#the only way this works is if enough of us do it

[punkshort]

The Farmer's Daughter

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader one-shot

Summary: Forced to sell your body after your father's farm went under, you find yourself hand picked to service the Roman army on their latest battle away from Rome. What you didn't expect was to be selected to share General Acacius's room for the duration of the journey.

Warnings: language, smut (18+ MDNI), heavy talks of prostitution, mentions of SA but none occur, reader is a (new) prostitute, virginity loss (no blood mentioned just some discomfort), descriptions of battle wounds/blood, food and alcohol consumption, one bed trope, enemies to lovers-ish, unprotected piv sex, thigh riding, angst, possessiveness

WC: 10.2K

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

A/N: I know by this point his character is mostly referred to as Acacius in the film but I'm sorry, I can't wrap my head around someone moaning that name in bed. So let's just ignore that, okay?

How did this happen? Why did fate play you such a cruel and twisted hand?

When you were younger, you expected to be married off to be a housewife to a solider. From what you heard growing up, it wasn't a terrible life. The men were gone most of the time which allowed the women to run the household and raise children in peace. Unfortunately, your mother died during childbirth and your father, a humble farmer, passed away too early in life, leaving you and his few workers to keep the farm operating for as long as possible. To make money, you spent much of your time at the market, selling the food you made on the farm and the goods you weaved and molded from the scraps.

It wasn't enough. You lost the farm after a handful of years and you were on the brink of becoming destitute. Already you were malnourished and dehydrated, but as hard as you tried, you couldn't find work.

That was how you found yourself in a long line of women, standing silently with your heads bowed and your hands clasped as you were all throughly inspected by a senior officer of the Roman army. They were choosing their group of whores to hire to accompany the men on their next battle across the sea. You were left with no other option but to sell your only remaining asset. The thought turned your stomach, but the idea of starving to death was worse.

One by one, women were hand picked to step forward and exit the room. All in all it had to have been close to forty whores hired to service an entire army.

The odds were not in your favor if you were picked.

It came as a relief when you ended up not getting chosen. You breathed a deep sigh and lifted your chin, scanning the room of remaining women and senior ranking soldiers. You would make do somehow. At least you wouldn't be spreading your legs multiple times a night for different men after they've spent the day fighting and working up their appetite.

You turned to follow the women back out onto the streets of Rome, no doubt searching for another way to sell their bodies, when you heard a deep, familiar voice call your name. You froze in disbelief, wondering who could possibly know you, and then you slowly turned.

It was General Acacius. The fearless leader of the Roman army, but you knew him from your stand in the market. Whenever he was home from battle, he always found you and purchased more than he could possibly need, feeding you and your farmhands for weeks. He never said much and neither did you, but you had grown fond of seeing his greying curls and dark, smoldering eyes approach your stall, albeit with a new wound or scar to show for his travels.

You did not even realize he knew your name.

His eyes drifted up and down your worn tunic, noticing the stains and rips and your poor fitting sandals. Your gaze flickered nervously around the room at the other men impatiently looking to wrap up their work and begin their long journey, but remained silent, deferring to the general.

"You will come with us," was all he said, his voice booming in the small room. Your blood ran cold and panic seized your throat.

"But the choices have already been made-"

"I am paying. I believe I am allowed to decide how many whores we bring along."

You clamped your mouth shut, brows furrowing in anger. How foolish you were to assume he was a man of honor, a man who wanted to help you when he bought your meager wares in the market. As it turned out, he was no better than any other, only out to seek pleasure between your legs.

At that point, you knew better than to argue. Your fate was sealed. Begrudgingly, you forced yourself to follow after the other chosen women, walking past the high ranking officials who sized you up as you went.

The army was to travel by ship. Or multiple ships, to be exact. The women were counted off and told to stand in smaller groups, one handful of whores for each ship of hungry soldiers. When your group was assigned, you heard that familiar powerful voice come out of nowhere once again, stopping everybody in their paths.

"She is to travel on mine," General Acacius announced. A few men exchanged confused glances and Acacius grew irritated. "That one," he clarified, pointing directly at you. The other men quickly nodded and shuffled you into another group, and you thought that would be the end of it, but then he spoke again as the others began to board.

"She will stay in my chambers."

If the soldiers were surprised, they hid it well, but you didn't. You whipped around and glared at him defiantly, a litany of disrespectful curses on the tip of your tongue. Thankfully, you remembered your place and who you were speaking to and caught yourself before you got killed, but as you turned to board the ship, you noticed an amused smirk play across the general's lips.

A young solider shoved you into the general's quarters, ordering you to not go through his things or they would cut off your hands, then slammed the door shut, leaving you all alone. The rest of the women had gone below deck, most likely to a shared room that was filthy and freezing cold. You, on the other hand, had a beautiful soft bed and a roaring fire to warm yourself by a small wooden dining table. There was a bookshelf tucked into the corner and your fingers itched to pull the books out and examine them, but you didn't dare. Instead, you sat on the small cushioned bench next to the only porthole in the room, tucking your knees against your chest protectively while you waited for the inevitable.

Sleep took hold of you at some point while you waited for the general to retire. The last thing you remembered was the open sea and the glorious golden sun beginning to dip just below the horizon. When you awoke, it was dark, the only light in the room coming from the fire. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and unfurled yourself from your bench to look around, then nearly yelped when you found the general quietly sitting at the table pouring himself wine.

Your heart raced violently in your chest, knowing full well what he expected of you. And despite offering yourself up earlier that day as a whore, you had decided you would not do it for this man. Because this man came to your booth in the market under the guise of kindness that turned out to be a lie, and it simply did not sit right with you.

"I will not lie with you willingly," you announced boldly with your arms crossed. The general quirked an eyebrow and took a long sip of his wine.

"When was the last time you have eaten?"

You scowled, body vibrating with energy and ready for a fight only to be met with indifference.

"I am not hungry."

"You will eat or you will die," he said, avoiding your eye and standing to collect a plate of food by the door. He dropped it onto the table and pointed angrily at it. "Eat."

"Why?"

"You need your strength, you are frail."

"You do not like your whores thin, then?" you shot back. Acacius clenched his jaw, eyes still cast down. "You wish to fatten me up so you have something to hold onto when you force my legs apart?"

"That is enough!" he roared, fiery eyes finally finding yours and pinning you with an intense stare that had you trembling. "I will not be forcing you to do anything except eat. Now sit down, do not test my patience."

It was a combination of fear and hunger that made you obey, sinking down into the chair opposite his where the plate of lukewarm food awaited you. Acacius sat down and picked up his goblet, watching you from over the rim as you slowly began to pick at the food. You both remained silent while you ate and he drank, the only sound to be heard was the crackling from the fire and the distant laughter and yells from his men in the galley below.

He was right. You hadn't eaten in days. It was no wonder you fell asleep so quickly earlier. You wanted to express your thanks, but you were too stubborn. Instead, you finished your food and put the plate in the basin of water by the door before looking around the room once again. It was easily the nicest room on the ship. You had to imagine most of the soldiers would be sleeping in hammocks stacked on top of one another down below, but the general had the biggest, softest looking bed you had ever seen in your life.

But there was only one.

He watched you from his place at the table, studying your face as you worked out the mechanics.

"I will not force myself upon you if we share the bed," he said, dragging your attention back to him. He was still in his armor, all shiny and clean from the public celebration that took place prior to the army's departure.

"Why am I here, if not to pleasure you?" you asked. You sounded calmer than before but you were still very much on edge.

"You believe I would find pleasure in forcing myself upon a woman?" he questioned before draining his cup. You thought about it for a moment and shrugged.

"Perhaps. Yes."

He stared down at his empty chalice, your heinous opinion of him rolling around in his head and making his chest ache.

"Well, I do not," he proclaimed, standing up quickly and causing his chair to almost topple backwards. He began to unhook his heavy armor, dropping it into a pile on the floor until he was down to his tunic.

"If we were to lie together, it would be because you wish it so," he said softly with his back to you. You swallowed thickly.

"What am I to do here, then?" you asked as he began to turn down his sheets. He slid his tired body into bed and sighed.

"Whatever you like. So long as you stay in this room, you will remain unharmed."

You blinked rapidly, desperately trying to put the pieces together.

"That is all?"

"Yes. That is all. My only wish is you are safe and fed."

You couldn't help it. You had to ask.

"But... why?"

But the general rolled onto his side, effectively ending your conversation and leaving you wondering what you had gotten yourself into.

That first night, you did not share his bed. You slept on the bench by your porthole, curled up small, arms wrapped around yourself protectively until the sun rose. When you awoke, the general was gone, but a plate of food was left on the table for you.

The first week on the ship went exactly the same. You stayed in his chambers, staring out at the sea or sleeping until he returned way past dark with some food for you and a tired look in his eye. And every night, you slept on the bench, still far too distrusting of him.

The second week, the general brought a game with him at dinner time. Two cups and two wooden dice. The idea was you had to guess what you would roll. If you won, you got whatever you bet on the round. It wasn't that entertaining at first since you had only the clothes on your back and nothing else, but what you did have were stories or songs or a slight of hand trick your father taught you when you were young.

You wouldn't realize until much later that it was his way of getting to know you better.

"You released all the cows from the pasture?" Acacius repeated in disbelief. You giggled and nodded.

"I was only six years old! I thought they were being held against their will!"

Acacius laughed, the sound making you grin like a fool and your cheeks warm.

"Alright," he said once he got ahold of himself. "Go on."

You picked up the die and tossed them into a cup, giving it a firm shake and smiling when he shot you a playful wink.

You clapped the cup firmly over the table and before you raised it up, you announced, "One three and one five."

"What is your wager?"

You nodded towards his bookshelf. "One of your books."

He looked up at you in shock. "You can read?"

You gave him a fake look of disgust and nodded. "Of course I can read."

"And you have been here this whole time without picking up a book?"

"Your men told me they would cut off my hands if I touched what is yours."

His face softened and he sat back in his chair.

"No one will touch you," he told you firmly. You stared at one another, the heavy moment weighing between you, the implication of his words impossible to deny. No one will touch you because you are his.

To break the tension, you smirked and said, "So I suppose that means I do not need to wager the books?"

Acacius grinned and shook his head. "Too late, little one."

You rolled your eyes and lifted the cup, pouting when you saw two six's.

"Your turn," you said, pushing the cup to the side.

Acacius collected the dice and dumped them into the cup, shaking it while looking at you curiously from across the table and admiring the way the light from the fire flickered over your beautiful face.

"You can still take a book."

You perked up but shook your head. "That is against the rules of the game, General."

"I make the rules. Take a book tomorrow," he insisted before slamming the cup down. His large hand gripped the top of the cup, keeping it pressed tightly against the table.

"Your wager?" you asked, cocking your head to the side.

He swallowed, wondering if he should say what he wanted to say. The fear that you would pull away from him again fought against the insatiable attraction he had harbored for you for years. But the wine must have won the fight because he said, "One kiss."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and for a moment, he thought he made a horrible mistake. But then you squared your jaw and narrowed your eyes and said, "Go ahead."

He grinned, pulse thrumming excitedly in his throat when he said, "One one and one four."

But when he lifted the cup, his face fell. A three and a six.

"Ah, well," he said, shoulders drooping. He yawned and stood to collect the dice. "Better luck tomorrow."

Before you could stop yourself, you stood as well and leaned up to peck a chaste kiss against his scruffy cheek. He looked at you in surprise and you gave him a crooked grin.

"For the book."

He smiled and nodded, doing his best to hide his disappointment as you got yourself ready for bed. You had a small pillow and thin blanket to curl up with by the porthole, and it irked him that you wouldn't take more. He feared you would catch a sickness and your malnourished body wouldn't be able to fight off an infection, but you were so stubborn that he couldn't convince you otherwise.

However, the third and final week at sea had you shivering on your bench. Acacius could hardly sleep knowing how cold you were. He could hear your teeth chattering from across the room.

"I beg of you, please sleep in my bed," he said one night as you began to make your little nest by the porthole. You shook your head.

"I am fine, I swear it."

"You are not fine. Please, I will not touch you, you have my word."

You chewed on your lower lip and looked over his shoulder at his warm, plush bed. He could see your resolve begin to falter, so he offered to sleep on the bench in your place.

"No, do not be ridiculous. You have an army to lead tomorrow, you cannot be tense as a knot because you slept on a too small bench."

"I will if it means you are safe and warm," he said softly, his vulnerability taking you off guard.

"General-" you sighed, but he cut you off.

"Please. I promise I will remain on my side of the bed. Just stop being so stubborn for once in your life."

You scoffed and propped your hands on your hips. "For once in my life? And what would you know of it?"

He squinted at you and crossed his arms. "I know more than you think. I know you would not quit until you broke in that filly when you were twelve years old. I know you nearly pushed a boy down a well when he tried to kiss you in front of the whole school. I know you argued with your teacher over the correct spelling of amaranth and I know you poured every last bit of yourself into a dying farm just to keep the memory of your father alive."

Your jaw hung open in surprise, taken aback by the way he stored all of the little snippets of your life you had given him over the past two weeks only to end it with his own observation of you at the market.

You could feel yourself growing weak for him, the temptation to give in too much to bear. He had been slowly wearing you down since you arrived and perhaps he was right, perhaps you were far too stubborn because the last thing you wanted to do was go back on the proclamation you made that very first night.

So, you chose to be defiant.

"Fine," you snapped, swiveling on your heel and stomping towards his bed. "If you wish to share your bed with a whore so badly, then so be it."

Acacius rounded the bed and slipped in beside you, making sure to leave plenty of space.

"You and I both know you are no whore."

"Oh, you know so very much about me, I forget."

You tugged the heavy blankets up to your chin and tried not to audibly sigh at how comfortable it was in his bed.

"If you are a whore, tell me then: how many men have you laid with?"

You clenched your jaw, angry that he was able to figure you out so easily. Instead of answering, you rolled onto your side, your back to him, and muttered, "good night."

Acacius grinned and closed his eyes, proud of himself for besting you.

"Good night."

The following morning, you awoke earlier than usual. When your eyelids fluttered open, the first thing you noticed was the ache in your bones was gone. The large, soft bed had been enough to cure you in just one night.

Not something you planned on admitting to the general, of course.

The second thing you noticed when you sat up in bed was that the ship was not moving. It was completely still, and you could hear loud, quick footsteps outside your door and above your head. Men were shouting to one another and the clink of swords and armor were echoing throughout the halls. Then, through the walls somewhere above you, you heard the general's deep, booming voice yelling orders to his men. You threw off the blankets and hurried to the porthole, your eyes widening when you saw land and small boats being lowered into the water.

You had arrived at whatever distant land the emperors demanded Acacius claim for Rome, and the soldiers were getting ready to depart for their first fight.

You chewed nervously on your nail, curled up against the wall and peering out the window for hours until the very last boat sailed away. In the distance, you could see the general's broad back covered in armor, his dark curls fluttering in the sea breeze and his massive sword tucked dutifully at his waist.

He had left for war and didn't even say goodbye.

Why would you care if he said goodbye? Maybe if they all die, you could escape to shore and be free, find a new city and make a home for yourself.

Even you had to admit that fantasy was foolish. No matter where you went, your fate would always be the same. You had no money, no prospects, no skills and no family. Your destiny was already written and it was a miracle your first attempt at prostitution landed you in the cushy quarters of Rome's surprisingly respectful general.

Your nerves kept your feet moving all day. You tidied up the general's desk, sorting his papers and maps. You scrubbed at the dishware until they sparkled and you made the bed, fluffing up the pillows and tucking in the loose edges until you had nothing left to do. The room was as neat as possible, not a single item out of place, and yet you still floundered around looking for something to occupy your busy mind.

When the sun began to dip and his room grew darker, you went around lighting candles to allow for more light. You were in the middle of lighting the last candle when you heard a timid knock at the door.

Nobody had ever come to his chambers the entire three weeks besides the general himself. You swallowed anxiously, wondering who it could be and if you should answer when you heard a woman's small voice from the other side of the door.

You decided it was safe and opened the door a crack to find one of the whores you had boarded the ship with waiting on the other side with buckets of water and a basin.

"For the general," she said softly. You nodded and dragged the buckets into the room, trying not to stare at the bruises and dirt littering her dry skin. Your stomach twisted with guilt after she left and you locked the door. The other women were living like cattle and you were living the life of luxury. Not only was the general not forcing you to fuck him, but you were giving him sass at every turn.

It was a harsh reminder of your fortune, of what your life could be like. The thought of living the life of the women below deck frightened you, so you had decided that evening when the general returned, you would give yourself to him to show your appreciation, as well as out of fear he would soon get rid of you if you didn't give him what he wanted.

You remained at your post, staring out at the dark sea until you could see the bobbing of lanterns making their way across the black expanse, letting you know the men were returning for the night. You rushed to warm up his water over the fire, dumping it into the large basin. You poured some scented oils into the bath just as the door unlocked and opened, revealing a very filthy and exhausted looking general holding two plates of food.

"Good evening," you said, standing obediently. Acacius paused at the door, confused by your formality before closing it with his heel and setting down the food at the table. "I have a warm bath ready for you, General," you added, pointing towards the basin. He nodded tiredly and began to work on the hooks of his armor. You rushed forward to help him, once again taking him by surprise until he was stripped down to his red tunic.

"Would you like to eat or bathe first?" you asked. The general sighed and looked longingly at the bath.

"I will clean myself while you eat," he said. He pointed towards the table and motioned for you to turn around.

"May I assist you instead, General?" you asked with your back turned. You could hear the shuffle of fabric falling to the wooden floor and then a sharp hiss when he sunk down into the warm water.

"Assist me with what? Cleansing myself? I believe I can manage," he chuckled. You turned around to stare at the back of his head, his body now submerged in the water and hidden from view, but you could still see his shoulders and arms. They looked bruised and bloodied.

He didn't notice your eyes on him, of course. He was busy scrubbing the dirt and blood from his skin while he looked around the tidy room.

"It is very nice in here, you did not have to straighten up."

It was the least you could do and you knew it but said nothing.

Instead, you shakily lifted your worn tunic over your head and let it crumple to the floor. Nerves fluttered in your stomach as you slowly approached him, the general completely unaware as he continued to scrub his skin.

"I can think of another way to assist you," you said nervously as you stepped into his eyeline. His chin tilted up and he did a double take when he saw your naked form standing before him. His cloth dropped into the water and his jaw fell open in surprise, eyes wide and greedily raking over your body.

"Wh- what is this?" he stammered, gaze glued to your chest. Your fingers fidgeted at your sides under his scrutiny.

"I thought I would show you my appreciation for your hospitality," you explained. "I would like to repay you in some way for choosing me to share your quarters."

A small smile tugged at his lips as he eagerly reached forward, then stopped when he registered your words. He looked up at you questioningly, excitement falling from his face when he asked, "What do you mean, repay me?"

You shrugged and took a hesitant step forward, close enough now so he could reach out and touch your cunt if he chose.

"I realized today my fate could have been much harsher," you explained. "I have not been showing you my appreciation and respect, and in return, I wish to give you my body to use as you see fit."

Acacius frowned and turned his head away, searching for the cloth so he could continue cleaning himself.

"I do not want your body as payment, I believe I told you that weeks ago."

"You said we would not lie together unless I wished it so," you protested. "I now wish it."

"You wish to lay with me out of obligation, not desire. That is not something I want."

Embarrassment and confusion flooded your mind as you slowly stretched your arms across your exposed body, trying to hide yourself out of shame.

"I apologize-"

"Get yourself decent and eat," he commanded without looking up. His voice sounded hard and cold and for some reason, it made you want to cry. You did as you were told, dragging your dirty tunic over your head and sat quietly at his table to pick at your food. You were confused and ashamed, sitting in the tense room with him while you tried to work out what he wanted from you. The idea of wanting a man out of desire never occurred to you. You had grown up under the impression women of your station did not get to experience the luxury of desire, and instead came to terms early on in life that you always had one asset to use at your disposal.

Not one time did you ever imagine being with a man out of affection or love.

"I apologize," you tried again after he had dried off and joined you. He had changed into a clean, white tunic and was clenching a similar one in his fist.

"You may use this," he said, ignoring your apology yet again. He thrusted the tunic towards you and you fumbled when you took it from his grasp. "The one you are wearing looks as if it might fall apart the moment you step outside and feel the sea breeze."

"Thank you," you murmured, fingertips brushing over the soft and expensive material in your lap.

"I will also call for more water tomorrow so you may wash yourself," he said before biting into a chunk of bread.

Your cheeks went hot with shame, still feeling guilt over the mercy and generosity he had shown you.

"I do not know what it is to desire someone," you said after a few quiet moments. Acacius continued to chew and kept his focus fixed on his plate. "I never imagined it would be a part of my life. May I remind you we come from different worlds."

He grunted in response but you noticed his shoulders begin to relax.

"I understand. But you must stop treating yourself as a whore. You are so much more than that, I have seen it with my own eyes. And to watch you debase yourself, to think so lowly of yourself, breaks my heart."

Your breath caught in your throat and you felt tears begin to well up, quickly threatening to spill down your cheeks. How could you have been so wrong? How could you not see the man for who he really was? He was a man who was gentle, kindhearted, protective and most importantly, cared very deeply for you. To what extent, you were unsure, but if he wanted you to desire him and he saved you from being used by countless other men, he certainly must have harbored stronger feelings than you ever thought possible.

"Alright."

His dark eyes flicked up to yours when you spoke.

"I will not debase myself," you said flatly. The corner of his mouth twitched before he looked back down at his food.

"Very well. I am pleased that has been sorted," he replied before shoving his plate off to the side and standing to collect the cups and dice. "Shall we play a few rounds before bed?"

You grinned and nodded, gathering up your plates and dumping them in the water by the door to clean later before joining him back at the table. And somehow, the awkwardness from the evening faded away after a few rolls of the dice.

It had been two weeks docked off shore on some foreign land. You hadn't left his room in over a month and you were beginning to feel insane. You told him as much early one morning when he was dressing for battle. It was still dark outside. Acacius had mentioned he wanted to arrive on shore before dawn so that he might get into position under the cover of night.

"When I return tonight, I will take you up on the deck for some fresh air," he promised as he cinched up his armor. "Do not leave this room when I am not here."

"Why not? Are your men not with you during the daytime?" you asked from his bed.

"It is not my men I worry about," he explained, sheathing his sword after lacing up his sandals.

"Then what do you worry for?"

"I worry about everything," he confessed. His hand was on the doorknob poised to leave, but he stopped to turn to you one last time. "I do not trust the soldiers from this city not to try to climb aboard the ships whilst we are gone. It is important the ships appear empty."

You nodded in understanding before burrowing back in his sheets and he couldn't help but smile at the sight of you looking comfortable and radiant in his bed.

"Behave, my dove, and we may dine on the deck tonight," he said, making you smile wide. He slipped quietly out of his room and locked the door behind him, fearful if he lingered any longer, he may not leave the ship the whole day.

You spent the afternoon reading and bathing and cleaning the general's dirty clothes in the extra water he had brought up after he left. You weren't sure how it happened, but the two of you had fallen into a life of domesticity amidst war without even sharing so much as a kiss.

What surprised you the most was you enjoyed it. You enjoyed tending to his things and cleaning what you could during the day, and then caring for him at night when he returned all bloodied and tired.

It had not once crossed your mind that he may not return until it happened.

That night, you saw the lanterns bobbing over the water, your signal to begin heating up his water for a bath. Your hair smelled like the expensive oils you poured into his water from your own bath earlier. You smiled to yourself when you thought of smelling like him, and him of you.

Heavy footsteps landed on the wooden floorboards above your head and outside your door. At first, nothing seemed amiss. Acacius usually didn't come to his room right away. He typically visited the wounded soldiers in the infirmary, making sure they were well tended to and fed before doing his rounds, assigning a night crew, and then finally gathering food for you both before retiring for the evening.

But more time passed than usual. You could tell because your stomach began to rumble and his water grew lukewarm. You paced around the room, ears straining to hear the voices from the other soldiers, trying to discern anything from their muffled conversations.

It wasn't until two hours went by that you heard a sharp rap at the door and a man's voice echoing on the other side, announcing he brought you food.

Your blood went cold and you wondered if you should open the door, but then you remembered Acacius told you he wasn't worried about his own men, the underlying message being that his soldiers would never touch what was his. So after a moment's hesitation, you swung open the door.

"Here," a young man said, shoving one plate of food towards you. His face was stained with dried blood and dirt and you frowned before taking the food and thanking him softly.

"Where is the general?" you asked timidly.

"He fell in battle," he grumbled before turning away. Your heart plummeted as you reached out and grabbed his shoulder, taking him by surprise.

"What do you mean?" you exclaimed. Fear and adrenaline mixed with something foreign coursed through your veins as you felt your lower lip tremble. The solider shook you off with disgust before stepping back.

"He was struck down. Last I saw of him he was lying still on the battlefield."

When he saw the look of despair on your face, he took pity on you.

