#but…food and coffee 😩

[the-rollerchloster]

hungry, thirsty…and stuck 😩

[study-coffee-chicago]

Happy national coffee day! ☕️

And yes, I know I’m posting this 30 mins late, but I’m just eating dinner when it’s past midnight because I have been studying ALL DAY for midterms. 📚🤓🧠

[ri-afan]

“Ooh! Coffee for $1? I’ll come in and get one!”

*is a card-only machine*

“Never mind I guess. 😑”

[moonlight-prose]

this one from the touch-starved prompt list w logan 😩🫶:

when the other holds onto their waist briefly as they're passing by and it just send chills down their spine

don't mind me

a/n: i need you to know this is pure softness and i am swooning at the thought of how sweet it is. logan is such a gentlemen (cue his words in the wolverine about being old fashioned) and just this thought of him being gentle with the reader, but also respectful. i'm dead. i'm also attached af to this dynamic and would be so open to exploring more with these two. i see the logan here as dofp!logan (especially at the end with that shirt).

summary: you refused to admit that you were smitten with the man who melted your otherwise intelligent mind. you were however...horrible with subtlety. luckily the same could be said for him.

pairing: logan howlett x reader

word count: 1k

warnings: none, fluff, logan howlett is a tease, blossoming of a relationship.

Chaos remained the baseline state when it came to life at the mansion. You couldn't find a way to escape something so natural—a piece of your existence that settled in close to your heart. You liked hearing the children's voices raise in pitch the more excited they got. You liked being showered in hellos as you passed through the halls.

You'd even grown fond of the way you always somehow found yourself stuck in this particular situation. Standing in the kitchen, searching for food, as Logan attempted to make his way through the busy environment.

Few things made you smile the way seeing him in the mornings did. Mussed hair, eyes glazed in partial drowsiness, as he sought for the largest mug tucked in the back of the cabinets. A gag gift from Scott with the claim that the Wolverine needed a cup that could handle him.

(Neither of them would admit it, but the gift remained Logan's favorite piece in the house. A staple in his usual rushed breakfast.)

"Have a nice night?" you asked, attempting to keep your gaze from dropping to his chest.

The white beater he wore never seemed to get old; you absolutely didn't mind seeing him in it at the start of your days.

He grinned, polite and gentlemanly and never anything more. There came days where you wondered if the tension you felt hanging in the air was merely a figment of your imagination. Possibly a delusion to help you cope with such early time slots and late night papers to grade.

"I heard you down here last night."

A grunt rumbled from deep in his chest as he took a sip of coffee large enough to scald his mouth. Screams filtered in through the open doors, quickly followed by a group of kids ready to rummage in the cabinets you both occupied. Which meant your short allotted time with him would soon come to an end, forcing you to pick it up tomorrow morning.

"You want something to eat?" Nodding to the stove with a pan coated in leftover burnt bacon (Scott's attempt at cooking for the kids), you watched Logan's face screw up slightly.

Who could blame him. You wouldn't eat it either.

"Coffee's fine," he mumbled, pouring another helping before small hands were shoving open the door to a variety of cereal. "Gotta get to my class."

You nodded. "History. Right."

He hummed, entirely aware of what occurred inside your chest. How you fidgeted slightly with the watch on your wrist, your eyes unable to remain stuck on his for longer than a few seconds at a time. Logan wasn't an idiot. He understood the tells long before you would dare to admit them out loud.

Clearing your throat, you set your now empty mug in the sink—shifting out of the way to give the students more room. Though the mornings began with enough chaos to keep you on your toes, it was seeing Logan that put you on edge.

The emotions that rifled through your mind mere moments after stepping into his proximity. You began to wonder if there was a way to fix this. Put a stop to how you pined (rather pathetically) over a man who clearly held no interest. You had half a mind to ask Charles for assistance—knowing full well you'd never get over the sheer mortification.

He might laugh—ask if you were in your right mind—but he'd never hold it over you like the others.

But that predicament would have to be settled at a later time. As of two minutes ago...you were late for your first class. The lecture notes were still buried in a stack on your desk; you made a mental note to pick them up on the way.

"Have a good class." Offering a smile, you moved to step out of his way.

Only for the timing (and quite possibly the universe itself) to lead towards you stumbling back from three students barreling towards the kitchen.

His hands latched onto your waist, steadying your movements with a soft grunt, and you tried your best not to choke on your spit. That sound. His touch. You wouldn't make it through the day without those small aspects of him entering your mind—distracting any viable insights you might have had on astronomy as a whole.

Did he have any clue what he did to you?

Or was he merely toying with you on purpose?

Glancing over your shoulder, you caught the small grin that appeared on his face. Barely there yet bright enough to punch a hole right through your chest. He stood tall behind you. A wall you could very well fall into without any worries. That alone left you clutching for some bits of your sanity—whatever remained now sparse enough to be considered laughable.

You tried not to think about the skin you caught small glimpses of in training last week. The sight haunted you for a week—fraying the edges of your mind and turning you to mush. For fucks sake you were a professor. You held enough intelligence to keep Charles Xavier on his toes when wrapped in conversation.

Yet Logan fucking Howlett managed to undo everything that made you the person you were before him now. He muddled what aptitude you had and rendered you entirely dumb.

Some days it left you seething—desperate for a chance to get back at him.

Other days you longed for its familiar warmth.

"You alright there bub?" he rasped, hands still pressed to your hips.

Fighting against your own mind, you plastered a smile on your lips—hoping he might ignore the flutter of your heart. "I'm fine! Thanks for that."

"Have a good day," he replied, his palm brushing the base of your spine as he stepped around you.

Chills clashed with a bewildering heat and curled around your stomach, teasing you with the prospect of his touch somewhere else. You watched his grin deepen, eyes dark with something you'd never before witness from the Wolverine. Want.

"Yeah..." You sucked in a breath, flustered beyond what you could contain in your own body. "You too."

He ducked out towards the hallway long before you had a chance to melt into the floor. A small chuckle resounding in the small confines of the kitchen. Slamming into your chest with enough power to leave you winded.

On your rush to the classroom you finalized your decision.

You'd make that meeting with Charles after all.

[nik0nk1]

I’m sorry to ask but can we please have more Beerus! Reader x mark content😩🙏🏾

There was this one scene from Dragon Ball I’m not sure which one tho where beerus meets cheelai and he kinda falls for her like instantly😭 can we have some moments between reader and mark and how they stop villains together and he attempts at making food for her but it’s not the best best but Debbie helps him make it more manageable and reader knows he tried and she eats it no problem and just overall sweet yet still crackhead moments with mark and maybe how she interacts with Debbie and Oliver :3

Author's Note: honestly nddbshssjss nddjdsjddj love it, also this will be the second to the last Beerus![Name] and the last will be the reactions of Mark's variants on Beerus![Name] please suggest other more ideas in my inbox(⁠^⁠.⁠_⁠.⁠^⁠)⁠ﾉ

So without further adu, here are some Beerus![Name] moments with some of the invincible characters( mostly Mark lol Also sorry if there isn't any romance moments jdjjjddjs:( )

Beerus![Name] Moments

[Name] Just Wants Food, Mark is Her Unpaid Butler Now, Cecil is Developing Stress-Induced Baldness, Debbie is the Only One She Listens To, Earth is Off-Limits Because She Said So, Mark Keeps Getting Dragged Into Fights, Everyone is So Tired, [Name] Moved In Without Asking, She’s Claiming Planets Like Trading Cards, Cheetos Saved Earth, Canon? Don’t Know Her

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

[Name] Claims the Planet & Moves in With Mark (Cecil Is Bald Now)

Cecil had never been more stressed in his entire life.

"YOU CAN’T JUST—" He inhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as his headache intensified. "YOU CAN’T JUST CLAIM THE PLANET!"

[Name], sitting on Mark’s couch, kicked her feet up onto the coffee table. "I just did."

Mark, standing next to Cecil, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why are we at my hou-"

He gets cut off by Cecil "Why would you do that?!"

[Name] shrugged. "Because it was there?"

Cecil looked like he was on the verge of a stroke. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?!?!"

[Name], sipping from a juice box, tilted her head. "Yeah. It means I live here now."

Cecil inhaled deeply. "No, it means every government on Earth is PANICKING because some unknown Viltrumite just casually declared ownership over the entire planet—"

[Name] waved him off. "Oh, that’s dumb. I don’t want their government stuff, I just wanna live here. That’s your problem."

Cecil visibly aged ten years in that moment.

Mark groaned. "Where are you even staying—?"

[Name] smirked. "Here."

Mark blinked. "…Excuse me?"

[Name] gestured around. "Your house. I’m moving in."

Silence.

Cecil stared. "I need a drink."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Meeting Debbie: The Unexpected New Roommate

Debbie had just walked in, holding groceries, when she was met with the sight of:

1. Cecil looking like he was on the verge of an aneurysm.

2. Mark rubbing his temples in pure exhaustion.

3. A complete stranger lounging on her couch with a juice box.

Debbie blinked. "What the hell is going on?"

[Name] turned, grinning. "Hi. I live here now."

Debbie froze. "…What."

Cecil groaned. "SHE CLAIMED THE PLANET, DEBBIE."

Debbie slowly turned to Mark, eyes narrowing. "Mark. Explain."

Mark sighed. "Mom, meet [Name]. She’s…technically a Viltrumite, technically super strong, technically declared Earth as hers, and—" He sighed deeply. "—she’s apparently moving in."

[Name] grinned. "Nice to meet you, Debbie."

Debbie stared at her. Then at Mark. Then at Cecil, who looked done.

Then she sighed, set the groceries down, and walked into the kitchen.

Cecil blinked. "Where are you going?"

Debbie didn’t even turn around. "To pour myself a glass of wine before I deal with this bullshit."

[Name] smirked. "I like her."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Settling In (Mark’s Personal Hell Begins)

Mark had no idea how his life spiraled into this mess, but here he was—watching [Name] casually make herself at home.

She stole his room.

She stole his bed.

She stole his snacks.

She was just…there. Constantly.

Like now, for example.

Mark walked into his own room only to find [Name] sprawled across his bed, eating his bag of Cheetos like she owned the place.

Mark sighed. "Why are you in my room?"

[Name], not looking up from her phone, casually replied, "Our room."

Mark choked. "WHAT?"

[Name] blinked at him. "I live here, Mark. This is our room now."

"YOU CAN TAKE THE GUEST ROOM!"

[Name] shrugged. "Nah, this one’s better."

Mark groaned. "I hate you."

[Name] smirked. "No, you don’t."

Mark left the room and walked straight into the kitchen, where Debbie was making coffee.

He sighed. "Mom."

Debbie, without looking up, replied, "She’s your problem now."

Mark groaned, dramatically collapsing onto the counter. "Cecil’s gonna kill me."

Debbie smirked, sipping her coffee. "Cecil’s already dead inside."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Mark & [Name]: The Most Chaotic Duo Ever And Stopping Villains Together

Mark had long since accepted that fighting alongside [Name] was not a normal experience. He was used to strategy, teamwork, and at least some level of planning.

And [Name]?

Pure, unfiltered chaos.(As usual)

Like today, for example.

A B-list villain named Overload had been terrorizing downtown, his electricity-based attacks shorting out power grids and causing city-wide blackouts. Standard superhero work.

Mark was mid-air, dodging arcs of electricity while trying to get close. "[Name], can you—"

BOOM.

The entire street shook as Overload went flying into a billboard, face-first, before tumbling down onto a car.

Mark turned, sighing.

[Name] stood there, cracking her knuckles. "What? He zapped my bag of Doritos."

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. "You just punched him through a billboard—"

"Yeah, ‘cause he was being annoying. You were taking too long."

"He was mid-monologue!"

"Exactly. Annoying."

Overload groaned, barely conscious. [Name] walked over and nudged him with her foot.

