#i am pulling for them while trying to be realistic

[wvyik]

gentle ⋆˚꩜｡

sam winchester x fem! reader

ꕤ summary: it’s your first time with sam. he’s nervous, you’re nervous, but you love each other so much it hurts. it’s slow, it’s soft, he’s hard (oops), and everything he does is full of love.

♯ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, lowkey sub! sam, honestly pretty realistic first time, me thinks, emotional intimacy, desperate praise, sam winchester fucking whimpers, body worship, extreme softboy behavior, p in v, sam’s big… yeah. just that.

♯ notes: idk what happened but i blacked out and suddenly sam winchester was soft and hard at the same time. this is very much written with stanford sam in mind. (sorry jess!! love you!! and so do ceilings!! ˚ˋঌ˖)

It was quiet in the bedroom, the kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a blanket. The only light came from the little lamp on the dresser, casting soft amber glows against the walls, and Sam’s shadow moved across it as he came back from the bathroom, freshly showered, wearing a worn gray t-shirt and sweatpants that hung just a little low on his hips.

He looked at you with that warm, boyish smile, the one that always made your chest ache. The kind that said I love you, even when he hadn’t said it out loud yet that day.

“You comfy?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you, brushing his fingers lightly over your ankle.

You nodded, stretching a little under the blanket. “I am now.”

He chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Good.”

You watched him for a moment. The way his hair curled slightly behind his ears. The curve of his lips. His hands— big, careful, resting gently on your leg like he didn’t want to startle you. You’d been together for a while now, but something about tonight felt different. Softer. Slower. Like everything had paused just so you could feel it more.

You reached for him, and he came willingly, laying down beside you, head resting on his arm, his body warm against yours. He smelled like cedarwood and fresh air, like comfort and safety and everything good.

“I missed you today,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw.

“I missed you too,” he said, turning his face slightly to kiss your palm. “All day. Kept thinkin’ about you.”

Your heart fluttered.

He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. Like he could see straight through you and still wanted to hold every piece.

His hand found your waist, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt, but not moving further. Just resting there. His thumb stroked over the fabric, slow and soft.

“Can I hold you like this for a while?” he asked gently.

You nodded, cheeks warm.

He pulled you in, wrapping his arms around you completely, your face tucked under his chin, your legs tangled together. His hands moved slow— one at your lower back, the other cradling the back of your head like you were something fragile. He didn’t try anything else. He just held you.

“I love the way you feel in my arms,” he whispered after a moment, lips brushing your hair. “Like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

You sighed into his chest, your body melting into his. It wasn’t about heat or urgency. It was about being seen. About being wanted in the gentlest way.

He tilted your chin up, just a little, and kissed you— slow and sweet. Not deep, not rushed. Just enough to make your lips part and your breath catch.

His breath hitched the second your hips shifted under him, your thighs parting a little wider as he nestled between them. He was already hard, and god, you could feel it, the thick press of him against your core, even through the thin layer of fabric still between you.

“Sorry,” Sam whispered, his voice wrecked with need, his forehead pressing into your shoulder. “I didn’t mean to… it’s just…”

You reached up and cupped his cheek, heart thudding in your chest, “I want you to,” you said softly. “I want all of you.”

He shivered like the words physically hit him. His eyes fluttered shut, his hand brushing your cheek like he needed to ground himself.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” he whispered. “But I just… I need to go slow. You’re so important to me.”

You nodded, lifting your hips toward him in a silent invitation, and that’s when he let out the softest, neediest little moan you’d ever heard from him, like he was trying so hard to hold back but couldn’t help the way his body was reacting.

He pulled back just enough to slide off his boxers, and when you looked down and saw him, your breath caught. Thick. Heavy. Hard in a way that made your thighs tremble just from imagining how it’d feel.

Sam blushed, actually blushed, cheeks pink, eyes darting away for a second like he was embarrassed.

“I-it’s okay if it’s too much,” he said gently, rubbing your side. “I’ll stop if you want. I just—” his breath caught again, “I wanna make love to you. Not just rush through it.”

Your hands slid down his stomach, slow, and wrapped around the base of him, and he groaned, hips jerking forward just slightly.

“You’re perfect,” you whispered. “Please, Sam… just go slow like you said.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, body pressing down against yours, as you quickly disregarded your shorts and panties. You could feel the head of him slipping through your folds, dragging through the slickness that had built between your thighs, and he gasped against your lips.

“You’re so warm,” he breathed. “So wet for me… I can’t believe I get to do this with you.”

When he finally pushed in, slowly, carefully, you felt the stretch immediately. He was thick, filling you inch by inch, and he kept stopping to make sure you were okay, brushing your hair back, whispering little praises.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Just a little more, almost there…”

He was trembling above you by the time he was all the way in, buried deep and still, his arms locked on either side of your head.

“Y-you feel so good,” he said, voice shaking. “I’ve never… it’s never felt like this.”

You clung to him, your body trying to adjust, and when he finally started to move, just barely rocking his hips, shallow little thrusts, it already felt like too much.

So slow. So deep. So full.

You gasped, eyes fluttering shut, and Sam kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your mouth. “Is that okay?” he asked between kisses, his voice rough but still so gentle. “I’m not hurting you, right?”

You shook your head, breathless. “No—feels so good, Sam.”

He let out this soft, desperate sound, hips rolling harder, deeper, grinding into you just enough to make your back arch and your fingers clutch at his shoulders.

“I’m sorry—I’m trying to go slow,” he mumbled against your skin, “but you’re just so tight… and warm… and I’m already so close, baby…”

His words made you clench around him, and he felt it, his whole body jolting, breath stuttering.

“Oh—just like that,” he gasped. “D-don’t move too much—I won’t last…”

His rhythm stuttered, hips grinding in deep, his forehead pressed to yours as he whimpered your name.

“I’m gonna—oh God—I’m gonna come already,” he whispered, voice broken. “You’re too perfect. You’re everything…”

And when he finally let go, it was messy. His whole body trembled, cock pulsing deep inside you as he filled you completely, his mouth never leaving yours. He moaned your name, soft and needy, like he was falling apart right there in your arms.

Afterward, he stayed buried inside you, breathing hard, fingers still brushing your cheek.

“I didn’t mean to finish that fast,” he mumbled, blushing. “You just… you felt like heaven.”

You smiled, pulling him closer. “It was perfect.”

And fuck, it couldn’t have been more perfect.

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[tthoroughfare]

trying to make your ex jealous by using ellie as a prop in your ig story hahahaha

she's been in front of your mirror for, like, ten minutes as you direct her on how to stand, how to put her arms around you. you laugh as you cycle through the pictures you'd gotten, ellie looking over your shoulder.

"ellie, these suck. you look so fucking awkward." none of them actually look like you're with a romantic prospect; it's painfully obvious it's set up, ellie craning her neck to hide her face and looking like she's petrified to touch you. you swipe onto a particular picture, zooming in on her hand. "also, in that one you can literally see your tattoo, you gotta pull your sleeve down more."

she automatically tugs at the sleeve of her hoodie, covering the ink swirling down from her wrist. "damn... yes ma'am. didn't realize it was that serious."

"well, otherwise she's gonna know it's you. and that'd be so fucking embarrassing."

she scoffs lightly. "kind of embarrassing faking photos to try and make someone jealous, anyway."

"oh, please. shut up," you retort, rolling your eyes. she'd seemed to be a little grumpy about the whole thing as soon as you asked her to do it:

"this is stupid."

"why does it have to be me? get dina to do it, she'd love this shit."

"you're so cringe."

you get back into position, gesturing at ellie. "m'kay, come back."

she shuffles closer again, hesitantly going to place her hands on your waist.

"this is why they look stupid, your hand placement's wrong." you gently grasp at her wrist, manually moving her right hand upwards and to the side, wrapping her arm further around you and allowing her fingers to rest just below your left breast. "like, you don't look like you wanna fuck me, you're just... standing there like you're at gunpoint."

"yeah, i am," she murmurs, looking down and gingerly pressing herself flush against your back. you ignore the comment, taking the back of her head and pulling it so that her chin's resting on your shoulder.

"don't worry if your face is in it, i'm probably just gonna crop it anyway," you comment as you snap another few photos, placing your hand over hers. she tries not to pay any mind to the way you subconsciously swipe your thumb across the back of her hand, the way it makes her stomach flutter.

you pivot your phone so she can see it whilst you flip through the new photos you'd taken. you're still running your fingertips over her hand, and she doesn't think you even realize you're doing it. "see, these ones are way better. they look way more realistic."

you go to take some more, and ellie hesitantly leans further in, nuzzling at your neck.

"wait, that's good," you begin. "pull your hood up, so i don't have to crop it."

blowing air out of her nose, she does as you say before returning her hand to its original position. she feels a little emboldened, borderline forgetting the whole thing is pretend as she presses a couple of tiny kisses to your neck; stopping when she feels you tense.

you pause before laughing shakily, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "method acting. nice."

ellie awkwardly laughs along, kicking herself mentally. she doesn't even know why she did it, where she mustered the balls. it was automatic.

you take a final couple, then pull away and sit cross-legged on your bed. she tugs her hood down, running a hand through her hair as she sits next to you, peering down at your phone while you flick through all of the photos.

"i think that one," you say when you stop on a particular image, pressing your thumb to the screen in emphasis. "it's hot, and you can't really tell it's you."

ellie pulls a face as she nods. "go for it."

your brow furrows as you notice her expression. "... what's with you?"

she shrugs, mouth downturning. "i don't know, i just think it's kinda stupid. why do you even want her back? she was, like... a dick to you."

"i don't want her back," you reply. "i just want her to see it and be like... 'oh, shit'."

"but, like, still... why are you even thinking about her?"

you sigh lightly, looking down at your phone. "i don't know... she fucked me over a lot, and now she's trying to act like she's doing all great and everything. just wanna give her something to feel... y'know, a little shitty over."

"fair enough," she replies half-heartedly. "i just don't even think you should care. you can do better."

you scoff. "well, it's not exactly happening for me."

she doesn't say anything back, just looks at you and shrugs, toying with her sleeve. there's a slightly uncomfortable feeling in the room as you meet her gaze, one you don't understand.

"so can i post it, or no?"

ellie's hands turn upwards in gesture. "sure."

"right," you respond, opening instagram and getting the picture up to put on your story, flicking through songs and deciding which one to add to it. she moves closer, watching as you do so.

"gotta be clairo," she remarks, to which you chuckle.

you post the photo, and resist the urge to check if your ex has viewed it every five minutes. ellie puts a silly movie on, and you actually manage to forget about it as you make commentary between yourselves, laughing along.

until your phone buzzes; dina's reacted '😂' to your story, and sent you a reply:

"that's ellie 😭😭😭😭😭 you fucking idiot"

you sit up as you open the messages, covering your mouth and scoffing. turning your phone so that ellie can see, you watch her eyes glimmer in amusement as she lets out a laugh.

"i'm taking it down," you say firmly, between giggles.

ellie raises her eyebrows, training her eyes back on the TV. "told you."

[lizardho]

The Halloween Story

As with most of my life stories, I have to clarify beforehand: Yes, this is real, and it is real because (and ONLY because) I am stupid. This is not something that happens to normal people because they wouldn't ever get close enough to a situation like this for it to happen. That being said, without estrogen my brain's "keep this idiot alive" switch was not turned on and I was, I think, biologically incapable of making good decisions.

Another thing to know is that I did not have a lot of friends as a kid because I'm terminally awkward; additionally, most of the friends I did have were maybe better described as "people who tolerated me but who I would take a bullet for." This is important for later.

Anyways, I was like 9 or 10 when this happened, and my littlest brother was like...5 or 6? This was his first Halloween where he was allowed to Trick-or-Treat past the end of our block, and he HAD to be accompanied by me or another older kid so he had begged me for DAYS to take him. And while I held the title of oldest brother, I feel like I put my whole pussy into being a good oldest brother, so I of course took the family's babiest of babies for his first ever trick-or-treat adventure!

I went dressed as Dartanian because I've been gay for a while, and he went dressed as a skeleton because he's adorable. We went trick-or-treating only in areas I knew, so mostly within the boundaries of our l'il Mormon ward, and we had fun. About a half-mile away from home, he started saying he was getting tired, so I told him we were gonna turn back and watch "Scary" movies, which was actually just two old VHS Scooby Doo episodes my mom let us watch because she only let us watch episodes where the monsters were fake because if they were real we'd get nightmares. So we start walking back. It's not too far and we know the way so it's going great. Littlest bro's first trick-or-treat adventure went swimmingly, we've got pillow cases full of candy, and we're about to watch scooby doo and eat skittles until we pass out. Life, for us, literally could not have been better.

BUT

As I walk around the corner of my old street, the far end of it, by a bush, I hear my best friend whisper-shout at me from a bush:

"Lizard, Lizard, stop, hide, quick!"

In most cases, my thoughts can be summarized by a humble: "Bwuh?" and in this case I'm pretty sure I said something like that out loud. I look into the bush, and I see it is JAM-FUCKING-PACKED with kids my age. Like 6 of them hiding behind this tall oleander bush shaking like they just saw a ghost. I wave to them, because I don't know what's going on, and tell them that Littlest Brother is tired so I'm going home. That's when one of them angrily grabbed me and littlest brother and tugged us into the oleander with them.

I think they thought we were hidden, but this was one shrub currently occupied by like 7 kids and despite how small we all were that was still more shrub-per-kid than the shrub could hide so me and littlest brother didn't actually fit. And I was squirming trying to get away because it was poky and scratchy and smelled bad and also I didn't know why I was being pulled into a shrub to begin with.

The ruckus of my squirming was freaking my friends out, who were all telling me to shut up and hide, and I was telling them I wasn't playing hide-n-seek and Littlest Brother was REALLY getting tuckered out so PLEASE let go so I can go home, when around the corner came three Big Kids on bikes.

These kids seemed HUGE and SCARY to me at the time, although realistically they were like in 8th grade and also dork-ass losers. They were on bikes with handlebar breaks, though, and they were wearing costumes ironically under hoodies, so they seemed scary at the time. They see me thrashing in a bush and correctly deduced that the kids they had been hunting down were in the bush too. This is when I learned that my friends were all scared because they'd been being hunted for sport by older boys. Like, actually, for real, we were being bullied on Halloween by kids who called us "dweebs" and shit, I cannot explain how that was actually happening in the early 2000s, that was a worn-out trope in the 80s, but it for real, actually, swearsy-realsies, happened to me.

They're bigger than us and have at least started puberty so they're a lot stronger than us. They fished us all out of the bush pretty easily and made us all line up. This was all happening on a well-lit suburban street in a Mostly Mormon neighborhood so again, I don't know how it all got this far, but it did.

Once we were lined up, they start quipping about our costumes and harassing us a little bit. Again, this is like STRAIGHT out of a shitty campy overdone 80s sitcom so I get that this sounds fake, but we were literally getting pushed around and called dweebs and nerds by some fuckass 8th graders who were all smoking a cigarette one of them stole from their mom. Finally they were getting bored so they told us that their terms to releasing us were that we give them our candy.

My friends, who are smart and wanted to be alive, immediately started grabbing fistfuls of candy from their buckets or bags to hand them. But I am stupid, and was trying to be a good older brother, and didn't understand the concept of mortality because HRT had not yet flipped that switch in my brain, and I saw littlest brother getting scared. His lips were trembling like he was about to cry, he was clinging onto me for dear life, and one of these kids comes over and is being all mean and calling him a baby (which he basically was, so like what even is the point?) and I got mad. So I took my prop rapier from it's sheath and started jabbing his ribs and head until he rips it out of my hand.

"Jesus Christ, you little faggot. I'm keeping this, you're not getting your sword back."

"K, fine, just leave my brother alone."

"I leave him alone if you give me ALL your candy."

He says it with this shit-eating grin, like he's got the upper hand. But I'm mad and suicidal in the same way a horse is suicidal, which is to say I don't care if I die as long as this fucker dies too, so I tell him if he wants my candy he can have it, and I wallop him with the candy sack. Hard. I put all 70 lbs of 9-year-old rage into that whump, and to my credit it caught him off guard. He steps back and rubs his face and the biggest kid in the group steps into his place.

"You wanna fight?" He's trying to act tough but he's also trying to square up with an unquestionably faggy 9-year-old Dartanian so it's tough. It's also a stupid, stupid question to ask, since I literally DID want to fight and he was just posturing.

So I hit him too. Again, all the rage my 9-year-old body possessed channeled into a pillow case filled with Dum Dums and skittles slaps into his face. I move to smack him again, because he's looking at me all incredulous like he doesn't think I'm serious. He tries to grab the bag but I kick his shin and he has to step back for a second because he was on his bike with only one leg on the ground and I had just kicked it so he was trying to keep balance. I took advantage of the momentary distraction and whapped him in the belly. That, I think, was the final straw for him, because he (seriously, yes, for real) took out an actual knife.

It was a real folding knife, I could hear the little mechanical click as he flicked the blade out and the locking mechanism secured it in place. He looks at me with murderous intent for like a tenth of a second before one of my other friends asks,

"Dude, are you serious?"

And it clicks that he just threatened someone with a real weapon. He takes a step back and tells me, trying to sound brave but now far enough out of his own comfort zone that he's starting to wonder what happened in his life to bring him here (which is dangerous, confused people do confusing shit).

But I'm horse-style suicidal and I honestly didn't think it was real, so I swing at him again. Full-body swing right for the face, and he slashes at the candy pouch and it tears. And I'm like "Oh shit, that's a real knife!" and he's like, "Oh shit, this kid is gonna beat me until I stab her or run!'' And that's when my Knight-in-Emo-Armor arrived!

The kid was like the archetypal "Bad Boy" of my childhood. He wore black hoodies to church and said "damn" instead of "dang" and "shit" instead of "shoot." He listened to metal music and told his grandma (who adopted him after his mom lost custody for drug use stuff) to shut up sometimes. He smoked. He was a moody goth/emo/scene/whatever enigma of rage from his shitty family life. He was also known for being actually real-life dangerous. The kid in front of me was contemplating stabbing me, but my Knight had actually broken someone's jaw in a fight before.

The whole time we were getting held up, he was just walking down the street listening to an honest-to-God MP3 player, stoned as all hell, angry at the world, and watching this all unfold. And he recognized a bunch of kids from church he barely gave a shit about, but then he recognized *me* and although he didn't know *me* super well, he fucking LOVED my dad because my dad was super nice to him at church, and he knew I was my dad's kid. And he knows the kids talking to us are bad news because he's friends with some of their friends and he knows they're all wannabe tough guys. And he makes a decision.

This guy, my knight, was tall, mean, scary, and crabby, and EVERYONE knew that, not just the Mormons in my life. And in all black, with black hair and black nail polish, he had remained almost perfectly hidden as he walked in the middle of the road on the tar-black Arizona asphalt until he suddenly emerged from the shadows right behind the kid with the knife.

"Bruh, what the fuck are you doing?"

This kid whips around and sees my knight and just blanches. Like, all-the-way white-as-a-sheet scared.

"Oh, Knight, h-h-hey, I didn't see you. You know these kids? We're just teasing them!"

"Hilarious joke, cocksucker. That's a real knife. Fuck off."

They almost left a cartoon dust cloud in the shape of their bodies as they left. My friend and "friends" from church all followed suit - Knightboy was BAD news with a capital B-A-D and they were probably more scared of him than the original trio. But I knew Knightboy because he teased me a lot in his last year elementary school and sometimes came over to talk with my dad so I knew he wasn't a bad kid. He bends down and picks up the plastic sword the first kid dropped and gives it back to me.

"This is yours, I think."

I took it, sheathed it, and said, "Thanks! You shouldn't swear."

"Man, I'm too stoned for this shit, just get out of here."

"Ok, thanks Knight! See you at church tomorrow!"

And I toddle off with Littlest Brother. I take him to some of the best houses on our street for a second round of trick-or-treating so he can calm down, and we go home. My mom puts Scooby Doo on and asks me how everything went - I tell her it was fine, it was fun. She said that Littlest Brother said something scary happened, and I said "Oh, I think he got spooked by Knight is all." And she just shrugged and walked off. By the end of the night, I honestly forgot it even happened. I was more invested in trying to figure out how to grow up to be like Velma and lining my skittles up by color so I fully did not even remember.

BUT.

My mom is friends with all the other moms at church - she has to be because she has a master's degree in a church that teaches that employed women are failing God and their families so she ended up as a high-achieving woman working as a stay-at-home mom and if she didn't make friends at church she would fully go insane.

And at church the next day, my mom is approached by a tiny pack of mothers all saying "Wow, Lizard is so brave, aren't you so proud of her?"

And because she's a Good Mom who Loves Me So Much, she says, "Yeah, totally, why do you ask?"

And they say, "Because she tried to fight off some muggers last night! She hit them with her candy bag!"

And my mom says, "Haha, Yeah, she's fierc-wait what in the fresh hell did you say?"

And they all tell her the story, and my mom is PISSED that I didn't mention, but she also knows I am capital-D Dumb, so she pulls me out of Sunday school and asks me,

"Lizard, baby, did you scare off some muggers last night?"

And I said, "Oh yeah, kinda! Knight was the one that actually scared them though."

And she says, "Lizard, baby, why did you not tell me?"

And I said, "Oh, I forgot."

And she just nodded and tried unsuccessfully to push my little "Alfalfa sprout" strand of hair down, and gave up, and then pushed me back into class. And later that day she made like 3 lbs of chocolate chip cookies and drove them all over to Knight's house to thank him. And basically ever since then I was in Knight-in-shining-armor's good books (although he wasn't very good at showing it for a bit), and I had an undeserved reputation among the kids in my church as a badass for like a year, which I felt pretty good about.

Anyways, the Halloween Story is so weird that sometimes I question my own memory of it, but I am telling it now based on my memory as best as I can recall and after fact-checking it with my mom a few times.

[disgustingtwitches]

141 as clients for sexworker reader!

//König and Nikto are here too//

MDNI

Ghost

You rarely see him, but you look forward to hearing from him. He always books multiple hours, sometimes even overnights. It's just hour after hour of pounding. Every hole you can take it. You tell him not to leave marks, but you don't really mean it. You know it. He knows it. Bitemarks and bruises are on your skin for days afterwards, he pays for you to send pictures of them healing. Thank God your regulars don't give a shit about the marks. Even if they did you wouldn't stop him from leaving them. Can't really stop him from leaving them. He asks you to wear makeup so he can fuck it off your face. You recently found out he's been stealing your fake eyelashes when they fall off, he collects them like trophies(???) Only praises you when he's felt you've earned it, which was rare. Never said I love you. Don't think he knows those words.

Gaz

Ugh, perfect client. Always a gentleman and really hot. Like "why are you hiring me when you can fuck anybody?" hot. Such a pretty dick too, has a little beauty mark on his shaft you like to kiss. He books three hours every other week just to cuddle and fuck. Really big on pleasing you, so he'll request you not to wear underwear just so he can pull your pants down as soon as you walk through his door and start eating you out. Sometimes when he really wants the "girlfriend experience" he'll slide into you while your spooning and watching Netflix. Has accidently said "I love you" once while ploughing into you, his lips pressed right up to your ear. You don't bring it up.

Price

One of the older clients. Big pussy eater. Huge. Likes to hire you to do stuff around his flat in a skirt and g-string so he can pull it to the side and eat you out while you're doing whatever he asks you to do. Watching TV? Cleaning the windows? Folding laundry? Sometimes he just straight up wants you to sit on his face, holding the skirt up so he can still see your face. When he's finally satiated, he'll get his. Sitting you on his lap and helping you bounce up and down, still in that skirt. Says I love you, but not to you. To your pussy. Literally looks at your pussy and says it.

Soap

So, so weird. Likes to act out scenes he sees in porn. Seriously. Like "help me I'm stuck in the washing machine" or "did you order a pizza with extra sausage". He'll buy outfits for the scenes; cheerleader, nurse, maid, even has a oddly realistic army uniform, right down to the boots. You get the point. One day he wanted to "try ass stuff", because he thought it "looked cool". He said I love you as soon as you stuck the tip of your strap-on in him and continues to do so every time you fuck him in the ass.

König

Yeah... Sorry to be basic but he's a bondage guy through and through. He likes to switch it up sometimes but he's mostly the dominating party. Not the kind to care about fancy shibari, really just hogties and knots that will keep you in your place. Taught you a few moves to take him down when he wants that. Wants you to use him for your pleasure when you're dominating, just like he uses you for his own. Doesn't say I love you. But he does teach you to say "I am yours" in German. So whenever he asks you a question in German, your line is always "Ja, Ich bin dein, Oberst."

Nikto

Very clingy. He was odd off rip. You were kind of uncomfortable with him because you didn't really understand him. Then he became endearing when you finally "get" him. He's sweet. Doesn't want to be alone. He'll pay anything just to have you sit next to him. Watching TV. He sits on the floor between your legs while you sit on the couch and play with his hair. He tells you lame jokes while eating whatever you wanted that day. One day you decide to tell him a corny joke too.

"We... don't think that is very funny."

Of course, he has needs. It depends on the day, but he's always changing the dynamics. Very much a switch at heart. He'll have you bent over the table while holding your jaw to look up into his eyes. Making you say thank you everytime he strokes into you. Other days he'll want to be rode while you hold him, "handsome man," you say between every kiss, "love you so much," while he whimpers under you, "you deserve to feel good." He says I love you. A lot. You say it back. Whether it's because you want to continue getting paid or you actually care about him, you're not too sure at this point.

[nightmare-niko]

Routines In The Night [Nicholas Alexander Chavez x reader]

Warnings: alcohol consumption, vague-ish descriptions of clubbing, raw sex (don't do that), completely self-indulgent

A/n: i am just a girl and i cannot help the things my mind comes up with. also this is my first actual smut in years so lmk how I did hehehe

Word count: 2273

Copying or translating my writing is not allowed. If you see my work on another site it is stolen. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

It's been quite a long time since you went out with your friends. Life gets in the way sometimes! But tonight, the stars have aligned, and all of your schedules lined up perfectly. You don’t remember being this excited to see your friends, but now you all were in your apartment getting ready for your night out.

"So I don’t know when the boys are gonna get here-“ your best friend; Violet sits on your bedroom floor, curling her hair. “But I think Evan said something about bringing a new friend?”

“Violet you can't just let strangers hang with us! What if he's a weirdo?!" You’re mostly joking. You knew your friends. Realistically you had nothing to worry about.

“What if he’s ugly?” your other Friend interjects.

“Oh my god! Hayley!” Violet chokes out a surprised laugh.

“What it’s a valid question!” She defends.

"I'm sure he will be completely normal." You try to expel the chaos beginning to build throughout your small apartment while the three of you continue to get ready.

•

An excessive amount of knocks on your door makes you jump.

You grumble obscenities on the way to open your door. "You know Evan- You don't have to—“ you stop in your tracks. Sure, there was Evan and your other friend Mike, but there was also a new guy—a beautiful guy. Was it suddenly getting hot in here??

"Oh okay drool much?" Evan jokes and you snap out of your man-induced trance.

“Hi, I'm Nick" he offers his hand for you to shake.

Your hand is quite small compared to his, but unlike most guys you’ve met, his hand is gentle. He certainly isn't trying to crush your hand (why do guys do that?). As the other guys walk into your apartment, Nicholas stays in your doorway with you as you introduce yourself,

“Come in! You have to meet the others!" You take his hand and lead him into your living room.

•

The music was loud, the air was hot, and the lights pulsed and changed erratically. You danced along to whatever generic set the DJ played, you honestly were too drunk to care. This is what you needed. While you and your girls danced carelessly with each other, the guys stayed back at your table.

All of them seemed pretty caught up in their drunken conversations. Not Nicholas though, no. His eyes had been on you the second you clambered onto the dance floor. You loved it.

You felt Violet's arm wrap around your waist, "are you gonna deal with that? " She borderline shouts in your ear to combat the loud music. "Who? Pretty boy over there?" You lock eyes with Nick across the room, he quickly looks away—taking a sip of his drink. "Maybe... you think you can get Hayley distracted so I can lure him ?"

She giggles and pulls away; you don't care how Violet was planning on making distance-- but you trusted her. With a sensual sway of your hips, you walk over to Nicholas. None of your other friends seem to notice your presence, not that you mind though.

"So, you gonna keep on staring or are you gonna dance with me?"

The man before you smirks, he takes you in quickly, "How about both?" He offers his hand to you. You take it gratuitously, even in your heels he had height over you. It was hot. Maybe it was the lights or the alcohol in your system-- or maybe both, but you had to have him.

To say the two of you were dancing was a stretch, to say the least… You wrap your arms around his neck, you were so not remembering this tomorrow at the rate you were going.

“How long were you going to sit there staring at me for?” Your question was light-hearted at best.

"Until I was blackout probably," He laughs shyly.

You laugh along with him, grinding along to the beat of the music, you could live this moment forever. "Usually everyone comes back to mine and sleeps over after clubbing. You down?”

He smiles, "Sure, why not.”

•

Somehow you managed to get all of your drunk friends back to your home safely. Now all you had to do was (try to) relax, you sneak away from all of your friends and into your bedroom.

It took you longer than usual to remove your makeup and change into your pajamas due to the drinks you had tonight, but you managed.

What time was it? You didn't know, your phone was dead!

Back in your living room, your friends lay sleeping (?) scattered around Violet and Hayley both still in their makeup and heels. You didn't dare wake them, they knew where your makeup wipes and extra clothes were. All you needed was your bed.

