#so they just leave all their shirts unbuttoned

[rqnarok]

old man!logan fucking you with his glasses still on.

cw/tags: smut, mdni! old man!logan. pet names (sweetheart, sugar, etc). slight dumbification. logan calls himself ‘old man’. unprotected p in v. what else? not proofread…

Logan says it’s not his fault.

It’s not him who walks in wearing a new skimpy short sundress while he’s reading today’s newspaper. He isn’t the one who did the teasing by bending over the counter to show him the plump of your ass while you are trying to reach for some ‘ingredients.’

It’s you who pretends to be innocent by humming tunes of your favorite song as you stroll around him with no fucking bra or panties. Casually asking him, “What d’ya want for dinner, Lo?” as if he couldn’t see your peaking nipples through the thin material of the cloth. 

Hell, he did not even understand why you were wearing a sundress at this late hour. No particular reason other than to taunt him—you know that he knows this. 

Only takes him a few minutes before he’s latching to you, still wearing his glasses while bending your upper body onto the kitchen counter, “Little fuckin’ tease. All this shit just f’me, huh?” 

You huff, rolling your eyes to the back of your skull in pleasure when you let yourself be manhandled to the position he wants—spread open; his cock filling your insides so heavenly. 

He hums a throaty sound in your ear, eyes locking to your face to catch your desperate and fucked out expression, “C’mon, princess. Y’were just so confident a minute ago when ya’ teased me.” 

The reminder makes you let out a hiccup, and suddenly feel shy at the intensity of his gaze. Your floral-themed sundress is still on, only hiked up—he wouldn’t let you take it off. After all, its existence is the reason why his large chest is pressed on your back.

“Such a shy doll, arentcha’?” He straightened himself after you tilted your head to the other side—curses when he felt you squeezing your walls tighter around his girth.

Every drag of his cock back into your pussy pushes more and more high-pitched whines from you. Logan rumbles in a pleased groan as he lurks forward again—leaving open-mouthed kisses on your jaw—scratching his scruffy beard on your skin, “Such a good girl. Nothin’ else could make me cum, baby. Nothin’ else but this fuck- tight pussy. What did I do to get so lucky, huh?”

“Ah- Logan!” Your nails scratch the cold marble tile as you feel the world around you change into a warm, fuzzy state. All you could feel was him surrounding you, fastening his already cruel pace.

Your mewls mingle with the thwap-thwap-thwap sounds of skin slappings, its noise radiates obscenity along with the scene it shows.

“Makes me feel guilty as an old man,” Logan shivers, hissing at the warm heat he’s got himself all in, “Fuckin’ a sweet, beautiful thing like ya’.”

Logan slides one of his large palms on the globes of your ass before grabbing them and delivering a soft spank to your skin. Like a wake-up call, you twist your head back slightly to look at the sight of him.

His blue shirt is unbuttoned to down, his eyes closing and brows furrowed as he chases yours and his own ecstasy. You wonder how his glasses still rest on the tip of his nose after everything. 

Maybe because you’re the one moving, not him. His hands grip your waist as he moves you back and forth on his cock. Shifting you around like a flashlight, never pulling out his flaccid member as his cockhead breaches deep into your velvet walls you never knew was even possible, “Jus’ wan’ me to use you around, ‘s that it?” 

You ramble a string of yesyesyes’s as a reply to Logan’s taunts, your head empty and unable to form any thought except of him. “Y-yeah, sugar. I know. I know.” 

As you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer, your hands skulk backward to reach him, to feel him and bring him closer, “Ah- Gimme kiss, pleas—” You squeak after the lingering ah-ah-ahs. 

Good Lord. Logan lets out a dry chuckle to mock at your utter eagerness for him–but in the end, he gives in too. He always gives in. 

His mouth is on yours in a wet kiss, all filthy as he eats up all your whimpers and moans, “Dirty girl. Makin’ me feel s’good.”  

Your legs barely touch the floor as he continues to elevate you up and down in hard thrusts, hitting your sensitive spots, “Shit. Want me to come in you, petal?” His voice a cadence deeper, “Let ya’ feel me for days?” 

You can only reply in erratic nods before shutting your eyes to embrace your own pleasure building, peaking, and—

“F-fuck, sweetheart.” Thick ropes of Logan’s cum are pumped into you as you squirt around him shamelessly—his cock thrusting and thrusting, letting you feel his warmth. 

He begins to slow down his movements as you milk him dry. You whine at the feel of yours and his cum all mixed up, gushing out of your dripping hole. A filthy image. 

“L-Logan...” You can only call out his name after your feet touch the floor, out of breath and still needy. 

As if he understands, Logan rests his head on your neck and leans half of his body weight onto yours out of tiredness, “Mhm. Yeah, gonna fuck you again, sweet girl.” 

His lips locked into yours in urgency, then breaking it just to smile at you while readjusting his glasses, “Let your old man catch his breath first, alright?”

You bob up in down in excitement. 

Logan chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief. He knows what he’s getting himself into ever since he knew you—that he has to keep up with your endless immature teasing and your remarkably high stamina.

Even with his muscles weakening and body aching the next day, he thinks it’s all worth it.

[storiesfromafan]

Catching Feelings - Mattheo x Reader

A/N: not sure how I feel about this one, but I decided to post it anyways haha.

Prompt: “What part of I want you, and only you, do you not understand?” “And what part of why would you? Don’t you not understand?”

It had started out a casual hook up. Snog in a deserted hallway. Some over the clothing petting in the dungeons. Sneaking around in the Astronomy Tower for some no pants fun. It was great for you and Mattheo. The thrills and fun without the attachments a relationship entailed.

Well it had been great. Until Mattheo started to act weird, both with his words and wanting more time with you. Even when no pants time seemed to take a while to get too. He would make small talk, while you were the one to undo his tie and unbutton his shirt. And when he grasped your hands, halting what you were wanting to get too. That was it.

“Forget it" you sighed in frustration, grabbing your discarded cardigan before taking off back to the Slytherin common room.

He called out to stop you, tried to persuade you to stay. But it was no use, you were gone. And Mattheo sat there frustrated in more ways than one. For he physically wanted you, the evidence in his pants making it obvious. But he was also emotionally attached to you. Wanting to be around you, talk to you, hold you, kiss you. The guy was enthralled with you, bewitched mind and body. He wasn't quiet at soul, but part of him thought you were kindred spirits.

The following few days you avoided him. Keeping to yourself and always with a friend. And that was pissing Mattheo off. No to mention having this time to think clearly, Mattheo realised that what had been fun, looks to have turned into him liking you. And he now wasn't just mad with you, but also himself. For Mattheo Riddle doesn't catch feelings. He isn't meant to be a one girl kind of guy. Yet, he was willing to try it with you.

Getting a chance, though a sliver of one, you had just walked out of the female's lavatory. Grabbing your arm, Mattheo dragged you into a deserted hall, away from anyone or any noise. Once it sunk in to who had grabbed you, you yanked your arm from their hold.

“What the Hell Mattheo!?” You whispered yelled, glaring daggers at the male before you.

The male in questioned, did his best to look unfazed. Yet wondered if you had felt the sweat on his hands, or hear how his heart was racing. Could you see through his act? For he felt there were chips in the mask on his face.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” He asked with as flat a voice he could.

You looked at him for a moment, before sighing and crossing your arms over your chest. “Really? This is why you kidnapped me".

“I didn't kidnap you. I dragged you. You're free to leave anytime" he retorted with a soft glare.

“Fine" was all you said, moving to walk back the way you had come.

With two steps Mattheo moved to block you. Sputtering out a bunch of words that even he didn’t understand. But after he took a second to un-jumble his thoughts. Mattheo explained that he had only wanted to talk, and give him five minutes. You mulled it out before saying, alright I'll give you five minutes.

“Why have you been avoiding me (Y/N/N)? I waited in the Astronomy Tower the other night, but you didn't show up...” the last part came out a little whiny, which made Mattheo cringe.

Again you sighed. “I don't know...maybe I thought you'd want to talk" you replied dropping your bag on a bench, looking over the bust of some old witch.

“What's so wrong with talking...?” Mattheo asked quietly.

You shot him a are you serious look. “I thought this" – you gestured between you both – “was casual. In other words, no talking or attachment".

Mattheo straightened up, “well...ah, yeah?”

“Really?” You stared him down, not buying his words.

Mattheo sighed. He couldn't deny it further, could he?

“Look Mattheo, it's best we end it here. Cut our losses, yeah?” You finally said, voice void of emotion.

You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. You walked past him and patted him on the back. Sharing some last parting words with the Slytherin male. When you were done, and no response from Mattheo, you began to head back to the populated halls.

As if being struck by lightening, Mattheo shot around, eyes wide watching your retreating form. “I like you!” He blurted out.

You paused, about to round the corner. You stood there for a minute, which had Mattheo thinking you may not have heard him. Finally you slowly turned around, eyes drawn together in confusion. Slowly you moved back to him, yet kept some distance between you both.

“Come again?” You finally croaked out.

Mattheo fidgeted from foot too foot, gaze looking anywhere but at you. He felt like a child that was in trouble. “I said...I like you...”

Slowly you nodded. “That's what I thought you said", you paused for a moment to think over your next lot of words carefully. “Look, Mattheo...I'm not the girl for you. I am uncaring, mouthy and too smart for the good of anyone”.

“That's fine with me" he replied quickly, staring you in the eyes.

You sighed. “Why would you? You can do better then me".

And with that you turned and began to walk off once more. Again Mattheo called out to you, sputtering out for you to stop or wait, and other things. But this time you didn't let up. Which lead to Mattheo being hot on your heels. Thankfully no students were around, but you could hear them in the distance.

“What part of I want you, and only you, do you not understand?” Mattheo called, anger rising when his attempts to get you to talk to him failed.

Finally you stopped, turning around to glare at the male. “And what part of why would you? Don’t you not understand?” was your retort.

The sound that came out of Mattheo's mouth was a cross between a cry of frustration and anguish of pain. Gripping his hair, he noted how you were so frustrating. Why wouldn’t you want him? Was there someone else you wanted to be with? If so, who, so he could take care of them. Was he ugly? Both physically and personality wise? His mind was swimming with questions.

“Mattheo...” you said softly, grabbing his attention. “This, you and me wouldn't work. And you know that. We're too different. Let's just...let it be".

When you got no response from Mattheo, you took that as your cue to leave. And off you went. While Mattheo stood there. Crushed, but determined. Determined to win you over. He believe part of you had to feel the same, or partially at least. Maybe you were scared, he liked to tell himself. Yes, that's what he was going with. And he would get you. No matter what or the cost.

[pinkponyclubbb3]

Don’t make a sound

summary: y/n teases chris while he’s playing fortnite with his brothers, but now it’s y/n turn to play and chris’s turn to play with her.

check my bio to see how u can be tagged in the next fic and yes i’m writing the sub matt fic.

It’s been 20 minutes, and Chris, Nick, and Matt are still playing Fortnite. I’ve been waiting for my turn for a while. I annoyingly pop my gum as I patiently wait for them to be done. Everyone is in their own room and i’m in Chris’s. I get up to look through his closet to change into something more comfortable. I find a black fresh love hoodie and decide to throw that on. “Are you almost done? I want to play” I ask chris to get his attention. He quickly turns to me trying not to lose focus on the game.

I take off my pants leaving me in my black lace panties and my tight shirt. “Yeah we’re almost- what are you doing?” I take my shirt off leaving my chest completely bare. “Changing.” I say in a duh tone. He turns to look at me change into one of his hoodies when we both hear matt screaming into his headset. “Chris what are you doing pay attention!!” He turns his attention back to the PC trying to focus on the game again. “Come here I have a shield keg” When I finish changing I pull up a chair next to him and sit down.

He gives me a quick look and smirks. “It’s almost your turn, baby. Just sit still for a sec.” I nod, not comprehending what he’s saying cause all I’m looking at are his hands on the controller. The way his thumb is moving around the joystick. while his other fingers are clicking the buttons. I feel my self getting wet by watching him play. I move my chair and get on my knees so I can crawl under his desk. “Wh-” he tries to say something but I put my finger to my lips letting him know not to say anything. I start unbuttoning his jeans and lowering his zipper.

He tries to swat my hand away but I don’t budge. I pull out his hard cock and see his tip is already coated with his pre-cum. “Whore.” I say in a whisper. He takes his hand away from the controller to cover his mic. “Watch yourself.” I laugh and bite on my lip. I wrap my hand around his throbbing cock and give him a few strokes. I look up at him and see his chest rising up and down. I smirk at the effect I have on him. With my other hand I reach down to my panties and feel how wet I am. I press down on my clit trying to relieve some tension. 

I take my hand out of my panties. I use that hand to stroke him. “You feel that? That’s how wet I am just looking at you, Chris.” He opens his mouth to say something, but I wrap my lips around his tip before he gets the chance. A moan leaves his mouth immediately. I laugh at him, knowing Matt and Nick have heard that. He coughs, trying to play it off. He takes his hand and grips my hair, pushing me down further. I gag as I feel his tip in the back of my throat. “Chris, what are you doing? You’re letting these guys piss on you.”

“Sorry I got distracted.” He looks down at me and I see the lust in his eyes. I bob my head up and down his shaft I sit on his shoes and start grinding my clit against it. I roll my eyes back finally being able to relive the tension that’s been built. My knees on each side of his foot while I start humping his shoe. “Fuck!” I hear nick say through the mic. I stop sucking him off and look up at him with my swollen lips. He smirks and says “Your turn y/n”

He helps me out from under his desk and to his gaming chair. I smile at him but his expression is hardened. He puts his headset on me and sits down. I ready up in the lobby and wait for the game to start. “Ready for this win, boys. We have a chance now that you’re not playing with Chris.” I hear them laugh, and the game starts up. “Let’s land here.” I use the cursor to pin point the location. We jump off the bus and I immediately start looking for a gun.

I feel my chair being pushed back and now chris is taking my old position on his knees. He spreads my legs and licks his lips. “Matt some guys South 4- fuck!” Chris’s hands are gripped on my thighs and his tongue is going up and down my clit. “What happened?” I close my thighs around Chris’s face but he pulls them apart. “I got shot at” I make up an excuse fast. I start heading towards the players that were ‘shooting’ I bite my lip trying not to let a moan escape my lips and try to concentrate on the screen. “Nick they’re on the building to your right.” I say in between breaths. Chris looks up at me to see im covering my mic. He takes his mouth off me and shakes his head. “Let go of that mic, baby or i’ll stop.” I whine and slowly let go of it.

he goes back to eating me out, his tongue working fast and hard against my clit, making sure to hit that sweet spot just right. he looks up at me occasionally, making sure i’m still focusing on the game and not making any noise that might give away what he's doing. “Matt cover me.” I need a small break. I put the control down and grab onto Chris’s hair. He grips my thighs tightly with his hands, keeping them still so I can't buck against his face. He increases the pressure with his tongue, feeling me get closer and closer to the edge. “Thanks matt, come on we’re almost finished.” Hoping chris will get what I’m trying to tell him.

He catches on fast getting up on his feet. He sits down on the chair and motions me to sit on top of him. I straddle his lap, feeling his hard bulge beneath his pants. He turns the chair so i’m facing the screen. He then wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. His hands slowly roam up and down my sides, making me squirm.

He take his hard member out his pants and makes me sit on it. I gasp softly and my eyes roll to the back of my head. He covers the mic. “Don’t make a sound” I nod as he starts moving his hips slowly making me take all of him. My eyebrows furrow in pleasure. The boys start noticing i’m playing differently

He starts to move his hips faster, slamming into me harder with each thrust. I can feel the intense pleasure building inside me. The boys start whispering to each other, wondering what's going on. "Y/n you’re ass at the game .” I let out a laugh and apologize “I’m distracted” It’s down to the final 6 players meaning there’s three guys left. “Lock in guys!” Nick screams into the mic.

His pace quickens, slamming into me with deep, powerful thrusts. He grins against my shoulder, knowing that i’m trying to focus on the game but he’s not making it easy. “Knocked one!” Matt says into the mic. I aim at one of the players and start shooting. I bite my lip it’s taking everything in me to not make a sound. “Fuck!” I moan but cover it up with a quick cough. “Come on guys we’re almost there” I manage to say.

“Knocked one! Nick get the last one!” I say and throw the control and focus my attention to chris. He lets out a low groan as I start to move my hips, taking him even deeper. His hand slides down to my thigh, his fingers digging into my skin as he helps me bounce up and down on his lap. "That's it, baby... fuck me... make yourself come..."

“Got him!” Nick yells and we see the victory royal on the screen. Everyone starts screaming in joy. “Fuck yes!” I throw my head back feeling my orgasm take over me. He lets out a low groan as his release coming in time with mine. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, muffling his own moans as he fills me with his seed. "Oh god, y/n..." Our pace starts to slow down as we ride out our orgasm.

“Uh guys? what are you doing?”

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

A/N : here’s something quick while yall wait on the other fic💋 hope you liked it make sure to check my pinned post!!!!!!

tagged list :

@naisblogsblog

@eliana-4200

@mattstromboli

@grace-sturnz

@watercolorskyy

@taliaslutiolo

@gracielovssturniolo

@mylove4lana

@sturniolosweetheart33

@lovevelyn

@siennasturnn

@blahbel668

@obsessionsarenotfortheweak

@tpwktahlz

@probablyoutyappingorsomething

@dianasturniolo

@sturnburbs

@owensbabygirl

@adds1234

@sophand4n4

@messysssuybsk

@chris-hallelujah

@pussypie456

@twilight7142003-blog

[ninuwrites]

the show|LH+WW

summary: wade just can’t leave you alone with one request so you come up with an idea

warnings: smut, voyeurism, p in v, m and f masturbation

a/n: i had this idea for a really long time and finally i did it!!! hope you enjoy, english is not my first language btw so sorry for any mistakes!! love you all💋

———————————————————————————

logan would do anything for you.

he won’t show it much, but you both know you have him wrapped around your finger.

there were only few things he wouldn’t allow.

one of them being that he’s the only one that could touch you.

he can’t stand seeing guys even looking your way. every time he just wants to claw their eyes out.

so when wade was asking AGAIN to join your bedroom activities, logans first reaction was to beat him up and stab his face over and over again.

let’s say you weren’t really against of wade joining you, you just loved logan too much and you knew all about his possessive situation.

that’s when you came up with idea where both of the men would end up somehow happy.

“he can watch us.” you blurted out when wade wouldn’t stop talking about logans “fuckingly beautiful hawaian rolls” and how he compered you to a greek goddess.

both men were just blankly starting at you. to be honest they did not expect you to respond like that, but you wanted to satisfy both of them. (and for wade to shut up)

wade just smirked and starting babbling something about that he’ll make you fall for him and you should stop pretending and be with him (he always knew how to get on logans nerves).

logan just looked at you, looking a bit shocked and pissed at the same time. you smiled at him, “it won’t be that bad baby, will just give him a show.” you said and kissed his temple.

“come ooon kitty cat, what scared i’ll steal your girl?” wade grinned and oh boy how hard it was for logan to not stab his fucking face all over again.

but how could he say no to a woman like you?

so that’s how you found yourself on your back with a skirt and a bra ( cause logan would not let wade see all of you) with logan between you legs and his tongue lapping at your slopping hole.

“oh she sounds like a heaven.” wade moaned out, spreading his legs and touching his dick through his jeans.

“eyes on me sweetheart.” logan growled, his hands gripping your hips harder than before, making you look back between your legs, his grip definitely leaving some marks.

one of his hands carefully came up your cunt while one of his fingers slowly entered your heat. after few pumps he immediately joined another finger.

you jolted from the sudden movement and pulled his hair , getting a moan from the man which got him feasting on you more aggressively.

