#Roll to Roll Sputtering
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im so easily placated i feel but i saw dis today and i feel a bit better about stuff
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like ohh okey <3 yey <3. (and especially since ive been using "mashing *dolls in dollhouse together in my brain" metaphor... felt like a really needed thing to see)
#talkys#i mean i still feel bad bc i wish i was the passion project guy. ykwim#but also i just got a bad roll and my brain will never ever work that way so why keep punishing myself wit guilt#over the stuff i draw...augh#<- saying this now knowing he's bound to end up on someone's cringe drawings compilation soon#but yweah me drawing silly stuff wit [ocs] doesnt mean thats their canon now and their story and development can never ever#be rewritten or changed etc#like i can draw me and talon and wyatt and layla hanging out (kinda want to soon off a text post)#and then still try and do his actual ''canon'' wit genevieve if my brain can ever sputter it out#🌺
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Laura cuts her hair short and Rodney thinks it's just to mess with him because he's got a thing for short haired blondes.
#Rodney: Seriously!?#Laura: What McKay?#Rodney: You know what you did#Laura getting irritated: I have no idea what you are talking about#Rodney: C'mon! gestures at hair You did it on PURPOSE#Laura: What are you going on about now?#Rodney: You did it on purpose to annoy ME#Laura crossing arms: Oh yeah McKay I cut my hair off just to annoy you#Rodney: I knew it!#Laura: massive eye roll Why would I ever even think about you when it came to my personal choices I did it for me you ass#Rodney: no-no-no You know about my short hair thing#Laura raising eyebrows: Short hair thing?#Rodney: Don't even try everyone knows I have a thing for short-haired blondes#Laura grinning: Am I flustering the great Rodney McKay with my new look? winks You think I'm even hotter now huh ���� thanks#Rodney sputtering and redfaced#Smirky John: Love the haircut lieutenant#sga#laura cadman#rodney mckay#find later#fanfic inspo
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I love my sister and her husband and their new dog benny but they WON’T STOP TALKING ABOUT HIM AND HOW GOOD AND PERFECT HE IS AND NOTHING ELSE
#we called her on her birthday and my mom started laughing so hard after i rolled my eyes that she had to leave#she was covering her mouth and sputtering because my sister had been talking about benny for like FORTY MINUTES#she told me ‘i don’t think i talked that much about HER when she was BORN’
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around when I first started dating my boyfriend i bought myself this novelty blanket that looks like a photorealistic tortilla because I am SUCH A SUCKER for novelty shit. when he saw it in person for the first time his eyes lit up, which should have been a warning sign for the indignities to come.
so he’s a first responder and his day shifts start obnoxiously early as far as I, a pampered corporate asshole, am concerned. almost invariably when he’s at my place there will be an alarm at an hour that is downright unconscionable that will make him wake up and roll out of bed to get ready and will simultaneously make me burrow under the pillows grumbling about how surely nobody actually NEEDS their lives saved this early in the morning, after which I will promptly attempt to go back to sleep
he is a clever man and he knows this is when i am most vulnerable to attack.
every single time we do this dance, he quietly dresses, packs up, goes about getting ready to leave, and then when i have juuuust fallen back asleep, he returns with the tortilla blanket. He finds it no matter where I have hidden it.
He then creeps silently up to my side of the bed and uses his superior speed, strength, and reflexes to wrap me up in it incredibly tightly while i am still dazed and sputtering, so that i cannot move my legs or arms and am reduced to humiliating halfhearted magikarp flops that do not deter him from at least attempting to kiss my forehead.
then he goes to my bedroom door, opens it, then pauses, turns around, looks at me, the soft human filling of the facsimile of an enormous burrito he has just constructed, and says in his best romantic lead voice “I’ll see you soon, beans.”
you cannot understand how devastating it is to my ego that i am beans.
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Loverboy
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Word Count: 4.3k
Summary: Bucky, a lovesick, pining super soldier, vows to keep his feelings for you a secret — no matter how obvious his crush may seem. Those plans are ruined between a meddling Sam, an embarrassing fall, and a visit to the medbay with you.
Warnings: Avengers AU, Bucky’s POV, fluff, crack (my lame attempt at comedy), suggestive thoughts (no smut), just our boy being a lovesick little bean with a big ol’ crush.
Author’s Note: Dividers by @saradika. Proofread by @buckys-wintersoldier, thank you so much sweetie, I love you!! This was inspired by a wonderful request from @prettyboy56, thank you so much! Hope you enjoy x
“Hi, Bucky.”
Instantly, he sputtered over his mouthful of cereal, eyes watering from his food going down the wrong way.
Bucky knew that melodic voice before his gaze even reached its owner. You entered the kitchen, wiggling your fingers at him in greeting.
Clearing his throat, he swiped his bowl to the side, his breakfast now forgotten about, and directed his attention solely onto you. “Hi—um h—hello, doll.”
The muscles of your cheeks lifted up to your eyes in a smile that made Bucky swoon. Hard.
Your eyes fell to Sam then, who stood in the corner, fresh from a workout with a shit eating on his face. “Good morning, Samuel.”
“Mornin’, beautiful. How did you sleep?”
Bucky fought the growl rising in his throat, the unprecedented possessiveness caving its way through its internal barriers in your presence.
You grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and closed the door, leaning your back against it to take a big gulp.
“Not bad at all.” You licked your lips, ridding the dryness that came from a long slumber before your eyes lit up. “Oh, by the way! I drank some of that tea you recommended. It’s helped a bunch—”
Bucky zoned out while you continued to express your gratitude to Sam. He couldn’t help the way his eyes dilated as he rested his head in the palm of his vibranium hand, a lovesick sigh escaping his lips. You were just so gorgeous – a deity in human form right in front of his own very eyes. Bucky had never considered himself so lucky in all his time on earth to be within your vicinity.
In his own world of oggling, Bucky didn’t notice how the conversation fell short between you and Sam. Neither did he realise how the two of you were staring at him; you with concern and Wilson smothering his laughter with his hand.
“Bucky? Sweetheart?” He finally registered that you were speaking to him and almost choked, again, on his own spit.
“Mhm?” Bucky murmured, drunk off your attention.
You smiled once again, so devastatingly beautiful that his left arm whirred in stupor. “Are you okay? You feeling alright?” Not waiting for a response, you walked over to him and Bucky almost let his eyes roll to the back of his head when you lifted your wrist to his forehead. “Jeez, you’re a little hot, Buck.”
Sam keeled over in hysterics, unable to keep his composure any longer. Meanwhile, a bright red blossom of colour rose up from the skin of Bucky’s neck all the way up to his cheeks.
Had Bucky not been embarrassingly infatuated by you, the throwaway comment wouldn’t have had any effect on him. But this was you. The woman who had the ability to make him melt on the spot.
While logic and a basic level of common sense screamed at him that you were talking about his temperature, his mind could only conjure up the fact you had called him hot.
Bucky saw your mouth moving, however he couldn’t concentrate on the sound of the words coming out of it. You were still touching him, patting his cheeks and sweeping the tendrils of hair that had fell out from behind his ears out of his face. The close proximity of your bodies threw him through a loop and without even realising, his thighs spread further, subconsciously begging you to forego all boundaries and smother yourself against him.
Gently tapping his nose three times, you managed to gain his full attention again. “You seem out of it, sweetie. Maybe you should go down to the medbay. See if you’re coming down with a fever or something.”
Sam blew out a breath of air. “Yeah, because that’s what’s wrong with him.”
You threw a lighthearted glare his way before bringing your eyes back to Bucky. “Promise me you’ll get seen to?”
How could he refuse when you asked so sweetly? “Anything you want.” He vowed sincerely.
Scrunching your nose, you chucked his chin and whispered under your breath, “Good boy.”
Bucky almost whimpered when you withdrew your hands and stepped back. He so desperately wanted to follow you and nudge your arm until you paid attention to him once more. Your touch was fire and a cool breeze all at once. Electricity that created static across his stubbled cheek, yet also stoked a warmth through his entire body.
Peace. He’d never felt anything like it. Never before felt drunk from just the delicate essence of a perfume or experienced the loosening of his limbs, relaxing until his legs felt like jelly whenever you so much as cast him a glance.
You grabbed a piece of fruit from the table, ready to go down to the gym and train. “Catch you later, Sam,” you called over your shoulder. Meeting Bucky’s eyes a final time, you winked while you headed for the elevator. “Bye, sweetheart.”
Bucky’s gaze was glued to you, following you out hopelessly until you were completely out of sight.
He was fucked — well and truly out of his depth.
Sam crossed his arms and smirked. “You are down bad, man.”
Bucky swiped a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “Fuckin’ tell me about it.”
“This is serious.” Sam sobered up, his lips softening into an honest smile.
With an embarrassingly loud thud against the island countertop, Bucky let his head drop. “I have no idea what to do, Sam. I thought this crush would have passed by now but it’s been months.”
“Well,” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Have you even tried asking her out?”
“And why would I do that?” Bucky asked, genuinely confused.
Sam sputtered over his words. “What do you mean—Because that’s what people do when they like someone, you dumbass!”
Bucky had lost enough braincells daydreaming about you constantly. He didn’t need to be told what he already knew. But the pressure of asking you out to then have a chance of being rejected? He would never come back from that. “Yeah, no thanks,” he mumbled.
“Come on, man. What’s the worst that could happen?” Sam asked.
Bucky lifted his head up and huffed sarcastically. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe she could turn me down and rip my heart out into little pieces, so much that I would hide out in my room for the rest of eternity never to be seen again?”
“Now you’re just being dramatic.”
Bucky sighed longingly. “Let me wallow in my misery alone, Sam.”
“Why? So you can spend your days staring at her with your googly eyes and drooling over her.”
“I have never drooled over her,” Bucky snarled.
A twinkle shone in Sam’s eye, a mischievous grin donning his face. “Then what’s that on your chin?”
Bucky’s eyes widened and he quickly brought his hand up to his face to check if he did in fact have any wetness coating his mouth. Finding none, he looked back to Sam with a scowl. “I hate you.”
Sam shook his head with laughter. “You shouldn’t make it so easy to tease you, loverboy.”
With a growl, Bucky lifted from his seat and stormed out of the kitchen.
The irritating voice followed him. “Don’t forget training tomorrow morning, loverboy!”
The sun was shining over the compound the next morning and so came the bright idea from Steve that all exercise activities should be held outside. While the recruits in training buffed up on their sparring with the Captain, the rest of the avengers worked out as they saw fit.
As usual, Sam took any opportunity possible to annoy Bucky, which brought them together, running laps around the outdoor track.
“When are you gonna man up and ask her out then, Cyborg? Pretty girl ain’t gonna be available forever.”
Bucky wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t run ahead of Sam. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t. Maybe the pace he kept alongside Wilson allowed him to stare at you so clearly in your tight workout leggings and sports bra as sweat sensually rolled over your skin. Maybe.
“I’m not asking her out, Sam. Drop it.”
Sam huffed out an annoyed breath. “Listen, man. It’s not as if you’ve got nothing going for you. As much as you’re a grumpy shit, you’ve got them blue eyes the chicks love. Gets them all gooey when you give them intense eye contact, y’know?” He reluctantly added, “And they dig the brooding, bad boy, leather jacket vibe.”
Bucky let out a rare smile within the presence of Sam. “You tryna hit on me, Wilson?”
“Look, all I’m saying is you have a chance.” Sam slyly glanced over the field. “And if you don’t quit fuckin’ around, that chance is gonna disappear.”
The smile instantly dropped from Bucky’s face. “What do you mean by that?”
Sam’s signature smirk came back with vengeance. “Your girls lookin’ kinda cute today. So I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you ain’t the only one who’s got their eye on her.”
Naturally, Bucky followed his instinct and let his eyes look over at you. You were a fucking wonder, of course he knew that. But heeding Sam’s ominous warning, Bucky allowed his gaze to venture out, only allowing you to blur into the background for a couple of seconds while he took stock of the other male, and female, recruits.
Low and behold, plenty of other people wantonly stared at you while you completed your circuit, almost salivating over their barely concealed pining. As much as Bucky hated to admit it, the fucker was right. You were the pinnacle of everyone’s attention.
With the way you were bending over, squatting and looking like an angel amidst the perspiration the sun brought on, Bucky wasn’t sure if he could actually blame anyone for it.
That didn’t stop the ugly, green eyed beast within him that wanted to tear everyone’s eyes out for daring to glimpse at you.
It was silly, he knew he had no right to feel any sort of possessive nature for you. Unfortunately, you didn’t belong to him. Still, he couldn’t control the deep rooted urges that whispered the kinds of fun he’d have gouging out eyeballs that looked where they weren't supposed to.
Knowing he had stirred the pot enough, Sam figured it was time to try and hit the final nail in the coffin in order to make his friend move his ass. “Y’know what gives you an advantage though, man?”
Bucky continued to death stare the surrounding agents, while keeping up with his steady jog. “What’s that?”
“Guess who’s making eyes at you right now.”
At breakneck speed, Bucky snapped his head back around to you, only to indeed find you staring at him with a fire in your eyes and your bottom lip trapped between your teeth.
A violent shudder ran down his spine and for a moment, the whole world stopped on its axis, allowing Bucky to revel in a daydream brought to life.
That was until his mind snapped him back into the present. The super soldier was majestic on his feet in a fight, graceful yet utterly dangerous out on the field even with the pressure a mission came with.
However to his utter bewilderment, you happened to be the most dangerous being he had ever come across, because in all of his years as a trained, professional assassin, Bucky had never, never, tripped over his own feet.
And so, inevitably, Bucky’s face ungracefully met the asphalt of the outside track with an audible thunk.
A collective of gasps, oo’s, and ah’s, rang around the large group. Bucky could physically feel the coating of red, hot embarrassment climbing up to his now scratched cheeks.
Bucky couldn’t see the look of shame and pity on Sam’s face as he dropped his head into his hands. All he was capable of was fantasizing faking his own death and moving far, far away where no one who witnessed his fall could ever find him.
With a painful, deep groan, Bucky managed to roll himself over. He couldn’t bear to open his eyes and allow himself to accept reality yet and so he kept them closed, waiting for the ground to swallow him up or for the beaming sun to slowly incinerate him, melt him into the ground with his shame and dignity.
But instead of either of those, a shadow casted over him, the harsh brightness behind his eyelids dulling down. Slowly, he peeked an eye open, only for mortification to kick him in the gut when he found you standing over him.
“You alright there, Soldier?” Your hands were set on your hips, those deliciously curved grooves of your body that he had shamelessly stared at one too many times during gym sessions.
“Mhm,” he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing roughly. “Just peachy.”
Even though you’d just seen him eat dirt, in front of hundreds of learning recruits and the rest of the avengers, your smile was kind as you held out your hand. “Need some help?”
Bucky took your offering, sliding his clammy palm into your dry one and hoisted himself up with your grip. He hadn’t needed your help, he was a super soldier with a metal arm; an agility and strength beyond normal human ability. But he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to feel your soft skin against his.
He couldn’t look you in the eye as he stood up, aware of your gaze glued to him. “Th-Thanks.”
“It’s not a problem,” you said. “Although, you’ve got a few nasty looking cuts on your cheeks.”
Bucky brought his left hand up to his face, hissing when the cool vibranium stung the open wounds. “Ah, it’s nothin’—don't worry about it. Nothing a few hours won’t fix.”
You shook your head fondly. “Well, how about I walk you to the infirmary and we get some ointment on them? It wouldn’t hurt to be cautious.”
Bucky choked on his own spit and snapped his eyes to yours. “W-We?”
Your smile was blinding — so beautiful with an ability to stop time. At least for him anyway. “Yeah, why not? It looks like you could use a hand—y’know, since you’re a little clumsy on your feet today.” The cheeky smirk that followed your words almost sent him to an early grave.
His cheeks blazed. Bucky was sure he looked utterly stupid, with his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. But he couldn’t help the effect you had on him. “I um—I— ha, I guess.”
Your eyes glinted mischievously. “I’ll take that as a yes?”
Not trusting his voice to hold steady, Bucky simply nodded.
“Great,” you approved. “Just one question though, are we going to keep holding hands on the way?”
Looking down to the space between you, Bucky felt his mouth dry when he saw that he hadn’t yet released his hand from yours. “I’m—oh fuck—I’m so sorry.”
Still, he made no move to slacken his grip.
You tightened your lips, and he knew you were willing yourself not to laugh for his sake. Sam would have a fucking field day with this.
Though to his surprise, instead of pulling away like he expected you to, you began pulling him along, hands still interweaved. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, Bucky.”
His name on your lips was akin to a siren singing her song; dragging helpless seamen to their deaths. A thought crossed his mind then, that he didn’t think he would mind so much if he sank to his reckoning, not if your voice was the last thing he ever heard.
“Okay.” Bucky followed you blindly, eyes glued to your conjoined hands and disbelieving of his luck.
You had led the way towards the medbay and found a cozy, private room that the doctors used for small injuries. Bucky sat impatiently on the side of the medical bed, twiddling his thumbs and fidgeting restlessly. Never had he been so close to you, alone.
Bucky internally prayed with all his faith that you couldn’t hear the rapid staccato of his heartbeat. He was sure if he was hooked up to a monitor, the doctors would be thoroughly concerned about his health.
Finally having gathered all the supplies you deemed necessary along with a first aid box, you walked back over to the bed and dumped everything next to him.
“So,” you began, an uneasy conspiratorial tone to your voice that weirdly reminded him of Sam. “Wanna tell me what happened out there?”
“I—,” Bucky sheepishly scratched the back of his neck while his cheeks bloomed crimson red. “I must’ve just tripped over my own feet.”
He tried to shrug off his nonchalance, but he knew by your raised eyebrow you didn’t believe him. “Somehow, I have a hard time believing a big, strong super soldier such as yourself has any trouble finding his footing.”
Before Bucky could muster up any other excuse but the truth, you ripped open the packet of a medical wipe and warned him, “I’m sorry. This is gonna sting.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said with bravado.
Bucky wasn’t prepared for the twinkle in your eye as you mumbled under your breath, “I’m sure it isn’t, Sargeant.”
The breath got knocked out of his lungs. Oh did that do things to him.
Suddenly, vivid images of you spread out on his bed wearing nothing but his old army hat while you screamed out his rank ran wild in his mind.
Luckily, you were too preoccupied with cleaning the dried blood of his wound to notice him discreetly palming the bulge in his athletic shorts, trying to hide the effect you had on him.
“Are you certain there is absolutely no other reason as to why I’m playing nurse right now, then?” Your feline grin was sexy and scary. “No possible distractions that led you off path?”
There was no way you could read minds, right? Bucky doubled down on his denial, shaking his head from side to side and letting the length of his hair hide the truth in his eyes.
“I’ll take your word for it then.” You finished up and reached for the healing gel. “I know the serum enhances your ability to repair the cuts, but I’d still like to use this.” Looking into his eyes, you asked, “Only as long as you’re okay with that, of course.”
Time stopped and the two of you were caught in the other’s gaze. It was such a small gesture, one you probably didn’t even realise meant the world to him. But you asked him for permission on something that would affect his autonomy and if Bucky didn’t already have a hundred ways he was falling for you, that would have been the cherry on top.
“Yeah,” he breathed airily. “Yeah, I’m good with it, doll.”
Unseen to him before, you ducked your head and sweeped your hair behind your ear and if Bucky didn’t know any better, he was sure you were shy.
He couldn’t help the large grin he sported. He was always so enamored with you, quick to falter in your presence and become unsure of himself. Right now though, a small bout of bravery returned. “Ready when you are,” he cheekily murmured.
You hastily rushed to compose yourself. Clearing your throat, you squeezed the tube of gel, allowing a small drop of the cool liquid on the tip of your finger and stepped between his legs to gently dab it onto his cuts.
“Okay, you’re all fixed up now.” With a last swipe of his forehead, you smiled. “Don’t worry, Buck. You still look handsome.”
He tugged his plump bottom lip between his teeth. “You think I’m handsome?”
You giggled. “I would be blind if I didn’t.”
Bucky blinked at you slowly, still processing your words and trying to calm the excited bubble rising in his throat.
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, don’t act all coy, Bucky. You must have heard the whispers of the recruits. They stare at you all the time, whispering and giggling to each other.���
With the most confidence he had ever mustered up, he responded, “Truthfully, I’m too busy staring at someone else to notice, doll.”
The shock of his sudden boldness was glaringly obvious on your face — it was you this time who held your mouth open, lost for words.
Bucky’s body screamed at him to tell you that he was in fact head over heels for you. That had he known falling over in front of the full compound would lead him within a hair’s breadth away from you, he’d do it all over again.
But you seemed to recover after a couple of seconds, clearing your throat and making yourself busy to avoid his eyes. “So, I’ve got another question.”
“Oh?” Bucky cocked his head.
“Yeah.” You smiled while placing everything back into the first aid box as you found it. “I’ve been hearing a few rumours around the compound recently.”
Bucky’s stomach dropped with dread.
“You wouldn’t know anything about those, would you?”
“I—” Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Oh,” you hummed. “So it’s not true then? You don’t have a crush on me?”
Fuck.
Panicking, Bucky scoffed, though it came off sounding too pathetic, too breezy. “Me? Have a crush on you? That’s—Ha! Nope. No way. Not at all.”
He watched as you nodded to yourself. Internally, he was begging for the floor to swallow him while he cringed at his own stupidity.
“Well,” you shrugged. “That’s a shame, I guess.”
Bucky’s head shot up, eyes wide and shock written over his features. “E-Excuse me?”
“Oh, it's nothing really.” There was a sparkle in your eye that screamed trouble. “You said you didn’t have a crush on me, so it doesn’t matter.”
Within seconds, Bucky jumped off the bed and leapt towards you, not even noticing how he had grabbed your hands. “Doll, please. You can’t leave a guy hanging like that.”
Playfully rolling your eyes, you dramatically exhaled and decided to put him out of his misery. “Leave you hanging? Damn, Buck. It’s not as if I’ve been waiting patiently for you to ask me out for months or anything like that.”
The air became humid and stuffy and suddenly the clothes attached to Bucky’s body felt too tight and restricting. “You—What now?”
You rolled your lips inwards, trying to smother your laughter. “Bucky, honey,” you gently murmured. “I’ve heard what the others have been gossiping about. I’ve definitely heard Sam telling the team about your crush on me.”
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “That fuckin’ punk.”
You squeezed his hands reassuringly and offered him a warm smile when he looked at you. “I’ve just been waiting to hear it from the horse's mouth himself.”
Bucky’s eyes darted between yours, trying to find any hint of decievement. “You’re serious.”
“Mhm,” you whispered. “Deadly.”
It took him a couple of seconds to let the new information sink in. Clearing his throat, Bucky untightened his fierce grip on your hands and hesitantly slid them down to latch onto your waist. “So,” he mumbled. “Say if I asked you out to dinner tonight… You wouldn’t tell me I’m a fool and break my heart into a million pieces?”
Butterflies erupted in Bucky’s stomach at the sensation of your hands sliding over his chest to rest against his neck. “No, Bucky,” you chuckled. “I would tell you that I’m looking forward to our first date, tonight. Nowhere fancy, just casual. Six o’clock sharp.”
Bucky smiled, all beaming and ecstatic. “I wouldn’t dream of being late.”
“Good.” You leaned up onto your tip toes and ghosted your lips over his ear. “See you very soon then, Sargeant.”
Tingles shot down Bucky’s spine and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He fought tooth and nail to crush the moan that rose up his throat and in his internal struggle, he missed how you’d sneakily slipped out of his hold and started to saunter towards the door.
He almost begged you to come back; the thought of having to wait for you until the evening was unbearable. But those pesky butterflies that invaded his stomach came back strong and fierce as his gaze became glued to the sway of your hips and the sweet perfume that lingered in your exit.
“Oh,” you stopped suddenly at the doorway and looked over your shoulder. “One more thing. Don’t go tripping over again, you hear me?” You raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Can’t have you falling for me.”
Your damn smirk was intoxicating and Bucky thought himself the luckiest fella alive to be the one taking you out. He licked his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have a little trouble with that request, Ma’am.”
The clench of your thighs was unmissable. The way your eyes dilated called to him. Bucky had more game than he realised and he kept that new information tucked safely into the corner of his mind for a later date.
You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to. Your actions told Bucky everything he needed to know and so he wiggled his fingers with a huge grin locked onto his face and watched you longingly as you left his sight.
The minute he couldn’t hear your footsteps any longer, Bucky pumped his fist up into the air and began dancing on the spot.
In his own bubble of happiness, he didn’t hear the footsteps of a new person entering the hallway. Only when an amused clearing of the throat echoed from the doorway did Bucky abruptly stop his dancing and slowly swivel to the intruder.
Sam stood there, all cocky and mirthful with a shit eating grin on his face. “About time you bagged the girl, man. Dont’cha think?”
Instantly, Bucky growled and grabbed the closest apparatus. With a pair of medical scissors, he charged towards Sam, who was quick to wipe the smirk off his face and skid out of the room with a scream.
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes x reader fluff#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x fluff#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky barnes oneshot
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squirting for the first time with jjk men?? 😫
❛ SLIPPERY WHEN WET! ❜
sukuna, toji, getō, gojo, namami, choso. jjk men and their reaction to making you squirt for the first time
total wc. 3.6k
warnings. fem!reader, degradation, squirting, overstim, praise, fingering, unprotected sex, p*ssydrunk men, dumbification, pussyspanking, toy usage, edging. MDNI
FUSHIGURO ☆ TOJI
“hm? ain’t no guy ever make ya squirt before?” he grunts. and you’re just absentmindedly being stuffed, both of your wrists gripped back with toji holding onto them, his strokes were mean and demanding. your head continued to thump and bounce against the soft silk pillow that rested underneath your head. all you could make out was a sweet pathetic ‘nuh-uh’ and toji raises his thin eyebrows in amusement. “no baby…? not even once?”
“no- don’t think i can, i tried myself but…”
he snickers. “silly girl. trust me, you can squirt,” you bit your lip, eyes nearly rolling back from his jagged thrusts, its so good you nearly feel drool start to run down the corners of your mouth, how embarrassing it was—yet you remained stupid from his dick, feeling the warmth of your pussy clench tight against him. “want me to test it out?”
“yeah,” you whine, your voice was a mere soft mewl, an almost mumble practically, and toji gifts your ass with a spank, eliciting a moan from your mouth. he grows cocky the minute a huh? leaves his mouth. so you correct yourself with a “y-yes.”
“….‘yeah’ what girl,” he groans, skimming his dark green eyes down to see how your body jerks underneath him. his weight lightly hovers against you, and he’s still got a firm grip with your wrists, having you pitifully tongue-tied. “taught you how to speak to me. so let’s try that again.”
arrogant bastard, what your thoughts originally said—making you purposely repeat yourself, but his cock always always made up for it.
“please,” you choke out, moaning from the way he deepens his thrusts just a tad bit, your mouth starts to water from the way your pussy twitches in content. “make me squirt toji. please. i wanna be messy for you.”
“aw that’s my girl,” he purrs, releasing his grip from your wrists, yet it remains still against your bare back, his thrusts snap against you to where a cute gasp leaves your lips. “but oh, you’ve been messy though, but there’s nothing wrong with that, princess,” he teases, such mockery escaping from his tone. “relax for me, yeah? you’ll feel it when it comes.”
“okay,” you moaned, your left cheek pressed up against the white sheets of the mattress. it was cute, your face being up against the bed as you’re being absolutely stuffed and pounded. you felt yourself tightening from the inside—a coil desperately awaiting to be snapped, a feeling you never knew you could feel, and you probably looked so dumb. “okay okay o-okay.”
you cutely kept sputtering, repeating and bracing yourself. toji brings a rough hand towards the back of your neck as he’s ramming his fat length from behind you, such thrusts has your body spasming and crying out for more, it feels like a orgasm being snatched away from you.
“give it to me, girl.” he grunts, giving your ass another mean spank. the immense build up. your legs judder continuously to where your mind goes blank like an empty canvas, empty..
“a-ah t-toji—!” you squeaked, and he’s so ruthless whenever it came to you, each time you try to sit up to turn around he shoved your head lightly back down, it’s so cute. “fuck, fuck. f-fuck, ‘s about to-” and a gasp interrupts your words the minute you squirt all down his shaft to his base, your sweet juices sheath and sheath all the way down and it’s so warm and hot.
the minute you end up squirting, your legs felt so weak, it just quavered and shook. “oh my g-god,” you sobbed, and he slows his sloppy thrusts against your cunt down—leaning up close to you, direct and personal. “there we go mama, my messy fuckin’ squirter,” he whispers, he’s pressed against your ass and wraps a few fingers around your neck. planting a kiss underneath your chin he murmurs. “you made such a mess. how’s it feel?”
