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yieldtotemptation · 23 hours ago

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PAROXYSM ft. Mina

mina x male reader smut

part two of strange currencies

16k words

Go ahead, try and pretend like you’re not obsessed.

Like you’re not bothered that it’s been weeks since you had Mina—felt the heat of her body, the silk of her skin, the sweetness of her breath on your neck.

Since you've seen that ass. Had it in your hands, spread her cheeks with your fingers, stretched her wide with your cock and left Mina in tears, crying out—

"God, I can never go back from this."

And it’s not like you haven’t been searching for opportunities; a party you’d both be invited to, another gala, some event with enough plausible deniability for when you inevitably, ‘accidentally’ bump into her again.

But for some reason, nothing seems to align.

You’ll get word that she’s in Korea, basking in a rare stretch of free time, while you’re in Hong Kong, signing deals and making promises of dubious sincerity.

You’ll be rushing to return, already planning out how you’ll steal another taste of her, another touch; only to find out she’s been whisked away again—to Japan, or Brazil, or any one of the countless countries desperate to host her.

Glimpses is all you ever truly get—paparazzi shots, magazine covers, the odd video that passes through the digital ether.

So, yeah.

You let it rest, go through the motions, try to recreate it in the aggregate. There are plenty of pretty faces, eager bodies in your orbit.

But they're all just that: bodies.

Empty shells of what you had. They don’t laugh like her, they don’t keep you on your toes like she can, they don’t look at you with the same hunger.

(They don’t say your name like Mina did.)

—

“So,” is the first word you hear from Mina. Too much time has passed, and you’ve officially given up on any pretences of nonchalance. Decided to get straight to the point with the right people and just get her number. “I guess I’m not the only one who can’t stop thinking about that night.”

“Uncharted territory and all,” you’re repeating, and there’s a beat of silence on the other line.

A deep breath, and you swear you can hear her smile. “Definitely unique.”

It’s well past midnight and you’re tired and you’re feeling unusually vulnerable, so you're admitting things you'd usually keep under lock and key. “It’s been—you’ve been stuck in my head, Mina.”

“I know the feeling,” she sighs. Just the timbre of her voice and there’s shivers down your spine. “The memory alone is still—”

You finish for her, “Vivid.”

“I was going to say really fucking hot, but yes,” she laughs. “It’s helped me through some lonely nights. Remembering how you felt inside me, everything we did together it’s—God, you have no idea.”

“I’d argue I have the entire idea. For one—the stairs,” you’re supplying, grinning to yourself, leaning back in your chair, remembering the way she clung to you. How tight she was around you, how fucking new she felt as you filled her. “You were so fucking gorgeous. Never felt anything like it.”

“And the shower,” she counters, “you had me pinned against the tiles. Couldn’t move without you fucking me deeper. Just stuck with nowhere to go but further down your cock. No one’s ever done that to me.”

“Don’t forget the kitchen,” you add, “We got pretty creative with the utensils.”

Mina giggles. You didn't know she was capable of sounding so girlish. “I’ll never look at a spatula the same.”

It’s getting dangerous, each memory rekindling the flame of a night that you’d tried to convince yourself couldn’t have been as epic as you remembered. Couldn’t have mattered so much.

And yet here you are now, letting Mina stir up thoughts of her cunt gushing down her thighs, her nipples stiffening between your teeth, her ass choking your cock, the look on her face when she came all over you—and you know she’s wading through the very same set of flashbacks.

“Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that garden. Your hands are all over me, your mouth everywhere—”

“Your cunt on my tongue—”

“Your fingers in my ass—”

“Your fucking moans, Mina—”

“Wait, I need to—”

Mina stops you, and you find yourself releasing a breath you didn't even know you were holding. You think you can hear her; hear the shutting of a door, a lock turning, frantic pacing, the squeak of a bed.

Your eyes close and you're picturing it now—Mina, laid back on pure white sheets, sprawled out like a Goddess. It's all there, crystal clear. Fingers dancing over her collarbones, tracing the delicate line of her neck down to the swell of her breasts.

Teasing herself, running her thumbs over her areola, the skin there a shade darker, a touch more sensitive. Pinching and pulling, peaks hardening into tight buds, missing the roughness of your tongue.

And then going lower, down over her ridged abs and between her toned thighs. Spreading her legs out in an invitation, toes curling into the mattress. Finding herself slick with need, so, so soaked. Dipping down to trace over her folds before sliding right into the wet heat.

Mina gasps. It's not your imagination. She moans into the phone.

You can almost taste her again.

She finds her voice. "Please, keep talking."

—

The first photo comes through the very next day.

You can intuit from the architecture in the background—the steep roofs, the brick exteriors, the gothic towers—she’s somewhere in Paris.

And there’s Mina, flat on her stomach, sheets tangled around her like the aftermath of a hurricane that’s swept through. Smiling at you straight down the barrel of the camera, cutting through the digital space between you. It’s sly and knowing and a little bit wicked, because she knows that it’s not the view of the city behind her that you’re looking at, nor is it even her face, usually so stunningly unavoidable and instantly captivating.

It's her ass.

Plump and round, poking over her shoulder, filling a whole corner of the frame. And you're spotting the indentations where your fingers have sunk in, the stretch of alabaster that your grip turned a shade of pink. A map of memories etched across the curve of her cheeks.

It’s a thousand words in a single photo, a message loud and clear, carefully composed to make you ache. So, you do. You ache.

You save the picture—not because you think you’re going to forget, but because you need to have a piece of her with you at all times.

Something to pull out when the days are too long, too dull. Something to look at when your memories of her aren’t enough anymore.

The photo, you notice, comes with a caption: ‘The only thing missing here is you.’

—

“Stability,” Mina’s telling you nights later, after you’ve spent close to an hour describing to her all the ways you’d like to have her again, like to break her down until she’s just a trembling mess of limbs and cum.

It’s a habit the two of you have picked up; these clandestine calls that come in the dead of night, during those rare occasions you’re in a reasonable enough time zone to talk. You’re actually in the same country this time. The States, but on different coasts, so, close enough.

She’s sending these breathy whispers down the phone; still coming down from her high, from the way her thighs clenched around her own hand, from the way she painted your name onto her skin with her own juices.

Still coming down from you, from the meticulously detailed step-by-step explanations of exactly what you’d do to her if you weren’t thousands of kilometres apart.

“Stability,” you repeat the answer she’s given to the question that’s been burning in your mind for weeks now. It’s certainly a faux pas to ask right after she’s made you cum across your own chest; but it’s late, and tonight’s suite is far too big and much too quiet—the kind of quiet that lets you think too much.

And so you had to ask her. Why was she still with him?

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Mina confirms. “I like stability, I like routine, I like knowing what to expect. Means I can never be disappointed.”

“Never be surprised, either,” you point out. She laughs, the sound warm and rich through the speaker.

“That’s never really been a problem.” She pauses. “Until you.”

There’s an alarm bell sounding somewhere, triggered by the way that last syllable curls around the corners of her lips, bounces across fifty different states to land in your ear.

You.

It rattles around your brain, punches you right in the gut. You try to play it off with a chuckle. But you both know what this really is. The desperation, the need. What you do to each other. How much of a fucking mess you’d make together if you had half the chance.

You make an attempt at being casual: “Apologies, then.”

“You kinda fuck everything up for me, you know?” She admits. “I was fine with it all. Leaving all of this as just a fantasy. Living with the boredom.”

“Everything’s boring.”

“Except this.”

You should really be above all this. The pining, the yearning. Having a crush.

It’s unbecoming.

Leave her alone. Leave her to the dream life she’s built up for herself. The career, the boyfriend, the whole shiny package that everyone’s decided she should want. It’d be the rational thing to do.

And yet— “So, what are we going to do about it?”

“I suppose,” Mina says, and once again, you're swearing you can hear her smile through the phone, because this is far from the end of things, “We’ll just have to find some way to scratch this itch.”

—

(It’s an outrageous abuse of power.

But so what? You’re an asshole billionaire, that’s what everyone expects of you anyway.

Besides, compared to your peers, it falls far short of bankrupting entire economies or causing irreparable damage to the Earth’s oceans and atmosphere.

So why not go full tilt and really indulge?

That’s basically the gist of your justification for forcing fate’s hand and manifesting your own ‘accidental’ meeting with Mina.

Still. It’s only a meeting.)

—

“Quite a situation you’ve engineered here,” is Mina’s first quip, as she steps right out of your daydreams and into your office.

Oh, you’ve been thinking of her.

Spent time replaying that night in your mind, revisiting the sight of her bouncing on that staircase, the feel of her soft skin slapping against yours, the sound of her sighs in your ears.

Obsessed over the messages, the photos, the videos she’s sent—how she moves, that coy smile on her face when she knows she’s got your full attention in her grip. All these mesmerising moments captured in high-definition.

And it’s coming back to you now—the waterfall of hair cascading down her shoulders, the red of her lips, the beauty spot on her nose, above her cupid’s bow—a constellation across her face.

(She makes your office feel small.)

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, aiming for flippant, but missing the mark by a wide margin.

“Mhm,” is all you’re going to get, because you both know better.

She makes herself at home here, taking the long way to your desk. Hips swaying as she runs her fingers over the décor, the lights and the statues, the books and the furniture. Again, fitting right in with the expensive, the luxurious, the exclusive.

You’re not hiding that you’re staring, and she’s not hiding that she knows either.

Mina walks right past you, turns away so you can see the full sweep of her back, the high-waisted skirt that hugs her curves before flaring out at the waist. Eventually, she stops at the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the city, the urban sprawl below a far cry from the palatial gardens that backdropped your first encounter.

The sun’s setting overhead. It casts a warm glow over her. Outlines her figure in gold.

You break the silence, "Heard the photoshoot went well."

“Well, you get what you pay for,” is Mina’s second quip of the afternoon. She turns back to face you, leaning against the window frame, a perfect silhouette.

You can almost hear the glass tremble.

Mina asks, offhandedly, “You’ll have to enlighten me—is it standard practice for visitor passes to have access to every floor in the tower?”

“Security must be lacking.”

“Right,” Mina says. “And is it normal in your line of work, for the CEO to handpick the brand ambassadors?”

You shrug. “I like to get my hands dirty.”

“If that’s what they’re calling it,” she responds, smiling now. Pushing herself off the glass and taking a dangerous step forward.

“We were looking to appeal to our Japanese market,” you say, repeating the same lines you fed to your team, to her management, to anyone who bothered to raise an eyebrow. It’s a good lie. “Needed someone refined, someone that depicted class. Aspirational.”

Mina takes another step forward. Heels that make her legs look endless hitting the polished flooring with a click. "So that's how you see me, then."

"Amongst other, less appropriate things," you admit, already completely, hopelessly captivated.

"Let me guess: Stunning?"

"That's one."

“Fuckable.”

“Absolutely.”

“Submissive?”

“Are you asking, or telling me?”

Mina’s eyes dazzle as she closes the distance, rounding your desk and stopping just short of your chair. She waits for you to swivel and face her.

And then she leans forward, so close. Nose brushing yours, breath warm and sweet and familiar. Her hands land on your thighs, pushing your legs apart.

She drops to her knees.

“Telling.”

You can’t help yourself, you press your thumb to her lips, stamping it crimson.

It’s a wicked thing, how Mina’s bottom lip dips, how her tongue snakes out to lick the pad of your thumb clean. You push in deeper, watching as she takes you into her mouth, seals her lips around you and sucks.

How she’s looking at you now—building up this image of Mina; kneeling, the skirt riding up, her panties soaked with anticipation. Dressed like this is just another business meeting—masked in a high neckline and a smile so perfect against your skin.

That's today's game. Dress up.

Professionalism went out the window the moment she walked in—it barely crosses your mind to wonder whether or not she locked the door. You don’t even care.

Mina stops her little show, thumb pops out of her mouth with a wet sound, leaving a smear of red behind. There’s something about Mina, something that can’t be intuited unless she’s right in front of you, inhaling your exhales, smiling up at you like you're the only person in the entire world that matters.

It's like magic—makes everything and everyone else feel like a figment of your imagination.

“You forgot to mention a few other things,” Mina breathes on you, low and warm, priming you for a punchline that you know will send you reeling.

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know,” and she starts unbuttoning her blouse, reaching for the top button then— “How utterly,”

Then the next button.

“Desperately,”

More still.

“Needy,”

All of them.

“I am for your wonderful, perfect cock.”

The blouse opens up, falls away, drifts off her shoulders until it’s blood-red lace and vanilla-white skin.

Fuck.

(Mina’s not from this world, no fucking way. Definitely not human; jury’s out on if she’s some kind of Goddess. Probably something in between, come down from some place where the air is thinner and the lights are brighter.)

Your mouth is dry. “I could never forget.”

Mina’s eyes crinkle at the corners. Lips spread wide. She’s kissing your cock through your pants.

It’s electric. A long, teasing press of her lips that winds you so tight that just the slightest touch, just a single word could set you off.

Her teeth graze the fabric. You throb through the cotton.

“Mina,” you manage, hand dropping to the side of her face. There’s a tremor in your voice that you’re not used to, that you can’t even pretend to hide. Mina’s got you in the palm of her hand—or rather, on the edge of her lips—even though she’s the one on her knees.

“Relax,” she coos, holding her lips against you, deft fingers unlatching your belt, finding your zipper. “Let me take care of you. Let me take care of this cock,” honeyed words slipping out with the same ease that tugs you free, “Get my tongue all over it, take it deep down my throat, be such a good little whore for you—until you can’t think of anything but how much you want me to swallow every drop you’ve got for me, baby.”

You swallow, caress her cheek, “Darling—”

“Shh," Mina hushes, taking your cock into her hand, holding it against her cheek. So damn happy to have it so close to her mouth once again. “Everything you said over the phone. All that stuff about fucking my face, leaving a mess, filling up my throat—I want it all. You’re going to give it to me now, please.”

She doesn’t even look up at you, just so focused on your cock. Kissing around the shaft, and then drawing her tongue in one, slow, dragging lick all the way from your base, right to the tip. It’s gentle, careful, exploratory.

Introducing her lips to every inch of skin along your cock, over your balls, taking her time to stain all of you with the sheen of her kisses. Careful, so careful. Meticulous too, deep in concentration that you can almost feel her thoughts, intuit from the pressure of her lips how much this means to her. How much she needs it.

And it’s as her breath warms the head of your cock that you realise you’ve got a stranglehold on the armrest of your chair, holding it so tightly you could snap it in two. Not like there’s any helping it, nothing to do but brace yourself as she opens her mouth, pink tongue peeking out, and licks you again—longer, slower.

Holding still now, cock balanced on her tongue, fixing you with this stare.

A dare.

(Don’t move. Don’t interrupt. Let her do her work.)

That’s when her boyfriend calls.

Sorry, her partner.

A jarring noise, a slap in the face that breaks the spell. Vibrating atop your oak desk, a violent buzzing through the room—once, twice, thrice.

Mina’s eyes flick to yours. A split second, a single thought shared. There’s laughter on her lips because of course, because why the fuck not, because this is definitely your kind of chaos. You nod. You’re both in on the joke.

The phone’s still ringing, ringing, ringing.

And Mina’s mouth is still on you, tongue tickling underneath, lips wrapping around, before taking you in deep. Right as she accepts the call.

“Hmf?”

—

(A good idea to mention this theory you’ve been brewing for a while, the other reason why Mina still hasn’t broken up with boyfriend.

Because of you.

Because of how much fucking hotter it makes her. The thrill, the rush, putting a blemish on an otherwise spotless record.

And maybe you’re just as guilty—because you want to hear her lie to him too.)

—

“Still working,” is Mina’s deadpan over the phone, somehow keeping a straight face despite how full her hands are with you. She even rolls her eyes. “You know how it is—unreasonable CEOs jumping down my throat for no good reason at all.”

This woman.

Churning lies with such ease that you almost feel sorry for the poor, oblivious soul on the other end of the phone. Almost.

But Mina's too good at all of this. Too good at hiding it all. Too good at everything, really—whether it's singing, dancing, kneeling before you, making your cock disappear down her throat.

Just a slight adjustment in posture, and she’s taking you in deeper. A gentle suck, a swirl of her tongue around the ridge—and oh, the way she’s looking at you, eyes up and so damn full of mischief.

She’s fucking loving this. Loving the way you’re watching her, the way your hand finds her hair as she takes you in, the way you’re fighting to keep your composure. Fighting to keep your breath even and calm and to stop yourself from groaning so loud that it won’t just be her boyfriend, but the whole fucking tower that’s going to hear how much of a slut she is for you.

You can still hear his voice coming through—muted, indistinct—like a ghost, haunting the edges of this pornographic scene you’ve painted together.

Fuck this guy likes to talk.

“Mhm,” is all Mina has to say to keep him convinced, to let him believe that she’s actually invested in whatever the fuck he’s on about. Keeping him none the wiser that her full attention is on you, her mouth moving up and down, her eyes glued to yours, watching every twitch, every drop of pleasure that flits across your face.

She reaches up with her free hand, wrapping it around the base of your cock. Gliding along your shaft in this twisting movement that sets your nerves alight.

Everything’s just so tight—her grip, her throat, your own breath in your chest.

“Mhm,” again, longer, sounding closer and closer to a moan than a casual agreement, but still, she’s playing the part. Barely listening to what he’s saying, because she’s doing this thing with her tongue—right at the tip, flicking it around your slit—that’s making you test the strength of your chair.

There’s temptation here—her mouth so warm, so wet—it would be so easy to grab a fistful of her hair and fuck her mouth like you know she wants. But you keep your cool, keep your hand gentle and steady atop her head, let her dictate the rhythm.

And when you hear the voice over the phone rise, maybe a bit of frustration or concern, maybe the start of something suspicious, Mina shamelessly pops your cock out of your mouth and answers, “Just having a snack. Late lunch break.”

She hits the mute button.

Bows her head deep, savouring each inch as she takes you deeper, making this fucking sound when your cock hits the back of the throat. Wet, gagging, sloppy noises that build this tension right at the base of your spine that leaves you aching, absolutely desperate to just give her more.

She holds herself there, choking so nicely, so sweetly, on your cock. Her eyes start water, it’s an effort to keep them open, but she’s still smiling through it all, just so delighted to finally taste what she’s been dying to have for weeks.

You’re struggling, “Fucking hell, Mina.”

Mina giggles into your cock, vibrating along your shaft. Pulls her head back; just a rope of spit that connects the two of you, glinting under the fluorescent lights. A poke of her tongue has her scooping it all up and slurping it all down, smacking her lips with a satisfied ‘ah’.

She unmutes.

“Sorry, it just tastes really good. Like nothing I’ve had before.”

There’s a confused murmur coming out of the speaker, a perturbed, “Really?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” and Mina has the gall to wink at you, the audacity to keep her hand on your cock, stroking it like it’s the most normal thing in the world. All the while she just chats to her boyfriend—partner, again—like you’re not about to cover her face with your entire load.

“Mina,” you let slip when she squeezes too hard, cranes her head to feel the weight of your balls on her tongue. Lapping away, licking and tonguing and teasing, until you’re gritting your teeth, holding back the moan that wants to break free.

The voice at the end of the line crackles, “Who’s that?”

Mina doesn’t miss a beat, “Boss for the day,” presses a wet kiss onto the head of your cock in a futile attempt to still you, “Really pushing me hard, making me work for it, you know?”

The voice relaxes, but not enough. “What’s going on over there? Something doesn’t sound right.”