"Others were assisting him, his body will return to Rome," he assured you before giving you a firm nod and disappearing down the long hall, leaving you to collapse into a fit of sobs behind the locked door.

The feeling you had in your chest was similar to the way you felt when your father passed, but something was different. It felt like a piece of you went dark, like you may never smile or laugh ever again. Grief consumed every fiber of your being and you found yourself crawling into his bed, face streaked with tears so thick you could hardly see your hands reach for his pillow. You pulled it tightly against your chest and you curled up around it, muffling your wails until your head began to pound and your body felt weak.

You drifted in and out of sleep, tossing and turning until the room grew cold and the fire dissolved into embers. You stood and wrapped a blanket around yourself, sniffling and shuffling over to the fire to stoke the flames wearing the general's spare tunic he had gifted you. After a few minutes, the fire roared back to life and you sat back with a heavy sigh.

Just as you were wondering what you would do come morning and how you would ever be able to move on without him, you heard footsteps approaching. You whipped around in fear and tightened your grip on the blanket. With the general no longer around to protect you, you had assumed the other men would eventually come looking for you, but you had to admit you didn't expect it so fast.

You curled yourself into a ball on your old bench, staring at the doorknob, expecting to see it jiggle and eventually forced open from the other side, but to your surprise the lock clicked quietly and the door slowly creaked open.

When you saw the general appear, limping and bloodied but still alive, you practically screamed. You jumped to your feet and rushed over, moments away from throwing yourself into his arms before you caught yourself.

"Acacius," you whispered in disbelief, the informality slipping easily past your lips for the very first time. He gave you a tired smile and locked the door behind him.

"I apologize for missing dinner," he said. You laughed as two fresh tears trickled down your cheeks. Your hands hovered nervously over his armor as if you weren't sure where you could touch him.

"Apology accepted," you replied before gingerly unhooking the armor around his shoulders. He groaned with relief when you lifted the heavy metal off him and set it against the wall by the door to polish another time. When you turned back around, you gasped at the blood that had seeped through his tunic, staining the yellow fabric a dark red.

"You are hurt," you whimpered, then hurried around his room for clean cloths, healing oils, and salves he kept in his desk. "Take that off and sit down. Allow me to tend to your wound."

He wordlessly lifted the ruined tunic over his head, wincing slightly when the wound at his side pulled, and he sat down at the table just as you instructed. You collected some of the unused water from his bath and set it over the flames to warm up before scooping up some more and setting it on the table next to him.

"They stemmed the bleeding on the boat," he explained. "It just needs to be cleaned and perhaps -"

"I will handle this. You just rest and eat," you told him, pushing your plate of uneaten food in his direction. His eyes fell onto the food and he frowned.

"It is untouched," he said, "why did you not eat?"

"How could I when I thought you were dead?" you snapped as you brought a soaked rag to his side and began to gently pat at the nasty looking gash.

Acacius took a bite of food, the flavors melting onto his tongue and making him groan. He didn't realize how hungry he was and before he knew it, he had eaten all of the food except for the grapes. You were leaning across his lap, bandaging up his wound with intense focus. He sighed contentedly, basking in the warmth from the fire and the soft touch of your hand on his skin. He could already feel his strength beginning to return.

"That should hold," you said, sitting upright to inspect your work. He glanced down and raised his eyebrows at the neat little bandage you had adhered to his wound.

"You did a very good job. Where did you learn such things?"

You shrugged and began to clean up the salves and oils. "On a farm, many accidents happen. You learn quickly how to tend to a wound."

He smiled and sipped from the wine you had poured for him while watching you move around the room, disposing of his soiled clothes and rags and then bringing the bucket of warm water over to the table with a fresh cloth.

When you pulled the other chair closer and sat, fitting your legs between his knees so you could reach him, he began to protest.

"You do not need to -"

"I want to," you said, cutting him off with a warm, wet cloth on his aching shoulders. His eyelids fluttered with a groan, leaning back into his chair and giving in. It felt so wonderful to be washed by your hand, to have you so close and safe while tenderly caring for him. It was all he had been dreaming about for years, ever since the first day he saw you at the market.

"So many scars," you whispered, swiping the cloth down his broad, strong chest. His breathing stuttered when you reached his stomach and he tensed.

"I have been in many battles," he murmured with his eyes still closed. You hummed to yourself and continued to work, diligently and carefully scrubbing away the layers of blood and grime until you cleaned everything you could see.

"Can you lean forward, General?" you asked, "I would like to cleanse your back."

He nodded and with a grunt, sat upright so he could lean forward. You stood from your chair and positioned yourself behind him, taking great care with every swipe of your cloth, afraid of unearthing a new wound under all the filth.

"Back to general now, are we?" he asked.

Your hand paused on his shoulder blade. He sensed your confusion and he chuckled.

"When I first arrived, you called me Acacius," he explained.

"Oh," you breathed before continuing your work. "That was disrespectful, I -"

"No, I quite liked it," he said before you could finish apologizing. "You may call me Marcus when we are alone, if you prefer."

Your eyes widened and although he couldn't see you, he could tell you were surprised.

"That would be highly irregular," you finally said softly, putting down the wet cloth and picking up a bottle of perfumed oil. You sprinkled a few drops into your palm and you rubbed your hands together. "That name should only be used by those closest to you."

He opened his mouth to respond but when your slick hands found his shoulders and your fingers began to dig into the knots in his muscles, he moaned and felt himself go lax.

"Oh gods, that feels incredible," he rasped. The deep timber of his voice sent a wave of arousal right to your core. You continued to work on his back and shoulders, privately marveling at his broad frame and firm muscles under his scarred, bronzed skin. He was truly something to behold. So strong, handsome, and fearless. Yet also kind and gentle. The proximity of his body and the ricocheting emotions you had experienced that evening had you reacting to him in a way you never had before. It was confusing and strange yet also exciting, and the noises you were drawing from his mouth with every roll of your thumbs was causing a dull ache to form between your thighs.

You blinked and cleared your throat, trying to shake the heavy curtain of lust that clung to you.

"What happened out there? One of your men informed me you were dead."

Marcus sighed and sat up straight, the angle causing you to drop your hands from his tight shoulders. One of his massive hands reached back to take yours so he could lead you to stand in front of him, between his knees.

"They had called a truce. They requested to discuss terms of surrender, so I called off my men and went to speak with their king," he began, his hand still engulfing your own as he gazed up at you with his soft, dark eyes. "It was a trap. They ambushed me when I got out of range. It must have been twenty of them," he continued solemnly, his thumb brushing against your wrist as he spoke. "I slayed them all, one by one, but once I took down their final solider, an archer took aim from the wall. I was able to dodge the arrow but I was not quick enough," he chuckled and looked down at his wound. "I am not the young man I once was."

"I cried for hours," you admitted quietly. His eyes darted up to yours again, holding his breath as you spoke. "I had never considered you would not return to me at the end of the day. However, when I got word you had died-"

You paused when a sob got lodged in your throat. You knit your brows together, hoping to stave off your tears while Marcus patiently waited. Eventually, you gave him a watery smile and lifted your free hand to cup his cheek.

"I felt a grief I never thought I would feel again," you said, voice shaking. His eyes searched your face, watching the way your anguish rolled through you at the memory. He swallowed tightly and, with his other hand, gently gripped your waist.

"Tell me," he whispered, "did you feel these things only because you feared for your safety if I was not here?"

You shook your head as one singular tear trickled down your cheek.

"No," you breathed, "it was because I felt like a part of me died, too. Because I could not imagine my life without you."

When you saw the joyful look in his eye, you quickly closed the remaining distance between you, leaning down the rest of the way and slanting your mouth desperately over his. He moaned and dropped your hand so he could cup the back of your neck, pulling you even closer so you were forced to straddle his lap.

"Do you know what you do to me?" he groaned amid kisses that were growing increasingly messy as the heat between you grew. "How badly I want you? How long I have waited?"

Your mind was blank. You couldn't think of a single thing to say, but Marcus didn't give you a chance to respond, anyway. His tongue slipped past your lips, greedily swirling in tandem with yours and forcing your jaw to open wider. The hand on your waist dropped to flatten against your lower back and he pressed you forward so not even a sliver of moonlight could sneak between your bodies.

Underneath your gifted tunic, you were bare. When you joined the other whores all those weeks ago, they told you there was no use for undergarments, that the men would just destroy them if you bothered to wear any, so just like all the others, you never did. It had never been a problem until that very moment, when Marcus had you writhing in his lap, hips stretched wide and cunt free to rub against his thigh. When you first made contact with his leg, the firm muscle brushing against your sensitive clit, you jumped in his lap and moaned into his mouth.

"Tell me, sweet thing," he murmured when he finally broke the kiss. You were panting heavily, eyelids drooping with need as you gazed down at him. "I know you have not sold yourself to a man, but have you ever laid with one before?"

You shook your head and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, holding him close. His lips brushed up against your throat and he began to suck on the sensitive skin there as both of his hands fell to your hips. Gently, he rocked you back and forth, sliding your slick, bare cunt over his thigh. He heard you sigh and smiled against your skin when your head dipped backwards in pleasure.

"Does that feel good?"

"Yes," you whispered, voice raspy and thick. "Oh, yes, it feels... heavenly," you told him with a sigh.

"Good," he grunted, "keep going. Do not stop until you come. I will need you soft and wet before you take my cock."

"Yes, General," you replied obediently, making his cock jump behind his thin loincloth.

Marcus tugged at the back of your loose tunic, stretching the material across your breasts so your hardened nipples poked through. With a low growl, he lunged forward and wrapped his mouth around one, cloth and all. His teeth added a surprisingly tantalizing amount of pressure that had you gasping for air as your hips quickened their pace over his thigh. You must have been leaving streaks of arousal all over him but something told you he didn't mind.

"You desire me, yes?" he questioned when he switched his attention to your other breast. You nodded feverishly, face tilted towards the ceiling as you chased your pleasure.

"Yes," you gasped, "yes, Ge- Marcus."

He groaned so loudly you thought he might wake up the whole ship.

"Fuck, say that again."

You smiled and circled your hips faster, grinding down onto his thick leg. You were so close, you could taste it.

"Marcus," you whined, "oh, Marcus. I cannot wait to feel you inside of me. I just know you will make me feel so good, will you not?"

Suddenly, his hand was back on your neck and his mouth was pressed tightly against the underside of your jaw, not unlike a wild animal pinning his prey against his sharp fangs. You could feel his hot puffs of air fanning across your skin and his teeth scraping your throat. His intensity might have frightened you if you weren't on the brink of an earth shattering orgasm.

"I will make you feel so good, you will never want to take another lover again," he said darkly. The hairs on your arms stood up but you continued to rut yourself as fast as you could against his thigh, your own chest heaving as you fought for air. "And if I have it my way, you never will," he added.

His words were what tipped you over the edge. You cried out his name and clutched at his shoulders for support as your orgasm rolled through you, covering him with your slick.

Your body was still trembling in his arms when he lifted you up and carried you to the bed. You blinked rapidly in response, poised to argue with him about potentially reopening his wound, but before you could get a single word out he had tossed you onto the sheets and climbed on top of you, caging you in.

"Before I ravish you, my sweet, what do you know of coupling?"

You scoffed. "I am no fool, I know how it works."

Marcus chuckled at your snark and sat back on his heels to peel your tunic over your head, exposing yourself entirely to him. A groan rumbled through his wide, bare chest as he stared down at you hungrily, all spread out and ready for him.

"I cannot lie. Ever since you first stood before me naked, your beautiful body has consumed my every waking thought."

"It shows incredible restraint, then, for you to share a bed with me each night," you teased, eyes dancing playfully as he stripped himself of his loincloth.

"You have no idea," he growled, falling back onto his forearms. The tip of his nose nudged against yours affectionately. "I have waited years for this, my sweet."

The idea of any man pining after you, let alone the mighty General of Rome, was a strange and foreign concept.

"I am just the daughter of a poor farmer," you muttered, fingers brushing his peppered curls behind his ear.

"Your station means very little to me," he replied, looking down between your bodies so he could notch the thick head of his cock at your opening. "The heart wants what the heart wants."

Your pulse quickened when you felt the slight bit of pressure he applied. Knowing how it worked was one thing, experiencing it for the first time was another.

"I-I was told it may hurt," you said meekly. Marcus's eyes found yours and he tenderly cupped your jaw.

"Yes, that is true, but I promise it will not last long," he assured you. You swallowed and nodded before spreading your legs wider and hooking your ankles around the backs of his thighs.

"Tell me if it is too much," he murmured. He pressed your foreheads together, lips hovering above yours, ready to soothe you from the pain.

"Go on, then," you said bravely.

Slowly, he breeched your opening and sunk one inch inside of you. You gasped and dug your heels harder into his thighs, but Marcus held steady.

"Speak," he demanded after a few seconds of listening to your heavy breathing.

"It stings," you admitted, "but it is not... unpleasant."

He nodded and pecked a chaste kiss against your lips before giving you another inch. You whined and squirmed a bit but once you settled, he took it as his cue to continue. It went just like that until he finally found himself fully seated inside of your tight heat.

"The worst is over, my sweet," he told you.

You wiggled underneath him, moving this way and that until you got used to the feeling of him inside you. Your hands wrapped around the backs of his biceps and you stretched your neck so you could bite and nip playfully at his prickly jaw.

"I enjoy being full of you," you admitted shyly, eliciting a grunt from the back of his throat.

"Good," he grumbled before drawing back his hips and slowly easing himself back inside your warmth. "Because I intend on having you full of me as much as possible. I fear I will never have enough now that you have given me a taste."

Your jaw dropped open when he began to move faster, gently and steadily working you open, carving a space for himself inside of you forever. The only thing you wanted was to have him as close as you could, so you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face against his neck, molding your bodies together as one.

"My sweet girl," he panted, mouth hunting for yours. "You feel better than I ever dreamed. So fucking tight and wet. I cannot believe my fortune, that you would give yourself to me. I wonder if I did indeed die in battle and have ascended to the heavens."

The stretch was divine, his heavy length dragging in and out of you and nudging against a spot that made your stomach clench and your head grow fuzzy.

"Do not say such things," you scolded him breathlessly. His hips stilled for a moment, waiting for you to continue. "Do not jest about your death. My heart cannot handle it."

His eyes softened and his mouth crashed against yours with a groan, overcome that you would feel so strongly for him. He began to roll his hips again but kept his mouth latched onto yours, swallowing down your whimpers and moans.

"I will never leave you," he whispered against your lips. His thrusts grew quicker but he tried his best to be careful and not drive himself too deep for fear of causing you pain. "I will always return now that I have you waiting for me. I shall be invincible in battle."

You laughed lightly, dragging your mouth down his throat and tasting his freshly perfumed skin.

"Was that all it took for you to become immortal?" you teased.

"Yes," he hissed, "a cunt as snug and perfect as yours is all a man needs to give him purpose."

His hand slithered between your back and sheets, pressing his palm firmly against your spine so you arched underneath him. His knees spread wider so he could get better leverage, and he began to roughly snap his hips. You gasped and grabbed onto his hair, giving it a sharp tug and making him groan. It was lewd yet somehow romantic, hearing the sound of your skin slapping together in the otherwise quiet room.

"Does it hurt?" he managed to ask through clenched teeth.

"No," you whimpered inbetween the soft moans he drew every time his cock slammed back into you. "Oh gods, Marcus, please-"

"What do you need, my love?"

He sounded breathless, his voice slightly strained, and your chest burst with pride. You loved the idea of being the one who made such a strong man so very weak.

"I- I am not sure," you admitted truthfully. "It feels so wonderful, but it is different than before."

As it turned out, you didn't need to figure out what you needed because Marcus knew. Somehow, he managed to know your body better than you. He knew how to make it sing and thrum just for him.

His hand snuck between your bodies and the pad of his thumb found your clit. He rubbed firm, slow circles over the sensitive bud, and his name instantly flew from your mouth, loud and wild. You likely could be heard from shore, but Marcus never shushed you. In fact, he smiled and worked his thumb faster, drawing out more delicious moans with every stroke.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured while sucking a mark into your neck. He could feel your lower belly begin to tense and heard your breath waver, so he circled his hips faster, cock greedily plunging in and out of your soaked cunt, chasing his release with reckless abandon now that he could feel you were close.

"I have obsessed over you for years. Dreamed of having you all to myself, just like this," he continued. He could sense his words had a great effect on you. Your walls fluttered and pulsed around him when he admitted his deepest secrets, so he kept talking.

"Long nights spent on the cold ground in the middle of war, I would dream of you. I would wonder what you would be doing back in Rome. I would pray you did not find a husband while I was away."

Marcus gasped when your cunt gripped around him so tightly that it took his breath away. "The thought of you belonging to another was enough to drive me insane," he groaned before capturing your lips with his.

"I am yours," you rasped when he pulled away, and when your eyes locked, he could see the adoration he felt for you reflected right back. "For as long as you will have me, I am yours."

Marcus's eyes slid closed in bliss after hearing the words he so longed to hear. "Come for me, my love. Come for me and when we return home, I shall make you my wife. I will take care of you. I promise you will never go hungry again."

Your hands grappled with the back of his head, fingers threading through his unruly locks as you pulled him down for a searing kiss. He muffled the sounds of your orgasm, cries of his name dying in your throat while your body bucked wildly beneath him.

It only took a few moments before he joined you. With his hand roughly squeezing your hip, he yanked you towards him. His body stilled, pumping you full of his seed while your tongues danced together in tandem until his shoulders sagged and you began to shake.

Marcus flicked the sheets so he could toss them over your trembling bodies. He planted kisses along the side of your head and jaw, then brushed the hair away from your face until your breathing leveled and your eyes reopened.

"Are you alright?"

You nodded and gave him a weak smile. "I am tired."

Marcus withdrew his hips, sliding his softening cock out from your clutch. You cried out in pain and he instantly jolted out of bed to soak a clean rag in some leftover warm water, then hurried back to press it between your legs.

"Better?"

"Yes," you sighed. "Thank you."

He gave you a quick kiss and slid back under the covers. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest so he could nuzzle your hair and murmur sweet nothings in your ear.

"Must you leave me in the morning? Can you not spend just one day recovering from your wound?"

Marcus kissed your bare shoulder and shook his head.

"The war is almost done. Tomorrow, I will make them surrender so we may sail home and start our life together."

You grinned and burrowed deeper under the covers. "Did you mean that?"

"What is that, my love?"

"When you said you would make me your wife," you said sheepishly. "Or was that just your mind getting lost to desire?"

"No, I meant every word," he said before rolling over and snuffing out the candle next to the bed. "When we return to Rome, I will make you my bride. You will bear my children and I will watch them play in the garden with you by my side."

You hummed and closed your eyes. "That sounds lovely."

You had very little idea of the politics in Rome and how the highest ranking general of the Roman army could possibly announce he was going to wed a poor farmer's daughter, but you knew deep down if Marcus wanted it, he would somehow make it happen. You knew this because his determination always won, on and off the battlefield.

After all, you were living proof of it.

[quarterlifekitty]

Weaknesses part 5: complexes

Note: this is jokes!! Please don’t take my cartoon pathologizing too seriously!

cw: some daddy kink level stuff

Gaz has a soft spot for girls who suffer from oldest sister syndrome. Girls that are a little world weary and too grown up at too young an age from caring for others while not having people to rely on. He just loves how pleasantly surprised you are literally every time he does something helpful that you didn’t ask him to do. Doing the dishes. Spackling that hole from the picture you took down. Refilling the air in the tires. Bleaching the bathtub. Very small things— but you’re so used to being the only one who can stay on top of things. Literally the high he gets from telling you to sit down and relax is unparalleled.

Soap is, quite frankly, into girls who grew up thinking they were ugly. It’s a terribly selfish, but he likes telling you all of the dirty things he thinks of doing to you, how he feels like someone’s knocked him upside the head when you enter a room in a new outfit, how he has to take a cold shower every time you’re going out to some event and he gets to see you dressed up. Honestly, he has to take the cold showers pretty regularly. Seeing how you’re flustered, and you don’t 100% believe the things he says— so he has to put in the time to make you believe him. You’re the kind of girl boys would dare each other to ask out in middle school, and now Soap has the absolute pleasure of convincing you that sometimes you make him so turned on that he thinks he’s about to throw up.

Ghost likes outcast girls. He likes how you eye him with a little bit of suspicion when he chooses to hang around you. He sort of gets this idea in his head that he’s the only one that can handle your eccentricities— handle you. That other people are afraid to approach you but he’s not afraid of anything. That his interest in you is because honestly, he has a much more refined palate than any of the shitheads you’re surrounded by. And you know what? He likes the idea of you as a couple being the scary, freak ass couple. Two lone wolves becoming mates.

Price likes former gifted students. He loves that you’re talented and quick, yes, but he also can’t help but get excited by all of that pressure that’s on you— that you put on yourself. He gets to be the one that relieves it. He’s the one that gets to lavish you in praise, and he’s also the one who gets to pin you down and force you to take it easy for a little while. He loves gently handling any mistakes or missteps, rationally perceived or otherwise. Because he can tell no one’s ever bothered to treat you so gently, have they, sweetheart? They’ve just been content to push you to your limits and have you run yourself ragged because you’re special. You are, he won’t deny it— but you’re also a little thing that hasn’t seen enough nurturing, in his eyes.

König loves so called “high maintenance” girls. Girls with high standards who know what they want, who have gone through some partners that couldn’t take the heat. He gets a very unique sense of control out of it— knowing all of your rules, rituals, likes, dislikes. Like Ghost, he likes thinking of himself as the only person who knows how to handle you— that everyone before him has just been unworthy of you. That he is strong where others have been weak. And you know what? It’s not rotten work. Not to him. Not if it’s you. He’s just built different.

Nikolai… I’m just going to say it. He likes girls with daddy issues. He kinda throws his whole self into relationships at times, and he likes it when he can be your everything. Your love, your friend, your hero, your source of approval from an older man. And he loves a brat. Because he knows you only act that way because someone didn’t pay attention to his special girl in the past. You’re testing him— daring him, unsheathing your claws to see if he’ll flinch and he never will. He’ll endure it all and chip at your defenses until you’re the soft, satisfied, sweet girl he knows you really want to be. Lavishing you with praise and attention, bragging about you to anyone who will listen. He wants you to have a complete breakdown because you’ve been holding it all in and putting up walls for so long that you don’t even know how to cope with being in the arms of someone who will always catch you when you fall.

[mattscoquette]

𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑷 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑫𝒀𝑰𝑵𝑮 | 𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒕𝒐 𝒀𝑨𝑳𝑬

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉.. you have another study session with chris and he suggests a way to really help him remember

smut, oral (male receiving), swearing, stripping, kinda sub!chris, use of y/n, frat boy!chris, college au

2.9k words

chris’ eyebrows furrowed as he peered down at the textbook in front of him, trying his hardest to try to absorb what he was actually reading. you smiled softly at his actions, finding it almost endearing how hard he was trying. it was only basic american history, but to chris it might as well have been written in latin.

“okay,” you spoke softly, watching as his gaze met yours, “tell me what you read.”

chris closed his eyes and exhaled, as if to mentally prepare himself to recite the text he just read. you had been trying a new method of studying with chris, deeming it nearly foolproof. well, for you, but any study method for you was easy. you would have chris read a chapter section by section, then try to reiterate everything he read out loud and teach it to you. “well,” he began, his expression puzzled as he thought, “the pilgrims came from england because they wanted land.” you smiled, watching as he continued to speak. “and, uh.. they wanted religious freedom too.”

“yeah,” you grinned, nodding your head, “what else?”

his face dropped, looking at you like you were just speaking a foreign language. “what do you mean what else?”

“i mean,” you giggled, “why else did they come here? where did they land, what were the colonies like, there’s more to it. you need to remember details.”

chris groaned loudly, burying his head in his crossed arms as he flopped his head down on his desk. he peaked up at you, his brown curls that were tucked into his backwards hat falling loose over his eyes.

you knew he’d been working hard, getting his grades up high enough to keep him on the lacrosse team. however once they were where they needed to be, they had to stay there. much to your delight, you had been tutoring (and fucking) chris for longer than anticipated. you’d figured that you would have just been another number added to his body count after the frat party, but chris was very adamant on wanting to see you again. and being his tutor three days a week made it so much easier. you both decided studying at each other’s dorms would be a more sufficing place to study, finding the privacy much more convenient than the library.

“y/n this is so hard,” he complained, his voice whiny as he looked up at you, “i can’t remember anything.”

you pouted slightly, sympathizing for him as you ran your fingers across his shoulders in attempts to help him relax. he sighed, eyes meeting yours as he looked up at you. “you’re doing really well,” you told him quietly as you scratched his back, “your average went up a whole letter grade in a month while you have been playing lacrosse. that’s not easy.”

