#hes so slouched hes so..... like tired
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ultrakillmmmyes · 3 months ago
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OH MY GOD??????????
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willowser · 1 year ago
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i don't know, there is something sweet to me about the idea of you and bakugou meeting when you're both at the end of your dating rope 🥺 he's been trying to find someone and make it work for a while, and you've been on date after date after date and it's just !! not working out !! for either of you !!
and it's really a last ditch effort on both your parts, your first meeting; in a moment of utter exasperation, bakugou doesn't immediately delete the dating app kirishima installs on his phone, and you don't believe pro-hero dynamight would be on such a thing and you figure the worst you'll get out of entertaining it is a good laugh !
but it's really him and it's really you, but you're both so worn out at this point that you're just expecting it to go nowhere. to not develop past the night and the awkward dinner at the overpriced restaurant he made reservations at and actually—
"can i be honest with you?" you speak up right outside the door, glancing between the man holding it open and bakugou. the real, true bakugou.
his eyebrows furrow, and then he simply shrugs.
"i — honestly don't want to eat here," you admit, sending an apologetic smile to the employee still standing there. reservations have been made, you know that, and maybe bakugou is going to get angry at you for this, but you don't think you can swallow down another hour of small, meaningless talk. "i'd rather get, i don't know, ice cream, maybe."
if he tosses you aside now, it'll be for the better, you think. just get it over with, so you can stop wasting each other's time.
— but he only sighs, runs a hand through his hair that messes it up a little. and then bakugou grunts, "fine by me," and heads off down the sidewalk without hesitation.
and it must be the weariness that you both carry, that waters down your nerves into something more manageable; you tell him openly that you're not going to sleep with him, and he openly tells you that he doesn't want that either. you tell him about your ex-partner and the last three dates you went on — all things you've been told by friends not to bring up — and he tells you that he probably won't be around anytime soon, with work and all.
you share ice cream because he doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, but he pays for it and doesn't complain about the flavor. he doesn't ask you about your job or what you like to do for fun, but you walk half-way across town while talking about silly things, random things, things you shouldn't tell a stranger and yet find no reason not to.
after so long in a shitty dating pool, you're just expecting this to go wrong, to end on a weird, dull note — and so neither of you really know how to say goodbye, when it's way too late and your hand has found its way into his and you realize that you maybe don't want to let go, just yet.
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slashpaws · 2 years ago
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"i will make you suffer. suffer like so many of the others." i could fix him.
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cntloup · 4 months ago
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Gojo Satoru x pregnant!reader
protective!Satoru, fluff, a lil angst, mention of feeling guilty, implied heavy symptoms experienced by the reader
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"it's ok, baby. i've got it." Satoru says as he approaches your slouched form over the sink, washing the dishes as you try to get something done and make yourself useful.
you've been feeling guilty during the past month or so, feeling like you were a burden to him, thinking that you would never live up to his expectations. now he has to take care of you. and as time goes by, it will get even worse as your pregnancy progresses. but he's a busy man with heavy responsibilities. you'd be only holding him back. you torture yourself with these thoughts every day.
"oh, thanks. i'll go clean up the living room and do the laundry then." you respond with a forced smile, trying to mask the guilt that's been gnawing at you for a while as you try to keep yourself from falling over out of dizziness.
"what? no, wait! i'll do it after i wash the dishes. you go get some rest. you've done enough." he retorts while gently grabbing your arm, voice slightly raised to stop you immediately.
he is in utter disbelief at your behavior. you should be resting right now, tucked in beneath the soft sheets peacefully. you shouldn't worry your pretty little head about anything, he thinks.
"i haven't done anything all day." you utter in a faintly frustrated tone, mostly at yourself.
"and that's exactly how it should be." he replies with a nod, "now go to bed before i drag you there myself." he adds, maintaining a playful tone, a soft smile adorning his features as he drinks in your beauty. you're already glowing. but considering how observant he is, he senses your discomfort immediately like he can actually feel the gloom and sorrow you're feeling right now like a mother hen.
"what is it, baby? tell me." he murmurs as he walks up to you and pulls you into him by your hips, shining blue eyes staring at you as he awaits a response.
his hand rests on your side as the other cups your jaw, his thumb swiping over your cheek that could be dampened any moment now as you feel tears threatening to spill.
"i'm so sorry." you whisper breathily, voice slightly quivering with the lump in your throat as you look up into his glowing eyes.
"for what?" he asks, confusion evident on his features.
"for being weak. i'm so sorry to disappoint you." you finally spill out the words that have been weighing heavily on your chest as the tears cascade down your glossy eyes.
"disappoint me? i don't understand... why are you crying, love?" he mutters with a shake of his head, his confusion growing even more by your words as his fingers swipe over your cheeks to wipe away the stray tears.
"you're literally the strongest and you're stuck with me. i'm barely even showing yet and i'm feeling extreme fatigue. i've been sleeping all day for the past month cause i can't do anything. and because of the symptoms, i'll probably have to quit my job." you ramble about the thoughts that have been pulling you down all this time.
"wait, wait, wait! how long have you been feeling like this?" he questions with widened eyes baring into your soul.
"eversince we found out i was pregnant. i can't stop feeling guilty about disappointing you." you reply quietly, almost embarrassed to admit it. of course you know you're being irrational. it's all natural to be tired during this time and need help, but you just can't help it.
"you've been feeling like this all this time and you didn't tell me anything?" he blurts out almost too aggressively to his liking, "sorry. didn't mean it to come out that way." he quickly apologizes after witnessing the slight flinch on your part.
how could he not see it? you've been trying to do the chores like regular, pushing yourself to your limit both in the house and on your job until he swoops in and takes the weight off your shoulders. now he starts to blame himself for not finding out sooner and letting you wallow in your own sadness and guilt all alone.
"you're not weak, baby. you're doing the one thing that i can't possibly ever do. the one thing that the strongest can't do. and what does that make you? huh? you're literally the strongest of all, babe. i can't even fathom what you're going through and you're doing amazing-", "i'm barely functioning." you cut him off.
"i'm not done yet, babe." he says playfully before continuing, "you're doing amazing, honey. you sleep not because you can't do anything else but because you need it. you're carrying our child for fuck's sake. a literal human's life is growing inside you and of course it takes its toll on you. and i'm right here beside you every step of the way." he finishes his loving speech with a tender kiss on your forehead as his strong arms wrap around your now slightly shaking form as you sob, utterly moved by his words and also the hormones.
"thank you, Satoru. i really appreciate it. you always know what to say when i'm feeling down." your words are cut off by loud sobs but he patiently waits for you to finish as he rubs your back soothingly while nuzzling his face in your neck.
"any time, baby. i love you." he whispers in your ear, "i love you too, toru." you say back, continuing to sob in his arms for a while before you eventually calm down and he guides you to bed, encouraging you to take some much-needed rest.
"and don't worry about your job. you can take some time off or quit altogether. i have more than enough to pay for our family and the next generations to come-", "ok, stop bragging!" you chuckle, "i'm just saying, baby. i've been dying to spoil you. now's my chance. let me take care of you. you don't have to go through this alone. in fact, i won't even let you." he chuckles lightly and crashes his lips onto yours, pulling away with a loud smack as you both lay in bed, limbs tangled together, "you already spoil me." you mention with a slight pout, "and i'm gonna do it even more. you deserve it, baby. don't worry about anything. i've got it." he says while softly caressing your cheek, admiring your glowing beauty illuminated by the faint bedside light.
you slowly start to feel the sleep creeping in and drift away into a slumber as you mumble a quiet 'thank you', curling into Satoru's side as he holds you so lovingly while you think to yourself how you've been blessed with the best, most loving and supportive partner anyone could ever ask for.
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plutotheplum · 3 months ago
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leon kennedy x fem!reader
summary: you’ve decided to get intimate for the first time with your boyfriend, and who better to ask for advice than his best friend?
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, kissing, oral sex, vaginal fingering, masturbation, p in v, possessive sex, praise kink, cheating/infidelity
wc: 4.4k
a/n: i don't support cheating at all, this idea just would not leave me so erm... i just had to write it
also on ao3!
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You might be a little in over your head.
Sure, the entire thing had been your idea, but now that you’re standing outside of Leon’s apartment, duffle bag clutched in hand, you think you might’ve made the wrong decision.
But… you did really like your boyfriend.
It was why you were doing all of this after all. You wanted the first time with your new boyfriend to be perfect, especially after your last relationship had practically turned out to be a disaster. The sex hadn’t been enjoyable and the heated conversations between you and your ex even more so.
So, who better to ask for advice than your boyfriend’s best friend?
Eyes squeezing shut, you mutter a few words of self-encouragement. The doorbell looks oddly ominous when you open your eyes again. 
You weren’t even sure why Leon had agreed to this entire thing. He’d always just been there, barely acknowledging your presence at all. All in all, you were convinced Leon hated you. It didn’t matter though, you didn’t particularly like the man either. Leon was just an unfortunate addition to things you had to endure. 
An irritated huff of air leaves you and your hand jerks out, your own body having grown tired of your indecisiveness. The doorbell rings promptly and you shift on your feet, biting your lip nervously.
When the door creaks open, you have half the mind to run away. Leon’s gaze keeps you pinned in place however, his bored eyes dipping over you, brows raising slightly when he sees the duffle bag you were holding. 
“You were serious about this, huh?” Leon asks, crossing his arms over his chest, peering down at you.
“Uh- well,” you begin, tongue feeling heavy, “I- I can just leave,” you laugh awkwardly, “you’re probably busy and I don’t want to bother you and-”
“Stop rambling,” he interrupts, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice, “just get inside.”
You’re grateful for his timely intervention, nodding rapidly and stepping inside. Taking off your shoes, you place them by the door neatly, not wanting to annoy Leon even more. He motions with his fingers and you follow him in, letting him guide you into his bedroom.
“What’s the bag for?”
“Oh, I packed a couple of outfits,” you shrug, watching as he sits down on his chair, “thought you might be able to tell me which one would work the best.”
Leon stares at you blankly, his lips pursing. 
“You’re fucking weird.”
A sharp scoff leaves you, your eyes narrowing as you glare at the man in front of you. “You agreed to help me!”
“I didn’t think you were being serious,” Leon retorts. 
You glare at him a little more and he lets out an exasperated sigh, motioning for you to sit down on the edge of his bed. You do as he says, although your movements are begrudging, feeling miffed.
“So?” He asks, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, “what do you want to know?”
“Se- sex stuff,” you reply casually, although your posture betrays you. It’s difficult to feel comfortable around Leon, his gaze uncomfortably intense and probing. You don’t think you’ve ever sat with your back this straight for so long before. 
“Watching porn would’ve solved that problem for you,” Leon says drily. 
“You’re a real asshole, Leon.”
He rolls his eyes at your jab, slouching a little further in his chair, thighs spreading as he gets comfortable. Leon’s fingers tap against the arm-rest, seemingly lost in thought. You couldn’t feel anymore awkward, agitatedly playing with your fingers in your lap.
“Can’t you just tell me what he likes?” you blurt out, growing desperate, “you guys talk about that stuff, don’t you?”
“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” Leon says, leaning forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “Just do what feels natural. Sex isn’t supposed to be something you spend weeks worrying about.”
It’s surprisingly solid advice…but Leon could’ve told you all of this over text. You cross your arms over your chest, pouting slightly.
“But what if he doesn’t like it?” you mumble, averting your gaze.
“Then he’ll tell you,” he says, hands clasping together. Leon gives you another once-over, tilting his head. “Go get changed, let’s see those outfits.”
You nod, tugging your bag into his bathroom and pull on your first outfit. It’s a pretty dress, flowy and a little short, but you’d figured it’d be a good pick.
“What do you think?”
Leon’s eyes flick up to meet yours, silently evaluating the dress. His brows furrow for a moment, something imperceptible passing through his eyes before he shakes his head. A sigh escapes you, but you disappear back into his bathroom obediently to pull on your next outfit.
Leon doesn’t like that one. He doesn’t like the one after either. Your patience is running thin by the time you’ve changed into your fourth outfit, a nice top and skirt. You tuck your hair behind your ears, staring at yourself in the mirror. You look cute, at least from your perspective. You don’t understand what he finds so unappealing about your sense of style. Leon’s eyes barely drift over you before he’s shaking his head again. 
“Pass,” Leon drawls, looking bored out of his mind as he slouches in his chair. Irritation festers inside of you, teeth gritting together as Leon simply ignores you, scrolling through his phone.
“This is cute!” you protest, looking down at the outfit you put together, “I look cute!”
“If that makes you feel better, then keep telling yourself that,” he replies, not sparing you a second glance. 
“You’re the worst!” you snap, stomping back into the bathroom.
Your temper gets the best of you when you scrutinize your irritated reflection, cheeks flushed with anger, the stress of being here with Leon bubbling past your own breaking point. You tug your top off, along with your bra, bathroom door slamming open as you move to stand in front of him, hands on your hips.
“How about now, asshole?”
Leon’s eyes widen when he sees your bare chest, surprise making his grip on his phone falter, the device falling towards the carpeted floor as he stares at your tits. His jaw seems to go slack, a sharp breath of air getting sucked in as he stares for a bit longer. You glare at him, chest rising and falling, watching as his gaze dips over the curve of your waist. 
“They’re just tits,” he says nonchalantly.
Leon’s expressions betray his true emotions, however. You catch the bob of his throat as he swallows, the subtle clench of his jaw as he stares at your tits. Your eyes dip down between his thighs and a small smile spreads across your face when you spot the bulge forming in his shorts.
“Do you like ‘em?” you ask, tilting your head.
“What?” Leon sputters, his cheeks flushing lightly.
“Do you like ‘em?” you repeat, taking a step closer, “my tits, Leon.”
He swallows again, trying and failing to look away from your tits. “They’re fine,” he manages out after a moment, “normal, or whatever.”
That makes a frown pull at your lips. Your head tips down, taking in your own breasts. They weren’t anything special, but you thought they looked nice, at least. Embarrassment has your skin crawling, cheeks heating up when you realize how stupidly you’ve been acting. 
You move to turn on your heel, but Leon stops you, his hand curling around your wrist. He tugs you forward, your feet stumbling slightly as he pulls you until you're standing between his spread legs.
“Maybe I should feel them,” Leon offers, peering up at you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, “might- might help me judge a bit better.”
Surprise flits across your face, heat shooting through your body. You really shouldn’t let him do this, you shouldn’t even have your tits out in the first place but when Leon’s hand lands on your waist, all rational thought seems to leave you.
“Okay,” you whisper, “you can touch.”
Both of Leon’s hands are on your waist now, sliding upwards. You bite your lip to stifle a whine, back arching to push your chest into his touch when his thumbs brush the underside of your breasts.
Leon lets out a low hum, stroking his thumb over the same place again, staring intently at your hardened nipples. His fingers reach for them, pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger as he tugs lightly before letting go, watching as your breasts move at the sensation.
“Gonna let me taste ‘em too?,” he asks, pinching your nipples again before rubbing his thumbs over your areolas. 
“T- taste?” you echo, feeling your breath catch in your throat when Leon leans forward, his touch growing greedier as he grasps at your tits, squeezing the fat roughly. Your legs shake slightly, little twitches running up through your body and Leon notices, pulling you closer, his hands on the backs of your thighs as he helps you climb up onto his lap.
You can feel how hard he is when your cunt presses up against his clothed cock, a low whine slipping out of you at the feeling. Leon grins, squeezing your breasts a few more times, seemingly taken with tugging your nipples and watching your breasts bounce back into place. 
“Yeah,” he murmurs, “just let me put my mouth on you, hm?”
A single nod leaves you and Leon takes it as permission to kiss the space between your breasts. He’s surprisingly gentle with you, peppering soft kisses around your breast and over your nipples. Leon’s tongue lolls out before long, a groan emanating from him as he pulls you flush against him, his hips bucking up into your clothed cunt.
You gasp, fingers settling in his hair, pulling his head closer. Leon’s mouth opens wider, sucking your tit into his mouth, tongue flicking across your nipple harshly as he silently urges your hips to move against him. You do as he wants, grinding against his lap, mewling when he sinks his teeth into the fat of your tit. He switches his attention to your other tit, sucking it into his mouth, pressing his hand into your back to make your chest jut out so that he can get more of you into his mouth.
“Do oh- do you like my tits now, Leon?” you ask breathily.
“Yeah, yeah, fuck, yeah,” he mumbles out drunkenly, “love your tits, baby.”
A light flush covers your cheeks when Leon pulls away, both of your chests rising and falling. He stares up at you, perched on his lap prettily, his hands squeezing at your waist soothingly. Your hazy eyes dip down to his lips, fingers tightening into his shirt as you imagine his lips on yours.
That would make everything all the more real however, so you refrain, simply peering down at him. Leon can see the uncertainty that makes you squirm, the flash of guilt that seems to dim down the spark in your eyes. He doesn’t exactly like the situation either, what the two of you are doing, but when your lower lip juts out into a cute, little pout, Leon wonders what might’ve been if he’d gotten to you first. 
“We should stop,” he says after a while, fingers tapping the sides of your thighs. 
“Yeah,” you murmur, humiliation flitting across your face, “we should.”
Leon helps you get off his lap, smoothing his hand over the ruffles in your skirt. It’s a weirdly considerate action and too out of place for him. You disappear into the bathroom, pulling your top back on. Leon waits for you, his eyes dipping to the bulge in his shorts. It’s uncomfortable, his half-hard cock straining against the fabric of his boxers.
