#so much hinges on if this book works out

[juniperhillpatient]

literally adore my silly little doomed original characters so much I think I might write horror & tragedy forever from now on if this book works out

[skyrigel]

Simon would be every bit of a man his father never ever was.

Silent, angry, impatient, nonchalant ?

That's not him. He'll never be that.

He's pulling out your chair, listening to you talk for hours, even the most mundane things which surpassed over his head.

He's taking yours and his plate, washing them because what ? It hardly ever takes a minute.

He sits next to you, watching the program you like so much. Football can come later, or never, what does it matter against the way you giggles and smack his thigh ?

He comes home with flowers, or ice cream tub, or whatever that you ask for, and don't even ask for. He knows.

He's a man of action, if the shelf is too small to cater all your books then the man would be sweating in the shed cutting wood planks and making you the most brilliant shelf, because he would rather die a million times then ever tell you something like, ‘read less, woman’

He meets your family, loves them in his own way, it's okay if he personally doesn't light up the room with his pun or taking cue, but the simple gesture of fixing your mother's old car, and oiling the hinges of door, wordlessly, is everything.

Ignoring children ? No. He picks up the crying child and coddles them so, while you are busy with your own work, or just napping. He shows them the plants and sky and moving clouds, tells them how you are so precious and beautiful and the best person in the whole world.

He's not his father, and seeing your eyes twinkling at him is an everyday reminder.

Masterlist

[st4rbwrry]

𝒜𝑀 𝐼 𝐵𝒜𝐵𝒴?

✧｡˚ a shy nympho camgirl seeks a partner to help her film content on a dating app. soon, meeting up with a handsome man who's willing to do anything for the pretty girl he chats with.

𝒲𝒜𝑅𝒩𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒮 𓇼 14k. pwp, lowercase intended, age gap ꒰ toji is 36, reader is 24 ꒱ submissive reader, pleasure!dom toji, bondage ꒰ belt ꒱, check ins, heavy praise, overstimulation, aftercare, unprotected, videography, oral ꒰ f + m ꒱ , squirting + kreaming, spanking, choking, hair pulling, mild degradation, intimacy on high, toji is intimidating, manhandling, masturbation, daddy kink srry not srry, pet names ꒰ baby, girl, pretty, sweetheart, angel ꒱ minors aren't welcomed! reblogs & comments are appreciated!

౨ৎ — ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 ꒱: this took me so long to finish y'all but im super proud of it. one of my favorite works so far so i hope y’all enjoy. ♡

you hold your notebook in your hands, a bright pink color with numerous doodles sketched onto its cover, your pen on the back of your ear as you slowly cross off a list of things you needed to buy while browsing on your laptop. your room is quiet aside from the soft sound of music playing from your stereo, beyoncé’s cowboy carter album playing from start to finish while you slumped into your soft pink duvet hiding beneath a white canopy slip. the air is crisp how you like, a fresh, chunky strawberry is chewed between teeth, and your skin is freshly scrubbed and moisturized, only covered in a matcha green two piece short and tank set. a laptop sits on your thighs as you cross your legs, twirling your left calf as you bury your back into your mountain of plushies.

this was frustrating. you never realized how hard this would be to find someone to fuck, let alone film content with. you’d made a profile on hinge a week prior to now, and most of the matches weren’t close to peaking your interest. most of the men seemed like creeps, some too old . . . giving very much grim reaper. and others, too young, freshly adults at that. you think you’ve made yourself appealing enough. cute profile with full faced pictures, personality traits, daily interests even . . . but it somehow didn’t attract those you truly wanted.

as your sticker covered macbook’s motherboard screamed for air, warm on your thighs and now sliding on your tummy the further you leaned back. . . you were growing tired. huffing and puffing from literal exhaustion. am i wasting my time? should i just go out and find people like in the movies? but this generation made it so hard to even physically connect anymore. what happened to people running into each other at a coffee shop, a book store, a park? sharing interests and going on dates. granted, what you were looking for was strictly work related. you wouldn’t dare stare a stranger in the eye you bumped into at the farmers market and ask, “hey, wanna fuck me for content?” it’d be tasteless. you have self respect. others may think differently considering your side quests to fund the unfathomable reality of adulthood on top of just being a girl.

“this fucking sucks,” you groan to yourself, thumb aching from how quickly you hit the big ‘x’ on the bottom left corner of your phone screen.

maybe it was time to call it a night. you had an early shift at the salon, about five clients to be exact, booking either re-twists, goddess braids, or a wig install. so you had to save your hand strength. sighing, you shut off your laptop and set it aside on your nightstand, disconnecting the music from your phone before getting up to cut off the light. your fluffy cat that laid on the edge of your bed shooting her head up in alarm, ready to follow at any adventure you pursued.

“relax, mommy’s not going anywhere,” you smile assuredly, knee dipping into the bed as you lean over to smooch her on her tiny head, pointy ears tickling your cheek as you watch her tail sway. “good night, sweet — oh, fuck! i forgot to feed you. i’m so sorry baby.”

the alert in your tone has the black cat stand in attention, cursing to yourself as you slip on your heart printed slippers and make your way towards the kitchen, your studio apartment being on one level making this task easier. you listen to her tiny paws thud on the floor after she jumps off the bed in a hurry, dashing in front of you, damn near tripping you.

“oh my god, you’re so extra,” you shake your head, but couldn’t help but laugh. she meows at you violently, as if you hadn’t fed her in two weeks. rolling your eyes, you reach for her bowl off the floor to clean before opening a fresh can of fancy feast, using one of her plastic spoons to arrange her dinner.

whilst she awaits, you can’t help but glare at the screen of your phone as it suddenly dings, forgetting to turn off your ringer. hovering over it to activate your face i.d, it immediately opens the hinge app, reloading the page to see a new match. the air you inhaled suddenly catches in your throat as you stare wide eyed at your screen, the man in your view is just what you’ve been waiting for.

“oh, holy fuck,” comprehension wasn’t on your radar seeming as you lost the ability of the cat food in your hand, dropping it to the floor and flinching from the mess your fur baby began chowing on. sucking your teeth, you mutter, “goddamit. no, no. stop it.”

flailing your hand gently to get her to stop, you snatch the can and dump the remainder in the deep oval ceramic bowl. you try to ignore the rapid pounding of your heartbeat, unsure why it went so astray. maybe it’s because you’ve never seen a man so fucking fine. deadly fine, foul almost. as if it was such a disrespect to all beings. she’d cleaned up her own mess, so you take the time to grab your phone and lean against the sink to observe this man further. he had matched with you, of course, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so depressed a few minutes ago . . . unless you were waiting for him to like you back.

toji. it’s his name. simple, nice. he only has about three pictures, one of them a huge black cane corso with a gorgeous silky coat. it made sense given the vibe he was giving. dark, intimidating, sexy. jet black hair, slender smoke gray eyes, sharp jaw and a fascinating scar on the side of his mouth. another thing you noticed was how big he was. most of the clothing he wears sticks to his skin like glue. molding the outline of his muscles, the thickness in his arms, the heaviness in his thighs, the brick trail of his abdomen.

a certain feeling burns in your chest, and between your legs as you scroll to see the last image. he’s sitting on a beach chair, thighs spread in black cargo pants, matching tee, a yuengling beer in his hand and a cross dangling around his neck as he takes a sip of his beverage with a hungry look into the camera. it’s cocky, possessive, dominant. the dark brows above his eyes lowered with attentiveness. his shirt is half risen above his abdomen, and you can easily see the dark trail of hair leading into his crotch. it’s full there, clear as day. so it’s easy to tell he carries something serious.

fuck. “fuck,” you feel yourself growing hot, blowing out a breath of air before making your way back to your comfy bed to stare at him more. what a fucking man. honestly, you’d never seen someone so of your standard. exactly your type. before messaging him, you check his profile a bit deeper to make sure you’re not mistaken of anything. find some flaws, though profiles only express so much.

thirty-six, that makes you moan. that’s a twelve year age difference. though that only makes him hotter. not too old, nor young. he’s a . . . gynecologist.

“so he’s good with pussy,” you giggle to yourself. he makes a decent amount of money. he’s into fitness, clearly. cars, politics, sports. seemed like a pretty laid back man to you.

without even realizing, he had already messaged you, your heart dropping to your toes at his first response.

toji

i’ve seen you before.

you blink, fingers typing quickly.

you

mhm, where?

he takes a moment to reply, so you fiddle with your necklace out of anxiousness, laying on your stomach and swaying your feet.

toji

sounds a little embarrassing, but an adult website.

you

sounds about right. does that bother you?

toji

i wouldn’t have matched with you if it had.

you

so you’re saying if i wasn’t a porn streamer you wouldn’t even look my way?

those three dots prolong longer than you wanted, only making you aware he didn’t know what to say.

toji

i matched with you because i find you attractive. whether you want me in that way or not is up to you. i want you.

he’s straightforward. you can’t help but bite the tip of your acrylic, smiling like a stupid teenager, kicking your feet in the air. the attraction being mutual boosting your ego.

“i want you, daddy,” you joke to yourself.

you

i’m assuming you’ve read my bio. i’m looking for someone to film content with! if you’re down for it, we can meet in person and talk about it! i’m not really looking for a relationship. . . right now at least. ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

toji

of course, sweetheart. i’m free saturday’s and sunday’s. you don’t seem that far from me. let’s grab italian. my treat.

there’s something blunt and grown about him, you can practically feel his intimidation radiating through your fingertips. he seems just like the kind of man you knew would fuck you stupid. scream his name until the walls bled. until you’re trembling, and the sheets are off the bed, and his sweat is on your back so arched to the point where it’s painfully delicious. biting your lip, you had nothing else to lose. you needed his help, he’s offering lunch, you only live once.

you

you had me at italian. saturday at 2?

toji

saturday at 2. see you then, darling.

              𓇼

the nostalgic scent of blue magic hair grease fills the air of the salon, your fingers working tirelessly to intricate detail into the woman’s scalp you worked on. your last client of the day in fact. you couldn’t wait to clock out and grab a bowl from chipotle, thinking about it your entire shift. fingers entwining artfully as braiding hair flicks from angle to angle, you finish up the final knotless braid with a hard working sigh. you tried to remain optimistic after she’d taken her seat, unfortunately arriving an hour late to her appointment. said she had ‘issues’ with her boyfriend, smelling like weed and partially slurring her words when she came in. but you could care less when you were on a time crunch.

you hated when people wouldn’t respect the clearly listed rules on your account. so, for that, she’d be paying a late fee. after you applied moose and rosemary oil to her scalp, she’d pay you through apple pay and be on her way. you thank her, and when she’s out the door, you instantly turn to your friend and roll your eyes.

“you’re too damn nice for doing her hair. i would’ve told her ass to kick rocks after showing up that damn late,” amethyst speaks, crosslegged and shaking her head as she digs her fork into her chinease platter, filled to the brim with shrimp fried rice and popcorn chicken. the smell alone makes your tummy growl. “did she even tip you?”

“not at all,” you brush off, not even wanting to think about it anymore. “still got my money at the end of the day.“

“hey, you’ve been off the whole day, everything alright?” amethyst proceeds to question, and your shoulders slump as you halt from sweeping up hair off the floor.

aside from tireless appointments, you couldn’t get toji out of your mind, super impatient, even anxious for saturday to come. it’s two days away until you finally meet him. you’ve texted here and there, shared a few updates on life or spoke of relating passions and wanting desires. you had told him your occupation outside of being a camgirl, and how dissatisfied with it you’ve become. this field wasn’t for you anymore. the passion for it is dying, the clients grow irritable, and you just wanted to breathe. you feel like you’ve been working your whole life. in conclusion, since fifteen. started from an early age dealing with responsibilities due to financial constraints within your family. your mother raised you on her own, along with four other children. and being cursed with the older daughter syndrome, you developed faster than you wanted to. barely having time to live your life until you moved out. even then, it’s been all about work. you needed an island getaway.

“this week just burnt me out. i’m just glad it’s almost over,” you reply, not having the energy for a full conversation. she was a sweet girl, albeit very nosey. you try to keep events in your life private, gossip to a minimum.

“awe, bookie,” she pouts. “what’s your plan for tomorrow? me and the girls were gonna check out that new club ‘sin.’”

shaking your head, you disagree. “now you know i’m not big on clubs. have an art piece to work on anyways before the weekend comes. so i’ll be busy.”

amethyst nods. “well, alright then. i guess i’ll just see you whenever you get booked again.”

you don’t know why that felt like a backhanded response. you’re only here three times out of the week, and most of those days you see about five to six clients. everyone else had a bigger following on social media, meaning more attention, more money. you believe because you aren’t so passionate for this major, your ability to promote and put effort only shows in your adult entertainment career. since it’s where most of your income comes from as of four months ago.

“guess i’ll see you.”

after packing your ballerina pink telfar bag with all of your tools, you wave goodbye to everyone before making your way to your white honda civic, interior a vast splash of pink matching the two-piece skims set you wore. shorts since the weather is about seventy-five degrees today. buckling yourself in, your only agenda is to head to chipotle and then home. ordering your delectable signature bowl of barbacoa, fajita veggies, guacamole, pico de gallo, corn, sour cream, cheese, lettuce, and refusing to eat the bowl without their vinaigrette and a side of chips.

it’s around 9pm when you’re finally cleaned off from a hot shower, curly hair pushed back from your face with a hello kitty headband as you finish your skincare, sitting at your vanity while scandal plays in the background. you’d already eaten your food about an hour ago, even taking a thirty minute nap to regenerate for this art piece you needed to finish. in total, you had about three jobs; hair stylist, camgirl, ceramicist. you had an etsy profile where people bought cute little things of yours you liked to sculpt. tea pots, coquette flower pots, plates, heart cake jewelry boxes . . you name it. you had a few orders for mini miffy trinkets you had to ship out by saturday.

saturday. the warmth in your gut swarms at the thought of seeing that man. quite frankly, you’ve been unable to relieve your mind of him. he’s like a poison, hard to get rid of, but desperate to stay bonded with you. and you wanted nothing more than to be buried in his embrace; small and fucked out. since he’s been busy with work, and so have you, there hasn’t been much time to even call and chat. then again, you wanted to wait to see him in person. to feel that magnetism stronger than it already was. two days away and you’re anxious to even hear a hello.

while patting your toner into your face, you gaze through your mirror to see a scene playing from your show where fitz and olivia fight before they fuck for the hundredth time. the way he grabs her, speaks to her, caresses her and worships her. it has you thinking of toji instantly. the burn for him aching more than normal. practically feeling his eyes on you the way he stared into the camera in that one photo, long fingers clasped around the glass bottle, craving for that lock around your throat. wondering how tight he’d make it. would you be able to breathe? would he kiss air into your mouth to help you? tell you it’s okay, to feel it all, to take it all, to cum on his dick till you're milking him dry?

your thighs squeeze together from your imagination, staring at your reflection . . . and it’s all in your eyes. deep arousal, and the harsh clench you currently held your moisturizer in, close to grinding in your seat to ease the buzz of your clit. there’s only one solution for this, and you might as well make money off it. standing to your feet, you think not a second more before retrieving your laptop from your closet, setting it on your vanity desk and logging into the domain of prettyfuckbunnies.com. it seemed to be the main site for growth, given your eight thousand dedicated subscribers. you check yourself in the mirror once more before going live, rolling your chair back a few inches so they could see your entire frame. dressed in nothing but a small red slip dress.

angelbwrry is live!

your subscribers were notified well before others, hundreds of them swarming the chat within seconds. you were a new favorite, a prized star of the platform. admiration from both women and men. people who tipped you just for being pretty. others here for the obvious. applying gloss to your lips, you stare intensely into the camera, the character you play going into affect.

“hi,” you mutter quietly, slowly titling your head to the side as you bite your lip and sink lower into your seat, back arching. “i’m so fucking horny, and i just need someone to watch me fuck myself.”

the black kuromi chair you sat in begins to sway as you gently swing yourself side to side, eyes trained on the chat to witness them praise you, some comments degrading off the rip that you chose to ignore, others demanding you get on with it. for the most part, you tend to be discreet with sharing much about yourself. technically, you weren’t hiding much, your face easily accessible and probably even less hard to track. you’d always pray that there wasn’t a psycho willing to go that far just to find you. role playing was your forte. writing ideas for new personas to please them. and you had fun doing it. you’d never do something you weren’t in to for the satisfaction of others. never took private calls, or meets ups for obvious reasons.

but, you had to talk about him.

“i met this guy i can’t get outta my head,” the softness in your tone making dicks go erect and clits beat, the chat asking questions and growing fond of your way of interaction. “well, maybe not met. we’ve texted, and i meet him in a few days. possibly someone you’ll see on the channel. and . . .”

the tenseness in toji’s neck bothers him as he groans and leans back into his office’s chair, fork in one hand as he chews on his salad from sweetgreen a coworker grabbed for him, reading through emails his secretary confirmed appointments of, needing to add it into his schedule to be aware of what he can fit between. needing to run a few errands this weekend. the white doctors coat clings to his body, one foot raised to rest on the front of his desk, manspreading and jaw shifting as he finishes his food tiredly, knowing he wouldn’t eat a thing once he got home.

“goodnight doctor fushiguro! get some rest tonight, yeah?” a body comes to view of his secretary; a woman with glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, a chunky face and beautiful red hair. she waves enthusiastically.

toji smiles, the older woman trying her best not to swoon. he’s young enough to be her son. “good night, miss thorn. thank you for today. you get home safe and enjoy your trip. i wanna hear all about it when you’re back.”

“you know you’re the first person i’m running to tell!” she chirps, toji chuckling. “i left my keys on the main desk. don’t forget or else you’ll have to break open the drawer for your patients files.”

“i’ll be sure to remember.”

twenty minutes pass and toji’s cutting off lights to his small facility and locking up. twirling the keys on his long finger, starting up the sleek black maserati ghibli gt sitting in the parking lot from his key. a black patent leather messenger bag hanging from his shoulder, doctors coat discarded and now attired in his usual black tee with matching slacks. setting it beside him in the passengers seat, he gets a ding! from his cellphone, resting his shoulders in his seat before checking what it was, perhaps it was miss thorn, she tends to leave things behind.

angelbwrry is going live!

toji raises a brow from the notification, checking the sapphire bulova watch on his wrist for the time. 9:54pm. why were you up so late? forgetting people have other schedules, he’s so used to being asleep around this time, much more having to be done today the only reason he was still in the office way past the hour it closed. part of him grows inquisitive, wondering if he should invade your privacy or what not. though, he’s not new to your escapades. he’s seen every inch of your body, memorizing it quite literally. he’s not ashamed to say you’ve gotten him off a few times these past months. he feels like he knows you on a deeper level now, so itching for that perverted behavior would be indecent to both of you. especially if he’s seeing you in two days . . . for a conversation about what you do and his potential participation.

nothing wrong with just watching, right?

as the engine to his car hums, toji finds himself in a devious act, clicking onto your feed and finding you displayed in your feminine bedroom. the videos on mute momentarily before he’s going full screen and turning his phone sideways. there you were, small and standing tall as the slip that barely clung to your body arose the more you moved. hips wide, thighs full, nipples taut and tits defying gravity. the strap on your right shoulder falls elegantly, your hair hoisted up by a claw clip and your brown skin radiating glow. the man openly groans from the sight, knowing you smelt so good.

“wait, i have an idea!” the cute tone of your voice blares through his phone, a smirk painting his stern features as he watches you scramble for something in your room, your slip riding up your ass. the hourglass shape of your body, to the pudge of your tummy . . he’s enamored.

he, and a thousand other people watch curiously as you lift the seven foot mirror that previously leaned against your closet door and position it on the floor at the edge of your bed. then, you’re digging into your bottom drawer for something else, toji catching a brief glance at the chat raving and thirsting from the view of your perky ass peaking out, a tiny birth mark under the left one. the cellulite in your legs that squish together from size, the stretch marks leading from beneath your ass cheeks down to the backs of your knees. so fucking soft.

“ta-da!” you wave the object in your hand courageously, an evil grin on your face as you show the crowd your confetti designed dildo, the brow on toji’s face raising. he almost wants to chuckle. you’re so silly, he thinks. watching you dance your way back towards the mirror where you hum a tune to yourself, swaying your ass in the air for dramatics before plunging your toy onto the center of the mirror so it sticks, watching it spring for attention.

“gonna pretend this is him, ‘till then. can’t wait any longer,” your hands slowly drift up your thighs to show your audience your bare pussy, hiding between those luscious thighs of yours. he wanted to suffocate his face there badly. what you say almost goes over his head. pretend who’s what?

toji ignores the flow of comments filling the chat, degrading you to some degree which he briefly clenches his jaw from, feeling somewhat protective. others praising you, acting like your cash pigs. pathetic, he thinks. he sees one comment in particular that makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

prinxxxspeach

aren’t you seeing him saturday? call him now to come help you girl!!

don’t fucking call me, angel. i’ll nut in my pants right now if i hear you say my name. he’s slightly amused that you spoke of him. is that why you went live so late? thinking about him? so pent up, and impatient, you had to just fuck it out your system? he’d fuck you a lot better than that lousy toy you had, that’s for sure.

you giggle from the comment, contacts still in your sockets so you can read what people are saying from afar.

“he can wait for me. he’s making me wait,” it’s like an old film camera flipping to the next scene, or maybe his mind had gone blank from your response because now, now you’re sinking your tiny pussy onto your toy after coating it with lube, the reflection of your cunt for all to see in the mirror. watching as this toy splits you apart, pretty folds swallowing it deep as you balance yourself on the tips of your toes. fully sitting and rolling your hips to adjust, your mouth falls wide and a whimper escapes.

“nng, s’so deep,” that voice of yours is going to get you in trouble. the broken moans you release as you lift your hips to grind and bounce, face falling forward to look at yourself, seeing someone other than yourself. your imagination begins to run wild, and you forget a cameras watching you, dainty fingers caressing the mirror before laying your palm flat, as if you’re choking him. biting your lip, you occupy your other hand by molding at your chest.

you uphold your balance well, clapping your ass down against the mirror now coated with your slick, pussy squelching ridiculously loud aside from your weak moans and desperate whimpers.

“fuuck,” your breath hikes, sounds broken and almost pleading, eyes rolling back as you collapse to your knees and lazily rock back on your idea of a dick. by this point, toji’s eyes are malicious, and his dick is hard in his slacks. shifting in his seat uncomfortably from what you’ve done.

“lemme see your face,” toji whispers in the air, the heat rushing to his cheeks. the things you do to him truly fascinating.

“g’na cuum, mmph daddy!” a high pitched squeal you let out stuns him, your hips shifting back and forth hurriedly. the flesh of your ass moving like water, and he’s in a trance. daddy? what the fuck are you doing to him? he wonders if you knew he was going to purposely join your live. already talking about him gave it away.

“c’mon, angel. show me,” the blood swells in his cock rapidly, tip damn near dripping with precum, unable to help but palm his heavy hand with it, humming and widening his legs.

“too-jii,” it’s faint the words you falter, a pathetic whimper followed by drool covered lips and a cute squeak. your body trembles from the depth of your orgasm, riding out your high and giggling cutely to yourself. to others, the words were inaudible. but to him, he knew exactly what the fuck you said.

the way you smile at yourself in the mirror, as if you’re looking at his fucked out face, you slowly upturn your head to bring it back to the livestream, a drunken, and dangerous grin on your face. never in his years of life had a woman made him gulp. to fear for what you’d do to him. how bad you’d break him, make him go fucking crazy. yearn for your pussy on his mouth.

you were fucking ethereal.

              𓇼

of-fucking-course you’d be running late. you were supposed to meet toji at two and it’s two thirty. the location of c’est moi exactly twenty five minutes away from where you lived. you were close to the downtown area, not fond of parking down there but you’d drive faster than an uber can. you made sure to make toji aware of your lateness so he’s not getting the idea that you stood him up. never. not after the other day. you don’t know what happened, but your mind took over your body and you couldn’t help yourself. you only pray he didn’t see it, not expecting him to. it’s embarrassing now that you think back on it.

you manage to make it out of the house twenty minutes after, throwing on a simple white pleated cami dress with a ruffled hem, ruched bust, and pairing of olive green sandals that had tea rose shaded orchids clipped onto the forefront. a teri cherry printed coach bag tight on your shoulder after you sped sixty miles per hour towards the restaurant, finding parking and hurriedly making your way inside.