“wolvie come on make the girl finish.” wade spoke up.

as logan was about to scream at him to shut his fucking mouth but you managed to take his face into your hands and whispered “don’t let him get you” and “you make me feel so good”

logan gave you a kiss and continued to suck on your clit and pumping his fingers in and out of you adding a third one.

“lo- yes please i’m so close.” you moaned out and looked at the place wade was sitting.

his jeans were unbuttoned, shirt was off and his hand was carefully stroking his rock hard cock in the same rhythm as logan was getting you off. you looked into his eyes and moaned again.

“go on honey, let go f’ me will ya?” logan said with his movements speeding up, his thick fingers hitting the sweetest spot in your hot needing cunt.

in the same time, wades hand and breath was speeding up as your moans got louder and the feeling in your tummy got bigger.

“oh yes lo i’m c- i’m cumming!” you screamed, your eyes never leaving wade.

wade threw his head back and spilled all over his jeans and stomach.

“enjoying the show wade?” you asked still out of breath and logan licking you cunt clean.

“you’re unreal sweetie pie.” his legs twitched.

“oh that was just foreplay, here comes the best part.” you smirked and pulled logan by his shirt to face you.

between kisses, you pulled his shirt down and made him sit on the bed so you were on top of him.

you trailed wet kisses down his neck, to his chest and down to his lower tummy. logan meanwhile played with the meat of your ass and tights.

you pulled his boxers down, his cock springing out and hitting his stomach.

“you’re so beautiful lo, always make me feel so good.” you said your eyes never leaving gis as you gave his res tip kitten licks and small kisses.

logan growled and took your hair into is hands , urging you down to his cock.

“don’t tease baby.” he breathed out and you finally relaxed your jaw and took his girth inside your mouth.

“so good to me honey, love your mouth so much.” he growled and pulled your head closer, your nose almost touching his happy trail.

“you can do it baby, so pretty.” he was looking down at you, your eyes were glossy, mouth full and red lips. he could cum just by looking at you.

as he feels your nose touching his abdomen he was a goner. his legs tensed and the grip on your hair tightened.

“okay off, wanna- wanna cum in you.” he patted your head. you gave his shaft one last lick and a kiss on the tip.

“oh man, honey badger you’re one lucky motherfucker.” wade stated.

you looked at him and smirked, sending him a air-kiss. logan just grabbed your face and kissed you, “ride me sweetheart, want to feel you so bad.” logan winced.

oh how you loved seeing logan like this so needy even if he doesn’t show it. the man is down bad for you.

you kissed his jaw, his hand gripped your hips as he helped you sink down his veiny and thick girth.

“so- so big lo- fill me so good- can feel you so deep.” you mumbled out, not sure your words had some sense.

after a few moments you started moving your hips slowly, occasionally grinding on logans thick cock.

“yes baby so tight, sucking me in like a little slut.” logan said making you moan, you loved when he talked to you while his dick was buried inside you.

“my girl, my pretty pretty girl.” logan whispered his hips slamming back to yours.

you looked to the side, checking on wade that was absolutely astonished by you. his eyes couldn’t leave yours, you tried saying something but you felt too good to even form a sentence.

you tried to speed up you movements, but your legs were wearing out which logan took advantage of and slammed you on your back.

his lips never left yours as he reentered you again. your eyes rolled back and your nails dug into his back which made logan moaned.

“squeezing me like a vice bub, let go for me love. give it to me baby.” he urged, his hips slamming into yours, “look at me when you cum.” he growled.

out of nowhere, your orgasm washed over you, your legs trembling, digging the heels of your legs into logan and moaning out logans name.

you looked so beautiful that it was hard for logan to keep it together. he fucked you over your orgasm ti near overstimulation.

“almost there baby.” he spoke up, reminding that he won’t hold for long.

“yeah want my cum sweetheart? gonna fill you up so good baby, fuck a baby into you.” he groaned, his hips stuttering as he shot his load into your overstimulated cunt.

logan fell on top of you, holding up by his hands. as you both calmed down, you kissed, slow and loving after sex make out. (as always)

“oh god, it should be illegal for you to be together. like fuck it’s not fair that both of you are so hot..” wade started speaking again.

you looked over to face logan again,

“at least now we know how to shut him up.”

[xosannie]

Hi! I’m new but I’ve been reading your works recently and HOLY they are very good! I especially love when you write subby ateez so I was wondering if I could request some sub seonghwa or wooyoung (or both if you feel inspired hehe) ideally with some mommy reader thrown in there? <33

Better Make This Quick

a/n:Your wish is my command 🫡 I think it’s about time I write about Wooyoung my beloved. (Sorry this took so long.)

Genre: smut 18+ MDNI

Pairing: sub!wooyoung x dom!reader (f)

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: pwp, established relationship, mommy dom reader, quickie, choking, begging, finger sucking, praising, degrading, unprotected sex (be safe y’all), cumming inside (lmk if I missed anything) if you see typos no you don’t

Summary: Rewarding Wooyoung for his hard work. Hopefully you can do it in time without getting caught. (Coach Wooyoung feat. boxer San)

—————————————————————————

“Another win in the bag,” Wooyoung grins.

He drops the duffle bag of money on the ground. You smirk at him, pulling him in for a hug. San stood beside you two. He was dirty and a little bloody. 

“My god San. I think you need to shower.” 

San giggled, pushing his sweaty hair back and out of his eyes. 

“Yeah I think I will.”

Wooyoung pats San on the back. They just came back from another boxing match, and of course San wins yet another one. You were waiting at their shared apartment since you were too busy with work to attend the match. But when you go out you promised Wooyoung you’d wait for him at his home. 

After nudging San’s shoulder playfully, he excuses himself and leaves to the restroom. It was just you and Wooyoung now. Wooyoung walks over to the couch and plops down on the cushion. He let out a long sigh, resting his head back. He pulls his sunglasses off his head to run his fingers through his dark locks. You smile endearingly at Wooyoung, walking over to straddle his lap.

“Aw baby you look exhausted. I know how stressful this match was for you two.”

“Yeah, we knew this opponent was gonna be difficult. We had to put all our focus on this match, it was draining for both of us.”

“Well you did it. Besides, San couldn’t do it without you.”

Wooyoung smiles at your words, his hands comes to rest on your waist. Poor baby, he looked so tired. You eyes examine him sitting back on the couch. His hair was slicked back in such a sexy way, and the way his shirt was unbuttoned just enough to see the skin of his tan chest. He looked intoxicating. 

You trace your finger up his bare chest, coming up to the thick chain around his neck. You hooked your finger on the chain and pull him in. He gasped slightly at your sudden, forceful action. But his shocked face was immediately changed into a sly smirk.

“Poor baby was so stressed. Maybe he needs a reward for doing a good job.”

You voice dropped in a lower tone. The sound of your voice makes him excited, he knew where this was going. He glanced at your lips, nodding wordlessly at your remark. He wrapped him arms around your waist, pulling you closer on his lap. 

“I do need a reward.”

“What’s the magic word?”

You cup his jaw, pulling him in closer. He grinned at the way you were being a bit aggressive and he began to grip onto your shirt. Already feeling a sense of need whenever you spoke to him in that dominant tone.

“Please mommy.”

Your eyes darkened at his words, and large grin spread on your face. You feel a shock of desire course through you and land in between your legs. Fuck you needed Wooyoung right now.

Your hand snakes down and wraps around his neck, you push him back against the couch and lean in. He gasped at your actions and already felt a stir in his pants. He loved when you were aggressive, when you treated him like a toy for your own amusement. He needed that right now, needed to be your plaything. 

His hands reached up to grasp your wrist and his eyes fill with desire. He felt a shiver run down his spine when you shifted your head to nibble at his earlobe.

“Better make this quick then. We don’t want San to walk in on us do we?”

Wooyoung whimpered at your words. The thought of getting caught making his body fuel with need. He shook his head no and you giggle when you take note of his shallow breathing.

You didn’t fail to notice his bulge growing underneath you. It was hard to ignore it when it pressed against your thigh, so cute how easily he got needy for you. You began to apply pressure on the sides of his throat while whispering seductively in his ear. 

“Better keep quiet too baby. Unless you want San to hear how much of a pathetic boy you are for mommy.”

Wooyoung gasped when your grip tightened around his neck, his head clouded With submission and his dick twitched in his pants. He lets out a moan, you words sending shocks straight to his cock. He shook his head no with a small pout on his lips. 

“I’ll be good mommy I swear. I can be quiet.”

You chuckle and release your grip on Wooyoung’s neck. Your hand snakes down between your bodies and unbuckles the belt around his waist. Wooyoung was already panting, he looked down and tried to help you with his pants but his hands were trembling too much. You coo at the sight and gently push his hands away. You managed to get his pants unbuttoned and pull his already hard dick out. 

It was so beautiful, the tip leaking while it pulsed in your hand. Pretty veins running down the sides, oh how badly you wanted to run your tongue along it. Gotta save that for another time though. Right now you were in a time crunch, and you had to be quick if you wanted to finish before San got out the shower.

“Such a pretty cock. All hard and ready for me.”

Wooyoung whimpers softly at your words, he gripped at your hips and tugged at the waistband of your shorts. 

“Please mommy I need you.”

You chuckle, leaning in to kiss his lips. Wooyoung was quick to kiss back, reaching up to cup your cheek. How could you say no to that.

“Don’t worry my beloved, I’ll give you what you need. You deserve it after all.”

You start to pull off your shorts taking one leg out the leg hole and letting you shorts dangle around your ankle. You grasp the base of his cock and gesture down toward it with your head. 

“Spit on it,” you commanded. 

Without hesitation, Wooyoung did as he told. He spit onto his cock and you smile at him, leaning down closer and spitting on it as well. That was so hot to Wooyoung. You began to stroke his dick, lathering your combined spit on him as lubricant. 

You adjust so you can hover over him and sank down on his cock. Wooyoung’s mouth flew open but you covered his mouth with your palm before any sounds could escape.

“Remember… stay quiet,” you say breathlessly.

You were also trying to remind yourself. Wooyoung filled you up just perfectly, you never got over the feeling of him sliding inside for the first time. You began to rock your hips up and down, Wooyoung gripped onto your hips helping you bounce on his cock. His brows furrowed as he struggles to keep his moans in. 

Wooyoung nodded at your words, you move your palm to prod your fingers against his lips. Wooyoung knew what you wanted, and he was happy to oblige. His lips parted then wrapped around your digits. He began to messily suck on them, bobbing his head slightly as drool rand down your fingers and palm. 

You groan quietly at the sight, your other hand resting on his shoulder for support. All of this was so exciting, you both could still hear the faint sound of the shower streaming down and hitting the bath floor. You knew you had to be quick, and the thought alone made you both more turned on then ever. 

“Yes good boy. You feel so good inside me.”

Wooyoung whimpers around your fingers and you pulled them out. His eyes were pooling with desperation and submission. He pulls your closer so he could kiss your lips. 

“Thank you mommy…mmm fuck me so good.”

The words coming out of his mouth only turned you on even more. You felt him tugging and clawing at your shirt, typically that meant he wanted you closer. He wanted to feel your bodies pressed together, so that’s what you did. You leaned in closer so your  chest pressed flush against each other and Wooyoung wrapped his arms around your torso. He hid his face in the crook of your neck and you cradled the back of his head.

You bite your lip trying to hold back your own moans. You hear Wooyoung quietly whimper in your ear and it makes your heart (and pussy) throb. You guys were pressed so close together that your clit rubbed against his pelvis every time you grind down on his dick. 

“Fuck… so good…” Wooyoung whimpered.

You raked your fingers in his hair on the back of his head and tugged at the strands. You pulled his head back making his gasp harshly. You watch his expression intently, loving the way his mouth flew agape as silent moans got stuck in his throat.

“Yeah? You like when mommy fucks you like this?” 

Wooyoung had to bring his own hand up to his mouth to muffle the moan that threatened to escape. He nodded eagerly and he started to subconsciously buck up into you which only caused more pleasure for you two. You felt Wooyoung throb inside you and by the way his eyes rolled in the back of his head you knew he was close. 

“Keep… fucking me please… please mommy.”

Your head perked when you heard the sounds of the water hitting the shower floor cease. Shit, San was done showering. You bounced faster on Wooyoung’s dick, and the thought of San walking in on you two like this brought you close to release.

“Cum for me Wooyoung….fuck before San sees us.”

Wooyoung whimpered, he leaned forward to rest his forehead on your shoulder and he held onto tightly to you. His hands reached down to grab a fist full of your ass and he guided you on his cock. 

“I’m cumming,” he whispered in your ear. 

And with that you both came together, you bit onto Wooyoung’s shoulder to silence your moans when you felt him fill you up with cum. Wooyoung grunted, letting out choked moans when you tightened around his cock. You continued to roll your hips, the sounds of Wooyoung sliding in and out of you was music to your ears.

Once you both calmed down from your highs you wasted no time to hop off Wooyoung’s cock and pull your shorts back on. Wooyoung adjusted his clothes, buckling his belt and he leaned back against the couch. He threw an arm over your shoulder, trying to remain as casual as possible.

You both heard the bathroom door open and light footsteps made their way down the hall. You grabbed a nearby blanket and leaned against Wooyoung’s body to appear as though you were both innocently cuddling the whole time. 

San walked in the living room, a towel draped around his waist and his hands on his hips. He had a soft smile on his face as he looked at both you and Wooyoung. 

“I say we get food to celebrate my win,” he chimes softly. 

You and Wooyoung both turn to San and smile back. You tried to ignore the feeling of Wooyoung’s cum oozing out your hole and onto your shorts. But you subconsciously shut your thighs tightly together, scared that the cum would drip down your leg. You felt Wooyoung’s shoulders bounce as he chuckled at San. 

“Okay we’ll get food. Just go get dressed, what did I say about walking around is just a towel?”

You giggled softly when you felt Wooyoung’s hand cover your eyes, obstructing your vision. San laughs as well walking out the living room and to his own bedroom. 

“Okay okay I’m going!” He exclaims back. 

Once you both heard his bedroom door close you were quick to hop back on Wooyoung’s lap. You smash your lips on his causing him to let out a surprised sound. Wooyoung chuckled in the kiss and wrapped his arms around you. 

“You’re dangerous…gonna get me in trouble one day,” he muttered against your lips. 

“Come on you liked it… you came so fast.”

Wooyoung smirked, well he couldn’t argue with that. You both kissed for a moment before you pulled away to stare at Wooyoung. He cupped your cheek, keeping you close and pressing a soft kiss on your nose. 

“Thank you baby, for everything.”

“You don’t need to thank me Woo.”

 He smiled at you, caressing your cheek with his thumb. 

“Yes I do, you take care of me so well.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and placed another quick, soft kiss on his lips.

“You’re my baby. It’s my job to take care of you.”

You wanted to stay like this, admiring each other while while staying in Wooyoung’s arms. But the wholesome moment was ruined when you felt the fabric of your shorts stick to your folds with Wooyoung’s cum. You glanced down then back up at Wooyoung. 

“Sorry to ruin the moment but I have cum dripping out my pussy. I need to shower.”

Wooyoung let out a hearty laugh, pulling you in closer and kissing your cheek. The smirk on his face never faded when he looked down your body. 

“You know if I could I would be licking all my cum off your pretty cunt.”

You scoff at his words, trying to ignore the way you core throbbed with arousal at the thought. You lightly smacked Wooyoung on the chest and pulled yourself off his lap.

“Aye, keep your dirty word’s to yourself.”

Wooyoung held onto you hips while you stood up, not wanting to let go of you just yet. He looked up at you with desire filled eyes and you could tell he was still horny.

“Why? Do they turn you on?”

You roll your eyes at Wooyoung and look down at him with a warning glance. You ran your fingers through his hair, pushing it back while you leaned in to kiss his forehead.

“I would never tell. Now let go of me so I can shower.”

Wooyoung pouts softly then reluctantly lets his hands fall to his lap. You found his pouty face incredibly cute and cupped his jaw to kiss his lips. His pout immediately changed to a smile when he felt your soft kiss. 

“If you behave we can go for a round two when we’re alone.”

Wooyoung’s head perks up like a puppy wanting a treat and he nodded eagerly.

“Okay! I’ll behave.”

You smile at Wooyoung, ruffling his hair before walking off. Wooyoung watched you the whole time, a sly smirk on his face while you disappeared in the hall. 

Right when you walk into the bathroom San walks out his room. He walked to the living room now fully dressed, unaware of everything that happened while he was gone.

“We’re still getting food right?”

~

[figthoughts]

thinking about dean letting his submissive side show for the first time with his gf! 18+

warnings: smut, sub!dean x softdom!reader (pure sweetness i promise)

+

you’ve been dating for a few months and yeah... the sex is great. mind-blowing even.

but one day something just snaps inside of dean after you come back from a hunt, his adrenaline racing as he pulls you into the motel room after telling sam to “take a walk, man.”

he lays you down on the bed gently, his eyes locked on yours. you notice a softness in them that you’re not used to, not the usual smirk and playful glint that normally dances around in his eyes when he gets you into bed.

you sit up on your elbows and he crawls up to you, resting his head on your chest.

“love you,” he’d murmur out, or something else that’d catch you by surprise. he’d look up at you with his big, soft green eyes and you’d melt cause he’s just so pretty.

so you’d say it, “i love you too, my pretty boy,” playing with his hair.

and that would do it.

he’d smile so sheepishly and something inside of you would snap too; the urge to be gentle, to be soft, to take charge of this beautiful, green eyed man and show him how much you care for him.

“cm’ere, my sweet boy,” you’d murmur.

and he would. he’d listen and let his lips find yours desperately and needily, his hands cupping your cheeks and jaw as he moves above you. you’d probably feel him begin to grind against your thigh at this point, clearly wanting more but not wanting to force anything.

you’d smile against his lips and pull back, “want me to touch you, baby?”

“mhmm...” dean would nod and tilt his head at you, feeling a sense of comfort at your gentleness. he would let out a soft moan at the feeling of your hand moving into his jeans and stroking him softly.

“does that feel good?” you’d ask, toying with his sensitive tip a little, earning a soft whimper from dean as he nods.

dean would push down his jeans and boxers, leaving himself fully bare in front of you on the bed. you’d smile, still stroking his pink cock as his lips part, letting out a whimpery breath.

god, it was kinda hot to see your boyfriend go from a crazy killing machine on the hunt, to a soft whimpering mess in front of you now.

you’d pull your hand away and unbutton your own jeans, pushing them down with dean’s help. as you get settled back on the bed after removing both your shirts, you’d see the green eyed hunter slowly pumping himself.

so you’d shake your head and say, “don’t. let me do it.”

dean would drop his hand, his eyes flickering up to yours as your hand moves back to his throbbing cock. his gaze would fall over you, taking in your soft skin and the way you relax on the bed in front of him.

“s’okay, you can touch me, dean,” you’d chuckle softly.

he’d move his hand down your side, caressing you in a loving way that you only seemed to get after sex with him. his breathing is heavy as you pump him, his hands palming your breasts before moving down in between your thighs.

he’d smile with his glassy eyes and stroke your pussy, letting his fingers get covered in your slick, before settling on your clit. you’d moan through a grin and dean’d breathe out, “you’re so beautiful. can’t believe you’re mine.”

that would earn a genuine smile from you, “all yours. and you’re mine, right? all mine?” you’d ask, trying to hold back the teasing tone in your voice at your boyfriend’s unusual softness.

dean would blush and nod, “yeah, i’m all yours. every part of me, mind, heart, soul.”

“yeah, you are. this pretty pink cock too?” you’d grin and raise your brows, stroking him more intentionally now as his fingers slip through your folds.

he’d nod again, “yeah, ‘specially my cock, baby. all yours.” he flashes a small grin, a hint of his usual smugness appearing momentarily, before his face contorts with pleasure.