A heavy sigh leaves him, his hand reaching down to adjust himself before you come out. 
“Thank you for letting me come over,” you mumble as he walks you over to his door.
“Don’t mention it,” Leon murmurs, his voice low.
Don’t mention it. You know deep down you won’t be mentioning anything to your boyfriend. 
You go to open the door, but before you can, Leon’s stepping up behind you, his chest pressing into your back as he cages you in against the door. A soft whine spills out of you when he wraps his arms around your waist, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.
“You’re making things difficult,” he says, voice muffled with how closely he’s pressed his face into your neck.
“I- I’m leaving,” you retort weakly, managing to get your hand on the doorknob. 
He hums, pressing one of his hands against the door, keeping it shut.
“Leon,” you sigh exasperatedly, “we can’t. You’re the one who said we should stop.”
“If I hadn’t said that, would you have stayed?”
The question hangs in the air. Your silence is answer enough. Leon’s mouth on your tits had been more than enough to convince you to stay, the memory of his clothed cock pressed up against your panties making you bite back another whine. His hand has begun to slide to your leg, smoothing up over your skin and under your skirt.
“Tell me,” Leon coaxes, his fingers grazing your panties, “would you have stayed?”
A strangled gasp is your response as he presses the pads of his fingers up against your panties. Leon lets out a low laugh, landing a soft kiss to your neck, his fingers rubbing at your cunt through the fabric of your panties.
Your head tips forward, forehead pressing against the door and mouth opening in a silent moan when Leon rubs faster. He trails kisses down your neck before nuzzling into the crook of it, pressing you against the door harder to grind his cock into your ass.
“C’mon, baby,” he urges again, “I wanna hear you say it.”
“I- I hate you,” you grit out but you rock your hips across his hand anyways, wanting more friction against your pussy.
Leon clicks his tongue, drawing his fingers away.
“Ngh- nooo,” you whine, trying to get his hand back to where you want him to touch you, “Leon!”
It’s too late though, Leon’s already unlatched himself, taking a few steps back to put some space between you two. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts, pursing his lips as he stares down at you.
“You’re a piece of shit, Leon.”
“You know, that makes me less inclined to want to touch you.”
“Fine,” you say, throwing your hands up, “I’ll just do it myself.”
“W- what?” Leon blurts out, gaze fixated on the sway of your hips as you push past him. He watches as you settle down onto his couch, your head tipping back as your hand disappears under your skirt and slips past the band of your panties.
A soft sigh escapes you when you touch yourself, eyes fluttering shut. You’re wet thanks to Leon, body squirming as your fingers circle your swollen clit to find some relief. 
“Fuck,” Leon hisses, watching as you masturbate on his couch without a care in the world. His cock throbs painfully and he’s dropping to knees before he can stop himself, hands grabbing at your legs.
“No,” you glare at him when he tries to pull your panties down, swatting his hand away.
“Please?” he pleads, eyes darkened with lust, “baby, please? I- I just wanna see.”
“‘m not your baby,” you grouse, trying to shove his face away as your fingers slide through your slick folds.
“You could’ve been,” Leon mutters.
He looks a little bitter and you raise your brows in question. “You hate me.”
“No I don’t,” he replies, nuzzling into your knee, lips pressing against your skin in a gentle kiss, “I want you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you murmur, rolling your eyes when he manages to capture your wrist in his hand, stopping you from pushing him away. A soft gasp escapes you when he curls his arms over your thighs, spreading you open for him.
“Been wanting to fuck you ever since he brought you ‘round,” Leon whispers, peppering kisses to your inner thighs, “you’re so pretty.”
You mewl, hips bucking as he pulls your panties down your legs. Leon’s eyes darken as your fingers move, spreading apart the folds of your pussy so he can get a good look.
“Fuck,” he groans, “pussy’s so fucking wet, baby.”
Your fingers run through his soft hair, pulling his head closer. Leon goes more than willingly, his tongue lolling out to lick a stripe up your pussy. He lets out a guttural moan, arms tightening around your thighs, hands disappearing up your top to squeeze at your tits as he all but shoves his face into your cunt.
“You- oh- you should apologize, Leon,” you whisper, pushing his head away when he tries to suck your clit into his mouth. “You didn’t like any of my outfits and you were mean.”
“Are you serious?” he asks, trying to nuzzle back into your pussy.
You nod, and he groans, half-lidded eyes never straying from your leaking cunt. 
“‘m sorry,” he breathes out, inching closer and managing to land a soft kiss to your aching clit, “‘m sorry, okay? I was an asshole and fuck-” Leon shudders, nudging past your hand to kiss your clit again as his eyes meet yours, “I didn’t him to want to see you like that, all pretty and dolled up.”
There’s a strange fluttering sensation in your chest, heart skipping a beat at his confession. You stare down at him, letting him kiss your clit one more time before you rub your fingers through your folds, pressing your slick fingers against his mouth. Leon moans, mouth opening, sucking your fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them.
“Don’t stop,” you mumble when Leon licks your pussy again.
He hums, squeezing at your tits, fingers pinching and tugging at your nipples as he eats you out. Soft mewls spill from your mouth, hips rocking to meet his mouth, back arching to press more of yourself against him.
You jerk in his grasp, an involuntary twitch running through your body when he strokes the pad of his thumb over your clit gently, his tongue burying itself inside of you. 
“Leon,” you whine, tugging at his hair while your head tips back, “‘m close.”
He doubles his efforts when you say that, pinching your nipples roughly as he slurps and sucks at the wetness of your pussy. The sounds are lewd, the soft smack of his lips around your slick folds and aching cunt making you flush.
“Taking my fingers so good,” he whispers, pushing two of his fingers inside of your cunt and cooking them so that they brush against your sensitive spot.
You fist his hair tighter, moans growing louder as he fucks his fingers in and out of you, his mouth latching onto your clit, tongue flicking and stroking across the swollen bud before sucking hard.
“Ah!” you squeak out, shoving his face further into your cunt, thighs trapping his face and squeezing tight as you cum, body shuddering and toes digging into his back, “Leon!”
Leon groans into your cunt, taking your orgasm eagerly, sucking and licking at your wetness, drinking it down. He huffs a breath when you try to push his head away, moving your hand away to lick over your pussy despite your twitching thighs and the painful grip you have on his hair.
He pulls away finally with a kiss to your clit, grinning up at you, his eyes hazy with lust. The lower half of his face is wet and Leon licks his lips before leaning towards you, his nose nudging against yours.
“Kiss me, sweetheart.”
You whine, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. He stares up at you, lips parted and you lower your head, hesitation and guilt forgotten as you press your lips against his. Leon lets out a contented sigh, his arms wrapping around your waist, lips moving against yours eagerly.
He gets off of his knees and crawls on top of you instead, hips slotting between your thighs. Your legs wrap around his waist, kissing him languidly and gasping into his mouth when he grinds his clothed cock against your bare cunt.
“Want it?” he whispers, trailing kisses down your neck, “want my cock, baby?”
“We- we shouldn’t,” you whisper weakly, watching as he sits back to pull his shirt up over his head.
You gulp nervously when you see his bare upper half, cunt clenching at the sight of his muscled abdomen and thick biceps. Leon ignores you, his lips slotting over yours again, hand caressing your waist soothingly.
A sigh leaves you, hands smoothing over his shoulders to pull him closer. He stares down at you, panting softly, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.
“You’re right,” he murmurs.
Neither of you make any moves to detach from each other however, Leon’s hand stroking over your hair as he grunts and rocks his hips against your cunt again.
“Just- shit- just the tip,” Leon offers, groaning when he feels your hands on his chest, “just the tip, baby.”
You whimper into his mouth when he kisses you again, fingers creeping down to pull at his shorts impatiently. 
“D- doesn’t count if it’s just the tip,” you agree breathlessly, hand wrapping around his fat cock.
“Yeah,” Leon says, his voice shaky, “yeah, doesn’t hah- doesn’t count if it's just the tip.”
Leon mutters out a curse when your thumb swipes over the sensitive head of his cock, kissing you roughly as he grasps his cock, pumping it a few times. You watch, flushed and eager as he presses his cock against your folds, rubbing it against you.
“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he snarls, moving his cock and slapping it the tip of it against your swollen clit, smearing pre-cum across your folds. “‘m gonna make you forget about him,” Leon slurs, “gonna make you mine, sweetheart.”
He presses the tip of his cock into you and you whine, clawing at his biceps, feeling the initial stretch of his cock. Leon grunts, his face pressing back into the crook of you neck, fucking you shallowly.
“Bet my entire cock would feel good,” he mumbles, kissing your neck, “wouldn’t that be nice, baby? My fat cock filling you up?”
“But- but we can’t,” you babble, gasping when he pushes his cock in a little more, “Leon- oh fuck-”
Your words die on your tongue when Leon drives his hips into you, cock filling you up completely. A strangled moan leaves you, head tipping back as you cry out, Leon groaning as he pounds his hips into you.
“Take it, sweetheart,” he grunts, hand smoothing over your hair as he kisses your cheek messily, “doing so good, made to take my cock, my sweet girl.”
The praise is making your eyes roll to the back of your head, legs tightening around his hips as your nails claw down his back.
“Kiss,” you whine, lips parting for Leon, “kiss me.”
Leon lets out a low growl, his lips crashing onto yours, cock dragging in and out of your clenching walls rapidly. The sounds of your skin clapping together fills his apartment, but you’re too cockdrunk, too utterly gone to have any care in the world. All you can think about is his weight on top of your body, his lips dragging across your skin, his cock pounding into you.
“Squeezing me so tight,” Leon moans, “gonna make me cum, baby.”
You nod rapidly, cunt clenching around him as the coil of pleasure in your stomach grows tighter and tighter.
“Leon!” you wail, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, body twitching.
“Cum,” he grunts, squeezing your hips tightly, “c’mon baby, cum on my cock. Be a good girl and cream my fucking cock.”
His lips slot over yours and you whimper, kissing him back needily as you shake in his grasp, orgasm racking through you as you cum. 
“Fuck-” Leon whispers, feeling the clench of your cunt around his cock, “baby, baby, baby.”
His hips stutter, his head falling between your breasts, soft pants filling the air as he cums. Leon’s hot cum floods your pussy, another whimper escaping you as you feel his cock twitch. 
You both lay there, chests heaving.
“I hate you,” you whisper, running your fingers through his soft hair.
“Yeah,” Leon rasps, “I know.”
He kisses you anyways. 
-
Your boyfriend’s been promoted.
It’s how you find yourself here, latched onto his arm as he talks with his colleagues with a tight smile on your face. Unfortunately for you, Leon happens to work at the same place which is why you spend most of your time trying to avoid him.
You’d tried to get out of attending the anniversary dinner, too ashamed and sick to your stomach, but your boyfriend had pleaded with you, which had only made you feel guiltier.
You can’t escape Leon’s gaze either. His eyes bore into you no matter where you go in the spacious venue and it gets to the point where you’re telling your boyfriend that you need to get some fresh air. There’s a fire escape and you take your chance, pushing past the heavy door to suck in a deep breath of the cool night air. The expanse of the city lies out before you, buildings lit up and roads bustling with traffic. You rub your aching temples, eyes squeezing shut. 
Unfortunately, you don’t get to cool down for long, not when Leon’s joining you. He looks as handsome as ever, especially in a suit, his hair combed back neatly.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Go fuck yourself, Leon,” you hiss out, pointing your finger at him accusingly.
A lazy grins spreads across his face, his arm curling around your waist to pull you flush against him. Your hands land against his chest, breath hitching when he lowers his head, the tip of his nose brushing yours.
“Fuck me yourself, hm?”
You end up bent over the railing with Leon’s fat cock stuffed inside of you. He grips your hips roughly, groans as you cry out into the night, peppers kisses over your shoulder and shoves his fingers into your mouth while he whispers sweet nothings to you. 
“You’re my girl.”
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fake-bleach · 4 months ago
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ROAD TRIP STOP | LOGAN HOWLETT x READER
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taking a small road trip with old man logan where you’re halfway to where you need to be, and you're bored out of your mind. unluckily for you, your boyfriend won't possibly give into your antics.
or, logan fucks you in a gas station bathroom <3
word count: 3.3k
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WARNINGS/DISCLAIMERS: (18+ only!) fem!reader, porn w/ slight plot lol, piv, unprotected sex, this shit is roughhh, degrading, filthyyy dirty talk, use of pet names, slight choking, coming inside/creampie, manhandling? i guess?, logan refers to himself as "your old man" bc i'm insane, anddd happy ending bc we all know how much i love those! :D
a/n: there aren't nearly enough fics abt old man logan & i need him Badly.
+ logan pictures from @divinesols incredible moodboard <3
ao3 link! | my masterlist
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you’re 4 hours into your road trip, and logan, well, being the man he is, hasn’t let you drive a single second.
he tells you that you can just sit there n’ look pretty and that’s good enough for him. but, he’s getting tired, and the nearest hotel isn’t for another 50 miles.
you notice his eyes getting heavier, his body slouching more, his grip on the steering wheel loosening. so, you do what you do best. why not have some harmless fun with your old boyfriend?
your hands subtly inch over to his thighs, fingers trailing the clothed skin just above his knee, and he flinches surprisingly, glancing at you for a moment with that tired face of his.
“what are y’doing? huh?” he asks, with a quirk in his eyebrow and his voice rasping more than usual from his fatigue; it only makes it all the more arousing for you.
you grin, your head turned to look up at him with a sly expression. “just waking you up a bit. you’re practically falling asleep here.”
your fingers move upwards now, slowly but surely, and right before you can reach the spot just below his bulge, he sighs out, gripping your hand to lightly push it off of him.
“not here. got another hour left til’ we’re at the hotel. then, we can rest up, baby.”
you pout, looking at him eagerly. “are you even gonna make it there, lo?” you tease, “your eyes are getting heavier, you’re tired.. why don’t you just let me drive?” you attempt, but you’re knocked down the second you try.
he huffs, shaking his head. “don’t you try that shit. you know what m’gonna say to that.”
you groan at that, rolling your eyes fussily as your head turns to look up at the roof of the car. “you’re insufferable,” you sigh out, jokingly, of course. but, you were with logan long enough to know just how stubborn he could be. that he could almost always be.
which means, you knew exactly how to get what you wanted, in more ways than one. 
let’s just say this way was more fun, anyway.
you let out an exasperated breath before turning back to face him, your eyes lighting up just slightly before you open up your mouth.
“guess i just gotta..” you trail off, hands now on your body with your fingertips grazing the skin on your chest; roaming around the loose shirt you had on. “..entertain myself for the next hour then..”
logan turns his head to you now, eyes fixing on your hand just long enough to catch you slip it underneath your bra, cupping one of your tits. you let out a low moan as you look into his eyes, fingers rolling the nipple there, and he scoffs.
it’s a sound that has your heart racing immediately.
“you’ve been a good girl so far, sweetheart. would hate for you to switch up when we’re almost fuckin’ there.” he warns you, turning his head back to the road, having seen enough. “don’t you start now. gonna make you regret it.”
a pang of arousal hits you just like that, pussy involuntarily clenching around nothing as he threatens you; a threat that you definitely need to see for yourself.
you merely pout at him again, but his words aren’t enough to stop you. not when you’re just getting started.
your hand leaves your breast, slowly inching down your stomach, then to the waistband of your shorts, all with your eyes still locked on him. you bite your lip as your hand breaches underneath the material, testing the waters before your fingers reach the hem of your panties.
fingertips aching to dip into the wet heat, you anticipate your own touch as your hands lower, but an immediate grasp at your wrist stops you completely, eliciting a gasp from your throat.
mouth falling open in shock, you turn to look at the man responsible with that gruff look on his face, and that snarl from him gives you more than enough of a warning.
you clear your throat, letting out a noise of frustration towards your boyfriend as he all but tosses your hand away carelessly.
“knock. it. off. don’t make me say it again.”
logan nearly growls at you, moving in closer to get right in your face; he isn’t playing around, and you know it.
but, god, does it only encourage you more.
it isn’t until logan’s focus is completely back on the road that you test the waters again; your fingers finally inserting themselves into your soft, warm folds, wet and waiting so impatiently.
it makes you moan, a hushed sound that you try your hardest to bite back from releasing, but you’re evidently unsuccessful.
so, before you know it, the truck is swerving, causing you to pull yourself back to hold onto the sides of the car, anywhere that you could grab onto. the wheels squeal loudly as the high pitch penetrates your ears, and logan makes a harsh u-turn without a second to waste.
“lo! what the fuck!” you exclaim loudly, wild eyes reaching for his own, but it’s no use. he’s dead set in front of him, shaking his head furiously as the white of his knuckles present itself from holding onto the wheel so tightly.
he’s had enough of your shit.
his eyes never leave the road in front of him once, never returning to you. no matter how much you talk or try to get him to respond, he doesn’t budge.
instead, for the next 5 minutes, silence fills the space between you as your eyes shut from your frustration. it’s all you really can do at this point.
but, it’s only when the high screech of the wheels halting and the gear being put into park has your eyes opening again, eyes latching onto the bright lights in front of you.
a gas station, and the convenience store’s white luminescent glass reflecting on logan’s face. he’s out the driver’s side as soon as you can look at him, and before you can process it, he’s dragging you out of the truck, slamming the door shut as he does so.
you scramble against him, fists almost pushing their hardest into his chest as you whine loudly, increasingly dazed and confused.