“hi, reservations for fushiguro. i’m extremely late,” as you approach the host, you make out the sight of the man you were here to see outside instantly. sitting alone sipping a cup of coffee. his side profile all you can see, that deep scar carved into the side of his mouth, his veiny hands big as he clutches the mug . . and your throat clogs up.

he’s fucking . . . big. fuck being nervous before, this made you want to run and hide and never show your face. he’s practically hunching over the table, making it appear smaller than it actually is. his hair is midnight black, his broad shoulders and muscles suffocating the sleek gucci button up he wore, a few undone, eyes studying his cellphone, awaiting your call. one thing about being a doctor, he’s learned to be patient. understanding your alarm forgot to go off, or rather you slept through it . . seemingly growing to become impatient. he needed to see your face now.

“right this way.”

your feet follow blindly behind the hostess, trying your best not to trip over your own feet, heart beating drastically against your ribcage. your palms are sweaty, feeling the warm breeze of spring air hit your skin as the hostess leads you outside to the table where toji resides. he sees you before you see him, the sun beaming on your skin not nearly as hot as your cheeks suddenly became when finally making eye contact. your right hand picks at the ends of your dress anxiously, toji taking a stand to welcome you like a gentleman. it’s like slow fucking motion the closer you approach him, and when you’re inches apart, you can see the stillness on his face. he doesn’t smile, his face is almost unreadable. not sure if he’s upset with you for being late, or he’s just not one for emotions.

“hi,” the hairs on your skin stand from the deep baritone of his voice, visibly swallowing as you stare up at him, height difference making you dizzy.

“hi,” you blink like an innocent doe. he’s hovering over you and the waiter whom sets the menu down on the table, his chest almost touching you as he comes around to pull your chair out for you to sit, finally getting so close to the point where he could breathe in your sweet perfume, the peony and white musk scent has him forcing down a groan. he’s staring intently at your backside, dark hair going to the middle of your back in wild curls, a bit frizzy due to the humidity outside.

“can i get you anything to drink, miss?” the waiter addresses you, politely waiting for toji to move out the way.

why is your entire body on fire? no man has ever had this affect on you. his aura exudes something sinister, overtly masculine even. “u-um, yes please. can i just have a frozen sangria?”

“of course, i’ll be back with that while you decide on your meal.”

“thanks,” you smile sweetly, trying your very best to avoid complete eye contact. once the two of you are alone, you build up the courage to look at him again. he’s seated once more, leaning back into his chair with a left arm resting over the back of the chair with his legs comfortably spread. he liked to do that a lot. his eyes are low, head adjusted somewhat to the left as he observes you.

“good to finally see you,” he’s the first to speak, again. that fucking voice of his; raspy and dominant. how are you supposed to carry out a conversation without folding?

“y-yeah,” you clear your throat, sitting up straight after shyly clamping your hands between your legs and trying to hide like a porcupine. “i want to apologize again for running late. out of all days my phone decides to not ring my alarm. i rushed here as soon as possible. i hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

his lips began to rise into a soft smile, and that eases your nerves. no one would notice you’d rush to get ready. so naturally pretty with your face glowing from rose water and petroleum jelly, hair brushed out, lashes only curled with mascara, lips lined with black liner and smothered with gloss while your prescription glasses sit on the bridge of your nose. too cute.

“sweetheart, no need for the sorry’s. i understand.”

he’s not mad, thank fuck. “kay,” you smile back, tucking pieces of flown hair behind your ear. “did you order yet?”

“was waiting on you,” he replied. “though i kind of lost my appetite. i’m craving something . . . else. so, order anything you’d like.”

that was surely a double meaning. now, you’re not so sure if you had an appetite anymore. you couldn’t bare to eat in front of this man right now. when the waiter came back with your drink, you downed half of it, toji chuckling from your anxiousness. you needed the liquid courage before uttering another word towards the man who watched you with motive, intention. the intimidation brewing from his body is corrupting you. you order a simple caesar salad, nothing too fancy.

“oh! i printed out the document we have to go over.”

toji’s eyes trail to your hands that reach for your purse, acrylic nails painted a peony pink pulling out your notebook stuffed with an arrangement of papers as well as a pen. “guess we can call it like an nda, affidavit . . whatever. i’m sure you’re aware of the obvious on why. um, we can discuss boundaries within the bedroom . . . things we will or will not condone. a safe word is a must. if you don’t feel comfortable showing your face i’d blur it out, but given i do livestreams most of the time that’ll be impossible. so i’d suggest a mask, which i’m actually in to so if that’s something you’re willing to do . . “

toji nods as you continue to ramble, carefully analyzing everything you say, though, his mind begins to drift elsewhere. he still couldn’t get that damn livestream out of his mind. killing himself these past two days just thinking about how fucked out he needed you to be, buried deep and crying underneath him. the cute expressions on your face when you moaned his name so publicly, as if you dared him to see. how desperately you fucked yourself on that pathetic toy of yours from the very thought of him. your whines, the illicit way you stared at your reflection in the mirror beneath your sculpture of a body you rolled seductively. he shifts in his seat, attempting to conceal the stirring of hunger within him as you continue to talk. he doesn’t need a fucking contract. he’d fuck you good and wouldn’t tell a soul.

his expression is firm yet tinged with a hint of something different this time . . anticipation. “why do you film content?”

the unwavering intensity in his gaze causes you to cut your sentence short, mouth forming an ‘o’ as you ponder on his question. was he even listening? “wha—what do you mean?”

toji chuckles. “i mean, why do you film? is it your main source of income? do you enjoy submitting to hundreds of people? does it make you feel confident, make you feel good? why?”

that should’ve been something you prepared yourself to answer. most of the guys you filmed content with didn’t have personal answers to ask, nor did they care. they were simply there to have a good time and go about their lives. you came into this situation thinking that’s what toji wanted as well. now you’re getting a gut feeling it’s more than that. or maybe you’re just an over-thinker. the whole point of making an account on hinge was to find better people to connect with for work, but most of them never got the job done, and you were tired of faking an orgasm and boosting a man’s ego. something about this one though, you can feel that he’s willing to worship you.

“well, i actually have three jobs. hairstylist during the day, which i’m growing to lose passion for. i’m good with pottery so i make little things and sell them. and then as for filming content . . . it’s fast money. the economy is shit right now. minimum wage jobs aren’t cutting it. rent prices are horrifying. i want to fund a new life for myself. to travel more, and just be a girl.”

toji smiles, admiring you.

“bali has been on my mind as a place to reside. it’s always been a dream of mine to be somewhere tropical. less breathing in polluted air and eating foods they pump full of hormones. mexico and puerto rico are also on the list. i really need to dip my feet in some sand or something. i don’t know. it’s also kind of sexually liberating to be in my own bubble and enjoy myself in that way. i do it for no one but myself.”

toji sits up in his seat, taking a piece of ciabatta and smearing softened butter onto the breadpicked up a slice of bread and smeared some butter onto it. “i think that moving to a place like that is a good idea. there’s a lot of bullshit in the world that’s hard to run away from. if you feel like it’s what’s best for your mental and emotional being, then go for it. you seem like you’ve worked real hard your entire life. you deserve a break.”

the heat in your cheeks rise as he leans himself closer, guiding the bread to your lips, waiting for you to take a bite. you smile softly, sitting up a bit in your chair before taking a bite. toji watches intensely as you moan from the taste.

“isn’t it much better when it’s given by someone else?”

“yeah, it’s good. real good,” you swallow, licking your lips to rid the breadcrumbs, reaching for your glass of wine to take another sip. “i have most of my savings in tact, so my plan is to be out of here by next year.”

the unadulterated pull between the two of you threatens to consume him as he stares at you, his body almost painfully yearning for your touch, your taste, your everything. toji can no longer resist. he reaches out and gently cups your chin, his fingers gently yet firmly tilting your face up to meet his smoldering gaze when you dared to look away. “how ‘bout you take me with you.“

the entire scene switches, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, filled with a raw mixture of lust and vulnerability makes you fall shamelessly into his trance. you feel your heart patter against your chest, scanning his entire face with small indications of panic, and excitement. you’ve been dying for his touch all week. you pray he’s as good as he looks.

“what’s the catch?” you breathe inordinately.

toji smirks. “we get fake married or something and change our identities.”

you shake your head at his joke. “i need to see a ring first, mister.”

“mhm, you look like a marquise kinda girl,” he tongues his cheek, in deep thought. “go to bali. i pay, you enjoy life.”

pairs of lips are mere inches away, toji ghosting his softly amongst your own, yours parting to follow. you feel like you’re in space, the feeling extraterrestrial. surrounded by depths of nothingness with only the two of you existing.

“i. . no, i can’t let you do that,” you shake your head dismissively.

“you deserve it.”

“you don’t know me.”

“good. that’ll be the perfect occasion for us to spend more time together,” he concludes, softly pecking your lips to coax you into giving him what he needed. you’re stunned, unsure what to say, or to think. so, he doesn’t make you think.

“fuckin’ kiss me,” his voice drops to a husky whisper, filled with a raw mixture of desire and vulnerability, eyes flickering from the plumpness of your lips to your eyes. “can’t wait any fucking longer.”

the heat of his breath mingles with yours as his lips brush against your own in a hungry, fiery kiss. his mouth devours yours with an intensity that borders on primal, each movement filled with a desperate need to taste and consume everything you have to offer. his tongue slips past your parted lips, eagerly exploring the depths of your mouth as if seeking to memorize every inch of you.

you were drawn in fully now and you didn’t think you’d be able to pull away even if you wanted.

within the moment of your passionate kiss, as toji’s rough hand trailed to grasp your throat, your waiter begins to approach with your salad, eyes widening as he noticed how deeply, and somewhat aggressively your make out session was. practically swallowing each others faces. deciding to mind his business and turn the other way. he’d come back in a few minutes. toji breaks the kiss abruptly, his eyes gleaming with a hint of reluctance.

“damn this table,” he mutters, his gaze shifting towards the barrier separating the two of you. his breathing is ragged, body practically trembling with pent-up need. even so, he manages to pull himself together enough to maintain some semblance of composure.

he’s left you breathless, feeling something in your chest you’d never felt before, this attraction for him otherworldly. your lips are pouted, hands bawled into little fists levitating in front of your chest, as if you were begging for him to come back. when he begins to rise to his feet, you wonder where he’s going, eyes coming into immediate contact at the bulge growing tight in his jeans. you swallow, shifting your gaze up to the tall man that hovers over you possessively.

“go home, send me the address. i gotta handle a few business calls then i’ll be there at eleven.”

you hadn’t noticed the way your teeth sunk into your lower lip as you give him those damn puppy eyes, as if you’re so fascinated by him, almost scared of him to leave right now. toji grabs the pen resting between your little pink book, signing his signature on the indicated line on the bottom of the page for your gratification. after, he’s fishing for the brown leather wallet in his pocket to place down a hundred dollar bill on the table to cover the tab and the waiters tip. then, he leans down, lips gently brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss that sends a shiver down your spine. he lingers just a moment longer, as if reluctant to let go.

“see you later, angel.”

finally, and with that, he steps back, his eyes lingering on your form for a moment before he turns and walks away, the sound of his heavy footsteps echoes in your ears, leaving you alone with your thoughts and a lingering sense of anticipation for the evening to come. starstruck entirely.

𓇼

a rush of arousal burned within you like wildfire as you lay in your empty bed, yearning for the man who's been gone for only a few hours now. caressing your collarbone while chewing on your lip, your phone rests in your palm, excitement brewing for twenty minutes now ever since he texted you to let you know he was on the way. a black baby doll is adorned on your soft skin. ruffle lace details at the neckline and hem with a satin waistband tie at the back into a cute bow. matching mesh g-string panty, and floral patterns along the bust and hip area.

you took the time to curl your hair, reminding yourself to actually put your contacts in this time. also keeping makeup to a minimum with just mascara, a bit of blush, and some strawberry chapstick. skin moisturized in baby oil and spritzed with miss dior. . . waiting. the camera’s set up across from your bed, trying to distract yourself by engaging in conversation with your viewers. the comments were raging about how impatient they were to see something, but how did they think you felt? you could barely walk out of that restaurant without feeling your legs shake.

he intimidated you beyond measure, and god knows what he’s going to do to you when he gets here. it’s a fear and form of greed you’d never felt before.

“my fucking hands are shaking,” you giggle anxiously, smiling to yourself and shaking your hands before dramatically breathing out.

as you waited, you did little things to keep your buyers entertained, showing your ass every now and then as you cleaned your room like a cute maid. call it foreplay. sitting on your knees now become uncomfortable, so you aim for lowering to your tummy and stretching your arms ahead of you, ass raised up. as soon as you get comfortable, your head pops up from the sound of heavy footsteps surrounding the small area of your home. it’s him. you’d hope, leaving the door unlocked so it’d be easier for him to enter.

“oh, fuck—y’all,” the anxiety is even worse now, mentally preparing yourself with steady breaths and shoving your face into the bed to scream happily. the emotions are bipolar. “he’s coming up.”

toji steps closer to your slightly cracked open door, pushing it open wide to see you. his demeanor nothing short of serious when he gets a good look at you, hearing you yap at your camcorder with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. he rests his right shoulder against the frame of the door, staring at you, admiring. his boots hit along the floor the closer he gets to you, and that cute ass you had perched up. the lights in your room are dimly lit, citrus candles spread around and led lights from your vanity illuminating the area. the vibe is nice, he likes it. like he likes you.

you continue to speak to your livestream and pretend he wasn’t there, trying to ignore your heartbeat picking up. the tension is in the air. you tried to steady your breathing as you continue to ramble about nonsense; animal crossing, sims you wanted to recreate and purposely wicked whim them. anything to distract yourself from the sparks shivering through your body. you prod the inside of your cheek trying to bite back a grin when you finally feel his hands on your hips, eyes watching the chat go wild from the brooding man behind you. what makes it all the more hot is that he hasn’t spoken a word, feeling like an intruder. stalking, waiting.

“so yeah, i’m thinking about dying my hair red. i feel like my face is kinda full to have a silk press so i’ll look . . off? maybe p-pin ‘urls,” a wave of pleasure shocks through you when you feel him press the outline of his dick against your cunt, dragging you back to air-fuck you once or twice. a few times. for the tease of it. his fingertips lightly flowing along the curves and contours of your body, your hips being the most sensitive. gasping and twitching from the feel, the thong you wore barely shielding how wet you were.

your breath became heavier, and you found it harder to continue speaking. you felt like moans would slip out of if you continued to react to his touch, the heat between you two rising. you were drawn fully into him. the reaction from him gave you a confidence boost, a slick smile showing on your face. while his body speaks of his own growing need, he remains a silent observer, his intense gaze watching as you maintain, or try, your playful conversation with the camera.

“i gotta admit something,” you smile into your hair that falls angelically around the frame of your face. his form, silhouetted behind you, takes on an ominous yet seductive presence. even though he remains hidden from view, his yearn is palpable, eyes locked on you as if he could consume you with a single glance.

“i fucked myself thinking of him,” a jolt of electricity runs down toji’s spine as he recollects the image. a low, involuntary groan escapes his throat as his grip on you tightens. “those of you who don’t remember. it was really, really good.”

that’s the final trigger. in seconds, a rough palm strikes the flesh of your ass, causing the cutest squeak to emit from you. toji’s wrapping his other fist around the softness of your hair and pulling you back to his hard chest. his cologne is strong, enrapturing even. your hand reaches beside you to catch his wrist in your grip, feeling the coldness of his expensive watch while he’s busy locking your jaw still and pressing his lips beneath your ear.

“really?” the tone is condescending, and as you nod frantically, pushing your ass back to feel him more, all you can hear is the unraveling of his belt. slowly removing it, the sound of the leather rubbing against the buckle and his pants. the anticipation fills you at an alarming pace. “i knew that, angel.”

how? wait, did he fucking watch the live you made that night? your legs nearly go weak at the possibility, sheer embarrassment consuming you. he wasn’t meant to see that. yeah, you told him about it. but him seeing that, then having lunch with you like nothing happened is crazy work. he noticed you’re frozen, chuckling darkly behind you.

“relax, doll. i can pretend i didn’t, ‘n you can show me all over again.”

he grabs your wrists, pining them behind your back with a rush of power fueling him, crossed hands sitting on your ass.

“this okay, baby?” he scans the side of your face for approval, using the smooth leather to bond them together. you hum, lips bitten and nodding obediently.

the look on your face in the camera is so worth the thousands of views from people who were just as desperate as he was to see you submit. your hands wriggle to touch him, laying your head on his shoulder and biting your lip as his teeth graze from your shoulder, to your collarbone, and your neck. your body’s completely on fire, and he makes it worse when he gently shoves you forward to fall on your face, back arched and ass high for his view, and theirs.

toji stared down at you as you remained there, fully surrendering yourself for the taking. his larger body leans over yours, fingers grabbing your chin to force your mouth to open. toji brushes his lips along yours, your desperate mouth sinking into him, feeling that same spark you felt earlier during lunch in your chest. he deepened the kiss to give you what you wanted, easily reading you, his tongue ravaging your mouth with his waist grinding into the shape of your ass. the kiss is so wet it has you mewling like a cat in heat, losing your breath.

“give me a safe word, hm?” toji sucks on his lower lip, the arousal in his eyes ruining you. a heavy hand rubs circles on your ass before hitting it again, another cute sound leaving that pretty mouth you had.

brushing your cheek along your bed set, dark curls dancing around your face and a pout on your lips, you whimper, “strawberry.”

“mhm,” your stomach flips when you felt his hand drift between your inner thigh, toji’s tongue skidding over your lips the same time his fingers apply pressure to your clit, rubbing in circles after he pulls your panties to the side, your babydoll resting pretty on top of the rolls on your back. your fists are balled tightly in your restraints, widening your mouth to suck on his tongue before giving him a deep kiss. the image on your face is pure dizziness. acting like your fucked dumb while barely being fucked. he couldn’t wait to see you crumble.

you squirm under his touch, breath growing short and shaky, toji maintaining eye contact with you dangerously. he’s big on it, and it makes you shy, yet brave enough to endure it.

“you hear yourself, girl?” toji hisses, pecking your lips hard, his fingers coated with your slick the more he rubbed. you whine, arching your ass even closer to his hand. “you’re so needy for me, it’s cute.”

it’s ridiculous that you can’t even speak, him turning you into nothing but a whiny, whimpering sub. “you’re desperate for my touch, for my tongue.” he whispered, his voice growing even rougher as his own need grew.

“mmm, yes. need it so bad,” you pout, mouth gaping after he spanks your clit lightly. “fuck, please eat it, baby.”

“i will good girl.”

he didn’t hesitate for another second, sliding behind you with one knee pressed into the bed and his big hands holding you still, spreading your cheeks further apart and cussing under his breath from how fucking cute your pussy was. fat, and glistening in your juices, clit hiding between your folds giving him something to search for. “g’na fuckin’ kill me, angel. pretty fuckin’ pussy you got.”

you scoot up as much as you can, hands still bound behind your back, wanting to cry from the inability to move, but loving that he had you at his mercy. his hair covers his eyes and he’s submerged into you, pressing his mouth to your pussy in a sweet kiss, like he’s knocking politely, before running his thick, long tongue over you slowly. a groan resounded devilishly, toji lapping at your dripping clit, tongue hot and your toes can do nothing but curl.

he’s slow and deliberate, enjoying the sounds and reactions he was getting out of you as you writhed and quivered under his ministrations. your pussy and his mouth makes up the loudest voice in the room, so fucking sweet and wet he’s salivating over you. spanking you, taking his time to devour you as he swallows your cunt whole, tongue gliding from your clit all the way to your hole. occasionally dipping his tongue into you to fuck you like that. your eyes cross, a broken cry making him lose it.

“keep bouncing that ass back, baby. fuck, fuck my face, angel,” he’s hitting you again, and you can’t take it, shifting your thighs to roll your ass back onto his gorgeous face. you’re panting like an animal, jaw dropping as he keeps his mouth on your clit, sucking it hard and groaning into your cunt, the vibrations traveling up your spine.

“oh . . god, oooh god,” the gasp in your throat became high pitched, toji licking you faster when he sees you giving your utmost effort. continuing his onslaught on your sensitive clit, swollen and satiating his taste buds. his fingers dug into your thighs, lowering himself completely to sit on his knees before you, rocking you back on his face as he eats it, unrelenting. sucking, licking, slurping, drowning his tongue inside of you . . . damn, it’s fucking good.

“c-cumming,” he can barely hear you as you stuff your face into the bed, toji’s head bouncing as you settle your feet on his shoulders and rock back on his face even quicker, groaning. “don’t stop, don’t s-stop, babyyy.”

“mhm hmm,” he’s moaning into your pussy, kissing and tonguing you down until you finally burst, your hands in their constraint balling into fists, getting the chance to latch onto his black hair once he pushes you flat on your stomach to bury his face completely between your ass and thighs. “let it out, baby.”

his chin glistened from your juices, toji groaning the rougher you tugged at his scalp, dick jumping in his jeans he needed to unravel soon. when you cum, you do this thing where you squeal and gasp at once, and he swears it’s the cutest thing he’s ever fucking heard. lifting his face, he licks his lips proudly, wiping his chin and patting your ass to watch it shake in his palm. you were a lovely display beneath him, and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of ownership over you.

he reached down and traced a finger along the length of your trembling leg, his dominant presence still overwhelming. he brings his hand to the back of your neck which you arched into his touch, his eyes darkening at your silent plea. “you want more?”

“nn, yea,” a breathless giggle falls from you, toji dragging you to sit at your knees by the grip on your neck and around your chest with his forearm, back hitting his chest again, and your eyes come into contact with the camera, almost forgetting it was there.

“show them what i did to your pussy, angel. let them see how perfect you are,” toji whispers, tapping at your knees to help you sit on your behind.

“okay,” the words are small again, because that’s how he makes you feel. once you sit, you raise your knees to your chest, toji lifting your babydoll to show your soft tummy and the pink lights from your vanity mirror glowing on the angles and curves of your body. you look like the finest art.

it’s liberating seeing yourself like this, a sense of relief washing over you when he begins to unloose the belt, humming elatedly and arching into him, your periwinkle painted toes twinkling in the air playfully. toji laughs at you, your hand coming to your cunt to cover it out of fake shyness, rolling to lay on your side and giggling to yourself. you really did know how to play a role, or maybe you’re just naturally silly.

toji unfastened his button before drifting his zipper down, thick thighs spread and arms bulky as he kept them in fists into the bed, tilting his head in your direction as he sat beside you, body taking up half the bed. you sit on your knees next to him, your hands running across his stomach and lifting up his shirt, toji licking his lips when your nails delicately scratch at his hips. you moan when his hand comes into contact with your hair, your nails digging into the broadness of his thigh.

as he guided your head down, you could feel the heat coming off of his body. you could smell the unique scent of masculinity wafting off of him. the feeling of his fingers running through your hair sent tingles down your spine, his touch tender and affectionate despite his dominating demeanor. your chest fluttered when his thumb touched your lower lip, your breath stuttering and your body quivering, a heat rising in your core all over. you felt the need for him grow stronger, pulling your lip downward. he shifted his fingers and tilted your chin up further, exposing your throat and neck to him. then he leans over, his free hand coming up to cup the back of your head as his mouth latches onto your neck. pressing light kisses along the sensitive skin, his tongue grazing out and your skin pricks with fire.

“can’t stop tasting you,” he grunts, his lips and tongue on your throat licking hard, driving you insane with need. his hand holding the back of your neck in a possessive manner, keeping you in place as his mouth explored your sensitive skin.

“toji. .” your voice is weak, feeling your inner thighs drown in a puddle of your arousal. “wanna suck it.”

“i’m sorry, what was that?” he hums.

“don’t tease,” you roll your eyes and pout.

“mhm,” he lets out a little grunt as his eyes rake over you, his breath catching slightly as he stares at you. he runs his hand down to your waist, gripping fervently. “so pretty,” he murmurs.

“thank you,” you whisper, feeling a strong rush of affection for him. “you’re so handsome,” you say, your voice low and tender.

“g’na give it a good kiss, baby? real good?” he hisses, your hand pulling at his jeans to sit lower on his sharp hips, letting his dick free and watching it with a watered mouth as it sat against his tummy. heavy, thick, two veins protruding on either side. you fucking knew he was big. bless your intuition.

