#why is that the first thing he feels the need to say out loud??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urdreamydoodles · 16 hours ago

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X-MEN x FEM!READER

X-Men with a S/O who is shy and has social anxiety

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney & Wade Wilson

Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

- Logan is a storm, a hurricane contained in flesh and steel, and yet—he softens for you. You, who tread lightly in a world that feels too loud, too sharp. You, who flinch at attention, who hide behind the safety of silence. He doesn’t ask you to be louder. He just makes sure no one drowns you out.

- He has seen too much, lost too much, but your quiet presence is the one thing that stills the restless beast inside him. When your hands shake, he catches them in his own—warm, steady, calloused from wars you will never have to fight. He doesn’t say much, but then again, neither do you. That’s why it works.

- If someone mocks your silence, Logan doesn’t waste words. He just looks at them, eyes dark with something primal, something ancient. “You got somethin’ you wanna say?” His voice is quiet, but the threat is thunderous. No one ever says anything after that.

- When the world is too much, when your anxiety grips you in invisible chains, he pulls you close, his heartbeat steady against your ear. “Breathe, darlin’,” he mutters, voice rough but impossibly gentle. And you do—because he is an anchor, and he is yours.

- He does not call you fragile, though others might. Fragile things break—he has seen you bend, but never shatter. And when he kisses you, slow and reverent, he tastes the quiet fire in you, the one you don’t even know you have.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

- Remy is a poet wrapped in mischief, a man whose silver tongue could charm the moon from the sky. He has danced through danger, whispered promises into the night, but he has never met anyone who made him want to whisper softer, until you.

- Your shyness is a puzzle to him, one he doesn’t try to solve but simply admires. Where others fill silence with empty words, Remy listens. And when you struggle to find your own words, he waits. Because, chérie, he has all the time in the world for you.

- If someone tries to mock your quietness, Remy just laughs—low and slow, like he knows a secret they don’t. He leans in close to them, eyes glinting red beneath the shadows. “Funny, how the ones who talk the most tend to be the least important.” That shuts them up real fast.

- He makes it his mission to draw you out, but never forcefully. He teases, flirts, turns every interaction into a game where you always win. And when you finally laugh, finally let yourself meet his gaze without hesitation, he swears he falls in love all over again.

- When your anxiety flares, when your hands shake and words tangle, he just presses a kiss to your knuckles and murmurs, “Ain’t no rush, chérie. Take all the time you need.” And for the first time, you believe that maybe, just maybe, you are worth waiting for.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

- Kurt understands the weight of being different. He has spent years learning to navigate a world that looks at him and sees something other. So when you shrink from the crowd, when your voice trembles in the presence of too many eyes, he does not judge. He understands.

- He never pushes you to be louder. Instead, he offers the comfort of his presence—always there, always patient. When you hesitate to speak, he smiles, waits, gives you all the time in the world. If words fail you, he speaks for you, in that gentle, accented voice that feels like home.

- If anyone ever mocks your quietness, his golden eyes darken. “Perhaps you should learn the virtue of silence yourself,” he says, voice as sharp as a blade. And then he vanishes in a cloud of smoke, reappearing behind them just to watch them jump.

- He finds ways to make you feel safe in a world that often feels too large. Holding your hand as you walk through crowds, teleporting you away when your anxiety becomes too much, whispering soft reassurances in German when you tremble.

- And when the night is quiet, when you curl up beside him and sigh against his chest, he holds you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Du bist perfekt, liebling,” he murmurs. Perfect, just as you are.

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

- Scott understands control—he has spent his entire life mastering it. But when he meets you, he realizes that not everything needs to be controlled. Some things—some people—are meant to be cherished exactly as they are.

- He notices the way you hesitate before speaking, the way your hands tremble when too many people look your way. And so, he makes sure no one ever forces you to be more than you are comfortable being. He does not push, does not pry. He simply stands beside you, unwavering.

- If someone dares to mock your shyness, his voice is like steel. “That’s enough.” No raised tone, no unnecessary anger—just quiet authority, a command that demands obedience. And it works. It always works.

- He is structure where you are uncertainty, certainty where you are hesitation. When your anxiety feels too heavy, he steadies you, an unshakable foundation in a world that feels like shifting sand.

- At night, when the world is still and you are curled up beside him, he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to change for anyone,” he murmurs against your skin. And you know, in the deepest part of you, that he means it.

Jean Grey (Phoenix)

- Jean is warmth, is kindness, is the gentle strength of a woman who has walked through fire and emerged unburned. She sees you—not just the way the world sees you, but truly sees you, beneath the layers of hesitation and anxiety. And she loves you all the more for it.

- She never speaks for you, but she always makes sure you are heard. When you struggle to find words, she waits. When your anxiety tells you that your voice does not matter, she reminds you—gently, lovingly—that it does.

- If someone ever mocks your quietness, Jean does not raise her voice. She does not need to. She simply tilts her head, and the offender suddenly forgets why they were speaking in the first place. Perhaps it is telepathy. Perhaps it is the sheer force of her presence. Either way, they never make the mistake again.

- When your anxiety becomes overwhelming, Jean does not try to pull you from it. Instead, she grounds you, her presence like sunlight breaking through the storm. “Breathe with me,” she whispers, and when she exhales, you do too.

- At night, when you are tangled together in sheets and soft whispers, she runs her fingers through your hair and murmurs, “You don’t have to be louder to be strong.” And you believe her, because when she speaks, the universe itself listens.

Ororo Munroe (Storm)

- Ororo Munroe is power incarnate, a goddess who commands the skies, yet she never seeks to command you. She has seen tempests rage within the human heart, has seen the way the world can be unkind to those who walk softly. And so, she offers you shelter, the kind of protection that does not smother but instead allows you to breathe.

- She does not rush your words, does not fill the silence with unnecessary noise. Instead, she listens. Listens to the soft-spoken truths you dare to utter, listens to the way your heart speaks louder than your voice ever could. And she cherishes every syllable, every pause, because they are yours.

- If someone ever dares to mock your quietness, Ororo does not raise her voice. She does not need to. The sky darkens, the wind stills, and the world itself seems to wait for her judgment. “I would advise you to tread carefully,” she says, voice like distant thunder. And they do. They always do.

- When your anxiety threatens to drown you, when the world feels too heavy, she reminds you that even the most powerful storms must rest. She takes your hand and leads you outside, where the breeze is soft and the sky open. “Breathe with the wind, my love,” she murmurs. And you do. Because with her, you are safe.

- At night, when the world is quiet and you are curled beside her, she traces her fingers along your skin, like wind dancing across water. “You are strong,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Not because you are loud. Not because you are fearless. But because you are you.

Anna Marie (Rogue)

- Rogue understands isolation better than most. She knows what it is to feel like you don’t belong, to be wary of touch, of attention, of the weight of others’ expectations. So when you flinch from crowds, when your voice catches in your throat, she never judges. She just holds out her hand—gloved, patient, steady.

- She is fire and defiance, unbreakable and untamed, but for you, she softens. When you struggle to meet others’ eyes, she meets yours first, a silent reassurance that she is here. When your voice trembles, she makes sure no one talks over you. And if they do, well—she’s got a sharp tongue and a mean right hook.

- If anyone dares to mock your shyness, she doesn’t hesitate. “Y’know,” she drawls, tilting her head, “some of us don’t gotta be loud to be worth listenin’ to.” And then she smiles, slow and dangerous. “But I can be real loud if ya want.” They always back down.

- She helps you in ways you don’t even realize. Holding your hand when the room feels too big, leading conversations so you don’t have to, standing in front of you when the world demands too much. She makes space for you, without ever making you feel small.

- At the end of the day, when it’s just the two of you, she holds you close, her accent softer, her touch lighter. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ quiet, sugar,” she murmurs against your hair. And when she kisses you, you believe her.

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

- Erik Lehnsherr is a force of nature, a man who bends metal and willpower alike, yet with you—he is gentle. You, who speak in whispers where others shout. You, who hesitate where others rush forward. You are the only thing in his life that is not a battle, and that is something he treasures more than he can say.

- He does not ask you to be anything more than you are. In a world that demands strength in volume, he finds strength in your quiet presence. Where others might mistake your silence for weakness, he knows better. He knows that steel does not need to be loud to be unbreakable.

- If anyone mocks you, his fury is a quiet, smoldering thing. He does not need to raise his voice; he simply looks at them, and suddenly, their belt buckles tighten, their watches snap from their wrists. “I would choose your next words carefully,” he says. They never finish their sentence.

- He is protective, but never overbearing. If the world becomes too much, he removes you from it. A hand at the small of your back, a whispered promise—“You do not need to endure what pains you. I will handle it.” And he does. He always does.

- At night, when he lets himself be vulnerable, when the weight of the world slips from his shoulders, he turns to you. He traces your cheek, his voice softer than anyone else would believe. “You are perfect as you are,” he murmurs. “And I will destroy anyone who makes you feel otherwise.”

Charles Xavier (Professor X)

- Charles Xavier is a man who hears everything, who knows the weight of unspoken thoughts and unshed fears. And yet, he never intrudes upon your mind. He waits, patient, always willing to listen—but never demanding. Because he knows how precious it is to be given words freely.

- He notices the way your anxiety grips you, how you hesitate before speaking, how the world feels too large, too loud. And so, he makes space for you. In conversations, in gatherings, in life itself. He ensures you are never drowned out, never overlooked.

- If someone dares to belittle you, his response is quiet but absolute. “The strongest minds are often the most contemplative,” he says, his gaze steady, his presence commanding. And in that moment, the world seems to agree with him.

- He teaches you how to breathe through the panic, how to find stillness in chaos. When your hands shake, he takes them in his own, his touch steady, reassuring. “You are not alone,” he tells you, and with him, you believe it.

- When the night is dark and the silence is overwhelming, he pulls you close, his voice like a lullaby. “You are extraordinary,” he whispers against your hair. And with him, you know it to be true.

Emma Frost (The White Queen)

- Emma Frost is diamond—hard, unyielding, untouchable. And yet, with you, she is warmth where the world expects ice. She is silk where others expect steel. Because you, with your hesitant words and careful steps, are the one thing she allows herself to be soft for.

- She never forces you to speak, never pushes you into the spotlight. Instead, she makes sure no one overlooks you. If someone talks over you, she silences them with a single, perfectly arched brow. If someone underestimates you, she makes sure they regret it.

- If anyone mocks you, Emma doesn’t even blink. “How tragic,” she sighs, inspecting her nails. “Some people mistake volume for importance.” And then, with the barest hint of a smirk—“Would you like to forget how to speak entirely?” They never bother you again.

- When your anxiety is overwhelming, when the world feels too sharp, she takes your hand and leads you away. A quiet space, a soft touch, her voice low against your ear. “You do not have to fight every battle. Let me handle this.” And she does. With ruthless precision.

- At night, when it’s just the two of you, she presses a kiss to your forehead, her lips warm against your skin. “You don’t need to be anything but yourself,” she murmurs. And coming from Emma Frost, that is the highest form of love.

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)

- Wanda is no stranger to feeling like she doesn’t belong, to feeling like the world does not know what to do with her presence. So when she meets you—quiet, hesitant, weighed down by a war no one else can see—she understands. She does not ask you to be different. She simply lets you exist, exactly as you are.

- She senses your discomfort before you even speak it, feels the way your heart stammers in a crowded room, how your thoughts spiral when too many eyes are on you. And so, she stands beside you like a shield woven from whispers and stardust, her very presence anchoring you. She lets you speak only when you are ready. And if you are not, she speaks for you.

- If someone ever mocks your quietness, Wanda does not waste words. She merely tilts her head, a flicker of red dancing at her fingertips. “Careful,” she says softly, her voice a lullaby with teeth. “Thoughts have a way of slipping, and I might just pluck yours out.” They never mock you again.

- When your anxiety suffocates you, when you feel like you might collapse beneath the weight of your own mind, Wanda takes your hands, her fingers warm against yours. “Close your eyes,” she whispers. And suddenly, your thoughts slow, like a tide retreating. The world does not feel so terrifying when she is near.

- At night, she traces patterns against your skin, a silent spell only the two of you will ever understand. “You are safe,” she murmurs, her lips against your temple. “You are enough.” And when she pulls you close, it feels like you are wrapped in the very fabric of the universe itself.

Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)

- Pietro moves too fast for the world, but never too fast for you. He notices when your breathing hitches, when your hands tremble, when the world becomes too much. And in those moments, he slows. For you, he will always slow.

- He never pushes you into the spotlight, never asks you to be louder than you are. Instead, he stays close, his presence a constant hum of energy, an unspoken promise that you are not alone. And if you do speak? He listens. Fully, completely, as if your words are the only thing that matter.

- If someone dares to mock you, Pietro is gone before they finish their sentence. And when he returns, there’s a gust of wind, a smirk on his lips, and an unfamiliar weight in his hand. “I stole all their shoelaces,” he announces. “And their car keys. And, for fun, their dignity.”

- When your anxiety threatens to crush you, Pietro does not try to talk you out of it. He does not tell you to "calm down." Instead, he takes your hand and runs. Through city streets, through endless fields, through time itself if he must. “The world is bigger than your fear,” he whispers. And for a moment, you believe him.

- At night, he holds you like he is afraid you will slip through his fingers. “The world may be fast,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against your hair, “but I will always stop for you.” And in his arms, you are not afraid of being left behind.

Hank McCoy (Beast)

- Hank McCoy is brilliance and kindness woven together, a man whose intellect is matched only by the depth of his heart. He does not simply tolerate your shyness—he cherishes it, as one cherishes a rare book, delicate and irreplaceable.

- He does not rush you, does not demand you speak when words do not come easily. Instead, he engages with you in the language of understanding, of patience. When the world is too loud, he sits beside you in silence, offering you the comfort of his presence.

- If someone ever dares to belittle you, Hank does not raise his voice. He merely adjusts his glasses, considers them for a long moment, and then proceeds to dismantle them with logic so devastating they are left questioning their very existence.

- When your anxiety grips you tight, when your thoughts spiral, Hank does not try to fix you. Instead, he wraps you in his warmth, in his steady voice, in the quiet reassurance that he is here. That he will always be here.

- At night, he reads to you in a voice like velvet, weaving words into lullabies. And when sleep finally comes, it is not fear that follows you into your dreams, but the sound of his heartbeat, steady and sure.

Laura Kinney (X-23)

- Laura Kinney does not need words to understand you. She does not need explanations, does not need you to fight to be understood. She simply knows.

- She stands beside you like a silent guardian, always near, always watching. If a room feels too crowded, she is the space between you and the world. If your voice shakes, she ensures no one talks over you.

- If someone mocks you, Laura does not speak. She simply tilts her head, her eyes cold, calculating. They realize their mistake before she even moves. And if they do not? Well. They won’t make it twice.

- She does not try to make you “brave.” She does not try to change you. She simply exists beside you, in a quiet partnership that needs no embellishment. With Laura, your silence is never a weakness. It is simply another way to exist.

- At night, when words feel unnecessary, she presses a kiss to your shoulder, her voice a whisper against your skin. “You are safe.” And somehow, you believe her.

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

- Wade Wilson never stops talking, but for you, he will. He notices the way the world overwhelms you, the way your breath catches in crowded spaces. And in those moments, he dials himself down—not because you ask, but because he wants you to feel safe.

- He does not mock your shyness. In fact, he adores it. “You’re like a delicate little deer,” he tells you, resting his chin on your shoulder. “A beautiful, anxious, socially awkward deer. And I love you for it.”

- If someone insults you, Wade does not take it well. He doesn’t get angry—he gets creative. The next day, the offender finds their car covered in 500 rubber ducks, all superglued.

- When you feel like you are drowning in your own thoughts, Wade distracts you in the only way he knows how. Bad jokes, ridiculous stunts, a spontaneous trip to Paris because “croissants cure anxiety, probably.”

- At night, he holds you tighter than he ever holds his weapons. “You’re my favorite person,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “And I’ve met, like, EVERYONE.”

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mendessi · 1 day ago

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things i say when you sleep | chapter eleven

multi chapter bodhi durran x fem!oc

word count: 7k

chapter summary: The Battle of Resson.

content warning: canon typical violence & injuries, liam ):, mentions of death

AO3 masterlist

nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen

Magic beyond the wards feels different.

It's more freeing, but the lack of control concerns me slightly.

The terms we left Basgiath on feel strange, even though we went on orders. The account of War Games doesn't change the fact that Xaden pulling us caused more tension with Dain.

This was the first long flight Gleigeal and I had done, and my back aches when I dismount. We're stopped at a lake not too far from Athebyne so the dragons can drink. The view isn't too bad, and I take a moment to admire it. The quadrant grew quite boring after staring at the same walls for too long, so the change in scenery was nice.

"You okay?" Liam asks from my side as he dismounts Deigh.

"Call if you need me." I say to Gleigeal as he steps towards the lake. He chuffs in response, and I turn to Liam.

"Just sore," I vocalize my sigh as I stretch my back and shoulders. My back isn't the only sore thing, but I'd rather not mention that I can still feel Bodhi between my legs. "You?"

"I'm good," He nods his head, "Happy that you're here."

Things are so different now than they were a year ago. Everyone was trying to force my hand into following Xaden blindly, but Liam was the only one who gave me a choice. He was the only one who approached me in a way that worked. I have him to thank when it comes down to it.

I give him a small smile, and we watch as Andarna unclips from the harness attached to Tairn's. Xaden is a fucking genius.

"I'm gonna go check on her," Liam says as he approaches her once she lands on the ground.

The energy feels slightly weird, but I try to keep my shields down just a crack. I want to feel what's going on around me, and I don't want surprises. Especially not during War Games.

I lean against a tree and watch the rest of the headquarters squad situate. Xaden approaches Violet and laces his fingers with hers, and I can't help the subtle smile that finds its way to my face.

Xaden hand-picked this squad for a reason, and nobody here would judge the way he feels for Violet. At least not out loud.

"Who would've thought? Xaden and Violet," Bodhi says, appearing at my side. I didn't even hear him approach; I'd been so lost in thought.

"Who would have thought?" I verbally agree. I did think. I thought many months ago, actually.

"How are you?" He asks, leaning against the other side of the tree.

"I'm good. Nervous, but good."

The common knowledge that when we return to Basgiath, there's a chance that other cadets won't doesn't sit right with me. I trust that the squad I've been placed in for this exercise will return home just fine, but I can't say the same for the others. Anything could happen, and as much as I'm not worried for those I'm currently with, the idea of anything happening to Rhi, Sawyer, or Ridoc frightens me. Especially Ridoc. Who would I share a bed with when I'm upset?

"Everything is gonna be fine. Xaden is gonna have us leave for patrol at some point tomorrow, and you can see how the drops work," He says.

"You don't think Violet will question why I get to go and she has to stay?" I ask.

"Liam will stay with her to keep her distracted, and you can explain to him when you two have time alone," he tells me. "You should rest. Sit with me for a minute."

He sits down with his back to the tree and his feet apart. He pats the grass between his legs, and I shake my head with a laugh as I sit. I lean my back against his chest, and he wraps his arms around my shoulders. The position is quite comfortable, and I sigh in content as I watch the dragons drink from the lake.

"You look good in flight leathers," He says, his thumb stroking my arm lightly.

"Shut up," I hit his thigh playfully and tilt my head to look at him.

"I'm happy you're here, Ani," He says. "I would've been worried if I couldn't have my eyes on you for five days."

"I can handle myself," I say as he raises his hand to brush my cheek.

"Hey," He says gently, "I know you can."

I want to kiss him, but the inner monologue I had with myself during the long hours of flying stops me. I know I let him kiss me before we launched to leave Basgiath, but I don't want any more intimacy with him til we draw the lines around whatever this relationship is. I shouldn't even be allowing myself to sit like this with him.

"I would've just missed you," I tell him.

"We'll have some time when we get back before Conscription Day to do just about whatever we want," He says.

"I want to talk first," I reply, and he nods.

"I know." His thumb brushes my bottom lip. "Me too."

Our time is limited under this tree, and the conversation we need to have is going to have to wait. Maybe tonight, after we establish headquarters and retrieve our next missive, we'll have time.

"We have company," Gleigeal says, and Bodhi must receive the same news from Cuir because we're both to our feet within a heartbeat.

"Fuck. Violet doesn't know." Bodhi takes off running, and I follow behind him. I have practically sprint to keep up with his large strides.

"Gryphons?" I ask, pushing to keep up.

"Yes, but I'm told they're allies." He replies. A breath of relief fills my lungs.

When we approach, I feel the power radiating off of Violet, and I do my best to dim it.

Gryphons stand in front of them, and my lips part at the sight. I'd only ever seen them in drawings, but I'm amazed at how magnificent they are in person.

Violet is thrashing in Liam's arms, and Tairn's piercing roar makes my ears ring. Liam releases her, and I join her at her side. I can feel her betrayal seeping into my chest, and I consider raising my shields fully shut. It's a bitter feeling, and I don't like the way it hurts. I feel for her; I do. I know exactly how it feels to be kept in the dark.

She looks to me, scanning me for any sort of surprise or the same sentiment of betrayal, and she shakes her head when she realizes I don't.

"You knew?" She asks me, her voice slightly wavering.

"To an extent, yes. But there is so much you don't understand." I reply. I recall the time that Bodhi had said the same words to me when I arrived in the quadrant.

"You almost had me fooled," She scoffs and turns her attention back to the conversation happening between Xaden and the fliers. Her words sting, but I know that I would feel the same way. I don't hold her at fault for it.

"Venin never come this far west," Is the next line of the conversation I catch.

All I'd been told was that we'd supply venin-killing weapons as a form of aid. I had put two and two together that it was to fliers, but seeing it happen in action was insanely surreal. My entire life, I'd been kept on the outside, and finally, not being the only person in the room who was clueless felt freeing.

"Until now. They were unmistakably venin and had one of their-" One of the female fliers start. Xaden is quick to cut her off.

"Don't say anything else. You know that none of us can know the details, or we put everything at risk. All it takes is one of us being interrogated." I focus on Xaden's feelings and am shocked when I sense a bit of fear. He turns back to look at me for only a moment, and I know I've been caught trying to read him.

"Details or not, it looks like the horde is heading north. Straight toward our trading post on the border across from your garrison at Athebyne. Are you armed?" The male flier asks.

I reach for Bodhi's hand just to have something to hold. This was never something I anticipated when I agreed to help with the drops next year.

"We're armed," Xaden confirms.

"Then our job here is done. You've been warned. Now we have to go defend our people. As it is, this side trip only gives us about an hour to reach them in time." The flier says. I look at the entire drift of fliers, trying to remember faces. Something tells me that this isn't the last time I'll be seeing them.

My heart sinks. Ever since Bodhi told me that venin were real, it never really struck me as true. Of course, I believed him, but it was just so insanely baffling that the stories we'd been told as children were accurate accounts of history. Standing here in front of a drift of fliers, people that are supposed to be our enemy, who are about to head into battle against them, is hindering.

Bodhi laces our fingers together and squeezes my hand comfortingly, and I glance at his side profile. Still so beautiful.

"I wonder what your King would be willing to pay in order to get back the daughter of his most illustrious general. I'm willing to bet your ransom would be enough to defend all of Draithus for a decade." The male says, tilting his head to look at Violet.

Bodhi drops my hand, and we instantly move closer to her, and I'm prepared to fight if need be. Violet's power sizzles in my chest as Tairn snarls behind us.

"Try. I dare you." Light flashes above us, and the corner of my mouth twitches upward. She has it handled. It's ridiculous how powerful she is.

Xaden's shadow-wielding never fails to impress me every time I have the pleasure of witnessing it. Watching him defend Violet is extremely satisfying, and I don't hide my amusement at how the fliers back off after it.

After the drift is gone, all of us turn to Violet. I feel bad for her, knowing exactly how she feels, but I don't know how to comfort her. There's nothing I could say that would make this situation better. I know that this is a conversation she has to have with Xaden.

Her feelings are so overwhelming so I try to reach out and do what I can to ease them, but she's too damned strong and I haven't even begun to hone my signet. I'm not even sure if adjusting the intensity of someone else's emotions is something I can do, but I've been dying to test the theory. What better moment than now?

When she raises her voice at Liam, I let go of the strand of color that I know is her's. I'm either making it worse or not helping at all.

I turn and reach for Bodhi, grateful when he wraps his arm around my shoulders. I don't like the conflict happening in front of me, especially when I've convinced myself I'm the reason it's escalating.

"And you." Violet turns to me, and I grip Bodhi's jacket between my fingers. "You spent all this time pretending to hate them when you've been working with them all along."

"That's not true." Anger bubbles beneath my skin. She's upset, and I can't blame her for anything she's saying. Xaden will clear the air, hopefully. If anyone can get through to her, it's him.

"Everybody go back to the shore. Now." Xaden says, and we oblige. They need the space, and Xaden needs to get through to her.

"She will come around. Just as you did," Gleigeal says, and I hope he's right.

We sit in the sand, and Bodhi absentmindedly plays with my fingers as I watch the water lap against the shoreline.

"When we get back to Basgiath, we'll go into further detail about drop shipments before Xaden leaves," Bodhi says, and I hum in response, not really paying attention to him. "What's wrong?"

"I know how she feels," I say quietly, turning to face him. "I feel bad for her, that's all. And knowing that those fliers are about to go head to head with a 'horde' and we can't do anything about it is... horrifying. I want to help."

Bodhi takes in my words and processes them slowly.

And fucking War Games. There's still that, too.

"She'll come around," Bodhi says, and I shake my head.

"She's not me, Bodhi," I tell him. "She has lived her entire life believing in one thing and was raised differently than we were. I forgave you quicker than I should've. Don't count on the same from her."

Violet isn't wired that way. She's like me in the sense that it takes a lot for her to trust, but this isn't something she'll move past as quickly as I did. It was easier for me because I grew up with Bodhi, Garrick, and Xaden. I have a relic. She doesn't. Gaining her trust again will take time.

I unsheathe the alloy-hilted dagger that Xaden and Bodhi put into my possession not too long after I found out about the venin and draw in the sand with it.

"It's not easy lying to those you care about," He says, "Especially something to this scale."

"I know." I keep my gaze on the tip of the blade dragging through the sand.

"Listen, Ani," He gently takes the blade from my hand and tilts my chin to look at him, "I don't know what's going to happen over the next couple of days, but if I don't say this now, I'll regret it."

"I can't." I shake my head, pulling away from him to stand up, "I can't do the goodbye stuff. I'm sorry."

"Ani, please," He stands up too, reaching for my hand, "Let me just-"

"Mount up." Xaden's order grabs our attention, and I'm slightly thankful, though the look in Bodhi's eyes pains me.

"We'll talk when we're back in Basgiath," I tell him.

Ever since my family died, goodbyes have never been my forte. I didn't get to say a single word to any of my family members before I never saw them again, and this isn't something I can handle. Whatever Bodhi was going to tell me will have to wait.

"I hope that you putting off that conversation won't come back to bite you," Gleigeal says as I mount.

"I am not capable of having that conversation right now." I reply.

When we arrive in Athebyne, the energy is extremely off. When I join Bodhi, he glances at me sideways, and I look around at the empty outpost.

"There's no one here. Divide and search." He looks between Bodhi and me. "You don't take eyes off of her, you hear me?"

Bodhi nods curtly, and he, Garrick, Imogen, and I split away from him and Violet. The rest of our squad splits into small groups as well to search the seemingly abandoned outpost.

"So are you two..." Garrick gestures between Bodhi and me.

"I knew it," Imogen snickers.

My cheeks heat up, and I put distance between me and Bodhi. "Let's focus on the task at hand."

"I'm just saying, if you are, you know that we support you." Garrick continues. He's trying to get a rise out of Bodhi, and the way his strand of emotions in the Riorson library burns brighter tells me it's working.

"Shut up." Bodhi glares at Garrick, and he and Imogen break into laughter.

We enter the southeast tower, and Garrick is quick to find a missive addressed to Xaden. So, to counter Xaden's assumption, this does have something to do with War Games. Thank Zihnal.

We cross the rampart, and while Bodhi and Imogen engage in a minor argument about something I can't hear, Garrick falls in line with my step.

"You spent a lot of time avoiding me this year, Ania." He tells me.

"I spent a lot of time avoiding a lot of people this year, Garrick." I look up at him as we walk.

"Yeah, but," he shrugs, "You started talking to Xaden and Bodhi again and never came back to me. We grew up together, too, you know."

He's not wrong, and I do want to clear the air with him, but right now is not the time. Not when he's about to hand off our assignment to Xaden.

"I promise I'm not deflecting because I genuinely do want to have this conversation, but can we please wait til we get back to Basgiath?" I ask.

He smiles, "You were so quick to anger earlier this year. Look at you, having an actual conversation."

"Shut up," I laugh lightly and nudge his arm with my shoulder.

"I'm gonna hold you to it, little Alistair. We're having that conversation the second we land back in Basgiath." He says as we approach Xaden, Violet, and Liam. Garrick hands over the missive to Xaden and he pops the seal.

