#the pining & longing & time passing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 1 month ago

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“epiphany” | 21k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: Superheroes and mutants weren’t enough. No—the universe had to throw in soulmates who share scars. Fantastic, right? Except yours had vanished, only to mysteriously reappear with the arrival of a new face: the “Worst” Logan Howlett, fresh from another earth.

OR What happens when a hopeless romantic crosses paths with the ultimate soulmate skeptic?

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ strangers to lovers. drinking. cursing. slow burn. angst. pining. mentions of alcohol. fluff. reflecting on the art of writing/poems/books. dual POV. takes place after the events of “deadpool & wolverine”. TW: multiple descriptions of scars. worst/variant!logan. implied age gap (reader’s in her late 20s). they’re both touch starved. wade’s everyone’s friend. miscommunication/misunderstandings. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering, grinding. some slight hair pulling. unprotected p in v, creampie. sex with feelings.

A/N: HOPELESS ROMANTICS RISE! here we go again with another long ass fic. this is a soulmates AU in which you get your soulmate’s scars. if you feel triggered by this topic, please refrain from reading. i had a lot of fun writing this even though it took me a while to get it done. thanks to @lubdubology for being my beta and allowing me to share my work with you. and also thanks to @brushworth for giving me the chance to write this. having said this, enjoy the story! i’d love to know your thoughts on it <3

Love giveth and love taketh away.

To this day, it’s still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.

If it weren’t for love, you wouldn’t be here. No one would, actually. Human beings are the result of billions of people who loved each other just enough—or at least long enough to bring life into the world.

But isn’t it in the name of love that people act in bad faith? Why would something so pure be used in vain?

You don’t get it, but as the years go by, you slowly come to terms with the idea that perhaps you never will. Not because there isn’t a reason, but because you’re in love with the idea of love.

How could you not be? It’s on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees you—truly sees your longing for it—it flees, and you struggle to keep up.

Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.

It had always been a relentless race, your only worry being to catch it before time ran out. But with each day that passed, the finish line only stretched further and further away. Now, they all blur together, to the point where you live and breathe on autopilot.

In a Jane Austen novel, you’d be considered a lone woman. That character who’s nice, and kind, and loved by some, but not in the way she yearns for. Every time she’s mentioned, you go “Oh, the poor girl,” until the slow realization dawns.

In reality, she’s you, and it’s you who you feel sorry for, not a fictional character. You.

All in all, love giveth. And love also taketh away.

Love maketh you miserable.

Soulmates—a nine-letter word that holds so much meaning.

It’s one of those words that you learn early in your life, one you hear at home or on the TV. Your parents never fail to mention it if given the chance. The first time you’re introduced to the topic is at school when you're older, a bit more self-conscious, and no longer preoccupied with picking your nose.

“Everybody has a soulmate. And no,” your teacher had added after a pause, already anticipating the inevitable questions from any curious 10-year-old, “there isn’t such a thing as not having one. We all do. You just have to search for them.”

Back then, that had been your favorite game—always keeping an eye open, scanning the crowd more than once in new places. You knew for sure that more than one person probably thought you’d strained your neck from all the times you glanced over your shoulder.

It must be pretty obvious now, the fact that you’re—well, alone. Saying ‘without a companion’ sounds quite outdated. They can’t see through you, but something in the way you walk or speak must give it away.

Or is it the fact that you always ask for a table for one?

“Are you expecting someone else?” A waitress approaches you, her tone gentle as she makes sure you’re on your own. A small notebook dangles from her slender fingers, and your eyes catch the name stitched onto her apron: Emily.

The response you give her is on the verge of sounding automatic, robotic even, like one of those prerecorded messages busy people leave on their phones. “No. Just me.”

She nods, and you feel the sympathy in her gaze. You’ve mastered the art of recognizing that look—the one hovering between concern and pity.

Of course, people rarely voice it, but they’ll never know their eyes sometimes say more than they think.

As she jots down your order, you’re met with the ring on her left hand. Very pretty, very shiny. Very expensive as well. Your attention must linger on it a little too long, because she catches you staring, making you feel exposed.

Emily—you decide to call her that way from now on, because once you know her name, it feels odd to address her as the waitress—offers you a shy smile.

“I’m getting married next month,” she blurts out, happiness radiating from her pores. Her eyes glint like two lanterns in a starless night. She also looks younger than you, and the abrupt silence forces you to pinch your wrist, a reminder of the fact that this is a conversation, and not just something you're overhearing.

“Congratulations,” you manage to reply, returning the smile. If she saw how your expression faltered the second she walked away, you wonder if she’d still think you were so amiable.

Sometimes, your façade slips—you can’t help it. That’s what the ‘hopeless’ in ‘hopeless romantic’ stands for.

Some minutes later, she comes back with your coffee, and you catch another glimpse of the ring as it twinkles in front of you. Envy doesn’t suit you, so you shift your focus.

Taking out your laptop, you scroll through the latest headlines. This is your attempt at acting more like an adult and less like a girl in her mid-twenties who has no clue what she’s doing.

One article stands out from the rest: Hollywood Actress Divorces Loving Husband of 25 Years to Pursue Presumed Soulmate. “I saw his scars and knew he was the one.”

Interesting. You can’t help but feel sorry for the displaced husband, though.

“Good for you,” you mutter under your breath, clicking the link to read more. There’s a picture of the actress and her new boyfriend that makes you stop dead in your tracks: they’re smiling at each other, their faces close, noses almost touching, while they show off their matching scars—the unmistakable sign that they’re, in fact, soulmates.

Soulmates, superheroes, mutants. It all sounds like a whole lot, doesn’t it? Overwhelming, to say the least. One thing’s for sure—you’ll never get bored in this world.

But, hey! Don’t forget that there are multiple universes out there. Maybe in one of them, you’re not this pathetic.

Why are you being so hard on yourself? That’s not even the point. Shaking your head, you keep glancing at their scars—they’re identical, perfect mirrors of one another. The kind of scars that only two destined souls share.

Their happiness is evident, tangible. You can feel it by just eyeing the image. It’s a bitter sensation that metamorphoses into a warmth, which heavily spreads through your chest, filling up every empty space it finds.

To say you understand that feeling would be a downright lie. And you may be many things, but a pathological liar is not one of them.

As if on cue, you duck your head, rolling up the sleeves of your jacket. You do the same with your shirt, foolishly hoping to find something other than smooth, unmarked skin.

No scars. No marks. No sign of a soulmate, of a lover. In the world you inhabit—this universe full of the most inexplicable things—you’re alone.

Without a second thought, you pack your things, shoving them rapidly into your bag. The cafe feels too little and too large all at once, the walls closing on you.

The rest of the customers are looking at you. Fuck, they already noticed it—you can’t escape it.

Have they? Do you think they see you like you see yourself? The lone woman who writes poems for an addressee who will never read them?

In silence, you hand Emily the money for your coffee. You fear that if you open your mouth, a cry will come out, and that’s the last thing you need today. She gives you that look again—pity laced with sorrow, the one you despise. It burns.

At that moment, a man walks in, passing right by you. You see his face, his green eyes, and the way his lips curl into a grin as he greets Emily.

The scar on her forehead, which you'd missed before, mirrors the one on his.

They are soulmates.

It’s on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is.

She wishes you a nice morning as you leave the cafe. Little does she know you’ll spend the rest of the day locked in your apartment, mourning someone you never even met.

Until the day you lost them, you wore your scars with pride.

They were scattered across your stomach, back, chest, and even your legs and arms. Some were shallow, others deep. It never occurred to you—the thought that they belonged in the shadows, hidden.

Everyone has them, you thought as you stood in front of the mirror, running your fingers along their jagged paths. I just seem to have more than most people.

Over the years, you might have changed your hairstyle or the way you dressed, but your scars never did—they’d always been there, and they were yours.

Partly yours, of course, since you knew they belonged to your soulmate as well.

The older you grew, the more you realized having a good memory was both a gift and a curse. You still remembered that moment so vividly—when you found out that somebody out there was meant for you and only you.

A point of no return, that’s what it’d been. From that day on, not a single one went by without you imagining the first encounter with your Prince Charming.

In the meantime, you dated. A few boyfriends came and went during and after high school, mostly as practice for the real thing, you’d told yourself.

God, you were determined to know everything. To be the best girlfriend ever, so that when you finally met him, he’d be over the moon.

At the age of seventeen, it sounded like a brilliant plan.

You never knew how, but your life became that meantime. All your friends began to find their soulmates: in the supermarket, while traveling, at the goddamn doctor’s office.

Everybody was fulfilling the purpose you’d been taught humans were made for—everyone but you.

The scars multiplied, yet he was nowhere to be seen, remaining out of reach. Your soulmate’s whereabouts were a mystery. What the hell does he do in his free time? was something you used to often ponder. Is he suffering? Does he need help?

“Be patient, give it some time. The less you seek, the more you’ll find,” your mother would say, trying to sound encouraging. Although she was trying to do her best, that phrase alone had the power to make you go nuts.

Be patient? Waiting was all you’d been doing. What was so wrong with you that he seemed to be hiding from you? You didn’t want to wait any longer, no—you wanted to find him. If it meant traveling to Italy like your cousin had to meet her husband, then so fucking be it.

Many nights, sleep eluded you. Lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling, you’d imagine what life with him would be like. What he would look like. You were certain that no matter his appearance, you’d think he was beautiful.

Wasn’t that the whole point of soulmates—that the bond you two shared transcended physical attraction?

Nevertheless, you secretly wished he’d have brown hair. He didn’t need to know, but you had a weakness for brunettes.

On the night of your twenty-second birthday, you were getting ready for the big event when every trace of your scars disappeared.

The bathroom mirror was fogged from the shower’s stream, and as you wiped it clean with the palm of your hand, the image you saw reflected on the glass made your stomach do a flip.

There were no scars. No marks. Nothing. At first, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you—it couldn’t be. Scars didn’t just vanish. It was impossible.

But as you lowered your gaze, tracing your limbs again and again, the truth hit you. The marks you knew by heart, the ones that reminded you, He’s out there, somewhere, were gone.

You felt it deep in your chest, too. Every sound seemed louder and clearer: the blood rushing through your veins, each shaky breath you took. Where are they? Your fingers dug into your flesh, intending to ground yourself.

Is he… dead? It was the only reasonable explanation, the rule you’d known all along. You’d read it countless times, memorizing the principles about scars.

The scream that tore from your throat brought your mother running upstairs, and she entered the bathroom with a horrified expression on her face.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked, but your mind was already far away. Your whole body shuddered in her arms, a sob slipping past your lips as you crumbled to the floor, desperately hoping it was all a nightmare. “It must be a mistake, honey. I’m sure he’s okay.”

But he’s not, you wanted to tell her. The words, however, never formed—only a broken whimper escaped your lips. Isn’t that what we were taught? Our scars belong to our soulmates; they bind us to them in a way that simple words can’t explain.

It goes deeper than the skin. It delves into our bodies, our minds, reaching into the very essence of who we are. What was once his is also mine, but they’re gone.

He’s gone. He must be, because otherwise, how would you explain this void?

When one’s soulmate passes away, that person will notice the disappearance of their scars. The physical marks that once symbolized their connection fade, leaving no trace. This absence is accompanied by a distinct, unsettling sensation—an awareness of loss that goes beyond the physical, signaling the end of the bond.

A part of you died with him that day.

The first time you exchanged words with Wade Wilson, you thought he was a total dick.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t know him—not when he was so infamous for that mouth of his. Deadpool: the self-proclaimed superhero with a vocabulary that was 90% profanity, who made cracking jokes while fighting the bad guys look easy.

Super funny? Sure. But not exactly your cup of tea when all you wanted was to crawl into bed and forget the world existed.

He was apparently long retired from superheroing. No one had seen that red, sex-toy-looking suit in ages, which was why you were only mildly surprised as you spotted him hauling boxes into your building on a Tuesday afternoon.

It was late, and you weren’t in the mood for small talk. He’d been there barely a week, yet somehow, he’d already managed to fuck things up.

You let out a deep sigh, rubbing the crease between your brows. “Look, Wally—”

“It’s pronounced Wade,” he corrected you, trying to edge his face further into the gap between the door and its frame, though you didn’t let your guard down. “You’re pretty rude, you know that?”

“I’ve been up for twenty-four hours, and I need to sleep,” you groaned, trying to push him away with one hand. Technically, he wasn’t even asking for something that complicated—he wanted to use your microwave to heat his dinner, since his had decided to stop working out of the blue.

The thing was that you’d had the kind of week that felt like a one-way trip to hell, an important detail he wasn’t aware of. “Go ask someone else. I can’t do charity tonight.”

“You’re the only one who answered,” he said, pressing his palms together in a pleading gesture, his lips curling into a heartbreaking pout. “Please, my lovely neighbor, whose name I don’t know. You wouldn’t want me to starve to death, would you?

“I thought you couldn’t die.” You raised an eyebrow, half-interested.

Wade’s arms dropped to his sides, his eyes drifting downward. “And I thought kindness wasn’t extinct, but here we are.” He spun on his heel, acting defeated and dragging his feet like a scolded puppy. “Can’t believe this is what the world’s come to. I’m sure the Bible says something about treating others how you’d want to be treated.”

Why. Just… why? Some cosmic, divine force from beyond might have been testing you that night.

“Wait,” you croaked just as he was about to step into his apartment—which was literally three meters from yours. His face lit up, expecting you to continue, and you moved aside slightly, signaling him in. “Five minutes and you’re out, okay? I really need to get some rest.”

The rest was history. Wade was just standing there, mesmerized by your microwave as if he’d never seen one before.

You could only hear the faint buzzing sound of the gadget, punctuated by the rhythmic drumming of his fingers on the counter. He was humming a tune while shaking his head to the beat.

You tried to focus, replaying the guided meditation you sometimes followed to sleep in your mind.

Allow yourself to feel the stillness of this moment. Notice your breath slowing as your body begins to calm. Be the observer of your breath, flowing in and out naturally, as your lungs—

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

“Please, stop it,” you eventually told Wade, whose gaze shifted from the microwave to you, brows furrowed.

“And why’s that?”

“They say it’s bad for your eyes,” you explained, recalling a half-forgotten news report you’d heard on the TV. Whether it was a myth or not, you’d never know. “I believe it’s because of the radiation exposure.”

Leaning back on the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest. “At this point, I think I’m safe. You, on the other hand… maybe not so much,” he nearly whispered that last part, and your desire to strangle him grew stronger.

Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.

He jerked his thumb toward the pile of papers and books you had on your kitchen table. “So, you’re a writer?”

“Editor, in reality,” you snapped, your eyelids twitching as you watched him leaf through your stuff. “Wade, don’t touch my things.”

“Sorry, can’t help myself. I’m very curious.” Flashing you a quick grin, he opened your notebook, squinting his eyes as he went through the pages. “But you write too, huh? I’m discovering plenty of material here.”

The bastard. “Give. It. Back,” you snarled, lunging at him and trying to snatch the notebook from his hands, but he was faster, raising it out of reach. “I hope your food explodes in that microwave, asshole.”

“Oh, right. I forgot about it,” he snorted, tossing the notebook onto the couch and retrieving his dinner instead. You stared at him in disbelief, opening your mouth to scold him, but nothing came out. Then, there he was, standing in front of you with his plate and a fork.

Wait. Was that your fork?

“It’s hot, I’ll give you that.” He blew on his food to cool it down, and as he glanced up, he was met with your murderous glare. “Whoa. Want some? You could’ve just asked me. No need to get so angry.”

Calling it a desire to kill him would’ve been an understatement. And the worst part? He couldn’t die. “You’ve got what you needed. Now, can you leave?”

“How long’s it been since you talked to another human being?”

You blinked, feeling the sudden urge to look around, half expecting a hidden camera. “Why do you always answer with another question?”

“All I’m saying is I’ve been meaning to talk to you for days now, but you’re practically living the hermit life,” he said between bites of chicken, excusing himself briefly to chew. “That robe you’re wearing? It’s had the same stain on it since I moved in. Also, your doormat’s buried under a mountain of newspapers, so either you really love trees, or you’ve been avoiding any sort of social interaction.”

If he had been wrong, you would’ve felt much better. But he… wasn’t, and it sucked.

“I feel like I should be scared,” you mumbled after a long stretch of silence, your eyes going round.

Wade did no more than laugh at your troubled expression. “Scared of me? That’s cute. I’m a nice guy, sweet pea. Persistent, sure, but I’ve got a knack for getting under people’s skin,” he said, grinning through a mouthful of food—which, for the sake of your sanity, you chose to ignore.

After he had finished eating, he let the fork fall into the sink, the metal striking against the surface with a piercing echo, making you jump. He stretched his arms with a satisfied yawn, and he seemed determined to leave you alone. “Well, I’ve done my good deed for the day.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, following his movements as he ambled toward the door. “Are you telling me your microwave does work?”

“Oh, you’re a smart one, aren’t you?” Wade patted your head, ruffling your hair like you were a puppy who had just learned a new trick. “Good night, peanut.”

From that moment on, the two of you became inseparable. Your personalities clicked in a way you’d never experienced before with any other friend. Wade was loyal to a fault, and he treated you like the little sister he had never had.

Most importantly, he didn’t pity you—he saw you for who you were, not just someone marked by a lost soulmate. You never told him how much that meant to you, but deep down, you were grateful.

Which brings you to the present day. You’ve been friends with him for over a year, and he’s taken every chance to introduce you to his “weird but lovable” (his words, not yours) group of friends.

“Check your social anxiety at the door, thank you,” he’d tell you every time he hosted a get-together and you were invited.

Somehow, you had managed to bond with them—especially Althea, his elderly roommate, who occasionally forgets who you are despite living next door.

“Remind me of your name again, sweetie? All this disco dust must be affecting my memory,” she’d ask, leaning in close so you’d practically have to shout it into her ear. Then she’d nod, smirking knowingly. “Ah, yes. I thought so. Just making sure.”

She’s quite the character. A real sweetheart if you leave aside the number of times she’s offered you more types of drugs than you knew existed.

Tonight, you’re throwing Wade a surprise birthday party. Among all the party tasks, you’ve handled the decorations and the cake. The room’s a riot of color, with balloons floating lazily from the ceiling and a cascade of streamers draping over the furniture.

Guests start arriving, greeting you warmly, a feeling you once thought impossible. They’re Wade’s friends, sure, but on some level, you like to think they’re your friends now too: Vanessa, Dopinder, Buck, Shatterstar, Colossus, Negasonic Teenage Warhead, and Yukio.

As you hear footsteps approaching the door, Wade’s voice filters through the hallway. Panicking, you whirl around to the group. “He’s here! Everyone shut up!” you whisper urgently, turning off the lights and pressing your back flat against the wall next to the door.

Seconds later, the sound of keys jingling fills the air as both Wade and Peter step into the apartment.

You flip the lights back on just as Dopinder pops his much-anticipated party popper. “Surprise!” you all scream in unison, and Wade’s face splits into a grin, unsure of whom to hug first.

“You guys are lucky I’m not armed,” he quips, slinging an arm around Dopinder’s shoulders. “Six years ago, you’d all be dead!”

And you giggle, because… well, what else are you supposed to do?

As you expected, the night unfolds smoothly. You’re having fun, engaging in conversations despite yesterday’s emotional meltdown at the cafe. It’ll be okay—it always is. The food is amazing, the company even better. You remind yourself that romantic love isn’t the only kind that matters—that’s what friends are for, after all, to teach you that lesson.

The low hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clinking of glasses, creating a lively symphony that wraps around you like a warm blanket. Yukio calls your name, waving her head in front of your eyes, trying to snap you out of your thoughts. “Everything okay?” she wonders, concern flickering in her voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, tightening your grip on your beer bottle. “Just thinking, that’s all.”

You all gather around the cake when Wade’s about to blow the candles. You know he’s preparing himself for a speech. “Another year of spinning around the moon, huh?”

“Sun, you dumbass,” Al corrects him, and you have to bite your lip to keep your laughter to yourself.

“Okay, flat-earther,” Wade shoots back, giving her a playful side-eye. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, right—I can’t thank you all enough for being here. These past few years have been... well, rough on me, to say the least,” he says, glancing down at the cake with a small, crooked smile. “But I’m happy now. We’ve got each other’s back, like a team!”

“Like The Avengers, you mean?” Dopinder pipes up, eyes sparkling with excitement. There’s a moment of silence in which you swear you’d be able to hear a hairpin drop.

It’s still a sensitive topic.

“Next time, give me a trigger warning before you mention them,” Wade mutters in a hushed tone, and Dopinder shrinks sheepishly. “I guess what I wanted to tell you was…” he trails off, his palm covering the place where his heart is, “that I'm glad you’re all here. Being surrounded by the people I love most is the best birthday gift ever.”

His words stir something inside you. Vanessa gently nudges his arm, smiling up at him. “Why don’t you make your wish?”

Wade dramatically drops to his knees in front of the cake, eyes fluttering shut before blowing out the candles, whistles and cheers erupting all around.

Just then, you hear the unmistakable sound of the doorbell ringing through the air. You exchange a curious glance with Wade, raising your eyebrows. “That’s weird. Want me to get it?”

“Nah, I got it,” he says, excusing himself to answer the door. He slips outside, shutting it behind him, and everything returns to normal. For a while, you assume he’s chatting with someone who dropped by to say hi—but that doesn’t really make sense.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s been out there so long?” Vanessa inquires, her worry starting to creep in.

“I’ll go check on him,” you tell her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before heading to the door.

But when you open it, there’s no Wade in sight. Just… his toupee—or “hair system” as he insists on calling it, lying on the floor.

Kneeling down, you gingerly pick it up, a strange sensation settling in your chest.

Where the hell did he go?

After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.

Completely out of character, right? He thought so too. The number of times he'd stepped foot inside a church could be counted on one hand, so why would a man like him resort to religion?

In the past, he had been told he was part of God’s plan, but somewhere along the way, he felt like he had become God’s mistake.

After living a life plagued with loss and constantly in hiding, he wasn’t shocked that his self-worth was in the gutter.

Things only spiraled after letting everyone down, especially after that particular day when things took a turn for the worse. He had prayed, asking God to make him forget.

When that didn’t work, he just drank harder and smoked more. But not even drowning in alcohol and clouds of nicotine could put an end to his struggles—he was condemned to suffer.

In spite of everyone’s wishes, he’s still going strong, stuck with no defined purpose. It’s almost impossible not to fall into a routine that seeks to numb him, to put him under anesthesia—waking up after passing out who-knows-where, finding the nearest bar, sinking into whiskey and the haze of ashtrays.

Then he does it all over again, a never-ending cycle. His self-destructive habits don’t lead him to oblivion; instead, they intensify every sensation, making each memory and emotion painfully vivid.

Day after day, he convinces himself he’s got it under control. Logan may be tough as fuck, and he may heal faster than anyone else, but his pride is in pieces.

No amount of strength or supernatural abilities can stop the decay he feels inside, the slow rot creeping deeper within him the longer he remains trapped in this life.

He slams the empty glass onto the counter with a heavy thud, tapping two fingers against it. “Again,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

The bartender looks at him like he's the reincarnation of all things vile. “I told you—you’re not welcome here. You’re not welcome anywhere. Now get the fuck out of my bar.”

Oh, yes. Music to his ears. If he had a nickel for every time he heard that, he’d be rich. “Just give me one more drink and then I’ll leave.”

“That’s not how it works,” the bartender replies, and Logan knows he’s screwed. Another public establishment he’s been banned from—fucking perfect.

Will there ever be a day where he’s not treated like garbage?

“It does now,” an unknown voice joins the conversation, and Logan glances to his side, arching a brow. The masked man doesn’t let his stare falter. “Leave the bottle.”

“Do I know you, bub?”

“You don’t, but I know you.”

This serves as evidence of how pliant he’s become. Years ago, he would’ve already wiped the floor with this guy. They didn’t call him Logan “short fuse” Howlett for nothing. But now? He just can’t bring himself to do it.

“Everybody does. I’m the—”

Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.

“—Wolverine.” Once he finishes the sentence, his words taste bitter. Perhaps it’s the venom on his tongue, or maybe it’s just the alcohol from yesterday kicking him again. Either way, both hit hard.

“Yes, you are,” the stranger says, continuing to stare at him, as if Logan’s worth the effort. “And I’m going to need you to come with me. Right now.”

Logan holds his breath. The worst part of it all is that his day’s just getting started. He has no clue who this guy is or why he’s claiming to need him.

But he’s got the wrong man—Logan doesn’t know him, and he sure as hell doesn’t have anything good to offer.

Or so he believed five minutes ago. Life seems to have its own way of surprising him.

Knowing he’ll regret it later, he closes his fingers around the whiskey bottle, chugging the liquor until darkness takes over his senses.

Nighty-night, Logan.

I'm aware that you're not mine, and nor will you ever be.

I’ve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out

where this need to call you mine stems from.

You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed

in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.

I’m aware that you're not mine

because I haven't bought you yet;

I hold no claim over you,

nor can I control who touches you and who doesn't.

I want you to be mine,

but no amount of money would buy your soul.

You're beyond reach—someone has already marked you.

I’m aware that you’re not mine,

and I guess maybe that’s how life is meant to be.

“Bullshit,” you mutter softly into the quiet of your apartment, where the only sound is the echo of your own voice.

Chewing the end of your pen, your eyes narrow as they skim over the poem you’d written over a month ago.

Since then, you’ve been working on refining the details, but something is missing—that you can feel. The flow is awkward, the choice of words stiff. It’s like a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit together.

You take a long sip from your coffee, tucking both knees up onto the chair you're sitting in. 7:30 a.m., and already, your mind is spinning, diving headfirst into a poem when countless other things are demanding your attention—like, a hundred things, really.

Right now, cracking this piece feels more important than any other task on your list.

Who do you write to? That part is easy—your soulmate. That deceased, probably buried, long-gone soulmate of yours.

It shouldn’t be funny, but there’s an absurdity to it.

Without warning, a memory slips into your thoughts—one girl you used to work with once advising you to change the subject of your writing.

“You should go for some self-love crap. People usually eat that up,” she said, not even bothering to look up from her nails, red polish smeared over the edges.

Her fingers were a mess, coated in that fiery hue, but she didn’t seem to care as she tapped your notebook with her lacquered index finger. “This is repetitive. Keep writing about the same thing, and people will get bored of you.”

“I haven’t published them yet,” you answered, your voice coming out more high-pitched than usual, betraying the doubt you intended to suppress. Her blue eyes flicked up, studying your face as you slid the now red-stained notebook back into your bag, away from her careless, messy fingers. “I thought… I thought we were supposed to write about what we feel passionate about.”

That managed to catch her attention. Passionate. She let out a laugh—sharp and cold, like something straight out of a villain’s script in a children’s movie. It grated against your ears.

“Sweetie, you call that passionate?” She waved her hand dismissively, standing up from the table.

Taller, older, and more secure—just the fact that she gave you her time should’ve made you feel grateful. “Not to be a bitch, but what you showed me is kind of depressing.”

Kind of depressing. From that moment on, you kind of hated her. Small victories, though—the agency fired her a year later. You like to think you kind of won that battle.

Still, she might’ve been right about one thing: your writing does fall into patterns. It’s predictable, to say the least—the rhythm, the themes. Even the metaphors you include can be found in several of your poems.

Are you… lazy? Has someone revealed the way to break out of it? If there is, you figure you're fine without it.

You don’t want to write the kind of articles she’d churn out about the latest trends or the five best positions to get pregnant faster. Nor do you want to pick apart celebrities' lives for a flashy headline.

What you do want is to write about love. Real love. Even if you are not the most qualified person to do it. Even if nobody wants to read the words from someone who has never experienced it in the flesh.

And you’ll get there—how? You’re still figuring that out.

As long as you live and breathe, love will remain in your thoughts, haunting you—especially with your muse being the fleeting dream of a soulmate you never got to meet in the first place.

But it’s time to start your day—the real one. The one where you have to step outside the safety of your four walls and deal with reality.

The to-do list assembles in your mind: groceries, that book you’ve been meaning to pick up, emails you need to answer.

You let your mind take over, guiding you through the motions without a second thought. As you head back to your room, you get rid of the comfortable robe you love so much.

Next, your shirt comes off, tossed carelessly onto the bed. Just as you're about to step out of your pajama pants, you notice them.

The scars.

They’re not the same, not the faded lines etched into your skin that you could see every night behind your eyelids. New marks glow against your flesh, each one a map of something you don’t yet understand, standing out like new brushstrokes on an old canvas.

You can’t help but freeze, your breath faltering for a moment, and you nearly trip over yourself. Kicking your pants to the side, you stare down at your hips, thighs, the hollow of your ribcage.

Tentatively, you press your fingers into the lines, expecting them to fade, to disappear under your touch like some peculiar illusion.

But they don’t. They remain. You can feel the raised edges, the subtle roughness, the heat beneath your touch.

These scars are different from the ones you had before. Under no circumstances are they the faint memories you once carried. No—these are fresh and vibrant. Marks that shouldn’t exist, the stories they’ve witnessed unfamiliar to you.

Within seconds, you’re sobbing, and you blink through the wetness clouding your vision, wiping your tears of disbelief (and maybe hope?) away with the back of your hand.

Nothing changes. They’re still there.

You've never heard of scars returning like this. It goes against everything in the manual on your shelf. Scars vanish when a soulmate dies, but they don’t come back. Not like this. And they certainly don’t change.

Barely able to stand without stumbling, you scramble to your phone. The first person you call is your mom, your fingers shaking as you press the buttons. She screams into the phone, and all you can do is laugh through the tears.

What doesn’t sit right with her is the change in the scars. She mentions something about reaching out to a specialist, insisting that your case is rare—one in a million.

Almost immediately, you think of Wade, knowing he’d want to hear this. God, he’d be ecstatic. Before you even realize it, you’re standing in front of his door, finger hovering over the bell.

That’s when the realization hits you: he’s been gone for nearly three days, off doing whatever it is he does.

Ringing the bell, a smile tugs at your lips. News like these are meant to be shared.

“Althea, it’s me!” you call out, hoping she’ll hear you. You press your forehead against the door, fidgeting with your fingers. “I have something to tell you.”

Logan has had better days. Days that didn’t involve escaping The Void, fighting a hundred Wades, or saving an earth that wasn’t even his to begin with.

You know, normal days—of being sneered at while drinking to forget and, fuck, how many hours has he been sober? It feels like an eternity.

When the adrenaline wears off and the heroism fades, he’s back to being just Logan again. If he had a watch, he’d probably tap the glass and fake impatience to Wade, pretending he’s got somewhere else to be.

He should leave. That’s his first impulse: to escape before it’s too late, but a question arises in his mind: does he truly want to?

Wade watches as Logan rises to his feet, planning to walk away. Pretty stupid, Logan thinks, considering he knows no one else in this universe—apart from the scarred man he’s become friends with against his will.

“Logan!” Wade yells his name, his voice light but firm enough to halt him in his tracks. Logan turns to face him, greeted by Wade’s familiar, infuriating smile.

It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.

Nothing’s holding him back, so why not accept it? The odds of being the target of hateful glares are lower here, and that’s reason enough for Logan to give a small tilt of his head and return to the bench where Wade remains seated.

“We’re gonna be roommates!” the latter exclaims, a wide grin stretching across his face as they head toward the building. “Can you imagine all the fun we’ll have?”

Logan presses his lips into a thin line. “Looking forward to it,” he murmurs, a small glimmer of sarcasm slipping into his tone, although Wade takes his words at face value.

“Me too, roomie. Me too.”

“Let’s not use that word.”

Wade holds the door open for Logan with an exaggerated bow. “Why not? It’s the truth. We can even share my bed if that’s—”

The sound of Logan’s claws succeeds in silencing him. Wade recoils and covers his crotch, no doubt remembering past close calls.

“You know what? You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch. No problem.”

Was moving in with Wade the worst idea he’s had in a while? Absolutely. The reason? Althea, the elderly woman he lives with, isn’t answering the door, and he doesn’t have his keys.

Logan covers his eyes with a hand, silently questioning all of his life choices. And it’s only been ten minutes.

“This doesn’t happen often,” Wade reassures him, rubbing his neck.

“Hard to believe,” Logan mutters, some unknown muscle in his jaw beginning to ache from how hard he’s gritting his teeth. “You just leave the house without your fucking keys?”

Wade huffs, jutting out a hip in mock offense. “Those TVA guys didn’t exactly send a ‘We’re here to ruin your day’ memo. I was ambushed, okay?” he retorts, keeping a finger glued to the doorbell, its shrill ring gnawing at Logan’s already thin patience. “Al, I swear to God, I’m replacing your blood pressure pills with laxatives if you don’t wake up!”

“How old is she?” Logan asks, searching for anything to keep him from snapping the other man’s neck. Peaceful thoughts.

“Compared to you, she’s basically a newborn,” Wade replies, rocking back and forth on his heels. He’s having the time of his life—meanwhile, Logan’s self-control is reaching its limit.

His claws twitch in his knuckles. He’s had enough, and with a jerk of his left hand, they gleam as they slide out, ready to break the damn door.

But then Wade jumps in front of him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy there, buddy! I’m not letting you turn my door into a strainer.”

“Move,” Logan barks, not an ounce of friendliness in his tone. His stare is flat, unfazed.

“I’d rather not. You can’t just go around breaking people’s doors, man. Not cool,” Wade blurts quickly, placing both hands on Logan’s chest, pushing him away. “How about I ask my neighbor, huh? I gave her a spare set of keys for situations like these.”

“I thought you said this didn’t happen often.”

“Well, life’s full of disappointments.”

Before Logan can answer back, Wade rushes to the door next to his, slamming his fist on it like a madman, his finger hammering the doorbell simultaneously.

The devil’s orchestra—a symphony straight from hell.

Logan grabs Wade’s wrist before he can knock again, hissing: “Have some manners, will you?”

Wade tries to shake his arm free from Logan’s tight grip. “She’s in there. I know it,” he replies in the same tone, but now he uses his other hand to ring the doorbell with greater feeling.

After a pause, he stamps his foot on the floor, throwing his head back. “Come on! Is this how you treat me after being away? Shame on you, Missy!”

This neighbor must be very patient, Logan thinks, to keep up with a guy like Wade without often seeing red.

As the door finally swings open, his grip on Wade loosens, and his hand falls limply to his side.

“What… the fuck?”

The sound of your voice—soft, slightly groggy from sleep—pulls his attention away from the door incident. His gaze is fixed entirely on you—you look as if you’ve just rolled out of bed, which makes sense since it’s still early.

Back in The Void, Wade had rambled on about all his friends, you included. Logan recalls how he had described you: a book editor who lived on her own and loved reading. You were younger—but then again, who wasn’t younger than him?

The picture Wade had shown him, with you standing in the background, hadn’t done you justice. He had found you attractive then, but seeing you in person?

You’re… far more than he expected.

More beautiful, for starters.

Fuck. Why is he even thinking about that? He must’ve been staring at you for quite a while—you glance at him like a startled lamb, clearly feeling self-conscious under his unwavering stare.

“May I know,” you start, tightening your robe, “why you were banging on my door like that? I thought I was getting robbed for a minute.” You direct your question at Wade, avoiding Logan’s presence, which makes something tighten in his chest.

He finds the way you stifle a yawn endearing, though.

Okay, that’s enough, he tells his mind. Let it go.

Wade steps in first, dropping his mask on the nearest surface. “Hello, my dear. Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just a few scratches. No, I wasn’t partying—I was kidnapped. Thanks for asking.”

You draw in a long breath, rubbing your eyes to wake up once and for all, and then you proceed to gesture for Logan to enter. Even now, you find it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. “Do you—would you like to come in?”

Not only are you pretty, but also polite. He nods, muttering a gruff: “Yeah, thank you.”

As he walks past you, your shoulders brush briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through him. A tingling sensation on the verge of being electrifying that has him knitting his brows.

His gaze finds yours, searching your expression to see if you felt it too. But you look away, closing the door to go after Wade.

Great. You must think he’s a weirdo.

“I’m always up for company, but why so early?” you ask your friend, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. “And are you going to tell me what happened the other day? You left without saying anything.”

Wade hops onto a stool at the kitchen counter, swinging his legs like a child. “You know Al. When it comes to sleeping, she’s like a much older version of Sleeping Beauty,” he replies with a grin, snatching the mug you were about to use for your morning coffee. “Thanks, you’re such a doll.”

“That was—mine,” you sigh, hitting him in the thigh, and Wade winces with a fake whine. “I don’t think I’ve missed you that much. Go back to being missing in action,” you say, grabbing another mug and filling it before raising it toward Logan. “Coffee?”

Logan hesitates. You’re treating him like you’ve known him for years, not minutes. “I’m… good.”

“You sure? I made it fresh, just before you guys arrived.”

“Don’t worry, I’m—”

“I love the chemistry here,” Wade interrupts your conversation, drawing your attention back to him, “but you still got the keys I gave you, right?”

You roll your eyes, blowing on your steamy coffee before answering. “I do, but I want answers first. And I want them now.”

Twenty minutes and a rambling, half-coherent story later, your drink has gone cold, and Logan’s patience is wearing thin… again.

Will he survive sleeping under the same roof as Wade? Stay tuned for more.

“And then I told Paradox ‘He has risen, babygirl’—”

“I think you’re being too specific,” Logan interjects, noting how you’re staring into space with wide eyes. “She seems confused.”

“I am,” you admit, rubbing your temples. He doesn’t blame you: Wade’s a terrible storyteller. You offer him a weak smile as you turn to him. “So… you’re from another universe.”

“Last time I checked.” His back collapses against the couch, groaning softly. He sits beside you, and the way your eyes sweep over him, taking in his disheveled and sweaty appearance, doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“And how is it? I mean, do you have—”

“I’m public enemy number one.”

Too harsh, idiot.

“Oh. That’s… good to know.”

Wade says your name, and you look to your right, lifting your brows. “Do you mind if I grab the keys myself? I need a shower. I’ve been marinating in sweat and blood for way too long.”

You grimace, pointing toward your room. “Top drawer of my nightstand.”

With that, he embarks on a quest to find them, leaving Logan alone with you. Silence stretches between you two.

He doesn’t know what to say, or if he should even say anything. Casual conversation isn’t his forte.

“You and Wade…?”

Letting out a giggle, you lean back on the couch. “God, no. We’re just friends,” you explain, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. For a fleeting moment, your eyes bore into his, and then you return to burning holes in the floor. “I’m single. Haven’t found my soulmate yet.”

It’s his turn to chuckle now—a dark, humorless sound rumbling in his chest. You chew on a cuticle, Logan’s gesture igniting a sense of curiosity in you.

“What?” you ask him, puzzled.

“Do you really believe in that? Soulmates who share scars?” If he were to think carefully, he’d watch his tone. It’s too late, anyway—you straighten your posture, your face contorting with each passing second. “I can tell you do.”

“And I can tell you don’t.”

“Why would I? Those are lies,” he retorts, the corners of his mouth turning upward.

His opinion is anything but objective, totally biased, given that every time he dove into love’s arms, he was met with the crude reality: not everyone’s meant to be loved, himself included.

The look you give him is enough to wipe the smirk off his face.

“Soulmates exist, Logan. We all have one.” There’s a certainty in your tone, marked by the subtle way in which you say his name, that he finds alluring. He shouldn’t, especially when you seem angry above all.

“And where is yours, then?”

He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your expression becomes inscrutable. You could be either disappointed, frustrated, or even exasperated—sad, perhaps?

Logan feels as though a weight has settled on his shoulders just from staring into your eyes.

You strike back with silence. Plain, pure, dreadful silence that has him wondering if he’s breathing properly.

At long last, Wade comes back from his expedition, keys dangling from his fingers. “It was quite the treasure hunt, you know? You’ve got a lot of garbage in there.” He sticks his face between Logan’s and yours when you don't answer him. “Guys, is there something wrong? Are you doing a staring contest? If so, can I join?”

“I need to start getting ready for work,” you announce, standing up from the couch. Logan mimics you, and you open the door, your fingers curling around the knob. “You should get going. And Wade,” you pause, acknowledging only him, “I need to talk to you later. In private.”

Without Logan. That’s what you wanted to say but didn’t.

“Sure, my queen. I live to serve,” Wade says in rejoinder, and he kisses your forehead briefly, which forces Logan to avert his gaze the whole time his lips are on you, feeling uncomfortable watching. “Take care, alright?”

You give Wade a small nod, waiting until he’s outside your apartment to glance at Logan.

“Goodbye,” you croak, and he knows he should say something, that he—

The door almost closes on his nose.

Had he been an asshole? He was merely expressing his thoughts. The idea of soulmates didn’t sit well with him.

Once settled into Wade’s apartment, Logan steps into the shower, water rinsing off his body. Yet he finds himself unable to stop thinking about you.

The disappointment in your eyes when he asked about your soulmate.

The coldness in your tone at the end, so different from the warmth you initially offered.

He feels drawn to you, as if some sort of invisible string is tying the two of you. Were it possible, he would use his own claws to cut it, but he can’t discern where it begins or ends. Instead, he prefers to blame his touch-starved state for this reaction.

He’s already hating this earth. So much for a man whose skin refuses to scar.

And where is yours, then?

His words shouldn’t have stung the way they did. All the charm—the gruff exterior, the mysterious personality—had vanished.

The guy from another universe, with the claws, the healing abilities, and the raspy voice, is a moron.

A ridiculously good-looking moron? Yes, but a moron nonetheless.

There is something about him you can’t quite place. A chill creeps down your spine as you replay the instant your eyes first locked. Your body had reacted in ways it never had before, drawn to him like metal to a magnet.

Why? You’d seen handsome men before, even been with some. Yet, you’ve never felt this—this gravitational pull, this inexplicable pull to invade someone’s personal space.

How would your soulmate feel if he saw you like this, lusting after another man?

You shudder at the thought. This isn’t like you. You pride yourself on loyalty—perhaps a little too much. You don’t read two books at the same time, and you’ve been buying the same brand of shampoo for the past five years.

So why now? Why him? It feels like a betrayal of your own mind, your conscience turned against you.

Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.

After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.

That afternoon, as you take a nap on the couch, he invades your dreams. It’s not even a wet dream, but he’s there, staking a claim on a part of you he has no right to.

You wake up with your hand clutching your chest, a frustrated punch landing on the nearest cushion.

The next day, you drop by Wade’s place for a quick visit, your eyes darting around the room every few seconds, half-expecting Logan to appear out of nowhere.

“I told you, he’s sleeping. That guy’s got a fucked up sleep schedule,” Wade says, urging you to take a seat beside him at the table. “Why don’t you wanna see him?”

Because he’s messing with your sanity. Your brain cells are practically disintegrating at the mere thought of breathing the same air as him.

“I just—I need to tell you something.”

“Are you pregnant?”

“What? Wade, no! You’ve been gone for three days—pregnancies take months.”

“I’d make an amazing uncle, though.” He grabs your hand between his, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Babies are so adorable at that—”

“My scars are back,” you cut him off, putting an end to his nonsense. Pulling the neck of your sweater to the side, you show him the thin lines etched into your collarbone. “But they are different this time.”

“Different? You mean they changed?” His disbelief is clear as he reaches for your arm, frowning while he inspects more of your scars. Wade’s jaw slackens, color draining out of his face. “Fuck. Fuck!”

“Fuck?”

“Yeah, fuck!” His strong arms envelop you, and you lean into the embrace, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Is this good news? Are we happy? Does this mean I have a shot at becoming an uncle after all?”

You laugh a little at his eagerness, rubbing gentle circles into his back. “I am happy. I just—I don’t know what these changes mean yet.”

Althea steps out of the bathroom, her cane tapping the floor in rhythmic beats. “I already told you what they mean.”

Wade pulls away from you, glaring at her. “You meddler! Haven’t we talked about not eavesdropping? Hasn’t life taught you anything after all these decades?”

“Upside of being blind: I’ve never seen this motherfucker in Crocs,” she says, pointing her cane at you, though you know her aim is Wade. “Downside of being blind: I hear everything in this apartment. And you, kid, have a new soulmate.”

“I know what we talked about the other day, but... it doesn’t make sense, Al. You only get one soulmate,” you protest, feeling the tension grow as you pace around the table. “Why can’t it just be simple? My friends are getting engaged, years are flying by, and I’m still out here chasing this… this idiot who no one can even find!”

That’s when Logan appears, emerging from his room, holding several empty beer cans. He rolls his eyes and walks straight into the kitchen. “Great. Who else is coming tonight?”

Wade smirks, clapping a hand on Logan’s shoulder as he looks at you. “Sweetie, Logan’s going through his second puberty at the ripe old age of two hundred. The pediatrician said it’s just hormones, nothing to worry about. Excuse his shitty attitude.”

With a low groan, Logan shrugs off Wade’s hand, scowling. If anything, the younger man’s grin just grows bigger. “Wolvie, I gotta admit that whole ‘Don’t fall in love with me or I’ll break your heart’ personality shouldn’t turn me on, but here we are.”

You decide to take that as your cue to leave. You grab your bag, muttering a quick goodbye to Althea as you head for the door.

But Logan calls after you. “Can we talk?”

You freeze, your back to him. “How much did you hear?” you ask, not daring—not being able—to meet his gaze.

“All of it,” he admits after a beat, and you curse under your breath. “But it doesn’t—Hey!” He follows you into the hallway. “I’m talking to you!”

“No, you’re not.” You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking as you try to unlock your door. “Leave me alone.”

“I won’t,” he mumbles behind you, his voice softer now. “Come on. Don’t be so harsh.”

“I can’t believe you,” you whisper, finally finding the right key and jiggling it into the lock. The door swings open, and you step into the safety of your apartment. But when you try to close it, Logan’s foot wedges into the gap, blocking it. “Get out.”

He doesn’t budge. “No.”

“Logan, I’m not in the mood.”

“Well, me neither. But I owe you an apology.”

You wonder if he realizes the hold he has on you. No matter how hard you try to mask it, the unbearable pounding of your heart betrays you.

Scanning his features, you trace the rugged contours of his face with your eyes, lingering on the lines on his forehead—the aftermath of what it looks like a life lived through bitterness and pain.

“Can I come in?” he insists, his tone on the verge of sounding pleading.

You hesitate. The sensible part of you screams to send him away. Thinking that avoiding him would be as easy as stealing candy from a baby is a long-forgotten idea now: you’d been naïve to even consider it possible.

He’s going to find a way to sneak into your space, your home—and you’ll let him in. You’ll grant him a chance to cross a boundary that should’ve been already drawn.

It feels like you’re fifteen again, infatuated with the guy you know you shouldn’t get close to. Paul from high school wasn’t your soulmate back then—Logan isn’t now.

The smart thing would be to take a step back, accept his apology, and ask him to leave. That’s how you preserve what little remains of your sanity and protect your heart, which is already hanging by a thread.

But God, it feels so good to be near him.

You step aside. He walks in. Something tells you this won’t be the last time.

“I’m waiting.” You stay near the counter, pressing your back against it, and keeping your distance. Logan sits awkwardly on the edge of your couch, unsure of where to begin.

“Look, about what I said yesterday…I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” He sounds sincere, earnest. “I didn’t know you believed in soulmates.”

“It’s not a matter of believing in them or not, Logan. My soulmate is out there—yours too.”

Your words coax a grin from him, and he shakes his head. “I guess we’ll never see eye to eye on that.” In a fluid motion, he crosses the room, and you find his unexpected proximity a bit exasperating. “Do you forgive me?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Give me a break, darlin’. I’m trying my best.”