“yes, want it,” you plead.

a low growl escaped his throat. “show me you want it then,” he purrs, his eyes growing darker with desire and his grip on your hip tightening.

the salivation in your mouth gave you just what you needed to do the job, widening your mouth to accommodate his size, drooling over his dick as you pull him in as deep as you could to start. half of him enclosed by the warmth of your mouth and instantly toji moans from the feel, your cheek sucking in while you guide your head up and down, keeping your hands to yourself, one on his thigh for balance. your eyes are closed to focus, humming and dragging your mouth slow to make him feel it all. toji catches himself knocking his head back, pulling the sheets between his fingertips and scrunching his brows together, stomach caving in.

he can hear you slurp and suck at him needily, moaning around him and riding the air with your ass, spit gliding down to the base of his dick as your tongue sticks out to drag along the under of his shaft, bobbing your head and licking at him. something about giving him head in specific felt intoxicating. maybe it’s the sounds he makes; guttural yet whiny. the desperation begs to tug at his throat, shifting his hips blindly and cussing under his breath. eventually, his fingers find their way back to your scalp, toji sitting up and entangling both hands into your hair, face curated in pleasure with eyes wired shut and a gaped jaw.

“shit, ꒰♡꒱. that’s fuckin’ good, doll,” toji grunts, your moans around him encompassing him to briefly detangle a hand to spank against your ass in clear indulgence. “damn.”

your hand couldn’t help but travel to touch him, wrapping your hand around the base of his dick to stroke your hand according to the pace your mouth drags. that gravitational wave in his abdomen hit, a deep ‘your suckin’ it so good’ fleeing from his mouth followed by another harsh spank and a steady tug at your scalp to push you down only enough to follow your rhythm. when he hits the back of your throat, you force yourself to hold him there for a few seconds, purposely constricting your throat to hear him moan for you again, and again. his sounds addicting.

toji chuckles from how good you’re doing, raising your head to breathe before swallowing only the tip while stroking the remainder, your salvia being enough lubricant to quickly move your wrist. twisting and tugging while keeping it mostly on the head of his cock, the sensitive spot your toy to play with as you give teasing kitty licks, two hands covering him now.

picking your head up momentarily, you stare into his eyes with your siren ones, low and dangerous. pulling at his dick while you bite your lips before kissing him, mewling when he shoves his tongue into your mouth, pulling your body closer by your ass, the other grabbing the side of your face he practically swallowed into his own. the kiss is feverish, something straight out of a movie. he’s highly infatuated with you, tasting himself off of you with the mixture of yourself. toji sucks on your lower lip, and you find yourself positioning your thigh over his to sit and grind on his leg. you had enough of the foreplay, you needed him to fuck you.

“fuck me,” a whimper escapes, pressing your body down harder onto him, hand still stroking at him, that fucking voice of yours driving him mad. he doesn’t think he’ll last if you keep it up. “toji. . . toji.”

“stop begging,” he shuts it down quickly, the sound of his boots hitting the floor as he kicks them off exciting you. of course you couldn’t hide the smile, feening innocence as you pet at his jeans to help him remove them.

he's only in his black shirt now, your eyes following how his muscles swallowed the material, showcasing every sharp cut of his upper body. he made you dizzy, truly. that slit on the side of his mouth curving with his mouth as he smirks at you for getting lost in your cute little dream land.

“focus, love,” toji reels you back in, his hand on your lower back to arch your chest into his, dragging you to straddle him. if he could see the blush on your face he’d see that you were red as a tomato, his dick sitting right beneath you and you can’t help but shudder. “need you to lift your hips, help daddy out.”

“kay,” you nod like a damn bobble head, laying your hands on his shoulders and balancing yourself on your tippy toes, wrapping your arms around his neck for extra security. toji’s large arm his thrown around your waist to keep you locked to him, both of your body heat scorching.

he catches a hold of his dick, pumping it twice before he’s rubbing the fat tip against your drenched opening, collecting your flow before a soft gasp emits past your lips when you feel him gently enter, sinking you down carefully, little by little. the sensation from the stretch is . . like a fantasy. your foreheads are touching, breaths mingling as he removes his hand to balance the two of you on the bed, leaning back somewhat for your comfortability.

when you think he’s fully apart of you, that thought is knocked down the minute he utters, “c‘mon, girl. you gotta lot more to take.”

“oh my god,” the shock is out of, well, shock. he feels really good already, it’s gonna be hell if you handle any more. embedding your nails into his clothing, chin resting between the crook of his neck while you ground your ass back to make it easier for him to slip completely in. the two of you groan in sync, toji’s arm tightening around your waist from how tight you felt.

the more you rock, slow, steady, it fucks the both of you up. holding tightly onto one another while toji lets you take your time, the heavy breathing and hearts beating rapidly is fucking poetic. one might call this act making love. once you drop your ass entirely, that pressure in your sweet spot causes you to scream out softly, losing balance and sitting on your knees, holding onto him with an unexpected whine.

“shit, baby, you alright?” he’s immediately checking in on you, bringing you up and make eye contact, hands holding either side of your face and scanning for signs. pushing away the fact that you’re convulsing around his dick and trying his best not to fuck you hard. yet, at least.

again, you can’t even speak. your mouth is wide open, nodding and breathing heavily, shifting your hips and grind onto him, flexing your ass when you arch your back deeper before lifting halfway and slamming yourself down. toji chokes, face copying yours as he grips onto the sheets and places his arm back around you, helping you lift yourself.

“you feel . . really good, baby. stuffing me full,” you moan, toji grunting and yanking you up and down faster, losing his patience now. it blew out the fucking window the minute he slipped inside you. he fixates on the sound of your pussy sliding and swallowing his dick, the slick making his tongue water for the taste all over. you’re so fucking sweet it’s insane.

“yeah?” he lets out a low, guttural groan and grips your hips even harder, his breaths coming out in deep gasps. “fuck me like you fucked that toy, thinking of me.”

that makes you smile, that insecurity of him seeing that video earlier disappearing as you take both of your small hands and wrap them around his throat, using your weight to push his body so he falls onto his back, his hands cupping the curves under your ass cheeks. toji usually isn’t one for submission, but he’s been thinking for a while about trying new shit, and a pretty girl like you choking and fucking him was only the start. you see the look in his eyes, and you feel heat sweltering inside of you even more, relishing the fact that you are the one in control, applying more pressure to his neck, loving the way his breath hitches.

“you want me to fuck you just like that?” you lick your lips and grind teasingly, the dangerous swirl of your hips making his head sink further into the bed.

“want you to fuck me like that, angel. gimme a show.”

and you won’t deny his wish. positioning yourself back on the tips of your toes, his hands are smoothing underneath your thighs, clutching on either sides as you with his eyes going dark, his hips bucking. he can barely string a thought together, his mind completely consumed by the sensations you’re sending through him. your pussy takes it all while you pounce your body above him, rolling your waist each time you dip your ass down and meet his thighs.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts, his voice thick with pleasure, eyes never leaving yours before his voice rasps out, “keep going. fuck me for real. like you want it. it’s yours.”

you let out a strangled gasp, body jerking and mind almost slipping away, the pleasure he’s giving you overwhelming and consuming you completely. his hands on your body clench harder, the warmth from his body on yours killing you.

“just like that,” his hands move at their own possession now, slamming down on your ass repeatedly to bruise your skin, the hits vibrating straight to your clit and it’s making you drunk. your eyes scroll back into your skull, his appraisal driving you to work for it faster.

“t-toji, i’m so wet for you,” you gasp in shock from the slickness between you two. “look what you did to me. you slide in and out so easily.”

“f-fuck, doll. you’re killing me talkin’ like that,” he lets out a strangled gasp at your words, voice ragged and eyes filled with need. “you like it that much, baby?”

“y-yes!” a squeal sounds from you, bouncing heavier than before, your voice getting caught in your throat from the impact. you clutch any part of his skin you can grab, losing yourself in the way he fills you. “i love your dick, baby. makes me feel prettier.”

hazy eyes filled with pleasure admire your features, fucked out already when he still has so much he wanted to do to you. give you what you deserve. a smirk tugs at his lips, sitting up and leaning in close, missing the skin contact. his voice low and rough as he says, “you look prettier when you’re sitting on my dick.”

“yeah,” you drunkenly nod. “s’mine.”

toji raises a brow with amusement. “it can be yours. when you cum on it real hard.”

wanting him even closer to you, you keep only one hand around his neck, placing the other on his forearm and pressing your chest to his entirely as you gyrate your hips and tease his neck, hovering over his skin with your mouth and teeth before you leave little love-bites on his skin. toji guides your hips in a circular motion, the simple switch up making you gasp and whine into his ear, hitting that spot repeatedly.

“god, baby,” you feel his guidance, his grip on your hips firm as he moves you. you ride against him, the friction on your clit making you whimper weakly, his deep voice in your ear making your body shake, feeling another orgasm develop. “i love it. s’fucking me so good.”

“see you movin’ just like you did for me on that mirror,” he wraps his hand around your neck, squeezing firmly. your eyes lock, yours clouded by arousal, his with an agenda. “fuckin’ yourself like that . . ima fuck you real bad for that,” toji hissed, swiping his tongue across his lower lip before aggressively smacking your ass. “i feel that fuckin’ pussy squeezing me tighter. if you’re g’na cum then do it on me. gush all on it.”

the more your body reacts to his praise, and sprinkles of degradation, the faster your orgasm approaches you, washing over you hard as your body spasmes from the intensity of it. your teeth sink into his shoulder as you scream, riding out your high, squeezing hard on his arms. toji kisses your temple, keeping you close as he falls back and lays on his side while turning you to face your camera you’d both forgotten about, still did.

“you did so well,” the kisses continue around your face while your brains on autopilot, his hand clasping around your neck as he presses his hot chest against your back. his kisses are so aggressive it makes you feel small and wanting to obey. you jump when he spanks you, moaning weakly into your shoulder with your arms halfway hanging off the bed.

toji goes lift your right leg to adjust himself behind you, dick achingly hard and covered in your juices, slipping back inside of you fully before angling your knee towards your tummy, keeping a hand locked under the bend of your knee, your skin smooth to the touch. you smell good too. everything about you besotted him. your hand touches his face, tugging it closer to the point where his nose smushed against your cheek, dark hair clouding your eyesight as his big frame overtakes yours.

“you’re gonna kill me,” you whisper, eyes focused on each other, a giggle creeping up.

“not you,” he whispered back, rolling his waist back and forth, grinding deeper into you. the plush of your ass molding against his sharp hips. his lips brush on your neck as he kisses and nibbles at your sensitive skin. your hands roam over your body, touching and exploring every inch of yourself as his lips trail down your collarbone, darkly watching as your hand presses on your clit. “her.”

as he possessively holds you in place, he’s prepared you enough before he’s fucking you hard, knocking the wind from your throat completely. a hard gasp falls past your lips as toji slams his hips against your ass, knitting his brows together, squeezing his eyes shut while his mouth falls open. the utter silence both of your voices held at the moment was more powerful than the rough interaction of your skin. your eyes a ghost white as he pounds his dick into you hard. when a noise is made, it’s from equal parts, syncing your eager moans.

“ooh, fuck baby. you’re taking it,” he huskily whispers into your ear, his words punctuated by the way he continues to move into you. “sucking me so deep. m’not going nowhere.”

“to-ji,” his name is broken down by the harsh pounds he fucks you with, whining and moaning in his entrapment. your vision gone. “i love the way you fuck me. you fuck me so good.”

he fucks like he’s not letting up, his body pushing you deeper into the mattress, the grip around your neck remains tight, the feeling of his ownership only growing more intense. his body is hovering over yours now, digging deep as he can to fuck you real good, to make himself feel it all. your body remains to the side, only half twisted as he drops your leg and pushes his weight into you so your stomach is close to grazing the bed.

“s’too much, fuck . . i, i—” the words are caught in your throat from the overstimulation. breathing heavy, tears begin to fill your sockets, whining his name loudly in his face like you’d lost your mind for good this time. this pleasure was something you hadn’t felt in a long time. it’s everything you needed and more.

toji shushes you, kissing your nose as he grips your face, big hand almost covering it whole. “you like when daddy takes control? you like when he tells you what to do?”

toji will admit, you’ve got him fucking spent. it’s been a long time since he’s had a woman submit and cry under him, and you do all those things well. the gorgeous image on your face, to the salacious movement of your body. the softness of your skin and the equal relation of your voice. capturing and captivating him. you’d think he was on drugs the way he was talking. high off his ass from your pussy. his lips gently brush over your ear. your eyes flutter, his voice attacking your clit, and you swear it makes it gush even more, soaking the sheets underneath your ass. “when he makes you his? you like being my good girl, pretty?”

he knows you can’t speak anymore, but you’re still interactive with your body language. the slur of your nonexistent words to the way you try to roll your ass back to fuck him back . . but he’s got you trapped. even the tears falling down your face from overwhelming pleasure. he knows you’re okay, asking for a safe word prior for your protection. you’re a big girl, he knows you can handle it.

“nnng,” you can’t stop trembling, gasping for air and sobbing in his face. toji places his forehead on yours, looking into your eyes and nodding, cooing. you are fucked dumbed. toji hisses, hitting your ass and pausing momentarily to look between where you two collide, an ‘oh my god’ faltering out. he’s as gone as you are.

“you so fuckin’ creamy, girl,” toji drags out a frustrated hum, getting annoyed by how good your pussy is. you’re going to become a problem.

“please,” you don’t even know what you’re saying it for. do you need him to stop, do you want more, or are you just completely fucked out you’re saying anything that’s coming to your head? that butterfly feeling is back in your stomach, as well as a foreign one near your clit, knowing exactly what’s going to happen. “toji, m’ g’na c-cummm. oh my god, babyy.”

your hiccups and sobs only urge him to fuck you even harder, loving how the breath literally jumps out of your throat in shock.

“cryin’ on this dick. fuck, you got me going crazy,” he really doesn’t want to cum yet, he needed to fuck you in every way imaginable. but he knows you need a break, to breathe for sure. he wanted to edge himself so that when he finally came, it’d be the best fucking orgasm of his life. your moans are clawing at his soul, so filthy and dulcet. you’re making it really fucking difficult to obtain that.

toji finds himself slamming his palm over your mouth to bury them in a way, but you’re so damn loud it’s getting to him. ‘fuck fuck fuck’ he’s cussing repeatedly in a whispered hush as he fucks you as hard he possibly can. his hand doesn’t even work, because you’re consuming him wholly and the minute he feels that build up, he pulls out to cum and you’ve drenched the sheets as you squirt. an almost blood curdling scream surrounds the room, your body rapidly trembling as your mouth falls open in utter shock, gasping, whining, whimpering, moaning his fucking name while he moaned yours. toji nutting up the entire side of your body, wrist twisting as he holds you body still, mouth drawn open.

his hand reaches over to unclamp your legs, heavy hand rubbing your pussy to stimulate you further, your back arching and head sinking into your pillow, crying out. he watches your hand flail to grip his wrist as your wetness continues to spurt out of you like water.

“strawberry!” toji listens to you weep, choking on your cries and pleads. finally having enough.

“holy s-shit,” you’re laughing while also trying to catch your breath, not believing that just happened. he can tell by the shock in your face that you’ve never had it happen before, or that much.

“damn,” he laughs along with you, smacking your outer thigh before smashing his lips to yours in a deep kiss, gliding your tongues together while his hands massaged every part of your body after allowing you to lay on your back. caressing and soothing you to calm you down. “gonna grab a rag.”

you pout when he goes to stand, already missing the disconnect as you lay empty on your . . messy bed. absolutely disgusting you two, hawk puth! one things for sure, you can’t keep that wide ass smile off your face. he comes back into the room, one of your pink towels wrapped around his midsection covering up that demon of a dick he carried. toji smirks down at you, grabbing your ankle and tugging you down to the edge of the bed before he’s taking a warm rag that smelt of your dove beauty bar to wipe what he painted on you. you swallow your lower lip into your mouth, watching with hooded eyes as he drags the rag sensually along ever part of your skin. you flinch when it comes to contact with your cunt, toji kissing your inner thigh with a ‘sorry’. he admires the curves of your body even more, kissing your ankle adorned with a silver anklet after he finishes.

“how you feeling?” he asks.

“i’m more than perfect.”

he hums. “you’re something else.”

“i was good?” you ask seriously, batting your lashes shyly.

toji stares at you as if you’re deadass. “don’t do that. you know you were. you didn’t hear me? i fuck you deaf?”

that makes you roll your eyes, but not before giggling. “hate you.”

“you won’t after i tell you i got chinese in the kitchen,” he winks, the light in your eyes making his heart swell. “c’mon, sexy.”

you sit up, gasping. “i knew i fucking smelt that shit when you came in. i thought it was outside!”

“nah, i realized i didn’t eat shit at the restaurant earlier so i decided to get us both something. did you even eat your salad?”

“i did, had to after you dropped a whole hundred,” you shake your head. “how’d you know i liked chinese?”

toji blinks. “baby, we literally talked half of this week. for hours. i have good memory.”

that slip of a nickname outside of sex warmed your chest, burying your face in your hair to hide your shyness. “you’re right.”

“don’t hide now, i’ve seen it all,” he chuckles, tickling the bottom of your foot.

“oh, whatever!” you chuck one of your plushies at him, half of them had fallen to the floor. toji gets up to grab your robe he saw hanging on the bathroom door, draping it around you as you stood.

he kisses your forehead and you walk ahead of him into the kitchen, screeching when he hit and gripped your ass, the two of you forgetting about the livestream altogether as you warmed up the food, poured a glass of wine and reminisced about what just happened.

angelbwrry live : 1M viewers.

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡ 

[nadvs]

the power play (part three)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

Rafe is waiting for you in front of your building, this time to take you to a frat party.

“Hi,” you say cheerfully, settling into his passenger seat, “for the third day in a row.”

Apparently, Emma always goes to these parties, and since Beck is friends with a lot of the frat’s members, you’re almost certain he’ll go, too.

You’re also meeting Lyla there. She’s been open-minded about Rafe. You hope he doesn’t make her regret it.

“You’re going to have to be nice tonight,” you say, then shut the door with a hard thud.

“Why?”

“Because my best friend will be there and I want her to like you.”

Rafe stares ahead, his mood plummeting. He doesn’t want to deal with this.

He didn’t care what Emma’s friends thought about him, until she started bringing up how much they don’t like him. You’re not even his real girlfriend, and the thought of being subject to that sort of judgement again makes his blood run hot.

He drives out onto the road. You wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t.

“Don’t tell me you’re already mad about something,” you say with a quiet laugh. “What’s up?”

You haven’t even been in his car for half a minute and you’re already trying to open up his wounds again, clueless to the fact that you’re reminding him of the things he wants to forget.

“What am I supposed to say to her?” Rafe murmurs.

“Just be polite,” you reply. “And act like you like me.”

He tensley rakes a hand through his hair. Something’s off with him. He’s never had to ask you how to navigate this.

“Are you nervous?” you ask.

“Nah.”

“What are you then?”

“I’m fine,” he says tersely.

You roll your eyes. You thought you’d gotten past feeling uneasy about pulling this off, but right now, you have no idea if this is going to work when you and Rafe are so out of sync.

You already aren’t in the mood to go to a party. He’s not doing anything to change that.

“I guess I should take back what I said about us being friends,” you tease.

He doesn’t say anything. You gaze up at the starry night sky through the window, letting out a sigh.

“I’m okay to cancel if you don’t feel like doing this,” you offer. “I’m in the middle of a great book that I’d like to get back to anyway.”

Rafe doesn’t know what to do with the things you say sometimes. It’d be easier if you snipped back or iced him out like everyone else does, because then, he wouldn’t feel shitty like he does now.

It’s annoying how much you unknowingly push these touchy, complicated topics. Even though you’re giving him an out, it’s hard to ignore how rotten he feels when he shuts down your innocent chit-chat.

So, he relents.

“I don’t want to – to have to think about impressing someone,” he admits with a stammer you haven’t heard before.

You look at him again, somewhat stunned. You almost make a joke about how this whole ruse, which he thought up, sort of hinges on impressing people. But the tension is too thick.

“You don’t have to impress her,” you reply, your eyes drifting over the outlines of his profile. “I just want her to believe you like me because she might mention it to her brother. But it’s not like… a test. If it were, I’d make you study. That’s kind of my whole thing.”

You find relief when he cracks a small smile, his eyes still on the road. You smile back, wishing he thought of you as someone he could trust, and wondering why he’s stressed about his fake girlfriend’s best friend's opinion, when he doesn’t seem like the type to worry about what anybody thinks of him.

“I’m surprised you care what she thinks,” you say, your tone lighthearted.

Rafe chews on his lip.

“I know this isn’t…” He motions between you, aware of how ridiculous it is to be tense about this when you’re not even really dating. He exhales, giving in. “Emma’s friends didn’t like me. She always brought it up.”

His words hit you, sadness twisting your heart. His ex did badmouth him minutes after she met you; you wouldn’t be surprised if she complained about him to her friends, handing them reasons to dislike him, using it against him.

That’s what’s bothering him. This is a bad reminder.

“All you have to do is what you did last night,” you tell him. “You don’t even have to talk much. I honestly think Lyla expects to see me with a guy who lets me do all the talking.”

You continue to stare at him. He’s stiff. On edge. It’s another crack in the facade, another peek into the things he hides.

“Why would she… always bring it up?” you ask quietly.

Rafe turns the car onto a narrow street, the steering wheel sliding underneath his hands.

“We said shit just to hurt each other all the time,” he mutters.

You gaze forward, your chest tight. At this point, you’re sure that what they had was toxic. His ex said he had red flags, but it sounds like she was the same way. You still don’t know why he liked her so much.

He’s obviously worked up. You shouldn’t push. You decide to put yourself in the spotlight to even the score.

“I never told you how Beck rejected me,” you say. “He hugged me, then said I’m a better friend than his sister.”

“Shit,” he winces.

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “You know when you can’t fall asleep and you think about all of your most embarrassing moments? That’s one of mine.”

Rafe breathes a quiet laugh. He grips the wheel when he reaches a stop sign, frustrated that he’s so curt with you, and even more frustrated that he cares. You’re slowly claiming a soft spot he didn’t know he had, whether he likes it or not.

“I’m… still pissed off,” he explains, his syllables sharp. “At her. Not you.”

It’s something that you didn’t expect about Rafe when you first met – that he can tell when he’s being too harsh and then tensely backpedals. You have a feeling he’s not really mad. He’s hurt. But he’d rather hide behind anger.

“I would be, too,” you say.

He offers an appreciative nod, avoiding eye contact.

════════

Lyla greets you with a big hug once you find her in the crowded frat house.

“I haven’t seen you in forever,” she says, then looks up at Rafe. “You stole my best friend.”

“Can you blame me?” Rafe replies, putting his arm around your shoulders. You smile up at him, the uneasiness you’d felt dissolving. He can put on a good show when he wants to.

You quickly catch up with Lyla while Rafe quietly stands next to you. When there’s a gap in conversation, you turn to him and motion for him to come closer. He leans down.

“You can go hang out with your friends now,” you whisper. “Or should we stay together? What do couples do?”

Your words echo in his head. He didn’t think about if you’ve actually been part of a real couple before. He gazes at you, wondering why you never said anything about it.

“They should see us together first,” he finally says.

“Good point,” you say. “Let’s do a lap.”

Lyla finds a friend in the crowd and you take the opportunity to get a drink with Rafe. You walk to the kitchen, nudging past people together, your fingers interlaced with his.

Behind the worn laminate kitchen island, a lively game of beer pong is taking place. Emma is standing by the far end of the table, playing next to a guy who’s standing close to her.

You look up to see if Rafe notices. He does. His jaw tenses as he stares at her.

When you step up to the stack of empty solo cups, you catch Beck on the other side of the living room, leaning against a wall and chatting with a couple of his friends. You hate that your stomach still goes numb at his smile.

“They’re both here,” you tell Rafe.

He turns to face you, your hands still joined. You know what he looks like when he’s concentrating. You’ve seen it through your tutoring sessions, the way his eyes narrow and his dimples cave in as he flattens his lips together.

“You have your thinking face on,” you laugh.

“On the counter,” he says.

“Excuse me?” you nearly shout, eyes widened.

He nudges your hips with firm hands. The edge of the counter is hard against your lower back. He steps forward to push the clutter behind you aside.

Rafe’s brows lift in expectation.

“Sit on the counter,” he explains, “so they can’t miss us.”

You let him take the lead and feel for the counter with your palms. With Rafe’s grasp on your hips and your own force, you settle on the hard countertop. He guides your knees apart and shifts to stand between your thighs.