“i’m gonna fail my test next week if i can’t remember this shit.” he mumbled into his crossed arms as he sighed.

you hummed, continuing to trace your nails along his back over his sweatshirt. “let’s take a break, hm? your brain is probably fried right now.”

chris tilted his head back against the chair, leaning down and sprawling his legs out underneath the desk, his arms crossing over into his face. “everything i try doesn’t work.” he grumbled.

you halt your movements on his back, your brows furrowing. “what do you mean?”

“every method of studying you’ve taught me. nothing works. flash cards, blurting, re writing notes. it won’t stay in my brain, like, at all.” chris says, looking over at you. “you look confused.”

“i am,” you murmur, “but you’ve passed your tests. you got Bs and even a few As. what do you mean it isn’t working?”

chris buries his face in his hands on his desk, trying his best to explain it. in the last month, he was convinced it’s been the hardest he ever had to work in school, and it seemed to have been getting the best of him. “it’s like, i learn this shit, but not all of it stays in my brain. i’m only, like, 70% sure of the answers i put on tests and whatever. i need to remember.”

you look at him, drawing your hand back into your lap and crossing them together. you look down at your lap blink, trying to think of a new method of studying. everything you tried had worked for you, how hard can it be for chris to learn? sure, he is nowhere near your academic level, but studying a skill you can learn, the same way you can learn how to play lacrosse.

“well,” you begin slowly, “are there any … ideas you may have? maybe some sort of association we can work on-”

chris perks up at this. “association?”

you blink again, nodding slowly. “yeah, like … maybe we can try and relate something to what you’ve just read, and then that association will help you remember?”

you’ve never tried this method before. hell, you never even have thought about it before, you were just trying to put yourself in chris’ shoes and rack your brain on how you can get him to remember.

he’s smirking now. it’s working.

“i have an idea,” he nearly purrs, leaning in closer towards you, “you strip for me.”

your eyes are wide as you look at chris. “strip?” you sputter, “like, like how?”

now he’s got a cheshire cat grin smile plastered on his face. he nods, eyeing you up and down. “come on, y/n/n, it’ll be fun,” he coaxes, “i’ll remember all this shit so clearly if i associate it with seeing you in just your panties.”

you smirk softly, your eyes flickering between his lips and bright blue eyes. “fine,” you say, “but you better get an A on this test or we’re back to flashcards.”

he smiles wide and leans in to peck your lips, pulling away to return to his abandoned open textbook, finding where he had left off. “okay, so,” he grinned, turning to look at you, “how are we doing this?”

now it’s your turn to smile. “i think a reward system will do - for every correct answer to a question i give, i’ll take a piece of my clothes off. deal?”

chris swallows hard, his eyes wide as he nods. he isn’t used to you being the one calling the shots, and he can already feel his dick twitching at the thought. “y-yeah. that’s cool, that’s cool.”

you smile as you watch the brunette not-so-subtly re-adjust his shorts and return to his book, looking even more engaged than before. this time, he actually studies the text, taking in as much information as his brain will hold. before he even realizes, forty five minutes have gone by, and he’s finished the chapter.

he looks up, turning to you, closing the book. “okay, i’m ready. hit me.”

a grin creeps across your face, sitting up straight as you turn to face chris. “tell me about jamestown.”

chris inhales, closing his eyes as he recalls the paragraphs upon paragraphs he just read. “it was the first colony.”

you smile, nodding for him to continue.

“it was in virginia. john smith, like, ran it. he taught all the settlers how to farm and shit so the colony would survive.” he says, looking to you for reassurance almost, and exhales happily when he sees you smiling and nodding.

“good job,” you say in a sultry voice, your hands crossed across your chest, toying with the ends of your shirt, “tell me more about the early colonies.”

chris’ eyes go wide as he watches you tease him, his erection growing more and more as he tries to focus.

“there was a fuck ton in new england. plymouth was the big one, that was here in mass. they came on the mayflower and wanted to be separated from the church. so, uh, they became puritans.”

you can’t help but smile. you feel like a proud parent watching their kid walk for the first time. you life your shirt over your head, revealing your laced bra, leaving very little to chris’ imagination. he swallows hard, eyes raking over you and your body, his dick fully hard now and poking up against his sweat shorts.

“my eyes are up here chris,” you smile slyly, leaning forward to tilt his chin back up to you. “tell me about the puritans.”

chris swallows hard, slowly bringing his eye back up to you, breathing heavily. you could tell this was really getting to him, watching as he tried to think of something other than your tits. “they didn’t want to be a part of the church of england anymore. they wanted to, like, purify it or whatever.”

“or whatever?” you smirked, cocking your head to the side, “i don’t think ‘or whatever’ will pass you on a test.”

he just stares at you blankly, sitting there topless at his desk, before processing what you had just told him. he shakes his head, trying to focus. “yeah, um, they didn’t agree with the church of england. they thought it was too catholic, and they wanted to make their own practice.”

you grinned nodding your head. “good job.” you tell him seductively, standing up slowly as you maintain eye contact. your hands reach around to the back of your pleated skirt, unzipping it and letting it pool around your ankles. you reveal your lace and frilly panties that match your bra, chris’ eyes going wide. you sit back down, only this time on his lap, his clothed dick pressed against you.

you smile at him, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “you remembering okay?”

his face has no color as he nods, his throat going dry. “yeah,” he stammers, “keep ‘em coming.”

you dip your head down, leaving feather-like kisses up his neck, stopping when you get to his ear, biting the lobe softly before speaking quietly again. “one more question, then i’m all yours, think you can do it?”

chris shudders against you, nodding his head as you press a few more kisses to his neck, pulling away as you look down at him. “what was the mayflower compact?”

he closes his eyes, his mind buzzing with the thought of you as it goes blank. he tries, he really does, to remember what the hell you just asked him. but the only thing swirling around his head right now was you sitting in his lap half naked. he looks up at you, shaking his head. “i can’t remember.” he says softly.

“no?” you pout teasingly, beginning to climb off his lap, “guess i need to put something back on.”

“wait,” he replies, a little too quickly, pulling you back on to his lap by your hips, “i know it, lemme think.”

you grin, watching his eyes screw shut again, racking his brain on what it possibly could be. “that … that was the contract, right? that all the settlers signed when they got to plymouth?”

“are you asking me or telling me?” you grin, running your hand down his chest, playing with the strings of his hoodie as you leaned in close.

“telling you.” he whispered, eyes flicking from your own down to your lips. he leans in, about to press his mouth to yours when you pull away.

“what was the significance of it?”

“fuck i don’t know,” chris whines, furrowing his brows while he looks up at you, “it was to make laws, all the settlers signed it to agree to be civil.”

you giggled, finally giving in and pressing your lips to chris’ and sighing softly. he was quick to try and deepen the kiss, having grown so needy from the thirty minutes of teasing you’d just put him through. chris’ hands roamed across your hips and ass, squeezing the flesh roughly. you decided to let chris take control as you opened your mouth slightly, letting him explore its insides as his tongue swirled around yours.

you moaned into his mouth, arms wrapped around his neck while you pressed your chest against chris’ and leaned back slightly. you could tell he was desperate from the way he was grinding your hips against his, and began to trail kisses down his neck. you sucked and licked at the skin, leaving small dark love bites in your wake. chris made no attempts to conceal his noises, soft moans and whines escaping his lips as your lips made their round across his neck, your hips sure to have bruises where his fingers dug into you.

“tell me what you want.” you sighed into his ear, slowly grinding your hips down against his clothed erection. you kissed and nipped at the spot behind chris’ ear, earning a quiet moan.

“your mouth, ma, need you to suck me.” chris whispered, tilting his head to its side to give you better access to his neck. you pulled away with a grin plastered across your lips, eyes flicking up and down his face.

“you want my mouth?” you repeated in a teasing tone, leaning in to hover your lips above chris’. “you think you worked hard enough today to deserve it?”

he nodded frantically, damn near ready to beg you if he had to. “please baby, i wanna feel your pretty lips around me.”

between his dick rutting against your heat and the noises he was making, you were already soaked. but, right now was about chris, and giving him his reward. you began to slowly slide off of his lap and onto the ground, perched on your knees in front of chris. you looked up at him with wide eyes, not looking away as you teasingly ran your hands up his thighs. he was a whining mess, eager for you. your fingers played with the waistband of his shorts, steadily pulling them down his legs and pooling them around his ankles.

chris was practically rock hard at this point, feeling like he could cum from the slightest of touches from you. he sighed shakily as he felt your nails delicately trace his bulge over his navy boxers, murmuring to him softly.

“you’ve been working so hard lately,” you spoke in a whispered tone, “you want me to help relieve from stress, hm?”

“mhm, yeah.” chris groaned, his head thrown back as his hands came up to cup your face, thumbs tracing your jawline. you tilted your head slightly, leaving a few pecks to chris’ hands before turning your attention back to his dick. you sighed gently, leaning in to press open mouth kisses to chris’ cock, tongue occasionally darting out across the fabric.

you pulled back, flicking your eyes back up to his and you flashed him a sly smile. your fingers dipping below the band of his boxers and finally pulled them down. chris’ dick instantly sprung up against his abdomen, his tip red and leaking, aching for your touch.

a small moan escaped your lips as you took his cock in your hand, thumb running across the slit as you smeared precum all along his shaft. you leaned down, placing a small and quick kiss to his tip as you sighed, “god chris you’re so big.”

a strangled groan ripped from chris’ throat as he peered down at you with hooded eyes and parted lips, awaiting your next move. you licked a long stripe up the length of his dick while your gaze was locked with his, maintaining eye contact as you took him in your mouth.

chris’ hands were instantly threaded through your hair, holding your head as you sucked on his dick, tongue swirling around the tip. you began to bob your head on his shaft, deep throating as best you could and jerking what you couldn’t fit. his head was tossed back in pleasure, his chest heaving while he guided you up and down his length.

“mm, come on mama, you can take it all, breath through your nose.” chris moaned, wrapping your hair in a ponytail as he fucked your face, his dick repeatedly hitting the back of your throat. tears pricked your eyes as you inhaled deeply, your nose nearly pressing against chris’ stomach. your tongue repeatedly twisted and licked around chris' cock while you continued to suck, the motions of your mouth nearing chris to his orgasm.

chris gutted a choked moan, his voice cracking. “thaaat’s it, pretty girl, gettin’ me so close.”

you let out a soft sigh around him, sending vibrations through chris’ body. that was enough to send chris over the edge, a low grown coming from his chest as hot, white spurts of cum shot down your throat. you pulled off of his cock with a small pop, your lips wet as you stuck your tongue out to show him you had swallowed it all.

his hands loosened from around your hair to grip your chin, leaning down and pulling your face close to his. he pressed his mouth to yours, kissing you deeply as he tasted himself on your tongue. he pulled away slowly, a faint smile playing on his lips and he looked at you. “thank you.”

“don’t mention it,” you giggled, kissing his cheek quickly, “now, how do you think you’ll do on the test next week?”

“what test?”

© mattscoquette

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ i am sooooooo happy with how this came out fr !! i started writing this in august i think ?? i truly love this “series” sm i think i might make fratboy!chris an au ….. but anyway thank u guys sm for all the love and being so patient with this !! sry if i tagged anyone on the taglist twice i don’t expect to have so many people on it but thank u SO MUCH !!!!! ik ive been talking ab making a part two to yale for so long now im happy its done :) i hope u all enjoyed <3

[highvern]

Red Card

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x f!reader

Genre: smut/fluff, non-idol au, 80s au (aesthetics only), childhood friends to lovers

Warnings: drinking, weed use (not reader tho), skinny dipping, non-graphic injuries (sprained knee), mingyu gets a booboo and reader kisses it better, oral (m & f receiving), face sitting, penetrative sex, protected sex. all of em's biases in one fic

Length: ~12k

Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE WIND BENEATH MY WINGS MS @gyuswhore EVERYONE TELL HER HAPPY BIRTHDAY thank you for dealing with all my tomfoolery on a daily basis. i hope this is a nice treat after the trenches of academia. thank you @haologram and @tomodachiii for beta reading!

Summary: Mingyu's been there through everything. From childhood to now. What happens when he gets hurt and someone else has to step in and play the hero?

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

You’re going to kill your roommate.

Maybe not this second, when you’re still waking up and the sun has barely started to filter through the blinds and the alarm clock is blaring in your ear. It’s difficult to strangle someone when he’s smothering you with his entire body weight, completely unaware of the fact you can’t breathe because of it.  There's heat and then there's sweating out of your skin because your roommate doesn’t understand ‘what’s mine is yours’ only extends to the food in the fridge.

You’ll strangle Mingyu one day, but right now you’re late for work. 

“Get off!” you fume, pushing at his shoulder with all your strength. 

Mingyu smacks his lips sleepily and burrows further into your neck. You pinch his nipple between your finger and twist.

“Ow! What the fuck?” he screams, shuffling off you and into the wall, eyes wild and clutching his chest like a scandalized old woman

Rolling off the mattress, you navigate the dark of your room looking for your work clothes. “How many times have I told you not to sleep in here?”

“My room is so hot!” Mingyu whines, digging his face into the pillow.

“Yeah, well now my room is too.” You find the floral green and pink dress of your Pier Club uniform. Facing away from Mingyu, you swiftly change into it and look for the matching skirt. It’s offensive, even in the dim predawn. “Do you have work today?”

Mingyu stuffs himself further beneath the blankets, only the very center of his face visible. “Yeah. Covering for JJ.”

“Get up then. We’re gonna be late.”

Mingyu scrambles to his room to get dressed. The bathroom is wedged between his room and Soonyoung's, so you hear a thud, and a curse followed by another louder thud and a grunt of pain. He joins you in the bathroom, dressed in his uniform: pink polo, white pants, and white golf shoes. Like an incredibly tall and sleepy flamingo.

Two people becomes four in a blink, each of you reaching over and under for whatever is needed from the small shelf in the mirror. Your elbow meets Dokyeom’s eye, and someone steps on your foot. 

Soonyoung is pouring coffee into a mug in the kitchen, foot tapping against the linoleum while Dokyeom rushes around trying to find his pants. You’ve lived like this for two years. It doesn’t even phase you.

“If you’re not in the truck in five you’re walking!” Mingyu calls and disappears.

One by one you file out. You detour for the kitchen. The toaster takes two minutes and the coffee pot four but you’re still faster than the other two and get an actual seat in the cab of the truck. There's really no decent way to get in and out of a truck in a skirt anyway so you take the small blessing that comes in the form of cracked leather seats and a door you have to roll down the window to open from the outside.

Dokyeom chases the green Ford down the driveway six minutes later and Mingyu slows down enough for him to hop into the flatbed next to Soonyoung. You’re only two minutes late in the end.

The club is packed with guests all day. By the time dinner service is over and you’ve counted your tips, all you want is to go home and pass out but it’s Seungcheol’s birthday. Despite what he explicitly asked everyone for (an Atari 7800), there’s a bonfire at the beach and if Mingyu is there then you are too. Someone has to pile him and the other boys into the bed of his truck and get them home.

The private section of the beach reserved for locals only is packed. Someone blasts a Bowie track, drunk party goers dancing around the massive bonfire while others relax on logs or sit in the sand and watch. A few people stroll down by the water, splashing through the shallows in the dark.

You stay planted in one of the few real chairs, sipping on a beer while your roommates do who knows what. It’s not that you don’t like parties; but your feet hurt and more than a few people stiffed you today so you’re tired. And now, after a few drinks you’re tired and drunk. But no one is ready to leave so it’s either wait or walk and the five miles back to the house is daunting enough you stay firmly planted.

“Ooo, got any more of those for me?” Jeonghan plants himself in the sand next to you, reaching for the cooler.

You slam the lid down on his hand and pull it out of his reach. “Fuck off, you still owe me for last time.”

He tries cozying up to you; pretending the arm around your shoulder is meant as a sweet hug and not a means to get his hand back in the ice box behind you. “Look, I didn’t drink your vodka. But if I did, it tasted like shit.”

“I’m not talking about the vodka, I’m talking about when you fucked some bimbo in my bed!”

He’s already drunk on someone else’s booze; Seungcheol’s no doubt.  

“Oh. That.” Jeonghan scratched the back of his neck. “Listen, it was a big misunderstanding.”

“What misunderstanding? Your dick couldn’t stay in your pants for three more feet to fuck in Soonyoung’s room?”

Jeonghan balks, eyes glazed in the fire light. “Have you tried having sex on a waterbed? It’s not easy.”

Mingyu, as always, is honed in on your bad mood and comes up the beach smiling, hair a mess in the wind. You don’t stare and focus on slapping Jeonghan’s hands away. “Everything okay?”

“I’m gonna kill Jeonghan,” you mumble. 

“I asked her for a beer.”

Mingyu arches a brow. “Didn’t you fuck some girl in her bed last time we had a party?”

“You’re focusing on the wrong thing. She is drunk and acting like the beer czar. Where is the hospitality?”

“If I give you one will you leave?”

“Yes,” Jeonghan responds immediately.

Mingyu passes him two beers and snaps the cooler shut before the older man can get greedy. Jeonghan salutes Mingyu and then sticks his tongue out at you before leaving for the other side of the fire.

“Eat shit and die!” you call. You love Jeonghan but he’s got a way of grating on your last never. Especially after the girl he hooked up with stained your sheets with fake tan even if he offered to buy you a new bed and sheets.

Jeonghan waves the hand full of beers over his head. “Eat shit and live!”

“Alright, let’s get you home,” Mingyu chuckles. 

In his truck, the radio hums one of his fifty million cassettes. He only breaks the comfy lull at a deserted intersection. “One to ten, how mad would you be if we took a detour?”

“At least five, but it depends on where.” You eye him sceptically. Truly, all you want is to get home, shower, and sleep. But Mingyu had a way of convincing you to go along with whatever plan he’d cooked up.

“Chocolate shakes at Joe’s and then the lookout.”

It’s hard saying no to that. Even harder when Mingyu stares at you like a hopeful puppy. 

Your eyes roll. “Okay, maybe like a two.”

“I’ll get you chili cheese fries.”

“Negative one.”

Mingyu turns right, humming along to the next song the entire way to the drive in diner. Your eyes are heavier each minute but greasy food sounds fantastic and your grumbling stomach keeps you from falling asleep against the door. 

Joe’s sits in all its neon glory, like a little beacon of light in the otherwise quiet beach town. Most of the picnic tables littered outside are covered in people; out of towners, teenage locals with sun bleached hair and frizzy perms, old couples who’ve been coming since milkshakes were invented. Almost all of the workers rushing through the diner in red polos are still in highschool and then there’s Vernon manning the cash register at the window like the captain of a ship. He doesn’t even look like he works here; white cut off tee and neon green swim trunks don’t really match the fifties aesthetic but no one says anything, even the owner.

Vernon doesn’t bother ringing the order up, yelling at the line cooks it’s on the house. He thrusts two paper cups and a greasy paper bag across the counter and greets the next customer in line.

Twenty minutes later Mingyu is parking his truck on the side of the road and trailing across the dunes to the even more secluded beach, one only the most local townies know about. Since most of those are few and far between, it’s just you two planted in the sand, chilli cheese fries and chocolate shakes filling your bellies in no time.

“I think I’m gonna get Joe’s logo tattooed on me.”

“He’ll probably leave the place to you if you did.”

“Vernon is literally named in his will, I’ve seen it.” Mingyu lays back in the sand and closes his eyes.

The waves crash on along the shore, the perfect soundtrack to lull you closer to sleep now that your belly is filled. Beneath you, the sand is just warm enough to be cozy against the chill rolling off the ocean.

“Wanna swim?” he asks.

Sinking deeper, eyes closed, you’re only thinking about how amazing your bed would be right at this very moment. “I want to go to sleep.”

“Studies show you sleep better after swimming.” Mingyu rolls up to his feet, grabbing you in an attempt to get you to agree. He knows you will. Wherever one is the other is sure to follow. It’s been that way since you two were in diapers and Mingyu started walking seconds after you only to chase you around the living room.

You’re deadweight in his arms as you respond,“How would you know? You didn’t go to college.”

“I’m just academically inclined.”

“My apologies,” you gasp. A swim does sound nice for your aching muscles. It’s been so long since you just enjoyed the water. Last time you swam was when you picked up a life guarding shift and an old man screamed bloody murder because he didn’t know how to swim; never mind he was in the shallow end of the pool. 

You finally rise to your feet and shrug off your shirt.

Mingyu joins. He doesn’t shy away as he drops his pants, his shirt floating to the ground next to it. You don’t stare. There’s no need when you’ve seen him nearly naked a million times. But you do catch him staring when you bend over to fold your shorts.

“What?”

Blinking out of his daze, Mingyu bolts for the ocean. “Last one in the water is a rotten egg!”

“You fucking cheater!” you scream and sprint after him. 

He’s far out by the time you catch up, where the waves are just starting to curl in on themselves. You both bob along to their rhythm as the tide pulls in and out. 

Mingyu dives beneath the water, breaching with his hair sticking to his face. His lips are wet and slick. Mingyu pulls you a little, brings you into his chest so the next wave you coast over together. 

You want to kiss him. 

It’s not a new thought; doesn’t surprise you one bit. His mouth probably still tastes like that last sip of chocolate shake. The first and only time you’ve ever kissed Mingyu you were both two out of it to actually appreciate it. It was poetically cruel to give your first kiss away to your best friend only for him to forget it the next day.

It’s easy to ignore the urge to kiss him. You’ve wanted to kiss him again for years. Touching him is an entirely different matter. You can touch Mingyu as much as you like, he likes it when you do and pouts when you don’t. You rarely shy away from a chance to let him touch you either. It’s never enough though.

You twist around him, clinging to his back. Ankles locked across his stomach, Mingyu pulls your hands in front of him and holds your hands; his thumb traces the knob of your wrist over and over in tiny circles. He definitely feels the way your nipples harden through your bra but has the courtesy to ignore it; lets you hide from the cold water in the curve of his neck.

“You need a haircut,” you say. You tug on one of the long locks hanging at eye level, and Mingyu shivers. With so much bare skin pressed against each other you feel the goosebumps blooming on his skin, and when you pull again to see what’ll happen he snatches your hand away and changes the subject.

“Are you gonna be good for the Open this weekend?”

“I’ll be fine,” you yawn. Mingyu pulls your legs tighter around his waist, bobbing you both amongst the waves. It’s dangerously relaxing. “I’m not losing to Seungkwan again this year.”

“We’re not losing to Seungkwan this year.”

“Damn straight.”

You float in silence. Mingyu keeps both of you above water. When you signal you’re ready to go he carries you out of the water, right up to where your clothes lay. He doesn’t let you down as he scoops them up and goes for his car. 

“Show off,” you mumble.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

You’re deposited on the ground next to the driver’s side door. Apparently he can’t hold you and dig up the spare towels he keeps packed beneath the seats. There’s no point in putting your clothes back on over your wet underwear so you ride back to the house wrapped tightly in a towel and Mingyu’s around his waist, chest completely bare.

You blast through a shower, done before the crappy water heated even has time to reach full potential which isn’t much because rent is cheap and your landlord cheaper. But you’re clean and that’s all that matters before you dress and crawl into bed, the door of your room still open. You catch Mingyu passing by on the way back to his room, towel around his neck and the cut sweat shorts he swears don’t need to be thrown out hanging low on his hips. 

“Where are you going?” you call. 

His head pops in, covered in shadow from the hall light. “You said, literally this morning might I add, ‘sleep in my room one more time and I’ll kill you.’”

“Yeah well,” you huff. “My feet hurt. So you can sleep in here if you give me a massage.”

He does and he doesn’t even complain while doing it. Mingyu closes your bedroom door, locks you both in the dark; sits at the foot of your bed, tugging your feet across his lap and setting to work. His thumb digs into the arch of your foot, malting all of your muscles into straight goo. You’ve never been more happy for his overly abundant body heat as he works his hands up your calves. He’s frustratingly attentive as you shiver and wiggle in blissful agony.

In the dark of your room, brain hazy with fatigue, you don’t care you’re moaning at the pressure of his palms working the knots out of your muscles. Mingyu doesn’t acknowledge it but he does knead a little bit hard and you sigh from relief. And then the bastard digs his thumb into that place behind your knee that's painfully ticklish.

“You asshole!” you scream, scrambling away. 

“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted a massage?” he laughs. You try to kick him but he catches your foot and pins it to his stomach. 

“I swear—Mingyu! Stop!”

Thankfully, he does after a few more pleas. You can’t even see him in the dark except for the reflection of the moon through your blinds that clues you into his silhouette. But you know he’s satisfied because he starts humming while massaging once again. It’s nice. You start nodding off to the soft strength of his hands and the rich sound of his voice.

Mingyu prides himself on doing a thorough job in everything so once your ankles and calves are worked into submission his hands reach higher. Almost like he doesn’t realize exactly where he’s going; who he’s touching as he grips just above your knee. Your legs part and Mingyu keeps going. 

Your best friend is beautiful and you love him. Of course, you do. Like every other time you’ve been turned on by him, you staunchly pretend it isn’t happening. Make up some excuse; biology, you’re in love with him. the fact you haven’t been laid in nearly a year, you’re in love with Mingyu, you’ve been drinking, your best friend has his hand beneath the hem of your pajama shorts and you’re in love with him.