"Hm. Not dead. Cool. What’s for lunch?"

Mark stared at her. "We’re still in the middle of a fight!"

[Name] shrugged. "I dunno, seems like we won."

Mark turned back to Overload, who weakly raised a hand. "…I surrender."

Mark sighed. "I hate that you’re always right."

[Name] grinned. "I know."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Mark Attempts Cooking (And Fails, But It's the Thought That Counts)

Mark had exactly one mission today: make [Name] a meal.

The problem?

Mark couldn’t cook for shit.

He’d tried. Really, he had. He even watched a few YouTube tutorials on how to make something decent. But by the time Debbie walked into the kitchen, it looked like a war zone.

The stove had suspicious burn marks, the counter was covered in ingredients (somehow including things that weren’t even part of the recipe), and Mark was standing there with flour in his hair, staring at a pot like it personally insulted him.

Debbie took one look and sighed. "Oh my god."

Mark groaned. "Mom, help. Please."

Debbie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mark, what is this supposed to be?"

He gestured vaguely to the…thing. "…Pasta?"

Debbie stared. "You burned water."

Mark winced. "…Yeah."

She sighed. "Move over, I’ll fix this before she arrives."

After a lot of motherly intervention, the dish was technically saved. It wasn’t perfect, but it was edible. Which was a huge improvement.

When [Name] arrived, Mark was visibly stressed while she sat at the table, inspecting the food.

Mark coughed. "So, uh. I made this for you."

[Name] blinked. "Why?"

Mark hesitated. "…Because I thought you’d like it?"

[Name] stared at him. Then at the food. Then back at him.

Without hesitation, she grabbed a fork, scooped a bite, and ate it.

Mark watched her carefully.

She chewed. Swallowed. Paused.

Then nodded. "Not bad."

Mark exhaled, relieved. "Oh, thank god."

Debbie crossed her arms, raising a brow. "You’re way too nice. That was barely passable."

[Name] shrugged. "I’ve eaten worse. One time I had to survive on a planet that only had meat that regenerated while you chewed."

Debbie and Mark both stared.

Mark hesitated. "…I don’t wanna ask."

[Name] nodded. "You really don’t."

Debbie sighed. "Mark, if you ever cook again, I’m supervising."

Mark groaned. "Noted."

[Name] grinned. "Don’t worry, I still think it’s cute that he tried."

Mark turned red. "Shut up."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

[Name] & Debbie: The Most Unexpected Friendship

Debbie never expected to befriend a Viltrumite Goddess of Destruction, yet here she was.

[Name], despite her terrifying power, was surprisingly respectful toward Debbie. And by respectful, that meant she actually listened whenever Debbie scolded Mark.

Like when Mark forgot to take out the trash.

"Mark, I told you to do it before heading out."

Mark sighed. "I was busy—"

[Name], lounging on the couch with a bag of chips, turned. "Mark, just do it. She’s right."

Mark groaned. "Not you too."

[Name] nodded. "She made me food, so she wins this argument."

Debbie smirked. "See? She gets it."

Mark threw his hands up. "Oh my god."

Another time, Debbie had been stressed from work. [Name] had noticed and, instead of saying anything, simply plopping onto the couch beside Debbie.

Debbie blinked. "What are you doing?"

[Name] shrugged. "I dunno. You looked tired, so I’m keeping you company."

Debbie stared. "…Huh."

[Name] then grabbed the remote. "Wanna watch bad reality TV? I heard humans find it entertaining."

Debbie hesitated, then sighed. "…Yeah, actually."

[Name] smirked. "Nice. Let’s watch people make terrible life choices."

And that’s how Debbie ended up watching The Bachelor with a god-tier Viltrumite who could destroy planets but instead spent the evening judging contestants like a drama-loving auntie.

Debbie decided she definitely liked her.

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Cecil’s Hairline Is Gone

Cecil genuinely considered retirement after this.

[Name], somehow, had hacked the system of life itself. She claimed the planet, got a free house, free food, and a free personal punching bag (Mark).

Debbie, at some point, just accepted it.

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Overall: Chaos, Friendship, and Cheetos

Mark had no idea how his life ended up like this. His team-ups with [Name] were less about strategy and more about damage control.

And his mom somehow got along better with [Name] than he did.

But at the end of the day, when [Name] casually threw an arm around him after another insane fight, stealing his fries while grinning, he figured…

Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Even if he was never getting his snacks back.

And Mark?

He was never getting his bed back.

Author's Note: HOPE YALL LOVE THIS ONE DJJDNJDDJ

ndbshshhshsjsejjeeejebddjssjjjddj a g. g h. hh h. hh. h. h h

[starkeyisthelastname]

i just know trailer park rafe looooves making out for hours and eating you out until you can’t remember your name anymore. Do you think he would have a sp*tting kink?

oh yes absolutely all of it. 😩 god this man is nasty

He didn’t know how you did it, but he sure wasn’t complaining. Those delicate little mittens working all day to clean up his filthy trailer that he knew was just going to become a wreck for you to have to pick up again. Or that you had made him a full plate of food with a beer that sat on the banged up coffee table just waiting for him. You still looked so goddamn pretty too, his precious doll that waited on him hand and foot because you wanted to make him happy and show him you could be the perfect little trailer wife he needed.

His plate was cleared, a few beer cans now littered across the table that his long legs rested on. The small living room was dark except for a dim bulb and the static of the old tv playing some shitty old movie. He’d light a cigarette, taking a long drag as he watched you cleaning up the kitchen. He could see right through that little white sundress, still looking like a virgin despite proudly stripping you away from that title.

He was a pleased man that night and he felt like worshipping your sugary self after all you had done. His deep voice would echo off the thin walls, pulling you out of your thoughts as you scrubbed the counter. “C’’mere babydoll, why don’t you give those lil hands a rest?” He said, patting his thigh as an order to come sit in his lap.

He leaned back against the tattered couch, stained wife beater on and with a pair of torn jeans hanging low on his hips. His cigarette hung between his lips, rough hands grabbing your hips to pull you down between his thighs. “You been workin’ hard all day, haven’t ya sweet cheeks?” He would rasp near your ear, smelly nicotine blowing over your frame. You nodded, leaning into his touch his dirty hands ran up and down your body.

It started off with a few pecks, his scruff tickling your baby smooth face as lips teased yours while he still finished his cigarette in between. You’d feel giddy inside, Rafe being the first man your sheltered self had ever kissed. The more whiny you became though, the more possessive he got. Squeezing your ass cheek in his massive palm as he had adjusted you in his lap.

You’d be a couple hours in, tits spilled out of your dress and him shirtless. Your poor little self didn’t know what to do, just letting his tongue shove its way into your mouth over and over until your full lips were swollen. “Mmm.. that’s my pretty baby.” His voice raspy from the long make out session, eyes peering over you like prey. He was longing for a taste of something else, the thought of his tongue on your cunt now invading his mind.

“You wanna know what I really wanna do now?” He asked, thumb slipping between your lips as your desperate little self couldn’t help but rub your bare sex along the crotch of his jeans. You shrugged your shoulders gently, eyes lazy while you sucked on his digit. “I wanna lick your pretty cunt until you can’t take it anymore baby.” He told you, smirk on his face but eyes dark. “Say it. Tell me you want me to lick your cunt.” His words firmer this time.

You didn’t curse, always had been raised to never use foul language despite living in a trailer park. You just couldn’t help but to obey your favorite person, your small voice speaking the unknown words. “I… I want you to l-lick my c-cunt.” You said, voice quiet as you felt a little ashamed. It was enough for Rafe though, nearly growling at the dirty language he teaching you to speak. He’d really test how obedient you were, spitting in your mouth like a whore and closing your jaw shut. “You are so far gone, ain’t ya babydoll? Lettin’ me dirty up your mouth and just fuckin’ takin’ it.”

He’d pick you up with ease, his tall body easily navigating you through the cramped trailer and down the tiny hall to his room. He’d throw you old scratchy mattress, stance still looking huge as he kneeled down. He’d push your dress up, head eagerly finding its way between your plush thighs as he began to eat the sweetest cunt he’d ever been in. You tasted like sugar, leaking all over his tongue and dirty stache as he slurped your folds up messily. He’d watch you try and keep your eyes on him, your soft hand gripping one of the flat pillows he had for support only for your body to fall back with pleasure. You were experiencing a grown man’s mouth on your cunt for the first time and Rafe certainly didn’t play when it came to eating pussy.

“I know babydoll.. feels good don’t it? Keep serving me like a good lil’ trailer park whore and I’ll eat your sweet cunt out as much as you want.” He drawled out between licks, nose buried against your clit to leave you shuddering.

[kbwrites]

How the JJK Men Flirt

characters: Gojo, Nanami, Choso

⚝ content: slightly suggestive for gojo, choso is a cutie pie, Nanami will always be husband material

Satoru Gojo

Thinks he is a smooth operator

In reality, has zero rizz. Creepy rizz.

“Damn Ma, you shit with that ass?” 😩

Makes up for it with his looks and the fact that he’s loaded (wallet and pants).

“When are you gonna let me take you out on a date?” He leans against the wall looking down at you through his blindfold.

“Go away Satoru.” You slip past his arms, leaving the white-haired sorcerer speechless.

You lounge on the couch of your apartment when you hear a knock on the door. Upon opening it you see roses, snacks, and a Chanel bag on the doorstep. Attached to the flowers is a card.

‘Get ready for the BEST NIGHT EVER be there @ 7<3’

Guess you have no choice now?

Once you get past his strong personality he’s actually really sweet.

His laid-back demeanor is really just a front, Satoru is a nervous wreck when it comes to talking to women. Especially You.

Is so worried about impressing you, he buys the most expensive thing on the menu. The food ends up being way too fancy for your tastes so you guys end up at a fast food place.

Orders everything off the menu there too.

Ends up getting so sick from eating too much you have to take him home to take care of him.

That was his plan all along.

★。------ ＼｜／------。★

Kento Nanami

You can’t really tell he’s flirting??

It starts as little things he does for you.

Complaining about working late? A cup of coffee is on your desk when you get to work.

No time to grab lunch? Kento coincidentally has an extra bento.

He always plays it off though:

“I just happened to make too much food.”

“We can’t afford for you to get sick, there’s too much work to get done.”

But the truth is, he hopes you complain about something so he can swoop in and fix it. On your day off, the first one in months you decide to visit a bakery you’ve seen all over Instagram. You see a tall man in front of you… he kind of looks like-

“Kento?”

“Oh. Hello.” He turns around, recognizing your voice immediately. He looks different without a suit. “I’ve never seen you here before. Might this be your first time?”

“Yeah, I saw it online and wanted to give it a shot!” You chuckle nervously.

The line moves, it’s now Kento’s turn to order.

“I’ll have the sourdough loaf, half dozen croissants and..” He turns to you “Whatever this young lady wants.”

You end up ordering a slice of chocolate cake and a few other treats. Profusely thanking your coworker for paying, ever the gentleman.

“Thanks again, please allow me to pay you back-”

“Don’t even think about it.” He says firmly, a moment passes. “Are you heading out now? Maybe we can eat some of these together—”

“YES.”

★。------ ＼｜／------。★

Choso Kamo

Actually adorable.

Follows you around like a love-sick puppy.

You need him to jump? How high?

He notices EVERYTHING about you.

“You changed your hair today. I like it.”

“I’ve never seen you in that sweater before, its pretty.” All said with an intense blush on his face.

He doesn’t really understand why you have such an effect on him, at first he thinks you cursed him or something.

But one day he’s out with Yuji and brings it up.

“Whenever I’m with (Y/N) I don’t want to leave her side. It's like I’m drawn to her.”

His younger brother just laughs.

“Sounds like you’re in love Choso.”

Love?

