#still can’t believe i got it right on the first try!

[yvesntul]

vi x reader’s first time together

18+ minors dni, fingering, intimate sex, fem receiving, oral sex, teasing, squirting, vi in love durr

‘ i can’t believe i get to touch you like this, ‘ you close your eyes feeling vi’s lips press against you, just above your pussy, too easily flustered to even look at her, ‘ you’re so fucking beautiful.. ‘ she commented, her lashes bat in a daze, a breathy laugh leaving your lips in attempt to brush it off, she knew you could never take her compliments serious out of getting nervous, but this was different, this was intimate, you both knew that. this was the farthest you both had gone in your relationship and she wanted to do whatever was possible to reassure you it was all okay. she sees your hips squirm under her contact, you were so worked up, such an easy button to push.

‘ vi, you’re teasing .. ‘

‘ mmm, am i ? or are you too nervous to tell me what you want ? ‘ her pixelated eyes hold a menacing glare with yours, but you’re too busy trying to fix your gaze upon anything other than her. the way she was taunting you during your first time with her was sickening, stimulatingly sickening. ‘ i- i don’t know, i want you, just do something already, please. ‘ she huffs a laugh, wasting no more time diving in. vi starts off with a tongue lick to your cunt, slowly licking her way up to your clit before wrapping both lips around the swollen area. your hands run through her hair. the vibrations of her working making you pull and scratch, causing her to grumble against you with pleasure.

‘ baby oh my god t-that feels so fuckin’ g-good- ohh! ‘ your hips move in sync with her mouth, rubbing your cunt against her face as she follows your path, ‘ all this time i didn’t have a taste of you, ‘ she mumbles and yet you’re already losing it, beginning to lose your patience along with your sanity. she was slurping, kissing, licking and penetrating your pussy with her tongue and she had no remorse while doing so. the lewd sounds from your mouth motivating her, pushing her to do so like it was her last breath here. her tongue continued to work as she sucked on what was almost driving you to the edge. ‘ don’t stop— ‘

‘ god, fucking love the sound of your voice right now, ‘ and that’s when vi slips 2 fingers in without warning, and to be honest, there was no need to. if anything, you needed to be warning her for the messy orgasm you were tiptoeing around. ‘ you’re close aren’t you ? i feel it. ‘ she quizzed and you frantically nodded, your breathing getting heavy. she admired you from her point at the end of the bed. her silence catching your attention as she worked her fingers into you. ‘ stop looking at me like that, ‘ you spoke before she smiled. ‘ i can’t look at my girlfriend ? ‘ ‘ no ! ‘

she laughed at how you tensed, her fingers thrusting into your gummy walls along with the impact from the tip of her tongue flicking against your clit — creating the perfect combination for nothing but pure bliss, ‘ i can feel you angel, just let go for me. give me all of it ..’ her words of encouragement were doing its damn thing, the knot in your belly starting to untie itself on vi’s behalf. your body begins to convulse, this moment felt like more than everything to you, especially to vi, hoping she’d be able to show you her love in every way she’s been wanting, with this only being the beginning.

‘ b-baby .. vi … i’m so close– oh my god .. ‘ she quickly intertwined her hand in yours as you squeeze her knuckles for support through your orgasm. you were too busy making the flesh on her hand turn pale from how hard you were holding on to notice how reactive you verbally were, vi loved every sound coming out of you though. it was a beautiful side of you she had never seen. ‘ i’ve got you babe, let go just like that. ‘ as she says this, you start to panic when you feel the certain pressure below you.

her finger is still working your hole, not pulling away for anything or anyone — not even you. vi sees your small hands trying to pry her own away, but she simply stops you by restraining the same hand pushing her. ‘ wait vi— this feels so different, please, oh my .. ‘ you babble but she didn’t care because she knew what was about to come. ‘ i know, baby. i know. ‘ she holds eye contact with you, feeling your walls begin to tighten around her fingers yet again. that’s when she moves faster, jabbing her finger in and smoothly adding another to completely rupture you. her hand was cramping, but she could take that on any day if it meant she’d be able to see you fall apart.

‘ you’re there. you’re right there, you feel that ? ‘ vi’s question not only earns a loud whine from you, but it finishes you off completely. ‘ holy shit i’m fucking c-cumming vi, oh fuck—” you felt couldn’t even pronounce a single word. the only thing you could begin to make out was her name, and even then, it was just hoarse whines. you don’t see it, but she does. she sees it all — the spurts of your cum soaking her hand, drenching the covers, the way your chest rose and fell with each unsteady breath, your eyes looking into the back of your skull with your lips parted softly as she slowly dragged her fingers out of your walls.

you were fucking breathtaking, she couldn’t believe you were hers.

‘ you did so good, you’re the most beautiful girl ever i swear. ‘ she huffs as you smile at her, you lightly grabbed her face with one hand, bringing her into a long kiss. she uses the weight of one elbow to lean over and place kisses onto your temple. your body is still coming down from its peak, and your vision was still foggy — but you still needed her. you still craved her touch like you had a sweet tooth. ‘ you okay ? didn’t hurt you did i ? ‘ ‘ no no, not at all, vi, i just wan’ more .. ‘ your pleading eyes search for her lips, and once you find them, you inch closer. vi seals it for you, pressing her plumped ones onto your own. you feel the same fingers that were inside you creep up to your chin, then lips — trails of your wet essence lingering on your skin.

‘ are you sure ? ‘

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 © 𝐘𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐋 | all rights reserved — do not modify, copy, or plagiarize any of my works.

[sanemistar]

TAKE ME BACK

contents ★ ex!geto x fem!reader, angst to fluff, exes then back to lovers, slightly ooc geto (?), 1.2k+ wc. requested for my milestone event. author's message ★ trying a new layout for this one :3 i honestly love this color combo plus these are my favorite colors ever <333

event m.list ★ jjk m.list

seeing your ex boyfriend suguru for the first time after the breakup left you with mixed feelings of both familiarity and unfamiliarity. in terms of appearance, he hadn’t really changed. he looked pretty much the same way as you left him except his jet black hair had gotten longer. however, something about his aura had changed. you weren’t exactly sure what it was, you just had a feeling that it wasn’t the same as before, it was a tad bit softer, more gentle, and it made you feel as if you were being in the presence of a completely different person.

tension began to rise as awkward silence filled the atmosphere around you. it was excruciating and you had a hard time breathing, your heart clenched painfully. you were anxious and nervous.

yet despite all that, deep down inside your heart was a part of you that wanted to see suguru again, which grew bigger when it actually happened, you were quite happy to see him again after all that time.

if you were being completely honest, you had never been able to move on from him. so in other words, you still had feelings for him. and if he ever asked you to get back together, you would do it in a heartbeat without a single hint of hesitation.

you knew he wouldn’t though, and these were only wishful thoughts on your part. because you were pretty sure things between you and him had ended once and for good that day. showing no signs of a reconciliation.

“you haven’t changed at all.” your eyes widened slightly, it was as if he was reading your mind. was it some sort of telepathy or something? you didn’t know. his voice pierced through your ears, and it got you thinking that his tone hadn’t changed in the slightest. his voice was still as soft as it could be.

“you too, sug—geto.” you almost called him by the nickname you gave him back when he was your boyfriend, but quickly realized and changed to his last name. however, it didn’t feel right to you. it felt so forced, simply because his nickname used to roll off your lips ever so effortlessly, your tongue was so used to the sound of ‘sugu’ as it rolled out naturally. so when you forced it to say his last name instead, it came off weird.

suguru chuckled, a somewhat sad smile made its way onto his face upon hearing his last name rolling over your lips. the sound of it felt foreign to his ears as it reminded him that you two weren’t in the kind of relationship that allowed you to be on a nickname basis anymore. it hurt him, and it hurt him deep.

because truth be told, he too, still loved you. he tried his hardest to move on with his life, he went out with many girls, and he even went as far as to sleep with them in desperate attempts to forget all about you as if he’d never met you. but to his misfortune, his attempts never worked out. you were simply unforgettable to him, he could never erase you from his heart even if he wanted to.

he had left his heart with you on the day you called it quits, and couldn’t manage to get it back to give it to someone else.

you felt as if time was frozen, and you were stuck in yet another prolonged moment of silence. with just you and suguru together, no one else.

your mind was constantly telling you to run away, to not look back and leave him behind. that you were better off without him. but your emotions took control over your actions as your heart refused to let your body move, and you remained still in your spot.

“i can’t believe i let you go,” suguru spoke for the first time in what seemed like forever, breaking that thick layer of silence. “i was such a fool, wasn’t i?”

his regretful tone caught you by surprise, you couldn’t believe that it was possible for suguru to regret a decision he made. yet there he was, spilling out his regrets in front of you.

you slowly parted your lips open, thinking of what to say back to him.

“isn’t it a little too late for that?”

that wasn’t what you wanted to say, you wanted to say that you missed him, that you still loved him, that you wanted to get back together with him.

but your mind was too quick to react. you wished you could take back what you said, but it was too late for that.

“maybe… but if i’m being honest with myself, i still love you. actually, i don’t think i’ve ever stopped loving you once.” you watched suguru admit that he still had feelings for you in utter disbelief. it was the last thing you expected to hear from him. how he looked at you while he was talking and how earnest he sounded were enough proof that he was being sincere and genuine, he meant every single word he said.

suguru on the other hand, felt some sort of relief washing over him after finally letting his suppressed feelings for you out of his chest. he didn’t know if he would ever get another chance to see you again, so he was more than determined to win you back. it wasn’t guaranteed that you would allow him in your life once again, but he was still willing to give it his all.

“so please just,” he paused momentarily, taking a deep breath before proceeding. “take me back to you.” it sounded as if he was pleading, perhaps he was indeed pleading. he was just desperate at that point as this was his last resort. but he didn’t care if he seemed desperate, he was able to put his pride aside and show you his weak side. to suguru, if showing his vulnerability to you was the price he had to pay for him to get you back, then so be it.

“you idiot, of course i’d take you back. i wouldn’t want to be with anyone who wasn’t you, i will always love you.”

that sole sentence was enough to bring you to tears because of how moving it was. you immediately run towards him and throw yourself in his arms as you wrapped your arms tightly around him as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, holding onto him for dear life. his body slightly flinched under your touch, but quickly reacted as his strong arms pulled you closer to him. your bodies were so close that you could feel the warmth of one another.

“welcome back, sugu.” you said in between your sobbing, finally allowing his name roll off your lips ever so easily. he smiled upon hearing his nickname being said as he gave the top of your head a series of small, tender pecks.

“yeah, i’m back home.” he hummed softly against your ear.

suguru had been lost for so long, but at last he was finally back to where he belonged, to you, his home.

𝜗𝜚 taglist: @unriding @lxnarphase @sylusdoll @itachiiwrites @itoshivy @17020 @creamflix @luv-lies @suguru-getos ( @gothsuguru + @hiraethwrote special tags for you my loves since you asked me about it )

[holylulusworld]

Every Breath you take (21)

Summary: There is a shadow following you. He doesn’t know what he got himself into.

Pairing: Stalker!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: a man out of time, secret admirer trope, “crazy” reader, fluff, domestic life

A/N: You all made me do it! Here’s the series to this random idea: Stalker Bucky & Crazy Reader

Catch up here: Every Breath you take (20)

Every Breath You Take Masterlist

Three months later, you and Bucky found a rhythm, literally. You’re slow dancing together, swaying to one of his favorite songs. Resting your head against his chest, you close your eyes and let Bucky guide your body.

Dancing aside, you found a rhythm to follow for your future together.

Trust is the key. You promised each other to have faith in your relationship. Bucky and you are in this together.

Maybe you started your relationship the crazy way, but this doesn’t mean it won’t last. His obsession and your level of devotion match.

You sigh, remembering all the nights you spent tangled in each other over the last months, as you sway.

“Doll, are you hungry?” Bucky murmurs, bringing you out of your daydreams. You place your head on his chest, smiling as you can hear his heartbeat. “We could have a snack, or do you want to cook together?”

You blink your eyes open and lift your head from his chest. “Hmmm…” you nod and rest your head back against his chest. “We could cook together again. Maybe we won’t burn it this time.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” he chuckles. “You distracted me with your wandering hands. How can a man resist if you call him sweet names and touch him like you do?

You giggle. Bucky is putty in your hands, and you love it. Both of you touch-starved to an extent; you can’t keep your hands to yourself most of the time.

Maybe it’s only the honeymoon phase, but you believe it’s more than this. Bucky and you are meant to be together; you just know it.

“We have the vegetables from the farmer’s market, chicken, and lots of cheese. Let’s look online if we find a good recipe.”

“You forgot the plums,” Bucky teases because you love to steal his favorite fruits. “Lots of them, baby doll. We can eat them for dessert.”

“Oh, I found a nice recipe for a plum cobbler with whipped cream. It sounds deliciously, Bucky. We could try to make it too. It’s not hard to make.”

“Do not forget, we are beginners,” Bucky jokes. “We don’t want to burn down the house.” He chuckles when you look up at him and stick your tongue out. “Last time you ended up burning the dishtowel.”

“That was an accident,” you point out. “Accidents happen, Bucky. Especially in the kitchen. We have to be more careful while cooking from now on. No distractions this time.”

“No more distractions,” Bucky nuzzles your hair. “I promise to not fall for you. I’ll focus on cooking, not my sexy girlfriend. He gropes your ass with both hands and purrs your name. “Let’s find a recipe, doll.”

“Wow! We made it,” Bucky hums while happily tasting the food you made. It doesn’t look bad. “Hmm... the cheesy chicken and vegetable pasta bake recipe you found is great.”

“I knew you’d like it.” You smile happily. Cooking with Bucky was fun. He even cracked a joke and told you a little more about his past. Mostly from his childhood, and how he loved to watch his mom cook. “We should do this more often.”

Bucky smiles. This is exactly what he had dreamed of for so long—sharing his life with someone he loves and filling the home he built with love.

All he misses is a little one running around your home. There is plenty of time to talk about children with you, too. For now, he must be patient and wait for the right time to ask you to have his child.

He’ll propose first, of course. Bucky is still a gentleman out of time. He won’t fill you with his baby without putting a ring on your finger.

“I’m so full,” you say, and rub your belly. “I bet that’s how you feel when pregnant.” You pat your belly, giggling. “What do you think, Buck?”

Bucky stares at your belly. He licks his lips, imagining you all swollen with his child. Something else stirs in his belly than hunger—or rather, a different kind of hunger. “You think so?” His voice is a little rougher when he looks at you. “Do you think you’ll like feeling a baby inside your belly?”

“Bucky,” you purr his name. You crook your finger to lure him in. “Do you want to have a baby one day?”

“Yeah—” he husks. “So bad. I can see you all swollen, breasts leaking milk. I’d rub your belly while…”

You whimper and shift in your seat. “Uh—we don’t have to have one right now, but…” You smirk and pucker your lips. “I’d like you to breed me tonight…”

Tags in reblog.

[malk1ns]

november 22 vs jets, 4-1 loss

someone was in a mood.

this is omegaverse. it's also not entirely what i set out to write, but i got a little lost in in the setup at the start and then sid got a little less feral-alpha and more i've-been-pining at the end there so...here we are. also not nearly as long of a sex scene as i'd planned but sometimes i don't actually decide what gets written! hope you enjoy it anyway :)

Zhenya doesn’t trust the team’s new dynamic specialist.

He’s an omega—they often are, omegas tend to get funneled into career paths that involve heightened sensitivity to smell and emotions young, just like alphas are encouraged towards sports—but that’s not why Zhenya doesn’t trust him, not at all. 

