#and sitting down for a cup of coffee and asking it to forgive me

[exitwound]

thinking of writing my psychiatrist a poem to convince her to let me off the hook for my $450 triple no show bill

[propertyofwicked]

YOU OWE ME - LN

warnings: none, just fluff (inspired by that one CL stream). this is so short pls forgive me

(also, anyone else seen the pics of lando in aus? FERAL for that man.)

“tier 1 sub - max can you tell lando to get off his computer and let me in the flat please im freezing” max reads out, bursting into laughter, “youre in trouble mate.”

max hears a travelling shout of swearing, getting quieter as lando’s headset is thrown to the desk and his entire body hurtling towards the front door.

“shit shit shit shit,” lando shouts, his fingers struggling with the keys left on the inside of the door. finally he manages to unlock the door and pull it open to see his girlfriend, rosy cheeked and a less than impressed expression.

“lando, how many times have i said to take the keys out of the door if you lock it and im not home - especially if youre not going to answer your phone.”

“im sorry baby, im sorry i know - i forgot,” he mumbles, his hands taking yours and bringing them to his face. he flinches slightly at the sheer coldness of your fingers, “do you want a drink? hot chocolate? tea? coffee? it’ll warm you up”

“i’d love a cup of tea,” you smile sadly, shrugging your horribly thin jacket off. honestly, with the typical english winter, your jacket was almost useless in combatting the cold winds anyways. you move to follow lando into the kitchen, watching him fill the kettle and move to grab a mug from the cupboard.

“come here,” you say, opening your arms slightly for lando to move into. he moves to you instantly.

“you’re not angry at me?”

“no, i am. youre just warm” you say, looking up to smile at him. his hands fall to your waist, gripping your hips and hoisting you up to sit on the counter, but he doesn’t move back into your embrace. instead, his arms move to take his hoodie off himself, and pull it over your head.

“better?”

“slightly,” you're still smiling at him as you adjust the hoodie - lando can tell you're not angry at him, just slightly irritated.

“the heating’s on, my office is warm - you wanna go sit in there whilst i finish your tea, angel?” he asks, his hand stroking your cheek, “max is on call if you wanna talk to him for a bit? he’s streaming but you already know that,” he grins, his tongue sticking into the side of his cheek.

“i think max’s chat deserve to know how bad of a boyfriend you are,” you joke, hoisting yourself off the counter, ready to march on in and complain to the stream. lando’s hand catches your arm, spinning you back into his chest. his hand comes back to your cheek, and tilts your head back.

“im sorry baby, you know i am,” he frowns slightly - you reassure him that he is forgiven by pressing a small kiss to his lips. once again you go to move, but he pulls you back in, kissing you again - repeatedly pecking kisses all over your face and eventually your lips. his tongue swipes your bottom lip, begging for more. you pull your head back slightly, desperate to go and rat him out to max but his teeth nip down on your bottom lip again to prolong the connection.

“i don’t think so, lan,” you giggle, smiling up at him again. lando groans and swears you almost skip your way to his office, excited to tell max as he prepares for a night of grovelling.

“max. you’ll never believe this man,” you sigh, after popping lando’s headset on your own head.

“y/n! how are you?”

“freezing, max. and £10 poorer now i’ve had to sub to your twitch to be let into my own flat.”

“oh yeah, thanks for the sub,” max laughs out, looking at the chat, “it’s ok, chat reckon you should invoice lando for the inconvenience.”

“i think i might have to you know, although he’s making me a cup of tea right now and i might be able to pout my way into a takeaway tonight.”

“y/n that man is so whipped i don’t think you need to pout your way into him doing anything for you,” he responds, his emphasis on anything making you grin slightly.

minutes later, lando comes into the room, using his foot to kick the door open in front of him, his hands full with your mug and your lip balm. hang on, lip balm?

“here you go baby,” he says, placing the mug down on the coaster on his desk, “i put honey in it for your throat, and i brought your lip balm ‘cos your lips are dry,” he grins as he hands you the lip balm.

“my lips wouldn’t be dry if you’d answered the phone the first time i rang you,” you say, the eye roll evident in your voice, even to max who couldn’t see your face.

“hang on, y/n, how does he know your lips are dry?” max interrupts, his laugh travelling through the headset.

“because max, when two people love each other very muc-”

“ew stop it,” lando interjects, as he sets up a second set of headphones to join in the chat.

“he’s trying to regain my love with physical affection.”

“i can tell from your tone that it’s not working.”

“well, after that ‘ew’ i think i may have to revoke all physical affection.”

“you wouldn’t,” lando gasps, his hands dramatically clutching his chest.

“order dominoes and ill reconsider. you owe me.”

“yeah lando, and send her £10 to cover the cost of the twitch sub,” max shouts, siding with you, “chat also think you should, as a courtesy.”

you don’t say anything, but turn to look at him, puppy dog eyes and a pout to complete the look.

“fine! fine,” he laughs again, holding his hands up in surrender, “i was going to offer anyways.”

“sure you were,” you and max manage to say simultaneously.

-

an hour later, your food had arrived and your saying goodbye to max and his chat, as lando goes to the door. however, by the time you shuffle into the living room, lando has began setting up netflix, sat next to a mound of blankets he’d brought in from your bedroom.

“hey you, come ‘ere,” he says, leaning his back against the arm of the sofa and tapping the space between his legs. once you were settled, your back resting on his chest, he leans to grab the pizza box on the coffee table in front of you - it went down quickly.

“funny how hungry you get when you’re left shivering in the freezing cold for hours," you think out loud.

“it wasn’t hours and i didn’t do it on purpose y/n,” lando whines, scoffing slightly at the time embellishment, absentmindedly playing with your fingers as he did.

“i know baby, i’m sorry. you’re forgiven,” you start to feel bad for him. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, before manoeuvring you both further down the sofa until he’s laying completely flat, and you roll over so that your head can lay on his chest. the two of you lay in silence for a few moments, the tv still playing quietly in the background, and you feel his chest moving with every breath.

lando's hands wander underneath his your hoodie, and begin to trace small shapes on your skin, making you shiver slightly. then, a thought hits you.

“someone needs to make a compilation of F1 drivers accidentally locking their girlfriends out because they’re streaming,” he laughs as you say it, your whole body shaking from the shuddering of his laughing, "it seems to happen more than you'd think."

“hey! i wasn’t streaming - max was, i was just there. AND! i paid you back, charles never paid his girlfriend back for the sub.”

“oh, aren’t you generous.”

[sundrlands]

‘significance’ j. sunderland x reader

minors dni

cw: light face slapping, light scent kink, sub/top j. sunderland x dom/bottom reader, oral, breath play if you squint, breeding kink, light spit play, dry humping. no depictions of specific characterizations in regards to the reader’s looks. reader has she/her pronouns.

summary: what happens when two deprived people meet by accident? a server and that odd man who’d always come to drink coffee every morning at 6am. from awkward conversation to a dinner that turned into rough, needy indulgence. it was easy, a deprived little thing like him… it was just too significant.

a/n: this is years after the events of sh— no mentioning of the events either. forgive me if this is all over the place… it’s definitely a long one. i kind of went wild while writing this one. there’s more smut than there is plot but nonetheless… i hope you enjoy my very first james sunderland fic.

there he goes again… that odd man… in the same spot he’d always sit in. the farthest table by the window with no one to accompany him besides himself.

james… that was his name. james sunderland.

he was kind enough to tell you this after the tenth time he’d come in. you didn’t have to ask or even tell him your own name… mostly because you didn’t know how to approach that level of conversation. you were just a server— giving the customers phony smiles, a ‘hi, how can i help you today?’ and the fakest kind of enthusiasm when any other would try to offer a joke out of curtesy.

yet something about him… his somber eyes— with light wash of rosy pink coloring the bags underneath them— that looked as if he was deep in thought… as if he were to be troubled by something… or someone from his past… the short stubble that grazed over his chin and upper lip, and his body language that seemed as if he never wanted to be bothered or probably never slept. his gaze always wandered around the diner, out the window or at the soft ripples within the mug he’d hold. sometimes… you found him staring at you, nervously looking away whenever your eyes connected. you never understood why though or what he could be thinking each time he looked at you, so you never asked or gave it much question.

james was just a stranger who came at the same time, almost every single day— six in the morning, as the sky still glowed its grey hues— not a minute early. not a minute late. the bell from the diner’s door ringing loud and brash with the thick of his boots stepping on every creaking, rotten floor board.

each time he’d come, you’d watch him to see if he’d do anything different. maybe he’d add in a sugar packet… two or three… or maybe he’d get a breakfast sandwich like mr.colemen always did— the trucker who you knew had a wife but still flirted with the older cook, ms.miles on tuesdays— or maybe he’d bring in someone he knew to occupy his time… he didn’t. it was the same each time. he’d arrive, ask for seating and sit— not wanting anything else but his coffee— black. no sugar. no cream, just like he liked it he said. he’d watch the steam from his cup vanish until it ran cold then take his sips that felt like a lifetime in between each one.

you couldn’t lie… you were fairly intrigued by him… it wasn’t as if you hadn’t had regulars come in just as much he does, if not more, but something about him seemed different… the expression he always wore… he always seemed so lost in thought yet… so attentive in his surroundings. something in you wanted to know who he was.

each time you gave him a cup of his favorite black coffee, you couldn’t help yourself but try to formulate conversation after he gave out his name… but he was always just so fucking vague… each sentence he spoke was watered down— that trickled slow like shallow water… simplistic and dry, running in a soothing hum.

it was pretty. the way he spoke.

you told him that too. a gentle, ‘you have a nice voice’ after he sung a sweet ‘thank you’ after setting the coffee down in front of his hands. he was awkward about it, like he hadn’t received a compliment like this one or a compliment at all. no words given other than that, having the conversation run flat and you walking away in regret thinking, ‘maybe that was too much’.

it only took one day when you had been off shift to see him sitting at a park bench, the one at the end of the town with his hands in his pockets, back slouched and those same somber eyes staring into the park’s pound to finally sit next to him and not feel the dynamic imbalance hit you like how it did in the diner.

“james!” your breath creating its soft clouds within the cold air as you softly spoke, vanishing as it rose.

“ah!” he hummed, “funny to see you here.” he looked at you… the blonde strands flowing against the wind, his attention fully on you instead of him quickly trying to look away. it was direct, like he stared from within your body… you didn’t expect a person like him to have such good eye contact… it almost made you nervous.

“no coffee today?” you replied, offering a smile.

“afraid not. im just on my lunch break… needed some fresh air.”

“may i ask where you work? hope that’s not improper of me to ask.” you laughed quietly, taking a real good look at him. he was almost like a statue… a rugged one. his lack of fashion sense…and his ability to hold so much expression all the while it being so bland and so cold.

he chuckled, shaking his head as he turned his head back towards the pond, “no… no it’s not ‘improper’. it’s just an office job. pretty boring id say.”

“fitting.” you replied, “not that you’re boring! just… seems like a occupation you’d have is all.”

“i wouldn’t say that you’re wrong even if you did say that.” giving yet another humming chuckle.

you stayed for the time he had to spare. the conversation going just as you thought it would… awkward but he was sweet nonetheless. though it was the way it was, his words flowed with every sentence he spoke, like the gentle stream of the pond in front of you both or the thick clouds that scattered in the grey sky. it took you just a few moments to notice how pretty that man was. he exuded such odd comfort… and warmth that made you want to keep talking to him. listen to anything he said even if it meant nothing or sounded humorously stupid.

“well.” he sighed, grunting as he stood, “id love to keep… talking, but i have to go back.”

you nodded, exchanging your goodbyes as you watched him walk down the park’s path until his body disappeared in the distance.

and so, from then on it had been easier to talk to him. finding any way to get to know more about the odd man who only drank black coffee and stared at you from time to time. it started just at your workplace, quick and steady back and forth talk then at the park, then offering a time to spend together on your off day for breakfast.

that was the first time he had something other than coffee. it was the first time you saw him smile more than once… not a faint one… a real one— seeing how his teeth jumbled at the bottom of his mouth or the harsh smile lines appear by the sides of his lips.

the more you looked, the more you conjured how pathetic of a man james really was. his life seemed so dull… just like the springs occasional showers and faded blue skies… but he was like the sweetness of june— the warmth within this man was little to none but still, he captivated you with his odd charm even if he tried or didn’t. you couldn’t help yourself but to think it was so easy to get him flustered, to have him smile whenever you showed interest in whatever he spoke about… like a lost puppy who finally got attention after being alone for so long.

a slip of a compliment flowed in almost every other sentence, seeing him stutter in his words, choking up a thank you whenever he could. it was amusing… like an addiction. sewing your way into his life was oh so significant. he considered you a ‘friend’ to put it lightly, one who obviously stared at you whenever you weren’t looking: like at the pier. you stood in front of him, hearing the crows sing and the water waves crash against the wood— he’d eye down your frame, seeing the way your clothes hugged your form… dissociating the world’s music around you both with an open mouth and twiddling fingers.

each time, you acted as if you hadn’t noticed and maybe you were just that good for him to not pick up on it whenever you failed to mention or question why he’d stare so goddamn much. it didn’t matter anyway, you liked it just as much as he liked staring at you.

he’d sit stiff, noting how erect his back would be whenever you placed your hand on his shoulder, a soft grip given as you both spoke about whatever. he’d clear his throat whenever you stood a little too close to him, rubbing the tapered part of his hair on the back of his head with a line of ‘uh’ and ‘ums’ in between each word he spoke.

god… this man was just so pathetic.

“why don’t we have dinner?” you smiled as you turned towards him, the bustling chatter amongst the passing people as you both walked down the same park you and him had your first real conversation.

“oh.” he chirped, a quiet laugh intertwined in his speech, “sure. where?”

“my house.” you answered confidently. through the few months of you being his ‘friend’, it only seemed right, so you told him. you wanted him in a place of vulnerability. to rule out every other being that’d pass by or surround you while in public. you just wanted it to be you and him. him and you. “if that’s fine by you. im not too bad of a cook.”

“your house?” his voice fell flat but it was nothing that worried you. the ring of his monotone voice was thick and with how he reacted to your small gestures, you knew he was more than willing to oblige. “you don’t mind me… coming to your house?”

you gave a little nod and he gave a gentle smirk. james didn’t know what could happen once the dinner would happen but he had no reason to disagree… or even want to. he grew accustomed to your company, more than any coworker he had that tried to gather him for night drinks after tough shifts… or even the women who were so abrupt in their interest in him… the thin pencil skirts and revealing blazers. he didn’t care.

a date was given. four days from then after his early ending shift. and so time flew. he hadn’t come to the diner at six in the morning like he did, he wasn’t even at the spots he’d sit during his breaks from work. a part of you had been worried if he tried to avoid you, wondering why you haven’t seen him since your request. he wasn’t good at texting— sending him a ‘hi’ would only result to him replying a ‘hey’ three days later. you almost didn’t buy the groceries you needed to prepare or an outfit that wasn’t too much but definitely would grasp his attention.

luckily you did.

it had been the day and it was five in the afternoon, the sun setting itself and the wind blowing more rapidly, flowing with the night’s usual atmosphere. james stood at your door with the address you gave him not too long after he agreed for the dinner you proposed. he just stared at it’s wood, his heart racing without his mind fully understanding why. he was a grown man but too afraid to see your face until this very moment. so he’d stay in the house longer than he needed to without going to the diner in the mornings. he’d stay in his cubicle on his lunch break, finishing any extra assignments he needed done for his boss.

moments spent with his feet planted on the ground before he gave three knocks at your door. he waited, only for a minute before you opened the door. you were dressed so nicely opposed to his work outfit still on and the light fragrance of the food fumigating in the air, hitting his nose.

“you’re here.” you spoke, relieved that he hadn’t stood you up. “come in.”

and so he did. small talk was given, complimenting your abode and trinkets you had scattered all about, admiring the personality your home gave opposed to his apartment that was just there… only the essentials, almost soulless. you thanked him of course, going on about little things as he listened before you finished all that needed to be done for dinner— it was pasta. simple and easy to not fuck up.

two plates placed with wine in crystal glasses and forks being spun. you connected over the flavor of the sauce and the warmth of the garlic bread that complimented the pasta. everything went smoothly, more than you thought it would’ve. easy conversation with the add in of knowing more about who james was… though he was his usual vague self.

you couldn’t pinpoint why he had been or what was truly on his mind. in certain instances, he’d drift off, his eyes wavering with a slow chew before ending his sentence with something mundane. your curiosity kept prodding with each question you gave— he didn’t show feeling of intrusion but he wrapped around certain topics leaving you needing more to be answered.

it felt like twenty one questions… moreso… him answering yours than you were with his but his composure and hospitality hadn’t changed from his kind and awkward demeanor he’d always give. it took awhile before you realized you had been digging in his chest like a crow on a rotting corpse before you covered your mouth with a soft, inaudible gasp.

“ive been blabbering…” you say, shyly laughing as you continued the last of what was left on your plate.

“no.” he responded, his voice trickling like soothing raindrops against a windowsill, “you’re just curious.”

“that i am.” your eyebrows raising as you sipped the bitter red liquid of your wine, “but you’ve had enough.”

he shook his head, wiping his mouth with a nearby napkin as he gulped, “i enjoy the conversation. i just have a lot in my past im not too fond of is all.” you noticed his eyes again… that troublesome look… the blank stare. whatever happened seemed to had never left him. james was like a puzzle piece… all scattered… some pieces missing so the full picture could never be seen or even admired.

“don’t we all…” pursing your lips as you set your glass down, “…but that’s the beauty of life, yes? it’s shitty… things come and go. regret… wrapped in solace. but that only means you can make happier memories.” trying to be positive to remove anything he had stored in thought.

you saw his shoulders relax from its usual tension, his eyes finding their way towards yours with a thick silence being transferred between you two. “yeah.” he spoke, breaking the silence momentarily before it fell back. the white noise… the gentle buzz cradled your eardrums, sitting like a stone in both of your seats.

the contact between your eyes spoke a million words… ones that haven’t been spoken out loud— it was of interest, undeniable lust. from his constant gaze from when you once were strangers… his usual order of coffee, to the moments you spent together in numerous places to now. those pretty light eyes shook as they bounced from each part of what your body showed at the table. they were quick… hungry… without any hesitancy. he dared not to look away, enjoying the visual of your being in a place with no one around, just you both.

as for you… the feeling of his eyes felt like fire caressing your skin… as if his wherever his pupils directed themselves, you could feel. it felt like fingertips gliding underneath the fabric of your clothes… just as when he ate… the way his lips latched onto the silver of his fork— the unintentional sensual gesture as he slid it from his mouth and chewed. the coat of spit that was left across it, and the delicate way he held onto the spine of the wine glass. you wanted to replace the flavor of your homemade sauce with the flower of your labia… to feel the latch of his lips against your breast or on the sides of your neck. the way he ate gave you an intense feeling of need… greed… swelling indulgence. not to mention his goddamn voice… the voice you were already so found over— the subtle cracks and dips between certain vowels… how deep it was… how gentle it felt amongst the silence.

“james..?” you questioned, tilting your head slightly, almost in a trance by the tone of your voice.

he gulped roughly, already sensing whatever you were going to say by the look you gave. “yes?”

“may i kiss you?” the words flowing softly within a sigh, holding your breath as you waited for his answer.

he just stared at you, eyes blinking like a cat in comfort as he continued to stare. moments past… which felt like hours before he nodded.

you stood from your seat, his attentiveness not failing to follow you in whichever way you went, slowly walking towards him with your hand sliding against the rough stubble on his face. he exhaled through his nose, his eyes shutting closed, his body melting into your touch as if he longed for such embrace. he hummed… the vibration flickering against the tips of your fingers before you felt the warm air of his exhale against your lips. slowly you leaned, shaky breaths with a soft press of the lips.

his lips were so soft yet stiff, a long press, occupying the other side of his face with yet another hand, pulling his face closer to yours as you deepened it. james let you lead, his rough calloused hand grazing against your wrist with a gentle grip, simultaneously pulling you closer to his embrace.

at the touch of his lips, you felt yourself get jolted with pleasure in between your legs, the softness rushing to a hungered one— his lips opening, allowing your tongue to push through and taste the sweetness of his of spit. his mouth was warm and the muscle of his tongue slid into yours as spit started to slide down his chin… quickening breaths and an even louder hum than he ever gave.

with the sharp sound of the chair scraping against the floorboards, he scooted back, you unconsciously sitting onto his lap just to feel the growing bulge against his work pants. you sat right on it, feeling it press against your clothed cunt with a groan that wrapped around your tongue and down your throat. he felt big, and the throb of it excited you, having your hips think on its own with a heavy yet slow rut.

the hands that held onto your wrist fell at your hips, the tightness of his fingers digging into you as if he’d never want you to leave from his touch. your bodies molded into one, your breasts pressing against his heaving chest with your hands now gripping the back of his neck.

at release, your forehead pressed against his… his deep gasps sounding pathetic and irregular, lips ajar, trying to savor the feeling of your lips that were once on his. the creek of the chair upon your slow grinds were loud and obnoxious but that didn’t stop you from adding on more friction, loving the feeling of his hardening cock against you.

“let me… do what i want to you… let me make you feel good.” you whispered against his lips, feeling your words being sucked from his quickening gasps.

“please.” he whined… a sound you’d never heard before from a man, let alone one of business. his willingness in the subtle acceptance of him submitting to you had your mind fill with haze. the glisten of his eyes pleaded for something… anything… like he had never been touched before. “please…”

his face leaned in the crook of your neck, his nose nudging against the warmth of your skin, sharp inhales, devouring the perfume that coated it. light peppering kisses lining up and down, all along the side of your jaw. a smile crept up on your lips… you knew just from the sight of him that he was just a pathetic little thing. and with the way he acted just from a kiss… how hard he got with you sitting on his lap, you knew that whatever you did he’d grant you a reaction that would be better than any man has ever gave you or will give you.

you gripped the back of his head, a drunken stare as his lips still purse from the abrupt release of his kiss. “wait.” you breathed, pressing your finger in the center of his lips. he was so tantalizing… his eyes drooped with anticipation, knowing that since he has you now… his self control was little to none.

at the side of you finger, he kissed it, holding onto your wrist as you placed another finger against his lips. you watched and he watched you— his mouth slowly opening and guiding his fingers against his tongue. with hallowed cheeks he began to suck, bobbing his cute head down to the knuckle. curling your fingers, you felt his tongue slither in between, spit messily sliding down your palm and arm.

“good boy..” you praised, your voice in sync with the sounds of his sucks— a deeper whine trembling against your fingers at the sudden pet name.

you grinned, cocking an eyebrow at his reaction. he liked that? you thought. seems fitting.

sliding your fingers from his mouth, you gripped his chin, a gentle press given, “watch me.” you whisper and with a pull at your top, he watched. his eyes directing themselves at your breasts with an even quicker and excited exhale exuding from his whining lips. eyebrows furrowing at the need to touch, his hands hesitantly removing from your hips and curling, waiting for the okay to be able to grope them upon your request. unclasping your bra, they drooped prettily in his face, letting whatever you took off hit the floor beside the chair.

“come on pretty boy… touch them.” you slurred, your voice seductive, teasing him, watching how his eyes never left, just opening at the sight of your bare breasts. “i know you want to.”

he sighed, one that was pent up and riddled with eagerness. “oh my god…” his voice shook. james was driven by the lustrous nature of your body. captivating by the sounds that fell from your lips and the commands you spewed— each word directed itself at his cock, feeling it twitch and tighten at his pants. the way you were entranced by his eyes as he was with yours, looking up at them with admiration, need and desire that festered throughout his body, making him burn at the touch.

doe and gentle with a sweet song flowing in the disguise of a moan he sung. the single free strands laying against his skin, complimenting with the reds that blossomed at his cheeks.

