#of him bouncing and slapping the wheel

[icrytearsofsadness]

Billy really liked to move while he was driving.

Steve really liked to watch.

Billy was reckless in a way that was just on that side of scary, because he’d take his eyes off the road to grin over at Steve like a maniac and Steve’s eyes would widen, watching the speedometer tick up behind the dash, music blasting from the stereo.

He moved so fucking much. He’d hit the wheel with the heel of his palm, bop his head, sometimes he’d bounce his entire fucking body if he really liked a song. The faster the better.

Steve liked the thrill, honestly. Billy let him roll the windows down so wind whipped through the car, making his eyes water because Billy drove so fucking fast.

It was their weird little ritual. Steve didn’t know what normal friends did anyway – he’d realized over the last few years that he didn’t actually have any of those, probably never had. If Billy knew, he certainly didn’t show it, which told Steve he liked doing this just as much as Steve did.

Steve would tumble into the passenger seat and Billy would peel out of his driveway like the road was on fucking fire, music already blaring and they’d just go. For as long as Steve needed, really, because Billy’s energy was goddamn endless. At some point Steve would start to get tired, the adrenaline of the whipping wind and Billy’s reckless behavior finally wearing down his brain so he could maybe get a good night’s sleep for once. Every time Steve started to wilt, Billy still looked like he could go for fucking days.

Steve asked him, one time, what Billy did with all the leftover energy after he dropped Steve back at home.

Billy had looked over at him, smiling with his teeth, leering. Moved to the beat, making an obscene motion with his right hand in time. Grinned even wider when Steve turned red and had to look away.

It was intoxicating, just watching him. Even if he was a total asshole. And gross.

Steve never got bored.

He was starting to remember Billy’s favorite songs, too. He’d always had a decent mind for music, and Billy was just so easy to read, the way he’d rock when something good came on the radio, pleasantly surprised, because Steve didn’t let him play his tapes every time. He’d go crazy eventually if they did that. Billy always complained when Steve switched on the radio, flicking through the channels, but he never stopped him, just dialed up the volume when something “worth listening to” came on and – and fucking rock.

Steve thought it was maybe the hottest thing he’d ever seen, watching Billy’s manic grin break across his face, left hand slamming down on the wheel, right reaching to crank the volume. He’d be already bouncing with the beat, leveraging himself with the foot not on the gas so he could lift his hips and rock his whole body in the seat, curls bouncing with the motion. He always had his shirt unbuttoned practically to the navel, and when he moved the collar would fall open around his chest. His head would bob, dipping and sometimes rolling back and Steve wanted to fuck him so bad it actually hurt. Wanted to put Billy’s rock mix in and crank up Panama by Van Halen and watch Billy bounce to the beat in his lap, watch his head tip back in a different kind of ecstasy.

Steve didn’t even need help to sleep, didn’t need adrenaline to turn his brain off tonight but he was so worked up just thinking about it that he called Billy anyway.

Billy never said no.

Maybe that was what made Steve feel bold.

He picked up, he said you’re paying for gas and I’m picking the music which meant yes, and Steve knew that if he reached for the radio anyway Billy would let him, but that wasn’t in the plans tonight.

He threw himself into the passenger seat like he was tired even though he wasn’t, because he needed an excuse, and because he got so fucking high on the way Billy grinned when Steve’s energy spiraled higher and higher the longer they spent together. Like maybe he was just as interested in working Steve up as Steve was in making Billy bounce.

Steve was feeling bold tonight.

Billy peeled out of the driveway without saying anything, and Steve was fine with that. Rock music was blasting, one of Billy’s mixes. Steve recognized it just by the Poison song that was blaring, but he wasn’t going to show his hand that early.

“Y’okay, pretty boy?”

Steve looked over, confused as to where that was coming from – they were five songs in and Steve was letting his energy slowly bleed through.

He’d forgotten to open the window. Usually he rolled it all the way down to feel the wind whip, but he was so high on the feeling of I’m gonna fucking do it tonight that he hadn’t even noticed.

“I’m great,” Steve said, grinning because they were far enough into the night that he didn’t need to pretend to be exhausted anymore.

Billy looked over at him like he was going to ask more, but then Rock You Like A Hurricane came on and Steve knew he’d forget for the next four minutes, because this was one of Billy’s favorites and Billy was already reaching over to blast the volume.

They were kind of in the middle of nowhere by now, cruising down a road that ran parallel to the train tracks, through the woods. It was late. No one was around, and Billy’s favorite song was on and Steve was feeling bold.

And yeah, normally Steve’s heart rate would kick up anyway when this one came on, because he still remembered the first time he’d seen Billy, pulling into the school lot with it blasting through the speakers, looking like he’d just stepped out of a damn magazine. Normally his heart would start thumping because Billy fucking loved this song and he’d rock. Steve knew he would rock if he let him, knew he’d get to watch Billy move, but that wasn’t in the plans tonight.

“Pull over.”

“What?” Billy snapped, sounding scandalized, yelling over the pure volume rattling the car.

“Pull over!”

And Steve knew all Billy wanted to do right now was grind his boot into the gas even further, but instead he made a feral sort of growling sound and pulled over, slamming on the brakes and throwing the car into park.

Billy grabbed the volume dial and yanked it down, which was a shame, because Steve was sure the Scorpions weren’t meant to be listened to quietly.

“What,” Billy said again, glaring at Steve, but Steve could see the flicker of something – concern, he realized, because Steve hadn’t rolled down the window, and had asked him to pull over, and Steve knew this was Billy’s favorite song.

Steve was feeling bold.

He reached for the stereo and cranked the volume all the way back up. He felt better instantly, the bass drum rattling his ribcage.

He grabbed Billy by the collar of his open button down and kissed him.

Billy went stock-still just long enough for Steve to wonder if he’d royally fucked up before he just rolled with it, recovering from the shock and kissing back.

Steve knew he’d be a good kisser, because, yeah. But throwing himself into it now, he couldn’t help wondering why they hadn’t been doing this the whole time. He could have been bold so much sooner, if the way Billy was practically devouring his mouth was anything to go on.

And then Steve wasn’t thinking much of anything at all, because Billy was fucking climbing over the center console and –

Steve yelped involuntarily when Billy abruptly grabbed the lever to slam his seat back, giving him a brief moment of vertigo before his stomach swooped for a very different reason as Billy settled firmly into his lap and kissed him like he was starving.

There was the third chorus, the familiar guitar riff mounting and Steve’s hands flew to hold on to literally anything as Billy rocked.

He was going to die like this. He had Billy Hargrove in his lap and he was going to die. His heart literally could not take it, getting fucking exactly what he’d been fantasizing about after so many nights of adjusting himself while Billy’s eyes were on the road for once. Scorpions was blasting but every sound Billy made went straight into Steve’s mouth, so he heard them all anyway.

Billy’s mouth was wet and unbearably hot, and Steve couldn’t get his breath under him. His bones were rattling with the base, ears thrumming with his blood and too much noise.

Steve was desperate to get his hands on Billy, so he shoved one inside the open button-down and around, palm splaying over the curve of Billy’s ribs, fingertips on his spine. His skin was burning. Billy shuddered a little and didn’t stop kissing him. Steve was so focused on trying to crawl under Billy’s clothes, into his skin if he could, that it was hard to focus on being coordinated.

The kiss devolved into a messy slide, just Billy’s lips catching and slipping on Steve’s, and too much tongue, and, and, Billy broke away from his mouth for just a second to mouth sloppily down Steve’s jaw. It was good, so good, the heat of his breath intensified by the wet of his tongue on Steve’s skin and Steve actually couldn’t take it, so he grabbed Billy by the hair to hold him still while Steve dove back into his open mouth.

The song finally changed, because apparently they’d been making out for four full minutes, and Steve recognized the opening bars immediately.

He laughed, a giddy, breathless sort of sound, and managed to get out “is this Jet?” like he wasn’t sure, like Billy had actually kissed him stupid, like Steve hadn’t lost his breath watching Billy move to Cold Hard Bitch a dozen times before.

Practically the moment the name was out of his mouth Billy made a pained sort of moaning noise and muttered back “shut up” and rocked, so Steve did, because he was feeling smug as fuck but Billy Hargrove was grinding in his lap like there was no tomorrow and that was definitely more important. And memorizing Billy’s music worked, apparently, because then Billy was sliding down his body and had Steve in his mouth even before Nic Cester sang the first on my knees.

gifset of Billy driving

[infictionalwonderland]

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ nepo-baby!reader having sex in the back of chauffeur!rafe’s car to get his attention.

The air of the vehicle—your—Rafe’s car—was thick with the sound of grunts and breathy moans, the slap of skin. In the back of the car, you’re on top of some guy who looks more like your chauffeur than you think you should admit, albeit younger. Short skirt rucked up your thighs and panties pushed aside as you sink up and down on the length of him. Your hair is a mess and your shirt and bra are long gone (you’d wanted to throw them into the passenger seat to elicit even more from Rafe but decided against it… instead they hung off the back of it. See, you had some decency).

The guy below you was horny enough not to care about the company but the company was what was getting you wet, frankly.

The leather of the seats squeaked and rustled as you rode his cock—the throb of it inside your hot gummy walls doing nothing to swirl the fire in your stomach as much as the feel of those piercing blue eyes on you in the mirror did. You pitched out high, breathy moans, moving your hips faster, your tits bouncing. The guy below you groaned in appreciation, muttering out nonsense as he gripped at your plush thighs.

You didn’t care. You titled your neck back enough to look into the rearview mirror, big dilated eyes locking onto steely ice blue ones. Your pussy clenched—your moans coming more real as you bounced with more vigour, arching your neck back further and letting your tits bounce more as you kept your eyes on Rafe’s in the mirror.

Rafe’s jaw was clenched so tightly the line of it looked good enough to ride, rather than this guys dick. Your clit pulsed as you took in the slight change in his breathing, the white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. The stony, dominating look on his stupidly attractive face.

Eyes still on his in the mirror, you picked up the pace as you rode the groaning guy below you. Moaning like a slut as your tits jiggled and the meat of your ass bounced under your flimsy torn skirt. Blown out pupils locked onto his, your pouty swollen lips mouthed ‘Rafe’ as you moaned, his name escaping you as barely a breath.

A harsh sound left him and before you could blink, the car was speeding and then jerking to a quick stop as Rafe pulled up on a random road, making a hasty park. He wasted no time in unbuckling his seatbelt and hauling his door open before walking to yours.

Your pulse raced, your pussy fluttering—the guy below you grunting in a strangled confused way. The back door tore open and there stood Rafe. Jaw locked beyond tight, muscles tense and the prominent bulge in his slacks almost made your thighs tremble, a gush of slick coating the guys dick anew.

“Get the fuck off of him. Now.”

You whimpered uncontrollably, body immediately complying with the fierce, enraged command in his voice. Scrambling to get off his dick, sitting back on the seats with your tits heaving, your heart beating madly in your chest. Cheeks flushed, eyes wide.

“What the fu—“ The guy began, beyond confused: Rafe wasted no time in leaning down and grabbing him by his arm, yanking him out the back of the car effortlessly. Uncaring of his state of undress, his gaze steely and his jaw tight.

“I don’t appreciate seeing that shit in the back of my own fucking car, bro,” Rafe practically snarled, leaning down to chuck the guys shirt at his bare chest as he scrambled to pull his jeans and boxers back up, giving him a sharp mocking scan. Rafe didn’t look at you—ignoring you as your thighs clenched at his tone of voice alone. “Get some self respect and maybe fuck someone who actually knows your name. Not a whore who wants my fucking attention.”

Your clit pulsed and you barely bit back a whining moan at the harsh growl in his voice—still not even looking at your mostly naked form. The guy stumbled and sputtered in confusion but in looking more at Rafe, retreated as he hastily redressed, bitching all the while.

Rafe finally turned to look down at you, scoffing at your state—panting softly, pretty tits out with pointed nipples begging for attention, thighs open enough that if the fucking street lights were better who would be able to see your dripping pussy. He sneered, even as the evident, large bulge in his slacks told you all you needed to know. Fuck.

He leaned over the seats, hovering before you. “Princess, look at the state of you,” he gritted, eyes dilated and fixed on your own: needy and big, stuck to him. His gaze flickered down, breath becoming more laboured at the sight he could vaguely discern of your swollen glistening cunt. “Dripping all over my backseats like a bitch in heat. Jesus.”

“Rafe—“

“No.” He growled, cutting off your whimper. His large ringed hand came up to roughly grab your jaw, leaning closer to you—you whined, leaning into his touch, and his cock jerked in his boxers. “No. If you want m’ fucking attention, you ask for it. Like a good, polite girl. ‘Stead, you made this scene. Brought another man into my car. Let him inside of that pretty pussy and made me watch like a creep. You have to be some kinda desperate whoring bitch to do that baby, lemme tell you.”

“I—I’m—“

“You are a whore, ‘s what you are.” He grunted, squeezing your cheeks harshly, lip curled like he wanted to spit into your mouth. He didn’t. “A filthy whore who wants to get my dick wet more than she cares about her self respect, clearly.”

“Rafe—“

“Shhh, slutty girl. Those gorgeous lips aren’t meant for talking anyway.” Rafe breathed roughly at you, mockingly, crawling into the back after a moment and slamming the door behind him. His dick steel hard and throbbing in his trousers, muscles straining in his button up. He manhandled you over, hand on your chin tugging you as you whimpered, staring at him pleadingly. “Show me how much of a whore you can be, pretty thing,” He groaned softly against your ear, spreading your legs enough to give your pussy a slap, “‘n we’ll give your needy cunt what she really wants.”

[muwapsturniolo]

Backseat serenade 💳 Chris Sturniolo

"kid, what the fuck are you on about?"

✗ NSFW content ahead, car sex, riding, missionary, squirting, cum, not edited, there is a link to a porn video for one of the positions.

@plutism for dividers.

You were pissed.

It was the middle of December in LA and Chris had you standing outside waiting in the cold. He didn’t tell you why, he claimed it was a surprise.

“This dumbass boy, why the hell are him and Matt taking so long?” You mutter to yourself, shivering slightly. Not soon after, the familiar black car pulls into your driveway.

You go to wave to Matt, expecting Chris to hop out on the passenger side - you were wrong.

Your eyes widen seeing Chris hop out the car, a cocky smirk on his face as he makes his way towards you.

“What the fuck?” You mumble as soon as he approaches you, your confusion evident. He chuckles softly, his hands finding their rightful place on your waist.

“Why the hell are you driving with no licenses Chris? What if you got pulled over?” You begin to scold him.

He fishes in his pocket, pulling out his wallet and showing you his brand new drivers license.

“Surprised?” He asks as you snatch the wallet from him, examining the plastic ID. “When the hell did you take your test? You never even told me you were trying to get it!”

You gently slap his shoulder, going back to looking at the license.

“I wanted it to be a surprise…now come on, I want to drive you around for once.” You couldn’t help but smile at his words.

So here you were, sitting in the passenger seat for once as Chris drives. You couldn’t help but stare at him, watching the way his eyes dart across the road, the way his hand wrap around the steering wheel, the way he was manspreading…

He looked good, too good.

The plan was to get food and drive back to your place, but you wanted something else.

“Pull over.”

He gives you an odd look, his eyes darting back to the empty road. “What? Why? We’re almo-pull over Chris.”

He huffs and does as told, pulling over on the side of the road and turning the car off. You waste no time, crawling over the center console and situating yourself in his lap, slamming your lips against his.

You grind against him, enjoying the way his moans fall into your mouth. “Fuck- what’s gotten into you?” He asks as he pulls away from the sloppy kiss.

You ignore him and reach on the side of seat, pulling the lever so the seat is pulled all the way back.

“Doesn’t matter, now shut up and fuck me”

He smirks and does as told, quickly pulling his sweats and boxers down as you get to work on removing your own shorts and underwear.

He grabs the base of his dick, holding it up as you level yourself above him. You sink down, the both of you moaning out at the euphoric sensation.

His hands grip your hips harshly as you begin to bounce on him, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth.

“Shit, oh fuck-“ he moans lowly.

You moan with him, gripping both his shoulders and the seat harshly.

You looked pretty on top of him, perfect even, but he knew you were getting tired. “Fuck fuck fuck, get off-“ he lifts you with ease, managing to move your body in the small space.

He sits you down in the seat, his body hunched over yours as he throws your legs over his shoulders. You were practically bent in half, your toes touching the roof of the car.

He slips right back in, his thrusts causing the car to shake.

With the new and odd position you could feel your orgasm quickly approaching, the tip of his dick pushing against that special spot as well as your cervix.

“C-come on baby, give it t’me” he groans in your ear, his own orgasm quickly approaching. He sneaks his hand inbetween your conjoined bodies and thumbs your clit, swiping it quickly.

That’s all you need to release, your juices gushing out and covering the seat and windows. He groans and gives one final thrust, filling you up to the brim. the two of you sit there panting harshly, staring at each other with mischief.

"I got my license and we finally had car sex....Does this mean when I get my own private jet we can join the mile-high club?" You roll your eyes and push him away, the two of you starting to clean up your mess. little did you know, Chris took a picture of the excess juices on the window, posting it on his story.

a few days later he was looking for something to post on his story and he came across a photo from that night. you were in the passenger seat shoving frenchfries in your mouth, a wide smile on your face. not even thinking about it, he went ahead and posted it with the caption "passenger princess".

not even 20 minutes later, matt bursts into chris's room, a look of disgust on his face.

"get your own car you dirty bitch!"

chris looks up in confusion, trying to figure out why matt was so mad and calling him a dirty bitch.

"kid what the fuck are you on about?"

"you fucked her in the car! the car that we share! who does that? I'm actually going to kill both of you! you're disgusting!" matt walks out of the room, slamming the door in the process. chris snickers to himself and goes back on his phone, smiling as he sees a text from you come in.

[kurooh]

SUMMERTIME SEX.

☆ includes: aged up! bakugō katsuki, todoroki shōtō, kaminari denki, takami keigo.

☆ warnings: 18+ content, fem! reader, fluff + smut, not proofread..

☆ note: thank you to pinterest’s summertime bucket lists. happy summer! even if you hate it (: also experimenting with a new layout

KATSUKI.

— though he usually doesn’t care about what you wear and finds you gorgeous in everything, there’s something about seeing you wear sundresses or skirts that genuinely makes him go insane.

— “the red is fuckin’ beautiful on you, baby.” katsuki’s rough hand rests on your thigh, pushing the skirt of your dress up ever so slightly. he’s driving to the your favorite restaurant, reservations already booked and awaiting for you in a half hour.

— suddenly, not far from the restaurant, he pulls over into a semi empty parking lot and exhales hard, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. “okay, get in the damn back seat.”

— “why, katsu?” you ask innocently, adjusting your skirt so that it hikes up further, the lacy edge of your slutty panties peeking out at him.

— of course, he stares, his face warm. crimson eyes meet yours and he demands, “get in the backseat right now.” as you unbuckle and start to climb into the backseat, you wiggle your ass ever so slightly and he slaps it hard, drawing a surprised moan from you.

— immediately he’s in the backseat with you, all over you; his lips desperately slam into yours, his hands groping you all over. despite how badly he wants to see you naked, he doesn’t make any moves to pull your clothes off and instead twists his fingers into the fabric of your skirt in frustration.

— dazed from his kisses and on fire from his touch, your body falls back onto the seats and your legs spread for him, still in your skirt. he tugs your clothed pussy towards him, nearly tearing off your lace panties as he yanks them to the side. “careful, kat.”

— katsuki ignores your warning and eats you out rather roughly and quickly, sucking on your clit just right. he groans when you cum all over his tongue, his cock growing tight in his pants; he draws you into a sex flavored kiss and allows you to taste yourself on his lips.

— now, he yanks off his pants and boxers, leans back on the seats. he grips his cock at the base, “be a good girl and fuckin’ sit on it.” you reach to take your dress off and he shakes his head immediately.

— panties to the side and slicked up, you slowly push down onto his cock, gasping when the head nudges right against your sweet spot. katsuki groans desperately when you roll your hips onto him slowly, smacking your ass hard, another way of telling you not to be a tease.

— “okay, okay,” you relent, suddenly bouncing on him fast and hard. your red skirt rises and falls steadily, and he’s so fucking breathless. it’s uncharacteristic for katsuki’s eyes to roll back as much as they are now, for his mouth to be entirely dominated by sounds rather than words.

— “you like it, kat?” you smile at him, and it quickly dissolves into an expression of absolute pleasure. “i—fuck! you know i do, don’t stop,” his cock throbs inside of you, almost pulsing as he shakes beneath you.

— he cums with a shout, hissing as you ride him through it steadily, fending off your own in order to stay in charge like this. when you do eventually get close, he flips you over and fucks you through it, yanking your skirt to ground himself.

SHŌTŌ.

— the two of you were at a bonfire with friends and assistants of the agency, when you snuck away with shoto after one too many beers. now, behind a barnacle covered rock, you’re on your knees in front of him.

— “sho..” your moan is muffled on his large cock, which is pressed tightly between your lips and deeply at the back of your throat. he’s been stressed at the agency lately, coming home and having dinner with you and going to sleep, leaving no time for sex.

— of course, you were frustrated by this, hoping that the cause for his stress would finally blow over and he’d be back taking you in the hallway again. you’d seen his stress dissipate over the course of the 3 hour bonfire at the beach, over some beer. together, you drank and drank until he was grabbing at you and leading you behind some rocks on the shoreline.

— shoto hushes you, cupping the back of your head firmly and bucking his hips into your mouth. “oh god, i m-missed this so much, you have no idea,” he gasps, slurring some of his words. “i’ve missed you so much, my love.”

— your fingers slip past your swimsuit and rub sloppy patterns against your clit, trying to keep up with the pace of his thrusts into your mouth.

— you choke when he spears his cock into your throat a little too deeply; “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry—fuck!—your throat feels amazing, i’ve needed you so badly.”

— his balls smack against your chin and shoto continues to groan, the alcohol and horniness making him surprisingly talkative as he fucks your mouth. “it’s just, the people at that a-agency!” his cock stays hard, despite the fact that he’s thinking of his coworkers.

— out of the corner of you eye, you watch the waves crash on the sand, and after a particularly large one, the pace of his hips grows erratic. “ah—shit, i’m gonna fill up your mouth!”

DENKI.

— you and your boyfriend had been enjoying a picnic in the middle of a grassy field, far away from anyone in all directions. you shared fruit together, cuddled, watched clouds, but then things got a little sweeter.