“Good?” he asks.

Mingyu lingers there for a second. Then another one. You decide feigning sleep is the less awkward option than begging him to finger you until you can’t see straight. It doesn’t take much pretending; you’re bone dead tired and the second you let it filter in it takes control. Ever the gentleman, Mingyu removes his hands and climbs up to lay next to you.

You actually fall asleep curled against his back. It’s still too hot even with the ceiling fan on high so you both lay above the covers. 

The next morning you wake up the same as always, legs tangled, his chest to your back because Mingyu doesn’t understand personal space – especially your personal space. It’s fine. You’re used to it. It’s your day off which means it’s too early to be awake because it’s still dark in your room. If you try really hard you know you can fall back asleep until noon.

But then you feel exactly what woke you up.

Mingyu has a boner.

You reach back and pinch his side to wake him. You know he’s at least semi-conscious because he whines and tries to hide in your hair as you admonish him. “Get your dick off me.”

“Ignore it, he’ll go away,” his lips smack next to your ear.

“Mingyu,” you whine. “It’s gross.”

He falls back asleep without moving anywhere. If you had pushed at him he would’ve rolled over and given you his back to cuddle up against but you don’t so he doesn’t. You try not to think about how big he is. Or how your underwear are still a little sticky from last night. Or the fact your shorts rode up during the night and the only thing separating your ass from his cock is those damn threadbare sweatshorts. There is also the placement of his hand just below your boobs. Over your shirt because the universe isn’t that cruel.

It’s fine. It’s not the first time he’s gotten hard while sharing a bed. The first place you two rented - freshly eighteen and just starting to have a world without parents breathing down your necks - there was only enough money between you to split one bedroom and have enough money to afford a bed. Thankfully, Mingyu is the cleanest person you know so it worked without bloodshed but it left some very uncomfortable moments in the morning when you’d wake up from dirty dreams about your childhood crush only to find his face a few inches away. Or the other, more awkward, days when Mingyu’s body reminded him he was a hormonal teenager sharing a bed with a girl with zero supervision.

You both refuse to talk about it. Or the times either of you walked in on the other masturbating. 

True to his word, his dick softens against your ass and you try not to be a little disappointed. A world of possibilities if you weren’t terrified of ruining a life long friendship. You could roll over and kiss him. And if he let you kiss him then you’d want to touch him. If you touched him then he’d probably touch you back. In all the years you’d know him you didn’t take Mingyu for a selfish person; or a selfish lover. If he reduced you to a puddle with a simple massage last night then what else was he capable of? 

But you don’t want meaningless satisfaction. You want Mingyu. Everyday, all the time. One hundred percent completely yours. 

Eventually your alarm clock blares and Mingyu rolls out of bed; leaving you all alone as he heads out to work with the other two. You fall asleep once the front door slams shut.

Ten hours later, Mingyu isn’t home. No problem. He probably got roped into doing an extra shift or the last group he caddied for insisted on treating him to a drink. It happens. Often. 

You don’t worry until hour twelve rolls around and Soonyoung and Dokyeom aren’t home either. The restaurant  is closed by this hour, the last tables cleared out and reset for the next day. The pool is closed too. One of them should be home.

The house is too quiet without them. You try reading. Watching TV. Listening to music. Cleaning the kitchen. You try everything you can think of to make that horrible feeling in your stomach go away but it doesn’t.

Then the phone rings.

“Hello?”

The line cracks with a familiar voice. “Hey, it’s DK. Umm…”

“Where the hell are you guys?” you ask.

“Promise me you won’t freak.”

“You saying that pretty much guarantees I’m gonna freak.”

“Okay, listen, everything is fine. Mingyu is okay but—”

“But what?”

“He hurt himself on the course today and we’re at the hospital. Hoshi is on his way to get you right now.”

“What the hell happened?”

“Something twisted wrong or something, I don’t know I flunked out of med school.”

It takes Soonyoung fifteen minutes to get to the house but once he does you feel a little better. You don’t even get to ask before he’s talking.

“He’s fine,” he promises. “Just doped up on painkillers.”

“Did they say what’s wrong?”

“Something with his knee, nothing super serious but he’s supposed to stay off it for like a month or something.”

Soonyoung looks guilty as you take the keys and leave him behind but he has to be up in four hours when the rest of you don’t.

The hospital is nearly deserted this late at night, a few nurses in the parking lot smoking during their break but otherwise you're pretty much alone. Inside the reception area is all sterile lighting and pleather chairs in pastel pink and teal.

A woman in scrubs and feathered blowout sits at the desk answering phone calls and scratching through paperwork.

“I’m here for Mingyu. Mingyu Kim.”

“Room eight.”

You thank her and head back to search for wherever your best friend is holed up. It takes only a few walks around the corridor because unless he aged fifty years, the elderly woman in room eight is not him.

You find him and Dokyeom with their eyes glued to the TV, Scooby Doo reruns stealing their attention. You hover in the doorway.

Mingyu has his leg wrapped from mid-shin up his thigh, knee resting on a stack of pillows. His eyes are glazed from whatever pills the hospital staff gave him before your arrival.

Someone clears their throat behind you. By the scrubs you assume she’s the doctor. “Another friend of Mr. Kim’s?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Is he okay?”

“He sprained his knee. Nasty work but not fatal.”

“How?”

She shrugs, pen clicking in her hand. “Over use, stretched too far either side. Good news, he doesn’t need surgery.”

“So he’ll be okay?”

“Since he didn’t tear any ligaments I’d say a few weeks until he recovers, longer if he doesn’t rest properly. And I mean actually rest. At least a week in bed, and then two on crutches. Maybe three but he’ll be okay.”

Mingyu is fine. As fine as he can be with a bum leg for the next few weeks but fine nonetheless. You feel like you can actually breathe again, the anxious part of your brain proclaiming the worst finally silent.

“Alright, thank you.”

Weight off your chest, you enter the room. Dokyeom sees you first and bows out. He knows you’re planning to rip Mingyu a new one. Or cry. You don’t really do well when he’s hurt or vice versa.

Mingyu only notices your presence when you’re standing next to the bed, arms crossed, breath shaky.

“You’re mad,” he whispers, chin tucked to his chest like an upset toddler.

“I’m not mad.”

“Really?” He sounds hopeful, dumb puppy eyes round and wet like he’s ready to cry at the first sound of your disapproval.

“I was mad when you broke your arm because Jungkook talked you into boogie boarding drunk. I was mad when Wonwoo gave you a black eye from his Atari controller. I was mad when you, tweedle dee and tweedle dumb almost flooded the house. Now, I’m furious. What the fuck were you thinking?”

You’re mad because he’s in a hospital bed and you thought he died. And it terrified you.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!”

You break, shoulders sagging in defeat. It isn’t his fault. Freak accident, an overdue inevitable. “I know, I’m sorry. I just… you really scared me.”

“Do you want a hug?”

“Your leg is broken and you’re offering me a hug?”

He stares at you, eyes pretty and dark with huge pupils. “Dude, I’m so high you could tell me you crashed my truck and I wouldn’t care.”

“A hug would be nice.”

It’s uncomfortable to bend at the waist but Mingyu makes it worth it. Sweeps you into his chest, doesn’t comment on the hot tears that damp his neck and shirt but that might have to do with the fact he’s out of his mind. But he also brushes his hand through your hair and kisses the top of your head so it isn’t so bad.

“You didn’t crash my truck, did you?”

“No,” you snort.

You soak in it for a few minutes, let Scooby Doo fill the silence while you sniffle into his collar for a little while longer. And then you're shoving it all away with the realization Mingyu can’t work if he can’t get around the resort.

“Doctor said you’re out of work for at least a week. And after that you’ll probably be stuck in the laundry room because I doubt Jin wants you hobbling around the cabana with crutches.”

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“Yeah. Fuck,” you agree. “I’ll figure something out, take more shifts. Josh needs more surf instructors too so I can pick those up. Hoshi probably owes one of us money.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It's just gonna be a tight winter is all.”

“What about the Open?”

“Jungkook can fill in for you. If we win, he takes half of your share. It’s better than nothing.”

He mutters something you don’t hear. Probably more high protests and apologies. It smells like antiseptic.

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

It takes three nurses, Dokyeom, a wheelchair, and an infinite reserve of your patience to get Mingyu in the bed of his truck. His knee is bandaged in the split so thickly he can’t move it and he’s too tall to sit in the passenger seat with his leg straight so the truckbed is the only place for him to go. You try to drive responsibly but it’s late and you're burnt out from a long day.

Back home, Hoshi is passed out in his room, the stink of weed warning you not to wake him. Dokyeom offers to help but thankfully, even high on painkillers, Mingyu acclimates to crutches enough to get from outside to his room.

“You smell,” you say to cut the tension.

“How am I supposed to shower like this?” He gestures to his leg. You know the warning signs of his temper. Mingyu will pretend it doesn’t bother him but it clearly does; having to ask for your help to do something as simple as shower.

“I could hose you down in the yard.”

He pouts. The meds must be wearing off at this point. “I’m sure that would make you feel better.”

“Nah, I’d be the one who has to clean you off the driveway afterwards.” You shake your head. The bathroom is small, the shower stall smaller but Mingyu needs a shower. “Give me a second.”

One of the plastic lawn chairs from the back porch fits perfectly in the stall. You lay out everything he could need: soap, towels, a trash bag to wrap over the stint. Then you head back towards your room to get him.

“Alright, let’s go.”

Mingyu hobbles alongside you, easily maneuvering the hallway but the bathroom is more difficult. There isn’t space for his crutches so he slumps into your side, way heavier than the time you had to drag him home higher than a kite. 

It’s claustrophobic with him basically on top of you but he’s capable of underdressing when you park him against the counter and focus on angling the shower head so he doesn't end up accidentally waterboarded. 

“Underwear stays on. I don’t want to see your dick.”

“Yeah, well, he’s pretty scared of you right now anyway.”

After helping him into the chair you leave him to his business with strict instructions to yell for you when he’s done. You use the time to clean your room. Clothes off the floor, bed made so he can sleep with a few extra pillows you snagged from his bed where you’ll be sleeping.

He’s got a bum leg, the least you could do is give him the better room.

You do everything the nurses told you. An ice pack and a hot water bottle all sit on the side table ready for Mingyu after you fish him out of the tub.

A yell of your name is your cue.

Mingyu sits soaked and pathetic. He couldn’t reach the towels you laid out, so you have to hand them to him. Turns out it’s also more difficult getting him out than in, you have to touch and pull and push him. His skin lingers with warmth from the water and a little slippery so it’s even harder. Mingyu is no help at all. A Great Dane who thinks he’s a Chihuahua.

He’s out like a light once he’s in your bed. Dead asleep beneath the covers with his leg sticking out to the side. You tuck him in extra tight, snagging the forgotten provisions and returning them to the kitchen. 

You come back to grab clothes and leave but Mingyu sits awake with the covers pulled back for you to join.

“Come on,” he beckons.

“I’m not sleeping in here.”

His eyes shoot open, attempting to sit up, “Why not?” 

“Your knee—” you start.

“Let me worry about my knee.”

Sure. Like that’ll happen.

“Physically impossible for me not to worry.”

“The doctor said it’s bad for me to be lonely.” He pulls the covers back again and your chest aches. 

“She did not.”

“She did too,” he grunts. 

“Fine. Close your eyes, I need to change.”

He zips them shut. Throws an arm over his face for dramatic effect. You rush into a clean shirt (his) and shorts and dive beneath the covers.

“You’re so far away,” Mingyu whines. 

“Mingyu stop!”

He doesn’t. He uses all those muscles against you and drags you up his chest. “Come here.”

“Happy?”

“Yep.”

Your head is cradled heavy on his chest, the argument dying out. He falls asleep quickly and you follow right behind.

In the morning, Mingyu complains about his leg until you leave for the last minute shift you begged off Chan. The next two days are the same. Mingyu stays on the couch or tucked away in your room while everyone else scrambles around him. Until the weekend comes giving all of you time off.

Saturday is the Open. The biggest doubles volleyball tournament on the beach, boasting a first place prize of two grand. Seungkwan and Seungcheol won the last two years and never let either of you forget it for standing a foot below them on the podium, firmly in second and a thousand dollars poorer than them.

Two years in second place buys you into the semi-finals. Thank god, because Jungkook and you haven’t played together in years and he’s an even bigger ball hog than you remember.

“Talk!” Mingyu calls from his chair like a washed up coach. You argued with him for hours over whether or not him coming to the beach was a good idea given he’s done everything but what the doctor recommended. But he’d be damned if you beat Seungkwan and he wasn’t there to gloat about it.

Dokyeom and Soonyoung serve as his assistants, hitting over the net while you and Jungkook scramble to dig every single one up like it’s do or die.

“That one was clearly mine!” Jungkook argues.

“It was going out of bounds!”

“It was close!”

It’s been like this all morning. While the other courts are playing to qualify you and Jungkook try not to rip each other's throats out. It’ll take a miracle to win a single point let alone the two matches you need to win.

You just want the day over with so you can drown your sorrows in a chocolate shake and think about how satisfying it would be to launch it at your friend’s head at warp speed.

The first game is hard and fast. Jungkook saves your ass more times than you can count, committed to winning even if it sends him crashing into the line of spectators sitting courtside. It doesn’t help you win the first set one bit. Jaehyun successfully blocks nearly every attempt Jungkook makes at the net and the ones that do slide through fly out of bounds.

You don't take well to failure and neither does Jungkook. 

Somewhere around the third rally of the second set you two find a cohesive back and forth. Jungkook digs a cut shot, you set him up and he’s there with a kill. It happens again. The third time Jaehyun gives up on sending it deep and drops the ball right over the net and the miracle you needed happens because you get it up enough for Jungkook to return it and earn the point. 

It starts to feel good. Adrenaline lifting you to the next level, vision narrowed down to you and the game. Lung straining, muscles burning, your skin hot from the sun. Your swimsuit leaves plenty of skin exposed to collect more sand with each impact on the ground. The wind picks up slightly, and turns the sound of waves and the crowd into one dull murmur..

You and Jungkook win two sets to one.

He’s sweaty and covered in sand when he sweeps you into a hug, a victory cry loud on his lips. It isn’t the final match but it’s the small victories that count. Jungkook loves winning, he only likes you and mostly for Mingyu’s sake. The friend of my boyfriend's friend is my friend too, or something like that.

Mingyu and Jungkook are the boyfriends.

On the side lines, Mingyu looks happy. Tired but happy. He’s like a king holding court, friends and strangers circling around him for an ounce of attention. Most of the people at the resort haven’t seen him since he busted his knee and check he’s okay. The others are out of towners attracted to a pretty boy with a sad cast and tendency to talk a mile a minute with anyone who’d listen. 

You push them all out of the way and celebrate with him.

“We did it!”

“Yeah,” he nods. That’s all the celebration you get from him before he’s on to the next game set to start in five minutes. “You and Jungkook need to keep Kwan from hitting. Serve short, hit deep.”

It's weird but you don’t focus on it. You need water and to get back on the court.

“Got it.” 

Seungkwan doesn’t shit talk. It’s mostly Seungcheol at the net trying to bait you into an argument while Jungkook readies to serve.

“How’s your boyfriend?” he jabs.

“How’s yours?” You focus on the sand beneath your feet, the breeze off the wave. He’s been trying to get under your skin with that line for years. It won’t work now. 

First point, you and Jungkook.

The next five, Seungkwan and Seungcheol.

The score goes back and forth, a slim margin for error as the number climbs closer to twenty-one. 

You hit the next set, aiming for the wide gap between Seungkwan and the line. The ball sliced across the net, Seungcheol misreading it by just a hair and the momentum of his block swinging him the opposite direction. It’s perfect. It heads straight for the line and lands without Seungkwan able to save it in time. 

The crowd breaks into applause. The official blows his whistle…

And calls it out.

“That was a touch! Are you fucking blind?” Mingyu yells.

You wince at the next whistle as she flashes him a yellow card.

Fuck. 

He’s up at the perimeter of the court fuming, hands on his hips through his crutches. You march right up to him, identical scowl.

“Mingyu, I swear if you get a red card, I will shove my foot so far up your ass—”

The whistle blows and Seungkwan serves without waiting for you to be ready. It’s a rocket right where you should have been standing.

Seungkwan and Seungcheol take the first match by four points.

The second match starts worse. You’re out of rhythm, fuming at blowing the last set. Jungkook fills in the best he can and keeps you two from totaling blowing it. Fifteen to seventeen with your serve.

You pop it over the net, Seungkwan reading it easily. But a last second gust pushes it of course.

Ace.

Lucky isn’t as strongly on your side for the next serve but it’s good enough. Jungkook passes. With a quick set, he rises above the net, hanging midair. A quick snap of his arm delivers a hit neither opponents on the other side of the net can reach. The ball slams into the sand right before the line.

It’s tit for tat. One up one down. Your body hurts, covered in bruises from diving over and over again but you don’t stop. Jungkook doesn’t either.

Match point comes swiftly. Seungkwan tosses the ball in the air and unleashes a deep serve. It’s fast but you’re underneath it but the angle is wrong. Jungkook dumps it over the net out of Seungcheol’s reach but Seungkwan is there. 

No one’s giving an inch. Just when the ball nearly drops someone picks it up. Everyone plays ugly, scrappy. 

A break comes when Seungcheol passes too high, right on the net. Seungkwan knows it, you know it. You race to joust. Pushing with everything you’ve got until the ball gives. It falls to the sand.

On the other team's side.

Everything blurs. You tackle Jungkook to the ground, cheering. Your friends race onto the court shouting. There’s a dog pile someone has to pull you out of because you can’t breathe underneath them all but you don’t care. Your ears ring, eyes nearly shut from how wide you smile.

You’re carried away for the podium ceremony, Mingyu nowhere in sight. It feels pretty damn good being on top. The heavy weight of the gold medal keeps you grounded. But your best friend is missing and a part of you is gone with him.

You don’t find him until the after party at the locals only beach. He’s got a red cup and a scowl on the tailgate of his truck. 

“Where’d you go? I didn’t see you at the podium.”

“You seemed fine on your own.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he mumbles into his cup.

“Why are you being such a Debbie downer? We won!”

“You guys won. I got to sit there and watch.”

“Okay? You’re still five hundred richer than this morning.”

“Party over here?” Jungkook interrupts. He’s got a joint between his fingers and a beer bottle. “Before I forget, this is yours.”

He shoves an envelope into Mingyu’s hand, taking the open spot on the tailgate next to him before laying back and looking at the stars.

“I’m gonna grab another beer.”

Mingyu moves surprisingly fast when he wants to. Even with crutches on loose sand he’s back by his truck and waiting for you to leave.  

“What’s got sand in his swimsuit?” Jungkook asks. 

“He’s just… bummed about not playing. It’s fine.”

Jungkook snorts in disbelief. “You think that’s why he looks like a kicked puppy?”

“Then enlighten me, wise one.”

“Why do guys do anything?”

“Because you all lack basic brain function?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and takes another drink. “To impress girls.”

“I’ve seen your belching contests. Not exactly panty dropping material.”

“Okay obviously not that.”

You had no idea Mingyu meant to impress anyone today. He hadn’t mentioned it, usually he doesn’t need to. Some tourist in for the summer hanging off his every word gave clear intention where his interest laid but since his knee you saw all of zero prospects.

“You two are so fucking stupid,” Jungkoook snorts. “You, YN. He wanted to impress you.”

“That makes no sense.”

“He hasn’t had a real girlfriend since you two started living together.”

You take a long sip before answering.. “So? You haven’t had a real girlfriend ever.”

“Bitch.”

“Slut.”

“Mingyu wanted you two to win. Together,” he emphasises. “Because guys want to impress the girls they like.”

“Oh…oh.”

“Get it now?”

“How do you know?”

“If I have to have one more bro chat with him on how to tell you I’m going to take his crutches and beat him to death with them.”

“Got it.”

You despise the tiny part of you that screams like a little girl finding out her playground crush knows her name. He likes me! He likes me! She squeals, bubbling around your stomach like champagne. 

Drunk on the power itching at your fingertips, you turn to find Mingyu. He’s right where you know you’d find him, a log near the fire, tossing in tiny sticks and watching them disappear in the flames.

“Ready to leave?”

Mingyu nods and gets to his feet, crutches carrying him to his truck. You take the driver's seat and peel out of the lot. 

“How mad would you be if we took a detour?” you ask.

“I wanna go home,” he grunts, staring out the window.

“I want to celebrate with just you,” you share. “Please?”

He melts but clings to the stubborn tone. “Okay.”

Another night at the lookout except this time you’re the one cheering him up. You park his truck closer to the water, he can’t very well get in but you want him to be able to at least see the ocean. He hobbles around to the flatbed and plants his ass on the tailgate.

“I think I’m gonna swim.”

“Okay.”

You tug off your shirt, then your pants. Then your bra.

That’s what freezes Mingyu with bug eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Swimming,” you shrug. He catches your swim bottoms as you launch them at his chest. 

“Naked?” he squeaks.

“Who's gonna see?”

“Uhh, me?”

“So? Maybe I want you to.”

You step closer, hands on his spread thighs and squeeze. 

“What?”

Mingyu doesn’t look beneath your collarbone and you smirk.

“A little birdie told me you have a crush.”

His lips form around words but no sound comes out. Maybe you’re being unfair by standing between his legs completely naked, eying him expectantly.

“Do you?”

“I…” he chokes.

“Think about it,” you whisper. His lips are warm against yours, soft and yielding. Then, you turn to sprint towards the ocean.

Mingyu apparently comes back to himself quickly, sputtering and laughing as you disappear beneath the waves. “You can’t just do that!”

Late night swims aren’t as fun without him around to keep you warm. You dip under the water and come up with soaked hair. You only last five minutes before heading back to where he waits, all your nudity on display but Mingyu keeps his eyes on yours, beaming like an idiot.

The second you’re close enough he tugs you into his chest and kisses you. For real this time. There's more to it than simple payback. He kisses you long and hard, pours all his want into it and takes what you give him in return. His tongue rolls across your lip before you open your mouth, a moan bubbles from one of you.

“I can’t believe Hoshi got to kiss you before I did,” he sighs.

You nestle closer. Right into the warmth of his chest, the soft fabric of his baggy shirt and cologne better than anything else in the world. 

“What do you mean Hoshi kissed me before you did? You were my first kiss dingus.”

“What?”

“Ninth grade, Dokyeom’s parents went out of town and we raided the liquor cabinet.”

He stares back at you blankly. You’re still naked.

“You literally begged me to kiss you because you thought you had alcohol poisoning and would die.”

“Oh my god.”

You kiss his cheek and he loves it, pushing into your lips for more with a happy smile. 

“I knew you didn’t remember.”

You nuzzle down his neck, savoring the warmth of his skin against your mouth; nipping until he shudders. You want him as naked as you. But despite the beach being secluded it’s very much public and you don’t need to be caught the first time you get to kiss him.

“In my defense, I thought that was a dream.”

“How often do you dream of me kissing you?”

“Pretty often.”

“How often is that?”

“Almost every night.”

“You’re such a sap.”

He doesn’t deny it. He’s too busy cupping your face and kissing you again, less tongue and yearning; slings an arm around your waist forcing you infinitesimally closer. It’s sweet at first, lingering touch against your naked back. Catalogues the knobs of your spine with painstaking slowness. Lower. Your waist, the sway of your hips. Then he’s got his hand on your ass, a gentle squeeze of exploration, and you feel a little bit guilty such sweet kisses turn you on so much.

“Come on, let’s get home.”

You back away, snagging the blanket he pulled out earlier and hiding your body as he trails behind. “Are you gonna drive home naked? Because that’s a new fantasy I didn’t know I had.”

“How many fantasies do you have?”

“Where do you want me to start?”

“Calm down, Casanova,” you snort. You tug on the spare clothes collected in his truck; a holey, oil stained t-shirt and a pair of sweats. They smell like him.

“Hey.” Mingyu tugs your hand across the center seat and brings it to his lips. He’s blushy but it might just be from a long day beneath the sun. Or from the boner he’s not even attempting to hide. It’s cute. 

“Hey.”

“I do have a crush on you.”

“I kinda figured.”

“Since like high school.”

“Good,” you comment. “Same.”

An anticlimactic confession but it fits between the two of you. You’ve always been the black cat, a little more out of reach in terms of affection but Mingyu has enough words of affirmation for the both of you. You’re much more adept at showing him how you feel anyway. It’s why you’ve been playing nurse for the past week. 

He keeps your hands tangled the entire way home, slides closer on the bench seat so his side heats against yours. There aren’t many stop signs on the way home but the ones you do hit last longer than needed because Mingyu uses it as an excuse to tilt your face towards him and kiss you again and again. Your lips, your nose, between your brows; slowly, savoring every second.

