#i've been watching this on repeat for minutes now

[captainlakes]

masterlist navigation tsitp

kick off ♡

conrad fisher x gf!reader

summary: where conrad opens up about an offer his friends have for him that could take him back a forgotten love of his, football.

warnings & tags: football terms. tsitp s1 spoilers, mention of adam, death and infidelity. hurt/comfort, established relationship, fluff.

words: 1.2K

note: i've been dying to write about this side of him, especially now that we know he's playing again 😭

Conrad was nervous. It was evident on the way he was sitting on the couch as you watched a movie, Casablanca. One of his arms wrapped around your shoulder, the other one tapping softly his thigh, covered by the navy blue blanket above both of your laps. His gaze there on the computer but blank, his expression unreadable, distant, as if his mind was somewhere else.

His phone, placed on the arm rest facing at the ceiling. It didn't sound because he had it set to vibrate only but it did light up every time a new message came. One, two, three, four... He was having an active conversation with someone, probably a group chat, as the buzzing of the phone sounded repeatedly in less than three minutes, still he was actively ignoring it. Just reading the texts, subtly, on the lockscreen, so you didn't think he wasn't there, that he wasn't present in mind and soul, and that he had no idea what the hell was happening in the movie at the moment, even after he knew the plot by heart.

He couldn't ignore it for so long, the vibrations kept coming so he sighed, jaw clenched, shifted a little on the couch. Picked up the phone, read the texts, wrote an answer, erased it a couple seconds later, wrote something again, then repeated his previous actions and gave up finally, not sending any reply at all, leaving his phone in the same place but now face down on the couch.

“Everything alright?” You asked looking up from your lashes, your head on his shoulder, hand steady on his chest. He give you a reassuring smile, nod once “Yeah, it's just the guys”

The guys. You knew them. His male friends that he met at class, party lovers, girls lovers but good, smart boys, that treat him better than his own brother, and, had spent an exaggerated amount of time, begging him to become their quarterback for their amateur football team.

“Are you seeing them this weekend?” You questioned again, pulling back a little from his body.

He passed a hand through his hair, shrugged “Maybe...I don't know” He was holding something back, the tone of his voice said it so clearly. He got quiet for a bit, wondering if he should tell you what was happening or not. He finally did. “They want me to play with them on Sunday. As their quarterback” He let out and watched you, waited for your reaction, waiting for the negative he knews you surely would give him, because it was a stupid idea. It was ridiculous. But you didn't.

You didn't disagree immediately. You broke apart from him, stretched your arm to pause the movie and move on the couch so your body was facing his, cross legged beneath the blanket. “What? That's great” You agreed. You seemed excited for him. Then you asked: “You're gonna go?”

He tilted his head, chuckled, unsure, sent you a look that spoke louder than words. He didn't want to.

“Come on!” You grumble. “You have to do it. You love it” The encouragement fell naturally from your mouth.

He smirk, as you were saying a joke, you could saw the gears of his mind working “My dad love it, I played just to please him” He reminded you, though, you were sure it wasn't the case, he's a football enthusiast. He runs every morning, like he's training for something. He watches his favorite team games, the three an half hours. Celebrates at every touchdown and curse at every interception. Knows random facts about the sport. Wears a happy smile when he plays with his family on the beach house. He does like football, enjoys it even.

“You're a terrible liar, Connie baby” You placed your hand on his thigh, giving him a soft squeeze.

“Hey!” He complained, voice in a higher note. “It's ridiculous. I haven't played in years” he said, unbothered, still, it gave you the impression he was trying to convince himself that it was actually crazt to consider it. “The last time I did was the summer before my mom—” He didn't finish his sentence but you understood.

He abandoned the sport three years ago, exactly in the summer before his mom's passing, as a complaint against his father, as a weak attempt to erase every connection to the man who cheated on his sick mother without regretting. He told himself he started playing because Adam pushed him, and that was true, however, as the years passed, the ball on his hand became a second nature for him, a moment of freedom where he had mostly all the control of what happened in the field. He suggested the plays, he screamed the direction his team would take, he threw the ball and won points, he also made mistakes sometimes but it was all on him. His choices. His losses, his victories. No one else.

And now he missed it. You just knew it. Every time he gather to play with his family on warm aftenoons at the beach, he beamed, he instructed his friends and brother like he was the owner of the field, and they listened. He enjoyed it, it served like an escape from the messy chaos the Fisher and Conklins bring into his life. What betrayed him though, was how he stopped walking every time he caught the football team practicing on the green field of Stanford. Briefly. But you'd caught him a few times doing it.

“You're out of practice. So what?” You held his hand, encouraging, anchoring him to this moment, to the words he needed to hear to act on what he already desired. “There's nothing a little training doesn't fix. Besides, this is muscle memory, babe, if you were good then, you'll still be now”

His thumb caressed the back of your hand, lightly, loving. Thinking. Then, he spoke in a weak whisper “What if I fail?”

His question made your heart clenched, even now, after spending two hours a week in therapy for five months, Conrad had his weak moments, his insecurities, his fears. Fortunately, he wasn't alone anymore.

“What if you don't?” He didn't answer. He had the bad habit of fixing on the worst possible outcomes of every situation but you didn't. You reminded him life can be good, that something could turn out fine, every time you have the chance. That's why he loves you. One of the many reasons.

“This is an unofficial game with your future doctor friends, Conrad” You told him “Give it a try and if you realize football isn't really your thing anymore, we move on”

He avoided your gaze, he was thinking, million thoughts spinning around his head. At the end, he looked at you “And if I...still like it?”

“If you still like it...” Your fingers fumbled with his, head closing the distance “You'll have a fan watching you on the bleachers every game” You assured, whispering softly, real.

“You'll be there?” He fumbled with your fingers too. He studied your face, his eyes flickered to your lips and looked up to your gaze when you spoke again.

“Always” You said, firmly. Loving. One hand traveled to his cheek, caressing his skin, lightly.

He smiled, lean to your touch “Alright, I'll try it” He sealed the decision with a sweet kiss.

“I'll be there”

And he knew you meant it.

You were his biggest fan, after all.

[ddejavvu]

i know litreally fuck all about star wars. but do i read your fics of it ??? yes they're literally amazing and might push me to watch it

please do!!! i accidentally backed myself into a loop where i only watch my 3 favorite scenes from attack of the clones (two are back to back, then the last one is only one scene apart from the others so i just sort of watch 10 minutes of the movie on repeat) literally multiple times every single day so i'd greatly enjoy knowing that i've created a monster in you as well <3

[mywritersmind]

fic idea: kimi x reader moments in his documentary... cute and .

.......maybe a lil steamy

CAUGHT ON CAMERA - KA12

listen up : some kissing. dry humping. steamy ish as requested! ty for the request!! super cutie

words : 1470

⋆｡‧˚⋆

The second Kimi told me over the phone, I ran out of my house. I was out of breath after the two minutes it took for me to run to his house. “You fucking did it!” I didn’t mean to swear in front of his family, something Maggie laughs loudly at as I wrap my arms around her brother.

“I did it.” He whispers into my ear, my body pressed against his as he holds me tighter. “Thank you.”

I have to laugh at my boyfriend. “Why are you thanking me?”

He smiles down at me, his hands still on me and his parents gone from the room. “You’re always there. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

I kiss him. Hard and excited with a smile still on my face.

“You deserve this so much, K.” I bring him closer to me again when he sniffles, I realize he’s crying. I cry too. He’s wanted this for longer than I've known him and I don’t think anyone deserves it more.

⋆༺

The camera zooms on Ollie as he laughs, “He knows practically every lap time he’s ever done.” I smile, leaning my head against Kimi’s bare shoulder.

“Barcelona Quali.” a man on his team says, smiling as Kimi scoffs as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“I did a 24.894.” Kimi says confidently as the man goes to search it. He doesn’t need to. Even I know he’s right.

“You have a photographic memory then?” The cameraman asks, panning to Kimi and I.

“Nah… If I did, I'd be out of school.” My boyfriend grins, “Some things just stick.”

“He remembers everything about me.” I say, not being able to hide my smile, “that’s how I know he loves me like he does racing.”

Kimi shakes his head but he’s still smiling, “I love you more than racing.”

⋆༺

I love watching Kimi race. I hate when his race ends before every lap is done.

This might be worse than watching him DNF in F2. He’s in the wall and i’m clutching the necklace he gave me as if it’s him. I know he’s okay, he’s out of the car, I know he’s okay.

I repeat those four words to myself as I watch him, his head down, his face hidden behind his helmet, exit the track.

I let him have his space. The trainer said he wanted to be alone and I let him be. A text came in and I snuck out of the garage, away from his crying mother, away from a sad Toto, away from everything and back to him.

I shut the cameraman out when I find him. He’s sitting on the floor of the trainors room, the light dim and his eyes shut. I realize he’s been crying when he speaks, his voice stuffy and race red, “On my debut.” He swallows, “In my future car.”

I don’t know what to say. I hate that I don’t know what to say. I sink down to my knees next to him, taking his head in my hands as he looks at me. His eyes are red, tired.

“It’s going to get better, Kimi. You have to know that. Next year is yours- and today sucked but when you’re in your car, not George's, it’ll be different.” He slides his legs out in front of him, a hand drifting to my waist as if he just wants to make sure I'm there.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” My hands are still shaking.

I shake my head, “I have a feeling that won’t stop anytime soon. You were flying, Kimi.” His face finally cracks into a smile.

“It felt like a dream.” His smile fades as I sit properly now, “then a nightmare.”

“It’s not either. It’s real life. It’s your life.” I run a hand through his hair, sweaty and messed up from his helmet.

“You're perfect.” he says, leaning in closer as his hand slides up and down my bare leg, “You know that?”

“For you.” I kiss him softly, but his hand meets the back of my neck and pulls me against him again.

“Just for me.” He whispers against my lips, kissing me again with more force.

When I realize he’s not thinking about stopping, I mumble, “Kimi-” but all he does is pull me onto his lap, straddling him.

“Please.” It’s practically a whine and one that I give into immediately. His body is warm, he changed back into a mercedes shirt and jeans that push against my thighs.

I instinctively grind into him, feeding that pressure between my legs as he breathes against me. His eyes are closed, his teeth tugging at my lip as I groan at the feeling of him under me.

“We shouldn’t.” I say, not fully lost to Kimi’s body yet and remembering that we’re on the floor of a medical room.

“I’ll stop if you tell me to.” He says, kissing me again. When I don’t say anything, he says, “Tell me to, Y/n.”

I don’t use my words to respond, instead moaning in his ear as I grow more turned on. He mumbles a curse and moves his hand to my ass, making me grind against him with more fuel to my fire.

Kimi’s fingers dig into my skin harder. When my head tilts back, his lips escape mine and find my jaw- my neck… my chest instead. I wouldn’t be caught dead with a hickey, but right now, nothing sounds hotter.

He’s hard against me, his jeans growing tighter as I roll my hips once again. I bite my lip and he makes a sort of strangled sound, saying my name.

He’s not smiling, it’s more of an open mouth smirk. His eyes are set on the thin fabric that’s rubbing against his pants, his hand tugs my skirt higher up.

When did he pull my skirt up? I don’t care.

His hand is on my bra now, under it. I can barely track the twin parts of his body that have such a hold on me. I’m too distracted by the overwhelming pleasure that brews beneath me.

Kimi is staring at me again, his eyes flickering to every part of me as if he doesn’t know where to look. His eyes are full of lust, a look I used to dream about.

“C’mon, love.” This almost takes me out, his voice is so gruff and it’s the hottest thing i’ve ever heard purely because I know i’m what’s making him like that. “So fucking good.”

“Kimi-” I force out, my legs starting to shake.

He’s just as breathless as I am when he says, “Say my name like that again. C’mon love, do it for me.”

⋆༺

Dinner is nice. It always is with Kimi’s family. His grandma made a cake to celebrate, his dad gave him a car keychain that had been passed down by his father.

I love seeing Kimi with his family, it reminds me of what our future could look like.

I stand next to him at the sink, a dish in hand as he splashes water onto me. I scoff and return the favor. “A formula one driver and you’re still slaving away over dishes.” I smile as he scrubs a plate, “So humble.”

He kisses my cheek quickly, “I’d do anything if it’s with you.” This makes me smile, rolling my eyes at the cheesiness but my cheeks going pink anyway.

“I’m really proud of you, Kimi. I know it’s a lot.” Everyone’s been so excited that I think it’s gone to Kimi’s head, making him a bit blind to what his life is about to look like.

He nods, “I know. But i’m excited- and really fucking happy. Especially since I have a wag.”

I laugh out loud, “A wag!?”

“Yeah, girlfriend.” He says to me sassily, making me laugh harder. He drys off his hands and pulls the bright yellow gloves off mine, kissing me on the lips this time.

I grin against him, my hands bracing myself on the sink edge as his find my waist. “I love calling you my girlfriend.” He whispers as he kisses me softly again. “Call me your boyfriend.”

I giggle as he presses a kiss against my jaw, “You’re all mine, K. My nerdy little boyfriend.”

He raises a brow at my words, his breath hot against me, “Nerdy? Little?”

I pat his head, winking. “Gotta fit in that car somehow.”

He laughs, his hands are on me again and he’s picking me up, “Netflix are you seeing this!?” I had forgotten about the camera in the doorframe, “My girlfriend is a bully!”

“At least i’m yours!” I laugh again, now over his shoulder and shaking my head at the lens.

[serikai]

nerd bf satoru helping you study with a reward

cw ؛ making you recite what he thought you while he eats you out

“need help with that, ma?” satoru's voice is a sly, teasing lilt, cutting through the quiet of your bedroom, he’s sprawled on the bed, glasses perched low on his nose, a textbook open but ignored, his eyes glinting with mischief as he watches you.

you’re at the desk, brows furrowed, pen between your lips, deeply focused on a calculus problem that’s been kicking your ass for days.

your mouth parts in a small oh, and fuck, you feel a flutter in your stomach at his words, heat creeping up your cheeks.

“satoru, dont—im trying to focus.” you mutter, but you can’t hide the way your thighs press together under the desk.

you’ve been begging him for study help all week—your nerdy boyfriend’s a math genius, after all—but he’s been dodging, claiming he’s “too busy” with his own work.

now, though, he’s clearly in the mood to play, he grins, pushing off the bed to saunter over. “tryin’? looks more like struggling, baby.” he teases, leaning over your shoulder, his breath hot against your ear.

his fingers brush your pen, plucking it from your lips, and he smirks. “c’mon, let your genius boyfriend save the day. what’s got you so worked up?” you huff, embarrassed but desperate.

“it’s this damn integral..” you say, pointing at the scribbled mess on your notebook. “i've been at it for hours.”

“hours?” he raises an eyebrow, sliding into the chair next to you, his knee brushing yours. “and you didn’t call me sooner? thought you were tougher than that.” his hand rests on your thigh. “alright, then, let’s make a deal. i’ll teach you, but you gotta earn it.”

“earn it?” you echo, your stomach flipping again. “satoru, i've been begging you for days!” he laughs, his hand squeezing your thigh. “yeah, and it’s cute, but i'm thinkin’ you need a little… motivation.” he pulls your chair closer, his lips grazing your jaw.

“here’s the deal. i explain this shit, and you repeat it back to me later. every mistake? i’m gonna make you moan it out. sound good?”

your breath hitches, heat pooling between your legs. “sounds like a jerk move.” you mutter, but you’re already nodding, too turned on to argue. “thought so.” he says, smirking, and dives into the problem, his voice clear and confident as he breaks down the integral step-by-step.

he’s good—too good—his explanations making the math click in a way your professor’s never could, you’re scribbling notes, trying to focus, but his hand keeps stroking your thigh, creeping higher, and it’s driving you crazy.

“got it?” he asks after ten minutes, leaning back, his glasses glinting. “or you need me to go slower, baby?”

“i.. think i got it.” you say, voice uncertain, your pen tapping nervously. “but you’re distracting me.”

“me? distracting?” he gasps but his hand slides under your skirt, fingers brushing the damp spot on your panties. “is this how im distracting you, baby?”

“satoru!” you whine, cheeks burning, but your hips shift, chasing his touch, he chuckles, and before you can protest, he’s tugging you out of the chair and onto the bed, your notebook forgotten.

“time to test you, baby.” he says, pushing you onto your back, his body looming over yours. “but first..” he hooks his fingers in your panties, sliding them down, the cool air hitting your slick folds.

you groan, as he spreads your thighs, his lips brushing your inner thigh. “gonna eat you out, ma, but you’re gonna learn what i taught you.”

“satoru, wait—” you start, but his tongue flicks over your clit, and you moan, loud and desperate, your hands flying to his hair.

he groans against you, the vibration making you gasp, his tongue swirling slowly, teasing circles that have your eyes fluttering shut.

“fuck, you taste so good.” he murmurs, voice muffled, his glasses fogging slightly as he dives in deeper, his lips suck gently, then harder, his tongue dragging along your folds, lapping up your slickness.

“but you gotta talk, baby. what’s the first step of that integral?” you whimper, your brain foggy with pleasure. “i—fuck, satoru, i can’t think—”

“wrong answer.” he grunts, his teeth grazing your clit, making you yelp. “try again, or im stoppin’.” his fingers slide to your entrance, one slipping in, stretching you, and you moan louder, hips bucking.

“It’s.. hmp... u-substitution..” you gasp, tugging his hair, and he hums, approving, his tongue flicking faster. “good girl..” he chuckles, adding another finger, pumping slow. “what’s the substitution? c’mon, moan it out.”

“satoru, please..” you whine as his fingers curl, hitting that spot that makes you tremble. “it’s… u equals… fuck… x squared plus one.”

“fuck, yeah,” he groans, his tongue diving deeper, licking a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. “so smart, baby, keep goin’. what’s next?” tou’re panting, tears pricking your eyes as the pleasure builds, his mouth and fingers relentless.

“differentiate...mph... du equals two-x dx,” you moan, your voice loud and needy, echoing in the room. “perfect..” he growls, sucking your clit hard, his fingers thrusting faster. “one more, baby. solve it. tell me the final form.”

“fuck, satoru!” you cry, your body shaking, so close to the edge. “it’s.. one over two.. natural log of.. u... plus c..”

“goddamn, you’re hot when you’re smart.” he mutters, his tongue swirling furiously now, his fingers pounding your pussy, slick sounds filling the air. “cum for me, baby. scream it.”

“satoru!” you wail, your orgasm crashing through you, your walls clenching around his fingers, your moans loud and unbroken as you cum, trembling under his mouth.

he laps you through it, groaning at your taste, his tongue slowing but not stopping until you’re a whimpering mess, he pulls back, lips glistening, glasses slightly askew, and grins, all cocky satisfaction.

[applecaviar]

How do the lads men act when jealous Part 2

Part 1 here (Zayne/Xavier)

Finally finished this.

Enjoy pookies!

Sylus/ Rafayel/Caleb

Headers: @bc.lay on Tik Tok

You find yourself in the midst of a lively discussion with a handsome stranger at the auction Sylus had insisted on attending together. The conversation flows effortlessly between you and a charming man named Elias. He's a renowned artist, his eyes sparkling with intellect as he regales you with tales of his latest exhibition.

As the minutes tick by, you become increasingly aware of Sylus's absence. He had been by your side when you first arrived, a possessive hand resting on the small of your back as he steered you through the crowded room. But now, as you laugh at one of Elias's jokes, you realize you haven't seen him in quite some time.

You glance around the room, scanning the faces of the guests, but there's no sign of Sylus.

Elias leans in closer, his voice lowering to a whisper. "You know, I have a feeling you and I have much more in common than just a love of art. You think that maybe... I can get your number?

"Do you value your ability to breathe without a tube down your throat?"

Your heart leaps in your throat at the sound of that voice. You recognize it instantly.

Elias's eyes widen and he takes a small step back from you, hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

"Easy there, Sylus," Elias says, his charming smile fading into a strained grin. "No need for threats. I was just being friendly."

Sylus steps into view, his dark silhouette looming behind you. His broad shoulders straining against the fabric of his tailored suit jacket. His eyes are fixed on Elias, a dangerous glint in their depths.

"Friendly?" Sylus repeats, a note of amusement in his voice. "Is that what you call it?" His gaze flickers to you for a moment, his expression softening almost imperceptibly before hardening once more as he turns back to Elias. "I've seen how friendly you can get"

Sylus takes another step forward, closing the distance between them. Elias swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He glances at you, then back at Sylus, and you can see the calculation in his eyes as he weighs his options.

"Look, I didn't mean any disrespect..."

"You're not worthy of so much as a single digit of her phone number. I suggest you forget you ever met her, and move along before I lose my patience entirely."

Elías clears his throat awkwardly and takes a step back "Well, it was... nice chatting with you," he says lamely, before turning and melting into the crowd, leaving you alone with Sylus.

"Was that really necessary? I was just about to say no Sy"

His thumb brushes across your lower lip, the gesture almost tender if not for the harsh set of his mouth. "Let's get out of here. I have far better plans for us tonight."

With that, he takes your hand, his grip unyielding as he begins to steer you towards the exit. His anger is palpable, but there's something else you can't quite name.

🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

As you walk to your room Sylus can't help but notice the shift in your mood. The lively sparkle in your eyes from earlier has been replaced by a troubled look. He watches as you walk ahead of him, your shoulders slightly slumped, your steps hesitant.

Closing the door behind you Sylus sets his jacket down on a nearby chair before turning to face you. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, his brow furrowed as he studies your face with an intensity that makes you squirm slightly.

"Talk to me," he says finally, his voice cutting through the heavy silence of the room. "What's bothering you?"

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself before you speak. "Sylus, I need you to listen to me for a moment. There was no need for you to behave like that back at the auction. You embarrassed Elias in front of everyone."

You shake your head, a flicker of disappointment in your eyes. "An arrogant display like that, threatening him just for talking to me? It was completely uncalled for."

Putting your hands on your hips, you level your gaze at Sylus, your voice firm but calm. "I understand that you want to protect me. But you can't go around intimidating people who cross an imaginary line in your head."

He takes a step closer, invading your personal space. He towers over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the light. His voice is low and tight with barely contained anger when he speaks.

"I've known Elias for years, sweetie. He's a womanizer, plain and simple. I've seen that predatory look in his eyes before, the one he gets when he sets his sights on a new conquest. And tonight, he had it directed at you."

His eyes burn into yours, the red irises seeming to glow with the force of his possessiveness "He knew you were with me. I made sure of that when I introduced you earlier. But he didn't care, did he? No, he just saw a beautiful woman and decided he wanted to add you to his list of fucks."

You plant your palms firmly against his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. You push back against him, your voice steady and unwavering as you meet his intense gaze head on.

"I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I am more than capable of taking care of myself. I've been doing it for years before I even met you."

Your eyes flash with a spark of determination and a hint of annoyance. "I'm a Deepspace Hunter, Sylus. I've faced down Wanderers, I've battled for my life and the lives of others. I think I can handle a little flirtation from a guy like that"

A sly smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as you tilt your head. "Or, and hear me out on this...maybe you were just jealous. Green as the hills, if you will."

You lean in closer, your lips nearly brushing against his as you whisper teasingly, "Is that what this is really about? You couldn't stand the thought of Elias looking at me like that because you want to be the only one with the right to crave me like that?"

Your fingertips walk playfully up his chest, tracing the line of his collarbone. "You know, it's okay to admit it. Jealousy doesn't make you weak, it makes you...human. It means you care, deeply and intensely and maybe just a little bit possessively."

You nip lightly at his bottom lip, your voice a low purr. "So go on, Sylus...admit it. Because I think that's exactly what happened back there. And you know what? It's okay. I can handle a little jealousy, as long as it comes from the right man."

"Lie down" he orders

You don't move, still processing his words, but you see his hands undo his pants then push them down his hips.

"Kitten, lay down on that fucking bed right now."

As you settle against the silk sheets, he finishes removing the last of his clothing, his shirt and underwear dropping to the floor. His erection springs free, long, hard and already leaking at the tip.

Your whispered "Oh god" reaches his ears. Sylus grins, stalking towards the bed until he looms over you. He leans down, one hand braced on either side of your head as he settles between your thighs.

"You sure you want to feed my ego like that? You already think I'm an arrogant asshole and the way you are staring at my cock is about to make me insufferable"

He rolls his hips slowly, his hard length brushing against your thigh through the thin fabric of your dress. The friction makes him groan softly, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

You sit up and his eyes darken as he watches you strip, his gaze roaming greedily over every inch of skin you reveal. When you reach for the lace tops of your stockings, he stops you "Keep those on."I want to see you in nothing but those. Want to feel the lace against your soft skin as I fuck you."

