#but it was scratching at the door of my brain to get out

[lovieku]

INTRO ⋆ 정국

you’re jeongguk’s secret santa this year, so you give him the best gift he’ll ever receive.

⋆⁺₊❅. 1/6 from christmas & chill

pairing virgin!jk x fem reader

genre smut, fluff, friends to lovers, first time

warnings painfully oblivious jk, even more painfully oblivious oc, mutual pining unlike anything you’ve seen, jk being a hot nerd ceo who’s loaded rich and unaware of his potential, please imagine him as nam joohyuk in start up, oc just creaming her pants for jk, hand job, lowk strip tease, dry humping, nipple play (m&f), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, jk is so needy and impatient but also very polite, smut is kinda rushed because well… it’s his first time! sawrry! also i open gifts on xmas eve please don’t come for me and my traditions (it’s lich just because i’m impatient)

word count 8.3k

author’s note hello hello hello!!! i’m so nervy to post this because it’s what finally inaugurates c&c!!!! i hope it can be a pleasing (intro)duction to the series hehe… either way you’ll get something totally better from miss lyssa tomorrow so stay tuned Wink 🩷 luv u always

banner by the talented @awrkive ⟡ ݁₊ .

Secret Santas have become the only way you’ve been able to deal with Christmas. When it comes to gift-giving, you’re embarrassed to admit that creativity in that department doesn’t exactly come naturally to you.

You try your best, truly. But you either end up going over budget, striving to please all your loved ones with unnecessarily expensive gifts which will only leave you with empty hands and an empty wallet, or having your brain completely stop working, if not to come up with the most basic and useless options that will get you forced smiles and polite nods in fake recognition.

It’s exhausting, demoralizing, and frankly, a recipe for holiday burnout.

So when two years ago, on the brink of giving up entirely and seriously contemplating hibernating through winter, your dear friend Jimin swooped in and suggested Secret Santa, it completely reshaped your next Christmases.

Exactly a month before Christmas Eve, you reunite over drinks and food at Jeongguk’s house to draw names. His place always ends up as the default spot for dinners, movie nights, or even football matches. Those don’t usually get the attention of everybody, especially of some of the girls, and it wouldn’t get yours either.

But you never skip game night. Correction, you never miss an excuse to be in Jeongguk’s space, even if it means sitting through 90 minutes of men chasing a ball on a screen. After all, you’re never truly paying attention, always stealing glances at the boy who seems almost even more uninterested than you.

It’s about witnessing him in his house— which, truthfully, is more of a mansion. The spacious, cozy interiors mirror a part of him that’s hard to miss: his perfectionist side, the one that likes to keep things understated but can’t help leaving subtle, telling marks of his presence on everything he touches, is woven into every corner.

Over time, you’ve naturally come to associate the place with holidays, laughter, and celebrations that fill you with a sense of belonging. Being here, surrounded by your closest friend, makes you feel profoundly grateful.

And there’s so many traces of you all, too. The faint wine stain on Jeongguk’s carpet that is only still noticeable if you squint, the one that spilled from your glass when Hoseok’s jokes had you laughing too hard; the long, slim scratch on the kitchen door, courtesy of Eunbi, who thought learning how to balance glasses on her forehead would get one of her coworkers to finally fall for her; the wobbly vase on the coffee table that was knocked over during one of Jimin’s overly enthusiastic attempts to kick a water bottle open.

Watching Jeongguk deal with the chaos you all force into his space might be another big reason why you love being here. It seems to squeeze out his most genuine reactions and quirks, and you can’t help biting your lips at those, almost pornographically so.

For someone who works so hard to appear composed, and who’s also extremely shy and reserved, Jeongguk is hilariously transparent when things don’t go his way. Brows furrowed, as if that’s where he keeps all his control. Although, no matter how flustered he gets, Jeongguk almost never gets choleric. His instinct is never to lash out but to scramble, a picture of barely contained stress insisting that everything is fine.

And the more he insists, the more you find yourself wishing it wasn’t fine. Sometimes, you want to see him lose it— especially at you.

You’ve tried, too. You’ve pushed boundaries, done little things to test the limits of his patience, all for the slim possibility of seeing him crack, just for you. But it never works. The best you get is an awkward smile, maybe a quiet laugh. It’s not nothing, but it’s not what you want, either.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this crazy about someone before. Not in the way where everything he does sends your brain spinning with possibilities. It’s maddening. His obliviousness is maddening.

Chiefly tonight, when you’re trying extra hard to keep it under control, the whole group gathering in a circle around the bowl that holds all your names, each one carefully folded into a little square, waiting to be drawn.

But when your slim fingers brush against one of the many crumpled pieces of paper and decide your fate, you send a small prayer to whoever might be listening. Please, don’t let it be Jeongguk.

It doesn’t really come off as a coherent request, especially considering how much your body has betrayed you tonight. Your thighs have been pressing together most of the evening, a subconscious reaction every time your gaze wandered — lingered — on Jeongguk’s lower half. Those low, slouchy grey sweatpants, hanging effortlessly off his narrow hips, have been the source of many inappropriate thoughts that you wish would make you grow some shame within yourself. Instead, they only make you grow hotter in your seat.

No, you would love to be Jeongguk’s Secret Santa with the blatant, embarrassingly huge crush you have on him. You think you’d be happy about it in any other universe, except this one.

Jeongguk is difficult. And not because he’s ever been argumentative, looking to start quarrels, never willing to agree or see past his nose. He’s far from those. He’s one of the easiest people to be around, rarely judgmental, even when you were drunk off your mind and you jokingly grinded on very-gay Jimin to make up for your lack of sexual activity. On those occasions, you didn't exactly see judgement in his eyes. Just reticence. Maybe. It wasn’t clear.

What is clear is that Jeongguk is incredibly particular. He’s picky about what he likes and even more so about what he doesn’t, though dislike might be too soft a word. When he hates something, it’s impossible not to know. He doesn’t even try to mask his disappointment.

It’s not malicious, of course. He’s not the type to be spiteful. It’s just how he is, an open book, his expressions giving him away without fail.

It’s one of the many reasons you love watching him, other than hoping your eyes would telepathically convey your undying desire to fuck him and cuddle him close to your chest afterwards. But most of the time, studying the shifts in his features is a way for you to decipher what he’s thinking.

And that’s why this moment feels so high-stakes. The last thing you want is to be on the receiving end of one of Jeongguk’s polite smiles or barely-there nods of acknowledgment, the kind he gives when he’s unimpressed. It would crush you, the ultimate failure in your short-lived career as a gift-giver.

It’s not just that he’s hard to please. Jeongguk is also the last person who seems to need anything. He’s loaded, his success as a game developer has afforded him a life where anything he wants is within reach. And yet, despite his wealth, there’s no arrogance about him. If you didn’t know him so well, you might think he was just another college student scraping by.

Who else but Jeon Jeongguk could walk around in a hoodie and square glasses, looking like he just rolled out of bed, while being the CEO of his own company?

But, of course, none of this is important. Because as you unfold the piece of paper in your hand, it’s there. Jeongguk.

You don’t think you enjoy Secret Santa as much anymore.

With the bowl continuing its journey around the circle, you spend the rest of the game staring holes into the back of Jeongguk’s head, desperately trying to figure out what in the world you could possibly get him. Your monthly budget feels laughable in comparison to his lifestyle, but you’re already prepared to go way over it if that’s what it takes to impress him.

You wonder if he’s as insecure as you are when he quietly unfolds the small, paper square he picked up and scans the name. His bug eyed expression doesn’t hide an evident surprise, the twitch of his eyebrows managing to conceal a possible disappointment.

For someone who’s usually so easy to read, Jeongguk seems uncharacteristically guarded in this moment, and it drives you crazy. You squint at him, frowning as you try to decipher any small detail on his face. Is he annoyed? Or worse, completely indifferent?

Either way, it doesn’t look like a positive reaction. If it ends up being you, you’ll rethink back to this moment and cry yourself to sleep.

With the first step out of the way, the night goes on following its usual rhythm. Only by the end of it, Jeongguk’s space starting to empty, you quietly help him put some order to the mess left behind by a too drunk Hoseok paired with his too drunk best friend Taehyung.

You keep yourself busy with storing some leftover food, managing to keep your tone unbothered when you ask, “Hey, Gguk. Wanna help me with the party planning this year?”

Always obliging to your every request, he only stutters slightly in his movements, the glasses he was cleaning clinking together. He clears his throat, “S—sure. I’ll help you, goldie.” The stammer doesn’t seem to be caused by any kind of hesitation, just an usual consequence to his nature. Reserved, quiet.

You nod, gulping way too loudly at the special nickname he has for you, and both of you keep your focus on your doings instead of witnessing the faint blush dusting your cheeks, “Cool. I’ll text you the details tomorrow.”

Details texted, your efforts to divert the conversation into something remotely playful failed miserably. Jeongguk is painfully formal, methodical as ever, hyper-focused on the party. When you sent him a TikTok you deemed adorable enough to nudge him toward a different matter, maybe hint at the dog being the cutest thing he’s ever seen and that you two should definitely adopt three of them and move in together, he still doesn’t get it.

gguk🤍: Oh… I asked my brother to keep Bam for Christmas Eve. I thought he would be too much of a hassle, especially with Iseul not being fond of dogs.

You had stared at the ceiling for a long moment after reading that text. Jeongguk is endearingly dense, and you don’t mind it most of the time. But it’s starting to cause quiet bursts of frustration when it comes to whatever undefined thing you two have, and what is clearly simmering for the eyes of everybody to see, except his.

You’d thought giving him his first handjob when he quietly confessed he’s never been touched, his voice a tremble in the calm aftermath of a chaotic group sleepover, would be enough to make him see. His quiet whimpers were hypnotizing calls that only you were meant to hear, and your fist pumping his girthy length with intent was speaking all you were afraid to voice.

Jeongguk came hard and unannounced all over your hand, pleasured sounds muffled in the side of your neck, and you’d assured him it was okay; he did good; that you would get something to clean him up. You didn’t sleep that night, and he didn’t either, spending the rest of it next to each other on his couch talking pointless conversation.

If that hadn’t opened his eyes, you were beginning to wonder what would.

“So… Do you have any idea what to gift your person?”

Jeongguk stirs his latte for the fourth time. You’d decided to meet at a café halfway between your cramped flat and his mansion, because it was the easiest way you managed to make your busy schedules merge.

“No, Gguk,” you acknowledge his question without meeting his eyes, focusing on the grocery list on your laptop instead.

What would? You’re starting to think subtlety isn’t cutting it. Maybe it never has. Perhaps the only way to break through that frustratingly thick skull of his is to go full throttle, strip naked right here in the middle of this café and spell it out for him.

Your eye involuntary twitches at the thought in relation to his question. Crazy Christmas gift, you reason as you stare maniacally at your bright screen. Yeah. Totally crazy.

Shaking your head, you can’t resist glancing up at him. The idea doesn’t seem so irrational anymore, not when your insides twist at the sight of his absorbed expression, his brows furrowed as he scribbles out unheard-of maths on a piece of paper to figure out group expenses.

With your chin resting in the palm of your hand, you abandon your pretense of being productive and let yourself watch him work. A teasing lilt slips into your voice as you prod him in your usual way, “Why should I believe you already don’t know who it is?”

He blinks up at you, promptly, like he always does when you speak to him, and he stumbles, “Huh— I don’t—”

“You so do. You probably already guessed it all with your nerdy brain.”

Despite looking mildly offended, his ears turn red anyway, “Nerdy brain—”

“Glasses look cute on you,” that shuts him up; his mouth, his brain. Completely unable to cater to any of their functions.

You smirk at the way he diverts his gaze, pointer finger unconsciously fixing the specs on the bridge of his nose, and you wonder how much longer it’ll take for him to notice that you don’t just go around calling everyone’s glasses cute.

Sighing, you continue, “Anyways. It’s not you.”

“W—what? Is it really not?” When he looks up at you with even wider eyes, you feel bad for lying to him but you still shake your head. He mutters, “Shoot. I was so sure I had it.”

A playful scoff escapes you, “See! You did sit in your nerdy room and tried to guess!”

“Stop calling me a nerd,” it’s a request grumbled in the most adorable way you’ve heard, and there’s no real heat behind it. Especially when he goes back to be exactly what he doesn’t want you to refer to him as, “Well, if it’s not me, it must be Taehyung.”

You pretend to busy yourself with your touchpad as you ponder on his eagerness. Then, you voice the result, “What’s the fun in knowing right now?”

Jeongguk hesitates for a moment too long before admitting, “I don’t know. I guess it makes me less anxious.”

It’s a raw kind of honesty, much like what he was painted all over with when he came from your touch, and it has you shifting your gaze back on him, now absorbed in doodling stylized portraits of Bam right next to numbers and additions.

You don’t know if it’s the hot chocolate still simmering in your tummy, the warmth from the coat laying on your legs, the café’s natural heat or Jeongguk’s proximity, but you buzz with something homely.

Ariana Grande’s version of Last Christmas replays for the third time in a row, and at this point you’re starting to believe it’s a conscious choice, but you don’t mind it.

Jeongguk belongs to the world the soft melody is building, hugged by a woolen white sweater, the wide glass window behind him giving the perfect view to a classic winter scenery, snow softly resting on any surface it finds and unconsciously bringing magic to dullness. Or maybe it’s just him adding that last bit.

You smile at his small confession, reassuring with your tone, almost drowning in the lively chatter of the place surrounding you, “You don’t have to be.”

Jeongguk only nods, tapping the pencil on his temple as he studies what he has so far with sudden doubt. He looks at your laptop, scanning the long forgotten visual board on your Pinterest, then back to his calculations.

Giving one more glance at the screen, he concludes, “By the way, I really don’t think that color would look good in my living room.”

Ugh.

You think you want to strangle him when he deflects so easily from these moments. And mostly, the burgundy he’s so easily refusing happens to be one of your favorite shades. Do your tastes ever match?

God, as much as you want him, you hope he’s not your Secret Santa.

────⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆────

Jeongguk is your Secret Santa.

And on Christmas Eve, he’s pacing the length of his living room back and forth, his socks brushing against the polished wooden floor with each step. You’re supposed to arrive any minute now to help him with the final touches before the others come for dinner, and the idea of having you here alone is enough to make his hands clammy and his thoughts stumble.

The neatly wrapped gift with its shiny red paper sits tucked under the towering Christmas tree, the one adorned in messy decor that his friends jumbled up together. The item hidden inside the bag doesn’t share his anxieties, though he suspects his downstairs neighbour might have caught on to it with the incessant pacing.

When you ring the doorbell he’s jolted out of it and, practically tripping over his own feet, he rushes to the door and yanks it open. He would have let you in just as rapidly if his brain didn’t stop short at seeing you standing there.

You’re cladded in a soft sweater that looks two sizes larger, its beige tones complimenting the warm brown of his own jumper, and your short skirt peeks out beneath its hem, edged with lace ruffles. At your feet, a pair of chestnut Uggs that he can only hope are enough to make up for the cold shivers on your bare legs. Not that he’s staring, so intently he has to gulp down an impulsive thought. No, he’s just a naturally observing guy.

And that brings him to notice that your hands are empty, save for a small purse and a bottle of wine. No bag, no box, no sign of a gift.

When his gaze flickers back to your face, your eyes are wide and darting nervously between his own, narrowed by the frown that he can’t quite hide but bug sized the moment he catches a trace of insecurity in your shaky voice, “Hi.”

It could be the cold causing the brief greeting to tremble, small snowflakes laying on your neatly styled hair, shimmering for a brief moment before melting away. It pulls him out from his unabashed study of you, and he steps aside to let you into his much warmer space.

Your vanilla scent inebriating his senses has him forgetting all about your seemingly non existent gift, and how he suddenly finds himself wishing he truly did get something messed up in his calculations, that you’re not his Secret Santa.

But you are.

Many drinks later, filling up everyone’s stomachs along with shared food and belly laughter, it’s time to exchange gifts and the expression on your face is unlikely anything he’s caught on so far.

A huge contrast to the mellow Christmas tunes indistinctly playing in the background, your eyes are impassive as you word your excuses, “I’m sorry, Gguk. I forgot your gift at home.”

“Oh. It’s okay,” he says quickly, the words spilling out with genuine ease. And it really is okay. He’s not upset— far from it. The thought of you giving him anything at all, even belatedly, is enough to make him feel content.

But now, as the group’s attention turns toward him, his heart races for an entirely different reason. His gift for you, a lavish, over-the-top gesture that far exceeds the modest budget they all agreed on, sits waiting on his lap.

When it finds a new home atop your own crossed legs, you’re eager as you rip the paper, but your eyes don’t follow your movements. Instead, you focus on the nervous boy sitting across from you, your very own Secret Santa who’s monitoring your hands for you while subtly rocking from one side to the other.

His anxiety is endearingly soft, but you can see something more to it, almost an irrational fear of tripping on the wrong step, messing up something that’s supposed to be simple.

You hear it before you see it. The whole room inhales sharply in a collective surprise, with some gasps muffled behind hands pressed to mouths. You scramble for an explanation in their expressions, jumping from one face to the other, stopping on Jeongguk’s own, gaze glued to his fidgeting fingers, head bowed down to his lap.

When you slowly look down at what’s resting on yours, you almost wheeze. If they could, your eyes would leap out of their sockets.

Your palm instinctively presses on your lips as you look between the gift and the gifter in a frantic attempt to catch any sign that this is not what it is. With the music being the only sound eerily filling the sudden silence, you add to it, even if barely, with your voice a whisper, “What is this?”

Jeongguk gulps and finally meets you, “It’s m—my gift for you.”

It’s not like you even opened it yet. But the simple sight of the box had you grasping for support. On the pale, textured surface of the square box, the unmistakable gold lettering is what’s making your orbs shake in confusion: Dior.

You trace the sign with your pointed finger, tilting your head up to look at Jeongguk through your lashes, and you don’t know how else to put it, “Ggukkie… Were you there when we set the budget?”

Jimin butts in with a scoff, “Yeah, that’s like fifteen thousand won multiplied by another fifty thousand.”

Jeongguk doesn’t know what he should say. He’s scared of the deafening silence that follows, the way Jimin’s comment seems to linger in the air, the way you seem to struggle with finding something to say in response.

He begins, tries to, “I—”

“Fuck, Gguk,” the simple sound of your words has his mind spiralling, palms clammy with doubts that question his every choice leading up to this moment, feeling foolish for even thinking this could be right, a shot worth trying. What if you think he’s showing off? Or worse, overcompensating?

But what he fails to notice is the toothy grin that follows your shameless surprise, your fingers gingerly lifting the lid of the box, and really, if only he had the courage to look up at you he’d have avoided the worries.

He misses your reaction at the reveal: the prettiest earrings sit on a soft cushion, gleaming gold with delicate CD initials and cream pearls dangling gracefully beneath them.

“These are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. I love them. You didn’t have to.”

Jeongguk’s head snaps up. He meets your face painted with the most beautiful grin he’s ever seen you wear, your cheeks burning with red and your nose scrunching as you carefully slip the earrings to take a better look at them. With you, everybody else around him seems in awe, too. Their soft, endeared whispers begin to fill the earlier suffocating silence, melting into a sweetness reserved entirely for Jeongguk.

He exhales quietly, the welcomed warmth in his chest replacing the cold. He admits, no stutter, no fear, just a sheepish smile, “I wanted to.”

Jeongguk really did want to. It felt like his one shot. A desperate, last-ditch attempt at making you see him the way he’s always seen you; a declaration wrapped in gold and pearls.

He wants you to see him as more than the shy, awkward boy who stumbles over his words and blushes too easily. More than the nerd who spends too much time working on equations and codes half the world doesn’t know about. More, just to have you look at him a bit closer.

He wants to be a man, one who badly wants you, in your eyes.

They’re gleaming with adorable excitement as they flicker back to his, sheepishly accompanying your quiet request, “Can you… put them on for me?”

Jeongguk is at your side in no time, handling the earrings with care while trying to keep his usual clumsiness at bay as he fastens the dainty jewels in place. He begins to understand why it’s hard to see him as anything else but gawky when he feels his heartbeat speed up from the simple way his skin is brushing against yours.

Namjoon’s voice cuts through the spell, playful, “Oh, what a pretty princess. Jeongguk truly has an eye for this stuff.”

With the group following with chuckles and mindless banter, Jeongguk feels uncharacteristically bold, gaze fixated entirely on you as he lets himself spill something meant for you only to hear, “I think it’s just you. You’re beautiful.”

You’re clearly caught off guard, and it stings a little when he realizes the only reason he doesn’t get to see you this flustered often is because he’s usually busy being the flustered one. Blinking up at him through your lashes, your laugh comes out a little breathless, and the sweet way you let your cheek rest on your shoulder has him daring to hope.

“Nerd.”

But no. There it is again.

That’s all he’ll ever be in your eyes.

He forces a smile that barely reaches his eyes, but you’re too engrossed with having your pearls admired by the rest of the group to notice. Those weren’t a waste; he would do it all the same. You deserve everything that makes your eyes shine, that brings the corners of your lips into that grin that shakes him, that can ever bring you joy. He just wishes it could bring you more than that; bring you to a bigger sentiment, a bigger realization.

Perhaps that’s why he can’t shake off the awful mood that pervades his senses throughout the rest of the night, the earrings hanging from your ears catching the twinkly, warm lights and mocking him with delighted amusement. There’s nothing else you can do, you nerdy boy.

Perhaps that’s also why, when the house starts to empty and you’re in his kitchen making yourself helpful with dishes, he slips on composure when you accidentally let a glass slide from your dainty hands.

It breaks the moment it meets the ground, and the sound penetrates his ears, both of you jumping at the impact. He hisses, “What— what the heck, ___!”

You’re startled, blinking up at him. It’s not the chaos from the glass, not its tiny pieces covering the floor and reaching your feet. It’s the deliberate frustration of his tone, one he’s never let free, especially with you.

You pant for apologies, but they can’t seem to be let out. Wide eyes jumping between his own bug ones, your brows draw up in shame. It has never been this easy to get him bothered. Hell, you’ve even struggled to.

Jeongguk only sighs, dragging a hand across his nape, and he regrets the quiet sharpness in his voice the second he lets it out, “God. Be more careful next time.”

He’s still quicker than you on his feet, moving to sweep the mess you’ve created before you can even react. You seem to move in slow, infinite motions, kneeling down to pick up the bigger pieces, all while keeping an unusual silence.

He steals a glance up at you, biting his lower pierced lip in sudden guilt, “Are you okay?”

Your hands pause, clutching a fragment of glass as your eyes flicker up to meet his. You nod, distant, and it does nothing to convince him.

He doesn’t even seem to be paying attention to your hesitant confirmation, rather he’s hyper-focused on your fingers, and before you realize the shift in his expression, he alarmedly blurts out, “Goldie. You’re bleeding.”

The sting barely registers for you until his words bring it to your attention. Looking down, you see a sharp, red line running across your finger, small but enough to make Jeongguk spring into action.

You’re lifted off the floor and ushered to the bathroom in fractions of seconds, letting yourself be handled like you don’t own your body. The only thing you want to be aware of is the switch in his behaviour. He’s back to normal once he’s in his quiet bubble of concentration, movements precise as he cleans the barely visible wound and carefully places a band aid over it.

All while he can’t stop apologizing, “I’m sorry for yelling at you. That was not your fault. But, this. This is my fa—”

“Jeongguk, it’s just a scratch.”

The way he meets your eyes with his face drawn tight and brows furrowed makes you rethink your statement. Maybe it’s more than a scratch. Maybe it’s the only thing that snapped him out of his frustrated daze.

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t deserve that.”

Your first instinct is to giggle; it’s a resonance of the butterflies childishly swarming in your belly from the proximity and his careful words. Both your gazes soften as you accept each other, even the faulted versions of tonight, and a timid smile stretches over his lips.

You hesitate before speaking again, your mouth opening only to close, reconsidering your words; but then you finally let out what you had foolishly planned as your next desperate attempt to cling to him.

“Can you… My car is… Can you take me home?”

What you’re now sure you like the most about Jeongguk is how he caters to your needs before you even have to voice them. The soft kindness in his eyes, the way his body instinctively shifts to act before his mind even fully processes the request. He’s already nodding, ready to make it happen for you.

“Yeah. Of course.”

The heat in his car fans over your cheeks, dusting them with a soft red that has his Adam’s apple bobbing every time he turns to steal glances at you at stoplights. You keep talking, filling the air with contentment about the night’s events, and it’s like that subtle slip of his never happened.

It’s almost too easy to surrender and pretend that everything is fine, that he doesn’t feel the ache of wanting more. If staying a nerd in your eyes means getting to be this close, to hear your laughter, to see the slight curve of your lips as you speak, then maybe it’s enough.

His subtle gestures — adjusting the temperature so you’re comfortable, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter when your giggles spill into the cabin — don’t go unnoticed. They settle into you and have your heart beating anticipatedly.

God, you won’t regret what you’re about to do.

By the time he pulls up in front of your place, you promptly turn to him before he can offer anything else, voice a bit too eager, “Would you like to come inside?”