Once he realizes it he just flat-out confesses. Pulls you away to a secluded spot on the school grounds. There's a bouquet of roses, a teddy bear and chocolate by the base of the tree.

Takes your hands in his and looks at you with a scared but hopeful expression.

“(Y/N).. Would you please be my girlfriend?”

And your heart swoons.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Hiiii!!! Babes wow I’m so IN LOVE with the way you write soft Miguel!!! It’s the cutest effing shiz 🥹 I go very weak in the knees for a big grumpy indifferent man that is so dang painfully soft for their girl it’s such a huge turn on for my heart 😩 I also came to share that I’ve been imagining Miguel overhearing reader talk about how she’s never had a secret admirer and then a few days later she finds a red rose w/a lil note addressed to her. From a distance Miguel & Jess watch as she parades her lil rose around the others all smiley and Jess asks if he’s gonna tell her and he murmurs “let her have her little admirer” Like that mans got it baaad 😮‍💨

hiii!! omg stop it, that’s so fucking sweet!! thank you! and me too!! I love mean cold grumpy men that have a soft spot for their girl, like embarrassing soft and mushy for her!! it’s my weakness😩 that is the cutest idea. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

secret admirer

miguel o’hara x f reader

wc: 722

part 2 -> here

You were never usually one to receive spontaneous gifts from others, rarely one to have a secret admirer, so when you walk into your office and see a singular red rose with a small envelope attached, your stomach immediately somersaulted. 

A few days prior, you and Peter were talking about gifts and what he should get MJ for their upcoming anniversary, and then the subject of secret admirers arose. You mentioned how you've never been on the receiving end of those small romantic gestures and how you wished and hoped you could be at some point. To you, it was a simple flyaway comment, but based on Peter's solemn reaction, you couldn't help but think that he felt guilty.

You did ponder if Peter left it for you as a sympathy gift, but the red rose was a tell-tell sign that he didn't. So now, you couldn't help but wonder who gave you the flower. Who knew the passcode for your door? Who knew about your whereabouts? All these questions span in your mind as you walk into your office.

You reach for the rose, bringing the flower to your nose, softly breathing in its fragrant scent as you pick up the envelope. You place the flower down and glance around your office, looking through the windows to see if anyone's watching. Once you know it's clear, you open the paper and pull out the small note. 

' I heard you've never had a secret admirer before,

I'm glad to be your first. 

Spider-Man '

Even though it's tagged Spider-Man, it could be anyone. Literally anybody. Hundreds, if not thousands, of possibilities. But the one spider that first came to mind was Peter. You wanted to tell him about the strange coincidence and share your happiness about the situation. So you flag him down, rose and note in your hand as you search through HQ for him.

You finally spot him in the cafeteria with Jess and Miguel, talking over food and coffee. You hesitantly make your way over with a smile as you subtly wave over to him. 

"Sorry- sorry, do you mind if I borrow Peter real quick?" you ask, glancing between them all.

"Sure," Miguel softly smiles as he looks you up and down, noticing the rose in your hand. 

"Thank you, we won't be long. Hurry- come on," you say, tugging Peter's arm. 

"Alright, alright," he huffs, taking a final bite of his burger before placing it down. "What's so urgent anyway?" he grumbles, trudging after you as he adjusts Mayday in the Björn.

"You know how I mentioned the other day- about the secret admirer thing...?" you start, looking at him eagerly. "Well, look what I just found," you smile, showing off your rose and note. "I went into my office, and- and it was just sitting there, for me. A rose for me!" you excitedly gush, smiling widely. 

"No way?" he says, his joyful tone matching yours. "Let me see the note,"

As he reads through the letter, you glance around the cafeteria, your gaze honing in on Jess and Miguel, who were not so subtly staring at you. Suspicions rise when you notice them whisper to each other, heads together as if they're in cahoots.

"Hey Peter, can you do me a favour?" you ask, slyly leaning forward.

"Sure, what's up?"

"This might be really wrong, but I need you to do something for me. I need you to eavesdrop, please?" you say sweetly, hoping to mask the morally wrong favour you were asking.

"Seriously?" 

"Yes, please. And do it quick. Miguel and Jess- hurry,"

"Shut up then, so I can listen," he shushes you, chuckling.

He's quiet for a few moments, a slow smile creeping on his face as he listens in on their conversation. 

"What are they saying? Tell me," you ask, eyes keen as they dart around the room.

"I can't tell you..." he grins, shaking his head. 

"Why? Why not?" you playfully hound, gesturing with your hands. "Come on, please?"

"God, he's gonna kill me," he mutters. "All I heard was the end part... Jess said, 'Are you gonna tell her about the rose?' and then Miguel said, 'Let her have her little admirer. She needs it,' okay? That's all I heard,"

Your smile widens. 

The rose, it was from Miguel?

[rindreamery]

HIIIII NISHIIII congrats on 300 u deserve this and sm more!! i can’t wait to see ur continued growth!! 💗💗 it was so difficult choosing what combos i wanted for ur event but i think i got it now 😆😆

can i order a sweet oliver aiku with playing with their hair + best friends to lovers? (i’m in dire need of aiku fluff it’s killing me) thanks in advance!

— koryyy 💌

ORDER 2: READY TO GO !

aiku + sweet + playing with their hair + best friends to lovers w.c. 1.1k+

note. thank you so much kory !! and so true, oliver fans are in a drought 😩✋ i check his tag every day for fics and die a little when no new ones are posted <//3 this has a TWINGE of angst (it's aiku man), but i swear they're both in love and i swear aiku can acknowledge his feelings (also this was way longer than intended T^T)

interested in more? check out the lounge !

you were aiku’s favorite person, but he would never admit that out loud.

he would never admit that, when he has a bad day, you’re the first person he thinks of when he wants comfort. it’s not the idea of going home, because he’d rather be anywhere but, and not the idea of hitting someone up to forget his stresses. nothing else but you; being near you, being in your presence, that lifts the imaginary weight off his shoulders. you were his comfort. 

and usually before he even realizes it, he’s at your doorstep, ringing the doorbell, holding a bag of your favorite food so you would let him in. 

that’s how you find yourself, sitting on the edge of the couch, with aiku’s much larger body wedged between your legs as he sits on the floor in front of you. (he insisted, not letting you sit too far from him because it “defeated the purpose of hanging out.” and somehow, that translated as violating your personal space. but you don’t push him off.) 

the television across the room has some random video he’d put on, there are boxes of takeout scattered all over the coffee table to the side, and it’s mostly silent between the two of you minus the small talk. it’s his little relaxation ritual that he’d managed to drag you into, once again. 

you glance up momentarily to watch the screen, and you don’t know why you bother to check. it’s always the same video; a timelapse of the city skyline, the mix of flashing lights brightening up the otherwise dark room, and the light and ambient music attached to the video playing from the speakers fills the room. it’s relaxing— boring, but relaxing.

your hands are on your lap beside where his head lies, fingers tapping absentmindedly to some random tune in your head. he frowns to himself, at this— your hands are not where they’re supposed to be right now. so awkwardly, he reaches behind himself, his hands patting your legs, on a mission to find your hands until they’re completely enveloped in his own. 

your skin feels soft against his calloused touch. aiku contemplates intertwining his fingers between yours, to squeeze his fingers between the spaces of your own, but he fights against his own impulses. even though being close to you feels right, but he keeps that thought to himself. instead, he brings your hands into his hair instead, “here,” and holds it there. 

(you’re glad he can’t see the gentle smile that you fail to fight back.)

he must've had a bad day, you conclude. but you don’t pry, and you don’t try to worm your way into his mind. “have you ever considered cutting your hair?” you ask instead, an attempt at distracting him from his own thoughts. 

he hums, as if contemplating his answer.

your fingers are playing with the strands of green at the ends of his hair, twirling the somewhat damaged locks between your fingers, tugging and pulling occasionally. the rhythmic motion lulls him into an almost sleepy state, and he wants nothing more than to melt into it— you. he sighs at the feeling of your fingers, he’s leaning his head back deeper into your touch, and you watch as his eyes flutter shut.

“do you want me to cut my hair?” he answers back with another question after a beat of silence, and you pause to think. your fingers stop, and he huffs audibly, tugging at your hands to continue playing with his hair. his hands trail up until they’re firmly wrapped around your wrist, not willing to let you go, keeping you close to him. 

you don’t comment on it, on the way he’s being clingy with you right now. you try not to pay attention to the way your heart beats rapidly against your ribs, or the way you start thinking about how this isn’t normal at all. even for how touchy he could become at times. 

so you divert. 

“why does my opinion matter?” you shoot back honestly, with no malice, and it seems neither of your questions will be answered by one another at this point. “it’s your hair, y’know.”

“because,” and his voice trails off. i want to look good for you? no— i care what you think of me? he shoves those thoughts deep into the back of his mind, and goes for an answer he always gives you. playful and deflecting. “you have an eye for making me look good for the ladies.” mentally, he winces. 

“right,” you snort at his words, lightly shoving his head, but he stays in place. you ignore the sting at the implications, eyes leaving his face and traveling up to look at the television screen instead. you miss the way his eyes flit open to peek at you, trying to get a read on the look on your face. “you do look good like this. your hair is just a bit damaged, but do what you want to do.”

what do you want me to do, though? he asks in his mind, with an emphasis on "you." i want to know what you think of me. yet he can never bring himself to tell you what he’s really thinking of, so he chooses to stay quiet instead. 

the conversation is practically over. they always fall short in moments like these, and you try to embrace the somewhat tense silence that now falls between the two of you. it’s unfamiliar, like you’re both itching to fill the space with meaningless conversation. 

it doesn’t last long because he breaks the silence, almost immediately. 

he's softly guiding one of your hands out of his hair towards him, and he presses his lips against the softness of your palm. it catches you by surprise, and you stiffen at the contact.

“i didn’t actually mean that. i don’t care what other women think of me,” and you're starting to wonder if this is all just a hallucination. his voice is muffled, mumbling the words into your skin, like he wants to drown out what he’s saying. his voice is almost inaudible. like he doesn’t want you to hear him, but wants you to feel his words instead. “i only care about what you think.”

it feels as if your heart has stopped and your head starts to spin. (for a second, you forget to breathe.)

you gulp, and your hands feel frozen against his lips, unsure of what to do next. it's all too intimate, and you don't know how to wrap your head around it. it doesn't help when there are waves of anxiety and butterflies crashing over and over in your stomach.  

“do you…” you test the waters, but the question drifts away. you don’t know how to respond, because a part of you wonders if he even realizes the insinuation behind his words. “what do you mean?” 

aiku can’t find it in him to unwrap himself from you, to turn around and look you in the eyes to say what’s been in his mind all this time. he can't bring himself to say, "i love you," so fearlessly. so he buries his lips into your skin once again, he drags and mumbles his words, confessing in the quietest way he could. “you're my favorite person.”

from the way your fingers start to caress the sides of his jaw, he can only hope you understood what his heart has been trying to say.

© rindreamery, 2024

[sea-lanterns]

GODS the nanny concept! Fuck me that's so good!

Just imagine your first day arriving at the manor, you check and double check that the address is correct before finally knocking on the door. The sounds that are muffled by the door sound chaotic and messy, before display the entry swings open to reveal a slightly disheveled Clorinde with a toddler squirming under her arm. You're too stunned to go into the proper introduction you had practiced, so when she asks with more hope then you catch if you're the new nanny, you just nod dumbly for her.

And when she takes that answer and quickly deposits the toddler into your arms instead, she can't help but be a little stunned when a switch flips in you and you just start calmly talking to and playing with her child, and they instantly relax in your hold. She leads you inside as she can't help but wonder how her wife found and hired such a cute little thing that seemed to have a magical effect on their normally load and chaotic child. Clorinde's surprise quickly becoming shared as she leads you into a room where Navia is waiting with an infant safely swaddled in her arms.

