. The realization sank in quickly, a bitter confirmation that this time, he was actively shutting you out, trying to keep you from coming in and uncovering whatever was weighing on him. You sat there, frozen, staring at the closed door in stunned silence.

Whatever it was, one thing was clear — you weren’t letting this slide. You were going to figure out what was going on with your boyfriend if it was the last thing you did.

After that night, you kept your distance.

Jungkook hated it. He hated the silence, the lack of your warmth, the way you avoided his touch. But he couldn’t blame you. He knew he was the root of the problem — he had fucked up that night. He should’ve been smoother, handled it better, but he completely blew it. Jungkook was good at many things. Lying was not one of them.

For a few days, you gave him the silent treatment. When he leaned in for a kiss before heading to work, you turned your face, leaving him with nothing but a peck on your cheek. The lack of communication was agonizing, eating away at him every time he caught your cold glances. But you were petty as fuck, and he knew it. You weren’t about to kiss his ass — not when it was obvious he’d lied to you that night. If he didn’t want to talk to you, then you weren’t going to talk to him.

When you were alone — at work, lying in bed, or just lost in thought — your mind spiraled. What could he possibly be hiding? The thought haunted you, gnawing at the edges of your sanity. Was he cheating on you? The idea felt impossible, unthinkable. Your Jungkook would never… or at least, that’s what you wanted to believe. But his strange behavior, the evasiveness, planted seeds of doubt you couldn’t ignore. The very thought made you feel sick to your stomach, but the ache of curiosity refused to leave you alone.

You needed answers. And if Jungkook wasn’t going to give them to you, you decided to go to the one person who knew him best.

you [3:15 pm]: what is wrong with my boyfriend ??

jimin [3:17 pm]: That sounds like a question you should be asking your boyfriend, don't you think?

you [3:17 pm]: I KNOW YOU KNOW SOMETHING.

jimin [3:18 pm]: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???

you [3:18 pm]: whats her name

jimin [3:18 pm]: Who??

you [3:19 pm]: HIS SIDE BITCH

jimin [3:19 pm]: GIRL WHAT

jimin [3:19 pm]: You think he’s cheating on you?

you [3:23 pm]: is he ?? just tell me so i can save myself the humiliation pls

jimin [3:23 pm]: Bro no he would never

jimin [3:23 pm]: I’d chop his dick off and then kill the girl if he did

jimin [3:23 pm]: What makes you even think that in the first place?

you [3:24 pm]: hes acting weirdddd :(

you [3:24 pm]: i was trying to fuck him a few nights ago but he wouldnt let me touch him

jimin [3:25 pm]: First of all ew

jimin [3:25 pm]: Second of all

you [3:28 pm]: SECOND OF ALL ????

jimin [3:30 pm]: 😂😂😂

If you weren’t pissed at Jungkook before, you definitely were now.

After talking to Jimin, you finally learned the truth about the challenge. It wasn’t even the fact that Jungkook had hidden it from you that irritated you most — it was the challenge itself and his ridiculous competitive spirit. Why did he have to be such a sore loser?

According to Jimin, five of the seven participants had already been knocked out. Seokjin and Yoongi, being married men, didn’t stand a chance — they were bound to lose. Namjoon, like Jungkook, was in a committed relationship, but unlike him, Namjoon had the good sense not to put himself through that kind of pain just to preserve his pride. Hoseok and Taehyung? They were notorious party addicts — losing was inevitable for them. 

Now, it was down to just Jungkook and Jimin. And, of course, Jungkook’s competitive streak wouldn’t let him back down, no matter how ridiculous the stakes were. The thought made your blood boil. How could he have dragged himself — and by extension, you — into this mess?

You didn’t confront Jungkook about what you’d learned from Jimin, though you did drop the silent treatment act. Instead, you decided to take a different approach — one far more devious than simply ignoring him.  

Even with the heater running, the November chill still lingered in the air, but it didn’t stop you from dressing provocatively around the apartment. You roamed in short shorts, sometimes just your underwear, paired with a silk camisole that left little to the imagination. The thin fabric did nothing to hide your hard nipples, which poked against the material as you moved about. Jungkook would notice, of course — he’d grope your ass or give you a quick kiss goodbye before heading to work — but that was it.  

When he was away, whether at work or hanging out with his friends, you upped the ante. You sent him pictures of yourself in matching lingerie sets, always in his favorite color, knowing how much he loved them. Sometimes you sent something more daring — nudes that left nothing to the imagination. Usually, those photos had him texting back immediately, promising to deal with you as soon as he got home.  

But this time, his responses were different. Short. Terse. Instead of giving in, he’d simply tell you to stop.  

Frustration boiled over each time you read his dismissive replies. You groaned and threw your phone onto the bed in defeat. Why wouldn’t he just give in already? You wanted him so badly, and you refused to even touch yourself because what you craved was him — his hands, his mouth, his dick.  

If teasing him over the phone wasn’t working, you decided it was time to take things up a notch. One night, when you heard the shower running, you didn’t hesitate. Stripping off your clothes, you quietly stepped into the bathroom. The steam swirled around you as you opened the shower door and stepped in.  

Jungkook froze the moment he saw you. His wide eyes scanned you from head to toe, lingering on your curves as if he hadn’t seen them countless times before. His jaw tightened, his chest heaving as his restraint wavered. Then, with a groan of frustration, he threw his head back against the shower wall, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to block out the temptation in front of him.  

Don’t give in. Don’t give in. Don’t give in. 

Despite his impressive self-control, his body betrayed him. His cock stood stiff and proud between you, a silent plea for attention. But no matter how much you pressed closer, your skin grazing his, or how boldly you touched yourself in front of him, he didn’t break.  

With a stoic determination that only fueled your frustration, he focused on washing off, his movements precise and distant, as though ignoring the tension hanging thick in the air. And just when you hoped he’d finally push past his limits, he’d step out of the shower, leaving you behind in the steam, your desire unfulfilled.

It was maddening. Teasing him was supposed to work — it always worked. And while you were determined to push him until he snapped, you had to admit, his composure was far better than you’d anticipated.

It was just days before Thanksgiving, which meant this painfully long month was finally nearing its end. But you were done waiting. Done teasing. The ache in your body had grown unbearable, a constant, gnawing need for him that no amount of patience could soothe.  

You were going to have him tonight, or you were going to actually die.  

Jungkook had a day off tomorrow, so he was sprawled on the couch, completely absorbed in his Nintendo game. His focus was unwavering, his brows furrowed in concentration as the soft clicks of the buttons filled the room.  

Dressed in a matching lacy black set that left little to the imagination, you moved silently behind him, your determination unwavering. Gently, you placed your hands on his broad shoulders, your fingertips tracing soft patterns over the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even glance up, much too engrossed in the virtual world on his screen.  

But then you leaned down, your lips brushing against the side of his neck. The soft, teasing kisses trailed along his skin, featherlight yet deliberate, leaving a warm path behind. You felt the slightest hitch in his breathing, a telltale sign that despite his effort to remain focused, you were beginning to unravel him.

His eyes fluttered shut, his focus on the game completely shattered as his head tipped to the side, exposing more of his neck to your eager lips. His lips parted, heavy breaths escaping him, each exhale laced with a vulnerability you rarely saw.  

“Baby…” he moaned breathily, his voice low and strained, warning you.  

“Shh,” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. Your voice was soft, commanding, and it sent a shiver rippling through him. You felt his resolve beginning to crack, the tension in his body shifting as your hands slid down, teasing the line between tenderness and temptation.

Pulling away, you reached for the tie you had stolen from his drawer earlier. With a deliberate slowness, you brought it up to his eyes, slipping it over and covering his vision.  

“What-” he began, his voice tinged with confusion as his hands instinctively moved to stop you.  

But you were quicker, gripping his wrists to still him. Leaning in close, your lips brushed against his ear as you whispered, “I know about your stupid challenge, Jungkook.”  

His body tensed beneath you, the air between you heavy with tension. His breaths came uneven now, a mixture of guilt, surprise, and something else simmering just beneath the surface.  

“Let me explain-” he started, his voice edged with desperation.  

“No,” you cut him off, your tone firm but quiet. “It’s too late for that now.”  

You secured the tie around his eyes, knotting it with careful precision. The soft fabric sat snugly against his skin, cloaking his vision completely. His lips parted as if to protest, but he stopped himself, seemingly caught between resisting and surrendering to whatever you had planned.

Rounding the couch, you reached down and plucked the device from his hands, setting it aside on the coffee table without a second thought. His body went rigid beneath you, his breath hitching as you settled in. The unmistakable hardness of his cock pressed against you, igniting a spark of satisfaction that curled your lips into a smirk. Slowly, you began to move, rocking your hips against his in steady, purposeful motions, grinding into him just enough to draw a reaction. 

“Do you know how much I missed you, Kook?” you murmured, your voice dripping with need as your lips hovered near his ear. “Missed your pretty cock… my fingers could never give me the satisfaction you do.”

His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, the silver of his piercings glinting under the warm light, drawing your eyes like a magnet. That perfect little mole just beneath his lip was on full display, a teasing reminder of how irresistible he looked like this — teetering on the edge of control.  

His lips parted as a soft, breathy moan escaped, the sound low and unrestrained. It sent a shiver straight through you. His hands, no longer hesitant, slid to your hips, gripping firmly as he guided your movements. Each roll of your hips against his was deliberate, his touch coaxing you to grind harder, deeper, until the friction was almost too much to bear.

You hooked a finger into the fabric covering his eyes, tugging it free with a teasing slowness. His lashes fluttered as he blinked, his vision gradually clearing — and then he saw you. Nothing but his favorite set of yours graced your body, clinging to your curves in all the right ways.  

A low, breathless please escaped his lips, muttered more to himself than to you, as if trying desperately to maintain his composure. His eyes squeezed shut, and he turned his head away, a feeble attempt to resist you.  