“Huh—”

“I’ll show you my gift.”

Jeongguk sits on your couch, because you tell him to wait there. And of course, he’s a great listener. Very obedient, willing to follow your every order.

His fingertips drum restlessly on his thighs and he can only busy himself with his surroundings, every detail speaking for you. What’s definitely more prominent is the intoxicating scent of vanilla that clings in the air, of which he hopes his lungs inhale the entirety of, never getting enough of everything that is you.

When you come into his vision again, walking down the stairs in quiet steps, you’re tightly hugged in a trench coat, the textured belt cinched snugly around you and accentuating the small of your waist. Under it, your legs are bare. It has his mouth drying and his legs spreading stiffly on the couch.

He thought he got better at hiding his concerning infatuation. He hopes he did.

That’s why he initially manages to chuckle and attempt a joke, “Are you going somew—”

“Ta-da.”

Jeongguk doesn’t think he’s breathing. He doesn’t think he can even breathe anymore. His blinking fastens, brain stumbling over itself as it tries to make sense of what he’s sitting in front of.

You’ve loosened the coat just enough for the fabric to fall and reveal what you’ve carefully wrapped for him. You’re a gift coming in a red lingerie set clinging to your perfect curves, your boobs deliciously spilling out from the sides of your lace top and the line of your panties thin enough to leave little to the imagination.

He pants, scanning over your body once, twice, three times, questioning if the wine was perhaps laced with stronger substances, “What— What is this—”

“It’s my gift for you. Merry Christmas, Gguk.”

Meeting your face again, he nearly groans. You’re almost bare before him, yet you still sport a crimson blush and your teeth graze your bottom lip in a sheepish smile, in a way that is so achingly you. He can feel himself throbbing painfully in his pants. Thinks he could cum just from this view, tip over the edge without a single touch, no matter how bad he needs it.

“Fuck.”

You’ve barely ever heard Jeongguk curse throughout the time you’ve known him for. He only sometimes reserves that for his monitor, Overwatch games causing his composure to slip in adorable loud whispers.

But it’s like you’ve broken his dam, and he only lets more slip as you walk slowly but certainly closer to him, coat discarded on the floor, “Oh my, fuck. Holy shit. Thank you. Thank you. I— I don’t know what to do.”

It’s a quiet plea, the one that’s hidden in his strained words but clear in his full eyes glazed over with anticipation, his hands hovering uncertainly over his thighs, chest still heaving and struggling with manual breathing. He’s begging to feel deserving of this, to have you prove to him that it’s what you truly want for the both of you, to have you touching him and to be touching you.

He can’t help the moan that escapes him when you position yourself in between his spread legs, bodies close yet not touching, but he’s dying to feel you.

Now your turn to bend at his every request, your head tilts and your smile widens the more he’s forced to crane his neck up to keep your gazes connected, pending off your every syllable, “You don’t have to do anything. Will you let me take care of you?

“Yes, please,” the confirmation is immediate and empty of hesitance. Under you, Jeongguk nods promptly with his lips agape, watering with want when you straddle his lap to sit yourself on him.

He wails, throwing his head back and searching for all the strength it takes from holding back his instinct to snap up against your core, snuggled atop his raging hardness. At his shameless desperation, your giggles fill his ears, and when they’re followed by your cold hand on his cheek redirecting his gaze on yours, he feels feverish.

Delirious, eyes barely keeping from rolling back, his brain reduced to senseless blabbering, “My God. Thank you for this.”

With his brows adorably drawn up, he focuses on your dilated pupils now that your faces are mere centimetres apart, and you close the distance with small pecks that trace his jaw, up to his ear lobe, whispering against the skin, “Are you seriously thanking God while I’m about to take your virginity?

Jeongguk hisses in a frenzied surge, his hands still unsurely keeping from touching you, and your sarcastic pun has him full on rambling, “Shit, sorry. I don’t even believe in God. This just feels too good to be true. You look like a fucking angel.”

“Ggukkie, language!” Your seductive tone along with your chuckle reverberates right against his chest, your hands moving to lead your own palms up and down his broad front, and when you subtly roll your hips against his clothed length, he breaks into a cry.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’ll come so soon,” you don’t know if it’s the adrenaline of the moment, but you’ve never witnessed such a bold Jeongguk. It only spurs you further, your hand traveling down, and down, until it sneaks under his sweater.

When you find his nipple, you playfully roll it between your pointer and thumb, his trembling body bucking up in an unstoppable urge, quiet whimpers working to keep his tone down. But you want to hear him scream under you, just as loud as you can feel his heart beating.

You bite your lip as your eyes drift downward, watching where your bodies meet in slow, teasing drags. His wide palms press into the cushions on either side of you, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip, and when you lift your gaze to meet his face again the delicious buzz pooling low in your stomach intensifies, your lips parting instinctively. A pretty blush creeps up his neck, painting his sharp jaw and cheekbones in shades of red, and his eyes, clouded, desperate, and burning with unfiltered need, lock onto you with a gaze that makes your knees weak even as you straddle him.

The simple grinding through the layers of clothing you still have on has you releasing whiny gasps in the air, his cock sliding torturously between your folds, and if you’re so affected by every shift you can hardly fathom what he must be feeling under you.

So you wonder out loud, voice rough the more you feel his stiff nipple under your fingertips, “How long since you’ve been touched properly, hm?”

His body hiccups, shaking with the barely contained lust, “Since— Since you last did, goldie.”

You coo, slowing down your movements and bringing your fingers to the hem of his jumper only to lift it and toss it behind you carelessly, “You’re so sensitive, aren't you?” At the view of his exposed chest, you can’t help roaming the expanse of it and feeling the tensing muscles under your skin, and by now you’re sure your panties must be ruined.

“Puh— please,” the plea is barely coherent, whispered out messily through high-pitched moans, but he begs again, “I wanna touch you too.”

“Then…” You let your hands speak for you, moving them to lead his own big ones to rest at your thighs, letting them drag up the curve of your ass. You’re impossibly close to his lips now, fanning against them, “Feel me, Gguk.”

Unable to resist, you fall forward and catch his mouth with yours in a kiss that struggles to find a rhythm, that has your tongues tangled in an uncoordinated dance, but that inevitably has you both humming loudly in an effort to almost devour each other, and his hands digging in your bare skin only force a gasp out of you.

In an impatient rush, you urge him to unclasp your bra, his unpractised and shaky fingers being joined by your experienced ones to finally free you from the tight confines, and as much as he wants to make kissing you a sport just to win every gold medal and break record after record, he can’t help separating from your lips with a wet sound to look down at your exposed breasts.

Jeongguk groans, and this time he doesn’t need you guiding him. It’s his own palms moving to cup you, and the innocent, light feather touch causes you to throw your head back and resume your slow grinding on top of him.

Both of you are panting messes, his moans significantly louder the more he gets to knead at your softness only to slice his thumb over your hardened nipples, the contrast making his brows furrow in hazed need, and when you arch your back into him he squeezes your tit to his mouth, eliciting a surprised wail from you.

Even when he gets closer, your sensitive nub engulfed by his swollen lips, he keeps looking up at you for approval with wide, teary eyes that beg for you to praise him. And with a hand gripping his wavy locks, you nod repeatedly for him to keep going, “Fuck, baby. Just like that, oh my God.”

He hums lowly with his mouth stuffed, his fingers digging in your flesh the more you drag your cunt mercilessly over the outline of his thickness, and he has to release you with a pop and rest his head on the couch behind him, palms keeping you somewhat still by the waist, panting out a desperate request when he feels himself throb dangerously close to his high, “G—Goldie, I can’t. Don’t— Don’t wanna cum like this.”

You lift your hips just enough for the both of you to whimper at the loss of friction, and you murmur through a string of kisses along his exposed neck, “How do you want to cum then, huh?”

He only whines, cheeks flushed with want and eyes glossy, forehead creasing with the way his brows are stressing, “Please.”

You show no mercy, flashing him with a wicked smirk and a teasing tilt of your head, “Ah-ah. Say it.”

Gulping with effort, his waist twitches up unconsciously to seek for your touch once again, and with his face turned to the side he admits in the smallest voice, “‘Nside of you.”

“Good boy. Gonna give you exactly what you want.”

He voices a loud cry just from the sound of your promise, only echoing more intensely when you hastily work at his zipper. It’s messy, uncertain, and it elicits breathy giggles from the two of you, drunk on adoration and high on desire.

Eventually, he’s stripped free from his confines, and his cock stands proud and hard, veins pumping the blood that has it throbbing against his toned stomach.

Jeongguk can feel your hooded eyes on him, can sense his tip wettening with the simple way you seem starved and eager to taste him, your hand coming too close to where he needs you the most before he gently grabs your wrist to stop it.

Automatically, your head snaps up, and the look on his face is one of nervous desperation, “Wan’ you to kiss me, please.”

You’re ready to comply to his every demand, and this one is as easy as it gets. You want to give him everything— whatever he wants, however he wants it.

Your lips mold with his in worldless acceptance, absorbing all you were afraid to voice to each other, making up for all the time you wasted, devoting to a sealed promise, the one that dances between your connected tongues, saliva making it wet and breathless.

Even more when your slim fingers trail down his torso before wrapping around his length, your wrist expertly flicking in a teasing touch, and his moan is unrestrained as it tears through the kiss. You swallow the sound greedily, steadying you against his chest rising and falling in frantic pants.

Before he can protest, his own hips bucking up in a silent beg for more, you steal the air from his lungs when you move your panties to the side and align your entrance with his tip, just to sink down on it.

The drag is slow and it has both of your eyes rolling back, pleased groans filling the air and straining against your throat when you fully sit yourself wrapped around his dick. You search for him, “You okay?”

“Shit,” Jeongguk seems hypnotised by the view of his thickness wrecking you in half, and his palms come to rest at your waist where his fingers dig into the skin. Your own playing with the hair on his nape only seem to make him more vulnerable, “This is perfect. You feel so good and warm, fuck.”

You’re not used to hearing him curse so openly and so often, and it naturally makes you giggle, the sound tickling his ears and leading his dilated pupils to look up at you through his lashes. Your sweet laughter fades into a lasting smile, one he can’t help but kiss, even if it’s all teeth, the contagious sight of your happiness getting to him too.

The moment is sickeningly sweet, bodies connected in more ways than one. With your kiss only deepening and your chest melting against his, you pull him impossibly closer by the back of his neck and start attempting slow motions on top of him.

You hear him through his thundering heartbeat, “Goldie… I— I don’t think I can last any longer, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Oh, shit, baby,” one particular shift has his length, deeply stuffed in your tight walls, finding your spot and teasing it with an electric buzz that travels through your body, “It’s okay. I’m so close too.”

The moment you try a firmier bounce and feel him find you again, you can’t help the way your movements fasten, your moans thick and low against your throat, his own louder and ricocheting through the walls.

You steady yourself with one of you palms on his thigh, leaning your weight back and finding a new angle to fuck yourself on him. He watches in awe as you work your fingers on your clit, rapid circling movements causing his mouth to hang open at the squelching sounds.

He pants, his wide hands guiding your riding, pushing you up and down, “Can— Can I touch you?”

You hum, but it sounds more like a whine, “Hm, of course, pretty boy,” the hand that was stimulating your sensitive nub now comes behind you to help support yourself on both of his muscular thighs, flexing under every shift.

Jeongguk is unpracticed as he leads his thumb to rest at your clit, applying a soft pressure and mimicking the same pattern he observed from you. He only seems to be focusing on his doing for the first few moments before he searches up for the reaction on your face, and he whimpers when he finds your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, your brows drawn up in pleasure.

You smile at the unconscious twitch of his chin, and give him just what you know he wants, “Always seeking my approval. You’re so good.”

The simple praise only has him working on you with more confidence, collecting some of your wetness and sliding it up along your lips. He learns fast, listening to your every sound and centering on your pleasure, as best as he can with his own knot getting closer to bursting.

You’re clearly affected by the simulations, your hips stuttering and riding around him, but you still make sure to concentrate on him first, “I’ll tell you when to cum, hm? You’ll listen to me, right?”

Jeongguk nods before he even knows what he’s agreeing to, “Y��yes. Yes, yes, fuck. I’ll be good. Wanna be so, so good for you. Wanna c—cum for you.”

“You’re so filthy, baby. Naughty boy. Fuck me.”

His hips meet you up with harsh thrusts that have you lose your balance on him, and you can only throw yourself with your arms around his broad shoulders, face hidden in the crook of his neck as he lets his desire take over, fucking up into you with a desperate need for release.

You think you see stars with the way he relentlessly pounds your hole, wet folds sliding along his length and causing a mess between you, his own slickness mixed with yours trailing down and pooling at the base. The sounds are inglorious, and they merge perfectly with your wails.

Breathing in his scent, you know he’s close from the way his thrusts are stammering sloppily, and his moans are closer to strained whines. You concede, “F—Fucking cum, Gguk. Cum inside me, fuck.”

He nods, slamming you down to meet his movements, desperate to feel you before he can stop himself, “Cum with me, pleas— Oh.”

When your walls spasm around him with your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave, causing you to shake in his embrace around you, he feels himself cum unannounced, hard and thick, sprouts of white liquid relentlessly pumping inside your warmth.

You milk him dry, both your wails drained with the effort and fading into breathless gasps, his arms around you falling limply at his sides. You’re sprawled on his chest, emptied from any energy, and he is just as spent with his head lolling against the back of the couch.

But you feel it in your heartbeats syncing, the realization of what happened, what finally happened. You feel it in his face moving down to find your lips and catch them in a sweet peck, his fingers trailing up again to trace lazy patterns on your back before tangling in your hair, grounding himself in you.

It’s your own smiles breaking through the kiss, lashes tickling, and both of you laugh senselessly as you come down from the moment.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk breathes out, voice raspy, “This was the best Christmas gift ever.”

You snicker, biting your lip to hold back your amusement, “Oh, baby. It was just an excuse to fuck you. I actually did forget your gift at home.”

“W—What?” His brows shoot up, his post-orgasm haze momentarily replaced with incredulity as his cheeks redden even more.

When Jeongguk straightens on the couch, so do you, steadying your weak frame with your hands splayed against his chest. Sheepishly, you confess, “Yeah. Bought you that Mario game yo—“

“Princess Peach: Showtime?”

“Yea—”

Jeongguk gasps dramatically, his excitement so pure it’s almost jarring considering what just transpired, and that he’s no longer a virgin, “God, I fucking love— that game. That is the best Christmas gift ever.”

You can’t hold back your laughter this time, shaking your head at how easily he slips back into his usual self, the one that had you buying a Victoria’s Secret set in that shade of burgundy he said he didn’t like just to attempt a crazy chance at having him.

Leaning forward, you press a lingering kiss to his lips that brings you back to the realization that you finally did get to have him, before murmuring against them, “Well, that and a second round. What do you say?”

“Please.”

[dejablonde]

So I had a big brain thought this morning. One reason (aside from just general profit and greed) that college in the US is so expensive?

So they can use athletic scholarships as leverage to maintain the enterprise that is college football. If just anybody can get into college, you can't lure your show ponies in with the promise of an education and the idea that they're special.

[unexpectedbrickattack]

Does Peppino actively enjoy using himself as a subject or does he just use it for marketing? What other things does he usually like to draw or make? Is he a wood carver? I can see him as a wood carver

Oh this is interesting; ive been stuck on this for a little bit. The needle swings between yes and no mid response lol. I think he enjoys being able to use his likeness for marketing, but less so for personal, artistic use. It feels obvious to use ur own face and/or name for ur business (one that u put so much blood sweat n tears in) but he doesnt feel compelled to draw himself. There is a level of self awareness(?) i think u have to have to even desire depicting oneself in art and i think he would be too focused on his failing business to start that process. He has more important things to do. But on the flipside; i think he would look at his own creations (for his business) and regard them as reminders of his failures. So he wouldnt have the best opinion of himself.

But! i think he would enjoy others depictions of his likeness. Despite his awkwardness, he enjoys putting on a show, he enjoys performing to some degree, he likes entertaining a crowd. He feeds off of positive attention (like most people do) even if it leaves him a little flustered. People take pictures of him and he smiles earnestly. He doesnt have the words for it, but it is grounding to see himself outside of his business and existing outside of his failures.

This obv gets better postgame as he gets more support for his business. But also, as Pepperman starts to take genuine interest in his form to use as a muse. It is the perfect balance of him enjoying being an art subject, without him having to Make the art. And tying his visage to a now profitable, successful shop, makes him feel a bit better about seeing his own caricature on the storefront. I can see him in Peppermans studio being convinced to draw himself on canvas, and instead of his usual caricature style, it is an attempt at realism with him waving hi towards the ‘camera’, which is a nice contrast to Peppermans first picture of Peppino looking very blue and very sad. Pepperman is delighted lol look at his muse branching out !!!! Pepperman does not do this for anyone but he lets Peppino take the picture home with him (‘But you must promise to give me a copy of this to hang in my studio 😊 PROMISE ME-‘)

And yes, Peppino wood carves bc Peshino is a wood carved toy!! Hes got some bits in him to let him move around w a simple wind up mechanism. I dont think Peppino would do this in his free time prior to postgame, but as he gets more (positive) time to himself, he starts to take up some easy crafts. Wood carving when hes home and watching tv, and sculpting/painting when hes at Peppermans studio.

[avvidstarion]

Honestly tma should’ve ended after season four like I feel like SEEING the fear apocalypse made it super underwhelming

[imaginedisish]

Everlong (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: This was not a request, just a thought I had and had to get out. "Everlong" by Foo Fighters just scratches my brain in a way very few songs can, and it fits perfectly for this fic. Hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: Logan offers you his bed as a friend, knowing how hard it is for you to fall asleep alone. But after months of sleeping next to him platonically, things finally take a turn...

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT! Thigh riding, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Cockwarming, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, non-sexual intimacy to sexual intimacy, friends to lovers, man-handling, rough sex, afab!reader/f!reader, feelings, fluff, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,619 jeeeeeeezzzzz this is DEPRAVED

Sleep was hard—that is, until you started sleeping in Logan’s bed. 

It had all started out so innocent. You were sitting on a couch in the study, flicking through the pages of your favorite book. You had just finished your fourth lap around the grounds of the mansion, and you decided you needed a break. The clock on the wall read 2:22 AM, mocking you, reminding you that of all the gifts you have, sleeping would never be one of them. 

“What’re you doing awake?” You jumped at the voice breaking up the silence, but quickly recognized its bassy, deep tone. You turned to face Logan in the doorway. 

“Just can’t sleep,” you answered, shrugging your shoulders. He wore a beater and gray sweatpants, and you struggled against the urge to trail your eyes up and down his body. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him—you’ve wanted him for months. 

Logan crossed his arms against his chest and smiled softly. “Can’t sleep either,” he said, taking a step closer. “You can come up to my room, if you want” he offered. “Next time you can’t sleep, or you have a nightmare, or you just can’t think of anything to do, come find me.”

You smiled at his words, at his kindness, at his willingness to help you. “Thank you, Logan,” you whispered. 

“No problem, princess.” And then he turned to leave, walking back through the hallway and up the stairs to his room. 

You’re still not sure what came over you in those following moments—still don’t understand where your confidence came from—but you forced yourself up from the couch and down the hall, following Logan’s path to his room. 

He was already inside, already had the door closed, so you knocked. And the door immediately swung open. You swallowed, parting your lips nervously. “Lo, do you think I could take you up—”

But he didn’t even let you finish. He grabbed your arm and tugged you into the darkness of his room, navigating you carefully to his bed. He laid you down and walked to the other side, climbing in next to you. He brought the covers over your bodies, shuffling under the sheets, settling in, and then everything was silent. 

You tried to get comfortable. You rolled onto your stomach and waited, eyes shut tight, hoping that sleep would take you under its current. But it didn’t. You rolled back onto your side, away from Logan, opening and closing your eyes frustratedly.

“You okay?” He asked. You could hear Logan inching towards you, his front suddenly pressing against your back. 

You hummed in affirmation, leaning your back into him. He reached a tentative arm around your waist and pulled you into his chest. “Is this okay?” He husked, his lips at the shell of your ear. 

“Yeah,” you panted into the darkness of his room, taking shallow breaths, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You could smell him everywhere—on the sheets, the pillowcase, in the air of the room. It was all leather and musk and pine and denim. And there he was, holding you, his thumb drawing soft circles into your slightly exposed midriff. Something about it was overwhelming, but also comforting, as though all your senses were being cradled by him.

He could hear your heart beating, could hear your breath catching in your throat. “Relax,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. Go to sleep.” Your eyes fluttered closed, and you focused on Logan’s breathing. It was constant, stable, steadfast. He was so warm, so solid. And soon enough, you found yourself giving in to sleep. 

You woke up a few hours later, the pale light of the moon still pushing through the curtains. Logan’s legs were tangled with yours, your face pressed into the center of his chest, his arm wrapped around your back, holding you tight. You tried to lift your head to read the clock behind you on the nightstand.

But Logan pulled you back down. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured against the crown of your head. “Too early.” 

That’s how most nights have been since then—climbing into his bed, completely innocently, just to be able to sleep. He holds you all night, keeping you close. And when the sun finally rises, you both get up and head down to the kitchen, watching as Logan brews you a pot of coffee. 

It’s shockingly domestic and incredibly intimate. And yet, the two of you have never talked about it. It’s a silent agreement, one based on pattern, convention, and repetition. These very events have played out more times than you can count—for months now. It has become so normalized that you don’t question it, don’t even think about it when you crawl into his bed, and he pulls you into his chest. 

So, tonight starts out like any other. Your feet pad along the dark, mahogany wood floors, down the dim, quiet hallway, towards Logan’s room. You’re only wearing a pair of panties and one of Logan’s old t-shirts, the hem falling to the middle of your thighs. 

You stand in front of his door and knock. You aren’t nervous anymore—aren’t anxious as he opens the door. He’s already shirtless, wearing just his boxers—which, however, is something you will never get used to. He smiles, his eyes trailing up and down your body as he steps to the side, inviting you in. 

You know the drill by now—you walk to your side of the bed, lying down and pulling the covers up to your chin. Logan follows suit. You move in silence, but it’s a comfortable silence. It’s a silence shared by two people who don’t have to say a word, don’t have to communicate to feel connection. His arms wrap around your body, and he tugs you into his chest. 

“Didn’t see you today,” he mumbles, his lips brushing your forehead. “Wish I could’ve.” His fingertips graze up and down your back, your t-shirt hitching up as you get comfortable, revealing your bare legs. 

“I’m here now,” you whisper, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, smelling him, letting him overtake your senses. He tangles your legs with his.

“Is this my shirt, by the way?” he asks, his hands sliding down to the hem, which is now bunched up above the waistband of your panties. 

You smile into his neck. “Maybe,” you answer, giggling softly. 

His fingertips slip just under the t-shirt, tentative and hesitant, waiting for you to push him away, to tell him no. But you don’t. “Looks better on you than it does on me,” he husks, his thigh settling between your legs so that you’re straddling it. 

“Th-thanks,” you stutter, trying to ignore the way he bumps against your core, the way his words make your heart race. You shut your eyes and wrap your arms around his center, letting him engulf you in his warmth. You swallow your feelings down and close your eyes. “Night, Lo,” you mutter.  

“Night, princess,” he says, his lips against the crown of your head. 

You listen carefully to his breathing, like you always do, and after a few moments, you find yourself falling asleep.

When you wake up a few hours later, your back is against Logan’s front. His arm keeps you pressed tightly to his chest, his nose nudging against the crook of your neck—you can feel his breath, warm on your skin. Your legs are intertwined, his knee just inches away from your core. 

Logan moves in his sleep, his knee bumping against your core now, his nose nuzzling into your neck, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just under your ear. You take a deep breath, pleasure pulsing between your thighs as Logan moves again, his thigh dragging against you. You can’t help the moan that falls from your lips. 

He moves again, and that’s when you feel it—his erection stiff against the curve of your ass. Heat spreads across your chest, up to your neck, your stomach somersaulting as his hips press harder into your ass.

“L-Lo,” you stutter into the darkness of his room. But he doesn’t answer. His thigh slides against your core again. You can feel the wetness pooling between your legs, soaking your panties. “Logan,” you choke, moaning louder this time.  

He hums in response, nuzzling his nose deeper into your neck, his lips pressing against your skin—the ghost of a kiss. It’s too much—you want to grind down on his thigh, want to feel his cock pressing against your ass, want to feel his hips rutting against yours. You thought maybe this would happen, hoped that one night would lead to something like this, but you never dreamed it would actually come to pass. 

Logan’s thigh rubs against your heat again, and you mumble his name, your breathing quickening. “Fuck,” you groan, involuntarily bucking your hips against Logan’s. His erection drags along your ass. 

You force yourself to be still as Logan grunts into your neck. “You awake, pretty girl?” He whispers against your ear. 

“Mhm,” you murmur, trying to play half-asleep. You don’t want to let on that you can feel him hard against you, and you pray you aren’t soaking through your panties and onto his thigh. 