— “denki!” you giggle with him as he lays you down on the picnic blanket, shifting his body so that he’s on top of you. his lips mesh with yours, and you taste the sweetness of the watermelon you’d shared with him earlier. your hand tangles in his soft golden hair, tugging gently, but just enough to draw a whine from his lips. denki’s hips grind against yours with a sloppy desperation, the lovely picnic and its food forgotten.

— he pulls his lips away, peppers kisses all over your cheeks, then starts to trail some down your neck. denki takes in your smell, the sounds you make, the feeling of your hips twisting beneath him; he nips at the soft skin, then sucks at it lovingly. “i want some more sugar,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, his breath warm against your hot skin.

— “denki, we just finished a whole watermelon.” “mmm, i’m not talking about fruit.” unable to hold it back, you let out a laugh, and he finds himself laughing with you.

— “may i?” he pulls away, and moves towards your pelvic area. his eyes sparkle with joy, and his fingers rub quick circles into your thighs. “of course.” your breath hitches when his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your thighs. he flips your skirt up, then makes himself comfortable on his stomach, facing you. your thighs fall open easily, and his eyes are on yours as he moves to give your clit a kiss.

— denki’s large hands rest on your ass cheeks, his fingers digging into your skin as he swipes his tongue against you. he savors your taste, whining slightly as he dips his tongue inside you. all you can do is moan and shame as he fucks your pussy with his tongue; it feels so good, and yet so teasing.

— “babe, stop teasing me.” you jerk your hips towards him, spreading your thighs wider.

— “but it’s fun,” he disagrees, now licking your clit slowly. he stops playing his little games with you when your fingers twist in his soft hair, yanking his face right into your pussy.

— now, he’s fingering you roughly, and sucking at your clit as though it’s a lollipop. denki holds your thighs open when they shake, threatening to close on him as your orgasm mounts, the pressure inside of you becoming stronger by the second.

— “denki, i-i’m gonna cum, please please don’t stop..” he doesn’t stop, licking your clit hard as you cum and fingering your puffy pussy even after you do; he likes to hear you cry about how sensitive you are.

KEIGO.

— when there’s a blackout in the early evening due to a thunderstorm, the temperature in the house quickly rises to 85° f / 29 c. you and your boyfriend sit on the floor, covered in a thick sheen of sweat. you’re both eating melting popsicles and worrying about how you’ll sleep without the ac on. you are the first to rise to your feet, dropping your thin shorts and shirt on the floor. his wings flutter when he unabashedly looks over every inch of your body, and your cheeks warm at the obvious desire visibly thickening in his shorts.

— “kei, let’s take a cold shower together.” you groan in distaste as you sweep your fingers over your perspiring forehead. he stands, strips off his clothes, and pulls you into his arms bridal style.

— “where to, dove?” he nuzzles his nose against yours, then gives you a sweet kiss. giggling, you wrap your arms around his neck, “the shower!”

— when you arrive to the bathroom together, you’re barely out of his arms before his lips are on yours, eager hands impatiently pulling at boxers and panties. keigo moans as you lightly palm his hardened cock, fingers sliding from the base to the tip.

— “you’re perfect,” he mumbles against your cheek as he practically claws off your bra with one hand, the other tugging your body impossibly closer. thunder rumbles outside of your apartment, the room darkening as it starts to rain and storm outside.

— “oh, we probably shouldn’t be doing this,” you giggle, remembering the dangers associated with showering during storms. “fuck that,” is his swift answer, and he pulls open the glass door and turns on the faucet.

— as you stand closely beneath the misty spray, a warmth presses against your backside; you gasp when he angles his cock to slip between your thighs, his hot tip bumping against your slick folds.

— his wings shift behind him when you turn to look into his eyes. he kisses you, “bend over for me, okay?” you plant your hands against the shower wall and angle your ass towards him, arching your back just right. his wings flutter, and he moans at the sight of you, wet and ready for him. with one hand, he reaches behind him and shoves down his rising wings before he finally presses into you.

— just feeling your tight heat on his tip already has him gasping out, his eyes rolling back and his face crumbling as he pushes all the way inside. “o-oh, angel,” he moans, then laughs nervously, gripping your hips and thrusting into you steadily, “god, i’m already gonna cum.”

— he does end up filling you up rather quickly, but he doesn’t dare to pull out. keigo fucks your creamy pussy with tears in his eyes, shuddering as he forces himself through his refractory period and cums again. this time, he’s rubbing your clit, desperate to cum at the same time.

[nayaesworld]

Rugged Whiskey

Warnings: Mentions of killing, smut, toxic behavior and situations

—

Terry Richmond X OC!Khia

Part 2

__

|Future Wifey: If you can find out where I’m at in the next hour this pussy is yours again daddy 😉

Terry sprung up from his couch and headed out his door, he had no time to waste and he had a lesson to teach. There was no telling where she was at the moment but Terry had a few places in mind he would look, Hide and go seek for pussy huh? She just knew he would come running, and here he was scrambling his brain like eggs neurons firing off with thought after thought of where to search first.

Her voice stuck inside his head like the call of a siren to a lonely pirate.The black ski mask and leather gloves inside his glove compartment would finally see the light of day again. Terry was flying around the city desperate to leave no stone unturned. The park,the grocery story, the bar, her favorite spa place. All places left him no closer to Khia than he was when he first left home and it was nearing nightfall. An annoyed growl left his lips as he slapped his steering wheel, he was frustrated and starting to feel anxious. His left eye began to twitch and his palms rubbed constantly on his black jeans trying to calm his bouncing leg. He already owed her one for blocking him, and now she was making it worse for herself not being easily accessible to him.

His phone vibrated in his console and he snatched it up to see a new text from her. She was taunting him.

|Future Wifey: Did you give up on me daddy? I don’t see you anywhere.

A picture attached to the text message made him lean up in his seat. A sliver of her face shown in a failed attempt at hiding her background from him. At first nothing about the tiny view of her surroundings looked familiar, until he noticed the orange neon sign in the background. Sensual, a popular lingerie store located in the mall, he now had her location and it was time for the real games to start.

By the time he had reached the parking lot of the mall the sun and moon had exchanged places in the sky, and only a bold white moon lit up the night. Ski mask rolled up on his forehead and leather gloves on he started the trek into the mall. She could be anywhere in there now. His all black attire had him gliding through thick crowds of people, like a scene straight out of Halloween he glided slowly through the mall. His eyes sliding slowly left to right surveying his surroundings carefully. He just needed one flash of her.

He rode the escalator up to the second floor of the mall and found the lingerie store, he had to check inside it first to be sure.

“Hi, welcome to Sensual. Is there anything I can assist you with today?” A chirpy voice greeted him from behind the counter and he glanced at the tall brunette.

“Good evening…I was looking for my wife. She was just here but I seemed to have lost her.” He pulled out his phone and showed the woman the photo Khia had just sent him.

“Oh yess I remember her, she bought a few items but left shortly after… she said she had an Uber to catch.” She drifted off the last few words as she glanced at the leather gloves on his hand, eyebrows scrunched with worry. Noticing her change in demeanor immediately, he knew it was time to cut the convo short.

“Ok thank you, have a good night.” He turned on his heels and headed for the escalators. He had to get back to the front of the mall asap and now he knew she didn't drive her own car there he needed to be quick on his feet. He was itching to touch and squeeze flesh..her flesh.

Reaching the entrance of the mall outside he finally saw her, and that was almost enough to make him nut just from relief alone. She stood waiting with her shopping bag faced away from him, mindlessly tugging on the necklace around her neck . The grey sweats and jacket hung off her in an oversized fashion and he couldn’t wait to tear them from her. Dark natural curls blowing slightly in the wind made her this picturesque beauty and he knew he couldn’t wait any longer to bring her home.

Gloves tight on his hands and ski mask pulled down, he approached the dark shaded area she stood in. It was perfect cover and no one would notice him dressed to the nines in full out burglar gear. Slow quiet paces made him invisible to her, and when he finally stood behind her he slid a hand over her mouth and wrapped his other arm around her waist. Anchoring her to him with nowhere to run. A gasp and a small scream exited her mouth as she thrashed around in his hold trying to get a look at the creep that had his hands on her.

“Stop all that screaming shit, save it for later. Now walk…and don’t try no funny shit. I won your little game fair and square.” When he finally let her go he saw her eyes were slightly damp and reached out to wipe them.

“Aww I scared you baby?… good don’t have me out here looking for your ass. I’m sad too but I’m not crying.”

He watched her scrunch up her face and roll her eyes. “I’m not crying, and I definitely wasn’t scared.” He didn't buy her little act, he knew a genuinely stunned face when he saw one.

“Mm yeah yeah, now walk. You know what I drive.” With a nudge he pushed her into the parking lot, taking her bag from her hands to carry it and toss in his truck.

__

The drive was silent and Khia had no idea where he was taking her. A slight downpour had covered the truck on their drive and the sounds of the windshield wipers against the glass was the only sound available. Terry was eerily quiet. She expected him to gloat and nag her but he was just silent, an unnerving silence.

“Are you gonna take off that mask?” The ski mask was still pulled over his face and she was getting hot from it.

His head glanced her way then back at the road before he answered her. “Why you scared..?”

“No, and where are we going, your apartment is in the city. We’re on the outskirts of town?” He put a finger to his lips signaling for her to shush and cut on his radio. She sat back in her seat and huffed loudly, maybe she should’ve just stayed her ass home and kept him blocked.

“You good… you got something you wanna share? Sit tight and chill out we almost there.”

“I don’t wanna chill out, I wanna know where we’re going, all this blowing up my phone and stalking me for nothing…I never should have texted you back.” She sat in the passenger seat face frowned up from pure impatience. He was annoying her and she wasn’t holding her tongue.

“Oh you just a mouthy little brat tonight ain’t you…if I tell you to close your mouth again trust me you won’t like what comes next.” A big hand laid on her thigh in warning and she finally sat back and stayed quiet.

Terry made a sharp left turn onto a rural back road. It was dark and the only thing she could see was miles and miles of field. She sat up in her seat trying to gauge where she was but nothing looked familiar and she’d never been this far out of the city, she had no reason to come way out here. He made another left turn and this street sign she caught a glimpse of. Stone Hill road? Was he being serious right now?

The eerie dark road had been the chosen spot for a link of murders. Each body made its way to Stone Hill road and was disposed of, only to be discovered months after they’d been killed and buried. The person was never caught but everyone knew to steer clear of the road. Yet Terry had just pulled to the side of the road, parked and turned off his truck.

“Terry, why are we here?”

He threw her a squinted look before answering. “Why do you think we here?”

“Haha very sarcastic, but did you pick THIS road specifically…don’t you know what happened here?”

“Yeah I know, that’s why it’s perfect. It fits the occasion…lil bit of serial killer dick never hurt nobody.” He mumbled the last part more so to himself but Khia swore she caught the tail end of it.

“What?… Terry what did you say?”

“I said a lil bit of scary dick never hurt nobody…what did you think i said?” His green eyes peered into hers in the dark cabin of his truck.

“I-I don’t know..just forget it. I think I’m just tired.” She gave him a small nervous smile and pushed a curl behind her ear.

He snatched her up by her jacket and pulled her in close, pressing his soft plump lips to her ear. “Don’t question me again, I’m in charge..you know that.”

Her chest rose and fell quickly. She was more and more turned on as the seconds flew by and her clothes began to feel completely uncomfortable on her hot skin.

He needed her in the worst ways right now. And more importantly he needed her out of those clothes and on his dick. He pulled off his ski mask and leather gloves and placed them in the armrest, long fingers reaching over and stroking her thick thigh.

“Dig in your panties and let daddy smell that pussy… mm mm don’t act shy now, do it.” He watched her breathe shakily as she slid the sweatpants past her ass and slid her hand into her pink panties, fingers moving slowly in her panties gathering her juices on her fingers. She lifted her fingers from her panties and put her index and middle finger under his nose.

He gripped her wrist and inhaled her sweet scent, nothing in his life smelled better than it. A smell so intoxicating and raw it made his most primal thoughts and feelings rise to the forefront. He wanted to own her and fill her head with his own thoughts, but she had to be somewhat willing. The tangy taste of her juices made his taste buds tingle and mouth fill up with water. Pussy definitely made the world go round and there was no denying that fact.

“Come sit on daddy’s lap, let me feel you.” He patted his thighs and used the automatic button next to his seat and pushed back along with reclining it a bit for more space. She kicked her shoes and sweats off and crossed the console to sit on his lap letting him pull off her jacket and t-shirt. He came out of his black denim jacket and tossed it on the dashboard along with her clothing, his urge to feel her made him feel like he’d absorb her into his skin. He gazed into her damp brown eyes as he rotated her hips in a circle on his bulge, his pants slowly finding their place down his ankles.

Their breathing picked up and they grinded against one another at a quicker pace. Her bare chest on his clothed one as he pulled her closer into him, his hips lifting up to meet her soaked center every time, loud grunts and growls jumping from his mouth. The dry humping had them drunk on lust. Mouths sliding hungrily against each other's faces in a rush to assert dominance over the other. His low moans had her pussy clenching around nothing in her panties and she was sure she would combust from the feeling beneath her. She slowed her hips and looped her fingers around the hem of her panties and threw them aside. She needed him badly.

“Baby I need you to touch me please…look how wet I am for you. Put your fingers inside me, make me cum.” She leaned back against the steering wheel to give him a view of the mess she was making in his lap, and watched him drag a lone finger down her slit before he slowly pushed into her.

“Tj you make me crazy… I thought about you everyday I had you blocked.” He let his finger speed up slowly adding a second and pushing in until only his knuckles showed.

“That’s because I’m daddy, and I told you that. You gonna block me again mama?”

“No Noo I promise, I’ll never do it again daddy..that’s my dick.”

She threw her head back and bounced slowly on his fingers. Her pussy had his lap wet with her arousal and his wrist was working overtime between giving her good penetration and clitoral stimulation.

“What you gonna do for this dick tho baby, tell daddy what you willing to do for it.” She leaned forward into him nuzzling her lips against his ears, sucking his earlobe into her mouth.

“I’ll catch a charge behind this dick, it’s mine and nobody else’s. I’ll beat you and any bitch that doesn’t get that.” Terry let his Hand come down on her ass cheek hard, and quickly pulled his shirt from his body.

Her tongue slithered across his chest and to his neck.

“Oh yeah, you fighting about this dick?..you gonna fight daddy in the backseat and ain’t no running back there.”

__

Terry's hand wrapped around Khia’s throat as he drove his hips into hers. He had her folded up in the backseat of his truck feeding her inch after inch of hard dick. She had nowhere to run.

“Daddy it’s in my stomach…mm fuckkk please just cum already I-ahh.”

Terry pressed his hand onto her belly watching his bulge form behind her skin in and out. “That's where I’m supposed to be..right mama. Mhmh fucking this pussy, my pussy!”

“Tj my pussy…my pussy is yours, and that dick is mine.” She reached between them and held onto his dick as he sped up splashing her cream onto his seats. He’d get it detailed sometime soon to cleanse his truck of their sex.

The windows in the truck held a slight fog as the temperature inside it kept rising. Body temperatures collectively turning their fuck session into a homemade sauna. He glanced down at Khia watching her whimper, a glazed film over her eyes as her breathing slowed. He took his hand from around her neck to slap her cheek lightly.

“You better breathe.. I can’t believe this dick got you about to pass out!” She breathed in a large gust of air and reached forward to pull him into her body.

“Because you’re fucking me daddy, you fuck me so well.” The helpless look on her face mixed in with the sentiment had him exploding internally, if she said one more thing like that he wouldn’t last any longer.

“Fuck..fuck say it again. Tell daddy what he’s doing to this sweet pussy.” Praise was one of his kinks and she was playing right into it. His head dropped to her chest to suck on a plump nipple and his hips rolled slowly trying to hold back his release.

“Tj you're such a good boy…you found me and brought me back with you..you did so good. And now I feel it coming, you about to nut daddy..please cum Tj.” Her honeyed tone weakened him and had him sucking breaths in quickly to make himself sane in the moment. But her pussy was constricting him. Her tight hot walls suctioning him in further resembling a racing heartbeat. He had to fight against it and pull out hot slimy coats of white jizz covering her belly and breast.

She dozed off quickly after he sat her back in his passenger seat. Spent body curled against the door using his jacket as a blanket. Terry was fatigued but pushed back towards the city to his apartment, they needed a hot shower and food. He woke her up and grabbed her stuff from his backseat, swiping his keycard to get into his building. She trudged behind him, yawning and stretching as they made it inside his apartment. Clothes stripped off again for the second time that night. The two stepped into the spacious shower together. She slid her hands around his waist locking her fingers as she held her head against his chest. A thudding heartbeat echoing in her ear. Warm shower water pouring onto them in gentle pulses.

“You ok mama..what’s on your mind?”

“You are, I loved tonight, and I love your body. You’re like an Adonis.” He felt the feather-like touches slithering all over his back and meeting together in the front to explore his large biceps and toned abdominal muscles.

“Mm thank you my baby I try, but have you seen you, you stacked lil mama. Really ain’t ever seen anything like it… that’s why I can’t let you out my sight.” They continued exchanging compliments and exchanged kisses as they washed each other's body from head to toe.

Freshly washed and moisturized, they chatted in his kitchen. Khia sat swiveling left to right on his bar chairs, body covered in a red and white polka dot slip watching Terry’s naked back as he cooked up a mini brunch for them. He placed a few crispy edge pancakes on a plate for her along with a fried egg and breakfast sausage. She drowned everything in syrup and sipped on her cold glass of orange juice tucking into the sweet and savory late night brunch. Conversation drifted onto the two of them discussing being hit on in the workplace and Terry let his resolve slip once more.

“So what would you do if you saw me flirting with another man, it’s just a little flirting can’t be that bad right?” He watched a sneaky smirk form on her face and enlightened her with a matching one.

“I’d kill him…simple, just to make sure you get the memo that is. You want his life taken from him, then go ahead and play in my face.” She laughed loudly and waved him off, hand in front of her mouth just cracking up at him.

“Terry you can’t say stuff like that, that’s crazy.” Hadn’t she caught on yet? That’s exactly what he was.

“Of course I can, and I can mean it too.” He stuffed the last piece of egg into his mouth before moving to wash out his plate.

“You would kill for me Tj?” Her voice came out low and sultry and he whipped around to stare at her, dark brown eyes low but expressive.

“Fuck of course you would… you’d do anything I asked you, right daddy?” She continued speaking to him in that tone, breaking him down further and placing her in the driver seat of his body. She leaned onto the island titties jiggling from the low cut of her slip.

“Good boys get all the pussy in the world when they listen…are you a good boy Tj?” Terry was under her spell lock and key. He shook his head quickly, he was a good boy and he would do anything she asked.

“Yes I’m a good boy mamas…haven’t I shown you that though?” He rounded the island to stare down at her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She pulled him down to her face by his ears, gripping and rubbing them. She placed chaste kisses behind his ear lobe.

“Yes you have baby but I want more, can you do something else for me…so I know it’s real? Can you do this one thing to solidify us…make us one?”

“Yes yes anything, name it now.. you got it I swear…I want us to be one. Tell me what I have to do to earn you?” She sucked a hickey onto his neck, a warm hand down his grey sweats stroking the head of his dick softly as he breathed harshly in her ear. Terry was putty in her hand, his brain on autopilot as he turned into a living breathing ventriloquist dummy right before his own eyes. Worshipping wasn’t enough for him, she was goddess-like. She could snap her fingers and like a dog he would do what she said when she said it.

“Can you make someone disappear for me…I want you to be the last person he lays eyes on before you take his life, plus you're a beautiful sight who wouldn’t wanna die to your face daddy.”

Terry fell apart from that alone, spongy tip and her hand covered in webs of cum. She played with it some more on her hand before she stuffed the sticky fingers into her mouth. Making a scene of the milky white slime sticking to her lips. He gripped her chin and sucked her tongue into his mouth, he didn’t give one fuck about her having a mouth full of his nut.

“Count him as dead already, give me his address and workplace..let me prove how badly I want and need you.”

__

A/N: And that praise kink? IMMA WRITE IT. I hope yall enjoy these cuckoo birds as much as I do🫶🏾 I tried to tag everyone but if I missed you my bad!

@venusincleo @grlsbstshot @yassbishimvintage @avoidthings @pocketsizedpanther @writingsbytee @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @simplyzeeka @zillasvilla @blowmymbackout @kimuzostar @playgurlxoxo @kumkaniudaku @megamindsecretlair @theereina @keyaho @brattyfics @hotgrlcece @henneseyhoe @starcrossedxwriter @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @blackmoonchilee @invisiblegiurl @blackerthings @19jammmy

[lemonlover1110]

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄

Toji Fushiguro

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend gets a little too jealous after catching some jerk staring at you. Of course, he has to remind you who you belong to.

Warnings: MDNI, Jealous!Toji, Possessiveness, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Vaginal Sex, Spitting, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Toji is a bit violent and a bit of a jerk but we still love him

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Toji absolutely hates going out with you lately, not because he finds you annoying but the fact that all eyes are on you. You always look so stunning, and he hates all the men that dare to look your way– But he can’t blame them. It’s hard not to look your way when your makeup is flawless, your hair is cutely styled, and when you show the right amount of skin to make a man go wild.

“What’s wrong, babe?” You ask him, watching as Toji’s eyes glare at someone else in the place. You’re supposed to be out with friends, having some fun and talking since you barely have the time to meet up with them, catch up with them. But Toji isn’t paying any attention to them as they talk.

“Oh… Okay.” You do as he says, pouting your lip so he feels some sort of remorse for talking to you in that tone. He’s not even looking at you though. He gets up from his seat, and you watch as he approaches another table. He slams his hand on the wood surface of the other table, and you can only assume he has a stern tone of voice while speaking. You anxiously bounce your leg, watching your boyfriend as he does– Whatever he’s doing.

“Toji–” You find yourself taken back, watching as your boyfriend grabs the back of some man’s head and slams it on the table. You rush over to him, and ask, “What the fuck are you doing?”

All your friends are looking at you. Everyone is. You would be extremely embarrassed if you weren’t so worried that your boyfriend is suddenly acting this way. 

“If I catch you looking at my girlfriend again, I will crush your skull.” Toji says through gritted teeth, and you hate the fact that you find this so fucking hot. Your legs are almost giving out. Toji lets go, and he grabs your hand, dragging you out of the place.

“Toji, calm down.” You tell him, following him to his car. When you get to it, he finally lets go of your hand and begins to walk to the driver’s side, but you grab his hand again. “I know you’re jealous, but don’t take it out on me.”