‘i want her… i need her… all of her… i want it. i want it. i want it. i want it.’ he chanted in his brain— feeling as if he was going to pass out at how hard he was breathing— his hot mouth curling at the warm bud of your breast, tongue flicking at it’s hardened tip, pulling back with the gentle graze of his teeth until a pop was heard, pressing a series of kisses around your breasts.

you were drunk off the man. that poor pathetic odd man. his body calling for more… groping your breasts with vigor, feeling the shortness of his nails digging and molding them to his liking… and the little broken noises he made, so soft and sweet, higher than his usual tone. a fleeting glint of mischief glistened in your eyes, letting out a chuckle.

“that’s it…” your voice trailed, lifting your hips, starting to bounce on his lap, granting a broken moan to feather against your nipple.

“god… fucking dammit..” he exhaled, gritting his teeth as his body sunk into the chair, his feet planted harsher on the floorboards, bucking his hips upward, feeling the weight of you created more friction, his swelling cock pulsating. “don’t stop… please.” he whined, eyes squinted as drool fell from the side of his trembling lips.

your hands running in his warm blonde strands, “that’s a good boy.” you tightened your gasp, pulling it with a yank. he blinked slowly with a coo, “you like it when i bounce on it?” you teased.

he nods. his poor hips already tiring out, them stuttering at every upwards thrust. “yes ma’am… fuck it feels… it feels so good.”

planting your hands at his chest, you felt the fast pace of his heart, running your palms up his body until your fingers wrapped around his slender neck— each digit falling into his skin, hearing his strain. “poor baby… you wanna feel more don’t you?” you grunted, his head tilted back with your face hovering his. with a slight cock of your hand, it collided with the softness of his cheek, a loud yelping moan bouncing along the dining room walls.

“fu… fuck…” he stuttered, his lips almost at pout.

no woman had ever treated him this way, so rough and teasing and you hadn’t even fucked him yet. his nerves was heightened as his cheek burned with the faint remnants of your palm. never did he think he’d enjoy something like this, in fact… he was left speechless. the sight of his eyes looking more pleasing than they already looked. they never looked away from you, wanting to get every expression you gave… watching your lips as they continued to taunt him, needing to see the way your breasts bounced as you continued to rut against his lap above his pants.

“oh?” you chirped, noticing the deepening submission in his glare. “you liked that didn’t you?” your hips now stopping in its place.

weakly, he laughed, “i do.” his voice still so sultry and deep.

leaning closer to his face, your lips feathered his, exchanging breaths with shared smiles, “go on your knees and take it out for me.” your other hand sliding down slow until it cupped his bulge. removing yourself from his lap, now standing.

he lifted himself off the chair, taking off his bottoms and boxers. there he sat, like an obedient little thing, on his knees— his thick dick laying and jerking at every throb as it laid so delicately against his thigh— staring up at you adoringly with gleaming eyes, as if he had been admiring a star.

it wasn’t as if you necessarily thought about what he looked like underneath his boxers, but the sight of it made your eyes sparkle— it was so thick and long, it made your mouth water.

“james…” shocked and even more turned on at how pretty his dick was. the light graze of his brown pubes looking well kept. “fuck it’s so pretty.” running your finger down its side, hearing the most pathetic moan fall from his lips— his fists balling at the sudden touch. “needy little thing you are.”

it was cute. from the little slap you gave him and the way he wanted you to have your way, it only fed into the desire to treat this boy with some excitement. that dull life he had was now changed as thoughts puddled at your brain seeing this man look so weak as you stood to look at him.

“such a pathetic… pretty man.” you cooed, tilting your head, “and look at your dick.” his eyes dropping to watch it leak and pool at the flesh of his thigh. “it’s excited for me isn’t it?”

his fingers wrapping around his shaft, needing some type of friction… it was starting to get painful with how long it hadn’t been touched bare. whenever he was turned on in the comfort of his home, he’d jerk himself off until he fell asleep. over and over again until his wrist burned and his throat dried. he had no self control and with you around, he could cum just from your voice.

“take your hand off.”

“god i just…” he whimpered.

“mmh mmh.” your head shook, as you bent down, “hands off. i tell you when you can and can’t, do you understand?” placing your finger underneath his chin to raise it, seeing gentle plea in his eyes.

“yes ma’am.”

he felt belittled, unable to control his own person. a quick shiver fell down his spine, leaning closer into your embrace… just the soft touch of your finger gave him a bolt of pleasure. knowing if he touched himself, you’d slap him in retaliation. oh how he so desperately wanted that.

you unzipped your pants, stepping out from them, alongside your panties, already dripping against the inner of your thigh. placing a palm at the top of his head, your fingers gripped tight, angling yourself in front of his face.

he gulped roughly, staring at the swelling of your clit. “lick it.” without hesitation, his face fell in between your legs, his curved nose nudging against your clit as he inhaled, lapping his tongue in between the folds of your pussy.

the scent of it drove him wild— eyes rolling back as he continued to inhale, loud enough for you to hear. he smothered himself, the muscle of his tongue thickening with his lips latching it just to get the taste of you fully.

you were taken aback at how skilled his tongue was, how his nose stimulated your clit so lovingly with each bob of his head. obnoxious sucks radiated in the air with his fingers clasping against your thighs, hard enough to hurt.

moans trickled from your throat, gasping on the thick of the air, guiding him with the hand that gripped his hair. his tongue plunged deeply into your pussy, feeling his mold his muscle inside of your fleshy walls, thrusting his head to fuck your opening.

you felt yourself already needing to cum and that has never happened before. at least not this quick. the softness of his lips sucked so roughly and his tongue flicked so fast, your knees buckled inward, unable to keep up with the pace of his mouth.

“james…” your moans heightening in volume, your chest deepening after every breath you took, “your fucking mouth…”

his hair, all tattered and messy, with his eyes reddened from it almost tearing up because of the lack of air he was given, not stopping for a second as he drank in your arousal and your moans. a tingling sensation bounced off his body, circling through each part of his limbs.

the sounds of his sucks almost overpowering your moans itself, as he felt your meaty pussy flutter in and out his mouth loving how full you made his mouth.

“i can’t stop,” he gasped against your cunt, “it’s just so good… i love it, i fucking love it. fuck… fuck…” nothing in this man’s brain could made him stop. it was like he pushed himself in between your legs like he wanted to be apart of you— keeping his strength in his neck to keep his same motion.

removing himself to breathe, he gathered spit, directing at your clit and watching it drip before catching it in his mouth, rolling his tongue along the hood of your clit before latching on with hallowing cheeks. sucking in air, your body curled forward, feeling two of his fingers slide in the opening of your pussy. they curved as they started with long strides.

that ‘odd’ man surely knew how to please a cunt. fingers picking up its pace with the loud wet sounds interweaving the moans you both sung. “yes… yes… james…” you panted, his wrist steadying, feeling you leak against and down his knuckles. your walls clamping on his fingers like a heartbeat.

“im gonna..” you announced, your body trembling more than you could even control, your legs giving out with him quickly holding you up as much as he could— his face deepening in your cunt, grunting as he felt you cum against his tongue.

“mmmhm” he hummed over and over again, feeling you shudder against his face.

falling to your knees, your face was angled with his— his mouth wet all from his nose down to his chin. the sight of you, trying to compose yourself from the orgasm you had made him feel dizzy. “feel good?” he whispered, trailing your face from where it hung low, catching your lips. you could taste yourself on his lips, running your tongue at the flesh of his bottom, sucking it in your mouth with small nips before pulling back.

forming spit in your mouth, you held onto his cock, an immediate grunt rupturing from his throat, letting the spit falling down at his tip. brushing your thumb over it, lathering your spit down to his shaft.

“tighter… please…” he mumbled, foreheads now pressing as he watched your hand wrap around his throbbing and slightly veiny shaft, rolling your wrist in circular and jagged movements. tighter you held, hearing the sound of his throaty moans.

“like this?” you breath, quickening your pace. he deserved it.

lifting the bottom of his shirt, he placed the cloth in his mouth, seeing the light spread of hair that tracked up his navel and a hollowing abdomen at every whine he let out. “yes..” he gritted through his teeth.

his precum swaying around from the vigorous speed that continued to grow. he held his breath, brows knitted, body tense at the rhythmic pattern, veins channeling on your forearm with your fingers glazing against the underside of his tip. “look at me.” you whispered, his eyes slowly traveled up your body until they locked with yours.

you spoke of lust in both your gazes, hearing the wetness of his spit coated cock at every pump, hunger radiating in you both like you desperately needed this— shameless and passionate intimacy.

your body yearned to feel him inside and the way he stared at you— the burning sensation it brought you— made it difficult for you. you wanted to feel him stretch your cunt. pushing him back by the press of your palm against your shoulder, he lay. hovering over him, wrapping your leg over his waist before angling yourself over him.

slowly you slid down on him, never feeling something as big as his. even just from the tip, you felt yourself gasp heavily as you kept lowering yourself down onto him. “fuck you’re so… big…”

james continued his whines, eyes closing tight, his body shuttered… you were so warm, your fleshy walls holding him so comfortably. bodies slowly enveloping on another as he tried to talk to your body with his hands— sliding against your thighs, up your waist and momentarily on your breasts.

“you….” he breathed, it hitching as he mindlessly held his breath, with you pushing more of him into you— textured and wet, with a heartbeat that cradled the shaft of his cock. “your pussy is sucking me in…” he groaned, his ass tensing.

all of you. the sight of it all, each movement you made. fuck, didn’t you drive him insane. at this moment, he knew he couldn’t hold back any longer.

your pussy gripped his cock, deeper it went, as if your grip was unable to let him go. each moan you let out, your pussy clammed and mimicked each word as it pulsated against him.

he couldn’t stay still, whimpering as you started to lightly bounce against him— hands planted on his chest with a slight roll of your hips. you couldn’t believe how good he felt inside of you, how full he made you. with you already cumming, it was hard to keep yourself steady, feeling yourself break down each time you lowered yourself.

pressing his hand on your back, he turned you both, now with you on your back laid against the floor, “let me pleasure you… please.” he begged, both hands placed on the sides of your head.

“fuck me like the good boy you are…”

and with that, it was as if a switch had been turned on in his brain. using one hand to grasp your thigh, “like this?” he breathed, his words as slow as his thrusts, his drowsy-like eyes running up against your face. gritting his teeth, sucking on the cool yet hot air, eyebrows knitting together. he placed his forehead against yours, your hand now sliding up to his neck— the pads of your fingers and thumb pressing down the sides of it, slowly tightening your grip. with struggling breaths, his hips continuing his rhythmic thrust yet trying to find the spot, the spot that will lead you into ecstasy.

the hand that held your thigh pressed it down further, his knees fixing itself at a better position, now his groin aiming downwards. his thrust now falling into slow, hungry pounds, his balls hitting just above your asshole. “does it feel good here…?” leaning down as he pressed wet kisses at the edge of your lips.

all you could give were responding moans, your body overstimulated by every movement he made.

each inward thrust, you could hear skin slapping against one another, your breasts mashing into each other. lips trailing down to your cheek, then to your ear, his tongue running at the side of your ear then switching to the next, groaning a series of ‘fucks’ and your name as the thrust started to increase in intensity. they were once slow, now holding more power, grunting at each inward hit. “god. your… pussy… feels… so…. soo fucking… so goood…” each word ending in a hitch.

his voice now holding a deeper, grosser tone, more animalistic as he grew pussy drunk at how you wrapped around him.

he enveloped your lips, inhaling and capturing your tongue in his mouth, sucking on its pink muscle, bobbing his head and swallowing any ounce of spit that rolled down to the back of his throat. your tongue slipped from his mouth, pressing a long kiss against his lips once more.

your mind transversed across what could possible be the gates of fucking heaven at this point. each twist and turn of his hips hitting spots your fingers could possible never do, your damp walls clamping around his girthy cock—greedily needing to paint your insides with his cum, over and over again if he could.

"it feels good, it's so good...." you trailed off, lips pressing together as you muffled a few moans of satisfaction that sounded nearly like his name—the tip of his relentless cock hitting sweet, sweet spots with each charging pound. your hands removing themselves, now dragging and scratching into his back, tugging the flesh leaving continuous marks onto his skin— causing him to wince in blissful pain.

the reverberating sounds of your name rolling off his tongue along with the desperate whines and groans of pleasure only elevated your lust "you're obsessed with my pussy," you whined, head thrown back at the intense plunges against your favored spot.

your promiscuous ways dragging him down in the mud, wanting to rut and fuck you like an untrained animal. that alluring voice of yours, cracking into a moan after you tried so desperately to tease him.

your concaving walls collapsing at his cock, walls with a flowery texture that ran against the pulsating veins of his dick. your wails rushing to his dick alongside your suction— with each inhale making its grasp tighter than before. your folds clasping at the sides of his shaft at every pull.

he place a thumb so kindly pressed at your slippery clit. circling it slow, with rougher presses at each thrust, it’s hood pushing back, feeling your wet, exposed bud nudge at the skin of his thumb. each run around, he could hear it, how your slick found it’s way all the way to your clit, making it harder for his thumb to be held in place.

his body loosened, with his hips now controlled, it’s speed rising with a longer pull and harder pound, body muggy with a thin layer of sweat, with your face buried in the inner corner of his neck.

“i don’t ever want to stop fucking you… your pussy is too good.” his voice ridged and strained.

rhythmical slaps of wet skin colliding as his balls felt a sharp sensation each time it bounced against the sweetness of your hole. your pussy’s heartbeat causing his eyes to roll, holding his breath and letting it out shakily.

“fuck me just like that james… just like that.” your eyes widening with your legs wrapping around his waist. “im close!”

“i don’t want to stop fucking you… i wish i could fuck you nonstop… i want to keep going…” his chest madly rattling against his ribcage.

shivers cascading through your arms as they gripped his hair firmly once again. your beings were joined in such an impassioned, fervid act of lustful ignited bursting flames out of your bodies. “can i..." he breathed out, voice hoarse, “can i breed you… please… please..”

the walls echoed sounds of your repeated pleasure lamentations followed by his needy words and melting into the increasing melody of skin against skin, lead you over the hill, "cum inside! do it baby…" you uttered directly into his eyes, the familiar knot forming at the pit of your abdomen, convusling cunt tightening around his sliding shaft with each thrust.

he couldn’t stop himself, feeling you cum on his cock made him bury himself further inside, hot spurts of his own cum filling you with rolling eyes and harsh gasps. glazed spit lips, bodies trembling from their high, and strained moans.

his arms snake around your body, cum oozing down his balls and thigh. “fuck….” his body not even finished with his high, slow thrust to chase after the leftover high you both breathed out.

“god james… who wouldn’t known you fucked so well…”

laid out on the floor, you both tried to catch your breaths. the contrast between every moment of you knowing one another to now, fucking each other like your life depended on it, you couldn’t help but laugh.

how significant is it to have a simple man— attractive at that— with his usual order of black coffee in your house, fucking you without a care in the world.

you knew… this wouldn’t be the last time.

[navyiera]

T!TS

vi x fem!reader

tags; smut, fingering, brat taming, dirty talk, established relationship, oral fixation (vi) teasing, lots of nipple play, dom!vi, sub!reader.

a/n: i realised that some of y'all really wanted it when i opened my mail so here it is. Just part 1 so it's the boring part. I kinda had to rush it so it's messy and it sometimes doesn't make sense and reading this back made me realise how little the reader speaks but i've got actual papers to write so i left it as it is. Lets imagine that reader doesn't speak much (please) anyways tq for so much interaction on my Cait fic!! Caitlyn smut coming up. Yessir. Also mdni.

“Violet!” you call, your voice dripping with a mix of impatience and entitlement. The silk sheets pool at your waist as you sit up, hair mussed from sleep. You’re used to getting what you want when you want it—and Vi? She knows it.

But she doesn’t answer.

You pout, your perfectly manicured nails drumming against the nightstand as you huff. Throwing on one of Vi's oversized shirts (the irony isn’t lost on you), you stomp toward the kitchen.

There she is, in all her composed glory. Her hands wrapped in bandages, her sharp jawline illuminated by the morning sunlight, and she’s wearing that smug smirk that always makes your stomach tighten. Vi doesn’t even look up as she leans against the counter, sipping coffee like she owns the world—and you.

“Did you not hear me call you?” you demand, folding your arms.

“I heard you,” she says casually, setting her cup down. Her eyes finally meet yours, dark and unwavering, and you suddenly feel smaller.

You narrow your eyes, determined to maintain the upper hand. “Then why didn’t you come?”

“Because,” she starts, pushing off the counter and sauntering toward you, “I’m not at your beck and call, princess.”

Your breath catches as she closes the distance. You can’t help but take a step back, but the cool granite countertop digs into your spine, trapping you. Vi leans in, her hands bracketing your hips, and the scent of her cologne makes your knees weak.

“I think someone needs a reminder of how things work around here,” she murmurs, her voice low and commanding.

Your bravado falters. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t play coy now.” Her hand trails up your thigh, her touch firm enough to leave no room for argument. “You’ve been a brat all day, and I’m done indulging it.”

Her lips brush against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “You want to act spoiled? Fine. But you don’t call the shots, sweetheart. I do.”

You swallow hard, your heart racing. “Vi, I—”

“Shh,” she cuts you off, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye. Her gaze is predatory, and it makes you feel completely exposed. “Be a good girl for me, and maybe I’ll forgive your little tantrum.”

You nod, your defiance melting into submission under her piercing stare. Vi smirks, satisfied, and tilts your chin up with two fingers.

“See?” she whispers, her lips ghosting over yours. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You don’t get a chance to respond before her mouth captures yours in a kiss that’s equal parts possessive and tender.

"Turn around, baby." she gives your bottom lip a bite before using your hips to turn you around. Vi kisses the back of your neck in delicacy, and she grabs your jaw to make you look up at the mirror infront of you.

"See that chair?" Vi whispers into your ear and all you've got in you is to nod, she pulls back and gently pushes you forward. She's got ideas and you know it.

"Bend over it for me, hm?" she pretends to ask but her tone is more demanding than interrogative. If you get everything the way you want it, Vi gets whatever she wants from you.

She walks over as you do as she says. Her hand coming up to tap your behind, your ears, cheeks and back turning red from embarrassment.

"Can I?" She asks and she pulls the waistband of your underwear, making it snap against your skin when she lets go. Vi doesn't wait for an answer before she's pulling your panties aside.

"Hah! Look at that" her fingers trails between your folds, leaving a slick sound that causes her to smile.

You gasp when she pushes your head further down into the cushions, she kisses the back of your neck, then pulls the neckline of your (her's) t-shirt and bites your shoulder.

"I think I know just what to do with you," she puts a hand to your hips, sending waves down your spine. Vi is quick to throw you over her shoulders and carry you to your bedroom. She'd fuck you in the kitchen but that's something for sometime later.

Your hair sprawls on the pillow as you get thrown down with a faint thud, Vi moves over to you and eyes you up and down before shifting between your legs, placing soft kisses on your abdomen.

"Vi, I—" you start but get cut off by a slap on the plane of your stomach, she grabs you by your thighs, lifting you up so that youre sat on her lap

"Ah ah, did I tell you to speak, dollface?" she's getting closer as she says this, until she wraps her strong arms around your waist, holding you securely on her lap as you sit facing her. With no time wasted, she leans down and takes one of your sensitive nipples into her warm, soft mouth.

A whimper leaves your lips, your hands coming to hold onto her shoulders only for her to take them and hold onto them behind your back, earning another whine from you.

"Mhm I know, baby" Vi murmurs, her voice muffled against your breast. "If you behaved earlier, I would've let you touch me."

She suckles diligently, her tongue laving over your tender nipple as she holds your arms back with one hand. Vi's free hand travels to your your other breast, cupping and squeezing the soft mound. She starts to knead and massage the supple flesh tenderly, her thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling your other nipple between them.

"Mhng! Please— d-don't bite." You plead but she just bites harder in response, creating an aching friction to the peaks of your tits. Vi switches to your other nipple, suckling it roughly, as she continues to fondle and caress your breast.

"Don't tell me what to do." Vi murmurs, pressing kisses to the valley between your boobs, she lets go of your hands and trails her fingers towards your inner thighs, making sure her nails are dragging and digging into your skin.

"mnmh vi–"

Vi smirks against your skin, the vibrations of her amusement rumbling through you. "Yeah?" she replies, nipping at the swell of your breast. Her hand slides higher, fingertips brushing maddeningly close to your aching core.

"Such a brat." Vi's voice is a low, husky rasp, sending shivers down your spine. "You think you deserve to be touched just because you want to?"

Her nails dig into the soft flesh of your inner thigh, leaving red crescents in their wake. Vi's other hand continues its relentless assault on your sensitive nipples, pinching and rolling the stiff peaks until they throb with need.

Vi's fingers dance along the edge of your panties, not quite touching where you need her most. She looks up at you, her eyes dark and intense, a wicked grin playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Beg for it," she commands, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Beg for me to touch your pretty little pussy."

When she hears nothing more than a whimper from you, her thumb presses down on your clit, circling the sensitive nub with maddening pressure. Gosh she drove you insane. Vi leans in, her lips brushing against yours as she speaks.

"Go on, baby. Why're you hesitating, hm?"

With a gulp, you close your eyes, swallowing your pride and ego. You needed this afterall, didn't you? "P-Please?"

Vi chuckles darkly, amused by your feeble attempt at pleading. "That's it? How disappointing." she taunts, her fingers still teasing maddeningly along the damp fabric covering your core.

She leans in closer, her breath hot against your ear as she whispers, you could tell she was enjoying this moment of having the upperhand. "Try again, maybe I'll listen"

Vi punctuates her demand by slipping a finger beneath the hem of your panties, the tip of her fingers just barely grazing your slick folds. She doesn't push inside, instead tracing your slit with a feather-light touch that has you squirming with need.

"Come on, dollface. I don't have all day." Vi coaxes, her voice an impatient mumble.

Her other hand continues its relentless assault on your breasts, kneading and squeezing the supple flesh, pinching and rolling your nipples until they ache deliciously.

Another breath, another try, another plead, "I—" the words reman stuck in your throat.

Vi hums in acknowledgement and nips at your earlobe, tugging on it with her teeth before soothing the sting with her tongue. She tightens her grip on your wrists, pinning them above your head as she looms over you. Her other hand slips fully inside your panties, a single finger teasing through your slick folds.

"Don't waste my time, baby." Vi scolds, her voice low and disapproving. She circles your entrance, not yet delving inside, as if daring you to try harder. You know it's a lie because she'd fuck you all day yet you believe her just in that moment.

At your continued silence, Vi crushes her lips against yours in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue. She swallows your whimpers and moans, refusing to let you make a sound until she allows it.

Breaking the kiss, Vi's eyes bore into yours, dark and intense, leaning in at the sound of your mumble, "Hm?"

"Ple— nothing"

She rolls her eyes and presses a single finger tip against your entrance, the slightest bit of pressure that has you clenching around nothing, aching to be filled. You still had a massive ego so you still protested against her requests.

Now she was pissed, she started this for shits and giggles but your stubborn and bratty behaviour was getting on her nerve. She loved you. Yes. But as someone who had to work for everything in her life, this attitude was got gonna be tolerated.

"Need'a lesson? Sure, I'll fucking give it to you." Her jaw clenched before roughly shoving two fingers knuckle-deep inside your dripping cunt. They pump in and out at a punishing pace, curling against that special spot inside you that makes your toes curl, her thumb finding your clit and rubbing merciless circles over the sensitive bud.

It is when she kisses down your neck when you break, you needed that closeness, and she gave it to you unknowingly, you didn't want her to be genuinely mad at you but she is and yet she still cares to not hurt you.

"More, please?" It's quiet but you said it. And it counted for Vi, she would've done worse but seeing the look in your eyes stopped her. Despite her tough act, she was a pushover when it came to you.

Vi smiles at your attempted plea, her fingers never ceasing their relentless assault on your dripping cunt. "Finally," she sighs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Took long enough."