Kris had laughed at him when he first brought it up, patted his shoulder and said that Zhenya had no reason to be jealous, he was still everyone’s favorite omega no matter how many specialists the team brings in. Zhenya had socked him on the arm hard enough to bruise.

He’s never been that kind of omega. Most omegas he knows aren’t, actually—the stereotype that they’re all fawning after alphas, tripping over themselves for attention and picking fights with other omegas at the drop of a hat, isn’t based in any sort of reality that Zhenya’s experienced. He’s been surrounded by ‘traditional’ omegas his whole life, been treated by them and trained by them and gone to them for help regulating his cycle, and they’ve all been fiercely protective of him, gone out of their way to make sure that he’s taken care of and safe.

So, no, it’s not that Zhenya distrusts this guy because he’s an omega. Zhenya doesn’t trust him because he’s a fan.

The Penguins are usually pretty good at weeding out people who are going to be weird about working with the players from their employee pool. Fans are inevitable, especially with the emphasis the team puts on hiring local, but there’s a difference between being a fan and a fan. 

Zhenya’s not sure how this one got through. And to be fair, the guy hasn’t done anything egregious—he’s not touchy, he’s not flirting, nobody’s said anything about feeling uncomfortable with him—but Zhenya can see the stars in his eyes when he looks at Sid, and when Zhenya had his own check-in, the kid barely even pushed back on Zhenya’s treatment plan, just accepted when Zhenya said he was fine and didn’t need any adjustments made.

Zhneya reported the official severance of his mate-bond over the summer. Their last specialist would have subjected him to hours of questions and testing to verify that he truly didn’t need his hormone-balancers changed, but this kid had taken him at his word so quickly that Zhenya was uneasy. If Sid’s checkup went any differently, Zhenya will eat his hat.

Even with that type of deference, though, Zhenya would expect him to have noticed that Sid’s heading towards early rut.

Omegas are always the first to notice when alphas enter pre-rut. It’s less a difference in smell than it is a difference in intensity, in presence. Sid already looms large enough in Zhenya’s subconscious, but when he’s nearing rut it becomes almost unbearable, especially if he doesn’t notice in time to take the pills that suppress the worst of it.

Zhenya can’t believe nobody else has noticed. Then again, he’s been hyper-sensitive to Sid for the last year and a half, ever since he and Anna first separated.

An omega fixating on an alpha like that is something a competent dynamics specialist should have been able to suss out, demand information on, and put together a treatment plan to rectify. This new guy hasn’t noticed a thing, and it’s embarrassing enough that Zhenya certainly isn’t going to bring it up on his own.

Sid’s also normally more on top of his cycle, but he’s stressed this season, fielding calls left and right from guys he hasn’t spoken to in years trying to get info on if he’s planning on jumping ship and being the public face of a team that’s underperforming so drastically it’s a national story every night, so Zhenya isn’t all that surprised.

Sully gives them the day after the Lightning game off, and only half the guys get scheduled for on-ice work the day before the Jets come to town. By the time the special teams units are done with extra video review, Zhenya’s practically dizzy with Sid’s pheromones, and even Kris is starting to wrinkle his nose and cast sidelong looks of concern Sid’s way.

Sid books it for the gym before anyone can corner him, though, which means Zhenya has no choice but to track down the specialist with his concerns.

Kris comes with as back-up, like he always does. One too many instances of Zhenya slinking out of offices with his tail between his legs and rage written on his face after being written off for being overly-emotional their rookie year has made it a habit for them; Zhenya takes point on laying out any problems they have, but Kris is there to lend support and legitimacy.

The specialist—Ben, his nametag says—listens as Zhenya stumbles through what he’s noticing, face getting paler and paler as Zhenya makes it perfectly, unavoidably clear how badly he’s dropped the ball.

“I’ll have to run his bloodwork, but…” Ben hesitates, but Zhenya’s glare gets him babbling. “It’s only, I don’t think—the service doesn’t have any omegas available this week. They send the list every Monday, you know, which of their contractors are around for breakthroughs, but we got a note Sunday night that there weren’t going to be any omegas until next week—some scheduling problem, I don’t know, but there’s nobody they can send for Sid.” He looks between Zhenya and Kris in desperation. “Are you sure? I mean, you’re not just thinking because you—”

Kris growls under his breath, and Ben shuts his mouth. “G knows Sid better than anyone,” Kris says, crossing his arms and managing to loom even from where he’s leaning against the wall across the room. “If he says Sid’s going into rut, he’s going into rut. Not his job to tell people, but we have each other’s backs.”

Zhenya will be surprised if Ben is still employed with the team when 2025 starts.

Ben’s fretting over his computer when Kris and Zhenya leave, muttering to himself as he types out different search queries, trying to find an emergency agency that has a hope of getting approved by the team on such short notice.

He won’t. They only go through one service provider for a reason.

“We’re fucked,” Kris mutters. “That kid doesn’t know anything, Sid’s gonna end up missing a whole week. He’s going to be furious.”

Zhenya doesn’t reply. He has a really, really bad idea.

—

It wouldn’t be the first time Zhenya helped Sid through rut. Zhenya’s own heat is as regular as clockwork and meticulously controlled, has been since he turned 14 and presented for the first time, but Sid spent his teenage years and first few seasons in the league going from medication to medication until his cycle stabilized on its own. There had been a few times when there was no one else available, and they were young and dumb and, as those times proved, painfully compatible.

He’s done it before. No reason he can’t do it again. He was always able to get Sid’s rut to break overnight; if Sid can make it through the Jets game without losing it completely, they might not even miss the second half of this week’s back-to-back.

Convincing Sid will be the hardest part, Zhenya thinks as he goes through his pre-game routine. Sid’s always been respectful to the point of insult about Zhenya’s status as an omega, shutting down locker room talk and off-color jokes firmly and skirting the reality of Zhenya’s heats with a level of avoidance that would make Zhenya think he were a virgin if it weren’t for Zhenya’s hands-on experience. Sid had shut down their hookups Zhenya’s second year so politely that Zhenya hadn’t even realized what was happening at first, but when he’d picked through the conversation later he’d realized that Sid had been concerned he was taking advantage of Zhenya.

He hadn’t been. Zhenya can take care of himself. He thought about getting offended by the implication, about challenging Sid on it and forcing the issue, but then he got back together with Oksana, and after that fizzled out for the final time he met Anna, and it just never felt worth putting a wedge in their friendship just to prove a point.

Zhenya’s prepared to wedge it wide open now. When Sid picks a fight with some Winnipeg forward three minutes into the third, though, he’s shamefully relieved that it probably won’t take much arguing to get Sid to come home with him. Sid’s usually so logical that any arguments they have end with Zhenya losing before they even truly get going.

Zhenya shifts on the bench. They’re losing again, and Sid’s angry and half out of his mind with rut-haze, but seeing him throw punches and snarl his dominance in someone else’s face will never not be hot, no matter the circumstances.

Kris elbows him hard enough to feel it through his pads. “You’re going to do something stupid, huh,” he hisses, and Zhenya nods, watching as Sid barks at the ref on his way to the box. No point pretending, Sid’s going to zero in on him the second he realizes Zhenya’s interested after the game. “Fuck,” Kris sighs, elbowing Zhenya again. “I’ll try to cover for you. Get him out of here as soon as you can, he’s going to cause a riot with the crowd if he hangs around for too long.”

—

Sid’s the first one down the tunnel after the final horn goes off. Zhenya had kept his distance at the end of the game, not wanting to push Sid even further into rut, but even with space between them he could tell that Sid was quickly losing coherency, his big eyes all pupil and his nostrils flaring, snapping at Ricky and Rusty whenever either of them try to talk through a play with him. He spent the last few minutes of the game shoving off the training staff who tried to talk to him, and it took Kris frantically whispering to Sully to get everyone to back off.

Zhenya barely makes it through his shower before Sid gets a whiff of his scent. Kris runs interference, blocking the rest of the team from the change room as Zhenya somehow manages to dress them both while fending off Sid’s advances and keeping his own instinctual fawn response in check.

He’d vaguely thought about having someone from the car service drive them home, but the idea of sharing space with anyone other than Sid is intolerable, so he white-knuckles the drive home, Sid’s scent rising in the close air of his car. It’s suffocating.

“How did you know?” Sid asks suddenly as they turn into Zhenya’s neighborhood. He sounds perfectly lucid, like they’re just having a casual everyday conversation and not like Zhenya’s driving them home so he can sit on Sid’s dick for the next six hours. “I barely even noticed, and you…how?”

Zhenya glances to his left and immediately regrets it, because Sid’s got one hand down his own pants and is stroking himself off. His other hand is braced against the dashboard, almost like he’s stopping himself from reaching for Zhenya.

Shaking his head to clear the fog, Zhenya focuses back on the road. Just a few more turns and they’re home. “Since last year I’m notice you more,” he says plainly. “You know, when Anna and I break up, like, you’re smell so much more to me than before.”

Sid groans in response, and Zhenya skids up his driveway so fast he scatters gravel everywhere when he brakes.

“I never stopped noticing you,” Sid gasps in his ear when they finally make it to Zhenya’s bedroom and Sid’s got him pinned down to the mattress, frantically ripping at his clothes to get them skin-on-skin. “I shouldn’t have told you we had to stop, you were mine and—fuck, god, you should have been mine this whole time.”

“Shh,” Zhenya soothes, arching his back to rub along Sid’s body and tilting his head to one side to expose his neck. He gets to watch in real-time the way Sid fixates on his scent gland, the way his pupils dilate even more and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

Zhenya was happy in his relationships. Perfectly satisfied, genuinely in love. He doesn’t regret them. But there had been a part of him that never let go of Sid.

It’s all instinct the way he spreads his legs, purring enticements as Sid clumsily lines up and moaning as Sid sinks into him too fast, the stretch painful and so good. Sid was always a little careless during his ruts, always a little more selfish than he’d probably care to admit to being with his lovers, and Zhenya missed the rough treatment, missed the way Sid took what he wanted.

He’s going to be sore tomorrow. He won’t skate well, won’t score again, and he’ll have to listen to Sully scold him for yet another disappointing performance in front of their home crowd.

But Sid’s teeth are scraping over his scent gland, and Sid’s knot is swelling inside him, and Zhenya can’t bring himself to care about anything else.

[ofdarknesseyes]

That damn kid really had no right blushing like that and making Toji feel a burst of warmth within him. He just wasn’t used to this anymore. He can’t stop thinking about the past, can’t stop the memories flooding in. The way he felt his heart soar when baby Megumi first smiled at him, first laid his head against him, first hugged him, first called out to him. He knows that the Megumi he once knew is no more, at least not really. He could maybe read Megumi a bit even now but truly he had no idea what his son even liked. Sure he remembers what he didn’t and did like back then but it's been years. Megumi has grown into his own person and been exposed, experiences so many different and new things.

Though he can’t help but grin at the fact that Megumi was still grumpy as hell. He has to stop himself from chuckling at the revelation. Only more amused at Megumi’s scandalized reaction to being called pretty. Has no one ever told him that before? He raises an eyebrow, now his grin of amusement unable to be contained.

“I can’t? Why not? Fine, handsome? Gorgeous?” “No? Okay, you’re hideous.”

He lies and rolls his eyes. Did his son truly believe he wasn’t good-looking? Perhaps it is him going through his whole teenage angst years. It’s been so long so he can’t remember what it was like for him. Then again teenage Toji had been more preoccupied with just trying to survive. Damn, he really had no fucking clue what it means to be a dad. How to act like one or say the right thing. He wonders if Gojo is any better at this? He doesn’t dwell on the matter for too much longer since he dozes off.

His senses are still apparently just as good as before because despite being asleep, he wakes when he senses Megumi by the bed. He makes a noise of acknowledgement but that's all for a moment. When Megumi doesn’t make further movement to lie down he sighs and finally turns to face him.

“I don’t bite, kid. There’s plenty of room.”

He shifts over to give him space. But then ends up slowly sitting up anyway, standing and yawning. Could he even blame Megumi for still being on edge? It wasn’t like he didn’t notice the subtle flinching anytime Toji got too close or touched him. Megumi has far from forgiven him yet, and he had no right to invade his personal space, even if Megumi was being wishy-washy with it all. Acting like he didn’t trust Toji and wanted nothing to do with him, but also not willing to let him go. Fair… Toji will roll with it.

“I’m going to shower too anyways. You can have the bed.” “Oh yeah, I got some clothes.”

He points to a bag on the table. He had bought a few spare outfits for them both, not knowing what the plan would be after this. With that Toji finally goes into the bathroom, leaving Megumi to relax in bed alone if he wants to. Unlike Megumi, Toji takes a quick shower, rinsing off and wrapping the towel around his waist. He comes out dripping wet as he looks for the new clothes he bought. He rummaged in the bag before pulling out something black and going back into the bathroom to finish drying up. When Toji reappears he is roughly drying his hair with the towel before draping it over a chair. He’s in nothing but black shorts. He grabs an extra blanket at the foot of the bed and then goes to settle in the armchair he had been lounging in earlier.

Megumi Fushiguro was fifteen years old -- on the crux of the jujutsu battle of the century (and more), finally meeting the father he assumed was long dead, and hormonal. It was a crime for anyone to be burdened with so much, experiencing so much in such a short amount of time, and a teenager trying to keep a level head through out it all was a downright sin. Even for someone as rational and solemn as Megumi, he was struggling. Bad. Satoru Gojo knew his boundaries and, of course, chose when to abide by them or break through it.

His sister was the only other person who knew how to handle him through the bad and the good. Megumi naturally thought it was all bad. He was odd and while he didn't want to change who he was, he did realize people preferred not to deal with him. He as prickly as an urchin and his father who returned from death didn't know him. He didn't know him like his benefactor and his sister knew him.

There was something painful in that of course, but more than that in made the boy flustered. His father had remained half a world away for all he knew, so WHY did he have to say such things and touch him. From head to toe the boy felt his body temperature rise several degrees as his cheeks flushed dangerously hot. A sea urchin with a nasty rash. He whipped his head away having never reacted in such a way. He didn't even blush when one of his classmates showed him an x-rated photoshoot of an idol; actually, he hadn't even blinked but he did turn away with slight disgust.

“ .... You can't say that. ”

It was his father who was bringing out new sides of Megumi by crossing lines he didn't know were in place. He was more than glad Toji had turned away because he must have looked more ridiculous than he felt. Without another word for fear of making himself look more clownish, the teenager darted for the bathroom and shut the door with perhaps more force than necessary. He gripped the counter of the sink and looked at his red face; he felt even more embarrassed. He was a boy and not pretty. Even as a boy he wasn't handsome or particularly good looking, unlike his fa--- Megumi groaned, then fearing he was too loud, pushed off the counter for the massive floor to ceiling shower.

He turned the faucet to the cold setting then rushed to strip of his clothes. Oh yeah, his father had changed him. His entire body felt hot and weird. Clothes were dropped in a messy pile once they were ripped off his body without a care for his wounds. Under the powerful but freezing spray, Megumi shivered but stuck it out. It helped soothe the worst of his abrasions and wounds but it did little to wash away his embarrassment. Toji's broad chest, the way his scar quirked, his large hands pinching his cheeks. Damn it!

He squeezed out body wash into his palm and scrubbed himself until he thought he might actually bleed. Shoving thoughts of his father away he moved onto washing his body from toe to root, then applied a mixture of shampoo and conditioner to his hair. He watched the dirt and debris wash away in ugly swirls of grey. The faucet was turned off only when the water ran clear down his body, but he was reluctant to leave. He wrapped himself in soft and fluffy hotel towels and just stared at his bruised reflection. He looked like a mess which wasn't entirely new but it was weird that it was his father.