He’s used to his crutches so getting into the house and locking the door takes only a blink. The other two aren’t home which is a blessing in a curse because in the dark of your room you realize it’s just you and Mingyu. No more barriers in the way, no one to interrupt. It’s unbearably awkward in a way it’s not been since you were nineteen and walked in on him rubbing one out of your shared bed at four in the afternoon.

“Um…”

“Yeah—”

“So,” you stutter. 

Mingyu takes it on himself to reign things in.

“You like me, right?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “And I like you. Well, love you and not just as my best friend but I probably shouldn’t say that—wait! Shit! I didn’t mean that. I mean I did mean that but I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Gyu.”

He collapses onto the corner of your bed, freaking himself out. Ripping his hands through his hair, continuing to panic. “Of course, I love you. You’re my best friend and—”

“Gyu.”

“And if you don’t want to try dating me that’s fine! I’d never make you do something you didn’t want to. I don't think I could, you’re pretty stubborn. Which I like! But—”

“Mingyu!”

“What?”

“Take a breath,” you command. You’re freaked out too but Mingyu’s worse at hiding his feelings. Always has been.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, just relax a little. Please. You’re freaking me out.”

A crash echoes from outside the door. Glass breaking and some loud curses of one drunken roommate and a decidedly sober sounding Dokyeom shushing him. 

“Sorry,” Mingyu whispers.

“So you love me, huh?”

“I—” he chokes, and then cuts himself off to nod.

Mingyu, who likes to pretend he’s cool and smooth, reduced to a tight bundle of nerves as he sits on the edge of your bed and waits for your response. He looks at his hands. They flex anxiously together as the silence stretches on. You decide on mercy.

“It’s okay. I love you, too.”

Mingyu’s head shoots up so fast you’re afraid he gives himself whiplash. All you can do is smile, embarrassed by the way he stares at you in awe.

“Really?” He’s already pulling you closer

Biting your lip to control the grin attempting to split your face in half, you nod gently. In his lap, you wrap your arms across his shoulders and say it again. It’s quiet outside the bubble you two have made for yourselves but you like his childish giggles as the only thing tickling your ears.

Innocent touching turns lewd in slow measures just like the beach. Your both more deliberate because getting Mingyu out of his pants is a team effort, underwear firmly in place because you haven’t decided if you’re going to fuck him yet. You want to. But they serve as reassurance you don't rush to a good ending. 

Your shirt comes off, then your pants. You shepherd him to the headboard. Fully naked in his lap, Mingyu traces his fingers over your softest parts. It makes you squirm enough you kiss him to break the itch in your gut from nearly innocent touching. But it only makes it worse. He kisses you with just enough vigor to tease; pulls you closer, a tight grip on your waist you’d struggle to break out of if the thought crossed your mind. A tug encourages your rutting against the hard tent of his underwear.

It’s so much better than anything else before. Mingyu seems to agree, panting and grunting against your throat. You could just do this. It’d be enough to come; more than, as Mingyu sinks down further in the pillows and sucks your nipple gently between his lips. His tongue rolls flat and hot against it before switching to the other one. Your jaw slacks, mouth dry from heavy breaths.

“F-fuck, Gyu.”

He sucks harder and your hips follow, the line of his cock beneath his boxers nothing short of incredible. You’re a little embarrassed from how wet you are. Wet enough to soak his briefs a shade darker. But Mingyu takes charge, manhandles you across his cock with painful friction that makes you limp and pliant.

“Oh my god, Mingyu,” you taper off in a moan. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

“‘Mingyu, it’s gross!’” he mocks and then hisses from your teeth on his neck. “Not exactly a confidence boost.”

“Yeah, well, I only said that because I wanted to you to—fuck—fuck me.”

Fishing his cock out from his underwear, you lazily jerk him to full mast which takes only seconds. Mingyu bucks into the swipe of your thumb. You move to suck away the mess collecting there.

“Shit! Ow! Ow!” he winces.

Immediately, you’re off him. “What’s wrong? Is your leg okay?”

Mingyu grits his teeth, head falling back against the pillows. “You hit my leg.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry!”

“This isn’t sexy.” He sinks into the mattress, hands hiding his frustration. 

He’s laying in your bed, in only his underwear and the pale moonlight sneaking through the window. You couldn’t disagree more.

“I don’t know.” You kiss his cheek. “It's kinda hot.”

“Oh yeah, it’s great that the first time I get to do anything I can’t even make it good for you.”

“Now, that’s just ridiculous.”

“Stupid fucking leg.”

“Alright, calm down.” You can’t help but laugh. You try to stifle it but he hears it before you do and pouts even harder. “Maybe we should wait.”

He's got you back in his lap, wincing through the sudden pressure on his knee. “No, it's fine! I promise!”

“If it hurts it’s not fine,” you admonish. Mingyu doesn’t let you go though. You don’t really want him to. “Just lay back and relax, okay?”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna blow you  and then I’m gonna fuck you.”

You say it like a promise. Mingyu’s eyes widen, jaw dropping at your lewd threat. His cock twitches against your palm and you soothe it with a quick stroke. He ruts into it again.

“Oh.”

“Sound good?” you ask, another slick glide across the leaking tip. He’s shaking.

“Sounds great.”

You kiss down his front, raze a nipple with your teeth until he whines. Even with the order to relax his hands can’t stay still. On your back, in your hair, pulling at the sheets as you tongue across his abs. You’re nearly sent crashing to the floor while bruising his hip bone. 

This time, you’re extra careful when kneeling between his sprawled legs. Your ass high in the air for his pleasure, him sprawled out on the pillows for yours. He’s pretty. The moonlight slipping between the blinds casts him in a pale glow, lines of light crossing his body and illuminating all the best parts: tangled hair from your hands, swollen lips from your kissing, a splotchy hickey on his hip claiming him as yours.

His cock spills from the band of his underwear, hard and waiting. You keep watching as you suck the tip of it. His eyes open at that, watching you watching him and he can't decide if it's heaven or hell right there beneath you on the mattress.

“Oh my god.”

It’s slow work to roll his underwear down without jostling his bad knee but you distract him with teasing caresses of every newly revealed inch of skin. There isn’t much you haven’t seen but you’re eager to get reacquainted. Fingers, then lips, then soothing the sting of your teeth with some wet pecks. And then you draw his cock across your tongue for the first time and he jumps.

“Holy shit.”

“What?” you garble around a mouthful of cock. 

There isn’t really a good angle with his knee in consideration so the rhythm of your hand is lackluster at best. You make up for it with hollowed cheeks he can’t look away from, and he actually throbs between your swollen lips as your tongue traces every ridge and vein meticulously. Each time he starts to answer your question you suck the head until he whines.

“You’re…” he sighs. “this is gonna sound weird but I’ve only dreamed of you doing this since we were like sixteen.”

A brief break for the sake of your jaw gives you time to joke, “No pressure.”

“It’s already better than I thought if that means anything.”

“Stop being cute, I'm trying to suck your dick.”

You cut off his rebuttal with a swallow and his eyes nearly bug out from his skull at the sight. His hand rests on the back of your head, gathering your hair to keep it out of the way. “Is this…”

You nod enthusiastically before he even finishes his thought, mouth watering at the possibilities. You ache for it. You want him to call the shots and let you follow merrily behind, bent to his whim.

“Open your mouth, baby.”

You open wide for his cock to brush the back of your throat softly. Not too much just yet while he gathers the confidence to maneuver you the way he needs; the way he’s apparently been dying to for years. 

He’s got one hand on the back of your head, the other tangled in the sheets as you suck him rigid. Brace for a gentle gag, just enough for him to hear, and the taste of sticky pre-cum floods across your tongue. You get a few more drags of your tongue up the head of his cock before he leverages to grip in your head and pulls you off.

“Okay, okay. Stop.”

“What’s wrong? Is it your leg?”

Mingyu ignores your question. His only response is a sloppy kiss with too much tongue but you can’t fault him for it with the pleasant heat of his hands on your ass once more. 

“Wanna eat you out,” he grunts.

You snort at his optimism. “I can see some issues with that.”

He lifts you up his chest. It’s horrible that someone with a face like his is also a muscle pig who can bend you anyway he wants even with an injury; Jungkook fully to blame for too many workouts on the beach. Mingyu has you up his chest before you realize where this is going.

“Sit on my face.”

“I—” you blink. Porn isn’t a good reference for sex, not that you’ve seen much since the only TV sits in the living room. You’ve seen the magazines your friends buy as gag gifts though and the thought of Mingyu smothered in your cunt makes you sweat. “Are you sure?”

Apparently it’s a stupid question because Mingyu just pulls you further up until you’re kneeling over him and he’s got enough room to deliver soft licks to your core.

You don’t care how loud you’re being or the fact you share a wall with Dokyeom who doesn’t deserve to hear your pathetic moans in surround sound. Mingyu abuses your clit, sucks and licks and kisses with lewd vigor until you rut down into it.

You need a break. Just a second to regain sanity but Mingyu isn’t that generous. He holds you by your ass, palms it so hard you squeak as he moves you against his mouth, drops one hand when he’s confident you aren’t planning to run away again. The stretch of two thick fingers crook just right to have you seeing stars.

“Th-there.”

Mingyu hums into the sloppy mess of your cunt, holding steady as you fuck yourself along his face, tongue out to swipe messily at your clit. His head shakes back and forth and makes you whine to the ceiling fan. You savor the rhythm he sets, thick fingers working to prep you, stretching and spreading until your stomach dips. He knocks every tight noise in your chest out with each rush.

“That’s…Just like that. Gyu, please.” You nails scratch against the wall aimlessly. He stretches and stretches, molds you to him and every one of his whims. 

Until all you can do is snap.

You’re wobbly on jelly knees, clit numb even while Mingyu suckles against it softly for your come down. You roll off carefully to sit bubbly and golden back in his lap. Eyes closed, you lean blindly into his space and squish his cheek with yours.

He’s just as messy as you feel. Face wet, choked breaths and racing pulse, you deflate against each other. The bloodlust for satisfaction lulls to a simmer. You use it to enjoy all the warm skin on skin contact.

Aftercare comes in the form of lips dragging over wherever either of you can reach, no energy for real kisses just savoring the lazy motion. The hands that plucked you into a whimpering mess massage your thighs, your back; pull and tangle his fingers between yours.

“When my knee is better I’m gonna do that for an hour.”

“Lucky me,” you huff. 

You find his mouth, suck his bottom lip between yours until he demands more. His cock rests against his stomach, hot to the touch. Gentle at first. Teasing with a light brush of your fingers. Then getting a tight grip around him until he bucks.

“Want you,” Mingyu groans, pulling you further up his thighs. “Wanna fuck you.”

On your knees, you position over him to do just that but he stops you.

“Condom?” 

Good thing at least one of you is thinking because you didn’t even think about it. Your nightstand drawer is barren, not even an empty box left. Not a single condom wrapper in sight.

“Fuck. Do you have any in your room?”

He doesn’t. Which means you’re at the mercy of your roommates and their ability to practice safe sex.

You tug Mingyu’s shirt over head but even if it hides your nudity you smell like sex and have the glow on your features to back it up. There’s flaking pre-cum and spit against your chin.Whatever, you’ve heard your roommates howling like dogs enough times to earn your own night of debauchery.

“Hosh.” You rap on his door but he doesn’t answer. When you open it he’s face down in the pillow, trash can close by. You watch just long enough for his chest to expand to make sure he isn’t dead before prodding him in the side.

“Wha? What?” he mumbles through drool.

“Condoms?”

He stares at you with all the sentience of rock before answering. “I can’t sleep with you, Mingyu will kill me.”

“You stupid bitch,” you sneer, slapping him with his own pillow. “Where are your condoms?”

Soonyoung buries himself back into his sheets. “I don’t have any.”

“Oh my god.”

You fly out of his tiger den and to Dokyeom’s door down the hall.

“Kyeom?” You knock. “Dude, are you awake?”

He actually answers the door. His bedside light is still on, some comic book left open on his bed. “Is someone dead?”

“No. Do you have a condom?”

“For who?”

Your eyes roll. “Me, dumbass.”

“Who’s the guy?” Dokyeom looks at you like he doesn’t believe it. Maybe the walls are more soundproof than you thought.

“Mingyu.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really! We can have girl time later, but I need a condom. Now.”

He forces his entire stash, an unopened 32-count box, into your hands before pushing you back into the hallway with a quiet ‘good luck.’

Your roommates are fucking weird.

Tucked back in the dark of your room, Mingyu is waiting.Blanket wrapped around his waist, propped against the headboard just like you left him.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiles. He looks a little pathetic. 

“Did you know Dokyeom keeps a thirty-two pack in his room?” You hold up the evidence as proof.

“Apparently, he’s seeing some waitress at the Kellerman.”

“Enough times he needs a bulk box of rubbers?”

“Clearly not if he gave them to you.”

“I think it’s more like a ‘congrats on finally getting together’ present.”

“How thoughtful of him,” he snorts. “Now come over here. I missed you.” 

“Can’t have that, can we?” You kneel on the bed next to him. His hand sneaks up the back of your leg, beneath your shirt to cup your ass.

“Yeah, the doctors said it was bad for me.”

“Well if the doctors said…” You lose the thought in a gentle sigh against his mouth. Mingyu peels your shirt - his shirt - over head and banishes it to the floor. You're naked in his lap and he’s naked beneath you; it makes you clench.

He covers every inch of your naked skin in soft kisses, puffs of breath heating your neck as you stroke his cock hard enough to slip the condom on.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.”

You balance on shaky knees, sheathing him inside you in a slow descent. He wants to fuck up into you so badly. You can feel it in the way his hands squeeze on your hips, his stomach dips as you take more. Everything about Mingyu is big, including his cock. Big enough you could sit there all night and never get used to the stretch, or the way he whispers sweet praises into your temple.

Good girl. My favorite. Perfect for me.

When you finally bottom out, ass flat to his thighs, pressed tight to his chest, you whimper, “M-Mingyu.”

He groans into your cheek. “Love how you say my name.”

It’s all on you to make this good. You rock forward, instantly dissatisfied with the emptiness of your core and immediately moving to end the feeling. You grind on him and that feels better. He wedges deep and stays there; presses your buttons from the inside out as he mouths across your shoulder.

You’re so wet, soaked from his mouth, and his thumb takes advantage by gluing to your clit, tight circles that make you spasming. He guides you while nipping back up to your mouth, one hand heavy on your ass. 

“Oh, keep doing that,” he moans when your nails dig into his chest. 

The slap of skin against skin is background noise to grunts and groans and pathetic whines that meld between your mouths. Lightheaded, you aren’t even kissing, open mouths brushing against one another with narrowed vision. 

“Is it,” he gasps. “Is it bad if I ask you to turn around?”

“D-depends why you’re asking.”

“Wanna fuck you from behind. Wanna watch you take my cock.” He squeezes your ass to punctuate the request.

“Watch me like this.” You lean back, carefully to balance on the mattress and not his legs. Mingyu glues onto the unobstructed view down your front: your throat, your breasts, the way your cunt clings to his cock on the upstroke. “You like it?”

Hips finding a jilted rhythm, Mingyu snakes a hand up your chest and twists your nipple until you nearly collapse. “So good, it looks so good.”

“Next t-time,” you hiccup. “You can fuck me however you want. Want you to…fuck me from behind.”

He tugs the back of your neck. You collapse with the strength of his muscles and land nose to nose with him. 

“You’re so good— fuck, so tight for me. For me, yeah?”

You give a dumb nod, voice mute with the deep rhythm battering your walls.

“Say it. Say you’re mine.”

You can only nod again. Hair sticks to your sweaty face, a few rogue tears joining the mess Mingyu’s left on it.

“Say it, wanna hear you say it. Please.” He’s lost somewhere. Some desperate place that needs your validation.

You chant exactly what he wants to hear. Yours, yours, yours. A second duller bolt flashes through you, tensing every last muscle. Mingyu jolts from the tight squeeze gripping his cock. You give him the last sweep of your energy, bouncy wildly, fucking him quick and hard until your eyes cross.

“I’m—Mingyu, oh,” you whimper. You don’t stop even though your muscles object. Thrashing as you seize and come hot and wet. 

Mingyu’s got his hands to move you when your joints lock, a desperate race to his own end. He rubs you raw and red right to the core. You let him; still sobbing through the last pulses while he manhandles you over his cock roughly, slick with no resistance.

“Baby, fuck, feels so good,” he grovels, fucked out of his mind.

Your legs try to close, run away from the rush of even more stimulation, but Mingyu keeps you firmly pinned in place. He bites your neck, your shoulder, coming in thick breaths, hips stuttering while you sit there and take it. His fingers take advantage of the mess of your core but there's nothing left for you to give. Maybe later.

Mingyu gasps for air like he just did a deep dive. “Holy shit fuck.”

The touching doesn’t stop. You sweep your hands over his shoulders, cup his face, trace fingers of his stomach. Mingyu’s got one hand to keep you from pulling off his just yet, the other glued to the dip of your spine. Places forbidden to touch as just friends, now unlocked.

Condom in the trash, tissues for a quick clean up. You’re sticky in all the worst places but it’s a problem for later.

“So…when's our first date?” you ask him, cuddling back into the crook of his neck for the rest of the night.

“You. Me. Patty’s tomorrow morning.”

“Are you actually gonna pay for our food this time?”

Mingyu squeezes at your side, lips against your hairline. “You’re the one rolling in dough, Ms. Champion.”

“So I’m your sugar momma now?”

“That’s hot.”

The rebuttal dissolves on your tongue. You’re both deadweight. Sweaty and glowing in a pile of limbs, shivering beneath the ceiling fan. Mingyu is happy as your pillow, sweeping his hand over your back and hair as you crest sleep.

Turns out your room doesn’t get too hot with Mingyu sleeping in it if you’re both naked.

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[tokkiwrites]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After breaking up with your boyfriend of four years, you’re left heartbroken and desperate to leave it all behind. But as fate would have it, just as you’re about to walk out the door of his house, you run into his fatherㅡ the man who’s always lingered at the edges of your mind. the next sensible thing to do is fuck him.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: pwp, bf's dad joel miller x f! reader, short description of toxic rs, fight scene, afab reader, i dont know if this is categorized as cheating :p , age gap, fingering f receiving, joel has a huge one but we alr know!, dirty talk, pet names, p in v unprotected, creampie, slight slapping and hairpulling.

✿ 🪽 𓈒 ﹫𝐭𝐨𝐤𝐤𝐢𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 ..＼ ♰ i have been neglecting you cute freaks, but i am here to feed you. behold! boyfriend's dad joel miller smut! around 2.6k words, so it's pretty short, but i hope you love it. not proofread!!!!! okay baiiii 😎🫶🏻

The fight tears through the house like a hurricane, each word leaving wounds too deep. "You never listen to me!" you yell, your voice raw and trembling. Your chest aches, your throat burns, but the word vomit won’t stop pouring out. "Four years, and it’s like I’m shouting into a void! Do you even care about us?"

"Do you even fucking hear yourself?" he fires back, pacing the room like he can’t bear to stand still. "God, all you do is pick fights! You always need something to be wrong. What the actual fuck?"

"Because something is wrong!" Your voice cracks, and the tears come faster now, hot and humiliating. You hate how small you feel, how desperately you want him to care. "I’ve been fighting for this, for you, and all you do is act like it’s a burden!" He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Maybe it is. Maybe you are." The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your breath catches, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly still. You don’t want to cry anymore, but the tears fall anyway, blurring your vision as you step back. "Fine," you whisper, your voice trembling. "If that’s how you feel, then we’re done. I’m done." He freezes, his expression shifting to something almost regretful— but not enough to stop him. "Fuck this." He grabs his keys from the counter and storms out without another word. The door slams behind him, the sound echoing in the quiet house.

For a moment, you just stand there, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you try to hold in the sobs threatening to break free. The silence feels suffocating, pressing in on you from every angle. You can’t stay here. You need to leave.

You grab your bag and wipe your face as best you can, hands still shaking. You tell yourself you’re fine, that the fresh air will help. But as you turn the corner into the foyer, you collide with something solid— someone solid. "Whoa there," a low voice drawls, steadying you with hands firm and sure. Your heart stutters as you look up and see Joel, your now ex-boyfriend's father.

Your breath catches in your throat. His hand is on your arm, warm and grounding, as his dark eyes search your face. His presence is like a balm, so different from the storm you just walked out of. He’s all quiet strength and rugged edges, his salt-and-pepper beard only making him look more like someone carved out of the earth itself. "Hey, sweet girl," he says, his tone warm and laced with that familiar twang. "What’s got you all worked up? You alright?" The sound of his voice is enough to break you all over again. You shake your head, the tears spilling over despite your best efforts to hold them back. You try to answer, but your words falter. All you can do is nod, though you know you’re far from alright. Not when his thumb is brushing lightly over your flesh, not when his scent— warm, woodsy, familiar— makes your knees fall weak. You can’t look at him, can’t look at the steadiness in his eyes or the way his hands ground you when you feel like you’re falling apart.

"Hey now," he says softly, pulling you into a hug before you can protest. His arms wrap around you, strong and safe, and for the first time all night, you don’t feel like you’re about to shatter. "C’mere, sweet thing. You gotta talk to me, mkay? What happened?" You press your face into his chest, breathing in hus smell that makes you feel like you’re home, even though you know you shouldn’t.

It’s absurd, really. You’ve always known he was handsome, but standing this close, it hits you differently. You’ve always noticed him in ways you shouldn’t, caught yourself glancing too long, wondering too much. And now, with tears still wet on your cheeks and your heart in pieces, he feels like the only steady thing left in the world.

"It’s over," you mumble against his shirt, your voice muffled but thick with emotion. "I broke it off with him. For r-real this time..." Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands settling on your shoulders as his brow furrows. "You and him?" he asks gently, but you could tell he wasn't quite sure in your answer. "You sure ‘bout that?"

"Y-yeah..." You nod, your throat tight. "So you don’t have to... act nice anymore. You don’t have to pretend like you like m-me or care or whatever. It’s done now..." His expression shifts, confusion flickering across his face before something warmer takes its place. His lips part slightly as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

"Sweetheart," he says, his voice dipping lower, softer, like a secret meant just for you. "What the hell gave you the idea I don’t like you?" You blink up at him, stunned. "I just—"

"Little lady," he interrupts, leaning closer, his voice growing rougher, "it’s damn near impossible not to like you." Your breath catches as his thumb brushes over your cheek, his stare unflinching, as he examines your tear-stained face. There’s something in his eyes you’ve never noticed before—something unguarded, like he’s been holding it back for years. "Sweet thing like you," he murmurs, his lips quirking into the smallest of smiles. "Anyone with half a brain’d like you. But me? Hell, darlin’. I’ve liked you since the day I met you."

You step back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze fully, searching his face for any hint of pity, of kindness given out of obligation. "You don’t need to lie to me," you say, voice trembling. It feels like your heart is spilling out of you, breaking open right here in front of him. "Not just to make me feel better..."

Joel’s brow furrows, his dark eyes softening, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. A thread holds stretched taut between you. He doesn’t drop his hands from your shoulders, doesn’t let you pull away any further. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying you like you’re the most important thing in the world right now, like he’s trying to figure out how to put the pieces of you back together.

"What reason would I have to lie to ya now that you ain't with my sorry ass boy?" His voice is low, almost a whisper, but it carries a shiver down your whole body. You swallow hard, shaking your head. "I don’t know. I just—" You stumble over your own tongue.

Joel exhales slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes bore into yours. simmering, waiting to swallow you whole. "Darlin’," he murmurs, "Let me show you then." Before you can even think, he leans in.

The world falls away the moment his lips meet yours. It’s soft at first, hesitant, like he’s giving you a chance to stop him if this isn’t what you want. But when you don’t pull away and when you melt into him instead, your fingers clutching at his shirt, he deepens the kiss, large hands sliding from your shoulders to your waist, pulling you closer.

His lips are warm and sure, washing away any heartbreak you might've felt.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests gently against yours, his breaths mingling with your own. "Am I lyin'?" Your chest tightens, the tears welling up again, but this time they’re different. They’re not the tears of heartbreak—you’re not even sure what they are, only that they feel a little like hope.

"Mister Miller," you breathe, his name dancing on your puffy lips. He smiles, soft and a little sad, brushing a thumb along your cheek. "I got you, sweet girl. You just let me." and you crumble completely. with no hesitation, he picks you up, taking you to the nearest bedroom, where he closes the door behind.

it felt wrong. it was wrong. but the way he looked looming over, you got your head spinning in all the right ways. the bed pooled under you, sheets rustling as you watched joel discard part of his clothes. you nip at your lower lip, scooting your body upward to remove the pants you had on. in mere seconds, both of you are naked, gasping, and holding onto each other like nothing else mattered.