Your throat goes dry.

He’s smooth, experienced, clearly having done stuff like this before. The thought of it, of him, makes your skin burn and you force yourself not to picture it.

You’ve been close to Rafe before – you sat on his lap just last night – but this is the most suggestive position you’ve been in together, and it’s sending your thoughts into an uncontrollable frenzy.

Just a second ago, you were standing a few feet away from him, and now he’s between your legs, his frame big and dominating, his palms hot on your thighs.

“Hands on me,” he instructs.

You stiffly rest your forearms on his shoulders, the crisp smell of his cologne dancing over you. Your eyes dart to Beck, who hasn’t noticed you, and you tell yourself to do with Rafe what you always imagined doing with him.

You cradle the back of his neck, gently lacing his soft hair between your fingers. The conversations and music fade away as you and Rafe settle in a moment that looks private, but is really just for show.

Your mind slows down as you remind yourself that this isn’t real and there’s no reason to be shy.

Rafe is eye-level to you now. It’s still bothering him – why wouldn’t a girl who never stops talking tell him that she hasn’t been in a relationship?

“You haven’t dated before?” he asks.

“What?”

“Why are you asking me what couples do?”

“Oh.” You laugh and shrug, as if it’s apparent. “When you’re in love with someone for, like four years, you don’t really pay attention to other guys.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Rafe murmurs.

“Is it important?”

“A lot of things you say aren’t, but you still say them.”

You laugh, lips parting in shock.

“Jerk,” you mutter under your breath.

“You’re name-calling now?” he says, amused at the way that calling him that, even as a joke, seemed like it made you a little uncomfortable.

“Sure am,” you retort. “I’m kidding, though.”

He scoffs, amused again. Of course you had to clarify that you didn’t mean it.

“That’s why you’ve been so freaked out about this?” he realizes, cluing in that all your nerves have been because this, all of this, is entirely new to you.

“Paired with the fact that this is a ridiculous thing to be doing,” you say. “I thought it was obvious. So much for being easy to read, huh?”

Rafe’s brows furrow. It makes no sense. You two couldn’t be more different, but he can imagine what other guys would see in you now that he’s used to your unrestrained cheerfulness. You have a rare sincerity to you. It’s absurd how many years you wasted on Beck.

“What the hell do you see in him?” he asks, an unexpected sense of protectiveness pricking at him.

You look up to the ceiling in thought. Your fingers continue to lace through his hair, and he ignores the goosebumps that are blossoming on his skin.

When you look back down again, you notice Beck’s gaze on you from across the room.

“This is a first. I’m telling my pretend boyfriend why I like a guy that’s looking right at me,” you say. “I had fun with him. He’s hardworking and he’s nice to everybody and I respect that in a person. And when I talked to him, he cared about what I was saying. He remembered little things about me. He’s kind.”

“He led you on, though,” he remembers.

“Maybe. I do wonder if he knew I liked him and kept me around because he enjoyed the flattery or the help with school,” you say. “But I don’t know. He could’ve hoped I’d get over it and wanted to spare me the embarrassment. Or maybe I read into things and imagined he was flirting with me when he never was. I could’ve built all this stuff up in my head.”

Rafe takes in all the words you just threw at him, bringing out a touch of amusement from you.

“I fell for him because he made me feel special,” you conclude. “Isn’t that a big part of loving someone? You like the person you are when you’re with them?”

He looks at you silently, reminding you of when you met him and all he would offer you is a blank stare. Then, his face drops in melancholy.

While he’s usually drowning in his overwhelming thoughts, with his ex, life was simple. He could forget about the shit he didn’t want to think about because she never pushed.

Before they started fighting so much, he could do his best impression of who he always wanted to be. A man who’s steady. Who’s strong.

��Yeah,” Rafe says.

“How’d you feel with her?” you ask. “When things were good, I mean.”

You hope he meets your eyes again. He does.

“Everything was easy,” he says. “It’s like I wasn’t as…”

“As?”

“Fucked up,” he admits.

Your shoulders drop. For the first time, you see a piece of why he was with Emma. She made him feel uncomplicated.

You wonder what Rafe has been through to make him think of himself that way, but you’re treading carefully, avoiding any risk of embarrassing him. No matter how rude he can be, you’re almost certain it comes from a place of sensitivity, and of wishing it didn’t.

“Isn’t it kind of funny?” you say, trying to lighten the mood. “He made me feel special and you make me feel annoying. She made things easy for you and I literally nag you to do your homework. And we’re supposedly dating.”

Rafe’s lips curl into a smile. You mirror it.

Just past his shoulder, you spot Emma’s gaze on you. She’s still playing beer pong, laughing with the guy she’s standing next to, but her eyes land on you and Rafe every few seconds.

“She keeps looking over,” you say. You think of their shared history, of how many memories they must have made together. Maybe Emma just needs to see him with someone else long enough to realize she wants him back. “What will you do if she wants to get back together?”

Rafe squints. He kept trying to make things work after she broke up with him because he just wanted the peace he’d once had with her back.

But when someone fucks him over, he’s done. The way she’s been dragging his name to anyone who’ll listen, to you the very day she met you, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. She may have broken his heart, but she doesn’t own it anymore.

“I’m done with her,” he tells you. “What if Beck asks you out?”

You’re not sure how to answer him, because you’d written off Beck being interested in you as a possibility. You hate that your heart skips thinking about it.

You shouldn’t want a man who could only want you once he thinks he can’t have you. But it’s easier said than done. The years of infatuation have a hold on you.

“I don’t know,” you confess. “But no matter what happens, we should have an easy-out clause. No hard feelings when one of us is done with this. Cool?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Cool.”

“Beck’s looking, too,” you say. “I think they’re buying it. Can I…?”

You bring your hands forward to gently rest on Rafe’s jaw, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones.

“You don’t have to ask,” he says with a subtly irritated shake of his head.

His hands are splayed over your thighs and your knees are pressed against his hips. It might be a good thing to get some practice with a guy you’re not really with. Affection won’t be as intimidating if you’ve already done it in a controlled setting.

Rafe waits for you to say something, to do something. Maybe you’ll break your ‘no kissing’ rule, even though now he’s pretty sure it’d be your first kiss.

“You know what?” you say gently.

He takes in the way your eyes travel over his face, and for a split second, it’s like you can see just how much he hides below the surface, like you’re going to keep digging until you find out what it is.

He nods once, silently beckoning you to continue.

“The next book on the syllabus is one of my favorites,” you say.

He smirks, relieved you’re joking instead of prying.

“This really is the type of shit you’d talk about with your boyfriend,” he realizes. He thought you were just nervously rambling the other night because you had nothing else to talk about, but he was wrong.

You purse your lips in thought, memories trickling in.

“Yeah,” you say, sadness clouding your features. “It’s one of the reasons I thought Beck liked me back. He liked to listen to me ramble about whatever I was reading. And he was interested. Or he acted like it. I really… I wish I could get over him.”

Rafe’s face falls again, confused over why a guy who did shit like that for years, who stared at you the way he did last night, pushed you away.

“I know,” is all he can offer, because he really does understand the desperation of wanting to feel whole again after somebody breaks you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you hear.

You glance up to see Lyla, her eyes darting to where Rafe is standing between your legs. You almost want to pull away, explain that it’s not what it looks like, nearly forgetting that you’re supposed to be fooling her, too.

“Hey,” you say.

“You want to do a shot with me?” she asks.

“Sure.”

You grip Rafe’s shoulders and shift forward. His hands tighten on your hips and you gently drop to the ground, pressed against his body.

“I’ll find you later?” you ask him.

He leans down low again, his temple brushing against yours.

“Take it easy, lightweight,” he replies.

You look up at him with a big grin.

“What?” he mutters.

“You’re worrying about me,” you whisper. “We are friends.”

“Get out of here,” he sighs.

You laugh and squeeze his hand before you step aside.

════════

You meant to keep count of your drinks. You really did. But every drink was like a temporary antidote against the heartbreak that’s been haunting you, and before you knew it, you were drunker than you’ve ever been before.

The night slips in and out of focus. You’re laughing with Lyla, then you’re playing beer pong, then you’re looking for Rafe.

You find him in a pocket of the crowd standing with a few other hockey players, your mind and body dizzy and hot. You cover his hand with yours, gently tugging him closer.

“I came here to ask you something,” you mumble into his ear when he leans down, his cologne hitting you again. “And… I don’t remember what it was.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly. You were stone cold sober earlier in the kitchen, and now you’re plastered.

“I told you to take it easy,” he says.

“I thought I was. I’m usually very responsible.” You shift to meet his eyes. “You smell great, by the way.”

“Okay?” he replies stiffly.

“Are you always this bad at accepting compliments?” you ask.

He is, and he hates how quickly you figure this kind of stuff out about him.

“What do you want?”

You squint, looking out at the crowd as you attempt to put your fragmented thoughts together. You spot Lyla.

“Oh! Could you give me and Lyla a ride home?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m done here anyway.”

Just a few minutes ago, Rafe watched Emma leave the house with the same guy she was playing beer pong with. It screwed a hole into his chest and he’s been wanting to get the fuck out of here since.

════════

You crack open the window as Rafe drives away from the frat house. Lyla’s in the backseat, tapping on her phone.

He glares at the road. Who was that guy Emma left with? And how the hell does he stop giving a shit? Is he doomed to spend the rest of his life wishing he didn’t care about things as much as he does?

Thinking of her with him doesn’t bring up jealousy. It’s anger. Disappointment. Because he’s losing this game.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” you ask Rafe, the cool spring breeze pressing against your face.

He glances at you. Even though you hardly ever see eye-to-eye, you genuinely want to be kind to him, consoling him on the way to the party, paying him compliments when drunkenness took away your filter.

Despite how irritating it can be when you pry, you don’t do it out of malice. And you even cracked him up a few times tonight.

He decides to answer you honestly, to be nice like you told him to be, ignoring the discomfort.

“When I was with you, yeah,” he replies.

“Aww,” Lyla coos from behind you.

You smile, discreetly giving him a thumbs up for his performance. He means it, but he’ll let you believe he said it just because your friend’s listening.

════════

Lyla directs Rafe to the front doors of her dorm, and when she tries to say goodbye to you, she laughs once she realizes you dozed off.

“Thanks for the ride. I still don’t really get this,” she says to Rafe, pointing between you two, “but I can tell it works.”

He knows why it looks like that. It’s because, as much as Rafe didn’t expect it, you’re right. You two genuinely became friends at some point over the last three weeks.

The sound of Lyla shutting her door snaps you awake. You quickly gauge your surroundings, realizing you’re on the opposite end of campus by Lyla’s building. The athletes’ dorm is practically a ten second drive away and the route to your building will be a long detour for Rafe.

“Isn’t your dorm like, right next door?” you murmur.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll just sleep over,” you say in an exhausted daze. “So you don’t have to drive all the way to the other side of campus and back.”

It’s nearing two in the morning. Rafe just wants to be in his bed. So, he goes along with your idea.

════════

Your eyelids flutter open. You stare ahead to see a broad, bare back sitting at a desk. Then, you recognize the unkept dark hair you ran your fingers through last night, as well as your tabbed copy of Lost Horizon sitting on the dresser.

You’re in Rafe’s dorm room. In his bed. Your face buried in his pillow.

Last night flashes through your mind. You’d thoughtlessly suggested a sleepover. Rafe helped you out of the car and let you lean on him in the elevator and complained that you weren’t making enough space for him in his bed.

“I am so sorry,” you murmur.

Rafe turns around, taking out an earbud with an eyebrow raised.

“Finally awake?” he says.

Your chest stings and your stomach turns as you slowly sit up. You put your hand on your forehead, tangled up in his duvet, last night’s clothes tight and uncomfortable as you think back to how much you drank.

“I should’ve listened to you,” you murmur. “That was not taking it easy. I was stupid.”

“Thought that was a bad word.”

“It is,” you say with a pointed finger. “Thank you. It is.”

You finally look at him again. He’s in sweats, gray boxers peeking out the band, his muscular body curled over the chair. It’s unusual to see him like this; in his downtime, sitting at his desk, using his laptop, shirtless.

You’d felt his body against yours, felt the firmness of his muscles, but seeing him like this in broad daylight raises your pulse.

Rafe notices your gaze linger on his chest before you meet his eyes again. If he really is flustering you, it’s a good dose of payback, considering how he felt when you sat on his lap and played with his hair.

“What the hell did I drink last night?” you mumble.

“You tell me.”

He gazes at you as you try to remember. Even though it was snug sleeping next to you in his tiny single bed, it was nice to not spend a night on his own. He already knew he was lonely, but feeling you next to him, hearing your breath as he dozed off, showed him just how much.

“Shots? Beer? Something really sweet?”

“You mixed,” he realizes. “Bad move.”

“I feel like death,” you groan. “I’m going home now.”

You shuffle forward, your legs hanging over the edge of his bed. You slide off, briefly losing your balance before your feet touch the carpet.

You catch yourself, gripping his shoulder. He cups your wrist as you wobble. You pull your hand back and readjust your clothes, a wrinkled mess now, then pick your bag up off the floor, which you’re glad you thought to bring in your stupor.

“I’m sorry again. Thanks for… dealing with me,” you say quickly, smoothing back your hair. Rafe only smirks, entertained by how embarrassed you are. “I’m walking home because I might throw up and I don’t think we’re at the point where I can do that in front of you yet.”

“You already did.”

Your lips part in shock and he laughs.

“You’re kidding,” you realize. “I didn’t expect you to be a morning person.”

“I’m not.” He looks over at his laptop for the time. “It’s half past noon.”

You sigh in shame and make your way to the door.

“Hold on,” he says. You turn and almost miss the ball of fabric he throws towards you. When you hold it up and realize it’s one of his extra jerseys, you laugh.

“Wear it to the next game,” Rafe tells you.

“Good idea,” you say, imagining the way Emma, and hopefully Beck, will fume at the sight of you with Cameron across your back. “See you.”

You rush down the hallway, thrown out of your thoughts when you hear a loud click. Beck is unlocking his door a few feet ahead of you.

You internally groan. You feel awful and you’re sure you look it, too.

His eyes search your face, as if he doesn’t recognize you. On top of the embarrassment and anxiety you’re already feeling, the sight of him bombards you with the familiar pain of rejection.

“Hey,” you say with an awkward laugh. You need to act casual. You figure if you can pretend to like Rafe, you can pretend to not like Beck. “How’s it going?”

He looks past you, no doubt cluing in that you’re leaving Rafe’s dorm in last night’s clothes. You know what he’s going to think – you spent the night doing more than just sleeping. Suddenly, you’re glad you ran into him.

“Good,” he says absentmindedly. “You?”

“Good,” you reply, continuing to walk past him. Beck looks down, seemingly thrown off.

“I have to say…” He lets out a humorless chuckle. You stop and turn to look at him. “It’s kind of crazy that you’re hanging out with him.”

“Crazy?”

“He’s not really your type.”

Your heart hammers in your chest.

“What is my type?” you challenge.

Beck’s forehead crinkles in what you’d have to guess is disappointment. You swallow nervously. He could say so many things that would break your heart even more. And you hate that he has that much power over you.

“I just think he’s… intense,” he replies.

“I like intense,” you say.

Beck seems out of words. And as much as you want to stay, to ask what he’s thinking, you’re done waiting on bated breath for him, hoping he feels how you do when you share a private moment.

If you act like you’re not in love with him, your heart will eventually catch up. It has to.

“Nice to see you,” you say, carrying on towards the elevator. And walking away from him instead of the other way around for once gives you a newfound feeling of victory that you realize you really needed.

next >

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[jordiemeow]

summary: your boyfriend clark always seems to find the light in everything. but with several hard fights back to back ending in numerous civilian casualties to weigh him down, he just needs a gentle touch to soothe him and coax him back to his former brightness.

pairing: clark kent x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ smut, porn w minimal plot, mild comfort in the form of sex, very brief dry humping, riding, no protection, kind of soft dom!reader, no superman spoilers

wc: 1.9k

notes: started a more dom!clark version of this but idk this felt more fitting. lil short but had to get Something for him out. slowburn fic in the works but i have some joaquín stuff to wrap up first <3

—

You always knew what you were signing up for when you fell in love with Clark Kent.

Not just the farm-boy charm or the unflinching kindness that makes the people of Metropolis trust him within minutes. Not even the gentle way he always holds your hand like you're something fragile. Delicate, to be cherished.

No, you knew what came with loving him. You signed up for the cape, the responsibility stitched into every seam of that blue and red suit. The scars that never get the chance to stay, but still mark him in ways you can't always see. For the nights he comes home smelling like ozone and steel and sweat, shoulders bowed with the entire weight of the world, and for the ache that comes with knowing he's the only one strong enough to carry it.

And you signed up for the silences. Especially on nights like this one, where he doesn't really talk much, voice crushed under the weight of what he deems to be failure.

You can tell by the slow way the apartment door shuts behind him, like he's on edge and afraid of breaking the hinges. No text in advance. No warm "I'm home!" No unmistakeable smell of sugary street donuts drifting down the hall. His footsteps are too quiet for a man his size, boots barely making a thud against the wood of the hallway. And when he rounds the corner, he doesn't look at you. He just drops to the edge of the bed, elbows on knees and fingers loosely laced, breathing like he's trying not to cry.

He won't. He never does. But just the thought makes your stomach churn.

When you look up from the book you've been pretending to read for the last hour, awaiting his return home, your heart cracks. "Clark?" You prompt, voice soft and gentle amidst the silence.

He's still deathly quiet, staring at the floor, his clothes clinging to his skin, muscles drawn tight beneath the fabric. You close the book quietly and set it aside. Stand and cross the room, steps slow and careful to avoid putting him even more on edge. When you reach him, you kneel between his knees and rest your hands lightly on his tense thighs.

He's changed out of his suit, but his skin is still tainted with the aftermath of battle, smeared with streaks of blood that definitely aren't his own and littered with fading bruises. He's a little drained, and with the sun hidden behind a dark sky smattered with stars, he just wants to go about it the human way of healing: sleeping it off. Clark shakes his head, jaw clenched, staring at some point past your shoulder. "Don't. I'll get soot on you."

"I don't care."

His hands twitch restlessly, bruised knuckles turning white from the tension. You see it now—the faintest tremor in his fingers. The clench of his jaw. The haunted look in those blue eyes that usually glow so easily with adoration when he looks at you.

"Clark," you try again, kneeling in front of him now. "Please?"

That breaks something in him. You can see it. Just a little, but you know him too well to not. His throat works around a sound he doesn't let escape. "I couldn't save them," he whispers when he finds his voice, raw and broken. It's nothing like the deep, charming timbre of the voice the rest of the city knows to be Superman. "There were too many. But I—I did everything I could. I swear, I did—"

"I know," you interject. Because he always does. "But you're not God, Clark."

His eyes flick up to meet yours, pain shining within the sapphire depths. "Sometimes I think people forget that."

"Then let me remind you."

Clark doesn't like to ask for help. He doesn't like showing weakness—not when the world counts on him to be indestructible. But when you rise up on higher your knees and press your forehead to his, his breath stutters and his resolve breaks. You cradle his jaw, thumbs brushing the dirt-streaked angles of his cheeks, and kiss the corner of his mouth in a gesture that isn't hungry. Hell, it's not even romantic. Just… grounding. Something that says hey, I'm right here. Always here.

"It's been a long week," he says hoarsely, a last-ditch attempt to brush your concerns off. He never likes to be a burden. Not to anyone, but certainly not you. "I'll be fine."

"You always say that," you chide gently. God, you remind him so much of his Ma sometimes. "But you're not steel, Clark. You bleed. You feel."

He tries to smile, but it's brittle at best, so you decide not to press. You just slide your hands up to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one at a time. Your movement is slow and careful, but the pace sets his nerves alight between your touch. Your knuckles brush a bruise along his ribs and his breath catches—not from pain, he's faced much worse, but from the intimacy of your touch. You lean in and kiss it anyway. Another one on his hip. His sternum. His shoulder. Every mark you find becomes pure under your lips, as if your tenderness could erase the damage.

He watches you in silence when you push his shirt off his shoulders. You're still in your pyjamas—nothing particularly sexy, either. Just some cotton shorts and a faded grey tank top with the logo of his 'S' on the chest you brough home as a joke one night after work. But he still looks at you like you're bathed in silk and starlight rather than $20 worth of shitty merchandise.

"I hate seeing you like this," you admit in a whisper. "Torn down. Worn out. Freaks me out."

His hand cups your cheek, calloused thumb brushing just under your eye in a silent apology. He isn't able to find words, so you duck to press a kiss to his clothed knee and then stand slowly, coaxing him back onto the bed. His back hits the mattress with a low exhale, and you follow, straddling his lap with deliberate slowness. He groans at the weight of you, his hands moving to your hips to steady you both.

"You always carry so much," you continue, your words a soft breath that tickles his temple. "Let me carry this for you tonight."

You grind down gently, just enough for your bodies to brush through the fabric—his pants still on, your cotton shorts already damp and clinging. The friction is minimal but the pair of you share a stuttered breath. He's already getting hard beneath you, throbbing where your hips meet, but he doesn't buck. He waits. For you.

Always for you.

When you kiss him—slow and deep—you taste the iron of his split lip and soothe it with your tongue. He groans into your mouth, and that’s when the shift finally happens: he lets go, melting beneath you until he's practically one with the sheets.

"I don’t need much tonight, sweetheart," he whispers when you pull back for air. You almost laugh. Clark can always go for hours—you have Kryptonian stamina to thank for that—but you're not opposed to something slow tonight. Gentle. Loving. Something to remind him you're right there with him. "Just you."

Your hand slips between you, finding the fly of his pants to unzip. His hips lift a little to help you push them down, starry boxers and all, and then he visibly shudders beneath you when you draw him out. His cock is thick and hot and already leaking at the tip. You wrap your fingers around him, stroking him slowly, and his hips jerk despite himself.

He's so sensitive tonight. A smile graces your face, but you choose not to tease, not when he's in such a fragile state.

You tug your shorts aside, not even bothering to remove them fully. Just enough to let the heat between your thighs brush against him, a choked moan escaping you. You glide his cock along your folds—slick, teasing friction that makes him hiss through his teeth when your wetness lubes him up.

"Let me ride you," you murmur, breath catching. "Wanna take care of you."

"Are you sure?" He asks, even now, even like this—hard, throbbing, aching—he's always checking in, always so careful with you.

"I need to," you whisper.

You guide him in slowly, achingly, taking just the tip first. The stretch is deep, almost unbearable, but you don't rush. You've shared enough jokes about him having a Super-dick to know how to ease into it. You breathe through it, eyes locked on his, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. Inch by inch, you sink down until he's fully seated inside you, hips flush together.

He groans like it actually hurts him to feel this good. Ironic, considering you're the one being split open.

"Fuck," he chokes out.

"What happened to 'Superman doesn't swear?'"

He barely manage a laugh. "Shut up. Oh, you feel like heaven."

You finally start to move—slow, deliberate rolls of your hips that drag his cock along your walls in a rhythm that makes you both whimper. Every time you rise and fall, your cunt squeezes him just right, and his head drops back and his mouth falls open. The strain in his jaw softens, melts, and your name is an endless moan pouring from his lips.

He can't even fathom why he'd ever considered spending the night at the Fortress of Solitude instead of here with you.

"You're doing so good, Clark," you groan, rocking back against him. "That's it. Fuck, right there."

His breath hitches, eyes fluttering shut. He thrusts up just once, hips chasing yours, instinct breaking through discipline. You don't even have it in you to tut at him.

"I'm close," he confesses, voice cracking so hard with pleasure it borders on a whine. "Oh, fuck—baby, 'm gonna—nghhh—"

"You can cum inside me," you breathe. "I want you to."

He lets go instantly when he's granted permission. You can feel it—the shudder that overtakes him, the sharp intake of breath, the way his whole body trembles beneath you as he spills inside you with a low, broken moan. You can feel him pulsing as the warmth fills you, sudden and overwhelming. The fluttering of your walls prolongs his pleasure until his hips are canting up and his face is contorted in sheer ecstasy.

"Oh God, yes."

You keep moving in slow, lazy circles until his orgasm fades and he's softening inside you. Your fingers move to stroke through his hair, nails gently scraping his scalp, and he melts into it gratefully. Eyes half-shut, a light sheen of sweat covering his skin.