•

4 am. It was 4 am and you were wide awake. Wide awake with a raging headache, that is. You groan before tugging off your oh-so-comfortable blanket. The hardwood floors were cold against your bare feet-but you didn't care.

Stumbling to the kitchen through the darkness of your home was a situation you found yourself often, but now you had the added addition of staying quiet. The last thing you needed was more hungover zombies.

The moonlight from your open windows lit up your kitchen counter just enough for you to grab the nearest pain relief medicine and a drink in peace. Now here came the hard part-- walking back in the dark. Why didn't you bring your phone?!

The door of the bathroom swings open-- you gasp dramatically. "Jesus Nick! You fucking scared me,” you whisper yell at the taller man.

"Sorry! I had to— uh I didn't think anyone was awake." He flicks off the light and steps closer to you.

The moonlight paints across Nicholas’ face in a way that has you speechless. "Well, uhm-are you -" You stumble over your words. "Do you need anything? A blanket? Water? I can see if there are sweatpants you can wear."

For a moment you think he's going to decline your offer-- “Actually, a blanket and sweats would be awesome… If you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all-- Here follow me.” You continue your path to your bedroom, only this time with the hottest man you've ever seen trailing behind you.

Inviting him into your room! What if he gets the wrong idea? (Is it the wrong idea if you really do wanna fuck?) "Sorry for the mess... You can sit on my bed while I look." You awkwardly point at your bed as if its location wasn't obvious. "It's cute in here, very cozy." Nicholas takes in his surroundings— trying and failing to distract himself from your extremely short pajama shorts. "Thanks, here." You hand him some clothes leftover from friends, "Hope they fit." You hear him mutter a thanks before you go back to searching for a blanket. Why is he being so quiet? When you look over at him, he's staring: again. You bite back a laugh.

”You have quite the staring problem, you know?” You tease. He smiles something wicked, his dark brown eyes dark with want. Why stare when you can just shoot your shot?”

He throws his hands up in defense, "I mean hey, I made it this far!”

“Oh yeah- "You remark sarcastically, "Remind me what base ‘sitting on a hot girl's bed and staring at her ass’ is again?"

"Oh, so that's how we're playing it?" He stands up and takes one big step towards you

“That's how we're playing it.” You tease, standing up on your tippy toes to drape your arms over his shoulders.

His large hands wrap around your waist, pulling you into him. He hums in acknowledgment of your teasing. He was hard, you could feel him through his jeans.

How did you get into this situation? Were you complaining though?

No, not at alt. Nicholas' large hand cups your face sensually.

The Kiss was electric, not rough, but dominant. You didn't have the energy to fight for control, you just wanted him. Dazed, you pull back from the kiss. "I can't focus with you pressed against me like that." Your hands shoot from his neck to his belt buckle. “Bed, now." You demand, he quickly clambered onto your bed.

You pull his pants down to his ankles, and Nicholas kicks them the rest of the way down. Your heart racing as you follow him onto the bed, straddling his lap. His hands found their way to your hips, gripping them firmly as you leaned in for another heated kiss.

"Are you sure about this?" Nicholas whispered against your lips.

"Absolutely," you run your hands down his chest.

As things heated up between you two, a sudden noise from the living room made you both freeze. You remembered your friends sleeping just outside your bedroom door.

"We should keep it down," you giggled softly, pressing a finger to Nicholas' lips.

He nodded— a mischievous glint in his eyes. He presses a quick kiss into your lip and flips you onto your back. You find your eyes drifting down his torso, his cock tented in his boxers. You snap your eyes back up to his, the air thick with tension.

“Kiss me,” you beg, and he listens immediately. you tug on his bottom lip and he groans lowly. the position you were in made it impossible for you to not cross your ankles behind his back, pushing him against your throbbing core. You whimper, almost pathetic, but you couldn't care less about that right now.

You whine again, this time a desperate plea for more. “Mmm… Nick—please~” You beg against his lips.

“Tell me,” he commands. You whine again as his lip trail kisses along your neck, leaving marks at the base.

“More~” you manage to joke out.

“What do you want, beautiful? All you need to do is say it and I'll give it to you.” His voice is sultry against your ear, his breath leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“Clothes. off,” you demand.

You hear him chuckle sensually, as he leans back on his haunches. You swear all time freezes as you watch Nicholas take off his shirt. He was already the most attractive person on the planet with his pants off, and now here he was. Towering over you in his underwear, while you still had all of your clothes on. That had to change, sit up briefly as Nicholas helps you take off your sleep shirt.

Nicholas kisses you again, pushing you back down onto your plush pillows. In the heat of your kiss, Nicholas takes off your sleep shorts and leans back— he groans at the sight before him.

“look at you~” he tuts, “all fucked out and I haven't even touched you yet.”

“Nick, please-” you whine, bucking your hips in the air, desperate for any kind of friction. “Don't tease!”

finally, Nicholas stands up from your bed. Pulling his boxers down his boxers, revealing his throbbing cock. The tip is red and angry— leaking with precum. your mouth watered just at the sight.

he climbs back over you and back in between your thighs. his hungry eyes, fixed on your core as he runs his tip over your clothed clit. you whimper again— just as you're about to open your mouth to complain, he pulls your panties to the side and pushes into you in one motion.

You bite down on your lip to try to conceal your moan but the noise that you make is still extremely loud. the stretch burned, but god it felt heavenly. Nicholas clashes his mouth back onto yours at an attempt to hush your sounds— not that he wanted to. He wanted the whole city to hear you, but all of your friends were in the next room and that was not a conversation he wanted to have.

The steady rock of his hips has you barreling quickly towards your orgasm. The kiss is sloppy and rough— you couldn't think of a better thing to be doing at 5 am. He trails wet kisses to the sweet spot below your ear, then to your neck and collarbone.

With one hand tightly gripped on your hip, he was close. You knew because his thrusts were getting sloppier and rougher. With one final bite of the base of your neck, he sits up— free hand rubbing circles on your clit as the new angle had him hitting right you needed him.

Your back arches off of your bed in a dramatic display as your orgasm takes over you— you swear you blacked out for a moment. Nick pulls out of you in a hurry, white ropes of cum paint your torso and face and he groans gutturally.

the once cold air in your bedroom was now hot. the only sound was the combined sounds of you and Nicholas trying to catch your breath. sleep takes over you as you feel Nick wiping the cum off you with whatever was nearby.

"So," Nicholas whispered, running his fingers through your hair, "does this mean I get stay here tonight?" he brought a clean blanket over your naked bodies.

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "If that's not what that means I have no idea what does."

Tag list (If you want to be added just comment!)

@Nallasstuff @chmpgneprblem @qoopeeya

@lilybellalana @sleepysongbirdsings

[urperfectcinnamonroll07]

White Tee

requested?: no pairing(s): bang chan x afab!reader genre: smut/fluff warning(s): smut, unprotected sex (stay safe pls my babies), blonde curly haired chan (yes, that is a warning), reader cant come from penetrative sex (made it real, some girls cant. chan does make her come on his dick tho), oral (f recieving), chan being a horny fuck, hair pulling, mentions of breeding, squirting fingering (small mention), praise summary: 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘦-𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 word count: 2.6k a/n: so sorry this took ages, i had to get back into the rhythm of writing smut again lol. i am almost done the twisted series aswell! i may take matters into my own hands and write about them on here because i have only found one post of alex and one post of christian. rhys and josh deserve some love yk. made this one realistic because a lot of girls cant come from penetrative sex, so yk. make sure to eat and drink something, love yas, mwah! -Cilla

bang chan was a really good boyfriend. sometimes.

now, that’s not to say that chan was a bad person, but sometimes he was just very busy, with him being an idol and all. but tonight, you had just gotten home from work, and it was extremely busy. but, when you got home, you were hit with the smell of your favourite food.

you walked into the kitchen and saw chan, at the stove, with a kiss the chef apron on. you came up behind him, which must have scared him because he dropped the spoon in the pan. nonetheless, you kissed chan’s cheek with a smile.

“you’re just in time” he says happily. “i was just about to dish up”

so he did. he dished up, and you both sat at your dining room table and ate, talking about how your days went.

after you had both finished your dinner, chan insisted he would wash the dishes as you had been stressed out lately, but you told him you would. and with around five minutes of back and forth bickering, you eventually won and went towards the kitchen to clean the dishes.

after a while, you were washing the pots and pans. there was a pan full of water in the sink, and you were washing the spoon. the scene was similar to when you had scared chan, apart from he was cooking and you were cleaning. just then, you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and a pair of lips attack the side of your neck, making you drop the spoon in the water below, causing the water to splash up your whole front.

see, this would have been fine, had you not be wearing a thin white shirt. the white, and now wet, fabric clung to your body, going slightly see through, so you could see your bra and tits.

“jesus! you scared me chan” you exclaim, placing a hand to your chest to basically emphasise how much you got scared.

“m sorry baby, you just looked so good. couldn’t help myself” he murmurs into the crevice of your neck. you move your neck to the side in order for him to have more access.

chan slowly kissed your neck, obviously not trying to start something, but it was just a sweet gesture to say thank you for cleaning up after he had cooked. you continued cleaning, until you felt the kisses stop and chan’s chin leave your shoulder.

“what’s up?” you say, not looking at chan. his arms still remained wrapped tightly around your waist, but you could just feel that something inside of him had switched. it was in the air.

when you received no answer, you turned your head to look at chan over your shoulder. his head was facing downwards, staring at your chest where the, now practically clear, fabric clung to your chest, outlining your tits perfectly.

you felt something grow hard against your ass, as chan pressed his hips into you, effectively caging you to the counter.

“you’re so fucking sexy, y’know that?” he murmurs, reclaiming his spot in your neck, this time leaving nibbles and the occasional harsh nip on your neck, which would be sure to mark by the morning, but none of you would really care.

you grab the spoon and continue cleaning it, aswell as cleaning the pan. chan bit your neck a lot harshly, causing you to move it a lot more to the side. you felt chan smirk against your neck, his hand travelling down your waist to the waistband of your pants.

you tried to swat his hand away, but he just grabbed your wrists with his free hand, spun you around and effectively pinned you to the counter with his body, your smaller wrists held in his bigger hand.

“chan, the dishes” you try to push him away, but it was a lot harder when you had your wrists pinned together. he brought his face out of your neck and looked at you with lidded eyes.

“do you want to finish doing the dishes, or do you want to help me out and let you feel good?” he asks, even though it was more of a rhetorical question as he already knew the answer. he pressed his knee against your thighs, prying them apart. you instinctively grinded down onto it, trying to get the slightest bit of friction from him.

“yeah” you say, almost bashfully as chan’s smirk widened. again, he moved his face back to your neck, sucking and biting.

as fast as you knew what was going on, chan hoisted you up and wrapped your legs around his waist before setting you down on the dining table. your fingers had found their way into chan’s blonde curly hair and tugging harshly, effectively pulling his head back. you leaned up from your spot on the table and kissed him. chan quickly swiped his tongue over your bottom lip, asking for entrance, which you gladly granted him. he swiftly slipped his tongue into your mouth, which then found yours.

his tongue pressed against yours, fighting for dominance, which he obviously won. he always did. you instinctively widened your legs around his waist, his body perfectly fitting against yours as if it was a missing puzzle piece. chan swallowed all the moans you made against his mouth, his not leaving yours for a second. it was as if he thought that if he let you slip from his grip even a tiny bit, you would leave. you knew that he knew you wouldn’t, thought.

as you both started to run out of breath, chan pulled away. instead of reattaching your lips in another steamy kiss, he attached his lips to your neck, his tongue softly running over the bites that had already started to form. your hands tugged on chan’s hair again, but, instead of leaving the sanctuary of your neck, he slowly kissed down your body.

as he reached the wet spot on your white shirt, he smirked, looking up at you, tugging at the hem of the shirt. your eyes said everything he needed to know as he removed your shirt and threw it somewhere in the dining room. you would find it later, you thought. chan smirked at the sight. you had no bra on, which you normally didn’t have at this time of night as it started to get uncomfortable and nip at your ribs.

chan took this chance to latch his lips onto your right tit, the pebbled bud instantly getting the stimulation it needed. you whimpered as chan massaged your other tit, twisting the hardened nipple in his thumb and index finger. soon, he changed over, letting your nipple go with a soft pop before moving it to the other tit and giving it just as much attention as he did the right. he followed the same process with your right tit and rolled the hardened bud in his fingers.  

when chan eventually moved away from your tits, he left a small peck on each of the nipples, resuming his pathway down your body towards the waistband of your shorts. he slowly undid the bow tightening the waistband and tapped your hips, signalling for you to lift them.

“lift these for me, pretty” he says softly, looking up at you from his knees. you did what he said, lifting your hips up, planting your palms on the table below you for leverage. chan shimmied your shorts down your legs and hooked a finger into your panties.

he smirked almost triumphantly as he saw the wet spot that had formed on your panties, before pulling your panties down your legs. you didn’t see him throw them though, so you assumed he had just placed them on the floor somewhere.

“so wet and all i have done is suck on your sweet little tits baby” he smirked, talking in a teasing manner, you only whimpered in response.

it was so sudden, one second chan was looking up at you with that smirk you oh-so hated (loved) on his face from his knees, but the next he dove face first into your wet cunt, pulling your thighs over his shoulders and licking a long stripe up your folds. you moaned out, leaving one palm on the table and tangling your other in chan’s blonde curls. as he dove his tongue into your folds, he instantly found your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue over the poor sensitive nub.

as chan delivered a particularly harsh suck, you threw your head back and tugged harshly as his hair, but chan didn’t let out and instead kept going. you felt him smirk against your poor cunt as he flicked his tongue backwards and forwards over your clit, creating the best stimulation. but as soon as it started, he stopped, sticking his tongue out and pushing it as far as it would go into your hole, his nose bumping against your clit.

chan fucked his tongue into you, making you moan with the stimulation of his nose hitting your clit. he soon pulled his tongue back out of your hole, replacing it with his fingers. he pumped his middle finger in and out a few times before adding his ring finger, making you whimper at the slight stretch. he curled them upwards, hitting that spot inside you that made you weak in the knees. his mouth was soon back to your clit again, sucking and flicking as he fucked his fingers inside of you, making your eyes roll back as well as your head.

“g-gonna come channie” you whimpered out, chan didn’t let out, but instead went harder.

he delivered harsher sucks to your clit, making you moan out and begin to close your thighs around his ears. with his free hand, chan pushed your thighs back open and continued his assault on your poor bundle of nerves. you were beginning to get a lot more sensitive, the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten as you neared your peak. chan kept going, he didn’t stop for one second, not when it came to pleasuring his girl. you didn’t know he had removed his fingers until you felt both of his hands wrap around your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

you gripped the edge of the table, knuckles turning white as you moan loudly. you threw your head back, your eyes rolling back as pleasure took complete hold of you and made you see white. you didn’t know what had hit you until you came back to your senses. you felt chan lapping at your cunt, making sure he got every last drop of your juices and pecking your clit softly, making you you’re your hips softly at the overstimulation, before standing up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

you panted out as you took in chan’s appearance. his hair was messy, his eyes filled with lust and love, his lips swollen and puffed up.

“made so much mess baby, was it that good that you squirted all over my face hm? made you feel so good you just had to let your juices get everywhere” chan teased. your face flushed red and you tried to hide it, to no avail. chan grabbed your face and pulled it back towards him, making you look at him. “don’t hide from me, i think its hot baby” he murmurs.

you stared at him for a few minutes before he grabbed your hips, standing you up and turning you around. he bent you over the table, and before you knew what was going on, you heard chan’s belt being undone and clothes hitting the floor. you heard another piece of clothing hit the floor, which you just assumed was his shirt.

then you felt it, chan’s cock prodding against your hole. he slid it through your folds to gather your juices before he pushed himself into your hole, filling you up to the brim. tears pricked at your eyes from the stretch.

chan knew you couldn’t come from just his cock, and it wasn’t his fault (from the countless conversations you’ve both had before, which ended in you comforting him by sucking his cock, and telling him it wasn’t his fault and a lot of girls couldn’t). you both managed to find a way that would make you come on his cock, which was him rubbing his clit. so in that way, it was pleasurable for you both.

chan travelled his hand upwards to your clit, pinching it harshly, eliciting a mewl from you. after a few seconds, you rolled your hips into chan, signalling that he could move. he did. he pulled out until only the tip remained before slamming back into you with so much force that the table beneath you moved an inch.

you mewled out again as chan pinched your clit, rolling it slightly but then circling it, making your hips buck from the overstimulation. chan kept thrusting as he did so, the sound of skin slapping against skin, along with your whimpers and chan’s soft grunts the only thing that was filling the room, followed by the squelch of your pussy that was taking chan’s cock oh-so well.

“taking my cock so fucking well baby, your pussy was made for me” he mumbled, messily drawing circles on your clit as his thrusts sped up, his hips pistoling into yours with so much force it kept moving the table bit by bit. “such a good fuckin’ girl for me yeah? fuck, you’re swallowing my cock so well baby”

it didn’t take much more before you felt the coil in your stomach start to tighten as you mewled and moaned in response, trying to grasp at chan. with his free hand, he intertwined his fingers in yours so his palm was against the back of your hand, pushing it down onto the table and thrusting a lot more harshly than before, before they started to become sloppy. chan’s fingers worked well on your clit, making you clench around his cock and spill your juices around him.

“god, i’m gonna breed you so well baby, give you all of my babies yeah?” chan groaned.

“m gonna come again channie” you whimpered out.

“yeah? then come for me baby, see if i can make you squirt again” he grunted out.

his words sent you over the edge, your pussy clamping down around chan’s cock, your juices squirting out around him. that must’ve sent chan over the edge as you felt him squeeze your hand and let out a long groan. chan kept thrusting and circling your clit, making sure you could ride out both your highs.

chan then pulled out of you, replacing his cock with his fingers as he pushed his come back inside of you. he then pulled you up so you were standing with your back to him. he left feather-light kisses to your neck, your legs trembling as he kept you up.

“did so good baby” he muttered into your neck, “let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” he asked rhetorically, although you nodded in response.

chan picked you up bridal style and took you upstairs to the bath. he ran it and lay you in it, against his chest which was behind you.

“what about the dishes?” you murmured tiredly.

“i’ll do them later baby, don’t worry yourself about them” he said, cupping water into his hands and letting it fall onto your body.

“are you sure?” you asked, moving your head so you were looking up at him.

“m sure baby” he murmured, looking at you with complete adoration, leaning down to peck your lips. in response, you nodded and smiled. “we could always go for another round before i do though” he said not-so jokingly.

“christopher bang!” you exclaimed, hitting his chest playfully. he laughed in response.

[beneathashadytree]

RESPONSIBLE DADS - LOVE AND DEEPSPACE MEN X READER

Warnings : autistic!Zayne with his autistic daughter, all of them are girl dads here (except for Xavier who has twins), cuteness-aggression bites, one mention of a gun (no one is harmed!), no mentions of pregnancy (their kids can be interpreted as biological or adopted), this isn’t proof-read, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : so much domestic fluff ☹️🫶🏽

Word count : 2.3K words (holy shit???)

Additional notes : This is a combination of two asks I’d received a month or two ago about the LNDS men as dads while their partner is away, and Zayne in particular struggling with his own autism vs his child’s autism. The brain rot was real in this one😭 To anyone else reading this, my requests are still closed!! These are just old requests I had in my inbox🫶🏽

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Masterlist

“She went down without much of a fuss,” Zayne said, slowly closing the bedroom door behind him as he set his phone on the dresser and got ready for bed over the video call, despite the time zone differences. He’d tried to convince them to just let themself rest instead of staying up past 3 AM, but they’d paid him no mind and insisted on seeing him last thing before bed.

They hummed, watching him slip out of his button up through their screen with a fond gaze. “She is really quiet compared to what I’ve heard about kids her age.”

In the midst of folding his shirt, he paused, a slight crease between his eyebrows. “A little too quiet.” At his concerned face, they straightened up in their seat and leaned in closer to their phone. “I think… she has difficulty connecting with me.”

Their expression was unsure at that. “I don’t know, Zayne. You know she loves you…”

“I do,” was his swift answer, pausing as he pulled his pyjama shirt over his head, then popping out with his hair adorably mussed. “But maybe she feels like I wouldn’t understand her.”

No matter how much he wanted to seem stoic and unaffected by the prospect, there was no hiding the conflicted emotions swimming in his eyes. With an almost sad smile, they asked him, “Even though anyone that sees you two says you have so much in common?”

With a slight flush (was it out of embarrassment as he noticed his messy hair, or was it a twinge of pride in being so connected to his daughter?) he began to apply his minimal skincare that he’d grown used to with them, scarred skin deftly being cared for after years of neglect.

“Autistic girls have different experiences than autistic boys, and their struggles are often overlooked because of these differences. Maybe she subconsciously feels that we can’t bridge that gap.”

Resting their head against their hand, keen eyes bore through him. Zayne would never go unheard as long as they were there. “Do you feel that gap?”

He shrugged, swallowing thickly as he wiped the excess off on his hand towel. “It’s not about me. Studies show that—”

Shaking their head, they sighed a little in affectionate exasperation. “It doesn’t matter what studies say. You’re overthinking it because you want things to be perfect. It’s sweet, just… not very realistic.”

“Mm. I know,” he softly conceded, combing through his hair with a distant glimmer in his eyes. It wasn’t so easy, navigating the emotions and ideas of a child that one already struggled with for decades.

They apologetically smiled at him, then added, “She trusts you with her life because she knows how hard you try to understand her, no matter how difficult that may be sometimes. You give her the space to be able to communicate her needs properly, and that’s why she loves you beyond measure, Zayne.”

He looked away for a few beats, but that was enough time for them to see the misty-eyed wonder in his eyes as he looked at the crooked drawing on his bedside table that she’d made of him holding her in his arms.

His sweet daughter who carried a piece of his heart everywhere she went.

“Then she’s just like you. Very open with her affections.” Huffing out an impossibly tender laugh, he picked up his phone once again and began to climb into bed, his shoulders sagging with relief; like he needed that reassurance to be able to nestle his body into the mattress, cold as it was without his lover. “Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve it from you both…”

“You’re gonna get sick like that, and guess who’ll be cleaning up that mess?” Rafayel frowned, grabbing his daughter by the scruff of her neck and carrying her off before she got her pretty dress drenched by the wave that came crashing down where she’d been standing.

“I can’t get sick from water, daddy, and you know it,” came the reply between giggles, her eyes closed as she relished in the spray of seawater.

With a grunt, he fumbled with his phone a little as he switched to carrying her against his hip with one arm, before turning back to the ongoing video call. “Holding down the fort?” they teasingly asked, arching their brow at their daughter’s windswept hair and inevitably sandy fists curled up against Rafayel’s chest.

“She likes to bully me.” He pouted as he saw two pairs of mischievous eyes looking at him. “No guesses as to where she picked that up from.”

“Are you sure that your six year old daughter—who, mind you, is as cute as a button—is bullying you?”

“Daddy’s just silly, Lemurians are fine with water,” his daughter tried to reason with what she felt was perfectly logical. “He just doesn’t want to wash my clothes again if I get them wet.”

“And why should I?” he indignantly huffed out at the grin that showed she was definitely up to no good. “They’ll get dirty ten seconds later anyways. It’s such a pain.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t leave paint buckets everywhere, then I wouldn’t be on my fourth dress of the day.” Her sassy mutter under her breath was the last straw, and then his instincts took over and—

Chomp!

His teeth nibbled on her round little cheeks, cuteness aggression washing away any possible annoyance (which he’d been feigning, anyways) at the prospect of having to do the laundry all over again. She cried out in protest, though her shreaks of laughter and tighter hold on him gave away the fact that—not unlike his partner—she loved every bit of it.

“You got my face all dirty,” she whined, wiping her cheek against his silk shirt as he walked them back up to the house, much to his dismay.

A chuckle came from his screen, and he flushed under the sweet gaze and the grin he missed so much. “There goes another round in the washing machine. Y’know, Raf, it’s not the smartest move around to wear your favorite clothes around your kid.”

“No kidding,” he grumbled, though there was no bite behind his words. In fact, the tender look in his gem-like eyes only spoke volumes of the adoration he held inside. And maybe his little girl felt it, and decided it would be the perfect moment to press a kiss to where she could reach, right over his heart.

“I don’t mind the paint, daddy. You always make the prettiest things with it, pretty just like you,” she softly said, her tiny index finger toying with the pearlescent button on his blouse.

How much more did she want to squeeze his heart in his chest? He didn’t think he could possibly love her any more than he already did, and yet here she was, proving over and over again that she was the greatest gift he could ever be blessed with after all these years. Walking into their home with sandy feet and salty skin was no longer a dream, but a part of his quaint little life.

“Even if you did ruin my favorite dress and sandals.”

“Papa’s been asleep for three hours now,” she whined in a low voice, her bottom lip jutted out as she looked back at Xavier curled up in a ball in the middle of the unmade bed, legs tangled in the messy sheets. She then turned back to the videocall at hand. “Can’t you wake him up, please?”

Her twin brother popped up from behind her and patted her shoulders in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “He’s tired after he played with us. Let’s leave him for a bit.”

With a downcast gaze, she reluctantly nodded and walked out with him, the phone shaking as it was a little too big for her small hands.

Now out in the living room, they could finally raise their voices a little. “Papa cleaned up in the morning too. We probably shouldn’t have asked him to play with us.” He looked a little forlorn as he fiddled with his fingers. Painfully shy, it often showed when he was doubting himself. “We tried to help him after lunch, but—”

“That’s okay, what matters is that you both tried to lend him a hand,” they sweetly reassured them as they smiled through the screen. “And I’m sure if he was too tired to play with you guys, he wouldn’t have offered it in the first place.”

Their daughter gasped, eyes shining in awe at that. “How did you know that Papa was the one who came up with the game?”

“Because he waits for playtime every day, just to spend time with you guys. He’s always so excited, y’know?”

With matching grins (though one was more bashful than the other), the two seven year-olds looked significantly lighter than they had been when the call had first started. The precious moment was soon interrupted by a yawn from behind and a tuft of blonde hair taking up half the background.

“Did you two sneak off to have them all to yourself?” came Xavier’s sleep-addled voice, as he shuffled to pull them onto his lap and readjust the camera. “Cheeky, taking advantage of my nap.”

His daughter laughed, her hands going to loop around his neck. “We weren’t! Promise.”

Her brother reached up to pat down Xavier’s bedhead, gently combing through the soft locks. “You looked tired, Papa. We didn’t want to wake you up with our voices.”

At that, Xavier couldn’t help the upwards quirk of his lips, all the love one could contain threatening to burst through as he held his world between his fingertips—and the best part of him miles away but no further from the heart.

“You’re sweet, just like a certain someone we all miss,” he said, before kissing their foreheads and ruffling their hair, earning little grumbles of protest. Turning his attention back to the videocall, Xavier’s eyes softened. “How long until we can take naps together on the couch again?”

His partner sighed, glancing at the calender on the wall for a moment. “Should be three days. It’s hell without you guys. Maybe I’ve gotten used to waking you all up for an hour in the mornings.”

“Hey, it’s all because of Papa!”

“He does sleep in twice as long as us…”

“And it’s gotten even worse now that you’re gone.”

He chuckled at their sulking feeding off each other, and the collective agreement that things just weren’t the same when his lover wasn’t beside him where they belonged. “Then maybe this should be enough to convince them to hurry back to us so we can get up early every day, hmm?”

“Tell me why Luke and Kieran frantically called me up and told me stop you from endangering our one year old girl. Now.”

“Well, hello to you too, sweetie.” Sylus rolled his eyes at the clearly enthusiastic greeting. “I’ve missed you too. I’m doing good without you for two weeks. Thanks for asking.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t give me that crap. You’ll live.” Scoffing, they crossed their arms in front of their chest. “Less avoiding the topic, more explaining why your seconds in command are treating you like a ticking bomb.”

“They’re more like lackeys, you know.” A hint of irritation climbed up his spine. Luke and Kieran were more like lost puppies that would be a danger to themselves—and society—if they were left to their whims. That’s all that they were (or so he tried to convince himself).

They waved him off, knowing that his half-assed words weren’t to be taken seriously. “I beg to differ. Now, where is she and what happened?”

Silence settled for a few moments, but then he realized it wasn’t in his favor to not quickly come clean. “She was playing around with me in bed, then seemed fascinated by my left pocket. Said pocket… may or may not have had a gun.”

Leaning in close to the camera, they sighed heavily, and pinched the bridge of their nose. “And I’m assuming her magic little fingers found the trigger.”

“More or less yes,” he mumbled under his breath, swallowing thickly as he met their dead-eyed stare. “Had to whip it out and fling it across the room… which may or may not have caused it to slam into the new bookcase and send it toppling.”

It didn’t matter how many people he’d managed to fearlessly face down; pinned underneath his partner’s disapproval, he found himself unable to move. “And that’s where they came in?”

Sylus hummed, flipping the camera and showing them the fractured remains on the floor. “Sorry about that, sweetie. Didn’t have the time to clean it up, what with feeding her and getting her ready for bed.”

“It’s fine, I can build another one.” Their quick dismissal was followed by the furrowing of their eyebrows. “What matters is that you prioritized her safety first.”