His large hands grip your hips tightly, flipping you over onto your hands and knees with a sudden, dominant move. Before you can react, he's running his palms over the curves of your ass, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh.

"Fuck, your ass is perfect," he growls, his fingers digging into your skin as he spreads your cheeks apart

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks "I want to see you arch your back for me. Want to watch this ass lift up and beg for my cock as I take you from behind."

One hand slides around to the front of your body, his fingers pushing your panties aside to stroke through your folds and then without warning, he grips the fabric and yanks hard, the material tearing away easily in his strong grasp. The cool air hits your now bare sex as you feel the rough lace scrape against your skin for a brief moment before it's ripped away completely.

"Sylus!" you cry out in surprise and a hint of pain. Your hips jerk forward instinctively and red marks bloom on your hipbones.

"Ass up, kitten," he commands, before you can react, he's pushing your upper body down against the mattress, leaving your back arched and your ass high in the air.

You feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and then with one hard thrust, he's burying himself inside you to the hilt. Your gasp of surprise mixes with his low groan of pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," Sylus grunts, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in.

"You're so fucking big Sy"

"But you take it all like a good girl, don't you?"

You feel him set a hard, fast pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. He leans over your back, his chest pressed against you as he fucks into you relentlessly.

"Fuck, can you feel me deep inside your hot little cunt? Gonna fill you up until I run down those pretty stockings."

He feels your walls clench tight around his cock when he rubs your swollen clit. "Fuck, that's it. You're getting close, aren't you?"

He leans down to whisper in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "Come on my cock, kitten."

But that's not your plan.

He growls in frustration as you slip his cock out of your dripping pussy, tight walls clenching around nothing. He grabs you roughly by the waist, dragging your pleasure drunk body back against his chest. "No, no, get that sweet cunt back on my dick," he demands.

But you ignore his command, instead dragging your hand down to plunge your fingers deep inside your aching, empty core. You pump them in and out, fucking yourself with wild abandon, chasing the release that Sylus's relentless pounding brought you to the brink of.

"Fuck, Y/N I swear to god..."

Sylus watches in awe and disbelief as your body jerks and writhes against him, your back arching as you bring yourself to a shattering climax. He can feel your moan in his stomach, your pussy clenching and fluttering around your fingers as you cum hard.

" Are you kidding me?"

You laugh, pat his cheek, peck his lips and move away when he tries to kiss you deeply.

"Thank you, that was so good Sy"

He watches as you stand and stretch languidly. He licks his lips, practically drooling at the delicious image you make.

"Oh, so we're playing now, are we kitten?" He chuckles, he grips his thick shaft and pumps it slowly, teasingly. "You wanna watch me touch myself?

He spreads his legs wider, giving you an unobstructed view of his muscled body and the way his hand works over his huge, throbbing erection. "I could watch you watch me all day, sweetie."

Sylus's tongue darts out to lick his lips, his gaze never leaving yours as he pleasures himself. "You want to help, don't you kitten? Wanna wrap your lips around the head and suck me deep?"

He climbs off the bed and tosses a pillow at your feet as he stalks towards you. "For your knees, it's a hard floor"

The musky scent of his arousal fills your nostrils as you kneel before him on the pillow, your eyes level with his throbbing erection. He positions his painfully engorged cock in front of your face, the swollen head glistening with a bead of precum.

Fisting his cock he aims it at your lips and asks "May I?"

You hear him groan deeply when you nod and open your mouth, your pink tongue out and ready.

He pushes forward, the swollen head of his dick slipping past your lips and settling on your outstretched tongue. "Ungh, yes..." He throws his head back with a guttural moan as he hilts inside you, your nose pressing against his pelvis. 

"I could live inside your mouth, buried deep in your throat. Be a good girl and make me cum"

He hisses in pleasure as you gurgle and moan around him. Tears stream down your face as he fucks your throat raw, his thick cock pounding in and out, stretching your lips around his girth. You taste the salty tang of his skin, feel the hot, hard flesh throbbing against your tongue.

"I'm cumming!" Sylus grunts, his voice tight with strain as his hips stutter and still. He tries to pull back, but your hands grasp his ass, holding him deep inside as you feel his cock pulse and jerk.

The sensation of your teeth accidentally scraping his sensitive flesh sends Sylus over the edge. His hot, thick cum shooting down your throat in spurts. You swallow, gulping down every drop of his release, feeling it coat your throat and slide into your belly.

As the last weak spurts of cum dribble from his spent cock, you pull back, gasping for air. Sylus's thumb traces up the column of your throat, feeling the way it works as you swallow the remnants of his load.

"Greedy, feisty kitten," he praises with smirk, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath.

His strong arms scoop under your elbows, easily lifting you up from your kneeling position. He holds you close, your naked body pressing against his. "Now, how about you let me cum inside you this time, kitten?"

"I think that one is the best tonight" a deep, smooth voice startled you from behind. 

You were admiring Rafayel's breathtaking artwork adorning the gallery walls, you've seen them, but somehow they looked different here.

Slightly caught off guard, you turned to face the man, taking in his handsome features and the way his eyes, as blue as the ocean on a clear day, seemed to sparkle with enthusiasm as he spoke about Rafayel's paintings.

The man introduced himself as Liam, an art critic with an impressive resume and an even more impressive knowledge of the art world.

As the conversation flowed, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and admiration for Rafayel. His gift was truly remarkable, and it was clear that others recognized and appreciated his talent as much as you did. Liam talked to you about Rafayel's rise to fame, his groundbreaking exhibitions, and his ability to command astronomical prices for his one of a kind pieces.

As you spoke, you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you.

" I see you've met my wife"

You see Liam's eyes go wide as he flashes a smile "Oh wow, I... I didn't know you two were married"

You look over your shoulder to Rafayel with a scowl before returning to Liam "We are not, he is kidding, we are just friends"

"Like hell we are, that's not what you were saying last night when my tongue was in your..."

Rafayel's smirk only grew wider as your hand clamped over his mouth, muffling his words. He let you drag him away, stumbling slightly as you pulled him down a long, dimly lit hallway of the art gallery.

"You're such a tease, you know that?" he mutters against your hand, his hot breath tickling your skin.

His hand finds yours, fingers interlocking as he allows you to lead him deeper into the gallery, away from prying eyes and ears.

As you walk, his gaze rakes over you, hungry and intense. You can feel the heat of his stare, the way it lingers on the curve of your hip, the sway of your ass. It's a tangible thing, a physical caress that makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

You walk into a small office and close the door behind you, the air is thick with the scent of oil paints, turpentine, and something else, something musky and masculine. Rafayel's scent, you realize, your heart pounding in your chest as he backs you up against a wall, his hands coming to rest on either side of your head.

"Friends, huh?" he murmurs "Is that really what you want people to think?"

"Thomas is gonna be looking for you"

"Fuck Thomas. Fuck the gallery. Fuck everything else."

His hands slide down the wall to your hips, gripping them possessively as he pulls your body flush against his.

One hand moves from your hip to your thigh, his fingers dance along the sensitive skin. He teases, he taunts, drawing out the anticipation until you're squirming against him, desperate for more.

Then, without warning, his hand is under your dress, his fingers seeking out your most intimate place. They find your core, slick, swollen and aching for his touch.

"Do you drip down your thighs for all your friends?" He pinches your clit, rolling the sensitive nub between his fingers. Pleasure explodes through you, making your back arch and your toes curl in your shoes. Your eyes flutter shut, your head falling back against the wall as a broken moan escapes your lips.

"I don't think you do," Rafayel murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. "Because this mess, it's all for me cutie.

He pushes two fingers deep inside you, pumping them in and out, fucking you with his hand. "Does it feel like I'm your friend," he rasps, "when I bury my face between these thighs and eat this sweet pussy like it's my fucking job?" His fingers pump faster, harder, the sound of your arousal filling the small office.

"Or maybe," he continues, his other hand sliding up your body to roughly palm your breast, tweaking your nipple through the thin fabric of your dress, "when you're bouncing on my cock, taking every thick inch like you were made for it, screaming my name as you cum harder than you ever have in your life..."

He leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. "Is that friendship bonding?"

"Fuck" he growls, his hips rocking forward to grind the rigid length of his cock against your thigh. "You squeeze my fingers just like you squeeze my cock when I'm buried deep inside you"

He moves his fingers faster, harder, his thumb presses down hard on your clit, rubbing merciless circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"You're so fucking wet, cutie," Rafayel pants "I can feel it coating my hand, dripping down my wrist. Is that for me, y/n?

He leans down, lips latching onto the side of your neck, sucking and biting at the tender flesh.

He wastes no time, his desperation palpable as he yanks you towards the desk. The room spins briefly as he spins you around and bends you over the edge, your stomach pressing against the cool, smooth surface. Your skirt is flipped up and over in one swift motion.

He yanks down his zipper, freeing his fat cock. It springs out, slapping against your inner thigh, leaving a smear of precum on your skin.

His hands grip your hips as he positions himself. His chest presses against your back, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as he leans down to murmur in your ear.

"Can I fuck you?" he asks "Can I fuck you properly, cutie?

Your hands reach for the edge of the desk, gripping it tightly as you nod. Your body trembling with need, your core clenching and fluttering around nothing, aching to be filled by him.

"Please," you breathe out, arching your back to push your ass firmly against his hips.

Rafayel pulls your panties to the side and hilts himself inside you with one thrust, burying his thick cock to the base of your needy cunt. He stands still for a moment, his hips flush against your ass, allowing you to feel every throbbing inch of him pulsing deep within your core.

As he remains motionless, your hips start to move on their own accord, rocking back against him, desperate for friction, for stimulation, for more. The desk creaks beneath you with the force of your movements, the sound mingling with the ragged pants and moans spilling from your lips.

"Please Raf..." you whimper. Your walls clench around his shaft, trying to keep him deep inside you.

Rafayel chuckles "Please what, cutie?" he teases, his hips still unmoving, his cock throbbing but unmoving inside you. "What are you begging for? You're the one fucking me."

His hips start to move, pulling out until just the tip remains inside you, before slamming back in, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

"When I'm pounding this tight cunt, claiming this pussy as mine, it's not friendly fucking," he growls, punctuating his words with sharp snaps of his hips. "This is me showing you who you belong to. This is me reminding you that..."

He reaches around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub. "It's all fucking mine. You're mine Y/N. This is me taking what's already mine."

The office door handle jiggles and Rafayel's eyes flash with a thrill of danger. He grins at the interruption, not slowing his relentless pace for a second.

"Maybe it's that hot shot critic, maybe he heard you. That would make things clear for him"

Your body jerks forward from the force of his thrusts, a desperate moan tearing from your throat. "So let them hear, let the whole fucking world know"

Rafayel feels your body tense and then shudder violently as his words and the relentless pounding of his cock finally push you over the edge. Your walls clamp down on him, rippling and fluttering as you come undone.

Rafayel looks down, his eyes dark and wild with lust as he watches your clench around his cock.

Then, he sees it. The creamy ring forming at the base of his shaft where your tight cunt is stretched around his thick girth. It's too much, too fucking perfect. With that Rafayel loses control, slamming into you one last time as his cock jerks and pulses inside you.

He grinds his pelvis against your ass, making sure to push every last drop deep inside you.

He slowly pulls out of you, a low groan rumbling in his chest at the sensation of your walls clinging to his softening cock. As he takes a step back, he looks down at your trembling body bent over the desk, your thighs glistening with the combined essence of your mutual pleasure.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans down, trailing a finger through the creamy trails dripping down your skin.

"Such a perfect piece of art," he murmurs, his voice low and awed. "Look at you, cutie. Look at the fucking masterpiece we've created."

He brings his finger to his lips, sampling the tangy flavor of your joining, his eyes never leaving your body. "Maybe I should put you out there, just like this, as my magnum opus, a live exhibit," he continues, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, smearing a dollop of his release there.

His hand cups your chin and tilts your face up to meet his eyes. "Wouldn't that be a sight, cutie?

Your heart clenches as you stare at the paused video on your phone screen, the beautiful woman's smiling face frozen beside Caleb's. An unfamiliar, bitter taste coats your tongue, jealousy, you realize with a start. You swallow hard, trying to dislodge the uncomfortable feeling lodged in your throat.

Caleb's laughter echoes in your mind. That laughter, that beautiful, rare sound, belonged to you. Only you. And seeing it, hearing it, directed at someone else... it feels like a betrayal.

You know you shouldn't feel this way. Caleb is your partner in every sense but one. You've shared everything together since childhood ,laughter, tears, secrets, dreams. But this... this hollow ache in your chest, this burning in your throat... it's new. Terrifying.

Still, as you sit there, gripping your phone like a lifeline, you can't help but wonder... what if Caleb sees her as more than just a friend? What if she sees him the same way you... the way you... can't stop yourself from seeing him?

Your heart sinks as you refresh the page again and again, desperation clawing at your throat. Gone. Vanished like a ghost. The video, your proof, your reason to feel this way... erased without a trace.

A hollow emptiness settles in the pit of your stomach as you toss your phone aside, no longer caring when it clatters onto the cold hardwood floor. It's fitting, really. Just like everything else that matters to you, it's slipping away.

Your mind replays the fleeting images from the video on an endless loop. Caleb's smile, her smile, their laughter. The way she leaned in close to whisper in his ear. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. The way your heart shattered into a million jagged pieces.

A single tear slips down your cheek, followed by another. And another. Until they're falling in earnest, silent cries of a soul in agony. A soul that yearns for a love it can never have. A love that's slipping away, like grains of sand through an hourglass.

🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎

You wake to the familiar buzz of your phone on the nightstand, your heart leaping with a foolish hope before you remember. Last night, Gideon's video, the hollow ache in your chest... it all comes rushing back like a bitter tide. He didn't text you last night. Not a single word, not even the usual goodnight message that you've come to expect and secretly crave.

You roll over and grab your phone, staring at the screen as it blinks with an incoming message.

A new message from Caleb. Just like every other morning. Just like clockwork.

Good morning, pipsqueak. Did you eat breakfast already?

You stare at the message and you answer, you always do.

Just waking up now. You know I'm not a morning person.

You hit send before you can overthink it, before the bitter taste of jealousy can creep back into your mouth.

You busy yourself with the mundane tasks of getting ready, trying to push away the lingering ache in your chest. You choose an outfit on autopilot, not really caring what you wear. A simple t-shirt and jeans will have to do.

You get another message and you glance at your phone, expecting to see Caleb's name flashing on the screen. But instead, you find a message from Tara. You hesitate, your thumb hovering over the notification. Going out isn't really your thing, not with everything that's been weighing on your mind lately.

Hey girl! Wanna hit up that new club downtown tonight? I heard it's lit af. ;) What do you say, bestie?

You stare at the message, reading it over and over again. Normally, you'd decline. Make up some excuse about being tired or having too much work to do. But tonight... tonight you need a distraction. Anything to get your mind off things.

Before you can overthink it, you type out a reply, your fingers moving on their own accord.

Sure, why not. Count me in. ;) Pick me up at 7?

🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎

You step back from the full length mirror, your eyes traveling the length of the dress Tara lent you. It's a shimmering midnight blue number, the fabric clinging to your curves in all the right places. But it's the length, or lack of that has you second guessing this entire idea.

The hemline sits dangerously high on your thighs, barely grazing the tops of your legs. It's a far cry from your usual casual attire of jeans and t-shirts. You're not used to showing so much skin, to feeling so exposed.

As if sensing your hesitation, Tara appears behind you in the reflection, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. She places her hands on your shoulders, squeezing gently.

"You look smoking hot! Why the long face?" she asks, her brow furrowing in concern.

You bite your lower lip, worrying it between your teeth. "I don't know, Tara. I just...I'm not used to wearing something so...revealing.

Just tonight y/n," Tara reassures you "You deserve to let loose a little after all the hard work you've been putting in. A night out with the girls will do you good."

You know she's right. It has been a while since you last went out and had some real fun. Work has consumed most of your waking hours, and the rest has been spent...thinking about him. Him and her. Him and his laugh that wasn't meant for you.

Lost in thought, you hardly register the short walk to Tara's car. Before you know it, you're sliding into the passenger seat, the leather cool against your bare thighs.

As Tara pulls out onto the main road, you suddenly remember something. Or rather, forget something. You reach for your phone instinctively before remembering that you left it on Tara's dresser.

"Crap, I forgot my phone," you groan.

Tara glances at you, one eyebrow arched. "Do you want to go back and get it?" she asks, already slowing down to pull over to the side of the road.

You hesitate for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. In the end, you shake your head. "No, it's okay. I think I'm good without it for one night"

You settle back into the leather seat, watching the city lights blur past the window as Tara speeds towards the new club downtown.

As the night goes on, you find yourself getting lost in the music, the pulsing beats vibrating through your body as you dance with your friends. The alcohol buzzes warmly in your veins and for a few hours, you allow yourself to forget. To forget the jealousy and heartache that's been consuming you.

You're sandwiched between Tara and another friend, the three of you bouncing and swaying in sync to the pounding beat. Suddenly, a cute guy with a charming smile appears in front of you.

"Hey there," he shouts over the music, leaning in close so you can hear him. "I'm Jason. Wanna dance?"

He extends a hand, his smile widening. Normally, you might have been hesitant, or even said no. But tonight, with the alcohol coursing through your veins and the music pumping you up, you find yourself nodding.

"Sure," you reply, taking his hand and letting him pull you closer.

As the two of you begin to dance, you feel a flicker of excitement. It's nice, being desired. Being wanted. Even if it's not by...him. You push the thought away, refusing to let it ruin this moment.

Jason is a good dancer, his movements confident. He spins you around, pulling you back in close, his hands resting on your hips. You find yourself laughing, the music and the moment overwhelming you in the best way possible.

For a brief instant, you allow yourself to imagine that this could be more than just a dance. That this cute guy could be someone you could see yourself with. But then reality sets in, and you remember the truth:

Your heart belongs to someone else. Someone you can never have. No matter how hard you try to forget, how much you drink, or how many cute guys you dance with.

The room spins as you feel Jason kiss you, his lips foreign and unfamiliar against your own. Your eyes flutter closed, trying to lose yourself in the sensation, desperate to forget the man who truly owns your heart. But as you press your mouth harder against his, you realize that this kiss...it's all wrong.

His lips are too thin, not soft and plush like...like Caleb's. The shape is different, the feel of them unfamiliar. And his breath...it doesn't smell like sweet apples.

A pang of disappointment shoots through you as the realization hits this isn't the kiss you've been dreaming of. This isn't the man you've been longing for. This is just a cruel imitation, a poor substitute for the real thing.

You pull back, breaking the kiss abruptly. Jason looks startled for a moment before a confused frown crosses his face. You open your mouth to say something, to apologize or explain, but no words come out.

Instead, you feel a wave of nausea roll over you, the alcohol you've consumed churning uncomfortably in your stomach. You stumble back from Jason, pressing a hand to your mouth as you try to hold back the urge to vomit.

"Excuse me," you mutter, not meeting his eyes as you turn and push your way through the crowd on the dance floor.

You make it to the bathroom just in time, collapsing in front of the toilet and retching violently. Tears stream down your face as you empty the contents of your stomach, the bitter taste of regret and self loathing coating your tongue.

You splash some cold water on your face, staring at your reflection in the mirror, eyes red and puffy, your makeup smeared from crying and the heat of the club. But looking back at you is the face of a girl who's in love with someone she can never have. A girl who's trying desperately to forget, but failing miserably.

You stumble out of the bathroom, still feeling shaky and off balance.The last person you expect to see tonight is standing right there in front of you, his tall frame unmistakable even in the low light.

Caleb.

He's dressed in button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and dark jeans that hug his muscular thighs. His hair is slightly tousled, like he's been running his fingers through it in agitation. And his eyes...his eyes are fixed on you, a stormy violet that betrays his emotions.

Your eyes widen in shock as Caleb strides towards you, his long legs eating up the distance between you in just a few quick steps. Before you can react, he's upon you, his large hands gripping your waist. In one almost effortless motion, he hoists you up and over his shoulder, leaving your head dangling down his back.

"Caleb!" you yelp, instinctively grabbing onto his shirt to steady yourself. "What are you doing? Put me down!"

But he ignores your protests, his grip on your thighs tightening as he turns to stalk out of the club. Tara watches in stunned silence, her mouth hanging open.

"Oh, hey Caleb," she starts to say, but he cuts her off before she can finish.

"Do you have a way to get home safely?" he asks, his voice low and gruff.

"Yes," Tara replies, her eyes flicking to you in confusion and a hint of concern.

Without waiting for her to finish, Caleb starts walking, carrying you through the crowded club. You bounce and jostle with each step, your dress riding up dangerously high on your thighs. You can feel the cool air on your exposed skin, the fabric of his shirt rough against your cheek.

"Caleb, stop!" you cry, pounding your fist against his back. "You can't just take me like this! I can walk on my own."

But he remains silent, his jaw clenched tight as he pushes through the crowd. You catch glimpses of the curious stares and whispers as he passes.

Soon, the loud music fades behind you as Caleb bursts out of the club and into the cool night air. The sudden change in temperature makes you shiver, and you instinctively press closer to the warmth of his body.

He doesn't stop until he reaches a sleek, black car parked at the curb. With a grunt, he yanks open the passenger door and unceremoniously dumps you onto the leather seat. You land with a thud, the breath knocked out of your lungs temporarily.

Before you can scramble away, he's sliding into the driver's seat beside you, slamming the door shut. The sound of it clicking closed makes you jump, and you shrink back against the far window, eyeing him warily.

"What the hell, Caleb?" you demand, your voice shaking slightly from the cold and the shock of being so abruptly kidnapped. "Why did you just do that? I can't believe you!"

He doesn't respond right away, his grip tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. The engine hums loudly in the tense silence between you as he starts driving.

Finally, he slams on the brakes, the car jerking to a halt. He turns to face you, his eyes blazing with an emotion you can't quite place anger, jealousy, pain?

"Did you enjoy it?" he asks, his voice low and rough. "Did you enjoy what you were doing back there with him?"

You glare back at Caleb, your eyes flashing with anger and defiance. "I was enjoying every second of it," you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "In fact, I'm thinking of going back again. Maybe I'll let him kiss me again, maybe I'll let him do even more than that"

You feel a surge of anger rising up inside you, your cheeks flushing hot with both fury and humiliation. How dare he accuse you like this, demand answers to questions he has no right to ask? He had no right to drag you out of there like some kind of caveman!

"Did you enjoy his attention?"

"Did you enjoy hers?" 

"So this is what all of this is about?"

"Did you?"

"I hated every second of it"

You grip the edge of your seat as he speeds off, the car lurching forward and the rest of the way home is silent.

Once you get home you step out of the car, not waiting for him to open your door. You walk ahead of him, your heels clicking loudly against the pavement as you cross the parking lot to your apartment building. The cool night air nips at your bare legs, but you barely feel it. You're too focused on the man following close behind you

You can feel his gaze burning into your back, hot and intense. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

As you approach your front door, you hesitate, your hand hovering over the handle. You know you should say something, should try to diffuse the tension that's building between you. But what can you say?

You turn to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. He's standing close, too close, his broad shoulders taking up almost the entire doorway. He's looking down at you, his eyes dark and stormy, his jaw clenched so tightly you think he might break his teeth.

"Caleb..." you start, but the words die in your throat. 

His hand comes up, his fingers brushing against your cheek. You lean into the touch instinctively, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When you open them again, he's looking at you with a mix of anger, jealousy, and something else... something softer.

"Just... go inside," he says quietly. "Before I do something we'll both regret."

You barely make it inside before the nausea hits you again and you run to the bathroom. Once again falling to your knees in front of the toilet, you retch, your stomach churning as you empty its contents. Tears stream down your face, mingling with the drool and sweat as sobs wrack your body.

Behind you, you hear the click of the bathroom door closing, and then the sound of Caleb's footsteps on the tile floor. He doesn't say a word, but you feel his presence looming over you, as solid and comforting as it always was when you were a kid.

His hands gather your hair, pulling it back from your face and holding it out of the way as you continue to heave and retch. Just like he used to do when you were little and got sick after eating too much ice cream.

The memory makes you cry even harder, great gulping sobs that hurt your chest and burn your throat. You're suddenly transported back to those simpler times, when all you needed was Caleb to make everything better. When he was your rock, your protector, your best friend in the whole wide world.

Why did things have to get so complicated? Why did falling in love with him have to ruin everything? You were happier before, when you could just be with him without all this fear and longing and heartache.