But you weren’t having that. Your hand shot out, firm but gentle, cupping his chin and turning his face back toward you. His eyes snapped open, dark and hungry, as you reached behind you, unclasping the delicate hook of your bra. The straps slipped from your arms, the fabric discarded behind you without a care.  

Your hands came up, cupping your bare breasts, teasing yourself as his gaze darkened. His restraint frayed before your eyes as his hips bucked up into yours, seeking friction, a desperate need taking over. His jaw tightened, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips, a clear sign of how much he craved you.  

Those should be his hands, not yours.

His hand twitched, reaching out instinctively, but you caught his wrist, guiding it purposefully down your body. Your gaze never wavered from his, locking him in place as you slid his hand beneath the waistband of your underwear. His fingers pressed against the soaked fabric, and his breath hitched when he felt just how wet you were. The slickness coated your plush lips, a testament to how badly you wanted him.  

“Honey…” he warned, his voice shaky and breathless, teetering on the edge of control.  

“Please, Kook,” you whispered, your tone laced with desperation. “Fuck me tonight, or I’ll lose my mind. It’s been weeks. Don’t you miss me as much as I miss you?”  

Your plea hung between you, thick with need and longing. His jaw clenched, and you could see the internal battle playing out in his dark eyes as his fingers twitched against you, his restraint unraveling with each passing second.

How was he supposed to get up and walk away with his cock straining painfully against his sweats, and you like this, laid out before him? His hand was still buried in your underwear, fingers sliding effortlessly over your slick folds, forming a V as they trailed up and found your clit. His jaw clenched at the way your body shuddered beneath his touch, the quiet moan slipping from your lips like a siren’s call.  

And then there was you — your smaller hands kneading your soft, perfect tits, the ones he loved so much, the sight alone nearly undoing him. The way you whimpered, the way your body responded to him, had his restraint crumbling to dust.  

This was it — his breaking point.  

He didn’t care about the fucking challenge anymore. Nothing mattered except you.

It was like a switch flipped inside him. In a sudden, fluid motion, he grabbed your waist, lifting you effortlessly as he laid you down on the couch. His broad frame hovered above you, the way you’d missed for so long. His dark eyes were locked onto yours, blazing with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. 

He didn’t waste time. You were already soaked, your body more than ready for him. No need for extra preparation — he knew he’d slide right in. With one hand, he freed his cock, giving it a few languid strokes, his eyes never leaving yours. He hooked a finger under the edge of your panties, tugging them to the side, baring your pretty, dripping pussy. He couldn’t wait to get inside it. The flushed tip glistened, teasing your entrance for a heartbeat before he pressed forward, the head sinking in.  

A sharp gasp escaped both your lips, the shared sensation so overwhelming it felt as if you were experiencing each other for the first time all over again. Jungkook moved slowly at first, his cock stretching you inch by inch, filling you with deliberate care. His brows furrowed, and his jaw tightened as he savored every moment, every inch of warmth he’d been denying himself for far too long. 

But restraint wasn’t his strong suit tonight. The need coursing through him was too much to bear. His movements quickened, his hips snapping forward with purpose. The wet, obscene sounds of skin meeting skin filled the room as his pelvis slapped against the back of your thighs. The steady rhythm of his thrusts deepened, each one more urgent than the last, driving both of you closer to the edge.

His upper body lifted off of you, and with a swift motion, he pulled his shirt over his head. The sight of his broad, muscular frame sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. He was absolutely stunning, every inch of him on display — his skin glowing under the dim light.  

His arm was covered in intricate tattoos, the ink curling around his bicep like a story you wanted to read. His chest was thick and broad, with a layer of muscle that made your fingers itch to trace every curve. His arms were solid and meaty, a strength you could feel even from just looking at him.  

You couldn’t help yourself. Your hand moved instinctively, running down the defined lines of his chest, your fingers grazing over the hard muscles of his stomach. His abs flexed beneath your touch, tense and firm, the warmth of his skin sending a wave of desire crashing through you. The simple touch made you want more, made you crave everything he had to offer.

But now it was Jungkook's turn to take control. With a swift motion, he caught your wrist, his grip firm as he seized your other arm and pinned it above your head. The dominance in his touch was undeniable, and you knew exactly what that meant. He always did this when he wanted to take over, to remind you who was in charge.  

His hands moved quickly, grabbing one of your legs and effortlessly throwing it over his shoulder. You gasped at the sudden shift, your body bent in half, your chest pressed against him, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. His face hovered just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin as he studied you.  

A small whimper escaped your lips at the stretch, your body not as flexible as you'd like, but that discomfort was fleeting. It quickly morphed into something else — pleasure, intense and consuming — as his brutal thrusts began again, filling you completely.  

He was relentless, each movement pulling another gasp from you. His breath came out in ragged bursts, his voice low and laced with command. "You never listen to me, do you? Huh, you brat?" His words were a breathy growl, like a warning. "Just had to get fucked."

You couldn’t find the words to respond, your mind completely consumed by the overwhelming pleasure. Every inch of your body was alive with sensation, making it impossible to form coherent thoughts. Instead, soft moans and breathless hums spilled from your lips, your chest rising and falling rapidly as his thrusts deepened, each one hitting you harder than the last.  

Your body arched into him instinctively, eager to feel more, to give in to the rhythm he set. The tension was building, spiraling higher and higher with each movement, each sound leaving your mouth a mix of pleasure and need. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but the way he was making you feel, his hands and his body taking you exactly how he wanted.

"You made this so hard for me, baby." His voice was breathless, low and laced with desire as his thrusts didn’t falter. "Can’t resist you. Too fucking pretty to not touch." He spoke as though he couldn’t control himself, his words slipping out between harsh breaths, his hands gripping your body with barely restrained urgency.

“M’already so close, Kook,” you moaned, your voice shaky with the intensity of the pleasure coursing through you. The pressure inside you was building, so close to release, but you needed him to push you over the edge.

“Yeah?” His gaze darkened, his hips snapping into yours with even more force. “Show me. Let me feel you, please.” His words were more than a plea — they were a command, a desperate need for you to let go so he could feel every inch of your pleasure. It’s been so long since he felt you. He wants to feel you. Needs to feel you.

With each punishing thrust, your breasts bounce uncontrollably, catching Jungkook's undivided attention. His hooded eyes are glued to them, pupils blown wide with lust, as if he's seeing something so utterly captivating it leaves him in a trance. The way they move, the way your body responds to him — it’s driving him wild. His tongue flicks over his lips as he lets out a low groan, jaw tightening, the need to mark you overwhelming every coherent thought.  

You gasp sharply, a broken moan escaping your lips as your orgasm slams into you with ferocious intensity. Your body arches off the couch, your hands still pinned above your head as waves of euphoria ripple through you. Your head tilts back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of your neck, and your chest heaves as you ride out the high.  

Jungkook growls when he feels your walls clench down on him, the tight grip almost sending him over the edge. “Oh, yeah,” he rasps, voice rough and deep, his hips grinding against you. “That’s it. Just like that... so fucking good.”  

But he doesn’t slow down. If anything, his pace quickens, the desperate need for his own release taking over. Each thrust is brutal, precise, and deliberate, as if he’s claiming every part of you, chasing that high he knows is just within reach. His grip on your hips is bruising, holding you in place as he slams into you again and again, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room.  

Finally, with a strained groan, he pulls out abruptly, his cock slick and throbbing in his hand. He strokes himself hard, the sight of your trembling, sweat slick body beneath him sending him over the edge. His release comes in hot, thick ropes, splattering across your stomach and tits in messy, deliberate streaks.  

He lets out a guttural moan, chest heaving as he watches his cum paint you like a masterpiece, dripping down your skin in glistening trails. His hand slows, and his eyes never leave the sight of you — glistening, marked, and utterly his.

Once he milks every last drop of his release, he does something that shouldn't be as devastatingly sexy as it is. Leaning down, his gaze locked onto yours with a feral intensity, he drags his tongue in a slow, deliberate stripe up your stomach, collecting his own cum. The heat of his mouth follows, traveling upward until he captures a nipple between his lips, sucking and swirling his tongue with maddening precision.

You giggle, your face flushing with heat as he releases your nipple and makes his way up to your lips. The moment his mouth connects with yours, you taste his cum on his tongue, and you can't help but moan softly into the kiss. He pulls back, resting his head on your chest with a contented sigh.

“Can’t believe you made me lose. I was so close,” he sulks, his voice laced with playful frustration.

“Jimin texted me. He gave in yesterday. You won,” you tease, your fingers softly running through his hair.

His head shoots up quickly, eyes wide like a dog hearing its name. “Seriously?”

You nod, giggling softly at his excitement.

Without warning, he stands up from the couch, pulling you with him. He scoops you up by your thighs, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

You squeal, half-laughing, half-terrified, “What are you doing?!”

“Making up,” he grins, his voice low with promise as he strides toward the bedroom. “I’m gonna fuck you all night.”

The door clicks shut behind you, the remnants of your clothes scattered haphazardly in the living room, and the night unfurls into a whirlwind of heated kisses and passion that sweeps you both away. Jungkook’s teasing words and touch keep you on edge, but it’s the way he makes you feel — desired, cherished, and completely consumed by him — that transforms the night into something unforgettable. 

You knew that this Friendsgiving would be one for the books. Jungkook wasn’t going to let any of the guys forget it. Always the bragger, that one. He’d be sure to shove it in their faces every chance he got.

And he might have won the bet, but it’s you who’s the true victor tonight.

© voyter 2024, all rights reserved.

[chuluoyi]

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒

- sylus x reader

you suspect something’s off when you catch your lover with the hunter girl, so you decide to give him the cold shoulder. his way of winning you back? trapping you in a bet—if he wins this underground fight match, you’re back to being his

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—brief smut, comfort, total fluff, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), based on sylus' card radiant brilliance

note: this has been looong buried in my drafts since before my writer's block started :') again, a part of the assassin!reader that started with strictly (un)professional

Your lover— he is definitely hiding something.