“good. but feels w-wet toji.”
“eheh, well yeah girl, that’s kinda the point.” he snickers, playfully sinking his teeth into your neck, giving it a teasing nibble.
SUKUNA ☆ RYŌMEN
“hm? make you squirt huh? so greedy.. my fingering isn’t enough for you?” sukuna teases and you’re laid flat on your back with your legs lazily lifted up, more like he’s holding them up for you.
you moaned, feeling him slide a single digit in and out. he sneaks a wet kiss against your thigh before leaning in to press his lips against your pussy, tasting how sweet you were. “...kuna ‘m not greedy, just wanna see what it feels like, please..”
“you are greedy,” he grunts, giving your cunt a swift spank to make your legs twitch, “but sure thing.” he mutters, warm minty breath going against your clit. your head goes back and your mouth slightly opens and parts from the way he’s fingering you and eating you out. his lips latch and lock against your folds to make your eyes roll back. he was so filthy with his tongue let alone his fingers.
you sucked your teeth—feeling his two fingers push deep in and out, going past against that spot each time, instead of your eyes rolling you were practically crossed eyed.
“f-fuck, fuck, ‘s good ‘kuna...”
“i know. you keep saying that, dumb girl. quit talkin’ and start squirting.” and you lose count of how many mean slaps he gives your pussy. he’s so mean, yet found every few seconds to praise you and let you know how good you’re doing.
“h-hurry up and make me then.”
“little girl, watch it.” he grunts, gifting you a glare, his eyes pierce against yours before he sits up, spitting right on your pussy with a rough spat, he runs a single middle finger down your slit to snatch the tiny brat left in you. you meet eye contact and your slick was very much glistening his chin, being soaked with your sweetness.
your legs were so close, just the epitome of the word jittery with how it just shook, never once staying still. the stimulation he created with his tongue let alone his fingers, it had your mind boggled. “think ‘m getting close, f-fuck.”
“uh huh. fuckin’ bet you are.” he whistles in response—grabbing ahold of his dick and you let off a cute gasp at the way he swipes his throbbing leaky pre-swollen tip against your wetness. “look at that, princess.
so eager to jus’ swallow me up.” and he slowly makes his way inside your cunt, immediately your walls hug him as a response and you’re just at the very limit. “come on, let go for me. you dont gotta be shy around me, neither does this wet pussy.”
the minute you squirt…it’s embarrassing, sukuna only smacks about five deep thrusts against your cunt and you’re already making a mess all over his base. “s-so good.” you’d cry out, and he’s staring at you.
a grunt departs his lips before he leans in to kiss you, pulling out only to ghost his fingers against your clit.
“you’re such a nasty girl,” he murmurs against your lips, you moan—tasting your own slick that ran down his chin, the sharp edges of his teeth playfully nibbling down on your lip. his body heat against yours made you feel tingly and even more in such heat. “tell me you’re my nasty girl, baby.”
“i-i’m a nasty girl, ‘kuna.” you moaned.
he gives you a dead stare—and you whine once he slips two fingers inside your throbbing pussy.
“i’m your nasty girl, ‘kuna.” you rephrased, and a cocky grin forms on his lips.
“what a good obident girl. think i like you.”
NANAMI ☆ KENTO
“you sure sweetheart?” he asks in a soft mumble, he has a wand in hand. the ringing of the toy rings against your ears as your legs were sprawled apart for him. “you want me to make you…squirt?”
“yes p-please, kento.” you nod, the cuteness bestowed upon your lips was beyond words to describe. the way your lip quivered, it was barely up a few notches yet you throbbed and throbbed. despite it only being a good ten minutes. you’re just a whimpering mess.
eager to touch yourself, you reach down to play with your pussy before he grabs it, kissing the back of your hand.
he chuckles. “oh baby…baby, gotta keep those hands to yourself if you want me to make you messy. okay? no touching.”
“s-sorry kento.”
“aw, don’t be sorry. squirt, princess.” he teases, a hum underneath his tone he was so gentle with you, with his touch yet your legs felt like they were pretty much about to give out.
the stimulation made your teeth nearly chatter, toes clench and your back nearly arching. he finds you to be so pretty like this. flat on your chest, drool running down your mouth against the pillow with your mind empty.
you hold in a moan, teeth lightly piercing down on your lip to help silence yourself from the immense pleasure, the overstim from just releasing had your chin just hovering over your arm.
“o-one more level kento.”
“more? it’s gonna be on four, dunno if my cute whiney princess can handle that.”
“p-please, need it. i wanna-”
you moan at the swift sound of nanami swiping a thumb across the vibrating toy feeling the impulses throb against your sweet cunt, indeed it now being a level higher from three and it’s so good you can just taste the urge to let yourself go.
the sudden feeling of his sneaking fingers to brush and slither against your puffy folds was just enough to send you to burst—your mouth slightly went agape, and you’re just stupid. “n-nanami.”
“so dumbstruck you said nanami instead of kento, such a sweet thing,” and you end up squirting the minute he rubs the toy in a circular motion—maneuvering it against you along with fingers to ghost and run alongside your achy pussy. “easy, ‘s okay. lie down on your chest. jus’ let go for me baby, yeah.”
“such a gorgeous girl,” he whispers in awe, leaning down to kiss your clit which turns to countless smooches, mwah after mwah and your legs were practically mush by now. “let me clean you all up with my tongue, ‘m your husband, least i could do. so relax for me, my love.”
SUGURU ☆ GETO
“oh? i’ve made you squirt before, no?” he cackles, leaning back against the headrest of the couch.
“no,” you whined, still getting over your post-orgasm, his cock stood firm inside of you, such inches of his kept you warm with your hands pressed against his chest. geto stares at you with intrigued darkened eyes. having you sat on his lap, legs still barely recovered a few minutes ago. “don’t think you ever did...”
geto grips your waist, sliding a tongue across his lips before muttering in a sly coy tone. “mhm hmm,” and he’s so sassy, even having the audacity to roll his eyes at you. black specks of hair trickle down and paint the lower half of his body. geto’s happy trail was always appetizing to look at.
“this your little way of asking me to make you soak yourself on me, angel? how cute.” he grins.
“…sugu—” and you gasp at the way he grunts the minute the pads of his thumbs lightly press and pierce into your skin. he starts making you bounce against him and your mouth opens, such lewd whines exit your lips before you throw your arms around his neck.
“wanna squirt, do it yourself. fuck me baby. show me how bad you want it,” and he groans how he’s so stuffed. so full of cum still, hefty base pounding and thwacking back against your pussy. “you’re a big girl. do it y-yourself, mhm…shit.”
he was so teasingly sly, making you rut yourself against him, in the end you always had to do pretty much everything yourself whenever it came to geto.
“…okay,” you choked out, and he playfully leans back — tiny beads of sweat running down the side of his forehead as well as the very middle part of his chiseled v-line.”
it felt so good, you’re dumbly grating your teeth together, still so sensitive, the only cacophony that left your lips was cute whimpers of, “s-sugu,” “…want you s’bad,” and even, “you’re so mean.”
he chuckles at how dumb you grew out to be simply from being stuffed full of thick inches of his dick. “gotta be mean to deal with a pussy this wet.”
his girth had you running for your money, toes clinching as you started to rollick and jerk your hips against him, reaching a hand down to play with yourself before you whine. “f-feel it, suguru.”
“yeah? what are you waitin’ for then?” he purrs.
he chuckled at the sudden moments where you’d grow quiet — he knows how good he’s getting underneath your skin with his vexatious teasing.
his cock expanded in and out the more you moved your hips against him, your soft breaths getting caught in your throat before it comes, you squirt at the same time geto came and he’s caught off guard by the sticky messy feeling, he’s the one who slips off a whine. “s-shit..”
it came out a lot…
let alone with him soaking your cunt full of his own, you really felt stuffed and full to the very depths of it, it felt like a sharp coil within you snapped. geto starts panting, and he takes a moment to blink before grunting, staring away with a flustered face. “don’t look at me. finish fucking me, hmph.”
SATORU ☆ GOJO
“pretty please, ‘toru,” you’d whine out, and he was just straight up cocky and mean, teasing you with having you on all fours, impatient and desperately desperate. “i wanna…wanna squirt.”
“i know you do,” he laughs, playfulness ran all over his tone before he gives your ass a squeeze. that earned a needy moan out of you and you but down on your lip while staring at the fat sheets of the mattress underneath you. “are you asking me to make you squirt or are ya tellin’ me, pretty girl?”
he was so infuriating. even while being plugged in with so much of his thick inches, even just barely with the way he kept swiping his fat tip against your slit, awaiting you.
“….‘m asking, s-satoru.”
he whirrs a playful tone before flipping you over on your back to face him, and then he smiles. “okay. if that’s what you want,” and his voice was so low—a tad bit raspy with pompous smugness all over his sentences. “since i know how impatient ‘n horny you are all the damn time, i’ll make ya squirt in about one minute.”
a minute?
was that even possible—you always heard about how it would take at least longer than that but then you remembered who you were dealing with. gojo satoru and his long pretty fingers that never failed to stretch your pussy out. he was forever proud of that fact, he’d make you soaking wet from not only his dick, his mouth, but especially his fingers.
“it’s gonna get messy, ‘m warning you,” he teases, pulling you up a bit to place a towel down underneath your back. he leans in to pepper kisses underneath your chin before seconds later, he moves his length aside with a grip — before slowly stuffing a single long finger inside, which after a few milliseconds, turns into another. “now, i’m gonna need you to be a good wet girl and jus’ relax for me.”
his words were soothing. you could hardly comprehend anything so his sentences went straight towards your clit, throbbing and throbbing you wanted more. he finds it cute how you grip onto his wrist, babbling about how you don’t want him to stop. “o-okay, satoru. okay.”
you shudder at the feeling of him grazing a thumb down your slit and he moves his head down between your legs to blow softly against your pussy and you moan, feeling him create a good amount of pressure to where you bare down against his fingers easily as if it came natural.
“sweet girl,” he groans, giving your pussy a kittenish suck. your eyes went back in pleasure and you whined at the feeling of his two fingers just smacking in and out of you now. the noises, they were so loud you could hardly even believe it was coming out of you. “hear how wet this sloppy pussy is? yeah girl, that’s you.”
his words that went through your ear and out the other and it got you so wet. his degradation had you pulsing, you felt the inside of your tummy tighten, muscles clenching with you lying down on your back, bracing yourself. gojo was patient with you, occasionally bringing soft kisses towards your clit. you whined before he started to grow more feral, sucking and latching his tongue against your folds while still having two fingers stuffed inside your pussy.
your brain doesn’t even process you’re squirting before gojo lets off a, “oopsie,” the minute you squirt out on his fingers, the front tips of his fingers massage and toy and prod against that spot you always grew to know—and you moan at the way he easily stole a orgasm from you like that, within a single span of a minute.
“aw. you look like you just saw your life flash before your eyes, baby,” then he sits up to face you. both arms pressed around you before muttering in a teasing tone, “want a taste? open your mouth.”
and he gives you the most sloppiest kiss, shoving his tongue down your throat before grunting, you moan in his mouth. your legs wrapped around his slim waist before he squeezes a hand down on your pussy only to spank it roughly, breaking away for a bit before whispering, “good girl. now gimme one more. wanna see if i can do it within thirty seconds.”
CHOSO ☆ KAMO
“b-baby…you wanna do that?” choso mumbles, staring in awe as the both of you watched some random eight minute compilation of women squirting. he was staring intently, and then he only grew more flustered at picturing you like that. legs all spread, eyes rolled back and maybe your tongue stupidly lolled out. “um.. squirt?”
“yes…” you nodded, sitting on his lap. he throbbed behind you, still a bit tingly from his recent orgasm of fucking you.
you pressed against his back and his chin cutely rests against your shoulder. choso’s always been a bit inexperienced whenever it came to well, women. he’s had sex sure….but he doesn’t think he’s ever made a girl do this, this thing called squirting. not until you brought it up.
the more he watched it, the more he moaned to himself at imagining you being all messy like that.
“okay baby, i can do it,” he murmurs in a soft voice.
he brings a hand between your legs and pries it open just a bit, “lie back,” he moans, seeing your legs sprawl open slowly for him made him lick his lips, he was so hungry for you. you had the phone in your hand so he could watch, imitate the exact ways to make a woman squirt with ease and it was so cute how attentive he was. “s-stimulate the um…g-spot a little like this,” he mumbles to himself, and you moan once he slowly inserts two slender long fingers inside your pussy, you were so wet he lets off a cute, “o-oh….”
his eyes multitasked, turning its focus towards you and the screen that played the lewd video at the same time. “like that c-choso, please.”
“i’m doing a good job?” he says, and it’s almost into a form of a whine. all because he’s so desperate to hear your praise and approval, he feels his stomach flip in a good way at feeling you nod against his chest, affirming him to not stop. “okay, okay,” he mutters. “add a little um…p-pressure, consistent pressure until you feel a spongey like texture deep towards the clit.”
you moaned, his words matched his fingers, you tried to squeeze your thighs together but remembered you couldn’t because they were open.
your head rested back against his chest and with a right hand squeezing down onto his thigh, you felt your leg start to bounce. “m-more.”
“don’t wanna rush this baby,” he kisses the back of your forehead. a small pout going across your lips before he continues, pausing to hear the voice on the video that’s instructing speak.
he leans against your ear, strands of his hair poking against you before he murmurs. “bare against my fingers princess. squeeze down a little ‘n relax. can you do that?”
you choke out a moan once you obey his words, doing exactly what he says before you feel a sudden rush reaching out, you never felt this feeling before such a high you craved and chased you felt dizzy, a good kind of a dizzy.
“c-choso, ‘s coming, ‘s coming,” you moaned, your legs not able to hold themselves still. he has a perfect bowling ball grip with his fingers, stroking gently against you to where your mouth salivates with your own saliva.
“…fuck,” you sobbed, the warmth of him massaging his long fingers inside of you made you taste every number of tastebuds that resided on your tongue.
the moment you gush out and squirt, coating his fingers clean of your sheeny pretty slick, you flop back against his chest and you can ever hear a tiny gasp leave his lips. “w-wow,” he whispers in shock — with how much you squirted, he was so fascinated, growing more and more curious and it was adorable. “can you…can we do that again? please?”
#★vegasbaby.#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk x reader#jjk x you#gojo smut#toji smut#sukuna smut#geto smut#nanami smut#choso smut#gojo x reader#toji x reader#sukuna x reader#choso x reader#nanami x reader#geto x reader#satoru gojo x reader#geto suguru smut#female reader#anime smut#anime x reader#tw sex#gojo satoru x reader#toji fushiguro smut#nanami kento smut
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To Have a Heart
CEO!Max Verstappen x single mother!Reader
Summary: Max is a titan of industry, used to making grown men cry with one glance … then you and your daughter turn his carefully controlled life upside down
Warnings: descriptions of pediatric cancer
Max strides into his corner office, his Italian leather shoes clicking sharply on the marble floors. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline, but he pays it no mind as he makes his way to the large mahogany desk.
His assistant, Clara, follows a few steps behind, her heels clacking nervously. “Sir, Mr. Henderson is waiting in the conference room per your request.”
Max doesn’t bother responding as he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat behind the desk. With a flick of his wrist, he motions for Clara to leave. She gives the tiniest of nods and scurries out, closing the double doors behind her.
Taking a deep breath, Max presses the intercom button. “Send him in.”
A moment later, the doors reopen and a balding, paunchy man in an ill-fitting suit enters. Even from across the room, Max can see the bead of sweat rolling down the man’s forehead.
Good.
He should be nervous.
“Mr. Henderson.” Max says, his tone clipped. “Do you know why I called you here?”
The man — Henderson — fidgets with his tie. “Y-Yes, sir. The, uh, the Brighton acquisition ...”
“The $3.75 billion deal that was supposed to be finalized yesterday.” Max interjects, leaning back in his chair. “A deal that the company has been meticulously negotiating for over six months. A deal that would have been the largest hostile takeover in our firm’s history.”
Henderson gives a somber nod, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Max fights the urge to roll his eyes at the sad display.
“Because of your incompetence, that deal is now in jeopardy.” Max continues, his voice dropping to a menacing register. “Please explain to me how someone with three decades of accounting experience could possibly make the amateur mistake of misplacing a decimal point on the binding purchase agreement?”
“I … I missed it in the final review.” Henderson stammers out, sweat now visibly staining the armpits of his shirt. “The numbers, they all start to blur together after-”
“Do not insult my intelligence with your pitiful excuses.” Max cuts him off, slamming a fist down on the desk. He takes no small amount of satisfaction in the way the man flinches. “Because of your idiocy, we offered $235 million over the agreed purchase price. An overpayment to the tune of $2.5 billion with a ‘B’!”
Henderson seems to shrink into himself with each biting word. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Verstappen. It won’t happen again, I swear-”
“You’re damn right it won’t happen again.” Max growls, rising from his chair so quickly that it goes clattering backwards. He leans across the desk, getting directly in Henderson’s ashen face. “Because you’re fired. Effective immediately.”
The words seem to take a moment to register in Henderson’s mind. When they do, his eyes widen in panic and he starts shaking his head rapidly.
“No, no, please! You can’t fire me!” he cries, any veneer of professionalism crumbling. “I-I’ll work double shifts, triple shifts! I’ll volunteer for all the weekend audits, no overtime pay! J-Just don’t fire me, I’m begging you!”
Max recoils slightly at the outburst of blubbering, his lip curling in disgust. How pathetic, to see a grown man so thoroughly debased. He almost feels pity for the wretch … almost.
“This conversation is over.” Max says, his tone resolute as he straightens his tie. “You have one hour to collect your things and get out of my building. After that, security will escort you out.”
“B-But I have three kids!” Henderson sputters, tears streaming down his face now. “A mortgage. Alimony payments! You can’t just-”
In a burst of rage, Max sweeps his arm across the desk, sending papers, files, and office supplies clattering to the floor in a violent clutter.
“I am Max Verstappen!” He bellows, his face flushed crimson. “I do not make empty threats, Mr. Henderson. You are a miserable, costly disappointment. A failure. And I will not allow failures to remain under my employ.”
The words seem to drain what little fight was left in Henderson. His shoulders slump in defeat, and he lets out a pitiful whimper. Max feels his anger deflate, replaced with a tired disdain.
“One hour.” he repeats, falling back into his chair in exhaustion. “Get out of my sight.”
Henderson doesn’t need to be told twice. With trembling hands, he begins collecting the various objects scattered across the floor — pencils, paperclips, manila folders now slightly crumpled. His motions are slow, pained, like those of a man having just received a terminal diagnosis.
Max watches impassively as the sniveling accountant gathers his belongings. Part of him feels a twinge of … not quite guilt, but maybe the faintest pangs of empathy for the broken man before him. He quickly smothers that flicker of sympathy. This is the cost of doing business in the world of high-stakes acquisitions and mergers. There is no room for weakness or mistakes. Only results matter.
Finally, with his meager pile of office supplies clutched to his chest, Henderson straightens up. His face is blotchy and tear-stained, but he seems to have regained some small scrap of dignity. He meets Max’s cold stare for just a moment before turning on his heel and shuffling out of the office.
The double doors close behind him with a hollow thud that hangs in the air. Max lets out a slow exhale, suddenly aware of the tension that had been coiling inside him. He runs a hand over his face, then taps a button on his phone intercom.
“Clara, get me William Evans from legal on the line immediately.” he says, his voice steady once more. “We need to do damage control on the Brighton situation before it becomes irreparable.”
“Right away, sir.” comes the reply, his assistant’s voice tightly professional.
Max leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he stares out at the New York City skyline. This is far from the first firing he has issued, and it certainly won’t be the last. He is a great white shark, always needing to move forward or else he will drown in the depths of his own ambition.
There is a soft rap at the door, pulling Max from his reverie.
“Come in.” he calls out. Clara enters, her face schooled into a mask of polite disinterest. So much the better — he respects discretion.
“I have Mr. Evans on line two for you.” she says crisply.
Max gives a succinct nod. “Thank you, Clara. That will be all.”
As his assistant withdraws, Max takes a fortifying breath. He is Max Verstappen. He is the master of the corporate ocean. And he will not allow one flailing failure to capsize his empire.
Squaring his shoulders, he picks up the phone and begins issuing a stern series of orders and demands. After all, there is little time for rest when one aims to be a modern day titan of industry.
***
You take a deep breath and rap firmly on the door to the HR director’s office. “Come in.” a flat voice calls out.
Steeling yourself, you twist the handle and step inside the dingy, fluorescent-lit room. Janet, the red-haired HR manager, looks up from her computer with a practiced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Ah, Y/N. What can I do for you today?” She asks in an overly saccharine tone.
You take a seat across from her cluttered desk, your knee bouncing with nervous energy. “I … I need to request some personal leave. Family medical reasons.”
Janet’s perfectly penciled eyebrows rise in bland surprise. “I see. And how much time were you hoping to take?”
Your throat tightens as you force out the words. “At least a month. Maybe more, depending on … on how things progress.”
The HR manager clucks her tongue as she shakes her head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We’re in our busiest quarter and you know the company policy — no extended leave during crunch periods unless it’s a valid health emergency.”
You feel panic fluttering in your chest. This has to be a valid emergency! “But it is an emergency! My daughter, she’s ...” Your voice cracks and you swallow hard, desperate to maintain your composure. “She’s very sick, potentially terminal. I need to be with her right now.”
Janet’s face remains stubbornly impassive. “I’m sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. Truly, I am. But unless you can provide official documentation from a medical professional, my hands are tied.”
The words hit you like a slap across the face. Of course they would require documentation to approve leave — it’s standard corporate policy. But how can mentally collect yourself to get paperwork in order when you’ve been spending every waking moment by your little girl’s hospital bedside?
Unbidden, your mind flashes back to two nights ago, watching in helpless terror as your daughter’s tiny body was racked with another severe seizure. You had screamed yourself hoarse calling for the nurses as the meds they pumped into her did little to stop the violent convulsions ...
You’re vaguely aware of Janet still speaking across from you, something about company guidelines and productivity expectations. But the words sound muffled and far away, as if you’re underwater.
How naive you were to think they might bend the rules, just this once. To think the faceless corporation you pour your life into might actually show a shred of human compassion during your hour of desperate need.
No. That’s not how companies like this operate.
They don’t care about you or your daughter’s life. All they care about is the bottom line, and you’re just an expendable number in their organizational flowchart.
You’re jolted back to reality as Janet raps her lacquered nails impatiently on the desk. “Well? Is there anything else or can I get back to work?”
Is there anything else? Oh, there’s so much more you want to scream at this unfeeling paper-pusher. You want to cry and rage and beg her to just show an ounce of basic human decency.
But you know it would be pointless. Janet is just a cog, same as you. There’s only one person here with the power and influence to authorize what you need.
Only one person who strikes abject terror into the heart of every employee with his infamous volcanic temper and uncompromising expectations.
The thought makes your stomach twist into knots, but you know what you have to do. For your little girl’s sake, you have to try.
So you rise from the chair, willing your legs not to shake. “Thank you for your time.” you mutter tightly, already turning on your heel and storming out of the office.
You don’t look back as Janet calls out something about proper procedure. You just keep moving, your footsteps fueled by a mother’s desperation.
The elevator seems to take an eternity, each second feeling like a little bit more of your daughter’s life trickling away. By the time the doors finally open with a mocking ding, you’re practically vibrating with pent-up nervous energy.
As the mirrored box ascends, your heart feels like it’s trying to batter its way out of your chest. You can hardly breathe past the constriction in your lungs. What if the infamous Max Verstappen laughs in your face? Or has you fired on the spot for daring to interrupt his billion-dollar dealings?
No, you can’t afford to think like that. This may be your only chance to get the time off you so desperately need. For your daughter’s sake, you have to be brave.
The elevator seems to crawl upward at a glacial pace. By the time the doors finally part with a soft chime, you feel like you’re going to be sick from anxiety. This is it, the executive floor — the lair of the terrifying Max Verstappen himself.
You step out into the plush, mahogany-accented lobby with shaking legs. Behind a curved desk, Max’s assistant Clara looks up, her expression instantly hardening when she recognizes you as some inconsequential employee.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Verstappen is not accepting any visitors at the moment.” she says, her tone brooking no argument. “If you’d like to schedule an appointment for next week ...”
“Please.” you blurt out, hating how your voice trembles. “It’s an emergency. I … I need to see him. Just for five minutes.”
Clara’s manicured eyebrow arches skeptically. “I extremely doubt Mr. Verstappen would consider your issue important enough to warrant an unscheduled meeting. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a million things to-”
“It’s about my sick daughter!” The words burst from your lips before you can stop them. Immediately, you regret being so unprofessional, but desperation has eroded your self-control.
For a split second, Clara’s expression flickers with something that might be pity. But it’s quickly subsumed by her usual cool mask of professionalism as she shakes her head.
“I’m very sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. But those are still not grounds for me to disturb Mr. Verstappen while he’s-”
“Please!” You plead, tears of frustration pricking your eyes. “I’m begging you. This could be my last chance! If he says no, I’ll leave, I promise. But I have to try!”
Clara regards you appraisingly for a long moment. Then, letting out a weary sigh, she presses the intercom button. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”
The line crackles with static for several tense seconds. You hold your breath, praying beyond hope that the infamous Max has a rare charitable impulse today.
Then, his unmistakable baritone growls through the small speaker. “This had better be good. Send them in.”
Clara winces almost imperceptibly before gesturing towards the double oak doors to Max’s corner office. “Good luck.” she murmurs.
You don’t need any further prompting. Drawing a shuddering breath, you straighten your spine and make your way to the doors. You pause just briefly, hands trembling, before rapping your knuckles firmly against the lacquered wood.
There’s no going back now. Either Max Verstappen is about to grant you a miracle … or utterly crush your last, fragile hope.
***
Max scowls as the intercom crackles to life, Clara’s hesitant voice filtering through the speaker. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”
He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Surely whatever this is can wait until tomorrow. Max is elbow-deep in paperwork and holding patterns, trying to do damage control on the Brighton acquisition fumble. He has no time for frivolous “personal” disruptions.
“This had better be good.” he growls into the intercom. “Send them in.”
With an irritated huff, Max leans back in his buttery leather chair as the doors to his office swing open. He’s already opening his mouth to berate whoever dares disturb him over something as trivial as a “personal matter.”
Then you tentatively step into the room and Max’s words die in his throat.
Even with your shoulders hunched inward and your makeup smudged from crying, you are utterly breathtaking. A fragile beauty drowning in an oversized blazer, your wide eyes darting around his opulent office with obvious intimidation.
An unwelcome jolt of attraction lances through Max’s chest and he quickly squashes it down. He cannot afford such distractions, especially from a lowly employee like yourself who should know better than to interrupt him during work hours.
“Well?” He finally finds his voice, aiming for a brusque tone to remind you both of your respective places. “You’re hardly someone important enough to be granted an audience. This had better be worth my time.”
The harshness of his words seems to make you flinch. You worry your lip between your teeth, shrinking back slightly.
“I … I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Verstappen.” you begin haltingly. Already Max can feel his patience waning. He hates fumbling fragility and wants only confident decisiveness.
But then your next words come tumbling out in a desperate rush. “It’s about my daughter, sir. My little girl … she’s in the hospital. She has a brain tumor and her condition is deteriorating rapidly. I asked Janet in HR for some personal leave to be with her, but she denied my request and said I need official medical documentation which could take days I don’t have!”
Tears are welling in your eyes now, your voice rising to nearly hysterical levels. “Please, Mr. Verstappen! She’s only three years old and I’m a single mom. I’m all she has right now! I’m begging you … please just give me some time to be with her before … before ...”
You seem unable to voice whatever terrifying possibility lurks in the back of your mind. Instead, you dissolve into shoulder-shaking sobs, burying your face in your hands as you break down completely.
Max feels his earlier irritation softening in spite of himself. He’s seen grown men thrice your age become blubbering messes under his withering glare. But there’s something distinctly vulnerable and gut-wrenching about your anguished tears.
Part of him recognizes this as a prime opportunity to regain control, to berate you for such an unseemly display of emotion. His reputation as a merciless taskmaster practically demands he put you in your place.
But another part of Max … a part he barely recognizes … feels a rare pang of empathy pierce through his calloused exterior.
Perhaps it’s the thought of a scared little girl lying crippled in a hospital bed, scared and missing her mother. Or perhaps it’s the way you wear your devastation so plainly, managing to humanize yourself in a way most people never achieve in his eyes.