She scissors her fingers inside you, stretching your walls as her thumb rubs tight circles around your throbbing clit. Vi leans down to capture your nipple between her teeth, biting down just hard enough to make you yelp before soothing the sting with her tongue. (oral fixation evidence)

"I think there's more for you to say though," she murmurs against your tits, her hot breath sending shivers down your spine. Whimpers turn to moans, and the air is starting to get hot.

Vi's other hand releases your wrists, only to grab your hip in a bruising grip, holding you in place as she grinds her palm against your aching core. She pistons her fingers in and out of your clenching heat, curling against that special spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Please, Vi!" you cry out, too far gone to care about the desperation in your voice. "Please fuck me. Please? I'll be good? P-Promise!"

Your hips buck against her hand, chasing the pleasure only she can give you. Vi chuckles, the sound vibrating through you as she redoubles her efforts, fucking you harder and faster with her fingers.

"That's it, baby. Take it," she murmurs, her eyes glaring into yours, almost in validation for how she's doing a good job at making you feel good. Because deep down Vi needs that and if she has to fuck you till the sun rotates twice. She will.

strap!vi part two.

[archangeldyke-all]

Saw this post and immediately thought "wow I miss CEO Sevika, this would make such a nice Angel prompt"

Not entirely sure of a premise for this but let's say....Sevika and Reader have a small fight in the morning and Reader Isn't Happy™. She gets over it rather quickly, but decides to lightly tease Sevika the rest of the day, including through meetings. After their last meeting, she traps Sev in her office and tells her "Eat it" as an "apology."

FUCK YESSS this is so hot ehhehe

men and minors dni

"heyyyy..." seamus trails off as he walks into the break room beside you. you glare up at him.

"i don't wanna hear it."

"i didn't even say anything!" seamus exclaims. he walks to the coffee maker, his eyes on you the entire time as he fiddles with it. you sigh.

"we're fighting." you explain.

seamus nods. "that much is clear."

you cringe. "is she being a bitch?" you ask. you know how your wife can get when you're not there to tell her to bite her tongue. seamus makes a squeaky noise, then gives you a constipated expression.

"no." he lies. you snort and shake your head.

"fuck. i'm sorry. she went behind my back and scheduled herself a meeting on her birthday weekend." you explain. seamus pouts and sits beside you.

"but you guys always do something fun for her birthday."

"i know. guess not this year." you say with a sad shrug.

in past years, your birthday celebrations ranged from fancy dinners to weekend getaways. but it's not even the fact that you're missing out on a nice date with your wife. it's more than that.

"she just-- she doesn't fuckin' take breaks unless i force her, y'know? and these past few years she hasn't tried to argue takin' her birthday off. i just finally thought i got her used to takin' care of herself and she goes behind my back to do this shit..."

seamus frowns and pats your shoulder. "if it makes you feel any better, she's clearly regretting her decision now."

you giggle a little. it does make you feel better. "i should go back in there, huh?" you ask.

seamus nods. "yes, please. i forgot how fuckin' scary she is without you. nearly pissed myself givin' her the morning report."

you giggle and pat seamus' shoulder. "you're a good friend."

"and you're a good wife!" he shouts behind you. you laugh and shake your head as you walk toward your shared office with sevika.

she's drawn all the blinds-- a clear sign that she's in a bad mood. you roll your eyes and take a deep breath, then push into the office.

sevika's eyes dart up from her desk, her gaze softening as it lands on you. something inside you flutters. she's still so sweet, even when she's pissing you off.

"seamus says you're being mean." you say, closing the door behind you. you lock it, not wanting anybody to walk in on you and sevika arguing. sevika sinks into her chair, guiltily.

"well, what do you expect? my wife's been giving me the cold shoulder all day."

you roll your eyes and walk over to sevika's desk, sitting in front of her. she smiles sweetly up at you, wrapping her arms around your legs. you shake your head in amusement. "you're not off the hook y'know." you sigh as you reach down to cup sevika's face, combing your fingers through her hair.

sevika nods in your grasp. "i know." she whispers. "does it make it any better if i tell you i cleared an entire week out for us at the end of the month?" she asks.

you have to bite your cheek to keep from laughing in excitement. "what?"

"i rearranged some things. booked us a room at our favorite little resort."

"you did, huh?" you ask. sevika kisses your hand and nods.

"i'm sorry." she says finally. "baby, i really am." she kisses a trail up your arm, nuzzling against the crook of your elbow. you frown down at your wife, trying your best to keep your resentment strong, but it's so hard when she's so cute. you can't believe this is the woman all your co-workers find scary, she's like a fucking puppy.

"mmm. i dunno if i can forgive you yet." you say.

sevika pouts. "what can i do to make it up to you?" she asks.

you giggle. you were hoping she'd ask that. you squish her cheeks together in your hands kissing her puckered lips, before letting go of your hold on her and turning around in her grip, laying yourself on her desk and wiggling your ass in her face just a bit.

"eat it." you say simply, pulling your skirt up and your panties to the side.

the sound sevika makes is equally endearing and arousing. something needy and guttural, a hint of surprise overwhelmed by a rush of need. she doesn't need to be told twice. you gasp as her hands smack your ass cheeks, spreading you open and humming as she takes a good look at you. you lean down onto your joint desks, grabbing your cardigan from the back of your chair to muffle your moans.

sevika spits on your asshole then dives forward, sloppily eating you out.

you shiver against the desks, reaching back to grab sevika's wrist. fuck she's good with her mouth. she's sloppy and passionate, her nose rubbing deliciously at your asshole while her tongue fucks your cunt. her chin's rubbing against your clit with her movements, and the little moans she's letting out at the taste of you are making you dizzy.

"fuck, i love you." you sigh, clawing at her forearm. sevika's free arm smacks your ass-- her response to your words. you giggle. "you piss me off sometimes but-- ah!" you giggle as sevika bites your inner thigh. "but you make up for it pretty well." you finish.

sevika chuckles against you and kisses her bite mark. "can't be fully forgiven 'til you cum on my tongue." she says. you snort.

"you're a freak." you say with glee. sevika giggles, then flicks your clit with her tongue. you gasp. "fuck-- please." you beg. sevika hums and sucks your clit into her mouth, her thumb working circles around your asshole. you groan and push back against her. "please!" you whine.

"shhhhh baby." sevika scolds, smacking your ass with an impact much louder than your whine had been. "somehow i'm the freak while you're beggin' for my fingers in your ass."

you growl and reach back, pulling sevika's face back toward your cunt by her hair. she muffles her giggles against you and continues her work, lapping up your arousal and working her thumb against your ass again. "fuck, i'm close." you whine.

sevika grunts against you, hooks her thumb inside you, and chuckles as you fall apart. you bury your face into your cardigan, trying to muffle your moans. judging by the way sevika's moaning against you, though, you aren't doing a very good job.

your body sags against the desks when sevika pulls away. she snorts, smacks your ass one last time, and straightens your clothes back out before pulling you to sit down in her lap.

you sigh dreamily, letting your head lean back on her shoulder, kissing her cheek as she caresses your body.

"so... am i forgiven?" she asks. you giggle.

"mmm. i guess."

sevika grins. "nice. you wanna help me with these tax forms?" she asks, gesturing to the pile of papers on her desk. you snort.

"hell no."

sevika pouts up at you, and you wiggle in her lap against her hard, hot, trapped dick. "f-fuck, watch it baby!" she whines.

you laugh. "how about i crawl under our desks and take care of this for you while you do all the boring paperwork for me, hmm?"

sevika's smile is blinding. fuck, how hopelessly in love with someone do you have to be that the sight of their tooth gap turns you on?

"that sounds like a real good plan, baby." she says. you giggle and shimmy off her lap, only to be stopped by her arms wrapping around your waist. "wait." she whispers. you turn to face her, ready to ask what she needs, when she leans forward and kisses you sweetly. she pulls away, smiles at you, then shrugs and leans in to kiss you one more time. "okay. now you can blow me." she says.

you burst into giggles as you make your way under her desk.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

@chezze-its @lez-zuha @vikashoneybee @shanesevikasfuckdoll @imheadintothemountains

@nanajustnana-a @helaenabugmom

[heartyluv]

Note: My first time writing something like this…I had so much fun, I can’t even begin to explain LOLLL. Didn’t even expect to get this done today, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. I’m gonna try to tweak any errors over time, so if there’s any, just give me some grace. Enjoy, my luvlys!

~ Creds to @/omi-resources, @/anitalenia & @/dollywons for the dividers! ~

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NO Interact!!

Warning: Smut, MMF Reverse Harem (You, Zayne, and Caleb are in an established relationship togetherrrr), Breeding Kink, You’re hanging from the ceiling while they put in the work, Caleb and Zayne ARE KISSING and their cocks DO TOUCH!!!

Word Count: 4,066 (forgive me)

Summary: You believe that your boyfriends have forgotten your first anniversary, causing you to feel hurt and angry. But, you’re in for a special treat when you find that they didn’t.

Caleb/Zayne/Reader

Your eyes flutter open slowly and your inability to move is the always the first thing that puts a smile on your face. Behind you, Caleb holds you tight with a strong arm wrapped around your waist and his steady breath glides gently against the back of your neck. In front of you lays Zayne’s perfect and sleeping face, his expression calm and peaceful. His legs are entangled in yours and you wonder how anyone could go through life without having something so precious.

You’re not surprised that you’ve woken up before Zayne. Your body seems to be on a time clock because somehow, you manage to get up a few minutes before his alarm goes off, so you always greet him good morning. A few minutes pass and as anticipated, the alarm blares and Zayne’s beautiful eyes look into yours. He smiles softly, reaching behind him to grab his phone and shuts the alarm off. He huffs out a breath before looking back at you.

“Good morning,” you whisper.

“Good morning, love,” he answers sleepily. He presses a kiss to your nose and gets up to start getting ready for work at the hospital.

He didn’t say it. Maybe he needs a minute, you think.

When Zayne starts getting ready, you fall asleep again, but it’s typically only for another thirty minutes. When you wake up again, Caleb is gone too this time.

This is usually how mornings go for you guys. You’re up first, Zayne’s next so that he can get ready, you fall back asleep, and Caleb is eventually up and cooking breakfast. It’s always the smell of the tasty food he cooks that stirs you awake.

After you use the bathroom connected to your bedroom, you go back to your Alaskan King bed and fix the blankets and pillows. It’s warmer as summer approaches, so the AC is on and bathes the room in a comfortable chill temperature. In a tank top and some shorts, you make your way down the hallway to find your men already conversing and laughing quietly, still thinking you’re asleep.

Caleb’s strong back is on display as black sweatpants hang low on his hips while he cooks. Zayne is sitting at the island, presumably having a cup of coffee since you can smell the strong aroma. He’s in his classic white button up dress shirt and black slacks with his doctor’s coat hanging by the door, ready when he is.

You walk up to Zayne first, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looks over at you and you lean down to kiss his lips, something he believes gives him more energy than any cup of coffee.

You walk up to Caleb next and kiss his back, making him turn around and grin widely at you. You look down at the turkey bacon he’s cooking, feeling your belly rumble with hunger.

“Good morning, baby,” Caleb greets, removing himself from the stove to cup your face in his hand. He kisses you tenderly, mixing in just a little tongue as your hand rests on his jaw, feeling the soft strands of his hair tickling your fingers.

“Enjoying the show?” you playfully say to Zayne when you see how he looks between you two.

“I always do.”

“Hungry?” Caleb asks before flipping the bacon and getting more bread to make toast to pair with the omelette he’s already preparing.

“Starving,” you groan.

As the morning progressed and you’re all sitting down at the island, you feel your heart ache as no one brings up the fact that it’s your first anniversary. You could’ve, but you wanted to see if they remembered. It’s been a year since you three decided to be with each other instead of making anyone have to choose. You all loved one another dearly and would do anything to keep a smile on each other’s face.

You remember the day they both came to you and confessed that they’ve been in love with you for so long. It made your heart flutter with both adoration and nerves because you felt the same, but you couldn’t choose. You didn’t want to. But they eased all that worry when they told you that they felt the same way about each other. You knew in that very moment, you three were meant to be together for eternity.

You believe that growing up together and being such a concrete part of such pivotal points in one another’s life made this outcome inevitable. You never thought it would have turned out the way it did, but you couldn’t ask for a more perfect relationship.

Right now though, it’s bothering you more than you thought, that neither of your men seem to remember the date you gained the family you’ve always had with a changed dynamic that has altered your life for the better.

“What time will you be home, Zayne?” Caleb asks as he bites his toast.

“I’m supposed to be leaving the hospital at 9:30 tonight, but I’m hoping I can leave earlier if everything goes as planned.”

Your eyebrows furrow. He’s going to be gone all day?

You don’t participate in the conversation, cutting into your omelette, but you’re not even hungry anymore. Beside you, Zayne’s rubs his hand down your back. You try to fix your face to mask your emotions, throwing on a smile that holds no happiness right now.

“I know you hate when I come home late. I’ll try my best to get home in time for dinner. I promise.”

You swallow the burning sensation in your throat. You can’t believe that you want to cry, but you can’t help it.

Clearing your throat, you answer. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“I have a few meetings to attend and some paperwork to get done, so I should be back by 5:00, baby. We can watch a movie until Zayne gives us an update.”

“Sounds good,” you respond to Caleb, drinking your orange juice to hide your face because the more they talk about what you don’t want to hear, the harder it is to hide your hurt.

Did it not matter to them as much as it does you? Were you being dramatic? Should you say something?

Instead, you force yourself to shake it off. When everyone is finished eating, you prep the dishes to be washed. Zayne walks up behind you, bracing his hands on the counter to block you in. He kisses your neck, pressing into you softly. You hum, accepting that no matter what you’re feeling, he and Caleb will always be your happy place. Even if what they’re unintentionally doing right now is actively breaking your heart.

“I’m heading out. Call me if you need me, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper. He gives the side of your neck one more kiss and tells you he loves you. You then turn to watch him walk to Caleb. You can’t help but smile to yourself when they give each other a quick kiss goodbye before Zayne grabs his bag and keys.

Once he leaves, Caleb goes to get ready himself as you clean the kitchen and only when you hear him in the shower do you let yourself cry. It’s not much, you don’t want to make your eyes puffy and red so he’ll question you and refuse to leave. But you let a few tears fall while you finish putting everything back in order.

Once you collect yourself, Caleb is out the shower and dressed for the day shortly after. He finds you in the bathroom getting ready to do your skincare, pulling you to him before you start. His hands glide down your back and takes hold of your ass firmly. He plants four quick kisses to your lips and rubs his nose against yours.

“Don’t hesitate to reach out for anything. Have a good day, okay? I love you.”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Not again, you scold yourself.

As Caleb holds you tight, you kiss him once more for a little bit longer. “I will. Make sure you take care of yourself today, too.”

“Always do,” he assures. Once he pulls away and you hear the front door lock and shut, you try to keep your tears at bay by distracting yourself with music and your routine so you can get out the door. It’s Friday and you don’t have work, but you planned on running some errands. Based on Caleb and Zayne’s lack of acknowledgment for how special today is, maybe you’ll find a way to stay out of the house longer.

The guys have been blowing up your phone when you wouldn’t answer their phone calls. It started when you were in the supermarket and Zayne called, but you didn’t respond and sent him a quick text that said, “Sorry. Am busy.”

He was understanding, saying okay and to call him when you had a minute. You never did.

Then Caleb called you about an hour later and texted you when you wouldn’t answer saying, “Hey, pretty. Zayne says you’re not answering. Everything okay? Call me.”

You never did.

And the guilt you felt at first slowly turned into more sadness. Neither of them remembered, neither of them were even home for you to spend time with them today and it’s because they didn’t fucking remember.

Your phone knew zero peace all day. They were blowing it up with texts, calls, and concerns. You busied yourself as best you could after you brought the groceries back home, doing things like going out for lunch, to the bookstore, and you even took yourself to see a movie. You were set on avoiding home that much.

It was when it turned 8:17 in the evening that you finally approach your front door. You saw Zayne and Caleb’s cars out front, so you know they were home and that only made your body tense with uncertainty.

Your key couldn’t even touch the lock before the door was flung open. There stood Caleb. An angry Caleb and beside him, a still angry but calmer Zayne.

You were surprised no one came after you at your lack of answering, knowing that you all shared your location with each other. After their continued calls and messages, you ended up shutting your phone off at some point and you haven’t looked at it since before you got out your car to come inside.

“Where the hell have you been?” Caleb snaps.

“Running some errands,” you say simply, trying to push past them to get inside, but they promptly block you.

“Is there a reason why you wouldn’t answer your phone?” Zayne questions, his voice sterner than usual.

“It died.”

The two men looked at you and each other, knowing you were lying through your teeth.

“Can I come in now?”

They don’t say anything simply moving to the side. You step up the small step to walk inside, and your heart stops. Your breath is pulled from your body when you see the scene in front of you.

A large pink banner that says Happy Anniversary with matching balloons and streamers adorn your kitchen with a large feast of your favorite foods laying out across the counter. Presents and gift bags are on a small table in the living room and…are those chains hanging from the ceiling?

The door being shut pulls you out of your thoughts. You feel the warmth of their presence behind you and the automatic regret fills your body.

“I thought—”

“That we forgot?” Caleb interjects. “We’d never forget the day you accepted both of us, accepted this,” he gestures to all of you, referring to your relationship.

“Neither of us actually had to work today,” Zayne speaks. “Once we saw that you left on the camera again after going to the grocery store, we knew it was safe to set everything up. But then you wouldn’t answer your phone when we finished.”

“And we knew you were upset. I saw it the moment you started eating breakfast. It was a risk lying to you, pretending we didn’t remember something so important, but had we know you’d do this, we would’ve never done it this way.”

“Really surprising you was our intention.” Zayne sees the tears gathering in your eyes and he catches the stray that falls with his thumb, wiping it off your soft face. “I knew you ignoring us was your anger, because you never do that. It’s why Caleb didn’t follow you to the store as soon as you ignored his first phone call.”

You huff out a laugh, knowing that had Caleb had it his way, you would’ve been over his shoulder and in the car before you could even ask him what he was doing here.

You drop your bag to the floor and wrap them both in a hug as best as you can. Your eyes can’t stop staring at everything they’ve surprised you with. Even if you knew you had every right to be angry since it seemed like they forgot, the reality is they didn’t, and ignoring them like that, potentially making them worry even if they had? That wasn’t cool.

“Happy Anniversary, baby,” Caleb adds.

“Happy Anniversary,” Zayne whispers before kissing the side of your head.

“Happy Anniversary,” you finally speak again. “Thank you. So much. I’m so sorry.”

“So are we.” Once they pull back, Zayne picks up your bag to put on the rack. It’s silent while you really pay attention to your home and you frown when you see your couch is missing where the chains are dangling.

“Part of your surprise,” Caleb answers without you needing to ask. “But seeing as you ignored us all day and dinner is cold now, I think it’s best to punish you a little bit, princess. Don’t you agree?”

“What?” you say with wide eyes.

“Do you trust us?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then,” Caleb walks over to the chains, pulling a key from out the end table drawer and unclamping what looks to be cuffs on the ends of both. “Take your clothes off.”

You stand in your living room naked, watching how Zayne clicks the cuffs into place around your wrists, making your arms rest comfortably above your head. Your chest rises and falls with excitement and anxiety, unsure of what’s about to happen.

After he checks them to make sure they’re just right, he walks toward Caleb who’s standing in front of you with his hands in the pockets of the same sweatpants he wore this morning. Zayne’s in his own dark grey pair, adorning a white shirt where Caleb’s chest is bare.

“How did you hook chains into the ceiling?” you question. “And where’s the couch? What are you about to do to me?”

Their eyes rake over your body while you press your thighs together when their gaze focuses on your pussy.

“She has a lot of questions, doesn’t she?” Caleb nudges Zayne.

The sight of Zayne removing his wire rimmed glasses and throwing them on the TV console behind him makes your body hot. He’s always careful with his things, yet the action alone is far from that and the look in his eyes is so primal.

You watch as they turn to each other and you gasp when they start devouring each other’s mouth. Their sharp jaws move in tandem as their lips navigate the other’s so seamlessly. Instantly, your pussy pulses.

Caleb yanks Zayne’s shirt over his head, throwing it to the floor and attacking his neck next as their clothed cocks push against each other, straining beneath their restrictions. Zayne moans softly as Caleb’s tongues traces the places he sucks hard. The chains rattle above you as your impatience and desperation grows.

Caleb reaches inside of Zayne’s pants and the silhouette of him stroking him makes you whimper, feeling the discomfort in between your legs from wanting to be touched too.

“Off.” Zayne mutters the single word and that’s the only word Caleb needs to act. He and Zayne are brief in their separation to pull their pants and boxers off. Their strong bodies press against each other again and your jaw hangs open as you watch their cocks glide against one another, watching just the smallest amount of precum from the both of them mix and leak across their lengths.

Their kiss is heated, tongues dancing and cocks stimulating one another while you stand there untouched with raised arms and an aching cunt.

Zayne starts to stroke Caleb now, taking his cock and letting his sensitive tip bump into his own, forcing a guttural groan from them both. They hump standing up and you wish that you were in the middle of it all. The erotic sight of them grinding their cocks together and dirtying themselves with precum is an experience you never get tired of witnessing.

“Please…” you whimper, unable to sit still and quiet for any longer. Caleb smirks against Zayne’s mouth as they make out in your face, making you wish that you could have a taste.

Zayne’s smile is lazy as he looks at you while Caleb nips at his strong and thick neck, all while he slowly continues to move his hips so that the pleasure never ceases. “Whose cock do you want first, love?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. Please just fuck me,” you beg desperately. Even your voice cracks with how badly you need to be filled right now. “I’m sorry for ignoring you. I’m so sorry..”

“Ahh, are you? I wonder how sorry you really are,” Caleb coos. “How soaked is that pussy, hm?” he teases, finally pulling from Zayne. They both breathe deeply and you stare at Caleb as he walks your way. Zayne disappears behind you, making your body jolt when his hands come to your waist.

“I had a whole night dedicated to making you feel good,” Caleb murmurs as he starts to pepper your neck in kisses. “Planned to eat this sweet pussy, to give you complete control. But,” he tsks. “You’ll have to be okay with getting stuffed with cum and used by the both of us for making us wait, won’t you?”

For something to seem like a punishment, it made you feel nothing but pure excitement.

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“You’re so good when you’re hungry for dick, aren’t you?” Caleb roughly puts his hands beneath your thighs, lifting your legs and spreading them open. You wrap your legs around his waist, moaning as his hard cock glides against your pussy lips, smearing his and Zayne’s cum on your soft curls.

Zayne kisses down your shoulder, looking into Caleb’s eyes. He then reaches over and in between you two, taking Caleb’s cock in his hand and helping to guide him inside of you. The chains shake while you brace yourself and you watch with bated breath as the head of his cock starts to disappear and fill your hole. He’s not gentle at all as he spears you with his thickness in one fluid motion.

It’s brings you to tears, making you scream. Caleb holds you up by your ass as he rams into you unforgivingly, feeling how rapidly your flesh ripples as your weeping pussy takes his punishing thrusts.

One of his hands braces on the back of your neck, holding you closer as you take what he’s giving you, unable to touch him how you like to. That alone is almost as punishing as his tip consistently pounding into your cervix. Your breasts bounce in his face, making him press against them and inhaling you deeply.

Zayne makes himself visible, bringing his finger close and collecting the drool that trails down your chin, bringing it to his angry cock. He strokes himself with your saliva, making you clench uncontrollably around Caleb at the visual of his precum hitting the floor.

“I’m gonna fuck my baby into you,” Caleb declares as he breathes deeply in your ear, biting the lobe. Your mewls echo in the room as his hips twitch.

“We both are. You’ll be so full of our cum that we’ll have no choice but to wait and see whose takes first. Oh fuck… you’ll be so pretty,” he bites your shoulder. “Round with our baby. Glowing because we fucked you so good that you had no choice but to grow our family.”

“Let me have your baby,” you say incoherently, too dumb on dick to form any other words. Wet and sticky substances push and pull between your bodies both slick with sweat.