You swear you can hear him mumble a soft fuck under his breath. Your thoughts race around your head. Maybe he was awake the whole time. Maybe he felt your hips roll against him. Maybe he can smell the arousal growing between your thighs. You know he can hear your heart hammering against your ribcage. 

But his arm tightens its grip around your waist, and he pulls you closer, holding you down against his thigh. “What were you doing, sweetheart?�� He rasps, pressing a true, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. You gasp, a shiver running down your spine. 

“Wh-what do you mean?” You stutter, stumbling around your words as he kisses your neck again, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just under your ear. 

He moves his knee, pressing harder into your core, dragging his thigh against your aching heat. You stifle a moan as he repeats the motion. “Felt you riding me, pretty girl,” he huffs, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your hips along his thigh. “Smelt you, too,” he whispers, his lips still at your neck. “Can feel that pretty, wet pussy dripping on me, darlin’.”

“Logan,” you whine, letting him move your hips back and forth. The pressure feels so good. You need more. “Please…” You trail off, grinding down onto him. 

“Making a fucking mess of me, aren’t you?” He teases, his fingers gripping your hips like iron, so tight he might bruise. “Love watching you get off on me.” His voice is dark and honeyed, smooth like expensive liquor. Your walls clench around nothing as your clit drags along Logan’s thigh and you moan, throwing your head back against his shoulder. “So sensitive, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you pant, letting him pull you back and forth. You’ll take anything you can get—anything he’s willing to give to you. “D-don’t stop,” you beg. 

“Fuck,” Logan grunts. “Need me that bad, huh?”

“Y-you have no idea,” you stammer. He bites your pulse point as one of his hands wraps around your front, slipping inside your panties and finding your clit. “Oh fuck, Lo,” you whine, the pads of his fingers drawing tight, rapid circles around the bud. 

“That feels good, pretty girl?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and he’s getting off on it. You can feel his erection hard against your ass every time his hips buck into yours. “Bet it does, the way you’re soaking my thigh.”

“So fucking good,” you whimper. But you know you need more. You need him. “Logan, please…” You trail off, the words escaping you as pleasure pulses through your body. 

“Please what, darlin’?” He teases, his fingers pulling out of your panties, his hands gripping your hips again, rolling you against his thigh. It’s not enough, and you groan at the loss of contact. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“N-need more,” you croak, dragging yourself along him. 

“More what, beautiful?” But you know he knows. You know he wants to hear you beg for it, wants to hear you beg for him. 

“More of you,” you choke out.

“Yeah?” He chides, slowing the roll of your hips with his iron grip. “More of me how?” He’s so goddamn cocky, so unfair. 

“I-I…” your eyes roll back into your head as he slowly, teasingly drags you up his thigh, pulling you against his erection and holding you there. “However you want me,” you whisper, pushing against his cock. “Just want you.”

He suddenly pulls away, his grip on your hips forcing you into the mattress as he rolls on top of you, caging you in, his hands on either side of your head. 

Logan’s lips crash down onto yours, swallowing you hungrily, his teeth grazing your lower lip and licking away the pain. You part your lips, inviting him inside, tasting his tongue against yours. He slides a hand down your body, stopping at the hem of your shirt and yanking it up. He breaks the kiss to slip the shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. He sits up on his knees, his eyes trailing your body, settling on your bare breasts. 

“So fucking beautiful,” Logan praises, lowering down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand glides up your side and to your breasts. He palms your flesh, rolling his thumb over your pebbled nipple, pinching lightly. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” He traces across the valley of your breasts, his hand massaging the other side. 

He grinds his hips into yours, his erection nudging against your core. “Wanted you so bad, pretty girl,” he pants, pressing another kiss to your lips. His fingertips drag down your body, gripping your hip tightly again. “Dreamed of fucking you, of tasting you.” He buries his face into the crook of your neck as he pushes you into the mattress, biting down on your pulse point. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”

You moan as he sucks at your sensitive skin. “Want you, Lo. Need you,” you whine, your arms wrapping around his back, nails digging into his skin. “Always wanted you.”

He kisses a trail down your neck, to your collarbone, between the valley of your breasts. He slides down your body, peppering light kisses across your stomach, stopping at the hem of your panties. He looks up at you, his face illuminated by the pale, blue moonlight. You can see the desperation in his eyes, the need. He licks his lips—a man starved—as his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties. 

He tugs them down your legs, throwing them to the floor, and settles between your thighs. His face is just inches from your aching heat. Your chest heaves as he brings himself closer, his breath fanning across your cunt. You look down at him and find him staring up at you, watching your every move. 

“Wanna know what you taste like, darlin’,” he huffs, his palms splaying on your inner thighs, spreading your legs wide open for him. “Want me to make you feel good?” His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs possessively. 

“Y-yes,” you stammer, already arching your back off the mattress. “Please, Logan.”

He smiles, his eyes still trained on yours as his tongue swipes through your folds, long and slow, all the way up to your clit. “Fuck,” he mumbles against your core, flicking your clit, lapping at it twice before starting all over again. He licks another teasing stripe through your folds, landing on your clit and taking the bud between his lips this time. He sucks roughly, releasing your clit and swirling soothing circles around it. “You taste so perfect. Better than I ever imagined.” 

He laves at you, devouring you, his head buried against your cunt. His right hand climbs up your inner thigh, nearing your folds as his teeth graze your clit. Your hips jolt back at the sudden feeling, and Logan is quick to slide his left hand under your thigh. He grips tightly, yanking you back to him, and pressing his face deeper into your cunt. “Don’t even think about it, pretty girl. You’re not going anywhere until I’m finished with you.” 

You moan at his words, his right hand finally working its way up to your folds. His fingertips find your entrance, spreading your slick. “So fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, prodding your slit. “Want my fingers, darlin’?”

“Yes, Lo, please. Want all of—” He thrusts two long, thick fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles. “Oh, fuck,” you cry out as he pulls out and slams back in. 

His tongue swirls around your clit, his teeth grazing the bud every time he takes it between his lips to suck. It’s overwhelming, overstimulating, the way he laps at you, drinking you in, consuming you. If he could find a way to keep your taste on his tongue all day, he would. If he could slip under your skin to be one with you, to feel your warmth, he would. You know this isn’t want. This isn’t lust. This isn’t some one-off thing. This is need. This is longing. 

Your eyes roll back into your head as he breathes you in, his tongue working at your clit as his fingers thrust in and out, dragging along your walls, scissoring inside you. “Doing so good for me, sweetheart,” Logan praises, and you clench down around him at the words. He smiles against your cunt. “You like that, don’t you? Like when I tell you just how good of a girl you are.” 

Your walls flutter around him again. “I-I do,” you admit, your voice shaky as he fucks into you, hitting that sweet spot inside you with every pump of his fingers. 

Logan chuckles darkly, the reverberation pulsing against your clit. “That’s my good girl, giving me what I’ve been waiting for,” he huffs, lapping at you, sucking on your clit like it’s candy. “Would’ve waited forever for you.”

Your muscles contract and release at his words, at the intimate confession. “Would’ve waited forever for y-you too,” you whimper, his fingers still working you open. You’re so close. Fire burns at the base of your spine, your walls clenching around Logan’s fingers again as his tongue draws tight, rapid circles into your bud. 

“No more waiting, beautiful,” Logan grunts, and you know what he means—he knows you’re close. “Wanna feel you come around my fingers, wanna taste it.” It isn’t a request; it’s a command. His fingers plunge deeper, his tongue laving at your clit roughly between sentences. “Know you’re ready to let go, sweetheart. Don’t hold back. Come for me.”

You’re crashing down, falling, but not into nothingness—into Logan, into his warmth, into his touch. Your chest heaves and the room spins. Heat pours from deep at the bottom of your belly, fire spreading up your spine. Nothing has ever felt like this. His name is the only thing you can think, the only thing you can say: Logan Logan Logan Logan. 

His pumps slow down, his fingers dragging gently along your inner walls until he stills inside you and carefully pulls out. His tongue is still lapping at you, still working your overstimulated clit. 

“Logan,” you whine, your hands finding his head, digging your nails into his scalp. “Want you.”

He smirks against you, knowing full well what he’s doing. “You have me, darlin’.”

You groan, half in frustration, half in pleasure—the tension building back up between your thighs with every flit of Logan’s tongue. “Please,” you beg, tugging on Logan’s hair. He grunts at the feeling, smiling against your cunt again. “I want you, Logan.”

“Gotta be more specific, pretty girl,” he huffs, his face finally separating from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, his lower lip. He brings his fingers to his mouth as he waits, wrapping his lips around his fingers and sucking, savoring the taste of you. 

“Want you inside me…” You trail off, watching as his fingers pop out of his mouth, his tongue darting out along his lower lip, rationing every drop of you he can find. “Want your cock,” you finally choke out.

The corner of Logan’s mouth turns up, his fingers hooking into his boxers and tugging them down. “Wanna fuck you so bad, beautiful,” he grunts, his cock springing free, bouncing against his stomach. He’s so much bigger than you had anticipated. You swallow nervously as he lowers himself down over you, resting on his forearm. “Thought about this for so long.”

His hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding himself to your folds. He swipes through you, spreading your slick, notching against your clit. You moan at the contact, your chest coming flush with Logan’s as your back arches off the mattress. “Logan, please,” you beg. “Just want you. Only ever gonna—”

He plunges deep inside you, down to the hilt with one thrust. You’ve never felt so full—his cock thick and long, splitting you open. His presses a kiss to your lips, swallowing your moans as his tongue darts out, tangling with yours. He’s still inside you, stretching you out, allowing you to adjust to the size of him. “You okay, pretty girl?” He asks as his lips part from yours.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, your arms wrapping around his back. “Feels good. So big.”

Logan pulls out and thrusts back in, splitting you open again. “Fuck,” he groans, his forehead resting against yours. “So fucking perfect. So tight, so warm. Made for me, darlin’.” Your eyes flutter open and closed as his free hand slips between your bodies, quickly finding your clit. 

“Lo,” you whine as his fingers draw tight, rapid circles into the bud. He sets his pace, pumping in and out of your cunt with reckless abandon. His hips rock against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing along the walls of the room. 

“Knew you’d feel like this,” Logan soothes, flicking your clit as he fucks into you. “Knew you’d feel this good. Wanna be inside you forever, princess.”

His lips find yours again, his teeth tugging on your lower lip and then sucking the pain away. It’s rushed and frantic, like he’s dying for more, searching for a way to reach deeper inside you, to feel all of you at once. 

He ruts into you, his hips snapping, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. He pinches your clit roughly, and your back arches off the mattress, your chest pressing against his. 

“No idea how much I wanted you…” You trail off as his cock pounds into you. He’s still stretching you out, still working you open. 

Logan moans your name, his cock throbbing at your words. “Wanted to fuck you that first night you came in here,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. “Wanted you before that too. Knew I needed you the second I saw you.”

The confession rocks through you. You think of all those nights spent next to Logan, all those stolen moments. He wanted you—needed you the whole time. 

“Lo,” you hiccup, his fingertips swirling your clit, his hips rocking against yours. He sinks deep inside, again and again, pumping in and out. Your walls flutter around his cock, dragging him in deeper. 

“Fuck, pretty girl,” he groans, sliding out and plunging back in. “Squeezing me so good, taking me so well.”

Tears brim in the corners of your eyes at the pure pleasure drumming through your bones. You know you’re close, know you’re almost unraveling underneath him. Logan flicks your clit, drawing hard, rough strokes around the bud. You’re on fire, and you’re burning for him. 

“Logan I-I…” You stumble around your words, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pounds into you. Your walls flutter around him again, and his cock twitches inside you at the feeling. 

He groans, your name on his tongue like a prayer. “I know you’re close, pretty girl.” He throbs inside you, and you know he’s almost there too. “Wanna make you come again,” he grunts, pulling out and pumping back in. “Know you have another one in you, sweetheart.”

He’s right. You can’t hold on much longer, but you want this moment to last. You want to feel his cock dragging along your walls, filling you up, splitting you open. You want his chest flush against yours. You want to feel the way he bites your lip and sucks away the sting he leaves behind. You want it all—all of him—and you don’t just want it right now. You don’t want this to be a fleeting moment. You want it to be forever. 

“Come on, beautiful,” Logan pants, his pace faltering, his hips stuttering. He twitches inside you again. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He strokes your clit, drawing those quick circles into the bud. “Let go for me. Know you want to,” he breathes, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

His words overwhelm you, and you let go. It’s all more forceful this time, more powerful, your body trembling, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as wave after wave of pleasure tears through your body. It feels like blinding, searing heat, spreading like a forest fire. 

Logan is right behind you, moaning your name, his cock throbbing against your walls. “Gonna fill you up, pretty girl,” he husks, his chest heaving. You whisper a soft, pleading yes. “Fuck, gonna make you mine,” he moans. His cock throbs again, and then he’s spilling inside you, filling you with his release. 

His fingers rub gentle strokes into your clit, his cock slowly pumping in and out before stilling inside you. His fingers slip away from your clit, his hand traveling up your body, and rolling you over so that you’re side by side, facing each other. He pulls you into his chest, his cock still deep inside you. 

Logan’s arms wrap around your back, caressing your bare skin, tracing patterns and shapes with his fingertips. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head as you bury your face into his chest. 

“Wanna stay inside you,” he mumbles against your hair. “Wanna keep you close.”

“You can,” you whisper, your heart hammering. “Wanna stay close, too.” 

He presses another kiss to your head. “I’m not going anywhere,” Logan soothes, his fingers running up and down your spine. “Gonna want you forever.” 

You lift your head to look up at him, his eyes immediately meeting yours. “Forever?” You ask, but you know it’s a dumb question. You know he’s telling the truth.

He smiles and nods. “Would’ve waited for you forever,” he says, pausing, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “Never felt this way before, pretty girl. Never felt this real, this perfect. Don’t wanna let you go.”

“Don’t,” you whisper into the darkness of his room. “Please.”

“I won’t,” he coos, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I won’t.”

His breathing steadies, and you listen to him like you do every night. Your eyes flutter shut, and you drift off to sleep with Logan’s cock deep inside you.

Forever. You think as your mind goes quiet and sleep drags you under. Forever. 

Everlong.   

tags: @ricefordays-blog1 @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @alsoprettyinpink @figsnpassionfruits @spiderset @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @starrdustss @wittyjasontodd @pedrohoe04 @fanfic-writing-barbie @evasmlp @derbygracie @cosmiccandydreamer @honeyfewr @movhoney @manipulatour @rammakela *I am so sorry if I forgot to tag you*

[bi-writes]

simon being protective of his mail order bride scratches all the right spots in my brain.

mail-order bride

you're almost relieved when you hear the knock at the door. you've been a holding a tree pose for a few minutes too long, and the girl hosting the online yoga class is starting to fry your eardrums with her too-perky voice.

you're sweating bullets, and her hair hasn't moved a fucking inch out of her ponytail.

you mute the television, wiping your forehead before making your way to the front door. you open it with a sigh, not really knowing what you expected to see, but it certainly wasn't the average-dressed man standing on the steps there.

you blink, raising a brow when his eyes roam over you, and you realize suddenly that you're wearing workout clothes, which is showing off a little more than you'd like to some rando standing on your doorstep.

"uh..." you look around a little. "i'm sorry, can i help you?"

he smiles. it's a little unnerving.

"right, yeah, i'm starting a business around here, and i wanted to ask if you've been needing any help with any fixtures around the house. i'm giving a 50% discount if you give me a rating on google."

you open your mouth for a moment, frowning.

"uhm..." you shake your head, "sorry. we don't need any help right now."

"you live here alone? sometimes it's hard to spot when the electric's on the piss, y'know? need a keen eye," he laughs, coming up one of the steps. you shake your head again.

"no, thanks."

he's a wiry man, but he's tall (not taller than your husband, but taller than you). you step back a little and start to close the door. he comes up the steps. out of the corner of your eye, you see the cat slip out between your legs, hissing a little as the distance closes between you and the man.

"wait! can i give you my contact info? i don't have a card, but i can leave you my--"

the sound of simon's truck pulling into the garage gets both of you to look behind. simon doesn't even park all the way inside. he throws the truck door open, stepping out of it, and the man on your steps moves back away from you immediately, making his way off the little porch.

simon looks huge, more so than ever. his steps are heavy, boots hitting the ground like a warning bell, and he's wearing just a short-sleeved shirt that's showing off those glorious fucking arms. you have never doubted simon's strength, but he looks like he could flip a car with the anger that's leaving him in heavy waves. you're surprised that you are not afraid; you just know somehow that simon won't touch you.

"oi!" simon yells, and the man definitely understands he picked the wrong fucking house to be a creepy salesman at when his knees nearly buckle as he tries to walk away. "where the fuck do y'think y'r goin', you twat?"

you sigh deeply, not realizing how much you were shaking until you notice your hands trembling around the doorknob. you watch as simon catches the guy by his dirty jean jacket, nearly lifting him completely off his feet as he drags him towards the fence gate.

"hey! hey! i didn't do anything!"

"i saw ya, ya fuckin' arse, know exactly wot the fuck y'were doin'," simon growls, tossing him onto the sidewalk. he hits the pavement with a cry, holding onto his arm, and simon slams the fence gate closed before pointing at him accusingly. "'f i ever see ya anywhere near m'fuckin' house or even askin' m'wife for so much as fuckin' directions, i'll cut y'r bloody prick off, y'hear?"

you blink as simon comes closer, the cat retreating back into the house once they see him. he keeps walking, crowding you back into the house before he shuts and locks the front door. his chest is heaving, black t-shirt doing nothing to hide the puff of his chest and how large he makes himself when he stands up to other men. he doesn't even need to make himself larger; simon takes up enough space for two men combined.

"he touch you?" simon asks, his voice low. you see his fists clench, and you have no doubt that if you said yes, simon would go outside and paint the pavement a new color with the man's face.

you shake your head frantically, and he lets out a deep breath, reaching up and wrapping a hand around the back of your head and pulling you close.

he bends, pressing his masked forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he breathes in slowly. he rubs at the nape of your neck, soothing you, and you smile when he pulls away, giving him those big eyes that say thank you, thank you, thank you.

simon cocks his head, staring behind you, and you turn with him to see the cat blinking slowly at the two of you from it's place on the windowsill.

"should get you a fucking guard dog instead," simon mutters, pulling his mask off and kicking his boots into the corner. you smile as he walks away, trying to cool your warm cheeks with the backs of your hands.

doesn't he know you already have one?

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat

thinking about construction worker!rafe who spends his days ‘lifting heavy stuff and building shit’ (his words) and is always showing up to the small cafe shy!reader works at all sweaty and white shirt dirtied...

18+ mdni!

c/w: construction worker!rafe being flirty & having some improper thoughts, her having the biggest crush on him, suggestive

wc: 1k

hope you enjoy xx

part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Every time the golden bell above the door of the coffee shop dings and Rafe's eyes settle on her soft form the edges of his mouth tilt up; offering her a lazy grin as he asks what baked good she’d recommend for him to try that day. 

His visits have become something she begins to look forward to, him asking about her day with his raspy voice and big biceps bulging as he leans against the counter; always managing to drag a nervous giggle out of her.

She feels like a Pavlov’s dog, her brain tingling and mind buzzing like a bee when the clock ticks away and the time he usually walks through the mustard yellow door approaches.  

And he thinks she’s just as sweet as sugar, especially when she smiles at him all bashful, trying to hide the way her eyes round out and her breath gets caught in her throat whenever he leans closer to her, asking what she's doing after this with a slow drawl, lifting his thumb to her cheek and swiping away a smudge of flour dusted over the skin there, lingering for a second too long.  

“Messy girl,” he'd murmur, purposefully trying to make her blush, being mean.  

Slowly but surely, his visits become the best part of her day and she starts to harbor fond, gooey feelings towards the slightly older guy who makes a show of loudly humming in satisfaction when he bites into a raspberry chocolate muffin she’s made, honey dripping from his tongue when he showers her in compliments.  

He seems to be pleased when she diverts her jittery eyes from his intense gaze and tries to busy herself with swiping a rag over a spot on the countertop (for the fourth time already), sneaking glances at him indulging in the confectioneries she's practically forcing him to taste test now; whenever she tries a new recipe, she always wants him to be the first to try it. And he's not complaining.  

And when he finds out she walks home by herself, even after night shifts, there’s no other option for him but to insist driving her home from then on, because he doesn’t like the idea of such a pretty girl walking alone in the dark— doesn’t like it at all.  

She of course denies him immediately, going on about not wanting to bother him and that she’s fine, to which he simply furrows his brows; telling her it actually wouldn’t be a bother at all since he can often work quite late as well— demanding to know what time she gets off that night. And she has no choice but to hesitantly reply, his stern tone almost compelling her to give into his every wish.  

It then becomes a routine for them, him waiting for her to finish up cleaning and her mumbling out a soft thank you when he holds the door of his truck open and she crawls onto the passenger side with his palm on the small of her bag guiding her, just resting there, reassuring. He often refers to her as ‘my passenger princess’, making her melt into a puddle on the seat every single time; trying to hide her flustered face from him, but failing miserably. 

She often feels rather overwhelmed in the small space of his car, a plum tinge heating up her face whenever she feels his eyes on her, catching her staring at his big hands. She's not sure how he's allowed to have such alluring details; a singular gold ring adorning his index finger, strawberry lips so inviting, it's making her head spin.  

Therefore, it’s not really her fault when her mind gets lost in a haze and her brain turns foggy when she notices how his strong arms flex whenever he turns the steering wheel, thumb tapping against the leather. Or when his blunt fingernails scratch at the slight stubble on his face and she wonders how it would feel on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs or—

“You good, Sweetheart?” Rafe asks and she blinks, realizing he’s asked her a question. A question her dazed cerebrum has no recollection of.  

“Sorry?” She's embarrassed.  

A low chuckle rumbles from his sturdy chest. “What’s on your mind, hm?”  

“Oh, um— nothing, just tired and…stuff,” she tries to sound convincing, however, his grin only widens.

“Yeah? So, you’re telling me you weren’t just checking me out?” His tone turns into something condescending, patronizing.  

“What? I— no, no I was just—” 

“Relax, I’m just fucking with you,” but there’s a mocking glint in his eyes that indicates she’s not being very subtle. Her face burns. 

“Asked you if you were hungry?” He flits his eyes to hers. 

“Uh...yeah, sure. I mean, I don’t even remember how long it's been since I ate lunch to be honest,” she starts to ramble, trying to ignore the murky thoughts trying to reach beyond the surface.  

“Why don’t you come over to my place then and I could make you something? All I’m saying, is that I’m a great cook, feels unfair to me that you’re always the one filling up my belly with your baking,” he says as his mind starts to concoct a few other ways he could fill up her belly, willing to bet that she’d let him.  

After all, he’s not an idiot. He sees the way her moony eyes travel down his features whenever she thinks he’s not paying attention— thinks it's absolutely adorable how sheepish she gets about it.  

However, he’s hesitant about the right way to approach it, not wanting to scare the shy little thing away. But he’s not sure how much longer he can go without having her the way he so desperately wants.  

Therefore, he opts to warm her up with a homemade meal, and afterwards let her have a sweet treat; he'd fuck her dumb, stuff his cock into her tight cunt until tears are trickling down her cheeks and she's a whimpering mess.  

He knows he could make her feel so good, wants to show her just how much she's missing— wants to make her beg for it and wants to be a little mean about it, but most of all he just wants to make her his.

“Um…okay,” she agrees with a nod of her head.

Because how is she supposed to deny him of anything when he’s looking at her with those enticing eyes that resemble dulcet water puddles?

[punkshort]

First Impressions

Thanks anon for this request!

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader one-shot

Summary: When your heater breaks in the dead of winter, you get more than you bargained for when Joel Miller arrives to fix it.

Warnings: language, some fluff, the stress and fear that comes with living in the wilderness during a zombie apocalypse, competency kink (a little), smut (18+ MDNI), dirty talk

WC: 4.2K

Adjusting to life in Jackson was tough. You had been on your own for so long, you found it nearly impossible to ever fully relax. You were grateful Tommy and Maria took you in after one of their patrols stumbled across you freezing in the thick Wyoming wilderness, but to be yanked from the brink of death and dropped into some thriving community that seemingly even managed to still celebrate the holidays was too jarring.

So, you kept to yourself for a while. You pitched in around the stables. It was where you felt most comfortable: less people, more animals. You didn't go to the dining hall to eat and you didn't visit the bar for a drink. You had a clear cut path from your house to the stables and back, and you rarely ever strayed.

Unfortunately, while Jackson had a lot to offer and did incredibly well at reviving civilization, things still did break. Like your space heater.

You piled on extra blankets for a week, and then you moved to the living room to sleep on the tiny sofa in front of the fireplace, but eventually your back was screaming at you for it and the cold weather wouldn't let up for at least another two months, so you had no choice but to ask for help.

Tommy was shocked you hadn't said something sooner and apologized for making you feel like you couldn't ask for help, even though it wasn't at all his fault or anyone else's except your own, and promised to have his brother stop by that afternoon to take a look at it.