"That's from Colonel Aetos," Violet says.

"What's it say? What's our assignment?" Garrick asks.

"Guys, I see something past the trading post. Oh shit." Liam says.

The way the energy shifts is enough to make my head spin. I have got to get this empathy thing under control.

"So I've been trying to tell you," Gleigeal says, and I mock him down our bond.

"It says our mission is to survive if we can," Xaden says, and the way he pales makes my skin crawl.

Bodhi immediately reaches for my hand, and I don't dare to pull it away.

"Guys, this is bad!" Liam yells, and Imogen is at his side within a second.

Every single person from our squad is appearing at Liam's alert, and Xaden looks to Violet.

"This isn't your fault." He says to her before looking between the rest of us, "We've been sent here to die."

Xaden's emotions are the only ones I focus on while everyone else rushes to the battlements to see what Liam sees. He's... scared. His gaze meets mine, and he shakes his head. Somehow, he can sense when I read him, but I don't even think he's upset at me for it.

"I should've never brought you here," He says to me. "Fuck."

It takes everything in me to focus on what's happening. The conversations in front of me happen so quickly that I almost don't catch what's being said. I'm too busy trying to close the book where the emotions of those around me are starting to grow wildly. I cannot have a repeat of what happened on the field with Gleigeal.

"The letter says this is a test of your command. You have the choice of abandoning the village of our enemy or abandoning command of your wing." The section leader says.

"What the hell does that mean?" Bodhi snatches the letter from his hand.

"They're testing our loyalty without saying it," Xaden says. "According to the missive, if we leave now, we’ll make it to the new location of headquarters for Fourth Wing at Eltuval in time to carry out our orders for War Games, but if we leave, the trading post of Resson and its occupants will be destroyed."

Violet reeks of guilt, and I wish I knew why. There's no way she could know something like this would happen.

"By what?" Imogen asks.

"Venin." Liam's words don't shock me, but they should.

"I liked it better when we just delivered the weapons," Bodhi says under his breath.

"We are joined by seven gryphons," Gleigeal says.

I look to Bodhi, who likely just got the same message from Cuir.

"How many people live in Resson?" He asks.

"More than three hundred," Imogen replies.

"Then let's get down there."

The way he reacts, ready to defend innocent people, sets off an absurd feeling in my chest. The way he stares down his cousin who blocks him from running into the unknown is the reason I-

The thought doesn't finish forming because Xaden is on a justifiable tangent about the risks of marching into Resson. Once a gryphon flier approaches us and tells us to flee, my mind is made up.

I want to stay, and I want to help. Innocent people will die if we don't leave. I don't care about the risks. What good are we with dragons if we don't at least try to help?

This could've been prevented if the leadership in Navarre hadn't deemed it necessary to hide this knowledge from the public. They're all in the dark, just like I was.

"I’m not going to order any of you to join me. I’m responsible for all of you. None of you crossed that parapet because you wanted to. None of you. You crossed it because I made a deal. I’m the one who forced you into the quadrant, so I won’t think less of anyone who wants to fly for Eltuval instead. Make your choice.” Xaden says.

"I know if Beckett were alive, he would be here by our side. And he absolutely would not walk away from this fight." I say, looking to Xaden. I could very well be on the death roll come tomorrow, but I know what the right thing to do is.

"I was worried you'd say that," Xaden says, but there's a tiny hint of a sad smile.

"I chose well," Gleigeal tells me.

Every single one of us agrees that we're fighting. Whether we make it home or not, at least we die doing what we as riders swore to do.

Liam tells us what he can see from where we are, and I take a deep breath as I look at Bodhi. He's already looking at me.

Xaden gives us directives one by one. I'm to assist Bodhi and Garrick in evacuating the town. We're approaching our dragons when Xaden's hand wraps around my wrist.

"If you're telling me to stay out of this fight, I'm not going to listen to you," I tell him, pulling my wrist from his grip.

"I was going to tell you that I am proud of the person you've become," He says.

I remember after Threshing when he told me that Beckett would be proud of me. Xaden's pride in me means just as much, I realize. Beckett was a great brother in every aspect. But he wasn't my only brother.

"I'll see you on the other side of this," I tell him.

"Stay alive, Ania. Not just for Beckett, but for me too." Xaden doesn't give me the chance to reply. He turns on his heel and walks toward Violet.

"It is a shame that I never got to meet him," Gleigeal says as I approach his foreleg. I smile softly, thinking of the time when Gleigeal "didn't think he would mind his presence".

"Let's not dwell on what could have been," I reply.

I'm about to mount when Bodhi appears at my side. I open my mouth to speak, but he grabs my waist, pulling me into a devastating kiss.

My hands immediately find his face as he pulls me as close to him as humanly possible. It's passionate and deep and just what I need to prepare me for what we're walking into.

When he pulls away, his gaze locks on mine.

I look for the strand of emotions I know are his, but they don't sprout from the book in the Riorson House library. The spiral down from the mage lights hovered above, entangling themselves with the deep green tendrils of my own. He is more than a part of me at this point, and the feeling pounds in my chest. I know we share it as one.

"Ani-" He starts, with his forehead resting against mine.

"I know," I whisper. "Tell me after."

He kisses me one more time and then walks away to mount Cuir.

Everyone's attention is directed to the dragon that flies overhead, spiting blue fire. I immediately recognize it from the drawings in the books we read as kids.

"Is that a wyvern?" I ask Gleigeal.

"Unfortunately," He replies.

"Anyone want to change their minds?" Xaden asks and is met with silence. "No? Then, mount up."

Perfect. Is there any part of Fables of the Barren that is actually fictional?

Bodhi and I share one more glance before the entire squad is mounted on their dragons, heading into battle.

"Be prepared to relaunch at a moment's notice," Gleigeal tells me when my feet hit the ground.

The town center is a mess. People are running in a million different directions; children are screaming and crying. I don't give myself a moment to panic; I simply jump straight into action, guiding people in the direction safest to get out of Resson.

A venin stands on top of the tower, blue flames spewing from his hands into the town below him.

Tairn and Violet fly by, and the entire clock tower goes up in flames before collapsing in on itself.

"Soleil found a mine entrance. Start directing civilians toward it," Gleigeal shouts down the bond, and I nod my head. I see Bodhi and Garrick further up and assume it must be that way, so I start sending them that way.

The last couple of civilians from my end of town are now closer to Bodhi, so I take one last look around to ensure there are no stragglers.

"Mount, now!" Gleigeal's roar sounds, and I don't question it; I just sprint.

I execute the quickest mount I've ever done and look below as he launches with me halfway up his back. I nearly lose my footing but manage to catch myself on his spikes. The venin that stood on top of the clock tower emerges from the flames, and my breath is stolen from my lungs. Dragon fire is no use. The gryphon flier explaining that four of them is a death sentence makes so much sense now.

Fuck, what did we get ourselves into?

Gleigeal lands next to Liam, and I dismount, landing directly next to him.

"You okay?" He asks me, and I nod.

"Dragon fire doesn't work," I tell him.

I flinch as lightning strikes a section of the city wall, silently begging Violet to get her aim under control.

"I got the mine entrance open!" Soleil calls.

Liam and I take no time in starting to usher the townspeople into it. I don't have eyes on Garrick and Bodhi anymore. Bodhi was told not to take his eyes off of me, so I can imagine the fear he's feeling.

"Can you relay to Cuir-"

"Already did," He replies. "Enemy approaching."

I turn around, my jaw dropping as I watch the venin channel from the ground. The ground around it essentially dies, turning an ugly gray color.

Soleil is already charging at it, and I move to run after her. My feet skid when I halt, and I almost lose my balance. Not even two steps into the dead zone, she collapses and so does her Brown Clubtail. I hear Violet's scream, but my eyes don't leave the venin.

Its eyes lock on mine, and I know I'm next. The gray patch begins to expand outward. I won't make it back to Gleigeal at the speed it moves out, no matter how quickly I run.

I hold my hands up, focusing on the lanterns that line the path. I pull open the curtains in the library and pull every light source I can see into my palms before forcing my energy into them. The flare that rips off my palms is so bright that I have the instinct to look away, but I don't because I know it does not affect me. It's the same way I can look at the sun and not be bothered by it.

The venin lifts its hands to its eyes and stumbles backward. I take the small opportunity to sprint, but I refuse to look back.

"Faster!" Gleigeal's shout rattles my brain.

Again, I'm barely up his spine when he launches. The deadzone is only feet away from us, and I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"That was far too close." Gleigeal's tone is angry.

"Liam and Deigh, are they safe?" I ask.

"They launched in time," He replies, and I nod as I retake my seat.

Gleigeal and I engage in combat with a group of wyvern, and I've never struggled so hard to keep my seat in my life. The banks and rolls that Glegeal does has my ass lifting out of my seat each time, but it pays off because we manage to take out every single one. So long as we can keep them away from the town, then at least we've done some good.

"Tairn and Deigh require assistance," Gleigeal tells me, and I look around for them.

My stomach sinks when I see Violet struggling to hold Liam on top of Tairn. Deigh is fighting the disgusting beast for his and his rider's life.

"I cannot interfere without risking your life," He says as we fly under head.

"I don't care. Do what you have to!" I shout. I couldn't care less what happens to me so long as my friends live.

My Red Swordtail obliges my request, and I pull the leftover light energy from my hands, ready to wield at a moment's notice. I hold tightly onto his spikes as he interjects himself into the battle where he can to help Deigh. It's still too risky without taking out both the wyvern and Deigh.

"On the right!" I scream. A riderless wyvern appears, and Gleigeal is forced to let go of the wyvern holding onto Deigh. Luckily, Tairn was there within a second, snapping his teeth into its shoulder.

Gleigeal turns quick enough to snap his teeth into the wyvern's wing, shaking his head so furiously its wing comes clean off. The wyvern can't level out and has no choice but to accept fate and fall to its death.

The roar that Gleigeal releases is so loud that it makes my head split. He dives towards the ground and lands roughly, nearly making me fly off of him. I dismount at record speed and rush to where Violet is holding Liam in her lap.

"No," I whisper. "What happened?"

"Deigh is gone."

"Help me get him to Deigh." Violet cries, and I do my best to help lift him.

"Gleigeal was on the wyvern. I don't understand how this happened." We're stumbling under Liam's dead weight.

Xaden and Sgayel land a moment later, and Xadeb immediately takes his weight off of us. I follow him as he carries Liam toward Deigh. Liam's speech is weak as he's lying down with his dragon.

Perfectly healthy Liam is seconds away from his last breath, and there's nothing that can be done. If I can just give him this one thing and lead him into a painless sleep, then I'll do it no matter what the cost is.

Pain is an emotion just as much as it is a feeling, and Liam is full of it. If I can just... I don't listen to a word he and Xaden are saying, I simply reach my hands for his face. The pain that radiates from his skin at my touch makes me cry out. It isn't just his pain, it's Deigh's too.

"What are you doing?" Xaden asks.

"Release him, now," Gleigeal demands, but I ignore him. "Ania, let go!"

"I'm taking his pain," I whimper. I force my hands to stay steady against his cheeks as I absorb every last ounce of it.

Liam deserves to die pain-free. He shouldn't be dying at all. It fucking hurts.

When I no longer feel anything, I let go and stumble back toward Violet to let Xaden have his moment with his foster brother.

My knees hit the rocks, and even though she reaches out to make sure I'm okay, her eyes stay locked on Liam and Xaden.

"What did you do?" She asks.

I can't answer. I'm trying to control what's happening in the Riorson House library that I built into my head.

Nothing makes sense.

Liam is dead.

The first person with a relic that I trusted. The person who gave me so much of his time when I pushed back so hard. He made me care about him, made me let him in. Now, he was gone.

"Please tell me Bodhi is okay," I beg Gleigeal.

He's silent for a moment but then chuffs, "They are alive."

Grief barrels at me at breakneck speed, and a scream tears through my throat. It is mixed with Liam's pain and all of our sorrow at the loss of him.

"You can't do this right now," Violet demands as she cups my cheeks. "You have to finish this battle. Get it under control."

Control it. Don't let it control you.

I take deep breaths that shake my entire chest.

Focus on one thing.

The theory. To try and dim Violet's anger. It might've backfired earlier, but it worked on Liam. I could feel the pain slowly leave his body and enter mine until there was nothing left to take.

"Now, Ania!" Violet screams, and I'm brought back to my senses.

I sit up on my knees, ignoring the way that the ache lingers in my entire body.

"Tairn needs us to keep the wyvern off of him and Sgayel," Gleigeal tells me.

When I stand, the world tilts, but I shake my head and move as quickly as I can toward my dragon.

"Then we keep the wyvern off of him and Sgayel," I say out loud as I climb up his foreleg.

We do just that. Or we try to.

Everything happens so quickly. One minute, we're in the sky, and the next, Gleigeal screams at me to dismount.

He barely had time to tell me it was because he wouldn't be able to control his landing with the way a wyvern was on our tail. My running dismount was not the best, and I land in a roll that leaves my entire body in a type of pain I've never felt before.

When I stand, my left leg nearly gives out, the pain earth-shattering. I think my hip is fractured from the landing.

"I'm coming back, get ready," Gleigeal says, and a few moments later, he growls. "There are too many on me, I will not lead them back to you."

"Something is wrong with my hip," I cry out.

This might be where I die.

The sky is orange from the blistering fire, and the sun is slowly setting. I get so much power from the sun.

I look down the path, the light posts flickering, when I see the shadow of a venin appear. I unsheath the only alloy-hilted dagger I was given and hope for the best.

As he gets closer, I can tell he likes the fact that he gets to have me in hand-to-hand. It's like he can sense that I'm injured. If he wanted to, he could channel and drain the ground and kill me either way. Still, he approaches me with a devilish smile on his face that chills me to my bone. He'd rather kill me with his bare hands.

"Thank you for choosing me." I push the thought outward, and I know it's his roar that I hear from the sky.

"I will not tolerate that talk!" Gleigeal roars.

"A rider without their dragon," The venin laughs wickedly. "I can't wait to get my hands on you."

"In your dreams," I snarl.

Within the next heartbeat, he advances on me. One thing I was taught was that venin will adapt to your fighting style, so every couple of seconds, I switch. I fight like Xaden. Then Ridoc. Then Bodhi. Then Liam. Every person I have ever sparred against, every pattern I have ever written into my journal, I use it.

When I get far enough, I throw a blinding light to catch him off guard. I haven't perfected this skill, but I push out light flares that heat my palms to an unnatural degree. Anything to keep his hands away from me.

Each flare hits him in the chest, and I shift the particles to heat. He screams, and I know that it likely feels like someone just set a fire in his chest.

The adrenaline has dulled the pain in my hip, but each step burns.

While he's distracted by the light burning in his chest, I try to get a read on his emotions. There's nothing but rage and fury. He's just a gray, miserable being. There's nothing to work with. Nothing to manipulate.

"You are approaching burnout." Gleigeal says. "I can't get to you in time."

"I have made peace with what will happen," I tell him.

The light dies out, and he's on the move towards me again. I'm fucking exhausted and my will to keep going is running thin. I'm not walking away from this alive.

The venin throws two hits and kicks into my knee, but I don't have the speed nor mobility to stop myself from falling to the ground. I land on my back, my head hitting the ground with a crack.

Everything is happening in slow motion.

"Back up is coming," Gleigeal assures me. His panic surges through me, but I barely have time to register when the venin stands above me.

Gray figures are falling around us as lightning cracks across the sky.

"Thank you for what you are about to give me." The venin says as he crouches down next to me. "I'm going to make this slow and painful."

The way to kill venin is to strike them with pure power, with which none I have left.

His hands reach for my wrists, and my eyes flare with panic. He slowly draws power from me, drop by drop, and I scream out, kicking my legs for purchase.

Gods, this is how I die.

War Games seems like such a distant memory, a figment of something that doesn't matter.

Now, I'll be reunited with Mom, Dad, and Beckett. And Liam will be there too.

"FIGHT." Gleigeal blows the channel, and power surges through me. Energy pulses through my fingertips, and I notice that they're glowing.

Light is not something I bend, it is something that I am.

Everyone that I have ever lost and ever loved, I use them to push me to grip the venin's face.

I force every ounce of burning light I have into his skull. It takes a moment, but he screams and fights to pull away. His temples burn bright under my fingers, and his skin his hot to the touch. He releases my wrists, and I force myself to sit up, holding him with a bone-crushing grip.

I can see the power, my power, burning bright behind his eyes. It takes everything in me, but I can read his fear, and that only pushes me further. He knows I'm winning.

The power behind his eyes flashes rapidly, and his eyes roll back before he falls limp. I rip my hands away from him and back away from his body.

Wyvern drop out of the sky around us, and I smile tiredly as I look up. A sigh of relief leaves my lungs, and the ground shakes when Gleigeal lands next to me. I almost let myself fall back, but he's there behind me. His entire body is flat as he catches me on his nose.

"You fought well, Ania," Gleigeal says.

"Is it over?" I ask. I can barely keep my eyes open. I feel so sleepy now.

"It appears so," He replies.

Several footsteps approach, and I flinch away when someone leans down in front of me.

"It's just me, sunshine." Bodhi's face is in front of mine, and I blink quickly, trying to determine if he's actually here or if I'm dead.

"Bodhi," I whisper. He lifts my hands into his, examining my wrists closely. "Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone is fine." He nods quickly.

"I used too much, I think," I say, and he shakes his head.

"No, you did good," He tells me softly, brushing his thumb against my cheek. He sits against Gleigeal, and if I had the energy, I would be surprised that he allowed it. He pulls me in between his legs against his chest, and I wince. "I'm sorry, Ani. I'm sorry."

"Never be sorry." I use his words against him as I tilt my head upward, with a small smile.

My arms feel like they have hundred-pound weights strapped to them when I lift my hand to trace his jaw.

"Beautiful," I say, but the word forms in a whisper.

I'm still convinced I'm dead and dreaming.

Resson killed me and everyone I love, and this is me reuniting with Bodhi in the afterlife.

"Sorrengail is down," I hear another voice to the side. I think it's Garrick. "We need to prepare Xaden for the worst. If we lose Ania too-"

"Garrick." Bodhi snaps before turning his attention back to me.

Oh.

This must be serious. I open the Riorson House library, and nothing streams in from the window. The normally deep green mage lights are gray, and the book that monitors the emotions I allow myself to feel is neatly closed. The library itself, on the other hand, looks like someone set off an explosion in it. The shelves are knocked over, and books scatter the floor.

"Am I dying?" I ask Bodhi.

"I don't know," He answers truthfully. A single tear rolls down his cheek.

"Bodhi, I have to say-"

"No," He whispers. "Please, don't. Tell me later."

"Fuck," I hear Garrick mutter.

"You may rest now, Ania," Gleigeal says.

I allow myself to succumb to the darkness.

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jungkoode · 2 days ago

Text

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 12

˗ˏˋ vanilla coffee ˎˊ˗

"There's a science to making perfect coffee, he says. But there's no science to explain why watching him make it—shirtless and sleep-rumpled—makes you forget every reason you shouldn't want him."

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⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 7,4k

rating: explicit (sex)

content: jungkook literally has a vanilla kink at this point i'm sorry that wasn't even planned he's just got free will, coffee lessons that are somehow hot, tiny shorts being instigators, verbal sparring as foreplay, protected sex, titty play, titty worship, penetrative vaginal sex, him fingering her

✧ author's note ✧

Listen. LISTEN. I don’t know what kind of demonic possession took over me while writing this chapter, but I had zero control over my own hands. Like, the coffee scene? The mug sharing? The delicious moment??? I AM IN HELL. (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

I started this chapter with the intention of them being petty little gremlins about vanilla-scented products, and somehow it ended with Jungkook making a whole latte just to flex on Y/N. A LATTE. And don’t even get me started on the mug proximity crimes. The way Y/N is actively short-circuiting over his hands and forearms like a Victorian woman seeing ankle for the first time?? We are ALL in trouble. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

And then—oh, god—the sweatpants menace. If you know, you know.

As always, please send thoughts, screams, and existential crises to the comment box. Love you, stay hydrated, and if a man ever offers to elevate your coffee… RUN. (Or sit in his lap. Your call.) (¬‿¬)

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

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Good tired is still tired.

Your bag hits the dining table with a thud that perfectly matches how your brain feels right now—heavy and slightly bruised.

7PM.

You gave him way more than forty minutes. Actually gave him two whole hours, not that you're counting.

Not that you care. You're just... observant.

But then you catch it—that familiar scent hanging in the air. Vanilla. Your mind immediately goes to that specific vanilla body wash that costs way too much but is the only thing that doesn't make your skin break out.

Oh, he fucking didn't.

Your fist connects with his door maybe a bit harder than necessary. There's a loud thud from inside, followed by what sounds like someone falling off a bed, then a muffled "shit” before footsteps approach.

The door swings open and—oh.

Oh no.

He's shirtless, because of course he is. Hair a disaster, eyes heavy with sleep, that stupid silver ring catching the light as he runs a hand down his face. There's a pillow crease on his cheek and he looks... soft. Which is absolutely not what you need right now when you're trying to be angry.

"What," he growls, voice rough with sleep, "is your problem?"

Right. Anger. Focus on that.

"My problem?" You gesture vaguely at the air between you. "My problem is you letting random hookups use my shit!"

His brow furrows, like he's trying to process your words through a fog of interrupted sleep. Then his expression does this complicated thing—confusion to understanding to something else you can't quite read.

He presses his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Phoenix, I didn't." When he looks at you again, he seems more awake. "I told her your stuff was off limits."

"Then why does it smell like—"

He brushes past you, heading toward the bathroom, and you absolutely do not notice how warm he is when he passes. Or how he still smells like rain under the vanilla.

"Are you seriously walking away while I'm—"

He stops so suddenly you almost run into him. Turns. Points at the coffee table.

"It's your candle."

You follow his finger and... oh.

There's one of your vanilla candles burning quietly on the table, nearly at its end. Which means it's been lit for...

He groans, running a hand down his face again. "You said to open the windows, and I just..." He waves vaguely at the candle. "Whatever."

"You..." The words aren't quite computing. "You lit my candle?"

"You told me to air out the apartment."

"So you used my candle to get cozy with some random—"

"For fuck's sake, Phoenix." He looks like he's regretting every life choice that led him here. "I lit it because you like these stupid vanilla things, okay? Thought it'd make the place smell nice when you got back."

Oh.

Something warm and uncomfortable squirms in your chest. Because that's... that's actually kind of...

"Well." You cross your arms, refusing to acknowledge the weird feeling. "Maybe ask next time before using my stuff."

"Maybe don't ghost me for two hours when I asked for forty minutes."

"I was studying!"

"With your phone on silent?"

"Some of us have actual academic responsibilities, Rogue."

His mouth twitches. "Some of us have other responsibilities."

"Yeah, bet ‘pussy eating’ looks great on a résumé.”

“Didn’t eat her pussy. Just fucked it.”

You grimace. “TMI.”

He shrugs. “You brought it up.”

“You were the one bragging about responsibilities like it’s a noble calling.”

“Hey, takes dedication. Skill. Stamina.” A smirk. “Not my fault you’re fixated on it.”

Fixated—

“Right. Just like I’m fixated on your four-hour recovery nap.”

“Wasn’t napping the whole time.”

“Gross.”

“You asked.”

“I literally didn’t.”

He's fighting a smile now, you can tell. Which is annoying because you're trying to be mad about your candle. Or your body wash. Or... something.

"Whatever." You turn toward your room, because this conversation needs to end before you do something stupid like thank him for thinking about the smell. "Just ask next time."

"Before lighting your pretentious vanilla candles?"

"They're not pretentious."

"They're thirty dollars each."

"How do you know how much they—" You spin back around. "Have you been looking up my candles?"

"No."

"Oh my god, you totally have."

"I was curious why they cost so much when they all smell the same!"

"They do not all smell the same, you absolute heathen."

He raises an eyebrow. "French Vanilla and Vanilla Bean are literally the same thing."

"I'm not having this conversation with someone who probably thinks Old Spice is a personality trait."

"At least I don't need a PhD to buy soap."

"No, you just need—" You stop, narrowing your eyes. "Wait. How do you know what's in my shower?"

"You know what?" He stretches, and you absolutely do not track the movement with your eyes. "All this talk about vanilla is making me crave coffee. Specifically..." He grins, slow and deliberate. "Those vanilla capsules you hide in the back of the cabinet."

"Don't you dare—"

"The ones behind the protein powder?"

"Those are mine." You follow him as he saunters toward the kitchen, still annoyingly shirtless. "I specifically said they weren't for you."

"Come on, Phoenix." He's already moving toward the kitchen, all loose limbs and bare chest like putting on a shirt is beneath him. "Let me show you how to actually make coffee. Teach you some culture. Some technique."

You swat at him as he passes. "I know how to use a coffee maker."

"Sure you do." His laugh is rough with sleep, and you hate that you notice. "That's why you murdered a perfectly good espresso shot this morning."

"I did not—"

"The beans were crying, Phoenix. I heard them."

But you're already following him to the kitchen because apparently you hate yourself.

He's wearing those stupid gray sweatpants that hang just low enough to be illegal in at least three states, and his hair is still a disaster from sleep, curling at the nape of his neck.

"First rule," he says, running his hands over the coffee maker like it's something precious, "is respecting the machine."

"It's a coffee maker, not royalty."

"See? No respect." His fingers dance over the settings with practiced ease. "That's why your coffee tastes like sad bean water."

You lean against the counter, watching as he measures grounds with ridiculous precision.

"My coffee tastes fine."

"Your coffee tastes like betrayal and broken dreams." He adjusts the grind size, movements quick and sure. "You probably think instant coffee is acceptable."

"Only when I'm feeling particularly spiteful."

His horrified gasp is so dramatic it actually makes you laugh. "You're a monster."

"Guilty."

He shakes his head, tamping down the grounds with absolutely unnecessary focus. The muscles in his forearms flex with the movement, and you definitely don't notice. Just like you don't notice how his hands look wrapping around the portafilter, or how his ring catches the kitchen light when he locks it into place.

"Watch," he says, flipping switches with the confidence of someone who definitely spent too much time watching barista tutorials on YouTube. "This is where the magic happens."

"It's coffee, not alchemy."

"Shh. You're ruining the moment."

The machine hums to life, and okay—maybe you can kind of see why he's so precious about it. There's something almost hypnotic about the way the espresso streams out, dark and perfect.

"See how it's not running too fast?" He's fully in teacher mode now, gesturing at the flow. "That's what you want. Nice and steady. Not that waterfall disaster you created this morning."

"Are you done being pretentious yet?"

"Never." He grabs your vanilla capsules—the ones you specifically told him not to touch—and starts steaming milk. "But I'll make it worth your while."

"By stealing my coffee?"

"By elevating your coffee." The milk pitcher moves in his hand like it's an extension of his arm. "You'll never want that chain store stuff again."

"Bold of you to assume I want anything you make."

His smile is all trouble. "Liar."

And okay, maybe he has a point. Because the drink he slides across the counter a few minutes later looks... kind of perfect. The foam is glossy and smooth, and the vanilla smell hits just right.

"Well?" He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

You take a sip and—fuck.

Fuck.

"It's..."

No. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

But he's already grinning, the bastard. "Say it."

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, Phoenix." He leans forward, elbows on the counter. "Admit it. I made your vanilla whatever-the-fuck better than you ever could."

"I will literally die first."

"That good, huh?"

You flip him off, taking another sip instead of answering. But then he's there, right there, and when did he get so close? His fingers brush yours as he takes the mug, gentle but deliberate, and your throat goes dry.

He holds your gaze, something dark and playful dancing in his eyes. Doesn't ask permission with words—just tilts his head slightly, the question clear in the quirk of his mouth. And you should say something. Should stop him. Should—

The mug touches his lips. Your lips were just there. Three seconds ago, your mouth was exactly where his is now, and that shouldn't make your stomach clench but it does.

His eyes are too much. Too dark, too intense, too fucking knowing as he takes a slow sip. Have they always been this brown? This smoky? Like whiskey in low light, like trouble wrapped in honey.

The kind of eyes that should come with a warning label: Danger. Side effects may include stupid decisions and ruined underwear.

His tongue darts out, catching a stray drop on his lower lip. Slow. Deliberate. The silver ring on his hand catches the light as he lowers the mug, and his voice drops to something husky.

"Delicious."

Nope. Absolutely not.

You snatch the mug back, ignoring how your fingers tingle where they brush his. "Make your own, you coffee nerd."

Retreat. Strategic retreat to the couch is definitely the smart play here. Because your brain is currently short-circuiting, trying to process how one word—one stupid, fucking word—in that voice can make your thighs press together.

His laugh follows you, low and knowing. The sound wraps around you like smoke, like the way he smelled that thunderstorm night, like—

Griffin chooses that exact moment to slink into the living room, green eyes judging you both as he hops onto the windowsill. He stretches, impossibly long, before curling into a perfect orange circle, pointedly turning his back to you both.