“Mmph!” A moan escaped you mid-kiss as his palm suddenly cupped your right breast, squeezing and stroking it, while two of his left fingers thrusted inside you, getting you wet.

His fevered lips and tongue melded with yours, his wicked fingers driving you to the brink of madness—and oh damn, the devil that possessed them felt so heavenly—as he pressed you against the vanity, bending you over its edge.

A knowing gleam flickered in his eyes. “Mm, you talk too much, woman.”

Your thoughts blurred, teetering on the edge of control, yet deep within, a spark of aggravation incessantly burned, especially when you remembered the person you had caught him manhandling earlier this afternoon—

Miss Hunter.

“Sylus—! Stop!”

"Tch." He pulled away with a hiss as soon as you pushed his chest away with everything you had. Just like that, you were left high and dry; the emptiness his fingers had left behind made you instinctively cross your legs. "Why are you so uncooperative tonight?"

"You—" Gasping for breath, you clutched your slipping nightgown, glaring sharply at him despite the discomfort of the hard surface beneath you. "You really think you can shut me up... with sex?"

"I'm telling you, nothing happened." Sylus’ lips curled with a smug hint of satisfaction, only fueling your irritation. "Didn’t know my woman had such a jealous streak until now."

If there was one thing you’d learned from years by Sylus' side, it was that everything he did had a purpose. If it had been some random bimbo hanging around the casino or his resorts, you wouldn’t bat even an eye.

But this was the Miss Hunter—the very girl he had spent decades searching for, the one with whom he shared a bond so profound that he had forsaken everything just for the chance to find her again.

And compared to her, you were just his bedwarmer... who just happened to catch his eye.

"You two were kissing," you accused almost spitefully, the words laced with bitter edge.

His grin vanished, replaced by a look of distaste. "We were not."

You knew what you saw—he cornered her in the furthermost corner of the base, far away from even from the prying eyes of Luke and Kieran, and they were definitely just an inch away from each other. "Then what were you two doing?"

"Can't we talk just like acquaintances do?" The lack of viable answer gnawed at you. If there was nothing to hide, why didn’t he just say so and put your suspicions to rest?

"Will you do her like you do me?" The venom in your voice startled even you, slipping out before you could stop it. "Ha. I should’ve known..."

By now, he had this sour yet stern look in his face that made you almost shudder but you stood your ground. His tone was almost mocking, "Insecurity makes you so bitter, sweetie. Get yourself together."

It felt like a prick in the heart. Oh. As heartless as you were in the face of blood and gore, you still had it apparently when faced with your lover's conniving red eyes and sinful lips.

But more than that... as they said, heartbreak is one thing, but your ego is another.

"To hell with you!" you snapped, sitting up straight. Sylus blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the look on your face—was it showing the hurt? Or just plain defiance? Even you weren’t sure as you spun on your heel and stormed out of his room promptly.

Not for the first time, the very idea that he might be getting on with another woman twisted something inside you, the ache sharper than you expected. It suddenly saddened you to a degree that it brought mist to your eyes.

For the next three days, you ignored Sylus almost completely. He tried to get back to your good graces, but you paid him no mind, acting as if he didn't exist.

“Missus, please— just say yes!”

And caught in the crossfire, poor Luke and Kieran had become his reluctant messengers.

You unconsciously shot a sharp glare at the twins. Perhaps it was the mental strain you were putting yourself under, but you truly hadn’t meant to scare them more than they already were.

"Boss is really cranky when he isn't in a good mood," Luke pleaded, clasping his hands together. "Please just help us this time, will you?"

"He promises he’ll make it right!" Kieran chimed in with a hopeful grin. "As soon as he wins his match this weekend, you’ll see—there’s nothing to worry about!"

Sylus and his penchant for boxing. You knew these underground matches were something he indulged in now and then, and you'd let him be.

But this time...

"How are you so sure he's going to win?" You lifted your chin, a taunting smirk curling your lips. "And no, I'm not going. Tell him that."

"Missus, you have to see reason— there is no way Boss is having an affair—" Kieran insisted, shaking his head in frustration.

"Boss is whipped!" Luke cut in, throwing his hands up. "For you! Can't you see?!"

"..." For a solid five seconds, silence blanketed the room. You arched an eyebrow so high it made Luke look like he'd just spilled the world’s best-kept secret, while Kieran slapped a hand over his mask in exasperation.

And things were obviously not getting better—

"Ha. I'm what?"

You could see the twins visibly gulping the very second Sylus' voice boomed across the hall, and you rolled your eyes.

"Pfft," he let out this low chuckle as he made his way towards the three of you. "Hear that, sweetie? Luke isn't wrong."

"..."

"The little kitty's anger hasn't subsided, I see," he murmured, tilting his head to the side with a playful smirk, arms folded across his chest. "Such little trust you have in me."

You sighed. "Don't tempt me to hate you prolifically, Sylus."

"You wound me," he retorted, ruby-red eyes narrowed. "I have been nothing but honest and transparent."

You turned away, pressing your lips into a tight line. Deep down, you knew how childish all of this felt. Maybe it was nothing, after all. Maybe, just like he said, it was your insecurity twisting things.

And why are you so insecure, anyway?

"Keep your eyes on me, kitten."

Suddenly, caught off guard, you almost yelped as he tilted your chin towards him, forcing you to meet his gaze. Your heart raced wildly, but you fought to keep it in check.

"I win, and you’ll do what I say," his eyes flicking from yours to your lips, his voice a velvety whisper in your ear. "But if I lose... you can have your way—however you want."

Your pride took over. A second later, you jerked your face away, refusing to give him the satisfaction. To salvage your dignity, you let out an indignant scoff.

"Best hope you lose then."

You’d never been fond of crowds, let alone sitting in the stands of a boxing match.

And yet here you were, clutching a bouquet of fresh flowers—the twins had practically shoved them into your arms before bolting away—surrounded by the deafening roar of fans.

You would punish them later, you so would. It was humid and you were fuming. There was nothing interesting here, and to top it all off, Sylus’ turn to the ring was taking forever.

Until it didn't.

When he finally stepped into the spotlight, you caught sight of him on the big screen. And in that moment—when that devilish smirk curled his lips—you could’ve sworn he wasn’t aiming it at the crowd.

He was throwing it right at your direction.

And oh, how the rapid and traitorous thump-thump-thump inside your chest drowned out everything else, as if the roar of the crowd gradually faded at the realization.

How is it that he always manages to get your heart in his grasp?

. . .

When they said this sport wasn’t for the weak, they weren’t lying. No matter how tough you thought you were, you still flinched every time the opponent’s fist connected with your lover’s jaw.

Despite all the aggravation you harbored about him, watching him stumble and get knocked back felt like a punch to your own gut. In that moment, all you wanted was for it to end.

And when it finally was—when the referee raised Sylus’ arm and declared his victory—you exhaled a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Relief washed over you in a quiet, fleeting wave.

However, reporters and cheers quickly swarmed him, and the distance between you felt even greater then. There he stood, proud as ever, lofty as if standing atop clouds, surveying the world with thinly veiled contempt. Meanwhile, you…

You were still dissatisfied. Sylus had a way of winning everything he set his sights on, while you remained stuck with your own petty grievances and emotional baggage you subjected yourself to.

It was vexing, really. How you wanted him to win and not at the same time. How you wanted his everything and knowing you would never be able to.

“What’s the secret to winning this match?!” one reporter asked, voice brimming with excitement.

Sylus answered with a casual smirk. “I made a bet I absolutely can’t lose,” he said coolly. “So, I won.”

The girls in the stands erupted into deafening cheers at his response, their shrill voices forcing you to cover your ears.

The nerve. You scoffed, irked by his answer and by the crowd’s adoration. You decided you wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of you lingering here any longer.

Snatching up your bag and that damned bouquet, you marched toward the exit with long, determined strides when—

“Ooh? And who is this special person?!”

“Ah, look, there she is.”

You froze mid-step as the spotlight suddenly pinned you in its beam. Whirling around, your breath caught as you saw Sylus descending from the arena, his gaze locked onto yours.

What the hell?

For a moment, you froze in utter disbelief as he approached you with that effortless grace, as if the crowd around him didn’t exist. Before you could piece together your fragmented thoughts, he was already standing before you.

“Are you mad?!” you murmured in a hiss, your voice barely louder than a breath over the distant roar of cheers, yet pointed enough to pierce the air between you.

Sylus, however, only let out a snort, swiftly snatching the bouquet from your arms, and pulling you by the shoulders— his breath tickled you ear as he whispered:

“Got you.”

—and before you could react, he crashed his lips on yours in a bold kiss that at sent the crowd into an instant uproar of cheers.

“Whoa, whoa! The champion! Look how manly he is!”

“He has a girlfriend?!”

“Oh, my! To be that girl!”

“—!” You almost pushed him away, only to falter when you realized his kiss was anything but forceful. It was deep but disarmingly gentle.

Sylus pulled back just as quickly, his eyes twinkled with mischief as he took in your stunned expression.

“You’re mine now, sweetie,” he said with a smug grin, giving you a light pat in the head.

The way his eyes crinkle as he looks at you... Your cheeks burned, and your heart thundered in your chest, drowning the roars of the swooning crowd—

Because in that moment, you could’ve sworn there was nothing but pure adoration in those mesmerizing garnet eyes of his.

“You've gone and done it... What if anyone recognizes us?”

Later that night, freshly showered and wrapped in silk nightgowns, you sat at the edge of the bed, towel in hand as you dried your wet hair. You cast a glance at Sylus, who had just bathed with you and now lounged nearby with an unbothered grin.

The events from this afternoon still felt like somewhat of a dream to you. You had never been under that much of a spotlight before— too used to a life shrouded in shadows, quietly biding your time, preparing to brandish your blade when the moment came.