While you kept to yourself and hardly socialized at all, that didn't stop you from overhearing things at the stables. You knew of Tommy's brother. How people whispered rumors behind his back and fell silent whenever he stepped foot inside the building.

Did you know he slit a raider's throat and made the guy's girlfriend watch?

He beat the shit out of Seth the other night just for looking at him wrong.

Back in Boston, I heard he knocked some guy's teeth down his throat for taking the last of the beef jerky.

Someone told me he only sleeps two hours a night.

He fixed Greg's shower and told him not to fuck it up again or else he'll be taking baths in the kitchen sink.

Were you intimidated? Maybe a little. But you had been on your own for so long, fighting and scratching and clawing to stay alive. Some asshole wasn't going to shake you up.

Then you saw him.

Well, you'd seen him before, sure. But just glimpses in the barn or passing by him on the street. Never up close.

When you opened your front door later that afternoon, you were a little taken aback. He was so much more handsome than you had thought. He was built like a refrigerator; broad and strong. His cheeks and chin were dusted in a patchy, greying beard, growing right below a hooked nose and deep, velvety brown eyes. There were a few scars littering his bronzed skin but what drew your attention more was his hair. His fucking hair. Loose, mostly grey curls that fell past his ear and down the back of his neck. Not long enough to pull into a ponytail, like Tommy, but give it a few more months and he might. He had them pushed back from his face, making the silken locks look like a cascading river so enticing, you had to hold yourself back from touching them.

He said your name and readjusted the toolbox in his hand and you blinked yourself back to life before stepping aside to let him in. When he passed you, you were hit with the strong scent of wood shavings and coffee, an intoxicating combination that had your brain buffering once again.

"Tommy said you needed your heater looked at?"

You nodded and pointed up the stairs. "It's in my bedroom. Can I, uh, get you something to drink? Coffee?"

He perked up at that once he slid off his jacket and shoes. "You got coffee?"

You nodded and walked toward the kitchen, rummaging through your meager belongings until you found the precious tin can. "That's the one thing I always made sure I grabbed if I ever saw it out there. If we have to live like this, at least I'm still having my coffee."

Joel grinned and set the toolbox down on your counter, watching as you filled up a kettle with water. His heart was hammering wildly in his chest. He couldn't believe how lucky he was that your stupid heater broke, giving him the perfect excuse to finally meet you so he could stop pining from afar. "You don't like it much here, then?"

You startled at that, giving him a look of surprise before lighting your stove.

"No, I didn't mean here, I just meant... you know... the world in general."

"I know, I'm just teasin' you," he said a little awkwardly with a soft chuckle. You turned around, leaning against your counter and crossing your arms over your chest. You had just spoken a few words but so far, nothing about this man screamed scary. In fact, he seemed rather... sweet.

"How long have you been here?" you asked while you waited for the water to boil.

"'Bout five years," he said thoughtfully, scratching his chin. "You're new, though."

You nodded, your fingers fidgeting underneath your bicep. "Yeah. I think it's been almost a month. I'm not really sure, never bothered keeping track of the days out there."

Joel studied you up for a moment, picking up on your eyes shifting over your surroundings, your foot tapping anxiously on the floor, and the way you kept your back protected when you spoke to him.

"I remember when we first got here," Joel said. Your fidgeting paused and you looked at him again. "It was tough. Acclimatin' to this kind of life. Hard to sleep. Hard to trust anyone. It took time but eventually, you start sleepin' soundly again and that guard comes down. You'll see."

A slow smile spread across your face and you looked down shyly at your feet. "Am I that obvious?"

Joel laughed and strolled over to the two mugs and can of instant coffee you had sitting out. "Wouldn't say it's obvious but I haven't seen you at the dining hall one time. In fact, pretty sure this is the first time I've heard your voice." Your cheeks warmed up behind his back and you bit your lower lip. So he's noticed you enough to realize you never went to the dining hall.

"It's a pretty one," he said over his shoulder, focusing on scooping the correct amount of coffee into each mug. "Your voice, I mean. Shame you been keepin' it hidden all this time."

"O-oh," you stuttered, completely flustered by his compliments. This was not at all the man everyone made him out to be. "Thank you."

Joel carefully poured the boiling water into each mug before giving them each a stir, then handed you one. "You're welcome, darlin'. Now why don't you show me to your bedroom?"

Your eyes must have bugged out of your head because at first, he frowned, then after he realized what he said, turned a shade of pink you didn't know he was capable of.

"I mean, for the heater."

"Yeah, oh Christ, I know," you said, waving him off and heading for the stairs, your mug clutched so tightly in one hand you thought it might break. You lead Joel to the first door on the left and stepped back so he had room to swing his toolbox through the narrow door with him.

"I don't know what happened," you said, trailing in after him while he began to set out some tools on the ground. When he knelt down, he groaned at the creak in his knees and you quickly grabbed a spare pillow. "Here, kneel on this," you offered. He looked up at the pillow, then at you, and shook his head.

"I ain't kneelin' on your pillow."

"It's a spare. I only use the one. And honestly, even that seems too much sometimes."

He sighed and hesitated for only a moment longer before taking the pillow from your hand. "Thank you," he said softly. You smiled and sat down on the edge of your bed after putting your coffee on the end table with his.

"Anyway. As I was saying, I don't know what happened. It was working fine and then one day it just wouldn't turn on. I tried other outlets and I didn't see any issues with the cord, so I just gave up."

Joel began to unscrew the back of the heater while he listened. "So you gave up and slept in the cold for two weeks?"

"Nothing I wasn't used to."

He couldn't argue with that.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence while he worked until he began to hum some old country song under his breath, making you smile again. You couldn't remember the last time you smiled so much.

"What're you smilin' for?" he asked with a sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

"You aren't at all the way people say you are," you said boldly.

He quirked an eyebrow and turned his attention back to his work. "And what have you heard?"

You shrugged and leaned back on your hands. "Threatened a man after breaking his shower. Knocked out some guy named Seth. That you only sleep two hours a night," you chuckled at the last one when you heard how silly it sounded.

"Well," Joel said with a heavy sigh. "I didn't threaten anyone about their shower. Just reminded him he's gotta take care of the pipes or else the whole place'll rot."

You grinned to yourself as he continued to explain the rumors.

"I did punch Seth but he said somethin' real nasty 'bout my girl and, well, that just don't sit right with me."

Your grin slid right off your face. "Your girl?"

He stopped what he was doing and swiveled around to face you. "My - Ellie. Her name's Ellie. She's, uh, well... she ain't my daughter, but..."

Relief flooded your veins. "Oh. I thought you meant -"

"No, no," Joel said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "No, not like that." He twirled a wrench around in between his fingers as he nervously bit the inside of his cheek before adding, "Don't got anyone like that."

Your mouth formed a silent oh. Message received.

Joel cleared his throat again and turned back to the heater. "And the sleep thing, well, they got me there," he chuckled with a shake of his head. "Although some nights are better than others."

"I know what you mean," you said with a nod. After a moment of silence, Joel smiled to himself.

"Imagine y'do if you ain't got any heat at night."

You giggled and he smiled again, this time his chest swelling when he heard you laugh.

Joel continued to work on the heater while you studied him quietly. He took you by complete surprise. The last thing you expected was to make a friend out of the fearsome Joel Miller. It didn't hurt that he was so easy on the eyes, either. How old was he? Your gaze roamed over his greying hair and the crinkles next to his eyes. Older than you, definitely, but it was hard to tell by how much.

You couldn't even remember the last time you were interested in anyone. It must have been when you were in the Atlanta QZ, and that was years ago.

"Alright, let's give her a run," Joel suddenly said. When you refocused on him, you saw he had put the heater back together and was fixing it upright. He plugged it into the wall and hovered his finger over the power button before glancing back at you. "Ready?"

You nodded and swung your legs back and forth over the edge of your bed, then he winked at you, sending warmth all over your body. Jesus, if Joel kept giving you little looks like that, you wouldn't have much need for a heater anymore.

He pressed the button and sure enough, the coils inside the heater began to glow orange and heat started to fill the room.

"Oh!" you exclaimed, jumping off the bed in excitement. "Thank you!" you added, kneeling on the floor as well so you could warm your hands in front of the heater.

"Anytime," Joel murmured, and it wasn't until you heard the deep timber of his voice next to you that you realized he was so close. You tilted your face, smiling shyly at him next to you. Up close, you could see the fine lines in his face in much more detail, each one calling out to you to trace with your fingertip. When you met his gaze, you found he had been examining you, as well. Quickly, you looked away and stood up.

"Is there anythin' else?" Joel asked as he began to pack up his toolbox. You shook your head.

"No, I think that'll do it."

"You sure? Thought I saw that faucet drippin' in the kitchen."

You frowned. "No, I didn't notice that," you said slowly.

"What 'bout those windows?" he asked, standing up with a grunt and gesturing to the two bedroom windows on the other side of the room. "Need help hangin' curtains?"

You looked where he was pointing. "No, never really bothered me. Besides, it faces the backyard. No one can see in."

He laughed softly and rubbed his chin before shooting you a sheepish look. "I'm tryin' to find a reason to stay, sweetheart."

Your eyes widened and once again, you felt your cheeks heat up.

"Oh," you said, shyly dropping your gaze to the floor to hide your smile. "I would like that."

"Yeah?" he asked, and you nodded.

"Yeah. You're, um," you shifted your weight nervously, "you're sweet. And nice."

Joel huffed and set his toolbox back down. "I ain't nice all the time," he warned. "But you ain't gotta worry 'bout that."

"No?" you questioned, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as he began to close the distance between you.

He sighed and cupped your face with both hands. Your body instantly melted at his touch, your knees practically giving out when he dragged his thumb across your lip, saving it from your teeth. "Am I readin' this wrong?" he asked, his eyes darting all over your face. You quickly shook your head and stepped even closer.

"Thank Christ," he breathed before capturing your lips in a deep kiss. It had been several years and you were a little rusty, but you quickly found it was like riding a bike.

Joel's kiss lit a fire in you, one that had gone dormant for so long. Your fingers curled around the lapels of his flannel, the material warm and soft, just like him, and with the confidence boost that came from his hands dropping to grab excitedly at your hips, you walked him backwards until he bumped against the edge of your mattress.

He sat down on your bed with an oomph and you crawled into his lap, not once breaking the kiss.

"Wish I got to know you sooner," he whispered, tipping his head back when your lips traveled down his neck. Fuck, even his neck was sexy. "Always so skittish and shy," he continued, his palms gliding up and down your back.

You laughed softly against his skin and leaned back. "You still don't really know me."

He grinned and shrugged. "I'd like to, if you're willin'," he said, his vulnerability making your chest ache. You sunk your teeth into your lower lip again and nodded.

"Good," he said, his hands roaming further past your waist to cup your ass. "'Cause I like what I know so far."

"You're full of surprises," you told him, giggling when he gave your ass a firm squeeze. "You're so much more... you're more gentle and sweet than I expected."

Joel smirked and tugged you closer so you felt his erection trapped within his jeans. "I can be gentle," he told you, nipping at your jaw. "Or I can be rough. Whatever you like."

You swallowed when you caught the mischievous glint in his dark eyes. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mhmm," he said, and before you could blink he had spun you around so your back was pressed into the mattress while he hovered above you. You had to admit, he was adorable. He had to be pushing sixty but he was talking like a man half his age. After you heard the way his knees creaked when he was fixing your heater, you figured he was all talk, or maybe he just needed the ego boost to hype himself up.

But the speed in which he removed your clothes should have been the first sign that your impression of him was wrong. When he buried himself inside you, his surprisingly thick length stretching you open and nudging the furthest depths of you, you got the message.

When you gasped and tipped your head back, his big hand immediately rose to cup the side of your face and tilt it back down so he could watch your face as you unraveled beneath him. Each little noise and moan seemed to egg him on, like he fed off your sounds and the way your face twisted in pleasure when his coarse hair rubbed against your clit with each roll of his hips.

"Wanna see you," he explained, eyes scanning all over your face. "Wanna watch you take it. You'll keep your eyes on me, won't you? Hm? You'll be good for me, yeah?"

You nodded, your mind a muddled mess. The only thing you could seem to focus on was the slow and deliberate drag of his heavy cock in and out of you. Joel pressed your knees back against your chest as far as you could handle and pushed inside you further with a rough grunt. He managed to get so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach and the sensation left you breathless.

"So fuckin' pretty, y'know that?" he groaned, gazing down at you without breaking rhythm. His long locks loosened and hung past his eyes, tempting you to smooth them back. "Wanted to get to know you f'so long but I couldn't ever catch your eye," he admitted with a little smirk. You moaned when his hips began to swirl, switching the angle ever so slightly and setting your nerves alight.

"I-I... oh, god," you whined, already struggling to keep your eyes on him like he asked. "I didn't know."

He lunged forward and crashed his mouth against yours hungrily, his exhale fanning over your cheek. Then just as suddenly as he kissed you, he leaned back and pulled out.

"Turn over," he instructed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he dragged in air. You did as you were told and shakily held yourself up on your hands and knees.

"Fuck," he muttered behind you. Your face went hot and you tucked your chin into your shoulder as you waited for him to enter you again, but he chose to take an extra minute to glide his hand over the curves of your hips and ass. If you had been able to see him, you would have seen a look of awe and appreciation on his face.

"Always wondered what you had hidden under all those clothes," he said as he lined himself up at your entrance. You cried out his name when he finally slid back inside, the angle already too intense and he hadn't even begun to move. "Goddamn, wanna run my tongue over every fuckin' inch of you, baby," he growled, fingers gripping your sides as he tried to ground himself.

He gave you a few gentle thrusts to get used to it before he couldn't hold back any longer. He pounded into you, his eyes fixed on your ass and the way it bounced with every snap of his hips. One hand slowly reached down to trace your spine, marveling at the way your body welcomed him. Then you arched your back and you both moaned at the slight change and he could feel his stomach begin to tense in anticipation of his release.

"So fuckin' tight," he said through clenched teeth. You could hear him breathing heavily as his thrusts grew sloppy and you began to panic, sensing he was about to come before you were ready. But then as if he read your mind, one of his hands snaked around your front to draw fast circles over your clit.

"C'mon, give it t'me," he said with a grunt. "Wanna feel this perfect pussy squeeze me, want you to be feelin' me for fuckin' days, sweetheart."

"Oh, shit," you gasped, mouth hanging open in a mixture of ecstasy and surprise. You wondered how on earth everyone in town had so much to say about Joel's reputation but somehow managed to leave out how mind-blowing he happened to be in bed.

"Christ, honey. Ain't gonna last much longer," he groaned, his fingers working even faster between your legs. He pounded into you harder, punching the air from your lungs and pushing you closer and closer to your peak. Your breaths were coming in shallow pants and you could feel the swell building deep inside you, threatening to unleash at any second. You reached behind you frantically, searching for some part of him to hold onto when you found his hand pressed firmly onto your hip. Your fingers clasped over his as you felt the pressure build up quickly and you knew in that moment this one encounter was going to single-handedly ruin you.

The moment you fell apart while practically screaming his name, your cunt pulsing around him and your body shaking, he almost made a huge mistake. Finally getting to witness what you looked like when you came was more than enough, but hearing his name over and over while your body shook with pleasure? It was too much and he was only just a man who was holding on by his goddamn fingernails as it was. But fortunately, he managed to pull out just in time to paint your lower back with his cum. He knew he was making some ungodly sounds as relief flooded his veins, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He had been daydreaming about taking you apart like that for weeks and now that he finally had you, there was no turning back.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, lifting his chin towards the ceiling while dragging in deep lungfuls of air. You collapsed flat onto your stomach with a grunt and he tilted his face back down to grin as how spent you looked.

Still got it.

"I'll be right back, darlin'," he told you. You mumbled something tiredly in response before he slipped out of your room to get a washcloth from your bathroom and returned quickly to clean you up.

"Thank you," you said, turning your face so you could watch him gently wipe up his mess. His eyes flickered to yours and he smirked.

"You thankin' me for fixin' the heater, for fuckin' you, or for cleanin' you up?"

You giggled, your voice a little hoarse when you replied, "All of the above."

You flipped over onto your back and his eyes immediately drifted down your naked body, his breath catching in the back of his throat at how perfect you were. Even better than he ever imagined.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, letting the rag fall to the floor so he could glide his hand up your thigh, over your hips and stomach to one of your breasts which, he realized far too late, had gone neglected. Next time.

"So are you," you whispered back, bringing a hand up to play with the long curls resting on the back of his neck. He shook his head shyly and looked away.

"I need a haircut."

"I like it just the way it is," you told him, twisting a lock of hair around one finger and watching as it loosely bounced back when you let it go. "Gives me something to grab onto," you joked. A wide smile stretched across his face and his eyes looked like he was staring at the tree on Christmas morning.

"So, uh," Joel began when the silence stretched on for too long. "I meant it earlier. 'Bout gettin' to know you better." He couldn't remember the last time he felt so nervous. He could feel his face heating up and he prayed you didn't notice. "I know you don't like goin' to the dining hall but I'd really like to have dinner with you. I can't make much but I can make stew, if y'wanna-"

"I would go to the dining hall with you," you said, cutting him off. His eyes snapped back up to yours and he shot you a nervous smile.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you said with a little shrug before sitting up and draping your arms around his shoulders. "As long as you're there, I'll go."

He grinned and leaned forward to kiss you, still in complete disbelief his wildest fantasy actually came true.

"How 'bout tomorrow, then?" he asked a little breathlessly when he broke the kiss.

Your eyes lit up and you nodded. "It's a date."

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[ozarkthedog]

𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭

summary: joel fucks you over the kitchen sink.

warnings: 18+ smut. best friends dad!joel x afab!reader. alt universe. unspecified age gap. secret relationship. soft dom!joel. cream pie. w.c. 529

author's note: writing has been difficult lately so i'm trying to write little pieces like this randomly to help get the creativity flowing again. so i apologize if this isn't my best. *runs off into the night*

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

"You better keep those hands on the counter if you want to come," Joel's lips brush your ear with the soft threat. Large, worn hands smother your own against the cool marble, keeping you still yet pliable.

You anxiously peer through the kitchen window.

It's been 10 minutes or so since you left. You made up a white lie about a headache to your friends, excusing yourself from the splashing chaos in the pool, only to find yourself in the arms of your friend's dad, Joel.

It started off innocently with wandering eyes and cheeky comments, which turned into brazen touches and stolen kisses over the last few months. Eventually, you ended up in Joel's bed one lonely night after a rough breakup. You sought solace from your friend, but Joel was the one who answered the door when she wasn't home.

Worry tugs at your nerves, bottom lip pinched hard between your teeth. You silently pray your friends won't realize you're missing and come searching. You wouldn't be able to face them if they saw you bent over the counter taking their friend's dad's cock.

"Where'd you go, sweet girl?" his thumb brushes your lip, pulling it softly from between your teeth. You kiss the warm pad before he pushes it into your mouth, letting you suckle on the digit.

"Stay righ' with me." He murmurs, pressing his broad front against your spine and trapping your body to the counter's edge. "Don' need to be thinkin' 'bout anythin' else 'cept takin' my cock."

Your breath hitches as he grinds his length deeper, nudging his weeping crown at the end of you, forming you around him like a leather glove.

"What if someone sees." You blurt, frantically clutching his wrist when one of your friends looks toward the kitchen window. Thankfully, the sun blinds her view just as Joel flips the two of you out of sight.

A steady arm locks around your waist, keeping you pinned on his thick cock while you're left at his mercy. He uses the support of the counter against his lower back to keep you propped and open for him.

"What'd I say 'bout thinkin', huh?" he snaps his hips, driving his girth between your drenched folds, ruthlessly accentuating his words with each thrust. "Nothin'. But. My. Cock."

A brute hand curls under your jaw and tips your head against his shoulder. His grey whiskers scratch your cheek. "Can feel her creamin' on me, ya know." He grits, tightening his hold on your jaw as your cunt swirls around his girth. "Why you fightin' it? We both know you're exactly where ya want to be, sweet girl."

Your eyes press tight as a wave of untamed arousal shoots from your cunt straight into your brain. Joel smacks his hand over your mouth, barely muting your sounds of carnal bliss as you tumble over the edge, body quivering and writhing in his hold.

"Tha's my good girl." Joel huskily praises. Your fingers dig into his forearm as he picks up speed. He grunts like a wild animal, uncaged and dirty, feverishly fucking into your soaked heat until his cum is dripping down your thighs.

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[evie-sturns]

Baby - Chris Sturniolo

summary: where chris gets into a fight with his brothers, all he wants is to be close to you.

contains: clingy!chris, fluff.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

chris bursts through the door, blinking his eyes a couple time before quite literally diving into bed.

the past half an hour the only thing i've heard is chris arguing with his brothers, i tuned it out after 15 minutes but matt sounded extremely angry with nick and chris.

chris lays face down on the pillows, his pale hands balled up into fists at his sides.

"baby, whats going on?" i ask quietly, reaching my hand out and dragging my nails up his warm back.

he shakes his head with a croaky groan, "matt's such a mother fucking-" chris starts, his voice instantly raising in volume.

i cut him off "no- no no chris" i laugh,

"talk about him nicely, please." i giggle, chris sits up in bed, strands of his hair flopping messily against his forehead.

"hes so mean!" chris whines, rubbing his eyes.

he shuffles over to me on the bed, before collapsing down on me. he buries his head into my chest as half his body is draped over mine

"what happened?" i ask with a small smiles, running my nails up and down his bare back.

"apparently i ate his- ate his dinner- but he never told me it was his and he just put it in the fridge!" he rambles,

"was his name on it?" i ask softly, chris pauses for a second before nodding,

"yes- yes but it didn't register in my brain that it was his! i was just distracted."

i scoff slightly, he lifts his head from my chest to look at me,

“no- ma, you’re not listening!” he whines,

my fingers lace their way into his silky brunette locks,

“i’m listening baby, i’m just trying to understand yeah?” i smile, he lets out a small hum before letting his head fall back down.

“i’m so angry at him, he made me upset.” chris says with a cute pout.

“should we go punch him?” i laugh jokingly,

“no-! you’re not understanding!” chris whines,

“i’m just teasing you,” i giggle,

chris snuggles his warm body closer to mine, “you two fight all the time, i’m sure it’s no different this time sweetheart.” i say to chris, scratching his head.

"it is different! hes so mean!" chris repeats himself,

"c'mon, how about we run you a shower." i suggest softly, chris shakes his head.

"i don't want you to keep getting yourself worked up," i smile, chris finally caves in,

"mmmmm..." he hums, i sit up but he rolls on top of me, pinning me down.

"you are such a big baby" i laugh, trying to roll him off me.

"am not!" he cracks a smile finally,

"you soo are." i poke at his ribs, making him squirm.

"i am not!" he protests, grabbing my wrists.

"okay- if you're not a baby then let me get up and turn on the shower for you."

he hesitates for a second, a silence filling the room before he rolls off of me.

i stand up, "see!" he shrugs with a grin.

"mmmhm" i hum, i walk into the bathroom, chris wraps his arms around my back, his chin resting on the crook of my neck.

"why are you so touchy today?" i ask, the corners of my mouth tugging up into a smile.

"i am no-" he starts but cuts himself off.

i turn on the shower, the warm steam filling the room instantly.

i turn around and chris has already stripped, he jumps into the shower and sits down.

"sitting in the shower is crrrazzzy"

i sit down outside the shower, playing with his hair, letting the water dampen it.

he reaches for the soap and instantly starts pumping out multiple pumps,

"christopher- thats my expensive soap-!" i start, but hes already playing with it in his hands.

i reach for the shampoo, pumping it into his hair.

he forms an 'o' with his hands before blowing a bubble with the soap, it floats into the shower stream before popping

"did you see that!" he gasps, his jaw dropped.

he goes for more soap, but i instantly stop him

"nuh uh- nopeee!"

"whhatt! your soap makes awesome bubbles- please?"

--------

a/n: this is based of 2021 chris cause hes all i think abt when i read fics, + i wanted to write abt him as immature aasss fuck

taggggsss:

@downbad4reid

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[katsukistofu]

my caffeine mix-up!

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ hawks x fem reader. fluff. slightly suggestive. you accidentally pick up the number two hero’s coffee so picks you up instead. | pt. ii

You take a sip of your morning coffee and almost spit it out on your dashboard.

This could not be your order. It was so… unusually sugary. Too sugary. Like someone liquified a whole candy store and shoved it into a venti cup.

Still reeling a little from the overly sweet aftertaste that lingers on your tongue, your eyes trail down to read:

Vt Crml Crnch Frap

5 Banana

Ex Caramel Drizzle

Extra Whip

Extra Ice

Ex Cinnamon

7 pumps Add Dk Crml Sauce

Ex Caramel Crunch

1 pump Honey Blend

Heavy Cream

Double Blended

What kind of pretentious asshole orders this garbage? Were their taste buds dead?

You mentally sent your condolences to the poor person that had to make this disgusting monstrosity of a drink. Please, you would’ve taken one look at the order and thrown it in the trash.