They talk you through their expectations as the two children are now quietly sleeping on you both, Clorinde sitting beside her wife and closely watching every little repression you make as you talk with Navia. They set the bar high for previous nannies who all quit after finding that keeping up with the toddler while taking care of the infant was too much to handle, but you hardly even blink as they set out rules and requirements. And in the weeks that follow you never stray from those rules for even a moment.

In fact you even go beyond that, the couple waking up in the early morning to find you already have coffee set out for them both, while you keep busy cooking food for them as well as the children. Navia comes home later then normal and there you are with a little treat and a nice massage to help her relax. Clorinde takes a day off, for once, and you somehow have her dressed comfortably and enjoying a gorgeous picnic with the children. Both women can't help but swoon at you, how even though you're much younger then them, you take such good care of not just their children, but them as well.

After a small talk between them though, they slip. They both know that they are starting to feel something for you, Navia has caught Clorinde staring at you with a tent in her skirt, but its Navia who in her exhausted state returning home much later then she's used to. The manor is quiet, but she finds you busying yourself in the kitchen, and on pure instinct and tired desire, she wraps her arms around your waste and pressed her lips so terribly softly against the back of your neck. Being the eager and obedient thing that you are, you don't say a word, just let out a dreamy sigh that has her near dripping down her thighs.

Clorinde wants to be disappointed when she comes down to see if Navia is home yet, just to find her wife has you pinned down on a kitchen counter one of your legs thrown over her shoulder and knuckles deep in your pussy. But how can she possibly be when she's been dreaming of this very sight for days, losing sleep to imagining how you would cry when they make you cum too many times. But when she makes herself known by grabbing a handful of your thigh and claiming her wife's lips for herself. The almost painful bulge between her legs tells her how much better you'll be in reality then in her dreams.

~🐁

HNNNGHSHHSH oh to be sandwiched between MILF! Clorivia 😩

And Navia, ever the bolder of the two. She’s the reason you get involved with them so intimately in the first place, as without her tiredly kissing you and pinning you to the counter to fuck you, her and Clorinde would’ve stuck to just touching each other and imagining you between them. Never daring to make a move on the cute nanny they hired for their kids…

Secretly, Clorinde is overjoyed that Navia made the first move. Now she can stop fisting herself to images of you spread in front of her and her wife, and finally feel what your pussy truly feels like. Well, as soon as Navia gets her fingers out of there, that is. Seriously, Clorinde has never seen her wife so eager to fuck another woman other than herself, the blonde whispering sweet praises into your ear for how well you take her invading digits.

“Look look, her cunt just welcomes my fingers in like a friend! Isn’t that adorable?” Navia can be embarrassing when she teases, reveling in the whine you let out at your boss’s dirty talk. “Oh Navia, don’t tease her like that.” Clorinde grumbles and puts her hand on your thigh to spread you further, getting that delicious view of your pussy drooling over Navia’s knuckles. “She is a grown woman, treat her as such.”

As if to reinforce her words, Clorinde suddenly pulls you in for a kiss and begins unbuckling her pants, an exhaled sigh of relief leaving her throat when she feels your mouth part for her tongue. With the expertise of an experienced woman, Clorinde pulls her shaft out of her pants and pumps it within her fist, getting it nice and ready for the woman who will take her. Navia giggles at seeing Clorinde’s enthusiasm, leaning down to kiss your ear. “Is this your first time, ma cherie? Don’t worry, we’ll get that pussy of yours shaped to fit her.”

Navia playfully slaps your clit and slides her fingers out of you. Clorinde takes her place between your legs, angling her cock, with Navia making an obscene show of licking your slick off her fingers. “You’ll get used to the feeling of her filling you soon enough.”

Better hope the Caspar kids don’t wake up, because soon the kitchen will get very, very loud…

[kpopkurves]

A Love Like Ours

Theme: Fluff, Cuteness, Wholesome

Pairing: Choi Jongho x Reader/ Y/N

___

The first thing {Y/N} noticed upon waking was the smell of freshly brewed coffee drifting through the apartment. The second was the empty space beside them, the lingering warmth of Jongho’s body still imprinted on the sheets.

They groaned, burrowing into the comforter before realizing they couldn’t afford to waste time. Duty called—literally. As a nurse, {Y/N} had early shifts to get to, and judging by the soft humming from the kitchen, Jongho was already up, enjoying his slow morning before his schedules began.

Dragging themselves out of bed, {Y/N} shuffled toward the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. There he was, standing by the counter, stirring his coffee with his head slightly tilted as he scrolled through his phone. His dark hair was still a little messy, his oversized hoodie making him look even cozier than usual.

Without thinking, {Y/N} wrapped their arms around his waist from behind, pressing their cheek against his back. “Mmm… warm.”

Jongho chuckled, setting his phone down to rest his hand over theirs. “Morning to you too, sleepyhead.”

{Y/N} sighed dramatically. “I don’t wanna go to work. Let’s just stay here all day.”

“As much as I love that idea,” he said, turning around in their arms to face them, “I don’t think your patients or my manager would be too happy.”

{Y/N} pouted. “Why must the world be so cruel?”

Jongho laughed, shaking his head before gently tapping their nose. “Come on, I’ll make you breakfast while you get ready.”

— ✧ —

Even as {Y/N} got dressed, Jongho made sure they had everything they needed—a packed lunch, their favorite coffee in a to-go cup, and a lingering kiss on their forehead before they walked out the door.

“Text me when you get a break,” he said, holding the door open for them.

“Only if you text me first,” they teased.

Jongho smirked. “We both know I will.”

And he did.

The moment {Y/N} got a chance to check their phone between rounds, there was already a message waiting for them.

Jongho 🦁: How’s my favorite nurse doing?

{Y/N}: Tired already 😩

Jongho 🦁: Should’ve let me kidnap you and keep you in bed all day

{Y/N}: Wow, first thing in the morning and you’re already being clingy?

Jongho 🦁: You’re one to talk. Who was the one cuddling me like a koala this morning?

{Y/N}: Bold of you to assume I won’t do it again when I get home

Jongho 🦁: Not assuming. I’m hoping.

{Y/N} grinned at their phone, shaking their head. He always knew how to make their day a little brighter.

— ✧ —

Later that afternoon, as {Y/N} sat in the break room sipping on some tea, they remembered Jongho had a full day of schedules. Knowing how he and the rest of ATEEZ barely had time to eat, they decided to order them lunch.

After placing the order, they sent a quick message.

{Y/N}: Lunch is on me today. Don’t forget to eat, superstar.

Jongho replied almost immediately.

Jongho 🦁: Wait, you ordered us food?

{Y/N}: Of course. You’re busy, and I know how you get when you’re focused. Eat well, okay?

Jongho 🦁: You’re actually the best. Like, actually.

{Y/N}: I know 😌

Jongho 🦁: The guys are saying they love you. I’m starting to feel jealous.

{Y/N}: Tell them I accept their love but that you’re my favorite 😉

Jongho 🦁: Good answer. I’d fight them for you.

{Y/N}: Just eat your lunch, you big softie.

Jongho sent a picture of his food, a thumbs-up, and a caption: Eating like a king thanks to my queen.

Shaking their head at his antics, {Y/N} couldn’t help but feel warm inside. No matter how chaotic their schedules were, no matter how many hours passed, these little moments of sweetness made everything worth it.

Later That Night…

The moment {Y/N} stepped into the apartment after a long shift, exhaustion hit them like a wave. But before they could even sigh, warm arms wrapped around them, pulling them into a firm embrace.

Jongho rested his chin atop their head, rocking them gently from side to side. “Welcome home, my love.”

{Y/N} melted into his embrace, sighing. “I missed you.”

Jongho tightened his arms around them. “I missed you more.”

They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, basking in the comfort of being home together.

“You tired?” he asked softly, brushing his lips against their temple.

“Completely.”

“Then let’s get you comfortable.” He led them to the couch, where he already had a fluffy blanket waiting. He helped them out of their work clothes, replacing them with one of his hoodies, which smelled like him. Once they were settled, he pulled them into his lap, letting them curl up against him.

“Better?” he murmured, running his fingers through their hair.

{Y/N} hummed in approval, pressing a kiss to his neck. “You take such good care of me.”

Jongho tilted their chin up, his eyes shining with warmth. “You take care of me too. Ordering food for me and the guys? You didn’t have to, but you did. You always think about me even when you’re busy.”

“Well, of course,” {Y/N} said sleepily. “You’re my person.”

Jongho cupped their cheek, his thumb stroking their skin gently. “And you’re mine.”

Then, with all the love in the world, he kissed them—slow, sweet, and deep.

And just like that, all the exhaustion melted away.

Because no matter how tiring their days were, as long as they had each other, they’d always be home.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

aaron hotchner where he’s so desperate for you that he very literally rips your clothing off you so he can f//k you senseless 🫠😩

fem!plus size reader. wc: 350. (18)+

۶ৎ a/n .ᐟ | i'm in a state of mourning because now i'm on season 12 and NOTHING is the same 😭 so here's this to heal a piece of my soul.

You had to have put something in his coffee that morning, because he was hungry, and not for food.

“Fuck - ah! Aaron baby, slow down!” You exclaimed in surprise.

You hadn’t been able to even get a word out when Aaron got home before he was on you, his hands gripping, grabbing, taking. His large hands were dangerous and wanting, and it excited you. 

With quick movements you were walking backwards until your lower back made contact with the dining room table, and with what seemed like no struggle at all, his hands were on your hips and hauling you onto the wood.

He didn’t stop there - he couldn’t - stop there. Aaron’s kisses were so passionate it made you dizzy, and you were completely unable to keep up with the neediness. 

“Lift your hips up for me, honey.” He breathed heavily against your lips, his chest rising and falling. Your shaky hands grip at his button up covered shoulders. He all but tears your pants off and you gasp at the slight burn of the material being snatched down your full thighs.

“Aaron…” You whimper.

“Am I being too rough?” You shook your head no. “I need you to use your words, sweetheart.”

“No, no. I’m just surprised -” His hands shoved themselves in your underwear, his thick fingers making contact with your soaked labia. You’re cut off by your own moan and your back arches into his hand, your hips jumping out in an attempt to ride his fingers. 

“I know, I know… I just -” Aaron blinks hard in order to try and ground himself, taking a deep breath of air through his nose, but his movements don't stop. He plays with your clit cruelly, listening deeply to your desperate noises and drinking them in like he was parched.

“I - I need you so bad.” His words were choked due to his own desperation and franticness that lumped in his throat.

Though fighting through the arousal-covered haze was hard, you threw your arms around his neck, dragging your nails through the shaved hair in the back.

“I’m yours.” You breathed.

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

hey Bianca! I wanted to tell you how much i love your writing and especially virgil writing, there is such a lack of fanfics for him on this app but i can always rely on your stories to make up for it😩 I’m not sure if you’re still taking requests but in case you are, I would love something about the reader being stressed about her workload/anxious in general and virgil comforting her by making love to her, maybe including size kink/age gap? keep up the amazing work🤍

Here's one for the Virgil girlies 😉

Don't forget my fics are now available for ONLY $3 ($4,50 on iOs) on my Patreon shop, each of them over 5k words; don't miss your chance to catch up on all the exclusive content!

Bad Day

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — Today is probably the worst day you've ever had. Good thing Virgil is here to help relieve your stress.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Virgil Van Dijk x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 8.4k

Warnings! ANGST!! but only for the plot, FLUFF!! Virgil being the best boyfriend on earth, NSFW! SMUT (18+), size kink, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dom!Virgil, sub!reader.

Sometimes you wake up and you know it’s gonna be a good day.

Today is not one of those days.

First, you overslept. Your alarm had gone off at the right time, but in your half-asleep haze, you’d smacked it off the nightstand, sending it clattering to the floor where it had continued ringing uselessly. By the time you finally woke up, you were already running late. No breakfast, no coffee, just a frantic scramble to throw on clothes and rush out the door.