“Of course,” he was quick to reply, turning the camera back to himself, before he chuckled a little, sweetness seeping through his voice, “Though I do admit, seeing her have no self-preservation instincts really did make her strikingly similar to you in that regard.”

“Really flattering, hearing you praise her brashness and compare it to mine.” Their expression then grew more serious, and they worried their bottom lip between their teeth. “But… please. Don’t keep any weapons in the same room as her. She’s naturally curious.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he murmured, having had his dose of sheer panic at her tiny hands. He couldn’t remember a moment in his life when he’d been as terrified as he was earlier, his blood turning to ice at the thought of endangering her because of his own fast-paced life.

“I know you’ll be more careful. You’re so good to her—and me,” they quietly mused, a grateful look on their face as they admired him—tired ruby eyes, unruly silver hair, and all.

And Sylus had no control over his own lovesick stare, perfectly content with dancing in their palm for the rest of their lives. After all, he’d found the only two people in this world he could forfeit his life for. There was no shame in admitting it—and so he did, ever so softly. “I suppose you can take pride in knowing that you both have me wrapped around your fingers.”

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[jujutsusimp]

Good night

🌸 Sukuna allows you to stay in bed with him after sex for the first time

I already mentioned my brain rot about Sukuna big spooning you when i commissioned this fanart, so I wrote a short drabble to go with it. I am going for a realistic Sukuna : so rough but slowly softening to you.

Content: True Form! Sukuna, fem!reader, fluff, implied sex but nothing explicit

You were wrecked like always. All your muscles were sore, even those you didn’t know you had, your legs were all wobbly, and the sheets were just too comfortable to even think about lifting your head from them. They felt so soft beneath your exhausted, sweaty, body you couldn’t help but cling a bit against the nearest pillow.

After a moment of self-indulgence, you try shifting, looking for the strength to get up but only groaning from the effort. You give up instantly, closing your eyes to rest them. Just five more minutes.

“I will be gone in a moment," you say with a sigh. Sukuna was not known for his patience, but he was always more tolerant after sex, you could probably squeeze a couple more minutes in his bed without annoying him too much.

To your surprise, you feel one of his hands sliding under your waist, gently circling your body before pulling you against him. You wince slightly, clearly not in shape for a 5th round, but his touch was surprisingly tender.

"Stay," he orders with a tranquil but imperious tone. His three other arms join the first around you, wrapping you completely against him.

He wants you to stay? For the night? It’s usually not an option, and right now, you are not opposed to the idea. You are so tired and his strong arms and his torso are like a cocoon, enveloping you in soothing warmth.

“You asked so nicely, how can I say no…”, you say with a hint of teasing. You were clearly not up for real snark, but you have a reputation to maintain. Just so he doesn’t get too comfortable bossing you around.

“Well leave then, but don’t whine you are tired after”, he retorts with annoyance, tightening his grip on your waist, unconsciously contradicting his own words.

You can’t help but smile at his statement. He is making baby steps, but a month ago he was throwing you over his shoulder whenever he wanted sex, so this was already a spectacular improvement.

“No, I am good there”, you finally answer, nuzzling a bit more against him. You rest your head on one of his strong biceps while bending your knees to curl up, making yourself even smaller in his arms. His legs mimicked yours, making you disappear against his strong frame, sharing even more of his body heat.

You were so sore, it was actually really relaxing to bathe in his warmth like that, and you feel your heart gently calm down from the intense exertion, taking the steady rhythm of his own instead. Despite being completely trapped by his four arms, being the small spoon was incredibly comforting, and you closed your eyes, relaxed.

“Now sleep," he commands, burying his face in your disheveled hair, his steady breath taking on your scent as he rubs gently his nose against your neck with a discreet sigh.

“Good night," you say for the very first time before you fall asleep with a gentle smile on your lips.

[fushigurosluvr]

STRANGERS // MATTHEO RIDDLE

“i tried to be good, am i no good?”

playlist: strangers - ethel cain

summary: in which hufflepuff reader sees only the good in mattheo, while everyone else sees only the bad.

warnings: injuries, angst, fluff

a soft knock sounded on the door, the lightest of taps, tentative and sweet. a sigh left mattheo’s lips as he stood, pulling the door open with a bored look. it was late, the moon had long since cast a shadow over his dorm. but there you stood, in all your glory, a soft smile on your lips. “what’s wrong, sweetheart?” it had never been uncommon for you to visit mattheo, but you were usually asleep by this time, tucked up dreaming happily of what mattheo could imagine was rainbows and sunshine.

“couldn’t sleep. need you.” you leant forward, head connecting with his chest, arms coming to wrap tightly around his waist. the boy was always stunned by physical affection, no matter how much you give to him. “okay, dove. let’s get you to bed, hm?” you hummed into his chest, allowing him to pull you over to the bed. you curled up beneath the covers, pulling him down with you. and suddenly, the monster in his head was silent as he rested his head on your lap. your fingers came up to brush away his curls, twisting them around with such care. his breath hitched as your hand came to his cheek, soft knuckles tracing the bruise blooming under his eye.

“this is new.” he turned to look at you more clearly, searching your face for some form of anger or resentment. but there was nothing. nothing but adoration and pure love. you were so pure. so sweet. he’d never quite been able to fathom how you’d fallen in love with him. “does it hurt?” you were so careful with him. you loved him in a way that made him feel like porcelain. like you were scared he would break if you pressed too hard. and in a way, he would. “not anymore.” his voice was barely above a whisper, doe eyes trained on your soft features.

“please stop fighting, matty. i know it’s hard, but i hate seeing you hurt.” he let out a frustrated sigh, eyes finally tearing away from you. “you don’t understand! you don’t get what’s it’s like to be me. everyone likes you! people fear me!” he felt the way your body tensed, and your hand fell gently from his hair.

“i’m sorry. m’sorry, angel. i didn’t mean to shout.” he curled into your body, praying your hand would continue it’s path along his scalp. and it did. he knew you could never be angry with him, and in a way he took advantage of that.

“it’s okay. i know how difficult it is. but sod everybody else. let them fear you. they don’t know you like i do.” a drawn out sigh escaped him once more. he hated it. he hated the way you refused to think badly of him.

“what do you see in me, dove?” your hand stilled for a moment, your body twisting so you could look into his eyes. “everything they don’t.” mattheo’s eyes softened, and so did his heart. you had thawed the ice around it and taken it hostage. realistically he was a victim, but he’d happily play that role for you.

“you’re not as bad as everyone thinks you are, matt. you’re a good man. you’re not your father.” he huffed, digging his head further into your chest. his hand grasped your free one, playing with your fingers gently as a distraction. “i try to be good, dove. i really do.” you nodded knowingly, a soft pout on your lips as you traced the scars littering his skin gently. mattheo was in utter awe of you. how someone so soft, so kind, could’ve ever fallen in love with him. he was tainted black, kissed by the devil at birth. he’d never be able to love you the way you deserved. but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

“am i no good?” you gasped suddenly, sitting up and pulling the brunette boy with you. your hands came up to cup his cheeks, thumbs delicately brushing over his skin. “you are all the good in the world, mattheo. i hate that you can’t see it.” he could see the few tears welling up in your eyes, pushing them away gently with his thumbs. every word you said to him was sincere, it wasn’t in your nature to lie. you adored him, more than anything.

“i love you. and you love me. that’s all that matters, okay?” he nodded, eyes boring into your own.

“i do love you.”

“i know. now, please, can we go to sleep? i have potions in the morning and i absolutely cannot be late.” he chuckled slowly, pulling you into his chest and breathing in your scent. he must’ve been blessed by an angel at some point in his life to have found you. and that’s all he needed to think about. the devil worked hard, but you worked harder.

[grudgecollector]

Trip Sitter | Nam-gyu / Reader / Thanos

HEADCANONS & DRABBLE

Pairing: Nam-gyu & Choi Su-bong (Thanos) / GN!Reader

Summary: The three of you do shrooms.

Tags/Warnings: Drug use, swearin, suggestive themes, implied sex while intoxicated

A/N: So I used to do shrooms with my ex, so this is written with personal experience.

The concept has been living inside of my head for like four days now. So finally I've come around to finish it.

Now realistically would I ever do shrooms with these bozos? HELL NO. Well... Maybe. But first timers doing shrooms with them? Bad call.

ᯓ First time? Congratulations you’ve just made both the best and worst decision anyone could make under this circumstance.

Best because they’re both experienced. Worst because they are terrible trip sitters. Kind of.

ᯓ The come up is always the worst. That gripping nausea that holds you down to the bed, eyes shut, focusing on your breathing to stop yourself from throwing up. You felt like the room was spinning around you every time you cracked an eye open. You were trying to be brave.

ᯓ Nam gyu would absolutely be the type to say"

“the cops are actually on their way right now.” "Dude your mom just texted me, and told me she wants to talk to you right now." "I think there's someone outside the window..." (he will say this when it's night time specifically) "Did you hear that? Was that someone saying your name?"

Let's just say that if you scare easily, this trip is not going to be very fun. And you have eight hours to deal with it.

ᯓ If you start crying though, Nam-gyu will be the one to pull you into his chest. Comforting you, trying not to move too much and shushing you quietly.

Su bong would be sitting at the end of the bed watching with worried eyes. He doesn’t want to risk overstimulating you too much, as that is a very frequent thing that can and will happen.

ᯓ First trips are INTENSE. All of these emotions you’re feeling coming to the forefront so suddenly. A floodgate absolutely will burst.

ᯓ Su bong would be the one to pull up TikTok. Which is always a gamble when scrolling through while on shrooms. Especially if you’re still getting visuals. Either the funniest videos in the world will show up, or the most horrifying thing you’ve ever seen will be bestowed upon you.

ᯓ Nam gyu is the one who gets an idea to build a fire outside. The come up hasn’t hit any of you yet, so you have a good forty minutes to build this fire. You and Su-bong pull some chairs off the patio, pulling them close enough to be able to feel the fire and watch it.

ᯓ Walks with them while on shrooms is honestly the most peaceful though. If you’re walking through a path in the woods, sunlight streaming through the leaves, it’s absolutely gorgeous. It’s like you’re seeing the world through a different lens.

The leaves on the trees would look like they're sparkling, the bark would look like it's breathing, pulsing slowly back and forth. The three of you take your time outside, stopping and watching nature.

ᯓ Out of the three of you, Su-bong is the one who gets after-shrooms depression the most. It's pretty simple, once the high goes away you just feel empty and depressed. All of those intense feelings now dissipated back into how they were before.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺‧₊˚

"Holy fuck dude...." Su-bong whispered, the grip he had on his phone tightened before he dropped it into his lap. A hand came up to his face as he tried to contain his laughter. "I am so fucked up right now."

You glanced over at his phone to see the front facing camera was open. The icons on that weren't covered by his hand were swaying in your eyes, almost like they were going to crawl off the screen.

Goosebumps rose up on your skin when you felt Nam-gyu's fingers trail up your bicep. He was laying down on the bed, curled into your side, listening to your steady heartbeats.

Su-bong was sat crisscross at the end of the bed, your feet pushed up against his shin. You couldn't stop staring at his hair, it looked like it was blowing in a subtle breeze, every time he moved the color seemed to leave a translucent trail before settling back on his head.

His eyes almost seemed to twinkle in the light, the sun shining in from the window right down onto him. It made him look ethereal.

"Tell me about it dude, I keep seeing a face in the corner of my eyes." Nam-gyu chuckled quietly, snuggling himself closer into your chest.

"Is it scary?" Su-bong asked, swaying a little back and forth slowly.

Nam-gyu continued to trace small patterns into your arm, "Nah he's chill."

You looked down at Nam-gyu's hand on your arm, staring as it almost looked like his fingers would dip beneath your skin any second.

"You feeling good, babe?" Su-bong asked, his eyes meeting yours. God his pupils were huge, you're sure yours were no better.

"I fucking love this." You sighed out, leaning your head back against the wall.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺‧₊˚

The one who is most likely to beg you to make out with them, hold them, do a little more with them is nam- just kidding it's both of them.

One thing about shrooms is it will make you clingier and hornier than a motherfucker (sometimes... depends on who you're with and doing it with). And they are absolutely no different.

Once the comedown stops and you're all just chilling in your high, you'll be sandwiched between them.

Nam-gyu laying in front of you, his lips moving in sync with yours, a hand braced on your waist right below Su-bong's arm that was wrapped around you.

The purple haired menace would be laying behind you, his whole body pressed flush against yours as he nips and sucks on your neck. Whispering filthy things into your ear that makes both Nam-gyu and you whine desperately.

God everything felt so much more intense right now. Every sense was heightened to the max, you felt like you were vibrating, you have never needed them more than right now.

[kingdoms-and-empires]

Some update news; It's coming soon!

Someone DM'd me and told me the post i shared this with doesnt make it obvious that i edited lol, so here's a fresh one, my bad!

Because I already posted about the public release new on COG forums here, ill just share it on tumblr as well lol

Some good news for you, the release is now expected in a single week rather than weeks now!

Here’s a lil peek into the rapid pace ive been at since the end of last month lmfao

I think ima keep doing these quick dev notes at the start since they help remind me im actually making progress lololol Sometimes when working at a choice tree you can feel stuck, especially if you try making deep branch paths in there.

So like the image says, my patreons get the small recodex (more like a glossary tbh) tomorrow, and while they nibble on that ill go over the game a few more times and look for any last mistakes, errors, bugs, etc and then add in the last bit of art i had commissioned before launching to the public!

Now that we’re here however, I would like to apologize to everyone for the rough and long journey so far. Thank you for your patience and support, truly.

What i had planned originally would have made the entire game poorly paced with an incoherent narrative/plotline. Then I tried mending it with the first rewrite, and realized I half-assed it, leading to the second current rewrite. That was excruciatingly painful to do.

But I feel it was worth it. It gave me back my confidence as a writer.

The upcoming public update consists of the Childhood Arc (that I am now going to refer to as the Prologue) that sets the foundation up for the rest of the story with planted seeds that will come explosively into play in the future. Many of the events in the future will stem from the seeds here, and itll be fun watching readers find them.

This single fucking section (which was planned to be splattered all throughout the game in the previous versions) has finally been conquered. All the hinting nods, seeds, and “back-of-the-scenes” movements made by characters throughout the world in KaE are done HERE in the Prologue. The world and characters are at last firmly established. You get a hint of the brutality if you go one route, you get a hint of the politics and logistics if you go the other. Much of the worldbuilding is done far more naturally and smoothly. I am satisfied at last.

But again, and I must reiterate; this is the prologue and it is over 160k words. That’s a LONG FUCKING PROLOGUE LMFAO

Okay, time to be technical.

With the command lines, meaning plus the words on the choices themselves for example, it is 162,053 words of content for the stuff you actually play.

Without the command lines, we have 147,598 words of content.

If I include the Relationships tab and all the other lines of code i made for our stat descriptions?

206,133

With this new arc we’re heading into, like ive said multiple times, is when we finally take active stage in the story. I am so freaking excited to begin this with yall!

But the childhood stuff had to be done. The “boring” part is finally over with this. Ihate to call it boring since i put so much heart into it, but im a realist and understand some folks may just wanna get to the cool stuff. Never ever shall i make the mistake of doing baby reincarnation and/or making us the royal heir cause I am not a good enough writer to pull it off.

But forget that. Right now, Im here to tell you the cool stuff is now coming.

I think ima keep doing these quick dev notes at the start since they help remind me im actually making progress lololol Sometimes when working at a choice tree you can feel stuck, especially if you try making deep branch paths in there.

So like the image says, my patreons get the small recodex (more like a glossary tbh) tomorrow, and while they nibble on that ill go over the game a few more times and look for any last mistakes, errors, bugs, etc and then add in the last bit of art i had commissioned before launching to the public!

Now that we’re here however, I would like to apologize to everyone for the rough and long journey so far. Thank you for your patience and support, truly.

What i had planned originally would have made the entire game poorly paced with an incoherent narrative/plotline. Then I tried mending it with the first rewrite, and realized I half-assed it, leading to the second current rewrite. That was excruciatingly painful to do.

But I feel it was worth it. It gave me back my confidence as a writer.

The upcoming public update consists of the Childhood Arc (that I am now going to refer to as the Prologue) that sets the foundation up for the rest of the story with planted seeds that will come explosively into play in the future. Many of the events in the future will stem from the seeds here, and itll be fun watching readers find them.

This single fucking section (which was planned to be splattered all throughout the game in the previous versions) has finally been conquered. All the hinting nods, seeds, and “back-of-the-scenes” movements made by characters throughout the world in KaE are done HERE in the Prologue. The world and characters are at last firmly established. You get a hint of the brutality if you go one route, you get a hint of the politics and logistics if you go the other. Much of the worldbuilding is done far more naturally and smoothly. I am satisfied at last.

But again, and I must reiterate; this is the prologue and it is over 160k words. That’s a LONG FUCKING PROLOGUE LMFAO

Okay, time to be technical.

With the command lines, meaning plus the words on the choices themselves for example, it is 162,053 words of content for the stuff you actually play.

Without the command lines, we have 147,598 words of content.

If I include the Relationships tab and all the other lines of code i made for our stat descriptions?

206,133

With this new arc we’re heading into, like ive said multiple times, is when we finally take active stage in the story. I am so freaking excited to begin this with yall!

But the childhood stuff had to be done. The “boring” part is finally over with this. Ihate to call it boring since i put so much heart into it, but im a realist and understand some folks may just wanna get to the cool stuff. Never ever shall i make the mistake of doing baby reincarnation and/or making us the royal heir cause I am not a good enough writer to pull it off.

But forget that. Right now, Im here to tell you the cool stuff is now coming.

I think ima keep doing these quick dev notes at the start since they help remind me im actually making progress lololol Sometimes when working at a choice tree you can feel stuck, especially if you try making deep branch paths in there.

So like the image says, my patreons get the small recodex (more like a glossary tbh) tomorrow, and while they nibble on that ill go over the game a few more times and look for any last mistakes, errors, bugs, etc and then add in the last bit of art i had commissioned before launching to the public!

Now that we’re here however, I would like to apologize to everyone for the rough and long journey so far. Thank you for your patience and support, truly.

What i had planned originally would have made the entire game poorly paced with an incoherent narrative/plotline. Then I tried mending it with the first rewrite, and realized I half-assed it, leading to the second current rewrite. That was excruciatingly painful to do.

But I feel it was worth it. It gave me back my confidence as a writer.

The upcoming public update consists of the Childhood Arc (that I am now going to refer to as the Prologue) that sets the foundation up for the rest of the story with planted seeds that will come explosively into play in the future. Many of the events in the future will stem from the seeds here, and itll be fun watching readers find them.

This single fucking section (which was planned to be splattered all throughout the game in the previous versions) has finally been conquered. All the hinting nods, seeds, and “back-of-the-scenes” movements made by characters throughout the world in KaE are done HERE in the Prologue. The world and characters are at last firmly established. You get a hint of the brutality if you go one route, you get a hint of the politics and logistics if you go the other. Much of the worldbuilding is done far more naturally and smoothly. I am satisfied at last.

But again, and I must reiterate; this is the prologue and it is over 160k words. That’s a LONG FUCKING PROLOGUE LMFAO

Okay, time to be technical.

With the command lines, meaning plus the words on the choices themselves for example, it is 162,053 words of content for the stuff you actually play.

Without the command lines, we have 147,598 words of content.

If I include the Relationships tab and all the other lines of code i made for our stat descriptions?

206,133

With this new arc we’re heading into, like ive said multiple times, is when we finally take active stage in the story. I am so freaking excited to begin this with yall!

But the childhood stuff had to be done. The “boring” part is finally over with this. Ihate to call it boring since i put so much heart into it, but im a realist and understand some folks may just wanna get to the cool stuff. Never ever shall i make the mistake of doing baby reincarnation and/or making us the royal heir cause I am not a good enough writer to pull it off.

But forget that. Right now, Im here to tell you the cool stuff is now coming.

After the public is out, i will focus on the Upbringing Routes one at a time.

Squire/Prince/Princess.

Squire will be started and worked on first until completion because it is a unisex route, and also because its probably the most traditionally “fun” of the routes. In it, we go to the north with our father and his retinue to quell unrest with the wild tribes and our people, until inevitably it devolves into total war in the north. There, we begin our martial journey and showcase the skills that’ll one day force the world to submit to our prowess.

But for now, we’re still young and have much to learn. Our enemies will never have a better chance to kill us… and yet theyll still fail. Or at least, YOU have to make sure they fail!

The Prince/Princess Routes on the other hand, will be more of a political thriller as the ducal families of the south try to one up one another and take power, influence, and land from one another. We’ll work with our mother to ensure civil war doesnt happen while pops is up in the north.

Alright, thats enough of that lol

Again, thank you all for the continued support!

[jungkoode]

FUCK ME UP | FRAGMENTS

˗ˏˋ that first night (her POV) ˎˊ˗

"There's a theory that says you meet everyone in your life twice—once as strangers, and once when it matters. That first night at 'Pulse', with vodka cranberry on your tongue and his eyes burning into yours, was supposed to be the stranger part. No one warns you that six months later, he'll be standing in your new apartment's doorway, looking at you like he's seen a ghost. But that’s a problem for Future you."

⋆｡°✩ story details ✩°｡⋆

collection: Before It All (FMU)

wordcount: 15k

pairing: fmu!jungkook x fmu!yn (cocky!jkxbratty!reader)

rating: explicit, 18+

playlist: spotify

content: new york city setting, university setting, strangers to roommates (eventually), nightclub setting, hookup, one night stand, drunk hookup (buzzed/tipsy but consensual), explicit sexual content, oral sex (cunnilingus), protected penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, wall sex, rough sex, choking/breath play (light), hair pulling, marking/hickeys, size kink, manhandling, dirty talk, praise kink, bickering during sex, snarky banter, grinding, multiple positions, slight pain kink, slight degradation kink, praise kink if you squint, sexual tension, sexual chemistry, mild exhibitionism (making out in uber/club), slight voyeurism (being watched in club), mild dubious condom practices (that one scene), alcohol consumption, bite kink, aftercare (mild), spooning, scent kink, vanilla scented products, enemies to lovers (eventual), size difference (height), strength kink.

✧ author's note ✧

Hi my little demons! (｀∀´)Ψ Welcome to the prequel that started this absolute dumpster fire - AKA the night our emotionally constipated idiots first met.

Let's talk about how THIS happened, because honestly? I've rewritten this scene approximately 47 times (not exaggerating, my Google docs are a MESS). I initially wasn't even going to write it, but then my 3AM brain, fueled by what was probably my 8th espresso, decided we NEEDED to see these two disasters collide for the first time. And boy, did they collide. (￣ω￣;)

First things first: This is pure, unadulterated filth. I literally had to take several walks around my apartment complex while writing this because these two WOULD NOT BEHAVE. Like, I was trying to be somewhat respectable here, but they said "No♥️" and chose violence. So you know what? I just let them do their thing and documented it like the professional disaster that I am.

Now, let's talk about our girl for a second. Writing her at this specific point in her life was FASCINATING because you can really see all the pieces that made her who she is—the family pressure, the small-town suffocation, the desperate need for control while simultaneously wanting to lose it completely... She's such a beautifully complex mess and I love her for it. (Don't worry, she'll grow. Eventually. Maybe. We'll see.)

And Jungkook... Oh boy. There's SO MUCH about him that I've deliberately sprinkled throughout this chapter. Little details, subtle hints, tiny breadcrumbs that'll make sense later. I'm actually really proud of how many easter eggs I managed to hide in here - come back after future chapters and tell me if you caught them! (Though let's be real, you're probably not here for the literary analysis, you thirsty gremlins.)

The biggest challenge was honestly Emma. Like, how do you get the world's most protective best friend to leave her bestie alone in a club? I spent WEEKS trying to make this work in a way that felt authentic to her character. The sister crisis was my 3AM solution and I'm actually pretty proud of how it turned out. Realistic character motivation is my kink, okay? (＾▽＾)

Speaking of realism—that's literally why this fic exists. I got so frustrated with how many unrealistic elements I kept seeing in stories that I went "Fine, I'll do it myself" and here we are, 35 pages of smut later???? Huh. You're welcome????

Side note: I have this whole thing narrated in audio (female voice only, because no male voice matches Jungkook’s, my beloved ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) but Tumblr said "file too big bestie" so... might drop it on ko-fi if enough people are interested. Let me know in the comments! Speaking of comments—PLEASE tell me your theories about all the little hints I've dropped about Jungkook's past. I'm dying to see what you guys pick up on! (⌒ω⌒)ﾉ

Until next time, you disaster pandas! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Kiki. 🍓

P.S. Any typos are between you and god because I've stared at this document for so long the words have lost all meaning.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

⋆｡°✩ read more ✩°｡⋆

main story: fuck me up

read on ao3

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So here's the thing about nightclubs: you either love them or you hate them.

You? You're more of a 'hate them' kinda girl. The sweat, the noise, the people... not your scene. Not usually, anyway.

But usual went out the window the second Emma suggested this little adventure. Sweet, reliable Emma who you lost touch with after high school but who immediately became your secret accomplice when you reached out about transferring to NYU. Who's been your underground informant for months now—sneaking you tips about the English department, virtually walking you through the campus layout via late-night FaceTime sessions, and helping you plot out the perfect transfer application your parents know nothing about.

Emma, who didn't even blink when you showed up at her door with a weekend bag and a story for your parents about "visiting your responsible friend in the city." (They bought it immediately because, well, it's Emma. Their golden standard of What A Good Influence Should Be.) You'd spent the whole day doing exactly what you came for—touring NYU's campus, sitting in on a couple of English classes Emma snuck you into, and gathering all the transfer information you could get your hands on.

"You can't just transfer here and not know what the nightlife is like," she'd insisted, already rummaging through her closet for something that wasn't your campus tour outfit. "That's like... buying a car without test driving it."

Which, okay, terrible analogy, but you get her point. You've spent months planning this transfer—going over NYU's transfer requirements, crafting the perfect escape from your suffocating small-town university, calculating exactly how to tell your parents once it's too late for them to stop you. The campus visit was supposed to be just that—visiting your responsible friend Emma for a weekend while secretly checking out NYU.

Emma, bless her overprotective heart, had taken one look at your face after that final tour—that specific blend of desperate hope and terrified excitement—and decided you needed to see the whole picture. "The real college experience," as she put it, already pulling out her phone to text her club promoter friend.

"Location sharing on?" she'd asked for the fifth time before you left her apartment, double-checking your phone settings like some kind of Gen-Z mother hen. As if you hadn’t spent the last three months planning this transfer with military-grade precision.

"Yes, mom," you'd rolled your eyes, but something warm had settled in your chest at her fussing. It's... nice, having someone in on the secret. Someone who gets it.

"Emergency contact updated to my number?"

"Check."

"Spare key to my apartment?"

"Emma, I swear to god—"

"Just checking!" She'd grinned, already knowing she was being ridiculous but doing it anyway. "One more thing..."

And that's how you ended up with a literal tracking app on your phone, an emergency SOS button setup, and Emma's solemn promise to "never leave your side, scout's honor." (She was never actually a scout, but whatever.)

Parents really think you're just visiting your studious, sensible friend Emma for a nice, quiet weekend in the city. Having some wholesome catching-up time. Maybe seeing some museums.

Ha. If only they knew you're actually scouting out your future escape route.

If only you knew.

Because let's be real, this isn't exactly in your wheelhouse. But Emma's right there, keeping her scout's honor promise, bouncing between the bar and dance floor like some kind of safety-conscious terror. And maybe it's the way she keeps checking in with subtle thumbs-up signals, or maybe it's just knowing someone's actually got your back in this whole secret college plan thing, but you're... kind of having fun?

Which is how you find yourself here, in this pulsing, thrumming mass of bodies and sound. 'Pulse', the club's called. Fitting, considering how you can feel the bass thumping in your veins, the strobe flashing like lightning in your skull. It's... a lot. But not in a bad way?

Yeah, definitely not bad, you decide as you scan the room. Leather booths, gleaming bar top, and a dance floor packed with the kind of gorgeous twenty-somethings that make you feel simultaneously inadequate and oddly triumphant. Like 'yeah, I might not be that, but at least I'm here.'

And honestly, it's pretty nice here. Clean, classy even. Good lighting over the bar, vigilant security, and Emma vouches for the place. She's your safety net tonight, because God knows you'd never try this solo. But Emma... Emma knows everyone. Gets you both in with a wink and a wave, like some kind of VIP.

The girl's got pull and she's not afraid to use it. You envy that a bit, that confidence. Wish you could borrow just a dash of it, to fortify your nerves as you perch on this barstool, spine too straight and fingers too tight around your glass. But it's fine, it's good, you're good. That’s what you tell yourself, anyways—even if it’s not entirely the truth.

It's just one night. One chance. One small rebellion before you go back home and drown yourself in expectations and demands. Hardly even counts as rebellion, really, in the grand scheme. Not like you're planning on getting blackout drunk and ending up in jail or anything. Just… dipping your toe. Sampling the other side. Just for a night.

What's the worst that could happen?

Famous last words. Or in this case, famous last thought, as you take a too-big sip of your drink and nearly choke on watery vodka cranberry. Good thing no one's paying attention.

Well, except for one guy, apparently. And he's...

Oh. Oh damn.

He's the kind of gorgeous that makes you almost forget how to swallow, even as you scoff internally. Guys who look like that? They're usually bad news. Cringe edgy boys. Like the ones you see on TikTok. The jaw, the eyes, the whole brooding bad-boy package. Not your type. Not even a little.