Eventually, you lift off him and guide him beneath the covers, ignoring the mess between your thighs when you fix your shorts back in place. He doesn't let go of you, pulling you with him, strong arms wrapping around you without preamble.

There's a long silence where all you can hear is his soft pants. Then, quietly, it's broken with:

"…You're the only thing that makes it bearable sometimes," he murmurs. "The only place I can breathe. Makes me feel human when all the Earth wants is some invincible hero."

You press a kiss to his jaw, and then a careful one to his bruised lip that'll no doubt be plump and healed soon. "You never have to be Superman with me."

His arms tighten around you. He exhales into your hair, warm and shaky and finally, finally at peace after a long week. Or a long life, if he's being honest.

"I know," he whispers. "That’s why I keep coming home."

Home: right here, with you.

—

taglist: @newrochellechallenger2019 @gibsongirrl @imperishablereverie @gracelynnx @ellaynaonsaturn — (join here)

[clairewritesfanfics]

Mark Grayson Variants as Husbands

Characters: Emperor Mark, Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Omni-Mark, Prisoner Mark

Emperor/Target Mark

Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t have any concubines. He is mature enough to know that he doesn’t have the capacity to manage a harem of alien brides. Despite his occasional childishness, he is devoted to you and you alone and takes great pride in his monogamy. He would be lying if he said he doesn’t want a harem composed of versions of you though.

He can be, for lack of a better term, a brat and insists on “my way or no way.” But in the end, he always buckles to what you want, because he hates upsetting you.

He values your opinion. You are his consort, his only equal. He will always seek your advice before he makes any major decisions, especially ones that may affect the empire.

Mohawk Mark

Reads all the books you like to read, and even the fanfics you deemed “shameful.” Though he teases you, he never mocks you. 

He’s a philosophy nerd–actually, he’s a total bookworm who’ll read anything, from The Nancy Drew Cookbook to the Kama Sutra–but he has a soft spot for Camus and his peers. He talks to you about the inherent meaninglessness of life while you two eat pizza and watch TV.

He loves seeing you use and wear the stuff he buys you. It’s rare for him to actually make a purchase with the intention of getting you things, but he always thinks of you. Even when he isn’t thinking of you, he can’t help but think of you. 

One of his favorites is the heart-shaped locket which contained braided locks of his hair. He has an exact replica of that locket that contained your hair, too. 

No Goggles Mark

Resembles a puppy dog who loves his owner too much. A cute, obsessive, six-foot-tall murderous dog. His day starts and ends with you.

He would probably be your devoted househusband if he had any choice in the matter, but you don’t like him being alone. 

Out of all of them, he’s the reddest flag purely from the fact that he has difficulty, or rather, has zero interest in interacting with others when you’re not around. 

He’s also one of the more competent fighters, but he always comes home bleeding and bruised. It’s because you fuss over him. More blood means more affection. 

He doesn’t get the human concept of the “nagging wife” because he relishes in your voice, in your undivided attention. It doesn’t matter if you’re reprimanding him or praising him, whether you throw flowers or dirt, life with you is one big, beautiful garden. 

Omni-Mark

Appears cold and distant to outsiders, to the point that they can’t even picture him smiling or being all cuddly, but he’s just a man who knows when and how to separate business from pleasure.

He is very observant. He repairs any problems in the house before you even notice, like a leaky faucet or a squeaky door hinge. 

A man of his word, he prioritizes his commitments to you over everything else. If you two planned a vacation together on the other side of the world, then he is ignoring any and all calls from work. 

He has endless time, but time with you can only be for so long, which makes it all the more precious than the lives of everyone else in the universe. 

Prisoner Mark

The actual househusband.

He gets super competitive when it comes to cooking and maintaining the house’s cleanliness, which, while you do appreciate, concerns you a bit. You don’t want him to get too obsessed with the housework because it means he always finds an excuse to stay at home. Granted, he’s an ex-con, but you still want him to interact with other people.

Despite his rough exterior, he is still a sweetheart. When random thugs aren’t making trouble for him, he is pretty chill.

You find that you have nothing to worry about when you discover that he is on a first name basis with the cashier lady at the grocery you two frequent, is affectionately called “Boo Radley” by the neighborhood kids, feeds the ducks and pigeons near the park, and is loved by every dog and cat that crosses his path.

author's Note: I'm so lonely.

Masterlist | request rules | ask box Husband headcanons for: Cap Mark, Full Mask Mark, Maskless Mark, Shiesty Mark, Sinister Mark, Viltrumite Mark

Disclaimer: The images above are not mine but are screenshots from the Invincible TV series.

[puppiesareperfect]

Book binding 101: Materials

I’ve decided to do a series of posts on how to book-bind since I talk about it a lot, and I think it’s a really fun process. This post will include various inexpensive alternatives to “professional” supplies, many of which you will have at home. Not everyone can afford a cricut and that’s ok! I will also be listing more expensive materials for people who want to invest a bit more into the craft, but they absolutely are not a must.

This first post will focus on a list of supplies you can use to make books, but will not yet get into the instructional part of it. That will come later!

Anyway…

Bookbinding Materials: Essentials

These are items you need to bind, but many you can find around your house!

Sewing thread: Any thread will work for bookbinding, though waxed threads can help reduce tangles. You can also double up thread as another way to prevent tangling if you so choose. Waxed thread is definitely more expensive, so it can be good to use what you have starting out. Here’s a link to the waxed thread I used for those that are interested. You can buy it in a lot of different colors! (White is good if want an “invisible” thread).

Sewing needle: A lot of people say to use a curved needle for binding, but I’ve never found it to be much different from using a regular needle. If you have one, I would recommend a larger needle, however, since it’s better for piercing through signatures (aka the stacks of pages you bind together). In other words: there’s no special needle you need to bind books.

Ruler: I’d recommend any metal ruler since it’s better to use as a straight edge for cutting. There’s a good chance you already have one. It’s just used for measuring and being a straight edge. Nothing fancy.

Paper: Any paper will work. What you wanna use depends on your project really: if you’re binding together a work of text you’ll want to use some kind of printer paper (of course). If you’re making a sketchbook, you can fold up some sketching paper. I like to get sketchbooks with perforated edges so I can tear them out easily if I want to use a blank page for bookbinding. You can also buy large sheets of paper made for any medium. For example, if you want a sheet of water color paper, just search “large watercolor paper sheet”.

Awl (or all alternative): An awl is a tool used to poke sewing holes. It’s nice because it’s sharp and ergonomic, but you can totally also use a pushpin or even a sewing needle.

Bone folder (or a bone folder alternative): A bone folder creates sharp creases when you fold your pages, making them lay flatter. It also helps define the hinge gap on finished books, making it open easier. You can use a ruler if you don’t have one.

PVA glue: PVA glue is what to look out for when it comes to binding glue. There are some designed specifically for bookbinding, which spread out a bit faster than ones that aren’t. You can also use tacky glue which IS a PVA glue.

Book board: Also sometimes called chip board, Davey board, or mat board. This is what you’ll use for hard cover books. It is important to use book board specially, as cardboard will warp. You can buy book board directly, or you can cut the covers off of old textbooks or binders, unwrap the paper/plastic around the board, and use that!

Box cutter or utility knife: for cutting the board

Decorative paper and book cloth: For wrapping around cover boards and for endpapers. Book cloth can also be used to cover boards. You can also draw your own designs on Bristol paper if you want (or any paper with a similar thickness/durability). When it comes to decorative paper I like to either get scrapbook paper or rolls of fancy handmade paper (you can get those on Etsy, through paper source, or through bookbinding websites).

Bookbinding materials: Optional (and not crazy expensive)

These are supplies that you don’t need for binding but that can make the process easier and/or help with the decorative elements of your books. I’d recommend these things for when you’ve been binding for a while and feel these things could be helpful!

Paper trimmer: can cut a few sheets of paper evenly—I find it really helpful for endpapers

Stencils: Super helpful if you want to add text on the covers

Stamps: Good for adding text and also great for adding illustrations if you’re not able to draw them on your own. You can buy ink pads for them or use markers by coloring over the stamp lightly and using the stamp immediately so it doesn’t dry (I’ve tested this with alcohol markers and it works very well)

Paint markers: great for drawing directly on the cover. Since they’re opaque they can imitate the look of vinyl. You can also get them super painterly if you want. The internet usually talks about poscas but there are tons of different brands. Do some research, figure out what you like & can afford.

Hot foil pen & heat transfer foil: Perfect if you want to add foil to your covers but don’t want to spend a ton of money on a cricut. A lot of binders uses the foil quill brand, but there are ones that cost less and work the same (I have both a cheaper one & an actual foil quill because I wanted some nib variation. As long as the pen has good reviews that aren’t from bots you should be good). Also remember: don’t use foil designed for going through laminators (I.e. decofoil) . It doesn’t work the same way.

Bookbinding Materials—Expensive

These are materials I’d recommend for people who have been bookbinding for a while & feel that it’s something they really want to invest in. To be fully transparent, I’m a college student and don’t own these and have little personal experience with them. However, I know a lot of binders who love them!

Cricut machine—Cricuts are cutting machines that can make precise cuts into paper, wood, bookboard, or vinyl. A lot of binders will cut designs out of vinyl and apply them to the covers using a heat press.

Book press—What it sounds like. The pressure helps the pages lay flat and stay even. That being said you can stack heavy books on top of your projects, it just may not have the same even pressure. I also know some people will DIY these, so if you’re skilled with power tools you can give it a go!

Paper guillotine—like a paper trimmer but bigger and can cut more sheets of paper at once. I believe really good ones can also be used to cut bookboard!

Those are all the materials I can think of! Hope this can work as a good starting point for those interested in the craft. I’ll definitely be posting more info about bookbinding for people who are interested :)

-Zoë💗

[shotmrmiller]

Uninvited, Unexpected.

a/n: it's nice until the very end. it hints at baby trapping. one solid sentence that's kinda degrading (i couldn't help myself ok) this was in the works for so long, i did so much research just to use words. english is hard. and ignore the plot holes, for my sake. my sanity.

this is SMUT. 18+mdni please (if im missing anything else, lmk)

ty to my wonderful beta readers @waves-against-a-cliff & @xoxunhinged

wc: 3,1K

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader

my contribution to the @glitterypirateduck ghost challenge. idc if i wrote it much earlier lol.

You're awoken by a loud noise. At first, you think you dreamt it. Exploding head syndrome, maybe. You strain your hearing but it's quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling, its old bones creaking in the dead of night. Rain gently patters against the windows, blurring the world outside.

A flash of sudden light illuminates the bedroom, casting elongated shadows across the floor, followed by a loud crack that rattles the glass. Thunder. You should've guessed.

The frantic beating of your heart slows to a gentle roll, and your eyes leaden with sleep. The soft pillows beckon, the warm blankets cradle you as you sink back onto the mattress.

Only for you to be snapped back into reality, drowsiness dissipating like a morning mist.

Someone's knocking on your door.

Your heart is in your throat as you quickly peel off the blankets, the chill of the floorboards underneath your bare feet seeping into your bones.

In the bookshelf sits the gun Simon had given you before he had moved out, the rumble of his voice a ghost in your ear. "For protection," he'd murmured, placing the cold metal onto your open palms. "Jus' in case."

Your trembling fingers fumble as you search for it in the dark, flinching as a couple of books spill from the shelf onto the floor, pages rustling in your urgency.

The knocking persists.

The metal of the grip is unyielding in your clammy hands. You've never tested it before, never had the displeasure. As you hold it close to your chest with a quivering breath, you hope tonight won't change that.

Simon's instructions echo in your mind as you approach the front door. "Thumb the safety. Hold the grip with both hands. Do not, under any circumstance, put your finger on the trigger unless you're plannin' on sendin' hate. Clear?"

Your throat tightens, a phantom snake coiling around the narrow passage, and panic grips your heart as you reach for the blinds, slowly hooking two fingers and carefully pulling down to look at who is—

Simon.

Simon?

Sweat-slick fingers flip the light switch before quickly undoing the locks, the hinges groaning in protest as the door opens.

"What the hell?"

It's Simon, disheveled— maskless— swaying on his feet. His eyes are half-closed and unfocused. Johnny's holding him up by the arm, struggling to keep him upright.

"S'ry, bonnie. We wen' out fer a few 'nd clearly, he's out 'is face. Quite crabbit, too. He said ye'd let 'em sleep 'ere," he slurs.

Simon's not the only one who's pissed. With a resigned sigh, you gesture at the couch with your free hand. "There, I guess."

That he thought of you even in his drunken haze tugs at your fragile heartstrings.

Johnny guides him to the catch, a quiet C'mon LT to spur him forward. Heavy boots thud against the floor as they stumble toward the living room while you carefully place the gun on the kitchen countertop before reaching for a water bottle in the pantry. Johnny snickers under his breath as Simon collapses onto the sofa, the springs protesting his weight.

Two bottles, then.

You watch Simon's head loll as you hand Johnny the water. "Tell me you aren't the one driving, Johnny," you grumble.

He takes it with a quiet thanks. "Naw. Cap'n's stone cold sober."

Small mercies.

Johnny gives Simon a rough slap to the side of his leg as he bids him goodbye, pulling you in for an embrace tight enough that your spine pops before walking out the door.

You let out another sigh as the lock clicked back into place. The tangy, sour scent of stale alcohol mixed with stings at your nose, as does the invasive smell of smoke.

His boots are mud-caked, and you'll be damned if he stains your nice furniture with his mess. "Shoes off." He groans but complies. The laces come undone quickly, and you tug his shoes off with a grunt. "Simon."

His glassy eyes meet yours. "Drink your water." The burning need to chuck it at his head is one you have to vehemently smother into embers. Moron. Only Simon would have the gall to show up unannounced months after the separation. And drunk.

You push the bottle into his chest roughly and make to go back to bed when he encircles his hand around your wrist and the world spins on its axis, suddenly finding yourself beneath him with his face nestled in the crook of your neck.

Simon's breath is hot against your skin, the weight of his body pinning you down so achingly familiar. It stirs up past memories that would have you pressing your thighs together if he wasn't right there, using his broad waist to spread them apart.

"Missed ya, love." A confession. "S'much."

The breath you draw is jagged, his slow-spoken words hanging in the air. You want to push him away, scream at him for stumbling in and disrupting your night, your rest, your carefully crafted peace. But there's a part of you that can't help but soften at the tenderness in his tone.

"Simon," you whisper. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying—" his lips find your fluttering pulse. You find purchase in his shirt, shaky fingers grasping at the hem.

"'M drunk, no' no liar." Your resolve wavers. No, he never had been. Honesty hadn't been the reason for the split. It wasn't the truth he'd spoken but the truths he'd kept to himself. A fortress around his heart, the bridge to its gates raised. Unwilling to share a burden, share a life.

His warm tongue licks a hot stripe up your neck reaching the lobe of your ear where his blunt teeth sink into it. A choked gasp spills from your mouth, spine arching in reflex— your treacherous body remembering his touch, yearning for it.

"Simon—" your words get caught in your throat; snag like fishhooks when he undulates his hips, arousal creeping along your veins like ivy.

"Don't ya miss me, pet?" You've asked him to not call you that because it never fails to stoke the fire in your belly, to sodden your knickers. Before you can chide him on his choice of words, he shifts. One arm, an inked column under the soft light of the living room, holds him up just enough to bring his rugged face into focus. His eyes, like a stormy night's sky, swirl with untamed desire.

You know it's dangerous to play with fire. Touch it and burn, ache, blister. But the passion of this old flame beckons like a siren with sharp teeth. Each drag of his prominent erection against your core only succeeds in pulling you away from the shore of clarity. It's disorienting, insistent.

Relentless.

"My pretty little love," he mumbles. Simon's gaze drags from your glassy eyes to the delicate contours of your collarbone. His fingers trace lines of intimacy onto the swell of your breasts before using the pad of his thumb to swirl the stiffened peak of your nipple. "Say the word 'nd it all stops."

The scent of alcohol clings to him, a bitter reminder of the loss of inhibitions it brings as it warms one's chest. Blurred lines he might not mind, but you do. Lost boundaries. Rejection sits on the tip of your tongue, on the edge of your teeth when he says something that frays the last threads of your resolve.

It comes undone.

"Please. Jus' tonigh'. All I need." His words sound like footsteps in winter mire, slushed, syllables blending together.

You'll just have to kick him out on his arse in the morning.

"Okay," you breathe. Just one night, you tell yourself. He's always been good to you in the bedroom. One last hurrah wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'll allow you to finally close this painful chapter in your life and start anew, with pristine white pages and fresh ink.

Your hands, trembling with nerves and anticipation, cradle his face. The roughness of his stubble in contrast with the softness of your palms is grounding, keeping you from being pulled under your own swirling emotions.

" 'M righ' 'ere, love. You're safe with me, always." He whispers the last words reverently, a vow. Simon's breath mingles with yours as he leans in for a kiss.

The world around you fades, your senses tunneled on the feel of his lips, the taste of him— mildly sweet with a hint of peppermint. He slants his head to deepen the kiss, and the bruising ache in your heart is replaced by another, one that burns brightly and threatens to sweep you away.

The lulling sound of the pouring rain outside is drowned out by the beating of your racing heart.

The bed creaks when Simon perches you on the edge of it, quietly ordering you to take your top off.

"What about my bottoms?" You bite down on the gummy inside of your cheek when he pins you in place with a look— a predator eyeing its prey.

"Those are mine." Resounding. Final. A gavel in a courtroom.

You fling your shirt off, tossing it into some forgotten corner in the room, and cheekily watch Simon undress. It's not methodical like it used to be. No longer a means to an end. Experienced fingers undo the buckle of his belt before he takes it off, the leather material snapping in the air, slicing through the silence.

A quip tumbles out of your mouth faster than you can stop it. "Gonna spank me with that?"

The air around you thickens— or thins, you can't be sure— when his eyes flash to you. He kicks off his jeans, one foot after the other, wobbling as he does. "Tha' wha' you want?" The words he didn't say ring out loud and clear.

Don't rattle the cage, sweetheart. This dog isn't muzzled.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from saying anything else, something that he might take you up on, instead focusing on the way his heavy cock hangs in between legs (dangling with each step forward—)

"M'eyes are up 'ere." Your nose scrunches at his joke. Cute.

He lowers himself onto his knees, your legs cradling his face as it hovers over your sex, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your heated skin.

The sleeping shorts you're wearing are ratty and worn. They're thin too, practically translucent from constant use. Which means that he can see that you're not wearing any undergarments underneath.

"Hope you know I can—" Heat licks up the sides of your jaw, pooling in your cheeks as you cut him off with a snappy remark.

"Yes. I know."

The tip of his pointed tongue drags along the seam of your shorts, right along your slit. Your breath hitches, and you clench your jaw to keep from making a sound. Your back bows involuntarily, the feeling startling, intense.

"Can see tha' clear as day, as if lookin' through a windowpane, pet," he taunts. The words that are forming, almost ready to spill out, freeze in place when his mouth comes in direct contact with your slippery cunt. He licks once, twice, through your folds, slightly dipping into your slick entrance, only pulling away to nuzzle your pearl with his misaligned nose.

"Sweet as a peach, jus' like I remember," he purrs, the timbre of his voice buzzing against your puffy lips. "Missed this." A mewl slithers past your grit teeth when he gently sinks one thick finger into you, curling and twisting. Arousal drips onto his knuckle, tracing a hot path down to his wrist. He coos at you when he adds another digit, hissing at the sharp but brief pinprick of the stretch.

"Bloody fuckin' tight." Simon rises off the floor, the quiet sound of his knees popping swallowed up by your harsh pants. "Gotta let me in, love. Relax."

He keeps the thrusts shallow, his fingers dragging deliciously along your nerve endings. The sting soon fades, giving way to a gentle warmth that unfurls inside of you, letting Simon reach deeper until—

Your muscles stiffen, tight like a spring when he brushes over the rough patch of skin that has bursts of light appearing across your eyelids.

"Look at ya. Droolin' like a mutt with my fingers stuffed up your pretty cunt."

There's a pressure in your lower belly that's steadily building with each sloppy thrust of his hand, pulling squelching noises from your sodden pussy. He finally, finally, latches onto your neglected clit, lightly sucking on it in tandem with his fingers.

Your chin drops to your chest as everything nears a breaking point. The pressure inside you has your body wound tight. The fibers of your muscles contract, almost painfully, preparing for the release of what's to come, what can't be ignored.

The swirling of his golden tongue pushes against the boundaries of your endurance, pushes you to the precipice, where you finally hit the point of no return. You can feel something about to give, ecstasy trickling through the cracks in your foundation, uncontrollable, raw. Your fingers thread through Simon's hair, curling tightly, pulling it taut when you feel something about to give—oh fuck—

Snap.

The structure that holds everything in place collapses.

A sudden release of pent-up energy and emotion erupts like a dam bursting, a cleansing flood that washes away the grime of old wounds, of bitterness, leaving the edges softened so they can heal; knit closed and scar over. Closure. It touches every part of you, filling you with a sense of liberation.

Your heart beats freely, it throbs with life as a wave of relief washes over you, soothing, a balm over scraped flesh, a rush of cool air into starved lungs.

A lightness that comes after being weighed down with burdens for so long.

Simon's hands encircle your arms firmly— fingers digging into the meat of your biceps— and effortlessly maneuvers you toward the center of the bed as if your lethargic form were a feather caught in a breeze; weightless, insignificant.

Gentle but unyielding.

There's a ringing in your ears that muffles his voice, blurring the edges of his words, an unintelligible hum, as if you were underwater. The sensation leaves you feeling adrift in a tranquil sea, cradled in its silken embrace. The only anchor you have to the muzzy reality is his warm touch.

"'M sorry, sweetheart. I can't," he apologizes, hooking your right leg over his shoulder. You let out a sibilant hiss as he leans forward, pushing your knee to your chest, the corded muscle of your hamstring pulling to its limit. "Can't wait anymore, 'm sorry."

Simon gives you a sloppy kiss as his heaving length prods at your swollen entrance, the tip breaching your pussy with a warm burn that starts from under your navel and only flares, radiating from your core outward. It's searing, the initial bite of the stretch disrupts the haze in your muddled mind, bringing the world around you into cutting clarity.

A guttural noise claws up his throat as Simon sheathes himself halfway, his growled words not the salve he was hoping for. It only grates at already raw nerves, abrasive.

"Jus' a little more, you can take it." He winds a hand downward to draw messy circles on your slippery clit, to stifle the roaring fire in your stomach, your chest. "You already have."

His jerky touch does its job, transforming the sharp burn of him wrenching your walls apart fiber by fiber into a quiet glow; smoldering heat now simmering. You soften, mellow and pliant, accept him into your body as he sinks to the hilt with a quiet groan.

"There's my girl. Takin' all of it like you were made f'me." Simon's words of praise tangle around your spine, electric, prickling. Your heart gallops like a herd of horses, wild and free. "Liked tha' did you? Jus' about strangled my cock with your tight cunt."

He rolls his hips once, twice, searching for signs of discomfort, but when only warm pleasure laps at your heels, when the barest of moans spill from your open lips, Simon begins to put his weight behind his thrusts.

Through half-lidded eyes, you see a raw, primal hunger reflected in his eyes— his soul, the one he'd claimed to have lost long ago, back with his reason, his sanity.

Yet he looks down at you as if you were his only salvation. A lifeline he grabs onto with an unyielding grip, his only tether to hope, purpose. A lighthouse shining in a raging storm, a beacon calling him home.

Simon presses a large hand onto your lower stomach, his work-worn palm pushing until you wince, brows furrowing at the fleeting whisper of pain.

"Can feel myself right here," he sluggishly mumbles, drunk of the feel of your cunt, the taste of your skin on his tongue— sweet like ripened figs. The sensory overload has him sinking his fingers into your flesh until it dimples.

He murmurs something under his taxed breath, something akin to mine, only mine as his lips leave a slick trail of saliva on the dip of your collarbone, the gentle curve of your shoulder, the thin, soft skin of your bicep up to your inner wrist, where he laps at your pulse.

As if savoring the present. The precious gift he's unwrapped, here and now. The last taste of you, which he hopes with a reverence that borders on prayer, lingers on his tongue long after the fruit— the sweet evidence of this one last intimacy— falls from the bough.

Simon comes with his teeth in the crook of your neck, biting down with a crushing pressure that has an acute pain digging its spurs into your consciousness, cutting the blazing euphoria of your own release short.