Then, as you were halfway to work, realization struck like a punch to the gut: you left the file—the file—sitting on the coffee table. The one your boss specifically asked for. The one you had stayed up late organizing. The one that was absolutely not in your bag where it should have been.

The lecture that followed when you had to admit your mistake was brutal. Your boss didn’t yell, exactly, but the sharp disappointment in his voice cut even deeper. He gave you that look—the one that made you feel about two inches smaller—and informed you, in no uncertain terms, that you’d need to finish it by today.

And that's how you found yourself skipping lunch.

While your coworkers went out to grab food, you stayed behind, stomach growling, fixing the mistake you’d made. By the time your shift finally ended, you were exhausted, hungry, and ready to crawl into bed and never emerge again.

And to make everything worse? Virgil isn’t here.

He's away on a trip, and after the kind of day you’ve had, all you want is to bury yourself in his arms and let him make everything feel small. The way only he knew how. That way of looking at you that made the world fade out, leaving only the two of you and nothing more.

But that won't be an option today.

Or so you think.

The apartment is dark when you open the door, the only sound greeting you is the steady hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. You sigh, the weight of exhaustion settling deep in your bones. It’s the kind of tired that makes every movement feel sluggish, like you’re wading through molasses.

You kick off your shoes, barely managing to toe them off before dragging yourself inside, your bag slipping off your shoulder to land on the floor with a dull thud.

The plan is simple: microwave a frozen dinner, take a long, hot shower, and crawl into bed.

Which, all things considered, sounds like the perfect ending to a terrible day. But it’s missing one very crucial element. Virgil.

As you trudge toward the fridge, intent on setting your plan in motion, something catches your eye—a light, faint but distinct, coming from the living room.

You freeze.

The only other person who has a key to your apartment is Virgil and he's not here and you know for a fact you didn’t leave any lights on. The exhaustion dulls immediately, replaced by something sharper, more alert. Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag, heartbeat kicking up as you take slow, cautious steps toward the source.

And then you see him.

Virgil.

Sitting on the couch like he belongs there (he does, considering he pays your rent), long legs stretched out, broad shoulders relaxed. He’s in a hoodie and sweatpants, looking effortlessly at home in your space. In his lap sits a bouquet of your favorite flowers, vivid and fresh, a stark contrast to the muted lighting of the room.

His chocolate brown eyes find yours instantly, and for a moment, all you can do is stand there, stunned.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice warm and impossibly gentle.

The sheer relief that washes over you is enough to break you. The weight of the entire day crashes down at once, and before you can stop it, a choked sob escapes from your throat.

He’s on his feet in an instant, crossing the room in three long strides.

“Hey, hey.” His voice is all low rumble and reassurance, one large hand cradling the back of your head while the other wraps around your waist, pulling you in close. You barely reach his chest, and he engulfs you completely, his warmth a stark contrast to the cold fatigue clinging to your skin. “What happened, baby? Talk to me.”

You clutch at the front of his hoodie, burying your face against his chest. The words spill out in a rush—the awful morning, the forgotten file, the pointed disappointment in your boss’s voice, skipping lunch, the gnawing exhaustion that feels like it’s pulling you under. Through it all, Virgil listens, arms wrapped tight around you as his hands smoothe up and down your back in slow, grounding motions.

When you finally pull back, sniffling, he tilts your chin up with gentle fingers. His size is overwhelming (as always), the sheer difference in height making you feel small, but not in a bad way. He makes you feel safe. Protected.

“That’s such a bad day,” he murmurs, thumb stroking along your cheek. “I’m sorry, baby. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

You nod weakly, leaning into his touch. His lips press against your forehead, lingering there, and the knot in your chest loosens just a little.

“Come on,” he says, his voice softer now, coaxing. “I got you something.”

You follow without question, exhaustion momentarily forgotten as he leads you into the kitchen. And when you see what’s waiting for you on the counter, your breath catches.

Your favorite meal, perfectly arranged, still warm. A selection of desserts—macarons, little pastries, all the things that usually make you smile even on the worst days.

You turn to him, eyes wide. He grins, and it’s that boyish, self-satisfied kind of grin that makes your stomach flip.

“Wanted to do something nice for you,” he says, leaning back against the counter, arms folding across his broad chest. “So I stopped by your favorite place. Thought about cooking, but, well.” His lips twitch. “I didn’t want to burn your apartment down.”

A watery laugh escapes you, and the sight of it—the way you brighten, even just a little—makes something flicker in his expression, something fond and achingly soft.

You step closer, pressing a hand to his chest. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “I wanted to.”

The sincerity in his voice is almost too much.

Before you can second-guess it, you push up on your toes, reaching for him. He meets you halfway, his lips brushing against yours in a slow, unhurried kiss. He tastes like mint and something undeniably him, and for a moment, the rest of the world melts away.

When you pull back, his hands settle on your waist, big and warm. He presses his forehead to yours, voice dropping to a murmur. “You okay?”

You nod, still feeling a bit breathless.

“Good.” He tilts his head back, gaze dropping to your mouth. “Now let's get some food in you.”

He doesn’t let go of you, simply turns so you’re tucked into his side, and guides you toward the table. You sink into a chair gratefully, eyes widening as he begins to dish out food onto your plate. He knows how you like it—piled high with extra toppings, the works. Your stomach growls in anticipation as he slides it in front of you.

“Eat,” he orders, taking the chair opposite yours.

You don’t need to be told twice. The first bite is heavenly, the kind of warm, familiar comfort that spreads through your chest and unwinds the knots in your stomach. You let out a small, appreciative hum, and when you glance up, Virgil is watching you.

No, watching isn’t the right word.

He’s admiring you, looking at you like you hung the damn moon.

His chin is propped on his hand, elbow resting against the table, dark brown eyes tracking your every movement. There’s something devastatingly soft about the way he’s staring, like he’s soaking in the sight of you, like he’s been starved for it. The heat in his gaze makes your breath catch.

“You’re staring,” you mumble around another bite.

He doesn’t look the slightest bit guilty. If anything, the corner of his mouth tugs up into something that isn't quite a smirk but something close.

“Missed you,” he says simply.

Your heart does a stupid, fluttery thing in your chest. You should be used to the way he says things like that—so blunt, so casual, like it’s just the most obvious thing in the world. And yet, it still makes you feel warm all over, still makes you shift in your seat like a lovesick idiot.

“I missed you too,” you admit, quieter now.

Virgil leans forward slightly, his eyes dipping down to your lips before flicking back up. The air shifts, thickens. The meal in front of you suddenly feels less important than the way his gaze darkens just slightly, how his fingers twitch against the tabletop like he wants to reach for you but is holding himself back.

You reach for one of the macarons, popping it into your mouth. The sweetness bursts across your tongue, but you barely register the taste when Virgil’s gaze drops again, watching the way your lips part, the way your tongue flicks out to catch the crumbs at the corner of your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Your stomach clenches at the heat in his voice.

“What?” You feign innocence, tilting your head slightly, but he sees right through you.

“You know what,” he says, voice rougher now. His chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, rounding the table in a few strides. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s beside you, one hand gripping the armrest of your chair, the other slipping under your jaw, tilting your head up.

He looms over you, his broad frame making you feel small in the best way. But it’s not just his size that makes your breath hitch. It’s the way he looks at you. Like he’s barely holding himself back. Like he wants to devour you whole. If you asked him, he would say yes. But for now…

“Virgil—”

He cuts you off with a slow, lingering kiss, his lips warm and insistent, his hand tightening around your jaw, keeping you in place. It’s not rushed, not desperate—it’s something else entirely. He’s savoring you, tasting every sound you make against his mouth. And when he finally pulls back, just barely, his breath mingling with yours, his thumb strokes along your chin.

His eyes are still dark, still intent, and when he speaks, his voice drops to a low, rough growl. “You taste so good.”

You know what that look in his eyes means, the way his jaw tenses slightly, the way his hands flex against the table like he’s restraining himself. And maybe you’re a little too tired, a little too worn down from the day to pretend you don’t want this, too. Want him.

Because you do. You want him to lean in, to press his mouth to that spot below your ear, the one that makes you melt. Want him to lift you up, to carry you to the bedroom and strip you down, inch by slow, agonizing inch.

Want him to do whatever the hell he wants with you.

His thumb traces along your jawline again, the movement impossibly light against your skin. He hums softly, and then… he’s kneeling beside you. It happens so suddenly, you don’t even have time to react before his hands slide up your thighs, pushing them apart slightly. His head dips down, lips pressing a kiss just above your knee.

“Virgil,” you manage, “I—”

He lifts his head, his eyes burning. “I've missed you so much baby. You have no idea what it does to me, being away from you." His voice is husky, roughened by restraint, and the way he’s looking at you makes your whole body tingle, your breath stutter in your throat.

You swallow hard, pulse thrumming wildly as his fingers press gently into your thighs, big and warm. "I missed you too," you whisper, barely getting the words out before he presses another kiss, higher this time.

You must've forgotten the ache in your muscles because Virgil’s hands find them, fingers pressing lightly in circles as the frown between your brow deepens.

“That feel good, baby?” he murmurs, his lips grazing your skin with each word. You can't even speak, only nodding at him as your eyes fall shut. “I can feel the tension in your muscles. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

You don’t get the chance to answer before he’s already moving, already tugging you gently to your feet. His hand is steady, warm, a grounding presence as you follow him. Your legs protest the movement, weak with exhaustion, and you stumble slightly. He catches you easily, his grip tightening just enough to keep you upright.

“Alright?” he asks, eyes flicking over you, assessing.

You nod, though your body feels sluggish, weighed down by the lingering stress of the day. He doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he leads you toward your bedroom, walking slowly, aware of every ounce of fatigue clinging to you.

The door creaks slightly as he nudges it open. The light flicks on with a soft hum, casting a warm glow over the familiar space. He helps you onto the bed, his hands never straying far, as though afraid you might slip through his fingers.

“Okay?”

His thumbs smooth over your cheeks, the rough pads of his fingers a stark contrast to the tenderness in his touch. His gaze is steady, unwavering, as if he’s willing you to let go, to surrender to the care he’s offering so freely.

You nod again, slower this time. Your thoughts feel distant, hazy, like you’re drifting somewhere between exhaustion and the quiet comfort of his presence. Your eyes drop to his mouth, the way it moves when he speaks, the familiar shape of it—something soothing in the way he speaks to you, in the way he looks at you.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering for just a moment before pulling away. “Just relax,” he says, voice low, reassuring. And then he’s gone, disappearing into the bathroom, the soft click of the door closing behind him.

The sound of running water fills the silence, steady and rhythmic, a lullaby of sorts. You let your head fall back against the pillow, your body sinking into the mattress as fatigue crashes over you in slow, rolling waves. It’s only when the water stops that you stir again, blinking up at the ceiling just as the bathroom door opens.

Virgil stands in the doorway, a towel slung over his shoulder, his sleeves pushed up to reveal his tattooed forearms. His gaze finds yours, and something about the way he looks at you makes warmth unfurl in your chest, slow and spreading.

“C’mere,” he says, voice softer now.

You don’t protest when he scoops you up, one arm beneath your knees, the other supporting your back. Your body fits against him easily, like you were always meant to be held this way. You let your head rest against his shoulder, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat as he carries you into the bathroom.

The scent of lavender and chamomile fills the space, the air thick with steam. The tub is nearly overflowing with bubbles, the water shimmering in the dim light. He lowers you carefully, the transition from his warmth to the heat of the water seamless, effortless.

The moment your body sinks into the bath, a soft groan slips from your lips. “Oh god,” you murmur, the tension in your muscles unraveling almost instantly. “This is amazing.”