“I’m coming,” Caleb pushes out, unable to hold back anymore as he slams into you so hard that you’re sure his forceful grip on your ass will bruise.

He groans loudly in your ear and he doesn’t give you or him a moment. He clenches his teeth as he pulls out, the sound of his spend hitting the floor as it leaks out of you and drips from his length. He steps to the side to let Zayne get his turn.

Zayne is a little more gentle, but his need is just as great. As your orgasm still rips through you, making your body shudder, he braces his palms beneath your thighs to lift you up and open again and he’s so hard and you’re so slick with cum that he doesn’t need help getting inside your used pussy. With eyes on each other, you ready yourself to take him, too.

Your sensitive cunt sucks him inside, the sound of squelching fluids and smacking skin forcing cries from your ragged throat. Caleb stands beside you both, reaching in between and causing Zayne to bite his bottom lip. You look down to see how he grabs Zayne’s balls, stimulating him and making his cheeks flush red as his hair falls into his eyes.

A mix of your cum and Caleb’s coats Zayne’s long length, and you feel the mess on your thighs.

“You take my cock so well. Even when you’re filled with his cum, when your hole is used, you squeeze me so good, my love,” Zayne says softly against your lips.

You watch how his cock disappears in and out, your arms feeling the burn of being up for so long.

“You want to have our baby?” he asks as he kisses the corner of your mouth. “We’d go together so well. We already have for so long, it’s only right.”

Caleb goes behind you now, sucking your skin and whispering filthy depraved things in your ear.

You’re so drunk off the both of them that you can’t announce the second time you get ready to come. It’s so strong and forceful that it shocks you when you squirt all over Zayne’s dick and lower body. You scream, trying to pull back because of the overstimulation and the chains insistently rattle.

“Holy fuck..” Caleb breathes out as he watches the masterpiece before him, running his fingers across your hard nipples.

Zayne fucks you through it all, absolutely enamored by the visual of your throughly pleasured body responding to the onslaught of continues thrusts. Finally, his own orgasm peaks and he’s slowly pumping his thick cum into you, using you to empty his balls to which you gladly accept.

Zayne stays inside you as you feel pressure on the chains, your body unable to control itself when your arms are released and they fall down tiredly onto Zayne’s shoulders.

“Let’s get her cleaned up. Our girl did so well,” Caleb says as he tucks your hair behind your ear to see your flushed cheeks. Zayne walks down the hallway to the bathroom with you in his arms, kissing your shoulder as tender as he did earlier.

“You did so good. You’re absolutely mesmerizing,” he praises.

After your bath, Caleb helps you get dressed while Zayne works on heating the food up for you all to eat in the kitchen.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he examines your raw pussy. Zayne checked on you before he went to get food ready, saying you were okay and that you just need a break for a few days, but Caleb just likes to make sure.

“Good,” you say hoarsely. “Really good.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he smiles.

You’re limping as you walk from having a sore everything. But each step reminds you of the pleasure and pain you felt, making it all worth it. Being taken like that, taking their cocks with no break is something you’d do whenever they wanted.

For the rest of the night, you share a meal and quality time with the two men you fell in love with so effortlessly. The way they love you, please you, adore you, and take care of you, is a special gift you’d never take for granted and one you hope you’ll own forever.

[verstappen-cult]

I would LOVE a part two of the birthday drabble if ur open to that? maybe how max tries to ask for reader’s forgiveness? maybe asking Charles for help but he’s just like “no u gotta figure it out on ur own this time buddy” bc he’s mad at him too?

PART ONE. Max totally blanks on your birthday plans and it’s not pretty.

Max is pacing around the kitchen when you wake up the next morning. When his gaze snaps up to meet yours, you can see the bags under his eyes. You think about reaching for him when you remember what happened, so, you simply walk past him to make some coffee.

“Good morning, schat.” He whispers, looking down. You’re still very much hurt but seeing him like this breaks your heart. 

Maybe you’re being too mean, giving him the cold shoulder and not even meeting his eyes, but you also think about what your best friend said last night when you called her crying. He needs to sort out his priorities and give you what you deserve. And you also need to stand up for yourself, you’ve let Max get away with similar things in the past and it’s time for that to stop. 

“Good morning,” Charles says as he enters the kitchen. He looks at Max but doesn’t say anything when he sees his eyes filled with tears. You’re hurt but he’s angry. “Want me to drive to your appointment?” 

“Mmh.” You nod, taking your cup of coffee and going back to your room. 

Charles opens the fridge and tries to look busy waiting for Max to get the fuck out of the kitchen. But that doesn’t happen and he is forced to close the door and face his boyfriend. 

“Have you talked to her?” Max asks him, rubbing his hand over his face. 

“Yea’,” Charles simply answers, trying to choose between an apple or banana for breakfast. You or Max are the ones always cooking because Charles just can’t do it, but you’re not in the mood to make breakfast and he’s definitely not gonna ask Max. “I’m not the one who fucked everything up.” 

“I’m sorry, okay? I just—I didn’t forget, but there were—”

“I don’t fucking care, Max. It was her birthday! It was supposed to be special but instead of enjoying the one day—the only day she really asks for our attention, she cried all the way home.”  

Max feels like crying again. He feels awful but doesn’t know what to do to make things better. 

The Dutchman opens his mouth but before he can say anything, Charles holds his palm up, shutting him up. 

“I won’t tell you what to do, you need to figure that out by yourself.” 

Charles storms out of the kitchen, leaving a sad Max behind. 

You don’t say goodbye when you leave but Charles, at least, tells him that they should be home by eight, to not wait for them because they will be having lunch together. He doesn’t ask Max if he wants to join. 

Max doesn’t know what to do. 

You’ve never been this angry before. Charles is a different story, they’ve been racing their whole lives together, so, he has seen parts of Charles you don’t even know. 

Max thinks about calling his mom to ask her for advice, God, even calling his sister, but rejects the idea because he knows what they will say. 

It’s all his fault. Stupid Max, stupid SimRacing—

Max gets up from the couch, he doesn’t know how much has passed since you left, but the sun is already sitting down. 

When Max enters his streaming room he wants to cry again. And he does. 

He cries as he disconnects everything. He cries when he smashes the camera onto the floor. He cries while throwing a chair across the room, crashing against the wall. He cries looking at the mess he made, the mess he is.

Max falls to the floor and cries, and cries, and cries, until he feels two strong arms around him and soft words spoken into his ear. 

“Max, breathe with me, please,” Charles begs, caressing his back and lifting his chin up with his free hand. Max’s gaze focuses on his face as he imitates his boyfriend, inhaling and exhaling slowly. It takes some time, but Max eventually stops shaking. “Oh, Max. What did you do?” Charles sounds so broken and disappointed, Max doesn’t want him to feel like that. He’s done so much already. 

Max starts crying again. 

���Shh, it’s okay,” Charles wipes his tears and kisses his eyelids. 

Max doesn’t deserve this. 

“Hey, love.” Max turns his head around at the sound of your voice. You crouch down next to him, a soft smile dancing on your lips. “Would you drink this, please? For me?” He doesn’t need to be asked twice. You guide the glass to his lips and he drinks the water — with a little bit of sugar you always add when you’re not feeling okay. 

Max wants to talk, he wants to apologize again, he wants to scream at you and Charles for being so attentive with him when he doesn’t deserve it. But he feels so tired, all he can do is lean into your touch when you cradle his face with both your hands, palms comfortable against the stubble on his cheeks. 

“We’re gonna buy new things and me and Charles will help you set everything up, okay?”

Max wants to scream. Instead, he barely has the voice to say, “I don’t want any of this. I fucked up because of this stupid shit.”

“Max,” Charles calls his name, moving around so he’s sitting next to you. “You love it.”

“I love you more.” He simply says, looking between you and Charles. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry…” He lets silent tears fall down his cheeks. 

“I know you’re sorry.” You lean to leave a kiss on his forehead, then, you look directly into his eyes. “I’m still hurt, Max. I won’t lie. We need to have a long conversation, the three of us, but I don’t want you to quit something that you love and enjoy so much. I just,” You notice you’re crying when Max wipes the tears with his thumb. “I want to be a priority in your life.”

“And you are!” He wants to smash his head onto the floor. “God you,” He takes your hand, lips quivering. “and you,” He takes Charles’s hand then. He guides them to his chest, just where his heart is. “are the most important people in my life. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

There’s still so much to say but, for right now, you just want to be as close as possible. You’ll have plenty of time to figure out how to go from here.

[magdlens]

CRY FOR ME ᝰ.ᐟ art donaldson.

 𝔀 𓏲 volleyball player!art ⸝⸝⠀ 𝓯𝓮𝓶. reader genre smut/hurt&comfort ─ 𝔀𝓬 2.8k infidelity, cheating, angst, yearning, unprotected sex, art being a munch, p in v sex, mad dirty talk ✶ lmk if i missed any!

✷ MAGS : i hate cheating tropes but i couldnt hold myself from writing pathetic art begging for forgiveness sns :(

Art Donaldson was never one to shy away from fun. He loved parties, the kind of easy chaos they brought. But this time, that attitude cost him a lot.

It had been one stupid kiss—one thoughtless, drunken moment at a party he barely remembered the details of. A friend of a friend had leaned in, and instead of pulling away, his judgment clouded by alcohol and the charged atmosphere, he’d let it happen. It was nothing, meant nothing, but the moment your tear-filled eyes met him after you found out, he knew he’d shattered something sacred.

Now, Art was a mess. Not the kind of mess people expected from the volleyball team’s most popular player. No, this was the kind of mess that followed sleepless nights and endless regrets. You had decided to forgive him after spending a few nights at a friend’s house, going back to his apartment with the promise that if he ever did that again he would never see you again. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit sad everytime you pictured him kissing another girl.

That’s why a part of you—a sadistic part that you’re not proud of—secretly enjoyed how he seemed to be doing everything he could to make you happy.

The first thing he did was cut ties with the habits that had led him astray. He stopped drinking, not even glancing at a bottle when he was out with friends. Then, he stopped going to the frat parties. No more late nights with old friends, no more excuses about it being “just a party.” He even turned down invitations that he knew wouldn’t involve alcohol or temptation, choosing instead to spend his evenings at home.

Home, where you still barely acknowledged his presence.

It didn’t deter him. Art threw himself into regaining your trust with an almost frantic energy. He woke up earlier than you every morning to prepare your coffee, meticulously remembering the way you liked it. On the counter, next to the cup, he’d leave a sticky note. Each one bore a variation of the same message: I’m sorry. I love you. Sometimes he wrote long apologies, pouring out his guilt in messy handwriting, and other times he kept it simple—just three words: Please forgive me.

He cleaned the apartment from top to bottom without you asking. The laundry was always folded, the dishes were washed and put away, and even the tiniest crumbs on the counter were wiped up. He’d never been one to notice the details before, but now he obsessed over them, desperate to make your life even the smallest bit easier.

When he wasn’t tidying or cooking meals you barely touched, he tried to anticipate your needs. If you were studying until late, he’d leave a warm meal on the table. If you mentioned something offhandedly—needing a new notebook or running low on your favorite snacks—he made sure they were waiting for you the next day.

Despite everything, a part of you couldn’t help but notice his efforts. There was something almost pathetic and adorable in how he clung to the hope of your forgiveness, trying to turn your cold answers into small talk, asking how your day was and if you needed anything.

What really made you falter was one particular evening when you were at home, buried in your notes. The steady rhythm of studying had managed to keep your mind off him for a while, but then your phone buzzed with a notification. You hesitated, torn between ignoring it and indulging in your curiosity.

Your resolve wavered the moment you noticed it was from Art—and it had a photo attached. Against your better judgment, you opened it.

The image stopped you in your tracks. It was Art in his volleyball uniform, sitting on the bench after what was clearly an intense practice. His golden hair was a disheveled mess, damp from sweat. His flushed cheeks glowed faintly under the bright arena lights, and the slight sheen on his face made it clear just how hard he’d been pushing himself. But it was his expression that struck you the most—those impossibly blue eyes, wide and pleading, gazing up at the camera like a scolded puppy seeking comfort.

Art: image_01.png

Art: miss you, babe. 

It made you bite your lip.

You couldn’t focus on anything else, deciding to stay up and wait for him with no plan in mind, not knowing if you’d want to talk about the state of your relationship or break up for good. You just needed to see him.

You found yourself sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the door. It wasn’t a conscious decision to wait for him; you’d just… ended up there, the quiet hope of seeing him again anchoring you in place. When the faint sound of his key in the lock finally broke the silence, your heart leapt. The door creaked open, and there he was—still in his hockey gear, his hair a little damp from the night air. He stepped inside softly, clearly trying not to make noise.

He thought you’d be asleep.

The moment he turned and saw you sitting on the couch, his whole demeanor changed. His eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then they softened, that familiar warmth slipping back into his expression.

“You’re awake?” he asked, his voice gentle, almost hesitant, as he shut the door behind him.

“I wanted to see you,” you admitted, your tone softer than you expected. 

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension that had built between you over the past weeks hung in the air, but it felt different now—fragile but not unbreakable.

Art took a tentative step closer, then another, until he was standing right in front of you. “I’ve missed you,” he said quietly, his voice raw with sincerity.

You looked up at him, the frustration and hurt you’d been holding onto starting to unravel. There was something about the way he stood there, still slightly flushed from practice, his eyes brimming with hope and vulnerability, that made it impossible to keep the wall around your heart intact.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, and the words were all he needed.

He sank down onto the couch beside you, his movements careful, as if afraid to push too far. But when you didn’t pull away, when you let him sit close enough for his knee to brush against yours, his hand reached out, tentative but firm, to take yours.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “For everything. I’ve been trying so hard to make it right, but—”

You cut him off by leaning into him, resting your head against his shoulder. It wasn’t an outright forgiveness, but it was enough for now. His arms came around you, tentative at first, then tighter when he realized you weren’t pulling away. For the first time in weeks, Art felt like he could breathe again. The weight of guilt that had been crushing him lifted just slightly, replaced by the warmth of your presence. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, his silent promise to do better, to never hurt you again.

You turn your body in his direction, the back of his fingers caressed your cheek softly as if he’s trying not to break you. You see his eyes lowering and staring at your lips, he takes a deep breath before opening his mouth.

“Can I kiss you?”

You'd be lying if you said you didn't miss him, especially now looking at him, with the black compression shirt that he usually wears under his uniform so tight to his body you can see his pecs under it. Maybe spending some time apart did something good. You can't take your eyes away from the way he waits for your response with wide blue eyes and parted mouth, his hand now gripping your chin softly.

"Yes, Art, you can kiss me."

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, almost shy—so unlike the confident, teasing man you were used to. His lips brushed against yours gently, testing the waters, but the moment you leaned into him, your hand slipping to rest on his chest, it was as though the dam broke.

His other hand came up to cradle your face, his fingers threading into your hair as he deepened the kiss. The black compression shirt he wore was warm under your palm, his steady heartbeat thrumming against your touch. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back, afraid to push too far too quickly.

But you didn’t want restraint—not now, not with him. You needed to feel he was yours. Only yours.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as his lips moved against yours with more urgency. His hand slid from your chin to your jaw, then down to your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. He kissed you like he was trying to pour every ounce of his regret, his longing, and his love into the moment, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself feel it.

Art pushes you gently so you're lying on the couch, his broad form towering over you as his hands grab your eyes, fingers deepening into your plump skin.

“Missed my pretty girl so fuckin’ bad,” he whispers against your neck. “You missed me, baby?”

You nod, “Yes, Art, so bad.” 

He seems happy with your response, licking his lips before pressing his thigh against your clothed core. It doesn’t feel awkward, not even after everything that led to your temporary separation. Being with Art feels like stepping into something both unfamiliar and deeply familiar all at once—like discovering something new yet instinctively knowing every part of it. 

You watch as he tugs his shirt up, tossing it aside so he can press himself against your body and feel your hands caressing his bare abdomen. Art gently pulls your top over your head, immediately pressing his face against your chest, desperately worshipping your breasts with his hands and mouth, lips wrapping around your nipple as his teeth softly graze against it to make you squirm.

He sucks on your chest with an almost sadistic attention, watching the purple-ish marks bloom in your skin until he's satisfied enough to trail the kisses down to your stomach.

"Want me to eat you out, baby?" he asks, piercing eyes looking up at your face, smirking when you spread your legs further so he can comfortably place himself between them. "Gonna eat this pussy so fuckin' good, baby, you just gotta let me, hum?"

Your toes curl at his furrowed brows and parted lips, like he's about to explode just from the possibility of fucking you.

"Yeah, do it, please,."

You see the way his eyes light up at your response, his fingers quickly find their way to your shorts and underwear, pulling them down together with one fast tug.

You've known Art long enough to know he's never one to shy away from intimacy, but watching him pressing his nose against your pussy and french kissing your clit was now definitely on the list of the hottest things he’s ever done. His warm tongue gave a good lick all over your cunt, coating the soft skin with his saliva so he can pay more attention to your clit. You feel the pad of his fingers spreading your labia, making it easier for him to close his lips around the and suck on it deliciously slowly.

“Please, please, please, oh my God!” Your hands desperately grab his hair, fingers gently tugging the white strands.

Art mewled against your pussy, moaning at how warm and wet you felt against his mouth. He would never get tired of this; just holding you down and burying his face into your cunt, feeling your scent sticking to his skin as he rubs his face against you, curiously discovering every little spot inside you that made you cry out as he inserts one finger inside you.

“Fuck, I could do this forever, pretty girl,” he lifts his head from your pussy, eyes sparkling at how well you take his fingers as he presses another one into you. Your eyes roll when his knuckles brush against your sweet spot, he scissors his digits with an almost scary expertise, as if he knows exactly what you wanted and how you wanted. “That’s it, baby, gonna cum on my fingers? Fuck, you look so good I wanna taste it when you cum.” 

“A-Art, don’t stop!” you plead as he fucks you faster with his fingers, thumb rubbing circles against your swollen clit.

“Not gonna stop, angel, not until you’re crying for me.”

You clench hard around his digits, feeling the heat growing inside your tummy as he thrusts his fingers a few more times until you cum, a broken moan escaping your lips, legs shaking, your cunt fluttering as it coats his fingers with your creamy arousal. Art curses under his breath and you can’t help but whine when he presses his face against your pussy again, cheeks and lips smeared with your juices. You watch him taking his fingers out of you and putting them inside his mouth, he hums in pleasure like he’s about to devour you.

Art always looks ethereal like that.

Sweaty glistening skin, chest breathing heavily and face stained with your own cum. And before you can blink he's all over you again, pushing your legs to your chest and freeing his hard cock from his sweatpants, not caring to take them off completely, not when you're all whiny and spread open in front of him. He holds his heavy shaft in his hand, rubbing the pink tip against your clit and coating it with your juices.

"Want this, sweetheart?" he asks, prodding your wet entrance with his cock which makes you roll your hips pathetically. "This dick is all yours, baby. How about you put it inside your little pussy, hum?"

Your face burns hot but you nod anyways, reaching for his cock and wrapping your palm around it, Art watches with hungry eyes while you line it up with entrance, rubbing it against your pussy for a few seconds before sliding it inside.

"Fuck," you bite your lip, just as entranced by the scene as your boyfriend.

"You always take me so well, baby. The best fucking pussy in the whole world." He teases, thrusting his hips forward and watching his own cock slipping in with ease.

Your eyes roll at the stretch, feeling your walls fluttering around his cock as he pushes your knees to your chest, putting you in his favorite position to fuck you. This way he can watch your pretty eyes watering as he fucks you against the couch, watch the way your pussy swallow his dick and rub your puffy clit with his thumb. It hits so deep inside of you that you swear you see stars every time you blink, all you see is Art's incessant thrusts against you as he supports himself on his arm on the side of your head.

"Fuck, cum on my cock, baby," he breathes, rubbing your clit vigoursly as he pounds with more strength, feeling his own orgasm getting closer with how warm and tight you feel around him, tears brinkling at the corner of his eyes. “Cum for me, baby, please? Be my good girl and cum on my dick, angel. Gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good, fuck.” It's borderline madness, Art’s hips faltering as he curses, hard and paused thrusts watching you fall apart in front of his eyes and he can only think about how much he missed you. “Cum for me, baby, c’mon, pretty girl.”

Your body obeys him, following a hoarse groan that falls from his lips, nails sinking in his broad shoulders. He thrusts a few more times before cumming as well, locking his hips against yours as to keep his seed deep inside you, the warm liquid filling your insides. You can only try to catch your breath as Art holds you tightly against him, burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

“I love you so fuckin’ much,” he mutters with a shaky voice and you feel his tears dripping on your skin. 

Your arms wrap around him, kissing the top of his head.

For the first time in what felt like forever, things felt right again. And as Art pulled you closer, his nose brushing against your temple, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

OH, BABY, BABY

CHAPTER THREE

note: I'm sorry this took so long to publish pls forgive me, but thank you for your patience. Please reblog and like🎀

warnings: emotional distress, toxic relationship, pregnancy, mentions of birth, toxic family dynamics

It’s the next morning, and even though the air still feels a little heavy, Margaret’s energy is doing a lot to lift the mood. She’s moving around the kitchen like she always does, humming softly, acting like everything’s okay. And somehow, just that—her being her—makes things feel a little less tense.

She’s always the one smoothing things over when Rafe and I butt heads. It’s like she can’t help but try to keep the peace, even when it’s not her mess to clean up. I feel guilty watching her do it, like she’s carrying the weight of keeping us all okay when she shouldn’t have to.

I wake up earlier than usual, but Rafe’s already in the kitchen, sitting there with a cup of coffee like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he’s always belonged there. Like nothing ever happened. 

There’s something about the way he’s so at ease that gets under my skin—not angry, just... unsettled. He’s acting like this is just another morning, like we’re just a family, like we didn’t fall apart a hundred times before this.

Rafe looks up from his coffee as I walk in, his eyes tracking me like he’s trying to read something in my face. I know I look like hell—barely slept, head still full of things I wish I’d said.

He nods, that slight smirk playing on his lips, like none of it matters. Like last night didn’t happen.

“Morning,” he says, like it’s just any other day.

The casual tone makes something tighten in my chest. He’s too comfortable, too at ease—like he can just pick up where we left off without acknowledging the wreckage between us. And somehow, that bothers me more than if he’d just come out swinging.

“Are you leaving today, right?” I ask, trying to sound casual, but it comes out softer than I meant—like the answer might matter more than I want to admit.

Rafe pauses, takes a slow sip of his coffee. His face doesn’t give much away.

“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “Figured I’d head out later today.”

Rafe stands, setting his mug down with a quiet clink. He walks over slowly, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to do what he’s about to do. Then, without saying anything, he rests his hand gently on my bump.

He doesn’t speak right away—just stays there, still and quiet, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling. Like he knows this moment might not come again, and he’s trying to hold onto it with everything he has.

“When’s your next doctor’s appointment?” he asks finally, his voice low.

I feel the weight of his hand on my bump, and for a moment, I’m frozen—caught between wanting to pull away and needing to hold on to whatever this is. His touch is so gentle, like he's afraid of breaking something.

I glance up at him, and for a split second, his eyes meet mine—there’s something there, something I can’t quite name. It’s not anger, not regret, just… a quiet kind of knowing.

“Next week,” I answer, my voice barely above a whisper. I don’t want to say more, don’t want to explain, because I know if I do, this moment might break, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

He nods, his hand lingering for just a second longer before he pulls it away. The air feels heavier, like something unspoken is hanging between us, but neither of us knows how to reach for it.

“Good,” he says quietly, but there’s no relief in his voice—just that same weight that’s been between us for too long.

The door creaks open, and Margaret steps in, her face lighting up when she sees us. Her smile is bright, almost like she’s trying to will the tension out of the room. “Good morning!” she says cheerfully, her voice filled with that contagious energy of hers.

But then, as she notices the quiet between Rafe and me, something shifts. Her eyes flicker to him, and for a second, there’s that small, unmistakable sadness in her gaze—like she’s just realized what we’ve all been trying to avoid.