His cock is still twitching as he fills you with his spend when he takes his thumb and collects some of your slick to take you over the edge one last time.

"F'me. You can take it, yeah? I'll go slow, I promise."

Simon presses a kiss on your sweaty temple, his large hand cupping your jaw as he lazily watches you succumb to sleep, your breath evening out.

He reaches for your arm again, feeling for the birth control implant you'd had there when the both of you were still together.

Gone.

Sweet girl. You'd let him in without a fight. (He makes a mental note to wash the beer off of his clothes tomorrow.)

He knows your cycle better than the lines that are etched onto his palm. Better than the voice of the captain who rumbles in his earpiece, ordering him to go for the throat.

From the moment you'd stepped into his life with eternity in your eyes and the warmth of the sun on your lips, you were his. And he'll do anything to remain in your orbit.

(left unable to distinguish prison from paradise when each poison-coated kiss softens the world he'll build for you and for what's to come.)

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

So I'm putting together an In Defence of Cassie PowerPoint for a PowerPoint night with friends. Do you have any arguments for or against her? I trust your opinion and am curious.

Let's see.

"She's too powerful, too unique, too far-seeing, and not good enough for Jake! What a Mary Sue!"

Counterpoint: May I introduce you to the reigning champion fan favorite, Sad White Boy Tobias?

Only nothlit ever to regain the ability to morph

Only known human-andalite hybrid ever to exist

Regarded as savior by entire hork-bajir species

Entire existence is a time paradox the war hinges upon

Pulls the canonically "most beautiful girl in our grade", who turns down 6 or 7 other offers in favor of Bird Boy

Correctly predicted planetary ecology 65 million years in advance

Believed to be immune to 2-hour limit

In conclusion: y'all wouldn't be crying "Mary Sue" if Cassie was a sad white boy, and I can prove it.

"She's too weak and hand-wringing, and she never helps the war effort!"

Counterpoint: First of all, the fact that the same people say this in the same breath as "she's too powerful" is... telling. Secondly:

She saved the entire team's lives in #24, in #29, in #44, and in MM1, among others.

Specifically calling out #44 — that ending shows she is willing and able to be ruthless when her friends are in need. She doesn't like slaughtering human-controllers, but if the alternative is everyone she loves dying, then she'll fucking well do it.

Much like Jake (see: Sad White Boy), she's more willing to risk herself than her friends, hence the end of MM1

Her medical knowledge saves Marco from rabies, Ax from brain!appendicitis, and Tobias from bird flu.

Her survivalist knowledge saves everyone in #25 (the Arctic), MM2 (Cretaceous Era), #11 (rainforest), and #14 (desert).

In conclusion: Cassie's only idealistic-looking by the standards of this extremely morally gray team.

"She's so unfair to Jake!"

Counterpoint: Jake? The Jake who refused to speak with her for weeks? Jake who proposes marriage while they're still broken up? Jake who announces he'll never trust Cassie again because she [checks notes] saved his brother's life? That Jake?

Also:

She gives him tons of emotional support in #16, #21, #47, and other times he's feeling low.

They have a healthy argument where they air differences and come to an understanding in #9.

Did I mention he doesn't just dump her but ghosts her in the middle of the war's endgame?

They're teenagers. Their relationship isn't perfect, but it is built on open communication and mutual respect which is more than Rachel and Tobias can say

She's fighting a war, and PTSD for that matter. No, she doesn't have infinite emotional bandwidth.

In conclusion: Their relationship is fine, their breakup is mutual, and her behavior only looks bad if, once again, you're holding Cassie to a different standard than you are Jake.

"She shouldn't have trusted Aftran!"

Counterpoint: friendly reminder that the alternative was killing a 6-year-old for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If that's what you think Cassie should've done, that tells us more about you than about her.

"She spends too much time moralizing!"

Counterpoint: this is a book series about war, not a friggin' video game. If you want moral pornography, go play Call of Duty. If you want sci fi realism, then you're going to have to accept that a majority of humans prefer not to kill their fellow humans if at all possible.

"She's a ripoff of [insert character here]!"

Counterpoint: literally every single one of these says more about the commenter than about the source work. "Every dystopia is set in the U.S." is the kind of thing only people who only read books by American authors would think. "All epic fantasy is Eurocentric" => tell me you only read books by white people without telling me. I'm glad you think Cassie is too similar to Willow Rosenberg, but there are at least 6 other stories in the known world, and I hear some of them even feature sweet/dorky/caring characters who are secretly ultra-powerful.

In conclusion: You don't have to like Cassie as a (fictional) person, but 85% of criticisms directed at her are bad-faith attacks on one of the 1990s' only fat Black female gnc ultra-powerful superheroes.

[peachesofteal]

Simon and Johnny love a good game. 

They get bored, when they're not at work. Climbing the walls and lurking for long hours in the gym, at the bar. You can only watch so much television, can only read so many books. They try to broaden their horizons when it comes to cooking, but so far, they're slow learners. 

But games. Games can be fun. Not board games, metal pieces and paper money, folding maps and cards. No. 

Simon loves a cat and mouse game. The most dangerous game. A game that ends with catch but never release.

And Johnny's always more than happy to oblige him. He's even better at it, in a way. Simon skulks and sticks to shadows, where Johnny roams in the sun, smiling at old women and babies, chatting up whoever's behind him in the check out line. Finding a mouse is never hard for him.

Tonight’s mouse is a touch too skittish for Simon’s liking. Even though he enjoys them scared, the last one pissed herself when he threw her over his shoulder. He wasn’t a fan.

Still, Johnny likes you. Simon would never deny him, though you do throw a curveball.

You’re scared, but you’re smart. You pick up on them sooner than your predecessors, head half turned over your shoulder, clocking the shadow from the corner of your eye. Survival instincts lead you to stick to the crowded street, avoiding the left you’d usually make to head home to your apartment. You zig, cross to the other sidewalk, you zag, weaving through couples and groups of people taking their time, you have your keys between your knuckles.

You’re managing until you make the fatal error.

The train.

Why do they always think a confined, underground space is a good choice?

One time they chased a mouse through a fucking tunnel.

Made her pay for it, at least.

Simon laughs out loud, Johnny chuckling in his earpiece. “She was doin’ such a good job.”

“Just as well. I’m getting hungry for dinner.”

“Are you having fun?” Simon cocks his head, arms crossed over his chest, and you shake your head rapidly, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. His cock grows heavy, and he squeezes it over his pants, Johnny licking his lips. Fuck. He loves it when they cry.

“Fun?” You croak, confused little wrinkle in your brow. “Wh-what?” Your mouth is hanging open too, and without thinking, he rams his fingers into it, shoving them back past your tongue until you gag. Johnny clicks his tongue, strokes your jaw before cupping it, immobilizing the hinges and forcing it wide.

“Want to have a bite before we get ‘er home?” There’s another man in the same car, on the other end, watching. He hasn’t said anything, done anything, moved at all. He’s only watched. A sick fuck like the rest of them. Simon knows he won’t intervene, so he pulls his fly down. The man pretends to glance away.

“Have you sucked a cock before?” You make some awful hissing noise like a strangled cat.

“C’mon bonnie, hold still.” Simon forces himself past your teeth. You’re shaking so hard it’s like your bones are rattling, and when you stay frozen, Johnny guides you, dragging the heat of your mouth back and forth on Simon’s cock. It’s hot, and wet, and his toes curl. It’s like getting high, like a cigarette after a huge dinner. Euphoric. Satisfying.

The man at the other end of the car turns to give the situation his full attention, but not to stop him. Instead, his hand creeps down the front of his pants.

“Aww mouse, I think he likes ye.” Johnny’s cock is also hard, swollen against his thigh, and he rips your tense grip free from the seat to press it to his erection, kissing your temple. “It’ll be my turn, when we get home.” You try to jerk free, thrash, but it only forces the blunt tip of Simon’s cock deeper, and you start to gag uncontrollably. Johnny’s practically shivering with excitement.

“Don’t puke.” He grunts, fucking your face, slamming deep as he pumps his cum down your throat. You moan, eyes slipping closed. Defeated. Trampled under foot. Poor little mouse.

It’s adorable. You’re helpless. There’s too much going on, him, Johnny, the fucking creep still rubbing away at his crotch, and he feels bad. They should be taking better care at this point. They always need to butter them up before setting them free in the maze.

“Lights out, Johnny.” Fingers find those pressure points on your neck, and then the next thing they know, you’re slumped over, asleep on Johnny’s chest. What a cutie.

“Think we can keep her for a bit?” Simon rolls his eyes.

“We’ll see.”

[teenidlegirl]

꣖　 BEAUTY OF THIS MESS 　꣓　 ᤢ♥︎　 CHAPTER　.　12 　!

꒰⠀⠀⟡⠀.⠀military!miguel⠀𝓍⠀fem!neighbor!reader⠀.⠀⟡⠀⠀꒱

ᤢ　.　summary　♥︎　੭　with your world turned upside down, you seek help from a friend. after building up courage, you finally tell miguel about the pregnancy but it doesn’t go well as you think.

ᤢ　.　content　♥︎　੭　angst, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of abortions, mentions of expired birth control, negligence, major emotional distress, swearing, heartbreak

꣖　　previous　　⋅ ꪆৎ ⋅　　masterlist　　⋅ ꪆৎ ⋅　　next　　꣓

you don’t know how much tears you cried, probably broke a personal record. you don’t know how long you’ve been awake. you don’t even know what time it is or if it’s the same day. you’ve been too busy crying.

ever since you found out you’re pregnant, you turn into a fucking mess. cheeks flushed from all the crying. trash cans over-flooded with tissues, stacked up like a mountain. bed still undone, sheets all messed up. food left untouched in the kitchen.

first, you remained sitting on the cool tile floor of your bathroom sobbing and weeping for who knows how long. then finally you move on to your bed, crying into your pillow. thankfully, you weren’t wearing makeup so you pillows didn’t get stained. only small wet patches of your tears on the sheet.

you’re pregnant.

you are actually pregnant. there is a developing baby in your body, an embryo just sitting inside there. an embryo soon to be a baby, a being that will be a combination of you and miguel.

the thought makes you cry harder.

this can’t be happening. the world is collapsing and it’s all because of your irresponsibility.

you don’t want this. you don’t want a baby. you don’t want to become a mother. go through nine months of fucking hell. experience one of the most painful experiences ever just to pop out a small human. endure numerous body changes. crying echoing throughout the apartment because the baby demands milk. sleepless nights and thousands of diapers to change. buy expensive ass items such as strollers, car seats, diapers, baby food and clothes.

all of that is overwhelming, making your anxiety to skyrocket. this isn’t what you want. this isn’t what you dreamed of. this isn’t in the books for you. becoming a mother wasn’t on your bucket list.

however, it’s still possible that you don’t have to. thankfully, you live in a place where abortion and reproductive healthcare is available (fuck that orange mf). you have the opportunity to take that route.

but it’s not an easy decision.

having an abortion is a difficult process. if you wish to have one, you need to build shit load of courage. you have to ask yourself if you’re willing to live with that decision because it will remain with you for the rest of your life. you can’t feel sorry for yourself. if you got the courage, then fucking do it.

but you still have to process this first.

you have to miguel first.

oh miguel… how are you going to tell him?

never have you been so scared. not saying you’re afraid of him, no never because miguel is sweetest man to exist. he’s such a sweetheart, makes you feel happy and safe. you’re just scared of his reaction.

will he be upset?

will he be mad?

will he be happy?

not knowing is the scariest part. no matter how much of a sweetheart he is, you can’t tell what would his reaction be to such a fucked up situation like this.

while you were sobbing and weeping for hours on end, he texted you which you’ve yet to respond.

osito 🐻: hey, didn’t see you come from work. is everything okay? did you jameson let you off early?

osito 🐻: bebé, did something happened? please answer me asap.

oh your heart breaks.

how can you break the news to this sweet man?

luckily those messages were sent an hour ago which gives you time to respond so he wouldn’t worry and head over to your place. that also means it’s still the same day, it’s just been hours.

bebé 🌷: hi, sorry for answering late! yeah, jameson let us out early so i got home a little earlier and took a nap.

a hinge of guilt stand for your heart for lying but you know miguel would want to know why you didn’t show up to meet him as usual and text him back. the man is in the military for god’s sake, he knows when someone is lying. now you feel even more guilty.

you carelessly toss your phone to the side landing on the bed sheets and bury your face in your hands as tears begin prickling in your eyes once again.

not even 5 seconds, your phone dings!

osito 🐻: that’s good, you needed rest for working so hard. are you feeling better? you need me to come over?

shit, he can’t come over at least now. fuck you’re gonna have to lie to him again, no matter how much it breaks your already fragile heart.

bebé 🌷: no, it’s okay! my sister is actually visiting me soon so i can’t have other visitors lol. but i am feeling a little bit better :)

two more total fucking lies. you feel like absolute shit and your sister is not coming over.

osito 🐻: alright but let me know if you need anything, vale? te quiero mucho.

fuck, your heart.

you quickly respond to him saying you love him back with bunch of heart emojis before tossing your phone on the bed once again. more tears trail down your face, quiet sobs fall from your trembling lips.

an irresponsible liar.

not only you’re a liar but a terrible girlfriend.

ever since you found out about the pregnancy, you’ve been avoiding miguel. not answering his texts, missing his calls to answer later and give him a bullshit excuse. since you live in the same complex and are fucking next door neighbors, it’s hard to avoid him since he’s right there.

you know it’s hurting him and it kills you. one minute you two are kissing and cuddling, then suddenly avoiding him as much as possible. you feel so fucking guilty because miguel doesn’t deserve this. recently you finally told you love each other and now there is sudden distance between you two because of your fears. the guilt has been you eating alive.

the pregnancy hormones don’t help, making you more of an emotional mess. the stock of toilet paper has been decreasing due to the excessive amounts you’ve been using for blowing your nose and cleaning up your tears. you’re just a huge mess.

in addition to being a liar and a horrible girlfriend, you call your best friend instead of your boyfriend to talk about the pregnancy.

“oh my god… does miguel know?” mj asks over the phone, you can hear the shock in her voice.

you close your eyes in guilt. “no…”

“fuck… okay, um- have you told anyone else, your parents, siblings, other relatives?”

“no, you’re the first one to know.”

“okay…” you can hear her sigh heavily. “well, i promise to keep this secret because i figured you don’t want anyone else to know yet.”

you thank her, feeling a bit relieved. mj has always been a trusting friend and you’re grateful for that.

“when did the pill expired?” she inquires.

“three weeks ago.”

you hear her cursing under her breath. “have you made an appointment yet?”

“not yet but i’m planning to.”

“okay, that’s good. that’s a good start.” she said supportingly, trying to help you feel a little better.

tears begin prickling in your eyes. “mj, i’m so scared, i fucked up… it’s all my fault…”

“hey, sweetie no, no, no—”

“yes it is!” you cut her off, finally letting out those tears. “it’s my fault because i didn’t check the stupid expiration date! it was my responsibility and i fucked up! now miguel is gonna hate me—”

“he’s not going to hate you. that man loves you more than anything else in the entire universe.” she said. “i know you’re scared to tell him but i’m 100% sure he’ll never hate you. sure, he’ll be shocked but he’s a kindhearted man, i’m sure he’ll understand.”

mj is right, you know she is. miguel is a kindhearted man and you love that about him. his kindness always capture your heart. how sweet and generous he is, it’s plausible he would understand in a way.

but you’re just so scared to tell him, afraid of his reaction regardless how sweet he is. this is because of your irresponsibility. it’s your fault for not checking on your pill and now face the consequences of it. but miguel is in this mess with you. because of your irresponsibility, you dragged him into this mess.

“honey, i know you’re scared and that’s 100% okay.” she said after you didn’t respond back. “but… you’re gonna have to tell him soon because eventually he will find out and that will be even more messier.”

she’s right and you can’t afford that.

this is already bad as it is.

you can’t hide the truth from him forever. miguel has the right to know, no matter how terrified you are to tell him. you have to tell him, tonight possibly.

“tonight…” you take a deep breath to numb down your anxiety. “tonight i’ll tell him.”

“okay…” mj answers softly. “you’re gonna be fine, it’s gonna be fine, i promise.”

you really hope she’s right.

“thanks, mj. i appreciate this so much, thank you.”

“of course, honey. best friends always support each other. if you need anything, do not ever hesitate to ask. me and the girls will always be there for you.”

god, you really have amazing friends. forever grateful to have them in your life.

after saying your goodbyes and mj telling you to call her after you tell miguel, you hang up. sinking back into your bed, you stare up at the ceiling. thinking of infinite possibilities and scenarios of what will happen to tonight when you tell miguel.

fear still consumes you, eating you up. despite how sweet miguel may be, his reaction is still unpredictable. an unplanned pregnancy isn’t something to be calm about.

but you have to face your fears.

bebé 🌷: hey, can you come over tonight please? there’s something i need to talk about.

your thumb hovers over the ‘send’ button, hesitating for a moment. anxiety strikes your heart viciously. no matter how scared you are, you have to face this. with a shaky breath, you send the message.

your anxiety increases when he doesn’t respond right away. he’s probably busy right now, maybe at the boxing gym. you distract yourself by doing laundry and fixing your bed after days of leaving it undone. half an hour later, your phone dings! with a text.

osito 🐻: claro, preciosa. i’ll be there in 30 mins, on my way right now.

now you have to wait, dreadfully.

“you good, o’hara?” flash asks.

miguel blinks after spacing out for a bit, too lost in his thoughts. “yeah, i’m fine.”

flash raises a skeptical brow, doubting. “for a man who’s an expert liar on the field, you’re really shitty when you aren’t. what’s up?”

miguel has been asking that himself for the past few days. something has happened that he isn’t aware of. you’ve been avoiding him. he hasn’t seen you in almost a week. when he waits for you to return from work, you don’t show up. when he knocks on your door, you don’t answer. all he gets are text messages with various excuses. miguel doesn’t buy it one bit.

did he do something?

that’s the question that has been repeating in his mind for these past few days. has he done something wrong? did he hurt you in any way? that’s the last thing miguel wants, he never ever wishes to hurt you. you’re his beautiful girl, the owner of his heart. hurting you would be the end of him.

he’s desperate to know what’s wrong but miguel also doesn’t wish to push you. despite the negative thoughts plunging his mind, he’s still respectful.

but goddamnit he wants to know.

he wants to know so badly it hurts.

all miguel wants is to rush over to your apartment, plead to you on his knees to know what he’s done. he isn’t sure if his heart can’t handle it more.

miguel knows you love him. never doubted for a second, not ever once. the intense love you harbor for each other is unmatched, unbreakable.

“is this about your girl?” flash’s voice makes him snap out of his thoughts once again.

“she’s been… distant.” miguel said solemnly, as if it was painful to admit that.

flash only sighs and fold his arms across his chest, allowing miguel to speak his mind.

“i don’t know what happened… i haven’t seen her in almost week. every time i call her, she doesn’t answer. i knock on her door and she doesn’t answer. no matter what i do or when i try to reach her, she avoids me and i don’t know why.”

miguel truly doesn’t know and it frustrates him. it frustrates him that you aren’t able to talk to him and tell him the truth. all miguel wants is you to be comfortable to tell him anything. he wants to be that safe haven you can come to.

you mean so much to him, you have no clue.

you’re his angel.

“i just feel like… did i do something wrong?” miguel frowns solemnly. “i just don’t know what possible reason… everything was alright.”

a deep sigh escapes him as flash takes a step forward. “i’m not sure either since you two have been so lovely dovely, but i’m sure you didn’t do anything, man. maybe she’s been stressed at work but there’s for sure something going on.” he leaves a light hand on miguel’s shoulder. “don’t stress out, man. when the time is right, she’ll come to you.”

miguel takes in his words, giving him a little bit of relief yet the concern lingers. he gives him a nod, appreciating his supportive words.

as him and the rest of gang continue sipping their beers while watching the football game tonight, miguel receives a notification from his phone.

bebé 🌷: hey, can you come over tonight please? there’s something i need to talk about.

his heart skips a beat in rejoice. the first time you texted him first. perhaps flash was right.

osito 🐻: claro, preciosa. i’ll be there in 30 mins, on my way right now.

he never left the pub so quickly. eager yet a bit nervous to finally see you after what feels like forever. all miguel wants is to see his pretty angel.

heart pounding in your chest. blood pumping with anxiety flowing through your entire body, consuming you whole. you can feel the pulse caught in your throat as you wait for miguel’s arrival.

it’s time, it’s finally time to tell him the truth.

god, you’ve never been so scared in your life.

hands fiddling with each other, palms sweaty and clammy. pacing around the living room. negative thoughts invading your mind like a plague.

it’s gonna be okay, you keep telling yourself as a way to calm down your anxiety. but it isn’t working obviously. those negative thoughts just won’t stop.

miguel is gonna be infuriated. yell at how irresponsible you are and demand for the relationship to end because of you’re lack of responsibility. these thoughts just won’t stop, never-ending.

the knock on the door startles you, making you jump.

fuck, miguel is here.

taking a very deep breath to calm your nerves, you slowly approach the front door. slowly unlocking it, your heart rate skyrockets when you see miguel standing in front of you. his wide eyes meet yours.

“¿bebé, que paso? what’s wrong?” he blurts our questions, his anxiety to blame.

“come in, please…”

you walk away as miguel enters your home and closes the door before taking off his shoes and follows you to the couch. no hug or kiss, miguel takes mental note of that and it worries him more.

miguel hesitates to sit since you refuse to yourself but your pleading eyes convinces him to. he drinks in your anxious state. one hand rubbing your neck, the other over your torso. the pacing back and forth. seeing you this nervous makes him nervous. his elbows rest on his bouncing knees of anxiety, leaned forward as miguel waits for you. he wants to stand up and pull you into his arms than sit on your couch, anxious to hear what you have to tell him.

“please tell me what’s wrong, bebé?”

fuck, by his tone you can tell how worried he is.

you look at him, opening your mouth to say something but immediately closing it. you can’t do this, the anxiety is winning against you. goddamnit you can sense the tears slowly developing. quickly blinking them away, you inhale a deep breath.

“i-i know i’ve been distant and i—” you hiccup. “i’m sorry for hurting you, i never wanted to hurt you. i love you and it killed me to hurt you like this.”

miguel stares at you with big concern eyes and furrowed eyebrows. “bebé, what is this about—”

“please let me finish, miguel.” you plead with sorrowful eyes and he only stares worryingly. “now please believe me when i didn’t mean for any of this and i am forever sorry for putting you in this.”

he feels his heartbeat increase rapidly. never has miguel felt so fucking nervous in his life. what do you mean ‘putting him in this’?

“i’m pregnant.”

the whole fucking world, or the universe, stops. everything just stops, frozen in time. large silence sits unfortunately between you two. you feel your chest tightening, unable to breath, and panic as you notice the all the emotions from miguel’s drops immediately. brown eyes blown wide, color from his face gone, chest begins to heave. he appears as if he’s about to have a heart attack.

“¿qué?…” so quiet yet in disbelief.

you grimace at his reaction, anxiety now skyrocketed. god you want to burst into tears. “i’m so sorry… i’m so sorry, miguel.” those exact tears were coming in. “it’s my fault, i-i wasn’t lying about taking the pill but i—” you choke a sob. “my dumbass didn’t check the expiration date and now—”

while on the verge of tears, you couldn’t read miguel’s expression. he just sat there emotionless other than shocked eyes, it scares you.

“it’s my fault for being so irresponsible and i’m so so so sorry!” you couldn’t back those tears anymore as they slowly trail down your face. “you have every right to be mad. please believe me, i never wanted this and put you through this.” another sob. “i-i’m not even sure if i’ll keep it anyways.”

miguel still doesn’t answer but he isn’t looking at you anymore, instead at his hands in his lap.

“i’m so sorry, miguel!” you sob, hugging yourself thinking he doesn’t want your comfort right now. how could he after what has been revealed?

through your teary eyes, you look at him. still sitting in silence with no emotions. it’s understandable for him to react like this, you throw a bomb on him and flip his entire world upside down. but you secretly wish miguel would say something, a word or noise, just anything because the silence is killing you.

“m-miguel?…” you whisper, sniffling.

the man doesn’t respond.

you repeat his name and still no response. your voice falls deaf upon his ears. instead of answering, miguel silently stands up without eye contact and walks away towards the front door. you observe him putting in his shoes with slightly wide eyes, your anxiety gradually increasing again.

“miguel?…”

with no answer, he opens the door and…

he walks out.

he just walks out.

without saying anything at all.