“damn right. only mine.”

dean would keep letting out whimpers and soft little groans as you pump him, his tip leaking precum. you collect it on your thumb and bring it to your lips, a whine leaving dean’s mouth as he watches you taste him.

you’d smirk, “lay on the bed, dean.”

he’d lay down, no hesitation, no arguments. his big green eyes’d stare up at you as you’d hover over his cock.

you would see it twitching in anticipation as you move your head down towards it. you grab it and give him a soft kitten lick on his tip. dean would groan, “fuck… more, please.”

feeling him literally throb in your hand, you’d play nice and take his tip into your mouth, your tongue swirling on the underside of his sensitive cock.

this’d cause him to whine and throw his head back. you’d chuckle softly around him, the vibration causing him to groan and buck his hips. you take him deeper into your mouth, still being gentle with him.

you’d trace along a vein on the underside of his length, another loud groan erupting from his lips. with a grin around his cock, you’d start bobbing your head up and down.

dean would look at you in such awe. such adoration. his girl. his beautiful, sweet girl, being gentle with him just like he needs.

he wouldn’t be able to help the pathetic noises that leave his lips, “mmph… fuck, baby… feels so good,” he’d mumble out.

your eyes would be locked on his, watching the way he looks at you. he looks so soft and needy. so desperate… just for you.

you’d feel him start to tense, his cock twitching in your hand and mouth. and you knew he was close. so you’d pull him out, a whine coming from dean in protest, already missing the wet warmth of your mouth.

“hey, no. don’t you wanna be inside me, pretty boy?” you tilt your head with a small grin, your eyes locking onto his pleading ones.

“y-yes… please, i need to be inside you… feel you around me, baby. please?” he’d look at you with his eyes glazed over, his hardened cock bright pink and covered in your saliva.

“atta boy,” you’d coo as you move forward to straddle him.

dean would bite his lip and groan as you pump his length a few more times before settling over it, his tip poking at your entrance, “say please,” you would look down at him, seeing the needy expression on his face.

“p-please!” he’d frown up at you, shifting his hips, looking for some relief.

you’d smile at him, “say it again. let me know how bad you want this, baby.” you’d watch his jaw drop slightly as his eyes flicker between your face and your pussy hovering over his erection.

“please, baby, please! i need you so bad. please!” the desperation clear in his voice.

so you’d sink down onto his cock, letting it stretch you out as you let out a soft groan. dean, on the other hand, letting out a loud whimper, dropping his head back onto the pillows as his hands move to your thighs, trying to ground himself.

“feels so good,” he’d mutter breathily, squeezing your thighs as his member throbs inside you.

“yeah, does,” you’d stay still on him for a few moments, “you fill me so well, dean.”

he’d let out a strangled breath at your words. you could tell he needed you to move, so you would. you start grinding slowly on his cock, moving a hand to his cheek. his eyes flicker to yours as you gently caress his cheekbone.

“you’re being so good, dean. so good.”

he’d look at you, his face contorted in pleasure, but his eyes still soft and full of need. you’d never seen your boyfriend like this before, looking like he’s about to burst from desperation and pleasure.

dean’s hands would move to your hips, trying to guide you over his cock quicker.

“hey, no! hands off. let me do this,” you’d say firmly, holding eye contact with him. he’d pout and reluctantly drop his hands from your hips, finding the bedsheets and gripping them instead.

you’d speed up on his cock a little, feeling him throb against your walls, “good boy.”

dean would let out a whimper as you grind on his cock. you’d see the tension in dean’s face. he’d be trying to hold on, wanting the feeling of your warmth wrapped around his length to last as long as possible, but struggling to keep himself under control.

dean’s cock would brush against your gspot, making you tighten around him with every movement. your hand would find it’s way to your clit, rubbing expertly and driving you closer to your orgasm.

“f-feels so good, baby. you feel like h-heaven,” dean would groan out breathily, feeling you clench around him.

you’d let out a moan and start bouncing on him, desperate for him to hit your gspot harder. dean would moan loudly and squeeze his eyes shut, trying his best to hold off his release.

“fuck, gonna- gonna cum if you keep- mmm, god…. keep doing that,” dean would mumble.

“don’t cum until i do, okay? be a good boy,” you’d breathe out as you bounce on his thick pink member and rub your clit, “i’m close… just a little longer.”

dean would whine and grip the bedsheets until his knuckles turn white. his head would drop back into the pillow and he’d shake his head, trying to not cum into your cunt.

you’d watch him in immense pleasure and feel the knot in your stomach tighten as you neared your orgasm. you loved seeing him like this, desperately trying to hold on for you, his face contorting like crazy as you ride him.

you’d keep bouncing, feeling him hit all the right spots, your moans getting louder as you reach the edge. your pussy would clench and you’d look down at him, “dean, i’m gonna-”

his eyes would snap open and find yours, “please… please cum. let me- ughhh… let me cum!” he’d beg.

you’d feel yourself cumming on his cock, “fuck! oh, god…. i’m cumming, dean….” you’d whine and moan, throwing your head back as you keep bouncing and tightening around his length.

he’d immediately shoot his thick warm ropes of cum into your cunt, loud whines and groans leaving his lips as he twitches inside you.

“fuck! fuck…. feels so good…” he’d mumble breathily.

your jaw would drop as you look down at him, feeling him fill you up.

you’d keep bouncing on him, letting his cock shove his cum further into you and letting it drip everywhere.

dean’s eyes would drop down to where you two connect and he’d let out a breath at the sight.

as your high begins to end, you’d slow your movements to a still. you’d both be panting and looking at each other, dean’s eyes filled with satisfaction and neediness.

you’d smile and lean forward, earning a small hiss from dean at the stimulation on his sensitive cock. you’d cup his cheek again, “there we go, baby. you feel good?”

dean would nod and blink slowly, enjoying your gentle hand on his cheek, “yeah… yeah, so good. so fuckin’ good,” he’d pant out.

you’d smile and settle down onto his chest, letting his softening cock rest in you as you lay your head down. you’d lay in silence for a few moments, both of you catching your breath.

“thank you,” he’d murmur and kiss your forehead, “i needed that.”

“i know,” you’d say breathily, tracing shapes onto his chest.

A/N: hope this was cute! idk i love soft n sweet dean. <3

feedback is appreciated and requests are always open!

[literally-izzy]

Watermelon Moonshine

summary: you visit your aunts house for the summer and meet anakin, her farm boy.

pairings: aotc!anakin and fem!reader

a/n: hey! so this fic is based off of Watermelon moonshine by lainey wilson and loosely based off of strawberry wine by dana carter. i hope you enjoy it :) please feel free to reblog! it helps me get to other tumblr pages!

cw: piv, pet names, alcohol consumption.

it was the summer after your senior year. you’d just turned eighteen. you were staying at your aunts for the summer, which was a couple towns away from your home. That was were you met him. Anakin Skywalker. he worked for your aunt on her farm.

you had spent the whole summer together. laughing and talking about what you were doing once the summer ends. he said he’d probably join his older brother, obi-wan, business. you said you wanted to be a teacher.

it was two weeks before you had to go when he came to pick you up from your aunts.

“hey y/n, wanna come for a ride with me?”

you nodded and got off the porch swing, yelling into the house that you were going out.

“where are we going?”

“you’ll see”

you smiled and got into the passenger seat of his old pickup. you had never made it official, but he had his hand on your thigh as you drove through the farm ruts.

after a while he parked back in the kudzu vines and you laid a blanket in the bed of his truck and watched the sunset. you laid back onto anakin’s arm when he spoke,

“guess what i got?”

you propped yourself up onto your arm and looked at him. “what?”

he reached behind him and pulled out a mason jar of some sort of alcohol.

“what is it?” you asked.

“it’s watermelon moonshine.”

you both finished the mason jar after about an hour. you were laughing about something stupid when he looked at you and then at your lips.

“ani…” you whispered. and that was all it took for him to pounce. he grabbed the back of your neck and pressed his lips against yours in a feverish kiss. you kissed him back as he laid you back onto the blanket and started to unbutton your flannel.

“a-ani.. i’ve never..”

“shh it’s okay.. it’s okay baby… i’ll be gentle i promise”. he whispered so softly as he continued to remove your clothes, now unzipping your daisy dukes.

you nodded and pulled off his shirt and unzipped his jeans as well.

he leaned down and kissed you passionately as his rough fingers brushed your clit. you let out a whine as he inserted a finger into your soaked cunt.

you let out a low moan at the feeling which was new, since you’ve only ever used your fingers.

he brought his mouth down, leaving a few bites on your neck before putting his mouth on your right breast, sucking and biting your nipple.

“oh.. ani..” you moaned out.

he continued to suck on your nipple while adding another finger into your pussy.

“oh god ani..” you said breathlessly.

he smirked, removing his mouth from your breast with a ‘pop’ noise. he came back up and kissed you roughly as he quickly thrusted his fingers into you.

after a few more thrusts he pulled his fingers out and pulled down his boxers.

he pulled out his cock which was long, thick, and hard. he gave it a few strokes before leaning back over you.

“you ready for me, baby?” he cooed.

“yes.. yes i’m ready ani.”

and with that, he slowly pushed into you, inch by inch until he was fully into you.

“oh fuck anakin” you cried out.

“fuck you’re so tight.” he grunted. you winced a little. it burned and you’d never felt so full before. but once you adjusted, he pulled out, just leaving the tip in before thrusting back in, making you let out the most pornographic sound you’ve ever made. the faster and harder he started to thrust, the more the truck creaked under you.

you wrapped your arms around his neck and looked into his eyes. he smiled down at you as he thrusted.

“i love you baby. i’m yours” he moaned.

you moaned with him and forced out a few words. “i love you too… m’yours..”

he started getting close and you could tell. he thrusted at an impossibly fast rate.

“fuck fuck anakin i’m close!” you practically screamed for all the animals out to hear you. he went even faster, pressing his head against yours. “me too, baby. me too”.

it didn’t take much loner before after one final thrust he came and you came undone under him.

when you left two weeks later, you had kept the mason jar. he promised he’d call you and make it work. he only called once. but you’d never forget that summer. you’d never forget your first love.. at least, that’s what you thought he was.

[pucksandpower]

To Have a Heart

CEO!Max Verstappen x single mother!Reader

Summary: Max is a titan of industry, used to making grown men cry with one glance … then you and your daughter turn his carefully controlled life upside down

Warnings: descriptions of pediatric cancer

Max strides into his corner office, his Italian leather shoes clicking sharply on the marble floors. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline, but he pays it no mind as he makes his way to the large mahogany desk.

His assistant, Clara, follows a few steps behind, her heels clacking nervously. “Sir, Mr. Henderson is waiting in the conference room per your request.”

Max doesn’t bother responding as he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat behind the desk. With a flick of his wrist, he motions for Clara to leave. She gives the tiniest of nods and scurries out, closing the double doors behind her.

Taking a deep breath, Max presses the intercom button. “Send him in.”

A moment later, the doors reopen and a balding, paunchy man in an ill-fitting suit enters. Even from across the room, Max can see the bead of sweat rolling down the man’s forehead.

Good.

He should be nervous.

“Mr. Henderson.” Max says, his tone clipped. “Do you know why I called you here?”

The man — Henderson — fidgets with his tie. “Y-Yes, sir. The, uh, the Brighton acquisition ...”

“The $3.75 billion deal that was supposed to be finalized yesterday.” Max interjects, leaning back in his chair. “A deal that the company has been meticulously negotiating for over six months. A deal that would have been the largest hostile takeover in our firm’s history.”

Henderson gives a somber nod, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Max fights the urge to roll his eyes at the sad display.

“Because of your incompetence, that deal is now in jeopardy.” Max continues, his voice dropping to a menacing register. “Please explain to me how someone with three decades of accounting experience could possibly make the amateur mistake of misplacing a decimal point on the binding purchase agreement?”

“I … I missed it in the final review.” Henderson stammers out, sweat now visibly staining the armpits of his shirt. “The numbers, they all start to blur together after-”

“Do not insult my intelligence with your pitiful excuses.” Max cuts him off, slamming a fist down on the desk. He takes no small amount of satisfaction in the way the man flinches. “Because of your idiocy, we offered $235 million over the agreed purchase price. An overpayment to the tune of $2.5 billion with a ‘B’!”

Henderson seems to shrink into himself with each biting word. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Verstappen. It won’t happen again, I swear-”

“You’re damn right it won’t happen again.” Max growls, rising from his chair so quickly that it goes clattering backwards. He leans across the desk, getting directly in Henderson’s ashen face. “Because you’re fired. Effective immediately.”

The words seem to take a moment to register in Henderson’s mind. When they do, his eyes widen in panic and he starts shaking his head rapidly.

“No, no, please! You can’t fire me!” he cries, any veneer of professionalism crumbling. “I-I’ll work double shifts, triple shifts! I’ll volunteer for all the weekend audits, no overtime pay! J-Just don’t fire me, I’m begging you!”

Max recoils slightly at the outburst of blubbering, his lip curling in disgust. How pathetic, to see a grown man so thoroughly debased. He almost feels pity for the wretch … almost.

“This conversation is over.” Max says, his tone resolute as he straightens his tie. “You have one hour to collect your things and get out of my building. After that, security will escort you out.”

“B-But I have three kids!” Henderson sputters, tears streaming down his face now. “A mortgage. Alimony payments! You can’t just-”

In a burst of rage, Max sweeps his arm across the desk, sending papers, files, and office supplies clattering to the floor in a violent clutter.

“I am Max Verstappen!” He bellows, his face flushed crimson. “I do not make empty threats, Mr. Henderson. You are a miserable, costly disappointment. A failure. And I will not allow failures to remain under my employ.”

The words seem to drain what little fight was left in Henderson. His shoulders slump in defeat, and he lets out a pitiful whimper. Max feels his anger deflate, replaced with a tired disdain.

“One hour.” he repeats, falling back into his chair in exhaustion. “Get out of my sight.”

Henderson doesn’t need to be told twice. With trembling hands, he begins collecting the various objects scattered across the floor — pencils, paperclips, manila folders now slightly crumpled. His motions are slow, pained, like those of a man having just received a terminal diagnosis.

Max watches impassively as the sniveling accountant gathers his belongings. Part of him feels a twinge of … not quite guilt, but maybe the faintest pangs of empathy for the broken man before him. He quickly smothers that flicker of sympathy. This is the cost of doing business in the world of high-stakes acquisitions and mergers. There is no room for weakness or mistakes. Only results matter.

Finally, with his meager pile of office supplies clutched to his chest, Henderson straightens up. His face is blotchy and tear-stained, but he seems to have regained some small scrap of dignity. He meets Max’s cold stare for just a moment before turning on his heel and shuffling out of the office.

The double doors close behind him with a hollow thud that hangs in the air. Max lets out a slow exhale, suddenly aware of the tension that had been coiling inside him. He runs a hand over his face, then taps a button on his phone intercom.

“Clara, get me William Evans from legal on the line immediately.” he says, his voice steady once more. “We need to do damage control on the Brighton situation before it becomes irreparable.”

“Right away, sir.” comes the reply, his assistant’s voice tightly professional.

Max leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he stares out at the New York City skyline. This is far from the first firing he has issued, and it certainly won’t be the last. He is a great white shark, always needing to move forward or else he will drown in the depths of his own ambition.

There is a soft rap at the door, pulling Max from his reverie.

“Come in.” he calls out. Clara enters, her face schooled into a mask of polite disinterest. So much the better — he respects discretion.

“I have Mr. Evans on line two for you.” she says crisply.

Max gives a succinct nod. “Thank you, Clara. That will be all.”

As his assistant withdraws, Max takes a fortifying breath. He is Max Verstappen. He is the master of the corporate ocean. And he will not allow one flailing failure to capsize his empire.

Squaring his shoulders, he picks up the phone and begins issuing a stern series of orders and demands. After all, there is little time for rest when one aims to be a modern day titan of industry.

***

You take a deep breath and rap firmly on the door to the HR director’s office. “Come in.” a flat voice calls out.

Steeling yourself, you twist the handle and step inside the dingy, fluorescent-lit room. Janet, the red-haired HR manager, looks up from her computer with a practiced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Ah, Y/N. What can I do for you today?” She asks in an overly saccharine tone.

You take a seat across from her cluttered desk, your knee bouncing with nervous energy. “I … I need to request some personal leave. Family medical reasons.”

Janet’s perfectly penciled eyebrows rise in bland surprise. “I see. And how much time were you hoping to take?”

Your throat tightens as you force out the words. “At least a month. Maybe more, depending on … on how things progress.”

The HR manager clucks her tongue as she shakes her head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We’re in our busiest quarter and you know the company policy — no extended leave during crunch periods unless it’s a valid health emergency.”

You feel panic fluttering in your chest. This has to be a valid emergency! “But it is an emergency! My daughter, she’s ...” Your voice cracks and you swallow hard, desperate to maintain your composure. “She’s very sick, potentially terminal. I need to be with her right now.”

Janet’s face remains stubbornly impassive. “I’m sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. Truly, I am. But unless you can provide official documentation from a medical professional, my hands are tied.”

The words hit you like a slap across the face. Of course they would require documentation to approve leave — it’s standard corporate policy. But how can mentally collect yourself to get paperwork in order when you’ve been spending every waking moment by your little girl’s hospital bedside?

Unbidden, your mind flashes back to two nights ago, watching in helpless terror as your daughter’s tiny body was racked with another severe seizure. You had screamed yourself hoarse calling for the nurses as the meds they pumped into her did little to stop the violent convulsions ...

You’re vaguely aware of Janet still speaking across from you, something about company guidelines and productivity expectations. But the words sound muffled and far away, as if you’re underwater.

How naive you were to think they might bend the rules, just this once. To think the faceless corporation you pour your life into might actually show a shred of human compassion during your hour of desperate need.

No. That’s not how companies like this operate.

They don’t care about you or your daughter’s life. All they care about is the bottom line, and you���re just an expendable number in their organizational flowchart.

You’re jolted back to reality as Janet raps her lacquered nails impatiently on the desk. “Well? Is there anything else or can I get back to work?”

Is there anything else? Oh, there’s so much more you want to scream at this unfeeling paper-pusher. You want to cry and rage and beg her to just show an ounce of basic human decency.

But you know it would be pointless. Janet is just a cog, same as you. There’s only one person here with the power and influence to authorize what you need.

Only one person who strikes abject terror into the heart of every employee with his infamous volcanic temper and uncompromising expectations.

The thought makes your stomach twist into knots, but you know what you have to do. For your little girl’s sake, you have to try.

So you rise from the chair, willing your legs not to shake. “Thank you for your time.” you mutter tightly, already turning on your heel and storming out of the office.

You don’t look back as Janet calls out something about proper procedure. You just keep moving, your footsteps fueled by a mother’s desperation.

The elevator seems to take an eternity, each second feeling like a little bit more of your daughter’s life trickling away. By the time the doors finally open with a mocking ding, you’re practically vibrating with pent-up nervous energy.

As the mirrored box ascends, your heart feels like it’s trying to batter its way out of your chest. You can hardly breathe past the constriction in your lungs. What if the infamous Max Verstappen laughs in your face? Or has you fired on the spot for daring to interrupt his billion-dollar dealings?

No, you can’t afford to think like that. This may be your only chance to get the time off you so desperately need. For your daughter’s sake, you have to be brave.

The elevator seems to crawl upward at a glacial pace. By the time the doors finally part with a soft chime, you feel like you’re going to be sick from anxiety. This is it, the executive floor — the lair of the terrifying Max Verstappen himself.

You step out into the plush, mahogany-accented lobby with shaking legs. Behind a curved desk, Max’s assistant Clara looks up, her expression instantly hardening when she recognizes you as some inconsequential employee.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Verstappen is not accepting any visitors at the moment.” she says, her tone brooking no argument. “If you’d like to schedule an appointment for next week ...”