At least someone in this apartment has standards.

Focus. You're focusing.

But then you hear him moving behind you. The quiet rhythm of his breathing, the soft appreciative hums as he works the coffee maker. The whisper of fabric as his sweatpants shift with his movements. Each sound feels magnified, like your brain has decided to process everything in HD surround sound.

Don't look back. Don't do it. Don't—

Fuck.

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret every decision that led to this moment. Because his back is a work of art, all broad shoulders and defined muscle, and it's not fair. It's not fucking fair that even from behind he's attractive enough to make your mouth water. The way his shoulder blades move as he works the machine, the dip of his spine disappearing into those low-hanging sweats, the unruly hairs curling at his nape...

Snap your head forward. Drink your coffee. Stop being a horny disaster for five consecutive minutes.

But you can still hear him. Still feel his presence behind you like a looming cloud. Still taste the ghost of his lips where they touched the same spot yours did on the mug.

This is fine. Everything is fine. You're just tired and touch-starved and maybe a little worked up from your stupid assignments—

"Want another taste, Phoenix?"

His voice is closer now, right behind you, and you absolutely do not shiver. "Didn't anyone teach you to drink your own coffee?"

"Didn't anyone teach you that stealing tastes better?"

You refuse to turn around. Refuse to acknowledge how his words squeeze your chest. "You're impossible."

"You like impossible."

And that's... that's not something you're equipped to handle right now. Not with him standing there all sleep-warm and shirtless, voice rough like gravel, smelling like rain and coffee and sin.

"I like peace and quiet," you lie, taking another sip of your rapidly cooling drink.

His laugh is soft, dangerous. "Liar."

The couch dips as he drops down next to you, thigh pressed against yours like he owns the space. Like personal boundaries are just suggestions. He has a mug in hand now, and his coffee smells kind of amazing and you hate him for it.

You shift away, but his hand lands on your thigh—warm, heavy, there. His fingers span the width of it easily, and your brain helpfully supplies memories of those same fingers in other contexts.

It doesn’t escape your notice, how his eyes linger on where your shorts have ridden up your thighs from your hours in the library.

"No," you manage, swatting his thigh with yours.

"No what?" His voice is still rough from sleep, and it's doing things to you. Unfair things.

"No manspreading next to me." You try to sound annoyed instead of affected. "Keep your sweaty balls to yourself."

He squeezes your thigh, just once. Just enough to make you want to throw the mug at him. Or yourself. "My balls aren't sweaty."

"Bet they are.”

"Want to check?"

"You're actually the worst." But you don't move his hand. Why aren't you moving his hand?

"That's not what you said last time."

And fuck him for bringing up last time. Fuck him for smelling like rain and coffee and sleep-warm skin. Fuck him for the way his thumb is drawing absent circles on your thigh, like he's not even aware he's doing it.

"Lapse in judgment."

His laugh rumbles through you, too close, too much. "Which time?"

"Pick one."

"I'd rather pick you up."

You turn to tell him exactly where he can shove that line, but it's a mistake. Because he's right there, all heavy-lidded eyes and sleep-soft mouth, and your brain fizzles. His hair is still a mess, curling at his temples, and you want to grab it. Want to find out if it's as soft as it looks. Want to—

"You're staring, Phoenix."

"Untrue."

His fingers flex on your thigh. "Big word for someone who can't stop looking at my mouth."

"I'm not—" But you are. You absolutely are. "Shut up."

"Make me."

Always those two damn words. Always saying ‘make me’, like he knows how it riles you up. Like he likes how it riles you up. His eyes are dark, dangerous, and you can feel his pulse through his fingers on your thigh. Or maybe that's your pulse. Everything feels too hot, too close, too—

"Your coffee's getting cold," you manage, voice embarrassingly breathy.

His smile is slow, knowing. "Yeah?”

His eyes drop to your shorts—the ones you've been wearing all day, the ones that rode up your thighs during your study session. And okay, maybe they're a little too short. Maybe you felt Jimin's concerned glance when you stretched in the library. But it's not your fault the AC in your car is temperamental at best.

"These can't be comfortable after sitting in the library all day," he murmurs, fingers playing with the hem. “Could help you out of them."

"Thought you were tired from your afternoon activities."

"Second wind." His thumb traces the seam where it cuts into your thigh. "Come here."

You raise an eyebrow, ignoring how your body wants to lean into his touch. "I am here."

"No," and his voice drops lower, rougher. "Here." He pats his lap, and the casual confidence of it irritating. Hot. Irritatingly hot. "Unless you're scared."

"Of what? Your ego?"

"Of how bad you want it." His eyes flick to your chest, where your shirt dips just low enough to be interesting. "Been thinking about these shorts all day. Since you drove me to class."

"Didn't realize my driving skills were such a turn on."

"Your driving skills are terrible." His hand slides higher, testing. "But watching you grip the steering wheel..."

You swallow. "That's kind of pathetic."

"Yeah?" His fingers find the spot where your shorts meet skin. "Then why are you breathing so hard?"

"Because you're annoying me."

He laughs, low and dangerous. "Hop on, Phoenix. Let me annoy you properly."

"That's your big move? 'Hop on'?"

“As long as it gets you on top of me...” He smiles now, actually smiles. “I’d say it’s working.”

And fuck him for being right. Fuck him for the way his eyes are all pupil now, for how his skin is still warm, for how he smells like everything you want to taste.

"You're awful," you breathe, but you're already shifting closer.

"Show me how awful."

His fingers hook through your belt loop and suddenly you're being yanked forward with zero warning. The squeak that leaves your mouth is embarrassing.

"Rude," you swat at him, but he catches your wrist easily. His hand is so warm around your cold skin.

"C'mere," he breathes, and before you can process it, you're straddling him.

His hands slide down to grab your ass, fingers digging into the flesh and pulling you closer until you fall forward, catching yourself with hands on either side of his head.

He hums, the sound vibrating through you where you're pressed against him. And—yeah. Well. That's definitely not his phone in his sweats.

"Ride me?" The way he says it is almost lazy, but his eyes are dark, hungry. That half-lidded look that means tarnation.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, Phoenix." His fingers flex on your ass, making you rock against him. "Don't be mean."

You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore how good he feels under you. "Mean?"

"Been hard since I saw you in these fucking shorts this morning." He bites his lip, looking up at you through his lashes. "Just thinking about your thighs spread over my lap like this..."

"That sounds like a you problem."

His laugh is breathless, a little wild. "I’ll make it an us problem."

"Thought you were tired from earlier."

"Different kind of tired." His hands guide you into a slow grind against him. "This is more... inspiration."

"You're actually insane."

"Yeah?" He rocks up, making you gasp. "Feeling pretty sane right now. Feeling like I really want you to—fuck—"

You'd rolled your hips, just to shut him up. Just to wipe that cocky smirk off his face. But now he's looking at you like you’re his favorite dessert, and his hands are everywhere, and—

"That's it," he breathes, voice gone raspy. "Just like that, come on..."

He guides your hips into another roll, watching you with that hungry, hazy look. His thumbs dig into your hipbones, controlling the pressure, the pace.

"Been thinking about this," he breathes, voice rough. "How you'd look bouncing on my cock. How your tits would—fuck—" You grind down harder, feeling him twitch against you. "Haven't even gotten to see them properly yet."

"Poor you," but your voice shakes when his hands slide up under your shirt, spanning your ribs.

"Poor me," he agrees, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "All I got was that quick fuck against the window. Then you cumming on my tongue." His eyes are dark, pupils blown. "But this? Getting to watch you ride me? See these bounce while you—"

"You talk too much." You're trying for annoyed but it comes out breathy.

"Make me shut up then." His hips snap up. "Come on, Phoenix. Show me how well you can take it, yeah?"

"That's your big plan? Get me all worked up in the living room?"

“Getting worked up anywhere you’ll let me.” His fingers find your nipples through your bra, rolling them until you arch. “Been waiting to get you like this. Spread out on top of me, swallowing me deep in this greedy pussy…”

You let out a breathy laugh, grinding down just to spite him. “Yeah?” Your voice is pure teasing, but the heat is real. “She didn’t wring you out completely?”

His grip tightens on your waist, nails pressing in just enough to make you feel it. “Seems like she didn’t.”

You hum, dragging your hips forward again, slow and deliberate. “Mm. That’s a shame.”

“Yeah?” His voice dips, rough and taunting, but his hands—his fucking hands—are already shoving your shirt up, fingers tracing up your spine before yanking your bra down just enough to expose you. His thumb drags over one nipple, his breath warm against your throat. “You wanna fix that?”

You pretend to consider, rolling your hips again, dragging your pussy right over the thick ridge of him. Fuck. He’s not even inside you, and it’s already so good.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Wouldn’t want to overwork you.”

His laugh is sharp, incredulous. “Nix.” His voice is wrecked—the kind of hoarse, hungry sound that goes straight to your cunt. “You feel what you’re doing to me?” He thrusts up, slow but deep, and you suck in a breath. “Think I’m fucking tired?”

And yeah, okay. He’s still hard as fucking steel beneath you. Still needy. Still looking at you like he’s seconds from losing what little patience he has left.

“It’s these fucking shorts,” he mutters, grabbing a handful of your ass like he wants to leave bruises. “Oh my god, this fucking ass.”

You hold back a laugh, rolling your hips again, enjoying the way his breath stutters. “That easy, huh?”

His hands tighten on you. “You know what you do to me.” His mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping just enough to make you quiver. “S’why you wore these, right?”

You don’t answer, just reach between you to shove down his sweatpants, dragging them low enough to free his cock. And—fuck. He’s so hard it’s almost obscene, thick and flushed and already leaking.

“Jesus,” you mutter, running a teasing finger up his shaft, watching his stomach tense. “Didn’t even get a full reset, did you?”

His jaw flexes. “No.” A muscle in his cheek jumps as he watches you wrap your hand around him. “The fuck do you expect when you walk around in these little fucking—” His breath hitches when you thumb over the head, smearing the wetness there. “Shit—shorts. The second I saw you, I knew—”

“You knew what?” You press the question into his skin, lips just beneath his jaw, hand still working him slow.

His grip on your ass tightens, grounding, punishing. “Knew I was gonna end up inside you tonight.”

And fuck. That sends a fresh wave of heat through you, has your thighs squeezing around him. Because yeah, okay, maybe you had the same thought the second you walked in and saw him standing there in nothing but those damn sweatpants.

But there’s still one thing gnawing at you. One thing that makes your brain fight for a fraction of control through the heat.

“Did you use condoms?”

His head snaps up, brow furrowing like you just asked if water is wet. “Of course I did. Who the fuck do you think I am?”

You exhale, relief flooding through you faster than the heat pooling low in your stomach.

“Okay, fuck. Okay.” You swallow. “Where are they?”

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—instead of answering, he grabs your tits. Both hands, rough and impatient, unclasping you bra like it personally offended him.

“Jesus—wait—” You barely manage to lift your arms before he’s yanking it over your head, flinging it somewhere behind him.

“You on the pill?” he murmurs, barely pausing his focus on your tits.

“No.” You don’t even hesitate.

And to his credit, he doesn’t either. “Okay. Condoms it is.”

Respectful. A menace, but respectful.

You barely have time to process that before his fingers are pressing into the small of your back, guiding you forward, making you press flush against him as he leans toward the coffee table.

And you—because apparently you’re both equally insane—just let him.

His other hand reaches forward, jerking open the small drawer in the coffee table, fishing out a foil packet with practiced ease.

“You keep condoms in the living room?”

Jungkook doesn’t even blink. “Yeah. Just in case.”

“In case?” Your eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t you fuck in your room like normal people?”

“Yeah?” He grabs the foil packet, tossing it onto the couch beside him before his hands are right back on your waist, thumbs sliding under the waistband of your shorts. “But, y’know… just in case you wanted it.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “Me?”

“You, Phoenix.” He squeezes your hips like he’s grounding himself, like he has to touch you while he says it. “I usually fuck in my room. But you and me—we already did it against the window, so I figured…” He shrugs, casual as ever. “Might as well be prepared.”

“I—” You blink, processing, trying to form actual thoughts. “That’s crazy.”

He shrugs, so fucking nonchalant it’s unfair. “Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Think about it.” His mouth curls, eyes flicking from your mouth to your bare chest and back again. “Imagine I had to stop and go all the way to my room right now.” He pauses, letting the implication settle. “Wouldn’t that just kill the mood?”

And okay. You do snort at that.

Because this is ridiculous.

Because this is actually thoughtful.

Because he’s still hard as a rock under you, talking about condom logistics while casually groping your ass, like he’s planning for a fire drill and not fucking you senseless on the couch.

“No, like. You’re a complete nut case,” you murmur, shaking your head.

“Quick access,” he corrects, and then—fuck.

His mouth is on your tits again.

No hesitation, no teasing buildup, just his tongue dragging over one nipple, warm and slick before closing his lips around it.

Your breath catches, fingers twitching where they brace on his shoulders. “Jesus—”

He hums against your skin, like this is just an extension of the conversation. Like he can talk about fucking you and have his tongue on your tits in the same breath.

And then, because he’s Jungkook and apparently completely fucking obsessed with your chest, he moves to the other one, sucking deep and slow, like he’s savoring it.

“Can’t help it,” he mutters against you, voice rough. “Tits too fucking perfect.”

Which—okay. You shouldn’t preen at that, but his mouth is so fucking warm, and his hands are so fucking big—

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and his breath stutters.

And then he’s leaning back just enough to look up at you, lips slick, pupils blown. “You gonna let me fuck you cowgirl now, or you wanna keep pretending we’re still talking?”

You poke at his dick playfully, watching with satisfaction as it twitches immediately.

His breath stutters, eyes flicking up to yours, but he doesn’t say a word. Just watches—completely absorbed—as you pluck the condom from the side and roll it down over him, slow and deliberate.

His jaw flexes, lips parting slightly, and when you glance up, you catch it—his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice all low and wrecked.

You smirk, dragging your fingers back up his shaft just because you can, because you like making him twitch, like how he watches you like he’s seconds from losing his mind.

His hands are already on your thighs when you lift up, finally removing those tiny ass shorts—but when your fingers hook into your panties, he stops you.

“Keep them.”

You blink, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” His hands skim up, palms rough against your bare skin. “They’re red and lacy and fucking beautiful—” His voice breaks off into a sharp exhale as he shifts under you, cock nudging against the damp lace between your legs. “Just shove them to the side and let me fuck you like this.”

Heat licks down your spine, and fuck, maybe it is kind of hot—his voice raw, gaze locked where you’re already so wet for him.

“Yeah?” You drag the fabric aside, slow and teasing, letting him see what he’s about to have. “You want me to ride you like this?”

“Nix.” His voice is all smoke and gravel. “Fucking sit on it.”

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders.

And then, in one swift motion, you sink down onto him.

“Fuck—”

Jungkook shudders, breath breaking apart as he bottoms out inside you, hands clamping down on your hips so hard it’s murderous. His fingers dig deep into your skin, like he’s fighting the urge to slam you down harder, deeper, but he doesn’t—he just grips, holds, feels.

And fucking watches.

Because this—this—is his favorite.

The way you stretch around him, the way he can see it, can watch himself disappear inside you from this angle. The lace of your panties bunched to the side, the way your slick coats his cock, the slow, obscene drag as he throbs inside you.

His jaw clenches, his head falling back, but his eyes stay locked on where your bodies meet. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You suck in a breath, thighs trembling slightly, trying to adjust to the stretch, the pressure, the way he fills you completely. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle shift beneath your palms as he groans deep in his throat.

“You feel that, Nix?” His voice is rough, wrecked. “Feel how deep you’re taking me?”

You bite your lip, trying not to squirm at the way that sounds coming from him, the way his cock pulses inside you like he can feel every little squeeze.

His grip on your hips flexes. “Come on, let me hear you.”

You swallow hard, already feeling too fucking warm. “I—”

“I what?” His hands slide down, palms rough and greedy as they find your ass, grabbing handfuls, spreading you just to push inside you deeper. “Fuck, Phoenix, you feel so fucking good.”

Your thighs twitch, heat licking up your spine, and okay—okay, maybe that makes something inside you tighten. The way he wants you to feel it. The way he sounds like he’s barely holding on.

“Look at you. Sitting so fucking pretty on my cock like this.”

Your breath stutters.

“Fuck—” His fingers flex again, grip punishing, possessive. “Knew you’d look good like this. In this position. Been dreaming ‘bout it.”

You exhale shakily, pressing your palms harder against his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath your hands.

“Yeah?” The word slips out before you can stop it, quiet, breathless, barely more than an exhale.

And then, even as much as you convince yourself you hate dirty talk—his dirty talk—how you tell yourself it’s cringe… You find yourself engaging. You find yourself slipping.

“You wanted me in this position, Ro? Riding you?”

And Jungkook? He fucking relishes on it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, dark eyes flicking up to yours, mouth curling slow, dirty. “Getting bold on me, Phee?”

Heat rushes up your throat, your pulse pounding, but you don’t look away. You can’t—not with the way he’s looking at you, not with how deep he is inside you.

“God,” he groans, hands gripping your ass again, spreading you wider just to watch himself sink into you even more. “You should see how you look right now.”

His voice is wrecked—half-growl, half-moan—and you have to fight the way your thighs want to squeeze around him, hold him there.

But he notices.

And grins.

“Fucking knew it,” he mutters, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “You like hearing it, don’t you?”

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers twitching on his chest. “Shut up.”

“Nah.” He tilts his head, thumbs digging into your skin, grounding, teasing. “Think I finally got you to like it.”

And fuck—fuck—you can’t even argue, because his cock twitches inside you and your whole body reacts, a shiver running up your spine.

His smirk widens. “See?”

You exhale sharply. “Rogue.”

“Phoenix.” His hands tighten again, his voice a slow, taunting drawl. “C’mon, yeah? Ride me.”

Your thighs flex as you lift yourself up, the slow drag of him leaving you just enough to make you whimper, then you sink back down, faster this time, harder.

Jungkook’s jaw goes slack, hands gripping your ass like he’s barely holding himself together. “Christ—”

But you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You move again, rising and dropping, setting a pace that has his breath coming out in ragged exhales, his nails biting into your skin. Every inch of him stretches you open, fills you up, makes your stomach coil tighter and tighter.

And then—

His right hand moves.

Fingers slipping lower, rough against your skin, then lower, lower—

Until he’s spreading you.

His fingers part your folds, stretching you open wider just so he can watch himself disappear inside you.

“For fuck’s sake Ro—”

“Shit,” he exhales, low and wrecked, eyes locked on where his cock is sliding in and out of you, the obscene wetness coating both of you. “Look at that. Fucking dripping for me, Phoenix. Can’t help it.”

Your thighs shake, breath shuddering, and you want to tell him to shut the fuck up—but you can’t, because you may not see it, but you feel it. The way your body takes him, how slick and messy it is, how deep he’s buried every time you drop back down.

It’s filthy. He’s filthy.

“You’re so nasty,” you gasp, nails digging into his chest for balance.

He laughs, dark and smug. “And you fucking love it.”

Before you can snap back, he finally—finally—looks up at you.

And his breath stutters.

Because, of course, in this position, your tits are bouncing.

His pupils blow wide, throat working through a hard swallow, and then—his hands fly up immediately.

Grabbing. Palming. Squeezing.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice breaking apart, gaze flicking between your tits and your face like he doesn’t know where to look first. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His grip on your waist tightens, nails digging in, and then—his head falls back. His chest rises and falls beneath your hands, breath coming in sharp, desperate pants.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he gasps, voice wrecked, low and so needy you almost mewl, because you’ve never heard him like that. “Gonna cum so fucking bad—”

Your rhythm stutters. “Don’t you dare finish before me.”

“Fucking—” He grunts, muscles tensing beneath you as his hands clamp down harder, like he’s fighting it, trying to hold on, but— “Oh my fucking god, Phoenix—”

You can feel him struggling—his thighs trembling beneath you, abs flexing tight, his cock twitching inside you, buried so deep.

“How the fffffuck—” his breath shudders, “do you expect me—Jesus Christ—to hold b-back when your tits—god—”

His hands are everywhere—palming, grabbing, fucking worshiping your chest like he’s possessed—and then his mouth is there again, latching onto your right tit, tongue flicking over your nipple, sucking deep and wet.

“Shit,” you whimper, back arching.

“Fuck—fuck—”

He suddenly leans back, dragging you down hard onto his cock as he thrusts up to meet you, hips snapping with short, frantic rolls.

Your breath shatters, thighs burning, your whole body jolting with every desperate slam of his hips.

And his eyes.

Jesus.

His eyes are locked on you, wide and hungry, flicking between your parted lips and your chest.

And then—

“Grab ‘em,” he pants, voice rough, ruined. “Fuck—grab those titties for me, Phee.”

Your stomach flips.

“Grab’em while you ride me—” His breath catches, his abs flexing. “Fucking—God, I need to see it—”

Heat floods your spine, your pulse pounding as you do what he says—palms sliding up, gripping the soft weight of your tits, squeezing just enough to lift, to move, to give him exactly what he wants.

And his reaction—

“Jesus fucking—” His head falls back hard against the couch before snapping back up, completely fucking wrecked. “Oh my god—look at them—look at you—fuck, fuck—”

His fingers dig into your hips, forcing you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you as he thrusts up, trying to get deeper, trying to burn this into his brain.

“Oh god, oh god, Phoenix— I swear to fucking God—” His hands slide down, gripping your ass. “Fucking dripping— so messy for me—”

His voice breaks on a groan, hips slamming up, chasing it, his body seizing up as he loses it.

“Shit—shit—I’m—oh my god—fuck—I’m cumming—”

And then—he snaps.

His grip on your waist locks, his whole body tensing beneath you, and his head tips back, mouth falling open as he moans—a deep, raw sound from the bottom of his fucking chest.

He creams inside the condom, hips jerking up in short, shallow thrusts, pulsing thick and hot as he spills into it.

His hands shake as they guide your hips down, grinding you onto him, milking every last drop, needing to feel every second of it.

And you—

You’re about to sigh, about to roll your eyes, because seriously? He just came? You haven’t even—

But before the frustration can even fully settle, he moves.

One second, he’s slumped against the couch, breathless, spent.

The next—he’s flipping you onto your back.

Your gasp barely leaves your lips before his hands are on your thighs, gripping, spreading you open like it’s his fucking right, pushing your knees toward your chest.

And then—no hesitation.

No questions asked, no smug teasing, no half-assed effort—just his fingers shoving your panties back to the side, replacing his cock with two thick fingers, burying them inside you like he already fucking knows you can taste it.

Your breath shatters. “Jesus—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, focused, dark eyes locked on your pussy as his fingers curl, stretching you open, pressing deep. “Not leaving you hanging.”

And fuck—fuck—his thumb.

Right there, dragging over your clit, pressing just right with slow, deliberate circles.

Your thighs twitch, your hands clenching in the couch cushions as your body jolts from the sudden shock of pleasure. “Oh—fuck—”

“That’s it,” he groans, gaze flicking up to watch your face, your wrecked fucking expression as he fingers you open. “Gimme that pretty little shake—know you’re close.”

You barely process your own whimper before he’s pressing in harder, thrusting his fingers faster, his thumb working you like he owns your orgasm.

“You think I’d leave you like that?” His voice is low, hushed, wrecked, pressing filthy into the space between you. “Think I’d fucking cum and not make you lose your mind, too?”

“Ro—”

“Nah, Phoenix.” His fingers drive into you, slick and obscene, thumb relentless. “You’re gonna cum all over my hand—” he leans in, breath warm against your throat, “and I’m gonna watch every fucking second of it.”

His fingers pump into you, wet and filthy, every slick thrust echoing between you. And god, the sounds are just so fucking obscene it makes you want to die a little.

“Come on, give it to me, Phee,” Jungkook rasps.

You can barely breathe. His thumb keeps dragging over your clit in these slow, devastating circles, the pressure just right, and your whole body is trembling, your thighs twitching where he holds them open.

“Listen to that,” he groans, gaze flicking down, mesmerized. “So fucking wet for me. Making a mess all over my hand.”

And then his mouth is on you again.

He latches onto your tit, sucking deep, tongue flicking over your nipple before pulling off just to groan against your skin.

“God, your vanilla shit Phoenix. Makes you taste so good. Could suck on these all fucking day—”

“Jungkook—”

“Yeah? You gonna cum?”

Your back arches, hands flying to grip his arms because—fuck—fuck. The pressure is too much, his fingers so deep, his mouth so hot, and you’re right there—right fucking there—

“That’s it,” he groans, hand drenched, your walls pulsing around his fingers. “Come on, give it to me.”

And then—

It hits.

Pleasure rips through you, fast and all-consuming.

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—just groans, watching you fall apart.

“Mm, yeah that’s it,” he mutters, fixated on the way you shake, the way your pussy flutters around his fingers, soaking his palm. “So fucking good, huh?”

His name slips out in a wrecked, shattered moan, and he loves it, enjoying every sound, drinking in every twitch and tremble.

He finally slows his movements as you shudder through the aftershocks, his fingers still deep, thumb pressing lazy circles to wring out every last second of it.

“Shit,” he murmurs, voice a little breathless, and when you manage to blink down at him, he’s staring at his own hand—glistening, messy, coated in you.

His throat works.

And then—his eyes flick back to yours.

And he fucking grins.

Jungkook collapses on top of you.

Full weight. No warning. Just dead fucking weight pressing you into the couch, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Oh my—get off!” You yelp, struggling beneath him, but he doesn’t budge.

“Nnngghh,” he groans into your neck, voice muffled, completely ignoring you. “Shut the fuck up and let me rest for five minutes.”

You blink up at the ceiling, absolutely fucking done. “Weren’t you sleeping, like, thirty minutes ago?”

“Your point?” His breath is warm against your skin, his body solid and heavy, still way too fucking hot from everything that just happened.

“My point,” you grumble, wiggling under him, “is that you’ve done literally nothing today except nut and nap, so why are you tired?”

“Because,” he mutters, arms tightening around your waist, “I’m a growing boy.”

You snort, smacking his bare back. “You’re a menace.”

He just hums, pressing his face into your neck like he’s about to fall asleep right there, and for a second, you let it happen—just breathing, the two of you still wrecked, bodies cooling down, silence stretching.

But then—

“Oh, shit—”

Jungkook jumps, suddenly wide awake, jolting upright so fast he nearly knocks you off the couch.

You blink up at him, still catching your breath. “What the fuck is wrong with you—”

“Wait—” He leans over you, hands on either side of your head, eyes huge and excited. “Do you have any toys?”

You stare at him. “What?”

“Toys,” he repeats, fully invested now. “Sex toys, Nix. I didn’t even think about it, but—fuck—I could’ve made you finish with one.”

You blink again, brain scrambling to catch up. “No?”

His brows furrow. “Why not?”

“Why would I—” You sit up slightly, pushing at his chest. “Do I look like I came here with a full-ass sex kit?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, genuinely baffled, “don’t you girls have dildos and shit?”

“Oh my fucking—” You shove his shoulder. “Do you really think when I was packing my shit to move in, I was like, ‘mmm, yeah, definitely need to bring my dildo’?”

His eyes narrow. “So you had one?”

“No—”

“So you’ve never had one?”

“No, Ro, my parents would’ve killed me.”

He pauses, frowning like he’s actually considering that for a second. Then, with absolutely zero hesitation—

“Okay, then we’re going toy shopping.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, no, fuck that.” He waves a hand, like this is a done deal, like you don’t even get a say. “You’re getting something. I refuse to believe you’ve gone your whole life without at least a vibrator. That’s a crime.”

“A crime?”

“Yes.” His face is serious, like this is a personal offense to him. “You deserve to cum even when I��m not here.”

“I don’t need you to cum.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“Oh my fucking—” You drop your head back against the couch, groaning. “You’re so stupid.”

“I’m being a good friend.” He grins, smug as hell. “And an amazing fuck buddy.”

“We are not friends.”

He blinks. “What?”

“We’re not friends.” You cross your arms, looking him dead in the eye. “Fuck buddies. No friends.”

Jungkook gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you just deeply wounded him. “That hurts.”

“You’ll live.”

“Aren’t we, like, friends with benefits or something?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Fuck buddies. No friends. Just the benefits.”

“That’s the stupidest logic I’ve ever heard.”

“Coming from Mr. Stupid himself? Woah.”

“Pft. Right.” He stretches, cracking his neck, still grinning like an idiot. “Then we’re going this weekend.”

“To what?”

“Buy you a vibrator.”

“Fuck you.”

“Bet.”

You swat at him, grin still on his face and all.

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anywaymuahahahaha · 3 days ago

Text

Manager for a Day

~*Chapter One: Help Wanted!*~

☆⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄☆⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄☆

A beam of sunlight crept inside through a curtained window. The long silence began to fill with the sound of birds singing their morning song. The cool, calm air gently shook the trees which tapped against the side of the walls. It was the sunlight that caught his attention first. He set down the pen in his hand, turning away from the towering stack of paperwork in front of him. As a beam of light warmed his face, he shut his eyes for a moment, unsure whether to feel relieved or concerned.