Whatever the reason, when Max finally speaks, his tone has lost its earlier bite.
“I did not realize the full severity of the situation.” he says, slowly rising from his chair. He moves around the desk, not missing the way you tense as he approaches.
Up close, he can see the puffy redness rimming your eyes, the despair etched into every line of your face. It stirs something inside him … an ancient ghost of an emotion he can’t quite place.
“I’m sorry you were dismissed so carelessly by HR.” Max continues, struggling to keep his voice even. “Perhaps if you had led with mentioning your daughter’s condition, instead of being so oblique ...”
He trails off as you sniff loudly, dragging the sleeve of your blazer across your nose. The motion is equal parts endearing and mortifying for him to witness.
“Here.” he says impulsively, plucking a crisp linen handkerchief from his suit pocket. He presses it into your hand, watching as you blink owlishly at the unexpected gesture. “Allow me to make things right.”
Without waiting for a response, Max turns and strides over to his desk. He snatches up the phone and rapidly punches in a extension code, holding the receiver to his ear as it begins to ring.
“Janet? Yes, it’s Max Verstappen.” he says crisply when the line picks up. “I’ve just been informed about an ... employee situation that requires your immediate attention.”
He pauses, glancing over at where you’re clutching his handkerchief like a lifeline. Your eyes are still glistening with tears, but you’ve gone utterly still — hanging on his every word.
“One of our marketing staff came to me in quite a state about needing extended leave to be with their hospitalized child.” Max continues, his voice hardening slightly. “A matter you seemed to dismiss without proper consideration for the … nuances of the circumstances.”
There’s a sputtering on the other end of the line, undoubtedly Janet trying to make excuses. Max doesn’t give her the chance.
“The decision has been made to grant the employee’s leave request, effective immediately.” he cuts her off. “They will be excused for … two months, with full pay and benefits.”
His announcement seems to render you momentarily stunned. You simply stare at him, eyes wide and unblinking, like you can’t quite process what you’re hearing.
Max clears his throat self-consciously, refocusing on Janet��s flustered response filtering through the receiver. “B-But sir, we have very strict policies about-”
“Which is precisely why I’m instructing you to make an exception.” Max interjects, his voice brokering no arguments. “This leave is to be coded as paid health and wellness time. I expect no push-back or foot-dragging on this, understood?”
There’s a meek murmur of assent from Janet’s end. Max can’t resist a tight smile of satisfaction.
“Good. I’ll leave the paperwork in your capable hands then. That will be all.” He punctuates the statement by firmly hanging up the phone.
As the clatter of the receiver breaks the tense silence, Max turns to find you staring at him with an utterly inscrutable expression. For a long moment, neither of you speak or move. He finds himself paralyzed under the weight of your intense, unblinking gaze.
Then, with a strangled cry, you suddenly surge forward and throw your arms around him. Max goes ramrod stiff as your slight frame collides with his, your tears dampening the front of his crisp dress shirt.
“Thank you!” You’re whispering over and over like a prayer, clinging to him with a desperation that should be uncomfortable. And yet ... “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Max feels utterly transfixed, like a statue too stunned to react. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to encroach so boldly on his personal space, much less make actual physical contact. He’s not accustomed to such … warmth.
But before the unfamiliar embrace can start to grate on him, you suddenly pull back. Swiping at your eyes, you manage a watery smile up at him.
“You have no idea how much this means, sir. I … I can’t thank you enough for your kindness and understanding.”
He wants to scoff at the notion, to remind you that he is Max Verstappen — merciless and uncompromising in his corporate dealings. That this was merely an isolated instance of pragmatism to avoid a PR incident or workplace lawsuit, nothing more.
But something in your earnest gaze stops the curt rebuttal in his throat. For once, the infamously brusque Max Verstappen finds himself momentarily at a loss for words.
So instead, he gives a terse nod of acknowledgment. Already, his mind is starting to analyze how best to re-allocate your responsibilities for the next two months, which temporary hires to bring in for supplemental coverage.
But one stray thought continues to nag at the back of his mind, an errant curveball amongst the dizzying calculations.
For the first time in years — perhaps his entire adult life — Max feels almost … human.
It’s a strange and deeply unsettling realization, but luckily one he doesn’t have to dwell on.
Because in the next breath, you’re sweeping out of his office, a renewed vigor in your step and a brilliant smile lighting up your features. Max watches you go, an odd tightness settling into his chest.
He doesn’t have words — or perhaps doesn’t want to admit to any words to describe what he’s feeling in this moment. But one thing is for certain, for better or worse, you’ve well and truly upended Max Verstappen’s world.
***
Max remains rooted in place long after you’ve departed, his office now eerily silent in your absence. He should feel relieved to have some peace and quiet again after that … emotional encounter.
Yet instead of settling back into his usual all-consuming work flow, he finds his mind stubbornly replaying the scene on an endless, maddening loop.
The desperation etched onto your delicate features. The way your frame practically vibrated with barely-constrained anguish. The broken, pleading sound of your voice as you begged for his mercy ...
Despite his best efforts to dismiss it, the memory of your raw vulnerability has burrowed its way under Max’s skin, taking up an unwelcome residence. It picks and nags at the edges of his consciousness no matter how much he wills it away.
He has witnessed similar breakdowns from countless employees over the years — grown men and women brought to sniveling tatters by his uncompromising demands. But none of them elicited the same … response within him.
None of them made something twist so peculiarly in Max’s chest, unleashing that brief yet startling flicker of empathy from whatever dark crevice it lurks.
Gritting his teeth, Max paces behind his desk in tight, agitated circles. He prides himself on being a merciless pragmatist, unmoved by emotional pleas or babelling outbursts. Whatever decisions he makes are calculated toward the maximum profit potential and bottom line, end of story.
So why does this one case, this one instance of showing a bare modicum of human compassion, insist on gnawing at him so persistently? It makes no logical sense, no matter how he tries to mentally contort it.
Perhaps that’s the core issue — that for once in his life, Max’s motivations weren’t born strictly of logic or financial incentive. Something else had escaped from beneath, something primal and indefinable, when you broke down so nakedly in front of him.
The realization causes Max’s steps to stutter to a halt. His jaw works tensely as he runs a frustrated hand through his brown hair, disheveling the meticulously groomed coif.
He can admit to himself that some base part of his brain had been … affected by the rawness of your emotion. The way you had stripped away all artifice and propriety to plead so urgently and authentically.
Not many people manage to disarm Max Verstappen’s carefully curated expectation filters. But you had blown straight through them without even realizing it, battering down the reinforced walls he builds around his life. Just by being horrifically, unguardedly human.
It’s both impressive and deeply unsettling in equal measure.
Before Max can spiral any further down this rabbit hole of self-reflection, a sharp rap of knuckles against the door jolts him back to awareness. He straightens and clears his throat roughly.
“Come in.” he calls out, already retaking his seat and trying to project an aura of resolute control.
Clara slips into the office, her usual unflappable poise slightly ruffled as she catches the tense atmosphere. “You asked to see me right away, sir?”
“Yes.” Max says brusquely, watching her over steepled fingers. “I need you to do some … discreet digging for me into a personal matter.”
Clara’s perfectly groomed eyebrow arches inquisitively. But to her credit, she doesn’t comment on his evasive phrasing.
“And what exactly am I looking into?”
“The employee who was just in my office seeking leave.” he explains curtly. “The one with the hospitalized child. I need you to find out everything you can — where the child is being treated, their condition, prognosis, all of it.”
Clara’s perfectly glossed lips purse ever so slightly. “You’re aware I can’t exactly go through official medical channels without violating all sorts of privacy laws ...”
“I’m fully aware.” Max interjects with a curt wave of his hand. “Which is why you’ll have to take a more … unconventional approach. I don’t particularly care what methods you have to employ, just get me those details by the end of the day.”
His assistant regards him silently for a long beat, as if trying to suss out his motivations. Max meets her contemplative look with an unwavering stare of his own.
Finally, Clara gives a tight nod of understanding. “Consider it done, sir.”
With that, she pivots on the towering heel of her Louboutin and sees herself out of the office, the click of her footsteps rapidly retreating down the hall.
Max lets out a slow exhale, alone with his thoughts once more.
What is he doing? This bizarre crusade is so wildly outside of his typical conduct and practices. The lengths he’s going to, all for the sake of some random underling’s personal crisis ...
A smart, calculated part of his brain recognizes this entire situation as a fool’s errand, a waste of time and resources. He should be devoting every ounce of his focus toward extricating the Chinese investment group from the Brighton deal before their next earnings call.
And yet, he can’t seem to fully let this go. Your haunted, hopeless expression keeps flickering through his mind’s eye. The memory of your tears soaking into his suit lapel as you clung to him with a desperation that shook something deep within him.
It’s almost as if his body is acting of its own accord, driven by some urge he can’t fully parse or control. Like a murmured voice insistently compelling him to … to what? Help you? Offer some vague sense of solace or security?
The thought is patently ludicrous, and Max scoffs audibly at his own melodrama. Get a grip, he chides himself sternly. Since when do you care about coddling your peons?
He forcefully shakes off the uncharacteristic reverie and turns back to the stacks of paperwork and documents splayed across his desk. Focusing intently on running new financial projections for Q3, he manages to bury himself in the work for a solid two hours.
He’s in the midst of furiously scribbling margin and revenue notes when the trill of the phone line cuts through his concentration. A glance at the caller ID has him resisting the urge to sigh.
“Clara.” he answers crisply, leaning back in his leather chair. “I trust you’ve made progress?”
“Indeed.” comes the smooth reply, devoid of inflection as always. “Though I should warn you, some of these details are … concerning.”
Something tightens in Max’s chest, but he quickly tamps it down. “Just lay it all out for me. No need to editorialize.”
“Very well.” Clara acquiesces. “So the child, a three-year-old daughter, is currently a patient at Lennox Hill Hospital here in the city. According to my sources, she was admitted five weeks ago after experiencing severe seizures and hallucinations. An MRI revealed she has a large mass-”
“Let me stop you right there.” Max interjects, his brows furrowing. Even he can recognize those are less than encouraging signs. “What’s the official diagnosis then?”
“Grade IV glioblastoma.” Clara replies flatly. “One of the most aggressive malignant brain tumors, especially in children her age.”
A terse silence falls between them as the weight of that diagnosis sinks in. Grade IV … practically a death sentence wrapped up in clinical terminology. Max finds his hand unconsciously clenching the arm of his chair.
“And her prospects?” He finally prompts gruffly. “What’s the … prognosis for her case?”
Clara doesn’t answer right away. Over the line, he can hear her exhale slowly, a rare tell of emotional discomfort from his typically unflappable assistant.
“From what my contact at Lennox Hill said … if we’re talking full disclosure?” Her customary professionalism wavers slightly as her voice grows hushed. “They’ve given her three months at most, sir. Maybe less, if another seizure or bleed occurs before then.”
The words hang in the air like a guillotine blade against Max’s neck. Suddenly, all those intrusive mental flashes of your inconsolable despair take on a sharper, even more heartrending clarity.
Of course you were devastated, he realizes with startling empathy. How could any mother face their child’s death sentence with any measure of composure?
An unexpected swell of emotion rises in Max’s throat and he has to blink rapidly to keep it at bay. Now isn’t the time for such indulgences.
“Thank you, Clara.” he manages in a rough baritone. “That will be all for now.”
He ends the call without waiting for a response, abruptly severing the connection.
Alone once more, Max slumps back against the leather upholstery, an uncharacteristic weariness settling into his bones. He reaches up to loosen his already disheveled tie, suddenly feeling stifled within the confines of his suit.
Three months. Three paltry months for a precious young life to be snatched away before it ever really began. His jaw clenches hard.
That’s unacceptable. Not just unfair, but a complete and total injustice to all that is right and good in this world.
No child should have to suffer like that … and certainly no mother should have to face a future of unimaginable grief and emptiness once her only family is gone. Not if there was anything to be done about it.
And, at the end of the day, Max Verstappen has the means to quite literally move mountains with his wealth and influence.
An idea begins to blossom in his mind — one that feels daring and reckless and so utterly unlike his usual business-oriented self. But he finds himself drawn to it with a singleminded resolve he can’t quite explain.
Jaw set, Max snatches up his phone and punches in a number he never thought he’d use outside of donor galas.
“Roland? Max Verstappen here.” he says gruffly when the line picks up. “I need you to connect me directly with someone in Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology department ...”
Half an hour and multiple calls later, Max is finally patched through to one of the top clinical researchers in the field: Dr. Spencer Paulson.
“Dr. Paulson, thank you for making time on such short notice.” Max says, his tone polished yet clipped. “To cut right to it, I was recently made aware of a … sensitive case involving a terminal pediatric patient and some rather bleak estimated survival rates.”
Without preamble, he lays out what little he knows about your daughter — the diagnosis, the staging, the Lennox Hill prognosis that has already written her off for dead. All throughout, the doctor on the other end of the line remains grimly silent.
“So in your expert opinion.” Max finishes, realizing his hand has unconsciously tightened into a white-knuckled fist. “What would you say her realistic prospects for meaningful treatment or survival are?”
There’s a pregnant pause, then a grim sigh filters through the tinny line. “Based on what you’ve told me … I’m afraid the prognosis does indeed sound dire. Grade IV glioblastomas in children under five have approximately a 5% survival rate past twelve months with conventional treatment regimens.”
Max clenches his teeth, brutally unsurprised yet still floored by the frank assessment. Moments ago, he had still been clinging to a fool’s hope.
“However.” Dr. Paulson continues, his tone brightening slightly. “We do currently have an … experimental trial ongoing that might be an outside option to explore.”
Something akin to hope flutters in Max’s chest. “I’m listening.”
“Well, to put it simply, we’ve had some promising early results adapting viral gene therapies to target and destroy these aggressive brain tumor cells in young patients.” the doctor explains, shifting into a more clinical, lecture-style delivery.
“By modifying and re-engineering certain viruses to bind only to the specific mutated RNA and protein markers found in diseases like glioblastomas, we can theoretically use those same viruses as a delivery vector. One that can slip past the blood-brain barrier and directly infect the cancerous cells with a sort of … controlled payload, if you will.”
Max nods along, his mind working furiously to keep up with the technical jargon. “Some kind of treatment regimen then? Drugs or radiation therapy delivered directly to the tumor site?”
“Precisely.” Dr. Paulson confirms approvingly. “Only we’ve expanded past just chemo and gamma rays as the options. Thanks to the pioneering work of doctors like Bert Jacobs, we’ve now created an entirely new frontier of cancer treatments centered around gene therapy and mRNA editing.”
He rattles off a dizzying litany of polysyllabic scientific terminology that sails completely over Max’s head. Not that it matters — his focus is fully captured by the notes of guarded optimism finally creeping into Paulson’s voice.
“Of course, this is all still highly experimental. We’ve only managed to achieve remission in a handful of trial cases thus far.” the doctor cautions. “And we have no idea if the viral vector we’ve engineered will be equally effective against every variation of cancerous mutation out there.”
Max nods impatiently, waving a hand as if to physically shoo away the vague caveats. “I appreciate the need for clinical hedging, doctor. But let’s cut right to the heart of the matter.”
He draws in a fortifying breath. “If you were to take on this little girl as a patient, deploy these … gene therapy regimens of yours … would you give her a legitimate chance? At treatment, remission, survival?”
There’s a pregnant pause, as if Dr. Paulson is carefully considering the ethical ramifications of his answer. Then, “If she meets the selection criteria and baseline health conditions … and we get a bit of luck on our side ...” Another sigh, heavy with the weight of his responsibilities. “Then I’d say we would have a fighting chance, yes.”
Those five simple words crash over Max with the force of a tidal wave, hitting him squarely in the chest.
A chance. At life. At making it past those grim, dire prognoses.
After several moments of stunned silence, Max finally finds his voice.
“Say no more, doctor. Whatever it costs — money, time, logistics — none of it matters. I want this treatment option fully activated and prioritized immediately. Spare no expense, I’ll take care of the bill.” He utters the words with the same decisive confidence he handles his billion-dollar business dealings.
Because in this moment, it doesn’t feel like just some impulsive, emotionally-driven whim. Helping your innocent child — ensuring she gets the fighting chance she deserves?
It feels like the only choice he can possibly make.
***
You sit hunched in the hard, plastic visitor’s chair, your body angled protectively towards the small hospital bed. Despite the tubes and wires snaking from her fragile limbs, your daughter appears almost peaceful in her restless slumber.
She always was such a sound sleeper as a baby, you reminisce wistfully. Remembering how you’d regularly creep into the nursery just to watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, assuring yourself she was still breathing.
Even back then, the ever-present fear of something going horribly wrong never truly left you. The world is far too cruel a place to let a mother relax, no matter how deeply you wish you could.
One slender hand rests atop the thin bedsheet covering your little girl, your thumb tracing soothing circles along her tiny knuckles. A silent, simple gesture of tenderness you hope she can feel even in sleep. If only you could so easily soothe away her pain and suffering as you could your own.
The quiet flutter of the heart rate monitor keeps beat, each mechanical beep another hammer striking your already shattered soul. You want to feel relieved, blessed even, that it continues that steady cadence. Instead, you only feel exhausted hollowness.
Because this morning, the doctors came to “discuss options.” As if their clinical detachment could soften the blow of learning your child is well and truly out of miracles.
“We’ve run every available scan and lab test.” Dr. Rhodes had said, failing to meet your desperate gaze. “I’m so very sorry, but the tumor isn’t responding to any of our treatments. At this point, we have to start considering ...”
You hadn’t let him finish, couldn’t let those hateful, unthinkable words pass his lips. Palliative care. Hospice. Just give up and let nature take its inevitable, brutal course while they pumped her full of numbing opiates so she could “comfortably” slip away.
The rage and anguish had bubbled up from some primal pit within your guts, hot and viscous like magma erupting from deep beneath the earth’s crust. You’d screamed incoherent denials until your voice was hoarse, begging and pleading through sobs for them not to take away your only hope.
In the end, they’d sedated your daughter fully so you could “calm down” and “process things rationally.” You know they meant well, trying to spare her from your outburst. But it only compounded your devastation, feeling like they were already treating her as a lost cause no longer worth fighting for.
So here you sit, after untold hours of cycling through various stages of grief, left only with bone-deep weariness cloaked by a fragile veneer of numb acceptance. You dimly wonder if you’ll ever truly feel anything else ever again.
Through the blur of tears constantly stinging your eyes, you keep a silent vigil over your daughter’s bedside. You memorize every delicate sweep of her sooty lashes, the tiny smattering of freckles across her upturned nose. Desperate to commit every last precious detail of her existence to memory before … before ...
A choked sob bubbles up from your chest at the thought, hot and acidic at the back of your throat. You quickly muffle it with the crook of your elbow, determined not to disturb your resting girl with the outward manifestations of your agony.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. An old meditative mantra you try to focus on, struggling to regain control of your tenuous grip on composure. You know your tears and hiccupping gasps for air are only harming yourself at this point. Better to conserve what little physical and mental strength you have left to simply be with your daughter while you still can.
The grief is an ever-churning sea just waiting to drag you under its dark, icy depths. But still you stubbornly tread water, unwilling to fully surrender just yet. Not as long as you can still feel the reassuring thrum of her pulse against your fingertips, a solitary lifeline keeping you tethered to the present.
You aren’t sure how much time stretches in that manner — minutes or hours, you cannot say. The days have all started blurring into one long, endless haze of sleeplessness and overwhelming sorrow.
So when the door to the hospital room suddenly clicks open, the sound manages to penetrate the cotton-muffled fog shrouding your senses.Instantly, you stiffen and blink rapidly, as if only just now awakening to your surroundings.
A stranger stands in the doorway — a tall, slender man in an impeccably tailored suit that looks distinctly out of place amongst the bland, sterile patient rooms. His face is sharp and angular, almost harsh in its sternness if not for the way his brow is furrowed with evident concern.
You open your mouth to ask who he is and what he wants, but he raises a placating hand before you can find your voice.
“Please, don’t be alarmed.” he says, words clipped yet softened slightly. “I know this is a terrible situation, and the absolute last setting you’d want an uninvited visitor.”
Now that he’s closer, you can see behind his obvious affluence lurks a cultured, aloof sort of demeanor. There’s no outward malice or disrespect in his manner, but he carries himself like someone long accustomed to privileges and deference. The sight of him sets you even more on edge amid your emotional rawness.
“My name is Spencer Paulson.” the man presses on, taking a few measured steps further into the room. “I’m actually a doctor, Ms ...”
“Y/N.” you automatically supply, dredging up the remnants of social graces. “Y/N L/N. And this is … this is my daughter, Olivia.”
Your voice cracks ever so slightly on her name, heated moisture already welling behind your eyes once more. You quickly dab at their corners with the sleeve of your worn cardigan, determined not to dissolve into fresh hysterics in front of this absolute stranger.
“Well, Ms. Y/L/N.” the man — Dr. Paulson — says, tone measured. “I realize I’m intruding on a highly stressful situation for you and your family right now. And for that, I truly am sorry.”
His apology seems sincere enough. But wariness still prickles along your nape as your overtired, over-protective instincts flare up. You clutch your daughter’s limp hand in yours a fraction tighter.
“Then if you don’t mind my asking.” you begin in a calculated tone, scrutinizing Paulson carefully. “Why are you here? And what business could possibly bring you to Olivia’s bedside unannounced?”
He regards you silently for a long moment, something inscrutable flickering across his features. When he speaks again, his words are deliberately precise, weighted down by their momentous gravity.
“I was recently contacted by … an interested third party about your daughter’s case.” Paulson explains, clasping his hands behind his back. “I was filled in on the specifics of her diagnosis — glioblastoma, grade four, extremely aggressive and largely unresponsive to standard treatment. Am I correct so far?”
You can only numbly nod, a chill prickling across your flesh. The man’s crisp, clinical recitation of your worst nightmare forces a painful convulsion of renewed heartache.
Paulson seems to catch your distress and quickly presses on. “Right, well, I’m actually here in an official capacity as the Chief of Pediatric Oncology over at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.”
The words hit you with all the force of a defibrillator charge, jolting your entire frame upright in the hard plastic chair. Your jaw drops open, already fumbling for a desperate reply that will somehow make this all make sense.
But Paulson continues before you can vocalize any of the hundreds of jumbled questions flooding your mind.
“I’ll keep this relatively simple, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, holding up a forestalling hand. “My team at Sloan Kettering recently received permission to transfer your daughter over to our care as soon as logistically possible. You see, we’ve been working on an experimental new treatment protocol — a form of gene therapy designed to treat even the most aggressive, mutation-riddled forms of cancers like Olivia’s brain tumor.”
You blink owlishly, unable to fully process the onslaught of technical jargon being leveled at you. All you can do is continue sitting there, stunned into silence as the doctor launches into an almost dizzying explanation of re-engineered viruses, targeted gene editing, and “controlled payloads” being essentially the extent of modern medicine.
“... And while the trial is still in its early stages, we’ve actually already achieved partial and even full remission in a few key pediatric cases remarkably similar to that of your daughter.” Paulson continues, his tone growing faintly tinged with optimism and something akin to pride. “Which is why we’re reasonably confident Olivia could be an excellent candidate for our experimental therapies, if you allow it.”
He lets the weight of that statement hang in the air between you, watching you carefully for any visible reaction. But you’re frozen, fighting between warring tides of soul-rending hope and knee-jerk cynicism.
After all, you’ve come to reflexively distrust when desperation-stoking scenarios sound too good to be true over the past several torturous weeks. A small, rational voice in the back of your mind pipes up to remind you that you can’t afford to get your hopes up, only to be gutted yet again by the crushing inevitability of disappointment.
But another part of your wearied brain — the part that’s grown so fatigued by the oppressive feeling of hopelessness — recoils at dismissing any potential reprieve from the nightmare, no matter how fanciful or far-fetched.
So instead you hear yourself croaking out a single, wobbling syllable.
“How ...”
Paulson tilts his head inquisitively. “I’m sorry?”
You clear your throat, igniting the spark of desperate yearning flickering to life inside your chest. “How much would … would a treatment like this cost?”
For the first time since barging his way into your fragile world, Paulson’s aristocratic features twist into an unmistakable grimace. He lets out a tight sigh, clearly recognizing the gravity behind your simple question.
“Unfortunately, due to the experimental and intensive nature of this therapy … the baseline costs do run relatively high.” he explains in a precise tone, as if trying to distance himself from the crass logistical realities. “If approved for the trial and full treatment regimen, we’re looking at around $1.4 million in projected costs over the first six months alone.”
The astronomical number hits you squarely between the eyes, setting your head swimming with disbelief. One point four … million? The amount is so ludicrously exorbitant that it almost doesn’t seem real.
You open your mouth, fully intending to spit out the derisive scoff that such an impossible ask deserves. No amount of desperate wishing could ever make that attainable for a single, working-class parent already drowning in tens of thousands of medical debt.
But Paulson clearly recognizes the crestfallen defeat settling over your features. Because he quickly rushes ahead with his next words, effectively cutting off any vocal dismissal on your end.
“However, as I mentioned earlier, we did get some … special circumstances greenlighted regarding your daughter’s case.” he says, tone brightening with carefully cultivated hopefulness. “You see, there’s an anonymous benefactor who’s agreed to cover the full cost of treatment on a … philanthropic basis, let’s call it.”
The words punch you directly in the gut, momentarily robbing your lungs of oxygen like a cruel sucker-punch. You blink dazedly up at Paulson, struggling to make sense of what he’s saying through the roaring static in your ears.
“I … I don’t understand.” you manage to stammer out. “Someone wants to … pay for my daughter? All of it? But why? How could they possibly-”
“Hey now, none of that.” Paulson cuts you off, his voice softening with what might be the first hints of empathy and warmth creeping in. “The why doesn’t matter right now — only that it’s been arranged at no cost to you or your family.”
He moves closer then, resting one hand on your shoulder in an unexpected gesture of kindness that makes you flinch despite yourself. Up close, you can see the sincerity shining in his hazel eyes, pleading for you to simply accept this incredible parting of the dark clouds that have shrouded your existence.
“I know this is … well, frankly astounding news on top of everything else you’re already dealing with.” Paulson continues, giving your shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “And please, believe me, we want to avoid overwhelming you with undue complications. For now, I think it’s enough to simply feel that spark of hope again, yes?”
Despite your best efforts to tamp down the desperate yearning swelling in your chest, you find yourself nodding mutely in agreement. Because in this moment, you understand exactly the miraculous implications of his words.
After so many agonizing weeks of feeling utterly powerless, of watching your baby girl’s life slowly ebb away before your very eyes … there is a chance. An opportunity, a fighting possibility that everything won’t end in crushing grief and irredeemable sorrow.
And even just that single glowing ember of hope, no matter how faint, is enough to shatter the dam holding back your turbulent sea of pent-up emotion. Paulson watches in quiet acceptance as you finally break down in great, shuddering sobs — only this time, they’re threaded with the catharsis of relief.
Happy tears stream down your blotchy cheeks, unchecked and convulsive. You press your face into the cool, starchy sheets of Olivia’s bed, body wracked with a release of tension weeks in the making. It feels as though you’re being simultaneously unmade and reborn in this singular, messy instance.
Through the storm of your breakdown, you’re dimly aware of Paulson stepping away to give you privacy. And then, just before he slips from the room entirely, his composed baritone rings out one last time.
“We’ll make all the arrangements to transport Olivia to Sloan Kettering as soon as possible. Get her started on this treatment regimen right away, alright?”
You can’t even summon the words to respond, only nodding rapidly between hiccuping bursts of gasping and sobbing. But just before he exits, shutting the door silently behind him, you catch Paulson’s murmur.
“There’s a fighting chance now. That’s all any of us can really ask for ...”
***
Max rakes a hand through his meticulously styled hair as he strides down the sterile hallway of Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology ward. His eyes scan the room numbers tacked to each door, searching for the one he was provided.
456 … 458… ah, there — 460. Max pauses outside the closed entry, squaring his shoulders as he tries to tamp down the uncharacteristic fluttering of nerves in his stomach. Taking a fortifying breath, he gives the door a perfunctory series of raps with his knuckles.
Almost immediately, a muffled voice filters through from inside — your voice, he recognizes with a start. “Come in!”
Max’s brow furrows momentarily at the warm, chipper lilt to your tone. So unlike the brittle, devastated one he had heard that fateful day in his office. Though he supposes that’s only fitting, given the radically shifted circumstances these past several weeks.