The teenager released a deep sigh and continued to towel dry himself especially his hair, which returned more to its spiky normalcy the more he dried it. Still, some heavy spikes hung down and just for a second.. he looked like his father. It made his heart lurch. He didn't want to wear the clothes he had been sleeping in while dirty.. especially his boxers, so he hung up the towels and slipped into a complimentary robe. It was soft and smelled clean, but would it be weird? He was too into his own head. With a resigned grimace Megumi brushed his teeth, then exited the bathroom like a toddler throwing a tantrum. He sat down on the bed with his back turned to his father and..... now what? Would they just fall asleep like it was nothing? Megumi didn't say anything, just fiddled with the ties of the bathrobe.

[bqstqnbruin]

Friendsgiving

Hi so we are going to ignore the fact that it is nearly 2 am but here I am with a fic that I started today because of this tik tok that I saw a few hours ago and I immediately went 'fic'. So, here we are

Warnings: none

WC: 5845

Enjoy!

__________________________________________

“Why and how are you in Vancouver?” 

“Don’t hate me.”

“Oh, my god, did you move to Canada without me? You moved and didn’t even tell me.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at what you hoped was Lena’s unnecessary panic that you heard through your phone speaker, trying to navigate your way through the airport that you had never been to before. “No, I’m just probably doing something stupid.” 

“And you’re doing it without me?”

“Leen, I’ll catch you up later, ok?”

“Am I going to have to make sure you don’t end up in a ditch?”

“You should probably watch my location for the next few days,” you say, in all seriousness. “But I have to go, I love you, bye.”

You hang up on your best friend as you hear her screaming on the other end about calling the authorities, knowing that she wouldn’t actually do that. Actually, she might. But you can’t think about that right now.

You were trying to find Brock, despite the fact that you had never met him in person and stupidly agreed to fly to Vancouver on a day's notice from your home the week of Thanksgiving. 

You couldn’t believe the last couple of days of your life. You had posted a silly photo of you and your friends at your annual Friendsgiving. You always got together the Friday before, and had been doing so since middle school when your parents still had to either make the food for you, or had to be in the kitchen with you heavily supervising the entire time. This year was the 15th year in a row that you had all gotten together, celebrating in a much bigger fashion than you had in years past; you all dressed up, you all brought the food in the best serving dishes you had instead of the Dollar Tree tin dishes you all normally brought, you had the fanciest bottles of wine you could afford littering the table, and you had even all planned to stay over together for the first time, continuing the event into the morning. 

Brock had messaged you because of the photo. You were mutuals, having some of the same friends in college but never actually interacted with each other. 

All of your friends talked about how you two would get along so well, but it seemed like every time you were supposed to meet, something happened that prevented you from doing so. There was the one party you were supposed to go to with your friends, that you had been planning on going to all week until you got food poisoning from the dining hall. There was the class you were supposed to take together until his practice times got changed and ended up conflicting with the class. You were supposed to go to a formal together as each other's dates until he slept through his alarm and missed the bus to the venue.

You were always supposed to meet, until you didn’t.

But then you got the message from him a few days ago asking if you wanted to come to his Friendsgiving that he was going to with his American teammates. 

It was easily the craziest thing you had done in your life, saying yes to flying out to Vancouver the next day to meet a guy you had never actually met in person, or really talked to before those messages.

It made you realize you really hadn’t done much with your life. 

You walked through the airport, trying to see if you could find the guy you would be spending the next couple of days with by the baggage claim where he told you he would meet you. 

You finally see him, the blonde head of hair sticking out to you for an unknown reason. 

You knew from his pictures on his account that he was attractive, but, shit, he was gorgeous in person. 

He was also dressed up way more than he should be for someone to be waiting for a stranger in an airport; he was in a full suit and tie, his hair looking like he had just gotten out of the shower and styled it immediately. 

“Hi,” he says to you when he sees you, a smile on his face making your heart skip a beat. 

You didn’t even know this guy. “Hi,” you manage to get out as he pulls you in for a hug. “You look good, all dressed up.” 

Brock reaches for your bag, taking it off your shoulder and walking you out of the airport. “Thanks.”

“Why are you dressed up?”

“We’re on our way to the game.”

“We?”

“I didn’t tell you?”

“Do I look like I’m dressed for a hockey game?”

Brock looks at you as the two of you approach his car, opening his trunk to put your bag in. “You look great to me.”

“I’m in sweats, fresh off a plane. When do you think you told me?”

“Uh,” he lets out as you get in his car. “Yesterday?”

You take out your phone, scrolling through the messages the two of you exchanged. “You told me you had a game, not that I was going to one.” 

“Who did I tell that to yesterday?” he says, staring out through his front windshield, wracking his brain. You couldn’t help but laugh. “I can take you back to my place, if you want.”

“Would that make you late for the game?”

He glances at the clock, pulling out his phone. “Very late, yes.” 

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile that you couldn’t help. “I’ll go to the game. I’m sure I have something I can change into stuffed in my bag.” 

The two of you fall into easy conversation, much like you had when he first reached out to you. There was something about him that was easy to talk to. 

He pulls up to the arena, still talking about one of the parties you were both supposed to go to in college.

“Do you remember that one kid, Chris, who somehow threw up at every party he went to?” he asks you, leaning against his car as you rifle through your bag in his trunk, searching for any semblance of an outfit that was better than the sweats you were currently in.  

“Hold on,” you tell him, climbing into the trunk and pulling the hatch closed, trying your best to change in the cramped space. You managed to find jeans and a black shirt that could pass as a non-airport outfit that you were smart enough to pack as a spare since Brock didn’t really give you a ton of information as to how the week was going to go. You could see him standing outside the car, dumbfounded by the abrupt nature of you practically commandeering his car as a changing room for yourself. “Ok, I’m good,” you say, opening the door back up in what you were sure was record time for changing in a car trunk.

“Wow,” he says, you noticing the slightest shade of red appearing on his cheeks. 

“Better?” you ask. Your foot catches on part of the trunk as you try to get out, practically falling out of his car. 

You feel Brock’s hands catch you, spreading across your back and under your legs. “Much,” he says, his face inches from yours. He clears his throat, his face turning bright red as he puts you down.

He wasn’t about to kiss you, was he? And why would you have been ok if he did that? “Thanks for that,” you tell him, embarrassment seeping into your voice. 

“So, uh, Chris?” he asks, walking you into the arena with his hands now firming shoved into his pockets.

“He really did somehow end up in the bathroom at every party.”

“Even if he didn’t have anything to drink that night.” 

“I wonder what he’s up to now?”

“He just got engaged, actually,” you tell him. “His fiance was one of my lab partners back in college.” 

“Wow. Never would have known that,” he tells you. The two of you walk through what you could only describe as the tunnels of the arena, Brock showing you around and trying to explain to you what everything was. 

“You’re gonna be in here,” he tells you, showing to a room that was filled with women and children who all seemed to know each other. Before you can ask anything, he checks his watch, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. “Shit, I’ve gotta get ready. I’ll meet you right here after the game.” 

Brock runs off, leaving you standing at the entrance to this room that you could see was at ice level, filled with people you didn’t know. 

You couldn’t enter the room. This was already ridiculous, you being here in the first place with a guy you just met for the first time in person less than an hour before. Now you were apparently supposed to go into this room with a bunch of people and do what? Talk to them? 

No thank you.

You feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, leaning against the wall next to the entrance of this room as Lena calls you again. “Ok, you did not fly all the way to Vancouver to see a Canucks game.”

“I’m going to stop sharing my location with you,” you laugh.

“Ok, spill, why the hell are you in Vancouver?”

You recount the whole string of events to her, realizing how ridiculous the whole situation sounded now that you were actually verbally articulating everything. “And now, I’m outside of this room with a bunch of women and I think this is where I’m supposed to be for the rest of the game.”

“Are you in the WAG room?”

“The what?”

“The WAG room.”

“No, I heard you,” you sigh, “What does that mean?”

“The wives and girlfriends.”

You stare at the wall on the other side of the hallway as people you ignored scurried around you. “But I’m not a wife or a girlfriend?”

“Well, as long as you have that established. I heard there’s supposed to be amazing food in those rooms for the families.” 

You peek your head into the room, seeing a line of the women forming on the other side of the room in front of what looked like an incredible spread of food. “I can see that.”

“Go in!” Lena shrieks in your ear. “Have fun, make friends, and bring me some food when you get back.” She hangs up before you can say anything else, leaving you there with your phone pressed against your ear and no one on the other end of the call. 

You finally work up the courage to go into the room, trying to slip in and stay in the back, out of the way of anyone who would feel the need to come to talk to you. You stay along the wall closest to the door, trying to take in the room around you. There were children seemingly everywhere, running and shrieking as they played with each other. Toys were scattered all over the floor, bags lined against the wall. You probably looked like a freak the way you were moving through the room, trying to find a seat that you could sink into and become invisible in.

“Shit,” you let out, slamming down onto the floor, tripping over one of the toys you were somehow too busy to notice. 

“Are you ok?” one of the women asks you, crouching down on the floor to meet you at what was now, embarrassingly, eye level. 

You could feel your face getting hot. “Other than my ego being bruised, I think I’m good.” 

“I haven’t seen you before,” she says to you. “I’m Lexie. I’m Thatcher’s wife.”

You had no idea who Thatcher was, but it probably wouldn’t look good for you if you admitted that. 

You introduce yourself, finally getting up off the floor and dusting yourself off. “I’m here with Brock.”

Lexie’s eyes light up with excitement. “You must be Brock’s mystery girl.” The room seems to go silent when Lexie practically shrieks that, even the children making no noise. “He had been telling us he was seeing someone, but we never thought he would bring you to a game early.”

“Oh, I,” you start, getting nervous now that all eyes were on you. You had no idea what he had told these women, or their husbands, or boyfriends, or whoever these people were. “Here I am.”

“I can’t believe Brock would just throw you to the wolves like this,” Lexie says, linking her arm with yours and walking you over to the food table.

“Are you kidding?” another one of the women chimes in. “This is exactly something Brock would do. I’m Natalie, by the way, J.T.’s wife.”

The two women start chatting your ear off, you unable to comprehend what they were saying. Brock had a ‘mystery girl,’ that you had now taken on the identity of. Brock was probably seeing someone who couldn’t be there this week and now he was going to look like an awful human when you suddenly disappeared and were replaced with another person next week. 

But, why did you care? You barely knew Brock.

You had no idea how much time passed by when they all start filtering out the seats near the ice, the players skating around in circles. 

You join them, unsure what else to do. You pull out your phone, getting an idea and starting to type in a new note, trying to wave Brock over to the boards when you finally get his attention.

They think I’m your ‘mystery girl??? you show him with your phone screen pressed against the glass when he comes over. The color seems to drain from his face, mouthing ‘I’m sorry,’ and shrugging way too casually for your liking before practically sprinting away from you to the other side of the rink. 

You head back into the room, beelining for the exit and pulling up Lena’s number.

“Brock told everyone he and I are dating?” you try not to scream too loudly, hoping that none of the people in the room or in the hallway 

“Oh,” Lena says. “That’s not great.”

“Not great?” you say, running your hand through your hair, feeling yourself panic. “This is crazy. What if this turns into a psycho killer situation?’

“He’s way too high profile in the area to get away with killing you.”

“That’s not reassuring.” 

“I’m just saying he wouldn’t get away with it.”

“Adelena,” you stomp your foot like a child out of frustration, using your friend's full name.

“Ok, calm down,” she says. “There’s no need for the government name here. I think you just need to talk to him after the game and figure out what’s going on. I will fly out there and save you if I have to.” 

You take in a deep breath. This was the dumbest thing you could have done, regret seeping into you with every passing moment that you spent in Vancouver. “I’ll let you know.” You go back in the room, trying to pay attention to the game as the people around you milled about, trying to get to know you and about your ‘relationship’ with Brock.

“How long have you two been going out?” Lexie asks eagerly. 

“Um,” you panic, “Not that long, honestly. This is all really new.” That wasn’t a total lie.

“How did you two even meet?”

“We went to college together.” 

Before Lexie could ask you another question that you probably didn’t have an answer to, a toddler runs up to her, crying. “Gotta go,” she says to you, lifting the toddler and trying to comfort them. 

You sat and tried to watch the rest of the game, writing down everything you told Lexie in hopes that Brock would have said something similar. You spent the rest of the game on your phone texting with Lena, thankful that no one else in the room came up to you to talk to you or ask questions the way Lexie had, only going back to the ice and looking up from your screen to see Brock scoring.

You wait outside the room for Brock once the game was over, his teammates coming out much faster than he was as the hallway and the room behind you slowly emptied out, leaving you alone in the hallway. 

“What the fuck,” you ask him when you finally see him. 

“I’m sorry, I know,” he tells you, walking out to his car. 

“I don’t care if you need me to pretend to date you, but I would have liked to know about it before you threw me into the Gossip Grotto.” 

Brock exhales when he gets into the car, resting his head against the steering wheel while you stared at him with your arms crossed in front of you. “The guys keep bugging me about not dating anyone so I told them I was seeing someone to get them to shut up.” 

“And you didn’t think that was relevant to mention when you invited me here that there was a good chance they would think I’m the girl you’re dating?”

“No. I figured they would have forgotten about it by now.” 

“Well, their wives didn’t.”

“So what do we do?”

You stare at him. “I could leave on the next flight and get out of here and probably be mad at you forever. Or, we pretend we’re together.”

He whips his head to you, his eyes crazy with shock. “What?”

You shrug, pulling out your phone and showing him the notes you made during the game about you and him being together. “We fake date. I’m only here until Wednesday, and you said we were only going to be seeing your friends on Tuesday night. We have plenty of time to figure this out.”

“We have a day and a half.” 

You scoff. “You think I haven’t figured out more complicated things in less time? I got a plane ticket and got myself here on twelve hours notice.”

“So, we fake date?”

“We fake date.” 

_____________________________

“What are you doing?” you ask, walking into Brock’s kitchen the next morning, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You spent the night in his guest room, sleeping in what was probably the most comfortable bed you had ever slept in. You spent the night before starting to hash out the story you would tell his teammates and their partners, agreeing that you would only share information about the two of you if you were directly asked about it. 

“Debating whether or not to make us breakfast,” he tells you, one hand on his hip, the other holding open the fridge door. Brock had on no socks, boxer shorts and a t-shirt, all of which showed off to you just how unfair his entire physique was. His hair was messy in a somehow perfect way that would have made you drool under any other context. You could pretend to drool over him, but real drooling was out of the question right now. 

“What’s the other option?”

He closes the fridge door, turning to face you. “I don’t make breakfast and we go out for food instead.” 

“How good are you at making breakfast?”

“I make a mean bowl of cereal.” 

“We’re going out for breakfast, get dressed.” 

“Wow, my girlfriend is bossy,” he smirks as you walk away, looking over your shoulder at him and sticking your tongue out.

Was that too flirty? You had agreed last night that flirting was ok so you could ‘get used to it.’ How could you flirt in front of other people if you had never done it before? 

You call Lena while you were getting ready. 

“You could just real date him,” you hear her suggest, crunching on something on the other end of the line.

“You could just give me real advice and not chew on something in my ear.” 

“It’s morning, let me eat my apple,” Lena says, obviously with her mouth full. “What are you guys doing today?”

“Right now, getting ready for breakfast. Beyond that, watch my location.”

“Yeah, I have no job. I can just stalk you all day.”

“If I end up dead how are you going to know?”

“Ugh, fine,” she sighs. “Have fun, don’t die.”

She hangs up, leaving you alone to get dressed for a day you didn’t know the details of. You pull on leggings and a sweater, your sneakers on and grabbed a jacket that you didn’t even know if you needed. You head back out to Brock’s kitchen, finding him leaning against the counter on his phone.