“Is that?…” He rubbed his eyes and stretched out his hands, using one of them to shield himself from the bright glare. His sore muscles protested as he pushed himself up from his chair, his body aching from hours of stillness.

He pulled back the curtains and was nearly blinded by the unforgiving sunlight from outside. Sure enough, the sun was most definitely up.

“Oh! Morning already?” He muttered with a slight sense of urgency in his weak voice. In an instant, he spun back around to his desk.

“Boy, time sure does fly…” He muttered to himself as he quickly rummaged through stacks of papers and discarded snack wrappers.

“It was just here… Where did I…” In his efforts to seek what he lost he began to make an even bigger mess than before he “tidied up” last night.

Yes, it was morning. Morning again after yet another long night of work. What time was it even? Heck, what day was it? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was he had a job to do.

I could have sworn I left it right here. Is someone messing with me?

He wasn’t the tidiest, as it was plain to see from the sight of his office. It was often the little things that would slip between the cracks. But he never let it bring him down. In fact, he didn’t let anything bring him down.

As he was nearly tearing his office apart, the front door to his office cracked open slightly.

“S-sir?” A quiet, hesitant voice called from behind the door. He poked his head in a bit further.

“Mr. Manager, sir?” He repeated.

“Oh!” A voice came from under the desk, followed by the sound of papers rustling.

Before the voice could respond-

THUD!

“Ow!”

The loud thud reverberated through the room as the bumbling Manager Magolor clumsily crawled out from under the desk, one hand clutching his head in pain.

“Oh, goodness, sir! Are you alright?!” His guest cried out.

“Who, me?” he chuckled. “Never been better!” He declared confidently as he dusted himself off. Suddenly, his expression shifted to panic. “Say…Waddle Dee, you haven’t seen my hat around, have you?” He spun in circles desperately scanning every inch of the room.

Waddle Dee glanced over to the coat rack that stood by Magolor’s office door, and sure enough, there it was in its usual spot.

“It’s right there by the door sir!” he said, pointing at it.

Magolor turned, spotting the familiar sight of his big blue manager's top hat perched atop his coat rack and sighed with relief.

“Oh, would you look at that!” He smiled. “See, this is why you’re my go-to guy, Waddle Dee!” Magolor grabbed his big, blue top hat and placed it atop his head like a crown.

“Ahh, at long last it’s time.” Magolor announced, clasping his hands. “Time to open the park for another fantastic day of fun at Merry Magoland! Are you ready, Waddle Dee?” Magolor tightened his bright, blue bow tie and smoothed out the wrinkles on his cape, his usual flair for presentation on full display.

“Of course, sir!”

There were many Waddle Dee’s working at Merry Magoland but this one in particular stood out to Magolor. His fierce dedication and loyalty helped earn him the coveted role of Manager Magolor’s personal assistant, a job he took immense pride in. While Magolor preferred to do almost everything himself, Waddle Dee was always there to assist with extra duties at the park and lend a hand to Magolor whenever he needed it. He took his work very seriously, striving to maintain a close bond with his boss, Magolor, whom he had admired ever since he first got hired at Merry Magoland. Aside from Kirby, no one spent more time with Magolor than Waddle Dee.

“Look, sir!” He exclaimed. “There’s already over a hundred guests waiting outside! That’s almost twice as many as yesterday’s opening! Merry Magoland is a huge success and it’s all because of you!” Magolor paused as he looked at himself in the mirror. As Waddle Dee’s words sank in, he began to blush slightly.

“Thank you, Waddle Dee…” Magolor murmured as he rubbed his eyes again.

“Just twenty more minutes until we open, sir! Is there anything you need extra help with today?” Waddle Dee asked.

Magolor didn’t respond.

“Um…sir?” Waddle Dee repeated leaning in slightly. Then, ever so faintly, a small snore escaped from Magolor’s mouth.

“Sir!” Waddle Dee yelped, reaching out to gently shake him awake.

“W-What?” Magolor jolted awake, his ears sticking straight up. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head to clear away the fogginess.

“Sir, did you just...fall asleep just now?"

Magolor scoffed. “Of course not. I was just…thinking about something funny I said the other day!” He adjusted his hat and forced a small but sincere smile to Waddle Dee.

“You never left last night, did you? Don’t tell me you pulled another all-nighter!”

Magolor said nothing but quickly waved his hand in dismissal at his remark. Waddle Dee hurried after him.

“Sir, with all due respect… I think you might be overdoing it just a bit. Don’t you think you should maybe…take a break?”

“A break? Nah, I’m fine. Better than ever, in fact!” Magolor said, waving him off. “I was just thinking about something else, that’s all.”

Waddle Dee wasn’t convinced. He hesitated, looking to the ground as he spoke. “Um…Perhaps I… Could be of assistance?” He said, his voice small and uncertain.

“Assistance? What kind of assistance?”

Taking a deep breath, he looked at Magolor. “Let me open the park for you, sir! You know, I’ve been shadowing you for quite some time now, I”-

“Waddle Dee, it’s not that I don’t believe you could” Magolor gently interrupted. “It's just that being Park Manager is a lot, and I mean a LOT- of work. And it’s all my responsibility. I couldn’t possibly burden you with something like that.” He reached out and gave Waddle Dee a few light pats on the head before continuing forward. Waddle Dee, determined, hustled back to his side.

“But I can handle it! You work so hard! It’s the least I can do!” He pleaded. Magolor stopped in his tracks and let out a deep sigh.

“Waddle Dee… You’re just not ready yet.” He turned to his assistant, his voice firm yet tired. “Someday, you’ll be able to handle all these responsibilities. But…” he paused, stifling a yawn. “Not today.”

Waddle Dee sighed, his shoulders sinking in disappointment. For as long as he’s been here, he’s witnessed firsthand the sacrifices Magolor made to bring this park to life. He watched Merry Magoland grow from one single game booth to the bustling wonderland it is today. Waddle Dee had always felt like an outsider. But then he met Magolor. So ambitious, so kind and so determined to better himself and everyone around him. He welcomed Waddle Dee with open arms who admired him for his resilience, his passion and how he never stopped fighting to make his dream come true despite all the obstacles and challenges that stood in his way.

“But…sir if you could just”-

“Waddle Dee we’ve been through this!” Magolor cut him off, already turning the knob on his office door.

“Perfection doesn’t take breaks!”

With a dramatic swing, Magolor flung open the door. Immediately the sights and smells of Merry Magoland greeted the two of them as they headed outside.

It seemed to perk him up a bit as he took a moment to let it all in. Despite the exhaustion clawing at him from yet another sleepless night, this-this moment-made it all worth it.

Looking around at this place; this place he created himself! Nothing made him happier. Nothing except of course…

“Magolor!”

His ear twitched at the sound of his name. It was a familiar voice. A friendly voice.

“Hey, Magolor!!”

“Could that be?…” Magolor turned and there, bouncing excitedly and waving his hands was none other than his longtime best friend, Kirby of the Stars.

“Well, if it isn’t Kirby!” Magolor said, cupping his hands together. “What a nice surprise!”

“Hi, Magolor! I’m glad I could catch you!”

“Kirby, I don’t mind when you bypass the entrance with that fancy Warpstar of yours but you do know the Park’s not open yet, right?”

“Yeah, I know!” Kirby said.

Magolor raised an eyebrow, almost amused at the remark. “Oh? Well then, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“Well, how are you? It’s been a while since we’ve gotten to hang out and I-“

“Say no more!” Magolor interrupted, his grin widening. “You missed your old buddy, Magolor, didn’t you!” Without warning, he scooped up Kirby into his arms and squeezed him in a tight hug, swinging him around with joy.

“I know I’ve been very, VERY busy these days,” He said as he continued to squeeze Kirby tight. “But remember I’m always just a hop, a skip and a jump away!” Finally releasing him, Magolor let out a chuckle as Kirby stumbled slightly and caught his breath. Magolor was a very strong hugger.

Kirby steadied himself and turned back to Magolor.

“When is your next day off ?”

Magolor let out a quick laugh then paused. His expression shifted slightly as he looked at Kirby with perplexity.

“Oh…you’re serious…” He rubbed the back of his head suddenly looking a bit nervous.

“Well, you know how it is. Merry Magoland is open all the time. Morning, noon, night… doesn’t matter! And as manager, it’s my job to be here whenever the park is running.”

“So… You run this whole entire place all by yourself, all day everyday with no help?!” Kirby gawked.

“That’s right!” Magolor replied proudly.

Kirby hesitated. “So, the thing is, it sort of feels like forever since we’ve gotten to do something fun together or even had a moment to talk!”

Magolor’s ears perked up. “Kirby, you and your friends have a free lifetime pass to the park! You could visit me every single day if you wanted to!”

“Yeah, about that…” Kirby rubbed the back of his head. “You don’t remember the last time I was here, do you?”

“Hmm?” Magolor’s left ear twitched slightly.

“Magolor, I was here yesterday. And the day before that… And the day before that one too! In fact, I’ve been here every single day for the past 10 days!”

Magolor’s eyes widened. “10 days!? Are you sure? Why haven't I seen you around then?”

“You have! But… Every time I found you; you were just too busy to notice I was there...”

Magolor blinked. “I…I was?” The realization hit hard. He had been so buried in his managerial duties that he missed his own friend. Kirby had been coming by every day trying to see him and he had no idea…

“Oh…oh dear…”

Magolor suddenly began to feel lightheaded. Whether it was crushing guilt or a lack of sleep, something was catching up to him. He pressed a hand against his forehead, took one wobbly step then collapsed to the ground.

“Magolor!” Kirby shouted, running to his side.

After a few seconds Magolor sat back up, his face burning with embarrassment. He straightened his hat, dusted himself off and cleared his throat like nothing even happened.

“Kirby, I… I’m sorry… I..” His voice wavered for a moment before he shook his head. “I need to open the park now.. Excuse me.” Without another word, he brushed right past Kirby, keeping his eyes to the ground.

Kirby let out a frustrated groan, then stomped forward to catch up.

“Magolor, please will you just listen to me!! I think you’re pushing yourself just a little too hard! It’s okay to take a break every once in a while!”

Magolor glanced at him for a quick second, then immediately looked back down, refusing to engage.

“I just don’t want to see you burned out is all! I’d hate to see something bad happen to the park or worse, you!”

Magolor stopped. He slowly turned to face Kirby; his gaze fixed on him.

“Kirby, you’re mistaken.” he said firmly.

“I know what I’m doing, and I’m well aware of my limits. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? How come I saw you nodding off during the Stamp Rally yesterday?”

Magolor scoffed. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken once again.” And right on cue, he loud out a big yawn. With an annoyed groan, he rubbed his eyes, pressing his palms against them before exhaling a long, loud sigh.

“…Kirby, I wish you wouldn’t worry about me so much. I have everything…” Another yawn cut him off mid-sentence.

“… Under my control!”

Kirby slightly winced at the sound of that word. He knew “control” was a touchy subject for Magolor. His past obsession with power, the influence of the Master Crown and his possession left scars. While he no longer sought “limitless power” he still strived to remain “in control” of every aspect of his life. The very thought of losing it seemed to send him into panic. Kirby didn’t want to overstep his boundaries, but he knew he had to do something.

“Have you seen yourself lately?” Kirby vaguely gestured at Magolor’s exceptionally worn-down appearance. Sure, his outfit was flawless as usual but the guy wearing it? Not so much. The bags under his eyes could be seen from another dimension. He slouched with every step, one ear refusing to stand up properly, almost as if it had given up completely. Magolor forced a small reassuring smile and folded his hands together.

“While I do appreciate your concern Kirby, my appearance is the least of my worries right now.” Magolor began to trail off once again. “With all these responsibilities there’s just no time to be handsome.”

“…Handsome?…” Kirby titled his head to the side, utterly baffled at his remark.

“Kirby, I’m flattered, REALLY. But can we discuss my good looks another time?” Magolor kept moving forward avoiding eye contact with his increasingly worried friend.

“Manager Magolor!”- a familiar voice called out.

“Waddle Dee! What perfect timing!” Magolor perked up instantly, his tired expression briefly replaced by delight. His trusty assistant had returned once again.

“Sir, I just wanted to let you know I’ve already gone ahead and gathered the staff for our morning huddle!”

Magolor’s ears twitched with surprise.

“Well, look at you! You’re one step ahead of me this time!”

Turning back to Kirby he added with a smug grin, “See? I do have help around here!”

Kirby followed Magolor to the main area of the Entrance Plaza where his loyal Waddle Dee staff eagerly awaited their esteemed manager.

“Every morning before the gates open, I give my staff a quick pep talk to help keep spirits high as well as update them on any changes to our rules and procedures.”

Kirby wasn’t even the one giving the speech, but he already felt so nervous after seeing how many eyes were focused on him. Some of them seemed excited about being here, seeing as he was a local celebrity around here.

“It looks like you get to join us for our Morning Huddle today! How lucky for you!” Magolor adjusted his tie and dusted himself off.

“This will only take a minute!”

With a wink, Magolor floated up to a blue and yellow pedestal near the big manager's desk. He stood before his entire Merry Magoland staff which filled the entrance plaza. He had their undivided attention. He adjusted a small microphone in front of him and cleared his throat.

“Good Morning Waddle Dees!” He called out enthusiastically.

A wave of cheers and chatter echoed throughout the crowd.

“It’s time yet again for another fantastic day at our favorite place!”

More cheers erupted from the energetic crowd.

“I know things have been a bit…hectic lately, but I can’t thank you all enough for all you do here. Without you, there is no Merry Magoland!”

As Kirby listened, he found himself completely amazed by the sheer amount of admiration the Waddle Dees had for Magolor and this park.

“You’ve all been doing such a great job! Bravo, bravo!” He clapped. “Today's pep talk will be short and sweet! We have a very busy day ahead of us!” Magolor shuffled some papers in his hands. “We already have eager guests waiting outside our gates! I trust everyone has…”

Magolor paused mid-sentence, covering his mouth as a quick yawn slipped out. “My apologies! …Completed their morning tasks!” He said with a smile.

“Yes sir!” shouted his staff of Waddle Dees as they hopped about excitedly. Kirby was truly impressed. The respect they had for Magolor was undeniable.

“Today will be a great day, I just know it!” He declared. “As always, I’ll be making my rounds throughout the park today so I’m never too far if you need me!”

Magolor was a fine leader. Much better than Kirby had imagined. Seeing all his hard work come together so seamlessly was incredible.

“And with that I do believe it’s finally that time! Are we ready for another successful day?”

“YES, SIR!”

Magolor clapped his hands with delight and nodded his head.

“My assistant and I will be headed to the gates shortly to open the park! Unless anyone else has something to add, that’s all I have for you today!”

With a smile, Magolor then took a bow, his staff then scattered back over to their posts to prepare for the opening. As Magolor quickly made his way to the gates, Kirby hurried bedside him.

“Wow, they really respect you!” Kirby said as Magolor rubbed at his tired eyes some more.

“You’ve really got this manager thing down! You’re a total pro!”

“Y-you really think so?” Magolor stammered, his face turning a bit pink.

“Well, sure! You’ve really built a great place here, Magolor!”

“Wow, Kirby!…I-I’m speechless …” He exclaimed as tears began to swell up in his eyes. Still sniffling a bit he cleared his throat and quickly returned to his normal cheerful tone of voice.

“Thank you, Kirby.” He said with a nod to his friend. “I’m glad to see you and so many others have been enjoying my Park…”. While Magolor was trying desperately to remain positive, it was beginning to wear a bit thin. Kirby wasn’t fooled. He knew firsthand just how stubborn Magolor could be. He knew he needed to get through to him somehow and if Magolor would listen to anyone- it would be Kirby.

“Kirby, listen. I appreciate you stopping by… And I do apologize for not being more readily available.” Magolor cupped his hands together and shot a quick glance at the gates before turning back to Kirby. “I really hate to disappoint you yet again, but I just don’t have time for chit-chat right now. I have a job to do! We’ll catch up another time, hmm?” Magolor tried to make a swift getaway, but Kirby wasn’t having it.

“Well, what other time if you’re always here?”

“…”

Magolor kept his eyes to the ground, once again unable to look Kirby in the eye.

“Why not let the Waddle Dees run the park today?”

“Well, then what would I do?”

“Take a break!”

Magolor scoffed. “The Waddle Dees are diligent workers, but they’re not quite ready to run things on their own just yet.”

And right on cue once again, his loyal Waddle Dee assistant appeared, hesitantly raising a hand.

“Sir, perhaps I could-“

“Waddle Dee!” Magolor cried out, interrupting him. “You keep sneaking away from me!” Kirby stared in confusion at the sudden appearance of his assistant again.

“Oh, how foolish of me! Where are my manners? Kirby, I’d like you to meet my assistant, Waddle Dee!” Magolor proudly introduced him. Waddle Dee gave Kirby a polite nod, but didn’t say a word.

“Wow, you must be really proud to be Magolor’s assistant, huh?”

Ignoring Kirby’s remark, Waddle Dee kept his focus on his boss.

“Five minutes until opening sir.”

“It’s nice to meet you!” Kirby awkwardly continued. “Any friend of Magolor is a friend of mine!” Kirby held out his hand in hopes of a friendly handshake. Waddle Dee shot him the briefest glance, clearly uninterested in conversation. Kirby blinked a few times and shot a confounded glance at Magolor.

"Hehehe..Eh- thank you, Waddle Dee!" Magolor interjected.

“Shall I wait for you at the gates sir?”

“I’ll be over in a jiffy!” The two exchanged nods and Waddle Dee set off the gates. Kirby blinked a few times before frowning.

“Was it something I said?”

“Oh, Kirby. Don’t mind him. My assistant is a Waddle Dee of few words. Don’t take it too personally!” Magolor said, waving his hand dismissively. “He just takes his job very seriously! He’s a real professional!”

“Well, if he’s such a professional why not let him run the park every once in a while?”

“Please Kirby can we discuss this another time?” Magolor groaned, dragging his hands down his face.

“Come on, you’ve worked hard enough! You deserve a break!” Kirby leaned in closer, softening his tone. Magolor stiffened a bit but kept his back to Kirby.

“Listen, I know how important this parkis to you… But you don’t have to do it all alone! You have the Waddle Dees and all your friends back in Dream Land! We’re always happy to help! We all need a hand from our friends from time to time, Magolor. There’s nothing wrong with that!”

Kirby took a few steps closer to him. He remained silent.

“We all want to see your dreams come true, but not this way! Let us help you, Magolor, what do you say?”

Kirby awaited Magolor’s response but there was only silence.

“Magolor?…” Kirby blinked. Magolor was still. Too still. Then, a barely audible snore slipped out of him. Kirby sighed, giving him a gentle nudge to bring him back.

“Huh?” Magolor gasped. He turned to see Kirby glaring at him disapprovingly. He let out a nervous chuckle.

“How can you manage the park if you can’t even manage to stay awake?” he said, worry evident in his voice.

“I can manage just fine, Kirby. Now if you would excuse me.” Magolor huffed as he adjusted his hat. pushed past Kirby, heading to the gates.

“What if I helped you open the park? Just for today!” Kirby shouted. Magolor stopped mid-step and turned back to him.

“You? Open the park?” Then, with a shake of his head he scoffed. “Don’t be absurd.” Without another word, he turned away from Kirby, continuing for the gates. Kirby hurried after him.

“Not even for a couple minutes?”

Magolor sighed “Kirby, please. I appreciate your concern for my well-being, but I assure you I’m fine.”

Kirby, who just watched him quite literally pass out standing up, remained unconvinced.

“As Park Manager, I accept that there are sacrifices I must make to keep the wheels turning.” Magolor stated, his voice swelling with a dramatic sense of flair. “It’s up to me to ensure that every single guest that walks through those gates has the BEST experience of their life. I won’t accept anything less!”

Kirby nodded. “But that’s why I want to help!”

Magolor hesitated.

“I can greet the guests! Make sure they have a good time! Keep things running smoothly!” Kirby leaned forward, beaming with confidence. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course I trust you, Kirby. It’s just-“

“Then let me do this for you! Let me take care of Merry Magoland just for a little while! I won’t let you down!”

“I know, Kirby, I know! In fact, I think you’d make a wonderful manager, it's just…”

Magolor looked to the ground. His voice grew quiet.

“This was my true dream all along. Before… well… you know.” Magolor gave a small, bitter chuckle. “You were there. I don’t really have the best track record when it comes to my past. I’ve done terrible… stupid things.” He exhaled, rubbing his hands together. “This is my way of making up for that. To you… To everyone.”

“Well, I think you’re doing a great job! In fact, such a great job that you deserve a break now more than ever! Come on, Magolor, what do you say?”

Magolor twiddled his thumbs nervously as Kirby egged him on.

“You can trust me! The Waddle Dees and I will make sure everything goes perfectly!”

Kirby edged closer to Magolor, giving him a sad but endearing look. Magolor exhaled deeply.

“Kirby, don’t look at me like that.” He said sternly.

Kirby didn’t say a word, but kept his sad eyes fixated on Magolor.

“Kirby, I’m serious! Stop it!” Despite Magolor’s pleas, Kirby's eyes grew bigger and sadder. After fighting it as long as he could bear, he held up his hands in defeat.

“Well, it looks like I’m no match for you once again.” He said, with a defeated sigh.

“Alright Kirby!... You win. If it will make you happy…I’ll take a break. A quick break! 5 minutes and that’s IT.”

Kirby froze where he stood, eyes wide. Then, his face lit up, his entire being bursting with joy.

“YAHOOOOOO!” He shrieked. “You won’t regret this, Magolor! I’m gonna be the BEST manager EVER!” Kirby beamed, punching the air with so much excitement that he nearly toppled over.

Magolor felt dizzy just watching him.

“Don’t get too excited now, Kirby!” he said, waving his hand. “It’s just the opening I’ll need your help with. After my break, I’ll return to my work as usual, and you can be on your way!”

Kirby’s smile slowly began to fade as Magolor walked past him. He turned his head, with a subtle wave to Kirby behind him.

“Follow me, I’ll give you a quick rundown on how things work around here!”

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Magolor led Kirby to a secret hidden door behind the Managers desk in the plaza. Magolor pulled out a gold key and unlocked the door. With the flick of his finger the lights in the room switched on to reveal a tiny, cluttered room. The lighting was a bit dim due to multiple lightbulbs being burnt out. The room reeked of coffee and expired milk, and it was freezing cold thanks to the multiple air conditioners Magolor kept running at high speed.

“I apologize for the mess… I haven’t had time to tidy up in a while.” Magolor said, blushing slightly. “Watch your step there!” He extended his hand out to prevent Kirby from walking over some trash on the floor in the doorway. Magolor’s office was a bit of an enigma, and this would be the first time Kirby had ever stepped foot inside. The walls were, of course, those famous shades of blue and yellow. All over the walls were corkboards, framed photos and shelves full of rocks, dead plants, books and various trinkets from his travels. Kirby was rather surprised to see how messy it was. Magolor had always struck him as the “perfectionist” type so seeing him work in such a messy environment raised some red flags.

“You… Really do spend a lot of time in here, huh?” Kirby said as he continued to stare at Magolor’s dusty shelves stuffed end to end with thick, ancient-looking books. Kirby couldn’t read any of the titles as they were all in Halcandran, Magolor’s native language. He only spoke it when it was necessary. (Mostly to curse, which worked out quite well for him since the Waddle Dees didn’t understand any Halcandran either.)

“This is my home away from home. A good manager's work is never done, Kirby!” Magolor said, waving his finger. “A park of such grandeur requires around-the-clock attention.”

“And you do all of this by yourself?!”

“I sure do! It’s not easy… Oh, boy is it not easy! But it’s worth it to see all the smiles on our guests' faces!”

Kirby followed Magolor as he floated over to his work desk area, tucked away in the back corner nearly hidden behind mountains of files, boxes and stacks of paperwork.

Wow, it must really take a LOT to run this place. Poor Magolor…He really did work so hard to make his dream come true…

Magolor’s work desk sat facing the door, underneath a bright, fluorescent light that Magolor had to flick a few times to get on. His desk was littered with half eaten snacks, empty coffee cups and energy drink cans. A few dying (but still alive somehow) plants decorated one of the corners. The wood was considerably worn down and especially faded towards the center. A shiny, gold name plate displaying…what he assumed was Magolor’s name in Halcandran, sat near a pile of stamps adorned with Magolor’s smiling face. Sticky notes everywhere, some in Halcandran, some Kirby could read.

ORDER MORE BALLOONS!!!

WADDLE DEE NEEDS A NEW HAT

ORDER MORE HATS

ORDER MORE STICKY NOTES

Among many others.

“Oh, pardon me.” Magolor shoved aside the coffee cups and half eaten donuts that covered most of his desk. Underneath the mess, lay a big, colorful hand drawn map of Merry Magoland, signed by Magolor himself. It was so beautiful, Kirby couldn’t believe Magolor could draw such a thing.

“This is the park map, as you can see, you are here!” Magolor pointed to a star in the middle of the map, marking his office.

“If you ever need to find anything this map will be your guide! Now, here you’ll see our employee directory, everyone’s name and assigned workstation is conveniently listed. It’s imperative that everyone report to their assigned position in a timely manner.”

Magolor handed Kirby a clipboard with a list of names that all read “Waddle Dee” repeatedly.

"Wow, the Park looks way bigger on this map! And that’s…”

Kirby flipped through pages and pages of “Waddle Dee” and all their respective workstations.

“A LOT of employees…” Kirby couldn’t believe how long the pages went on for.

“Ahh, don’t worry, they’re professionals! Each Waddle Dee has been expertly trained to perfection by yours truly.” Magolor said with a bow.

“Now, my guests expect nothing but the best here at Merry Magoland and it’s up to you to make sure that happens! Well, for 5 minutes at least!” His voice carried a polished sense of professionalism. He almost spoke to Kirby as if he were a client, not an old friend.

Magolor shuffled more things around on his desk and even took a quick sip from one of the old, cold coffee cups on his desk. Then he rolled up the park map and handed it to Kirby.

“I doubt you’ll need this for the opening, but I’d like you to hold on to it for me.”

Kirby’s eyes glistened with joy. With a confident nod he took the map and tucked it away for safekeeping.

Before either of them could say another word, a loud chime rang from outside,

DING! DING! DING! DING! DING!

Magolor dusted himself off and straightened his tie.

“Would you look at that? It’s about time to open the gates! Are you ready Kirby?”

Kirby was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement.

“You bet, Magolor! Just watch me! I’ll show you what it takes to be a manager! Here I Go!” Just as Kirby prepared to dash toward the door, Magolor hastily raised his hand.

“Kirby, wait!” Kirby skidded to a stop.

Magolor floated over to a worn-out looking trunk near his desk. He carefully opened it.

“One last thing, before you go!”

He rummaged inside it for a second before pulling out something neatly folded. He gave it a quick visual inspection, checking it for wrinkles and imperfections. Then he turned back to Kirby with a big smile on his face.

“If you’re going to be a manager…then you have to look like a manager!”

He tossed the outfit to Kirby who caught it midair, his eyes radiant with wonder.

“There you go, Kirby! Your very own Manager’s uniform!”

“OH, WOW! I get to wear this!?” Kirby said, clutching the outfit tightly in his hands as if it were an expertly hidden energy sphere he just found. It was soft, regal and expertly crafted, (as expected from such a creative and talented visionary like Magolor!)

“That’s right!” He smirked proudly. I do have a brand to uphold after all! Hee, hee hee!” Despite his usual cheerful tone, his enthusiasm seemed to be fading. Kirby could hear it. That slight dip in energy, that forced cheerfulness. Magolor was putting on a front in yet another attempt to hide any signs of weakness or vulnerability.

“So… what are you going to do during your break? I bet you have a whole list of stuff you’d like to do!”

Magolor hesitated, then let out a small chuckle. “Well, sure, Kirby! Plenty of things! But… the park needs me. My employees need me! I can’t stray too far.”

With a content sigh, he floated over to one of his bookshelves running a hand along the spines of well-worn tomes before finally plucking one out. A thick cloud of dust puffed into the air as he blew across the cover, revealing the title (in Halcandran, of course) unreadable to anyone but him.

“I’d love to finish this book!” he muttered, flipping it over in his hands. “I used to breeze through chapters in no time! These days I’m lucky to finish a single page it seems.”

With his book in hand, he drifted back to his desk and plopped into his chair. He cracked it open, scanning the first few words before glancing out the window toward the park entrance… then down at the pages… then back at the window again.

“Five minutes?…” He huffed. “That’s an awfully long time to be away.”

Magolor let out a dramatic sigh, resting his head on his hand as he gazed sadly out his office window.

“What will Merry Magoland do without it’s manager?”

Kirby smirked, hands on his hips. “I won’t let you down, Magolor! You just sit back, relax, and leave everything to me because today, I’m the manager!”