Pushing his hesitation aside, Max takes the invitation and pushes into the hospital room. You’re seated in one of the uncomfortable plastic visitor’s chairs, wearing a soft cardigan and jeans — by all appearances the very portrait of a typical doting mother.
Well, not entirely typical. Because curled up on the bed next to you is a tiny, doe-eyed little girl whose resemblance leaves no question as to her relation to you.
Olivia.
As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, you glance up — and immediately do a double-take, eyes going comically wide. “M-Mr. Verstappen?” You splutter out, frozen halfway out of your chair like a hostess belatedly remembered her manners. “I … I didn’t realize you were-”
Max holds up a hand to stop the tide of nervous rambling, inexplicably touched by your visible shock. The effect is only compounded when Olivia shifts on the bed, eyeing him owlishly from beneath the cuddly weight of a stuffed unicorn nearly as large as she is.
“It’s quite alright, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, offering you the barest hint of a disarming smile. An expression he finds shockingly easy to produce given the scene before him. “I admit I hadn’t warned you about my visit in advance.”
He pauses there, suddenly realizing the reason for his impromptu trip isn’t entirely certain, even to himself. It had begun as little more than a nagging impulse tugging at him throughout his days, growing more persistent and insistent until he finally gave in and scheduled some time away from the office.
And now that he’s here, standing in this dimly-lit hospital room, Max feels strangely … unmoored. Adrift in a situation his renowned business acumen didn’t even begin to equip him for handling.
But then your daughter is shifting again, curiosity winning out over her bashfulness as she props herself up on her elbows. “Who’re you?” She pipes up in a tiny, raspy voice that somehow bypasses Max’s usually implacable defenses.
Something pangs oddly in his chest at the innocent inquiry. He finds himself crouching into an automatic squat, bringing himself level with the bedside so he can better meet Olivia’s inquisitive gaze.
“You can just call me Max.” he says, injecting a gentle warmth into his tone that he didn’t even realize he was capable of. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
It occurs to him then that he’s been subconsciously clutching the bouquet of flowers still in his off-hand — an overly ornate spray of exotic lilies and birds of paradise blooms that probably cost more than a month’s rent for most families. He had ordered them from the city’s most exclusive florist boutique on pure aesthetic impulse, without pausing to consider the message such an excessive display might send.
This morning, holding the massive arrangement felt appropriate, a reflection of Max’s stature as a dominant business magnate. But now, watching Olivia’s large eyes track the oversized bouquet with open-mouthed awe, he feels suddenly self-conscious.
Hoping to recover some sense of propriety, Max clears his throat and holds the flowers out in front of him.
“These are, ah, for your mother.” he explains gruffly, avoiding your questioning gaze burning against the side of his face. “A small token of … of appreciation, one might say.”
He isn’t quite sure what prompts the carefully worded addition — perhaps an instinctive reflex to avoid showing any overt sentimentality. But either way, you seem to simply accept the generous offering with bemused grace.
“Thank you, Mr. Versta-” You quickly correct yourself at his mild arched brow. “Er, Max. They’re absolutely lovely.”
You bend to inhale the rich floral perfume, eyelids fluttering in evident delight at the fragrance. Max watches the childlike awe play out across your soft features, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction settle in his chest.
Having given you the flowers, he rises to his feet once more with a put-upon sigh of effort. Every bit of spoiled opulence and bravado that usually comes as second-nature to Max.
And yet, none of it lands quite with the affected solemnity he’s accustomed to projecting. Not when Olivia’s sweet-faced attention is still utterly transfixed by his every move and micro-expression.
Your daughter still hasn’t looked away from him even as you arrange the flower vase on her bedside table, entranced in a way only the very young can be. It’s … disarming, to say the least. But not entirely unpleasant, Max finds himself admitting.
“I, ah, got something for you as well, Olivia.” he announces impulsively. From behind his back, he produces a floppy-limbed teddy bear easily half her size.
He’s not even sure what prompted him to purchase such a pedestrian sort of toy. All he knows is that he saw the stuffed creature in the hospital gift shop window on his way in, and some impulse compelled him to acquire it for reasons he still can’t understand.
But any lingering uncertainty fades from his mind like a passing cloud when Olivia lets out an audible gasp of delight. Her little hands instantly shoot out, making desperate grabbing motions at the plush offering.
“Ohmygosh, thank you!” The words tumble out in a breathless, childish rush. Before Max can even react, she leans precariously over the edge of the bed, arms outstretched and grasping imploringly.
On instinct, Max takes a half-step forward, carefully depositing the stuffed bear into Olivia’s waiting embrace to avoid any accidents. She immediately snatches it to her chest, burying her face in the softness of its soft fabric with a contented hum that seems to vibrate in Max’s very soul.
He swallows hard past the unexpected lump that forms in his throat, watching a child delight in something so simple and innocent. How long has it been since he allowed himself to find joy in the pure, unbridled way that Olivia does? Far too long, he’s forced to admit.
Clearing his throat with an awkward rumble, Max tears his gaze away from your daughter’s cuddling. He levels his focus back onto you instead. Only then does he realize you’ve been staring at him throughout the entire interaction, an unreadable look painted across your face.
“I trust the medical team has kept you informed of Olivia’s progress so far.” he prompts in his usual clipped tone, struggling to reassert some sense of distancing professionalism. “I don’t have any special insight into the procedural specifics, but from what I’ve gathered, positive results are steadily accumulating, yes?”
You blink once, almost like shaking yourself out of a reverie, before offering a slow nod in response. “Y-Yes, you could definitely say that.”
Something sparks behind your gaze then — some dawning realization creeping over your delicate features. “In fact, Dr. Paulson himself said Olivia seems to have responded better to the gene therapy than almost any other patient yet. Her tumor reduction trend is so far exceeding their best models that they’re actually considering tweaking the formula for future tria-”
You abruptly cut yourself off, lips pursing into a tight line as you turn your focus back to Max. He holds your stare evenly, waiting for whatever it is you seem to be mustering the courage to say.
Then, almost in a whisper, “Max … are you the anonymous donor paying for all of this?”
The words hang in the air like a physical force between you, so full of implication and unvoiced emotion that even Max can’t find a way to deflect them. He stares back at you, utterly disarmed beneath the intensity of your scrutinizing gaze.
For a long beat, only the hum of hospital machines and equipment fills the weighty silence. Max’s jaw works tensely as he considers how best to respond. He wants to shrug it off, make some sardonic quip to reestablish the carefully curated aloofness that serves him so well in the business world.
But then Olivia lets out another joyous giggle as she squishes the plush bear’s paw, completely enraptured and undistracted by the silent standoff occurring across her bedside. And all of Max’s formidable defenses and calculated denials abruptly dissolve in the face of such childlike innocence.
So instead of evasion, he answers your question with a small, barely perceptible nod and a softly murmured, “Yes.”
He doesn’t have time to brace himself before you’re suddenly surging up out of the chair with a wounded cry. And then your arms are flung around his neck, your body slamming against his chest as you pull Max into a fierce and entirely unexpected hug.
The impact momentarily stuns him, freezing Max in place with his arms held useless at his sides. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to initiate such a brazen display of physical contact — perhaps ever, now that he racks his brain.
But just as he contemplates gently extricating himself from your clutches, your ragged voice rises to his ear in a trembling whisper.
“Thank you.” you’re whispering over and over like a fevered prayer. “Thank you, thank you, thank you ...”
With each impassioned repetition, Max can feel more of the tension slowly leeching from his frame. He finds himself sinking bonelessly into your embrace, one hand coming to rest against the small of your back in an automatic gesture of soothing.
Soon enough, heaving sobs are wracking your entire body against his. Hot tears quickly begin to soak through the fabric of his expensive dress shirt as you cling to him with the desperation of a fallen angel clawing her way back into grace. But Max doesn’t pull away, doesn’t extricate himself or put distance between your respective roles as worker and corporate king.
Instead, in a move even he can’t fully explain or justify, his free hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in even tighter as you keen your grateful relief against the column of his throat.
“It’s … quite alright.” he finds himself rumbling in a low, soothing voice completely at odds with his usual persona. “No thanks are necessary. All that matters now is ensuring your daughter’s full and complete recovery … at whatever cost required.”
He isn’t sure whether his throwaway platitude is meant more for his benefit or yours at this point. But either way, you show no signs of releasing him from the crushing strength of your desperate clutch anytime soon. So Max does the only thing left available to him — he simply lets you cry and shake and cling to him for as long as you need.
Until finally, with a handful of watery hiccups and sniffles, you manage to tilt your blotchy face up towards his.
“I … I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this.” you murmur throatily. “For giving Olivia more than just some faint hope, but an actual chance to grow up and live the life she deserves.”
Tenderness isn’t something that often breaks through Max Verstappen’s shroud of callous indifference. He can count on one hand the number of times in his adult life he’s allowed himself to indulge in such sentimental trivialities.
But gazing into your puffy, reddened eyes, he finds he can’t quite summon any bitter cynicism. Instead, his voice remains low with a soothing gentleness that feels almost foreign falling from his lips.
“The only form of repayment I’ll require.” he says finally, “is your permission to take you to dinner.”
He blinks once, almost taken aback by the words that slipped unbidden from his throat. But you, for your part, seem equally dazed as your brows knit in bewilderment.
“Dinner? But … I haven’t left Olivia in weeks.”
At that, Max manages a wry smile, feeling as if he’s regained at least some fraction of his footing and composure. “Of course I don’t expect you to. I simply meant for the three of us to dine together … here, in the hospital. My treat, naturally.”
Your fingers unconsciously clench tighter into the fabric of his ruined dress shirt. But even with the hint of embarrassment pinkening your cheeks, he can see what looks almost like … excitement? Perhaps even coyness sparking behind your gaze before you avert your eyes demurely.
“I … yes, of course.” you murmur, sounding almost bashful. “We would be honored.”
Max simply nods, committing every little part of the interaction to his increasingly scattered memory for later dissection. For now, he withdraws himself from the gentle circle of your arms with what he hopes appears a natural sort of casualness.
“Very good then,” is all he finds himself able to say in response. “I shall make the necessary arrangements and return shortly with something to eat.”
With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the exit, throwing one final look over his shoulder. You’re already back in your chair at Olivia’s bedside, shooting him another shy little smile as you start to idly stroke your now dozing daughter’s hair.
And before Max even fully processes the impulse, he feels the corner of his mouth tugging upwards into a warm half-grin in response.
A expression so unfamiliar on his usually dour features that it renders him momentarily unrecognizable, even to himself.
Shaking his head as if to cast off the dizzy sense of displacement, Max continues out into the hallway. He stubbornly refuses to dwell too much on the stirrings of contentment radiating through his chest.
Such indulgent notions are highly unseemly for a man of his stature and influence, after all. Better to ignore them entirely, as he always has.
Though even as the thought crosses his mind, Max finds himself picking up his pace with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. Because somewhere along the way, he realizes ...
Denial doesn’t appear to be an option anymore.
***
Two Years Later
The ornate grandfather clock in the corner ticks rhythmically, its pendulum swinging with measured precision. Max’s gaze flicks over to it briefly before returning to the stack of documents before him. Numbers and figures blur together as his eyes scan the pages, his brow furrowed in concentration.
A giggle from the corner of the room breaks his focus. He glances up to see Olivia sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet, curls bouncing as she plays with her Barbie dolls. A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips at the sight of her innocent joy.
“What are you up to over there, kleine muis?” He asks, his voice gruff but tinged with affection.
Olivia looks up, her eyes sparkling. “I’m having a tea party with Barbie and Ken.” she explains, brandishing the dolls. “Would you like to join us, Maxie?”
Max chuckles softly. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I have a bit too much work to do for a tea party right now.”
“Okay.” Olivia says cheerfully, returning to her imaginary festivities.
You had dropped Olivia off at Max’s office after her kindergarten class, needing to rush to an urgent marketing meeting. Max had insisted on keeping her company until you returned, despite the mountain of paperwork on his desk.
He watches Olivia play, mesmerized by her ability to create entire worlds from mere toys and her vibrant imagination. Her carefree laughter is a soothing balm against the chaos of his day.
After a while, Olivia looks up again. “Maxie, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, lieverd. What is it?”
Olivia fidgets with one of the doll’s dresses. “Today at school, we had to draw pictures of our families.”
Max’s heart constricts slightly at the innocuous statement, but he manages a reassuring smile. “Did you have fun with that activity?”
Olivia nods enthusiastically. “Uh-huh. I drew me, Mommy, and you.”
The words hit Max like a physical blow, stealing his breath away. He stares at Olivia, his eyes widening as a storm of emotions swirls within him.
Olivia, oblivious to his inner turmoil, continues, “But then Timmy said that you’re not really my daddy since we don’t have the same last name. Is that true, Maxie? Are you not my daddy?”
Max swallows hard, his throat constricting. He had grown to love this child as if she were his own flesh and blood, but he had never dared to assume the sacred title of father. The realization that Olivia saw him that way, despite the lack of biological ties, threatens to shatter his carefully constructed walls.
Pushing back from his desk, he rises to his feet and makes his way over to where Olivia sits. He lowers himself to the floor, his movements stiff and hesitant. Olivia watches him with curious eyes, still clutching her dolls.
“Olivia.” he begins, his voice thick with emotion he struggles to contain. “Even though we don’t share the same name, and I didn’t ...” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I didn’t have a hand in bringing you into this world, you are every bit as much my daughter as if you were my own.”
Olivia tilts her head slightly, considering his words. “So, I can call you Daddy?”
The simple question unlocks something deep within Max’s core, a part of himself he had locked away long ago. He feels moisture prickling at the corners of his eyes, an unfamiliar sting that he doesn’t fight.
“Yes, kleine muis.” he whispers, his voice wavering. “I would be honored if you called me Daddy.”
Without warning, Olivia drops her dolls and flings her small arms around Max’s neck, hugging him tightly. Max freezes for a moment, unaccustomed to such open displays of affection, before melting into the hug. He wraps his arms around Olivia’s tiny frame, holding her close as if she might slip away at any moment.
They stay like that for long minutes, Max’s shoulders trembling slightly as the dam he had so carefully constructed finally cracks. Tears slip silently down his cheeks, mingling with the softness of Olivia’s hair as he buries his face against her.
At last, Olivia pulls back, her eyes shining with joy. “I love you, Daddy.” she says simply, the words reverberating through Max’s very soul.
He manages a watery smile, brushing away the dampness on his cheeks. “And I love you, lieverd. More than you could ever know.”
Olivia beams at him before scrambling to her feet. “Oh! I almost forgot!” She darts over to her little backpack, rummaging through it eagerly.
Max watches her, his heart still thundering in his chest from the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. He had built an empire, commanded boardrooms with an iron fist, and struck fear into the hearts of grown men … yet this innocent child had disarmed him completely.
“Here it is!” Olivia exclaims, returning with a piece of paper clutched in her small fist. She holds it out to Max, beaming. “For you, Daddy.”
With trembling hands, Max takes the drawing. A bright smile breaks across his face as he studies the crude but endearing figures — stick figures, but he can clearly make out Olivia, you, and himself, joined by vibrant swirls of color.
“It’s beautiful.” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over the lines with a tenderness he reserves only for her. “Thank you.”
Over the next few days, Max has the drawing professionally framed, the simple piece of artwork taking pride of place on the wall of his office. Whenever his gaze falls upon it, his heart swells with a love and sense of purpose that had been missing for far too long.
Beside the framed drawing hangs his business degree, a symbol of his power and influence in the corporate world. Yet, it is Olivia’s artwork that holds the most meaning, a reminder of what truly matters in this life.
Because Max is many things — a captain of industry, a force to be reckoned with, a man who has clawed his way to the top through sheer grit and determination.
But most importantly, he is a father.
And he has never been more proud of any achievement than to call himself Olivia’s daddy.
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The BAU team meeting Hotch’s younger gf who looks like she walked off the front cover of a magazine & she’s so bubbly and has a really comforting energy! How would they react????
The satisfying little clicks of heels against the marble floor wasn’t enough to gain any of their attention usually, but accompanied by the delicately enchanting chimes of true laughter and sweet smell of baked goods—eyes were immediately lifting to investigate to the scene.
“Thank you so much!” An incredibly sweet, honeyed voice gushed genuinely, “here, all of these are meant for my boyfriend but I’m sure he won’t even notice.”
The team traded immensely interested looks as they surveyed the scene, Anderson (who was uncharacteristically blushing a bright flustered cherry red) was being handed a chocolate chip muffin by—wow—a startlingly gorgeous young women who was dressed in inviting soft colours and had a large sweet smile on her face that served to emphasise her lovely appearance.
“My day just got a hundred times better.” Derek grinned, swivelling his chair sideways to speak to the rest of his team while barely taking his eyes off you.
“You’re telling me.” Emily’s mouth hung open a little as she leaned forwards on her elbows to look at you more closely.
“Behave.” JJ scolded before her brief look of reprimand melted under Emily’s pointed stare, “she’s looks so sweet I just wanna eat her.”
“She has a boyfriend.” Spencer reminded them.
“What—?”
“Pretty boy—you and—“
“Oh—oh, no!” Spencer flustered, sputtering out the gulp of his coffee he had in his mouth (JJ handed him a napkin with a mothers readiness). “Not—I would be absolutely honoured—and—and, for lack of a sensical phrase, over the moon, to have a romantic relationship with a woman such as her but—no, unfortunately. She—she said a few moments ago that has a boyfriend.”
“Ah.” Emily blinked, a slow almost sheepish smirk on his lips, “I wasn’t really listening to what she was saying, just watching her lips move.”
“Preach sister.” Derek leaned forward for a fist-bump which Emily easily gave, both of them nodding in solidarity.
“Hello!” They all startled heavily as your gentle, happy voice chimed now much closer to them and mouths dropped subtly at just how beautiful you looked up close.
“Well hello sweetheart.”
“H-hi.”
“Hi gorgeous.”
“Hello!”
You blinked at them, an adorable giggle leaving you at the onslaught of greetings that came all at once. “Hi! You wouldn’t happen to know where Aaron Hotchner’s office is would you?”
“Hotch?” Emily furrowed her brows at you curiously and then seemed to forgot about, well, any of anything she was thinking as your bubbly smile and sparkling eyes turned her way and you gave a cheerful ‘yep!’ “Um—just, up those stairs, the first door at the top.”
“Thank you very much.” You told her, voice as sweet as the packet of fizzy haribos hidden in her desk. “It was lovely meeting you all, we’ll probably be better acquainted later on.”
With a sparkly mischievous twinkle in your bright eyes and another adorable giggle, you took off in a small spin that sent the enchanting mix of your perfume and the baked goods wafting over to all of them and they all watched, entranced, as you climbed the steps to their boss’ office.
After several seconds of dazed silence, Spencer gasped.
“Boyfriend—“
“Yeah I wouldn’t mind being her boyfriend either.” Derek murmured. “At all—really, no sweat off my back.”
“Hotch.”
JJ’s mouth dropped open as she realised where Spencer was going with his train of thought, rolling back in her chair as they pointed at him in realisation.
“Oh my God!”
“Hotch—hotch, is her boyfriend..?” Spencer sounded extremely confused, mouth falling open and closing repeatedly.
“Huh?”
“Reid, you are having a giggle.”
“No, he’s right.” JJ confirmed, mouth open and eyebrows raised. “She said she was here to see her boyfriend and she’s gone to see Hotch. . 2 plus 2 equals. .”
“. . An incredibly brokenhearted Derek Morgan.” Derek’s own mouth dropped open, craning his neck to see what was going on in the office of his boss before realising that Hotch had shut the blinds. Derek gasped, that sneak.
“And a flummoxed Emily Prentiss.”
“But she’s so—“
“Yeah.”
“And he’s like—“
“Literally!”
“Well, the last few months Hotch has been incredibly more relaxed, in fact his percentage of smiles given has gone up from a measly 30% to almost 84%, his laugh quota has reached high yet levels than I’ve ever known it to be. I had also noted that every Thursday he never goes home as late as he usually retires for the day and with this new revelation of a relationship—I assume this correlates to their date nights.”
“It does.”
Everyone turned in their chairs quickly to face their boss who now stood outside his office a faintly amused smile curving up his lips, at his side was you and you were wearing an amused and loving smile, eyes practically sparkling after Spencer’s speech on your boyfriend’s behaviour as they flickered up to said boyfriend beside you who looked down at you with soft, fond eyes.
“So you figured out my secret.” You grinned at them all, taking in Spencer’s red cheeks and Emily’s flabbergasted, dazed stare. “I’m Y/N, Aaron’s girlfriend!”
“Doesn’t that just crush a man’s hopes and dreams.” Derek pouted quietly to himself, straightening up in alarm when his boss’ intense eyes zeroed in on him.
“Honey, this is JJ—“ The blonde gave a warm, welcoming smile and a wave, “Spencer,” said genius gave a tight lipped awkward smile, hands flailing awkwardly and cheeks a burning fiery red, feeling this pulse thump when they smiled back directly at him, “Emily and Derek.” Both of the aforementioned gave waves with half flirty-ish smirks and half genuine smiles.
The door to Rossi’s office opened and when he stepped out and saw you beside Aaron he smiled happily, walking towards you both.
“Ah, Y/N!” He took you into an embrace, kissing both of your cheeks. “You get more beautiful every time I see you, is this big brute treating you right?”
“Always, Dave.”
He patted you on the shoulders, smiling, before turning to Aaron who was rolling his eyes at him fondly.
“Let’s keep it that way.”
“Rossi!” Emily’s astounded voice exclaimed, “you—know Y/N—you knew about this—“
It was Dave’s turn to roll his eyes as he continued walking to descend down the stairs, tutting at her disappointedly.
“You thought I wouldn’t?” He countered, “who do you think encouraged him to go for it?”
You laughed at that and your boyfriend smiled down at you fondly, looping an arm around your waist—seemingly forgetting he was in his place of work and needed to keep up the facade of stone cold, emotionless boss.
“What—Rossi—get back here—“ Derek leaped up from his seat and trailed after the older man.
“What, you gonna come watch me take a leak?”
“If it means we get some answers!”
“Shoo parassita.”
All you could do was laugh again, smiling up at your boyfriend as his arm tightened around your waist and he pulled you closer into his side. You were very happy with your decision to come and deliver baked goods to him.
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Little Do You Know—Player 001/Hwang In Ho x Fem!Reader
summary—after making a passing remark on the possibility of the front man being attractive, your crush on young-il who unbeknownst to you is the front man, boils over. based on this request.
warnings— flirting, oral(f&m receiving), praising, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie.
The group sat gathered around with a small meal, the kind of makeshift dinner that felt comforting despite the bleak circumstances. Gi-hun leaned back, his arms crossed, recounting some story about the Front Man. “I’m telling you, he has cameras everywhere. He probably sees and hears everything we’re saying.”
The mood was tense, as it often was when the Front Man became the topic of conversation. But your lips twitched upward, a thought making you suppress a giggle.
Dae-ho, ever the curious one, caught it immediately. “What’s so funny?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in your direction.
You waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, nothing. It’s silly. Forget it.”
Young-il, sitting across from you, tilted his head slightly, his expression soft. “Come on,” he said gently, his voice soothing in a way that made you feel oddly safe. “Anything you have to say, we’ll appreciate. Don’t hold back.”
Encouraged by his tone, you hesitated for just a moment before shrugging. “Alright, but don’t judge me.” You exhaled a breathy laugh, looking down at your lap for a second before glancing back up. “What if the Front Man is, like—really hot?”
The reaction was instant. Dae-ho choked on his milk, sputtering, while Jun-Hee’s eyes widened slightly before she went back to eating as if she hadn’t heard you. Even Jung-Bae, usually laid back, looked at you like you’d just grown a second head.
“Seriously?” Gi-hun said, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s what you’re concerned about?”
“What?” you asked defensively, your shoulders lifting in mock innocence. “I’m just saying. It’s possible!”
Gi-hun groaned, covering his face with his hands. “We’re talking about a guy who might be orchestrating all this madness, and you’re worried if he’s good-looking?”
Before you could respond, your eyes flicked to Young-il. Everyone else was either laughing awkwardly or shaking their heads, but Young-il wasn’t saying a word. Instead, a subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, almost imperceptible to anyone else. Almost.
Your gaze stayed on him for a moment, your brow quirking as you tilted your head slightly in return, a silent question hanging between the two of you. His smirk deepened just enough for you to catch the meaning, amusement, maybe even intrigue, but he quickly smoothed his expression before anyone else noticed. He was hot too, you thought.
Gi-hun, still shaking his head, muttered, “Out of everything you could be thinking about.”
“Well, excuse me for lightening the mood,” you shot back playfully, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like I said I wanted to marry him or something. Geez.”
As the group moved on, you couldn’t help but replay the moment in your head. Maybe you were overthinking it, but wasn’t Young-il’s smirk a little too knowing? Or maybe it was just your ridiculous crush on him twisting your perception. You’d never admit it out loud, but you found yourself drawn to his quiet confidence, the calm authority he exuded even in casual moments like this.
It was ironic, really, here you were crushing on Young-il while joking about the Front Man. Little did you know, the very man you were teasing about might as well have been sitting right in front of you, wearing the mask in plain sight.
You shook the thought off with a small laugh. Overthinking, as usual. Still, when Young-il glanced your way again, his gaze warm and unreadable, you couldn’t stop your stomach from fluttering.
The night had settled into a familiar stillness, broken only by the occasional shuffle of someone shifting in their sleep. You couldn’t sleep, your earlier exchange with Young-il replaying in your mind. That smirk, so brief, had lodged itself in your thoughts.
You were still awake when he appeared, his footsteps quiet as he approached where you lay, tucked into a dim corner of the quarters. He didn’t say anything at first, just crouched down beside you, his dark eyes searching yours.
“Can’t sleep either?” he asked softly.
“Guess not,” you replied.
He tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Still thinking about the Front Man being hot?”
“I didn’t mean to make it weird,” you said laughing and flustered.
“You didn’t,” he assured you. “But if I didn’t know better, I’d say you might have a type.”
Your cheeks warmed under his words, and you rolled your eyes, trying to deflect. “Oh, come on. I was joking.”
“Were you?” he teased, his smile widening just a bit.
You were about to retort, but something in his expression stopped you. His hand, warm and steady, brushed against your cheek, lingering for just a moment before he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“You know,” he said, his tone teasing, “if you wanted to get something off your chest, now’s the time.”
Your breath hitched. “What are you trying to say, Young-il?”
“Just that I’m here,” he replied, “If there’s something you want.”
His words sent a jolt through you, and before you could second guess yourself, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. The kiss started slow, testing the waters, but quickly deepened as his hand came up to cradle your face.
The thought of the games seemed to fall away as you lost yourself in the way his lips moved against yours. His hands were firm but gentle, holding your face as the kiss turned hungrier, more insistent. His fingers found their way into your hair, tugging slightly, drawing a low moan from him that you quickly stifled.
“Quiet,” he murmured against your lips, a teasing smirk playing on his face as his thumb brushed over your cheek. “We wouldn’t want to wake anyone, would we?”
Your heart raced as his lips moved to your neck, his hands on your waist as he guided you back against the small bed. He trailed kisses down your chest, his kisses slow and savoring every moment.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
A soft gasp escaped your lips as his kisses grew bolder, trailing lower. He pulled off your bottoms and your lace panties, tongue licking from your hole to your clit. The way he did it so suddenly, so smoothly, made your pussy throb. You instinctively bit down on your lip, your hands fisting the fabric beneath you as you fought to keep your composure.
“Relax,” he whispered. “Let me taste you.”
His hands slid down your thighs, spreading them open as he adjusted your position. He glanced up at you, his dark eyes meeting yours with a glimmer of mischief and tenderness. You pressed your lips together tightly, his skilled tongue flicking your clit then moving to your leaking hole.
“Don’t hold back too much,” he murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I want to hear those pretty moans, just a little.”
Your cheeks warmed at his words, his tone leaving you breathless. You felt the warmth of his fingertips on your thighs and the tenderness of his kisses on your pussy, and his praises were a quiet balm to the storm of emotions swirling inside you because of the game.
“You taste so fucking good,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”
Your fingers gripped his shoulders as he continued ravishing your pussy, mouth engulfing you and sucking as though the meal from earlier wasn’t enough. He was attentive to your pleasure, fingers pumping steadily inside your pussy as sucked and flicked your clit with precision. The precision you expected and appreciated in an older man. No one had ever made you feel this good. The pleasure was otherworldly and your legs shook from it all.
The coil in your abdomen and euphoria built with every passing second and you had to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep quiet. His words and actions blurred together, creating a warmth that left you trembling. When his tongue brought you to your peak, you bit down on your lip to stifle a cry, your entire body shuddering as he pressed a soft kiss to your clit.