꣖　𝓣ags. ♡ྀིྀི　꣓⠀⠀@reverieblondie @nina-from-317 @kavimoo @aly29a2001 @marshhbs @lazyjellyfish300 @tojishugetiddies @aphinthestars @novelaaaaaaaa @imamexican @obessgurlll @deputy-videogamer @watertribeissuperior @lovehadlovelost @auiciqa @agoddoesnotplead @saintdiior @whoopwhoppghost @tomalymme @skadiloki @miguelsfavwife @asterrrrose @glossygreene @aefin @youcantseem3 @resident-clown @kutsipie @zuevcs @totorotales-08 @meowgirl1 @sukunash0e @jadeloverxd @sirendyes @leahnicole1219 @lisa-takeshi @yehet-moi-ohorat @slowlyshycomputer @wasitforrevenge @webshoootrz @f1-hoff @chaeriescola @zayai @espressopatronum454 @trocaderoisyummy @scaryplanetdestroyer @totallygyomeiswife

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[scarsnfevers]

Wildflowers. Lilac. Storm.

Chapter I of Wolfgang

summary: meeting another wolf in the middle of nowhere hasn't really been on your to-do list since you moved into your new home. But everything changed the moment the pizza delivery guy showed up at your door. genre: werewolf!stray kids x werewolf!reader x werewolf!hyunjin chapter word count: 2,7k chapter warnings: none

It had been a week since you arrived at the cabin. Seven full days since the gravel had crunched beneath your tires for the first time, and your fingers had closed around the cold iron of the old key John had handed you.

Now, the cabin no longer felt like a stranger’s house. The scent of aged wood and dried herbs had gradually mixed with your own — your shampoo, your morning coffee, the lavender candle that flickered on the windowsill in the evenings. Your presence had softened the sharp corners of the space. The dust had been banished. Blankets and books now lived in arm’s reach, and your favorite mug sat faithfully on the kitchen counter. There was peace here. A kind you hadn’t known in years. Out in the forest, everything moved slower. The trees weren’t in a hurry to be anything other than what they were. The birds sang softly during the day, and in the evenings, the world grew so quiet that you could hear the rustle of leaves a mile away — or maybe just the creak of the old wood shifting with the wind. But what you hadn’t heard since that first night — not once — was the cry of a wolf.

That first evening, as you unpacked the essentials by the flickering fireplace, a distant howl had pierced the stillness. It had been mournful, long, and low, like a memory coming back to haunt you. But since then… nothing. Not a whisper. Not a growl. Not the soft rhythm of paws through the underbrush. You hadn’t realized how much you’d needed that silence. The city had been too loud — not just in sound, but in energy. With so many of your kind walking the concrete veins of Seattle, your senses had been stretched too thin. Every heartbeat, every territorial flare of dominance in the air, every subtle pull of pack hierarchy — it had made you feel like a radio with all the frequencies turned up at once. There was no breathing space. No control. And you, an Alpha, were expected to bear it all with strength.

Here, there were no other wolves. At least, not near enough to matter. And for the first time in years, you felt like you could breathe. Like the beast beneath your skin was dozing — not locked away, not suppressed, just… resting.

You spent the days tending to small things. Fixing a creaky cabinet hinge. Reorganizing the old bookshelf in the living room. You’d hung sheer white curtains to catch the soft golden light of late afternoon, and each evening, you sat with a warm drink, watching the sky bleed from orange to violet through the trees. Sometimes, you wrote. Not for work, not out of obligation — just scribbles in your journal, half-formed thoughts, little flashes of clarity. Sometimes, you walked through the forest. Not far. Not deep. Just enough to feel the world beneath your feet again. It was the kind of solitude that wrapped around you gently, like a wool blanket. Soothing. Safe.

Tonight, the sky had turned cloudy. Rain hadn’t come yet, but it was in the air — you could smell it. The wind was restless, tugging at the trees with more insistence than usual. You were curled up on the couch, a novel open in your lap, but your stomach growled loud enough to pull your attention from the page. You sighed and reached for your phone, flicking through the limited delivery options the nearest town offered. You’d already tried the greasy diner down the road and the questionable tacos from a gas station kitchen. Tonight called for something easy. Familiar. A small comfort.

You chose a place called Sammy’s Pizza, tapped your way through a simple order — extra cheese, mushrooms, thin crust — and let your phone slip onto the armrest. Estimated delivery time: forty-five minutes to an hour.

Long enough.

You stretched lazily and got up, your feet padding across the worn wooden floor. The bathroom was already warm from the heater you’d turned on earlier. You tugged your sweater over your head, let your leggings follow, and stepped into the tiny shower, where the old pipes groaned in protest before spilling water over your skin. It wasn’t a fancy shower. Nothing like the apartment you’d left behind, with its chrome fixtures and endless hot water. But this one had a skylight, and the rain had finally started to fall, tapping softly above your head like fingers drumming a lullaby. The water smelled faintly of pine and minerals. The kind of clean that only existed in places like this. You tilted your head back, letting it run through your hair, over your shoulders, down the curve of your spine. Muscles that had been clenched for years loosened without permission. By the time you stepped out, your skin was flushed pink from the heat. You wrapped yourself in a soft towel, steam curling around your ankles. Outside, the sky had darkened even more — the rain now steady, whispering against the windows and roof. You pulled on a pair of soft joggers and an oversized hoodie, the kind with sleeves long enough to hide your hands. Your damp hair hung in loose waves down your back, cool against your skin.

Downstairs, the fireplace crackled to life with a few flicks of the lighter. You sank into the couch again, legs tucked beneath you, and let yourself enjoy the quiet. There was a kind of magic in this stillness — not the kind you read about in books, but the quiet, ordinary kind. The kind that came with being exactly where you were supposed to be. A knock at the door jolted you from the edge of sleep. Three soft raps. Not too hurried. Not too slow.

You blinked, sitting upright, your gaze flickering toward the window. Rain streaked the glass, and the porch light bathed the entrance in a warm glow. You hadn’t expected the pizza so soon. You stood, brushing a hand through your damp hair, and padded barefoot to the door. The porch light cast a pale circle over the steps outside, the rain falling in soft curtains beyond. The knock hadn’t come again. Whoever it was waited — patient, unmoving. You unlatched the door and pulled it open.

The scent hit you before the sound, before the sight — not the expected warmth of tomato sauce or the yeasty comfort of melted cheese. No, this was something else entirely. Jasmine. Subtle but unmistakable. Not the powdered kind, but the living bloom — rich, delicate, and wild. Intertwined with it was the grounding depth of cedarwood — fresh bark after rainfall, the scent of forest shadows. The combination struck like a chord, ancient and instinctive. You knew it instantly.

Wolf. And not just any wolf.

Your gaze landed on the figure before you, and everything else — the rain, the dark, the world — faded to a dull hush. He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a red and black delivery jacket, unzipped just enough to reveal the collar of a plain black shirt underneath. His name tag read “Hyunjin,” though your eyes barely registered the letters. What you noticed was him. His hair was black, long enough to brush his jaw, slicked slightly by the drizzle, the ends curling where they met his neck. His face was all sharp lines and striking contrast — pale skin, full mouth, dark eyes that watched you with the same startled recognition you knew was flickering in your own.

Beta.

You felt it like a vibration in the air. Not threatening. Not submissive either. Just there. Balanced. Solid. Familiar in a way that had nothing to do with memory and everything to do with instinct. His eyes widened a fraction. His nostrils flared, and you knew — he smelled you too. For a beat, neither of you said a word. It wasn’t a long pause, but it was heavy — dense with something unspoken, a silent acknowledgment that something had just shifted. You hadn’t seen another of your kind in over a week, and now here he stood, rain misting his shoulders, looking at you like he hadn’t expected this either. He blinked first. Cleared his throat. “Uh. Large mushroom and cheese?”

His voice was low and smooth, a little unsure now — like he wasn’t used to being caught off guard. He held out the pizza box with both hands, not quite meeting your gaze, as if that might set something in motion he wasn’t ready for. You took it carefully, fingers grazing his just for a second — skin warm, electric. You stepped back slightly into the doorway, the scent of cedar and jasmine curling around you like a memory you didn’t have. “Thanks,” you said, your voice quieter than usual. It was all you could manage. Something about him — the sudden presence of another wolf after such silence — had your nerves singing. He nodded, clearing his throat again. “You, uh… just move out here?” You nodded once. “Yeah. From the city.” He gave a knowing sort of half-smile. “Bet that’s a change.” “You have no idea,” you said, then caught yourself. You looked down, flipping open the wallet you'd left on the side table by the door earlier. You pulled out the cash — exact change, plus a generous tip. You handed it to him, letting your fingers stay clear this time. “Thanks,” he said, glancing down at the bills. “Appreciate it.” Another beat passed.

He hesitated — like he wanted to say something else. Ask something. But instead, he gave a small nod, stepped back off the porch, and disappeared down the short steps toward the gravel drive, where his car idled in the rain. You closed the door slowly behind him, heart thudding a little too loud in your chest.

Cedarwood. Jasmine. And the unmistakable certainty: You weren’t alone here after all.

The scent lingered.

Long after Hyunjin had turned the corner and the cabin disappeared from his rearview mirror, it clung to him like morning mist—soft, haunting, impossible to ignore. Wildflowers in full bloom, the delicate touch of lilac, and the charged sharpness of a summer storm. It filled his lungs, settled into his skin, and stirred something low and ancient inside him. He didn’t have a name for it, but it left his fingers clenched around the steering wheel tighter than usual, his heart pacing slightly ahead of the soft hum of the rain outside.

She had smelled like freedom. Like something he hadn’t known he was missing.

He hadn’t needed her to speak, hadn’t needed to look twice. The moment she’d opened that door, the balance of the world had shifted just slightly—barely enough to notice, but enough for every cell in his body to recognize her nature. Alphas had a gravity to them. Most carried it like a threat. But hers felt different. Quiet. Steady. Like a storm brewing not to destroy, but to cleanse.

And now, that storm raged softly in his memory.

By the time he pulled into the pizzeria’s backlot, his shift was almost over. The other delivery cars were parked crooked and half-abandoned, a sign that the rain had slowed business and the others had already clocked out early. Hyunjin didn’t bother with the umbrella this time. The rain had softened into a drizzle, a gentle hush that whispered through the trees bordering the lot. He stepped out into the cool evening and let the rain wash over him. The scent didn’t leave.

It had imprinted itself on his clothes, his hair, and deeper still, in that untouchable place within wolves where instinct lived and never slept.

The drive home was quiet, winding. The kind of road you could only find this deep in the woods, where lanterns and moonlight shared the work of illumination. The tires hummed against the wet gravel, and the trees blurred past in deep greens and blacks. Home was a large cabin, old and sturdy, nestled just far enough from town to feel hidden. The lights glowed like a promise through the trees, warm and inviting. Smoke curled from the chimney in lazy spirals, carrying the unmistakable scent of Maria’s, John's wife, cooking through the rain-soaked air. Even before Hyunjin stepped out of the car, his mouth watered. He rushed inside, brushing water from his jacket and shaking out his damp hair as he crossed the threshold. The warmth hit him instantly. So did the smells: pinewood, stew, freshly baked bread, and the familiar notes of his pack.

The dining room was a cathedral of timber—high ceilings crisscrossed with exposed beams, walls lined with old bookshelves and faded photographs, a massive table carved from dark wood stretching through the center. A hearth crackled at the far end, painting the room in flickering amber.

Everyone was already seated. Maria gave him a small smile from her place beside John, who was ladling stew into mismatched bowls. Minho sat near the window, his eyes unreadable as always. Jisung was leaned back in his chair, one leg hooked over the other, talking with Changbin and Felix, until he stopped mid-sentence.

Hyunjin hadn’t even reached his seat when Jisung’s head turned sharply. The air shifted. "You smell different," Jisung said, nose twitching slightly.

The room fell quiet. All eyes turned.

Hyunjin froze, his hand still on the back of his chair. He exhaled slowly, the scent still clinging to him like ivy. He met their eyes without flinching. "I was at the old forest cabin. The one John sold last week. Delivered a pizza there." John blinked. "You mean the place by the southern ridge? I sold that to a young woman. Didn’t know she was –" Hyunjin nodded once. "She’s an Alpha." Another ripple moved through the room. Not fear—just tension, a subtle string drawn taut between old instincts and new information. Minho exchanged a glance with Changbin. Felix frowned thoughtfully. And then, as if on cue, all their gazes drifted to the head of the table.

To Chan.

John leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. "I spoke with her only briefly. She said she needed a quiet place. Needed to get away from the city. Didn’t mention what she was. I wouldn’t have known either." "She didn’t feel threatening," Hyunjin said quickly. "She just… felt tired." Maria placed her hand gently over John’s. "Then she came to the right place."

Minho finally spoke, his voice low. "We should keep an eye on her. Just in case." Jisung shrugged. "She smelled good." That earned a snort from Felix. But Chan didn’t laugh. He set his spoon down and looked at Hyunjin, eyes sharp despite their calm.

"We leave her alone." No one questioned it. Because Chan rarely gave orders. But when he did, they weren’t suggestions. "She came here to disappear," he added, leaning back in his chair. "We don���t drag her into anything unless we have to. That’s the deal we make with anyone who comes to this place for peace. We respect their silence." And the silence that followed was thicker than before—but not uncomfortable. Just full of understanding. Hyunjin nodded and finally sat down. The bowl of stew in front of him had gone lukewarm, but he didn’t care. The scent still hadn’t faded from his mind.

Wildflowers. Lilac. Storm.

A feeling, not a memory.

Something unnamed, curled just beneath the surface of things. And in the flicker of the firelight, while the others returned to conversation, Hyunjin sat back in his chair and let the thought settle like dust: She was here. And the forest had already begun to shift around her.

taglist; @shoganaiiii, @h0rnyp0t, @maddy24207

masterlist | prologue

[lovelytsunoda]

sweet sounds of heaven | logan sargeant

summary: for two rival bookstore employees vying for promotion, a freak snowstorm trapping them inside the small bookstore may just show them that instead of screwing each other over, maybe they should just be . . . screwing.

pairing: college!logan sargeant x college!female reader

warnings: 18+ for smut, rivals to lovers, sex in a book store, freak weather event or act of god? im a sucker for stories about adorable nerdy girls getting (lovingly) railed by equally sexy nerdy guys. there may or may not be inappropriate use of a wool scarf (read it and find out!)

the cozy store was calm and empty, snow falling rapidly outside. the radio was humming the old bing crosby version of 'white christmas' and the fire in the reading room was pleasantly roaring. she watched the last few customers leave , closing and locking the front door behind them. after flipping the sign from open to closed, she set off towards the break room, knocking on the locked door.

"logan, you better not be vaping in there! not only is it a fire hazard, it will piss mrs. christodolou off to no end. you should be out here helping me clean up after story time."

inside the break room, logan rolled his eyes, exhaling a cloud of passionfruit vape smoke. "gimme a second, hot stuff. someone left their mug full of caked on hot cocoa in the sink."

he'd gotten the mug clean ten minutes ago, and now it was sitting on the drying rack. truthfully, logan just wanted to watch her squirm.

"fine, sargeant. don't help. see if i care."

the pair had been at each other's throats since they'd started working for helen christodolou. the elderly greek woman ran a thriving independant bookstore, which she had started back in the eighties as a horror bookshop and pulp fiction retailer. over the years, it had morphed and changed, becoming the cosy little discount bookseller that y/n knew and loved.

logan had come later, likely because he knew someone who knew someone and really needed a job. he was a slacker, and spent mroe time vaping in the break room than he did helping. but alas, they were the only two full-time employees, and with a promotion on the horizon in the new year, she felt the need to prove that she was better than some blonde trust fund boy who was probably only employed here to keep him out of trouble.

brenda lee was playing now, and y/n was tempted to shout 'bah humbug' and turn the whole thing off. there was only so much christmas music she could take before she needed to listen to something of substance again.

after gathering the broken, dull and smeared crayola crayons off the small craft table that had been set up for children to decorate ornaments, cards and coloring pages at, she unceremoniously threw them into the clear plastic storage tote they came from, and went behind the desk to the desktop that controlled the music. she signed in to her spotify account, navigating over to her winter playlist rather than the compilation currently playing from youtube.

the calming classic rock took over the speakers, but did little to ease her irritation as she continued to clear up the table. the snow was falling harder outside, and she hoped she'd be able to hit the road and be most of the way home before it got any worse.

she heard the break room door open and close, creaking on it's old hinges as logan exited the room, his appearance announced by the lynx deodorant that seemed to follow him everywhere.

you would think that a boy with as much money as he had would make and effort to smell better.

"of course you show up now, when all the work is mostly done."

logan rolled his eyes, grabbing some forgotten books from the shelving cart and putting himself to work at refiling them. "it's not a big deal, y/n. everybody knows helen is giving you the job. its like i'm not even here."

"maybe if you did something other than suck on your fucking flavoured air all day and contributed to the day to day operations of this place, you'd have a shot at that job as well." she scowled up at him, closing cheap coloring books and stacking them on top of the storage tote.

"hey, i suck other things too! things that would make you feel fucking euphoric, if you catch my drift." logan winked from behind a chest-height bookcase housing sci-fi releases.

"i don't want to hear how good you are at giving head, logan. its been a long fucking day, and i just want to go home. so if you could please help me out here, it would be much appreciated."

all the fight was out of her voice now, and logan felt bad. this was no longer the banter that he looked forward to every morning, and the smile he enjoyed seeing was no longer mapped out on her face. instead she looked weathered and sleepy, like a day of working retail and listening to christmas carols had sucked all of the energy out of her.

logan stayed quiet, but y/n noticed the marked effort he made at helping her get the store in closing order, especially when it came to shutting down the point of sale system (which unfortunately cut out the music right in the middle of an inxs song that logan didn't want to admit he was enjoying).

"i'm sorry for being so hard on you." y/n sighed, pulling on her scarf. her tote bag was half packed, resting on the counter behind her. "i'm always in a sour mood once it starts getting darker earlier. something about the end of the year coming up this quickly is making me rethink every choice i've ever made." she tried to smile at logan, let him know she was fine, but her smile didn't quite meet her eyes.

after all, she would just be going home to an empty apartment, with a small and sad looking christmas tree that she bought at a charity store sitting on her side table.

"don't worry about it. i was being a dick for no reason. you didn't deserve it." logan said gently, patting her on the shoulder. "go home and get some rest, i can lock up here."

"thank you." she fished in her bag for the keys to her kia, excitedly walking towards the door. at this rate, she'd be home with enough time to make a small pot of pasta and watch a few episodes of santa clarita diet before she went to bed and slept through her alarm this morning.

except for the fact that she could hear the wind rattling the windowpanes. she couldn't even see out of the side door to where the employee parking lot was, her kia rio a dark cloud behind the wall of snow. she paused, hand on the doorknob as she looked outside. the wind rustled up a forgotten newspaper on the sidewalk, plastering it against the window in the door.

"i just got a message from kyle," logan shouted from behind her. "they've sent out a weather alert, and people have been advised not to leave their homes. i hate to break it to you, but you're better off staying here with me tonight."

"fuck." she cursed, throwing her tote bag at a display of christmas romance books, each looking like it stepped out of the hallmark studio head offices.

from his place behind the counter, logan winced. "i'm really sorry. but i don't think you should be driving right now."

"no, you're probably right about that." she said it calmly, but the more she sat there, the more she seethed with rage. "you know what, if you had gotten off your ass and actually helped me sooner, i could have been home right now!"

"don't get mad at me, please. i had a fight with my dad this morning and i really don't have the energy to fight with another person i love today."

she paused, some of the tightness leaving her chest. another person logan loved? did he really mean her? "i'm sorry." she said softly. "i didn't know."

"he was mad at me because i took my name out of contention for the promotion." logan announced, coming to sit in the doorway with her. his back was against the wall across from her, their feet almost touching.

"why did you do that?"

"because i don't deserve it." logan shrugged, broad shiulders shifting under his cable knit sweater. "i'm just here to prove to my parents that i'm responsible, and i can't even really do that right. you deserve that promotion more than i do. i talked to helen this morning. its yours as long as you still want it."

she smiled at him, nudging his foot with her own. "so there is a heart under there."

"its always been here, y/n. just for you. but you've ignored it, or you've mistaken it for arrogance." he sighed, messing with his collar. "but i guess i deserved it."

she laughed, head tilted back. logan loved that sound, and he swore that he would do anything to hear that sound again. "yeah, you did. but you're really pretty, and it wasn't bothering me half as much as i let on. a little bit of rivals to lovers never hurt anybody, right?"

"we could have been lovers a lot sooner if i'd been honest with you sooner. i really like you, y/n. i think you're fantastic. i love seeing your face light up when you're running activities with the kids, or watching the cute little faces you make when you're reading on break. and don't get me started on your reading glasses," logan gushed, a blush rising on his neck. "which i have had some very impure thoughts about-"

"logan? stop talking."

she leaned across the tile floor, pressing her lips against his as she basically crawled into logan's lap. he pulled her closer as she deepened the kiss, biting gently on his bottom lip.

"what if i told you i fantasized about this?" logan blushed. "hooking up with a sexy librarian after hours." he bit his lip, tugging it between his teeth before i could blurt out that eventually, that librarian had morphed to have y/n's face.

"and what if i told you that i had a fantasy about being fucked by a sexy, blond, muscular librarian?"

"then i would say that we're at an impasse. we can't both be the sexy librarian."

"you don't even read. it's no contest." she giggled, kissing him again, shifting so that she was straddling his lap instead of sitting side-saddle over his cock. "but i can't do this if i'm not absolutely certain that you can see a future with me. that you're not just trying to get in my pants."

logan's face softened, one of his warm, soft hands coming up to cup her face. she looked scared, and a little vulnerable. he wasn't sure if it was the nightmarish weather outside that was doing it, or if it was the shifting of their professional relationship.

"y/n. i have loved you since the first month we started working here. i was just too chickenshit to tell you. and if you won't listen to me tell you how incredible you are, and how much you make my world go around, then please, i am begging you, let me show you."

she sucked in a deep breath, chest rising and falling underneath her tight knit sweater. logan was looking at her with a tender face, a soft expression.

one that somehow reassured her that he was all in. that he didn't think she was weird, or beneath him like so many jocks tended to think. and maybe he wasn't too far out of her league after all. it still felt almost too good to be true. boys like logan sargeant never looked at girls like her.

but with the way he was looking at her now, she deserved to treat herself. to stop playing it safe for once.

her hands found the lapels of her trench coat, gently sliding it off her shoulders. the silence was deafening as it fell to the floor. she reached for her scarf, but logan's gentle hands over hers put a stop to it. carefully wrapping the ends of the scarf around his large hands, logan used the wool to pull her closer, placing a few kisses on her jaw before moving to her lips, relishing in the way her body responded to him.

he tucked his hands under her stockinged thighs, gently rising to his feet. she buried her head in his neck, gently nipping at the skin on his neck.

"easy does it, pretty girl. we're just getting started." logan breathed with a gentle laugh, voice husky. she was clinging to him like a koala, and he used that opportunity to move one of his hands from her thigh to her ass, giving it a gentle slap. her breath caught, and from where her crotch was pressed against his, logan could feel her getting wet. testing a theory, logan smacked her ass again, grinning as her hips bucked forward and against him.

"someone likes that, huh?" he whispered in her ear, sucking on her earlobe before kissing the skin behind her ear, and placing her down on the wingback chair by the electric fireplace.

he sunk to the floor, his knees against the scratchy rug in the reading corner, tugging his tommy hilfiger shirt over his head. he tugged at her scarf, letting it fall to the floor. hestiantly, she rested her legs on his shoulders, slowly undoing the zipper on her sweater, exposing the seafoam green cups of the lace bra she was wearing.

"i didn't expect to get laid today." she blushed, averting her eyes.

logan reached up to caress her face, using her chin to guide her eyes back to him. "look at me, princess. you're beautiful. just as you are." he pressed closer, lips brushing against her stomach twice before he placed an open-mouthed kiss right above her navel. "the other day, when you were explaining how the micheal connelly literary unvierse is all connected, it turned me on so much, pretty girl. i just wanted to bend you over the checkout desk and show you just how insane you make me."

he continued to kiss up her stomach, loving the way she squirmed and arched into him.

"on a scale of one to ten, how attached are you to these tights?"