He chuckles, crouching beside the tub, his fingers ghosting over the surface of the water. “I bet,” he says, a smug tilt to his lips.

You crack an eye open, just enough to glare at him playfully. “Don’t get cocky.”

His grin widens, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he dips his fingers into the water, watching as the bubbles cling to his skin. “Just relax,” he says again, his voice barely above a whisper.

You do. You let your eyes slip shut, let the warmth seep into your bones, let the exhaustion drain from you with each deep, steady breath. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you register the sound of him moving around, the quiet rustle of fabric, the faint creak of the bedroom door opening and closing.

When you finally open your eyes again, he’s gone. The water is still warm, the scent of lavender wrapping around you like a soft embrace. You don’t know how long you stay there, floating in the quiet, letting yourself be weightless for the first time in what feels like weeks.

Time seems to bend and warp, stretching out until all you know is the here and now, the way the water feels against your skin, the way your muscles feel loose and untethered.

But then you feel the cool air brush against your legs, hear the faint rustle of fabric as Virgil settles on the edge of the tub beside you. You lift your head to find him watching you, his gaze soft, fond, his mouth pulled into a slow smile.

“Feeling better?” he asks, his voice low and rough, a deep rumble.

You nod. It’s more than that, but words seem impossible. You’re relaxed, sleepy, and warm all over. Your muscles feel languid, like they’ve been freed from the knots that were holding them hostage.

Virgil’s eyes follow the movement of your hand as you reach for the loofah sitting on the edge of the bathtub. It’s soft and warm, like a cloud. You run it over your skin, watching as he tracks the movement of your wrist, of your fingers.

“Let me,” he murmurs after a moment.

You hand it over without hesitation, watching as his big, capable hands wrap around the soft fabric. His fingers stroke over the bubbles, swirling them with a slow, intent movement, like he’s enjoying the feel of it. And then, one hand slides around to the small of your back, tilting you forward just enough that he can reach your skin.

The first brush of the loofah against your skin is enough to make you exhale shakily. It’s gentle, the pressure light and soothing, as though he’s stroking away every ounce of tension in your body. You sigh, leaning forward into his touch like a cat seeking a scratch.

“Feel good?” he asks.

You hum in agreement, eyelids fluttering shut as the loofah moves up your arms, over your shoulders. It feels impossibly good, his hands moving slowly, carefully. He washes away all the stress, all the strain of the day, and you let him do it easily, surrendering to his touch with a quiet sigh.

He washes your back last, working his way up your spine with slow, deliberate strokes, and by the time he’s done, you’re boneless, warm from head to toe, and impossibly relaxed.

"There we go," he murmurs against your ear, and you're so lost to the sensation of his hands on your body that you barely register it.

When the water starts to cool, Virgil doesn’t say anything. He just reaches for you, his grip steady, firm, lifting you as if you weigh nothing. His broad hands, slightly calloused from years of use, slide under your body, and you barely have time to react before you’re out of the bath, cradled against his chest. His shirt is soaked now but he doesn't mind.

The cool air causes goosebumps to prickle your skin but you're not cold for long before he's wrapping in a soft warm towel, not once setting you down. 

The room is dimly lit when he steps inside, the bedside lamp casting a golden glow over the freshly made bed. The sheets are smooth, the pillows fluffed, clearly he’d taken the time to straighten everything out while you were still soaking in the bath. A neatly folded towel sits on the nightstand next to a small bottle of massage oil, the amber glass catching the light.

“You gonna massage me?” you ask, voice soft, sleep-heavy.

Virgil hums, the sound low in his throat, as he sets you down on the edge of the bed. “Yep.” He unwraps the towel from your shoulders, his knuckles grazing your damp skin as he lets it fall away. His touch is absentminded, but something about it makes heat bloom low in your stomach. Before you can react, he pulls the sheets over you, tucking you in with the kind of care that causes a lazy smile to spread across you face.

He straightens, his gaze sweeping over you. His hands, warm and rough, find your legs first, sliding up with a slow, deliberate ease. They skim over your thighs, trace the curve of your waist. He lingers there for a second before he presses his palms against your stomach, grounding you, like he knows you need it.

“Sleepy?” His voice is softer now, quieter, but it still holds that depth, that baritone that makes it impossible not to listen.

You nod, the exhaustion from earlier settling into something heavier, something warm and languid. “A little,” you admit, eyelids drooping. The bath helped, but it’s his presence, the warmth of him, that’s making it harder to fight the pull of sleep.

Virgil makes a sound, something between amusement and knowing, before his hands start moving again, slow and deliberate. “Let me help you relax a bit more.”

The bed shifts under his weight as he kneels beside you, and then his hands are on your shoulders. His thumbs press into the muscles there, kneading slow circles, and your head falls back against the pillow with a groan before you can stop it. You hadn’t even realized how much tension you were carrying until now.

“Always so tight,” he murmurs, like he’s talking more to himself than to you. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

Your lips curve, eyes fluttering shut. “That’s what he said.”

His fingers still for half a second, then press deeper, his touch firm but never painful as he playfully rolls his eyes. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

The scent of the oil fills the air as he works, the glide of his palms over your skin sending warmth through your limbs. He takes his time, moving from your shoulders to your arms, then down to your lower back, the pressure just right, just enough to coax the last remnants of tension from your muscles. When he reaches your legs, you’re already halfway gone, your breathing slow and even.

By the time he reaches your feet, you’re boneless, pliant beneath his hands. He pauses, then leans forward, his breath warm against your ear.

“Turn over.”

The words are quiet, but they settle deep in your chest. He’s not asking. Not really. But he doesn’t need to. You’d do it anyway.

You shift, rolling onto your back, and when you glance up at him, his expression is unreadable again. His hands find your waist, thumbs pressing into your hips, like he’s steadying you, like he’s taking his time memorizing the feel of you beneath him.

Your fingers curl into the sheets. “You’re really going all out tonight.”

Virgil’s lips quirk, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t break the contact between your skin. “Have to make up for lost time.”

His words settle low in your stomach, warm and weighted. You swallow, watching the way his eyes darken just slightly, how the muscle in his jaw ticks like he’s reining something in.

The room feels warmer than before. Or maybe that’s just him.

His hands glide up your sides again, thumbs pressing into the dips of your waist, then higher, until they rest just beneath your ribs. He leans over you, not fully, but enough that you can feel his breath on your skin, the heat of his body radiating through the thin space between you.

He’s broad, his frame casting a shadow over yours, and the difference in size is almost dizzying when he’s this close. It’s not something he ever calls attention to—not deliberately—but you feel it. In the way his fingers easily span your ribs, in the way his palm can cover nearly the entire width of your stomach with room to spare.

“You’re tense,” he murmurs, almost like an afterthought, like it’s something he already knew. His thumbs sweep along your skin again, slow and purposeful.

“I wonder why,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, and his mouth twitches, like he’s fighting the urge to smirk.

Then his hands shift, slipping lower, thumbs grazing the soft skin of your inner thighs. He doesn’t move further—not yet—but the warmth of his touch lingers, like an unspoken promise.

You exhale, your pulse quickening feeling more awake now. “Virgil—”

“Shh.” His voice is low, coaxing. His fingers knead into your thighs, pressing just enough to make you shiver. “Just relax.”

Relaxing is the last thing on your mind.

His hands trail up again, over the curve of your hip, his thumbs ghosting over the sensitive skin there. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push—he never does. He just watches you, eyes steady, waiting, like he’s giving you the chance to tell him to stop, to slow down.

You don’t.

Instead, you shift beneath him, just slightly, a silent invitation. His breath hitches, so quiet you almost miss it. Then his hands are on your waist again, firmer this time, his grip steady, grounding. He leans down, pressing his lips just below your ear, then lower, down the slope of your neck, the scrape of his stubble making your skin prickle.

The heat in your stomach twists, coils, something slow and smoldering. You turn your head, exposing more of your throat, and his lips curve against your skin in something like satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, almost like he doesn’t realize he’s said it.

Something in you tightens, then melts.

His hands move again, one sliding up to your ribcage, the other still resting on your hip. His grip isn’t rough, but it’s firm, a silent reminder of just how easily he could move you if he wanted to. And for some reason, that knowledge makes heat flood your chest, makes your breath hitch in a way that has nothing to do with surprise.

You feel his smile before you see it. “You like that?”

You don’t answer—not out loud, anyway—but your body gives you away. Your fingers curl against his arm, the muscles beneath his skin shifting under your touch. It's making your head spin.

His hand shifts again, fingertips grazing your ribs, the barest whisper of a touch. He leans in, breath brushing against your lips, but he doesn’t kiss you—not yet.

“You sure you’re not too tired?” His voice is softer now, teasing, but there’s an edge of something else beneath it. Something darker, deeper.

You shake your head. “Not even a little.”

That’s all he needs.

The shift is subtle, the change in his posture barely noticeable before he’s pressing you deeper into the mattress, his weight braced on his forearms as his mouth finally meets yours. His lips are warm, firm, moving against yours with a patience that’s almost unbearable. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push, just kisses you slow and deep, like he has all the time in the world.

And when his hands move again—one sliding under your thigh, fingers curling around the soft flesh there—you can’t help but shiver at the way he fits against you, the way he covers you so completely.

He feels it. He always does.

His lips leave yours for just a moment, long enough for him to press his forehead against yours, his breath uneven. “Still okay?”

You nod, fingers sliding into his hair, pulling him back to you. “More than okay.” You mean it. You feel alive, awake, and it’s all him.

His chuckle is low, rough, and his mouth finds yours again, the kiss slower now, almost reverent. He shifts above you, his body pressing between your legs. He’s still careful, still gentle, but the weight of him is enough to make you feel small in the best way. It's familiar, something that you crave when he's gone.

It’s only when he reaches down to slide your legs around his hips that you realize he’s still wearing clothes, his shirt loose at his waist. The soft cotton grazes against your stomach as he moves, the friction making your breath stutter.

He notices, his eyes finding yours for a split-second before he tilts his head back, his lips moving down your throat again. This time, the touch is warmer, wetter. This time, there’s something deliberate in the way he licks and bites his way down your skin, like he’s savoring every inch of you.

Then his mouth is at your collarbone, his teeth nipping at the softness of your skin, and your breath catches, the air leaving you on a soft gasp.

His gaze flicks up at the sound, his lips curling into something like satisfaction. “Feel good?”

“Virgil.” His name slips from your lips as he bites down again, harder this time, a small stinging pain that sends a jolt of heat through your stomach.

He smiles against your skin. He knows what that does to you. He knows it makes you ache in the best way possible.

“Good.” The word is low, almost guttural, and he presses a kiss to the spot he’d just bit, sucking at it lightly. “Missed you so fucking much.”

You let out a shuddering breath, fingers tightening in his hair. “Missed you too.”

His hands move again, shifting down your thighs until his calloused fingers find the bareness of your hip.

He pauses, his hand hesitating for a second as he looks at you, eyes darker than before.

“Can I?” he asks .

It takes you a second to register what he’s asking. Then your breath catches as you realize exactly what he wants—what he’s offering. You nod, voice failing you completely.

He leans back slightly, reaching down to tug at his shirt, peeling it away with a soft rustle of fabric. It falls away somewhere behind him, leaving the broad expanse of his chest bare, the muscles of his arms shifting with each movement.

You can’t help but stare. You’ve never been able to. He’s… fucking beautiful. Strong, solid, in a way that makes you feel small beside him. In a way that makes your chest tighten, your stomach flutter, and left your pussy soaked.

He shifts again, his torso pressing between your thighs, warm and heavy. His hand slides up your side, over your stomach, his palm ghosting up the center of your chest, pausing at the swell of your breast and giving it a gentle squeeze.

He doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t need to. The look in his eyes says it all—that he’s hungry for you, that he’s been aching to do this for weeks.