“Please.” you blurt out, hating how your voice trembles. “It’s an emergency. I … I need to see him. Just for five minutes.”

Clara’s manicured eyebrow arches skeptically. “I extremely doubt Mr. Verstappen would consider your issue important enough to warrant an unscheduled meeting. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a million things to-”

“It’s about my sick daughter!” The words burst from your lips before you can stop them. Immediately, you regret being so unprofessional, but desperation has eroded your self-control.

For a split second, Clara’s expression flickers with something that might be pity. But it’s quickly subsumed by her usual cool mask of professionalism as she shakes her head.

“I’m very sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. But those are still not grounds for me to disturb Mr. Verstappen while he’s-”

“Please!” You plead, tears of frustration pricking your eyes. “I’m begging you. This could be my last chance! If he says no, I’ll leave, I promise. But I have to try!”

Clara regards you appraisingly for a long moment. Then, letting out a weary sigh, she presses the intercom button. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”

The line crackles with static for several tense seconds. You hold your breath, praying beyond hope that the infamous Max has a rare charitable impulse today.

Then, his unmistakable baritone growls through the small speaker. “This had better be good. Send them in.”

Clara winces almost imperceptibly before gesturing towards the double oak doors to Max’s corner office. “Good luck.” she murmurs.

You don’t need any further prompting. Drawing a shuddering breath, you straighten your spine and make your way to the doors. You pause just briefly, hands trembling, before rapping your knuckles firmly against the lacquered wood.

There’s no going back now. Either Max Verstappen is about to grant you a miracle … or utterly crush your last, fragile hope.

***

Max scowls as the intercom crackles to life, Clara’s hesitant voice filtering through the speaker. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Surely whatever this is can wait until tomorrow. Max is elbow-deep in paperwork and holding patterns, trying to do damage control on the Brighton acquisition fumble. He has no time for frivolous “personal” disruptions.

“This had better be good.” he growls into the intercom. “Send them in.”

With an irritated huff, Max leans back in his buttery leather chair as the doors to his office swing open. He’s already opening his mouth to berate whoever dares disturb him over something as trivial as a “personal matter.”

Then you tentatively step into the room and Max’s words die in his throat.

Even with your shoulders hunched inward and your makeup smudged from crying, you are utterly breathtaking. A fragile beauty drowning in an oversized blazer, your wide eyes darting around his opulent office with obvious intimidation.

An unwelcome jolt of attraction lances through Max’s chest and he quickly squashes it down. He cannot afford such distractions, especially from a lowly employee like yourself who should know better than to interrupt him during work hours.

“Well?” He finally finds his voice, aiming for a brusque tone to remind you both of your respective places. “You’re hardly someone important enough to be granted an audience. This had better be worth my time.”

The harshness of his words seems to make you flinch. You worry your lip between your teeth, shrinking back slightly.

“I … I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Verstappen.” you begin haltingly. Already Max can feel his patience waning. He hates fumbling fragility and wants only confident decisiveness.

But then your next words come tumbling out in a desperate rush. “It’s about my daughter, sir. My little girl … she’s in the hospital. She has a brain tumor and her condition is deteriorating rapidly. I asked Janet in HR for some personal leave to be with her, but she denied my request and said I need official medical documentation which could take days I don’t have!”

Tears are welling in your eyes now, your voice rising to nearly hysterical levels. “Please, Mr. Verstappen! She’s only three years old and I’m a single mom. I’m all she has right now! I’m begging you … please just give me some time to be with her before … before ...”

You seem unable to voice whatever terrifying possibility lurks in the back of your mind. Instead, you dissolve into shoulder-shaking sobs, burying your face in your hands as you break down completely.

Max feels his earlier irritation softening in spite of himself. He’s seen grown men thrice your age become blubbering messes under his withering glare. But there’s something distinctly vulnerable and gut-wrenching about your anguished tears.

Part of him recognizes this as a prime opportunity to regain control, to berate you for such an unseemly display of emotion. His reputation as a merciless taskmaster practically demands he put you in your place.

But another part of Max … a part he barely recognizes … feels a rare pang of empathy pierce through his calloused exterior.

Perhaps it’s the thought of a scared little girl lying crippled in a hospital bed, scared and missing her mother. Or perhaps it’s the way you wear your devastation so plainly, managing to humanize yourself in a way most people never achieve in his eyes.

Whatever the reason, when Max finally speaks, his tone has lost its earlier bite.

“I did not realize the full severity of the situation.” he says, slowly rising from his chair. He moves around the desk, not missing the way you tense as he approaches.

Up close, he can see the puffy redness rimming your eyes, the despair etched into every line of your face. It stirs something inside him … an ancient ghost of an emotion he can’t quite place.

“I’m sorry you were dismissed so carelessly by HR.” Max continues, struggling to keep his voice even. “Perhaps if you had led with mentioning your daughter’s condition, instead of being so oblique ...”

He trails off as you sniff loudly, dragging the sleeve of your blazer across your nose. The motion is equal parts endearing and mortifying for him to witness.

“Here.” he says impulsively, plucking a crisp linen handkerchief from his suit pocket. He presses it into your hand, watching as you blink owlishly at the unexpected gesture. “Allow me to make things right.”

Without waiting for a response, Max turns and strides over to his desk. He snatches up the phone and rapidly punches in a extension code, holding the receiver to his ear as it begins to ring.

“Janet? Yes, it’s Max Verstappen.” he says crisply when the line picks up. “I’ve just been informed about an ... employee situation that requires your immediate attention.”

He pauses, glancing over at where you’re clutching his handkerchief like a lifeline. Your eyes are still glistening with tears, but you’ve gone utterly still — hanging on his every word.

“One of our marketing staff came to me in quite a state about needing extended leave to be with their hospitalized child.” Max continues, his voice hardening slightly. “A matter you seemed to dismiss without proper consideration for the … nuances of the circumstances.”

There’s a sputtering on the other end of the line, undoubtedly Janet trying to make excuses. Max doesn’t give her the chance.

“The decision has been made to grant the employee’s leave request, effective immediately.” he cuts her off. “They will be excused for … two months, with full pay and benefits.”

His announcement seems to render you momentarily stunned. You simply stare at him, eyes wide and unblinking, like you can’t quite process what you’re hearing.

Max clears his throat self-consciously, refocusing on Janet’s flustered response filtering through the receiver. “B-But sir, we have very strict policies about-”

“Which is precisely why I’m instructing you to make an exception.” Max interjects, his voice brokering no arguments. “This leave is to be coded as paid health and wellness time. I expect no push-back or foot-dragging on this, understood?”

There’s a meek murmur of assent from Janet’s end. Max can’t resist a tight smile of satisfaction.

“Good. I’ll leave the paperwork in your capable hands then. That will be all.” He punctuates the statement by firmly hanging up the phone.

As the clatter of the receiver breaks the tense silence, Max turns to find you staring at him with an utterly inscrutable expression. For a long moment, neither of you speak or move. He finds himself paralyzed under the weight of your intense, unblinking gaze.

Then, with a strangled cry, you suddenly surge forward and throw your arms around him. Max goes ramrod stiff as your slight frame collides with his, your tears dampening the front of his crisp dress shirt.

“Thank you!” You’re whispering over and over like a prayer, clinging to him with a desperation that should be uncomfortable. And yet ... “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Max feels utterly transfixed, like a statue too stunned to react. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to encroach so boldly on his personal space, much less make actual physical contact. He’s not accustomed to such … warmth.

But before the unfamiliar embrace can start to grate on him, you suddenly pull back. Swiping at your eyes, you manage a watery smile up at him.

“You have no idea how much this means, sir. I … I can’t thank you enough for your kindness and understanding.”

He wants to scoff at the notion, to remind you that he is Max Verstappen — merciless and uncompromising in his corporate dealings. That this was merely an isolated instance of pragmatism to avoid a PR incident or workplace lawsuit, nothing more.

But something in your earnest gaze stops the curt rebuttal in his throat. For once, the infamously brusque Max Verstappen finds himself momentarily at a loss for words.

So instead, he gives a terse nod of acknowledgment. Already, his mind is starting to analyze how best to re-allocate your responsibilities for the next two months, which temporary hires to bring in for supplemental coverage.

But one stray thought continues to nag at the back of his mind, an errant curveball amongst the dizzying calculations.

For the first time in years — perhaps his entire adult life — Max feels almost … human.

It’s a strange and deeply unsettling realization, but luckily one he doesn’t have to dwell on.

Because in the next breath, you’re sweeping out of his office, a renewed vigor in your step and a brilliant smile lighting up your features. Max watches you go, an odd tightness settling into his chest.

He doesn’t have words — or perhaps doesn’t want to admit to any words to describe what he’s feeling in this moment. But one thing is for certain, for better or worse, you’ve well and truly upended Max Verstappen’s world.

***

Max remains rooted in place long after you’ve departed, his office now eerily silent in your absence. He should feel relieved to have some peace and quiet again after that … emotional encounter.

Yet instead of settling back into his usual all-consuming work flow, he finds his mind stubbornly replaying the scene on an endless, maddening loop.

The desperation etched onto your delicate features. The way your frame practically vibrated with barely-constrained anguish. The broken, pleading sound of your voice as you begged for his mercy ...

Despite his best efforts to dismiss it, the memory of your raw vulnerability has burrowed its way under Max’s skin, taking up an unwelcome residence. It picks and nags at the edges of his consciousness no matter how much he wills it away.

He has witnessed similar breakdowns from countless employees over the years — grown men and women brought to sniveling tatters by his uncompromising demands. But none of them elicited the same … response within him.

None of them made something twist so peculiarly in Max’s chest, unleashing that brief yet startling flicker of empathy from whatever dark crevice it lurks.

Gritting his teeth, Max paces behind his desk in tight, agitated circles. He prides himself on being a merciless pragmatist, unmoved by emotional pleas or babelling outbursts. Whatever decisions he makes are calculated toward the maximum profit potential and bottom line, end of story.

So why does this one case, this one instance of showing a bare modicum of human compassion, insist on gnawing at him so persistently? It makes no logical sense, no matter how he tries to mentally contort it.

Perhaps that’s the core issue — that for once in his life, Max’s motivations weren’t born strictly of logic or financial incentive. Something else had escaped from beneath, something primal and indefinable, when you broke down so nakedly in front of him.

The realization causes Max’s steps to stutter to a halt. His jaw works tensely as he runs a frustrated hand through his brown hair, disheveling the meticulously groomed coif.

He can admit to himself that some base part of his brain had been … affected by the rawness of your emotion. The way you had stripped away all artifice and propriety to plead so urgently and authentically.

Not many people manage to disarm Max Verstappen’s carefully curated expectation filters. But you had blown straight through them without even realizing it, battering down the reinforced walls he builds around his life. Just by being horrifically, unguardedly human.

It’s both impressive and deeply unsettling in equal measure.

Before Max can spiral any further down this rabbit hole of self-reflection, a sharp rap of knuckles against the door jolts him back to awareness. He straightens and clears his throat roughly.

“Come in.” he calls out, already retaking his seat and trying to project an aura of resolute control.

Clara slips into the office, her usual unflappable poise slightly ruffled as she catches the tense atmosphere. “You asked to see me right away, sir?”

“Yes.” Max says brusquely, watching her over steepled fingers. “I need you to do some … discreet digging for me into a personal matter.”

Clara’s perfectly groomed eyebrow arches inquisitively. But to her credit, she doesn’t comment on his evasive phrasing.

“And what exactly am I looking into?”

“The employee who was just in my office seeking leave.” he explains curtly. “The one with the hospitalized child. I need you to find out everything you can — where the child is being treated, their condition, prognosis, all of it.”

Clara’s perfectly glossed lips purse ever so slightly. “You’re aware I can’t exactly go through official medical channels without violating all sorts of privacy laws ...”

“I’m fully aware.” Max interjects with a curt wave of his hand. “Which is why you’ll have to take a more … unconventional approach. I don’t particularly care what methods you have to employ, just get me those details by the end of the day.”

His assistant regards him silently for a long beat, as if trying to suss out his motivations. Max meets her contemplative look with an unwavering stare of his own.

Finally, Clara gives a tight nod of understanding. “Consider it done, sir.”

With that, she pivots on the towering heel of her Louboutin and sees herself out of the office, the click of her footsteps rapidly retreating down the hall.

Max lets out a slow exhale, alone with his thoughts once more.

What is he doing? This bizarre crusade is so wildly outside of his typical conduct and practices. The lengths he’s going to, all for the sake of some random underling’s personal crisis ...

A smart, calculated part of his brain recognizes this entire situation as a fool’s errand, a waste of time and resources. He should be devoting every ounce of his focus toward extricating the Chinese investment group from the Brighton deal before their next earnings call.

And yet, he can’t seem to fully let this go. Your haunted, hopeless expression keeps flickering through his mind’s eye. The memory of your tears soaking into his suit lapel as you clung to him with a desperation that shook something deep within him.

It’s almost as if his body is acting of its own accord, driven by some urge he can’t fully parse or control. Like a murmured voice insistently compelling him to … to what? Help you? Offer some vague sense of solace or security?

The thought is patently ludicrous, and Max scoffs audibly at his own melodrama. Get a grip, he chides himself sternly. Since when do you care about coddling your peons?

He forcefully shakes off the uncharacteristic reverie and turns back to the stacks of paperwork and documents splayed across his desk. Focusing intently on running new financial projections for Q3, he manages to bury himself in the work for a solid two hours.

He’s in the midst of furiously scribbling margin and revenue notes when the trill of the phone line cuts through his concentration. A glance at the caller ID has him resisting the urge to sigh.

“Clara.” he answers crisply, leaning back in his leather chair. “I trust you’ve made progress?”

“Indeed.” comes the smooth reply, devoid of inflection as always. “Though I should warn you, some of these details are … concerning.”

Something tightens in Max’s chest, but he quickly tamps it down. “Just lay it all out for me. No need to editorialize.”

“Very well.” Clara acquiesces. “So the child, a three-year-old daughter, is currently a patient at Lennox Hill Hospital here in the city. According to my sources, she was admitted five weeks ago after experiencing severe seizures and hallucinations. An MRI revealed she has a large mass-”

“Let me stop you right there.” Max interjects, his brows furrowing. Even he can recognize those are less than encouraging signs. “What’s the official diagnosis then?”

“Grade IV glioblastoma.” Clara replies flatly. “One of the most aggressive malignant brain tumors, especially in children her age.”

A terse silence falls between them as the weight of that diagnosis sinks in. Grade IV … practically a death sentence wrapped up in clinical terminology. Max finds his hand unconsciously clenching the arm of his chair.

“And her prospects?” He finally prompts gruffly. “What’s the … prognosis for her case?”

Clara doesn’t answer right away. Over the line, he can hear her exhale slowly, a rare tell of emotional discomfort from his typically unflappable assistant.

“From what my contact at Lennox Hill said … if we’re talking full disclosure?” Her customary professionalism wavers slightly as her voice grows hushed. “They’ve given her three months at most, sir. Maybe less, if another seizure or bleed occurs before then.”

The words hang in the air like a guillotine blade against Max’s neck. Suddenly, all those intrusive mental flashes of your inconsolable despair take on a sharper, even more heartrending clarity.

Of course you were devastated, he realizes with startling empathy. How could any mother face their child’s death sentence with any measure of composure?

An unexpected swell of emotion rises in Max’s throat and he has to blink rapidly to keep it at bay. Now isn’t the time for such indulgences.

“Thank you, Clara.” he manages in a rough baritone. “That will be all for now.”

He ends the call without waiting for a response, abruptly severing the connection.

Alone once more, Max slumps back against the leather upholstery, an uncharacteristic weariness settling into his bones. He reaches up to loosen his already disheveled tie, suddenly feeling stifled within the confines of his suit.

Three months. Three paltry months for a precious young life to be snatched away before it ever really began. His jaw clenches hard.

That’s unacceptable. Not just unfair, but a complete and total injustice to all that is right and good in this world.

No child should have to suffer like that … and certainly no mother should have to face a future of unimaginable grief and emptiness once her only family is gone. Not if there was anything to be done about it.

And, at the end of the day, Max Verstappen has the means to quite literally move mountains with his wealth and influence.

An idea begins to blossom in his mind — one that feels daring and reckless and so utterly unlike his usual business-oriented self. But he finds himself drawn to it with a singleminded resolve he can’t quite explain.

Jaw set, Max snatches up his phone and punches in a number he never thought he’d use outside of donor galas.

“Roland? Max Verstappen here.” he says gruffly when the line picks up. “I need you to connect me directly with someone in Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology department ...”

Half an hour and multiple calls later, Max is finally patched through to one of the top clinical researchers in the field: Dr. Spencer Paulson.

“Dr. Paulson, thank you for making time on such short notice.” Max says, his tone polished yet clipped. “To cut right to it, I was recently made aware of a … sensitive case involving a terminal pediatric patient and some rather bleak estimated survival rates.”

Without preamble, he lays out what little he knows about your daughter — the diagnosis, the staging, the Lennox Hill prognosis that has already written her off for dead. All throughout, the doctor on the other end of the line remains grimly silent.

“So in your expert opinion.” Max finishes, realizing his hand has unconsciously tightened into a white-knuckled fist. “What would you say her realistic prospects for meaningful treatment or survival are?”

There’s a pregnant pause, then a grim sigh filters through the tinny line. “Based on what you’ve told me … I’m afraid the prognosis does indeed sound dire. Grade IV glioblastomas in children under five have approximately a 5% survival rate past twelve months with conventional treatment regimens.”

Max clenches his teeth, brutally unsurprised yet still floored by the frank assessment. Moments ago, he had still been clinging to a fool’s hope.

“However.” Dr. Paulson continues, his tone brightening slightly. “We do currently have an … experimental trial ongoing that might be an outside option to explore.”

Something akin to hope flutters in Max’s chest. “I’m listening.”

“Well, to put it simply, we’ve had some promising early results adapting viral gene therapies to target and destroy these aggressive brain tumor cells in young patients.” the doctor explains, shifting into a more clinical, lecture-style delivery.

“By modifying and re-engineering certain viruses to bind only to the specific mutated RNA and protein markers found in diseases like glioblastomas, we can theoretically use those same viruses as a delivery vector. One that can slip past the blood-brain barrier and directly infect the cancerous cells with a sort of … controlled payload, if you will.”

Max nods along, his mind working furiously to keep up with the technical jargon. “Some kind of treatment regimen then? Drugs or radiation therapy delivered directly to the tumor site?”

“Precisely.” Dr. Paulson confirms approvingly. “Only we’ve expanded past just chemo and gamma rays as the options. Thanks to the pioneering work of doctors like Bert Jacobs, we’ve now created an entirely new frontier of cancer treatments centered around gene therapy and mRNA editing.”

He rattles off a dizzying litany of polysyllabic scientific terminology that sails completely over Max’s head. Not that it matters — his focus is fully captured by the notes of guarded optimism finally creeping into Paulson’s voice.

“Of course, this is all still highly experimental. We’ve only managed to achieve remission in a handful of trial cases thus far.” the doctor cautions. “And we have no idea if the viral vector we’ve engineered will be equally effective against every variation of cancerous mutation out there.”

Max nods impatiently, waving a hand as if to physically shoo away the vague caveats. “I appreciate the need for clinical hedging, doctor. But let’s cut right to the heart of the matter.”

He draws in a fortifying breath. “If you were to take on this little girl as a patient, deploy these … gene therapy regimens of yours … would you give her a legitimate chance? At treatment, remission, survival?”

There’s a pregnant pause, as if Dr. Paulson is carefully considering the ethical ramifications of his answer. Then, “If she meets the selection criteria and baseline health conditions … and we get a bit of luck on our side ...” Another sigh, heavy with the weight of his responsibilities. “Then I’d say we would have a fighting chance, yes.”