“Everything’s perfect.” Mina’s just so pleased with herself, tongue dancing up and down, over and around, making the chair creak from the reflexive jerk she forces out of you. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”

“I told you that you shouldn’t do these types of jobs, you should listen to me and—”

“Get on my hands and knees and beg them to let me break the contract?” Mina smirks up at you, lips all smeared and messy with your arousal. “I can handle it” she continues on, dragging her lips to your base so she can slur into your waist, “I’m a professional. This is what I’m built for.”

God, he really doesn't deserve her.

He drops the subject so easily, moving on to talk more about him, about his schedules, his work, his boring fucking existence outside of her. And now you’re both rolling your eyes, sharing this secret, this ridiculousness that’s got you both on the edge of laughter and utter bliss.

Mina ups the ante, mutes her side of the call, and places the phone back on top of the desk.

You cock an eyebrow. “Seriously, him?”

She shakes her head. “No, just you.”

And she shows you, proves her point, because Mina’s not one for half-measures. Holds your cock tightly, strokes it again and again, one after another like it’s counting down to something explosive. Bomb’s ticking: the pressure’s building, the heat is coiling in your balls, but she keeps it steady, keeps it slow, keeps it right on that edge where it’s just enough to keep you there, but not enough to push you over.

“I’m just yours,” Mina hums, licking her swollen lips. “I’m yours to do with as you please, but,” she pauses, so she can jerk you just right, stroking with such finesse that you can't believe she's ever been with someone who didn't appreciate it, "I'm really hoping you let me swallow your cock now."

“You’re too fucking greedy.”

Mina nods so earnestly.

So you give her what she wants, because what’s the point of playing this game if she isn’t going to win?

You stroke the back of her head, guide her as she takes you all the way—nose to stomach, swallowing you up like you’re her favourite snack, her favourite secret. Her favourite lie to tell herself.

Fucking ridiculous. Too fucking much.

You lift your hips, leaving her to yank down your pants over your knees and to the ground. The clank of your belt buckle against marble echoes through the room, a starting gun to your undoing.

The phone’s still there, he’s still talking, a vaguely muffled annoyance. Mina doesn't even spare it a glance, just looks up at you, mouth full, eyes declaring:

‘Ignore everything else, just enjoy me.’

Fuck.

Mina’s cheeks hollow, her throat pulses, and gone is the usual effortless grace that she carries through everything she does.

No, she’s all raw, all passion. Sloppy now, greedy, showing you just how much she’s willing to do for you. It’s in the way she’s using her hand to squeeze the base of your shaft, the way she’s bobbing her head faster and faster.

Filling the room with the sounds of her slurps and smacking of her lips; her eyes watering with every deepthroat. Making her mouth this perfect, wet, hot little cave that’s swallowing you whole.

And you’re watching, watching every single move she makes. Unable to do anything else, really. Unable to think, to speak, to do anything but stare at her mouth, her eyes, her hand moving up and down, up and down—stare at Mina giving herself over to you.

“Jesus—fuck—” and there’s your voice back again, so much louder than you intended.

But Mina’s smiling around your cock, eyes still on you, urging you on, putting you under her spell. She’s playing with your balls now, her thumb brushing over the sensitive skin, her nails lightly scraping, and it’s like she’s got every button mapped out, knows exactly how to make you go off the deep end.

"Mina, you're just so," you try, rummaging through your addled mind for the right words to pin on this storm before you, "so fucking good at this," you finally settle on.

Mina's eyes light up, triumphant. Deep pools of brown swirling with all sorts of things—few that can be said out loud and even fewer that should ever be thought—and none of which she gives a flying fuck about.

Your cock slides off her lips long enough for her to slur, "Flattery gets you everywhere, sir."

“Mina.”

She's just so happy with it all—it's a little unsettling. Mina, all elegance and poise, so fucking giddy at the opportunity to debase herself at your feet.

She takes a breath, a real one, not the shallow, desperate ones she’s been taking for the past few minutes, and then she’s diving back down. You can see the determination in the set of her jaw, the way she’s holding herself in place with one hand on your thigh so she can devour you whole. And she’s doing a phenomenal job, really, because your cock’s so hard it’s almost painful, and your thighs are trembling with the effort of keeping still.

But she’s not done yet, Mina’s never done. She reaches behind her, unclips her bra with a flick of her thumb, slipping it off her shoulders—a silent, unnoticed escape.

Perfect little tits, perfect little dusky nipples, peaked and ready for your attention.

She takes one in her hand, rolls the nub between her fingers, playing with it, plucking it like a guitar string, making it sing. Making sure you’re still looking, while she's still sucking you off with her mouth, still fucking grinning around your cock.

A true masterclass in multitasking.

Her other hand stays on you, working in tandem with her mouth. A stroke for every bob, a squeeze for every moan, and she’s whining into your skin, a muffled—mmph, mmph, mmph—so loving that you know it’s not just for show.

Her hand drops down, slipping between her legs, disappearing into the fabric of her skirt. You can’t quite see it, but you know by her sigh as she leans into your thigh, by the way her other hand pinches her nipple harder, that she’s pressing up and into herself.

The fabric’s too thick to see much, but you can imagine her—fuck, you don’t have to imagine—you can almost feel her, her fingers sliding into her wetness, her palm cupping her mound, her middle finger circling her clit like it’s the head of a tiny drum, matching the same rhythm that’s been driving this whole spectacle.

“Your fucking mouth, Mina.”

The words leave you on a groan, a tightening of your grip on her head as she just plays and plays. Every suck pure heaven, warm, wet, utterly divine; pulling your hips closer and closer off the edge of your seat, until you’re nearly falling down her throat.

But even Mina, for all her skill and polish, can’t hold out forever. The fingers at her cunt, the kneading of her own tits, the gagging around your cock, the oblivious boyfriend still blissfully unaware of the depraved scene unfolding on the other end of the line.

It’s a heady cocktail, and she’s had too much too quickly. Her throat’s tightening around you, rogue tears are sliding down her cheeks, and it’s about time that you both give up on pretence and hurtle straight to the crux of this entire escapade.

You stand, rising to your feet before Mina has you tumbling off your chair, sliding your cock out of her chasing lips.

“Mina,” you breathe, voice full of gravel, heavy.

Mina’s frozen, just staring at your cock dangling above her nose, her mouth open and wet, her big, brown eyes begging for its return to her lips.

“Mina,” you repeat.

“Mmm?”

“I want to fuck your face now.”

Mina licks her lips. “Want to?”

“I will.”

“Please,” she says, a single word like a hot knife slicing through whatever restraint you have let. And you’re just about to lose it, really fucking lose it because she’s so fucking eager, so fucking hot for it, so absolutely fucking yours.

In your office, at your desk, kneeling at your feet, skirt rucked up around her waist, panties drenched.

She ties up her hair into a messy bun.

“Please, use me.”

A twist of your hips has your cock slapping against her cheek, the sound bouncing off the walls, leaving a trail of gloss across her flushed skin.

Mina laughs.

You lean down, grab her hair, thread your fingers through the strands, and guide her lips to where they were made to be.

“Christ,” is ripped from your throat as your cock is back down hers, plunging into her mouth like its home.

You push, push until her nose is squished against your pelvis, holding her there; her throat tight against your cock, her hand working her clit in double time. Whimpers escape past her lips, muffled whines that threaten to break you if you’ll let it.

But you don’t, not yet. You pull out, just long enough to let her gasp for air, only, she doesn't need the respite. She just blinks, and begs—

“Again.”

And again. And again.

Until she’s a writhing mess, until she’s shaking with the effort of holding herself together, until you’re plunging into her mouth so fast that you’re truly fucking her throat.

Deep, harsh strokes that make her cheek bulge, that fuck tears from her eyes. And Mina fucking loves it. Loves every second of it, loves having her head thrown back, her throat working for you like it’s your divine right, like her sole purpose in life has been to take your cock.

You’re fucking her face like you said you would, like she’s been begging you to do for weeks, whispering sweet nothings and filthy somethings into your ear during those late-night phone calls. Giving exactly what she’s been craving, exactly what she’s been dreaming about when she fucked herself so nicely for you to hear.

And she’s just taking it, letting you use her mouth like it’s nothing, because to her, it’s everything.

She’s lost in it, her hand a blur between her legs, her eyes glazed over. She’s so close, so fucking close, and she’s taking you with her; dragging you down into this pit of depravity that she’s been keeping warm for you.

“Mina?”

And there’s the phone again. Louder now, insistent, demanding. Finally noticing somethings not quite right.

"Mina?"

There’s panic in Mina’s eyes—but you’re quick to realise it’s not worry for him. It’s desperation for you. For you to keep going, for you to not notice, for you to keep the fantasy alive.

But you do notice. And it just makes you harder.

You're too far gone now—you're thrusting into her mouth with a fervour that’s almost violent. Mina’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she takes it all, letting you fuck her face with a reckless abandon that’s only heightened by the voice on the phone getting louder, more concerned.

You’re the only voice she’ll listen to now. “Hold still for me, Mina.”

Her eyes go wide, and she nods, her mouth stretched wide around you. Cradling her cheeks, just firm enough to feel the heat of her blush.

“Mina, why are you muted?”

She’s barely even on this planet anymore—just bringing herself closer to the edge, loosening these ragged, wet moans around your pistoning cock.

“Mina, are you ignoring me again, seriously?”

“Mmph—fuh—mmph—” is her attempt at an answer, but she’s too busy letting you use your mouth, too busy fucking herself on her fingers, too busy being the perfect little slut she’s told you she wanted to be.

It fills the room—the sounds of wet, sloppy sucking, careless fucking, your own grunts of pleasure. And somewhere in the background, that voice getting more and more insistent.

“Mina, say something, answer me!”

And she does. Just not to him. She says it to you, mouth full, eyes on yours.

Garbled, stuttered, fucked-up little pleas— “there—there—please—please—oh my god—"

Her hand moves faster, her throat seizes, her eyes roll back in her head. Her body jerks, her hand still working her clit, her mouth still full of you.

Mina cums at your feet, a terrible, beautiful orchestra of noises—moaning, gurgling, gagging around your cock. Swallowing, desperate for a breath of air, trying not to choke, eyes watering so badly it’s a surprise she can see you at all.

You pull out, so abruptly that she gasps and stumbles a little. And yet, despite it all, despite how brutally hard and fast her orgasm hits her, she’s still smiling up at you, as graceful and gorgeous as ever.

So fucking proud of herself.

And she’s not done yet. She’s never done, not really.

Her hand comes up to catch you, holding your cock like an anchor, keeping you ready as she takes a moment to recover. The other reaches for the phone, a shaky hand bringing it to her lips, level with your own tip.

She takes a breath. She’s going to answer.

She unmutes again.

“Sorry. Can’t talk. Gotta finish something big.”

“Mina—what the fuck are you—”

Mina gives you that look—that nod.

Sucks you in one last time, gives you a final choke. A desperate gag, a deep impossible swallow down her throat. And then she releases you from her lips.

The phone clatters to the floor, forgotten.

“Cum for me, please, baby.”

At her instruction, you're erupting.

Mina captures the head of your cock with her lips, keeps it balanced on the edge. Uses both hands to twist and wind around your shaft. Overwhelming you, seizing you into her mouth because this is exactly what she’s been starved for.

Breaking a fucking dam inside you, flooding her mouth with your cum, completing her with your taste. It hits the back of her throat, thick and hot and she swallows and swallows and swallows.

So fucking grateful for every drop, for every pulse that shoots into her mouth, coating her tongue, sliding down her throat. She’s drinking you down like water, like air, like she can’t get enough of you, leaving you breathless until all you can do is just repeat her name over and over again—an endless chant of “Mina.”

And when you’re finally done, when every nerve-ending in your legs isn’t burning down and threatening to take you with it, you pull out of her mouth, gasping for air.

Mina just sits there.

Looking up at you, naked chest heaving, nipples stinging red. Cum slipping out the corners of her mouth, staining her chin. Skirt ruined, panties a sodden mess around her ankles. Hand still on your cock, coaxing you to peace.

And fuck, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

With a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts, Mina reaches down to the floor and picks up the phone. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, not even bothering to be delicate about it.

"Hey," she says, voice miraculously calm and collected. "Sorry—got distracted."

You watch, utterly stunned, as she plays the part of the girlfriend so flawlessly, puts on an Oscar-worthy performance. You can hear the boyfriend's voice, frantic and worried—and completely fooled.

But then she looks at you, clears her throat, and her smile goes wide, and you can see the woman beneath the façade. The woman who's had enough of being bored. Who's decided that she's owed the impossible fantasy.

Kneeling on the floor, yet more powerful than ever.

So, so fucking perfect.

Spreading her thighs, fingers back at her cunt, carefully toying with her clit. Building herself back up to that peak she’s just thrown herself from, because apparently, that’s what you’ve taught her to do.

To never settle, never stop, never be satisfied with just one taste.

You’re cock throbs.

“Mina, you need to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Her hand moves faster, her thumb circling and pressing, her middle finger slipping inside herself. You can see the gleam under the artificial lights, how her cunt’s making everything sticky and messy.

Making herself nice and ready.

“There's a big mess here,” she says into the phone, all sugary sweet, a perfect story that drips from her tongue like molasses. “Lot of clean up. It’s ruined me—ruined the whole job. It’s gonna keep me here all fucking night.”

—

(It’s just an arrangement.

That’s what you’re calling it when the moon’s rising over your office, and Mina’s kissing these promises over your heart, drawing up the terms of this unwritten contract that neither of you can really commit to—even though you're both well aware of how much you want to.

Sex, as an agreement. Sex, as a release. Sex, because you’re both fucking incredible at it.

It just might be everything you both need.

You're both just too afraid to be the first to say it out loud.)

—

Weeks later, and you get really fucking good at making time for her.

Whether it’s fifteen minutes at a party, a couple hours at an airport, or a few nights spent in a hotel room with the curtains drawn and a do not disturb sign nailed to the door—everything starts to fall into place.

There's always an empty room to be pulled in to, a shadow to be claimed, a corner of the world that belongs to you.

It’s Mina, straddling you in the backseat of a limo, her cunt tight around you as the city lights slide by. Your hand on her throat, not choking but guiding, a conversation based on pressure and pleasure alone. Her tits bounce in your face, begging for your teeth, and you give it to them, biting down until she’s gasping your name into the leather upholstery. The chauffeur pretends not to notice. You don’t pretend anything.

It's you, bending her over the bathroom counter of some stranger’s house, her rather business-like slacks down at her feet to expose the bare, wonderful convex of her ass. You spank her until she’s crying, until she’s bright red and demanding that you make good on your promise to fill her up so she can’t leave this party without globs of you leaking down her legs.

It’s hotel beds that have seen too much, office desks forced to bear your weight, dressing rooms with the door locked tight.

It’s the way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching, the way she says your name. How she laughs, how she teases you, how she lets you in—just a little, just enough to keep you hooked. And you do the same.

It’s sex, but it’s not just sex, no matter what you tell yourself.

And it’s Mina again, fixing her hair while you zip her into something far more appropriate, already mentioning, “I'm going to be in New York next week, if you're in the area—"

And it's you, answering in the same way that you always do, "I’ll find a way."

—

Serendipity finds the two of you in Shanghai, amidst all its concrete jungle and neon lights, kept at bay by the soundproof windows and the drawn curtains of this hotel room turned temporary sanctuary.

Mina's stretched out on the bed, wearing one of your shirts that swallows her up to her knees, her hair a mess of curls and knots that she hasn't bothered to tame. Nose buried in a book—something thick and weighty Nayeon recommended her.

Paying no mind to you, as you’re busy brewing tea in the kitchenette (piping hot, oolong, how she likes it).

You sneak a glance as you wait for the kettle to boil, at the perfect picture she's composing—her bare legs peeking out from the shirt, the soft curve of her waist, the way the light from the bedside lamp casts shadows across her skin.

It's seeing her like this, far more exposed and naked than minutes ago when she was pinned beneath you wearing nothing at all, draining your cum into her cunt and thanking you for the privilege.

The drawbridge is coming down, guards leaving their posts—just the two of you in your stolen moments.

It's nice.

She catches you staring.

Tilts her chin down, peering at you over her glasses.

You ask, "Am I distracting you?"

"Always," she says, and it's loaded with the sum of whispered secrets and inside jokes, the weight of a dozen different glances stolen across crowded rooms. She closes the book, setting it aside, and pats the you-shaped imprint on the spread next to her. "Come here."

You bring a steaming cup over, handing it to her, adding a little more warmth to her side of the bed. An unneeded murmur of thanks, a smile that's brighter than any of the skyscrapers gleaming outside, and a careful sip.

You wait for her review.

A cool, clear, "Ah."

And as for your reward, she sets the mug down on her lap, closing her eyes and pursing her lips. Waiting, patiently.

It's built in you like a habit now—lean in, get the light peck you're owed. Gentle press against her lips, nose bumping up against her glasses, sweetness that makes her cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink.

Just so fucking cute and domestic that it almost feels wrong.

The normalcy, you're realising—doing something that millions of other people do every single day—kisses that aren’t about fucking, power plays and games. Kisses that are just...kisses.

Mina's on the same wavelength, that's her thing now. Looking at you with a slanted smile. A little disbelieving, a little amused.

You're sure you're mirroring it back.

“This is... weird, right?” You finally say, breaking the silence. Feeling the weight of the question, the implication of what you’re really asking. Is this okay? Is it allowed? Can we put a name on this without the whole world imploding?

Mina's smile doesn't falter. "Kinda," she says, and her hand's slipping into yours, her thumb tracing little circles against your palm. “Very. But also, good.”

You nod, not quite believing it. You've had relationships (is that what you're calling this now?)—but none of them felt like this. Like, sure, she makes you hard, but fuck if she doesn't make you weak.

Pulling you into this loop of familiarity, learning things about her that you would've dismissed if it was anyone else. Not just the carnal things—the ones that make her thighs run with need, that make her chant your name like it’s the only word she knows.

Normal people things. Snack addictions, sleeping habits, temperature controls.

The mug goes to the bedside table, and Mina twists her body into yours, landing her head on your lap and curling her legs up so they stay on the bed.

"You know," she says, still holding your hand, fingers tracing up your forearm now, nails drawing in a light tattoo. "I thought that this wouldn't work out."

You mention the obvious. "Because you still, technically, have a boyfriend?"

Mina stretches herself out against your waist, incidental movements that just so happen to make you stir. "No, darling," she's saying, turning to look at you, making your heart stutter. "It's because you're you. Relationships just don’t seem to be in your nature."

You feign injury.

Even though, truth be told, she has a point there. You’ve never been one for the quiet moments, for the mundane comforts, mornings next to someone you spent the night with.

Maybe it's your own guardrails you've put up, maybe it's some sappy Trojan Horse she's pushed through the gates of your stoic heart—but here you are, stroking her hair while she holds your hand, your fingers playing with the soft strands like you're trying to learn Braille.

"You know," she says, reaching it out to run her thumb down the line of your jaw, "guys like you are all the same."

You arch a brow. "I think I’ve heard this one before.”

"Let me finish," she says, "Obsessed with the thrill of the chase, with the idea of something you can't have. And when you finally get it, you just...disappear."

She grants you the headspace to ruminate over that one.

"Are you saying I already have you?"

"Haven’t figured it out yet?" she whispers, shifting her weight on the bed. Another Mina special, the incidental movements, shirt pulling taut against her, and with benevolent grace, it slides down an inch. The swell of her breast revealed, an already pebbled nipple peeking out. A shy secret. As if.