You're dimly aware of Caleb shifting behind you, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you up as the last of the sickness leaves your body. He rubs your back in soothing circles, just like he used to, crooning soft words of comfort into your ear.

"Shh, I've got you," he murmurs, his voice low and deep and so achingly familiar. "I'm here, pipsqueak. I'm not going anywhere."

You let Caleb help you brush your teeth, rinsing the bitter taste of sickness from your mouth. He hands you a glass of water and a couple of pills, no doubt for the headache that's starting to throb behind your eyes.

Without a word, you take them, swallowing them down with a few gulps of the cool water. Caleb watches you silently, his expression unreadable.

When you're finished, he takes your hand and leads you back out to the bedroom. The room spins slightly as you walk, and you have to lean against him for support. He steadies you easily, his arm wrapping around your waist.

At the bed, he pauses, letting you sit down on the edge of the mattress. You watch as he pulls back the covers, the sheets smooth and cool and inviting. He helps you lie down, tucking the blanket around your shoulders like you're a child.

You settle back against the pillows, suddenly exhausted by the events of the night. Caleb stands over you, looking down at your face. In the moonlight filtering through the window, his expression is soft, almost tender.

He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair off your forehead. His fingers linger, tracing the curve of your cheek, the line of your jaw. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed.

"Sleep now," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be here when you wake up."

You believe him, because you've always believed him. Because he's always kept his promises, no matter what. Even when the world felt like it was falling apart around you, Caleb was your constant, your safe haven, your home.

With a sigh, you let yourself sink into the mattress, the exhaustion pulling you down into a deep sleep. The last thing you hear before everything fades to black is the soft click of the bedroom door as Caleb steps out, giving you privacy and space, just like he always does. Just like he's always done. Even in sleep, you reach for him, your hand searching for the warmth and solidity of his body. But that side its empty, the sheets cool and smooth and untouched.

You wake with a start, your heart pounding in your chest. The sheets beneath you are damp with sweat, tangled around your legs. For a moment, you're disoriented, unsure of where you are or how you got here.

Memories of the night before come rushing back, the club, Caleb's fury, the sickening nausea that left you weak and shaking. You shiver as a chill runs through you, the cold sweat on your skin making you feel clammy and unclean.

Slowly, you sit up, pushing the damp hair out of your face. Your mouth feels dry, your tongue thick and furry. 

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, standing up gingerly as a wave of dizziness washes over you. You grab onto the edge of the bed, waiting for it to pass before taking a tentative step forward.

As you creep towards the door, you suddenly remember Caleb's parting words. He said he'd be here when you woke up. You hadn't been sure what to make of that at the time, too tired and miserable to think it through. But now, a flicker of worry ignites in your chest.

You slip out the bedroom door and into the darkened living room. At first, you don't see him. The room is small and cramped, filled with the detritus of your life. Clothes are strewn over the back of the couch, empty cups and plates litter the coffee table. It's a mess, a reflection of the chaos inside your head.

But then you see him. He's stretched out on the tiny sofa, his long legs dangling off the edge, his broad shoulders hunched to fit the too small space.

You step closer, your heart starting to pound for a different reason now. Caleb looks so peaceful when he's asleep, his face relaxed, his dark lashes fanning out against his cheeks. He's even more beautiful like this, without the anger and pain that usually clouds his eyes.

As you tiptoe back towards the bathroom, you pause for a moment, glancing back at Caleb's sleeping form. He's shifted slightly, one arm falling off the couch to hang down to the floor.

A pang of guilt spears through you as you remember the anger in his eyes last night. The jealousy. The pain. All because of you and your stupid, impulsive actions.

Shaking your head, you quickly look away, hurrying into the bathroom. You turn on the shower, waiting for the water to heat up. As steam starts to fill the small room, you strip off your clothes, letting them drop to the floor. You step into the shower, sighing as the hot water hits your cool skin.

You scrub yourself thoroughly, washing away the grime and sweat of the night before. But no matter how hard you scrub, you can't seem to wash away the shame and guilt that clings to you like a second skin.

With a heavy sigh, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower. You wrap a towel around your body, tucking it in at the top.

You walk out of the bathroom, still wrapped in your towel, steam curling around your legs.

As you step into the bedroom, you freeze, your heart leaping into your throat.

There, sitting on the edge of your bed, is Caleb. He looks big and imposing in your small bedroom, taking up more space than he should.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy with unspoken words and lingering anger.

Then Caleb breaks the silence, his voice low and rough from sleep. "Hey," he says simply, his gaze never leaving yours.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very aware of your state of undress. You clutch the towel tighter around your body, as if it could somehow shield you from the intensity of his stare.

Hey," you reply softly, not trusting yourself to speak any louder.

He stands up then, moving towards you with slow, deliberate steps. He stops when he's standing right in front of you. You have to tilt your head back to look up at him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

"You really don't get it, do you?"

His thumb presses against your lower lip, tracing the soft curve. He leans in closer, his breath mingling with yours. You can smell the faint scent of apples, the lingering aroma of his cologne. It's the same scent that always lingers on your skin after he holds you close.

"I saw the way those men looked at you last night," he grits out, a flicker of anger sparking in his eyes. "I saw them staring at what's mine. And it made me want to... to..."

"Yours?"

"Yes, mine" he confirms "You've been mine for years. Long before you even realized it."

He takes a shuddering breath, his chest expanding and when he speaks again, his words are raw and unguarded, laid bare by the weight of his emotions.

"I can't hold back anymore. I can't pretend that I don't want you, that I don't need you like air in my lungs. I've wanted you for so long, and seeing you with him last night... it made me realize that I can't keep pretending anymore."

"I would never touch another woman, not when you're all I can think about. Not when you've consumed my every thought, my every dream, for as long as I can remember. You're the one constant in my life. My everything."

Caleb's eyes widen for a split second in surprise before they flutter shut as your lips meet his in a clash of long denied passion. He makes an approving sound in the back of his throat, his arms wrapping around you to crush you against his muscular body.

It's like a dam bursting open, a flood of pent up emotion and desire pouring out of him as he kisses you with a hunger that steals your breath away. His lips move demandingly over yours, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim and possess.

You feel the same desperate hunger rising up inside you, a starving ache that can only be sated by him. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, fisting the fabric as you press yourself even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against every inch of you.

His hands roam your body with a sense of urgency, mapping out the curves he's always craved to touch. He tugs impatiently at the towel, and it falls away, baring your naked flesh to his eyes. He breaks the kiss just long enough to drink in the sight of you.

He leans down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak before he suckles hard. Pleasure jolts through you, and you arch into him, your fingers tangling in his hair to hold him close.

His hand slides down your stomach, his fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He parts your thighs, and you feel the cool air on your overheated skin before his fingers find your center.

He groans against your breast, his fingers sliding through your folds, teasing your clit with a skill that has you seeing stars. "So fucking wet," he murmurs, lifting his head to look at you with eyes that blaze with lust. "All for me, Pip? 

He walks you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed. His hands grip your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh as he lifts you up effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively.

He lays you down on the bed, his body covering yours, pinning you to the mattress. He kisses you again, his hips nestling between your spread thighs.

Pulling back, he looks down at you with eyes darkened by desire, his chest heaving. "Tell me where you want me, baby"

He strokes the soft skin of your inner thighs, his thumbs brushing maddeningly close to the apex of your legs.

"Here?" he murmurs, his fingers grazing your sex, "or maybe... here? Show me"

"Caleb..."

"Show me, Y/N"

Slowly you spread your legs apart, feet flat on the mattress and you point a finger in between your thighs "Here"

"Dip one finger in"

You obey his command. He inhales sharply when your finger parts your glistening folds. His eyes follow the path of your finger as it trails over your sensitive clit, and a low groan escapes his lips at the sight of your touch.

"Stop" his voice makes you pause, your finger hovering just above your needy sex as you blink up at him.

"Not there," he says, "Dip just the tip of your finger straight into your tight little cunt. Let me see you open yourself up for me."

The tip of your finger disappears inside of you. He licks his lips, his eyes fixated on the way your walls clench around it, as if begging for something more.

"That's enough, I want a taste. Feed it to me"

You withdraw your finger from your dripping pussy and bring your finger to Caleb's parted lips, watching as he takes it into his mouth without hesitation. His tongue swirls around the tip, lapping up your essence, his lips sealing around the digit as he suckles firmly. An approving moan vibrates around your finger, the sound sending shivers of pleasure racing through your body.

"Mmm, fuck," he murmurs, releasing your finger from his mouth. "You taste even better than I imagined. Believe me when I say that I'm going to lick this sweet little cunt until you're screaming my name and cumming on my tongue over and over again. But right now, I need to be inside you"

With that declaration, he sits back on his heels and reaches for the hem of his shirt, he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside. His muscles ripple and flex as he moves, a testament to the strength and power that lies beneath his skin.

Next, he unbuckles his belt. He stands briefly to shimmy out of his jeans, letting them drop to the floor and leaving him in nothing but a pair of tight, black boxer briefs that do little to hide the thick outline of his arousal.

He crawls back over you, settling between your spread thighs, his hips nestling against yours. He leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, his tongue delving deep to taste you again. You can feel the heat of his skin, the hard length of him pressing insistently against your core.

Breaking the kiss, he reaches down to push his boxers out of the way, freeing his cock. It springs up thick and hard, the swollen head already glistening with precum. He takes himself in hand, stroking himself slowly as he looks down at you.

Caleb groans and throws his head back as your small hand wraps around him. "Princess," he grunts, his hips bucking slightly into your touch. He can feel your hesitation, your innocence, and it makes him want to take his time with you.

When you push him back onto the bed and settle between his spread thighs, his chest heaves with anticipation. He can only watch as you lean down and extend your little pink tongue to lick a slow, teasing path along the underside of his cock.

"Oh, fuck," he gasps, his fingers tangling in your hair, gripping the soft strands tightly.

"Teach me how to do it, I want to make you feel good"

"Fuck, Pip," he rasps, his hips twitching with the effort of holding still and letting you take the lead. "You're killing me here. Your mouth feels so fucking good."

He guides your head with a gentle pressure, encouraging you to take more of him into your mouth. "Start by just licking along the shaft," he instructs, his voice strained. "Use the flat of your tongue, from the base up to the tip."

As you follow his directions, he shudders and lets out a low moan. "That's it, just like that. You're doing so good, princess. Your mouth is perfect."

"Now," he continues, his breathing growing heavier, "try wrapping your lips around the head. Just the tip, okay? And suck gently, like you would with a lollipop. Use your lips and your tongue toge...Ungh...Fuck, just like that," Caleb groans, his fingers tightening in your hair as he feels your soft lips wrap around the swollen head of his cock.

He guides your head down a little further, inch by inch, letting you take more of his thick length into your mouth. "Remember to breathe through your nose, and don't worry about taking it all at once. Just focus on the head for now."

As you suck gently, your tongue swirling around the tip, Caleb's thighs tremble beneath your hands. "Shit...fuck. Now, try bobbing your head a little. Just an inch at a time, letting your lips slide along my shaft. Find a rhythm that feels good for you."

He looks down at you, his eyes dark and intense, filled with a mix of lust and affection. "You're doing amazing. I've never felt anything like this before. Your mouth is pure magic."

He watches, enraptured, as your head rises and falls, your lips wrapped snugly around him. The sight of your pretty mouth stretched around him, the feeling of your warm, wet mouth enveloping him, its too much for Caleb to take.

Caleb's body tenses, his grip on your hair tightening as he feels his release fast approaching. With a low groan, he suddenly moves, sliding his throbbing shaft from the warm haven of your mouth.

Before you can miss the loss, he's moving, flipping your body over and settling between your thighs once more. His hands grip your hips, squeezing the soft flesh as he positions himself at your entrance.

"Not yet, baby," he rasps, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "I can't cum like that, not before I feel you wrapped around me. I want to be inside you when you let go."

The head of his cock nudges against your wet folds, parting them, teasing your entrance. His breath comes in short, sharp gasps as he fights the urge to surge forward, to bury himself to the hilt in one thrust.

"Can I?"

"Please Caleb"

"Biiiig stretch," Caleb grunts, his voice strained as he thrusts forward. He buries himself to the hilt slowly, his heavy balls coming to rest against your skin.

Your gasp of surprise and the way your back arches off the bed, pressing your breasts against his chest, spurs him on.

He pauses for a moment, letting you adjust to the size of him, the stretch of your untouched walls around his shaft. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, a mix of exertion and exhilaration. The heat of your core is incredible, the wetness coating his length allowing him to slide in and out of you.

He pulls back slowly, until just the tip of his cock remains inside you, before thrusting forward again, burying himself deep. He sets a steady rhythm, his hips rocking against yours as he fucks you with long, deep strokes.

He lifts your leg, hooking it over his shoulder as he angles his hips and thrusts deep, striking a spot inside you that makes your back arch off the bed.

"Do that again," you gasp, your nails digging into his back, urging him on. Your words inflame him, spurring him to do exactly as you asked. He pulls back and slams forward again, his thick cock pummeling that sensitive spot deep inside your core.

"That's it, it's there!" you cry out, your head thrown back, your throat bared to his hungry gaze.

He leans down, capturing your nipple his teeth grazing the sensitive peak. He suckles and nips at the hardened bud. His hand slides between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing the swollen nub in tight, quick circles.

Your screams of pleasure fill the room, a symphony of ecstasy that makes Caleb's heart soar. He can feel your body trembling beneath him, your walls fluttering and clenching around him. The pleasure is overwhelming, unlike anything you've ever experienced on your own. It leaves you dizzy and breathless, your mind hazing with the intensity of it all.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," Caleb grunts, his voice strained as he pounds into you with wild abandon. Sweat beads on his brow, his muscles flexing and rippling with each thrust. He's lost in the sensation of your tight cunt, in the way your body molds to his perfectly.

But then, he feels it. The way your hips start to rock up to meet his, your body instinctively seeking more pleasure. Your legs wrap around his waist, your heels digging into his backside as you urge him deeper, harder, faster.

"Don't fucking stop," you manage to gasp out between ragged breaths and wanton moans. "Don't ever stop, Caleb. Please."

He reaches down, gripping your thigh and hiking your leg even higher, until your knee is nearly pressed to your chest. The new angle allows him to drive even deeper into your core, his cock head kissing your cervix with each savage thrust. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall.

Your body tenses, back arching sharply as the coil of pleasure inside you snaps. A scream tears from your throat, raw and primal, as your climax crashes over you. Your walls clamp down around him like a vice, gripping his length with a force that steals his breath. The sensation is too much, too intense, too perfect.

His hips stutter, his rhythm faltering as your cunt milks his cock, demanding his own climax.

His cock pulses and throbs as he finds his own release, thick ropes of hot seed erupting from the swollen head to paint your insides white.

"I can't... I can't believe it," he gasps, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. "I thought I could last longer, but you just... god, Pip, you just felt too fucking good."

He's not sure if he was too rough, too demanding in his desire to claim you, to make you his. The thought that he might have hurt you leaves him feeling guilty and protective.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. "Did I hurt you, baby? I didn't mean to be so rough..."

He searches your face intently, looking for any sign of discomfort or pain. But all he sees is a reflection of his own satisfaction, his own lingering pleasure.

You shake your head, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "No, I'm not hurt," you assure him

"Wanna go again?" he asks teasingly. He rocks his hips slightly, his softening cock still nestled deep inside your sensitive core.

"You're secretly a dirty dog, Caleb," you accuse playfully, a giggle escaping your lips. You nip at his jaw, your teeth grazing the stubble that's begun to grow there. "A big, bad, horny dog."

Caleb's only response is a low, rumbling "Woof," his lips curling into a wolfish grin.

[mcrdvcks]

truly

summary: After seeing Scott and Jean's newborn, Logan gets baby fever. word count: 6.6k+ pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader notes: here was the request that inspired this! i will say, anon who requested this, it got a little out of hand, lol. so enjoy 2 smut scenes. this is set in the same world as Deck The Halls and i just need this love spiral but you don't have to read those to understand this! (title is a song by cigarettes after sex) warnings/tags: reader and logan have a bio kid, laura, fluff, talks of having a baby, smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink, fingering, cum play (?)

The four of you were visiting the X-Mansion to see the new addition to the family, Rachel Summers.

Laura and Sierra had already dashed off to the backyard with some of the other kids, leaving you and Logan alone with Jean and Scott.

"Here," Jean said, carefully transferring Rachel into your arms. "She's fed, changed, and hopefully about to nap."

You grinned, gently settling Rachel against your shoulder. "I've got her. Go take a break."

Jean let out a relieved sigh. "You’re amazing, Y/N. I haven’t had an hour to myself in days."

Scott chuckled softly. "More like weeks."

Jean lightly elbowed him. "Be quiet."

"Go," you insisted softly, waving her away. "We’ve got this."

Jean nodded gratefully, already backing out of the room. "Thank you."

Scott followed behind her, offering Logan a quick grin. "Don’t let the girls destroy the place, please."

"No promises," Logan said dryly.

As they left, you gently rocked Rachel, smiling down at her. "Hey, pretty girl. You gonna sleep for your Auntie Y/N?"

Logan watched from a few feet away, hands tucked casually in his pockets, his eyes fixed on you and Rachel. "Looks good on you."

You glanced up, raising a brow. "What?"

He tilted his head toward Rachel. "That. Babies. Always did."

You laughed softly, moving slowly back and forth. "Yeah, well, I’m just glad ours are finally sleeping through the night."

He snorted. "Mostly."

"Mostly," you agreed.

He stepped closer, leaning against the table next to you. Rachel’s tiny fingers curled sleepily against your shoulder, eyes blinking drowsily before finally shutting. Logan’s eyes softened just slightly.

"I forgot how small they are at this stage," he murmured quietly.

"Yeah," you sighed, gently smoothing Rachel's hair. "Time goes by fast."

Logan watched the baby settle peacefully in your arms, his eyes thoughtful. "Laura and Sierra used to do that too."

"What, sleep?"

He smiled faintly. "Be quiet for longer than five minutes."

You grinned, keeping your voice low. "They're not that bad."

"Not that bad," he repeated dryly. "Laura's probably climbing a tree right now, and Sierra’s probably giving her ideas."

"True," you conceded with a chuckle.

Logan’s gaze drifted again to Rachel’s peaceful little face, the faint rise and fall of her chest. A tiny pang of something tugged deep in his chest, something he wouldn’t dare admit out loud.

"You want to hold her?" you offered gently, sensing his quiet contemplation.

He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. "Nah. Looks like she's comfy with you."

You smiled softly, carefully swaying back and forth. "Suit yourself."

Logan shifted, still watching. A beat passed before he cleared his throat. "Scott and Jean seem good."

"They are," you said. "Exhausted, but good."

"Yeah," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. "A newborn’ll do that."

You gave him a curious look. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Logan straightened slightly, clearing his throat again. "Just... thinking."

Your lips curved into a knowing smile. "Thinking about what?"

He shrugged lightly, voice careful. "Nothin'. Just... been a while since we had one this little."

You chuckled softly, shifting Rachel gently. "Someone’s getting nostalgic."

He snorted quietly. "Maybe a little."

"Well, you can always babysit Rachel," you teased softly. "Jean would probably be thrilled."

He cracked a faint smile, shaking his head. "Think I'll leave that to you."

"Mhm," you hummed knowingly, still watching him closely. "Sure."

Rachel stirred slightly, fussing softly in her sleep. Logan moved instinctively closer, a hand coming up to carefully rub the baby’s tiny back, helping soothe her immediately. He paused when he noticed your raised brow.

"What?" he muttered defensively. "Ain’t lost my touch yet."

You smiled, tilting your head. "No, you haven’t."

He watched Rachel settle down again, peaceful and warm against your chest. That gentle tug deepened quietly, making him sigh softly under his breath.

"I'll go check on Laura and Sierra," he muttered, pulling back carefully.

You smiled gently, letting him retreat. "Okay."

Logan paused at the doorway, glancing back once more. The sight of you holding Rachel—so natural, so easy—was etched warmly into his mind. He shook his head slightly, hiding a smile as he disappeared into the hall.

---

The house was quiet—after getting back to the cabin late, Laura and Sierra took their showers then got into bed.

You stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, Logan sitting on the bed with a notebook in his hands.

“You ever think ‘bout ‘nother one?” he asked, still lazily doodling.

You glanced at him, pausing with your towel still wrapped around you. “Another what?”

Logan looked up, meeting your eyes. “Baby.”

You smiled faintly, resuming your movements as you searched for clothes. “Not much. Maybe a few times.”

He hummed quietly, his pencil pausing. “Today got me thinkin’.”

You chuckled softly, pulling a shirt from the dresser. “Seeing Rachel gave you baby fever?”

He shrugged, setting the notebook down. “Maybe a little.”

You turned to him, amusement on your face. “You’re serious?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t sound so shocked, darlin’.”

“Not shocked,” you said, pulling the shirt on over your head. “Just surprised, I guess. Thought you liked finally gettin’ sleep again.”

He snorted. “Sleep’s overrated.”

“Easy for you to say,” you teased, tugging on a pair of shorts.

Logan watched you, quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Wouldn’t be so bad though, right?”

You paused, looking up to meet his eyes. “Another baby?”

He nodded slowly, leaning back against the headboard. “Yeah. Sierra’d probably like bein’ a big sister.”

You smiled softly, moving toward the bed. “Laura already is one.”

“Yeah, but she’d probably love bossin’ around another sibling,” he smirked. “And Sierra’s gettin’ pretty independent.”

You climbed onto the bed beside him, crossing your legs and looking thoughtful. “You’re really thinking about this.”

“Like I said,” he murmured, eyes gentle as he studied your face, “today got me thinkin’.”

You tilted your head, a soft smile curving your lips. “Are you saying you want another baby?”

He reached out, tugging you gently closer until you settled across his lap. “Maybe I am.”

You laughed softly, sliding your arms around his neck. “Logan Howlett, secretly a softie.”

He rolled his eyes, brushing his thumb along your hip. “Keep it quiet. Got a reputation to uphold.”

You hummed, leaning in, lips brushing his gently. “Another baby, huh?”

He kissed you softly, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes again. “Only if you want.”

Your gaze softened, fingertips trailing lightly along his jaw. “Wouldn’t be so bad.”

He smiled slowly, hands slipping beneath your shirt, warm against your skin. “That a yes?”

You laughed, pulling him closer. “Yeah, Logan. That’s a yes.”

“Good,” he muttered, lips ghosting along your neck. “Figured we’d better get started.”

“Now? I just took a shower and put my clothes on.”

Logan’s lips barely brushed yours as he murmured, “Good thing I’m the one who takes ’em off,” voice low, teasing, full of promise. His hands were already sliding under your shirt, warm palms grazing bare skin as his mouth found your jaw, then lower—kissing along the line of your throat like he had all the time in the world.

You sighed, eyes fluttering as he eased you back against the pillows, but a flicker of something practical snuck in through the haze. “Did you lock the door?”

He groaned, forehead dropping against your chest for a second. “Fuckin’—” He sighed, kissed you once, then reluctantly shifted back. “You ruin all my fun, y’know that?”

You grinned, tugging the hem of your shirt up. “Go lock it, old man.”

He muttered something under his breath about being cockblocked by fatherhood and stomped off toward the door. A second later, you heard the lock slide into place. Then a scrape—he was dragging the chair under the knob.

You laughed, covering your mouth to muffle it. “Paranoid much?”

“Sierra picks locks now,” Logan growled as he returned, eyes dark and determined. “Not takin’ chances.”

Before you could say another word, he was back over you, hand splayed on your stomach, pressing you into the mattress. He shoved your shirt up to your ribs, mouth finding the underside of your breast, stubble scraping along your skin, tongue hot and slow as he sucked a mark against your ribs.

“Still smell like soap,” he muttered against your skin. “Gonna fix that.”

You gasped when his teeth grazed your nipple through the fabric, your hand flying to his hair. “Logan—”

He shoved your shirt up over your head and tossed it aside, then sat back on his heels, tugging your shorts and panties down in one rough pull. “Been thinkin’ about this since the second you held that baby. Looked like a fuckin’ dream. Like I needed to put another one in you.”

You flushed, heartbeat pounding as he lowered himself between your thighs, spreading them apart with firm hands. He kissed your inner thigh first—slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses trailing higher, teasing heat.

Then his tongue flicked—slow, deliberate, dragging up through your folds—and your breath caught hard.

You reached down, tangling a hand in his hair. “Thought you were impatient.”