“logan, what the fuck are you doing?! let go of me!”
you fight against him harder, but there’s nothing stopping him. not now.
he lets out an exasperated breath, his heavy footsteps embedding themselves into the loud gravel beneath them as he drags you along.
“don’t play that shit with me. actin’ like you don’t know what the hell you’re doing,” he practically yells at you in a hushed voice, “you know what the fuck you’re doing.”
“walk.” he orders you instantly, and you don’t hesitate to obey. not when his voice gets like that.
most of all, because it makes your heart pound—pounding in your chest because he’s right. you know what you’re doing.. but, you can’t say you regret it. no, not one bit.
and if he’s gonna make you regret it, you might as well go all out. right?
his grip on your arm is tight as you walk side by side with him, leading you into the gas station with the door open for you. you can’t even acknowledge the cashier from how quick logan swifts the two of you past them; straight towards the bathroom, and it makes you gulp. 
it’s too late for anyone to be around, too late for anyone to care, and you know that. but, the thought exhilarates you anyway.
he shoves the door open with a hushed whisper—one that’s almost incoherent as it escapes his lips. “you wanna act like a fucking brat?” he shuts the door hurriedly, shoving your body against the sink, “i’m gonna treat you like a fucking brat.”
you yelp at the sudden movement, his fingers digging themselves into your skin as you cry out at the feeling. it’s rough and brutal and it burns, but it’s so fucking good.
“lo.. lo, please,” you whine as your eyes shut tightly, the overwhelming sensation of his hands on you and his hot breath hitting your skin being too much to handle.
your body is flush against the sink as you attempt to squirm, to try to get him to do something, anything.
that cruel laugh of his fills your ears—quiet yet booming in your head as it sends chills throughout your entire body, eyes flashing open to look at him in the mirror in front of you. “please? please?” logan mocks you, “do y’even know what you’re asking for, baby? nah.. you don’t.”
“you just want..” logan trails off, his hands mindlessly reaching for your shorts, “to get fucked.. like the whore you are.”
without a single warning, he yanks them down along with your panties, and your whines are impossible to stop when the cool air hits your bare skin. when his filthy words are the only thing you can think about.
“can’t keep these pretty hands to yourself, you gotta rile me up to do it for you?” you hear the clank of his belt unbuckling, the zipper of his jeans sliding down, “gotta piss me off every goddamn time you get so fucking needy? i mean,” he laughs harder now, “not that i really blame you..”
logan pauses, and his eyes that were once staring directly at you now shift to look straight ahead, latching onto your mirrored reflection instead. as if he was looking right into you now. “pretty girl like you.. would be a shame to let this cunt go to waste. so, i’ll do you a favor..”
your jaw falls open in complete shock as your face contorts, as the tip of his cock breaches your tight hole, making your eyes roll back instantaneously with a sob from your lips.
“i’ll use her real good. for what she’s made for, yeah?”
your hands grip the sink in front of you as tightly as possible, body trembling as logan groans into your ear, his hands on your body never loosening.
instead, his grip only tightens as his hips become flush against your ass, his entire cock piercing you to the hilt with a satisfied moan.
“that was easier this time, wasn’t it? gettin’ used to me now. just needed to..” logan takes a moment to pull himself out of you, the tip resting against your entrance as he groans. he slams himself back inside of you so hard that your body fails you, your hands landing on the mirror to hold yourself up, bent over.
“break her in real fucking good.”
your body shakes against him as you cry out at his intrusion, stammering out a string of noises as your walls involuntarily clench around him over and over again. it’s almost as if you’re rapidly adapting to him; the way he stretches you out so much that it hurts in the best way possible. you’re pulsing around him, increasingly growing wetter by the second as your eyes water from the intense sensation.
your words slur with a few whines of what seem to be logan’s name as your hands move back to the sink, attempting to push yourself back up against him, but he stops you. grabbing one of your hands, he places it right against the mirror again, holding it still as he grinds himself into you. it makes you breathe out rapidly, body bent over the sink completely now.
“keep em’ right there. right fucking there. you don’t get to do that. y’don’t get to make any choices here.” he grunts in your ear, his thick beard grazing along your jaw as his eyes flicker from your face back to the mirror. he notices the way you’re trembling, eyes filled with those pretty tears of yours, and it makes him smile—a chuckle leaving him shamelessly.
he takes a moment to admire you, whispering out, “what i’m gonna do to you, baby..” and it makes your eyes flutter shut, warmth filling your core.
his other hand trails up the front of your body now, and it practically covers you completely because of how big it is—your stomach, your breasts, your chest, then finally, your neck. your gasp is loud; heavy, as his fingers wrap around your throat, holding you still for him.
all of you in the palm of his hand—all in his control.
you moan eagerly as he looks into your eyes through the mirror, grinning almost maliciously, “isn’t this what you wanted?” he laughs, his hips stirring a bit as he agonizingly pulls out of you, making you wince, “you wanted my attention so bad, wanted my cock so fucking bad..” he growls in your ear, his hand sliding from your throat to the back of your neck, pushing you down hard, and it makes you grip onto the side of the sink even more. 
“well, now you fucking got it.”
the sound of his rasping grunt hits you first; before you’re sobbing out on his cock, pelvis hammering inside of you with a tight hold on your neck, keeping you there with no chance of stopping, no squirming, no escaping.. no running away from this.
all you can do is take it as he pounds into you, the agonizing ache of his cock sliding in and out of you rapidly increasing the coil in your core, your loud cries and moans enough to make him go harder.
“there you go, there she is..” logan grits out, hands now grasping at your hips, smacking your ass, eliciting a grunt from you, “better fuckin’ hope no one walks in here, or else all they’re gonna see is some whore gettin’ used.”
you cry out as you feel the tip of his cock reach the deepest parts inside of you, nudging your g-spot suddenly as a tear slides down your cheek, your knuckles white from how tight you were grasping at your surroundings. your cheeks grow hot from the idea of that happening, stomach tightening as heat pools your core.
“what’d they think, huh? you think they’d wanna join in on the fun? bet they’d wanna fuck you too after i’m done with you. tightest fuckin’ hole i’ve ever had.”
you whine out now, shaking your head desperately in retaliation as you deny it. you couldn’t ever have another man like this, not now, not ever—only him.
logan sighs out, “no, no, no, i’d never let em’ baby, don’t you worry,” he reassures you, pressing his lips against the top of your head, “this,” he murmurs, his hand reaching to cup the front of your cunt, the rough skin on his palm grazing your clit just enough to make you squeal, “s’all fuckin’ mine. you hear me? not a single soul gets to use her like i can.”
“not like she’d want it anyway. only wants my cock in her. s’the only way she can really be filled up.. fucked stupid and cryin’ for me. ain’t that right? never got fucked by a man like me before y’met me, and i’m sure as hell no one will ever get her trembling like i do.”
you shake your head again, tears continuously spilling out of your eyes as your stomach tightens repeatedly, “n-no, lo, only you—” you stammer out as logan buries himself inside of you to the hilt, plunging into the warm heat of your walls, and he slows, relying on pure power than pace now. the harsh drive of his hips has your head fogging up, so close to reaching your peak with your cunt shuddering.
“ohh, there we go, she’s doing it now. shaking all over this fucking cock, squeezin’ me so tight,” he hisses, “that all you up in this pretty little head, or can you even control it? can’t even control it, can you, baby?”
a string of noises leaves your lips, breathless and mixed with whines and a few tears in your eyes as your core spasms out, his cock hitting deep inside of you repeatedly.
“what was that? can’t really.. understand you, baby, y’gotta speak up..” he teases, a mean laugh escaping his throat, “c’monnn, use your words, really think em’ out, say em’ clearly.”
“c’mon, show me that you’re still my good girl. my good little girl. speak up for your old man, honey.”
you yelp out at his filthy words, “m’.. i c-can’t.. control it, ah!” your moans involuntarily stringing out, eyes fluttering shut and rolling to the back of your head, your pussy convulsing around him intensely. “g-gonna–c-cum, lo, oh—” you spit out, your chest grasping for as much air as possible.
he hums in your ear now, fingers reaching for your clit and fastening tight, harsh circles at it, making you shudder, your cunt throbbing around his cock—pulsating over and over again as you start to see white. “gonna fill you up, sweetheart, gonna make you take it, fuck.”
you can’t even register him anymore as he talks you through it, the “come for me, baby,” muffled in your ears as you listen to him, cunt constricting around him tightly as you soak him, and the sound is filthy as logan chases his release, squelching loudly from your climax.
you let out a muffled sob as logan finally reaches his peak, slamming himself deep inside of you as he holds you there, the spurts of white hot spilling & coating your walls. all you can hear is the ringing in your ears, along with the mixture of your heavy breaths and logan’s rasps surrounding you.
logan’s strong arms pull you up against him as you catch your breath, heart rate slowing as your back leans against his chest tiredly. he mutters sweet nothings to you, praising you with kisses along your neck, cheek, then to your lips.
“my good fucking girl, my sweet girl—oh, baby,” he hums in your ear, eyes shut as he takes you in. you sigh out, breathing him in as your hand reaches behind, landing on the back of his head to pull him in closer, “god, i love you.”
you laugh, pressing a mindless kiss on his skin, “i love you more, lo, i–i’m sorry for acting out, for being such a—” you begin to apologize, but he just shuts you up with another peck to your lips. “shh, you hush now. i appreciate it.. you riling me up all the damn time. s’ the only way i can still feel so young.”
you giggle, eyes opening up to turn your head to him, taking in his disheveled look—tired, old, grumpy. the man you loved, as handsome as ever.
“always young in my eyes, lo..” you smile, “besides.. it’s the only way i can get you to fuck me that good.” you tease.
he huffs, rolling his eyes. “i fuck you that good every goddamn time, n’ don’t you deny it.”
you laugh, nodding. you can’t deny that fact. but, your eyebrows furrow slightly, suddenly thinking back to the previous events.
“did you really fuck me in a gas station bathroom, babe? what if someone walked in?!” you groan, pushing your forehead into his chest, embarrassed.
he chuckles, “locked it the minute we got in here, baby. wouldn’t let anyone see you like that,” he reassures you, gently gripping the side of your head to make you look up at him, “you got that?”
his face is stern now as he looks into your eyes, and those butterflies in your stomach erupt as if it were the first time you ever got them from him. you nod though, gleaming up at him.
“got it.”
he grins, “good. now, let’s get you cleaned up n’ back on the road. back’s killing me even more now n’ that bed’s calling my name.”
you laugh at him, teasing him further. “old man.”
you wouldn’t want it any other way.
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itneverendshere · 1 month ago
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LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - NINE
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pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of leukemia; death; pregnancy; abortion.
💌MASTERLIST
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Rafe had been through a ton of traumatic bullshit by the age of fourteen. 
His mom had been battling leukemia since he was ten, it started off as an infection—but it turned into one of those long, drawn-out wars that tricks you into thinking there’s hope when there isn’t.
It would go away for a bit, just enough to make everyone think the fight was over, and then it’d come slamming back worse every time.
When he was fourteen, it finally took her for good, when he’d been silly enough to believe she might pull through. 
To be fair, he was only a little kid waiting on a miracle, praying she’d wake up one day magically cured.
Now, when he looked back on it, he hated himself for being so naive. The signs had been there all along, the nurses whispering in the hallways, Ward turning into this void of a human, who looked at him like he didn’t know how to fix it anymore. The talks his mom would have with him about how “no matter what happens, you’ll be okay.”
That phrase haunted him for years.
Her death didn’t wreck him; it tore him apart and left him in tiny pieces that didn’t fit together the same way. He wasn’t the same kid afterward, not even close.
He got angrier, distant. 
He didn’t recognize who he’d been before it all—some kid who really believed in happy endings.
He didn’t believe in much after she died, people let you down, life ripped everything good out of your hands. Why bother holding on to anything at all?
It wasn’t just the grief; it was the guilt.
He’d get mad at her, sometimes, for being sick. He’d slam his door and cry into his pillow because he just wanted a normal life, a mom who wasn’t always tired or in pain or hooked up to some machine.
He hated himself for that. 
The day of her funeral, he remembered everything, even though he wished he didn’t. The church smelled like old wood and lilies, that smell that never left you once it sank in.
People kept coming up to him, patting his shoulder, saying things like, “She’s in a better place now,” or “Stay strong, buddy.” 
He wanted to yell at them, shake them, make them shut up. She wasn’t in a better place. A better place would’ve been here, alive, laughing at his dumb jokes, or rolling her eyes at him for leaving his shoes in the hallway. It wouldn’t be six feet under, locked in a box, shoved into a hole in the ground like she never existed.
He didn’t cry, not when they opened the casket for everyone to say their final goodbyes, not when his dad stood up and choked through some half-assed speech that was mostly apologies and memories, not when they lowered her into the ground, the ropes creaking as her casket disappeared into the earth. 
He just stood there, hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead, as if he wasn’t even present. Inside, though?
His his chest was on fire. 
He refused to let even a single tear fall, it felt pointless, it wasn’t going to bring her back. It wasn’t going to fix anything. And deep down, he thought he didn’t deserve to cry, if he’d been stronger if he’d prayed harder, or been a better son, she’d still be alive.
The sound he remembered the most was the thud of dirt hitting the coffin after the service. It was final, loud, the earth itself mocking him. People around him sniffled, hugged each other, wiped at their eyes, but Rafe just stood there, staring down into the hole, fists buried in his pockets until his nails dug into his palms. 
He kept thinking about how wrong this all was, this wasn’t where she was supposed to end up, and none of this was fair.
She should’ve been there.
She should’ve been standing next to him, arm around his shoulder, telling him to stop slouching, whispering something to make him laugh in the middle of all this sadness. Instead, she was in there, soon the dirt would cover it up, and that’d be it. 
Gone. Just like that.
After the service, Rafe didn’t try to stick around for the house gathering, he wasn’t going to survive that. All those people crowding the living room, balancing paper plates of casserole, acting like they gave a fuck about his mom. It was fake, all of it. 
They’d forget about her in a week.
He slipped out when no one was paying attention, cutting through the side yard and heading to the only place that felt halfway normal—the old skate park behind the rec center. It was run-down as fuck, but he and his friends used to hang out there all the time, sitting on the busted ramps, talking trash, or just doing nothing.
When he got there, it was empty, which was exactly what he wanted. He climbed up on the old half-pipe, sitting cross-legged with his elbows on his knees, staring at the cracked pavement below. 
He couldn’t stop replaying the day in his head, the casket, the dirt, the stupid better place comments. His chest felt like it was breaking in a million tiny pieces, but he still couldn’t cry, his body just wouldn’t let him. 
Instead, he just sat there, wishing the world would leave him alone for five minutes.
That’s when he heard footsteps behind him.
He thought about running—didn’t need anyone seeing him like this, especially not now. But then you spoke.
“Figured I’d find you here.”
He didn’t look at you right away, just exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah? Well, congrats. You win the prize.” 
He wasn’t in the mood to be nice, even to you.
But you didn’t flinch, you never did. That’s one of the things he liked about you—you didn’t get scared off when he got like this. You just climbed up next to him and sat down. 
You didn’t try to say all that comforting bullshit people had been feeding him all day, and he was grateful for that.
“You okay?” you asked eventually.
He snorted. “Do I look okay?”
"Sorry, stupid question."
He sighed, hating that he was being asshole to his best friend, "It's fine."
When he finally glanced at you, you were watching him, trying to figure out what to say. It made him nervous, the way you looked at him. You always did that—you cared about what was going on in his head, you saw more than what he let people see.
“I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I know what you’re feeling,” you said finally. “But you don’t have to do this alone, Rafe. You know that, right?”
If only you knew what you would be going through just three short years later.
He wanted to snap at you, tell you to leave, he was fine, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just stared down at the pavement again, “Feels like I do.”
You didn’t say anything, just moved closer, close enough that your arm brushed against his. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him feel…something, less alone.
Rafe didn’t know how long you both sat there, could’ve been ten minutes, could’ve been an hour. Time didn’t feel real anymore, you didn’t push him to talk, which he appreciated more than he’d ever admit, you didn’t throw out any of those awkward “it’ll get better” lines. You just sat with him. 
“You can talk to me, you know.” 
He shook his head without looking at you. “There’s nothing to say.” His voice was rough, flat. “She’s gone. That’s it.”
“You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t suck."
He clenched his jaw, staring at the pavement like if he looked at you, everything would break.
“What’s the point?” he muttered. “Crying’s not gonna change anything. It’s not gonna—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to force it back.
“Rafe.” You sighed, and this time “You don’t have to hold it together for anyone, okay? It’s me.”
That broke him, actually broke him. His chest felt tight, suddenly he couldn’t keep it in.
His breath hitched, his shoulders shook, and before he knew it, tears were sliding down his face. He tried to stop it, to hide it, scrubbing his hands over his face, but it was no use.
“Shit,” he choked out, his voice cracking once more.
“Hey, hey,” you said quickly, and before he could pull away or do something stupid like tell you to leave, you scooted over.
He froze for a second, unsure what to do, but then he remembered the funeral, the whispers, the dirt hitting the casket, all the things he couldn’t stop thinking about—he just let it all out.
The first sob ripped out of him so suddenly it startled him, he hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands gripping his hair, as if he could physically stop himself from breaking. But it didn’t work.