“I’m not taking it out on you.” He responds, and he forces you to let go. You do, and you wait for him to open the passenger door. You get into the car, and he quietly begins to drive. His hands hold on tight to the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. You cross your arms, irritated that he’s mad at you because you did nothing.

“What the hell did I do? Be too pretty?” You scoff, and Toji’s hand goes to your lap. He squeezes your thigh, and you roll your eyes at him. He’s not looking your way. “You could be nicer to me, I’m not at fault that men stare at me. Gauge their eyes out or something.”

“I was going to but you came running after me because apparently you can’t spend a minute alone.” Toji argues back.

“You’re so dramatic.” You mutter, and he hears you loud and clear. You sit in silence for a minute, and you feel his hand hike up your skirt. His finger hooks under your panties, and he begins to lower them until he realizes how much of a hassle that is while he’s trying to drive. His hand ends up going over your clothed cunt, and he begins to rub circles over your sensitive area.

You begin to squeeze your legs while Toji toys with you. He’s doing everything that is enough to drive you wild, and you’re about to push your panties to the side so you feel more than just the friction of your panties. But Toji slaps your hand.

“No.” He says, and you almost whine, but you know that won’t end well. Of course he’s acting like a fucking bitch, you didn’t expect any less from a jealous Toji. You almost push his hand away as he works you up. But you let it happen until he’s outside your home.

“We’re going inside this home and you’re going to fuck me up. Stop acting like a fucking brat.” You tell him, pushing his hand away. You walk out of the car and enter the home before him. You undress yourself when you’re in your room, stripping to your underwear. You wait for him on the bed, and when you see him walk in, he looks livid. 

You have to suppress the smile that comes to your lips when you watch Toji get on the bed, getting on top of you. His hand wraps around your throat, and he brings his lips down to meet yours. His tongue enters your mouth and presses against your own. Your hands begin to unbutton his shirt until every button is undone.

He pulls away from the kiss, his lips trailing down, going to your neck and sucking on that spot that makes you weak. A soft moan leaves your lips. Toji kisses down until your panties get in the way. He pushes them to the side and kisses your clit.

He begins by kissing your cunt then licking up your folds. His tongue then focuses on your clit.

Two fingers begin to tease your entrance. You’re looking down at his hair while he eats you out. Your fingers run through his hair, and you grip when he finally inserts his thick fingers inside of you. Your fingers really can’t compare to his. 

Toji begins to hum, telling you how he’s enjoying this. He fucking loves the taste that’s on his tongue, it’s the only reason he’s doing this. He shouldn’t be eating you out after all the trouble you’ve put him through.

He curves his fingers, letting you know how much he knows your body. No man could ever compare to him. The pads of his fingers press against your sweet spot, and it causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head. 

“Oh, Toji, it’s so good.” You moan. His free hand goes to your thigh and his nails dig into your skin as you moan his name. It doesn’t take too long for your orgasm to build up, that pressure builds up on your lower abdomen.

He sucks on your clit, and he moves his fingers just right until you finally reach your peak. When you loudly moan his name, he detaches himself from your cunt, taking his fingers out, and goes back to your face. He pushes your bottom lip down until you open your mouth. He takes the opportunity to spit in your mouth.

“If he knew what you do for me, then maybe he’d stop staring.” He comments, and you’re lost until you realize he’s talking about the man in the bar. That was the last thought in your mind.

Toji pushes your legs up to your chest before he unbuckles his belt. He takes his cock out, running the tip through your folds. He slaps it on your cunt a couple of times before he asks, “You want this, baby? You want my cock?”

“Please.” You respond in a whiny voice. He chuckles.

“I shouldn’t. You were just being so fucking mean.” Toji says, pushing two fingers into your mouth, and he pushes them far so you gag on them. You end up biting down on them, and a smirk comes to his lips. He pushes his cock inside of you, slowly stretching you out. No matter how many times Toji fucks you, it’s always too much for you to handle.

When he bottoms out, he gives you a couple of seconds to adjust before he begins to move in and out of you. The man loves this position, allowing him to reach deeper and it feels so fucking good. There’s nothing Toji loves more than to feel your tight little cunt wrapped around his cock.

He takes his fingers out of your mouth, not muffling the moans that leave your lips. Toji hits every right spot, and it drives you wild. Nobody can or will compare to Toji.

“It’s so fucking good, Toji” You moan, your hand moving down to play with your clit while Toji relentlessly thrust in and out of your cunt. It’s hard for Toji to control himself when your cunt feels so good around him. He slowly loses control.

Jealousy rushes through him, as well as possessiveness. He needs to mark you as his but he doesn’t know how– Knocking you up. That’s the only way

“Oh, fuck, Toji!” You moan, your back arches as you take it all. He hits all the right spots and it’s driving you insane. 

“I need to make you a mommy.” He says, one hand goes down to play your clit. Your walls begin to squeeze around him, and he swears he’s in heaven. It fuels his jealousy even more, because some fucking idiot thought that he could get away with being with you. Toji would kill every man on Earth before losing you.

“Fuck!” You get louder and louder, and you feel as your second orgasm approaches. Toji doesn’t slow down either.

“Let me knock you up, please, baby.” He sounds whiny as he begs, and you get tighter around him with his every word. You moan loudly as you finally reach your climax, and he nearly comes right there but he can contain himself. “Please, please, please.”

“I’m gonna– Fuck, Toji!” Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. Your cunt begins to clench around him, squeezing as your orgasm approaches until it finally washes over you. 

“Gonna knock you up, baby.” He says, having made up his mind. You’re going to have his baby after all, and you’re certainly not complaining. You’ll give Toji all the babies that he wants. “Need to see you big and round with my baby. You’re mine, right? You’ll let me do that?”

“Yes, Toji!” Your fucked out brain doesn’t take a second to process the question. Even if the question had been asked an hour ago, you would’ve agreed. You would do just about anything for Toji. 

His thrusts get unregulated, and it doesn’t take too long for Toji to come inside of you. His seed fills you up, your cunt milking him for each drop. You absolutely love every drop of it.

Toji’s lips go down to meet yours, and when he pulls away he lays down beside you. He hugs you and you assure him, “You don’t have to be so jealous. You know I’m all yours.”

“I still want a baby to show off.”

[muniimyg]

♡ 01: baby, i'm a dog

series m.list // taglist

note: welcome to part 1 !!! this fic is def a diff vibe ,, kinda chill and jus sad LOL … tbh if i hate it i’ll jus edit it as a one shot cos #yolo #idc but also…. i fear this jk is a vibe

//

the cabin's front door slams shut behind jungkook.

his laughter spills into the cold air as he jogs to his car, tossing the keys to taehyung mid-stride. 

the hoseok and nam joon had roped him into a last-minute supply run—apparently, they underestimated just how much beer and snacks a group this size could burn through in one night. the crunch of snow under his boots and the slap of wind against his face brought a sharp clarity, a brief reprieve from the weight he'd felt the entire drive up here. 

he works nonstop all year… he only gets a few days of vacation. yet, this is how he spends his precious leisure days.

a part of him is still trying to figure out why he even came.

"think fast, shithead!" taehyung called, tossing the keys back. 

jungkook catches them effortlessly, smirking as he spins them around his finger.

as he opens his mouth to make a comeback, the sound of tires crunching over ice makes his chest go tight. instantly, he recognizes that it’s yoongi’s girlfriend’s car—but something about the way it’s driven pulls him further into himself.

jungkook is a car guy. 

he’s the car guy and knowing cars means knowing the people behind the wheel.

the way they park, the way they brake, even the rhythm of their turns.

and this car?

it parks too carefully, too smoothly.

it’s muscle memory that makes him stand straighter, his heart stumbling over itself. because he knows exactly whose hands are gripping the wheel before he even sees your face.

taking a few steps back, he watches as the suv rolls into the driveway, something heavy settling in his chest.

the sound of the car door opening snaps him out of his daze.

and it all suddenly feels like a fever dream. 

with the snow falling slowly and the way his heart skips a beat—you step out and completely stop his world.

you’re bundled in a cream puffer jacket and your cheeks flushed from the cold…

and you smile at him.

like, really smile at him. 

and jungkook thinks to himself; 

fuck.

you’re still so pretty. 

so fucking pretty. 

then, his mind blanks. 

he doesn’t know how to move, doesn’t even know how to breathe. all he can do is stare.

“jungkook!”

before he can even respond, you’re walking toward him, arms open.

he freezes when you hug him.

it’s not long—just enough to share a little warmth—but it’s enough to knock the air clean out of his lungs.

three years.

it’s been three years since he’s seen you, and now you’re here, wrapping him in a moment that feels too easy for all the time that’s passed.

is... is this easy for you?

because he can't breathe right now.

“i convinced her to come last minute,” yoongi’s girlfriend, mei, says. she’s practically bouncing with excitement. “the weather grounded her flight, and i told her it’d be way better to spend a few days with us than to sit around waiting.”

you pull back from jungkook and smile up at him like it’s nothing.

like he hasn’t been caught in the shockwave of your presence.

like you aren't the love of his life.

“figured it’d be fun,” you say lightly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. you glance around and squeal at the sight of your old friendgroup. “plus, i missed you guys.”

the others swarm in, laughing and throwing their arms around you, saying how long it’s been. jungkook hangs back, struggling to keep up with the reality in front of him. this wasn’t how he thought this trip was going to go.

as jin and yoongi haul your bags toward the cabin, you turn back to jungkook. your shoulder bumps against his as you tilt your head.

“is it okay that i’m here?”

he blinks at you.

“why wouldn’t it be?”

your shrug and look around. “nam joon’s your friend. this is his family cabin… i’m just your—“

“it’s fine,” he interrupts you.

silence.

then, you break it with a question and your signature soft tone.

“did i surprise you?”

jungkook nods stiffly, words caught in his throat.

"good."

... is all you say before you’re gone, following the others into the cabin, leaving him standing in the cold.

it takes a second, but his feet move on their own, trailing after you without a second thought. like a dog, he thinks, tail wagging behind its owner.

his hands clench into fists at his sides as he walks, the cold biting at his skin through his jacket.

you're here.

you're actually here.

they have invited you over and over again to friendgroup trips and you've only attended a handful of times. take note that those specific times were the ones where jungkook had rsvp'd no.

so this...

this?

this is completely beyond him.

you... in the flesh feels like some cruel cosmic joke to him. the kind of joke where the punchline cuts deep and leaves a scar.

three years.

three fucking years of trying not to think about you, of convincing himself he’d moved on.

three years of pretending he didn’t still see you in every corner of his life. he told himself he'd be ready for this moment if it ever came—that he'd have the right words, the right attitude, anything but the mess of disbelief and guilt twisting in his chest right now.

but here you are, running into his arms like none of it matters. like the years apart haven’t clawed at him the way they clearly didn’t claw at you.

he knows he shouldn’t be surprised.

you always were good at carrying things with grace, even when he was busy breaking them—breaking you.

a part of him feels bitter. he wishes you had a mean bone in your body. perhaps, he'd feel better... but you don't and all he's can think about is how good you smell.

“what the fuck," jungkook mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face as he steps into the cabin.

the warmth inside doesn’t reach him.

not really.

his heart is still somewhere out there in the cold, stuck in that driveway where you looked at him like nothing’s changed.

like he’s still someone worth smiling at.

as you get settled, jungkook and taehyung excuse themselves again and leave for their little grocery run.

when they come back, an hour later—the plastic grocery bags cutting into his fingers as he kicks the snow off his boots.

laughter drifts from the kitchen, light and easy, mingling with the clatter of pots and pans. the scent of something savory hangs in the air, and for a moment, he lets it lull him, the warmth easing the tension in his shoulders.

“finally,” yoongi groans, swooping in to grab some bags from jungkook. “we thought you guys got lost or something.”

“tae couldn’t decide between doritos and cheetos,” jungkook mutters, rolling his eyes as he shrugs off his coat. “turns out we needed both.”

“damn right we did,” taehyung calls from behind him, slamming the door shut with his foot.

jungkook lets their banter fade into the background, his eyes instinctively drawn toward the kitchen. 

you’re there. 

standing near the counter, sleeves rolled up as you stir something in a pot. your hair’s pulled back, a few loose strands framing your face. you’re laughing at something yoongi’s girlfriend says, your hands moving gracefully as you gesture, completely at ease.

the view of you is so clear, yet so vivid in his memory.

it makes his heart ache.

it’s like you’ve always been here, laughing, stirring pots, and looking so effortlessly beautiful it makes his chest ache.

like he’s coming home to you again. 

“earth to jungkook?” jimin snaps his fingers in front of his face, smirking when jungkook blinks, caught. “you good?”

“yeah.” the word comes out too sharp, and he clears his throat, shrugging past jimin. “just gonna change.”

he doesn’t wait for a response and heads upstairs. the weight in his chest grows heavier with every step, a knot tightening in his stomach. when he reaches his room and pushes the door open, he freezes.

his bags aren’t where he left them.

instead, a collection of white baggage are stacked neatly in the corner. irritation flares, but it’s quickly doused by confusion—and a sinking realization.

“jungkook?” your voice calls softly from behind him, and he turns to see you at the top of the stairs, slightly out of breath.

you’re holding onto the banister, your other hand fiddling with the hem of your sweater. the soft fabric brushes your fingers as you glance at him, your expression tentative.

“the girls—um—mei, bria, and the others—they thought it’d be better if we moved your stuff,” you say, stepping closer. your voice is calm, and measured, but there’s a nervous energy in the way your eyes dart toward his. “i told them it wasn’t necessary, but they figured it’d be easier if... well, you know.”

jungkook leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“so you’re gonna take my room?”

“it was our room for three years.”

“it’s been three years.”

“that’s true,” you hesitate, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “they put your stuff in jimin’s room. but i was just coming up to say, i can totally switch and room with joon’s girlfriend and make joon and jimin room together. i mean, it’d be a good chance to bond—”

“take the room.” his voice cuts through your rambling, low and firm.

your eyes widen slightly. 

“are you sure? i really don’t mind—”

“yeah,” he says, shrugging. “the only other option would be to share it with me… so…”

you pause, a laugh bubbling out before you can stop it. 

“that’d be crazy, right?”

something flickers across his face, too quick for you to catch. then, he straightens, his expression calm but his words heavy. 

“would it be though?”

the question hangs in the air, your laughter fading as his gaze lingers on you. his tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s something beneath it—something you can’t quite name.

you look away, brushing your hand over the doorframe as if needing something to ground you. 

“thanks, jungkook,” you say softly, the words carrying a warmth that feels too intimate. “i appreciate it.”

but before you turn, your hand reaches out, ruffling his hair in that way you used to when you thought he was being ridiculous. 

his breath catches, and he doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink as your fingertips graze his scalp.

then you’re gone, your footsteps fading as you head back downstairs.

jungkook exhales, his head tipping back against the doorframe as he stares at the ceiling. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, the weight in his chest now impossibly heavier.

by the time jungkook come down the stairs, the sound of laughter and chatter filling the space he follows behind you, catching the way the group immediately perks up. all eyes turning toward you both, and jin yells out, "look who finally decided to join the party!"

taehyung grins, his voice too cheerful for someone who clearly has something up his sleeve. 

“you two are late to the conversation, so you’re being voluntold to go back to town and grab some oil. we forgot to buy oil.”

jungkook freezes mid-step, his brows furrowing. 

“the fuck? i just got back. are you serious?”

you turn and see jungkook’s frustration bubbling up already as he turns to bicker with the guys, his voice rising in playful annoyance. “hyung, you couldn't just... check the damn list? are you fucking serious? i don’t want to go back—”

taehyung laughs, “we were too busy enjoying ourselves. you had fun with me! remember? we got both—”

“fuck that,” jungkook huffs. “i’m not going back—”

“you have to—”

“no, i don’t.”

“jungkook, you’re the youngest too—”

“why does that fucking matter?”

the group chuckles, but jungkook’s not laughing.

you watch jungkook’s face twist with irritation, the way his jaw tightens with every word that’s said. he’s always been like this—quick to snap when he feels cornered. it’s like he can’t stand being told what to do. 

he can’t. 

god, he really hates being pushed around.

you’ve always known that about him. yet, a part of you feels bad for him. 

“no. fuck that.” his voice is sharp, a little louder than it needs to be. “i’m not going back—”

the others try to reason with him even more, but his deflection is clear. 

it’s always the same with him, especially when he feels like he's being challenged. you can’t help but shake your head a little, a sigh almost escaping your lips as you glance at the group, waiting for the inevitable back-and-forth.

he’s the youngest, of course. always the youngest. always expected to just follow along, to do things because it’s “his turn” or whatever bullshit they’re using this time. 

you feel your own resolve settle, the urge to take control bubbling up before you can stop it. without even thinking, you walk over to taehyung, reach over, and grab the the car keys from his hand. 

you do it quickly, not even glancing at anyone else, just deciding in that moment that you’ve had enough of the back-and-forth.

“oil. anything else?” you ask, your tone light, almost too casual, as if this is no big deal.

you hear the group chuckle, but you're not listening to them. 

you’re watching jungkook now, his surprise registering only for a second before the annoyance flickers back into his eyes. 

he doesn’t have a choice now.

he hates this.

jungkook rolls his eyes, but it's too late—he knows it’s happening now. he snatches the keys back from your hand with a heavy sigh. he doesn’t look at you, but the slight dip in his shoulders gives him away. 

he’s still annoyed, but it doesn’t matter.

not if it’s about you. 

suddenly, he’s putting his boots on and slams the door. then, the sound of his car engine starting fills the silence. everyone turns to you in disbelief. 

“huh," you tilt your head. "i guess he's driving.”

the car ride is silent, the engine purring smoothly beneath you.

jungkook’s car is new (to you, at least) and he drives like he’s trying to put as much distance between himself and the group as possible.

his knuckles are tight around the wheel, and every so often, his eyes flicker to you, then back to the road. you can feel the tension building up again, but neither of you says anything.

the store comes up quick, and you both slip inside. jungkook grabs the oil without a word, and as you stand by the aisle, you notice the carton of oat milk in his hand—your favourite brand too. 

you blink. 

“they didn’t ask for oat milk.”

he doesn’t look at you as he sets the carton into the basket, but there’s a quiet, almost hesitant shift in his posture.

“yeah. i know.”

you want to say something, anything, but you swallow the words. 

it’s just oat milk. 

back in the car, you both buckle up in silence, and jungkook starts the engine with a soft grumble. the snow outside is heavier now, falling in thick, swirling sheets, the road barely visible.

the car stalls.

jungkook curses under his breath, his hands working over the wheel like he’s already analyzing what’s wrong. you watch him, knowing he’s not going to admit it, but it’s obvious.

“looks like we’re stuck for a bit,” he mutters. “better wait for the snow to calm down.”

you lean back in your seat, the quiet pressing in. there’s nowhere to go but forward now, and it’s strange, this calm in the middle of nowhere with him beside you, neither of you saying much.

the snow pounds against the windshield. jungkook shifts in his seat, tapping his fingers against the wheel as he watches the storm.

as jungkook stares at the snow pounds against the windshield, you stare at him.

you wait for him to say something. 

anything. 

but jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes.

his gaze is fixed on the road, his hands tight on the steering wheel. you can feel the distance between you two—the years, the hurt, the things that never got said. the things you did say… 

“so,” you start, your voice soft, the words almost hesitant. “how are you?”

jungkook scoffs.

“don’t.”

“don’t what?” you ask. “it’s been a while. i only really see what you’re up to via social media. you opened your own shop, right? i’m so proud of you. i know how long you’ve wanted to do that.”

jungkook nods. 

“yeah…” his response is immediate, but detached. “yeah, i mean… it was a lot easier when i got the right clientelle. so yeah, still doing that. luxury car mechanic bullshit. it’s... all right. not much to update you about.” his tone is nonchalant, almost like he doesn’t care, but you know it’s a front. it’s always been easier for him to hide behind that mask of indifference. 

“i’m sure there’s something—”

“i fix up cars people can’t even pronounce the names of. not a lot of excitement there. just... polishing up things people break, and making money for it.”

“okay,” you nod, your fingers tracing the edge of your seat. “jungkook, it’s me. don’t underplay this with me.”

he shrugs. 

for the first time in three years; you feel it again.

you feel this… sense of anger? annoyance?

hurt. 

jungkook is well known in the city. 

he's the go-to mechanic for luxury cars—bentleys, ferraris, lambos—if you've got money and a car that needs fixing, you go to him… and while we’re here; let’s brag about it. 

jungkook is not just any mechanic; he's the top of the game. he’s the most trusted in the industry, and somehow, he's built a reputation that makes even the richest clients feel like they’re getting something special.

most of them don't know it, but jungkook is lucky—unbelievably lucky. 

he didn’t come from money, didn’t grow up with connections or a silver spoon in his mouth. hell, he's still the kind of guy who wears sweat pants and a hoodie to work… but he's got an uncanny knack for fixing cars, his hands working like magic around every engine and every screw. it's a skill that came naturally to him, no effort needed—he was born with it. 

and that, somehow, has carried him through life.

the thing is, jungkook knows he's a loser. 

a lovable one, sure, but a loser nonetheless. 

he might be great with cars, but he's not the type to flaunt his success. his garage is both chaotic and high-end, a mix of organized chaos and state-of-the-art equipment, the kind of place that looks like it’s one bad day away from falling apart, but in reality, it's the most trusted name in the city.

he's rough around the edges, but that's part of his charm. he's got the grit to keep going when things get tough, but he stumbles through life in a way that makes everyone around him laugh—except when it comes to cars.

then, he's all business.

the fact that he's self-made, that he’s built everything from the ground up, doesn’t even fully sink in for him. he never asks for anything. the success just... happened, like it was meant to.

in the same sense, he’s a scumbag.

he’s gotten into trouble before, and he’s made his share of mistakes. but somehow, with the luck he’s got, he always lands on his feet. and that’s why, despite being a mess in every other part of his life, jungkook is the guy you call when your sports car breaks down in the middle of nowhere.

in fact, he’s the guy to be with in the middle of a snowy road. 

yet, with all these thoughts… you figure not to push it any further.

the silence stretches again, but this time it’s not quite as awkward. it’s still heavy, though—thick with the things that were never said. and you can feel it, the weight of all that unsaid stuff, but something else creeps in too. a quiet yearning, a reminder of the closeness you once had.

“how’s work for you?”

you clear your throat and chirp up.

“it’s good. great, actually. dior signed me to be their permanent event planner. i got to work with ysl and chanel last year so that was cool… lots of travelling… i don’t know. it’s been… fun. i think i’ve done a lot since...” 

