#this time I am trying full length

[joz-yyh]

Another Bounty Hunter x Flagellant Comic

Oh no, BH let it slip!! 😳 🫣 🤭 (Figured I might as well share this since I hardly ever finish stuff. There's a lot of backstory so if any ya'll are interested in the build up, just ask and I'll make a separate post. :>)

[magicaldreamfox1]

dreamy drabbles

— prompt: spotify wrapped 2023 – song nr. 98 (a little wicked || valerie broussard)

The moment Vegas enters the hallway — lights dim and far enough from the room he just emerged from that no one would hear him scream — he finds himself stopped by a blade pressed against his neck.

"Impressive. You must be the king's blade. I've heard a lot about you."

The person behind him doesn't move, as still as a pillar.

The king's blade, Kinn's personal assassin. Quiet, ruthless, unknown. A phantom.

Vegas has been expecting him for a while now.

"Give me the poison."

"I don't know what you're–" The dagger presses deeper into his neck, slicing through his skin effortlessly. If his life wasn't being threatened, he could probably appreciate its sharpness.

Only a small setback, Vegas reminds himself as he lets the tiny vial roll into his palm.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"No." The vial is confiscated and the pressure on his neck lets up just enough for the blade to slip out of his broken skin.

"To the king I bow only for now."

"I am not in the business of second warnings, Prince Vegas", the king's blade hisses.

"I will take that undeserving boy's crown", he spits back, bright anger burning through him. "And when I'm high up in that tower, he'll be down there getting stoned."

The blade presses into his neck again; drawing blood this time.

But Vegas is not afraid. He will finish what his father started. Not to carry on his legacy, but because his brother did not deserve his fate.

So Vegas lets out a laugh.

The king's blade can't hurt him. If Kinn wanted him dead, he would be already.

"Slit my throat. Do it. I will not die a coward, grovelling at the king's feet."

"I catch you again, I'll kill you."

"I'm looking forward to it."

[serendipitous-mage]

its the Good Kush she got it at the dollar store :3

[blastburnt]

so the idea ive been agonising over is silly crochet mesh assless chaps because my look is boring as hell. i think full length would look better but i don't want to sacrifice more pockets than i have to 😔

[pucksandpower]

Do-Over

Logan Sargeant x Andretti!Reader

Summary: Logan drowns his sorrows after being dropped by Williams and passes out in 2024 … he wakes up slightly hungover and very much in 2022 (aka the time travel fix-it fic)

Logan’s hands are shaking.

He’s staring at the email on his phone, reading it over for the third time, hoping the words will somehow rearrange themselves into something different. But they don’t. The screen doesn’t lie, and neither does the cold, detached tone of James Vowles.

Logan, I’m sorry to inform you that Williams Racing has decided to terminate your contract effective immediately. Your performance this season has not met the team’s expectations, and the decision has been made to move forward without you for the remaining races. We believe this is in the best interest of the team as a whole. You’ll find the details of the termination and the necessary steps moving forward in the attached document.

His eyes blur, and he forces himself to blink, trying to hold it together. He knows what this means — his F1 career, the thing he’s worked for his entire life, is over. And it’s not ending with a bang, but with a fucking email.

A knock on the door snaps him back to the present. He looks up, swallowing hard as James walks in without waiting for permission, just like he always does.

“Logan,” James begins, his voice calm, almost clinical. “We need to talk.”

“I got the email,” Logan mutters, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Is this really how it’s going to end?”

James’s face is unreadable. “We’ve discussed this at length. The crashes, the lack of progress … it’s just not working out. The engineers and mechanics are frustrated. We’ve been more than patient.”

Logan feels a wave of anger rising in his chest, but he pushes it down. He knows it won’t help. “So that’s it? Nine races left, and you’re just … dropping me?”

“It’s not an easy decision,” James replies, crossing his arms. “But we have to think about the team. We can’t afford any more setbacks.”

“Setbacks,” Logan echoes, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. “That’s all I am to you? A setback?”

James hesitates, his expression softening for just a moment. “Logan, you’re talented, but this sport is ruthless. You know that.”

“Don’t,” Logan snaps, his voice sharp. “Don’t try to soften the blow now. You could’ve at least told me in person, before sending the damn email.”

James sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know it seems cold, but this is the reality of Formula 1. You’ll land on your feet. You’ve got potential.”

“Potential,” Logan mutters under his breath. “That’s not going to get me back in a car, is it?”

There’s a tense silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on both of them. Logan feels like the walls are closing in, the air in the room growing thicker with each passing second.

“I’m sorry,” James says finally, and for the first time, he sounds genuine. “I really am.”

“Yeah,” Logan replies, his voice hollow. “Me too.”

James lingers for a moment, as if searching for something else to say, but there’s nothing that can fix this. Nothing that can make it right. Finally, he nods and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

Logan stands there, staring at the door, his mind racing. This can’t be happening. It feels like some kind of nightmare, one he can’t wake up from. But the harsh reality is setting in. It’s over. All those years, all that effort, and it’s over just like that.

He sinks down onto the couch, his head in his hands. His chest feels tight, like he can’t get a full breath. He needs to get out of here, but he has no idea where to go. Where do you go when your dreams have just been crushed?

His gaze falls on the bottle of whiskey sitting on the small kitchen counter. He bought it a few years ago, intending to open it after a win that never came. The irony isn’t lost on him.

Logan pushes himself up and walks over to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle and a glass. He hesitates for a moment, then shrugs and puts the glass back. What’s the point of pretending there’s any dignity left in this?

He twists the cap off the bottle and takes a long drink, the burn of the alcohol offering a brief distraction from the pain gnawing at his insides. He leans against the counter, staring out the window at the darkening sky. How the hell did it come to this?

He’s replaying every mistake, every missed opportunity, every race where he could’ve done better. It’s a torturous cycle, one that he can’t escape. He takes another drink, then another, hoping to drown out the thoughts, to numb the ache in his chest.

But it doesn’t work. The alcohol just makes it worse, amplifying the guilt and the regret. He feels like a failure. No, he is a failure. The team didn’t even have the decency to let him finish the season. That’s how little they think of him.

The room starts to blur around the edges as the whiskey takes effect, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. He’s spiraling, and he knows it, but he doesn’t care. This is the only way he knows how to cope, the only way to forget, even if it’s just for a little while.

Hours pass, or maybe minutes — he’s lost track of time. The bottle is nearly empty now, and he’s slumped on the floor, leaning against the kitchen cabinets. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone. What’s the point?

The apartment is silent except for the occasional sound of cars passing by outside. It’s eerie, this quiet, and it makes the emptiness inside him feel even more profound.

Finally, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. The screen is cracked from a previous fall — one of many — but it still works. There are messages from friends, from his family, but he doesn’t open them. He knows what they’ll say. They’ll be supportive, encouraging, but it won’t change anything. They can’t fix this.

Instead, he opens his camera roll and scrolls through the photos. Pictures of him in the car, of the team, of moments that once meant everything to him. Now they’re just reminders of what he’s lost.

He stops on a photo of himself, taken just after he signed with Williams. He looks so damn happy, so full of hope. He barely recognizes that person now.

“What a joke,” he mutters to himself, his voice slurred. “What a fucking joke.”

He takes one last drink from the bottle, then tosses it aside, not caring as it rolls across the floor. He feels the darkness closing in, pulling him under, and for once, he doesn’t fight it. He lets it take him, lets it drown out the pain, the regret, the fear.

And as he finally drifts into unconsciousness, the last thought that crosses his mind is that maybe — just maybe — he deserves this.

***

Logan wakes with a start, his head pounding, the taste of stale whiskey thick on his tongue. He groans, squeezing his eyes shut against the assault of the light streaming through the windows. His whole body feels like it’s been put through a blender — sore, achy, heavy. But it’s not just the hangover, it’s the weight of everything, of what happened yesterday.

He takes a deep breath, bracing himself as he sits up, his hands pressing into the bed beneath him. Except, the texture’s wrong. It’s not the rough fabric of his apartment’s couch or even the smooth, cool sheets he’s used to.

Logan’s eyes snap open, and he looks around, confusion crashing over him like a cold wave. He’s not in his apartment. The walls are different — cleaner, the color a familiar light blue he hasn’t seen in years. The bed is narrow, uncomfortable, with plain white sheets. There’s a desk pushed against the far wall, a locker in the corner with his name printed on it in block letters.

This isn’t his apartment. This is … his driver’s room. The one he used when he was driving for Carlin in Formula 2.

“What the hell …” Logan mutters, running a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of it. He must still be drunk. Or maybe he’s dreaming. But no — he can feel the dull ache in his temples, the dryness in his throat, the uncomfortable press of the mattress beneath him. This is too real to be a dream.

But it doesn’t make any sense. The last thing he remembers is passing out in his apartment after finishing nearly a whole bottle of whiskey. He was a mess. He is a mess. But here he is, waking up in a place he hasn’t seen since 2022, a place that shouldn’t exist in his present reality.

Panic starts to set in. He fumbles for his phone, which is miraculously still in his pocket. The screen lights up, showing the date and time.

September 10th, 2022.

His heart stops. That’s impossible. It’s been two years. Two years since this date. His mind races, trying to piece together what the hell is happening, but nothing fits. He’s not in 2024 anymore. Somehow, he’s back in 2022.

It’s the only explanation, but it’s insane. None of this is possible. It’s not even like those vague dreams where everything’s familiar but distant. This is his life two years ago, down to the worn fabric of the team jacket hanging on the back of the door.

Before he can spiral any further, there’s a sharp knock at the door. Logan barely has time to react before it swings open, and Gary Catt, his manager, strides in with his usual briskness, already talking before the door is fully open.

“Logan, I just got off the phone with Jost Capito,” Gary says, his voice all business, not noticing Logan’s stunned expression. “Williams wants you. They want to lock you in for next season. It’s the best possible scenario. This is it, Logan — this is what we’ve been working toward.”

Logan feels like he’s been hit by a freight train. This conversation — he remembers it. It happened. Gary, standing in this very room, telling him the exact same thing, with the exact same excitement in his voice. The memory is vivid because it changed everything. It was the start of his F1 career. And also … the start of everything that led to that email.

“Logan?” Gary’s voice cuts through the fog in Logan’s mind, pulling him back to the present. “Are you even listening? This is huge, mate. You’re going to be in F1.”

Logan’s throat is dry, his mind racing with possibilities, with consequences. He remembers how he felt the first time he heard these words — pure elation, followed by a rush of nerves. But now, with the knowledge of what’s to come, all he feels is dread.

This is his chance to change things. To make sure it doesn’t end the way it did yesterday. He’s been given a do-over, a second chance, and he can’t afford to mess it up.

Logan takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “Gary,” he says, his voice rough from sleep and the alcohol, “I don’t think I should take the offer.”

Gary stops mid-stride, turning to face Logan with a look of utter disbelief. “What did you just say?”

“I don’t think I should take the offer,” Logan repeats, more firmly this time, even though his heart is pounding in his chest. “It’s too soon.”

“Too soon?” Gary looks at him like he’s just sprouted another head. “Logan, this is Williams. It’s F1. There is no such thing as ‘too soon’ when an opportunity like this comes around. What are you talking about?”

Logan stands up, pacing the small room, trying to gather his thoughts. How does he explain this without sounding completely insane? He can’t tell Gary what he knows — what he’s seen, what’s happened. But he also can’t go down the same path again. Not when he knows where it leads.

“I just … I don’t think I’m ready,” Logan says, finally turning to face Gary. “If I rush into F1 now, it could end badly. I need more time. More experience.”

Gary’s expression shifts from disbelief to concern. “Logan, listen to yourself. You’ve been preparing for this your whole life. You’re as ready as anyone can be. If you pass this up, there’s no guarantee another chance like it will come along. You know that.”

Logan shakes his head. “I know it sounds crazy, but … I have a feeling that if I take this now, it’ll be a mistake. A big one. I’ll end up in a situation where I’m not able to deliver, where the pressure is too much. And that’s not good for anyone — me, the team, my career.”

Gary is silent for a long moment, studying Logan with an intensity that makes him squirm. “Where’s this coming from? You were over the moon about this before. What changed?”

Logan hesitates, searching for the right words. “I just … I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. About what I want my career to look like. And I don’t want to be one of those drivers who gets rushed into F1 and then crashes out because they weren’t ready. I want to do it right. I want to be fully prepared.”

“You don’t get to be fully prepared in this sport,” Gary says, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “This is Formula 1. It’s sink or swim, and you know that. You’re not going to get a better opportunity than this, Logan.”

Logan feels a knot of frustration tightening in his chest. He knows Gary is right, in a way. This is F1. It’s not supposed to be easy. But he also knows that if he takes this offer, if he goes down the same road, it’ll end in disaster.

“I get that,” Logan says, his voice firm. “But I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to take the seat. Not this time.”

Gary stares at him, his expression a mixture of shock and confusion. “Logan, this could be career suicide. You understand that, right?”

Logan nods, swallowing hard. “I do. But I’d rather take that risk than go into something I know I’m not ready for and crash out in a blaze of failure. I can’t do that. I won’t.”

Gary runs a hand over his face, clearly struggling to comprehend what’s happening. “This isn’t like you. You’re not one to back down from a challenge. Why are you doing this?”

Because I know how it ends, Logan thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. Instead, he takes a deep breath and says, “Because I want to do this right. I want to have a long career in F1, not a short one that ends in disappointment. And to do that, I need to be smart about the choices I make now.”

Gary lets out a slow breath, clearly conflicted. “This is … I don’t even know what to say, Logan. You’re turning down a seat in F1. That’s not something you do lightly.”

“I’m not doing it lightly,” Logan assures him, though his heart is racing. “I’ve thought about this a lot, and it’s the right decision for me.”

There’s a long silence as Gary processes this. Logan can almost see the gears turning in his head, the calculations, the weighing of options. He knows how hard this must be for Gary to accept — hell, it’s hard for Logan to accept, and he’s the one making the decision. But he has to stick to his guns. He has to believe that this is the right choice.

Finally, Gary lets out a resigned sigh. “Alright, Logan. If this is really what you want, I’ll back you. But you need to understand the risks. This could close doors for you. Big ones.”

Logan nods, his stomach twisting with anxiety. “I know. But I also know that if I take this now, it could end up closing even more doors in the long run.”

Gary studies him for a long moment, then gives a slow nod. “Alright. I’ll let Jost know. But don’t expect him to be happy about it.”

Logan feels a mixture of relief and dread. “I won’t. But thanks, Gary. I know this isn’t easy.”

Gary gives him a tight smile, still clearly grappling with the decision. “No, it’s not. But you’re the one driving the car, Logan. Just make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Logan nods, watching as Gary turns and leaves the room, the door closing softly behind him. He stands there for a moment, taking in the silence, the surrealness of what just happened. He’s just turned down a seat in F1. The one thing he thought he wanted more than anything. But as the anxiety ebbs, a new feeling takes its place — determination.

This time, things are going to be different. He’s going to do it right, even if it means making the hard choices. Logan takes a deep breath, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over him. This is his second chance, and he’s not going to waste it.

***

The 2023 F2 season ends in a flurry of champagne, confetti, and flashing cameras. Logan stands on the top step of the podium, the P1 trophy clutched in his hands, a grin splitting his face. He’s done it. He’s proved to everyone — most of all to himself — that he was ready. This time, he didn’t rush, didn’t let the pressure consume him. And it’s paid off. He’s the Formula 2 Drivers’ Champion.

But as the celebration winds down and reality sets in, Logan faces a new challenge. Despite his victory, the F1 grid is full, and F2 champions can’t return to the series. He could take a reserve role, bide his time, wait for a seat to open up. But that’s not what he wants. He’s not willing to spend another year on the sidelines, waiting for an opportunity that may never come.

So when the offer from IndyCar comes, Logan doesn’t hesitate. He’s heard the stories — about the speed, the fierce competition, the thrill of racing on ovals. It’s not Formula 1, but it’s still racing at the highest level. And right now, that’s what he needs.

The decision surprises everyone. The media buzzes with speculation, but Logan remains focused. He knows what he’s doing. This is a new path, one that he’s chosen for himself, not because it was expected of him. He’s determined to make it work.

A few weeks later, Logan finds himself in the heart of Indianapolis, standing outside the office of Mario Andretti. The legendary name still carries a weight of history and reverence, even in this new world of racing. It feels surreal, like stepping into a different era of motorsport.

Inside the office, Mario is all business. The contract is laid out on the table between them, a simple piece of paper that represents Logan’s future. Mario goes over the details with the kind of thoroughness that only comes from years of experience, but Logan can barely focus. His mind is racing, thoughts darting between the past season, the unknown future, and the thrill of what he’s about to embark on.

“Everything looks good?” Mario asks, breaking Logan from his thoughts.

Logan blinks, then nods, forcing himself to concentrate. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

Mario slides the pen across the table. “Then let’s make it official.”

Logan takes the pen, feeling the weight of the moment as he signs his name at the bottom of the contract. It’s done. He’s an IndyCar driver now.

Mario nods in approval, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. “Welcome to the team, Logan. We’re excited to have you.”

“Thank you,” Logan says, meaning it. This is a new beginning, and he’s ready for it.

They shake hands, and Mario stands, motioning towards the door. “I’d love to chat more, but I’ve got to head out. My granddaughter’s picking me up for lunch.”

Logan heads out of the office, his mind still reeling from the whirlwind of emotions. He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the person rounding the corner until it’s too late. They collide, and Logan’s first instinct is to reach out, steadying the person as they stumble backward.

“Whoa, I’m so sorry,” he blurts out, his hands gripping her arms as he helps her regain her balance.

“It’s okay,” you reply, laughing softly as you look up at him. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Logan’s breath catches in his throat as he looks down at you, the apology dying on his lips. You’re beautiful — stunning, even — with eyes that seem to sparkle with life and a smile that’s warm and inviting. For a moment, all he can do is stare, struck by how perfect you seem, like someone who’s stepped straight out of a dream.