But through Sylus, every now and then, you caught a glimpse of what it felt like to stand on the other side of that darkness. And it felt freeing— like you could finally breathe, unburdened by the scent of blood and gunpowder.

"Wouldn't that be fun? Imagine the headlines," he shrugged nonchalantly. "The Onychinus leader and his missus... masquerading as a boxer and his fan for a day."

You huffed, shooting him a stink eye. "That's not even funny."

Despite the public display that Sylus had more or less pulled and made the two of you known as lovers even in underground world, there was still a gnawing curiosity at the back of your mind, feeding your insecurity—

The sight of him and Miss Hunter replayed again in your mind's eye. It was never fun finding them together in such close proximity.

And yet, in the end... he returned to you, still. Unspoken it may be, but Sylus had always taken your side so far.

You let out a long, resigned sigh. That caught his attention as he turned to you. "What is it?"

"Nothing," you quipped, slightly grimacing. "Forget it. I'm going to sleep."

Sylus raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on you. Even when you hid it, he knew what you'd wanted to ask and if you asked it now, he would tell you.

The way your face had fallen bothered him more than he'd like to admit. He rose from the recliner and moved to your side. "No, you won't be sleeping."

"What?"

He knelt beside you, gently taking hold of your leg, and pressed a kiss to your calf, his touch warm and unhurried as he met your gaze with a sly smile.

"Sylus..." you eyed him with incredulity, feeling yourself getting warm.

His red eyes crinkled. "Don't you want to ask me something?"

Your hand reached out to caress his face, and he leaned into your touch. That simple act alone brought a small, intrigued smile to your face. "No."

"Hmph. Really?"

"What?" You traced your fingers on his sharp jaw, admiring it. "You think I'll demand you for answers about whether you're two-timing me with Miss Hunter again?"

Sylus tilted his head, relishing the way your fingers cradled his face, staying quiet, however.

You were really great at this pushing and pulling game. It irked him to see how detached you seemed now when he knew a part of you had been fazed by it days ago.

He disliked it when you tried to hide what you were feeling. He hated it even more when you doubted him for anything. But seeing how unhappy you had been lately rattled him.

"Nothing happened," he said in a low voice, catching your hand and locking eyes with you. "Would you feel better if I had told you that since the beginning?"

"Who knows?" you replied with a soft shrug, a wry smile on your lips. "You didn't tell me before."

What a vixen. The thought simmered in his mind. Mine, though.

Like a cat pouncing on its owner, Sylus suddenly moved, going straight for your lips and pinning you to the bed. Intertwining his fingers with yours, he pried your lips open with his tongue.

Yet despite it all, you felt how gentle he was. The Sylus from before would just fuck you senseless and be done with it, but the one with you now... he treated you with an unexpected tenderness, as if savoring every second with you.

He pulled away only when you were breathless, the saliva string between your lips breaking as he gave you a moment to gasp for air. His gaze softened, lingering on your flushed face, a satisfied smile curling on his lips.

"You will see for yourself tomorrow. Tonight, however..." he trailed off, his lips hovering just above yours.

But you placed one hand on his chest and another on his neck, looking up at him with bleary eyes, the vulnerability in your gaze tugging at something within him.

"Actually, I'm a bit exhausted..." You found his intense gaze and blinked slowly. "So, can you be not as rough?"

"Ha." Sylus let out a snicker at your request, taking the hand you had on his chest and pressing a soft kiss on it.

What a precious little thing you are. Your face right now... It was a look he couldn’t resist, one that made him want to protect you and ruin you, all at once.

His smirk lingered. "Of course, sweetie. I'll go easy on you tonight."

And true to his word, he didn't break his promise.

Even as he pinned both your wrists above your head, capturing your lips in a heated kiss—

—as he dived between your legs, his tongue skillfully devouring your clit—

—and as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

And later, when he pulled you into his arms and murmured softly until you drifted to sleep.

When you woke up the next morning, it was because of two things.

One— it was freezing. Your thin nightgown was definitely no match against the biting chill of a winter morning.

And two— Sylus wasn't here.

You wondered where he could have gone as it was his bedtime, but as you pulled the comforter closer to keep yourself from shivering, something caught your eye.

It took you a full three seconds to process it.

There was a ring on your finger.

"Huh...?" You were jolted awake by the sight of the glittering ruby. It was intricate, yet strangely nostalgic, reminding you of Sylus' eyes. How? Why?

You immediately turned to the nightstand, your gaze landing on a small jewelry box sitting neatly atop it. You scrambled for it, the name of the jeweler embossed on the lid caught your attention. It wasn’t from anywhere in N109 Zone.

It clicked to you at all once. So, that was why he was with Miss Hunter?

But more than that, what caught your heart was when you flipped it open and found a note inside, with a scrawled handwriting you would never mistake for anyone else's—

Because forever is too long and boring to be spent alone. So, your answer is…?

[neroushalvaus]

Tumblr in the 60s

☮ monkeewholock follow

🎉🎉CONGRATULATIONS UNITED KINGDOM 🎊🎊🎉🎉🎉🎉BYE BYE GROSS INDECENCY!!!!🌈🌈🌈 62 countries have now legalized sexual activities between men🌈🌈🌈

🐞 homophilespock follow

SPIRK CAN FINALLY FUCK

🚀 starrfleet follow

They are American, not British... But I'm pretty sure spirk has always been able to fuck since the show is set in the future.

📻 lesbianbobdylan follow

Christ, this is not about your cutesy uwu yaoi otp, go outside and smoke some grass

10,8 t. notes

🌻 flowerpower follow

Politicians are not your friends but damn Kennedy is fine, I look at one (1) picture of him and my head literally explodes

🌻 flowerpower follow

...i just woke up, why is my askbox full

🌻 flowerpower follow

WHY IS HE TRENDING I'M SCARED

🌻 flowerpower follow

guys stop reblogging this it's been like five years i've changed

290,9 t. notes

🎹 nixonsafascist follow

do you think they call him little richard because he has a little. Richard

🎹 nixonsafascist follow

easy website

58,1 t. notes

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial follow

Being the only lesbian in your friend group sucks so bad. "beatles or stones??" i will kill you

🗣 lavendermenaceisreal-deactivated72537262

Disrespecting female social groups for male validation? Typical lesbian behaviour.

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial follow

Mike Jacker isnt gonna fuck you

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial follow

Oh no I think she couldn't handle that

77 notes

✌ draftdodgerdyke

DM me for the addresses of my Swedish and Canadian friends. Do not put your personal information in the reblogs.

🙍‍♀️ silvermilk follow

You should be ashamed of yourself.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

huh??

🙍‍♀️ silvermilk follow

I said, you should be ashamed of yourself. You disgust me. I assure you, when the commies attack us, you will not find your silly little post "groovy" anymore.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

Jesus, don't flip your wig

🙍‍♀️ silvermilk follow

My father fought in ww2 for you ungrateful degenerate.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

Don't see what your daddy's unsexiness has to do with me and my lads taking a sexy sexy trip to Sweden.

#anyway only hot guys dodge the draft

587 notes

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians follow

in every interview i watch of the beatles they are so DONE and trolling everybody, these fucking annoying BITCHES, i need them inside me so badly

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians follow

#this but not john lennon #i just can't forget the heinous things he said about jesus

idk I actually think it was very sexy of him, stop trying to cancel john in my post

✝️ jesusrevolution follow

The reading comprehension on this website is piss poor. John literally didn't mean he was greater than Jesus or better than Jesus, he was just trying to make a point about the world becoming more secular. Cancel culture has gone too far.

🚷 to-hell-with-the-beatles follow

How dare you say we piss on the poor?? Jesus died for Mr Lennon's sins and it's not "cancelling" to send him a few respectably worded death threats to remind him of that. He cancelled our Lord first!

✝️ jesusrevolution follow

Girl Jesus literally said it's cool, I dropped acid yesterday and saw Him and He told me.

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians follow

help the girls (christians) are fighting in my beatles thirst post

6,008 notes

🛼 donovandyke follow

I will be glued to the tv today. If you don't want to hear about it, just blacklist #moonlanding !!

0 notes

🗣 claudeberger4ever-deactivated98975287

Hi I'm new to the Hair musical fandom so I'm not super invested in the whole discourse, but I just felt like this needed to be said: Friendly reminder that not being against the war in Vietnam does not make you a bad person!

🥁 ringoforpresident follow

it literally does tho

✌ draftdodgerdyke

Another win for us hot guys

17,2 t. notes

[surgepricing]

I think about Azula shooters often and their common refrain of "if Azula hadn't had a mental breakdown, she would've won" and I'm here to tell you that no, she wouldn't have.

There is no universe in which Azula was winning that fight with Zuko (or Katara, for that matter).

Azula spent so much of Book 2 being built up as this deadly terrifying force against whom the heroes are badly outmatched that it can be difficult to catch exactly how quickly Zuko is advancing.

Back up a bit to Book One. For the fearsome exiled crown prince of the Fire Nation, Zuko's not that impressive a firebender. He's not bad by any stretch, and he's able to lay the untrained Sokka and Katara flat pretty easily. Then he gets in the ring with Aang, who is an airbending master, and the difference between a regular bender and a master becomes apparent when Aang literally puts his ass to bed:

People have attributed this to the fact that no one's fought an airbender in 100 years, but I think it's also worth noting that Aang (a 12 year old from a pacifist nation) has probably never fought anyone before. Like, ever. And yet the second Aang thinks "okay, I'll attack back", the fight's over.

Zuko's got the same genetic predisposition for firebending talent that Azula does, yet it never seems to manifest because of his mental blocks. At the beginning of the series, he's already so beat down that all he really has is conviction, pride, and anger, so even with training from Iroh (the firebending master, thank you very much), he struggles. Yet throughout Book 2, when he has no time to train because he's on the run, he actually seems to advance faster. The fact that his bending is literally tied to his character arc (as his morals become tangled and he has to fight off aforementioned mental blocks) is pretty brilliant. Like, by the time of the Crossroads of Destiny, Zuko getting his ass handed to him by Aang is a pretty consistent feature of the show--he just can't match wits with him.