“…For 5 minutes you’re the manager.” Magolor corrected him, flipping to the next page of his book.

“Right, 5 minutes…got it!” Kirby nodded.

“Good! When those 5 minutes are up it’s back to work! Just meet me back here, alright? I’ll be right here at my desk waiting for you!”

“You can count on me!” Kirby exclaimed with enthusiasm. Then, with a dramatic spin, Kirby quickly changed into his new manager’s uniform. Once dressed, he turned to see himself in a nearby mirror, his eyes sparkling as he admired the outfit. A silky white scarf draped with a matching cloak adorned with royal blue embellishments. Oh, and who could forget the giant, glittery bow tie complete with a hand-knit energy sphere embroidery? Among his many tailored get-ups this one was by far the flashiest. Kirby was feeling more like a manager already! He eagerly bounced in place, his grin widening.

“WOW! Look at me! I look just like you!” He puffed out his chest, adjusting the bow tie carefully, making sure it sat just right on his round body.

“So… Do I look like a real manager or what, Magolor?”

After a few practice smiles, Kirby realized Magolor didn’t answer him. Maybe he didn’t har him.

“Magolor?”

THUD!!

Kirby flinched at the sudden noise, turning around quickly. Magolor was face-down on his desk, the book he had just been holding now lying on the floor beside him.

Kirby blinked.

“…Magolor?”

He stepped closer and picked up the book, carefully attempting to hand it back. But Magolor was out like a light, snoring away!

Kirby stared, unsure how to react.

His eyes then caught a glimpse of the clock on Magolor’s desk. He gasped. It was time to open the park!

“Ah, here we go! It’s time, its time, it’s finally tiiiiime!” Kirby dashed excitedly to the door nearly knocking everything over in his path. He hesitated, looking back at Magolor one last time.

“See you in 5 minutes!” Kirby burst through the doors, sprinting full speed down the walks of Merry Magoland, weaving past Waddle Dees, dodging snack carts, and leaping over stray balloons like he was in an obstacle course. He landed right at the entrance just as the gates were ready to be unlocked. Waddle Dee was already there waiting for him.

As soon as Kirby appeared, Waddle Dee’s face lit up, only to immediately shift into confusion.

“Kirby, you’re back.” His eyes quickly darted behind him, noting his boss’s absence.

“…Where’s Magolor?”

“Oh! Right! He’s...taking a break!” Kirby grinned.

Waddle Dee froze.

“…He’s what?”

“He’s taking a break!” Kirby repeated with that same big grin still on his face.

“Magolor? Taking a break?!” Waddle Dee’s voice rose in sheer disbelief. “Magolor never takes breaks. How did you convince him to do that?!”

Kirby rubbed the back of his head, laughing. “Well… he didn’t really have a choice, you see-”

Waddle Dee tilted his head. “What do you mean he didn’t have a-”

Before he could finish, Kirby reached into his scarf and pulled out a large, golden key, holding it up proudly.

Waddle Dee’s eyes locked onto it.

The official Merry Magoland gate key.

Magolor’s key.

The same key that he’d seen Magolor use countless times to open the park, standing right where Kirby was standing now.

Something tightened in Waddle Dee’s chest.

It should have been him holding that key.

Kirby grinned eagerly, completely unaware of Waddle Dee’s lingering stare.

“Time to open the gates! Here we go!”

Waddle Dee quickly snapped out of it, clearing his throat and nodding. “R-Right. Let’s get to it.”

With a big, enthusiastic turn of the key, the gates of Merry Magoland swung open, and a massive crowd of eager guests came rushing in. A wave of excitement filled the air, as well as colorful balloons, confetti bursting from the entrance, and cheerful chatter from hundreds of eager park guests.

“HELLO! WELCOME TO MERRY MAGOLAND!” Kirby beamed, waving wildly as guests poured in.

It didn’t matter how many guests entered Kirby was determined to greet each and every one of them.

And he meant everyone.

His infectious spirit was contagious as laughter and joy spread throughout the eager crowd. Waddle Dee, meanwhile, stood just slightly behind him, watching.

You’d think he’d be happy. After all, things were running smoothly, right? Just like Magolor wanted. Kirby was doing such a good job…

But as he watched Kirby, standing at the entrance, wearing Magolor’s colors, holding the key to the park…

That should have been him.

He quickly shook it off, forcing himself to focus. For now, he had a job to do.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough waving,” Waddle Dee sighed, stepping up beside him.

He crossed his arms, his foot thumping against the ground.

“So… when exactly is Magolor’s break over?”

Kirby froze mid-wave.

“Oh!! Right! Magolor! It’s been five minutes!!”

Before Waddle Dee could say another word, Kirby whipped around and took off at full speed.

That was fine. It wasn’t like he minded being left behind. Again.

His eyes narrowed in a sharp frown, but after a small sigh, he forced himself to let it go.

It was fine.

Actually… maybe it was even better this way.

Magolor would be back soon. The real manager.

With a small shake of his head, Waddle Dee disappeared into the crowd, vanishing among the sea of guests.

For a moment, he was just another face in the bustling park.

And then, he was gone.

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Kirby burst through the doors of Magolor’s office practically bouncing off the walls. His whole body buzzing with excitement, his steps light and bouncy.

“I did it, Magolor, I did it!! The park opening was a huge success!” he shouted.

“There were soooo many Waddle Dees! More than I’ve ever seen in one place before! They were everywhere! Some of them even waved back when I waved at them! It was so much fun! I can really see why you like doing this so much!” Kirby spoke so fast he barely took a breath. “Also, you were right! 5 minutes does go by fast! But I did it! So, how was your break?”

Expecting to be greeted by the ever-doting manager, Kirby instead found Magolor still sitting asleep at his desk, his head resting comfortably on his hands, his scarf puffed up around his face like a pillow. He looked like he hadn’t moved a muscle since Kirby last saw him. Kirby tilted his head and hurried over to him.

“Hey, Magolor, I’m back! The opening went great, and it’s been 5 minutes so you can go back to work now!”

Magolor remained still, a soft, airy snore crept out, followed by an unintelligible sleepy mumble. Usually, Magolor perked up at the slightest noise, especially when it involved work. So, this felt a bit odd…

Kirby reached out and gave him another shake. “Heheheh…Very funny. Wake up, Magolor!”

Still nothing.

Kirby frowned and nervously glanced at the clock. Magolor specifically asked for a five-minute break. Five minutes had long passed now. A small sense of panic arose inside him.

Then, an idea struck him.

“I know!”

Kirby carefully placed his hands on one of Magolor’s eyes and gently eased it open.

“HELLO!? Are you in there?!” Kirby yelled, his voice nearly echoing throughout the room.

Magolor’s blank, unfocused eye stared past Kirby, completely unseeing like a glass marble. Kirby shuddered, closing it back.

“Nope, don’t like that.”

His face brightened with realization. Another thought struck him. He took a deep breath. And then…

“MAGOLOR, HEY MAGOLOR YOU WON’T BELIEVE THIS! CHEF KAWASAKI IS GIVING OUT FREE SNACKS IN THE PARK PLAZA!” Kirby loudly shouted, his voice booming through the office, shaking the very walls.

“THEY HAVE ALL YOUR FAVORITES! DONUTS, CUPCAKES AND POTATO CHIPS!”

Kirby rushed over to the door, fully expecting Magolor to have sprung up and followed him but to his surprise, Magolor hadn’t so much as stirred.

Kirby huffed. His eyes darted to the clock, Then back to Magolor. Then back to the clock again. The park had now been open for almost 10 minutes.

Suddenly, a horrible realization hit him.

“O-oh…Oh no…” he whispered.

W-wait… what if… what if he…worked himself…to death?!

“Oh, Magolor, NOOO!” he wailed, collapsing to the floor in despair.

“Why couldn’t you have just taken a break?!”

And then-

A quiet, irritated grunt slipped out of Magolor, low and muffled, almost as if he were trying to say, “shut up, Kirby!”

Kirby let out a long, relieved sigh. Magolor was fine, he just needed to rest. He let himself all worked up over nothing. Kirby glanced at the nearby window. Outside, the park was already bursting with energy in every corner. The sound of excited chatter, the sight of guests flooding through the gates, balloons and confetti galore! Merry Magoland was truly alive!

…But its manager wasn’t.

And that meant…

It was up to him now.

The park needed a manager and right now that manager was… Kirby!

“Alright! It looks like I'll be running the show today!” He said proudly, grinning wide with a shining sense of purpose.

“I’ll earn my reputation as a manager!” He continued. “My help running this park will be invaluable!”

Kirby’s gaze drifted to Magolor’s desk, then to Magolor himself. His signature hat was still perched on his head, slightly askew. Slowly, Kirby reached for it.

“Ah, at long last it's mine!” Kirby beamed as he gently picked the hat up.

“The source of limitless power…”

He hesitated for a moment, then carefully placed it on his own head.

“MANAGER KIRBY!” He shouted proudly, striking a bold, triumphant pose that would have made Magolor proud- had he been awake to see it. Kirby opened the door and took one big, confident step outside.

“Here goes nothing! I’ll make you proud Magolor! Now, onward to a- WAH!” Kirby stopped dead in his tracks, startled by the sudden sight of Magolor’s assistant Waddle Dee standing right outside the door. His arms were crossed, and he did not look happy. Magolor’s manager hat, being just a tad too big on Kirby, slid off his head onto the ground. Waddle Dee glared at Kirby with vehemence.

“Is…that Manager Magolor’s hat?!” He exclaimed. Kirby picked the hat up, dusted off the dirt and put it back on his head. Waddle Dee’s eye twitched a little at the sight.

“Why…” He said slowly, “Do you have his hat?”

He tried to peek behind Kirby into Magolor’s office, but Kirby quickly slammed the door shut and laughed anxiously.

“Where is Manager Magolor? Did something happen?”

“He’s fine! Why wouldn’t he be?” Kirby said.

“It’s…it’s opening time! He should have returned from his break by now! Something isn’t right.”

“No, really! He’s fine! He’s just…he’s just…” Again, an idea struck him.

"He’s cleaning his office! Yeah, that’s right! It’s a real pigsty. You’ve been in there, right? PHEW!" Kirby waved a hand dramatically, faking a shudder.

“He’s cleaning his office. By himself?”

“Yep! It could take him all day even.”

“ALL DAY!? I’m going to go help him." Just as Waddle Dee prepared to set off Kirby grabbed him.

“NO!” Waddle Dee froze mid-step, staring at Kirby with perplexity.

“I-I mean- hehehe. He…uh…He seemed like he really didn’t want to be bothered…”

“First, he takes a break, and now he’s cleaning his office alone? That’s not like him at all.” Waddle Dee’s eyes narrowed. “He would never abandon the park for anything.”

“Everything is fine Waddle Dee! Magolor didn’t abandon anything! He’ll be back before you know it!”

“Waddle Dee crossed his arms. "...How are we supposed to run Merry Magoland without our manager?"

Kirby puffed out his chest with pride, flashing his sparkling bow tie.

"Today, I’m the manager!"

“Y-You are?”

“That’s right! Magolor entrusted me with running the park today! Just call me Manager Kirby!”

“He… He put you in charge?” Those words almost felt like a slap right to the face.

“Don’t worry Waddle Dee, I’ll take good care of Merry Magoland! In fact, I could probably use your help! What do you say?”

Waddle Dee’s expression barely changed. His fingers tensed at his sides. His gaze turned to Magolor’s hat now sitting snugly atop Kirby’s head. For a split second, something dark flickered across his face. A hesitation, a small crease in his brow. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“…Sure…I’d be happy to help.” Waddle Dee said at last.

Someone has to make sure you don’t mess things up.

Kirby laughed. “That’s the spirit! Come on, Manager-In-Training, let’s go make this the best day in Magoland history!”

He spun around, heading off to the bustling entrance plaza.

Waddle Dee followed a few steps behind him. As he walked, his gaze drifted toward Magolor’s office door.

Why Kirby?... of all people, Kirby was Magolor’s first choice? Over me?...

His fingers clenched at his sides before he shook the thought away.

It didn’t matter. He was just here to help. To assist.

Nothing more.

Waddle Dee tore his gaze away and turned back around, returning to the lively chaos of the park.

Ahead, Kirby was practically skipping toward the plaza, basking in the cheers of the crowd, ready to take on his role as manager.

Far behind him, Waddle Dee’s shadow stretched long on the pavement, until it was swallowed up by the crowd around him.

The guests cheered. The rides sputtered to life. The festivities sparkled in the golden morning light.

But the day was only just beginning.

And so was everything else.

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#at long last it’s finally here !!!!#I’m so sorry it took so long aaagHHH #I’m so nervous lmao #anyway #enjoy !!!!#Magolor #Kirby #Kirby fanfic #manager for a day #merry Magoland #manager Magolor #crafty writes

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earthtoharlow · 18 hours ago

Text

HIT THE LIGHS

3rd installment of the Flashing Lights series, must read Flashing Lights & Don’t Like The Lights first to understand

series masterlist

3. The Journey

“I love them more than anything in the world, but sometimes… I miss how things used to be. Before the kids. When it was just us.” Maryse hesitated, swallowing the guilt rising in her throat. “I know it sounds selfish, and I hate even thinking it, but I miss the simplicity. I miss you and me without all the extra weight. And lately, it feels like we’re not even on the same page anymore.”

Jack listened in silence, his expression unreadable, though her words hit harder than he wanted to admit. After a moment, he simply said, “Go on.”

She took a breath, her voice unsteady. “I’m so grateful for our babies. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. But I miss having your full attention. I miss just… breathing. I miss laughing about nothing, staying up all night talking, not constantly thinking about schedules, diapers, or how exhausted we are.”

Jack reached for her hand, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. “That doesn’t sound selfish,” he said softly.

Her eyes stung, but she blinked back the tears. “It doesn’t?”

“No,” he said firmly. “It sounds human. This is a huge change for both of us. Missing what we had before doesn’t mean we love them—or each other—any less.”

A shaky laugh escaped her. “I was so scared to say it out loud. I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t happy or that I regret anything.”

“I’d never think that,” he reassured her. “I get it. I really do. I feel the same way sometimes. But you’re right—we need to find space for us again.”

Relief washed over her. She had been terrified he’d misunderstand, that he’d think she was ungrateful. But she wasn’t. She loved their life, their babies, him.

Jack ran a hand down his face, nodding as he processed her words. Then, after a beat, he looked at her. “Is it my turn now?”

She gave a small, hesitant nod, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie.

He exhaled, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Alright… I’ve been holding a lot in too.” He hesitated before meeting her eyes. “I was more upset than I let on about you posting the twins without talking to me first.”

Her stomach dropped, guilt settling in. “I know,” she admitted softly.

“I get why you did it,” he continued. “I knew something must’ve happened that made you feel like you had to post them right then. But it still stung, you know? We’ve kept them private for so long, and then I wake up and see them on my feed like everyone else. And instead of hearing it from you, I had to hear about it from my best friend.”

She swallowed hard, guilt pressing deep in her chest. “I should’ve told you first,” Maryse whispered.

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, then let out a sigh. “And I should’ve told you how I really felt instead of brushing it off like it was nothing.” He sat back, watching her. “I don’t wanna be like that. I want us to talk about things, even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially now that we have kids. I want them to grow up in a house where their parents don’t hide their feelings, no matter how hard it is to say them out loud.”

Something tightened in Maryse’s chest—not in a bad way, but in a way that made her realize just how much he was trying.

She nodded slowly, still gripping the fabric of his hoodie. “I want that too,” she said, and she meant it.

Jack studied her for a moment before his gaze dropped to her hand, where the promise ring gleamed on her finger. He tilted his head slightly. “You remember what I said when I gave that to you?”

She did. The memory of that night in Paris rushed back—him sitting across from her in their hotel room, the way he turned the ring between his fingers, the way he looked at her when he said, I don’t want to be with anyone else but you. I want us to keep building our future together.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded.

“Then think about that every time you start doubting how I feel about you,” he said, his voice softer now, more certain. “Because I meant every word.”

His eyes stayed on her, unwavering. “And I’m gonna prove it to you—every day, for the rest of your life—until you believe it. Until you realize I’m not going anywhere.”

Her breath hitched, fingers tightening on his hoodie.

“You gotta stop letting other people’s opinions get in your head,” he continued, his voice firm but gentle. “They don’t know us. They don’t know what we’ve been through—what we have.” He shook his head. “I’m here. I’ve been here. And I’m always gonna be here.”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she looked at him—the man who had been by her side through everything. The highs, the lows, the moments that shattered her and the ones that put her back together.

And for the first time in a while, she let herself believe it..

Maryse didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she climbed into his lap, settling against him like it was second nature. Her arms looped around his neck as she pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the curve of it. She felt the deep exhale he let out, the way his grip on her tightened instinctively.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against his skin. “For always running away.” She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her fingers tracing absently over the back of his head. “I don’t want to do that anymore.”

Jack studied her, searching her face like he needed to be sure she meant it.

“Good,” he finally said, voice low. “’Cause I need you here.”

“I am here,” she promised. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

His arms wrapped more securely around her, his fingers trailing slow circles on her back. “It really upsets me when you walk away like that. I get that sometimes we need space, but leaving isn’t the answer. We’re in this for life, baby.”

She swallowed hard, guilt settling deep in her chest. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Jack tilted her chin up, making sure she was looking at him. “We’re gonna go through stuff. That’s just what happens when you love somebody. But I need you to remember—we’re gonna get through it together. You hear me?”

She nodded, her throat tight with emotion.

“And you still gotta give me ten kids.”

A watery laugh slipped out as she smacked his chest lightly. “Ten is crazy.”

“I’m just saying,” he teased, his lips brushing against hers. “We make cute babies.”

Maryse softened, tracing a finger along his jaw. “We do make cute kids.” Then she sighed, glancing toward the door. “I miss them… Should we go get them?”

Jack shook his head immediately, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “Nah… best part about arguing is makeup sex.”

Her eyes widened as she gasped, laughing just as he suddenly grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder. “Oh my God! Put me down!”

“Nope,” he said, patting her thigh as he carried her out of the living room. “You started this, now you gotta finish it.”

She kept laughing, kicking her feet playfully. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

Jack tossed her onto the bed, and Maryse barely had a second to react before he was on top of her. Their lips crashed together, hands roaming, tugging at each other’s clothes with the kind of desperation that only came after a fight. Her fingers fumbled with his waistband, ready to yank his pants down when he suddenly stilled.

She blinked up at him, breathless. “What’s wrong?”

Jack exhaled, running a hand over his face. “Wait… I won’t drop the song.”

For a second, she almost didn’t register what he was saying—until it hit her. The song. The argument. The whole reason they were even in this moment.

She propped herself up on her elbows, searching his face. “Are you serious?”

He nodded. “If it upsets you, I won’t drop it.”

Her heart clenched at the sincerity in his voice. He was willing to set aside something important to him for her. But she shook her head, reaching up to cup his face. “No… you have to drop it. I would never forgive myself if I stopped you from releasing something you worked hard on.”

His eyes stayed on hers. “You sure?”

She nodded firmly. “Yes. I don’t ever want to be the reason you hold back on your music. I just… I needed to talk to you about it. That’s all.”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “You could’ve just talked to me from the jump instead of storming off.”

Maryse rolled her eyes. “Are we really doing this right now?”

Jack chuckled, leaning back down to kiss her. “Nah… we got better things to do.”

His lips brushed against her ear as he murmured, “You can be as loud as you want… it’s just us.”

Her breath hitched, fingers digging into his back as he pressed deeper against her. The reminder sent a shiver down her spine—no interruptions, no worrying about waking the twins, just the two of them, lost in each other.

She let go, her moans filling the space between them. He groaned in response, loving the way she unraveled beneath him. “That’s my girl,” he murmured against her lips before kissing her deeply, swallowing every sound she made..

With every movement, the tension from their argument dissolved, replaced by something deeper—something unbreakable. Jack’s grip on Maryse’s hips was firm, pulling her closer like he could never get enough. His breath was hot against her ear as he leaned in, his voice rough with emotion.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I’m never gonna leave you. You hear me?”

Her heart clenched at his words, her nails pressing into his back as she held him tighter. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice trembling from the intensity of it all.

“Say it again,” he pleaded, his tone softer now—vulnerable.

“I love you,” she said without hesitation. That’s when she saw it—the glint of unshed tears in his eyes. Something inside her cracked wide open, and she pulled him down into a slow, aching kiss.

When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his, her lips brushing his as she whispered, “You’re the love of my life. Always.”

He exhaled shakily, his hands trembling slightly as he held her even closer. “Again,” he begged, his voice barely above a breath.

“You’re the love of my life,” she repeated, her lips ghosting over his with every word. “And nothing is ever gonna change that.”

The tears finally fell, and she kissed them away, cradling his face as if her touch alone could make him whole. In that moment, nothing else existed—just them, their love, and the quiet promises stitching them back together.

As they lay tangled in the sheets, their breaths still uneven, Jack pulled her closer, arms tightening around her like he was afraid she might slip away. His face was buried in her hair, his hands spread across her back, holding her as if he could fuse them together.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured after a moment.

Maryse frowned, her fingers tracing lazy patterns down his spine. “For what?”

“For crying,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

She pulled back just enough to see his face, cupping his cheeks in her hands. “Don’t ever apologize for that,” she told him firmly, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “You never have to be sorry for feeling something with me.”

His eyes searched hers, looking for reassurance, and she gave it to him the only way she knew how—by pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. When she pulled away, she rested her forehead against his. “I love you,” she whispered. “Every part of you—including the part that feels things deeply.”

His arms tightened around her again as he let out a shaky breath, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “I love you too,” he murmured, this time with certainty.

Maryse exhaled softly. “Are we friends again?” she asked, exhaustion and relief woven into her voice.

Jack pulled her even closer, as if to make up for lost time. “The best of friends,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Lovers, even.”

She smiled against his skin, but before she could respond, he sighed. “I hate when we argue,” he admitted. “I know we’re going to disagree sometimes, but I don’t want it to feel like we’re on opposite sides.”

She nestled deeper into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. “Me too,” she whispered. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

His hand trailed down her back in a soothing motion. “Then let’s work on it. No more shutting down. No more running.”

She nodded, the promise unspoken but understood in the way she held onto him.

“And we can’t let anyone rush us,” he added, his voice steady. “I love where we are right now. We don’t have to sprint toward the altar just because people expect it.”

Maryse lifted her head slightly to study him. “You don’t want to get married?”

He chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “M, I’d do it in a heartbeat,” he admitted. “But I want us to take our time—enjoy being parents, enjoy figuring things out. I don’t want us to move faster just because the world is watching.”

She held his gaze for a moment before nodding. “You’re right. I love where we are too.”

His lips brushed against her forehead. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m in this forever, no matter how long it takes.”

They were quiet for a moment as they were still tangled up in the sheets. Jack lazily traced circles on Maryse’s back, his fingers warm against her skin. His voice was low and teasing when he murmured, “We should call my mom and wish the twins goodnight.”

Maryse hummed in agreement, snuggling closer. “Yeah, we should.”

He smirked. “And then, after that, we can get back to making up properly.”

She gasped, smacking his chest, making him laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah yeah, I know” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple as he reached for his phone.

A moment later, his mom answered the video call, and the screen filled with the sight of London and Noah, fresh out of the bath and dressed in their pajamas.

“Hi, my babies!” Maryse cooed, sitting up slightly

London immediately tried to kiss the phone, her little lips smushing against the screen, while Noah waved with his tiny hand, grinning.

Jack chuckled. “Y’all miss us?”

Noah babbled something incoherent, and Jack’s mom appeared in the background, smiling. “They’ve been good, but I think they’re wondering where their parents are.”

Maryse pouted. “We miss them so much.”

London clapped her hands, and both Jack and Maryse laughed, soaking in the moment.

“We’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Jack said.

“Love you, sweethearts,” Maryse added.

As the call ended, she sighed happily, resting her head on his chest.

“They’re perfect,” she whispered.

“They are,” he agreed, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head. He let a beat of silence pass before smirking. “Now, where were we?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight her smile as he shifted above her again, his hands already wandering.

***

AN: 💜🥹 thank you for reading! Let me know your thoughts!!! Next chapter will come out on the twins birthday 🤭

Tag List

@harlowsbby @heavyhitterheaux @harlowcomehome @https-harlow @hoodharlow @gazebotori @itsyagirljaz @cosypinky2 @theyoganarrative @ann2sno @bugheadfanatic @umicornlove @venice-bxtch @muli-wam @jackharlow502 @aga21 @iknowdatsrightbih @theboujeestofboujee @babygirl-htx @chantelaustingunn @wabi-sabi1090 @dstark-0706 @kkrenae @hufflewhore128 @jackiehollanderr @katiaw2 @firepuma @easternparkway

#jack harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow reader #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow x you #Jack Harlow x oc #Jack Harlow dad #flashing lights

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sailorblossoms-rankane · 2 days ago

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This is probably an unpopular opinion, but when it comes to Rankane fics, I get annoyed when the fic takes place post-Jusenkyo/post-manga yet the conflict is still Ranma not admitting that he loves Akane or not realizing that he loves her. I mean, sure progress is not linear, but you’re telling me that Ranma - who felt like he had no reason to live anymore thinking that Akane died in Jusenkyo, crying that he never got to tell her that he loved her - is still struggling to realize he loves Akane post-Jusenkyo? I don’t know I’m probably taking it too seriously, but I wanna know your thoughts.

To me, it’s like every Hotel Transylvania sequel being about Dracula struggling to respect his daughter’s life decisions and accept her bf/husband (I thought you learned your lesson in the last movie Dracula, why are you relearning the same lesson for the nth time).

Every time I see "Ranma doesn't know how he feels about Akane" or "he needs some sort of intervention to stop being indecisive and choose Akane" I'm in danger of suffering a stroke. I won't spend time looking for panels for this response to not endanger myself, I'll just vent: I need everyone to make the conscious efforts of emptying their minds, letting go of whatever the fuck they absorbed when they watched the show before they read the manga, because they're absolutely not doing the same things. Anime Ranma is often either a cardboard or a fraud. I need him to get shot before anyone opens a doc or grabs a pen to draft a story. He's deceiving you! Let him go! It is that serious!

The thing about good ol' Ranma is that HE KNOWS HE'S IN LOVE WITH AKANE. HE KNOWS IT FROM VOLUME 1. HE DENIES IT BECAUSE HE'S A SHY BITCH WHO DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH FEELINGS BUT HE KNOWS. STOP PLAYING WITH ME. Here's something important about Ranma: he's so secure in his feelings for Akane that he doesn't think there's anything to choose in the first place. Deep down he thinks it's locked in. This is why sometimes, when he gets jealous (which the old show KEPT OMITTING AGAIN AND AGAIN) he talks as if he thinks Akane is cheating on him. At worst, he can take Akane for granted (and so he's punished) The person who's more dense here in realizing their feelings at first is Akane, but she doesn't take fucking forever to know either.

Ranma and Akane are sparring. That's their dynamic throughout the manga. Ranma's whole deal in the final arc, when he denies that he said "I love you" out loud (which is true, he screams it in his thoughts, he didn't say it out loud. This being interpreted as "Ranma took back his I love you" is INSANE. Akane doesn't take it that way either, next panel she's going "you might as well have said it out loud you son of a bitch") is that being straightforward and verbally expressing his feelings FIRST is the equivalent of him losing their match, and he refuses to lose. Akane won't say it first either because "what if Ranma, immature and emotionally stunted as he is, makes fun of her instead?" there's pride here too. We could write an essay on what hold Akane and Ranma back from confessing their love, but they spend practically the whole manga in love and aware.

#ranma ½

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magix-winx-club · 20 hours ago

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Beth was a great Character, you're just misogynistic

Sorry for the title, just want ya'll to read this.

TW: mention of, SA, violence, abuse,

Why Beth is an amazing character and could have been even better:

Female experience in the Apocalypse:

We don't focus enough on it, especially in The Walking Dead. We got hints throughout the show. For example the issue with Lori and Birth specifically the talk about her losing the baby with Hershel.

Second Maggie's experience with the Governor. And even though that storyline was well executed to a certain degree. We do not get the full ramifications after her conflict with Glenn was resolved. Yes once more the Female Experience was focused on the man not the woman. Even though the show called Glenn out on his behaviour, it still was about a man feeling angry instead of a woman going through something traumatic.

So, Beth's experience would have been important going forward. Since she did experience attempted rape. How would she react to people in charge like someone aggressive, loud, outspoken, and unpredictable like Dawn and Gorman?

How would she take Abraham's unpredictability and outspokenness? How would she deal with the socially inappropriate comments Eugene makes?

(Again this is not about the men and “oh but they wouldn't do anything” or he is “harmless” etc.) This is about a trauma response.

So what trauma did Beth experience?

Firstly she was taken against her will, most likely forcefully in some way (her arm was broken). Her agency was taken, her free will, and the (somewhat) security of her surroundings, mainly her family member Daryl who she knows she can trust.