“You did amazing,” he said softly, his lips brushing against your ear as he leaned closer.
You gently nudged Young-il to lie back, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “My turn,” you murmured, your fingers grazing the waistband of his bottoms.
He raised an eyebrow, a chuckle escaping him, but there was no mistaking the lust in his gaze. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” you interrupted softly.
Slowly, you slid his bottoms down, taking in the sight of his, long, thick cock with a mixture of nervousness and determination. He was big, but you could take him. His sharp inhale was audible as your lips wrapped around the head, his hand instinctively brushing against your cheek as you went down.
“You’re too good to me,” he whispered, his voice low and tinged with awe.
Your fingers wrapped around his girth, careful and deliberate, and you began to stroke as you sucked with a rhythm that earned a quiet moan from him. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, but you focused, letting his quiet praises guide you.
“Just like that,” he murmured, his fingers threading in your curls. “You’re doing so well.”
You glanced up at him, mouth full, eyes watering and saliva mixed with pre cum dripping down your chin. Your cheeks warmed from his words and the darkness of his gaze. The way he looked at you like you were the most beautiful little thing in the world as you took him down your throat made your heart race. You bobbed your head faster, using as much tongue as you could on his thick shaft, your actions conveying what words couldn’t.
The effect was immediate. His head fell back against the pillow, a low moan escaping him as his free hand gripped the fabric beneath him.
“God, you’re incredible,” he said, his voice rough. “That pretty face of yours, how will I last?”
You couldn’t help but smile with his cock buried in your throat, your movements continued, now slower and purposeful as you went up and down. His breathing grew heavier, and his hand in your hair tightened slightly as he struggled to maintain composure.
“You’re too good,” he managed, his voice breaking slightly. “I—”
Before he could finish, the coil in him snapped, and his praises were replaced with a low, drawn out moan of relief. You swallowed the ropes of hot cum, watching as he tried to catch his breath, his gaze locking with yours almost immediately.
“You’re perfect,” he said, his tone full of affection and disbelief. He reached out to cup your face, pulling you closer until his lips pressed against yours, savoring the taste of himself on your lips.
Your confidence emboldened by the way he looked at you with dazed, lust filled eyes. His hands still rested on your waist, fingers brushing your skin as you leaned into him, your voice soft but teasing.
“Can I ride you?” you asked, pussy aching for him.
His lips curved into a smile, his thumbs drawing slow circles on your hips. “Anything you want, princess,” he murmured.
You bit your lip as you shifted, settling over his hard cock with a nervous laugh that he silenced by cupping your cheek. “Take your time,” he said.
When you finally sank down onto his length, his hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you with a steady rhythm that sent shivers down your spine. The quiet moan he let out made you even wetter, and you instinctively leaned forward, resting your hands on his chest for balance.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough but filled with admiration. “You ride me so well, just like that.”
His praises made you bolder, and you bounced on his cock with more confidence, your breathing shallow as he let his hands roam, one sliding up to gently cup your tits. The warmth of his touch made you bite back a moan and his eyes darkened as he noticed.
“You’ve got to be quiet pretty girl,” he whispered, his hands still steadying you. “Think you can do that?”
You nodded quickly, though the feeling building inside you made it harder with every moment. His grip on your hips tightened, and he thrusted up into you, the two of you finding a rhythm that made it impossible to focus on anything but how he stretched your pussy. He was so big, your pussy was sure to remember the shape of his cock after you were done.
“I want to cum with you,” you admitted breathlessly, leaning down so your lips were close to his ear. “Inside me.”
Young-il’s breath hitched, his eyes meeting yours with pure lust. A slow smirk spread across his face. “Beg for it,” he whispered.
Your cheeks burned, but the desire in his gaze made you bold. “Please,” you murmured, leaning closer. “I want you to cum with me. Please.”
He groaned softly, his hands gripping your hips even tighter. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice unsteady. “Just hold on to me.”
The pleasure between you reached its peak as his praises and your whispered pleas filled the air. When the release finally came, it was almost overwhelming, and you buried your face against his neck to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. His hands held you firmly in place as he came with you, cum spurting inside you while you soaked his cock, his breaths ragged but filled with relief.
“You’re amazing,” he murmured after a long pause, brushing stray strands of hair from your face. His gaze softened as he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple.
You couldn’t help but smile, your heart racing as you settled against him. “So are you,” you whispered back, letting the moment linger in the quiet comfort of his embrace.
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bsf!seungcheol watching you ride a dildo
— where your bestfriend!seungcheol wants his shirt back, but he searches for it inside the wrong drawer.
WARNINGS: +18, smut, sex toys, ''cock'' riding, clit stimulation, lub, voyeurism?, fingering, penetrative sex, reader feels the ''real thing'' after, dildo sucking, dirty talk, choking, overwhelming.
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
“yo, y/n, where’s that shirt i left at yours the other day? the black one, with the holes,” seungcheol’s voice booms from your bedroom, and you can hear him already rummaging through your wardrobe like it’s his own. typical. you’re still in the bathroom, pulling a shirt over your head, eyes rolling at how this guy feels so at home in your space, no hesitation.
“it’s in the drawer, you dumbass,” you yell back, adjusting your shirt in the mirror, not giving it a second thought.
and then it hits you.
oh fuck. that drawer. the one you’ve recently swapped out for all your, uh, extra stuff. your eyes widen, and a bolt of panic shoots through your veins. not the t-shirts and gym clothes drawer anymore, no—your sex drawer now, fully stocked and thriving.
you bolt out of the bathroom, hair still a mess, nearly tripping over your own feet, “seungcheol, no! wait—”
too late. he’s standing there, drawer halfway open, a look of pure shock frozen on his face. it’s like time slows down and you can almost hear the dramatic, “dun-dun-dunnnn” playing in the background as his eyes lock on something you really didn’t want him to see.
the dildo. baby pink. glittery. silicone, with a ridiculously realistic head.
“what... the… fuck,” he mumbles, staring at it like it’s an alien. his hand’s on the drawer handle, and he’s so still, like he can’t quite process what’s in front of him. if it was just the lube, or even the handcuffs, maybe you could’ve salvaged this situation. maybe. but nope, he’s standing there like he’s seen the holy grail, except it’s your new glitter dildo, glistening under the light like a perverse disco ball.
you skid to a stop, face burning up. “cheol, no—don't—” but he’s already got it in his hand, holding it up like it’s some kind of trophy. a fucking trophy.
he gives it a little shake, slapping it against his palm with a dumb grin. “y/n… never pegged you for a glitter girl. this—” he waves it around, the thing jiggling like some obscene party favor. “—is this what you’re into now? pink, sparkly dicks?”
you slap your hand over your face, mortified, “it’s new! i—it’s not even—i haven’t—just give it back, jesus christ!”
but he’s inspecting it now, like he’s doing some kind of in-depth analysis. his eyebrows raise, and he looks from it to you, back to it. “it’s not that big, though, right? not thicker than me, at least.” he looks way too smug for your liking, like he’s just cracked some inside joke.
“cheol!” you squeal, lunging forward to grab it, but he pulls it out of reach, shaking his head like you’re a kid trying to snatch candy from a shelf.
“nah, nah,” he chuckles, “hold up, hold up. i just… i just didn’t expect this from you. like, c’mon, this? you could’ve called me. i would’ve come running, y’know. no need to settle for this sparkly piece of shit.”
you’re fully red now, your fingers gripping his forearm as you try and close the drawer with your hip, but he keeps it open, the dildo still in his grip. “cheol, i swear to god, give it back.”
he twirls it like it’s a damn baton, slapping it lightly against his hand again. “so, like... is it better than the real thing? huh?”
“no, oh my god, no! i haven’t even—just—shut up!” you try again to snatch it back, but he’s stronger than you and absolutely milking this moment.
“mmm,” he hums, biting the inside of his cheek like he’s deep in thought, “i bet you’ve been riding this thing at night, hm? fuckin’ bouncing on it, lights out, all alone in this big-ass bed…” his words trail off, teasing, and you want to crawl into a hole and die, right there.
“cheol, stop, i’m not—i haven’t even used it yet, okay?” you sputter, still trying to grab it, but your words only seem to encourage him.
“oh? you haven’t? huh… well,” he holds it up, wiggling it under the light, “why don’t you show me how you would? like, y’know, ride it for me.” the way he says it, dead serious, makes you stop. his voice drops lower, and suddenly the room feels hotter. “c’mon, y/n. don’t be shy. give me a little demo.”
“cheol, stop it. i’m already embarrassed enough,” you say, feeling your breath catch in your throat. your cheeks burn. he just grins, settling back into the chair at your vanity, his eyes practically glinting.
“don’t be shy now,” he says, but you can hear the tease dripping from every word. his back rests against the wall, arms lazily crossed, as if he’s got all the time in the world to watch you squirm. you can’t even deny the flutter of heat that’s been coiling inside you since this whole thing started.
you let out a shaky breath, reaching for the lube, the sound of the cap clicking open feeling way too loud in the stillness of the room. you get on your knees, your fingers tremble as you coat the bottom of the dildo with it, sticking it to the floor, the suction strong as it holds in place. every nerve in your body is hyper-aware of his eyes on you. watching. waiting.
you slowly tug down your shorts and panties, trying to shield yourself as much as possible, your oversized shirt covering your lower half. it’s stupid to feel shy now, considering what you’re about to do, but you still shake your head when he says, “take that shirt off too.”
“n-no,” you stutter, cheeks flushing. you glance at him through your lashes as you start to spread the lube on the dildo, your hand sliding up and down, coating it thoroughly. the way you grip it, the slow strokes—it’s almost automatic, the sight of it in your hand makes his jaw clench, and you can practically hear his breath catch.
he shifts in his seat, eyes glued to the movement of your hand. he swallows thickly, his gaze darkening, and you can see the tension building in his body. it’s not just teasing anymore—he’s feeling this, just as much as you are.
“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes not leaving the way your hand moves, the way the lube makes the dildo glisten. for a split second, it’s like he can’t even blink, like if he does, he might miss something.
you feel your body flush even more, and you bite your lip as you spread your legs slightly, reaching down with your lubed-up fingers to ease yourself open. “look away for a sec,” you mumble.
he scoffs, eyes narrowing, but he closes them. still, you know better than to think he’s not peeking—there’s no way he’s fully shutting you out. and sure enough, you catch him with one eye cracked open, watching, his arms crossed over his chest trying to look calm and shit, but his body clearly stiffen up. the slick sounds of your fingers working you open fill the air, and you can’t help the small whimpers that escape your lips. each one seems to hit him like a punch, his eyes flickering, the sound driving him crazy.
you can feel your own wetness mixing with the lube as you stretch yourself, prepping so you can sit on it. your breath hitches as you pull your hand away, finally sitting back up on your knees. “i’m gonna… i’m sliding on it now,” you whisper, like saying it aloud makes it even more real.
his—both—eyes snap open at that, and he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, staring hard. “yeah? let me see,” oh, he had his soothed voice, and you can feel the his gaze on you.
your body trembles as you line yourself up, one hand braced on the floor in front of you for support as the other lined the toy. the first contact makes you bite your bottom lip, your pussy lips parting as you sink down, the head of the dildo stretching you slowly. you let out a soft moan, your body reacting to the stretch, the feel of the silicone sliding inside.
“shit,” you breathe out, your head falling forward as you lower yourself further, taking more of it in—the cool, smooth silicone pushing into you, the lube making everything slick and easy. the way it presses against your inner walls has you clenching around it, your muscles pulsing as you adjust.
you can feel seungcheol’s eyes on you, locked onto the way your body reacts, the small tremors running through you. his fingers twitch, his hands squeezing each other so tightly you swear his knuckles are turning almost purple.
he’s almost breathless from just watching. you feel so full, the stretch making your hips shake as you rock slightly, sliding the dildo deeper inside. the pressure builds as your pussy hugs the toy, the texture of it rubbing against you in all the right places.
your shirt brushes against the floor as you lean forward, hips grinding down, taking the dildo all the way in. your hand clutches the floor for balance, the other gripping your thigh as you start to move, slowly at first, testing how much you can take. each slide has you gasping, your wetness mixing with the lube, creating obscene, slick sounds that echo through the room.
seungcheol’s eyes are practically burning holes into you, his breath coming out in short, shallow pants. you can feel his tension, his need to see everything, to watch every reaction, every twitch of your body as you ride the dildo.
“c’mon… let me see your face, baby,” he sulks in a greedy way.
but you shake your head again, hiding behind your hair, your chest heaving as the pleasure builds, too shy to meet his gaze. your pussy tightens around the toy as you rock your hips, the friction making your thighs shake, your moans escaping louder now, uncontrollable.
he leans in even closer, eyes dark and heavy, and it feels like he’s about to explode just from watching. his voice drops, “take that shirt off.”
“cheollie…” your voice cracks, finally looking at him for the first time since you started riding the toy. the moment your eyes meet his, the intensity nearly floors you. he’s been watching you with such focus, so goddamn turned on, and you can see it all over his face—his chest heaving, his lips slightly parted, the eyebrows knit together.
he’s so still for a second, but his eyes flick down to where the toy disappears inside you, watching how your pussy swallows the dildo, and it’s like he can’t hold it in anymore. “lift it up a little, just a little,” he says.
with a shaky breath, you slowly raise the hem of your shirt, pulling it up until it rests just under your belly button, feeling the cool air against your sopping cunt. the moment he sees you fully exposed, he lets out a low groan, like he’s moaning right along with you. his eyes are glued to the way your body moves, the way your slick drips down onto the floor as you rock your hips harder.
“fuck, you’re dripping all over,” he mutters, his eyes flicking between your face and the obscene sight below you. you’re too overwhelmed to even process the words fully, but when you feel his gaze lingering a bit too much, like he’s inspecting every little detail, you can’t help but try to hide again.
you quickly cover yourself with your hand, right over your clit, your other hand flying to the floor to support yourself as your head falls back, mouth open as a loud moan escapes. it’s getting too good now, the way the toy presses up against your walls.
you circle your clit with the hand covering you, the added stimulation making your moans uncontrollable, rolling your hips harder and faster on the dildo. “fuck, cheol… oh my god…” your voice is all breathy and desperate, and you can feel his eyes on you, burning, drinking in every reaction.
he leans forward again, elbows resting on his knees, his voice dropping even lower, almost a growl. “does it feel good, baby? look at you, fucking yourself like that. is it really better than the real thing?”
you shake your head, gasping for air, unable to form any real words as your hips move on their own, chasing the high that’s building. his voice is like gasoline on a fire, making everything burn hotter, the pleasure consuming you. you can't even look him in the eye, too mortified by how good this feels, by how badly you want more, maybe how badly you want... him?
“ride it like it’s me,” he rasps, and you almost choke on your own breath at the words. “pretend it’s my cock you’re bouncing on. ride it like you’d ride me.”
your whole body freezes for a second, the words sinking in, and your mind spins, caught between the fantasy and the reality of what’s happening. the thought of him, of riding him instead of the toy—it makes you instantly clench around the soft silicone.
you breathe in sharply, your chest heaving as you press your hand back on the floor, leaning forward. the angle change gives him the perfect view, your ass sticking out behind you, uncovered, as you start to bounce on the dildo, your knees moving in and out as you grind down harder. your moans grow louder, more desperate.
he groans softly, watching the way your body moves, the way you tremble and gasp. “shit, look at you… would you ride me like that?” his voice is so velvety. and its doing things to you. “would you moan even louder for me?”
the thought of it, of him underneath you, of riding him instead, has you spiraling. your mind can’t shake the image of his cock inside you, of bouncing on him just like this. the fantasy is too vivid, too real, and your body reacts before you can stop it. your hips slam down onto the toy harder, your moans growing higher in pitch, louder, uncontrollable.
he bites his lip, his eyes locked on the way you grind down on the dildo. his hand slides inside his sweatpants, gripping his cock, stroking himself in time with your movements, his breath coming out in shallow, desperate pants.
“fuck, you’d feel so good on me,” he groans, his hand moving faster as he strokes himself. “i bet you’d be so tight, so wet for me. you’re already dripping everywhere, baby… fuck, just thinking about it is making me lose it.”
you’re barely coherent at this point, your mind clouded by the sound of his voice, by the way the toy stretches you just right. the wet sounds of your pussy sliding up and down the dildo fill the room, mingling with your moans and his ragged breathing.
“cheol… i’m… i’m so close,” you manage to gasp out, your body trembling as you push yourself closer to the edge.
his eyes darken even more, his jaw clenched tight. “yeah? gonna cum for me?” his voice is strained.
he moves before you can even catch your breath, standing up from the chair, your hips still working on the dildo, but now, sitting straight again, and you can barely focus as he steps closer, towering over you even as he kneels down, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly.
“cheol, i—” you don’t even get the chance to finish before his hands push you down, forcing your body to slide deeper onto the dildo. you gasp, eyes widening as the toy sinks so deep inside you that it steals the air from your lungs, making you feel it so deep inside you. your hands fly to his chest, gripping his shirt tightly as you tremble against him, the fullness making it impossible to move.
your head falls forward onto his chest, whimpering as your body starts to shake. the pressure is unbearable, the dildo pressing so deep inside you that it makes your whole body seize up. and then he presses you down even further, his hands now gripping your hips, pushing you until the toy is buried to the hilt, the balls of the toy pressed on your clit, you lose it.
“CHEOL! i’m—oh my go-o-d,” you cry out, your whole body convulsing as your orgasm hits, this one even harder than any other. your hands claw at his shirt, your face pressed against his chest as you cum, trembling uncontrollably. you can’t think, can’t breathe, and he holds you through it, keeping you pinned down, making sure you feel every second of it.
he doesn’t say a word, just watches you with that hungry look in his eyes, his hands never leaving your hips as your body shakes against him.
the pleasure finally start to ebb, and you’re left panting, your body slumping against him, completely spent.
he lifts your face gently, his fingers under your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “look at me,” he whispers, his breath hot against your lips, and before you can react, he’s kissing you, desperate, all tongues and messy breaths. the taste of him fills your senses, his lips devouring yours, his hands sliding up your body to cup your face.
the kiss is all heat, your head spinning as you melt into him, moaning into his mouth as his tongue tangles with yours. he pulls away just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. “you’re so fucking perfect, you know that?”
you can barely respond, still lost in the fog, but then he’s pulling you up, guiding you to the edge of the bed. your knees hit the floor as he bends you over the corner, your chest pressed into the mattress, and you can feel him behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he positions himself.
“can i baby? can i?” he growls, and you nod weakly, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you brace yourself. he presses the tip of his cock against your entrance, and the second he starts to push inside, you gasp, your hands clutching at the sheets. he’s so much thicker than the toy, so much warmer, so much real.
“fuck, cheol… it’s so… so big,” you moan, your voice shaky, and he chuckles darkly, his hands tightening on your hips as he pushes deeper.
“you can take it, pretty,” he mutters, his voice strained. “look at how well you’re taking me already, fuck… you’re so wet. such a perfect pussy,”
you can feel every inch of him, the way he pushes you open, the heat of his cock filling you in a way that’s completely different from the toy. the fullness making your head spin, but it feels so fucking good at the same time.
he starts to move, slow at first, letting you adjust to the thickness of him, but soon he’s fucking you harder, each thrust making your body yank forward, your moans getting louder with every snap of his hips.
and then he reaches behind him, grabbing the dildo, and you feel his hand slide around to your face. “open your mouth,” he orders, and you obey, your lips parting as he presses the toy against them. “suck on it.”
you moan around the toy as he slides it into your mouth, the taste of the lube mixed with your own slick coating your tongue. the act of it is so filthy, so wrong, but it turns you on even more, the feeling of his cock fucking you from behind while you suck on the dildo making your whole body burn.
“that’s it, baby, just like that,” he groans, his voice thick with lust. “fuck, you’re so fucking hot… i can’t believe how good you look right now, sucking on that while i fuck you.”
your eyes roll back as he fucks you harder, the sound of your moans muffled by the toy in your mouth. the way he’s talking to you, the dirty words spilling from his lips, makes your whole body tingle with arousal.
“you like this, huh? you like being fucked like this?” he growls, his pace quickening, his cock slamming into you with each thrust. “i bet you’d love to have my cock in your mouth instead, wouldn’t you? bet you’d choke on it, make those pretty little sounds for me.”
you whimper around the dildo, nodding weakly, your body shaking with pleasure as he fucks you harder, deeper. the pressure is building again, that familiar heat pooling in your core, and you know you’re close, so fucking close.
“gonna cum again, huh?” he grunts, his voice tight. “fuck, i can feel it. you’re so close, baby. just let go. let go f'me...”
your body spasms violently, and you barely register the way your throat tightens around the dildo as he pushes it deeper. for a moment, everything goes hazy—your head spinning from the overstimulation, your knees shaking beneath you. the sensation of being so full, of having him inside you while the dildo stretches your throat, sends you into a dizzying spiral, leaving you shaking.
your face falls onto the mattress, your body too weak to hold you up anymore. you can feel him pulling out of you, the sudden emptiness making you shiver, and then he moans—and you hear the sound of his cum, warm and wet against the floor.
he pulls the dildo from your mouth, and you gasp for air, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. your throat feels raw, hoarse from the way you had been gagging around the toy, but you can’t even focus on that, still reeling from the power of your orgasm. your throat burning from how deep the dildo had gone.
he’s still kneeling behind you, his hands resting on your hips as he leans forward, his breath hot against the back of your neck. “you’re so fucking hot,” he murmurs. “you should’ve seen yourself, baby. you looked so fucking good riding that dildo like that... i cant wait to see you riding me, real, real.”
you shudder at his words, a faint whimper escaping your lips. your body is still trembling, you feel weak and shaky, but the way he’s talking to you—so dirty—it makes your head spin all over again. his hands sliding up your back, his fingers tracing the curve of your back, his hands sliding down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “i want you to be that horny for me all the time. i want you to think about this every time you touch yourself from now on.”
you groan, burying your face deeper into the mattress, your heart pounding in your chest. he pulls back slightly, his fingers gently tugging at your hair until you turn your head to look up at him. you close your eyes, your breath still coming in shallow gasps as you try to calm down.
“cheol…” you whisper, your voice hoarse, “i don’t… i don’t think i can move…”
he chuckles softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. “you don’t have to move, baby,” he says, his voice gentle now, softer than before. “just relax. you did so good for me… just rest.”
you nod weakly, him putting you fully on the bed so you can lay fully, your body sinking into the mattress.
“you okay?” he asks quietly after a few minutes, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face.
you nod again, your voice barely above a whisper. “yeah… just… tired.”
he smiles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple. “good. you deserve to rest after that.” he stays close, his warmth comforting against your skin, and you feel his lips curl into a smile against your forehead. it feels so fucking good. and you know, deep down, that this won’t be the last time something like this happens.
#seventeen reactions#seventeen headcanons#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#seventeen smut#seventeen x reader#svt smut#seventeen#seventeen fluff#svt imagines#seventeen fanfic#svt fanfic#svt x reader#seungcheol smut#seungcheol imagines#seungcheol fanfic#seungcheol x reader#seungcheol x you#seungcheol#scoups smut#scoups x reader#scoups x you#scoups x y/n#choi seungcheol#seventeen seungcheol#seungcheol fluff#scoups#choi seungcheol fluff#choi seungcheol imagines
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you’re my person - rafe cameron
pairing - rafe cameron x bsf!reader
warnings - fluff, mature language
summary - rafe’s your person, your best friend. so when you feel the need to rant to him early in the morning, you won’t hesitate to kick out the girl in his bed to get his attention. (i’ve just watched the first episode of grey’s anatomy s11 and thought of this)
masterlist
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it’s not even sunrise yet, but you find yourself unlocking rafe’s door with the spare key. letting yourself in has become second nature now, knowing exactly where the key is; under the plant pot next to the front door, which probably isn’t the best place. you head straight to his room, knowing the layout of his house like the back of your hand.
it’s peaceful, the only sound being the birds chirping and occasional creaky floorboard. you push open his door, unfazed when you see blonde hair spilling onto the pillow, a girl curled into rafe’s side, barely visible underneath the covers.
“great,” you mutter, moving closer to the bed, “come on princess, up you get.”
when neither of them stir, you try again, loudly smacking your hands against the bed for added effect.
“let’s go, come on. get up.”
the girl stirs, rolling over onto her side to face you. her eyes go as wide as saucers when she sees you standing over her, eyebrows raised and arms folded over your chest.
“who the fuck are you?” she asks, instinctively pulling the covers up to her neck to hide herself.
“doesn’t matter,” you wave your hand dismissively, “get up. you need to leave.”
at the sound of voices, rafe is pulled out of his deep sleep. he groans against the pillow, instantly recognising your voice as the cause.
“what time is it?” his voice is muffled as he speaks into the pillow, “and what’re you doing here?”
“wait, you know her?”
you quickly check your phone, ignoring her, “it’s six. anyway, rafe, i need to talk to you. she needs to leave.”
the girl sits up, not understanding what’s going on. she’s surprised rafe is so calm about someone being in his house, especially this early in the morning.
“rafe…” she whines, shoving his arm for some sort of backup.
“uh, yeah you should probably go.” he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.
“excuse me?” she sputters, eyes flickering between the two of you, “it is six in the morning!”
“sorry.” rafe says, not sounding sincere in the slightest.
a scoff leaves her lips as she dramatically throws the covers off her and grabs her things, slamming the door on her way out.
before slipping into the spot she just left, you can’t help but double check something.
“are you naked under there?”
“no, underwear is on.” he confirms, giving you a half-arsed thumbs up.
“okay, good.” you laugh, pulling back the covers and climbing in.
once you’re comfortable, rafe rolls onto his side, lazily throwing his arm over your waist and resting his head on your chest. sleep keeps threatening to pull him back under, but he doesn’t let it, knowing something must be on your mind for you to come over this early.
“it’s so early, y/n. i was sleeping.” he complains, blinking up at you in annoyance.
“i know but i need to talk to you,” you reply firmly, already knowing how to get back in his good books, “you’re kinda my person. plus, if you let me rant about it i’ll make you waffles… and i’ll let you sleep on me for a while considering i woke you up and you look super comfy?”
“okay deal. what’s wrong?”
you launch into your rant, rafe letting you know he’s somewhat listening by humming every so often and mumbling out responses when you ask him something.
“i can’t believe you.” rafe cuts in when you take a breath.
“what?” you ask, confused.
“you come to my house at the crack of dawn to rant about some girl gossip and how you’re not sure who’s side to be on.” he huffs out a laugh, unable to find it in him to be too annoyed at you.
“like i said, you’re my person, who else was i gonna go to?” you argue, “plus, you have no idea what it’s been like. it’s like a cat fight everyday, at least with you i won’t get my head bitten off.”
you feel him smile against your skin at the reminder of being ‘your person’, knowing how much he loves it even if he doesn’t admit it out loud.
“i was about ready to bite your head off when you barged into my room at six o’clock.” rafe joked, playfully squeezing your waist.
grinning, you nod your head in agreement, “that’s totally fair.”
#drew starkey#drew starkey imagine#drew starkey imagines#drew starkey x reader#obx#obx season 4#outer banks#outer banks imagine#outer banks imagines#queer#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron imagines#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x you#rafe obx#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron smut#queer drew starkey#drew starkey x you#drew starkey smut#poguelandiarafe#rafe outer banks
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WORLD CLASS SINNER ★ JUJUTSU KAISEN
⊹₊˚. featuring gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, & kamo choso fucking you nasty.
warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, car sex, creampies, overstimulation, crying, spanking, slight public sex, mirror sex, spit, hair pulling, freaky shit, motorcycle sex, riding (multiple things), filming, squirting, cunnilingus. | 4.7K words
xoxo, juno. happy belated birthday to satoru <3
GOJO SATORU.
“for the record, i love you,” satoru pecks a kiss to your cheek and his lips smack, “it is december 7th and ‘m getting my gift early.”
“it is not early!” you protest, snatching the phone from him and wiggling over to the side so you can mount it on the tall dresser. the camera app is open, overlooking the bed and ready to record satoru’s birthday celebration this year. bits of dry frosting color the corners of his lips, serving as the evidence of the cake you made him yourself.
“uh, no need to move so much,” satoru exhales coolly, hands finding purchase on your hips, “you said we’d take it slow, didn’t ya?”
“that was then,” you purr, voice low and sultry, “and this is now. unless . . you actually want me to?”
he shakes his head immediately, cheeks flushing a rosy pink while he pouts his lips. satoru sneaks a glance downwards, diamond eyes feeling a little wet at the sight — you’re sitting on his cock, with your cunt squeezing just above the creamy ring at his base.