But he’s hot. Truth be told.

And he's watching you. Not in a creepy way, but… intense. Interested. And wow, okay, maybe there's something to be said for the whole 'still waters' vibe he's giving off, because that gaze is doing things to you. Things you're not entirely sure you're ready for.

But then again... isn't that the whole point? To try something new? To be someone new, just for a night? The girl who holds the stare of a beautiful stranger. The girl who lets the charge build, heart kicking up and skin tingling. The girl who—

"Shit, shit, shit." Emma's suddenly at your elbow, phone clutched to her chest, face twisted with genuine distress. "My sister just called. She's having some kind of breakdown about—god, I don't even know, her boyfriend? Something about him showing up at her dorm? She's hysterical, I can barely understand her—"

You watch Emma's face cycle through about twelve different emotions in three seconds. She keeps glancing between you and her phone, clearly torn. "I should go check on her. But I can't just leave you here alone. Fuck. Maybe we should both—"

"Em, I'm fine," you try to reassure her, even as your stomach sinks a little. Great. Just when things were getting interesting with dark eyes over there. "I can just get an Uber—"

"No, no, wait." Emma's scanning the club like she's looking for something specific. Her face lights up suddenly as she spots someone by the weights machine in the club's weird gym corner. Because apparently some clubs have those now. "Oh thank god—hey!!"

She waves frantically at some guy who's been doing bicep curls between taking selfies for his Instagram story. You vaguely recognize him from Emma's study group—one of those guys who probably knows the protein content of everything in his lunch and considers gym updates a legitimate form of social interaction.

"Perfect timing," Emma says as he approaches, already dabbing his face with a workout towel. She's rapid-fire texting, probably her sister. "You're still doing that safe walk program thing for the student union, right? The volunteer thing they made you do after that frat party incident?"

"Yeah bro, community service hours almost done," he confirms, then looks confused as Emma practically shoves her phone in his face, showing him what you assume is your location-sharing setup.

"Great. This is my best friend from high school. She's got location sharing on with me, SOS button setup, fully charged phone." Emma's talking so fast she's almost tripping over her words. "I have to go deal with my sister but I'll be back in an hour tops. Could you just... keep an eye out? Make sure no creeps bother her?"

Your face heats. "Emma, seriously—"

"I know, I know, you can handle yourself," Emma cuts you off, already shouldering her bag. "But humor me? He’s actually great at this. Always walks girls home after study group. Total golden retriever energy."

You catch the way her eyes flick meaningfully toward where dark eyes is still watching from across the room. Like she's trying to say 'here's your safe but slightly dim option if you want it, but...'

Your phone buzzes with an incoming wall of texts:

Emma: 𝚒'𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢!!! 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 Emma: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚒'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚜 Emma: 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚢𝚖 𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚢 Emma: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜... 👀 Emma: (𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 & 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎!!!)

"Hey there. Emma had to run, but she didn't want to leave you alone. Asked me to keep you company. That okay?"

The voice cuts through your spiral, and you blink up at the interloper. Brent? Brad? Some monosyllabic gym bro who's friends with Emma and apparently your new babysitter.

Great.

You paste on a smile, even as your attention flickers back to him. Dark eyes, dark hair, and a mouth that could probably do very interesting things, you bet your money on it. But no. Don’t get distracted. Eyes on Brett. He's safe, he's known. Boring as a beige wall, but that's better. Smarter.

"Yeah, of course," you say brightly. Too brightly. Even you can hear the false note, and you cringe. "Thanks for keeping me company."

Because that's why you're here. For safety, for company, for sampling the world, but through a protective barrier. Not for tall, dark, and dangerously appealing over there. Definitely not for him.

Even if you kinda wish it was.

"You're pretty."

And like... okay? Thanks? But also, ugh. It's not that you're not flattered—you are, in that vaguely uncomfortable way that makes you want to simultaneously preen and roll your eyes into next week. Because yeah, duh, you know. You own mirrors. You're aware of your assets, thank you very much. But there's something so wonderfully, terribly basic about guys who lead with that.

Still. You give him another once-over, because fair's fair and also because like... why not? He's not bad. Actually pretty decent, if you're being honest (and you are, because what's the point of lying to yourself?). Broad shoulders, nice arms, that whole gym rat aesthetic that apparently some girls go crazy for.

Not that you're necessarily one of those girls. You've always preferred a more... balanced build. Something between "I can bench press you" and "I've never seen the inside of a gym." Like, yeah, muscles are nice and all, but you want to be able to actually cuddle without feeling like you're laying on a marble statue. Give you some softer edges any day. Something to sink into, you know?

But beggars can't be choosers and honestly? You're kind of tired of being a beggar. Or, well, not a beggar exactly, but definitely... selective. Too selective, maybe. Conservative. Careful. All those words that really mean "scared to actually live a little."

Not tonight though. Tonight you're in New York fucking City, three hundred miles from your parents' suffocating expectations and that small-town mindset that makes you want to scream into your pillow sometimes. Tonight you could be anyone.

So when you say, "Thank you, you're not bad yourself," it comes out smoother than expected. Almost flirty. And his laugh? Not terrible. Kind of nice actually, even if it doesn't quite reach his eyes. They're nice eyes too—warm brown, honest. Safe.

"Would you like to dance?"

The question hangs there, and you consider it. Really consider it. Because this—this whole thing—it's what you came for, isn't it? To try something new. To be someone new. Someone who says yes to dancing with attractive strangers in clubs that pulse with bass-heavy Usher remixes.

"You feeling confident?" you throw back, and okay, maybe that was a little sharp, a little too much of your usual self bleeding through. But he just smiles (no dimples, and why does that matter? Since when do you care about dimples?), and holds out his hand.

His fingers are cold when they wrap around yours. It's... not great. You've always hated cold hands, which is ironic considering yours are perpetually freezing. But you let him lead you onto the dance floor anyway, because what the hell. What the actual hell. You're here, you're young, you're... actually kind of buzzed now that you think about it. That vodka cran hitting different after all.

His hands hover at your hips, eyes asking permission, and you give him a look that you hope translates to "yes, but don't get crazy about it." Must work, because his palms settle, grip light but present. You rest your hands on his shoulders (nice shoulders, you'll give him that), and try to find the rhythm.

It's not terrible. Not amazing either, but definitely not terrible. He can move, keeps a decent beat, doesn't try to grind up on you like some horny teenager. His hands stay respectfully placed, thumbs making small circles that should probably feel more exciting than they do.

Everything about this should feel more exciting than it does.

Maybe you need another drink. Maybe you need to stop overthinking every little thing and just... be. Maybe...

Maybe that's when it happens. Your eyes drift up, over his shoulder, like they're being pulled by some invisible thread. Like something in you just knows where to look. And there he is.

Dark eyes locked on yours, expression unreadable in the strobing lights.

One second. Two. Three.

An eternity compressed into the space between heartbeats. Your skin prickles, heat crawling up your spine that has nothing to do with the crowded dance floor or the alcohol in your system. The weight of his stare is palpable, laden with something unnamed but acutely felt. Something that turns your mouth to the Sahara and your pulse into a kickdrum.

Usher croons about falling in love while Pitbull drops his signature "dale" in the background, and isn't that just fucking hilarious? Because this—this moment, this look, this stranger—this isn't about love. This is about want. Raw and simple and completely uncomplicated by things like names or histories or futures.

This is about the way his jaw clenches slightly as he watches you dance with someone else. About how his fingers drum against his glass in perfect time with the beat. About the little scar on his cheek that catches the light when he tilts his head, studying you like you're a puzzle he wants to take apart piece by piece.

Your dance partner's hands feel colder by the second.

It's not that his hands are bad, exactly. They're... nice hands. Big hands. The kind that wrap around your hips like they were made to be there, fingers long enough to span the distance between hipbone and hipbone. And yeah, okay, you have a thing for hands. Who doesn't? It's practically universal at this point—like liking bread or hating people who talk during movies. Just basic human nature.

But something's... off.

Your brain is doing that thing. That stupid, annoying, overthinking thing where it won't shut up long enough to let you enjoy anything. And god, you hate this. Hate how your mind rebels against perfectly good situations, like it's allergic to straightforward pleasure or something. Because objectively? This should be working. Hot guy, good music, decent amount of alcohol in your system. Your body's definitely on board—you can feel the low simmer of attraction, the way your skin warms under his touch. The basic chemistry is there.

But your mind? Your mind's like that one friend who shows up to parties just to list off everything that could possibly go wrong. His hands are cold. His laugh doesn't reach his eyes. No dimples. The way he said "pretty" like he was checking off a box on some "How to Pick Up Girls" checklist.

You sigh, already stepping back. Watch the confusion flicker across his face, quickly masked by what you're sure he thinks is an understanding smile.

"Everything alright?"

And like... no? Yes? Maybe? How do you even answer that when you're not sure what's wrong in the first place? When you're standing here on a dance floor that's vibrating with Usher's voice while your brain short-circuits over the temperature of some guy's hands?

"Yeah, I'm just..." You pause, teeth catching your bottom lip as you reconsider. Fuck it. Might as well go with the classics. "The vodka. Has me feeling buzzy, I think I'm not feeling too good."

It's a cop-out and you know it. But it's also an easy out, the kind that doesn't hurt anyone's feelings or make things weird. Because that's what you do, isn't it? Keep things smooth. Keep things nice. Even when you're lying through your teeth to some guy whose name you can't quite remember.

"Hey, that's okay." His smile stays steady, concerned even. "No hard feelings. You need a ride home?"

And that—that right there—that's actually kind of sweet. In another universe, maybe that offer would seal the deal. Nice guy, worried about your safety, probably has a stable job and calls his mother on Sundays. But in this universe? In this universe, your eyes are already drifting over his shoulder, drawn like a compass needle to true north.

You press your lips together, scanning the crowd like you're actually looking for someone. Like you haven’t known exactly where he is this whole time, haven’t felt his eyes raking you up and down non-stop.

"Actually I know someone just across the way, so honestly, zero worries."

The shock on his face would be comical if it weren’t so irksome. "You positive? Weren’t you visiting from out of town? Emma mentioned you were just in for the weekend."

And okay, what the actual fuck? Why does he need your whole life story? Yeah, sure, he's probably just being nice. Probably just wants to make sure you're not about to wander off and get murdered or something. But still. The irritation rises in your throat like bile, sharp and inexplicable.

"Doesn't mean I don't know anybody in New York," you say, and wow, okay, that came out with more edge than intended. Quick, fix it, smooth it over. You paste on a tight smile, the kind that probably looks more like a grimace but hey, at least you're trying. "See you around, Brent."

You're already moving as you say it, heels clicking against the floor with purpose. You think you hear him call after you—something about his name being Peter?—but you're beyond caring. Beyond thinking about cold hands and careful smiles and all the safe choices you should be making.

Because your feet know where they're going, even if your brain is screaming about bad decisions. Even if every rational part of you is throwing up warning signs and red flags. Even if—or maybe because—you can feel his eyes following your every move, heat spiraling up your spine with each step closer.

The bass drops, and your heart kicks up to match it.

Dale, indeed.

You don't need to look at him to know he's watching. You can tell. Can perceive it. It’s like standing too close to a bonfire. The kind of heat that makes you want to step closer even as your survival instincts scream danger, danger, danger.

And this? This is definitely dangerous.

You don't do this. Like, ever. There's a whole routine to these things, right? Guy sees girl, guy approaches girl, girl decides if she wants to deal with whatever fumbling attempt at flirtation follows. That's just... how it works. How it's always worked. Because guys? They're usually terrible at being approached. Their fragile little egos can't handle a girl making the first move. Plus, most of them aren't worth the effort anyway.

But.

But your feet are already moving. But your heart is already racing. But something about the way he's been watching you, like he could devour you whole and still be hungry—it makes you reckless. Makes you stupid. Makes you brave.

"Dance with me."

It comes out more command than question, your voice steadier than it has any right to be. He looks up at you from his seat, and fuck. Just... fuck. Because the way he tilts his head? The slow, deliberate motion of it? That should not be as hot as it is. That should be illegal in at least three states.

Then he smiles. Just one side of his mouth lifting, lazy and confident and—oh god. A dimple. One perfect little dimple that makes something in your chest squeeze tight.

"That's bold."

His voice is lower than you expected. Rougher. Like whiskey over gravel, and you want to drink it down until you're drunk on it. Want to find out what other sounds you can pull from that throat.

"You've been looking at me for 10 minutes." The words fall from your lips before you can stop them, sharp and challenging. "You gonna come dance or not?"

He chuckles—actually chuckles, who even does that?—and holy shit, there's another one. Two dimples. Two perfect little dents in his cheeks that make heat pool low in your belly, thick and sweet like honey. Your fingers twitch, aching to touch them, to press thumbs to those tiny curves and feel him beam against your flesh.

When he stands, it's one fluid motion that makes it feel like someone replaced your esophagus with a cracked porcelain vase. Because he's tall. Not incredibly, super tall. But yes the kind of tall that means you'd have to stretch up on your toes to reach his mouth, that means his hands could probably span your whole waist, that means—

No. Nope. Not going there. Not yet anyway.

He follows you onto the dance floor, and you can feel the energy shift. Like the air itself is charging up, preparing itself for both of you. His friend—some guy with killer dance moves who's been holding down a corner of the floor all night—catches his eye and shoots him a look. Something passes between them, quick and meaningful, before Mystery Man's attention is back on you. All on you.

And yeah.

Yeah, this is happening.

This is definitely happening.

The bass pounds through your marrow as Usher's voice continues suffusing the air, talking about DJs and falling in love, and honestly. At this point you’re barely listening to the music itself, too focused on finding a more secluded spot.

Your pulse picks up speed. Can’t help it, really. Because this? This is definitely going to be worth breaking all your rules for.

You lead him to some darker corner of the club—might be by a column, might be an alcove, who fucking knows because your brain's too busy short-circuiting to care about architectural details right now. All you know is it's slightly away from the main crush of bodies, slightly more private, slightly more...

Oh.

His hands find your hips the second you turn to face him. No hesitation. No silent question. No careful hovering or polite uncertainty like what's-his-name earlier. Just warm, sure palms sliding over the curve of your hips like they belong there, like he's claiming territory, and—

And you should be annoyed. You should be fucking livid. Because excuse you? The audacity of this man to just assume he can touch you without so much as a "may I?" Some feminist you are, getting weak in the knees over this caveman behavior while poor Brett (Blake? Whatever) at least had the decency to ask permission with those puppy dog eyes of his.

But your brain? Your traitorous, horny, absolutely useless brain? It's sending signals straight between your legs because apparently that's what does it for you now. The confidence. The heat of his hands—and god, they're so warm, burning through the thin fabric of your dress like brands. They're not as broad as the other guy's, but his fingers are longer, elegant almost. Artist's hands, scattered with tiny tattoos that disappear under his sleeve, and that silver ring on his middle finger catching the light as his grip tightens just slightly...

(Middle finger. Not left-hand fourth. So not married then. Good. Last thing you need tonight is adding "homewrecker" to your expanding list of dubious habits.)

Your arms loop around his neck almost on autopilot, and then you're moving. With him. Against him. The bass is a living thing between you, and he matches your rhythm instantly, like your bodies already know the steps to this dance. Like you've done this a hundred times before, in a hundred different lives.

His eyes lock onto yours, heavy-lidded and dark as sin, and every hair on your neck stands at attention. Electricity crackles down your spine, sharp and sweet, as his thumbs press into your hipbones. Just enough pressure to guide you closer, until there's barely room for breath between you.

"Didn't catch your name earlier," he says, voice pitched low enough that you have to lean in to hear him over the music. His breath fans hot against your ear, and you suppress a shiver.

"Didn't throw it," you shoot back, because apparently your mouth is running on autopilot now too. Great. Just great.

But he laughs—a quick, rough sound that you feel more than hear—and his hands flex against your hips. "Feisty. I like that."

"Bet you say that to all the girls who proposition you at clubs."

"Nah." His head dips closer, nose brushing your temple. "Just the ones who stare at me for ten minutes first."

"Excuse you, you were staring at me."

"Maybe we were staring at each other."

And okay, that's... fair actually. But you're not about to admit it. Instead, you roll your eyes, even as your fingers find the soft hair at his nape. "Does this usually work for you? This whole... whatever this is?"

"You tell me." His smile is audible in his voice, and you just know those dimples are making an appearance again. "You're the one who told me to dance."

"Maybe I just felt sorry for you, sitting there all alone."

"Wasn't alone. Had my friend."

"The dancer? Please, he was too busy killing it on the floor to keep you company."

His laugh vibrates through his chest into yours, and when did you get this close? When did your bodies start pressing together with every sway of the music? When did his thigh slip between yours, creating a friction that makes your breath catch?

"You been watching my friend too? Should I be jealous?"

The word sends an unexpected thrill through you, even though his tone is clearly teasing. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yeah," he says, and suddenly his voice isn't teasing at all. His grip tightens fractionally, pulling your hips more firmly against his. "Yeah, I would."

Goosebumps ripple across your arms, slow and inevitable, like lava carving its path through stone. His eyes burn into yours again, scorching hot, wild, and consuming—a downpour drowning a raging fire, leaving nothing but aftermath. What’s left in their wake is the kind of black that clings. Opaque. Dense. Like ash, settling over a forest stripped to its bare bones.

The sensible part of your brain—the part that usually keeps you from doing stupid, reckless things with beautiful strangers—is suspiciously quiet. Probably because all your blood is currently occupied elsewhere, namely with the way his hands are starting to trace slow patterns on your hips, the way his breath keeps ghosting over your neck, the way his body moves against yours like he's writing sin in cursive.

And maybe it's the vodka, or maybe it's how he's gazing at you like you're tranquility amidst his chaos, but you hear yourself say, "Buy me a drink first."

His smile is slow, dangerous. "That an order too?"

"Consider it a... suggestion."

"Mm." One hand slides to your lower back, pressing you impossibly closer for just a moment. "I'm starting to like your suggestions."

Your skin feels too tight, too hot, too everything. "Starting to?"

"Give me time." His lips brush your ear as he speaks, and this time you can't suppress the shiver. "Night's still young."

He actually does buy you that drink, which is... something. You're not sure what exactly, but definitely something. The way he guides you to the bar with his hand still on your lower back, fingers splayed wide enough to make you notice the imprint of his warmth? Also something.

"Another vodka cran," you tell the bartender, because hey, if it ain't broke. Then you catch his raised eyebrow and can't help adding, "What? Were you expecting something more sophisticated?"

"Nah." That damn dimple makes another appearance. "Just trying to figure you out."

"Good luck with that."

When he pulls out his wallet to pay, you catch a glimpse of multiple cards fanned out in the leather fold. Credit cards, maybe? Must have money then—or at least good credit. Not that it matters, because this is a one-time thing. A never-gonna-see-you-again thing. A what-happens-in-New-York stays-in-New-York thing.

Your fingers find the cocktail napkin beneath your glass, absently creating sharp creases with your thumbnail. It's one of those fancy ones with the bar's logo embossed in gold—pretentious, like everything else about this place.

Still. You notice how he pauses, studying one card for a beat too long before selecting it. Like he's making sure of something. Weird, but whatever.

The napkin disappears into your clutch without conscious thought. A habit you'll question later but can't explain now. You're too buzzed to care about his personal finances or your own questionable souvenir-keeping tendencies.

"Whiskey neat," he orders, and you barely contain your snort. Of fucking course he drinks whiskey. Probably thinks he's Don Draper or something.

"Pretentious much?"

"Says the girl drinking what's basically juice with a splash of alcohol."

"At least I'm not trying to prove anything."

His laugh is rough, genuine. "Who says I'm trying to prove anything?"

"Please. Whiskey at a club? That's like wearing a suit to McDonald's."

"Maybe I just like whiskey." He takes a deliberate sip, throat working in a way that absolutely doesn't make your mouth water. "Maybe I like the burn."

There's something in his voice when he says that, something that feeds the banked flame in your belly. His eyes are on you again, alternating between your eyes and your mouth like he can't quite decide where to focus.

"That line score you points often?" you manage to ask, even as your voice betrays you, emerging breathier than intended.

"I wouldn't know." He's definitely closer now. When did that happen? Did he move, or did you? "Is it scoring points now?"

And god help you, but it is. It really fucking is. Maybe it's the alcohol finally hitting your system properly, or maybe it's the way he's looking at you, but you find yourself swaying toward him. Drawn in like a moth to flame, even though you know you're probably going to get burned.

"You're kind of an asshole," you inform him, even as your free hand finds its way to his chest. His very firm chest, holy shit.

"Yeah?" His fingers trace up your spine, feather-light but deliberate. "Seem to like it though."

"Cocky too."

"Haven't heard any complaints."

He's so near now you can smell him—something clean and vicious, like a tempest raging on the coast. His breath fans across your lips, whiskey-warm and promising. One of his hands cups the back of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw in a way that makes your skin buzz.

"Anyone ever tell you you talk too much?" you murmur, and that's it—that's all it takes.

His mouth crashes into yours like a wave breaking against rocks, hot and insistent and absolutely fucking flawless. His lips are softer than you expected but he kisses hard, like he's trying to devour you whole. Like he's been thinking about this as much as you have. The hand on your neck tightens, tilting your head to deepen the angle, and holy fuck.

You've been kissed before. You've been kissed a lot, actually. But this? This is something else entirely. This is lightning in a bottle, this is matches in gasoline, this is every hackneyed poetry metaphor about fire and flame and immolation except it actually makes sense now because your entire body is electric with it.

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip and you open for him without hesitation, vodka cranberry forgotten in your hand. He tastes like alcohol and dewdrops and something else you can't name but instantly crave more of. The noise he makes when you tug his hair—low and ravenous and almost startled—shoots straight between your legs.

Someone whistles nearby—probably his dancer friend—but you couldn't care less. Not when his other hand is sliding down to your hip, pulling you closer. Not when he's kissing you like he's trying to memorize the shape of your mouth with his tongue. Not when everything in you is screaming more, closer, now.

You're definitely going to hell for this. But with the way he's kissing you?

Might be worth it.

His forehead rests against yours, and you're both breathing like you've run a marathon. Which is... embarrassing, actually. When was the last time a kiss left you this affected? What are you, some freshman at their first house party? Because this is ridiculous. You're ridiculous. Your heart is hammering against your ribs like it's trying to escape, and your lips are tingling, and—

And fuck it. Fuck everything. You want more.

"Let's take this outside," you say, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounds considering your internal chaos. Because yes. Outside. Away from the crowd and the music and all these people who aren't him.

"Your house?" The words are barely out of his mouth before you can finish your suggestion, and okay, that's kind of hot. The eagerness. The way his fingers flex against your hip like he's already imagining it.

You can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. At least you're not alone in this desperate teenage hormone bullshit. At least he's just as affected as you are.

But then reality crashes in like a bucket of ice water. Your house? What house? You're crashing at Emma's place and—oh god, Emma would actually murder you. Like, literal homicide. She's already doing you a solid by covering for you with your parents, and bringing back some random (incredibly hot) guy from a club? Yeah, that would definitely void the best-friend contract.

"Yours?" you counter, trying not to sound too hopeful.

He makes this sound—half hiss, half groan—that shouldn't be as sexy as it is. "Can't."

"What, mommy and daddy don't let you?" The snark is automatic, defense mechanism kicking in to mask your disappointment.

"Nah, but my friend might not like it."

"Mine either."

You stare at each other for a moment, eyes darting back and forth like you're both trying to solve the same puzzle. The absurdity of the situation hits you at the same time—two grown adults, hot and bothered in a club, cockblocked by their respective roommate situations—and suddenly you're both laughing.

His chuckle is deep, rumbling through his chest where you're still pressed against him, and it's... nice. Really nice. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his dimples flash (and seriously, those things should come with a warning label), the way his thumb absently strokes your hip like he's forgotten he's doing it.

"Well, this is..."

"Stupid?" you offer.

"I was gonna say unfortunate, but yeah. Stupid works too."

You're still close enough to feel his breath on your lips, still wound tight with want, still buzzing from that kiss. And now you're both laughing about it, which should probably kill the mood but somehow doesn't. Somehow makes it better, actually. More real. Less like some fantasy hookup and more like...

Nope. Not going there. This is still just a one-night thing. A one-night thing that's currently being cockblocked by your respective living situations, but still. Just one night.

"So what now?" he asks, and his voice has dropped back into that lower register that you really want to hate. "Because I really want to kiss you again."

"Just kiss?" The words slip out before you can stop them, teasing and suggestive and probably way too candid.

His grip tightens, just marginally. Just enough to make your breath catch. "Definitely not just kiss."

"Fuck," you breathe, because eloquence has left the building. Possibly the state.

"That's the idea, yeah." And how he says it—all gruff edges and sinful vow—makes embers spark low in your abdomen. "Just need to sort out the logistics."

Which brings you right back to your current predicament. No Emma's place, no his place, and you're pretty sure having sex in the club bathroom is both tacky and probably illegal. But the way he's looking at you, like he really, really wants to wreck you…

"We could..." you start, then pause. Because what? What brilliant solution are you about to offer here? Your practical brain is absolutely useless right now, short-circuited by the lingering taste of whiskey on your tongue and the steady pressure of his hands on your body.

"Could what?" His thumb traces your bottom lip, and your train of thought derails completely.

"I have no idea," you admit, and his laugh is somehow both frustrated and fond.

"This is definitely stupid," he says, but he's still holding you close, still looking at your mouth like he's considering kissing you again anyway, roommate situations be damned.

"So stupid," you agree, already tilting your face up to meet him halfway.

You lick your lips, tasting geosmin and want and really awful decision-making skills.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. Emma can kill you tomorrow.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist—god, his hands are so warm—and you're already moving, already pulling up the Uber app with your free hand. Thank fuck for muscle memory because your brain is absolutely useless right now, too busy cataloging the way his pulse jumps under your fingers, the way he follows without hesitation.

"Where we goin'?" His voice is low and hoarse as he trails behind you, wrist a hostage to your grip.

"To my friend's place," you mutter, trying to type Emma's address without typos.

You: 𝚎𝚖𝚖𝚊, 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠

You don’t mention you’re not heading home alone. She’ll find out herself.

The dude, for his part, just hums in response, like he's fine with whatever as long as it means getting somewhere private. Which, fair. You're kind of operating on the same wavelength here.

You make it to the coat check line first, because priorities. You’re not leaving your jacket behind. And it is moving at a glacial pace, because of course it is. The universe clearly wants to test your self-control by forcing you to stand here, his chest pressed against your back, his breath hot on your neck.

The way his fingers keep "accidentally" brushing your thigh has you seriously considering saying fuck it and just leaving your jacket behind.

"Could just come back for it tomorrow," he murmurs, like he's reading your mind. His lips brush your ear as he speaks, and you barely sigh in response. Bastard knows exactly what he's doing.

"It's January in New York. I'm not getting hypothermia just because you can't keep it in your pants for five minutes."

"Could keep you warm."

And okay, that line should be cringeworthy. That's the kind of shit that would usually make you roll your eyes so hard they'd get stuck. But he has a way with words—or maybe it’s just his fucking voice—and somehow you like it.

"Next," the coat check girl calls, mercifully saving you from having to respond. You practically lunge forward, fumbling with your ticket. Better than letting him feel how that stupid line affected you.

He reaches past you to hand over his own ticket, arm bracketing you against the counter. And really? Really? This is some romance novel bullshit right here. Who does he think he is, Christian Grey? You should be annoyed. You should definitely not be noticing how good he smells, or how the position highlights just how much bigger he is than you, or—

"Here you go!" The coat check girl's voice is way too cheerful for—you check your phone—3:46 AM. She hands over your coats with a knowing smile that makes your face heat. Great. Just great. Even the coat check girl can tell you're about to make terrible life choices.

He helps you into your jacket because apparently he's decided to be a gentleman now, after spending the last hour making you question your life choices with his mouth. His hands linger on your shoulders just a fraction too long, and you have to bite your lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

"Ready?" he asks, voice still pitched low enough to make your skin tingle. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, and let him guide you toward the exit with his hand on your lower back.

The coat check girl calls out "Have fun!" as you leave, and you seriously consider moving to a different city. Maybe a different country. Somewhere people don't immediately clock your questionable decision-making skills.

The Uber arrives embarrassingly fast—some higher power must be looking out for horny idiots tonight—and you both slide into the backseat. You start on opposite sides because you're trying to be decent human beings, trying to remember that your poor driver doesn't deserve a free show.

But then he's moving closer.

And closer.

And suddenly his mouth is on yours again, hot and demanding, and okay, yeah, sorry Mr. Uber driver but this is happening. His hand cups your jaw, tilting your head just so, and you're definitely making some kind of noise in the back of your throat but you're beyond caring. Beyond thinking about anything except the way his tongue slides against yours, the way his other hand grips your thigh.

Fifteen minutes. That's all it is from the club to Emma's place. Fifteen minutes that somehow feel like both seconds and eternity, lost in a haze of wandering hands and stolen kisses and trying (failing) to keep things PG-13. You're vaguely aware of streets passing, of turns and stops, of the driver pointedly turning up the radio.

And then your attention shifts. His teeth graze your bottom lip, fingers slowly sliding on your inner thigh. Hisses when your nails find his scalp. Heat. Want. Need. Building higher with each passing minute until you're practically vibrating out of your skin.