“Well, you were an asshole.”

“Yes.”

“The first time we exchanged words.”

“Also yes.”

“And now you’re apologizing.”

“Positive. I just did.”

It’s not that you’re easy—it’s Logan’s persuasive allure that gets to you.

“What else can I do to win your forgiveness?” he wonders aloud, his syrupy voice making you tighten your grip on the counter.

An idea sparks in your mind. You move toward the pile of books next to the TV, eyeing the titles, until one catches your attention: your copy of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, one of the first novels you’d read when you were younger.

It’s adorned with colorful post-its, and the pages, sort of rough to the touch, are marked with handwritten notes in the margins.

“How do you feel about reading?”

“Not my strongest suit,” he answers, arching a brow as he takes in your enthusiasm. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“You want me to believe you’re sorry for what you said? Then read this,” you say, wiggling the book in front of him, “and we can start over.”

“What is it about? Let me guess: love and soulmates. Did I get it right?” he asks, playfulness lacing his tone. His breath hitches as you press the book against his chest, silently urging him to take it. His pinky grazes your hand, feeling your skin and sending a jolt through you.

Logan watches you with half-lidded eyes, and it takes every ounce of willpower to tear yourself away from him and his maddening touch.

You clear your throat. “Open it to page one hundred fifty-three.”

“Do you—you remember specific pages?”

“And read what’s underlined in black,” you murmur, eyes fluttering closed for an instant. “Please.”

Logan must mutter something along the lines of ‘You’ve got to be kidding me’ before searching for it. It’s only then that he begins to recite the passage:

He is not to them what he is to me. He is not of their kind. I believe he is of mine; – I am sure he is – I feel akin to him – I understand the language of his countenance and movements; though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. Did I say, a few days since, that I had nothing to do with him but to receive my salary at his hands? Did I forbid myself to think of him in any other light than a paymaster? Blasphemy against nature! Every good, true, vigorous feeling I have gathers impulsively round him. I know I must conceal my sentiments: I must smother hope; I must remember that he cannot care much for me. For when I say that I am of his kind, I do not mean that I have his force to influence, and his spell to attract; I mean only that I have certain tastes and feelings in common with him. I must, then, repeat continually that we are for ever sundered: – and yet, while I breathe and think, I must love him.

You’ve chosen a damn good page.

Logan looks up from the book, his mouth slightly parted, as if he’s about to speak. You interject before he can find the words.

“You’ve got a week to read it.”

“How long is it again?”

“Four hundred pages.”

He surrenders, sighing in defeat. “You’re killing me here, y’know?”

“Write an opinion essay if possible.”

Right there, Logan offers you a mock laugh. “Haha. That’s so funny.”

“It is for me,” you talk back, unable to hide your smile from him, and soon he mirrors your expression.

As Logan steps toward the door, he hesitates and glances back. “We’re all good then?”

Leaning against the doorframe, you raise your chin defiantly. “We’ll be when you finish the book.”

What he says next has your stomach turning into knots. “You’re trouble.” His tone shifts—no longer teasing, but grounded in truth. Gone are the jokes; he seems to mean every word.

For the rest of the night, one line from the book doesn’t stop echoing in your mind—the line about soulmates: I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him.

You’re trouble for him, and he’s trouble for you. You hope he knows it too.

He thought that not seeing you for a week would snuff out his feelings. That by next Wednesday, every thought tied to your name, every urge to uncover the last of your secrets, would be extinguished.

That's what time usually did: it diminished dangerous desires that couldn't afford to be voiced, and buried those longings that had no place in the light of day.

Logan now figures he’s been underestimating the spell you cast on him with just a few glances and the intensity of your eyes. He’s seen you animated, angry—both defiant and vulnerable.

Each of your gestures feels like a memory he can’t quite place.

The way you laugh, the right corner of your mouth lifting just slightly higher than the left—he swears it isn’t the first time he's seen a smile brighter than the sun.

Still, he convinces himself it’s all in his head. He must be the one losing his mind, the years finally catching up to him. It’s the only reasonable explanation for the thoughts that consume his every waking moment.

He’s wrong—you’re right. He’s seeing things where there are none—you’re simply too kind.

Too kind. Too young. Too damn clever for your own good, with your books and that sharp mind of yours. He wonders how you see yourself.

Do you like the reflection in the mirror? Are you content with the way your life has turned out?

Do you, too, lie awake at night, the bed stretching endlessly, aching for a touch that never comes?

The walls in this place are paper-thin. When darkness falls, and the moon rises, the big, scary Wolverine can’t close his eyes.

Instead, he listens.

Some nights, you play the same movie on repeat—a romantic comedy that lasts exactly one hundred and twenty minutes. For two hours straight, he’s privy to your laughter, your commentary at the characters on the screen.

He hears you cry when the lead couple drifts apart after a terrible argument, but they always find their way back to each other, and you watch every second until the credits roll.

None of the other films you pick ever ends in heartbreak, he realizes. They all have happy endings—the kind you wish for yourself.

One way or another, there must be a way to get you out of his system. He knows, without a doubt, that you wouldn’t want him. He’s not your soulmate, and it’s clear that finding that person has become the center of your existence.

Logan can’t allow himself to be the moron who derails your purpose.

Sure, he’s done bad things, but he likes to believe that at least a part of him—some small fraction—hasn’t been lost yet. That there’s a piece of him that can be saved, which is the reason why he stayed here: to be a better man than the one he was in his universe.

But it’s hard. Harder still because it’s you who disrupts his quest for redemption. How is he supposed to go on with his life when every thought circles back to you? The idea of holding you, kissing you—sleeping beside you haunts him.

And so the images blur, new dreams twisting with his usual nightmares.

Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.

One afternoon, while deliberately steering clear of Jane Eyre, he reluctantly turns to Wade in search of answers. “Tell me more about her.”

Wade, lounging on the couch, stops scrolling on his phone and drops it onto his chest, drawing his eyebrows together.

“Her? Who do you mean?” His tone oozes with feigned innocence, barely containing a shit-eating grin when Logan grits out your name, his tone rough, almost pained. “Oh, Romeo. You’ve got it bad.”

Intending to maintain some semblance of control, Logan strides into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and the last bottle of whiskey. As he tips it, only a few drops fall into the glass.

“No, I don’t,” he says, extending his arm and holding the bottle up. “We’re out of whiskey.”

“You keep saying we, but you’re the only alcoholic in this apartment.” Wade kicks off his shoes, propping his feet on the coffee table. “So, why the sudden interest in the lady? She getting through that tough exterior of yours? I’ll give her points for that.”

“And you wonder why I don’t talk to you.”

“I saw the book,” the younger man replies, lacing his fingers behind his head, watching as Logan rummages through the fridge with increasing frustration. “You never told me you were into classics. If I’d known, I’d have gotten you a copy of Pride and Prejudice.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who came to me, looking for the essential oil of truth?”

The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable, mood-killing.

“See what I just did there?” he adds, and Logan feels forced to shake his head from side to side, appearing conflicted. Wade lets out a low huff. “That was Virginia Woolf. Add her to your reading list.”

“Has anyone ever told you how obnoxious you are?”

“More times than I can count. I’m just not everyone’s cup of coffee.”

“Tea, Wade. Not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“Whatever.” Wade simpers, as though Logan’s correction is the punchline to a joke only he gets. He sets his palms flat on the table, looming closer with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, what would you like to know about my dear friend?”

Logan hesitates, the weight of his question heavy on his tongue. “What’s the deal with her scars?”

The air shifts. Wade’s playful expression fades and he tilts his head, his tone turning serious. “I don’t think it’s my story to tell,” he begins, gaze dropping to the floor. “But she lost them years ago. She was living a normal life, and one day, they were just—gone, like they were never there. It broke her. We didn’t know each other back then, but you’ve seen her.”

Wade’s eyes flick back up, while Logan stands there, tongue-tied. “You even know the kind of books she reads—nothing can shake that belief in real love, in soulmates being destined. Imagine how she must’ve felt when she found out her presumed soulmate was dead… without a single warning.”

From what he had heard, that sense of loss was impossible to put into words. Those who’d gone through it described the experience as if half of you—your body, your soul, your very essence—was being ripped away.

The pain was excruciating, and the only way to survive it was by means of tolerating it—no remedy, just the endurance to outlast the agony.

It wasn’t just a momentary hurt. It was the kind of torment that lingered, making you question who you were and what little remained of you.

You and Logan had more in common than he’s willing to admit.

“She’s a good person,” he mutters absent-mindedly, his thumb grazing the cover of the book. He had carried it everywhere for a week now, without even cracking it open.

“Oh, you dirty pig…” Wade whispers, his eyes lighting up as if a lightbulb suddenly went off in his mind. “Now I get it. You wanna know her. Like, really know her!”

“I don’t—”

“Your sex life is none of my business. I’m all up for you putting your mutant dick to work, otherwise it’s just wasted potential. But it’s my friend we’re talking about.”

Logan’s jaw tightens, and he snaps. “Drop the speech, alright? I’m not trying to get into her pants. I just want to be nice. That’s all.”

“Nice, huh? What’s your version of nice? Starting a two-person book club?” Wade stifles a laugh, pressing a finger to Logan’s chest. “Look, if you want to sleep with her, and the feeling’s mutual, then go for it. Just tell me this—how long’s it been since you visited Pussy Village? Was it before or after the Big Bang?”

Things are never truly serious with Wade Wilson. “I’m not answering that.”

Wade raises both hands in surrender, still chuckling. “Fine, fine. But if you’re really interested, just be clear about it. She doesn’t need a half-assed situationship.”

By now, it’s like a mantra he repeats again and again, hoping that eventually both Wade and he will start to believe it. “I don’t want to have sex with her.”

As he heads back to his (now Wade’s old) room, Wade adds, “I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you underlined some quotes you like.”

Much to his dismay, that’s exactly what Logan does.

His handwriting isn’t the most legible, but he tries his best, leaving notes in the margins of some pages, such as:

I hate this John kid.

Her aunt is a cunt.

This is too cheesy.

Mr. Rochester’s married?

St. John—what a prick.

He finishes the book at 7 a.m. A long-ass book—just for you. While getting ready for work, Wade calls him an unemployed fucker, and Logan knows nothing better than to shoot back a similar insult, stretching his arms as the first rays of sunlight creep through the curtains.

Wade was right about something, even if Logan himself doesn’t wish to admit it: he’s behaving like a teenager—staying up until dawn, practically chained to the bed without daring to go out. Falling for a girl he didn’t know a week ago.

Learning to control his impulses has been a hard task, especially with his temperament. Over the years, Logan thought he’d mastered the art of self-restraint, long past the point where his body moved without his mind’s permission.

As his feet carry him down the hall toward your apartment, he recognizes how wrong he is.

This is a terrible idea, he thinks. And yet, his fist knocks on the wood. Three times.

Fuck.

The door opens just a crack. You peek out, your face barely visible, eyes puffy from sleep. “Logan?”

His name isn’t a fancy one. It’s pretty normal, pretty standard. There must be a thousand other guys named like him—yet it’s only when you say it, your voice turning it into something rare and unique, that it feels different, like it’s only his.

The tone you use with him isn’t the one he’s used to: Logan, you’re a disappointment. Logan, how dare you turn your back on your friends? Logan, they’re all dead. Logan, it’s your fault.

Yours is inviting, and warm, and new. He likes new.

“I just finished it,” he answers, holding up the book, mindful not to grip it too tight as not to crumple the pages.

You scratch the back of your head, blinking at him. “You just finished it… at 7 a.m.?

Yeah, it sounds stupid now that you say it out loud, but it’s true. Hoping his reaction is enough to explain what he can’t put into words, he gives you a slow nod.

This time, you don’t wait for him to say more. “Come in?”

Yes, this is what he’s been looking forward all week. This moment, this interaction.

This Come in. This Yes, thank you. You’re so kind.

His quiet acceptance of your invitation, the unpronounced thought of I don’t deserve this, but I can’t back off now, because how could I ever say no to you?

He follows you into the kitchen as you move to make tea. “Want some?” you ask, but he declines the offer. If he were to drink anything right now, it would be something much stronger, not tea, despite the early hour. “You’re here to talk about the book?”

“Well, you told me I could come back after reading it.”

“I did,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips as you hide it behind your mug. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be so punctual.”

You don’t need to know that he’s been counting down the seconds, marking each minute in his mind since the last time he saw you. That’s a detail he’ll keep to himself. “It’s a good story.”

“Tell me about it.” You smile even wider, and he takes a moment to absorb the details of your face—the crinkles by your eyes, the way your nose scrunches when you’re amused. “I lent you my most precious book. Fell in love with it years ago.”

“I can see why you liked it,” he explains, flipping through the pages to find the one he marked. “All the romance and the yearning—”

“Hey, it’s also good for other reasons,” you try to defend yourself, but any other argument dies on your lips when he finds the passage he was looking for and begins to read aloud.

“I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now,” he recites, his voice lower, almost reverent, as he looks up from the page to meet your gaze. “It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.”

You seem startled by the sharp sound of him closing the book. He’s sort of breathless, and from where he stands, he can tell you are too. “That’s one of my favorite passages.”

“I can’t blame you for believing in soulmates if this is the kind of thing you read growing up,” he teases, handing the book back to you.

Though a part of him almost wishes he didn’t have to—so that it would still be a reason, a tether, pulling him back to you again and again.

Grinning, you take it, your eyes remaining trained on his. “I happen to notice it hasn’t changed your perspective on soulmates.”

“It’ll take more than a book.”

“This is, in my opinion, one of the best love stories ever written. How else will I convince you?”

“Why do you feel like you need to convince me?” He takes a step forward—you take a step back. “Why can’t it be the other way around? I might end up being the one who convinces you.”

“You could never,” you respond, clasping your hands behind your back. “It would be like convincing me the sky is green instead of blue.”

Logan retreats slightly. “Don’t you get tired?”

“Of what?”

“Of waiting. Of always being on the lookout.”

You don’t react badly to his question. You’re not even shaken, not fazed in the slightest. “When I meet him, I’ll know all the waiting was worth it.”

“And in the meantime?” Logan inquires, pressing himself further into your intimacy, edging closer as if testing the boundaries you’re willing to cross. His words are a subtle request for more, for answers. “What will you do until you find him?”

If you ever do, he thinks, but it’s left unsaid, lingering in his thoughts. He’s getting better at not saying the things that sit heavy in his chest without thinking.

��I think you misunderstand, Logan.” You study him through your lashes, and he feels he’s become the keeper of your most sacred secrets. “It’s not about waiting as if my life’s on pause. I’ve been with other people. But in the end, I want to choose him.”

That casual admission strikes him like a wave of cold water. A flicker of jealousy burns at the edges of his composure, though he tries to smother it.

I’ve been with other people, you say, your tone so nonchalant, and yet the mental images that flood his mind are anything but comfortable.

He imagines someone else standing in your kitchen. Perhaps in five minutes, there will be another man knocking on your door, here to discuss a book, and it won’t be him.

Perhaps this isn’t rare for you—all this come in, grab something to drink, let’s talk when you’re done reading.

Perhaps he’s not as important as you make him feel.

His thoughts spiral until your voice pulls him back from the brink.

“Don’t you understand how beautiful it is?” There’s a dazzling glint in your expression, a light in your eyes that makes him ache. “Outside of these four walls, there’s a person who’s waiting to meet me, in the same way I expect to meet him. I can’t grant myself the choice not to believe in something like this.”

Far from easing the martyr in his mind, this conversation only deepens his internal struggle. The questions overlap each other: what happens if you never find him? Would you ever consider settling for somebody else?

He rephrases that last one—would you ever consider being with him?

“He’s a lucky guy,” Logan murmurs, and just like that, he feels himself slipping deeper, falling into the rabbit hole with you guiding him through the madness.

For a moment, he can pretend—pretend that matching scars and bonds that defy the rules of his principles make sense.

Maybe, just for you, he’ll allow himself to believe it.

Your eyes soften with sudden emotion, glistening with the beginnings of tears. He feels the primal urge to reach out, to cup your cheek, to be there when the first tear falls. “You think so?” you ask, your voice fragile.

I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now.

“Of course I do,” he replies, his tone quiet but laden with a strange, undeniable truth.

It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.

Whatever this is between you—it’s messed up. He’s messed up. And you… you’re just as tangled in this chaos for indulging it, for looking at him in that way that calls out to him.

The more time he spends with you, the less he feels like himself. Everything he’s done lately—reading that damn book, standing in your apartment at 7 a.m.—none of it feels like something he’d do.

It’s not just his mind you’re messing with: it’s his very sense of self.

Logan’s smart mouth had always been a liability, getting him into trouble either by saying too much or by choosing the wrong words. Bad things had always followed in the wake of his tongue.

Somehow, when it comes to you, he’s the most careful he’s ever been. He doesn’t want to upset you, nor does he want to be the cause of any sorrow that might affect your heart.

When the two of you stand at the threshold once more, just as you have other times before, you softly say: “I feel like I’m experiencing a déjà vu.”

He laughs, because it sounds ridiculous. “Care to explain why?”

“You come, we talk, you leave.” You lean against the wall, your hand ghosting over the handle. “But you never stay that long.”

There’s no mistaking the layered meaning in your words. You, who work with language and its peculiarities for a living, never speak by chance—every phrase, every pause, carries an assigned weight. The double meaning in your statement doesn’t escape either of you.

You’re a natural at this madness, diving headfirst into it. You must be losing it, too, because your actions don’t match what you said before.

Slowly, his fingers brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the perfect excuse to feel your skin, to close the distance without saying what he actually wants.

They say food and shelter are the basic human needs, but Logan chooses to believe they forgot to include the longing to reach out and just feel you.

“I can’t stay,” he finally responds to your earlier comment, his hand still lingering against your skin.

His strength—the only thing saving him from completely giving in—helps him pull himself away.

Before the impulse to kiss you becomes too overwhelming to resist, Logan leaves.

Some time later, you’re making lunch, music playing softly in the background at the same time the city’s distinct noise finds a way to break through your tranquility.

You rely greatly on the knowledge that you’re good at multitasking—now more than ever, with a book in one hand and the other stirring the pasta on the stove.

The warmth from the pot rises around you, but you trust yourself not to be careless. Not to be stupid enough to burn yourself with the boiling water.

This time, you miscalculate. Not only do you dip the wooden spoon into the pot, but your fingertips too.

Though it only lasts a second, and the voice in your head instantly screams Hot! Hot! Hot!, the shock makes you drop the book to the floor. You yank your hand back, racing to the sink to run it under cold water.

“Fuck,” you grumble, watching the skin redden in protest. “Lesson learned: no more multitasking.”

The funny thing is, just a door away, Logan’s watching a movie with Wade when he feels a sting in the tips of his fingers.

It’s barely there, practically faint, but he looks down, inspecting his hand like it doesn’t belong to his own body. His skin briefly flushes with irritation before returning to its normal state.

Wade notices his distraction. “Hey, you okay?”

Logan pays no mind to it. “Sure. Just felt something strange.”

Is it still called avoiding if you’re both doing it? You’d like to think so.

For the sake of clarity, let’s say you’ve been actively avoiding Logan, but truth be told—he’s been avoiding you too. That last encounter in your apartment didn’t help matters at all.

If anything, it made everything worse.

You’ve been down this road before, knowing men like him too well: they’re everywhere, until they’re not.

One day, they vanish without a trace, leaving you staring at the empty space they used to occupy, asking yourself ‘What happened to my Prince Charming in disguise?’

They disappear as though they never existed, and not even the best detective can track them down.

So far, your avoidance strategy has worked wonders. Maybe it’s for the best. He’s a distraction—an undeniably attractive one, the kind anyone would want to trip over.

Yet you miss him, which is dumb: why are you missing someone you were never supposed to care about in the first place?

You return home after a long trip to the grocery store, arms laden with bags. It’s the kind of errand that exhausts you, though you keep telling yourself it’s better than thinking about him.

As you struggle to get through the building's exit, you resign yourself to the fact that it’ll take several trips to bring everything up to your apartment.

Then the elevator doors slide open, and you drop everything to the floor.

You should’ve known better than to assume victory so soon. After days of successfully avoiding him, there he is.

And of course, it’s when you look your worst—tired from running around, weighed down by groceries, barely holding it together.

“Hey,” he greets you, standing just outside the elevator, like he’s not sure if he should step inside or stay where he is. He’s dressed in a red-and-black flannel shirt, layered over a white vest, a leather jacket tossed over his shoulders, and a pair of jeans that seem made for him.

He looks... ridiculously good.

“Hi,” you manage to answer after a beat, scrambling to collect the bags you’d dropped. “Just—give me a second.”

“Let me help you,” Logan says, ducking down to gather the groceries, but you pull them away.

“I’ve got it. Are you going out? On a date, maybe?” You nod toward his clothes, trying to keep things light, teasing even.

Glancing down at himself, a crease appears between his brows, and in one swoop, he gathers all the bags with a single hand. “I’m supposed to meet Wade at a bar, but he’ll survive without me.”

“Logan, you don’t—”

But he’s already moving, one hand tugging you out of the elevator, the other gesturing toward your apartment.

“Not up for debate,” he mutters. Then, without waiting for permission, he holds out his hand. “Keys.”

Sighing, you dig into your pocket and drop them into his open palm. He unlocks the door with practiced ease, stepping inside and placing the bags on your kitchen counter.

As he starts to unpack them, you stop him. “You really don’t need to do that.”

That seems to catch his attention. He pauses, turning toward you with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the counter.

His unrelenting stare sizes you up, and he cocks his head to the side. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

He thinks he’s so discreet, so smooth. “Well, I’ve been busy,” you explain, fiddling with the frayed edge of your sweater, tugging at it like it might unravel your nerves.

You hear him click his tongue. “Been busy too.” His words hang in the air, thickening the atmosphere. Your body tenses, and you stare at his shoes, until— “Sweetheart,” he calls you softly, and your eyes snap shut for a moment, your chin almost pressing against your chest. “My eyes are up here.”

A quick flutter of your lashes brings you back to him, and your chest tightens with the effort it takes to look into his eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you ask, praying he’ll let this go.

You watch as his mouth twitches with something halfway between a smile and a smirk. “You already want me to leave?”

“If you have plans, then yeah.”

He huffs out a laugh, inhaling a shallow breath like you’ve missed something obvious. “Wade can wait. He’ll be fine.” His expression shifts, and the playful tone in his voice falls away, replaced by something more raw. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You can’t help but snort. “Oh, please. Like you haven’t been doing the same.” You walk over to the couch, feeling your legs wobble beneath you. You collapse into one corner, hoping the distance will help you breathe.

Like a shadow, Logan follows after you, sitting far too close. His legs splay wide, so wide they’re almost grazing yours.

“At least I have a reason for it. What about you?” His hand reaches out, fingers closing around yours in a grip that’s both firm and gentle, enhancing your anxiety. Your throat tightens, the room shrinking around you. “I need you to tell me I’m not crazy,” he says, his voice rough and low. “I need you to tell me you feel it too.”

Panic flares in your chest, and you scramble for time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, but your voice cracks, the uncertainty leaking through the cracks in your bravado.

He doesn’t buy your acting. “You do. We can’t keep playing dumb. You’re gonna make me lose my fuckin’ mind one of these days.”

It’s not just his words—it’s the way he stands so close, heat radiating from his body, the roughness of his hand gripping yours like he’s terrified you’ll slip away.

The intensity of it all weighs on you in ways you can’t even begin to describe, leaving you breathless, caught between denial and desire.

“Logan, this isn’t—”

“What? Okay?” There’s a glimpse of mirthlessness in his tone as he speaks, his forehead furrowing. “I can’t stay away from you, don’t you see it? It feels too good to be wrong,” he utters, inching forward. You know you should take a step back, tell him to stop. Nothing good can come from this. “It takes two to feel these things. It can’t be just me.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to give in.” Blood pounds in your ears, your pulse racing as your heart hammers unpleasantly. Little shivers of ice run through your spine, and yet, your stomach burns with desire.

More than ever, you feel yourself slipping, your sanity at risk.

Logan runs his eyes up and down your face, agitated, almost going cross-eyed. “Earlier you asked if I was going on a date. Would you like that? Me being with other people? Kissing another woman?” His hot breath caresses your cheek, and you avert your gaze momentarily. “Answer me.”

Don’t do it. For the love of God, don’t. “I can’t—I don’t—”

“Come on, baby.”

“I don’t want you to be with other people,” you mumble, your lips almost grazing his, and that’s all he needs to grip your chin and pull you into a kiss.

His mouth moves hungrily over yours, pushing you back until the armrest digs into your lower back. A choked whimper gets lost in your throat, and you bring him closer by grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket, your chest pressing against his.

Logan bites down on your lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, and the moan you let out reverberates in the apartment.

“This is what you were hiding from me?” he rasps, his forehead bumping against yours. “These sweet sounds you make?”

You end up perched in his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips. He’s hard beneath you, and as you shift, your center makes contact with his erection through the layers of fabric.

Both of you sigh into each other’s mouths, your hips moving on their own accord, rocking slightly against his clothed cock. He hooks one of his arms around your waist, guiding your movements.

Everything seems to fall into place. Outside your window, birds chirp. The world feels lighter, like a better place. The beast inside you quiets, and for once, your mind is blissfully blank.

Logic? Error 404—not found.

You tug at his hair, and Logan growls, breaking the kiss. “Do that again.” He jerks under your touch, bucking up into you. Encouraged, you pull his hair again, fingers wrapping around a strand at the nape of his neck, and you’re rewarded with a deep groan.

He’s dizzy for it, but you’re no better, not when he trails his kisses down your neck, his mouth latching onto your skin, tasting the sweat and salt.

“I can’t control myself around you,” he murmurs, groping your tits, and you wail, the ache between your legs becoming intolerable. His hands slip under your sweater, caressing the scars on your back.

That’s when recognition settles over you.

What are you doing? And why are you doing it?

He ceases sucking your flesh when you go rigid on top of him. Pecking your lips once again, Logan’s hands cradle your face, his thumbs rubbing circles on your cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t understand how he does it, how he can remain so calm. Doesn’t he realize the gravity of this? “We have to stop.”

“Why?”

“Don’t ask me something you already know the answer to.”

His arms drop to his sides, releasing you from his hold. You push yourself off him, away from the couch, putting as much distance between you as you can.

Pressing your palms to your eyes, you shake your head. “God, I’m stupid. This is stupid.”

Your reaction seems to get on his nerves, his frustration somehow increasing. Logan stands, towering over you. “Was it stupid when you were dry humping me?”

“Fuck you, Logan.”

“I’m not the bad guy here. You kissed me back.” He doesn’t let up, trailing behind you as you try to escape. “You want me as much as I want you.”

“Will you stop saying that?” you bark, throwing your arms in the air. Your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “Yeah, we like each other. So? Does that make it right? How can you just ignore how wrong this is?”

His expression hardens, anger flashing in his eyes. “Forget your idea of what's good and bad. You're just upset you can't control what you feel.”

“He’s closer than ever.”

Logan gawks at you, his voice bitter as he goes on with his rambling. “That fucker again? Don’t you ever get tired of talking about someone who you don’t even know? Because you’re certainly wearing me out.”

“You wish you were him, don’t you?” You jab your finger into his chest, feeling his heartbeat, a flutter you choose to ignore. “You want to be my soulmate.”

“Damn right I do,” he practically spits his words, narrowing his eyes at you. “But I’m not him.”

“No. You’re not.”

Everything seems to fall out of place. Outside your window, birds don’t chirp—they scream for mercy. The world doesn’t feel lighter, but heavier. The beast inside you roars back to life, restless and louder than ever, while your mind spins in chaos.

“We shouldn’t see each other anymore.” Your voice pierces through the thick silence in the room, and you swallow down the lump forming in your throat.

“If that’s what you want,” he replies, his jaw clenched tight, irritation radiating off him in waves.

“It’s what we both need.”

“Speak for yourself. I don’t have a soulmate.” His tone is biting, but you don’t miss the undercurrent of longing in his words. “But if in any other universe I do, I hope it’s you.”

Your hand turns the knob, and then he’s halfway out the door, sparing you one last glance before he turns his back to you.

No more visits. No more books. No more bruising kisses that leave you questioning your mere existence.

Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.

After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.

It didn’t go well in the end.

You remember your first heartbreak—seventeen, fresh out of high school. One of your hands clutched a million dreams, and the other, a pillow soaked with your tears.

Your mother remained by your side, caressing your back, attempting to soothe the sobs that racked your body. She murmured that it’d pass, that you wouldn’t feel like this forever. You believed her then, and trusted that things would eventually be okay.

Almost ten years later, another heartbreak shouldn’t come as a surprise. By now, you thought you would’ve developed the tools to survive it. You should be able to piece yourself back together by instinct.

But life, as it turns out, has a peculiar way of catching you off guard.

Whether it’s pent-up horniness, touch-starvation, or genuine affection—it doesn't change the fact that your pseudo-relationship with Logan fell apart.

Though you’re not the one who’s suffering the most. Neither is Logan.

Wade, the third party in this tangled mess, has somehow taken it the hardest.

“I feel like a child of divorce,” he says, his head resting on your lap, eyes distant as they fixate on the peeling wallpaper. “You need to do something about that.”

“I’ll take care of it next month.”

He’s supposed to be the one supporting you, but it feels like the roles are reversed—you’re comforting him, letting him vent.

“My two favorite people now can’t even be in the same room. What are we gonna do for Christmas? New Year's Eve?” Straightening up, he grabs the nearest cushion and buries his face into it to muffle a defeated scream. “Damn it, Cupid! You had one job!”

All in all, Wade’s emotionally unavailable at the moment, grieving your separation from Logan as if it were his own loss, too caught up in his melodrama to be of any real help.

Meanwhile, you fill your days with work, books, anything to keep your mind occupied.

You go to bed too late, you wake up too early. Sleep too little, cry too much.

One thing stays constant—you and Logan don’t talk. Stolen glances in the hallway, awkward elevator rides—those are the only remnants of whatever you once were. Back to being strangers again.

Well, not really. Strangers don’t know the route to your mouth the way he does.

The ache lingers every day. Missing him when you’re awake is a common occurrence. At night, as you toss and turn beneath the sheets, he stars in your dreams. You can’t recall the last time he wasn’t lodged in your thoughts.

Where there used to be ideas, creativity, and plots worth scribbling down, there’s now only Logan—a man destined to problematize your stay on earth.

That fucker again? Don’t you ever get tired of talking about someone who you don’t even know? Because you’re certainly wearing me out.

And yet, despite all of it, you continue to prioritize someone else. Someone who isn’t even here. Clung to the idea of a soulmate, you chose him over Logan.

What did he expect? For you to abandon your principles, your belief in destiny? It’s who you are. Nearly thirty years of life guided by one belief can’t just be discarded like trash.

You liked to separate things into categories: good and bad, right and wrong. A simple method to structure everything, to make sense of your world, and it has worked most of the time.

But now? The limits of those sacred categories look blurred. Your judgment feels unreliable, and you wonder if the choices you’ve made lately have been the correct ones.

Each of your decisions seems to be leading you further down a path you can’t recognize.

What’s the goal? Finding your soulmate, the voice in your head mockingly answers for the hundredth time, rolling its imaginary eyes. And where is he?

You’ve shut Logan out, a man who’s made it clear he has feelings for you, for this elusive person. Isn’t it time he steps into the light at long last?

This is what you fear the most: loneliness.

You don’t want to be the lone woman who sits by herself in a cafe, drawing pity from waitresses who discuss her solitude. By no means do you wish to be that friend who dispenses wise dating advice, but goes home to an empty bed. You refuse to become the godmother whose hand no one holds when her time comes.

No, this can’t be all fate has to offer to you. There must be more. If your life were a book, you’d be flipping through the pages to the last chapter, desperate to see how it ends.

Or, better yet, you’d grab a pen and rewrite it yourself. What kind of ending you’ll have—you’re not so sure about that.

It’s Sunday, one of those endless weekends where the only way to survive is by rearranging your entire apartment. You could manage it alone, but help would be nice—Wade’s help, to be more precise, would be perfect for this kind of task, and you find yourself knocking on his door.

No answer. Deciding to dial his number to see if he’s fallen asleep, you try calling him, waiting through the rings until he finally picks up. “Hey.”

Except it’s not Wade’s voice that answers. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

The door swings open, and Logan appears right behind it, holding Wade’s phone to his ear.

He narrows his eyes, leaning against the frame, a single eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “How sad. You don’t remember what I sound like.”

You feel foolish for still being on the call, so you lock your phone, ending it. “Where’s Wade?” you ask, frowning as you hold your breath, your voice sharper than intended.

“Out and about. Didn’t tell me where he was going,” Logan replies, glaring at you as he raises the phone to your face. “He left without this.”

Abort mission! Nodding in agreement, you begin to step back. “Great, I’ll look for him later.”

You’re close to being locked up once again in the safety of your apartment when you hear him: “You need anything?”

It’s the most he’s said to you in weeks. You hesitate, keeping your back turned. “I’m moving some heavy stuff around. Thought I could use the help.”

“I could do it.”

No. Not really. He’s doing that thing again—offering help when you know you shouldn’t accept it. You shake your head.

“It’s not necessary,” you say, forcing a casual tone.

“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he retorts, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as they draw closer. With each passing second, your options shrink, leaving you no room for retreat. “Don’t worry. I won’t try to kiss you again if that’s what’s got you all worked up.”

“I’m not worked up,” you hiss, and he sidesteps you easily, his arm nudging yours.

The electricity is still there, undeniable, but neither of you has the courage to acknowledge it, acting as though it’s an ordinary occurrence.

His eyes roam the room, like he’s forgotten what your apartment looked like. He pauses by the bookshelf, his fingers gliding over the spine of Jane Eyre, and a low whistle escapes him as he slips it back into place.

You, frozen at the threshold, feel your irritation simmering just beneath the surface, and the urge to hide in your bedroom only becomes stronger.

After this, you’ll have to burn your favorite book. What a pity.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, hooking his fingers into the loops of his jeans, his posture both confident and annoyingly relaxed.

There’s a challenge in his tone, and he acts as if you’re the one who pulled him into this situation—like he didn’t worm his way in here.

You gesture toward the couch. “Can you put it by the window?”

He sets to work, moving the smaller pieces of furniture aside to make space for the couch. Under no circumstances are you going to just stand there and watch him sweat.

Instead, you busy yourself with the long-forgotten glasses and cups gathering dust in one of the kitchen cabinets, each one glinting with past disappointments.

Wetting a towel, you start by wiping the rims. The air feels heavily charged with uneasiness, but you're relieved that for once, you can breathe without feeling like you’re on the brink of a heart attack.

You can already imagine Wade’s face when you tell him—

“So,” Logan’s voice cuts through the silence, startling you, “how’s the search going? Got any luck?”

His words have the desired effect on you, and the glass slips from your grasp, shattering against the floor in a crash that mirrors the jump of your heart. You curse under your breath, stepping back from the mess, taking in the shards sprawled around your shoes.

“Be careful,” he says from the other side of the room, still dragging the furniture into place, and you scrutinize him over your shoulder, your brows knitted.

“I don’t need your advice,” you murmur through gritted teeth as you crouch to pick up the larger shards. His attention returns to the couch, but you guess he’s not technically thinking how nice of a person you are.

As you kneel, your hands tremble slightly, and you wonder when that started. You fumble for a larger shard of glass, bracing your hand against the floor for balance, unaware of the smaller piece lying dangerously close to your fingers.

The sting comes fast, slicing through the skin of your pinky. You flinch, raising your hand, and Logan, hearing the faint wince, abandons his task and crosses the room to you.

"I don’t need your advice," he echoes, mocking your tone as he squats beside you, his hand closing around yours to inspect the wound. "You’re bleeding."

“Brilliant observation, Sherlock. I hadn’t noticed—” The words die in your throat, your eyes widening as you take a closer look at his hand. “Wait, why are you bleeding?”

He snorts, diverting his attention to his own hand. “What do you mean I’m—” Whatever it is he intended to shoot back remains unsaid as both of you stare down at the small cut in his pinky.

Driven by instinct, you place your hands side by side, your finger grazing his. The cuts are identical: same place, same width, same depth. The only difference is his vanishes within seconds, leaving only a few droplets of crimson blood as evidence.

Logan couldn’t have cut himself. He was nowhere near the glass. “Are you…?” You swallow thickly, trying to string together a coherent thought, dizziness making its triumphant appearance. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yes.”

“And what is that—”

“I need a drink.”

“Can you stop acting like a dick for one second?” You peer into his glossy eyes, watching him try to avoid your gaze, though he can’t seem to resist. “Please, Logan. Look at me.”

When he does, his mouth parts as if to speak, then closes again. “I don’t understand. I thought I didn’t have a soulmate.” His gruff tone slows even further, like he's straining to push the words from his lungs. “I thought—I thought I was alone.”

It explains so much: how your scars had reappeared once he and Wade returned from The Void.

The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.

The dread that washed over you each time he walked away.

The dreams that plagued your nights, and the tightness in your chest these past few weeks that made you wonder if you could ever coexist in the same space as him without breaking apart.

All those times you felt he was getting closer weren’t just a figment of your imagination—he was, in fact, right there.

But he wasn’t just anyone—it was him. Logan is your soulmate. You two are meant to be together. How long would it take for you to truly believe it? Until it no longer sounded like something too good to be true?

Without uttering a sound, Logan gazes at you, silently pleading to see them. To see your scars. You extend your arm, and with a gentle motion, he rolls up the sleeve of your shirt, revealing the marks etched into your skin.

He runs his fingers along the lines, trying to understand the bond you now share—both his and yours.

In a sense, you’re his. You carry his scars, the physical manifestation of the life he has lived. Even though he may not bear any of his own, you do, and that’s more than enough.

He belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.

“There are more,” you tell him. your voice barely above a whisper. He stands, offering you his hand, and you take it, rising to your feet. Logan inches closer, his mouth hovering just above yours, his large hand coming up to cup your cheek.

The look he gives you is one reserved for those he loves, a look filled with such warmth and affection that it almost feels dreamlike.

“Do you want me to see them?” he inquires, and all he needs is a nod from you to gently tug your shirt up your chest and over your head.

He lets out a dry chuckle when you attempt to tame your hair, the effort proving to be in vain. The clock on the wall seems to pause its ticking the moment his fingers begin to trail each of the scars that captures his gaze.

You can’t even begin to fathom what thoughts might be swirling in his mind, but if the flicker of lust and desire you catch in his expression is anything to go by, you’re not so worried.

Logan’s touch carries an unexpected softness, a tenderness you never imagined a man like him could possess.

Deep down, you wish he understood that these scars don’t hurt, that they never have. “I’m okay,” you reassure him, prompting him to explore more of your skin, to claim you as his.

“Do you… like them?” he asks without meeting your eyes.

Do you like my scars? is the real question hidden underneath.

Do you like me? is the one he can’t bring himself to pronounce.

“They’re yours. I could never not like them.”

Before you stands a man you once believed was meant to be your burden, your trial. Logan had been the earthquake sent to test your endurance, to see how much you could withstand before surrendering and waving the white flag.

The same fingers that once imprinted his mark on you now linger on the strap of your bra, waiting for you to decide whether to let him go further or stop.

Desire has a limit before it overwhelms. There’s only so much need a person can contain before it spills over, uncontrollable and raw.

This game, one you never learned how to play, feels as foreign to him as it does to you—neither of you knows the rules.

“Can I see more?” He’s still talking about the scars, still fumbling with the strap, and you nod, your eyelids growing droopier as you take his free hand and direct it to the front of your jeans.

He catches the hint, undoing the button with ease, allowing you to shed the last layers of restraint.

Bare, moments away from being completely naked, standing in stark contrast to Logan, who remains fully clothed, your stomach does a flip as he rubs his thumb along the sides of your underwear.

Leaning your forehead against his shoulder, you stifle a sigh when he splays his hand across your lower back, pulling you closer.

His rough grip tightens on your ass, testing the feel of you, while your breathing becomes shallow, erratic.

“What is it, honey?” He slides his fingers your stomach, just below your belly button, brushing a small scar in there. “Want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” you croak, the plea slipping out involuntarily, throwing your arms around his neck. He buries his face against your jaw, his lips parting against your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck.

You tilt your head back, exposing more of your throat to him, breathless as you whisper: “I’ve waited so long.”

He moves toward the couch, and you follow, trying to anticipate what he’s got planned for you. “I know, baby. I know. You’ve waited long enough.” Guiding your body down, he has you lying horizontally on the sofa. He unhooks your bra, kneading your breasts with both hands, eliciting a ragged gasp from you. “But I’m here now. You don’t have to wait any longer,” he huffs by your ear, rolling your nipples between his fingers, his breath mingling with yours, each exhale warm and inviting. “Gonna let me make you feel good? Show you how much I’ve been thinkin’ about you?”

Instead of answering with real words, you surge forward, crashing your lips against with his, reveling in the way he cages you with his biceps, locking you up in a prison of desire from which you never wish to break free. He tries not to settle his full weight on top of you, attentive not to crush you.

As he nips at the column of your throat, you squirm beneath him, canting your hips up to seek the friction you crave.

He presses his knee against your center and you push back, grinding against him with an animalistic urgency.

You can’t recall ever feeling this desperate, this overwhelmed by a man. But then again, he’s unlike any other you’ve encountered in your array of momentary hookups.

His kisses grow even more insistent as breathy moans roll off to your tongue, merging with the occasional creak of the couch beneath your movements.

Logan spreads your thighs wider, sinking to his knees on the floor to tug your lower half forward until your ass is almost hanging in the air. He places your thighs on his shoulders, supporting you as he leans in to pepper your soft flesh with kisses.

One can be certain that he’s marking your inner thighs with a hickey or two, the scratch of his beard feeling magnificent against your sensitive skin, and you can hardly bring yourself to think about the potential burn he’ll leave behind. Logan inhales your scent, the tip of his nose dangerously close to your cunt, and you tangle a hand in his hair as he continues to test your patience.

“Eager?” he wonders aloud, looking at you through his lashes. While maintaining eye contact, he presses a kiss to your clit through the fabric of your panties.

He does it again, and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, his fingers deftly pulling your underwear down your legs.

The first drag of his tongue along your folds has you scrunching your eyebrows in pleasure, tightening your grip on his hair. Logan moans against you, the sound muffled as he dips the tip of his tongue into your entrance, lapping at your arousal with an insatiable hunger.

The way you purr his name—a soft caress, a pat on his back that says Yeah, you’re doing fine—only spurs him on, infusing every one of his ministrations with fervor.

His longing for you radiates in the intensity of his touch, sending shivers through you, making you writhe because of his hands alone.

Your core throbs. Your skin prickles with electricity. Your legs quake on either side of his face. He’s hungry and you’re his feast. He’s parched and you’re the last bottle of water in an arid world.

Logan eats you out like this will be the only time he’ll have the privilege—each movement calculated, pushing all the right buttons, pulling out every trick he knows to make you think No, it doesn’t get any better than this. This is as much as one can get.

Then his fingers join the symphony of pleasure, pumping in and out of you as he keeps flicking your clit with expert precision, and your back arches from the couch, following his pace with your hips. He pushes back, you push forward—he pushes forward, you push back.

Who is enjoying this more: him or you?

His pointed tongue teases your bud, matched with the persistent hammering of his fingers plunged into your wet heat. The combination has you coming on his mouth, falling over the precipice while you struggle to keep yourself together.

Your walls flutter around his digits, and your cries fuse with his groans, both overshadowed by his insatiable desire to savor until the last drop of your release.

Shockwaves ripple through your body and you prop your weight on your arms to capture his lips in a fervent kiss, your eyes rolling rolling back in ecstasy as you taste yourself, a mix of sour and sweet.

In a frenzy, he sheds his clothes, practically tearing them away, and you wrap your hand around his length, stroking him in time with your kisses. Logan pulls back, panting against you, and you steal a glance at him.

Your gaze travels down to his hard cock, the tip a furious red, and he seizes your wrist.

“Why don’t you kiss it better?” he rasps, his voice dropping an octave. In this moment, you’re taken aback by his beauty, and the urge to express it rises within you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur against his thigh, showering his skin with heated kisses. You stare in disbelief at the trail of hair leading to his girth, mouth watering at the sight.

A kiss on the tip, followed by a broad lick along a prominent vein—Logan’s grip on the armrest tightens, his knuckles turning white. “So perfect.”

“Shut up,” he retorts breathlessly, but you revel in the strangled noise that escapes him as you take him deeper, his head disappearing between your lips. His palm rests on your nape, anchoring you in place. “Goddammit. The fuckin’—mouth you have on you.”

You try to take him in further once you’re feeling more confident, while Logan fights with all his might against the need to thrust his hips up into your warmth. He can’t stay still, grunting and smothering you with lavish praise that heightens your arousal, slick pouring out of you in waves.

“Pretty thing you are. Don’t even know how to function around you. You got me all—fuck, actin’ all stupid.”

At one point, he tells you to stop, because he doesn’t want to come just yet. You know what comes next as he rubs his cock along your folds, blending your wetness with his precum.

It’s sloppy, and dirty, and messy—and God, do you love it.

He sinks into you and the world collides in a way you never expected. Everything you thought you knew falls apart, leaving you stranded in unfamiliar territory.

You can’t comprehend how you’ve spent so many years without him. Without this.

Your lips find his, and he swallows every sound he punches out of your lungs. His thrusts grow harder and faster as you adjust to his size, how big he feels inside you.

He digs his fingers into the globes of your ass, yanking you towards his shaft every time he fucks into you. You feel the brush of his balls against your skin, the way his muscles flex beneath your touch.

To this day, it’s still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.

You come to understand it fully as his eyes flicker to yours, checking for any signs of discomfort in your features.

You understand why people write books and songs about love when he breathes your name in the shell of your ear, chanting how good you’re taking him, how tight and wet you are for him.

You understand the place love occupies in your life as the sound of your bodies slapping together creates a melody which has never been played before.

You understand why you’ve searched for this your entire life, lifting every carpet in hopes of uncovering the love you’ve pined for.

In the past, it had always felt like a race—finding your soulmate before the clock struck twelve. Now that you have him, you wonder what the future holds for you, how this connection will evolve.

For now, you can allow yourself the possibility of relishing the drag of his cock in your interior. His pace doesn’t falter for a second—something about mutants and their non-stop stamina, no doubt. He shoves a hand between your sweaty bodies, rubbing circles on your already swollen bud.

Each time he fills you to the brim, you have to ground yourself, resisting the pull of an altered reality.

“So full,” you blurt out, mewling with a specially hard thrust, a chocked sob lodged in your throat. “Please, stay.”

It could mean many things: Please, keep fucking me. Please, don’t leave after this. Please, remain by my side form this moment onward, because I don’t know how to go on with my life now that I’ve experienced this closeness.

Whatever meaning he ascribes to your words is of little importance. He tightens his arms around you, kissing you deeply, tongue and teeth clashing as they compete to see who wins the battle. “Never. I’m never lettin’ you go, y’hear me?”

Heat pools in your lower back, a coiling tension radiating through your limbs. “You’re mine, princess. Can’t afford to lose you now that I found you. Gonna remind you every day.”

His rambling pushes you over the edge, your dripping cunt spasming around him as you reach your climax, moaning his name against his shoulder. You cling to him, convulsing beneath his body, and he grinds his hips into yours, his chest rumbling as he growls.

“Inside,” you mumble, extending your hand to press it to his waist. “Need you inside me. Please, I want it so bad.”