“that’s good,” jungkook breathes. “i’m happy for you.” 

“really?”

“really.”

you let out a relieved breath.

“you know, i always refer my clients to your shop. truth be told, i found out about your shop through them before you even posted on social media.”

he flicks a glance at you, but it’s fleeting. 

“why?” he scoffs, but there’s no real anger behind it, just frustration. “you shouldn’t have…”

you wince slightly, but it’s not a judgment. you get it. you always have. the way he pushes people away, like he’s afraid of being too close to anyone, like caring might break him.

“we were in it together,” you reply, your voice quiet but warm. “life. our careers… everything. just because it didn’t work out between us doesn’t mean i was going to leave it as it was. i couldn’t help it. i thought of you whenever my clients complained about their cars. i thought of you whenever your favourite model drove past me. i thought of you, jungkook. how could i not? we spent three years together… so, don’t do that please. don’t act like the past three years haven’t been good to you… because as much as i could, i tried to send you some good. there was good.”

“okay,” he huffs out a breath, his shoulders tense. he’s quiet for a beat too long, and just when you think he might shut down, he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible. “i appreciate it. all of it.”

“you’re welcome,” you smile. 

then, you turn and watch the snow falling heavier now, the world outside becoming more and more a blur. 

“you know,” you say, your voice almost teasing, trying to ease the weight of the moment, “your mom calls me on my birthday every year.”

his eyes flick to you again, almost imperceptibly, but it’s there. a flash of something in his eyes. a crack in the cool mask he’s built up. 

“sorry,” he apologizes. “i… shit, ___. you know, you’re her favourite.”

“don’t be,” you smile, though there’s a hint of sadness in it. “she’s my favourite too.”

then, he’s quiet again, but this time, there’s a softening to his expression, the edge of defensiveness slipping away. 

you let the silence settle again, the two of you wrapped in the quiet of the car and the storm outside. but this time, it feels different. not easy, not perfect. but it feels like maybe—just maybe—this is the first real conversation you’ve had in years.

and that’s enough for now.

the cabin feels smaller when you get back, and the weight of jungkook’s presence only makes it tighter. the group’s immediately apologizing, teasing him about the oil run, their words sharp but light. 

“we totally forgot, man,” taehyung says, looking guilty. “guess you guys are our personal delivery service.”

jungkook doesn’t respond, his face already scrunching into an exaggerated grimace as he heads straight to the kitchen to help. you’re unsure if it’s from irritation or just sheer exhaustion.

maybe both, you think as you follow him. 

but the moment passes quickly, and you’re both swept back into the warmth of the group’s energy.

it’s dinner time soon after, and the room is buzzing. the conversation is loud, comfortable, with everyone laughing and sharing stories. jungkook and you sit across from each other, the space between you both thick and quiet. your presence seems to be the only thing that pulls him from his usual nonchalance—every time you speak, even the smallest comment, he cracks a smile, almost like he can’t help it.

yoongi catches it first, raising an eyebrow at jungkook. 

“what’s up with you, kid? you only smile when ___ talks. what? the rest of us aren’t funny enough for you?” his voice is teasing but his gaze lingers, as if looking for something more.

jungkook rolls his eyes, brushing it off with a half-hearted scoff. 

mei, sitting next to yoongi, shakes her head. she nudges you and you laugh it off. then, you lift your face and meet jungkook’s eyes. he offers you a short-lived smile. 

you take it. 

the jokes keep coming, but the way jungkook’s eyes flick to you each time you speak doesn’t go unnoticed. 

it’s subtle, the way his lips curve just a little, how his eyes soften just a fraction whenever you make a joke or offer your thoughts. but it’s enough. the others catch it, too, exchanging glances behind their drinks, a quiet realization settling between them.

after dinner, everyone migrates to the living room, pulling chairs and sofas closer to the fire. taehyung sets up the drinks, jin and hobi are already messing with the fire, adding logs with unnecessary dramatic flair, and namjoon is flipping through a deck of cards.

“we should play charades,” jimin suggests, his voice light as he pours more wine into his glass.

“charades? yeah, we could use some entertainment,” jin agrees, his gaze drifting between the group. “but i’m not going easy on you guys.”

you end up on the same team as jungkook.

when it’s your turn to act out a word, you both fall into an easy rhythm. your gestures are sharp and exaggerated, and jungkook picks up on your cues instantly, his movements smooth and fluid. there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you, the way your eyes meet for half a second before you both act out the next part of the clue. 

honestly, it’s like no time has passed since you last did this, and everyone else watches with mild surprise, the chemistry between you two almost palpable.

nam joon and taehyung share an amused glance, their eyes widening slightly, while jin snorts quietly. 

“okay, okay, we get it. you two are too good at this,” jimin says, shaking his head with a laugh.

“they’re like a team built for charades,” namjoon mutters, and yoongi, always perceptive, smirks.

“it’s like they can read each other’s minds,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you both. “almost makes me uncomfortable.”

you can feel the weight of their glances, the way they subtly watch every interaction, waiting for something to shift. and when the game finally wraps up, everyone is drunk, laughter louder and voices more relaxed.

conversation moves from silly jokes to more serious topics, the kind that happens when the alcohol hits just right. somehow, everyone feels like they’re safe enough to let their guard down.

hoseok mentions work—how it’s been a mess lately, how nothing seems to be going right, and the conversation shifts into the stress of adulthood, of managing expectations and responsibilities.

“sometimes it feels like i’m drowning in it,” hoseok admits, rubbing his temples. “i mean, we’re doing okay, but god, it’s like every time i take a breath, there’s another problem.”

“sounds about right,” taehyung agrees, sipping his drink. “adulting sucks.”

the conversation flows around you, but then someone cracks a joke, and you reply with your usual snark. jungkook chuckles, and it’s a real, honest laugh, something that sounds familiar, something that feels like the version of him you used to know.

bria, who’s been quiet for most of the night, turns her gaze to jungkook, her eyes flicking between him and you with a raised brow. it’s obvious she’s drunk, so jungkook mentally prepares for the worst. 

“jungkook?”

“what do you want?” he sighs. “you’re drunk so choose your words carefully, bria. last time we talked while you were drunk like this, i made you cry for an hour.”

bria rolls her eyes at jungkook. 

“guess it’s my turn then,” she inhales deeply. “my turn to make you cry.”

jungkook gulps, but he tries his best to mask his fear. 

he knows exactly who she’s gonna target. 

“yah, do you think you’re slick or something?” bria asks. “why do you always laugh at ___'s jokes but no one else’s? you look at her and practically salivate. are you a dog? do you like her or something?” 

the group goes quiet. 

it’s then everyone realizes that it’s bria’s first cabin trip. even yoongi, who’s usually too aloof for moments like this, pauses, his gaze sharp as it flicks between you and jungkook. there’s a tension, thick enough to make your chest tighten, and you feel the eyes of the group on you.

it’s like the breath has been knocked out of the room. bria’s words hang between you and jungkook, heavy and unwelcome.

for a second, no one says anything.

you can feel the heat in your cheeks, the way everything seems to slow down. 

your mind races. 

“we’re exes.”

bria’s voice cuts through the silence again, softer this time. “oh, shit… fuck, right. yeah. i remember now… i guess it never clicked because i’ve only known you for a few months…”

“yeah,” jimin pulls bria close. he gestures towards the direction of their room. she shakes her head, refusing his obvious cue. “babe, let’s get you to bed—”

“no, wait… just w-wait. you and ___? but you two... are literally perfect for each other. what happened?” bria blurts, her tone genuine and almost searching.

you catch the way jungkook’s body tenses up.

from across the group, you chase for his eyes. they meet for the first time all night and you swear—there’s a flicker of something there. 

something soft and promising. 

something almost like love, but a lot like loss. 

as quickly as you see it, it fades away. so, you offer him a soft smile. then, shake your head slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. it’s a signal.

don’t answer.

but he doesn’t look away.

and then, as if the silence is unbearable, jungkook speaks, his voice low but steady, almost like it’s been waiting to come out for too long.

“i fucked up,” jungkook admits. “i fucked up like everyone said i would.”

[zyafics]

https://www.tumblr.com/zyafics/764547208124170240/shes-probably-calling-him-hella-pissed-that THIS PROMPT can you PLEASE WRITE IT

hahaha DEFINITELY!! this is for all my maybank!reader lovers <3 bc of this picture right here !!

you and rafe are together and have a baby daughter. one day, rafe decides to take her out on a ride. it's nothing serious, just a cruise down kildare, passing the docks, the mangroves, and the marsh. she's giggling on his lap, excited by the wind whipping against her cheeks, the speed that races adrenaline through her young veins, and the time she gets to spend with dad.

that's when you notice your daughter missing. from her crib, just before naptime. you search your entire house—thinking she learned how to magically escape her crib—before dialling rafe in panic.

"relax," rafe says, having pulled over to a stop on the side of the road. he's coaxing his daughter, running his thumb across her cheeks, as she's giggling, her small grabby hands reaching for rafe's helmet. "she's fine. she's with me."

"with you?" you repeat, brows furrowed. "where did you go?"

"just took a drive down the road."

"on your bike?" you punctuate your sentence with that harsh bite, the one that signals rafe there's going to be hell if things don't turn out your way. "rafe. if you don't get back here in ten minutes, i'm going to kill you."

"relax," he repeats, but twists his throttle, readying for deployment. "it's just a ride. she's safe."

"nine minutes and forty-seven seconds," you warn, before ending the call. rafe groans. pocketing his phone, he straps his daughter securely on his chest, twists his wheels, and returns to the road.

eight minutes and twenty-three seconds later, rafe enters the house where you came rushing down the hallway to grab your daughter from rafe's arms. she's been a little fussy because of the speed rafe was riding—what? he wanted to make it back on time—and her cheeks are flush with the north carolinan winds, while her little fingers reach out to you, babbling mama.

"aw, does my baby miss me?" you take your daughter from rafe, cooing her in your arms as you pinch her cheeks and she giggles from the gesture. all previous attitudes abandoned. "did daddy take you without mommy's permission?"

rafe sighs, rolling his eyes as he sets his helmet down. "she's my daughter too."

"bite me," you throw over your shoulders, eyes narrowed in rafe's direction, before returning your focus back to your daughter. your eyes soften, filled with warmth and love.

"always so aggressive," rafe teases, unloading from his shoes at the foot of the foyer before closing the distance and stepping behind you. his hand glides over the slope of your shoulders, observing the interaction between you and your daughter.

"you're the one that married me," you retort under your breath, not letting your daughter hear her parents arguing—well, more so, bickering, as you usually do.

"and i question it everyday."

that comment earns him a slap on the chest, and your daughter catches the act. but instead of finding worry for her dad, she bursts into a fit of giggles, finding entertainment from the interaction.

"look what you're teaching her," rafe points out, pretending to rub the spot you hit.

"she's enjoying it," you say, bouncing her on your hips. "she knows mommy's always right, and daddy has to pay the consequences. don't you, baby?" you direct the last question to your daughter, dropping your tone into a playful voice and tickling her stomach. she beams, squarming in your grip, and her eyes crinkle with joy and laughter that reminds rafe so much of you.

when she starts to subside, her lashes fluttering close as her naptime nears, you rock your daughter steadily as you move to her room, settling her down on her crib, before exiting.

turning to rafe, you declare. "tell me next time before you kidnap her."

always so dramatic, rafe rolls his eyes again. "you can't kidnap your own kid."

"she's my baby."

"she's ours,"

"no."

rafe laughs at how insistent you are with this notion. but he decides to let it go. let you win. it's better than fighting an uphill battle, and plus, isn't that what marriage is all about?

"alright." he steps closer, planting a kiss on your forehead. "she's yours."

your heart awes. all defense falling from the tender gesture. tipping your chin skyward, meeting rafe's stare, you whisper, "ours."

and rafe laughs again, throwing his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. "can't fucking win any arguments with you, can i?"

ur right, i lowkey like this format too @my-fabulousness-has-arrived

[razrbladekiss]

MAPLE HAZEL | Joel Miller — Part Three

SUMMARY: joel’s misery is palpable. you’re oblivious to it. until you’re not.

PAIRING: no outbreak!joel miller x afab!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.9k, you are welcum.

WARNINGS: angst. reader is an eagles fan (do NOT come for me, they are my boys. go birds 🦅). F L U F F. mentions of reader’s dad. tommy and joel are jerks, but joel redeems himself. tommy can suck a fat one. i kidddd <3 this is probably the angst-iest this story’ll get because im addicted to the fluff so. enjoy. 🤞🏼 not proof read or edited, i cannot be fucked for that.

TAGS: if you would like to be added for future installments, then let me know besties!! if i’ve forgotten anyone that’s asked to get added, then please slap me. @millersleee @goodvibesonly421 @j0elmlllers @scorpio-echo

SERIES MASTERLIST

Joel’s hands seize the steering wheel of his truck—the same one that’s presently stationed on your driveway—knuckles turning sheet white for the hold that he has is completely unforgiving. And sore.

He’s irascible. Livid. His anger is sheathed by shame and hatred for himself as the way that he conducted himself this morning was unseemly. Even for Joel, it was appalling. And though you didn’t appear to have any reservations, he knew that he bothered you. Your face didn’t allude to irritation, nor did your tone or mannerisms, but Joel was more than conscious of your internal hurt.

He just knows you that well.

But now he’s sitting—legs numb and cheeks charring red—striving to conjure up an apology that’ll help to shirk any ill-feeling that you may have toward him. Because he was a fucking jerk this morning.

And it was all because of an Eagles sweater, believe it or not.

9.42 AM

Birch Grove is bustling. It's considerably brighter, this morning. The doom and gloom that enveloped your small town yesterday has now dissipated, leaving nothing but small puddles of rainwater and grit in its wake, and it’s beautiful. A sight to behold when you’re leaving your house today.

You avoid the wetness on the road—hoping not to muddy your shoes—and bounce onto the sidewalk, admiring the oil slick that blankets damp gravel on your way over to Joel’s. You swear that there’s a divot in the concrete that holds semblance to a heart, but you’re not sure if that’s just a delusion from lack of sleep or some sort of sign from the universe telling you that perhaps it’s time to find a significant other.

Nonetheless, you take in the scene. How yesterday—in the midst of a storm—not a single body littered the crosswalk, therefore leaving Joel’s little coffee shop completely empty. But today—now that the air has cleared and rain almost dried up—it’s like nothing had even happened, and the entire town is out in force. Like they always should be.

Joel watches in awe as you make tracks across the street toward the cafe—wondering how he ever deserved such a buoyant presence like you in his life despite the fact that he’s a perpetually miserable middle-aged man—and busies himself so you don’t think he’s been ogling you this entire time.

But then the bell rings, Joel’s eyes flick up—against his own will—and you bound over the threshold with the biggest smile. He swallows extremely thickly.

“Good morning.” You say, as happy as ever—clearly on a high from your not-date—and pad through the room toward him. “Can I please have a—“

“You’re late.” 

One of your perfectly tweezed brows raises. 

“For work.” He elaborates. Joel clears his throat. “You’re late for work.”

“I got the day off.” You remind him. He vaguely remembers you saying something about this elusive break on Monday, but was honestly too distracted by his brother attempting to use the coffee machine. 

Joel nods, taking your favorite mug off of the shelf. You smile at the sentiment. 

“Ah, you’re going shopping. Right?”

You nod. Your stomach gurgles when your eyes satisfy the gaze of a perfectly plump cinnamon roll. Not too thick, not too over-done, and the right bun to icing ratio. It’s sitting—alone—in one of the little cake cases.

“I am.” You reply, taking the glass dome off of the top. Like last time, you swipe the sweet treat right from underneath Joel’s nose. Only, today, you slide two dollars across so he can’t complain. 

But he wouldn’t anyway. Not today. Because he admires the fact that you’re ungovernable, while simultaneously respecting him. To an extent, anyway. 

“I can get you some fall decor.”

“No—“

“He needs to spruce this place up.”

His eyes roll when he’s pouring the frothed milk atop your latte, hardly going unnoticed by his larger-than-life, sometimes a bit too overbearing brother. 

Tommy acknowledges you by saying your name, and you grin back at him. It’s nice to see one of the Miller’s with anything but a stoic expression slapped against those rough, rugged features. Though there’s something about Joel’s that seems rather superficial. 

Despite being perennial at times, you feel as though you’ve cracked through his tough exterior and. You’re certainly able to decipher between his real and mock revulsion. Last night was the first time that Joel’s guard had truly been down, and it was wonderful. 

“Get him some pumpkins. A wreath—“

“I don’t need no pumpkins. And what the hell is a wreath?”

The youngest brother pulls a stool out next to you, and bumps your shoulder as he sits. He looks at you as if to say get a load of this guy, and you laugh. Joel passes you your latte, and you think that you see a hint of a smile tugging at those plush lips. But you won’t swear to it. 

“A wreath is what Mrs. McKlaren has on her front door for each season.”

“Yeah.” Tommy chimes in. He pulls one of the Birch Grove Gazettes from the pile beside the cake case, and opens it up. “But you knew that. You’re just playin’ dumb in front of—“

You elbow him. “Quit teasin’.” Further defending your friend, you say; “it’s not his fault if he’s not too polished up on the names of things. He’s not pussy-whipped like you are, Tom.”

Joel chuckles at that comment, thanking you with a nod. A man of few words, though you get him. Down to a fine art. 

“True.” He flicks through a few pages, before he’s turning to you with a grimace when you take off your jacket to reveal one of your dad’s old Eagles sweaters. “Oh, God no.”

You frown, putting it to sit on the seat next to you. 

It’s common knowledge around these parts that there are two teams, and two teams only that it’s acceptable to support. Unless you’re flaunting the badge of the Texans or Dallas Cowboys, then you’re basically committing a federal crime.  And the men of Birch Grove take this very, very seriously. 

“Joel. I know you’re friends with this broad—“

“Watch your mouth.” He grumbles, appearing from the kitchen. He has his head down, hands full of cutlery. 

“Sorry.” Tommy says oh so quietly. “But—but look. She’s wearing the mark of the devil.”

Your eyes are rolling so hard you fear that they’ll roll straight from their sockets and into your coffee. You just know that beneath the green flannel, Joel is donning an Aikman jersey.

“That’s so dramatic.” Arms are being folded over as you speak, and he still hasn’t looked in your direction. “It’s just a football team—“

“Woah.” The two Millers harmonize. Joel eyes you directly and turns his nose up as soon as he heeds the shade of green that should be classed as blasphemy, not midnight.  

He didn’t know that you liked them. Tess liked them, too. But you know that. You’re not fucking stupid. 

And perhaps she might’ve aided the disgust that percolates through Joel whenever he hears someone utter the name Brian Dawkins, but he can’t help associating them with her. That same way he thinks of her whenever Fall rolls around, or whenever you step into his little cafe. 

He has such strong feelings for you, but needs to put them aside. He needs to bury them deep for fear of the past repeating itself because he isn’t sure if he can go through that again. His guard goes up, and eyes go down. He busies himself with cleaning. 

“Sacrilege.” Tommy spits. “It’s not just a football team, woman. It’s Irreverent. To come in here and wear that is absolutely ridiculous.”

Your jaw rolls and you look down at the faded logo. 

“I respect that you root for the birds, I do. It must be hard to support such a shit team—“

“Language.” Joel scolds, a little heated. “But, I agree. Can’t go wearin’ that ‘round these parts. It’s almost as bad as you comin’ in here wearing a Steelers jersey.”

Tommy grimaces. It’s not quite as bad, but it certainly sucks. 

But, to you, what sucks is the fact that these men—grown fucking men—are chewing you out over a sweater. It’s child’s play. 

“They’re not a shitty team. They’re great.” You defend your guys, watching Joel try to control the bitterness threatening to bust right out of his lips. “I’ve always loved them. My dad is from Philly—“

“Explains why you have such crappy taste.”

You blink at Tommy. 

“Anyway.” You clear your throat. “I’ll always root for the birds, because they’re my favorites. I also, believe it or not, enjoy the Cowboys when they play at home, or against the Giants. It’s patriotic. But they are a pretty shitty team—“

“No, they ain’t.”

“They are.” You uphold, making direct eye contact with the youngest sibling. “Remind me, when was the last time they went to the Superbowl?”

Tommy’s jaw rolls, and Joel can feel himself slipping. 

“Ninety-five.” Begrudgingly, he says. “But that don’t mean shit—“

“Kinda does.” 

“No it don’t.” He growls. “When was the last time those damn birds won the big game, huh?”

Without missing a beat, you say; “twenty-eighteen. They beat the Patriots by eight points, Brady sucked and Foles was the MVP. I tailgated at the stadium with my dad and uncle—“

“In Minnesota?”

“Yessir.” You tell Tommy before taking the last sip of your—now lukewarm—coffee. “I’ll also be heading to Philly to see the Eagles v Steelers game.”

Joel scoffs. 

“Got somethin’ to say, old timer?”

He grinds his lips together before saying; “just baffles me s’all. Don’t get how someone—Dallas born ‘n raised—can root for a team from Philadelphia.”

“Just the way it goes. But I did say that I enjoy them from time to time.”

“Shouldn’t be that way.” Tommy interjects. “Texans are meant to support Texan-made teams all the time. Not fuckin’—“

“Tommy.” Joel gestures to the customers, scolding him again for his crudeness. 

You pull cash from your purse while the two of them bicker, putting atop the counter before Joel can even refuse. You shrug on your jacket, too, promptly doing up the buttons so the tension can dissipate a little. But it doesn’t. 

“I’m not arguing with you two morons over football any longer.” A little meaner than intended, you tell the two of them. You turn to Joel, brows furrowing. “And I know why you despise the Eagles; I’m not an idiot. I saw her walking ‘round the place with her scarves in the winter, ‘n the occasional jersey on football Sundays.”

Tommy looks between the two of you, sensing some friction. 

“Don’t project Tess’s shit onto me, Joel.” Blunt, you say. “I’m sorry that I was the reason for her leaving, but it ain’t my fault we have the same interests. You can’t pussyfoot around forever, and I don’t appreciate gettin’ admonished for a fucking football sweatshirt.”

“Don’t.” He warns, wrenching a dish rag between calloused fingertips. He knew that last night’s conversation was deep-rooted in something more than just you being curious. “I’m not pussyfootin’ ‘round. I just don’t wanna talk about her.”

“I know.” You say—realizing that you were a little too hot off the mark—but you don’t feel sorry. “But there’ll always be people who like the same things that she did, or say the same things, or remind you of her.”