“You need to change,” you tell him. He had on black jeans and the same color sweater as you. 

“This could be a cute couple thing,” he jokes. “We could take a picture together and post it, or something.” You hesitate, walking over to Brock as he extends his hand with his camera open. “At least pretend to like me,” he tells you, plastering a smile on his face as he starts taking photo after photo.

You rest your hand on his chest, leaning into him and smiling at his camera. You did look good together, if you had to admit. 

“Can you do one where you kiss my cheek?’

“What?”

“Don’t couples do that?’

You stare at him for a second. Would it be weird to do that? He asked you to do it. “I normally scroll past those photos.”

“Me, too.” The two of you stand in silence for a second, neither of you sure how to go on. “Maybe we don’t do that. Too much, too soon.” You nod in agreement.

“So, where are we going?”

Brock smiles at you, leading you out the door. 

_____________________________

The breakfast he took you to was amazing. He said that he had an entire day for you planned as a thank you for coming out here in the first place. 

“How are you with hiking?”

“It depends.”

“On?”

“How long the trail is.”

Brock laughs, putting his car in park in front of a water front. 

“If we don’t stop, it’ll take two hours.” 

“That seems like a long time.”

“That’s how long my games are.”

“Yeah, that was a long time,” you tease him, getting out of the car. 

The trail was beautiful, a breeze off the water cooling you down as you walked alongside Brock. This could easily have been a real date if the two of you were actually together. 

You shake your head slightly of the thought. This was just supposed to be you helping him out, even though that wasn’t the original purpose of your trip. “So what are you supposed to do for Friendsgiving tomorrow night?”

Brock stops walking, the person behind him nearly knocking into him as he scolds Brock for stopping in the middle of the trail. You pull him over to the side of the walkway, ignoring the spark that you swore ran through you as laced your fingers in his. 

“I have no idea, actually.” 

“So you’re off to a great start.”

“I think I was told to bring something in the group chat,” he says, using his free hand to pull out his phone and start scrolling through the message thread that seemed to go on forever, your hands still intertwined. You weren’t sure he even noticed at this point, but part of you didn’t want to be the one to break the connection between you. “Ah, mac and cheese.”

“Have you ever made homemade mac and cheese before?”

“It has to be homemade?”

You roll your eyes, starting to walk again with your hands still locked together. “Did you think it would just magically spawn in front of you once you got to Quinn’s place?”

“I only have boxes of the store brand of mac and cheese.”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, pulling out your phone and finding the recipe you make for yourself when you have motivation. “Can you use Quinn’s oven when you get there or will he not have space?”

He quickly types on his phone as the two of you keep walking. “Yeah, we can as long as it doesn’t take too long,” he tells you, showing you the message from Quinn.

You nod, scrolling to the recipe on the website. “What do you have from these ingredients?” 

Brock quickly scans the list, nodding along and mouthing each component to himself. “I have the flour, salt, and pepper.”

“So you were supposed to be making mac and cheese and you had neither the mac nor the cheese?”

“That would be correct.”

“Oh my god,” you groan again. Brock stops walking, pulling you off to the side of the trail again. “What?” Brock gestures to the water in front of you, the sun making the ripples shine, the sky absolutely pristine. “Wow,” you let out. 

“What do you think?” you hear him ask, not taking your attention away from the sight in front of you.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is.” You look over at him, seeing him tuck his phone away into his pocket, his eyes on you instead of the view. 

_____________________________

“Why was getting all of this way harder than I thought it would be?” Brock asks, putting the bags of groceries on the counter.

“Because you had no idea where anything in the store was and we had to keep doubling back for things we missed the first time.”

“You really have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“We’re dating, isn’t that something you’re supposed to know?”

Brock laughs, pulling out pans and bowls from his cabinets as you start to get everything prepared for the mac and cheese. You tell him what to do, giving him step-by-step instructions.

“This is nice,” he tells you. 

You think for a moment, shredding the cheese into a bowl. The recipe called for more cheese than any recipe you had ever made before, and somehow the mountain of cheese in front of you still didn’t feel like enough. “It is.”

“My mom and dad used to cook like this,” he tells you, his voice somber as he comes up behind you. 

“Yeah?”

“She would tell him what to do and he would do it. Badly, but he would try his best.” You laugh along with him. He had told you that his father had passed away a couple of years ago, but you didn’t know anything else about him other than what she could find with a quick google search that now, in a weird way, felt like an invasion of privacy. “We could always tell which things Dad helped with because they tasted just a little off.” 

“You miss him, don’t you?” you say, slowing down your shredding and turning towards him. He was facing you again, his arm around you but not touching you, resting on the counter on the other side of you. 

“Always.”

You swore he was going to lean in, his eyes flickering down to your lips. You clear your throat, turning back to the cheese. “You should check the pasta to see if it’s almost done or not.”

Brock nods, smiling and winking at you before doing what he was told.

_____________________________

“This is all fake.”

“And?”

“It doesn’t feel fake.” 

“Well, you aren’t a great actress, are you?”

“Lena,” you whine. 

“I saw you try out for The Little Mermaid in middle school.” 

You had texted her once the mac and cheese was done and you were back in what Brock now referred to as ‘your room,’ panicking that he had almost kissed you again. What if you were just reading into things? You felt stupid to think that he was doing anything more than pretending for the sake of getting used to things for tomorrow, right?

“Is there a chance for this to turn into something not fake?”

“Considering he lives in a different country, unless you want me to actually move to Canada without you, no.” 

“Do you want it to be something that isn’t fake?”

You hesitate, knowing that Lena had a stupid smirk on her face that would turn into some sort of ‘I told you so,’ later in the conversation. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does.”

You sigh. “He’s great, but I’ve known him for two days. You don’t fall for someone like that in two days, it’s absurd.”

“Jack and Rose did in Titanic.”

“And that’s fiction, not real life.”

“Ok, if you had more than two days, then what?” 

“Then, I don’t know. Maybe?” 

“So, what do you do about it?”

“What can I do, Leen?” You flop down on the bed. “I’m here for less than two days before I leave and probably never talk to him again. The best this can be is fake.” 

_____________________________

“Are you ready for this?” Brock asks you, handing you one of the trays of food you made. “No.”

He smiles at you. “Me neither.” 

You head towards the door of Quinn’s place, ready to be as overwhelmed with the people you were about to encounter as you were two days prior at the game, even if you had already met most of these people. 

Lexie is the first one to greet you, somehow, through the chaos of everyone else around you. She leads the two of you into the kitchen, even though Brock already knows his way around. “I’m stealing her,” she tells Brock, grabbing you by the hand and leading you off to another room while all the guys stand around the kitchen island, somehow the ones in charge of the food.

“It is so good to see Brock so happy,” she tells you, handing you a glass of wine as she poured one for herself. The two of you were alone in the room she pulled you into, leaving you amazed that with that many people in the house, there was even an empty room to begin with. “I mean, those photos he posted of you? You are the most photogenic person I have ever seen.”

“Uh, yeah,” you tell her, knowing that you have to stop stammering everytime you try to give someone an answer. 

“You don’t know about the pictures?” You shake your head. She prompts you to pull up Brock’s page, the most recent pictures one from yesterday.

You scroll through the carousel. The first one, as you saw, was the one of you two before you went out for the day. The second one was one of you in the airport, looking for him. You thought you looked awful, but somehow, he made you look good. The third from the game the other night, one of the photographers probably captured a photo after he scored of him looking at you and smiling at him before he heads to the bench. The fourth and fifth were ones you had no idea he took; when you were looking out at the water yesterday, smiling at the sight while your hair somehow perfectly framed your face, and while you were hunched over the cheese, grating too many cups of the stuff for today. 

“He’s in deep,” Lexie smirks, drinking her wine. 

You can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks as you looked at the photos, which he captioned, Thankful for you, with your handle tagged. 

“Now it makes sense why I’m getting so many notifications,” you joke, setting your glass down on the table in front of you. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to go find the bathroom.” 

You head back towards the kitchen, hoping to find Brock there. 

“I’m surprised you actually are dating someone,” you hear someone’s voice in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Brock responds.

“I thought you made her up,” another voice agrees with the first. 

“I’m not Quinn, I wouldn’t do that,” Brock lies.

“That was one time when I was in sixth grade,” the first voice argues.

You hear Brock laugh, your heart fluttering at the sound, immediately hating yourself for that. You’ve known him for a few days, why did you have to remind yourself about that?

“How long have you guys even been together?” Your heart stops,hoping Brock remembered all the things they talked about the last few days. She knew what he should say, but that didn’t mean he would say it.

“Only about two months, I think.” 

“You think?”

“Petey, you know he’s not good with time.” 

You finally work up the nerve to walk into the room, seeing Brock’s face light up at the sight of you. 

He was faking it. 

“Hey, babe,” he says, pulling you close and kissing the side of your head. 

“God, you two aren’t going to be the kind of couple who overdo the PDA, are you?” Petey asks.

“Only if you piss us off,” Brock says, not taking his eyes off you. 

“So, um,” you say, coming back to reality and turning to the other two. “Everything looks great.” 

Quinn looks at the clock on the oven. “We should probably eat soon. The food should be in a couple of minutes.”

“We’ll get everything on the table,” Brock volunteers the two of you, grabbing one of the plates and handing them to you.

“Everything is going well, so far, I think,” you whisper to him once you’re out of earshot of the others. 

“Everyone thinks we’re actually together. I think we might pull it off.” 

_____________________________

The rest of the night went surprisingly well, the attention largely kept off the two of you most of the time as the team seemed to be more interested in teasing each other while their partners rolled their eyes at the guys’ antics. Brock drove you back in silence, a smile on his face the entire time. 

You headed to bed, knowing that you were going to be leaving when you woke up the next morning, part of you dreading the moment Brock would drop you off at the airport. 

He pulled up to the terminal, neither of you moving once he put the car in park. 

“Can I admit something?” he asks. 

“Sure.”

“I don’t think I want you to leave.” 

You look at him. “I don’t really want to leave.”

“But,” he starts.

“I have to.” 

Brock gets out of the car before you could say anything else, heading to grab your bag from his trunk. 

“We were good at fake dating, though,” he says, handing you your bag. 

You nod as he pulls you in for a hug. “Was all of it fake?” You don’t know what compelled you to ask that, other than you not thinking before you speak.

Brock smiles, his arms still wrapped around you. Before you can fully process it, his lips find yours, a sweet, slow kiss as your lips moved together, his hand on the small of your back pressing you into him. 

“No.” 

[hisfavegiri]

Please Stay - Modern!Aegon Targaryen x Fiancé! Reader

At just 24 years old, you are celebrated as the best surgeon in your city and the youngest ever to hold the title. It’s a reputation you’ve earned through sheer determination and exceptional skill. Starting your residency only a year and a half ago, you quickly distinguished yourself as one of the brightest and most talented young doctors the hospital had ever seen. Your rapid ascent to becoming a professional surgeon was nothing short of remarkable, breaking records and earning the respect of both your mentors and peers.

One evening, as you prep for a complex case, a senior surgeon approaches, a mix of pride and curiosity in his expression.

“I still can’t believe you’re only 24,” he says with a chuckle. “When I was your age, I was still fumbling through my first surgical rotation.”

You smile modestly, glancing at the patient’s chart in your hand. “Well, I had a lot of great teachers,” you reply. “And… maybe I don’t like fumbling.”

He laughs, patting your shoulder. “Humility suits you, but don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got talent, and everyone here knows it. Just don’t burn out. You’ve got a long career ahead of you.”

You nod, appreciating the advice but already feeling the weight of expectations. “I’ll try, but it’s hard to slow down when there’s so much to learn—and so many lives depending on us.”

He pauses, studying you thoughtfully. “You’re right, but remember: you’re not alone. The pressure is real, but so is the support. Don’t forget that."

As he walks away, you take a deep breath, looking toward the operating room. The hum of the hospital surrounds you, and though the road has been tough, you know this is exactly where you’re meant to be. Every challenge, every late night, every life saved—it’s all part of a journey you’re proud to call your own..

You glance nervously at your phone, your fingers tapping lightly on the edge of your desk. You’re waiting for a message from your fiancé. He promised to come and meet you tonight to celebrate your anniversary, but so far, there’s no text or call. Your mind races with thoughts—what if he forgot? What if he’s stuck at work? You shake your head, trying to stay focused, but the waiting feels unbearable.

In the bustling hospital lounge, your colleagues notice your unusual behavior.

“Hey, Dr. Prodigy, what’s up with you?” one of the residents teases, leaning casually against the counter.

“You look like you’re about to scrub in for a life-or-death surgery!” another doctor adds with a laugh.

“Come on, give her a break,” says a nurse, smirking. “She's clearly waiting for a very important text.”

You sigh, trying to play it cool, but your reddening cheeks betray you. “It’s nothing,” you mumble, glancing at your phone again.

“Oh, it’s definitely not nothing,” the first resident chimes in. “What is it? A date? Anniversary? Wedding planning?”

You hesitate, then finally admit, “It’s our anniversary. My fiancé said he’d meet me after my shift, but… he’s late.”

There’s a moment of silence before the group erupts into exaggerated gasps and laughter.

“Well, that explains it!” one of the doctors jokes. “No wonder you’ve been pacing like a nervous intern before their first surgery!”

“Don’t worry,” another adds with a grin. “He’s probably planning something special. You’ll be fine, Dr. Genius.”

Despite their teasing, you can’t help but smile. Their laughter reminds you of the camaraderie that makes the long hours and stressful days bearable. You glance at your phone one more time—and just then, it buzzes with a message.

“On my way. Can’t wait to see you. Happy anniversary, love.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you tuck your phone away, a small smile on your lips. “Alright, everyone, back to work. I’ve got a shift to finish before my celebration begins!” You walk away, feeling a mix of relief and excitement, ready to face whatever the evening holds.

You continue the rest of your shift in high spirits, the anticipation of seeing your fiancé carrying you through the usual chaos of the hospital. As you check on your last patient, a subtle vibration from your pager grabs your attention. Glancing down, your heart sinks for a moment. The screen flashes the emergency code: “911.” Without hesitation, you shove the pager back into your pocket and start running toward the ER, your earlier excitement replaced by the sharp focus that comes with urgency.

The ER is already alive with activity when you burst through the doors. Nurses and doctors are moving swiftly, their faces tense. You spot Dr. Harris, the attending physician, waving you over.

“Glad you’re here!” he calls out. “We’ve got a trauma case incoming—multiple injuries from a car accident. ETA is two minutes.”

You nod, quickly pulling on gloves. “What do we know so far?”

“Three victims,” he replies. “One critical—possible internal bleeding. This one’s yours.”

Your heart pounds, but you keep your voice steady. “Alright. Prep the OR and alert radiology. We’ll need imaging as soon as they arrive.”

As you finish speaking, the sound of ambulance sirens pierces the air. The doors swing open, and paramedics rush in with the first stretcher.

“Male, mid-30s, unresponsive. BP’s dropping fast!” a paramedic shouts.

You step forward, assessing the patient quickly. “Let’s move him to Bay 3. I’ll take it from here.”

The room fades away as you focus entirely on stabilizing the patient. Every movement is precise, every instruction clear. This is where you thrive—under pressure, in the heat of the moment, saving lives.

As you work, a voice in the back of your mind whispers about your fiancé, about your anniversary, but you push it aside. Right now, there’s only the patient in front of you. The celebration can wait—someone’s life cannot.