She hesitates for a moment, then looks back at me, offering a forced but warm smile. “Dad, you’re leaving today, aren’t you?”

Rafe doesn’t say anything, just gives her a small nod, and that’s enough to make the smile slip from her face, just a little. She doesn’t say anything more, but I can see it—the way her shoulders sag slightly, the way she holds herself back from asking the questions she’s probably too afraid to voice.

—

The rest of the morning drags on, each minute stretching out longer than the last. Margaret seems determined to fill the time, to hold onto every second she has left with Rafe. They play cards at the kitchen table, and I can hear her giggling as she teaches him a dance she learned from TikTok. Rafe actually laughs—loud and genuine, like the world outside this moment doesn’t exist.

I stay in the kitchen, pretending to be busy, but really, I’m just watching them. Watching how easily they slip into this rhythm, like nothing’s changed, like Rafe hasn’t been gone for so long, like everything’s still okay.

But then a thought creeps into my mind, uninvited and heavy: Will he show up for this one? Will he hold the baby?

It’s a question I don’t want to ask, but it’s there, sitting in the back of my mind, because I can’t shake the feeling that he might walk away again—just when things start to matter the most.

Margaret insisted on getting ice cream at the beach, her face lighting up with excitement like nothing was different. She’s ahead of us now, lost in her own world as she walks down the boardwalk.

Rafe and I trail behind, side by side but not really together. He keeps his hands in his pockets, glancing at me every so often, but neither of us says a word. The silence stretches between us, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s going to walk away again once this is all over.

“She’s growing up so fast, isn’t she?” Rafe says, his voice quieter than usual.

“Yeah, she is,” I reply, my words simple, but they carry more weight than they should.

Rafe nods, his gaze following Margaret as she walks ahead, her energy still bright, her innocence still untouched. There’s a softness in his expression as he watches her, something almost wistful, like he’s realizing how much time has passed while he’s been away.

For a moment, it feels like the world slows down, and the distance between us feels a little smaller—until the silence falls again, heavier than before.

I shift the conversation, needing to know—needing something real before he leaves.

“Um... I was wondering if you’d be able to stay for a while. When the baby’s born.”

Rafe doesn’t answer right away. He looks ahead, jaw tight, like he’s turning the question over carefully in his mind. I can see the weight of it in his silence—the idea of staying, of showing up this time.

His face stays unreadable, but when he finally speaks, there’s a hesitation in his voice that says more than the words do.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if I can commit to that right now.”

“Rafe, please,” I say, the words catching in my throat. “At least be there. You’ve missed every doctor’s appointment so far... the least you could do is be there when the baby comes.”

My voice shakes, not out of anger—but something closer to exhaustion. To hope, maybe. I’m not asking for everything. Just that.

Rafe’s jaw tightens, and when he speaks, there’s an edge to his voice.

“Don’t start with that. I don’t have time to make every single doctor’s appointment. I have a life too, you know.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

He cuts me off, sharper this time.

“But what? You think I don’t care about this baby? That I don’t want to be there for you?”

“I didn’t say that, Rafe,” I reply quietly, but the hurt is already there—pressed between the lines of everything we didn’t say.

Rafe’s frustration boils over, his voice rising as he snaps back, more defensive now.

“But that’s what you’re implying, isn’t it? That I don’t care—just because I can’t be at every damn appointment?”

I flinch at the intensity in his voice. Whatever fragile calm we had is gone now, replaced by the same wall he always throws up when things get too real.

He looks away, jaw clenched, then calls out, louder than he needs to, “Margaret! We’re heading back!”

His tone makes it clear—this conversation is over. Whether I got the answer I needed or not doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

The silence in the car is thick, stretching between us like miles. Margaret’s soft snores drift from the back seat, the only sound breaking the tension.

I stare out the window, the landscape blurring past, but all I can feel is the weight pressing down on me—loneliness wrapping itself around my shoulders like a heavy blanket.

I want to say something, anything, but the thought of opening up to Rafe feels pointless. He’d probably just call me dramatic, brush it off like he always does. So I stay quiet, holding it all in, because it feels safer than being dismissed.

—

We finally make it back to the house. Margaret heads upstairs to her room without a word, worn out from the day.

Rafe and I step into the bedroom, the air thick with tension. He goes straight to his bag, focused, methodical—folding, zipping, organizing like it’s the only thing he has control over.

I move around him, pretending to tidy up, but really just trying to fill the silence. We don’t speak. There’s too much to say and no safe way to say it, so we let the silence speak for us—loud and aching.

I stand near the dresser, pretending to rearrange things that don’t need rearranging. My voice comes out softer than I expect.

“You’ll call her, right? Not just for birthdays?”

Rafe pauses, his hands stilling over the half-zipped bag. He doesn’t look at me right away, just stares down like he’s weighing what to say.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “Of course I will.”

But something in the way he says it—too quick, too automatic—makes my chest tighten. I nod anyway, pretending to believe him, because it’s easier than pushing for more.

I nod, but it doesn’t feel like a promise—just words he thinks I want to hear.

Trying to soften the silence, I shift the weight in the room.

“I was thinking maybe… next time you visit, we could all go to Orlando or something. Take Margaret to Disney. You know, like a family trip.”

I try to keep my tone light, casual, but there’s hope tucked beneath it—thin and fragile. I don’t look at him right away. I don’t want to see his face if he’s already thinking of all the reasons it won’t happen.

Rafe lets out a short breath, his tone already edged with irritation.

“You want me to spend money on a whole trip to Disney? Do you even know how expensive that is?”

I look down, jaw tightening, the sting immediate. I wasn’t asking for luxury—just a moment. A memory. Something that might hold us together a little longer.

“I just thought it might be nice,” I say quietly, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice. “For Margaret.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and in the silence, it’s clear—I asked for too much again.

Rafe sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, his voice still edged with irritation.

“Just don’t suggest things you know we can’t afford.”

I nod slowly, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. Of course. I should’ve known better than to hope out loud.

“It wasn’t about the money,” I murmur, mostly to myself. “It was about doing something... together.”

But he’s already turned back to his bag, and I’m left standing there, feeling foolish for wanting more than he’s willing to give.

—

The moment is here, and it feels like time has slowed down. Margaret and I stand at the front door, silent, watching as Rafe hovers awkwardly in the doorway. His bags are packed, the car’s engine idling outside.

There’s something heavy in the air, something unspoken, and it hangs between us like a wall neither of us knows how to break.

Rafe shifts his weight, glancing between Margaret and me, but neither of us knows what to say. We all feel the same thing—this is it. This is the last time we’ll see him for who knows how long. And somehow, even though it’s been this way before, it feels different now.

Margaret’s the first to speak, her voice small, almost fragile. “Take care, Dad.”

Rfe looks down at Margaret, his expression both soft and pained. He responds to her goodbye with a gentle smile.

“I’ll see you later, alright little one?”

I can’t bring myself to say anything. The words feel stuck, tangled up in all the things I never got to ask. Instead, I just stand there, watching as he pulls away and walks out the door.

Rafe steps out, the door clicking shut behind him, and the silence that follows feels even heavier. I turn to Margaret, my heart aching as I take in the sadness etched across her face. It’s there in the way her shoulders slump, the quiet tremble of her lip, and the way her eyes shine with unshed tears—her brave face faltering under the weight of everything she doesn’t know how to say.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I ask softly, my voice breaking through the quiet.

She blinks, as if trying to push the tears back, but they fall anyway, one by one, and I know she’s holding onto the kind of hurt only a child feels when someone they love walks away.

“I... I don’t want him to go, Mom,” she whispers, her voice small and fragile.

“Well, he has to go, but he’ll be back before you know it,” I say, trying to sound more reassuring than I feel.

Margaret’s response is quick, her voice sharp with both annoyance and sadness.

“What, in another four months?”

I feel a pang in my chest at the bitterness in her tone.

“He has to work, sweetheart. Who else is gonna keep the lights on?” I answer, my words sounding more defensive than I intend.

She nods slowly, understanding the practicalities of his work, but her expression says everything—the disappointment is too heavy for her to just brush aside. She turns away slightly, trying to hide the way her shoulders slump.

“I know,” she mutters, but I can see the sadness still lingering in her eyes.

Margaret doesn’t say anything else. She just nods, her shoulders stiff as she turns away. Without another word, she heads for the stairs, her steps quiet but heavy, like she’s carrying something too big for her small frame.

I watch her go, the sound of her footsteps fading as she disappears upstairs. A lump forms in my throat, but I don’t chase after her. Not now. I know she needs space to process this, to make sense of what we both already feel.

The house feels emptier, quieter, and I’m left standing there, with the weight of everything left unsaid.

[moody-alcoholic]

On a Wing and a Prayer

Part 9 - Déjà vu

CW: dead dove don't eat, torture, death, suicidal thoughts.

The playlist I have been writing to for this series is here!

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This is real, but it doesn’t feel real. Your breathing picks up, your heart is thumping in your chest. You try to remember the techniques your therapist taught you for avoiding a panic attack. 

This is real though, you’re not fighting against your subconscious and memories, this isn’t like the flashbacks you get in the shower.

This is real.

You’re still in the dark, maybe that's on purpose, maybe it's already started, the psychological torture. Keeping you in the closest thing to a sensory deprivation room. You don’t bother trying to keep track of time. They don’t bring you food or water, you can’t hear anything on the other side of the walls, it’s just you and your thoughts. 

Someone comes to collect you, slapping cuffs back on and walking you down a windowless corridor into a brightly lit room with a table bolted to the floor and chairs on either side. He shoves you down into a chair, there’s a large one way window in the room, on this side you can only see your reflection. 

You expect the soldier to tie your hands to the table or the chairs. He doesn’t though, he takes the cuffs and leaves. You’re alone now, you hear the door lock, not like you were going to run anyway. You’re not waiting too long before the door opens again.

Philip Graves walks in, you’ve only run into him a few times, he doesn’t look any different from what you remember. You straighten up in your chair, he walks over to the other side of the table. He has a folder tucked under his arm and two cups, one in each hand. 

“I didn’t know how you took it. Milk and sugar?” He asks as he puts one of the cups in front of you. You ignore him looking behind him at the one way glass. You wonder if they’re watching; John or Johnny, maybe even kyle. 

Graves puts the folder down on the table and sits down. 

There’s nothing they can do. It was days before Laswell managed to exonerate you before, you have a feeling this time it’s going to be different. 

“It surprised me when I heard 141 were getting a medic.” He leans back in his chair sipping his coffee. “How many times have you had to pull them out of the field for some dumb shit?” 

You stay silent. 

“Well, I always knew they would ruin every nice thing they get.” He chuckles, it makes you feel sick.

God you hate him. Good, at least when he hurts you it won't be as painful. You don’t have to worry about moving on without him, forgiving him. You can spend the rest of your life hating him for what he’s going to do. 

“Your personal devices are being checked. Want to let us know in advance if we will find anything?” He says, raising an eyebrow. Your stomach twists, they’ll find nudes pictures you sent to tease them before everything fell apart. You haven’t been able to bring yourself to look at them let alone get rid of them.

You stare him down until just sighs and takes another drink of his coffee. 

“I respect you, you’ve been here before and you’re still so.. put together.” He leans forward studying your face. “How do you do it? I would love to give some tips to my men.” 

It feels like a pathetic attempt to get you to lower your defences; make you think you’re the one with the power. You’re not going to say anything, not until he forces you, and even then you’re not going to make it easy for him. You’ve had your time to panic, you’ve had your time to cry, now it’s your time to fight.

You tune out Graves as he batters you with questions you ignore, you don’t want to build rapport with him. Instead you end up looking past him at the one way window in the room. You never got a chance to tell John you forgave him, maybe he’s watching, maybe he’s not, you don’t know what's worse. 

You don't know if Simon is okay, if he’s out of surgery or if he’s stable. That makes you sad, you hope he survives, a few months ago you wouldn’t have had the strength to push gauze in his wounds if he was bleeding out. Now you can’t stand the thought of him not being around. 

Your therapist was right, even though you didn’t believe it during your sessions, you feel stronger, brave. You worked the trauma into something positive, you forgave the people you love, the people you hurt you. You close your eyes letting out a breath, you remember the first day you were in the house you all bought. 

The kitchen was being renovated, the place was empty, all there was was a single mattress on the living room floor. That's all you needed apparently, that and takeaway, it was a good night. Even though the acoustics of the empty house were less than ideal, you had some really good sex, then you fell asleep in someone's arms. 

A knock on the door snaps you out of your thoughts, you look up at Graves who’s demeanor has changed. Maybe he’s bored of you ignoring him. He gets up and goes over to open it. He blocks the door, you try to look but you can’t see. You can’t make out what he’s saying either. 

When the door closes the mood in the room is different. Graves comes over and puts your phone on the table in between you both. He doesn’t sit down. 

“What do you think we found?”

You look up at him blinking. You won’t break this easily.

“It will be easier if you talk.” 

You hold your ground. There is nothing incriminating on your phone, on any of your devices. He crosses his arms. 

“I didn’t expect you of all people to be the one attempting to take out 141 twice.” He scoffs. “I can’t fault your dedication. But here’s the thing, you stepped on the toes of someone you probably didn’t mean to. Now we need to find out what you know.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him. He lets out a huff pressing his lips together. 

“Andrei Nolan, ring a bell?” You try so hard not to react, you can feel your jaw clenching though. Graves reaches over and picks up the folder. He flicks through it until he finds what he’s looking for, he throws one of the CCTV snapshots on the table. You don’t even need to lean forward to look, you know it's the same ones John showed you months ago. 

It’s happening again, John and Simon didn’t believe you when you were screaming and begging at them. You have a feeling Graves gives less of a fuck. 

“This really doesn’t have to be hard.” He puts the folder down bracing on the table, his arms spread apart. He studies you for a reaction you unclench your jaw keeping eye contact with him. He stands up striding round the table to stand next to you. You don’t move, keeping your eyes looking at yourself in the mirrored window.

“Your life is about to get extremely uncomfortable extremely quickly if you don’t cooperate.” His breath is hot on your ear, his voice low as he grits his teeth. “You think 141 were bad, you haven't seen anything yet. You should really think hard about how you want to continue these little talks.”  

His fingers are gripping your arms as he pulls you to your feet. He knees your thighs forcing you to bend over the table as he pulls your wrists into cuffs. Your heart rate picks up again, he's dragging you back to your cell. He throws you in without taking the cuffs off. You stubble against the metal bed, the door is slammed closed. Your arms are stuck behind your back as you steady yourself the best you can. 

You let out a grunt sitting down on the floor as the lights go off again. 

You’re not going to let them break you.

…

This time it’s harder. That surprises you. 

You don’t get to sleep, you can’t keep track of time, they don’t bring you food or water. Everytime you’re about to nod off or get comfy you're dragged out of your cell into the same blindingly bright room. The torture hasn’t started quite yet, Graves just shouts at you, his voice going horse after a few hours. 

You don’t say a word. 

Your body is exhausted, you have no idea how long it has been. One day at least, Graves took a shower. You could see his ruffled hair groomed, he smelt of the shitty base soap. 

“141 may have believed your bullshit but I don’t buy it for a second!” He shouts, slamming his hand down on the metal table. It’s been another long session, your head is swimming, your body is feeling weak, you could use some food, or a sleep. At least 141 kept you fed and let you get some sleep.

Graves comes over to you yanking your hair forcing your head to look straight. His grip is tight causing you to grit your teeth and dig your nails into your palm. It’s the first time he’s been physical with you. 

“Lieutenant Riley is dead.” It’s like a punch to the gut. Your eyes widen, your breathing stops. 

You feel like you’re going to be sick, your head swims. No. he can’t be dead. 

“You did that. You killed him.” He points in the mirror. Your vision blurs as tears well up in your eyes. He grips your hair tighter as he throws your head forward. Your neck pops, you look down at your knees, tears falling on your pants. 

He can’t be dead. 

You don’t move, you don’t listen to Graves, just let the silent tears come, being the only outlet for the pain in your heart. You never got to tell him you forgave him, you never saw him smile one last time. You never got to tell him you love him. Now he’s gone and that's all your fault.  

Arms grab you pulling you out the chair, you don’t fight them, you don’t have the strength, you don’t care. You expect to be taken back to your cell. Instead you’re taken to another room, a new room. There’s a table and a chair, you sniff looking around as Graves takes you over to the table. 

Another person walks into the room. You see a tray with some tools on it, a bucket with clothes soaking inside. You know where this is going and you don't care. Let them drown you, let them hurt you, you deserve all of this. 

You should have been there, you should have saved him. 

The other man is bigger than Graves, he manhandles you, your body is almost betraying you fighting against their grip. Something deep inside you knows what's about to happen and wants to fight. You end up slipping from Graves grip and falling to your knees. It’s not long before there is another person in the room. More hands on you.

Panic rises in you adrenaline pumping through your veins, your sadness has turned to anger, your fight or flight has kicked in and you’re choosing to fight. You scratch and kick, screaming at the top of your lungs until your throat is sore. It doesn’t matter though there are too many people, you don’t have the energy to fight them, even with the boost of adrenaline.

You’re picked up, your body slammed hard on the metal table, it’s cold, your ankles and wrists are cuffed. You can’t move or fight anymore. You look up watching everyone but graves leave the room. He grips your head pulling it down, it slams hard against the table making your ears ring. 

“I really didn’t want it to turn out like this.” He says, he sounds sympathetic. It’s bullshit. Your breathing is rapid; it feels like you can't breathe, your fingers tingle as Graves leaves your side. You hear the running of a tap, the sloshing of water.  

“How long did you last last time? A day? Two?” The door opens and another person comes in. You don’t bother looking, just stare at the fluorescent light on the ceiling. It stings your already raw eyes. “I bet we can do better.” 

You feel like you can hear a chuckle in his voice. The wet rag comes over your nose and mouth, you flick your eyes back to Graves standing above you. There’s a smile on his face, he’s enjoying this. 

You squeeze your eyes closed wishing you were anywhere else as cold water is poured over your face. 

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[dilf-docs]

Misery Reigns My Lonely Neon Nights

old man!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: logan should've said no. should've just drove the pretty waitress home. that's his job. hers is to serve his cup of coffee to the brim. so why is he riding you to his house?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (cause we have a small daddy kink going on here.. hence the blog name BUT I DO HAVE A GOOD DAD), smut, this reeks of corruption kink for no reason other than me being a virgin whore, like he gets stalker-ish for a second but its logan howlett so we forgive him<3 ya está viejito, brief mention of suicide, sub logan edging on praising kink (if u squint), no protection but u gotta put the hat on the cowboy to ride the horse alr, riding, breeding kink??? angst (the depressing vibes are there cause they follow my writing like a shadow ijbol)

word count: 6,102 words (at the v crack of dawn.. i think i've gone insane FR it's 02:07 am and my brain its eating itself like im gonna start seeing logan in the corner of my room)

side note: newbie here after reading so many fanfics on tumblr but never publishing my own!! its hugh's birthday (well, its past midnight so no more but still!!! it was a couple hours ago) so i figured i should give it a try today cause that man does things to me ESPECIALLY as old man logan i can't lie and say the thought of him fucking me good and slow hasn't crossed my mind too many times 😩 we love sad hot old people in here so naturally my inaguration fic had to be done by him. also, i'm tired of scrapping for votes, comments, and interactions on wattpad so please treat me well during our first:// it's me moving to tumblr it's me hi i'm the problem it's me. i'm a feedback whore so pls leave tons of those!! also, english isn't my first language so if i make a grammar mistake pls do not tell me bc i have no respect for this language ―it just makes me cringe less to write smut on a language that isn't mine lol<3 but if there's any other mistake yes pls do tell me thank u OKAY BYE i needa quit yapping ENJOY dilf town<3

So it started something like this.

It was another simple nightshift for Logan. The weather humid, uncomfortably sticking the fabric of his white button shirt onto his skin. Even with the windows down. Those nights that the driving dragged on for long, like those cigarettes that now made him cough more than relax. The roads felt too long; his eyes too heavy.

Nothing new. Just about what to expect: money short, clients and traffic equally annoying. But that was the problem; nothing was new anymore.

He'd just finish dropping a customer close by, and since the tiring feeling didn't seem to leave his body just yet, a coffee wouldn't hurt. As a matter of fact, the need for a boost to make it home makes him get out of the car and limp his way into the first place his tired vision sees.

The rim of his recently adquired reading glasses slips as he climbs the stairs into the decades old diner, the decoration outdated. He understands; he feels the same way.

Neon lights flash his face when he enters the place and sits in the farthest booth he can find. The air is impregnated in grease and cheap coffee, but he waits at least fifty minutes to order, giving his body some time to rest. In the meanwhile, he tries to distract himself with the newspaper resting on the table, but God knows his eyes are too tired and his mind drifts every two words.

He hopes he doesn't get kicked out, judging from the attentive look he's receiving by a waitress resting on the bar. She looks as bored and tired as he does.

Maybe that's why he chooses her, raising his hand with order in mind. A black coffee. The waitress slides from her position and takes some steps to where he sits.

Her voice is sweet when she introduces herself, and Logan finds himself asking her again what her name is, pretending he's half deaf just to listen to it again.

"It's y/n" you repeat, oh so sickeningly sweet, he might have to skip on asking for sugar.

"Y/n" he savours the name on his lips, trying the tender sound, his eyes darting to the name tag, like he's confirming it. Testing to see if the young woman in front of him is real. Maybe his eyes linger a little too long, and the tip of your ears start to heat. Its the way he examines every feature on your face, like memorizing it in a sense, that makes you squirm. But maybe, just maybe, it's the small―brief, peak he gives to your exposed cleavage, pushing itself against the tight fabric of your uniform what truly gets your heart beating fast.

He looks like what your parents would warn you to stay away and your friends would talk behind your back. Rugged in a way that screams heartbreak, rough around edges your kind nature wishes to soften. It's unresonable to feel this way about a client you just met, but his aloof demeanor peaks your interest, so different from your usual costumers and familiar faces that pop up at the diner.

"Can I order you, darling?" his voice comes out deep, almost passing as a grunt. Just what you imagined it to sound. Why he's acting as his past self so effortlessly, after closing himself off to the point of going by entire days without talking more than three words, is concerning. Why the cute waitress who looks at him with doe eyes, expectant to take his order, is making him break the promise he made to himself not to get attached again―just live by enough to make it to the sea and put a bullet in his head.

"Well, that's just about my job" you joke, feeling confident for no reason. "But you can't order me".

"A damn shame" he chuckles, the sound deep, rumbling on his chest. It's been so long since he's laughed like that: carefree, without that pressing weight on his chest, that despite the sinking notion, sometimes feels more like a hole carved where his heart is supposed to be.

"So..." you trail off, unsure where to proceed after that sound that jolted your entire system awake, "what will you take?"

The banter dies, and Logan is dissapointed when she scribbles the dark coffee on her pretty round letter and walks away. He doesn't miss the sway of her hips, and almost calls her back just to hear her voice again. But he stops himself, because it's getting pathetic.

When she returns with her order, he almost regrets the comeback of his enhaced senses, her honeyed perfume mixed with the bitter smell of the freshly brewed coffee, creating an intoxicating mix.

His lips burn when he sips it, but that doesn't stop him from emptying the cup. Again. And again. All in the name for asking for more coffee, a magnetic force pulling him to the ground, making him forget he's a 200 and something year old man begging like a starved man for at least a fraction of her attention. He feels unworthy of your warmth.

He feigns interest on the newspaper when you return again (he's been stuck on the same paragraph ever since he sat down), the pot in your hands. If you've noticed he's emptied the cups faster than a normal person, you don't ask questions. He's thankful, but can see the amusement and confusion laced across your pretty face.

"More?" you ask, but it's unnecesary. He only nods, and you miss the chatter.