He looks at you. He knows what you mean. He knows that you know that—in some kind of way—you make Joel think of her. You’re so strong, like Tess. So outspoken, exactly like her. But you’re caring and kind, and don’t get jealous over the slightest little things, and you let him speak. 

You let him tell you about his troubles, not that he shares too much. And you’re not pushy. But now, it feels like you’re being exactly that. 

“I’m sorry that my mere presence as a Goddamn Eagles fan pisses you off, Joel, but I’m not going to be able to change that. You’ll just have to try and detach those memories—“

The dishrag is being hurled onto the bar along with his fists. “I’m not gonna detach those memories! I ain’t gonna forget her just ‘cus you think you know me and my relationship with that woman so well! You don’t know shit. All you do is come in here ‘n drink coffee, rant about crap that nobody cares about, make me listen to your stupid fuckin’ problems—and I’m sick of it!”

You blink back tears as you stare at him, for the volume is intimidating and completely unwavering. You’ve never been yelled at before—in front of customers, by Joel—and you want to be sick. Everyone is staring. Some people are even leaving. 

Has he always felt this way? You wonder. Has Joel always thought that your ramblings are pointless, and that your issues are facetious? You’re sure that he’s just spewing nonsense at this point, but it still stings. 

“Joel—“

“Get out.” He looks down, hands gripping tightly the wooden countertop. He refuses eye contact. 

Tommy gives you a weak smile, immediately regretting setting foot into Joel’s this morning. Quite like you, really. 

“I’m really sorry for bringing her up, Joel, I know how—“

“Go.” His eyes lift to satisfy your gaze, hurt written over his features. “Please…Just leave.”

“Okay.” You nod, lifting your purse from the stool. It’s a quick bye to Tommy that has those damn tears spilling as you walk to your car, not even looking back to wave or smile at your friend like you usually do. 

You fear that this’ll change the trajectory of your relationship with Joel. And his brother knows that. 

He knows that if he doesn’t say something—at this point, anything—then Joel will just let this sit and fester, and become something that it has absolutely no business being. 

His brother knows that you’re the only constant in his life—aside from family—and if he lets you go, then he’ll be considerably more bleak. He’ll have his patrons to keep him company, but he won’t have you. The girl that has—unbeknownst to her—given Joel something to look forward to every day. 

The girl that Joel can’t help thinking of, or talking about, whenever he gets the chance. And despite not always showing his admiration, he’s besotted with you. Infatuated, perhaps. His fondness so clear that everyone can see it. Everyone, aside from you. 

Especially after that.  

“You’re a fucking jerk.” Tommy chastises. “She shouldn’t have mentioned Tess, but that was horrible—“

“I don’t care.” Through gritted teeth, he tells him. “She took it too far—“

“No, we did.” He admits. “She probably wouldn’t have brought the bitch up if we didn’t tease her for wearing her dad’s fuckin’ sweater.”

Joel swallows the lump in his throat, refusing to admit that Tommy could be right about this. 

“You need’a get a hold of your emotions, brother. Can’t be sendin’ her away like that when we both know you’ve got feelings for her—“

Joel grumbles as he rounds the counter, polishing a few tables in hopes that his sibling will go and leave him to it. But he doesn’t. 

“Can’t let Tess be the reason you two ain’t talkin’. ‘Specially ‘cus she ain’t even in the state anymore.”

Fuck. Off. 

Tommy watches him feign emotion, knowing deep down that his brother wants to beat himself to a pulp because you didn’t deserve any of that. 

“She’s right, y’know?”

“What?” 

Tommy says your name. “She’s right. If you don’t cut ties with the things that remind you of Tess, then you’ll never be happy. Always be comparin’ shit to her, and makin’ yourself miserable. Or miserable-r.”

“That ain’t even a word, dipshit.”

“True, though.” He says. “Joel, you’re so in love with this girl, you can’t let her go over a Goddamn football team—“

“Not in love.”

“Bullshit.” The youngest spits. “You get literal heart eyes whenever you look at her, and don’t even try ‘n deny it ‘cus Maria notices too.”

Joel blinks at him, wondering how he’d been so openly vulnerable. He‘a confused at how he’d unintentionally let his guard down enough to display his feelings. The ones that he wasn’t even certain about. 

“It mightn’t be love, Joel, but you’re mad about this girl.” He says a bit softer. Quieter. “And you can try to put these feelings aside, but what’re you gonna do if she walks in here with another man? Or she goes on more dates and finds the one? You just gonna live with it? Just gonna be jealous and miserable for the rest of your life?”

Joel walks to the café window and just stares for a few moments, secretly hoping to see you stomp across the street to give him a piece of your mind. But you don’t. 

“Think you’ve done enough wallowin’ in the past, don’t you?”

He supposes that he’s right. Joel knows that there’s some truth to what is being said to him, and so he turns the Open sign to Closed, and gestures for Tommy to get the remaining customers to leave. 

“What’re you gonna do?” 

“Make things right.” Joel grabs his jacket from the coat stand beside the door, and throws the shop keys to his brother. “Close up for me, will ‘ya?”

Tommy shakes his head. He gets off of his stool and goes behind the counter, grabbing one of the aprons from the hook beside the kitchen door. 

“Turn the sign back ‘round. You might’ve just lost your most loyal customer, you can’t afford to fuckin’ lose no more.”

Joel just nods. He has no fight left inside of him. He does as told, and storms across the sidewalk to his truck. 

He’s been stationary for the last fuck knows how long, just mentally preparing himself for whatever bullshit will spill from his lips the second he sees you. If you even want to open your door to him. He wouldn’t blame you, if you didn’t. He gave you shit, and kicked you out when you spoke your mind. And the truth. Because, that’s what it was, wasn’t it? As harsh as it might’ve been, it was the truth and it was what he needed to hear. 

It’s been two hours since getting a verbal beat-down and, strangely, he really misses the sound of your voice. The oddly dulcet tone. The sweet, honeyed rhythm that slips from between two of the plushest, softest looking lips he’s ever bared witness to in his entire life. And even though some of the words that fell from them were harsh, he no longer cares. 

If he doesn’t apologize, then he might not get to hear you speak again. And he’ll take several scoldings if it means that he can listen to your beautiful tone. 

Fuck. 

“C’mon, dickhead.” He tells his reflection in the mirror. He eyes himself, wondering whether the hat should stay on or off. Because if he takes it off, then his hair might look bad, but if he keeps it on then you mightn’t be able to take him seriously. 

He’s overthinking it. 

It stays on when he’s lugging his body—warm and palpitating—from the cabin, and onto the gravel of your driveway. He minds the flower beds when his boots hit ground, knowing that he’ll have hell to pay if he crushes your blooms or kicks up any mud.

His breath is hot and heavy. It’s like he’s just ran the Boston fucking marathon, not sit in his truck for the better part of twenty minutes being too much of a pussy to knock at your front door. 

But now he’s strolling to your porch, and can’t put it off any longer. He doesn’t even know if you’re home, but he guesses that you are. The wreath that you got today—golden leaves adorned with acorns and berries—is hanging proudly against the wood that you’ve painted sage. 

He laughs to himself when his hand comes up to knock, number eight. It’s almost comical how the number of your house coalesces with the number of his favorite ex-Cowboys player. But he’s not going to bring that up. Maybe another time. 

Joel takes a few deep breaths, heart only stuttering when he hears your footsteps approaching over the suspended wood flooring. The one that he actually had to help you sand down just eight months ago because you always felt that they looked too dark. Depressing. 

He smiles weakly. It doesn’t last long. When you swing the door open and your face falls, then so does Joel’s. 

“Hi.” He whispers, internally kicking himself for being such a wimp. He clears his throat. “Nice wreath.”

You fight a grin. Your disappointment outweighs any semblance of softness at this very juncture. 

After a few hours of mulling it over—and rage shopping—you’ve come to the conclusion that you were at fault. But Joel certainly didn’t make it any better when he kicked you off the premises after his hurtful monologue. 

“Thanks.” Your cardigan is pulled tightly around your body. Cream always looks so good on you. “Is—uh—is there something that I can help you with?”

Joel looks down for a split second. It feels like forever before he’s looking directly at you again. The thumping inside of his chest hasn’t once subsided since appearing at your street, he’s never felt like this before. At least, he can’t ever remember feeling like this. 

And it’s because of this—feeling—that he’s struggling to extrapolate his inward thoughts. You heed it. You know him like the back of your hand, apparently. His face is sullen—almost remorseful—and eyes hazy. 

Has he been crying? No. He’s probably just really annoyed. He looks like that sometimes when Tommy’s pissed him off, and he needs to vent. 

You shift aside, gesturing for Joel to come in. He hesitates for a moment, before he’s stepping over the threshold and into your beautiful home. The home that presently smells like a mixture of Sandalwood and Lavender, but Neroli and Bergamot in the summer months. 

What the fuck is Bergamot? Why do I know what that smells like?

He takes it in. The subtle scent, the fall decorations that make your cozy home look even more appeasing. It’s cute. It’s put together, clean, and inviting. It’s so you. 

You shut the door behind him when he takes a few paces into the entryway, just watching him. His broad shoulders swathed in soft, green flannel are tipped slightly forward. He’s not holding himself the way that he usually does. 

“Is everything okay, Joel?” You break the silence, shuffling past him through the hallway and to the kitchen. You hear him follow behind. Those heavyset footsteps make your heart ache, for some reason. 

Even by the way he walks—slow, long strides—he seems down. Remorseful, perhaps. And though he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, it’s always easy to tell how he feels. 

“Tea?” You offer without turning around, taking the kettle that’s just come to a boil on the stove. “I have chamomile, green, or English.”

“No coffee?” Your head shakes, pulling two mugs from the small shelf above the counter. Joel sits at your kitchen island. “How come?”

Two English teabags are being lifted from the carton—he didn’t specify, you just guess—and plopped into ceramic. 

“I don’t make my own coffee. Don’t taste the same when I do.”

His heart aches. After skipping a beat, of course. He takes a seat at your kitchen island, watching you potter around, clearly not prepared for a guest. 

“Tea is a little more warming, anyway.” You gesture for the sugar and he shakes his head. “Don’t enjoy coffee when I’m on my own. Only when I’m with someone.”

“That why you always come to see me in the mornin’?”

Faintly, you smile. Your head bobs a little bit, hanging low. 

He says your name. You look at him. “Y’know, if you ever want a coffee outta hours, I’m usually at home. You can come ‘round, if you wanna.”

That strange gnawing sensation returns beside a debilitating thumping. He feels the same, but you don’t know that. 

“Same here.” A weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips and you bring Joel his tea. The white ceramic is festooned with acorns and leaves, and he swears that you’ve just given him one of your best mugs. 

You sip quietly your warm beverage, standing opposite to where he sits in an uncomfortable silence. A lull that neither of you realize lasts an entire minute before you’re clearing your throat, and Joel is still trying to find his words. 

“Listen.” He sets down the tea—the best he’s ever had—and shifts a little bit. Joel tries to avoid eye contact with you, but understands that this is one of the times that he needs to show you just how important this is. It’s not just a casual conversation at the coffee house, anymore. 

You’re facing him fully, now. Eyes wide, lips parted a little bit. 

“I’m really sorry about earlier.” His tone is honest, wreathed with a hint of genuine sadness. “I had no business being such a jerkoff to you, kid. I said some hurtful shit, and I let my mouth get away from me.”

“You were a total dick, Joel.” 

He nods. “I know.”

“And I know that I never shoulda brought her up, but I didn’t think you’d yell at me. In front of everyone.”

He starts to cringe as he remembers what he said. How he said those horrible things. You’re such a sweet girl, he can’t believe he flipped out on you that way. 

“Do you really think that what comes outta my mouth is crap?”

“No, of course not—“

“Is everything I say fucking pointless?”

“Hon—no—no, of course not.” Joel fumbles his words a bit, just glad that he didn’t refer to you as any other embarrassing fucking pet name. He's not even sure that you caught it, what with being blinded by such a haze of anger. 

You do, though. You just don’t acknowledge it. 

Your thumb loops through the glossy handle, and you look into your mug. 

“I choose to start each morning the same way; at your café. I don’t do it because I want to come in and ruin your day by ranting, or spillin’ my guts about shitty dates and bad friends.” You refuse eye contact, still watching the tea slosh around as you move the cup ever so slightly. “I do it because I like you, Joel. You’re a great guy, and make my days a little bit easier. I’d even go so far as to consider you one of my friends. But, if you don’t feel that way—“

“Hey.” He reaches out for your hand. He’s surprised that you don’t pull away when his tan flesh meets yours so suddenly. Joel asks you to look at him, and you oblige. 

It’s so sad. Your eyes—so full of hurt—now locked on his. Soft, warm fingers wound between his thick digits. He frowns. 

“Listen to me.” Stern, though soft, he tells you. “Of course I feel that way. I tell you shit that I ain’t even told my own brother, ‘course I see you as a friend. Probably the only person I’d even wanna spend time with, if I’m honest.”

“You’re just sayin’ that, ‘cus you hurt my feelings—“

“No, I ain’t.” Joel shakes his head, trying to ignore the fact that he hurt your feelings. “I’m serious.”

“As a heart attack?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, kiddo, as a heart attack.”

Eyes roll at the sentiment, wondering whether there’ll ever be a time where Joel doesn’t refer to you as kid or kiddo. He tells you that it’s because he’s a lot older than you, but you both know there’s not even a ten year gap between the pair of you. He’s just dramatic and wishing his life away. 

“I’m—uh—I’m no good at this shit.” He looks down, a little curl poking through the back strap of his cap catches your eye. “Feelings, ‘n all.”

Instinctively, your thumb traces over the skin of his hand. You nod. You know. 

He's not the most sentimental person—nor does he cogitate  with his heart—but Joel is one of the most thoughtful men you’ve ever met, and these last few days have you feeling a different way about him. You can’t say that it’s a crush—crushes are for kids, is what your mother often tells you—but it’s certainly something. 

You’re just worried about the fact that he can’t let go of Tess. 

“Don’t gotta explain feelings, sweetie.” You tell him with a smile, reaching for your mug. The tea is cool, now. A little bit easier to drink than when it was piping hot and burning the roof of your mouth. “Just gotta feel ‘em, that’s all. Explain once you understand.”

You take a sip of the drink you made a short while ago, hands detaching. Joel almost feels weak without your touch, now. But he supposes that had it lasted any longer, he’d crumble. 

“Always know what to say, dontcha?”

“I do.” Conceited—though completely satirical—you say. He smiles, and so do you. “But in all seriousness, Joel, I know that you appreciate me. And I know that today was a complete one-off, but I just gotta know one thing.”

“Go for it.”

You suck in a breath, hating where you’re about to lead the conversation. “Did last night make you think differently of me? Y’know, when I asked those questions and pried a little?”

Joel’s heart thumps. Again. He doesn’t know how to say yeah, last night changed everything. But not ‘cus of what you asked me. 

He supposes that he can’t lie to you. He’s as transparent as a pane of fucking glass, at this point. 

“No. Definitely not.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Really. You had the right to know. Nothin’ has changed.”

Liar. 

He’s looking at you with those big fucking heart eyes that his brother teased him about earlier, and he knows it. He knows that he’s smitten. Truly, Joel is more than conscious of the fact that he’s falling—or more appropriately, fallen—for you, but he’s not at liberty to say. 

“You can tell me, y’know?”

He nods. “I know. There’s nothin’ to tell.”

“Okay.” Your tone is skeptical. He’s lying. 

He’s also been sitting here for far too long and is in desperate need of a long, cold shower to wash away the day and shirk any feelings before they come to bite him on his perfectly round ass. So he gets up—pushing the seat back beneath the island—and smiles at you. 

“Left Tommy behind the counter?”

Joel nods. “Yeah. He’s probably cussin’ me out right ‘bout now.”

Your laugh is genuine. Hearty. “Best get back then, hon.”

Joel’s mouth goes dry when his lips part to speak. Nothing materializes. Not even when he’s walking to the front door—you’re hot on his heels—can he figure out what to say. 

He’s opening it before he’s even certain of what he’s doing. 

“Miller.” You say and he turns around. He can’t help looking directly at your lips. “I’ll see ‘ya tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He coughs. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He’s about to walk away—and you’re about to shut the door—before he’s leaning over the threshold and letting all rationality dissipate. Joel’s left hand meets the doorframe—mere inches from your own—and his breathing grows sporadic. 

Well, now or never, I ‘spose. 

Your fingers tingle, legs weaken. It’s only a split second, but it feels like an eternity that Joel is just standing there; staring at you. He’s waiting to make a move, you’re almost certain of it. 

“You gonna do somethin’?” You taunt, tilting your head a little. It almost snaps him out of his anxiety-induced haze. It eggs him on, if anything. 

“Fuck—shit—yeah.” Joel steps forward so that he’s no longer leaning, and the tips of his boots meet your toes. He’s careful not to stand on them. It’s sweet. 

He’s sweet. 

“C’mere.” He’s telling you when one of his calloused hands meets the nape of your neck, and both of yours are instinctively pawing at his chest. The soft, white  jersey beneath that customary flannel is like satin against your fingertips. He draws you in closer. “I lied.”

“‘Bout what?” You whisper, letting Joel’s hand shift to your cheek. It’s hard not to melt into his touch. 

His thumb brushes over your skin. You wilt beneath it. 

“Last night.” Your eyes are locked. “Everythin’ has changed.”

You nod. You feel the same way.

“And I dunno how to go ‘bout this, ‘cus I can’t do this whole lovey-dovey crap, but I do know that I wanna kiss you.”

He pulls you forward so that your faces are almost touching, and your hands have no choice but to rest atop the peaks of his glorious shoulders. This is something you only could’ve dreamed of. You and Joel in this position—on your doorstep—like something out of a fucking romcom, or Gilmore Girls. 

C’mon, man. Kiss her. 

The man’s heart juts in his throat. Two noses graze one another—when Joel angles his face so that he’s not pushing too firmly against yours—and you can’t help smiling wide at the prospect of Joel Miller, grumpiest man in Birch Grove, taking a liking to you. 

It’s almost as if your entire time with Joel flashes before your eyes—all of the early mornings and late nights spent at his coffee house, the stories shared and secrets told—and everything comes to a head in this particular moment. 

Your smile doesn’t falter. Not even when his lips meet yours, and he pushes the most dulcet kiss against your mouth. It’s so gentle. Nothing more than a delicate peck, but so passionate in the sense that; the two of you need this. The tenderness of the other’s touch—the sweet, cloying taste of sugar on your tongue meshed with malt from the tea—is welcomed almost immediately, accommodated by an unexpected desire and thirst for intimacy. 

And though it is but a peck, the two of you know that this is the start of something. Something completely unexplainable and somewhat unexpected, but something nonetheless. 

You’re the first to pull away. He’s too enamored with you. 

“Joel.” You breathe against his lips. Cheeks are flushed red, eyes hooded and completely blown with lust. “Thanks for comin’ here, and apologizing.”

“Thanks for acceptin’ my apology.” He tells you. Joel takes a step back—not before running his thumb over your skin one last time—for fear of initiating something else. “Wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t wanna.”

“Don’t go sayin’ that. ‘Course I’ll always accept your apologies.”

Joel’s heart rate must be through the roof at this point. 

“Even if I run outta maple hazel syrup?”

A gasp falls from your lips and you feign anguish. You soon smile. He looks at his wristwatch, and sighs. 

“I better get goin’. Left Tommy alone a while, now. Not sure if I’ll have a cafe to get back to, if I keep him any longer.”

You laugh. “Go on. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“If it hasn’t been burned to the ground, you mean?”

“Yeah, if it hasn’t been burned to the ground.”

Joel nods. He’s fishing about the pocket of his flannel for the key. 

“Enjoy the rest of your day, hon.”

His cheeks heat up. “Yeah, you too, kid.”

You can’t help letting out a little ha ha when he’s getting into his truck, and you’re watching from your post against the doorframe. When he gives you a little wave, he pulls away and you’re ambling back into your hallway. Satisfied. Though somewhat confused. 

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the trajectory of this day, and you suppose that nothing will ever come close. You just need to figure out what happens next. 

[eufezco]

NIGHT RIDES WITH LOGAN༄

logan x afab!reader (smut) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!)

logan spends all day working and you get bored.

when he finally gets home at night he is too tired to do anything but collapse in your bed, between your arms and with your hands caressing his hair. you want to spend some time with him, you miss his company, but you know that work drains all his energy and you would never hold it against him, he did everything he could to provide for the four of you. so you eventually found a way to spend some time with logan.

you booked his limousine.

the first time his brow furrowed in confusion as you opened the door to get into the car. —what are you doing here?

—wanted to spend some time with you.

—you know this makes me loose fucking money.

—you can put in the app that you're free, i won't be a bother, i promise.

and logan huffs but agrees because he's upset but at the same time it's comforting to have you there. he starts driving and you start talking, and he listens, smiles and hums to everything you say. he likes to listen to you and how you have the need to tell him about every thought that goes through your head.

and you turn up the radio a little and hum and sing all the songs while logan is focused on driving but you can see how his fingers tap the rhythm of the song on the steering wheel. he's happy to have you there with him.

and sometimes logan drives with a hand on your thigh, caressing and squeezing the inside of it or taking your hand and putting it on the shifter under his. other times you have your feet on his lap while logan drives, innocently at first, but then you start to rub his crotch with them and he looks at your feet and then he looks at you, looking back at him as if you were doing nothing.

so logan has to park in the darkest alley he knows and fuck you dumb in the back seats. he has you sitting with your legs spread open, knees to your chest, and his body between them as his hips slam into you. may not seem to be the most comfortable position, but remember it's a limousine so you have all the space you need.

it's even better when you ride him. you straddle him and his big hands are on your hips, helping you to bounce on his cock. he grunts and pants into your mouth. he spanks your ass, sucks on your nipples, and looks at you in awe, with parted lips trying to control his breathing as you ride him with your eyes closed shut and your hands on his chest.

there comes a moment when your legs start shaking, your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders and your movements become more desperate, you can't stop moaning and by the way, you're squeezing his cock, logan knows you're about to cum. so he starts bucking his hips upwards to meet yours. and the limousine is moving, the windows are fogging up and you are sure that they can hear from outside the car.

one night he was driving these girls to this party and you were sitting quietly in the passenger seat. the girls were drinking and having the time of their lives in the back of the limousine, laughing and dancing to the music. and all of a sudden one of them called logan and flashed her tits to him through the rearview mirror.

you clenched your jaw, turned around, threw yourself at her, and pulled from her hair. you slapped her and she slapped you back, and logan had to stop the car and get in the middle of the fight. he apologized and offered the girls the ride for free, also they were drunk enough to not care too much. you sat in the passenger seat with your cheek burning and blood coming out of your nose until he dropped the girls at the party. then he used the alcohol he had in his glove compartment to clean your wound.

other night logan stopped driving so you could get a snack. when you got out of the limousine and started walking to the store, a random man slapped your ass. logan never felt so much anger before. he got out with his fists clenched and punched the man so hard that he broke his own knuckles.