“You alright?” You ask, tilting your head slightly as you study him.

Logan snaps out of it, quickly releasing his hold on you and stepping back. “Yeah, sorry again. I didn’t see you there.”

The door to Mario’s office opens, and the man himself steps out, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the scene. “Everything okay out here?”

You turn to your grandfather, smiling brightly. “Just a little bump, Grandpa. Nothing to worry about.”

Mario’s expression softens as he looks at you, the sternness replaced by affection. “Good. I don’t want anyone getting hurt before lunch.”

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, and Logan finds himself smiling along, despite the awkwardness of the situation.

“Logan,” Mario says, turning to him, “I’d like you to meet my granddaughter.”

Logan’s heart skips a beat. This is Mario’s granddaughter? Of course, she is. It makes sense now, the confidence in your stance, the way you carry yourself. You’re part of a racing dynasty, just like Mario.

“Logan Sargeant,” Mario continues, introducing him to you. “He’s going to be racing with us next season.”

You offer him your hand, your smile never faltering. “It’s nice to meet you, Logan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Logan takes your hand, feeling a jolt of electricity as your fingers brush against his. “Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you too.”

You glance at Mario, then back at Logan. “We’re heading out for lunch. You should join us.”

Logan’s mind goes blank for a second, and all he can do is blink at you, trying to process what you just said. “Lunch? With you and … Mr. Andretti?”

You laugh again, and Logan thinks it might be the best sound he has ever heard. “Yeah, with us. Unless you have somewhere else you need to be?”

“No, no,” Logan stammers, trying to regain some composure. “I’d love to join you.”

Mario claps Logan on the shoulder, his laughter booming through the hallway. “Looks like you’ve made an impression already, kid. Come on, let’s get out of here before the press catches wind of this.”

Logan nods, still somewhat dazed as he follows you and Mario out of the building. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts — about the contract he just signed, the new chapter he’s stepping into, and now, about you. He can’t quite believe his luck. Not only is he starting a new adventure in IndyCar, but he’s also just met someone who, in the span of a few minutes, has completely captivated him.

As they walk to Mario’s car, Logan steals glances at you, trying to be subtle but failing miserably. You seem so at ease, chatting with your grandfather, your laughter punctuating the conversation. There’s a lightness about you, a warmth that’s infectious, and Logan finds himself drawn to it, to you.

“Logan,” you say, turning to him as you reach the car. “So, what made you decide to join IndyCar? It’s not every day an F2 champion makes that leap.”

Logan pauses, caught off guard by the directness of your question. “Well, uh,” he begins, trying to find the right words, “I guess I just wanted something different. F1 wasn’t an option, and I didn’t want to sit around waiting for a seat to open up. IndyCar seemed like the right challenge. Something new, but still competitive.”

You nod, clearly intrigued. “That makes sense. It’s a bold move, but I think it’ll pay off.”

“Bold,” Logan repeats, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” you assure him, your eyes sparkling. “I admire people who take risks. Especially when they’re as calculated as yours seems to be.”

Mario clears his throat, a knowing grin on his face as he watches the two of you. “Alright, kids, enough shop talk. Let’s get some food.”

You and Logan exchange a smile before sliding into the back seat of the car. The conversation flows easily, despite Logan’s initial nerves. You ask him about his time in F2, what it was like racing on the different tracks, how he handled the pressure. Logan finds himself opening up more than he expected, the words coming easily under your encouraging gaze.

Mario chimes in every now and then, adding his own insights, but it’s clear he’s content to let the two of you do most of the talking. He watches with an amused glint in his eye, as if he’s already figured out something that Logan is just beginning to realize.

By the time you reach the restaurant, Logan feels like he’s known you for much longer than the short time you’ve actually spent together. There’s an ease between you that he’s rarely felt with anyone else, a connection that seems to have sparked almost instantly.

Inside the restaurant, Mario insists on taking the head of the table, leaving you and Logan to sit across from each other. As you settle in, you continue to ask Logan questions, but now they’re more personal — what does he do outside of racing? What’s his favorite movie? Does he have any hidden talents?

Logan answers as best he can, though he’s still reeling a bit from how quickly this day has turned into something he never expected. He’s just signed with IndyCar, but more than that, he’s sitting across from someone who makes his heart race faster than any car ever could.

“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Logan,” Mario says suddenly, breaking into the conversation. “I’ve seen a lot of young drivers come and go, but you … you’ve got something special. Just keep your focus, and you’ll go far.”

“Thank you, Mr. Andretti,” Logan says, his voice sincere. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

“Call me Mario,” he replies with a wave of his hand. “We’re family now, after all.”

Logan smiles, feeling a warmth spread through him at the word “family.” It’s strange, how quickly things have shifted, how he’s gone from a solitary driver trying to make his way in the world to someone who might actually belong here, in this new place, with these new people.

As the lunch continues, Logan finds himself growing more comfortable, the initial awkwardness fading away. You keep the conversation lively, sharing stories about your grandfather, about your own life, and Logan can’t help but be drawn to your passion, your intelligence, your warmth. It’s clear that you’re not just Mario Andretti’s granddaughter — you’re your own person, with your own dreams and ambitions.

Eventually, the meal winds down, and Mario excuses himself to take a phone call, leaving you and Logan alone at the table. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, but charged, filled with the unspoken things neither of you have quite put into words yet.

“So,” you say, leaning forward slightly, a teasing smile on your lips, “what do you think of Indy so far?”

Logan grins, feeling a boldness he didn’t expect. “Well, it just got a whole lot more interesting.”

You laugh, your eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m glad to hear it. I have a feeling you’re going to fit in just fine here.”

“Yeah,” Logan says, his voice softening as he looks at you, really looks at you. “I think I am too.”

You hold his gaze, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing second. For a moment, the world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you, caught in this moment that feels almost like fate.

Before the silence can stretch too long, Mario returns, his phone call finished. He glances between the two of you, his eyes twinkling with a knowing look that makes Logan’s ears burn. “Ready to head out?”

You nod, standing up and giving Logan one last, lingering smile. “It was nice meeting you, Logan. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

Logan stands as well, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. “Definitely. I’m looking forward to it.”

As you and Mario head out of the restaurant, Logan lingers for a moment, watching you go. He can’t quite believe what just happened, but one thing is certain — his life just got a lot more complicated, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

As he walks out into the bright sunlight, Logan can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. He’s taken a leap into the unknown, and it feels like the start of something incredible.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening, vibrating through the very core of the Speedway as Logan crosses the finish line first. It’s the 107th running of the Indianapolis 500, and he’s just won it. The realization hits him like a tidal wave, almost knocking the breath out of him. He’s an Indy 500 champion. In his rookie season, no less.

The engine growls as he coasts to a stop, and for a moment, all he can do is sit there, hands trembling on the steering wheel. His heart pounds in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he lets out a breathless laugh, disbelief and elation mingling into something indescribable.

“Logan Sargeant wins the Indy 500!” The announcer’s voice echoes through the speakers, barely audible over the cheers of the crowd. He hears it, but it still feels surreal, like something out of a dream.

The pit crew rushes over, the celebration already in full swing as they haul him out of the car. He’s immediately surrounded by a sea of people — team members, media, officials — everyone wanting a piece of this historic moment. But through it all, there’s one thing on his mind. One person.

You.

He’s searching the crowd, trying to spot you among the chaos. His vision is blurred with sweat and tears, but then he sees you — pushing your way through the throng of people, a look of pure joy on your face. You’re clapping, laughing, your eyes shining with pride, and all Logan can think is how he needs to get to you.

But first, there’s tradition to uphold.

One of the crew hands him the iconic bottle of milk, the symbol of victory. Logan takes it, still in a daze, and tilts it back, taking a long swig. The cold liquid is refreshing, cutting through the heat of the moment, and he can’t help but laugh as he lowers the bottle, milk dripping down his chin.

Without hesitation, he lifts the bottle above his head and pours the rest over himself. The milk runs down his face, soaking into his race suit, and the crowd goes wild, the noise level somehow reaching new heights. He feels on top of the world — unstoppable, invincible.

And then he spots you again, closer now, just on the edge of the crowd. Logan doesn’t think, doesn’t pause to consider anything else. He just moves, pushing through the throng of people until he’s standing right in front of you.

You’re smiling up at him, eyes bright with something that makes his heart race faster than it did on the final lap. Before he can stop himself, Logan reaches out, pulls you in, and kisses you.

It’s the kind of kiss that’s been building for months — the culmination of all the moments, all the glances, all the unspoken words between you. You taste like the victory he’s just claimed, like the adrenaline that’s still pumping through his veins, like everything he’s been chasing since he first set foot in this world.

When you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, milk dripping from Logan’s face and onto yours. You laugh, and the sound is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard.

“You’re lucky I’m not lactose intolerant,” you tease, licking the milk from his lips with a grin that’s both playful and suggestive. “But honestly? It’d be worth it even if I was.”

Logan laughs, a deep, full-bodied sound that comes from a place of pure, unfiltered happiness. He feels like he’s floating, like nothing in the world could possibly bring him down from this high. Not now, not ever.

“Best win of my life,” he says, his voice rough with emotion, still holding you close, as if afraid that letting go might make this moment disappear.

You tilt your head, still smiling up at him with those eyes that have captivated him from the start. “I’d hope so,” you say softly. “You just won the Indy 500.”

He shakes his head, a playful grin on his face. “No, I mean this.” He gestures between the two of you, the words hanging in the air, heavy with meaning.

For a second, you just stare at him, the noise of the crowd fading into the background, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. And then you’re laughing, throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

This one is softer, sweeter — less about the heat of the moment and more about the connection between you, the way everything just seems to fit when you’re together. Logan loses himself in it, in you, in this moment that feels like the culmination of everything he’s ever wanted.

When you finally break apart, the noise of the crowd floods back in, the celebration continuing around you. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters except the way you’re looking at him, like he’s the only person in the world.

“Come on,” you say, tugging him towards the podium. “You’ve got a trophy to collect.”

Logan follows, still holding onto your hand, not willing to let you go just yet. The team is waiting, cheering him on, and as they hoist him up onto their shoulders, Logan realizes that this — this moment, this feeling — is what he’s been racing for all along.

Standing on the podium, the trophy in his hands, Logan looks out at the sea of faces, at the fans cheering his name, at the team celebrating their victory. But his eyes find you in the crowd, and that’s where they stay.

You’re smiling up at him, and Logan knows, deep down, that this is just the beginning. The beginning of something incredible, something he never saw coming but can’t imagine living without.

As the anthem plays and the confetti rains down, Logan lifts the trophy high, his heart full to bursting. He’s done it — he’s won the Indy 500. But more than that, he’s found something, someone, who makes all of it mean so much more.

And as he looks down at you, standing there with that bright, beautiful smile, Logan knows that he’s not just a champion. He’s the luckiest guy in the world.

***

The soft hum of the office fills the silence as Logan sits across from Mario, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. The past year has been a whirlwind — plenty of IndyCar wins, that unforgettable victory at the Indy 500, and the life he’s built with you by his side. It’s been everything he didn’t know he needed, but now, as he sits in Mario’s office, there’s an air of something significant, something life-altering in the way Mario looks at him.

Mario clears his throat, leaning forward on his desk, hands clasped. “Logan,” he begins, voice steady, serious. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking — planning, actually — and I need to talk to you about something important.”

Logan’s heart skips a beat, the weight of Mario’s words sinking in. He nods, leaning forward slightly, feeling the anticipation coil tight in his chest. “What is it?” He asks, voice steady despite the flurry of nerves.

Mario takes a deep breath, then looks Logan squarely in the eye. “We’re buying Haas F1 Team. The deal’s already in motion, and we’ll be restructuring everything from the ground up to make our entrance into Formula 1 in 2026.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Logan’s breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, he’s not sure if he’s heard Mario correctly. “Formula 1?” He echoes, almost disbelieving. His mind races, a thousand thoughts colliding at once. “You’re serious?”

“As serious as it gets,” Mario replies, his expression unwavering. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Logan. And now, with everything coming together, it’s finally happening. But here’s the thing-” he pauses, his gaze locking onto Logan’s with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt, “I can’t think of anyone better suited to lead this team as our driver than you.”

The words hit Logan like a freight train. He stares at Mario, unable to speak, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. Formula 1 has always been the dream, the pinnacle of everything he’s worked for. The chance he thought he’d lost — twice, if he counts the strange twist of fate that had brought him here in the first place.

“Logan, I know this is a lot to take in,” Mario continues, his tone softer now, understanding. “But I believe in you. You’ve proven yourself time and time again, in F2, in IndyCar — hell, you won the Indy 500 in your first season. And I know you still have that fire for F1. This is your shot, kid. And I want you to take it.”

Logan feels the lump in his throat as Mario’s words sink in. The room seems to close in around him, the gravity of the moment pressing down like a physical weight. He’s had a lot of success in IndyCar, more than he ever imagined, and it brought him you — his reason to smile, his anchor in the storm. But Formula 1? That’s the dream he’s never fully let go of, even when he tried to convince himself otherwise.

He swallows hard, forcing the words out past the emotion threatening to choke him. “I-I don’t know what to say,” he admits, his voice thick. “I mean, this is … I didn’t think I’d ever get another chance like this.”

Mario smiles, the kind of smile that’s equal parts pride and encouragement. “I know it’s a lot, Logan. And it’s not an easy decision, especially considering everything you’ve built here in IndyCar. But I have no doubt in my mind that you’re the right person for this. You’ve got what it takes to succeed in F1, and I’m not just talking about talent. You’ve got heart, determination, and the ability to learn from your mistakes. That’s what makes a champion.”

Logan’s mind races, the possibilities spinning out in front of him. He thinks about everything he’s worked for, everything he’s achieved. And then he thinks about you — how you’ve been there with him through it all, supporting him, believing in him even when he doubted himself.

He takes a deep breath, his decision already forming in his mind, solidifying with each passing second. “Okay,” he says, meeting Mario’s gaze head-on. “I’ll do it. I want this, Mario. I want to prove to myself that I can do it right this time.”

Mario’s grin widens, and he stands up, offering Logan his hand. “Welcome to Andretti F1 Team. We’re going to do great things together.”

Logan shakes his hand, the reality of it all starting to settle in. He’s going to be a Formula 1 driver again. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, everything he’s ever wanted all over again. As he stands there, absorbing the magnitude of what’s just happened, he feels a strange mix of emotions — elation, fear, anticipation, and something else that he can’t quite name.

Mario walks him to the door, still talking about the next steps, the plans they have for the team, but Logan’s mind is half-focused on something else, someone else. As the door swings open, the conversation comes to a halt. The sight that greets them both brings a grin to Mario’s face and a burst of laughter from Logan.

You’re standing there, your ear pressed to the door, looking guilty as hell when you realize you’ve been caught. You straighten up quickly, trying to play it off, but the blush spreading across your cheeks gives you away.

“Eavesdropping, huh?” Logan teases, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. There’s a lightness in his voice that wasn’t there moments ago, the news already settling into a place of excitement rather than apprehension.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile, but failing miserably. “I, um … I might have been curious,” you admit, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

Mario chuckles, shaking his head. “Looks like we’ve got a new team spy, Logan. Better watch out.”

Logan can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. He steps out of the office, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “You know, you didn’t have to spy,” he says, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “I would’ve told you everything.”

You look up at him, your smile fading slightly as something more serious takes its place in your eyes. “I just … I wanted to know if it was good news,” you say quietly. “I know how much F1 means to you.”

Logan feels his heart clench at your words, at the sincerity in your voice. You’ve always understood him, always known what drives him, what keeps him going. He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “It’s great news,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m getting a second shot at F1, and I’m not going to mess it up this time.”

Your smile returns, bright and full of the same determination he feels. “I know you won’t,” you say confidently. “You’re going to do amazing things, Logie. And I’ll be right there with you.”

Logan’s chest tightens with emotion, the intensity of the moment overwhelming him. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with gratitude. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You laugh softly, the sound like music to his ears. “Good thing you won’t have to find out,” you reply, your tone teasing but laced with affection.

Logan’s heart swells, and before he can stop himself, he lifts you off your feet, spinning you around in a circle. You yelp in surprise, then burst into laughter, the sound filling the hallway.

He sets you down gently, your laughter fading into a soft smile as you look up at him. There’s a moment of quiet, the world around you fading away as the reality of what’s happening sinks in. Logan leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s both tender and passionate, a promise of what’s to come.

When you finally pull back, breathless and smiling, Logan feels a sense of calm settle over him. Everything is falling into place, and for the first time in a long while, he feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

With you by his side, he knows he can face whatever comes next.

“Ready to take on the world?” You ask, your voice light but your eyes serious.

Logan grins, squeezing your hand. “As long as I’ve got you, I’m ready for anything.”

And with that, he leads you down the hallway, the future stretching out before him, bright and full of promise.

***

The sun is barely up, casting long shadows across the Albert Park Circuit, but the air is already alive with anticipation. It’s the first day of preseason testing for the 2026 Formula 1 season, and the paddock is buzzing with the usual mix of excitement and nerves.

Teams are unpacking crates, engineers are huddled over laptops, and the unmistakable scent of burning rubber is already in the air. But for Logan, walking through the paddock with you on his arm, it feels like stepping into a dream — one he’s worked too damn hard to make a reality.

He adjusts the collar of his Andretti jacket, the weight of the moment not lost on him. This is it. His second chance — though, thanks to the bizarre twist of fate, no one else knows it’s his second. Everyone around him sees a rookie, an American hopeful making his debut with Andretti’s new F1 team. But Logan knows better. He’s here with experience that no one can fathom, and he’s determined not to waste it.

As you walk beside him, your hand resting lightly on his arm, he can’t help but steal a glance at you. There’s a brightness in your eyes, a mix of pride and excitement that mirrors his own. “You okay?” He asks, squeezing your hand gently.