And she knows. Mina knows what it takes to turn you on because, deep down, she’s the same. Different animals, same beasts, the roles could easily be flipped: her the billionaire, you the idol, and it would still end up the same.

You’re both chasers of thrills, craving the high of the untouchable, the unattainable.

Doing whatever it takes to feel alive—that's what it boils down to, isn't it?

"I meant it, you know," you're saying, exposing yourself, all gooey and raw. "Never once dreamt of owning you."

It's obvious where Mina's headed with this. So used to people just laying claim of her without even asking—like it's their fucking right. Believing that just because she’s in their vicinity, smiling all pretty and dressed up, she's fair game. Thinking the fame has done to her what it's done to so many others, turned them into commodities.

And maybe she's let them believe the fantasy, it's her job after all, to fuel the delusion and make it feel real. But never once did she truly belong to anyone but herself.

And yet, and yet, and yet.

Mina lifts herself off your lap, body bowing, leaving the shirt to ghost down her arms and leave her chest bare.

Closer still, until she's straddling your hips, thighs pressing down on either side of your legs, and oh, mystery solved, there was nothing under the shirt but her.

And again, Mina, on the subject of your title over her: "Not even if I wanted you to?"

—

(It takes the length of a phone call for Mina to be officially yours.

Brutal in her efficiency, cutting the guy down and pushing him off the cliff of the inevitable.

You're just as cruel, laughing between her thighs as she slurs vague platitudes, barely encroaching on an apology, uncaring bullets flying across borders.

And then the 'I can't' when prompted for a chance to negotiate, an 'I'm busy' when the pleas come, and a final 'just fucking give up already' when the desperation gets too much and he's becoming less and less important the further your tongue gets into her cunt.

Poor bastard doesn't even know he's not the only one getting fucked.)

—

You feel like you’ve earned the right to be a tad more reckless.

So, dates.

Conventional, yes, but fuck you could do with some of that now. You had the money, the power, and now you had the girl. So, secret dates, grand gestures, the whole nine yards.

And yet, each one was its own little disaster.

An example: the restaurant.

Michelin stars, gourmet courses, over-the-top bullshit that you unashamedly love. Booking out the entire joint for the night, only for it to all go haywire when Mina showed up in that dress; tight, tiny, black.

"Eyes up here, darling," is what she said, before, "Or, you know, don't. I like the attention."

Just fucking you all the way up, having you pushing her into a backroom before the wine was even poured. Ruining said dress, rucking it up to her waist, making it some poor drycleaner’s problem.

“I was never big on grand gestures,” she assures you, as you pepper her neck with kisses, hands curving around to her breasts on sheer instinct.

"Wish you'd told me that in advance."

"And miss out on this?" Mina groans something fierce when your fingers find purchase. “Never.”

It's just Mina and you, doing what you've done a dozen times over by now, having long blown past any insecurities that this might just be too good, too perfect, that one of you might be the first to bolt for the door and run.

“I swear to god,” Mina’s managing, as you’re shoving her panties to the side, because you’re both well aware that this has to happen right here, right now. “This cock is going to be the death of me.”

You chuckle against her throat. “Wouldn’t be a bad way to go though, right?”

“You’re insatiable.”

“Says you.”

“Please, just—”

Your hips snap into her. She flinches. Screams your name so fucking loud.

Each and every one of the kitchen staff receives a very, very sizeable tip.

—

It becomes a problem.

Oddly enough, neither of you are at fault.

Leaked photos light up every website, tabloid, and social media platform in mere minutes—Mina and her ex, wrapped up in each other’s arms, the unmistakable blur of a bedroom in the background. Nothing too lurid, nothing too explicit—but just enough to get the world to gasp in collective shock.

The fucking coward did it. You never knew he had it in him.

Sure there's dating on the pictures. Years, probably, back to when their happiness couldn't be called into question, but it does its job.

The statements pointing this out do little to shift the public's attention though, they've already latched on to the chance to rip apart her spotless record. You’ve seen it before, a hundred times with a hundred different celebrities. The cycle of love turned to dust in the blink of a camera flash.

And yet despite all of this, despite the shitstorm that’s swirling around her, despite the radio silence you're expecting, not an hour passes before Mina's calling you again.

“I need you.”

“Then come over.”

—

Mina belongs here, it’s so obvious.

Walking through the rooms of your home like she’s always been there, like she’s what’s been missing.

None of the art on the walls, the books on the shelves, none of the sculptures worth more money than any person should ever see in their life—none of it make as much sense as she does here, in your space.

Ours, you’re already thinking.

While you’re staring at her, she’s taking it all in—every detail of your domain, eyes brushing over the aged furniture and modern finishes, each aspect of your home that you’ve curated as meticulously as you’ve cultivated your own reputation.

She doesn’t say a word about whatever conclusion she’s drawing—because she’s not the type to judge—she’s just curious. She’s always been curious.

And then she’s in your arms.

Hands looping around your neck as you hold her tight, like it’s been years instead of the mere days since you’ve seen her. Since you’ve felt her heat, heard her whimpers, felt her nails dig into your skin like she’s trying to slip in underneath.

“It was inevitable, right?” She whispers against your collarbone. “Something was bound to fuck this all up eventually. My life, yours. It was all too perfect.”

You hold her tight. Letting her sink into your embrace, disappear into your chest. She’s so small in your arms—not that she’s ever not been, but right now, it’s stark. Like she’s shrunk, folded herself into something more manageable, something easier to hide. Something that won’t be torn apart by the teeth of the media and the rabid fans.

Kiss the top of her head to make her relax a fraction, opening a pressure valve that releases a shaky exhale.

You point out, “It still is.”

Mina blinks up at you, and you pretend you don’t see the dampening in the corners of her eyes. “I need to do the whole apology tour now. Keep my head down, hide my face. That’s what they’re saying anyway. What they expect.”

You shrug. “Could hide out here.”

That makes Mina smile, laugh even, colouring her features with something far more impactful than any of the decor. “And, I'm guessing, fucking each other’s brains out from sunrise to sunset?"

"There'll be a couple of meals in between. You may be surprised to learn I make a mean bowl of ramen."

Mina laughs again, and it’s the sweetest sound in the world—like the chiming of a bell that’s only meant for you. She looks at you, really looks, and you can see the wheels turning in her mind, the genuine consideration she's giving your proposal.

“What do you say?”

“I—”

Before she can finish, you add, “I can handle our little problem. Just leave it to me.”

Mina blinks. There’s the curiosity again. “Handle?”

“Yeah,” you reply, vaguely amused. Something darker in the back of your throat. “I know some people. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Mina stares at you aghast, the smile slipping from her lips. Wondering if she might have missed something in the reality of the billionaire with a silver tongue and a penchant for ruining dresses.

It’s your turn to laugh. “I’m kidding, Mina. Jesus, the look on your face. I’m not going to have the guy killed.”

Mina rolls her eyes. Slaps your chest with a little more force than intended.

You add, with a Disney Villain-worthy ominous tone, “For now.”

“You ass,” she says, but she’s smiling again, the tension all but dissipated.

“Not even I’m capable of having that sort of thing arranged. Well, maybe I am, just never tried, so—” you begin, only to stop immediately at the curving of Mina’s lips. “I was just planning on doing a bit of spin. Tap some of our PR Wizards, maybe offer the wolves something juicier. Whitewash the whole thing—shut him down.”

And a cherry on top of your whole plan—

"Make him wish I'd kill him instead."

Mina’s expression shifts, taking pause to study your face, your words. It’s the pragmatism that gets her, you think—but it’s baked into who you are. You don’t get to a billion dollars by making friends.

As a point of clarification, she asks, "What are you going to offer the press? I mean, you’re not going to leak dirt on someone else, are you?"

You shrug, an easy smile playing on your lips, "I was thinking we could just go public with us. Offer our whole thing."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"My jokes usually make you laugh."

Mina takes her time to ponder this, to consider what you’re actually saying. To process the idea of turning all this—the sneaking around, the private moments, the stolen kisses—into something so exposed. Something translated and made palatable for public consumption, to be picked apart by the vultures skirting the edges of the media.

And there’s fear there too. That the thrill could wear off for her again, the exhilaration could evaporate, and the boredom would settle in.

Or it could be a whole brand-new opportunity. Replacing one thrill with another, the rush that comes with being seen together, the excitement of the chase being replaced with the passion of the capture.

She asks, slowly, carefully choosing each word, doing her best to avoid setting off a bomb that could send this whole thing into a downward spiral. "Is this what you want to do?"

You pull her closer, fit her body flush against yours, and bring your lips down onto hers. You let them linger, let her sigh, let her melt and keen and smile against your mouth.

"Darling," you murmur against her lips, "I've been ready to tell the whole world since the moment I sat down next to you."

—

Sometimes, the conventional ways are the best.

Stumbling through your house—kissing her hard in the hallway, losing her skirt in the kitchen, tearing off her shirt at the top of the staircase. Carrying her past the threshold of your bedroom and leaving her panties at the door; truly letting her into your world in every way, shape, and form.

Holding her close, one hand at her waist, the other looping around her chest. Kissing into her neck as you lay her down onto your mattress, getting up close and personal until it’s all Mina, all the sweetness and heat of her, the richness of her perfume that’s become her signature.

The red of her blush, her lips, the marks you’re leaving on her skin. The white of her throat, her collarbone, the bra that’s half on, half of.

Pinning her wrists over her head, keeping her still, watching her pupils dilate.

Fucking flawless. Every inch, every glorious detail. Underneath you, at your mercy, already staining your sheets with her need.

And then, a beg:

“Please.”

“Greedy.”

“It’s how you made me.”

Your other hand ventures lower, drifting down her stomach, holding against her abs, leaving your fingertips to ghost over her mound.

She shudders at your touch.

You let her know, “I wasn’t complaining.”

And your tongue is on hers, soft to start, relaxing into familiar patterns, swipes of reintroductions, until Mina’s arching her back, urging you on. But you’re greedy in your own way; wanting to take your time, wanting to extract all these sighs and moans straight from the source.

Only, Mina’s having none of it.

“You’re really going to torture me after the day I’ve had?”

You quirk an eyebrow, push your thumb down against her clit. Applying enough pressure to make her hips buck.

"Torture is a strong word, darling."

Mina's huffs as you hold her there, keeping her locked in place and at your mercy. Wriggling under your grasp, but not making any real effort to escape. After all, where would the fun be in that?

"Fine," she's relenting, eyes slipping shut, unable to hide the smile that’s making its way onto her face. "Call it what you want. Just—more."

"Then let's just call it a pleasant distraction."

Your lips are together once more, your kiss quickly turning from something sweet to something a lot more demanding. Throwing Mina a bone, pressing into her a declaration of intent that has her wild for you.

You take your fingers, slide it down, swiping through her folds. Dancing around her entrance, seeing how nice and slick she already is for you, feeding that gnat in the back of your head that urges you to just fill her whole. Right before pressing up into her cunt.

“Yes,” Mina whispers into your mouth, hips rising to meet your hand, helpless little shivers around your first, then second digit—pushing until you’re knuckle deep inside her heat, making her squirm and cry, “Just stretch this fucking pussy, please.”

“Oh, you’re so wet for me,” you say, like it's a surprise, like she's ever not, like she doesn't part her legs and beg for you to take the invitation to her cunt every single time.

And Mina’s reaffirming, “Of course I am, I’m always—” but she never gets to finish her sentence, because you’re sliding a third finger in, and she’s trying so hard to keep it all together despite how determined you are to pull it all apart.

You’re too attentive—watching her face, every micro expression. Watching for every twitch, every whine, every cry that gets stuck in her throat when she tries to swallow it down.

There’s beauty in all of it, every single time, you could never get enough of it. Been burned into you now—what it takes to make Mina come undone. The right ways to touch her, the spots that make her preen. Where to be gentle, when to be rough, how to keep her guessing.

It’s all here, now, distilled to its basest elements, and it doesn’t even take much. You’re too good at this, know her far too well to need anything other than the sound of her breath to dictate your pace.

Your thumb plays at her swollen clit, doing nothing but pressing down as your fingers saw in and out of her slippery cunt, making her clench around you like she always does. Faster and faster, until she’s crying for it, shivering and trembling underneath you, struggling against your hold on her wrists because she's dying for something to hold onto.

“You—you’re too much,” Mina pants, because that’s all she can do now as you push into her with purpose. So, so fucking wet, creaming around your fingers, pooling in the palm of your hand. “Too—too—too fucking—”

Losing control over her own limbs, cumming with a sharp cry, levitating off the bed as your hand works magic between her legs, needing a hard kiss to ease her back down to Earth.

The aftershocks still roll through her body, leaving her with these tiny, frantic whimpers. You keep her pinned, soothe her with your thumb at her clit, padding around in gentle circles, feeling her spasm and pulse around your fingers.

Your kiss ends on that high note, parting lips to give Mina a chance at a complete inhale. Her chest is heaving, nipples poking out of the top of her bra, skin already sticky with sweat. Eyes opening, hazed over with need and the beginnings of tears.

“I—I need more.”

Hands let go of her wrists, fingers slide out of her cunt, and you lean back to watch her try to compose herself. It’s a battle she’s not winning.

Mina’s blinking up at you, trying to catch her breath, trying to remember how to do anything other than be fucked into oblivion by you. You help her—leaning over, thumbs hooking under her bra straps. Pulling it down with a gentle tug that makes her arch into the motion, makes her chest spill out and your mouth water.

You take the chance to admire her. To drink her in, appreciate her the way she deserves to be appreciated—a masterpiece spread out on your bed, naked and needy.

There’s the intoxication, knowing you’re the one that did that to her, knowing that you’re the one that’s going to do it again. Over and over again.

“If I have to wait another second, I’m going to scream,” Mina says, the demand losing its edge in a whine.

You chuckle, press an open-mouthed kiss onto her breast, sucking a nipple between your teeth.

Sometimes, you just can’t resist.

“Let’s not pretend that isn’t exactly what I want.”

“Make it happen, then.”

Mina holds position as you pull back, keeping her hands over her head, keeping as still as a statue as you come to your knees over her. Eyes on you as your shirt, your belt, your pants go. Eyes on your cock as your briefs fall away, leaving it standing tall and thick and ready for her.

There’s power dynamics at play here—how Mina’s so vulnerable to you, how she’s laid herself out, unwilling to move until you tell her to. She understands it, implicitly. Knows she’s playing right into your hands, forced to wait while you let the anticipation build.

You hold your cock above her, stroke it carefully. Watch her eyes track it. See her gulp.

And she begs, again, “Please,” softer now, the unmistakable tremble in her voice. "I just—I need it so fucking bad."

Whether on purpose or by instinct, her legs splay, presenting her pussy, glistening with want. There’s the pulse in her clit, the need dripping over her folds—you feed the agony just a little more, hovering over the entrance, letting the tip of your cock graze over it. Teasing, taunting.

"Beg for it."

Mina opens her mouth, but she fails to summon the words. Just leaves her lips hanging open, leaving you an opening for your fingers to push in and try to help her find the right plea.

Her tongue flicks out, licks at your digits, the taste of her arousal still thick on them. The wetness of her tongue as she sucks, the suction of her lips as she envelopes each finger, one by one. Savouring her own flavour with deep, longing slurps, with grateful hums resonating around your fingers.

Leaking down the tip of your cock, cunt getting wetter and wetter the longer she’s denied. Making you throb against her, making your hips jerk and bump dangerously close to where she needs you to be.

But you still don’t enter her. You just wait until she’s done, until your fingers are clean and wet, and she’s left a trail of kisses up to your wrist.

It’s then that you drag your fingers out from her lips and demand of her once more:

“Beg.”

And this time, Mina’s able to say it clearly, confidently, right from her chest—

“I need you inside me. Need to feel you so deep inside me that I can’t tell where I end and you begin. I want to make you cum so hard you’ll never want to leave, want to leave your mark so deep inside me that even if you do, I’ll still feel you.”

Each word, a fucking gift.

And her reward—

A hard, quick plunge straight into her cunt. Inside her, instantly buried, immediately unbearable. Just too good.

Mina can’t do anything, just dig her nails into the sheets and try not to scream at the suddenness of it, at the way you complete her without any warning at all.

It all just ripples through her, a second orgasm already possessing her and forcing her into seizure. Can’t even hold it together—can’t keep the moans contained, can’t keep herself steady—can only just lock eyes with you and hope that you’re seeing it all, hope that you’re feeling it too.

Mina’s got no control around you anymore, none at all.

“Your cock,” she’s saying, repeating it over and over. Like it’s brand new to her, like it hasn’t ever left her wrecked a hundred times over. “Your fucking cock.”

Words punctuated by the slaps of your hips, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding, of Mina welcoming every stroke of your cock inside her. So fucking tight, gloved around you like it was forged specifically for your cock; not for anything else but you, only you.

“So hard, my God.” Mina’s hands clasp behind your neck, needing a firm hold on something solid and real. “So fucking hard for me, so—so—fuck—”

Her lips are everywhere, a flurry of butterfly kisses across your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, the edges of your jawline. Crazed, unbridled assault of affection. Disarming, incredibly hot. Mina doing her best to mark you up before she’s torn away again.

It’s far too early in the processions—habit would usually have her playing it cool, trying to keep up the façade of control, hold onto shreds of dignity, until she’s unravelling completely and begging you to fuck her harder, deeper.

But now, she’s just letting you have her.

No games, no pretences.

Just you, and her, and this wild, hopeless need to feel good, to be consumed by this.

“Yours,” Mina’s whispering, voice cracking around the edges, “All yours.”

And you know it. Have known it. Had it signed and sealed in ink since the very first time she told you. When you made her knees buckle and eyes water as you took her in every way possible. Since she called out for you, said your name into the quiet of the night like it was a secret she never wanted to keep.

Yet it’s hearing it now, the sum of all these moments stacked on top of each other; the haunts that you’d frequent, the private corners that you’d made yours, the endless phone calls and messages and photos that could fill entire warehouses with their filth.

Finally here—both of you, panting, sweating, sex thick in the air. The world outside forgotten.

Fucking Mina so hard, so deep, euphoria shooting straight through you each time your cock bottoms out inside her. The softness of her cunt, its heat, its creaminess, its fucking divinity. Leaking out all around you and squeezing you so good that it’s a miracle that you’re still coherent enough to speak.

But you do, with a gruff, “Already knew that, darling.”

Mina’s laughing, because that’s the type of high you’re giving her. Even with the way you’re stretching her open, even with her eyes barely open and her toes curling into the bed—she’s laughing because it’s the only thing she can do. Because it’s all so absurdly perfect that she can’t find the energy to do anything else.

“All this, all of you,” you’re leaning in, at the base of her throat, licking a stripe up to her earlobe. Drumming the words into her skin, until she shivers. “Every part of you. All mine.”

Simple words that hold so much sway over her, that could pull her apart or build her right back up. Words that make Mina clench around you, make her cunt grasp you so tightly as if she’s trying to make them real.

“Always,” she’s heaving, “Always yours.”

And there’s this look on her face, like she’s lost in a dream—eyes glassy and all fogged up, breath hot against your shoulder. Glowing under the dimmed lights, making the sweat pooling at the base of her throat shimmer.

Keeping your hand there, at her neck, like it’s the only thing keeping her from floating away. Ruining her. Because really, it’s all for her. All of this is all for her pleasure, her satisfaction.