By some miracle (or possibly divine intervention), you make it to Emma’s building. You stumble out of the Uber, giving the driver your most apologetic smile-grimace combo. He just shakes his head, probably adding you to his mental list of "drunk hookups I never want to see again."

But then he's pressing you against the building's front door, mouth hot on your neck, and you really can't bring yourself to care about your Uber rating right now. Not when his hands are everywhere, not when he's making these little sounds against your skin that go straight between your legs.

It takes three tries to get the key in the lock—partly because it's 4 AM and you're tipsy, mostly because he won't stop kissing you long enough to focus. When you finally get the door open, you nearly fall through it, saved only by his arm around your waist.

"Smooth," he murmurs against your lips, laughing softly.

"Shut up," you breathe back, already pulling him in for another kiss. His back hits the closing door with a thud that's definitely too loud for 4 AM, but you're past caring. Past thinking about anything except the way his hands feel sliding up your sides, the way he tastes, the way he's eating you up with his eyes.

Emma's definitely going to murder you tomorrow. But with the way his fingers are digging into your hips, the way he's kissing you like he's trying to crawl inside your skin?

What-fucking-ever.

He pushes off the door like a man on a mission, and suddenly you're airborne—your legs wrapping around his waist on pure instinct. And okay, that's hot. The way he lifts you like you weigh nothing, the solid press of his body against yours, the little growl he makes when your hips roll against his.

"Room?" His voice is wrecked already, breath hot against your mouth between kisses that make your head spin.

You gesture vaguely toward Emma's guest room, too busy mapping the muscles of his shoulders to form actual words. He exhales sharply against your lips, already moving. Your jackets become casualties somewhere in the hallway, dropped with fumbling hands and zero grace because yeah, the vodka's definitely hitting now. Everything's warm and hazy and electric, your skin buzzing everywhere he touches.

Then you're falling backward onto the bed, and holy fuck. The way he's looking down at you—like he's been lost in the desert and you're a fucking oasis—it makes your breath catch in your throat. Makes heat pool low in your belly, makes your thighs press together in anticipation.

His shirt comes off in one fluid motion and—

Jesus fucking Christ.

You've seen attractive guys before. You've seen gym bros and athletes and the whole spectrum of male bodies. But this? This is like someone took Michelangelo's David and decided to make him real but better. He's all lean muscle and smooth skin, but with just enough softness to make him touchable. Human. Perfect.

And his chest—god, his chest. It's not the rock-hard wall of muscle you'd expect from someone who looks like that. Instead, there's this ideal balance of firm and soft, creating the most magnificent set of man tiddies you've ever laid eyes on. The kind you could actually cuddle up to without feeling like you're resting on concrete. The kind that would make a flawless pillow after—

Your lusty brain stops working as he leans down, pressing his hips deliberately against yours as his mouth finds your neck. His tongue traces patterns on your skin that make you arch up against him, desperate for more contact.

"Fuck," he breathes against your throat, nosing along your pulse point. "You smell so good. Like vanilla and..." He inhales deeply, making your skin erupt in goosebumps. "Like something sweet I wanna taste."

Your hands slide up his back, feeling the play of muscles under warm skin. He's perfectly balanced above you, using just enough of his weight to make you feel deliciously pinned without crushing you. You fucking love it. Don’t know why, don’t know how. Maybe it's just how attractive he is, or the heat of his mouth on your neck, or the press of his body against yours or the way he keeps making these little sounds like he can't help himself.

He's kissing you again before your vodka-soaked brain can process anything beyond rudimentary want, primal need. It's all heat and tongue and teeth, messy and perfect in the way only drunken hookups can be. One of his hands slides up your neck, fingers spreading across your throat. Not squeezing, just...resting.

It's fucking electric.

Your hands map the expanse of his back, nails dragging lightly in a way that makes him groan into your mouth. He's all smooth skin and sinewy muscle, hot to the touch and absolutely unfair. No one should be allowed to feel this good. To make you feel this good, just by existing.

He drags his mouth down your neck, teeth grazing your artery. Your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping tight enough to make him hiss. Which is hot. Way too hot, because that noise? It immediately spirals straight between your thighs.

And fuck, how he grinds down against you in response. It's obscenely filthy, the perfect pressure in just the right spot to make you want to moan aloud. To be shameless.

"Fuck," he breathes against your skin, and you feel it more than hear it. Feel the heat of his breath, the barely restrained want in the way he's touching you. "You feel so fucking good."

Your hips roll up to meet his in a way that's purely instinctual. Because yeah, he feels good too. Better than good. You feel the maddening length of him grinding against you through his jeans; his hand around your neck and—god, you want to claw his back, to wrap your legs around his waist and just take.

The hand on your neck flexes just slightly, thumb brushing your jawline and you think you die just a little because hello? You like that. You really, really fucking like that. New kink unlocked, it seems.

"Want you," he murmurs, voice low and rough with arousal. "Want you so fucking bad, you have no idea."

And oh, you do. You really, really do. Because wanting him is all you can think about right now. All you can focus on beyond the thrumming of your heart, the aching throb between your thighs. You want his hands, his mouth, his—

"Off," you manage, tugging at his jeans with clumsy fingers. "These need to come off like, yesterday."

His chuckle vibrates through his chest into yours. "So fucking bossy."

But he's already leaning back, already working on his fly as you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch. And Jesus Christ, the way he looks right now—shirtless and disheveled, dark hair falling into darker eyes, lips red from your kisses—it's unfair. Unreal.

So fucking hot you think you might actually die if he doesn't touch you again in the next ten seconds.

His jeans hit the floor with a soft thud and holy fuck—the sight of him in just black boxer briefs should be illegal in at least forty-eight states. Like, someone call the police because this? This is absolutely criminal. The way the fabric clings to his thighs, the obvious bulge that makes your mouth water—

But then he's on you again, and thinking becomes a foreign concept.

His hands find the hem of your dress, bunching the fabric up with an urgency that makes heat pool between your legs. You arch up to help him, already anticipating the slide of fabric over skin, but—

Oh.

The second the dress clears your elbows, he presses down. Uses the fabric to pin your arms above your head, effectively trapping you against the mattress. And that's... that's...

Fuck.

His mouth is suddenly on your breast, hot and wet and absolutely perfect. No hesitation, no teasing—just the wet slide of his tongue over your nipple before he sucks it into his mouth, and holy shit.

Thank god you wore this dress. Thank every fucking deity that you chose the tight red one that doesn’t need a bra, because the feeling of his mouth directly on your skin is absolutely devastating.

A moan tears from your throat—embarrassingly loud in the quiet room—as his teeth graze sensitive flesh. His responding groan vibrates through your chest, sending shivers down your spine. Your back arches instinctively, pressing more firmly into his mouth as his tongue swirls around your peaked nipple.

His free hand finds your throat again, and—

Oh god.

His fingers spread wide, applying the slightest pressure. Testing. Exploring. Like he's curious about your reaction, about the way he feels your heartbeat flutter faster in response.

You can't help the soft sound that escapes you—somewhere between a whimper and a moan. His grip tightens fractionally in response, and your cunt clenches around nothing. Because fuck, that shouldn't be as hot as it is. The way he's controlling your breath, the way he's holding you down, the way his mouth is absolutely ruining you one suck at a time...

"Sensitive," he murmurs against your skin, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. Bastard. His thumb strokes along your jugular, feeling the way your breath hitches. "Wonder what other sounds I can get that pretty throat to make."

You'd have a snappy comeback for that. You know you would. But then he's switching to your other breast, teeth scraping just right, and coherent thought becomes a distant memory. All you can focus on is the wet heat of his mouth, the steady pressure of his hand on your throat, the way he's using his other hand to keep you pinned against the bed.

And maybe it's the situation, or maybe it's just him, but you've never been this turned on in your life. Never been this wet, this desperate, this needy. It should be embarrassing really—the way you're practically writhing beneath him, the way every little touch sends electricity sparking through your veins.

But with the way he's groaning against your skin, the way his hips keep grinding against yours like he needs it? Maybe you're not the only one that’s losing sanity here.

His teeth catch your nipple just as his fingers flex against your throat, and the combination pulls a sound from you that you didn’t even know you could make. High and breathy and absolutely wrecked.

"Fuck," he breathes, hot against your wet skin. "The sounds you make..."

His thumb brushes over your throat again, slower this time, before gliding up. Along the underside of your jaw. Pausing at your bottom lip. He applies the slightest pressure, watching as your mouth falls open on instinct. You're not sure whether you breathe or whimper, but it makes his gaze go impossibly darker, makes his hips roll against yours in response.

And then his thumb is there, pressing against your tongue, and—goddamn him—you're sucking without a second thought. The groan he lets out is a shattered thing, low and guttural, as though he's just as wrecked as you.

For three glorious seconds, he just... freezes. Like his brain's temporarily offline, like you've actually managed to short-circuit whatever smooth operator routine he had going.

And okay, maybe that gives you enough time to yank the dress out the rest of the way, tossing it off your bent elbows in a way that you hope was sexier than it felt. He doesn’t seem to notice—too busy looking at you like he's forgotten how he got here. Or how to breathe.

Either way, it's a little distracting.

But then he's moving, yanking his hand back like you've scorched him. And before you can even process the loss, he's sliding down your body, trailing open-mouthed kisses that make your skin come alive.

Your tipsy brain tries to catch up with what's unfolding—manages to register the flex of his shoulders, the heat of his mouth marking a path down your stomach, the way his hands are suddenly gripping your thighs and—

Oh.

Oh fuck.

He pulls you to the edge of the bed like you weigh nothing, kneeling between your spread legs like he belongs there. And how he looks up at you through his lashes, mouth hovering just inches from where you're absolutely drenched through your panties...

You prop yourself up on your elbows because fuck if you're missing this show. The movement makes your head spin slightly—reminder that you are definitely not sober—but the sight of him between your thighs is worth any potential vertigo.

His breath fans hot against your core, and your hips twitch involuntarily. A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth, but before you can call him out on it, he's leaning in. Pressing his open mouth against you through the thin fabric of your underwear, and—

"Fuck."

The word tears from your throat unbidden because holy shit, this shouldn't feel this good already. It's barely anything—just the heat of his mouth, the slight pressure of his tongue through fabric—but your body's lighting up like a fucking supernova. Like every nerve ending is suddenly dialed to a hundred.

Your fingers find his hair without conscious thought, tangling in the dark strands as he works you through your panties. The grip of his hands on your thighs tightens in response, and fuck—that's definitely going to leave marks.

And okay, yeah. Maybe you're embarrassingly wet. Maybe you can feel it soaking through the fabric, making everything slick and messy. Maybe you should care about that, about being this affected this quickly.

But you don’t. Not really, with the way he's groaning against you like he's dying for it. Like he can't get enough. Yeah, dignity can take a backseat.

Besides, all thoughts of pride or shame fly right out the window when he finally, finally hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties. Your hips lift automatically, helping him slide them down your legs. They catch on your heels because of course you're still wearing your fuck-me pumps, but he doesn't seem to mind. Just lets the fabric dangle from one ankle as he dives back in, and—

"Holy shit."

His tongue drags up your slit in one long, deliberate stroke, and your brain temporarily stops working. Like, full system shutdown. Windows XP error sound and everything. Because fuck—that shouldn't feel as mindbogglingly good as it does.

Then he flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue and you make this absolutely mortifying noise—some choked little "guh" that would humiliate you if you were sober enough to care. His lip ring adds this extra edge of sensation that makes your thighs quake, cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat of his mouth.

He makes this sound against you—something between a hum and a growl (and okay, yeah, maybe 'growl' isn't the right word because what are you, fucking animals? But you're drunk and getting your pussy eaten properly for the first time in forever, so vocabulary can fuck right off). Whatever it is, it vibrates through you in a way that has your hips jerking up, seeking more.

Then he's doing these small, slow circles around your clit. So. Fucking. Slow. Like he wants to drive you crazy, wants you to fucking writhe against him. You try not to just grind up against his face. Because that would be desperate, right? That would be—

Damn.

The circles suddenly get faster, tighter, more intense. His tongue flicking over your clit with the kind of speed and precision that would put Fast & Furious to shame. And the sounds coming out of your mouth? Yeah, those aren't even words anymore. Just a stream of "oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck."

If Emma’s home—because it’s probably been an hour already—she’s probably getting one hell of a show through these paper-thin walls. But you know what? She fucking owes you. All those times you covered for her sneaking out to Bobby Martinez's house in high school? Yeah, consider this payback with interest.

He drags his tongue back down, gathering your wetness (and okay, yeah, you're basically flooding at this point but whatever), then slides back up. Adding texture to his movements like some kind of oral sex virtuoso. Because apparently this stranger knows exactly what he's doing with that mouth, and honestly? Good for you. You deserve this. You deserve to have your pussy eaten by someone who treats it like a goddamn art form.

So you lean back, let yourself enjoy it. Let him explore and taste and fuck—the way he's absolutely feasting on you like you're his last meal. His tongue finds your clit again, and this time he sucks it into his mouth, and the sound that rips from your throat probably violates noise ordinances in several states.

The wet sounds of his mouth on you are absolutely obscene. Like, pornographic-level obscene. All sucking and slurping and Jesus fucking Christ, you should not find that as hot as you do. But with your stiletto digging into his back (when did that happen?) and his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave fingerprints...

Yeah. Yeah, definitely hot.

Then his tongue drags down, down, down—and fuck, you can feel every ridge, every texture against your sensitive flesh. He reaches your entrance and just... circles it. Like he's mapping you out. Like he’s thinking about his next move.

Five blessed seconds where you can actually catch your breath. Where your brain starts to come back online and—

Fuck.

His tongue plunges into you without warning and your hand definitely just yanks out some of his hair but who fucking cares because his nose is nudging your clit while he tongue-fucks you and—and—

And your brain's offline again. Good talk.

He adjusts his arms, somehow pulling you even closer to his face. As if you weren't already basically smothering him. As if he literally wants to drown in your cunt. And that thought shouldn't be as scorching hot as it is but holy shit.

A moan tears from your throat—loud enough that Emma's probably googling noise complaint laws right now. But you can feel it building, that telltale tightening, that electric tension spreading through your core. Your clit's throbbing in time with your racing pulse and—

And he doesn't change a thing.

Because this guy? This absolute genius between your legs? He knows better than to pull that amateur hour bullshit where they speed up right when you're close. No, he maintains the exact same rhythm, the exact same pressure that got you here. Like he's done this before. Like he actually pays attention to what works.

(And okay, maybe you shouldn't be thinking about his past experience right now but your brain's kind of shorting out so whatever.)

Your stiletto digs deeper into his shoulder—might actually be drawing blood at this point but he doesn't seem to care one iota. If anything, he groans against you like he's getting off on it. Like pain turns him on. And that's...that's definitely something to stash away for later.

Or never. Because this is a one-time thing. Right. Focus.

Except focusing is basically impossible when he's eating you out like it's his actual job. When the pressure's building and building and—

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Your back arches off the bed like you're auditioning for America's Next Top Model: After Dark Edition. The orgasm hits you like a riptide, waves of pleasure so intense your vision actually whites out for a second. Your thighs clamp around his head, heel probably leaving permanent marks on his back, and you're definitely making sounds that would make a porn star blush but—

But holy shit.

His tongue flicks over your oversensitive clit one last time—the absolute bastard—and your whole body jerks as you whimper. Which, okay, definitely earned that one. Because holy fuck.

You slump back against the bed, bones liquified, as he prowls up your body. His hands plant on either side of your face and—wow, okay, up close he's even more unfairly beautiful. All sharp jawline and scorching eyes and lips that are literally glistening with...yeah.

"You taste exactly like you smell," he murmurs, and what kind of weird-ass compliment is that? Like, thanks? Good to know your pussy matches your perfume brand?

Except...it kind of works? Something tingles in your face and no. Absolutely not. You are not getting all swoony just because Hot Stranger is saying vaguely poetic shit during sex. This is just your horny lizard brain going 'hot man say words, neurons go brr.' That's all.

Then his mouth is on your neck and—yeah, okay, thinking is canceled anyway. His hands trace maddening patterns down your stomach, feather-light touches that make your muscles jump. And when he tugs his briefs down, his cock springs free and—

Oh.

Well then.

Your body apparently didn’t get the memo about the standard refractory period because hello, Round Two suddenly seems very appealing. It hasn’t even been five minutes since you came but here you are, already clenching around nothing like some kind of sex-starved teenager.

He leans back slightly, reaching for something and—ah. His jeans. More specifically, his wallet. From which he produces not one but multiple condoms, and honestly? We love a prepared king. Nothing hotter than a guy who practices safe sex without having to be asked.

(And yes, you're literally evaluating his sexual responsibility while naked and still tingling from one of the best orgasms of your life. Sue you.)

He grabs one condom and tosses the others somewhere on the bed. Then—because apparently he's auditioning for some porno-meets-action-movie hybrid—he puts the wrapper between his teeth. Locks eyes with you. Rips it open.

And okay, PSA time: Kids (not that any kids should be reading this, what the fuck brain?)—this is not how you open condoms. Use your fingers like a normal person, not your teeth like some kind of sexual menace. That's literally Condom Safety 101.

But then again, when a guy this stupid hot does literally anything, your brain just kind of... accepts it. Like yeah, sure, demolish that condom wrapper with your teeth while maintaining smoldering eye contact. That's normal. That's fine. You're fine.

He gives the condom a cursory check (okay, at least he's being thorough), pinches the tip between his fingers and you just... watch. Wait.

"You gonna fuck me tomorrow or...?" The words slip out before your self-censor can nab them, biting and teasing.

Bad choice.

His hand—his stupidly large, stupidly warm hand—wraps around your thigh and yanks you down the bed in one fluid motion. And why the fuck is that so hot? Why are you noticing how his fingers practically span your whole thigh? Why is the heat of his palm against your skin making your breath catch?

Your eyes flicker back to his cock and—oh. When did he even get the condom on? You must have missed that while you were having your crisis about his hands. But he's ready now, thick and hard and—

Fuck.

He pushes in with one swift motion and your body just... takes him. Like you're literally eager for it, still slick and open from his mouth. He makes this soft gasping sound like he's actually dying, like your cunt is some kind of religious experience.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groans, hips flush against yours. "So fucking slippery and warm, feels like silk—"

"That's—ah—what happens when you eat someone out properly," you manage, even as your walls flutter around him. Because apparently your mouth doesn’t know when to quit, even with a dick inside you.

His laugh is rough, breathless.

"I’ll keep that in mind."

And fuck—the way he says it, like a promise, like a threat. Your cunt clenches at the thought and he actually growls.

He pushes your thighs down against the mattress and—ow. Okay, that's definitely going to hurt tomorrow. Future You is probably already plotting Present You's murder, adding your name to some karmic hit list right next to Emma’s (who, let’s be real, is definitely contemplating homicide through these paper-thin walls right now).

But then he starts moving and—oh.

Oh fuck.

Every coherent thought evaporates because he's burying himself so deep you swear he's trying to carve out a permanent place inside you. Like he wants your body to remember exactly how he feels, wants to leave an impression that'll last long after tonight.

You didn’t even get a proper look at his size earlier (too busy fizzing over his hands, his mouth, literally everything else), but holy shit. What you do know is he's thick—like, properly thick. Every inch of him pressed against your walls like he's trying to eliminate any space between you, like he's mapping out your insides for future reference.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, and you actually feel him twitch inside you. "So fucking—"

"Less talking," you manage to gasp out, "more moving."

His laugh is rough, breathless. "As you wish."

He snaps his hips once—testing, exploring—and your breath hitches in your throat. Then again. And again. Quick thrust in, torturously slow pull out, and every single time has you gasping like some Victorian maiden with a too-tight corset.

"Like that?" He sounds way too smug for someone balls-deep in a stranger. "The way you squeeze me every time I—"

"You always this chatty during sex?" Your voice comes out embarrassingly breathy, but whatever. "Or am I just special?"

Another snap of his hips that makes your eyes roll back. "Maybe I just like the sounds you make when I'm inside you."

And fuck—why is that hot? That shouldn’t be hot. You're still so wet from earlier that you can hear it, can feel how smoothly he glides in and out, nice and easy.

"You're certainly—ah—confident," you manage between thrusts, because apparently your mouth doesn’t know when to quit. "Compensating for something?"

His grip on your thighs tightens. "Want me to stop and let you check?"

"Don’t you fucking dare."

His pace quickens and—oh hello, is that a smirk he's biting back? It is. It absolutely fucking is. And your brain, your stupid, traitorous brain, finds that scorching. Because of course it does. You squint your eyes shut because you can’t deal with how cocky he looks right now, can’t process how that cockiness is actually doing it for you.

Congratulations, you've officially lost it. This is your villain origin story. Death by dick-induced insanity. They'll write case studies about you in Psychology Today: "Local Woman's Brain Melts Because Hot Stranger Has Good Dick Game." Your mother would be so proud.

But also? Also shut the fuck up, brain, because you're literally getting the best dick of your life right now so maybe save the self-reproach for later? Like, there's a time and place for your characteristic overthinking and this ain’t it.

He leans forward then, changing the angle as he chases your mouth, and holy fuck. Each thrust goes deeper, harder, faster—like he's trying to reach parts of you no one else has touched. His kiss is messy, all tongue and teeth and desperation, and you're actually whimpering into his mouth like some kind of—

Wait.

Hold the fucking phone.

Since when do you whimper? What is this, some kind of Harlequin romance novel? Are you secretly the protagonist of a Fabio-covered paperback? Because you don’t whimper. You don’t make these soft, needy little sounds into strange men’s mouths. That’s not your brand. That’s not—

But then he rolls his hips in this way that makes you see actual fucking stars, and okay, you know what? Fuck your brand. Fuck everything. Because the way he's moving? The way he's filling you up like you're some kind of horny piñata? Yeah, that takes precedence over your identity crisis.

And speaking of crises—why does this feel so fucking good? Like, mathematically speaking, dick is dick. It's basic anatomy. Tab A into Slot B. So why does every thrust feel like he's rewriting the laws of physics? Why does your body respond to him like he's got some kind of sexual Midas touch?

The worst part? The absolute worst part? You can feel another orgasm building already. Which is ridiculous. Impossible. You literally came like ten minutes ago. This man hasn’t even finished once and here you are, ready to go again like some kind of horny Energizer bunny.

You need to have a serious conversation with your pussy about standards and expectations. Like, what happened to the refractory period? What happened to playing hard to get? Because this? This instant response to everything he does? This eager little flutter every time he hits that spot just right?

This is just embarrassing.

But also really, really fucking good.

"You take my cock so fuckin' well," he groans against your neck, voice rough and slurred. "Like y'were made for it, so perfect—"

And okay, what kind of porn dialogue bullshit is that? Who actually says things like that during sex? More importantly, why is it working? Why does every filthy word from his mouth send electricity shooting straight to your cunt?

"Hnnngh—"

That's it. That's all you can manage because your brain-to-mouth filter is totally fried. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he hits that spot just right, and you're pretty sure you're leaving marks but whatever. Future Him problems.

"F-fuck, how you clench around me when I say shit like that," his words come out breathless, hitching. "Like hearing how good you feel? How tight and wet and fucking flawless—"

"Shut up." But it comes out more like a whine than a command, completely undermining any attempt at snark. Your walls flutter around him traitorously, and his responding groan vibrates through your whole body.

"Make me," he challenges, punctuating it with a particularly vicious thrust that has your eyes rolling back. "Or maybe you don't want me to? Maybe you secretly get off on—fuck—on hearing how amazing you are, how nobody's ever swallowed me this deep before—"

"Nghh—" Your brain's offline. Completely fucking offline. No thoughts, head empty, just the overwhelming sensation of him moving inside you, the heat of his breath against your neck, the absolute filth falling from his lips.

"S'true though," he pants, pace growing erratic. "Never felt anything like this, like your—oh fuck—"

A moan tears from your throat—loud and wanton and utterly mortifying. But you can't help it, not when he's fucking you like he's trying to ruin you for anyone else, not when he keeps saying these things that make your insides turn to molten lava.

"That's it, lemme hear you," he encourages, and you want to punch him for how smug he sounds but you also want him to never stop. "Love the sounds you make when I'm deep in this pussy, when I—shit—"

His voice catches as you deliberately tighten around him, a small victory that makes you smirk despite how your body's on fire.

"Fuck, you're evil."

"You talk too much," you manage to get out between gasps, even as your hips chase his rhythm desperately. You're close—so fucking close—but not quite there.

He laughs against your neck, the sound dark and promising.

“Touch yourself for me."

When you don't immediately comply—because for some reason you still want to challenge him—he pulls back just enough to look you in the eye.

"Rub that pretty clit, show me how you like it."

The command in his voice shouldn't turn you on this much. "Make me," you challenge, because apparently your mouth has a death wish.

"Oh?"

His rhythm slows to something torturous, each thrust deep and deliberate. "Do I need to show you where it is? Guide those lovely fingers myself?"

You're about to snark back when his hand slides between your bodies, and—oh. Oh.

"Found it," he says with infuriating smugness, circling your clit with practiced ease. Your whole body jerks at the contact, oversensitive and desperate. "Seems like I know exactly where it is. Don't I?"

"Fuck—" Your voice breaks as he applies just the right amount of pressure, the bastard. "You're so—nghh—"

"I'm so what?" He's grinning now, you can hear it in his voice even as you squeeze your eyes shut. "C'mon, tell me. Use your words."

"Insufferable," you grit out, but your body betrays you, arching into his touch. "Arrogant—ah—asshole—"

"Maybe." His fingers speed up, matching the pace of his thrusts, and holy shit you're going to die. "But I'm an arrogant asshole who's about to make you cum again, aren't I?"

He's right and you hate it. Hate how well he reads your body, hate how he found your clit without hesitation like he's got some kind of carnal GPS, hate how fucking good he is at this.

"That's it," he encourages as your breathing hitches, as your nails dig into his shoulders. "Let me feel you fall apart. Wanna feel this cunt clamp down on my cock when you—"

His hips stutter and you can feel him pulsing inside you, even through the condom. The way his whole body tenses, the broken sound he makes against your throat—it pushes you right over the edge. Yeah. Your second orgasm says hi; has you curling your toes against his back, tensing your thighs around him as if he would ever dream of leaving right now.

"Fuck fuck fuck—" You're not even sure which one of you is saying it anymore. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe you're having an out-of-body experience because Jesus Christ.

For a moment, there's just silence. Just breathing. Just the sound of your heart trying to recall its normal cadence. Then he chuckles against your cheek—a low, sated sound that you'll deny remembering tomorrow—and follows it with a quick nip that makes you jolt.

"Fuck, that was good," he breathes, still catching his breath.

"S'alright," you manage, even though your legs are literally jelly and your brain's still rebooting.

He pulls back just enough to quirk an eyebrow at you, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. "Just alright?"

"Fishing for compliments?" You raise your own eyebrow, trying to ignore how his hand is still absently stroking your hip. "That's kind of desperate."

"Says the girl who came twice."

And—okay, rude. Accurate, but rude.

He shifts then, carefully pulling out (and at least he's considerate about it, making sure not to hurt you), and starts dealing with the condom. But then he just... stands there. Looking lost. Condom in hand and this adorably bemused expression that makes something in your chest do a weird little flip.

No. Not adorable. Nothing about this guy is adorable. Hot? Yes. Skilled with his tongue? Abso-fucking-lutely. But not adorable. You refuse to find anything about him cute, especially not the way he's glancing around the room like a lost puppy trying to figure out where to—

You can't stifle the snort that escapes you. "Trash can's over there, genius." You gesture with your head toward the small bin by the dresser. "Try not to get lost on the way."

He rolls his eyes but moves across the room, and you definitely don't watch the play of muscles in his back as he walks. Or the way his ass looks in the dim light. Or how his hand rakes through his tousled hair as he leans down to dispose of the condom and—

Fuck.

Fuck.

Because here's the thing: you've had one-night stands before. You know how this goes. Quick fuck, awkward goodbye, never see each other again. That's the routine. That's the protocol. That's what smart, sensible people do.

But.

But you're already thinking about how his mouth felt between your legs. About how he filled you up just right. About how he seemed to know exactly what to do with his hands, his hips, his—

And you know what? Fuck it. Fuck being sensible and sane. Fuck playing it cool. You've got a hot guy with stellar dick game right here, right now. Might as well take advantage while you can.

Before your brain can talk you out of it, you're launching yourself off the bed. Your legs are still a bit wobbly (thanks, Mr. Two Orgasms), but you manage to catch him just as he turns around. Your mouth crashes into his, messy and demanding, as you push him against the wall.

His surprised grunt turns into a pleased hum against your lips, and his hands immediately find your hips like they belong there. Like this is exactly what he was hoping would happen.

Cocky bastard.

He spins you around so fast your head spins—or maybe that's just the lingering vodka. Either way, suddenly your back's hitting the wall and—oh. Okay. This is happening. Again. Because apparently your body doesn't give two shits about being thoroughly fucked already.

His mouth crashes back into yours, hungry and insistent, and it should be gross really—you can taste yourself on his tongue, everything's messy and uncoordinated and frantic. But instead it's just...hot. So fucking hot you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

Then his hands slide down to your thighs and he's lifting you like you weigh zilch (and seriously, what is it with this guy and manhandling? More importantly, why do you like it?). Your legs wrap around his waist automatically, and how his cock twitches against your stomach—already getting hard again—should not make you feel this smug.