You look up at him and smile, the kind of smile that makes his heart do a little flip. “I’m more than okay,” you reply. “I’m with you, and we’re about to watch you live your dream. What could be better than that?”

Logan grins, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. You’ve been his rock through everything — the highs, the lows, the strange, unexplainable journey that brought him back here. He’s never been more certain that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

As you make your way through the paddock, heads turn. It’s not just because Logan is here with the legendary Andretti team, but because of the woman at his side. He catches a few curious glances, some surprised, others appreciative, and he can’t blame them. You’re a sight to behold, and he’s proud to be walking in with you.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, Logan spots a familiar face. Oscar Piastri, decked out in McLaren colors, is standing near the entrance to the pit lane, chatting with a few team members. It’s been years since they last spoke properly — back when they were both climbing the ranks in the junior series, fighting tooth and nail for every inch of track.

They were close once, but life pulled them in different directions — Oscar to McLaren, Logan to IndyCar. And now, here they are, both in Formula 1, albeit on different paths.

Logan feels a wave of nostalgia, and before he can overthink it, he’s steering you in Oscar’s direction. As you approach, Oscar looks up, and for a split second, there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes before it melts into a wide, genuine smile.

“Logan Sargeant,” Oscar says, his Australian accent as thick as ever. He steps forward, hand outstretched, and Logan takes it, shaking firmly. “I’ll be damned. You actually made it.”

Logan chuckles, the sound more relaxed than he feels. “Yeah, I guess I did. It’s been a long road, but here I am.”

Oscar’s smile widens, his grip on Logan’s hand lingering for just a moment longer. “It’s good to see you, mate. I was wondering when you’d show up in F1. Figured you were having too much fun in IndyCar to come back.”

“There was a lot to love about IndyCar,” Logan admits, glancing at you with a fond smile. “But F1 was always the dream, you know? Couldn’t pass up a chance like this.”

Oscar nods, understanding clear in his expression. “I get it. And with Andretti, no less. That’s a hell of a team to start with. You’re going to shake things up around here, I can tell.”

Logan shrugs, trying to play it cool even as his heart pounds with the reality of it all. “That’s the plan. But enough about me. How’s life at McLaren? You guys ready to give us a run for our money?”

Oscar laughs, the sound light and easy. “Always. McLaren’s been working their asses off, and I’m feeling good about this season. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because we’re old friends.”

Logan grins, feeling the competitive spark that’s always driven him reignite. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve gone wheel-to-wheel. I’m looking forward to it.”

Oscar’s gaze shifts to you, his curiosity evident. “And who’s this?” He asks, his tone polite but genuinely interested.

Logan’s grin softens as he looks at you. “This is my better half,” he says, his voice filled with affection. “She’s the one who keeps me sane.”

You smile at Oscar, offering your hand. “It’s great to finally meet you, Oscar. Logan’s told me a lot about you.”

Oscar shakes your hand, his smile warm and welcoming. “All good things, I hope.”

“Mostly,” you tease, throwing Logan a playful glance.

Logan laughs, feeling a lightness in his chest he hasn’t felt in a while. It’s good to be here, good to be surrounded by the familiar banter and camaraderie that he’s missed. He knows the road ahead is going to be tough — F1 is nothing if not ruthless — but with you by his side and old friends welcoming him back, he feels more ready than ever to face whatever comes his way.

Oscar steps back, his gaze shifting between the two of you. “Well, I’d better let you guys get settled in. But hey, we should catch up properly later. Maybe grab a drink after testing?”

Logan nods, appreciating the offer. “Definitely. It’s been too long.”

As Oscar walks away, Logan watches him for a moment, the memories of their shared past mingling with the excitement of the present. It’s surreal, being here again, but this time with the weight of everything he’s learned, everything he’s fought for.

You tug gently on his arm, pulling him out of his thoughts. “What are you thinking about?” You ask, your voice soft and curious.

Logan smiles down at you, squeezing your hand. “Just how different things are now,” he admits. “But in a good way. I’ve got a second shot at this, and I’m not going to waste it.”

You nod, your eyes shining with the same determination he feels. “And I’ll be right there with you, every step of the way.”

Logan feels a swell of emotion, gratitude, and love that he can’t quite put into words. Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The two of you continue walking, the sounds of the paddock fading into the background as you focus on each other. The day ahead is full of unknowns — testing, strategy meetings, the inevitable pressure of proving himself — but with you by his side, Logan feels ready for anything.

As you make your way to the Andretti garage, the team members greet Logan with nods and smiles, and he can see the mix of curiosity and expectation in their eyes. They’re all in this together, building something new, something that has the potential to be great. And Logan is determined to be the driver they need, the one who can lead them to success.

You squeeze his hand, drawing his attention back to you. “You’re going to do amazing, Logan. I can feel it.”

He smiles, the confidence in your voice bolstering his own. “Thanks. I’m just glad you’re here with me.”

“Always,” you reply, your gaze unwavering.

As the day progresses, Logan finds himself falling into the rhythm of the paddock. The familiar sounds of engines roaring to life, the chatter of engineers discussing data, the focused intensity that permeates every corner — it’s like he never left. But this time, there’s a new layer to it all, a sense of belonging that he didn’t fully grasp the first time around.

He exchanges nods and brief conversations with other drivers as they pass by, some offering congratulations, others sizing him up as the new competition. It’s all part of the game, the unspoken dance of respect and rivalry that defines the sport. But through it all, Logan keeps you close, your presence grounding him in the midst of the chaos.

As the day draws to a close, Logan finds himself back in the garage, the car stripped down and the team poring over the data from the day’s sessions. He’s tired, the kind of exhaustion that comes from both physical exertion and mental focus, but it’s the good kind of tired — the kind that tells him he’s exactly where he needs to be.

You’re standing nearby, chatting with one of the engineers, your laughter mingling with the sounds of the garage. Logan watches you for a moment, a smile tugging at his lips. You’ve always had a way of fitting in, of making everyone around you feel at ease, and he’s grateful for that — for you.

As if sensing his gaze, you look over at him and smile, that familiar warmth in your eyes. You make your way over to him, and when you reach him, Logan pulls you into his arms, holding you close. The noise of the garage fades into the background, leaving just the two of you in this moment.

“You did great today,” you say.

Logan holds you a little tighter, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he murmurs.

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of pride and affection. “You’re the one out there driving, Logan. But I’m glad I can be here for you.”

He smiles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “It means everything to me that you are,” he whispers.

For a moment, the chaos of the garage and the world outside fades, leaving just the two of you standing together, ready to face whatever comes next. Logan knows the road ahead won’t be easy, but with you by his side, he’s more than ready to take on the challenge.

***

The media room is buzzing with the usual pre-race energy, a mix of nerves and excitement crackling in the air as the drivers settle in behind the table. Logan’s seated between Oscar and Charles, the bright lights overhead casting sharp shadows across their faces. The backdrop behind them, plastered with sponsor logos and the official F1 emblem, feels almost like a stage, the press in front of them the audience waiting for their performance.

Logan shifts in his seat, glancing down at the bottled water in front of him. The press conference has been the usual mix of questions so far — how the cars are handling, expectations for the season, the general camaraderie between the drivers. But there’s an undercurrent, a sense that something more pointed is coming.

A journalist from the back finally stands, her voice clear and direct as she catches Logan’s attention. “Logan,” she begins, holding her recorder up, “there’s been some observation that every time you see James Vowles, your expression seems to … change. Almost like you’re not too thrilled to be around him. Any comment on that?”

There’s a moment of silence in the room, a collective breath held. Logan feels the gaze of every person on him, including the drivers beside him. He lets out a quiet laugh, trying to play it cool, but he can’t help the way his mind flashes back to the last time he’d faced Vowles, the man’s condescending tone, the cold dismissal that had sent him spiraling.

Oscar shifts beside him, giving him a sideways glance, probably wondering where this is going. Logan catches the edge of his own reflection in the shiny surface of the table and forces his expression into something neutral, even though the old bitterness is clawing its way up from the pit of his stomach.

“Bad vibes,” Logan says finally, his voice carrying just enough humor to keep it light, though there’s an unmistakable edge to it. “That’s what my girlfriend would say. He just … gives off bad vibes.”

There’s a ripple of laughter through the room, the tension breaking slightly. But the journalist isn’t done yet. “Bad vibes? Care to elaborate on that?”

Logan shrugs, trying to brush it off with a casualness he doesn’t quite feel. “You know, it’s one of those things. Sometimes you just don’t click with someone, right? It’s nothing serious.”

Charles, on his other side, leans into his mic, flashing a grin. “You’re not going to make us all paranoid about our vibes now, are you?”

The room laughs again, and Logan takes the opportunity to sip his water, hoping the moment will pass. But he can feel the weight of the past pressing against him, the memories of how it all went down before he’d found himself in this second chance. He knows better than anyone that this sport is a game of perceptions, of how you carry yourself, and he can’t afford to let the past taint his future.

Another journalist jumps in, steering the conversation toward safer waters — questions about the new car, how he’s adjusting to the Andretti team. Logan answers on autopilot, the usual lines about feeling confident, about how the team has been amazing. But in the back of his mind, he’s still thinking about that flash of disgust he couldn’t hide, the way his skin prickled when he saw Vowles earlier that day.

When the press conference finally wraps up, and the drivers are ushered out of the room, Oscar hangs back, falling into step beside Logan as they head toward the paddock. “So,” Oscar starts, keeping his voice low, “bad vibes, huh?”

Logan lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You know how it is,” he says, trying to keep it light, though he knows Oscar can see right through him.

Oscar just nods, not pushing any further, and Logan’s grateful for that. They walk in silence for a moment, the din of the paddock growing louder as they approach, engineers and team members bustling around them.

“Honestly, mate,” Oscar says after a beat, “if anyone’s going to bring some good vibes into F1, it’s you. I’m glad you’re here.”

Logan glances over, and there’s sincerity in Oscar’s expression that makes Logan’s chest tighten, the weight of everything he’s carried with him lightening just a bit. “Thanks, Oscar. That means a lot.”

They reach the Andretti motorhome, where you’re waiting for Logan, your eyes lighting up the moment you spot him. He feels a warmth spread through him at the sight, a reminder of what really matters.

You push off the wall you’d been leaning against, falling into step beside him. ��So, how’d it go in there?”

Logan smirks, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as they walk. “Let’s just say my reputation for honesty might have gotten a bit more solidified.”

You tilt your head up at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. “That bad, huh?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Not bad, just … honest.”

You glance at Oscar, who’s still walking beside you, and give him a knowing look. “He always has to make things interesting, doesn’t he?”

Oscar grins, nodding in agreement. “Never a dull moment with this one.”

As you make your way back into the motorhome, Logan feels the tension of the day starting to ebb away. The familiar scent of coffee and fuel, the low hum of conversations around him, and the comforting presence of you by his side — it all feels right. Despite everything, he knows this is where he belongs.

Once inside, the motorhome offers a brief respite from the chaotic energy outside. The team is prepping for final checks, and Logan knows he should be focusing on the task ahead, but there’s something nagging at him, a need to explain himself, to make sure you understand.

You catch the way his brows furrow slightly, the way his grip on your shoulder tightens for a moment before he lets go. “What’s up?”

He hesitates, running a hand through his hair, looking for the right words. “I just … I don’t want to come off like I’m carrying a grudge or anything. That comment about Vowles — it probably sounded harsher than I meant it.”

You step closer, your hand finding his, grounding him. “Logan, it’s okay. Everyone has people they don’t vibe with. It doesn’t mean anything more than that.”

He nods, the tightness in his chest loosening as he looks into your eyes, seeing the unwavering support there. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “It’s a gift. Plus, you make it easy.”

Oscar clears his throat, and both of you look over to see him trying not to grin. “I’m going to leave you two to it. Just don’t forget we have a race to focus on.”

Logan laughs, shaking his head as Oscar heads out. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll be right out.”

When Oscar’s gone, Logan turns back to you, his expression softening. “Thanks for being here. Really.”

You lean up, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Always.”

As you both make your way out to the garage, the sounds of the team preparing for the weekend reach your ears, and Logan feels that familiar rush of adrenaline, the anticipation of what’s to come. The memory of the press conference, of Vowles, fades into the background. What matters now is the race ahead, the chance to prove himself once again, and the knowledge that whatever happens, you’re right there with him.

He glances over at you as they approach the car, and you catch him staring, raising an eyebrow in question. “What?”

Logan just smiles, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

You roll your eyes, though there’s a smile playing on your lips. “You better believe it, Sargeant. Now, go out there and show them what you’ve got.”

He nods, feeling more centered than he has all day. With a final squeeze of your hand, he steps into the garage, ready to take on whatever comes next, knowing that no matter what happens on the track, he’s already won in the ways that truly matter.

***

The roar of the engines reverberates through the paddock, a constant hum that thrums in Logan’s chest as he steps into the Andretti garage. It’s yet another race weekend, and the energy is electric, a mix of anticipation and nerves hanging in the air.

The team is buzzing around him, mechanics fine-tuning the car, engineers buried in data, but Logan’s focus is on the familiar figure leaning casually against the back wall, arms crossed, watching the hustle with an almost serene smile.

Logan stops in his tracks, eyebrows raising in surprise. It’s not that Mario isn’t around — he’s a constant presence in the team, always keeping an eye on things — but he usually doesn’t show up this early in the weekend, and certainly not with that look on his face.

It’s a smile Logan recognizes all too well, a mix of pride and mischief that means only one thing: Mario knows something that everyone else doesn’t, and it’s going to shake things up.

Logan weaves his way through the garage, sidestepping the organized chaos until he’s standing in front of Mario. “You look like you’re up to something,” Logan says, crossing his arms to mirror the older man’s posture. “What’s going on?”

Mario’s smile widens just a fraction, his eyes glinting with a secret. “Now, what makes you think I’m up to anything, kid?”

Logan chuckles, shaking his head. “Because I know that look. You’ve got news.”

Mario doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he pushes off the wall and motions for Logan to follow him to a quieter corner of the garage, away from the prying eyes and ears of the rest of the team. Logan follows, his curiosity piqued. Whatever Mario’s about to tell him, it’s big.

When they’re sufficiently out of earshot, Mario leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You remember how I told you a while back that we were working on something big for the team?”

Logan nods, his interest fully captured. “Yeah. What’s up?”

Mario’s smile turns almost wicked. “Well, it seems that James Vowles and Williams think they’re going to secure Adrian Newey for next season.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly. Newey is a legend in the sport, the kind of designer who can turn a good team into a championship-winning one. If Williams were to get him, it would be a game-changer. “Wait, you said they think they’re going to get him?”

“Exactly.” Mario’s grin is practically gleeful now. “What they don’t know is that Adrian’s already in talks with us. In fact, we’re just about ready to sign the deal.”

Logan lets out a low whistle, the magnitude of the news sinking in. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. By this time next week, Adrian Newey will be working for Andretti.”

Logan can’t help the wide smile that spreads across his face. This is huge, a move that will send shockwaves through the paddock. With Newey on board, Andretti’s chances of becoming a front-runner in F1 just skyrocketed. “I can’t believe it,” Logan says, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s going to change everything.”

Mario nods, satisfaction evident in his expression. “It’s a big deal, no doubt about it. But we’ve still got work to do. We can’t get complacent, not with what’s at stake. But this … this is a big step in the right direction.”

Logan’s mind is already racing ahead, thinking about what this means for the team, for his own career. The idea of driving a car designed by Newey is almost surreal. “When are you going to announce it?”

“Not until everything’s signed and sealed,” Mario replies. “But once it’s done, we’ll make sure the whole world knows. And Williams … well, they’re in for a nasty surprise.”

Logan laughs, the sound coming out more exhilarated than he intended. The idea of one-upping Vowles, especially after everything that’s happened between them, is deeply satisfying. “I can’t wait to see the look on Vowles’ face when he finds out.”

Mario pats Logan on the shoulder, the gesture filled with a camaraderie that Logan has come to cherish. “Neither can I, kid. Neither can I.”

As they walk back towards the main part of the garage, Logan’s mind is still reeling from the news. He’s been focused on the present, on making sure he performs at his best every time he’s out on the track, but this … this opens up a whole new realm of possibilities. With Newey on board, there’s no telling what they can achieve.

When you spot him from across the garage, the look on his face must give away that something’s up because you immediately make your way over, your expression curious. “What’s going on?” You ask as soon as you’re close enough.

Logan glances around, making sure no one is within earshot, and then leans in, his voice low. “Mario just dropped a bombshell. Andretti’s about to sign Adrian Newey.”

Your eyes widen in shock, and Logan watches as a grin spreads across your face, mirroring his own excitement. “No way. That’s … huge!”

“I know,” Logan says, still barely able to believe it himself. “This changes everything.”

You reach out, placing a hand on his arm, your voice filled with pride. “You’re going to be driving a car designed by Newey. Do you realize how amazing that is?”

Logan nods, the reality of it finally sinking in. “Yeah, I do. It’s … I can’t even put it into words.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You don’t have to. I can see it on your face.”

For a moment, Logan just stands there, soaking it all in. The garage is still bustling around them, the team oblivious to the monumental news that’s just been dropped in their laps. But Logan knows that soon enough, everything is going to change. This is the kind of move that can define a career, that can take a team from being contenders to being champions.

But more than that, it’s a chance for redemption. A chance to prove to everyone — including himself — that he belongs here, that he’s capable of more than anyone ever gave him credit for. The past is behind him now, and with you by his side, and Newey in the garage, the future looks brighter than ever.

Logan glances over at you, seeing the pride and excitement in your eyes, and feels a surge of gratitude. For the second chance he’s been given, for the team that believes in him, and for you, the person who’s been there through it all.

“We’re going to do something amazing, you know that?” Logan says, his voice filled with conviction.