Another sob followed, and then another, and soon they were pouring out of him—loud, messy, completely out of his control. He couldn’t stop it, and he hated it.
He leaned into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, and just cried. When he felt your arms instantly wrap around him, pulling him into a hug as if you’d been waiting for his permission, he shattered completely.
“She’s—” His voice caught in his throat, and he had to stop, gasping for air as the tears kept coming. “She’s gone. She’s gone, and I—” He broke off.
It was ugly and loud and nothing like how he’d pictured himself breaking down, but he didn’t care. You didn’t tell him it’d be okay or try to make him stop, just held him, your arms tight around him. 
“I miss her,” he whispered, his voice so small it barely sounded like him. “I miss her so much, and I—I don’t know what to do.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried like this, and part of him hated how exposed it made him feel. He hated crying in front of people—anyone. But right now, with you, he didn’t feel embarrassed. 
“I know,” you nodded, your hand moving in small circles on his back. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
“I—” he choked out, his voice breaking. “I can’t—this isn’t—it’s not fair.”
“It’s not,” you didn’t want to scare away the fragile pieces of him that were finally surfacing. “It’s not fair. None of it is.”
He couldn’t stop shaking or gasping for breaths that hitched in his chest. The more he tried to push it all backdown, the harder it fought to claw its way out. For years, he’d kept it buried—buried so deep he thought he’d never have to deal with it.
“I hate it,” he managed, the words tumbling out in a jagged mess. “I hate that she’s gone. I hate that I didn’t—” He stopped, gripping his hair harder. “I didn’t do enough. I should’ve been better, done something—anything.”
“Stop. You can’t do that to yourself.”
He shook his head violently, “But I did. I gave up on her. I stopped believing she’d get better, I—I got mad at her for being sick. What kind of son does that? I didn’t even say goodbye the way I should’ve. I just—I left the hospital because I couldn’t take it anymore, and then she—” His voice cracked again, and his hands dropped from his hair to his lap, clenched into fists “She’s gone, and I left. I wasn’t there when she—” His breath hitched, and he buried his face in his hands.
“You’re a kid. It’s not your fault, okay? None of this is.”
“But it feels like it is,” he shot back, “I should’ve done something, anything. I just feel so—” He stopped, letting out a shaky exhale. “Empty. Like nothing I do matters anymore.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The way you said it, so certain—He didn’t know why, but it cut through the noise in his head just enough to let him breathe again.
“I don’t know how to keep going,” he admitted, “I don’t know how t-to live without her.”
Growing up, Rafe had always been a momma’s boy. 
She was his safe place—the one person who didn’t make him feel like he had to be someone else. With her, he didn’t have to try so damn hard to be tough, or perfect, or whatever the hell his dad wanted him to be. 
Ward wasn’t the kind of dad who let his kids cry on his shoulder or told them he loved them every day. No, Ward was the kind of dad who believed in rules.
Men didn’t cry. Men didn’t show weakness. Men didn’t mess up—or, if they did, they sure as hell didn’t admit it.
He expected Rafe to follow those rules like they were gospel.
The worst part? His rules about what it meant to be a man stuck with Rafe, even when he didn’t want them to. When his mom got sick, he found himself choking back tears in the hospital bathroom, staring at his reflection and hearing Ward’s voice in his head: “Crying doesn’t solve anything. You’ve gotta be strong, for her, for your sisters.”
He had this idea in his head of what Rafe was supposed to be—strong, dependable, successful. He didn’t yell or lose his temper like some dads back then, he just made him feel like shit in this fucked up way.
Rafe tried, shit, he’d tried, but it felt impossible.
Every time he looked at his mom, pale and tired but still managing to smile at him like he was her whole world, he felt like he was dying too, then he’d feel guilty—for being so weak, for wanting to break down when she was the one fighting for her life.
It didn’t help that Ward had always had a soft spot for Sarah. Everyone could see it, even Rafe. She was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, the one Ward went out of his way to protect. 
If Rafe screwed up, it was a lecture or a punishment, but if Sarah did? Ward would just shake his head and say, “She’s still young. She’ll learn.”
It used to piss him off more than he wanted to admit. It wasn’t that he hated her—she was his sister, and he loved her. But how could he not resent her? He felt invisible when she got all the attention and the understanding, while he was expected to man up and deal with it.
After her funeral, things changed.
Rafe became quicker to snap, to walk away from anything that felt too hard. He was only himself around you, behind closed doors, never for preying eyes. Sarah grew colder, retreating into her own world where everything was controlled and distant.
Every time they spoke, it ended in shouting matches, slamming doors, or long stretches of silence that neither of them attempted to solve.
Except when you were there.
Ward got even colder, the grief had frozen whatever part of him used to care. He threw himself into work, making sure Sarah was okay, and barely even looked at his son. When he did, it was usually to tell him to pull it together, or to stop being so “moody.”
Rafe started to wonder if he even cared that he was falling apart, if he ever noticed the nights Rafe stayed out too late or came home smelling like booze. If he saw the way he avoided talking to him, how he flinched whenever Ward brought up his mom. But if his dad noticed, he never said anything. 
He thought it was just Rafe being Rafe—angry, unpredictable, a disappointment.
Fast forward to the present, and he hadn’t felt this helpless since that day at the funeral, not even when Ward’s died four months ago. 
You weren’t in his life anymore—hadn’t been for a while and you were possibly pregnant. 
He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but it made sense, everything lined up with that possibility. He thought back to everything you’d been through together, the times you’d been there for him when no one else was, how you’d seen the pieces of him no one else cared to.
Now, you were having his kid—and he was hearing about it from Topper?
Rafe spent the first hour after Topper dropped the news pacing his bedroom like a caged animal, his heart wouldn’t stop racing and he felt like a ticking time bomb. 
The Rafe—the one who flew off the handle, yelled, broke things, and pushed people away—was begging to get out. But Topper’s voice kept replaying in his head, he had to act right, be calm, for your sake. To prove himself.
The problem was, that staying calm wasn’t his strong suit. 
He’d spent years burying every emotion he couldn’t control under layers of anger, and now he was supposed to sit with the hurricane in his chest and figure out how to make things right. 
For the first time in a long time, he realized he didn’t even know where to start.
That night, he locked himself in his room, ignoring his phone, his friends, everyone. None of it mattered anymore, the only thing he could think about was you—and the baby. 
He spent hours pacing, running his hands through his hair, trying to think of what the fuck he was going to say.
What was he gonna say after everything he’d put you through? After the fight, the distance, the way he’d shut you out when you’d been nothing but good to him until that point?
He sat down on the edge of his bed, head still in his hands, and let himself feel everything he’d been avoiding. The fear, the regret, the anger at himself. He thought about you—how you used to look at him like he wasn’t just a mess of a person, you’d stuck by him even when he’d given you every reason to leave.
You weren’t here anymore.
He’d pushed you so far away you hadn’t even told him about the situation yourself. Why would you anyway? He ghosted you and the next time you saw him he was with someone else. He could still see the look on your face when you saw him that night—arms slung casually around Sofia, while you sat in your car, eyes wild, you hadn’t tried to step outside, hadn’t yelled or made a scene, you simply drove off. 
It wasn’t until an hour later and terrible text message to you, that drunk and pissed at himself, he realized just how badly he’d screwed up. But by then, the damage was done, and he’d been too much of a coward to fix it. What followed was a sea of bad decisions and nights he couldn’t remember, trying to drown out the ache of losing you. 
He’d been drinking for Ward’s death until that point, now he did it for you.
Everything was catching up to him—the way he let his dad’s voice in his head drown out his own, making him let you slip through his fingers.
He didn’t deserve you—he knew that.
By sunrise, Rafe was still wide awake, sitting on the floor of his room surrounded by half-crumpled pieces of paper. He’d been trying to write down what he wanted to say to you, but everything sounded wrong. He’d never been good with words, not the kind that mattered.
He wasn’t a dad, wasn’t even close to being the kind of guy who could be a dad. 
What the fuck did he know about raising a kid? Changing diapers? Teaching someone right from wrong? Being patient? But the thought of you—of you carrying his kid—hit him differently.
At first, it had been pure panic. You hated him, what if you didn’t want him involved? What if he was just like Ward—cold, distant, always expecting too much? What if he screwed the kid up the same way he felt like he’d been screwed up? 
He pictured it without meaning to: you holding a tiny bundle in your arms, your face soft in a way he hadn’t seen in so long. A kid with your smile, your laugh—but his eyes. Or his messy hair. It scared the shit out of him.
What if she doesn’t even want to keep it?
Rafe hadn’t let himself go there at first, it was a lot to wrap his head around, the idea that there might not even be a child to fight for. 
The thought of you going through this, struggling to make a choice that he couldn’t help with, made him feel useless. 
Frustrated, he grabbed his keys and headed out, needing to clear his head. The island was silent this early, the kind of calm that used to make him feel trapped, but now, though, it was a relief. He drove aimlessly for a while, the salty air whipping through the open windows, until he found himself parked at the beach.
He didn’t know why he’d come here—well, you’d always bring him here when he spiraled. He sat there, watching the waves crash against the shore, feeling a weird sort of clarity that he hadn’t felt in months. 
Perhaps it was the silence, or the way the ocean didn’t care about all the fucking mess in his head, but something about it made him stop spiraling for a second.
He started to think about what Topper had said—not just about staying calm, but about proving to you that he still cared. That wasn’t something he could do with words alone, not after everything. He’d have to show you, he’d have to be the version of himself you used to believe in, the one who wasn’t ruled by his worst impulses.
Rafe knew the first step before he could even think about talking to you: he had to end things with Sofia. They weren’t official, but they might as well have been. 
People talked, made assumptions, and sure, he’d let them. It was easier that way—less explaining, less having to deal with the uncomfortable truth that he’d only been with her to fill the empty space you left behind. It was cruel, but at the time, he hadn’t cared. 
Sofia wasn’t you, but she was there, and more importantly, she didn’t expect anything from him. Keeping things going with her wasn’t just a bad idea; it was disrespectful. To you, to her, to himself. He couldn’t pretend he cared about her like that—not when his heart had never really left your orbit.
When he showed up at her place that morning before work, she didn’t seem surprised—not even a little. She’d seen the writing on the wall for weeks now, but tonight, seeing him standing there, just confirmed what she already knew.
She watched him like she was waiting for him to get to the point, but not impatiently—just resigned, she already knew what he was about to say.
“Can I come in?” 
She let him in without a word, she wasn’t mad, not really. If anything, she felt sad—mostly for him, a little for herself. How the fuck was he supposed to explain this without sounding like the worst person alive?
“You okay?” she asked quietly, she wasn’t being polite—she was trying to read him, figure out where this was going.
Rafe didn’t sit, didn’t take off his jacket. He stayed standing, hands shoved deep in his pockets, trying to find the words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you about something. 
She raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing together in a tight line. “Be honest.”
“This...this isn’t fair to you,” he started, his words tumbling out fast, “I should’ve been real with you from the start, but I wasn't," He swallowed hard, “You deserve better than me using you to forget someone else.”
Sofia didn’t say anything at first, just crossed her arms loosely, not making it easy for him, but she wasn’t making it harder, either.
“I shouldn’t have dragged you into this,” he continued, forcing himself to look at her. “It feels wrong and it’s not because of you. You’re great. You’ve been...you’ve been more patient with me than I deserve.”
Her lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that wasn’t quite happy but wasn’t cruel either. “But you’re still in love with her.”
He didn’t know why it shocked him—Sofia had always been perceptive—but hearing her say it out loud made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.
“I—” He hesitated, but there was no point in denying it. “Yeah.”
“I knew,” She nodded like she’d been waiting for that confirmation. “I figured. I told myself it didn’t matter because—because I thought maybe you’d move on. Maybe I could help you move on. But you didn’t, and I—” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head as her arms tightened around herself.
Rafe’s brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
She shrugged, the movement almost casual. 
“Because I really like you,” she admitted, “I knew. The party? When you got blackout drunk after seeing her leave? Or the country club, when you nearly started a fight defending her? I know you drove her to the hospital too. I kept hoping—God, I kept hoping you’d see me, that you’d let me be enough.”
He’d known she cared—he wasn’t blind—but hearing her saying like that made him realize just how he fucked up. She wasn’t wrong. He had been trying to numb himself, to drown out the reality of losing you, and she had been the collateral damage.
He looked away, guilt twisting in his chest. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this. That wasn’t fair to you.”
“No,” she agreed, her tone firm but not unkind. “It wasn’t, but I don’t think you meant to hurt me either, you were trying to hurt yourself. It's still stupid of me to try, knowing you need to figure your shit out, but you don’t have to end things. I know what I signed up for, Rafe. I’m not asking you to choose me over her—I’m just asking you to try."
There was no anger in her voice, no bitterness—just exhaustion. It made him feel like a piece of shit because she deserved to feel angry, to lash out at him. But instead, she was still trying to give him a way out, a way to make this easier on himself.
“I’ll take whatever part of you I can get.”
It wasn’t desperate or pleading—it was resigned. She already knew the answer, but she couldn’t help saying it out loud.
Rafe shook his head, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “You deserve someone who can give you everything. That’s not me.”
“Why not?” she pressed, her tone insistent.
“Because all of me already belongs to her,” Rafe admitted, his voice breaking at the end. “It always has, it always will.”
Sofia blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise, but she didn’t look hurt—just...sad. She nodded slowly, her shoulders dropping in defeat.
“I hope she knows what she has, and I pray you show her," She stood up and motioning toward the door. “We both deserve better than a guy who drinks himself to death after seeing her at a party. So do you.”
Rafe didn’t move right away, unsure if he should say something more, apologize again, explain himself better. 
“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.
“Don’t thank me,” she replied, “Just do better.”
“I shouldn’t have let it go on this long,” he confessed, “I just—I didn’t know how to stop.”
Her expression softened just enough to show the tiniest sliver of empathy. “For what is worth, I think she still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now.” She paused, her hand resting on the doorknob, but she didn’t turn around, “Next time, please don’t do this to someone else, and don’t do it to her again, either.”
She still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now. He wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. The faint possibility, that you might still love him, it meant he had a chance but it also meant he could screw them up even worse.
He stood slowly, “Thank you,” he repeated,“For...everything.”
She didn’t look at him, but she nodded, opening the door and holding it for him. “Take care of yourself,” she said, and it wasn’t cold or angry—just sad.
By the time he got back to his car, he knew she wasn’t wrong, about any of it. 
She hadn’t screamed or cried or made him feel like the asshole he knew he was, that made it worse. If his mom was here, she would’ve smacked him across he head for hurting two amazing women at the same time. 
He hadn’t been ready to deal with his feelings for you—not when he started whatever the fuck it was with Sofia, not when he ran into you at that party, not when he defended you at the country club.
He’d been running, hiding, trying to bury everything under distractions that only made him feel emptier.
He leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes, and for a moment, it was like he was fourteen again, sitting on the edge of his mom’s hospital bed while his mom teased him.
“Come on, sweetheart” she’d said, her voice playful, even through the weariness. “You’ve been talking about her birthday for weeks. I think you like her more than you’re letting on.”
Rafe’s head shot up, and his ears burned red. “Mooomm,” he groaned, dragging out the word, “it’s not like that, she’s my best friend.”
“She’s your pretty best friend,” she’d corrected, smiling at him in that knowing way only she could. “You’re gonna pick out something nice for her, right?”
“I already did,” he mumbled, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket and holding it out like it was some great secret. Inside was a delicate bracelet he’d saved up for, something special, something he thought you’d like.
His mom’s smile had softened, the teasing fading into something more tender. 
“She’s lucky to have you,” she’d said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Even if you are a little knucklehead sometimes.”
He’d ducked away, embarrassed but secretly pleased, tucking the box back into his pocket.
“M’m not a knucklehead,” he complained, but she just laughed, and it was one of the last times he remembered hearing her laugh like that—free, unburdened, just his mom.
“She’s a good one. You’ve got good taste.” Her smile softened, and the teasing faded into something gentler. “I hope I’m still around when you get married. I’d love to see you happy like that.”
The words were a punch he hadn’t expected. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What could he even say to that? He wanted to argue, to tell her she would be, but the look in her eyes stopped him.
She knew. She always knew.
He just nodded, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. “Me too.”
She squeezed his hand. “Promise me something?”
“Anything,” he said without thinking because he meant it.
“When you find that person—really find them—don’t let them go. Not for anything.”
He nodded again.
Years later, standing in a stupid fucking car alone, those words haunted him. He’d found that person, he’d had her and he’d let her go.
“God,” he muttered, the self-loathing reaching a new high, “I’m so sorry, mom.”
As terrifying as it was to think about being a dad, to think about raising a kid when he was still trying to figure out his own life… the idea of losing this chance—of losing you, or the baby, or both, for good —scared him even more.
For the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron felt something close to hope, but it was tainted in so much fear and uncertainty, that he wasn’t sure what to do with it.
The rest of the day, he forced himself to slow down. 
He went back home, cleaned up the disaster of a room he’d been holed up in, and tried to think like a normal guy instead of a walking disaster. He even let Topper come over, though his patience for his relentless commentary wore thin fast.
“You’ve got one shot at this, dude,” Topper said, perched on Rafe’s desk like he owned the place. “If you go in there guns blazing, she’s just gonna think you’re the same old Rafe. And honestly? You can’t blame her.”
Rafe rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue, Topper was right, as annoying as it was to admit.