You’re just along for the ride, so fucking lucky to have her like this. So impossibly beautiful, just knowing she exists would drive you insane if you didn’t get to be with her. Didn’t get a chance at this pussy, so perfect, dripping so much, made so hot for you and only you. Your own personal slutty cunt.

It’s the way her legs wrap around your hips—the smoothness of her skin, the power in those thighs, holding you like she’s afraid you’ll pull away. Like she’s terrified you’ll leave her like this, frantic and wretched and so, so fucking wet.

The newest picture you’re painting, your magnum opus in her name—her tits bouncing with each thrust, nipples stiff and flicking in the air. The yielding of her back, bending just so she can accommodate that extra length of you inside her. And her stomach—fuck, those abs. Tightening and loosening, shaking with every hit of your hips, with every sharp gasp of air.

Demanding of you. Cum for me. Please. Now.

“I need this. Exactly this from now on,” Mina’s declaring, stuttering it like you’re fucking every syllable out of her tightness. “Just you fucking me. Whenever we’re together, every second we get alone—fuck—"

And you’re nodding because you’re always right there with her, always on the same wavelength, thinking the exact same fucking thing.

“Keep filing me up until I can’t take it anymore. Until I’m screaming so loud, I can’t even hear myself think—”

Breathless words that flood your ears, that Mina needs to get out, needs to make sure you hear. Absorbed straight into your bloodstream, pumping into your cock, fed right back into her cunt. So fucking tight. So downright incredible that you’re speeding up, driving in deep, as deep as you could possibly go.

“Until I’m so full of you that I forget my own name—forget any other name but yours—until I—until I—”

A nasty hit makes her body curve and rise, makes her pussy clamp around you, in warning of the orgasm to come, the one you’re both hurtling towards with a kind of reckless abandon that’s become second nature.

“Until I—please—just always make me feel this way—”

“You will,” you promise, meaning it, fucking it into her like your life depends on it. Like you need it to survive, because maybe you do. Maybe you’ve never truly lived until you’ve felt Mina’s cunt quiver around your cock like this, until you’ve heard her beg for you like you’re the only thing she needs to breathe. And again, for good measure, “you will."

And oh, that’s all it takes. That’s enough to have Mina spilling.

“Cumming,” is her proclamation. Repeated, ad infinitum, just, “Cumming, cumming, cumming.”

All over your cock, all around your cock. Cunt strangling you with the force of it.

And this is where you decide Mina’s most beautiful.

When she’s consumed by climax, when she’s held prisoner by it, when she’s just nothing but a canvas for you to leave your marks all over.

“Feel so good—so fucking good—”

It’s the best kind of challenge, pushing her through it.

Worshipping her in all the ways that count, treating Mina in ways woman like her should never be treated. Tearing an angel down from the heavens just to hammer her cunt into submission, and being thanked for it afterwards.

“God,” Mina’s trying, voice rasping and broken, “I—fuck—I can’t—”

You take her, hand wrapping around her tits, pinching, rolling, teasing nipples until they’re as tight as her cunt around you. Leaning in and capturing her lips, drinking down her whimpers with a kiss so deep you can taste your name on her tongue.

Fucking her, ruining that tight, little pussy, through every wave that crashes down over her, that burns her up from the inside and makes her so Goddamn hot.

Leaving her in disbelief that it could ever feel this good again, that there's a light at the end of this tunnel, that there's a life after being fucked so thoroughly by your cock.

Holding her through it, preventing her from crumbling into a million overstimulated pieces. Slowing down the pace of your hips with steady, deliberate thrusts until you’re just inside her. Cock throbbing, bathing in her heat, waiting.

Mina stirs, eyes flutter open, meeting yours. “Cum inside me. Wherever you’d like.”

There’s only one real choice. Mina knows this as well as you do.

Your cock leaves her cunt, slick with her juices, her cum. Proof of your dominion over her body, gleaming along your shaft.

Nothing but bliss on Mina’s face, so well-fucked and satisfied and just plain happy that it’s almost a surprise she hasn’t melted away into a puddle. She’s smiling, looking up at you through her lashes, sweet and soft and perfect.

Turning herself over, bowing down on her knees, pointing her ass up at you like it’s the universe itself handing you a present and saying, ‘Here, this is yours.’

You can’t resist that kind of temptation.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Mina tells you, rolling her hips higher still, flaring out her hips, treating you to the perfectly round globes of her ass. “Waiting for you to take me. However you want. Make it hurt so good. Make me remember how you feel.”

Her hands reach back, delicate fingers spreading plump cheeks apart. The tight, pink ring of her ass winking at you. A sight that never gets old, a vision that’s forever carved into the back of your eyeballs.

One last request. “Please.”

Your cock pushes in.

“Thank you.”

Right away, it’s too fucking much. Your cock breaching through her asshole, pushing in inch by inch. Slow and torturous, the kind of thing that makes you want to yell.

Then the first thrust—that first hit, like a narcotic, straight through your veins, every single time. Feeling it, sensations so intense, so sharp, that you forget to even breathe.

And Mina’s crying. Crying out, muffled by the pillow she’s biting into. Yet still, pushing back against you, urging you deeper, even though she’s coming apart, even though she’s shaking from the sheer effort of having you fill her.

“Darling,” you call to her, “you’re doing so good,” because she is. Good, good, so fucking good for letting you split her in two like this. For letting you ruin her in all the best ways.

The second thrust is easier, smoother. Body giving in to your demands, stretching around your cock like it always does, like it’s made to do. To bend and flex to your whims and desires.

With every push, every retreat, every agonisingly, achingly slow grind into her ass, you’re nearing that rapturous end.

“So fucking good for me, Mina. Your ass is so tight around me. Such a good girl.” You’re grunting now, trying to ease her into it, to build up to the point where you can pound her, push her like you really want to.

Mina’s nodding, eyes screwed shut, sunken in the way you’re stretching her out. It’s a familiar feeling, having her ass opening up for you. A dance you’ve performed so often it’s almost muscle memory—each step painstakingly learned; each move carefully choreographed.

You’re easing into her, slow, so fucking slow that it’s a wonder that either of you doesn’t implode with want. But Mina’s good, so good, letting out these tiny, shuddering breaths that you feel down to the marrow of your bones.

And then, as your is fully seated in her ass—

“Don’t hold back,” Mina says, quietly, barely audible, but the need is crystal clear. “All of it, please.”

Hand in her hair, hand at her waist. Gripping into her, guiding her and then fucking her, really, truly flooding her ass with your cock, disappearing into her tightness until your hips are slapping into hers.

So pretty, even like this, even when her moans are getting louder, borderline screams that are cut off by the cotton of the pillow, her knuckles turning white in the effort. Her back tenses, muscles rippling underneath your palms.

She dips a hand underneath her, between her legs. Fingers at her cunt, whirling around her clit, doing all she can to keep up with you.

“Feels fucking amazing. Your ass, Mina,” you’re trying to say, but it’s coming out all gravelly and thick. “So fucking tight for me.”

It’s the one through-line that’s kept steady over these months. Mina’s transcendental beauty, Mina’s razor-sharp intelligence, Mina’s pussy that’s always, perpetually yours. All these things; but it’s Mina’s ass—that perfect, juicy, heart-shaped, fucking flawless ass that keeps you up at night.

Every time you’re buried inside, it’s like coming home to something sacred. Tightness gripping you, ass swallowing your cock in waves, the kind of feeling that makes you believe in a higher power—because nothing so divine could possibly be man-made.

“Fuck, I just—” Mina’s breathing out, quick huffs because that’s all she can manage, “just love this so fucking much. Love how you feel in my fucking ass.”

Her hand’s working overtime now, circling her clit with a fervour that’s almost religious. Pussy starting to leak again, juices running down her thighs, mixing with the sweat, pooling at her knees. Fuck, the way she’s touching herself while taking you in, so willingly, so wantonly, so utterly destroyed for you—she’s going to cum again, you can feel it. And you’re not far behind.

“I think I’m going to—fuck, I only just—but I’m going to—again—you’re going to make me—again—” She’s squealing, half-mumbling, full-crying, and your heart nearly bursts out of your chest because it’s all for you.

You’re not even managing anything other than desperate thrusts, just fucking her with everything you have—like you’re trying to claim her inside and out, trying to leave your fingerprints on every part of her so everyone will know she’s been yours all along.

“Please, please, please,” again and again, stuttering out, “Just—just—just—”

Just keep going, keep pushing into her until she’s shaking, until she’s pleading for you to stop, to let her breathe, because she’s about to fucking break.

Or, really:

Keep going and never, ever stop.

The hand in her hair tightens, pulling her back, making her arch. That perfect spine, the curve that’s painted by God himself. Kisses into her shoulder, into the crook of her neck, making her whimper.

“Keep fucking me. Like this—like this—God—I’m going to—again—”

Pulling her closer to you, so you can feel the tremors starting from her core, spreading out like wildfire. Pushing her hand away, taking over between her legs—rubbing, teasing, circling her cunt and pushing her closer and closer to the brink. Fucking her so deeply that you can feel the first quivers of her orgasm from the inside out, daring to take over her body again.

“Keep fucking—touching me, fill me up—just don’t—please, I need it—”

A final plea, her last rites, before she’s lost.

“Cumming—cumming again—please, oh, please—oh—”

Mina’s body goes lax, a ragdoll in your arms. But you keep fucking her through it. Through the quakes and shivers, through the cries—through the crying out. Pleading. Pleading for you to follow her into oblivion.

And fuck. If you’re not right there with her.

You’re close, chasing her, feeling her orgasm, feeling it coil around your cock and pump through her veins and into yours. Feel her—her body, her muscles, her cunt—tightening, tightening, tightening around you until it’s unbearable.

“Cum for me—with me—” she’s repeating, her newest mantra, “cum inside me. Give it to me—please, I need it—please—so badly—”

Begging, dying for it. Willing, wanting to do anything for it.

But she doesn’t need to—you can’t fucking hold on any longer.

“Mina—fuck—"

You slam into her, and finally burst.

Filling her ass with your cum, feeling it spurt into her, thick and hot. Pumping into her, over and over, getting wrung dry by her ass, cumming so hard it feels like your bones might shatter.

Cumming until your vision swims, until the architecture in your knees threaten to give out, until all you can do is hold onto her hips and keep her in place, keep her right there, impaled on your cock, until every single drop of cum has found a home inside her ass.

Until you’re so sensitive it’s almost painful. Until the orgasm has passed over the two of you and left you feeling like you might dissolve into nothing but pure sensation.

“Christ,” you manage to get out, the word tearing out of you like it’s being ripped from your chest. Holding Mina close—embracing her, seeing just how much she’s loving it. How thankful she is. Taking it all, soaking it all in, moans turning into whimpers that you’d swear are prayers of gratitude.

Body limp and strung out, fucked so hard she can’t even hold herself up anymore—Mina collapses into the bed, pulling you with her, your cock still buried deep inside her.

Like the first time, like every time, it’s a complete fucking disaster.

Tangled up in sheets, in each other. Sticky with sweat, stickier with cum. And Mina turns her head to look at you, just so pleased, and so gleefully satisfied.

You lean in and kiss her, slow and deep, resisting the urge to stir, to roll her onto her back and start this whole thing over again. Claim her once, twice, a dozen times more.

But you don’t. You just lay there, breathing into her neck, letting all of this, your orgasms, your bliss, your absolute contentment roll through you.

There’ll be time to keep going, to keep fucking her. Give her the same tour of your house that she gave you that first night.

Eat her out in the kitchen. Fuck her into the sofa. And yeah, introduce her to the balconies on the higher floors.

For now though, there’s Mina, lips parting with yours, looking at you with a smile that’s this original blend of lust and love and admiration. “You really know how to ruin a girl, you know that?”

You chuckle, picking a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “Just trying to scratch an itch.”

—

Everybody loves a love story.

And yours is packaged up so nicely, polished and made shiny and perfect for the public to see.

It's the type of story the media dies for—a tale of modern romance, woven through the glitz and glamour of celebrity life. The cold-blooded billionaire who had his heart stolen by one of the nation’s daughters, and then chased her across continents in order to get it back.

You and Mina, becoming the ultimate power couple—the kind that makes the paparazzi's cameras click in unison and tabloids sell by the millions.

Together at every high-profile event, her hand nestled in the crook of your arm, your thumb tracing lazy circles on her wrist—a secret promise of the bruises she’ll wear under her designer dresses. A whispered reminder of the things you’ll do to her when the lights go out and the world isn’t watching.

But nobody sees that. The public sees the smiles, the kisses, the sweet little glances that pass between you—and they eat it all up.

They'll never see the way she begs for your cock, the way you fuck her until she can't walk straight, the way she rides you until all you know is her name. They don’t know that it wasn’t love at first sight—it was lust, paroxysms of it, pure and raw and unbridled.

But here you are.

Mina, in your bathroom, smiling at you through the mirror. Dressed to the nines, looking like a fucking dream. Making it so obvious now that you wonder how you missed it at the start. The way she looked at you that first night, the way she looked. It was all there, laid out in big bold letters, all caps, telling you that this is what you’ve been searching for—what you needed all along.

That dress she’s wearing—some dazzling shade of green. Olive? Celadon?

“Emerald,” she smiles, catching you staring. “It’s emerald, darling.”

You grin back. “Then it should match.”

Mina’s eyes flick to the box in your hand, curiosity piqued.

“Got you something.”

You hand her the box—a simple, muted green velvet, lacking any markers or logos to give away the contents. Ergo, it’s really fucking expensive.

She takes it out of your hands. Opens it, and her breath catches.

“It’s—” Mina whispers, lifting a necklace from the box. A simple, stunning piece. A thin diamond band with a solitary jade teardrop hanging from the center.

"Yours."

Mina holds it up against the light, seeing how it dances through the stone like it’s alive. When her eyes come back to yours, she’s beaming—a smile so wide it makes you wish you had your phone ready to snap a photo.

“Help a girl out, would you?” she says, turning her back to you, sweeping her hair over her bare shoulder.

You step forward, kissing the skin there, feeling the softness of her neck, the pulse of her vein. Your hands come up to fasten the necklace around her, the coldness of the diamonds brushing against your knuckles.

“You know, there’s one thing I was wondering about,” you murmur, letting the jade rest atop her throat.

Mina giggles, tilts her head slightly to the side. The jewels sparkle. “Oh?”

“That first night. The gala. You came alone.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Mina repeats, amused. Happy to have her own little secret, the one thing you've yet to pry out of her between the sheets. She regards you through the reflection, a twinkle in her eye that says she’s been wondering what took you so long to ask.

“Yeah, I’ve never quite figured it out. I mean I know why you were alone. But why did you come at all? What were you doing there, just sitting all pretty and by yourself. It felt so wrong to me at the time.”

That makes Mina laugh, making you feel somewhat silly to even ask. She spins on her heels, facing you; the necklace sitting perfectly against her skin. She runs her fingers over the chain, ending at the pendant. Tapping it. Once. Twice.

And she doesn’t even need to ask you if it looks good on her or if it suits her because she knows. She can tell by the look on your face.

She wears it like a fucking collar.

“Why?” Mina says again, stretching the syllable out long and wide, until you’re staring at her lips, knowing you’re about to kiss her again, knowing that you may very well not make it out of the house tonight, likely not even make it out of the bathroom.

You’ll be ruining that dress, fucking her against the sink, pushing her up into the mirror, kissing into the top of her spine and repeating over and over again—mine, mine, mine.

“Because you invited me.”

#kpop smut #mina smut #twice smut #male reader

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blackdykegirlblogger · 2 days ago

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birthday sex with abby!

a/n: this is pretty sloppy tbh but i'm horny and felt like jotting smth down. she's a capricorn bc i said so.

thinking about how you wanted to surprise abby for her birthday. you had it all set up: breakfast in bed (her favorite: four slices of french toast, scrambled eggs and a large cup of black coffee), reservations at this new italian restaurant she's been dying to go to for weeks now, and your personal favorite: sex.

now granted, yall tended to go at it like rabbits on a daily basis, so it wasn't like fucking was anything new to your relationship. but, it was usually abby who took the reins. and as much as you loved her being in command under you...or above you...or from whatever position she decided on that day, you figured such a special occasion was the perfect time to switch things up a bit.

you gently tiptoed into your shared bedroom, easing the door open with your hips while you balanced her plate and mug. she was the prettiest sight you've ever seen, her usually meticulously done braid all fuzzy and askew as she snored gently. and luckily for you, she refused to ever wear shirts to bed, so her perky tits were loudly and proudly on display. you would honestly take a a picture if your hands weren't so full.

"abs? abby? time for breakfast, baby."

she grunted slightly as her eyes began to open, blinking a couple of times before landing on you. she pushed herself up on her elbows as she took everything in, the largest grin appearing on her face and making you giggle. "well good morning to you too, pretty girl. what's all this for?"

her tits bounced slightly as she adjusted herself into a sitting position, and your eyes were momentarily distracted before you acknowledged what she just said. "...it's your birthday? don't tell me you forgot again." you asked incredulously.

"my...? oh!" she grabbed her phone off the nightstand and checked the date, finally noticing the blaring January 7th on the screen. "well would you look at that?"

you rolled your eyes as you pressed a sloppy kiss on her cheek and handed her her meal. "happy 22nd visit around the sun, dumbass. i love you."

"fuck mama! s-slow downplease-"

if you had a nickel for every time you managed to make abby beg, like genuinely beg for you, you would only have a handful of nickels. as obsessed as she was with you, she was someone who prided herself on maintaining control at all times. it was a rare treat to see her all worked up and desperate (maybe you would get lucky if she was high, but that was a solid maybe), and you engraved the thought in your mind the best you could, knowing damn well this was never happening again..

"nuh uh, birthday girl. let me work, yeah?" you were grinding back against her, bouncing yourself on her strap as you put on a show for her. each movement put an immense amount of pressure on her engorged clit, and she couldn't help but drool at the sight granted to her as she ran her hands up and down your ribs in agony. your pussy was dripping on top of her, trickles of cum staining the silicone attached to her hips.

she swore on her life and everything she loved that she can feel you squeeze around her, your rhythm faltering slightly as you tightened around the base. you had already cum twice, but she always took a bit longer to get there, and you refused to let up until she did. for a second, a split, split, split second, you actually thought that you might've been able to get away with this. yeah, you were definitely going to be punished for it later, but hey! you were feeling good, she was feeling good and that was all that you could register in your cockdrunk mind.

the vibe shifted entirely as you felt her grip on your waist tighten, lifting you off her and turning you around so that you were staring her dead in the eye. despite her flushed cheeks and blown pupils, you could tell that underneath all the lust and desire, she was not pleased. uh-oh.

"who....the actual fuck do you think you are, huh?"

and with that, she began to do what she did best, pumping you up and down like you weighed absolutely nothing. and to her, you truly didn't. her thumb rotated across your clit as you whimpered, the brutal pace making your eyes meet the back of your head.

"nuh-uh" she gleefully mocked your earlier rebuttal, marking your skin with little crescent shaped indents as she rammed you, hard and fast and dizzying. "i want eye contact. and what the birthday girl wants, she gets."