You nod, your smile soft but full of certainty. “I know. And I can’t wait to see it.”

Neither can Logan.

***

Logan’s heart is still pounding from the rush of the race as he stands on the podium, feeling the weight of the Miami sun on his shoulders. The crowd roars below him, a sea of red, white, and blue as far as the eye can see, their energy pulsing through his veins. He can hardly believe it. A podium at his home race, in front of a crowd that feels like family, is something he’d dreamed about since he was a kid.

He turns, looking out over the crowd, his eyes scanning for you. You’re there, as you always are, standing with the Andretti team, your smile brighter than the sun. The mechanics are cheering, patting each other on the back, but Logan only has eyes for you. It’s like everything else falls away — the noise, the cameras, the pressure of the season — all of it fades into the background. All that matters is the way you’re looking at him, like he’s your entire world.

He takes a deep breath, the realization of what he’s about to do washing over him. His hands shake, just slightly, as he reaches up and touches the chain around his neck, feeling the weight of the ring that’s been hidden there for weeks, waiting for this moment.

Without another thought, he drops to one knee, right there on the podium. The world seems to stop as he looks up at you, the crowd going silent in his mind. He hears the sharp intake of breath from the Andretti crew, sees the shock on your face as you register what’s happening.

“Hey,” he says, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. “I … I don’t know if I can put into words what you mean to me. You’ve been with me through everything — the wins, the losses, the crazy twists and turns. And I can’t imagine going through any of it without you by my side.” He pauses, the weight of the moment sinking in. “So I guess what I’m trying to say is … will you marry me?”

Your eyes widen, and for a second, you’re frozen in place, staring at him in disbelief. Then, as if breaking free from a spell, you laugh, a sound that’s pure joy, and nod vigorously. The next thing Logan knows, you’re being lifted onto the podium by the mechanics, tears of happiness streaming down your face as you launch yourself into his arms.

“Yes,” you say, your voice trembling with emotion. “Yes, of course, I will!”

The crowd erupts into cheers, the noise deafening as Logan slides the ring onto your finger. He pulls you close, his lips finding yours in a kiss that tastes like victory, love, and everything good in the world. The mechanics are going wild, chanting your names, and someone — Logan thinks it might be Mario — pops open a bottle of champagne, spraying it over everyone.

It’s chaotic, it’s perfect, and it’s a moment that Logan knows he’ll remember for the rest of his life. As he holds you close, feeling the warmth of your body against his, he realizes that this — right here, with you in his arms, and his home crowd cheering around him — is the true victory. The rest is just a bonus.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. “You know,” he says, his voice low so only you can hear, “I always knew I was lucky. But this … this is something else entirely.”

You smile, the kind of smile that makes his heart skip a beat, and lean in to kiss him again. “We’re both lucky, Logan,” you whisper against his lips. “And this is just the beginning.”

***

The paddock is buzzing with activity, the hum of engines and the chatter of mechanics creating a familiar symphony that Logan finds oddly comforting. It’s the start of another race weekend, but this one feels different. There’s an undercurrent of excitement in the air, a mix of nerves and anticipation that has nothing to do with the cars or the track.

Logan slips away from the Andretti garage, his eyes scanning the bustling paddock as he makes his way toward the Williams garage. He’s done his best to stay clear of them ever since re-entering Formula 1, but today is different. Today, he has a reason to be there — a reason that brings a small, almost mischievous smile to his lips.

The Williams garage is a flurry of motion, mechanics and engineers huddled over laptops, surrounded by toolboxes and tires. The sight brings a wave of nostalgia crashing over Logan, but he quickly pushes it aside. He isn’t here for a trip down memory lane.

Spotting Alex Albon near the back, Logan weaves through the chaos, his steps light and easy despite the tension he can feel crawling up his spine. Alex is engrossed in a conversation with his race engineer, but when Logan steps up, he looks up in surprise.

“Logan!” Alex greets, his face splitting into a wide grin. “What are you doing here? Slumming it with the backmarkers?”

“Something like that,” Logan replies, his tone light as he pulls a small, cream-colored envelope from his jacket pocket. He hands it to Alex, who takes it with a curious tilt of his head. “Figured I should deliver this in person.”

Alex flips the envelope over, his eyes widening slightly as he reads the names printed in elegant script on the front — his and Lily’s. He breaks into a grin, already understanding what it is before he even opens it.

“No way,” Alex says, pulling out the invitation and quickly scanning the details. “You’re really doing it, huh? Getting hitched?”

Logan chuckles, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at the thought. “Yeah, we are. And we’d love for you and Lily to be there.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Alex replies, his grin softening into something more sincere. “Congrats, man. You two are great together.”

Logan nods, grateful for the genuine well-wishes. He’s about to say something else when a flicker of movement catches his eye. Glancing up, he sees James Vowles standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable as he watches the exchange between Logan and Alex.

For a brief moment, the past rushes back — the frustration, the disappointment, the sense of being discarded like a broken part. Logan feels a familiar pang of bitterness, but he quickly tamps it down. He isn’t that person anymore. He’s moved on, and he’s got better things — better people — in his life now.

Still, he can’t help himself.

He meets James’ gaze head-on, his smile shifting into something a bit more pointed, more deliberate. “Oh, James?” He says, his voice carrying just enough to be heard over the noise of the garage. “Seems like your invitation must’ve gotten lost in the mail. Real shame.”

James’ eyes narrow slightly, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t respond. The tension between them is almost tangible, thickening the air around them. Logan holds his gaze for a moment longer, then shrugs exaggeratingly before turning his attention back to Alex.

“Anyway, hope to see you there,” Logan says, clapping Alex on the shoulder before stepping back. “Tell Lily we’re looking forward to it.”

“Will do,” Alex replies, still smiling but with a touch of unease as he glances between Logan and James.

Logan doesn’t linger. He turns on his heel and strides back through the garage, the small, satisfied grin still tugging at his lips. He can feel James’ eyes boring into his back, but he doesn’t care. Let him stew, Logan thinks. He’s got more important things on his mind.

As he exits the garage and steps back into the sun-drenched paddock, Logan takes a deep breath, feeling lighter, freer. The thought of the wedding, of you waiting for him back in the Andretti garage, fills him with a sense of contentment that he never thought he’d find in the world of Formula 1.

He spots you before you see him, standing with Mario and a few other Andretti team members, animatedly talking about something. Your laughter rings out over the noise of the paddock, and Logan feels his heart swell with affection.

It’s funny how things work out, he thinks. How life has a way of surprising you, of turning things around when you least expect it. He’s come a long way from that lost, angry kid who thought he’d never get a second chance. And now, here he is, standing on the cusp of a future that’s brighter than anything he could have imagined.

He picks up his pace, eager to get back to you, to tell you about the exchange with Alex and the little jab he couldn’t resist throwing at James. But as he draws closer, you turn and catch sight of him, your face lighting up in a way that makes his breath catch in his throat.

“Hey, you,” you call out, stepping away from the group to meet him halfway. “Did you get it done?”

Logan nods, a grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, I did. Alex and Lily are in.”

“And Vowles?” You ask, a knowing glint in your eyes.

Logan chuckles, slipping an arm around your waist as he leans in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Let’s just say … he didn’t make the cut.”

You laugh, the sound pure and full of joy, and it’s the best thing Logan’s heard all day. “Good. You don’t need that kind of negativity at our wedding.”

“No, I don’t,” Logan agrees, feeling a rush of relief that you’re by his side, making even the most awkward encounters bearable. “And anyway, we’ve got more than enough people who actually care about us.”

You nod, your expression softening as you look up at him. “Yeah, we do. And I can’t wait to celebrate with them — with you.”

Logan feels a warmth spread through him, the same warmth he’s felt ever since the day he realized just how much you meant to him. It’s a feeling that never gets old, no matter how many podiums or victories he racks up. Because at the end of the day, it’s moments like this — simple, shared moments with you — that matter the most.

As the two of you head back toward the Andretti garage, Logan can’t help but think about how far he’s come. From the chaos of that first season in Formula 1, the heartbreak of being dropped, to the wild success of his time in IndyCar, and now, back in the sport he loves, with you by his side.

He knows there will be more challenges ahead — there always are in this world. But for now, he’s content to focus on the here and now, on the love he’s found and the life he’s building with you.

And as you walk together through the paddock, the sun casting long shadows on the ground, Logan can’t help but feel like the luckiest guy in the world. Not because of the cars, or the fame, or even the victories, but because of you — because you’re the one thing in his life that makes all the twists and turns worth it.

And he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening, a wall of sound that crashes against Logan as he stands on top of the podium. His hands grip the trophy tightly, the cold metal grounding him as the reality of it all sinks in. He’s done it. Logan Sargeant, the kid from Florida who almost lost everything, is now the World Drivers’ Champion.

The first American to do so since Mario Andretti himself.

He’s fought hard for this moment, clawed his way back from the brink of obscurity, and now here he is, at the pinnacle of motorsport. The champagne sprays around him, but all Logan can focus on is the sight of you, beaming up at him from the edge of the podium. You’re standing beside Mario, who’s wearing a grin as wide as Logan’s ever seen. You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands clasped together, eyes sparkling with a mix of pride and joy.

He barely registers the other drivers beside him, the interviews, or the flashes of cameras. Everything narrows to you and the overwhelming sense of accomplishment swelling in his chest. You’ve been there through it all, from the moment he took that leap of faith into IndyCar, to the sleepless nights before his first season back in Formula 1. Every high and every low has led to this, and you’ve never wavered.

Logan can’t help the way his gaze shifts slightly to the left, where James Vowles stands at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. There’s a tightness to his expression, a bitterness that Logan recognizes all too well.

But as much as he’d love to revel in that small victory, he finds that he doesn’t care. Not really. The vindication is sweet, sure, but it pales in comparison to the sight of you and the emotions radiating from you like the warmest of suns.

You notice him looking at you, and you blow him a kiss, laughing when he pretends to catch it, holding it to his chest. There’s no place he’d rather be than right here, right now, with you by his side.

The ceremony starts to wrap up, and as the photographers move in closer for shots, Logan can see Mario nudging you forward. You’re waving your hands at your grandfather, as if to say no, you’re fine where you are, but Mario’s having none of it. The mechanics and team members part to let you through, and Logan watches with an ever-growing smile as you finally make your way up onto the podium.

When you reach him, Logan pulls you into his arms without hesitation, lifting you off your feet as the crowd goes wild. He spins you around, feeling the way you cling to him, your laughter ringing out in his ear.

“You did it,” you say when he finally sets you down, your voice thick with emotion.

“No,” Logan corrects, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “We did it.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s no hiding the way your eyes glisten. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me for it,” Logan teases, leaning in to press his forehead against yours.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I really do.”

The moment is interrupted by Mario clearing his throat, and Logan turns to see him holding a bottle of champagne, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Now, are we celebrating or what?”

Logan laughs, grabbing the bottle and popping the cork, spraying the contents over you and Mario, who both shout in surprise. The rest of the team quickly follows suit, and soon, the podium is a chaotic mess of laughter, champagne, and pure, unfiltered joy.

As the celebrations continue around him, Logan takes a step back, watching the scene unfold. His heart swells with a sense of contentment he’s never felt before. He’s always been driven, always had his eyes set on the next goal, the next race, the next win. But standing here, with you by his side, he realizes that he’s found something even more important than all of that.

He’s found a home.

A family.

And he’s never letting go.

The night carries on in a blur of congratulatory hugs, media obligations, and team celebrations. But as the crowd starts to thin and the energy begins to mellow, Logan finds himself sitting on the edge of the podium, his legs dangling off the side. The cool night air brushes against his skin, the sounds of the city in the distance providing a soft backdrop to the dwindling celebrations.

You find him there, sitting in silence, and without a word, you join him. You lean into his side, and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.

“It’s still sinking in,” Logan admits after a while. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this feeling.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes filled with warmth. “You’ve earned it, Logan. Every single bit of it. Don’t ever doubt that.”

He nods, resting his chin on top of your head. “It just feels … surreal. Like I’m living in a dream.”

“Well, if this is a dream,” you say, a mischievous smile playing on your lips, “then it’s one I never want to wake up from.”

Logan chuckles softly, his heart swelling with affection. “You and me both.”

The two of you sit there in comfortable silence, watching as the final remnants of the celebration begin to fade. The stadium lights dim, and the night sky takes over, a blanket of stars twinkling above you. It’s peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos of the day, and Logan can’t help but feel grateful for this quiet moment with you.

“I used to think winning was everything,” Logan says after a while, his voice barely above a whisper. “That nothing else mattered as long as I crossed the finish line first.”

“And now?” You ask, your tone gentle, inviting him to continue.

“Now I know that it’s not just about the win,” Logan replies, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s about the journey. The people who stand by you, who lift you up when you’re down, who make the victories sweeter and the losses bearable. It’s about finding something worth fighting for, and never letting go of it.”

You smile, your fingers intertwining with his. “Sounds like you’ve learned a lot.”

Logan nods, turning his head to look at you. “I have. And it’s all because of you.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I think you’re giving me too much credit.”

“Not at all,” Logan says, his voice firm. “You’ve been my rock, my anchor. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

You look at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “Logan …”

“I mean it,” he says, his voice gentle yet unwavering. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You don’t respond with words; instead, you lean in, capturing his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s a kiss filled with promises, with unspoken words, and with a love that has grown stronger with every challenge, every victory, every moment shared.

When you finally pull away, Logan rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his heart full. “I love you,” he whispers, the words carrying the weight of all he feels.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice just as soft, just as full of emotion.

The world fades away as the two of you sit there, wrapped up in each other. Logan knows that there will be more challenges ahead, more races to win, more obstacles to overcome. But as long as he has you by his side, he knows that he can face anything.

Because, in the end, it’s not just about the racing. It’s about the people who make it all worthwhile.

And for Logan Sargeant, that person is you.

As the night deepens and the city quiets, Logan realizes that this is just the beginning. The beginning of a new chapter, a new journey, with you right beside him. And whatever the future holds, he knows one thing for certain:

He’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

And with you, he’s already won.

[rememberwren]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Easy peasy premature ejaculation squeezy. Hypersexual!Simon/fem!reader, handjobs, premature ejaculation.

-

Ghost works his boxers back up his thick thighs and disappears into the en-suite bathroom in just them and his t-shirt. You definitely don’t check him out as he leaves. When he comes back, he has wiped his abs clean and holds an extra one in his hands. He has trouble meeting your eyes, but when he does, he gives a little self-deprecating smile that looks more like a wince. 

He’s still hard. 

“Is it always like this?” you ask. 

“Pretty much,” he says, sitting heavily on the bed. The bed frame is solid and sturdy, supporting him nicely. You shift, tucking your heels underneath you, feeling your underwear cling to the sticky wetness of your cunt. You do your best to ignore it. “It’s worse with someone here.” 

“How many times do you usually…you know.” You make a hand gesture. 

He purses his lips at your crudeness. “A day? Or in a session?”

God. He has sessions? “Both?”

“Two or three times a session. Two or three sessions a day, depending on how busy I am with work,” he says, coming to lay flat on the bed. He throws his arm over his eyes again. He shrugs a massive shoulder. “If it’s less than twice a day, I can’t really focus on anything else. It’s all my body wants and all I can think about.”

You frown. “That sounds terrible.” 

His hackles rise. “We don’t need to talk about it. That’s not what you’re here for.” 

“Right. Are you ready? Again?” 

“As I’ll ever fucking be,” he mutters, shucking his boxers down again and letting them rest around his knees. He’s definitely grown harder during your conversation together. His hands are shaking, so he clenches them into fists and rests them on his abs, taking a handful of deep, cleansing breaths. “Just—go on. Do as I said and stop when I say.” 

“Close your eyes while I lick my hand.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, but he shuts his eyes. You make sure to really slick your palm, spitting into it quietly—but he flinches at the sound as if it was a gunshot. 

Reaching out, you create a gentle, loose fist above his cock and slowly bring it down, enveloping the velvety head in your slick fist. His entire body goes tight, muscles clenching all over, teeth clicking as his jaw clamps shut. He is burning warm in your palm, smooth and soft as you drag your hand down his length to the base, letting the dark blond curls of his pubes tickle the meaty portion of your palm. He shudders violently, mouth falling open in a silent sound, eyes flickering rapidly beneath his lids. You realize now that you’re watching his face more than you’re watching his cock, but it is currently the more interesting of the two. 

Cock slicked by your saliva, the journey back up is a smooth slide. As soon as the crown of his cock enters the loose grip of your fist, Ghost flinches violently and barks out: “Stop!” 

One. 

You withdraw right away. His cock drools, precum oozing from the tip and dripping down the flushed length. He groans, grinding his palms against his eyes, and you have to swallow your own curse. This is the most arousing thing that’s ever happened to you—that you’ve ever been a part of, that is. 

Ghost takes nearly two full minutes to calm down properly, his chest going from full-on heaves to shaky rise-and-falls. He lets out a lengthy breath and moves his palms away from his eyes, casting you a dazed, exhausted look. He nods and shuts his eyes. 

You do the same thing all over again. He makes it through two full, slow strokes before he is telling you to stop again. Two. Despite his orders, his heels dig into the bed. His body chases your touch, pelvis lifting from the soft sheets, straining to follow your hand. He digs his fingers into his hair and pulls, knuckles white, using the pain to ground himself. 

“Again,” he croaks.  

You don’t have to slick your hand anymore; he is leaking, cock frequently giving eager twitches and jerks, like it is trying to tempt you to touch it. This time, you only manage to drag your fist halfway down the length of his cock before he is sucking in a breath and warning you off of him—and you make a mistake. Instead of letting go, you lift your hand off, inadvertently giving his sensitive head another pass through the slick passage of your fist. Ghost makes a guttural noise, reaches down to grip the base of his cock again, a touch that looks brutal with its ferocity. Three. 