—you can't do that, you know how much it takes for you to heal...

he grunted as you wrapped his knuckles with a bandage. he didn’t care, he’d do it again.

and there are nights when it gets very late and logan still has a couple of hours of work but you can't keep it up any longer so you lean your head against the window and fall asleep. logan can't watch you sleep so uncomfortably so he quickly drives home and carries you in his arms to your bed. you hum when he picks you up and he mumbles the sweetest things for you to not wake up.

—sh, it's okay, i got you. you're home, baby, you need to sleep and i'll be with you before you know.

he tucks you into your shared bed and kisses your forehead before he leaves. you hum when you feel his lips. —love you, lo.

—love you too, baby.

and when he gets back to the car he rubs his face to clear his mind because he'd have loved to get into bed and sleep with you but sadly he has to continue working. he opens the glove compartment to take a sip of his alcohol and when he does, he finds your panties, crumpled into a small ball waiting for him.

he takes them and he can feel how wet they are thanks to his cum mixing with your juices. logan brings them close to his face and takes a deep breath. then he puts them inside his pocket. —you're gonna be the fucking death of me.

[snipersfucker]

An apology, but we all want to read how they are inside and possibly the Autobots lose control when what they have been imagining for so long happens (like Mirage / Bee / or Optimus) you made us addicted to you writing

there are special little places where yall can get help with your addiction!! im not the remedy!! (i bite the walls every single time i get a compliment) ALSO lets just pretend bees vocal cords werent ripped out to the point he couldn't moan like a slut :) dubcon:/

Bee was desperate.

The way your hips swayed when you walked, the way the soft tone of your voice echoed in the insides of his helm, the way you'd wrap your fragile fingers around his steering wheel and squeeze it ever so slightly in a playful manner—he needed you.

And one day, after spending countless nights on imagining you stretched out on his throbbing spike, your tits bouncing with every slap of his hips against your bare ass, he finally got the honour of actually seeing you underneath him, not just picturing it in his mind.

Bee was desperate for you, but he was also shy. Which meant that you had to initiate all the talks, all the touches, and all the kisses. However, when he finally understood that he had you exactly where he wanted you, and when he heard you vocalise your desire for him, he just couldn't stop himself.

The soft exchange of pecks on each others' lips turned into a heated make-out session, his glossa quickly asking for permission to slip into your mouth just so he could get a proper taste for the first time. His metal body began overheating as soon as he felt your body straddling his lap, your legs on both side of his hips. Your bold move made him only crave more of your touch, him barely able to restrain himself from just having his way with you, manhandling you until you'd beg for him to stop absolutely ruining you for the pleasure of you both.

And he wanted to continue making a mess with his lips on yours, especially when you were making so many sweet noises just for him... But he had to take things further, feeling like his spark might just explode if he didn't.

So he pulled away slowly, making eye contact with you for just a mere second, only to see the needy expression on your face, which gave him a silent permission to jump right into what he'd planned to do. His lips quickly found their place on the side of your neck, his servos landing on your hips, subconsciously pushing your core into his abdomen to create more friction between you.

He began licking, kissing, nibbling, and sucking the skin gently into his intake to create pretty bruises on your neck which would show anyone that you belonged to him.

Your breaths were getting heavier, much more chaotic, them hitching in your throat every time he paid special attention to a particularly sensitive spot. Your needy whimpers were mixing with the sound of his vents trying to stop him from overheating, his reaction to you making you want more of him than you already had.

And you didn't know you already had him whole. He was yours.

"Bee, please..." you whined, your eyes closed shut, hands on both of his shoulders with a strong grip which he didn't mind at all.

Your words made him transform the area under his abdomen, now a hard spike on full display, its length slapping against your stomach with every intense throb. He didn't stop taking care of your neck for even a second, every whimper and groan of desperation being muffled by your skin as he continuously planted wet kisses all the way down from your jaw to your collarbone.

He was growing impatient.

His spike touching you was sending constant pleasurable electric shocks down his bipedalism cord, his spark nearly exploding when you grinded against it with your clothed core.

The grip of his digits on your hips tightened, and you'd probably have endless bruises on your sweet, soft skin tomorrow, and this thought should've made him feel at least a tad bad but he adored knowing that he left something while doing such sinful things with you.

When you moved and brushed against his length again, he groaned in impatience, pulling away just to lift the hem of your loose shirt with his digit to signal to you that he needed it off. You made eye contact with him as you got rid of the piece of clothing on your upper half. But it wasn't enough for him—he had to have you naked against him, every inch of your warm, human skin against his hot, metal one.

Before his digit moved to the waistline of your pants, you were already unbuttoning and unzipping them, getting out of his lap just to be able to take them off fully alongside with your panties, them ending up somewhere on the floor, probably next to your shirt.

His optics immediately shot to your cunt, the temptation to put his spike inside you overwhelming his body. He didn't even wait patiently for you to get back onto his lap on your own, as soon as he stopped devouring the sight of you in front of him in just a bra, he immediately pulled you towards him with both servos on your hips again, placing you on his lap, exactly where you belonged at that moment.

Now your bare core was brushing against his spike, and he couldn't refrain himself from letting a couple of desperate noises roll off him glossa. You decided to undress fully for him, taking your bra off and tossing it onto the pile of long forgotten clothes. His optics could barely take in the view before his lips found themselves on your tits, his intake giving attention to both, switching from teasing, licking and kissing the left one to doing exactly the same to the right one. Your hardened nipples made it possible for him to gently bite them, making you buckle your hips and moan his name shamelessly, your own noises not allowing you to hear your thoughts, as if there was anything else on your mind other than how good Bee's glossa felt when it curled up on your nipple, it getting sucked into his intake.

The remains of self-control he could find within himself were slipping through his digits, the force of his touches increasing with every passing second. At the same time, he was also getting more and more intense reactions from you, your body craving more as it pressed against his.

Bee groaned, impatience getting the better of him, as he wrapped his arm around your fragile, human body, lifting you up with your chest still to his.

He moved fast like a starving man, placing you gently on the hard floor of the garage, its coldness radiating to your body, adding a completely new sensation. You arched your back, exposing your chest even more to him, hoping he'd put his mouth on your already swollen and sensitive nipples, but he seemed to have other plans when, without a heads-up, he grabbed the back of both your thighs, and lifted up your hips so that now the only body parts of yours making contact with the cement underneath you were your upper back and your head.

Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head as you bit your lip to stop yourself from whimpering at the absolutely sinful sight of Bee kneeling down and hovering over you, spreading your legs and holding them pressed to your chest for better access to your dripping cunt.

You felt the tip of his spike teasing your hole which has been clenching over nothing for the past couple of minutes, finally about to get what it needed the most. And then, with one swift motion, Bee slid into you, the wet sound of his length entering your core echoed against the walls of your head.

A loud moan escaped the depths of your throat, lips parted, eyes closed themselves shut before you could even stop them, wanting to watch as the robot began trying to bottom out inside your warm cunt, but unfortunately his spike was too big for you to take for now.

It felt good. The pain from being so suddenly stretched out around him mixed with the pleasure from his spike hitting all the sweet spots inside you with the very first thrust of his hips.

Bee felt as if he no longer had control over his own body, the feeling of you wrapped around him, your warm cunt so inviting to just ruin it without second thoughts. And he could find absolutely no strength within himself to stop the almost animalistic desire to make you his in every meaning of this word.

His optics were trained on your face for mere seconds before his gaze shifted to the place where your bodies connected, your cunt covered in your own slick, the hole visibly stretched out to take his spike, even if it was only a half of his full length.

The idea of pushing the entire thing in only made him groan, the images of the bulge in your lower stomach he'd create flashing in front of his optics.

He threw his head back when he felt you clench around him, the sensation too much to handle.

You knew he was about to begin pounding into you as if it was the only thing he was made to do, the expression on his face and the look he was giving you the entire time confirming it.

"Bee..." you whined his name, not being fully aware what that sweet tone of your voice was doing to him.

So he just positioned himself better, pressing your thighs harder to your chest, taking almost the entire length of his spike out of your begging cunt, only to slam into you and put even more of him inside you.

You couldn't even control the noises escaping you anymore, your head thrown back because of the overwhelming pleasure.

Bee has had enough of waiting, the memory of him sitting in the corner of this garage, his spike in his servo as he kept fisting himself, overloading onto the hard floor multiple times just to get some relief after having to watch you walk around in your damned little dresses, your hips innocently swaying, your tits deliciously bouncing with every step.

Before you could register it, the robot was destroying your needy cunt with aggressive pounding, feeling as if he able to put more and more inches inside you with every slam of his hips against your ass.

His speed and the way he could hit all the best spots, even though the tip of his spike was kissing your cervix, made you constantly moan out loud, as if the walls of the garage were soundproof.

He kept making noises as well, although his were much deeper, more frustrated, as if he was chasing something he was so closed to catch but right before getting it, it'd just slip away from him.

He thought of this moment for a long time, the pink transfluid painting his servos on many occasions as he was imagining you in this exact position underneath him, squirming in pleasure.

But then, he came up with an even better idea, his body immediately following through, without even analysing it. He stopped mercilessly pounding into you just to manhandle you on your stomach, lifting your backside by your hips, spreading your legs to allow him to penetrate your needy cunt even more deeply. He positioned himself over you, his spike yet again pressing against your core for just a second before finally entering you once more. He didn't even waste time on preparing you to take him, just like the first time he pushed his length inside your pussy.

Now he had the opportunity to properly grope and slap your ass as much as he pleased, his hips constantly hitting it with every hard thrust he'd make. Tears began forming in the corner of your eyes, the feeling of being so perfectly stuffed by his spike making you shudder, moan and squirm beneath him.

His movements were rapid and chaotic, but he never slowed down, only increasing his speed, making mental notes of the noises you were making while he was fucking you so good.

"Bee, 't hurts..." you whimpered weakly in-between your loud, slutty moans, him taking it as an encouragement to continue ruining your cunt which was now clenching around him more than ever before. His one servo went to the back of your head tilted to the side, his digits gently stroking your hair as if it was supposed to help ease the pain mixing with pleasure, while the other one was still on your hip, pulling your body towards him at the same time he was pushing at it, making your skins hit each other with even more force.

You told him it hurt you but he couldn't stop.

He felt himself getting closer and closer to overloading, the warmth of your cunt getting sweetly unbearable as his movements became more sloppy, yet still as hard as before.

"Fuck." Curses kept spilling from your sinful mouth, feeling his thick spike throb inside you, indicating that he was probably about to finish.

The discomfort and pain of his metal hips hitting your much softer backside were slowly becoming less and less noticeable as complete pleasure washed over you, making you a wet, moaning mess underneath him.

With his two servos on your hips, he increased the speed of his movements once more, chasing the so desired release.

"Bee, please..." you whined again, your tits bouncing with every thrust, your hardened nipples brushing against the rough floor, "Overload in me..."

Your words were enough to tip him over the edge. With only a few more harsh slams into your tight cunt, he felt himself spurting his thick transfluid into your cervix, multiple groans and whimpers leaving his intake as he did so. He kept fucking the pink liquid into your cunt, not wanting a single drop to escape.

You could still feel his hard, metal hips hitting your ass, all until you clenched around him so tightly, he swore he could overload again just from that sensation alone. You came all over his thick spike, moaning loudly, your body shaking with indescribable pleasure from both his rough pounding as well as the knowledge that his transfluid was deep inside you.

Bee didn't pull out instantly, his thrusts decreasing in speed and force with every passing second, trying to ride out the remains of his and yours overloads.

You were panting and the robot was most definitely overheating, his metal body much hotter in touch than ever before, now his chassis pressed against your back as he began planting gentle kisses to your hair, his vents not being able to catch up.

After a long time that didn't feel long enough for him, he decided to pull away and take his spike out of your core filled with his transfluid, practically begging him to just fuck it again. But now, that his lust for you was somehow taken care of, he could regain the control over his body, and allow you to rest after getting absolutely ruined by him.

You rolled over onto your back yourself, clenching your thighs together when you felt his pink juices flooding out of you, wanting to keep them there for as long as possible. He smiled at your attempts to keep him inside you, the desire growing in his optics once again.

Bee gently wrapped his servos around your bare, exhausted body, lifting you up to place you down on the sofa he was previously occupying with you in his lap. As soon as you felt the plush against the skin of your back, you pulled the robot in your direction with your hands on both sides of his helm, making him bend his body so that you could kiss him passionately for the last time that night, knowing that he was most likely about to leave you to take care of his Autobot duties. He obliged without complaining, ready to slide into you again right then and there. And how disappointed he was when you pulled away with a soft smile, exhaustion finally catching up to you...

The corner of his slips curled up as he looked around in search for something to put on you. An abandoned blanket sitting on a wooden chair since he could remember would do. Before you could even notice he left you alone on the sofa, he was back, covering you from the neck down quickly but still making sure your whole body was under the soft fabric.

"Prime needs you?" you asked in a weak tone, your voice now only confirming how tired you actually were.

Prime needed him but he needed you.

Bee only nodded, to which you responded softly, "I'll stay here." And before he could even give you any sort of a physical confirmation that he got that, you already closed your eyes with a content expression written all over your face.

He smirked to himself, the sweet feeling of finally achieving his goal washing over him, him practically having been able to live in his dreams for a moment. His smile only widened when he came to a realisation...

He finally managed to mark you as his.

don't know if i made it he-lost-control enough but i tried and that's what counts in my books. also, i made it an oneshot but if you wanted separate hcs for these characters ill be more than willing to write it

[halfadiamond]

Bodyguard Ghost x Bratty Reader

Based off this idea

CW: car sex (is it semi public?), sex (blowjob, riding, eating out), MDNI, he’s a little mean

Bodyguard Ghost who is told that your family is of high status and that they requested the military to come and guard you. As much as he wants to say no, the family has paid a high amount that he reluctantly says yes.

Bodyguard Ghost who expects this to be an easy job as he sees the amount of bodyguards protecting you. It’s not until he sees them give him a pitiful look that he questions who in the hell is he guarding.

Bodyguard Ghost who realizes what exactly he signed up for when he comes into your room and sees you refusing to leave the house without your favorite pink purse. The poor bodyguards begging you to leave without it but you’re adamant that you want it. He just stands and watches for awhile before he comes over and picks you up, carries you over his shoulder, and takes you out of the house and into the car.

Bodyguard Ghost who feels his patience thinning as he struggles with getting you to put on your seatbelt (it’s too tight you tell him) or how you want to go shopping then out to eat even after he said that’s not a part of your schedule. He clutches onto the steering wheel as he hears you complaining about various things (he’s driving too fast— no he’s not, you don’t want to go meet your family for dinner— it’s a family get together, he’s too mean— you’re too bratty he tells you).

Bodyguard Ghost who finally loses his temper after a week of guarding you. He once again has to carry you to the car and has to listen to you complaining about not wanting to go to family party because you’re tired and it’s time for you to sleep (no it’s not, you love staying up but he keeps quiet now instead of talking back). It’s when you call him an asshole that he finally loses it, and he drives off to an abandoned parking lot.

Bodyguard Ghost who gives you a quick look over as you don’t seem frightened that you’re somewhere other than the party. You seem smug knowing that he lost it, it’s there he realizes that he fell right into your trap. And it frustrates him— knowing that he lost his patience, that you’re such a brat, and you don’t seem ashamed of it.

Bodyguard Ghost who lets it all out and complains about everything. He makes sure to let it be known that you’re the biggest brat he’s ever seen and when he’s done with his spiel, he looks to see your reaction and you don’t care. At all. You even mock him and tell him to discipline you then. Big mistake.

—

Bodyguard Ghost who sits in the back seat with you, naked from the waist down, as he fucks your mouth. He loves the sounds of your gagging and your throat as he feels it around his cock. He relishes in the sweet sounds you make as he continues fucking your mouth. When he feels close to cumming, he makes sure to let you know to swallow it.

Bodyguard Ghost who has you ride his cock after. Everytime you complain about the roof of the car, hitting your head as you’re bouncing on his cock, he slaps your ass and tells you that this is what you deserve. Everytime you feel close to cumming, he either makes you slow down or stop, denying you of your orgasm. This continues on as he calls you a brat who can’t listen and that you’re not cumming until you apologize for all the trouble you caused him.

Bodyguard Ghost who gives a you subtle smile as he finally gets you to apologize for your actions and promise to be good for him— just let me cum, you beg him. He finally relents as he fucks you roughly, making you hold onto the seat as you feel his cock deep inside you. It keeps on going until you finally cum, feeling your cunt pulse around him makes him cum too. He bites your neck as he cums deep inside of you.

Bodyguard Ghost who doesn’t have any wipes to clean you up so he decides to eat you out. He makes it quick because he’s pretty sure you’re about to be late. He’s a messy eater and laps up your slick and his cum. Once he’s satisfied, he fixes yours and his outfits and drives off to the party.

Bodyguard Ghost who helps you out of the car and into the party. He keeps his hand on your back as he leads you to your family. The bodyguards call it luck as they notice that you’re not fighting back like usual and you’re doing whatever Ghost says.

Bodyguard Ghost who gives a glare to anyone that is looking at you. Some look in concern as they see your wobbly legs while some look in smug realization as they realize that the brat has finally been tamed.

I think I write faster in this format and it’s fun too

Also Ghost and Price give me brat tamer vibes

[rafessecret]

I had this lil thought of bf¡JJ x reader fucking against the window of stepbro¡rafe’s car… but they don’t know he’s in the driver’s seat behind ultra-tinted windows. And he just can’t help himself as he watches and wishes jr was him 🙊

⋆˚࿔ step¡sister reader && rafe cameron

LIAR.

You’re Rafe’s sweet little stepsister—his golden girl. The one he watches over like it’s his god-given right. Always in short skirts, always giggling like you don’t know what you’re doing to him. You’re the kind of girl who doesn’t need to try—effortless, innocent, too good to be touched. And Rafe? He makes sure no one gets too close.

If he knew about JJ, he’d lose his mind.

Which is why you keep it a secret.

JJ meets you behind Tannyhill, late at night, heart pounding in his chest as you tug him toward Rafe’s truck. It’s reckless—so fucking risky—but that’s what makes it exciting. The truck’s parked under a streetlight, tinted windows like pitch, and you pull JJ around to the passenger side, out in the open, your skirt already hitched up.

You don’t know Rafe’s in the front seat.

He hasn’t moved. Hasn’t made a sound. He just watches. Sees the way your lips find JJ’s. How your fingers shake as they push his shirt up. The way your pretty little giggles melt into soft moans when JJ mouths at your throat, sucking gently, whispering against your skin:

❝Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty like this. My girl. Can’t believe you’re mine.❞ He palms your ass over your skirt, grinding you back against the cold steel of Rafe’s truck. You gasp, soft and breathy, clinging to his shoulders. ❝We shouldn’t—Rafe—he’d freak out,❞ you whisper. ❝I don’t care,❞ JJ breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. ❝I’d do anything just to have you like this.❞

Inside the truck, Rafe’s cock is already straining against his jeans, throbbing with every desperate thud of his heart. His jaw clenches tight enough to ache. His breath comes rough, slow, tortured as he watches you—those sweet lips parting, lashes fluttering down—while JJ hauls you up by your thighs. Your panties slip to the dirt, forgotten, your bare ass pressed to the cool metal of Rafe's beloved truck.

Rafe's hand shoves under the waistband of his jeans, stroking his aching cock in slow, shuddering drags. Breathes you in like he’s starved for it. JJ's voice rumbles rough against your kiss-bruised mouth: ❝Are you going to let me fuck you right here? Right up against his car, like the dirty little girl you are?❞ You whimper, nodding fast, desperate: ❝Please, JJ. Want it so bad.❞

Rafe’s knuckles go bone-white on the steering wheel. His cock throbs hot and furious in his palm. His breathing’s wrecked — wild and shallow — as JJ lines himself up and pushes in. One slow, deep thrust. You cry out, clinging to JJ's shoulders, nails raking down his back as the thick stretch leaves you trembling, arching off the truck. ❝Shh, baby, I got you,❞ JJ soothes, mouthing at your throat. ❝You feel so fuckin' tight. Like this pussy was made for me.❞

The sound of skin slapping fills the humid night, wet and filthy, broken only by your soft whimpers and JJ's thick groans. He’s fucking you hard now, rougher, like he knows you can take it. One hand slung under your thigh, the other pressed to your lower back, holding you open for him. You’re gasping, moaning, melting in his hands, your body jerking with every hard thrust. Your skirt’s bunched around your waist, tits bouncing under your baby tee, messy hair spilling down your back. Rafe’s eyes drink it in — every inch of you undone, begging, perfect.

Precum leaks messy and warm over Rafe’s fist, and he strokes faster now, messy and frantic, whispering curses under his breath. ❝You love this, don’t you?❞ JJ pants into your mouth, teeth scraping your lip. ❝Love getting fucked like a slut right against your stepbrother's truck?❞ You sob out a yes, so broken, so needy: ❝Yes, JJ—fuck—yes!❞ Rafe's cock kicks hard in his hand. His body jolts, hips twitching as he fists himself harder. God, he can't breathe. Can't think. You're his perfect girl—his sweet, innocent thing—and you’re getting split open for someone else.

It should be him. It should be him. ❝Fucking bitch,❞ he mutters darkly, watching the way your pussy takes it — the way you fall apart. His vision goes hazy with rage and want, thick drool of cum already spilling across his knuckles. ❝Cum for me, baby,❞ JJ grits against your ear, rutting up into you. ❝Want him to see. Want him to fucking hear it.❞ And you do. God, you do. Your body locks up, a high, broken sob ripping from your chest as you cum hard around him, your pussy squeezing tight and wet and greedy. JJ groans loudly, grinding deep, and spills inside you with a shuddering grunt.

Rafe’s hips buck up violently, cock spurting thick and hot all over his own hand and jeans. He bites down on his knuckles, growling low, eyes locked on your wrecked body — on the sticky, glistening mess dripping down your thighs. Later, when you’re sneaking up the creaky Tannyhill stairs, cheeks flushed, thighs sticky, your little hand clutches the bannister like you can’t quite walk straight. You tiptoe past Rafe’s room, heart pounding. You don't know he’s already home. You don't know he's watching you. Lurking in the dark. Cock still aching. Already planning how he's going to make you pay for it.