His voice was muffled against your cunt, lips slick, tongue dipping low. “Can still enjoy it, sweetheart. Gotta get you ready, don’t I?”

His mouth was hot, deliberate, tongue sliding in slow circles around your clit, then back down, teasing your entrance, sucking one of your lips between his teeth just enough to make your thighs twitch. One of his hands slid up, spreading you wider, while the other held your hip down when it bucked.

You let out a breathy moan, biting your knuckle to stay quiet. “L-Logan—”

He didn’t stop. He groaned low against you like you were his favorite meal, tongue flattening and dragging hard and slow right over your clit again—wet, unrelenting pressure that made your eyes roll.

Your hips jerked and he growled, fingers digging into your thigh. “Stay still.”

You whimpered, breath catching. “F-fuck—”

He pulled back just long enough to say, voice all gravel and heat, “That’s it, sweetheart. Just relax. Let me taste you.”

Then he dove back in, and this time he didn’t hold back—tongue pressing deep, lips sealing around your clit and sucking with filthy precision. The wet, obscene sounds of it filled the room, and your thighs trembled as heat snapped up your spine.

His hand moved, one thick finger sliding into you slow and curling just right, and your back arched off the bed, a helpless cry breaking from your throat.

“Fuck—Logan—oh my god—”

He moaned against you like your taste was the best damn thing he’d had all year, and when he added a second finger, stretching you, working you open, it was almost too much. You squirmed, gasped, toes curling as heat bloomed sharp and fast in your belly.

"A-ahhh—fuck, Logan—"

His tongue didn’t stop, his lips slick with you, beard damp against your thighs. “Mmhhhn,” he growled low, the sound vibrating right through your clit like a goddamn electric current. His fingers curled again, slow and dirty, dragging along that spot that made your back arch like a bow.

You reached down blindly, tangling your fingers in his thick hair, gripping tight. “S-shit—Logan, I’m gonna—”

He didn’t even lift his head, just sucked harder, lips locking around your clit, two thick fingers buried deep and fucking slow, pushing you right over that edge without mercy. It hit like a damn freight train, ripped the air from your lungs.

"Logan—ohmygod—"

Your hips jerked, your thighs clenched around his head, and you came hard against his mouth, a helpless, strangled moan punching from your chest as your body shook apart under him. He didn’t stop—kept licking, slower now, easing you through it, savoring it like he wanted to bottle the sound of your wrecked breathing.

"Good girl," he rasped when he finally came up for air, voice dark and hungry, mouth glistening with you. "Fuckin' love when you fall apart on my tongue."

You were still panting, trembling slightly, your skin flushed all over. “Y-you’re a menace,” you managed, trying to blink him into focus as he crawled up your body.

He grinned, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned in to kiss you, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. Hot. Filthy. You moaned into it, hands tugging him closer.

"Not done," he murmured against your lips. "Not nearly fuckin' done."

You reached down between you, felt him thick and hard through his sweats. He hissed between his teeth when your palm pressed against him, his hips twitching.

“Get these off,” you whispered, tugging at the waistband.

He didn’t waste a second, shoved them down and kicked them off, his cock springing free—thick, heavy, flushed at the tip and already leaking. You bit your lip at the sight, reaching to wrap your hand around him, stroking slow. He groaned, low and rough, head dropping to your shoulder.

"Fuck, darlin’... been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day."

"Yeah?" you murmured, breath hot against his neck, hand still moving. “About knocking me up again?”

He growled, deep and hot in his throat, hips rolling into your grip. “Mhm. Watchin’ you hold that baby—made me wanna bend you over right there and fill you up. Stuff you full, see if it takes.”

You shuddered, moaned softly, your thighs squeezing together. “Logan…”

He grinned, dark and wild, then reached down and hooked your leg over his arm, lining himself up with your entrance. His cock nudged against your soaked folds, teasing the head through your slick. "You want it?"

"God, yes—please—"

That was all it took. He pushed in slow, dragging a deep groan from both of you as you stretched around him. Inch by thick, fucking inch, he sank into you, filling you up with no resistance, just wet heat and pressure that made your head spin.

"Shhhhit," he breathed, eyes fluttering shut, jaw clenched tight. "Tight as ever… fuckin’ perfect."

You whimpered, clutching his arms as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. The stretch, the fullness—it burned in the best way, had you writhing under him, thighs already trembling again.

"Move," you begged softly, voice catching. "Please—Logan—"

He did. Slow at first—rolling his hips in smooth, dragging thrusts that had your eyes rolling back, the head of his cock grinding deep, right where you were still sensitive. You gasped, clawed at his back.

"That what you need?" he rasped, breath hot against your ear. "Want me to fuck another baby into you?"

You nodded, whimpering, too far gone to answer with anything but a broken moan. “Uh-huh—ahh—yes—f-fuck—”

He picked up the pace, thrusts harder now, deeper, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the quiet room. You could hear the chair scraping faintly under the doorknob every time the headboard knocked against the wall. Didn't matter. Let it fall. Let it shatter.

“You’re gonna take every fuckin’ drop,” he growled, one hand sliding under your thigh to lift it higher, angling deeper, harder. “Gonna make me a daddy again, sweetheart?”

You cried out, eyes wide and hazy. “Y-yeah—yeah—want it—want you—”

"That’s my girl," he groaned, slamming into you, pace relentless now. "Gonna breed this pretty pussy till you’re knocked up. Fill you so fuckin’ deep you’ll still be leaking me tomorrow."

You moaned, helpless under him, his body caging you in, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside. It was too much, too good—your second orgasm building sharp and fast. Your nails bit into his back.

"L-Logan—gonna—I'm—fuck—"

"Yeah, baby, I got you," he panted, snapping his hips harder, faster. "Come on my cock—"

You shattered around him with a scream, back arched, body clenching down so tight around him he cursed loud against your throat.

“Fuuuck—you’re squeezin’ me—shit—!”

He slammed in hard one last time, then froze, cock twitching deep as he spilled into you, growling loud and low through gritted teeth, his whole body shaking. You felt it—hot, thick spurts of come painting your insides, filling you up just like he promised.

He stayed there, buried deep, chest heaving, his weight warm on top of you as both of you tried to catch your breath.

Then he chuckled, breathless, voice still wrecked. “That’s one hell of a start.”

You snorted, weakly swatting at his arm. “You're insatiable.”

He smirked, nuzzling into your neck. “With you? Damn right.”

His cock was still twitching inside you, and he didn’t move—just held you, sweaty and tangled, not caring about the mess between your legs, the heat of your skin sticking to his. You stroked a hand through his hair, still dazed and sore in the best way, heart thudding against his chest.

You didn’t say anything else for a long moment. You didn’t need to.

Then Logan shifted, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were warm, wild, a little wicked. “Round two’s gonna be messier.”

Your breath hitched. You smiled. “Good.”

---

A few weeks later, Sierra sat at the kitchen table drawing a picture for Rachel with her crayons. You were at the stove, making a pie for Jean and Scott.

Logan and Laura sat with Sierra, both of them reading—Logan a newspaper, and Laura a comic.

Then, Sierra spoke up. “Daddy, how are babies made?”

Logan choked on his coffee as Laura let out a snort. "What?"

Sierra tilted her head, blinking at him innocently. "How are babies made?"

Laura snickered again, hiding behind her comic. "Yeah, Dad. How are they made?"

Logan shot Laura a pointed glare. "Not helpin', kid."

You pressed your lips together, fighting to stay serious as you turned to Sierra. "Why do you ask, honey?"

"'Cause Rachel is a baby, and Jean said she grew in her tummy," Sierra said, still coloring carefully. "How'd she get in there?"

Laura’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "Yeah, Dad. How did Rachel get in Jean’s tummy?"

Logan’s jaw ticked. "You’re grounded."

Laura rolled her eyes, clearly not taking his threat seriously.

You sighed softly, leaning against the counter. "Well, Sierra, when two people love each other very much—"

Laura snorted again, louder this time. Logan shot her another look. "Laura."

"Sorry," she said, not sorry at all.

Sierra looked at Logan expectantly. "So how'd she get in there?"

Logan rubbed a hand over his face, sighing heavily. "Magic."

Sierra's eyes widened. "Magic?"

Laura laughed outright this time, ducking behind her comic to hide it.

You shot Logan an amused glance. "Really? Magic?"

Logan shrugged defensively. "You got somethin' better?"

You walked over, gently brushing Sierra’s hair back. "Babies come from love, sweetheart. When two grown-ups love each other very much, they decide they want a baby. Then one grows in the mommy’s tummy."

Sierra frowned thoughtfully. "Like planting flowers?"

Laura snorted loudly again. "I’m gonna die."

Logan leaned toward Laura, lowering his voice. "Keep it up, kid, and you’re gonna have this conversation next."

Laura immediately sobered, returning quietly to her comic.

"Sort of like planting flowers," you said gently. "A seed gets planted, and it grows into a baby."

"How does the seed get there?" Sierra asked, eyes big and curious.

Logan cleared his throat loudly, folding his paper. "I’m gonna go chop some firewood."

You shot him a pointed look. "Logan."

He sighed, looking resigned as he turned back to Sierra. "The seed... just gets put there."

Sierra narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "By who?"

Logan’s eye twitched slightly. "The... other grown-up."

You smiled sweetly at Logan. "Good job, honey."

He shot you a dry look. "Thanks."

Sierra seemed satisfied enough, nodding thoughtfully. "Oh. Okay."

Logan exhaled in relief, taking another careful sip of coffee. Laura smirked behind her comic.

"So, Daddy put the seed in your tummy when you had me?" Sierra asked suddenly, eyes brightening with realization.

Logan promptly choked again.

Laura burst out laughing. "Amazing."

Logan pointed a finger at her, voice rough. "Grounded. For real."

Sierra smiled happily, oblivious to Logan's distress. "Right, Mommy?"

You patted Sierra's head gently, trying not to laugh at Logan's red face. "That’s right, sweetheart."

Sierra grinned, returning to her drawing. "Daddy’s good at planting seeds."

Laura howled with laughter, dropping her comic. Logan groaned, covering his face with his hand.

You bit your lip, fighting back a laugh. "Maybe let’s talk about something else now."

"Please," Logan muttered weakly. "Anything else."

---

The next afternoon, Logan walked into the living room, wiping sweat from his forehead with the edge of his shirt. He paused when he saw you sitting cross-legged on the couch, sorting through a box of tiny baby clothes.

He raised an eyebrow. "Ain’t wastin’ time, huh?"

You glanced up, smiling softly. "Just figured I’d see what we still have from Sierra."

He stepped closer, peering into the box and reaching down to lift a small yellow onesie. His expression softened as he ran his thumb over the tiny fabric. "Forgot how little these things are."

You chuckled quietly. "You said that about Rachel."

"Yeah," he murmured. He looked up again, studying you carefully. "You feelin’ alright?"

You smiled reassuringly. "I'm good."

He nodded, thoughtful. "So we really doin' this, huh?"

You tilted your head playfully. "Second thoughts already?"

"Nah," he said, voice firm. "Just makin' sure you're sure."

"I'm sure," you said warmly, tugging gently at his hand until he sat beside you. "How about you?"

His eyes softened. "Darlin', I was sure the second I brought it up."

You leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Good."

Logan wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he watched you fold a tiny shirt. After a quiet moment, he cleared his throat softly. "Laura asked me about it earlier."

You glanced up curiously. "What did she say?"

"Asked if we were really thinkin’ about another kid," he said. "Think she likes the idea."

"That's good," you said softly, smiling. "Sierra already acts like a mini-mom anyway."

He snorted gently. "She bossed me around for fifteen minutes earlier ‘bout how to feed Rocky. Pretty sure that dog ain’t listenin’ to anyone but her now."

You laughed quietly, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Well, at least we know she’s ready to help."

He hummed softly, fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm. "Yeah."

There was a comfortable silence between you, Logan's steady heartbeat soothing beneath your ear. Then—

"Mommy," Sierra said from the doorway, her expression deeply serious, "Rocky ate my crayons again."

Logan sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Told you, he don’t listen to anyone but her."

You chuckled softly, sitting up to look at Sierra. "How many did he eat?"

She held up her fingers. "Three. And one was blue."

Logan grunted, standing up with a resigned sigh. "I'll handle it."

"Thank you," you said sweetly, earning a faintly amused glance from him as he headed toward Sierra.

"You're lucky you’re cute," he muttered affectionately to Sierra, ruffling her hair gently as they disappeared into the hallway.

You smiled to yourself, settling back against the couch and resting a hand lightly on your stomach, already looking forward to the chaos ahead.

---

Just a week later, you got your period. You weren’t necessarily disappointed—you and Logan had only tried once.

You stepped out of the bathroom, catching Logan’s curious glance from where he sat on the bed, tying his boots.

"No luck?" he guessed.

You shrugged lightly, unbothered. "Not this month."

Logan raised a brow, mouth curling into a faint smirk. "Guess I'll have to try harder."

You snorted, rolling your eyes playfully. "Yeah, I guess you will."

He leaned back on the bed, studying you carefully. "You good?"

"Yeah," you assured him, stepping closer. "Took a few months with Sierra too, remember?"

"I remember," he said quietly, pulling you toward him until you settled comfortably against his chest. "I ain't worried."

You smiled, fingers playing lightly with his collar. "Neither am I."

He brushed his thumb along your hip. "Besides, practice makes perfect, right?"

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "Always looking on the bright side."

"Hey," he teased, voice low and warm. "Never heard you complain."

You hummed, leaning up to kiss him lightly. "Guess we'll just have to try again."

"Exactly my plan," he muttered, lips brushing yours softly. "Tonight?"

“Mmh.” You scrunched your brows together. “No. Sorry, honey. I just wanna lay in bed and eat ice cream.”

Logan chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "Ice cream, huh?"

"Mmhm," you hummed, settling comfortably against his chest. "Salted caramel."

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Pretty sure Laura ate the last of that yesterday."

You groaned dramatically. "Seriously?"

"Yup," he said, voice low and amused. "Saw her sneakin’ the tub back into the freezer."

"She’s your kid," you muttered. "Stealin’ my ice cream."

"Our kid," Logan corrected, thumb stroking lightly along your side. "And Sierra steals your cookies."

You sighed heavily. "I never get anything around here."

Logan snorted. "Welcome to my world, darlin’."

You smiled faintly, tilting your head to look at him. "Can you go to the store?"

He raised an eyebrow. "For ice cream?"

"Yes."

"Right now?"

You gave him your best pleading look. "Please?"

Logan groaned softly, head dropping back against the pillows. "Fine."

You grinned, kissing him quickly. "You’re the best."

He rolled his eyes playfully, shifting you carefully off his chest as he stood. "I’ll remember this next time I need a favor."

You stretched lazily across the bed. "I’ll be here waiting."

Logan gave you an amused glance as he grabbed his keys from the dresser. "Don’t doubt it."

You heard his footsteps fading as he walked down the hall, followed by Sierra’s curious voice. "Daddy, where you goin’?"

"Your mom needs ice cream," Logan answered gruffly.

"Ooh," Sierra said excitedly. "Can I have some?"

"Nope," Logan said firmly. "You and your sister ate hers already."

There was a brief pause. Then Sierra called toward your room, voice filled with concern, "Sorry, Mommy!"

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. "It’s okay, baby!"

Then, the front door opened and shut, and a few seconds later, Laura’s head appeared in the doorway of your bedroom, eyebrows raised.

"Dad went out just for ice cream?" she asked skeptically.

You shrugged innocently. "He loves me."

Laura smirked. "You’re spoiled."

"Jealous?" you teased.

Laura shrugged lightly, a grin tugging at her lips. "Maybe."

You chuckled softly. "Good. You should be."

Laura shook her head, turning to leave. "I’ll tell Sierra to leave you alone ‘til he’s back."

"Thanks, Laura," you called after her.

A moment later, the house was quiet again, and you relaxed into the pillows, smiling to yourself. A quiet night, ice cream, and Logan—exactly what you needed.

---

A few nights later, the house was finally quiet. Laura and Sierra had both been asleep for at least an hour, and Rocky was curled up contentedly on his bed in the living room.

You stood by the kitchen sink, absently rinsing dishes from dinner, lost in thought until Logan’s hands slid around your waist, pulling you back gently against his chest.

“Kids asleep,” he murmured softly against your ear, voice low and warm.

You smiled, leaning into his warmth. “Mm. I noticed.”

His lips brushed the side of your neck, lingering softly. “Rocky’s passed out too.”

You laughed quietly. “You sound like you’re plotting something.”

“Maybe I am,” Logan muttered, teeth scraping lightly along your pulse point, making your breath hitch.

You set the dish down, water dripping off your fingers as you turned in his arms, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Feeling lucky tonight?”

His eyes darkened slightly, hands tightening around your hips. “Yeah, darlin’. Pretty damn lucky.”

You chuckled, fingertips brushing lightly along his jaw. “Confident.”

Logan’s mouth curved into a faint smirk. “Got every reason to be.”

He leaned down, capturing your mouth softly, the kiss slow and deep. You melted into him, fingers gripping his shirt as he pressed you back gently against the counter. When you finally broke apart, breathless, you smiled against his lips.

“Guess we should make the most of a quiet house,” you whispered.

“Exactly what I was thinkin’,” he agreed, voice rough.

He didn’t waste another second. Logan lifted you easily, setting you onto the counter and stepping between your legs. Your breath hitched as his hands slid beneath your shirt, tracing warm paths along your skin.

“You think tonight’s the night?” you asked quietly, eyes locked on his.

Logan smiled softly, brushing your hair from your face. “Hope so.”

You laughed, hooking your ankles around his waist and tugging him closer. “Then we better get started.”

Logan’s eyes sparked with amusement and heat. “Yes, ma’am.”

He leaned in again, kissing you hard and deep, hands gripping your hips firmly. You let yourself get lost in him, warmth curling low in your stomach as he pulled you flush against him, grinding slowly, deliberately, the friction making you gasp softly into his mouth.

He broke the kiss briefly, his voice ragged against your ear. “Gonna take this to the bedroom, darlin’. Counter ain’t exactly comfortable for what I got planned.”

You laughed breathlessly, fingers tangling in his hair. “Lead the way.”

He lifted you easily off the counter, keeping you wrapped securely around him. You pressed slow kisses along his neck, smiling against his skin as he carried you toward your room.

“Better lock the door,” you teased quietly.

“Way ahead of ya,” he muttered, kicking the door shut and clicking the lock into place.

You didn’t even get a word out before Logan’s mouth was on yours again—hot and demanding, like he hadn’t just had his hands all over you ten seconds ago. He walked you backward toward the bed without breaking the kiss, one hand gripping your ass, the other tangled in your hair.

By the time the backs of your knees hit the mattress, you were already gasping into his mouth, dizzy with heat. He eased you down onto the bed, crawling over you slow like a fucking wolf, all heat and weight and hunger.

You slid your hands up under his shirt, fingertips brushing hot skin and hard muscle. “Off,” you mumbled, tugging at the fabric.

Logan grinned against your neck. “Bossy tonight.”

“You love it.”

“Damn right I do.”

He sat back on his heels, yanking his shirt over his head in one smooth pull. You reached for your own, but he caught your wrists.

“Nuh-uh, lemme do it.”

His voice had gone low, dark—gravel scraped through honey. He peeled your shirt up slow, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. Stomach. Ribs. The underside of your breast. He paused there, nuzzling warm against you, lips dragging over the swell. You arched into him with a soft gasp, fingers tightening in the sheets.

Then he wrapped his mouth around your nipple, sucking slow, deep—just once—before switching to the other, tongue flicking in lazy circles until your breath hitched and your thighs rubbed together on instinct.

“Logan…”

“Shh. I got you.”

He kissed down your belly, thumbs hooking into your waistband, dragging your shorts and panties off in one slow pull. His gaze never left yours. Even with the heat low in his belly and the tension buzzing through his limbs, he wasn’t gonna rush a damn thing.

“You ready?” he asked, fingers trailing up the inside of your thigh.

You nodded, breath caught somewhere in your chest. “Please.”

That smug little smirk curved across his face, and he leaned in, kissing you again—soft this time, like he was savoring it—while his fingers slid down and dipped between your folds.

You moaned into his mouth, your hips rocking up as he rubbed slow circles over your clit, his fingers slick and teasing. Then he pushed one inside—slow and deep—and you gasped, clutching at his shoulders.

“Fuck—Logan—”

“That’s it,” he muttered, sucking on your bottom lip. “Already soaked for me. You really want this, huh?”

You nodded again, barely coherent. “Want you. Want you to fuck a baby into me.”

He groaned low, forehead dropping to yours. “Jesus, sweetheart…”

He added a second finger, curling them just right. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, body trembling as his fingers fucked into you slow and steady.

“I’m gonna knock you up tonight,” he growled, kissing down your throat again, biting at your collarbone. “Gonna make you a mama all over again. You’re gonna feel it, darlin’. Gonna know it took.”

Your walls fluttered around his fingers, your thighs clenching. “Logan—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he rasped. “Gimme one. Right here. All over my hand.”

He pressed his thumb against your clit and you broke—moaning, shaking, clinging to him like you’d fall apart without him. Your pussy clamped down on his fingers as you came, soaking his hand with a whimper that died against his shoulder.

He eased you through it, kissed the top of your head, then reached for the pillow, shoving it under your hips with practiced ease.

You blinked up at him, still breathless. “Logan—”

He was already stripping out of his sweats, his cock thick and flushed and heavy in his hand as he lined himself up, eyes locked on yours.

“You want it?” he asked, voice wrecked. “Want me to fill you up?”

You bit your lip and nodded, legs spreading wider. “Please.”

He sank into you with a deep, guttural groan, one hand gripping your thigh, the other planted beside your head. His body was hot, heavy, every thick inch of him pushing slow and steady until he bottomed out, hips flush against yours.

“Fuck,” he hissed, forehead resting against yours, breath hot. “This pussy’s gonna take all of me tonight, huh?”

You whimpered, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. “Always does…”

“Yeah?” He rocked his hips, slow, deep, grinding against your cervix until your back arched. “Gonna take my come too, sweetheart? Gonna let me put a baby in you?”

“God—yes,” you breathed, hands clutching at his back. “Wanna make you a daddy again.”

That sound he made—half growl, half moan—went straight through you. “Fuckin’ hell, you say that again and I ain’t gonna last long.”

“Do it,” you whispered, eyes locked on his. “Come inside me. Fill me up. Knock me up.”

Logan snarled, hips snapping forward, hard. “You filthy little thing… beggin’ to get bred.”

“I want it,” you gasped, breath catching with every ruthless thrust. “Need it.”

He fucked you harder then—rough, relentless, the bed creaking beneath the rhythm of his hips slamming into yours. His hand left your thigh and pressed against your belly, right above where he was buried inside you.

“Right here,” he growled. “Gonna fill you up so full you’ll feel it for days.”

You cried out, nails dragging down his back. “Please—Logan—fuck—don’t stop—”

“I ain’t stoppin’,” he panted, grinding down. “You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good. This tight little cunt’s made to keep me in, yeah?”

You could barely breathe, every thrust knocking the air from your lungs, pleasure spiking sharp and high. “Gonna—gonna come—”

“Yeah?” He leaned in, mouth against your ear. “Then do it. Milk my cock, sweetheart. Get yourself good and ready to catch.”

You shattered around him, legs locking tight around his waist, your whole body pulsing as you screamed his name into his shoulder. He kept going, driving through your climax, chasing his own with that low, animal growl rising in his throat.

“Fuck—you’re squeezin’ me so tight—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” you begged. “Come inside me—please, baby, I need it—”

Logan slammed deep and stayed there, cock throbbing as he came hard, spilling into you with a choked moan, burying his face in your neck.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed, body trembling. “That’s it—fuck, that’s it, take it all…”

You felt him twitch inside you, his come hot and thick, filling you until it leaked out around him.

He didn’t move for a long moment—just laid there, buried deep, one hand splayed across your lower belly like he could feel it taking.

Then he lifted his head, eyes half-lidded and dark. “That oughta do it.”

You gave him a dazed little smile. “Think you got it in one?”

Logan grinned, kissed you lazy and slow. “Maybe. But better be sure.”

His hand slid down, slow and sure, knuckles brushing between your legs—right where you were still stretched around him, messy and slick with the load he’d just pumped deep inside. His eyes stayed locked on yours as two fingers pressed to your swollen folds, spreading you open just enough to watch it drip out.

“Fuckin’ shame,” he muttered. “Wastin’ good it like that.”