He spent the evening coming up with a plan—just enough to make sure he didn’t go in blind. He practiced what he’d say in his head, pacing the kitchen while the sun sank below the horizon. Every time he started to panic, he forced himself to breathe, to remember why he was doing this.
By the time 24 hours had passed, he didn’t feel ready, but he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. The thought of you sitting somewhere, thinking he really didn’t care or that he wouldn’t step up?
That was worse than any fear he had about facing you. So he grabbed his keys, and headed out, this time, he wasn’t running away.
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Rafe stood by your door, he’d gotten in the property using the gate’s code, one he’d hoped you had changed to keep him out, but you hadn’t.
He’d never been good at patience, never needed to be—not when he could push his way into anything. But this was different, you were different, always had been.
The wood under his hand was cool, in a way that pissed him off because it reminded him that there was a barrier between you and him, again, always.
He wanted to scream, kick the fucking thing down like the old Rafe would’ve, or instead use the keys you’d given him years ago. Instead, he stood there, swallowing his pride because you were worth it, even if it was tearing himself in half.
His knuckles dragged down the frame, fist clenching as if the pressure would ground him, keep him from losing his shit. He wasn’t here to fight, wasn’t here to make your life harder, no matter how much you thought he was. 
The door rattled slightly when he pressed his forehead against it, eyes squeezing shut. “Five minutes. Please.”
Nothing.
His jaw worked, teeth grinding against the words he wanted to say but couldn’t, not if he wanted you to open the door. He couldn’t do this anymore—the back-and-forth, the lies. He wasn’t sure what broke first—your resolve or the knot in his throat. 
When you didn’t answer again, he sank to sit on the porch, back against the door like he could still feel you on the other side. You were there—close enough to touch if there wasn’t this fucking door between you.
That was his fault.
He used to be the guy you’d let in without thinking twice, shit, there was a time when he didn’t need to knock.
He was in, part of your life, part of you.
Now, you were holed up, scared of him. Yeah, that ate him alive. He’d earned that fear—every cold shoulder, the slammed door, he deserved it.
He should’ve been different, been better, been someone you didn’t have to lock out. You were scared, and it killed him because it wasn’t just fear, it was him. He was the reason you didn’t feel safe enough to let the secret out, the reason your voice cracked when you told him to leave.
He had put that look in your eyes, the one he couldn’t unsee, no matter how hard he tried.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
He could almost hear you breathing, shakily, like you were preparing yourself to outlast him.
He wanted to push. Fuck, he wanted to shove the door open, make you look at him, make you tell him everything—but that was the old Rafe, he took what he wanted, and bulldozed through whatever stood in his way.
Where had that ever gotten him? Nowhere but here: on the wrong side of a door, the wrong side of you.
He exhaled, long and slow, hand falling limp to his side.
What the hell was he doing? Forcing his way in, forcing answers—that wasn’t going to fix this. It never did. You’d push harder, build the walls higher, and he couldn’t stomach the idea of you hating him more than you already did.
“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “I get it.”
He didn’t know if you could still hear him, perhaps you were blocking him out completely. Maybe you were curled up with your hands over your ears. He hoped you weren’t crying, though the thought twisted and turned something deep in him.
“I’m not gonna push you,” he said, hating how defeated he sounded. “You don’t owe me anything.”
He ran a hand down his face, swallowing hard, trying to keep it together.
“I just... I just want you to be okay.” He hesitated, then pressed his palm flat against the door, wishing he could reach you somehow, without scaring you, “Baby or not.”
He waited, hoping for something—a sound, a movement, anything, but the silence was absolute.
His heart clenched as he pushed off the door and took a step back, his shoes scraping against the porch. He didn’t want to leave, he never wanted to leave, but this wasn’t about what he wanted. Not anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, almost to himself, "I'm so sorry. I’m sorry it took me this long, okay?”
He stopped halfway, looking back, hoping—praying—for some sign. A light flicking on, the sound of the door creaking open, your voice calling his name, anything.
But the house stayed still, it had already moved on from him. 
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He didn’t remember deciding to drive to Poguelandia; he felt it in his gut, in the pit of his chest, this pounding certainty that Sarah knew something he didn’t. You wouldn’t tell him—but Sarah? You’d chosen her to drive you home from the hospital just a few days ago.
She was the only person that could lie to his face properly, he couldn’t fucking figure her out, she was always deflecting shit wherever they talked.
By the time he pulled up to the pogues’ little hideaway, the sky had darkened, the place lit only by the glow of string lights and the hum of voices inside. He sat in the truck for a second, staring at the house, willing himself to calm down.
Barging in—loud, pissed, impulsive—wasn’t going to get him what he needed. But fuck, it was hard not to.
He climbed out, slamming the door behind him with just enough force to feel better for half a second. The screen door creaked as he stepped up to the porch, and he could already hear them inside—Sarah’s laugh, JJ cracking some dumbass joke, the rest of them chiming in like they didn’t have a care in the world.
He hated this, hated how they all looked at him, as if he was some ticking time bomb ready to explode. They weren’t wrong.
Rafe knocked, hard and sharp, the laughter inside cut off instantly. Footsteps approached the door, hesitant. A second later, it swung open, and there she was, his sister, looking at him like he was the last person she wanted to see.
“Rafe,” she said, one hand still gripping the door. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We need to talk.”
Her brows pulled together, suspicion creeping into her expression. “Now? Seriously?”
“Yeah, now,” he snapped, stepping closer, his voice low enough to keep from drawing the others’ attention. “Don’t make me say it in front of them.”
She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder toward the voices in the living room. “Rafe, I don’t think—”
“Don’t,” he cut her off, his tone sharper than he meant. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to soften, to keep it together. “I need you to tell me the truth.”
She glanced back again, then sighed, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind her. He was already pacing, hands twitching at his sides, hardly able to contain the energy inside him. 
The way she looked at him—wary, guarded—only made it worse.
“What the hell is your problem?” she asked, crossing her arms, like she was already bracing for a fight.
“My problem?” he barked out a laugh, sharp. “You really wanna play dumb right now? You’ve been keeping something from me, Sarah. I know you have.”
Her brows knit together, feigning confusion, “Dude. What’s this about? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit,” he hissed, stepping closer, “Don’t lie to me. I already know, okay? I know about the baby.”
She didn’t say a word, didn’t confirm a thing, just stared at him like he was some wild animal.
“Where did you get the idea that she’s pregnant?”
His mouth opened, then closed. It felt wrong to snitch on Topper when he’d been one making him pry a little more.
“Well?” she pressed, “Answer me. How did you come up with that?”
Saying it out loud felt like admitting he’d been just as reckless and intrusive as everyone expected him to be. His hand ran over his face, trying to stall.
“I didn’t just make it up.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed, her patience waning. “No shit. So where, Rafe?”
He glanced away, then back, his voice defensive. “Topper said something, okay? He heard—he thought—” Rafe stopped, knowing how weak it sounded.
 “Topper? You’re taking life advice from Topper now?”
“He didn’t mean anything by it!” Rafe was quick to defend him, “He just... he mentioned some things, and it got me thinking. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Sarah repeated, “You barged over there because Topper mentioned ‘some things’ ? Jesus Christ.”
His hands flew up in frustration. “What was I supposed to do? Pretend I didn’t hear it? Ignore it and hope it went away? I needed to know!”
“No, you didn’t,” Sarah shot back. “You wanted to know. There’s a difference, and it’s the difference that keeps getting you into this shit.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Rafe pointed a finger in his direction, “Like I’m crazy or something. I’m not stupid.”
"You’re just not worth the energy right now."
Instead of crying like he wanted to, he let out a dry laugh, pacing back and forth in front of her.
"Right. Sure. I can see it all over you, just say it."
She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You don’t know what you’re talking about. Neither does Topper.”
“Stop lying!” His voice rose, loud enough to echo into the dark yard. “Just stop. You know something.”
Sarah’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, Rafe thought he’d finally cracked her. Except instead of giving him what he wanted, she just let out a slow breath, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that made him feel like a child fighting for his favorite toy.
“You want to know the truth?” 
“Yes,” he bit out, his chest heaving.
She stepped forward so they were only inches apart. “The truth is, you don’t deserve to know. Not yet.”
Everyone kept telling him the same thing, couldn’t they see he was already trying?
He staggered back a step. "What the fuck does that mean?"
"It means, that whatever you’re looking for, whatever answers you think you deserve, they’re not yours to take. Not until you can handle them without breaking everything you touch."
He flinched, her words striking something inside him, “You don’t get to decide that for me,” he said, almost desperate.
“I’m not deciding anything,” she replied, her eyes never leaving his. “You’ve spent these last few months making everything about you. Your pain, your anger, your needs.”
He glanced away, “So, what? You don’t trust me?”
Her silence was louder than anything she could have said.
“You don’t,” he murmured, the realization bitter in his mouth.
"I don’t," she agreed, “You’re still not the person she needs you to be, and until you can prove you can do that—without me, without anyone holding your hand—you’re better off not knowing.”
“I’m trying. I swear to fucking God, I’m trying. I don’t know how to fix it.”
“She’s scared you’re going to hurt her again—whether you mean to or not. You’re dating someone else, for god’s sake.”
“I ended it. This morning.”
Sarah’s eyebrows lifted slightly, “Doesn’t change the past, Rafe. And it sure as hell doesn’t make everything better overnight.”
Rafe flinched, the words sinking into him like stones. "Why the fuck do you think I’m here? I don’t want to hurt her—I can’t do anything if she won’t even talk to me."
Topper still had that number. 
You hadn’t hidden it well enough, he hadn’t done anything with it, but it was tempting. All he had to do was call, just to confirm, he told himself. Not to pry, simply to know for sure.
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. This isn’t something you can force your way into. She would never forgive you, please be smart.”
His first instinct was to lash out, fire back some venom-laced retort that would sting as much as her tone. He nodded, swallowing hard.
“Okay,” He dragged a hand through his head, “I know that, I know. But I can’t just sit here, doing nothing. I need to... I need to show her I can do better. That I am better.”
“You need to crawl through hell to understand a fraction of what she’s going through; you need to stop thinking about what you want and start thinking about her.”
His hands fell to his sides, limp, the fight suck out of him. She was right—he hated that she was. This wasn’t about him anymore; it never had been.
 “What can I do?”
Her expression softened, not with forgiveness but something sadder—she wanted to believe he could. “You start by fixing yourself, then you wait. Until she’s ready, if she’s ready. You’ve got to mean that, Rafe, you screw this up again..."
"I won’t," he said firmly, cutting her off. "I can’t."
“Okay.”
“What if she’s not ready?”
He had no right to demand more.
“You keep going, keep trying. Not for her, not for anyone else—just for you.”
By the time he got back in his truck, the hurt in his body hadn’t lifted. His mom’s words echoed in his mind one more, “When you find that person, don’t let them go. Not for anything.”
Maybe that started with learning to be the person who deserved to hold on.
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soobnny · 3 months ago
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stay (forever, if you’d like) — lee know x reader ; the six times he asks you to stay (2.3k words)
happy bday lee know, you are my light
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one.
There’s this thing about Minho—in the way his eyebrows are furrowed, eyes sharp, and lips always in a tight line. It’s why they call him cold, unapproachable. The same people that have intrigue and intimidation written on their faces when they lay eyes on the boy.
They just don’t know him.
His eyes are a lot softer than they describe. They’re wide, wonder-like, and they shine with something you can’t quite identify, but there. Present. There is so much you can decipher with a single look—mischief, pain, sincerity, love.
Those same eyes are looking at you right now. Almost pleading, but painfully trying not to look obvious.
“It’s getting dark outside.” He acts as if he isn’t the reason you’re still at his dorm.
Attempts at leaving, all in vain, flash before your eyes. You have to admit, your best friend is nothing but convincing, and a little manipulative in how he keeps you captive until there is reason for you to stay. “You should stay.”
You can hear the kettle whistling from a distance. It’s water for tea with measurements for two, like he knew you wouldn’t leave.
“Min.” You let out a breathy laugh. He’s almost detached himself from the couch he’d sprawled himself on earlier, inching closer and closer and closer until he gets the answer that he wants.
It’s obviously for your safety, it’s dangerous walking along at night. You would be stupid not to stay. That’s what he tells himself, but there is a feeling in his stomach telling him there’s more to it. He really really doesn’t want to think about it right now.
“Fine,” you sigh.
“Good decision. It seems that you value your life after all,” he says. There’s a hint of a smile playing on his lips that he doesn’t quite show. You can always tell, though. It’s usually when he gets something he wants.
“But I’m leaving first thing in the morning.”
(You won’t.)
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two.
seungmin (2:03am): pls pick minho up. drunk
You have to look at Seungmin’s message twice before it properly registers.
You remember Minho telling you he wouldn’t be drinking tonight, but it seems there’s been slight changes to his plans. You wonder if Jisung’s peer pressure finally worked on him tonight.
yn (2:05am): omw
Your dorm is only a few minutes away from where they’re drinking, and your best friend had asked you to come with him earlier, but you’d decided against it. You weren’t in the mood for the stench of alcohol in your nasal cavity.
Though, with your sudden task of picking the boy up, it seems unavoidable now.
It isn’t difficult to spot him. The moment you’re merely a block away, you find Minho just outside with a sleeping Felix on his shoulder. Their backs are slouched, and his eyes look like they’re fighting not to close.
“(Name)!” Seungmin calls out for you first, and it’s hard to miss Minho’s head pointed directly in your direction the moment your name slips out of his friend’s mouth, like he’s been looking there this whole time.
“It was fun to have blackmail material at first, but now I’m just tired.” The younger boy sighs.
You laugh, and something bitter bubbles in the sitting boy’s stomach. He lets himself sit on the feeling for quite a while. Jealousy is an ugly monster, but he doesn’t know that yet. “Please take care of him.”
When you crouch in front of Minho, the scowl on his face softens.
“You’re here.” He mumbles, exhaustion dripping from his voice. He reaches out to you, and Seungmin mutters something you don’t quite hear.
“Did you have fun?”
“Mmm,” he hums. He’s really drunk. And by his curtained eyes and his lack of dignity, you can tell he’s a goner. And so is the sleeping boy next to him.
You look around to see if there’s a convenience store nearby. Water would be a good buffer to the eventual hangover that’s waiting for them in the morning.
“‘M just gonna buy some wat—”
“Stay.” He interrupts you, just loud enough that you get a whiff of the whiskey he’d been drinking.
“You’ll feel better if you drink water.” Your eyes flicker to the convenience store for a moment before refocusing on your best friend.
A visible frown crosses his features, and his skin is flushed out from drinking. “You just arrived. Stay, please?” The way he begs entices you, because it’s not often that your best friend pleads.
“You’re saying please? You must be really drunk.” You laugh before falling to sit next to him in resignation. There is no arguing with him, not when he’s gripping the bottom of your shirt and tugging for you to stay with him for a moment.
Then there’s a sudden weight on your shoulder. He mirrors the way Felix is laying on him.
Five minutes pass.
“Wanna nap.” He mumbles. Minho feels so much like a child like this.
“You can sleep at my dorm tonight.”
“You’ll stay with me there?” He asks, almost innocent. He lifts his head from your shoulder momentarily and looks at you—eyes hazy and hair fucked out from the harsh winds of the early morning. And yet, he still looked pretty. Even at 2 in the morning.
“Mhm, but we have to go now.” Minho groans when your warmth suddenly leaves him, but he doesn’t have time to dwell when your hand meets his vision, outstretched for him to hold.
Seungmin whisks Felix awake.
“Okay.” He grabs your hand with a tired grip, and your bones rattle at how he intertwines your fingers. As if he’s always held your hand that way. And he keeps it that way until you arrive just ten minutes after.
Minho crashes on your couch before you can even hand him a glass of water.
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three.
“Stay.” Stone cold sternness.
Minho doesn’t boss you around, at least, never seriously. He knows you hate being told what to do, but there is something about the circumstances right now, something in the fear of your voice, that has him using imperatives.
“Just—” He cuts himself off, trying to keep himself calm.
Even through a phone call, you know what face he’s pulling. That scowl, lips shut, eyes angry. “Stay with Chan. I’m on my way.”
“I don’t know why he’s here.” Fear drips from your voice far too easily and your painstricken words make it difficult for the boy not to speed. Your ex-boyfriend has always tried keeping contact with you despite your obvious distaste. He makes you uncomfortable, and he has aggression tendencies.
The thought of him makes Minho step on his accelerator. He’s thankful Chan is with you. Had he not, Minho would’ve been in deep trouble with the law enforcement.
“You’re with Chan, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Good.”
When he arrives, he asks his friend to lead you to his car.
Minho is really angry, and the sight of your ex-boyfriend kicks things up a higher notch. You don’t know what he’s about to do, but he’s scary when he’s upset. Chan tries to take your attention away, but the dynamic in Minho’s voice is too loud. It’s the one he doesn’t like to use on anyone he cares about.
“You’re lucky we’re in public. If you so much as look at my best friend, I’m going to kill you.” There is no remorse when he speaks, and his fists are balled up tight. He’s trying his best not to use them. “Fuck you.”
He returns to you and Chan no longer than five minutes, but definitely long enough to scare off your ex-boyfriend. Chan hands him his car keys, and Minho says nothing the entire ride home. His anger is still evident, almost seething off of him.