So she is kidnapped, put in an unfamiliar environment, unfamiliar people, and she has no idea how to navigate such a situation since she has never been in this situation. The situation mainly being, can she trust them? Can she trust what they are saying? Who are these people? How does it work here and what are their intentions?

The disorientation she must have felt waking up in that environment must have been traumatic. We see with the camera work if we look at Beth's timeline. Her last words are "I’m not leaving you”. Cut to the car speeding away, cut to Beth waking up in an unfamiliar place. These cuts are very abrupt, confusing, and scary. It serves the purpose of confusing the viewer. (What happened to Beth? I think Daryl put it best “she was just gone") and it makes the viewer anxious, nervous, and the need to know what is going on. So we can imagine that Beth feels these things too.

Furthermore, the show makes a point to show that the world is not what it used to be. I mean the Team Family lived in a prison after all. So having Beth wake up visually in a clean room. Her face clean, her hair brushed out nicely, and professional medical care is like a break from the (her true) reality Beth lived in. Another point is the music and the way she wakes up. It is almost like a dream sequence. Like she had just been in an accident, but all is well now since she is in the hospital. Almost like a sleeping beauty type of deal (but modernized).

To sum up, her first Trauma is the shift of reality, specifically of her surroundings. The funeral home was not safe, it was a trap. She is no longer with family, but her agency, which she had to a certain point (cannot control things like walkers, or people attacking their home) is taken completely away. Lastly, the new surroundings differ from what she knows from the outside. It is like back at the farm “we were fooling ourselves into thinking we were safe” and “you don't know what it is like out there,” but Beth does know now. And even though Grady likes to pretend that the outside world did not touch the hospital, it did. Maybe not in the sense of walkers, people looting the place, dirt everywhere, but the mentality presented to us, the question of “Survival of the Fittest” is present in Grady. We see this theory of survival of the fittest through the first 4 seasons, but not in this scenario where people deliberately want the weak to enslave them and claim it is saving them.

Where do we see Survival of the Fittest?

Randall and Dale

Is this a world for kids?

Disability: Hershel losing his leg

The Governor and the way he manipulates the “weak” residents of Woodberry and takes out the “fittest” f.ex. the military guys.

Does sickness discrimination against the weak and the strong? (The flu storyline)

So now we have Beth's storyline mixed with the question survival of the fittest. Beth is constantly underestimated and Dawn constantly says/tries to show that Beth is not strong. I don't want to focus on how this can be used to your advantage but the mental tool it can take on you. This is a form of demeaning people, keeping them in “their place”. It fucks with your head when things in your past (suicide scar) is used against you, your appearance (Beth is skinny, with big blue eyes and generally deemed innocent and non threatening looking). She outright says “I am strong” but no one believes her. Which is a form of silencing therefore further taking her agency away from her. At one point does Beth start to believe this? would it take months or years for this kind of gaslighting to have an effect? This can be compared to Daryl’s inner monologue in Season 2 when Merle tells him “no one is ever going to love you but me little brother” which we can guess as viewers is something he was told/taught for years and Daryl believed it.

Now this could have been interesting to see in Alexandria. Before everything happened with the fall of the Farm and the Barn incident. (Even to an extent the prison era) Beth would have fit in perfectly in Alexandrias society. The sweet farmer's daughter who takes care of a child that is not hers, helps out with chores, sings, reads the Bible, and hopes for summer picnics and birthdays (which in no way is a bad thing, I love that side of Beth!). Now she has encountered Grady, a place that was from the appearance like the old world and Beth was believed to fit in - so is Alexandria. How does she handle the constant shift of what she's supposed to believe the world is? Is it like Grady? The road from Atlanta to D.C.? Or is it like Alexandria? Could it be like all three or could Alexandria be just another “false” hope?

To sum up, the Trauma of being taken out of one surrounding and what you believe the world is like and being put in another with different rules and she has no idea how to navigate them since she does not know them and does not have any protection from her family being there. (Grady's system of running things is so vastly different from the Prison, also let's call Grady's system what it is: Slavery. They kidnap people and make them work “work of what you owe and then you can leave” “I haven't seen it work like that”)

Now to the people: Beth has experienced different kinds of traumas with the people in Grady.

Gaslighting (“you were alone, we saved you, you owe us, you are not strong,...”)

Physical abuse (Dawn hitting her, her scars on her face, bruising, a cast on her arm)

Mental abuse (the doctor making her kill someone and then claiming she messed up (also falls into the category of gaslighting, having to rely on the same doctor to not get SAd by Gorman))

Sexual abuse (that is mostly the female experience. He is in charge therefore in a position of power, he is older, and she is just a weak young woman) the abuse was: the fear of it happening, the lollipop incident (yes that is a traumatic event), the constant watching from Gorman, how trivialize it is by the police officers “laughed about the poor girl getting raped”, the top person in charge does nothing to stop it (“ you know what is happening here and you let it happen”), and then the SA in Dawn's office)

How is it that we never get to see this female struggle? This (more often) female fear and trauma? Michonne and Andrea traveled alone, but this fear never comes up. We have one mention of an incident where Randell tells the story of the two teenage girls. But honestly my biggest fear in this world would be traveling alone as a woman and encountering men. It is already bad nowadays. Can you imagine this in an Apocalypse?

So why do we ignore this very real fear women face? Why do we kill the one character who actually has a storyline, who focuses on this female fear and female trauma, without any connection to a man or the typical motherhood storyline TWD does?

Why not show that this was ACTUALLY traumatic. Since we even see Beth smile at Dawn after getting SA, killing him, and then leaving the office to go escape? I am glad Beth could put on a smile so Dawn wouldn't know but why do we never see Beth scared, look around her, keep an eye on the door while she sleeps, even trying to lock the door in some way so no one can get in while she sleeps. Why do we not see a far away look when she is trying to first process what happened. There are soo many trauma responses, and everyone is valid in the way they respond to trauma. So why do we not take trauma into account in female storyline? This is my biggest issue with TWD. Lori got one scene of her crying after Shane SAd her and then it was back to the love triangle (which is absolutely disgusting). Why did Rosita not get to be angry with Eugene like Abraham? There are so many storylines even when the woman is involved that focuses on the male response instead.

Let Beth be human, with human responses and more than just another dead girl. Show me how she would cope with her personal space being violated, the perception of personhood being breached. Could she react aggressively when Eugene makes a socially inappropriate comment. Would she be tense, nervous, keep an eye out for him? How about Abraham's imposing statue? What about men in Alexandria? Could she struggle socializing with men? Keeping to the people she knows and clinging to the safety they once represented to her like Glenn, Rick, Carl and Daryl. They are the men that never did anything to her. Or could she even pull away there and struggle to come to terms that they are safe but also men. And men had not been safe for women in Grady.

How could Beth respond to Deanna knowing how Dawn presented herself. Would she be uneasy? Would she be able to tell that Deanna is not like Dawn since she knows the signs of a bad leader because of Dawn.

I am just mad how we ignore this big (and unique to TWD) storyline of a young woman witnessing her father get beheaded, her home destroyed, her relationship with Daryl, her kidnapping, enslavement, physical/mental/sexual abuse? All that just to further other people's storylines for a couple of episodes just to forget about Beth after that.

What do you think? Comment below

#beth greene #twd #female narrative #female storyline #twd beth #twd daryl #bethyl #the walking dead

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taag-the-withering · 3 days ago

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IT’S OFFICIAL FRIENDS AND FIENDS IT’S WHITEPINE LOCKDOWN TIME

Before it starts, I’m wondering if we are going to see more of our “lovely” detective this episode. Hopefully a little more insight if he is actually inside the estate or a hallucination!

Ooo the changing scenes on beat is a fascinating choice!

“Some of the limbs are fake, we couldn’t restore all of the pieces” DAMN OKAY

Pin of a sunflower? Hmmm

The shots on the stairs feel very intentional- OH okay reference back to the scene between Ivory and the Detective I see

These guys have got to stop sneaking up on my girl I don’t know how many more jumpscares she can take

It’s nice to see some insight on the other members of the estate!

Another confirmation that the current season is fall beyond just the visual indications. I wonder if the seasons will have more to play within the story

The shot with just the painting on the wall is giving me the creeps… I stand by the secret passages thing

Notice the painting on the wall where Serapter picks up the pin. That feels suspicious, the silence, the glancing around? If Serapter is up to something then it would explain how he lost Clown back in ep 4

ANOTHER LONG PAUSE

We already knew the Hemlockes were rich but renting out the entire cathedral sure is something huh?

ANOTHER IVY MISNAME CMON BRO GET HER NAME RIGHT PLEASE

“Who lets the day of the lord get bought out by some rich guy, right?” I’m not fully sure how to think of this statement just yet… other than the fact that it may be a commentary to the present day

GAH I LOVE THE MUSIC SO MUCH

I’m interested with the formation the group has taken up to walking. Oddly enough Serapter is behind Ivory rather than beside her, which is the formation they have taken before when walking

OMG THAT CATHEDRAL BUILD

Imma need to look up the symbolism of sunflowers later because I’m pretty sure Pyro has a sunflower pin like Serapter. But none of the rest do?

I love it when the music cuts off it’s just so good

UM EXCUSE YOU SAY HER NAME YOU PRIEST

DAMN THOSE CREDITS DO BE RIGHT MISOGYNISTIC PRIEST FOR SURE

That felt so wrong, which is what made that scene so good

I can’t tell if the darkened stumps of the trees are a design choice or something intentional…

I wonder why Div would ask that?

Damn they are just straight up dissing the Hemlockes

WOAH DIV

“What everyone knows he’s a little fruity” DID YOU HAVE TO SAY THAT LOUD THOUGH?

I wonder where Pyro is going?

Once again she is drawn to the woods

Now who was that???

Oop Div… going out to the woods too I see

Same cinematic shot that was there when Ivory went to the woods too

Ok yeah to be figured that Pyro would go back to her grave

A few moments sure Ivory

It’s sweet that they are bonding even under their specific circumstances

Awww Maddy

WHAT not enough money for Kantje’s dad? Agreement??

So an argument between Kantje and Ivo…

Oh so Ivo plans on leaving the estate?

Okay what is Kantje’s background?

Ivory please don’t get caught

“If you ever get a chance to get out of here take it” THIS IS SUPPORTING MY CLOWN TRAPPED AT THE WHITEPINE ESTATE THEORY I’M FUCKING WINNING

Okay this is build up to something…

THERE HE IS THAT MOTHERFUCKING DETECTIVE

NOT A HALLUCINATION I REPEAT NOT A HALLUCINATION WHY WAS HE SO CLOSE TO THE ESTATE IN THE FIRST PLACE???

EVENING STROLL? BULLSHIT

“Any of the maids acting strangely or being really anxious” I KNOW WHO YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT YOU FREAK

“Great progress on the case” you just think it’s Ivory bro

#taag talks #whitepine #whitepine spoilers #ivorycello #PACING AROUND MY ROOM HOLY SHIT #AMAZING EPISODE ONCE AGAIN

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 days ago

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Chapter 17. Weeds

Summary: How can a man with this amount of heart remain in the shadows of society? Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Words: 2,089 Listen to: 'Wasteland, Baby!' -by Hozier A/N: This is the fastest slow-burn I've ever written, you guys are so lucky I can't keep it in my pants when it comes to Benedict -Danny

You help Penelope make a swift exit and lend her your carriage (the Queen had one for herself and Brimsley) so she goes away to print the real Whistledown, and you and your sister take Eloise's so the guests believe Pen and her left the party together.

While you're driving to Eloise's home, your sister is eager to get all the gossip, and after Eloise delivers, Marie starts asking about Benedict.

"Don't," you chastise her.

"Wouldn't you want to know more about my sister as well?" Marie offers, ignoring you. "I can tell you so many queer things about Y/N."

"Marie," you press, blushing.

Eloise manages to smile even in the worried state she's in. "You are not at all how I thought you'd be."

"Posh, stiff and boring?" You redirect the conversation happily.

The girl chuckles. "Colin was right when he told us you're not like our crown. You're... more colorful."

Both of you perk up at the compliment, proud to be positively reviewed by a smart lady. Encouraged by this, Marie's even more tempted to get information out of her. "Do you think your brother cares for my sister?"

"Marie!"

"Oh, most definitely," Eloise admits easily. "I'd never seen him so set on helping someone. He wants her to thrive."

"Is that very strange?" Marie asks eagerly.

"Tremendously. My brother isn't the kind you'd see in society this often. He's been to more balls this season than in the last four years!"

"Well, I've forced his hand since the start," you feel obliged to defend his reputation. "I asked him to take me to the innovations ball, and your sister Hyacinth probably played a big part in his agreement."

Eloise snorts. "He would've invited you anyway. He told me he was going to invite you and offer friendship, I suppose you beat him to that," she lets out a dry laugh. "I imagine he didn't like feeling like he was one step behind you. Benedict is my most intelligent brother, you know? It vexes him when someone outwits him."

Marie turns to you with a knowing grin, but you're busy being baffled. "Benedict says Anthony is the smartest."

"Anthony is Benedict's only older sibling, so of course he would think him smarter," Eloise brushes it off. "But the rest of us know better. Don't tell him that, it does him well to think he's not the smartest, he'd be too terrible if he actually knew himself entirely."

Her words tickle you, added to the commentary Tilley once gave you about Benedict wanting to explore uncharted waters, and his reticence to study art after discovering the involvement of his older brother in the whole ordeal, it all starts to make a picture of the elusive man.

"Have you seen what that dreadful Cressida has said about your Bridgertons?" Marie shoves the paper under your nose.

You swat it away. "The Queen got it while we were having breakfast and she read it out loud to me—it was vulgar and plain bullying, she might've done competently with a few words, but it takes more than five well-written lines to be on the same level as Pen."

"Look at you, on a first-name basis with the ladies of the ton," Marie teases you, but she's proud. "So what now?"

"Now, I go on a stroll with you and Paula, and we look for Be—Eloise," you catch yourself on time, but not fast enough.

"I suppose you're itching to question Mr Bridgerton on his absence yesterday," she grins. "Very well, let's take a walk."

You find Eloise and Benedict at the same time as Penelope, and the five of you stop and freeze until lovely Marie grabs Penelope and Eloise by the arms and tugs them away. "So good to see you both! I am in dire need of a decent read and I've been told you are fond of books—Why don't you recommend me some?" She looks at you over her shoulder. "Y/N, do entertain Mr Bridgerton while we chat, I don't wish to bore him!"

She laughs almost maniacally, having too much fun taking part in something other than dull royal events for once. Benedict gives her a weird look before offering his arm to you. "Is she well?"

"Mentally?" You turn in the opposite direction from the girls. "Well, when we were children I dropped a vase on her head, so maybe not."

He laughs. "When I was little, Anthony would sit on my head, or hold me by the ankles to win arguments. Older siblings can be brutal."

You grin, playfully elbowing him. "I have a bone to pick with you, Mr Bridgerton, so don't tease me much."

"Do you?" He pulls you closer by half an inch, but it makes all the difference.

"I was abandoned last night, and I was wondering if I'll be granted the mercy of an explanation."

Benedict raises a brow. "You didn't need me. I was practically uninvited from the event altogether, and who am I to defy the crown?"

"Since when are you obedient and submissive?"

"I have never been a stranger to submission," he replies in a lower voice, his eyes lingering an extra second on your lips before his lopsided smile returns. "I might've used the opportunity to spend some time alone."

"Was it enjoyable?"

"Very. I even painted," he raises a brow and makes a face. "Then I got bored, obviously, and went for a walk."

"Couldn't have gone for a walk at the Mondrich's ball, could you?"

"Was that lovely debutant in attendance?"

"The one that's been trying to corner you? Yes."

"Then no, I couldn't."

You laugh and shake your head, looking sideways and gasping. "Look!"

Benedict stops with you and stares at the spot you're pointing at. He grins, finding himself just a few feet from the place where you first met. "I see your weeds are thriving."

"Look, Paula!" You turn to your friend, who's been following you from a prudent distance. "That's the spot!"

She nods with a sweet smile. "You've always been fond of weeds, Your Highness."

You watch them lovingly. "Weeds are rather special, you know?" You glance at Benedict seriously as you begin your ramble. "They grow where other plants can't. Humble and unassuming but strong and smart. They would survive unattended for months on end. Years, even. I suppose that's why I like them, they're the only plant that I can't kill..."

Benedict looks at you with the same affection you gaze at the garden. "Weeds are not well-received in general," he replies softly, "but I don't think they mind much, if they have you to love them. Makes up for the snubbing from less worthy creatures."

The ground feels less firm after his response, and you forget what you were even talking about, to begin with. How can a man with this amount of heart remain in the shadows of society? Why is no one in awe of him like you are? He should be desired by every girl with half a brain and a wish to marry—all the gentlemen should be following his example.

All he says always drips with poetry, and you can scarcely believe he's attracted to you, out of all people. You stumble over your own feet, spill tea over your bosom if you pick it up too fast, and blurt out whatever comes to mind when you're caught off guard. Yet he cares for you as no man has ever been interested in trying.

"Benedict..." You wish to ask him why, why was he so utterly abandoned, and why he is so set on staying that way. You want to ask why he acts as if he's scum when you plainly see he's pure, genuine, and good.

He senses it. He's used to that look in your eyes, the one that tells him you're getting too comfortable around him. He can't have that from a simple lady of the ton, so he certainly can't allow it in a princess.

"Let's return to our sisters," he turns you back around, almost running over Paula in the process. "I'm getting bored and loathe of this weather."

You allow him to take you back to your sister, the thread you're walking on much too thin to push it further.

"Your Majesty, Lady Bridgerton is here to see you," a servant announces.

"Let her in, then," the Queen sighs, then turns to you. "I don't see the point in wasting our time with this, I'm well aware of Miss Bridgerton's preferences and hold no lasting grudge against her. It is quite standard of the Bridgertons to snub my picks," she states, holding a bit of a grudge.

You chuckle good-naturedly. "Yes, but we ought to soothe the mother's mind. She's holding too high a bar for all of her children—higher than the crown, I dare say."

The Queen lets out a surprisingly nice and genuine little laugh. "Oh, I know. Violet, such a delicate heart..."

The aforementioned woman steps into the throne room, anxiously squeezing a handkerchief between her hands. "Your majesties," she curtsies.

You nod at her, and then the Queen speaks. "Take a seat, dear."

She obeys and smiles at you nervously, fawning her face with the soft cloth. "I... I'm not quite sure how to start..."

The Queen waves her hand impatiently. "Princess Y/N has explained the situation to me. Congratulations on yet another successful engagement this season." The older woman gives her a look. "Unless, of course, you disagree?"

Violet blinks. "Your Majesty?"

Queen Charlotte continues with nonchalance. "If anyone has a problem with your daughter's engagement it is clearly you. We are on good terms, you and I, so I will grant you an unique favour and do it right now if you wish. Do you want me to put a stop to your daughter's betrothal?"

Your head snaps to the side so quickly that it hurts but you ignore it, shocked at what you're hearing. "Queen Charlotte! You surely don't mean it?"

She raises a brow. "This happens all the time, dear. I've done the very same favour to many mamas over the years. It's quite a responsible thing to do if a parent wants to rid of an undesirable prospect."

"Lord Kilmartin isn't undesirable," Violet blushes down to her neck.

"For you it is, clearly so my dear," Queen Charlotte insists. "He's not enough for your standards, and I quite understand that. Your older children have gotten such lovely matches—"

"Francesca and John are well-suited," she defends unyielding.

"They are dull to look at," The Queen says as if not listening to a word, and just then you understand what she's doing. "You're making the right choice, Violet. I wouldn't marry any of my daughters to such a bore, not for all the land in—"

"Your Majesty," Violet speaks up, displeased and flustered. "I did not come to force them apart. My daughter wants your blessing above all things, and so that's all I'll ask of you."

The Queen raises a brow as if not expecting this answer. "Are you sure?"

"My daughter loves him," Violet says proudly. "And John tries every day to be the man she deserves. That is love," she looks at you, asking for courage. You nod smiling. "Happiness has many faces. Rarely one of them is perfection. All it ever needs be, is enough."

Queen Charlotte sighs, taking a sip of her tea. "Your daughter doesn't need my blessing, but she's my diamond, and I shall respect her wishes. You can tell her that. Would you like to discuss anything else?"

Violet looks grateful yet sober. "No, Your Majesty, that would be all. Thank you for the time."

"You may go, then."

"I'll walk you out," you offer. "I'll be right back, Your Majesty."

Violet follows you to the entrance and shrugs off her shock. "That went... nicely. Didn't it?"

You laugh. "Are you alright?"

"I wasn't expecting her to offer..." she fans her face. "I know I had my doubts, but I'd never..."

"She's a good queen," you say benevolently. "She was only trying to help a loyal subject."

"Yes, but sometimes she... oh well, I suppose as a royal you ought to be less emotional..."

You feel a bit sheepish over her observation, your lack of tact with Benedict weighing on your mind. "It's not that. We're taught to manage others differently, that's all. But she means well."

Violet turns to you as you both reach the entrance and smiles tenderly. "I know, dear. And I thank you for your help, truly. I'm glad Benedict met you, you're a good force in our lives."

You gulp, guilt churning in your stomach. "Lady Bridgerton—"

"Call me Violet," she reaches for your hand and squeezes. "You're a friend to my family."

"Violet," you say gently—from now on, all your actions towards Benedict and his loved ones will be done with the best intentions in mind. "I could not have gotten a greater honour."

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@babypink224221 @Booknerdlife @djsporks @lght-roastcoffee @marii-ren @mythical-goth @omgsuperstarg @creepytoes88 @sarahskywalker-amidala @23victoria @shadowolf993 @squirreljoe @syxtiramishuui @stargirl-mayaa @dolllol2405 @aemondslove @inspiringwaves @optimisticsandwichgladiator @alloof @sydney-m @sirivusblack @mimibookish @marvelouslyme96 @imaginexred @black-kitten-imagines @bands-tv-movies-is-me @justanotherkpopstanlol @Nala @whatasadlittlelife @ivanttier

#twoidiots writing #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton fanfic #Bridgerton #Bridgerton x Princess Diaries crossover #TPD fic

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pucksandpower · 1 month ago

Text

Car Trouble

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: in which it starts with Max insisting that you borrow one of his many cars while yours is in the shop and somehow turns into you being dragged away in handcuffs because (according to your jealous housemates) the only way you could ever afford a car like that is by having stolen it … suffice to say, your protective boyfriend is less than amused

Warnings: law enforcement abuse of power

The thing is, you know it’s a gamble the moment you put the key in the ignition. Your little car, a 2004 Fiat Panda with a chipped paint job and a suspiciously rattling exhaust, has been teetering on the edge for months. But it’s all you have, and it’s gotten you this far.

Except now, as you sit in Max’s driveway, the dashboard flickers ominously, a banner of orange warning lights. You groan, lean your head against the steering wheel, and curse under your breath. Maybe it’s the alternator. Or the battery. Or the car’s just finally decided it’s had enough.

Max is at his kitchen window, a mug of coffee in hand, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. He steps out, still in his Red Bull Racing hoodie, hair a mess, and jogs over. You don’t even get the chance to open your mouth before he’s leaning down, peering through your open window.

“Car trouble?” He asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question.

“Take a wild guess,” you mutter, throwing your hands up.

He chuckles, low and warm. “Let me have a look.”

He gestures for you to pop the hood, and you do, reluctantly. Max circles around, lifting it with a practiced ease, his brow furrowing as he inspects the engine. You know he’s not a mechanic, but he knows enough to recognize that it’s bad news.

“I think it’s, um, all of it,” he says, voice laced with amusement. He looks up at you. “You really drove all the way here like this?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say defensively. “It was fine when I left. Mostly.”

Max gives you a pointed look but lets it slide. He straightens up, wiping his hands on his jeans, and nods toward the house. “Come on. I’ll call someone to get it towed.”

You hesitate. “Max, I can-”

“I know you can,” he interrupts gently, eyes locking with yours. “But why should you?”

He has this way of cutting through your defenses with a single look, and it’s infuriating. You sigh, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut. Max winces, raising an eyebrow.

“Easy. I think she’s suffered enough,” he teases.

You glare at him, but he’s already dialing a number, one hand braced on his hip, the other holding the phone to his ear. He’s so calm, so unbothered, like this is just another Friday, and your car isn’t smoking in his driveway. It makes you feel small, somehow, and a little embarrassed.

“Hey, mate. Got a Fiat here that needs towing. Yeah, looks pretty bad. Can you get someone here today?” Max pauses, glancing at you, then back to the ground. “Nah, it’s not mine. It’s my girlfriend’s.”

The word hangs in the air, filling the space between you. It’s not the first time he’s called you that, but every time he does, it sends a little thrill through you. You shove your hands into your pockets, kicking at the gravel with the toe of your shoe as he finishes up the call.

“Right,” he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “They’ll be here in an hour or so. Want to come inside?”

You nod, following him up the steps and into the house. It’s quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. Max leads you to the kitchen, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air. He pours you a cup without asking, handing it to you as you sink into a chair.

“So,” he begins, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “What’s your plan?”

You shrug. “Get it fixed, I guess. If it’s even worth fixing.”

“It’s not,” he says bluntly. “That thing’s a death trap.”

You know he’s right, but hearing it out loud stings. “I can’t just buy a new car, Max.”

“I’m not saying you should,” he replies, voice softening. “But you can’t keep driving that. It’s not safe.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that makes you feel like you should say something, but you don’t know what. Max watches you carefully, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in your head. He always does that — wants to fix everything, make it all better. And it’s sweet, but sometimes, it’s exhausting.

“Look, I have an idea,” he says finally, pushing off the counter and walking over to you. “You can use one of my cars until yours is sorted.”

You blink up at him. “Max, I can’t-”

“You can,” he insists, a determined edge to his voice. “And you will. You need a car, and I have plenty. It makes sense.”

“It’s too much,” you protest, shaking your head. “I can’t just borrow one of your cars like it’s no big deal.”

“It is no big deal,” he counters, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s a car. I have, like, a dozen of them. And I want you to be safe.”

The logic is sound, but it still feels wrong. You open your mouth to argue, but Max holds up a hand.

“Let me finish,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re here for the weekend, right? We’ll get your car towed to a shop, see what they say. In the meantime, you use one of mine. If they can’t fix it, we’ll figure something else out.”

“Max-”

“No arguments,” he interrupts again, smiling faintly. “Please. For me.”

You huff, staring down at your coffee like it might provide some kind of answer. When you look up, Max is still watching you, his expression soft and earnest. He’s not going to let this go, you realize. And maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

“Which one?” You ask, finally relenting.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “The DBS.”

Your eyes widen. “The Aston Martin?”

He nods, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Yep.”

“You’re insane,” you say flatly. “I can’t drive that.”

“Sure, you can. I’ll teach you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?” He steps closer, dropping to a crouch in front of you so you’re eye to eye. “That you don’t want to accept help from your boyfriend? Because, if that’s it, we’re going to have a problem.”

His words catch you off guard, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I want you to have it. Just until you’re sorted.”

You let out a long breath, your shoulders sagging as the fight leaves you. “Fine. But I’m not keeping it.”

“Deal,” he says instantly, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

There’s a beat of quiet as he stands, pulling out his phone again. He’s about to dial when you speak up.

“Wait.”

He pauses, glancing at you. “Yeah?”

You chew on your bottom lip, considering your next words carefully. “Are you sure? I don’t want to scratch it or-”

“Hey,” he cuts you off, voice gentle. “It’s a car not a piece of priceless china. It’ll be fine.”

His nonchalance is almost infuriating, but you can’t help the way your heart swells at his unwavering confidence in you. He believes in you, even when you don’t.

“Okay,” you whisper, and it’s like something shifts in the air between you. Max’s gaze softens, and he reaches out, squeezing your hand.

“Good. Now, let’s go get the keys.”

***

It’s raining, and the house smells like damp clothes and stale toast. Chloe stands by the living room window, holding her cup of tea, her gaze idly drifting over the dreary street. The drizzling rain matches her mood, which is sour on a good day and worse now that she’s been stuck inside with a mountain of uni work she has no interest in.

A sigh escapes her lips, louder than she means it to, but no one’s around to hear. Her housemates — well, most of them — are scattered across campus, probably doing something useful with their lives. And then there’s you. Always flitting in and out with your head held high, like you’re too good for this dump of a house.

Chloe rolls her eyes at the thought of you. She’s been harboring this quiet disdain ever since you moved in. It’s irrational, she knows that. You haven’t done anything to her, not really. But there’s something about the way you carry yourself, always so composed, so put together, that grates on her nerves. And lately, you’ve been acting … different. Happier, even. Chloe’s seen you, the way you disappear for the weekends, only to return with that smug smile. It’s not hard to guess why.

Chloe knows you have a boyfriend, though you’ve been annoyingly tight-lipped about it. She’s overheard snippets of conversation, seen the texts you try to hide when someone else walks into the room. But still, she can’t figure out why you’re with someone who clearly has money. A lot of money. The kind of money girls like you — girls like them — don’t get near unless there’s some major luck involved.