#chakachats🏵️#lesbian blog #lesbian #sapphic #poc lesbian #wlw blog #wlw post #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby the last of us #tlou smut

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sexy-monster-fucker · 3 days ago

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Hits Different

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

Summary: Reader gets jealous when some women start hitting on Aaron at the bar on their team night out

CW: drunk!Hotch, jealous!Reader, mentions of an unsub and murder, drinking, confessions, makeout, Hotch being handsy, kinda needy!Hotch?

a/n: I’m literally obsessed with Aaron Hotchner rn

~~~

“No— I can’t,” you opposed as your coworkers decided to order another round of shots. Cheeks glowing as the alcohol seeped into you. Smiling as Derek put his arm around you and J.J. reached across the table to encourage you.

It was a Thursday night. You all had just gotten back from a week long endeavor in Utah. Local killer had his sight on some local young women. Killing them in some ritual style way that the drinks helped you fuzz the memory of. Luckily after you had addressed the public, he grew sloppy and was easily caught.

And now, back in your home state, you all crowded into a local bar to relax. And when the BAU “relaxed” it usually involved some heavy drinking.

“Shots! Shots! Sh-Shots!” Penelope and Emily chanted to the tune of the Lil Jon song. You laughed, a subtle snort escaping you. Rossi came back with the tray, beginning to pass them out to everyone.

Aaron Hotchner hovered behind him. Already having downed three glasses of scotch and beaming with alcohol on his face. It was a rare occasion that Hotch got drunk. Usually he just sipped at one drink while everyone else got themselves into trouble. But tonight he decided to let loose. Taking two glasses off the tray and squeezing in next to you in the already tight booth. Sitting them down in front of the two of you. Hooded eyes squinted upward in a closed-mouth smile as his eyebrows raised at you.

And you felt your face completely flush. Since your time at the BAU, you had developed a crush on your superior. Even if it was inappropriate and the age gap was a bit large, you still harbored feelings for him. And moments like this did not help.

Completely engulfed by the aroma of his cologne. Trying not to make it obvious you were smelling him. Hotch wrapped his arm around you absentmindedly. Leaning in and holding one of the glasses up to you. “Are you gonna do a shot with me?” His slightly slurred words melted against your skin. His voice somehow deeper and sultrier than ever. Everyone else was too distracted by the giggling of drunken excitement for more drinks to notice what was happening. It was like you two were alone for a moment.

You smiled, nodding slowly as he passed you the shot in his hand. Picking up the other and wrapping his arm around yours. Intertwined so that your hands were back against your own mouths. You were beyond flustered with the contact he was making with you. Hotch began counting down, both of you throwing the alcohol back on three.

Sucking your teeth as it burned down your throat. Hotch blew his breath out. You watched as his nose scrunched up at the taste. Shaking off the strong taste as Hotch leaned in against you. His head bumping against yours for a moment. Lips pressing against your ear in his drunk state.

“Want me to go get us som’more drinks? You like something more fruity, right?” Hotch suggested, deep voice ringing in your ear. The feeling of his lips grazing your skin had you sweating.

“Only if you’re buying,” you pulled at his tie softly. Causing his eyes to lock into yours, corner of his mouth curving up. His eyes scanned your figure momentarily before getting up and strutting over to the bar.

“Oh. My. God.” J.J.’s voice pulled you back from your staring problem you had with Hotch. You whipped your neck to face her, adjusting your posture in the seat. Shaking your head slightly, “What?”

“What was that about?” J.J. grinned brightly, eyes bouncing from Hotch to you.

“We were just doing some shots together,” you felt your face heating up again. Tongue coming out to wet your lips as your mouth ran dry.

“The only other instances of Hotch getting that close to any of us was when we were hurt,” Spencer chimed in with his analytical sounding tone. Still as smart as ever even while drunk.

“Oh God, you guys,” you shook your head and scooted out of the booth. Stretching your legs for the first time tonight. Hands resting on the table as you got closer to the opposing side. Being eye-to-eye with J.J. and Spencer, “You guys know he acts different when he’s relaxed. It’s nothing.”

Spencer and J.J. exchanged a look of uncertainty. Neither of them believing what you had just said. Rolling your eyes at their smirking expressions. Catching on easily to the feelings you had for your boss.

Downside of having friends who are profilers.

“Drop it,” you pointed at them with two fingers. Your friends began snickering and laughing. You could not help but smile back at them. Laughter was contagious when you were intoxicated. You turned to meet your crush at the bar.

You froze.

Some woman was cuddled up with Hotch at the bar. Breasts peaking out of the top of her thin shirt, curled hair falling below her shoulders, and a beautiful face of makeup. Your heart sank down to your ankles. Watching as her hand trailed his chest. Watching how her perfectly glossed lips popped as she spoke to him inaudibly.

Worst of all: his smile.

SSA Hotchner tended to be gruff and stern. Brooding and unreadable. Purely business around you and the other members of the BAU. Stoic and distant. Something you all agreed was so he did not get overly attached, just in case something happened to one of you. Rarely smiling other than seeing his sweet son, Jack.

Guess tonight was different.

Rosey cheeks and perfect teeth painted his expression. Eyes locked in on the woman before him. Your hands began shaking at your sides. If it was not a cartoon cliche, you would have had smoke coming out of your ears. Teeth grinding together behind tightly pierced lips.

Rethinking any hints he may have given you. Feeling like you had fooled yourself into a crush. Angry that some random bitch woman was getting too friendly with Hotch.

Unable to take it anymore. Jealousy brewing inside you, ready to overflow. You marched up to the bar, immediately pulling Hotch’s attention from the woman.

“Sorry to interrupt—“

“Hi, Y/N,” Hotch smiled at you. Causing butterflies to flutter in your intestines. Especially with the casualty of your first name.

God, he was drunk.

“SSA Y/L/N,” you extended your hand out to the woman, lip twitching when she shined her perfect smile. Flaring your nostrils and locking your jaw when your hand met hers.

“Hi! I’m Hope,” her peppy attitude made you sick to your stomach. Trying your best to fake your expression. Anger causing a slight shake to your demeanor.

“Right…” you trailed off, looking at Hotch whose eyes had not left you yet, “Hotch—“

“C’mon, Y/N. You can call me Aaron here,” he leaned in and whispered to you. Chills ran down your entire body when the heat from his lips radiated against your skin. Swallowing the lump in your throat.

Oh, he was REALLY drunk.

“Aaron,” you started, watching him smile at you saying his first name, “Did you get my drink?”

Hotch’s hand came up cupping his cheek as his eyes squinted, “Oh my God. That’s why I came up here. I totally forgot—“

“Don’t worry about it, Hotch,” your frustration took over your attitude. Fists clinching at your sides. Feeling tears beginning to burn behind your eyes. Deciding to storm off without the drink. Heading towards the long corridor to the bathrooms.

“Y/N—“ Hotch reached out to you with a confusion behind his tone. Not caring enough to listen to whatever excuse his drunken self was gonna give you. Trying your best not to make a scene so none of your coworkers would notice and come after you. Really just needing to be alone.

You leaned against the cold wall, hands holding onto each of your arms. Head resting against the brick of the dimly lit hallway. Fighting your eyes that begged to leak with your feelings. And you felt stupid. Did you really think your own boss would be interested in you? Enough to not get distracted by the beautiful woman at the bar? Please.

Feeling suddenly sober at the heartbreak in your chest. Hands coming up to cover your redening face. Embarrassed that you had even toyed with the notion. Knowing it was completely against protocol to fraternize with coworkers. Let alone with your superior—

“Y/N?” Hotch’s somber voice broke you away from the thoughts filling your mind.

You blinked your eyes open. Manually breathing as your shoulders rose and fell. Controlling the water that begged to pour from your eyes. Clicking your tongue as you spoke, “Hotch.”

“I told you, you could call me Aaron here,” he leaned against the wall beside you. Arms folded over his broad chest. Pondering the informality before looking back to him.

“I thought you saved that for pretty girls at the bar,” you half-heartedly smiled. Flaring your nostrils as you contorted your face to hide your frown.

Hotch laughed, bearing that smile that had you seeing stars. Eyes closing for a moment, giving you the opportunity to linger in it. Enjoying him being this casual with you.

“Is that not what you are?” Hotch asked.

You whipped your head to look at him again. Brows furrowed tightly together as your mouth hung open in confusion. “What?”

Hotch rose a brow, “Are you not a pretty girl? At the bar with me right now?”

You blinked as you stammered, “I— Not like… I mean— not like that girl at the bar…” You trailed off completely dumbfounded by his statement. Hotch watched you with a smile. His own cheeks still red.

“You think I’m pretty?” You finally formed a cohesive sentence unable to stop your mouth from curving into a smile.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Hotch’s hooded eyes stared into yours. Taken aback by that. Questioning for a moment if he was mocking you. Realizing by his expression he was not.

“You’re drunk, Hotch—“

“Aaron,” he corrected, “And, yeah I am drunk. But just drunk enough to finally be honest with you about that.” Hotch’s tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lip. Hand coming up and rubbing his neck at his confession.

“You didn’t have to come back here just to try and make me feel better. You were having a good chat with that woman at the bar. She was so beautiful, and made you smile, and not a part of the BAU, and—“ you covered your mouth getting embarrassed and shameful.

Hotch’s hand caressed your cheek. Pulling you back to him. His brows laid flat against his eyes. Lips pressed firmly together, watching his throat bob with the swallow he took. Thumb rubbing circles into your warm cheek, swiping away the singular line of tears that streamed down.

“I’m sorry— it’s the alcohol, that’s why I’m crying—“

Hotch cut you off by pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. Your eyes flew open. Hand gently resting against his chest as you savored the feeling of his lips on yours. Feeling your breath hitch in your throat and heart swell.

“You taste so sweet,” Hotch groaned, both hands gripping your face now. The primal noises he made causing arousal to swirl around your belly. Feeling its residue stick to your panties. His lips trailed down your jaw to your neck. Nipping against your soft skin as his hands roamed down the backside of your body. Gasping when his large hands groped your ass.

“I get chit-chatty when I’m drunk. That girl at the bar didn’t matter at all,” Hotch promised against your skin with kisses breaking up his sentences.

“You won’t even remember this in the morning,” you giggled when he took your earlobe between his teeth. Feeling a somberness sinking into your gut.

“How could I forgot this?” Hotch breathed into your ear. Sounding like he was desperate and almost completely out of breath, “Forget about you?”

Hotch pulled back to look into your eyes. Really taking in your face before him. Your eyes kept darting between his and his lips. Smiling when you could still taste him on your lips.

You pressed up on your toes, lips meeting his again. Tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Sloppily intertwining together. Huffs and grunts coming from Hotch as he pulled your front flush against his. You blushed at the feeling of his bulge.

“What about the team?” You questioned as the weight of the situation became suddenly apparent.

“I don’t care about them right now,” Hotch pressed his lips back to yours. Kissing away any fear or dread that was in your mind. Completely consuming you. Smiling as you both allowed hands to roam the other’s body.

You broke the kiss momentarily, “So— wait— you mean Rossi thinks I’m pretty too?” You teased him, grinning from ear to ear.

“Watch it,” Hotch smiled with a playful aggression on his tone, capturing you back in a kiss. Laughing together as you pressed lips together.

~~~

[END//?]

// Thank you so much for reading! I’m having such a blast writing for Hotch right now. Honestly, I’m think about making a smutty part 2 to this fic if anyone was interested. If you have requests or want to be tagged in any future Fics, let me know! //

{tags}

@megangovier ~ @bondwithme-murderstyle ~ @boybandbaby ~ @hoffmanfan13 ~ @justyourusualash ~ @mrs-ssa-hotch ~

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #thomas gibson #thomas gibson x reader #writing #sexymonsterfics

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cherrygirlfriend · 2 days ago

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pairing: reader x bsf!rafe

synopsis: reader gets depressed after sex, so rafe comforts her.

warnings: smut, angst and comfort, fluff MDNI! - wc: 700

author’s note: i wrote this last night when this site went down; it's a bit different and doesn't have much dialogue but i was feeling poetic. also, trying out yet another layout style ⟡ ݁₊ .

it always starts the same; the feeling in your stomach building up, the heat spreading through your veins, making your body feel like the sun is rising, slowly warming up every one of your limbs as your whimpers turn into quiet moans as you’re brought closer and closer to the edge, to bliss.

then, all of a sudden, rafe touches just the right spot at just the right pace, whispering just the perfect words into your ear before sucking your earlobe into his mouth as he continues thrusting into you, your nails digging into his back, and then the soft sunlight titillating across your body turns into a blazing fire.

the moment you come undone your back arches off the bed, into him like a moth to a flame, your sensitive, pebbled nipples pressing against his muscular chest as you let out raspy words that are supposed to be his name, but ultimately end up being incomprehensible mumbles, rafe letting out groans on top of you as you clenched around him, your tight walls basically calling for him to come.

you can feel the rush of dopamine released by your brain the moment your back hits the mattress, your entire body becoming tingly, and a small, pleased smile playing on your lips as you felt rafe pull out of you with a satisfied grunt before getting up and discarding the used condom into his trash can before coming back to bed with a satisfied grin on his lips, your head still slightly fuzzy from the pleasure he'd given you.

you stared up at the ceiling fan, watching as it spun around, feeling the cool air on your face, feeling it take care of the sheen of sweat that covered your skin, rafe pressing small kisses on your bare shoulder, causing shivers to run down your spine. you felt content.

but just like usual, you crashed.

you didn't know what caused it, but hot tears started stinging in your eyes once again, rafe pulling back to look down at you, his lips twitching into a slight frown as his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb moving to brush away a tear that was rolling down, disappearing into your hair.

"shhh, it's okay..." rafe mumbled against your skin, continuing to press more kisses on the soft skin on your shoulder. you knew it was irrational, that there was no reason for you to be crying, that there was no reason for there to be this hollow feeling in your chest, no reason for your head to be filled with doubts and melancholy; but your emotions didn't much care for logic, "i'm here."

rafe pulled you into his chest, holding you tightly against his warm body while his hand stroked your hair, pressing soft kisses on your hairline while tears continued escaping your eyes, your throat stinging with pain. "you're beautiful. you're alright." somehow, rafe had gotten used to you getting emotional after coming down from your orgasm, and he knew there was nothing he could do to get you out of that mindset, except just be there. and he always did that, he always grounded you. he was like your anchor. "you're amazing."

you held onto him as tightly as possible as he continued whispering sweet nothings into your ear, leaving gentle, loving kisses all over your face, wiping your tears away with just a touch of his lips.

and eventually, the hollowness inside of you slowly faded away and was replaced by him, and you looked up at rafe, into his ice-cold eyes that felt so warm whenever you gazed into them, and your lips finally curved up into a small smile, your heart steadying until your heartbeats were in sync.

"there's my girl." rafe says softly, quietly, as if he was being careful not to break the fragile serenity that had now taken over your features. and before he could pull your lips to meet his, you beat him to the punch, so full of him and his adoration, you felt like you'd die if you didn't return it right back to him.

and as your lips met, every thought, every tear, faded away.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #drew starkey #outer banks fanfiction #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe smut #rafe x reader smut #obx smut #rafe cameron smut #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #obx fic #obx fanfiction

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ventismacchiato · 2 days ago

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OIKAWA AS YOUR MUTUAL THAT YOU HATE IRL

oikawa x gender neutral reader

you and toru have been mutuals on twitter for almost a year as you both run and met through twice fan accounts. you talk to him more than your irl friends atp. on the other hand you and oikawa don’t get along irl, as you’re both on opposing college teams and constantly competing for nationals. since then he’s always picked on you at games, but that all changes when you finally decide to meet your favorite oomf in person.

notes — karasuno is a mixed gender team in this to keep it gn, and instead of highschool these are college teams / the messages in the first section are like throughout the week before you two meet up

ooc idk? it’s been a while. assume everyone is 20ish, i cud make this a cute mini au one day but rn i’m lazy so this is fast paced

also here’s the soobin version i wrote a while ago

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Your stomach was swarming with nerves as you made your way inside the cafe, the scent of freshly made coffee and sweaty college students from the stadium surrounding you as you slid into line. Admittedly, you never thought you'd get the chance to meet Toru, he was just your cute internet friend and nothing would ever happen.

That was, until today.

It was a bit embarrassing that you stared at the selfie he'd sent for longer than you should've. It was difficult to comprehend the boy you'd been talking to for so long was hiding such a pretty figure. Even with the emoji hiding his face you could tell he was cute.

You eye the display of cakes and decide to pick one up for the both of you as Toru had already promised to get you guys coffee. You felt bad going empty handed after finally meeting him.

You reach down to grab onto the last chocolate slice and your hands meet another. Usually, you'd let it slide and choose something else even though you touched it first. But, when you looked to your left and locked eyes with your self-proclaimed enemy, Toru Oikawa, those thoughts washed away. You were going to fight for that slice of mediocre cake.

"Not you again," Oikawa sighed, tugging the slice towards him, "Don't be obnoxious."

"Says you," you scoff, tightly grabbing onto the plate, "Why are you always so rude towards me? Is it because we annihilated you in the game?”

"You were just lucky," He grins, his large hands tugging the cake closer towards him, "Choose something else.”

"You choose something else. Losers don’t deserve nice cake! I got to it first!”

"Ok and?" Oikawa questions, like the little shit he is.

"Fine, just take it," you sigh, not wanting to make Toru wait. Good Toru, not this evil one beside you. But as you let go of the cake and step back you notice Oikawa’s outfit. He was adorned in clothes that oddly resembled the photo Toru had sent you.

"You made me lose my appetite," Oikawa mutters, dropping the cake and shuffling past you. You shake off the familiarity and make your way towards the back. Most men wore the same clothes, it was nothing.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

You eye the walls of the cafe until you come across the wooden tables from the photo.

You start scouring the seats for someone that resembled Toru but the only person in your vicinity was Oikawa.

You inch your way closer towards him with morbid curiosity, hoping that your suspicions would be proved wrong. But as you got closer the drinks on the table and location of your rival were too similar to the photo Toru had sent you.

Unfortunately, Oikawa locked eyes with you.

"What do you want? Are you here to apologize?" he questions, playing with the straw of his drink as he barely gave you a glance.

"Toru? From twitter?" you tentatively ask, your voice hoarse from the nerves. This couldn't be happening.

Oikawa pauses.

"What?" he slowly asks, turning to look at you, "What did you call me?"

"Oh my god," you gasp, "Are you ruluvyeon?"

"What..," he starts, catching on, "You're urmomoyn?"

Your username sounds foreign on his tongue but it was him. Oikawa was your Toru. Evil Toru was your sweet Toru.

Your beloved Toru was the same guy you've been on bad terms with all year. Just your luck.

Before Oikawa could comprehend anything or you could answer, you decide to do the most mature thing anyone would do in that situation.

You run.

And he doesn't follow.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

a week later

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

The street was dark apart from the flickering lamps on the side of the walkway as you made your way towards Oikawa - or well Toru’s - house. It still felt odd.

Your palms felt clammy and you were clad in your pajamas, in too much of a rush to change. Which was a decision you were regretting since the flimsy fabric did nothing to protect you against the wind.

Before you knew it you spotted the complex Toru supposedly lived in, and as you walked closer you could see his tall figure waiting for you in the dark. It would've been rather creepy if not for the fact he was drowning in a large hoodie and sweats with a beanie tugged on his hair.

His arms were crossed across his chest as he rocked back and forth due to the cold.

You swallowed your nerves and made your way towards him, not quite knowing what to do with your hands other than give him an awkward wave as he spotted you.

"Hey," he breathed out, gesturing for you to follow him inside.

The warmth of his apartment was far more welcoming than the freezing night. He shut the door behind you both and tugged off his beanie as he gestured for you to sit down.

"Hi," you greeted back as you sank down on his couch. The entire place felt very lived in.

Toru’s face scrunched up into an sly smile.

"I missed you," you added, "I'm glad you reached out."