Logan stutters against you, his forehead falling against your collarbone as he finishes with one powerful thrust, his cock pulsing warm ropes of come within your cunt. You clench around him, whining as he prolongs both your pleasure and his, milking the last drop of his seed. His voice is a constant murmur, filling every space in the room until he slumps against you.

Night has fallen. The cut on your pinky no longer stings. Your scars, after all, are still there, nestled against Logan’s unmarked skin. You caress his back, sighing contentedly as a wave of peace washes over you.

You’ve never felt this relaxed.

Logan grasps your chin and tilts it up, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. “Hey,” he mutters, his gaze roaming all over your face.

You cup his cheek, his rough stubble grazing your palm. “Hey, stranger. Long time no see.”

A genuine laugh pierces through the silence. the kind he rarely allows himself. Crinkles form at the corners of his eyes, his brow furrowing as he glances at you with love.

Love—hadn’t you pondered its existence for so long? Your fuel for living, the muse behind your best poems, a recurring motif in your fantasies.

Love now has Logan’s name written in ink, no longer a blank canvas awaiting its unknown owner. No—it’s all his now.

You’d do it all over again if it meant ending up like this, tangled and intertwined, with the promise of a future together. He has many stories to share—about his past universe, about himself. You have secrets to unveil, too. There’s so much you both have yet to discover about each other.

But time isn’t up. This isn’t a race, you remind yourself: things are just getting started.

Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees you—truly sees your longing for it—it flees, and you struggle to keep up. Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.

Finally, you’ve wrapped love around your finger.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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tinystarbites · 2 months ago

Text

accidents | Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops [5.5k]

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst mainly Spencer doubting himself aww :(, Spencer is PINING for you hard (haha get it), nudes, Spencer loves you so much, pls someone give him a hug, m!masturbation, talk about sex, proofread but prolly not perfect lol, like you aren't probably ready for the amount of longing in this, *slaps Spencer* this bad boy can fit so much pining and yearning

read pt.II here

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Spencer swears it was an accident.

You were all away on a case, somewhere in Florida. And of course, something like that can only happen in Florida, because as much as he dislikes connecting random events with random locations, non-sequitur fallacy and all that, he cannot not say that many of his most embarrassing moments aren’t attributable to the south-eastern state. (He will not elaborate on these moments, he very much likes to keep most of his dignity still intact, thank you very much.)

But his dignity isn’t really the only thing that had been shattered to pieces by… by the accident. Far from it really and it- well, it- God, this really won’t end well for him, will it? He’s well and truly, as Emily likes to say, fucked.

It happened on the fourth day he and the team were cooped up in a small, dingy police station, chasing down an unsub that liked to paint intricate body art on the victim’s corpses as part of his MO. Aside from, y’know, slitting their throats with what seemed to be an old, rusty saw. The paradoxical duality of these two aspects, of the interplay of carefulness and diligence put into the painting process and the absolute careless way the unsub ends his victims was fascinating really – but not as much as it is disturbing, still.

Thus, this case is a very photography-heavy one. Most of the cases they solve involve photographs of some kinds of course, but Spencer has never sat in front of quite as many pictures of art and gore in his life before. It was strange, to say the least, even to him. Strange and annoying, to be honest.

Because Spencer isn’t exactly fond of all things that come with some electrical inner life, i.e. smartphones, his old brick of a phone isn’t exactly helpful for this case. He still feels the need to roll his eyes at Garcia after she, for the umpteenth time, called him an old grandpa and his phone a potato trying to pass as a phone. And failing miserably, especially when looking at the pictures it takes and their quality. Well, Penelope would say “pictures”, because she would also say that a resolution of beneath 60 PPI should be considered a war crime against modern technology, but Spencer doesn’t know and doesn’t want to know what that even means, so. Jokes on her.

Well, actually, the joke is on him. And yes, he knows, the joke is almost always on him, he knows his pipe-cleaner physique and too big eyes and long hair and everything about him really, makes him the perfect target for the occasional bullying he gets still as an adult, but he’s used to that. It’s normal, part of his everyday life. He can deal with that (more or less).

What he so brilliantly cannot deal with however, is having you around him almost 24/7. Because Hotch had had the amazing idea of fixing you to his hip as his personal photographer to circumvent his technological potato-problem. Uh- not that you, that you take pictures of him, why would you ever do that, but more like, taking pictures for him. Of their victims. And the body art.

Spencer was actually waiting for your protest, because there seems to be nothing worse for you than to stay inside the office when you could be out there, on the fields, in midst of all the action. Where Spencer usually isn’t. But that’s fine of course. Completely, absolutely fine. Spencer doesn’t look up every time the door to the tiny room he’s set up his camp in opens to see if it’s you bringing him another coffee just the way he likes, if it’s your smile that will make him feel more energized than any overly sweet coffee ever could. If it’s your voice and smell and aura (Penelope is definitely getting into his head) that for the short while you are there, makes everything seem so much more manageable.

It’s an energy burst unlike any other and Spencer is aware of what that means, so aware his body burns with it sometimes… Often. Okay, fine, most of the time. He just prefers to ignore it and enjoy the precarious friendship he built with you for what it is because he just likes to have you around so very much and – this was so not the point he wanted to make. He’s hopeless, when it comes to you, and it really is kind of embarrassing.

So, this is why the joke is so entirely on him that it’s not even a joke anymore. It’s basically bullying, he feels bullied. Because you actually had beamed the prettiest smile he’s ever seen at him, said ‘Oh finally, I can unpack all the dark hidden talents from within me’ which was so cryptic but so you and then you also winked at him. And well, Spencer has to lie if he were to say that he was being totally normal about this. That you didn’t just upheave his insides like an earthquake of magnitude eight with a single wink. Oh, he’s in so much trouble.

The first two days the two of you work side by side proceed without any unforeseen occurrences. And Spencer is so glad about that he could cry. From the moment you had joined the team two years ago, from the moment he met you, it was an undeniable fact that you were nice. Not only that, but truly, selflessly kind in a way that has left him all too choked up to even speak on multiple occasions now. The team is nice to Spencer, of course they are, they’re his family. But nothing in the entire world could have adequately prepared him to the spring of kindness you so freely distribute to anyone willing to receive it. And god, Spencer is willing. Is it every time you listen to him ramble on and on, unable to really hold his tongue despite the embarrassment clouding his cheeks darker. Is it every time you ask him about the book he’s reading, every time you ask him how his mother is doing and just- all these tiny things that add up and completely smush his brain into a fuzzy mess of warmth that leaks down his body.

He literally could spend every minute of every day just sitting next to you and soak up your presence and he would be the happiest person alive. That’s why he cherishes your friendship to him so strongly, and that’s why it’s the worst thing that Spencer is, well, himself.

He knows that you would probably be too nice to outright state that something he does unsettles you. Changes the way you think about him. Still. There is the worry. Buried so deep in his mind it’s as if he was born with it. And that’s why he’s so relieved that he is keeping the worst of the ‘Reid effect’ at bay while working with you on this twisted painter case.

It all goes well, until it doesn’t. Of course. Good things never seem to last for Spencer.

It’s already later in the afternoon on the fourth day you are working the case, no end in sight, unfortunately. Spencer is bend over the table, hands entwined in front of his mouth as he’s staring down the printed pictures of the unsub’s latest victim from three days ago. The brushstrokes seem remarkably stable, the colours uncannily vibrant. Spencer does not know much about art, but he does recognise talent when he sees it. And this unsub seems to have it in abundance. It’s almost a shame he’s a deranged killer. But oh well.

He jumps in his seat when the door to his room abruptly bangs open and a dishevelled looking you is bustling into the room.

Your expression turns apologetic. “Oh Spencer, shit, sorry. I didn’t wanna startle you, but they just found another victim.”

And oh. Spencer feels his heart sink in his chest. Guilt tugging it further down into the abyss. Why wasn’t he faster with figuring out these paintings?

“Really? Where?”

You immediately launch into a rapid-fire list of details, all in the wrong order because you do tend to be a bit all over the place. Spencer doesn’t mind. Gives him a bit more of a challenge to order the information in his brain the way it works for him. You two work surprisingly well in that regard.

While talking, you round the desk that almost takes up all the little space available in the room. You sit in the chair next to him, so close he can feel the stressed warmth radiating from you and it takes a very good portion of his brain’s capacity to stop his hand from reaching out. Or do something else even stupider. More stupid? Oh hell. It’s a wonder he can talk in complete sentences with you.

He watches you pull out your phone, fingers typing in the passcode he guessed right after two weeks of knowing you. The indignant expression on your face had been adorable. That’s why he still guesses your new passwords weekly, just to mess with you a little bit. Because he’s apparently insane like that.

“Here”, you turn the display of your phone towards him, “Precinct’s out of ink. Do you mind looking at the pictures on my phone until I come back from the store?”

This is where Spencer should have said no. Declined politely, smile on his face. Tell you that sorry, I don’t really get the same detail on screen like on a printed version. Should’ve emigrated to Tristan da Cunha, change his name to Ferdinand. Whatever. Anything, except say, “Oh, of course. That’s no trouble.”

You smile that breathtaking smile of yours, fingers touching his slightly while giving him your phone. Spencer sucks his lower lip between his teeth to keep himself from making any kind of noise at the tingly feeling skittering down his back.

He can’t not smile back at you. It’s one of his many weaknesses. Jello, trying to out-solve himself every day with New York Times’ new crossword puzzles, dairy. Halloween themed socks. Old obscure movies no one has ever heard of. Reading the most difficult books in twenty minutes. You.

Once you left, Spencer starts diligently going through the photographs of their latest victim. Not yet identified white male. Average height, average weight. Short-buzzed sandy brown hair. Striking blue eyes that seem to stare at him accusingly even after death.

He works through approximately forty pictures taken off the intricate and detailed body art. This time, the unsub left many smaller paintings woven in a bigger, overall painting. There’s still one that Spencer hasn’t seen a close up of, that’s kind of hidden behind the victim’s ears. Maybe you saved it to a different folder. He clicks around your gallery for some time, opening and closing folders full of holiday pictures. Pictures of you, smiling, at the beach. A folder full of memes that he doesn’t get but is familiar with because you keep sending them to him anyways. Spencer is aware that he probably shouldn’t have just- perused your gallery like that. But he was in case-mode. Hyper-focused on finding the next clue, on detangling the next hint that would bring them further. That would finally be the key to end this case and bring justice to all the victims.

He isn’t really thinking, when he clicks on a folder titled ‘xxx lol’. Thinks it’s another one full of memes because of the abbreviation, but maybe you accidentally saved pictures of the case in there, wouldn’t be too out of character for you and-

Spencer sucks in a breath.

Drops your phone almost as an afterthought. The noise of it clattering to the table makes him flinch.

It lands display down. Small mercies and all that.

And Spencer is- he is-

… That was not-

Not -

There’s a weird buzzy feeling in his limbs, his chest and head. Like his blood turned into a swarm of bees. He feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice over his head and like he’s on fire simultaneously.

Okay. Okay.

That was not- pictures of the case.

Definitely not.

Oh Jesus Christ.

Spencer was definitely not supposed to see. That. Not supposed to see you- like that. Ever.

His heart is totally beating itself into a frenzy. There are at least two litres of blood rushing to his head. The other four are gathering somewhere down down down and oh. Oh shit.

Spencer is actually fucked. More than that. He wants to get fucked and that’s. Just. Even worse.

He wants to scream.

He ends up biting his knuckles and letting out a frustrated noise against his fingers.

Did he really.

Did he really just see your nudes?

(And yes, he knows that word. Penelope is a bad influence on him.)

His head is kind of a- a mess. More than usual when you are around. And… what. What does he do now? He can’t just- can’t just leave your phone like that. You’d obviously see what he was looking at and that’s just- unacceptable.

But the other option appears just as preposterous. Because, because, he’d have to look at your phone again. At you, like that, again. To get out of ‘xxx lol’. Damn you. Why did you have to be so unserious and name your, uhm, very personal folder like that? And no password-block?

Spencer feels a different kind of warmth enveloping him because it’s just- so you, silly and funny and kind of unbelievable and Spencer is so deeply in love with you that he feels like he’s going crazy with it. Of course, you’d be like that about stuff like that as well. Spencer would give everything to just once experience what it’d feel like to kiss you. To feel your lips twisted in a silly smile against his, flicking a finger at his ear because you would. Do that. When kissing someone. And okay. Okay. Spencer needs to get his shit together, like, yesterday.

You could come back any second now, actually and fuck. He needs to close the gallery app on your phone, asap.

His hands are trembling as they retrieve your phone from the table.

He allows himself a deep breath. And then. With eyes squeezed almost close, he taps the return arrow. Well, tries to. He thinks he managed to escape your nudes-folder without any hiccups but well.

Spencer is freaking inept with technology.

So. He finds himself looking at another picture of you and god, it actually might kill him.

It’s inappropriate. So so so so inappropriate. You would kill him dead if you ever knew Spencer was ogling your pictures like that. Like a perverted stalker.

But. But.

There shouldn’t even be a ‘but’.

But.

You’re just. You’re just- You’re incredible. Not even in a sexual way, just-

You’re so beautiful it hurts.

And call Spencer selfish, a pervert, whatever. Because he knows, okay? But he also knows that he’d never, ever get to see you like that. And it hurts in a different way now, because Spencer just wants. Wants you so much. You and you, just you.

But…he’d never get to have you. Which is fine, of course. Having you as a friend is actually one of the best things that ever happened to him, and he’d never do anything to endanger that-

…Well. He’s not perfect. So, sue him, for only once, giving into his deepest darkest desires. He’s only human. And pathetically in love with you. And attracted to you. Oh, he wants to be with you so badly. Wants to- wants to get kissed and held by you. Wants to make love with you, which just. Sounds so dumb and cliche. But maybe he just is that for you.

Still. He shouldn’t think how absolutely breathtaking you look, sprawled across the white linen of presumably your bed. He knew you worked out regularly, but. Spencer feels hot all over when he thinks how easily you could just. Manhandle him around. To wherever you wanted him. And this is something he apparently likes. (He consciously stores that information away for later. Later.)

He shouldn’t think how you would tease him, how you would make him beg for you before he’d even taken off his clothes. He would. He would beg for you, go on his knees. Everything, everything.

He shouldn’t think how warm and safe you’d make him feel, even after knowing he’s inexperienced in everything. You’d take his face in your hands, smile at him so beautifully he’d cry. Tell that ugly internalized shame to go ‘fuck off to Jupiter’.

Oh, he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. He shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t.

But there’s always so much he shouldn’t do. Friends shouldn’t think of other friends like that. Friends don’t imagine how it would feel to be taken apart and put together again by their friend. Friends shouldn’t want to touch, touch, touch-

Maybe, for once, he just. Has enough of that. Maybe, he could just. Indulge. For a minute. To know what it’d be like. Just. A little.

To know what it’d be like if this picture was meant for him. What it’d be like- Be like to see you. And for you to see him. Like that. What it’d feel like to crawl into your lap, bury his face in your neck. Set his teeth on the gentle skin there and hear you gasp for him. How you’d bury your hands in his hair, and he’d make the most miserable noises until you pulled and-

Something in the corner of his eyes catches his attention and- shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.

That’s you. Walking towards the door.

His hands are shaking so badly he has difficulties navigating your phone. But thankfully, this time, he manages to leave ‘xxx lol’ and find his way back to the evidence folder.

Oh god.

Did he actually- He actually-

The door springs open. Spencer startles kind of violently.

(Oh god.)

You have a big grin on your face. Some magenta ink smutched across your left cheek. And Spencer knows what you look like without-

“Heya, Spence, you won’t believe what just happened-“

(Oh god.)

“Uh… you okay there?”

His face feels like it’s on fire. His heartbeat is spiking and, well. He’s never been quite this turned on his entire life. He feels himself hard and aching against his trousers and Spencer wants you to push him down on the table and-

Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god-

He needs to- leave. Right now.

“Fine”, he squeaks, voice all over the place and he cringes, “Just-“

He wags his hands around in a very confusing, general manner. Grabs some photographs.

“I need to- Need to. Bathroom”, is all he somehow manages, photographs surely placed in front of his, ahhhh, problem.

You look at him as if he lost his mind. He probably has. “Oh-kay? Then… go?”

Spencer goes.

------------------------------

Spencer can’t stop thinking about those pictures.

He’d known it would come to this. Him, lying wide awake on the uncomfortable hotel bed.

Having an eidetic memory has never felt more like a curse to him as now.

He buries his head further into the pillow. Fingers digging into it. Pulling his legs closer to him and, ah. That. Probably wasn’t the greatest idea of his.

He’s still- turned on. Uncomfortably so.But just thinking of taking care of that. Well. He’s 100% sure that that’s not the way to go about forgetting these pictures.

Also, it’s bad enough already that he even saw them. It would be so much creepier to jerk himself off to them. To you. His best friend. But- ugh.

It’s always kind of uncomfy for him to be away on a case. He prefers his own four walls over anything else, kind of, except maybe the university library. And now, being sexually frustrated away on a case that requires even more focus than other cases do?

Oh, Spencer is so fucked.

------------------------------

You notice that something is off with him. It really would have been a miracle if not, because then Spencer would’ve had to question your profiling skills. But even then- he doesn’t think that you’d even need to have these skills to notice him acting off.

Because Spencer is so not the person to play incidents like that cool. He is painfully aware of that, thank you very much.

So, the next day, when you came to say hi to him (“Hey there, Mr. Doctor.”), after he basically ran off the day before, and you, as always, casually put your hand on his shoulder, Spencer, he-

He spit out his coffee.

He could feel you freeze through the hand on his shoulder. Your expression would’ve been comical if Spencer wasn’t dying.

“Uhh… Do you… Do you need a moment?”

Well, that was a freaking understatement. Spencer needs not a moment but all of them to try to get his act together.

…which he didn’t. Not for the rest of that day, and also not for the day after. And the day after. This case apparently will never end. Fucking Florida.

You, of course being the kind soul you are, tried talking to him.

(“Spencer, are you okay? You’ve been acting kinda-“

“What? What do you mean? I’m fine, completely.”

“Uhm… Sure. If you wanna talk about it, you got my number.”)

And well. Spencer feels like he is going insane.

It’s come down to him not being able to spend more than thirty minutes uninterrupted in your vicinity without getting semi-hard, because he knows. Without him almost doing something stupid and drop to his knees then and there and beg you to either forgive him or to please let him eat you out.

Ah, yes, because apart from being so frustrated he could scream, he’s also feeling so guilty it’s slowly killing him.

There you are, still being his absolute favourite person on the planet, unaware of what kind of person you are laughing with. Of what Spencer did. It was an accident yes, but- He should’ve said something. Maybe warned you so that it would not happen again. Ugh, but the more time passes the worse it gets. The more impossible it feels to just- go to you and say ‘ah, uhm, by the way, I saw your nudes and maybe you should put those behind a password block’.

Spencer is just- the worst friend. What friend doesn’t give their friend a heads-up about something like that? He’ so, hopeless, incompetent, and he gets it now why he didn’t have that many friends in school.

It’s gotten so bad so quickly that the others started noticing too, obviously. It really is a curse working with profilers. Spencer should reconsider his move to Tristan da Cunha.

“What’s got pretty boy so worked up, huh?”, Morgan asked him on the day after the incident.

“Did something happen, Spence?”, JJ pulled him aside on the second day after.

“Are they cancelling Doctor Who?”, Emily, on the first day after.

“Kid, you need to eat something”, as Rossi pressed a protein bar into his hands.

Even Penelope texted him.

is it what i think it is? ;))))))

He did not dignify her with an answer.

When Hotch comes to him on the evening on the second day after, Spencer is a mess. He’s practically spent the entire day in some state of fluster. He noticed he’s trailing off when he’s info-dumping. That he’s just- staring off into space more often than he usually does. That he can’t talk to you properly without stuttering, that he avoids looking you in the eyes. So, it really was only a matter of time until their unit chief would scold him. Or whatever Hotch is here to do.

“Listen, Reid”, he says, tone of voice a little too similar to when he is talking to Jack when he did something mildly inconvenient, “whatever it is, and I don’t want to know unless it’s something bad, deal with it. We need you with a clear head here, okay?”

And well, that could’ve gone a lot worse.

------------------------------

He still thinks so once he falls into bed that evening. But now-

Deal with it.

How? How should he deal with that? It’s not like he can just press the ‘Delete’-button in his memories. Thanks for nothing, Hotch.

His eyes strain from staring at the ceiling in the dark. Closing them doesn’t really help because all he’d see is you. He’s such a mess.

A pining, pathetic loser mess and he’s so hard again he can’t properly think. It’s just- Spencer has had rather inappropriate thoughts about you before. Has actually spent way too many hours in his apartment just lazing around, thoughts occupied on all the countless ways he’d like you to make him lose his goddamn mind. It had been kind of an accident (isn’t that just the story of his life), the first time it happened.

Spencer had almost been finished with his report, he’d just needed an additional detail from you to finish up. He’d asked Morgan where you were, and this is how he found himself walking down the corridor to Penelope’s ‘Dungeon’. Which, he’d never say out loud because that’s just ridiculous, right?

He saw the door to her office was slightly ajar, a mix of yellowish-red light splitting the hallway in half where it spilled out of the open gap.

There’s a giggle coming from inside the room and Spencer smiles- can’t help it really, because your laugh is just so absolutely ridiculous, a kind of high-pitched screech that ends in airy laughter and he’s so obsessed with it he wants to engrave it on a CD to listen to it again and again.

“No way, gorgeous, I don’t believe that”, Penelope whisper-giggled.

Spencer didn’t realize his steps slowed down, too curious by what you two could be talking about. And also, kind of forgetting that you shouldn’t just listen to other people’s conversations like that.

“Oh yes”, your voice was low, and Spencer would be lying if he said it didn’t send a tingle along his spine, “He broke up with me, but he came crawling back to me not even two months later because I apparently ‘ruined him’ for anyone else.”

Ruined him? What did you mean?

Both Penelope and you were laughing now, louder than before.

“You really, really gotta teach me your devious ways, buttercup.”

You snicker. “I guess it all boils down to making them come so hard they cry and forget their own name, really.”

Spencer didn’t get the detail he needed from you that day.

He’d gotten something much worse and that was curious. From the limited sexual encounters he’s had in his life before (a rushed hand-job somewhen in university in a toilet cubicle by that one other student he was into back then) he couldn’t really imagine something like sexual gratification that made one cry. Sure, getting himself off felt good. Sure, that orgasm had been fine. But… it could feel better?

He kind of didn’t think of that before.

So, when flustered-he had returned to his apartment after that overheard conversation, he kind of… thought about what these things could be that you did, to make others feel so good they lose the basic functions of their memory.

And the rest is basically history.

Of course, he’d never touched himself while doing… research about your techniques. It just felt- wrong. You are his friend and despite of his crush on you, it didn’t feel right.

But now…

He really really shouldn’t. But, he’s just so- desperate. For you and for things to go back to how they were. Without him almost bursting at the seams each time you look at him because before, he never had any problems with categorizing his mind like he does now.

So maybe… Maybe he can just… Do it once? Real quick, to get it out of his system?

The longer Spencer turns the thought in his head, the more… it seems like a good idea. You’d never know. Spencer could forget about- about the accident and move on. Solve the case and finally leave cursed Florida behind. If he just does it this one time, it’s not that bad right?

The fuzzy pleasure that shoots up his spine when he finally, finally presses his hand against himself through his pyjama pants answers him. Yes, yes, it says and more more more-

Spencer has never been good in denying himself things that make him feel good, better than good, things that make him forget about any pain that has nestled inside of his body or mind. Right now, that thing is you. Oh, perfect beautiful lovely you. He can’t stop the way his lips twitch into a smile, almost shy, even though he’s alone. But something about you just-

He gasps, back arching a little when he slides the palm of his hand along himself, still through two layers of fabric.

Something about you just- god, how can he put this into words- something about you just makes him feel- safe. Seen. Taken care of. And it’s just, so foreign to him. Strange. He’s always been looking after himself. After dad left and mom-

He’s kind of addicted to it. To the way you make him feel. Spencer can’t get enough of it, can’t get enough of you. Never never enough.

His fingers trail circles around the head of his cock, light and unhurried, enjoying the shivers of good good amazing it sends through his limbs, to his fingertips. Spencer can feel the tension leaking out of him, can feel his muscles relax and his mind become hazy. He should do this more often, god he always forgets how good it is, it feels.

He almost forgets why he decided to get off right now. It had something to do with you. You. Naked and there, here with Spencer. He whines a little because you aren’t here, why aren’t you here he wants that so badly-

But all he has is the crystal-clear mental snapshot of your nudes. Spencer doesn’t remember ever remembering something with such clarity before. He feels kind of embarrassed by that, how obviously desperate he is for you. How he would do everything for you, with you. But this feels so good that he doesn’t care about any kind of embarrassment or shame that might trigger his self-loathing.

He increases the pressure of his palm slightly, oh god oh oh, it’s so good already and Spencer hasn’t even touched yet, not properly at least, but oh. Oh, he wants moremoremore-

It’s so easy letting his thoughts tangle, mixing old and new. Fantasies and reality. The you from the pictures merges with the you from his daydreams and oh shit. Oh fuck.

Spencer moans, high and needy at the back of his throat and god how are you so beautiful?

Imagined-you has absolutely nothing on the real you. Spencer could have never himself come up with you because he just lacks the imaginative capabilities to conjure the absolute vision you are. The vision you portray on those freaking pictures that have branded themselves into his very neurons. He’s sure, absolutely sure, that he will never get over them. Over you. Doesn’t even really want to.

Because he is quite certain that the sight of you, your stomach your thighs your arms your tits your- oh he forgot where he was going with this.

By now, Spencer’s hand has dipped beneath his pyjamas and beneath his boxers and he moans again, his lips pulled between his teeth and eyes shut because the feeling of good good better more almost peaks when he grabs himself, finally.

His right hand starts an even, slow pace along his cock because if he is only ever doing this once, he is going to make most of it.

It doesn’t take long for him to get close, though. He’s been so wound up the last few days, it really is no surprise. It’s actually more surprising he hasn’t come all over himself already.

Soft, keening noises are continuously spilling from between his lips, hips moving together with his hand because he just can’t help himself. The heat in his abdomen is building and building and he whimpers because he wants it to be you so so badly, his thoughts are a mess, he is a mess and he wishes he could be your mess, yours, yours to make a mess of and oh god he’s going to-

A knock. On his door.

He freezes, blood rushing loud in his ears, heart pounding and his cock hot in his hand and begging him to not stop but-

“Spencer? It’s me, can you let me in?”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

pt. II? 👀

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #tinywrites #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #tinywrites:accidents

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yujateaandpi · 3 months ago

Text

Gravity Falls Thirty More Years AU and Art Masterlist

Here's all the pages of the comic in order plus some of the other GF stuff I've made. I'll keep updating this list to make it easy on y'all.

Edit: I have a new tagging system! All asks will be tagged #thirtymoreyearsau without spaces, and all comics and fic updates will be tagged #thirty more years au with spaces. If you want the whole story together, then you can filter using this tag on my account! Filtered link here.

If you like the comic and would like to support it, here’s my tip jar!

Thirty More Years AU Comic:

Page 1

Pages 2 and 3

Page 4

Page 5

Page 6

Page 7

Pages 8 and 9

Page 10

Pages 11 and 12

Pages 13 and 14

Prequel Multiverse Mini Comic

Epistolary Prequel Companion/ Dipper's Diary Entries:

"Dear Mabel, I Miss You"

Answers to Common Questions:

What is the Thirty Years AU?

A Gravity Falls fan story and comic about what would happen if Mabel and Ford both fall into a leftover multiverse rift at the end of summer. They experience a week of silly adventures but return to a world where 30 years have passed and Dipper + co have aged without them. Told as both a comic and a companion fic.

2. How old are the characters?

Answer

3. When does the story take place relative to the show?

Answer

4. Where's Bill?

Answer

5. Where else can I read the comic? Will you distribute it on a site?

Releasing it on my Instagram (but Tumblr gets the pages earlier cause y'all are special). As for releasing it on a site, answer here.

6. How many pages/ how long will the comic approximately be?

Subject to change, but here's my answer for now.

7. How often will you post/ when will you post again?

Here's my answer for now, but if there's delays between posts please don't spam me with questions on when I'll post again. The updates will come when they come and I'm trying to keep this flexible.

8. Is this Drifting Stars AU/ Other Similar AU?

Answer

9. Someone's reposting on TikTok/ Other social media! Are you okay with this?

No, and please report them if you can. Answer here.

11. Will you tag me/ make a tag list?

Answer

12. Why haven't you answered my question?

Answer

13. What art program/ brushes do you use?

Answer

Other Fanart

Twin Glare^2

Kitten Sweater

Pines Pines Pines

Happy Birthday Twins

Gravity Falls The Odyssey AU

Sona Shenanigans

Fiddleford to the rescue

mystery trio eizouken

twins in time mini comic

F-fiddlestan…🥺

Stan Pines Mini Character Analysis Essays

Apparently I do this a lot, so collecting them in one place:

Poll thots

Rough and tumble little Stanley

Stan Appreciation

that magic 8 ball man…

off topic Billford thots

off topic Fiddleford thots

off topic Fiddlestan thots

#gravity falls #thirtymoreyearsau #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls au #gravity falls comic #gravity falls fic #yujateaasks #yujateaandpi

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nanaslutt · 9 months ago

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Best friend’s dad

ʚ ft. Toji Fushiguro

ʚ cont: fem reader, legal age gap (r! is in college), virgin reader, dry humping, fingering, oral (f!r), so much dirty talk, teasing, sexual tension, mutual pining, rough sex, multiple orgasms, dacraphillia, unprotected sex, breeding kink, big dick Toji

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

It wasn't at all uncommon for you to spend the night at Megumi's house, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't have alternative motives for wanting to stay the night so often. Luckily for you, Megumi didn't care much about your gross, taboo crush on his father. He wasn't completely unaware of how people looked at him in public, how solicitors lost their pitch when he opened the door.

Toji Fushiguro was one of the most handsome men you'd ever seen, so what if he was old enough to be your dad? Clicking the buttons on your car remote, it locked with a honk as you made your way up to the Fushiguro's front door, bag in hand, ready to spend the night yet again. Finals had just finished, meaning you two had some time to relax, maybe order some food, maybe convince Fushiguro to finally invite his long-time crush, Itadori, over to spend the night as well.

"It'll be perfect!" Your voice bordered on whining as you sat on your knees in front of Megumi and gripped his shoulders hard, shaking him back and forth. The dark-haired boy looked unimpressed, staring off into space as he waited for you to let go of him. "Look I even downloaded his favorite movies just for tonight!" You exclaimed, gesturing to the TV in front of you.

"How do you know his favorite movies?" Fushiguro asked, his eyes pointing at you like little slivers, his voice accusatory. "Relax loverboy, I asked for your sake." You deadpanned, shaking your head. You had been friends with Itadori almost as long as you'd known Megumi. When the three of you ended up at the same junior high all those years ago, you took the initiative to introduce them to each other, and the three of you have been inseparable ever since.

Megumi pouted and looked away, a light blush dusting across his cheeks. The three of you had hung out many times before, but never the two of them alone, and never at his house. Because of Fushiguro's dad, he didn't bring people home often. His dad was a bit crass and intimidating, he didn't want to scare away any possible friends by introducing them to his dad prematurely, so you were the only one of Megumi's friends he'd med, besides friends here and there in passing, only having seen them for a moment when Megumi had to stop by the house to grab something.

Fushiguro's groan made you snap your head away from the TV as you organized the movies in order so one would play after the other. Megumi had his face in his hands before he lifted his face, his hands dragging down the skin of his face. "What are you pouting about? I'm not taking no for an answer Fushiguro, tonight is the night." You said, emphasizing your words with your hands.

"It's not that... I'm worried about him meeting my dad." Megumi said, running a hand through his hair. You suppressed a giggle, covering your mouth, "He's not as scary as you think he is. Anyways, Itadori is good with people, he's not going to be put off by your dad Fushiguro." You said, watching Megumi's reaction to your words. He sighed, half rolling his eyes before they landed on yours. "You don't think he's scary because you're in love with him." Megumi deadpanned, looking almost disgusted at you.

You smirked, shaking your head. "I can think he's scary and hot at the same time." Megumi groaned at your words, he hated when you called his dad hot to his face. "Anyways if you're scared of that old man just say that., but Itadori will be different." You laughed, poking Megumi's shoulder. He quickly swatted at your hand, making you laugh and find the remote again.

"Who's an old man?" A deeper, more mature voice echoed from the hall. You weren't given long to brace yourself before Megumi's door was being pushed open by a socked foot, the large figure coming into view as Toji Fushiguro himself crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. You felt your heart race, all the saliva left your mouth in an instant, so much for not being scared of him.

"You. Get out." Megumi said plainly, not even bothering to look in the direction of his father. You on the other hand, had your eyes glued to the older man, your eyes not so subtly tracing down his body, taking in the eye candy in front of you shamelessly. The tight black shirt he was wearing accentuated his muscles, the ridges of his abs standing out clear as day through the fabric, making the previously scarce saliva return to your mouth.

You tried to resist the urge to stare at his bottom half when you realized he was wearing grey sweats. You don't know how those damn pants still had the ability to get you so hot when that's all you'd ever seen him wear, but they did the job well. Dragging your eyes back up his body, they landed on his face. Your heart nearly shot out of your mouth when you realized he was already looking at you. How long had he been watching you?

"I didn't see you when you came in," Toji said, tipping his head against the door. You almost missed the way his eyes looked over your body subtly as you sat on Megumi's bed, legs now crossed. You cleared your throat before you spoke, "I just got here, Mr. Fushiguro," You said, averting your eyes as you spoke. "Come find me and say hi next time, you're my favorite friend of Megumi's after all," Toji responded, taking the opportunity of you looking away to stare at how well your tits filled out the shirt you were wearing, your cleavage spilling out from the top.

It was rare you were wearing anything other than Megumi's clothes when you came over, so this was a sight for sore eyes, a sight he wasn't going to miss even if you caught him. After all, you were wearing that shirt in his house, he should have the right to look at you all he wants. His lidded eyes found your face once again, he didn't miss the way the tips of your ears had turned a bright red, he swallowed hard at the sight. You always got so fidgety so easy, he didn't even have to do anything.

"She's the only friend of mine you know, idiot," Megumi interjected, keeping his eyes on his phone as he typed away. Toji's smirk grew, his eyes staying locked on yours even as his son spoke. "Doesn't change a thing." He replied, his tone suggestive.

He held eye contact with you for a moment, maybe even a second too long, your heartbeat becoming the only thing you could hear in your ears before he looked away, his body peeling off the wall as he grabbed the handle and closed it behind him. "Knock next time!" Fushiguro yelled as he heard his father's footsteps descend away from his door, getting heavier and heavier.

You sighed long and hard before you fell face-first into Megumi's comforter, letting out a string of squealing. "You're so gross, don't do that in front of me," Megumi said, giving you a hard side eye as he tapped away on his phone. "Anyways... while you were flirting with my dad I uh, I invited Itadori. He'll be on his way soon." Megumi said. You don't think your body has ever moved as fast as it did at that moment.

Sitting up you grabbed the tops of Megumi's knees and shook them, the back of his head hitting against the headboard in the process as you voiced your excitement. "Megumiiiii! This is gonna be so great!" You exclaimed. Megumi everted his eyes, a pout forming on his face as he blushed harder, a hand covering his face in the process.

"Okay, okay, enough." He said, his eyes squinting as he looked at the wall. Once you finally let go of Megumi, you ranted about how the night was going to go, laying out your master plan for the boy. Megumi pretended to be uninterested the entire time, but you both knew how much he was actually hanging onto your every word. He wanted this to go smoothly just as much as you did.

When Yuuji finally arrived, the meeting with Mr. Fushiguro had gone better than he ever expected. Itadori, ever the polite boy he was, ran excitedly up the the older Fushiguro and shook his hand with the grip of a thousand men, shaking it as he spewed praises about the man's son. Toji gave a knowing smirk to the dark-haired boy behind his friend as he desperately tried to pry Itadori away from his dad.

So far, everything was going to plan. Dinner had been eaten, and gossip had been spilled, mostly by you and Itadori, but Megumi was happy to be there, despite his scowl that said otherwise. Now the three of you were sat on the bed, ready to watch Itadori's favorite movies, unbeknownst to the pink-haired boy. You had purposefully left out the part in your plan where you were going to excuse yourself from the room when the movie started to allow Megumi and his long-time crush some alone time, as you knew Megumi probably wouldn't have invited him over in that case.

You rested on your side at the end of the bed by the boy's feet, who sat together against Megumi's headboard, shoulders just inches away from touching, each time you glanced over at them the smile you gave Megumi combined with your wiggling eyebrows made him kick you in the back, an action Itadori seemed to miss.

The room was dark as the movie came to life, a blanket draped over the bottom half of your body as you stared blankly at the TV, trying to pretend to be interested in the freaky and confusing plot of Itadori's favorite movie. You guessed Megumi was feeling the same way since you two shared the same taste in movies. Only he actually had a reason to pretend to be interested, you didnt.

Before you fell asleep and ruined your master plan, you slid off the bed, trying not to get in the way of the TV. You threw the blanket on top of the two boys' legs, hoping at some point they would adjust it and get cozy together. Both boys looked over your way as you stood on your feet before looking back at them. "Bathroom?" Itadori asked, tilting his head at you like a puppy.

"Ah... Something like that, I'll be back in a second!" You said, putting on your best sincere smile as you looked between the boys. Yuji looked away first after acknowledging your words, Megumi stayed staring, a look on his face that read, Don't do this to me. You smiled, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you mouthed, "This is for your own good." Making Megumi press his lips tightly together in response. You swear you saw his eye twitch before you turned around and started for the door.

Closing Megumi's bedroom door behind you as quietly as possible, you pressed your back against it, smiling to yourself. Your eyes darted around the dark and quiet hallway as you tried to figure out what you were going to do to pass the time. The movie was almost three hours after all. You decided to head to the living room after a couple of moments of pondering.

Toji would most likely be in his room by now, leaving you the kitchen and living area to yourself, the perfect place to lounge around by yourself as you gave the boys some space. As you tiptoed past Toji's room, you noticed it was completely silent through the door, not even a crack of light peaking under the wood. Toji had horrible sleeping habits from what you conjured since spending so much time here, so it was unusual for him to be asleep at this time, but it wasn't unusual for him to be in his room at this hour.

You grabbed the railing as you fumbled in the darkness, tiptoeing down the stairs as you made your way to the living area. You were about to sigh in relief when you finally made it down the stairs without falling when you saw a faint blue light flashing from the direction of the living area. Poking your head around the corner, you caught a glimpse of the back of Toji's head.

You felt your mouth run dry when your eyes focused in the dark and took in the expanse of Toji's bare arms and neck. Squinting your eyes, you could see his shoulders were bare too. Was he shirtless? It was then that you saw the towel slung over the back of the couch under Toij's large arm, his hair that glowed in the light of the TV appearing to be damp.

You felt your face heat up. You've seen Toji shirtless before, and each time his impressive physique was in front of you, it made it impossible for you to focus on anything but how many indents were in between each of his abs. You tucked your head back behind the wall, Toji now out of view as you pressed your back against the wall.

There was nowhere else in the house you could wait out the movie, besides maybe the bathroom, but if Itadori or Fushiguro needed to use the bathroom, it would be over. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and took deep, slow breaths, trying to calm your heart as you gathered the courage to walk out into the room.

Maybe you would get lucky and Toji wouldn't acknowledge your presence as you sat on one of the bar stools in the kitchen, away from him and his insane body. Although you had told Megumi you weren't scared of him, you were partially lying. You were intimidated, especially when you were faced with him on your own.

Even after all your years of knowing Megumi, you've had very few conversations with Toji one one-on-one, never lasting long enough to get past the "How's your day?" question before Megumi popped back into the room and dragged you away. Your heart was still racing even after taking so many deep breaths, the past conversations you'd had with him replaying over and over in your head, unknowingly stressing you out.

After a few more moments of internal struggle, you peeled your ridged body off the wall and walked into the living area, trying to ignore Toji as you b-lined for the kitchen, an almost constipated look on your face as you held your breath. Toji turned his head around to face you when he heard your footsteps, his dark eyes following your body as you walked right past him without uttering so much as a word.

Just when you thought you'd gotten lucky, a very familiar, deep, pussy wetting voice echoed quietly through the almost silent room. "Ignoring me again? My feelings might get hurt if you keep this up." Your back was to him as you held the handles of the cabinet, freezing in place. You pressed your lips together in defeat, your eyes shutting for a brief moment before you turned on your heels to look at him.

Only the Toji Fushiguro who was sitting on the couch just moments ago was now leaning forward on the back of the bar chair on the opposite side of the kitchen island from you, one large hand gripping the back of the chair, the other holding a beer bottle. Sure enough, your eyes hadn't been deceiving you back then. Toji was completely shirtless, his sweats hung lowly on his hips. You prayed he didnt catch the way your eyes flitted down his body, staring long enough to notice the veins on his v-line, before you caught yourself.

You met his eyes for only a moment before you looked away, your body stuttering as you turned around and reached back up to the cabinet for a glass, a heat creeping up your neck.

"Sorry, I didn't want to disturb you." You said, clearing your throat before you spoke. You shut the cabinet quietly before stepping over to the sink and filling your glass. "Such a sweetheart." Toji praised, his words making your hand squeeze the glass a little tighter.

Toji took the chance to rake his eyes down the back of your body. He could easily see how tense you were, how the muscles in your arms and back tensed and released each time he spoke. You were almost vibrating with nervousness, and he was eating it up. You locked eyes with him as you turned around, sitting back against the sink, your legs pressed tightly together, looking ever so ridged.

"What are you doing down here anyways huh? Thought you were watchin' a movie with the boys." Toji asked, bringing his beer to his lips, all while keeping his eyes on you. You hesitated before you spoke, you knew Toji didn't care about things like two boys being together, but you didn't know if he knew Megumi was into boys. "Just uh... not my kinda movie." You said, quickly bringing the glass to your lips to hide your lie.

"Mmm," Toji responded, keeping his eyes on yours even after you looked away. "Wanna watch a movie with me then? I'll let you pick 'n everything." Toji said, tilting his head over to the couch. If your mouth wasn't dry before, it was now. It was so impossibly hard not to ogle his body. It was right in front of you, and he was so toned and impressive like he spent years on it. It's like he wanted someone to look at it, to appreciate it. And god if you were given the chance, you would.

You had no real reason not to accept his invitation, besides the fact that you were positive you were already drenching your panties, and you weren't sure if you could hold a coherent conversation with him without panting like a dog and staring at his body like he's some piece of meat. You rubbed your lips together nervously before your eyes found him again and you nodded.

A smirk spread across Toji's features, one that made your knees weak. "Good. You wanna beer or anything first?" Toji offered before he rounded the counter and placed the empty bottle by the sink, his body now dangerously close to yours. Each time he was this close to you, it was impossible to not think about how prominent your size difference was. He was bigger than you in every way, it made you shiver.

"Please." You responded, nodding. A drink would either help you fucking relax, or make your horniess and self-awareness ten thousand times worse, you would find out soon, but you had to try something and quick before you pounced on him. "So polite too. Love that." Toji smiled before you felt a heavy pressure against your head. His hand retracted before you could even register what happened.

You were stuck staring blankly at the expanse of his large, toned back as he opened the fridge and grabbed two new beers, holding the tops of them in one hand between his fingers. He looked at you over his shoulder as gestured with his head toward the TV before he started for it, you following hot on his trail.

Toji sat down first, his legs spreading wide as he patted the cushion next to him, inviting you to sit down. The TV was on, but muted, only colorful lights illuminated his and your bodies as you stood in front of the TV. Toji leaned forward and started taking the caps off your beers while you got situated next to him.

You kept your distance a bit as you finally sat down, the purposeful action not being missed by the ever-so-observant man next to you. "Don't be scared sweetheart, I won't bite," Toji said teasingly, resting his arm close to you out over the back of the couch behind you as he held your beer out for you with his other. "Sorry." You mumbled, taking the drink from his hand.

"You scared of me? After all this time?" Toji laughed, his body angled a little towards you, his knee almost bumping into yours as you sat formally next to him, legs pressed firmly together. You were about to continue when Toji spoke first, adding, "Is it 'cos I'm your boyfriend's dad?" You swear in that moment the world stopped rotating on its axis. The reaction you gave him was the most emotion he's seen from you all night.

Leaning closer to Toji, you scrunched your eyebrows together in confusion, a look of almost disgust plastered on your face. "You think Megumi is my boyfriend??" you asked incredulously, making Toji's eyes open a bit in response to your visceral reaction. "I figured from how often you spend the night over here. Always hangin' out in his bedroom with the door shut." Toji said, a look of amusement on his face.

Your hands shot up in front of you as you quickly waved them back and forth, shaking your head from side to side at the same time. "Ohhhhh nonononono, no. NO." You said, your tone getting firmer with every no you uttered. Toji let out a deep chuckle, the sound warming you up from the inside out. "Sorry, guess I should've assumed then," Toji said before he reached out and patted your knee, making your body go ridged again.

The touch was gone before you knew it, much like the one in the kitchen. "I don't have to feel bad then," Toji mumbled under his breath before he took a gulp of his drink. You were going to ask him to repeat what he said before he spoke again, cutting you off. "So, you gotta boyfriend then? Can't imagine he's so cool with you sleepin' over at some other guy's house so often." Toji pushed, his eyes tracing over your form almost unnoticeably from the sides of his eyes.

Your eyes were not in front of you, watching the colors and words on the TV change as you took in his words while you sipped on your drink, the bitter liquid making your throat burn as it went down. "No, I've never had a boyfriend." You said, your body relaxing against the couch as you were swept up in thought.

Toji found this extremely enticing, his knee closest to you bending on the couch as he now turned his body fully to face you, drink resting against his knee as he held his face with his palm, elbow resting against the back of the couch. "No? You're such a pretty little thing, can't imagine you'd run into problems finding a boyfriend." Toji's praise made your whole body vibrate with a newfound heat. You kept your body facing forward but turned your head to face him, unable to stop yourself from running your eyes down his body once before you found his eyes.

"It's not like I've never had crushes or anything, but all throughout high school, and even now in college, Megumi... he scares guys away." You say, sighing before you look away. "He doesn't mean to, but he can come off as intimidating sometimes, so guys don't approach me when he's around... which is most of the time." You finish, shaking your head.

Toji hummed in acknowledgment as he listened to you speak, all the while staring shamelessly at your tits from the side, his eyes dark. "You want a boyfriend?" He asked, sipping on his beer while he kept his eyes on your chest. He swallowed hard when you leaned fully back against the couch abruptly, your cleavage jiggling from the top of your shirt. You placed the beer bottle between your thighs and rubbed your knees, your face screwing in all kinds of ways as you thought.

"Sometimes." You replied when you had decided on an answer. Toji could tell you were much more relaxed now. Leaning forward, he plucked your half-empty drink from between your thighs and placed it on the coffee table, along with his own before he went back to resting on his hand like nothing happened. The small gesture had made your heart race again after it had been so calm too.

Your palms felt sweaty as you rubbed your knees, suddenly so acutely aware of his eyes on you. "Why's that?" Toji pushed, his knee threatening to bump into yours. He hadn't moved, but he seemed so much closer now. Or maybe it was just your senses heightening as you were suddenly more aware of his arm behind your shoulders, his collarbones flexing every time he moved.