Those five simple words crash over Max with the force of a tidal wave, hitting him squarely in the chest.

A chance. At life. At making it past those grim, dire prognoses.

After several moments of stunned silence, Max finally finds his voice.

“Say no more, doctor. Whatever it costs — money, time, logistics — none of it matters. I want this treatment option fully activated and prioritized immediately. Spare no expense, I’ll take care of the bill.” He utters the words with the same decisive confidence he handles his billion-dollar business dealings.

Because in this moment, it doesn’t feel like just some impulsive, emotionally-driven whim. Helping your innocent child — ensuring she gets the fighting chance she deserves?

It feels like the only choice he can possibly make.

***

You sit hunched in the hard, plastic visitor’s chair, your body angled protectively towards the small hospital bed. Despite the tubes and wires snaking from her fragile limbs, your daughter appears almost peaceful in her restless slumber.

She always was such a sound sleeper as a baby, you reminisce wistfully. Remembering how you’d regularly creep into the nursery just to watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, assuring yourself she was still breathing.

Even back then, the ever-present fear of something going horribly wrong never truly left you. The world is far too cruel a place to let a mother relax, no matter how deeply you wish you could.

One slender hand rests atop the thin bedsheet covering your little girl, your thumb tracing soothing circles along her tiny knuckles. A silent, simple gesture of tenderness you hope she can feel even in sleep. If only you could so easily soothe away her pain and suffering as you could your own.

The quiet flutter of the heart rate monitor keeps beat, each mechanical beep another hammer striking your already shattered soul. You want to feel relieved, blessed even, that it continues that steady cadence. Instead, you only feel exhausted hollowness.

Because this morning, the doctors came to “discuss options.” As if their clinical detachment could soften the blow of learning your child is well and truly out of miracles.

“We’ve run every available scan and lab test.” Dr. Rhodes had said, failing to meet your desperate gaze. “I’m so very sorry, but the tumor isn’t responding to any of our treatments. At this point, we have to start considering ...”

You hadn’t let him finish, couldn’t let those hateful, unthinkable words pass his lips. Palliative care. Hospice. Just give up and let nature take its inevitable, brutal course while they pumped her full of numbing opiates so she could “comfortably” slip away.

The rage and anguish had bubbled up from some primal pit within your guts, hot and viscous like magma erupting from deep beneath the earth’s crust. You’d screamed incoherent denials until your voice was hoarse, begging and pleading through sobs for them not to take away your only hope.

In the end, they’d sedated your daughter fully so you could “calm down” and “process things rationally.” You know they meant well, trying to spare her from your outburst. But it only compounded your devastation, feeling like they were already treating her as a lost cause no longer worth fighting for.

So here you sit, after untold hours of cycling through various stages of grief, left only with bone-deep weariness cloaked by a fragile veneer of numb acceptance. You dimly wonder if you’ll ever truly feel anything else ever again.

Through the blur of tears constantly stinging your eyes, you keep a silent vigil over your daughter’s bedside. You memorize every delicate sweep of her sooty lashes, the tiny smattering of freckles across her upturned nose. Desperate to commit every last precious detail of her existence to memory before … before ...

A choked sob bubbles up from your chest at the thought, hot and acidic at the back of your throat. You quickly muffle it with the crook of your elbow, determined not to disturb your resting girl with the outward manifestations of your agony.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. An old meditative mantra you try to focus on, struggling to regain control of your tenuous grip on composure. You know your tears and hiccupping gasps for air are only harming yourself at this point. Better to conserve what little physical and mental strength you have left to simply be with your daughter while you still can.

The grief is an ever-churning sea just waiting to drag you under its dark, icy depths. But still you stubbornly tread water, unwilling to fully surrender just yet. Not as long as you can still feel the reassuring thrum of her pulse against your fingertips, a solitary lifeline keeping you tethered to the present.

You aren’t sure how much time stretches in that manner — minutes or hours, you cannot say. The days have all started blurring into one long, endless haze of sleeplessness and overwhelming sorrow.

So when the door to the hospital room suddenly clicks open, the sound manages to penetrate the cotton-muffled fog shrouding your senses.Instantly, you stiffen and blink rapidly, as if only just now awakening to your surroundings.

A stranger stands in the doorway — a tall, slender man in an impeccably tailored suit that looks distinctly out of place amongst the bland, sterile patient rooms. His face is sharp and angular, almost harsh in its sternness if not for the way his brow is furrowed with evident concern.

You open your mouth to ask who he is and what he wants, but he raises a placating hand before you can find your voice.

“Please, don’t be alarmed.” he says, words clipped yet softened slightly. “I know this is a terrible situation, and the absolute last setting you’d want an uninvited visitor.”

Now that he’s closer, you can see behind his obvious affluence lurks a cultured, aloof sort of demeanor. There’s no outward malice or disrespect in his manner, but he carries himself like someone long accustomed to privileges and deference. The sight of him sets you even more on edge amid your emotional rawness.

“My name is Spencer Paulson.” the man presses on, taking a few measured steps further into the room. “I’m actually a doctor, Ms ...”

“Y/N.” you automatically supply, dredging up the remnants of social graces. “Y/N L/N. And this is … this is my daughter, Olivia.”

Your voice cracks ever so slightly on her name, heated moisture already welling behind your eyes once more. You quickly dab at their corners with the sleeve of your worn cardigan, determined not to dissolve into fresh hysterics in front of this absolute stranger.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N.” the man — Dr. Paulson — says, tone measured. “I realize I’m intruding on a highly stressful situation for you and your family right now. And for that, I truly am sorry.”

His apology seems sincere enough. But wariness still prickles along your nape as your overtired, over-protective instincts flare up. You clutch your daughter’s limp hand in yours a fraction tighter.

“Then if you don’t mind my asking.” you begin in a calculated tone, scrutinizing Paulson carefully. “Why are you here? And what business could possibly bring you to Olivia’s bedside unannounced?”

He regards you silently for a long moment, something inscrutable flickering across his features. When he speaks again, his words are deliberately precise, weighted down by their momentous gravity.

“I was recently contacted by … an interested third party about your daughter’s case.” Paulson explains, clasping his hands behind his back. “I was filled in on the specifics of her diagnosis — glioblastoma, grade four, extremely aggressive and largely unresponsive to standard treatment. Am I correct so far?”

You can only numbly nod, a chill prickling across your flesh. The man’s crisp, clinical recitation of your worst nightmare forces a painful convulsion of renewed heartache.

Paulson seems to catch your distress and quickly presses on. “Right, well, I’m actually here in an official capacity as the Chief of Pediatric Oncology over at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.”

The words hit you with all the force of a defibrillator charge, jolting your entire frame upright in the hard plastic chair. Your jaw drops open, already fumbling for a desperate reply that will somehow make this all make sense.

But Paulson continues before you can vocalize any of the hundreds of jumbled questions flooding your mind.

“I’ll keep this relatively simple, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, holding up a forestalling hand. “My team at Sloan Kettering recently received permission to transfer your daughter over to our care as soon as logistically possible. You see, we’ve been working on an experimental new treatment protocol — a form of gene therapy designed to treat even the most aggressive, mutation-riddled forms of cancers like Olivia’s brain tumor.”

You blink owlishly, unable to fully process the onslaught of technical jargon being leveled at you. All you can do is continue sitting there, stunned into silence as the doctor launches into an almost dizzying explanation of re-engineered viruses, targeted gene editing, and “controlled payloads” being essentially the extent of modern medicine.

“... And while the trial is still in its early stages, we’ve actually already achieved partial and even full remission in a few key pediatric cases remarkably similar to that of your daughter.” Paulson continues, his tone growing faintly tinged with optimism and something akin to pride. “Which is why we’re reasonably confident Olivia could be an excellent candidate for our experimental therapies, if you allow it.”

He lets the weight of that statement hang in the air between you, watching you carefully for any visible reaction. But you’re frozen, fighting between warring tides of soul-rending hope and knee-jerk cynicism.

After all, you’ve come to reflexively distrust when desperation-stoking scenarios sound too good to be true over the past several torturous weeks. A small, rational voice in the back of your mind pipes up to remind you that you can’t afford to get your hopes up, only to be gutted yet again by the crushing inevitability of disappointment.

But another part of your wearied brain — the part that’s grown so fatigued by the oppressive feeling of hopelessness — recoils at dismissing any potential reprieve from the nightmare, no matter how fanciful or far-fetched.

So instead you hear yourself croaking out a single, wobbling syllable.

“How ...”

Paulson tilts his head inquisitively. “I’m sorry?”

You clear your throat, igniting the spark of desperate yearning flickering to life inside your chest. “How much would … would a treatment like this cost?”

For the first time since barging his way into your fragile world, Paulson’s aristocratic features twist into an unmistakable grimace. He lets out a tight sigh, clearly recognizing the gravity behind your simple question.

“Unfortunately, due to the experimental and intensive nature of this therapy … the baseline costs do run relatively high.” he explains in a precise tone, as if trying to distance himself from the crass logistical realities. “If approved for the trial and full treatment regimen, we’re looking at around $1.4 million in projected costs over the first six months alone.”

The astronomical number hits you squarely between the eyes, setting your head swimming with disbelief. One point four … million? The amount is so ludicrously exorbitant that it almost doesn’t seem real.

You open your mouth, fully intending to spit out the derisive scoff that such an impossible ask deserves. No amount of desperate wishing could ever make that attainable for a single, working-class parent already drowning in tens of thousands of medical debt.

But Paulson clearly recognizes the crestfallen defeat settling over your features. Because he quickly rushes ahead with his next words, effectively cutting off any vocal dismissal on your end.

“However, as I mentioned earlier, we did get some … special circumstances greenlighted regarding your daughter’s case.” he says, tone brightening with carefully cultivated hopefulness. “You see, there’s an anonymous benefactor who’s agreed to cover the full cost of treatment on a … philanthropic basis, let’s call it.”

The words punch you directly in the gut, momentarily robbing your lungs of oxygen like a cruel sucker-punch. You blink dazedly up at Paulson, struggling to make sense of what he’s saying through the roaring static in your ears.

“I … I don’t understand.” you manage to stammer out. “Someone wants to … pay for my daughter? All of it? But why? How could they possibly-”

“Hey now, none of that.” Paulson cuts you off, his voice softening with what might be the first hints of empathy and warmth creeping in. “The why doesn’t matter right now — only that it’s been arranged at no cost to you or your family.”

He moves closer then, resting one hand on your shoulder in an unexpected gesture of kindness that makes you flinch despite yourself. Up close, you can see the sincerity shining in his hazel eyes, pleading for you to simply accept this incredible parting of the dark clouds that have shrouded your existence.

“I know this is … well, frankly astounding news on top of everything else you’re already dealing with.” Paulson continues, giving your shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “And please, believe me, we want to avoid overwhelming you with undue complications. For now, I think it’s enough to simply feel that spark of hope again, yes?”

Despite your best efforts to tamp down the desperate yearning swelling in your chest, you find yourself nodding mutely in agreement. Because in this moment, you understand exactly the miraculous implications of his words.

After so many agonizing weeks of feeling utterly powerless, of watching your baby girl’s life slowly ebb away before your very eyes … there is a chance. An opportunity, a fighting possibility that everything won’t end in crushing grief and irredeemable sorrow.

And even just that single glowing ember of hope, no matter how faint, is enough to shatter the dam holding back your turbulent sea of pent-up emotion. Paulson watches in quiet acceptance as you finally break down in great, shuddering sobs — only this time, they’re threaded with the catharsis of relief.

Happy tears stream down your blotchy cheeks, unchecked and convulsive. You press your face into the cool, starchy sheets of Olivia’s bed, body wracked with a release of tension weeks in the making. It feels as though you’re being simultaneously unmade and reborn in this singular, messy instance.

Through the storm of your breakdown, you’re dimly aware of Paulson stepping away to give you privacy. And then, just before he slips from the room entirely, his composed baritone rings out one last time.

“We’ll make all the arrangements to transport Olivia to Sloan Kettering as soon as possible. Get her started on this treatment regimen right away, alright?”

You can’t even summon the words to respond, only nodding rapidly between hiccuping bursts of gasping and sobbing. But just before he exits, shutting the door silently behind him, you catch Paulson’s murmur.

“There’s a fighting chance now. That’s all any of us can really ask for ...”

***

Max rakes a hand through his meticulously styled hair as he strides down the sterile hallway of Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology ward. His eyes scan the room numbers tacked to each door, searching for the one he was provided.

456 … 458… ah, there — 460. Max pauses outside the closed entry, squaring his shoulders as he tries to tamp down the uncharacteristic fluttering of nerves in his stomach. Taking a fortifying breath, he gives the door a perfunctory series of raps with his knuckles.

Almost immediately, a muffled voice filters through from inside — your voice, he recognizes with a start. “Come in!”

Max’s brow furrows momentarily at the warm, chipper lilt to your tone. So unlike the brittle, devastated one he had heard that fateful day in his office. Though he supposes that’s only fitting, given the radically shifted circumstances these past several weeks.

Pushing his hesitation aside, Max takes the invitation and pushes into the hospital room. You’re seated in one of the uncomfortable plastic visitor’s chairs, wearing a soft cardigan and jeans — by all appearances the very portrait of a typical doting mother.

Well, not entirely typical. Because curled up on the bed next to you is a tiny, doe-eyed little girl whose resemblance leaves no question as to her relation to you.

Olivia.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, you glance up — and immediately do a double-take, eyes going comically wide. “M-Mr. Verstappen?” You splutter out, frozen halfway out of your chair like a hostess belatedly remembered her manners. “I … I didn’t realize you were-”

Max holds up a hand to stop the tide of nervous rambling, inexplicably touched by your visible shock. The effect is only compounded when Olivia shifts on the bed, eyeing him owlishly from beneath the cuddly weight of a stuffed unicorn nearly as large as she is.

“It’s quite alright, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, offering you the barest hint of a disarming smile. An expression he finds shockingly easy to produce given the scene before him. “I admit I hadn’t warned you about my visit in advance.”

He pauses there, suddenly realizing the reason for his impromptu trip isn’t entirely certain, even to himself. It had begun as little more than a nagging impulse tugging at him throughout his days, growing more persistent and insistent until he finally gave in and scheduled some time away from the office.

And now that he’s here, standing in this dimly-lit hospital room, Max feels strangely … unmoored. Adrift in a situation his renowned business acumen didn’t even begin to equip him for handling.

But then your daughter is shifting again, curiosity winning out over her bashfulness as she props herself up on her elbows. “Who’re you?” She pipes up in a tiny, raspy voice that somehow bypasses Max’s usually implacable defenses.

Something pangs oddly in his chest at the innocent inquiry. He finds himself crouching into an automatic squat, bringing himself level with the bedside so he can better meet Olivia’s inquisitive gaze.

“You can just call me Max.” he says, injecting a gentle warmth into his tone that he didn’t even realize he was capable of. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

It occurs to him then that he’s been subconsciously clutching the bouquet of flowers still in his off-hand — an overly ornate spray of exotic lilies and birds of paradise blooms that probably cost more than a month’s rent for most families. He had ordered them from the city’s most exclusive florist boutique on pure aesthetic impulse, without pausing to consider the message such an excessive display might send.

This morning, holding the massive arrangement felt appropriate, a reflection of Max’s stature as a dominant business magnate. But now, watching Olivia’s large eyes track the oversized bouquet with open-mouthed awe, he feels suddenly self-conscious.

Hoping to recover some sense of propriety, Max clears his throat and holds the flowers out in front of him.

“These are, ah, for your mother.” he explains gruffly, avoiding your questioning gaze burning against the side of his face. “A small token of … of appreciation, one might say.”

He isn’t quite sure what prompts the carefully worded addition — perhaps an instinctive reflex to avoid showing any overt sentimentality. But either way, you seem to simply accept the generous offering with bemused grace.

“Thank you, Mr. Versta-” You quickly correct yourself at his mild arched brow. “Er, Max. They’re absolutely lovely.”

You bend to inhale the rich floral perfume, eyelids fluttering in evident delight at the fragrance. Max watches the childlike awe play out across your soft features, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction settle in his chest.

Having given you the flowers, he rises to his feet once more with a put-upon sigh of effort. Every bit of spoiled opulence and bravado that usually comes as second-nature to Max.

And yet, none of it lands quite with the affected solemnity he’s accustomed to projecting. Not when Olivia’s sweet-faced attention is still utterly transfixed by his every move and micro-expression.

Your daughter still hasn’t looked away from him even as you arrange the flower vase on her bedside table, entranced in a way only the very young can be. It’s … disarming, to say the least. But not entirely unpleasant, Max finds himself admitting.

“I, ah, got something for you as well, Olivia.” he announces impulsively. From behind his back, he produces a floppy-limbed teddy bear easily half her size.

He’s not even sure what prompted him to purchase such a pedestrian sort of toy. All he knows is that he saw the stuffed creature in the hospital gift shop window on his way in, and some impulse compelled him to acquire it for reasons he still can’t understand.

But any lingering uncertainty fades from his mind like a passing cloud when Olivia lets out an audible gasp of delight. Her little hands instantly shoot out, making desperate grabbing motions at the plush offering.

“Ohmygosh, thank you!” The words tumble out in a breathless, childish rush. Before Max can even react, she leans precariously over the edge of the bed, arms outstretched and grasping imploringly.

On instinct, Max takes a half-step forward, carefully depositing the stuffed bear into Olivia’s waiting embrace to avoid any accidents. She immediately snatches it to her chest, burying her face in the softness of its soft fabric with a contented hum that seems to vibrate in Max’s very soul.

He swallows hard past the unexpected lump that forms in his throat, watching a child delight in something so simple and innocent. How long has it been since he allowed himself to find joy in the pure, unbridled way that Olivia does? Far too long, he’s forced to admit.

Clearing his throat with an awkward rumble, Max tears his gaze away from your daughter’s cuddling. He levels his focus back onto you instead. Only then does he realize you’ve been staring at him throughout the entire interaction, an unreadable look painted across your face.

“I trust the medical team has kept you informed of Olivia’s progress so far.” he prompts in his usual clipped tone, struggling to reassert some sense of distancing professionalism. “I don’t have any special insight into the procedural specifics, but from what I’ve gathered, positive results are steadily accumulating, yes?”

You blink once, almost like shaking yourself out of a reverie, before offering a slow nod in response. “Y-Yes, you could definitely say that.”

Something sparks behind your gaze then — some dawning realization creeping over your delicate features. “In fact, Dr. Paulson himself said Olivia seems to have responded better to the gene therapy than almost any other patient yet. Her tumor reduction trend is so far exceeding their best models that they’re actually considering tweaking the formula for future tria-”

You abruptly cut yourself off, lips pursing into a tight line as you turn your focus back to Max. He holds your stare evenly, waiting for whatever it is you seem to be mustering the courage to say.

Then, almost in a whisper, “Max … are you the anonymous donor paying for all of this?”

The words hang in the air like a physical force between you, so full of implication and unvoiced emotion that even Max can’t find a way to deflect them. He stares back at you, utterly disarmed beneath the intensity of your scrutinizing gaze.

For a long beat, only the hum of hospital machines and equipment fills the weighty silence. Max’s jaw works tensely as he considers how best to respond. He wants to shrug it off, make some sardonic quip to reestablish the carefully curated aloofness that serves him so well in the business world.

But then Olivia lets out another joyous giggle as she squishes the plush bear’s paw, completely enraptured and undistracted by the silent standoff occurring across her bedside. And all of Max’s formidable defenses and calculated denials abruptly dissolve in the face of such childlike innocence.

So instead of evasion, he answers your question with a small, barely perceptible nod and a softly murmured, “Yes.”

He doesn’t have time to brace himself before you’re suddenly surging up out of the chair with a wounded cry. And then your arms are flung around his neck, your body slamming against his chest as you pull Max into a fierce and entirely unexpected hug.