And then, before you can even register what’s happening, he’s moving—shifting down your body, broad shoulders pressing against the insides of your thighs, firm and solid, his torso warm against you.

You barely have time to tense before his mouth is on you. Warm. Wet. Gentle. He presses a slow, deliberate kiss just above your clit, and it’s devastatingly soft—you can tell by the scrunch of his brows that he’s savoring the moment, getting lost in the heat of your skin.

Your breath hitches sharply. Your hand flies to his head without thinking, fingers threading into his hair, gripping tight. Like if you don’t hold onto something, you might just come undone right then and there.

“Please, Virgil,” you breathe, your voice uneven, barely there.

He hums against your skin, the low vibration sinking straight through you, and then he moves lower, slower. He exhales, a warm rush of air that makes goosebumps bloom across your thighs. You can’t help it—you shudder, your body caught somewhere between tension and desperate surrender.

“Fuck,” you whisper, the word slipping out before you can catch it.

He lifts his head slightly, and when your eyes meet, you swear he’s smirking. There’s something dark and wicked in his gaze, something that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Knows and enjoys it. Then his tongue flicks out, the first touch deliberate, unhurried, and the sheer wet heat of it makes your pussy clench.

You gasp. The sound is soft, but your whole body jerks with it, your fingers twisting tighter in his curls. His bun comes undone under your grip, strands of dark hair slipping free, falling around his face. He doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it only spurs him on.

His lips drag against you, slow and teasing, his tongue moving with maddening precision. It’s not enough, not yet, but it’s everything.

“Virgil,” you whimper, and he groans in response, his hands sliding under you, strong fingers curving around your thighs as he pulls you closer, like he can’t stand even an inch of distance between you.

The groan vibrates against your skin, and it wrecks you.

He starts to move with more intent now, tongue and lips working together, mouth wet and open against you. He knows exactly what he’s doing—knows the exact pressure, the exact pace, and fuck, you can’t think, can’t focus on anything except the hot, slow drag of his tongue. His fingers squeeze into your thighs, his grip firm, holding you in place, knowing you’re going to start squirming soon. And you are. You can feel it building—this restless heat, this ache curling deep inside you.

Then he slides his fingers inside you, pressing just right, just enough to make you jolt, your eyes fly open. Your hands slip from his hair to his shoulders, gripping, grounding.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, your back arching slightly off the bed. “Holy shit, Virg.”

He laughs, low and rough, the sound vibrating straight through you. Then he does it again—tongue and fingers moving in perfect sync, relentless and devastating and—

You let out a sharp, broken moan, your whole body shuddering as you clench repeatedly around his fingers. You're squeezing tight around him and he sucks harder at your clit, his groan vibrating against you as he anticipates replacing his fingers with his cock.

His head lifts, just slightly, breath warm against your inner thigh. His voice is low, husky, dripping with something dangerous. “You close?”

You barely process the words. Your head is light, body humming, thoughts hazy and scattered, like you’re floating just above yourself.

“Baby?” he murmurs again, and this time, somehow, you manage to nod. Your heart is pounding, wild and erratic, like it might burst right out of your chest.

He presses one last, lingering kiss to your clit—soft, almost reverent—before looking up at you again. His eyes are dark, focused, hungry.

There's no mercy in the way he devours you. The slick wet noise of it being drowned out by the uncontrollable moans falling from your lips. Your clit stays victim to his wet warm tongue, a prisonner to his sucking lips.

You can't do anything but feel. Surrender to the delicious torture he's subjecting you to. 

Here in this room, you are his. His to love. His to pleasure. His to destroy and put back together in that way only he can.

“Come on my mouth,” he mumbles, voice rough, wrecked.

It’s all you need.

The way he says it, the way he looks at you when he does—like it’s the hottest fucking thing he’s ever imagined—it’s enough to send you spiraling. The pleasure builds and builds, curling deep, sharp and unbearable, until it snaps, until it floods through you all at once, overwhelming and all-consuming.

Your whole body clenches, your hands grasping at him, your breath catching on a choked moan as the pleasure crashes over you.

Virgil doesn’t stop. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t ease up. His mouth stays on you, his tongue coaxing you through it, his fingers gripping tight, keeping you where he wants you. He can’t bear to let go just yet.

It’s too much, but it’s perfect, and your head tips back against the pillow, your body still trembling from the aftershocks.

Even when the pleasure starts to ebb, when the heat begins to settle into something unbearable, he lingers. He presses a final, lazy kiss to your inner thigh before dragging himself back up your body, his weight settling warm and solid between your thighs.

His skin is flushed, damp with sweat, his breath still uneven. He doesn’t say anything at first—just looks at you, eyes tracing your face, memorizing it. Then he dips his head, mouth brushing against yours in a slow, deep kiss.

You can taste yourself on him, feel the heat still simmering between you.

When he pulls back, his lips curl into a lazy smirk. “You okay?”

You blink up at him, still catching your breath, and manage a weak laugh. “Do I look okay?”

He grins, presses another kiss to your jaw. “You look fucking gorgeous.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile spreads on your face anyways.

He nudges your legs apart with his hips, his pants pressing between your legs, but he doesn’t make a move, not yet. Instead, he lowers his mouth to yours, lips meeting in a soft, slow kiss, tongues sweeping together in a lazy dance that's somehow just as wrecking as before.

Your fingers slide into his hair again, cradling his head as you angle your mouth for deeper access. You kiss him like you’re desperate, like he’s leaving tomorrow and you need him to remember this moment—this feeling—when you're apart.

But he’s not going anywhere. He’s here. He’s home.

And you want more.

You kiss him harder, more insistent this time, and he responds like he always does—like you’re a match, and the moment you strike, everything flares to life.

His hands slide down your sides, fingers ghosting over your ribs, your waist, before they find the soft cheek of your ass. His touch is light, almost absentminded, just wanting to feel the shape of you beneath him.

You can feel how hard he is. The solid length of his cock presses against you with each shift of his hips, hot and heavy and delicious. The fabric of his pants providing you with the most painfully delicious friction.

Then his fingers are in your hair, his grip just rough enough that your stomach coils. His mouth finds your ear, breath hot against the shell as he murmurs the words you've been craving all day.

“Take my cock out so I can fuck my pussy,” he tells you, voice low and gravelly.

You barely register the words before you’re moving, fingers tugging at the hem of his pants. It’s slow, deliberate, and he’s watching you as you peel them down his thighs so he can kick them off. His cock springs free, thick and heavy, and you can’t help the way your breath catches at the sight of it.

Virgil’s gaze never leaves yours. “You like that? You like knowing that it's all yours? That I've been craving you for days?” The words are so crude that the pool between your legs turn into a river and you have to clench your thighs to momentarily satisty the craving that it hungers for.

The mattress shifts beneath him as he sits back on his heels, watching as you reach for him. You take him in one hand, fingers wrapping around the hot weight of him. He's smooth, soft, impossibly solid beneath your touch.

Virgil watches you stroke him with something like fascination, brows furrowed at the pleasure your hand is submitting him to. His gaze is intense, his pupils dilating like he's getting lost in it.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he rasps, hand sliding into your hair again. “Can't wait to bury myself inside that tight little hole.”

You whimper at the words, at the thought of him inside you—of him sliding into you, thick and hard and deep. Your thumb finds the head, swirling over the slick drops of precum beading at the tip.

“Yeah?” you whisper, your other hand finding his shoulder, fingers digging into the broad strength there. “Am I maing you feel good?” You don't break eye contact as you say it, fluttering your wet lashes at him as you do.

His exhale is shaky, uneven, and his hand in your hair tightens just slightly.

“Fucking perfect.”

His gaze never leaves yours as you yank him foreward, causing him to fall onto his forearms, holding himself up as you tap the head of his cock against your clit. His jaw clenches at the sensation, his stomach tensing with the anticipation of entering your tight heat. Your tongue slips out to wet your lips and he makes a sound between a moan and a groan at the sight.

Then, with one last, heated look, he sinks into you in one swift motion. He doesn't pause, doesn't give you a second to adjust, he just continues moving in and out of you at a languid pace. You don't make him stop. You like the feeling of his cock rubbing against your insides, stretching you, filling you.

The first few pumps have you gasping, your thighs squeezing against his hips. He moves slow, teasing, like he knows exactly how good it feels when he drags himself out, stretching your walls as they cling to his cock, desperate to keep him in.

Every time he sinks back into you it feels like the first time again. Like your walls are waking up after being asleep and being awakened with the sweetest caress. Your fingers dig into his arms, nails digging into his skin, but he doesn't stop. The thrusts pick up, growing faster, rougher, and you arch beneath him, eyes fluttering shut as your head falls back against the pillow.

You don't even notice when he throws your leg onto his shoulder. All you feel is the heat of him—of his skin, of his body—of how fucking deep he is inside you.

Virgil leans down, pressing a kiss to your chest, his stubble rasping against your sensitive skin. His tongue flicks out then, laving at the peak of your nipple, and you suck in a breath, your pussy spasming around him.

“Fuck.” The word slips out before you can stop it, and Virgil’s smile spreads wide, a flash of white teeth in the dim light.

“Like that?” he rasps, mouth closing around your nipple, sucking lightly.

You nod, unable to do anything else, your fingers tightening in his curls again. He hums against your breast, teeth scraping, and you shiver at the sensation. It feels incredible—his mouth on you like that, his cock moving inside you with the same slow, dragging pace. Like he knows exactly what you need, when you need it, and how to get you there. But won't give it to you just yet.

“Faster?” His voice is husky, rough, and you nod, your stomach tightening at the sound of it.

His gaze finds yours then, and for a moment, it’s like he sees straight through you—into you.

“Look at me.” The words are low, demanding, and you blink, gaze finding his. He's gorgeous when he's like this. All masculine angles and dark eyes and the most sinful smile. Your pussy clenches when your eyes meet his, and you know he feels it because his breath hitches in a way that tells you he's not going to last long.

Virgil doesn't take his eyes from yours as he starts to move again, hips snapping forward, faster and harder this time, filling you deep.

Your breath leaves you in a rush as your body jerks, your pussy clenching around his cock at the new tempo. His lips part on a soft groan, like he feels it too.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he grunts, his voice a low rasp, the words slipping from his mouth between ragged breaths. “So tight.” He rolls his hips again, thrusting into you with a strength that makes your head spin.

You can’t reply. You’re too busy trying to catch your breath as your whole body tenses, pleasure coiling, tightening inside you. He feels amazing like this—so solid and warm, his skin slick against yours, his mouth and teeth working your nipple.

“Virg,” you moan, the syllable broken by your hitching breaths. Your fingers clench in his hair, tugging him closer as your leg around his hips squeezes tight.

He responds by grinding into you harder, faster, the thrusts rougher now, less controlled. You feel like you can’t breathe, like the room is spinning around you, but he’s still there—big, strong and so fucking gorgeous.

The tension curls deeper, tighter, the feeling almost painful with how good it is. Your whole body clenches around him—around his cock inside you, his mouth on your skin, his hand on your waist—and you know it won’t take long now.

You feel him tense too, his body going rigid as he presses inside you, the tip of his cock nudging that spot deep inside you that makes your eyes roll back. His breathing grows harsher, more uneven, his hand digging into your hip, holding you in place as he slams into you.

“Virg—” You manage his name on a soft gasp, and he lifts his head, meeting your gaze with eyes that are dark and wild.

“Gonna cum for me, love.” His voice is a rasp, uneven, and you can see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness of his muscles. “Cum on my cock like the good fucking girl you are.”

And fuck. It's enough.

The words are the final push, and everything unravels at once—the pleasure snapping tight, pulsing, overwhelming. You let out a choked cry as your pussy clenches around him, the release ripping through you like a wave.