You shrugged before looking at him, turning your face fully to look at him this time, your legs staying firmly pressed together. You felt yourself throb when your eyes locked on his, his gaze darker and more intense than before. "You want someone to take care of you?" Toji asked, keeping his wording vague on purpose to tease you. And tease you it did. You tried to rub your thighs together subtly as your eyebrows furrowed with your growing arousal.

You tried to keep your eyes on his as you nodded. You didn't know if it was your own arousal and slight tipsyness, but the air in the room seemed to shift. Toji reached out and caressed your face with the palm of his hand, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His touch was so delicate compared to how rough his skin felt against you. "You drunk?" Toji asked, probably noticing the fuzziness in your eyes, only it wasn't from the alcohol.

"No." You replied, leaning against his touch instinctively despite every alarm going off in your head that was telling you you shouldn't be doing this. "You look warm, you sure? Can't even look at me right." Toji teased, cocking his head to the side as he ran his hand up to your forehead, feeling how hot your skin felt. You pressed your thighs together harder, feeling yourself throb as he touched you so freely. "It's not 'cos of the alcohol." You whispered, part of you hoping he wouldn't catch your words.

Toji's smirk grew before he dragged his eyes up from your plush lips to your eyes, his gaze dark and telling. "No?" He asked, his eyebrows raising in question. "What is it then?" Toji pushed, subtly and slowly leaning closer to you, trying to get you to open up to him. Just when you were about to answer, the sound of someone falling down the stairs shook you out of the headspace you were in.

Toji didn't even flinch, instead turning his head to look at the source of noise as you jerked your body away from him, putting some distance between yourselves as his hand dropped from your face. A few moments later the familiar siloet of Yuji Itadori popped out from behind the wall, rubbing the back of his head in pain. He froze in place when he saw the two of you staring at him before his head tilted in confusion.

"Huh? What are you doing down here?" You suppressed the urge to giggle as you stared at the pink-haired boy who quickly resumed his pace for the kitchen. "Oh uh, just wasn't super into the movie." You lied through your teeth, the shakiness in your voice only making sense to the older man in front of you whose attention was now on you, his eyes staring right through you.

"Oh, I'm sorry, we can watch something else if you want." Itadori offered sweetly as he grabbed two cans of soda out from the fridge before closing it and walking up behind the couch. Your eyes almost shot out of your sockets when you felt a warm hand engulf your thigh. Your eyes shot over to Toji's for half a second before they were back on Yujis. "No worries!" You said, shaking your hands out in front of you, praying he wouldn't get any closer to notice Megumi's dad's hand on your thigh, his thick rubbing teasing circles against it.

"Me and Mr. Fushiguro are watching something instead! Go spend some alone time with Megumi!" You said, shaking your head rapidly, trying to ignore how hot you felt between your thighs as you placed your hand on top of the older Fushiguro's, begging him not to tease you right now. That only made him slide his hand up further, the tips of his fingers teasing right under the fabric of your shorts, making you suppress a whimper.

Itadori smiled at your words, the tips of his ears turning red. "Yeah, alright." He said, nodding at you, "But if you change your mind, the movie doesn't have that much left so you can join us whenever!" He was so kind, you felt so bad you didn't comprehend a single word he said as you dug your nails into Toji's wrist, who was now licking his lips as his fingers were lost deeper and deeper under your shorts.

You nodded, making sure the pink-haired boy was out of sight and up the stairs before you let out the breath you were holding. "What are you doing?" You stuttered, your words coming out breathy and needy. Toji slid his hand fully under the fabric of your shorts before he gripped the fat of your thighs, his thumb pinching the fat right next to your panties, making your eyes flutter.

"You were gonna tell me what had you all squirmy before that kid came down here," Toji said, retracting his hand from under your shorts, leaving your skin feeling hot where he last touched it. Your brain was short-circuiting at this point. No one had ever touched you the way Toji was touching you right now, and you had no idea why he was. You couldn't stop yourself from dragging your eyes down his torso and falling on his lap.

There was an extremely noticeable bulge in his sweat where his cock was, making you swallow all the saliva in your now dry mouth. Toji licked his lips as he watched your eyes trail over his body, making him feel hot. "I see the way you look at me," Toji whispered before the hand he held on the back of the couch slid down to the back of your neck, gripping your nape.

"I-" you were about to respond when he continued, "I hear you. Hear the way you talk about me to my son." Toji adds, making any denial or rebuttal you had vanished in an instant. "I feel the way you're pressing your thighs together right now." The grip on your neck tightened before his fingers started rubbing against you, sliding a bit down your back before caressing back up to your nape.

"I've been around long enough to notice when a woman is aroused." You swallowed hard at his insinuating words. "You a virgin?" Toji continued, his question making your veins run cold. "Cos you're sure actin' like one." He laughed at his own words, making your face heat up in embarrassment. "Mr. Fushiguro..." You started, unsure of what you even wanted to say as you whispered his name, pouting at him,

"You said you want someone to take care of you right?" He asked before the hand on your nape was sliding down your back again. His arm wrapped around your torso and pulled you close to him, making your heart race in your chest, the sound of it loud in your ears. Using his other hand he situated you on his lap, spreading your thighs over his, the neediest part of you pressing right on top of his crotch, which was hard and hot under you.

"Tell me you want this and I'll make you feel so good pretty girl, not into forcing a girl to do shit she doesn't wanna do," Toji said, making you swallow hard at his words. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't imagined what he was like in bed before. He was so domineering and intimidating, he seemed like the kind of guy who wanted you to verbalize what you wanted in bed, and you were quickly finding out that was true.

One of Toji's large hands rested on your upper thigh as his other reached up and caressed your cheek, trying to get you to relax. "What if Megumi or Itadori comes down here? What if we get caught?" You whisper, averting your eyes from his when his lustful gaze proved too much to handle. Toji could feel how your cunt pulsed and throbbed on top of him even through all the layers of clothes. He knew Megumi didn't care about your crush on him, and he knew even more that you wanted this. You were just nervous and he would say anything you wanted to reassure you.

"No one is coming down here," Toji said, caressing your thigh. "It's just you and me sweet thing," Toji emphasized his words by pressing his hips up into yours, his hard cock pressing harder against you, making your eyes flutter shut for a second. After a few more moments of Toji patiently caressing your face, waiting for your brain to work and decide your answer, you finally nodded before speaking the words that sealed your fate, "I want it."

Toji smiled before he thrust his hips slowly up against you again, watching how your body relaxed from the shallow teasing. "Want what?" He asked, licking his lips as he kept his eyes on yours. Your breathing was now fast and staggered as you met his hips with your own, slowly rolling your cunt against him, bringing yourself some relief. "Want you to make me feel good." You responded, your face growing hotter at the admission.

Toji picked up the pace of his hips, your body now bouncing on top of his as he dry-humped you a little faster. He dropped his hand from your face and placed both of them behind you on your hips, helping you rock yourself against him. "Yeah?" He responded, his eyebrows furrowing together as he teased you. "Want me to make you feel good?" He teased, his hands grip on your hips bruising. "Want me to make you cum?" His words made you nod your head furiously as whimpers fell from your lips, his part cock rubbing perfectly against your clit through all the layers of clothing.

He groaned through his teeth, his eyes falling shut for a moment as he rested his head back against the couch, watching the way your almost limp body rocked on top of him, your hands grabbing firmly on his forearms, steadying yourself. "Wanted you for so long, you know that?" Toji confessed, feeling his cock drip pre-cum steadily into his boxers. He was leaking so much, he felt like a teenager again.

You whined at his words, one of your hands leaving his forearm to press against your mouth, half to suppress your noises, half to cover yourself out of embarrassment. "Wanted to fuck you every time I saw you walk around my house in nothing but a t-shirt." He continued babbling, dragging you faster along his clothed cock. "Had to fucking rub one out every time you looked at me with those pretty eyes, so submissive 'n scared." You caught a gasp behind your hand. He got off to you? He's been getting off to you?

"Haven't been able to fuck anyone but my fist since I set my eyes on you." Toji groaned, his cock throbbing hard against his pants as he spoke, his voice getting rougher. "You gonna let me fuck you tonight?" Toji asked, smiling with his mouth slightly parted, arousal leaking out of his words. Looking down at his cock, you could see how big it was even covered by his sweats. Sure you had fucked yourself on a dildo before, but nothing compared to Toji's size.

"I don't... I don't know how to" You started, uncovering your mouth as you spoke, your eyes finding him again. "Don't worry about a thing sweetheart, just gotta lay there while I drill my cock into you." You screamed internally, how could he say such shameless things so easily? "Okay, okay you can fuck me." you said quietly, your eyebrows furrowing together as you spoke, keeping your eyes on him.

The groan that left Toji's lips was raw and unrestrained, if his cock and balls didn't ache before, they sure as hell did now. "Good choice princess, I'll fuck you so good," Toji promised. He only let you rock back and forth a few more times before he spun your body around and placed your back against his chest, your legs being spread apart by his large hands. "Can't take this dry-humping shit anymore though. Gonna blow my load in my pants if we keep that up." Toji groaned, almost pouting. He was more sensitive than he would care to admit, just a few minutes of dry humping and he was already ready to cum.

You tried to focus on what was happening now as you took in the woody, familiar smell of Toji's scent. His abs felt so hard agaisnt your back, and his breath that was tickling your shoulders and neck each time he exhaled sent shivers down your spine, he was so close, so all-consuming, so overwhelming. Your head was being forced to the side by his own as he dropped his head down to the crook of your neck and began sucking against your pulse point, making you gasp into the air.

"Keep m' open," Toji whispered, his voice deep against your ear as he released one of your legs and slowly dragged his fingertips along the inside of your thigh, tickling your skin. You felt yourself throb each time he got closer and closer to where you needed him most. "You masturbate?" Toji asked, his lips disconnecting from your neck and switching to your ear, his sharp teeth nibbling against the shell of it.

His words caught you off guard as you looked down between your legs to watch his hand that was getting dangerously close to your cunt. You hesitated before nodding. You felt his cock twitch against your ass. His fingers hovered just above your cunt as you subtly wiggled against him, trying to get him to touch you. "How do you do it?" He pressed before tapping his fingers against your clit, pausing after every few touches.

You moaned and wiggled against him, trying to be as conscious as possible about how loud you were being. "Mr. Fushiguro-" You whined, not wanting to answer his embarrassing question. "Toji." He corrected before continuing, "Do you rub your clit till you cum? Do you finger yourself? Both?" His voice was so deep and rough next to your ear, that you couldn't help but moan. "Both..." You whispered, your eyes squeezing shut. Toji groaned before he slipped his hand under your shorts and panties with ease before finding your clit expertly and rubbing it.

It felt so hot in your shorts, the wetness of your cunt was rubbing against the back of his hand from how drenched your panties were. "Like this?" Toji asked, his eyes staring at your pretty face that was screwed in pleasure, your mouth falling open and closed like a fish out of water. His fingers were so large, and he rubbed your clit perfectly with just his middle finger, small quick circles rubbing expertly against the little bud.

"What do you think about when you touch yourself?" He continued, his voice only trying the knot in your stomach even deeper. "You think about gettin' fucked in your tight virgin pussy? Think about someone's mouth on you?" His fingers were faster now, small noises of slickness were spilling out from your panties, echoing into your ears from how wet you were. "T-think about you" You cried, your legs flexing as they fought to stay open, obeying Toji's words.

Toji groaned before he started rubbing his fingers lower, right over your wet, slick-covered hole. "You flatter me. So it's my cock you think about fucking you." Toji grinned as he singled out his middle finger and pressed it against your hole, your pussy greedily swallowing up his finger as he watched your jaw fall open. "So fucking tight..." Toji mumbled under his breath before he slowly pumped it in and out of you, curling his finger upwards to rub against your g-spot each time it was inside.

"Toji-" You gasped, your abdominal muscles clenching each time he thrust his finger into you. "You ever think about my tongue on your pussy?" He asked, kissing the side of your face and jawline, teasing you with his plush lips. You nod quickly, your breathing now erratic and high-pitched. Toji pulled his finger almost completely out before he reentered your cunt with a second finger, the stretch from his thick fingers making you furrow your eyebrows together, but the discomfort subsided fast.

Toji kept his fingers fully inside you and opted to just curl them rapidly against your g-spot rather than thrust them in and out, resulting in his warm palm pressing firmly against your clit. Your eyes shot open at the intense feeling, your head dropped to watch his hand bulge out from under your shorts. "That feels good huh?" He asked, smiling as your smaller hands gripped tightly around his thick forearm as he got you off.

"I'm gonna cum-" You cried, your head falling back against his shoulder. Toji repressed the urge to speed up his fingers as he watched you start to unravel on him, his excitement growing the more debauched he watched you get. By now, Toji's entire palm and fingers were covered in your slick, and your panties and shorts were as good as ruined. Just when you thought you were about to get pushed off the edge, an idea popped into Toji's head, resulting in him stopping and pulling his fingers out completely.

You didn't even have time to complain before you were on your back on the sofa and your shorts and panties were being pulled off your legs, and thrown onto the floor to be forgotten about. "Wha-" Toji looked so serious and needy, his cock poking straight out of his pants, looking almost painful. The underside of your thighs was being pushed up as Toji lay between your thighs. He wasted no time in latching his lips around your clit and sucking, hard.

He placed your legs on his shoulders and kept you firmly against his face with his hand pressing against one of your thighs around his head. You covered your mouth with one hand and gripped his hair harshly with the other, your nails scratching his head as your back arched at the intense pleasure. Toji groaned against you, sending vibrations through your pussy as he shook his head back and forth. You felt that familiar pressure inside of you when Toji slipped his other hand under his mouth and continued fingering you again.

In seconds you were already worked back up to your high. "Fuck!" You yelled behind your hand, your thighs squeezing around his head. "H-haah I'm gonna cum Toji- T-toji- Toji I'm cummin-" The older man smiled against your before he took your clit back in his mouth, shaking his head rapidly as he curled his fingers hard into your g-spot, pulling your orgasm out of you.

Toji's cock throbbed painfully in his boxers when your pussy squeezed around his fingers, feeling like they were going to cut off his circulation. His eyes stayed on your face as he took in the way you looked when you orgasmed, not wanting to miss a single reaction despite how badly his eyes wanted to roll back in his head. "Good fucking girl" Toji growled, squeezing your thigh before he smacked it softly. "You taste so fucking good on my god." Toji groaned in disbelief, sucking your cum off his fingers shamelessly.

You were still catching your breath when Toji sat up. Your eyes were all out of focus and your body twitching in the aftershocks but you still saw the way Toji jerked himself off through his pants as he sucked your cum off his fingers from the slick on his chin. "I gotta get inside you, I can't take much more." Toji groaned, his wet hand rubbing up and down your thigh. He kept his eyes on yours as you watched him reach into his sweats and pull his cock out.

Just as you suspected, it was huge. His tip looked so angry and you could see how hard he was throbbing. String after string of pre-cum dripped from the tip of his cock as he spread his wetness down his length, lubing himself up for you. "It's so big, is it gonna fit?" You asked, covering your cunt with your hand as you pressed your thighs together, still breathing heavily. Toji continued to stroke himself off as he climbed over you, his hand caging you under him. "I'll make it fit." He whispered, making you whine.

"Lay on your stomach for me princess, legs together and straight out behind you," Toji instructed. You did as you were told. Your upper half was still clothed in a t-shirt, but your bare ass was exposed to Toji's eyes as you flipped over, pressing your thighs together. Toji reached behind him and grabbed a small decorative pillow. "Knew this stupid shit would come in handy for something," Toji said, laughing to himself as he let go of his cock and lifted your hips off the couch before stuffing the pillow under your pelvis.

"I'll feel better this way," Toji told you as he sat back on his heels, pulling your ass apart to get a better view of your cunt as he jerked off over your ass. "Why?" You asked, resting your head on the side of your crossed arms as you looked at Toji from your peripherals. Toji smiled at you as he leaned over your body, his hips flush against your ass as he rubbed his cock between your cheeks, his hand resting on the couch next to your head.

"You remember that spot I was rubbin' inside you a second ago? The one that made you cum so fast?" Toji teased, making you look away in embarrassment before you nodded, trying to focus on his words instead of his cock rubbing between your ass. "It'll put pressure on your tummy where that spot is, so when I fuck you It'll be pressin' against my cock, makes it feel realll intense," Toji explained as he angled his cock down to the entrance of your pussy, trying to distract you with his words.

"You think I can handle it?" You asked, suddenly a little nervous. You had already gone dumb just from a few fingers, you had no idea how you were going to react to his cock. Toji pressed the tip of his cock against your tight little hole teasingly, slowly pressing against it to see how much force it would take to fuck into you. "You can handle it because you're my good girl aren't you?" Toji asked, watching your face as he nudged your pussy lips apart, pressing his cock into you.

Your face screwed in pleasure as you nodded, keeping your eyes on his as he slowly fed you his cock. Tears began to well up in your eyes as your jaw fell open in a silent scream. Toji's head felt like it was filled with clouds, your pussy was making him dumb and he was only two inches inside. The older man cooed at your pathetic face before he leaned forward and captured your lips in a messy kiss, immediately forcing his tongue between your lips and into your mouth, overwhelming you.

The two of you groaned into the other's mouth as he penetrated you, finding a little more resistance than he expected even though you had already come once and were so wet and soft inside. "I got you, relax baby girl, gotta loosen up so I can fuck you," Toji whispered between kisses, his voice strained and hoarse as he tried to talk you through it.

Hot tears fell down your cheeks as you did your best to relax your cunt around him, letting him slide in easier. "There you go, I got you, I got you." Toji's words were much softer compared to his mean cock that was bullying your pussy and stretching you open. You slid one of your hands under your tummy between the pillow and pressed against your pelvis. It felt so tight and full. Toji groaned at the added pressure as he gave you a second to adjust to his size.

"It- It's so big." You said between gasps. "But you took the whole thing," Toji said, pressing his lips to the side of your face. Your walls clenched around him rhythmically, the pain slowly turning into pleasure the more you cockwarmed him. "Ready for me to move?" Toji suggested, more out of his own impatience than anything. He didn't know how much longer he could take feeling you squeeze around him without moving his hips.

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut in preparation. "That's my girl." He said before he pulled his hips out and slammed them back against you. From the position and the pressure on your lower stomach, his cock jabbed right into your sweet spot, making you kick your knees up and release a loud moan, one that made Toji lean over your back and press his hand firmly over your mouth. His weight against you felt suffocating but calming as he stayed still, throbbing inside you.

Toji released a small, deep laugh against your ear as your eyes stared at the floor all out of focus. "Shhhhh... you gotta be quiet for me princess. You don't want me to have to stop if we get caught, right?" Toji asked, his voice full of teasing. You shook your head quickly, trying to bounce your hips back into his, your moans and gasps muffled by his hand, now only puffs of air able to escape your nose.

"Yeah, me neither," Toji whispered against his ear before he started humping into you again, his hips smacking against your ass lewdly with every thrust. If either of the boys even left the sanctity of Megumi's room, the loud sounds of skin slapping together would be heard from down the stairs, giving you away, but Toji didn't care. Not with the way your cunt was sucking him in.

You whined at the loss each time he pulled his cock out of you, but your eyes rolled back in your head as a lewd moan left your lips when he fucked it back inside you, the warmth in your belly returning. Toji could feel himself leak inside your cunt, his balls throbbing with each thrust.

He buried his head in the crook of your neck and wrapped his other hand under your tummy, pressing it against yours that rested against your tummy. "You feel me in there?" Toji groaned into your ear, rolling his hips in circles against your ass as he emphasized his words, making you feel his cock inside you from outside your tummy. You groaned into his hand, your pretty eyes rolling back in your head at the feeling.

"I'm so fucking deep, balls fucking deep." Toji groaned, already pussydrunk as he babbled nonsense while he crushed you with his body weight. His chest was so hot and sweaty against your back as your shirt riding up with each of his thrusts, but his warm skin didnt feel too bad agaisnt your ass. "Mhmm-mhmm" You whined against his hand, nodding your head at his words as hot tears spilled down your cheeks.

"Best fucking pussy I ever had, so warm n' soft, makin' me feel like I'm gonna cum already." Toji laughed, biting down on the shell of your ear. Your knees kicked and curled helplessly behind him each time he fucked his fat cock inside your cunt, overwhelming you. Each time he spoke it made you clench tighter and tighter around him, his voice was even more sexy when he was pussy-drunk. You prayed this wouldn't just be a one-time thing. Now that you finally crossed this line, you hoped it would stay that way.

"Harder-" You moaned against his hand, the plea coming out muffled. "Wan' me to fuck you harder? I can do that for you baby." Toji grinned at your eagerness before he brought his hips back till just the tip of his cock remained inside you then slammed it all in at once, making your eyes roll back in your head.

He gave you no time to even process his change in roughness before he was beating your pussy up ruthlessly, his cock slamming straight into your sweet spot. You shook your head back and forth against Toji's hand as your eyebrows furrowed and you felt yourself get worked up to yet another orgasm. "Toji!" You screamed against his palm, his name getting broken up between your moans. Toji released your mouth and grabbed your chin, turning your head to the side so he could kiss you again.

He swallowed your moans greedily as he fucked his tongue into your mouth. The kiss was full of teeth and tongue, saliva spilling down your chin from how messy it was. Toji was now panting into your mouth, his hips getting rougher but sloppier as he used your cunt to reach his orgasm. "Toji- Toji I think m' gunna cum!" You whined as he kept kissing you while you spoke, his head completely in the clouds.

"Let me feel it, cum on my cock baby, cmon, cum on me," Toji begged, his voice breathier and needier than before. Your orgasm crashed over you only seconds later, your cunt contracting around Toji ten times tighter than before. He couldn't even mind that you were now moaning freely into the air as his lips detached from yours, his head falling into the crook of your neck as the muscles in his legs trembled from the feeling of you squeezing him.

"Ohmygod." Toji grit through his teeth, his eyes rolling back in his head as you spasmed around him, your cum dripping down his balls. "Gonna cum too pretty, gonna let me cum inside? Get you all full of my cum? Huh?" Toji asked, biting down on your shoulder hard as he waited for your answer. Despite how fucked out you were, you still had half a mind to nod at him, chants of his name falling from your lips as you begged him to cum inside you.

"I'm gonna give it to you baby, fuck- oh fuck it's coming- I'm cumming!" Toji's teeth nearly broke the skin of your shoulder from how hard he bit down as his orgasm hit him. His hips stilled against your ass save for jerking and spasming of his body as he released his seed deep inside your cunt, long, deep groans spilling from between his lips. "Take it, f-fucking take it, milk my fucking cock." Toji groaned.

You felt his abs clenching against your lower back as he emptied his balls inside you, a sudden warmth filling up your tummy as he filled you to the brim with his seed. You both gasped heavily against one another, fighting to catch your breath. "Fuck.." Toji groaned, "Haven't cum that hard in my life, thought I was gonna pass out." He laughed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before pushing his sweaty chest off your back.

Toji sat back on his knees as he pulled out his cock, gripping the base of it as he did. Toji smirked when you whined as he slipped his cock out of you, his cum spilling from your hole as he did. Toji whistled before he spread your ass apart, watching how his cum dripped from your little hole. "Probably shoulda asked before, but you on birth control?" Toji asked before he lifted you from under your arms and laid your limp body against his chest.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and nodded, still trying to come back to reality as you processed what just happened. Toji internally sighed in relief as he wrapped his arms around you, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder. "You did so fucking well pretty girl, it hurt anywhere?" Toji asked, leaning back agaisnt the back of the couch, resting with your body on top of him.

"Hurts everywhere." You mumbled, resulting in a laugh from the older man, the movement from it shaking your body. "Painkillers n' a bath n' you'll be fine." He said, squeezing his arms tighter around you. "You gonna take responsibility?" You asked, your voice coming out weak against his shoulder. "If you're asking me to join you in the bath, sure, but no promises my cock won't end up inside you again."

You grimaced at his words, sitting up as you place your hands on his pecs, shaking your head back and forth as your cunt started aching already. "On second thought I think I can do it myself," Toji smirked before he tipped his head to the side on the couch, looking you up and down. "Twenty bucks you fall in the first five seconds you stand up." You pursed your lips in annoyance, flexing your thighs under him to see if he was right.

Your thighs shook the instant you tensed them, and not just a little either. The kind of shake that told you you needed 5-7 business days before you were walking without a limp. Toji looked down at you shaking legs before he glanced up at you from under his lashes, looking at you with an "I told you so" expression on his face. "Let me borrow one of your canes please." You said, pressing your lips together. Toji gripped your chin and brought your face close to his. "Brat." He whispered against your lips before kissing you slowly and passionately.

Your body melted against him as he kissed you like it was your last day on earth. Although the kiss was slower than the others he'd given you, it still made you go dumb in the head as his tongue intertwined with yours. The kiss made you forget all the aches in pains in your body as his expert tongue washed them all away.

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ieirism · 1 year ago

Text

crybaby.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

setting: modern au

genre: smut and fluff

contains: brother’s best friend gojo, protective older brother geto, use of pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart), unprotected sex, slightly mean gojo (but he ends up soft and sweet, I promise), dirty talk, overstimulation, mutual pining, dacryphilia, oral (f receiving), cheesy and happy ending <3

summary: satoru had promised suguru that there'd be no funny business while he takes care of his heartbroken baby sister... but he's never been the greatest at keeping promises.

“Stop being so mean to her, Satoru.” Satoru looks over at his best friend, who's clicking his tongue in disapproval, with a nonchalant grin.

“Not my fault she’s such a crybaby, Suguru.”

“Come on.” Suguru shoots him a warning look. “That’s my little sister you're talking about.”

“Hey, hey,” Satoru laughs, raising his hands in mock defense. “You gotta teach her how to grow thicker skin. Not my problem.”

“Every time you come over, she ends up crying.” The black-haired man sighs. “Don’t be a jerk just for one moment, won’t you?”

“Mmh, no promises.” Satoru grins. Sue him, he’s simply too addicted to the way your face scrunches up indignantly whenever he teases you, the futile yet endearing clenching of your small fists at your side, and most of all, the uncontrollable blubbers that leave your lips as tears roll down your cheeks.

Years later, you’re still the same. Just a little crybaby coming apart at the seams, completely at Gojo Satoru’s mercy.

“S-Satoru…” The high-pitched whine of his name only elicits a laugh from the man between your legs, sending shock waves of pleasure shooting through your body.

“Baby, you gotta stop movin’ so much.” Satoru’s large hands grip your thighs, holding them firmly in place as he continues to feast on your dripping pussy. “Gotta let me eat you properly.” He punctuates his point with a loud suck on your clit that has you mewling and twitching under his hold.

“T-Too much!” You sob, hands curling into the silky white stands on his head, tugging uselessly. “S’too much, S-Satoru…”

“You wanna take my cock later, princess?” He hums against your cunt, licking a hot stripe up your slit, chuckling as he watches your pussy clench around nothing. His gaze lazily travels upwards, greeted with the sight of you nodding furiously as tears stream down your cheeks.

“Yes,” you plead with wide, teary eyes. “N-need you.” Satoru smirks.

“Then be a good girl and let me prep you,” he coos, before diving right back between your folds, enjoying the broken sob that leaves your lips as he draws zigzags across your swollen clit.

“I really don’t understand you,” Suguru bristles, frustration evident by the way his eyebrows furrow as he eyes Satoru.

“Hmm?” Satoru looks at him with feigned innocence. “Whatever could you be talking about, dear Suguru?”

“You’re unbelievable.” He sighs. “Those gifts you bought her… they’re worth almost a million yen. What the hell is wrong with you, really.”

“Well, you told me I made her cry.” The white-haired man shrugged. “I had to make up for it, didn’t I?” Suguru squints suspiciously, at a brief loss for words.

“...You are not normal,” he finally scoffs.

“Of course not,” Satoru agrees, unfazed.

“You can’t keep doing this. You’re gonna end up spoiling her.”

“And what’s so bad about that?”

“Gimme another one, baby.” He’s faintly aware that if he makes you cum again, you really might pass out. However, he can’t really bring himself to be too concerned about that, not when he’s quickly becoming addicted to the taste of your dripping cunt and cries of pleasure.

“C-Can’t, I can’t — “ You sob, entire body shaking around his mouth; you’re so sensitive.

“You can,” he insists between hungry slurps, not letting any of your arousal go to waste. “Fuck…” You’re so sweet. Just how did he survive this long without having a taste of you?

“Please…” You’re still shy, trying your best to stifle your cries even as they fall in a steady stream from your trembling lips. Each loud squelch of your sopping pussy still has you cringing a little, not to mention the embarrassment that washes over you every time you catch a glimpse of your juices all over Satoru’s face.

“Don’t hold back anymore, sweetheart.” He reaches up to grab your wrists, pulling them away from your mouth even as you blubber out a weak protest. “Wanna hear you this time, say it loud. Say my name when you cum.” One more combined thrust of his fingers, deep into your hole with a flick of his tongue across your clit has you creaming on his lips for the fourth time.

“S-Satoru!” You’re unable to control the beautifully loud whine of his name as Satoru greets your orgasm eagerly, savoring every last drop of your release on his tongue.

“You made her cry again.” Suguru says, rolling his eyes as he approaches his best friend at their meeting spot.

“Huh?” Satoru raises a brow. “Haven’t even seen her since two weeks ago. What’d I do?”

“She’s sad you’re moving away.” Suguru tuts. “Can’t imagine why. Probably because she won’t be able to use you for your wallet anymore.”

“You implyin’ I’m just a wallet to her?” Satoru exclaims, a little offended. The black-haired man shoots him a deadpan glare.

“You know you’re not. But even you’re not enough of an asshole to use that against her.”

“It’s just college,” Satoru muses. “Kid thinks I won’t be back for her?”

“In two years she’ll be going off to college too.” Suguru shrugs. “She’ll get over you.”

“What a cruel thing to say.” Satoru laughs it off, ignoring the small flicker of jealousy that flares to life deep in his chest.

Satoru watches as your chest heaves up and down, in your effort to try to recover from the multiple orgasms he had just given you. You’re lying limp on your bed, unable to move save for the periodic twitching of your thighs.

“Sorry, princess, was that too much?” He’s teasing, but there’s a genuine edge of concern to his voice as he cups your cheek in his hand. You nod, a few tears falling down your face. “Aww, forgive me. You’ll forgive me, right?” In response, you tug weakly on his shirt collar, asking him to come closer. He relents, allowing you to drag him down towards you. Satoru’s about to ask what you need, before you suddenly tilt your head upwards to kiss him.

Satoru lets out a small noise of surprise as your soft lips press against his, hesitant at first, but deepening once your fingers find further purchase in his shirt, gripping tightly. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you up into his lap.

You kiss him a little clumsily, still boneless from your release but Satoru doesn’t mind. Doesn’t mind at all, of course, when your lips are so soft against his, and he can swallow every quiet whimper that escapes you.

“Satoru…” Your voice is raspy and small, but your eyes are wild as you cling helplessly to him. “A-Am… Am I ready yet?” His jaw goes slack in awe at the adorable, troubled expression on your face. Your lips are swollen into a permanent pout now as you look up at him with those wide doe eyes that always had him weak.

“...Think you are,” he heaves, realizing that he’s just as fucked out as you are. It takes everything in him to hold back the urge to just take you.

“She’s grown up.” Satoru raises his eyebrows in pleasant surprise at the pictures that Suguru shows him. Your family had recently gone on vacation, so Suguru had been gone for an entire week, leaving his best friend and roommate all alone.

“That’s what you’re looking at?” Suguru shoots him an annoyed look.

“Oh,” says Satoru, glancing back at the picture. “Uh, nice waterfall.”

“One of the seven natural wonders of the world and all you can see is my baby sister.” Suguru exhales deeply.

“What? You can’t blame me too much. Kid’s changed,” the white-haired man shoots defensively.

“She’s twenty, not sixteen anymore. Of course, she’s changed.” Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I know that, I just…” Satoru pauses, glancing back at the picture. You’re still tiny, only reaching up to your brother’s, and by extension his, chest. Your face has matured, though, baby fat gone from your cheeks. That didn’t stop you from being any less adorable, though — your smile is as radiant as ever. He can’t help but let a small smile of his own slip onto his face.

“Hopeless,” Suguru mutters in disbelief. “Hopeless, the both of you.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

Satoru lets you unbutton his shirt, watching in amusement as your eyes narrow with focus as each button pops open, slowly revealing more and more of his skin.

“Um…” You’re nervous. It’s plain as day from the way your lip wobbles as your eyes sweep down the view of his chiseled chest and torso, only to end at the prominent bulge in his slacks.

“You sure you’re okay with this, princess?” He cups your chin in his hand, gently tilting your face to look straight at him. “Need to rest?”

“N-No!” You protest immediately, shaking your head. “I…” You glance back down at his erection, a flicker of desire in your eyes. “I need…” You trail off, unable to say it.

“Okay.” If he was feeling meaner, he would make you tell him exactly what you want. But he wants to be nice today, especially since you’ve already cried so much for him. “Okay, baby. Don’t worry, you’ll have it. Can you unzip me? Can you do that for me?” You hesitate for a moment. Satoru briefly wonders if he’s perhaps pushed you a bit too hard.

But then you’re reaching for him, small hands finding the top of his pants and slowly undoing the button. Your fingers close around his zipper, slowly tugging it down.

“Good girl.” He pecks your forehead. “Take me out of my boxers, alright?” As his angry, swollen cock springs free from his underwear, you can’t contain your gasp.

“Oh…” The soft sound leaves you almost involuntarily as you stare and wonder at how the hell that’s gonna fit in you. He’s thick and long, rock hard and dripping with pre-cum. You slowly wrap your own hand around his cock, lips parting as your fingers fail to meet in the middle. Your own pussy clenches in a combination of fear and excitement.

“See why I needed to prepare you, now?”

“Sorry to spring this onto you all of a sudden, especially since you just got into town.” Suguru sighs over the phone.

“Don’t worry about it. If you’re not around to take care of her, duty falls on me,” says Satoru as he reverses his car out of the parking lot, heading to the location Suguru had sent him.

“Let me know when she’s home safe. Tell her I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Yeah, will do.”

A pause.

“And… no funny business, got it?”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“I’m serious, Satoru. She just confronted her asshole cheater ex. She doesn’t need you drooling all over her right now.”

“Relax, dude. I’m not that desperate.” Satoru rolls his eyes.

“Good. Keep it that way.”

His conversation with Suguru lies in the back of his mind, forgotten, as Satoru places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Lay back and relax for me, sweetheart.” You immediately obey, laying yourself down on your bed, heart beating fast in anticipation.

“S’gonna hurt, right?” you ask softly.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ve gotten you ready, see?” Satoru comforts you, brushing his fingers against the wetness still soaking your entrance.

“Oh.” Tears suddenly well in your eyes. “Um, s-sorry, it just always hurt with him…”

“What?” Satoru’s eyes darken, unsure if you mean what he thinks you do.

“He just…” You bite your lip, trying not to let your tears fall. “H-He just p-put it in, y’know?” His heart drops in his stomach. Two years, two whole fucking years with that asshole, and he had never given you proper foreplay? No wonder you were so sensitive and responsive to his touch, your body had never received the attention it’s always deserved.

“Baby.” Satoru squeezes your hand, fighting down the urge to find that asshole and beat him up. That could come later. Right now, he has to focus on you. “It’s not gonna be that way this time. Not with me. Okay?” You nod, squeezing his hand in return.

“O-Okay.”

It’s the first time he’s seen you in person in four years, and here you are in the passenger seat of his car, crying your eyes out.

You feel absolutely humiliated. You had called Suguru to ask him to pick you up from your ex-boyfriend’s house after you dumped him, but he had told you he couldn’t.

“I’ll send someone to get you. Hang tight,” he’d said.

You just didn’t know it was going to be Gojo Satoru, who hadn’t returned to your hometown since he graduated high school.

“I’m gonna bring you home,” Satoru had told you, getting out of the driver’s seat to open the car door for you. “Relax, okay? You’re safe now.” He had buckled your seatbelt for you before settling in himself, starting the engine without another word.

The car ride back to your house is silent, save for the continuous sniffles that wrack your body as you try your best to stop your tears. Satoru silently puts a box of tissues in your lap at some point, and your heart stutters at the action.

You’ve known for many years now, that you never got over your first love.

Clothes fully discarded, Satoru lowers himself on top of you, enamored with the way you shyly glance down at`his cock, gaze wavering for a moment before slowly looking back up at him, eyes begging for him to do something.

“Tell me if you want to stop.” He brushes his fingers, tender and gentle, across your cheek. You nod, hand curling around his bicep.

“Kiss me,” you request, and he gladly obliges, leaning down to peck your lips.

“M’gonna go slow,” he tells you. “You want me to stop, hit me real hard — “ He smacks his own chest. “ — Right here. Got it?”

“I won’t,” you say bravely, eyes glimmering with determination. “I… I can take it.” Satoru laughs quietly.

“Alright, princess. Don’t act all cute, you’re just rilin’ me up now.” You smile, a little mischievously.

“Oh, you caught me.”

“Fuck…” Satoru groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re gonna kill me.” His fat tip taps against your clit once, twice. You gasp, eyes going glossy as you feel your swollen pussy clench desperately around nothing.

“Satoru,” you plead. “P-Please…”

“I’ll give you what you need. Relax for me…” He aligns his tip with your entrance, prodding between your folds. Inch by inch, he sinks his cock into your warm, throbbing cunt, almost blacking out himself at the sensation of your tight, velvety walls clamping around his cock.

“A-Ah…!” You whine, gripping his bicep and squeezing your eyes shut. The stretch is almost too much, but the delicious sensation of being filled to the brim has you seeing stars.

“You okay?” Satoru pants, willing himself to stop from splitting you open on his cock to check on you.

“Yes,” you whimper. “Yes, a-ah, please k-keep going…” Satoru rests his head in the crook of your neck as he continues to push himself in, enjoying the soft, labored whimpers as you take more and more of him, deep into your sopping hole.

“Almost there,” he coos. “Almost there, princess…” After what feels like an eternity, he finally sheaths the last of him in you, biting at your shoulder as he finally, finally feels exactly the sensation of being one with you.

“Drink. You’ll feel better.” Satoru places a glass of water in your hand as he leads you to your living room couch. You stubbornly refuse to look at him, letting the glass sit uselessly in your hand as you stare down at your lap.

He sighs, not sure what he should do. He’s never been good at comforting others, let alone his friends’ kid sisters. He knows you’re not a kid anymore, you’re a full grown adult, but the way you’re sulking and ignoring him says otherwise. Still, his fondness for you wins above all else as he takes the water back and puts it on the coffee table, letting you sit in silence.

”You gonna be okay by yourself?” he asks instead. Satoru doesn’t want to leave you alone, but he’s not sure if his presence will even help. He hasn’t been an active part of your life in years, and he has a feeling that this incredibly vulnerable moment isn’t the best time to barge back in. You don’t reply, twiddling your thumbs.

“Call me if you need anything,” Satoru says hesitantly. “You have my number, right?” No response. “I’m gonna write it down for you.” He finds a spare stack of Post-Its and does just that. You don’t react even when he sticks the note right on top of your forehead, in a shitty attempt to lighten your mood. Your deadpan glare, so much like your brother’s tells him it did not work.

“Suguru’s gonna be back tomorrow,” he tells you, taking the note off and soothing the annoyed crease between your eyebrows. “Go get some rest now, yeah?” You look away. Satoru sighs. Seeing you upset like this hurts him way more than he would like to admit. “M’gonna leave. Get to bed soon.” He pats the top of your head, just like he always used to do, which always made you whine when he messed up your hair. You’re quiet now, not a peep of complaint leaving you.

He really misses hearing your voice.

“Bye, then.” Satoru’s about to turn around and leave, but you do something that seems to shock both of you. Your fingers curl and grab onto the hem of his collared shirt, stopping him in his tracks. He stares down at you in surprise, trying to process the sight of your small, thin fingers holding onto him for dear life.

“Stay.” The one word was enough to crumble his self-control.

You’re struggling to adjust to his size; he can tell from the way you’re digging your nails into his arm and the trembling of your thighs around his waist. Satoru stays still, waiting for your permission to go any further, right hand rubbing soothing circles on your hip.

“Don’t stress yourself, baby, just tell me what you want, when you want it,” he murmurs against your neck, waiting patiently, torturously, for permission to move.

You’re so overwhelmed by the sensation of being stuffed full; Satoru is much bigger than your ex-boyfriend and yet, the feeling isn’t painful. It’s so good, a throbbing ache that extends outwards from your core all the way to the top of your head and the tip of your toes. You can hardly form thoughts, let alone words, as your pussy stretches around him, trying to accommodate the sheer size of his cock.

A few more moments pass, and you feel like you’re going crazy. The feeling of being so, so full is one that you’ve never felt before, but you think you’re already addicted. Your thighs flex instinctively, closing tighter around Satoru’s waist and pushing his cock even deeper, pressing right against your sweet spot. You mewl, wrapping your arms around his neck, silently begging to be closer to him.

Satoru leans into the kiss you give him, groaning as your walls suddenly clench once around him, brain filling with nothing but white noise. “Fuck,” he grits out against your lips. “Fuck, baby, I don’t know how much longer — “

“Move.” Your command is quiet. Satoru almost wonders if he’s misheard you. But one look into your pleading, begging eyes confirms what you want. Unable to hold back any longer, he pulls his hips upwards, snapping right back into you with one long, hard thrust. You cry out, nails sinking into his shoulder blades.“M-More,” you whisper. “Need more.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Satoru’s at a loss for words and actions as you stood on your tiptoes, reaching up and bringing his head down to kiss him. His arms instinctively wrap around your waist to steady you, craning his neck to allow you better access — oh shit, what the hell is he doing?

He lets go of you like he’s touched something on fire, pulling back from the kiss. As your heels land back on the ground with a soft thud, he’s greeted by the sight of you looking like you’re about to cry again. “Wait — “ He reaches for you, but retracts his hand; he’s not sure if he can trust himself to stay in line. His heart is beating so fast, you had just kissed him, completely out of the blue.

Satoru knew about your crush on him when the two of you were younger. You started having feelings for him when you were thirteen and he was fifteen, making it painfully obvious. You followed him and Suguru around like a lost puppy whenever he came over, despite Satoru’s constant teasing.

He thought your actions were funny at first, becoming the root of his continued teasing. Despite still making you cry all the time, you always came right back to greet him with a smile upon his very next visit. After a while, Satoru looked at you with fondness, in the way that one would gaze at a small animal. You were harmless, sweet, and so very adorable.

Satoru didn’t return your feelings at the time. You were just Suguru’s kid sister that he liked to toy with sometimes. You were awfully cute when you were mad.

But now, as you look up at him with desperation and longing, his heart clenches faintly in his chest. You’re so, so beautiful — the pictures Suguru had showed him hadn’t done you justice in the slightest. You somehow look so enchantingly gorgeous at this moment, even with tears glistening in your eyes and rolling down your cheeks.

Would you hit him if he tried to wipe away your tears?

He never gets to find out, because you speak his name softly, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Satoru leans down to carefully listen to what you have to say. “W-Want you.”

“So good, so fuckin’ good for me, princess,” Satoru groans, reveling in the dizzying heat of your pussy as he drags his cock in and out of your walls, fucking you at a steady pace. “You feel me in there? You feel me in your little cunt?”

“Y-Yes,” you manage to sob out between moans, each rough snap of his hips into you melting your brain into jelly just a little more.

“What a perfect lil pussy,” He chuckles as you squeal after a rather rough thrust, the loud squelch of your hole sucking him in echoing through the room. “No sane person in this world would ever give this up this tight wet cunt.” You whine at his filthy words, drool dripping out of the side of your mouth as Satoru continues to ram into you, faster, harder.

“Satoru!” You’re crying out his name over and over, legs wrapped firmly around his waist, pushing him deeper and deeper. “S-Satoru, I-I — “

“You likin’ this, baby? Tell me how much you like this,” he coos into your ear, hand reaching down to rub at your swollen clit.

“I l-like it s-so much, i-it’s so ahh…! I-it’s so good,” you sob out. You never thought sex could feel like this — you never understood why the people around you were so obsessed with it, especially with the treatment you received from your ex.

Now, though, as each rut of Satoru’s dick into your cunt kisses your sweet spot, you get it. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forget this feeling of being filled by cock so brutally sweet.

“Hold on.” Satoru had tried to protest, he really had. You’d just broken up with your boyfriend. Like Suguru said, the last thing you needed was any funny business. “Listen — “ He sighs out your name, making your bottom lip wobble. “You have to go rest, don’t be reckless.”

“Please.” You tug at his sleeve, staring at him with that puppy-eyed look that always gets you what you want. He really had spoiled you, hadn’t he?

“Not now,” he tried to reason with you. “You’re still hurting, you’re not in the right mind.” You glare at him.

“Who’re you to say m’not in the right mind?” you whine. “I…” You suddenly seem to lose your confidence, staring down at the floor. “...I only ever wanted you.”

“What?” Satoru stares, wide-eyed, at your confession.

“Know you don’t want me that way,” you continue, voice small. “But I… don’t care.” You sniffle. “Don’t care, Satoru. Just want you.”

And when you tug desperately at his shirt again, this time, Satoru is too far gone.

“Fuck, I’m close.” He growls into your neck, his pace picking up as he chases after his release, He coaxes you to join him, thumbing at your clit and cooing for you to “Let go, cum for me, c’mon. Cream all over my cock, princess.”

The only sounds in the room are a symphony of your moans and the slick sounds of his cock pushing in and out of your hole as a coil forms deep in your gut, threatening to snap at any moment. You feel tears stain your cheeks as Satoru’s pace increases, pounding into you so deep you can practically feel him in your throat.

“S-Satoru, I’m g-gonna — !” You cut yourself off with a loud, lewd moan, cunt clenching down hard around him as you come undone for the fifth time just this night. You swear you lose consciousness for a second, lost in the euphoric feeling of your release as your swollen pussy throbs in satisfaction.

“Shit..“ A few quick, shallow thrusts later, Satoru finishes as well, thick ropes of cum splurting into your womb, filling you with a warm sensation.

“A-Ah…” you whimper out, pussy fluttering weakly around his softening cock, which is still fully sheathed inside you. A white ring remains on his dick as he gently pulls himself off of you, cum dripping from your spent pussy onto the sheets. Satoru tuts, placing a pillow under your hips so you won’t leak.

You’re only faintly aware of what he’s doing as he leaves briefly and returns with a warm, wet towel, gently asking you to open your legs for him. You obey, but you’re so exhausted you can’t help it as your eyes droop shut. The last thing you remember before falling asleep is Satoru leaning forward to peck your forehead, praising you for taking him so well.

You wake up a few hours later to sunlight streaming through your bedroom window, making you squint a little as you sit up in bed. You immediately gasp at the ache between your legs, and the soreness racing up and down your body.

Memories of the previous night come flooding back as a sleepy groan sounds from next to you. Satoru stirs, awakened by your panicked sound, asking softly, “You okay, baby?”

Oh god. Shit. Fuck. You actually had sex with Gojo Satoru.

“Hmm?” He looks a little concerned at your lack of response, pulling you against him. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You in pain? Sorry, did my best to clean you up and everything.” Only then do you realize that the place between your thighs is no longer sticky, and that you’re wearing a fresh set of underwear with Satoru’s unbuttoned shirt wrapped around you.

“...What did we do?” You whisper in a muddled mixture of shock and amazement.