“Don’t speak,” he begs at a whisper, eyes closed. “Don’t say a fucking thing, don’t even move, just—just—“

You sit in still silence, watching him struggle to hold off, wondering whether you really even want him to. You wouldn’t sabotage him (not intentionally, at least), but watching him cum earlier had awoken something twisted inside you. A part of you wanted to push his boundaries, to help him desensitize himself, to help him achieve his goal of normalcy. The other part of you wanted to ruin him. Did he realize that you were fighting a battle of your own, now? 

“That was way too fucking close,” he sighs, letting go of his cock. His eyes turn on you, dark and narrowed and nearly angry. “You’re supposed to stop when I say so.”

“It was an accident,” you say. “I’ll be more careful.” 

He grumbles something underneath his breath that you can’t quite catch, but looks resolved to his fate. He gives a stern nod, and this time he watches. You feel his eyes as tangible as any touch, stroking along the hills and valleys of your knuckles. You’re trembling a little as you bring your hand down around him. You’ve barely touched him when he makes a choked sound and bats your hand out of the way, body rising up onto one elbow as he grips at the base of his cock with his other hand—except it’s too late. You can tell by the look on his face, that pleasurable doom, that miserable capitulation. 

You meet eyes with each other, half a second’s worth of acknowledgement before he shuts his own, tucking his chin to his chest to avoid your gaze. You wait for him to let go, to ruin it again, but he doesn’t: with dextrous, devastating familiarity, he grips his cock and strokes it feverishly, the wet sounds barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat and frantic breaths as he finally spills over. It’s less explosive than his previous orgasm but appears no less devastating to him. Cum dribbles over his scarred knuckles, dripping down his angular wrist. He is near-silent, holding his breath, withholding his pleasured sounds from you. 

At length he drops back down to the mattress from his elbow, panting and red-faced, resting his dirty hand against his belly. 

“Fuck,” he sighs to the ceiling. 

“You lasted a lot longer that time,” you offer cheerfully. 

The look he gives you is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after—you’re pretty sure. He reaches for the towel and offers it to you first. You wipe your palm and hand it back so that he can clean himself. He goes to pull up his boxers again, but you stop him. 

“You said you usually go three times in a session. We should try one more time, shouldn’t we?” 

[lovemebutleavemewild]

Wasn't actually going to do a part 2 to this mafia!Price x pregnant reader drabble but a few people requested it so ...

I don't think this will be a long fic or a series or anything but if anyone has by particular requests for scenes, let me know!

You take the table's orders quickly and almost trip getting away from them.

John follows you immediately, of course, but if you can just get to the kitchen, he won't be able to follow you.

Or so you think.

The doors don't have time to swing shut behind you before they burst open again and you feel a hand on your waist, spinning you around to face him.

"You're taking your break," he tells you.

"I can't yet, I have tables. And-"

You see your manager approaching and brace yourself for the tirade.

"Sir, you can't be in h-"

He stops when he gets a proper look at John.

"Oh. Um, is there a problem, sir? Or some way I can-"

"She's taking her break," John tells him, jerking his thumb at you. Your manager just nods mutely and John takes your hand, leading you out the back entrance.

"Beat it," he tells the line cook, smoking by the bins. The man slinks back inside without a word.

As soon as you're alone, John shepherds you against the wall, arm on either side of you so you're walled in.

"It's mine?" he asks and you try not to be offended. It's a fair question, you suppose. You just nod, looking at your shoes. He tilts your chin up so you're looking at him. You can't read the look on his face.

"Finish your shift. I'll wait."

+++++++

He takes you home, makes the others take a cab wherever they're going, and just gives you a look when you suggest you can take the bus.

He also insists on walking you inside. Your face warms at the way he's analysing your apartment building. When you hold the door to your place open for him, he rubs his hand along the doorframe, studying the lock, heads straight for the windows to do the same once he's inside.

"We'll need to get you moved out of here," he says when he finally turns around. You raise  your eyebrows.

"Is that right?" you ask. If he notices the sarcasm, he doesn't comment.

"Mmmhmm. Could get the lads to pack up your stuff for you, handle the movin'. We could have it done tonight"

"And where do you suggest I go?"

John smiles and sidles towards you.

"I could think of a few places," he says, raising his eyebrows. You huff a laugh.

"Hmm. But there's nothing wrong with my apartment."

John just hums.

"Not a good area," he tells you.

You start to feel your temper rise a little.

"Think whatever you want of the area; You don't get to walk in here and tell me-"

"Well I am telling you darlin'. I know these parts and 'round here isn't a good place for a girl like you."

"A girl like me?" you ask flatly, crossing your arms. You force yourself not to move away from him as he gets in your space. You can smell him from here, the scent of his cologne, and doesn't that bring back memories.

He leans down so he's looking into your eyes properly.

"A good girl," he says.

You snort and turn away.

"Does that line usually work for you?"

In a second, you feel his hands on your waist, pulling you back against a hard chest.

"Worked before, didn't it?" His voice is raspy in your ear.

"You didn't mind being my good girl the last time we spoke, did ya, sweetheart? Or can you only be good when you're stuffed full?"

He presses harder against your back and you can feel the length of him now.

"'Cause I can help you with that, love, just you say the word."

You pull away, turn to look at him, with your chest heaving.

"Place like this could be dangerous for a girl like you," John says and it sounds like a warning.

"Aren't men like you what makes places like this dangerous?" you whisper.

He steps towards you again, slower this time, puts a hand on your hip. You don't pull away.

"Sometimes," he admits. "Not always. Need to make sure you're taken care of, from all the bad things out there. Goes for both of you."

"I don't need taken care of," you tell him. It would sound more convincing to your own ears if you could find it in yourself to pull your hand off his chest.

"No?" His hand suddenly dips between your legs and you jolt forwards into him.

"You been taking care of yourself here, hmm?" He starts to rub, over your work leggings, leans down so his head is nearly on your shoulder.

"Been taking care of this pretty pussy like it needs?" he asks, voice rough. "It was so needy that night we met, I was sure we'd go a few rounds. Why'd you run instead, sweetheart? I didn't even get a chance to taste it."

You can't answer, can't think, especially not when he shoves his same hand under your pants, sliding your underwear to one side for better access. Your head falls back when he touches your clit.

"Need me to take of you here, darlin'?"

You can't help your moan.

"Not good enough," he grunts. "Need you to say it, love. Say you need me to take care of this pussy."

And you've been so stressed for so long and, really, at this point, what harm could it possibly do?

"Please, please, John, I need you. I need-need-"

He quietens you with a kiss, leaning down to lift you by your thighs. The bump makes it a bit awkward but he doesn't falter as he makes his way to your room.

"All you needed to say, mama."

[justagalwhowrites]

Just to be Sure

Your husband Joel is desperate to get you pregnant again.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Breeding kink smut. Joel really really REALLY wants to knock you up. Lots of pregnancy talk. Reader has given birth before and is at the age where she can give birth again so choose your own adventure for age gap but I picture them about the same age with Joel late 30s. Husband!Joel. No outbreak AU. Creampie. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only

Length: 1k

A/N: Forgive me for this. I am completely baked and couldn’t shake the thought of Joel having an insane breeding kink. I think if there was no outbreak and Joel found a woman, he’d be DESPERATE to knock her up over and over. He is all about his family, wants so many kids to look after, he’s always begging her for just one more. This is that Joel. He’s filthy. I love him. Also I wrote this in an hour and a half while on an edible and barely proofread it fuck if we ball also sorry I wrote it half on my phone in bed OK BYE LOVE YOU!

“Fuck, Joel…”

Your voice trailed off, weak and breathless, your hands grasping uselessly at the sheets around you.

You weren’t sure how long he’d had you here like this, sweating and fucked out as your husband slowly worked his cock in and out of you. You just knew you had to be quiet, that your one year old was asleep just a room away, a feat that was damn near impossible as Joel pulled yet another orgasm out of you.

“What, baby?” He panted over you, one hand gripping the headboard as he buried himself inside you yet again.

“You…” You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to focus. “You don’t have to get me pregnant to..to…tonight, you know…”

“Oh I know,” he said, his voice heavy with need and scratchy with exertion. “Wouldn’t mind tryin’ with you for a few months, fucking this pretty pussy full of me every damn night, comin’ so deep in you that you’ve got part of me in you all day every day.”

“Joel,” you whimpered, you couldn’t help it, your pussy drawing tight and hot around him.

“But, see, I’m not sure I can wait that long,” he said, pressing somehow deeper into you and holding himself there for a moment, making your cunt clench around him, your legs scrambling for purchase as your next orgasm built higher and higher. “Need to put another baby in you now, need to see your belly grow, need to fuck you until you’ve got part of me in you for damn near a year.”

“Oh fuck!”

You moaned it louder than you should have, Joel’s large hand going from propping him up to clamped over your mouth as your orgasm took you, the heat of it shooting out from your core and through your entire being, your heart racing, channel throbbing.

“Oh goddamn,” he groaned, fucking into you even harder now. “That’s right little mama, pull another baby out me, that’s it…”

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” you panted over and over again into his hand, mind reduced to nothing but your husband and how damn full he made you feel, especially with his bare cock buried deep inside of you.

It had been a year almost to the day that you’d last fucked without a condom. You’d been right at the end of your pregnancy, desperate for Joel and desperate for something - anything - to kick start your labor. The last time you hadn’t needed a condom, your contractions started 20 minutes after it ended.

Ever since, you’d been taking precautions. Not because you didn’t want another baby - you definitely did - but because you hadn’t gotten the OK from your doctor yet.

Today, that had changed. You’d gone to your check up and your doctor gave you a clean bill of health, including the OK to start trying to get pregnant again.

You’d figured Joel would want to get started trying that night. You just hadn’t counted on him pulling endless orgasms as a part of trying.

“Think you got one more in you, baby?” He asked, freeing your mouth to run his hand over your hair. You just whimpered. “M’close, wanna come with you. Come on, you can give me one more, know you can.”

You couldn’t find the words as he moved to suck your neck, so you just moaned and nodded and clawed his body closer and tighter to yours.

You could feel him smile against you then, the pace of his pounding cock picking up, the tip of him hitting the spot inside you he’d long ago claimed as his own perfectly with each stroke.

“Come on little mama,” he panted. “Takes better if you come with me, need you to fucking come baby, need to feel you fucking come when I make you pregnant.”

You weren’t sure Joel was fully aware of what he was saying but then, you felt like you were moving of your own accord, too, your hips rolling up against his, frantically pawing at him in a desperate attempt to pull him so close that it was like his whole being was inside you.

This orgasm claimed you quickly, going from starting to build to taking over you in a matter of seconds. You barely had a chance to warn Joel before it hit you.

"I'm gonna come," you managed just half a second before your channel started to fluffer around him. "Fuck, I'm coming! I'm coming!"

"Fuck, that's it," he said fucking into you with two more deep, devastating strokes before you could feel his cock throbbing heavily inside, the warm spread of his spend in your most intimate place drawing your orgasm out. "That's it, fuck, come while I put my baby in you."

His cock gave one final, heavy pulse before he collapsed on you, panting for breath as you went limp below him. Even as he lay there, damn near exhausted, he still managed to fuck his cock into you a few more times, driving his come even deeper.

When he was satisfied, he sat up from you and watched between your legs as he slowly, gently pulled his softening length from your aching, swollen sex.

“So damn pretty like this,” he said almost reverently. You felt the comforting warmth of his come drip out of you and then Joel’s finger was there, scooping it up and gently pushing it back inside your spent hole as it struggled to close after being opened by his thick cock for so long. “Gotta keep me deep inside her baby, s’where I belong.”

You just whimpered a little, still not positive you could form words as Joel lay beside you, his hand skimming slowly over your stomach down to the place that had grown your first daughter with Joel.

“Think our baby’s in there?” He asked softly, thumb brushing your skin in a gentle rhythm.

“I hope so,” you smiled at him.

“Don’t sound like you’re sure,” he smirked a little back. “Might just need to leave more of me in you, just to be sure.”

Your smile grew as his hand slipped lower.

“Just to be sure.”

[januaryembrs]

i love your sunshine!reader x specer fics so much and ngl it's one of the best spencer fics i've ever read. i was wondering how the team would react to them dating? did anyone ever suspect that there was something going on between them or were they completely clueless??

PDA | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

description: Sunshine reader is worried about telling Unit Chief Prentiss about their budding relationship, despite Spencer telling her she's being dramatic.

length: 1.8k

warnings: fluff, TINY BIT OF HOTCHNISS BECAUSE I AM STILL MAD ABOUT THEIR SCENE AT JJ'S WEDDING I have never been blue ballsed so hard.

“Sweetheart, I think you need to calm down,” Spencer’s voice was calm and soothing, as was his hand that skirted down her arm to take hers in his own. Her palm was warm, the tiniest bit clammy as he meshed their fingers together, and stroked over the back of her knuckles with his thumb, “It’s only Emily,” 

“I know, I know, it’s just,” She conceded, and she smushed her face into his chest as a last ditch effort to revel in his affection before they had to go back to remaining professional, the elevator quickly approaching the sixth floor, “I feel like we’re breaking the rules. Are you positive it said nothing in the papers about workplace relationships?” 

“I would stake my life on it, believe me. Me and page fifty nine, sub section five, clause three are tight as can be,” Spencer reassured, after he had spent a good seven minutes reading through their entire contract, front and back, in an attempt to make her feel better because she knew she couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it, even more so couldn’t keep her hands and lips off Spencer for such an extended amount of time now she’d had him.

He watched the illuminated digits flick from four to five, and he yielded his restraint just the tiniest bit, knowing they might not get a chance to love on eachother so unapologetically until the work day was over. Spencer brought his hand that wasn’t wound tightly in her own around her shoulders, squeezing her to him with a pressed kiss to her forehead, the gesture full of eight hours worth of affections. 

Five turned to six just a little too fast for his liking and he was forced to let go of her as the doors slid open, trying to ignore the saddened expression on her face as they parted, the way her lips turned into a pout like a kicked puppy. 

“Good morning, my angels!” Penelope chirped, a sweet coffee with a buttload of creamer swirling around her octopus mug as she headed for her office, walking right past the two agents who looked like they’d forgotten how to behave normally. 

“Morning, Penelope,” She sang back, smiling at the woman who hummed as she walked, a skip in her step, yet the second the tech analyst entered her lair, the younger slapped a hand on Spencer’s arm, turning to him with wide eyes, “Oh my god, she knew!” 

He chuckled, shaking his head and resting a hand on her lower back, leading her to the bullpen as she fretted, “Relax, she did not know. And even if she did, we’re not doing anything wrong,” He cooed, thankful that the floor was empty besides Emily where she poked around her office, moving some folders between her desk and cabinet, “Derek dated pretty much every woman on the second floor within the first term of me being here, Penelope dated Kevin from Internal Affairs for years,” 

“But that’s, like, between floors, between departments. There’s no way they can get distracted if there’s a whole bunch of concrete and carpet between them,” She explained, and the two of them headed for their joint desk so they could set their bags down, “When I look at you, I get side tracked thinking about your beautiful hair and your stupidly handsome face and kissing you and-” She puffed her cheeks out, flustered already. 

“That sounds really difficult for you, I don’t know how you ever get anything done.” Spencer said with an indulging smile, because his favourite thing might just be humouring her. Besides kissing her and everything that came with it ofcourse.

“It’s a struggle, I’ll tell you now,” She said, almost unaware he wasn’t being serious as she looked at him finally, the glint in his eyes he got when he was teasing her, “It is. I nearly tipped coffee over my lap yesterday because you fixed your hair, it’s infuriating.”

He smiled, fighting every urge in him that wanted to pull her back into his chest and kiss her face a dozen times, because he knew she wasn’t joking when she said she was worried about breaking the rules. He knew Emily would be fine with them dating, they’d all turned a blind eye to the clear tension and lingering glances that had gone between her and Hotch for years, but he hated seeing her so frazzled, so he complied with her strict no PDA rule. 

He would just have to give it to her twice over later, when they were alone, and the thought of it excited him already. 

“Alright, alright, let’s do this. Am I speaking or are you speaking?” She asked, rubbing her sweating hands over her legs, and he shrugged. 

“I’ll do the talking, will you just do something for me,” He said, his voice calm and collected as he took the stairs, her footsteps nervously trailing behind him. 

“Sure, anything,” She said, looking up at him with wide eyes where he stood a whole step above her. 

“Take a deep breath,” He reminded her, grinning when he heard her pause and do as he’d said, because this was just Emily. 

“I’m sorry,” She mumbled, meeting him at the top of the landing, where he waited by the office door, watching her with gentle eyes, “I just really don’t want to mess anything up, least of all with you,” 

He quickly tucked a slither of hair behind her ear in guilty pleasure, “You’re not messing anything up, I promise.” He murmured, his cadence low and calming because she already seemed worked up and they hadn’t even opened the door, “You ready?” 

She nodded after another deep breath, and he knocked on the door with those boney knuckles of his. 

Barely waiting for Emily to invite them in, he strode into the office, her trailing behind him like she was waiting for a scolding, and Spencer simply cleared his throat. 

“Everything okay?” Emily asked, her dark eyes scanning between the two of them, a look of concern flitting over her face, “Why do you guys have a weird look on your face? Did you chip Penelope’s mug again? Was it the good one? Oh man, she’ll kill you, that was her favourite-”

The rookie shook her head, and before she could breath and regulate like Spencer had been trying to tell her it happened; the word vomit she’d been shoving down for fifteen days, “We’re dating! We’re seeing each other together, I mean were seeing together, I mean wait, hang on-” 

Spencer put a hand on her shoulder to hush her, and she stopped then and there, sensing he could take over for her, because she’d quickly realised she was not one to handle pressure. 

“What she means to say is we’re dating, and according to page fifty nine, sub section five, clause three of our contract, workplace relations are acceptable as long as they aren’t hindrance to either the team or the work, so,” Spencer tucked his hand into his pocket, the other still gentle as it stroked her back soothingly, “Is that okay?” 