You finally get to see joel fully naked and you can't quite understand how a man his age looks the way he does, and how he's still single, given the package he's been blessed with. "you can stop starin' now. you wanna get me shy?" joel teases, his shaft now on full view for you to gawk at. you're taken by surprise when he so easily pulls you down towards him.

he trailed kisses down your chest like flowers fall from cherry trees in the spring, your body reacting in ways you didn’t know were possible. "Please hurry..." and he chuckles, maybe proud maybe amused to see you this desperate. "'m sorry, darlin'" You purr under his touch, wrapping around him like he's a lifeline. his lips crash against yours again, rough palm slipping into your wet panties. you gasp, the feeling so strange yet so familiar. he lets go of your lips, thick fingers working their way inside of you. Joels eyes meet yours, and he curls his digits, speed picking up. the sounds youㅡ your pussy made, were pure music to him, constant encouragement to go harder, faster, loving the way you looked crumbling onto his fingers. "got such a pretty pussy. Sure you ok with an old man ruin it for anyone else?" he asked it as if it was the least absurd thing he could say right now. you nod your head profusely. "atta girl. knew you were the obedient kind first time I saw ya."

"You gonna come?" Almost mocking you, but you could bot form the proper words. You just looked deep into his glinting eyes as your hand made its way to his hardened crotch. "P-pleasee..." Joel almost loses himself, but he's steady with his movements. "Wanna come on my cock, hm? is that what you beggin' for?" your folds drip and clench around him deliciously, you don't want it to end. and when you're almost there... he stops. you whine in protest but you're quickly put back in your place with a firm tug at your hair. "You take what I give you, girl. Now ass up." you comply. in a second, your back is facing him, red cheeks now hidden into his pillow. you try to balance yourself up with one arm, but he grabs you by the wrist.

"Spread 'em." And you do just that, pulling at your flesh. like an auction. only it's you presenting your cunt for fucking. "Fuck, look at that..." he tuts, gathering some of your juices on his pulsing tip, dragging it up and down your puffy lips. "Pretty girl. She cryin' for me, baby?" a string of fain 'yesyesyes' reaches his ear. hes quiet for a bit but the moment he pushes the tip inside you feel your knees buckle, all the strength you had left into your arms fluttering away. you fall face first into the mattres under you as joel pushes down your lower back. it hurts, but the pain is delicious. your moans feel the room, the occasional slap to your ass interrupting them. Joel is strong, fast and brutal, leaving you no room to breathe, fucking so deep into you you're sure he's way past your bellybutton. "T-takin' it so well, pretty girl, so well.." your skin burns where joel touched it, whole head fuzzy and empty. "pleasepleaseplease" as the whole bed shakes and strums to his movements.

your back arches as waves of pleasure break over your body like water on a shore. your head was spinning, heart pounding, as his whole weight dominated over you. "That's it, baby, take it." his thrusts are rough, each hit making your body bounce, the urgency as he hit that very spot each timeㅡ your whole insides burning, too cock drunk to talk or respond, other than some pathetic whines that perfectly accompanied the wet sounds your pussy made. "been dreamin' about havin' you like this, baby. look at herㅡ" joel throws his head back, delivering a harsh thrust, the pain quickly melding into pleasure. "gonna come, hm?" he's stern and rough with his request. "hhhaㅡ y-yes, plea-se..." You don't know if you're crying because it feels too good or because of how long you've waited for this, no matter how unforgiving this could be.

eyes shot open when he roughly yanks your hair, your skin slapping on his being to only sound you can faintly make out in your dazed state. you let your whole body go, tongue lulled out as he takes out on you anything he might've been feeling. you were at his mercy, your moans irrefutable. your stomach flips and churns as that familiar feeling pools again in your lower tummy, and you were chasing it, crying. from what, you didn't quite know. maybe because you've never been fucked this good or maybe because it'll be over too soon.

the room was stuffy. "o-oh myㅡ god!" You yelp when joels speed picks up, shocked that he can go that fast, considering you've heard him multiple times complaining about his bad back. "shitㅡ i gotta come, baby. you gonna let me do it in ya? huh?" You nod your head so, squeezing around him like a ring, and he rewards you with a slap to your ass. "fuckin' slut." he laughs through breathy moans. you're holding on for dear life, reaching for anything your fingers can grasp at this moment. you're sure the neighbors are having a blast seeing the whole house shake. "that's it, girl. take itㅡ c'mon..." with a few more pumps his hips come to a halt, whole body trembling as he comes ropes inside of you. you let go, bliss washing over you, the ringing in your ears covering the soft curses escaping Joel's lips. steadying himself, he pulls out, voice cracking as he speaks again. "fuuck... baby, look at her." he smiles crooked, watching intently as his come drips out of you, cascading down to your thighs. you lick your lips, looking back and right up at him whilst spreading your legs wider.

"Don't do that. think I don't have it in me to fuck you again?"

you tease, "i don't know. do you?" and he laughs, pushing inside of you again, watching as your face contorts in pleasure. "Careful, girl."

you wonder when your boyfriendㅡ i mean exㅡ will come back home.

[wileys-russo]

are requests open? if so could you do a comfort blurb the prompt “i could really use a hug right now” with alessia? thanks!

need a hug II a.russo

"oh for fuck sakes!" you swore as you knocked over a pot plant, dirt and rocks spilling out everywhere, groaning as you flicked off the vacuum.

the house falling you silent you gingerly moved the vacuum out of the way, sighing as you hunted around in the cupboard beneath the sink to try and find the dustpan and broom.

"where has she put it?" you huffed, your girlfriend having an infuriating habit of using something and never placing it back where she found it, eventually fishing it out from the bottom of the pantry.

squatting down you began to sweep up the mess, only you'd barely begun before the brush promply snapped in half. "are you joking?" you had to laugh in disbelief, now only holding the handle.

"how does that even happen?" you grunted, grabbing the jagged brush and trying to sweep up as best you could, dropping it into the garbage and vacuuming up the rest before trying to repot the poor plant as best you could and setting it aside.

you were interrupted by a few short sharp knocks at the door, grateful you hadn't started the vacuum yet and hurrying over, well aware you currently looked an absolute state.

thankfully it was only the post man and with a smile you collected the few packages addressed to your girlfriend, closing the front door and leaving them on the corner of the bed for her to deal with once she got home.

you knew alessia had been stressed lately, she was so close to finally finishing her studies but juggling that, the podcast, brand deals, appearances and football, she did well to hide it but you knew her well enough to see how thin she was wearing.

the blonde was already gone before you'd woke up, having a photo shoot and interview before training and you knew she had a rather large assignment looming over her which she'd spend hours doing once she got home.

so you'd elected to work from home today which consisted of two meetings you'd moved to the morning and an hour of admin, and freed up your entire afternoon to try and make the house as lovely and tidy as possible.

your girlfriend proudly half italian had taught you how to make pasta many times only you'd never attempted it by yourself, but you'd ducked out to the grocery store to make some for the pair of you for dinner, determined for her not to lift a single finger tonight.

only your grand plan of this large self care evening in which you'd oh so keenly do whatever your girlfriend needed to unwind was being apprehended by one thing, the fact that someone, somewhere, with some unknown grudge against you seemed to have cursed you the most rotten luck in which nothing was going to plan at all.

the tipped over plant wasn't even the start of it, accidentally near blinding yourself with a bottle of toilet bleach as you'd wrestled to get the cap off and slipped on your freshly mopped floor, almost tipping it all over your face as you'd just capped it.

then there was your coffee, a slight lapse in your concentration meaning you'd burnt your milk and then had no more left to remake it, struggling through a very unwelcome long black instead.

thankfully the next hour passed incident free, a satsified click of your tongue as you arranged the lilies you'd gotten for your favourite blonde in the crystal vase which was a present from her mum on your first christmas with the russo's.

but now perhaps the biggest mission of all, dinner.

a brief glance at your phone and you smiled seeing a few messages from your girlfriend, fingers flying as you shot back a reply and tucked your phone into your pocket.

for some extra support you'd found a video online to run you through making the dough, which you knew would be the hardest part of it all as you'd watched even your semi pro pasta making girlfriend mess it up before.

your first attempt, was an absolute dud and the only thing it would be feeding was the garbage bin.

you were beginning to get the hang of kneading while also being acutely aware that any minute now alessia would be home, and you wanted as much of this done as possible because you knew your girlfriend well enough that her first instinct would be to takeover.

sure enough not even a moment later you heard the keys in the door, almost done with putting the dough through the pasta roller and withholding a laugh as you heard a thump and a curse ring out.

"welcome home clumsy!" you called out, the blonde appearing with a playful glare and blowing you a kiss, holding up her gym bag which you knew no doubt was full of dirty laundry she'd want to put on soon as possible.

it all seemed to be going well, dough rolled and ready to be shaped, but alas, your rotten luck struck again.

you rounded the counter to grab something, but having just washed your hands and not drying them they'd clearly dripped onto the floor and before you could even blink you'd slipped and your back hit the floor.

but no, of course that wasn't it, your hand collecting the half full bag of flour and sending it toppling down on top of you, a squeal leaving your lips and footsteps thundering toward you as your girlfriend skidded into the kitchen, concern clearly plastered all over her face.

"what happened?" alessia breathed out, eyes wide at the sight before her and you buried beneath a small mountain of flour, hand smacking over her mouth as you exhaled sending a puff of white up into the air.

"i could really use a hug right now." you mumbled, grateful somewhat for the flour smeared across your cheeks covering how red they'd flushed with embarassment.

"oh baby." alessia bit her lip clearly trying to conceal a grin, gingerly treading her way across the kitchen toward you. "c'mere." the striker stood over you and offered her hands, taking yours within them and very carefully pulling you up to your feet.

you exhaled tiredly into her chest as without a second thought the taller girl wrapped you in a hug, holding tightly as her hand rubbed up and down your back soothingly.

"i was just about to say everything is so clean." the blondes body vibrated with laughter against yours as you let out a pitiful whine. "i was trying to give you a lovely clean home and hot dinner to come home to." you sighed, words a little muffled against her jumper which was now covered in flour. "hey." you looked up as hands cupped your cheeks.

"i'm coming home to you, and that's always more than enough." your girlfriend spoke firmly, bright blue eyes locked with your own as you could only nod. "i love you." you leaned up to kiss her, frowning when the blonde craned her chin away.

"hey! kiss me." you scowled, a grin curling into her lips which again dodged yours. "you are covered in flour." alessia laughed as you rolled your eyes. "so you don't love me, noted." you sighed dramatically, pulling away from her.

"oh no no no, don't you be like that." your girlfriend was quick to capture you back in her arms, spinning you around so your back was pressed against the counter.

"kiss me then." you challenged with a sly smile, the footballer sighing dramatically as if you'd just asked her to build you a house, a scoff leaving your lips before they were promptly pressed against her own.

"i love you too pretty girl."

[sceletaflores]

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time. 

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles. 

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment. 

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant. 

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm. 

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap. 

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous. 

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him. 

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly. 

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.” 

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this. 

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs. 

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away. 

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole. 

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight. 

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight. 

And neither do you.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[domesticated-slut]

Rat Race Simulator

Players: 1+ Supplies: d4, pencil, paper

Congratulations - you found a decent job. It won't destroy your body, pays decently, even comes with mediocre insurance. But it's still a job, so it sucks.

Begin with 0 STRESS, 0 DEBT, and 0 ENNUI. Minimum for each stat is 0.

Each workday, roll d4 for each stat - these are responsibilities which will incur a penalty to that stat if unaddressed. If 4, immediate +1 to stat. Then you may take 8 actions:

ADDRESS TASK: Address one of today's tasks. Requires 2 actions if relevant stat >=3. HAVE FUN: -1 ENNUI, -1 STRESS, +2 DEBT BUDGET: -1 DEBT, +1 STRESS LIVE CHEAPLY: -1 DEBT, +1 ENNUI GET HELP: If another player agrees to spend one action to help you, gain 3 actions for the day. Only once per day. FREE TIME: If no tasks remain, -1 to stat of choice.

For each unaddressed task at the end of the day, relevant stat +1.

Each weekend, choose one:

REFRESH: -2 to stat of choice JOB HUNT: +2 STRESS, +2 ENNUI. Roll d4. If 4, set all stats to the number of times you've successfully taken this action before.

Game ends when you're sick of it.

Okay to archive off-site.

I wanted to be able to dedicate a little more time to the challenge this year, but this month has been difficult for me because of nonsense at work, which I've chosen to use as the theme for this year's (admittedly rushed) submission.

In absolute terms, I'm extremely fortunate to have the kind of job that I do - but it's still incredibly demoralizing to do it day after day for people who don't understand or care about what I'm doing, especially when living paycheck to paycheck. So, I decided to channel those feelings of frustration into a game with no exit condition and what's intended to be a system that leaves a faint glimmer of hope, but will almost certainly lead to a negative feedback loop you're unable to require from - if you're playing alone, that is.

It's possible that I did the math incorrectly, but my intention was that the only way to consistently keep on top of the daily tasks is with multiple players and the GET HELP action. In a group of two or more players, the GET HELP action basically means that, if you're all willing to cooperate, everyone gets 9 actions per day instead of 8, which I think tips the scales just enough to where you will usually be able to stay at low enough stats to avoid the additional cost for ADDRESS TASK, which is when things really start to spiral.

The JOB HUNT weekend action is mostly a trap if you're playing alone, since it does nothing to actually fix the systemic problem you're facing and will usually just give you +4 to your stats for no gain. But in a group, it should be able to serve as a way to try and recover from an unlucky start.

200 Word RPGs 2024

Each November, some people try to write a novel. Others would prefer to do as little writing as possible. For those who wish to challenge their ability to not write, we offer this alternative: producing a complete, playable roleplaying game in two hundred words or fewer.

This is the submission thread for the 2024 event, running from November 1st, 2024 through November 30th, 2024. Submission guidelines can be found in this blog's pinned post, here.

[mcrdvcks]

love me do

summary: Logan likes to mark you.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

notes: i don't know what came over me. i had a dream a few nights ago about logan marking you (me??) up during sex and i just couldn't get it out of my head so here ya go

warnings/tags: no use of y/n, porn with no plot, pet name (sweetheart), marking, bite marks, hickeys, lots of kissing, scent kink, fingering, slight praise kink, unprotected piv, creampie, not proofread

There was one thing that Logan did constantly: leaving marks. Whether it was hickeys or actual bite marks, your skin was constantly littered with dark marks along your neck, shoulders, chest, and even down to the plushness of your thighs.

Sometimes you wondered if he was really just teasing you or if he really enjoyed trailing his lips along your body; you got your answer fairly quickly when he plunged two fingers inside you all while kissing your jaw and down the side of your neck. His teeth grazed your skin as his lips moved lower, leaving behind more of those marks you’d come to expect.

“Logan,” you said, barely above a whisper, your hands gripping the edge of the bed beneath you.

“What?” he murmured against your neck, his voice low, almost rough. His thumb found that sensitive spot between your legs, pressing down in a way that made your breath hitch. “Can’t hear ya, sweetheart.”

You hated when he played dumb, but the heat pooling in your stomach made it hard to care. Your hips bucked slightly against his hand, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he kissed just under your ear.

“I said…” Your words were cut off by a sharp gasp as his fingers curled inside you, brushing a spot that sent a wave of pleasure through your whole body. “Oh, my God.”

“Not quite, but keep calling me that, and I might get used to it,” he teased, voice gravelly, his lips now trailing down to your collarbone.

You rolled your eyes even though they were fluttering shut. “You’re such an—”

“An what?” He pulled back just enough to look at you, raising an eyebrow. His fingers didn’t stop moving, though, and the smugness in his expression only grew when your body betrayed you, your thighs trembling around his hand.

“An asshole,” you managed to get out, though it lacked any real venom.

“Yeah? This asshole’s making you feel pretty good, though.”

You didn’t dignify that with an answer, biting your lip to stifle the noises threatening to spill out. He noticed, of course, and immediately decided to make it harder for you. His thumb circled over that sensitive spot again, this time more deliberately, and his free hand came up to hold your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t do that,” he said, his tone suddenly serious.

“Do what?”

“Hold back,” he said, his thumb pressing down a little harder as his fingers worked faster inside you. “I wanna hear you.”

The intensity in his eyes made you shiver, and any attempt at holding back crumbled. A moan slipped out, and his grin widened as he leaned in to kiss you again, this time on the lips. It was messy, all teeth and tongue, but you didn’t care.

“Good girl,” he muttered against your lips, his hand still working between your thighs.

“Logan,” you whimpered, your hands gripping his shoulders now, nails digging into his skin through his shirt.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice rougher now, almost like a growl.

“Logan,” you repeated, louder this time, your voice trembling as the tension in your body built to a breaking point.

“That’s it,” he said, his lips finding your neck again. “Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The way his voice dropped, combined with the relentless rhythm of his fingers, pushed you over the edge. Your whole body tensed, and a broken moan escaped your lips as the pleasure washed over you. He didn’t stop right away, working you through it until you were practically trembling beneath him.

When you finally came down, you let out a shaky breath, your forehead falling against his shoulder. His fingers slipped out of you, and he brought them to his mouth without hesitation, his eyes locked on yours as he sucked them clean.

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, still trying to catch your breath.

“Unbelievable in a good way or a bad way?” he asked, his tone playful now as he reached up to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

“You know the answer to that,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Do I?” He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Why don’t ya remind me?”

Before you could respond, he was pulling your legs around his waist, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against you. The heat and hardness of him through his jeans made your breath hitch again, and the teasing smirk on his face told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Logan,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You gonna keep teasing me, or are you gonna do something about it?”

His grin widened, and he leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower but just as intense. “Oh, I’m gonna do something about it,” he said against your lips, his hands sliding up your thighs.

Logan’s grip was firm, possessive, the rough pads of his fingers tracing up your skin like he was mapping you out. “You smell so fuckin’ good,” he murmured, his voice deep and low, the words almost growled into your ear. “Can’t get enough of you.” His lips grazed your jaw, then your neck, leaving soft kisses before his teeth nipped the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“Logan…” Your voice was shaky, breath catching in your throat when his hands hooked under your knees, spreading your legs further. You felt the heavy, warm press of him between your thighs, still confined by his jeans but unmistakably hard. The denim’s rough texture teased your skin, making you squirm beneath him.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he said, his lips quirking into a smirk as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. He made quick work of unbuttoning his jeans, the metal clinking softly. When he shoved them down his hips, you caught sight of him—thick, hard, and already glistening at the tip.

Your breath hitched as he leaned back over you, one hand gripping your hip, the other guiding himself to your entrance. The anticipation made you ache, every nerve in your body on fire as you felt the blunt heat of him pressing against you.

“Look at me,” Logan said, his voice suddenly commanding. His fingers caught your chin, holding your face steady so your eyes stayed locked on his. “I wanna see you when I take you.”

You nodded, biting your lip as his hips shifted forward, the thick head of his cock pushing inside you slowly. The stretch was intense, almost overwhelming, but the heat in Logan’s eyes grounded you. His gaze never wavered, watching your every reaction with a mixture of hunger and something softer, deeper.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his teeth catching his bottom lip as he pushed in further. “You feel perfect.”

Your hands found his shoulders, nails digging in as he filled you inch by inch, the slow, deliberate pace making you gasp. Logan paused when he was buried fully inside, his breath heavy against your cheek. “You okay?” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

“Yeah,” you breathed, your voice barely audible. “Move, Logan.”

His smirk returned, but his movements stayed slow, deliberate. He pulled out almost completely before sliding back in, his hips rocking in a rhythm that had your toes curling. The drag of him against your inner walls was maddening, each stroke deliberate, like he was savoring every second.

“You like that?” he asked, his voice rough and low, his lips brushing against your ear. He didn’t wait for an answer, his teeth grazing your neck again as he set a steady pace, each thrust hitting deep and hard. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer with every movement.

“Logan—oh, God,” you gasped, your nails raking down his back. The tension in your core coiled tighter with each slow, deliberate thrust, the way his hips rolled driving you closer to the edge.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” Logan growled, his forehead pressing against yours. “Takin’ me so good, sweetheart. Fuck, I could stay buried in you forever.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and your body arched into him, chasing every bit of contact you could get. Logan’s grip shifted, one hand sliding up to your jaw again, tilting your face toward his. His lips crashed against yours, the kiss messy and consuming, his teeth catching your bottom lip as he drove deeper into you.

“Logan,” you whimpered against his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders, desperate for more.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice a rough growl. His thrusts grew harder, each one deliberate, his hips rolling in a way that had you seeing stars. “Lemme hear you.”

“Logan!” Your voice broke, your body trembling beneath him as the tension inside you snapped. The orgasm hit you like a wave, your walls clenching around him, pulling him even deeper as you cried out his name.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, his pace faltering as he chased his own release. “So good, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good.” His thrusts turned erratic, and with one final, deep stroke, he buried himself completely, his hips pressing flush against yours as he came with a guttural growl.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, his body heavy on yours, his breath hot against your neck. Logan’s hand brushed against your cheek, his thumb tracing your jawline as he pulled back to look at you. “You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now.

You nodded, a tired but satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again, this one slow and lingering, his hands never leaving your body.

[livbedum]

THIS COULD BE US

I DO NOT GET JEALOUS

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ topper’s birthday was practically made out to be a national holiday on the island. you had gotten your mother to lend you the yacht , having a more intimate party earlier for dinner. rafe and kelce set up the condo for the actual party. everything was going smooth. until it wasn’t.

word count 5.8k

warnings profanity , jealous!reader and kinda jealous!rafe , mentions of chlamydia , underage drinking , pda ( just kissing and grabbing ) , smut ( oral male!receiving in car , oral fem!receiving , unprotected pinv , spanking (1) , facial ) , and i think that’s it

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY

IN TOPPER fashion , his birthday party has a theme and dress code. white party , white clothes , white fucking yacht. and because it was his birthday , and he was one of your best friends , you gave in to every single demand he had.

he wanted a dj? done. he wanted the men to women ratio at a happy 1:3? done. he wanted a specific dish created by a specific chef from the mainland? done. he demanded a bouncer to stand at the front door of rafe’s condo for hours just so no ruffians get inside? done.

you were busting your ass to make sure his birthday was going perfectly , and you were doing a damn good job. good enough that it made you think you wanted this exact party for your own twenty-first. you had lost track of him once or twice already. dinner just finished , and he went missing again. grabbing a drink of your own , to relax a little bit after how much work you had been putting into this one night.

“look at miss event coordinator. i know you’re not drinking on the job,” kelce joked , walking up to you with rafe as you sipped your gin and tonic.

“it’s my boat. i’ll drink when i want,” you retorted , side hugging the boy before moving to rafe and hugging him as well, “do you think top’s enjoying himself? he keeps disappearing.”

“oh yeah. he’s enjoying himself alright. enjoying himself with ruthie , chloe , harper , and i think he’s enjoying himself with tabitha right now,” rafe chuckled lowly , taking a swig of his own drink to hide his suggestive smile.

you theatrically gagged , smacking rafe’s arm. “you’re all disgusting. this is my mom’s boat,” you groaned, “i expected you not to fornicate on it.”

“like you haven’t?” kelce quipped , recalling the time you and your ex boyfriend had gone at it so rough one night you had to replace the railing on the sun deck.

“my boat!” you huffed , giggling with them as they laughed at you.

“well , i came over here to let you know we’re good to dock whenever top is. house is all set up,” rafe cleared his throat , seeing topper emerge from the cabin, “there’s the birthday boy!” he cheered , calling topper over.

“guys! i have gotten four separate blowies. this is the best birthday ever,” he slurred his words after he wobbled over to the three of you, “y/n/n , you’re the best for planning everything for me,” he smiled , pressing a slobbery kiss to your temple.

you smiled , discreetly wiping the spit from yourself before wrapping your arm around his waste. “you only turn twenty-one once,” you shrugged, “you ready to go to the actual party?”

“oh , for sure! maybe i’ll get laid four times!” topper laughed , dapping kelce up all the while.

“you’re all pigs!” you scoffed lightly , making your way to the helm, “be back!”

the guests that were scattered around moved to let you walk through without asking , and not long after that you were all headed back to figure eight. you and the boys helped topper off the boat and back onto solid land , his stability not getting any better. the sun hadn’t even set , so you knew in a few hours he would be passed out in one of the guest rooms at rafe’s condo.

it wasn’t long until the house was filled with people. the music was going , playing all of topper’s favorite songs along with the party classics. everyone was drinking and having fun in celebration for topper , and you couldn’t be happier.

for one : you pulled off what looked to be the best twenty-first birthday in kildare. but more importantly , you could stop hosting and have fun yourself. your wedges smacked against the marble flooring as you made your way to the bar. “can i have a tequila soda with a lime? and just a shot as well , please?” you ordered sweetly , silently thanking the bartender for coming to you first despite other people waiting for drinks.

he handed you the shot first , allowing you take it before you got your drink. you throw the shot back , letting it glide down your throat without getting you to make a face. the bartender smiled at that , mixing your drink quickly.

you turned around , leaning against the bar after thanking him. your eyes scanned the crowd. people dancing in the living room , suck and blow happening in the kitchen , swimming and chicken fights in the pool. everything looked good. everything was good.

except you didn’t have not one of your boys with you. you looked around for kelce or rafe. you had seen topper stumble upstairs with a pretty redhead a few minutes ago , but you hadn’t really seen rafe or kelce since you told them to check on a few things before the party even really started.

your brows furrowed , truly not seeing either one. but the crease in your forehead deepened when you found rafe. he was lounging on the couch , legs spread and arms on the back. he was in a group , a couple of guys you knew from school , and a few girls you recognized as well. you watched from a distance , sipping on your drink slowly. you noticed how crystal— if you remembered correctly , was laughing harder than need be , touching rafe’s body in any way she could.

and you don’t know what you would call it— it was jealousy , but something in the pit of your stomach burned. your skin felt hot , your eyes rolling all on their own. because there rafe was hanging out with people that weren’t you when your song was playing. the track made the playlist several times because it was your song. and he wasn’t even looking for you?