You shivered, hips twitching as he eased a finger back inside, slow and deep. You gasped, back arching slightly. "Logan—"

"Shh," he murmured, voice low, gravel-smooth. “Lemme make sure it stays where it belongs.”

He added a second finger, thick and insistent, curling them inside you like he knew every sensitive spot by heart—and he did. His thumb rubbed lazy circles over your clit, just enough to make your breath catch, not enough to push you over yet.

Your hips rocked into the motion instinctively, body still greedy for more. “God… you’re not done with me?”

He snorted, lips brushing your cheek. “Sweetheart, I’m just gettin’ started.”

His fingers pumped slow, deliberate, his palm slick with a mix of your arousal and his come, still leaking out around his knuckles. You whimpered, clenching down on him, thighs shaking.

“You feel that?” he muttered, dragging his lips down your neck, letting his teeth scrape lightly across your skin. “That’s mine. All of it. Gonna keep pushin’ it in ‘til your body holds on tight.”

“Logan—fuck—” you moaned, legs spreading wider for him. “You’re gonna make me come again…”

“Good,” he growled. “I want you to. That sweet little pussy soaks me every damn time, ‘course you’re gonna come.”

He curled his fingers again, hitting just the right spot, and your whole body jerked, toes curling. You could hear the wet, obscene sound of it—his hand working between your legs, your pussy clenching greedily around him like it knew what he was trying to do.

“I can feel you pulsin’ around me,” he rasped, kissing down your chest. “Just like that. Keep squeezin’. Gonna milk it all up inside you.”

You bit your lip, desperate to hold it back, but your body had other plans. With a sharp cry, you came hard, thighs clamping around his wrist as your cunt spasmed around his fingers, milking them like it wanted to keep every drop of him inside.

“There it is,” he breathed, watching your face like it was the only thing that mattered. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn pretty when you come for me.”

You twitched beneath him, breath ragged, and Logan gently eased his fingers out, slick and dripping. He watched the mess on his hand for a second, then brought it to your mouth.

“Taste what you’re takin’ in,” he muttered.

You opened obediently, sucking his fingers between your lips, tasting salt and heat and something that made your whole body ache with want all over again.

He groaned, leaning in to kiss you slow, deep, filthy. “You’re gonna get pregnant from this,” he whispered against your mouth. “I fuckin’ know it.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, breath still catching in your throat. “Think so?”

He grinned, cocky and warm, brushing his fingers lightly over your belly. “I’d bet on it.”

You gave a tired, blissed-out laugh. “You always so sure of yourself?”

He nuzzled close, lips grazing your ear. “Only when I know I’m right.”

[unknownsvoid]

BLLK BOYS AND THE "GIVE A BITCH SOME HEAD OR SUM' TREND"!!

✮⋆˙ | featuring: isagi yoichi, meguru bachira, hyoma chigiri, reo mikage, nagi seishiro, rin itoshi.

✮⋆˙ | cw: suggestive/crack themes! agedup!bllk boys. fem!reader. no proof read... the usual.

Isagi Yoichi!

You and Isagi are lying on his bed. The two of you scrolling through tiktok. You were beginning to get bored out your ass and the sound repeating "give a bitch some head or sum' " was getting slightly annoying, but like in a good way. It's like an itch to be fair and all the videos of girlfriends playing the sound around their own boyfriends and their reactions were priceless, earning the occasional giggle from you.

You wanted to try on Isagi, who's head was currently resting on your lap. You click the "+" and press on the record button, the sound immediately playing.

It's him two to five business days to release before he pulls his gaze away from his phone to look you in the eye. His cheeks were ruby red it was so funny. He looked at your phone then back at you and said, "Right now?"

At this point, you were dying of laughter and ended the video. This caused Isagi to frown, "Were you joking?" Your smile dropped when you see the bulge in his pants. You give him a knowing smirk, "Not anymore apparently!"

Bro, you've never seen a frown turn upside down so fast.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

Meguru Bachira!

You and Bachira was just chilling. You were orginally watching a movie but it got boring quick, causing the two of you to go on your phones doing fuck all.

The trend was taking over your for you page like crazy and you took it as a sign. Hitting record and letting the sound play, side eyeing him a bit with a smile.

Unlike Isagi, Bachira looks at you immediately. A toothy smile forming on his face immediately and his eyes glimmering in excitement, "Do it want it right now?"

You stop recording and smile at him, "You're eager, hm?"

"Who wouldn't be!? Now spread your legs!!!"

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵ Hyoma Chigiri!

You were hanging out in your room, scrolling on your phone while Chigiri was fucking about with his hair. As per usual!!

You were starting to get bored and wanted to play around with your girlfriend boyfriend. You've been planning to try out this trend since the first time you ever saw it and you planned to do it today, when he decided to come over.

You hit record and wait for his reaction, forcing your laughter back as much as possible. When he notices, he pauses, looks at you and smirks. "I've seen that trend already. You really are corny."

You stop recording and give him a dirty look, "You're literally the fun police. Like damn, could've shut the fuck up and gave me some damn head, but noooo, you wanna give me attitude."

"Oh dear. Dare I say I stroked your ego?"

You huff at his words, "Shut the fuck up and eat me out already, princess."

"Alright, alright, my prince."

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

Reo Mikage!

You are in his room, which is massive, by the way. No surprise, he's a nepo baby. He left his room to do whatever the fuck he was doing so you left by yourself in his room, flicking through tiktok. The sound "give a bitch some head or sum'" playing five times in a row on your for your page.

You giggle. Maybe when he comes back into his room, you should try the trend out on him? You've seen various of partners trying it on each other and you can't help but chuckle each time another video pops up on your phone! You just need to wait for him to come back.

You wait around five more minutes until you hear his footsteps. You rush to click on the cross. and as soon as he opens the door, you start recording. You smile "innocently" at him as the sound starts playing, and he just stares at you with wide eyes before laughing, "I just walked in, baby. You want it right now?"

"Mhmmm!"

"Okay, pretty."

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵ Nagi Seishiro!

Nagi LOCK OFF was in the middle of gaming, typical of him, after leaving you two's cuddle session and leaving you - by yourself - in his bed. To fix your boredom after being abandoned by Nagi, you watch a series of tiktoks. How rude. You've seen the trend going around and honestly think now would be a perfect time to seek revenge for your lazy boyfriend leaving you alone on his bed.

You play the sound and wait for him to realise. Once he does, he pauses whatever game he was currently playing and spins on his gaming chair to look at you, lazily blinking once. Twice.

"Mkay... lay down on the bed."

You stop recording and tsk, "Don't think you deserve it after leaving our cuddles for your stupid game."

"Whatever. Lemme make it up to you then." "Fineeeeee." "Good. Now just spread your legs already. All this talking instead of moving is such a hassle."

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

Rin itoshi!

You both are in his room. He was taking notes of how to do better in football/soccer in his little notebook, which you find ridiculously adorable, and even teased him multiple times about it, which he also shut down.

The silence was comfortable, but soon, flicking about on your phone got boring and you were really desperate to try out this trend that has been bombarding your fyp lately.

So, that's what you decide to do, hitting play, and the sound quickly breaks the silence between you two. He stops writing, gives you a HUGE side eye before doing one of those horror movies ass turns, slowly turning his head to look at you with a dirty look plastered on his face.

You couldn't hold back your laugh anymore, wheezing at his reaction, which he replies by shaking his head in disapproval and closing his notebook to look at you properly, "You're seriously that immature?"

"I- hah! I cant- pffft- breathe! Oh my god!"

"Whatever..." He pauses, "Spread your legs..."

Your laughter eases up a bit and you give him a teasing smile, "Oh? Hopping straight to it, Mister Itoshi?"

"You're so annoying. Just do as I say already."

"Yes sir."

you want a part two? -> here you go, sugar plum fairy cake!

[steddiehyperfixation]

@steddiebingo prompts: college au + crush + bandana | 1.1k words | T |

“Steeeveennnn,” Robin complains, poking Steve's shoulder with her pencil. “This was not the deal.”

Steve blinks and startles as if shaken out of a trance and grudgingly drags his glance over to Robin. “What?”

“You're only supposed to zone out when I'm paying attention and I can only zone out when you're paying attention.” That's their standard deal for any class they share that they're both only taking to knock out some credits and isn't relevant to either of their majors.

“Okay,” he says, “so pay attention.”

“I have been, dingus,” she argues. While this semester's History of Rock course is actually kind of interesting, Robin would still appreciate being able to use some of the precious daydreaming time she’d been promised. “I've been giving you my notes for the last month, at least! It's my turn to zone out now, slacker.”

“Alright, alright. I'm paying attention.” Steve makes a big show of picking up his pencil and writing down what's on the lecture slides, even leaning forward a little to emphasize his focus. “You're free to zone out to your heart’s content.”

Robin doesn't trust him in the slightest.

She enjoys about five whole minutes of spacing out before one Eddie Munson inevitably interrupts the professor to challenge some point and any hope of Steve's ability to continue taking notes for her is lost completely. His attention is stolen the second that ringed hand goes up, focus returning undividedly to the loud, scraggly man who is now standing up in his vehemence to counter the teacher. Steve instantly becomes enraptured by this argument, though Robin doubts he’s really comprehending a single word of it. He even gets this dopey little smile on his face as he watches.

“Oh my god,” Robin groans, rolling her eyes and dropping her chin into her palm in resignation to her fate. Steve is utterly useless when he has a crush. It would be pointless, Sisyphean even, for her to keep trying to snap him out of it; no matter how many times she diverts his attention, it always rolls right back to Eddie.

Robin doesn't know what Steve sees in him. Personally, she finds Eddie kind of obnoxious and thinks he looks a bit like a stray dog that's been left outside in a thunderstorm. But for some reason he has her best friend totally captivated. Even when Eddie sits back down, conceding the tangential debate and letting the professor continue, Steve's gaze still lingers as it always does for the remainder of class, his eyes all dreamy and far away and the very epitome of yearning.

“This is getting pathetic,” Robin tells him when class is dismissed and she looks over to find him still staring. “Just go talk to him already. Make a move. I’m sick of watching you sit here and pine.”

“He might not even be queer, Rob.”

“He wears a black bandana in his back pocket.”

“So? He's all metal and shit, it could just be, like, a style thing. Doesn't mean it's hanky code.”

“Okay, so ask him.”

Steve looks at her like she's gone insane. “I can't just go up to him and ask him if he's flagging.”

“Fine, then I will.”

“What- No, Robin-!”

But Robin is already standing up and marching through the crowd of students leaving the classroom to catch up to Eddie. “Hey, are you flagging?”

Eddie stops short and turns sharply around to face her. “Excuse me?”

“That bandana you've always got in your pocket - is that just a fashion statement or are you flagging?” she repeats bluntly.

Eddie's eyes narrow, halfway between distrustful confusion and a sneer. “What's it to you?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Robin says. “I couldn't care less. I'm asking for my friend, Steve.” She points a thumb over her shoulder, fairly certain Steve isn't too far behind her. “He's the one who's been staring at you like an idiot all semester, and he's just dying to know if-”

“Oh my god-” Steve interrupts, shoulder checking her as he comes up beside her, his face flushed and slightly out of breath like he fought his way here desperately. “I’m so sorry about her.” He gives Eddie an apologetic smile and cuts Robin a sideways glare. “She was dropped on the head a few too many times as a baby and it left her incapable of comprehending boundaries.”

Robin scoffs. “Oh, like watching creepily from afar is so much more respectful,” she retorts.

“I’m not a creep-” Steve rushes to protest, looking hastily back to Eddie. “I’m not a creep. She's making it sound like I'm some sort of stalker or something. I’m not, I swear.”

Eddie laughs, and Steve looks whipped. “It's alright, I don't mind.”

Eddie's wary hostility seems to have faded into something more amused and definitely not uninterested, if the way he's looking Steve over is any indication. Robin subtly nudges Steve with her arm. Time to turn on the charm, dingus, he likes you.

“You just catch my eye, is all,” Steve recovers, regaining his composure and quickly attempting to school his flustered, lovesick expression into a smoother, more intentional smile. “You stand out, you know - in a good way. I like your style, how outspoken you are. You seem really passionate about this music stuff; it's cool to watch.”

Eddie's interest only sharpens, slow grin growing. He considers him for another moment. “Your friend says you're curious about my bandana.”

“Yeah, uh-” A little bit of that flusteredness slips out again, just enough that it could possibly be intentional (or maybe not; Robin’s really not giving him that much credit). Steve chews at his lip, eyes flicking Eddie up and down. “That too.”

Eddie's about to say something in response, but he's cut off by someone shouting his name. There's some blond guy at the end of the hall gesturing impatiently at him.

“Shit, sorry, I gotta run, my band’s got practice right now. But, um.” Eddie searches his pockets and grabs a pen out of his leather jacket. “Here.” He takes Steve's arm, scribbling a phone number onto his skin. “Why don't you call me later and we can talk more, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. He looks mildly starstruck, smiling stupidly at the number on his arm like it's a celebrity autograph or something. “Yeah, for sure.”

Robin snickers. “Oh, he's never washing that arm again.”

“Shut up, Robin,” Steve hisses, his cheeks tingeing pink again. Eddie laughs and Steve manages a sheepish smile. “I-I’ll call you,” he confirms again as he turns to leave, grabbing Robin by the arm and dragging her with him before she can embarrass him any further.

“You better,” Eddie calls after him, and Steve looks over his shoulder just in time to catch his smirk and farewell salute before he too turns and bounds off in the opposite direction.

Robin digs her elbow into Steve’s ribs, grinning smugly at him. “You're fucking welcome,” she says.

[h1biscusgal]

Tee hee y'all, i'm not back but i loved y'all sm so take this subliminal i took six days to perfect.

I AM NOT BACK, NO, I AM SO SORRY.

my studying session been going good AND YALLLLLLL I MISS YOU SO MUCH, I CAN'T EVEN EXPLAIN.

so, last week, when i closed tumblr, my mind was reeling from one thing it kept repeating itself:

"i wanna give smth to my people in tumblr."

why? i've seen people having problems for the void, i've seen people say they are so close but their "heartbeat" stops them, some say they sleep without knowing.

so i thought.

"mf, why not a subliminal that will fucking guarantee you to enter IN EVERRRYYYY situation?"

think you need to keep awake? this sub

think you need to sleep to enter the void? still this sub

need to enter while using it? this sub

need to enter but can't have your phone with you during sleep? again this sub, you can listen to it during the day and try at night.

like WHATEVER the fuck you do, i have made a loophole for it, now for god's sake please be careful, it gave me such a headache making it my head is still pounding, it has PURE fucking delta waves and 5 set of repeated NON-LAYERED NOT TOO SPED UP affirmations, why?

these are the safest type of affirmations that penetrate the subconscious, i cannot express this enough please.

PLEASE BE FUCKING CAREFUL WITH IT, DON'T LOOP TOO MUCH, DELTA WAVES CAN MAKE YOU DEADASS TIRED.

now this? holy shit this? i call it my beautiful Voided Hibiscus project, and yes i love hibiscuses-

this sub???

here's the benefits:

Voided Hibiscus is a one-of-a-kind, high-power subliminal crafted to guarantee entry into the Void State — no matter your state of mind, environment, or experience level.

Whether you're lying still or fidgeting, wide awake or asleep, listening consciously or with it running in the background — the moment this subliminal activates, the Void becomes inevitable, it is fucking guaranteed and i made so sure of it by science.

During these exact 22 minutes and 22 seconds, your mind will swallow THE LITERAL definition of "master at void." The affirmations are layered with master precision — spoken, whispered, echoed, reversed — to penetrate the deepest layers of the subconscious, bypassing every mental block, doubt, or distraction. Delta isochronic tones pulse beneath the surface, gently entraining your brain to the perfect frequency of surrender, silence, and awareness, like ya'll i am NOT playing.

This is for you if:

You want to enter the Void effortlessly, with full certainty.

You want to enter during the day, or while sleeping — either way works.

You’re tired of trying methods and want results without effort.

You want a subliminal that works permanently — even after you stop listening.

Features:

Affirmations that dissolve fidgeting, overthinking, boredom, and resistance.

Built-in confidence: You will never doubt your ability to enter the void again.

Repetition formula designed to rewrite your subconscious with absolute certainty.

Works even if you accidentally fall asleep.

Activates the Void even when played silently or in the background.

After consistent listening, your command over the Void becomes instinctual.

like mf, you is the bored type? you is the annoyed impatient as fuck type? you is the type to try for 2 minutes and give up? homie this shit will throw you in the void while you move, fidget, breathe hard, feeling bored, sleep accidentally.

like what the fuck am i supposed to do next-

THIS CAN BE USED IN THREE WAYS:

awake method: lay down and have it on your head (no mf you won't sleep accidentally and ruin it bc i backed it up that you'll wake up there) and simply repeat affs for it, watch yourself enter without even knowing how the fuck you entered, i swear if you trust? you'll enter within the duration of those 22 minutes and 22 seconds, there's no "when", it's like a guarantee.

sleep method: if you is the type that yo parents let you have your phone with you? use it overnight and watch yourself wake up in the void.

thru-theday method: just listen to it during the day and do any method before sleep or just anywhere and bam.

there's no "how" here, this sub? almost made me tumble, i am not tryna brag, no seriously, but i thought to post smth that helps ppl, now let me stop yapping the fuck out and take this:

(so sorry for this quick and messy post-)

good luck loves, and send me the asks and messages coming! i'll be on here for a very few minutes and see what asks there is to answer.

EDIT: I AM SORRY WHAT THE FUCK???? LAST TIME I CHECKED I HAD 661 FOLLOWERS NOW IT'S A 1700 SMTH????? I AM SCREAMING PLEASE I LOVE YALL SO MUCH??? I CAN'T BELIEVE IT I WANNA CRY PLEASE.

[flowersforbucky]

sweetener

bucky barnes x reader

summary: when the vacation that you've been planning for months gets canceled due to a last minute mission, you can't help but feel bummed - the bright side is that you're being sent on a mission with bucky.

word count: 5.3k - my masterlist

warnings/tags: canon level violence, descriptions of injuries, mention of blood, almost drowning, hospital setting, bad guys getting killed (not descriptive), non-sexual nudity, hurt/comfort trope, avenger!reader, friends to lovers, fluff, language, reader pov, no use of y/n, fem reader, bucky being super soft, not explicit but mdni please

when life deals us cards

make everything taste like it is salt

then you come through like the sweetener you are

to bring the bitter taste to a halt

Hand warmers. Flashlight and extra batteries. Can opener. Matches. First aid kit –

You glance down the handwritten list for the dozenth time that morning, checking and rechecking that you aren't forgetting anything obvious.

Your eyes flicker between the ridiculous amount of supplies scattered across your bed and the three large duffle bags on your floor that you're determined to pack it all into. You know that you are most likely being excessive, but you'd much rather be too thorough than not thorough enough when you're about to be miles deep in the Appalachian wilderness.

Sure, you'd be staying at a relatively civilized campground with restrooms and showers, but this is the first time that you've been camping in years, and your first time ever going camping alone.

A two day road trip there, then six days in the Great Smoky Mountains, and then another two day road trip back to upstate New York.

A much needed ten days of time spent by yourself, seeing as how you haven't gone on anything resembling a vacation in over two years. The last couple years have been nonstop work with very little time for relaxation.

To say that you're excited would be an understatement. Although you find immense fulfillment in the work that you do with the Avengers and can't see yourself doing anything else, you're ready to sit by a warm fire and sleep under the stars without a care in the world.

Just as you've finished packing the second bag and are about to begin on the third, the Bluetooth speaker that your cell phone is paired to begins blasting your ringtone, cutting off the music that you'd been listening to while you pack.

When you grab the phone off of your nightstand and see the name Nick Fury displayed across the screen, a ball of unease immediately forms in the pit of your stomach.

Nick Fury isn't the type to call and chit chat about how your day is going or what shows you've been binge watching. He's the type to call when he wants something done, and wants it done now.

“Hey, Fury,” you greet in a neutral tone as you perch on the edge of your bed. With the phone still connected to your speaker, you place it back down on the nightstand so that you are free to wring your hands together.

“Agent,” Fury's voice booms throughout your room. “I hope I've caught you before you've left the state of New York.”

Godfuckingdammit.

“Uh - yep. I'm still here. Packing up for my trip right now,” you answer, trying your hardest to conceal the irritation in your voice. There's a small voice in the back of your head telling you that you should just lie and say you are already on the road, but you're not stupid enough to lie to Nick Fury.

There's a second, louder voice in the back of your mind screaming at you that you shouldn’t have even answered the phone.

“You know I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm going to suggest you pack a tactical suit and weapon of choice instead of hiking boots and a sleeping bag. We just got word that a vibranium weapons dealer we've been tracking will be receiving a large shipment at a port in Destin tomorrow night. Need you and Barnes on a flight to Florida this afternoon.”

“Florida?” you repeat, unable to hide the shock and disappointment in your tone. “I can't go to Florida right now. I've been planning this trip for months. I put in the notice for my leave–”

“I realize that this is unfortunate timing but I'm afraid that this is non-negotiable, Agent,” he interrupts you in a tone of finality. “If we don't intercept this shipment then these weapons fall into very dangerous hands. With Romanoff and Rogers still in San Antonio until next week, I have no choice but to ask you and Barnes to handle it.”

You exhale an audible, frustrated breath and massage the heels of your palms into your eye sockets. You don't know why you're surprised. It's not like illegal arms dealers take your vacation time into consideration when they plot their dealings.

“Is that understood, Agent?” he asks when you don't respond.

“Yes,” you say as you dig your nails into the flesh of your palm to hold back any further argument. “Yes, I understand.”

“Great. The jet leaves in three hours.”

The line cuts off before you can get another word out.

You groan out loud. Three hours. That doesn't even leave you enough time to feel sorry for yourself.

You look around at the chaotic state of your room before your gaze lands on the already packed duffle bags filled with camping supplies.

You're too annoyed and short on time to care right now, so you empty the contents of both bags back onto your bed and tell yourself that you'll deal with the mess when you get back home. For now, you need to focus on packing the appropriate items for taking down a vibranium arms dealer in hotass Florida.

Beneath all of the disappointment and frustration, there's a glimmer of relief that at the very least it's Bucky who you're being sent on this unexpected mission with. You may not be fond of hot weather, but you are quite fond of him.

••••••

Just as Fury said, the jet departs from the compound at exactly three o'clock. You sit in the aircraft's cabin, reading through a thick file containing all of the information that SHIELD has compiled on Dmitri Petrov's crime empire, ranging from drug smuggling to illegal arms deals.

You are only a few pages into the report and it's abundantly clear why this mission was non-negotiable. Petrov has been getting away unscatched for years - tomorrow night will be the first clear opportunity for a take down since getting on SHIELD's radar.

“Coffee?” A voice snaps you back to reality, making you realize that you're reading the same sentence for the dozenth time. “Three creams, two sugars.”

You look up to find a vibranium hand holding out a disposable cup to you. If the fact that he's committed the way you take your coffee to memory isn't enough to increase your heart rate, his smirk and the crinkles around his blue eyes do the trick.

“Thank you,” you tell him, snapping the folder shut on the table in front of you. “My eyes are on the verge of bleeding.” You take a sip of the coffee - indeed, three creams and two sugars.

He takes the seat directly across from you, spinning the folder around for him to flip through himself.

“We land in less than half an hour and you've been reading this the entire flight,” he says teasingly as he thumbs through the pages. “I think it's safe to say you're prepared.”

“Just trying to get myself in the right headspace. I didn't know anything about this operation until a few hours ago, you know.”

Not one to complain, you had yet to bring up the fact that your trip had been postponed in order for you to be here. You had talked about the trip on several occasions with Bucky, but you didn't expect him to remember the exact dates that you were supposed to be gone.

Sure - if he was going to be away for over a week, you'd be hyper aware of it until he returned - but you weren't naive enough to think that he would know the exact dates of your comings and goings.

He places the file back down, returning his attention to you.

“I know,” he sighs, a sympathetic look on his face. “I was on my way to tell you to have a good trip and to be safe when I got the call from Fury this morning.”

Oh. Your cheeks heat at the casual admission from him.

“I'm sorry about your trip. I know you were really looking forward to it,” he adds sincerely. “I'm going to find extra enjoyment in putting Dmitri Petrov behind bars for causing it to get canceled.”

“You and me both,” you chuckle. “Really though, it's okay. I was bummed, but it's not the end of the world. It can easily be rescheduled once this guy is locked up and we're back home.”

You don't add the fact that you find yourself caring less and less about the canceled trip the longer that you sit here with him.