Emily shrugged, her lips twitching to hide the broad smile that begged to be released. 

“That seems reasonable to me,” She said politely, looking to where the rookie seemed to have found her words. 

“Th-that’s it, we’re not in trouble?” She asked on bated breath, her brows furrowed and confused. 

“Look, are you guys happy?” She nodded vehemently immediately, and Emily threw her hands up, “Then, there you go. As long as there’s no funny business in the office, it’s none of my concern,”

“Funny business?” She asked, and Spencer ran a hand over her braid she’d twisted into running down the back of her head, a small smile tugging at his lips, as he and Emily exchanged a look.

“No bang bang on company time,” Emily said plainly, ignoring the way the girl stiffened, her face hot and embarrassed as she shook her head. 

“Never, no, never. Never ever,” She spluttered, and Spencer took it as his signal to get her some space, “None of that ever, Emily, you don’t have to worry-”

“Who broke the rookie?” Tara asked, entering Emily’s office with a stack of folders in her arms, her eyes quickly zeroing in on the way Reid’s arm wrapped around her waist, and she turned to Emily with a knowing smirk, “You owe me ten bucks, Prentiss,” 

“Hold on, you guys bet on us?” Spencer asked, his expression dropping because he’d thought that the two of them had been subtle the past few weeks, even if his sweet girlfriend looked like she was keeping bees in her mouth every time there was a pause, like the secret had been begging to come out any second it got. 

Emily seemed guilty, though perhaps scathed would be a better term as she fished a bill out of her purse and handed it to Tara. 

“JJ owes forty, so I’m not too torn up about it,” She replied, catching JJ’s bluebell hues as she swanned past the office window, her eyes narrowing on the way the youngest agent was all but pressed into Spencer’s ribcage, the two of them looking like they wanted the ground to swallow them whole. 

Her face morphed into chagrin, “Two more weeks, and I would have been up by sixty bucks, you guys,” She bit at the happy couple, turning on her heel to where Luke was sipping coffee at his desk, clueless to the meeting they were having in Emily’s office, “Alvez, cough up. They told Emily already,” 

There was some sound of indignation from the desks below as Luke rummaged through his wallet, and Tara looked like that cat that got the cream as the wads of dollar bills made their way to her. 

“This is gross misconduct of workplace trust,” Spencer said, his lips pursed into something annoyed, and he could feel the way her face burnt with embarrassment without even having to look at her, “Alright, we are going out to get coffee, since we’re the only ones who know how to handle things like adults,” 

He led her out with a tight, protective grip, shielding her mortified expression from the rest of the office as they got back into the elevator, and he damned himself when he let her hug into his chest again, though this time it was to hide her humiliation in his shirt. 

“It’s okay, at least it’s out there now. No more secrets,” He comforted, and she nodded silently, her cheeks still on fire where the shame weaselled its way out of her face, “And, hey, it’s not like they can go on forever. They’ll have to give up some time,”

The group watched the doors close behind them, Luke immediately turning to the three women with an impish look in his eye, “Twenty says they’ll engage within a year,” Tara scoffed, waving her money in his face as Emily rooted around for more money, “You’re on, I give it eight months,”

[hurlingdown]

HOW TO BREAK A MONSTER — TOP MALE READER X ZORO

synopsis. you've heard people say that roronoa zoro is an unlovable monster. someone whose heart cannot be touched. maybe that is so—but maybe there is another way to feel the bloody pounding of his heart. if you cannot reach him through his chest, then you'll just have to find a better way. wc. 0.8k

tags. sub! zoro, dom! reader. belly bulge, tummy pushing, feminization, tit-slapping, womb-fucking (metaphorical), gagging on fingers.

“Can you feel me in there?” 

There’s a dome-shaped outline of your cock shifting inside him, making the muscles jut out from his abdomen. 

Zoro shudders, barely able to form words. Nods a yes, maybe. It’s hard to tell. 

“Words, baby.” 

Spreading one hand wide over him, you move to palm the soft pouch beneath his navel, kneading into the fat there. Lightly pressing onto the bulge, letting him feel you. 

He tips his head back to let out a breathy moan. “Hah. Full—’s too full.” It doesn’t sound like a complaint to you. A plea, maybe, but not a complaint. 

You hum, satisfied, leaning back to lazily fuck into him. One inch out, one inch in. Lube and cum squelch, caking to form a creamy ring around the base of your cock. 

“You can take more. Can’t you, Zoro?” It isn’t much of a taunt, but one thing about Zoro is that he hates to lose. 

Denial is on the tip of his tongue. It would be so easy to submit to you, to forfeit. You would pull out and suck him off, or maybe finger him to completion. Those are also fun, he supposes—everything with you is fun, really. But giving up a challenge directed at him? Now that isn’t fun. 

So he tells you, more smugly than he feels, “Yeah. Keep going.” 

It would be easier to pretend if you weren’t currently trying to carve yourself into his womb. 

“That’s my good boy,” you murmur, cupping the side of his face. A thumb pushes between his lips, and he parts them eagerly, letting you press the pad of it against the back of his tongue. He doesn’t choke, has a negligible gag reflex. Grins up at you the best he can with your fingers in his mouth, showing you his sharp teeth. 

You push your cock deeper inside and the bulge grows larger in turn, making his belly almost round. Each time he thinks yeah, this is it, you push a little more inside, take up a little more space. It isn’t until he’s slobbering and panting with your fingers gagging him, fisting at the sheets above his shoulders, that you stop. 

Taking your wet fingers out, you smear the saliva over his face, and he gives a shuddering whine. You trail a hand down to fondle his tits, the plump flesh spilling out from between your fingers, buds swollen from being roughly played with earlier. 

“It’s a shame we can’t make these bigger, like down here.” You punctuate your sentence with an angled roll of your hips, the fat head of your cock poking out from his tummy. “What a sight that’d be, mm. You’d look like a woman.” 

Oh, well. They were already plenty. 

“Shut up,” he seethes breathlessly. “You talk too much.” 

Despite his words, you watch in amusement as pre-cum dribbles down the length of his hard cock, arousal heavy in the way it curves and flushes. At least his body’s being honest. The poor thing looks as though it were begging for release, twitching uselessly on his stomach. You want to flick it, fuck a finger into the slit, make him cry with overstimulation. 

“I don’t appreciate your attitude.” 

Without warning, you slap his tit, hard, branding it with a red handprint, and his glare locks into you in silent defiance. There’s a glint in his eye that tells you this is what he’s been looking for. 

“Why,” he drawls with a smirk, “am I too much for you to handle?” 

You smile. It was almost pitiful. 

“You’re asking the right question. Unfortunately, to the wrong person.” 

Pressing both of your hands into his belly, you thrust your hips against him, forcing him to take you deeper into his womb despite the heavy strain from above. Zoro sobs out, shivering as he’s completely impaled on your cock, huge girth making it fit even if it should be impossible. 

His nails dig into your forearms, and you spare him a glance. 

The sight makes your heart flutter.  

If sex was a person, you think, this would be it. There are tears dotting at his lashes, and a line of drool runs down the side of his face. He’s too fucked-out to use his own words, only shaking his head and mindlessly mouthing “more”. You take the opportunity to gag him with your fingers but he only sucks them obediently, unable to think. 

So this is what it feels like to take a monster apart. masterlist!

[honeytonedhottie]

HOW I MANIFESTED MY DESIRED APPEARANCE (success story)⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎐

so manifesting my desired appearance in full took roughly 2 weeks, also this post is pretty long bcuz im not gatekeeping anything, im giving u guys the full story, the full scoop on how i did it so here we go...

some things that i remember doing was, before going to bed i'd either read what my desired appearance looks like (i wrote a list bcuz me as a person, i LOVE writing things down) and i'd read that list before bed like it was fact.

or if i didn't have the list with me, when i was the state akin to sleep i'd talk to myself (ik it sounds weird but its natural for me so it worked) and i'd be like "ik for a fact that i am (fill in the blank)" or "ik for a fact that i have (fill in the blank)"

and i'd just say it to myself, or sometimes when i'd shower, for every part of my body that i'd wash (i separated it into sections) and for each section i'd talk about an aspect of my appearance as though it was from someone else's POV. for example, part of my desired appearance was a difference in hair texture so i'd say "omg honey's hair is SO long and glossy". like i'd talk thru someone else's pov ABOUT my appearance in either a tone of admiration, envy, or indifference.

even if i didn't see movement a couple times or got discouraged, i went back to what feels RIGHT and thats affirming for me.

some key statements i used :

i know for a fact

i have my exact desired appearance bcuz im god and i said so

another thing that rly helped me was visualization, i was living PURELY in my imagination, completely in my head. i was REAL delulu. i have a vision board on pinterest that was SO helpful for me.

when i saw things in the 3d that didn't please me i completely disregarded it, and when i tell u COMPLETELY, i completely dismissed anything that i didn't like, or that didn't sit right with me.

another little exercise that i liked to do was actually bcuz of a bad habit. so i have a RLY bad habit of checking the 3d but i used it to my advantage. my habit was that every morning the first thing i'd do is go and look in the mirror. when i manifested my desired appearance what i'd do, is i would go to the bathroom mirror and tell my subconscious what i see. so my logic behind this was that since the subconscious didn't have any eyes i could tell my subconscious that i had the head of a unicorn and it'd believe me 💀. so i would talk to my subconscious and tell it what i saw. "i see an angel skull" "i see rly rly long lashes" "i see waist-length hair" etc etc.

i went to the end and i BASKED in it. moral of this manifestation story :

persist regardless of what u experience with ur 5 senses

time is an illusion so forget about it

dont settle for less than what u seek

go straight to the end and bathe in it bcuz u can't try and be something that u already are 

failure doesn't exist

apply

[rinhaler]

🥲👉🏾👈🏾I was gonna say could do Stepdadcest with Gojo ft your stepbrothers Sukuna and Yuji? Like you usually do "things" with Gojo but your stepbrothers are becoming really jealous cause they want some of you too. So it's like you're getting passed around-

(This is so embarrassing for me because I'm not usually into this type of thing but it's hot)

hi bb im sorry this took so long! ive been having a tough time irl and i found this req very challenging but i hope it's okay for you! thanks for sending it it was so yummy! (also pls never be embarrassed here it's v hot and i welcome it and you)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, stepcest, running a train, multiple creampies, belly bulge, daddy!kink, fingering/rubbing, tit sucking, blood mention, slight degradation, praise, spanking, male masturbation.

words: 1.5k

“Sukuna!” you yell, doing all you can to wriggle away from him. But it’s hopeless. His cock splits you open as he effortlessly raises you up and down the length again and again until your brain turns to mush.

“You’re being too rough with her, dude.” Yuuji sighs, fingers rubbing your puffy clit as you’re bounced on your oldest brother’s length. “Am I right? Is it too much for you?” Yuuji asks, holding your chin carefully so that you can look at him.

You nod, biting your lip as you do your best to balance your body while Sukuna fucks up into you. He snarls, fucking harder when he notices your hips trying to meet his thrusts.

“S’that why you’re trying to get off on my cock? Hm? Look at you, getting off on your big brother like a little whore.” Sukuna teases, his fingers digging into your sides, nails piercing the skin hard enough to draw blood. “S’okay, don’t be embarrassed.”

Your face flushes with heat as you hear his lewd language, your eyes scrunching closed to shut out the humiliating situation you found yourself in. Yuuji looks up at you innocently, monitoring your facial expressions as he carries on teasing your clit. His face moves up your body, latching his lips around your tit and suckling without letting up on the sensitive bead between your folds.

“What’s going on in here?” you hear the all too familiar lilt of your stepfather’s voice as he enters the room. You gasp, humiliated that he’s caught the three of you in this predicament. You want to scream, hide, run away. Anything to leave your stepdad’s line of vision as he stares at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before.

Your brother’s barely register his presence. Sukuna’s thrusting shows no intention of slowing while Yuuji tries to pull you away from him.

“That’s enough, it’s my turn.” he tells him, pulling you away from his older sibling and pushing you down into the mattress. Your shoulder blades are flat against the bed as you stare up at him caging you in. “Don’t wanna hurt you… but I can’t wait.” he warns you, sliding his tip up and down your slippery flesh before pushing into you.

“Fuck.” you exhale, wet eyes blinking up at Yuuji as he starts to rock his hips.

“Stop it.” Satoru huffs, approaching you all coolly before cupping your face. “She’s only used to daddy…” beaming blue eyes bore down into your own as he monitors your facial expressions while Yuuji continues using you as his own little toy.

“’m s-sorry daddy—”

“Ah… enough of that. You made your choice. So let your brother’s finish what they started. Go on, Yuuji. Fill her up.” your stepfather commands, even going as far as to press his hand on Yuuji’s lower back and helping him grind into you.

It was no surprise to Gojo that Yuuji met his end quicker than he’d hoped. He knew he wasn’t a virgin but by no means experienced. And your step father is all too familiar with how your tight, petite cunt could bring a porn star to an instant ruin. Your little hole is akin to a siren luring sailors to their deaths after the promise of love for a lifetime, your warm heat is too much for Yuuji to withstand for too long.

And Sukuna teases him, embarrassing him as he grunts loudly and stuffs you full of cum. He doesn’t stop, though, his softening cock still humping into you again and again, overstimulating himself until he’s shuddering and close to tears. You mewl, cutely, as he kisses along your jaw and whispers sweet nothings against your neck.

“Say thank you to your brother.” your step father commands, smoothing your hair down whilst his eyes pierce your soul. You aren’t sure if you are thankful or if his demanding stare pulled the response from you, but you find yourself nodding and thanking your brother sweetly, kissing his lips as he slowly withdraws himself from you. “Now, Sukuna, how do you want her?”

Your eldest brother growls with a sinister smile. He doesn’t even bother to answer, flipping your exhausted body so that your ass is in the air and your face is in your pillows.

He slams his hips against you in one fell swoop, bottoming out in your gummy walls with no remorse. You aren’t sure he’ll last so long, either, considering he’d been fucking you for some time before Yuuji took over. But it hurts. God, it hurts. He’s a little bigger and slightly thicker than his younger brother, his tip relentlessly rams into your g-spot until your vision goes white.

“Stay with us, sweetheart. Stay with daddy.” Satoru whispers, pushing your tousled hair out of your face as he commands your focus again. You can barely look at him, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as your big brother fucks you so ruthlessly yet perfectly. “You’re doing good, kid. You’re gonna cum for us, yeah?” he smiles and you begin to moan.

Yuuji can’t help but play with himself as he hears your pretty moans. While Sukuna digs his fingers into the fat of your ass, spanking you as he tries to fuck himself into you at the deepest possible angle.

“F-Fuck, fuck—!” Sukuna pants, spilling a copious amount of cum inside of you alongside your other brothers. You were getting so full, and you feel so warm. But you know you’re not done. You still haven’t came and there’s only one man left.

“See, boys, this is why I don’t share.” Satoru speaks as he scoops you into his arms. You do your best to keep your brothers loads inside while your daddy pulls out his cock, it’s hard to do so when a simple tilt of his head tells you that he wants you to straddle him. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, daddy’ll take care of you…” he assures you. He spits on his hand, stroking his cock a few times before lining it up with your hole. You bite your lip as you lower yourself down.

“You look so pretty…” Yuuji smiles at you, his thumb rubbing your cheek briefly before withdrawing to watch how your dad stretches out your tight little cunt.

His hips rise and fall, the base of his cock and the fluffy white pubes stimulating your sticky clit again and again as your generous daddy does all of the work. The creamy ring forming is almost enough to make him blow his load in an instant. He can see how spent you are despite not cumming. How weary your body is after dealing with your clueless brothers for so long. But he’s here now, and he’ll always know how to best take care of you.

Yuuji and Sukuna can’t help but admire the way your tits bounce with each and every thrust you endure. They can see a stark difference in your pleasure, being with the most trusted man in your life who knows every ridge of your tight walls. They admire the way you moan so beautifully and unashamedly for your daddy. Whatever energy you lacked comes racing back to you as you ride him in search of your orgasm.

Satoru’s fingers dig into your hips, raising you up and down his length with an anticipating fervour, expecting you to crumble at any moment.

And you do.

You both do and you are practically screaming in a newly discovered pitch as your cunt clenches around your daddy. Sukuna spanks you, his palm stinging your flesh each time an expletive spills out of you. Words you have no hope of controlling or recalling as you lose your mind and body to your daddy.

And he fills you perfectly.

Ropes and ropes of cum filling your womb to the point there is a visible bulge. And he smirks. Still managing to rut into you as he moves you onto your back once again to show Yuuji and Sukuna your swollen tummy. He pulls out, carefully, a little spilling from you before pushing your legs up into your chest.

“Watch…” he looks at your brothers before all of their eyes focus in on your puffy pussy. His fingers splay across your stomach before slowly pressing down. He gasps, slightly, and your brothers eyes widen and fill with lust as all three of them watch the considerable amount of cum seeps out of your cute little hole like a leaking donut. “Oh, princess, you’re so gorgeous.” Satoru compliments you. You’d hide your face in embarrassment if you weren’t so tired.

“Adorable. She’s like our own personal cum dump.” Sukuna speaks, trying not to laugh but unable to hide the teasing smirk on his face.

All you can do is look at them. Feel them, inside and out. The feeling of their cum dripping out of you will be a memory that stays with you forever. And seeing their eyes raking all over you makes you feel so special. Of all of the girls in the world. All of the beautiful, perfect, experienced girls in the whole wide world, all three of them chose you.

Your daddy chose his daughter.

And your brother’s chose their sister.

All three of them couldn’t help but want to fuck you.

© 2023 rinitxshi

[tothosewhoyearnforit]

am i yours or are you mine - chaewon

-im back. might edit this later

-trying to finish my drafts so maybe have hope im posting more.