"I am too," he hummed, reaching out to take his hand into yours. His palms felt warm against your own freezing ones.

"What was your last text about?" you question as his thumb rubs circles on your palm.

"I don't know what you’re talking about?" he smiles, "What did I say?"

"You know damn well what you said," you huff.

"Okay, well I meant it," he answers, "I convinced myself to try and forget you since you were an online friend. But having you right in front of me changed things."

"Changed things how?" you say, warmth creeping up your cheeks.

"Well, for one I can actually see you," Oikawa notes, "And do things like this," he adds, his voice going quiet as he reaches over to push a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "And, instead of fantasizing about kissing you, I could actually do it."

"You fantasized about it?" you ask in disbelief, still flustered at the touch of his hand so close to your face "You didn't even know what I looked like!"

"You were kinda just a blob in my mind," he shrugs, a smile tilting his lips at your offended face.

"A cute blob though, right?”

"Of course."

“You never imagined me as my icon?”

“Only when you changed it to Gojo.”

“Oh fuck off,” you laugh.

"So, you really don't hate me?" you muse, playing with his fingers, "It's so weird seeing you be so gentle."

"Would you rather me go back to being rude?" he replies, "But I really don't. I feel a shitty at how I used to treat you. You just get me riled up.”

"It's okay, I did the same," you assure, patting his hand, "Let's start fresh."

"Okay," he agrees, clasping your hand in between his, "Let's go out."

"Straight to the point?"

"I don't think we should waste any more time," he replies, “And my entire team thinks I made you up.”

“I need to make it up to you,” you sigh.

"Kiss me and consider yourself forgiven," Oikawa easily grins, looking at you with the usual look of arrogance he sends you through the net when he wishes you a terrible game. But this time it looks different. Like he wants you to win.

“Alright,” you manage to croak out, your throat closing up at your false confidence.

Honestly, you were qute irritated with yourself on how you treated Oikawa for the past few months. You desperately wanted to move on and start fresh.

Oikawa let out a surprised laugh and you wanted to ingrain the sound into your mind. He brought up his free palm to his mouth and let out a small giggle into it.

“Go ahead then,” he smiles.

"Okay," you manage to say, taking a deep breath.

"Any day now,” Oikawa smirks.

"Shut up, I need a moment-," you started, but were interrupted as he reached over and yanked on your top to slot his lips against yours. He stumbled and you both fell backwards onto the couch as he caught himself above you, both knees outside your hips as you snaked your hands around his waist.

He stared at your for a mere moment in disbelief before leaning down to capture your lips with his. His lips felt pillowy against your own and his warm body right on top of yours made it feel just as good.

You had to remind yourself not to laugh into the kiss.

#oikawa toru x reader #oikawa smau #oikawa x gender neutral reader #toru oikawa x male reader #oikawa x y/n #oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa toru smau #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa texts #toru oikawa x reader #toru oikawa #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa headcanons #haikyuu smau #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x reader

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coqhee · 3 days ago

Text

LOSE MY BREATH

✷ enhypen's reaction to wearing what you wore on your first date

day 24 of melodies to memories ― ot7 x f!r fluff ⨯ petnames skinship kissing ⨯ 1607

em's note ★ not really an advent anymore is it but that's ok!! i refuse to abandon this since we're really just 2 fics off (one now!!)

─── ♡

LEE HEESEUNG

heeseung would be coming home from work ready to go out on your date then WOW

tries to play it cool at first, giving you his usual charming smile, but you can see the way his gaze lingers

quickly tries to recompose his cocky-sweet persona, and makes sure you know how perfect you are

“hi bab- woah” he’d say as he looks up after putting his bag down.

“hm?” you pretend to mindlessly hum as if you didn’t plan it, smoothing down the fabric of your dress as if it was just another one of those expensive dresses he’d buy you.

“you look prettier than the first time i saw you in this” heeseung grinned, looking you up and down.

“oh, please,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, but he doesn’t miss the way your cheeks flush at his words.

he smirks knowingly, stepping closer and tilting his head slightly. “no wonder why you asked to go to that shitty diner again,” he snapped, the pieces all falling into place.

“mmhm,” you hum again, this time a bit smug as you shrug.

“c'mon let’s go get food poisoning or something,” he leans in close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before taking your hand in his and leading you out to the car.

more under the cut!

─── ♡

PARK JONGSEONG

comes home with roses then BOOM jaw on the floor

it’s not even that he recognizes that you’re wearing what you wore on your first date he just thinks you look absolutely stunning

being the gentleman he is, when he does realize, he’s sending compliments your way the whooole night

“you look amazing, sweetheart,” jay quickly regained his composure with a smile on his face after seeing you in the same stunning dress.

“notice anyyything different?” you asked, drawing out the words teasingly.

he narrows his eyes playfully, stepping closer to you with a hand rubbing his chin in mock thought. “hmm, let’s see… is it the shoes? no, wait—it’s the way you’re absolutely glowing right now.”

“mm mm” you hum out loud while he takes one long look and realizes.

“no way,” he breathes, his smile growing impossibly wider as he steps even closer, his hands gently resting on your waist, reality clicking in “you actually kept it all this time?”

you nod and grin, pleased with his reaction.

─── ♡

SIM JAEYUN

poor bro doesn’t even realize cause he’s just so in love with everything you wear

as soon as you tell him though he’s running back to his room to find that dorky striped shirt he was wearing

he’s trying to recreate EVERYTHING from that first date

“you really don’t recognize what i'm wearing?” you sigh feeling a little disappointed, yet incredibly understandable from jake’s perspective. you have way too many outfits for your own good.

“i seriously don’t know angel, im so sorry,” he pleads, scratching his head desperately trying to figure it out.

“it’s what i wore on our first date,”

"no way." jake’s voice drops to a whisper, as if he’s just uncovered the biggest secret of the century.

you nod, your grin growing wider as you cross your arms. "way."

his face drops to a look of shock and runs to his room. a minute later, he emerges, proudly wearing the very green and white long-sleeved shirt he had donned on your first date. the one that was a little too big on him back then, and still is now, though it somehow manages to look even cuter.

“ta-da!” he exclaims, throwing his arms out with a grin, though it falters slightly when he notices the faint ketchup stain still adorning the hem.

“oh my god, jake,” you laugh, covering your face with your hands. “you kept that?”

"of course i did," he says, feigning offense as he spins in place to show off the shirt. "this bad boy is iconic. and now, we match." as he extends his hand to help you up from the couch, pulling you into his arms for an embrace while smiling into your neck.

─── ♡

PARK SUNGHOON

immediately notices since he bought it for you so you could accompany him to some charity gala his parents asked him to bring a date to

he’s fully in the moment asking you to do a spin for him, again and again

he don’t gaf about the date anymore

“i think you made it prettier than it was already,” he smiles warmly

you can’t help the heat rising to your cheeks at his words, his warm gaze making you feel like the most precious thing in the world.

“oh, stop,” you mumble, swatting lightly at his chest, though the smile pulling at your lips betrays your feigned humbleness.

“what?” he teases, catching your hand mid-swat and holding it on his own. “i’m just being honest. you make everything look better—always have.”

you roll your eyes, but your heart is beating just a little faster. “you really don’t have to lay it on so thick, hoon. it’s just an outfit.”

“just an outfit?” he repeats, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. “baby, this is the outfit. the one that made me think, ‘wow, i’ve got to do everything i can to make sure i get a second date with her.’”

you laugh, shaking your head. “you’re so dramatic.”

─── ♡

KIM SUNOO

of course he’d remember that outfit cause you chose to match on your first date as if you were already a couple

though actually, you didn’t even remember what you wore and he’s the one to call you out

he’d fake pout and be dramatic about how you don’t love him

“you realize what you’re wearing right?” sunoo asked with a crinkle of his nose from smiling seeing you in it.

“huh? is something wrong? i know it’s a little small on me now, but i haven’t worn it in a while,” you say worried, checking yourself out in the mirror feeling a slight bit of self doubt.

“what? no it looks great sunshine, don’t worry. you look amazing as always” he reassured, stepping closer, his hands brushing against your waist as if to emphasize his point. “it’s just… that’s what you wore on our first date. is it some special occasion?”

“oh it is! no wonder i haven’t worn it in a while,” you saw his face shift immediately into a pout.

“you really don’t remember? are you sure you even love me?” he asked, fake wiping a tear from his cheek.

you couldn’t help but laugh at his dramatic tone, rolling your eyes. “oh, stop it. of course i love you, you big baby.”

─── ♡

YANG JUNGWON

another bf that remembers for SURE!!

you two weren’t even going out anywhere but he thought he’d clean out your closet for you as a favor since it was a mess and the second he laid his eyes on it he wanted you to wear it again

jaw dropped eyes bulging yet hyping you up at the same time saying you should live in that outfit.

“baby c'mere,” jungwon called out from your room.

“yeah?”

“put this on,” he’d hold out a lump of clothes and you quickly took the pile and changed in the bathroom.

you stepped out of the bathroom, the clothes now on you, and he looked up from his phone, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“you look—" he paused, clearly taking in your appearance with a pleased expression, "absolutely perfect. this is what i was imagining the whole time.”

you raised an eyebrow, a bit of confusion flickering in your mind. “seriously won? it’s just a hoodie and jeans.”

“yeah but it’s the hoodie and jeans you wore on out first date, and you look amazing.” you rolled your eyes at his praise

“mmkay loverboy,” you giggled pulling him in for a small kiss before heading back out to the kitchen.

─── ♡

NISHIMURA RIKI

surprise surprise, your first date outfit was his hoodie cause you spilled on your shirt 5 minutes in

of course he likes seeing you in his hoodie and he can’t help but wanna giggle on the inside but he’s gotta keep the nonchalant act up

complain about you taking specifically that hoodie but it basically became yours the second you put it on

“i swear, do you only like the hoodie cause i gave it to you on our first date?” riki asked with mock annoyance when he saw you in it, waiting for you to get ready faster.

“mayybe maybe not, either way im still gonna wear it,” you smirked running past him to the door to put your shoes on.

“hey, no fair!” he called after you, his voice light and teasing. “you can’t just run away from me like that, especially when you know how much i love seeing you in that hoodie.”

you shot him a playful glance over your shoulder, pausing for just a second before continuing to slip on your shoes. “oh, i’m just giving you a little taste of what it was like back then. you remember how i looked when i first wore it, right?” you teased.

he brought his nose down to sniff the clothing scrunching his nose. “now it smells all like you,” he sighed, joking with no actual complaint in sight. “guess i have to get myself a new one,”

“oh shut up, you like when i wear this hoodie so stop whining and lets go,” you rolled your eyes as you turned around to look at him smiling at the tall man, admiring the way his eyes gleamed in adoration.

─── ♡

melodies to memories tl (open!): @wonziz @hhmnya @ourhees @lovuegi @letmein2urheart @firstclassjaylee @ancnymcnzjy

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sloaneispunk · 2 days ago

Text

“friend or foe”

soft!frontman (hwang in-ho) x you

when frontman joined the games, he thought it was solely to see gihun fail, but his intentions shifted when a certain player number 455 caught his attention…

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part one

after the first round of voting, half of the room was left speechless, how could majority have voted to stay? the games were inhumane and above the top, was the money worth it anymore?

you headed up back to your bed where you could see everything clearer. the ‘o’s cheering loudly while the ‘x’s stood still as the air hung heavily upon them. then, you saw the player that had caused the majority to overule the ‘x’s… player 001.

he was a tall middle aged man with astonishing features. his hair somehow still styled neatly on his head, leaving only a few strands out of place. his lips curled into a small smirk as he walked past the crowd and seemingly back towards the bunk beds.

you must have been staring for too long because 001 suddenly halted, causing you to lean further down to see what had caused him to stop in his tracks. suddenly, his head snapped up, looking right up at you with that same expression on his face.

‘shit’ you cursed as you threw yourself back onto the bed, back hitting the cold mattress within seconds.

suddenly, a face appeared at the side of your bed, causing you to let out a scream as your hands flew to your mouth, shufflig towards the other end of the bed.

“hi there.”

there he stood, right there at the other end of your bed. player 001’s brown eyes looked so innocently into your own, he now had a bigger, more geniune smile on his face as he waited for a reply.

“you scared me.” you breathed out, still not moving from the edge.

“i’m sorry i didn’t mean to. i noticed you were alone earlier, i hope you don’t mind if i join you since we’re both by ourselves in here.” 001 said with a calm and gentle voice.

“uh.. yeah-”

“i apologise if i’m being too pushy, i just thought a young, pretty girl like you being here alone could be risky. i wanted to make sure that you were alright.” he interrupted. “my name is young-il.”

he stretched out his hand towards you, waiting for your hand in to shake his.

“i’m y/n, nice to meet you.” you replied, still skeptical, but nevertheless you showed your appreciation with a handshake.

oh, right then and there. with your hand in his, the frontman in disguise was heating up. he craved so much more then merely your hand in his. he wanted to touch every part of you, leaving nothing that he had not savoured.

he was brought back into reality when you pulled your hand back, staring at him, waiting for the charismatic man to say yet another inviting sentence to draw you in more.

“i’m afraid i didn’t notice you during the first game.” young-il said.

you shifted on the bed, moving towards the headrest as you beckoned him to the empty space in front of you which he gladly complied.

“during red light, green light?” you asked and he nodded. “i was at the front, guess i didn’t want to take the risk of lagging behind.”

“you must have completed the game pretty fast then.” he stated.

“i had a few minutes left, i spent it trying to help those who were falling behind.” you shrugged.

there it was. that kindess, that compassion. it was exactly what he was looking for. right now he was the big bad wolf licking his lips as he sat watching his prey.

“you have a kind heart, y/n. how did a girl like you end up in this place?”

“just mixed around with the wrong people i guess, i plan to start a new when i get out of here.” you said, full of hope, making him grin.

the two of you spent the night talking, getting closer with every hour that passed. the more young-il talked to you, the more he felt the need to dive deeper, there was so much he wanted, no, needed to know about you. all he needed was time to earn your trust and he would have everything in his control. when you had fallen asleep, young-il checked the surroundings, ensuring that everyone was fast asleep before he walked up towards the masked guards.

“make sure every single one of you nutjobs get this message. whatever you do, do not hurt player 455. if i find a single scratch on her, i will kill you all myself. is that clear?” young-il whispered but was still somehow stern enough for the guards to be taken aback with fear.

things were starting to change with the frontman’s plan, but he could adapt to change right?

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part two

the next day you were awoken by the cheerful song being played on the speakers.

“good sleep? you dosed off halfway during our talk last night.” young-il, chuckled, sitting on the edge of your bed, extending his hand out for you to take.

“were you here all night? my god, you should’ve went back to your bed! you didn’t sleep?!” you scolded as you took his hand.

he let out a laugh and helped you onto your feet.

“it’s no worries, y/n, i wasn’t tired.”

“so you watched me like a creep while i slept?”

“i- y-yeah, no! i mean n-no-”

“i’m kidding.” you cut the poor man off, “thank you.”

“yeah, of course.” he replied. “c’mon, let’s see what game we’re playing today.”

“ladies and gentleman, please follow in an orderly fashion to your next game.”

as you and young-il followed the crowd into the colorful, long, windy staircase.

“what if the next game is difficult, young-il?” you asked, following behind as he kept you close even when walking.

“hey, it’s okay, nothing will happen to us. i’ll make sure of it.” he smiled, pausing in his steps momentarily for you to walk beside him.

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part three

when you entered the room, you realised it was much smaller than the room for ‘red light, green light’. this one however, had two large rainbow circles on the floor and 5 tables spaced equally around.

“this game will be played in groups of 5, the game will commence in 10 minutes.”

your eyes shot to young-il. before you could say anything, 3 men came up to you and young-il. “hey man, would you want to join our group?”

3 men stood behind young-il, player 390, player 388 and player 456.

“why not? me and y/n can-”

“oh… we were looking for a team of men.. i’m sorry but your friend can’t join us.” player 390 interrupted.

“no.” young-il said sternly. he wasted no time arguing and instead took your hand and walked away.

after searching for other groups that would take you both in, you realised it was useless. no one really wanted a girl in their group and you couldn’t blame them. you stopped and sighed, causing young-il to turn around.

“young-il, it’s useless. you should join them. i’ll find others, we don’t have time.” you sighed, beckoning him to leave before time ran out for the both of you.

“no. i can’t garuntee your safety that way.”

“you don’t have to. it’ll be fine i’ll see you when the game is over.”

“c’mon, y/n i-”

“miss?” a voice said from behind you. “we need one more person for our team, would you want to join us?”

it was a sweet old lady, behind her stood 2 girls, player 120 and player 095.

“mom did you find someone?” a man jogged towards the old woman. “oh great, okay just in time.”

“come dear, who says women can’t win this stupid game.” she grumbled, taking your hand and leading you towards her group.

“i’ll be fine.” you smiled, leaving young-il standing alone with worry in his eyes. with much hesistation, young-il let you go, joining the team of men without you.

“you, hey! come join us! let’s win this!” player 456 cheered, inviting young-il back into the group.

“time is up, please sit down in your groups… this is a six legged race where you will have to complete 5 mini games individually while being chained to each other. the games played will be ddakji, flying stone, gonggi, spinning top and jegi. please order yourself in which you will be playing the games in.”

a sense of unease set in in young-il. he searched the room to find you. even if he was worried, he couldn’t show it on the outside, it would be too risky for you and for him. he remained calm as he scanned the room for you, eyes eventually landing on your face from across the room.

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part four

“we’re lucky we have many girls in this team! which games are you familiar with?” the old lady asked, looking at you.

“oh i’m not really sure, why don’t you guys pick first?” you replied embarrassed, an awkward smile plastered on your face.

as the others discussed which game they were going to play you looked around, searching for young-il once more. when you finally spotted him at the far end, you gave him a small smile and a wave, seeing how he was already looking at you.

“so i’ll play ddakji, your son will play flying stone, ma’am you’ll play gongi, ms 455 will play spinning top and ms 120 you will play jengi. is that alright?” player 095 said, looking around for approval from the group.

when the game started, your team was the first. you took your place on the rainbow with your team, all equally as nervous as you were.

“hey we’re gonna be okay, we’ll win easily.” you said offering a smile to the team.

“yes! we can do it ladies! oh and you too son.” the old lady said.

a gunshot fired in the air, indicating the start of the game.

“hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!” every grunted in synchronicity, moving rather quickly to the first station.

the other players were up on their feet, following around the circle as they cheered.

1. ddakji

player 095 closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

piak!

the sound of the paper slapping on the ground echoed through the room, she opened her eyes and looked down. it flipped.

“first try! let’s go!” player 120 cheered.

“pass”

“hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!”

2. flying stone

“son, just imagine. that rock is the face of the dealer that screwed you over.” the old lady said to her son making the rest of you snicker.

“you son of a bitch! give me my money back!” the man yelled as he threw the rock. without even trying, he managed to hit the other rock down.

“pass”

“holy shit! you did it!” you exclaimed. “let’s go! quick!” you exclaimed practically jumping in place.

hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!

3. gonggi

“come, come! sit down everyone, i need to concentrate.” the old lady said.

she picked up the first few pieces with ease, but couldn’t catch the last one causing her to start over.

that must have struck a nerve because every try after that was not a sucess.

“mom. you said you played gonggi with bullets in the korean war, you can do it.” her son said. “picture it as dad’s face-”

“you imbecile!” she yelled as she picked all the pieces up again, putting them down and picking them up once more with ease.