"Eager?" you manage to gasp between kisses, because apparently your mouth doesn't know when to quit.

He bites your bottom lip in response, just hard enough to make you whimper (and fuck, there's that sound again, what is wrong with you tonight?). "I’m sorry? Weren’t you the one jumping me?”

"Just felt sorry for you." The words come out breathier than intended as his mouth finds that spot behind your ear. "Standing there looking all lost with your used condom—"

His growl cuts you off, vibrating through his chest into yours. One of his hands tangles in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat, and—fuck. The way he attacks your neck like he's trying to mark you up, like he wants everyone to know exactly what you've been doing...

Then his mouth finds yours again, swallowing whatever protest you might have made. And it's different this time—sloppier, needier. All clashing teeth and warring tongues and his hands everywhere at once. You're pressed so tightly between him and the wall you can feel every twitch of his muscles, every stuttered breath.

One of his hands slides up your thigh, fingertips trailing fire in their wake, and you're already embarrassingly slick again. Already aching for him like you didn't just have him inside you minutes ago. Your hips roll against him craving friction, and the sound he makes—half groan, half snarl—shoots straight between your legs.

"Condom," you gasp against his mouth. "Need a—"

"Yeah," he breathes, but he doesn't move away. Just keeps kissing you like he's suffocating and you're oxygen, like he can't bear to stop even for a heartbeat. "Yeah, just—fuck, you feel so good—"

Your brain's rapidly disintegrating, especially with the way he keeps grinding against you, the way his mouth keeps doing that to your neck. But you manage to remember: "Bed. Other condoms. On the bed."

He makes this sound of acknowledgment but still doesn't budge, just shifts his hips in a way that has his cock sliding against your clit and—jesus fuck.

"If you don't get a condom right now," you warn, voice embarrassingly unsteady, "I'm going to kill you."

His laugh is rough, breathless. "Such violence."

He practically teleports to the bed—like, Olympic-level sprinting for that condom. It'd be comical, the way he fumbles with the wrapper (apparently Mr. Smooth isn't so smooth when he's desperate), except you're too busy being embarrassingly turned on by his urgency.

You're about to suggest moving to the bed—because your legs are already shaking and wall sex seems ambitious after two orgasms—but—

Holy fuck.

He's got you up against the wall again in one fluid motion, hands gripping your thighs as he lines himself up and—oh god. The sound that rips from your throat as he fills you in one swift thrust is utterly shameful. But the broken "fuck" that falls from his lips? How his whole body shudders as he bottoms out?

Yeah, okay. Maybe worth the mortification.

"Jesus fuck," he breathes against your neck, voice wrecked. "You feel—shit, how do you feel even better than before?"

"Hush it," you gasp, even as your walls flutter around him. "And move."

He laughs, breathless and gritty. "Demanding little thing." But he's already moving, setting a pace that has your head lolling back. "God, you’re even wetter than before, taking me so well—”

"That your professional opinion?" Your attempt at snark falls flat when it comes out as more of a moan. "Done extensive research, have you?"

His hips snap up particularly hard at that. "Never—fuck—never felt anything like this."

And that should be a line. That should be the kind of bullshit guys say during hookups to stroke their own egos. Except the way he says it—all breathless wonder and raw honesty—makes something hot unfurl in your chest.

"Yeah?" It comes out embarrassingly breathy, but whatever. Can’t really care when every thrust is melting honey down your spine. "Prove it."

He makes this sound—half growl, half moan—like he fucking loves your audacity. "Already made you come twice."

"Maybe I was faking."

"Sweetheart, nobody's that good an actress."

And honestly? Fair. But you're not about to admit that, not when he's already so smug about how well he plays your body. Instead, you drag him down for a kiss that's more teeth than finesse, swallowing his groans as his pace gets more erratic.

"F-fuck," he pants against your mouth. "Gonna make you come again. Wanna feel you—"

"Big talk for someone who—ah—hasn't delivered yet."

His responding thrust makes your back arch off the wall. "Jus’ wait."

His hips snap up harder at your challenge, making your head thump back against the wall. And fuck—the way he's moving now, all rough desperation and graceless rhythm. Everything's wet and messy and absolutely filthy, the sounds of skin on skin blending with your breathless moans.

"Still—ah—ah—waiting for that delivery," you manage, even as your nails dig into his shoulders.

"Fuckin’—" His breathless laugh is menacing. "Always—fuck—gotta have the last word, don’tcha?”

You'd have a comeback for that, you really would, except he chooses that moment to shift his angle and—holy shit. Because now? Now his pubic bone grinds against your clit every time he moves, every time he thrusts deep inside you. And honestly? Fucking unfair that even his bones know where your clit is.

You can feel him twitching inside you, can tell he's close by the way his breath comes in harsh pants against your neck. And you're almost there too, just need a little more—

But then he's groaning, hips stuttering as he cums. His whole body tenses, pressing you flatter against the wall as he empties into the condom.

And okay, great for him, congratulations, but you were so fucking close.

You tap his back urgently. "Keep goin’."

"What?" He's still catching his breath, forehead pressed against your shoulder. "Gimme a second, ah—I just—"

"I was—right there," you whine (and yes, you're actually whining now, this is what you've been reduced to). "Don't you dare stop."

He lifts his head, looking at you incredulously. "I literally just filled the condom—"

"I don't give a fuck, just move."

And okay, yeah, PSA time number two: This is definitely not safe sex practice. The second a condom's full, it needs to be changed. That's like, Sex Ed 101. But also? Also your clit is throbbing and you were this close to coming and your horny lizard brain has completely taken over.

"Jesus," he breathes, but he's already starting to move again, shallow little thrusts that make your eyes roll back. "You're fucking insatiable."

"Like earlier," you gasp, grinding down against him. "With the… with your hipbone."

He laughs against your neck—a rough, breathless sound that shouldn't be as arousing as it is. "Gotcha."

And he does. Repositions himself, makes sure he’s got exactly the same position he had earlier. His hipbone comes in contact with your clit as he begins thrusting faster again, and fucking yeah, that’s what you needed.

"Fuck, the way you feel," he groans. "So slick and snug and—shit—"

"Shut up shut up shut up—"

Because you can't handle his voice right now, can't deal with how his words make the drowning sensation grow more and more intense by the second. You're so close you can taste it, right on the precipice, just need a little more—

Then he nips at your neck, his tongue flattening against your pulse point. And that's it. You're a goner. Again. For the third time tonight.

Your entire body locks up as bliss courses through, lapping at your core like waves at a shore. Your eyes instinctively close as you relish it in all its intensity, and you're pretty sure you make some kind of mortifying noise but whatever. Three orgasms in, dignity is a distant memory.

He slows his movements gradually, letting you ride it out, and you can feel him softening inside you. Your head drops to his shoulder because keeping it upright seems like way too much effort right now. The residual booze is hitting different after getting thoroughly wrecked—everything soft and fuzzy around the edges.

You vaguely register him checking the condom with his free hand—the other one still supporting your ass because apparently you're not ready to unwrap your legs from his waist yet. Your brain's moving in slow motion, heavy with alcohol and mist and the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that only comes from really good sex.

"Hey." He taps your back lightly. "You falling asleep on me? Dick game that good?"

"Die," you mumble into his shoulder, not even bothering to lift your head. "Just... shut up and die."

You hear him chuckle, vaguely. It should be irritating. It isn't. You're too drained to care. Everything's warm and hazy and your limbs feel like they're crafted from lead.

You're only half-aware of him moving you to the bed, of sheets being pulled up, of a warm body pressing against your back. Your consciousness is already drifting, floating in that space between awake and asleep where nothing quite computes.

The last thing you register, right before slumber claims you completely, is his nose pressed against your neck and his drowsy murmur:

“Smell like vanilla now too."

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@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[pia-nor481]

Green with teenage jealousy

Max Verstappen x Reader x Daniel Ricciardo SMUT

3.4K words Masterlist

It's hard to say how they came about. It was an unusual relationship yet it worked so well. Max was more quiet, while Daniel was loud, and a little more boisterous. In their eyes she perfect, every part of her. Neither of them knew who fell first, but it was definitely Max who fell harder, for both his partners. This made Max more affectionate than most. He always had a hand on either of them. 

She was out of the house most likely treating her self, well treating them to some new lingerie. The men typically liked different things. Max enjoyed bodies and baby dolls, while Daniel preferred a nice matching set of bra and panties, stockings every now and then. She ventured to multiple shops, mindful of her boyfriends preference. But not forgetting to treat herself too. They were invited to a club later by a friend of a friend. After a long few weeks of racing it would be nice to buy the boys a little treat. She picked up a new party shirt for Daniel and a much more simple button up for Max, hoping she could entice him out of the Red bull uniform. 

Once out of the car she struggled up and into the flat with the many bags; she placed them on the ground by the front door quickly, excited to show her boyfriends what she got them. Until she heard it. Max's moans travelling through the rooms. A pang of sadness pulled through her, the moment she was out of the house they decide to fuck. They've been together everyday for the past month, yet this is the first time in weeks she was even in the vicinity of them. It was almost as if she'd been double-crossed. Her head shook quickly, questioning why she was so upset by something as trivial as sex. She looked through the bags again and grabbed the shirts, ready to put a smile on when they leave the bedroom. Until she heard it, "Daniel...Don't tell her." She was shocked to say the least, quickly making way to the bathroom, just needing to be on her own. The door was slammed slightly louder than she planned for but it was too late anyway. Her clothes fell to the floor as Daniel rushed out of their shared bedroom. 

The room promptly filled with steam as the water flowed over her skin, pulling the stress away. Her body was covered in foam from the soap as she tried to wash away the thought of her boyfriends keeping secrets from her; She wasn't upset that they were sleeping together, in fact she would be slightly concerned if they were not, she just didn't appreciate not being told what was happening in her own relationship. She shook her head once again, trying to rid her brain of jealously. 

As soon as Daniel made it out of the room, he noticed the bags at the door, excited to see his lavish girlfriend. The further he walked away from Max the quicker he realised she was not there, until he heard the running water on the other side of the flat. He walked with haste hoping to see her as soo as possible. He needed to see her, touch her, taste her. He knew Max would be asleep now so felt no guilt as his clothes were thrown around the hallway. The Australian was quick to turn the handle and slide the door open. Briefly shocked with the lack of visibility in the room, he move the curtain and a wide smile dawned his face upon finally being met with her. "Come here, Love." Her head remained low as his hands circled her waist, pulling her close as the water began to cover him. "What about..." She started, careful not to sound angry. "You know what he's like, either on the sim or asleep, more likely to be the latter." Daniel's lips were quick to make contact with her skin, allowing him to hear the sweet sound of her voice as his hands wandered. "So, why'd you slam the door?" He questioned, between kisses, never truly giving her a chance to speak until her fully pulled away, looking her up and down. "Just a long day." Realistically, what was she supposed to say? 'I am beyond fuming that you slept with our boyfriend today.' That would be far from a sane sentence. But lying wasn't the best choice either. "Aw, you poor thing." Daniel said before giving her one last kiss. 

They soon made it out of the shower, Daniel praising her body as much as possible. "Come on, it's getting late and we need to be ready soon." She said pulling him through the flat, making a quick stop to the front door before heading to the bedroom. Max was half dressed as they approached him, bag in Daniel's hand as she focused on keeping her towel up. "Hello. Love." Max said ecstatic, rushing to embrace her. Max was quick to grab her cheeks and pull her in for a sweet and passionate kiss. 

"Look in the bag." She was still excited to give each of her men their gifts. "Well I know which one is Daniel's." Max laughed with his signature smile and head tilt. She smiled and turned to their, well more her and Daniel's wardrobe, looking for the perfect dress. "Since you treated us, how about we save you the trouble of searching and tell you we bought a pretty blue dress for tonight." Daniel said, holding a hanger up. She knew he picked the garment but it was most likely Max's idea. "Thank you." She said with sparkling eyes as they helped her with slipping into the dress. After finally looking presentable, they begin to make way to one of Max's many cars, and she was getting more excited by the minute; Until she saw her partners with their tongues practically down the others throat. Her feelings resurfaced quickly, this time a mix of envy and anger. 

She climbed into the car quickly, not bothering to engage with them. Perhaps it was a bit selfish, they'd been racing for weeks, had mountains of work and not much time to rest or relax. Is it so wrong to want your partners to pay attention to you, and not keep secret. The whole ride to the club was slightly awkward as she spent the whole time ignoring them and focusing on if she was actually in the wrong or not. She shouldn't feel like an outsider in her own relationship, there was no need for them to hide the fact Max wanted a blow job, in fact it wasn't particularly surprising; She wasn't blue because of the act, she was home, heard them, and wasn't bothered, yet as soon as it needed to be a secret it was a problem. 

She was pulled out of her thoughts as Max grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the car and into the club, exchanging hellos with the friend of a friend. She was the first to leave for the bar, asking for her drink and an additional shot, needing to get her mind off everything. They lost sight of her very quickly as she moved to the dance floor, looking for someone attractive enough to dance with. She focused on the beat of the music in her body and the harsh lights on her eyes. She let her body sway with the rhythm, taking large gulps of her drink every now and then. She soon felt someone's hand make contact with her hip, pulling her body closer to his own. She didn't recognise the width of Max's hands or the length of Daniel's fingers, yet she didn't complain. She continued to dance with him for a few songs, bringing her hand to rest on the back of his neck. The feeling of this man against her made for a great distraction from her current relationship, her pulled her hips against his own as he kissed her neck. She finished the rest of her drink quickly, looking up to meet eyes with Daniel and Max, both their jaw's clearly clenched. She grabbed the arm of the man and pulled him back towards the bar for another drink. "That's a very pretty dress, Darling." He stated, looking her up and down. "Do you really think so?" She was being slightly shallow now, but she was most definitely feeling yellow now. "Yeah, looks real good on such a gorgeous body." She blushed slightly, sipping on her drink, slowly feeling guilty about using him. At the end of the night she was going home with her boyfriend's, not him. "So when did you get it?" He wanted to keep her talking about herself, assuming that she would entertain him further into the night. "Actually her boyfriend bought it earlier today." Daniel was quick to state, arm quickly sliding around her waist. 

Daniel preferred PDA more than Max, in fact her was more conversational than Max. "Well mate, it seems like your girl was all over me, so maybe you can leave now." Daniel rolled his eyes, not bothering to listen. "Come on, we're going home." He said pulling her away from the bar and outside, desperately needing fresh air. She stumbled behind him as they made way to the car, lucky Max's first and only drink was non-alcoholic. "What were you thinking? Flirting with some other man like we didn't exist." Max started, clearly infuriated, running his hand through his hair, not waiting for an answer. Daniel slipped into the back with her and closed the door before he spoke. "Since you've decided to be so disobedient, I'll treat you like it when we get home." Her eyes remained focused on anything other than Daniel, who never stopped looking at her. Her nerves begin to rise slightly as she felt the car slow, Daniel's hand on her thigh getting tighter by the minute. 

They made it up the stairs in record time and once through the door she continued to look between the gentlemen waiting, no begging, for either of then to say something to her. "Max, why don't you pour yourself a drink before we start, since someone felt the need to ruin tonight." Daniel said with a pointed look. Max walked to the kitchen slowly pulling out a nice bottle of whiskey along with a lowball glass, taking a large sip. Max placed the bottle on the table before sitting down. "Over my lap, now." Max spoke quietly, but his tone make it clear he was seething. Her dress was hiked up quickly, blue panties on show. "How many do you think she deserves?" Max asked looking at Daniel who was drinking from the bottle. "I say ten...each side." Max laughed and quickly smacked the flush of her ass harder than he intended to, but was pleased not to hear a complaint from her. "Relax, Love, Max won't hit you too hard." He said watching Max's hand make contact with her skin again. Daniel was quick to bring the bottle to his mouth again while walking over to his his partners. He grabbed Max's throat and kissed him, letting the whiskey fall onto his tongue. The burn down his throat was exhilarating and decided that she needed the feeling as well. Max was quick to pull her up and onto her feet, spiting the alcohol into her mouth. "Now now, let's not get too excited. You've only given her five each side. I think I said ten." Daniel spoke with a tone of disappointment, he passed the whiskey back to Max as he sat on the table behind her. "I won't be as kind as Max." His spanks were a lot harder, or at least it felt that way after the ones she received from her other boyfriend. Her skin was quickly feeling sore and so she flinched more often; falling foreword into Max, clutching his arm for support. "Be good, you did all that for attention, and now that you've got it you're still misbehaving. Unbelievable." Daniel's hand lowered slightly, so his hand would make contact with the very top of her thigh; she gasped as she felt his hand on her skin. He made sure the last two taps were particularly rough, a few tears falling from her eyes. 

"I think that's enough physical torture for now." Max said, wiping the tears from her cheeks, kissing her sweetly. "I'm not too sure Max, she was being a brat." She could feel the zip slowly come undone, tooth by tooth. She could feel his fingers dance down her spine, tracing every divot. "She should be punished properly." The pretty dress stayed on the floor as Daniel pulled her out of Max's embrace, carrying her to the bedroom. Their boyfriend was quick to follow. 

She was placed on the bed gently, waiting for Max. Daniel kissed over her hips softly, making way down her thighs, biting down lightly, ensuring to leave a mark. "Daniel, be careful." Max chastised as he came into the room. He didn't listen, leaving marks as often as he could. Daniel soon found her cunt, licking her clit lightly to tease. She pushed her hips towards him, needing the contact. "Please Daniel, need you." She moaned out, look directly at Daniel between her legs. Soon she felt Max against her neck kissing sweetly, wanting to provide the smallest amount of comfort. "No, you don't deserve it, not after flirting with some random man at a bar instead of speaking to us." That didn't stop him from sucking her clit, rolling his around in circles, knowing it would drive her crazy. She opened her eyes as was met with Max's jeans and reached up, pulling the zip down slowly. "I want you in my mouth." She was almost testing him, would he be able to handle two orgasms in such a short amount of time. Max let out a whine as his cock was slowly pushed into her mouth, tongue teasing the tip. "Fuck Love, go slow." He was still sensitive after Daniel earlier. Speaking of, Daniel was now abusing her clit, tongue flat as he shook his head side to side. She pulled Max out of her mouth momentarily, running her hand up and down the shaft, "Please Danny, need to cum." She struggled to get out. It ha been so long since either of them touched her, she could get off on her own sure but it wasn't the same. It wasn't enough without them. She could feel the pleasure build in her lower abdomen as her legs began to shake slightly. "Yes Danny, I'm gonna cum, please." She didn't stop touching Max, she wanted him to cum, perhaps overstimulate him. "No, you don't deserve it, when are you gonna listen?" He pulled away quickly, leaving her on the edge. "No...Please." She whined, begging with pleading eyes, knowing Max would be very likely to give in.

"You have to earn it." Daniel stated, nodding his head towards their boyfriend, She moved away from the edge on the bed and towards Max, grasping his cock once again, pumping up and down a few times before licking a long stripe on the underside of his shaft. She felt Daniel's hand on the back of her head. His cock was pushed into her mouth quickly, slowly sucking. She was quick to bob her head, looking up ever now and then, watching Max's eyes roll back. "Fuck love, you feel so good." He moaned out, thrusting his hips slowly. "Make him cum, Love." Daniel stated, lightly taping her ass. Max groaned loudly, white painting her throat. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he sat back, feeling as though he was on cloud nine. "Good girl. Making Max feel so good...Get back on the pillow love." He motioned back as he kissed Max briefly, making sure he was good while they continued.

"Look at you, so pretty, so desperate for me." Daniel whispered, pulling her thighs apart and pushing her knees back. "Do you think you deserve to cum, hm?" She nodded quickly as Daniel began to push his cock in, inch by inch, rubbing her clit slowly, building her up again. "Yes. Please let me cum Danny, need you so bad". Her desperation was showing, but she couldn't help it. They had been away from each other for so long it was a need for the other. Daniel was thrusting slow but hard, another way of teasing her. "Max, come here Love. Need you to rub her clit for me, make her feel good." It wasn't really a demand but it was seen as necessary. Max came over quick, kissing her as soon as possible before his hand made contact with her cunt, her voice immediately hickuped as she gasped for air. The feeling of Max's fingers on her clit and Daniel hitting her G-spot, the fuzzy feeling was coming back. "Please I'll cum." She rushed the sentence so Max could continue to kiss her as much as possible, he missed her dearly, so finally being with her was a pleasurable experience on it's own. "Have you learned you're lesson?" Daniel asked between breaths, hips stuttering ever so slightly, enjoying the feeling of her around his painfully hard cock. "Yes, I promise, I'll be good. Please just let me cum." A smirk adorned his face as he looked at Max, silently telling him to practically abuse her clit until she cums. "Okay Love, come for us." Her legs were shaking violently as her hips came off of the mattress. Daniel covers her abdomen with his cum.

"So good love." Daniel whispered grabbing her jaw to pull her into a passionate kiss, his desire still not fully settled. They cleaned up quickly, not preventing them for making out as much as possible, just as handsy as before. Max behind her with his arm firm around her waist, her hand in the base of his hair pulling him down to kiss. Daniel on the other hand, kissing and marking her neck as much as possible, hands roaming over her legs. 

Soon they were laying together covered by an multitude of blankets. Max wasn't too fond of cuddling, he said it always got too warm, but that didn't stop him from touching them. She was resting on Daniel's chest while Max had a hand on her waist. "So...What's actually wrong?" Daniel asked after a while, Max wasn't fully aware of the problem. "So that's why you slammed the door earlier." Max stated, letting his hand run up and down her waist. "It's stupid, so don't worry about it." She said, burying her face further into Daniel. "It's not stupid if it's upsetting you." Max said, lifting his body up slightly, leaning closer to her. This made her feel even worse than she already did. "You wont say anything?" She waited for them to nod before speaking again. "I came home earlier and...and I heard Max moaning but.." She was soon interrupted  buy Daniel, who clearly had mixed feelings. "So you're mad I was blowing Max earlier, you know there's nothing wrong with that." She could tell he was slightly confused, he wanted to comfort her, but didn't know how he was supposed to do that when she was being dramatic. "No, it's not that, of course I'm not bothered that you have sex, whatever kind that is, you're dating each other too. It was Max asking you not to tell me. Why would you need to keep it a secret?" She sighed, face becoming warm.

 "Well...I didn't want you to feel bad. We've been together for months as in turn fucking for months. It's unfair on you if we talk all about it without you asking." Max stated simply, pulling her close to him, feeling a need to touch her. Perhaps it was a way of apologising. "It's not your fault Max is insatiable." Daniel laughed, hands behind his head. "Well fuck, I got spanked for nothing." She sighed, pulling Max in for another kiss. "Now lets not say nothing, you were flirting with that guy." She shook her head and smiled, placing  a peck on Daniel's cheek. "Well I wasn't actually flirting with him. I knew you were watching and I wanted your attention. Plus I'd never do anything, I'll always come home to you two." 

"Since you wanted the attention, how about we give you some more."

[https-bakugo]

Chapter 05.

♡ twenty three

♡ rivals to lovers / fake dating

♡ cw / tw : Drinking. Mentions of alcohol. Violence. Reader is hit on by someone.

Kaminari grinned as he pushed the door to the bar open. His hand tightly gripping that of his girlfriends he meets your gaze. “You and Bakugo go sit wherever you want. I’ll take this one-” He motions to the brunette standing next to him - who giggles at his antics, a soft pink flushing against her cheeks. “To get us some drinks.” Denki muses happily, nudging the girl closer to him with a quiet, “C’mon babe, let’s leave the lovebirds alone.”

Bakugo scoffs and rolls his eyes at one of his friend’s antics. It was irritating enough that Denki and the rest of his friends were all trying to play cupid with the both of you but the looks you were giving him during the whole car ride here wasn’t helping with their, “Shipping fuel.” Bakugo swore if he had to read more fanfiction of you both - courtesy of Mina - he might commit first degree murder.

And then there was Denki’s fucking questions during the trip to the bar.

“So [Name], what do you think about Bakugo?”

“Fake dating must be so hard. Why don’t you both - oh I dunno, start dating for real! Then you won’t struggle with keeping the act up!”

Shut up dunce face oh my god shut up.

And it really wasn’t helping that you were conveniently wearing the same perfume tonight - that you were wearing on the night of the gala. 

The one that made him feel like he was drowning in you. 

In your presence.

“Why are you just standing there?” Your voice broke Bakugo out of his train of thought, “You were the one that wanted to make our relationship seem more ‘realistic’ and decided it would be a good idea to accept Kaminari’s invitation to go on a double date.” You crossed your arms over your chest and Bakugo rolled his eyes at your sass.

“Yea, I did. And you know as well as I do, that this shit will help us in the fucking hero ranks. So maybe you should stop acting like such a fucking brat and let me take you out on this…” He caught himself before he could say the word.

A date.

“...day out.” 

Bakugo finished, a soft red creeping up his neck as he averted his eyes.

You snorted and shook your head. “Nice save.” You grinned, punching him lightly on the chest. “C’mon. Where do you wanna sit?” You pulled the door open for him. “Oh excuse my manners.” You bowed at him and hummed. “Ladies first.” 

Bakugo rolled his eyes and stepped inside, looking around at the bar as you followed at his heels. “Over there.” He pointed to a corner which looked secluded enough, he just prayed that nobody would disturb any of you. 

It was annoying enough dealing with crazy fans while he was on duty, but it was even more annoying when he had to deal with them in public. 

At least when he was working he could deflect the clingy fuckers under the guise that he was on the clock - which by any means wasn’t wrong. He was on the shift! People should know better than to bother a hero that was working.

But here?

It was fair game. He couldn’t push them away unless he wanted to drop in the ranks even further, and seeing that Bakugo was doing this whole fake dating shtick to keep himself from falling in the ranks in the first place - if he yelled at his fans he wouldn’t hear the end of it from his PR manager. 

“You’re thinking again.” Your voice sounded bored as the both of you sat down facing each other.

Bakugo met your eyes and his eyebrows furrowed. “What am I supposed to do? Stop thinking?” 

You rolled your eyes with a snort.

“Honestly? That sounds like a dream to be honest.” 

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

Silence stretched between the both of you. But it wasn’t unwelcomed. It was actually kind of nice.

“I’m going to the bathroom. Dunce face and his girl should be back soon. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” Bakugo muttered, pushing himself out of his seat and walking to the otherside of the bar, disappearing in the mob of people.

Now, by yourself you decided to take in your surroundings and listen in onto a group of three girls sitting from a table across you.

“So Kenzie. It’s a Friday night, any plans for the weekend?” The first girl looked at the other with a grin.

“I dunno Ari… Sammie and her boyfriend were planning on taking me to see him soon so maybe that?” The second girl looked at the third who shrugged.

“When Keigo isn’t so busy I think that would be a good idea. Your man does get a little lonely by himself all day don’t you think?” The third girl - Sammie spoke up before turning her attention to Ari.

“So… what about you and your man?”

The first girl grew clearly embarrassed at this mention of her ‘man’, a bright red blush flushing up her neck as she stammered out excuses about how she was unable to meet her “number one hero” that week.

A smile tugged at your lips.

So she’s Deku’s mystery girl. Maybe I should talk to him about her some time.

“Hey there, pretty thing.”

A sleazy voice calls out from your side and you look up. The man standing over you must be at least fifteen - maybe twenty years older than you? He was clearly drunk too, sporting a bright red blush and an obvious stumble in his steps.

“Leave me alone.” You mumbled, looking away.

“Awe c'mon babe! Don’t be a buzzkill.” He slurred, tipping his head forehead as he reached for your hand.

You slapped it away and glared. “I said I’m not interested. Piss off. Do you not know who the fuck I am?” You shot back, sure using your quirk on civilians was definitely not allowed, surely you could have done something here. Maybe scare the freak off or something.

“Are we having a fucking problem here.” 

Bakugo’s voice came out strained as his ruby eyes glared at you and the man looming over you. He stared at the way the man tried grabbing your hand and how uncomfortable you looked.

“And who the fuck might you be?” The man stared at Bakugo, it was so obvious he was out of it. The whole bar had gone silent as the crackle and pop of Dynamight’s quirk in his palms echoed around the establishment.

“I’m their fucking boyfriend.” He hissed. People had begun to pull out their phones and record the whole ordeal. You yanked your hand out of his grip and practically scrambled to Bakugo’s side - seeking comfort against his warmth.

A familiar and warm hand was placed on your shoulder.

I’ve got you.

“Beat it bitch. Before I tear you a new fucking asshole.”

The man decided the hassle would be too much as he mumbled a half-assed apology under his breath and slinked away. The small crowd disperses, going back to doing what they were before the whole scuffle.

“Are you okay?” Bakugo whispered as you sighed.

“Yea… I got it under control though. You didn’t have to save me y'know?” You grumbled. Sure you were grateful for his help but he didn’t need to know that.

Bakugo snorted and shook his head. “Right. Under control.” 

“I did!” You protested, a grin on your face. Bakugo chuckled. "Just... sit down. Idiot." he sighed, shaking his head.

"So rude." You huffed, sitting back down. "When is Kaminari getting back?" You asked, looking around for the other blond. 

Bakugo turned his head and jutted his thumb out to a slightly buzzed Kaminari draped over his girlfriend's shoulder.

"Speak of the devil." 

Bakugo grinned.

You grinned back.

-

The city lights melded and meshed together in a whirl of colour. You stared longingly out of the sports car's window.