“You regret it?” he asks carefully, pulling back a little to gauge your reaction. You shake your head vehemently, snuggling back close to him. You breathe in his scent, eyes fluttering closed. You feel so right at home in his arms.

“No.” You ponder for a bit. “But it’s never gonna happen again, right?” Satoru’s breath catches in his throat.

“What?”

“I know last night might’ve given you the wrong impression.” You swallow hard, trying to contain the feelings bubbling up within you. Satoru just looks so beautiful under the morning sun, his crystal blue eyes glittering in the light. You know you’re not mistaken, you’ve never been so sure about it — you love him. “I don’t… do this. Thank you for being with me for this one night, but…” you trail off.

“Hey, hey.” You’re crying again, and this time, Satoru wipes the tears off your cheek, cupping your face between his hands. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Don’t want just this from you,” you continue vaguely, looking away shamefully. “But I don’t… I don’t expect you to want the same.” He stills at your words, trying to decipher them properly.

“You still in love with me?” He deciphered them spot on, but that doesn’t stop a humiliated squeak from leaving you. You’re huffing, face on fire with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment.

“F-Fine, whatever! You know already, so…” You look away, gnawing at your lower lip. “That’s w-why — “

“Don’t really know why you’re so upset, princess,” he cuts you off, pulling you out of the downward spiral he sees you’re about to fall into. “Think…” Satoru pauses to swipe at a tear at the corner of your eyes. “Still such a crybaby,” he can’t help but say, watching with amusement as you scowl at him with all the ferocity of an angry kitten.

“Ugh, jerk! Four years later and you still can’t take me seriously, God, why do I even bo — “ He cuts you off again, this time with a kiss. When he pulls away, he’s smiling gently, chuckling at your dumbfounded expression.

“Think I love you too,” he finishes. “So you’ve got nothing to worry about.” A few moments pass.

“...Are you fucking with me?” You look him dead in the eye.

“Technically, I already did,” he replies cheerfully. You look at him in disbelief. “Okay, sorry, sorry, sweetheart. Let me spell it out for you.” Satoru holds you close to him, tracing slow, comforting circles along your back. “Be my girlfriend?”

You answer him with a kiss of your own.

Suguru sighs, fishing in his pocket for his house keys as he approaches the front door. He’s worried about you; although the bastard had cheated on you and deserved to have you dump him, he knows you’re still probably heartbroken.

Or at least a little heartbroken. Suguru’s aware you never really that into your ex, if your drunk phone calls about how much you miss Satoru were enough evidence. Hiding those from his best friend was tough work; he would have to sit in the bathroom or the closet with his headphones and speak as quietly and carefully as possible to not rouse any suspicion.

Either way, he knows you definitely need some cheering up right now. He’s brought you a box of cupcakes from your favorite bakery, hoping it would be enough to at least get you in a talking mood.

Imagine his surprise when he opens the door and the first thing he sees is Gojo Satoru. Not only is Gojo Satoru standing in his kitchen, but he’s wearing Suguru’s apron, a gift from you many Christmases ago. To make things worse, he’s nearly butt naked under it, only wearing a pair of boxers that are — wait a second, are those Suguru’s as well?

“Oh hey, Suguru!” If Satoru is nervous or embarrassed, he plays it off well as he turns around and waves, flashing the stupid, faded picture of Remy from Ratatouille on his apron right in Suguru’s face. “You hungry? Was just makin’ some eggs.”

“What the actual fuck,” Suguru grits out, putting two and two together as you choose that moment to wander out into the kitchen, wearing nothing but an unfamiliar collared button down that reaches down nearly to your knees. Satoru’s.

“S-Sugu.” Your eyes go round, stopping in your tracks. No one speaks for a moment. Satoru’s still happily cooking eggs. Suguru’s expression is stone cold. You’re staring at your brother with embarrassment written all over your face.

“Baby, you ready for food?” Satoru steps away from the stove to wrap an arm around your waist, smooching you on top of your head. You make a stuttered noise under your breath, glancing back at your brother.

Suguru’s smiling now, but not in the traditional sense. He looks almost maniacal as he slowly places the box of cupcakes on the table before locking eyes with Satoru. Finally, the white-haired man has enough shame for his casual grin to falter.

“What happened to no funny business?”

Satoru is forced to abandon the stove, running away from a fuming Suguru chasing after him with the first thing he could find on the dining table — a carrot.

“Sugu, stop, it’s okay — “ Your pleas fall on deaf ears as your brother is hell-bent on finding a way to murder his best friend with a vegetable. You sigh deeply, moving to go after them when you suddenly smell something burning. Your head snaps to where the eggs Satoru was cooking are now sitting blackened over the flame.

Needless to say, the first morning with Gojo Satoru as your official boyfriend was far from perfect.

Thankfully, you would have many, many more mornings with him, each more wonderful than the last, that this one quickly faded from importance.

But not from Suguru’s.

“I still remember,” Suguru says, clearing his throat for dramatic effect. “When I opened the door on that one morning, and you were not only in my house, but you were half-naked wearing my apron and my underwear — “

Satoru groans as the audience bursts into laughter at his best man’s speech, burying his face in your shoulder. You’re giggling right along with them, sparing your new husband a peck on the cheek as his best friend continues to tear him apart.

“Then you had the audacity to pretend nothing was wrong — “

Satoru knew he would never live this down, but he had zero regrets. Not when you’re sitting right next to him in a pretty white dress holding his hand under the table.

“Well.” Suguru looks over at him, raising a brow. “Got anything to say?” Satoru takes the mic from him, face splitting into a shit-eating grin as he says two words:

“Worth it.”

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo smut #jjk smut #gojo x you #reader insert #female reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios

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moonsgemini · 7 days ago

Text

kinda sorry - firefighter!rafe

summary: After months of a cat & mouse game Rafe finally gets his favorite waitress alone. He doesn’t even care if it’s at his place of work.

warning: 18+, firefighter!rafe x waitress!reader, fem reader, SMUT! these people are freaks!! dirty talk, oral, cum play & eating (I’m so sorry?), praise kink, fingering, cursing, p in v

an: hiiiii this is so smutty I actually need to repent my sins. I promise I’m working on the next part of cherry wine I just cannot figure out how to end it so in the mean time enjoy another firefighter rafe fic. Does it kinda suck ? yeah.

You wiped the same spot on the counter for the fifth time as you looked at the clock on the wall behind you. It was already fifteen past seven and they weren’t here yet. You were starting to get antsy. They always showed up at seven like clock work and you hadn’t seen them leave for a call. No flashing lights and loud sirens had been heard or seen.

God you felt pathetic. When did your life come this?

Pining over a hot firefighter who worked across the street and probably only acknowledges your existence for free slices of pie and haphazard flirting. He was so handsome you’d let him flirt with you for free pie any time. You really did feel pathetic, but it had been a long time since a very attractive man made your palms sweat and stomach flutter. Even if there was a chance it was all just out of boredom on his end.

When that hope in your chest that they’d come began to diminish you looked up one more time, just in case. That’s when you spotted the group men walking out of the fire station across the street. A smile involuntarily appeared on your lips. Your favorite part of the week finally arrived.

You’ve been working at Penny’s since high school so you were familiar with the little routine the men across the street carried on. You had grown up with most of the guys having known them since you were a teenager. A couple of them now even being your old classmates. Except for him.

Rafe had started a few months ago and you hadn’t stopped thinking about him since his first visit to Penny’s. It was rare to see a handsome face like his in this small town. It was rare to see a new face period.

You spotted him right away. He could surprisingly pull off the buzzcut and mustaches always did something for you. He was tall with big arms, how could anyone not like him.

From behind the register you watch through the windows as he laughed at something one of the other guys said rubbing his hand over his mustache. A habit you noticed he had. God did he look as handsome as ever. You wanted to know what his mustache felt like against the skin of your neck and against your inner thighs.

The bell above the door rang as the group of men walked into the small diner. You pretended to be busy by wiping the spot next to the one that you had spent the last fifteen minutes on. Doing your best to seem nonchalant like you hadn’t been anticipating their arrival all day by staring out the windows. You would never do something like that.

You looked up and smiled at the familiar faces welcoming them in. They greeted you as they walked to their usual booth in the corner.

Rafe was the last to walk in giving you a smirk and a small nod as he passed. His navy blue tee shirt fit tightly over his chest and biceps. Always a sight for sore eyes. You were practically drooling, you wanted to bite him. Wanted to feel his big hands all over your skin.

You cleared your throat and took a deep breath feeling your cheeks get hot. You needed to push those thoughts away or you’d do something embarrassing. Brushing your hands on your apron you approached them, pulling out your favorite pen and sticker covered order book.

You may or may not have put a little more effort into your appearance today. For no particular reason of course, but if he was going to flirt with you then you might as well play into it. At least that’s what you told yourself when you applied lashes and added some blush to your cheeks.

“Hey guys, what can I get you all to drink?” You asked once standing in front of the table as if they didn’t order the same thing every time.

“I’ll take a coffee my dear,” Captain Morales said smiling. He’s known you for years now and looked out for you as if you were his own daughter.

Rafe was last to order. That smirk making it’s way to his lips again, “I’ll take a coffee y/n,” His eyes lingered on your glossy lips. Little did you know that he was thinking about how he could just eat you up.

As his eyes raked over you face he didn’t miss the red tinge in your cheeks. He’d do anything to make it an even deeper red. Specifically have you blushing profusely under him or even on top of him. Then he started to think about you bent over and ready for him.

“Coming right up!” You said sweetly before heading off to get the coffees breaking whatever trance he was in.

Wednesday’s had become Rafe’s favorite day of the week. Not only was it technically his friday but he got to see his favorite girl. He always thinks about the first time he saw you. You were arguing with a customer who thought their expired coupon should still be valid. He watched as the guy threw his soda at you and before him or any one else could step in you punched the guy in the nose and dragged him out by his collar. The idiot cradling his nose bleeding nose.

That has been the hottest thing Rafe had ever witnessed.

“Now it’s free! Never come back dick head!” You yelled at him as you stomped back into the diner. After spending a few minutes in the back changing into a tee shirt you had in your locker you went to their table. Your tough demeanor had vanished and you held a soft smile on your face. That’s when he knew he was fucked.

Y/n walked back behind the counter to grab mugs and the coffee pot. You knew you’d probably have to make another fresh pot after serving them. Your best friend, Grace, had returned from her break and was wiping menus staring at the table of men.

“Matt looks so good. If we don’t get laid by these hot men we need to quit and become nuns,” Grace said quietly as she eyed the firefighter she’s had her eye on since he moved to town a few years ago.

Y/n snorted, “I’ve given up on mine. It’s been months and it’s just flirting and checking me out,” she shrugged, “Our hook ups and incredibly romantic dates will remain in my fantasies.”

“Don’t say that when I’ve been waiting a year now for mr brown eyes,” Grace huffed, “Why doesn’t he do anything. He acts like I’d say no to him.”

“You could ask him out,” You said handing her three mugs to help you take everything. Mostly so she could get closer to Matt.

She laughed dramatically, “You’re so funny Y/n! And after that I’ll call my dad since we’re saying things that are never going to happen.”

“Oh come on he could never say no to you,” You encouraged.

“Then you ask blondie out.”

You stared blankly at her.

She snorted, “That’s what I thought. Lets just continue to admire from afar so the hottest men we’ve ever seen don’t reject us.”

You followed behind her with a sigh. It’s not like you hadn’t thought about asking Rafe to hang out. It’s just that you had that nagging feeling in your chest that maybe he didn’t want to see you anywhere outside the diner. You cleared your throat to rid the anxiety that began to bubble in your stomach. You didn’t have time to over think that right now.

Grace placed one of the cups in front of Matt and he looked up at her with a shy smile, thanking her softly. They were two idiots in love.

“Are we ready to order?” You asked after filling the last mug.

“Yes ma’am,” Stanford said. One of the other older fire fighters.

It was always hard paying attention to their orders when Rafe’s ocean eyes were boring into you. He always had that affect of turning you into complete mush.

“For you Rafe?” You asked tilting your head to the side slightly.

A teasing smile pulled at his mouth, “Bacon cheeseburger with fries please.”

“No onions?”

He nodded. His pants getting a bit tight at the thought of you remembering something about him.

“You got it, I’ll put this is for you boys.” You smiled an walked away. A little extra sway to your hips hoping Rafe was watching but hoping you weren’t making a fool of yourself.

A slap to the back of his head got Rafe out of his trance. He ducked rubbing his head turning towards the culprit. His wonderful view of your ass ruined.

“Ow?” He muttered looking over at Miguel next to him.

“Are you just going to check her out every fucking week or are you going to do something?” He asked with a teasing tone.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t have time for a girl right now.”

“You’re such a fuckin liar,” Morales laughed as he sipped his black coffee.

Rafe rubbed his face, “I’m working on it okay.”

Morales smirked knowing he was getting under his skin, “You and baby face over here need to grow a pair or someone else is gonna realize how wonderful those women are and beat you to it.”

“Hey what do I have to do with this,” Matt muttered rubbing his mustache.

Miguel laughed, “Dude Grace has been pining for you for forever and don’t act like you don’t feel the same.”

His began blushing at the thought of her, “Whatever. She’s too good for me anyways.”

“Spare me the pity party Anderson and ask the woman out,” Morales said and then pointed at Rafe, “And you. Do something or don’t. Don’t string her along with whatever flirting shit you do.”

Rafe huffed, “Yeah Yeah.”

He turned to look for you tuning out whatever new conversation started between the men. He found you laughing with Grace as you both rolled napkins with silverware. He loved your laugh and your smile. It was so infectious and warm. Rafe had no idea he could feel this way towards someone.

At first it was all lust. Your attractiveness captivated him, especially knowing you didn’t put up with anyone’s shit but also still a complete sweetheart. He moved to this town because he needed a fresh start. He didn’t expect to pine after a woman who was way too good for him.

Rafe continued to watch as you walked around helping other customers. The sway of your hips made him want to grab onto them. Pull you against him as he kissed down your neck from behind. He’d love to hear your laugh as his mustache tickled your ear. He could already see how pink your cheeks would get at the dirty words he’d whisper in your ear if you let him.

You had no idea that you could have him on his hands and knees for you.

Captain Morales had paid for their dinner and they had gone back to the station. Of course the meal was filled with Rafe’s longing glances towards you. Some not so subtle flirting on his end, you of course didn’t do it back in front of the other guys. But when they’d al go outside to wait for the captain to pay he would linger as you wiped down their table.

That nights conversation had firmly planted that seed of hope. Hope that he’d finally pull a move on you since there was a fundraiser barbecue at the station this weekend. Obviously you would be there because you would never miss an opportunity to support your community. It had nothing to do with the fact that Rafe was going to be there.

“You’re coming this weekend right? Or do they have you working?” He had asked with a smirk.

You shook your head with a teasing smile, “Not working, don’t worry I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

“Good?” You teased tilting your head a little in a questioning manor.

He nodded, “I’d be bored without my favorite girl.”

You huffed a flustered laugh, “You mean server?”

He shook his head, “I meant what I said.”

Rafe watched as you laughed with Mrs.Garcia about something as you helped pass out desserts. It had been almost three hours since the fundraiser started and he had gotten to talk to you only a handful of times.

He was put on grill duty and you had been pulled in all directions by people. Rafe liked the small town atmosphere of the place and it was one of the reasons why he was glad he got hired at that station, but now he was starting to hate it. Why did everyone have to know you and take you away from him.

You were just as disappointed as him. Every time you would try and make your way to the grill someone would pull you to help with something or the kids would want you to watch their dance routine they made up. You could feel his eyes on you and when you looked back at him he’d smirk. That stupid devilish handsome smirk.

The sun had begun to set and people were starting to clear out. You looked around and found Rafe helping take down all of the tables and put away chairs. Being ordered around by Captain Morales. You sighed, maybe you and Rafe were always meant to just have flirty banter. Nothing more.

You didn’t want to wait around until he was free again and you didn’t want to bother him so you accepted your fate. Before you left you wanted to use the restroom so you made your way into the firehouse.

Once Rafe was done helping clean up he looked around for you. He didn’t see you anywhere. His chest filled with disappointment as to how the night went. He thought this would be his chance to talk to you outside your job and maybe even take you home. His disappointment was clear on his face as he continued to look around as if you’d come out of thin air any moment.

Beside him someone cleared their throat, “She went inside a couple minutes ago,” Captain Morales said.

Rafe looked over at him with furrowed brows, “huh?”

“Your girl. She’s inside. Now hurry before you miss your chance,” He nodded towards the open door.

Rafe laughed, “How do you even-“

“Son you two look at each other like you both hung the moon I’d be an idiot to not know. Now please go get her I don’t want to have to deal with your attitude later if you miss your chance.”

Rafe nodded his head with a wide smile, “Yes sir.”

He made his way into the firehouse to look for you. Hopefully you hadn’t slipped by him. As he turned the corner to where the restrooms were he found you standing looking at some pictures hanging on the wall.

He stood there for a minute just admiring you. Your soft cheeks and long lashes. Your long smooth legs in that sundress that looked a bit too short and tight on you. It made something in his stomach stir. He cleared his throat to gain your attention.

Your head snapped towards him. Eyes widening in surprise, you weren’t expecting him. Rafe walked over to stand by you and see what you were staring at. It was a picture of the whole station. Then a picture of him and a couple other guys.

“Staring at me huh?” He asked with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes playfully, “You wish Cameron.”

“I do.” He turned to look at you. That dreamy look in his eyes, “You almost got away from me today.”

You laughed softly, “Sorry. I was trying to come up to you but you know how it is.”

He nodded, “That’s the unfortunate thing about liking a girl everyone loves. You couldn’t help the hear that creeped up your neck at his confession.

He didn’t let you say anything as he continued, “Guess that just means I’ll need to take you out on a date to get you alone.”

You let out a surprised huff, “Oh yeah? Well we’re alone right now.” You looked around making a show of it.

He smirked, “So you don’t want to go on a date with me baby?”

This man was going to be the death of you, “Of course I do. Been waiting for you to ask.”

He laughed and took a step closer to you, “Sorry it’s taken me so long. I liked that little dance we were doing, but let me make it up to you.”

Your body was on fire at everything he was saying. This man had to have been created in a lab with the way he was speaking to you. He was walking closer to you now and you took a few steps back until your back hit the wall of the hallway.

“How are you gonna do that hm?” You tried to play cool as if your pulse wasn’t racing in anticipation. Now you weren’t usually a girl that hooked up with a guy before going on a date but that was going all out the window today if Rafe wanted to have his way with you.

He reached forward and stroked your cheek with his thumb. His eyes going down to your lips. His tongue poking out to wet his bottom lip as your parted, “By fucking you.”

Your eyes widened slightly. Thighs clenching at his non filtered confession, he really was done playing the cat and mouse game. You didn’t even care. Your brain became complete mush and you would let him fuck you in this hallway right now if he wanted to.

“You gonna let me do that hm?” He asked as if he didn’t already know the answer by the way your thighs clenched and your nipples hardened underneath your dress.

You nodded slowly as if you were under a spell. Your heart was erratic as you pictured this tall handsome man fucking you in his big arms. You could cum just thinking about it.

His thumb tugged gently as your bottom lip, “Words baby come on.”

“Yes please,” You said softly.

That’s all he needed to hear before he took your hand and dragged you into the room next to you. It was one of the rooms where they came to sleep during over night shifts. It had a desk, bunk beds, and one single bed. He locked the door behind him before pushing you up against the desk. Rafe and you were panting and you hadn’t even touched each other yet.

He cupped your face in his hands and groaned, “You’re so beautiful I can’t keep my hands to myself anymore.”

“Then don’t,” You murmured in a haze as he dove in to capture your lips in his.

He groaned and moved his hands down to your waist and then to your hips. Pulling you even closer to him as you parted your mouth to let him have more access. He was everywhere and it felt so good. His tongue explored your mouth as his hands grabbed and squeezed at your body. The light whimpers and moans leaving your mouth sending him into a frenzy.

He pulled away with hazy eyes and swollen lips, “Fuck I’ve been thinking about this for long.”

You nodded your head rapidly, “Me too.” You said breathlessly. You felt like you were in a Rafe enduced trance. He moaned at the sight of your swollen lips and the strap of your dress had fallen in the haste.

He pushed you back so you were sitting on the desk now with him between your parted legs. He leaned forward and began pressing open mouthed kisses to your neck. You tilted your head back giving him more room. Your fingers tangled in his hair. Tugging when he kissed that one particular spot below your ear. He bit at your neck and you gasped as his tongue soothed the sting. You had never been so turned on in your life, and he hadn’t even touched you really.

That changed when his hands slid down your hips to your thighs. He squeezed them loving the feel of them. Rafe couldn’t wait to have them wrapped around his head, he wanted you to suffocate him. He needed you to suffocate him with your pussy.

He played with the hem of your dress as he kissed your collarbone. He was being a tease, “I thought the teasing was over.” You mumbled with hooded eyes. You wanted him to just shove the dress up and fuck you.

He chuckled against the swell of your breast that he had been peppering with kisses, “Patience sweetheart. I’ll fill you up with my cock, tongue, and fingers in no time.”

You moaned at his words as he slipped the straps of your dress down and tugged the top part down to reveal your tits. He groaned at the sight of your perked nipples and leaned down taking one in his mouth. His other hand reaching for the other and brushing his thumb over the sensitive bud.

The moans that left your mouth were pornographic. It was like you had been touched in years which was only partly true.

“Mmm you’re so sweet,” He groaned as he moved to the other one.

You sighed with pleasure, “I need you.”

He laughed softly going back to kiss you, “Don’t worry baby I’ll give you what you need.”

His big hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the desk in a swift motion. You thought he was going to take you to the bed and finally have his way. You should have known better with him, you’re starting to get that Rafe loves the anticipation. The chase of it all because he turned you around so his chest was on your back.

You could feel him aching agains your lower back. He felt so big and your mouth watered at the thought. You barely had any time to question what he was doing when you felt him press kisses from in between your shoulders and down your back. As he did he gently pushed you down to be basically bent over the desk. Then he was kneeling behind you.

His hands stroking your thighs as they shook in anticipation. He playfully bit your butt with a small groan. Rafe pushed your dress up to rest around your waist. Almost on instinct you arched your back and pushed your hips towards him. Needing for him to do something.

“Please Rafe,” You murmured desperately.

He grinned sweetly, “You sound so pretty asking nicely baby.” He reached his hand down to lightly stroke you over your underwear.

You gasped at the minimal contact. Then he was fully rubbing circles onto your clit. The wet patch at your center growing. He pulled your cheeks apart as he dove in and pressed wet kisses to your clothes pussy.

“Fuck,” He groaned, “Let me have a taste yeah?”

You whined. Literally whined, “Please Rafey please please.” You never thought you could be this desperate for a man. You could feel his smirk against your cunt.

He slid your panties to the side and dove in like a starved man. You gasped in surprised not expecting him to go all in since he had been teasing so much, but you’d thank God every day for it. You already knew you’d be thinking about his mouth for the rest of your life.

Rafe’s tongue massaged your clit in the best way and with the position his nose nudged at your entrance. His hands reached up to grab a handful of your ass and squeeze making you moan louder.

The room was filled with the sounds of his sucking and lapping as well as your whines. His hand then came down to slap one cheek. A motion that made you push yourself against his mouth even more.

Rafe would be a happy man if this is the way he went out. Drowning in your pussy. Your juices dripping down his chin as he mercilessly worked his tongue over you. The groans he let out adding to the pleasure.

Pressure built up in your lower stomach as that knot of pleasure tightened. You had never gotten so close so fast besides with your own hand. The way this man was lapping you up had your legs shaking.

“Yes Rafe!” You exclaimed, “Gonna cum!”

Your head flew back as your eyes shut in pleasure. The white hot euphoric feeling of your orgasm taking over.

“Mhmmm,” He groaned as he continued to lick and suck, “Fuck baby so good.” He mumbled as he continued his ministrations prolonging the intense feeling.

He pulled away once he had cleaned you up of everything you gave him, “Such a messy girl huh,” He mumbled as he pulled your hair so your back was against his chest again. Your head tilted back onto his shoulder. Rafe had a way with words, it had your mind in a haze.

He moved his hand to cup your face and tilt it towards him even more so he could capture your lips in his. The kiss was sloppy and so hot.

You pulled away slightly and mumbled against his lips, “Please please fuck me Rafey.”

He but his lip and groaned, “Of course baby anything you want.”

You expected him to shove his pants down and stuff his cock in you but you should have known him better. He spun you around so your back was pressed to the desk again. He tapped on the back of your thighs to get you to sit on it again and as you did he mumbled, “So obedient.”

The scene in front of him looked so vulgar. You were sat at the desk with your dress bunched around your stomach. All the delicious parts Rafe wanted to dive into exposed. He took a mental picture to remember it even though this definitely wouldn’t be the last time he’d have his way with you.

You reach out for him and tugged at his shirt wanting it off. He smirked as he took the hint and pulled it off. The sight of his toned chest and broad arms had you gushing all over again.

“We should be quick now before they come looking,” He muttered as he began to undo his belt. He pulled his pants and boxers down to rest around his ankles. His cock on full display for you and you bit your lip as you took in the sight. Glassy eyes widening at the size, you had never seen one like that.

He tugged at it a few times to relieve the tension. The way you were looking at him was making his ego grow, and Rafe didn’t really need that.

Grabbing where your knees crease he pushed your legs up so your feet were almost flat on the desk. Your core glistening and on display for him.

“Fuck I can’t wait to be in that nice wet pussy,” He couldn’t away. He let you hold yourself up now as he grabbed himself and began sliding his tip through your folds. You let out small whimpers at the feeling. Then rubbed it over your clit, making you even wetter.

Rafe was having the time of his life. You felt so good against him he never wanted to stop. The way your nipples perked and your eyes practically watered in pleasure.

“You’re so wet baby,” He slipped the tip into your entrance, “mmmph feel s’good huh.” He smirked cockily as he pushed himself in deeper and deeper.

Your brows furrowed in pleasure as he stretched you deliciously. His thumb finding your clit and rubbing soft circles. Your head fell back with a sigh as he bottomed out.

He leaned forwards and kissed you softly as he started moving. You both moaned as he pushed back in hitting that sweet spot. He pulled away and leaned down to take a nipple in his mouth. Sucking and gently tugging.

Your hands were tangled un his short locks. As his movements grew faster and harder your hands moved all over. His shoulders, chest, back anywhere you could touch. Your nails leaving crescents in his skin as he continued to mumble obscenities into your ear.

‘so good baby’ ‘the most perfect pussy’ ‘my good girl letting me fuck her so well’

The feeling of euphoria increasing as he continued. Rafe groaned as he felt you tighten around him. He was regretting one thing right now and that was waiting this long to fuck you.

“M’close Rafe,” You whined as that familiar feeling spread throughout your body.

“I know,” He panted and started working faster, “Cum for me baby come on. I know you can do it.”

His encouragement helped your release. As he felt you orgasm and tighten around him he neared the edge of his own orgasm.

“Need you to cum in me,” You mumbled as he milked you for all you had.

His eyes rolled back at your statement, “Fuuuck.” Then his hips snapped into you a few more times before he released inside you coating your walls in his cum. It felt so good to have him stuffed inside you. His head resting on your chest as he groaned. After a few minutes of your labored breaths Rafe slowly pulled out. The loss of him causing you to whimper and he just smirked.

You thought you guys were done but then Rafe looked down and slipped two fingers inside you.

“Oh Rafe,” You gasped, “W-what are you doing?”

He bit his lip as he continued to watch his fingers pump in and out slowly, “Feeling how well you took all my cum baby.”

Then as if he couldn’t be hotter and dirtier he removed his fingers and his cum was all over them. He took them and began rubbing it over your clit. The overstimulation made your toes curl and your mouth fall open.

The scene in front of him was so filthy and will be on constant reply for the rest of his life. The entire last hour he would be thinking about that forever.

He removed his fingers and you reached out grabbing his wrist to tug the fingers into your mouth. Licking and sucking his fingers clean.

“Dirty girl,” He mumbled as you pulled them out with a pop.

He leaned in and kissed you softly, no more lust behind it. It was something else now. Rafe helped you fix your dress and pull your underwear back on after he pulled his pants back up.

“I’m kind of sorry I didn’t take you out first but I also don’t regret it because I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you for months,” Rafe said as you fixed your ruffled hair.

You smiled at him, “I’m not at all. You can still take me out and we can do that all over again.”

A loud banging on the door made you jump and rafe whip his head around.

“You guys done yet? I need a nap,” one of the other guys yelled through the door.

Your face paled at the realization that you might now have been very quiet. Rafe just laughed, “One minute!”

“Oh god. I need to quit my job and move towns now,” You put your hands on your face in embarrassment.

Rafe laughed and kissed the back of your hands that covered your face, “Nuh uh. Not running from me now.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fic #rafe smut

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muniimyg · 27 days ago

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!jk (24) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ *nsfw*

series m.list // taglist request closed

note: hihi ,, sorry this update took so long (>'-'<) hope u like it <3 personally think it could've been freakier but also planning on another extra of pregnant oc n bbydaddy jk fucking LOL so i wouldn't worry abt it... ch is lengthy fyi … also,, bby2’s name reveal 😝

warnings: pregnancy mood swings, hot tub sex (oc is in her 2nd trimester) pregnant oc, jealousy, dirty talk, breast play, some slapping, kissing, and fucking

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @pamzn @defzcl @maryy1300 @whoa-jo @taetaecatboy @jksusawife @un06 @firesighgirl @rrosiitas @butterymin @parkinglot-nights @musicjournalsjdb @kissyfacekoo @jkslvsnella @vampcharxter @bloopkook @somehowukook @bbystarcandykoo

so much happened before the wedding.

for instance, you two pulled zion out of daycare and enrolled him in preschool. with all your leave time from work, this allowed you to spend more precious moments with him and while still having time for yourself. another thing is that you and jungkook finally pushed through packing up and moving homes. truth be told, you two bought the penthouse a few years ago but paused on the mini renovations due to your busy work schedules and personal circumstances. on top of that, when jungkook came back from new york he talked about leaving the company to start something of his own.

if that doesn’t feel like a lot… you two got married.

married.

in the midst of the aftermath of your wedding and moving process; you and jungkook are expecting another. and wow, does it feel like you two can’t catch your breath. the timing of everything has truly never felt more chaotic yet so right.

you and jungkook deserve every bit of this new chapter.

this new life.

so, with everything in motion, you two decided to take a take a moment and slow things down.

to catch your breath, step away, and spend some intentional time together before the next wave of change rolls in. a cabin trip, tucked away from the noise, just the two of them and the growing baby you carry, is the perfect escape.

when the car slows to stop, you take a moment to admire the soft snow that coats the cabin’s rooftop and blankets the surrounding pine trees. jungkook turns off the engine and gazes out the window. as he marvels at the sight, he turns to you and thinks;

there’s no comparison.

you catch his gaze and scoff at him.

“don’t look at me like that,” you warn. “we haven’t even made it inside the cabin. i’m 5 months pregnant, jungkook. i can’t fuck in this audi like—”

“you’re so beautiful,” he leans over and kisses your forehead. “that’s all.”

you tighten your lips and nod.

he’s been awfully good at making your heart flutter these days… could be the pregnancy hormones. could be the fact that you married the right man. somewhere in between, you can’t even find it in yourself to question it or think any deeper. you’re just thankful. you’re so grateful for him.

jungkook steps out first.

he inhales deeply and stretches. taking in the stillness of the mountains, the snow beneath him crunches under his boots. he hurries around to open the car door for you. offering his hand, you smile and take it. your gloved finger curls around his as you carefully step out of the car, one hand instinctively resting on your round belly.

"oh.. wow. honey, this is beautiful,” you murmur in awe.

jungkook tugs you close and kisses the top of your head. "it's aight. i think you're—"

"oh, my love..." you look down at your belly and pout. "your daddy is so annoying. he's such a yapper. i hope you take after me and know when to shut up."

the first day passes faster than you expect.

after settling into the cozy cabin, you and jungkook decide to explore the small downtown area. it’s a charming place, with snow-dusted streets and twinkling lights in every shop window. you wander hand in hand, stopping to sample street food—warm, savory bites that fill the crisp air with delicious smells. then there’s dessert, sweet enough to leave you both way too full but completely satisfied. by the time you finish, the sun is setting, and you head back to the cabin before 6pm, ready to settle in for a cozy evening.

the two of you curl up on the couch, binge-watching bad romcoms. between the predictable plots and over-the-top drama, you’re both laughing harder than you have in weeks. every ridiculous twist has you snorting, and you spend half the time arguing over the characters’ choices, tossing playful jabs at each other’s taste in movies. you haven’t felt this light, this refreshed in each other's company, in what feels like forever.

it’s a stark contrast to the year before, which was filled with more ups and downs than anyone should have to endure in a lifetime. even now, it’s still hard to look back at those difficult times without a weight settling in your chest. but it’s moments like this—when you’re playing a board game with jungkook, battling over a meaningless win—that make your heart soar.

jungkook, of course, refuses to let you win, which might be the funniest thing he’s done in a while. he’s always been competitive, but when it comes to you, he usually doesn’t mind losing, letting you take the victory just to see you smile.

but tonight?

tonight’s different.

you’re both teasing each other mercilessly, throwing out fake strategies and dramatic groans every time someone gains an advantage.

“you’re really gonna make me earn this, huh?” you laugh, shaking your head as he shoots you a smirk.

“you better believe it,” he replies, eyes gleaming with playful determination.

"does the fact that i'm carrying your baby—"

"no, no, no—d-don't pull the milf card," he panics. "don't be a cheater like that."

"what's it to you? if i'm a milf, you're a dilf."

the back-and-forth banter fills the cabin with warmth, the kind of joy that’s rare and precious.

every time he tries to outwit you, you only love him more for it. this is the jungkook you fell in love with—the one who knows how to make even the simplest moments feel special.

as you look at him mid-game, you think to yourself; you win no matter what.

this is the love you fought for, and right here, in this cozy cabin, surrounded by snow and laughter, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

when the next morning comes, you and jungkook wake up slow together.

over the past 5 months, you’ve been so nauseous, your feet have been swelling (you cried the other day because your old snow boots wouldn’t fit), and your body just... feels less like your own every day.

between the sleepless nights and aching back, you’ve been longing for a break, something to help you feel even just a little bit more like yourself again.

he’s constantly touching your belly and making sure you aren’t bending your knees or lifting a finger. you’ve always known him to be an acts-of-service type of guy, but he surely is a different man when you’re pregnant.

he’s so fucking clingy...

but you are too.

jungkook knows how much you’ve been struggling; he sees it in the way you wince when you stand up too fast, or how you press your hand to your lower back after a long day. when he suggested a babymoon—an escape to a peaceful spa retreat—you didn’t hesitate to agree.

he planned everything perfectly, even down to booking a specialist renowned for her prenatal massages. you both have been counting down the days, excited for the chance to unwind together.

before heading to the spa, you and jungkook decide to grab some coffee.

today, the weather is cool with a crispness in the air that feels refreshing after yesterday’s warmth.

jungkook parks the car at a nearby café on the corner of the street and helps you out. the small bell above the door jingles as you walk in. the vibe inside is laid-back and peaceful—wooden tables, soft lighting, and a chalkboard menu that gives it a homely feel, but the low hum of conversation fills the space with a quiet buzz of life.

you both are a little more sensitive this time around, but who could blame you? between the pregnancy hormones and the life changes, things have been tough. but it’s okay. things are better now.

life has never felt more full.

jungkook squeezes your hand before heading up to the counter to order, while you take a seat by the window, a few tables away from the barista station. from your spot, you can watch him as he approaches the counter, where a young woman with bright eyes and an easy smile greets him.

"good morning! what can i get for you today?" she asks, her voice chipper and smooth, a little too warm for your liking.

maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones, but… truly, there’s something in her voice you dislike.

she leans slightly against the counter, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, her attention fully fixed on jungkook. you tilt your head and sit back in your chair a little more. this is interesting.

jungkook offers his usual friendly smile. "one iced americano, and one matcha oat milk latte, please."

the barista starts punching in the order, her eyes flicking up to meet his. "iced, even in this weather? bold choice. i like that."

jungkook laughs softly, the sound filling the quiet space and making you smile unconsciously as you fiddle with the napkin in front of you. you can hear snippets of their conversation from where you sit. the barista's tone shifts just slightly—casual but laced with subtle flirtation.

"so, aside from iced coffee at 8am, do you ever drink coffee at 4pm?" she asks, her eyes lingering on him a bit longer than necessary. "my shift ends at 4pm. how do you like your coffee then?"

you feel your shoulders tense, a little twist in your stomach forming as you watch. it’s harmless. you know it’s harmless, but something about the way she’s looking at him makes your heart squeeze uncomfortably.

jungkook, ever the oblivious sweetheart, glances toward you. his gaze softens when your eyes meet. without missing a beat, he grins and says, "with my wife."

the barista falters for a moment, caught off guard. her smile tightens, and she forces a laugh, quickly recovering.

"well, aren’t you… committed. that’s nice to see."

you catch the way jungkook's lips twitch, clearly proud of himself for the quick response. he gives you a little wink, and despite the initial rush of warmth from his words, the insecurity starts to creep in again. you glance away, pretending to be interested in the view outside the window, but you can’t shake the way your stomach churns. it’s a familiar wave of self-consciousness washing over you.

it’s stupid, you think to yourself.

but... why does this bother me?

even if he always says the right things... fuck.

your hand then drifts down to rest on your belly, the growing baby inside serving as a constant reminder of the changes you’ve been going through. the swelling, the mood swings, the way your clothes don’t fit the same anymore—it’s all there. it bubbles just under the surface. seeing someone so effortlessly pretty and carefree—someone who hasn’t been carrying another human for months—playfully flirting with your husband only magnifies that feeling.

jungkook pays, grabs the drinks, and walks over to you, placing one in front of you as he takes a seat.

"got your favorite," he says, flashing you that same smile that always melts your heart.

you force a smile back, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

"thanks, honey."

he narrows his eyes slightly, reading you like a book.

"everything okay?"

"yeah, i’m fine," you reply, taking a sip from your cup, hoping it hides the tiny lie. the weight of your feelings lingers, leaving a heaviness in the air that jungkook can sense, even if he doesn’t fully understand.

for now, he lets it slide, though you know him well enough to recognize that he’s not going to leave it alone for long.

the spa day is as luxurious and blissful as you imagined it to be.

you tried your best not to let your waves of jealousy and insecurity get in the way of experiencing this with jungkook… but it’s a lot easier said than done.

you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious the entire time. you couldn’t help but notice the longing gazes the staff had as jungkook walked by your side… it made you feel sick to your stomach.

… like, yes! he’s handsome.

but he’s also mine? so close your eyes.

aside from that, you and jungkook had a great time with the massages and truly felt relaxed. it was so nice to spend time with him like this… which is why a part of you immediately feels guilty when he helps you get dressed at the end of the session.

“honey, you okay?” jungkook says, as he helps zip up your jacket.

you look at him, trying to blink the thin layer of your teary eyes. “y-yeah.”

he blinks at you.

“is your body feeling okay? was the massage too much—w-what’s going on? why are you about to cry?”

“no,” you step closer, your arms slowly sliding around his neck and draw him in. your fingers lace gently at the nape of his neck, brushing against the soft strands of his hair. “it was perfect. thank you so much for bringing me here, honey. i love you.”

“i love you too.”

instinctively, jungkook leans into you, your forehead almost touching. his gaze softens, and there's a tenderness in the way you hold him. he loves this. it’s like you’re grounding yourself in his presence. even though he knows you’re withholding some truth, he’ll take this for now.

“you sure?” he attempts once more.

“mhm,” you nod, making an effort to lighten your tone. “let’s get some dinner, yeah?”

dinner was lovely.

it was the kind that left your heart and stomach feeling equally full. jungkook had made you laugh so much, telling stories and cracking little jokes that slowly but surely melted away the weird mood from earlier. you’d almost forgotten about the lingering unease as his laughter filled the cozy cabin, a warmth settling between the two of you.

now, as you both lounged comfortably in the soft glow of the fire, jungkook’s playful grin returned.

“you know,” he said, nudging your knee, “we’ve got that hot tub just waiting for us.” his eyes sparkled mischievously. "let's take advantage of it."

you tighten your lips.

"come on," jungkook grins, tugging gently at your hand. "the hot tub’s waiting for us. you know you want to."

you hesitate, glancing out toward the balcony where steam rises into the cool evening air. the idea of sinking into the hot water sounds tempting, but the lingering weight of your jealousy from earlier makes you feel uneasy. you haven't said anything about it yet, but it sits at the back of your mind.

jungkook’s eyes search yours, his expression softening as he steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“you deserve to relax, honey. this whole weekend is for you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "let's enjoy it."

you want to tell him.

you want to explain the knot in your chest, the little twist of insecurity that made you feel silly. but instead, you just smile—small and tight—because he's right. this trip is supposed to be about unwinding, about feeling good again, and you can’t bring yourself to ruin the mood.

“okay,” you say, your voice quieter than usual. “let’s do it.”

jungkook’s face lights up instantly, a boyish grin spreading across his lips.

“love you, mama.” he pulls you in for a quick kiss, his excitement infectious as he heads toward the balcony to get the tub ready.

the outdoor hot tub and sauna sit on the edge of the property, steam rising into the chilly air. as you stand at the edge of the hot tub, you strip down your robe. jungkook, who has been sitting in the hot tub mentally preparing himself for you—is more than delighted to watch you lower yourself into the bubbling water.

jungkook looks up from the water with soft, adoring eyes. his expression is completely relaxed yet focused, entirely captivated by you. the steam rises around him, but it’s the warmth in his gaze that stands out the most. a kind of quiet affection that radiates with every glance. his lips are slightly parted, and though he says nothing, the way his gaze clings to you speaks volumes. he's utterly consumed by you. every detail of your presence pulling him deeper into that gentle obsession. (gentle… yeah right). his tattooed arm rests casually on the edge of the hot tub, but even with his laid-back posture, there's an intensity in the way he watches you.

truly, you're the only thing in the world that matters to him.

offering him a small smile, you finally sink into the water and sit. jungkook moves from his spot to in front of you. he opens his arms and you let out a giggle as he wraps himself around you. you can’t help but giggle… you aren’t blind.

jungkook comes to you—wet, tatted, and toned.

as his arms envelop you, the warmth of his body against yours sends shivers down your spine. you can’t help but admire the way the water glistens on his skin and how hot and bothered his tattoo sleeve is making you. for a second, jungkook pulls away to smirk at you… when he does so, it ignites a flutter in your stomach. you find yourself lost in the depths of his eyes.

you’re convinced that the glint in them can heal your soul.

in this intimate space, the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in your own little bubble. you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he pulls you closer, a reminder of the love you share, a bond that only grows stronger in moments like this. the steam swirls around you, but it’s the connection between your souls that truly warms your heart, making you more and more aware that this is where you belong—right in the center of his gaze.

"this was a good idea," you breathe. “i needed this."

jungkook kisses the top of your head before he moves and slips in beside you. his arm naturally rests around your shoulders.

“anything for you, mama,” he whispers, breath visible in the cool air. he tilts his head, sneaking a kiss on your cheek. you smile as he does so, feeling like you could melt. “i’m so happy you’re happy.”

you laugh softly, resting your head on his shoulder. "you make me happy.”

jungkook’s face lights up.

it’s moments like these where he feels his heart is lifted. there’s nothing better than hearing you say shit like that. it’s so simple but it wholeheartedly gives him the will to live.

jungkook’s hand drifts to your belly.

“i miss zion.”

you laugh. “even though he’s your number 1 hater?”

jungkook scoffs at you. though what you said is true, he refuses to accept it.

“he’s gonna have to learn to love us equally… or at least, need me a little more,” he sighs. “to be honest… i’m kind of worried about when you go into labour and the entire new shift in our family. don’t get me wrong—i think zion is a great kid. as unbias as i can be, he truly is kind. he’s curious and understanding at the same time. he’s funny and sociable… but i’m concerned that if he isn’t into me right now and he’s been awfully clingy with you… w-well, i’m not sure how we’re gonna navigate through that. our baby is going to need you and i want to protect your peace of mind and recovery… but i also want to be an accessible father to zion and leave enough time and things for myself. i d-don’t know if i’m making any sense but—”

you nod, listening to him. everything he mentioned makes sense to you. you feel the same way and have also worried about how zion will be as a brother. he’s completely capable of it and he has shown excitement regarding your pregnancy—but it’s different when it happens.

“i feel the same way,” you admit, taking your hand and resting it on his cheek. “everything is so new and there’s so much more than just welcoming a new baby… all your feelings are okay and i appreciate you being able and willing to talk about them even when they don’t make sense to you. see, when you do and say things like this—it eases me. we’re not going to get everything right. we’re going to mess up and there will be times where our priorities rearrange and the adjustment sucks… but we’ve been through worse and made it through. this is our life together, honey. we’re going to make it work. we’re going to be okay.”

jungkook takes your words in.

they give him a rush of comfort and feels instantly better. there’s no other way of describing the kind of relief you give him.

he believes in you so much.

you reach over and kiss him. he kisses you back, happily and deeply. when you pull away he lets out a sigh of relief.

“in other news… yoongi and his new girlfriend? don’t they remind you of us?” jungkook begins. “like when we were dating and how dramatic we were about always being together? she lives two cities away and he’s constantly driving back and forth.”

you laugh, recalling all the lovestruck texts yoongi sent you. not too long ago, he asked for anniversary date ideas and it made you feel funny. with his past girlfriends, he never bothered to ask for help or even get his friends involved. he was usually quiet about them… but with this new one, he’s on blast.

you and jungkook met yoongi’s girlfriend a few months ago. just before the wedding actually. she was really warm and brought a brighter part of yoongi out. you’ve never seen that side of him. he would glow while she smiled. it was decided then and there that she would be invited to your wedding.

“yoongi is falling in love again," you say with a laugh. "maybe a little fast but it’s also really nice to see him passionate about someone… and he’s grown.”

jungkook chuckles, nodding. "yeah, he’s head over heels this time."

you pause, then casually add, “she’s really pretty and kind… so i understand why he’s lovestruck.”

the silence that follows is enough for jungkook to realize there’s more on your mind. you glance over at him before finally asking, “she’s pretty right?”

“i’m married.”

“you’re allowed to think other women are pretty… l-like the barista from this morning. she was pretty, right?” you repeat.

jungkook’s eyes slightly widen. his body stiffens, not expecting the shift.

“i think you think she’s pretty.”

you bite your inner cheek. “because she was pretty—”

“no.”

“it’s okay,” you attempt to sound cool. “you can admit it. i won’t be mad—”

“i think my wife is pretty. the prettiest.”

“she was pretty—”

he shrugs, eyes beginning to panic. “honey, i couldn’t tell ya—“

“jungkook,” you groan. “be serious—“

“i am,” jungkook lets out a harsh scoff. “are you?”

you feel a little sick.

not because of the pregnancy but because you know you’ve provoked him. suddenly, his gaze lowers and the unbothered expression he had on a second ago is long gone.