As you focus on stabilizing your patient, you catch a glimpse of another stretcher being wheeled into the ER. For a split second, your breath hitches—it’s as if you see your fiancé lying there, pale and motionless. Your heart skips, but you shake the thought away. This isn’t the time to lose focus.

“Stay with me,” you whisper to your patient, tightening your grip on his wrist as you check his pulse.

“Doctor!” a nurse calls out, her voice urgent. “His blood pressure is dropping fast—60 over 40!”

“Damn it,” you mutter under your breath, your mind racing. “We’re losing him. Prep for transport to the OR immediately!”

The nurse nods, rushing to comply as you continue working, pushing every thought of the other stretcher from your mind. You glance at the monitor—his heart rate is erratic, and his oxygen levels are plummeting.

“We’re out of time,” you say firmly. “Get anesthesia and notify the OR team. He needs surgery now, or we’ll lose him.”

Two orderlies arrive with the portable monitor and start unhooking him from the trauma bed. As you help guide the stretcher toward the elevator, the fleeting image of the other patient flashes in your mind again. Was it really him? You shake your head, forcing the thought aside.

“Focus,” you mutter to yourself. “He needs you right now.”

As you step into the elevator with your patient, the weight of uncertainty presses on you. You tell yourself you’ll check the ER again once this surgery is done—but deep down, a knot of fear has already formed in your chest.

Inside the operating room, you struggle to focus as your hands move with practiced precision. The patient’s vitals continue to drop, and while you should be entirely absorbed in the procedure, your mind keeps wandering back to the glimpse of the stretcher in the ER. Was it really him? Could it be? You push the thought away, but it keeps clawing its way back.

“Doctor, the patient’s blood pressure is still falling,” the anesthesiologist says, his tone tense.

“I see it,” you reply, trying to mask the tremor in your voice. “Suction, now. I need a clearer view.”

As you continue, something doesn’t add up. The internal bleeding isn’t where you anticipated. Your frustration grows alongside your racing thoughts. The faces of your fiancé and the patient in front of you blur together in your mind, and you clench your jaw, forcing yourself to stay present.

“Damn it,” you mutter under your breath, pausing for a brief moment. “We’re missing something. Extend the incision. I need a better look.”

A nurse hesitates. “Doctor, are you sure?”

You nod firmly, steadying your hands. “Yes. There’s something we’re not seeing. Prepare the cauterizer and suction.”

As the area of the incision widens, your suspicion is confirmed—a hidden arterial tear, steadily leaking blood. You suppress a wave of relief and focus entirely on the repair.

“Clamp here,” you instruct, your voice now steady. “And suture ready. We’ve got this.”

The tension in the room eases as the bleeding slows. The patient’s vitals begin to stabilize, and for the first time since the operation began, you exhale.

“Good work, everyone,” you say, stepping back slightly as the team begins cleanup. But as you glance up at the clock, your mind drifts back to the ER. The knot in your stomach tightens. As soon as this is over, you know exactly where you need to go.

After scrubbing out and cleaning yourself up, you waste no time heading back to the ER. The patient you just operated on is stable, but the knot in your chest refuses to ease. As you hurry down the corridor, a colleague runs toward you, her expression stricken.

“Doctor!” she calls out, slightly out of breath. “It’s your fiancé—he’s in Trauma Two. Critical condition.”

Her words hit you like a freight train. Your heart drops, and for a moment, the world around you blurs. “What?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“There was a car accident,” she continues quickly. “He was one of the victims. He’s intubated and in bad shape.”

Without waiting for more, you break into a sprint, the hallway stretching endlessly ahead of you. You burst through the ER doors, ignoring the chaos around you, and make a beeline for Trauma Two.

There he is. Lying on the bed, pale and motionless, with tubes and wires attached to his body. The ventilator hisses softly, each sound a cruel reminder of his fragility. Your knees almost buckle, but you force yourself to stay upright.

A nurse glances at you and steps aside, giving you space. “We’ve stabilized him for now,” she says gently, “but his injuries are severe. Internal bleeding, possible head trauma. We need to move him to the OR soon.”

You swallow hard, your voice breaking. “I—I’ll take over. Prep the OR. I’ll do it myself.”

Another doctor steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You can’t, not like this. You’re too close.”

You shake your head fiercely, tears stinging your eyes. “He’s my fiancé. I have to do this. I’m not letting anyone else touch him.”

For a moment, there’s silence, and then the team nods in understanding. The nurse squeezes your arm gently. “We’ll support you. Let’s save him.”

You take a shaky breath, wiping your tears away. You’ve saved countless lives before, but this time, it’s personal. You step closer to the bed, gripping his hand tightly for a brief moment before steeling yourself.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper to him, your voice trembling. “I won’t let you go.” Then, with a newfound determination, you start issuing orders. There’s no room for hesitation now—his life depends on you.

As you prepare to scrub in for the surgery, your focus razor-sharp despite the emotional weight pressing down on you, the door swings open, and chief steps in. His face is stern, and his tone leaves no room for argument.

“You’re not scrubbing in,” he says firmly. “You’re too emotionally involved with this case.”

You freeze, disbelief washing over you. “Chief, with all due respect, I’m the most qualified surgeon available for this operation. No one knows his medical history better than I do.”

“That’s exactly why you’re not doing it,” he replies, crossing his arms. “This is a critical surgery, and your emotions will cloud your judgment. I can’t allow that.”

Your voice rises, desperation creeping in. “Cloud my judgment? I just performed a high-stakes surgery an hour ago, and I was fine! I need to be in that room. He’s my fiancé!”

“And that’s why you can’t,” the chief cuts you off, his expression softening slightly. “I understand how hard this is for you, but the best thing you can do for him right now is to trust your colleagues. Let us do our job.”

You clench your fists, your frustration boiling over. “I’m begging you, please. Don’t shut me out of this.”

But his decision is final. “You’re out. That’s an order.”

With no choice but to comply, you storm out of the prep room, your chest heaving with anger and helplessness. Instead of leaving entirely, you make your way to the observation gallery above the operating room.

From the gallery, you watch as your colleagues begin the surgery. Your heart pounds with every movement they make, your hands instinctively mimicking the motions as though you’re the one holding the scalpel. You mutter under your breath, second-guessing their decisions and silently willing them to hurry.

“Come on,” you whisper, your nails digging into your palms. “Don’t make any mistakes. Please, save him.”

Every second feels like an eternity as you sit there, powerless to do anything but hope and pray that the team below can succeed where you can’t.

From the gallery, your eyes are glued to the monitors and the movements of the surgical team below. Every beep of the heart monitor sends a jolt through your chest. Your fingers clench around your phone, the screen still showing your last call with his family. They’re on their way now, but it feels like time is crawling.

You whisper to yourself, almost as if he can hear you. “Hold on… just hold on a little longer. They’re coming.”

Below, the lead surgeon suddenly calls out, “BP’s dropping—heart rate unstable! Suction here, now!”

Panic grips you as you lean forward, pressing your hands against the glass. “No, no, no,” you mutter, your voice trembling. “Do something. Fix it!”

A nurse below glances up at the gallery, her concerned eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before she refocuses on the patient. You feel utterly helpless, the familiar rhythm of surgery playing out in front of you while you’re forced to stand on the sidelines.

Your phone vibrates in your hand—a message from his mother: We’re almost there. How is he?

You stare at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. What do you even say? That you’re watching his life slip through the cracks, unable to do anything? That you’re terrified he might not make it?

As his vitals dip further, tears sting your eyes. You whisper shakily, “Come on, fight. Please. Don’t leave me.”

For the first time in your career, you’re paralyzed—not by lack of skill, but by the weight of love and fear. The ache of not being able to save him yourself cuts deeper than any failure you’ve ever known.

tag list - @danytar @looneytun3s @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd @eratosmusings (italic means that i can’t tag you)

[tsukis-marauders-microfics]

The Quidditch Pitch

Nov. 27th - 491 words - @wolfstarmicrofic

Gryffindor just needed to catch the snitch.

They were tied with Ravenclaw in points, so whoever got the snitch first would win.

Remus didn’t care for Quidditch, but one of the downsides of having two roommates who are on the team is that you hear about it constantly (especially with one of those roommates being your boyfriend- then you really never stop hearing about it).

It was the final match, and the winner would win the Inner house Quidditch cup, so Remus had come down to the pitch to support Sirius and James.

Peter was commentating on the game, which had always been one of his dreams, and Remus thought he was doing a good job, but he did seem to have a lot of bias (he kept calling for James or Sirius to watch out, almost getting the microphone taken away every time).

Remus was sitting alone from everybody else, they were all too loud right now and he couldn’t break his concentration- he knew how much this game meant to James and Sirius and how sad they’d be if they lost, which was probably why they were playing harder then Remus had ever seen them. James was practically a blur, and Sirius was hitting bludgers with such ferocity Remus was surprised that they didn’t break on impact.

“Potter grabs the quaffle thanks to McKinnon- nice one James- throws it to Thomas- Thomas misses- OH, OH, SEEKERS DIVING FOR THE SNITCH!” Peter shrieks, as Remus quickly snaps his eyes down to the seekers, neck in neck, both diving for a gold little ball. Looking back up to Sirius, Remus saw him hit a bludger, and in almost slow motion, the bludger slid past the Gryffindor seeker and hit the Ravenclaw one, causing the Gryffindor player to lurch forward and grab onto the snitch.

Immediately, the Gryffindors roared, and Remus jumped to his feet, quickly walking down to the pitch, a smile growing on his face at every step.

Once his feet touched the grass, he’d only gotten a few steps before something hurdled at him, almost throwing him backward. Sirius was in his arms, smiling wider than Remus had seen him in a while.

“WE WON!!!” He exclaimed excitedly, his arms still around Remus’s neck. Remus just looked down on him happily before tightening their embrace.

“You did amazing love.” Remus told him, burying his face in Sirius’s hair, but trying to make it look platonic to outsiders.

“I can’t believe we won! Did you see that last move Moony? I just saw them so close together and Marlene hit a bludger to me for me to hit and then I just- hit it! And we won!!” Sirius beamed at him. Remus laughed and subtly kissed Sirius’s head

“I really need to snog you right now.” Remus whispered in his ear. Sirius turned beetroot red and without another word pulled Remus below the stands and kissed him.

Life was good.

[jjaime-lannister]

christening the blog w jaime ramblings ehehehe this isn’t gonna be great cuz im tired but ARGH this dumb blonde failguy lives in my head rent free

okay i fr loved his GoT ending and im HOLDON GUYS GUYS HEAR ME OUT. i am not a jaime/cersei shipper i promise. i just think it is highly in character and realistic of jaime to end up going back to this toxic relationship/household and i love it so much.

like he spends so much of the show believing cersei and the lannister’s and kings landing is the only place for him, he is a bad person and he fits in here with the bad people, it simply is. he doesn’t even consider change until he is knocked over the fucking head by the concept. and then he gets so close to leaving a couple times, but he always goes back, he’s intrigued by changing, if he could be a good person that might be cool. but ultimately it’s not something he can really buy into, so he goes back, this is where he belongs. but it’s not the same, he’s haunted by the idea that this isn’t the only place for him. but that’s weird and scary so he never actually seeks out brienne or any other place, just kindof stews in it until brienne shows up again, and most stories would have him either actually recover and get better, or reveal that he’s “too far gone” in some way. but for jaime he made the decision, it’s not that he’s incapable of change, it’s that he’s scared of change, he doesn’t want to believe recovery is possible for him because it’s fucking terrifying and he’d have to yknow, actually get better. he manages to do the right thing a couple times but in the end he cannot cope w recovery, can’t cope with the fact that he is capable of change. that he actually was a bad person and that was actually bad and changing would mean condemning his past behavior and his family and not doing those things anymore. so once again he goes back to cersei and his family and kings landing and it leads to his death. and it’s such a good ending to his tragic fucking story and i love it so much

no more happy ending only characters failing to get better bc they are too ashamed of their past ty ty

[pixlokita]

。（＞ω＜。）

[joelsgoldrush]

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch 

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

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

[tonycries]

WAP!

Synopsis. How was he expected to not lose control the first time he goes in raw?

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, bréeding, mating press, jealousy (Nanami’s side), improper use of Gojo’s technique, true form! Sukuna, dp, praise, creampíe, spítting, really REALLY needy pússydrunk boys, cúmplay, some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.6k (whoops)

A/N. Got a bit carried away but oh well hehehe.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - “A-another?”

Toji Fushiguro never stutters, he never sounds unsure, he never lets that deep baritone voice of his break so pathetically at the end of his sentence. 

Except for now, that is.

With you folded into such a mean mating press, spreading your shaky legs to flash him that heavenly view. As if that wasn’t enough to have Toji’s head spinning already, you give him a hazy, determined nod, “Another.”

Another. Oh, it’s all he can do to hold back a guttural groan when thumbing apart your puffy folds, eyeing the way you were clenching up at him eagerly.

“Another, huh?” Toji echoes, his free hand coming up to slide back that thin layer of plastic on his swollen cock. Slow. Torturously slow. Hissing at the cool air kissing his aching length, “Then-” He glides his leaky tip across your glossy entrance, smirking at the way you arch into it like such a slut. “-this pretty cunt better actually give me another kid, doll.”

And then Toji’s pushing in - slow, ruthless little pistons of his hips that have you scrambling further and further up the mattress. Veins pulsing against your plushy walls in a feverish thump! thump! thump! 

Of course, he wasn’t faring any better. 

“O-oh.” Toji throws his head back, brows scrunching at the feeling of your sweet sweet cunt. “So this is- fuck- what ya feel like, hm? Hold on- wait- wanna test something-” 

“Ngh! Oh-” you squeal when two thick fingers dip down to toy with your throbbing clit, bucking your hips up in a way that has Toji sinking in deeper. Blinking away the shocked tears behind your lids, “T-Toji– don’t be mean.”

But you doubted he could hear you - fuck, you doubted Toji was even breathing at this point. Because his eyes were widened, jaw dagging open ever-so-slightly to moan, “Fuck- oh my god- ya squeeze me ngh- even tighter without that fucking condom.”

And he’s so fucking awe-struck - and you’re being fucked so dumb - that you don’t even realize it when he’s bottoming out. Still pushing in, trying to squeeze even deeper into your gummy walls. 

“F-fuck can’t believe you’ve been holdin’ out.” he spits, sounding so genuinely bewildered, pulling your hips back messily to meet his. Heavy balls smacking you with each rough, depraved thrust inside. “Ohhh m’never letting ya hold out on me again, doll.”

Your nails leave angry, red marks down, down, down his sculpted back. Glassy eyes begging - pleading for any once of mercy for the monster you’ve brought on. “N-never?”

He gives your ravaged clit a light smack! with the pads of his fingers - both a little punishment and a sneaky little way to feel you clamp down on his thick cock in surprise again. Huffing out a low laugh, “Yeahhh you’re not getting off easy. Never.” And, usually, Toji was so suave, so infuriatingly in control - but right now he’s running his mouth as sloppily as his hips. Panting into your open mouth, “Gonna hafta let me f-feel this cute pussy all the fuckin’ time now. Gonna hafta let me breed her.”

And shit it wasn’t enough. It’ll never be enough. 

In a split second, Toji falls back onto his knees, pulling you upright to splay out so prettily on his lap. The change in position pushing him in deeper and deeper and-

“That’s what I hah- like to see-” One hand squishes your cheeks together and forces you to look down at the way your poor pussy was bulging and struggling around Toji’s cock. So so angry and drenched with all your syrupy sweet juices, glistening all the way down to his twitching balls. “Ya look so much oh- shit- better drooling all over me and not some condom, doll.” Toji’s sharp teeth graze your ear, abs rippling underneath your touch as fucks up into you so animalistically. So ferally. Sharp, long jabs of his hips, just dragging your sloppy pussy all over. “N’ even better when she’s ngh- painted white, right?”