“i thought so, ‘toru,” you giggle, blowing a kiss in the direction of the camera. it’ll surely add to the excitement when he’s watching this by himself some time along — after all, nothing else can get him off. your hands splay out on his chest, nails grazing his skin lightly.
“anyway, i’ve just been thinking . . and you’ve been such a good boy this year. i ought to spoil you for your birthday, hm?”
“what did you just call me?” satoru sputters, biting back a laugh although his voice trembles. “did you just say—”
the words die on his tongue immediately. your expression twists into one of pure bliss as you start to rock your hips into him, setting up a decent pace that has you crying out in delight. of course, he has no choice but to join you, his head tipping back while his eyes trace your features. god, you feel good — so tight, so hot, and oh so perfect. but sex feels even better because he’s pleasing you; seeing you falling apart on his cock all because of him will always get him going.
“shit, baby,” satoru gasps, groaning loudly when your fingers tangle in his snowy hair, “faster, please.”
you nod frantically, lifting yourself up and slamming back down on his cock so hard it’s like you’re being split open in the best way possible. out of habit, your fingers wander to your clit, and he pushes them away the moment he sees.
“no, don’t,” he replaces your fingers with his own and lets his free hand settle at the small of your back for support, “let me do it, babe.”
“toru,” you whimper as he flicks the sensitive bud around, “y-you always make me feel so good.”
“‘course i do, sweetheart,” he grunts, starting to jerk his hips upward. each deep thrust pushes his cock into places only he can touch, and your mouth falls open, face crumbling. “here, jus’ arch your back a little—yeah, you got it.”
satoru’s voice wavers as he tells you what to do, setting up a new position and angle for him to fuck into you at. beads of sweat roll down his temples while his chest heaves in exertion, the best kind — he’s never truly gotten tired when he’s fucking you. not only does he have the stamina of a wild stallion, but really, how could he get tired when you’re looking like an angel above him, crying out his name in a voice that’s a harmony if he’s ever heard one.
“so fuckin’ beautiful,” satoru grits out, eyes regretfully squeezing shut for a moment, “god, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep squeezin’ like that.”
curses and sobs of euphoria fall from your lips. as the seconds pass, you’re only getting more intoxicated by the heat between you. misty tears make your eyes shine, and arousal pools deep in your stomach, growing more pronounced with each shove of his cock into your sweet spot. your legs are trembling on either side of him, and your tummy’s slightly more rounded than usual—satoru’s cock is in your guts.
he feels you start to tense up, notices a few stray tears falling down your cheeks. this is it. “l-look at me, baby,” satoru pleads, as if he’ll die without it, “look at me when you cum.”
it’s perfect — you look directly into his eyes, and the camera captures your orgasm perfectly. your cunt flutters and spasms around his cock, and you’re shaking so hard you fall on top of him, flinching away from his insistent fingers. it takes everything he has to hold the urge to cum back, but he manages to pull it off, not even spilling a drop.
“toru,” you mumble into his chest, shivering as he strokes away the sweat on your back, “why didnt you—?”
“savin’ it,” he breathes, teeth sinking into his lower lip in an attempt to try and ignore the way your walls are flexing around him. “hmph. as the birthday boy, i expect you to blow another candle for me.”
your head lifts immediately and you shoot him a glare, eyes narrowed in faux annoyance. “you did not just say that.”
“careful, careful,” he hisses, hands flying to your hips, “don’t wanna accidentally cum right now.”
“right, but you’ll never push me off,” you challenge him, playfully wiggling against his pelvis.
“that is not fair!” satoru whines, looking ridiculous with the dried blue frosting at the corners of his lips. “don’t torture me, pleaseee.”
GETO SUGURU.
“keep your eyes open, sweetheart.”
“‘m sorry, sugu, i just—”
his hand comes down hard against your ass, and the crack of the slap reverberates through the room. you shudder, blearily opening your eyes and looking into the mirror.
behind you, suguru’s flipping a bit of his dark hair over his shoulder and out of the way while holding onto your waist to keep you steady. you can see how pathetic you look in your reflection — drool freely slips from your mouth and you look completely dazed, all sweaty and tired while hearts spin in your eyes.
“hm, that’s more like it. want you to watch yourself, honey.”
you nod, eyes tracing the edges of your thighs and ridges of his abs in the reflection. suguru’s got you on your hands and knees, making you look fucked out and fucked up.
“s-sugu, i wanna touch my clit—it’s not enough.”
he raises a dark brow, eyes narrowing as you slip a hand between your thighs and find your clit with your fingers. now, he settles his hands at your hips, lifting you up slightly to pound into you at a new angle.
“alright. only if you don’t fall over, sweetheart.”
what a bastard. of course he has to set you up with an impossible condition like that — the new placement of his hands is the first sign of your literal downfall. suguru closely observes your reflection in the mirror before his own: you’re covered in bite marks and hickeys, with a sheen of sweat all over your body, which makes your skin look sticky. your tits swing, building momentum each time he slams into you.
beneath the sound of ass clapping, suguru can hear your pathetic, fucked out cries—this is the result of too many orgasms and being an annoying brat to him all day. his blood boils with both frustration and arousal when he recalls a particular memory, so he reaches forward, gathering your hair into one hand before pulling you backwards. messing around with your hair is something that holds a special place in his heart; he loves it whenever you touch his hair in any way, and the same goes for yours.
“takin’ it like such a slut,” suguru croons, his dark tresses falling into his face, “but i really can’t hear you that well. thought i made myself clear when i said i want the whole apartment building to hear how well i fuck you.”
“y-yeah, you did,” you gasp, back arching beautifully, “sugu, need you to touch my clit.”
he smiles wickedly. instead of allowing yourself to fall forward, you’ve decided to give up and steady yourself at the expense of rubbing your clit. suguru almost wants to give you a reward for that.
“not right now, honey,” he revels in the frustrated sob you let out, watching in the mirror as your face crumbles in some kind of distress. so dramatic, he thinks after mentally laughing. as if he’d leave you unsatisfied — how many times have you cum so far? “someone’s fucking greedy, hm? tell you what, sweetheart. cum without your clit ‘n i’ll eat your pussy up right after.”
it’s a good enough deal, and it only seems more enticing when he sticks his tongue out in the mirror, showing off the silver ball in the middle of it. his tongue piercing, and your favorite part of him eating you out.
“o-okay,” you agree tearfully, and he tugs you back by the hair so you’re facing him.
“tell me, tell the neighbors, who’s fucking you this good? answer me, honey.”
“you, suguru!” you moan loudly, feeling a surprising pressure building in your lower stomach, “i-it’s you, ‘s always you!”
suguru nods, letting go of your hair and slipping his hand beneath your chin rather gently. then he lifts your head and tips it back. “open that pretty mouth for me.”
you oblige immediately, going so far as to stick your tongue out for him. he spits right onto your tongue, and it tastes a little minty because of his chapstick and tea when you swallow. the gesture is an erotic expression of dominance and possession, and it’s one that has your cunt quivering around his cock. he lets you go, making eye contact with you through the mirror.
“oh, i feel you squeezing me,” he grunts, smacking your ass and groaning when your cunt automatically bears down harder. “looks like i’ll be devouring that sweet pussy of yours, honey.”
“hah, i need it,” mascara tracks darken your cheeks as fresh tears roll down, “t-think ‘m gonna cum, jus’ like you asked.”
“such a good girl for me,” he praises, egging you on by pressing his palm into your lower stomach, “my girl listens so well, doesn’t she? cum for me.”
the creaking of the bed grows louder as he pounds his cock into you harder, forcing a mixture of slick and cum to pour out from your used hole in glossy strings that stick to your thighs. he’s breathing heavily behind you, pressing into your tummy just right, and oh.
oh, you’re about to make a fucking mess.
a pitched sob tears from your throat when you cum on his cock, pussy gushing all over him and onto the bedsheets. sparkling droplets of cum race down your thighs and your entire body shakes on his cock, gripping him so tightly that neither of you can move.
“s-sugu, ‘m tired,” you gasp, stars flashing across your vision. “feeling kinda . . lightheaded.”
“you’ve gotta rest, sweetheart,” suguru laughs, and it rumbles out from the depths of his chest. he leans so far backwards his back cracks, and then he hands you an open bottle of water.
“what—what’s the record now?”
“ten in an hour,” he strokes your back with loving fingers, curling up beside you even though you’re upside down on the bed together. “let’s try to break it again in a couple hours.”
“how about tomorrow?” you suggest with a yawn.
“okay, okay. tomorrow night, my balls are shriveling up right now.”
“ew, sugu.” your nose crinkles and you scoot an inch away, too exhausted to move further.
“oh, stop it. it’s your fault anyways.”
NANAMI KENTO.
“kento—kennn,” you whine breathlessly, glossy lips parting to release a useless warning. “y-you’re gonna make me cum again, shit!”
“let me feel it, sweetheart,” kento croons, pressing his thumb particularly hard into your clit. the additional pressure has your head spinning too fast for you to even come up with a coherent thought as you orgasm with a drawn out whine on his cock for the nth time tonight. “that—that’s my good girl.”
beneath your bodies, the polished oak desk creaks dangerously, sounding far too tired for something that’s worth thousands. but kento doesn’t give one damn — he’d been stuck working overtime because of his shitty boss, who’d left him cooped up in his office, expecting his orders to be followed. the ultimatum was simple: do a ton of work or get fired.
kento had been so caught up he didn’t get the chance to call you, and the stress he’d been feeling began to ebb away once you stepped through his door with a bag of food from his favorite restaurant. one thing led to another, and soon enough the food had been abandoned somewhere and you ended up on the desk.
papers lazily drift off the desk’s surface while others are inevitably dampened by a mixture of wetness and spit, which leaks from your puffy cunt in thick trails down your skin. again and again, kento’s cock pushes even deeper, the blunt tip of it kissing your cervix rather roughly. meanwhile, his fingers toy with your swollen clit, drawing unrestrained cries from your lips while tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
“ken, ‘s too much, i don’t think i can—”
“of course you can take more, angel,” kento huffs, firmly planting his hand beside your head for extra stability. the platinum of his watch glints in the light and his heavy breaths grow more ragged by the second, his chest heaving. sweaty strands of blond hair escape the gel’s hold, sticking to his slick forehead and making him look all the more ethereal above you. “i-i’m nowhere near finished with you.”
“oh god,” you whimper in realization, feeling that hot wave cresting in your tummy; it’s amplified by the rough rhythm of his cock and the attention he’s so generously lavishing your clit with. “g-god, ‘s coming . . ken, i think i’m gonna—”
a deep groan rushes out from him, all the way from the pits of his chest. hazel eyes squint as he watches your pussy push his cock out; it quivers momentarily before spraying cum all over his pelvis, and the sparkling droplets drip through his pubes, toward the shaft of his cock.
“did you just squirt, sweetheart?” kento asks curiously, heat rising to his cheeks and elsewhere.
“i think so,” you swallow nervously, too weak to sit up and look at the mess you’ve made all over him. “ken, i want you to cum inside me. stop holding it back.”
to be fair, this is probably the last time he’ll get the pleasure of fucking you on such an expensive desk. this despicable office he’s spent countless hours in is finally growing on him now that he’s got you in here like this — stripped naked and begging for his cum while making a mess of the shit all over his desk. and oh, he wishes he could see his boss’ face when he comes in demanding all of the finished work, only to be met with a sticky desk. the vision ignites an inferno in him and he guides his cock inside you, biting down on his lower lip when your greedy cunt swallows him.
“beg a little more for it, angel,” he chokes out, spreading your legs impossibly wider while drawing his hips back, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you. “need to know just how you want it.”
you gasp sharply, back arching off the desk and causing your tits to press into his clothed, sweaty chest. “i want you to fuck me like you mean it. t-then, fill me up. please.”
you can’t even say another word before kento’s holding your hips down and plowing into you with a sudden ferocity. if he’s lucky, he can get you to squirt again and maybe this time he can get a taste—yes, this is the thought he wants to cum to.
he shudders, “i love it—ugh, fuck—when you tell me what you want, sweetheart.”
“give it to me,” you cry out, eyes fluttering shut while your legs wrap tightly around his waist, drawing him closer. “h-haven’t i earned it, ken?”
kento comes undone at your words, teeth clenching with a loud grunt as he finally spills inside you. your squeezing walls milk him for everything he has, absorbing each throb of his cock into their sticky softness. his mouth hangs open breathlessly, and he weakly pushes his hips forward before carefully landing on top of you.
wood splinters and snaps beneath you, and you both tumble to the floor atop a heap of the desk’s remains. “kento, what just happened—”
“it’s fine, honey. let’s rest for a moment before we leave.”
“you aren’t gonna clean it up? what about when you have to come in tomorrow?”
kento nuzzles his nose into your cheek with a blissful sigh. “thank you for making my last day at this job special. i’ll be quitting and moving to the other firm closer to the house.”
FUSHIGURO TOJI.
“this is what ya wanted?” with a coy chuckle, toji flattens his tongue against your slit and licks a long, languid stripe upwards. he easily finds your clit, and swirls the sensitive bud around with the tip of his tongue.
“yeah, but not the teasing—” a breathy gasp pushes past your lips when he pushes two slick fingers inside you.
“heh heh. you’ll survive a little teasin’, dollface.”
he’s so flippant with his words, so nonchalant. but his fingers are anything but lazy or uncaring as he bullies them deeper into your cunt, curling them right against that sweet spongy spot inside you. with one leg over his shoulder and the other hanging off the edge of the backseat, you’re fully spread and at his mercy.
“come onnn, toji,” he rolls his eyes when he hears you whine, tonguing at the glossy slick that covers his fingers and the skin around your hole.
“you come on, princess. just wait a second, ‘kay?”
“but i’ve been waiting,” you huff, lower lip trembling in frustration as your fingers push through the dark tufts of his hair. you can’t help but breathe a little heavier, the building anticipation becoming suffocating in the small space of the car. “all night. since we left to go hang out with shiu.”
“don’t tell me that’s why you’ve been so handsy, doll. hmph, i had to pull over so ya wouldn’t make me crash the car.”
“i wasn’t even doing—”
“that much?” toji finishes your sentence for you, the corners of his lips quirking upwards when you look at him desperately. “weren’t ya trying to get in my pants while i was going sixty?”
before you can respond, toji interrupts your train of thought by spitting right onto your clit. the glossy glob trails down his fingers and becomes extra lube for him — he wraps his lips around your clit and starts to sporadically curl his fingers. heat sears its way across your face and your back arches off the backseat, eyes briefly scanning around to make sure the road’s still empty.
it’s dark out and difficult to tell, but what does it matter? there’s no need to focus on spotting other cars, you reason.
“ah, fuck!” the expletive leaves your lips in the form of a startled mewl, a delicious reaction to toji lightly nibbling at your clit with his teeth. the gesture is playful but it drives you wild and makes your head spin, thoughts turning into mush. “toji, that—that feels really good . . ”
impatient as ever, you push his head down, forcing his face into your pussy in a greedy attempt to get more.
“ah ah,” he snaps upwards, pulling free from your grip and moving on top of you easily. you’re nose to nose and he’s speaking directly over your lips, sharing your breath. “i get to eat this pussy my way. she’s all mine, don’t forget that.”
“f-fine,” you cede with a pout, which he kisses away, feeling proud of himself.
“be a good girl ‘n maybe you can ride my face. how’s that sound, doll?”
“it sounds good,” you squeeze your eyes shut when he finally returns to his old position between your thighs, two fingers stuffing your cunt while his tongue laps at your clit as though it’s the best ice cream ever. the temperature in the car seems to spike; your body’s growing hotter and hotter with each lick or curl of his fingers.
“greedy pussy wants some more, hm?”
“h-huh?” you ask dumbly, a little zoned out.
but toji doesn’t repeat himself. instead he shows you what he said by pushing a third finger into your already crowded hole, smirking in satisfaction when you suck him in despite your verbal protests of it being ‘too much’. toji’s big, every part of him, and you always take him even though you complain — what can he say?
“a-ah, so fuckin’ full,” you slur your words, rocking your hips into his fingers to make the stretch burn a little less. “tojiii, go slow.”
“again, girl,” he huffs, rolling his eyes dramatically, “don’t tell me what to do. ‘n you’ll be just fine, this pussy was made for me.”
there’s no point in arguing, so you just let your head lazily lean back against the door. you were supposed to look around for cars, especially police cars, and you’ve given up entirely, deciding to blame your inability to search on the foggy windows.
toji scissors his fingers in and out of you mercilessly, sucking your clit roughly and groaning to express his enjoyment. the wet squelches of your cunt make your cheeks burn hot; it’s just so filthy that you don’t even know how to react. on either side of his head, your thighs tremble, squeezing around him every now and then.
“mmm, you’re so fuckin’ sweet,” he smacks his lips loudly and devours your pussy in between each word, “shouldn’t have made you wait so goddamn long, dollface.”
“i told you,” is all you can utter, hips twisting wildly into his face, “jus’ like that, keep sucking my clit—fuck, yes. ‘m so close, gonna make me cum.”
“aw, i’m gonna make you cum?” he teases you, mocking your tone in a way that has shockwaves of excitement and anger shooting straight through your body. you can’t even find it in yourself to answer, and a sudden flash of red and blue has your eyes squeezing tightly shut.
“‘m cumming, ‘m c-cumming, toji!”
instead of using his tongue on your clit, toji decides to sit back and watch your cunt spasm. to prolong your orgasm and overstimulate you, he slaps your clit a few times, chuckling each time you jerk or nearly scream happily.
“hmph, ya ougtta taste yourself,” toji pulls his fingers out of you and shoves them into your mouth, feeling his cock swell in his pants as your tongue cleans his skin. it’s even better when you moan as you do so, thoroughly enjoying the taste of your cum. “how’s that, baby? if ya can sit up without any help, i’ll let you ride my face.”
a sharp knock on the window startles you, and the bright light of an officer’s flashlight shines in through the foggy glass. without wiping his face, toji reaches into the front seat and turns on the car, then rolls down the window. the light illuminates the glossy cum all over the lower half of his face, and yet he smiles widely.
“good evenin’, officer. what can i do for ya?”
KAMO CHOSO.
“keep it s-steady, baby,” despite his words, choso’s voice shakes, slightly muffled by his helmet. “gentle on the throttle��nghhh, fuck.”
one of his gloved hands is firmly holding onto your hip, gripping hard each time your cunt squeezes around his cock. the sky is now a dark curtain of nighttime, darkness speckled with stars above. in front of you, car lights flash occasionally out on the road. street signs are caught in the bright columns of the motorcycle’s headlights, greens and yellows glinting in the white glow.
you bounce your ass back on choso’s lap, nibbling at your lower lip and allowing a whimper to slip past your teeth. his cock is buried inside you, nestled deep in your hot, sticky walls and extremely sensitive. he lightly strokes his free fingers against your clit, but not too often that it’ll be a distraction—after all, you’re driving a motorcycle.
“there’s a light up ahead,” choso points out, heatwaves crashing over him despite the cool breeze.
“i see it, cho.”
the motorcycle slows as you apply the brake, and you smoothly stop at the light. instead of remaining bent forward, you sit back onto his lap, taking in the last few inches of his cock. choso startles beneath you with a gasping moan and rolls your clit between his fingers.
“cho,” you whimper breathlessly, leaning your head into his shoulder, “gimme a kiss.”
“okay,” he whispers, leaning in slowly. the helmets clash together, but he manages to peck his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. you whine when the light turns green, sitting forward to take off again. this time, your face burns as you steady your feet, and the position allows you to bounce back on his cock with newer efficiency.
“shit,” choso gasps, bucking his hips upwards to match your rhythm, “i—hah, you’re gonna make me cum, baby.”
it’s dangerous in so many ways, but you look over your shoulder at him and he sees the heat in your eyes. it’s almost like you’re daring him to bust a nut inside you while you drive his motorcycle—god, that’s exactly what you’re doing. normally, choso doesn’t enjoy playing truth or dare, but he’ll make an exception for his girl.
with one hand on your hip, he tugs you down onto his cock and jerks himself upwards to make it a little easier for you. tears prick at the corners of your eyes like they always do whenever you take his cock — he’s stretching you out and filling you up so perfectly that it’s impossible not to become overwhelmed.
“faster, baby—t-there’s nobody on the road, you can put s’more gas into it.”
so you do, watching the needle in the speedometer increase as the motorcycle gains speed. choso moans loudly, his face flushing dark red beneath his helmet while his eyes flutter shut for a moment. “g-gonna cum, baby, tell me i can, tell me i can—”
each word grows more urgent, and his voice begins to splinter and break as he begs you for permission. his fingers carelessly toy with your clit, thumb rubbing quick circles around the bud and enticing you to cum with him. you feel dizzy, seeing stars flash across your vision each time you bounce down on his cock, not to mention the additional stimulation on your clit. something hot burns in your stomach and seems to rush throughout every limb in a way that has your body and mind going numb momentarily.
“cum in me, choso,” you sob desperately, gripping the handlebars frantically, “cum with me, cum with—oh, fuck.”
your mouth falls open in shock as you have the most explosive orgasm you’ve ever had with him; your cunt flutters around his cock, drawing him deeper as if it’s the last time you’ll be together.
choso starts to babble thoughtlessly, praises and gasps falling from his lips like the words of a prayer. “yeah, ‘m cumming—ngh, i l-love you, god you’re jus’ so perfect.”
he finally spills inside you, spraying white hot cum so deep it’ll take hours to drip out. the motorcycle wavers, lurching forward toward the next set of lights. beneath the helmets, you’re both panting, coming down from your highs and trying to focus even though you’re feeling a euphoric numbness spread through your body. when his thumb nudges your clit, you jerk as though you’ve been electrocuted, whining from the sensitivity.
“are you okay?” he asks lowly, voice ragged while his hand massages at your side.
“y-yeah, i’m okay. i just—i need to do that again.”
choso laughs, causing you to do so as well. “maybe in a few more minutes. how ‘bout we change up the position so you’re on your back? if we do, i’ll be able to see that pretty face.”
#kurooh#gojo smut#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk headcanons#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#nanami smut#nanami x reader#nanami x you#toji smut#toji x reader#choso smut#choso x reader#geto smut#geto x reader#smut#jjk#jjk imagines#jjk fanfic#fanfic
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My favorite headcanons for caitvi are ones where they met as kids/teens, by far
Like it's so fucking cute, the idea that Caitlyn would be immediately drawn to Vi due to her curiosity, and Vi can't help but be smitten by Caitlyn's atypical behaviors and willingness to explore new concepts and experiences and ideas.
Just like when they meet as adults in the original universe, their backgrounds should make them incompatible, but there's that inexplicable draw that brings them together.
Imagine Caitlyn tags along with Jayce to his visits in the undercity without telling her parents and can't stop staring at the pink haired girl she sees there at the shop, just hanging around, and they meet eyes, and BOOM, instant connection. Vi also sneaks glances and realizes she's never seen a Piltie girl her age this close before. She wonders if they're all this pretty.
Imagine Vi is sneaking around topside to catch glimpses of Caitlyn, because she feels like she shouldn't be so drawn to a Piltie, but she is anyway.
Imagine one day Caitlyn actually catches sight of Vi across the street as she tries to remain inconspicuous, but Caitlyn would recognize that pink hair in a heartbeat. Imagine she sneaks away from her mother or whoever she's with in order to go talk to her.
"It's you," she says, shy yet bold.
Vi, of course, tries to play it off. "Dunno what you're talking about, topside." But the blush on her cheeks tells another story.
Caitlyn ignores the very obvious attempts at ignorance. "I've been wanting to come visit the shop again, but it's hard for me to find the chance to get away from my mother. She's kind of overprotective."
Vi decides it's best not to play dumb, but can't completely be honest about wanting to see her as well. "You're sure you wanna share about your life with me? Maybe your mom's got a point, shouldn't associate with undercity trash and all."
Caitlyn frowns. "I don't think you're trash. That's silly. Why would you call yourself that?"
Vi is caught a bit off guard. "Isn't that what all you Pilties think of us?"
"I certainly don't." Caitlyn cocks her head as this leaves Vi without a response. "Why are you here, anyway?"
Vi stumbles around in her head for an answer. Shoves her hands in her pockets. Kicks a rock aside. Shrugs. "W-why are YOU talking to me?"
This makes Caitlyn smirk. "I DID say I've been meaning to come back to the shop. What do you think?"
"Dunno. Could want a number of things there." Vi has been staring at the ground but peers up at Caitlyn here. "Give me a hint?" The barest of upturned lips.
This makes Caitlyn break out into a genuine smile that steals Vi's breath a bit. "You're kind of adorable, you know that?"
Vi sputters. "Am NOT."
"Are so." Caitlyn tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Can't help but think the girl's freckles compliment her blush well.
Vi rolls her eyes, trying to pretend her brain isn't setting off fireworks. "I don't even know your name."
"Would you like to know it?" Caitlyn says, tilting her head.
"Since you insist on teasing me, I think it's fair."
"But you make it so easy," Caitlyn giggles. "Alright. I'm Caitlyn."
"Caitlyn," Vi breathes. Shakes her head. Clears her throat. Thrusts her hand out, scuffed up palms and knuckles and all. "I'm Vi."
"Vi. Pleasure to meet you." Caitlyn takes her hand without hesitation, notices how rough they feel compared to hers, incredibly intrigued.
"Caitlyn!" A voice calls. The girls both turn. It's her mother.
"Shit." Caitlyn breathes.
This makes Vi laugh, surprised. "Didn't know princesses could use words like that."
"Oh, hush." Caitlyn looks back at her, panicked. "I have to go. I'm sorry." Her eyes shift so they're alight with mischief. She jerks her head towards her mom. "You've got a talent for sneaking around, I assume?"
"And if I do?"
"Wait until we're out of sight. Maybe if you're good enough, you can stay under her radar." Caitlyn smirks. "Maybe you could teach me how to sneak about myself. Could come in handy."
Without giving Vi a chance to respond, she turns away, skirt swishing about.
And if Vi does exactly what Caitlyn says, following her home out of sight, and later taps at the same glass doors of the balcony she sees the girl disappear into after a while of spying, no one is the wiser. She figures she doesn't need to tell Vander what she's been up to just yet.
#caitvi headcanon#arcane#arcane headcanon#arcane thoughts#caitlyn kiramman#caitvi#vi arcane#caitlyn x vi#violyn#arcane league of legends#vi ar#arcane fic#caitvi fic#arcane league of lesbians#league of lesbians
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cw slight sòmno . consensual non consēnt . breeding kínk
laying in bed with suguru geto is an act anyone would deem intimate and romantic; the way his arm is lazily draped over your waist, his chest pressed against your back, and his lips just ghosting the nape of your neck… it’s all so peaceful.
if you ignore the fact that his cock is still plunged inside of you, a mix of both your and his cum, dried and painting your inner thighs.
he can’t help it— when his hands trail upwards and tease your nipples, twisting and pulling them gently in between his index and thumb as he feels it begin to harden under his skin.
suguru’s cock barely wastes any time, springing back to life while still inside of you. he feels the soft, almost subtle flutter of your gummy walls around his length as it stretches and stretches your cunt.
his eyes blink open fully as the first rays of sunlight peeks in through the small gaps in the curtains; those same eyes zeroing in on what’s happening below, and he can’t help the smile that tugs onto the corners his mouth.
he places his hand on your hip before patting it gently, whispering softly into your ear as he tentatively rolls his hips. “wake up, baby.”
suguru drills his cock in and out of you a tad bit faster when you hum, a confirmation that you’re away, eyes blinking groggily. “s— ‘guru? wh— ah!”
his smile morphs into an almost feral grin as his hand hooks under your thigh from behind, lifting it up to get better access. “much — ngh, fuck — better, baby. can feel you squeezing around me from this angle more.”
his pace is much faster now; cockhead bullying your cervix with each thrust as he panted and whined into your ear. everything sounded so lewd — skin slapping skin, the wet noises your pussy sputtered every time he thrusted into you, his desperate noises into your ear… you can’t help but clamp down onto him tighter.
mauve eyes practically rush to the back of his head, his hips slamming against you harder as his balls tightened and throbbed. “‘m g—ah, gonna make you a mommy,” he moaned, letting go of your leg and using his hand to rub messy circles on your puffy clit instead. “g’na put a fuckin’ baby in you— breed you, fill you up with my cum—“
thick, generous ribbons of his cum shoot straight into your womb, his hips still rolling against your ass as you milk his cock. “fuuuuuuuck, yeah, just like that. keep, ah, squeezin’ around my cock like that.”
after a while of catching your breath and trying to kick the blankets off you due to the sheen layer of sweat coating your bodies, suguru decides to thrust into you one last time — hard and deep.