Hell, at the beginning of the series, he and Iroh (again: the actual firebending master) launch a combined power surface-to-air attack...which Aang casually swats away into a nearby ice wall. Come the Crossroads of Destiny, however, and Zuko by himself launches this bigass fireball that blows through Aang's defenses.

Zuko advances so quickly that it's scary. That prodigious talent is in him even if it doesn't come through as cleanly as with Azula. Who, by the way, was busy about to get flattened by Katara some few dozen feet away, until Zuko took over and then effectively stalemated her himself.

All of this in retrospect makes it abundantly clear why Zuko's firebending seemed to skyrocket so much when he learned true firebending from the Sun Warriors: it was really the only thing left. He's hard a hard road learning how to fight waterbenders, earthbenders, and airbenders, and even if unconsciously, he's applying the philosophy Iroh taught him about augmenting his bending style with aspects of other styles (see also, the waterbending-like fire whips he uses in the above gif). Once he actually understands fire and how it works, he's got it mastered. Hence why any gap between him and Azula effectively disappears as soon as their next fight--before her friends have betrayed her and her stability goes out the window. There's no real sense of urgency to their fight at the Boiling Rock prison. True, Sokka's presence with the sword helps, but Zuko doesn't look remotely worried and he counters Azula's every attack perfectly.

All her life, Azula only ever learned fire. She was taught by the best people the fire nation can employ, so she knows all the cool tricks, but she's still poisoned by the corrupted firebending practiced in the modern ATLA timeline. Unlike Zuko, who managed to get the basics if nothing else from Iroh (fire comes from the breath, and can be used to survive as much as to kill), Azula has always used fire as a weapon and a means to hurt others. She has no true knowledge of the craft, meaning she's got the same weaknesses as Zhao, she's just better disciplined to the point she can make up for it.

Zuko's victory was a given considering Azula's complete loss of control by the time of Sozin's comet, but even had she been in a perfect mental state, she'd have lost, because in many ways Zuko is simply the better firebender.

And that's the truth of it.

[pucksandpower]

Fourth Time’s the Charm

Max Verstappen x Norris!Reader

Summary: it starts, as all the best things do, with a bet (“If I win the race tomorrow and take the championship, you owe me a favor. Anything I want.”)

Note: thank you so much to @altxanna for the fantastic idea

The lights of the Las Vegas strip pulse outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of Max’s penthouse, but neither of you cares. You’re both tangled up in each other under the covers, limbs lazily draped and intertwined. The TV is playing some action movie you both stopped paying attention to an hour ago, the volume low, serving as nothing more than background noise.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you say, your voice soft as you trace a finger along Max’s arm, admiring the way his muscles shift beneath his skin.

“Just thinking,” he murmurs, resting his head against the pillow. His accent wraps around the words in a way that feels so familiar it’s comforting.

“About the race?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Max turns his head to look at you, his blue eyes catching the dim light from the window. “What else would I be thinking about?”

You hum, tilting your head in mock thought. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe about how your girlfriend is ridiculously good-looking? Or how lucky you are to have me?”

His lips quirk into a smile, the kind that’s as much in his eyes as it is on his face. “You’re right. I should focus on what really matters.” He shifts slightly, leaning closer to you. “You’re ridiculously good-looking, and I’m very lucky.”

You laugh and shove his shoulder lightly. “That’s better.”

He catches your hand before you can pull it away, his fingers lacing with yours. His expression grows more serious as he says, “But yes, I’m thinking about the race. I’m thinking about winning.”

You roll your eyes at the sheer confidence in his tone. “You think you’re going to win.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Think? I know I’m going to win. You don’t believe in me?”

“Oh, I believe in you,” you say, smirking. “I just also believe in my brother. And if Lando finishes ahead of you, the title fight goes to Qatar.”

He groans dramatically, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “Don’t remind me. The idea of dragging this out another week …”

“What, scared Lando might pull it off?”

He narrows his eyes at you, feigning offense. “Scared? Me? No. I’m just saying it would be … inconvenient.”

“Uh-huh.” You grin, shifting onto your side to face him fully. “I don’t know, Max. Lando’s been looking pretty good lately. He might surprise you tomorrow.”

Max’s hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re really going to sit here, in my bed, and tell me your brother is going to beat me?”

“I’m just saying it’s possible,” you tease.

He shakes his head, but there’s a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Alright, then. If you’re so confident, let’s make it interesting.”

Your eyebrows lift. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

“A bet,” he says simply.

You prop yourself up on your elbow, intrigued. “A bet?”

Max nods, his smirk growing. “If I win the race tomorrow and take the championship, you owe me a favor. Anything I want.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

You consider it for a moment, then ask, “And if Lando finishes ahead of you?”

“Then you get a favor. Anything you want.”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling too broadly. “You really think you’re that unbeatable, huh?”

“I know I am,” he says, his confidence practically radiating off him.

“Alright, Verstappen,” you say, holding out your hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

He clasps your hand in his, his grip firm but warm. “Deal.”

You let your hand linger in his for a moment before pulling it away. “So, what’s this big favor you’re going to ask for if you win?”

He leans back against the pillows, his smirk turning devilish. “You’ll find out when I win.”

“If you win,” you correct, lying back down beside him.

“I’ll win,” he says confidently, his voice low as his hand trails down your back.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he says, pulling you closer until your head rests against his chest.

You can hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and for a moment, the room falls quiet. It’s peaceful in a way you don’t get to experience often, and you savor it.

“You know,” you say after a while, your voice quiet, “if Lando does win tomorrow, it’s not because you’re not good enough. He’s just …”

“Your brother?” Max finishes, his tone teasing.

You laugh softly. “Yeah, that too. But he’s been working so hard for this, Max. You both have. It’s … complicated.”

He runs a hand through your hair, his touch gentle. “I know. But on the track, it’s not complicated. It’s just me, the car, and the finish line. No brothers, no girlfriends. Just racing.”

You tilt your head to look up at him. “And what about after the race?”

“After the race …” He pauses, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “After the race, I’m just me. And you’re just you. That doesn’t change, no matter what.”

You don’t respond right away, letting his words sink in. Then, with a small smile, you say, “You’re really not scared at all, are you?”

“Of Lando? No,” he says, his voice light. “Of you? A little.”

You laugh, shoving him lightly. “Good. You should be.”

He catches your hand again, this time pressing a kiss to your palm. “I’ll remember that.”

You let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing against his. “You’d better get some sleep, Verstappen. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

He hums in agreement, but instead of pulling away, he leans in, pressing his lips to your neck. “One more kiss,” he murmurs against your skin.

You close your eyes, your breath hitching slightly. “Just one?”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his smirk returning. “Maybe two.”

You shake your head, laughing softly as he pulls you back under the covers.

And for now, the world outside doesn’t matter.

***

The final lap of the Las Vegas Grand Prix feels endless. The crowd’s roar grows louder with every corner, drowning out even the hum of the engines. Your hands are clammy as you grip the edge of your seat in the Red Bull garage, your eyes glued to the screen. Max’s car slices through the neon-lit streets of Vegas, and Lando is right behind him.

It’s close. Too close.

“Come on, Lando,” you mutter under your breath, though your heart isn’t entirely in it.

Max is P5. Lando is P6. A single position apart. If it stays this way, the championship is Max’s.

You’re not sure who you’re rooting for anymore.

The chequered flag waves as Max crosses the line, and your both heart drops and soars. P5. It’s done.

“MAX VERSTAPPEN, YOU ARE THE 2024 WORLD CHAMPION!” GP’s voice explodes over the team radio, his excitement nearly incomprehensible.

Max’s laughter comes through the speakers, unrestrained and wild. It’s a sound you know all too well — relief, joy, triumph all rolled into one.

“Yessss!” Max shouts. “That was incredible! Thank you so much for this season!”

You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips, even as the realization sinks in. He won. He really won.

The camera cuts to the Red Bull garage, where the team is in chaos — cheers, hugs, champagne spraying already. Christian adjusts his headset, leaning in to speak.

“Max, congratulations, mate. What an unbelievable season. You’ve done it again.”

“Thanks, Christian. Four in a row — unreal.”

You watch the screen as Max’s car slows on the cooldown lap, weaving slightly in celebration. You know him well enough to see it, even through the helmet — the ease in his shoulders, the grin he must be wearing.

Then his voice cuts through the radio again, this time steadier, more purposeful.

“And just so you know, I’m calling in my favor now.”

Christian’s confused laugh is audible even through the crackling radio. “Your favor? What are you talking about?”

You freeze, the air catching in your lungs.

Max chuckles, low and mischievous. “I had a bet with my girlfriend. I told her I’d win tonight. She owes me a favor, and I know exactly what I want.”

Your stomach flips, a mixture of dread and anticipation.

GP’s voice comes through, confused but amused. “Are we supposed to know what this favor is?”

“No, no,” Max says, his tone casual but firm. “But you’ll find out soon enough.”

Christian presses again, trying to pry it out of him. “Come on, Max. What’s the favor?”

There’s a pause, the kind that feels deliberate, like Max is savoring the moment.

“I want to marry her. Tonight. Right here in Vegas.”

The words hit you like a bolt of lightning, your pulse racing.

GP bursts out laughing. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Max replies, his voice steady, no hint of hesitation.

You sit frozen, your heart thundering in your chest. Did he just-

“Max,” Christian says, a mixture of disbelief and laughter in his tone, “does she even know about this?”

“She does now,” Max says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

The team radio falls silent for a moment, and the TV commentary fills the void as the podium finishers begin to line up. But you barely register any of it.