The only response you’re stupidly giving him are a handful of teary whimpers, thighs burning with the wet smack of skin on skin. 

And the way you’re bucking down pathetically to meet his ruthless cadence, but you don’t  even realize that until Toji lets out a strangled groan. “Heh, ya like that?”

“Mhm.” you whine. “L-like it so- much- like feeling you like this- ah-”

He’s pulling you into a messy kiss - if it can even be called that, just a lazy, messy drag of his lips and that scar against your lolling open mouth, “Tha’s my girl. Ya like feeling me raw, hm?” Each word nudges his fat head against your bruised g-spot in a way that has Toji so drunk, so high off you and that pretty cunt. Twiddling a thumb on your sensitive nub. Over and over and over. “Ya like the ohh- fuck- idea of giving me another? Making Megs a big brother?”

“Yes! Fuck yes yes yes I-”

Toji doesn’t hear the rest of your sentence - nor does he really give a shit. Not when your cute cunt is squeezing around him so fucking tight that it was almost hard to ram his cock inside. 

Milking the fucking soul out of him as you cum, a broken little ah! ah! ah! leaves your mouth when with a couple, sloppy thrusts Toji can’t help but paint your pussy a sinful white. Thick, hot ropes of his seed that slosh inside your gummy walls - cumming and cumming so much that he feels it drip out your slit.

Meshing together in a lewd combination at the soaked base of his still-rock hard cock, one that makes Toji keen gruffly. Pooling his seed on the pads of his fingers, he bullies them back into your still-stuffed hole, “So…are we sure it took?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Right here right now

Everyone knows Nanami Kento as a patient man - a sensible one. The one person at the office they could trust with anything and everything.

Only you knew Nanami Kento as the type of man to just drag you into the break room in the middle of the work day, spitting out a barely-there excuse about “a meeting” to the rest of your confused coworkers. When in reality he was shoving you near the nearest flat surface and bunching your cute skirt up at your hips. 

“Ken- what-” you sputter in a daze, blinking up at the panting man above you. “What happened?”

The only answer you’re getting is the clink-clink-clink of Nanami’s belt unbuckling, stray strands of blond sticking to his furrowed forehead as he takes in your slutty position. 

Scoffing, “Can you at least tell me what-”

Your words die in your throat at the feeling of something so warm and rock-hard making a mess of you down below. And - sure enough - you’re met with the sight of Nanami’s fingers nudging apart your flimsy panties - just enough for his fat head to kiss against your puffy folds. Sending a fresh wave of your slick coating his hand once more. 

“Don’t have a condom.” he speaks to you properly for the first time since coming in here, gruff and strained against your ear. “Guess we’ll hafta make do, darling.”

Fuck, you’ve never gone without a condom with your boyfriend before - but now that you’ve felt the sensation of his deep slit rubbing against your hole, the dip of his veins tracing against your walls, well, shit you think you might just be addicted. 

Nanami isn’t too far behind - because he lets out a deep groan. “O-oh. Fuck, remind me to do this more often.” Chest heaving as he pulls out ever-so-slightly, only to run a fist down his length, smearing your syrupy sweet juices in a glossy sheen along his cock. “Who said you can feel this haah- fucking good, my love? This all f’me?”

It’s only with this that you’re realizing that he still hasn’t explained yet. 

Reaching out a hand to pull on Nanami’s favorite yellow tie, you bring his face mere millimeters from yours. Breathing out, “E-explain or m’walking out.” 

You wouldn’t - you knew that. And Nanami did too, but that didn’t stop that greedy part of himself from stilling inside your puffy folds, having you struggling and clenching with the effort to take in his girth. 

“Jus’ wanted to hah- feel you. To really feel you.” he’s nosing up your racing pulse. Strong hands pushing your legs so far apart on the table that it burned. “To actually prove to this cute pussy that she’s mine. S’that s-so wrong?” He’s fucking you like he wants to prove a point - in long, purposeful strokes that roam for your g-spot. Gritting out, “Especially when you’re so warm. So heavenly. N’ some people here can’t take a hint.”

Ah, so that’s what it was all about - that new intern at the office who seemed particularly attached to you lately. Enough so that it had Nanami acting like this - not that you were complaining, obviously. 

No sooner is the realization hitting you that Nanami’s smashing into your sensitive spot. Hard.

A large hand hastily covers your mouth as soon as it sags open. Only growing more and more desperate when Nanami starts up a quick tempo. Hitting it over and over and over- “Shhh shhh, darling.” he groans, fucking you deeper and deeper into the table. “I know it’s good. Ngh- oh my god you feel fucking perfect- But we wouldn’t want ‘em to hear, right? Though-” And then he’s flashing such an uncharacteristically smug smile, gaze just devouring you through his long lashes. “-wouldn’t mind ‘em knowing that you’re mine.”

And it seems like he was torn between forming coherent thoughts and just rambling about how sinfully good you felt. 

“K-Ken-”

But Nanami wasn’t done - far from it, in fact. He was running his mouth, words slurring and stumbling with each jolt of his hips forward. 

“Shh, let me do all the work, darling.” Drawing gentle, purposeful circles on your clit, “Jus’ sit there n’- hngh- let me feel this pussy some more. Let her soak me some more. Been waitin’ for this too long- oh- They’d never know, right?”

It’s all you can do to nod, barely-lucidly, “N-never. Only you, Ken.”

And now, unfortunately for you and your poor cunt, it just seemed like Nanami was pussydrunk off the feeling of your gummy walls milking the fucking soul out of him. No longer just proving a point - no, oh, he was lost in the way you were so soft. So messy - forming a cute pool of slick on the table below, on his heavy balls. 

Eyes rolling to the back of his head, “Fuck him. Fuck them all.” 

You flinch as he catches your lips to spit out heated little profanities into your open mouth, biting and tugging filthily on yours. Almost babbling at this point, “They’ll n-never know how ngh fucking heavenly this cunt feels. How perfect you’re wrapped around me.”

Both the obscene squelches from below and your broken little whimpers were reaching a feverish height, coupled with Nanami’s rumbling groans. And it’s only when you let out a particularly loud whine of “Ken–” that makes him grow even girthier inside you. 

Stretching you out so good, he lets out a warning whisper. Low and dangerous, “Careful.” Sending a wave of goosebumps down your spine - all the way to your ravaged cunt, “I hear he’s got a meeting here soon.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - The cocky one

“Hah, such a cocky smile, gorgeous.” Geto shakes his head down at where you were on all fours for him. Arched like such a slut against his angry tip, throbbing and glistening between your legs. “You sure you’re oh-”

Whatever mean little retort - and that smirk - is wiped clean off of Geto’s pretty lips when you fuck yourself back onto his rock-hard cock. Gritting your teeth at the sheer stretch when your sloppy hole finds his red, leaky tip, determinedly stuttering him down, down, down until your ass was pressed up against those tufts of black at his toned pelvis. 

“W-whoops.” you sigh when your skin smacks against his abs, tone saccharine sweet. “What were you hah- saying, dear?”

Geto lets out a strangled groan, head tipping back, fingers blindly finding your hips to keep them from fidgeting. Fuck, you were so heavenly - so addictive. He could feel himself rubbing up against every ridge and dip of your tight pussy. 

“You little bitch.” he sighs, heavy eyes locked on where the two of you were connected. Your pussy lips bulging so sinfully around him, making him grow even larger. Longer - hitting spots you never knew existed. “Now that’s just ngh- playing unfair.”

Unfair? Oh, you could teach him about ‘unfair’. Unfair was when he’s jutting his hips forward in slow, shallow strokes just to fit inside - no rhythm or rhyme, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Unfair was when he strikes your ass with a sharp smack! grinning at the way the flesh jiggles against his palm.

Unfair is when he leans down to murmur thickly, the change in angle having him barrelling deeper inside your snug cunt. “Isn’t it?”

“N-no.” your lower lip wobbles. 

“N-n-no.” Geto grins, “Stuttering too? That’s crazy, what happened to my smug girl from- hah- before- oh fuck-” 

But oh for all how cocky Geto was acting, he was so weak against the way your gummy walls clench down so fucking tight around him - on purpose. Stuttering down to milk him like you wanted to draw out something delicious. Like you couldn’t stand being even a hair’s breadth away. 

“Haaa…” he lets out a broken shudder, two hands wrapping underneath your inner thighs to just drag your sloppy further down, settling deep - so impossibly deep - into your gut. Distantly, some part of him hoped that you left marks - a cute lil’ ass print against his abs for him to admire later. “Fuck- fine. Fine-” 

You whirl your teary eyes over your shoulder - and it was so difficult to look behind you. Because Geto was so unfairly pretty - long, inky hair curtaining his pussydrunk eyes, twirling all the way down to where his delicate blush dusted all over his cheeks, his chest, his rock-hard abs. Involuntarily, you find your sloppy cunt clenching again, rubbing up so deliciously against that prominent vein down the middle of Geto’s length. 

That coaxes out another drawn-out groan from your boyfriend, and a traitorous buck of his hips - his fat head hitting right on your g-spot. “I said fine.” he barks out, teeth bared. “Y-you win. Ngh- you win the bet. Fuuuck you win, just let me- ngh just let me fuck this pretty cunt. Now.”

Ah, right. The bet - that single, mindless little comment earlier today about who’d break first if you two went in raw. 

And, clearly, there was an obvious winner. 

Because Geto isn’t waiting around for your kiss-bitten lips to drop into some taunting remark, hell, he can’t even wait for you to register his words before letting his hips lose control. Ramming into you in quick, jagged thrusts that abuse your hidden sweet spots. 

Over and over and-

“Y’feel so soft, gorgeous.” he purrs into your ear, pushing all his all his body weight in an attempt to hold your slutty cunt still. Setting up such a mean pace, “So warm- ngh n’ m’tired of pretending it isn’t driving me crazy.”

You keen when Geto cranes his fingers to deftly roll over your clit, “S-so much for not breaking first.”

“Awww c’mon now.” Geto’s balls smacking against your ass get louder - harsher. “I already s-said you win. Hah-” God, he’s barely in control of himself with the way he catches your lips in a messy clash of a kiss. Hot tongue nudging apart your plump lips to spit a steady stream of saliva. Once. Twice. Some of it missing and splattering against the corner of your mouth, “N’ you know what m- ngh- buying you as a p-prize?”

Your knees are weakening pathetically now, sliding further and further apart on the silky sheets with each harsh slam of his cock - only to be pulled back up by an impatient Geto. 

“Do you?” he hisses, pistoning his hips so hard now that your knees were hovering midair - held up by a frenzied Geto. Who plows on deliriously, “Gonna buy ya- nghh fuck- the pill. So many- cuz you’re gonna fuckin’ need it-”

And need it you did. 

Because it only takes a few more seconds of this maddening song and dance before Geto’s cumming and cumming so hard it was like he couldn’t - wouldn’t want to - stop.

Pumping thick, hot rope after rope of his seed until your high was crashing into his. Until his cock was so raw and twitching sensitively. Until his balls were squeezing so painfully, tears stinging behind his eyelids with each ram into your fluttering pussy. 

“Best out of three?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Overheat

Oh this was a dream - or heaven. Maybe both. Because here was Choso sprawled out so prettily on his damp navy sheets, dark hair untied, half-lidded eyes gazing up at a sly angel - you - straddling his toned hips.  

Pussy lips swollen and drooling down where you were positioning his fat, leaky head right at where just a simple nudge of Choso’s squirming hips would have you split apart on his swollen cock - raw. 

“Cho~” your heady voice breaks through his stunned reverie, “You alright, baby?”

“Y-yes.” his words catch in his heaving chest. And Choso’s so embarrassed - still so stuck on the heavenly view below - that he’s barely even registering the hand of his that makes its way down to rest on your steady waist. “Just that-”

And then Choso’s giving an impatient tug on the fat of your hips, inching you so agonizingly close to his needy, red tip. So close he could practically feel you already - he could imagine how soft and warm you were bound to be.

You huff out a low chuckle, “Awww poor baby.” Grinning at the way your boyfriend takes one of tits into his mouth to muffle his embarrassed whine. He alternates between sucking and rolling his tongue over your sensitive nipples, “Is this what you- hah- want?”

And the way you sandwich his thick cock between your slit has Choso’s ministrations on your nipple stuttering. Whispering out a muffled little, “Y-yeah…”

“Louder.”

“...”

Tutting, “Or, I could just get a condom since you’re so shy-”

“No!” Choso rasps out wetly, and the sudden outburst seems to startle you both. But especially Choso who only blabbers, pussydrunk and slurring already, “No no no no no- need this-” He claws at your hips, edging you closer and closer to sit on his soaked, twitching cock. Bucking his hips up wildly, the slick coating your dripping cunt making him slide messily across your folds once. Twice. “Need you so bad- wan’ feel you wanna feel this pretty pussy- ngh- please. Fuck!”

Both of you let out a synchronous moan when he finally manages to sink his fat head inside your sloppy entrance. So thick, stretching you open so well despite not even being halfway in.

“F-fuck.” Choso’s hazy eyes widen, and he immediately flattens his feet on the bed before pulling back. Only for his poor, oversensitive balls to squeeze so painfully- before covering your dripping cunt in rope after rope of his seed. Your pussy too heavenly, his sanity too gone. “Sh-shit m’sorry m’sorry- ngh.”

Your eyes widen, “Ch-Cho did you-” 

But he doesn’t let you finish - was probably too embarrassed to before stuffing your gaping, needy hole with his thick cock again. And again. And again and again trying to relieve that first time. “Oh, is this okay? Is this r-really okay?”

You don’t even know what he’s asking about - not when Choso’s sliding you deeper and deeper down his cock. Sculpted body bowing into yours when he starts bouncing you up and down like his favorite sextoy - reveling in the lewd squelches below and those pretty moans leaving your lips. 

“S’your fault, y’know?” he pants, ragged. Hips fucking up uncontrollably, drunk off the feeling. “Y-your ohhh fuck- your pussy feels too good, baby. N’ she’s s-so soft. So warm with my cum.”

And it was so sloppy, your boyfriend was never one to shy away from making a mess out of you both but this. Oh, you were losing your fucking mind with his harsh pace, letting that lewd combination of his cum and your slick glisten all over his abs, your thighs, your filthy cunt. All the way down to where his heavy balls were sure to leave marks for tomorrow - right alongside his pelvis against your thighs, fingers on your hips. 

“Y-you’re so-” you lean over to dig your nails into Choso’s pecs, and he takes the opportunity to bite and tease your poor nipples once more. “-filthy, Cho.”

He swallows, and fuck you don’t think he’s ever looked prettier. Adam’s apple bobbing, cheeks flushed, eyes narrowed and miles away. “It’s this hah- p-pretty pussy, baby. R-raw? Seriously? She’s driving me insane.”

At that last, broken word of his sentence, Choso throws his head back as if merely remembering that there was no little plastic separating his throbbing cock from your gummy cunt was enough to make him go crazy. 

Hips pistoning up faster, molding your cunt to his shape. Bruising your g-spot with each thrust - and your cervix, too, just as a little stray reminder that you’re his from the inside out. Gasping out, “Just look at her.”

When you snap your head down, he’s already spreading apart your puffy folds with two fingers, giving you the perfect view of that creamy sheen, Choso’s reckless, maddening hips, the way your cunt was bulging and soaking his painfully hard cock. 

Only getting sloppier. Harder. Drunk with each thrust. 