As she stares out the window, she suddenly sees something that makes her pause. Her tea sloshes dangerously close to the rim of the mug as her hand freezes. There, pulling into the lot, is an Aston Martin. Glossy, sleek, and roaring like a mechanical beast as it glides through the rain. The headlights cut through the fog, and the car comes to a slow, calculated stop directly in front of their house.

Chloe’s brow furrows, her pulse quickening. What in the world …

She watches, transfixed, as the driver’s door opens, and you step out, closing the door behind you like it’s no big deal. You glance around the street, pulling the collar of your jacket higher against the rain, completely oblivious to the fact that Chloe is practically burning a hole through the window with her gaze.

“What the hell?” Chloe breathes, her voice sharp in the stillness of the room.

Her eyes narrow as you cross the street, keys jingling in your hand, moving with an air of confidence that has no right to belong to someone pulling up in a car like that. Chloe watches every step, every casual flick of your wrist as you lock the car and walk toward the front door.

She should turn away, pretend she didn’t see anything, but her brain is spinning, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. That’s a three-hundred-thousand-pound car. You can barely afford rent, let alone something like that. Her mind races with the only plausible explanation — there’s no way in hell that car belongs to you.

Chloe slams her cup down on the coffee table, not caring that it splashes tea everywhere, and darts toward the stairs. She takes them two at a time, bursting into her flatmate Amelia’s room without knocking.

“Amelia! You won’t believe this.”

Amelia looks up from her laptop, startled. “Chloe, what the-”

“Come here. Now.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, spinning on her heel and rushing back down the stairs, Amelia reluctantly trailing after her. Chloe pulls her toward the window, jabbing a finger in the direction of the car still parked outside.

“Look,” she says breathlessly, her words tumbling out too fast. “Look at that.”

Amelia leans closer to the window, blinking at the car through the rain-streaked glass. “Is that an Aston Martin?”

“Exactly.” Chloe’s voice is a mix of disbelief and something darker. “And guess who just stepped out of it?”

Amelia frowns, her brow creasing. “No way. You’re joking.”

“I’m dead serious. She just parked it like she owns the place. What the hell is going on?”

Amelia lets out a low whistle, leaning back against the couch. “I mean, that’s … that’s not normal.”

Chloe folds her arms, pacing the length of the room now. “She’s probably stolen it. I mean, there’s no way she could afford something like that. Do you know how much that car’s worth?”

Amelia shakes her head slowly, eyes still glued to the car outside. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s her boyfriend’s?”

“That’s what I thought,” Chloe snaps, “but come on, who does she know that has that kind of money? I don’t care who her boyfriend is, something’s off.”

They both fall silent for a moment, the only sound the rain tapping against the window. Chloe’s mind races, jumping to conclusions faster than she can keep up. Everything about this feels wrong. She’s always suspected there was something up with you, but this? This is something else entirely.

Amelia breaks the silence, her voice hesitant. “Maybe she’s just lucky? I mean, maybe he’s, like, rich-rich. You know?”

Chloe scoffs. “No one gets that lucky. And she’s been acting so secretive lately. What if she’s involved in something shady? I mean, who just pulls up in a car like that?”

Amelia shrugs, clearly unsure how to respond. But Chloe’s not done. There’s a fire in her now, a burning need to know what’s going on. You’ve always been too quiet, too private, and now it’s all starting to make sense. There’s no way you’re as innocent as you pretend to be.

She whirls back around to Amelia, eyes blazing. “You know what? I’m going to call the police.”

“What?” Amelia’s eyes widen in shock. “Chloe, are you serious? You can’t just-”

“Yes, I can,” Chloe cuts her off, already reaching for her phone. “She’s clearly up to something, and I’m not going to sit here and let her get away with it.”

Amelia tries to protest, but Chloe’s mind is already made up. Her fingers fly across her phone screen, dialing the non-emergency number. Her heart pounds in her chest as the call connects, and she presses the phone to her ear, pacing as she waits for someone to pick up.

“Chloe, this is crazy,” Amelia says again, her voice laced with anxiety. “You don’t even know-”

“Shh!” Chloe hisses, waving a hand to silence her.

Finally, the line clicks, and a calm voice greets her. “Thames Valley Police, how can I help you?”

Chloe takes a deep breath, her voice steady as she launches into her story. “Hi, I’m calling to report a suspicious vehicle. It’s parked outside my house, and I’m pretty sure it’s been stolen.”

The operator asks for details, and Chloe rattles off the make and model of the car, her eyes never leaving the Aston Martin still parked outside. She glances at Amelia, who’s biting her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation, but Chloe’s too far gone to care.

“I just … I know the girl who’s driving it, and there’s no way she could afford a car like that,” Chloe explains, her tone sharp. “I think she might have stolen it.”

The operator asks a few more questions, and Chloe answers each one with growing confidence. She can feel it in her bones — something’s off, and she’s not about to let it slide.

When the call ends, Chloe lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her hands shaking slightly as she lowers her phone.

“Chloe, you didn’t have to do that,” Amelia says quietly, her voice full of worry. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not wrong,” Chloe insists, her jaw clenched. “You’ll see. The police will sort it out.”

She turns back to the window, her eyes narrowing as she watches the car, half-expecting something to happen. But nothing does. The car sits there, pristine and out of place, mocking her with its sheer audacity.

And you? You have no idea what’s coming.

***

It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon — one of those rare breaks between classes when you can actually catch your breath. The rain’s let up, and a misty sun filters through the clouds, casting a soft glow over the pavement outside. You’re halfway up the stairs to your room, your backpack slung over one shoulder, when there’s a loud knock on the door.

The sound is sharp, authoritative, and it echoes through the house, stopping you in your tracks. You glance down, frowning slightly. It’s not like you’re expecting anyone, and the others aren’t home yet. Maybe it’s just a delivery.

But then the knocking comes again — louder, more insistent. Your unease deepens as you drop your bag and head back down the stairs. By the time you reach the door, a faint prickle of anxiety is buzzing under your skin.

You pull the door open, and there they are — two uniformed officers standing on the doorstep. They look serious, their expressions neutral but firm, and you feel your heart sink. This isn’t a casual visit.

“Can I help you?” Your voice is steady, though confusion laces each word.

One of the officers, a tall woman with cropped brown hair and a no-nonsense gaze, steps forward. “Are you the owner of the Aston Martin parked outside?”

The question takes you by surprise. “Um, no,” you say, blinking at them. “It’s not mine, but-”

“We’re going to have to ask you to step outside, please,” the other officer, a man with a stern jawline and dark eyes, interrupts. He glances over your shoulder, as if assessing whether you’re alone.

“What’s this about?” You can hear the uncertainty in your voice now, a sharp edge creeping in. “The car belongs to my boyfriend. I’m just borrowing it-”

“Step outside, miss,” the woman repeats, her tone brooking no argument.

Swallowing hard, you do as you’re told, stepping out onto the front stoop. The chill of the autumn air hits you, and you wrap your arms around yourself instinctively. This isn’t making any sense.

“I don’t understand,” you say again, a little louder this time. “What’s going on?”

The officers exchange a look, and then the man speaks. “We received a report that the vehicle may have been stolen. We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Stolen?” The word feels foreign on your tongue. “No, it’s not stolen! I told you, it belongs to my boyfriend-”

“Do you have any proof of ownership?” the woman asks sharply, cutting you off. “Registration documents, anything like that?”

You open your mouth, then close it, frustration building. “The registration is in the glove compartment. If you just let me get it-”

“Stay where you are,” the man says firmly, holding up a hand to stop you. “We’ll check it ourselves.”

“Can’t you just let me show you?” You take a step forward, but both officers tense, their hands hovering near their belts. Your heart stutters in your chest, a cold trickle of fear sliding down your spine. “I’m telling the truth! I can unlock the car and show you. Please, just let me-”

“Miss, please calm down,” the woman says, her tone laced with a warning. “We’re following protocol here. If you cooperate, this will go much smoother.”

“But I am cooperating!” The words burst out, your voice rising despite yourself. “I’m not lying. It’s my boyfriend’s car, he let me borrow it while mine is in the shop-”

“Miss, we need you to step away from the vehicle,” the man says again, more forcefully this time. He pulls out a small notepad, flipping it open. “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

You hesitate, caught off guard. “Max,” you say finally, your voice faltering slightly. “Max Verstappen.”

There’s a pause — one that stretches uncomfortably long. The officers exchange another look, something almost skeptical passing between them.

“Right,” the woman says slowly, like she’s testing the words in her mouth. “And you expect us to believe that Max Verstappen, the Formula 1 driver, lent you his Aston Martin?”

“Yes!” Your hands are shaking now, anger and disbelief mixing with fear in a volatile cocktail. “Why would I lie about that? Just let me-”

“Miss,” the man interrupts, his tone hardening. “We need you to turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

The words hit you like a slap, knocking the breath from your lungs. “What? No, you can’t-”

“Turn around and place your hands behind your back,” he repeats, each word clipped and precise.

You look from him to the woman, desperation clawing at your throat. “Please, just let me open the car. I can prove it’s not stolen. Please-”

But they’re not listening. Before you can say another word, the woman steps forward, reaching for your arm. You flinch back instinctively, panic flaring in your chest.

“Don’t-”

“Miss, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” the woman says sharply, grabbing your wrist with practiced ease. She spins you around, her grip firm but not painful, and then you feel the cold, unforgiving bite of metal as she snaps a pair of handcuffs around your wrists.

“No, wait-” You twist, struggling against her hold, but it’s useless. The cuffs dig into your skin, and you can’t breathe, can’t think.

“Please, I didn’t do anything! You’re making a mistake!”

The man steps closer, his face impassive. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence …”

His voice blurs, the words running together in a nauseating hum. You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes. “No, no, please, I didn’t steal anything! Just call Max, he’ll explain-”

“Miss, we’re taking you down to the station,” the woman says, steering you away from the house and toward their patrol car parked at the curb. “We’ll sort this out there.”

“Wait!” You stumble, the cuffs biting into your wrists as they push you forward. “You’re not listening! The car isn’t stolen! If you just let me get the registration-”

But they ignore you, their grips unyielding. The street seems to tilt and blur as they guide you toward the back of the car, your shoes scuffing against the wet pavement. Everything feels surreal, like you’ve been dropped into a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

The woman opens the back door, and the man gives you a gentle but firm shove. You fall into the seat, the leather cold against your legs. They close the door with a solid thunk, the sound reverberating through your bones.

“Please,” you whisper, leaning forward as much as the cuffs allow. “You’re making a mistake. I’m telling the truth …”

But they’re already walking away, their voices low as they talk to each other. You catch fragments of their conversation — words like “protocol” and “standard procedure” — but it all feels distant, unreal.

You slump back in the seat, staring blankly out the window as the patrol car starts up, the engine a low, steady hum. The world outside blurs into a swirl of gray and green as they pull away from the curb, and your mind races, panic and disbelief tangling together in a messy knot.

How did this happen? One minute you were heading to your room, and now you’re being carted off to a police station like some sort of criminal. It doesn’t make any sense.

You try to replay the last few minutes in your head, searching for something — anything — you could have said or done differently. But there’s nothing. They weren’t listening to you. They didn’t care about your explanation. They just saw a girl with an expensive car and decided you must be guilty of something.

Tears prick your eyes again, and you blink them back furiously. You can’t fall apart now. You have to think, to figure out what to do next.

Max. You need to call Max. He’ll sort this out. He’ll tell them the truth, and they’ll have to let you go. But how are you supposed to do that when they’ve got you locked up in the back of a patrol car?

The drive to the station feels like it takes forever, each second dragging out in painful clarity. You try to keep calm, to breathe through the panic tightening in your chest, but it’s hard when every bump in the road makes the cuffs dig deeper into your skin.

Finally, they pull up in front of the station, and the officers get out, coming around to your side. The door opens, and the woman leans down, her expression unreadable.

“Come on, miss. Let’s get this sorted out.”

You nod numbly, letting them help you out of the car. Your legs feel shaky, your whole body trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. They lead you up the steps, through the front doors, and into a small, sterile room that smells faintly of disinfectant.

“Please,” you say one last time, your voice breaking. “Please, just call him. He’ll explain everything.”

But they only exchange another glance, and the woman shakes her head slightly. “Let’s get your statement first, miss.”

And then they’re sitting you down, the lights glaring down from above, the cuffs still biting into your wrists. And all you can do is sit there, your heart pounding in your chest, as the nightmare continues to unfold around you.

***

The fluorescent lights above hum softly, the cold, sterile environment of the police station pressing down on you from every angle. It feels like you’ve been here for hours, your wrists still red from the handcuffs, a dull ache in your joints from sitting on the hard chair. Every second stretches, torturing you with the weight of waiting.

You're trying to stay calm, but your thoughts keep spiraling — back to the car, back to the police showing up at your doorstep, back to the way they refused to listen. Your voice shakes every time you try to explain, but it’s like they can’t hear you. It’s suffocating.

Across the room, the officer — her name’s Thompson, you think — sits at her desk, flipping through some paperwork. The sound of pages turning feels louder than it should. Every time you shift in your seat, she gives you this look, like she’s annoyed by your very presence. Like she’s waiting for you to break.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore.

“I want to make a phone call,” you say, your voice cutting through the stillness. You sit up straighter, your hands balled into fists on your lap.

Thompson doesn’t even look up. “You’ll get your chance,” she says dismissively, still flipping through the file.

“No,” you say, firmer this time. “I want to make it now. I have the right to make a phone call.”

This time, she looks up, her expression flat. “You’ll have to wait.”

“I’ve waited long enough,” you snap, surprising yourself with the force in your voice. Your patience is gone, the fear of being trapped in this nightmare pushing you into desperation. “I know my rights. I’m allowed one phone call, and I want to make it.”

Thompson raises an eyebrow, like she’s weighing whether or not you’re serious. After a beat, she sighs, pushing the stack of papers aside and standing. “Fine,” she says curtly. “One phone call.”

She leads you to a small side room — bare, with only a table, a chair, and a landline phone sitting in the middle. You sit down, and Thompson places the phone in front of you like it’s some kind of offering.

“One call,” she says again, her eyes narrowing. “Make it count.”

You don’t hesitate. You dial Max’s number, your fingers trembling slightly as you press the buttons. The ring tone fills the room, each ring stretching out the time between your breaths. You press the phone closer to your ear, your heart pounding.

It rings once. Twice. And then-

“Hello?”

Max’s voice comes through the line, smooth and steady, as if he’s just woken up from a nap and isn’t even remotely phased by the sudden call. But you know him better than that — there’s a sharp edge beneath the surface, a protective tension that’s always there when it comes to you.

You swallow hard, fighting back the lump in your throat. “Max …”

There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his tone shifts — serious, focused. “What’s wrong?”

“They arrested me,” you say, the words rushing out before you can stop them. “The police — they think I stole your car.”

There’s silence on the other end, just for a second. Then his voice drops, low and dangerous. “What?”

You feel the weight of his anger through the phone, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you feel a flicker of relief. He’s going to fix this. He’s not going to let them treat you like this.

“They showed up at the house,” you explain, your voice trembling slightly. “They wouldn’t let me get the registration. They didn’t believe me when I said the car was yours. They just-”

“Where are you?” His voice cuts through your explanation, sharp and commanding. “Which station?”

You glance around the room. “Bedfordshire Police Station. They won’t let me-”

“Stay where you are,” he says, his voice brooking no argument. “Don’t talk to anyone else. I’m on my way.”

The line goes dead before you can respond, the dial tone ringing in your ears. You stare at the phone for a moment, your heart racing. You know Max is angry — no, furious — but that anger isn’t directed at you. It’s for them, the people who put you in this position.

Thompson steps back into the room, her expression unreadable. “Finished?”

You nod, handing the phone back. She doesn’t say anything as she leads you back to the main room, but you can feel her eyes on you, judging, assessing.

You sit down again, your legs shaky, but now there’s a quiet fire burning in your chest. Max is coming. He’s going to make this right.

The minutes tick by, painfully slow. Thompson goes back to her paperwork, the other officers moving around the station like it’s just another day. But for you, every second is excruciating, the tension building in your chest like a storm.

Then, finally, the door to the station swings open with a heavy thud, and you hear the low murmur of voices — followed by a voice you’d recognize anywhere.

Max.

You can’t see him from where you’re sitting, but you can feel the shift in the room. There’s a sudden stillness, the officers glancing up from their desks, their postures stiffening. Even Thompson’s face changes, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before she composes herself.

You strain to hear the conversation at the front desk, but it’s muffled. Still, you catch bits and pieces — his name, the car, your name. And then there’s the sharp, unmistakable edge of authority in Max’s voice as he says something that makes the desk officer sit up a little straighter.

Moments later, the door to the holding area swings open, and there he is. Max strides in, every movement purposeful, his eyes locking onto you immediately. There’s a fire in his gaze — controlled, but fierce — and the tension in his jaw tells you everything you need to know.

He’s not just angry. He’s livid.

“Max …” Your voice is small, a mixture of relief and shame. You hadn’t wanted to drag him into this mess, but you also know that no one else could’ve handled it the way he can.

He crosses the room in a few quick strides, his hand reaching for yours. “Are you okay?” His voice is low, steady, but you can hear the tightness underneath it.

You nod, but tears prick at your eyes. “I-I didn’t know what to do. They wouldn’t listen to me …”

He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve got it from here.” His tone is resolute, his eyes never leaving yours.

Then, without another word to you, Max turns to face the officers. His entire demeanor shifts, his posture straightening, his presence filling the room with an air of control that demands respect.

“Who’s in charge here?” He asks, his voice calm but unmistakably authoritative.

Thompson steps forward, though there’s a flicker of hesitation in her movements. “I am,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. “Officer Thompson.”

Max doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “You arrested my girlfriend under suspicion of theft. I’d like to see the evidence you have for that.”

Thompson falters, her eyes flicking over to the other officers. “We … we received a report of a stolen vehicle, and-”

“And instead of verifying the ownership, you decided to arrest her?” Max’s voice is cold, each word measured. “Did you even check the registration in the glove compartment?”

Thompson’s jaw tightens. “We were following standard procedure. She became agitated and-”

“She was agitated because you were treating her like a criminal,” Max cuts in, his tone sharp. “You had no reason to arrest her. If you had checked the registration, you would’ve seen my name on it.”

He takes a step closer, his presence towering over Thompson, making her shift uneasily on her feet. “Do you know who I am?”

There’s a beat of silence. The room feels like it’s holding its breath.

Thompson nods slowly. “Yes. Mr. Verstappen, we-”

“Then you know how much trouble you’re in,” Max says, his voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. “You’re going to release her. Now. And then you’re going to issue a formal apology.”

Thompson blinks, clearly taken aback by his bluntness. “Mr. Verstappen, I understand your frustration, but we were simply-”

“Don’t patronize me,” Max interrupts, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room. “You’ve already made a mess of this situation. Don’t make it worse by pretending this was some kind of mistake. You arrested her because you assumed she didn’t belong in that car. Because you didn’t bother to listen.”

Thompson opens her mouth to argue, but Max doesn’t give her the chance. “I’ll be contacting my legal team,” he says, his tone firm. “And if you don’t release her immediately, I’ll make sure this becomes a very public issue.”

The threat hangs in the air, thick and heavy. Thompson hesitates for a moment longer, and then — finally — she nods.

“Release her,” she says quietly, signaling to one of the other officers.

The relief that washes over you is immediate, your heart pounding in your chest as the handcuffs are removed. Max’s hand is on your shoulder in an instant, grounding you, his touch warm and reassuring.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice softening as he looks down at you. “We’re getting out of here.”

You nod, letting him guide you out of the station. But before you step through the door, you glance back at Thompson, who’s still standing there, her expression strained.

Max pauses, following your gaze. He meets Thompson’s eyes, his expression unreadable. “Don’t ever treat her like that again,” he says quietly, the words carrying more weight than any threat could.

And with that, he leads you out into the cool night air, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you step outside.

***

Max’s fingers are wrapped tightly around your wrist, his grip firm but not painful, as he guides you toward his car in the station’s dimly lit parking lot. It’s quieter out here, the cool air thick with the scent of autumn leaves and something sharper — the lingering smell of petrol. The night is still, almost peaceful, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of chaos you’ve just been dragged through.

But Max’s silence is unnerving. He’s holding onto your hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

He stops in front of a sleek, black Porsche 911 GT3 RS, the kind of car that turns heads and raises eyebrows. It’s an aggressive machine, all sharp edges and raw power — just like Max right now.

“Get in,” he says, his voice low and controlled, as if he’s holding back a storm. He opens the passenger side door for you, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

You hesitate for a second, looking up at him, trying to gauge his mood. “Max-”

“Get. In,” he repeats, enunciating each word with a finality that leaves no room for argument.

You slip into the passenger seat without another word, the leather cool against your skin. The car’s interior is immaculate, everything in its place, the faint smell of new leather lingering in the air. Max rounds the front of the car and slides into the driver’s seat, his movements tight and controlled. He doesn’t say anything as he starts the engine, the car roaring to life with a low, throaty growl.

He peels out of the parking lot with a precision that feels almost surgical, his eyes locked on the road ahead, his jaw clenched. The silence between you is heavy, charged with an emotion you can’t quite name.

“Max-”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” His voice cuts through the quiet like a blade, sharp and accusing. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel.

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Tell you what?”

“That they arrested you,” he says, each word bitten off like it’s leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “That they-” He breaks off, shaking his head like he can’t even bring himself to say it. “Why didn’t you call me immediately?”

You swallow hard, your gaze dropping to your lap. “I-I didn’t want to worry you. You were probably busy, and-”

“Busy?” He lets out a short, humorless laugh, his eyes flashing as he glances at you. “You think I care about being busy when something like this happens? When you’re involved?”

“Max, I didn’t want you to-”

“To what? Be pissed off? Too late for that,” he snaps, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. He takes a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel loosening slightly. “What happened, exactly?”

You tell him, your voice halting at first but gaining strength as you recount every detail — the officers showing up, the handcuffs, the questions, the disbelief when you tried to explain the car belonged to him. Max’s expression darkens with each word, his jaw set in a hard line.

“They just … wouldn’t listen,” you finish softly, staring down at your hands. “I told them it was yours. I even tried to show them the registration, but they didn’t care.”

“They didn’t care because they had already made up their minds,” Max growls, his voice a dangerous rumble. “They saw you and assumed you didn’t belong in that car.”

He exhales slowly, trying to steady himself. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the way he’s fighting to keep his temper in check.

“Why would they think the car was stolen in the first place?” He mutters, more to himself than to you. His fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel, his mind clearly racing.

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Someone must have reported it,” you say slowly, the realization dawning on you as you speak. “Someone must have seen me with it and assumed …”

Max’s gaze snaps to you, sharp and focused. “Who would do that?”

“I-I don’t know.” You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “It could’ve been anyone. The car … it stands out. Maybe someone thought it looked out of place at the house.”

Max’s frown deepens. “No,” he says firmly, his eyes narrowing. “No, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone who knows you. Someone who knew that wasn’t your car.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and damning. Someone who knew you. Someone who saw you with the Aston Martin. Someone who-

“One of your housemates,” Max says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur.

You open your mouth to protest, but then you stop, the pieces falling into place in your mind. One of your housemates. One of the people who knows you can’t afford a car like that, who might have thought — wrongly, jealously — that you had gotten your hands on it through some shady means.

Max’s eyes are hard, unyielding. “It has to be,” he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Someone saw you with the car and called the police. There’s no other explanation.”

You take a deep breath, the realization settling in your chest like a lead weight. “But … why would they do that? Why would they assume I stole it?”

“Because people are idiots,” Max mutters, his gaze flicking back to the road. “Because people are jealous. And because they didn’t like seeing you with something they thought you shouldn’t have.”

There’s a bitter edge to his words, and it makes your heart ache. Max has dealt with his share of jealousy, of people looking at him like he doesn’t deserve what he’s earned. He knows what it’s like to be judged, to have assumptions made about him based on nothing but surface impressions.

But this is different. This is personal.

“Whoever did this,” Max says, his voice low and controlled, “is going to regret it.”

Your eyes widen, a pang of fear and something else — something almost like excitement — flaring in your chest. “Max, wait-”

“We’re going to your house,” he continues, his tone brooking no argument. “We’re going to find out who made that call, and I’m going to make sure they understand exactly what kind of trouble they’ve caused.”

“Max, no,” you protest, your voice rising. “You don’t have to do that. I-I can handle it. I’ll talk to them, I’ll-”

“No, you won’t.” He glances at you, his eyes blazing. “You’ve been through enough tonight. I’m handling this.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the look on his face stops you cold. There’s a steely determination in his eyes, an unshakeable resolve that tells you there’s no point in fighting him on this.

He’s already made up his mind.

“Max, please-”

“Enough,” he says softly, but there’s no gentleness in his tone. “I’m not letting them get away with this.”

You fall silent, your heart racing as the car speeds down the quiet, empty streets. The tension in the car is suffocating, but there’s also a strange sense of relief. Relief that he’s here, that he’s taking control, that he’s going to make this right.

You know you should feel bad, should feel guilty for dragging him into this mess. But right now, all you feel is a fierce, overwhelming sense of gratitude.

Max’s hand finds yours again, his fingers lacing through yours, squeezing gently. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, his voice softening just a fraction. “I’m going to take care of it.”

You nod, swallowing back the words you want to say — the apologies, the pleas for him not to do anything reckless. Because you know it won’t make a difference. Max is stubborn, determined, protective to a fault. And when it comes to you, he’s willing to do whatever it takes.

The drive to your house feels both too long and too short, every second charged with anticipation. When Max finally pulls up outside your shared house, he cuts the engine and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“Stay in the car,” he says firmly.

You blink, surprised. “What?”

“Stay. In. The. Car.” He enunciates each word with that same controlled intensity, his eyes boring into yours. “I’m going inside.”

“Max, you can’t-”

“I can and I will,” he interrupts, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I’m not letting you go in there and face them after everything that’s happened tonight.”

He reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soft, soothing gesture. “Just stay here, okay? Let me handle it.”

You want to argue, to tell him it’s not necessary, but the look in his eyes stops you. There’s a fierce protectiveness there, a determination that makes your chest tighten.

“Max …”

“Please,” he murmurs, his voice softening. “Just this once. Let me take care of it.”

You hesitate, then nod slowly. “Okay.”

He leans forward, pressing a quick, firm kiss to your forehead before pulling back. “Good.”

And with that, he steps out of the car, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. You watch as he strides toward the front door of your house, his shoulders squared, his posture radiating confidence and control.

But the second he disappears from view, you find yourself reaching for the door handle. You know he told you to stay in the car. You know he wants to protect you.

But you can’t just sit here and let him fight your battles for you.

Taking a deep breath, you push the door open and step out into the cool night air, following him up the path toward the house.

***

The door swings open with a resounding bang, ricocheting with enough force to make the picture frames on the adjacent wall rattle. Every head in the common room snaps up, eyes wide and startled as they turn toward the unexpected intrusion.

Max stands in the doorway, the very picture of barely restrained fury, his presence so commanding it seems to suck the air out of the room. His gaze sweeps over the small group of people lounging on the mismatched sofas, taking in their shocked expressions and slack-jawed stares with a level of disdain that’s almost palpable.

“What the hell is going on?” He demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl that reverberates through the room.

No one answers immediately. They’re all too stunned, too caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the tall, broad-shouldered stranger radiating aggression. It’s Chloe who finally finds her voice, pushing herself up from her seat on the sofa and taking a hesitant step forward.

“Um, excuse me, but who are you?” Her voice wavers slightly, but she lifts her chin defiantly, trying to project an air of authority. “You can’t just barge in here like this.”

Max’s eyes lock onto her, and something in his gaze makes her flinch back, the confidence in her stance faltering. He doesn’t bother answering her question. Instead, he turns his head slightly, calling out over his shoulder.

“Come in here,” he says, his tone softer but no less commanding.

You step into the doorway behind him, hesitant and unsure, your gaze flicking nervously between Max and your housemates. You don’t miss the way their expressions shift when they see you — surprise, confusion, and something darker, more judgmental, flickering across their faces.

“Y/N?” It’s Amelia who speaks this time, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on? Who is this guy?”

Max’s jaw tightens, his gaze still fixed on Chloe. “I’m Max,” he says curtly, as if the name alone should explain everything.

It clearly doesn’t. The blank stares from around the room make that abundantly clear.

“Max Verstappen,” he adds, impatience lacing his tone. Still no recognition. “Formula 1 driver? Y/N’s boyfriend?” He tries again, a hint of disbelief in his voice now.

A flicker of something like realization crosses a few faces, but Chloe just scoffs, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yeah, sure,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “And I’m Lewis Hamilton.”

Max’s lips curl into a cold, humorless smile. “Trust me, I would never want to be him.”

The comment flies over Chloe’s head, but it’s enough to send a ripple of laughter through the room. Max’s smile fades as quickly as it came, his expression hardening once more.