Max is proposing. No — not proposing. Declaring.

The camera pans to his car as he pulls into parc fermé, the four-time World Champion. The team swarms him, pulling him from the car, hoisting him into the air. The crowd’s cheers are deafening, but all you can think about is his voice in your head.

“I want to marry her. Tonight.”

You barely notice when someone taps your shoulder, Max’s PR officer. “You should get down to the celebrations,” she says, her voice brimming with excitement. “He’ll want you there.”

Your legs feel like jelly as you stand, weaving through the sea of Red Bull personnel to get to the barriers.

***

When you finally see him, his helmet is off, his face flushed from the race and grinning so wide it’s like he’s glowing. He spots you instantly, cutting through the crowd like no one else exists.

“Max,” you start, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“You heard me,” he says, his voice low but firm, his eyes locked on yours. “I want to marry you tonight.”

You stare at him, still trying to catch up. “You’re insane.”

He steps closer, his hand finding yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Probably. But I’m serious.”

“Max, you just won a world championship,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re supposed to be celebrating, not-”

“I am celebrating,” he interrupts, his voice softening. “With you. And I don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve known for years that I want you. Why wait?”

Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest. “This is insane. People don’t just get married in Vegas on a whim.”

He tilts his head, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “People do it all the time, actually.”

“Max-”

“I love you,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “I love you, and I want to start the rest of my life with you. Tonight. Right now.”

You can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you — the team, the media, everyone waiting for your reaction. But in this moment, it’s just the two of you.

“Say yes,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. “Say yes, and let me win you, too.”

You laugh, a shaky, breathless sound that comes out more like a sob. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

You take a deep breath, your hand tightening around his. “Fine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

The smile that breaks across his face is pure joy, unfiltered and blinding. He pulls you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as the team around you erupts into cheers.

“Alright, Verstappen,” you say, laughing as he spins you. “You’ve got your favor. Let’s get married.”

***

The wedding chapel is everything you expected it to be: over-the-top, tacky in the most endearing way, and bathed in flickering neon lights. A bright red Cadillac is parked out front, its headlights beaming into the frigid Vegas night. Inside, the carpet is a deep, gaudy red, and plastic flowers line the aisle. The faint smell of cigarettes lingers in the air, clinging to the cheap velvet curtains.

It’s surreal, to say the least.

“This is insane,” you mumble, standing in a side room with Lando, who’s staring at you like he’s still trying to process what’s happening.

“You think this is insane?” He replies, pointing vaguely toward the chapel. “What about the fact that you’re marrying Max Verstappen in a Vegas chapel at 3 a.m. with a guy dressed as Elvis officiating?”

You groan, adjusting the makeshift bouquet of roses someone from the Red Bull team had pulled together. “Don’t remind me.”

Lando smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t think I have to. This is going to live in my head rent-free for the rest of my life.”

You shoot him a look. “You don’t have to be here, you know.”

“Are you kidding?” He folds his arms, the grin never leaving his face. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything. Besides, who else is going to walk you down the aisle?”

Your stomach flips at the thought. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Lando softens a little, stepping closer. “Hey,” he says, his voice quieter now, “you sure about this? I mean, it’s Max. And Vegas. And Elvis.”

You bite your lip, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I’m sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, meeting his eyes. “I love him, Lando. He’s ridiculous, and he drives me insane, but I love him.”

Lando watches you for a moment, then sighs dramatically. “Well, I guess if anyone’s crazy enough to keep up with Max, it’s you.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say dryly, but your smile betrays you.

There’s a knock on the door, and one of the chapel staff pokes their head in. “We’re ready for you.”

Your heart leaps into your throat.

Lando claps his hands together, his grin back in full force. “Alright, let’s do this.”

***

The chapel is even more ridiculous than you’d imagined. A man dressed as Elvis stands at the altar, adjusting his oversized sunglasses and strumming a guitar idly as he waits. Max is already there, looking completely at ease, as if this is just another podium ceremony.

When he sees you, his face lights up, and any lingering nerves you had melt away.

“You ready?” Lando whispers, offering his arm.

“As I’ll ever be,” you whisper back, looping your arm through his.

The music starts — a surprisingly heartfelt rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” sung by Elvis — and you can’t help but laugh under your breath.

“You’re walking down the aisle to Elvis,” Lando says, shaking his head. “Unreal.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, though you’re smiling.

The walk feels like it takes forever and no time at all. Max’s gaze is fixed on you the entire time, his expression soft and unguarded in a way you don’t see often. By the time you reach him, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Lando hands you off with an exaggerated sigh. “Take care of her. She’s the only one who can put up with you.”

“Don’t worry,” Max says, smirking as he shakes Lando’s hand. “I plan to.”

Lando steps back, but not before whispering, “If you hurt her, I’ll crash you out next season.”

Max laughs, then turns back to you, his hands finding yours.

“You look amazing,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“I look ridiculous,” you whisper back.

His grin widens. “Even better.”

Elvis clears his throat, drawing your attention. “Alright, folks, let’s get this show on the road!”

The ceremony is exactly as absurd as you’d expected, and yet somehow, it feels perfect.

“Dearly beloved,” Elvis begins, his voice smooth and practiced, “we are gathered here tonight to witness the union of Max and …” He pauses, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

You realize no one ever told him your name.

“Uh,” you startle back to reality for a moment, “Y/N.”

“Max and Y/N,” Elvis continues smoothly, as if this sort of thing happens all the time.

He launches into the ceremony, peppering in car-themed metaphors and Elvis song references.

“Marriage,” he says at one point, “is a lot like a road trip. Sometimes it’s smooth sailing, sometimes you hit a few potholes, but as long as you’ve got each other, you’ll always find your way back to Graceland.”

You glance at Max, who’s barely holding back a laugh.

“Are you laughing at our wedding vows?” You whisper.

“I’m laughing at the potholes,” he whispers back.

Elvis continues, undeterred.

When it’s time for the personal vows, Max surprises you.

“I know this is all … unconventional,” he says, his hands still holding yours. “But that’s us, isn’t it? Unconventional. From the first time we met, I knew you were different. You don’t just keep up with me; you challenge me. You push me to be better, on and off the track. And you put up with all my nonsense, which is honestly impressive.”

You laugh, tears stinging your eyes.

“I promise to always be your biggest fan, even when you’re cheering for your brother,” Max continues, his voice softer now. “I promise to always fight for you, always support you, and always love you, no matter how crazy life gets.”

You’re not sure when the tears started falling, but they’re there, hot and fast.

“Your turn,” Elvis says, nodding at you.

You take a shaky breath, your voice trembling. “Max, you drive me crazy. You’re stubborn, competitive, and impossible to argue with. But you’re also kind, loyal, and the most passionate person I’ve ever met. You make me laugh when I don’t want to, and you make me believe in things I never thought I could.”

His eyes soften, and you squeeze his hands tighter.

“I promise to always stand by your side, even when you’re impossible. I promise to love you, challenge you, and never let you win a bet without a fight.”

Max grins, and the rest of the room seems to fade away.

When Elvis finally declares you husband and wife, it feels like the world stops.

“You may now kiss your bride,” he says with a flourish.

Max doesn’t hesitate, pulling you close and kissing you like the world outside doesn’t exist. The room erupts into cheers, Lando’s voice loudest among them.

When you finally pull away, Max leans his forehead against yours, his voice barely a whisper.

“We did it.”

You smile, your hands resting on his chest. “Yeah. We did.”

And just like that, Max Verstappen is your husband.

***

The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughter, chaos, and an overwhelming sense of unreality. The “reception” is cobbled together on the fly, with Red Bull team members and an assortment of drivers spilling out of limos and taxis into a nearby lounge they commandeer for the celebration.

Max stays close to you the entire time, his hand resting on your lower back or entwined with yours. Every time you glance at him, he’s already looking at you, his expression so full of love it makes your chest ache.

Eventually, you both slip away from the commotion, winding your way back to Max’s penthouse. The city hums below, the neon lights still pulsing with energy, but inside, everything feels quiet. Peaceful.

You’re curled up together in bed, the chaos of the night left behind, when Max finally speaks. “So,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence, “are you going to tell me what your favor would’ve been if you had won the bet?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t think you’re ready for that, Verstappen.”

His brows lift, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, now you have to tell me.”

You tilt your head, feigning deep thought. “Well, it would’ve been something big. Something life-changing.”

His grin widens, and he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Life-changing, huh? What, were you going to make me switch teams? Retire early?”

You smirk, letting the pause hang in the air just long enough for him to grow impatient. “A ring.”

Max blinks, caught off guard for a split second. “A ring?”

“Mm-hmm.” You trace lazy circles on his chest, pretending not to notice his stunned expression. “I was going to ask for a ring. But you, being Max Verstappen, had to be a few laps ahead and beat me to it. Like usual.”

His laughter bursts out, warm and unrestrained. “You’re telling me you were going to propose to me?”

You shrug, unable to keep the playful smile off your face. “What can I say? I wanted to beat you at your own game.”

Max shifts onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you fully. His grin is impossibly wide, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement and something deeper. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You married me,” you point out, grinning back.

“I did,” he agrees, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “And I’d do it again. But I have to say, I think I prefer this version. Me proposing. You saying yes. Vegas. Elvis.”

You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.” He’s still smiling, but his voice softens, turning serious. “I love you, you know. And I don’t care if it’s Vegas or a ten-minute ceremony or some ridiculous bet. This — us — feels right. It always has.”

Your teasing expression falters, replaced by something softer. “I love you, too. Even if you are insufferable.”

He chuckles, pulling you closer. “Insufferable and married. To you. Forever.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Forever, huh?”

“Forever,” he repeats firmly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And just for the record, I would’ve said yes if you’d proposed first.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His lips brush against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m glad I won this time.”

You laugh against his mouth, your arms winding around his neck as you pull him closer. “Don’t get used to it, Verstappen.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mrs. Verstappen.”