“Are you okay?” He asks long after Chan is gone, and it’s only the two of you just outside your dorm. The night air is crisp, cold in contrast to the overwhelming heat he’d felt earlier. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I didn—”
Minho shuts his mouth when you suddenly wrap your arms around him. “Thank you.”
The rage melts from his face, features softening. He brings his own arms around you.
He stays the night at your dorm.
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four.
They’re so pretty!”
Your face stands out in the sea of spring’s flowers. You’re unaware of the way he’s looking at you, eyes shifting in excitement.
“I hope the bees sting you.” You roll your eyes at him, dropping your vision to continue admiring the fields of flowers. They’ve bloomed so beautifully.
Minho disappears for a moment, but you don’t worry too much. He was probably looking for the nearest bench. You’d dragged him out after all. He hasn’t changed at all since you’d gotten together. He was still stubborn, and yet sickeningly sweet when he wanted to.
Your boyfriend comes back with his hands behind his back, and it has you squinting at him. What could he be up to this time?
He’s suddenly standing impossibly close to you, and you almost lose the rhythm of your breathing with how close he is. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this. “Stay still.”
His hand reaches out towards you, fingers pushing a few strands of your hair away. A quiet heartbeat later, he pulls back, and the only difference you feel is something pinched just behind your ear. You wonder if it’s what you think it is.
(It is. An unassuming flower decorates the side of your face.)
Minho’s heart softens at the sight. “Pretty.”
The sight of you brings spring’s flowers to shame, he thinks.
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five.
Arguing has always been something that wasn’t easy for the both of you, especially Minho. He hated fighting, but sometimes, it couldn’t be helped.
It’s how you found yourselves with puffy eyes and red noses. You barely remember what you were arguing about in the first place, but you have an overwhelming urge to leave. You think it’s so the fight doesn’t escalate, and because you don’t like that look on his face.
You say nothing when you move to open the door.
“What are you doing?” He sighs. He’s hesitant if he should step forward or not.
“I’m leaving.”
“You can’t.”
“I can, and I will.” You sniffle, a hand coming up to wipe your stubborn tears before planting on the doorknob of your shared apartment. “I hate it when we fight.”
“You don’t think I hate it too?” He frowns, hand hovering over yours. “But leaving isn’t the right option right now. Just stay, and we’ll talk about it more in the morning. I know you’re tired, but please. Stay.”
You cry even more into his chest, but he couldn’t be less bothered at the snot that’s staining his shirt. He brings you closer by your waist, hand patting down on your hair to quietly try and soothe you. He regrets letting the argument escalate this far. “I’m sorry.”
“‘M sorry for ruining your shirt.” You pull away, eyes trained on the big wet stain decorating the shirt he’s wearing.
“It’ll dry by tomorrow morning.” He reassures you, swaying the both of you gently. “Please don’t ever think about leaving.”
There’s something about the pain in his eyes that has your heart breaking further, and the way he bends down to cup your cheeks softly in his hands. He doesn’t reek of frustration anymore.
“Wasn’t gonna.” You mutter.
“You scared me for a second.” He shakes your head in his palms slowly before pressing a wet kiss on your lips. Your face is warm from crying. “Just… stay.”
(Forever, if you can. If you’d like.)
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six.
You wake up to find him already looking at you, though he’s barely awake himself.
A greeting sits on his tongue, of your third anniversary, but he swallows it down for a moment. “Did you sleep well?” He asks instead, voice a little husky from the morning air.
“Hmmm.” You yawn, feeling something tickle just behind you. You know it’s one of the cats. They’ve grown into the habit of joining you and Minho in bed lately.
He smiles at you softly, arms reaching out to tug you back against his warm, very shirtless chest. And while you’d hate to ruin the quiet of the morning, you know you have to leave in a bit. You’d promised to run a quick errand.
“Baby, have to go.” You giggle when his grip only tightens around you. It’s never easy peeling yourself out of bed with Minho.
“How mean, already trying to leave me on our anniversary.” You know he’s pouting by the way he talks to you. You can only laugh—breathy and genuinely happy.
“I’ll be quick.” You whisper, and you hear a quiet ‘meow’ from your left.
“The babies would hate to see you go.” He whines.
“How classy of you to use them against me.” He smirks quite proudly, limbs still heavy over you. He refuses to let you go, not when your skin on his is a reminder of the things that had happened the night before, not when it feels this comfortable.
The sun continues to seep through the blinds to join the both of you, a taunting reminder that you really had to leave. You try to tug your arm free, but his fingers dig deeper into your skin.
“I’ll be right back.” You try to convince him, but all he does is plant a kiss on your neck before burying his face back into the scent of your hair. You know there’s no talking this out with Minho.
“Stay.” You can’t help the way your heart swells at a single word. “You won’t regret it.”
You have a feeling there’s a different connotation to his words. You think you know what.
“Fine.” You know there was never a chance that he’d let you go, even if you tried to wriggle yourself out.
He smiles. “Just wanna stay like this a little bit longer.”
Minho meets your lips like it’s the perfect time to do so. It is, always. He kisses you sweetly, gently, like there wasn’t anything else to do. He doesn’t make a move even when his phone rings somewhere in the room.
And you’ll stay. And stay, and stay, and stay.
Forever.
You think you’d like that.
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luveline · 4 months ago
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hello might i ask for sassy badass reckless reader who is the #1 leading cause of aaron's gray hairs pls 🤞🏻 he is SO exasperated with her like he is TIRED™ but also tweaking bcs he's horrendously down bad for her he's gna throw up
Good morning. I hope you slept well, honey. Can you come to work early, say 6.10AM? I’d like to see you and talk about something in person. 
You squint at the text that’s just come through. Another follows as you’re finishing, lighting the dark of your room.
I love you. Sorry, I know you don’t like when I forget to tell you in the mornings. 
Your own response is sent without propriety. I love you too handsome. 6.10 is not gonna work.
Can you make an effort for me? he asks. 
You do your very best. 
“It’s almost seven,” Hotch says when you finally get there that morning, his frown audible and plain to see. 
You hold up the bag of sugar donuts you’d purchased from the truck on the square just outside of Quantico’s endless parking lots. “Necessary delay.” 
“Unnecessary. I asked you nicely to come early and you’re barely on time,” he grumbles. 
How adorable. You put the bag of donuts on the desk and ignore the paperwork laid out waiting for you in favour of his side of the desk. He smells like cedar, his suit sleeve starched under your hand. You lean back against the lip of his desk and pretend you hadn’t been thinking about climbing into his lap —he’s formidable and lovely and that’s the best combination for lounging about atop someone, especially when that someone is very good at pressing you backwards, and better at kissing your neck. 
He knows what you’re thinking. “You’ve woken up in a mood,” he murmurs. 
“A good one,” you promise. 
You take his coffee and steal a sip. Hotch, resigned, lays a hand on your thigh. “I have important things to talk about, you know? I thought I made that clear this morning.” 
“You made a couple of things clear.” 
“Don’t say it like that.” 
“Like what?” 
“Like I…” He tilts his head to the side. “Like I’ve been sending you dirty texts or photos.” 
“Is that an option? I don’t think I’ve subscribed to those emails.” 
“You make me out to be this salacious lark–”
“Aaron, I don’t do anything of the sort.” You can hardly hold back a laugh. “I’m sorry I implied you were sexting me, okay? I wish you had been.” He sighs a long-suffering sigh as you carry on. “But you were very formal. I’ll be sure to tell HR the same thing.” 
His hand slips between your thighs. Nowhere it shouldn’t be, just trapped between soft flesh. “Don’t tell HR anything.” 
His coffee is lukewarm and unsweetened on your tongue. Would it kill your uptight love to add just a dash of cream and sugar? Wrinkling your nose, you set aside the mug and press your mildly heated hand to his cheek. Just quickly, brushing a thumb up to the skin below his eye before you let it fall. “Tell me what you wanted me to come in early for. And, for the record, I’m sorry for not trying to get here before, just I didn’t sleep well, and my neck hurt too much to rush.” 
He looks like he wants to ignore your apology. He doesn’t ask you for much, and showing up when he’d wanted you to would’ve been the kinder thing to do —he can be annoyed as both boss or boyfriend. 
But he doesn’t have it in him. 
“Why didn’t you sleep?” he asks softly. 
“Thinking too much about my nice boyfriend.” 
“Really?” 
You slouch a little. Cover his hand where it rests between your legs. “I don’t know. It was really hot, and my mattress is getting old, probably.” 
He ushers you down for a sympathetic kiss. He’s always so sorry to hear about your minor ailments, he must like you too much. 
You attempt to crawl into his lap, curling an arm behind his head. He, disgruntled and yet far from reluctant, lets you take a seat. 
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rqnarok · 4 months ago
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GLORY BOX | old man!logan x fem!reader
summary: calling old man!logan daddy for the first time ever…
content warnings/tags: smut! mdni. literally porn with no plot or whatsoever. old man!logan. unspecified age gap. stressed reader. established relationship (surprising). soft daddy dom!logan. sub!reader. daddy kink. dd/lg undertones. subspaces. pet names (princess, little girl, etc). unprotected p in v. slight breeding kink. barely proofread. wc: 1,3k 
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All the work you’ve been having these past weeks is knocking you out, mentally and physically. The sight of never-ending paperwork before you makes you want to throw your dinner up to the desk. Although you know it’s not healthy to push yourself like this—you just couldn’t help it. Your anxieties are always eating you and forcing you to do this and that subconsciously. 
Luckily, Logan always notices when you’re tiring yourself to death. His love comes in many forms, one being taking care of you. He always takes care of you at the price of nothing. 
Well, maybe one or two things. 
Your obedience, is in fact, required. Your loyalty to him and only him is expected. Your submission is essential. 
Both of you find a simple way of living by holding onto those systems. You love to be taken care of and Logan loves to take care of you. It is the foundation of your and Logan’s relationship. It is enough. 
His presence is greatly felt as he watches you overworking yourself to a dreadful agitation, “Come on, sweets. Rest up for a bit.” 
“Can’t, Lo. ‘M still doing this.” Your head lulls lazily as the burden on your shoulders becomes overwhelming. Deadlines loom all over your mind, all over your brain like grey clouds before a storm. 
He just can’t take it anymore. The sight of his pretty baby all slouched down and defeated in the dim living room. “I’ll do all the work for ya’. C’mere, princess.”
And before you know it, or even before you register it—your head goes radio silent for a minute. All because of Logan.
“Little one.” Your paperworks on the desk are long abandoned as Logan tenderly whispers to your neck, to the skin he had plastered with many love bites and little hickeys. 
“Mhm—”
His cock is stuffed deep inside of your soaking pussy, stretching you up with his thick girth, and locking your figure to his with his strong biceps like glue.
This position, you on top of him, usually makes you tired and your thighs sore—but it’s different now because he’d taken a willingness to do all the work. I’ll do all the work for ya’. The sight of his girl—his gorgeous girl opening herself to him; letting yourself rest up a bit after all the sobs you had swallowed this entire week—electrify something inside him.
You love to be taken care of by Logan. 
“My pretty pillow princess, hm?” He mutters sweetly to your right ear, gently brushing your hair along the way. Your figure slumped into him, leaning your entire body weight onto him. You managed to nod lightly, lazily, and slowly, but still with desperation. 
“Yeah. My little girl. All mine.” His fingers reach your chin and nod your head with him. Slowly lifting his hips up and down, he makes his cock hits that spot deep inside you. When he talks to you like this—you just can’t help it. The more he babies you, the more you fall into subspace. 
Before you can’t stop yourself, you croak out a small breathy voice, “Daddy.” You sounded so feeble - you barely even recognized your own voice. 
Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. 
All this time, you call him lots of names, alright. Jokingly or in a serious manner: Grandpa, Lo, Logan, Old Man, Old Guy—but never that.
You feel Logan tense and how his cock twitches inside your walls. Then he slightly pulls you up and down on him, way deeper this time.
His rugged palms dug into your hips, rubbing circles there, “What was that, sweetheart?” The older man’s voice tremble slightly because fuck he didn’t think he could get harder. He knows he’s a bad bad bad man for enjoying shit like this. Young, delicate thing like you drooling over his cock.
You whimper into his shoulders and shy yourself away from his intense gaze—the one that made you clench your pussy around his girth. “What’d ya’ just call me, princess?” He repeats as his fingers squish your cheeks to look at him in the eyes. Bullseye.
There he went again. Making you fall deeper into your subspace you can’t even think. “Repeat whatcha’ say to your old man, baby.” Pushing just the right buttons. 
“Daddy…” you managed to get away from his gripping fingers and nuzzle your face deeper into his neck—your voice comes out needier than you expected.
Logan groans and you could feel his cock twitches again, “You wan’ more of Daddy’s cock? Hm?”
He managed to slip his thumb into your spit-slicked mouth and make you suck at the tip. “Mmhm. Please, Daddy—”
“Wan’ Daddy t’a stuff you up, little one?” He grunts, loving all this, you could tell. His thumb slips out of your lips and makes its way down down down and then his hand drifts to play with your breasts, squeezing and pinching your peaking nipples.
“Ah! Y-yes, Daddy.” You’re full-on sobbing now. You’d do anything. Only one word repeats in your dumbfounded mind now.
Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. 
“‘Aight. Hold on t’me.” Logan lets out a dry chuckle and trails his hands from your breasts to the plush of your ass. “Daddy’ll fill you up.” He lifts you up and lets the tip of his cock slip from your clenching wet hole, barely even the tip. He scolds you softly when you start moving around in desperation, “Stay still for Daddy. Lemme’ do my job.” 
You cry out loudly when he thrusts himself back in, deep and hard. “Daddy!” Your nails dig into his shoulders and he sets a rapid pace. 
The sound of slapping flesh against flesh obscenely roams around the room as Logan pistons his hips up off the cushion, eagerly meeting your bouncing body above him. “T-there ya’ go, kiddo. Always grippin’ Daddy so fuckin’ tight.”  
Logan takes his right hand and press it down on your tummy, feeling his cock bulging through, "Ya' feel me here, kiddo?" And God, how could you not melt at that?
He pounds his large cock into your slicked pussy, chasing his high and yours. “Go ‘head play with your pouty clit.” Says Logan as he keeps bullying his way inside your heat. But your hands stay locked around his shoulders. You’re just too tired and he said he’d do all the work, right? 
Logan knows you’re close when he feels your toes curl on his thigh and your arms tightening around his neck—suffocating him with your presence and your cunt.
“Daddy,” you call out to him again, making grabby hands on his salt-and-pepper beard. A continuous line of DaddyDaddyDaddyDaddys in a loop and you’re so full of him, you feel him everywhere.
“Cream my fat cock, baby. Daddy’ll fill you up real nice.”  You try to tell him yes but it comes out of you broken and high-pitched.
“Daddy-” you can feel his big fingers circling your swollen button—doing all the work for you. It’s not even a second later until you babble that you’re coming, repeating it over and over in his ear. “‘M coming, Daddy—‘M-” 
Logan mutters a curse word as he feels your velvet walls squeezing his cock so tight and milking him dry. “Shit. Such a good little girl.” He coos at the sight before him, your shaking figure, coming down from your high, and rolling your eyes to the back of your head in pleasure. 
He can’t help himself anymore—his pace becomes relentless, and he indulges his body forward closer to you, burying his face on your neck. “Fuck, princess.” You whimper at the burning feel of his untrimmed scruffy beard.
“Come.” 
Oh, you want to order him around now?
“Come, Daddy. Need your cum so bad, pleasepleasepleas—” 
Nevermind.
In your neck, he lets a roaring grunt as his cock twitches and swells inside of your dripping pussy. “Jesus Christ.” He huffs every time he spurts his release, his thrust going weaker and slower. Yet the pleasure that you deride him for is inescapable. No amount of power could take him away from you. He makes sure of that.
His breath finally comes back to him, and so does your senses, little by little. You whimper as you feel his cum gushing out of your hole, “Daddy-”. 
But he keeps his position still, his legs grounded to the floor—he just kisses your temple, then your cheeks, then your lips. “Shh. Daddy’s here. Daddy’ll take care of you.” He coos at your hair, kissing the crown of your head. 
He decided that he’d have you like this for the night. Seated atop of his muscular thighs—full of his seed and spent. 
Daddy always takes care of you.
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cherry-zip · 1 month ago
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─ • CSC .ᐟ Starlit Rest
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› pairing┆(sleepy) idol s.coups x fem reader › genre┆sfw, fluff, established relationship ✎ word-count .ᐟ 1.4k. ⌁ summary ┆ Seungcheol falls asleep on the couch after a long day, and you tenderly take care of him. They share a quiet, loving moment, finding comfort in each other’s presence.
✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated!
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It was a quiet night in the apartment you shared with your boyfriend, Choi Seungcheol. The soft hum of the city outside was the only sound that accompanied you as you sat in the dimly lit living room, curled up on the couch with a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Your laptop rested on your lap, but you weren’t really watching the drama you had put on. Your mind kept drifting to him.
Seungcheol had been particularly tired these past few days. Between practice, rehearsals, and the long hours of preparing for the group’s upcoming promotions, he was worn thin. Tonight, after a late-night recording session, he had returned to the apartment earlier than usual. But instead of his usual lively self, he had been quiet, almost withdrawn, a far cry from the energetic and playful Seungcheol you were used to.
You had made him a cup of tea, hoping it would help him relax, and he had taken it without a word of complaint. You’d sat beside him on the couch for a while, exchanging only a few words before he had leaned against you, his eyes slowly drifting closed. You didn’t mind the silence. In fact, you cherished it. But tonight, his weariness seemed to hang heavier in the air.