The closeness it's a challenge itself, the uniform's neckline practically shoved down his nose while she fills the cup to the brim. He hears his own heartbeat, the sound averting his attention from another "brief" glance at the cleavage. Is it intentional? Is your goodwill and act? Are you this cruel, playing with an old touch starved man like that?

God knows it's been long since he's had a helping hand during his relief hours.

He can't help it; he's a man, after all. So he seizes the moment and steals a glance. But his eyes meet yours, the wary green clashing with the cozy chocolate. There's warmth on your eyes, and he's looking at your tits like an animal. He pulls away, ashamed. The shirt feels a bit suffocating, and there's sweat on his forehead again. Great, you'll think he's a perv.

"Excuse me" you say, leaving his table. Logan is afraid of having fucked it up for thinking with this dick and not with his head. You were messing too much with his head, and now he'll pay the price. Fair, he thinks, for a perverted old man trying to woo a girl younger and far more innocent than him.

There's benevolance on her smile and blood on his hands.

The whole situation is stupid.

But then he's thinking of excuses (like saying it's his failing eyesight's fault) and something close to an apology, as if he cares a little too much about what you think. And then you come back.

"I forgot to bring you a napkin" she lies, leaving the piece of paper in the middle of the table. You laugh, and Logan let's you because 1. He deserves it, and 2. It's a sound as saccharine as the smell the freshly heated pies emit on the table across him.

You leave before he can even open his mouth, so all he's left with is the napkin that seems to have something written on it. Pervert, he reads, on the same calligraphy you scribbled on your bloc. He can't help but laugh, even with your watchful look on him.

That's how it continued.

Even if he had other rides and more energy to drive, he kept coming to the decaying diner just to see you. Almost as if he was forgetting his desperate need for the money, the boat goal further and further.

"You've forgotten about me" complained Charles, although his tone lacked of bite. "But I'm not mad that you've had".

He'd go on, rambling about living life but Logan just laughed. Yet, maybe he was right. Didn't even need his powers to know it.

Now, you? you simply couldn't get enough of your favorite costumer. Of his late stays until you closed, sometimes not muttering more than necessary, yet his company, even if curt, proved to be what you needed to make it through work, giving you a legitimate reason to yearn the before tedious night shifts.

Despite this two month weird relationship, Logan is as a stranger to you as he was the first day, no matter how many times you've tried to get him to talk. In the end, all your conversation efforts feel more of a monologue than a chat.

He knows about your mom and your dad, one strict the other dead. He knows most of your friends names, what you're studying and what you wanted to. Your dreams and your hopes, your aspirations, failures, and some other things you'd never say to anyone else out loud. All and nothing. And he listens, sometimes asking questions, but never about himself. He never takes the lead.

So frustration from the Logan enigma pours into you, the puzzle pieces layed out over your mind, consuming your thoughts. So now you're stubbornly cleaning the same grease spot on a table you've already wipped before, and that, coincidentally, it's the booth in front of Logan, the permanent resident of your head during these past weeks. You might as well make him start paying rent by now, his power and hold over you ridiculous.

"It's not going anywhere. Take it easy" he mocks you.

There's a bit of annoyance when you reply back, although it's mostly superficial. "Don't know what you're talking about" comes out your dry response, earning a low chuckle from him.

"How about you sit for a moment?" he offers, ignoring your apathy. "You're almost done cleaning up".

If his ever changing attitude isn't enough, closing this night's shift is as tiring.

Logan doesn't expect you to obey, but now you're sitting across from him, and a voice in his head says you maybe feel sorry for this lunatic old man.

You're so close, he can see the eye bags and sorrow you are far tired to try to hide.

"I have to finish cleaning" you explain, "we're about to close".

He doesn't know why he says it, or what takes over him when he says:

"I could wait for you"

He surprises himself and surprises you too.

"No need" you assure, and why does he feel so dissapointed. It's stupid. "My friend picks me up".

Ah, yes. The friend with the perfect stupid smile that picks you up every night. Not like he parks his car until you leave and sees the scene unfold each time, his white knuckle grip on the wheel a bit too much when the young boy opens up your door. Makes him see red, knowing he's your age and maybe the breathe of fresh air you need. Not a man far older, who bears too many sins and scars in and out.

"I see" he says after some minutes in silence, retracting his impulsiveness. "I'm sorry if I made you-"

"No!" you clarify hastily, "it doesn't bother me".

He smiles unconsciously in relief.

"Well, me neither. I insist. If you change your mind" he's practically begging, despite his monotone tone.

But you don't.

The place closes and Logan is forced to get in the car. He lights a cigarette, in no hurry to return home. The lighter lights up while the diner's light goes off. You and your boss come out, biding each other goodbye. She leaves and you're is left alone, hugging your body in the early morning cold. 

He sees you wearing particular clothes, for the first time. He takes a slow drag on his cigarette, eyes running up and down your bare legs, the fragile fabric of the skirt fluttering in the wind. He exhales, watching as you dials your phone several times, getting no response, obviously frustrated.

He mutters something under his breath, and maybe there is a God after all. He starts the car, approaching her, who has already noticed it, probably because of the noise of the engine.

She looks scared, but Logan rolls down the window so she can see it's him.

"Need'a ride?"

Just by his reverberant sound you could accept. But you try to play cool for a while, despite your aching bones and need to get home.

"He doesn't answer" he was right, "my friend".

I know, he wishes to say, but he's the same hot headed asshole who walked through the doors of the X mansion for the first time, so his tone will be laced with irony. He doesn't want you to see him as an intense hot blooded mouth.

I could take you. His head pounds but he shuts the emotions down.

He shoves the knot on his throat down and asks as casually as possible, "do you live close?"

"Just around the corner" you answer. A beat, your frame bending so he can see your face from the driver's sit, the cleavage saying hello again. How considerate of you. "Do you really want to do this?"

Do you really want to do this?

The question rings on his ears. It holds more than just the favor. Logan knows they have a certain tension between them that he no longer wants to ignore. For the first time it seems to be reciprocated; palpable, and he is surprised to hear his heart beating loudly, so accustomed to hearing others' with his sharp senses, constantly forgetting what his own sounds like. Yours also beats erratically, despite your calm composure.

You arch an eyebrow, amused. "I can't believe you waited for me. Your family must be worried."

Logan realizes you're trying to test waters. So he raises his hand discreetly and places it on the door, so you can see the lack of a ring. As expected, your eyes travel to his free finger, and he can swear he sees you breathe with relief, which is funny, because in case you hadn't picked up until now, Logan is very much fucking alone.

"In case you changed your mind," he answers. "I have nowhere else to be."

That is enough of an invitation for you to get in the car.

"I was going to open that door for you" he protests.

You only laugh as you buckle the seatbelt. "It's not that big of a deal, really. You've already done enough for me by doing me the favor".

"It's not that big of a deal" he repeats your words, "as long as I'm of help, that's enough for me".

He smiles wistfully, remembering better times. A part of him still aspires to be that hero everyone loved and remembered, something that clearly doesn't happen anymore (or if it does, it's rare), given the lack of recognition of his former identity in El Paso. He shakes his head, focusing back on the street in front of him. It's too late to get fucking sentimental.

"I like to help too…" you confess, meekly. Logan sighs, how could he not know? "My father used to say that I had the kindest heart he'd ever met. I hope it stays that way, and that when he looks down on me, he's proud".

It hurts Logan to see you be so hard on yourself, as if he didn't do the same.

"I bet all the customers in the place would say you're the sweetest thing they've met", he sees you smile from the corner of his eye, and can't help but emulate it. "Believe me, you're their favorite".

"Thank you, Logan" you say sincerely. However, the affliction that he hates to see crosses your face. So gloomy that you don't even seem the same person.

You wipe away an unexpected tear, but Howlett is faster and notices. You turn around, looking towards the window. Then, you catch a glimpse of his license.

"So… you're a driver" you try to break the silence that Logan has put without knowing why. Maybe to give you some space after being sentimental and opening up again to this closed off wall name Logan, but he knows it's a lie. He's scared. After wanting so much to be closer to you, he cowers, not trusting himself and what he would do trapped in a small space with such an attractive woman. Besides, the tension from the previous conversation was still there.

"You judging me now, honey?" the pet name rolls off his tongue before he catches it. He tries to play it cool, continuing the banter, carrying the same tone. "The only thing necessary to make you trust me was to give you a free ride?

"I'm in your car, Logan. I got in without thinking" you laugh. "I believe that's enough trust"

"Then, I'll keep doing you favors. Maybe if I do…" he trails off.

Your voice drops an octave, provocative. "Maybe what?"

His knuckles grip the steering wheel until they turn white.

"Maybe…" he hesitates, "maybe…"

"It's here" you point out. Shit, Logan curses, braking abruptly without meaning to.

"See you tomorrow" you bid as a goodbye, getting out of the car. Logan misses your smell.

So he sticks his head out the window, like a begging dog.

"How about now?" he says a bit forcefully.

Your face shows surprise and something else.

"You're getting attached" you reply, and he doesn't know why there seems to be sadness in your voice.

"I just keep coming back for the coffee" he defends himself.

You laugh, shaking your head "Now, then. For the coffee, clearly."

"I can leave" he says. Yet, makes no move to leave.

You sigh, giving him one last look. Surrender, he reads.

"You're a driver, right?" he nods, taking in every word coming of your pink plush lips. "Then let's drive off. Anywhere" your voice trails off, and you're just so tired of everything, you'll just let go yourself with the flow. "I'll go wherever you go..."

And this is how it ends.

When you wake up, it's almost dawn.

Logan had suggested you to sleep, claming the road where he was taking you to be long. He had covered you with his jacket, even if your body was burning from nerves.

Why had you agreed? Your mom would probably smack your head in search for some sense, and your reckless friends would encourage you to do it for the sake of a story. But something about Logan makes you feel safe, despite not knowing anything from him. It's sort of a sense of protection―like he would never hurt you, that envelops him. Everyone else would call you crazy; only you can understand that.

When your eyes adjust to the light, you realize you're in a line of cars.

"Did you bring me to the border?" you exclaim groggily, still in a sleepy voice.

"Good morning" he answers instead.

You rub yoou eyes, settling into the passenger seat.

"You're not going to kidnap me, right?" you question, half joking half serious.

Logan laughs, "Not only that. I'm also going to throw your body in a mass grave"

"It's not funny," you pout, although you're laughing too.

Once you've crossed the border, Logan drives a few more minutes, until he reaches a restricted area.

“I live here” he answers before you can ask, “saves rent and questions”

After opening the locks, you can better appreciate the place. Well, appreciate may not be the right word.

“It's an abandoned smelting plant” you voice out loud.

Logan just nods. You realize that he didn't like the comment, so you try not to talk about it anymore.

“Come” he gets out of the car, going to open your door. He offers you a hand, and you fail to hide your smile.

“You didn't miss this time, huh? Quite a gentleman” you praise. Then, add jokingly, “if you choose to kill me, at least I'll die taken care of".

“Stop talking nonsense and go inside” he scolds but smiles.

Inside, the abandoned plant is exactly what you expected.

"We're alone" Logan says, after leaving to check. He opens the door to his room, letting you in. There's not much inside, just a bed and scattered things. A yellowish light begins to filter through the broken glass. "I'mma change. Be right back".

You begin to explore your surroundings, to avoid thinking about the impact of the situation. Two things could happen: leave or stay. Maybe everything was going too fast, but you prided yourself on your spontaneity, often confused with impulsiveness. Others would say it was your naive nature: too innocent for your own good.

What had led you to accept without further ado? Was trust enough, that you had even fallen asleep in his car?

"S'rry for the wait"

You notice that Logan's gotten rid of his formal attire, leaving him in just slacks and an old white tank top. His muscles flex with every movement, making you swallow involuntarily. He still retains his extraordinary physique, despite his greying hair. She can't help but stare at the scars that cover his exposed skin, her fingers itching to trace them.

"Haven't they told ya' t's rude to stare?"

You look away, embarrassed. Logan walks over to the bed, bumping into you in the process, bodies barely touching. Still, an electric shock runs through you. You hug yourself, scared, aware of the effect he has on you.

"Logan" she dares to ask, "what are we doing?"

He finally looks at you. You feel naked under his intense gaze.

"What do you want us to do?"

His voice comes out low, like a growl. You stand in place stiff, unable to form a word.

"Come on, honey", the nickname comes out of his lips so easily, it hurts. "Are ya losing your voice now? Got into my car a while ago without thinkin', what's changed?"

You slowly approach Logan, each stride calculated. He watches you in silence, a silence as hostile as the wind hitting the broken windows, watching you remove your clothes, until all that's left is your bra and that skimpy skirt, as if you knew he liked it.

"Logan…" you whisper his name like a prayer, letting yourself fall on his legs. He holds you with his hard calloused fingers, like a promise.

Don't let me fall. Don't let me go. Don't leave me.

"Use your words, sweet thing" the trepidation condenses between, "we're grown up now, aren't we? Use your words"

If by words he meant feeling your lips against his, it's enough to have Logan following his impulses, using his strength to embrace your body until they feel like one, the scars on his hands feeling like your own. Your lips move in sync, and it's almost so casual, so learned, so meant to be, that fear appears in Logan, soon forgotten with the symphony of moans that come from your lips.

"Tell me" he pauses, breaking away from the kiss (something you don't like and express in the form of a pout), "what do you want?"

Logan tastes like cigars and whiskey, a combination you hate and the reason you quit your old job at the bar, but on his lips, it's an intoxicating taste.

"I want you, Logan" you whisper, hot breath against his skin, “you”.

He resumes the kiss, an electric shock of hunger and need between you: lips parted, colliding, teeth almost clashing against each other.

His fingers hesitate with a delicacy that belies his rough touch, the tips of his worn fingers lifting the fragile cloth of your skirt first, revealing soaking wet panties he goes crazy just at the sight of. The smell is sugary, sicklingly, so now he's hard and pulling at the clasp of your bra first, exposing your nipples, which he rolls and pinches mercilessly. A gasp escapes you—then another, and another as Logan pushes his thigh between your legs. The friction is delicious, almost painful against your pulsing center.

His hand firm up his position, securing itself onyour bare legs as you digs her nails into him. His labored moans turn into a guttural growl.

“You think I’m not capable?” he mocks, stealing another moan from her, “that I can’t keep up with you, you pretty young thing?”

You deny it, but Logan takes it upon himself to show you that he can take you like he's in heat, the ghost of his old self taking over in his almost animal way of fucking you, hips arched, muscles flexed and tense, his teeth appearing every time he opens his mouth, reminding you of fangs. They dig into your exposed skin, leaving bruises that will take time to disappear from your shoulders and neck, marking what belongs to him.

The hardness of his skin meets your soft when he grabs you by the waist.

"Look at you" it slips from his tongue, ecstatic. He's a goner, saliva dripping from the messy and sloppy kisses he leaves through your collarbone, "so good and so pure. I bet you're innocent, that you haven't seen what I've seen..."

His pupils darken, a strange mix between torment and desire in his gaze. Hungry and violent.

"Will you let me show you how's a real man s'ppossed to treat a woman?"

He feels shame settle in his belly, the hunger to possess her almost virgin body fueling his dark desire of errasing her sweet smile until she's an unintelligible mess of sobs. To show her what she would complain about, so she'll never slettle for less. So you can feel what it's to be taken care of―handled. And then he'll fill you up with his seed, so no other man will take what's his. His sweet little thing. Oh, he's so going to hell for this.

But maybe he likes pain.

"That's it, honey" he plays with the fabric of your wet panties, pulling at the loose threads in the delicate fabric. "Let me show you".

You take it off, and Logan lies back against the bed, spreading his legs and unbuttoning his belt and pants―a clear invitation to repeat the previous position, except this time, his hands are on top of your hips, squeezing the soft skin. He doesn't take his eyes off you, his gaze reserved only on you. If the adrenaline from before pushed you, now the confidence gained motions you to finish the task. It's just the push you need, remembering that this is what it feels like to be with a real man as you throw a leg over his hips, sitting your ass right on top of the bulge marked on his underwear.

“Right… there…” he barely manages to formulate a coherent train of words, the years of lack of help in attending to his needs leading to overstimulation, “good girl.”

The compliment makes you increase the pace of your hips, his labored breaths a sound so rich and so manly it makes you squirm.

You need it desperately, rubbing your increasingly wet clit against him, riding the fabric. His scruffy beard barely hides the smug smile that graces his lips.

“Like this?” she whispers, and Logan can no longer contain himself, staring at his sweaty, ripped body failing to please her completely. It feels so good it aches, and he can't believe this is how he's ended. But if that means having your pretty face on top of him, covered in his marks, dripping on your joint sweats, well maybe it isn't so bad.

“How can I repay you, honey?” he pleads. He'll try he's best. He just wants to give you a glimpse of the way his whole world has light up ever since he stumbled in that greasy diner.

“You said you were going to show me” it comes out almost as a purr, expectant, “and I’m waiting”.

Logan takes it as his cue, pulling down his underwear until his member is exposed, chuckling darkly when you swallow at the sight.

"Don't tell me you're scared already" he teases, "look how you have me… you can't leave me like this…"

You stifle a scream as you feel every inch of his thick cock enter your sensible walls, trying to fit his member inside of your needy body.

"So tight for me" he stammers, using his hands to keep you in place, on top of him. The only sound in the silence of that place that smells of death is that of their skin colliding―vulgar, the obscenity highlighted by being the only thing that can be heard in the small room.

Even though his stamina has dropped over the years, he thrusts into you relentlessly. Logan fucks you senseless, his balls buried deep in your dripping pussy, a constant rhythm of avid suction with each entry to your walls.

He takes a moment to see you as you take something from the nighstand he doesn't remember putting there.

"Look what I found" you whisper in the middle of your moans. Logan recognizes the shine of metal in front of his eyes, "so Wolverine?"

You say it so easily, like it's not the first time. With acceptance; it scares him.

Do you recognize him? Are you not scared? Why haven't your eyes go from curiosity and kindness to cold and rejection?

He should panic, rip off his dog tags from your hands and pretend he doesn't know who he used to be, but he's so deep inside you and so enraptured, he can only manage to gently take them from between your fingers and put them around your neck, the cold metal against your warm, bare skin creating an electric shock.

"I want to see them on you"

He likes to watch it hang over his face while you're on top, panting heavily as she repeats his name, slurring her words. It dangles with every thrust, the silver glistens in the seeping sun, just like the sweat that adorns her skin.

"Are you that needy of your old man? " he teases, caressing her. He smacks the curve of his ass, “You want more?”

His veiny length makes quick work of your needy hole, more moans escaping your lips.

“Shit,” you curse, wincing at the pain that begins to increase. “Yes, Logan. Just like that. Nobody ever treated me like that, nobody's made me feel like this-”

He moans, pleased with the praise, seeing he isn't as lacking as he thought. Making you feel good is his priority, but he won't lie and say he doesn't want to feel it too.

In an attempt to distract yourself, your eyes try to focus on him: searching his features, memorizing every scar, every wrinkle, every little grey hair.

“You’re perfect, Logan,” you mumble through a moan, the confession hiding more than you want to say and more than he cares to admit.

Before he can process it though, the fire in his stomach signals the arrival of his impending orgasm.

There's something delightful about the way you can barely speak, a mess of moans that sound like his name, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen alongside your messy hair.

He feels almost sick to be consuming something that doesn't and shouldn't belong to him. He doesn't deserve to have such a beautiful, young woman riding him while she clings to him like he's the last thing in this world, him: a worn, old man who can't keep up with her.

His member spasms, and it's got you feeling it all inside your walls, causing him to close his eyes in the process as well.

It's too soon, Logan thinks in shame, but it's been so long and you feels so good, he let's it go:

Thick whips of his cum shoot out of his member, drawing out more than you would've imagined. You don't have much time to think about it, for the orgasm hits you immediately, fingers curling and eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

Logan feels his tip getting wetter, and the extra lubrication is a nice finishing touch.

“God,” he gasps, “what a mess…”

You avoid looking at him, taking one of his hands in yours, kissing the red and violet painted knuckles. If you do, you'll give away what you feel, the same way her memory burns in Logan's chest, more now than ever, as his mouth tastes just like you.

Dependency.

Devotion. Absolute. Sick.

Maybe that was what he felt. This weird feeling. That abyss piercing his chest but never killing him (so much for regenerating...), pressing his heart with a crushing force whenever it threathened to beat again. Logan was content with rather nothing, always a man who didn't ask for much, and since the death of his family―the X-men, less.

"You should go" he mutters in defeat, the shame washing over. Even if he'll miss your warmth, even if he doesn't want you to leave at all. "It's for your own good, y/n. Pretend you don't know me and turn around. Go away" he insists yet gets stuck on his words, "you're not stupid. Then you'll know it's good for you and you'll never speak to me again"

He looks at the ground, cowardly, because he wants your lust filled warm look to be the last memory he remembers. Not whatever look you're giving him now.

So Logan closes his eyes and counts to ten. When he opens them, you'll be gone. It'll be a dream, something too good to be true. Short lived, like every good thing in his life.

"Logan..." you calls his name. So softly it seems like a breath.

You're still here.

"Logan" you call again, more firmly.

"Logan" you don't give up, cupping with one hand his face gently, "look at me".

When he looks up, he comes across a heartbreaking vision. You cry, tears falling like waterfalls down your cheeks. But that's not the most devastating thing, no: it's the look in your eyes, as if you've shared his pain. As if you've had suffered the same things he had suffered; a twisted reflection of him.

"Of course I understand you" you take his hands, and Logan feels that same strange warmth he felt the first time when your hands brushed his with the diner's menu. "I've also lost people… people I loved. Don't you think it hurts me to see the world go on as if nothing happened? Everyone forgets, Logan. But I can't; there's not a day that goes by when I don't think about them"

For a moment, you stop crying, and the hidden internal turmoil he tried so hard to decipher finally makes sense.

"I don't know what you've been through either, but I can promise you, that I understand you more than you think…" it seems like you'll say something else, but you stop and say instead. "Think, Lo: would these people want to see you like this?"

"It's what I deserve" he murmurs barely, his voice constipated but without shedding a single tear.

"It's not what we want, Logan. Please" you sniff, pained "stop being so hard on yourself".

"I'm not who you think I am" he insists. You're still naked on his bed, and he feels dirty for having you like this. For taking you to his home and fucking you raw out of your innocence. "I'm not a good person."

"No, Logan" you seem hurt by that statement. You trace one of his most recent scars with a touch so compassionate, that he feels your fingertips burn, "you are a hero".

Your words were so sweet, so comforting. He wanted to sink into your lap, which smelled like flowers and tasted like safety. A home; a life that had been taken from him. He wanted to believe everything you said―feel who you believed he was. Not this pathetic, tired and apathetic version of himself, but the old version: the version that inspired respect, that despite his tough exterior, had a family he loved. Because he had a heart. Now he feels like he has no soul: no purpose, nothing.

But maybe you are the answer.

Before he can change his mind, you blurt out “can I stay?”

That morning, in that old bed that creaks under his weight, Logan discovers that feeling alive again isn't so bad.

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @userparamore

[glystenangel]

bookworm🐛📚

Dom!Toji x Afab!Reader (Oneshot)

tags: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, dom/sub dynamic, toji actually works but irrelevant, outrageous levels of horny, raw sex, penetrative sex, anal, use of vibrators, dirty talk, praise, swearing, multiple orgasms, gettin hit from the backkk, slight edging, aftercare, idk what else

summary: you read smut and toji makes it happen

~ 2.7k words

thanks for reading and enjoy<3

_________________

Waiting for Toji to come home is always a chore.

Luckily, you have some light reading to keep you preoccupied, the most recent addition to your smut collection. Every page flip only turns you on more and more. As you peek over the covers to check the time, you’re certain that you’ll be hopelessly desperate before Toji even makes it home.

He’s twenty minutes late so far, though you know that even if it took him another hour you would forgive him as long as he gave you a thorough enough fucking. You had been living together for a few months already, and when he had initially learned about your literary taste, he demanded you read every sinful line out loud as he mercilessly ate you out. Not only that, but he had made it a point to stop whenever you tripped over any of the words or unwittingly trailed off. The memory pulses your thighs together, and you curse at having remembered the way Toji’s tongue swiped at your tear streaks after.