The name catches you off guard, and your heart stutters in your chest. Mrs. Verstappen. It’s ridiculous and perfect and makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“You like that?” He asks, clearly noticing your reaction.

You bite your lip, nodding. “I think I could get used to it.”

His grin returns, smug and full of mischief. “Good. Because you don’t have a choice now.”

You shake your head, laughing as you lean into him, letting the weight of the night settle around you. The city lights outside keep shining, the noise of Las Vegas carrying on far below, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you.

And that’s all that matters.

[logaenhowlett]

TEACH YOU HOW TO GET TO PUREST HELL - L.H.

Summary: On the way to one of his cage fights, Logan's truck begins to break down and that's how he meets you, the owner of a repair shop in Northern Alberta. He promises to pay you with his winnings - but what he ultimately offers is far more interesting.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+ only, Fluff, Flirting, Dirty talk, Praise kink, Fingering, Unprotected sex (against the cage), Aftercare, Logan's a snarky motherfucker (but secretly a softie)

A/N: The filthiest 4k I've ever written. I just know he was a menace during his cage fighter era. It's okay though, I'll still be clawing at the enclosure. Title creds to Radiohead. Hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Smoke curls around him, bearing a semblance of warmth against the biting wind. Logan's grip on the steering wheel is loose, the other arm draped lazily across the window. He flicks his fingertips ever so often, the ashes of his cigar disappearing into the falling snow. Mile after mile, the same barren landscape stretches before him.

He's lost amidst the silence, having turned the radio all the way down in frustration at the nonsense plaguing the stations earlier. As sunshine glares through the windshield, he scrunches his eyebrows, vaguely entertaining some ideas swirling in his mind.

Hours pass by painfully slow. He tries to ignore the low rumbling that interrupts his flow of thoughts, body firmly protesting against this all-alcohol diet he'd unintentionally adopted. Logan skims a hand into the glove compartment, clicking his tongue when he discovers only a few wrappers lying inside. Slumping back into the seat, he takes another drag, disappointment etching onto his features.

An orange, flashing icon on the dashboard snaps his attention. His eyes dart to the blinking light, a sense of irritation washing over him when he recognises the ‘check engine’ symbol. In a haste, he pulls the truck over, slamming the door shut behind him as he ventures into the cold to inspect the issue. Though he has an extensive knowledge of motorcycles, by no means does that expertise carry over to whatever mess he finds beneath the hood. Logan returns with a sigh, recalling a faded road sign he'd passed ages ago - at least he isn't awfully far from his destination.

In the distance, the town welcome monument brings him some sort of peace. After driving by plenty of dimly lit diners and pubs, he reluctantly asks a stranger for directions to the nearest repair shop. Logan arrives shortly thereafter, parking at the entrance of this seemingly empty building. Curious, he scans the place, sliding out of his seat in search of anyone.

The distinct ring of metal hitting the floor has him spinning around. He fights back the amused huff at the sight of you, bottom lip slightly caught between his teeth in an attempt to stop the smirk threatening to break free. His eyes rake over your figure as you come closer - appreciating the way your overalls perfectly capture the slopes and curves of your body - before finally, rising to meet your unimpressed expression.

"What're you here for?"

There's a smidge of annoyance in your words, a reaction he very much enjoys being the reason for. He nods towards the truck parked out front, "Problem with the engine."

When you brush past him, Logan spots a name neatly embroidered onto your otherwise soiled clothes. Smiling, he follows after you, shamelessly dropping his gaze to your ass for a moment.

Waiting patiently while you poke around the hood, he steals glances at your profile, filled with the sudden urge to wipe away the grease stain remnants off your cheeks, "Yeah... looks like the head gasket needs replacing."

Logan groans to himself before agreeing with your judgment. He runs a hand across his face, stilling in brief confusion when you chuckle quietly.

"Somethin' funny?" He asks, noting how you browse the insides of his camper with a flair of barely-masked mockery.

"Just admiring the interior design."

That one almost draws a scoff out of him. Logan knows his living quarters are rather bare-bones in nature, at best, providing decent shelter for when he's on the go. Inside, a makeshift bed large enough for a man of his size and basic kitchen appliances - though he rarely uses those. It's all he cares for anyway, yet there's a tinge of self-consciousness he shakes before gruffly responding, "You can do it by tonight?"

"Tonight?" Your eyebrows raise in surprise, "Fine... but it's gonna set you back about three grand."

"I got half for now."

A sharp laugh pierces his ears. And even though it's undoubtedly fake, he thinks you look pretty like this - shooting what can't be anything less than a deadly glare just for him. The corners of his lips tilt up when your tone suddenly becomes stern, "That's not how it works, buddy."

"Listen, I got a fight later, I'll be good for it."

"What? You that sure you're gonna win?"

You're teasing him. You know it, and so does he. Logan studies the way your hand rests against your hip, a challenging glint behind your eyes while you consider this ridiculous suggestion. He moves one step closer and proudly welcomes the surge of satisfaction at the slight crack of your demeanour.

"Darlin', I always win." It's a whisper that leaves him, hushed and dangerously low. Giving your shoulder a playful nudge as he walks by, he circles to the trailer behind the truck, retrieving his motorcycle. He smirks, pleased to witness such a glimpse of weakness, "Eleven-thirty. O'Malley's. I'll see you there."

The engine revs with each twist of his wrist, the movement so precise and natural. As he sinks onto the bike, the suspension adjusting to his weight, he sends you a wink.

"And if you lose?" You shout over the blaring sounds.

With one final grin, "Just fix my truck, alright."

Even from outside, O'Malley's is deafeningly loud. The wooden door creaks lightly with the gentlest push, and a mixture of overly enthusiastic yells paired with the clashing of glass greet your presence. You're no regular here whatsoever, but the fights that occur in this bar are usually the talk of the town. And despite its reputation, you've never had much interest in being surrounded by a crowd of angry, intoxicated men - all drowning beneath the crude insults and empty threats tossed into the air.

Some of the patrons, customers you recognise from work, acknowledge you with a polite smile while you settle into a booth near the cage. As you observe the utter chaos around the room, it only cements your distaste for this so-called form of entertainment. The current match's loser staggers past your table, barely walking on two feet even with the support of his friends.

All you can think about is returning home with your hard-earned cash. It was a rather tiring day, running around salvage yards scouring for spare parts to tend to the old piece of junk he'd called a truck. Not to mention the unforgiving weather, which seemed determined to make your day more miserable. And to top it all off, the jerk wanted it done by nightfall - the audacity! Just the simple reminder of today's events has your body tensing from restlessness.

Behind you, a group of men sneer amongst themselves and between their slurring, the words "pretty boy" and "his ass kicked" grasp your attention. Turning around, you watch as they hand over money to some younger fella, taunting others to join the bet. Oh, that makes your blood boil. This Logan had strolled into your shop with nothing but a superficial promise for your services, and now, he's presumed to lose?

You stand up abruptly, peering across the space in search of him. A rush of fury courses through you at the same time you spot him casually lounging in the corner. As you approach, the faint glow of the bulb illuminates his face, a cloud of smoke momentarily hiding the smirk playing on his lips. His chuckle cuts through the hum of the jukebox he's leaning on, eyes crinkling with a kind of smugness at your arrival.

"You're joking." The bottle of whiskey between his fingers shocks you the most, "Are you seriously getting drunk before your fight?"

Logan grins at your concerned expression, eyes tracing you up and down, "You fix it?"

"Yes, I fucking fixed it. Took me all day!" Fists clenching, you stare at him intently, "Look, I did my job - you better do yours."

"Don't worry 'bout it, darlin'. I'm a man of my word." He dismisses you completely, taking a prolonged swig of his drink. A beat passes before he lazily holds up two fingers right to your face, "Scout's honour."

He laughs again when you roughly shove his hand aside, not sparing another second for this cocksure attitude. You grumble under your breath, making your way back to the booth, "It's three fingers, asshole."

A few matches take place over the next hour, and you're only getting more antsy as each of the competitors exits the cage with nothing short of bloody faces and broken bones. The audience roars all of a sudden, some even rattling the fence as this new person strides into the threshold.

Of course, he'd stripped his shirt off and the sight of his muscle-toned chest only serves to further fuel your irritation. Logan's eyes find yours immediately, looking past the crowd of hecklers now whistling at him. With a nod, he throws you a confident smirk and turns to his rival.

The man he's up against is much more burly and has a couple of inches on him. Though that doesn't seem to faze Logan in the slightest, instead he's flexing his arms almost playfully before adopting a fighting stance. Every punch and kick has you twitching in your seat, your feet firmly stuck to the ground in anticipation.

Remembering how he'd chugged an entire bottle of liquor earlier, you're astonished by the ferocity with which he attacks his opponent, dodging most moves with deadly precision. As he lands more jabs, the spectators begin to jeer and boo, swarming the enclosure of the cage in a tantrum. You peek over their shoulders, ducking away from the things they're flinging around. There's a collective gasp when he knocks out the other man, and you sigh in relief.

Leaning towards the cage, a cigar lightly pressed against his mouth, Logan's focus shifts to you. His chest is heaving from all the physical exertion, skin damp from the sweat. As he exhales the smoke, blowing a kiss in your direction, a satisfied expression returns to his face. He runs a hand through his wet hair, leaving the arena with no regard for the protesting crowd.

You follow after him, squeezing through the tightly packed space. He's settling a score with the owner, a wad of rolled cash passing between them as a reward. After a nod of mutual agreement, Logan faces you, tossing his leather jacket on. And while you're ultimately happy he won, there's also this urge to smack the cheeky look that seems to be glowing as you come closer.

What's more upsetting is the fact that he is undeniably gorgeous - especially like this, all sweaty and wound up from the adrenaline rushing inside. And of course, he doesn't miss how your gaze wanders to the sliver of skin peeking through his jacket, every slight movement only revealing more.