Glancing down at him now, you could see his broad frame slouched against the cushions, his head resting lightly against the armrest. His eyes were barely open, lashes fluttering with the effort to stay awake. You smiled softly, heart aching with affection as you reached over to gently tuck a strand of his tousled hair behind his ear.
“Seungcheol,” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur.
“Hmmm…” he hummed in response, his voice thick with exhaustion.
“Are you alright?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair. You had always been attuned to his moods, and tonight, his exhaustion seemed to be consuming him more than usual.
“I’m fine,” he mumbled, though his words were slurred. “Just tired...”
You raised an eyebrow, though he couldn’t see it. “Tired?” you repeated, your tone teasing. “You look like you're about to fall asleep right now. Don’t you want to move to bed ?”
Seungcheol grunted, his arms tightening around the blanket you had draped over him. He shifted closer to you, his head now leaning onto your shoulder, his breathing slow and steady.
“Maybe... just for a few minutes,” he muttered, his words trailing off into a soft yawn. “Promise... I’ll wake up after...”
You chuckled softly. "You always say that."
“I mean it this time,” he murmured, the weight of his words barely audible as his eyelids fluttered shut, and soon, he was completely still.
You couldn't help but smile at his adorable stubbornness. He was always the kind of person who prided himself on being strong, on pushing through anything. But tonight, it was clear that his body had reached its limit. You brushed your hand gently through his hair again, listening to the sound of his breathing, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest.
The warmth of his body against yours, the soft hum of his snores in your ear, and the quiet of the apartment filled you with a sense of peace. You could feel his tension slowly melting away as he succumbed to sleep. It wasn’t often that he let his guard down like this, so vulnerable, so human. You were glad that he felt safe enough with you to do so.
You carefully shifted to pull the blanket more snugly around him, making sure he was comfortable. As you did, your phone buzzed with a notification. You glanced down to see it was a message from one of the other members, asking if you and Seungcheol would be joining them for a late-night hangout at the studio.
You shook your head slightly, setting your phone down without replying. You didn’t mind the occasional night out with the other members, but tonight, it was clear that Seungcheol needed this time to recharge, and you weren’t about to disturb him for anything.
Instead, you ran your fingers through his hair one more time, your lips curving into a soft smile as you kissed the top of his head. He stirred slightly at the contact, but didn’t wake up. You felt the familiar warmth spread through your chest, a deep affection for this man who worked so hard, always putting others before himself.
As the night wore on, you let yourself relax into the calm of the moment. The world outside continued its busy rhythm, but inside your little apartment, it felt like time stood still. The only thing that mattered in this quiet moment was the man beside you, drifting in and out of sleep, his presence a comforting weight against your side.
You couldn’t help but wonder if he ever realized how much you appreciated him—not just for his hard work, but for the way he cared for everyone around him, the way he always made sure that you felt safe and loved, even when the world outside was chaotic. You knew he didn’t always take care of himself, always too focused on the needs of others. But you had come to realize that part of loving him was accepting the small ways he needed care too, the moments when he allowed himself to rest, to lean on you. You didn’t mind being the one to support him.
Soon, Seungcheol’s soft breathing grew steadier, deeper. You glanced down and saw that his face had softened into the most peaceful expression you’d seen all day. You smiled to yourself, knowing that he was finally getting the rest he deserved.
You reached for the remote, turning the volume down on the TV even lower so as not to disturb him, and allowed yourself to settle into the quiet night. The two of you were like this sometimes—silent, content, and wrapped in the shared comfort of each other’s presence.
Your mind wandered, remembering all the moments that had led you to this place. The first time you had met him, the nervous glances exchanged during your first few dates, the way his laugh had always made your heart skip. You had never imagined your life would be this way, with him, in this little apartment, wrapped up in the mundane yet beautiful moments of just being together.
As time passed, you found your own eyelids growing heavy, your body relaxing against the couch. You had originally intended to stay awake and watch the show, but the soothing presence of Seungcheol beside you was more than enough to lull you into a gentle doze. Slowly, you let your head fall against his, the warmth of his body and the rhythmic beat of his heart calming you.
It wasn’t long before you both drifted into a peaceful sleep together, tangled in blankets, resting easy in the quiet sanctuary of each other’s arms.
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The next morning, the sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. You stirred first, blinking sleepily as you realized you had fallen asleep on the couch. Your eyes landed on Seungcheol, still nestled against your side, his features relaxed in the peaceful embrace of a deep slumber.
For a moment, you simply watched him, a quiet smile playing on your lips. His messy hair, the way his lips were slightly parted as he breathed, the way his hand rested over yours—these were the little things you loved.
You carefully shifted so as not to wake him, pulling the blanket back up over his shoulders. But just as you were about to move, you felt his hand tighten around yours.
“Mm… stay,” he mumbled sleepily, his voice still thick with drowsiness. His grip on your hand was firm, but gentle, pulling you closer.
You laughed softly, the sound barely escaping your lips. “Seungcheol, you're not even awake.”
“I am now,” he said with a sleepy grin, still half-closed eyes not quite meeting yours. He yawned, stretching against you before burying his face into your neck. “Five more minutes…”
You sighed, but you didn’t argue. You would give him five more minutes. Or ten. Or however long it took for him to rest.
Because, at that moment, you realized something: no matter how tired he was, no matter how busy the world around him seemed, he would always find a way to be there for you.
And that was more than enough.
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› anonymous review form
❀ a/n┆I've been so tiring these days teaching the kids that I've been taking naps.. something I've never done before - so I took it as inspiration, I do wish I could come home to someone and just lay down with them like this.
‧₊ ᵎᵎ “CHERRY.zip"🍒 ⋅ ˚✮
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hoshigray · 7 months ago
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𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: based on this ask; enjoy, kuna gremlins <333
⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: deliquent! Sukuna x student body president + fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern setting; Sukuna and you are college seniors - fingering (f! receiving) - degradation (dumbass, slut, whore) - oral (m! receiving) - face + throat fucking - anal (f! receiving) - backshots + missionary positions - impact play (spanking) - clitoral play (swiping and pinching) - implied multiple orgasms - pet names (brat, doll, good girl, pet, princess) - Sukuna [NOT] being helpful :33 - mention of spit/drool.
⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.4k
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You were typing away on your laptop with the most irritable expression, eyebrows trenched together, and your vexed exhale. And you throw your head back with a groan. “Ughhh, I’m so tired…”
“You’ve been saying that for the past three hours.”
“And you’ve been sitting on my bed for just as long, so get out!”
Toying you was Sukuna’s favorite pastime; nothing gives him more satisfaction than making you irritated with him. It’s why he’s bothering you in your apartment, to your most enormous dismay. 
Dealing with Sukuna's irritating, taxing, and bothersome nature was never something you had the time or patience for. Today, in particular, you felt the weight of his presence as you sighed heavily and turned back to your laptop, trying to ignore him. 
Like the menace he is, Sukuna’s ego thrives on getting on your nerves. Ergo, he surprised you by showing up in front of your apartment door unannounced and waltzing inside uninvited, already adding more pressure onto your Saturday afternoon meant to deal with assignments and student body work of your own. 
Now, you’re sharing the comfort of your home with the unrivaled arrogant fuck in your life! And he shows no interest in leaving—of course, he wouldn’t, fucking bastard—making himself at home and invading your personal space like boundaries be damned. So here he is, lying on his side on your puffy, comfortable bed, scrolling through his phone while periodically sneaking glances at you as the president was answering emails and inputting information into spreadsheets. 
As the hours passed, your exasperation became more and more apparent; the work seemed neverending, your brain one email and class discussion away from shutting down and fainting to your carpet. And that’s something you don’t want to happen with company around—especially him in your bedroom. God, can this day get any worse? You groaned into your hands as if shielding yourself from the workload would make it all disappear.
Maroon eyes flicker to your slouched frame once more with a lifted brow. For someone who’d be having fun lounging in your place as he sees fit, it doesn’t seem fun with you all stressed with something other than him. If he heard you sigh one more time, Sukuna might take that laptop and throw it out your balcony—which might be hilarious to see your reaction, yet today wasn’t a day he’d like to know if you’d skin him alive, at least not today. You were stressed, and seeing you stressed made him stressed, too. 
And then—click!—like a flipped switch, an idea pops inside his mind, and a grin forms as he lifts himself off your memory from the pillow. Black socks meet your carpet, stealthy steps stride him closer and closer to your distrait atmosphere, and you squeak when his cold hands touch the exposed shoulders of your ribbed tank top.
You relax in seconds, but the annoyance slips into your tone. “Cut it out, Ryōmen; can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Busy enough that you forgot about your guest?” He scoffs while you click your tongue. “You look like shit.”
“I feel like shit, and you being here doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Mmm,” your remark doesn’t faze him, putting his chin atop your head. “Is all this due by today?”
You’re too drained to bother whacking him off you, so you settle with another exhale. “Not all, but I still got a good chunk I want to get over and not deal with tomorrow and Monday.”
Another hum, his fingers taunting your skin with rubbed circles. “Want me to help?”
Finally, you move your head to look up at him. Confused, you ask, “How in the world would you help me with this stuff?”
“Not with that shit, fuck that,” you figured as much; your hopes weren’t even up to begin with. “I’m talkin’ helping you. You seem tense, and I could help ease you up a bit.”
You weren’t buying it, a furrowed brow rises. “You? Easing my stress?” You scoffed when he shrugged. “Oh fuck off, what could you possibly do to help? Don’t act like you’re worried about my well-being.”
“Who said I was worried? Don’t put words in my mouth.” You suck your teeth and remove your gaze from him; however, Sukuna brings you back to him with a pull to the chin. “And I can think of many ways to help you, prez. Just sit back, relax, and break from the stress.”
“You are one of the–if not THE main thing–stressing me out,” you retort with eyes that don’t budge. “So I don’t see why I should listen to you, all offense.” His fingers glide across your skin to cup and squeeze your cheeks, and–you can’t lie–it made you hitch your breath.
“Because you know I’m not one to make offers like this,” his crimson eyes were boring into yours, and you had to gulp. “Besides, I’m bored as hell watching you work away on your work and—“
“Blame yourself; you’re the one inviting yourself to places without per—“
“AND,” he emphasizes; he hates when you interrupt him. “If I were you, I’d outta reconsider as I’m not one to repeat favors. So, what’s it gonna be: go back and stress yourself to death or have some fun with me for a bit?”
His words replay briefly, chewing the inside of your cheek as your conscience teeters and totters on which decision to make. You’re not stupid; you know he has something up his sleeve because it’s not like him to do things all semi-nice without a catch. You could never leave your guard down with him; he is a dangerous and pretentious man. 
Yet simultaneously, you don’t know how long you can sit at your desk and CC another email before you have a mental breakdown. Perhaps you could use a break or two; it’s not like much of the stuff was due today, and steamrolling your way through would cause more than good to your exhausted body. 
“…Fine,” you finally swat his hands off you before standing out of your chair. “But don’t take long; I’ve got work to finish.”
However, it was those words that would have you backtracking because, unbeknownst to you, Sukuna already has plans of his own.
“—Khhh! Hahhh, shtop...! I’m sensit've down th—“ 
“I know that, dumbass. Why else would I be touching it?”
You were stripped of your bottoms that lay lifeless on the carpeted floor, your bare legs and lower regions displayed for Sukuna to see. Lying on your back, you squirm as he toys with your cunt that’s been aching for about a few minutes now, stuffing his middle and ring finger inside you to evoke your noisy self.
His digits stretch your entrance with every push, his fingertips leaving risky scrapes on your silky texture. The noises coming from down below were so raunchy to the ear, making you scrunch with every squelch of your come coating his ravaging fingers. Especially when the knuckle of his thumb would brush against your clitoris? How could you not cry at the feeling, even when he’s chasing you down to come a second time?
It’s embarrassing enough that this man has seen your body naked before. Yet, doing all these naughty things with him in your apartment — in your bedroom! — utterly changed the equation. Your legs jerk to close them, but that doesn’t halt Sukuna, who’s so focused on hearing you squeak at his touch no matter what.
“Mmmaah! ‘Ryo, stop it; I already cameee…!”
“Keh, you think one time is enough?” God, he’s such an asshole, snickering at you like this while pressing his forehead on yours. The tattoed man whispers, “You’ll cum however many times I want you cum, got that, princess? The hell did you think this was…” 
You bastard…! You choke on a sob when the pace of his fingers increases, and the graze on your inner walls becomes frequent and keen. Your nerves are too sensitive from the climax prior as he didn’t let you properly rest, so you arch as the acute sensation becomes more and more unavoidable.
“Ohhhfuuckk, fuuck, ‘Ryo, please…” he licks and kisses your forehead at the mention of his last name. “God! I’m gonna cumm!”
“You better,” he chews on your cheek, his teeth making you gasp and twitch around his digits. “Make a real big mess for me, you slut.”
And don’t think it’s just his fingers you need to worry about.
“…What does this have to do with my stress?”
“Shit, got your mind off of work, didn’t it?” He sneers. “Now, shut up and suck me off.”
With a reluctant pout, you accept the tip of Sukuna’s cock inside your mouth, your tongue instantly going to work like it’s supposed to. Cheeks hollow and suck in every inch of him, the girth busying your mouth until it brushes your uvula, reminding yourself to breathe in a steady rhythm before you start choking and coughing up a storm. 
You fail to see how a blowjob is meant to help you; it seems more like something to satisfy Sukuna rather than you. Honestly, that shouldn’t be surprising for the bastard to just put your working mindset on something other than actually working. Just thinking about it makes you pissed off a bit more. Whatever, you lick the crown of his glans, noticing the subtle buck of his thighs. I guess any kind of break is better than no break…
Sukuna places a hand on your head when you kiss from the underside down to his scrotum, licking and sucking the skin of his balls. “Mmfff, fuck, that’s good,” he kudos, throwing his head back at you and sucking one ball into your mouth. The feel of your tongue traveling around its skin felt euphoric. “Hahhh, Christ, doin’ so well, pet.” 
You let go of his testicle, licking up back to his glans, and suck him in with a hum. Every inch of his length is swallowed till the hilt, reaching to the crevice of your throat and massaging the velvety walls. Once you begin to bob your head, that’s when you can feel yourself relax bit by bit, his ballsack kneaded by one hand as you move to and fro. 
“There ya go, there ya go,” for some reason, his coaxes egg you on to keep going, especially with his hand squeezing your cheeks. “Keep going….Ahhh, shiiiit, hold on, hold on,” he stops you quickly, placing both his hands on your head; oh, here he goes. You brace yourself for him as he ruts into your face, his dick burrowing itself into your mouth and throat goes quicker, your saliva dripping down to his balls which smack onto your chin. “—Fffshiiit, yeahh, just like that; move that tongue just like that…Good girl.”
Unbelievable, you roll your eyes at his pleasure, yet your tongue continues to glide around the bottom of his shaft as your mouth is being used like a toy. At least now that he’s doing the work, you can allow your jaw to relax as your face is fucked till his pubes brush your nose. 
“Enjoyin’ yourself, prez?” Your peer up with hooded eyes, and he chuckles. “Don’t thank me yet; we’re barely done here.”
And he meant every word of that.
“—Ahhhaa, ohJesusss, ‘Ryooo, shtooop!!”
“—Mmph! Not when you’re gripping on me like a whore, brat.”
With your back to him and butt propped up, Sukuna fucks your ass like no tomorrow. Pistoning his cock into your puckered hole so harshly and fast that you’re sure the wind is knocked right out of you with every movement. You’re forced to submit to him and accept his dominance like always, howling at the graze of his tip, poking your inner walls.
And it’s not like you can grip your sheets for support; the bastard has your wrists restrained with one hand behind your back, leaving you helpless to defend yourself. Drool escapes puffy lips and stains the bedsheets beneath you, and your mind is too far gone to think straight, too dizzy with what’s happening around you – or rather in you. 
“Ohoooo, ohmyGo—Nmmm!!” Oh yeah, and there’s this fucker smacking your ass as he so pleases. The sting on your skin only furthers the growing daze. “It huuurtss..!”
“Aww, does it, princess?” Sukuna bends down to speak to your ear, and you clamp onto his length with how close he is. “It hurts, huh?” He patronizes you, acting like he cares as he grinds his pelvis to your buttcheeks. You whimper; the sensation of his dick writhing inside your rear channel makes your cunt compress onto nothing. Another smack to your ass causes you to jerk from the pain. “But you act like you’re feeling so good.”
“Mmmm! Wh..Who told you to speak for me—Eeeee!!” The snaps of his hips are too much; you feel as though you could break. 
“No one tells me anything, pet,” his breath feels hot to your ear, like the tongue that licks your helix. “Don’t forget that…Haiishh…! So fucking tight…”
More pounds to your butt continue to rock you, shrieks and squeals flying out of your system as the pleasure from your anus is getting harder to avoid by the second. Along with the sporadic pace, Sukuna plunges into you balls deep, having his length churn your insides in ways you’d never thought to fathom. And when the jerk sneaks a hand down to swipe your clitoris, it’s all downhill from there.
“—Ohooo!! Hahaaa, ‘Kunaaa, stop, don’t tease—Tahhh!!” You plea, but your teeth clench at the pinch of your bud. It’s no use; you can’t fight it anymore. “Sukunaa…!”