You had fun tonight. With Bakugo.

It was strange, that was for sure, you never thought that you would be enjoying the presence of the Katsuki Bakugo in your life like ever.

But you had fun tonight, sure most of it was to just make the headlines and show off to the press but at one point, the thought of your ranking had slipped from your mind and you began enjoying yourself. 

“Where to from here?” Bakugo’s voice was soft, and you snapped out of your train of thought, observing your surroundings. 

“Uhhh… next left and it should be the third one on the right.” You mumbled as Bakugo pulled the car to a slow stop at the red light.

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, clearly deep in thought.

“What are you thinking about?”

Your voice broke him out of his train of thought and Bakugo shrugged. “Stuff.” He mumbled. “Did you have a good time?”

You nodded, looking back out at the window. “Yea. Did you?”

“I did.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry. For what I said.” You mumbled as Bakugo stepped on the gas, his brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The night of the gala. I said I hated you? That was a lie.” 

Bakugo’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“I don’t hate you. Hate is too much of a strong word. I’d say dislike is too strong of a word too. There are some things you do that piss me off but I wouldn’t say I hate you… y’know?” You shrugged.

Bakugo nodded, swallowing.

“I never hated you either.” He mumbled under his breath, pulling up to your driveway.

You paused, before turning your head to meet his gaze. “You didn’t?”

He shook his head. “Nah. You were annoying as fuck but I never hated you.”

A small smile creeped onto your face and Bakugo silently thanked his lucky stars that it was dark out, lest you see the blush that would creep onto his cheeks.

“Well then. Truce?” You stuck your hand out.

Bakugo rolled his eyes and sighed, reaching out for your hand. “Truce.” 

You grinned.

Bakugo grinned back.

-

“You do have a bit of an ego though. Might wanna get that checked out if you wanna be the number one.” You shrugged, sliding your key into your door.

Bakugo stared at you and frowned. “You’ve got an ego too bitch. Don’t fuckin’ play with me.”

“Bitch??”

“Do you wanna go? Right here?”

“I’ll fuckin’ body you even in this outfit.”

“You’re so on.”

-> Masterlist

taglist [OPEN] : @luvseraphh - @tlissablr - @havemyheartt - @smelliottle - @sakurayashiro - @peachesvault - @qyuin - @kaidostwin - @wonubby - @moochiwoochi - @coldnightshark - @kalulakunundrum - @sexylexy12 - @rednicotine - @samm1e13 - @kawoala - @neptuneevee - @kodditty - @hecate-frenchfries - @eyesforbkg - @takoyakitakii - @m0nnypie

© HTTPS-BAKUGO. Do not steal, copy or use any of my work for AI. Legal action will take place if caught.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ homecoming

chapter summary: While giving a guest lecture at your alma mater, you run into two people you never expected to meet.

word count: 9.4k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: the ending of this is kind of the set up for every other chapter; you'll see what i mean when you read it :)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, shy!reader, mention of absent parents, oral (f!receiving) fluff, slight angst

series masterlist - chapter 2 → chapter 4

“When two particles interact, they become linked, no matter how far apart they are. Changing one affects the other instantaneously, faster than light…”

Your voice faltered as you glanced at Logan, who sat at one of the desks, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with a small, amused smile. He wasn’t even trying to hide how much he adored you. You could practically feel it radiating off of him.

You froze mid-step, letting out a soft sigh. “This isn’t going to work,” you said, taking off your glasses and rubbing the bridge of your nose.

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “What’s not gonna work, sweetheart?”

“This,” you gestured toward him, exasperated but fond. “You’re looking at me like my husband, not a bored college student who probably only showed up because there’s free food after the lecture. How am I supposed to practice if you’re just… swooning at me?”

Logan leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “Swooning, huh? Don’t think anyone’s ever accused me of that before.”

You crossed your arms, trying to appear stern, but the warmth in his gaze made it impossible. “I’m serious, Logan. I need honest feedback, not… whatever this is.”

Pushing himself up from the chair, Logan walked toward you, his hands finding your waist as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Alright, darlin’. Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll make it more realistic for you.”

“Logan—” you started to protest, but he was already heading toward the door, a sly grin on his face.

When he returned, you were taken aback. Logan had enlisted some of the younger students—Rogue, Bobby, and Kitty, among others—and had them seated in the classroom. To keep things authentic, he had provided them with snacks and, you suspected, strict instructions to act as uninterested and distracted as possible. Rogue was already doodling on her notebook, Kitty was whispering something to Bobby, and Jubilee was tapping her pen loudly on the desk.

You frowned, looking at Logan as he leaned casually against the wall near the door. “You know I already teach them, right? This isn’t exactly a new audience.”

Logan shrugged, that trademark smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, but they’re good at actin’ like they don’t care. Go on. You’ve got this.”

Rolling your eyes, you adjusted your glasses and turned back to face the room. The students quieted down a little, though their expressions remained deliberately bored. With a deep breath, you launched back into your explanation, this time ignoring Logan’s soft chuckles in the background.

---

Later that evening, after the impromptu lecture had ended and Logan had dismissed the students, you found yourself in the library, curled up in one of the oversized chairs with a book. Logan entered quietly, his presence impossible to miss as he sat down on the arm of your chair.

“You did great, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and warm.

You glanced up at him, a small smile on your lips. “You think so?”

He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “I know so. You’re brilliant. Just had to make sure you believed it.”

Feeling a little less shy, you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Thank you, Logan. For always believing in me.”

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Always, darlin’.”

For a moment, the world seemed to still, and it was just the two of you, together in the quiet.

---

“Well, if there are no more questions…” Robert, one of the faculty at Stanford, looked out into the audience, giving a polite nod toward the murmuring crowd. “Alright, thank you, Mrs. Howlett, for coming all this way for us.”

The room began to stir as students shuffled in their seats, gathering their belongings. A few polite claps echoed, mingling with the hushed sounds of conversation. “There are some food and drinks out in the hall if you’d—ah, no point,” Robert trailed off as half the students ignored him, funneling toward the exit.

You stood by the podium, your heart still racing slightly from the presentation. Public speaking wasn’t your forte, but Stanford was your alma mater, and you’d been determined to deliver a polished talk. From your vantage point, you spotted Logan lingering near the back, his arms crossed, a half-smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t bother to hide the pride in his expression.

As the room emptied, Logan made his way toward you. His heavy boots echoed in the quieting auditorium, his presence grounding as always. “Told ya it’d go fine,” he said as he stopped in front of you.

You smiled, still a little flustered. “Yeah, well… you’re biased.”

Logan snorted. “Sure. But it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a surprising gentleness. “Proud of you, darlin’. Bet half of them couldn’t keep up, but that’s their loss.”

Rolling your eyes, you adjusted your glasses. “Thanks, Logan. That was—”

“—adorable? Endearing? Downright brilliant?” he offered, smirking.

“Not what I was going to say,” you replied with a laugh, shoving his arm lightly. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

He stepped aside to let you lead the way, trailing comfortably behind you. Once outside, you were both met with the sharp, sunny California afternoon, a stark contrast to the cool Westchester climate you were used to. The warmth in the air was matched by your mood—light, content, maybe a little relieved.

But before either of you could make it to the parking lot, a voice called from behind.

“Excuse me! Y/N?”

You froze mid-step, the hair on your arms standing on end. Logan instantly noticed your shift, his body tensing as he placed a steadying hand on your lower back. Turning slowly, you were met with the sight of an older couple, a man and a woman in their late fifties or early sixties. The man wore a sharp suit, the woman a tasteful blazer, though they both looked somewhat uncertain, hesitant.

The woman took a step forward. “Hi… I—I know this is sudden, but…” Her gaze searched yours for recognition, but there was none. Her voice softened. “We’re your parents.”

Your stomach dropped.

The words hung in the air like they weren’t real, their weight pressing down on your chest. Your first instinct was to laugh, to brush it off as some cruel joke, but their expressions didn’t shift. They were hopeful. Nervous.

Logan’s hand tightened ever so slightly against your back, a subtle reminder that he was there. You swallowed hard, taking a shaky breath as your mind struggled to catch up.

“I—I don’t…” you stammered. “Why now?”

The man, your supposed father, winced. “That’s a fair question. We—well, we’ve always regretted not reaching out sooner.”

“Sooner?” The word caught in your throat as you tried to process. “I’ve been alive for twenty-seven years. You could’ve called. Written. Literally anything. But you didn’t. And now, suddenly—”

“We’re sorry,” the woman interrupted softly, her eyes glossy. “We want to get to know you, if you’ll let us. Maybe… dinner? Tonight?”

You flinched at the suggestion, glancing at Logan. His jaw was tight, his gaze scrutinizing, but he didn’t speak, letting you handle this at your own pace. For a moment, you wanted him to step in, to tell them off for their audacity. But you shook the thought away, taking another deep breath.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally managed, your voice flat. “Can I… get back to you?”

They nodded quickly, a mixture of relief and sadness flickering across their faces. “Of course,” your father said. “Here—” He handed over a business card, the expensive stock and minimalist design further underlining the contrast between their lives and the one you’d known.

After a few more polite murmurs, they walked away, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.

---

Back at the hotel, you paced the room restlessly while Logan sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with a mix of concern and quiet protectiveness. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Darlin’,” he said gently, “you don’t owe them anything.”

You stopped, turning to face him. “But what if I do? They’re my parents, Logan. My parents. And I don’t even know why they gave me up. What if it was something… unavoidable? What if they’ve changed?” You ran a hand through your hair, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. “What if I’m just being a coward by not hearing them out?”

Logan stood, crossing the room in two strides to stand in front of you. His hands rested on your shoulders, grounding you. “Coward? No. You’re not that. But you don’t gotta torture yourself trying to fix somethin’ that ain’t your fault.”

His words soothed a little of the storm inside you, but they didn’t erase it entirely. “I know,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “But if I don’t go, I’ll always wonder. I just…” You hesitated, looking up at him. “I don’t want to do it alone.”

His expression softened instantly. “You think I’d let you?” he said, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “If you decide to meet ‘em, I’ll be there. No question. Always.”

The weight in your chest lifted slightly. With Logan, it didn’t feel as scary. You nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it. Dinner.”

Logan pressed a light kiss to your forehead. “Alright, sweetheart. But just say the word, and we’re outta there.”

---

You fiddled with the edge of your dress, keeping your gaze down from your ‘parents’ across the small restaurant table. The world around you was warm and inviting—the soft clatter of plates, the low hum of conversation—but it might as well have been silent. Your parents, the very people who had abandoned you as a child, now sat across from you, smiling as though they’d earned this moment.

Logan, ever your anchor, sat beside you, his hand resting lightly on your knee under the table. The subtle pressure was calming, a wordless reminder that he was here, that you weren’t alone in this. You took a steadying breath and finally looked up to meet their gazes.

“So,” your mother began, her tone almost too casual, as though she were trying to bridge a lifetime of absence with small talk. “How long have you and Logan been together?”

You hesitated, glancing at Logan. He gave you an encouraging nod, his expression unreadable to anyone but you. “About a year and a half,” you said finally. “We got married six months ago.”

“Married already?” your father said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s… fast, isn’t it?”

“Not when you know it’s right,” Logan said smoothly, his voice low and steady. He leaned back in his chair, his arm now draped along the back of yours. Though he appeared relaxed, you could sense the subtle tension in his posture. He was watching them, every word and movement, like a hawk.

Your mother smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And where do you work now? Still at Stanford?”

“No,” you replied, shaking your head. “I teach physics at a school in New York.”

“Physics,” your father repeated, his tone carrying a trace of surprise. “That’s impressive. Your grandmother always did say you were smart.” He sipped his wine, glancing briefly at Logan. “And Logan? What do you do?”

“I’m a teacher too,” Logan said simply, his gaze unwavering.

Your mother tilted her head, clearly not expecting that answer. “Oh? What subject?”

“History,” Logan replied. His tone was polite enough, but you could tell he was tiring of the scrutiny.

You shifted uncomfortably, eager to steer the conversation away from Logan. “What made you decide to reach out now?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended but firm.

Your parents exchanged a quick look, and your mother’s smile faltered. “Well,” she began, folding her hands in her lap, “we’ve been thinking about you for a long time. And after your grandfather passed recently…” She trailed off, her expression turning somber.

Your chest tightened at the mention of your grandfather. Though your grandparents had divorced long before you were born, you’d had a close relationship with him growing up. Although, it had fizzled out when she died, he still made sure to send you letters every holiday.

Your father cleared his throat, his voice gentler now. “He left something for you in his will. A substantial inheritance. We thought it was important that we deliver the news personally.”

You blinked, stunned. “What?”

“He wanted you to have it,” your mother added quickly, as if that somehow justified their sudden reappearance in your life. “He left… quite a bit of money. Enough to make a difference.”

The words hung in the air like a lead weight. You glanced at him, and his jaw was set, his eyes sharp as they flicked between your parents.

“So, let me get this straight,” Logan said, his voice low and cutting. “You didn’t want her. Didn’t care enough to reach out for twenty-seven years. But now that there’s money involved, you’re here playin’ happy family?”

Your father bristled, his gaze hardening. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” Logan shot back, his tone daring him to argue. “Sounds pretty accurate to me.”

Your mother opened her mouth to respond, but the ringing of Logan’s phone cut through the tension. He pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen. “It’s Jean,” he muttered to you, standing. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

As Logan stepped away, your parents exchanged another look before your father let out a quiet scoff. “That’s who you married?” he said under his breath, though he didn’t bother to lower his voice enough for you to miss it.

Something in you snapped.

“That’s who I married,” you said sharply, your voice louder than you intended. Both of them turned to look at you, startled. “The man who’s been there for me every single day. Who loves me, supports me, and makes me feel like I matter. Unlike the two of you, who couldn’t even be bothered to stick around when I needed you.”

Your mother’s eyes widened. “We—”

“No,” you interrupted, standing now, your hands trembling. “You don’t get to explain. You don’t get to waltz into my life after nearly three decades and act like you care. You gave me up. You made that choice. And you don’t get to make me feel guilty for not wanting to play along with whatever this is.”

The restaurant was quiet now, other diners casting wary glances your way, but you didn’t care. You grabbed your bag, your heart pounding. “If Grandpa wanted me to have the money, fine. But don’t pretend you’re here for me. You’re here because you know you have no claim to it, and you’re hoping I’ll feel sorry enough for you to share.”

Your father’s face hardened, but your mother looked close to tears. As you turned to leave, you caught sight of Logan standing just outside the restaurant’s glass door, his expression unreadable. You knew he’d heard every word, his enhanced hearing ensuring he hadn’t missed a thing.

When you stepped outside, his arms were around you instantly, pulling you close. “You okay, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

You nodded against his chest, the weight of the confrontation beginning to lift. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I am now.”

Logan pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his grip tightening slightly. “Proud of you,” he said simply, and those three words meant more than anything else in that moment.

As you walked away from the restaurant together, hand in hand, you felt lighter. Logan was your family now, and with him, you had everything you needed.

---

Logan paced quietly near the small dresser in the hotel room, the dim light catching on the hard line of his jaw. You sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing your dress over your knees, the faint hum of the air conditioning filling the space. The weight of the confrontation had lifted slightly, replaced by a strange, bittersweet relief.

“Feel okay?” Logan asked, his voice soft, breaking the silence. He stopped pacing, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he looked at you.

You nodded, offering a small smile. “I think I do. It’s like… I finally said everything I’ve wanted to say for years. I’m not sure I even care about the inheritance. It’s just nice to have it out.”

Logan stepped closer, his movements measured, his eyes searching yours. “You were incredible back there,” he said. “I meant it when I said I was proud of you. Standing up for yourself, for us—it wasn’t easy, but you didn’t back down.”

His words sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the room. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You felt the bed dip slightly as he sat down beside you, his arm coming to rest around your shoulders. He didn’t rush you, just sat there, his presence solid and grounding.

“You sure you’re fine?” he asked again, his fingers brushing against your shoulder in a light, comforting touch.

You tilted your head to look at him, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. “I’m sure,” you said firmly this time, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “Especially with you here.”

Logan’s eyes softened, a small smirk forming as he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re stronger than you think, sweetheart.”

His hand slid from your shoulder to the curve of your waist, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your dress. The touch was subtle, almost absentminded, but it sent a shiver down your spine. You leaned into him, your breath catching as his lips found the corner of your mouth.

“Logan,” you murmured, a hint of hesitation in your voice.

“Hmm?” His lips moved along your jaw, slow and deliberate, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re good, right? Tell me to stop if you need to.”

You shook your head, your hands finding his chest. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all he needed to hear. Logan’s lips claimed yours fully, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck. The kiss was slow but deep, his tongue teasing against yours, drawing a quiet moan from your throat. His other hand slid lower, skimming the edge of your dress before tugging it slightly higher, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your thigh.

“You’re wearing this damn thing to kill me, aren’t you?” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough with need.

You flushed, a soft laugh escaping. “It’s just a dress.”

“It’s more than just a dress,” Logan said, his hand gripping your thigh, pulling you closer. His lips moved to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there. “It’s you in it.”

Your breath hitched as his teeth grazed your pulse point, your hands clutching at his shirt. “Logan…”

"Let me take care of you, darlin’," Logan murmured, his voice low and intimate. Before you could respond, he was guiding you back onto the bed, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing the fabric of your dress higher. His touch was firm yet deliberate, each movement precise and confident, like he already knew exactly what you needed.

The hem of your dress bunched at your hips as Logan settled between your legs, his rough hands warm against your thighs. His eyes met yours, the intensity there enough to send your heart racing. "Still okay?" he asked softly, his voice steady, but his grip tightened slightly, grounding you.

You nodded, breath hitching slightly. "I’m fine, Logan. Really."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Good. ‘Cause I’m not stoppin’ unless you tell me to."

His hands pressed your thighs open further, his gaze locked on the spot where your panties were already damp. He hooked his thumbs into the fabric and dragged it down slowly, the rough pads of his fingers grazing your skin and making you shiver. The cool air of the room hit you, but Logan’s warm breath soon replaced it, and you squirmed in anticipation.

"Patience," he muttered, his tone edged with teasing as his hands slid back up your legs, spreading them wider. His lips pressed to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving a trail of kisses that grew closer and closer to where you ached for him most.

"Logan," you whispered, your voice barely audible. It wasn’t a plea—it was a need, a longing you couldn’t contain.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I know," he murmured, his breath hot against you. Then his mouth was on you, his tongue moving with slow, deliberate strokes that had your hands clutching at the sheets. Logan worked with a practiced precision, the rough scrape of his stubble against your skin contrasting perfectly with the soft heat of his tongue.

Your head fell back against the pillows as a quiet gasp escaped your lips. The tension in your body began to melt away, replaced by a wave of warmth and pleasure that only he could give. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, keeping you in place as he delved deeper, his tongue exploring every sensitive spot with maddening care.

"You taste so fuckin’ good," he said against you, his voice a low growl that sent a fresh surge of heat through your body. He glanced up briefly, his lips glistening. "Could stay here all damn night."

You bit your lip, your hands reaching down to thread through his hair, the soft strands catching between your fingers. "Logan," you whispered again, more insistently this time. The sound of his name seemed to spur him on, his tongue circling that sensitive bundle of nerves before sucking gently, drawing a shuddering moan from you.

His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you steady as your hips jerked reflexively against his mouth. Logan groaned low in his throat, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through you. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, just kept up the steady rhythm that had your body trembling beneath him.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he muttered against your skin, his voice rough, his lips brushing the slick heat between your thighs. "Love hearing those sounds you make."

You swallowed hard, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. "Logan... please," you murmured, your fingers curling tighter in his hair, urging him closer.

"Please what?" he rasped, his lips pressing kisses along your inner thigh before returning to where you needed him most. His tongue flicked over your clit again, and you nearly cried out, your back arching off the bed.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. "Don’t stop."

Logan smirked against you, his hands shifting to grip your hips, pulling you closer to his mouth. "Didn’t plan on it, darlin’."

He was relentless, his tongue teasing and stroking in ways that made your head spin. The sensation built steadily, your body tightening as the heat coiled low in your belly. You couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel as he worked you over, his stubble rough against your skin and his tongue unyielding.

"Oh- Logan," you gasped, your thighs trembling against his shoulders. He hummed in response, the sound low and guttural, his hands flexing against your hips.

The tension inside you snapped suddenly, and your entire body arched as a wave of heat and pleasure crashed over you. You cried out, your fingers tugging at his hair as you rode out the aftershocks, your thighs quivering in his grasp. Logan didn’t stop until you were squirming, pushing weakly at his shoulders as the sensation became too much.

He finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening as he looked up at you with a satisfied grin. "There’s my girl," he murmured, his voice soft but edged with pride.

You let out a shaky breath, your head falling back against the pillow as you tried to steady your racing heart. Logan moved up the bed, settling beside you, his hand brushing against your arm as he leaned in to press a kiss to your temple.

"You good?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost tender.

You nodded, your breath still uneven. "Yeah. I’m good."

Logan stretched out beside you, pulling you close until your head rested against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat grounding you. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, his other arm draped over your waist.

"Meant what I said earlier," he murmured, breaking the comfortable silence. "You were amazing tonight. Stood your ground, didn’t take any crap. Made me proud, sweetheart."

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you tilted your head to look at him. "Thank you," you said softly, your voice steady now.

Logan leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You don’t gotta thank me for telling the truth."

You settled back against him, your body relaxing completely for the first time all evening. Logan’s hand stayed firm on your back, his thumb tracing idle patterns against your skin as the quiet settled between you.

In that moment, there was no past, no lingering tension from the confrontation earlier. Just you and Logan, tangled together on the bed, his presence steady and unshakable.

---

You walked into the kitchen, the scent of freshly baked cookies still wafting in the air. Your eyes immediately caught Logan, mid-action, reaching for one of the chocolate chip cookies you and Jean had finished less than 30 minutes ago.

Before he could take a bite, you hurried over, grabbing his wrist. "Wait! I wanted that one!"

Logan looked down at you, raising an eyebrow in mild amusement. "There’s more right here, darlin’," he said, nodding toward the plate piled high with cookies on the counter.

You shook your head stubbornly, crossing your arms while keeping your hand on his wrist. "But I don’t want those," you said. "I want that one."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "They’re all the same, sweetheart," he teased, holding the cookie just out of reach and starting to lift it toward his mouth. "Bet you wouldn’t even know the difference."

"I would," you shot back quickly. "That’s the one I want, Logan."

He smirked, his lips curling around the edges of the cookie as if to bite into it anyway, just to prove a point. Your eyes narrowed, and you acted on pure instinct.

Leaning in quickly, you pressed your lips to his, a fleeting but deliberate kiss. The move startled him just enough to loosen his grip, giving you the perfect opportunity to snag the cookie out of his hand.

"Ha!" you exclaimed triumphantly, taking a step back and holding the cookie aloft like it was a trophy.

Logan blinked, recovering from the surprise, and his smirk deepened into a full grin. "Did you just—" he started, shaking his head as his laughter spilled out. "That’s dirty play, darlin’. Using a kiss to steal it? You’re lucky you’re cute."

You bit into the cookie with an exaggeratedly smug expression, savoring the sweet, warm taste. "Lucky has nothing to do with it," you replied between bites.

He stepped toward you, a playful gleam in his eyes. "You know that’s not gonna fly, right? No one steals from me and gets away with it."

You tried to dart around the island, but Logan was too quick. He caught you easily, one arm looping around your waist to pull you close. You squealed, half-laughing, holding the half-eaten cookie out of his reach.

"Let me finish it!" you said, your voice muffled by laughter.

"Not a chance," Logan murmured, his nose brushing against your cheek. "Not after that stunt."

"Logan!" You wiggled in his grip, still laughing, trying not to crumble what remained of the cookie.

He dipped his head closer, murmuring low against your ear, "Fine. You win. This time." Then, with one swift motion, he stole a bite of the cookie you were holding, his smirk more self-satisfied than ever as he pulled back.

"Hey!"

"What? Just evening the score," he said, popping the stolen bite into his mouth.

The playful bickering turned to more laughter as you stayed in the kitchen, Logan’s hold never loosening entirely. Jean walked in a moment later, glancing between the two of you, her hands on her hips.

"You two do realize there’s a whole plate of cookies, right?" she asked, her tone laced with amusement.

"It’s not about the cookie, Jean," Logan replied smoothly, casting you a wink that made your cheeks heat. "It’s the principle of the thing."

Jean rolled her eyes. "You two are ridiculous. But at least now I know who I should’ve made extra for."

Still tucked against Logan’s side, you shot her a sheepish grin. "It’s his fault," you said, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

Jean just shook her head, smirking. "Sure it is," she said before grabbing a cookie and walking out of the kitchen, leaving the two of you tangled together in the aftermath of your very serious cookie standoff.

Logan’s grip stayed firm as he kissed your temple, murmuring, "You’re somethin’ else, you know that?"

"Is that a bad thing?" you teased, nibbling at the remaining bite of your cookie.

"Not even close," he said with a warm grin, his thumb tracing a slow, reassuring pattern against your waist.

---

Logan grumbled at his desk, glaring at the stack of papers in front of him like they owed him money. Being the history teacher wasn’t exactly his dream job, and grading exams just reinforced how much he hated it.

"How the hell do you mess up World War II?" he muttered under his breath, flipping through yet another exam where half the essay was about Napoleon. "Wrong war, wrong damn century."

Arms came around his neck from behind, your soft sleep shirt brushing against his skin. “You’re gonna tear that paper from how hard you’re grippin’ it.”

Logan’s scowl softened as your voice cut through his frustration, and the stiff set of his shoulders relaxed just a little. He glanced over at you, leaning against him with sleepy eyes and tousled hair, clearly fresh from bed. You were wrapped up in one of his old flannel shirts, sleeves hanging past your hands, paired with soft, fuzzy sleep pants. The sight alone made him feel warmer.

“Kid deserved it,” he muttered, though his tone had lost its bite. He held up the offending exam. “Wrote about Napoleon in World War II. Napoleon. You believe that?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, lips brushing against the edge of his ear as you leaned closer. “Maybe they figured he’d make a comeback.”

“Yeah, well, if he did, he’d still lose.” He dropped the paper onto the growing pile with a grunt and tilted his head back to look up at you. “What’re you doin’ up? Thought you were out cold.”

“I was,” you murmured, fingers absentmindedly tracing the line of his jaw. “You weren’t there.”

Logan stilled for a moment, his sharp gaze catching yours even upside down. That quiet admission—so simple, so soft—always hit him deeper than he cared to admit. He reached up, catching your hand in his larger one, and brought it down to rest against his chest.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, voice lower now, rough around the edges like it always was when he spoke to you. “Go back to bed. I’ll join you in a bit.”

You stayed still, your other arm still looped around his neck as you leaned more of your weight against him. “You’ve been at this for hours,” you said softly, glancing at the remaining stack of exams. “You’ll fall asleep right here at the desk.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Logan said with a slight smirk, but when you didn’t let go, he sighed. “You don’t quit, do ya?”

“Not when it comes to you,” you answered with an ease that made his chest tighten.

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he turned in his chair, his hands landing lightly on your waist to steady you. “Alright, darlin’. You win.” He stood, forcing you to step back slightly, though he kept one hand on your hip as if afraid you’d float away otherwise. “But if I see Napoleon showin’ up in another World War II exam, I’m quittin’ this job.”

You grinned, taking his hand as you tugged him toward the bed. “I’ll talk to Scott. Maybe he’ll give you a raise.”

Logan scoffed. “Yeah, I’ll hold my breath.”

The bedroom was dimly lit, moonlight spilling through the partially open curtains. You crawled back onto the bed first, curling up under the comforter as you waited for him. Logan, meanwhile, paused just long enough to strip off his shirt, leaving him in just his sweats before he settled in beside you. The bed dipped under his weight as he pulled you close, his arm sliding under your head to tuck you against his chest.

You melted into him easily, your cheek pressed to his bare skin as you sighed contentedly. “See? Isn’t this better than failing kids for Napoleon?”

“I wasn’t failin’ him,” Logan murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Gave him a mercy D.”

You couldn’t help but giggle quietly, and Logan felt the sound reverberate against him. “Mercy D,” you repeated. “You’re such a softie.”

“Watch it,” he warned, but there was no heat in it. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns along your back through the flannel, and for a while, the room settled into silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of blankets and the steady rhythm of your breathing.

You broke the quiet first, your voice soft and muffled against his chest. “Why do you still do it?”

Logan blinked, looking down at you. “Do what?”

“Teach history.” You tilted your head slightly, “you don’t seem to like it much.”

He exhaled slowly, his hand stilling on your back. “Someone’s gotta do it. Better me than some idiot who doesn’t know the difference between Normandy and Napoleon.”

You smiled faintly at that. “Fair point.”

Logan’s voice softened as he continued. “Most of these kids—hell, they don’t know half of what happened before they were born. I figure if they’re gonna learn somethin’ about the past, it might as well be from someone who’s lived a lot of it.”

You looked up at him then, your gaze searching his face in the dim light. Logan didn’t look away, but there was something guarded in his expression, like he wasn’t sure why he’d admitted that much.

“You’re a good teacher,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his chest.