"like a four, they've already got a run in the crotch, wh-"

she didn't get a chance to finish her sentence before the sound of tearing nylon made her eyes fly open. she stared down at logan in shock. the blond between her legs looked at her with a sheepish grin as he attempted to pull her torn pantyhose off her legs. "i've always wanted to do that. i'll buy you a nicer pair."

"they'll get stuck on my boots, jackass."

"no they won't." logan insisted, reaching for the zipper on the side of her winter boot, before pulling the whole thing off and dropping it on the floor next to him. "see?" he grinned, kissing her ankle. "not an issue."

the blond kissed up her leg, slowly stripping off what remained of her tights as he went. his lips were warm against her cool flesh, and as his head dipped under her skirt, he could feel the warmth radiating from her warm, hot center.

he gently nuzzled his nose against the wet spot forming on her cotton panties, relishing in the sweet, gentle moan she let out.

"logan." she breathed.

"i know, darlin'. i know."

he slipped one finger under the seat of her panties, pushing them aside before his tongue darted out to get a taste. he audibly groaned as he got that first taste of her slick, cock standing to attention. he dove back in, kitten licking at her slit as he pushed her legs wider.

"oh my god, logan." she whined, hips rutting against his face, coating the bottom half of his features in arousal.

his nose nudged against her clit, sending her nerve endings into overdrive. she writhed against the chair, both hands above her to grip the backrest. logan's tongue darted inside of her opening, and he flicked up and down a few times before quickly withdrawing.

"you taste so fucking good, pretty girl. i could come right here, right now, without even touching myself. just from eating you out."

she looked down at logan, who's eyes were closed in bliss as he continued to grip her thighs, head buried between them. he was so close, yet still felt too far away.

because what was the point of it all if not to find a way to be as close as physically possible to another person?

not really sure what she was thinking, she hooked the middle of her scarf around the back of logan's head, and still gripping either end, she used it to pull his head closer against her sweet pussy, moaning heartily as his tongue dove into her center again.

"jesus christ! yes, right there, yes!" she arched her back off the chair, feeling her hard nipples press against the lace of her bra. sweat was forming on her skin, and her chest was heaving.

"that's it, sweet girl." logan's voice was muffled. "keep making those pretty little noises for me, love."

her knuckles were starting to ache from how tightly she was clutching the scarf, the muscles in her arms sizing from the effort of continuously pulling him closer with the woolen fabric.

he raised his head, meeting her eyes and winking at her before ducking under her plaid skirt again to suck at her puffy clit. he slipped his pointer finger inside her opening, finger-fucking her as he pleasured her bundle of nerves. she was falling apart above him, crying out his name as tears of pleasure pricked the corners of her eyes.

"logan, i think i'm gonna-"

"do it, baby. make a mess for me, love."

she came with a cry, a few stray tears creating a bit of moisture around her eyes, slick spilling out over logan's fingers, hand and wrist. her own hands went slack, the scarf falling out of her grip as she fell back against the chair. she could still feel logan's lips on her, leaving gentle kisses along her thigh, his fingers running up and down her calves to help bring her down to earth.

"logan?" she hummed, looking down at him while she carded her fingers through his silken hair.

"yes, my love?"

"i want you to fuck me now."

logan slowly got to his feet, discarding the scarf and scooping her out of the chair in bridal style. he kissed her again, softer this time, and she could taste herself on his tongue. it was a sweet taste, something that had her moaning so sweetly into her lover's mouth.

he sat her down on the edge of one of the display tables, and she watched as he shoved an entire table's worth of christmas romances to the tiled floor. giggling at logan's enthusiasm, she stripped out of her sweater before reaching for the half-zip on his. getting the hint, logan took of his cable knit, revealing a sculpted chest that was still half hidden behind a white wife-beater tank top that was tucked into his jeans, his cock straining against his crotch.

she pulled him into her arms, hooking her legs and arms around him as he began to softly kiss and nibble at her neck. she hummed in contentment, resting her head against his shoulder. she couldn't deny the throbbing between her legs. she was raring to go again, but wanted to enjoy the quiet intimacy before she allowed him to bend her over the table and make her see stars.

his lips were soft against her skin, his hands large and comforting.

"you ready, baby? we don't have to do more if you don't want to." his voice was gravelly and soft, his breath heavy against the shell of her ear. he pulled back, searching her eyes for any signs of hesitation.

"i'm ready, logan. you don't need to worry about me."

she slipped off the edge of the table, gently turning around. she sighed into logan's arms, his warm hands ghosting over her stomach, his lips along her shoulders.

and then she slowly bent over the table, hoping she appeared seductive as she curved her spine, brushing her clothed core against logan's bulge, her plaid skirt riding up enough that he would be able to peek at her panties.

all that could be heard was the roar of the wind outside and the reverence in logan's voice as he ran his fingers along her naked back, deftly unclipping her bra. her trailed open-mouthed kisses down her back, and she felt her heart swell with love and threaten to burst out of her chest at how gently he was handling her.

"you're so fucking beautiful. now that i've gotten a taste, darling, i'm very reluctant to let another man do the same, even though i know i have no say in the matter."

he gently slipped her panties down her legs, watching them pool around her feet on the floor. his large hands undid the top button and zipper on his jeans, and she couldn't resist a look behind her to watch his dick spring to attention.

"jesus, mary mother of god." she mumbled under her breath, only vaguely conscious of what her aunt would refer to as sacrilege.

logan beamed down at her. "like what you see, pretty girl?"

"of course i do. now put it in me, please."

chuckling, logan pushed her skirt up with one hand, guiding her body back towards the table with the other. "your wish is my command."

logan slipped inside slowly, inch by aching inch as her opening widened to welcome him home. he bit his lip, head thrown back and eyes sewn shut in pleasure. she felt like heaven around him, and he had to count to ten to make sure he didn't come prematurely.

"you good, baby?"

"perfect." she purred underneath him, bucking her hips back. "take me, librarian."

"technically not a librarian. just a humble bookseller." he laughed, drawing out and thrusting his cock back in again. "but its not like that matters when i'm making you feel this good, does it?"

he loved watching the way she moved as he hammered his rock-hard cock inside of her sweet hole. the way her spine rippled under her skin, beautiful and strong. hearing the way she breathed and gasped and whined his name, small hand reaching to grasp his behind her back, fingers interlaced as he pounded her against the table.

"you feel so fucking good, baby. you're taking my fucking cock so well." he praised, vaguely aware of the table legs creaking as it jutted forward with each thrust. "so good for me."

"fuck, logan. i feel so full." she attempted a weak laugh, too overcome with how he was making her feel. "so good." the hand that wasn't squeezing the life out of logan's lurched forward to find purchase on the underside of the table as a particularly hard thrust pitched her forward. "jesus, right there! yes, yes!"

"that's it, baby. don't be afraid to tell me exactly what you want. let me make every dirty thought in your mind come true. anything you've ever read in one of those smutty little books of yours, just tell me, i'm your guy. i'll fuck you on the rolling ladder, eat your pretty fucking pussy between stacks of books. anything you want me to."

"logan, i'm coming-"

"that's it, baby. you can do it. give me another one. good girl, that's it." logan stuttered, feeling his own release draw closer, triggered by the feeling of her come all over his bare cock. "christ!" he blurted, pulling out as quick as he could, watching his release spill all over her plush ass, even seeping below the hem of her skirt. "motherfucker." he furiously pumped his cock, trying to squeeze out the last few stubborn drops before slumping against her body, reconnecting his hand with hers.

"i'll clean that up." he mumbled. "sorry about the mess."

"don't worry about it. i have a good shower at home." she giggled lazily, spent and content. she felt the table rock beneath her, and turned to face logan. "log-"

she didn't get a chance to finish her sentence before she felt the table give out underneath her. she spat out a curse as she hit the ground, feeling all of the wind get knocked form her lungs (along with her bra off her chest).

"shit, are you okay?" logan laughed, trying to do up his jeans as he sat up. "give me your hand, let me help."

"can i put my bra on first?"

"i mean, i wouldn't mind if you didn't, but it is kinda cold in here. let me grab your sweater."

getting to her feet and on slightly shaky legs, she managed to laugh at him. "what a gentleman."

logan shrugged, draping the sweater over her bare shoulders. "it's the least i can do after i tore your nylons to shreds and came on your ass. you really should let me clean that up. i don't want to stain your skirt."

she cut him off with a soft kiss, her underwear stuck somewhere underneath the fallen table. "logan, stop talking. what are we going to do about the table?"

"run away and blame the weather?"

[dobbie-doo]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ LABORATORY GAMES꒱ ˎˊ˗ Il dottore

Dottore decided to pamper his dear wife right in the laboratory

✧ warnings — NSFW, petting, wife ! assistant ! reader, dottore being loving , detailed description of genitals, no "pussy" "tits" etc.a bit non-canonical dottore (but I tried lol) ✧ minors do not interact. !! ✧ a/n — AAHHHH he's so hot, so elegant, but he scares me..

Dottore, taking you by the hands, escorts you and seats you in his chair. He leans on the armrests and hangs over you, leaning forward to kiss. Again, sweetly, with the desire for your lips, with feeling, relaxed. It seems to you that only he kisses like this - so imbued with the moment, so pleasantly.. You have long been convinced of this, now you only see confirmation.

For convenience, he puts his knee on the edge of the seat, between your legs. You hug him, raising your hands high, touch his shoulders, run your fingers along them and take hold of the edge of his black shoulder straps on his chest, wanting to feel your husband even closer. The chair awkwardly wobbles from side to side because of the hinge in the mount and the wheels on the stand. And it seems that one of you does not like this at all.

The harbinger moves away, stands up straight and, without asking you anything, moves the seat and its back to the table. It comes out somehow even rudely, you grin hysterically, seeing the strangely serious expression on your partner's face even behind his mask. And he is near you again, puts his palm in a black patent leather glove with blue palms on your thin neck, presses his thumb under your chin, lifting your face. The doctor kisses you again, but not for long, goes down and gives attention to your neck, pleasantly touching it with his lips. There are pale scars from his teeth on your shoulders. He still does not spare you. Unbuttons your shirt, doing everything even too quickly. Dottore is incredibly patient, you know, but… Now with you is not the same person with whom you spoke ten minutes ago.

"Maybe you have any bright preferences?" - He asks and with the nose of his beak mask outlines your cheekbone, tickling..

"Uh… I don't know…" - you feel awkward talking about this, that's all.

"Shyness is the enemy of debauchery. Flower." - he whispers in your ear, instantly spreading crowds of goosebumps on your shoulders.

"Don't you want to feel the best of what you can get?" — a soft and usually wet tongue runs along the shell of your reddened ear, it gets hotter..

"Dottore.. I…" - you are gently taken by the jaw and turned away, not letting you finish. He understood perfectly well what exactly of his actions turns you on, it was your whole body that betrayed you. The body-traitor, unconsciously giving an impulse to the fingers that yours squeeze the robe on someone else's shoulders.. The way you tremble and breathe heavily..

The doctor obviously knows well how the body works and reacts, and it is easier to read you than to read the title of a book. Now he is not interested in your curves, he needs a reaction. The essence of your desires, to understand who you are beyond common sense. To get to the truth, to the deepest plan, intentions. His "love" shifts to the collarbones, now open to the man. His butterfly kisses cover your bust, while his palms make their way to the belt. It is stuffy under your wet shirt, feelings are revealed anew when the scientist's fingers touch your back. You arch your chest forward, ribs become clearly visible, while Dottore unfastens your bra.

(And yet, when deeply in love, petting and sex are many times more pleasant than in other situations.)

A slight movement - Your bra is pulled up, your breasts are perfectly visible to your partner, who is trying hard not to examine you in too much detail so as not to embarrass you. Shame, shame after all.

One of your breasts is carefully squeezed in his palm, feeling it in a way that pleases you. Dottore, in order to restrain his sick impulses and not to scare you away, mentally prayed even to the damned Archons.

The blue-haired man kneels in front of you while you were sitting half-dry on the chair, he comfortably sat between your legs and thanks to his height, he leans towards your body on the chair, licks your areola with a tight movement, which causes a recoil between your already wet thighs, closing his lips he slightly sucks your nipple, pressing his finger on the second. You do not hold back a moan while inhaling, the sexual tension grows by the minute.

Next, your stomach is subject to attack, a weak spot for tickling, from which you twitch, trying to hold back involuntary laughter. The scientist takes your legs and puts them on his shoulders, looking into his eyes through his mask. You thought that it was impossible to blush even more than before? Well, it is very possible.

The heat burns your ears and cheeks. Incredible luck! you are wearing a skirt today… Yes, a skirt with gold inserts and patterns, quite detailed, in the style of Teyvat fashion. But today this skirt will be a provocation.

"What do you want to?…"

"To satisfy you," He enthusiastically turns his head and kisses your knee, not at all embarrassed to talk about what is happening.

You did not dare to answer, control is enough only to watch an interesting show under you. Dottore, having gone a little further with his lips along your limb, bites you, again with a hint of rudeness. Your nylon tights are running, what a bastard! They are expensive..! At the same moment you notice a clear and distinct reaction to what is happening on the scientist's trousers, it becomes somehow completely unbearable for you to sit and endure his.. attacks.

You offendedly let your right leg go from his shoulder, not having received its portion of kisses. The Doctor, not distracted from biting you, turns his gaze to the movement, but quickly turns around. You, looking at his groin, then at his mask, touch his erection with the toe of your foot, press lightly, and hear his sharp sigh. He lifts your pelvis and, taking you by the ankle, leans your foot against himself.

"Hmm, don't fool around, naughty girl" Having slightly come to his senses, the Doctor smiles. — "Come to me."

Of course, you lean over, it is clear why - even more kisses. The Harbinger, now with a clear intention, brazenly kisses your lips. His palm slides along the smooth fabric under your skirt, the hem of the skirt is already lifted due to the position. Now your thigh is crumpled by his long fingers, looking for the waistband of the tights. At the same time, Dottore presses his tongue on your lips, forcing you to open your mouth wider. A new vulgar gesture - the teeth are briefly outlined by the tongue, it moves towards yours. It strokes the roof of the mouth… For a second it seems to you that your husband's tongue is too long. Dottore has found the edge of your clothes, using his other hand he pulls them off you.

"You have a long tongue," you note out loud, already vaguely.

"Why do you think I talk so much?" — an object of interest opens up to your gaze… Archons…

Twice as long as average, together with the teeth it looks even slightly creepy, including unnatural. Your eyes widen, your cheeks are smothered with a blush, Dottore smirks and hides his dignity.

"Just genes"

"You never showed it before…" — You are shocked. What will happen now, Tsaritsa, have mercy…!

"Relax your muscles, just remember how it was the first time, haha.." — But still, the man is so calm and gentle, skillfully seasoning it with pepper of rudeness, that you cannot help but melt from excitement - it is impossible.

And Dottore keeps trying to pull your clothes off. Very intrusively. You are sprawled in a chair, led by your beloved, who, thanks to the position you have adopted, is still doing what he wanted. He is still on his knees, on the floor, between the tables, in an open laboratory, where one wrong move and an overturned flask can injure you both, He is going to satisfy you. What a shame, if someone comes in, you will not survive the shame!

His cold to the point of goosebumps hand, still elegantly covered with the fabric of the glove, touches you through your underwear. Strokes your vulva, slowly, viscously, torments, makes you almost fidget. He is handsome, damn elegant and smart, ideally knows anatomy and therefore understands perfectly what to do with you. Something in your lower abdomen is cramping from such thoughts, especially when he so dominantly and playfully pulls you towards him by your tie.

"Are you satisfied?" He whispers into your ear, you catch yourself thinking again that he sees your sensual gap and is pressing on it right now.

"Yes, but… That's not all, right?" — You insert a short, embarrassed answer, hug your lover's shoulders, he changes the position of his fingers on your external genitals - he puts his fingers on your clitoris, knowing the anatomy perfectly well, he instantly feels the organ.

"Hahaha… No, not all, darling" — His velvety and deep laughter reaches your ears, you involuntarily shrink in your chair.

"Wonderful, What an anatomy you have… Archons!" — He has such a tart whisper that butterflies fly in your stomach…

"You will do what I tell you, right?" —After a pause, you barely shake your head in agreement "Wonderful, my dear. Listen to elders, be a good girl,"

He exhales onto your skin, languidly, completely depravedly, — "How long do you think you'll last? Two? Three times?" — You sob pitifully into Dottore's shoulder, his dexterous fingers keep a clear and almost fast pace on your clitoris, and you are sensitive, especially because of trust. It appeared with the advent of experiments - after them He treated you carefully, honestly. He always felt sorry for you, all this is just for science, you help your beloved, you are ready to do anything for him. It's a pity, it seems so only in a fit of bright emotion.

"We will do everything so that you leave here on shaking legs, okay?" — Playfulness and craving in his tone, especially to warm you up. You feel the rush of pleasant sensation characteristic of an imminent orgasm. There was no need to say anything else, the first extravaganza hit you with a terrifying suddenness. Your fingers turned to stone, clutching the Doctor's robe, your breath caught, you barely breathe, receiving your well-deserved portion of all-consuming pleasure. You whine piteously, throwing your head back, listening to Dottore's approving hum.

What kind of reaction is this? Naturally, an orgasm that will overtake you too quickly to resist the feeling even a little. Dottore sees everything perfectly well and therefore, instead of brazenly interrupting your pleasure, he connects his long tongue, invading your warmth, making you literally jump on the chair, Dottore gently held your hips, forcing you to stay in place. After another thrust of his tongue inside you and massaging your clitoris - quickly brought you to the cherished climax.. You fell tiredly on the chair, throwing your head back.

"A successful and precise position of the fingers, foreplay and its continuation - the best mixture for getting an orgasm.. Don't you think so, darling?"

You should catch your breath for a minute, your partner patiently strokes your thighs, allowing this. He kisses somewhere behind the ear, since you are still hugging him. It's so strange, remembering the past, the end overtook you rarely in the company of a partner… Did the advantage of the profession work, or something else?

"Everything is fine?"

"Yeah… For some reason I feel so ashamed," - Ashamed.. It's because Dottore, during your work, said that sex and the caresses that come from it are disgusting. You generally thought that you would never get such a pastime from him, but fate decreed otherwise.

"No need to be ashamed. I am interested in watching you and participating in your satisfaction," - He cooed as straightforwardly and calmly as always.

"You are probably right. Oh, my leg is so cramped," - You smile embarrassedly and sit up straight, bending and unbending the mentioned part of the body.

"My poor girl, was I too hem, harsh with you?"

His charming voice and the same expression on his face.. And for some reason Dottore still doesn't get up from his knees, still sitting between your depravedly spread legs. You notice this and want to quickly cover your legs together, but Dottore's torso gets in the way.. He notices your nervousness, grins and slowly lifts the mask up.

"Is it okay for you to sit on the floor?" - You adjust your skirt, placing it on your knees.

..

"So we haven't finished our.. little experiment.." His smile is ingratiating, even creepy, he slightly tilts his head up, looking at you with a cloudy gaze, now you can clearly see his red eyes under the slightly raised beak-mask.

"In that case, why should I get up?"

@anantaru @hitomisuzuya @lavandulawrites @himasgod @neuvigroove @quimichi @rsventhesecondd @anemoswirlsmyheart @nil4everheartz @kujiba @genshingorlsrevengeance @shyentsfoundherink @lavandulawrites @ashyashylee @theoutcastwrites

[nappingmoon]

quick lil fluffy blurb about toji <33

thinking about married, domestic life with toji and you come home from coffee with your girlfriends to an empty house. you call out for him and hear a little "outside" ring in through the open window. its a beautiful late spring day as you walk onto your porch outside and see your husband, shirtless, hunched over what looks to be half of a cabinet, wooden planks and screws. you approach taking in the way the muscles in his back work in tandem with each other as he works to sand some of the edges of the wood. a bit of sweat drips down by his brow, the exertion taking its toll even as a light breeze whisks through the air. it catches in your dress, the soft fabric fluttering around your legs as you come to stand behind him.

"what are you making, toji? it's been a while since you've pulled out your woodworking stuff, did you find a new project?" you ask trying to peek at all of the pieces he has.

"saw ya geekin out over a cabinet on your pinterest board. figured it wasn't too hard ta make from scratch, no big deal or nothing. how was lunch with the girls?"

"what cab-" you start, but think back to the little board you had dedicated to pieces you wanted to decorate your home with. most of them were just fragments of a dream cottage you'd conjured in your head but recently, you couldn't stop thinking about maybe splurging on a gorgeous piece to give you a little more storage and a space to show off the books you had bought recently and the little clay statue your toddler made you in his art class. "shut up you are not making the white cabinet oh my god!" your voices rises nearly two octaves in excitement and disbelief. "how did you even see that! when did you get a pinterest account?"

"you made me get one so i could see the board you dedicated to us, princess. i hop on it every couple'a months ta see what you're thinking about. saw this thing ya keep adding to your collections and had some pieces left over after the swing chair. jus' bought a few more boards n' hinges. wanted to wait for you before getting paint in case you wanted a different color." you truly could burst from all of the love you had inside of you for this man. he wasn't always the best with words, but actions like these made reminded you every day why you said yes all those years ago.

left speechless, you simply lean over his back and throw your arms around his neck, pressing a big fat kiss to his cheek, hoping he feels the love radiate from you to him. "hey, get off, doll. m' all sweaty!" he says, bringing a hand to your shoulder and lightly pushing. you ignore his protest and tighten your arms before laying a small assault of kisses all over the side of his face. when you're satisfied, you pull back, seeing a small hint of fading red kiss marks left from your lip stick.

"thank you, toji. so much. can i help you with anything?" you ask, giddy.

"'ve got things covered here, doll. 'm a little thirsty though, would ya mind getting me a water or something?" he replies, and you twirl immediately, eager to fix him up a cold lemonade and some fruit. before you can get a step away and tell him 'of course,' his hand reaches up and grabs yours, tugging you back. you nearly fall but he's got you with a steady hand at the small of your back. he leans over and steals a kiss from your stunned form. "that's better. thanks babe." he says as he releases you, leaving a light pat on your butt before he crouches back down over the planks he still needed to sand.

what a gorgeous day.

[crumblinggothicarchitecture]

It's Bothering me so much that Taylor Swift is so fake smart-girl coded, I need to say this:

I have a degree in both Philosophy and English Literature....

She used the term Soliloquy wrong in her song by using it to refer to people espousing nonsense while complaining in an echo-chamber about her.

Instead, a soliloquy is the most honest and introspective a character will ever be. Often the character will stand to the front center of the stage and, as if in a dream, speak openly to themselves (and in respect to the audience) lay out the truth, or the agony of whichever conflict haunts the plot. So, anyway she's just plain wrong in her usage of the term.

I am not giving a sanctimonious soliloquy. Miss Taylor Swift, you are wrong, and I am speaking honestly.

She finishes the lyric "sanctimoniously performing soliloquies I'll never see" and I just want to mention that a soliloquy requires an audience... so she does not know what she is talking about by saying that there is no audience for a soliloquy.

Also, for the record, I don't think Taylor Swift knows anything of substance about Aristotle. I, on the other hand, took a three-hour long oral exam over Aristotle's life work while out-of-my-mind-high on Dayquil and pain meds after a surgery. I got an "A", and, somehow, I lived through that, I doubt the validity of Swift's claims to know anything at all about philosophy. Especially, considering how all her songs are about as deep as a puddle.

She's completely lost her credibility.

The woman did not even finish High School in a traditional, well-rounded way. I think she read a handful of Joe's books and now thinks real highly of herself.

Edit: I don't mean to make fun of her for being dumb. I'm frustrated that she's "stepping on my lawn" and making her legion of fans think that she totally knows what she's talking about when it comes to literary references in her work or philosophy. It's obvious that she does not actually understand the concepts she attempts to engage with.

Her only real literary skill is name dropping actually talented writers or philosophers in her songs.

Edit 2: Since some people want to come on this post and tell me that I am being needlessly pedantic about her use of words. Go away. A soliloquy is an ancient literary form, one which transcends cultures and centuries, and I, as a scholar of English Literature, am in the position to say that Swift is speaking about the form incorrectly. She obviously did not even google the form, it's clear she has very little real acquaintance with half the literature concept or authors she names drops.

Sure, soliloquies can be unreliable (Hamlet's "To Be, or not to be" is the most obvious example). However, the fact of the matter is that soliloquy hinges on the Honesty of the character. Swift writing that it's actually the opposite of honesty proves to me that she has no real idea about the literary form.