Your eyes searched the paper cup for who your local coffee shop transgressor was– catching sight of a scribble in blue marker reading “H-A.” You moved your hand a bit to reveal a “W-K-S.” A sense of dread creeps in as you numbly stare at the squiggly heart next to it.

It was like someone slipped an ice cube down the back of your shirt.

You had mistakenly picked up the wildly famous winged pro hero’s order and to make things even worse, put your mouth on where his was supposed to be.

Okay that sounded kind of dirty. But it’s not like you could drive back and return it now, what with your lip gloss already staining the lid.

Hey, um, I think I accidentally took a sip of the Hawks’s coffee? Oopsies? You guess you could pay for his order to be remade, but who’s to say he’ll even come back for it, much less accept it from some random stranger?

You were already running late to your desk job as is, and your coworkers were probably scratching their heads, wondering where you were since you always arrived at least half an hour before them. Should you just throw it away and pretend it never happened?

Oh god, would some person dig through the trash the moment you turned your back and extract your DNA from your lip gloss on the lid, thinking you were a deranged fan who stole his drink on purpose?

Or worse—that you were his secret girlfriend picking up his drink who had just wanted a little taste first before delivering it to him?

Your brain starts to wring itself dry of all the possibilities that could happen, shuddering despite each one being as unlikely as the next. An impressive mental workout for an un-caffeinated person at barely eight in the morning.

You wish you never even went to get your usual little treat today. That barista definitely looked right at you when you went to pick up your order, you swear they did.

But now that you’re thinking about it, maybe they were looking at the person standing behind you that you didn’t see as you rushed out of the shop? How do you even miss a man with wings that big?

Something gently knocks on the driver side window and you almost jump out of your seat.

As you roll it down with caution, your brain momentarily stops functioning as you’re met with a pair of striking golden eyes. Another inch of tinted glass down, a strong Grecian nose.

Forget work, the hell. You didn’t even know noses could be that pretty, and as your last bit of window disappears into the car so does your self-respect as you realize he’s abandoned his usual tan-colored jacket, standing before you in his black compression shirt with gold embossment.

Forget everything, actually.

You don't realize you’re holding your breath until he laughs at you, and you sheepishly close your slightly parted lips.

“Didn’t know coffee thieves came this cute.” Drinking in your appearance his keen eyes stray from yours, slowly trailing down to your trembling lips, a stark contrast to the growing smirk on his. “Or this nervous.”

His fingers drum absentmindedly on the side of your car door, clear amusement written across his handsome face as he waits for you to say something. You collect yourself and snap out of your thoughts, taking a deep breath.

“I’msososorryIdrankyourcoffee!” You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment as your words come out in a jumble. “I totally grabbed the wrong order and I can’t believe I didn’t see you waiting behind me, I swear I’m not a creep–”

“Hey, hey,” Hawks gently interrupts you, reassurance laced in his voice. “It’s all good, no harm done.” He taps the paper cup that somehow miraculously hasn’t slipped out of your fingers yet.

“Sooo was it good?”

You choke on air, not expecting that. “Your drink?”

“Yeah, my drink.” He shoots you a cheeky grin. That bastard. “Good or nah?” You pause, contemplating if you should lie–no. No, today you chose honesty.

“...Genuinely, I have no idea how you drink this shit.”

Hawks laughs at your bold answer. “Thanks for being my little taste tester anyways. Too sweet, huh?” The tip of his finger traces around the remnants of your lip gloss on the lid, the cup still in your now slightly shaky hand as you nod.

His touch seared against your skin, as his pretty fingers closed around yours to raise the drink up to his lips to take a slow sip, eyes never leaving your own.

With a gaze that was infuriatingly sultry as it was sweet, like a bird of prey beckoning a field mouse to be their next meal, he murmurs, “Just how I like it.”

You’re not really sure he was talking about the coffee anymore.

He hums, and your thighs involuntarily clench a bit as his soft-looking mouth closes around the opening of the lid to take another sip.

“I’d say you’re a villain that deserves their own special category.” He grins, eyes sparkling conspiratorially. “One that involves letting me take her out to dinner.”

If you weren’t sitting down you know your legs would have given out. “Like… like on a date?” You gape at him incredulously. Because there was no way. Hawks. Just asked you out.

“Now sweetheart, what else would it be?” Hawks smirks at your dazed expression, like you’re sure you misheard him. So cute. “I mean, unless you don’t want to–”

“No!” He blinks, and your hand flies to cover your mouth at your sudden outburst.

“I-I mean, I want to…” You shyly say at a much quieter volume, fidgeting with the rings on your fingers. He leans closer to you with a grin, languidly resting his folded arms over the open frame of your car door.

“It’s a date then. I know this really good sushi and ramen place down the block near my agency, my treat of course.”

“If I’m a villain is this your idea of rehabilitation?” You joke dryly. “Because it’s working.”

He tips your chin up. “Oh don’t worry pretty, I’m just getting started with turning you into a good girl.” A hot flush creeps up your neck to your cheeks, and you almost melt into a puddle right then and there at your steering wheel.

“I’d love to stay but I’m actually so late for work right now.” You utter weakly, chin still resting against his finger. Hawks tilts his head at that, unfolding his vibrant crimson wings as he wordlessly opens the front door of your car.

With little effort and an impressive flex of his biceps, plus a sharp intake of breath from you, one of his arms slips under your thighs and another firmly hugs you just under your shoulder blades as he lifts you up to his firm chest.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he feels your flustered arms hastily reach up to wrap around his neck. Honeyed eyes like molten gold meet yours as he gives a gentle squeeze to your thigh through your pencil skirt, and once again you find yourself needing a reminder to breathe.

“So, where to?”

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“IS THAT FUCKING HAWKS OUTSIDE OUR COMPANY’S BUILDING?!”

say you can’t sleep, baby i know, that’s that me expresso~ ♪

[htchnr]

♰ old and weary ༻ L. HOWLETT.*ೃ˚

✮ꜜ masterlist. ✮ꜜ buy me a ko-fi!

content warning hurt/comfort ⋆ r's mutation is healing wounds with the direct touch of her fingers ⋆ blood ⋆ injuries with no mentioned severity ⋆ this tired old man needs a hug ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

pairing old man!Logan.

summary his body isn't what it used to be, so you help him after each fight he gets into. you heal his wounds and heal his soul, day by day and kiss by kiss. wordcount 0,6k.

authors note i'm trying to work on a few Logan requests (it might take me a bit to get them out as i'm still struggling with my writers block, so pls bear with me), so while i fight my brain, have some more sappy old man!Logan comfort 🫠🥹

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

your home's quiet at this late hour, only the low sound of the tv playing some show in the background. the distant sound of Logan pulling up outside in the limo makes your heart jump a little with a tired smile.

you set your sewing project aside — patching up one of Logan's shirts — as you move up to greet him at the door.

your smile falters as you're met with the bloody sight of Logan, his shoulders hung in exhaustion, his body flinching with each heavy step. he closes the front door without a word, letting you lead him up the stairs and to your spacious bathroom.

he sits down on the edge of the tub like clockwork, sore fingers already pulling at the buttons of his stained and torn dress shirt. you sigh, gently pushing his hands aside. you wordlessly take over, unbuttoning the shirt and peeling the fabric off his figure.

you sigh sadly as you observe the damage, cuts and scrapes spanning across his broad chest and shoulders; no doubt scattering across his back as well. Logan flinches beneath your touch as your thumb slowly smooths over the first small cut on his shoulder, starting the intimate routine of healing the wounds his aging body has trouble with.

he grunts as he feels the skin weave itself back together beneath the soft pad of your thumb, leaning forward to rest his head against your stomach. you lean down to press a kiss to the skin where the small cut once was, letting your lips linger for a second before your thumb finds another injury to smooth over.

the room is filled with Logan's quiet grunts and pants as you lovingly work away each wound; leaving only the dried blood behind as evidence. and after each wound is healed you press gentle kisses to the aging skin — a regular routine that slowly heals Logan's aching, old heart kiss by kiss.

you rest your cheek against the top of his head after healing the last wound, your body slouching beneath his hold from exhaustion. while you would always heal him, no matter what time or day; that doesn't take away from the fact that it's a draining routine — the healing taking every bit of your energy.

you tiredly pull away from him, his strong arms reluctantly letting you go as you wet a washcloth with warm water and soap. you could almost hear low purrs emitting from Logan as you drag the wet cloth across his scarred skin, gently scrubbing away at the dried blood.

you drop the dirty cloth in the sink, raking your damp fingers through his greying hair as he keeps his face pressed against your stomach. his rough hands are tucked beneath your shirt, fingers digging into the supple skin of your waist. " sometimes you're really like my big dog i used to have, he liked head scratches too. "

Logan doesn't say a word about your quiet admission when you bend down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, your lips lingering before you rest your cheek a top his head. " let's get you to bed, " you yawn, your fingers scratching soft, soothing patterns against his scalp.

he hums against your stomach, the sounds low and rough. he lets you guide him up, his knees cracking as he stands up, leading him out of the bathroom and to the bedroom by his hand.

the moment he slides into bed beside you his shoulders finally relax, melting against you as he settles with his head on your chest and his face buried in the crook of your neck. you smile tiredly as you lace your fingers with his with one hand, the other rhythmically combing through his hair.

Logan lets out a long sigh, his heavy figure deflating against yours. " you know, sometimes i think he came back in the form of you, somehow always there to protect me. "

his fingers twitch around yours, his heart throbbing at your mumbled words. he scrunches his face, nuzzling impossibly close against you.

" goodnight, Lo, " you yawn, resting your cheek against his head. " 'love you. "

he tries not to tense against you at your words, not wanting to startle you wide out of your sleepy state. his eyes are wide open, blinking at the soft skin of your throat. the more he thinks about your words, the more at ease he feels. no longer do those particular words send him running, they anchor him.

he lets his tired and aching eyes fall shut, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. " i love you too, sweetheart. "

[drmaddict]

Pet dates

Summary: When Theo took a cat into his dormitory one evening, he didn't expect to wake up next to a girl the next morning. (Y/n), who was walking around the school in her Animagus form, didn't really expect to be used as a teddy bear that night either.

Wordcount: 3.748

I taped quietly through the nightly corridors of Hogwarts. As an Animagus, I enjoyed the freedom of not being noticed. Another cat in the corridors. Who would even waste a glance? I was enjoying the darkness of the night with my adjusted eyes when I saw three figures. They came closer quietly.

"Shh!", one of them hissed.

"Hey, you had to sneak into the library, didn't you?", hissed the next one.

I recognized Draco Malfoy first. His light-colored hair was immediately noticeable. Then Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott.

Draco and Mattheo walked past me, but Theodore stopped.

"Hello there.", he whispered and held out his hand to me. "Come here piccola bellezza."

"Dude, leave the cat alone and come here.", Draco hissed.

Theo ignored him and stroked my head with his fingertips. Out of instinct, I began to purr.

To be honest, I don't get touched very often. Neither as a cat, nor as a human. Theodore smiled. "Have you been locked out?" He stroked my back with just the right amount of pressure. "It's far too cold out here. Come on. It's warm in our dorm."

Still completely caught up in the pleasure of his touch, I reacted too late. I found myself pressed against his chest. Most girls would kill for this opportunity. Maybe I would too, but somehow you imagine this in a different context.

Theodore caught up with the other two.

Draco just rolled his eyes, but Mattheo looked at me closely. A grin stretched across his face as he looked me straight in the eye, as if he knew exactly who I was. "Interesting.", he whispered.

"What?", Theodore asked, confused.

Mattheo bent down to my eye level. "Come on then, little mouse.", he grinned.

I wriggled against the iron grip around me. "Stop that! You're making her nervous.", Theodore grumbled.

"Guys, can we please go now?" growled Draco, annoyed. The three of them started moving again.

"What is it with you and cats anyway?" Draco asked into the silence.

"They're cats.", Theodore replied, as if that explained everything.

When the three of them arrived in their common room, Theodore sat me down on his bed. Blaise Zabini was lying on the opposite one, leafing through a book. He raised a well-formed eyebrow.

"Weren't you going to get a book?"

"Shut up.", grumbled Theodore.

"Theo just picked up a little girlfriend on the way.", grinned Riddle. "That's nothing new."

I gave him a dirty glare. Somehow the bastard knew exactly, who I was.

I jumped off the bed and went to the door. I scratched at it and meowed angrily, but Theodore just grabbed me again and sat me on the bed.

"It's all right. Nothing will happen to you here."

I exhaled in annoyance. Riddle reached for me with one hand, grinning, but I immediately slapped his hand away.

"Ow!" he hissed and stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth. "You little-"

I instinctively stood up to my full height and hissed at him.

Theodore pushed him away from me.

"She scratched me!", Riddle hissed.

"You scared her." grumbled Theodore.

Turning to his bed, he pulled his shirt over his head and let his pants slide to the floor.

I quickly turned to the wall and looked at the green fabric of the four-poster bed. The world was unfair. The guy didn't have one bloody flaw.

I heard Riddle snicker. Asshole.

Theodore lay down under the covers. Without a warning, he pulled me against him like I was a teddy bear. He stroked my stomach slowly. I let out a surrendered breath. I didn't even notice that I was falling asleep from the gentle caresses.

The next morning, I woke up to someone stroking my head.

"Morning Bella.", someone whispered.

My brain kick-started. I was in Theodore Nott's bed. He was still holding me. I was - thank God - still a cat.... I hadn't slept this well in a long time.

But I'd never slept as a cat either, so that was probably it.

Theodore stroked my stomach in slow circles. The purring immediately started again. I looked at him. He was smiling gently. I didn't really know him, but he always seemed so cold in the corridors. Very different from now. He closed his eyes and continued to run his fingers through my fur.

I was too rarely really touched not to enjoy this.

I allowed the caress and closed my eyes until Riddle's voice rang out.

Whereupon a scream was heard. Theodore's scream.

I felt my body expand.

I looked into Theodore's horrified face.

I looked around in panic. Riddle laughed. "There are spells that can force an Animagus back into its human form."

I glanced at Theodore again before running off frantically. As soon as I opened the door, I sprinted back through the corridors in cat form.

I felt like throwing up.

Theo's POV

I was still looking after the girl in shock.

We had potions together. I didn't know her name though. Mattheo was still laughing.

"You knew that?", I snapped at him.

He just shrugged and threw himself back into bed. "You seem to have acted with mutual consent."

I threw my alarm clock at him.

(Y/n)s POV

"Where have you been?", Jenny asked me, as I walked into our common room.

"Nowhere.", I said way too quickly.

"But-"

"Nowhere!", I babbled frantically and immediately locked myself in the bathroom.

Now everyone will know. I ruffled my hair. I had always kept the authorization for the Animagus a secret. It should remain a secret. God, they're all going to shoot their mouths off. The little freak who clings to the school crush par excellence and crawls into his bed without hin knowing.

I forced myself to take a deep breath.

Bloody hell.

I skipped breakfast. As small as I could, I sat down in Potions class and looked at my book.

I heard everyone filling the room, but continued to not look up. I breathed a sigh of relief when Snape finally walked into the room in his usual dramatic fashion.

"You will form groups today."

I looked dully at the blackboard. Was he serious?

He called out the pairs stoically.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N). Theodore Nott."

Was he fucking serious?

I buried my face in my hands. What had I done? What did I do to deserve this?

I heard a pile of books being dropped on the desk.

I looked up into Theodore Nott's usual cold face. My face felt incredibly hot.

Snape explained the day's task and then sat down at his desk.

Silently, I began sorting the ingredients.

Theodore skimmed over the instructions.

"Can you please not tell anyone?", I whispered.

He didn't respond. I sighed. "I dont want to push you... But that I'm an Animagus... Only I knew that until yesterday."

He grumbled.

"I wanted to leave, but you wouldn't let me.", I grumbled back.

"Because I thought you were a cat.", he hissed.

"Why are you taking some stranger's cat with you anyway?"

He faltered. "None of your business."

I sighed in annoyance and turned up the flame.

"Was it that bad?", he grumbled quietly.

"What?"

"Lying in my bed with me."

I glanced at the kettle. "No." I admitted.

He stirred like the instructions said. "We're good at keeping our mouths shut. So don't worry."

I looked at his cold face. How could he be so different to the boy this morning? That warm and relaxed smile.

"Thank you.", I whispered.

I sprinted through the corridors as fast as my paws could carry me. That damn Miss Noris had it in for me.

I whizzed around the corner and immediately collided with a pair of legs.

I heard the cat behind me. I stood up and hissed at her.

"Go on. Go away.", said the owner of the legs and gently shooed her away.

Miss Noris gave me another challenging look and then slunk around the corner.

Theodore sighed. He glanced toward me. "(Y/n)?", he asked cautiously.

I nodded.

"Being a cat, you sure do pick fights, don't you?"

I grumbled. I didn't start it.

He smirked. "Don't get caught away."

His hand moved to my head, but stopped in mid-motion. He stretched his fingers once and pulled them back towards him. "See you."

I could feel myself wanting that touch. Even though I couldn't say why, I was far braver as a cat than as a human. So I trotted past him and stroked his legs once. A few steps away, I stopped again and looked at him. A small smile appeared on his face.

He shook his head at me. "We'll keep this between us," he murmured.

I nodded and walked back towards my common room. I tried to ignore the tingling sensation on my head.

The next day, Theodore suddenly sat down next to me in Potions. I looked irritatedly from him to his clicke and back again.

"Hi.", he just said and put his books on the table.

"Uhh... Hi.", I faltered.

He looked straight at me and leaned slightly towards me. "If I'm wrong, just forget it and pretend I never said anything.", he started. I nodded hesitantly. In a whisper, he continued. "You seem to like it when people... pet you.", he began.

I nodded. "I think we'd both benefit from seeing each other... meet like this more often.", he mumbled.

I looked at him, confused. "You want... What, petting dates?", I asked.

"Forget it.", he grumbled and tried to get up, but I held him by his sleeve.

"Now wait a minute. I'm just surprised.", I explained. He sat down again. I played with my quill. "I don't think I'd mind, but why don't you just get a cat... Well, if you like them so much."

"I'm not allowed.", he explained curtly.

"Oh."

"Yup."

I prepared my roll of parchment. "When do you want to start?"

I noticed his shoulders relax slightly. Today at seven. Come to the library. I'll sit at the back."

I nodded as Snape came bounding through the door.

I crept through the library, keeping an eye out for Theodore.

Hidden at the very back, he was sitting and flicking through a book, bored.

I jumped onto the table next to him and looked at the manuscript. He flinched slightly, when I landed next to him. "Hi," he whispered. He pointed to his scarf, which he had provisionally draped into a small bed. "Make yourself comfortable."

I lay down hesitantly on the green fabric. I pulled it here and there to make myself comfortable. When I was satisfied and lay down, I noticed Theodore grinning at me and shaking his head slightly. I grumbled slightly. He put his hand on my head and started to run it through my fur. I immediately started purring. He applied the perfect amount of pressure again. I closed my eyes in pleasure and let my limbs grow heavy.

"So we can do this more often?", he asked softly. I nodded and let out a small gasp. I lazily opened one eye. He had rested his head on his hand and was looking relaxed at me. I let myself fall onto my side and continued purring to myself.

We met up more often since then. Sometimes even just like that. Without fur. He had immediately made it clear that he only wanted to be called Theo when I had first spoken to him. Now we were sitting in the three brooms, drinking butterbeer.

"Don't you want to join your friends?" I asked.

He waved me off. "Oh Draco's studying to beat Granger today. Blaise has a date and Mattheo... I don't want to know."

He took a big sip from his glass.

"What do you actually get out of these meetings?" I asked him.

He shrugged his shoulders. "It relaxes me.", he admitted. "Most people just want sex."

I let my fingers scratch his scalp once. His ears turned red. I grinned. "Do you want to swap roles?"

He remained silent. "It wouldn't be a problem.", I mumbled. "Quit pro quo.", I shrugged.

He held on to his glass. "Would you?", he asked, looking stubbornly at the table.

"Sure.", I said, shrugging my shoulders.

He downed the rest of his beer and stood up. He held his hand out to me. "You coming?"

I let him pull me along.

He poked his head into the bedroom and exhaled with relief. Quickly, he pushed me inside. No one was there. He waved his wand and the curtains of his bed were already drawn. We sat down behind the curtains. I leaned back against the headboard and looked at Theo, waiting. He cast a silencing spell on the bed before lying down hesitantly on the pillow. I stroked his thick curls. He exhaled calmly and just let himself be pampered. It was unusual, but... nice.

Theo's POV

I was already poking around in my food, bored, when Mattheo sat down next to me on the bench.

"Tell me, when do you actually fuck each other?", he grinned.

I looked at him blankly. "Who are you talking about?"

Mattheo shook his head in amusement. "Well, your kitten."

I furrowed my eyebrows in irritation.

"Are you stalking me?"

Mattheo was still shoveling his food onto his plate with amusement. "You forget I know what goes on with people in here." He tapped his own forehead and grinned. "The little one has the hots for you. Even if she doesn't really know it herself yet."

He leaned his head on one hand. "But you're no better."

My hand closed convulsively around my fork. Anger bubbled up inside me. "You swore you'd stay out of our heads."

"I can't always completely suppress it.", Mattheo shrugged. "But you're into each other. In a weird beastly way." He shoved pumpkin paste into his mouth. "Why don't you make some cute little kittens then?"

I spat at him. "If you ever get lost in my head again, I'll make sure you can never grasp even a simple thought of yourself ever again." I stood up jerkily and left the Great Hall.

What was that even supposed to mean (Y/n) fancies me? We were... Friends? Damn we were friends. I liked her. Because we were friends. How by Merlin's fucking beard did that happen?

(Y/n)s POV

Theo was avoiding me. Had been all week. I didn't know if I'd done anything wrong, but he was avoiding me.

I was walking through the library to check out a potions book when I saw him between one of the back shelves. I stopped with a jolt. He had a girl pressed up against the shelf. He was literally devouring her. As quickly as possible, I turned around and left, but not without catching my bag on the shelf and catapulting a handful of books onto the floor.

They fluttered around until they were put back in their places.

I looked into the expressionless face of Theo and the grinning face of a blonde Ravenclaw girl.

"Sorry.", I babbled and disappeared as quickly as I could.

He could have just said he was seeing someone. Damn it, I really didn't insist that we see each other. After all, he had started the whole thing. I sat down defiantly in the courtyard. That we could become friends? But... Hadn't we become friends somewhere?

I sighed. Maybe I was just imagining it.

I was trotting through the corridors when I heard him.

"Hey.... Hey wait a minute! Damn it, stop!"

I sprinted on, but somehow Theo caught up with me. He quickly picked me up and hugged me to him. He held my front and back paws in one hand each so that I couldn't scratch him. I wriggled around wildly in his arms.

"No, you're coming with me now.", he scolded.

He carried me into the dungeon to his dormitory and threw me roughly onto his bed. He breathed in and out heavily from the effort of holding me down. I did the same. My ears were pinned back and I glared at him angrily.

"Everyone out!", he ordered without looking at anyone in the room.

They left the dormitory grumbling. I made a dash for the open door, but Theo immediately held me down. "Don't even think about it.", he hissed.

I hissed back. What the fuck was that about?

He didn't want to talk to me anymore.

The door closed. I sat petulantly on the bed.

"Now... Become a fucking human being! I want to talk!"

All of a sudden he wanted to talk. He ignored the fact that I even existed for two weeks and suddenly he wanted to talk.

I turned my back to him and flattened my ears.

"I'm sorry, okay?", he groaned, annoyed.

I didn't move.

He walked around the bed to look at me. He squatted down in front of me.

"I've been thinking," he said angrily. "Damn I'm not used to this friendship crap!"

I continued to sulk.

"Especially not with girls." He sat down on the floor. "It's unusual and scares me." A pout now appeared on his face too. "With girls, I usually only want sex and not... the rest." He got quieter and quieter.

I looked at him in surprise.

He buried his face in his hands. "Could I speak to a human now, please?"

I let myself change into my human form.

"What does that mean exactly?", I asked, looking down at him.

He looked stubbornly at the edge of the bed. "Probably that I want a relationship.", he said, as irritated as if he could hardly believe it himself.

"With me?", I asked, confused.

He looked at me as if I was dumb. "Of course with you! With who else?"

"No idea! Maybe Miss Ravenclaw." I threw my hands up in the air, annoyed.

"Are you jealous?"

"No.", I pouted.

"You're jealous."

"I'm not jealous."

"She's jealous!", Mattheo shouted from the other side of the door.

I growled, annoyed. "How-"

"He can read minds... by nature."

"That damn-"

"Hey! Concentrate!" He pulled my face towards him. His hands were warm on my cheeks. "If you're jealous, it's probably because you don't find the idea so far-fetched."

"Maybe." I mumbled and looked into his blue eyes.

"Possibly.", he nodded. He pushed me onto the bed and himself on top of me. His lips met mine hard. Large hands slid over my body with determination. Overwhelmed, I reached into his hair and tried to keep up with him. It was no secret that he was experienced. You could guess that I wasn't. He let his mouth wander to my neck, held my jaw gently but firmly to get a better grip on my throat and licked over the main artery, which was pulsating fast and furiously. I closed my eyes in pleasure and a soft moan escaped me.