-2373 words. student-teacher relationship. daddy kink. oral. deepthroat. pussyeating. unprotected sex. breeding? creampie. happy bday chae chae !

Am I yours or are you mine?

Chaewon asked that question right before she was bobbing her head up and down on your length, a mixture of drool and precum trailing, dripping down onto her skirt.

You look at the neatly decorated bed, the work of none other than you. Illegal as it is for a professor to be in a student’s dorm room without any prior permission, any risk is worth fucking Chaewon. It's even riskier considering the fact that her roommate, Yunjin, shares the same room as her, could waltz in at anytime.

But you know she won’t tell. After all, you're dicking her down too. Gosh, her lips, so meant for dick sucking.

You look at the gorgeous slut squatting for you obscenely, her legs spread as she slobbered over your meat, dressed in her school girl outfit, feeding even more to your ill desires.

Was it really her birthday? Or was this “present” for you?

She unsheathes your raging erection, and rests your cock on her right cheek, stroking your length while staring at you.

The sheer size of your cock against her face was feeding into your size kink way too much, it was almost like one of those porno pairings where a burly buff dude fucks the brains out of the tiniest pornstar.

“Aren’t you unusually hard today professor?”

“I- You’re just so hot today Chaewon…”

“It’s the student outfit isn’t it, you sick pervert.”

She chuckles at your stammering.

“Looks like my reward is about to be a big one.”

And with that, she goes back down on your length, this time wrapping your arms around the underside of your thighs and increasing the pace at which she gobbles your length up. The amount of sticky, viscous liquid that's dripping down from her chin secretes at an even greater rate and your mind is practically going wild at the mere sight of your student slutting herself.

“Oh, fuck, Chaewon…”

Toes curling, head thrown back, it’s only been a week since you both last fucked, yet it felt like forever.

“Are you close daddy?”, she asks as she takes your shaft out to take a breath. Her pearly round eyes stare up at you and you realize the innocence you're destroying. She then sucks on your tip for a good few seconds, that tongue of hers being used to lick so accurately at your slit that you feel a prickly sensation rush down to your toes and fingertips. Then, she pushes her head down all the way and hollows her cheeks out, her tongue now making lazy, sloppy movements on the underside of your length. Her hands peel yours off from your awfully tight grip on the bedsheets and place it at the back of her head, gesturing for you to push her head down.

“Fuck, Chaewon, gonna shoot my load so deep down your throat…”

You push her head down till you feel her tiny nose on your pelvis and your balls rest on her chin. She’s so ready to choke on your cock. So ready to accept your load. In her warmth, your cock is throbbing like mad.

“Fuck, fuck, fucking cumming down your throat Chae!”

Her hands tighten their grip on your legs as she braces for your load. And as if saying a prayer, all your lips mumble out are feeble mentions of her name.

One spurt.

After another.

And another, as she slowly removes herself from your cock, her suction never ending.

She opens her mouth while cum is still spurting out of your tip and a splash of the pearly white liquid lands on her cheek. Inside her mouth, a pool of potential kids get sloshed around by her playful tongue before she gulps it down and savors the taste with a resounding “ahh”.

“Thanks for the thick, warm load daddy.”

She uses her finger to swipe the cum on her cheek into your mouth.

“But I’m going to need a rough fucking tonight.”

She peels her thin black thong off and places it in your palm. It's full of moisture and warmth, the naughty student is oh so ready for her private tutoring.

After climbing out of her shirt and skirt, she lies on the bed and spreads her legs and with two fingers, spreads her pussy lips. She’s inviting you in, like a deer on a barren flowery field and you’re the wolf, ready to pounce.

“Come give your favorite student a nice hands on lesson, professod.”

“Such a disobedient student, always teasing the professor.”

You climb onto the bed, and dive your head right between her inviting legs. Her legs instinctively close up on you, like those of a Venus flytrap, but you use your hands and push them away, spreading her legs even further than they were before.

“I just shaved yesterday, just for you, sir.”

“Such a good girl, but a bit of hair isn't against school rules you know…”

You place gentle loving kisses on her inner thigh before running your tongue against her slickening heat.

“I’ve missed my favorite student's top tier pussy so much…”

“Oh, fuck…That’s it daddy. Ravage my pussy.”

Chaewon is just like how you were not too long ago, a whimpering mess, at the mercy of the one giving head.

She tastes so good, a complete diorama of flavors hitting your palate at once. Sweet like a sakura with a hinge of bitterness reminding you how lewd and taboo this very act of eating out your own student is.

You feel the vibrations she sends as her hands are unable to support her anymore as you probe your tongue deeper and deeper into her slick, causing her to lie back onto the hotel bed while her hands find your head, her fingers running through your hair.

Looking up at her, you can see her toned body, her abs, her perky tits, it seems like basketball is doing its magic in keeping her fit. You look at her hard nipples heaving up and down as a result of her heavy breaths and you can't resist bringing your hands up and giving those nubs a pinch.

“Fuck, wait, sir. I’m so sensitive right now.”

She’s moaning more and more now. The walls of the dorm room might not be thick enough, and a professor leaving the student dorms so late at night? Surely someone is going to suspect something.

The next dorm room definitely won't say anything, that's for sure. It belongs to another two of your cock slave students, the Japanese duo of Kazuha and Sakura.

Heck, you’re even banging the milfy dorm keeper, Tiffany.

Maybe to escape, you’d just have to fuck your way out of the dorm building.

You’re probing your tongue even deeper now, sucking on her clit as well. Every drop getting past your lips is so damn addictive that you can't detach yourself for anything other than to inhale.

“Fuck, daddy! I’m gonna fucking-!”

Her back arches further than it ever has, as she climaxes. Her body convulses due to the stimulation she’s received, and instinctively, her legs close around you, thighs squeezing your head shut, the flytrap of Venus herself secreting the sweet substance for the poor fly (you) to be devoured by.

Akin to the fly, you're sucking in all the precious Chaewon juice, her little “ahhs” and tiny aftershocks showing how good of a job you're doing.

“Oh… That felt so good.”

She’s heaving sighs of relief, slowly calming down from her high. But you. You fucking rock hard, as if you didn’t just shoot a pent up load down her throat.

You flip her over to doggy style in a horny hurry and she yelps in surprise.

Running your finger between her pussy lips, you trace your way up to her puckered asshole.

“Since it's your special day, I let you choose which hole gets destroyed first. Your tight little pussy getting a fresh load shot straight into your womb? Or this tight fuckhole that’s sure to leave you unable to sit properly?”

She looks back at you.

Both are new options to her. She hasn't felt a warm load all the way in her womb since you always keep a pack of condoms in your drawer at the staff room. And anal always requires lube which neither of you want to bring around.

“I’m feeling dangerous today, prof. How bout I take the pill tomorrow morning, but you empty all the cum you have into your favorite student pussy?”

“I would love nothing more, my top slut.”

Lining yourself up behind her, you give that perky little butt a cheeky slap.

“Such a cute butt, always teasing me as you walk into class.”

“Is it really teasing if you pound it senselessly afterward?”

Chaewon deprives you of the chance to savor the initial penetration, slowly pressing her hips into your pelvis as your tip parts her folds. Your hands find their way onto each respective ass cheek, holding on for stability as you inch your way into her tight pussy.

“Always so fucking tight and warm for me. Feels exactly like a virgin’s pussy. That’s why you're my favorite cocksleeve.”

“Thank you professor. Kazuha kept saying you liked her pussy more. I found that so hard to believe.”

“In terms of folding her into the lewdest positions possible, nobody is beating her. But your pussy is so tight that you don't need any positions.”

The way her walls of muscles wrap around your cock makes you dreamy as you pick up the pace and thrust your hips even more in her.

“Ah, fuck! So fucking big daddy!”

Soon, your hips are donning a mind of their own, thrusting mercilessly and harshly as the slapping of skin on skin becomes more and more frequent. Your mind is sending messages to your mouth, but all you can make out is “fuck” and “ohh”.

When she looks back at you, she has a face full of bliss and lust, a small indication that you can go faster, destroy her pussy with less hesitation.

It really begs the question again.

Am I yours or are you mine?

You give her right ass cheek another slap. The red hand print becomes more and more prominent, just like how loud her screams are becoming with each slap. There’s no need to worry if she’s feeling hurt or not, because you know for sure that her mind is in a state of only euphoria, drunk on your cock moving in and out of her pussy faster than she can think.

“Such a good slut. Willing to spend her birthday with her perverted professor rather than her friends.”

“Nothing beats your cock daddy. Nothing.”

Those words fuel your engine even more, giving you renewed energy to go faster.

“DADDY!”

She screams ever so obscenely. Anybody studying or sleeping would be sure to be in a state of shock.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum so hard over daddy’s dick.”

You put both her hands together behind her back, handcuffing them with one hand of your own, then pulling her towards you till your face is buried in her neck and you can whisper against her neck.

You can feel the sweat that has collected on your two bodies, a result of your hot, intense lovemaking session.

“Then cum baby girl. Cum as much as you want.”

You make your thrusts as fast as you can possibly go, and the sounds she makes sound like a jackhammer go ham on the ground.

“Yes, daddy, yes, yes, yes, yes. Fuck your slut stupid daddy so you can teach me all again.”

You feel her muscles tense up for that brief moment as she finally cums. Her core is no longer even trying to keep her in that kneeling position. She is squealing, squirting, spraying her slick juices onto the walls and onto your cock as you hold onto her to keep her upright.

But your thrusts never cease, as you can feel the throbbing of your cock once again, a huge climax on the nigh.

“Cum in me please daddy. Shoot your load deep in me daddy.”

You’re so fucking close.

“Think about how you might get your favorite student pregnant, sir. We could become fuck partners for life.”

And that about does it for you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”, you growl, the intensity of your voice matching how hard your hips are thrusting, smacking her butt.

You don't even make it back in fully before the cum starts shooting.

Your thrusts are now timed according to your spurts of cum, Chaewon moaning with each lazy thrust of warm semen that she feels getting pumped to her womb.

“iloveyouiloveyouiloveyoumylittleslutstudent” is all you can muster into the crook of her neck while Chaewon replies with whimpers and heavy pants.

The throbbing finally subsides, and every fiber of your being finally registers how vigorous you have been fucking your student and fatigue kicks in. You let go of your grip on her hands and let her slump on her bed, before you eventually join her.

“Feels so fucking warm daddy…”, she mutters in between heavy breaths.

She sits up as you stay lying down, body completely exhausted. She gets into the same position she did when she first got onto the bed and spreads her pussy lips for you again. The fresh, warm cum that you just deposited, slowly spilling onto the sheets.

Chaewon pushes two fingers into her creampied pussy and scoops some baby batter up and licks it off her fingers, before scooping any spillage and pushing it back into her pussy.

It’s such a lewd sight that you feel your cock twitching back to life.

“You might have just knocked me up, professor.”

She looks briefly at the digital clock on the wall.

“It’s Thursday, meaning I have no lessons tomorrow.”

Climbing over you, facing away from you such that her ass is staring right at you, she spreads her cheeks apart, showing you her asshole clench and release. She looks back and smiles.

“You’ve completed just 2 out of 3 of the lesson module daddy. Time for the final teaching right daddy?”

It’s bout to be a long fucking night.

[roosterforme]

Mr. Right Now Part 6 | Hangman x Reader

Summary: When Jake makes a promise, you know he'll see it through. You're not even nervous as he spreads you out on his bed like you're something to be savored. He hasn't disappointed you yet, and you're beginning to think he's starting to feel the same way you do... like you don't want the weekend to end.

Warnings: angst, fluff, adult language, oral sex, p in v intercourse, 18+

Length: 4200 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Why is Jake on my masterlist!? Mr. Right Now masterlist

When Jake promised to take care of everything before his lips pressed against yours like they belonged there, you knew you had nothing to worry about. His hands were a little rough, but his touch was gentle. Even as he dipped his fingers inside the elastic of his boxer briefs that you'd been wearing around his place all day, he was firm but never demanding.

You had a brief flash of understanding in your mind. It would never be quite like this again. It would never feel as good. He was being so domineering, making sure you learned all of the lessons he had to teach, because he could back it up by being not only skillful but also sweet. He wanted you to have everything you needed.

"Jake," you gasped, his heavy knuckles running along your body as you reached for him, willing him to stay close. His green eyes were almost too pretty in the dim light of his bedroom, and you let the soft strands of his hair slip through your fingers while he caressed you everywhere.

He held eye contact with you as he started to pull the fabric down your hips. When you nodded, the boxer briefs ended up on the floor, and not for the first time, you were bare before him. Too innocent. Too unsophisticated. But his hands already knew every inch of your body, and you could feel how hard he was for you in spite of everything. Jake kissed along your neck and collarbones down to your breasts, and you arched off the bed as his big hand smoothed down your belly until he was barely touching your pussy.

"It feels so good," you gasped, rolling your hips up for more as his fingers ghosted along.

"Don't rush it," he murmured. "Please, don't rush it." He eased you back down with his hand on your hip, thumb drawing a little shape that felt like a heart on your side. You almost said something, but his lips were working their magic on your breasts again while he stroked up and down your slit with one sure finger. 

It was all designed to make you lose your mind. It had to be. He knew everything you liked, and he was the only man who had ever given it to you. He was making it all about you.

But you knew better by now. You really did. He was just getting started with the foreplay. The best part. But you felt like the entire weekend up to this point qualified as foreplay, and you were convinced you were going to ignite with desire for this man. His lips wrapped around your nipple just like last night, and the pull of need low in your belly had you moaning his name.

He smiled against your furled nipple. "It sounds so good when you say it."

"Jake," you whispered, drawing it out the way he was drawing out everything you were feeling. Even his breath on your damp skin felt like too much, and as soon as he met your eyes again, his lips were on yours.

His kisses were a little wilder now. More intense. He was all tongue and teeth and the scrape of facial hair. You never wanted this to stop.

"Fuck," you grunted, tugging on his hair to try to keep yourself grounded as that one sure finger dipped further into your slit before circling your clit slowly. "I want it so bad. Am I supposed to be nervous? Because I'm not. I'm so horny, Jake, I feel like I'm going to die."

You didn't even let him respond before you wrapped your calf around his thigh, needing to feel his full weight on top of you. He was delicious, all muscular and in charge, but he followed your lead and let you feel him.

"Darlin', I'm trying my best here, but you're not helping," he gasped, pressing his cock to your wet pussy through his gym shorts. He was breathing deep, and there was a beautiful vein in his neck that you couldn't help but kiss. 

"I want it so bad," you repeated, your lips brushing his skin as you reached down to yank him free from the last of his clothing. But in an instant, he caught both of your wrists in his hands and pressed them to the bedding above your head.

The rapid rise and fall of your breasts had your nipples brushing his chest hair, and you clenched around nothing as he kissed your ear and whispered your name. He made a soft sound at the back of his throat that reminded you of his voice first thing in the morning when it was rough from sleep, and you decided you could listen to him like this all night long. 

His hands tightened a bit around your wrists as he whispered, "We're at a bit of a crossroads here, Darlin'. Lesson number eight could be one of two things. But I don't think I can make it both."

Confused, you looked up into those beautiful eyes and whispered, "What do you mean?" You knew he wasn't going to leave you hanging, but it was taking everything inside you not to grind yourself against him for some relief right now. Then he looked at you with a little smile that made your heart skip around before he kissed you softly.

Everything felt a little fuzzy and he let his lips skim down to your chin before he said, "We could have sex. I could fuck you." He kissed your neck as you tipped your head back for more. "Try my best to make it real good. Make sure I don't hurt you. Go slow when you want me to and faster if that's what you like. I could make sure you come. And I'd do it happily."

"God, yes," you whined. "Yes. Yes."

"Or," he whispered, voice shaking a bit as his lips met your earlobe. "Or, it could be something more."

His words made sense, but they didn't. "More?" you asked, brushing your fingers along his hair. "How could there be more than you rocking my world right now?"

He huffed out a laugh. "There's more to intimacy than fucking."

Your fingers slowed as you ran your foot down his calf. He was right. There was more to it. But you didn't end up here because you were looking for intimacy. You had the desire to lose your virginity, and Jake begrudgingly offered to help you. But... somewhere along the way you ate pizza and took a bath and snuggled and spent the night. All of the sex in the world wouldn't be able to replace those things, and you knew it. There was a reason you weren't nervous around Jake. He made sure you knew you could trust him before he got you to this point.

You tugged gently on his hair until he was looking at you. His cheeks were pink, and he had a hesitant look in his eyes, but you smiled. You ran your thumb along his lips and whispered, "Show me."

He blinked a few times. "Yeah?"

"Show me everything."

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

Offering up even more of himself was the worst decision he could have made, but when it came to you, Jake was a mess. You wanted him to show you everything? He was tripping over himself for the chance to teach you that sex was better when intimacy was involved, but even he didn't have much experience with that. At least not recently. 

But he could already feel around the edges of his brain and his heart that you were different. Better for him than anyone else. Someone who would keep him on his toes and make him want to improve. Someone who took him seriously where it mattered and let him just be comfortable in your presence.

Your virginity wasn't a trophy, but he wanted it all for himself anyway. It wasn't something he would ever gloat about, but in the back recesses of his mind, he'd always know he was your first. He planned on being the best, but to be your only would be impossible. Especially when that was never what you asked him for.

There were words on his lips that he knew he couldn't say. He couldn't ask you to stay with him. All he could do was show you how much he wished you would. He would taste you and fuck you and give you an orgasm, but he was also going to indulge himself in the first woman in ages who made him feel something.

"I'll show you," he promised, kissing your lips and your neck. He stroked your breasts with his thumbs, coaxing little sounds from you as he nipped his way along your soft skin.

You were aroused, and he could smell you. It made his mouth water. You were wet and sweet, and as soon as he indulged, you relaxed for him. "You love this," he mused between long, languide swipes of his tongue through your pussy.