“She’s so pretty.” he grits out, “So heavenly. Might just b-be my new hah- obsession.” Just babbling nonsense in strained, jagged words that come out after each brush of his fat tip against your g-spot. So hard that you were stumbling precariously on top of his wild hips. “Yeah- new obsession. My heavenly obsession” he eyes down your quivering thighs, those breathy moans that told him you were close.“N’ I wonder how much more heavenly you’d be if I cum inside?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Take both, dammit.

“B-both?”

The only response you get are Sukuna’s fingers tightening around your throat, sharp nails dragging dangerously over your racing pulse. Pulling your dazed face closed to gift you with a low, cocky hum, “Both.”

And then you can’t breathe - not because of the large hand taking its place around your neck, no, but because Sukuna was suddenly nudging his weeping, fat tips against your sloppy entrance. Lips curling up into a devilish grin at how you were quivering in- fear? Anticipation? 

Either way it had you keening tearily, “Kuna it won’t- fit!”

“Hmm,” Sukuna purses his lips in mock-thought, free hand dipping down to roll his index against your clit. “Let’s ask her why don’t we?” Any and every noise of surprise you manage to yelp out are overshadowed by the most obscene squelches you’ve ever heard in your life. Like Sukuna was well and fully intent on proving his point by circling his thumb around your sloppy hole until you gave up. And he was. “She says she’s just dying to take it. What’s your excuse, brat?”

Truly, it was the first time you’ve tried taking both your boyfriend’s massive cocks - and just one of them required specially made condoms and such extensive teasing and toying to stretch you out enough. 

So one thing was sure - you weren’t making it out alive. 

You’re startled out of your reverie by a dark chuckle from above - shit, did you say that out loud? “Well, only one way to find out.”

It’s all that’s said before he’s pushing in - both at once. Fat heads bumping into each other as Sukuna grinds against your snug pussy in shallow, short rolls of his hips. 

“Tch.” he clicks his tongue when your feeble ring of resistance struggles to take him. A warm hand of his comes down to soothe over your head slowly, gently - uncharacteristically so. Whispering, “Shhhh, shhh breathe. You got this. You can take it- hah- you always do, right?” Hips getting just a bit more forceful. A bit more calculated. “You can-” Before that sweet hand on your hair tightens to push you down, hard. “-take it.”

Oh, you should’ve known - should’ve gotten an inkling that the king of curses always gets what he wants. Always. 

“Oh my god- oh my god, Kuna! S’so deep-”

A startled smile spreads over Sukuna’s face, eyes widening in surprise. “Ohh, shit. Shit, brat.” He angles his head just right to spy down - just to make sure. “If I knew you felt ngh- th-this good, I’d have done it sooner Much, much sooner.”

But fuck for how cocky he was acting right now, Sukuna was in fucking heaven. 

Dipping his head down to hide the blush dusting his cheeks, and that euphoric glint in his eyes, Sukuna starts moving in hurried, methodical little thrusts to squeeze even deeper inside. 

“Hngh- it’s- ah- can feel you rubbing up inside me, Kuna.” you whine into his ears, hips bucking up wildly. 

“Yeah?” he breathes, but it comes out more wobbly than he intended. Biting his lower lip to keep those loud fucking moans slipping out from the feeling of rubbing against himself and your raw gummy walls and himself. “Y-ya like this? What happened to ‘o-oh s’too big, Kuna’?”

You manage to get out a weak, “F-fuck you.” 

“No, brat. I’m fucking you.” Sukuna growls, ramming into you faster. Sloppier. Heavy sets of tight balls stinging your skin, “Both of me.”

God, the stretch was so much, like he was pushing into your lungs. And that thundering thump! thump! thump! of matching sets of veins against your dripping cunt was so sinful that you let his little comment slide. Driving you to insanity. 

Instead, your teeth grazes Sukuna’s earlobe to give a soft tug, making him turn his head and look right at your fucked-out face.

His hot breath fans your face, “What, brat? Can’t talk? Or is it that you want-” He catches your ravaged clit between two fingers again, rolling languidly. “-her to talk?”

And God, if it was double the stretch on your too-tight cunt, then Sukuna was determined to make sure it was double the pleasure for you. 

His fingers just so frenzied on your clit, rubbing tight, messy patterns - not even circles anymore because fuck Sukuna was too impatient, too depraved for that right now. Swollen cocks sliding in and out with reckless abandon, getting easier and easier with each glossy sheen of your sweet sweet juices all over them. Massaging all those sensitive spots he’s mapped out so well to hit his end goal - your poor, ravaged g-spot. Hitting it over and over and over and-

“Kuna!” you scramble for the sheets, the headrest, his shoulders - just anything to keep whatever’s left of your sanity. Sobbing out, “I-I’m close- ngh ah! I’m so close.”

“Close, hah?” you hear from above you, the last thing before the smacking of skin-on-skin becomes almost deafening. Coupled with Sukuna’s strained groans, now unable to hold them back with each time he’s kissing your cervix - your g-spot. “Then cum. Cum all over my cocks, brat.”

Hips stuttering as they get harsher with purpose. Violent, even - having to rest a hand on top of your head to keep your body from being jolted too far up the bed.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. You’re screaming out Sukuna’s name, body bowing into his vice-like grip. Dripping cunt trying desperately to milk him so tight.

It was too much. 

Your poor pussy was overfilled to the brim with each and every spurt of Sukuna’s hot cum, thick, white globs that dribble down your thighs. Filling you up so much you think you could explode and- “Aww look at you.” Sukuna coos, thumbing apart your pussy lips to watch her soak in his never ending cum. “Wonder if she can take another load?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Experiment…

The great Gojo Satoru is many things - powerful, complex, a pain-in-the-ass to most - but being hesitant to experiment is decidedly not one of these things. 

Which is what found you splayed out underneath him, brows furrowed, legs trembling while he drags his weeping tip up and down your puffy folds. Just dipping between your lips, pooling your sweet sweet juices on his head - up and down up and down up and-

“Toru.” your deadpan voice cuts through his fun, hips arching off the bed impatiently. “S’not gonna work.”

Gojo sticks his tongue out with all the maturity he could muster up, “It will, sweetheart, just watch.”

“Will not.”

“Will too.”

“Will-” you cut yourself off in frustration, “You’re just all talk-”

Whatever insult on the tip of your tongue - along with all the air in your lungs - is knocked out by Gojo finally pushing in. Finally stretching out your sloppy hole on his thick mushroom tip, all stuttering and clenching in an effort to accommodate him.

He groans, cheeks flushing because fuck maybe this’ll be harder than he thought. “S’gonna work- if I can concen- ohh fuck don’t squeeze me that way- if I can get limitless to- no more late-night convenience store runs.” 

But oh right now the only thing on Gojo’s mind was that maybe you two were better off with walking the two blocks down to buy condoms - because he could feel his limitless slowly thinning out with each inch he sinks into your snug cunt. Slowly waning - much like his fucking sanity. 

“Toru!” you squeal when it’s like something snaps. That little glow in your boyfriend’s eyes dims as his entire body stiffens, breath hitching in his throat, and his cock- oh his aching, rock-hard cock - so warm and just throbbing so rapidly against your walls in a beat that matches your own. You could feel him all the way in your stomach. “D-did it work?”

Something is whispered into the crook of your neck - and you’re craning your head closer to understand. “What?”

There it is again.

This time, however, you pull Gojo from his safe haven, tugging admonishingly on those soft, white locks. All the while murmuring, “Use your- oh.”

Oh.

Fuck. 

Gojo’s eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown. So utterly wrecked when his aching cock grows even larger inside you, stretching you to your limits. Such a delicate pink blush decorating his cheeks, dusting over those plump, parted lips, ones which wobble and gape open noiselessly a few times before he manages out, “D-didn’t work.”

And fuck then it was like a dam had broken. 

Because Gojo’s previously stalled hips were moving now - grinding forward slowly, deliciously. Only growing girthier - so unfairly so - with each movement. 

Two large hands coming up to paw and knead your ass to keep you still while he begins fucking you into the mattress. 

Letting out whiny, bewildered moans - as if Gojo himself couldn’t believe what was happening - “Didn’t work.” He repeats, like a mantra. “Didn’t work didn’t work didn’t- didn’t work- hah- n’ I don’t regret it one bit.”

“H-hah?” you whimper, “So you’re-”

“Yes.” Gojo interjects, and if you were in any better state of mind you’d have told him off for interrupting you. But oh how could you when he was reeling his hips back, back, back, just kissing your sloppy entrance with his leaky tip - before splitting you apart all over again. “Yes yes yes- oh yes. M’feeling you- all of you. Why the fuck didn’t you t-tell me you were so ngh-” Long fingers graze over your pulsing clit, making him all but scream in pleasure when you clamp down. Hard. “-heavenly!”

Fuck you weren’t making it out alive - and he wasn’t either.

And he sounded so genuinely upset - how were you this warm? This dripping wet all around him? Hell, Gojo thinks he’s soaked all the way down to his heavy balls already.

“Soaked?” your eyes widen when Gojo gives you a shocked laugh - fuck, has he finally lost whatever sanity he had left?

“Mhm.” he nods, a familiar glint of madness in those summer blue eyes. Breathy, pussydrunk little ministration matching his words, “Soaked. Absolutely fucking hah- soaked. Me. Me me me- s’me-” Gojo spits into his open palm, once. Twice. Before smearing the mess down his length, making it easier for him to slide in and out of your needy cunt,  “-not some stupid little piece of plastic. Oh, m’never buying those again-”

He was fucking you so needy. 

Just ramming his cock into you as he pleased, hitting all your most sensitive spots - your cervix, your g-spot, tugging at your clit. Having the bed frame and you making such loud noises every time his thick tip was gliding across your gummy walls, matching with the tempo of his fingers.

“It feel so- good, Toru.” you whine. Hips stuttering forwards, making the most lewd of squelches as you try to meet Gojo’s fast, utterly wild pace. “Fuck fuck fuck- oh.”

“Yeah? My baby likes ngh- taking me in r-raw.” you smile when you catch the way Gojo’s face flushes as his voice cracks on that last word - like he still couldn’t believe it himself. 

Though, he didn’t like that quite as much as you. 

“Huh? Laughing at me? M’gonna ngh- you lil’ minx. M’gonna give you something to laugh about.” Each word punctuated by a mean thrust, and if you were in any better state of mind, you’d have caught the way Gojo’s eyes glowed ever-so-slightly. Tiny pricks of purple lightning dancing across his bare skin, “Because practice makes perfect, right, sweetheart?”

A/N. I’m ngl Gojo’s one was just me wondering how far limitless really went sooo there ya go.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[soleilapproves]

Play fighting with Boxer!Sukuna

Note: Reader is referred to as girlfriend at one point.

Masterlist

“Babe.”

“Not right now.”

“Babe.”

“Sukuna, I promise I’ll be done with this book soon.”

He huffed and fell back onto the couch. He had been trying to get your attention for the past 30 minutes but you were adamant on finishing your book. This is all the fault of that damn community book club your coworker recommended you join. Now whenever, you’re off work and Sukuna doesn’t have to train, you’re reading. Usually the two of you spent almost all your spare time together but now you spent half of it reading your newest book for your weekly discussion. You always did your best to spoil him with kisses and cuddles but it was never enough.

Book club be damned, he needed you to be superglued to his side every single second.

“My girlfriend has a side man and he’s made of paper.” He huffed to himself as he watched you intently read. What was so great about your book anyway? Was it worth ignoring your gorgeous (and shirtless) boyfriend? He even had a tattoo of your name on his left pec and you were still choosing to smother a book with your attention.

Sukuna’s wallowing turned him creative- he stood in front of you, trying to make sure your guard was down. You didn’t look up which meant that you were still engrossed in your book. His hand swooped in and swiftly snatched the book from you. “Sukuna.” you groaned. “Give it back, I was at a good part.” You got up to grab it from him but he raised it above his head. “Kiss me.” You glared at him and gave him a quick peck on his lips. “Done, now give it.”

“No.” He nonchalantly replied. “But I kissed you.” You wondered why he was being particularly irritating today.

“That was me begging for a morsel of your attention. Now cuddle me if you want it.” He said and cheekily smirked.

You ignored him and hopped trying to get your book. Sukuna simply dodged your sad attempts and laughed every time you missed. “I don’t even know why you’re trying.” You gave him a pointed look at his comment.

“Okay, fine, you can have your book if you beat me in a fight.”

“What? That makes no sense.” You couldn’t believe this man. “It seems like a fair challenge to me.” He said as he walked to a particularly high shelf and placed your book on top of it. “You know I can just use my stepping stool for that, right?” You said before scoffing at him.

“Then it’s a good thing I hid it.” His sarcastic smile was now pissing you off. “But you literally fight for a living. You have the upper hand.”

“I’m in love with you. Use that as a distraction. Come on, let’s go to the ring.” You were speechless as he dragged you to the fighting “ring” (also known as your bedroom).

Since you had a smaller frame than him, he agreed to let you have the first hit. You sighed and braced yourself. You didn’t have much of a strategy except for charging at him with such a high speed that he’d fall on the bed and would accept defeat.

But as soon as you were in close distance, he caught both your arms, turned you around and threw you on the bed. He didn’t give you a second to get up before he straddled you. “Haha!” He exclaimed. Seeing you all riled up underneath him was a sight he was used to but it never failed to awe him.

“Feels familiar, doesn’t it?” He asked as he began to lower himself to face you. “This is so unfair! You’re like 200 pounds, I can’t even move you.” You said as you tried to push him off. Sukuna grabbed your hands that were fighting him and he playfully wrestled them. Who knows what would’ve happened if he used his real strength.

Thank goodness for your quick thinking because you remembered that Sukuna was extremely ticklish so you pulled your hand out of his grasp with all the strength you could muster up and started poking his sides. “Babe!” He yelled before toppling over to his side. It was your turn to straddle him and before you could pin his arms beside his head, he caught yours and pulled you down to him. He wrapped his muscular arms around you and tucked your head under his chin. Your cheeks were mushed against the very tattoo of your name.

You were literally stuck in one position. The more you tried to move the tighter he’d hold you. “Sukuna, you cheater. Why do I always do this to myself?” You sighed, accepting defeat.

Sukuna kissed your forehead and laid you both on your sides, still not letting you go. “Sweet, sweet victory.” He whispered to himself.

-•-

I need to be (lovingly) smothered by a beefy nerd. Someone like Clark Kent.

[fastandcarlos]

Fred’s Baby Girl : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: after being photographed looking more than comfortable, the fans soon learn that fred isn’t the only vasseur that charles is fond of…

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by leclercgirl01, ferarriforthewin and 3,593 others

f1gossip: during the summer break, several photos have emerged of charles leclerc enjoying his holiday with the daughter of ferrari team principal fred vasseur. we’re uncertain if the pair were holidaying alone or with a group of friends, but either way they’re sure looking cosy 🏎️

731 comments

username1: watch them now try and convince us that they’re not dating 😂

username2: can’t wait to see fred’s reaction to this news…

username3: I did think yn was attending more races recently 🤔

username4: look at those smiles 🤩

username5: this was not on my bingo card for 2024

username6: I’m surprised how good they look together ngl

username7: can’t wait for charles to see fred after these pictures 😂

username8: I feel like fred is too soft for charles to be mad about this 🤨

username9: father fred and son charles era pending…

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liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 583,018 others

ynvasseur: another lovely weekend supporting the best team in f1 and cheering on charles and carlos ❤️

31,472 comments

username10: not yn pretending that she was there for both of the boys 😂

username11: notice how it’s charles’ garage that she posts tho

landonorris: omg just give the fans what they want yn 😫

username12: yn just pretending like nothing is even happening rn

pierregasly: I refuse to believe that pr didn’t have to approve this post first with how noncommittal it is 😂

ynvasseur: @/pierregasly I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about 🤷🏻‍♀️

username13: I don’t blame you girl, who could resist charles leclerc 🔥

charles_leclerc: it was lovely to see you in the garage this weekend 🥺

username14: wonder how close of an eye fred is keeping on her this weekend 😉

scuderiaferrari: it’s always a pleasure to have you with us yn ❤️

username15: stop leaving us in suspense, we promise we’ll be happy for you!!

carlossainz55: it’s always a joy to have you there and annoy you yn 😝

ynvasseur: @/carlossainz55 you do such a good job of it too 🙃

username16: charles keeping his reply pg but he’s not convincing any of us 😂😂

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liked by charlesbbygirl, tifosi99 and 4,391 others

f1gossip: seemingly confirming their relationship, photos have been shared of charles and yn around the ferrari garage looking cosy together, not appearing to care who was around to see them, especially yn’s father fred!