Memories begin to cloud your mind, only for sudden footsteps in the entryway to put you back on high alert.

“Babydoll, I’m back.” The rich sound of Toji’s voice curls in from the cracked open front door, and the baritone of it instantly makes your heart race.

You spring up from the couch, abandoning your book on the coffee table and rushing to his side with a happy exclamation.

“You’re home.” You wrap your arms around him, and he automatically leans down to gather you in his embrace. The way his gourmand cologne fills your lungs makes you sigh, and you can’t help but pepper eager kisses along his cheekbones in your lusty state. 

“Oh whoa, miss me that much?” His hands cup downwards, and his fingertips knowingly stroke at the wet spot between your thighs.

“What’s up with you? Read something dirty again?”

He tsks at you, but hauls you into his lap as he moves to sit on the couch. 

You nod, and he starts kissing at your neck, the familiar sensation of the scar on the outer corner of his mouth brushing against your throat and causing your breath to hitch.

“Okay, okay. Enough.” He laughs as he pulls away, and when he meets your eyes you already know what he is going to ask you.

“Well? How’d you want it? Show me.”

You lean back and pick up the book from the coffee table, distractedly leafing through the pages as he begins to grope at your body. You’re so sensitive from reading wanton filth that you arch into every heady squeeze and firm pinch.

You hold up the pages for him to see, and he takes them from you, attentively raking his eyes over the text and images. He keeps one hand on your ass, absentmindedly fondling the tender flesh as he reads.

“Doggy style? Can’t say we haven’t tried that one before. A couple of vibrators, okay…And then from the side, but a little more complicated…hm, alright.” 

He loosely holds the book up to the light, then turns it sideways to get a closer look. His thumb digs into the folds of the spine, thoughtful hums leaving him as his eyes study the pages with care. After a moment, his knee starts to bounce, and the agitated motion has your stomach tightening in anticipation.

Toji tosses the book aside once he finishes flipping through a couple more pages and gives you a conspiratory look, “No wonder you’re so excited. How’d you find something so lewd, huh?”

His hands mold around your waist, pushing you further down onto his tented crotch and grinding his hips upwards to stimulate your needy cunt until you’re desperately squirming in his lap.

He bites at your ear, teeth grazing the shell and warm breath gliding along the rising goosebumps on your skin.

“You have a filthier mind than I do. That turns me on so much.”

You yelp when he stands up to carry you to your shared bedroom, still rubbing his clothed hardon against the steadily growing damp stain between your legs. He sets you down, patting your head as a brief signal to wait as he rummages the bedside drawers for all of your sex toys before grabbing a handful and unbiasedly throwing them next to you.

“Alright, where were we?” He leans his palms on your thighs, a mischievous edge to his low tone.

“You were saying you like it dirty.” You place your hands on his chest.

“Is that right?” He doesn’t even wait for your answer, your tongue already reaching for his as he finishes his ask. As you swallow each other’s moans, he pins you down onto the bed and easily tugs off your clothes until you’re trembling with excitement in your soaked underwear.

“Did you wait until I got home or did you touch yourself already? Because last time I caught you…Well, you know how that went, don’t you?” He slowly peels off his shirt and unbuckles his pants, the imprint of his massive cock and its straining against the zipper already making you drool.

“No, you’re the only one who makes me cum Toji. I only want you to.” You vigorously shake your head, grabbing at his well defined sides so that he’ll release his boner faster.

“Oh? So good, maybe I’ll reward you for that. Though I think either way you’ll take whatever I give you, right?”  He finally unsheaths his weighty dick, palming at it with a hand before ripping off your panties.

You let out a gasp when he places it on top of your pussy, digging your nails into his arms as he cages you with his body and starts sliding the girth up and down your sticky entrance. Your slickness leaves strands of precum along every inch of the veiny length, and he reels his hips back to prod the tip against your slippery folds. You stay still, knowing to be patient or he’ll tease you for another hour. 

Toji lifts your chin with an approving smirk, “So fucking cute.”

Then, he flips you over and arranges you to match your smutty reading, with your leaky hole and tight ass lifted in the air. You squeeze your legs together for some temporary gratification, only to throw your head back at Toji pushing his cockhead between your thighs. The fleshy rod of skin gets wrapped in earnest, getting you more and more hungry for his cock inside of you.

In contrast to your desperate whimpers, you can hear Toji calmly humming before the electric buzz of a vibrator pierces the air.

“Alright.” He chuckles, and you involuntarily flinch as he prods the tip of the vibrator against the puckered hole of your ass.

“Come here, don’t run. Doesn’t it feel good?” He swirls it around, the slick lube and the click of buttons on the device making your mind fuzz as he pushes it deeper, “Is it too much?”

You shake your head, rubbing your cheek against the sheets with mindless fervor.

You know this is just the start, and you didn’t have enough tolerance for delayed gratification today.

“Good.” He maneuvers the rest of the vibrator inside of you little by little, letting you suck at the rubber until it plugs your butt with whine inducing shivers.

Toji slides his cock against your folds once more, letting the head kiss at your puffed up clit.

“Goddamn. So wet already.” He grunts, taking his hands off of you.

At the loss of contact, you wriggle your hips in his face with obvious vocal displeasure.

“One sec, princess.” You hear the click of a second vibrator being switched on, and you brace yourself as Toji strategically places it underneath you.

The heavy weight of his hands return to your body, and he slowly guides you downwards. The expected vibrations still cause tingles of pleasure to erupt from your core, and you bounce your hips to hear the sticky sounds of your mess being splattered between your thighs from the vibrator’s rapid movement against your clit.

“Oh, oh…” You weakly whine out the syllable over and over, rolling your hips into every sensation.

“Good?”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you blindly squeeze at the sheets to concentrate on Toji’s question, “Mhm, s-so good.” 

“I’ll just hold you then, we can feel good together like this. I promise.” He whispers, bending down and planting soft kisses along your spine.

Toji then grabs a fistful of your hair and the grip of his fingertips along your scalp makes your eyelashes flutter. A thoughtful hm leaves him, and you feel the curl of his smile against your back when he places another kiss to the skin there. Then, he carefully feeds his cock into your drenched entrance. 

The full feeling unfurls in your stomach, complemented by the vibrators’ administrations and Toji’s hands roaming your pliant curves. Once his hips are completely pressed against your ass, a gasp mixed with relief and contentment escapes you.

“I’m really sorry I kept you waiting, doll.” Toji lifts your hips slightly, and you minutely shake your head in protest at the distance created by the movement, “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you now.”

He pushes forward again and the searing stretch has you moaning immediately, but you only get noisier when Toji starts quickly thrusting every greedy inch in and out of your leaking slit.  

Every wet smack is echoed by your intensifying mewls as you tighten around him and squirm against the vibrations. Sticky, slick sensations flood your pussy and leave a mess of webbed precum around his cock whenever he draws his hips back.

Toji’s exhilarated grunts don’t help either, especially when he begins to talk you through your heightened arousal.

“It’s exciting, huh? Feels better than reading, doesn’t it? Better than you imagined?”

He grins, tugging your hair in his palm until your tear soaked eyes stop rolling long enough to look at him,  “Eyes here, babydoll. Look at me.”

“I love it when you look at me. I love it, I love it.” He pants, licking his lips and fucking you harder into oblivion, “Love watching you break under me. Gonna break and breed you.”

Your knees wobble beneath the tense arch of your back, but you barely notice as Toji drops your hair and curls his fingers into the bend of skin between your hips and thighs, “Fuck, you’re tightening up. Feels damn good with the vibrations, fuck.”

The swollen head of his dick prods into your womb, and you let out a gasp when it makes you involuntarily buck your hips farther up against Toji’s sweat sheened abs.

The smooth muscle of your pussy squeezes around him, forcing you to see white as he plows deeper inside of you. You can feel his balls squish against your ass, the heavy feel of them making you ache for his cum.

“You feel that? I’m fucking into your cervix. God, I can feel it sucking at the tip of my cock. Can’t wait to fill you up. Gonna fuck you and fill you until you’re cum-dumb.” He swears, fingertips indenting your flesh with need.

“Dirty girl, is this what you like? Being fucked like this?” Toji spanks your ass, and then fiddles with the end of the vibrator still sticking out of it.

He pulls it out and then drives it back in, languidly and then more quickly, “So damn greedy. I like it.”

Toji handles the vibrator with primal delight, harshly gunning it into your ass while maintaining the feverish pump of his cock. You can feel the squish of every sensitive little nerve inside of you, and how good Toji is at fucking each one.

Little fragments of words and exclamations of pleasure manage to escape you, but you know that you’re hardly making any sense. 

You just want to cum.

You repeat the desire over and over in your head, gleefully sucking at Toji’s hardness with your pussy until you’re dripping onto the sheets. 

He gets deeper and faster, expertly dragging his cock through your syrupy walls and hitting every blissfully mind melting spot. 

Your whole body seizes underneath him, and you cry out from the sting of ecstasy flooding your body, the shudders rippling from your center, and from the fact that Toji continues fucking your cunt open.

“Cumming already? Aw, that’s too bad. Cum again. Come on, cum for me again, want it all over my cock. That’s right, oh yeah.”

The consistent gush of fluid keeps you shaking in his hold, and Toji grinds into you with satisfaction.

“You keep cumming-ng.You’re squirting everywhere, must be so happy huh? It’s fun for you, huh? Such a cute slut for me.”

Another excited wail, and more cum bubbles out of your tight hole, seeping around the sides of Toji’s eager cock.

“Perfect, keep slobbering on my cock with your wet little pussy, gonna stuff it all back in.” He’s breathless in his speech, the raspy sounds wrapping around your brain and making you dizzy, “Here, open up. Good.”

The next few groans that fall from his lips are so desperate and hot that your vision blurs, “The best pussy. God, you turn me on. Ugh, I’m losing my mind. Gonna cum.”

His chest is against your back, and every pound of his cock makes the bed rattle beneath you from the force.

He sweeps your hair aside so his lips can brush against the shell of your ear, “Wanna have my babies? Hm? Want my cum inside?” 

“Yes, oh, yes, yes, yes! Toji!” You scream, and a dark, breathless laugh clings to his throat.

“Yeah? So cute.” He kisses your neck, and then hits the ceiling of your pussy with a strained whine.

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy.” Toji rams into you harder, more impatiently, “I’m- Cumming, fuck!”

The warm, wet rush of his cum fills you to the brim, and you can feel the delicious splatter of it across the plush of your ass and down your thighs.

He pulls you up against his front and starts avidly pumping again, moans spilling out from the feeling of him mixing your cum together in your womb. The continuous buzz of the vibrator and Toji’s enthused bite marks make your shoulders bristle with chills.

“That’s it, that’s- Shit, I’m gonna cum again.” Toji squeezes your perked tits in his warm hands, “But- So are you, right? Cum with me.”

He bounces you off of his hips, harshly pistoning into you and plugging your pussy so nicely and tightly that you can’t deny him anymore.

“Gonna bring you new books. I want to make you cum every goddamn day. Fill you up until your pussy can’t take anymore and you stop whining for cum. You’d love that, wouldn’t you babydoll?”

You nod, unable to speak.

“Yeah? Give me a kiss then.” You can hear the mischievous smirk in his voice, and then on your lips as you climax on his cock again.

He surrenders into the kiss you tug him down for, making satisfied hums into your mouth and slowing his hips to a stop.

Melting into the embrace, you relax into the sheets together and remain wrapped around one other. Toji’s harsh breaths tickle the back of your neck, and the bliss of your orgasm thuds dully within you until Toji briefly rises to clean you up and set aside the vibrators.

When he finishes, he gently nestles you back into his arms and circles every purpling bruise on your body with a reverent sweep of his thumb, “You’re so good.”

He affectionately moves to kiss your shoulder and then hugs you closer, “You sleepy yet? Or…”

The subtle heat of his palms as they glide across your skin have you leaning into every touch.

“No…not sleepy.” You hoarsely mumble.

More from Toji was always exactly what you wanted.

You lift your head, “You’re not sleepy, right Toji?”

The beckoning tone of your voice comes out sweet and seductive. 

Toji licks at the scar on his lip, disguising his growing excitement with an innocent press of his lips to the back of your ear.

“Another round it is. I saw a couple of scenes I liked too…you don’t mind, right?”

_________________

End Notes:

inspired by lady k and the sick man in case u didn't notice lol happy valentine's day yall! :)<3

[gold-onthe-inside]

career day, pt 2

who? single dad!spencer reid x history prof!reader summary: in continuation of career day, pt 1; spencer asks you out for coffee after a conversation in the playground, meets your adorable nephew, and has a much needed heart to heart with maya. content warnings: mention of childbirth complications, r is averse to childbirth, reference to spencer's knee injury word count: 3.3k a/n: again, maya's 12, please forgive her.

They’re all guided to the teacher’s lounge, encouraged to have snacks and coffee while they wait for the school day to end, but Spencer’s not really in the mood for small talk, silently grabbing a cup of coffee while you’re peppered with questions, particularly from parents who want their kids to get into a prestigious college and see you as their way in. Never mind that I went to Caltech and MIT, he thinks sourly, slipping out of the lounge with his coffee.

Spencer takes a moment to himself, leaning against the wall in the hallway just outside the teacher's lounge. He takes a sip of his coffee, trying to drown out the sound of the voices coming from within. The parents' questions echo around in his head, and he can feel himself getting more annoyed with each one. Maybe it's the nerves from his presentation or the fact that you're getting all the attention instead of him, but he finds himself feeling resentful.

Rather than do or say something he can't take back, he just leaves the building. He takes a deep breath as he steps outside, the fresh air helping to clear his head a bit. He walks over towards the empty playground, the swings and slides deserted at this time in the middle of the school day. He sits down on one of the swings, staring off into space, still holding onto his now-cold cup of coffee.

“6th graders can be rough,” he heard you say, your boots crunching over the fall leaves as you joined him, leaning against the poles holding up the swing.

Spencer looks up as you approached, a slight smile on his face. "Yeah, they don't hold back, do they?" he says, taking a sip of his coffee. He glances at you as you lean against the swing set. "You seem to be the more popular one today," he teases, unable to hide the hint of jealousy in his voice.

"Yeah, I've been told I ooze cool aunt energy," you said, chuckling a little.

He rolled his eyes playfully. "Must be nice." He takes another sip of his coffee. "I guess I'm just the uncool dad with social anxiety."

"There are more important things than being cool," you said, your voice earnest and he glanced up at you, one of your shoulders shrugging. "Like being a parent who shows up. Who actually takes an interest."

He felt his annoyance melt away a bit as you said that. "I guess being uncool has its perks then," he said with a small smile.

"Yeah, that's what I keep telling my nephew," you said, huffing a little.

Spencer chuckled at your comment, but then something clicked in his head. "Wait, you have a nephew?" he asked, a surprised look on his face. The boy whose shoelaces you’d been tying that morning…

"Yeah, I came for my nephew," you answered, your brow furrowing, placing your hand on your heart unconsciously. "My bad, I should have clarified."

"Well, now I feel like an idiot," Spencer said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I just assumed you were here for your kid or something."

"Pretty safe assumption to make," you replied, shrugging nonchalantly. "Though, I expect better from a fancy behavioural analyst."

"I'll try to live up to your expectations next time," Spencer responded sarcastically. But then he turned to you, a question at the tip of his tongue. "You don't have any kids of your own, then?"

"No," you said, shaking your hand, pocketing your hands.

"Any reason why?" Spencer asked curiously. He took another sip of his coffee, studying you intently.

"Um... I guess, I haven't found the right person yet," you said hesitantly. "That and the whole delivery process freaks me out."

Spencer raised an eyebrow at your reply, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Scared of childbirth, huh?" he said, teasing you a bit.

"You know how many women die from childbirth complications every year?" you asked him, raising a brow.

"Actually, the maternal mortality rate in the United States is steadily declining," Spencer replied, not missing a beat. "It's currently around 26 per every 100,000 live births."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You just... had that lined up in your head?"

Spencer chuckled. "No... well, yes... kind of," he said, shrugging casually as if the information weren't already stored in his mind. "I have an eidetic memory, so this kind of statistical information tends to stick."

"Huh," you said, pursing your lips, slightly impressed. "How many live births a year?" you asked him, just to test him really.

Spencer doesn't even hesitate before answering. "It’s currently around 3.7 million per year," he says without any hesitation, taking another sip of his coffee.

"That sounds like way too many," you muttered with a frown.

"On the contrary," Spencer replied, trying to cross one leg over the other on the swing and failing, "it's actually quite reasonable given the population size. In fact, the annual live birth rate has actually dipped a bit in recent years, which could indicate a potential decline in the population growth rate." He took another sip of his coffee, clearly enjoying the chance to talk about statistics.

You looked at him, raising a brow. "Huh."

Spencer couldn't help but notice the slight look of awe on your face. "You sound impressed," he said, a hint of smugness in his voice as he sipped his coffee.

"Don't be smug, it's not an attractive look on you," you said, shaking your head as you smiled, looking away.

"I wouldn’t be so sure," he remarked, smirking where he sat, hiding it with his cup of coffee, and pointing at you as he said, “You kind of have a tell.”

“What? No, I don’t,” you retorted but he shrugged, pursing his lips.

“Hate to break it to you, but that little thing you do when you look away… That’s a tell.”

You huffed, unable to deny it as you shook your head. “You always profile everyone you meet?”

“Not everyone,” he said, sipping his coffee, his hazel eyes never leaving yours.

“So, I’m special, am I?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Would that be so bad?” he countered, watching you shake your head.

“No,” you said quietly, your own gaze latched onto his, the two of you standing alone in the empty playground until the bell rings, signalling that the school day was over. Spencer got up with much effort, trying to ignore your snicker. “You okay, old man?”

“In my defense, I’ve had reconstructive knee surgery, okay?” he retorted, walking with you to the pick-up zone as kids came rushing out of the building.

“Seriously?” you asked, chuckling, walking backwards as you both talked because you were just that cool.

“Seriously.”

“What’d you do, fall off a ladder at the library?” you asked, still teasing.

“No, I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck. What was the protocol for telling someone you might potentially ask out that he’d gotten shot on the job? “Just had a bad day at work,” he said lamely, watching your brow furrow.

“Okay,” you said, leaving it at that as your attention drifted to the boy running towards you, the same one with his arm in the cast from this morning. “Hey, slugger,” you greeted him happily, squatting to his level. “How’s the arm?”

“Itchy,” he replied miserably. “Ryan stuck a pencil down there and now I can’t get it out.”

You tsked, pushing his glasses up his nose and smoothing back his hair. “I’m sorry, baby. We’ll get it out, okay? And we’ll get donuts on the way back, alright? Chocolate with sprinkles, just how you like ‘em.”

“Classic,” Spencer mused, nodding. “I like your taste.” The boy frowned as he looked up at Spencer.

“You’re Maya’s dad,” he said plainly and Spencer smiled, tucking hair back behind his ear as he squatted.

“That’s me. You can call me Spencer, though.”

“I’m Benjamin,” he said, holding up his left hand to shake Spencer’s hand. “But everyone calls me Benji.”

Spencer squatted in front of Benji, shaking his hand with a rueful smile. “Got it.”

“I really liked your presentation,” Benji said, his glasses slipping down his nose again and he pushed them up with his left hand. “Ian’s mean to everyone. You should just ignore him. That’s what I do.”

“Sounds like a smart move, Benji,” Spencer said, smiling at him warmly. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

“We should get going,” you said, before you could think too hard about how sweet and attractive Spencer was talking to Benji like that.

“Yeah, Maya likes taking her time before coming out,” Spencer said apologetically. “But um… I was hoping I could maybe… I mean, if you’d want to… get coffee or something some time?”

“Yeah, coffee sounds great,” you replied warmly, pulling out your phone from your pocket to exchange numbers with him while Benji shuffled off, distracted by a caterpillar. You punched your number into his cellphone, one that seemed like it was a decade old, but you didn’t say anything, swapping phones again. “I’ll see you around, then, Doc,” you said, smiling at him, and he feels like a lovestruck teenager watching you call Benji back and walk with him to your car.

Spencer had gotten Maya her own cellphone much earlier than most other kids, his own paranoia over being away from her for days at a time ranking higher on the list of concerns than cybersecurity. Worry had always been a familiar friend on his shoulder, gnawing at him, but had grown bigger recently as Maya withdrew from him more often than not. Almost always holed up in her room, in a world he had started to feel locked out of.

He knocked on the door to her room, her nameplate hung on the door in the style of California licence plates, before twisting the knob, ducking his head in. “Hey, monkey,” he said softly, finding her lying on her stomach, on her bed, a dolphin body pillow tucked under her arms, barely looking up at Spencer as he walked in.

“Dad, I don’t need you to tuck me in anymore,” she said, sounding exasperated and he frowned.

“Right,” he said unhappily. “You’re all grown up now.” She only looked up when he sat on the edge of her bed — coral pink bedsheets with soft blue pillows. “I know it’s natural for you to… seek independence and autonomy—”

“Dad, don’t go all profiler on me,” Maya griped, sitting up to look at him, brow furrowed, and he wet his lips.

“I’m not trying to,” he said patiently. “I’m just saying… I’m new to this, okay? Up until this year, I’ve always tucked you in at night, or called to talk about your day… And I get it, you’re older now, you’re in middle school, you don’t want to be treated like a baby. Just… I’m asking for a little time to get used to it, okay?” he said, keeping his voice soft and gentle.

She was silent for some time, picking at the fabric of her pillow, refusing to meet his eyes. At one point she’d been all over him, hanging off his arm for dear life whenever he was at home, climbing into his lap the moment he sat on the couch to watch TV with her. It was hard to accept that she had moved past that phase in her life. “You’re always at work anyway,” she mumbled, trying to sound indifferent, but her gaze remained down-cast, voice a little small.

Spencer's face fell at her words. "Is that why you didn't tell me about Career Day?" he asked softly, his heart breaking a little. "You didn't think I would come?"

“It’s not that,” she said, trying to sound indifferent but failing. She fiddled with the fringe of her pillow, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Looking at him was difficult, because she saw how hurt he was — not over being not asked to join career day, but over her lack of trust in him. “I just know you’re really busy, and you’re rarely home.”

"Monkey, come here, please," he asked gently, needing to hug her before he said anything else to her.

She hesitated for a moment, but then, quietly, she set the dolphin plush down and climbed into his lap, like she used to do when she was younger. Spencer hugged her, wrapping his arms around her. "I love you more than anything in the world, monkey," he whispered. "I will always be here for you when you need me."

She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, her little hands clenching tighter in the fabric of his sweater, feeling him hug her tight against his chest. “Promise?” she asked, voice small.

"Cross my heart, monkey," he said softly. "And I'm sorry if I embarrassed you at school today."

She gave a soft little huff, pulling back far enough to look at him, her gaze still downcast. “Well, you did embarrass me,” she mumbled, still sounding grumpy. “You were such a dork, Dad,” she said with a huff of faux-exasperation, but cuddled against him once more.

"Yeah, I know," he sighed, burying his nose in her hair as he hugged her.

She was silent for some time, burying her face in his chest, feeling him hug her tight against him, and she could feel the tension from him, could practically hear the cogs working in his brain as he desperately tried to stay calm; to not get too emotional over one stupid mistake on his part, and she almost felt guilty.

Almost.

“Dad?” she asked, voice a little muffled against his sweater.

"Yeah, monkey?"

She pressed her face against his chest, quiet for some time, her gaze still cast down as her fingers fidgeted with the fabric of his sweater. “You’re not… mad at me… right?” she asked, voice a little small, tentative almost.

"Not in the slightest," he replied instantly, looking at Maya and tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. "I'm not a cool dad, and that's okay."

She looked up at him, meeting his gaze with a slight frown, though it was a fond one. “You’ve never been a cool dad,” she said, as if stating the obvious, though her tone was affectionate.