Virgil groans, a deep, guttural sound that rumbles through his chest as your tight gummy walls clench tight around him. His thrusts turn erratic, desperate, hips snapping into you with raw urgency, melting your brain. His fingers dig into your hips, his grip firm but reverent, holding onto you for dear life.

His head tips back, eyes fluttering closed, and for a brief, mesmerizing moment, you just watch him unravel. The tension in his jaw slackens, his lips parting into a silent gasp before shaping into an ‘O’ of bliss. Then, with a sharp, shuddering inhale, he spills into you, filling you with deep, pulsing warmth that seems to go on forever. You can feel every ripple, every twitch of his release as he buries himself as deep as he can go, grinding against you in the final aftershocks of his climax.

His chest rises and falls in uneven pants, breath hot against your collarbone as he collapses onto his forearms, his weight pressing you further into the mattress. He exhales sharply, a sound that’s half a sigh, half a satisfied hum, his body trembling against yours before finally, finally going still.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The only sound in the room is the quiet mingling of your breaths, the faint hum of the city outside. The air is thick with heat, with sweat and the lingering scent of sex, and yet there’s a kind of tranquility in it.

You’re the first to stir, shifting slightly beneath him, your hand tracing a slow, lazy path up his spine. His skin is damp, warm beneath your fingertips, muscles still tense from the remnants of pleasure. You let your nails scrape lightly along the ridges of his back, and he shudders, his breath catching against your throat.

“Don’t do that,” he mutters, voice hoarse, spent.

You smirk, dragging your nails down once more just to spite him, and he groans, lifting his head to glare at you through heavy-lidded eyes. “You really wanna start something you can’t finish?” His voice is thick with exhaustion, but there’s a teasing edge to it, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

You hum, shifting beneath him. “I don’t know,” you murmur, feigning innocence as you glance up at him. “I think I finished just fine.”

He huffs out a breath, shaking his head before leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Smartass.”

You laugh softly, your fingers curling into the damp strands at the nape of his neck. He kisses you again, slower this time, lips warm and gentle against your temple. It’s different from before—less desperate, less urgent. There’s no more need to chase pleasure. Now, it’s just this: love and tenderness, the intimacy that lingers long after the fire has burned out.

After a few more moments, he finally shifts, groaning as he slips free of you. The loss is immediate, a dull ache settling between your thighs, and you both let out a quiet sound at the emptiness. He presses a soothing hand to your hip, rubbing slow, absentminded circles into your skin before rolling onto his back and pulling you against him.

He’s still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek, his skin sticky with sweat. But his arms tighten around you, holding you close as if he has no intention of letting go anytime soon. You let yourself sink into the warmth of him, your fingers tracing idle shapes against his chest.

His voice is low when he finally speaks, a quiet murmur against the hush of the room. “Mine.”

You blink up at him, your gaze meeting his. There’s something in his expression that makes your breath catch—a softness, a certainty, something unshakable and absolute. Like he wants to keep you forever. And you hope he does.

His fingers tilt your chin up, his thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip. “You’re all mine.”

The words are possessive, but not in a way that feels constraining. There’s love in them, raw and unfiltered, a promise stitched into every syllable.

You swallow past the sudden tightness in your throat, your own fingers tightening against his chest. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I am.”

His lips quirk into a small, tired smile, and then he’s kissing you again, slow and deep, like he’s trying to imprint the moment into his memory. And maybe he is. Maybe you both are.

Because right now, in this quiet, sweat-dampened room, in the warmth of each other’s arms, there is nothing else. No past, no future. No bad day. Just this. Just him.

And you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

-Bianca🌻

[dumblilb]

ooooh may i request headcanons for ellie and her long-term gf celebrating their anniversary? i feel like ellie would be so sweet and spoil tf out of her gf (especially in bed 😩)

ANNIVERSARY!ELLIE HEADCANONS

Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

(Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, scissoring, fingering (r!receiving), fluff )

* ・゚☆ 。・ * ・゚★ 。・ * ・゚☆ * ・゚☆ 。

-Ellie would wake up early that morning, rushing to the kitchen to try and make you breakfast in bed. The poor woman can’t cook for shit, so you woke up to the smell of burnt toast. But you couldn’t help the huge smile on your face as she stumbled into the room. Face contorted in annoyance to see you awake.

-She would place the breakfast down on your lap and kiss you sweetly on the forehead. You grinned at her as she crawled into bed next to you, resting her head against your shoulder as you tried to eat the food she made.

-She later takes you to the living room where you find a thick large envelope sitting on the coffee table next to a hand picked bouquet of your favorite flowers.

-You were practically brought to tears as you open up the envelope to find years worth of sketches she had done of you. You wondered how she could look at you and create something so beautiful. You turn to her gaze and sit up, pulling her into a hug.

-“You like them?” She asks and you pull apart slightly to look her in the eyes. Holding her face in your hands.

-“I love them. I love you.” Her face lights up and she kisses you slowly. Wrapping her arms tighter around your waist.

-You cook her dinner to avoid a repeat from breakfast, which you’re both grateful for. When you both finish up you pull out a small wrapped gift and hand it to her. She eyes you skeptically with a grin, till she opens it and her features soften. Under the paper lay a cd with the words ‘songs that remind me of you’ displayed on the front.

-She would walk you to your shared room and place the cd in the player, letting the music fill her ears. She turns to you with lust in her eyes, snaking her arms around you to lay you down on the bed.

-She wouldn’t know how to control herself as she removed each item of clothing you had on. Letting out a string of phrases like ‘what did I do to deserve you’

-She’d hold you so softly in her arms to contrast the aggressive thrusting of her fingers in your cunt.

-“You’re so good to me, you know that?” She’d pant as you lay whimpering under her. Clenching around her fingers as they slipped in and out. Your slick coating her digits.

-“Ellie please!” You’d beg as she let you release on her. But she would quickly switch to straddle your heat running the pooling sensation that once was in her boxers against yours. Rocking her hips back and forth, making friction as your clits rubbed against each other.

-“I fucking love you so much! God you feel so good! Shit. Shit. Shit!” She’d groan as she finished with you.

-She’d hold you like her life depended on it after cleaning you up and showering you with kisses. You fall asleep to the sweet nothings she’d whisper in your ear. As she gently played with your hair.

[xo-cod]

soft!Dom price my beloved 😩😩😩

you didn't specify whether you wanted nsfw/sfw so i did both, but this can probably be read either way lolz 😩

soft dom price ♡

soft dom!price being your little fixer around the house. you need anything sorted out he's the man to go to. leaky tap? he's already under the kitchen sink with screwdrivers. walls need painting? he's already off in his truck to the nearest maintenance store picking out a pretty colour. draws need building? his toolbox is already whipped out with a cigar placed delicately between his lips as he looks over the instructions. don't usually worry your little head about these tasks <33

soft dom!price that makes you eat proper food and not live off coffee and a breakfast bar. he makes sure you're eating good healthy meals, making sure you have plenty of water throughout the day. he can become stern with you when you're not eating right and he'll even feed you the food gently when it's been a long day for you. and he reminds you on text if you're both working and his are already timed just in case he's on the field and can't type it himself <33

soft dom!price who loves to take long baths with you purely for comfort and relief after a stressful day. he has you in his lap as he gently rubs the bodywash over you, nuzzling you close as he does so. sometimes he can't help it, he needs something a little more and so he spreads your legs a little wider as the head of his cock rubs against you making you both moan softly together as he thrusts forwards. his strong arms holding you close as he does so <33

soft dom!price that picks you up and put of the way when he wants to get somewhere. if you're brushing your teeth in the morning and in front of the sink or if you're in front of the kettle and he needs to grab a glass, he just picks you up from your hips and gently moves you to the side with a soft chuckle and a gentle kiss to your forehead. you're his lil play thing and he can't help it to pick you up constantly <33

soft dom!price that is in love with missionary and just gazing into your eyes as he watches your face crumple with pure pleasure. every single whimper and moan he's cherishing, his hands grasping onto your thighs while he's completely lost in how you feel and how you look writhing underneath him in pure pleasure, "fuck- oh you feel so good around me, sweetness" he can't help but look at where your eager little cunt swallows him whole, his own breathy moans falling from his sinful lips when he sees himself disappearing in you. his hand snakes down your body to rub your clit, enjoying the way your body shakes and trembles for more, how your head swims with pleasure only he can give. price caging you between his strong arms, holding you close while your forehead rest against his. his breathing is slightly erratic as you clench and clamp around him. he loves every single second, his hands smoothing down your hair while he encourages you take a little bit more of him. his lips occupy yours, kissing you slowly and with passion while he moves slowly inside you. it's not to be a tease, he's trying to commit every single action to memory, "so good for me, aren't you sweetheart?" <33

[starkeyisthelastname]

What about reader riding trailer park rafe’s cock?

that old worn couch is subject to a lot of dirty mean sex 💦😩

It had been a long day for him, working some shitty job and sweatin’ his ass off in the brutal Carolina heat, just for his truck to fuck up on the way home. He thankfully got it started up again, zooming it through the park until he pulled up to his run down trailer. You were already by the creaky steps waiting for him, lookin’ all pretty with a smile on your face. He was in a piss poor mood, hot and just wanted to sit on his ass.

“Get inside, gimme a beer and bring me my plate.” He grumbled, stomping past you with a brooding look on his handsome face. Of course he expected you to wait on him hand and foot, like a good little trailer park house wife does.

He slid off his belt, throwing it on the old wooden coffee table before lazily resting on the worn couch. You’d bring him a plate full of food you had cooked and a cold beer from the fridge. He watched you then fix a smaller plate for yourself, before coming down to sit next to him. It would be quiet except for the shitty tv playing something that his eyes were focused on while he ate his food up and downed his beer.

It was after he cleared his plate, he felt a little better and wanted to relax even more with his dick inside your cunt. “Hey, go get me another one sugar.” He said, his voice a little less gruff than when he had greeted you as he waved his empty beer can around. You always felt giddy at his sweet names he called you, prancing over to the fridge to get him another beer, like a good obedient doll. He watched that sweet bare ass peek out of your dress as you bent over, his mind made up even more as he lit a cigarette and popped the button of his jeans open.

As you approached with his beer, he reached out with two rough hands to pull you onto his lap to straddle. He took the beer from you, one hand coming up to take a drag from his cigarette before inhaling the smoke and putting the bud out. His blue eyes grazed over you, blowing out the smoke over your sweet smelling self as he drank in every inch he was gonna ruin some more of.

“I’m gonna stretch your little cunt out for a while. Kay sweetheart?” He said, hand that wasn’t holding his beer coming up to grip your jaw so that you would keep your eyes on him. You nodded eagerly, already lifting up your dress like he been teaching you.

You’d let out the prettiest whine, grasping his broad shoulder for support while he helped you ease down onto his fat length. He was huge, always stretching your pretty cunt open and making your head dizzy when you felt him inside. “T-too big.” You couldn’t help but whimper, tensing up as he filled you to the brim and placed his hands on your hips to squeeze.

You were such a tight fuck, gripping his dick as he started slowly guiding you up and down. “You can fuckin’ take it babydoll. Let that fat cock stuff your sweet hole full.” He grunted, teaching you how to ride dick so that on days he didn’t feel like putting in the work he could still get a nut.

As you began to find a rhythm, letting those beautiful moans echo of the trailer walls, he then let his hands go and rested them behind his head. He’d lean back against the tattered loveseat, dirty smirk on his face as he watched you begin to bounce up and down without any help. You were such a good little listener, dainty hands tugging at the old silver chain he wore around his neck, and letting those pretty knees work.

He’d even reach over to grab another cigarette, lighting it as it hung between his lip and nodding his head towards you to keep going when you slowed down. “Didn’t I say you could stop? Lemme’ me fuckin’ relax and get to fuckin hoppin’.” He said, his voice sounding mean again as he was gonna make you work for it before he really gave it to you.