“___, my love—my wife… you know you’re carrying my child, right? not only have you carried my first, second, and now third—holy shit. i don’t mean to sound so angry right now, but if what you’re insinuating is that i haven’t fucked you deep enough to feel the love i have for you then—fuck. we have an issue here. i am angry.”

you heart stops the moment he mentions your second pregnancy. “no. that’s not what i—“

“tell me now,” jungkook demands. “have i not kissed every inch of your body enough for you to understand how in love i am with it? with you? have i or have i not, huh? or should i fuck you right now so i can prove shit? fuck, ___. am i not a grown-ass man that falls at the feet of his wife—no. don’t look away. i want you to fucking look at me when i’m talking to you.”

you tighten your lips and look up at him. for a moment, you look down and away. he caught your look and pulled you back into reality. his reality.

the atmosphere shifts.

“are you okay?” he asks for the nth time today. “are we okay?”

jungkook chases for your eyes. you look at him and feel overwhelmed. you can’t help it. before you know it, tears stream down your face.

“i d-don’t know,” your voice shakes. “i don’t mean to pick a fight. i don’t know why i’m so insecure right now—i just… i didn't mean to be so sulky the entire day. please, jungkook... i love you and appreciate everything you've done for this babymoon... and i know that the barista flirting with you this morning was nothing. i know it was nothing. girls have hit on you way more than that but i think because i’m pregnant and she was so pretty—”

you let out a sob. “i know you love me and there are more important things in our life than to be crying over stupid shit like this… but i can’t help it. w-why do you have to be so handsome?”

you hit his bare chest and he moves back, pretending like it hurt. pouting, you cross your arms at him.

“a-and you can’t blame me. you always flirt with me and get me all hot and bothered but haven’t actually fucked me in 2 months. 2 months, jungkook! what the fuck! this is literally your fault. i look and act like this because of your fucking cum—”

“oh my god,” he hisses. “honey, do you know how hard it’s been for me to not rip your clothes off? do you have any idea how i feel when i touch you and all you do is glow? as much as this makes me sound like a pathetic loser—i’m scared to. if i fuck you while you’re pregnant, i’m literally going to cumbust. i’m going to fall in love with you even more. i don’t know if i can handle that—can you? god, do you know how much this all means to me? you think it’s just me being inside you again—which, fuck, i miss that too—but to me it’s so much more. i can’t even find the words to say how utterly sick my mind gets when i think about us fucking with you pregnant like this.”

you stare at him blankly.

“you’re pregnant—your body is changing,” he pauses. “... and i’m so grateful for you. for this divine body. you can be insecure all you want and i will do anything and everything to prove them wrong—but the truth is… i’m selfish right now. ___, i love how needy you are. i love how your boobs overflow in my hands. i love the bump. i love how flush your cheeks are. i love that you can’t bend and i get to do more things for you. i love that you want me more. so fuck. sorry if i don’t give a shit if a young barista hits on me or if yoongi has a girlfriend—i’m captivated by you. i only know you and your beauty. i only want you.”

jungkook has always loved you.

over and over again, he has shown, fought, and waited for you with his love like no other. to be frank, it feels like every day there is a new reason for him to love you.

when you became pregnant with zion, he didn’t know how to function. he was genuinely mindblown and breathless from how much he loved you. then, as you two went through your second pregnancy and continue to heal together from the circumstances, he thinks; this must be it.

because there is no way he could love you any more than this.

… but he does.

there’s something about seeing you pregnant that makes him fall even harder. seeing you in this light—happier and safe… it strikes him differently. the feeling plunges right into his heart and fills it with more admiration and appreciation for you.

you see, it’s in the little things.

how you absentmindedly rub your belly when you talk about the baby, or the way your eyes soften when you feel a kick. he’s in awe of how strong you are, how you’ve adapted to every change with grace, even when it’s tough.

watching you carry his child, seeing the way your love has grown to make room for this new life, has only deepened his devotion. to him, you’ve never looked more beautiful, more radiant—more divine.

the steam swirls around you and jungkook.

instead of saying more, he leans closer. his eyes lock with yours and you gulp. he brushes a damp strand of your hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering against your skin.

it feels like he’s taking forever to kiss you.

he looks at you needy and desperate. leaning in, he tilts his head and closes in on you. time stops when his lips met yours. he kisses you with such demand.

opening your mouth ever so slightly, you allow him in. he deepens the kiss, melting away any lingering tension. he pulls you closer, his abs touching your bump. jungkook moans into the kiss and you smile. then, he slides his hands around your waist and his fingers play with the hem of your bikini bottom. you let out a gasp when he pinches your ass. he pulls away from the kiss and laughs, before placing a kiss on your shoulder.

then, he lifts his face and kisses you again. pulling away once again, you giggle as his fingers tug down your bottoms.

“need you.”

you scrunch your nose at him.

it’s so strange to you because pregnancy isn’t that glamorous. you aren’t blind and jungkook doesn’t exactly do much to wipe the drool that dribbles down his mouth when he sees you paddle like a penguin… but seriously? the hot tub?

“in the hot tub?”

“in the hot tub?” he mocks you.

you squirm as he successfully takes your bottoms off. he smirks as he tosses them to the side. jungkook then squats and lifts you to switch positions. as he sits, he settles you on top of him. he bites his bottom lip as he concentrates on taking his shorts off.

"come on," he whines. "it's sexy."

“im pregnant,” you remind him. “i don’t know if i can—”

“you can,” jungkook assures you. “you will.”

just like that, you fold.

you trust him.

when he takes his shorts off, he helps you get more comfortable. as you sink into his cock, you plant both of your hands on his shoulders. you wince as you hump and grind on him.

he feels so big.

jungkook playfully pouts. “what’s wrong, mama? you were crying about not having me inside you—now that i am, what? what is it? too big?”

you nod as you come down.

“should’ve prepped.”

jungkook’s pout turns into a mischievous smile.

“why? this is for me. i like that you’re so sensitive. don’t you? you feel it, right? you’re so tight, mama. can feel you clenching. your fucking pussy has grip… and look at you. fucking yourself onto me like a good girl cos you love this fat cock so much. you love this.”

you nod, feeling his length in your guts. “yes, daddy. love this cock so much. thank you for my baby.”

he inhales sharply before wrapping his arms around you. jungkook rips off your bikini top and stuffs his face into your breasts. he kisses them, taking his time to lick and suck your nipples. when he pulls away, he brings his hands to them.

he squeezes them tightly and watches the way your flesh spills in between his fingers. your breasts got so fucking big—he loves them.

“god bless these breasts,” he hums. “you like that, mama? you like it when i play with your tits like this?”

slap.

“say thank you to me,” he insists. “with my fucking cum, your tits wouldn’t be this delicious.”

you ride him slower.

“thank you, daddy.”

slap.

“again. say it like you mean it.”

you moan as he smacks them once more.

“thank you, daddy—oh,” you pant as he twists your nipple. he looks at you, mouth slightly opened and eyes darted at you. “t-thank you for my tits. thank you for cumming inside me and always stuffing me full. you’re so big and i’m so thankful. thank you, thank you, thank you—mmfphh—”

jungkook pulls your hair, tilting you back.

he shoves his face back to your tits before licking his way up to your neck. you feel him throb inside you and suddenly think that the jets and led lights in this hot tub add to the tension. it feels so good.

pleasure is an understatement.

the way jungkook fits inside you is incredible.

it’s near indescribable actually. you must have saved an entire nation in your past life to deserve dick this good. you ride the high, feeling the tightness in your stomach knot more and more. then, finally, jungkook tells you to get off.

as you do so, he lets go of your hair and takes you by the waist. he bends you over. you plant your hands on the edge of the hot tub as he hisses, smacks your ass, and shoves himself back inside your pussy.

he fucks you, making sure to have a handful of your boobs as he does so.

it’s what he deserves.

jungkook bites your shoulders as you moan. cheek to cheek, you both begin to pant. he digs himself deeper and deeper, you swear the curves of his dick have engraved themselves into your pussy.

“f-fuck yeah, mama—t-that’s it,” jungkook murmurs into your ear. “my dirty fucking slut. so needy and bratty when you’re pregnant. you’re my fucking princess.”

“n-not a princess—”

“you are though,” he breathes our sharply. “my babymama… god, i love you. i love this fucking cunt so much. i’m sorry i haven’t been fucking it. practically fucking self sabatoge… didn’t wanna obsess over you even more—f-fuck. you feel so good. i was a fool. i’m sorry, mama. i’m s-so fucking—nghh—”

jungkook slams himself into you harder and harder. the water splashes and the sounds of the hot tub jets are put into second place. you whimper and moan, matching his pace. he feels like he’ll lose his mind soon.

you sound so pretty.

you are so pretty.

right then and there, jungkook reaches for your clit. he rubs on it, elevating your pleasure.

"my pretty mama."

"oh my god—"

jungkook lets out a big exhale. “mhmm. feel good, mama? you like the way i touch you? so fucking pretty. the prettiest. f-fuck, ___... daddy’s got you.”

he lets you enjoy for a few more seconds before bringing his wet hands to cup your cheeks. he tilts your face up and squishes your lips together. he kisses you before moving back to your neck. there, he nibbles on your skin to leave marks.

“i love you,” he pants. “i love you, mama.”

“i love you too, daddy.”

what bliss.

jungkook cums first and feeling the way his cum shoots inside you finishes you off. you cum seconds after and reach for kisses. jungkook lowers his face and kisses you. against your lips, he murmurs;

“10 minute break. can we have sex inside for round 2?”

the babymoon turned out to be everything you needed and more after you and jungkook talked (fucked) through your feelings. truth is, all you can really recall is cumming so much you were afraid your water was going to break. for the past 2 months where you two didn’t fuck—he’s made up for it.

once the air was cleared, any lingering tension melted away, and the rest of the trip was filled with small, intimate moments that made you both fall deeper into this new chapter of your lives. there was that one morning when jungkook woke up early, made breakfast, and brought it to bed with the most endearing, sheepish grin.

“thought we could start the day off cozy,” he said, climbing back into bed beside you. his warmth immediately soothing. you spent that morning feeding each other bites of fruit between soft kisses, the world outside feeling distant and irrelevant.

every night, you two facetimed zion. watching his bright little face light up the screen as he excitedly told you about his adventures with his grandparents.

“look, daddy, i made a painting for mommy!” he shouted, showing off a messy splash of colors that had you both smiling.

of course it was a painting for mommy.

jungkook asked for his and zion said; “i don’t know. maybe baby will make you one.”

during those quiet nights—heads close together, watching zion through the phone or lying side by side, soaking in the peacefulness—you realized just how "married" you felt. this trip wasn’t just a getaway; it was a reminder of the life you were building together, the love that had deepened through every challenge.

as the sun began to set on the last day of your babymoon, the golden light streaming through the windows bathed the cabin in a warm glow. you and jungkook had spent the afternoon doing nothing in particular—just enjoying each other’s company. lounging in comfortable silence, sharing lazy conversations, and occasionally stealing soft kisses.

“hard to believe it’s almost over,” jungkook murmurs, his fingers gently tracing circles on your back as you rested against him. you hummed in agreement, feeling completely at ease as if all the worries and stresses from before had melted away during your stay.

“i could stay here forever,” you replied with a soft smile, half-joking but meaning it more than you’d care to admit. “but i miss zion and the mom guilt is hitting so hard right now.”

jungkook chuckled and kissed the top of your head.

“do you think he misses me?”

you laugh and then cover your mouth. “did you get funnier or something?”

“haha,” jungkook rolls his eyes. “i really fucking hope this baby likes me more.”

you laugh again, sinking further into him. you rest your hand over your belly. your eyes widen when you feel a kick, you grab jungkook’s hand and place it on top of the spot.

“i think baby will.” you say softly. "hey, we can talk about baby names on our way home! i’m excited.”

and just like that, the babymoon comes to a quiet, contented end. nothing dramatic or grand—just the two of you, basking in the love and peace that had surrounded you for the past 10 days.

as jungkook drives, the soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the car windows. jungkook hums to a the music playing. the gentle melody soon turns into him singing softly, his voice filling the car with a soothing warmth.

your hand rested on your belly, and almost as if on cue, you felt a tiny kick. the baby reacts to his singing, little movements following the rhythm. you laugh quietly, placing your other hand over his. "someone’s already a fan of your voice," you said, glancing at him.

he grins, continuing to sing as he squeezes your hand. "oh? i guess i’m the favourite. in your face, mama," he jokes. “finally…” but there’s a hint of emotion in his eyes. as though the simple act of singing to your baby makes everything feel even more real.

you laugh and gaze out the window.

"yeah. baby likes your voice," you reply, giving his hand a squeeze.

“you okay?” jungkook asks. “what’s with that look? what’s on your mind, honey?”

"i was just thinking... about names."

jungkook raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "oh? got any ideas?"

you hesitate for a moment, then the name just slips out.

"zia,” you reveal. “what do you think of zia? i saw it a few times online and in the baby name book… i called her zia once last week and she kicked. the name itself connects to light, family, and brilliance… radiance."

he repeated it under his breath, testing it out.

"baby zia… i like it." jungkook smiles warmly, taking your hand and kissing it.

you smile back, feeling a sudden surge of love for both jungkook and the tiny life you were bringing into the world.

the name feels right, like it had been waiting for you all along. you can’t wait to get home and share the news with everyone. you can’t wait to go home together, hug and kiss zion, and fall asleep next to your husband.

everything has fallen into place and life is truly so beautiful.

#bts smau #jk scenario #jungkook imagnie #jungkook smut #jungkook married au #jungkook x yn #bts smut

2K notes · View notes

snoopyracing · 7 months ago

Text

wanna be yours // ln4

pairing: lando norris X american!reader / mclaren photographer!reader

word count: 18k (listen.... i couldn't stop so get a snack bc it's a long one)

warnings: cursing, alcohol use, smut (18+) (oral, p in v, no protection, praise kink, edging, and choking)

includes: heavy mutual pining and jealousy, asshole!lando, clueless lando and reader, a little lando X oscar X reader bff trio, friends to enemies to ???, and time manipulation ( idk wtf to call it i just changed the creation date of lando.jpg lmao)

summary: you're the mclaren f1 team photographer and lando can't help but get jealous at your friendship with logan sargeant.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Not many people in the world get to do what they love as a career. It was something you were grateful for everyday. If you were being honest, you never saw yourself being a sports photographer. After graduating high school you had your eyes set on more editorial work, but it didn't take long for you to figure out that it wasn't for you. Years had passed and then an opportunity arose for a job working with IndyCar. You sent in your portfolio and somehow you got the job. That one on a whim decision changed your life forever.

People were insanely impressed with your skills, considering you had never done sports photography before, let alone motorsports. You had made some connections with people while working the job and somehow got connected with someone on the McLaren Formula One team. McLaren liked what they saw, and after a handful of emails, some serious debating, and support from your family; you had made the leap. Now here you are in your second year as McLaren's F1 team photographer.

Oscar and you joined McLaren the same year and the two of you clicked instantly, bonding over being newcomers to the team. It took about a three months for Lando to warm up to you, but once he did, look out. The three of you were never far from each other during race week. Some of the older drivers liked to call you three 'the triplets' because you were always in tow of one another.

You had made another new friend recently, Logan Sargeant. He joined F1 the same year started with McLaren, but you hadn't really made that many friends outside Oscar and Lando besides a couple other drivers. That changed at the beginning of this season. The two of you had started to be more friendly, and it didn't take long for a connection to form. It was nice to have someone that reminded you of home around, even if you guys were from two completely different states.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Monza

The Italian Grand Prix had just ended and Lando had made podium, placing P2 to be exact. As you stood there waiting for him to get out of the car you snapped a couple pictures making sure your settings were correct. The buzz in the air after Lando or Oscar made podium was something you still hadn't gotten used to. It was electric; from the cheers and chants from the fans, to hollering from the team as he exited the vehicle. You snapped a few photos as he greeted the team, a small bounce in his step proved he was more than ecstatic about his placement. It was a tough race, everyone had brought their A game today, drivers and cars included. So it was fair to say P2 was an excellent spot to be in, even if you would have loved to see him on that top spot.

His helmet and balaclava were off and you knew he was coming your way, so you readied your camera in his direction. Looking through the viewfinder you saw the giant smile that erupted on his face when he saw you and you couldn't help but to reciprocate one as equally as big back to him as you snapped away. One last one was taken of him with two fingers up indicating the second place he had just achieved. As you lowered your camera his arms were already indicating your invitation into them. Your arms wrapped around his torso, something that was just muscle memory to you at this point.

"That was one hell of a race. Congrats Lan." He had you wrapped so tight in his embrace that your words were mumbled against his shoulder, but he understood you just fine.

"Hmm. Thank you love." The term of endearment raised goosebumps on your arms. And as you pulled away from the hug his touch lingered for longer than it should have, something you clocked immediately.

To say you and Lando had a different friendship was an understatement. In fact, you didn't know of any other driver and their team photographer to have a relationship like Lando and you. About six months into your first year with McLaren you had developed a tiny crush on Lando and for the longest time you thought he possibly may have liked you back.

The fact that he was always touching you was one of your first inklings. If it was possible, the Brit was always in close proximity to you. If you were sitting next to each other, your knees were touching or his arm was behind you. Not to mention his lingering touches, hugs lasting longer than they should, his hands lingering on your waist, his fingers grazing you as he passed by. The way he acted with you was far from professional, but you weren't complaining.

Your second inkling was the gift giving. How many people can say their co-worker got them a Cartier bracelet for Christmas? None that you could think of. It wasn't even just expensive things that he would get you. If you guys were at headquarters he would always bring you an iced coffee from the place down the road. You had mentioned once that you preferred their coffee to other places and to your surprise Lando showed up the next day with one in hand for you. Or just even the fact that when you're with Lando, doing anything, he pays. Doesn't matter what it is, he's there with his card in hand, ignoring your pleas to let you pay for once.

The terms of endearment Lando used towards you had also made you wonder if he felt more than friendly feelings. The term 'love' was used quite often, along with 'beautiful'. Both terms surely in violation of HR, but Lando didn't seem to care as he said both freely with no concern of who heard him. And each time he did you tried to hide the blush that would creep onto your cheeks or try not to let him detect how fast your heart was beating when he had you in his arms.

So, to say Lando Norris had you smitten over him was an understatement, but you never acted on that crush for two reasons. One; you didn't want to risk your job, you were sure HR would have a conniption fit if a relationship ever developed between the two of you. You were surprised you hadn't gotten a talking to by PR at least for how you guys acted sometimes during race weeks.

Second; you never truly knew how he felt. Lando Norris liked to mess with your head. In all honesty he probably didn't know that he was, you had never expressed how you felt about him, he had no obligations towards you. But to have him act like he does with you and then that same day see him on Twitter leaving a club with some girl was undoubtedly going to fuck with your head..

After the third or fourth time of waking up to news about who Lando was hooking up with, you knew it was time for your crush to go away. He clearly wasn't interested in you and you were never one to admit your feelings first. So, those feelings got tucked away into a little corner in your brain, locked away, to hopefully never be opened again. Not wanting to lose Lando entirely (and your job), you accepted that you guys were just friends. That he was just one of those people who were naturally flirty, and that maybe you shouldn't take his words and actions to heart. Telling yourself that he wouldn't even be interested in someone like you when he had so many ethereal breathtaking women at his fingertips. And it worked, until he would let his hands lingered after a hug or a term of endearment slipped past his lips. His mindless actions jiggling the door knob to those locked away feelings in your brain.

As he took the podium your cheesy grin had returned as you snapped some more pictures. He really did look amazing up there and no matter what you felt or still feel about him you were always going to be proud of him. He was one of your best friends and as long as you were concerned, nothing was going to change that. The champagne went flying minutes later and more pictures were taken. The celebration continued for a while and as the drivers did their press interviews you made your way back to the hotel to start editing and picking the final pictures to be used on social media.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Lando had made it back to the hotel after finally finishing all his post race duties. He was satisfied with his placing today, sure he would have loved to have won, but everyone was cutthroat today, he just felt lucky enough to have made podium at all. Of course his night was far from over though, the celebrations had just only begun when the champagne was popped at the podium. He planned on having one hell of a night, he deserved it. And it was a no brainer to him that you would be there with him, any chance he got to spend with you, he took. After taking a shower he grabbed his phone to call you, and to no surprise you answered on the second ring.

Your melodic voice filled his ears, a smile tugging at his lips as he heard you speak. "Hello?"

The phone was on speaker as he dug through his suitcase, trying to find a shirt to wear. "We are going out in about an hour. You coming?"

A sigh echoed through the speaker. "I've got a lot of work to still do. You know I don't just take all these pictures for my own person pleasure."

He finally found a shirt and as he buttoned it he couldn't help but laugh at your words. "Oh really? I thought you just took all those pictures because you were obsessed with me.

You scoffed at his cockiness. "You wish Norris. Someone has to fix that face."

"Ouch. Don't talk about Oscar like that." He joked.

He wasn't there but he was sure that you had rolled your eyes at him. "Whatever. I have work to do." You stated. But Lando knew that wasn't true and that you were coming out tonight, you could never tell him no. If Lando was being honest with himself, he couldn't really tell you no either. If anything the two of you just liked to play cat and mouse.

Cologne wafted through his room as the conversation continued. "You're telling me, you would rather sit in your room all night editing pictures than going out with your favorite person and some of your other friends?"

You laughed at his choice of words. "My favorite person? I didn't know Logan was going?"

Logan.

Just hearing his name roll off your tongue put a sour taste in Lando's mouth. The two American's friendship being a sore subject to Lando as of recently.

He ignored you comment, the lightheartedness of the conversation had dissipated at the mention of the other male driver. "Be ready in thirty minutes. I'll come get you." He left no time for you to respond, already hanging up and tossing his phone on the bed.

Thirty minutes later he closed his door behind him and walked down the hall to your room. The both of you were on the same floor, but about ten rooms apart. A gentle knock was placed on the door and seconds later it opened. Lando felt his heartbeat quicken at the sight of you standing in the doorway. The skirt you were wearing was very short and as you turned around to grab your phone, he saw that your top that already had him staring from the front, was completely open in the back. This was not an outfit that he was used to seeing you in. Outside the usual McLaren gear you donned, you had a casual style, and when you had went clubbing or out before you had never worn anything this scandalous. He wasn't hating it though, in fact he was far from hating it.

"Eyes up here Norris." You stated as you joined him in the hallway.

He hadn't even realized he was staring, but when your words broke him out of his trance a blush crept onto his cheeks. Lando linked his arm with yours, leading you both towards the elevator. "Sorry for staring. You look beautiful tonight." Lando stated as he pressed the lobby button on the elevator. As the doors closed the smell of your perfume swarmed around him, it was almost intoxicating, combine that with how you looked tonight and his head was spinning.

You replied with a simple 'thanks' as you leaned against the elevator wall. He realized he may have made things awkward with his ogling, but god he couldn't help himself. The ding indicated their ride was over and as the two of them entered the lobby they were met with some of the other drivers standing in a group, undoubtedly waiting for them.

"Finally!" The Monegasque driver hollered.

You approached the group, a smile tugging at your lips. "Sorry boys. You know how Lando has to make sure he looks perfect."

The laughs that came from the guys was the last thing on Lando's mind, he was more concerned over how some of his competitors were looking at you. It was the same way he was looking at you merely minutes ago. His jaw clenched as he watched Charles hand get dangerously close to your back as he walked beside you. And as you got into one of the taxis with Charles and Carlos, he thought he might break a tooth from how hard he was biting down. As the taxi that was occupied with you and the two Ferrari drivers pulled away, Lando begrudgingly got into the next one with Oscar and George, already feeling like tonight wasn't going to plan out like he had hoped.

The music was deafening as Lando entered the club. You were nowhere in sight when he had arrived, so here he was on the hunt. He stopped by the bar, grabbing a shot of tequila for him and your favorite drink to give you when he found you. When he saw Charles off to the side of the room he figured he'd find you with him, but to his surprise Charles was stood there talking to some random guy, with no you in sight.

"Have you seen Y/N?" Lando felt like he was screaming, clubs were loud, he knew that, but this one just felt like it was on another level.

Charles shook his head. "The American stole her away from me! It was a shame, we were having a good time!"

The American. No guessing as to who that was. He stopped by the bar again, this time it was two tequila shots, the burn felt good as it slid down his throat. His eyes scanned the room, it was hard to see. Between the flashing lights, loud music, and bodies in every direction, he figured he'd never find you. Then just when he was about to give up he spotted you. Your back was to him, but he could see the tall blonde driver that was with you, his hands roaming your body as the two of them danced.

Lando tightened his grip on the glass as he watched the two of them and he couldn't help but think 'who the hell invited Logan?' The same hands that were on your body seconds ago now pointed at him, motioning for you to look back at Lando. A smile spread across your face as you realized who was standing there and as you walked over he felt his demeanor soften.

"I've been looking for-" Logan had now come up behind you, his hand resting on you shoulder, causing you to pause for a moment.

Lando's eyes flickered to Logan's hand on your shoulder, then back to you. Fucking ridiculous. He wanted to take Logan's hand and break it, make him not be able to race ever again and then he wouldn't be an issue again. His softened demeanor now long gone. "Here. Your favorite." He stated as he shoved the now watered down drink toward you.

You accepted the drink, but your smile was now gone as Lando turned on his heel to leave. You weren't sure what his deal was, but he on the other hand knew exactly what he was about ready to do.

He wasn't sure how many shots he had consumed by now, but god dammit he was a multi-million dollar F1 driver, who just got podium at the hardest race of the season so far. He was going to drink however much he wanted and no one, not even you were going to ruin his fun.

Lando made his way out to the dance floor and his eye caught the attention of some random girl. Perfect. The music pounded in his chest as the mystery girl and him were less than cordial in the middle of the swarm of bodies. The alcohol coursing through his veins only added to how he was feeling right now. It didn't take long for the random girl to be in tow behind him as they leave the club, for their lips to be on one anothers in the backseat of the taxi, and for his wandering hands to explore her body in the elevator. But what does take long is for him to get into his damn hotel room. He keeps trying and trying and the keycard will not work. He was getting impatient, the last thing he wanted to do was go back down to the lobby, he wanted to get into his room. Then he heard you voice.

"Lando?"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

There was a cool breeze that whipped through the night air as you walked the streets of Monza. The liquor in your veins was the only thing keeping you warm, considering your less than modest outfit choice for the night.

"I'd give you my jacket if I had one." Logan stated as he walked next to you.

You flashed him a smile. "I'm fine really. It's not that bad out."

The two of you had decided to walk back to the hotel, it really wasn't that far of a walk from the club. Plus, you had wanted to soak up as much time in Italy as you could. As you walked you were thankful you didn't go crazy with the drinking tonight, the idea of walking in heels on these streets while plastered sounded horrible. If anything at this point you only had a slight buzz. You couldn't say the same for some of the other drivers who were undoubtedly still living it up at the club.

Light conversation was made between the two of you as you walked.

"Did you have a good time tonight?" You asked.

"I did. I'm glad you decided to come out too." Silence filled the space between the two of you for a moment before the driver spoke again. "Can I ask a question?"

Your heart skipped a beat. You hated when people asked that, just ask the damn question instead of making your mind run worst case scenario, but you simply replied. "Sure."

Logan scratched the back of his neck, like he was unsure if he should even ask the question. But just before you were about the tell him to spit it out, he spoke. "What's up with you and Lando?"

Glancing over at Logan you gave him a confused look. "What do you mean what's up with me and Lando?"

Your question made Logan stop walking. "Oh come on you know what I mean. Are you guys a thing?"

A genuine laugh came barreling out of you. "Me and Lando? Oh yeah and I'm a F1 driver." You had continued to walk, but Logan grabbed your hand pulling you back towards him.

"I'm serious Y/N."

The joking manner of the conversation was now suddenly gone. "Nothing is going on between me and Lando. Believe me." You groaned, Lando was the last thing you wanted to talk about right now, especially after his weird behavior in the club.

Logan's grip on your hand still lingered. "Doesn't seem like it."

You rolled your eyes at him, why did he have a sudden interest in Lando and you? "Logan. There is nothing going on between us. I really like my job and would like to not be fired. You don't think HR has some rules set in place or something? Plus I'm not even his type. I'm not a model or some ethereal woman from some foreign country." His grip on your hand had loosened enough for you to turn and continue walking. He still stood frozen for a moment, processing your words and when he realized how far you had gotten ahead of him he had to jog to catch up to you.

"You like him don't you?" He asked as he finally caught up with you. The little locked door in the back of your brain labeled Lando was bursting at the seams, but you did not want to unlock it tonight, especially to Logan. Thankfully you could see the hotel in the distance and you felt no need to answer Logan's prying question. "I'll get it out of you eventually." Logan stated as the two of you entered the elevator.

You just shook your head at your friend as you leaned your head against the elevator walls. The adrenaline from the eventful day was starting to wear off and the tiredness had set in. As the elevator doors opened you looked back at the tall blonde, holding your hand out to him. "You gonna walk me to my room or did I let you dance with me for no reason earlier?"

Logan's eyes widened as he hurried to your side. "Coming!"

You rested your head against his shoulder as the two of you walked down the hall. "I did really have a good time tonight. Thanks for spending it with me. Even if you did steal me from Charles."

"I think me taking you from Charles was more of a favor or dare I say a good deed." Logan joked.

Rounding the corner to your room you heard giggles and shhs. Logan and you exchanged questioning looks, wondering who was being naughty in the hallway. But as you finally made it into eyeshot of your door you stopped dead in your tracks.

It was Lando and some girl you had never seen before, making out against your door. You felt Logan's grip on you tighten as he forced your feet to move with his towards your room. As you got closer the two of them still had not broken apart, only until you spoke up.

"Lando?"

Lando's eyes turned into saucers when he saw it was you standing there, but as they shifted to the right of you, they narrowed at the sight of Logan with his arm still around your shoulder.

"What are you doing?" It was a rhetorical question, anyone knew what they were doing. As you stood there waiting for a response your eyes glanced over to the girl, she was definitely his type, no doubt about it. The longer you looked the more you had wished you guys would have taken a taxi so maybe you wouldn't have had to witness this.

"Well. I can't seem to get into my room." He fumbled with the key card, still clearly drunk. "Stupid key card won't work."

Your eyes moved back to Lando, a small sigh escaping past your lips as you glanced up at the room number by the door. "That's because you have the wrong room. This is my room, 710. Yours-" you pointed down the hall "is down there, 701."

Lando's mouth formed an O shape after realizing what he had done and the random girl and him erupted into a fit of giggles. You tried to hold back the eye roll that was so badly wanting to let go. "Sorry. Let's go.." Lando paused looking at the girl he had pinned to your door seconds ago.

Jesus christ. He didn't even know her name.

"Bella." The girl answered, not even phased at him not knowing her name.

"Right Bella. Let's go." Lando dragged the girl behind him towards his room. He let the girl go in first and before he passed through the doorway, he gave one last look back at you before slamming the door shut behind him.

A loud sigh escaped past your lips as you stood there, staring at the now empty hallway. You had no reason to be jealous, you knew that. There truly was nothing between Lando and you and tonight was a prime example of him showing you he had no interest in you. But dammit, you couldn't lie and say it didn't sting when you saw him with someone else. Even when you try to push away your feelings, try and bury them so deep that you tell yourself you're fine being friends, being colleagues, but you know deep down that the want for something more will always be there. You dug in your clutch for your key card, finally finding it you scanned it. The little light turned green, but as you placed your hand on the handle you hesitated. Your forehead leaning against the previously occupied door.

"I used to like him."

Logan only gave a slight hum as a reply and when you turned your head to look at him, you knew he knew. He gave you a small smile and quick hug before bidding you goodnight.

"Talk to you tomorrow?" You questioned.

"Of course." He stated as he made his way down the hall.

As you entered your room you flung your heels off and grabbed some pajamas. Your open laptop on the desk caught your attention, you could have swore you saved everything and put it up before leaving earlier. Worst case scenario ran through your head as you turned it on, you prayed all your work wasn't gone. As the screen came to life a picture of Lando popped up. It was one of him you had taken before qualifying the day before. He had a cheesy grin on his face and he held up a number 4 on his fingers, one of his signature poses. You saved the picture and put your laptop up before climbing into bed.

Unfortunately for you, sleep did not come easy that night. You couldn't stop thinking about Lando and that girl. You knew you should just let it go, god knows you've seen him with multiple other women, but tonight was the first time you saw it with your own two eyes, in person. The feeling of seeing it actually happen versus seeing it on Twitter was like night and day. When you saw pictures being spread around, sure it was annoying, but you could just get off your phone and suddenly it was gone. Tonight though, was different, the image forever engraved into your mind. Thinking back to standing in the hallway made your stomach turn, it felt like it had officially confirmed that the idea of the two of you ever being a thing was officially dead.

Yet here you were, tossing and turning in bed. Because tonight you had officially let all those locked away feelings out for the first time in forever. You weren't sure if it was seeing him with that girl that did it or just the hinges finally breaking on that door. You just let yourself fully feel, feel every emotion your brain threw at you. Anger, jealousy, sadness, love? Even though you knew the two of you had no chance, you couldn't help but want. You wanted to be the girl he had pinned against your hotel room door. You wanted to be the girl he kissed before and after his races. Fuck you just wanted to be the girl he loved. More tossing and turning ensued and you just couldn't get your mind to shut off. As you glanced over at the alarm clock on the nightstand the time read 4:04. A dry laugh echoed through the room. 'Fucking number four' you whispered to yourself.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

As Lando awoke the next morning he knew he had made some bad decisions last night. The pounding headache was proof of bad decision number one and the phone number sloppily written on a tissue on his nightstand was proof of number two. He was thankful the girl had left before he woke up, mornings after one night stands were never his strong suit.

His mind wandered to last night as he laid in bed. Perhaps he may have been a little overzealous with his actions. He couldn't help it though, the idea of you not being his drove him crazy. The thought that you was more interested in other guys, especially Logan, always seemed to make him make some not so great decisions. Last night was a great example.

Lando wasn't entirely sure when his feelings for you turned into more than friends. In fact, when he heard they were getting a new photographer he wasn't even that keen on getting to know you. Photographers came and went in this business and a lot of the times he felt like they got in way. Sometimes he just didn't want to have a damn camera in his face, but then he met you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

February 2023

It was a formal setting, a team meeting before the start of the season. Of course the big topic was his new teammate Oscar, who he had met a couple months beforehand, along with the usual beginning of season talks. Towards the end of the meeting he had noticed a girl sitting in the corner of the room, he could tell she felt like she was out of place. He remembers thinking about how beautiful she was, but as he sat there he couldn't remember her from anywhere. Zak had already talked about who was new this season and Lando prided himself on knowing everyone on the team. So who was this mystery girl?

The meeting had finally ended and people were getting up to leave when Zak spoke up. "Oh yes. Sorry I forgot." He pointed towards the mystery girl. "Everyone this is the new team photographer. Y/N. Please make her feel welcome." Lando remembers a blush forming on your cheeks as you gave the room full of people a smile and small wave. As people filed out of the room Lando hung around, wanting to properly introduce himself to you. He noticed you were gathering your things to leave and he knew now was his window of opportunity.

You had bent down to pick up your bag and by the time you stood back up, there Lando stood, a smile tugging at his lips. You jumped a little, startled at the closeness of him. His smile finally broke free as he stuck out his hand for you to shake. "Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you. I'm Lando." As their hands touched he could have swore he felt the "sparks" that they talk about in the movies, his heart beat racing a little as he really took in all your beauty. Not to mention your perfume (that you still used today) that was making his head spin. "Welcome to McLaren." He was finally able to spit out.

"Thank you! I'm glad to be here."

Your accent made his ears perk up. "An American huh? What made you come all the way over here?"

The blush from when Zak introduced you had never really faded and when Lando mentioned your accent it just deepend. "Well, long story short. I used to work for IndyCar, made some connections with McLaren and now here I am."

Lando heard Zak calling his name from the hallway, he didn't want to end the conversation, but duty called. "Boss is hollering for me. It was lovely to meet you though. I'll see you around yeah?" He was trying not to sound like a douche while also trying not to seem overly enthusiastic. A simple 'see ya' came from your mouth as Lando walked out the door.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

For a about a month after that Lando played it cool. He watched you from a distance, watched as your friendship with Oscar formed. Watched as you did you work, something that he realized very early on that you were amazing at.

Around the three month mark Lando had decided that playing it cool was not his forte. He somewhat felt jealous as he watched his teammate and you joke around or when they would go get lunch without him when they were back at headquarters. Lando wanted to be the one you went to lunch with and joked with. He remembers a conversation Oscar and him had about you once.

It was an off week for racing and that meant a couple days were spent at Headquarters running the sim and creating content for social media. Oscar and you had came back from grabbing lunch. He watched them part ways and as Oscar came towards him Lando raised his eyebrows at him, giving him a questioning look.

"Oh don't even start. You know you can come with us." Oscar stated as he sat down.

"Well someone has to stay here and hold down the fort."

Oscar shook his head as he rolled his eyes at his older teammate, sometimes Lando's dramatics made him seem like the younger one. "Yeah I'm sure the hundreds of other people who work here can manage if Lando Norris leaves the building for an hour to go get lunch." Lando stayed silent, only crossing his arms over his chest as he stared back at Oscar. "You gonna finally fess up to why you've been acting so pissy lately?"

Lando scoffed at Oscar's question. "I just thought I would have gotten a lunch invitation by now."

"Literally told you, you can come with us. Y/N has even asked why you don't come with us." Oscar didn't let Lando respond to his comment. "Although, it is weird to me how distant you are with her. You like everyone on the team and I know you would like her too if you got to know her."

Lando shrugged, not exactly sure what to say back to his teammate. He didn't want to say, yes he knows he would like you, in fact the giant crush he has on you right now is making his stupid play cool decision eat away at his brain. The fact that even from only talking to you when necessary for work he's become enamored with you and your work. How you have a knack for capturing him in a way that no other photographer has before. How he thinks that if he lets himself become close to you that it may be bad for the both of them, but he wants to so bad. But he doesn't say any of that. All he says is.

"Well then let's all do lunch tomorrow."

The rest was history. After having lunch with you and Oscar the next day it seemed like you and him were inseparable. Looking back now Lando could have punched himself for not getting to know you better sooner.

As time went on his feelings grew stronger, but he was too scared to say anything. Too afraid to ruin the amazing friendship you guys had. Too afraid that if he opened his big mouth that things may be too awkward and you would leave your job and him. He had grown to love having a camera in his face, but only if you were the one taking the picture. And to think he might get that taken away just because of a crush destroyed him, so he kept his mouth shut.

It was fine for awhile, he would distract himself with random girls (who always somewhat resembled you) any chance he got. Something perhaps he shouldn't be proud of, but people already expected it from him. So why not live up to the playboy expectations? But he soon realized maybe his actions were hurting him more than helping him. When you started to become closer with some of the other drivers he thought perhaps he was pushing you away from him.

That was the last thing he wanted to do, so he thought maybe the best way to reel you back in was through your one true love; photography. Thus, lando.jpg was born. He wasn't going to lie, you truly had gotten him more interested in photography, but the instagram was started under false pretenses. The way his heart skipped a beat when he got a text from you about it was a little embarrassing to say the least.

you: do i need to break the news to zak that you are quitting racing to pursue photography or are you?

lando: nope. was just inspired by one of the best photographers i know.

you: oh so you're coming for my job?

lando: might need to post some content first before i go applying for jobs.

you: well i better be apart of your first post. considering i was the inspiration.

lando: wouldn't have it any other way.

And to no surprise there you were front and center on lando.jpg. Lando even made sure to make the caption "coming for her job". His sudden interest in photography had you around him more often, something he was beyond happy about. It had even escalated to the two of you hanging out, outside of work hours. As time passed it seemed like you two were just getting closer, but yet neither of you would admit your feelings for eachother.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

In Lando's mind he was content with how you were in his life at the moment, that was until a certain American driver entered yours. To give himself some credit, Lando had been pretty good with his actions lately, he hadn't been messing around with anyone for a good while now, but last night was the straw that broke the camel's back. He wasn't really sure if it was just Logan's actions last night or the fact that the Ferrari drivers couldn't have been more friendly with you either.

To Lando you were his and he never was good at sharing his toys as a child, so why should he have to share the girl he was obsessed with? His only problem though (that he could never seem to internalize) was that you weren't his. You were only his in his mind. And that's why he's lying here in this hotel room, alone, with just a headache and a phone number that will be thrown in the trash later.

He recalled the scene in the hallway last night. Sure he was drunk, but unfortunately not drunk enough to forget the whole thing. In his drunken defense he really did get the rooms mixed up, and maybe he would have eventually realized it. It was just his shit luck that you showed up, with Logan in tow. He remembered his stomach turning at the sight of Logan's arm around you. And now come morning he'd made himself nearly sick at the idea of Logan and you sharing a bed together last night, he wouldn't be surprised if you did though, he figured his actions probably drove you right into his arms.

Lando hadn't even realized what time it was until texts come rolling in asking where he was and how the car was going to leave without him.

Shit.

He had never packed his stuff up so fast in his life and as he walked out the door he knew he had probably forgot something. Speed walking was putting it politely, he was more like running down the hallway. He looked down for a split second to grab his phone out of his pocket and then suddenly he's barreling into something. That something turned out be someone, you to be exact. He hated to say it, but you were the last person he wanted to face this morning, considering their encounter in the hallway last night. But his fuck ups were casted aside as he crouched down to look at you.

"Fuck. I'm sorry. Are you okay?" He looked you over, he knew he was like a brick wall, so it had to have hurt when he ran into you.

You rubbed your arm as you looked up at him, his blue green eyes staring back at you with a worried expression on his face. "Goddamn Lando. Watch where you're going." You huffed.

He extended his hands out to help you up and offer you quickly accepted. "I know I'm sorry." He stated sheepishly.

Instead of helping you pick up you bags, Lando took the time to sneak a peek into your room. He wasn't sure what he thought he was going to find. Maybe a naked Logan still under your sheets from last night? But to his relief your room was empty, but he wasn't as quick with it as he thought.

"What are you doing?" You inquired.

His head snapped back to you, your eyebrows raised in question of his actions, your free hand on your hip.

"Just making sure you didn't forget anything." He mumbled out quickly.

An eye roll was all he got back from you as you turned on your heel. Suitcase and bags wheeling behind you down the hall. Lando quickly followed behind you, resembling a lost puppy. As the pair entered the lobby a handful of the other drivers were down there chatting, surely waiting for their cars to arrive. Lando gave some 'heys' as he walked past, there was no time to stop and chat. There were two cars waiting outside the hotel and Lando could see Oscar in the first one. Of course he was already in the car and waiting thought Lando. It was rare for them to all be leaving together. Most of the time they just went their separate ways after a race weekend, but on the rare chances they do have flights together, you always rode in the same car as him and majority of the time they sat by each other on the plane. So he was confused to see you getting into the second car.

After quickly throwing his bags in the back of the first car he trapsed over to the second car, ignoring the shouts from Oscar about missing their flight. The door was still open and as he peered inside the vehicle he'd wished he hadn't. There sat Logan and you, already chatting away. You were practically on Logan's lap with how close you were to him.

Lando cleared his throat, causing the two Americans to look towards him. "Y/N are you riding with me?"

His grip on the door frame getting tighter as he noticed the quick glance Logan and you shared, silence lulling between the three. Your silence already answering his question.

"Actually I'm gonna ride with Logan. He has the same flight too, so it works out." Her words cutting through the silence in the air and he thought that if he gripped the door frame any tighter he was going to leave dents in it.

Perhaps he was pushing you away from him.

"Alright." Lando stated, before what some would say slamming the car door shut.

The look on Oscar's face was the last thing Lando wanted to see when he entered the car. "Shut up." Lando huffed.

Oscar shrugged in response, a small smirk playing at his lips. "I didn’t even say anything!”

Lando rolled his eyes at his teammate, choosing to look out the window as the car started to move. “You didn’t have to. Your face said it all.”

Oscar had been dealing with Lando's hissy fits about you ever since that day he confronted him about going to lunch together. To say Oscar was ready for Lando to either man up and admit to you how he felt about you or move on was an understatement.

He also knew how you felt about Lando. Oscar had a hunch about it just from the way you would look at Lando sometimes. Or the way you would always glance at him when someone had said something funny, guarenting the two of them to be a giggling mess as soon as they made eye contact. Or the way you captured him in photos. Granted you did an amazing job when it came to taking any photos, but you captured Lando in a different way. In a loving way almost, Oscar remembered his girlfriend saying you captured Lando through the female gaze. Something he didn't really get, but clearly it meant something. So when you drunkenly admitted one race weekend how you liked Lando and how conflicted you felt about it all, he wasn't the least bit surprised.

So needless to say Oscar had gotten the rundown on what had occured in the hotel hallway last night from you this morning, infact very early this morning. He was still in bed when your loud pounding on the door woke him up. When he let you in, you just started in and Oscar didn't even say anything, just climbed back into bed as you paced back and forth in front of him. In the same breath you said that Lando is a douchebag, but that you don't care that he was hooking up with random women. Oscar could only let you ramble as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

What Oscar did to get stuck in the middle of his two friends who both clearly wanted each other, but were too stubborn and backwards to just admit how they felt was beyond him. Not to mention one friends solution was to just act like said feelings don't exist. While the other friend can only seem to make things worse for himself, undoubtedly pushing the other person away.

Oscar knew your version of last night, and he knew Lando probably didn't want to relive it, but sometimes stirring the pot was Oscar's only form of entertainment.

“So I take it you don’t want to talk about the hallway incident last night then?”

Lando’s attention averted from the window back to Oscar. “How did you know about that?”

“You forget Y/N’s my friend too-" he debated whether or not to bring up Logan, but fuck it he thought "and so is Logan."

A forced laugh came from Lando. “Everyone just seems to love him don’t they?”

“Maybe Y/N likes him because he doesn’t turn into an ass when she’s around other guys and he doesn't hook up with random women in front of her hotel room.” Oscar knew he was pushing Lando's buttons, something he knew how to do quite well if he did say so himself.

Lando's jaw tensed, what was Oscar’s deal this morning? “Kindly shut the fuck up Oscar.”

Oscar put his hands up in defense. “Just saying. Your actions have consequences. Even if she doesn’t know you're being an ass because you're jealous. I would think, she thinks, you’re just being a shit friend in general. So maybe get yourself in check. Or admit how you feel. Either way something’s gotta give.”

Silence filled the air between the McLaren drivers. Lando knew deep down that Oscar was right, but he would never admit it. To Lando, his self destructive tendencies sometimes made more sense to him than the logical sane ones that Oscar presented him.

No words were exchanged for the rest of the car ride, the Italian pop song playing softly from the radio was the only thing heard. As they boarded the plane Lando still held out some hope that you would sit next to him, like you always did. But that hope was crushed as soon as you sat in the row behind him, with Logan right next to you. His headphones were immediately over his ears, not wanting to hear the two of them the whole plane ride.

The look his teammate gave him as he sat down beside him was one of pity. Maybe he really had fucked up, he had a feeling that things between you and him these past few weeks had been different. But after last night and this morning, there was no doubt their relationship had shifted.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The next two races were in Azerbaijan and Singapore and you were still a little on edge from how Lando acted in Monza. Him slamming the door on Logan and you was beyond ridiculous. His attitude that whole night was also beyond ridiculous, especially considering how well he had performed in the race that day. A far cry from how he performed in the most recent two. Your job had been fairly easy on the Lando content aspect. He hadn't even placed in the top ten in Azerbaijan or Singapore, so that meant no extra pictures of podiums or celebrations for him. Which honestly, was fine with you, considering you didn't know if you were going to get asshole Lando or sweet funny Lando. In Singapore you had gotten asshole Lando, which looking back was ten times worse than his attitude in Monza.