"I know," he said, sighing sadly as he tucked a curl behind her ear. "But I'm doing my best."

A little frown appeared on her face, a tug between her eyes, at the sad look in his eyes; the little self-deprecating tilt to his tone. She felt awful, almost guilty for making him sound that way. With a slight frown on her face, and a little more emotion than she’d been willing to show before, she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face back in the crook of his neck. “I know you are,” she mumbled against his skin.

He wrapped his arms around Maya's waist, taking a deep breath as it relaxed the tightness in his chest. "I just want you to be proud of me, that's all."

She pulled back, looking at him, her gaze a little more open and vulnerable than before, but still a little defiant and stubborn. “I am proud of you,” she said, sounding exasperated. “You’re an FBI agent, a genius and you’re a great dad.”

"Even if I'm the dorkiest dad in the world?" he asked, the corner of his mouth curling up.

She huffed out a laugh, rolling her eyes and giving him a slight shove. “Yes, even if you’re the dorkiest dad in the world,” she said with an air of fond exasperation.

He kissed Maya's hair, stroking the back of her head. "I love you, monkey."

She sighed, though the small fond smile never left her face, her arms around his neck, cuddled up close to him. “I love you too, Dad,” she said, finally looking up at him, giving him a small smile.

He kissed her forehead again, just because he could. "Alright, we ready for bed?"

She let out a loud groan, sounding exasperated. “But, I don’t want to go to bed,” she whined, giving him her best puppy dog eyes, as if that might sway him.

"You know we need at least 8 hours of sleep," Spencer chided gently. "And you need even more for that brain of yours to develop."

She let out another groan, though there was no real defiance behind it, more of a petulant teenage attitude. “I know, I know,” she said with a sigh, rolling her eyes. “Eight hours, like a grown-up.”

"That's my girl," he murmured, tucking her in. "You brushed your teeth?" he asked, smiling when she let him tuck her in without a fight. She rolled her eyes again, a little huff escaping her, though it was more fond than anything.

“Dad,” she groaned in faux-exasperation. “I’m not five. I brushed my teeth, okay?”

"For two whole minutes?" he asked, raising a brow.

Another sigh escaped her, exaggerated and put upon. “Yes, Dad, the full two minutes. Even used my timer and everything,” she said, rolling her eyes, though there was a hint of a smile on her face.

"Huh, maybe you are all grown up after all," he remarked, kissing her forehead. "Guess you don't need me to read to you tonight then."

She went very still, giving him a wide-eyed look, clearly shocked and appalled that he would even think that. “No, no, no, wait—” she protested, sitting up straight in bed. “You have to read to me, Dad. That’s not fair—”

Spencer laughed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Sure?"

She nodded, looking at him earnestly. “Yes, Dad. It’s not bedtime if you don’t read to me,” she said, settling back against her pillows, arms out from where he had tucked her in, geese lining her cotton blue pyjamas.

“Okay, tradition’s tradition,” Spencer replied, his voice non-chalant as he picked up her copy of Eragon, settling into bed next to her and opening up the dense novel to where they had last left it. He slid the bookmark out, holding it against the back of the book, and Maya snuggled into his shoulder, following along to his soft, soothing voice.

As Spencer read to her, she felt herself growing drowsy, her eyes drooping a little, a yawn escaping her and he smiled, looking down at her. “Time to sleep, monkey,” he murmured, settling her head against the pillows.

As he tucked her in, she looked up at him, still not quite ready to let him go. “Dad?” she mumbled, her eyes still closed, but she wasn’t quite asleep yet either.

"Yeah?"

"Can you... stay here for a little while?" she asked, quietly, so much so that he almost wasn't sure he had heard her correctly. Despite all her teenage huffing and her constant efforts to show how big and grown-up she was these days, there were still moments like these, when she reminded him that she was still a little girl at heart.

"Sure, I'll be right here," he murmured, stroking her hair as she closed her eyes.

She let out a soft sigh, a content little sound, and snuggled even further down into the blankets. "Thanks, Dad," she mumbled groggily, her voice soft and thick with sleep.

"You got it, monkey," he whispered and she smiled sleepily, her grip on his hand loosening as she slipped into the comforting embrace of sleep.

[literaila]

the brunch

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru does not get jealous, just so everyone knows

a/n: (that previous statement was a lie) the brainrot is real

last part | next part

year four.

it’s a bit unusual for the house to be this filled, especially this early in the morning. 

chatter echoes throughout the space, loud exclamations, and secret whispers, all making up a terrible-sounding symphony. 

megumi and tsumiki are playing some elaborate board game with onlookers on the coffee table, both of them smiling proudly. 

satoru is trying to tidy up the many different plates and cups everyone's left lying around, laughing when shoko rolls her eyes at something he's just said. 

and you're in the kitchen, talking with nanami like you haven't seen him in several years--it's been three weeks. 

it's very strange for the four of you. to let anyone--not to mention a dozen people--intrude on your carefully planned out saturday mornings. to invite others into your world of burnt breakfasts and uncombed bedhead. 

but here you all are, managing. 

and you’d reminded satoru probably seventeen times—too many times, he thinks, with far too many knowing glances—that hosting was not something to be taken lightly (and that you weren’t going to help him ((both of you know that you are)). 

but he doesn’t mind this. 

the crowded house, or the many different phone calls he had to make about getting this party (which he swore wasn’t one) set up. the loud sounds or the inevitable cleanup he'll try to swindle his way out of. 

it’s quite nice. actually, satoru is a little proud of his makeshift brunch, and the fact that everyone came, and everyone seems happy. he likes that he can barely hear his thoughts, that there's nothing important enough for him to think about anyway. 

and honestly, with all of it going on, satoru should not be this discontented with the fact that you’re smiling at someone else. 

he invited nanami because he knows that you miss him and that you’re too embarrassed to admit that. or too proud, maybe. too forgiving. and he knows that you wouldn’t have done it yourself, had he not gotten involved. 

but still. should satoru really have to sit back and watch as you fawn over a man who wore a suit to casual brunch? 

no, he should not, thank you. 

"what's wrong with your face?" shoko asks him after the silence has drawn on for too long, sounding very uninterested. 

satoru shakes his head, snapping out of his daze. "what?" 

"you've got a weird look." 

"no, i don't." 

"it's like that time that you chugged the entire carton of expired milk someone left in the fridge." 

"don't remind me," he says, trying to put on a theatrical wince, but he just ends up looking back at you, with a blank face. 

there is no time for joking, or flamboyancy, or caring about anything else in the world. 

shoko does the same, her eyes trailing where his are, watching as you tilt your head at nanami, laughing when he murmurs something. 

in typical nanami fashion, his lips only twitch a little bit, but it's enough to tell that he's amused by whatever conversation you're having. 

that he's got your full attention, and he gets to watch your eyes as they shift from one glance to another and--

shoko nods, looking back to satoru, who is trapped in his stare. chained down at the mere thought of you. "oh," she says, rolling her eyes. 

satoru doesn't look away, but grunts in the form of a question. 

"you're an idiot, you know that?" 

he frowns. "what?" 

her eyes are exasperated, and her smile is all-knowing. she has always alluded satoru, and his very short attention span. and he kind of hates her, at this moment, for distracting him. 

"seriously," she scoffs at his perturbed face, "after a whole year of living basically in the same room, i thought that the two of you would finally get over it." 

"who?" satoru asks, smiling confusedly. "get over what?" 

"you. get over yourself. honestly, only you and y/n would raise two kids together and pretend like there's no intimacy in it." 

"what?"' satoru repeats, dumbly. 

"and, by the way," shoko tells him, sipping on her drink. "jealousy is not cute." 

and then she walks away, like she's answered a single one of satoru's questions. 

and he frowns, thinking about it. 

because--no, there's no way she was talking about him--he shakes his head. where would she even have gotten that idea? there's--

no. 

and it’s—it’s not jealousy. he laughs off that thought.

satoru gojo is the strongest. he's the one everyone looks to. he doesn't have anything to be jealous about. 

and besides satoru knows that you don’t get enough time away from your discombobulated family. that your life revolves around them, and they around you. 

and the two of you have talked—at length—about the fact that you’re both young, and neither of you should live the lifestyle of some middle-aged parents, with no way to connect with the people in your age group. the people that would’ve been your family, in some alternate universe. 

satoru knows that you don’t carve out the things that you need without being asked to, that you get anxious about these types of occasions--he's watched it happen before, when you were forced into a corner at one exchange event the two of you shared, or when yaga took you all out to dinner, and you'd shrink yourself in your seat until someone noticed. 

he's seen you try to make yourself smaller at the convenience of others, and as he's grown (he almost winces at the thought) satoru has sworn to himself that he'd keep you from any situation where that might be necessary. 

so he shouldn’t--he doesn't--mind that you’re having a good time. he should be--is--happy with himself, for setting it up so you could, for planning it around you, and the kids. he should be preparing himself to gloat in your face about the fact that he thought of this, and he set it up all on his own. 

god. he doesn't have anything to be jealous about. 

but that doesn't change the fact that satoru can't really see beyond you, ten feet away from him, laughing at something that nanami said. 

and maybe it's not the fact that you're talking to him, or that you're smiling at him like satoru wants to be smiled at, he thinks, but more that you don't act that way with him. 

satoru is well aware of the grounds in your relationship, and he knows that you spend most of your days rolling your eyes at the obnoxious things that he says, trying to protect the children--and him--from the antics that you've all grown used to. 

he's not jealous, but maybe he's a little bit annoyed that he hasn't seen you this easy, and light since you were still in school. since you were still younger than him, and still someone he could look down upon. 

you cling to nanami like satoru clings to you, he realizes, sullenly. you smile and tease--if just the way your eyes crinkle means anything. 

you grin at nanami like you're trying to irritate him. like you're the reckless one between the two. 

and maybe it hurts satoru more just to know that you are the reckless one.

he'd lived with the two of you for three years. he'd experienced nanami's typical brooding--which, now, reminds him a lot of megumi, actually--and the way he'd think through everything. maybe a little bit too much, even. 

satoru was always there to watch you giggle alongside the austere man, pull him out of whatever thought process was darkening the mood, and remind him that none of it was all that serious. 

satoru knows--he knows--that you and him are similar. he knows that it's why he feels the way he does with you. that the way the two of you dance around your emotions, and say nothing that you truly mean is something to cherish, if also something to despise. 

he's not jealous, but maybe it hurts satoru because he knows that you've never been able to truly not care, with him. that he takes up all of the ignorance one household can get, even without meaning to.

or maybe it's just been a long time since he got the chance to watch you interact with anyone else. 

maybe he's just ridiculous, and he should go do something else before he thinks about this for too long. shoko is wrong, though, he thinks. he's definitely not jealous. 

he's satoru gojo. he doesn't have anything to be jealous about. 

but he's still watching when you shake your head at something nanami says, tapping him on the shoulder and excusing yourself while waving him on, still light and airy, eyes meeting satoru's with that same grin. 

it's probably worse to know that it doesn't quite belong to him. that he's not the sole benefactor of it all. 

"hey," you say, bumping into him on purpose when you come over, your hands wrapping around his forearm as you lean on him. "need help?" 

"nah, i've got it," he finally looks away. he doesn't want to watch this. 

but you're still grinning at him, trying to catch his eye--even with the sunglasses. "you're all alone over here," you coo, "i can help you clean up." 

satoru snorts. "i thought you weren't going to help with anything." 

"well, since i'm already here..." you drawl, beginning to pick up spare utensils, and napkins. all of the things he'd been too distracted to do. 

you're humming as you do it, completely content with everything. 

satoru tries not to grind his teeth at the fact that your mood is not because of him. 

"how's nanami?" he asks, unprecendented, after a moment. 

you shrug. "he's good. i guess the real world sucks too," you say it with a lilt, like there's an inside joke that satoru is missing. 

he shakes his head, trying to keep his words civil. "the real world?" 

"the corporate universe, and laws of reality, or whatever," you roll your eyes, and you sound exactly like him. "no curses or magic to liven things up." 

"no monsters, you mean." 

"or that," you smile at him, looking almost giddy. 

satoru hums. 

you put all of the trash you've collected on a serving dish, piling things up without a care in the world. and then you turn towards satoru, and he can feel your slight frown before he can see it. "you okay?" you ask him. 

satoru freezes. "what?" 

"is it getting to you? the brunch?" 

"what? no, i'm fine," he tries to look at you like you're ridiculous, but his face feels stiff, and wrong, and far too happy for you. 

"you look like your tongue is too big to fit in your mouth." 

he sticks his tongue out, almost on command. "does it look any different?" 

"hmm," you pretend to observe. "yeah. might want to see a doctor about it." 

"noted." 

"are you trying not to laugh at something? you can tell me if i have something on my face, you know." 

satoru's smile is a bit easier at that, but he shakes his head anyway. he kind of wants to run away to his room--something he's learned from raising two children. "no, i'm just thinking." 

you raise a brow. 

satoru scowls. "what? you didn't think it was possible?" 

"no, not really."  

he shakes his head. he tries to turn away, scoffing like it's a joke (it's not), but your hand reaches for his bicep before he can. 

"hey," you say to him. he turns back to you, and your smile, nose scrunched up as you lean in. "how are you?" 

"busy. i have to go make sure there's enough ice in that bucket." 

"i'll come with you," you say, even though you both know that he's lying. 

"no. i'm sure nanami has more he wants to talk with you about." 

"is that what this is about? nanami? are you mad at him, or something?" 

"why would i be mad at him?" 

"i don't know, satoru, your brain is a confusing thing," you tug on his hair just a little bit. "hey, c'mon. why're you upset?" 

"i'm not upset." 

satoru should be basking in your attention, but he can't quite bring himself to notice it. or that you spend every day with him--mostly without complaint--and never fail to laugh at something he says. 

no, his thoughts are not very organized, at the moment. 

"you've got your little angry pout on," you nudge his lips with a finger. "i think you've been spending too much time with megumi." 

he grabs your hand, trying not to squeeze. "i'm fine. go hang out. you're not supposed to be helping me." 

this time, you pout. "you don't want to spend time with me?" 

he groans, throwing his head back. "i'm trying to be nice," he tells you. "you know, like how you're always telling me to?" 

"ew," you say, giggling a little bit. "i don't like it." 

he rolls his eyes. 

"seriously, come hang out with me and the kids. we can beat them at charades, or something, again. you need a little pep in your step." 

"what are you, my mom?" he deadpans but feels his heart twitch a little bit because you're still holding onto him. 

"might as well be. take a break, satoru, i miss you." 

you say it so easily and nonchalantly that satoru wants to pick you up and lock you in a little box, just so you can never talk to anyone but him again.

he stares at you, blinking beneath his glasses, feeling like you're doing all of this just to mess with him. 

honestly, whiplash is a serious condition. 

you smile at him, fluttering your eyelashes unknowingly, pouting at him a little bit, even through the smile. 

and satoru's never been able to say no to you, so he lets you pull him with you, back to the kitchen, where you grab nanami too--to the dismay of satoru, of course. he tries not to glare. 

and satoru chooses to ignore the discerning look that nanami sends him, and the fact that his arm tightens around your waist as you drag the two men along. 

he's not jealous. god, it's just very loud in here. 

*

somewhere several minutes earlier, when the two of you were standing just a little bit too close to each other, both of you pouting, looking like two children fighting over a toy--you had a couple of spectators. 

shoko scoffs, shaking her head. "that's disgusting." 

you're on your tiptoes, head tilted as you purr something to satoru. they can't see his eyes from twenty feet away, but they can all tell that they're stuck on you. glued, never to be torn away. 

megumi looks at the woman, then follows her eyes to the two of you, blank-faced. 

tsumiki giggles. 

"we know," they both say, rolling their eyes. 

*

next part | series masterlist

[letmebeyourcrrsh]

can't just forget Ⅱ

bully!seungmin x reader

warnings: mention of bullying

genre: enemies to lovers

summary: seungmin actually had apologized for his actions... and even dropped a confession on you. however... you are not one to forgive fast.

Part 1

you couldn’t forget.

you hated him.

it wasn’t an exaggeration—seungmin was the last person you wanted to see, let alone speak to. his hurting words still echoed in your mind like a never-ending reminder of the pain he’d caused. the mocking laughter, the cruel remarks. he had made your life miserable, and you couldn’t just erase that.

but he had apologized.

he stood in front of you with a sheepish expression, his eyes full of guilt, and said the words you thought you'd never hear from him. the confession had been a shock, but the apology? you didn't know how to handle it.

and you didn’t care to.

you had turned him away, harshly, telling him you didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. you hated him for everything he'd done to you, and there was no way you were going to just forgive him because of a few words.

that was months ago. and since then, seungmin wouldn’t leave you alone—he kept trying.

you didn’t know why he didn't just give up. maybe it was because of his confession, or maybe it was because he actually regretted how he treated you. either way, you weren’t going to make it easy for him.

one day, you were sitting at a table in the library, flipping through a textbook, when you felt a shadow fall across your desk. you looked up, and there he was—seungmin. again.

“I—uh… I brought you a coffee.,” he said, holding out a cup of coffee with a nervous smile.

you stared at the cup, then up at his face.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you muttered, pushing the cup away from you.

seungmin didn’t seem offended. instead, he placed the coffee on the corner of your desk and sat down without waiting for an invitation. “I know you didn’t. but I thought you might want it. I’ve been trying to be better…

you clenched your fists in your lap, furious. "trying to be better? you don’t get to just fix things like that, seungmin. you don’t get to make up for years of bullying with one cup of coffee."

he didn’t respond immediately. instead, he just nodded. “I know. I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m just trying to prove that I’m different now. that I’m not the person who made you feel like that.”

you rolled your eyes, wanting to dismiss him immediately. “then stop bothering me.”

but seungmin didn’t.

the next day, he showed up again. this time, he was carrying a stack of books you needed for an upcoming project. “you left these in the library yesterday,” he said, placing them gently on your desk.

you frowned, scanning the books. “so I assume you went from bully to stalker?”

“wha- no I just.. you just forgot them so I-” he mumbled.

“just leave,” you muttered.

days turned into weeks, and seungmin continued to make small gestures like bringing you coffee, holding doors open for you, and even offering help with your assignments. at first, you ignored him. you rolled your eyes, hoping he’d go away. but somehow, the more he tried, the more difficult it became to ignore him.

one afternoon, you were stuck with a particularly difficult math problem. your frustration mounted as the numbers seemed to blur together.

“do you need help?” seungmin asked softly, a little hesitant but still hopeful.

“I don’t need your help,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “you’re just trying to make up for everything you did.”

“I know I can’t change the past,” he replied quietly. “but I can help with the present. you’re struggling. let me help.”

you bit your lip, your fingers tapping against the desk nervously. you didn’t want to give in. you didn’t want to acknowledge that seungmin was right. but in that moment, you realized you didn’t have anyone else to turn to for help.

“fine,” you muttered, reluctantly pushing the notebook toward him.

seungmin smiled, but it wasn’t the smug, arrogant smile from the past. it was warm. genuine.

he patiently helped you with the problem, explaining it step by step. his approach was calm, his words clear. slowly, you found yourself appreciating his help more than you wanted.

from that moment on, things began to shift. it wasn’t fast. it wasn’t easy. but Seungmin kept his word. he didn’t push you for forgiveness. he didn’t try to force his feelings on you. instead, he showed up, quietly, consistently, proving through his actions that he meant what he said.

it was in the way he listened to you, the way he respected your space, the way he kept helping you without asking for anything in return. slowly, you started to see that maybe, just maybe, he had actually changed.

then one day, when you were walking home from class, seungmin appeared beside you.

“hey,” he said, his voice lighter than usual. “I know you’re still mad at me. and I get it. but I just wanted to say… thank you for letting me help you with classes-. even if you don’t forgive me. I- well this already means a lot.. so I wanted to say-”

you stopped him. and you stopped walking, pausing for a moment. for the first time, you looked at him without the anger clouding your vision.

“don’t expect anything more than this,” you said, your voice softening just a bit. “however.. we can be… friends. for now. cause who knows. maybe your ass would ruin it again.”

seungmin’s eyes lit up, and he just smiled, his face full of relief. “I’ll take it.”

and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t mind his company. you weren’t ready to forgive him completely, not yet. but you could acknowledge that seungmin was no longer the bully from your past. he had changed. and maybe—just maybe—you could start to trust him again, one step at a time.

this is pretty short.. and i didnt add no love into this part- because it was about seungmin working hard. however i still hope you really liked it!

100 notes and ill drop the part 3!

tag list: @6demonica9 @velvetmoonlght @blueeeene

[verstappen-cult]

oscar and reader meet-cute type thing. like he spills his coffee on her and the relationship stems from their

You scribble the name of another customer on a cup before placing it on the counter, immediately going back to serve another customer.

"Hi," You hear a male voice, brown eyes looking at you from behind round glasses. You've seen him before. Countless times. However, you still don't know his name. He always ask for a lemon pie and chai latte, and sits at the same table near the window.

"Hey," You reply with a smile on your face. The one you have reserved for your favorite customers; like the old lady from across the street who comes in every day for an early cup of tea, or the couple that likes to work sitting by the counter and are always chatting away with you and your co-workers as you spend the day making coffee. "the usual?"

Then, he smiles, the pad of his fingers touching the frame of his glasses to avoid them from falling. "Oh… yes, please."

"I'll bring it to you." He nods, a faint blush covering his cheeks. And just like that turns around and walks to his favorite table, pulls out a book and waits.

You prepare his order, along with a few more. Once it is ready you walk around the corner, even though one of your co-workers is in charge of bringing orders to the customers, you want to be the one bringing this one to this stranger.

He looks up at you when sees you approaching, the same blush of earlier adorning his cheeks.

“Thank you.” He says with that charming smile which you return. But as you’re going to walk away, his next words stop you from doing so. “I wanted to formally apologise.” He avoids looking at you and it’s cute.

“There’s really no need.” You try to reassure him, but he shakes his head and puts the book down. “It was not your fault. It was an accident.”

“But still,” He bites the inside of his cheek and this time looks directly into your eyes. “I’m not that clumsy, it’s just that—”

You place a hand on his shoulder and he follows the movement. “These things happen. And thank god it was iced coffee that time.”

The stranger laughs, finally relaxing. “I’m sorry, really, really sorry.”

“Well, I might forgive you if you tell me your name.”

“Oscar.” He is quick to say. “I was trying to ask you something the other day… when that happened.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” You’re bold enough to sit on the chair in front of him, forgetting all about your job for a few minutes. “But you ran out of here before I could ask you about it, Oscar”

“I didn’t ran.” He tries to defend himself, which only makes you giggle like a schoolgirl. “Whatever,” Oscar rolls his eyes and takes a sip of the tea. You try very hard not to lock at the way he licks his lips. You fall miserably, of course. “I was trying to ask you if you would be interested in going out? With me, I mean.”

It’s your turn to blush and avoid the eye contact. You really thought he was just being nice, like most of the customers are, but now you realise he was actually flirting with you. And well, you’re not exactly the smartest when it comes to boys and the dating life.

“You really wanna go out with me?”

Oscar tilts his head to the side and a smirk shows up on his face. “Why would I come every week if I don’t even live or work in this side of the city?” Your eyes widen at his confession. You thought he lived nearby and that’s why he spent his time in the coffee shop.

“For me?” There’s disbelief in your words.

Oscar tries to look nonchalant, and shrugs. “I’m not the smartest, okay? It took me spilling my coffee on you to gather the courage to ask you out.”

You play with a strand of your hair and stand up, not really wanting to leave him. “Well, I’ll accept to go on a date with you if you promise not to spill anything on me.” Oscar laughs, lifting his hands in surrender.

“I promise to behave.” And he says it with such an innocent look on his face that it makes you feel something weird in your belly.

“My shift ends in an hour, if you want to wait for me.”

You don’t wait for his answer, but when you’re finally free and gathering your things to leave, Oscar is still sitting on his favorite table, waiting for you.