You shower. Change into your softest sleep shirt. You wipe JJ from between your thighs with a flush in your cheeks and a racing heart, swearing Rafe won’t know. That he can’t. He’d lose it. You’re in bed when he knocks once, then lets himself in like always. Hair tousled, jaw tight. The air shifts. ❝Hey, princess,❞ he says, voice smooth. Too smooth. You blink up at him. Smile.

❝Hi, Rafe.❞ He leans against your doorframe, arms crossed. His eyes roam over your face, your shirt, and your bare thighs. There’s something knowing in the way he lingers. ❝You do anything fun tonight?❞ You shrug, casual, light. ❝Not really. Just stayed in.❞ Liar. His jaw ticks. ❝Nobody came over?❞ You shake your head. ❝Nope. Just me.❞

He steps forward. You don’t move. He stops at the edge of your bed, staring down at you, eyes dark. ❝You sure about that?❞ You blink up at him again, wide-eyed. Innocent. It would be so easy to believe you. But Rafe knows better. He knows exactly what you sound like when you cum.

And when he leans down, grabs your jaw, and kisses you—it’s not soft. It’s harsh. A warning. His mouth is hot and punishing, tasting of control and obsession. When he pulls back, you’re panting. ❝You’re mine,❞ he growls. Then he leaves. You lie back, throat tight, JJ's cum still warm between your legs. And your heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : not gonna lie, I wasn’t even gonna do this at first because I just don’t love writing for jj, but the idea of rafe perving and being all jealous got me sooo bad. I do like the concept of this way better for me hehe. thank you so much anon for sending it in!

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf @sydneysslut

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[sexlapis]

⌗ out back

── .✦ levi ackerman x female!reader

જ⁀➴ kink wheel challenge: public sex + levi

nsfw, public sex, short fic, rough sex, petnames, reader wears a dress, levi’s a little mean, no pronouns or gender mentioned

↳ sometimes, you and levi feel very needy.

a/n: i saw someone else doing this kink wheel thing and i thought hey…i can do that!

masterlists

*

It doesn’t take long for Levi to lose his patience.

How couldn’t he? With the the way you look in that satin dress, draping over your body so perfectly and your nipples perking up for attention beneath the fabric, how could he possibly help himself?

On the last Friday of every month, you and Levi promised each other that you would have a date night. Due to his busy schedule early in the relationship, you were beginning to feel lonely, almost neglected at how much focus he put into work over you. So, such an agreement had to be formed.

That’s how you find yourselves in the dark, dirty alleyway behind the restaurant after politely excusing yourself from the table, Levi following along shortly after.

Like a puppy.

A small, intimidating little puppy.

Bent in front of the side of the restaurant, flimsy panties chain your ankles, your dainty dress folded over your hips cheek smushed up against the rough clay and palms pressed upon the brick wall as Levi eases into you from behind.

It’s uncharacteristic of him, to have sex with you in the open, let alone a place so unclean. But you don’t think he minds.

“…In this filthy place? You’d want to fuck in a damn dumpster, wouldn’t you?”

“Shush! Stop being so serious, L-“

A long whine pours out of you at the filling feeling, cutting off your sentence completely. It’s quickly snuffed out by Levi’s swat to your asscheeks.

You yelp. “Hey!”

“Shut up. We don’t need anyone else hearing your loud mouth.”

You go to retort, but he starts bucking into you hard.

One hand leaves the wall to cover your own mouth, smothering your would-be rowdy noises as Levi grips your hips harshly and pounds into you, pulling you back into to hips, encouraging you to meet his brilliant thrusts.

The whimpers are poorly covered by your hand. It’s pitiful and futile, really. With the force of his strokes, the increase in his pace, the fullness of his cock crowding your weeping pussy and the way his ballsacks slaps your folds with each fuck, there’s no way you can keep quiet.

His eyes are focused on your bouncing ass, admiring the way it ripples off his hips, seemingly hypnotised by the movement. He pants.

You look back at him and notice where his attention lies.

You bite back a smirk, wiggling your hips. “‘Like the view?”

Levi’s head snaps back up. He takes one look at your smug, grinning face, and decides to shut you up, once and for all.

Levi slows his thrusts and pulls out, partly to adjust you into another position, and partly to stop himself for finishing so soon at the mercy of your gyrating hips.

Small pecks are placed along the length of your bare back as Levi bends you over even more, moulding your back into an even deeper arch, pushing you further down along the brick wall and presenting your ass for him just as he wants it.

“That’s more like it.”

Without warning, he slips back into you, no resistance from your wetness.

You gasp, caught off guard. Then Levi proceeds to pummel into your crying cunt, angling his hips just right.

It’s a blur, it’s rough, dirty. Your forearms scraping against brick wall as you cling for dear life, knocking into the surface as you drool, moan, and cry out for him, lewd utters flowing from your shameless mouth.

“Ugh, baby, fuck. Fuck!” You squeal, only slightly louder than the squelching sounds of you pussy. Your walls flutter around him, your nub throbbing, crying for stimulation.

Levi grunts, motivated by your desperate shouts of pleasure to pick up the pace. Only slightly, not to ruin the rhythm as his balls tighten up, a heat simmering in the pit of his belly.

Spurred on by your twitching pussy, you suck on your middle and ring finger before placing them on your throbbing clit, rubbing furiously and quickly in attempt to reach your high.

“Ohhhhhh, don’t stop. Oh, don’t stop, babyyy.” Your remove your other hand from the brick wall to tweak at your nipple over your dress, now fully help up by Levi’s strength alone as he lays one into you, his thrusts growing sloppy as his high peaks just below the horizon.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You hips shake, your legs tremble, still circling over your clit like crazy as your climax strikes through your body, fireworks exploding in the pit of your stomach, eyes rolling into back of your head as you cum hard. Your hips fuck back into Levi’s involuntarily as he fucks you through your powerful peak.

His thrusts become erratic, disorderly and he grunts with each ram of his hips, hammering into your overstimulated pussy at an inhuman pace before pulling out swiftly.

Levi yells, stroking his own cock and then promptly cumming onto the concrete below, staining the already grimed ground below the both of you. He breathes, gently gripping your ass.

You hum, running your fingers through your velvet folds as you watch Levi finish himself off.

You’re drowsy and tired when Levi lifts you up from the wall. He pats the beads of sweat away from your forehead with his handkerchief and wipes his hands afterwards. You rest against his chest as he finishes up.

“That was a bad idea…now I just wanna go to sleep…”

“I’ll ask for the bill, then.” Levi shrugs, guiding you back into the restaurant as you walk on unsteady feet.

“Hmm. Thank you-“” You pause, feeling a breeze down below. “Where is my-“” You feel heat rise from your chest all the way to your cheeks as you notice red, lacy fabric in his front suit pocket, the pocket where his handkerchief once rested. “Levi-“”

“Shh. Stop being so serious.”

*

૮꒰ ྀི◜༝◝꒱ა

[brookediamonds]

heyy i requested a similar prompt to another author but i think they went MIA 😞

fem!reader who used to be apart of iron dragons moved to california and joined miyagi do. Miguel and her started to get close but one day before the sekai taikai, reader catches Miguel and Sam together. Feeling betrayed and revengeful, she transfers back to iron dragons without the knowledge of anyone from miyagi do and it's not until the captains war that miyagi do and miguel see her as the female captain alongside Axel. she's sensei wolf's protegee and Axel's "close friend" (!endgame Axel). maybe where miguel feels jealous and guilty when he sees reader and axel together and close 😣

i see her in the back of my mind | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: After years of pining after your best friend, you're crushed to find out it's been all in your head when you catch him with someone else. In attempt to move on, you take the first opportunity to leave home and start new. But two years later, when you run into Miguel again, it tests the person you are today and sends your current close friend, Axel Kovačević, into a state of protectiveness.

Word count: 6.7k Warning: None, angst, fluff, friends to lovers

gif is not mine

The windshield wipers slapped back and forth, fighting against the rain that wasn't heavy enough to warrant their speed. 

You turned them down a notch and swallowed the lump in your throat that had been there since fifth period.

Miguel and Sam. Sam and Miguel.

The image kept replaying in your head like some fucked-up GIF that wouldn't stop looping. 

His hand on her waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of her yellow sweater. Her palm flat against his chest, right over the stupid Metallica logo he'd drawn on his white tee with a Sharpie last week when you both got bored in chemistry.

"Shit!" you shouted, swerving a little too sharply around a pothole. The car behind you honked, and you flipped them off without looking. 

Not your problem they couldn't handle a little defensive driving.

The kiss hadn't even been that good. You could tell from twenty feet away in the school hallway. 

Not that you'd spent time imagining kissing Miguel. Except you had.

For approximately three years, two months, and sixteen days. Not that you were counting.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you muttered, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel as you pulled up to a red light.

Your phone buzzed in the cup holder. His name flashed across the screen, and your stomach twisted into a familiar knot that was equal parts hope and nausea.

You let it ring. Let him wonder where you disappeared to after school. Let him worry. 

The light turned green, and you pressed the gas pedal hard enough to make the tires squeal.

Rain streaked across your windshield in angry lines, matching your mood perfectly. 

You pulled into your driveway with enough force to make the suspension groan in protest. 

The house was empty, mom wouldn't be home until seven, and dad was working from the office today. 

The stairs creaked under your heavy footsteps as you trudged up to your bedroom, backpack hanging off one shoulder. 

You kicked the door shut behind you with enough force to make your collection of concert tickets flutter on the corkboard.

The same concert you and Miguel attended with sensei Lawrence last summer. 

"Dammit," you muttered tossing your back pack to the corner of your bedroom.

You sighed heavily plopping down on to your bed, the mattress bouncing beneath you. 

Your phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

"Jesus Christ," you hissed, finally grabbing it. Three more texts from Miguel.

Where'd you go?

Are you ok?

Can we talk?

You tossed the phone onto your pillow face-down, as if not seeing the screen could erase what you'd witnessed. 

The rain tapped against your window in an uneven rhythm, like someone trying to get your attention. You ignored it, just like you were ignoring Miguel.

Your laptop sat on your desk, and you pulled it open, hoping mindless scrolling might numb the ache spreading through your chest. 

You open a new tab for your emails, and see there’s a follow up letter from sensei Kreese about a dojo he’s been talking to you about. 

Clicking on the recent message, your eyes scan over the long digital letter:

IRON DRAGONS INTERNATIONAL TEAM - INVITATION TO HONG KONG

"Wait, what?" you whispered, clicking it open before your brain could process what you were seeing.

The email loaded, its professional letterhead emblazoned with a sleek red dragon logo that coiled around the words "Elite Combat Sports Federation."

"Dear [Your Name],

Following your exceptional performance at the West Coast Regional Tournament and based on Sensei Kreese's recommendation, we are pleased to extend an invitation for you to train with the Iron Dragons in Hong Kong for our summer intensive program.

Our scouts were impressed by your technical precision and mental fortitude. We believe you possess the raw talent and dedication necessary to compete with our competitive team…"

The email continued, detailing a two year contract with international competitors, world-class instructors, and housing in the heart of Hong Kong. 

All expenses paid. Your eyes widened with each line, heart pounding against your ribs like it wanted out.

Hong Kong, China. You jumped up from your bed, pacing across the worn carpet, re-reading the email three times to make sure it wasn't some elaborate joke. 

"Holy shit," you whispered, running your fingers through your hair. "Holy shit!"

This was everything you'd been working toward since you first stepped into the dojo four years ago.

The bruises, the sprains, the 5 AM training sessions before school, all of it suddenly worth it.

You imagined yourself walking through neon-lit streets, training in ancient dojos, competing with the best of the best. 

A chance to be seen by people who mattered in the martial arts world.

Your fingers reached for your phone automatically, muscle memory taking over before your brain could catch up. 

Miguel's contact was already pulled up, thumb hovering over the call button when the image flashed again—his face connecting with hers, not too long ago. 

The excitement that had momentarily lifted you crashed back down, replaced by a hollow feeling that spread through your chest like spilled ink.

Not anger anymore, just a deep, aching sadness that made your shoulders slump.

Miguel would have been the first person you called. Always. But now…

Instead, you dial the number below the dojo name at the bottom and make your decision that you know will change everything for the better. 

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

2 years later...

Hong Kong had changed almost everything about you. The way you moved, more fluid now, like water finding its path.

The way you carried yourself, chin up, shoulders back, eyes forward. 

But some things hadn't changed at all. Like the way your heart raced before a competition. 

The way you bounced on your toes to burn nervous energy. And the way you still occasionally thought about what might have been if you'd stayed in California.

Your parents were supportive enough to let you go, and venture out. They always wanted you to find yourself and be the best you could when it came to karate. 

So when sensei Kreese took you under his wing and helped you find the Iron Dragons, your parents were on board to help you achieve your dreams. 

Which lead you here, to the Sekai Taikai, the world tournament of international dojo’s that come together to fight for the championship.

"Nervous?" The voice came from behind you, deep and accented, familiar enough now that you didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"No," you responded confidently, pivoting on your heel to face Axel, your training partner for the 2 years. 

Your foot caught on the edge of the practice mat, sending you stumbling forward.

You crashed into Axel’s chest, his strong hands catching your shoulders before you could completely demolish what little dignity you had left.

He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your palms where they were splayed against his green gi. 

His dark eyes crinkled at the corners, amusement dancing in them like firelight.

"Not nervous at all, I see," he teased, steadying you with a gentle squeeze. "Very convincing performance."

"Shut up," you muttered, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. 

Two years training with elite fighters, and you still managed to trip over your own feet like an idiot. Some things really hadn't changed.

"Just testing your reflexes," you said, straightening your gi with an exaggerated flick of your wrists. "Good to know you're alert. Might need those quick hands today."

Axel raised one eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting in that half-smile that always made your stomach do a little flip. 

The one that said he knew exactly what bullshit you were selling and was choosing to buy it anyway.

"My reflexes are perfect," he said, his Croatian accent wrapping around the words like silk. "Unlike your balance, apparently."

You narrowed your eyes at him, recognizing the challenge in his voice.

Your time spent together had taught you to read Axel Kovačević better than anyone. 

The slight tilt of his head, the way he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, he was baiting you.

His stance shifted subtly, the change so slight most people would miss it, but you'd spent hundreds of hours training with him.

You knew what was coming.

"Don't you dare—" you started, but he was already moving.

His hand shot out, a lazy jab that you easily deflected, slapping it away with your forearm.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, the closest he ever came to a full smile when he wasn't actively laughing at your expense.

You countered with a half-hearted knife-hand strike aimed at his ribs, which he blocked with practiced ease, his forearm connecting with yours in a satisfying thwack.

The familiar rhythm of sparring settled over you both, the anxiety about the upcoming tournament dissolving into the background.

"Your form is sloppy today," he points out, his eyes never leaving yours as he circled you slowly. "Distracted by something? Or someone?"

"Yeah, your massive ego is taking up all the oxygen in the room," you fired back, feinting left before throwing a roundhouse kick that stopped just short of his thigh. 

He caught your ankle in his large hand, holding it suspended between you.

For a moment, you were perfectly balanced, trusting him not to let you fall.

"My ego?" His eyebrow arched higher, those unique blue eyes narrowing playfully as he held your leg captive. "Says the person who bragged about breaking three boards with one strike for twenty minutes yesterday."

"It was four boards, and it was impressive as hell," you corrected, using his grip on your ankle as leverage to hop closer, throwing him off balance.

His eyes widened slightly at your unexpected move. You smirked as he stumbled back a half-step, his pale skin flushing along his cheekbones.

He shook his head, releasing your ankle but not before his thumb traced a quick circle against your skin, so fast you might have imagined it if not for the trail of heat it left behind.

You landed gracefully, finding your center again as you circled each other in the practice area.

"You know," Axel said, his voice low enough that only you could hear, "when we first met, I thought you were just another American with more confidence than skill."

You lunged forward with a quick jab that he deflected, his forearm sliding against yours with practiced precision. "And now?"

"Still American," he replied with that half-smile, as he dodged your next strike. "But your skill..." 

His movements slowed for just a moment, those unusual eyes studying you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. "Your skill is undeniable."

Something in his voice made your breath catch. These moments caught you off guard, when his usual quiet arrogance gave way to something genuine, something that felt like respect.

"Undeniable, huh?" you said, circling him with deliberate steps. "That's almost a compliment, Kovačević. Better be careful or people might think you actually like me."

Axel's eyes followed your movement, a predatory focus that somehow never felt threatening when it came from him. 

"I tolerate you," he corrected, though the warmth in his voice betrayed him. "There's a difference."

"Uh-huh," you said, throwing a lightning-fast front kick that he caught with both hands this time. "That's why you spent three hours helping me perfect my hurricane kick last week. Because you 'tolerate' me."

"I was bored," he shrugged, releasing your foot. "And your technique was painful to watch."

"You’re painful to watch," you snap back jokingly. 

Axel snorts, his green-ringed blue eyes catching the light as he shifts positions, moving into a defensive stance that's become as familiar to you as your own reflection. 

He's about to respond when you hear sensei Wolf call out for you both. 

"Time to head in," he says simply before walking away, leaving you two alone.

You take a deep breath, which Axel notices and lays a hand on your shoulder. 

Wordlessly, he reassures you and you both head into the arena, ready to face the competition. 

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Miyagi-Do. Cobra Kai. Both names make your stomach twist as you read the names lined up with your dojo for Captain’s War. 

Out of all the random selections, and they had to be in your first category?

Your team decides to attack the other team first, leaving Cobra Kai to approach Miyagi-Do first. 

Fortunately, your four teammates impressively protect you and Axel from the opposing team, leaving you to fight the last three fighters on Cobra Kai. 

You easily take their female captain down with a karate version of a Fujiwara armbar technique sensei Wolf taught you last summer. 

But the minute you stand up straight to go stand by Axel, your co-captain who just won his match as well, your eyes interlock from across the mat. 

With Miguel. 

You can see the look of genuine surprise written across his face, those dark brown eyes widened with shock. 

He’s standing next to Sam, who is just as shocked as he is, with the rest of your old teammates and sensei, sensei Lawrence.

Axel notices your lingering stare at the team across from you, and furrows his eyebrows when he see’s them, specifically, Miguel looking back at you a certain way. 

The tournament announcer's voice fades to a muffled drone as you stand frozen, unable to tear your eyes away from Miguel's face. 

Two years have changed him, his jaw is sharper, shoulders broader, hair styled differently, but his eyes are exactly the same. 

The same eyes that used to crinkle at the corners when you made him laugh. The same eyes you'd avoided in the hallway that last day.

Axel shifts beside you, his presence solid and warm at your shoulder. You feel rather than see his attention move from you to Miguel and back again, those observant eyes missing nothing.

"That's them," he says quietly, his voice pitched low enough that only you can hear. It's not a question.

Your throat tightens. "Yeah."

Axel's hand brushes against yours, a fleeting touch that could be accidental but isn't. 

His fingers are warm, briefly tangling with yours before he shifts his body slightly, positioning himself between you and Miguel's stare like a human shield.

"Come on," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you. "Sensei is waiting."

His hand finds the small of your back, not pushing, just guiding with a gentle pressure that grounds you to the present. 

The touch is protective without being possessive, and something about it makes your heart stutter in your chest.

The protective gesture isn't lost on you, it's so unlike Axel's usual hands-off approach that it momentarily distracts you from the shock of seeing your old friends.

Your feet move automatically, following his lead as he navigates you back to your team. 

"You okay?" Sam asks as she watches Miguel watch Axel place his hands on you. 

"Fine," Miguel breathes, ignoring the turning in his stomach as he sees the corners of your lips tug up when you look up at your male captain. 

You used to look at him like that. 

Sensei Wolf is smirking down at you when you return alongside with Axel. 

"Great job implementing that MMA strategy into your fight," Wolf compliments you, sending a sense of satisfaction through you. 

"Thank you, sensei," you nod, appreciating his acknowledgement. 

"Next up are individual fights, and then bo-staff 1-on-1’s," he explains.

When you’re standing in front of your sensei, the past you left behind is soon forgotten, and you’re ready for the next category. 

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

The tournament's food court buzzes with activity, a cacophony of different languages mingling with the clatter of plastic trays and the hiss of soda fountains. 

Teams from every corner of the world cluster around tables, some celebrating early victories, others strategizing for upcoming matches. 

The air smells like a weird mix of fried food, sports drinks, and the faint tang of antiseptic from the first aid station.

You balance your tray carefully, navigating through the crowd toward the corner table where Axel has already claimed territory. 

He sits with his back to the wall, long legs stretched out, scrolling through his phone with a slight furrow between his brows. 

"They were out of those protein bars you like," you announce, sliding into the seat across from him. "So I got you this weird energy drink instead. The lady swore it tastes like blueberries, but I'm pretty sure it's just chemicals and lies."

Axel looks up, tucking his phone away as his eyes land on the electric blue liquid.

He picks up the bottle, examining the label with suspicion.

"This says it contains 'essence of victory,'" he reads, his accent curling around the words with dry amusement. "Very scientific."

"Well, you better drink it then," you say, unwrapping your sandwich. "We need all the victory essence we can get after seeing that Brazilian team's forms. That girl with the red highlights was like a human tornado."

Axel snorts, but uncaps the bottle and takes a cautious sip. His face immediately contorts into an expression of such profound disgust that you nearly choke on your first bite of food.

"Oh my god," you laugh, covering your mouth. "Your face!"

"This," he says with quiet horror, staring at the bottle like it personally offended his ancestors, "tastes like someone melted a blue crayon into window cleaner."

You're laughing so hard now that tears spring to your eyes. "You- You did not have to be so dramatic!” 

You're still laughing when Axel slides the offensive drink toward you with two fingers, as if minimizing contact might somehow protect him from further assault on his taste buds.

"You try it," he challenges, one eyebrow raised. "Since you find my suffering so amusing."

"No way!" you push it back toward him. "I value my taste buds too much."

"Coward," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"Strategic," you counter, taking another bite of your sandwich. "Can't win gold if I'm dead from whatever that is."

Axel shakes his head, unwrapping his own lunch with methodical precision. 

"So," he says after a moment, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. "How's your shoulder?" 

He nods toward your right side where you'd taken a hard hit during the bo-staff competetion. You'd won, but not without cost.

"Fine," you say automatically, then amend when his eyebrow lifts skeptically. "Okay, it's a little sore. But nothing serious."