You had some free time before qualifying and so you had inconspicuously made your way over to the William's garage. Mostly everyone there knew you by now as Logan and you had become fairly close. Not to mention the bright papaya uniform didn't allow for any blending in to occur. Logan was talking with some of the mechanics by his car when he spotted you, he quickly excused himself and came over.

"What are you doing in enemy territory?" Logan joked.

"I had some free time, came to see if I could figure out some strategies to relay back."

Logan raised his eyebrows a playful smirk developing on his face. "Oh I see. This friendship has just been a ploy all along!"

You raised your hands in defense, laughs coming from the both of you. "You caught me."

The two of you chatted some more, particularly about how excited you were for the next race, which just so happened to be in Austin. Any chance to be back in the states was one you took full advantage of. It didn't even matter that it wasn't even close to home, it was still home enough to you and you figured Logan thought so too. As the two of you talked about making plans while in Austin you heard a certain British voice holler your name.

"Y/N!"

Both Logan and yours heads turned towards the voice, the voice that sounded more like a mother hollering at her disobedient child than anything.

There Lando stood, his papaya suit making him stick out just like you and by his tone you already knew which Lando you were going to get. He was stood outside the garage, probably not daring to enter. You mouthed a 'what' at him and he motioned for you to come to him. You shook your head at him, deciding to speak up this time.

"I'm talking to Logan. What do you want?"

He rolled his eyes as he begrudgingly made his way towards Logan and you. "Don't you have work to be doing back at our garage?"

What the fuck? What was he trying to be your boss now? You were sure the look on your face was nothing shy of displeasure.

"What are you talking about? I've done more than enough for today and it's still an hour before qualis." You glanced over at Logan and you could tell he was a little taken aback from how Lando had spoken to you.

Lando's eyes lingered on Logan as he spoke. "Well still don't think you should be hanging around in other teams garages while on the clock." His gaze moved over to you. "Don't you think?"

You so badly wanted to smart off to him, make a snide comment about how badly he had done in the last race in Azerbaijan and how maybe he needed to be the one working. But you didn't, you bit your tongue, figuring it would only make things worse. So you only stated the obvious.

"Did Zak send you to come get me or something? Because last time I checked you weren't my boss."

Before Lando could respond Logan spoke up. "I think I'm gonna leave you guys to-"

Your head snapped back to face Logan, grabbing his arm before he could move. "No. We were having a conversation." As you turned to look back at Lando you could have swore you saw him staring at your hand on Logan's arm, but his gaze flickered back towards you too quickly. "Lando I'll be back at the garage in a little bit. I was talking to Logan before you interrupted and I'd like to finish my conversation if you don't mind." Your tone nothing shy of shitty.

You just wanted him to leave, he was causing somewhat of a scene to the people close by. And thankfully for you he left without a word, only a disgruntled look and a huff as he walked back towards the McLaren garage.

"Sorry." You stated as you averted your attention back towards Logan "I don't know what his problem is anymore. Ever since Monza he's been so fucking bizarre. Always hot and cold, I never know what Lando I'm going to get. It's been making my life a little stressful if you couldn't tell."

Logan glanced at Lando walking away then back to you, a small smirk playing on his lips. "I think I might have a hunch."

Your eyebrows furrowed at his statement. What more could Logan know than you? Not to sound like one of those people, but you clearly knew Lando better than Logan. "What? What is it?"

Logan did the old sealing his lips and throwing away the key gesture. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

"Oh come on tell me!" You exclaimed, desperately wanting to know what Logan knew.

He quickly changed the subject. "So how about going to a rodeo in Austin?"

"Logan tell me!"

He only shook his head as you unsuccessfully tried to pry the information out of him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Austin

A month had passed since Singapore and you had spent your break alone. It wasn't horrible, but it wasn't great. If anything it made you realize you really needed to make friends outside of people at work.

It didn't help when pictures from the Bali trip that a bunch of the drivers had went on, Lando included, started to be posted. Bali had treated him well and you wanted to kick yourself for ogling over the pictures of him. Especially after how moody he's been, but you couldn't help it. His sun kissed skin, his curls in full force from the Bali climate, and that stupid smile (that you loved so much) on his face had you smitten.

The break was over soon enough and you weren't that upset because the end of the break meant that you were coming home for a little bit. Something that you had been looking forward to again ever since Miami.

The warm sun hit your face as you walked around the paddock. Texas in October was still warm and you hoped it wouldn't get too hot today. You were giddy, mainly because of being back in the states, but you also just had a good feeling about the race today. Somehow you knew either Oscar or Lando were going to have a good day today, you had hoped both, but at least one would make you happy.

As you snapped some pictures of the crew around the garage you felt a presence behind you. Though you already knew who it was, that cologne had invaded your senses one too many times for you to forget who donned it. Deciding to let him be the one to say something, you pretended you didn't notice him behind you and took some more pictures.

"Think I might be a better photo subject, don't you think?" Of course the first thing out of his mouth was some cheeky comment.

You merely rolled your eyes, and as you turned to face him you quickly captured an off guard photo of him. Clicking the buttons to look back at the photo you grimaced, turning it around to show Lando. "I think this photo says different."

Lando moved in closer next to you to get a better look. "That's not fair! I wasn't ready!" He exclaimed, laughter laced in his words.

Shaking your head you couldn't help but let out a laugh. "Every good photo subject should be camera ready at all times. This right here proves your statement wrong."

"Yeah whatever."

You had suddenly become hyper aware at just how close the two of you were. Your arms pressed against each other as the two of you huddled around your camera. It had been awhile since you had been in this close proximity to him and you weren't sure if it was that or the cologne but your head was spinning. Your gaze wandered from his big hands that now held your camera, up his arms, then neck, and they finally landed on his face. The tan he had acquired in Bali still glowed in the Texas sun and his curls moved slightly in the breeze. God, you had missed him. You had not only missed him physically, you missed the Lando you were in the presence of right now. The funny and sweet Lando. Not the Lando you had in Singapore.

"Hey can we talk real quick?"

Hearing his voice had snapped you out of the trance you didn't even know you were in. A blush crept onto your cheeks, you only hoped he hadn't caught you staring. You only nodded your head at him, hoping you had heard him correctly.

"I wanted to apologize for how I was in Singapore. That wasn't me back there. I think I was still mentally struggling from doing poorly in Azerbaijan and knowing I would and did do poorly in Singapore just added onto it. So again I'm sorry."

Wow. Where did this Lando come from? You were grateful for him apologizing, but there were still plenty of other things he needed to apologize for.

"Oh. It's okay (even though it really wasn't). Thank you for apologizing though." You weren't going to ruin this now rare good moment with Lando, so you quickly changed the subject. "So how was Bali?"

His eyes lit up. "Oh it was amazing. Wish I could have just stayed there. You would have loved it too, you should have come!"

Well, there was never an invite sent your way, so how were you supposed to have come? Is what you wanted to say, but instead you just said. "Think that might be frowned upon in the workplace."

Lando shook his head. "I doubt it. How was your break though?"

You shrugged, it definitely was nothing like Bali. "Just spent some time at home."

A frown stretched across Lando's face. "Now see, now I really wish you would have came."

You just ignored him, the idea that he was stood here telling you he wanted you to come but couldn't even invite you stung a little bit. So you changed the subject again and the two of you chatted until race time, and for a moment it was just like old times. Lando soon left to prepare for the race and you finished up the crew pictures.

Later as you stood there while the national anthem played you had no idea just how crazy your night was about to be.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

If there was a race Lando was looking forward to the least, he would have to say Austin. The main reason being he knew Logan and you would be up eachothers asses.

But after some self reflection during the break he had promised himself he would be on his best behavior from now on. Personal life and racing included. He had trained extra hard this past week, running the sim like no other, and trying make up to the team for how badly he had performed in the previous two races. Everyone knew the car was more than capable of performing, it was the driver who was at fault for the poor position. The driver who after Singapore may have went into a spiral after realizing he may have fucked everything up more even more than what he thought after Monza.

Lando couldn't help it, it was like when he saw you with other guys, specifically Logan, his brain short circuited and every promise he had made to himself about behaving went out the window. But after having that moment with you in the garage moments ago he realized he had to keep his shit together. It was the first real carefree funny moment the two of them shared in months. He didn't want to go that long without it again, without you near him, without hearing your laugh that he had caused. So if all you were ever going to be in his life was a friend, Lando guessed he could live with it.

Him living with it lasted until the post race celebrations.

He had tried, really he had. In fact he held up the racing end of his promise by winning. His first Grand Prix win to be exact. In the post race interviews he credited his win to all the extra hard work he had been putting in and of course the team, but his big motivator may have been winning to impress you. Even if he had said he was fine with being friends, he still wanted to show to you that he wasn't the loser that you had seen in the last two races. Show you that in many ways he was better than Logan, and what better way than to win the race both of them were competing in. And the fact that it was an American race was just an added bonus to him. He was grasping at straws at this point, but the little sliver of hope kept him sane, until it didn't.

How a big group of drivers, significant others, and friends ended up at some club, karaoke bar, line dancing, and mechanical bull place all wrapped into one he will never know. But he was sure you had something to do with it. It was a far cry from the places he was used to overseas or hell even in Miami or Vegas, but he had just won the Grand Prix, he was going to have a good time no matter where he was at.

The drinks were going down smooth tonight, and at one point he had lost count of how many he had consumed. It seemed like they just magically kept appearing in front of him, he was constantly being brought drinks or shots from people wanting to congratulate him on his win. At this point he was starting to feel a little unsteady on his feet. Perhaps he may have gone too hard too fast with the alcohol tonight. He wasn't plastered yet, but he was getting there quick. He was about ready to down another shot when his teammate came up behind him. "Think you may need to slow down on the drinking for awhile."

Oscar walked alongside Lando, well more like guided him, towards the karaoke section of the place. Sitting him down at one of the booths as he slid in next to him. Lando slumped forward, his face resting wobbly in his hands. You were seated at the same booth but directly across from them.

"Jesus Lan, we've been here two hours. How much have you had to drink?" You asked.

Lando held up his pointer finger, indicating one.

Oscar and you shook your heads at the curly haired driver. "Very funny." You stated.

Lando now donned a sour look on his face, they had misunderstood his gesture. "No. I'm number 1!"

"Yes Lando you won today." Oscar reassured his teammate.

Oscar and you sipped your drinks while you prayed Lando would sober up enough that you didn't need to be worried about him. The pair was having to either decline the drinks that people were sending over for the winner or drink them themselves. They soon found themselves a little on the tipsy side from perhaps doing the same thing Lando was guilty of moments ago.

"You guys are freaking idiots." Lando mumbled. The once responsible friends that were looking after Lando were now in the same boat as him. Perhaps Lando was slightly more sober than them at this point.

After your second tequila sunrise the idea of karaoke sounded like the best thing ever. You knew Oscar wouldn't be up for it and Lando didn't look the happiest right now, so you searched the place for the one person who you knew would be up for it. You were able to spot him easily, his tall frame making him stand out in the crowd.

"Logan!"

You were tipsy enough to forget that yelling for a person in a loud club did absolutely nothing. And as you yelled again Lando tried to just tune you out, ignore the annoyance and jealousy arising in him over you hollering another man's name. He was supposed to be on his best behavior, but he should have known from before that alcohol and his good behavior don't mix.

You had finally gotten Logan's attention and as Lando saw the American driver walk towards their table he fiddled with his phone. Not even bothering to acknowledge him as he greeted him.

"Will you please do karaoke with me?" He heard you ask Logan and without even looking up he knew you were giving Logan those damn puppy dog eyes that you used to give him when you wanted him to do something for you.

He heard Logan laugh and from the corner of his eye he saw him reach out his hand for you to grab. "Yes, but only for my favorite girl."

Lando's blood ran cold at Logan's use of words. His favorite girl? His? The simple three letter word made his body tense and as the pair walked away Lando finally looked up. He had wished he hadn't as he saw Logan's arm around your shoulder as the two of them walked.

"Mate I thought you had gotten your shit together? I can feel how tense you are from over here." Oscar's speech was clear, he clearly hadn't drank as much as Lando thought.

"I'm perfectly fine." Lando stated as he looked back down at his phone.

"Yeah and my ears didn't pop from the pressure displacement in the air when you heard Logan call Y/N his favorite girl."

Lando did not like that fact that he was trapped in this booth with the one person who could read him like a book. "Can you let me out?"

Oscar scoffed at Lando's question. "You don't want to listen to Y/N and Logan sing? We have an excellent view of the stage." He took another swig of his drink as he eyed his teammate.

Not even twenty seconds later the two Americans took the stage and Lando suddenly found his phone to be more interesting. They had decided to sing some song about saving horses and riding cowboys, whatever it was Lando had tried to tune it out. But when he would hear you laugh in between parts of the song his eyes would venture from his phone up to the stage. He never looked for long, his jealousy getting the best of him when he would see how close Logan and you were. Not even physically, at this point they were clearly emotionally close, perhaps even closer than Lando and you ever were. At least that's what Lando's worst case scenario brain told him.

Lando managed to make it through their karaoke session without blowing a gasket. But as you returned to the table your smile faded as you looked at Lando, who looked less than thrilled as you approached him.

Sliding back into the booth you eyed him. Your mouth working faster than your brain. "Why are you always so unhappy when I'm around anymore? Or when we go out? If you don't want me to come out just tell me." The apology he had given you earlier didn't even exist at this point and the one good moment that you didn't want to ruin from earlier was gone too. You had enough liquid courage in you to finally say what had been eating away at you for months.

Lando was slightly taken aback by your sudden abruptness. He wasn't sure what to say at first. His teeth found the inside of his bottom lip as he tried to choose his words carefully. "I'm not unhappy when you're around, I love having you around. Also, I wouldn't invite you out if I didn't like having you around Y/N." He figured leaving out the mention of him hating when Logan is out with you was a good idea.

You huffed before grabbing one of the shots that had just been dropped off at the table. You downed it easily, slamming the shot glass back down on the table. "Really? Because you sure don't show it."

Oscar was still seated next to Lando, taking sips of his drinks as he watched the two of them go back and forth. He knew this was a long time coming, but he didn't expect to get a front row seat to it.

Lando sat up straight in the booth, suddenly getting defensive. "Why would I not want you around?"

You drummed you fingers against the table as you stared him down. "You always get so pissy when we are out. Like I'm not allowed to have fun or something. Or not allowed to have a little free time while I'm working."

"That's not true." Even though it was.

You rolled your eyes, you clearly were getting nowhere with this conversation and perhaps you should have waited until you both were sober. "You know what nevermind. I should have never brought it up."

Your sarcastic tone went straight through Lando, but he didn't even get a chance to respond back as you had already scooted out of the booth and was lost in the sea of bodies.

"That went well." Oscar stated, but when Lando didn't respond Oscar just kept going. "You remember what I said on the way to the airport in Monza? Either tell you how you feel or get your shit together? You know she's not a confrontational person, so she has clearly had enough of your shit to even bring it up." He took the last swig of his drink and as he got up from the booth he gave Lando one last final warning. "You're gonna lose her and this little conversation the two of you just had was proof enough."

Lando now sat alone in the booth, the only thing surrounding him was empty glasses. How did his nights that were supposed to be filled with celebration and good times always end up filled with drama and regrets? Oscar's words ate away at him as sat there twiddling his thumbs. How much more of this back and forth shit could he take? How much more could you take? Lando scanned the table and found one lonesome shot untouched. He wasn't even sure what it was until that familiar burn hit his throat.

Tequila.

Tequila always seemed to make him make bad decisions, so he knew tonight was either going to end badly or great. Either way he was finally going to man up and tell you how he felt.

It didn't take long to find you, considering you had made yourself the center of attention in the whole place. He heard your laughs before he saw you, but from the crowd of men gathered around the mechanical bull he knew exactly where you were.

He pushed his way to the front and sure enough there you were. When he saw you on that thing he couldn't help but stare. The operator of the machine clearly knew what he was doing, giving everyone a show. The way your thighs clenched onto the sides of the bull to help you stay on. Your ass and tits jiggling when the operator moved the bull a certain way. Not to mention just watching your body sway, you'd think you were a pro at this. Lando's mind started to wonder to how you'd look on top of him and that's when he realized it wasn't just him watching you look like that. You were surrounded by a big group of men, some of them his fellow competitors, that he was sure were also thinking the same impure thoughts as him.

He spotted the Ferrari drivers first, both of them leaning over the railing watching you intently. Then he spotted Logan, eyes wide as he watched your ass shake in the air.

This was the beginning of the end of Lando's good behavior promise. Lando could feel his blood starting to boil, knowing all these men were undoubtedly getting their dicks hard over you. He didn't mean to cause a scene, really he didn't. But before he even realized what he was doing he had jumped the railing and had his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you off the bull. Your legs kicking him and insults flew through the air as you protested his actions. He had carried you towards a relatively empty area and as he sat you down he prepared himself for the fallout of his actions.

"What the fuck is your problem?" You shouted, anger and liquor doing nothing to conceal how you felt.

Lando raised his hands in defense. "Y/N. I was just trying to protect you-"

"Why would I need protecting? Especially coming from you? The way you've acted towards me these past couple months I figured you'd rather me be dead!"

The handful of people who were around had started to stare, if Lando had thought he caused a scene moments ago, it was nothing compared to now.

Lando tried to explain himself. "You should have seen how those guys were looking at you."

You scoffed at his comment. "Well have you thought maybe I wanted them to look? I'm allowed to have a little fun Lando, maybe you should try it sometime. In fact I'm surprised you haven't found your random girl to hookup with on my hotel room door yet." Your words were laced with venom, he had finally pushed you hard enough.

His eyes narrowed at you. "Why are you bringing up what happened in Monza? All I was trying to do was save you from a night filled with fighting off all those sleazy guys. They only wanted one thing from you, especially the other drivers."

Shaking your head at Lando, a laugh escaped past you lips. "Yeah I guess you would know about using women wouldn't you?"

Lando ignored you dig at him, fully knowing what you had said was true.

"I just think you should be careful about who you are friends with. The way Logan was looking at you-" More often than not Lando was quite the hypocrite when it came to his issues with you.

Your jaw tightened at the mention of Logan, there was no reason to bring him into this.

Tonight was the final straw, you had truly had enough. This wasn't a healthy friendship and as much as it pained you, it was becoming more of a reality that this chapter of your life was needing to come to an end. As you cut the McLaren driver's sentence off you knew this may be the last time you spoke to him.

"You know what Lando, you are right. I do need to be more careful about who I'm friends with." You moved closer to him, the two of them merely inches apart, your finger poking at his chest as you spoke. "And he's standing right here."

Lando could have swore all the air left his body as you spoke those five words to him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Surely he had heard you wrong. "You don't mean that." Lando stammered, his eyes never leaving yours, trying to search for a joking gleam in your eyes. But dark, cold, and empty eyes were all that stared back at him.

"I do." You whispered, you hand lingering on his chest, you could feel his heart racing, yours doing the same.

Lando stood there dumbfounded as you walked away. He didn't protest, purely from the fact that he was still processing what had just happened. Had he finally lost you? From the looks of it he had and he hadn't even told you how he felt. Why couldn't he be normal for once? He always had to make everything about him, about how he felt.

He figured at this point what else did he have to lose? He was still going to tell you how he felt about you. Maybe if he was lucky you would feel the same, but with Lando's track record he knew his chances were slim.

You had a good head start on him, but his legs carried him as fast as they could out of the building and down the street towards the hotel. He silently thanked god that there weren't any fans outside the hotel and by the time he reached you room he was out of breath as he knocked on you door.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. How could you have been so stupid? The tears thankfully hadn't started to fall until you had reached your hotel room, but now as you sat on your bed they wouldn't stop coming.

You knew what you did was the right thing, but you still felt stupid. Stupid for even developing feelings for Lando in the first place, stupid for allowing your relationship to turn into what it had. Why you ever let it get to this point was beyond you. It hurt, god did it hurt, but life teaches you lessons and this clearly was one. As you typed up a draft resignation letter on your phone you heard a rapid knock at your door. You had texted Oscar earlier letting him know you were coming back to the hotel, that things had gone sour between Lando and you. So, you figured that was him coming to check up on you.

But oh boy were you wrong. On the other side of the door stood an out of breath Brit, who was the cause of the tears you were now rapidly trying to wipe away. You had tried to slam the door in his face, but he quickly stuck his foot in the doorframe, a groan coming from him as the door hit his foot.

Good I hope it hurt you thought.

"Y/N please. I need to talk to you." His grip on the door was much stronger than yours and he easily was able to make his way into your room.

"Why so you can shame me or be rude to me or bad mouth one of my friends again? Think you did enough of that earlier." You stood your ground, arms crossed across your chest.

Lando closed the door behind him and as he eyed you he fully took you in. The red puffy eyes, tear stained cheeks. God he had fucked up. "What was said earlier got blown way out of proportion. That's not how I intended for you to take my words."

"It wasn't just what you said earlier Lando, it's been a combination of a lot of other things. I don't know what switched between us, but it's not the same as it used to be. You're an ass to me more than not anymore. I don't know what I did to make you act like that, but you won't have to deal with me much longer. I'm writing my resignation letter. It'll be sent in the morning and I'll be gone."

Lando had started to panic, the realness of the situation they had found themselves in had really started to set in. "No no no no! You don't have to quit your job. You love what you do."

A loud sigh passed your lips, clearly annoyed at him. "Well when the main person I work with can't ever seem to be happy with what I do or associate myself with, then perhaps quitting is what needs to be done." Maybe it was some of the alcohol still in your system or maybe you just wanted to be an ass back to him finally, but the tears had subsided and your mood had turned slightly petty. "Which now that I think about it, why do you care so much about who I hang out with? I mean it's ok for you to fuck any woman with pulse, but I suddenly become close with other drivers and now it's time to slut shame me? Wonder what the press would think about that?"

The smirk that was on you face made Lando irate, you were so fucking stubborn sometimes. All he had wanted to do was come up here and confess how he felt, fix his fuck up from earlier, but now he was riled up again.

"When in the fuck have I slut shamed you? I mean what do you want me to say? That you can go fuck my competitors? If thats all thats stopping you then please don't let me get in your way." Lando regretted his words as soon as they came out of his mouth. The last thing he wanted was for you to go fuck someone else.

That wasn't at all what you were trying to get at. In fact it was the opposite, but if he was going to bring it up, you were going to play along, anything to get under his skin. What better way to hurt a man's ego than to talk about how much you would want to get with his competitors. You grabbed your phone off the bed, unlocking it and scrolling through your contacts. "Maybe I will. I mean I have endless choices don't I? I know Charles would have loved to fuck me in Monza. Or perhaps Logan? You said yourself he was eyeing me tonight. Or maybe Charles and Carlos both? You should have seen how they were with me in the taxi when we were in Monza."

Lando thought he was going to lose his mind, he felt like he was going to break his jaw from how hard he had it clenched. Just hearing you say those things had him on the edge of snapping. "Hmm. I think I'll go with Logan. Think he would know how to please me." Before you could even pretend to start texting him Lando's hand was on your wrist, prying you phone from your hands. His breath labored as he pulled you close to him.

"You are not fucking any of them."

Your eyes widened at his actions, his hands around your wrists, his pupils blown as he stared you down, and the smell of tequila on his breath. The petty joking manner you had moments ago was now long gone.

The angry tension in the air had now transitioned into something foreign, something deeper. And unknown to you but you had been the one to change it.

"Well why not?" You had tried to bring back the previous atmosphere, but the Lando that stood inches away from you was one you had never seen before.

"Because the only driver you can fuck is me."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. If there was a world record for how fast someone could blush you were sure you had just broken it, except your whole body felt like it was blushing. It radiated through your body directly to your core.

Your mind felt like tv static, you didn't know what to say or do. Lando was still inches away from you, your wrists still tightly in his grasp. "What?" Was all you could muster up and even that was barely coherent.

"Oh come on. You aren't gonna make me spell it out for you are you?" With just a wide eyed blank stare as your response he freed your wrists, but his hands now glided over your arms and shoulders and up to your neck. The feeling of his hands dancing over your skin made your eyes flutter shut. This was far more different than your knees touching or a lingering hug.

This wasn't how Lando had expected to be telling you how he felt, he hadn't even had anything like this one his mind, but you talking so freely about fucking his friends flipped a switch in him. "You gonna make me tell you how I've been obsessed with you since I saw you sitting in that meeting on your first day? How I drove myself crazy trying to distance myself from you, but you're so fucking intoxicating you just kept drawing me back in. How I basically ruined our friendship because I couldn't stand to see you with fucking Logan."

He paused, but still maintained eye contact as he pressed a chaste kiss on your hand. "Is it wrong of me to assume you've wanted me as bad as I've wanted you?" It was almost his way of asking permission to continue, and you granted it easily by letting out a faint 'no'. With that simple word his kisses moved from your hand up your arm and finally landing on your neck. It was somewhat embarrassing how hot and bothered his words and just some simple kisses were making you.

"Or how about how I could only think of you when I got with other women. Wishing it was you I had pressed up against your hotel room door in Monza. How the idea of any other man even looking at you in a sexual way made me want to break their jaw. You want me to tell you how fucking stupid I was for not telling you how I felt sooner. For basically putting us through hell and back because I couldn't keep my shit together when you talked to Logan."

His kisses had gotten sloppier, and he started to pay more attention to your neck. A small moan emitting from you when he found that sweet spot. You could feel his smirk against your neck as your moans filled his ears.

As your mind slowly processed all that he had just said, a lot more things started to click. First of all your inklings about him feeling the same were very much correct. But to think you hadn't put him being an ass because he was jealous of Logan together had you baffled. Usually you were very observant, but clearly not observant enough. You felt like your body was on autopilot as he still worked on your neck, you were supposed to be mad at him, supposed to be leaving him, leaving all the shitty moments behind. But as you stood here now you were glad he had come up to your room. Glad that you didn't fight that hard to not let him into your room. Because even if you had cut him out of your life and left, you knew deep down those feelings for him would never go away. No matter what had happened between the two of you.

Your hands pressed against his abdomen as he was surely giving you something on your neck that was going to need to be covered in the morning. "Wish I would have told you how I felt sooner." Your words were breathy as his hands now wandered up under your shirt. "You weren't the only one being driven crazy. You were-" It was hard for you to focus on your words, your brain only wanting to focus on how good Lando's hands and lips felt on you. "You were constantly fucking with my head, making me think you liked me and then getting with other women. Made me feel like shit when I saw you with them and then you made me feel like shit for months because you're an asshole."

His attack on your neck had halted, the two of you making eye contact once again. Your eyes glanced down at his lips, they were red and swollen, as much as you wanted to hate him, your desire to kiss him was much stronger.

"I know baby and I'm sorry for ever making you feel like that.'

Your eyebrow raised at the term of endearment. "Baby? Moving a little fast there aren't you Norris?"

A smirk had spread across his face. "You've been my baby in my mind for a long time. So forgive me for being eager."

Rolling your eyes at the brunette you linked your hands behind his neck, once again staring at his lips. "You gonna finally kiss me or do I need to go find Logan?"

The mere mention of the American had Lando pulling you into him, your lips meeting in an instant. It took a second for your brain to catch up, but once it did you practically melted into him. You had thought for a long time what it would feel like to kiss Lando, and you were happy to say it was better than you had imagined. His right hand was cupping your face while his left held onto your side. If you were weak in the knees before you surely were now as the two of you pulled away from each other, grinning like idiots. "Why did we deprive ourselves of this for so long?" You asked as your thumb caressed his cheek.

Lando leaned into your touch. "I don't know. I guess we both like to suffer." He gently removed your hand from his face placing an open mouth kiss to your palm. "I still need you to know how sorry I am for being such an ass. Let me show you how sorry I am you." He started to trail kisses back up your arm and you honestly didn't need any convincing. With a simple 'ok' from you Lando's lips were back on yours as he leaded you back towards your bed, your lips never separating.

The back of your knees hit the end of the bed causing you to fall back onto the bed. Using your forearms to prop yourself up you stared back at the driver who was stood at the end of the bed. He kicked off his shoes and his shirt was being pulled over his head in a matter of seconds. He didn't even give you time to gawk at his toned abdomen before he was climbing onto the bed, his chain dangling over you as your lips reconnected. Wrapping your fingers around the chain you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Your need for him growing more and more by the minute. The desire for his touch consumed you and as you started to squirm under him you heard a soft laugh come from him.

"That needy huh?" His teasing tone causing the aching throb between your legs to intensify. With only a whine coming from you as a response he looped his fingers through your belt loops, slightly tugging on them. "Which should come off first? Pants or shirt?"

You were in no mood for his teasing, the idea of having to wait any longer for his hands to be on you again sounded like torture. "Both."

"Both? That's my girl."

My girl repeated in your head as you struggled to get your shirt off. Those two simple words causing your arousal to grow even more and as he pulled off your pants you sure you had already soaked your panties. But Lando wasn't focused on that yet, to his surprise when he looked up to see you taking off your shirt, you hadn't worn a bra. Your breasts were already on full display. "Jesus." He groaned as he climbed his way back up to you. "Should have known you didn't wear a bra tonight the way your tits were bouncing on that bull." He wasted no time, immediately placing his large hands on them. As he pinched and tugged one nipple with one hand, his mouth had found its way onto the other. It was a sight you couldn't tear your eyes away from, something you only dreamed about. A whimper escaped past your lips and Lando could have died right there a happy man as your whimpers filled his ears.

As much as you were enjoying the pleasure he was giving you, it was creating a much bigger need someplace else. If your panties weren't soaked earlier, they definitely were now. The aching between your legs was becoming almost unbearable. Your hands found there way to his hair, fingers running through his messy curls. "Lan." You breathed out. His actions halted at the sound of you calling for him, blown pupils staring up at you.

"What baby?" No audible response came from you, but when he saw you clench your thighs he knew exactly what you wanted. "Oh, I think I know what you want." His fingers trailed from your breasts all the way down to the waistband of your panties, his fingers toying with it, gently snapping it against your skin.

"Thought you weren't gonna be an ass anymore?" His teasing making you crazy.

Even though he was looking down you could see the smirk on his face, the little shit was enjoying every minute of making you squirm. You watched as his hands landed on your thighs and in one swift motion they were hooked under your knees and he had pulled you even closer to him, causing your legs to be wide open for him.

Lando felt his dick twitch at the sight of your soaked panties, and once he pulled them off he thought he had died and gone to heaven at just how fucking wet you were, from him. He hadn't even properly touched you yet and you were already a mess. His hands masssaged you inner thighs and ghosted around the area you wanted him the most. "God, you're gonna be the death of me. You know how fucking soaked you are?" He took a single finger and quickly ran it up your slit, your wetness that lathered his finger quickly entered his mouth.

Your skin was on fire from just that his one little action, and as you watched him suck your wetness from his finger you thought your heart was gonna beat out of your chest. "Lan please."

"Please what?"

You threw your head back in frustration, he had to be getting off on this. "I want your mouth" you glanced down at his long thick fingers that had found a home on your thighs once more "and your fingers."

"Whatever my girl wants." He scooted down on the bed and as he lowered his head between your thighs the pit in your stomach grew. He wasted no time in getting to work, or in finding your clit. As he gently sucked on the sensitive bud you couldn't hold in your moans. The boy was a fucking expert with his tongue and from the way he was devouring you, you could tell he was enjoying it. Your fingers grabbed his curls as he fucked your hole with his tongue, his nose brushing against your clit. It was embarrassing how fast he had you close to coming undone. Your chest heaving as you felt your orgasm coming, and he hadn't even used his fingers yet, but almost like he knew what you wanted, you felt two fingers slide inside of you. Your moans getting louder as he still worked your clit and finger fucked you at the same time. When he added a third finger and curled his fingers, reaching that soft spongy spot, your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

He had raised his head to look up at you, a smirk splayed across his glistening face, covered in your slick. "That's my pretty girl. Come on, I know you're close. Gonna come all over my fingers and face aren't you."

His words of praise went straight to your core and as you clenched around his fingers a small laugh came from him. "Someone likes to be praised." You couldn't even be bothered to give him a witty comment back, you were on the edge of coming undone. His mouth went back to work and in a matter of seconds you were unraveling beneath him. Your legs shook as he still worked you through your orgasm. His name tumbling out of your mouth like a chant.

Your breathing was labored as you tried to come down from your high. Glancing down at Lando, he had never looked hotter to you than right now. His face and fingers covered in you, his hair a mess and lips swollen from him devouring your pussy. And the mess between your thighs that was caused by him, had you craving more.

Lando's erection was painfully throbbing at this point, still trapped behind his boxers and jeans. How he didn't just blow his load at the sight of you unraveling because of him, he wasn't sure. But one thing he did know was that he needed to be inside you, immediately. "I know you're still coming down but I need you so badly." His hands fumbling with the button on his jeans.

You simply shook your head at him, hands reaching out to help him get his pants off. "I don't care what you do as long as you can make me come like that again."

The words of praise went straight to Lando's cock, he truly didn't think he had ever been this hard in his life. The way you were looking up at him through your lashes as you toyed with the waistband of his boxers had him groaning. "Y/N stop."

A look of innocence spread across your face. "What? I was just giving you a taste of your own medicine." Your hand brushed past his still clothed erection and the whimper that came from him was like music to your ears. You soon granted him relief has you tugged his boxers down, his cock slapping against his stomach. Your eyes widened as you took all of him in. He was clearly blessed with not only good size, but girth. The mere thought of him stretching you out had you practically drooling.

You wanted to please him the same way he had you, but you had barely rubbed your thumb over his tip before his his large hand wrapped around your wrist, halting your actions. "I really just want to be inside of you."

Not one to oblige you scooted back on the bed, head resting on the pillows as you watched him come towards you. The anticipation was killing you and as he rubbed his tip between your folds it had only made it worse. "You know how beautiful you are? Think you might be even more beautiful when you take my cock won't you baby?"

Eagerly nodding at his words you couldn't take your eyes off his cock as his tip teased your entrance. You knew he was going to be a tease, so you rolled your hips towards him, patience not being your strong suit when it came to him. "That hungry for my cock huh?"

In one swift motion he had pushed himself in you, completely bottoming out. "Oh my god!" It had caught you off guard, even with how wet you were it still hurt a little as his cock stretched you out.

You hadn't even realized you had clenched around him until he spoke up. "Fuck. I'm not gonna last long if you keep doing that." His face scrunched up in pleasure.

"Sorry." You stated, pressing a kiss to his forearm.

Lando had started to move his hips and as the first waves of pleasure jolted through your body you couldn't help but think this is not how you saw your night going when you woke up this morning.

The room was filled with a mix of both yours and Lando's moans and the sound of slapping skin. You weren't trying to be dramatic, but you truly thought Lando's cock was made for you. The way he filled you up just right with each stroke was making your head spin.

Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you could feel yourself getting close again, the familiar pit in your stomach growing as he pounded into you relentlessly. The pleasure overwhelming you. But just at the brink of coming undone for the second time tonight he abruptly pulled out.

"You've got to be jok-"

He lightly slapped your thigh. "Ass up."

He didn't have to tell you twice as you quickly flipped over, face buried in the pillows, back arched with your ass in the air. The cool air on your now very exposed pussy sent a shiver down your spine.

Lando was enjoying the view as he lightly toyed with your clit earning a muffled moan from you. His hands gripped your waist to enter you once more when something in the corner of the room caught his eye. Gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail with one hand and the other under your stomach he pulled you up and back towards him until your back was flush against his chest, practically sitting in his lap. His still very prominent erection rubbing between your folds. As he positioned the both of you to face the corner of the room that's when you saw it.

Your reflection staring back at you. The horny little shit wanted to fuck you in front of the mirror. You couldn't lie the thought of it was hot. So, you took the initiative, as you raised your hips you took his cock in your hand, lining him up with your entrance.

The both of you watching in the mirror as you sank down onto him. The image right up there with Lando eating you out as one of the hottest things you'd seen. A string of curse words was heard from Lando and all you could do was grip his legs as you felt him buck up inside you.

As you rolled your hips you couldn't tear your eyes away from the mirror and neither could Lando. The new position allowing for him to feel even deeper inside you, if that was possible. One of his hands reached around and started to rub your clit, the added pleasure causing your eyes to flutter shut.

"Nope. Open your eyes pretty girl. I want you to watch."

When you didn't open them he told you again, but when you didn't open them the third time, his other hand was now suddenly wrapped around your throat. His large hand easily covering the front of your throat. The slight pressure he applied to the sides of your throat caused your eyes to fly open, but combine that with you riding his cock and his other hand still working on your clit you were once again on the brink of an orgasm. The sight of you in the mirror was nothing less than pornogrpahic and if Lando could, he would have taken a picture.

The feeling though was gone again, in a matter of seconds. He had basically thrown you off his cock, then pulled you off the bed, the both of you now directly in front of the mirror. You were impressed with Lando's stamina and you knew from him practically edging you (and himself) twice now, when he finally did let you come it was going to be mind blowing.

He had you bent over, hands gripping the sides of the mirror, as he spread your legs. This time there was no teasing your clit, he wasted no time, his cock slamming into you as soon as your legs were spread. His thrusts were relentless, you weren't sure if you would even be able to walk tomorrow. But from the way his fingers were gripping your waist you for sure knew there would be bruises there tomorrow. Your moans only encouraging him more as he slapped your ass, the sting only adding to your pleasure.

"God, look at you. Taking my cock like that. Who else can fuck you like this huh? Make you an absolute mess?"

You were too fucked out to respond, your legs feeling weak as you watched him in the mirror. Lando's hand reached around towards you neck, finding its previous home from moments ago. "I said who else can fuck you like this?" He gave your throat a light squeeze.

"No one. Only you." You finally mustered up, brain too consumed by pleasure to actually form a sentence.

You watched as the smirk formed on his face at your words. "There's my good girl." Your pussy fluttering at the pet name, which in turn earned a 'fuck' from Lando.

His other hand reached down to your clit, once again giving it some attention. As your orgasm approached you prayed this would be the time he finally would let you come. Your whimpers a telltale sign to Lando you were ready. "Gonna be a good girl and come for me? Come on baby. Let everyone know who's making you feel this good. Want everyone to know your mine."

With his words of praise your orgasm washed over you, hard. The pleasure was so intense you couldn't even hold yourself up anymore. Your body convulsing as your ears started to ring. Lando's name echoing out of your mouth in a less than quiet volume. It didn't help that he was still fucking you through your orgasm, the overstimulation bringing you almost to tears at how good it felt. Lando came seconds later, hot sticky cum filling you up. Profanties mixed with your name bounced around the room as he milked every ounce out of his orgasm.

As he pulled out a whimper came from you at the sudden empty feeling, while a groan came from him at the sight of his cum leaking out of you.

Lando basically carried you back to the bed, afraid your legs would give out if you tried to walk. His arms immediately wrapping around you as you rested your head on his chest. "Think I accomplished your request didn't I?" Lando asked with a smirk on his face. His fingers rubbing gently circles on your back.

"You did more than accomplish it Norris. I think everyone in the hotel knows that." A blush creeping onto your cheeks at the fact that you were not so quiet moments ago.

"Poor Oscar." Lando laughed. Oh god, you had forgotten Oscar's room was right next to yours. "Actually don't worry about it. He should be happy we are finally together."

Raising your head to look at him you gave him a questioning look. "Together? I never remember getting asked anything. Only being told I could only fuck you."

Lando rolled his eyes at your dramatics. "Yes and that statement still stands." His free hand cupped your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. He hadn't planned for tonight to go the way it did, but as he laid here in bed with you in his arms he wouldn't have it any other way. He wanted this all the time. "In all seriousness. I do want you to be mine. My girlfriend."

You would have never thought you'd be in this position. It had been a tough couple months for the two of you and just hours ago you were ready to erase him from your life as best as your could. But you still loved him, even more now if that was possible.

"Well it's a good thing I want you to be mine too huh?" His eyes lit up at your words, smiling for ear to ear. His lips were on yours in an instant, something you don't think you'll ever get used to. "Even though you were an asshole." You said as you pulled away.

Lando let out a sigh. "Well I guess I'm still gonna have to show you how sorry I am aren't I?" His cheeky expression not matching his tone of voice.

"I think so." You stated as your lips met once again.

An ignored text alert sounded off from the bedside table of the two lovers. It wouldn't be read until morning, laughter coming from Lando as your cheeks turned red.

Oscar: well I'm glad I'm not in the middle of whatever the hell that friends to crushes to miserable fucks to enemies shit you two had going on anymore. but please for the love of god remind me to never take the room by either of you again!!!!!!

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fic #praying this doesn't flop bc i worked so hard on it and its literally 18k words... lmfao #mine #writing

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joelsgu4tar · 7 months ago

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JOEL MILLER FIC RECS

⇾ 18+ minors DNI, read at your own risk! ⇽

an appreciation to all my favourite writers out there you deserve all the love <3

Series

— Something To Fight For by @auteurdelabre | After a disastrous blind date you decide to stay away from the miserable Joel Miller forever...

— I Know Who You Are by @punkshort | A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long-term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way.

— The One You Need by @loliwrites | When you move into town hellbent on keeping everyone at arm’s length, your neighbour Joel finds his way into your life.

— By The Grit Of Sandpaper by @penvisions | An offhand comment from you inspires Joel to branch out and create helpful kitchen wares. And it seems everyone has been gifted one from him, except for you. It makes you rethink the casual friendship you had developed...

— I Wanna Be Your Lover by @shellshocklove | Miserable after losing your job, your friend drags you out to a club to dance away your sadness. on the dancefloor, you meet a handsome stranger, who then whisks you away into his fantasy world as his assistant for his porn career. what happens when the lines get blurred?

— If The Door Wasn't Shut by @heartpascal | months of travelling with Joel and Ellie come crashing down on you, the fear is suffocating.

— Stay In Bed by @psychedelic-ink | After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance.

— That's A Real Fucking Legacy by @wyn-n-tonic | When Tommy disappears in search of a better life with a promise to come back for you, his years of absence and the grief it leaves behind drives you and his brother closer together until the man you're sharing a bed and starting a family with is Joel Miller and not the one you always thought it would be.

One-Shots

— No Time To Die by @davosmymaster | The main difficulty of being Joel’s closest friend is not falling in love with him, but you still do. Those feelings are buried until you join him on a mission to trade supplies with Bill and Frank. With your life now hanging by a thread, Joel is determined to get you to safety, but the clock is ticking faster than he can run.

— White Lies by @poeticpascal | Joel would do anything for you. He does anything for you. And he makes sure you don't know a thing.

— Saying Thanks by @vivwritescrappythings | Joel is your grumpy patrol partner who doesn’t even talk to you in the streets of Jackson. But one night a man grabs your arm at the Tipsy Bison, and Joel’s decided he doesn’t like it.

— Soft & Sweet by @cavillscurls | You share your first kiss with the last man you ever expected: your older, grouchy, overly protective patrol partner, Joel Miller.

— Who We Are by @gracieheartspedro | Being stuck on the road with an older guy you've been crushing on for ages won't be so bad, right? wrong. because he's been pining after you, too. and one of you will have to give in eventually.

— Warm Me Up by @tightjeansjavi | While on patrol, you and Joel find yourselves caught in a treacherous snowstorm.

— Love In the Time Of Cordyceps by @sameheart-sameblood | When the world ends, you promise you'll never love again. Joel Miller makes that rule hard to stick to.

— Puppy Love by @absurdthirst | You always follow Joel Miller around, you've got his back. You're in love with him. Putting up with Tess's nickname of puppy dog, you don't realize that Joel feels for you until the end.

— Light The Flame by @yeollie-plz | Your mom moves the two of you back to Texas and attempts to reignite an old flame. What will happen when she learns his candle now burns for you?

— Best I Ever Had by @endlessthxxghts | Someone tries to hit on you on your night out with Joel, insulting your man in the process, and oh you don't like that. You blow off some steam in more ways than one.

— Make A Move On Me by @freelancearsonist | You've been teasing Joel every day since he started remodelling construction on your house. He finally works up the courage to do something about it - but not in the way you expect him to.

— Fire Walk by @motherofagony | A chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt.

— Cry Baby by @psychedelic-ink | bodies have been dropping left and right in the most brutal ways in Jackson. As the relentless wave of deaths continues, your mind becomes increasingly restless. however, you find a sense of comfort and solace in the presence of Joel. who might be hiding secrets of his own.

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screampied · 7 months ago

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‘ IT'S A MATCH: LAST FRIDAY NIGHT ! ,

profile. girl, matching with your best friend on tinder is pretty awkward. hooking up with him, even more awkward. wanna know what’s even worse though? saying that word—i love you.

wc 4.9k

warnings. fem! reader, modern au, humor, size kink, mutual pining, loser boy gojo, unprotected, cheesy pick up lines, praise, touch starved satoru, cunnìlingus, overstim, créampie, i felt silly ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

an. old old draft ;') based on the song last friday night. damn!

“mannn i’m so cooked,” gojo murmurs to himself, pacing back and forth. he’s dragging his feet against the silkened strands of the carpet before a soft pout spreads across his lips. “she left me on delivered for seven minutes…… seven.”

to be fair, in actuality you did. only because you were occupied with doing your hair. gojo being gojo was freaking out, thinking you were probably uninterested. albeit, once you finally did reply, his heart nearly fell out of his chest.

‘how does 7 pm sound?’

‘soid@:$:@) good’

‘um what?’

gojo mentally smacks his forehead, stupidly mashing on his keyboard, barely even letting a second go by once you responded. he was way too eager, he intakes a sharp breath before smiling — replying with a cheesy thumbs up.

he had the dumbest grin plastered on his face. after his best friend, you, advising him to give dating apps a try, he actually does. gojo matched with a lot of women not even minutes after installing the app onto his phone. how coincidental that the main person who caught his attention was you, the both of you matched and he made sure to text you first.

who knew though. that you’d be matching with the one and only satoru gojo. definitely not you, and of course, not him.

despite what everyone said, gojo was a bit of a womanizer, sure. but he was also a huge hopeless romantic.

he started fooling around on dating sites . . not looking for love necessarily but mainly to pass time. you mentioned it to him and he decided to give it a try.

pretty soon, time flew by quick. with a quick snap, it was just about to hit six o’clock pm.

gojo threw on grey sweats and ruffled up his hair a bit. he couldn’t lie to himself, first date and he felt a bit nervous. who was he kidding though, you told him to come to your apartment.

probably wouldn’t end up being a date, but still.

he read through your bio about three times, and your personality stood out to him.

you and him surprisingly had the same interests in lots of things, you loved sweets, and loathed scary movies. “…she’s so perfect,” he’d utter to himself, just imagining the sound of your sweet voice.

gojo abruptly snaps out of his thoughts—he didn’t want be too late, so with a quickness, he starts to make his way to your house.

with hands buried in his pockets, he gives a few hard knocks on the front of your door. about approximately nine seconds later, you open the door and his maw instantly drops. “y-you?”

“hey, y—satoru?” you mimicked the same reactions

the silence was practically deadly.

the two of you stared at each other for what seemed like centuries before you furrow your eyebrows. “satoru,” you mumble, bringing a hand towards your face to rub your forehead. “…you matched with me on purpose, didn’t you?”

“wha— noooo!” he protests, a cute pout tugging against the corners of his lips. he obviously did. you eyed him from head to toe. whilst his hands were buried into his pockets, you could tell that you made him a bit nervous. a light tint of color started to flush against his cheeks before he pulls on his sweater. “heh, is it gettin' hot in here or is it just me.”