The door pushed open. "Dude I'm not waiting for you to finish here now." Draco Malfoy walked towards his desk. "I have to study.", he clarified. Theo rolled his eyes. I fought my way back to clear thoughts.

"About time.", Zabini said dryly and lay back down on his bed.

Theo reached for his wand and the curtains closed immediately. This was followed by a silencing spell.

He looked me straight in the eye.  "I don't know how relationships work.", he admitted. "But I'm a quick learner."

I smirked. "I wouldn't know either." I closed my eyes in embarrassment. "I don't even know how..."

Theo's hand went back to my jaw. "I'll show you.", he sighed and lunged at my neck again.

I plucked grumpily at my collar. Theo grinned. I glared at him. He grinned wider.

Makeup with 100% coverage was all over my neck and the dark marks were still visible.

He had casually thrown an arm around me as we walked to Potions together. His mask once again completely the serene Theodore Nott that everyone knew.

His fingers ran over my neck.

"Don't do that," I grumbled.

"You liked it yesterday.", he grinned.

I poked him in the ribs.

"YES!" someone shouted in the corridor. "No Potions today!"

Draco, who was walking ahead of us, stuffed his notes into his pocket, annoyed. "If anyone's looking for me, I'm sleeping in until Monday.", he announced, shuffling down the corridor to the common room. The boy had been studying all night. The dark shadows lay heavy under his eyes.

"Early weekend.", Theo sighed, continuing to stroke circles over my neck.

Less than an hour later, we were sitting in the Slytherin common room. Theo was sitting in one of the wing chairs with his legs up, enjoying the warm fire. With his eyes closed, he stroked my fur lazily. I was curled up on his chest, my head in the crook of his neck, purring happily to myself.

Bonus Fluff

Draco and Zabini were once again arguing as only the two of them could. Theo was sitting on his bed and I was on his lap.

I curled up and let myself be stroked. My cat instincts were on fire today.

I smelled her on his fingers. This little one from Ravenclaw. They had played Quidditch against each other. Slytherin had won.

She had hugged him and grabbed his hand. Her scent was there. It wouldn't go away.

"What are you doing?", Theo asked suddenly. I licked his hand and couldn't stop. He belonged to me. He didn't have to smell like anyone else. "Hey, don't do that. That tickles." He tried to pull his hand away, but I nibbled on his finger. "Hey no teeth!" He pulled his hand away in a flash. I growled.

Behind me, Mattheo laughed. "Your little flea slinger is jealous. You reek of someone else."

I took advantage of the brief second Theo was inattentive and latched onto his arm. I immediately rubbed my head against his hand. "Are you marking me right now?", he asked incredulously.

I growled again. Yes, I was jealous. So what? I nibbled on his little finger again. He sighed and lifted me to his chest. A mistake. His neck smelled like her too. I immediately licked it. "Hey!" He tried to push me away, but I clawed at his shirt. "Claws! Claws!" he shouted frantically and grabbed my paws. I put my front paws around his neck.

"Okay.", he sighed. "Let off some steam."

I purred and rubbed my head along his chin.

[levandright]

𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆

their favorite way to show their love for you is through — giftsꜝꜝ

if you enjoyed reading this consider leaving a like or reblog ᐢ..ᐢ

pairing ⋆ ot7 enhypen x gn! reader ʬʬ content / warning(s) ⋆ extra extra soft fluff, established relationship, non-idol au, just enha spoiling you with gifts <3 ꕀ word count : 1,637 ʬʬ go back to the start? ・ archive ᐢ..ᐢ lev notes : i wrote the whole thing with good thing by nct 127 on repeat and i think it did something to my brain. after making this i now want someone to gift like the boys do- cause the hell man :(( i envy their relationship its so cute T-T (i literally wrote this) thx for proofreading and editing this again twin <3 (gotta make sure twin gets their recognition)

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚 - plushies

you come home to find a familiar pink gift bag sitting on your bed, decorated with little hearts and a note in heesung’s handwriting: “a little something for your collection—hope they make you smile! - hee”

excitedly, you peek inside, immediately spotting the cute sanrio tags and soft pastel colors. you pull out not one, but three adorable plushies—my melody, cinnamoroll, and hello kitty, each one perfectly cuddly and looking up at you with their iconic smiles.

just as you’re hugging my melody close, heesung steps into the room, a shy grin on his face as he watches your reaction. “i couldn’t decide on one,” he admits, scratching his head. “so i figured… why not get them all?”

you can’t stop smiling as you place the plushies carefully among the others on your shelf, each one finding its perfect spot. “they’re perfect,” you say, turning to give him a grateful hug. “you know me so well.”

he chuckles, returning the hug. “i love seeing your face light up every time. besides your collection wouldn’t be complete without the whole sanrio squad, right?”

with a laugh, you look back at the shelf, feeling warm inside. thanks to heesung your little plushie family just got a lot bigger.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚 - clothes

you’re scrolling through your phone when you get a text from jay: “check your doorstep!”

curious, you open the door to find a large shopping bag sitting outside. you bring it inside, already knowing who it’s from. as you pull out one dress after another—soft fabrics in different colors, some with delicate lace, others with simple elegance—you can’t help but laugh, imagining jay going through the store and picking each one out.

a moment later, he shows up at your door, grinning like he’s just won a prize. “so, what do you think? i couldn’t decide on just one, so i got you…options,” he says with a wink.

“options?” you tease, holding up a deep blue dress. “jay, you bought out the whole store!”

he shrugs, unbothered. “i just wanted you to have the best. besides, i know you have that event coming up, and i wanted you to feel amazing.”

you shake your head, touched. “you’re too much, you know that?”

he grins, gently nudging you toward the mirror. “go try one on, just to see how perfect you look.”

with a smile, you head to change, grateful for his thoughtfulness and the joy he finds in seeing you happy.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡 - perfume

you’re sitting on your bed, flipping through a magazine, when you hear a light knock on your door. “hey, can I come in?” jake’s familliar voice calls out from the other side.

“sure!” you reply, setting the magazine aside. as he steps in, you notice he’s holding a beautifully wrapped box, the corners tied with a silky ribbon.

“what’s this?” you asked curiously.

jake grins, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “open it and see!”

you carefully unwrap the box, revealing a stunning bottle of your favorite perfume, the one you always rave about. the familiar shape of the bottle brings an instant smile to your face. “jake! you remembered!”

“of course i did! i always remember,” he says, pride evident in his voice. “i figured it was time to restock your collection. i know how much you love this scent.”

you get up and give him a warm hug, breathing in the comforting mix of his cologne and the fresh scent of the perfume. “you always know how to make me happy. thank you!”

he chuckles, pulling back to look at you. “i just want to make sure you never run out. you wear it so well.”

you shake your head in delight, placing the perfume on your vanity. “i’ll always think of you when I wear it,” you say, feeling grateful for his thoughtful gesture.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡 - chocolate

you’re at your desk, sorting through some papers, when you notice a familiar small box tucked beside your things. smiling, you pick it up and read the note stuck on top: “just because. - sunghoon.”

opening it, you’re greeted by the rich aroma of chocolate—a collection of your favorite flavors. dark, milk, hazelnut-filled, and even a few fruit-infused truffles.

it’s the third time this week sunghoon has surprised you with chocolate, each box seemingly chosen with extra care.

later, as you’re enjoying a piece, sunghoon walks in, catching you mid-bite.

“caught you!” he teases, grinning as he leans against the doorframe. “how’s today’s selection of sweets?”

you laugh, holding up the chocolate box. “perfect as always. i still don’t know how you manage to get these here without me noticing.”

he shrugs, looking pleased. “i have my ways,” he says, pretending to be mysterious. then, with a softer smile, he adds, “i just like knowing that you’re never without a little something sweet.”

you smile, feeling warmth spread through you. “well, thanks to you my lovely boyfriend, i’ve never been happier—or more stocked on chocolate.”

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢 - jewelry

one quiet afternoon, sunoo shows up at your door with a mysterious grin and a small, velvet box in his hand.

“what’s that?” you ask, your curiosity piqued as he invites himself in and settles onto the couch beside you.

he just smiles, handing you the box without a word. inside, nestled against the satin, is a delicate silver bracelet, adorned with a tiny charm shaped like a star. your eyes widen in surprise as you look up at him. “sunoo, it’s beautiful! you didn’t have to…”

but he’s already lifting his wrist to show you a matching bracelet around his own. “it’s not just for you,” he says, looking at you with a gentle smile. “it’s for us. i found these and thought it would be a nice reminder… something we can both wear.”

a warm blush creeps onto your cheeks as you turn the bracelet over in your hand. “it’s perfect. thank you, sunoo.”

he beams, taking the bracelet from you and gently fastening it around your wrist. “now, every time you see it, you’ll know we’re connected—even if we’re not together.”

you reach out, holding his hand, and squeeze it. “i love it, really. but i love you more.”

he laughs, giving your hand a playful squeeze back. “good, because that’s the part of the gift i’m hoping you’ll keep forever.”

you both sit there, admiring your matching bracelets, feeling closer than ever as the sunlight filters through the room, casting a gentle glow over both of you.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡 - flowers

the soft chime of the doorbell echoes through the house, pulling you from your cozy spot on the couch. you rise, curious about who could be at the door. as you open it, a burst of color greets you: jungwon stands there with a bright bouquet of flowers in hand, a broad smile stretching across his face.

“surprise!” he exclaims, presenting the bouquet like a trophy. the flowers are vibrant, a mix of sunflowers, daisies, and wildflowers, their sweet scent filling the air.

your eyes widen, and a smile blooms on your face. “oh, jungwon! they’re beautiful!” you reach out to take them, feeling the warmth of his enthusiasm radiate towards you.

“i thought you could use a little brightness today,” he says, stepping inside. “i know you’ve been busy with work and school, so i wanted to remind you that you’re doing an amazing job.”

you feel a swell of gratitude as you breathe in the flowers’ fresh scent. “you always know how to make my day better,” you reply, feeling the weight of your stress start to lift.

“i just love seeing that smile on your face,” he says, his voice sincere. “you deserve to be reminded how wonderful you are.”

as you arrange the flowers in a vase, jungwon leans against the counter, watching you with a soft smile. “every time you look at them, i want you to remember that you’re loved, no matter how tough things get.”

you glance back at him, your heart warming at his words. “thank you, jungwon . this really means a lot to me.”

he steps closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “you know i’ll always be here for you, right? just like these flowers, i’ll always try to bring a little color into your life.”

you lean into him, feeling the comfort of his embrace. “i’m so lucky to have you.”

he kisses your temple gently, and you close your eyes, savoring the moment. with jungwon by your side and flowers brightening the room, you know that no matter what challenges come your way, you’ll face them with a smile.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜 - sunglasses

riki practically skips over to you, a mischievous grin plastered across his face and his hands hidden behind his back. you give him a curious look, and he finally reveals what he’s holding: two pairs of sunglasses, both sleek and stylish with tinted lenses.

“tada~ matching sunglasses,” he announces proudly, handing you one of the pairs. “i figured it was time to make you as cool as me.”

you laugh, slipping them on. “so, does this mean i get honorary 'riki’s fashion sidekick' status now?”

he nods, adjusting his own sunglasses as he strikes a dramatic pose. “absolutely. now we can both look this good,” he teases, winking at you from behind the lenses.

the two of you step out into the sunlight, instantly feeling like the coolest duo around. you both take turns posing, doing mock runway walks and playfully pointing at each other like you’re celebrities. riki laughs every time you strike a ridiculous pose, clutching his sides with giggles.

eventually, you both settle down, leaning against a wall, still wearing the shades and smiling widely at each other. “i think we should make this our thing,” riki says, nudging you. “matching sunglasses, everywhere we go.”

you nod, grinning. “agreed. it’s our official look.”

perm taglist. @honeychocos @kozumesphone @manaah02 (open)

wyll taglist. @lilly-cherry7 (comment or ask to be added)

©levandright

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 8564 tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: longer chapter woohoo, was gonna write after break but had so much inspo. wrote on my phone, so if there’s any typos, please ignore 🥹 series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The nights haven’t been easy in the past couple of days. Mingled with a growing sense of anxiety added on top of your already heightened stress, your brain just can’t seem to shut off. You’ve tried melatonin and no more caffeine, but caffeine is ultimately getting you through the day and keeping you up when needed. In all honesty, you’ve already been struggling with sleep, but with the surprise meet with Suguru, dread’s been pooling in your stomach.

You have no doubt he spilled the beans. Hell, you would too if that was your best friend. You can only hope he somehow didn’t, though. A small part of you would be a little annoyed if he did, because again, he has no role in this. At least not a big one.

A sudden banging on your door jolts you upright, checking the clock and it’s not even 7:30 yet. Only one person could be demanding your presence so early. A heavy sigh leaves you, forcing your stiff muscles out of bed, wrapping yourself in a robe before trudging to the front door. When you peek through the peephole, your landlord stands there with an annoyed expression on his old face, foot tapping the ground in impatience.

“Bastard,” you mumble to yourself before opening the door. “Good morning, Mr. Sato.”

Seems he doesn’t have time for fake pleasantries, “Y/N, I’m assuming you saw the eviction note I left on your door yesterday morning.”

Unfortunately. “Yes, sir. I did.”

His arms cross, scratching at his greying mustache, “So, is it also safe to to assume you’ll have the money by next Friday?”

You sigh heavily, hand running through your hair. This is not how you wanted to start your morning. He was already making your life hell by suddenly raising your rent out of nowhere three months ago for so-called “renovations”. But you’ve yet to see any actual renovations being done. Not to mention, you’ve been bugging about your heater no longer working, and during this time of year, you and Koji are practically freezing to death. You had to buy a portable heater, small, but it gets the job done. Although it’s mainly in Koji’s room because you’d rather freeze than let him. “Look, Mr. Sato, I’m really trying here. I’m working hard to get the money, but please understand that—”

“Understand? I’ve been understanding, Y/N. I even applied last month’s rent to this month, just ‘cause of you.”

Of course, he’s gonna throw that in your face. Landlords seem to take their title so literally that if he didn’t have this much control over your space of safety, you would’ve ripped him a new one. Also, how could you forget that to even get him to agree to that plea deal, you were forced through an hour and a half of an uncomfortable, infuriating dinner with the man. Really, he’s not giving you much to work with here, but then again, you shouldn’t have had such high hopes. “I know, I know,” you reply, scratching at your roots. “I’ll have the money, okay?”

“You better,” he says gruffly. “Or I’m renting this unit to someone who can actually afford it. I’m hurting here too, you know?”

You huff. “Yeah, thanks.”

Without another word, you close the door in the man’s face, locking it. Leaning your back up against the hard surface, you close your eyes and will yourself to stay calm and positive. Counting back from ten and then back, a small tip your therapist showed you before your insurance no longer covered it. It’s okay. It’s only the start of the day, you have 20 something hours left. Now’s not the time to throw yourself a pity party and play woe is me. Now’s the time to just pick yourself up and move on. You’ll find a solution for the money, you always do.

Though this time, you can’t help but feel you’re really fucked.

I mean, you honestly have no idea how you’re going to come up with almost four thousand dollars in just a week. That sounds quite literally impossible in every single way. You get paid next week, but with taxes, you’re going home with maybe three thousand, so how will you get that extra thousand?

Unless some miracle decides to hit you, which almost never seems to happen. You used to think someone hoaxed you, or you were just born with the most unluckiest luck ever. Or, the more cynical thought you tend to have, you were fated to live a life in strict financial management, and hardships are constantly thrown at you left and right.

But hey, you’ve made it this far, right?

“No, I haven’t.”

“You what?!”

“I haven’t told him.”

“Y/N, what the fu–”

“Jesus Christ, I know, Hana. You don’t have to make me feel even more like shit.”

Your friend stops mid-way, eyeing your very displeased expression. She sighs and relents, slumping back in the small chair in the backroom of the cafe. She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, letting your confession simmer and process. When she does, it’s an honest question. “But…why?”

Why. You feel like you’re staring to hate that damn word. “A lot of reasons, I know it’s not really justified, but I just…need someone to understand me for once. Not come at me for my dumb decisions.”

Your words feel bare and raw, not completely exposing the extent of the emotions you’ve been harboring, but enough to make her stop. Hana regards you with pursed lips, a hint of sadness in her eyes. Finally, she nods. “Okay, I won’t question you anymore. You have your reasons, and your reasons are always valid. So, I’m behind you on this. We stick together, remember?”

A hint of a smile forms on your lips, quietly thanking her. She comes forward to give you a hug, one you immediately reciprocate. Her auburn hair tickling your nostrils, arms seemingly tightening. “Don’t go holding things in anymore, I told you that. I’m here, to talk, listen, whatever.”

You and Hana met three years ago. She was just your co-worker at the time, now promoted to your manager. Although she’s two years younger than you, you two relate to a lot of things. Whether that be movies, food, what guys are hot, or alcohol. If anything, Hana might be your only friend in general. It’s a little sad, maybe, but at least you have someone to come to when you need to talk about adult issues your five-year-old wouldn’t be able to comprehend.

“I love you.” You find yourself muttering.

“I love you too, girl. Now, get out there, your break’s up.”

Jokingly scoffing and nudging her, you stand from the seat and do a quick stretch. Preparing yourself for yet another few hours of dreaded customer service and fake smiles, you walk out of the backroom, pushing the small curtains aside that separate the back from the counter, and clock back in.

“Cash or card?”

“Hello, how can I help you today?”

“Would that be all?”

“Have a nice day.”

Are all phrases any retail or customer service worker finds a little annoying, if not a lot. It’s so draining. And when the customers don’t greet you back, your pettiness shines through and you won’t even say have a good day to them when they’re leaving. Although, the job does have some upsides to it. For example, you get to make free coffees, take whatever pastries are left at the end of the day home, and the customers are never really bad. Of course, you have had a couple experiences, but nothing compared to a chain store. You’re even starting to use your customer service voice throughout the day, even when you’re not at work. Honestly, that’s not very good.

As you’re wiping up the counter, you feel a buzzing in your pocket. Taking your phone out, you see a set of numbers, an unsaved contact. You give Hana a quick glance, muttering a “just a sec”, before going back to the back to answer. “Hello?”

“Y/N?”

God, it’s gonna take some time getting used to his voice on the regular now. “Oh, Suguru. hey…uh–what’s up?”

There’s some shuffle on the other side like he’s adjusting the phone. “Are you busy right now?”

“Well, yes. I’m on the clock.”

He sighs, phone switching to his car output. “Where do you work? I’ll come now.”

“What?” you splutter out, head shaking. “No, Suguru, you can’t just pop out at my job. I’m busy, just tell me what you need right now.”

“I’m not sure I should.”

That statement alone scares you a bit. His cynicism always got on your nerves, but it also worried you from time to time. Most of the time, he didn’t mean any harm because that’s just how Suguru was, but it still did its job. Contemplation strikes through you. “Is it bad?”

He hesitates, which only further skyrockets your anticipation. “Honestly, it’s not too bad. But still, I need to talk to you.”

A breath emits from your lips, one you didn’t know you were holding. Eyes meeting the ceiling, you ponder over your decisions. Eventually, you come to a conclusion. “Fine, but it can’t be too long. I’m at Deja Brew, the cafe on–”

“On Express, got it. Be there in a bit.”

He’s hanging up before you even get a chance to question that he knew the cafe you worked at. If he did, surely he would have visited at least once, but you’ve never seen him come in. And you’re every day. Unless he usually comes when you’re not clocked in anymore. Anywho, you steel yourself for the inevitable conversation. Anticipating whatever bad or not-so-good news he'll give you.

“So.”

“Mm, this is good.” Suguru nods appreciatively, sipping from his coffee. You made it for him before he arrived, as a weird sort of gift to him. You two have situated yourself in a booth in the corner. Hana was a little confused as to why you were taking a break while you were on the clock, even regarding you with an almost scolding look. But the second she saw Suguru follow, her expression changed.

You practically saw the heart eyes form, smiling in a bashful way. That’s one thing you forgot about. The way girls would magnetize themselves towards the man, his best friend too. The two together were an almost deadly duo.

“Suguru,” you say, a hint of exasperation in your tone. “Please just…don’t stall anymore. Why did you want to see me?”

“Right,” he clears his throat, sitting up straighter. Once more, his steely gaze meets yours, you have to hold back the sudden urge to look away. “Like I said, it’s not terrible news, but not very good either.”

You nod, wanting him to just stop with the extraness and get to the point. “Okay, say it.”

“Satoru.” is the first thing he says, gauging your automatic grimace to his name. “He knows.”

Figures. “And you told him?”

He nods in response. You exhale, rubbing your face. “Suguru, why? I didn’t say you could.”

“I mean, I didn’t think I needed permission to tell my best friend he has a secret love child he hasn’t known about for five years, Y/N.” You hate when his voice gets like that, like you’re a school child who’s just been caught by her teacher for doing something she wasn’t supposed to. “Anywho, he knows. He wasn’t…very happy.”

You slowly ask, unsure if you’re ready to hear the answer. “What did he say?”

“More so what he did than said,” he pushes a stray strand of black hair out his eye and behind his ear, arms crossing. “He’s been quite easy to anger. I mean, I haven’t really talked to him because he’s not answering my calls, but I’ve been hearing from people at the office. He also kicked my ass out right after I told him. But that’s all I know at least, Nanami says he’s like a ticking time bomb.”

Jesus Christ. You don’t know what else you were expecting, you’re surprised he hasn’t done worse, but like Suguru said, that’s all he knows. His state is most likely a hundred times worse than what’s being thrown at you right now. You feel an intense guilt pool, mixing with a slight fear. “Did he…do anything else? Say anything?”

“I don’t know, he’s not talking to me right now.” Suguru concedes, leaning closer to you, brows furrowing in a seriousness. “Look, I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel worse, but I should let you know. He’s going to try and seek you out now that he knows about his son. You know that, right?”

Of course, you fucking know that. That’s what makes you scared, the possibility of somehow running across him in the most unsuspecting of places makes you want to stay holed up in your shitty apartment. “Yeah,” you gulp. “I figured.”

“I don’t know how he’ll react if–when–he does see you.” he honestly admits. “I just think you should reach out to him first, before he does it. I have his number, you should ca—”

“Stop.” you hold a hand up, eyes closing. “No more, I don’t want to be told what to do. I just…need some time processing everything right now.”

“Y/N–”

“Suguru,” your eyes open, staring at him dead on. “You seriously can’t expect me to jump from one thing to the next. I need fucking time to figure out what I’m gonna do. I’m already stressed as it is, now I have to worry about my son’s father possibly trying to reach out and that just sets me more on fucking edge. You come to my work, spring this on me, and I–” you’re rambling. Cutting yourself off in the middle of a sentence, choosing not to finish it. The last thing you need to do is rant to him. Besides, you’re just starting to see him again after five years, that would absolutely put him in a weird place between comforting someone who was once his friend, and backing up his life-long best friend.

You jolt a bit when you feel a warm palm envelope your hand, his thumb gently rubbing across your knuckles. Looking back at him, he gives you an all too familiar look. One that can make you just pour out everything you’re feeling right at that second. It’s a horrifying technique he has. “I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is make you feel like shit. I should’ve been more considerate. I’m sorry.” He apologizes with a soothing intonation. Again, it’s making you feel warm. “It’s a hard situation, I could never know exactly what you’re going through. but…I care about you, Y/N. I always have, even without Satoru’s involvement. So, I’ll do better and not overwhelm you.”

Damn it, Suguru. Now you’re making me feel bad! Not trusting yourself with words, you meekly nod, slowly pulling your hand out his grasp. You miss the way his eyes dart down to his now empty grip, a small downward twitch to his lip that he expertly hides. “I should go back to work, I’m assuming you do too.” You stand on wobbly feet, giving him one last lingering gaze. “On the house, by the way….yeah, bye.”

Suguru watches you disappear behind the curtains, a small pit expanding in his gut. He pushes it away without thought, sighing to himself as he stands and exits the cafe. He walks down the sidewalk to his blacked out 2025 Mustang GT parked on the street. Getting in with a heavy head that’s full of all kinds of emotions. Some he doesn’t try to acknowledge, but the ones he does, it’s all worry and concern. He really doesn’t see how this situation can somehow turn around. Maybe you two will have a very mature and calm conversation when you cross paths.

He almost laughs to himself when he begins driving. Calm? Mature? Yeah, right. How do you have a calm conversation about hiding a kid for five years? Not to mention, you and Satoru are equally stubborn; it used to be so infuriating for him.

Suguru had patience, a lot of it actually. But you two tended to test that. Although, he would always forgive one of you the quickest. Cough, cough. You. It was like you had this weird thing about you that made the people around you just…like you.

His grip tightens on the wheel, biting his lip. He gets to a red light, thumb tapping on the material. Damn it all.

There’s a ringing that emits from the car’s speakers, looking at his touch screen to see the familiar name. Using this as a distraction, he answers. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Shoko’s voice sounds out. “Where are you? Thought you were paying for my lunch.”