“pass”

4. spinning top

young-il cheered like the rest, maybe even more. he was holding his breath with every step you took. even as the frontman, he wasn’t sure why he was anxious for a player like you to win. it was very unlike him but he had to admit it felt good.

he watched as you coiled the rope around the spinning top. he could see your hands shaking as everyone’s eyes burned holes into you.

with two minutes left on the clock you trusted your instincts and drew your hand back, carefully flicking your wrist. the spinning top flew through the air, with a soft bang it landed on the ground, spinning perfectly.

“pass”

“she did it!” young-il shouted, causing a roar of cheers to erupt as your team moved towards the last and final game.

hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!

5. jegi

“can everyone look away? i just need some concentration.” player 120 asked. everyone including your team turned to look away, even with the time left, you were shaking with fear. one wrong move and you could leave this game as easy as you came in.

everyone remained quiet as you listened for the sound of the shoe and jegi coming into contact.

“one.”

“two.”

“three.”

“four.”

“five.”

“oh! we did it! that was five!” the old woman shouted.

you looked up seeing the guard makinga circle up with his arms.

“pass”

“let’s go! let’s go!”

with that, your team was let go. relief overwhelmed you as you passed the finish line. as the guards unchained your legs, you turned to the crowd finding young-il easily.

you offered him a smile and a little wave, making him do the same.

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part five

when it was young-il’s turn his team took place at the start of the line.

“well, it’s a little sad that we don’t have an audience.” player 390 sighed.

“no, it’s good. we don’t have distractions.” player 388 replied.

throughout the game, there was one thing on young-il’s mind, getting back to you. he couldn’t wait for another of your late night conversations. the stupid smile you had when he cracked a horrible joke.

he knew that the game was designed so that there couldn’t be many mistakes made each round. when he joined it was merely for the thrill of it, also the fact that he wanted to see player 456 suffer. but now he knew he had to play the games thoroughly and right, he knew he had to do this to keep his promise to endure your safety.

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part six

you waited anxiously on your bed as more groups came in, but not young-il. it was nerve wrecking, with every group that came in, somehow the number of player became lesser. it was made clear that not everyone was made to pass.

a few minutes later, the metal door swung open again.

the final group walked in, player 456, player 388, player 390, another player you hadn’t seen before player 222 and young-il.

young-il didn’t waste any time, he jogged back to your bed, seeing your smile widen as he came close. before he had the chance to say anything, you pulled him into a hug, wrapping your hands around his neck tightly as he bent down onto your bed.

“oh my god, you did it! i was so scared, i-i was so worried-”

“hey, it’s okay. it’s okay, i was worried sick too.” he chuckled, taking a seat beside you on the bed.

“i thought the team didn’t want a girl? how did she manage to get in?” you asked, pointing to player 222 who was now with the rest, talking and laughing.

“she was heavily pregnant. we didn’t have a choice, i’m so sorry they didn’t take you in.” he apologised as you shook your head.

“it’s okay, i understand. don’t worry. i’m just glad you made it.” you said, leaning so close that you could feel his bodyheat.

“you know… when i was playing the spinningtop, i couldn’t for the life of me figure out how you did it in one try!”

“of course, an old man like you comparing yourself to me?” you gasped sarcastically, making him laugh.

“yea right, come on says the one who’s almost lying on me.”

you jerked back, you hadn’t even noticed.

“i’m so sorry, are you uncomfortable? i can mov-”

“hey, i’m playing around. come back, you can do whatever you want. i’m just a makeshift pillow for you.”

you sneered and laid your head on his shoulder, legs tangled together on the bed as you could feel the rhythm of his breathing match yours.

“thank you, young-il.” you whispered, your hand finding his, squeezing it to show your appreciation.

young-il looked down to your hand in his and raised it to his lips, giving it a gentle peck. “anytime, y/n.”

whethere he liked it or not, the game had hit a big obstacle. as the frontman he needed to balance between running the games and keeping it safe for you, and preventing player 456 from infiltrating.

even so, he knew the dangers of the next game. ‘mingle’ was one set out to kill, his plans were all falling apart. frontman realised that keeping you came with a cost, and it was one he was willing to pay.

#squid game #hwang inho #in ho x reader #in ho #inho x you #inho x reader #frontman #frontman x you #frontman x reader #squidman frontman #lee byung hun #lee byun hun x you #lee byun hun x reader #squidgame season 2

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dreamwritesimagines · 3 days ago

Text

Sunshine [14] - Shelter

AN: My loves, thank you so so much for your wonderful support and lovely comments and HCs! ❤️ You’re amazing! ❤️

I hope you like this as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! 🥰

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: Some storms lead one to their shelter.

Word Count: 3758

CW: Explicit language, angst, adult themes MDNI

Series Masterlist

Theo had definitely taken after you when it came to making friends, and you were beginning to think that it had something to do with the fact that you both could speak for hours nonstop once you found someone to listen to you.

And Laura was apparently no exception.

“…And she does speak but only sometimes!” Theo told you as you helped him put his clothes into the small luggage so that you could wash them at the weekend. “And she says Sir Bartholomeow is nice to her too, which is so weird because I thought I was the only one he was nice to! Mommy, how did you know we could be friends?”

You grinned at him. “Moms have superpowers Bean.”

“Do you know um—do you know if Sir Bartholomeow and Cheeto and Popcorn will ever be friends?”

You hissed in a breath, scrunching up your face.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath on that sweetheart,” you said. “Cats and fish aren’t known for being good friends.”

“Maybe we could get a catfish.”

“Bean, that’s not…” you tried to hold back your laughter. “That’s not how names work in the animal world.”

“Sheepdog get along well with sheep,” he pointed out and you smiled.

“Good point, my little genius,” you said, ruffling his hair. “But think about it this way, do you think tiger sharks get along well with tigers?”

Theo thought for a moment. “I don’t think they spend enough time to get along well, one of them is in the ocean and the other one is on land.”

You nodded your head with a laugh, zipping his luggage up.

“Alright,” you said. “Everything seems to be in order, so we can—” you were cut off when you turned to find Laura by the door, half hiding behind the doorframe. You smiled at her softly, and waved at her.

“Hi Laura,” you said before you introduced yourself and she eyed you in complete silence, shifting her weight from one foot to other.

“Laura, this is my mom!” Theo said with a bright smile. “She’s awesome and the best mom in the world!”

You could feel the happiness filling you with warmth in your chest as you squeezed his shoulder in an assuring matter.

“Theo told me all about you,” you told her and her eyes flitted over to Theo before looking up at you again. “Did you like Cheeto and Popcorn? Theo says you’ll look after them for the weekend.”

A small smile twitched her lips before she nodded her head quietly.

“That’s so kind of you,” you told her. “They’ll definitely be happy to have you to keep them company.”

“And they can keep you company,” Theo added. “That way you won’t get bored while I’m away!”

“I’m sure Laura can spend time with her other friends while you’re not here, Bean.”

Laura stole a look at you and shook her head for a moment, a gesture so subtle that you couldn’t even be sure whether you’d seen it or not as if it was an automatic response. You tilted your head in confusion but then the thought hit you; Laura still didn’t have any friends other than Theo. Theo blinked up at you, fixing his glasses and you felt a pang in your stomach, then smiled at Laura.

“Laura,” you said. “Would you like to spend the weekend with Theo and I?”

Theo gasped, a huge smile lighting up his face and Laura’s eyes snapped up to yours before she looked over her shoulder, biting inside her cheek.

“Ask your father, but he knows me,” you said and turned to Theo. “You can go with her, Bean. I’ll wait you two in the car, okay?”

“Mr. Logan isn’t here mommy, he’s away on a mission.”

Oh, that explained his absence.

“I see,” you said. “Is it okay if I call him then, Laura?”

Laura nodded fervently and you grabbed your phone out of your pocket.

“I’ll be right back,” you told them and stepped out of the room to find Logan’s name on your contacts. Your finger hovered over the screen, your heart skipping a beat before you touched the name and took the phone to your ear.

“Hey,” Logan’s voice reached you and you felt a smile pulling at your lips before you frowned to yourself. “Uh…accidental call?”

“Intentional, strange as it sounds,” you said. “Are you busy—”

“No!” he answered too fast. “I’m not, at all.”

“Aren’t you on a mission?”

“It can wait, I can—uh, I can come back.”

You repressed your smile.

“No need for that,” you said. “So as it turns out, Laura still doesn’t have any friends.”

“She has Theo.”

“She only has Theo,” you corrected him. “Which is why I called. Is it cool if Laura stays with us this weekend?”

“What?”

“Yeah I mean, she will apparently be alone while Theo is with me, and I don’t want…” you trailed off. “I don’t want her to feel alone. So?”

There was silence on the other line and you looked at the screen to check whether he was still there;

“Logan?”

“I’m here,” he said. “Sure—I mean sure, but will it be okay for you?”

“Yeah I don’t mind,” you said. “I’ll drop her off on Sunday then?”

“I can pick her up if I’m back by then—”

“It’s fine,” you said. “I can just drop her off at the institute, no worries.”

A momentary silence fell upon you and you cleared your throat.

“Well okay then,” you said after a beat. “Be careful on your mission, whatever it is.”

“You too.”

You pulled your brows together. “Careful on my mission?”

“No just…be careful in general?” he asked and you bit back a smile.

“Sure,” you said. “See you later I guess.”

With that, you hung up the phone and made your way back to the room to peek your head in.

“Good news, you’re staying with us for the weekend,” you told Laura who gave you a bright smile and Theo jumped in his spot with giddiness. “But I’m going to need one of you to carry Cheeto and Popcorn’s tank for me. We can’t possibly leave them here for the weekend.”

You and Theo had your traditions when it came to the weekend, especially since Theo had started attending Professor Xavier’s school. You would have a picnic and feed the ducks by the lake, go home for dinner and on Saturday morning you’d have breakfast with Jamie and Nik and Julie. Laura was still incredibly shy around strangers, but she seemed to be more comfortable around you now because you didn’t push her at all. She and Theo spent the whole breakfast playing with Nik and Jamie’s cat while you had coffee with Jamie, Julie and Nik in the kitchen.

“It’s a trauma response,” Jamie told you. “Very common. Do you know anything about the lab she was raised in?”

“Not really.”

“That’s so fucked up,” Julie whispered, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine how scared she must have been. For years.”

“Is she seeing a therapist?”

“I doubt it,” you said. “I mean I’m sure they’re trying their hardest at the institute but—”

“She needs an actual therapist,” Nik insisted and turned to Jamie. “Can you make that happen?”

“I can ask around in the hospital,” he said. “We’ll need Logan to sign the papers though, if he’s the only parent she has—”

“Logan would be okay with it,” you said. “I’m not sure about Laura though. She grew up in a terrible lab, I doubt she’d be comfortable around doctors.”

“Home therapy?”

“That sounds like a better idea.”

“Poor baby,” Julie pouted. “I want to go and hug her.”

“I actually think Hayes also knows someone,” Jamie said. “How are things between you by the way?”

“Oh it’s fine.”

“Still taking it slow?”

You sipped your coffee and nodded your head.

“He’s very sweet,” you said. “Which is exactly what I need right now.”

“Did you know you can rent magnet cranes?” Julie asked, making all of you turn to her. “The ones they use for construction sites and stuff?”

You blinked a couple of times. “Julie?”

“Yes?”

“How do you know this information?”

“Google.”

“You googled whether they rent magnet cranes?” you asked her and she shrugged her shoulders.

“Just in case you want to fuck with your ex.”

“Jesus—”

“You do realize that they don’t accept driver’s license for those?” Nik asked while Jamie hid his smile behind his hand. “Technically speaking, you’d need to get a crane operator license.”

Julie waved a hand in the air. “Says who?”

“Says OSHA, Julie!”

“Listen, I could get that license,” Julie said. “I’m good with stick—”

“Your sex life is irrelevant to this conversation.”

“Nik.”

“Just saying.”

“Guys,” you interrupted them while Jamie let out a laugh. “Jules, you’re not getting a crane operator license just to mess with Logan.”

“I need a hobby nowadays.”

“Being a crane operator is not a hobby.”

“Not with that attitude it’s not,” Julie muttered and you shook your head, then heaved a sigh.

“There’s no need for that,” you said. “Seriously. I’m completely over him.”

Jamie raised his brows. “Are you though?”

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “Yeah, of course. Trust me, I’m so over Logan.”

On Sunday morning, you decided to bake some cookies before Theo and Laura woke up. You figured it would be a nice surprise for them and Laura could take them to school when you dropped her off in the afternoon. You had become very used to being silent in the kitchen so that you wouldn’t wake Theo up, but you had forgotten how Logan had mentioned Laura had all his abilities.

Including hearing even the slightest noise.

When Laura stepped into the kitchen in her pajamas, you looked over your shoulder and shot her a small smile.

“Good morning!” you said. “Sorry if I woke you, but I figured you’d want cookies.”

Laura stole a look at the kitchen, still rubbing her eye before her gaze went back to you.

“Would you like to help me?”

She blinked a couple of times, then nodded and made her way to you, still slightly skittish in her steps. You held up the bowl.

“So I’m guessing you like chocolate chip cookies,” you said. “But today we’re also putting rainbow sprinkles on them. I’m going to roll them into balls and you’ll dip them in sprinkles, does that work?”

Laura nodded her head and you rolled a piece of cookie dough in your palm, then gave it to her. She carefully dipped it in sprinkles and looked up at you with curious eyes as if asking you if she did it right, and you gave her a proud smile.

“Oh my God, you didn’t tell me you used to bake!” you told her. “That’s like, chef quality Laura. Surely you did it before?”

A smile lit up her face and she shook her head vigorously, and you gasped.

“You haven’t?” you asked. “And you’re this good already? Oh you have great talent then, it took me so much time to do it right when I was first learning but look at you!”

Laura’s smile widened and she took a step closer to you as if excited to do the next one, so you rolled another piece of dough before putting it into her palm.

“My favorite one is mint chocolate chip cookies,” you told her. “I have been meaning to try pumpkin ones though, have you ever had them?”

Laura shook her head.

“I had them at a café,” you said. “I feel like they would go well with—wait, Laura! We should make hot chocolate as well, do you like hot chocolate?”

Laura thought for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders, biting inside her cheek.

“Have you ever had hot chocolate before?”

She shook her head and you felt your heart clench before you took a deep breath.

“I’m about to blow your mind,” you told her before you washed your hands and grabbed the milk from the fridge, then poured it into a saucepan and put it on the stove. “So technically speaking, it’s not the healthiest thing in the world but do we care?”

A small giggle escaped from her lips before she shook her head.

“Exactly,” you pointed out. “Thank you. Would you like to sit down?”

She shrugged her shoulders before climbing on a chair and you gave her a piece of dough for her to dip in sprinkles.

“So there’s this diner right around the corner,” you told her. “They make great pancakes, and also their hot chocolate is so good, so I actually asked them what they use and bought the same thing. The diner I work at, our hot chocolate didn’t use to be so good until I made them change it as well. Our cook makes a great pie though, I’ll bring you some the next time I drop Theo off. Have you tried apple pie?”

Laura nodded her head.

“It’s so good, isn’t it?” you asked and took the milk off the stove before you poured it into a mug, put the hot chocolate powder in and grabbed the pack of marshmallows. You put a bunch of them into the mug, then put it in front of Laura.

“Ta daa,” you said. “Let me know if you like it or not.”

Laura blinked a couple of times before she took a sip of it, then her eyes snapped up to yours, surprise written all over her face. You tilted your head.

“Good?”

She nodded her head again, taking another huge sip and you turned to roll another piece of cookie dough in your palm before you heard her small voice.

“…Thank you.”

You could feel the smile pulling at your lips and you turned your head to look at her.

“Anytime honey,” you said, your voice soft. “Thank you for helping me with the cookies. You and I will make a great team, hm?”

The rest of the weekend went in a breeze. After dropping Laura off at the institute, you and Theo returned home and spent the rest of the night watching Theo’s favorite documentaries with his favorite snacks. On Monday morning you dropped him off at the institute as well and couldn’t help but notice that Logan wasn’t around, but you figured the mission was taking longer than he expected.

When you got home from the diner, you were way too tired to even move so you just heated up the food you took home from the diner, and was dozing on the couch when the sound of your phone vibrating on the coffee table snapped you out of your nap and you took a deep breath, then rubbed at your eyes to grab your phone and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hey stranger,” Hayes’s voice reached you, making you smile. “Bad timing?”

“No no, it’s not,” you said, clearing your throat. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much, I’m on a short break,” he said. “How was the weekend with Theo and his friend?”

“Oh it was wonderful!” you said. “I baked her cookies and she thanked me! I take that as a good sign.”

“If there are any leftover cookies, I volunteer as tribute.”

You grinned. “Maybe a couple,” you said. “I can bring them tomorrow if you’re going to drop by the diner.”

“This is the best news I’ve received today,” he said, making you giggle.

“Slow day?”

“I wish.”

“Aw I’m sorry,” you said and heaved a sigh. “Are you okay?”

“Trying to be,” he said. “But hey, uh…I wanted to ask you, what is your opinion on charity galas?”

“That I don’t have the money to even look at one as I walk past it.”

He let out a chuckle. “Would you like to?”

“What?”

“So the board of the hospital is planning this gala for the children in need,” he said. “And I have two tickets, so I was hoping maybe you’d be interested.”

You blinked a couple of times and sat up straighter, rubbing at your eyes again.

“Hayes—”

“If it gets boring we can just leave.”

“No, that’s not it,” you said with a shake of your head. “It’s just…I’m not sure if I’m a—a gala person.”

“What is a gala person?”

“Someone who has been to one before, maybe?”

“That’s nonsense,” he said. “Come on. I can’t promise it’ll be fun, but I can promise I will make it fun.”

You thought for a moment, then bit at your nail.

“And you’re sure you want to take me there?”

“What kind of a question is that?” he asked with a laugh. “Of course! And I think Jamie will be there too by the way, if my presence isn’t enough to convince you.”

“Oh is that how you’re going to play this?”

“I never said I was above bribery and guilt tripping.” You could hear his grin. “Is it working?”

“Maybe.”

“I can turn it up if you’d like,” he teased you. “Come on, you can’t possibly leave your friend without a date at a gala—”

“Fine,” you said, a giggle climbing up your throat. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I am,” he said and you opened your mouth to ask when the gala would be but the knock on the door made you turn your head. You sat up straighter in the couch, then rubbed at your eyes.

“Hayes, is it okay if I call you back?”

“Sure thing,” he said and you hung up, then made your way to the door. You looked through the peephole, your heart skipping a beat as you did and opened the door with a confused frown.

“Logan?”

He was still in his superhero uniform, the cowl pushed back behind his head and even though there were no visible wounds on him, he still had blood on him. He was slouching, leaning on his arm which was against the wall and something in his gaze was so haunted that it made your stomach flip. His eyes searched yours frantically as if trying to make sure you were in fact there and he swallowed thickly.

“Can I come in?”

“Uh…sure,” you said, stepping aside so that he could go inside and you closed the door behind him, then made your way to the living room with him following you like a lost puppy.

“You okay?” you asked even though you knew the answer, and he paused for a moment before he nodded quietly.

“I just…” he motioned at you. “Needed to see you.”

“Why?”

He shook his head slightly and you licked your lips, then took a deep breath.

“I think I still have some of your clothes,” you said. “I’d been meaning to return them but uh—if you want to take a shower or anything, you can. All that blood on you has to feel uncomfortable.”

He nodded again, swaying from one foot to other and you offered him a small smile.