“good morning, baby. how’d you sleep?”
a/n: suguru focused because i love him. <3
#7hursday#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#geto smut#suguru geto#geto suguru#geto#suguru geto smut#geto suguru smut#geto suguru x y/n#geto suguru x reader#geto x y/n#geto x reader#jujutsu geto#jjk geto#suguru geto x reader#geto x you#jujutsu kaisen geto#jujutsu kaisen x you
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gojo is used to strange people with strange requests. he gets paid for doing people’s dirty work, things they’d never do themselves, so this is pretty standard in his line of work.
he had to survive somehow, and if becoming the bidder of bad tidings was what made him coin, then he wasn’t one to complain.
another thing that gojo had gotten especially good at is knowing when somebody is looking for him. it’s usually scurried glances and sweaty palms that give them away. which is why now, as he’s resting an ale in hand at the back of the tavern, does he feel this sense go off.
he sits alone, not looking up from his drink as he feels a set of eyes on him. tonight was his night of rest, his horse was sleeping outside, and he had booked a room just for himself. he didn’t care what they gave him. he was checked out for the night.
the room is crowded, with loud and boisterous laughter filling any gaps of silence. people are taking and shouting, but it doesn’t mask the set of footsteps getting near to where he was trying to hide away from everybody else.
gojo keeps his head down, his nose wrinkling in annoyance when timid hands set a pouch in front of him. filled to the brim with gold, most likely.
“i need your help,” a voice, frightful and cracking, says.
gojo rolls his eyes. this isn’t the first time a girl has run away from his rich family and begs him for a chance away. but he’s done that too many times, gone through too much. he’d rather just kill the parents. he takes a sip of his drink, resting his back on the wall.
he knows how this usually goes. a girl wants to run away, she finds him, they end up running away, only for the girl to feel guilty and beg him to take her back home. either that or she has no plan in mind and forces him on an endless chase to somewhere she doesn’t even know.
judging by the tone of your voice, he’s betting you’re a mix of both right now.
“i’m not offering any help right now,” he says, twisting a ring back and forth on his fingers, one he had stollen a while ago.
“i have more gold,” you beg, “i need your help… please. i heard you’re the only person who’s made it through the north alive.”
gojo glances up at you briefly, taking in your bruised and cut face, most likely from running away, at your eyes filled with tears, and at the way your lips trembled.
his eyes flit away momentarily, not expecting you to take him by surprise. you look more roughed up than the other girls he’s seen so far, a certain heaviness in your stare.
“no.” he says bluntly and your gaze seems to waver just slightly. you gnaw on your lips, wondering how you could change your speech to change his mind.
“my father wants me to marry this man. he’s,” you shudder a little bit at the thought, “inhuman. if i don’t get away soon his men will find me. i,” your breathing shudders, “i can’t let them find me.”
gojo sighs deeply though his nose. so much for a relaxful evening.
his eyes search yours again, and he feels a different urgency that he’s never felt before. something that tells him that this is different, that if he doesn’t help you it’s going to be more than a simple punishment of your father taking away your allowance.
“where’s the rest of your gold?” he looks to your empty hands and then back up to your face.
you sputter, looking at him in shock.
“i-in my satchel,” you swallow thickly, “i left it near your horse.”
his mouth almost quirked upwards.
“where do you want to go?” he asks, watching as your posture straightens up a bit.
“to the shore,” you say, “i’ll get the soonest ship out.”
gojo stares at you and you stare at him. he surveys the pouch of gold, knowing it’s more than he’s ever made in months, something he desperately needs.
he rubs a hand across his face, squeezing his eyes shut as he thinks.
“when do you need to leave?” he asks although gojo already mows the wretched answer.
you look bashful as you duck your head down.
“n-now, if possible.”
gojo stares at your pouch a little bit longer. he downs the rest of his drink as he stands up, eyes raking over your features. if it weren’t for time and place he might’ve asked you to accompany him back to his room.
you stare back at him silently and he quirks his silver brow.
“what?” he grumbles, “get your things. we’re leaving.” a small smile breaks its way into your face as you collect your measly bag and your satchel of gold.
gojo knows he shouldn’t have said yes the moment he saw you grin, knowing that you weren’t an ordinary girl and this wasn’t an ordinary request. but he didn’t find it in himself to care.
at least for now, he didn’t.
#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo drabble#jjk x reader#jjk x you#satoru x reader#satoru x you#gojo satoru x reader
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Instant Attraction
Wanda Maximoff x Reader
Word Count: 11.5k
Notes: Stepmom!Wanda, pining, masturbation, kissing, thigh riding, cheating, mommy kink, lmk if there's anything else,
Summary: Your dad calls you home from college unable to afford for you to dorm. He doesn’t let you know that in the time you were gone, he had gotten married. When you meet his wife Wanda, you're instantly attracted to her. That attraction doesn't seem so one sided.
An: Could be persuaded to write another part... after I finish my request
Masterlist
You grew up in a single-parent household. Your dad spent most of his time at work, trying to provide you a better life. You could never hate him for that. Your mother, she decided that motherhood wasn’t for her when you were around 5. She left one night and never came back.
You weren’t a very social kid. You had a few friends, but no real affinity for going out. There was a preference on your side of things to stay in, watch movies, and play games. Even when you grew your interest stay the same.
There were times were your father nearly forced you out of the house, just so he could see the sun touch your skin.
You weren’t the smartest kid, but you weren’t an idiot either. You took your average grades and went to community college securing yourself a general AA before you decided to transfer to a Cal State University. Though your father originally paid for you to dorm, he mentioned that it was a bit expensive.
So next semester you’d be commuting between home and school. Honestly, you’d only dormed because your father had pushed for it in the first place. He’d thought it’d be a good opportunity for you to branch out.
Your roommate, Kate was pretty cool, but in actuality she was a bit of a loser just like you were.
“Back so soon Y/n L/n?”
The thick accent made a smile tug at the ends of your lips, “What can I say, I missed the scariest neighbor on the block. Who’s going to tarnish your hardcore image if it’s not me, Lena?”
You and Yelena had grown up together, she’d been your neighbor for as long as you could remember. One of the few people that you’d let into your social circle.
“I’m back to stay. My dad told me dorming was too expensive, so I get to come back home.”
Yelena laughs lightly, “I bet it’s out of his range now since he’s caring for a woman and her children .”
You look at her dumbfounded. Slowly the laughter stops and the smile disappears from her face.
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you not know?”
Her eyes are wide as she stares at you.
“Know what Yelena?”
She begins to sputter, “Holy shit, what kind of father doesn’t tell his daughter this things?”
You grab her by the shoulders and shake her a little, “What kind of things, Yelena? Would you just tell me?”
“Y/n… you’re father. Sometime near the beginning of your semester, he got married.”
Your eyes bulge out of your head, “He did what?!”
“Her name is Wanda, she’s got 2 sons, twins.”
You open and close your mouth a few times. Laughter builds from inside of you and before you know it, it’s spilling out, “Good one Lena, you almost had me there. My father, married. Jesus Christ, this is why I don’t have too many friends.”
“Y/n, I’m serious.”
“Sure you are, now help me take some of this in the house, since you’re here,” you grab a bag from your trunk, shoving it into the blonde’s hands.
You don’t fumble around looking for your keys, instead opting to ring the doorbell. You told your dad you were coming this weekend, and he said he’d be home to let you in.
“Y/n, I’m really not lying about the marriage,” Yelena nudges you as you wait for the door to open.
You roll your eyes, “Even if I did believe you, what poor woman would marry my father?”
You ring the doorbell again, becoming impatient with waiting.
“Red head, green eyes, mother of 2 kids but you can’t tell from her body. She honestly a really attractive woman, don’t know how he did it,” Yelena goes into the details.
You laugh a little more, “This hypothetical woman sounds like my type. Maybe I could steal her from him.”
Yelena joins in on the laughter, “Not with your inability to speak to women.”
You glare at her, “Not funny.”
Finally the door opens, except it’s not your dad. It’s a woman with red hair, green eyes, a body that definitely doesn’t look like she had two kids. You can’t help but gawk at her.
“You must be Y/n, I’m Wanda. Your father told me to welcome you in, he’s working, but he’ll be back soon.”
“Hi, Mrs. Maximoff,” Yelena spoke with a smirk on her face.
“Yelena, it’s good to see you again. Helping Y/n with her bags?”
Yelena nods, “She needs all the help she can get.”
You shove the blonde while maintaining your gaze on the redhead, “You married my dad?”
She laughs at the disbelief in your voice, “Yes, I did sweetheart. Is that alright with you?”
You’re at a loss for words when you hear her call you sweetheart, “I um… I’m going to head to my room.”
You rush into the house and up the stairs past the red head. Yelena offers the woman a bright smile as she trails behind you a much slower pace.
When the blonde enters your old room she finds you pacing back and forth. Your teeth are sinking into one of your knuckles as you try to get your thoughts going.
“So…”
“You weren’t lying,” you whisper, more to yourself than her.
“I was not.”
You keep pacing, “She has two kids?”
“Yup,” she pops the ‘p', taking a seat on your bed.
You pull out your phone to call your dad. The phone rings, so long that you almost hang up.
“Hey kid, what’s going on?”
You feel your anger growing at his relaxed tone, “ I just got home… and there’s a woman in our house. A woman that Yelena told me that you are married to! Dad, what the fuck? When did you get married? Who is this woman? When did you start dating? She has kids?”
“One question at a time Y/n, please.”
You scoff over the phone, “No, you’ve been lying to me for months now, possibly longer. I deserve the truth.”
You hear him sigh over the phone, “You’re right. I wanted to tell you, but I just didn’t know the right time. Wanda and I had been dating for almost 2 years, I didn’t want to introduce you two before I was sure she was the one.”
“Well technically you still haven’t introduced us. You were supposed to be here today.”
He sighs again, “I know kid, but work called last minute. I know I should’ve been there for this, and I’m fucking it up, but I swear Wanda is amazing, you just have to get to know her.”
“When did you get married?”
“A week after you left, it was… spontaneous. We ended up at courthouse and next thing I know, I’m Mr. Shawn Maximoff.”
You furrow your brow, “You took her last name?”
“It sounds cooler,” he concedes.
It does sound cooler so you don’t argue with him.
“I can’t believe you kept this from me. We’re supposed to be in this together. Thick as thieves, I have your back and you have mine, but you’re lying to me about things this important,” you sit on your bed next to Yelena.
“Y/n, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to I promise. How about I come home right now, and we can talk about it in person?”
“That’s a start,” you relent.
“Alright, I’ll see you soon, love you.”
You let out a sigh of your own, “Love you, bye.”
When you hang up the phone, your head lands on Yelena’s shoulder. She pulls you into her side, rubbing your shoulder for comfort.
“There, there my friend. I’m sure everything will work out fine between you and your father. If not, you could always go with the plan of stealing Wanda away from him.”
You push her away from you, “Not funny.”
Yelena raises her hands in surrender, “It was just a suggestion.”
“Help me unpack,” you begin to unload your belongings.
Yelena deflates, but helps you regardless. When you’re done you can hear a car pull up in the driveway.
“Looks like your dad’s home.”
“Great.”
Yelena starts making her way to your bedroom door, “I love you, but I am not staying for whatever talk is about to transpire.”
“Fair,” you follow her to the front door.
“Last thing, will you be calling her mommy because-"
You open the door and push her through it, “Goodbye, Yelena.”
Your dad walks into the frame, chuckling at the scene. He waves to your friend, “Goodbye Yelena.”
She waves back, “Bye Shawn, bye Y/n.”
He closes the door behind him. Your dad turns to you and opens his arms. As upset as you are with him, you can’t deny him the hug. You wrap your arms around him, and he squeezes you tightly.
“Believe it or not, I really missed you kid.”
“Enough to get a whole new family,” you shot back him.
“That’s fair, let’s talk in the back.”
You agree, but you don’t make it to the backyard before running into Wanda again.
“Honey you’re home early,” Wanda strides past you and kisses your father.
The sight is strange to you. You knew that your father had dated after your mother, but he never brought anyone home. You had never seen him be intimate with anyone, it felt weird. At least that’s what you think the feeling is.
“I am, I owe Y/n an explanation for some things . So I thought it was best to come home and straighten things out.”
Wanda seems to understand what he’s alluding to, “Alright, while the two of you talk how about I get dinner started.”
They kiss again, and this time you turn away.
“Sounds good, let’s go kid.”
You follow your dad through kitchen and to the backyard. He stops for a second in the kitchen to grab two beers, before continuing outside. The two of you sit on the patio chairs, facing out towards the yard.
He opens both the drinks and hands you one wordlessly. You hate beer, but you’re not turning down this moment with your dad.
“I was lonely for a long time when your mom left Y/n. I wanted to unpack those feelings, but there was one feeling that I felt more than loneliness and that was fear. Fear that I wouldn’t be able to take care of you and that someone would take you away. There was nearly 10 years that I pushed those feelings of loneliness down, to focus on you, on us. It was what I supposed to do and I don’t regret it. I know I wasn’t always there for you in the way you needed me to be, but just know I was always thinking about how I could be better for you.”
He stops to take a swig of his beer, “Eventually, once I thought that you were old enough, I started dating. Nothing really stuck until I met Wanda. It was a chance encounter at some coffee place, she’d just had finalized her divorce. I wasn’t sure about it, but I also just couldn’t let her go without giving it a shot. Low and behold a shot turned into 2 years.”
You take a large gulp of beer, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was scared. I didn’t know how you’d react. We don’t really talk about your feelings about your mom, I just didn’t want you to think- that I was trying to put someone in that spot for you."
“I understand that feeling, but I would’ve like to meet her before you know, you got married.”
“It was so just such a quick decision. That we were already married before I realized that I fucked up. There wasn’t a ceremony or anything,” he explains.
You drink some more, “But it’s been months dad. You know I thought Yelena was lying to me in the driveway when she was saying something about a wife and 2 kids.”
He looks into his lap, “The longer I waited, the harder it got. I felt like a kid who was going to get scolded, I didn’t feel like I had the right words. I still don’t think I do. ‘Hey sport, so I’ve been seeing someone for 2 years and I got married how’s your first week of college going’.”
You laugh, “I guess I can see where you’re coming from, but I don’t want to be left in the dark like this ever again.”
“Yes mam,” he salutes you. “So how was your first semester? Get into any trouble, join any clubs, get a girlfriend maybe?”
You stop him there, “Pump your brakes, I still have questions about… your marriage. Like where are the two kids?”
“They’re at their father’s house. They usually do two weeks there, two weeks here. I think they might be spending more time with him this summer. Billy and Tommy are great kids, I think you’d get along with them pretty well. They’re into games and stuff like you. You’ll meet them. ”
“I’m assuming they’re younger.”
“15.”
Your eyes go wide, “She has two 15-year-old kids?”
Your dad chuckles, “Yes, she does. Wanda is actually older than me.”
“Bullshit,” you say in disbelief.
“Swear to god, I’m serious. She’s a really cool person once you get to know her.”
You hum, “Well she’s already in the family, so I don’t really have a choice, do I Mr. Maximoff?”
He gets up from his seat, beer bottle empty, “Isn’t your generation supposed to be the progressive one?”
You follow his lead, downing the rest of your drink, “You’re the one giving it negative connotation.”
“Whatever kid, I'm going to change out of my work clothes. How about you see if Wanda needs any help in the kitchen?”
You take in a deep breath, “I’ll do my best.”
He places a hand on your shoulder, leading you back inside, “She’s a nice woman Y/n, she’s not going to bite your head off or anything.”
Once you’re back inside, your dad heads upstairs, while to go towards the kitchen.
“It smells really good in here,” you say entering the space.
“Thanks, I’m trying something new today. Your dad said you’re a bit of a picky eater, but I hope you’ll like it.”
“Between us, I’ve always just said that because dad only knows how to cook 3 things,” you joke, and find yourself smiling harder when you hear Wanda laugh.
“Let me guess, burger, steak, salmon?”
“You survived eating the salmon?”
She laughs even harder, covering her mouth, “There were a few bones, but it was an honest attempt.”
“Is there anything I can help you with?” You ask, but you can see that she’s about done with everything.
“Could just get the plates for me, I know they’re right by me, but I have to keep stirring or-”
“It’s no problem, Wanda.”
You cut her off politely. The plates are stashed right above the stove. You come up behind Wanda, who is stirring the food in the skillet. You are taller than her so reaching above her is no problem. The only thing that you are unsure about is standing so close behind her.
Your front is only centimeters away from touching her back. When you reach over her, you think you hear her curse to herself.
“Is everything alright?”
“The food just got me a little, all good.”
You grab the plates and sit them on the counter next to her.
“So Y/n I hear you’re an English major.”
You nod, “I am.”
“I was too back in my day.”
You can't help but shake your head, “You look like you could still be in college.”
You see her blush at your words turning off the stove. You don’t know why seeing her blush makes you feel smug, but it does.
“Oh stop it,” she looks away from you.
“I’m serious, Wanda. I would’ve never guessed you were a mother let alone to two teenagers,” you continue to compliment her.
“A lot of people are surprised when I tell them how old I am,” she admits. “They all say that I look good for my age.”
You catch her gaze, “They should just tell you that you look good. Age is irrelevant.”
“You’re quite the charmer Y/n. I don’t blame them, I’m nearly 50.”
Your eyes go wide, “Wanda, I don’t believe you.”
She laughs, “It’s true, I’m 45.”
“I’d believe you if you said 25,” you’re serious when you speak.
The compliment flusters her, “Could you help me take the plates to the table?”
You grab 2 of the 3 plates sitting them at the table. You would’ve thought that Wanda would’ve set her plate next to your dad, but instead she sits next to you.
“You can dig in when you’re ready, no need to let the food get cold waiting for your dad.”
You take her words to heart and begin eating. After the first bite you find it impossible to stop. It tastes as good as it smelt while cooking. You could cry at the home cooked meal. Ramen packets and fast food could not compare. You had been prepared for a burger that your dad made or to go out for dinner, but this was better than you could’ve expected.
“I take it, you like it,” amusement present in her voice as she watches you devour the food.
“I haven’t had a home cooked meal in a long time and if I’m bring honest they never tasted like this.”
“Do you cook at all?”
You nod, “You’re looking at the family chef. I didn’t want to always eat steak, burger, and spaghetti. “
“How could I forget about the spaghetti? He’ll literally eat it all week.”
“Now you see why I was surprised when I found out he was married.”
Your dad finally makes an appearance, “What’s wrong with my spaghetti?”
“Nothing its good spaghetti, but all week dad?
“Well if it’s good, then I don’t see the problem.”
The three of you sit and chat through dinner. It comes surprisingly easy as you find yourself enamored by Wanda. You hang on every word she says, there’s this twinkle in her eye when she speaks. Her expressions are right there on her sleeves.
You don’t miss the way she bites her lip while she’s thinking, or the small hint of an accent in certain things she says. It makes you wonder more about how your dad could ever manage a woman like this.
When everyone is done eating, you stand up and begin to collect the dishes.
“I’ve got it Y/n,” Wanda tries to take them from you, but you stop her.
“No, it’s alright, you cooked it’s only fair I do the dishes.”
She smiles, giving your father a pointed look, “Maybe someone else should take notes.”
He gives you a playful glare, “Home for a couple hours and already making me look bad.”
You start on the dishes, taking the moment to yourself to gather your thoughts. No matter how many subjects you tried to shift through, the one your mind kept falling back to was Wanda.
She was truly one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen in your life. She was a virtual stranger to you, so there was nothing wrong with finding her attractive. You’d only just met her, it would take some time to get used to seeing her as your dad’s wife.
“I think that one is clean.”
Wanda’s voice startles you a bit causing you to jump lightly. Heat fills your face as embarrassment sets in.
“You caught me lost in thought,” your nerves are still high as you speak.
“What’s got you so far away sweetheart?”
You make the mistake of looking into her eyes. The genuine curiosity behind them paired with a gentle worry conveyed by the small furrow in her brow. You’re gawking again, your focus returns to the dishes.
“It’s just been me and my dad for long time.”
“I understand that , I know that you’re just meeting me-"
You stop her, “You’re lovely, Wanda. I’m not- I don’t have concerns about your relationship with him. I just… I don't know where I fit into all of this. With me moving back home, I feel like a stranger.”
Wanda takes the dish out of your hands and sits it in the rack. If she cares about the moisture level of your hands, she doesn’t say anything. She takes them in her own and looks into your eyes.
“This is your home Y/n. You will never be a stranger in it. It’s a lot to get used to, especially when it’s sprung on you so quickly and I'm sorry for that. Consider it my goal to make you feel at home.”
You don’t know when your eyes dropped to her lips, but it was abundantly clear they had when she stopped speaking.
“Sweetheart?”
You blink a few times regaining your awareness, quickly pulling your hand from hers, “Sorry, long day. I think I’ll turn in for the night, but thank you Wanda… for the food and the talk.”
You rush upstairs and close yourself in your room. What you never noticed was the faint blush on Wanda’s cheeks. She had seen you focus in on her lips while speaking. Honestly, she was finding the way you were looking at her hard to ignore. There was such a wanting in them. She was trying to ignore it, while still getting to know you, but that task was beginning to seem difficult.
She decided to wipe up the kitchen area. Her thoughts wander to when she opened the door for you. The way your eyes traveled the length of her body, the way your mouth stayed agape when she spoke.
You didn’t look a lot like your father. Wanda noted that you were tall and sort of lanky like he was, and you had a lot of his mannerisms, but physically she assumed you looked like your mother. You had soft features, that might have clashed a little with your urban aesthetic.
You presented yourself much how your dad described you. A bit shy, but truly a good mannered, funny kid. Wanda expected a little more social ineptitude, but she was surprised with how chatty you ended up being.
She wondered if it had anything to do with the way you perceived her. Truth be told she felt sorry for you, your father should’ve told you about this a while ago. She had heard about you and pressed to meet you, but he always had some excuse to why you couldn’t meet.
“So, what do you think?”
“I wish I would’ve met her a little earlier but she seems like a good kid,” Wanda turns to face her husband.
The man frowns, “I’m sorry, seeing you both interact made me realize that I could’ve done this much sooner.”
“How do you think she’ll interact with the boys?”
He smiles, “Y/n is basically one of the boys. You’ll see that side of her eventually. She’ll be in that room for the foreseeable future, until Yelena or someone else drags her out.”
“I could take her out for a girl’s day,” Wanda suggests.
Shawn laughs at her, “I’ve never known her to be into any of that stuff, but if that’s something you want to do, let me know. I’d probably have to convince her to agree.”
Wanda shakes her head, “I think I can get her to go all on my own.”
“Alright, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’ll see you upstairs.”
The man makes his way upstairs to the bed. Wanda on the other hand, stays finishing up some minor things in the kitchen, before heading up herself.
She heads straight for the bathroom, ready to get the smell of the kitchen off of her. She wasn’t paying much attention on her way, looking at her phone. That’s how she found herself running straight into you. She would’ve fell if it weren’t your strong grip on her hips.
She went to apologize, but the words died on her lips as she saw water droplets falling from your skin. Her hands pressed against your slightly damp pajama shirt, in order to stabilize herself.
The shirt was thin enough, for her to feel your abdomen through it. She found herself at a loss for words.
“Are you alright Wanda?”
She nods meekly, “Sorry sweetheart, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”
“It’s no biggie, as long as you’re ok,” you help her fully upright, hands not leaving her side.
“All good, thanks to you,” Wanda struggles to meet your eyes.
You are about to squeeze her sides when you remember who this woman is. Your hands fall to your sides quickly. Nervous laughter build up in your throat, “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“Y/n I was wondering if you'd be interested in having a girl’s day with me, before my boys come. I think it’d be good to have some bonding time.”
“I um- I’ve never really had a girl’s day,” you scratch the back of your neck awkwardly.
“Well, it’ll be my treat?”
You nod, “Ok, like tomorrow or…”
“Tomorrow is perfect.”
You give a thumbs up and make your way to your room, while Wanda goes into the bathroom.
You plop straight into your bed, slapping your hand on to your face, “Really Y/n, a girl’s day. What were we thinking?”
You knew exactly what you were thinking. Alone time with Wanda, piqued your interest. The feeling of her in her hands felt like it was etched into your memory. The way she was looking at you made your heart pound in your chest.
As you lay in bed, your mind begins to paint vulgar images in your head. Ones that you had yet to experience due to your introverted lifestyle. The farthest you had gone with another girl was some lackluster dry humping.
That didn’t stop you from imagining your hands on Wanda’s body. The way she softly gasped when your hands stopped her from falling. The feeling of her fingers against your abdomen, blessed for the thing material of your shirt. The addictive color of her lips, and how they could move against yours.
You couldn’t sleep with her on your mind and the wetness pooling between your legs. You sit up in your bed, leaning back against the headboard. It’s only a moment of contemplation, before you stick your hand under the band of your pajama pants.
Your fingers are determined as they draw tight fast circles around your clit. You want to expedite the experience as much as possible. There couldn’t be anytime to dwell on who you were thinking about.
With your eyes closed you could see her taking her shirt off. Her skin soft and cool under your fingertips. A trail of goosebumps in your wake. You could see her craning her neck as you sucked on the exposed skin, marking her as your own. You could feel her hands tugging at your hair, moaning your name as you tasted her.
“Fuck, Wanda,” you came with a grunt. Your eyes still closed as your fingers stilled against the mess you made of yourself.
On the other side of your bedroom door, Wanda was standing there in shock. She had heard some sounds coming from your room after exiting the bathroom. When she realized what the sounds were, she thought she should leave. Yet the sound of her name being whispered on your tongue along with the sound of you playing with yourself, kept her in place.
She found herself worked up after her shower. Wishing that she would’ve cracked the door to see you, touching yourself with her in mind. Simultaneously scolding herself for having thoughts like this running through her head.
She married your father, she liked your father, he was a decent man. He was good to her and her boys. So what if he was always working, who cares that he hid their entire relationship from the most important person in his life, and does it even matter that he hasn’t ever really given her an orgasm. This was her new husband and she shouldn’t be thinking about his daughter in this way.
Maybe asking for a girl’s day, wasn’t a good idea. Being closer to you seemed like a dangerous game, lines that Wanda couldn’t allow herself to cross.
It was hard for her, knowing your young prying eyes were on her. From what she had heard, you already wanted her. The token of a youthful want and desire, it went right to her core.
When she finally made her way back to her room, she had decided that she needed some relief. She was going to seek it from your father, but the man already laid snoring. She shook him a couple of times in hopes to wake him up, but her attempts were met with swats of her hand and incoherent grunting.
Wanda huffed with irritation sliding into her side of the bed. She let herself get off to the thought of you that night unable to think herself guilty.
Your father was out of the house before Wanda or yourself had woken up in the morning. Wanda hated waking up to an empty bed, but it had become her new normal.
She didn't bother getting ready for the day yet. She simply stretched some, before brushing her teeth, and heading downstairs for breakfast. She was surprised to find you in the kitchen, cooking.
You hadn’t recognized her presence yet, too caught up in breakfast. Music played lowly through the kitchen and you hummed along. You thought it’d be a nice gesture to make breakfast since Wanda had cooked dinner last night.
The older woman watched you in somewhat of a trance. Your movements were a little clumsy, but it was clear that you had been doing it like this for a while. She could see herself coming up behind you and wrapping herself around you as you cooked for her.
Her muscles twitched at the thought. She took in a deep breath before she finally announced her presence, “Good morning.”
You turn away from the stove to smile at her, “Perfect timing, I'm almost done with breakfast.”
“You didn't have to do all of this, your dad’s not even here to enjoy it.”
You shrug your shoulders, “I figured he’d be at work anyway. Consider this a thank you for dinner."
You bring her a plate along with some coffee before getting your own.
“Y/n, this is amazing,” Wanda praises you.
You grow bashful, “It’s nothing really. So, what’s on the agenda for our girl’s day?”
Wanda ponders for a moment, “How about you tell me some things you like to do and we’ll go from there?”
You stumble a bit, “I uh- I don't really like to do much. Dad and I never really did anything more than like going to a park and sometimes fishing.”
“What about the mall? People your age are into shopping, right?”
You laugh, “I’ve only really been back to school shopping.”
Wanda shakes her head, “Today, I guess I’m going to introduce you to some of life’s little luxuries. I’m going to need you to trust me.”
You give her a small smile, “I trust you.”