He huffs, eyes rolling, and moving the car forward once the light turns green. “I never agreed to that.”

“Sure you did,” Shoko replies, exhaling a breath. She must be smoking. “Anyway, hurry up. I’m already waiting outside. I thought Satoru was coming, is he gonna be late again?”

Yeah, no. “I don’t think he’s coming anymore.”

“Why not?” Shoko asks.

Suguru exhales heavily, turning the street towards the meet-up spot with his friend. “Some shit happened, I don’t think he’s doing good.”

Shoko pauses, adjusting her phone in hand. “What happened?”

Suguru too stops, completely forgetting how Shoko has no idea about what has transpired in the past couple of days. “I’ll tell you when I see you.”

Satoru has never been surprised before, not technically. He’s a smart man with quick instincts and a good foresight, it’s like he can always tell when something is going to happen, before it happens. Even for birthday parties, his perception and people reading skills are great, he knows when someone’s lying or not telling the full truth.

In short, he knows a lot of things.

But, what he didn’t expect was for 1) even hearing your name ever again after the breakup, and 2) you have a son, his son. A son he had not one goddamn clue about. The only person who’s ever been able to throw him off his game is you.

Even back when you two dated, there were moments where you’d either say or do things that would make him pause for a second and think how unlikely that was of you. He knew you’d lie sometimes, small white lies weren’t foreign to him because he did it too. But, he never thought you’d deliberately keep something like this from him.

And to top it off, if Suguru never saw you by chance that day, would you have ever even told him?

Now that really fucking pisses him off.

When Satoru is mad, everyone else’s day is ruined. When he’s mad, you can see it in his face, his body, how he’s just barely holding himself back. It’s even more scary when Satoru is known as the laid-back, playful and unserious type of man. So when he’s mad, almost no one in the office wants to make him even angrier, let alone be around him.

He’s barely slept a total of ten hours within the past two days, mind keeping him awake. He’s trying to not imagine the image of you holding a boy who looks like him because he’s already broken one too many pairs of glasses and the thought alone makes him infuriated. He sees a blinding white flash of betrayal, hurt, confusion, and anger.

He doesn’t mean to take it out on his employees, but their feelings are not on his list of priorities.

He has a son.

A son who’s five, apparently.

Five whole years of being kept in the dark, not even being blessed with a smidge of information about his offspring. While he was off fucking women, having fun, dreading about taking over his father’s business, you were god knows where, changing fucking diapers and losing sleep. And for what? Were you that fucking scared to tell him?

Oh, he’s so going to rip you a new one when he sees you.

But, he’s still not sure if he wants to do that. Afraid of what might happen, he’d rather not blow up on you, but can you blame him if he does?

He just found out he has a secret love child from a woman he knew years ago and know he’s expected to act like everything is normal in this boring fucking meeting?

Not to mention, if his father finds out, he’s not sure what will happen. If anyone else finds out, for that matter. If anything, he needs to get a reign over this messy situation before he’s allowing anyone to know.

“Mr. Gojo? What do you think?”

At the sudden mention of his name, he snaps back into focus. Eyes flickering over to the bald-headed man who currently stands in front of the table of other withering men, the screen projector displaying a multitude of different statistical data. The man falters slightly, his grip tightening on the laser pointer as Gojo’s eyes land on him

Shit. He has no idea what they were even talking about. “About?” He clears his throat, appearing nonchalant, though the tight hold on the ballpoint pen says otherwise, the faint click of it opening and closing the only indication of his simmering irritation

The room feels colder, quieter.

The man clears his throat nervously. “The expansion plan... into the Asia-Pacific region. Whether you think it’s viable in the current climate.”

Gojo leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed, though his pen continues its faint, rhythmic clicks. His expression is unreadable, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he lets the silence stretch a moment too long. “And you need my opinion on this?” he says finally, his tone polite but tinged with condescension.

The bald man shifts on his feet, adjusting his glasses. “W-We... wanted your insight, given your, uh, experience overseeing the European division.”

“Right,” Gojo says, dragging the word out just enough to make the man squirm. He tilts his head, his icy blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Well, if I’d been paying attention, I’d probably say something about how overly cautious you all seem to be. But that’s just a guess.”

The bald man blanches, stammering, “O-Overly cautious? We’ve taken every factor into account—”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Gojo cuts in smoothly, his voice softening just enough to disarm the growing panic in the man’s voice. “I’m just wondering if maybe all those ‘factors’ are holding you back. Are we leaders, or are we playing it safe like everyone else?” His eyes flicker briefly over the rest of the table, daring anyone to challenge him.

The bald man hesitates, then nods quickly, his nervous energy palpable. “Of course. You’re absolutely right, Mr. Gojo. I’ll revisit the projections to—”

“No need,” Gojo interrupts again, flashing a faint, humorless smile. “I trust you’ll figure it out. Unless you think I shouldn’t.”

The man practically trips over his words in an effort to assure him. “No, no, of course not. I’ll make the adjustments immediately.”

“Perfect,” Gojo says, the finality in his tone dismissing the topic entirely. He shifts his attention to the projector screen, the numbers and graphs blurring together as his thoughts drift.

The room eventually moves on, the hum of conversation resuming. But Gojo doesn’t miss the quick glances from across the table, the subtle unease lingering in the air.

He taps the pen against the table, his jaw tightening. It’s taking everything in him not to snap, not to let the weight of the fact that his ex-girlfriend is a filthy fucking person seep through the cracks.

Let them sweat. It’s the only thing keeping him entertained today.

The minute the awful meeting of ifs and hesitant decisions is over, he’s pushing out his chair, being the first one to leave the haunted room. It’s a bad mistake on his end, because his secretary, Aiko, is on his ass. “Mr. Gojo, your father is waiting for you in your office.”

Great, as if things couldn’t get any fucking better. He holds back a remark, gruffing out. “For?”

“He didn’t say, sir. He just wanted me to tell you to see him as soon as the meeting finished.”

He really, really doesn’t want to see his father right now. The two were too alike, constantly butting heads which only ended in a harsh set of insults being tossed around, mingled with occasional threats of “never passing the company down to someone as idiotic as you”. His father is bluffing, of course. He has no other person to pass it down to, with Satoru being the oldest and only son of his father’s. His long legs easily lead him to the doors of his office, to which he hesitates. Taking in a big breath, before opening the doors and closing them soon after. “What is it?” he asks, walking over to sit in his chair, leaning back comfortably.

His father, Yamato Gojo, the current CEO of the Gojo Group, who sits leisurely on the black leather coach stands up to position himself across from his son. Arms crossed and the permanently etched frown on his face. “Why didn’t you come to the dinner yesterday? There were very important people there you needed to meet. I texted and called you.”

Why didn’t he go? Can he really just say “sorry dad, I was stressing about this shithole I’ve found myself in”. No, he can’t. Instead, he shrugs and brushes his father off. “I was already busy.”

“Busy with what? What’s more important than networking?”

“A lot of things, actually.”

Yamato dislikes that answer quite a lot, frown seemingly deepening, regarding his son with another usual disapproving look. “Satoru, this is serious. They were expecting you and you embarrassed me. I won’t let this happen again, when I say you need to be somewhere, you be there. No if, ands, or buts. You’re pissing me off.”

How ironic of him to say that considering he’s having the exact same effect of Satoru. He isn’t scared of his father, hell no. But he does know to pick and choose his battles. And with the way his mind is completely scrambled right now, he forces himself to intake a huge breath of air. “Yeah, yeah. Fine, I’ll be there next time. Happy?”

“Only after you prove it.” Like father, like son. Satoru hates how his father always seems to want to get the last word in. But his father hates how he does the exact same.

Throughout the entirety of his shift, up until he clocks out of work and walks to his designated parking spot which houses his white 2025 Mercedes-Benz SL-Class. Driving back to his high rise penthouse on autopilot, his thoughts zeroed in on one person only. Or well, two people.

Satoru wasn’t ever sure he wanted to be a father. He knew it was expected of him, but so many people had such high expectations of him, it became exhausting. Too exhausting. Does he even have a right to call himself a father to a child he never knew, a child who probably doesn’t even know him?

His right hand reaches for his phone, calling a number without taking his eyes off the road. It answers on the first ring, but Satoru doesn’t give him the chance to respond. “Do you know where she lives?”

There’s a falter, hearing Suguru’s deep breath come out on the other end. “No, I don’t. And nice to hear from you too.”

“I don’t have time for your sarcasm right now.” He stops at a red light, using his left hand to rub the crease between his furrowed brows. “Do you know anything? Her number? Where she works? Where did you see her so I can go over?”

“Satoru, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to go meet up with her again. You’re obviously not in the right mind space and I don’t want you two to—“

“I’ll argue with her all I want, I have that goddamn right to.” Satoru grits out, interrupting his friend before he has the chance to spew out more shit he’d rather not listen to right now. “Answer me.”

In Suguru’s mind, he knows if he gives Satoru even the tiniest bit of information regarding your whereabouts, he’ll storm over there and probably say things he doesn’t mean. Satoru tends to think emotionally in very dire situations, a bad habit of his. Still, although he knows his best friend should be angered by this situation, Suguru doesn’t want to involve himself. More than he has. After speaking with you, he’s come to the conclusion that you’ll reach out to Satoru soon. Considering the fact that he already knows. “I don’t know, I saw her at a grocery store, but she was just shopping.”

“Fuck,” Satoru groans, moving his car forward again. “Well how the hell do I—“

He’s cut off by a small vibrate to his phone, a message. When he looks down, the screen is overtaken by a new call coming in from Himari. Honestly, she’s the last person he wants to talk to right now.

“What’s wrong?” Suguru asks, after noticing the small beat of silence from the other end of the phone.

What isn’t wrong? “Gotta go, call you later.”

“Sat—“

Satoru ends the call, picking up the new one. “Hey.”

“Baby,” Himari’s light voice fills his ears, sighing in relief. “Can you come pick me up? I’m at the mall but the tires of my driver’s car popped.”

He’d rather not, but Satoru has found out that it’s been quite difficult to say no to his girlfriend. So, he puts his own internal and external battles to the side, making a right turn and exhaling. “The mall?”

“Yes, baby. Thank you so much.”

He hums back in response. “Be there in ten, wait outside.” Once again, he hangs up and a suffocating silence fills his car. Hands tightening around the wheel, he reels himself in with a big inhale, then exhales. He can’t show these sorts of emotions in front of the woman, for she’ll no doubt question and question about what’s wrong, which will then lead to an argument. He doesn’t need arguments.

As Satoru sees the mall in the distance, he’s overrun by the sudden determination. The determination to find you and meet his son.

“Just one more question, Koji. Then let’s eat dinner, how does that sound?”

The young boy groans in annoyance, the math work of simple addition problems laid out in front of him. He hates math, almost as much as you, excelling in other subjects like English and Art. “But Mama……” he drags the words out in a childish manner.

Plating two plates of tonkatsu chicken with curry, one plate smaller than the other, you turn to your son who now has a pout on his face. You resist the urge to pinch his cheeks. “You can do it, you did the other ones so well.”

Sitting next to him, you look over at his workbook. Just one more problem. It’s a problem consisting of three numbers, 5, 23, and 6. Simple in your eyes, but a disastrous monstrosity in the eyes of a five-year-old. “Mama will help you, okay?”

“Okay, Mama.” Koji grumbles, reluctantly grabbing his red pencil again.

Times like these you cherish. Sure, it’s mundane and not very exciting. But it’s the little things that matter most to you. Helping your kids with homework, helping them learn to ride a bike, tie their laces, it’s all wonderful experiences from your perspective. Proof of the fact that your chubby little baby isn’t very little anymore, growing into his own person. Although, the more he grows, the more he’s starting to resemble his father. It’s scary at times, when he looks at you and you get random flashbacks.

Eating dinner and washing up is another thing you love. After such a hectic day, you just want to unwind with your son. You had put in your PTO for the convenience store a month in advance; after a particularly hard month. Finishing at 5:00pm, like most people do, is a breath of fresh air.

You let Koji tire himself out in the tub, then the living room, to which he has Cars playing (his favorite movie at the time). He plays with his own small set of matching cars, while you sweep the kitchen. Your eyes flicker over to your phone that lays face up on the island, a bubbling sensation forming in your being, one of contemplation. You wonder to yourself, would you call Satoru? You know his number by heart, he most likely hasn’t changed it.

After the breakup, you cut off all contact with him and his friends, even choosing to get a new phone and new number, just to avoid any possibly drives of texting him, or to avoid him texting you. You quite literally wanted to erase every memory about him.

Kinda hard to do that when you’re raising his carbon copy.

After another blind minute, you pause your sweeping and grab your cellular device. You’re about to grab Suguru’s business card from your purse when a sudden question hits you.

How was he able to call you earlier at work if you had never given your number to him in the first place?

Your brows knit together while you come up with any possible solutions and reasoning to that thought, coming up blank. Seriously, how did he call you? Without thinking, you go to your recent calls, pressing the first one, and raising your phone to your ear.

It rings for about a second, before Suguru’s coaxing voice follows. “Hello?”

“How did you get my number?”

“What?”

“How did you get my number? I didn’t give it to you at the store.”

You can practically hear the way he’s trying to formulate an answer. Coming up with a shitty one. “I just…guessed.”

You say nothing, your eyes narrowing on a certain spot on the blank white walls of your kitchen.

Another second passes before he gives in, too easily. “Okay, okay. Look, I don’t want to sound creepy or anything but—“

“Were you stalking me?”

“What?! No! Of course not, Y/N. I’d never do that.”

“Then tell me how you got my number without me telling you.”

He sighs. “…I have a friend. He’s in the law enforcement and I…may have asked around. But before you get any ideas, I was worried. You just fell off the face of the Earth and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You can’t stop the huff that leaves you. Should you feel complimented that he went out of his own way to do all this or invaded? Maybe both. Honestly, you did that all for a reason. And he blatantly went behind yours, probably everyone’s, back to get some information on you in a shady way. Isn’t that illegal or something? “Suguru, when people do that, it doesn’t mean they want to be found.”

“I know, Y/N. But I was worried, so was Shoko and Satoru—“

“Does he know my number too?” You ask, already feeling your panic run up your veins, boy straightening into a stiff position.

“No, no, he doesn’t. Just me.” He quickly relieves you.

You guess that’s somewhat better. Although you still feel mildly annoyed at Suguru for what he did. “Is that all you know?” The way he doesn’t respond immediately makes you feel even more frustrated, jaw clenching.

“I….” He lets out a heavy breath. “No, it’s not.”

“What else do you fucking know?”

He winces at your now harsh tone of voice, though he knows it’s all expected. “It wasn’t on purpose, I just wanted your number, I swear. But when you’re looking for that kind of stuff, other things pop up like…address and…yeah.”

If only he could see your expression right now. “You know where I fucking live?”

“Yes, Y/N….”

Okay, now your privacy is very invaded. You have never really gotten angry with Suguru, let alone get into an argument. He always knew when to stop, what not to say to make someone else feel worse, but did he just get fucking dumb after all these years? “…are you serious?” You know he is, not even giving him the chance to answer your rhetorical question. “Fuck you, Suguru. I can’t believe you—you completely—I don’t even know what to tell you right now.”

You can hear the guilt in his voice, tone softening. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I had the best intentions, I was never going to visit you or call you without your specific permission to.”

“Did I give you permission to call me earlier?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Exactly.” With another scoff, you bite your lip, picking the correct words to voice out. You wouldn’t say you’re a word vomit person, usually. But right now, you just feel…slightly weirded out. All this time, you thought you had solitude. But Suguru knew where you were this entire time? “Goodbye, Suguru.”

“Y/N, wai—“

“Don’t. If I need you, I’ll tell you. But right now I don’t want to speak to you.”

He pauses, feeling his gut tighten. Nonetheless, he nods and mutters. “Okay, I’ll give you space. Just please know I’m sorry and I really didn’t have bad intentions.”

Seems like this is the second time today he’s apologizing to you. You don’t like it. Without another word, you end the call, putting your phone back on the hard surface of the island. Jesus Christ. What the hell is going on, seriously?

One minute you’re stressing about getting evicted, then you have to worry about Satoru somehow running into you, and now you find out Suguru has just casually known your address all these years. Why is all of this deciding to be sprung on you all at once? Out of no where? The world must be punishing you for every unholy deed you’ve done in your life; it really doesn’t seem fair. At all. Can’t things just go right for once in your life? You just want to go at least a day without external stressors fucking you over in every way possible.

Of course, you’re unlucky. That’s just how things have always been for you. The universe has a twisted sense of humor, and you’re the punchline to every cruel joke. The thought of Suguru knowing your address sends a cold, uncomfortable shiver down your spine. What else does he know? What else has he been hiding?

The questions swirl in your mind, each one more suffocating than the last. You sit down heavily on the edge of your worn-out couch, its cushions sagging beneath you as though they, too, are tired of carrying your weight. You bury your face in your hands, the skin of your palms rough against your cheeks, and take a deep, shaky breath.

Satoru (and Suguru). Their names alone bring up a storm of emotions you can barely keep bottled up. You’ve worked so hard to keep them, and everything they represent, in the past. Yet here they are, forcing their way back into your life like unwelcome ghosts.

You glance at the stack of overdue bills on the coffee table, mocking you with their bold red lettering. As if you didn’t already know you were drowning. Maybe it’s time to stop fighting the tide.

You watch Koji focus on the bright screen, moving his toy cars in unison with the movie. Willing yourself to worry about the now, to convince yourself that you’re not done, that there’s still some fight left in you.

However, that seems to be proving harder each and every single day.

It’s a chilly, but sunny winter day. The sidewalk filled with other people going about their day. You’re wearing a black trenchcoat, along with a scarf. Hands stuffed into the pockets of your coat as little puffs of white air leave your mouth, a stark piece of evidence of how cold it is today. The heels of your shoes clacking down the concrete, making your way to the familiar cafe of Latte Lounge.

Saturdays are supposed to be happy days, a final breath of fresh air after the business of the weekdays prior. The day where people enjoy Mother Nature and what she has to offer, a day of sleeping in, a day of no responsibilities.

A woman like you has no Saturdays. It’s like every day is a cold, hard Monday.

You finally spot the cafe, its large, glass windows giving you a sneak peek to the liveliness that resides inside. Of course, most people do choose to go to cafes on Saturdays. Especially this early in the morning. Walking in, the small bell above the door dings. The workers behind the counter greet you; while you give them a half greeting back, your eyes scan the environment. It takes a few seconds, but you see Mr. Ito sitting at a table for two in the corner.

You prepare yourself with a heavy sigh, forcing your feet to maneuver you over to the man who smiles and stands once he sees you approaching. “Ms. Y/N, good morning.”

“Good morning.” You’re a little caught off guard when he takes the empty seat from across from him and pulls it out, a silent move of help. Sitting down, he pushes your chair in then walks back over to his own. He laces his fingers together on top of the table. “Get whatever you’d like, on me, remember?”

“Oh, I’m not very thirsty right now.”

“No, please. It’s my pleasure, especially for meeting with me so early this morning.”

A part of you wants to deny his niceness. But, he did cause you to lose money you could’ve still had to spare if you didn’t have to call in Sana to watch Koji. And well, coffee always makes you feel better. “Just an iced vanilla latte.”

He nods and stands up. “Great, I’ll be back.”

Watching him go up to the counter and order, you look back down at your lap. Koji misbehaving sounds odd, he’s always been an obedient kid. Of course he has his moments, but he understands when to listen and when to goof around. A few minutes later, Mr. Ito sits back down with two cups of coffee, sliding yours over to you. You thank him and sip. Hm, not too bad.

There’s a small silence that flows over you two as you taste your coffees, but you wait for him to speak first. He did schedule this little meeting, after all. He clears his throat. “So, Ms. Y/N, again thank you for meeting with me.”

You nod. “Of course, Mr. Ito. Anything for Koji.”

Mr. Ito smiles, his hand waving you off. “Oh please, call me Haruto.”

Already trying to get on a first name basis. Simply nodding again, you raise an eyebrow for him to continue.

“Anywho, like I said earlier this week, I have concerns about Koji’s behavior. You see, he’s had about six instances where he doesn’t listen to me when I say it’s time for silent reading time. I understand he’s a talkative child, but he usually does not act out like this. Would you happen to have any idea as to why he is behaving this way so suddenly?”

“No, I don’t. Koji listens well, and he hasn’t come to me specifically about getting in trouble.” You respond, lips pursing.

Mr. Ito nods in understanding. “I can assume so, but his behavior has started affecting his peers, as well.”

You sit up straighter in your chair. “In what way?”

“Well,” Mr. Ito tilts his head, seemingly recounting the times Koji has misbehaved. “The students who sit around him have started coming to me, complaining about how Koji doesn’t leave them alone. They feel as if he’s taking away from their learning.”

What? Not to mention that that sounds quite…interesting for other five year olds to say, but no way Koji has been that bad. Maybe it’s your bias as his parent, but this is brand new to you, very brand new. Even when he’s home, Koji always insists on doing his homework before playing or eating dinner. So really, you’re not sure how to react to this surge of new information about your own child. “I really don’t know, Mr. Ito. I mean, Koji is a great boy, he listens very well to me and the other adults in his life. I’m just as shocked as you are right now.”

Mr. Ito leans back in his chair, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. “I’m not doubting your parenting skills. Koji’s clearly a bright and energetic boy. Maybe too energetic for some of his classmates to handle.” His tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent there, something you can’t quite place. “It’s possible he’s just seeking attention in ways that might not be obvious at home.”

You nod slowly, though his words don’t sit right with you. Koji doesn’t come across as attention-seeking at all. If anything, he’s a bit reserved until he’s comfortable around someone. “I’ll talk to him tonight and see if I can figure out what’s going on. Maybe there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

“I’m sure you will,” Mr. Ito says, his smile deepening as he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. The movement feels deliberate, like he’s closing some invisible gap between the two of you. “You’ve always struck me as a very attentive parent.”

The compliment lands awkwardly, and you find yourself straightening your back again, instinctively pulling away from his lingering gaze. “Thank you, Mr. Ito,” you say curtly, steering the conversation back to its purpose. “I just want to make sure Koji’s doing well and that his behavior isn’t affecting his classmates.”

“Of course,” he says smoothly, not missing a beat. “And I’m here to help however I can. We could even set up regular meetings if you’d like, to make sure we stay on the same page about Koji’s progress.”

“That won’t be necessary,” you say, your polite tone edging into firmness. “But I do appreciate the offer.”

His smile falters for a brief moment, but he quickly recovers, leaning back in his chair as though he hadn’t just been testing the waters. “Understood. Please, don’t hesitate to reach out if you ever need anything. My door is always open.”

You nod, feeling a distinct shift in the atmosphere—one you’re eager to step away from. “Well, are there any other concerns I should know about, Mr. Ito?”

He looks like he wants to say more, but decides against it. “No, Ms. Y/N. None at all, thank you for coming out.”

“Thank you for the coffee, have a nice day.” You reply, wasting no time in standing up, grabbing your drink in one hand and bag in the other. Though, his voice speaking again causes you to stop.

“Ms. Y/N,” Mr. Ito’s voice stops you just as you push your chair back. You glance at him over your shoulder, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “I really hope I didn’t come across as too forward earlier. I’m just...invested in making sure Koji has everything he needs to thrive.”

You offer a polite smile, settling the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Of course, Mr. Ito. I appreciate that.”

He smiles, but there’s a pause before he continues. “It’s rare, you know, to see a parent as involved as you are. It’s refreshing.”

The compliment makes you pause, and you clutch your coffee cup a little tighter. “Well, Koji’s my world,” you reply simply, brushing off the remark.

“As he should be.” Mr. Ito leans back in his seat, his fingers lightly tapping the side of his own drink. “But I imagine that must get exhausting sometimes, especially since you seem to handle everything on your own.” His tone is casual, but there’s a softness to it, as if he’s inviting you to confide in him.

You blink, his words catching you off guard. Is he fishing for something? “It’s not always easy,” you admit cautiously, “but that’s just part of being a parent.”

“True,” he says with a small nod, his eyes lingering on you a moment too long. “Still, you shouldn’t hesitate to lean on the people around you when you need to. It’s not a sign of weakness, you know.”

You stiffen slightly, unsure how to interpret his words. They seem innocuous enough, but the way his gaze flickers toward you feels... calculated. “I manage just fine, thank you,” you reply, keeping your tone light but firm.

“Of course,” he says smoothly, raising his hands slightly as if to placate you. “You strike me as someone who handles things with grace. It’s admirable.”

You glance at your watch, eager to end the conversation. “Well, I should get going. I’ll talk to Koji about everything we discussed.”

“Of course.” Mr. Ito stands as you do, his smile as steady as ever. “Thank you again for meeting me. And...if you ever want to talk more, even just about life in general, I’d be happy to listen.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, and you force another polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Ito. Have a good day.”

“I can walk you to your car, I’m heading out as well.” He quickly suggests.

You shake your head almost instantly, smile feeling more narrow. “No need, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“But I—“

“Thank you again, but I really must go.” You cut him off, feeling your patience run thin and the desire to be cordial and polite stretching too much. You nod stiffly and turn around to briskly walk out the cafe. However, just as you do so, you collide into something, or someone.