“I’ll give you a towel, come on,” you said and walked to the hallway with him on your tail. After grabbing his clothes from the bottom of your closet, you handed them to him with a towel and he made his way into the bathroom while you went back to the living room, incredibly confused by what tonight was turning into.

When he got out of the shower and made his way to the living room, you were pouring hot water into two cups and you ripped the package of herbal tea bags to put them into cups before walking to the living room as well. His hair was still wet but there was no trace of dried blood on him anymore, and he looked so handsome sitting there that you stared at him for a second, then tried to snap out of it.

“There you go,” you said, putting the cup in front of him then cradled yours with your hand. “It’s sleepy time tea, supposed to calm you down or whatever. Julie recommended it, I’m not sure if it would work on you but…”

“Thanks,” he said curtly, reaching out to take the cup into his hand, his eyes cast on the floor and you thought for a moment.

“So uh…hard mission?”

Logan nodded his head in silence and you cleared your throat.

“Is everyone okay?”

He nodded again and you shifted your weight, leaning back to the table in the middle of the living room before taking a sip of your tea.

“What happened?”

“He—” Logan paused, then shook his head and put the cup back on the small coffee table beside him. “The guy fucked with my head.”

“How?”

That made Logan fall into silence again and you raised your brows, then heaved a sigh.

“You know what Logan, I’m really trying here,” you told him. “I mean I get that you’re from a time where people didn’t believe in therapy or anything, but this whole too tough for emotions macho guy bullshit is getting tiring and—”

“Take me back.”

His voice was so soft, so quiet that it took you by surprise and you pulled your brows together, not even sure that you heard him right.

“What?” you asked and his jaw clenched, his gaze still fixed on the floor.

“Take me back.”

Your heart started pacing in your chest while you gawked at him.

“Logan…”

“I don’t—” he trailed off and shook his head, letting out a breath. “I don’t even have to touch you. I’ll stand outside your door the whole night like a fucking guard dog if you want me to, just…take me back.”

You could feel the warmth spreading through your system and he reached out to gently pull you to himself, wrapping an arm around your waist before he pressed his forehead on your stomach. You raked your fingernails through his hair, softly scratching at his scalp and his arm around you tightened, making you heave a sigh. You knew you were supposed to say something, anything but—

This felt way too peaceful.

“We’re going to have that conversation later, but….” you paused for a moment. “Would you like to stay the night?”

He nodded without lifting his head, your fingers still brushing through his hair and you bit inside your cheek, deep in thought.

Great.

As it turned out, Jamie was right

You were, in fact, not over Logan.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #deadpool #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan wolverine #logan x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #james howlett #logan howlett imagine #logan x you #james logan howlett #logan xmen #wolverine logan

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pandapetals · 3 days ago

Text

Sexting

Logan's been gone on a mission for days now. You miss him terribly and one little text spirals into sexting.

logan howlett x fem!reader - inspired by a tiktok i saw, teasing banter, sexting, flirting, established relationship, smut, phone sex, masturbation, orgasms, dirty talk, cocky logan, dominant/possessive logan, pet names used, good girl praising

a/n: horny era entered.

divider credit: @enchanthings

The day had dragged on, each hour stretching longer than the last. Between the endless grind at work, the knot of stress coiling tighter in your chest, and nearly everyone testing the limits of your patience, you felt utterly wrung out. By the time the sun sank below the horizon, all you wanted was to melt into Logan’s arms—strong, steady, and always warm, like they were built to shield you from the rest of the world.

But Logan wasn’t here. He’d been sent off on a mission three days ago with no clear answer to the question that gnawed at you the most: When would he come home? Three days felt like three weeks, and the ache of missing him was a dull, constant hum beneath your skin.

You had done everything you could to fill the space he left behind. His pillow now wore one of his shirts, the fabric soft and faintly infused with his scent. You’d sprayed it with his cologne—too much, honestly, but the sharp, musky notes helped. At night, you’d curl around it, imagining his arms around you instead, but it was never the same. You missed the rough timbre of his voice, the way he’d smirk and toss out some gruff remark that made you laugh. You even missed how his scruff would scrape against your cheek when he kissed you.

Now, you were sprawled across the bed, Logan’s stand-in pillow hugged close as your thumb aimlessly scrolled through your phone. A familiar pang of longing twisted your stomach as you stumbled across a photo of a couple kissing under twinkling lights. You sighed and were about to toss your phone aside when it buzzed in your hand, a new message lighting up the screen.

Logan: I miss you so much, gorgeous.

Your heart clenched, a smile tugging at your lips before you could help it. You quickly typed back:

You: Miss you too, handsome.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the ache of missing him pressing harder than ever. A mischievous thought sparked in your mind, and before you could second-guess yourself, you typed it out.

You: You should send me a photo of your bicep for being gone so long.

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly, and you could practically hear Logan’s low chuckle in your head.

Logan: That so?

Before you could reply, your phone buzzed, and a new image loaded on the screen. The photo made your breath hitch. Logan was sprawled out on what looked like a worn motel bed, his shirt pushed up to his chest, exposing the hard ridges of his abs. But the star of the show was his arm, flexed in a way that showed off every curve of his bicep. The dim lighting cast shadows that deepened the definition of his muscles, and the veins stood out just enough to make your mouth dry.

You swallowed, your face heating as you bit your lip. His usual teasing smirk wasn’t visible in the photo, but you could feel it like it was carved into the very pixels of the screen.

Another message buzzed in.

Logan: Feel better, honey?

You groaned, the grin tugging at your lips both frustrated and helplessly smitten.

You: No. Now I just really want to bite your bicep.

His reply came faster than you expected.

Logan: You’ll have to be patient, sweetheart. But don’t worry, I’ll let you.

Your stomach flipped, heat pooling low in your belly as you stared at his words. God, you could hear his voice so clearly, that deep, teasing rasp that always made your pulse skip.

You: You’re cruel, you know that?

Logan: Cruel would be reminding you how good my hands feel on you. But I won’t do that. Not while I’m stuck in this dump, thinking about what I’d do if I were there instead.

Your breath caught, and your thumb hovered uncertainly over the screen. You could feel the shift in his tone, that familiar heat creeping into his words even through text.

You: What would you do, Logan?

The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared, like he was taking his time to think—or maybe to make you squirm. When his reply finally came, it hit you like a jolt of lightning.

Logan: First, I’d pin you to the bed. Then I’d take my time—slow, deliberate—just to hear you beg. You’d look so good under me, darlin’. I can practically see it.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, heat rolling through you in waves.

You: You’re not playing fair.

Logan: I never do.

You couldn’t argue with that. Every word, every teasing reply, every memory of his hands on you was like a match to dry kindling, leaving you aching for him in almost unbearable ways. You leaned back against the pillows, closing your eyes as your fingers hovered over your phone, your imagination already running wild.

Before you could think of a reply, your phone buzzed again.

Logan: I miss your body, but you know what I miss more? The way you look at me after. That soft, sleepy, satisfied look, like I’m the only man in the world who can make you feel that way.

Your heart clenched, warmth blooming in your chest and mingling with the heat already simmering there. God, you wanted him so badly it was a physical ache.

You: You’re going to kill me, Logan.

Logan: Nah, honey. Just keeping you hungry for me. Trust me, I’m starving over here too.

His words wrapped around you like a warm, possessive embrace, filling the void he’d left behind. Though hundreds of miles separated you, for a moment, it almost felt like he was there—his rough hands sliding over your skin, his lips grazing that sensitive spot just beneath your jaw, the weight of his body. The ache of missing him was unbearable, pressing hard and heavy in your chest. You buried your face in his pillow, inhaling the faint remnants of his scent, but it only made the longing sharper.

Your thumb hovered over the screen as you finally typed back, giving in to your own need to feel closer to him:

You: I’ve been sleeping with your pillow... making it wear your shirt.

The reply came almost immediately, his words brimming with that familiar mix of teasing and heat that sent a thrill rushing through you.

Logan: Bet you’ve been doing naughty things to it too.

Your breath caught, your face flushing as you stared at the screen. Damn him. How did he always know? He had an almost supernatural ability to read you, even from miles away. You bit your lip, the memory of those late, lonely nights flashing vividly in your mind—the way you’d pressed his pillow between your thighs, imagining it was him, imagining his weight, his heat, his voice in your ear telling you to let go. You knew when he got home, he’d take one deep inhale and know exactly what you’d done.

Your fingers trembled as you typed back, heart pounding.

You: Maybe I have. What are you gonna do about it?

The three little dots of his reply appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared, drawing out the tension until you wanted to scream. When the message finally popped up, it was pure Logan.

Logan: Oh, sweetheart, you know what I’ll do. First, I’ll ask you to tell me exactly what you did. Then I’d make you show me. And I wouldn’t let you stop until you were begging.

Heat shot through your body, pooling low in your belly as you shifted restlessly on the bed. Your lips parted, a soft breath escaping as your imagination ran wild, conjuring the image of him above you, his rough hands and deep voice taking you apart piece by piece.

You glanced at your phone’s camera, a bold idea sparking in your mind. If Logan wanted to play, you’d show him you could hold your own. Slowly, you sat up, slipping the strap of your tank top down one shoulder. The fabric slid lower, exposing more of your skin, and your pulse raced as you positioned the camera just right. The click of the shutter sounded louder than it should have, your heart hammering as you looked at the result—a sultry shot of your bare shoulder, collarbone, and the faintest hint of cleavage.

You attached the photo to the message and typed, fingers trembling slightly:

You: Think you can handle this when you get home?

The response came almost instantly, and it was clear you’d hit your mark.

Logan: Jesus Christ, darlin’!

A second message followed:

Logan: You trying to kill me?

You smirked, a wave of confidence washing over you as you typed back.

You: Just keeping you on your toes. You’re the one who said you’d pin me down, remember?

His reply was a voice note this time, and when you pressed play, the low, gravelly sound of his voice sent a shiver straight through you.

Logan (voice note): Oh, I remember. And trust me when I get back, you won’t be walking straight for days. You keep teasing me like this, and I’m gonna make sure you pay for every second of it.

Your thighs clenched as you listened to the raw hunger in his tone, heat blooming across your skin. But you weren’t done teasing him yet.

You adjusted your tank top a little lower, this time snapping a photo that showed more—the curve of your chest, the line of your neck, the look in your eyes that you knew would drive him wild. You sent it without a caption, letting the image speak for itself.

The reply came in seconds.

Logan: You better not be touching yourself right now. That’s mine.

A thrill ran through you at the possessiveness in his words.

You: What if I am?

Another voice note came through, this one darker. His voice dropped an octave, sending goosebumps racing down your arms.

Logan (voice note): Don’t you dare finish without me, sweetheart. When I get home, you’re going to come on my fingers, my tongue, and then my—

You couldn’t stop the whimper that slipped out as you hit pause, your whole body burning with need.

You: Logan...

Logan: You started this, gorgeous. Don’t get shy on me now.

You sighed, biting your lip as your fingers tightened around your phone. Heat simmered low in your belly, and your heart raced as you debated your next move. Logan was right—you had started this, and now there was no turning back. Your thumb hovered over the screen for a moment, your nerves threatening to get the better of you, but the longing for him—his touch, his voice, the way he looked at you—overpowered everything else.

With a deep breath, you hit the video call button. The screen flickered for a moment, your reflection briefly staring back at you before the call connected. And then there he was.

Logan appeared on your screen, lying back against the headboard of some cheap motel bed. The light in the room was dim, but it did nothing to dull the sharp angles of his jaw or the piercing heat in his eyes. He had one arm tucked lazily behind his head, the other holding the phone, but there was nothing casual about how he looked at you—like he could devour you through the screen.

A slow, almost predatory smirk curved his lips. “There’s my pretty girl. For a second, I thought you’d chickened out.”

You swallowed hard, the sound of his voice making your pulse race. “You’ve got me all flustered,” you admitted, your voice softer than you intended.

Logan’s chuckle was low and rough like gravel sliding over honey. “Sweetheart, you’re the one teasing me,” he said, his gaze raking over you through the screen. “All I did was tell you what I wanted to do when I get home. But if I’m being honest…” His smirk widened, his tongue sliding briefly over his bottom lip. “I don’t think either one of us can wait that long.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words. He shifted slightly, and the movement made his shirt pull tight across his chest and shoulders, the fabric doing little to hide the hard lines of muscle underneath. You let out a breath.

“Logan…” you whispered, but it came out more like a plea than you intended.

His voice softened, the teasing giving way to something more intimate. “Yeah, darlin’?”

Your fingers gripped the phone tighter as you adjusted the angle, letting the camera catch the way your tank top clung to your body, how the strap had slipped off one shoulder. His eyes darkened instantly, the air between you thickening even through the distance.

“Show me,” he murmured, his tone low and commanding. “You’ve been driving me crazy all night. Now I want to see you, pretty girl. Let me see what’s mine.”

Your breath hitched, heat flooding your cheeks, but how he was looking at you made it impossible to resist. Slowly, your free hand trailed down your neck and over your collarbone, lingering at the edge of your top. His gaze tracked every movement, his jaw clenching as he exhaled heavily.

“Good girl,” he rasped, his voice like a caress. “Keep going.”

You couldn’t help the small, breathy sound that escaped your lips as you let the fabric slide lower, revealing just enough to leave him wanting more. His hand moved slightly on his end of the screen, and you had a pretty good idea of what he was doing.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice trembling with nervousness and excitement.

“Don’t stop,” he urged, his tone rougher now, filled with a hunger that sent a rush of heat straight through you. “You’re so fucking beautiful. God, I can’t wait to get my hands on you again.”

Your fingers trembled as you slid your tank top down, the cool air brushing over your bare skin, making your breath hitch. Logan’s eyes burned into you through the screen, the teasing smirk on his lips softening into something darker, more primal. His gaze wasn’t just hungry—it was devouring like he wanted to memorize every inch of you even from miles away.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers racing down your spine. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

Your cheeks flushed, heat blooming under his praise, but it only fueled the fire building inside you. Biting your lip, you whispered, “Show me what you’re doing.”

The words came out so soft you weren’t sure he’d heard you, but then his lips curved into a wicked grin that made your stomach flip. “You sure about that, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone rough and teasing.

You nodded, unable to find your voice, your pulse thundering in your ears.

Logan shifted slightly, the phone shaking just enough to make your anticipation climb. He adjusted the angle, tilting the camera lower until the frame revealed the sharp lines of his abs disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. Your breath caught as he pulled the fabric down just enough to show you the outline of his arousal, his hand wrapped around himself, moving slowly, deliberately.

“See what you do to me?” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. His hand stroked lazily, his movements unhurried, like he wanted you to feel every second of it. “Every damn time, darlin’. I can’t even think straight when it comes to you.”

Your heart stuttered, your thighs pressing together instinctively as heat pooled low in your belly. The sight of him, the way his body tensed with every stroke, the way his breath hitched as he watched you—it was almost too much.

“Logan…” you breathed, your voice trembling with need.

“Keep going,” he rasped, his eyes flickering back up to meet yours. They were dark and intense, filled with raw hunger. “I want to see all of you, gorgeous. Don’t hold back on me now.”

Your free hand drifted down your body with deliberate slowness, tracing the curves of your waist and the soft plane of your stomach, until your fingertips brushed the waistband of your underwear. The fabric felt impossibly delicate under your touch, and your breath hitched as you let your fingers linger there, teasing both yourself and him.

Logan’s eyes burned through the screen, dark and hungry, following every movement of your hand. His jaw tightened, and you saw the flex of his arm as his strokes grew just a bit faster, his breath hitching in rhythm. The tension between you was unbearable, a crackling heat that made the distance between you feel almost cruel.

“Don’t stop,” Logan rasped, his voice rough and uneven. “I need to see you. All of you.”

The raw need in his voice sent a shiver racing through you, your pulse pounding as you slowly tilted the phone. The angle shifted, and the screen filled with the sight of your bare skin, the way your hand dipped beneath the fabric of your underwear, teasing at the heat there. A soft, breathless sound slipped from your lips as your fingers began to move, exploring yourself with slow, deliberate strokes.

Logan groaned a low, guttural sound that sent a wave of heat washing over you. “Fuck, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice thick with need. His phone shifted slightly, and your eyes flicked to the screen to see his hand moving more urgently now, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. “You’re so goddamn beautiful. Look at you… so wet for me.”

The heat of his words made your thighs tremble as your body arched instinctively, your hand moving in sync with the rising tension in his voice. The soft, wet sounds of your fingers moving against your slick heat filled the air between you, and you bit your lip, trying—and failing—to muffle the needy whimper that escaped.

“That’s it, good girl,” Logan growled, his tone both commanding and reverent. “Don’t hold back. I want to hear you. I want to see what I do to you.”

Your phone slipped slightly in your trembling hand, but you steadied it, angling it just enough to give him the view he craved. His reaction was instant—a sharp intake of breath, followed by a string of curses muttered under his breath.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned, his hand faltering for a moment as he dragged his free hand through his hair, his head falling back against the headboard. “I can’t fucking wait to get my hands on you.

Your breath hitched, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips. “What would you do, Logan?” you asked in a shaky whisper.

His eyes darkened further, his expression turning almost feral. “I’d start by kissing you everywhere,” he growled. “Slow, soft, until you’re trembling for me. Then I’d pin your wrists above your head, hold you still so you’d have to feel every second of it while screaming my name.”

Your head fell back against the pillows as his words washed over you, the heat in his voice lighting up every nerve in your body.

“Keep touching yourself, sweetheart,” he urged, his tone both commanding and coaxing. “Such a good girl for me.”

His words pushed you closer to the edge, the ache in your body growing unbearable as your fingers moved faster, your breaths coming in soft, uneven gasps. “Logan,” you whimpered, his name a broken plea on your lips.

“Come for me,” he demanded, his voice low and rough like he could feel your tension through the screen. “I want to see it. I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

“You’re killing me,” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

His lips curved into a crooked, breathless smile. “You started it, gorgeous,” he said, his voice rough and uneven now. “And when I get home, I’m gonna finish it. Properly.”

The promise in his tone sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your body aching for him in ways that words couldn’t begin to describe. But for now, this was all you had—his voice, his eyes on you, the sound of his breath growing heavier as the two of you shared this moment across the distance.

“Logan…” you whimpered again, your body arching as you felt yourself reaching the edge.

“Let go for me. Good girl,” he murmured, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. “Show me how good I make you feel.”

The heat in his tone, the intensity of his gaze, the way his hand was moving on himself—it all pushed you over the edge. Your body tensed, a sharp gasp slipping from your lips as the wave of release crashed over you, your hand faltering as you rode it out. Logan groaned deeply, his own release following seconds after, his head falling back as his chest heaved.

For a few moments, the two of you were silent, your breaths filling the space between you. Logan was the first to speak, his voice softer now, tinged with satisfaction and lingering desire. “Goddammit,” he muttered, his voice husky and low. “You’re gonna be the death of me, darlin’.”

You laughed breathlessly, your body still buzzing, your heart full. “I could say the same about you, handsome,” you teased, though your voice was still shaky.

He shook his head, his eyes softening as they locked onto yours through the screen. “You better be ready,” he said, his tone playful but underlined with a seriousness that made your stomach flip. “Because when I get back, I’m not letting you out of my sight—or my bed—for a very, very long time.”

“Promise?” you asked, your lips curving into a lazy, satisfied smile.

Logan’s grin turned wicked, his eyes gleaming. “Oh, it’s not a promise. It’s a guarantee.”

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