“can i get another shot please?” you turned around and asked the bartender. he nodded , pouring one out before sliding it to you.

you downed it easier than the first , setting the glass back down on the counter before drinking the rest of your actual drink. you pivoted on your foot , heading straight toward the couch. like usual , people shifted to the side to let you pass. even if they hadn’t , you weren’t too sure that you wouldn’t have run them right over.

rafe saw you in his peripheral , saw you storming over in your comically— to him , high wedges and silky , white dress. your tits practically jumping out of the material as you stomped.

he looked up at you and smiled when you arrived , but was quickly taken aback when you planted yourself in his lap. his arm came down to wrap around your waist naturally , but during his movement , your own hands came up to his face and pulled him in for a kiss.

you didn’t know you were going to do that. originally , in your head , you were just going to storm over and pout. this was much different than that. but rafe didn’t hesitate to kiss you back , hand on your waist squeezing your body closer to his. he groaned into it , tongue licking your lips before you opened your mouth.

neither one of you were aware how long you were making out when you pulled away , breathing heavily in each other’s faces. until crystal— still you weren’t too sure , cleared her throat.

“oh , hey!” you smiled , leaning into rafe’s touch. his cheeks were still burning from the shock of you traipsing over to stake your claim. he knew what it was the moment he saw the pout in your lips.

the girl was blushing on her own , not realizing that you and rafe had finally gotten together after years of being just friends. “hi,” she muttered awkwardly.

“did you end up taking care of that raging case of chlamydia yet , babes?” you asked , voice sweeter than syrup. crystal— presumably , dropped her jaw , eyebrows tight.

“excuse me?” she scoffed , shocked you would say something like that , but more shocked that you knew.

“oh , did i get that wrong?” you fake worried , hand coming up to your heart, “i thought i heard les and gigi talking about it at the club a couple weeks ago , but maybe it wasn’t you?” you flipped your hair over your shoulder , showing her that you truly didn’t care.

maybe you were a mean girl like everyone said.

“no,” she stated coldly, “it wasn’t me.” she stood up , grabbing her purse and phone before rushing away.

you smiled as soon as she turned , not bothered by her leaving. that was the whole point.

“ooh , you’re mean , pretty kitty,” rafe chuckled beside you , his other hand coming to your thigh and rubbing up and down.

he always called you that. kitty. he said it was because you had claws but looked so sweet at the same time. you harassed him for having a pet-play kink until you realized the term of endearment was quite cute. special just for you.

“what?” you shrugged , looking at him like the last thing you said wasn’t fowl, “i made it up , but i guess the topic hit home for her , so it’s probably best she left anyway.”

rafe rolled his eyes with a smile before grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you in for another kiss. you squealed into his lips at the sudden movement , body shifting in his lap. your hand landed on his chest to catch yourself , and you let your body melt into his.

“you all jealous i’m not paying attention to ya , kitty. green isn’t your color,” he told you , pulling back from the sloppy kiss.

you sat back , offended he would ever accuse you of such a thing. “that’s not true , rafey. you know that,” you whined , lightly— barely at all , hitting his chest in protest of his statement.

“which part?”

“all of it,” you decided with a firm shake of your head, “i do not get jealous , and i always have your attention,” you added , leaning in for another kiss, “and i do look good in green.

“i know , i know. the elusive y/n y/l/n never gets jealous,” rafe played along , kissing you gently as his hand slid further up your thigh, “but i do.”

“what do you mean?” you hummed , moving your lips to kiss at his face and the side of his neck now.

“saw the bartender making eyes at you,” rafe murmured , sighing at the last kiss you planted right behind his ear, “the help was eyeing you.”

“it’s the twenty-first century , rafe. we don’t call them the help anymore,” you reminded him with a roll of his eyes and another inch of skin discovered by his hand, “and besides , i wasn’t focused on him. i was watching you.”

rafe smiled , heart beating faster when you so openly said that he had your attention. of course as friends , you always let the boys know how much you loved and appreciated them. but this was different. this was just for rafe— no one else.

“you missed our song,” you mumbled into his neck , not wanting him to hear that you were disappointed in your voice.

“i was singing along in my head,” he assured you , running his hand up and down your back.

you sighed , taking in the feeling of his hands on you , the warmth they spread throughout your body. “since i’m not allowed to talk to the bartender , will you go get me another drink , rafey?” you asked sweetly , only shifting your head a little bit to let him hear you clearer. you also translated his earlier jealousy of the bartender to making it clear he didn’t want you around him again. that’s how it usually went.

“whatever you want , kitty,” he agreed , pressing a kiss into your temple before tapping you leg to get you up.

rafe stood as well , now towering over you. his drunken smile making him look even better than he did before. you smiled back at him , batting your lashes before he rolled his eyes and yanked you in for another kiss. “don’t make me wait long,” you warned him , ending the kiss and ushering him to the bar.

happily , you sat back down to wait. your solitary peace was quickly disrupted by kelce and topper flopping down next to you.

“four blowjobs and one fuck! best birthday ever,” topper congratulated himself once again , hair messy and lips swollen.

“you’re such a slut , top,” you laughed , getting more comfortable now that you and rafe were most likely hanging out in the living room for longer, “what did you do pop a v?” you joked , causing both boys to laugh like he had in fact taken a viagra.

“speaking of slut…” kelce began with a cheeky little smile. it said he knew something juicy , and topper was all over it.

“what? who fucked who?” he asked , wanting to know exactly what happened and when and where and why.

kelce laughed , nudging you gently. “miss penthouse over here was mackin’ on our boy,” he sold you out , grinning ear to ear, “thought it would never happen.”

“and i missed it?” topper whined , throwing his head back and resting it on the couch, “i always wanted to be there the day you and rafe got together.”

you frowned at topper , feeling oh so bad for him until you flicked his throat , causing him to sit up straight and cough. “you’re a perv,” you stated, “and you too , kel. didn’t know you liked watching.”

“oh , i’d watch you do just about anything , baby,” he flirted , knowing it would make you roll your eyes. that’s how you and the boys were. they flirted with you jokingly ; you called them pigs. it was your dynamic.

“you’re not watching her do jack shit from now on,” rafe spoke , smacking kelce upside the head as he handed you your full glass. you got up , letting him take his place before falling into his lap.

kelce laughed , dapping his friend up. “man , you know i’m not going anywhere near your girl.”

“excuse me! i’m still a human being,” you interrupted, “actually i’m one of your very few friends. please act accordingly,” you playfully reached out and punched his arm.

“so who’s taking who’s last name?” topper asked , grabbing a beer that was sitting on the table and chugging it. gross.

you grimaced at the sight. “maybe you should focus on not drinking random drinks , t,” you suggested , feeling rafe’s hand creep up your thigh again , drawing small patterns on the plush skin.

“i’m the birthday boy. i can do whatever i want!” topper roared , throwing his hands up in the air triumphantly.

“you’re gonna get roofied one of these days,” you shook your head.

“here’s hoping! it’d probably make my night ten times crazier,” topper laughed , finishing the beer and setting the cup back down.

the four of you sat and chatted for a bit , appreciating the time you weren’t being bothered and you could simply enjoy the party. rafe had been pressing kisses into your skin , making his way from your shoulders to your neck while topper and kelce dove down their own conversation.

“we should go,” he whispered just loud enough for you to hear before nibbling at your ear, “soon.” he lifted his hips up with you still in his lap , making the hard on in his slacks known.

you turned in his grasp , giving him a knowing look. “i don’t hookup with boys on the first night,” you reminded him.

“this isn’t the first night,” rafe corrected you , moving some of your hair out of your face and behind your ear, “i’ve been thinkin’ bout this forever. by myself , with other people , when i’m with you. it’s not the first night for me , and i can guarantee it isn’t for you either.” he made a very fair point.

you hummed , taking it into consideration. “but it’s topper’s birthday,” you reasoned , looking over just as he and kelce went outside to the pool. the blonde jumped in , splashing people with the water before coming up for air and yelling out. the crowd cheered as kelce joined him.

“don’t think he’s too worried bout us leaving,” rafe commented , looking at the way topper already had a girl in his arms to make out with.

you pushed yourself up from rafe’s lap and the couch. rafe scrambled to get up , thinking that you were about to leave without him. “c’mon then,” you spoke , grabbing his hand in yours and leading him away from the party. the closer you got to his car , the quieter everything got. like being with rafe silenced everything else. it did for you.

like always , rafe opened your door for you , letting you get settled into the seat designated for you before shutting the door and getting in himself. it took a decent amount of time to get to the hotel. rafe lived on figure eight , which was the more local side of the island. you lived in your penthouse on the more west side of the island , where all of the tourons got off the ferry and onto the sand.

rafe never minded the drive , knowing it was helping you out. but tonight? he was speeding in an attempt to get there faster.

his hand was gripping your thigh , kneading it in his grip. it slipped under your dress about halfway to your place , pinky finger reaching out to touch the delicate material you wore beneath it. he didn’t do anything more though.

it wasn’t like him , but he wasn’t about to finger bang you in his car. you weren’t that type of girl to him. you weren’t a quick fuck he met at a party. no , you were his girl. and his girl deserved more than that. at least the first time. maybe tomorrow he would suggest it on the way back to his house.

but you had had enough of the teasing and gentle touches. with a roll of your eyes , you unbuckled and shifted in your seat to face rafe entirely. your hand reached over to his own lap , tracing the outline of his boner.

“and what’re you doing?” rafe questioned with a smirk, “hm?”

“it’s a long drive , and i’m bored,” you answered plainly , undoing his belt and pulling the zipper of his slacks down, “so i wanna kill some time. that okay?” you looked at him with those big eyes , and he had this exact dream not that long ago , so of course he wasn’t going to say no. especially not when you were already pulling him out of his briefs.

“do whatever you want to me , kitty cat. m’all yours,” he nodded , thrusting his hips up involuntarily when your hand started pumping him.

you hummed contentedly , leaning over the center console to take the tip of him into your mouth. you pressed a sweet kiss to it first , licking your lips clean of the precum he was dripping with , and when rafe whined , you knew you would do this every day of your life moving forward if you could.

you sucked at the tip , hand still moving up and down in tandem with the suction before slowly taking more of him in. you didn’t mind the fact that his hips shifted up every once in a while , forcing you to take him further. you liked it , liked knowing he couldn’t control his body.

“fuck , baby. mouth feels fuckin’ perfect,” rafe moaned out , removing one of his hands from the wheel to the hem of your dress. he flipped it up , exposing your panties to the ac of his car before his fingers trailed down to your center , feeling the wet patch that had taken property of the material.

you moaned when his fingers applied pressure , encouraging you to take him down your throat entirely. your nose brushed against the hair at the base and your throat contracted around his cock , almost causing you to gag before you hummed and pulled off of him. your hand kept up its ministrations , spreading your spit around as you twisted your wrist , earning a solid smack on your ass.

maybe he would fuck you in the car.

“want you to cum in my mouth , rafey,” you admitted , looking at him through your watery lashes for just a moment of eye contact before going back down to his lap and swallowing him again.

“keep going then , baby. so close,” rafe groaned , pulling your underwear to the side to truly feel you, “got yourself all worked up just from sucking my dick?” it almost came out humorously , but it wasn’t that. rafe was just so gobsmacked that you were this wet from a few touches and kisses.

you hummed again around him , bobbing your head up and down fast , taking him all the way each time. it was a lot , but it wasn’t anything you weren’t completely willing to handle.

“fuck , fuck,” he grunted , removing his fingers from your needy clit to reach the top of your head. he didn’t push you down any further , just held you there for a moment. “gonna cum , baby. you gonna swallow it all for me like a good girl?”

you nodded around him , feeling the first few drops of his release land on your tongue before the rest came flooding your mouth. you tried to pull back , needing more room in your mouth for the load he was dispositing there , but he held you head firm. “stay right there,” he moaned , the after shocks of his orgasm hitting as his cum started to spill from your mouth and run down the length of him.

you blinked away the tears and did your best to breath through your nose until he let go of you. his hand returned to you , rubbing and gripping at your ass. you immediately pulled yourself off of him , gasping and swallowing his cum before leaning over again to lick him clean.

“fuck! you’re so good,” rafe laughed , guiding your head up as he came to a red light. he adjusted himself back into his pants before looking over to you. your mascara had started to run a little , roughing up the sleek edge you always tried to maintain. you had spit dribbling down your chin that you were wiping at. “prettiest thing in the obx,” he added , moving to press a kiss to you lips.

you whined into the kiss , shifting to be as close to him as possible. “drive faster,” you said against his lips , needing him now more than ever.

just like that , the light turned green , and you both thanked the universe. that was a good sign.

the light wasn’t too far from your place , so the drive was only a few more minutes. during that time , you readjusted yourself , conjuring up your image again like it was nothing. you didn’t even look like you just took rafe’s cock down you throat. luckily , that was the goal. you didn’t want you mom to find out from the concierge that her daughter was a whore who gave boys road head before taking them up to your suite and having your way with them.

no , she wouldn’t approve.

soon enough , rafe was parking in your designated parking spot near the entrance of the hotel. he didn’t waste any time before jumping out and rushing to let you out of the truck as well. you kissed him politely when he did out of thanks.

your hands found each other again as you lead him inside the hotel. he had been there hundreds of times , but the adrenaline running through his veins and straight to the tent in his pants was different. he wasn’t coming over to hang out with you or to pick you up. he was staying over because you had finally kissed him. after years of wanting you and pushing that greed to the side , he had you. you were his.

and no , neither of you said it , but you both always knew. you more subconsciously than him. he was painfully aware of his feelings for you , and he was okay with waiting. because look at where it got him.

a hello from the front desk and a sloppy makeout in the private elevator later you were entering your home.

you walked into the kitchen , knowing rafe would either follow you or go straight to your room. you grabbed a couple of water bottles and headed to the bedroom , which rafe did choose over the kitchen.

“making yourself at home?” you chuckled , setting the waters down on your bedside table as you took in the sight of rafe getting comfortable in your bed.

“what? you gonna kick me out?” he laughed with you as you made your way to him , crawling up the bed to straddle him.

“never,” you whispered , leaning in to kiss him again. this one was the softest of them all , the slowest more sensual one of the night.

rafe’s hands found purchase on your hips , pushing your down into his own for friction. you both groaned at the feeling , not breaking the kiss.

“you done talkin’ to girls at parties?” you asked him , pulling away and swirling your hips as your hands rubbed at his chest.

his eyes were closed , head fallen back in the satin pillows. “never liked ‘em anyway,” he nodded , fingers tightening on your waist when you moved just right.

“i mean it,” you reiterated , slowing your movements.

“me too,” rafe assured you , sitting up and holding onto you, “they were never you. never could be,” he whispered , kissing you gently again before flipping you over, “you done flirting with bartenders?”

“i never have,” you giggled as he nipped at your neck , grinding his hips into yours.

“then i think we can agree , it’s just me and you,” rafe’s voice came out shaky— whether it was the nerves of exclusivity or the way you felt under him.

your smile widened as you tilted your head. “is the big bad rafe cameron asking me somethin’?” you teased him as he pulled away to look at you.

“kitty,” he began , his own smile forming if it ever truly left. you bit your lip in anticipation. you knew rafe , knew he couldn’t ask you what he wanted.

“it’s fine , rafe,” you nodded meekly, “promise.”

and ignoring the pinch in your stomach , you pulled him back in for a kiss that he dodged to make his mark on your body.

“sorry” he mumbled into your skin , biting and sucking at your neck down to your collarbone, “i wanna. i promise,” he spoke so softly , moving lower and lower down your chest, “but you know you’re my girl , right?” he looked up at you as he slid your dress up to your stomach. his fingers traced the hem of your underwear , causing you to take a deep breath in. “right?” he echoed , hooking his fingers to pull them down your legs.

“yeah,” you nodded , waiting for him to touch you again. his kisses started on your thighs , holding them open as he moved your legs over his shoulders.

“good girl using your words,” he chuckled , sticking his tongue out and swiping it through your folds once slowly before sucking your clit into his mouth. your head fell back , jaw open to let out a whiney moan , one you’d been holding in all night.

you knew about rafe and his experience. you knew because you were best friends who told each other everything. with that in mind , you had no clue he ate pussy like a starved man , like you were oxygen and he had been underwater for too long.

when he slid a finger into you , you tensed up a little , not expecting the stretch yet. “relax , baby,” he chastised you , diving back in to mouth at your clit to get you to let your muscles untense. and god , it felt good. too good.

“fuck , fuck! rafe , stop. stop , stop,” you rushed out , pushing his head away from you , and he immediately pulled away and sat up.

“what’s wrong?” he worried , searching your face for anything.

you giggled , pulling him in to kiss you. “i want you to fuck me,” you told him , hand going to the tent in his pants again, “that’s what we came here for , right? so fuck me so i can come on your cock,” you whispered in his ear.

the man didn’t waste any time. he tore his pants off , slipping out of his shit just as fast while you undressed yourself , giggling the whole time.

“what’re you laughin’ at , kitty?” rafe asked despite chuckling with you as he found his way back on top of you. he left his hand guide himself to your entrance , promptly stopping any laughter coming from your lips. he slid his cock through your folds , up and down until you were whining.

“rafey…” you sighed , using your leg hooked around his hips to pull him closer.

and he couldn’t deny you any longer. not with that look on your face. not with the cadence of your voice. not with how wet you were. as rafe slid himself in , completely to the hilt , you both groaned in sync. he paused , stilling inside of you to give you both a second. lord knows he needed one. “you okay , baby?” he asked gently , kissing at your neck. he still hadn’t moved , breathing deep.

“mhm , want you to fuck me,” you nodded , maneuvering to kiss him on the lips. your tongues fought for dominance as you made out , rafe’s hips starting to move.

his thrusts were harsh— deep and hard. the type that forced moans out of your mouth with each one. your head thrown back gave rafe the chance to mark your neck more. he grunted in your ear , hot breath hitting your skin as he gripped so tight on your hips he was sure there would be bruises there too.

“you’re so fucking perfect,” rafe moaned , holding himself up to fully look at you, “pretty fuckin’ kitty , wanting me to fuck you so bad , huh?” he was smiling the whole time. he moved around , sitting back and pulling your legs together. he kissed at your calves , slamming into your faster harder than before.

your mouth was left open , moans and whines and borderline screams flying out freely. “fuck! so fucking deep , rafe. feels so good,” you babbled , hands gripping the sheets in your hands.

“yeah? you like that , baby?” he grunted , wetting his thumb with his tongue before moving it to rub at your clit in time with his thrusts, “squeezin’ me so tight,” he moaned , letting his head drop back in ecstasy just for a moment before focusing again.

“i’m so close! right there , right fucking there!” you alerted him , hands coming up to grab at your tits.

“ahh , that’s it,” rafe hissed , not changing a thing he was doing, “cum on my cock , baby. fucking cum for me.”

his words only helped throw you off the edge. you squealed , moving you legs down from his shoulders in an attempt to get away from his assaults as you came down.

rafe didn’t stop though. no , he just grabbed your thighs and yanked you back toward him , continuing to fuck himself into you throughout your high. it was when your moans turned from pleasure to the smallest amount of pain from the overstimulation that he pulled out.

breathing heavy , your eyelids dropped as you tried to come back to reality. that idea was short lived as rafe flipped you onto your stomach.

“i’m not done yet , baby,” he warned you , adjusting the way your body was splayed on the bed. once he had you the way he wanted , he straddled your thighs. he jerked himself off a couple of times and sheathed himself back inside you.

your body welcomed him with ease , letting him slide into you with no push back at all. “fuck,” you groaned , burying your face in and holding onto your pillows.

rafe took that as a sign you were ready and began fucking into you again. he didn’t hold back this time , using your body the way he wanted. but there was a certain moan you heard come from his lips along with a stutter of his hips that reminded you he wasn’t wearing a condom.

your hand flew back to his hips , pushing him out of you before you rolled yourself onto your back. “come on my face,” you blurted , panting with him. he ran a hand down with a groan his face before shifting up your body. his thighs pushing your tits up as he jerked himself off in front of you.

your hand replaced his , still wanting to be the reason he finished. you stuck your tongue out and closed your eyes when the first few drops hit your skin , squeezing a little more until he was coming completely undone.

“fuck , kitty. yes , yes , yes,” he whimpered , gripping the back of your head and bringing your mouth to his dick again, “take it just like that. yeah,” he grunted , cock twitching in your mouth as you drained him.

when rafe felt like he could move again , he shifted to the side , clambering off of you. “fuck!” he panted with a laugh , placing his hands on the side of your cum covered face and kissing you. you moaned into it , tasting both him and you on your tongues.

he pulled away and slid off the bed , leaving you to go into your bathroom. you were left on the bed , eyes closed and chest rising and falling. the silence was deafening , only being able to hear your breathing and a high pitched ringing.

“rafe , will you grab—“

“i gotcha,” rafe assured you , coming back into the bedroom with a wash cloth and your makeup removed, “c’mere.”

you pushed yourself up , and rafe sat next to you. he gently wiped at the white stains on your face , making sure to get all of it off. “prettiest girl in kildare. i’ll say it for the rest of my life,” he cooed , boyish grin on his face as he finished getting the last of cum. you peeked one eye open with a smile to look at him , checking if he was done.

rafe wasn’t looking at you when you checked , too busy pulling out a makeup wipe , so you shut your eyes again , waiting patiently as the blush started to creep up on your cheeks. “oh , kitty. no blushin’ after all of that!” he teased you , starting to remove the makeup on your face.

“m’not,” you huffed , smile breaking back out on your swollen lips.

“you’ve always been a shit liar,” rafe muttered , shaking his head as he got the last of your makeup, “there. now you’re even prettier.” his compliment was sealed with a kiss while you rolled your eyes.

“will you pass me the water?” you croaked , realizing how dry your throat was after you tried to swallow.

he nodded , grabbing both bottles. he unscrewed one , handing it to you before opening his own and chugging more than half of it. you let out a short laugh at the sight , sipping on your own.

“still know where you’re clothes are at?” you asked him , assuming he was staying the night and not wearing the dress pants and shirt while he did so.

“don’t need ‘em,” he shrugged , climbing under the covers before dragging you back with him.

a/n lol i stay lying to y’all bout when n what im finna post:) but comment to be added to this taglist! <3

[l0lita-luv]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ “Polar Opposites!!”

Fluff+Smut!!

Summary-Some fluffy hcs about you and Vi, along with other arcane characters. And some sweet sex at the end.

Warnings-Use of y/n, reader is described as hyper!fem, Powder still exists, Caitlyn is a friend, Vander, Mylo, & Claggor are still alive, Switch!Vi, Mostly Sub!reader, Fingering R!receiving, Oral R!receiving, pet names: Angel, baby, sweet sex :)

a/n- Wrote this before act lll came out so…

men dni!!

Sfw!!

Vi has always loved the way you dressed. Your frilly dresses and skirts, not to mention your adorable little shirts. When she first saw you, she just knew she had to have you!

When the two of you met, she was wandering the streets of Piltover going to visit Caitlyn. But when she saw you struggling to carry your groceries, she sprinted to help you

“Hey! Uhm-let me help you with that!” Vi said nervously, “Oh thank you so much!” You beamed at Vi’s kindness. She almost melted when she saw your adorable smile.

“You ok?” You asked snapping Vi out of her trance, “Oh yeah! Uh no problem!” Vi stumbled helping you carry your groceries to your car.

“Could I maybe get your number?” You both asked in unison.

Everyone who knows her is so sick of hearing about you, specifically Powder

“Did you see what she wore today? It looked great on her right?” Vi said rambling to Powder once again, “Mhm…she looked great Vi.” Powder said her voice dripping in annoyance. Sighing as Vi opened her mouth once again.

But when everyone meets you they understand why Vi is so utterly in love

When Powder sees you she’s just so stunned by your clothes, hair and everything about you!

She’s tries to contain herself from stealing the bow in your hair

When Claggor and Mylo meet you, their very akward

Stumbling over their words, and saying things most would find offensive!

Vi was obviously staring them down the whole time

When you first met Caitlyn, you were a bit scared of her…why? Well because of the amount of stories Vi has told her about you, you were afraid you would make a horrible first impression

But when Caitlyn greeted you with a warm smile and a hug, you knew everything was fine.