Your open-lidded coffee fumbles a bit in your hand, quickly steadying it. Though it does manage to stain the white shirt of the person you just bumped into. Just great. You hold back a wince and apologize. “I’m really sorry, I wasn’t—“

Your words leave you, your breath feeling like it’s been stolen straight from your chest. Every hair on your body stands up straight, your heart falling straight to your ass like you’ve just hit the biggest drop on a rollercoaster. You know that feeling when you question if something is real or not, pleading with yourself and every deity watching that it’s not? Well, that’s exactly how you feel right now.

It feels like a spotlight has been shone on you without your consent and you suddenly want to throw up. Because as your eyes have moved up to profusely apologize to the stranger, a bucket of water filled with nostalgia and past memories drowns you.

The bright blue, unmistakable irides stare back down at you. A million memories play on repeat, but one thing’s for certain.

The past has never felt so close, and you suddenly want to erase it all and scream.

a/n: the dreaded reunion is here! thank you for reading and the tremendous support! <3 stay tuned for next chap, sorry if yall thought these two were boring, chapter 3 will be getting more into it

taglist: @celestialforce @theclassbookworm @tbzzluvr @uhenivid @ofkilljoysandslytherins @sadmonke @bunheadusa @shartnart1 @lady-of-blossoms @itsinherited @duooy @ari-sa @dakotali @mew4-ever18 @iv-vee @devils-blackrose @a-girl-with-thoughts

[megamindsecretlair]

Girrrlll a thought if you will but Terry Richmond the idea of a breeding kink with him. A thought that randomly popped into my unhinged brain for him. Cause GIRL! He’s already toxic in bed and just add that to the mix.

A/N: You sneakin a peek at my drafts????

I Swear I'll Never Leave

Pairing: Toxic Baby Daddy!Terry Richmond x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, angst if you squint, fingering (fem receiving), teasing, size kink, dirty talk, mean Terry, daddy kink, praise kink, spanking, breeding kink, overstimulation, hair pulling, manhandling, persuasion through the power of dick, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: See Ask. When Terry comes to pick up your daughter, you can’t help picking a fight with him. He sends your daughter outside to wait with Mike while he makes sure you understand a few things.

Word Count: 4,909k

AO3 Link | Prequel: I Still Don't Want You To Go

A/N: WHEW. I hope this lives up to the hype. This is close to the daydream I had. Ya'll know how hard it is to match it perfectly lol. This hurt ME so I hope you enjoy. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

Loud banging on the metal door tore your attention away from your Kindle. You groaned and looked at the time on your alarm clock. It was past two. One of your biggest pet peeves about your baby daddy was that he was annoyingly on time. You were not.

You groaned and got up from bed, picking up the pace once you heard your daughter, Cadence, hopping up and down on your hardwood floors. “Daddy’s here! Daddy’s here!” She giggled, hopping in a circle outside of your room.

“Yes, baby, I heard him,” you said, hunting for your robe. You were only in a giant red sleep shirt while you waited for laundry to get done. The banging continued and you took your precious time finding said robe. That man would just have to wait. 

“Mommy, he’s hereeeee,” Cadence sang, bouncing on the balls of her little feet. 

“Yes, baby, I know. What did we say about patience?” You asked, grabbing your robe from your chair and putting it on. It was actually an old one of Terry’s that was soft and reminded you of him. 

Cadence sighed and stuck out her bottom lip. She looked down and sighed again. “Sometimes we have to wait for what we want,” she said, her voice sounding the complete opposite from what it was before. 

You chuckled and tapped her nose. “Alright now. Go get your things and I’ll let your daddy in, okay?” You asked.

Cadence’s smile returned full force, lighting up her face that looked so much like Terry. Like he spat the baby out and you just carried her. It was honestly disrespectful. Terry banged on the door once more, getting louder and more annoying with it.

You huffed and walked to the front of the house, opening the wooden door. “Can you stop banging on my door like you the police?” You asked. 

Terry chuckled and scratched at his beard. The stubble made him look more rugged and you fought a shiver as you took in the rest of him. He wore black sweats and a matching black tank top molded to his body. 

Tank tops were made for someone like him. Someone so chiseled and well defined. He still kept up his training, still made sure to spend hours in the gym keeping up his physique. It was annoying as hell. Like why couldn’t he let himself go? Couldn’t he make it easier to leave him alone? 

“If you just gave me a key…” Terry said, leaning against the metal door. His gorgeousness was disrupted by the metal screen and you took a deep breath. Facing Terry was like coming into contact with the divine. He was far from a saint, but he was so damn pretty. 

“Nice try. Can’t have you walking in if I have company,” you said, opening the door, finally. Terry’s ever changing eyes watched your every movement. He smiled once you were revealed and you tightened the string on the robe. 

“If you miss me, just say that,” he said, his eyes going lower and lower. You crossed your legs and your arms, communicating to him that you were closed for business. 

“I’m doing mighty fine without you, thank you,” you said. You looked behind you. For all her excitement, what the hell was taking Cadence so long? 

“Mhm,” Terry hummed, smirk curling his lips. You ignored him, tapping your foot on the ground. 

“It’s been four months. When are you gonna let me back in?” Terry moved to take up the entire door frame with his height and size. He wore a do-rag on his head, the ends tucked in. Dressed in all black as he was, he may as well have been a giant red flag.

“How about…October 32nd?” You asked, grinning at him. 

Terry chuckled. “That’s not what you said last time,” he said. 

“I was drunk last time. I would’ve said anything to get off,” you said, just as Cadence came flying through the living room.

“Dadddddyyyyyyyy!” She screamed and launched herself at him. He bent down at the last minute and caught her, giving her a giant hug and swinging her from side to side. 

“How is my little baby?” He asked. He hefted Cadence onto his hip and looked up at her. The grin on her face. You smiled and took out your phone to capture a photo of the both of them. Terry hung the moon as far as your daughter was concerned. As long as he remained a good father, you weren’t going to stand in the way of that. 

She was old enough to realize that daddy was no longer at home with her, but young enough to not fully realize why. You didn’t have the words to explain to her that you loved Terry, but you couldn’t be in the same room with him without wanting to commit bloody murder. 

 Cadence chattered away, telling Terry everything he missed since the last time he saw her. He listened to everything, casting glances at you. You shared a smile with him, admiring this beautiful, creative daughter you made together. 

“I can’t wait to hear more, baby, but I need to talk to mommy. Go play with Uncle Mike until we’re done,” he said.

“We don’t have to talk,” you said. If he went on and left, you could enjoy the rest of your holiday weekend doing absolutely fucking nothing. After laundry and the dishes, you planned on relaxing tonight. You just needed to decide on which type of alcohol to accompany you. 

Terry flicked his eyes to you and raised an eyebrow. You rolled your eyes. The fuck does he want? 

Cadence pouted as Terry put her down but she saw Mike leaning against Terry’s truck. He waved to you and you returned it, watching Cadence run into his arms with the same force she did for Terry. Mike scooped her up and gave her a big hug, tickling her. 

Terry stepped into the house like he owned it. Sure, both of your names were on the deed, but that didn’t mean shit. “Hey!” You called after him and then closed the door. 

Terry looked around and you spread your arms, following behind him. “What the hell are you doing?” You asked. 

Terry checked the living room and then turned back to you with a smirk on his lips. He approached you and you backed away. You realized what he was doing and then stopped, held your ground. Terry encroached into your personal space, looking down his wide nose at you. 

“I know you miss me,” he said. 

You laughed and shook your head. “The fuck make you think that?” You asked and crossed your arms. 

“You pick fights when you need some dick,” he said.

You sputtered as your brain stalled. You wanted to yell at him, curse him, and kick his ass out of your house. But your body was a traitor. You flushed with heat and you grew wet between your legs. 

Fuck. Tequila it was tonight as you threw on a good porno and got yourself off. You had been feeling restless lately, feeling like you wanted to chew through bricks if it meant getting some relief. Ovulation week was horrible. Nothing but dick on the brain and how soon you could get some. How he knew that was a damn mystery, but you tightened the belt on the robe to the point of pain and then re-crossed your arms. 

“That’s not true,” you said. 

Terry advanced on you, pushing you backwards with a few fingers on your tummy. Your back hit the door frame separating the front room from the hallway. Once he had you where he wanted, he pulled at the robe you had on. Your thighs tingled and he opened the robe to reveal your sleep shirt. 

“Laundry day?” He asked.

“How the fu–”

Terry leaned down and brought his lips to yours. He stopped just before contact and you smelled the fresh mint on his breath. “Don’t you know by now that I notice everything about you?” He asked. 

He curled a finger under your chin and lifted it until you looked into the deep pool of his eyes. His thumb stroked your chin and your pussy felt it. It throbbed and the wetness got worse. 

You licked your lips and huffed, giving him a shrug. “I don’t need any help, thank you,” you said. You pushed at his shoulder but he didn’t budge. Didn’t even pretend to. You sighed and tried a different tactic. “Cadence has been looking forward to today for a while. You shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Terry’s smile was slow and near animalistic. “Speaking of, isn’t it time for us to have another?” He asked. 

You burst with laughter, the force of it stealing your breath. You shook your head and looked at him. His eyes were trained on you, tracking everything, before you burst into laughter once more. You wiped the corners of your eyes and shook your head. “Fuck no,” you said. 

“You sure? Remember how much fun we had making Cadence?” He asked. He kissed the corner of your mouth and then moved his hand from your chin, down around your breast, and then further down to your stomach.

He flattened his big hand across your tummy, giving it a squeeze. His palm was warm, seeping through your shirt. If you had on panties, they’d be ruined by now. You were too turned on. Too flushed with heat. Too down bad to continue even the smallest torture. And he knew it. 

He hummed as he sighed with satisfaction, like he just confirmed something he had been questioning. He blinked and that turned you on. That’s how you knew you were fucked. “Let’s make a son,” he said.

“So I can go through pregnancy alone? Again?” You asked. 

Terry winced and you immediately felt bad. That was below the belt. You sighed and leaned away from him, pushing at his hand. “This is why we don’t work,” you whispered. Terry made you bring your claws out. Wanting to hurt him. And that wasn’t what relationships were about. You shouldn’t want to hurt the love of your life. 

Terry kept his hand on your belly and brought his other hand to cup your cheek. “I know I fucked up. But we do work well together,” he said. 

“You didn’t! I was…” You groaned and threw up your hands. Once more, you tried to fight him. To move. To get out from under his influence. He was your worst drug of choice and you were too weak to stay away. Too weak to walk away. 

Terry stayed in place. He kept his hand cupped to your cheek, holding you in place, and moved his other hand from your stomach down to the edge of your shirt. You gasped as he lifted it, inch by slow, torturous inch, and then skated his fingers along the crease between your thigh and pelvis. His rough fingers felt too good and you leaned into it before catching yourself. 

Terry hummed as he moved his fingers between your legs, seeking between your damp curls, and then wiggling between your pussy lips. You hissed and held onto his shoulders, dug your nails in. 

Terry kissed your cheek. “This is why we work well together. The way you respond…you can’t fake that,” he said. He brought his forehead to the side of yours, fingers starting to play with your essence. He always stopped before he got too close to your clit. 

“We can’t build something on a foundation of sex, Terry,” you said.

“That isn’t our foundation. We still love each other. We’re still in love with each other,” he said, his deep voice was like a physical caress on your body. You felt it along the curves of your hips and the dip between your thighs. You spread your legs wider, giving him more access. 

Your skin felt like it was going to burn to a crisp. You sunk your nails into his shoulders and Terry groaned, rolling his hips forward. You looked down and saw the tent he pitched in his sweats, giving you a nice outline of his dick. His glorious, beautiful dick.

Your thoughts turned fuzzy as he continued to tease you. He’d definitely hit that spot. That deep spot inside that only he could reach. You were pretty sure he created that spot just for him, knowing damn well no other man would compare to his size. Compared to the way he took care of you in the bedroom.

Combined with your hormones going haywire, your knees grew weaker. Your clit throbbed as his questing fingers grew closer and you whimpered as he moved away, swirling figure eight’s with your essence. 

“Let me cum,” you whispered, moving your hips to chase after his fingers. 

“Let me back in the house,” he countered. You sighed and rubbed your head against his.

“Terry…” You said. 

He called your name and then moved his fingers to your entrance. You gasped and he lifted your chin. He pulled back to look into your eyes. Your eyelids were heavy, drooping on a mix of ovulation and lust. 

You were leaving half moons in his skin from your nails. You relaxed and rubbed the pain away. It gave you something to focus on other than his beautiful hands playing you like a damn fiddle. 

Terry pushed his middle finger into your pussy and you moaned, loudly, lewdly, mouth falling open and closed. You wanted to make another sound but fuck if you knew what it would be. 

“How long has it been since last time? Since I was playing in this pussy?” Terry asked. He stepped closer. You brought your leg up to rub against his thigh. It opened you up further for him to pump his thick finger in and out of you. 

In no time, he had you moaning and biting your lip. You were so close…almost there…and…Terry pulled his finger out. You groaned and looked at him. He smirked while he brought his finger to his mouth and suckled. 

“Get that sexy ass on our bed,” Terry said. He moved back slowly so you’d have a chance to lower your leg. 

You whined and stomped your foot. Terry tilted his head. You sighed and moved away from him, marching your ass to the bed. “This is the last time, Terry,” you said over your shoulder. Out from underneath him, clarity returned to your brain. 

You were saying yes for you. You were saying yes because you deserved it. You were saying yes because fuck, it’d been two weeks since he blew your back out and you needed that same loving to get you through the next two weeks. 

In two weeks, you’d be stronger. You’d be able to resist him. You’d be able to look across the threshold at him, picking up your daughter, and not feel that tug towards him. That glimpse into the man you fell in love with before he went into the service. You’d remain unaffected and in control.

Tonight, you were just ready to turn your brain off. Ready to fuck him like you missed him and then let him go after. You walked into your bedroom and moved your Kindle to the nightstand. Terry’s heavy footfalls sounded behind you, matching the beat of your erratic heart. 

“You said that last time,” he said. 

You smoothed out the comforter, in your favorite color, and rolled your eyes. “And I meant it. I mean it now,” you said.

Terry chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. And you’ll mean it next time?” He asked. 

Terry opened the cabinet in your hallway and took out a towel. You lifted your eyes at him. “Someone’s a little confident,” you said. 

“It’s cute when you try to act tough. Like you not drooling over this dick,” he said. He entered the room and took a look around. You wondered if he was comparing things to the last time he was here. Cadence was away at a sleepover and you broke down and asked him to come over to handle the heat between your thighs. 

“Drooling?” You asked and laughed. “If you desperate for this kitty, just say that.” 

“I’m desperate for it,” he said, flicking his warm eyes towards you. You snapped your mouth shut and stared while he laid the towel down on the edge of the bed. He finished and then crossed the room to you.

“You can pretend all you want, but if you didn’t want me? You wouldn’t have worn this,” he said and pulled off the robe. He balled it up and then tossed it to the chair where it usually resided. You licked your lips for lack of a better response. Because…fair.

“And, you would have put on some panties. Some pants,” he said. He lifted your shirt off in one rough yank and you gasped. Terry hummed and looked you up and down. “And you definitely wouldn’t have answered the door like this. Since you did, that can only mean you need me.”

“Need is such a big word,” you said. 

Terry slipped his fingers into your hair and pulled. You moaned and closed your eyes. He walked with you like that, fist full of your hair, to the edge of the bed. He made you climb on the foot of the bed and once in position, he moved you to face the corner of your room. 

The floor mirror showed your reflection, hair pulled up and away in Terry’s hand. He looked at you like he wanted to eat you alive. You absolutely missed this. Missed the way he looked at you like he couldn’t breathe without your smile in his life. Your body naturally bent forward, sticking your ass higher.

Terry locked eyes with you in the mirror. “Need is a very big word,” he said. He smacked your ass and moaned in the back of his throat. 

The pain in your ass blossomed, radiated with fire. Terry delivered a few more smacks. Each one stung worse than the last, but you started to look forward to his smacks. You lifted your ass higher, meeting his hand. Your pussy dripped with your essence. You moaned, pussy clenching as you looked at the focus on his face. The determination. 

His mouth was twisted and his eyebrows were furrowed as he painted your ass with his hand. You started to shake, started to tremble, before he stopped and smoothed his hand down your ass. 

You hissed and moaned, pushing your ass into his hand. Terry yanked on your hair and you groaned as you lifted off of the bed. 

“Look at me,” he ordered. You found his eyes in the mirror. He smiled as he lowered his sweats and then plunged inside of you in one rough thrust. 

“Fuuuuuuuck,” you gasped. Terry’s smirk grew wider. He held firm to your hair, pulling to the point of pain, while he kept himself buried to the hilt. Your nails dug into the sheets, pulled at the covers.

“Look so fuckin’ gorgeous takin’ dick,” he said. 

Your fist pounded feebly on the bed. You couldn’t move unless he willed it. You could only look at the satisfaction on his face. “Condom,” you choked out. 

“We don’t need one, do we?” He asked. He pulled out and then pushed back in. You felt every inch of him. Every long, beautiful inch of his dick sliding against your wet walls. 

Now was not the right time for another baby. You finally felt like you had a handle on Cadence. And she was plenty to handle on a good day. “She won’t forgive us for another baby,” you said, trying to come up for a good reason not to let him bathe your insides. At the moment, everything was coming up short. He and your body were working against your higher functioning. Breaking you down to the basest drive to fuck and make babies. 

Terry pushed in and out of you a few more times, letting your essence coat his dick. “She’ll forgive us,” he said and sped up, slamming his hips into yours. He tightened his hold on your hair, pulling your neck to the side so he could lean down and lick. 

You moaned and shivered, a tingle spreading throughout your body. He stroked, moving his hips, and hitting it just like you needed it. 

“Look how sexy you look,” he said. He pulled your hair and made you lift your face to the mirror. You saw your mouth dropped open, eyes at half mast, ass in the air. Terry hovered on top of you, muscles bunching and flexing beneath his effort. 

“Fuck, Terry, fuck, fuck,” you moaned. Your body raced towards an orgasm. There was no teasing, no playing coy or shy. There was just the feel of him inside of you. Where he belonged. Where he needed to be. You came in no time, embarrassingly easy, and you screamed your release. 

Terry kissed and licked your neck and ear, moaning. His breaths fanned across your neck, right where he licked, and it raised goosebumps on your flesh. 

“Missed this pussy. Missed the way you ride me,” he moaned. 

“Shh, you talk too damn much,” you said, waving him away. One orgasm only fed the next one, making your thighs shake on him. His thighs hit your ass, creating a perfect, rhythmic smack that was seriously turning you on. 

Terry yanked on your hair until you brought your hands up to clutch at his hand. You were on your knees, chest poked out, hissing with pain. Your pussy clenched around his dick, unable to hide how much it turned you on when he manhandled you. 

“I think you forgot who you’re talking to,” he said. He kissed your cheek and looked at you in the mirror.

“Wait, wait, I’m sorry,” you said. You shook your head. 

Terry grinned, showing off that beautiful, devastating smile of his. He grabbed your titty, squeezed the fuck out of your sensitive nipple, and then started ramming in and out of you. “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you screamed. 

His dick speared you, slamming into your walls. Your very womb ached from his strokes. Wet, loud squelching filled the room. Terry moaned, cursing low and under his breath. Thank god for the towel. You were soaked. And you were flooding his dick with your essence, making you into a slip n’ slide. 

Terry groaned, getting lost in it, as he fucked you like a toy. “Takin’ me so well, you a professional, huh?” He asked.

You shook your head, unable to speak. Unable to hear properly. He found that deep spot inside, practically kissing your cervix, dick hitting it with precision. You moaned, low and long. You squeezed the hand that held your hair and he ignored you. 

“Keep this up, you gon’ make me bust. That’s what you want, right?” He asked. 

You nodded. Fuck, yes, you wanted it. You needed it. You needed his cum inside of you. You wanted to be the only receptacle for his cum. If it wasn’t in his hand, you wanted it all over you and inside of you. You wanted, you wanted, you wanted.

“Words,” he said. Both of you grew damp with sweat. Bodies sliding against each other. Grabbing onto each other for dear life. As if the moment you let go, you’d fade away forever. You’d drown and lose yourself and he was your only tether to the real world. It came down to you connected to him. 

“I can’t,” you moaned. You weren’t going to last much longer. You were close again. So fuckin’ close that it hurt. Your tummy cramped, the need to cum overwhelming. You also didn’t want to give in. Didn’t want to concede.

“Admit you need me,” he said. 

“Terry, please,” you whined. Terry slowed down his strokes. “No, no, no!” 

Terry moved his hand from your titty to lay across your entire chest. He kept you upright with his arm, hand grabbing your other titty so he could roll your nipple between his fingers. You whined and cried, tears gathering in your eyes. “Please,” you whimpered.

“Say you miss me. Say you want this baby I’m finna give you,” he said. He locked eyes with you in the mirror. 

He saw everything. Saw the way you were sniffling and pleading with your eyes. You squeezed his hand that was still clutching your hair but he refused to move. His dick throbbed, still lodged inside you, and you wanted to collapse. This was too much for you. Too intense. 

“Terry,” you begged. 

Terry kissed your cheek, the space beneath your ear, and then licked the shell of your ear. “I need to hear it,” he said, his voice low. 

You closed your eyes as you retreated from the edge. You groaned as you could feel it going away.

“I need to hear that you crave this dick. That you get flashbacks, times when I hit it well. That you wake up in the middle of the night, burning, wanting to call me but knowing that if you do, it’s just one more step to me moving back in. Moving back in and taking care of you, of Cadence, of this baby,” he said. He couldn’t help moving a little, rocking you up and down his dick once.

“Fuck,” you moaned. Your pussy clenched around him and Terry groaned. 

“I know that pussy want it. Hear how she talkin’? What she trynna say to me?” He asked. 

“Don’t stop,” you moaned, voice breathy. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.” 

“What’s she really saying?” He asked.

“I want that baby,” you moaned. Fuck, how could you not? How could you not want another tether to him? Another way to call him yours? 

Your problems were in the back of your mind. You were tired of sleeping in a cold bed. Tired of handling Cadence by yourself. Tired of doing this shit by yourself. You wanted your man at home. Wanted him deep in your pussy whenever the mood struck.

“That’s my girl,” he said. He started moving again, slamming his dick in and out of you. He moved his hand from your titties to your stomach, stopping to squeeze your belly. You moaned and he squeezed again. 

You loved when he did that. When he touched you possessively. Hungrily. Like there was too much skin for him to get to at once. Like he wanted it all, wanted every last inch of you there was to have. You matched his strokes, throwing it back on him. 

Terry groaned and moved his hands to your pussy, pushing past your pussy lips and stroking your clit. He rubbed furiously, flicking your clit, and you made incoherent sounds. Sputtered through moans, groans, and “oh my god, yes, please, nut in me, nut in meeeee, oueee.”

Terry growled in your ear and that sent you over. The raw need in his throat. You twitched and jerked, moaning, promising him however many babies he wanted. His chuckle was cut off by a groan as he stroked a few more times before cumming. 

He rammed one last time and kept you plugged up while he came and came. Thick, hot ropes of cum painted your inner walls and your brain turned to mush as he did so. His dick throbbed. Your pussy ached. A deep hole was filled by him. By this beautiful, messy, fucked up, toxic man you called the love of your life. 

“Fuuuck,” you twitched on his throbbing dick. He groaned as he huffed and recovered from his orgasm, pulling out to watch himself leak out. He spread your ass cheeks, gave it a smack, and then reentered you.

“Ouee, shit,” you moaned, thighs tingling. 

Terry chuckled and bottomed out, keeping himself there. “I think we just made a son, baby,” he said and pulled you into a kiss. Your neck ached in this position but fuck it. You wanted his sloppy, wet kisses. 

He kissed you sweetly as he moved his hand from your pussy to your stomach, massaging it. You giggled and tapped at his shoulder. “Really mu’fucker?” You asked. 

He chuckled and pecked you on the lips. “Just increasing our chances. Get this sexy, beautiful body in the shower. You gotta start taking care of the both of you,” he said. 

You laughed and pushed at his shoulder with yours. “You get on my nerves!” You said, disentangling his hand from your hair.

Terry moved, pushing his cum deeper inside with shallow strokes. You hissed and moaned, loving the feeling of him. “I’m gonna take Cadence out to the park. And then we’re gonna have dinner tonight and explain that Daddy’s moving back in,” he said. 

You sighed heavily and rolled your eyes. But you didn’t argue. “Yes, Daddy,” you moaned.

Terry pulled out and helped clean you up, taking the soaked towel off of the bed and throwing it in the laundry room. He fixed his outfit and you watched from the bed, sorry he hadn’t gotten naked as well.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back tonight fucking that attitude out of you,” he said.

You gasped and he chuckled, running out of the house before you could call him everything but a child of God. 

The end.

You know I can't keep this man off the brain! The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Prequel: I Still Don't Want You To Go

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