Logan grabs a few bills from the roll of money and stuffs them into his back pocket, holding the rest out towards you. As you reach for the cash, he swiftly draws his hand back with a teasing smile, "Have a drink with me."

"No."

"C'mon." He drags out, repeating the same thing when you try again, "No one needs their cute, little mechanic right now."

Watching you sigh triggers a thrill of excitement, an unspoken victory he claims with no shame. With a simple gesture, he leads you towards a secluded booth, determined to make this a worthwhile exchange. Despite your hesitation, he maintains a sort of relaxed energy, draping his arm along the seat - his eyes not straying from yours.

Two shots of vodka are placed on the table and Logan mirrors your action, slowly raising the glass to his lips. In no time, the air of unease dissipates, replaced by a comfortable silence while the drinks keep coming. As the night wears on, casual conversation flows between you and he asks a few things like how long you've lived here, why you became a mechanic and eventually, when he slides you the money, "What now, darlin'? You gonna leave?"

His voice, dripping with honeyed sweetness, sends a shiver down your spine. You can't exactly place the feeling, but it's a tangle of exasperation and something else - something you're not quite ready to define. Instead, you blame it on the drinks, the late hour, and the fact that there's an incredibly attractive man just inches away.

As frustration envelops your thoughts, you suddenly excuse yourself and head towards the bathroom. The alcohol, previously a gentle companion, now seems to be taking its toll. Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you try to fight against the sensations running through your body. The splash of cold water does little to your state of mind, yet you're back outside in what feels like a tilted world, using all your strength to walk straight.

As you brush past the cage, someone collides into you. Desperate for balance, you reach out to grip the fence, but a strong hand lays steady on your lower back. With a gasp and a tilt of your head, you're caught off-guard when Logan comes into your view. His arm snakes around to gently hold your waist, his body now pressing into yours.

Overwhelmed by the sudden proximity, you tear your attention away from him and glance at the wire pricking your fingers, "This is fucking sharp."

He doesn't break the eye contact. A low hum vibrates through his chest as he leans in, the warmth of his breath dancing with yours. The space between you slowly shrinks, whatever lighthearted facade he'd worn earlier vanishes only to be replaced by something raw and inexplicable.

"How're you not bruised?" You whisper, remembering the way he'd been thrown against the cage earlier.

"Call it a special talent."

Despite your better judgment, you find yourself captivated by him, the intensity of his gaze reeling you in. And so, you decide to play his game, "Can you teach me?"

Logan pauses, "You wanna learn... how to fight?"

"Just a little punch or something."

A faint smile spreads across his face, you're absolutely sure he can feel the way your heart is pounding. When his lips lightly brush against your ear, a quiet rumble escapes and something flickers in your gut - a twist of exhilaration laced with a hint of caution.

There's barely anyone left in the bar at this point besides the one or two stragglers hanging around. Logan and you stand alone in the cage, seemingly tucked away in a little pocket of your own. He doesn't wander too far, remaining within an arm's distance while demonstrating the proper technique for a jab - the motion so fluid and effortless.

Your initial attempts to mimic his movements are clumsy and awkward, his amusement only growing more evident with each try. Slipping behind you, he sheds the jacket, once again exposing his glorious muscles and the thought of tracing his vein-riddled biceps with your tongue leaves you dazed for a moment. This time, he circles his arms around you and guides your hands into the correct position.

As you practice, your bodies nudge against each other, his breath fans across your neck and ignites a fire within you. The tension is palpable, the air thick with implicit desire. You can almost feel his gaze burning into you, every second posing a challenge to cross this imaginary line.

The rest of the patrons are ushered out the door, the owner nodding at Logan before disappearing into the back room. And the silence settles in, a stark contrast to all the commotion that lingered for hours prior. You notice the difference, inching towards the exit, "Looks like they're closing up."

Before you can move away, Logan's hand shoots out to catch your wrist, "And we got it all to ourselves."

"What?"

"Might've slipped the owner a little somethin’."

His fingers trail up your arm, thumb gently pushing your soft skin. Slowly, he brings you closer, his words just a whisper of heat on your cheek. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, a rhythm echoing your own racing heart. Your voice, hoarse and strained, barely manages a response, "Is this how you budget? No wonder you're broke."

It's his laughter that breaks you at first, followed by, "You got a smart mouth, darlin'. Tell me, what else can it do?"

His lips hover mere inches above yours, there's a moment of hesitation hanging in the air - an out, if you don't want this. But, temptation is a dangerous siren and you're already ensnared by her song.

Fuck it.

Logan's dog tags hang pretty between the slopes of your breasts, his mouth moving against yours in a rough, demanding fashion. It's sloppy. It's wet. And it's goddamn heavenly when his fingers thread through your hair, the gap between you now completely erased. You cling to him as if he's an anchor, nails digging into his shoulders while he pins you to the cool metal of the cage.

He wants to touch you. To feel the warmth radiating straight off your body. The straps of your overalls fall from his force, he takes the opportunity to slide one hand through the side, kneading your waist with a kind of tenderness that surprises him too. When you take a second to breathe, Logan peppers kisses along your jawline, then some beneath your ear before grazing his lips on your neck.

The pulsing vein he finds nearly has him growling in pleasure, "Fuck, darlin'... feel so good already... can't wait to taste you when I'm done..."

He stills when you gasp, glancing up through his lashes and then quietly chuckling at your flustered expression. Yet, he can't revel in his victory for any longer than a blink, your palm tilts his head back before you fiercely capture his mouth once more.

His name rolls out your lips, drawn out and glazed with an obvious need. Taking a deep inhale, Logan feels the bulge in his jeans growing with each passing moment. You're only getting restless as his hands roam over your body, becoming nothing more than a whimpering mess all from his doing.

"Lemme hear you for real, baby... don't be shy." His fingers latch onto the cage, using it to thrust forward and deepen the kiss. Your clothes end up pooling at your feet, the barriers between you peeling away with every layer gone. Now, skin to skin, sweat glistening on your brow, you're left bare and vulnerable to his touch.

Logan reaches down, spreading your thighs wide enough till he can push your panties aside, stroking the outside of your entrance. Clenching his jaw when he's met with a distinct wetness, "Hidin' all this for me?" He almost laughs at how you curl forward and then whine his name, craving for any part of him to be inside you, "Hm... what'd you say to me before? Three fingers?

With no warning, he slides exactly three inside your cunt, pumping in and out as best as he can, "So fuckin' tight, darlin'... c'mon... show me you're ready for the real thing." He knows he's doing something right when you squirm at his actions, jumping at the invitation to delicately flick your clit before sinking his fingers back into you.

"Logan-"

Pain consumes you as he continues, tears springing to your eyes. You've never felt pleasure like this, so intense and so profound, words lost amongst the moans trembling out your lips. Your knees begin to shake under the pressure, and his free hand immediately cups your thigh, securing your body to his. As you call out for him, urging him to fuck you senseless, he tugs his fingers away.

The belt flies, jeans tossed behind in an instant and he grunts, freeing his hard length from his boxers. The tip of his cock teases your folds, the precum slicking down from the head. His nose presses against your cheek when your hand runs up and down - getting him all nice and ready. Breath hitching at the sensation, Logan involuntarily bucks his hips, your eagerness carrying him over the edge.

He's careless about lining himself up, giving it no more than a fleeting thought before thrusting into you. Whatever floods your brain at that moment is much more potent than anything you've ever experienced. It's vigorous, almost animalistic in nature, how hard he fucks you. The veins on his arms become more apparent as he hoists you up, pushing you against the cage. He can hear the little fibers of your skin tearing because of the friction, yet he does little to ease that pain, knowing you're enjoying the hurricane of emotions whisking you away.

Logan pants into your tits, nipping at the soft flesh, "Wanted to ruin that pussy since I saw you this mornin'... all dirty and pissed off at me - god. Thought 'bout somethin' else on your face too."

"Logan - don't... fucking stop. Feels amazing... wanna feel all of you." The words escape you - laboured and breathless - your eyes soften in delight, watching this sort of enraptured expression wash across his face, "So good for me, Logan."

So good.

For me.

And boy, if that doesn't spur him on.

Picking up speed, his movements turn greedy, grinding into you with a degree of passion he's never felt before. As you tug his hair, fingers raking through the dark tresses in a frenzy, Logan taps into the primal energy swelling within. His hands squeeze you further, your thighs constricting his waist as he drives up into you, "That's it baby... fuckin' perfect. Takin' all of me like a good girl... mhmm."

The way your body helplessly arches has him grinning, but that quickly gets swept away when his cock twitches inside you, aching to burst at any given moment. He tries his hardest to control himself, longing for your cries of pleasure as you finish. Thrusts weakening to a leisurely pace, Logan grunts into your neck, mumbling a string of curses while he rides out this wave. Thankfully, you're on the precipice as well, your body reaching its peak with a shiver.

His cum trickles out of you, thighs getting sticky as it seeps lower and lower. Lost in a daze, Logan thinks he can see the damn sun in your eyes. With a gentle swipe of your cunt, he sheepishly licks his own fingertips, a smile brightening his face.

The mattress, once a source of great discomfort, now feels like paradise as you cuddle into the crook of his neck, the soft rhythm of your breath soothing him to a state of peace. He'd carried you to his truck earlier, threatening you with a barrage of kisses when you dangled his keys in front of him. There was a rather short game of tag before you relented and collapsed into his embrace, tiredly blinking up at him. He'd tucked the loose strands of your hair back then tenderly caressed your cheek. It took all but one affectionate grin to convince you to spend the night in his camper.

Not a single inch of your body is free from his touch. He pulls you even closer, tracing patterns around the tiny scratches spreading across your shoulders. If you'd asked him yesterday, he would tell you he has no plans of sticking around this town, grown used to a life of impermanence. Yet, as he rests, tangled in your arms, Logan finds a reason to stay.