The impact momentarily stuns him, freezing Max in place with his arms held useless at his sides. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to initiate such a brazen display of physical contact — perhaps ever, now that he racks his brain.

But just as he contemplates gently extricating himself from your clutches, your ragged voice rises to his ear in a trembling whisper.

“Thank you.” you’re whispering over and over like a fevered prayer. “Thank you, thank you, thank you ...”

With each impassioned repetition, Max can feel more of the tension slowly leeching from his frame. He finds himself sinking bonelessly into your embrace, one hand coming to rest against the small of your back in an automatic gesture of soothing.

Soon enough, heaving sobs are wracking your entire body against his. Hot tears quickly begin to soak through the fabric of his expensive dress shirt as you cling to him with the desperation of a fallen angel clawing her way back into grace. But Max doesn’t pull away, doesn’t extricate himself or put distance between your respective roles as worker and corporate king.

Instead, in a move even he can’t fully explain or justify, his free hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in even tighter as you keen your grateful relief against the column of his throat.

“It’s … quite alright.” he finds himself rumbling in a low, soothing voice completely at odds with his usual persona. “No thanks are necessary. All that matters now is ensuring your daughter’s full and complete recovery … at whatever cost required.”

He isn’t sure whether his throwaway platitude is meant more for his benefit or yours at this point. But either way, you show no signs of releasing him from the crushing strength of your desperate clutch anytime soon. So Max does the only thing left available to him — he simply lets you cry and shake and cling to him for as long as you need.

Until finally, with a handful of watery hiccups and sniffles, you manage to tilt your blotchy face up towards his.

“I … I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this.” you murmur throatily. “For giving Olivia more than just some faint hope, but an actual chance to grow up and live the life she deserves.”

Tenderness isn’t something that often breaks through Max Verstappen’s shroud of callous indifference. He can count on one hand the number of times in his adult life he’s allowed himself to indulge in such sentimental trivialities.

But gazing into your puffy, reddened eyes, he finds he can’t quite summon any bitter cynicism. Instead, his voice remains low with a soothing gentleness that feels almost foreign falling from his lips.

“The only form of repayment I’ll require.” he says finally, “is your permission to take you to dinner.”

He blinks once, almost taken aback by the words that slipped unbidden from his throat. But you, for your part, seem equally dazed as your brows knit in bewilderment.

“Dinner? But … I haven’t left Olivia in weeks.”

At that, Max manages a wry smile, feeling as if he’s regained at least some fraction of his footing and composure. “Of course I don’t expect you to. I simply meant for the three of us to dine together … here, in the hospital. My treat, naturally.”

Your fingers unconsciously clench tighter into the fabric of his ruined dress shirt. But even with the hint of embarrassment pinkening your cheeks, he can see what looks almost like … excitement? Perhaps even coyness sparking behind your gaze before you avert your eyes demurely.

“I … yes, of course.” you murmur, sounding almost bashful. “We would be honored.”

Max simply nods, committing every little part of the interaction to his increasingly scattered memory for later dissection. For now, he withdraws himself from the gentle circle of your arms with what he hopes appears a natural sort of casualness.

“Very good then,” is all he finds himself able to say in response. “I shall make the necessary arrangements and return shortly with something to eat.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the exit, throwing one final look over his shoulder. You’re already back in your chair at Olivia’s bedside, shooting him another shy little smile as you start to idly stroke your now dozing daughter’s hair.

And before Max even fully processes the impulse, he feels the corner of his mouth tugging upwards into a warm half-grin in response.

A expression so unfamiliar on his usually dour features that it renders him momentarily unrecognizable, even to himself.

Shaking his head as if to cast off the dizzy sense of displacement, Max continues out into the hallway. He stubbornly refuses to dwell too much on the stirrings of contentment radiating through his chest.

Such indulgent notions are highly unseemly for a man of his stature and influence, after all. Better to ignore them entirely, as he always has.

Though even as the thought crosses his mind, Max finds himself picking up his pace with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. Because somewhere along the way, he realizes ...

Denial doesn’t appear to be an option anymore.

***

Two Years Later

The ornate grandfather clock in the corner ticks rhythmically, its pendulum swinging with measured precision. Max’s gaze flicks over to it briefly before returning to the stack of documents before him. Numbers and figures blur together as his eyes scan the pages, his brow furrowed in concentration.

A giggle from the corner of the room breaks his focus. He glances up to see Olivia sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet, curls bouncing as she plays with her Barbie dolls. A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips at the sight of her innocent joy.

“What are you up to over there, kleine muis?” He asks, his voice gruff but tinged with affection.

Olivia looks up, her eyes sparkling. “I’m having a tea party with Barbie and Ken.” she explains, brandishing the dolls. “Would you like to join us, Maxie?”

Max chuckles softly. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I have a bit too much work to do for a tea party right now.”

“Okay.” Olivia says cheerfully, returning to her imaginary festivities.

You had dropped Olivia off at Max’s office after her kindergarten class, needing to rush to an urgent marketing meeting. Max had insisted on keeping her company until you returned, despite the mountain of paperwork on his desk.

He watches Olivia play, mesmerized by her ability to create entire worlds from mere toys and her vibrant imagination. Her carefree laughter is a soothing balm against the chaos of his day.

After a while, Olivia looks up again. “Maxie, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, lieverd. What is it?”

Olivia fidgets with one of the doll’s dresses. “Today at school, we had to draw pictures of our families.”

Max’s heart constricts slightly at the innocuous statement, but he manages a reassuring smile. “Did you have fun with that activity?”

Olivia nods enthusiastically. “Uh-huh. I drew me, Mommy, and you.”

The words hit Max like a physical blow, stealing his breath away. He stares at Olivia, his eyes widening as a storm of emotions swirls within him.

Olivia, oblivious to his inner turmoil, continues, “But then Timmy said that you’re not really my daddy since we don’t have the same last name. Is that true, Maxie? Are you not my daddy?”

Max swallows hard, his throat constricting. He had grown to love this child as if she were his own flesh and blood, but he had never dared to assume the sacred title of father. The realization that Olivia saw him that way, despite the lack of biological ties, threatens to shatter his carefully constructed walls.

Pushing back from his desk, he rises to his feet and makes his way over to where Olivia sits. He lowers himself to the floor, his movements stiff and hesitant. Olivia watches him with curious eyes, still clutching her dolls.

“Olivia.” he begins, his voice thick with emotion he struggles to contain. “Even though we don’t share the same name, and I didn’t ...” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I didn’t have a hand in bringing you into this world, you are every bit as much my daughter as if you were my own.”

Olivia tilts her head slightly, considering his words. “So, I can call you Daddy?”

The simple question unlocks something deep within Max’s core, a part of himself he had locked away long ago. He feels moisture prickling at the corners of his eyes, an unfamiliar sting that he doesn’t fight.

“Yes, kleine muis.” he whispers, his voice wavering. “I would be honored if you called me Daddy.”

Without warning, Olivia drops her dolls and flings her small arms around Max’s neck, hugging him tightly. Max freezes for a moment, unaccustomed to such open displays of affection, before melting into the hug. He wraps his arms around Olivia’s tiny frame, holding her close as if she might slip away at any moment.

They stay like that for long minutes, Max’s shoulders trembling slightly as the dam he had so carefully constructed finally cracks. Tears slip silently down his cheeks, mingling with the softness of Olivia’s hair as he buries his face against her.

At last, Olivia pulls back, her eyes shining with joy. “I love you, Daddy.” she says simply, the words reverberating through Max’s very soul.

He manages a watery smile, brushing away the dampness on his cheeks. “And I love you, lieverd. More than you could ever know.”

Olivia beams at him before scrambling to her feet. “Oh! I almost forgot!” She darts over to her little backpack, rummaging through it eagerly.

Max watches her, his heart still thundering in his chest from the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. He had built an empire, commanded boardrooms with an iron fist, and struck fear into the hearts of grown men … yet this innocent child had disarmed him completely.

“Here it is!” Olivia exclaims, returning with a piece of paper clutched in her small fist. She holds it out to Max, beaming. “For you, Daddy.”

With trembling hands, Max takes the drawing. A bright smile breaks across his face as he studies the crude but endearing figures — stick figures, but he can clearly make out Olivia, you, and himself, joined by vibrant swirls of color.

“It’s beautiful.” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over the lines with a tenderness he reserves only for her. “Thank you.”

Over the next few days, Max has the drawing professionally framed, the simple piece of artwork taking pride of place on the wall of his office. Whenever his gaze falls upon it, his heart swells with a love and sense of purpose that had been missing for far too long.

Beside the framed drawing hangs his business degree, a symbol of his power and influence in the corporate world. Yet, it is Olivia’s artwork that holds the most meaning, a reminder of what truly matters in this life.

Because Max is many things — a captain of industry, a force to be reckoned with, a man who has clawed his way to the top through sheer grit and determination.

But most importantly, he is a father.

And he has never been more proud of any achievement than to call himself Olivia’s daddy.

[yuujispinkhair]

Sukuna’s the type of baby daddy that even if you break you never really broke up 😭 and if you got pregnant again there no chance in hell it could be anyone else’s kid besides his

The love you and Sukuna have is world-changing. Even after you break up, you are both still stuck on the other and unable to move on.

Pairing: Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Hurt + comfort, fluff, mentions of smut Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: 18+, mentions of smut but nothing explicit. Reader and Sukuna break up, but they get back together at the end of the story. There is a happy end. They already have a daughter together, and another pregnancy is mentioned at the end. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact. Divider @/benkeibear

It's not that you aren't trying to get over Sukuna. You really do. After a week of crying your eyes out, you decide to go out. It's not even that hard to get chatted up by some guy at a bar. But when his hand lands on your knee, you practically bolt. It feels so wrong, so dirty somehow. As if your body is still Sukuna's territory and no one else is worthy of touching you.

You try again a week later and the week after, too. But none of the men you meet spark your interest. Maybe this shouldn't come as a surprise. After all, only a few weeks ago, you had Sukuna. You had the best. There simply is no one who can compare to him. No one will ever make you feel the way Sukuna did.

You regret the breakup. It was stupid. Just small things that accumulated over several weeks, combined with a bad day at work and Sukuna being grumpy when you got home. You could have handled it differently.

But now, your bed always feels cold, and your heart doesn't seem to be in your chest anymore. Instead, there is a stone in your chest, heavy and painful, while your heart is in another part of this city, in the hands of the man who will always be the one for you, even if you will never get back together with him again.

+++

Sukuna asks to see his child, but you feel unable to face him, so you cowardly text him back, telling him to just pick your daughter up from kindergarten and spend the afternoon with her. When Sukuna brings her home in the evening, you are relieved that he seems to have gotten the hint. He doesn't come inside but waits at the front door as your daughter runs up the stairs to your apartment.

But you aren't strong enough not to hurry to the large window that faces the street, gazing outside to see Sukuna's familiar tall, broad figure slowly stroll down the street toward his car. His pink hair looks just like the cherry blossoms that fall down onto the road like pretty, pink snowflakes.

You know you will never be able to look at cherry trees again without feeling sadness wash over you.

Maybe you will try going on another date with some new guy, but deep down, you know that it will be in vain. It will always feel wrong. It will always feel like something is missing. Because none of those men are Sukuna. No one can be like him. There is only one Sukuna. Everyone else will always just be second best.

Sukuna isn't even trying to get over you. Not anymore.

On the first night after your breakup, he was a mess and stormed off to some bar, desperate for a distraction. Anything that would keep him from getting overwhelmed by his feelings.

He had some drinks and flirted with a random girl. Even took her home, thinking that sex would help him feel better. But the moment she tried to unbutton his shirt, Sukuna grabbed her wrists and stopped her.

It felt wrong. He felt wrong. As if he was cheating on you. He told the girl to leave and watched with his arms crossed as she angrily slammed his door shut before Sukuna sank down on his couch and buried his face in his hands.

He knew right then and there that it was no use to go out and try to have hookups. It wouldn't work, and it sure as hell would only make him feel worse.

In the following weeks, Sukuna worked longer and spent more time at the gym, always trying to stay busy because as soon as he got home to his deadly silent apartment, he was drowning in thoughts about you. Drowning in all those happy memories the two of you had made over the years.

You were Sukuna's love, his heart, his everything. He hadn't known or understood love until he met you. So how is he supposed to ever get over you and move on? It's impossible. You are still his everything, and you will always be.

And so it's clear as day to Sukuna that he won't even try to move on. He knows he will always be yours, whether you are together or not. He was only able to give his heart away once. And even if you don't want it anymore, it still belongs to you.

+++

Sukuna spends two days every week with his daughter, happy to see his little girl but sad because he misses the time when all three of you did things together. And when she looks at him with your eyes and asks him, "Daddy, why don't you just come home again?" Sukuna feels his heart shatter into a million pieces.

Sukuna doesn't know what to tell her. He, too, can't understand why the two of you decided to break up. It was stupid. Nothing big caused it. Just small things that added up, and looking back they seem insignificant.

"I don't know, princess. Maybe Daddy should really go home and talk to Mommy."

He decides at that moment that he will get roses and come up to your door this evening.

+++

Sukuna's chest feels painfully tight when you open the door, and he sees your face again after all those weeks, hitting him with just how much he missed you.

He hands you the roses, a beautiful huge bouquet that cost a little fortune, his eyes gazing deeply into yours,

"Please take those flowers. They come without any obligation to take me back or even talk to me. But I want to give them to you because you are still the mother of my child. And... and you will always be my woman, just like I will always be your man, even if we aren't together."

He fears he sounds like a creep, that he overstepped a boundary, and that he made you uncomfortable. But he has had lots of time to think during the last few weeks, and he promised himself that he would be more open about his feelings if he ever gets a chance to talk to you again.

You stare at Sukuna for a moment that feels like hours to him. But then he sees the tears gathering in your eyes and sees the way your hand that's holding the flowers is trembling. You breathe a soft "Kuna..." and Sukuna knows. He knows that you are still his, just like he is still yours.

He pulls you into his arms a split second later, crushing the beautiful roses between your bodies as he hugs you tightly. And you melt so perfectly against him as if you are made for him. Your face is pressed against his broad chest, and you snuggle against him, every centimeter of you touching him. You cling to him so tightly that it's almost painful, but it's the first time since your breakup that Sukuna feels like he can breathe again.

"I am sorry. I am so sorry for everything."

You both speak the words at the same time, eyes locked, small relieved smiles playing around your mouths.

You tell Sukuna to stay for dinner, and he agrees. He takes over the kitchen again, his kitchen, and prepares a dinner that he knows his two girls always loved. He sits at your table again, jokes around with his little daughter, and basks in the way you look at him with your eyes full of happiness.

Sukuna doesn't just stay for dinner but stays the whole night.

He kisses you after the two of you bring your daughter to bed. Pushes you gently against the wall and claims your lips again, though deep down, he knows that those lips always belonged to him, even when you were apart.

He grins when you laugh when he picks you up and carries you princess-style to the bedroom. Your lips are on his again, kissing him as if you can't get enough of him, making it hard to walk, but Sukuna would find his way to your bedroom even blind.

He locks the door behind you, turning around only to find your hands on his chest, unbuttoning his shirt while your lips find his again in another passionate but tender kiss that makes Sukuna moan softly into your mouth.

He makes slow love to you in the bed you bought together all those years ago, showing you what it feels like to be loved and desired and cherished endlessly. And you wrap your arms and legs around him and meet each of his slow thrusts while you moan his name softly, and tears run down your cheeks, showing Sukuna the same love he is showing you.

Sukuna doesn't leave again after that night.

The two of you talk things out, and only a week later, Sukuna finally puts a ring on your finger and tells your little daughter that she needs to pick a pretty dress because she will be a flower girl at the wedding.

And only a month later, you place a positive pregnancy test on Sukuna's pillow, making both of you burst out laughing when you realize that you and Sukuna must have made another baby that first night when he came back and brought you the roses.

Thank you so much for the ask! It made me feel so many things, so I had to get these feelings out and write this little story 😭 I hope you enjoyed it and that it made you emotional, too. How could there ever be anyone else after Sukuna? It's really not possible 😭

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

[suni-writings]

Stop hating me.

jude bellingham x fem!reader

wc: 2.1k

+18!! mdni

(content warning: smut, fingering, unprotected sex [have safe sex pls])

ps: it's been a while since i wrote smut pls be nice about it

“Bellingham, we shouldn’t-”

“Save your regret for later, princess,” he cut her off, quickly finding her lips into a sloppy kiss.

Pinned against the wall, with his muscular body pressed against hers, she knew salvation wouldn’t come. There was no god, no force of the nature that could stop what was bound to happen. That could stop them.

“We both are going to regret this,” she mumbled between the kiss, her voice hoarse and low, panting. Why was she even trying to deny it?

“Jesus, princess. Can you shut your fucking mouth for a second?” He asked with a small smirk, his breath sparse. “So feisty. Always wanting to have the last word, always wanting to control everything…”

As the taunting words left Jude’s mouth, his right hand started moving slowly. From her neck to her collarbones, to the valley of her breasts, to her lower belly, applying just enough pressure to hear her pant once again. To hear her losing control, losing her morals and everything she had ever believed happened between them.

“Let it go,” he whispered in her ear, his plump lips brushing against her ear and gently biting her earlobe. “Let it go, doll. Let me take care of you.”

Everything was a mess. This wasn’t the moment nor the place for this to happen. She wasn’t even supposed to do as much as look at him. But something about his unbuttoned social shirt and his now wrinkled suit, the intoxicating smell of his expensive cologne and that goddamn smirk of his made her brain stop working, being guided by something so primal that she had yet to understand.

“It’s- a fucking club bathroom. Anyone could come in-”

Jude just groaned, annoyed and frustrated. He knew he had chosen the only woman who wouldn’t want to take him tonight – but he also knew that was merely a façade. If she thought he didn’t notice her lingering stares, the way she’d hold her breath next to him whenever she was slightly caught by surprise and the desire in her eyes, she was so wrong.

“Let them fucking come. They’ll see me and leave in the same instant. I don’t fucking care if there’ll be headlines about my behavior tomorrow.” He said, staring into her eyes, his tone firm. “Let me take care of you. Know you need it. See right through you, princess.”

She opened her mouth to come with a smart retort, but he was quicker. Jude’s hands went to the back of her thighs, suddenly pulling her and lifting her of the ground with ease. Guiding her to the sink countertop and gently placing her there – perhaps the only gentle act he had and would have throughout the night.

“The more you talk, the more I’ll want to shut you up,” he warned her with a husky tone, his finger under her chin to make sure she was looking at him. “And that’ll just make me tease you more and not give you what you want.”

She gulped and gave him a small nod. She’d never say it out loud, she’d never give him the pleasure of agreeing with him. So difficult, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, he was more than pleased with the challenge of making her scream his name to prove otherwise.

“Good,” he said, his thumb tracing her bottom lip as she looked at him. Uncertainty, desire and frustration placed behind her eyelids. He could see all of that. “You’re so pretty. So desirable,” he whispered, his mouth so close to hers that she could feel his breath. “Wouldn’t want you spending the night with anyone else. It’d fucking kill me, princess.”

She barely remembered how they ended up in that bathroom. How they went from barely looking at each other to this closeness in the span of a few hours. She knew she had drunk as much as him – they wouldn’t be there otherwise. Not when they’ve always claimed to hate each other. If they were in their right minds, they wouldn’t even be in the same room.

She remembered having a man hitting on her as she drank. He was attractive, for sure, but nothing that would make her give him any attention. She remembered smoking her strawberry mango vape when Jude abruptly took it out of her hand when he wasn’t even that close a few moments before. His tight grip on her wrist, not enough to hurt her, but enough to keep it there, guiding her away from the man, was something she couldn’t forget.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She asked him with annoyance as he guided them to a more secluded spot. God, she hated admitting it, but he looked so good in formal clothes.