“There is at least one silver lining to this, you know,” he chimes, leaning forward with his elbows on the table between you. You instinctively lean in closer too, causing the side of your leg to brush against his beneath the table. You wait to see if he'll pull away, and when he doesn't, you leave the side of your thigh resting against his.

“Oh, yeah? And what's that?”

“Petrov’s shipment isn't set to arrive until tomorrow night, and they've sent us down here the day prior. It's not like we have to stay holed up in our hotel room for the next twenty-four hours, right?”

••••••

Bucky's right - there's no sense in locking yourselves inside the hotel room until the time of the weapons deal tomorrow evening, but when you see the hotel room that you'll be spending the next couple nights in, you think you would also be okay with staying inside if you had to.

It's not a five star resort by any means, but in comparison to the dingy roadside motels that you're normally stuck in for missions? This place might as well be a Four Seasons.

It's relatively small, but there's more than enough space for the two of you. There's one full size bed, plus a couch that converts to a futon mattress - the latter of which Bucky insists on taking, giving you the bed. The bathroom is nearly as big as the main room, with a jacuzzi tub that's bigger than three standard bathtubs put together.

And the best part of it? When you open the curtains to the sliding glass door on the backside of the room, there's a clear view of turquoise water and white sand.

“I guess Fury felt a little bad about springing this on me at the last minute, after all,” you sigh as you pull the door open, letting the light breeze pull the smell of saltwater into the room. “Can't say that I’ve been given a beachfront room for a mission before.”

Bucky walks up to stand beside you, leaning against the doorframe and staring out to the ocean.

“It's definitely a step up from the rat and roach infested Motel 6 that Sam and I had to spend three nights in when we were sent to Atlanta for recon last month.”

You shake your head, both cringing and laughing at the memory of him ranting about the motel room as soon as he saw you after returning home.

“It was the size of a fucking capybara. Why are you laughing? I opened the bathroom door and it charged at me–”

A sudden deep rumbling noise snaps you out of the memory and you glance down at your stomach in surprise. You suppose it makes sense that your body is screaming at you to eat - you had such little time to pack for Destin before your flight left that you hadn't even bothered with lunch today.

“How does pizza sound?” Bucky asks with a knowing smirk. “I saw a pizza place just down the street on the way here.”

“Anything sounds good right now,” you sigh, both starving and exhausted from your day of packing, unpacking, re-packing and traveling.

“I'll go grab one for us,” he tells you, pulling the keys to the rental car out of his pocket. “Just stay here and get settled in.”

You don't object, itching to change into comfier, more weather appropriate clothes. When you left the state of New York just a few hours ago, it was chilly outside. Now that you are in eighty plus degree Destin, the sweater and boots that you're wearing have got to go.

You unpack your bag, thankful that you had brought a pair of casual drawstring shorts. You throw them on, along with a tank top. You decide to go ahead and convert the futon from a sofa into a bed, and then search through the hotel room's small linen closet for a set of sheets and a quilt. If Bucky insists on you taking the comfier sleeping option and going to get food for the two of you, you figure the least you can do is make his bed for him.

When he returns, he not only has a large cardboard box containing the pizza, but a plastic bag hanging from his vibranium arm as well.

“Grab a towel and follow me,” he tells you before he's even closed the door behind him.

“Follow you?” You laugh, taken aback by the instructions. “Where are we going?”

You hop up from where you'd been mindlessly scrolling on your phone on the bed, doing as he asked and grabbing one of the complementary beach towels from the bathroom closet.

“Not staying holed up in our hotel room. Remember?”

And with that he pulls the sliding glass door open with his empty hand and exits the room, heading towards the beach that sits directly in the backyard. You don't even take the time to throw on a pair of tennis shoes before practically running after him through the sand.

He comes to a stop when he's a few yards away from where the waves wash up against shore and turns back to look at you. You take it as your cue to spread the towel across the sand at your feet.

He sits down and you follow, the cardboard box nestled between you. He opens it, revealing a pizza that is split down the middle - half your favorite, half his favorite.

“I know it's not a campfire in the Great Smoky Mountains,” he smirks. He digs into the plastic bag and pulls out a drink for each of you, along with some napkins. “But it's the best I could do in our current situation.”

The sentiment leaves you momentarily speechless. You know it isn't a grand declaration of love, and it might not mean as much to some people as it does to you - but you can't remember the last time someone went out of their way just to improve your day in such a simple yet thoughtful way.

Between the pizza, the vibrant pink and purple sky as the sun sinks beyond the ocean's horizon, the sound of the waves and him beside you, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now.

“No,” you murmur. “It's not. But it's perfect.”

••••••

The next day, you manage to forget that you're actually on a super important mission taking down a dangerous illegal arms dealer.

The first half of the day feels like an actual vacation - the closest thing you've had to a vacation in a long time, anyway. You sleep in until nearly ten o'clock in the morning - which may not be considered sleeping in for some people, but in this line of work, you've overslept if you're still in bed at eight am.

After waking up thoroughly rested and refreshed, the two of you get brunch and then spend the early hours of the afternoon leisurely strolling at the boardwalk just a short drive from your hotel.

You and Bucky are sitting on a bench eating ice cream when you check your phone for the first time in hours and realize how quickly the day has gone. It's already four o'clock - you're due to be on lookout at the pier where Petrov's exchange will occur soon.

“What's wrong?” Bucky asks when you huff under your breath as you stick your phone back into your pocket. “Nervous about tonight?”

You're not nervous, truthfully. You're fully confident that you and Bucky will be able to handle the job. You've been on countless missions less straight forward than this before, and so has he.

“No,” you shake your head as you take another bite of your ice cream cone. “It's… silly,” you say, waving your hand in dismissal.

“I'm sure it's not silly,” he assures you gently.

You pause, staring at a couple holding hands in the distance as you contemplate your words.

Bucky seems to follow your gaze.

“Today has just been really nice,” you shrug with a small smile. “I almost don't want to go back home.”

From your peripheral vision, you see his face shift to look at you. You continue to eat your ice cream, pretending that his stare doesn't warm you more than the Florida sun.

“We're on the same page then, doll.”

••••••

A few hours later, a feeder ship pulls up to the pier just after dusk.

“We've got eyes on three men,” you say lowly into your communication device. “They're guarding the pier. No sign of Petrov yet.”

“He'll show,” Fury's voice echoes in your ear. “Keep watch until then. Backup is on standby to take him in.” The comm clicks off before you can respond.

“I know there's a lot riding on this going smoothly,” you grumble as you bring your binoculars back up to your eyes. “But sometimes I think he just really needs to get laid.”

You and Bucky are across the road from the pier, concealed by large shrubs and the darkness of the night sky. You've been sitting here as still and silently as possible for well over an hour, before Petrov's men had even arrived to stand guard at the dock.

You really fucking have to pee.

Headlights begin to approach from down the street, and as the vehicle gets closer you're able to see that it's a large, black van.

Totally not suspicious at all.

It comes to a stop close to the boat dock, and a second later Petrov hops out of the driver's seat. You recognize him right away by his shrimpy build and receding hairline.

“I should just take them all out from here and be done with this,” Bucky grumbles from beside you.

“I agree,” you sigh. “But Fury's adamant that Petrov be brought in alive if possible. He’s got an empire behind him that we need to find out as much as possible about. His men, however..” you trail off.

Bucky looks through the scope of his gun, zeroing in on one of the guards.

“Blow a tire on the van first,” you murmur. “So Petrov can't flee.”

“I'll take out these three guards, and then I'll get Petrov and call for back-up. You worry about getting to that ship and taking out anyone inside. Sound like a plan?”

“Easy peasy,” you agree.

Less than thirty seconds later, all three guards have dropped dead and Petrov is frantically running to his van, unaware that Bucky had shot the back tire after killing his guards. You and Bucky emerge from the shrubs, sprinting across the road. He dashes towards Petrov, who freezes and begins shouting curses in Russian when he sees what is running towards him.

Bucky lands a punch to Petrov's jaw as you're running past them, only slowing down enough to not trip over the guard’s dead bodies that are littered across the dock.

You're only a few yards away from the ship when you hear Bucky screech your name. You immediately come to a halt, turning back to see why he could be calling for you.

You see a tall, burly man - someone that you and Bucky hadn't noticed before - sprinting down the dock after you. He raises his arm above his head, his hand holding a rocklike object that he sends barreling in your direction.

It's the last thing you see before everything fades to black.

••••••

The shrill, repetitive beeping of a monitor pulls you out of limbo and back to earth.

You're met with painfully bright, fluorescent lighting that has you squinting your eyes shut before you can make sense of your surroundings.

“Bucky,” you attempt to call out but it sounds like the croak of a lifelong smoker. Your eyes begin to adjust to the harsh lighting, allowing you to see that you're alone in a hospital room. You raise your fingertips to where it feels as if your brain is pulsing through your skull. There's a thick, defined knot on the top of your head that's sensitive to the touch.

Panic starts to take over you. Bits and pieces of the mission start to flash through your mind. Bucky shooting the guards, you running towards the feeder ship when you heard Bucky yell your name and then turning to see –

“Bucky!” You call out louder, your voice still hoarse. You sit up, not hesitating to carelessly yank an IV out of your arm. You're vaguely aware of the fact that you're in only a hospital gown and that blood is now trickling down your left arm, but you don't care.

You throw your legs over the side of the bed, standing up far too quickly. Your vision fades to a fuzzy gray and you're overcome with an intense wave of vertigo as the room spins around you. You grab onto the metal side railing of the hospital bed to keep yourself upright, desperately trying to focus your eyes enough to find the nurse's call button.

“Hi! I'll be to your room in just a moment–” An overly cheerful, feminine voice pours from the speaker a moment after pressing the button.

“What happened? How long have I been here? Where is my–”

The door to your room opens, and you immediately breathe an audible sigh of relief as your last question is answered. He looks as though he could use a good night's sleep, but he is okay.

“What the fuck happened?” Bucky exclaims as he rushes over to where you're still clutching the hospital bed railing for support. You follow his gaze to your arm, seeing that there's now blood all over your gown as well as the white floor around your feet.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you mumble, embarrassed by your current state. He guides you back to the edge of the mattress before walking away to get a towel from the bathroom. “I was worried something happened to you,” you add weakly.

He wipes the blood trail on your skin before using the hand towel to apply pressure to the puncture in the bend of your arm.

“I'm okay,” he assures you delicately. “I had just gone to get some coffee.” He glances at the styrofoam to-go cup that you hadn't even noticed him place on the bedside table when he entered the room.

“How long was I asleep?” You ask, noticing that it's still pitch dark outside. You also notice that he's no longer in the clothes that he wore on the mission - now wearing a pair of loose fitting black sweatpants and a matching hoodie. “What happened?”

“There was another guy in the back of Petrov’s van,” Bucky tenses, still holding the towel to your arm for you. “We were both distracted and he snuck up on you. He hit you over the head with a piece of vibranium and threw you into the water.” His jaw clenches as he recounts what happened, meeting your gaze with a pained look.

“But you saved me,” you finish for him.

“Yes,” he gulps. “I did. But I was almost too late. By the time I knocked out Petrov and killed the man who hit you.. it felt like it took forever to find you in the water. You almost drown–”

He cuts himself off, unable to force the last word out. A nurse enters the room as you open your mouth to offer him reassurance. Bucky holds your gaze for a split-second longer before reluctantly dropping his hold on your arm and turning to take a seat in the room's singular guest chair.

The nurse informs you that they did a CT scan while you were unconscious, and that while you don't have any swelling or bleeding on your brain from the blow, the doctor believes you to have a concussion and tells you that she will need to do an exam now that you are awake before they feel comfortable discharging you.

Judging by the high-pitched ringing that you've heard in your ears since you woke up and the way that you feel dizzy when you even think about trying to stand up, you don't doubt that you're concussed.

An hour later, you've been thoroughly examined and it is confirmed that yes - you are indeed concussed. The doctor discharges you under the condition that you don't drive and that someone keeps a close eye on you for the next twenty-four hours.

“Don't worry,” you hear Bucky tell her when you step into the bathroom to throw on a pair of dry sweatpants, a t-shirt, and cheap shower slides that the hospital had given you to wear back to the hotel, seeing as how your tactical suit and boots are still sopping wet with ocean water. “I'm not letting her out of my sight.”

The nurse who helps you dress gives you a small smirk at his words.

“You're a lucky woman,” she tells you quietly. “He was worried sick until you woke up.”

You avoid her gaze, your cheeks heating. You busy yourself by tightening the drawstrings to the gray sweatpants.

“I am lucky,” you agree. “He's a great partner.”

She raises an eyebrow at the word partner, but doesn't make any further comment.

By the time that you and Bucky make it back to your hotel room, the sun has started to rise.

Bucky all but carries you inside, only letting go of you when you're perched on the edge of the mattress. Your head is still throbbing despite the extra strength ibuprofen that you'd taken before leaving the hospital, and you still can't walk without stumbling from dizziness, but at least the intense ringing in your ears has begun to subside.

You feel tired down to your very bones, but you have no doubt that Bucky is even more exhausted. You'd been unconscious for nearly eight hours during the night, whereas he had been awake the entire time sitting by your bedside.

“You get some rest,” you tell him. You brace your hands against the mattress, preparing to attempt to stand back up. “I smell like a mixture of sweat and fish from being in the ocean, so I'm going to shower off.”

You push yourself off of the bed, and as quickly as you stand, you're sitting back down. The room immediately begins spinning in circles around you, sending a wave of nausea through the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah, not likely,” Bucky huffs lightly. “You can't stand up, and the shower doesn't have a seat. How about we compromise on a bath?”

You give a weak nod, too tired to protest. A warm bath sounds incredible right now.

Bucky retreats to the bathroom, where he turns on the water to fill the tub before returning to help you get up from the bed without toppling over. He secures his flesh arm around your waist and guides you to the closed toilet, where you carefully sit down.

“Do you.. need help undressing? Or..?” He asks hesitantly.

“No,” you breathe with an awkward laugh. “I think I've got it.”

He gives you a quick nod, looking away to give you the privacy to shed your clothes. You carefully tug the oversized t-shirt the hospital had given you over your head, wincing when it brushes against the swollen knot on the side of your scalp. You rise off the lid of the toilet just enough to push your sweatpants down to your ankles.

“Okay,” you murmur, letting him know that you're ready to step into the tub.

He grabs one of your hands in his, and places his metal hand on the small of your back as you step over the side of the large jacuzzi tub and into the water.

You're aware of the intimacy of the scenario, but you can't find it in yourself to feel insecure or embarrassed right now - you're sure that's largely due to the concussion, but you think it's also simply because of who you're with.

If it were Sam, or Steve, or anyone else, you know you'd be mortified to be utterly exposed as they help you take a bath. If it were anyone else you wouldn't be taking a bath right now - you would have just gone to sleep and waited until you could fully do it yourself instead of putting yourself in such a vulnerable position.

Not that you don't trust your other teammates. But with Bucky, it doesn't feel vulnerable.

He lowers you into the water, your entire body instantly relaxing at the warmth. You glance to his face, noticing a faint purple bruise along his cheekbone.

“I'm going to leave the door cracked. I'll be right outside if you need anything. Just let me know when you're ready to get out, okay?”

You don't respond, instead reaching up to his face, where you run your finger along the outline of the bruise. He freezes beneath your touch, his eyes meeting yours.

“Don't worry,” he assures you softly. “It was a lot worse when it first happened. It's already almost gone.”

“I'm sorry,” you whisper. “It happened because of me. I wasn't paying attention as well as I should have been. Should have heard that guy coming.”

“Don't say that.” He places his flesh hand on top of where yours still rests against his cheek and then brings it in front of his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. “You're okay, and that's the only thing that matters now.”

“Mmm,” you hum, staring at his lips that are no more than an inch away from your hand.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his voice patient and curious.

You hesitate for a brief moment before leaning forward and pressing your lips to the bruise in a featherlight kiss. You pull back, once more resting your back against the tub and giving him a small shrug.

“Just thinking that I wanted to do that. Have for a while.”

He grins, a faint blush taking over the apples of his cheeks.

“Yeah, I'd say you're definitely concussed.”

You chuckle, your smile matching his. “I am,” you agree. “But the concussion will go away soon, and I'll still want to kiss you then, too.”

He then presses his lips to the side of your hand, causing goosebumps to form across your skin despite the warm water that you sit in.

“I hope that you will do just that.”

••••••

One month later

You wake up to the smell of campfire smoke that creeps through the crack in the partially zipped tent.

Despite a thick sleeping bag, multiple blankets, and the plush sweater that you wear, you can't help but shiver.

Something is missing.

You look around the tent, your eyes adjusting to the early morning daylight that filters into the tent.

Someone is missing.

You reluctantly exit your cozy sleeping bag, shoving your wool sock covered feet into your boots and crawling out of the tent.

Bucky is facing away from you, cracking an egg into a pan that is positioned over the fire.

“Good morning,” you murmur as you creep up behind him, wrapping an arm around his midsection. He wraps his own arm around your shoulders, pulling you flush against him and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Morning, sleepy head,” he teases softly. “What's on the agenda today?”

“Maybe some hiking, maybe some biking,” you shrug into him. “Maybe a little bit of you keeping me warm in that tent.”

He laughs, more carefree than you've ever seen him before.

“See? It's a good thing that your trip got postponed. What if I wasn't here to keep you warm?”

You raise up to capture his lips in yours, the taste of fresh brewed French press coffee on his breath.

“Remind me to thank Fury for that when we get back.”

thank you so much for reading 💕🫶🏻 comments and reblogs are infinitely appreciated!!

[arkofangels]

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐲

Summary: One night with Clark left you sore, satisfied, and—unfortunately—forgetful. Blissed-out and beautiful, he walked into the office the next morning completely unaware of the little “present” you accidentally left on his neck

AN: ★·.·`¯´·.·★ 𝘚𝘋𝘐𝘠𝘉𝘛 ★·.·`¯´·.·★ JK, but I made a smallville reference even though I've never seen it, lol.

You swore it wasn’t going to happen again.

You swore.

But then Clark Kent had shown up at your apartment the night before—looking like sin in glasses, apologizing for missing your lunch date with a bouquet of actual starflowers from actual space—and next thing you knew, you were shirtless on the couch, Clark was holding you like you weighed nothing (because you kinda didn’t to him), and the couch was now definitely crooked.

You woke up tangled in sheets, kissed him goodbye, and got to the office first, smugly sipping your iced coffee like the world hadn’t just been shaken by Kryptonian strength and very human hands.

Everything was fine.

Until Clark walked into the bullpen two hours later, waving and greeting everyone with that impossibly soft “good morning,” and the newsroom... paused.

You didn’t notice at first. Too busy pretending to type something while eavesdropping on the city desk. But then you caught it.

Whispers.

Not suspicious ones. Not Superman-level whispers.

No.

These were gossipy whispers.

And Clark, bless him, looked completely unaware. His tie was slightly crooked (you did pull him down by it last night), his hair was still a bit too perfectly tousled (your fault again), and most damning of all—

There it was.

A Hickey.

On full, blotchy display, just above the collar. A perfect little bruise in the shape of your mouth.

You died inside.

Clark had no idea. He just kept smiling his golden-retriever smile, walking around like a walking HR violation, asking if anyone had seen the sports section.

It wasn’t until Lois passed him with a smirk and a very pointed eyebrow raise that he frowned.

“Is there something... on my face?”

“No, farmboy,” Lois said, sipping her coffee with the same delight as someone watching a house burn down. “Just your neck.”

You watched the light drain from his face. He practically slow-motioned back to his desk, dropped into his chair, pulled out his phone, and subtly turned the camera on himself.

The second he saw it, he slapped a hand over his neck and swung a look straight at you. Mortified. Betrayed. Deeply blushing.

You, being a professional, pretended not to notice. You typed something like “weather patterns Metropolis July heatwave” to cover the fact you were silently losing your mind.

But then the email came.

Subject: URGENT: Supervisory Review

From: Janet Harrows, Managing Editor

To: You

“My office. Now. We need to talk about damaging company property.”

You choked on your water.

You stood in Janet’s office five minutes later, hands behind your back like you were being court-martialed. She leaned back in her chair with a look that was half-stern, half-glee.

“Close the door.”

You did.

“Sit.”

You did that, too.

She steepled her fingers. “You know we take workplace professionalism very seriously here at The Daily Planet.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you said, doing your best not to implode.

“So when one of my top reporters strolls in looking like he got mauled by a very affectionate octopus, I’m forced to ask: who did it?”

You blinked. “I—I wouldn’t say mauled, exactly—”

“Clark Kent,” she continued, ignoring you, “is a treasured employee. Polite. Punctual. Alarmingly sweet. Company property, one might say.” Her brow lifted. “And you’ve marked him.”

“Technically, he’s not—”

“Marked,” she repeated, like a gavel strike.

You opened your mouth, thought better of it, and shut it again.

Janet leaned back in her chair. “I’ve had two photographers ask me if they can pitch a Valentine’s special called ‘The Mysterious Hickey Chronicles: Love Bites in the Bullpen.’”

You buried your face in your hands.

She chuckled. “Next time, maybe aim below the collarbone. Or bring a scarf. He’s making the interns who thought they had a chance cry.”

She waved you off. “Go. Shoo. Get your story in before five.”

Back at your desk, Clark was pretending to do work but was definitely Googling “how to fade hickeys faster.” He glanced up, looking wounded.

“I thought we said no visible marks.”

You dropped a post-it note on his desk. On it, you’d scribbled:

"Tell that to your neck, Smallville."

He blushed.

You winked.

And Lois, two desks away, let out a dramatic groan. “God, get a room. Or at least an office with a door.”

“Already did,” Clark muttered under his breath.

You kicked his foot under the desk.

And from Janet’s office, a voice rang out:

“KEEP IT PG, PEOPLE!”

[harrysfolklore]

can we have a little honorary wag blurb where she’s freaking out about meeting charles’s entire friend group but when she does , she gets along with them really well and baby chiara ADORES her 🥹

thank you for sending this request, i really missed writing about these babiesss 🥺🥺 i hope you like thisss

READ THE HONORARY WAG HERE

A few weeks had passed since Kika and Pierre’s wedding, and life had settled into a pleasant routine for you and Charles. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and you were sprawled on the couch in Charles’ living room, a cozy blanket wrapped around you as you watched TV.

Charles was in the kitchen, making coffee. You could hear him humming to himself, a soft, contented sound that made you smile. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind, but you were finally finding your rhythm together, and it felt perfect.

Being his girlfriend felt perfect.

“Do you want anything with your coffee, mon coeur?” Charles called out, his voice carrying into the living room.

“Just some cookies, if we have any,” you replied, stretching out and snuggling deeper into the blanket.

Charles appeared a few minutes later, balancing two mugs of coffee and a plate of cookies. He handed you your mug and placed the plate on the coffee table before sitting down beside you.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a sip of the coffee. It was perfect, just the way you liked it.

Charles smiled and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “I could get used to this,” he said, his voice soft and full of warmth.

You leaned into him, feeling a sense of contentment. “Me too. It’s nice to have some time to just relax and be together.”

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering for a moment. “So, I've bee thinking."

You turned to look at him, curiosity piqued by his tone. "Oh? About what?"

Charles took a sip of his coffee before continuing, "Well, we've been together for almost a month now, and things have been going really well…"

"They have," you agreed, smiling up at him.

"And I was thinking," he continued, his fingers absently playing with a strand of your hair, "maybe it's time for you to meet my friends. My whole friend group, I mean."

You felt a small flutter of nervousness in your stomach. You'd met some of Charles' friends in passing, of course, but the idea of meeting his entire friend group felt significant.

"Your whole friend group?" you repeated, trying to keep your voice casual.

Charles nodded, his eyes searching your face. "Yeah. Joris, who you've already met a few times, Riccardo and Marta, and a few others. They're really important to me, and… well, you're really important to me too. I'd love for you all to get to know each other better."

You almost melted at his words, his green eyes looking at you with a tenderness that made you regret not looking at them for so long.

It wasn’t just the idea of meeting his friends—it was the way he phrased it, making you feel special, like you were becoming an integral part of his life. But at the same time, your nerves fluttered in your stomach.

“Charles, that sounds… great,” you said, trying to sound confident, but the slight edge in your voice gave you away.

He narrowed his eyes at you, gently setting his coffee cup down on the table. “But?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m just a little nervous," you sighed, shifting so you could look at him fully, "They’ve known you for so long, and I don’t want to feel like the odd one out, you know? What if I don’t fit in?”