“oh my god,” you suddenly spoke. “no wonder you didn’t have a profile picture,” and then you give him an abrupt glare. “satoru. why’d you even use the kfc logo as a profile picture anyway? idiot.”

“oh— it’s a long story.”

you deadpan, mentally face palming yourself.

gojo takes a good look at you, and he’s got a sudden sheepish grin. “woah,” he utters, and his eyes linger for a long time. he’s never seen you dress in such a formal pretty way. he felt a sudden heat rush to both sides of his face before without thinking, he murmurs. “you look kinda hot.”

“kinda? now i’m offended.” you scoff, tugging on your fishnets.

“all you’re getting from me,” he fake pouts. he then comes closer, closer . . all until he’s just inches apart.

one look at your dress and he just wanted to rip it off. you and him were so attached to the hip, he’s never expected to see you in this kind of light. if you were being honest, his gaze that ran against your entire figure made you a bit nervous.

throughout your long term friendship with gojo, he was known to be flirty every now and then. you figured that was just his personality but perhaps he started to view you different. “so,” he shrugs, bending down to your level as a way of mockery, “is this the part where we hook up?”

“well technically, yeah—” and you look right into his eyes.

he was just undressing you with eyes practically, cerulean bright irises roaming down your body before he hums. “…..oh,” and he awkwardly scratches his head. “so do i make the first move or—”

“you’re such an idiot. just kiss me, ‘toru.”

he snickers, and after what seemed like forever, gojo leans in for a kiss.

he was so pretty, he didn’t even have to try. long fluttering lashes that matched his snowy white strands flap closed. gojo tasted sweet, the moment his lips went against yours, you sink into his embrace. he was surprisingly a good kisser, not that you ever kissed your best friend or anything—but for some reason, it felt so warm.

so natural…

your heart, it starts to pick up a bit and your arms wrap around his broad shoulders.

gojo let off a soft grunt, your sweet aromatic perfume wafts right into his flared up nostrils. you shiver a bit, feeling his hands slowly drag up your body. minty, a good way to describe the brief taste that loiters on his breath. he was always chewing peppermint—an unserious guy with a sweet tooth, although this time maybe his sweet tooth was for you instead of casual sweets.

the kiss was passionate, you almost forgot you were literally making out with your best friend.

you did dream a bit about this moment, him holding you all close with his lips mashed against yours. his hand continue to wander, such big hands compared to yours. you slide your tongue against his before parting your lips just a bit further.

“….mhm,” he’d huff out in a muffled groan, and he made sure to focus his hands near your hips. his fingers brush against the thin fabric of your dress before he gives it a hasty yank.

steamy breaths collide against each other whilst each second passes—eventually, gojo’s leading you toward your bedroom.

no bother in asking you where everything was since he technically knew the layout of your house like the back of his hand. “wanted to do this for so long,” he finally speaks in shortened breaths—he’s panting, and you let off a soft gasp once he lifts you up. instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist and he slyly smiles. “you should really clean this place,” he murmurs, walking casually with you in his arms. “oh right, you can’t because you’re always at my house.”

“the point of hooking up is to not talk, satoru.”

“well excuse me,” he dramatically rolls his eyes.

at first you were a bit shy coming to the bitter realization that you ended up matching with gojo by pure luck. by now, things weren’t even that awkward—or at least awkward yet…

you didn’t wanna jinx it though, he leads you towards your bed before you plop down on your hands. you sit down, staring up at him and he starts to pull up his grey sweatshirt. you watch intensely, his abs peeking as he yanked it off before you spot a glance of his dark blue boxers hiding above his sweatpants.

so attractive . . .

you’ve seen gojo shirtless countless times but never completely nude. just imagining him, his glistening body presenting itself right in front of you… phew.

you intake a breath, mentally preparing yourself.

“awh,” he sneers, and you’re so secluded into your erotic thoughts that you don’t even realize he’s practically half naked now. all that was left was his wan-colored sweatpants. he was a tease, your eyes fixate towards his ripped chest—his abs, they were sublimely sculpted and chiseled.

sharp.

you felt like if you ran a finger down his perfectly structured v-line, you’d get a paper cut. his six pack flexed and you had to squeeze your legs shut. it was no surprise gojo had a daily work out routine. he’d even try to drag you to come with him sometimes. majority of the time, that’d go to no avail though. “enjoying the show, yeahhh?”

“shut up.” you grouse with a swift eye roll.

a smug grin curls up against his pink lips before he grabs your hand. “wanna feel me?” and you’re confused by what he wants you to feel until he makes you slowly slide your hand down his clenched pecs. you peer up at him, his body feels so warm— it was brick hard, exactly how you thought. your fingers continued to run down his ripped modeled chest before feeling against a scar. “cute fingers,” he teases, making it trail lower and lower until you spot his happy trail that was just about poking above from the very hem of his boxers. “you should pull them off of me.”

“fine,” you mutter with a puffy blow, bringing both hands towards his lower half. gojo stares, watching you pull down his sweatpants— then his briefs. you made sure to take your time, tugging on the stretchy aqua-blue fabric before within seconds, his length springs out. “you weren’t lying.”

“hm?” he says, watching your eyes continue to wander — he was definitely big, your memory suddenly refreshes of the pictures you exchanged with him, and the carpets very much did match the drapes. his shaft was . . turgid, at least the tip was. it was a pretty flashing pink, smeared with a few droplets of his own pre-cum. gojo was well trimmed, but had a few left over white specks scattered all across his base. he even had a cute mole down near the very edge of his length. specks of white hairs near his happy trail decorated his body, it was attractive. he had a left curve too, it was quite noticeable—a strikingly long vein that pulses at the sight of you, running down the very middle part of his dick and you merely moan.

as you move yourself closer, he’s stood standing while you’re sat on the bed and your glossy lips give his swollen tip a few chaste kisses.

“damnnnn,” he pants, feeling his cock twitch from the way your lips made instant contact with his tip.

the more you stared at his length from your peripherals—the more you observed its color. it had a rich rosy tan. slightly—still the same pinkish color with a brief tapered ridge. he was hefty, there was no question. inch after inch, he stood tall right in front of you. gojo claws a hand into your hair softly before sucking in his breath. “baby wait, i wanna do everything. ‘m already hard.”

you hum, amused—giving his frenulum a subtle lick before backing away, jibing out a, “oh really?” and then once he makes you lie back against the bed, you sit up with a sly grin. “do you even know how to eat pussy? and i’m not just talking about from your 'experience' from reddit or twit—”

“girl shut up,” his tone pitches an octave and it’s quite funny.

always sassy—you watch as gojo strum his fingers against your dress, taking his precious time to lift it up before feeling against your thighs. so soft, he’s always wanted to feel you—especially right here, take in every part of your curves, your gorgeous physique. his lips form into a cute scowl as he pulls you closer towards him. “i know what i’m doing.”

“yeah you do.” you sing along, and he shoots you a pout. you loved the banter between the two of you, toying along with him—he always made it so easy. it doesn’t take long before he starts peeling off your fishnets with his teeth, it was so dirty. you felt yourself throb a bit, edges of his teeth softly pricking against your skin as he yanks the thin nylon material made fishnets that stuck against your thighs.

your back lies flat against the bed and you intake a single breath. gojo rubs a hand against your tummy, you quaver a bit simply from his touch. he’s keeping eye contact the entire time too, irises never looking away for a split second—he mimics the same motion, peeling your panties off with his pearly canines.

it’s lewd, he doesn’t even pull them off all the way. instead, he just leaves it on you but has it rolled down to your thighs. “lotta back talk for a girl this soaked, to be honest.”

“ . . . . ”

you don’t reply, and he chuckles to himself. he finds your lack of an answer quite cute.

gojo stares between your parted thighs and your lips were all stretched—glistening with a sheet coat of your sweet arousal.

“so pretty,” he coos in a low voice, and you watch as he leans in—pressing a soft kiss against your entrance. immediately, his lips gets all shimmery from your own wetness and it’s hot. gojo purposely runs his tongue against his lips because he knows you’re staring directly at him. “my best friend tastes soooo sweet.”

“quit talking, ‘toru.” you moan and you don’t realize how your voice is becoming more and more shaky by the second.

“fine. fiiiiine, can’t have shit,” he grumbles playfully.

you stare as he prods two lengthy fingers against your slit. with a gulp, you prepare yourself. he gradually starts to insert two fingers inside, curling them up whilst it adapts to your warm walls and his arm shakes. “oooooh,” he whispers in a mere raspy voice. sweetened squelchy squelches came from your cunt and it was so loud it rang throughout your ears like church bells on a wedding day. “she’s quite— the talker, huhh.” he continues, and that’s right when he places his lips against your folds.

you swallow, feeling your back immensely arch from his hot lips.

gojo’s tongue swipes against your pussy. the middle part of his tongue skims down and it feels so good, he’s slow at first. he knows the exact direction to go and your toes curl. a free hand of his slides near your pubic mound, applying just the right amount of pressure—he does this so you can quickly feel your sweet g-spot. you do, and a gasp leaves your lips, it’s mindblowing.

already, he made you feel your forbidden g-spot.

you didn’t even know gojo—your dumb best friend had this kind of experience. as his palm presses down against the particular spot, his other hand is still occupied. lengthy fingers curl all throughout your walls, reaching every spot by prodding with just the right amount of deepness.

“f-fuckkk,” you whine, and suddenly your nerves make you shift your attention back towards his slick tongue. as his tongue was lolled out, a pretty clean pinkish tongue. he slithers it by using the back of his tongue, merely copying a sort of vacuuming type technique. the sounds that ran out his mouth was so filthy, your thighs start to twitch profusely and your hands found its way into his hair.

“s—satoruuu.” you’d babble and its only been a few minutes. a few long minutes, your squirming was cute to him. you tried focusing on your breathing patterns but that was no use. your mind went blank, empty like a canvas.

“mhm,” he groans, feeling himself get hard simply from your pitchy moans that reverberate and bounce across the thin walls. his fingers still went in and out of your cunt at a decent thrusting pace. the way you easily swallowed his two digits was just perfect, it didn’t take long at all for him to find your clit. “there she isssss,” he hisses cheekily, changing up his tongue strokes just a bit. it felt so good, heavenly. the way he drags it against your pussy. your jaw hung open with only sweetened sobs and whimpers leaving right past your spit-glossed lips.

whilst he’s rummaging through your vulva, he occasionally breaks away to spit right onto your cunt. it was no surprised gojo satoru was a messy man. he couldn’t help it, he’s fantasized about this exact scenario maybe once or twice. as his saliva trickles between your slit, he grunts as he watches. just all sopping wet just for him. he blows against your entrance just to make you squirm even more.

with his fingers still buried into your cunt, he does the ‘come here’ motion—a simplistically erotic motion where he uses not one but both index and his middle finger to flick back and forth inside of you. right there, oh you could have came.

“o-oh my goddd,” you whimper, his warm breath colliding against your arousal. “i-i’m close, satoru. think ‘m getting close.”

“aw,” he purrs in a sweet tone, using the flat of his tongue to lap up against your clit even further. you’re so soaked—his chin starts to drip with your slick and it’s so attractive. he pulls himself back to grin at you, a dumb pussy-drunken smile and nothing but your slick arousal running down his chin, so sheeny. “suck a little harder, she says?”

you nod, although you were sure your inevitable orgasm was quickly approaching.

your favorite part was when he sucks deeply against your clit, practically tongue fucking you. he had quite a long tongue so it did wonders, it made sure to reach every particular crevice imaginable. “nah don’t run from me now, gorgeous,” he utters sweetly once you squirm a bit more—he grabs on your hips, removing his two fingers just to hold you steadily in place. “give it to me, baby. show me how much of a messy girl my best friend can really be, huh.”

his dirty talk was just the icing on the cake. gojo’s just coaxing you towards your incoming release, all the while—it felt so good. the way your legs quavered, a trembling mess.

gojo’s holding your jerking hips against his mouth so he doesn’t miss a single taste. your mouth forms into a surprised 'o' and it’s like he’s been waiting his entire life for this moment—to be fair, he could have just asked a long time ago.

he was shy though, he didn’t wanna ruin the friendship—yet now that he’s propped up between your legs, eating you out like a starved man, you don’t know how you could continue to be just friends. not in a negative way, but after this—every time you’d stare at gojo, you’d just see his face that was right between your legs that one friday night ago.

once your orgasm comes, you whimper out— a ripple surging out of you and you’re so squirmy.

it was so intense, you fell into a trance, feeling that familiar spark combust and you’re slump back. your maw still hangs open and you’re so cute—only inaudible whimpers, cacophonies of his name, the repetitive whiney, “s—satoru, ‘toru.”

his nose brushes against your entrance before he pulls away—he grows quiet for a brief moment before sitting up, you’re out of breath before he leans in for a kiss. you moan right into his mouth, running a finger down his cute undercut and that makes him whine into your mouth. his undercut, he’s always liked the feeling of you running a finger down there—it hypnotized him in a way, the entire scene was so salacious. tasting yourself on his damp tongue, your legs wrapped around his waist and his dick brushes against your parted legs.

“you’re not that bad of a kisser, you know.” gojo mutters as he finally breaks away—a stringy shiny trail of spit departs and he sits up. “why can’t we do this more often?”

“you never ask,” you breathe, still getting over your recent release—he talks so much, you almost forgot how much of a blabbermouth he was. literally seconds ago his face was buried between your thighs and now he’s rambling to you about a sale he spotted on one of his favorite candies. “. . yeah yeah, lie back now.”

he lies back against the bed and watches as you make your way towards him. he lands backwards with an ‘oof’ before raising his eyebrows in amusement. “oh? you’re gonna be on top? what if i wanted to have you bent over—”

“i’d rather die than let you see me arched over.”

“heh, woah now angel—that’s just mean. after i gave you that teeth shattering orgasm,” he says with a dramatic eye roll. you align yourself with gojo, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and for a concise moment he grows quiet. “hm. don’t really care though, you’re still hot. straddling me like this and—”

you lean forward, silencing him with a kiss because he just wouldn’t stop talking—it was cute in a way though, gojo would literally talk your ear off. he kisses back immediately, feeling you hover against his leaky tip before lowering yourself further and further down. “mhm,” you’d gasp at the current stretch. it was hard to ignore, he was big—no secret about that. due to how sopping you were, it made it easy to just sink right down. gojo’s jaw tightens as he brings a hand towards your waist, another near your ass. with a tight squeeze, he continues to fall into sinful bliss at your cunt holding him hostage. your walls hugged him tightly the more you sank down. his breath was heavy, he heaved and heaved before you’re finally all the way down.

parting away once more, he utters out a needy, “touch me.”

“ask nicely,” you whisper, starting to rock your hips swiftly in place—you were so hot, especially in his eyes. you’re so warm inside, feverish, tingly. gojo swallows thickly, a breath getting caught in his throat as his white lashes flicker towards your waist. you brush a thumb against your best friend’s lips before humming. “touch me pretty please, say that.”

“how about i tell you a joke—” he cuts off, yet moans once he feels you grind your hips in a specific rotation—so good. he’s at a loss of words before his eyebrows curl up and furrow, head throwing back in pleasure. “heh. uh, check, please! know what’s on the m-menu? me ‘n you.”

“…………………..”

“…..you’re right, i should just shut up,” he puffs out, his cheeks burning with such heat. he holds onto your hips before he swallows his pride, speaking in a cute pout whilst avoiding eye contact. “touch me pretty please.”

you smile, trading a finger down his chiseled chest—so muscular, he was perfectly sculpted.

his loved your touch, it makes him ten times harder. your fingers roam against his body and he merely folds into putty, his abs—they clench as you’re being stuffed by full of his thick inches. gojo made sure to go slow, he didn’t wanna hurt you—especially considering how big and how much of a damn packer he was. so big you almost drooled.

he was mesmerized by the way you moved, with a single pivot of your hips it didn’t take long for him to locate that spot. you moaned, feeling a surge of haziness overtake you before you lean in to kiss near the crook his neck.

“man,” he croaks, and each time he speaks—his voice gets more raspy and out of breath. “uh, keep ridin’ me like that ‘n i’m gonna die. your pussy’s fuckin’ dangerous—shit.”

again, he rambles while you’re riding him in the same constant rotation. he falls in love with the jerks, the way you grind and delve your hips even further into him.

it’s amusing to study his facial expressions though, the way his blue irises would roll back into the very depths of his cranium—his pink sheeny lips parting, even his irregular breathing patterns. he was so whiney, your cunt swallowed him whole and he starts to feel fuzzy. hot, you felt so hot inside. it merely gives him whiplash once he feels your hands trail up toward his chest. his chest, more so his pecs—abs, his nipples.

“s-sensitive there…” he pants, and with his same grip against your hips he drags you closer—back and forth, it was so slow. you’re grinding against his body and he thinks he’s feeling a certain type away. you know, that word. this entire view, seeing you top him like this—gojo was about to lose his mind, a fiery sensation pools low into his abdomen. you had him all hot and bothered, it didn’t take long before his thigh starts to bounce.

“are you?” you tease, leaning in to run your tongue against his perky nipples—oh, his reaction. it was priceless, he grips onto your hair this time, moving a few strands away from your face while you’re still riding him before he whimpers. with shaky lips, he begs for you to suck harder. you didn’t even know if he was into something like this, perhaps your best friend was a freak.

a freak in bed.

you wondered if he’d be like this if he got matched with some other random girl on tinder. being this whiney for them, but since you two were close maybe you had an exception.

“angelllll,” he drags out his words, and it’s cute. his tongue rolls a bit and beads of sweat start to race down the side of his forehead. “i’m gonna—”

suddenly, he grows quiet once his cock that was buried into your folds abruptly slips out.

he slowly looks up at you with a head tilt, and you’re staring right back up at him—he’s still panting with his hands attached to your hip. “oops,” he sheepishly laughs, trying to ignore how he was so close to shooting right inside of you. it squelched, you break away from his chest before kissing near his neck. he moans, aligning himself back against your entrance. “f-fuck that was kinda hot.”

“i can’t tell who sounds like the girl more,” you start to pant yourself, and you feel yourself coming close right with him—you briefly bite your lip before feeling such nerves sneak its way inside. his girth, it never failed to leave you speechless. with gojo, he was a bit thick but more so lanky—thin, yet he made sure to reach every crevice of your cunt. you felt him deep, the more his hold against your hips tighten—the more he’s pumping you full. you’re constantly leaning forward, cupping his face before sneaking a few kisses near the corners of his lips.

“shut up,” he rasps, and he’s close. you’re about to milk him dry—his breathing picks up and he presses his fingers right into your hips. strands of his hair runs through his face before he whines, head throwing back in pure bliss. “god, you do it so good—so good, ‘m gonna cum,” and then with pretty hooded eyes, he swallows before reaching between your legs. he runs a hand against your sopping wet cunt that was a sheer mess itself before sighing lowly, “where do you want it, angel? tell me if i should—”

“inside,” you whisper, and your voice was so close up to his ear that he could have just came from your voice and your voice alone. shivers ran through his body, your chest presses against his and he’s maneuvering quicker circles against your pussy. “f-fuck, ‘toru. ‘m gonna cum too.”

his ruffled hair was all in his face, it was cute. you’re being stuffed full—he’s so hefty you’re dizzy, approaching that release before seconds pass and you gush out. it comes out slow, a shockwave ripples out and you whimper—softly nibbling your teeth deep into the inside of his neck.

“oh f—fuckkk,” he babbles, and his voice ends up cracking, its adorable. both of his ears burn with radiating heat before he finishes, dumping a sloppy load of velvety ropes into your cunt. you literally did milk him, you bring your hips to a more slow stop—deeply grinding against him still and he slumps back. he pours so much into you he’s speechless himself, a hand hooked around your waist as you continue to swivel. “i just— i need you—shitttt.”

you stare at gojo and he’s all dumb, panting heavily. his chest heaves and tightens, loving the warmth of your plush thighs wrapping around him. “i.. i think i love you,” he abruptly says, and with his tone—it’s like in more of a question, he watches your shocked stare peer into him and he sighs. “i don’t wanna use dinder anymore, i— i just want you.”

“it’s called tinder, satoru,” you kiss near the side of his lip. “and i love you too, dummy.”

“really?” he looks at you, still smothered with a look of fatigue—he could go for more rounds but he needed a minute—plus he may or may not have a cramp in his leg. “soo when’s the wedding then?”

you deadpan and he sheepishly smiles at you, he’s still got a firm grip on your waist.

the feeling of gojo’s remains of cum just seeping down your thighs as you straddled him—still with his twitching shaft inside made you kiss your teeth a little. “i’m sure you’ll get cold feet, you’re scared of literally anything.”

“pft. girl, that’s not even remotely true. do you realize who you’re talking to?”

the arrogant gojo came back — you roll your eyes and he slyly grins, yet all the meanwhile he’s holding you close against your chest. you let him kiss you once more before you both pull away once his phone suddenly beeps.

a loud screeching notification . . you were assuming it was a text. he feels you shift a bit, turning to see what it was but pulls you closer towards him, deepening the kiss. you give up, locking your arms around him once more, preparing to start up your hips again.

oh, he tastes candied, sweet…

you moan straight into his mouth before the phone ends up beeping again and again.

consistently until it starts to get annoying, gojo grunts, departing from your honeyed lips. “who’s texting me, angel? thought i turned tinder notifications off.”

you grab his phone, it brights up from your fingertips hovering against the screen before you squint. “uh, it says . . . suguru geto?”

he repeats. “suguru ge—” and then he timorously runs a hand through his hair with a raised eyebrow. “oh. eh, what’d he say?”

you pause for a long moment before reading the message, by long—seven consecutive seconds to be exact, your lip twitching, slowly realizing as you skim through the text by this ‘suguru geto.’

“. . . he says that he had fun last night.”

“oh!”

4K notes · View notes

pseudowho · 9 months ago

Text

Fire and Iron

Forced to stay the night with Nanami Kento, the town's blacksmith, after tending to his wounds, you find yourself smouldering in his irresistible flame.

Warnings: 18+, fluff and smut, loss of virginity

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Your boots cracked through the ice-topped slurry puddles scattering the mud path in the village. The shawl bundled over your shoulders was not enough, and the biting cold wind whipped your cloak back, stripping its usefulness off your shivering shoulders.

Townsfolk waved to you, nodding, smiling; greetings for a familiar face, many of them grateful for your travels to their icy town over the years, lacking even a basic healer of their own, let alone one so talented.

Passing by the blacksmith's hut on your way, you paused out the front, feeling the heat bellowing forth like dragon's breath. You tipped your head back, the smell of ash and steel filling your nose. As you paused, moments after, so did the clang of hammer on anvil.

You opened your eyes, stinging in the brutal cold and smoke. You, once more, like a hundred times before, had caught the eye of the blacksmith. He, whose name you did not know. He, who looked but never touched. He, to whom you had passed so many thousands of hours of your life, and his life to you, through gaze alone.

Stood proud at the anvil, shadowing the forge like the door to hell behind him, his broad shoulders wore only an open-chested white linen shirt, and a thick brown leather apron. With his ashy blond hair, and the lines of his face filled with soot, he was ageless and unknowable. He looked to you, his sharp face quiet and impassive; expression always somewhere between fury and tranquility.

Your lips parted once, as if to speak, and it jumped the blacksmith to life. With a barely perceptible nod, and a grunt, he swung his hammer back, brought down in beautiful accuracy, shaping smouldering steel. The clang rung through you, your chest jolting with a short gasp, and you collected yourself, stepping onwards. You were sure you could feel his cool gaze through the back of your head.

Another patient; another healed. Another grateful family; another life prolonged. The days were short now, and as you stepped out of the house of rough-hewn wood and stone, the forest pines were bathed in dying light, netting the low winter sun above the horizon. It was a punishing journey home, on foot, and the horses were long since put to bed.

The blacksmith's hut held its own sunset, the forge open but unattended. You heard stamps, heavy feet and cursing. You paused in the burst of warmth, illuminated, listening. Curiosity carried your feet into the hut, the heavy wet hem of your skirts collecting ashes, absorbing the blacksmith's domain.

"Are you...are you alright?" You called, uncertain, "Sir?" The footsteps, the swearing, had stopped. You stepped further in, feeling the forge belch at you, almost excruciatingly hot now.

"Get away from there!" The bark, deep and commanding, made you squeak and stumble. Darting through the side door, the blacksmith looped one thick arm round your waist before you fell towards the forge, effortlessly lifting you round, his back to the furnace, his face in shadow.

He was close; close enough that you could smell the soft sweat, the tang of fire and metal. He hissed as your hands dropped to his forearm, and you felt a cold dripping cloth draped over it.

"Do you often wander into places uninvited?" He snipped at you. You recognised the cadence in his low voice-- pain.

"I-- ...you're hurt," you insisted, voice barely above a whisper. Looking up, your eyes tried to gauge his unreadable face in the gloom. You felt him huff, warm air across your cheeks. His arm loosened, releasing you. As he stepped back, turning away to close the forge, you saw the blacksmith's mountainous shoulders tense, twitching.

"It's nothing," he retaliated, brisk. You stepped forwards again, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. At first, he flinched, then begrudgingly allowed you to turn him, and lift the damp rag covering his forearm. A thick welting burn, running the length of his forearm, lay weeping and angry on his skin, already nicked with so many little scars. You heard his teeth grit as the air hit his wound.

"Nothing," you scoffed, "this needs dressing. Let me help you." You felt him flinch beneath your hands, hesitant. He felt his skin prickle under yours, finding such curious pleasure in your touch alongside his pain. Your beseeching eyes took him the rest of the way, and he found himself accepting you.

"I...not here," the blacksmith toned, his eyes flitting to the town around him, "if they believe me injured, I'll lose business." You nodded, rummaging in your overburdened satchel, until he took you gently by the hand.

"My home," he began, hesitant, your hand so soft and small in his broad calloused palm, "you'll...you are welcome. It is clean. Quiet. I...I will not harm you. I promise."

Aware of his size and strength, aware of the air of mystery surrounding him amongst the townsfolk, the blacksmith was quick to reassure you. Your eyes softened, and his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles at your words, electricity crackling up your arm.

"I know you won't," you assured. The briefest smile graced his severe face when you offered your name. You felt it warm you from the belly downwards. As he pulled encouragingly on your fingers, leaving the forge to die naturally with the approaching nightfall, you were led through the back of the hut, seeing a newly revealed sprawling cabin of wood and stone, at the edge of the forest. You felt the first kiss of snow upon your cheek.

"Nanami Kento," the blacksmith replied, welcoming you over the threshold. You smiled up at him, taking in his home; barely lit, at first, until he struck a lantern to life. You placed your bag upon a table, rummaging for salves as Kento began to build the fire, skilled and efficient.

You basked in the homely room; autumnal tapestries lining the walls, skin rugs on the floor and furs on the chairs, hanging herbs above a countertop, circled with hung skillets and pans. You relaxed easily into the sincerity of Kento's welcome. A frigid wind slapped the windows, rattling the door.

Before long, an enormous cast iron pot boiled with water, and you knelt before Kento, appraising his wound in the orange glow. Cleaning your hands, wetting a rag with clean water, you moved to clean the ash from his arm before pausing.

"This will hurt," you apologised, looking up to him. Kento's heart stuttered; how many hours had he spent, imagining those sweet eyes, those gentle fingers? Too long. Too many words unspoken over too many years. He was not used to such tenderness.

"I am used to pain," he hushed, smooth and barely audible above the crackle of flame, "my job has certain...hazards, after all." You hummed, swiping the cloth gently, removing dirt and debris.

"Still," you hummed, "I don't like to hurt a friend." Kento chuckled, and you felt yourself blush from hairline to toes at the rich mirth of it.

"We are...friends, are we?" His voice was low and conspiratorial, and you felt it stir a hunger deep within you. You smiled back, mulish as you dabbed salve onto his burn. His knees were parted, with you knelt between them, and your elbows rested on the thick muscle of his thighs. You felt safe, warm, held.

"All those years, passing back and forth," you sighed, teasing, "and not one hello? Just lots of nods," your stomach swooped as Kento laughed again, "and our friendship is just that. An accumulation of nods."

"Would we have stopped at 'hello'?" Kento retaliated. He caught the brief pause in your bandaging, before you continued. You spoke, uncertain again.

"Well," you hummed, testing the water, "offer me one now...and we shall see where it goes." Looking up, you gasped to find your face just inches from Kento's. He smiled at you, his eyes flicking briefly to your lips and back up again.

"Hello," he whispered, quiet and mischievous, "and thank you."

Your breath fluttered out; Kento could feel it against his lips, beckoning him.

"I...it's getting late," you started, and Kento blinked out of his reverie, glancing to the inky black outside his windows, "I should go."

Kento grasped your fingers once more, rising with you as he stood, your shawl shushing against his chest, barely covered by his soft linen shirt. Kento hummed, sounding grave, stepping to the other side of the room.

"It is night," he said, hands cupped around his eyes as he squinted out of the windows, "and the woods are barely safe in the day. I...I cannot allow you to travel. Alone, in the snow. You must stay."

His tone broached no argument, yet still you tried, packing your bag, your cheeks aflame.

"I...it isn't..." you stuttered, and Kento turned to you, chin inclined to the floor, one fine eyebrow raised. You took a deep breath, certain that if you didn't leave now, you may fall too deeply into Kento's insistent heat. Yet...you knew he was right. The path was treacherous. The snow would take you before the dawn.

"Would you like a bath?" Kento offered, turned away to save you your blushes; a gentleman.

"I-- please don't go to any trouble--" Kento swiftly ignored you, beginning to grasp the enormous iron pot, lifting it with stunning ease. His voice didn't even hitch.

"It's no trouble. I bathe every night. You can go before me." Kento carried the pan, stepping behind a folding wooden screen, and you followed him as if to argue, watching him begin to fill an enormous copper bathtub. Your hands shook as you began to remove your shawl, still blushing, so briefly overwhelmed before squashing it down.

Kento glanced up at you, pausing as he poured hot water, "This will take me some time," he said, apologetic, "please make yourself comfortable. I'll call for you."

You nodded, clearing your throat, hands twisting in your removed shawl. Kento chastised himself for admiring the soft curve of your breasts into your waist, the hidden delight of the swelling of your hips beneath your heavy skirts. He did not see how the steam rose fast, dampening his white shirt, how you could see all the way to his navel as he leaned over the bath. Neither of you knew how the other stirred within.

As you walked the length of the room, your fingertips brushing tapestries and grazing over warm furs, your curiosity drew you to a wide, flat trinket box, inlaid with mother of pearl, the colours an aurora in the rolling firelight. You stroked the box just once, before lifting the lid.

Your eyes crinkled immediately with joy at the treasures within; the box was full of lovingly crafted necklaces of gold, silver, pearl and gem, the chains finer and softer than any you had ever seen. You did not feel Kento approach as you admired them.

"I'd like for you to choose one," he offered, sincere, as you spun to face him. He raised his hands placatingly, a smile at the edge of his mouth, "not in lieu of payment, of course. A gift, I...made them with no real aim as to who should receive them."

"You made these?" You gaped, unable to fathom how such enormous hands crafted such intricate delights, "Kento, I-- they're beautiful, I couldn't possibly..."

If Kento had held any reservation, after hearing his name tumble from your lips, he was filled with the burning certainty that the jewellery should be for you, and you alone. His hand closed over yours as you moved to shut the box.

"Please," he breathed, so close, "choose one, or I shall give you them all." Swallowing, your hand hovered over a fine chain of silver and emerald, your fingertips brushing the gem. Kento hummed his approval, before picking it up, his calloused fingers all softness and grace.

"My favourite, too," he rumbled, brushing your hair off the nape of your neck as he clipped the necklace into place. You shivered at the feeling of his fingers on your neck, and almost ran as he whispered beside your ear, "Your bath is ready."

Stripping behind the wooden screen, hearing Kento amble around the room beyond, you sighed as the hot water enveloped you. Washing yourself with a soft sponge, cleaning off the grime of the day, your hand wandered absentmindedly downwards, fingertips grazing through your folds, naturally moving to relieve yourself of the building tension--

"I've left you a shirt." Your hand darted upwards with a guilty splash, Kento's voice only meters away behind the screen.

"Thank-- thank you," you squeaked, blushing, before climbing out, so naked apart from your exquisite new necklace. Drying on a soft towel, your hand hesitated over the shirt draped over the screen, before pulling it on over damp skin. It reached down your thighs, but left little else to the imagination.

Kento remained outwardly stoic, unreadable, averting his gaze as you crept out, arms holding yourself and squashing your breasts together, the colour of your nipples as faint as a ghost under the white linen shirt. He cleared his throat, coughing lightly before skirting past to the bath. You felt heat creep up your neck at the gossamer hush of his clothes hitting the floor, the shifting water as he stepped in, the way he sighed in relief, almost as if--

"I shall sleep in the chair tonight," Kento said, slow and considered, "and you shall have my bed." You felt indignation roll within you.

"Don't be ridiculous," you scolded, "you're injured, and this is your home--"

'-- and you are my guest," he grumbled.

"I won't allow it," you insisted, almost forgetting yourself as you approached the wooden screen, "I'll put some furs on the floor and--"

"You believe I would let you sleep on the floor?" He growled, furious at your suggestion, "I should rather you have me share the bed with you over that--"

"Fine. Then we shall share the bed. And there will be no more argument." You clapped a hand over your mouth as the words tumbled forth, unbidden. Mortified by your own suggestion, you removed your hand to speak again.

Kento stepped round from behind the screen, his towel draped lazily round his waist. You gaped up at him, stunned. He was...younger than you thought, his blond hair now soft and floppy, the ash removed from the lines in his face, taking ten years off him. You faced him, his towering form, the practiced rolls, peaks and planes of muscle belonging to a working man, his forearms so thick--

"Then...we should get to bed," Kento insisted, stepping past you, through a doorway to his bedroom, where you heard him rummaging for clothes, "it is late and I am up with the lark."

You hesitated where you stood, feeling your heartbeat between your legs, desperately curious, but paralysed.

"I don't bite," Kento called out, and you gulped down the sounds of soft fabric dropping over his body, still crippled with indecision and embracing yourself as he stepped out to put out the fire. You were lost momentarily in darkness before he stepped to you, the lantern between you, a beacon in the dark. You felt his hand close around your fingers again. You heard him whisper.

"It will become cold quickly, now the fire has died. Come. Stay warm."

You allowed yourself to be led to Kento's bedroom, hypnotised by the small swinging lantern. Kento led your hand downwards, placing it to the edge of the bed for you to feel your way, your fingers gliding through soft fur and cool sheets. With shaking hands, you crawled across to the head of the bed. Kento waited for you, flipping down the sheets, flipping them back up to your chin as you both slipped between them.

You heard nil but your own heartbeat. Kento faced you, the torch light embering behind him leaving him only just visible as your eyes adjusted to the light. The sheets had not yet warmed from your bodies, and you shivered. You felt Kento shift beside you.

"You...are cold," he stated as if in question. You remained quiet, gripping your hands to your chest lest they reach out for him.

"I'm...I'll warm up. Soon," you reassured yourself as much as him. You heard one doubtful grunt from him. Five minutes passed, and still, Kento felt you shiver against the sheets. Pulling a fur up to your chins, he felt prickles up his legs as one of your feet reached hesitantly out to touch him. He felt rather than heard you sigh.

"So warm," you whispered, your little voice soft with comfort in the dark. Kento's breath caught in his chest, feeling his cock twitch inside his soft trousers.

"Do you...need me?" He offered. He felt your other foot reach out in answer, cold toes wiggling against the downy hair on his leg. He felt a dangerous, needy arousal thread through him.

Reaching out his uninjured arm, he hooked it round your waist, chuckling as you squeaked when he pressed against you. You hummed in pleasure at the heat rolling off him, basking in his warmth, forgetting your awkwardness for a moment. Kento and you lay intertwined like that, with you softening like butter in his arms.

After a few minutes, you shifted against him, about to drift off to sleep. Kento must have been near sleep as well, groaning into your hair as you shifted, reflexively clinging you closer to him. Your bottom, completely bare with his shirt shifted up your body, pressed back to his groin. His clothed cock was hard and barely restrained in his loose trousers, and pressed between your thighs.

You felt a jolt run through you, feeling a warm trickle of arousal, so alien to you, seep out between your thighs. Kento almost saw stars as it dampened the trousers over his cockhead, and he frowned, his forehead pressed to your shoulder blade in apology and embarrassment.

"I-- I'm sorry, I--...it's been so long...since I've felt a woman-- shit, I'm--" Kento rested his nose against your neck, unable to stop himself from ghosting his lips there. You dropped your head back to him, and he growled in appreciation, nuzzling your neck, feeling your thighs clamp around the tip of his cock, your arousal seeping through his trousers and mixing with his own.

"I've never--" you whispered, blushing furiously, drunk on the feeling of his body against yours, feeling so curiously empty and aching to be filled. Kento understood immediately, and moved to pull back.

"No!" You squeaked, holding onto his arm, pushing yourself back to chase him along the bed, "Please, I-- I want--...you. I want you." Your words sat heavy in the air. Kento shifted behind you, at war with himself.

"You don't know what you're asking," he growled, fighting against you to remove his arm, "I am no boy."

"And I'm no girl, nor stupid," you reassured, "I'm not ignorant."

In an instant, Kento moved above you, on all fours, his arms caging you in, corseting you to his bed. He stared down at you, enormous chest heaving, eyes roving down your body, quickly intoxicated by your peaked nipples, beneath his shirt, the hem of it barely covering your sex, still feeling your arousal dampening his cock.

He leaned down, nestling his mouth against your neck again, tongue flicking out, tasting you. He felt you still under his lips, just a little mouse, in the jaws of a bear.

"And yet, all that knowledge is just academic, until you're crying out that my cock is too big for you," he growled, warning you away, barely able to stop himself. He felt you squirm beneath him, his head swimming with you. He was lost, then, to your tiny whisper in the gloom.

"Show me-- please." Kento shuddered, a drop of pre-cum seeping out of his cock, soaking through his trousers and your-- his-- shirt, to dampen your belly. You shivered, desperate to know Kento biblically, desperate for this fabled ecstasy.

Kento raised his mouth from your neck, reading your eyes, seeing such certainty in them. Tangling his fingers with yours beneath the sheets, he pressed the length of his body down against you as he kissed you, his other hand framing your jaw, gently encouraging it open to slide his tongue against yours. Your soft little moan was like music to his ears.

Kissing you deeply, learning your voice and your mouth, letting you learn the peaks and planes of his body with your free hand, Kento kept your other hand plaited with his own, fearful of leaving you to take this journey alone.

He felt himself shudder with the unbridled privilege of being able to worship you, jealously grateful that you had not been left to some boy. He was overwhelmed by the need to set your standards high at the first hurdle.

"Let me taste you," he murmured into your mouth, and you hesitated, unsure of what he meant. Swiping his thumb across your palm, Kento's mouth ventured downwards, sucking the skin of your neck, nipping before soothing the skin with his tongue, feeling you become pliable, supple as water. His fingers danced over the laces holding your shirt together, giving you opportunity to stop him, before untying them, freeing your breasts.

Laying his tongue flat over one nipple, Kento allowed it to curve to the shape of you, to know you, before drawing it into his mouth, sucking on your nipple while his hand toyed with and kneaded the other. He revelled in your whines, a high, keening mewl as you arched off the bed into his mouth. You felt his licks and sucks, curiously, between your legs, and you could not help but buck up against him.

Kento grunted at the feeling of your pussy pressing against his thigh, and moved one hand down to hold your hips still.

"Slow down-- let me show you," he ordered, gentle in his insistence. You trembled under his fingertips, your hips settling back to the bed. He rumbled his approval, rolling your nipple under his tongue again until you sighed, breathy and ecstatic, "Good girl."

In reward, his mouth continued to trail downwards, and your eyes fluttered closed, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, your fingernails scratching through his damp hair. Kento shivered at the sensation, feeling his cock leap against his thigh.

When his mouth reached your mound, you squeaked out in alarm, flipping the blankets down to see Kento, illuminated in the orange light.

"What are you-- your mouth, Kento--" Kento's eyes crinkled up at you, and two arms came to loop round the top of your thighs, pulling you down the bed towards him, your shirt being rucked up against the drag of the mattress to completely expose your glistening pussy to him.

Maintaining eye contact with you, you trembled with anticipation as Kento poked his tongue out into a point, first grazing your folds, before stroking from side to side to ease in between them. The sound that broke out from you as his tongue stroked over your clit, hot and wet, was one Kento masturbated to for years to come.

You felt as though you had been lifted from earth and dropped amongst the clouds as he licked at you, sucking, stroking, tasting, the pleasure so otherworldly compared to what your own hand could achieve, that you felt yourself being rushed towards your peak at speed.

Twisting and squirming against his mouth, you reflexively tried to pull your pussy away from Kento's attentions. His arms tightened around the tops of your thighs, growling into you, pulling you back as you tried to scoot away. Your hand tugged at his hair as you arched, whimpering, coated in a fine sweat. As Kento groaned into your cunt, you watched his hips roll and hump against the bed, the sight alone enough to send your orgasm crashing through you, and you worshipped his name in a long, keening cry.

Kento let his laps and sucks become softer, languid, letting you float through the haze of your pleasure. Nuzzling at you, tasting you as you trailed lazy blissful fingers through his hair, Kento planted soft kisses to your inner thigh.

Moving back up, stroking his nose against your neck, Kento felt your hand move down his shoulders and back, before coming round to ghost over the front of his trousers. Kento shuddered, kneeling above you to remove his shirt, skin prickling with the need to feel yours against his own.

Gazing down at you, his eyes like whiskey in the flickering light, he grazed a palm from in between your breasts, down to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head in one swift tug, exposing you completely to him.

Your hand still trailed over his groin as he knelt, and you were captivated, obsessed with the shape, weight and length of his cock in your hands, blissfully unaware of what you were doing to him. As you grasped the lace at the front of his trousers, undoing it, and squeezing the head of his cock between your fingers, Kento moaned, ragged, leaning one hand sideways to support himself.

"Fuck-- I haven't-- not for so long," he moaned, low and husky, feeling your inexperienced fingers explore his cock and balls in a way that felt almost abusively naive. As your thumb glided beneath his foreskin, collecting the wetness of his pre-cum, exploring his slit, Kento hissed, panting and grabbing your hand.

You broke out of your reverie, blushing with mortification, tears pricking in your eyes as you began to apologise. Kento interrupted, shushing you, one hand still gripping your fingers around his cock, the other coming up to cup your face, his thumb swiping across your cheek.

"Not you," he huffed, stroking your cheek, smiling down at you with fevered eyes, "me, it's-- I-- I'll cum in your hand if you carry on." Your eyes glimmered, hungry to see how he looked as you pleasured him, and you moved yourself, leaning close, squeezing him again beneath his own hand, and he cried out in pleasure. You felt another drip of his arousal across your fingers, and you gulped, your tongue darting out across your lips.

As you lowered yourself to his lap, Kento's eyebrows raised in shock, and desperate awe, as you licked the weeping cockhead sticking out from your joined enclosed hands.

A low rumble ebbed through Kento, his eyes suddenly dark and hungry as he looked down at you, wordlessly using your hand inside his own, to pump the length of his cock. Feeling the intoxicating glide of soft skin over woody hardness, you let him use your hand to masturbate himself as you took the head of his cock into your mouth, licking, tasting the musty pre-cum there.

Every instinct screamed at Kento to chase his orgasm, to press your head further down his cock so he could use your little hand to jack off into your mouth, and he felt overwhelmed by the innocent licks and sucks you gave him, eyes cast upwards to see what effect they had on him. Kento moaned desperately, twisting on his haunches, fingers in turn tangling into your hair and coming away, clenching and unclenching at speed.

He felt the approaching rush of divine ecstasy, thrumming up his back in waves, his balls tightening up against the base of his cock--

Snapping, Kento pulled your hand and mouth off him, heaving you up the bed and back onto the pillows, before pinning you down with his body, panting into your neck, trying not to spill his seed over your belly. You were thrilled, ecstatic with Kento's pleasure, eager to see more of it.

You crept your hips up to his, trying to ease his cock into you. Kento huffed, his hand shooting down to press your hips down again.

"--going to kill me-- I swear-- no idea...you have no idea what you're doing to me--" Kento panted, quaking above you, one forearm planted above your head. As his peak ebbed away, Kento plaited his hand with your own again, above your head. He felt his cockhead resting against the smooth resistance of your entrance, and he suddenly felt so responsible for you.

"I don't want to hurt you," he huffed, aware he was bigger than average, but knowing from the fevered look in your eyes that he could not dissuade you-- not that he wanted to, at this point, his cock throbbing with urgent need.

"Please," you begged, "please." You felt Kento's hips press forwards into your soaking wet heat, feeling a slight sting as it met resistance. Kento rested his nose to yours, his eyes still feverish, his body still smelling of iron and ash and smoke.

"On one condition," he pressed, authoritative as his cockhead pressed deeper against your stinging resistance, breaking past thin membrane, gripping your thigh up to his hip as you trembled, biting your lip, tears in your eyes as you nodded-- anything, you thought, anything.

"Marry me," he whispered against your lips, and you squeaked as you felt a twang of pain, his cock suddenly nestled deeply inside you. Kento rocked his hips gently, shushing you, soothing you, his thumb stroking your palm. Not moving, just holding you as you adjusted to feeling so full, Kento waited for an answer.

"Y--yes...yes," you mewled, and Kento growled his approval against your neck, slowly pulling out of you before rutting back into your wet, tender pussy again, so intimate and deep that you cried out for him.

Kento rolled his hips, like a boat on the waves, whispering into you, certain he wouldn't last long; "First-- I'll cum inside you-- then I'll treat you like a queen...haaah...for the rest of my days."

You clung to Kento, lost in the ecstasy of him plowing into you, delighted by his rumbling groans in your ears, blissfully proud of being able to make such an unflappable man fall apart inside you. When his grip on your hip faltered, his shaking hand dropping to stroke quick little circles around your clit, Kento growled and bit into your neck to feel you rock your hips upwards to meet his own.

The sting almost completely eased, you felt quick pangs of pleasure, rising with every beat of your fast little heart, completely carried along by the eroticism of Kento's frantic groans and mumbles into your ear.

"My love I-- you feel so good...so good...god, I need to cum, need you to cum I-- aahhhh, fuck--" Kento felt your pussy clench around him, and he came inside you as you drank down his moans, fascinated by how they matched up with the bounding twitch of his cock, how his hips juddered into you involuntarily, how his face contorted, jaw clenched, somewhere between rage and serenity.

You were famished, starved of him, immediately desperate for more, and you felt him crumple into you, caging you in, shoulders heaving and spent. Kento chuckled as you peppered him with kisses, gripping your thighs round him and rolling him over so you lay above him, straddling him as his cock softened within you.

With his chin on his chest to look down to you, and a lazy lopsided smile across his face, Kento played idly with your hair, stroking your nose, your cheeks. He proudly fingered the beautiful necklace, resting against your breasts, squashed and plush against him.

"You meant it?" He asked, eager, concerned.

You hummed in delight, pressing a tender kiss to his chest as you nodded; "You had me at 'hello'."

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Would the anon who requested Blacksmith!Kento PLEASE STAND UP so I can credit you for breaking my brain.

4K notes · View notes

joelsgoldrush · 1 month ago

Text

“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him.

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.”

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual.

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart.

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not.

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.”

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations, but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground.

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive.

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him.

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice?

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor.

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases.

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.”

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath.

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close.

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency.

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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