Logan snorted. “Yeah. Tell that to the kid who thinks Napoleon was stormin’ the beaches at Normandy.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest before settling back down. “Well, I think you’re great.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, but his arm tightened slightly around you, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to your hair. “Get some sleep, darlin’,” he murmured. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You smiled against his skin, letting his warmth lull you back to sleep. Logan stayed awake a little longer, though, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as his fingers traced absent patterns against your back again. He didn’t say it out loud, but moments like this—the quiet, the warmth of you beside him—were the reason he stuck around at all.

For someone who’d lived lifetimes, this was the only one that mattered.

---

As you were walking from your classroom to your office, Jean called out your name telepathically, “someone’s at the front door for you.”

You frowned and made your way over to where a man in casual clothing stood outside. “Hello?” You asked, Jean holding the door only halfway open.

“Are you Y/N Howlett?”

“Yes.” You responded, moving slightly closer to Jean for comfort.

The man held out an envelope, “you’ve been served.”

You stared at him, stomach dropping at the words. Slowly, you reached out and took the envelope, the weight of it far heavier than just paper. Your fingers barely curled around it before the man turned and walked away without another word, leaving you and Jean standing in the doorway.

Jean looked at you, her brows furrowed in concern. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice carefully even.

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes still on the envelope as if opening it might explode your entire life apart. "I..." You glanced at Jean, trying to ground yourself in her steady presence. "I don’t know."

“Come inside.” She placed a hand on your back and guided you gently through the door.

Once inside, she closed it behind you and walked you to one of the couches in the main hall. Her calm, methodical movements gave you enough time to focus. "Do you want me to stay while you open it?"

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yeah. Please."

You tore open the envelope, unfolding the crisp papers inside. The legal jargon was an immediate headache, but the gist hit you quickly enough.

Your parents—parents you’d met just once at Stanford, a month ago—were contesting the will of your grandfather. You skimmed the words, anger brewing beneath the shock. The lawsuit wasn’t about you. It was about the inheritance your grandfather had left to you. Money you hadn’t touched—didn’t want to touch. Money your mother and father were determined to get their hands on.

“What is it?” she asked gently, leaning over a bit.

You sighed, lowering the papers slightly. “They’re suing me for the money my grandfather left. The same money they showed up to tell me about last time.” You shook your head, blinking furiously to keep your frustration and embarrassment in check. “I told them I didn’t want it. I never even filed anything to claim it.”

Jean frowned, her gaze hardening in sympathy as she processed what you said. “That’s awful, Y/N. I mean… that’s your family.”

“Not really.” You laughed bitterly, though the sound lacked humor.

Jean put her hand on your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, we’ll figure this out. Do you want to talk to someone about this? Scott can—"

"Logan," you cut in, almost reflexively.

Jean paused but nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay. Do you want me to get him, or—?”

"I’ll go." You stood abruptly, still clutching the papers. “Thanks, Jean. For… sticking with me through that.”

“Always.” Jean watched you head out before leaning back on the couch with a worried sigh.

---

Logan was in the garage, predictably half under his motorcycle. He was wiping his hands with an oil-streaked rag when he heard you approach. As he sat up, he took one look at your face and tossed the rag aside.

“What happened?” he asked immediately, his voice rough but threaded with concern.

You held up the papers wordlessly, struggling to hold his sharp gaze. He took them from your hands, skimming through quickly, his brow furrowing as he absorbed the contents.

“Christ,” he muttered after a long moment, his fist tightening slightly around the edges of the papers. “They’re suin’ you? For money that’s yours?”

“Money I didn’t even want,” you added, sitting heavily on the bench by the wall. Your hands tangled together in your lap, a nervous habit you couldn’t quite break.

He looked at you, anger darkening his expression, but it wasn’t directed at you. It never was. “They think you’re some kid they can push around,” he growled, folding the papers and setting them down before crouching in front of you. His large hands found yours, prying them apart gently. “But you’re not. You’re a hell of a lot stronger than they give you credit for, sweetheart.”

Your chest tightened at the way he spoke to you, so firm yet so gentle all at once. “I don’t want to deal with this,” you admitted, your voice small. “I don’t want the money, Logan. I never did.”

“You won’t have to.” His grip on your hands firmed, grounding you. “We’ll fight this. They ain’t takin’ a damn thing from you.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words soothe you, though doubt still nagged at the edges of your thoughts. “What if they win?”

Logan’s jaw flexed, his sharp features hardening with resolve. “They won’t.”

“Logan, I—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, his voice low but insistent. He pulled you forward slightly so that your knees brushed his shoulders. “Trust me, Y/N. This’ll get sorted. I ain’t lettin’ them screw you over, okay?”

You searched his eyes for any trace of uncertainty but found none. Logan, as always, was unwavering.

“Okay,” you said softly, exhaling as you leaned your forehead against his.

The moment stretched quietly before he broke it, pulling back just far enough to press a kiss to your temple. “C’mon. Let’s get this over to Chuck. He’ll know what to do.”

You hesitated, though his calm tone bolstered you. "You don’t think it’s… embarrassing?"

Logan leaned back on his heels slightly, cocking an eyebrow at you. “Embarrassing? Dealin’ with greedy parents? Not even close.” His smirk softened into something fonder. “You ain’t gotta hide stuff like this from me, darlin’. Or from the team. We’ve all got somethin’ messy in our pasts. Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

His reassurance worked its way past your anxiety, easing the knot in your stomach a bit more. "Okay," you whispered again, squeezing his hands. “Let’s talk to Charles.”

Logan stood and pulled you with him, his arm immediately going around your shoulders as he guided you inside. Whatever fight lay ahead, you knew you weren’t facing it alone.

---

Logan leaned against the dresser, shaking his head. “No.”

You gave a mock pout, holding up the pastel blue sweater that matched your sundress. “C’mon, Logan. It’s just for today.”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the dresser with a look of pure defiance. “No way. Not wearin’ that.”

“It’s Easter,” you reasoned, trying not to laugh at the sheer stubbornness etched onto his face. “The kids are excited, and it’s a pastel color. You’ll look festive. Besides,” you added with a teasing tilt of your head, “it matches my dress.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Festive? Darlin’, I ain’t the ‘festive’ type.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” came Jean’s voice from the doorway. She leaned against the frame with a smirk, her arms crossed. “I think you’d look great in it, Logan. Adds some softness to your usual gruffness.”

Logan shot her a glare that only made her smirk widen. “Nobody asked you, Jeannie.”

You hid your smile behind the sweater, trying to keep the peace. “Jean, don’t make it worse,” you murmured, though your tone was light.

“I’m just saying,” Jean replied with a playful shrug before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you alone with Logan again.

“See? Even Jean agrees,” you said, holding the sweater out to him again. “Come on, Logan. Just for a little while?”

He huffed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re not gonna let this go, are ya?”

You shook your head, your smile growing. “Nope.”

Logan stared at you for a long moment, his expression softening despite his obvious resistance. It wasn’t the sweater he was giving in to—it was you. With a grumble, he snatched it out of your hands. “Fine. But if anyone takes a picture, I’m burnin’ it.”

You bit back a laugh as he pulled the sweater on over his usual white undershirt. The pastel blue clashed hilariously with his rugged demeanor, but you had to admit, it looked... sweet on him. The way it matched your dress only made it better.

“There,” Logan said, tugging at the hem like it might suffocate him. “Happy?”

“Very,” you said with a warm smile, stepping closer to adjust the sweater’s collar. “You look good.”

He grumbled something under his breath but didn’t stop you. Instead, his hands found your waist, pulling you close enough that you had to crane your neck to look up at him. “You owe me for this,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his tone.

“Oh, do I?” you teased, resting your hands on his chest. “What do I owe you?”

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’ll find out later,” he said, his voice low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Your cheeks flushed, but you managed to keep your composure. “Well, let’s see if you make it through the egg hunt first.”

He groaned, pulling back enough to look at you. “Wait. Do I gotta do that, too?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, laughing when his head fell back in exaggerated defeat. “The kids will love it. And you look adorable.”

Logan shot you a flat look. “Adorable?”

You grinned, standing on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Yup. Now come on, let’s go before Rogue eats all the candy.”

Logan shook his head, muttering something about how he’d never live this down, but the small smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t really mind. Not as long as it was for you.

---

You and Logan sat across from the lawyer Charles had recommended. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of papers as the lawyer flipped through the documents. Logan leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, a scowl set deep on his face. You sat with your hands folded tightly in your lap, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose as you watched the lawyer with a mixture of apprehension and exhaustion.

“Well,” the lawyer finally said, setting the papers down on the desk in front of him. He adjusted his own glasses, his expression professional but sympathetic. “The good news is that the will is clear. Your grandfather left the inheritance to you and only you. Your parents’ claim has very little legal ground.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly, but the tension in your chest didn’t fully ease. “But they can still drag this out, can’t they?” you asked quietly. “Even if the claim isn’t strong?”

The lawyer nodded. “Yes, they can file motions, request hearings, and essentially make this as difficult as possible for you. It’s not uncommon in cases like this.”

Logan growled low in his throat, his impatience bubbling to the surface. “So what do we do to shut this down for good?”

The lawyer glanced at him, unfazed by Logan’s tone. “There are a few options. You can contest the claim in court, which could take time but would likely result in a ruling in your favor. Or,” he paused, looking at you, “you can choose to forfeit the inheritance entirely. That would require specific legal filings, but it would end the dispute.”

You blinked, the weight of the decision settling heavily on your shoulders. “I don’t want the money,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I never wanted it. I didn’t even know about it until my parents showed up at Stanford.”

Logan’s hand slid over yours, grounding you. “You don’t have to decide now,” he said, his voice softer than before.

The lawyer cleared his throat, his expression cautious. “There is one other matter to consider. If you choose to forfeit the inheritance, it wouldn’t simply revert to your parents. According to the terms of the will, the funds would be held in trust for any future heirs—your children, specifically.”

Your head snapped up, and you stared at the lawyer in disbelief. “Future children?”

He nodded. “Yes. It’s an unusual clause, but your grandfather was quite specific. If you don’t claim the inheritance, it remains part of the family estate and will be managed until it can be passed down to your descendants.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, and you glanced at him, your cheeks warming at the faint surprise in his expression. You hadn’t explicitly talked about children with him yet, though the thought had crossed your mind more than once.

“That’s… a lot to process,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t even know he thought about me that way. We weren’t close at the… end.”

The lawyer offered a small, understanding smile. “It’s not uncommon for people to make decisions like this in their wills, even if they weren’t directly involved in someone’s life. He may have wanted to ensure you were cared for in some way.”

You nodded slowly, your thoughts swirling. Logan leaned forward, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “Let’s say she forfeits. What’s to stop her parents from tryin’ to get their hands on the money anyway?”

“There are legal safeguards in place,” the lawyer replied. “The trust would be managed independently, and your parents wouldn’t have access to it. It’s airtight.”

Logan grunted, seemingly satisfied with that answer, but his focus shifted back to you. “What do you wanna do, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to where his hand still covered yours. “I don’t want to go to court,” you said softly. “I don’t want the money, and I don’t want to fight with them. If it can go to… someone else, to the future, then maybe that’s the right thing to do.”

Logan’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his voice steady. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

The lawyer nodded. “I’ll start drafting the necessary documents. It’ll take a little time, but once it’s filed, your parents won’t have a legal leg to stand on.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the meeting wrapped up and the lawyer left the room, Logan turned to you, his expression softening. “You okay?”

You nodded, though your chest still felt heavy. “Yeah. It’s just… a lot.”

He pulled you into his arms without hesitation, holding you close against his chest. “You did good, darlin’,” he murmured against your hair. “Don’t let this mess get to you.”

You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace chase away the lingering tension. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“For what?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look down at you.

“For being here,” you said, your gaze meeting his. “For always being here.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, crooked smile. “Where else would I be?”

You laughed softly, the sound shaky but genuine, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead before leading you out of the room.

As the two of you walked into the kitchen, Logan pulled out a bottle of mango juice from the fridge and poured you a glass. His movements were calm and deliberate, a quiet reassurance that everything was going to be okay. He set the glass down in front of you, leaning against the counter as you took a sip.

"You doin' alright now, sweetheart?" he asked, his gaze steady on you.

You nodded, holding the cool glass in your hands. “I think so. I just hate that it had to come to this.”

Logan reached over, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Ain’t your fault. They made their choice, and you made yours. That’s all that matters.”

You managed a small smile, his support giving you the courage to push forward. But the lawyer’s earlier words lingered in your mind, and after a moment of hesitation, you decided to voice the thought that had been nagging at you.

“Logan,” you said, your voice soft, “did it… bother you? What he said about the inheritance going to future kids?”

Logan arched a brow, folding his arms across his chest as he watched you. “Bother me?” he repeated, his tone questioning.

“Yeah.” You looked down at the mango juice in your hands. “We’ve never really talked about that, and I just—”

His hand was under your chin before you could finish, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “Does it bother you?” he asked, his tone gentle but intent.

You bit your lip, feeling your cheeks warm. “I don’t think so,” you admitted. “I mean, I’ve thought about it before, but I didn’t want to push. I wasn’t sure if that was something you…” You trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.

Logan’s lips curved into a small smirk, his gaze softening in a way that was meant just for you. “Darlin’, I’ve thought about it plenty. Didn’t bring it up ‘cause I didn’t know if you were ready for that kinda talk.”

A soft laugh escaped you, nervous but sweet. “Guess we’re both good at overthinking things.”

Logan’s hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer until your hips bumped against the counter. “I’m not the kind to plan much of anything,” he said, his voice dropping to that rough, affectionate tone that always made your heart flutter. “But you… you make me wanna think about things like that.”

Your chest tightened with a mixture of nervousness and joy as you briefly rolled your bottom lip between your teeth. Logan’s other hand brushed against your cheek, his thumb sliding lightly across your skin, grounding you in a way only he could.

“Darlin’,” he said softly, his voice low and filled with warmth, “you don’t gotta look so nervous. We’re on the same page.”

You let out a soft, shaky laugh. “I know. It’s just... I didn’t think this conversation would come up like this.”

“Didn’t exactly expect it over lawyer talk,” Logan admitted with a small smirk. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you just a bit closer. “But you think too much sometimes. There’s no rush, no pressure—none of that. But if you’re askin’ if I see it... yeah. I see it, sweetheart.”

Your gaze flicked up to his, caught in the sincerity of his words and the steady way he was looking at you. His eyes, weathered from lifetimes of heartbreak and battle, were now soft and filled with something you could only describe as hope.

You smiled, this time more genuine, a warmth spreading through you. “Me too,” you murmured.

His lips quirked into that crooked grin you’d come to love, and his hand slid to the back of your neck, tugging you forward until your lips met. The kiss was slow and unhurried, a promise sealed in silence. When he pulled back, he kept you close, his forehead pressed against yours.

“No better time to start than now,” he rumbled, the faintest hint of a playful edge slipping into his tone.

Your breath caught, your cheeks instantly flushing. “Logan,” you whispered, voice laced with equal parts shock and anticipation.

He chuckled, that deep, throaty sound sending shivers down your spine. In a swift, effortless move, he lifted you off the ground, one arm supporting your back while the other braced under your knees. You gasped, your hands instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“Logan!” you squeaked, your heart racing as he carried you like you weighed nothing.

“What?” he teased, his smirk widening as he began walking out of the kitchen. “Thought we were on the same page.”

You buried your face against his neck, laughing softly. “We are,” you admitted, your voice muffled against his skin. “You just caught me off guard.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

As the two of you reached the bedroom, the door creaked as Logan kicked it open, a certain ease in his movements that you envied sometimes. He set you down gently on the bed, leaning over you with a wolfish grin that made your heart do a somersault.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer again, no teasing this time. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing the edge of your glasses like it was instinctive for him to touch you this way.

The love in his voice and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world—stole whatever doubt you might have had. You nodded, your hand curling around his wrist to keep his touch against your skin.

“Yeah,” you whispered, smiling. “I’m sure.”

Logan kissed you again, deeper this time, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go. And for that moment, nothing else in the world mattered.

this is still 2005! next chapter is also going to be 2005 and then after every chapter will be spanning 1 year!

(although i am now realizing that my timeline is a bit off but just roll with it)

[kazzattack]

Pretty, pretty girl…

Dick Grayson x Black fem!reader x Jason Todd, w/c 2.6k

Synopsis;; You attend one of Bruce Wayne’s galas with your father, for the pure pleasure of seeing the infamous Wayne brothers, and end up being snuck into the manor for the night.

content;; 18+, threesome, oral (fem receiving, implied male receiving), face fucking (male receiving), brief chokehold, hair pulling, fingering, finger sucking, eye contact, lots of banter, technically mirror sex (bc I lowk forgot about the mirror oops), light degradation (whore, slut), brief dry humping, doggy style, manhandling (?), spanking for 2 seconds, pet names (baby, doll, sweetheart), Jason’s a bit of a meanie, and Dick is… Dick, I think that’s it, poorly edited/proof read

“Stupid, stupid, stupid…” you begin to mutter, frustrated that you agreed to attend in the first place. Still, you find the will power to put on your prettiest smile and runway worthy strut.

Functions likes these never served any entertainment for you, nor did you get anything out of it. Galas your father attends for the sole purpose of saving face, surrounded by rich scum and snakes. At least this is Bruce Wayne’s gala. One of the only billionaires you find tolerable. The only people worth going for are those Wayne boys, though. Pure eye candy. You couldn’t pick a favorite out of the two.

Dick Grayson’s the first to greet you, eyes darting up and down over your figure before meeting your eyes. “Hey pretty lady,” he sing-songs, friendly and welcoming despite the telling glint in his eyes. Wayne’s prodigal son, the first, and he definitely fits the title. Dick is almost surprisingly sweet, pouring you wine and complimenting the shiny gold jewelry around your wrists and neck, rather than the dress that rides just a bit high on your thighs when you sit in the chair he pulls out for you.

Jason Todd meets you with an unintentional death stare, bless his heart. Not to say you don’t do the same thing at first. If he wasn’t 6’1 and 200+ lbs of pure muscle stuffed into a red tux, he’d be easier to miss. At first you don’t even realize his connection to Dick, let alone Bruce Wayne, but you quickly take notice of the familial banter from afar. As of now, you two share the commonality of not really wanting to be here. The two of you only get the chance to properly speak thanks to the loud-mouthed brother, followed by the chance to subtly gawk at each other, of course.

The two of them, though most of the effort is through Dick, make most of the event fly by. You take part in shameless flirting with the leaner of the two, laugh a few times at Jason’s more snarky jabs, and before you know it? Your father’s left wondering where his daughter ran off to. Guess you’ll have to figure out how to tell him two out of many of Wayne’s kids are busy trying to sneak you into his manner.

The… guest bedroom? Is awfully large, along with the bed, and the nightstand, and the mirror you use to make eye contact with Dick. They’ve put you under the impression to have made it past the security system, but realistically they both know Bruce has been notified of your presence. They also trust the billionaire playboy will mind his business. And besides, the old man should be the least of your worries when Dick tugs your dress up, followed by Jason’s calloused hands running up your thighs.

“You’re shameless,” you tease, settling yourself between Dick’s legs with your back against his chest while Jason lowers his overwhelming stature in front of you.

“Oh, sweetheart, you haven’t seen the half of it,” he corrects, grabbing the tiny zipper between his fingertips to expose more skin. “Especially not from that one down there.”

Jason scoffs, sliding your heels off as he responds. “I’m almost positive she knows what you are. Hard not to.”

“I know what I am,” Dick snickers into your ear, hands snaking over your figure. “You’re the one who stomps around acting like you’re too high and mighty for a little fun.”

You muster up the courage to jump in, urging Jason to come a little closer to your face. Despite the persona, you’ve both warmed up to each other throughout the night. “You too good for me, Jay?” You inquire, tugging him closer by his collar and tie. The glint in his eyes answers for you, giving away every intention he has for the rest of tonight.

“‘M just shy,” he jokes, though you’re not 100% sure he is. After a few drinks and the comfort of a seperate room, his eyes wander more freely, and it doesn’t take long before you notice Grayson’s gawking at you through the mirror as he undresses. “Not that you’ve gotta worry about that anymore.”

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ

Jason was no longer shy, clearly.

“Oh my god, Jay-“ you moan above him, head resting on Dick’s shoulder as one hand roams around your upper body. The other curls under your knee, supposedly holding your legs open as opposed to closing around Jason’s head while his tongue flicks against your clit.

“Fuck, you sound gorgeous,” Dick whispers as he sucks another hickey into your collarbone, and you feel a smooth hand wrap around your neck and rest there. “You gonna make those pretty noises for me too?” His tone is sultry and teasing, though you aren’t sure if it’s meant to provoke you or the short-tempered brother between your legs. You haven’t spent that long with them, but it’s been long enough for you to learn of Jason’s competitive edge and Dick’s insufferable tendencies to get under his skin.

“You could always find out for yourself…” you manage to respond, circling your hips in time with the thick finger on your insides. The strength is found to pick your head up and look at Dick, who’s already watching you like a hawk. Eyes focused with an almost obsessive gaze, tongue grazing over your skin. You can tell he’s fixing his dirty mouth for a quip but you cut him off with a gasp as another finger is dipped into your cunt, breaking eye contact as your head falls back.

“Quit talking to him,” Jason grumbles into your heat, “just sit and look pretty like you were doin’.” His words are muffled and the bass in his voice vibrates against your leg, leaving no room for you to consider not listening to him. He’s sure you’d much rather listen to him after that debauched moan you let out anyway.

Your hand moves to tug on the white streak of Jason’s hair, blanking out for a moment as the tips of his fingers curl and thrust into you. “Aw, gonna let him ruin the fun?” Dick teases, “I still wanna look at that pretty face.” He fixes you after his comment flies over your head, gripping your jaw to face him in the mirror and letting go to see if you’ll focus on your own. Jason, still seemingly irritated with him, tightens his biceps around the plush of your thighs and pulls you further from Dick. He doesn’t like sharing either. Noted. You glance down at him, green eyes half lidded and entirely zoned in on your pussy. He doesn’t talk all that much, but he’s got his own filthy mouth, tongue dipping in with his fingers for a moment as his free hand circles your clit. This is where you learn that Dick has his own frustrations too. He needs control, power in his hands.

“No wonder you like her,” he grins, “she’s almost as hard-headed as you.” Through the hazy pleasure you giggle, not expecting the way his arm slots around your neck. There’s a gasp before a strangled moan and you clench around Jason’s fingers, hips bucking into his face and he groans into your pussy. You’re in a more compromised position now, and he’s looking you directly in the eyes while his free hand tweaks at your nipple, making you arch further away from him.

“Oh, the pretty lady likes this? You want it tighter?”

Shamelessly, you nod despite your restrictions and he listens, squeezing your head between his forearm and bicep. A familiar feeling coils in your tummy, pretty nails digging into the flesh around your neck as your leg wraps around Jason’s head. You’d feel bad if it weren’t for the needy groan against your cunt.

“Ohh, gonna come on his tongue from getting choked out? Yeah, let him know who you’re looking at while you fuck his face.”

Oh?

You’re ashamed of it, but the limited oxygen and lightheaded effect had you follow along without a thought.

“‘S you- fuck, Dick- I wanna…”

At this point, Dick’s sure he can see steam from Jason’s ears.

Still, his ministrations only go deeper, even if it’s not exactly of his free will. Thick nails dig deep into your hips and thighs to keep you in place as you orgasm and he helps you ride it out as he huffs and grunts. Meanwhile you’re right where Dick wants you, laying up against his chest and moaning against his forearm as if you were his bitch.

“Fuckin’ attention whore,” Jason sighs, easily moving your body further from Dick after practically yanking his arm from you. “Can’t go five minutes without begging for someone to look at you?” He’s clearly ticked off, but the frustration is also accompanied by the bulge of his dress pants pressing against your thigh. He hates the competition yet he undeniably craves it, and it’s clear in how much rougher his touches get. Jason moves to kiss up your body as his fingers curl at a slower pace, holding your hips in place to keep you from squirming underneath him.

“Jay-“ you sigh in bliss, hips trying to inch away as you sit up to look down at him. “Ja-son… ‘s too-“

“Shut up,” rude, “I know this pretty pussy’s beggin’ for it.”

“Struck a nerve? Sensitive much.” All he gets it a glare, rightfully so. You’d expect Dick Grayson to get in on more fun, but he’s just evil. He likes seeing a pretty girl like you squirm. Jason’s clearly more hands on, scissoring you open a few times before abruptly pulling away shoving his fingers down your throat. You’d be embarrassed by how easily you take it if the two of them weren’t mesmerized, watching while you suck his fingers clean of your own slick.

“We got us a pretty little slut, Jaybird,” Dick praises.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop talking?”

“No, actually.”

“Well I am now, Dick.”

You get out a little giggle while they bicker before Jason flips you over, positioning your ass against his pelvis and guiding your hips back. You’d been too high in pleasure before to realize that Jason Todd is big, everywhere. His dick presses against you through his pants and you almost panic as he pushes you back and forth, watching your ass bounce against him a few times and you whine.

“Yeah, y’feel that?” He groans from behind you and only Dick can see the prideful grin on his face. “You’ll take it, baby, jus’ for me.” Still, you let out a little whine at his words and clench around nothing. What you can see is the bulge in front of you as your head rests between Dick’s legs, doesn’t look as big but it’s definitely enough. You have no right to complain.

Jason leans over to deepen your arch and you hear his belt unbuckle. You wanna tell him wait, but you’re too slow. The tip of his cock slips against your opening and you mewl, looking back at him over your shoulder. “Oh my god, Jay-“ you gasp before he pushes deeper inside of you.

“Fuck… what’d I tell you?” He grunts, already halfway inside. “Already so wet and you’re tellin’ me you don’t wanna get fucked?”

“Be nice,” Dick interrupts as his fingers curl into your hair gently, as if he didn’t have you moaning against his arm in a chokehold earlier tonight. He gets to be the nice one now, your handsome knight in shining armor. If that were entirely true, though, he wouldn’t be over so slightly forcing you back onto Jason’s cock with his other hand.

Dick’s order is easily disregarded once he’s all the way inside, and with a few thrusts, pulling all the way out before slamming you onto his cock, pretty nails are clawing at the fabric of Dick’s slacks and you muffle your moans into them with soft whines. “Ah-ah, sweetheart,” he hums from above you, cooing at you with a soft voice yet tugging your head up by the chin a little harshly to look at you.

“‘S big.. oh- fuck, Dick-“

“‘Scuse me?”

Oopsie.

“Now you’re in for it, doll.” The smile of amusement and lust on Dick’s face is almost demeaning.

“We got an ungrateful little slut,” Jason scowls, tugging so hard on your hair he might fuck it up if he doesn’t fuck you up first. His thrusts gain a brutal pace and he fucks you even deeper than before, leaning down to your face before he speaks again. “Here I am, face covered in your cum, fuckin this tight cunt with my cock and you’ve still got the nerve to be moanin’ for him? The fuck is he doing for you, huh? Tell me. Tell both of us.”

You can’t, even if you wanted to. Even if you could. Just from the close proximity, the way his dick hits that sweet spot harder and harder has you whimpering an incoherent apology and clenching around him. The only thing he can make out is the pathetic little “‘m sorry” as your hand moves to cover your face.

“Oh hell no,” he corrects you, grabbing your arm and folding it behind your back. You’re weaker than ever right now, no longer holding yourself up. In fact, Jason’s the one holding you, keeping you stable while he fucks the lights out of you.

“I think she wants it like this,” Dick chimes in, smiling like all you’re doing is putting on a show for him. Not that you mind, of course. You’re busy trying not to cry from the intensity, but you haven’t even realized your mascara’s been fucked up for a hot minute already.

“Yeah, you wanted this, right? Bet you thought you’d get it from that bastard,” Jason huffs a guttural laugh, “guess he shoulda told you about this thick dick.”

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry, Jay- fuck, please,” you beg from beneath him, tightening around his dick as another orgasm has your moans higher pitched. “Wanna cum- lemme cum, Jason, please-!”

“Now you wanna moan my name?”

“Guess you fucked some sense into her.”

“Shut your goddamn mouth, Grayson.” The venom in his voice is for Dick, but unfortunately the anger gets taken out on you with a sharp smack on the ass and you yelp. “Give it to me,” he groans, “cum all over this cock.”

“Thank you- thank you, Jason-“

Your eyes roll, so far back you can see your skull as he fucks you throught it. You still babble on about how good he feels and he never lets up, focused on his own orgasm as he shoves your face into the mattress. Without another beat, he fucks you full, nasty fluids gushing around his cock as he finally calms down. You damn near back out, honestly, but distantly you can hear another belt buckle being undone.

“Y’done yet, Jaybird?”

“Not really,” he huffs through a deep groan, still rutting into you. “But go ahead. Just don’t piss me off again.” Dick fake pouts, pulling your face back up and you’re met with his length, throbbing and neglected.

“Wha…” you weakly moan, legs trembling and cunt twitching around Jason. Dick almost moans at the sight of your fucked out face, drool pooling at the corner of your lips and mascara smudged down your face. Still just as gorgeous, albeit more shameful than before. Dick can admit he prefers you with this look.

“We’ve still got plans for you, pretty girl,” he whispers, squishing your cheeks to push your mouth open before slapping the fat of his cock onto your tongue. “You still with us?”

“Mhm…”

“Good, good girl.“

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ

a/n;; dick was supposed to have the upper hand for most of this but listen, things happen. writing this was honestly so fun but idk if it’ll ever happen again anytime soon </3. pls enjoy, like, comment and reblog, i’d appreciate it :p