“Mon amour, you’re not an outsider," Charles’ expression softened even more as he reached for your hand, interlocking your fingers with his, "You’re my girlfriend, and that means you’re already part of my world.”

You bit your lip, still feeling a little unsure. It was a lot of pressure—meeting the people who had been with Charles through thick and thin, who knew sides of him that you were still discovering.

“I’m sure they’re great,” you said, leaning into him a little, “but it’s still kind of intimidating. I mean, Riccardo and Marta have a baby. What if I’m awkward around Chiara?”

Charles let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Chiara’s a baby. All she cares about is who makes her laugh and who gives her food. And knowing you, you’ll have her wrapped around your finger in no time.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that, imagining a tiny baby giggling in your arms. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Charles replied, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Look, I get it. Meeting new people, especially people who are important to me, can be overwhelming. But I promise, they’re going to love you. And more importantly, I’ll be there with you the whole time.”

His words calmed the nervous buzzing in your mind, and you found yourself nodding slowly. “Okay. Let’s do it. I’ll meet them.”

Charles’ face lit up with that boyish grin you adored, and he kissed you softly on the lips. “That’s my girl. I’ll talk to them, and we’ll make a plan for next weekend.”

You smiled against his lips before pulling back. “Next weekend, huh? No pressure, right?”

He winked, squeezing your hand, “None at all. Just you, me, and my crazy friends.”

The following weekend came quicker than you expected, and before you knew it, you and Charles were standing outside Riccardo and Marta’s house, your heart beating a little faster than usual. The sounds of laughter and conversation drifted out from the backyard, and you could already hear Chiara’s high-pitched giggles.

“You okay?” Charles squeezed your hand as you stood at the front door.

“Yeah, just…" you took a deep breath, nodding, "You know, trying to remember how to be a functioning human.”

"Mon coeur, it's fine!" Charles gave you a huge grin, "Just think bout the first time you came to a race with Kika and met everyone. You were a natural."

You chuckled at the memory. "Yeah, and from that moment, I thought you disliked me for the longest time."

"Baby, we've talked about this," Charles raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "I was just... reserved," he said, his tone teasing but with a hint of sincerity.

You nudged him playfully. "You were cold! Barely even smiled at me. I thought, 'Great, Pierre’s friend is grumpy and doesn’t like me at all.’"

"And now, look at me," Charles laughed, pulling you closer, "Head over heels for you. Who would've thought?"

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest at his words. His eyes softened, and before you could respond, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a gentle kiss.

When you finally pulled away, Charles rested his forehead against yours. "I promise, they’ll love you. Just be yourself, like you always are."

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. "Okay, I’m ready."

With that, Charles opened the door, and the two of you stepped inside, the lively sounds of his friends filling the space around you. The air was warm, the atmosphere welcoming, and as soon as you stepped through, Joris waved at you from across the room, and Marta smiled brightly, holding little Chiara.

"Well, well, if it isn't the girl who used to roll her eyes every time Charles spoke," Joris teased, approaching you and pulling you into a friendly hug.

You laugh, feeling some of your nervousness dissipate. "What can I say? He grew on me."

"Like a fungus, I'm sure," Joris winked, earning a playful shove from Charles.

Marta spotted you both and beamed, making her way over with Chiara balanced on her hip. Riccardo followed closely behind her, grinning widely.

"Ah, there he is," Riccardo greeted, pulling Charles into a hug before turning to you with a bright smile. "And this must be YN. It’s so great to finally meet you."

Charles stepped to the side, his hand still holding yours as he made the introductions. "Riccardo, Marta, this is YN, my girlfriend. YN, these are two of my closest friends in the world."

You smiled nervously but warmly, offering your hand to Riccardo, who brushed it aside to pull you into a friendly hug. "We do hugs around here," he said with a wink.

Marta followed suit, hugging you carefully while balancing Chiara in her arms. "It’s so nice to meet you, YN," she said, her smile warm and welcoming. "Charles has told us all about you. It’s about time we finally get to meet the girl who’s got him smiling all the time."

You chuckled nervously, your cheeks flushing a little. "He exaggerates."

"I don’t think so," Charles teased, his arm slipping around your waist again as he beamed at you.

Another one of Charles' friends raised his glass from where he was standing. "And here she is—the woman who tolerates Charles better than any of us."

You laughed at that, feeling some of the tension slip away as everyone welcomed you with open arms. The introductions continued as more of Charles’ friends trickled into the conversation, each one greeting you warmly, making you feel like part of the group in no time. It was clear that Charles’ friends were just as kind and friendly as he had promised.

“I’m so glad you could come," Marta said as she sat down next to you, little Chiara still in her arms.

“Thank you for having me,” you replied warmly, already feeling more at ease with her friendly demeanor.

Baby Chiara’s curious eyes darted toward you. You waved at her with a soft smile, and to your surprise, Chiara giggled, her little hands reaching out toward you.

“She���s been so excited all day,” Marta said with a chuckle, adjusting Chiara on her lap. “I think she knew we were having company. You want to hold her?”

You hesitated for a moment, but before you could even reply, Chiara was practically leaning over to get closer to you. You couldn't help but laugh, your heart melting at the sight of her small, chubby hands reaching out.

“I think she’s made up her mind,” you said, taking Chiara from Marta. The little girl settled in your lap immediately, looking up at you with wide, innocent eyes before giving you a sweet, toothy grin.

Charles, who had been chatting with Riccardo and Joris nearby, turned around just in time to catch the scene. His expression softened as he watched you interact with Chiara, his heart clearly in his eyes as he leaned against the counter, completely mesmerized.

“She loves you already,” Marta said softly, watching the way Chiara kept reaching for your face, fascinated by your hair and earrings.

“She’s adorable,” you said, your voice equally soft as you gently played with the little girl’s hands. Chiara giggled again, her laughter filling the room, and you couldn’t help but beam at her.

Charles crossed the room, his eyes still glued to the two of you. "She’s not the only one," he teased, placing a hand on your shoulder as he bent down to kiss your temple. "She’s got good taste."

"You're such a sap," Joris called out from where he sat, grinning as he popped another cookie into his mouth. "Look at you, all gooey and soft."

“Careful, Joris,” Charles replied, smirking at him. “Don’t make me start telling embarrassing stories about you."

“Oh, I’d love to hear those,” Marta chimed in, clearly enjoying the playful banter.

“Hey, I’m not the one who once locked himself out of the house without pants,” Joris shot back, earning a chorus of laughter from everyone around the room.

Amidst the laughter, Marta leaned closer to you, her voice just above a whisper. “You know,” she said, glancing at Charles, who was still gazing at you and Chiara with that adoring smile, “I’ve never seen him like this. I can tell he’s really happy with you.”

Her words made your heart skip a beat. You glanced up at Charles, feeling a warmth spread through you as you caught his eye. He winked at you, completely oblivious to Marta’s words, but it only made the moment more special.

"Thank you," you replied quietly, feeling a bit shy under her knowing gaze. "That means a lot coming from you."

Marta smiled, patting your hand. "I'm really glad he found someone special. You fit right in."

Before you could respond, Chiara began fussing slightly in your lap, clearly looking for something. Charles noticed immediately and knelt down beside you, offering the small toy she had dropped earlier. As soon as you handed it to her, Chiara calmed down, grabbing the toy and happily gnawing on it.

"I told you she'd love you," Charles grinned as he watched the two of you.

"You're right," you replied with a smile, gently bouncing Chiara in your lap. "She's perfect."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and easy conversation. You found yourself quickly settling into the group, enjoying the way everyone seemed so at ease with one another. Joris and Riccardo were relentless in teasing Charles, often making jokes about how smitten he was, while Marta continued to shoot you knowing glances, clearly pleased with how everything was going.

At one point, as the evening wound down, Chiara started to get sleepy. She nestled into your arms, her little fingers curling around your shirt as her eyes fluttered closed.

Charles, who had been watching the whole time, leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "You’re amazing with her," he whispered, his voice filled with warmth.

"She’s the sweetest," you whispered back, glancing down at the tiny girl fast asleep in your arms.

Charles’ gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his heart completely full. He had never imagined that watching you with Chiara would have such an effect on him, but here he was, absolutely melting at the sight.

As the night drew to a close, Riccardo and Marta thanked you both for coming. “Next time, we’ll have to do it at your place, Charles,” Riccardo joked, clapping him on the back.

“Sure, as long as you bring Chiara,” Charles replied with a grin, his arm wrapped securely around your waist as you stood by his side.

Marta gave you a quick hug before you left. "Seriously," she whispered in your ear, "We're really glad you're in his life."

You smiled at her, feeling the warmth and sincerity behind her words. "Me too."

[mickyschumacher]

[SUMMER SUNSHINE! PT.7]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: putting your differences and similarities aside, you've decided to take oscar berry picking and end up receiving something else entirely! or in which you should really thank hattie.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: lots of fluff, poor humour, berry picking finally, reconciliation, the finale!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oscar piastri x childhood bsf!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.4k+

𝐀/𝐍: the last part!! ahh! i've enjoyed writing this series so much that i even hacked away at it during my exams 🤫 thank you so much to everyone reading this, especially this special lil tag list! hopefully i can do something like this again vv soon ♡︎

tag list: @kakashiislut @taetae-armyyyyy @satorinnie @at-a-rax-ia @op814kitty @anayaverse @edgyficuselastica @anonomano @sltwins @utopiakys @fullyinsanepartlywriting @justvibbinghere @obxstiles @freyathehuntress @that-dress @hevzo8 @curlylando @cianrol @gigigreens @mxxnsr @introvertstoriesblog @lilyofthevalley-09 @syd649 @dramallama9 @n3versatisfied @idontknow0704 @karlosslanders @esw1012

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

Oscar blinked rapidly, eyes wide at eight in the morning as you stood in front of him. He moved his hand, fingers pinching his skin harshly.

You were still there.

"H-Hi," he greeted in disbelief, using the door for support as he leaned on it. He hadn't seen or heard from you in three days. Hattie had quietly mentioned she had talked to you – more like bragged but that wasn't an argument he wanted to start.

Your eyes flitted between your surroundings and him before you sighed. Clearing your throat you, you gestured to your car with the nod of your head. "Get in," you simply stated.

Oscar straightened at the sound of your voice. He mended his brows. "Where are we going?" He queried, eyes watching your trailing figure head out while he quickly moved to grab his phone, keys, and wallet before closing the door behind him.

You peeked your head over the roof of your car. "Langwarrin," you responded.

Oscar gave you an odd look, repeating the location with confusion. That was at least a forty minute drive away.

"I promised Hattie a raspberry and lemon birthday cake this year. Those things don't just make themselves, you know," you retorted, pulling the door handle towards you and hopping into the driver's seat.

Oscar thought over your words as he sat himself into the passenger's seat. Ah yes. Hattie's birthday. Celebrating twenty-three years of annoyance that Oscar had to bear.

Clicking his seatbelt into place, Oscar blinked, face completely dropping. That was in two days. Shit.

You pressed your lips together in amusement as you turned on the ignition. "You haven't got her anything, have you?"

Oscar slumped into the head rest, rubbing a hand over his face. With everything that had been going on, he had completely forgotten. He had to physically wince. Hattie was going to kill him.

"You'll survive," you said over the engine as if you were reading his thoughts. "It'll be like a school project. You do your bit, I do mine. And then we'll both write our names on it."

━━━━━━━━━━━

Oscar eyed the old sign planted at the entrance as you pulled into the parking lot.

The Bramble Farm.

Pick your berries local and fresh! Open 9am to 5pm.

"We're picking the berries?" Oscar queried, turning his head to you.

"Of course," you commented, unbuckling your belt. "Nothing but the best for my girl."

Oscar angled his head, nodding with slow agreement, watching you get out of the car and grab some baskets from the trunk. He sighed to himself. He needed to talk to you. But he just wasn't sure how to.

Hey I know we're picking raspberries for Hattie's birthday but can we talk about how much of a dick I was at Waterway for a sec?

Yeah... not happening.

Oscar sucked in a sharp breath. For now, he'd leave up to fate. Getting out of the passenger seat and hearing you lock up the car, you both entered the farm, eyes on the endless lush grass, abundant berry bushes, and the small paddocks of farm animals minding their own business.

As you headed over to the main building to pay for the both of you, Oscar was nudged by a freely roaming cat. He bent down, cautiously patting its brown fur. "Hey, buddy," he murmured before taking a peek at his collar. "Ah, sorry... Milo, of course," he chuckled softly.

Milo purred in response, bright green eyes curiously peering at Oscar.

"Any advice on how to apologise to someone?" Oscar quietly queried, gently rubbing the base of Milo's ears.

Milo blinked slowly as though he was pondering the question. His trail of soft meows made Oscar grin. "Just out with it, huh?" He deducted, ears perking to the familiar steps of your shoes.

"Oh who's this?" You gasped, arriving back to entrance before you also squatted down, in awe of the pretty brown fur.

Oscar watched Milo gravitate to you, immediately taking a liking to you. He laughed gently at how you played with the cat, quietly taking out his phone to open the camera. He pressed his lips together, struggling to contain a full blown smile as he captured Milo standing on his hind legs, paws playfully clawing at you, happy to be held by your hands.

"He's so pretty," you stated to no one in particular, rubbing Milo's cheek fondly.

Oscar put away his phone and smiled, brown eyes focused on you. "Very."

You looked over at Oscar, almost instantly nervous at the warm gaze he sported. You cleared your throat, slowly standing up. "We'll see you around Milo, okay?" You cooed before staring at the seemingly infinite grass. You breathed out slowly, handing Oscar a basket. "Boy, do we have out work cut out for us."

━━━━━━━━━━━

You and Oscar both walked down one lane of the open fields, trying to gauge what raspberries were the best to pick after the owner had set you the criteria.

Oscar turned his head to the side, swallowing nervously while he watched you pick the berries with the same amount of intensity you used to study.

You hadn't said a word to him about anything else other than Hattie's birthday. Not to be dramatic, but it was killing him. And the Aussie sun at nine the morning wasn't doing him any favours.

Of course Oscar had been meaning to reach out to you. Especially after Lando had (surprisingly) knocked some sense into him. And after a lengthy pilates session with his mother that left him in more physical pain than he came in with.

Oscar trailed his tongue of his lip and sighed. It was now or never.

Your ears perked at the sound of your name falling from Oscar's lips. You turned from the bush, brow raised. "Yeah?"

Oscar stayed silent for a moment, resting his basket on the soil. "I..." he pursed his lips, trying to remember what his mother and Lando said. His chest slumped in defeat. "I'm sorry," he breathed.

You blinked at Oscar's admission, slowly picking another raspberry. You dipped your chin in acknowledgment. "For?"

"For being a dick like you said," Oscar sighed. "I shouldn't of avoided you. I should've apologised after I did. And I shouldn't of said those things about Blake. You were right. Blake's sweet and you should go out with him if you want."

You blinked, slowly putting a handful of raspberries into your basket. Oh. "Right," you said, that weird feeling of hope gradually simmering down.

Oscar chewed on his lip, detecting the hint of disappointment in your voice. "I..." he started, capturing your attention once again, "I was jealous," he admitted.

His heart was like thunder in his chest, creating chaos in waves. God, he think he felt sick.

Your eyes widened as you paused everything. Hattie had said it first but actually hearing it come out of Oscar's mouth made it feel surreal. "J-Jealous?" You stuttered in disbelief.

Oscar nodded slowly, carefully sounding his words. "Of Blake. He's liked you since we were kids. Even then he was really sweet to you. He just makes it all look really easy. I guess I thought I couldn't compare," he shrugged, furrowed brows easing with realisation.

You flickered your eyes to him before eyeing the miniature stains of raspberry on your palms you had gotten unintentionally. The light flush shined. Your hands felt clammy under the sun. Heart beating faster with every second passing. Maybe the heat was getting to you.

"Compare what? Make what look really easy?" You queried nervously.

Oscar's brown eyes fell to you and the softness inside of them almost terrified at you. The tilt of his head, the slight raise of his brows, the gentle smile... as if he was saying you should know.

The flirting... the talking...

"That I like you."

Oscar stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I just... I don't know how to navigate it. I've never been this... out of control with my emotions," he murmured, eyes falling to the soil before reverting back to you when he heard you laugh.

Oscar furrowed his brows. Were you laughing... right after he had told you he liked you? He quickly moved at the raspberry you had thrown his way, arms covering himself before turning to you with curious eyes.

You quieted down, breathing slowly, smile still present on your face. "Oscar, you idiot," you muttered with a slight shake of your head, "I said be loud so I can hear you."

"What?" He asked, confusion only growing.

You leaned your head to the side, eyeing him carefully "If you're drowning, you can't struggle silently. You should be loud so I can hear you," you reminded.

Oscar narrowed his eyes, hurling a raspberry back at you. "Speak for yourself. Pretending like you weren't crying in front of me the other day," he huffed.

You captured the singular raspberry in your basket and smiled softly at his words. You didn't even have the heart to feel hurt. "Hypocrite, I know," you murmured, turning to pick a few more from the bushes. You looked down at your basket and peeked a look at Oscar's who could still feel staring at you. Nodding to yourself, you opened you mouth again. "That's enough. Let's go."

━━━━━━━━━━━

The ride back to your house was silent. Not uncomfortable, however. Just silent.

Oscar felt like most of the weight on his shoulders had dissipated. There was only one thing left to deal with but that was more up to you than it was to him.

Oscar watched you take out all of the ingredients from your pantry. A container of flour, sugar, carton of eggs, a couple of lemons, your freshly picked and washed raspberries, butter, oil, baking powder and soda, and cream cheese.

He blinked, startled when he found your eyes on him. You smiled gently. "If you have no gift, at least you can pride yourself in making Hattie's cake. Although, I still have a solution for your gift."

Oscar pursed his lips, leaning his bodyweight on the kitchen counter. "I thought you said I couldn't cook. In fact, the word you used by the end of it was 'hopeless' if I remember correctly," he reminded, grin stretched onto his face.

You rolled your eyes. "Well, this is baking for one. And secondly, I'm still debating whether I should let you put the raspberries on and just lick the spoon like a kid," you said with a small shrug.

Oscar huffed with amusement, shaking his head lightly. "You have no hope in me, do you?" He murmured, inching towards you to help.

You turned to him, eyes bright as you grabbed a large bowl. "You don't believe in my Oscar shrine in the living room?"

Oscar smiled at your words, looking at the clear view of the shelf he had seen when he first came here, still shining with his helmets and news clippings. "Well... I don't not like it," he admitted. "Very thoughtful."

You hummed in response, grabbing your measuring cups from the drawer behind you. Scooping some flour into one cup, you let it fall through a sieve and into your bowl. "If it helps," you started, repeating the same action, "I wouldn't do it just for anyone."

Oscar flitted his eyes to you, raking you in like he was memorising you. "Yeah? So I'm not just anyone then," he commented, taking a step closer to you, leaving barely centimetres between the both of you.

You inhaled slowly before swallowing, trying to dampen the nerves setting your skin alight. Your heart was clambering yet again. You wondered if it ever rested around Oscar.

"You're someone," you replied idly, looking back at the the sieve, clearing away the plume of flour in the air.

"Just someone?" Oscar queried, taking some of the fallen flour on the counter and wiping it on your cheek.

Your lips parted, eyes hooked onto his before falling to his mouth. You swallowed again. His fingers remained on your cheek, slowly moving to hold your face while his thumb smoothed over your skin. You could feel your cheeks burn and a part of you almost hated it.

Oscar watched your tongue trail over your lips as you nodded slowly. "Just someone," you confirmed, voice shaky.

Oscar brought his hand to the back of your neck and pulled you closer. Your body stilled as his voice worked barely above a whisper. "I need to know," he rasped, a rawness underlying while he memorised every inch, every crevice of your face.

You rubbed your lips together, wanting to play dumb one last time. "Know what?"

Your name fell from his lips almost in desperation, exhausted with your tease, restless for an answer that would either make or break him while his eyes pleaded you.

The very ones you looked into before he left.

The very ones that had haunted you for years on end.

The very ones you had met once again.

Oscar could feel his resolve break with every passing second he saw the warm smile sprawl onto your face. "I like you too, you absolute idiot," you muttered.

Without a second thought, Oscar's head dipped down, feeling the warmth of your face as your noses brushed. He could feel himself getting equally as flushed as you, cheeks reddening. His lips hovered over yours before he finally pushed himself to meet them.

It had felt as if the whole world had washed away. If you had anything else to say to each other, it was all being said at this very moment. All you could feel each other. His hand fell from your neck to your waist, bringing you closer to him. His fingers sneaking past the hem of your shirt and grazing your bare skin.

To each other you were molten to the touch, the pure form of magma itself, neither of you could help bring each other closer, as if you would bring sanity to each other's hunger for each other. Oscar' lips went down your jaw and to your neck as you had to gasp for air.

You could feel Oscar's grip on your waist tighten as he reeled himself in, chin nestling into your collarbone. Both of your chests heaved, the silence of your actions making your skin burn.

Oscar pulled his head away to take a look at you. He pressed his lips together in amusement upon spotting your flustered face trying to shy away from him. He groaned quietly, hands gently grabbing your face. "You're too sweet," he grumbled, feeling a sudden wave of cuteness aggression come over him.

You swatted his hands away, feeling the heat in your cheeks only deepen. You sighed, looking over at the cake you still needed to finish. You turned to Oscar with a raised brow. "I'm warning you now... keep your hands off me until we finish this cake."

Oscar's lips parted in shock as if you had just told him Rocky had been resurrected. His lips jutted out, like actually jutted, while he pulled you close to him again. "No... a kiss for every raspberry at least?"

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the wide smile on your face. "Oh my God, you're such a loser," you retorted, laughing softly to yourself. "Is it too late to get rid of you?"

Oscar grinned, pressing a long kiss to your cheek. "As if you wanted to."

━━━━━━━━━━━

Setting up Hattie's birthday party had been a breeze with everyone's help. You and her boyfriend had picked a theme after going back and forth on all the things she loved which lead to you to this year theme: Hattie.

Yup. Very creative.

You had gone all out. Oscar and Mae made photocards of Hattie across the years. Edie had curated a very specific playlist with your guidance. Nicole had taken it upon herself to make cocktails and mocktails based on some of her favourite songs – and a lovely t-shirt with the birthday girl's face on it. Chris had decorated their house with lights, garlands, and balloons. You, Oscar, and her boyfriend had gone as far as to create 'Hattie Trivia' which of course you had won in the end.

Needless to say, Hattie was pretty impressed.

And also eagle-eyed.

Eagle-eyed enough to corner you and Oscar.

Hattie pursed her lips, eyes scrutinising the both of you very carefully, arms folded. "I see you two are on talking terms," she cautiously stated.

You and Oscar took a glance at each other. You hadn't exactly told Hattie that you were officially together. Partially because she'd freak out in the best way possible and the both of you wanted at least two days of the calm before the storm.

"We are," you commented idly, unsure of what to say.

Oscar rolled his eyes, grabbing your hand and intertwining them with his own. "Are you happy now?" He queried, giving his sister a pointed to look.

Your cheeks burned, shaking your head lightly while you covered your face with your free hand. Oscar had yet to know the lengths of which Hattie had created this 'happiness.' She wouldn't let him forget to the end of time.

"Oh thank God," Hattie let out a relieved sigh, shoulders slumping with ease. "I only wanted one gift this year."

"Which is?" Oscar queried.

"For you two to get together," she stated liked it was obvious.

Oscar furrowed his brows, eyeing his sister oddly. "How would you have known we would get together?"

It was now your and Hattie's turn to taking a knowing glance at each other before she burst into laughter. Oscar's confusion only worsened. "What? Why are you laughing? What's going on?" He asked, corner of his lips quirking in a befuddled amusement.

"Are you going to tell him or should I?" Hattie questioning, folding her arms.

You sighed, turning to Oscar. "Hattie... kinda set us up," you admitted defeatedly. "The tent... the airport... basically everything we did this summer."

Oscar raised his eyebrows in surprise, thinking back to all those events. "I'm gonna have to give you some actual credit here, Hats. You have actually have a brain up there."

Hattie rolled her eyes, waving her hand in dismissal. "Yeah yeah, whatever."

Oscar pursed his lips, eyes narrowing on his sister. "You're never going to let me forget this, are you?"

A grin appeared on Hattie's face. "Glad you know something," she retorted before returning back to her party.

Oscar smiled gently, turning to you. His head dipped tone, voice low as he whispered in your ear. "At least she doesn't know about the midnight swim."