"I love it," you moaned, spreading your legs a little wider. You were so eager for him, just dripping with need.

Jake kissed your thigh and met your gaze. "After just twenty-four hours of me eating your pussy, you're addicted." You whimpered. "It's okay, Darlin'. I think I'm addicted to you, too."

He savored you. Lapped you up and devoured you as you just got wetter. He hoped his bed smelled like you after this. The whole room, even. Every time he closed his lips around your clit, you grabbed at his hair and whined.

"Show me. Show me more."

He didn't have a choice. You were about to see every bit of his feelings where you were concerned. Making you feel good was quickly becoming one of his favorite things, and soon your legs were shaking. Nobody else had ever done that to you besides him. He reveled in it.

Edging you wasn't something he set out to do, but no matter how slow he went, you seemed to be right on the cusp. And he'd be damned if you came before he had his cock in your sweet pussy. Even when he pulled his face away from you, kissing your clit and your belly, you shook with need. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, and your leg hitched around his thigh, coaxing him up your body until his mouth was on yours once more.

He could tell you loved the way you tasted, and it was all over his face right now. It was obscene the way you reacted to him. There was no hesitation in you as you licked his chin, and now he was yanking his cock free of his shorts so he could feel your warm pussy resting against him.

"Oh my god," you whimpered. "Lesson number eight. Please, Jake."

He kissed you hard until you were shaking again, eyes filled with desire and trust. His voice came out raspy when he pressed his lips to your ear. "Let me love every inch of you."

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

You couldn't remember all of the lessons. You could barely even recall your own name. If you were anything more finite than a pile of lust on Jake's bed, then that was news to you. You watched him pull his body away from yours, and you instantly wanted it back. But he slipped out of his gym shorts, and then he was naked from head to toe. His cock was thick in his palm, and you tried to sit up as far as you could, but you only got to your elbows.

He kissed your bent knee and muttered, "Let me grab the condoms," before trailing his hand down your calf.

You made some sort of sound in agreement and watched him walk into the bathroom. That half empty box of extra large condoms was yours now. You wanted to use them all up so Jake would have to go to the store and think about you the next time he slept with one of his tag chasers. The idea of another woman in his bed knocked the air from your lungs, and you sat up abruptly.

There he stood, framed in the doorway, box in hand. The delicate light barely touched his face, but he was so handsome, and you had already memorized everything. You'd never forget what he looked like.

"You're beautiful," he said, voice piercing the silence, making your heart pound. He didn't need to say it. There was no pretense of anything other than sex happening in the next few minutes. So he must have meant it.

"Come back," you whispered, and he walked right to you. 

The box ended up on his nightstand, but he had one condom in his hand. Jake kissed your forehead before lounging back on the pillows and reaching for your hand. "Remember, always use a condom. Don't let guys cut corners." His green eyes were bright and attentive. "Got it?" When you nodded, he opened the wrapper and said, "I'll show you how to put it on."

He guided his hands along with yours over his hard length, and even now he was taking his time, doing everything right. When the condom was secure, you stroked his balls and watched his head tip back against the pillow. He reached for your hand and kissed the inside of your wrist while your body thrummed with need. You didn't just want him, you needed him.

"You gotta knock that off, Darlin'," he said with a grin as he rolled you onto your back. His cheeks were tinted pink again as he braced himself over you and kissed you so gently, your body ached for more. "I need to make this good for you."

Part of you wanted to duck your face away from him, but he never hid himself from you. Sure, he'd masturbated in the bathroom, but he never tried to conceal the fact that you made him hard. And right now your body was reacting to every little brush of his chest hair on your skin. Every little tilt of his handsome face.

"I am so turned on," you whispered so softly, you could barely hear yourself over your pounding heart. "Jake."

His lips skimmed along your neck. "I'm going to love this more than I should," he murmured, gently spreading you open wider with one hand on your thigh. "You ready for me?"

The weight of his cock against your core was enough to drive you insane, and the drag of his stubble along your shoulder excited you even more. You didn't even need to ask him to be gentle, because you knew he would be. He was going to take care of everything.

"Yes."

Jake's bicep flexed as he guided himself through your slick, and then he pushed his hips forward, green eyes glued to your face. Your lips parted on a soft sound, and he paused to kiss your cheek. "I won't hurt you," he whispered, "but you need to tell me if you want me to stop."

You nodded, a jerky motion, and you felt him stretching you as he moved one inch at a time. There was some pain, but there was a lot more pleasure. "Oh my god," you gasped, reaching for his bicep while your other fingers wound through his hair. When he paused, a question flashing in his eyes, you added, "Please, don't stop."

Jake's lips were all over yours, kissing and claiming as he pushed onward, filling you until the stretch felt impossible. And then his body was resting against your clit, and you were panting into his mouth, making pleasurable little noises that you couldn't control. You were no longer a virgin.

It wasn't like you suddenly understood some deep seated secrets of the universe, but you did know the stretch of your body around Jake. You knew the sound of his groan as he filled you and kept you full. And you knew the way your fingertips tingled as he inhaled a shaky breath every time you exhaled.

"You alright, Darlin'?" he rasped, stroking his fingers along your cheek almost reverently. When you nodded in response, he kissed the side of your nose and then said, "I need to hear you say it."

You bent your leg more and let it rub against his thigh, and you rolled your hips ever so slightly, making yourself moan. Every breath you took seemed to fill your belly with an ache, a need. You gasped when your pussy tightened around him like your body was asking for more. "You feel incredible," you whispered.

He buried his face to your neck and squeezed your shoulder like he was trying to control himself. "Lesson eight... oh, fuck... lesson eight. You're in charge right now. You're ruining me."

You were still processing his words as he started to withdraw himself, and just when you were about to beg him for more, his hips pressed toward you again. Full. You felt so damn full at the end of each slow thrust as Jake kissed you, like each of his movements was designed to make a different part of your body light up with desire.

He drove himself deep once again, leaving you moaning as he whispered, "You're so fucking beautiful. My god." His gaze was darting from your lips to your eyes as you whimpered his name unintelligibly. "All this for me?"

You thought you knew, but you actually understood nothing until right now. This wasn't like the porn videos. At all. That's not how you were reacting to him, and that's not how he was treating you. This was something even better. Maybe there would be a time and a place for something wilder later on, but this... this didn't feel like just fucking. Not when his lips were as soft as his words even though you could feel the slow build of your orgasm working its way through your body.

This was perfection. You never had to fake anything with Jake. The sheen of sweat on his brow as he moved in an intoxicating rhythm made you feel like he didn't have to fake anything with you either. Maybe it would never be this good again, but you let yourself melt against his touch, determined to feel everything with him right now.

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

Focus.

Jake watched a bead of sweat roll down the tip of his nose and land softly on your lips. When your tongue slowly swiped it away, he felt his balls tighten up. Then you kissed him, and it happened again. Damn. You were tight and lovely and he never wanted this night to end.

But he needed to focus. It was all about you and the arch of your back and the desire in your voice. It was about the way you couldn't seem to say anything except his name as he made love to you. When he planted his lips between your breasts, tasting the salt of your skin, you clenched around him, and his vision blurred.

"Wow. Holy shit. You're fucking tight."

"Sorry," you murmured, a hazy smile on your lips as he laughed.

"You got nothing to be sorry for, Darlin'. Not hurting you?"

"No," you moaned long and loud. "Feels good."

He had to clench and unclench his fist on the pillow next to your head as you dragged your fingers through his hair like the two of you had done this a million times. He wanted to do this a million more times. But this was the one that needed to count for something. 

You would probably think about him from time to time as your first, but he wanted those thoughts to be something that made you do a double take or slow your steps to a halt while you're walking. He wanted you to be distracted by the memory of him right here and right now. He wanted to know that this hazy, lovestruck look would be all over your face whenever someone started calling your name but ultimately have to try several times to get your attention.

The hold you had on him was incredible, both emotionally and physically. It was too easy to picture you here every weekend, telling him his favorite pizza toppings were stupid while you took a bath with him. He'd fill up his wine glasses with ice water until you turned twenty-one, at which point he could take you back to the Hard Deck with his arm slung over your shoulders and your real driver's license in his hand.

Your body was his undoing. He was trying not to thrust, but to no avail. He let you have a few rapid strokes, and your eyes went wide as you gasped and clung to him. "I got you," he promised, kissing the crook of your neck, trying to slow down.

But then you gasped, "I love that," and he thought he was going to lose his mind. You loved being fucked by him. In fact, you were rolling your hips up to meet his every stroke. You were needy and eager and everything he never knew would make him come completely undone. But he needed to hold himself together, because he wanted you to love it even more when he made you come on his cock.

He wrapped his hands around your hips and used his body to push your thighs a little wider. "Good girl," he crooned, kissing you gently at first and then a little rougher. Your tits bounced with each thrust as he did his best to stave off his own pleasure. "God, you're good."

The little smile on your lips was kissed away immediately, leaving you whimpering his name again. You took him stroke by stroke as he slid his thumb along your clit for some extra insurance. "Oh!" you nearly screamed, tugging on his hair until he thought he was in trouble. You were clenching him hard as he stroked you there again. "Jake!"

You seemed to like every fucking thing he was doing to you, so he rubbed sure circles around your clit before applying a little more pressure, and you arched off the bed, eyes wide. You shivered, lips quivering slightly as your legs shook where they squeezed his hips. "I'll take care of you," he promised again, letting his thumb rest gently on your clit. And that was enough. That was all it took. 

You were rubbing yourself all over him, babbling his name and kissing his face. Every time you lifted your head from his pillow, it sank back down almost immediately as you arched yourself into him. Each thrust now was grueling for him. He was sweaty and exhausted from fighting against his every base urge to go as hard as he could. Then your lips parted on the prettiest sound he ever heard as your orgasm took over.

A few seconds of your pussy milking him for everything he was worth was all he could handle. He kept one hand on your hip as he drove himself deeper, and he stroked your cheek and neck with the other. "You feel good, Darlin'? Did I make you feel good?" he asked, voice deep as you shouted his name.

"Jake, Jake!"

Yeah. You'd think about his face and his kisses in a few years when some other guy just wasn't doing quite enough. When he couldn't hit the right spots or take the time you deserved to get you to this point. And whoever that guy was, he would be missing out on the most beautiful thing that Jake got to experience.

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

You were losing your voice, throat scratchy as you said his name for probably the thousandth time in a row. It felt like your orgasm lasted for an hour. It was that good. Jake was that good. Even as he started to move again where he had collapsed half on top of you, your leg came up to his hip to hold him in place.

"Not yet," you begged, barely able to talk now. He answered with a deep chuckle next to your ear. That was the third time you told him to stay put, but he felt too good, and you didn't want to lose this yet. "You told me I was in charge now."

His lips were on your neck as he mumbled, "Smartass." You were convinced he meant it as a compliment by now, and you smiled. "We still have to finish your disgusting, cold pizza." You giggled as he moved a few inches and ran his hand along your shoulder and up your neck until he was cupping your cheek. "I don't know about you, but I worked up an appetite."

You didn't want to tell him you were already hungry for round two in his bedroom. Surely none of the other girls were already asking for more while he was still inside them. You tried to turn your head, embarrassed by the very thought of it when he stopped you with his lips on yours.

"Let's get cleaned up," he whispered. "Then I'll try to convince you to sleep over again tonight."

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

She wants more. He wants more. They are so hot together. They are so good together. What could possibly go wrong? Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 7

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[starkeyisthelastname]

Rafe trying to see himself in your stomach (and he obviously can)

(I see this as Frat!boy Rafe/ Season 1😩)

Your mouth had fallen open in a silent scream, head falling back against the soft sheets of Rafe Cameron’s bed. You wanted more than anything to keep your eyes on the sexy man above you, but couldn't fight your eyes closing from the amount of pleasure running through your body.

“You.. you- are so big.” Your voice came out in more of a gasp as you dug your nails into one of his biceps for support. You had never had such a big dick inside you, amazed at how much your tight pussy was taking.

President of his Frat, Rafe was known for being a fuckboy. Spoiled, rich daddy’s boy and known for being an asshole who gave girls good dick and broke their hearts. He was charming though, and you fell right for it. His ocean blue eyes and all.

A cocky smile spread to his lips, watching your gorgeous little self take his monstrous dick. He had been eying you ever since you walked into his psych class, your sweet nature immediately making him want to ruin you.

“I know I am. I love wrecking pretty pussies like yours.” He grinned, watching your cunt stretch open the further he pounded. He wanted you to feel every inch of his thick cock, going slow on purpose. Hands on your fleshy hips, his toned V-line flexed with each thrust to your poor gut.

You could feel him there as soon as he was buried all the way in. Your eyes opened to look at the gorgeous boy before you. Pink cheeks, loose strands of hair sticking to his forehead, mouth open in a breathless smile as he knew you could feel it.

“Shit… look at that.” He groaned, seeing the outline of his dick in your stomach. You glanced down, hand coming to feel the massive length inside you, resting in your belly. You barely had time to adjust when he pulled out from your sopping hole, only to slam back in at full speed. There was no way he could keep going like this or you were going to make an absolute mess.

“Taking my big dick like a good girl. Huh? You got that type of pussy you make me wanna nut in.” To Rafe Cameron, that meant he had to have you.

[authorhjk1]

https://pbs.twimg.com/media/FyWv3wdWYAg3PsL?format=jpg&name=large

The curves on this girl. Dress so tight just like her body.

Peach

(Huh Yunjin X Male Reader)

"B-Break."

Yunjin groans, her breaths heavy.

"P-Please. Need a..."

Her sentence is left unfinished. A loud sigh of ecstasy leaves her lips.

You only dig deeper at her words. Your tongue roaming her delicious pink pussy. Her legs are being forced apart by your hands, which are groping her thick, juicy thighs.

"Give me a-Ahhhh!"

Huh Yunjin orgasms. Her squirt leaves her pussy and ends up in your mouth. There is no way you can take all of it. You duck to the side as Yunjin mewls and moans. Her juices stain the already wet sheets of her bed.

How many times have you made her cum already? You can't tell. Too many to count.

Lost in your thoughts, trying to count, you don't notice how Yunjin is trying to crawl away. Her peach coloured dress is still clinging to her body. Partially because it's just so tight, but also because she keeps dragging herself through her own squirt.

You let her keep it on, just so she can completely ruin it. There is no way in hell the smell of her juices will ever leave the dress now.

Her whimper, which is forced out of her by her pussy rubbing over the sheets as she drags herself forward, makes you look at her.

"Yunjin.... Yunjin.... Yunjin."

Your sing sang tone makes a shiver run down her spine. She already lost count after three. And she doesn't know how much more she has in her.

"Where are you sneaking off to, beautiful?"

You get a hold of her ankle. Your thumb grazes the small band of her golden high heels.

"One second. Only one second."

She whines, begging you for mercy.

You love how she is a confident, driven, funny, beautiful idol. But you love her the most, when she submits to the pleasure. Submits to you, begging for your touch. Or in this case, the lack thereof.

"One more. I'm sure you can manage one more?"

You can see the back of her head shake in despair. Slowly, you pull at her ankle. Yunjin has been pushed far enough. There is just no energy left inside her. No energy to fight. No energy to resist. Barely enough to properly talk.

It must have been hours already.... Or maybe only 30 minutes? Her feeling for time has completely vanished.

"Please...."

She mumbles into the wet sheets underneath her, her face buried in them, as you drag her towards you.

"Be a good girl, Yunjin."

Once she is close enough, you place one hand on her thigh again. A moan already leaves her mouth, her body knows what comes next.

But instead of feeling your tongue on her clit once more, Yunjin hears your belt and then your pants drop to the floor.

"No, please. Just a second. Do you know-"

The second hand on her other thigh forces another moan out of her.

"D-Do you know how tight I am now? I-I need time t-to be able to take it."

"Just remember to breathe."

Your cheeky reply makes Yunjin groan in lust and fear. Her thighs rest on the edge of the bed, right where you put them. Peeling the tight dress off her ass, you marvel at how nice her ass looks. Two full cheeks, ready to be slapped.

But you do feel something similar to sympathy. Yunjin has already been through enough. You will have your way with her ass next time.

"Ngh!"

Yunjin bites into the sheets as you push inside. Her pussy is dripping wet, her glistening lips wrapping tight around your length. She is right. Yunjin is tighter than usual. Exactly what you were aiming for. She already has the tightest pussy you've ever been in. But after making her cum so many times, it's almost dangerous.

You know you won't be lasting long. Which is fine since Yunjin has had more than enough pleasure for today. Or this week for that matter.

Moments later, you harshly pound Yunjin's tight cunt, sending her mewling and moaning. Her body rocks back and forth on the mattress, her pussy rubbing against the wet fabric.

"Mmmh! Mmmmh! Mmmmh!"

Every thrust earns you a loud moan, which is barely muffled by the sheets between her teeth. Her arms are spread out, her hands limp. You've drained her tight body of her all her juices. In more ways than one.

"Oh shit, Yunjin!"

You groan loudly, your cock almost getting strangled by her walls. You rub along them with every thrust, molding her insides to the shape of your cock.

"I'm gonna cum on you, Yunjin."

You sigh, knowing you don't have much time left.

Yunjin's head sinks into the sheets again. Her moans all quiet.

Your hands on her ass squeeze her cheeks. You enjoy playing with them as you deliver your final thrusts. A teaser to what's to come next time.

"Yunjin."

You groan her name, your fingers digging into her flesh, before you pull out. You aim at her body. Ropes of cum shoot along its length. You cover her dress, her hair, some of her ass. Your white cum finally ruins her dress completely.

To your surprise, you don't hear the usual moans from her. You walk to her side and roll her over.

Yunjin's mouth hangs open, her lips smeared with spit. Her eyes shut, makeup ruined by her own squirt. Her hair is not better off. You wonder how many times she has to wash it until the she gets rid of the smell.

Yunjin is completely knocked out.