“Taking you away from that fucking douchebag that was eating you with his eyes,” he retorted, the anger clear in his tone as he gave her back her vape. She quickly put it in her purse. “You have to stop smoking that crap, as well.”

“I’m sorry, but since when did you feel entitle to control my life in any way whatsoever?” She asked with a sarcastic smile, annoyed at his attitude.

“If you think, for a second, I’d let you leave the club with that guy, with someone that’s not even close to your level-” he stopped once he realized what had said. He licked his lips and sighed, his hands resting on his waist as she looked at him with confusion.

“Who would be close to my level, then?” She asked with crossed arms, tilting her head.

Jude just gave her a small, cocky grin that he always carried with him. Thank God for his drinks, because only then he’d have the courage to retort her so easily.

“Who do you think, princess?”

After that, it was all blurry. A mix of tongues against each other, the taste of his strong drinks, his cologne, his hands pulling her closer. The anger, the frustration, the desire – until stumbling upon the bathroom because they had no other choice when lust controlled them so easily.

The feeling of the cold tiles of the countertop and Bellingham’s confession brought her back to the moment, looking into his eyes.

“I wasn’t going to leave the club with him,” she said, her eyes falling to his mouth. So, so close that she could reminisce the taste of it. “I wasn’t going to leave the club with anyone.”

Jude seemed rather pleased by her reply, his body finding a way to be even closer to hers. Despite always trying to say they hated each other; it was always the same – like magnets being drawn. All they had been doing, this whole time, was prolongating the inevitable. He was fucking tired of it.

“Good,” he whispered, his hand slowly travelling to the insides of her thighs, dangerously close to her warmth. She held back a whimper and he grinned at the sight. It was almost as if she was already coming undone from a single movement. “Wouldn’t want anyone but me to have the privilege.”

She looked up at Jude, suddenly realizing how big he was, how easily he was towering her and she could barely see past his long shoulders. With a sudden movement, her arms were now resting on his shoulders, caressing them.

“Need you to say it’s mine, darling. Would you do that for me, hm?” He whispered in her ear, expecting a tantrum, some remark to show how bratty she was. But his fingers were too close to her core for her to even come up with something that smart.

“That what is yours?,” was the best she could come up with, acting innocent despite the way her voice cracked.

Jude, in response, only looked deeply into her eyes as he pressed two fingers to her covered warmth, feeling the damp that was formed.

“That this is mine.” He spoke lowly, pressing his fingers even harder, earning a gasp from her as her eyelids shut, as if she was still trying to hold herself back. To gather some self-control.

“It’s yours,” she whispered. Jude thought about demanding her to speak louder, but it was already so much than he ever expected her to say.

His middle finger tossed her underclothing to the side, his index finger already moving over to her clits with enough pressure, in slow, circle motions.

“Already so wet, princess. All that denial and for what?” Bellingham chuckled lowly, almost as if as taunting her, as if his own underwear wasn’t feeling extremely tight. “Tell me what you want.”

She sighed. She had been holding back for so long that she decided that it wasn’t time to play around anymore.

“Want you to fuck me,” she said, looking into his deep brown eyes in a silent plea.

And how could he ever deny her anything when she was looking at him like that?

He inserted two digits into her core, moving them around her walls, trying to know which spot pleasured her the most just from the way she had to shut her eyelids strongly. She felt so warm and looked so desperate that the bulge in his pants became even more apparent, if that was possible.

“I wish I could just slam myself into you right now,” he whispered in her ear as his fingers began to distance from each other inside her, scissoring her slowly as she gasped. “But I need to get you prepped. Don’t want to hurt you that much.”

When Jude said, her eyes fell to the prominent bulge, realizing how big he actually was and whimpering just from imagining. He chuckled against her ear as she clenched around his fingers, knowing exactly what went on inside her head.

After realizing she was almost about to cum on his fingers, Jude took them off her and she whimpered again at the sudden emptiness. He sucked his fingers as the other hand undid his belt in a single, quick motion. She rushed to help to unbutton his pants, and even more eagerly to help him take his underwear off just enough so his cock would jump out.

As it sprung out, she watched it in all its rigidness. It was bigger than she expected, and his tip was already leaking with precum. It hit her, then, that Jude was just as vulnerable and desperate as she was.

Her hand quickly grabbed his cock, moving slowly and spreading his precum around it so her movements came with more ease. To his own surprise, he moaned, not being able to hold back anymore.

Jude gripped around her wrist, taking her hand away from his member and lining his hips with her entrance. His tip teased her once, twice, threatening to finally go inside her. Eager and impatient, she moved her hips, so he was finally inside her.

He moved slowly as she felt like she was burning from inside out, having a hard time adjusting to his size. As he finally bottomed inside her, Jude gave her some time to get used to it. When she gave him a small nod, that’s when he started moving.

“Shit,” he mumbled in her ear, trying his best to not go too hard. She clenched around him, whimpering and moaning, not bothering anymore to hide a single sound. It was driving him insane. “You feel so, so good.”

“Jude,” she called him out, her eyes closed. He thought it was the prettiest sight he had ever seen – her hair all messy, her dress wrinkled, panting and desperate. If he wasn’t in the same state, he would be taunting her. Usually, that was how he was. But, for some reason, it was different with her. He needed to be inside her.

He didn’t even realize when exactly his thrusts became harder and erratically. He only knew that because she was moaning his name more often, louder.

When he accidentally hit her sweet spot, she saw stars behind her eyes, arching her back and rolling her eyes. God, if she had more of this, she would drool. She couldn’t think – not at all, not when he was slamming into her walls like that.

“Jude, I’m-” she clenched tightly around him, and he moaned.

“I know, baby,” he was panting as well. He needed to make her cum, and perhaps, more desperately, to cum. He didn’t know for how long he could handle it. “Cum for me, princess. You’ve been such a good girl, taking my cock so well. Cum.”

It felt more like he was ordering than praising, but, as soon as she came, he spilled inside her walls.

“Fuck,” Jude said, trying his best to grab for air as his head fell to her shoulders. She caressed him softly. Even though they were both a mess and could barely breathe, he chuckled from her act. Smirking, he looked at her and said: “Was that all I needed to do for you to stop hating me?”

[simonsrileyhusband]

requested on dm, nsfw:

you fidget with the case of your phone as you wait for simon to arrive, you politely nod and smile to your coworker who wouldnt leave you alone, his mouth never shutting and his unwanted flirting still going, even when you have told him multiple times that you have a boyfriend. (one that could break every bone of his body if he wanted to)

"so, where is that boyfriend of yours?"

"on his way..."

"maybe he left you sweetheart, i could take you home if you like~"

you take a step to the side, trying to be as far from him as you could. a smile forming into your face when you hear the loud engine of simons bike parking infront of you.

"sorry lovie, traffic got bad."

you dont say anything, just rush into his arms that wrap around you immediately, he is scanning the situation, his eyes landing on that guy you keep bickering about, his blood boils and he sees him stare at you, if he could he would punch him in the face until he can't smile amymore... but he likes visiting you at work, so he has to think of something else.

"lets go home~"

simon helps you put on your helmet and makes sure your arms are wrapped properly around his torso.

the ride home is nice and quiet, and once you arrive he holds your hand all the way to the apartment. once he closes the door he will take off your jacket, put down your backpack, make you lay on the bed, take off your shoes. his body on top of yours, leaving sweet kisses on your face as his hands rub your waist.

"why so lovey-dovey simon?"

"wanna make you feel good... let me, please"

you nod and kiss his cheek, his bulky hands unbuttoning your shirt, taking it off gently.

"you are mine, you know that, right?"

"yes simon, is everything all right?"

he growls into your neck, kissin and bitting on it.

"mine, mine, mine..." he will whisper as he leaves red marks all over your neck and chest, his hands cupping and gripping all over your body.

"ill make sure he doesnt bother my baby anymore" down went your pants and underweare, simon made sure to make you feel good... really good, he didn't stopped until you were a mess under him.

the next day, when he dropped you off at work, he took off his helmet, grabbed you by the waist and kissed you infront of your (shitty) coworker, your pretty cheeks red, and a little hickey picking over your button up, a proud smirk grows on simons face when you wave at him as you enter the building.

his loving stare and smile drop to a killer gaze, staring at that excuse of a man until he runs into the building.

[bi-writes]

Okay but MOB sitting on Simon's lap, cuddling as they watch some movie Simon picked out because it was his turn. At one point she gets up and he thinks she's just going to use the restroom, hands on her hips to help stabilize her. Only instead of leaving, she turns around and sits on her knees between his legs. She bats her eyes at him but otherwise just soaking in how pretty he is. He probably makes a joke, says he loves her and when he still doesn't move figures she just wants a moment and continues to watch the screen.

When she finally works herself up to it, she starts sliding her hands up and down his thighs and just the sensation and imagery alone has him hard and he can't bring himself to ask her to stop when it feels so nice. Eventually her hands wander up further and she begins to play with the button of his jeans. Still not stopping her, even as she unbuttons and zips them down to pull out his erection. When he finally looks down, she stops and stares innocently up at him.

As soon as his attention's somewhat back up on the screen, she repositions herself and licks a stripe up his dick to bring his head into her mouth to swirl around. He doesn't even last that long and she doesn't let him pull her off when he comes.

Or something like that...

mail-order bride (18+)

simon likes action movies. they're his favorite, by far. he likes to watch the over-the-top car races in the middle of metropolitan cities, he likes big, stupid explosions and when the protagonist has their enemy at the end of their gun and says something cheesy like "you're not going anywhere now."

he told you once that he likes the simplicity. the happy endings. the key recovered, a family saved, the epic conclusion of an explosive journey that always ends in the bad guy in handcuffs and the good guy on a beach sipping a mai tai, getting the girl, saving the world.

you think maybe he likes it because it dampens reality. you have seen the aftermath of an op gone wrong; in this way, simon can fantasize just a little. he can pretend that there is nothing wrong with the world for 90 minutes or so.

what's so wrong with that?

he's so pretty.

he ran errands for you today. came back from the store with a paper bag in his hands, setting it down on the counter and unpacking it. you were sat at the kitchen counter, the orange cat wrapped up completely in a burrito of a towel so you could cut her dagger-like claws without risk of retaliation. simon was watching carefully out of the corner of his eye, but as he unpacked the bag, you had all but melted in your chair.

a refill of your favorite makeup remover (you were going to run out tonight, guaranteed). vitamins (ya look right sick, baby, drink y'r juice). your favorite brand of pads (just tell me which ones, i'll get it right, promise). sour sweets (cherry-flavored, of course, sour because he likes the face you make when you pop them into your mouth). when the last box hit the counter, you had dropped the cat, much to her relief.

condoms. fucking condoms.

no, he's not pretty. simon is so fucking hot.

he doesn't budge when you get up to put the empty popcorn bowl into the sink. when you come back in the room, simon is still staring at the television, eyes trained on the spy on screen hopping between rooftops as they dodge bullets. you bite your lip watching him, unable to stop thinking about simon, simon, simon.

he's wearing nice jeans. straight jeans, but even the extra give doesn't matter when your husband is made of pure muscle and fat. you can see his stomach through his shirt since it's tucked in, white fabric showing off that nice pudge that you love laying your head on, your palm, knowing how solid and strong he most certainly is. nghghhhh, and his arms--big, bulging, tattooed, a perfect canvas for colorful markers or glitter or maybe your tongue.

it's subconscious, really. the carpet is soft under your knees as you kneel at his feet, lowering yourself so you can blink up at him big and wide as he keeps his eyes on the movie. he does notice you, however; his big hand slides down his thigh, and your eyes flutter a little when he passes it over your head then down your face, a pretty little pet between his legs.

"not supposed to be on y'r knees f'me, baby," simon mutters, but you can't answer because his thumb slips into your mouth. you wrap your lips around it absentmindedly, running your tongue over the thick pad of it. "tha's my job."

you sit up on your knees, leaning over him, and he gives you his attention finally, a twitch of a smile as he bends his neck a little and kisses you warmly. you steady yourself by putting your hands on his thighs, gripping the meat of them firm as you slip your tongue into his mouth and draw a low grunt from deep within his chest.

"always working for me, simon," you whisper between kisses. "always..."

fuck, the blood rushes to his cock almost immediately. he has such a soft spot for you. taking care of you, doing things for you, buying you what you need--it makes him so fucking hard thinking about fulfilling every need of yours. you deserve nothing but nice dreams, good meals, happy cats, a well-loved pussy, all the love his broken heart can give. he chubs up in his pants every time you ask him for something.

can you carry this for me, simon?

oh, i need some help with this, baby, just here...

can you get me more of this? i'm about to run out.

the zipper is stuck, simon...can you get me out of this?

ugh, you're his walking wet dream. and you're kneeling in between his legs, his sweet girl pouting up at him, and--oh, fuck--

your hands are soft under his shirt. you've untucked it just enough, your warm fingers sliding along the band of his jeans. he hisses a little, his body stiffening, and you smooth a thumb over his belt before kissing him again.

"you're so pretty, simon," you whisper, and he licks over your bottom lip in response, drawing a soft whine out of you. his thighs widen just a little when he hears the clink of his belt, feeling the waistband loosen as you draw it out from the loops and toss it onto the carpet behind you. "such a handsome man you are..."

"come off it," simon growls a little, and you giggle, freeing the button and slipping your hand down. his mouth falls open in a silent moan as you cup him with a hot hand, fingers sliding under his length to fondle his balls.

"mmm..." you follow his sputtering mouth, breathing him in. "actually, simon...i really, really wanna get on it..."

"wot a brat," simon murmurs, clicking his tongue. "can't be fuckin' patient--ahh!"

you pull him out of his jeans with a firm tug before sticking your tongue out and kneeling back down to lick a curious stripe up the underside of him. simon is pulsing, radiating heat and already leaking beads of stringy pre-cum, and as you suck the tip of him into your mouth, you realize just how thick your husband really is.

you've never seen him quite this naked, quite this up close. when he fucked your thighs, he had felt big, but his cock is truly making a space for itself in your mouth--

"ah!" you gasp as he fists your hair and pulls you off, leaning down to kiss you hard.

"baby--"

"i want it--" you whimper, using your hands, letting the spit from your mouth drip down his cock as your fingers spread it wide, pumping him softly. "simon, please! please! you always say...always say i can have whatever i want, please..."

when he lets your hair go, you dive. you suck him into your mouth, practically purring as you press him back into the couch and suck. he tastes like a man should, like a husband should, musk and a little sweat and just enough soap to have you a little light-headed. with the first bob of your head, simon shudders, a big hand cupping the back of your neck as he drops his chin to his chest to watch you. he uses his other hand to push your hair back, his mouth falling open a little as he watches your eyes roll back in your head as you try to fit more of him into your mouth.

your mouth squelches with every bob. spit gathers around the edges of your mouth, little globs dripping out as you slurp and flick your tongue over every vein and soft patch of skin. you're making a mess of him, all soft mouth and wiggly tongue and gentle moans that make him seize up.

it's not even a minute of your soft sucking, and simon is caught off guard by his own release. he wants to apologize, but you look so fucking pretty, coughing a little around his wet cock.

you don't stop then either.

some of it drips down around your hands, his own cum webbing between your fingers and getting onto the front of your shirt and staining his jeans, but you keep your mouth on him. you nuzzle the head of his cock against the inside of your cheek, pull off just enough to suck so softly on the tip of him.

"baby, fuck--" simon chokes, watching you through lidded, hazy eyes. "please, fuck--"

"i want it," you whisper, smoothing a wet hand down his length. he's getting hard all over again, and he nearly cums a second time when you let your eyes find his and pepper kisses from the tip of him all the way to the base. "don't i get w-whatever i want, simon? c-can't i...can't i have more?"

simon chuckles a little. he uses his thumb to swipe a glob of cum off your chin, bringing it up to his own mouth to suck off with a snort.

"you want more, baby?" simon asks, and you sit back up on your knees, pressing your forehead to his as he eyes your lips. they're a tad swollen, kiss-bitten and wet. "wot more do ya want, hmm? wot is it my wife wants so much, huh?"

you smile, wide, those big eyes sparkling. you give him another slow stroke with your hand, and he hisses, gritting his teeth as he watches your smile get just that much bigger.

"i want you to stop playing games with me, simon," you say softly. "you'll never win. so just give me what i deserve."

"wot you deserve?"

"don't i deserve you, simon?" you ask, and when he fails to answer, you swipe your thumb over his cock, drawing a cracked groan out of him. "you won't make me beg, will you, simon?"

"no," simon pants, leaning further into you, pressing his face to yours. "never. my wife doesn't beg for anythin'."

"you promise, simon?"

"my wife gets woteva she fuckin' asks for. olways."

[hon3y-y]

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !! maybe satoru got a little ahead of himself when he told you to throw away all of your vibrators…

cw : smut (surprised?), sex toys(again, is anyone surprised?), sub-ish!reader, dom-ish!satoru he’s more cheeky than anything, overstim & edging, etc etc…

*not edited*

when satoru was young and immature two weeks ago, he hated vibrators. maybe it was jealousy but when he found your little collection, he became a pouty mess. am i not good enough? do those make you feel better than i do? he even went as far as giving you the silent treatment, stating it was a ‘betrayal’.

you just rolled your eyes, taking his overreaction as immaturity and allowing him to throw his tantrum by himself. it didn’t last long, coming to its end one late saturday night where he climbed into the bed with a cheeky smile on his face.

“show me..” he mumbled, pressing kisses into the soft skin of your neck. his eyes were wide, pleading almost, lip tucked behind his teeth, his hands caressing your exposed skin and slowly unbuttoning the sleep shirt you wore.

“oh but i thought you wanted me to ‘throw all of them out’?” your words made him scoff.

“that wasn’t exactly what i said—“

“toru, i saw the tears in your eyes—“ before you could continue, his lips were on yours. it was rough, trying to shut you up which only made you smile. “you done being a big baby?”

satoru nods before moving to pull off your sleep shorts, “c’mon, i just wanna see”

so of course, that’s what got you into this predicament. you laying down with your head on the pillow while satoru lays on his stomach between your thighs, eyes glistening with mischief as he stares at your panty clad mound. Throughout the past couple of days, toru has made you use a couple toys to help get off, realizing extremely fast how it was becoming his new favorite hobby.

he took in how quick you were to cum, thighs clenching around the toy while you creamed, sticky substance leaving strings on your panties when he became impatient and pulled them off. it was almost addicting. you became so sensitive, eyes welling up when he began to fuck your swollen pussy, “s’too much!”

he just pounded into you harder, mockingly cooing at you. “oh, it’s too much? fine, i’ll stop.” satoru would pull out mid thrust, teasingly rubbing his fat tip against your clenching hole. he would do it until your legs wrapped around his waist to try and push him in, he smiled at the annoyance that came over you, still feisty even when being fucked dumb. “you’re so greedy—can’t ever make up your mind” shaking his head, toru would shove it back in while rubbing your clit making you squeal, an unusual reaction that he was growing accustomed to.

Those toys became his best friends and it was only a matter of time before he wanted to be in control of them. satoru personally loved your wand vibrator, pulling an orgasm out of you quick while also being used in so many different methods and positions. so it wasn’t a shocker that it was that one he picked.

you were comfortable, something he had been checking the whole time. He felt giddy, dick hard just from thinking about it. He made sure to start off slow and ease you into it, putting it on a low setting before teasingly dragging it up and down the crease of your panties, biting his lips after hearing your breath hitch whenever the tiny vibrations passed your aching clit.

“how does that feel, pretty girl?” he kissed your thigh softly, turning up the vibration to hear the gasp as you opened your mouth to speak.