You say it so earnestly that it nearly scares her.
“Good, so we’ll head out after we’re done eating and getting dressed.”
After cleaning up and getting dressed you regrouped in the living room. You tried your best to not let your eyes linger over Wanda’s attire. She wore a simple yellow sundress, it wasn’t anything extravagant but it looked good on her. It almost made you want to change out of your t-shirt and jeans, feeling a little underdressed.
“Ready?”
You answer her, and soon you’re in the passenger seat of her car with no idea where you’re going. You both make pleasant small talk, not really feeling the need to fill the silence. The only thing you make conscious effort to do is not stare at her cleavage in the dress.
It hard to erase the images that you pictured last night, but for your own sake you try.
The first place Wanda takes you is a nail shop. You had been before, but it had honestly been years. She opted for a manicure and pedicure, while you just got a manicure. You were usually a clear coat type of girl but today you decided to get black paint.
After your nails, Wanda decides to take you to the mall.
“Ok, whatever you want in here, is on me today,” she says as you enter the shopping center.
Your eyes go wide, “Wanda, I couldn't ask you for that.”
“Good thing you didn't ask sweetheart,” she responds and you feel yourself melt a little.
“I’m not even good at shopping, I don't really know what looks good on me,” you admit to the woman.
She pauses her steps to give you a once over. Her eyes dragging slowly across your body, as if she was personally undressing you then and there.
“Honey, you should've never told me that. Now, I’m afraid you're going to have to indulge me through these stores.”
“What does that mean?”
Wanda’s tone is playful, “Don’t worry your little head about it sweetheart, I’m going to help you find some clothes.”
It's not a second later that she’s grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a clothing store. She starts grabbing clothes and holding them up to your body, trying to see what looks good. She had a pile of clothes in her arms that she was shoving into your hands.
“Try these on,” she pushes you to the dressing rooms.
A lot of the stuff she had was stuff you’d never grab for yourself, but it did all look good on you. There were a few pieces, particularly crop tops, that you weren’t too sure about.
“I think I look weird,” you come out in the crop top.
You have something of a jacket over it. You look down at your exposed stomach before looking up at Wanda. There’s something in the way she’s looking at you.
“It looks good,” her tongue swipes across her bottom lip. “But if you’re uncomfortable then you don’t have to get it.”
“Do you really think it looks ok?”
She stands from her spot and makes her way over to you. Her hands fiddle with the end of the shirt. She adjust the waistband of your jeans. With a few quick tugs, she has you seeing the outfit in a different way.
“I do.”
You nod, “Ok, I see it.”
“You should wear it out,” she suggests and you comply.
You thought it’d be over after the one store but Wanda takes you into 3 more clothing store, racking up a whole new wardrobe. At the end you practically had to beg her not to spend any more money.
“Do you want to go in there, your dad mentioned you’re a big gamer?”
She nods her head to the video game store that you admittedly had been eyeing since the last store you went in.
You shake your head, “You’ve already spent so much and games are like $70 now.”
“ So I’m going to take that as a yes,” she starts walking ahead into the store.
You groan, but follow her in anyway, “Wanda, can I ask what you do for work?”
She laughs, “Why, so you can feel a little better about me spending the money?”
“Maybe,” you say browsing through a few games.
“Well, I used to work in real estate and now I do editing for major publications books, magazines, things like that.”
“That seems like a big jump,” you point out.
She nods, “It is, but I’m much happier editing than I was selling houses. The real estate did give me a good standing to be able to chase and finance my dreams. It’s honestly given me more money than I know what to do with. So I usually just don’t do anything with it.”
“Does my dad know?”
Wanda adverts her eyes, “No, he doesn’t. Your dad really enjoys being a provider. He wants to be the breadwinner and bring home the bacon. He doesn’t even let me pay for dinner. I pay for some of the bills at home and he doesn’t even want me to do that. I’ve been trying to coerce him into letting me do more but-”
“He’s a stubborn guy,” you finish her thoughts. “When I was in high school, I got a job at the movie theater to help out with some things around the house and for college. Dad was really…insecure about letting me help. He wanted to prove he could do it on his own.”
Her eyes soften, “Oh wow."
“Yeah, I think it has something to do with my mom walking out on us, but I don’t know. We never really talked about it,” you say picking up a game.
Wanda knew this topic to be sensitive to your dad. He had mentioned it, but never went into detail. When Wanda tried to press for information, he'd either shut down or get irritated, she wonders if he was the same with you.
“No pressure, but if you ever want to talk about it or vent, I’m here for you.” She takes the game from your hands, “I know it’s not your dad’s favorite topic and I know I don’t have the answers you’re probably looking for, but I don’t mind listening to you.”
You look at her for a long moment. Your eyes are watering against your will. You blink back the tears and nod silently. You never really talked about your mom, truth be told you never unpacked those feelings yourself.
“I- I’ve never really talked about it with anyone. I don’t know how I feel about it, I mean I was only 5.”
Wanda thinks of her words carefully, “Do you remember her?”
You laugh lightly, still pretending to browse the games, “Of course I do, she was my mom. She brushed my hair, tucked me in, put band aids on my scrapes and cuts, and she never got mad when I got grass stains on my clothes.”
Wanda keeps quiet as she senses you have more to say.
“She was a stay-at-home mom, so I spent most of my time with her. I don’t- I wish I remembered what she looked like more. I look like her, I know I do, but… I don’t know it’s not enough.”
Wanda rests her hand on your back. Rubbing small circles bringing you more comfort than you thought you needed. You place your hand in her other hand, sighing deeply.
“I wish I knew why she left. Dad never told me, I just know that one day I woke up and she wasn’t there. He told me she wasn’t coming back. I never wanted to ask him, he was already doing so much to prove that he could be enough. I’m grateful for that, for him… but in the back of my mind I can’t help but wonder, you know.”
A teardrop falling onto your cheek, pulls you quickly out of the moment. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and take a step back from Wanda.
“Y/n-"
“I’ve heard really cool things about that game. I’ve been wanting it for a few months now,” you pivot topics, clearing your throat.
“Then it’s yours sweetheart.”
You were grateful that she just let it go.
After that you both decide to call it a day and head back home. You bring all of your new clothes to your room and begin to put them away. You decide to take a quick shower and change into more comfortable clothes before heading down to the living room. Usually you’d keep to yourself in your room, but you were secretly hoping Wanda would join you.
“What’re you watching?”
“Back to the Future, it’s one of my favorites,” you make room for her on the couch next to you.
She takes a seat, “Mine too.”
You perk up, “Really?”
She nods, “Me and my brother used to watch it all the time when we were younger.”
The two of you sit in silence as you watch the movie. Unbeknownst to either of, the space between you grows slimmer by the minute. You take a peek at the woman to find her eyes fluttering, before they finally close. She had already nearly been laying on the couch. Her feet are up, bent to lay over each other. She had been holding up her head in her hand. Now as she fell unconscious her head had drops into your lap.
You feel your heart rate pick up. The movie suddenly becomes uninteresting. You don’t want to move, unwilling to wake the woman. She looks peaceful in her sleep. You notice how she twitches lightly and though you shouldn’t your fingers begin to comb through her hair. She hums in your lap, but you don’t still. Your fingers work gingerly to bring her comfort.
She stops twitching and you refocus on the movie with your hand still in her hair. Eventually you find yourself dozing off as well.
“Well, well, well looks like girl’s day was a success,” it’s your father’s voice that wakes both you and Wanda.
The red head becomes alert first, she notes her position in your lap and your hand in her hair and immediately bolts up right. You’re slower to come to stretching widely before open your eyes.
“Yeah, it was pretty fun,” you say while yawning.
“I see some nail polish Y/n, that’s new.”
You shrug, “It’s not the first time.”
“I know but it’s been a while, having another girl around the house is nice, isn’t it?”
You let out a huff of irritation, completely aware of what he was insinuating. For the most part your dad was in support of your sexuality. However, there were some jokes he just couldn’t let go of. The “gay” thing was fine with him, but he still believed that you could stand to be more ladylike. Which was completely rich coming from the man that raised you on fishing trips, Miller Lite, and WWE.
“So, ladies what’s for dinner?”
Wanda goes to answer but you speak over her, “Honestly dad, I was hoping for some of your burgers tonight.”
Your father beams with excitement, “Will do kiddo, just let me shower first and I’ll be in the kitchen.”
You both watch as he wanders up the stairs.
“You didn’t want to cook, did you?”
“No, not really. Thank you for the save and for letting me nap on you,” she adverts her gaze as she speaks to you.
“I’m happy to help in any way I can,” you say to her, not noticing the undertone of your statement.
Her eyes become dark as she looks at you. The lust filled look in her eyes has you reeling at what you said. There’s no point in taking it back now. You swallow thickly under her gaze, but don't make any motion to move away from her. Instead, you find yourself compelled to lean in closer.
Wanda let’s you get within a few inches of her face, before breathlessly letting your name fall from her lips, “Y/n.”
You close your eyes, “You can’t just say my name like that, Wanda.”
“You can’t make statements like the one you made,” she fires back.
Both of you give leeway to how you’re actual feeling. You go to move closer to her, but her hand on your shoulder keeps you away. It honestly breaks you from whatever pulled you in, in the first place
The tips of your ears heat up as you stand abruptly, “Sorry, I- I’ll see you at dinner.”
Much like when you were a teenager you lock yourself in your room. Wanda picks up a pillow from the couch putting it over her head, pretending to scream into it.
You send a quick text to Yelena. Something along the lines of saying you should hang out tomorrow. She is in disbelief at the fact that you want to do something out of the house, but is equally as excited. She says she’s taking advantage of this and keeping you out all day.
You needed to get out of the house. You stayed in it so much because you deemed it as a safe space. However, with Wanda around… you didn’t know if you could truly call it safe. It had only taken two days for you to almost kiss her.
There wasn’t a bone in your body that was used to moving this quickly. It had taken you years to develop your first crush and even longer before you acted on any such feeling. Yet with Wanda everything felt different. You weren’t a believer in love at first sight, you wouldn’t call what you were feeling love. This attraction… for lack of a better term just felt intense.
It was almost as if every interaction had a double meaning to it. It was something that the other woman was clearly also aware of. Neither of you should be acting on it and technically you hadn’t done anything. The problem was that you wanted to, and you didn’t see those feelings going away anytime soon. It was only the second day and you had the rest of your life to go.
One day out with Yelena became a couple days of the week out with her. You even had started texting your former roommate to see if she’d be down to hangout as well. So save for the first two days, you spent every day out and about.
You had similar plans for the next week too, but they came to a halt quickly when your dad mentioned Wanda’s kids coming back from their dad’s. He made it clear that he wanted you to be there to meet them so your plans of avoiding home, became a little more complicated.
So once again you were stuck in your room. The doorbell ringing is the only reason you had left the space. You knew that your dad was out and Wanda was working in her office at the time, so you were the only option.
It rang one more time, before you got to it. When you open the door, you are met by two teenage boys and an older looking man. You stare at them and they stare back at you.
“Is Wanda in? I would like to have a talk with her,” the man in the middle speaks.
“She’s working right now.”
He rolls his eyes, “And who are you exactly?”
Something about his tone makes you jaw twitch, “I’m Y/n, Shawn’s kid.”
“Right, the one he was hiding away.”
“Dad-”
Dealing with stuck up assholes was unfortunately nothing new to you, “Billy, Tommy you guys can head on in.”
They look from their father to you before quickly making the decision to go inside. The man trues to go in behind but you block his entry.
“They live here, you don’t. I suggest you try talking to Wanda again sometime next week…” you smile at him.
“Jarvis,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Goodbye Jarvis,” you slam the door in his face.
You clap your hands together as you turn around. You slightly startle at the presence of the teen boys behind you. There’s an awkward silence as you stare at each other.
“So, your mom said you guys are gamers?”
That’s all it took for the three of you to hunker down in the living room and start gaming. From Mario Kart to Mario Party to Mortal Kombat, the three of you rotted the day away. You end up ordering some pizza and junk food, which is essential for all gaming marathons.
“I love your style by the way,” Billy says grabbing a slice of pizza.
You raise an eyebrow at him, “You might as well just ask me if I'm gay.”
Tommy laughs at this, which earns him a slap in the arm from Billy.
“Well… are you?”
“Yep.”
“Girlfriend?” Tommy asks.
“Nope, how about you two?”
Billy smiles, “I have a boyfriend.”
He goes on telling you some details. You genuinely feel happy for the boy. To be young, out, and dating is really cool.
“That’s really cool Billy.”
“Thanks, I wish my dad thought so too.”
Tommy jumps in the conversation, “Dad is fucking stupid, what does he know about any kind of relationship.”
You agree with Tommy, “I mean he did fumble your mom.”
They both laugh, but Billy brings the conversation back, “I just wish he was more accepting.”
“He’s either going to come around because he loves you or keep showing you who he really is. Either way you still have your mom, your bother, your boyfriend, and even me to rely on. So just cause your dad isn’t accepting doesn't mean you aren’t accepted,” you tell him sincerely.
“He wanted to talk to mom about Billy’s boyfriend. He thinks it’s… inappropriate,” Tommy spills.
“Well I don't think it's any of his business, and even if he did tell your mom she’d have your back,” you say like it’s obvious.
“If who told me what?”
Wanda comes out from her office and her kids greet her. She’s surprised to see you downstairs with them, but doesn’t comment on it.
“Dad doesn't approve of Billy’s boyfriend,” Tommy says again earning an agitated look from his brother.
“Yeah, he was going to talk to you, but Y/n kicked him out,” Billy says awkwardly.
You keep your focus on the game, “I didn’t kick him out… I slammed the door in his face.”
“Y/n!”
“It was well deserved. He asked who I was, I told him. Then the asshole has the audacity to refer to me as ‘the one he was hiding' when trying to get into my house. I think the fuck not.”
Wanda walks in front of your TV blocking the game. You pause it and look up at her to find an unexpected fury in her eyes.
“What did he say to you?”
You meet her eyes, urging her to calm down, “I handled it.”
She takes the hint, moving out of your way, “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
She then focuses on talking with her children, recapping the week that they had. Billy also goes into some less than nice details of what his father had to say about his boyfriend.
Wanda’s hand presses against her brow line hearing the details. She’s clearly irritated with the twin’s father.
“I’ll talk to him, and you tell me if he says anything else. I have no issue coming to get you guys if he makes you uncomfortable,” Wanda says hugging the boys.
You take this moment between the family to go upstairs. You breath in the minute to yourself. The twins were nice, and it was cool to have people in the house to game with. They’d seem like people who’d you befriend at their age.
“Thanks for hanging out with my kids and for the stuff with their dad,” Wanda stands in your doorway.
You give her a small nod, “Billy and Tommy are cool. Their dad… less cool. So it was my pleasure to slam the door in his face.”
Wanda chuckles, “Jarvis is an asshole.”
You join in on her laughter, “Yeah, I definitely can’t see you with that guy.”
“I was young and naïve. If I knew then what I know now, I wouldn’t have stayed for so long.”
“How young?”
Wanda sighs, “18. He was older, more appealing back then.”
You can’t hide your reaction, “Oh.”
“Yeah, but that asshole gave me my kids. So I guess he was good for something.”
You disagree with her, “Just cause a guy is good for something, doesn’t mean he’s good for you.”
“Where were you when I was in my prime, Y/n?” her words have a double meaning.
You look at her, more serious than a heart attack, “I’m right here, and your prime is far from over.”
She shudders under your look, “Y/n.”
“I wish you could feel how hard it is for me to do the right thing, Wanda. I hate leaving the house, but I know if I was here all day with just you, I’d lose it.”
You’re lying on your back in bed. Your eyes cut from Wanda to the ceiling.
“Y/n, I’m married to your father.”
“He doesn’t even fuck you,” you say with a bored tone.
“Y/n!”
You don’t return her reaction, “I’ve been waiting to see if I’d have to plug my ears, or move downstairs so I didn’t have to hear. But it hasn’t happened yet. Probably too tired from work.”
“Y/n my kids are downstairs.”
Your head falls into your hands, “I’m sorry. I-I’m going to head out for a bit.”
You get up and go for your door. Wanda doesn’t move out of your way. She stands still in your doorframe.
“Where are you going?”
“I don't know, Lena’s if she’s home.”
Wanda frowns hearing this, “You don’t have to-”
You lock eyes with her’s, “I do.”
Wanda’s hand caresses your cheek. You lean into her touch. You hear her take an unsteady breath.
“You make this so hard for me.”
She slowly removes her hand, only to replace it with her lips. It’s enough to ignite a fire in your body. They linger, much longer than they should.
“Be safe,” she fixes your clothes a little, before finally clearing your path.
“Wanda-"
“I’ll see you back for dinner,” she says walking away from you.
When you think she can't see you anymore, you touch your cheek. The spot where her lips had been. You slip out of the house and make your way to Yelena’s.
You knock on the door and wait for her to answer. When she does, you don't let her say anything. You drag her upstairs to her room. You lock her door, before you start pacing in her room. She sits on her bed watching you.
“So… are you going to tell me what this is about?”
“I need this to be a judgement free zone.”
Yelena tilts her head, “Then why come here?”
“Yelena, I’m serious.”
She raises her hands in surrender at your snappy tone, “Fine, what is it?”
“I’m attracted to Wanda, and I think… she’s attracted to me.”
Yelena laughs as you stare at her. The laughter goes on for minutes before she realizes that you aren't laughing.
“Y/n, are you being serious?”
You close your eyes, “Lena there’s this tension. I just thought it was in my head. I almost kissed her, I don’t know what’s going on. I’ve been going out, and stuff just to stay away from her. She’s driving me insane.”
“You tried to kiss her!”
“She gave me this kiss on the cheek. She said I was making it hard for her. Yelena I’ve never felt like this for anyone,” you tell your best friend.
“Dude you’re fucked,” is all that she says.
“I know.”
“She’s your dad’s wife.”
“I know.”
“She has 2 kids.”
“I know.”
“Did I say she’s your dad’s wife already?”
You groan joining her on the bed, “I- I don’t know if I care about it. I mean I do, but he doesn’t even treat her that good. It could be worse, but it’s not great.”
“And you think you can do better?”
“I’d worship her.”
Yelena shakes her head, “I can’t believe you right now. You’re trying to get with your dad’s wife, she’s like almost 30 years older than you.”
“Can you blame me, you’ve seen her? It’s not my fault. If I would’ve met her before, maybe it would be different. It’s just like I come home and there’s this undeniably attractive woman in my house. She doesn’t feel like my dad’s wife to me."
Yelena nods along, “That’s fair, but Y/n this is insane.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Let’s go to a club.”
Your eyes widen, “A club?”
“Lots of attractive people who are closer to your age and eligible,” she reasons with you.
“I’m not even supposed to be out right now. My dad says I have to be home to get acclimated with Wanda’s kids. They leave in a week.”
She claps her hands together, “Alright then, next week we’re going clubbing.”
You get a text from Wanda saying your father is on the way home. You know it’s her way of saying you need to be back soon.
“What should I do in the mean time?”
Yelena searches for an answer before landing on, “Act like she’s your mom.”
You gag at the thought, “Ew.”
Yelena reacts gleefully, “Exactly.”
You pause before exiting, “Technically… she is a milf though.”
“Y/n L/n get a fucking grip,” Yelena says with amusement.
“I’m trying, but she won’t let me,” you whine.
“You having a thing for older women makes so much sense. No wonder you had a crush on Natasha.”
You send her a playful glare, “We do not talk about the dark ages.”
“It’s alright, I forgive you. I don’t know if your dad will be as forgiving as I am.”
You shrug, “I’ll test it out and let you know.”
She leads you to her front door, “Think about the club. Focus on it, breathe it in. Dream about it. Do not think about fucking your step mom.”
“Too late for that,” you shrug again.
“Just get out already, I’m running low on things to say back.”
“Bye Lena,” you say as she basically pushes you out of her door.
You make it back just before your dad gets there. It’s interesting seeing him interact with Billy and Tommy. It’s clear to you that he favors Tommy a little more. It’s just in the way he speaks. It bothers you a bit and you make sure to include Billy any time that you can in conversation.
You can feel Wanda’s eyes on you throughout the dinner, but you keep your attention with the boys and your dad.
“So I have a bit of an announcement to make,” your father says, gathering everyone’s attention. “I have an opportunity to get a promotion at work.”
“That’s great honey, we’re so proud of you,” Wanda gives him a quick kiss.
You try your best to hold back any malice with a fake smile on your face.
“Well, the thing is I’d need to go out of town for a bit to secure the position,” he says and you feel Wanda’s mood shift.
“For how long dad?” you ask, taking a sip of your drink.
He winces, “At least a month, maybe more.” He begins to pile on in an effort to make it seem less drastic. “It’s really a once in a lifetime opportunity, I've been working there for so long it feels overdue, but with this money our lives could change dramatically. We could move, Y/n you could go back to dorming, it would be-”
“You already accepted it didn't you?”
Wanda’s tone is guarded as she speaks. It's clear that she's unhappy and you don't blame her.
You sigh pushing yourself away from the table, “Congratulations dad, I’m going to head up to my room now.”
“Wait.” Wanda’s voice stops you in your tracks. “How do you feel about this Y/n?”
“I uh-”
“Don’t drag my kid into this.”
Wanda starts gesturing with her hands, “I’m not, she’s bound to have an opinion. She lives here, she’s your daughter, and she came back home because of you. Now you’re bailing.”
“It’s not a big deal. I’m used to him being busy,” you try to mediate.
Your dad throws his hands up, “What is that supposed to mean?”
You give him your honest opinion, “It means you’re busy. You were late to my graduation because of work. You missed my award ceremonies. There wasn’t any point in me signing up for extracurriculars because you’d never take me or show up anyway. It’s nothing personal dad, it’s just the truth.”
“I was providing for you,” he throws it back in your face.
Your shoulders drop, “I know and I’m grateful, but-” you stop yourself. Instead you just head for your room. You hear him call after you, but you don’t respond.
It’s not soon after that you hear footsteps coming up the stairs. There’s a soft knock on your door. You don’t say anything as Billy and Tommy slip into your room.
“They’re still going at it,” Tommy announces.
“Do they… do this a lot?” You ask the boys.
Billy answers, “When any sort of quality time is involved.”
You scoff, “Classic.”
Tommy places a hand on your shoulder, “We get it you know.”
“Sometimes you just wish they were there for you,” Billy finishes the sentence.
You feel yourself breaking down but refuse to let the tears fall. Tommy pulls you into a hug and Billy joins in soon after. You center yourself in their embrace. It’s not a comfort that you’re used to experiencing, you appreciate it immensely.
At some point during this moment the voices downstairs escalate to yelling. It quickly grabs your attention and has you realizing that you are the only other adult present in this moment. It feels like your responsibility to try to shield them from this, even if they are on the older side of things. Teenagers are still kids. Hell you still feel like a kid in your early twenties.
You place a hand on Billy’s head and the other on Tommy’s, “Thanks kids. I’m going to go handle downstairs, you stay up here.”
Tommy interjects, “I think-”
You stop him, “I’ve got it, trust me. They’re going to get noise complaint if things keep going.”
You steel yourself as you go downstairs to find Wanda and your father in the middle of a heated argument. They’re both standing, yelling in each other’s faces.
“SO WHAT SHAWN YOU LEAVE FOR OVER A MONTH AND DON’T EVEN THINK TO RUN IT BY ME FIRST?”
“RUN IT BY YOU FOR WHAT WANDA? YOU AREN’T MY MOTHER.”
“I AM YOUR WIFE, OR HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THAT? TOO BUSY WORKING TO EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE ME.”
“WHEN DID YOU BECOME SUCH A NEEDY BI-“
“ENOUGH,” you cut your father off in the middle of his sentence. The couple looks at you, and you can feel the anger simmering in their gazes. “It’s late, you’re going to get the police called with all of your arguing.”
“Well if-”
“Stop. The conversation is going nowhere because you aren’t having a conversation, you’re just screaming at each other,” you tell them.
“Y/n, you should stay out of this,” your father glare at you.
“I would love to, only we can all hear you upstairs. You either need to table this conversation for another time or go somewhere else to talk. Neither of you should be acting like this in front of your kids. I don’t care who started it, if you both plan on staying here tonight it’s over right now.”
Wanda is the one to take in a deep breath. She looks between you and your father. There’s something behind her eyes but you’re focused on the task at hand.
“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” she walks away from the table, past you, and disappears up the stairs.
You muster up all the disappointment you possibly can as you take in your father’s appearance, “She has a right to be upset with you. It seems like you keep hiding these really important, life altering things from her. You have to be more upfront, more honest with her.”
“How was I supposed to know she’d react this way?”
You level with him, “You had to have expected something like this, it’s why you didn't tell her in the first place.”
“Maybe I did, I just… I really want this,” he says slumping down on the couch.
“Wanda doesn’t seem like the unsupportive type. It’s all in your delivery. You need to apologize, before you leave. When are you leaving?”
“In 3 days.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, “Christ dad.”
“I know, I know. I’ll take her out tomorrow and we'll talk it out there.”
You nod, turning to go back to your room.
“Kid wait.” You pause at his call. “What were you going to say back there, before you went to your room?”
It takes you a moment to respond, “Sometimes I just wanted someone to be there for me. My dad, my mom, just someone. You were always busy with work and I was always alone.”
You don’t give him a chance to say anything else as you go up the stairs. His eyes follow you until you disappear. He sighs, leaning back into the couch, feeling like he could scream. He was failing, and he had 3 days to fix it.
When go back upstairs the boys are passed out on your bed. You think about waking them up, but decide against it. You settle on going into their room. It’s not until you shut the door behind you, that you notice the red head sitting on one of the beds in the room.
You take a seat on the bed that she’s not sitting on. The silence is heavy as you stare at each other. You can see the emotions running through her eyes. The anger, the frustration, and the lust. Your heart beat is steady as you look back at her.
“Do you think I’m in the wrong?” her voice is small when she asks.
“No, I just don’t think you know what kind of guy you married. He’s never going to be around enough and he’s never going to pick you over work. I’m not trying to be an asshole, it’s just the truth,” you speak bluntly.
“If you-" Wanda stops her sentence in its tracks.
“Honestly if I were him, I’d turn it down. I wouldn’t want to leave you for a month, but he's not me.”
“No, he isn’t,” she breathes out.
There’s another silence. Then it happens, so suddenly that you nearly freeze. Wanda’s lips are on yours. Her hands are planted in your hair and yours rest on the dips of her hips. Your back lays flat against the mattress.
Your tongue slips into her mouth causing you both to moan. Her hips roll on your lap and you grunt at the sensation. Your lips leave her mouth only to kiss down the side of her neck. As much as you want to leave a hickey you don’t. It’s not until your tongue runs across the top of her breast that she partial breaks from the trance.
“Y/n,” it’s a whine from her lips. The sound is entirely to intoxicating.
You begin to guide her hips against your thigh. Her sundress not leaving much fabric between her cunt and your sweats.
“Y/n we shouldn’t,” her hips follow your movements though her words tell you different.
“Just let me make you cum, please. Please Wanda, get off on my thigh,” your words are low as you beg her.
“Fuck,” Wanda watches the way your eyes don’t move from where she grinds on your thigh.
She lifts the sundress slightly so you can have a better view.
“Oh god,” you groan at the sight of the dampness of her panties. It turns you on even more.
Wanda finds herself grinding down harder, chasing her orgasm. You hold her firmly, helping create more friction. You find yourself getting off on the image before you.
“Fuck, use me. I know he can’t do it, so let me be useful. Fucking use my thigh. You’re so hot, shit I wish I could have you like this every night. I’m so desperate for you. I’m going to cum just from having you on me, fuck mommy.”
Wanda’s body completely falls into your arms. She shakes as she cums, leaving a mess on your sweatpants. She’s trying and failing to catch her breath as you hold her upright. Her head lolls into your shoulder.
“Did you really cum?” she says lips brushing against your ear.
You nod dumbly.
She moans again, “That’s so fucking hot.” She places a kiss right below your ear. “And what did you call me?”
Your chest heaves as you breathe out a response, “Mommy.”
She purrs in your ear before pulling away some. She grabs a fistful of your shirt pulling you into a searing kiss.
“We’re doing this again. Do you understand sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes mommy.”
She kisses your head one last time before getting off of your lap. You don’t miss the way her legs shutter as she gets up. You whine at the loss of contact.
“Don’t worry detka, we’ve got a little time to ourselves coming up. Mommy will let you go as far as you can handle, and maybe a little more than that.”
#lowkeyerror#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff imagines#billy and tommy#yelena belova
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