"Let me see," he wipes his hands off on the napkin to his left.

"It's fine, Axel, really," you protest, but he's already moved to sit beside you, the bench creaking slightly under his weight. 

His proximity sends a rush of warmth through you that has nothing to do with your sore shoulder.

"I'll be the judge of that," he says, voice low enough that only you can hear. "Remember Taipei? When you said your ankle was 'just a little sore' and then we found out it was sprained in three places?"

"That was different," you mutter, but you're already shifting to give him better access, dropping your sandwich onto the tray.

His fingers are gentle as they probe your shoulder through your team jacket, finding the tender spot with unerring accuracy. You wince slightly, and his touch immediately lightens.

"Hmm," he hums, the sound vibrating through his chest. "It might be strained. Not serious, but we should put ice on it before the finals."

His hand lingers on your shoulder, thumb brushing back and forth almost absently as he studies your face. 

You're suddenly aware of how close he is, his warm breathe softly hitting your ear. 

"I told you it wasn't bad," you say, but your voice comes out softer than intended.

"You also told me that energy drink would taste like blueberries," he counters, his lips quirking up at one corner. "Forgive me if I question your judgment."

You laugh, shoving him gently with your good arm. "That was the vendor, not me! I was just the messenger of that chemical disaster."

"Chemical disaster," Axel agrees, but he's smiling now, a real smile that transforms his usually serious face into something that makes your heart skip. "An accurate description."

His hand slides from your shoulder down your arm in a casual touch that somehow doesn't feel casual at all.

The spot where his fingers traced your skin tingles with phantom warmth.

"Your poor taste buds," you tease, picking up your sandwich again. "Maybe you should—"

The words die in your throat as a shadow falls across your table. 

You look up, sandwich halfway to your mouth, and time seems to stretch like taffy, pulling thin and slow around you.

Miguel stands there, one hand gripping the strap of his gym bag so tightly his knuckles are white, the other hand shoved deep in the pocket of his white gi.

"Hey," he says, the single syllable hanging in the air between you like a physical thing.

Axel goes perfectly still beside you, his body a solid wall of warmth against your side. 

You feel your mouth go dry, sandwich forgotten in your hands.

Two years of imagined conversations, of what-ifs and should-have-saids, and now Miguel is standing right in front of you looking like he's seen a ghost.

"Hey," you finally manage, your voice steadier than you feel.

Miguel shifts his weight from one foot to the other, dark eyes flickering between you and Axel.

The silence stretches, charged with unspoken words.

"You look..." Miguel starts, then stops, swallows. "Different. Good different. I mean—you look good."

Axel's presence beside you feels suddenly more significant, his shoulder brushing yours as he straightens.

You can practically feel the tension radiating off him.

"Thanks," you say, because what else is there to say? "You too."

Miguel nods, a jerky motion that betrays his nerves.

"I didn't know you were competing," Miguel says, eyes darting between you and Axel. "I mean, I knew you were training somewhere, but Hong Kong? That's... wow."

The silence that follows feels like quicksand, pulling you deeper with every second. 

You can sense Axel's eyes on your profile, observing, calculating, reading the situation with that uncanny perception of his.

"Iron Dragons," you finally say, gesturing vaguely to the logo on your jacket. "It's been... amazing."

Miguel nods again, shifting his weight. His eyes drift to Axel, question written clearly across his features.

"This is Axel," you say, trying to fill the awkward silence. "My co-captain—"

"And boyfriend," Axel interrupts smoothly, his accent thickening slightly as he extends his hand to Miguel. "Axel Kovačević."

Your heart stutters in your chest, but you manage to keep your expression neutral despite the shock rippling through you. 

Boyfriend? What the hell is he doing?

Miguel's eyes widen almost imperceptibly before he takes Axel's outstretched hand.

You watch their knuckles whiten as they shake, neither willing to be the first to let go.

"Miguel Diaz," he responds, his gaze flicking between you and Axel. "We, uh, we used to train together. Back in California."

"Yes," Axel says, his voice warm but his eyes cool as winter. "I've heard all about The Valley."

He drapes his arm casually across the back of your chair, not quite touching you but definitely marking territory. 

The gesture is so unlike him that you almost laugh—Axel, who normally maintains a careful distance in public, suddenly transformed into this possessive figure.

You shoot him a quick glance, trying to communicate a silent "what the hell?" with your eyes, but his attention remains fixed on Miguel, his expression perfectly pleasant and completely unreadable.

"So, boyfriend, huh?" Miguel says, his voice catching slightly on the word. "That's... great. How long have you two been...?"

"Two years," Axel says smoothly, his fingers finding the nape of your neck beneath your hair, tracing small circles that send shivers down your spine. "Almost since the day she arrived in China."

Your jaw nearly drops, but you manage to keep your expression neutral, though your pulse pounds in your ears.

"When you know, you know," Axel continues, his eyes never leaving Miguel's face. There's something almost predatory in his gaze, like a wolf protecting its territory.

"I watched her first practice with the team and thought, 'This one is different.'" His thumb brushes against the sensitive skin behind your ear, and despite your confusion, goosebumps erupt down your arm.

"She broke one of our teammates nose that day," Axel says, his voice taking on a warm, reminiscent quality that sounds so genuine. 

"He tried to intimidate her," Axel continues, his eyes softening as they flick to your face. "You remember? He said something about American fighters being all flash, no substance."

You do remember. The memory floods back with startling clarity—Jian's smirking face, the way the other students had fallen silent, waiting to see how the new girl would respond.

"And she just smiled," Axel says remembering that little half-smirk sitting on your lips that said you knew exactly what you were capable of doing. 

"And I remember thinking," Axel says, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that always makes your stomach flutter, "this is someone who understands what it means to fight for respect."

As he speaks, your mind drifts back to that first day with the Iron Dragons. 

The memory is so vivid, the unfamiliar dojo with its high ceilings and walls decorated with ancient weapons, the smell of polish and sweat, the curious stares from two dozen fighters who'd trained together for years. 

You'd felt so alone, so far from home, until that moment when you'd stopped trying to fit in and simply showed them who you were.

The satisfying crunch when your fist connected with Jian's nose. The shocked silence that followed. 

And then Axel, standing apart from the others, those unusual blue-green eyes studying you with quiet approval.

"I knew I had to know her,” he finishes.

You stare at Axel in awe, your face warming up at his words. 

The way he's recounting the memory, it's like he's describing a moment you both shared, something intimate and precious. 

And the thing is, he's not wrong. 

That is exactly how it happened, except for the part where he apparently fell for you on the spot.

At least that’s what you think. 

Miguel stares at Axel, then at you, his expression shifting from surprise to something that looks almost like resignation. 

"That's... wow," Miguel says, running a hand through his hair. "I guess Hong Kong was good for you."

There's a question in his eyes, one that's been there since he walked up to your table, but you can feel it fading now as he watches Axel's hand at the nape of your neck, the easy way you've leaned into his touch without even realizing it.

"It was," you confirm, your voice softer than intended. "It is."

Axel's fingers trace a pattern on your skin that feels like a question of his own. 

You find yourself leaning further into his touch, not even realizing how natural it feels until you catch Miguel tracking the movement.

"Well," Miguel says, shifting his weight again, the vinyl floor squeaking beneath his sneakers. "I should probably get back. Semi-finals start in twenty minutes."

"Good luck," you offer, the words feeling both too much and not enough for everything that hangs unspoken between you.

Miguel nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It doesn't quite reach his eyes, which remain fixed on where Axel's fingers continue their gentle exploration of your nape.

"You too," he says. "Both of you."

He hesitates for a moment longer, as if there's something else he wants to say, something important perched on the tip of his tongue. 

"It's really good to see you," Miguel finally says, his voice dropping to something almost tender. "You look happy."

The statement hangs in the air, simple yet weighted with meaning.

"I am," you say, and as the words leave your mouth, you realize they're true. Not just a convenient answer to push Miguel away, but a genuine truth that settles warmly in your chest. "I really am happy."

You lean back slightly, your body finding the solid warmth of Axel behind you, his presence steady and grounding. 

His arm shifts to accommodate you, wrapping more securely around your shoulders in a gesture that feels both protective and possessive.

Miguel's eyes track the movement, lingering on the point where your body connects with Axel's. 

Something flickers across his face—resignation, maybe, or acceptance—before he nods once, decisively.

"Good," he says softly. "That's—that's good."

His smile turns genuine then, though tinged with something that might be regret. 

"Bye," he says softly. 

"Bye, Miguel," you respond before he finally turns on his heel and walks back to his teammates waiting for him at another table across the room. 

You turn to Axel smirking, not bothering to move away from him even though Miguel is now well out of sight. 

The warmth of his arm across your shoulders feels too comfortable to abandon just yet, like slipping into your favorite sweater on a cold morning.

"Boyfriend, huh?" you spoke, your voice pitched low enough that only he can hear. "That's news to me. When exactly were you planning to let me know about our relationship status?"

Axel has the decency to look slightly abashed, a faint flush creeping up his neck to color his pale cheeks.

The red tint makes his unusual eyes stand out even more, the blue seeming brighter against the green rings around his irises.

"It seemed... efficient," he offers, though his arm remains firmly in place around your shoulders. 

You raise an eyebrow, fighting the smile that threatens to break across your face. "Efficient?"

"Efficient," Axel repeats, but there's a hesitation in his voice you've rarely heard before. 

His fingers absently trace patterns on your shoulder, sending little sparks of warmth through the fabric of your jacket. "I saw how he looked at you."

"And how was that?" you ask, unable to keep the curiosity from your voice.

Axel's eyes darken slightly, the blue-green depths shifting like an ocean before a storm. "Like he was seeing something precious he'd lost. Something he wanted back."

Your breath catches at the intensity in his voice. 

"So you decided to stake your claim?" you ask, trying to sound teasing, but your voice comes out softer than intended.

"No," Axel says, his voice dropping to that low register that always seems to vibrate through you like a physical touch. "I wanted him to understand what he threw away."

His eyes meet yours, direct and unflinching in that way that's uniquely Axel. 

No games, no pretense. Just truth, whether you're ready for it or not.

"The first day you walked into our dojo," he says, his voice so low you have to lean closer to hear him over the cafeteria noise, "with your shoulders back and your chin up like you were daring anyone to challenge you, I knew."

"Knew what?" Your voice comes out barely above a whisper.

"That you were extraordinary." The words fall between you like stones into still water, creating ripples you can feel spreading through your chest. 

His words hang in the air between you, honest and bare in a way that steals your breath. 

The cafeteria noise fades to a distant hum as you search his face, looking for any hint of teasing or insincerity. 

But there's only Axel, waiting for your response with a stillness that betrays his nerves.

"You never said anything," you finally manage, your voice barely audible over the clatter of trays and distant conversations.

Axel's lips quirk up at one corner, not quite a smile but something softer, more vulnerable. 

"What was I supposed to say? 'Welcome to Hong Kong, I think you might be the most fascinating person I've ever met'?"

"That would have been a start," you say, your heart hammering against your ribs like it's trying to break free. "Instead of waiting two years and using Miguel as an excuse to finally say something."

Axel's fingers still against your shoulder, his eyes dropping briefly to study the table between you as if it might hold the right words.

"You were hurting," he says simply. "I could see it in the way you fought. Like you were trying to prove something to someone who wasn't even there."

Your breath catches in your throat. No one has ever read you so accurately before, seen through the layers you carefully constructed around yourself.

"I was waiting for the right moment," he admits, his voice carrying that slight rasp it gets when he's being completely honest. "And then I saw him looking at you, and suddenly I was afraid there wouldn't be a right moment if I waited any longer."

Suddenly you couldn't wait any longer either. The realization crashes through you like a wave breaking against the shore—this feeling has been building for months, maybe longer. 

In all those late-night training sessions when everyone else had gone home, the quiet conversations in broken English and halting Croatian as you both tried to bridge the language gap, the way his eyes always found yours across a crowded room.

"You know what?" you whisper, leaning closer until you can see the individual flecks of green circling his blue irises. "I'm tired of waiting for the right moment too."

Your hand finds the front of his jacket, fingers curling into the fabric as you pull yourself toward him. 

His eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across his usually composed features before understanding dawns.

Time seems to slow as you close the distance between you. 

The first touch of his lips against yours is hesitant, questioning, a barely-there pressure that sends electricity sparking down your spine.

It's nothing like you imagined kissing Axel would be—and you have imagined it, in moments of weakness during sparring sessions, when his shirt would cling to his torso with sweat, or when he'd demonstrate a move with such fluid grace it made your breath catch.

No, this is softer, more tentative, as if he's afraid you might disappear if he presses too hard.

And then something shifts, like a key turning in a lock. 

His hand slides from your shoulder to cup the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you closer. 

The kiss deepens, transforms from a question into an answer, and suddenly you're drowning in sensation.

He tastes like mint and the faintest hint of that terrible blue energy drink, and somehow the combination is intoxicating. 

The cafeteria noise fades completely, replaced by the thundering of your heart.

His arms wrap around you, strong and secure, and you melt into him like you've found your way home after a long journey. 

The kiss deepens, and you're vaguely aware that you're in a public space, that your teammates could walk in at any moment, but you can't bring yourself to care.

When you finally pull away, breathless and dizzy, the noise slowly comes back into focus around you. 

Axel's eyes are darker now, the blue almost completely overtaken by dilated pupils, and there's a vulnerability in his expression that you've never seen before.

"I've wanted to do that since you broke Jian's nose," he confesses, his voice rough around the edges.

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside you, genuine and free in a way you haven't felt in years. "That's a weird turn-on, Kovačević."

"Only for you," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek with a gentleness that makes your heart ache. "Only ever for you."

The words settle into your bones like they've always belonged there, like they've been waiting for you to hear them.

You lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes to savor the moment.

"So," you whisper, not pulling away, "that boyfriend thing wasn't just for Miguel's benefit?"

You feel rather than see his smile, the slight shift in his muscles.

"Not just for him," Axel whispers back, his breath warm against your lips. 

"Though his face when I said it—" He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, a rare mischievous glint in his own. "Worth it."

You laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly. "You're terrible."

"And yet," he says, capturing your hand and bringing it to his lips, "you kissed me anyway."

A pleasant warmth spreads through your chest at the gesture, so unexpectedly gentle from someone who can break boards with his bare hands. 

"Maybe I was just curious," you tease, even as your fingers intertwine with his.

His fingers tighten around yours, a silent reassurance that this moment is real. 

"Just curious?" he echoes, his voice pitched low enough that the words feel like they're traveling directly from his lips to your skin. "Should I be offended?"

You laugh, the sound light and free in a way you haven't felt in years. "Maybe. Or maybe you should convince me it was worth the wait."

The corner of his mouth lifts in that half-smile that's become so familiar over the past two years. 

The one that used to drive you crazy with its quiet arrogance but now sends warmth pooling in your stomach.

"A challenge?" Axel raises one eyebrow, his thumb tracing the delicate bones of your wrist. "You know I never back down from those."

"I'm counting on it," you murmur, surprised by your own boldness.

"Maybe I'm just curious too," Axel counters. "Curious about how long I can keep kissing you before Sensei Wolf sends a search party."

Axel doesn't release your hand, instead pulling you closer until your knees bump under the table. 

The contact sends a fresh wave of warmth through you.

"We have fifteen minutes," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. His eyes search yours, suddenly serious. "But before we go back, I need to know..."

He pauses, and you're struck by how unusual it is to see Axel hesitate. 

He's always so certain, so measured in everything he does.

Axel's thumb traces an invisible pattern on your palm as his eyes study your face with an intensity that makes your heart race.

"I need to know," he continues, voice pitched so low you have to lean closer to hear him over the cafeteria noise, "if this is real for you. If it's not just about showing Miguel what he lost."

Axel Kovačević, the most confident fighter in the Iron Dragons, the man who once took down three opponents in under two minutes without breaking a sweat, is looking at you like you hold his heart in your hands.

"Axel," you say softly, squeezing his fingers between yours. "Miguel has nothing to do with this. With us."

You take a deep breath, your eyes never leaving his. 

The room bustles around you, but in this moment, it might as well be just the two of you in the entire world.

"When I left California, I was running away from something," you admit, your voice steady despite the vulnerability of the confession. "From Miguel, from what happened, from feeling like I wasn't enough."

Axel's expression softens, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your palm that somehow ground you, giving you the courage to continue.

"But somewhere between my first day at the dojo and you helping me hang string lights in my apartment because I was too short to reach the ceiling," you say, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"I stopped running away and started running toward something." Your voice softens as you hold his gaze. "Toward you."

The confession hangs in the air between you, honest and raw. 

Axel's fingers tighten around yours, his usually stoic expression shifting into something open and soft that makes your heart ache.

"It's always been you," you whisper. "Not Miguel, not anyone else. You."

You slide your free hand up to cup his face, feeling his soft skin against your palm. 

Axel's eyes darken at your confession, the blue nearly disappearing as his pupils dilate. 

"You have no idea," he murmurs, his accent thickening with emotion, "how long I've waited to hear you say that."

His hand comes up to cover yours where it rests against his cheek, turning slightly to press his lips against your palm. 

The gesture is so tender, so unlike the fierce competitor you've trained beside, that melts your heart.

There’s an announcement over the PA system about the semi-finals starting soon, but it all fades to white noise as Axel slowly leans forward.

"We should go," he whispers, his breath warm against your lips. "The finals..."

But neither of you moves, caught in the gravity of this moment two years in the making.

"They can wait another minute," you murmur, your fingers sliding up to trace the sharp line of his jaw.

The corner of his mouth quirks up in that half-smile that never fails to make your stomach flip. "Just one?"

"Maybe two," you concede, your own lips curving to match his.

His smile widens at your words, and there's something almost reverent in the way his eyes trace your face, like he's memorizing every detail. 

His hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with his strength in the ring.

"Two minutes," he agrees, his voice a low rumble that resonates through your chest. "But I should warn you—"

"What?" you whisper, already leaning in, drawn to him like gravity.

"Two minutes won't be enough," he murmurs, the words ghosting across your lips. "Not even close."

And then he's kissing you again, and this time there's nothing hesitant about it. 

His lips move against yours with purpose, with certainty, with two years of unspoken longing finally given voice. 

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Masterlist

Taglist: @ggrgcribg

(a/n: here's a long one to make up for not writing these last few days, I just got a few more requests that are gonna be so fun to write, I can't wait for y'all to read them!! Don't forget to like, comment, reblog, love y'all! ps. also no hate to sam, that's my girl. don't pmo.)

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

Bones and all Art Donaldson

NSFW: murder, blood, gore, sex

it had been 3 days since your last meal, and he was getting antsy unable to ignore the pain in his stomach or the growling of yours.

You always were too spineless to do the killing it’s not your fault you were new to this lifestyle, and he never holds it against you. Only positive thing about starving was your desperation. Sucking him off while he's driving, pulling him into gas station bathrooms to fuck you over the sink and grabbing the steering wheel forcing him to pull over and pummel his dick into you on the side of the road, you were relentless and he was exhausted. Art was blessed man though he never thought he'd meet someone as depraved as him

It's late at night when he spots her at the local amusement park stood next to the ferris wheel, cute thing was fresh faced out of high school all sunshine and excitement sometimes he felt bad for his victims most times he barely gave a damn too hungry to care.

He plays up his compliments as he flirts with her tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "you're beautiful you know, sweet as pie." He hides his sinister intentions behind a grin. She prattles on about her best friend, new puppy she got and shitty ex she has to deal with but he's fixated on her neck the expanse of her breasts, tits almost slipping out of her little dress, he wipes the drool off the corner of his lips when his eyes latch onto her throat, he could almost see the blood pulsing through her skin.

It pissed you off the way he was talking to her like he liked her, you knew the routine it was what he had to do but ripping her to pieces made the jealously subside.

So half an hour later you’re on him half naked completely bloody her limp body discarded next to his truck. Swapping spit as your hand leaves red handprints over his milky white chest body almost glowing in contrast.

“She tastes better than the other one” you moan against his open mouth.

“horny college students are always are the best.” He impatiently shimmies your shorts down your legs tearing your pink underwear in half with balled up fists

“they were my last pair” you glower at the unsalvageable pieces

“just use hers” he peers over wipes his hand over the bite he ripped out of her chest cavity lubricating his member with blood pumping it in his hand, he reaches out for more smearing your pussy with the rest

"So fucking tight" he moans as he stretches your cunt splitting you open. Your eyes clench shut at the abrasion "never get used to it." You wince hands digging into the dirt beneath him

he pecks your forehead as an apology before driving his cock into you at a brutal speed it's almost painful. He grabs your head and yanks it back watching your tits bounce leaning up and licking the slimy residue off your skin "I'm the luckiest guy in the world you know that?" He grunts "couldn't ever find a better fuck than you."

the sounds of his balls slapping against your soaked pussy radiate through the humid midnight air "so fucking close-" you whine tightening your walls around his dick

his fingers dig into your hips tearing the skin trying to stave off his orgasm "you're a fucking freak-" he slaps your ass "my favorite whore" he plants his feet on the ground pounding your swollen pussy as you cry out for more.

"Come in me" you drag your hands up tighten them around the column of his throat rolling your hips down his length. "Let me be yours." "Fucking, shit" he gasps eyes roll back as he circles your clit with his thumb helping you chase your high, a blinding rush of pleasure runs through your body your juices coat his pelvis and thighs he continues rubbing your clit harder spurts of clear release spew on his abs until you slap his hand away.

You're dizzy almost collapsing when you begin riding him again "you need to cum" you whimper pussy throbbing from your orgasm. He shakes his head "not if it hurts you"

you shove your fingers into his mouth shutting him up. Wincing in discomfort as you bounce on his cock until ropes of cum spill into your pussy loud moans rip through his chest hips bucking until he finishes

A minute passes both of you trying to breathe when Art cups your cheek blue eyes searching for any hesitation, he only finds love.

“You good?" he asks, you nod

“promise?” He mumbles tracing your bottom lip

“yes”you heave collapsing onto his frame saccharine red remains dried up on your skin.

He grips your jaw shoves your face back and pries your mouth open with his tongue then spits down your throat, you groan as thick glob tastes sickly sweet like ice cream or chocolate cake a little more rotten.

He hums your favorite song tracing smiley faces on your belly with your release smeared watery red you shift to straddle him glimpsing down between your connected cores satisfied at the pink spunk spilling out of you coating his pubes. He reaches down cups it in his fingers and drips it inside his open mouth

“tasty”

@rottenk1sses I hope I did it justice omg