Overall, everyone loves you

She also likes how your style and hers clash

Def calls you angel, doll, and love

She tries to act tough whenever the two of you are out but behind closed doors, she’s such a sap

Buys you whatever you want!

“Baby…can I get this?” You ask holding up a pair of heels. “Of course you can! They would look great on you.” Vi responds looking at the price tag nervously.

But it was worth it! Because let’s just say you payed her back…

Nsfw!!

Absolutely loves when you wear skirts and dresses

Lowkey gets annoyed when you try to take it off

“Babe-“ Vi tries to speak between kisses, tugging your skirt up. “Keep it on!” Vi manages to get out.

You love when Vi gets like this, you pay her no mind continuing to grind on her lap making her groan as you took your shirt off.

You were so focused on teasing her you didn’t even notice when she took of your panties, until she slipped in a finger only to pull out and rub your clit sweetly. “Vi!” You squeak, “Please…”

She only smiles at you, flipping the two of you over so that you can be under her. Quickly taking off her shirt.

“What do you want Angel?” Vi asks taking one of your nipples between her fingertips pinching them, making you whine. “Y-your mouth…” You whisper loud enough for her to hear.

Vi chuckles softly at your desperation, leaning forward to kiss you making her way down to your throbbing cunt. Almost immediately getting to work, she was eating you like you were her last meal. “Oh!” You yelp, reaching for Vi’s hair tugging her head closer. If even possible, she starts moving her tongue even faster making your moans louder.

You practically start screaming when she enters a finger pumping it in and out gently, looking up at you. “Think you can take another Angel?” Vi asks sweetly her face still buried in your cunt. “Yes!” You whimper your legs beginning to twitch. Vi gently slipping in another finger, her pace being generous.

“Vi…” You whisper, “Hm?” “Kiss me…” You whine. Vi comes back up, her fingers still moving. Leaning down to kiss you passionately, “I love you Angel.” Vi says, reaching for your hand, holding it. Your grip became tighter as you came undone, moaning into her mouth. “I love you too baby.” You respond back, catching your breath.

[alshalyn]

So, I riffed off this post (plus incorporated tips from a few other recipes) to make mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner yesterday, and they were a huge hit. Here are my notes:

Slice your potatoes thinly. It increases the surface area and helps them cook faster.

Keep the water level a little below the top of your potatoes. Put in just enough liquid that you can see the water slosh up if you shake the saucepan/pot.

Sprinkle in some kosher salt (or. Regular salt. Whatever you have) -- what little I know about cooking science suggests that this not only will season the potatoes, but keep their existing flavor from leaching out. I also put some butter in mine, so the flavor would incorporate into the cooking liquid.

Bring to an aggressive boil, lower to a milder boil, and keep the lid on while it cooks the rest of the way, so that the potatoes steam-cook. Set your timer for 20 minutes and check the tenderness by piercing with a fork. They may be soft even before that; this method cooks FAST once you reach boiling point.

If you've got a small batch, you can mash it up, liquid and all, with a fork. If you're doing larger, use an electric mixer if you have it, processing a few cups at a time. I like my potatoes slightly chunky, so adjust mashing method to your liking, though try not to overwork it to keep it from becoming gluey.

Heat up some milk or cream if you like and work it into the potatoes little by little until it's to your liking.

Mashed potato deliciousness, in a fraction of the original method's time.

My perfect mashed potatoes

The secret is in the water; literally, it’s IN the water.

See, when you boil potatoes, a lot of special starches and sugars and stuff leeches out into the water. When you drain the water before mashing them, you throw away a lot of good stuff, which is a big part of what makes mashed potatoes “dry” and bland, even when you add large amounts of cream and butter and things.

So don’t throw out any water.

Here’s how you do that:

First, cut your potatoes into smaller cubes than you probably do. (I’ve left the skins on for flavor and also, that’s where a lot of a potato’s nutrients are, like protien and iron and vitamins B and C, just to name a few)

The reason for cutting them smaller (besides avoiding giant peices of skin) is so that there is less space in the pot between each peice for water to fill, so you use less water to cook them. That’s important because you won’t be draining any water, so you can’t afford to have too much water! For the same reason, just barely cover them with water when they go on the stove.

But! Before you do that, put the pot on the stove with some butter, garlic, and seasonings; let the butter start to sizxle just a little then put most of a single layer of potatoes in the pan and let the brown and sear. Turn them, brown them on all sides, get ‘em fairly dark (I forgot to get a pic here because I was worried I’d burn the butter).

Ready? now throw the rest of the potatoes in right on top, and add your water, give them a stir. This way, you’re boiling in some of that lovely fried potato/french fry flavor.

Okay, so, as they cook, you may need to add a little water, not too much! ideally the very highest piece of potato will be poking just above the surface. Now, when your potatoes are really really soft, mash them directly into the water. Just pull them off the stove, leave all the water in, and start mashing. Trust me. At first you’ll think there’s too much water. If you get them mashed and they ARE a little too liquidy, just put ‘em back on the stove. You’ll have to stir often or constantly, but they will steam off additional water without losing any good stuff.

Now add some salt, and taste. Right?! And you haven’t even put in any cream or cheese or anything yet.

Speaking of which, you can use like, a third of the amount of butter or cream or anything, and they will still taste better than usual. So they taste better AND they are higher in nutrients AND lower in fats and salts! That’s a lot of win — enjoy your potatoes!

Fuck Columbus! Indigenous Rights! And happy Thanksgiving!

[soleilapproves]

you condition your roommate, Gojo Satoru, into expecting a forehead kiss every time he leaves for work.

Notes: gender neutral reader

masterlist (tumblr isn’t letting me paste the link </3)

It all started on a Monday morning.

You had read about classical conditioning the night before- when a stimulus is linked to an action that is done routinely. You were feeling cheeky so you decided to test it out on your roommate who you knew had been trying to ask you out for the longest time.

You’ve been waiting for him to explicitly say how he feels but he’s chickened out way too many times. So as revenge, you played mind games with him. You’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t satisfying to see his shocked expression.

“Satoru, before you leave-“ you skipped to him before he could grab the door handle, and grabbed his arm to turn him towards you.

“-don’t forget this.” You pulled his tie down and kissed his forehead.

The white haired man’s eyebrows reached high enough to almost touch his hairline. “Wha-“

You pushed him out before he could utter another word. “Bye, you’ll be late!”

Soon after that fateful morning, you’d kiss his forehead before work. It became so ingrained in both your routines that he’d simply walk up to you while you were making breakfast and you’d slip him a quick peck.

You almost conditioned yourself to it too. Whenever Satoru would move his hair away from his forehead, your mind would automatically make you lean in towards him. It confused him the first couple times you did it and then you caught yourself on after that. You were the one playing mind games. Not him.

It had been three weeks of giving him forehead kisses when you decided to stop the action.

Your morning started the same way as it always did- you woke up, showered, made your coffee, and then sat down to eat your breakfast. However, it was the opposite for Satoru. He had slept late the night before and woke up with only fifteen minutes to get ready so to say that the apartment looked like it was hit by a hurricane was an understatement.

You saw a flash of white go towards the fridge as you calmly stirred the berries in your oatmeal. “Huh, I was wondering if you had taken the day off.”

“I didn’t. Manager Yaga gave me some intern’s report last minute and I had to correct the whole thing. I was up until three am.” You felt bad over how he was rushing to spread jam on his toast so you pulled out a tumbler and began to prepare his coffee as he liked it (so sweet that a hypoglycemic person could be cured).

You could see the effects of sleep deprivation on him- tie crooked, bag half-zipped, shirt tucked out of his slacks and of course, crumbs of bread all of his face. The man looked like a walking mess.

You walked him to the door, handing his tumbler over to him and muttering a small ‘goodbye’ as he shoved his feet in his black leather loafers.

You were about to close the door on him when he stopped you. “Did you forget something?” You innocently asked as you leaned your head to the side while folding your arms.

“No, you did.” He haphazardly moved his hair away from the center of his forehead and pointed at it.

“Why are you doing that?” You wanted to laugh at him so bad but you pinched your arm to prevent it. “What do you mean? You always kiss my forehead.”

“Yeah, but I don’t feel like doing it anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to keep doing it?”

“Yes, I’m way too used to it!” You almost jolted at his urgency. The man was clearly yearning for a forehead kiss.

“But why? It’s weird- only couples do something like that. I don’t know why I did it in the first place.”

“Wow, NOW you care if it’s something couples do?”

Gojo sighed and rubbed his temples with his forefinger and thumb. “Look, I’m really late right now and I don’t have time to explain myself. All I’m gonna say is this- you, me, date at seven tonight. And you best believe I won’t be late for that. Now give me my kiss.”

Your face was flushed after his sudden boldness and you quickly leaned in to press your lips against his sweaty forehead (you had worked him up with your little prank). “I’ll be waiting.” You grinned.

And he had walked right into your trap.

Gojo scoffed at you before closing the door with a small slam. You began jumping as soon as he was out of your vision but your celebration was soon stopped when the door opened

“What now?” You groaned.

The man simply pulled you towards him by your elbow and left a sweet kiss on your cheek. “This.”

—

Trust me when I say that playing mind games like this is a lot of fun. My ex situationship can’t listen to Childish Gambino without thinking of me 🙏

[euthymiya]

part one ; office mate! gojo ; company heir! gojo ; female intern! reader ; fluff ; pre getting together

Satoru is good at getting things he wants. It’s not because he’s spoiled (although he’s that, too) but rather, it’s because he’s persistent. Annoyingly so. Persistent in that way where he doesn’t necessarily earn what he wants, but scores it just because the other party is tired enough to cave for the sake of some peace.

Case example: you.

You sit across from him as he happily sips on his excessively expensive coffee from all the extra syrups.

“How can you have that much sugar?” You cringe.

He raises an amused brow as he hums, “Because I don’t choose to be miserable. You should try it sometime.”

Glaring, you roll your eyes before taking a sip of your own coffee. Satoru is at least nice and chivalrous enough to pay for your coffee—although, knowing what you do now, it’s not exactly as though he can’t afford it. You’re pretty sure being the heir to the company you intern for means he’s loaded in enough money that a simple iced coffee isn’t too much of a dent in his pockets.

You give him an unimpressed frown before getting to the heart of the matter. “Why didn’t you tell me your dad owns the company?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” you hiss, “I’ve been passive aggressively calling you a lazy asshole for two months!”

“Do you change your mind about that?” He asks infuriatingly calmly.

“No,” you admit. You take a long look at him before nodding in confirmation as you repeat, “No, I don’t.”

He pouts a little at that, still cute and aggravating at the same time. “Hey,” he says, only a little wounded and a whole lot excessively dramatic. You can tell he didn’t get a lot of attention growing up with the way he pulls theatrics. Something about the psychology of unmet emotional needs as a child from your one semester of psych in college comes back. “You don’t have to say it so condescendingly.”

“Well, you are lazy,” you point out. He shrugs because…well, it’s a fair point. “But now I know why.”

“So what, if you knew my old man was our big boss, you’d be nicer to me? Is that it?”

You crinkle your nose and give him a look of disbelief. “No,” you say—it’s almost amused. The first ounce of humor you’ve shown around him at all. “But I wouldn’t have wasted my energy caring that you’re a deadweight in the office.”

“Ouch,” he pouts, “I bought the coffee machine on our floor!”

“It’s getting rather faulty,” you hum, “You should consider investing in another one for us.”

Satoru likes that about you. You’re interesting. Interesting not because you’re exceptionally smart or all that impressive—not that you’re bad by any means. Being accepted as an intern here must mean your resume has a degree of prestige to it, but you’re just like any other person in the building. Except, instead of shrugging off his bratty, obnoxious self, you seem to care a great deal about what he does.

It greatly amuses him enough that you’ve sparked his interest.

“You’re fun,” he chuckles, “I like you. You’re not boring.”

“Just what every woman wants to hear,” you bat your lashes, sarcastically giving him a dreamy sigh, “Not boring. How charming of you.”

He grins wider, and something in your heart does a little bit of a clench. It’s so…pretty. Everything about him is pretty. The clean, pristine button down with perfectly ironed pants. The soft, messy hair that somehow adds to his expensive look rather than take away. Those bright, piercing blue eyes that feel like you’re lost in infinity when you look into them.

He’s pretty. Pretty annoying, too—but pretty all the same.

“I’m working on it,” he murmurs.

“What? Your manners?” You snort.

“My charm,” he corrects.

“We might be here for quite some time then,” you tease. You don’t know what it is. Falling into a bantering back and forth with him is so easy—so amusing and, if you’re honest, a tiny bit exciting.

Maybe a background of wealth and fortune makes a man appealing like that. Or maybe he’s just likable. You’re not sure yet.

“You’re saying you’ll be here waiting for me to get there?” He raises a brow, winking as he adds, “So maybe you’re charmed after all.”

“That’s a stretch,” you pretend to scoff. Nevermind the hardly hidden smile on your face—that means nothing. “I just want to watch you fail, that’s all.”

“And if I succeed?” He challenges, looking at you expectantly.

You roll your eyes, deciding to indulge him in whatever petty games he has going on. “In what, being charming?”

“Yes,” he nods, “What if I succeed in being an irresistible dreamboat of an office neighbor?”

“I doubt that’ll happen,” you bite your lip in an attempt to fight back a large, dimpled grin. It’s funny, you think—just up until a few hours ago, all he ever managed to do was pull your lips into a scowl. Now, it feels like it’s impossible not to stretch them into a smile. “But, if it does, I suppose I’ll eat my own words.”

“No,” Satoru shakes his head, lips curled into a serious, unsatisfied frown, “No that simply won’t do. I need better than that.”

“Okay,” you finally laugh. It’s radiant. It comes from your belly and vibrates through your chest. He’s somehow good at it—just one coffee grab during your lunch break, and he’s already managed to earn the sound of your joy so easily. Something about that tickles a weird, unfamiliar spot under your ribcage. “Lay out your terms.”

“You have to be my girlfriend if I manage to make your eyes turn into hearts over my handsomely unbeatable appeal.”

It’s cheeky, his grin. Wide, confident, and still boyishly hopeful. You start to wonder why you ever disliked such an easy to fall for smile.

“That’s pretty bold,” you note.

“I’m bold about the things I want.” You pretend that those words don’t make your heart do a helpless flutter.

“Okay,” you nod, agreeing as you take a final sip of your coffee and hand him the empty cup, “I’ll agree to these unlikely terms. You can start by bringing me another coffee.”

“You got it, boss,” he salutes before doing a giddy little jog to the counter and ordering you another coffee. It’s cute. It has your heart in a scarily fast chokehold.

Somewhere in the heat of the moment, as you watch him fumble over his wallet and almost drop his card while he goes to pay, you think he may have already won the terms to this ridiculous agreement.

But you won’t tell him that, you think. Just to drag out the eager, hopeful look in his eyes that dart over at you and shoot you a sly wink.

———————————

here is part two as promised for @enyathedrakaina bc they sent me cat pics

[balioc]

Looking at the world from a manager's perspective, you can productively model the pool of workers as being divided into a few basic groups, which are defined and characterized by their driving motivations.

Insert all the usual disclaimers for this sort of thing - this is the roughest type of rough typology. I pulled these categories out of my raw intuition, and possibly a few more would crop up with some additional thought. In reality, the boundaries of these categories are incredibly fuzzy, and almost every individual is actually going to be motivated by a complicated mix of all the relevant motivations; we're talking REALLY SIMPLE HEURISTICS here. Etc.

There have been other well-known worker typologies that share a lot in common with my thoughts here; this is mostly not novel, it's mostly meant to refine a few ideas for particular purposes.

Hustlers are motivated by concrete personal advantage. Most commonly, and most straightforwardly, they want money - as much of it as they can get. They may also be interested in fame, idiosyncratic perks, etc. They do whatever they have to do in order to get what they want.

No surprise: you see huge preponderances of these guys in fields that provide outsize concrete rewards, e.g. finance, the upper echelons of management, etc. But not every natural-born Hustler is in a position to enter a glitzy high-paying field, and in fact you find Hustlers all throughout society and all throughout the economy, finding or making hustles wherever they go.

Having Hustlers working for you is mostly pretty great. They get shit done. They can be induced to work incredibly hard - probably harder than anyone else, under most circumstances - and they'll shank their own mothers if the price is right. If you need anything really important from them, anything at all, it's just a matter of bribing them enough.

...they will also, of course, cheerfully shank you if the price is right. Hustlers aren't the only wellsprings of institutional politics and infighting, but they're the most dangerous ones; they're always potential rivals to everyone around them. Also, you need to keep the tangible rewards flowing in a steady stream in order to get anything out of them, or else they'll put most of their effort into jumping ship (one way or another).

Craftsmen are motivated by the desire to do good work in their chosen fields, for its own sake and for the sake of their treasured self-image as people who do good work.

As you'd expect, for the most part, they're excellent workers and should be prized. But they're not perfect workers. Common weaknesses and downsides include:

They tend to have their own ideas about How Things Should Get Done; they're often resistant to externally-imposed product/service requirements or process changes (and bad at implementing those things) (no matter how important or well-conceived they are), and they're very resistant to "just get it out the door, right now done is better than good."

Being driven chiefly by internal motivation is great, but sometimes it's useful to be able to push things along with external motivators, and Craftsmen are pretty resistant to those. They don't like working more or harder than they're naturally inclined to work, they mostly sneer at carrots, and sticks make them sad and unproductive.

It's important to note that, while noteworthy skill within a field correlates with having a Craftsman temperament and motivation suite - for obvious reasons - those things are not identical at all. Plenty of Craftsmen are bad at their jobs, or just average, and plenty of the best workers are most motivated by things other than the Excellence of the Work Itself.

Fanatics are a relatively rare and specialized group, whom you find mostly within a few specific sorts of culturally-valorized fields. They're motivated by a desire to be part of something Important and Good in a Broader Sense: to Save the World, or some smaller-bore version of that.

They make amazing front-line soldiers, in the sorts of institutions that have "front-line soldiers." They work super hard, and you don't even need to bribe them, you just need to keep them hopped up on inspiration.

The big problem with them is that they're mostly motivated by a feeling - the feeling of Being Righteous - and it's not easy to control where they get that feeling, in any kind of precise way. They're just as resistant to external motivators as Craftsmen are, or even more so, but they're also not being guided by an ideal of effective quality. (No, not even if their chosen cause is theoretically all about an ideal of effective quality, hem hem.) They will happily waste vast amounts of time and money doing useless things, or even counterproductive things, so long as they're engaged in tasks that hit the right psychological buttons for them. There's also a constant risk that a Fanatic will decide that his employer is unrighteous, or that one of his coworkers is unrighteous, and start an internal conflict; the risk scales in a more-than-linear fashion with the number of Fanatics you keep around.

The biggest group, unsurprisingly, is the Normies. In most fields, it is much the biggest group. Normies are motivated by the desire to be members in good standing of their communities, to have positive relationships with the people around them, and to live up to basic norms and expectations.

Managerial skills, in the traditional sense, are incredibly important with Normies. If you want them to do good work for you - and you should want that, as a manager, you've almost certainly got a whole bunch of them - not only do you have to keep them pointed in the right direction, you have to make sure that they're supporting each other. With Hustlers, you just have to throw money at them (and avoid their power plays); with Craftsmen, you just have to let them do their thing, and occasionally badger them into giving you what you need; with Fanatics, you just have to be inspirational; but with Normies, you have to lead, and construct a productive community. You have to set reasonable, achievable norms and expectations that will get you what you need.

This wouldn't be complete if I didn't talk about the Defectors. The Defectors are motivated by not working. They don't want to be there, they resent having to do their jobs, and their primary goal is to shirk as much as possible. They will, by default, put much more effort into shirking than into their assigned tasks.

Obviously, managers don't want to have to deal with them, for good reason. But they're out there, in large numbers - not always in the places and fields where you'd expect to find them - and learning to manage them is sometimes more viable than trying to get rid of them. ("Moving Heaven and Earth to find them jobs that will change their attitude" is often a good plan, although of course it's not always possible and not always worth it.)

Crucially, Defectors are not Normies. If you start with the assumption that the average baseline worker is lazy and sour, you will make some incredibly stupid decisions. There are some fields where, for structural reasons, you can expect that a very large number of your workers will be Defectors; this is a huge and complicated challenge, well beyond the scope of this post, and good luck to you if you have to handle it, but it's not the default.

----------------------

Once you have those categories in your head, and can play with them, a number of obvious-seeming ideas present themselves. Just a couple, for now:

Most high-level executives are Hustlers, or have strong Hustler tendencies, for obvious reasons. Most of the people around them are Hustlers, or have strong Hustler tendencies. This means that they tend to overweight the Hustler outlook, by a lot, when they try to model what their workers are like. More specifically, I'd wager that a lot of them intuitively divide the world into "good workers" ( = Hustlers) and "bad workers" ( = Defectors). This will lead to a heavy overreliance on tangible rewards, a systematic shortchanging of community-building, etc. Which is in fact just what we see.

In particular - crucially - Hustlers and Defectors are the only worker types who ever become more productive under heavy stress. Hustlers actually benefit from it, because it raises the stakes of the game that they're already playing. (If you succeed, you'll be king of the world! If you fail, you'll be shark food! Go go go!) Defectors suffer terribly from stress, of course, but they can sometimes be spooked into doing their jobs as opposed to doing nothing, and sometimes that's the best/easiest way to get something out of them. But stress is terrible for everyone else. Craftsmen lose their focus. Fanatics lose their hope. It's worst of all for Normies, because they take all their cues from the vibes around them; they're productive when they learn to associate work with comfort and happiness, and when you fill their working world with frantic desperation, you just put them in a permanent cringe state.

stop trying to pit your Normies against each other in competitions for status and rewards dear God what are you stupid

To some extent, you can control your institution by controlling what types of workers you have. But only to some extent. There are only so many Hustlers and Craftsmen to go around, and if you want them, you will have to (a) be able to identify them reliably on little information [HINT: you are probably very bad at this], and (b) provide them with what they want [tangible rewards / comfortable security and interesting work]. "We are going to employ only the good special people" is feasible if you're an outfit of four workers; at a dozen, it's already become a stretch; at a few hundred, uh, pfffffffft. If you want to operate at scale, you need to be able to make Normies do good work, there is no substitute for it.

[multipleoccupancy]

The questions kept coming, which he should have expected and while it was a comfort to know her curiosity was high enough that she would ask questions like she usually would, Theo was starting to feel the need to mind what he said. Still fearful of punishment of course but also in some attempt to both protect Violet from Delta Green and perhaps vis versa too. "The work is voluntary for field agents," Theo explained as the only question he would answer in the moment. "I do this without pay." But Delta Green had set him up for life in other ways too and she knew that, he could hardly complain.

Concerned for Violet's response to his suggestion to try her mother while he was unavailable had him shift awkwardly in the desk chair. He hadn't liked that answer.

"You're not lying to her about nightmares, nightmares aren't real and you can very easily know what I went through in the ward, you've been around me long enough to pick up information just like she has." Theo insisted, "You are never a burden to either of us and she and I both would be heartbroken if you bottled up your worries and concerns thinking you were protecting either of us. That's not how this family works and you don't have to hide that you're hurt by this too." He was not going to magically get better in his head, in fact he was fairly sure that he had new mental scars to carry around with him from remembering what happened but that was not Violet's fault.

"You don't even have to tell her what's happened in the dream, just that it was a nightmare and you need comfort that I can't offer right now." He knew he was still so very nervous of touch and he had upset Andrea the previous night in recoiling away from her offered comfort, unintentionally of course. "Don't shut yourself away because you think you're not entitled to help just because I need it at the moment too." Was it a lecture? Probably. "We're your parents, we will always make time for you."

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

"That makes sense," Violet nodded. But in fact, his explanation had opened many more questions in her mind. Questions she was going to ask him! "When was Delta Green created? Was it always secret? Is it still linked to the government, even though it's secret? And how do they send you payslips, then? Do they use a fake company as a cover?" The fact that she could fire questions quite so fast was at least the sign that she was relatively ok. Not in the best of shape, sure. But in still good enough shape to be curious! And ask too many questions.

It wasn't that Violet had changed her mind: she still didn't want to be an agent anymore. But she was a naturally curious girl and was even more curious when it came to Delta Green. It was a secret part of her dad's life, but it was a big part of it too. The more she understood it, the less mysterious and blurry it was.

Violet was not about to tell her dad about her nightmares, not when it could risk triggering his memories. Besides, he probably already knew she was dreaming about the ward. "I know," she said a little miserably, "but I don't like lying to mom." And if she went to her mom after a nightmare, she'd have to lie. She couldn't tell her she was dreaming about the ward, she wasn't supposed to know anything about the ward! "Plus... I don't want to be an extra worry for her." Not when her mom already had to worry about her dad. "I'll be ok. I'm used to nightmares. They always pass eventually."