You snorted. "Or the berry picking. Although there still one thing we didn't complete on her list."

"Oh?" Oscar queried, hand smoothly travelling to your waist. "Do go on."

You laughed softly, flinging your arm around his neck. You eyed the freckles on his face, connecting them as you spoke. "You were supposed to get a day where you get to do anything you want."

Oscar mended his brows at your words. "Why? Why was there even a list in the first place?"

"Well, Hattie had other intentions, obviously. But after you talked about having such a hard time in my kitchen, well, I did promise you I'd give you the best summer ever."

Oscar's eyes softened, chest tightening as he quickly read between the lines. He pressed his lips to your forehead, letting the kiss linger before pulling away. "Well, you succeeded. This is the best summer ever. Not just us. But the memories... the talks... I want you to know, I really appreciate them. I appreciate you and your efforts. Even if you won't admit it," he murmured, warm breath just fawning over your face.

You smiled gently, another laugh escaping your lips. You played with his hair gently while you spoke. "You're so cheesy. Did Herdfortshire teach you that?"

Oscar squinted, pretending to mull over your words before grinning and leaning in, his lips barely a centimetre away from yours. "Can't say they did. Probably learnt it from you."

You gasped playfully, retracting your hands while you narrowed your eyes at him. "Please. I am no cheeseball."

"I mean berry picking? Baking a cake?" Oscar raised his brows, calling your name gently as though it was a cheeky chide. "We did speeches for Rocky," he maintained, grin teetering on his face.

"I–" you blinked, unable to stop smiling widely. "Fine," you grumbled in defeat, feeling his arms pull you closer once again. You tried to not shiver under the softness of his eyes but failed. "We're both cheeseballs. It would've been easier to leave you in a museum all summer."

Oscar pursed his lips, an easy smile falling onto his face while he laughed quietly. "I'll take that."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[whore-ibly-hot]

Just a quick little thing to tide you all over.

Thinking about...

Bill, he hates fem!reader being a part of the group, but he can't help from bringing it up when he's getting picked on at school. Bringing up he's got a hot piece of ass in the club, so how could they be dorks! There's a chick in HIS club.

"You're not a fucking member, I said that because that jock-douche wouldn't leave me alone. Even if you were, you don't know shit about what we do here." He complains. "I-I mean, honestly, do you even own a single comic, mint condition? Do you sleeve and grade them yourself? Didn't think so. You're a glorified class pet, consider yourself lucky I let you bum around here." He sneers.

His tune quickly changes when he's at the comic book shop, pushing some kids and middle aged men aside to get to a new edition of Spider-man. "Hey, kid, watch it!" One of the neckbeards scoffs, adjusting his glasses and pushing Bill's shoulder. Bill whips around, furious. "You watch it! And KID?! Listen here, you limped dick virgin, I'm younger than you, but at least I've spoken to a girl who isn't my mom in the last ten years. Take this-" He shoves the comic at him. "See if I even care, go beat your meat over the fact you got a comic, ill just go back to MY club, surrounded by MY collection, and sit with MY girl!"

After being removed from the store for yet another freak out, he slowly winds down, face a bit flushed as he considers the implications of 'his girl'.

"Hey, Bill, so... since I'm a member of the group now-"

"You're not-"

"I was hoping I could maybe come over and set up for meetings. You know, over here."

This gives him pause, but the idea of you, just you, in his house, setting up for the meeting, all alone. Not showing up for the other guys, showing up for him. Being... his.

"Fine. But be prepared to do some actual work, gotta earn your place here..." Hes pretty sure he's seen a porno start this way.

Yan!Pete, he doesn't have to prove anything to anyone, he's just gonna relish in the fact that the club isn't a sausage fest anymore. He's suddenly able to tune out Bill's screeching way more, focusing on the way you bend down to pick the figures Bill has knocked on the wall in a rage, the way your pants hug your ass. Digging under a shitty couch for a three dollar Megaman figure has never been sexier.

He'll call you. A lot. Telling you about some freaky new flick he's found, or that he's got tickets to some shitty new band playing downtown. It's best to indulge him, he'll only get clingier if you don't respond, calling the home phone line, which always gets awkward with your folks.

"Hey, how's it going, babe?" He calls over the phone. "Whatcha up to?" You respond saying your just laying on your bed, watching some TV. "Cool, cool. Listen, you want any company in that big ass bed of yours? I got some stuff from Block-Buster." He just lets out a huff as you say you can't, but you're happy to talk for a bit. As you complain about bill, it's best to ignore his his breathing grows heavier, and the unending stream of thoughts from his big mouth seem to get suspiciously quiet. Trust me, you finding out what he's doing on the other end will only turn him on more.

"So, yeah- he's just being a total dick. I mean, I don't want to have to feel like I'm 'earning my place' in a group of friends." You sigh into the phone.

"Yeah- well, that's Bill for you." Pete huffs, speaking up for the first time in several minutes. "He's a dickwad, shit..."

"I don't know. Anyways, what did you wanna talk about?"

"Wanna fuckin' cum..." he mumbles, so lowly you can barely hear, and ask him to repeat.

"What?"

"What?"

Jerry, he's thrilled to have a pretty girl around, makes him feel a little more normal. However, he knows the rest of his group isn't, so while they are wrapped up in wanting you too much or fighting the urge to want you, he's wracked with insecurity you'll leave. He knows that he and the others are a shitty bunch of people, and its only a matter of time till you realize it.

He's as sweet as he can be, learning everything he can about you. What are your hobbies, your interests, what do you do when you aren't bumming around with them? Tell him, he'll get into whatever you're into. Just stay. Please. You make him feel sane when everyone is screeching.

"No, no! I totally like that kinda stuff!" He assures you, ignoring the sounds of Josh trying to explain the significance of his recently acquired magic card. "Yeah, um, I mean, I'm still getting into it, so, if you have any advice or, if you wanna teach me about it, that'd be cool!" He struggles between wanting to learn from you, as thay would be MAJOR for him to spend that much time with you, and wanting to already be perfect at whatever you're doing to impress. Wikihow becomes Jerry's best friend, as he works on trying to master you interest. Into crotchet? He hopes his hand dexterity from drawing will carry over. Baking? Ah, well, he'll try his best; even though he's not much of a cook. DnD? Oh, he's gonna cream his pants and have to rush off to the bathroom.

"So, Jerry, do you want to come over? Maybe I can teach you to get better at it."

"Y-yeah! I'd love to, uh, lemme just get my stuff from my place. Love you, bye!"

"What'd you say?" You ask, turning back from your spot on the sidewalk.

"Uh, Leave you! I'm leaving you, now! To go- to go get my stuff." The blonde stammers, rushing off.

Josh, he's a lot like Jerry in that he's afraid you'll get scared off, but he blames Bill and Pete, never hosnown awkwardness and sexism for why you might leave. He's the normal one, just him and Jerry. It's Pete perversions and Bill freakouts that are upsetting you.

He's far to awkward to try and actually talk to you to keep you around, you're a girl. He doesn't want to come on to strong like Pete, at least that's what he tells himself. In truth, he's both skeptical of your intentions in the group and desperate for those intentions to be good. In lieu of talking to you, he spends money on you under the guise of needing to educate you into what the groups about, or quote 'dorkify the babe' as Pete says.

He gives you figures, memorabilia, tapes of movies you want to see, you name it, he'll find a way to get it to you. It's going to piss off Bill, but Josh will only argue he makes donations to the clubs collective items all the time.

"Its a collectors pack, I picked it up from the store. And the book is a game guide for Jerry's next campaign. I'd recommend reading it so you can be caught up." He coughs, rubbing a free hand over his greasy ponytail.

"Thanks Josh, this is really sweet!" You chirp, happily going through the pack of cards

While he flinches at your haning of the cards, he calms himself at the sound of your sweet words. "Yeah, well- just- if you're gonna be a *real* member of our group, you need to know what we know, and I doubt Bill is gonna help you out. He'd rather gloat about what you don't know, he's always pulls that shit with us." Pausing, he glances at you. "But... you can count on me, for-for anything you don't understand. Pete just wants to get in your pants, and he doesn't know fucking anything anyways. And Jerry... he's fine, but i wouldn't say he's an expert like me in anything but wearing silly fairy costumes." He snarks.

'Please, please, please just talk to me about club stuff, ignore them, they're idiots...'

[alizha]

𝘓𝘦𝘷𝘪 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬 - 𝘈𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬

𝖶𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 𝟤.𝟧𝗄 𝖳𝖺𝗀𝗌: 𝗆/𝖿, 𝗅𝖾𝗏𝗂 𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝟤𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗈𝗏, 𝖭𝖲𝖥𝖶, 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗄 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝖾𝗑 (𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀), 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝖫𝖾𝗏𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖲𝗎𝗋𝗏𝖾𝗒 𝖢𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗌. A/N: I've been desperate for a way out my current slump of writing endless outlines and drafts, scrapping them, and rewriting them, so this Levi NSFW event (hosted by @levievent) has been a godsend and I jumped on the chance to write something short to break me out of taking my writing too seriously. Day 1: Authority Kink - Enjoy!

masterlist | cross posted to ao3

Levi sat stiffly—no, regally—behind the new desk in his office. The card beside the door outside now displayed in small, unassuming letters, as if embarrassed by its own novelty: Captain Levi. The office itself was simple but respectable, filled with solid, serious furniture. A tidy stack of reports rested at his left hand, a steaming cup of black tea to his right. No frivolous nonsense. Everything was meticulously arranged. Until you came along.

You had strolled in about ten minutes ago, arms crossed and wearing the world’s most irritatingly patient smile. And you’d said, “You know, captain, normal people celebrate promotions with something stronger than tea.”

Something about the way you’d drawled his title aloud like that sent a shiver down his spine. But Levi prided himself on being a man of immense self-control. “Normal people,” he said, his voice dry enough to soak up a flood, “are idiots.”

Undeterred, you shut the door and leaned over his desk like a particularly insolent cat. “Captain Levi, sir. I just want to say what an absolute honor it is to serve under you.”

Levi blinked and glanced up at you suspiciously. “No.”

“No?” you repeated innocently. “Wouldn’t you like that, sir. Me under you?”

“Cut it out,” he muttered, flipping the next page in his report—a poor disguise for the slow-burning heat pooling somewhere low in his chest.

“Cut what out?” you asked, fingers drumming lightly along the edge of his desk. “I’m just respecting your new authority, captain.”

You put a particularly venomous sweetness on the word once again, daring him to react. Levi slid his eyes up to your face, to that maddeningly smug curve of your mouth, the way you were leaning too far over his desk, too close to his center of calm.

“You’re bothering me,” he said flatly.

“You love it,” you said back, too quick.

That earned you a glare. His gaze dragged over your face, your lips, the line of your neck. You met his eyes, still grinning like you’d already won whatever game you were playing. He stood smoothly and leaned forward to meet you in the middle.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

He was close now, and your smirk flickered for just a second. You straightened a little as he stepped around the desk, turning to watch his movements, and your breath caught when he stopped in front of you. He didn’t touch you—not yet.

“I think,” Levi said, his voice like gravel, “you’ve got no idea what you’re asking for.”

“Try me,” you whispered.

That was all the invitation he needed. In one fluid motion, he backed you into the edge of the desk, and his hands gripped your hips with bruising precision as he lifted you onto the table. Your gasp was lost to his lips crashing into yours, rough and claiming. Papers scattered. Pens clattered to the floor. His tea nearly tipped over.

Levi shoved himself snugly between your thighs. He kissed you with harsh teeth, tongue filling your mouth. He knew you were trying to rile him, and he was giving you what you wanted. You were redolent with the familiar sweetness of your skin, piquant beneath the aroma of cleanness and cheap soap. Levi breathed it in as you whimpered into his mouth, his fingers twitching. Buckles snapped apart, the belts of your harness hanging loose around your arms. Feverishly, he unfastened the buttons at your collar to expose more of your skin, licking down the column of your neck as he went.

“Levi.”

His name floated from your mouth, beautiful and delicate. He loved listening to your lips forming the syllables. But it was not what he wanted to hear now.

He drew away and curled his fingers beneath your jaw, gently tilting your face up. “What happened to ‘captain,’ huh?”

You whined and bucked your hips forward to try to grind against the bulge at the front of his trousers.

His grasp on your jaw tightened, ever so slightly. “Well?”

He felt you swallow beneath his hand, your body relaxing. “Captain, please.”

“Good girl,” Levi murmured before leaning in to kiss you once more.

Your shirt came loose, rustling off the edge of your shoulders, held in place only by the ODM gear. Levi shoved a hand, rough with callouses, beneath your bra, harshly squeezing your breast. Your skin hummed from his touch, flushed and shivering.

“You’ve made a mess of my desk,” he said, low like a threat.

“You gonna write me up for that, captain?” you asked.

He thumbed at your nipple, delighting in the way your mouth fell open and your back arched ever so slightly toward him in response. “I should,” he said, lips brushing along the edge of your jaw. “Insubordination. Disrupting an officer. Provoking a superior. You’ve got a whole list of violations.”

Your breath hitched. “And what are you going to do about it, sir?”

That did it. Levi grabbed your wrist and spun you, pressing you down until your palms were flat on the desk. Papers crinkled beneath your hands, and a book hit the floor with a thud. Behind you, he slid his hand along your waist and squeezed softly.

“I’m your commanding officer now,” he said, his mouth hot against your neck. “You want to play, you play my way.”

You let out a breathless little laugh. “Since when do you like power trips?”

“Since about ten minutes ago,” Levi said darkly, dragging his teeth along your throat.

He ground you gently against the desk with his hips, one hand slipping past the flap of your shirt to splay over your bare stomach, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. Your knees nearly buckled.

“Is this the part,” you whispered, “where you issue disciplinary action?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Levi growled.

Your moan was swallowed by the sound of a chair scraping back violently as he shoved everything else off his desk in one smooth sweep. He turned you around and kissed you again, harder this time, and your fingers gripped at his cravat, desperately pulling him closer. When he drew back, breathing hard, your smile was different. A little dazed, a little victorious.

“On your knees,” he said, commanding.

“Yes, sir.”

Arousal roared through him as you sank to the scuffed floorboards. You flattened your palms against his thighs and peered up at him through your lashes. Levi felt depraved for enjoying the sight of you, your shirt hanging half-open, bra askew, hair disheveled. You were awaiting orders. His eyes never left yours as he undid his belt and lowered his trousers. He took your hand and moved it to his half-hard cock, and you obediently wrapped your fingers around his shaft.

“Go on,” he said. “Serve your captain.”

You opened your mouth and took him in. Levi groaned low in his throat as you began to suck him steadily. His hand found its way to the back of your head, not pushing but gently guiding your rhythm as you bobbed on his cock. In your mouth, he twitched and quickly became larger and firmer as you dragged your tongue along his underside with each pull.

“That’s it,” Levi said, softly rocking his hips to meet your movements. “Take it like a good girl.”

You hummed around him, the vibration coursing around his length, and took him in deeper. Flattening your tongue, you swallowed him down and felt his hand tighten in your hair in approval. Your hand shifted down to the very base of him, holding him steady with just your thumb and your forefinger as you took him in to the root, your nose brushing the sparse dark hair surrounding his cock. Levi shuddered out a curse.

His hand grasped harder, and he gave a strong roll of his hips. You nearly gagged, your moan muffled as you forced yourself to breathe through your nose. He started up a rhythm, fucking your mouth slowly in an unmistakable show of control. Your fingers clawed at his thighs as he guided your movements faster, and your jaw ached as you focused solely on keeping your lips sealed around his cock. You whined when the tip hit the back of your throat, tasting the bitter liquid just beginning to leak from him.

“Enough,” he snapped, pushing you off him.

You inhaled your first full breath in too long and flexed your jaw to smile at him. Levi looked down at you, his lips parted and his chest heaving, the steel gray of his eyes eaten away by his pupils.

“I haven’t finished yet, sir,” you said, coyly wiping at your swollen, slick-darkened lips.

“I don’t care,” he said. “Take off your pants and get on top of me. Now.”

You scrambled to follow his orders, discarding the rest of your ODM straps and tearing down your trousers and underwear, messily kicking them off along with your riding boots. Levi leaned against the desk as he watched, his cock jumping at the sight of your ass bare. He tugged away his cravat and jacket and lay back on the cleared surface as you lifted yourself up into his lap. Your breasts spilled from your bra, and your shirt hung off your shoulders in a rumpled mess, but that only added to the lewdness of your appearance. It was almost more arousing to see you in this state than if you were fully naked.

His hands gripped around your hips as you straddled him and ground down on his erection. Levi groaned at the feel of your hot, velvet folds. “You’re already this wet?” he said gruffly. “Just from sucking off your captain?”

Your fingers curled against his shoulders. “Fuck—yes—”

He let you roll experimentally against him, grinding your wet little cunt against his hard length. It drove him wild to see you working that lovely body of yours atop him, your brows drawn in effort, and your thighs flexing on either side of him. The sounds your dripping sex made sliding along his cock were obscene.

“Ride it,” he commanded, tightening his fingers hard enough to bruise. “Fuck yourself on me.”

You moaned and reached between your bodies to guide his cockhead to your slick entrance. Then, you sank down on him, instantly surrounding him with your tight heat.

“Oh, fuck.” You rocked your hips and shivered, the ache inside you blooming into pleasure. “Captain, you’re so deep.”

True to his directive, Levi remained still. He made no move to thrust up into you, not even to push at your hips to help you move on top of him, giving you no choice but to bounce yourself on his lap. You moved your hands to his chest to brace yourself as you split yourself on his cock over and over, feeling your wetness drip out of you to coat his length. Gradually, you found your rhythm and moved faster, desperately seeking your own pleasure and giving him his in the process.

Your thighs burned, and your pace stuttered. You quickly readjusted and found it again, shuddering from the pressure of his brutal hardness pushing tight against your walls. He recognized your efforts and lavished his praise.

“Good girl, oh, that’s it. Doing so well,” Levi rasped.

The wooden surface of the desk bit harshly into your knees. Your hands slid against his chest, feeling the damp of sweat beginning to coat your skin. Levi wetted his thumb on his tongue and reached down to rub your clit. You spasmed on top of him and lost your rhythm again, once, twice, then paused with an almost petulant moan. Levi’s palm smacked into your ass, and you let out a whimper at the sting.

“Did I say to stop?” he demanded.

“Please,” you begged, heart thundering in your chest.

“Please what?” he asked, refusing to drop the harsh authoritative tone he’d adopted.

“I’m tired—please, fuck me.”

Levi slapped your bottom again, eliciting a stifled cry from you. “Try again.”

“Please, fuck me, sir.”

The thrill of your words roared through him. He took you by the jaw and pulled you down to him with a growl to kiss you hungrily. You cried out sharply as he slammed up into you, spearing you on his cock. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close as he pumped himself into you, hitting something deep and delicious within you with each stroke. He could tell how close you were from the way your legs shook and your cunt clenched him viciously.

“Come on, give it to me,” he urged you breathlessly. “Cum for me.”

The order pushed you to your edge, and Levi watched your eyes slam shut as you came on his cock with a strangled moan. Your core pulsed around him as he fucked you through the orgasm flooding you veins with a burning, throbbing pleasure.

“Fuck, good girl—I’m close,” Levi said hoarsely.

There was no ebb of your climax, no time to recover as he continued the frenzied snapping of his hips. His thrusts slammed, echoing through the room as you bit back a wail. Levi’s panting breaths turned absolutely ragged as he desperately chased his high. He held on until the very last moment, then sloppily lifted you off him just as he burst. A broken moan shuddered out of him as his spend violently spurted onto your chest. You groaned and reached out to milk him through his release, letting the warm, sticky liquid spill over your fingers.

Levi slumped against the desk, boneless; the few times you’ve ever seen him so relaxed are always post-orgasm. He let you rest your cheek against him, your chests heaving in uneven rhythms as you caught your breaths. One of your legs dangled lazily off the side of the desk, and one of Levi’s arms was draped across his brow. For a long moment, you were both quiet, basking in the aftermath.

Finally, Levi turned his head to survey the mess around you with a faint, resigned sound in the back of his throat. His papers were everywhere—some wrinkled, some torn, at least speckled with tea. His pen was nowhere to be seen, and his tea cup lay on its side, dripping slowly onto the floor.

“Fucking disgraceful,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

You snorted and propped yourself up to look at him with open amusement. “You didn’t seem too worried about paperwork a few minutes ago. Or order. Or dignity.”

“That was before you started defiling military property.”

“Oh, please,” you said, flopping onto your back beside him. “You defiled me on military property.”

There was a pause. Then, a quiet huff—unmistakably a laugh, at least by Levi’s standards.

“Don’t worry,” you said, turning your head toward him. “I’ll help you clean. Eventually. Once I can feel my legs again.”

“Tch.” Levi worked a hand under his head, gazing up at the ceiling. He was quiet for a beat, then you felt his other hand come to rest on your thigh. “For the record, I prefer it when you call me by my name.”

You blinked at him, then the corners of your mouth lifted slightly. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. He looked at you and brushed the hair from your cheek. “Captain’s fine when we’re in front of the recruits. But when it’s just us…” He trailed off, his thumb pausing against your skin. “...Levi’s better.”

You beamed at him and leaned in to press a kiss to his jaw.

“Alright, Levi.”

[jordiemeow]

humbly requesting edging bob reynolds 🙏🙏

short but yeahhhh edging bob. mmmmm

warnings: 18+ smut, handjob, vibrator usage, edging, restraints mentioned, sub!bob

There's just something about the lack of control that really gets to him. It's impossible to think about the things that have plagued him for so long—his father, the healed needle scars on his arms, the Void that haunts his thoughts every time he's alone for too long. Every thought is consumed by you and what you're doing to him.

He's not sure how long it's been. Five minutes? Ten? Thirty? An hour? He has no concept of time. All he knows is the obscene wet sound of your hand pumping up and down his cock, slick with lube and the absurd amount of pre-cum spilling out of his tip each time he grows close to his peak.

And every time, you're there to deny it.

It's not cruel. Sure, you get some sort of sadistic pleasure out of it, but you're doing it for him. Prolonging the pleasure to erase the suffering he normally feels.

"F-fuck, please. S'too much. I can't." His voice is raised a few octaves than usual, breathy little whines filling his room in the compound. Hips canting up into your hand in an attempt to move, because there's no other way to go but up.

You hum in faux-pity. "Too much for you?"

All he can do is nod jerkily, hands tugging uselessly at where they're bound to the metal headboard. That's the part you enjoy most. If he really wanted to, he could break out of them with ease. Unleash that power within. But he'd much rather succumb to the overstimulation of your firm hand than that.

Very gratifying.

Your hand withdraws, and he's not sure whether to sigh in relief or disappointment. Except the sound that he releases ends up being much more like a yelp when the hum of the vibrator you've been tormenting him with fills his ears, and that quivering toy is pressed right against his leaking tip again.

"You can take it," you promise, reaching up to stroke his cheek with your clean hand.

"I can take it," he repeats dumbly. Always so eager to please.

And he does. He lets you bring him to the edge again and again, whether it's with the vibrator dragging up and down his pulsing length while you fondle his balls, or with your hand squelching around him in fast strokes. Head tipped back, lips bitten red as his hips stutter upwards into a slick hand fruitlessly in an attempt to finally get that release.

It's hard to keep him so on-edge for so long. To keep uttering the words "not yet, not yet" every time you feel him convulsing underneath you, abs tensing painfully. But you've always been more patient than him; now is the perfect time to prove it.

And God, he looks gorgeous. Brown curls sticking to his sweaty forehead, muscle in his cheek twitching and lips parted around another desperate whine of your name.

"P-please, just—" He gasps out, back arching up off the sweat-slick sheets beneath him. "I've been so good. Lemme cum, please, I've waited for so long—"

You've made him wait for so long that you almost pity him, enough to slow down the pace of your hand a little and consider his plea. "That's it. Ask nicely for me, baby."

"Nggh—! Okay, yeah. Yeah, please, please. I’m begging you, just— let me— I'm almost there—!"

And finally, finally...

"Okay, baby. Come on. Let go and cum for me."

His hips jolt upwards one more time into your hand before he comes undone, his eyes never once leaving yours. Brows pinched together in pleasure, lips parted to moan in pleasure as his climax hits.

"Oh my god, yeah, fuck, thank you!" He cries out, hips jerking upwards into your tight hand. You milk him through it, watching the thick ropes of cum spill endlessly onto his stomach.

And he's still thanking you five minutes later, delirious from overstimulation as you cradle his head to your chest, stroking his hair through the aftermath of it all.

What a good boy.

—

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