“g-good!”

your words got choked up in your throat, hips bucking as he pushed it down on your bud. meanwhile, satoru watched in fascination as the damp spot on your panties grew bigger and bigger, mouth watering as he gently pressed his nose against it before his tongue lolled out to take a swipe. “satoru!” you gasped, hands moving to tug on his hair and pull it back, a heat climbing up your body in embarrassment.

he smiled sheepishly, turning up the vibrations another level which quickly made your hands loosen as your jaw fell open to let out a moan. “now's not the time to scold, dear~”

he pulls away, shutting off the vibrator while sitting on his knees. you felt a little light headed, eyebrows furrowing, “you're done?”

he shook his head, instead, pulling your panties down and flinging them across the room, fingers moving to play in your wetness before slowly dragging his soaked appendage to your clit to swirl around, “just lay back and relax your pretty little head. i know what i’m doing.”

he picked the vibrator back up, once again on its lowest setting and began using it to dip into your messy hole and spread the juices to the rest of your pussy. he felt like he was painting a pretty picture, eyes zeroing into his muse while his other hand wrapped around your thick thigh to pull it open.

he did this for a while, secretly watching and enjoying the way you were growing frustrated, pussy clamping around nothing as a frown overtook your lips. “toru—enough!”

he smiled, biting back a laugh at the whining. “fine..” you huffed, leaning back on the pillow.

you heard it before you felt it, the vibrations sounding stronger. you sat up, confused before the feeling of pure euphoria washed over you, causing your jaw to loosen and your eyes to cross and roll back. you felt like you couldn’t breathe, the stimulation almost too much, your hands moving to push it away, “too much! please—i can’t!”

but satoru just clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment, “first it’s not enough, now it’s too much… this stupid thing can’t satisfy you, huh?” he pushes your hands away, positioning himself between your legs in a way that made it hard to shut them. “what do you think baby?”

finishing his sentence he began to move it up and down, the feeling making your stomach lurch and shedding some of the tears that gathered in your eyes. it felt too good, borderline brutal against your sensitive pussy.

you couldn’t even acknowledge his question, whimpers and pants filled the room along with mindless babbles of his name. “i’m—s’close! oh fuck—satoru! d-dont sto—p”

your hands claw at the sheets as you begin to tremble, your vision going blurry and the pressure in your stomach is released in pleasurable waves. you didn’t realize you had passed out until you feel a light tapping on your cheek causing your eyes to open slowly. At first, you’re too disoriented to focus. your vision is splotchy and your ears have a small ringing in them.

it takes a couple of seconds for you to register where you are and what just happened, finally taking in your surroundings. the first thing you see once your eyes adjust is satoru staring at you with a shocked grin. “babe..” he leaned down to kiss you, “–that was so hot” his hand reached between you two to pet at your cunt, cooing at the sharp intake of breath you had.

“let’s try again… i’ll leave it on a low setting, i promise” liar

safe to say toys became a frequent tool after that, even going as far as him ordering new ones to “try” including a cock-ring that leaves you both overstimulated, whiny, messes...

the end

a/n; two releases in one day??? who tf am i?? ik, it’s been soooo long but i didn’t have any inspiration</3 i honestly wanna right more sub!jjk characters so if anyone has any ideas they would like to present to the class PLEASEEE🙏 (especially nanami, cause i loveeee him)

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Summary: You tend to Alastor's wounds after the fight with Adam. The weight of almost losing him nearly breaks you.

☒ Warnings: gn!reader, hurt / comfort, implied established relationship, descriptions of injuries and stitching them up, mentions of anxiety, the reader cries a bit, comforting!alastor, and also soft!alastor, one kiss, non-sexual undressing, soft touches

☒ Word Count: 1,010

All you could think of the moment the battle ended was Alastor.

The last you saw of him, he was going head-to-head with Adam. But witnessing Nifty stab the lowly man made you worry something terrible happened to Alastor.

The moment you had a second to breathe, you rushed toward the Radio Demon's tower. A trail of blood leading toward his sanctuary sent a wave of fear down your spine. Your steps quickened at the sight, and all the worst-case scenarios flooded your mind. 

When you swung the door open, the view of Alastor blanketed your body with a cold sweat in the weight of a moment. He was doubled over the control panel, ears pinned flat to his head as the crackle in his voice echoed through the space with each breath he took. 

"Alastor!" You cried out, rushing over to his side in an instant. The sound of you calling his name caused his head to whip around. You wasted no time assessing his injuries, scanning your anxious gaze over his frame. 

"Worry not, my dear," Alastor coughed, blood spilling down the corner of his mouth. Your eyebrows knit in concern as you began raiding his radio tower, frantic to uncover a first aid kit. "Of course, I'm going to worry- you're bleeding all over the place!" You exclaimed, letting out a breath of relief as you found the emergency medical kit. 

Hastily, you began pushing Alastor's torn overcoat past his shoulders. The injured man simply gazed down at you, a weary smile decorating his visage. "Darling, I can handle this myself," Alastor clamored through gritted teeth, stopping your hands with his own before you could start unbuttoning his dress shirt. 

You shot your head up to meet his gaze, frustration evident on your face. "No, you can't! You need to let others help you when you need it! Stop trying to handle all these battles on your own. Please, Al," Your voice softened toward the end of your sentence. You didn't want to shout at him while he was wounded so badly, but Alastor's stubbornness got under your skin. Especially now. 

Alastor closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking in a shaky breath before releasing his grasp around your hands. "Alright, my darling... I won't stand in your way any further," His voice was barely above a whisper as he presented you with an apologetic look. You offered him a weak smile in return before undoing the buttons on his blood-soaked shirt. Peeling it off his frame with great gentleness. 

Your eyes widened in fear as you finally saw just how gnarly the gash across his torso really was. Your hands shook ever so slightly as you began threading the needle you uncovered in the first aid kit. "Tell me if it hurts too much, and we'll take a break." You expressed softly, eyes meeting his crimson ones. Alastor only nodded at you as he gritted his teeth harsher than before, bracing for impact. 

Alastor's grip on the edge of his desk tightened, leaving deep claw marks in his wake. You tried to make the stitching process as painless as possible, but there was only so much you could do. "I'm almost done, my love. You're doing so well," Alastor endured the grueling treatment, letting out a breath he wasn't even aware he was holding as you finished patching him up. 

You generously applied ointment before wrapping gauze all the way around his frame. Alastor let out a hiss as the bandage came in contact with his gash. "I know, my love... just hold on a little longer for me," You snuggly secured the gauze before bringing your hands down. You grasped his hands. Clutching his large palms comfortingly as you beamed up at him. 

"There, now you're as good as new." You quipped, massaging the pads of your thumbs into the back of his palms. Alastor grinned wearily, his crimson eyes holding much adoration for you. "Thank you, my darling... I reckon I should apologize for being so uncompromising before," A slight chuckle escaped his lips as Alastor squeezed your hands right back.

You let a laugh of your own fill the room as you leaned in closer. "Ah, don't be... I'm just glad you're okay," Before you could catch up, your head came flush against his shoulder. The adrenaline finally wore off, leaving your body shaky and weak. Alastor didn't miss a beat. He gripped your hips to stabilize you instantly. "My dear, are you alright?" His voice was laced with concern, radio static crackling out ever so slightly.  

Tears began brimming in your eyes before you could stop them, and a lump formed in your throat. One that you couldn't seem to swallow down. "Sorry, I just..." A hiccup shook your body as your hands came up to his chest, being careful not to graze his injury. "If you would have died... I couldn't bear it!" 

Alastor felt his heart ache at your sorrowful cries. Your solemn words only added fuel to the fire. One of his hands unhurriedly came up to the back of your head, cradling your neck as Alastor cooed at you. "Oh, my dear," He allowed you to sob into his shoulder for as long as you needed, only releasing his grasp around your head when he heard your cries fizzle out. 

You slowly pushed yourself back against Alastor's chest, sniffling softly as you looked up at him. Before you could process it, Alastor captured your lips with his. Pouring all of his love into the chaste kiss. Your heart fluttered as he rubbed soothing circles into your hips. Your worries seemed to melt away from his embrace. Alastor was your everything, and the fact that you nearly lost him today scared the fuck out of you. 

Alastor pulled back unhurriedly, still keeping his face close to yours. He nuzzled his nose against your own before he whispered, "I'm not going anywhere, my darling. You're stuck with me for all of eternity. I expect you haven't forgotten that already!"

[sinsofsummers]

keep quiet

1.3k words | logan x fem!reader

summary: logan can smell how much you need him as soon as you enter the room. what kind of man would he be to let you go unsatisfied? warnings: all smut. literally nothing else. dom!logan, he's kind of mean, hint of a humiliation kink, hair pulling (m receiving, logan asks for it), the cat ears get a lot of love, oral (f receiving), fingering, pure filth. if i miss anything pls let me know. note: andddd i was trying to write a full length fic. i ended up here instead. it's so rushed i apologize. pls logan let me give u a full litter.

He can smell it on you as soon as you walk into the room, and you can see the switch in his body language almost immediately. His shoulders tense, and his hands twitch into loose fists. His jaw ticks. 

You’re meeting Logan at a party. He’s been there for a bit already, but you came late. You can’t even remember what the party is, what it’s for, or who’s there. You can only see him. The way he’s got his thighs spread, one foot propped up on the coffee table in front of him, leaving a wide — and perfect — spot for you on his lap. Just like always, Logan’s dripping in sex appeal.

You’ve already been having…a day. All you want and need is his touch, his tongue, his everything. But here you are, trying to keep it a quiet afterthought as you stare at his lap, wishing you could put your lips over his cock and let it grow in the warmth of your mouth.

“Hey,” you say breathily, the syllable hardly leaving your mouth before Logan’s on his feet.

You can’t even register who else is in the room; his broad chest already blocks your vision and he drags you down a hallway, into the laundry room not far from the earshot of the living room.

You’re pretty sure the other party guests share an awkward chuckle at what they think is about to occur, but you can’t tell. Logan’s cologne is all over you, and you think you might slip your own hand into your panties if he doesn’t give you what you want right now.

“Here,” he snarls, “gimme these.” He’s got you shoved up against the washer, the perfect height to sit atop the cool metal.

He grabs your wrists roughly and shoves them into his hair. His teeth are gritted menacingly, but you’re practically keening at the sight of it. You know what’s about to follow. He can be cruel when he’s like this, but you know you’re about to get what you want.

“Now,” he hisses, leaning close to your face. “You’re gonna keep quiet. You’ve already made it obvious enough how fuckin’ desperate you are.”

You whine softly, and his eyes darken. “I wasn’t even here for more than—”

“No, no, no,” he growls. “None of that.” He lets go of one of your wrists, reaching up to squeeze your cheeks together in one hand, hard enough to make the heat rise in your face. 

He likes to see you like this — humiliated.

“You’re gonna keep quiet,” he repeats. “Anytime you wanna make a noise, you’re gonna pull.” 

He uses the hand still locked onto your wrist as a demonstration. His eyes are hard, and his mouth is still pulled back in that scowl that makes your core weep. 

“Pull hard, pup. You know I can take it.”

You try to squeeze your thighs together at the nickname, but he’s standing between your opened legs. It’s so animalistic, so filthy. You never last long when he’s like this.

But all you can see in front of you is Logan, his cruel face just a centimeter from yours.

You lean closer, wanting a kiss, but he denies you as he moves his hands to your hips, digging roughly under the hem of your shirt to unbutton your pants and yank them to your ankles. He lifts your legs so he can slip closer to your core, your legs resting atop his strong shoulders. 

Any other day, he might have teased you, might have drawn out your orgasm until you were a whimpering mess beneath him. But this Logan isn’t playing around. He doesn’t have time for this, as he’s made clear enough. 

Only in moments like this does he make your desire feel like an inconvenience, like he’s mad at you for being so desperate for his touch. Such a dumb little pup, huh? 

But as soon as he sinks his nose into your pussy and inhales the scent of your desire straight from the source, you know he needs this just as badly. That his every thought is plagued with the reminder that your pussy ruins every pair of panties you own because of him.

His tongue goes to work quickly; he’s brutal in his ministrations, and you tighten your grip in his hair. 

Bless these fucking cowlicks, you think. Or you might have, had you any mind to form coherent thoughts. 

“Insatiable,” he takes a breath and rolls his eyes as he looks up at you, but the sight of your wetness on his beard and nose takes away the exasperation. You can see how his pupils are blown wide.

You open your mouth to let out a moan, but he grunts. “No,” he demands. “Pull.”

So you do. Hard. Your hands card through the rest of his head of thick hair as he dives back to your clit, swirling tight circles around the sensitive bud, practically drinking your arousal right out of you. 

Your abdomen tightens, and you know he’s going for speed over anything at this point. He wants to get you off, and do it fast. You claw at his head, and relish in the deep groans that vibrate through your slick folds like an electric shock. 

“Logan,” you whisper, “I’m—”

“Yeah, yeah. I fuckin’ know, you dumb slut.”

Your eyes widen and you see white at the edges of your vision, your mouth hanging open as you catch some of his shoulder under your nails, dragging your hands across his skin. 

If anything, it spurs him on more. Two of his fingers play at your entrance, and — the mean fucker — he shoves them into your pussy without caring to stretch you out like he normally does. 

But it doesn’t matter. He knows you can take it. The stretch is something you chase, something you cherish every time. You reward him with a particularly strong yank on his hair, afraid you might pull it out of his skull.

He starts to let out a groan so loud it might come off as a roar, but then he catches himself and pistons his fingers in and out of you, his dark eyes lifting to hold onto you as he shoves you over the edge and into a leg-shaking orgasm.

Your hands twist in his hair and you just barely hear the high-pitched whine that falls from his lips. It’s almost feline coming from him.

Logan sits still for a second, his eyes still on you as he laps at your pussy softly, an amused smirk on his face when you shiver at the overstimulation. 

Finally he stands, feeding his fingers to you, nodding as he watches you lick your ecstasy off his digits.

You catch your breath, still feeling wobbly. Your eyes catch on the bulge in his jeans, and you reach a tired hand for his belt.

He chuckles, and it’s almost like he’s mocking you. “Oh, you wanna help me out, sweet pea?”

“Yes, please.” You hope you sound coherent, like you’re apologizing for not being able to make him feel good yet, but you can’t even keep your eyes on him. The treat in his jeans is too tempting. Your tongue absentmindedly darts out to wet your lips.

Logan lifts your chin roughly with one hand, forcing you to look at him. His hair is wild, and you bite your lip at the sight of how disheveled you’ve made him. 

His beard still shines with your release as he shakes his head. “Should have thought of that before you showed up like you did. Can’t control yourself, even in public.” He pulls you to your feet and helps you pull your pants back on. His roughness starts to subside, and left behind is the gentle giant that you recognize.

“You’re gonna wait til we get home,” he says with a gentle kiss to your forehead. But you don’t ignore the tension in his promise that follows: “Then you’re repaying me, bub.”

-

ANYWAYS! i'm crying like a bitch in heat for this man feel free to send me any and all thoughts u have on logan pls

see u for the next one! i hope u enjoyed :)

[3mmalg]

Just Us | Old Man!Logan x Reader

🌶️ 18+

Summary: You and Logan have been on the road with Charles and Laura, but finally catch a moment for yourselves.

It has been too long since you and Logan have spent time alone together. Ever since taking in Laura and making the decision to take her north at her mother’s wish, the four of you have been sharing dingy motels and catching whatever rest you could in the truck. Charles needed to be taken care of and the kid had to be corralled, exhausting you and Logan on top of the constant threat of Dr. Rice and Pierce.

You could tell this sudden change of pace was weighing on Logan’s shoulders heavily. The circles under his eyes were darkening and the worry lines on his forehead were deepening. The frustration was eating away at him, but deep down he knew he had to do this. You could tell he needed release. He found this situation ridiculous and constantly asks you why you let him do this. After all, you, Charles, Caliban and Logan had been successfully under the radar until now. Life was peaceful and even somewhat enjoyable for Logan’s standards. Now, Caliban is dead, Charles refuses his medication, and the pair of you are tasked with taking a child to a sanctuary that could not even exist.

An unexpected change of your path lead the four of you to the farmhouse of a sweet family whom Charles and Logan helped on the highway. They fed you dinner and offered to lend you all a place to sleep, which Logan quickly accepted, catching your gaze from across the dining room. Your eyes trail down his body, catching a glimpse of his clenched fist, and a certain outline in between his legs. Your eyes travel up once more, sharing a shy smirk with Logan.

After helping Charles into bed and getting Laura comfortable, Logan grabs your hand tightly and nearly drags you off into your shared room. His heavy footsteps drown out your giggles- His body language could only mean one thing.

“Well, aren’t you eager?” You say to Logan in a lowered voice, biting back a smile. He closes the door behind you and locks it, spinning you and pressing you into the door.

“You have no idea, bub.” Logan growls.

He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head tightly. His head dips to the crook of your neck, biting and sucking desperately. Your head drops back instinctively, bumping the door behind you. He was so impossibly close already, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to be inside you.

With his free hand, Logan finds the buttons of your jeans and masterfully undoes them. He releases your wrists and your hands quickly find his cheeks to pull his mouth away from your neck and to your lips. He groans deeply into the kiss and shoves your jeans to your knees as your hands tighten in his dusty grey hair. He pushes his knee into yours, forcing your legs open, and shoves his jean covered thigh against your core. You instantly moan into Logan’s mouth.

“You know how long it’s been since I’ve had you to myself? Too damn long.” He says, guiding your hips as you grind on his thigh.

“I’ve missed you.” You choke out, causing Logan to chuckle.

“Well you’ve got me for at least tonight sweet girl.”

He removes his knee from between your legs and helps you step out of your jeans and panties. He takes your hand and leads you to the bed, laying you down on the edge of it. You prop yourself onto your elbows and watch Logan unbutton his flannel and reveal his weathered body. He had been through so much in his life, but he would always make time for his girl.

He works off his jeans, leaving him only in his plain boxers, and leaving you with a wide eyed stare. This would never get old. He inserts himself between your legs and reaches for the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head and unclasps your bra while he’s at it. He sighs at the sight he had been missing for the last few weeks. He may not tell you often, but you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You ready, bub? Don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

You whimper out a desperate reply, but it isn’t good enough for Logan. He leans down, hands placed on either side of your head. Your legs immediately wrap around his hips.

“Use your words, honey. Let me hear you.” He growls into your ear.

“Please, Logan. I need you.”

He chuckles, breath fanning over your ear and neck.

“That’s what I like to hear. Such a good girl for me.” His voice dripping with desire.

He pushes his hands up and pushes his boxers down his hips, revealing his hard cock. He strokes it lazily before guiding it to your entrance. He enters you inch by inch, teasing you both. Even though it’s only been a few weeks without touching each other, being on the run has made it feel like years. Logan finally sinks his hips to become flush with yours, filling you completely. The two of you are panting into each other’s mouths, just completely full of desire and love for the other.

“You ready for me to move, hon?” He whispers in between labored breaths. You nod meekly, hair sticking to your forehead. He kisses you tenderly, his beard scratching your chin. Logan begins to move at a slow pace, but quickly picks up speed. He wants nothing more than a passionate night with you, but it’s been too long to hold himself back.

His speed increases, thrusting into you as hard as he promised. Your jaw goes slack to release a moan, but he covers it quickly with his large hand.

“As much as I wanna hear you, we don’t want to wake our hosts, huh?” He says, smiling at your fucked out expression. You nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he fucks you hard.

“You’re close bub, I can feel it. Just let go for me baby.” He whispers, forehead against yours.

You let out a stifled moan against Logan’s hand as he pulls out and releases all over your stomach and thighs. He flops beside you with a groan and maneuvers himself to the top of the bed, pulling you into his muscular chest and wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders.

“I missed you.” You whisper, eyes fluttering shut.

“I know.”