When your orgasm hits you once more, your throat releases a scream past your judgment. Sukuna finally lets go of your wrists, and you immediately grip through the shocks coursing through your quivering figure. He hisses, his hips now going slower as you flutter on him. “Mhmm, yeah, let it all out,” he commands in purrs. 
Your body calms down, trembles subsiding. However, you try to fight the shakes to stand on your knees. “‘Kuna, please, enough,” you remove his member from you. “I gotta…get back to wo—H-Hey!”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” You were flipped to your back, his hands spreading your legs for him to insert his shaft back inside you. You moan when he swipes your clit and sucks on your nipple. “Like I said, we’re not done yet. So be a doll and keep that mouth shut; not a single word about your work.”
Oh, fuck you Ryōmen Sukuna!! It would’ve been best if you had never given him the chance actually to help you. But there is no point regretting it now; no choice but to see it all through. 
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© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.
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zhelin-thames · 23 days ago
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Father-Son Bonding Time
Masterpost
The Batmobile roared to life, its engine purring like a caged predator. Dick sat behind the wheel, his usual cocky grin plastered across his face. Beside him, Danny slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed, looking less than thrilled.
“This is what you call bonding time?” Danny asked, glancing at the flashing console. “A joyride in the Batmobile?”
Dick smirked. “You’re not impressed? This thing’s state-of-the-art! Rockets, stealth mode, ejector seats—”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s cool,” Danny interrupted, rolling his glowing green eyes. “But I can fly, remember? Pretty sure I’m faster than this hunk of metal.”
“First of all,” Dick replied, mock offense in his tone, “this is not just a hunk of metal. It’s a masterpiece. Second—race me and find out.”
Danny raised an eyebrow. “You serious?”
“Absolutely.”
Before Danny could respond, the Batmobile shot forward, tires screeching. Danny blinked, then smirked. With a flash of white light, he transformed into Danny Phantom and phased out of the car.
The Gotham skyline blurred past as Dick and Danny raced through the city. Danny zipped between skyscrapers, laughing as he easily kept pace. “Come on, old man! Is that all you’ve got?”
“Old man?” Dick scoffed, hitting a switch. The Batmobile fired a grappling hook that latched onto a passing monorail. “Let’s see you keep up now!”
Danny snorted, his voice echoing through the comms. “Cute trick, Dad. But I’ve got one too.” He vanished mid-air, reappearing just inches from the Batmobile’s hood, flying backward with his arms crossed.
Dick’s jaw dropped. “Okay, that’s cheating.”
“You didn’t say no ghost powers,” Danny shot back, grinning.
Their banter was cut short as a sudden explosion rocked the street ahead. A plume of green smoke rose into the air, and from the chaos emerged a familiar figure: Skulker, the self-proclaimed ghost hunter, armed to the teeth with ectoplasmic weapons.
“Danny Phantom,” Skulker growled, his mechanical armor gleaming in the city lights. “And... Nightwing? What, you’re bringing backup now?”
“More like family,” Dick quipped, leaping from the Batmobile. He twirled his escrima sticks, the electric crackle echoing in the night. “And we’re not big on visitors.”
Danny rolled his eyes but smirked. “This guy again. Don’t worry, Dad—I’ve got him.”
Before Dick could respond, Danny shot forward, ectoplasmic blasts flying from his hands. Skulker retaliated with a barrage of missiles, forcing Danny to phase through them. Meanwhile, Dick darted into the fray, disarming one of Skulker’s shoulder cannons with a well-aimed throw.
“Nice shot!” Danny called out.
“Teamwork, kid!” Dick replied, flipping over Skulker’s sweeping arm.
The fight was fast-paced and chaotic, but together, they overwhelmed Skulker. Danny’s raw power complemented Dick’s agility and strategy. Within minutes, the ghost hunter was subdued, bound in glowing ecto-restraints Danny conjured.
As the dust settled, Danny turned to Dick, breathing heavily but grinning. “Not bad for a ‘hunk of metal.’”
“Not bad for a glow stick,” Dick shot back, ruffling Danny’s snow-white hair.
Danny groaned but didn’t pull away. “Seriously, though. That was... kind of fun.”
“Kind of?” Dick teased. “Come on, you loved it.”
“Okay, fine, maybe a little.”
They shared a laugh, and for the first time, Danny felt the weight of his new reality lighten. Maybe having a superhero dad wouldn’t be so bad after all.
From a rooftop above, Bruce watched the pair with quiet satisfaction. He turned back into the shadows, leaving them to their moment.
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nezuscribe · 6 months ago
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slytherin!gojo acts like he knows what he likes in a girl. if you’ve ever seen him at one of their slytherin parties he’s either sporting some fire whiskey in his hand or he has his tongue down one of the other (pureblood) slytherin girls.
truth be told he’s never seen you, the muggleborn slytherin, at these parties before, and a part of him wonders if it’s because you don’t want or because, well, you weren’t really welcome to them anyways.
thankfully he doesn’t have to wonder much longer as he stumbles up the steps that lead to girl dormitory’s, supposed to meet up with catie (he forgot her last name), for a hookup.
when he knocks on the door he excepts a face other than yours, but a part of him is pleasantly surprised that it’s you.
“g-gojo?” you look like you been asleep, your eyes a little droopy, mouth open in a yawn, “is everything alright?”
he stares at you for a bit, his eyes raking over your figure, the pajamas you’re wearing and how even those were cute (they had little teddy bears all over them, something surely from the muggle world).
you were slouching a bit, your face staring at his as you waited for him to speak. he opened his mouth and then closed it again. why did you have to be so pretty?
he was a little tipsy, but not drunk. not drunk enough to pretend that his carnal desires were only being spured on by the alcohol in his system.
“is catie not here?” he asks, yet it wasn’t what he really wanted to say.
you blink tiredly, suddenly realizing what he was asking for, and you stutter, your eyes widening for a second in embarrassment.
“catie’s room is over there,” you motion with a finger behind gojo, pointing to the door adjacent to yours.
he knew that, but he’d never tell you.
“hm,” he hummed, not doing anything to make it seem like he was leaving.
“are you okay?” you ask, your voice quiet, as if you could already predict the raging headache he was going to have tomorrow.
if any of his other friends were around they’d most likely have some sort of snarky remark about how the prince of slytherin didn’t need anything to do with you, and how absurd it was that you were even asking, but right now it was just the two of you and he needed you more than anything.
“mhm,” he muttered, his blue eyes a little softer than usual, the smile on his face not cruel not taunting but…genuine.
“okay,” you murmur, nodding once as you rub at your tired eyes, too tired to even begin to think about why he was quieter than usual, “i’m ‘gonna go back to sleep now…okay?” you say it as if anything would stop you from going back to the warm embrace of your bed, but it was just in your nature.
but he doesn’t mock you, doesn’t jest or laugh or do any of the things his friends would’ve done had they been here.
he just nods once, his lips tugging up into a boyish smile as his hands find their way into his pockets.
“okay,” he repeats, watching as you closed the door, hearing the soft patter of your feet until you reached your bed.
that night he didn’t seek out catie or any of the other girls that slyly told them they’d be waiting for him, instead he just found his way back to his own dorm, a stupid smile on his face the entire time until he went to sleep.
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htchnr · 4 months ago
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♰ old and weary ༻ L. HOWLETT.*ೃ˚
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✮ꜜ masterlist. ✮ꜜ buy me a ko-fi!
content warning hurt/comfort ⋆ r's mutation is healing wounds with the direct touch of her fingers ⋆ blood ⋆ injuries with no mentioned severity ⋆ this tired old man needs a hug ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!
pairing old man!Logan.
summary his body isn't what it used to be, so you help him after each fight he gets into. you heal his wounds and heal his soul, day by day and kiss by kiss. wordcount 0,6k.
authors note i'm trying to work on a few Logan requests (it might take me a bit to get them out as i'm still struggling with my writers block, so pls bear with me), so while i fight my brain, have some more sappy old man!Logan comfort 🫠🥹
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© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!
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your home's quiet at this late hour, only the low sound of the tv playing some show in the background. the distant sound of Logan pulling up outside in the limo makes your heart jump a little with a tired smile.
you set your sewing project aside — patching up one of Logan's shirts �� as you move up to greet him at the door.
your smile falters as you're met with the bloody sight of Logan, his shoulders hung in exhaustion, his body flinching with each heavy step. he closes the front door without a word, letting you lead him up the stairs and to your spacious bathroom.
he sits down on the edge of the tub like clockwork, sore fingers already pulling at the buttons of his stained and torn dress shirt. you sigh, gently pushing his hands aside. you wordlessly take over, unbuttoning the shirt and peeling the fabric off his figure.
you sigh sadly as you observe the damage, cuts and scrapes spanning across his broad chest and shoulders; no doubt scattering across his back as well. Logan flinches beneath your touch as your thumb slowly smooths over the first small cut on his shoulder, starting the intimate routine of healing the wounds his aging body has trouble with.
he grunts as he feels the skin weave itself back together beneath the soft pad of your thumb, leaning forward to rest his head against your stomach. you lean down to press a kiss to the skin where the small cut once was, letting your lips linger for a second before your thumb finds another injury to smooth over.
the room is filled with Logan's quiet grunts and pants as you lovingly work away each wound; leaving only the dried blood behind as evidence. and after each wound is healed you press gentle kisses to the aging skin — a regular routine that slowly heals Logan's aching, old heart kiss by kiss.
you rest your cheek against the top of his head after healing the last wound, your body slouching beneath his hold from exhaustion. while you would always heal him, no matter what time or day; that doesn't take away from the fact that it's a draining routine — the healing taking every bit of your energy.
you tiredly pull away from him, his strong arms reluctantly letting you go as you wet a washcloth with warm water and soap. you could almost hear low purrs emitting from Logan as you drag the wet cloth across his scarred skin, gently scrubbing away at the dried blood.
you drop the dirty cloth in the sink, raking your damp fingers through his greying hair as he keeps his face pressed against your stomach. his rough hands are tucked beneath your shirt, fingers digging into the supple skin of your waist. " sometimes you're really like my big dog i used to have, he liked head scratches too. "
Logan doesn't say a word about your quiet admission when you bend down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, your lips lingering before you rest your cheek a top his head. " let's get you to bed, " you yawn, your fingers scratching soft, soothing patterns against his scalp.
he hums against your stomach, the sounds low and rough. he lets you guide him up, his knees cracking as he stands up, leading him out of the bathroom and to the bedroom by his hand.
the moment he slides into bed beside you his shoulders finally relax, melting against you as he settles with his head on your chest and his face buried in the crook of your neck. you smile tiredly as you lace your fingers with his with one hand, the other rhythmically combing through his hair.
Logan lets out a long sigh, his heavy figure deflating against yours. " you know, sometimes i think he came back in the form of you, somehow always there to protect me. "
his fingers twitch around yours, his heart throbbing at your mumbled words. he scrunches his face, nuzzling impossibly close against you.
" goodnight, Lo, " you yawn, resting your cheek against his head. " 'love you. "
he tries not to tense against you at your words, not wanting to startle you wide out of your sleepy state. his eyes are wide open, blinking at the soft skin of your throat. the more he thinks about your words, the more at ease he feels. no longer do those particular words send him running, they anchor him.
he lets his tired and aching eyes fall shut, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. " i love you too, sweetheart. "
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saetoru · 1 year ago
Text
✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ LUCKY — GOJO SATORU.
contents. baths + non sexual nudity, established relationships, tired toru :(, lots of kissies and praise for the babie :(, solid proof in the form of writing of how embarrassingly lovesick i am for this FOOL
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it’s past midnight when satoru walks into your bathroom. he doesn’t even question why you’re in the bath so late—just gives you a lopsided grin tiredly as you smile.
“you’re home,” you brighten.
“look at you,” he coos, staring down at you with amused eyes, “waitin’ for me?”
satoru is tired—you can tell from the way the his shoulders are slouched and his blindfold is clutched in his hand. “i was,” you hum in agreement, “c’mere.”
it’s all it takes. he’s stripped down and waiting for you to move up so he can slide behind you in seconds, hand waving to motion you forward. but you’re stubborn—you shake your head as you hold an arm out for him.
“baby,” he whines, “c’mon i was out fighting big bad curses all day. jus’ lemme hold—”
“no. just come here, toru,” you insist.
there’s something about it—something about the way your voice is so gentle, so insistent, so knowing. it’s like you can read him more than he can, sometimes. satoru is tired, you can see it, you can feel it. you can’t carry his burdens, but you can hold him while he holds the weight of the world for a night.
maybe it’ll do for now—maybe it’ll even be enough and more.
“what? feelin’ like pampering me today?” he teases, “aren’t i a lucky guy,” he hums—but he climbs into the tub anyway, settling between your legs, leaning his back against your chest as his head falls back against your shoulder.
instantly, two gentle kisses plant themselves against his head, and his eyes flutter shut. he’s starting to feel the beginnings of a headache form—the gentle thump in his skull just barely there, but persistently present.
your thumbs rubs along the sides of his head, enough pressure to soothe the pain like you know it’s coming—he thinks you must.
“you are a lucky guy,” you giggle, “look at me. such a catch.”
he grins, chuckling that boyish chuckle of his freely in your arms as he relaxes. it’s been a while since he’s relaxed, you think—it’s half past midnight and he’ll be up with the sun in a bit to head back to the school, but it’s nice to know he’s relaxed. even just for this short, rare moment.
“oh yeah,” he nods, lips curled into a grin as he cracks an eye open and peers up at you, “s no catch like my pretty ‘lil baby. i’m living it up.”
“glad you know your privileges,” you murmur contently, shaking your head in amusement as you wrap your arms around his body. one hand rubs over his abs—he wants to tease you about feeling him up, wants to make a sly comment about missing his body more than him while he was gone. but there’s something about it, about the way it’s so slow and soothing and soft—it’s so painfully soft, satoru swallows.
finally, he lets his body go slack against yours, sliding down so his head rests against your chest and the water soaks more of his body. it’s warm. the water and your arms. it’s all so, so warm and forgiving.
“aren’t you gonna tell me how lucky you are too? i’ll listen, don’t worry. no interruptions.”
“yeah?” you chuckle, threading fingers through his hair and pulling a soft sigh from him, “wanna know how lucky i am?”
“course,” he murmurs, “well, i already know you’re lucky. it’s me after all—but i’m not opposed to hearing it.”
“how humble of you, satoru,” you snort.
he grins wider—he hasn’t had a chance to smile all day. not properly, at least.
“feel free to start any second,” he says with a wink. then his eyes flutter shut again as your thumb traces his cheek, ever so gently running along the soft angles of his face.
it’s pretty—everything about him is pretty. there are no ugly parts to satoru. just the parts painted from cruel hands. they’re beautiful too, you like to think, in their own, fragile little ways.
“okay,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his head, “i’m very lucky,” you murmur into his hair.
he hums, mumbling a quiet, “knew it.”
“lucky i have such a handsome face to greet,” you pepper kisses along his forehead and find his cheek, giving it an affectionate little bite that makes him huff out an amused chuckle. “and he’s so tall too,” you add, resting your chin on his shoulder.
“that all he is?” he pouts, “just a pretty face? you’re breaking my heart, baby.”
“no,” you say quietly, grabbing his hand and brushing a thumb over his knuckles, “he’s also kind. too kind, sometimes,” you say quietly, “he comes home a bit later than usual every once in a while because he took his students out to eat. he loves them a bit too much, i think.”
“no such thing as too much love,” he hums, squeezing your hand.
you smile, admiring him as he lays against you, small in your hold even with the larger than life weight he carries.
“and he’s strong,” you add, “really strong. it’s not fair sometimes,” you whisper, “he’s got so much on his plate.”
“he handles it fine,” he assures, “he always does.”
“and then he still makes time for little old me,” you say fondly, kissing his shoulder, “never lets me feel lonely. he’s too good to me.”
“there’s no such thing as too good for you,” he gasps offendedly, pouting like you’ve insulted him, “he’s definitely not—”
“and sometimes, he comes home tired. and he tries to act like he’s not because he’s a bit of a prick who doesn’t let me help, but i’m smart and i know him well so i’ve figured it out. and if i’m extra lucky, i might get to hold him for a bit like this and help him relax.”
you squeeze him gently for emphasis, holding him closer as you press your nose into his neck and breathe in his smell. it’s like cologne that’s rudely expensive and that sweet smell only satoru has—it’s all you want to breathe in for the rest of your days.
you hope he’ll allow you that much. something tells you he will.
satoru swallows thickly at that, rubs a thumb over your bare thigh as he rests his free hand over it, the other still in your grasp.
and then, quietly, “maybe he’s fine just coming home to you,” he shrugs, “who can stay tired with such a sweet face waiting at home?”
“i don’t know,” you say thoughtfully, “he’s got a lot to take care of. wonder how he does it.”
“he’s probably the strongest,” he shoots with an easy grin, “sounds like the strongest to me.”
“he is,” you nod, “he’s a lot more than that too. i’m lucky he’s mine.”
“oh yeah?” he drawls—there’s something a little shaky about his voice though.
you choose not to mention it, pressing soft, delicate kisses along his jaw as you murmur, “yeah. he makes me feel really, really lucky. love him so much.”
“love you too,” satoru breathes, “guess we’re both really, really lucky.”
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don’t talk to me i don’t want to be perceived. that’s enough softness for a lifetime so the next time i write him he’s getting hit by a bus
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