519 comments

username17: how can these two people think they can convince us they’re single 😂

username18: poor carlos is officially the ferrari third wheel!

username19: that second photo makes me think he’s not seen fred yet 😂

username20: is anyone really sitting here thinking these two aren’t dating??

username21: I was at the paddock this weekend and every time I saw charles yn was right there with him too…

username22: can’t wait for boyfriend!charles to reappear once again!!

username23: they’re more than just cosy together ngl

username24: just me thinking this is sad how their privacy is getting completely invaded rn 🤯

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liked by charles_leclerc, georgerussell63 and 601,372 others

ynvasseur: did you really think the two of them wouldn’t still be the best of friends? oh, and congrats on the win too charles 😂❤️

58,381 comments

username25: forever my favourite principal and driver relationship 🥰

charles_leclerc: so happy you got to be there to see your first win of mine irl 💕

ynvasseur: @/charles_leclerc wouldn’t have missed it for the world ���🏻

username26: none of us ever thought fred would be anything other than your biggest fan ngl

pierregasly: do I now have to fight your dad too for the position of charles’ best friend???

username27: yn just confirming that fred gives them the green light like it’s no biggie ✅

georgerussell63: I never knew your dad had such a side like this in him 😂

ynvasseur: @/georgerussell63: he’s crazier than me I swear!!

username28: fred looks like such a proud dad 😭😭

carlossainz55: so glad I don’t have to listen to him moan about how scared he is to see your dad anymore 🤦🏻‍♂️

username29: where are you in all these photos we miss you with them!?

arthur_leclerc: now we’ve got fred’s approval I guess we can officially welcome you into the family 🤝

ynvasseur: @/arthur_leclerc can’t wait to meet you guys properly ❤️

username30: it’s funny to me that charles had to explain himself more to fred then any member of his actual family 😝

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liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55 and 2,038,363 others

charles_leclerc: who knew fred wasn’t actually the coolest vasseur after all 😂 turns out it’s this one who makes me feel like I’m really winning at life 💞

318,059 comments

username31: these two were simply made for each other 🥹

arthur_leclerc: so you can take her on all these holidays but not bother to bring her home to meet us??

charles_leclerc: @/arthur_leclerc we’ll be there soon enough, don’t worry!

username32: I might’ve just shed a tear or two reading that caption

lewishamilton: I’m already on the back foot and not even joined the team yet now 😂

carlossainz55: and I thought it was being my teammate that made you feel like you were winning at life 💔

username33: yn must be pretty cool to be considered even cooler than her dad 😂

danielricciardo: you’ve for a girlfriend?? you should’ve mentioned it 😱

username34: they’re both equally as awesome as the other imo!!

pierregasly: does this now make you an honorary vasseur for life?

username35: it’s not fair how one person really can have it all 😭

ynvasseur: for the record I’m better than my dad at everything 😉

charles_leclerc: @/ynvasseur let’s get you behind the wheel of an f1 car and put that to the test??

ynvasseur: @/charles_leclerc I’d like to take back my original statement 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by iamrebeccad, charles_leclerc and 601,372 others

ynvasseur: let’s be honest, he never really needed to impress my dad anyway 🥹

49,473 comments

charles_leclerc: fred told me he adored me and I’m never gonna shut up about it 🥰

ynvasseur: @/charles_leclerc I’d crack a joke but I think he actually might prefer you to me 😬

username36: we all know charles is the favourite child deep down ☺️

oscarpiastri: charles does not stop talking about how amazing your dad is btw

ynvasseur: @/oscarpiastri he’s only doing that to make sure he keeps my dad on side!!

username37: the relationship these two have is the sweetest 🥹

carlossainz55: can confirm that this was definitely the case!

username38: I feel like it won’t be long before yn is actually third wheeling fred and charles instead

maxverstappen1: everyone in the paddock knows no one loves charles more than your dad 😂

username39: if I didn’t adore these two before, I definitely do now they’re together too

landonorris: you deserve a medal for putting up with him yn 😂

username40: these captions are honestly gold 🔥

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[darnell-la]

Wolverine forcing you to squirt for the first time?? Pretty please?

note: if you’d like an older Wolverine, you can request again. we wrote this one too fast and made it the younger Wolverine. it’s still hot!

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

“Can’t tell me you’ve never squirted before and expect me to move on with life,” Logan said after placing you on the bathroom counter he had dragged you to during a drinking game.

The party was loud and you could still hear people playing Truth or Shot. After one of the girls asked if a man had made you squirt, and you answered that you hadn’t even done such a thing, Logan knew he had to do something about it.

He had made an excuse, asking if you could come fill up his cup with him. Of course, you came with him. He was a good friend, but you didn’t know he’d throw his cup away and drag you to the nearest bathroom.

“L-Logan -- Calm down,” Y/n gasped as his teeth sunk into her neck. “Ah uh,” he crowled, needing to give her what she deserved. “Can smell you, baby -- Can’t just leave you like this,” the man’s hands ripped at her panties after he pulled her dress up.

The young girl let out a low and shaky moan as his finger pushed inside of her. His eyes glued right on her face, watching her fall apart on his fingers in an instant.

“C’mon, baby, give it to me,” he growled, as he turned and twisted his finger in and out of her. “Too much,” she said whined as her hands fell on his shoulder. “Fuck, there’s no way,”

Logan couldn’t believe it, It seemed like she was a virgin. There’s no way one finger would make her get like this.

“Don’t lie to me, baby — Just tell me another man’s made you cum,” Logan wanted to know, but he knew the answer already. His eyes still locked onto hers, as her eyes drifted away every few seconds. She felt high, but she hadn’t smoked or drank tonight.

“N-No one has, Logan,” y/n took a while to admit, but thankfully for him, she got it out. The young girl's mind was going crazy. Logan hadn't ever shown a lick of affection towards her, yet now he was worried about whether a man had touched her?

She was confused, but he wasn’t. The thought of another man making her squirt first was unacceptable to him. He couldn’t let that happen.

Logan let his ego get the best of him, but so what? He was going to make her squirt tonight, tomorrow, the day after, and then the days after that. He was going to be the first and then last.

“I know you can take another,” the man said as he pulled out, instantly pushing two in next. “Logan!” The girl moaned at the burning feeling of her walls stretching. She was wet, but she still had to get used to the new and unfamiliar feeling.

“Fuck, yes, baby,” Logan couldn’t get over her. She looked so damn pretty. He wished he had done this months ago. He’ll gain those days back. He’ll spend every day licking at her cunt until she drowns him.

“P-P-Please,” y/n stuttered hard, trying to close her legs, but the man used his free hand to push them back open. He gripped her tightly. She wasn't going to stop him. He needed this.

“Keep your fuckin’ legs open, or I’ll fuck this cunt dumb,” the man threatened, wanting nothing to get in the way of feeling her drench his fingers. She has already coated them with slightly white and clear liquid. She never knew a man would like how much she leaked.

“Logan,” the girl gripped his shoulders tighter with a sob, feeling the knot in her stomach getting harder to control. She was embarrassed, but he wanted all over her whether she wanted to give it to him or not.

“Be a good girl — Make a mess, and I’ll clean that shit right up,” the man told no lie as his two fingers curled. Within seconds, y/n’s mouth parted as her head leaned back. Her eyes crossed as she felt her legs go stiff and her toes curled.

“Augh,” she let out a choked cry as she released on the man’s fingers. “Oh, that’s it, baby — That’s it!” The man finger fucked her cunt a bit harder to get every last drop out of her.

“P-Please,” the girl pushed at his wrists, needing a break, but he wouldn't stop. She gave up after a while and decided to pull the man into a tight hug as she struggled to breathe.

Y/n was still leaking down his hand. She couldn’t stop. He had made the girl go on for almost an hour until she passed out on his chest. breathing lightly from the exhaustion.

Logan couldn’t help but chuckle, knowing he had the girl dumb and cute, all for him. She was his. She marked him, and later when he sweet talks her into taking him as hers, he'll mark her.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Mama, I’m in love with a criminal

Tags: Sukuna x fem!Reader, no curse au, dead dove, violence described including murder, dark romance, use of y/n, descriptions of mental illness.

Synopsis: Sukuna’s talking to his therapist in jail about you. He’s incarcerated because of you, and his obsession is concerning.

An: Yeah idk i thought of this while I was driving to work one morning.

Session one.

His large frame laid lazily over the couch, clad in an orange jumpsuit. He had his feet propped up on one side, and his head was propped up on the other side in a far too casual manner. His naturally pink hair pushed up near the front, messily so.

He was still cuffed and shackled, but the therapist was still afraid of him. To the therapist’s credit, he had read the warrant that went into viscous detail of Sukuna’s crimes.

Normally, the therapist wouldn’t read the inmates warrants due to situations like these. He liked going into sessions with an open mind, but he had gotten warnings about Sukuna… how the man can fly into a blind rage like a switch on the wall.

He was brutal, unforgivable, inhumane.

Simple counseling wasn’t going to “fix” a broken human like Sukuna. The therapist knew this, but the state mandated that Sukuna undergo weekly counseling sessions per his sentence.

Sukuna could taste the therapist’s fear, and he let out an earnest laugh. “You don’t even want to try to fix me, do you?” He asked tauntingly with a lopsided grin. “I don’t blame you. Don’t feel bad~”

The therapist swallowed the lump in his throat, and he adjusted in his seat. “I can’t fix anyone… Counseling isn’t about fixing.. It’s about moving forward and learning how to live.”

“Bullshit.” Sukuna spits with shrug. “Counseling is about focusing on the past and letting shit hang you up for far too long. I guarantee you that you’re going to ask me about how I got here, is that right?”

The therapist is shaking like a leaf at this point. “Our past can help us navigate to a better future.” He murmured out weakly.

Sukuna roars in laughter, causing the therapist to nearly jump out of his seat. The pink-haired felon doubles over as he laughs hysterically. “You’re a funny guy. Fine. You really want to know how I got here? I’ll tell you.”

After a deep breath and wiping away a fake tear, Sukuna goes on, “You know, teachers always believe that pairing the troubled kids up with the good kids will inspire them to act right. That shit never works.”

“I think that’s when my ‘type’ developed. My bitch of a second-grade teacher assigned me to sit next to this frail meek girl after I got in trouble one too many times for terrorizing the other kids. She was a real stick in the mud.” Sukuna laughs fondly, a rare genuine smile on his face.

“Y/n?” The therapist asks, remembering your name from the warrants.

Sukuna’s red eyes snap over to the therapist with an almost predatory gaze. His hands visibly curl into fists. “Say her name again, and I’ll splatter your blood all over this room. The officers won’t be able to pry me from you, deeming you to be a lost cause.”

The therapist freezes as the breath hitches in his throat. His eyes dart toward his panic button, knowing he should probably press it now, but he’s frozen in fear.

“We’ll call her mouse.” Sukuna goes on as if he didn’t just threaten the poor guy’s life in brutal detail.

“Mouse was a real challenge. I for some reason made it my mission to get her to talk to me, but she always stayed silent — only answering me with simple head gestures.” He laughs again, lying his head back further as he’s replaying the memories in his mind. He can remember you vividly and how you looked back then. He yearns for that feeling again. The feeling of seeing you for the first time.

“I can’t exactly tell you when the challenge started to border obsession, but she slowly slithered her way into my brain. Even when I wasn’t in school, I thought about her. I wondered what she sounded like, wondered why she wouldn’t talk to me, wondered why she looked at me like that.”

The therapist furrows his eyebrows. Even though he doesn’t feel safe in this session, and he doesn’t trust Sukuna at all, he has a hunger for knowledge, and he loves solving things that have to do with the human psyche.

“Looked at you like what?” The therapist dared to ask.

Sukuna stayed silent for a moment, and he tapped his finger against the back of his hand. His face hardened as he found the words he was looking for. “She looked at me like she had no preconceived notion of me. Her eyes… were so big and round. Even though she didn’t talk to me, it was like she accepting of my presence.”

The shackles jingled as Sukuna rubbed his face in a stressed gesture. Remembering you was like a double edged sword. He loved thinking about you, but he hated being reminded that he was without you.

The therapist eased in his chair. There was actual emotions underneath all those tattoos, thick skin, and muscle. The media had portrayed Sukuna as a complete narcissistic sociopath, but this was proof that diagnosis was false.

“I bothered the shit out of her for years, continually getting myself paired up with her.” Sukuna grinned, shifting the conversation back in a direction that he was more comfortable with, “I remember those asshole kids always called me her shadow because I followed her everywhere. Jokes on them.”

The therapist shivered as be remembered a chilling detail from the warrants. Each time a victim was found, a message was written in the victim’s blood.

-ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ

His victim’s - their deaths were like an homage to you.

“Were the kids ever… assholes to mouse?”

Sukuna’s jaw visibly tightened. He loathed this therapist’s questions… thinking he knew everything just because you and Sukuna were misunderstood kids.

“They called her weird for not talking.” Sukuna recalled as he bit his inner cheek. His eyes glared to the wall in front of him. “Now look at who can’t talk.”

Sukuna’s first victim. He didn’t start out with murder. He started out with stapling your bullies mouth shut for taunting you. Everything was for you. Everything.

He held a kid down to the teacher’s in third grade, grabbing a stapler, and he pressed it down one by one into the kids lips, binding them together. The kid couldn’t scream or cry for help, or else he’d risk ripping the flesh on his lips.

The teachers found the kid and immediately knew the only kid sadistic enough to go through with such an act was none other than Sukuna.

“Did mouse witness you do that?” The therapist asked, genuinely intrigued by Sukuna’s narrative. For being a ruthless criminal, he was a wonderful historian.

“No. Why would I scare her like that?” Sukuna’s voice was tense as he eyed the therapist carefully, as if he was waiting for him to say the wrong thing.

The therapist clicks his tongue in surprise, and he looks like a deer in headlights. “Scare? No.. no, I thought you’d maybe just show off what you did for her.”

“I’m not the type to show off.” Sukuna answers flatly, and the therapist wonders if that’s the first time Sukuna’s lied during this session. He knows that Sukuna likes to show off. The warrants prove it.

“Anyways, I wore her down over the years. She didn’t speak to me until we were in sixth grade.” An eerie smile curls on Sukuna’s lip. “I can still remember her first word to me and how she said it…”

The therapist leaned in, curiosity getting best of him.

Sukuna smirks, knowing he has the therapist interested now. “Her first word to me was a plea. A word to show her undeniable want. Her first word to me was please.”

Bang! Bang Bang!

The therapist literally flinches out of his chair from the heavy knocks at the door.

“Ryomen! Your time is up!” The officer yelled on the other side of the door.

“Pity. I was beginning to have fun.” Sukuna remarked as he stood up from the couch. The shackles jingled as he walked toward the door, and the door buzzed, letting him out. “See you next week, doc.”