“I’m her boyfriend,” he says again flatly, jerking his head in your direction. “And I’m here to find out which one of you decided it was a good idea to call the police and have her arrested.”

The laughter dies instantly. The air in the room thickens with tension, eyes darting from Max to you and back again.

“Arrested?” Amelia repeats, her voice rising in pitch. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Max snaps, his gaze still boring into Chloe, like he can see straight through her. “One of you called the cops and reported her for driving a stolen car. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

A murmur of confusion ripples through the group, genuine bewilderment on most faces. But Chloe’s eyes dart away, a flicker of guilt crossing her expression before she schools it back into one of indifference.

“What — no, that’s ridiculous!” She says, her voice a touch too high-pitched. “Why would any of us do that?”

Max’s gaze narrows, his eyes zeroing in on her like a hawk spotting prey. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet. “You tell me.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick and heavy. Chloe shifts uncomfortably, her gaze flickering toward the others as if searching for support. But no one says anything. No one moves.

“Look,” Chloe finally says, trying for a breezy tone that falls flat. “If she got arrested, that’s … that’s not our fault, okay? Maybe there was a misunderstanding or something.”

Max’s eyes flash, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the barely restrained fury simmering beneath the surface.

“A misunderstanding?” He repeats, his voice deceptively calm. “Yeah, I’d say there was a huge misunderstanding. Like the fact that you assumed she couldn’t possibly be driving that car legitimately. Like the fact that you assumed she’d have to steal it to have something that nice.”

He takes a step closer to Chloe, and she instinctively steps back, her expression faltering. “Whoever made that call didn’t just cause a ‘misunderstanding.’ They caused a whole lot of trouble for no reason other than pettiness and jealousy.”

“Hey, wait a minute-” One of the other housemates tries to interject, but Max doesn’t even spare her a glance.

“Do you know what it’s like to get a phone call telling you the person you love is sitting in a cell?” He asks, his gaze never leaving Chloe’s face. “Do you know what it’s like to hear that they were treated like a criminal just because someone here,” — he practically spits the word — “decided to be a self-righteous, vindictive bitch?”

The room goes deathly silent. Chloe’s face has gone pale, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, no words forthcoming.

“Max, maybe we should-” you start, reaching out to touch his arm.

He cuts you off with a quick shake of his head, his eyes still locked on Chloe. “No. She needs to hear this.”

You shrink back slightly, your stomach twisting with a mix of anxiety and something else — something like relief. Because as harsh as Max is being, there’s a part of you that’s grateful. Grateful that he’s standing up for you, that he’s putting words to all the anger and frustration you’ve been bottling up since this whole nightmare began.

“You don’t get to treat people like that,” Max continues, his voice low and cold. “You don’t get to make snap judgments about someone based on what you think they deserve. And you sure as hell don’t get to sic the cops on them just because you’re too insecure to handle seeing someone else with something you want.”

Chloe’s lips tremble, her eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape route. “I … I didn’t …”

“Didn’t what?” Max demands, his voice rising. “Didn’t think it would matter? Didn’t think about the consequences? Or didn’t think you’d get caught?”

The accusation hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. No one moves. No one breathes.

“I didn’t think-” Chloe starts, but the words catch in her throat. She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I just — I thought …”

Max lets out a short, harsh laugh. “Yeah, you thought. That’s the problem.”

He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as if trying to calm himself. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, steadier, but no less cutting.

“You know what? I don’t even care what your excuse is,” he says quietly. “Because there is no excuse. Nothing you say is going to change what you did. Nothing is going to make up for the fact that you had her dragged off in handcuffs for no reason other than your own messed-up assumptions.”

Chloe flinches at the words, her shoulders hunching as if she’s trying to make herself smaller. You almost feel a pang of sympathy for her — almost. But then you remember the cold metal of the handcuffs around your wrists, the humiliating feeling of being treated like a criminal, and the sympathy evaporates.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Max says, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re going to apologize. Right now. To her.”

He steps back slightly, giving Chloe a clear line of sight to you. She hesitates, her gaze flicking up to yours, and for a moment, she just stares at you, her eyes wide and fearful.

“I … I’m sorry,” she finally mutters, the words barely audible.

Max’s gaze hardens. “Louder.”

“I’m sorry,” Chloe repeats, her voice trembling. “I-I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand. I just … I thought the car was … that it wasn’t …”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish. But she trails off, her face crumpling with guilt and shame. It’s not much of an apology, but it’s more than you expected.

You take a deep breath, nodding slowly. “Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

Max nods once, satisfied. “Good. Now, if I ever hear about you pulling something like this again,” he says, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “you’ll regret it. Understand?”

Chloe nods frantically, her face ashen. “Y-Yes, I understand.”

“Great.” Max turns away from her, his gaze softening as it lands on you. “Come on,” he murmurs, reaching out to take your hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

***

The Porsche purrs along the quiet stretch of motorway, the engine’s deep growl a steady undercurrent to the conversation hanging in the air. It’s late — well past midnight — but neither of you seem in any hurry to get home. There’s a lingering tension, a heaviness that neither of you know quite how to disperse.

Max’s hand grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles stark against the leather. You watch him from the corner of your eye, the faint glow of the dashboard casting shadows across his face. His jaw is set, his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that betrays the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

He hasn’t said much since leaving your house. Just a few clipped sentences, terse reassurances that he’s not mad at you, that you didn’t do anything wrong. But the words feel hollow, inadequate against the weight of what happened tonight.

After a few more minutes of silence, Max finally speaks, his voice low and controlled. “I talked to the mechanics earlier today.”

You blink, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation. “The mechanics?”

“Yeah.” He glances at you briefly before returning his gaze to the road. “About your car.”

Oh. You feel a pang of anxiety, your stomach twisting unpleasantly. You’d almost forgotten about your poor, beat-up little car, abandoned at some garage in Milton Keynes. “What did they say?”

Max hesitates, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “It’s … not good.”

You swallow hard, your heart sinking. “What do you mean?”

“They think it’s beyond saving.” His voice is careful, as if he’s trying to break the news gently. “There’s too much damage. The engine’s shot, the transmission’s on its last legs … basically, it’d cost more to repair it than it’s worth.”

You stare at him, uncomprehending. “But … but I just had it serviced a few months ago,” you protest weakly. “It shouldn’t be that bad-”

“It’s not your fault,” Max interrupts gently. “That car’s been through hell. It’s a miracle it’s lasted as long as it has.”

“But I can’t just … give up on it,” you say, a note of desperation creeping into your voice. “It’s my car, Max. I need it.”

“You need a car,” Max corrects softly. “Not that car. There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “I can’t afford a new one right now. I still have to pay for-”

“Hey, hey.” Max’s hand leaves the steering wheel to rest on your knee, squeezing gently. “I’m not saying you have to buy a new car.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicion flaring. “What are you saying, then?”

“I’m saying,” Max begins, his tone careful, measured, “that I’ll get you a new one.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, your mind struggling to process what he’s suggesting.

“No,” you say finally, shaking your head vehemently. “Absolutely not.”

Max’s brow furrows, his gaze flickering to yours. “Why not?”

“Because … because that’s ridiculous!” You sputter. “I’m not letting you buy me a car. That’s way too much.”

“It’s not too much if you need it,” he argues calmly.

“Yes, it is!” You insist, your voice rising. “It’s too much, and it’s not your responsibility. I’ll figure something out-”

“Like what?” Max challenges, his voice sharpening. “What are you going to do, keep borrowing cars you’re hesitant to actually use? Take public transport everywhere? What happens when you need to get somewhere and you don’t have a ride?”

“I’ll manage,” you say stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest. “I always have.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to anymore,” Max snaps, his frustration breaking through. “Why won’t you just let me help you?”

“Because it’s not your problem to solve!” You shout back, the words bursting out before you can stop them.

Max goes silent, his gaze turning stony. For a few long moments, the only sound in the car is the steady thrum of the engine and your own harsh breathing.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach twist. “You’re my girlfriend. That means if you have a problem, it is my problem to solve.”

The certainty in his tone makes your breath catch in your throat. You look at him, really look at him, and see the determination blazing in his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw.

“Max …” you begin softly, but he cuts you off with a quick shake of his head.

“No, listen to me.” He takes a deep breath, his hand tightening on your knee. “I know you’re independent. I know you’re used to handling things on your own. But this isn’t about money, or pride, or any of that. It’s about making sure you’re safe, that you have what you need to get around. And right now, that means getting you a new car.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he presses on, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“Let me do this for you,” he says quietly, almost pleadingly. “Please.”

His sincerity takes the wind out of your sails, your protests dying on your lips. You stare at him, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders.

“But … it’s just … too much,” you say weakly, your resolve crumbling.

Max’s expression softens, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think so. And even if it is, I don’t care. You’re worth it.”

The simple, earnest declaration sends a rush of warmth flooding through you, your heart swelling in your chest. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you blink them back furiously, refusing to let them fall.

“Why do you have to be so damn convincing?” You mutter, half exasperated, half amused.

Max’s smile widens slightly, his thumb brushing gently over your knee. “It’s a gift.”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he says dryly, his eyes twinkling with a hint of humor. “So … you’ll let me do this?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. It still feels like too much, like accepting would be crossing some invisible line. But there’s a part of you that knows he’s right — that trying to handle this on your own would be stubborn and impractical and would probably end up causing more problems than it’s worth.

And more than that, you can see how much it means to him. How much he wants to do this for you.

“Fine,” you say finally, letting out a long sigh. “But only because you’re so damn insistent.”

Max’s grin is dazzling, the relief and joy in his eyes almost overwhelming. “Good. I’ll start looking for something first thing tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind the gesture. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he counters smoothly, his grin widening at your soft, exasperated laugh.

“Cheesy,” you accuse, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“Maybe,” he concedes with a shrug. “But it’s true.”

You shake your head, your heart feeling lighter than it has in days. “I’m still not letting you get me something ridiculously expensive,” you warn, trying to sound stern.

“We’ll see,” Max says noncommittally, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Max-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he says quickly, holding up his free hand in mock surrender. “We’ll get something practical, okay? Something that’s safe and reliable and not … ridiculous.”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “Promise?”

Max’s smile softens, and he nods, his gaze holding yours steadily. “Promise.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, a sense of peace settling over you. Maybe it’s not ideal, accepting something so big from him, but … maybe it’s okay to let him take care of you, just this once.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

Max’s smile is soft and warm and full of so much affection it makes your chest ache. He leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. “No, thank you.”

3K notes · View notes

tonycries · 11 months ago

Text

Like An Animal - T.F.

Synopsis. Of course Toji doesn’t want any more kids. Of course he’s lying as he stuffs your pretty cúnt full of his cúm for the third time tonight.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, unprotected, cúmplay, mating press, chóking, overstim, oral (female receiving), créampie, dirty talk, Toji really REALLY wants to get you pregnant, spitting, mentioned kids, absolutely filthy, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Need this man so bad you don’t even understand AAA.

Toji Fushiguro didn’t want any more kids. Why would he? They were messy, expensive, and it was a sheer miracle that Megumi wasn’t anything like the little demons he’s seen during drop-off at the kindergarten. He didn’t need another reason to watch Babyshark for five hours straight - and he wasn’t about to change his mind anytime soon.

Or, so he thought.

“Hey doll, m’home- what the f-”

“Toji! Language!” you hiss, hastily covering the ears of a very oblivious Yuji, who was deeply engrossed in mixing icing.

Oh?

Now, there have only been three times in his life that Toji has been truly taken aback. The first being when he discovered that yes, Megumi’s hair really does stand up that way naturally. Second, when he realized that he was falling for you - and that oh shit maybe he does still have feelings somewhere in there after all.

And finally, right now, the sight of you covered in flour and wrestling three giggly toddlers into some semblance of order in the kitchen. “Welcome home, handsome.”

Oh.

It made something deep inside him lurch so strangely.

“Why…” Toji rasps, eyes flitting between the mixing bowls messily clinked together and the three toddlers happily stood on stools, flour in their hair and matching smiles on your faces. “Why have they multiplied?”

“We’re baking cookies!” Yuji exclaims from the counter, swiping a thick wad of dough on Nobara’s hair. To which the latter responds with a swift smack on the head.

You smirk at your dumbfounded boyfriend, “Well, Toji, it seems that when you leave me alone with a batch of cookies to bake, I have a tendency to summon reinforcements.” Gesturing at the chaos surrounding you, “Megs wanted to bake some cookies before his sleepover at Yuji’s so I had these three over because we have more than enough space.”

“I see…does insurance cover this kitchen?”

Rolling your eyes, “Oh c’mon, don’t be such a spoilsport.” You reach for the batch of freshly baked goods, “You’re just in time to taste-test our latest creation!”

And, well, how could he ever say no to you? Although - flour-dusted and disheveled - some strange part of himself thinks you look even more gorgeous than usual right now, as if that was even possible. His girl was so pretty, even when you’re wrangling three little gremlins. Too pretty. Toji just couldn’t get his head around that nagging little voice saying you looked so pretty especially when you’re wrangling three little gre-

“Ehh? Fushiguro is your dad blushing?”

“Gross.”

“You idiots he isn’t blushing, it’s called ‘swooning’. My mommy says it’s a grown-up thing.”

It was hard to not hear the (extremely loud) whispers from behind you, but it was even harder to ignore the slight red tinting Toji’s ears as he pointedly reached out for the tray you were holding. Fingers barely even brushing against the cookies before a tiny voice speaks up, “Mama, can I have one too?”

You freeze. Toji freezes. You think the whole world freezes except for Yuji and Nobara who stifle giggles behind their hands.

“Look Kugisaki, now he’s really swooning.”

“Yeah, my mommy says that’s also how you get babies. You swoon and pop! they appear.”

Toji raises a brow at Nobara, gritting out a strained, “Your mommy says a lot, huh?” That jolts you out of your reverie, and you flash a gentle smile at a very red-faced Megumi. Leaning down to reply, “Of course, sweetie.”

And as he mumbles a quick “Thank you”, hastily grabbing another cookie and retreating to a corner of the kitchen - hoping to disappear into the shadows - you risk a glance at Toji. Cheeks flushed hard enough to rival Megumi’s, ah, like father like son.

“Anyway, don’t just stand there. Come help me n’ the kids, Yuji’s grandpa’s coming to pick them up soon!” you playfully swat at your boyfriend’s sculpted chest, going back to busying yourself with the icing.

Toji, however, was having an epiphany that was altering his perception of reality, one that he’d probably been denying ever since he stepped in through that damn front door. You. The kids. You and the kids. You and his kids.

“Mama.”

And Megumi’s little slip-up had been the final nail on his coffin to certify that oh Toji Fushiguro was utterly and irrevocably screwed. And he’d like to blame it all on you being such a goddamn wonder, but he’s got a nagging feeling that the three little gremlins currently decorating cookies share an equal part of the blame.

What was it that girl had said? Swooning is how you get babies? Because, well, eyeing the way you scooped up a pouty Megumi in your arms, chatting animatedly with a tittering Nobara and Yuji, only one thought rings through his mind - damn right, kid.

---

“-and make sure to brush your teeth. No faking this time, okay? I’ve told Yuji’s grandpa to check. And-”

“No summoning demons, and no summoning the police. Though you’re probably too young for that.” Toji interrupts your little tirade, ruffling the hair of a very disgruntled Megumi. “Have fun, little man.”

You giggle at the usual father-son dynamic, but as you waved off Megumi and his friends, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that something in the air felt a bit different. Something a bit tense. A bit exciting.

Maybe it was the heavy silence that hung in the room after that door slammed shut, leaving just you and Toji all alone in the house. Forcing you to register the heat of his large frame looming behind yours. When did he get so close? Or maybe it was the prickly of his gaze on your back, a resounding slam! echoing in your ears as he cages you against the door.

Or maybe - just maybe - it was the way he leaned down to whisper in your ear, husky and tinged with something so utterly dangerous.

“So…mama, huh?”

A thrill goes down your spine at his words. “Oh, stop.” you wave off, though you feel your cheeks flaring up in response. Especially as he plows on, “Why? I think you make a great mama.”

You scoff, casting a sidelong glance at the muscular arm just inches away from your head. “Don’t joke, Megs was so embarrassed after that.”

“I’m not joking.”

Your back hits the cool door before you can react. Toji’s hands almost painful on your shoulders, muscles rippling as he turns you to face him. You raise your eyes to meet his and oh-

Oh shit.

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue dies as you take in the man before you. His expression darkened, breaths slightly labored, eyes half-lidded and locked on you. You’d almost have been worried at the sudden flip of personality had it not been for the words that spill from his lips.

“I’m not joking.” he repeats, voice strangled.

Great, the man has finally lost it. Despite the traitorous throbbing in your cunt, you try to make sense of the situation. “Toji, this joke has-”

Your words get caught in your throat as he raises a hand to squish your cheeks together into an almost-embarrassing pout, looking down at you through dazed eyes. “Do I look like I’m joking, doll?” Leaning down to lick a stripe up a smudge of icing on your cheek. Lingering far too long, murmuring into your skin, “What do you think?”

In the heat of it all, you manage to choke out, “W-what?”

“Don’t you think,” he mutters, as strained as if he were about to snap any second. Losing his sanity with each word that comes out of his mouth. “That you’d make the best mama?”

“I mean- yes-”

And then his lips are on yours, shutting you up - bruising. Such a sloppy mix of teeth and spit as he drinks you in with an aching desperation. Toji breathes in your gasp as you feel his cock, hard and throbbing against your front.

“Fuck.” he hisses into your mouth. “Not enough, ma. Need you s’bad.”

The buttons hit the floor before you realize what’s happening. Toji’s fisting your shirt in one hand, too impatient - too starved - he pulls down, down, down. Ripping. Urgently moving down to your shorts- “Those are expensi-” you yelp.

But it’s useless - the tattered fabric hits the ground faster than your jaw as he groans out a quick, “I’ll buy ya a new one when we shop for baby clothes.”

Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, hands trailing up your thighs. He swiftly unclasps your bra, mouth dropping into a soft little oh! at the sight, immediately groping each and every inch of skin he could reach. Tweaking and rolling your swollen nipples on his fingers in wonder. “Oh, doll. These are gonna be s’full, huh? Wan’ taste how sweet you’ll be.”

“T-Toji hah-” you whine, as he takes one nipple in his mouth. Lips wrapped so prettily around your tit as he tugs lightly, sucking harshly like he was miraculously trying to draw milk out. Looking up at you so obscenely through his thick lashes. “Ngh- wan’ more.” you buck your hips, grinding against his thick cock.

And, well, how could Toji ever deny the mother of his children?

Because he immediately drops to his knees, biting down on the thin fabric of your soaked panties. Tugging with his teeth, “This what you want, ma?” he slurs. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he breathes in the scent of your dripping pussy, “Wan’ me to eat out your pretty lil’ cunt? Jus’ say the word.”

“Please, daddy.”

“Tha’s my girl.”

And then he’s pulling - tearing your drenched panties to shreds with his teeth. Flashing you a devilish grin at the sinful strings of slick that connect you to the flimsy fabric. Oh Toji had half the mind to tease you about how wet you were already, but no, he had no time to waste.

With a guttural, fucked-out little grunt, he’s surging forward, diving face first into your pretty pussy. Nose pressing against your throbbing clit, licking a long, languid stripe up your swollen folds.

“Oh hngh- please.” you mewl, as he buries himself deeper into your dripping cunt. Tongue bullying its way past your folds to lap at your slick, not stopping till he’s had his fill of your sweet juices. “M-more.”

Two large hands dip into your waist as he wraps his glossy lips around your pulsing clit to suck harshly, both keeping you still and supporting your weight as your knees weaken. Toji can’t have his pretty girl hurt herself right before he fills her up n’ gets her pregnant, right?

“Sure ya can handle more, ma?” Electricity runs up your spine as your boyfriend rolls his tongue across your clit just the way he knew you liked. “Y’should be thanking me for not jus’ stuffing you full of my cock like I want to right now.”

“Then hah- why don’t you?”

Toji pulls away ever-so-slightly, relishing in the delirious little whine of disappointment that leaves you. One that quickly turns into a surprised squeal as he spit a steady stream of spit into your quivering cunt, spreading it across your pussy with his thumb.

Sloppy - it was so fucking sloppy. He looked at you like you were his favorite meal and ate you out just as much.

Your juices decorating his lips like a badge of honor. Smearing across the bottom half of his face and trickling down his jaw. One which moves as he utters, “Can’t break the mother of my kids, doll.”

But oh how you’d beg to differ as he brings his face to your sloppy pussy once more, tongue darting out to catch the obscene little drip! drip! drip! of your slick. “Gon’ be the best fucking dad to all three of ‘em.”

“T-three?”

And with that, he’s squeezing his soft tongue into your tight pussy. Throwing your left leg over his sculpted shoulder to make out deeper with your cunt. You tug on his hair pathetically, impatiently. Cute little whines of his name leaving you each time he drips into your sloppy pussy, stretching you out, swiping at your clit, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Over and over-

“Yeah, three.” he mutters into your folds, “Gon’ give me two more beautiful babies? Gon’ be so round n’ pretty with my kids?” Tongue curling deftly against that one spot he knew would have you keening and rocking your pretty cunt into his mouth.

“Ah- fuck fuck fuck- hngh- yes!” you moan, body jerking violently at the way he hit that spot over and over.

He huffs out a laugh, hungry gaze taking in that cute, desperate expression on your face. Toji just couldn’t help but tease you a little bit. “Use your words, ma.”

“H-huh?”

“Tell me what you want.”

You gasp out a pathetic little sob, “Want to so badly. Wan’ you to hah- fill me up hngh- W-wan’ cum-”

“So demanding.” he titters teasingly into your cunt, vibrations making you drag your pussy more erratically on his mean mouth. Now, Toji could tease you with his tongue for hours until you’re crying and begging for his cock. But right now, he doesn’t think he has any more patience nor sanity. “I love that.”

Toji knows by the way your pretty pussy clenches around his tongue that you’re close, pulse urgent on his face as he greedily laps at your cunt. So he speeds up his movements, drinking you in like a madman.

A hand snaking up to plunge knuckle-deep into your sloppy entrance. Pussy taking him so readily after being stretched out on his tongue. Your adorable, fucked-out little whines of his name going straight to his rock-hard dick as he fucks you with his fingers the way he wants to with his cock. Two fingers thrusting in and out while his thumb draws rapid little circles on your clit. Sinking his teeth gently into your swollen folds.

Bucking into his touch, “Hah! S’too much, daddy. Hngh, g-gonna cum ah! Gonna cum-”

“Then cum, doll.”

And you are - fast and violent.

Plushy walls clamping down on Toji’s fingers as if your fluttering cunt was trying to suck him up. Mind hazy and your only thoughts being about Toji and his tongue and Toji-

“Mmm taste s’sweet, love you on m’tongue.” he grunts, breathing you in and letting your juices slide down his throat. Lewd squelches in time with your cute lil’ whines as you ride out your orgasm on his pretty face. Tongue fucking you through your high.

“Had fun, ma?” Toji grins once you blink back your vision, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Dangerous little smile only growing at your barely-lucid nod.

Ah, but even the ever-confident Toji Fushiguro faltered as your shaky hands reached out to pet his achingly hard cock. Swollen and leaking a mouthwatering dark patch against his trousers.

“Wan’ your cock now, daddy.” you murmur, watching the way his darkened eyes widen ever-so-slightly, breath hitching. “Wan’ you to fill me up over n’ over like you promised.”

Oh you little minx, with all your dirty tricks - you were going to be the death of him.

With a dark little chuckle of disbelief, Toji rises to his full height. Lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss - tongue licking at the seam of your mouth and intertwining with yours. Forcing you to taste yourself on him. So sweet of sin and all his dreams of stuffing you till you were sure to have his kids - two of them, in fact.

“Anything y’want, doll.” he whispers into your lips.

And that’s all that is said before the clinking of a belt rings in the heady air. The realization that you were so naked and splayed out for him while he was still unfairly clothed finally hitting as Toji peels his shirt off. Your mouth waters at the chiseled front, hands immediately reaching to squeeze his large pecs. Running your hands along his body.

“Ah, fuck.” he shudders, “Y’never change, huh?”

Yet your greedy hands are momentarily stunned as he lets his pants fall to the floor with his boxers. Rock-hard cock springing up and hitting his stomach.

He was so painfully hard that it made your cunt quiver in anticipation. Red and throbbing, soaked in precum and glistening in the dim lighting. Twitching at the sound of your voice as you say “Want you to fucking ruin me, daddy.” you blink up at Toji, all doe-eyed and teary after your last orgasm.

And oh does that make him snap - maybe his sanity, maybe you by the end of this, because before you know it, Toji’s spreading your legs with his knee. Biting his bottom lip as your slick trails down your pretty cunt and onto your legs.

“What m’girl wants.” he grits out, dragging his weeping tip across your swollen folds. Collecting your sweet juices on his head. “My girl- gets.”

You keen as Toji bullies his massive cock into your cunt on the last word. “Ngh- T-Toji.” you whine, vision flashing at the stretch. No matter how many times Toji stuffed you full of his cock - his size never failed to disappoint.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You can take it.” Trying to steady your breathing as he fucks into you in quick, mindless little jabs to fit himself inside your snug pussy. “I’ll make sure of it, doll. How else m’gonna breed your pretty lil’ cunt?”

Your dripping cunt rubs so deliciously against his abs, slick mixing with his precum and smearing across both your bodies. Filthy, and exactly what you wanted right now.

“Shit, love when your pussy’s so messy. Now, legs.” he rasps, with a quick smack to your thighs. And that’s all that has to be said - your queue to wrap your legs around Toji’s waist, letting his strong arms lift you with ease. Splitting you apart deeper and deeper onto his cock, veins rubbing so deliciously against all the right spots. A maddening little bump! bump! bump! matching your heartbeat.

“Ah! Hngh- Fuck fuck fuck, m’so full.” you keen, heels digging into his hips.

Sliding down his cock far enough that his heavy balls meet your ass, already so wet with precum and slick. Ah, you were so full of him you almost felt like he was pushing against your lungs.

“Oh, yes.” Toji hisses, throwing his head back. “Fucking finally.” Finally he gets what he’s been aching for ever since those three gremlins stepped out the door. All the blood draining to his cock at the idea of fucking his cum into you till you couldn’t walk. Till you were so full of him that he was the only one you could think of. Hey, he needed to get some attention before the baby arrives, right?

“Need this s’bad. Fuck.” he gasps. Still pushing inside you despite bottoming out, shallow, desperate little grinds of his hips. “Gonna fuck a baby into you, you little slut. Fill you up with my seed till you can’t take it anymore.”

Neat little crescents of his fingernails on your ass as his thrusts get longer, more purposeful. Twitching balls smacking against your skin in such a lewd rhythm, matching the cute little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time his fat head hits your cervix. So deliciously painful.

“C’mon, ma.” Toji moans, hips out of control now. Taking in the way your head was thrown back, body bouncing each time he rammed his cock into your tight cunt. But oh how he wanted to see the fucked-out expression on your face. “Look at me.”

So cockdrunk and delirious, you barely register the way Toji cradles your head to press his sweaty forehead against yours. Only looking up at him with delirious heart-eyes as he milked himself on your sloppy pussy.

“Shit feel s’perfect split-apart on my cock. Really made for me, huh?” he gasps into your mouth. “Need to cum in this pretty pussy. Need to fill you up- ah- need this need this- fuck.”

“Shit shit shit, Toji m’so close. I’m hngh-”

A hand hurriedly unwraps from your waist to draw rapid, desperate little patterns on your cunt. Not even circles anymore because shit Toji couldn’t think of anything aside from the way your pussy was milking him so good- And how he was gonna fuck a baby into you and Megumi was gonna be the best big brother and-

“-you’ll bake with ‘em. And I’ll tuck ‘em to bed.” the words tumble out of his lips and into your parted mouth. Pussy drunk and babbling, “N’ we’re both taking those three to the park and try not to lose ‘em.”

Dragging himself inside you till his weeping tip kisses your sloppy hole. Fingers on your clit becoming more and more frantic. Fucking you so filthy, each word punctuated by quick, harsh thrusts, “Then at night m’gonna steal you all to myself, and y’know what, ma?”

At this point you can do nothing more than just take it as Toji bounces you on his cock in midair, sobbing out a strained, “W-what, daddy?”

Toji leans impossibly closer, thumb catching on your swollen lips, breath fanning your face as he mutters, “Gonna fuck another baby into you. Fill you with my cum all over again, doll. Give it all to you.”

Now, you’ve heard of orgasms that come out of nowhere and have you seeing stars. And this was no different - yet you see the pearly gates of heaven as you cream around his cock. “Ah! Hngh m’cumming m’cumming oh-”

He lets out a guttural groan as your nails rake his back, hips stuttering and sloppy now. Breathing out raggedly, “Yeah fuck jus’ like that use me like’ that- hngh squeezing me s’tight gonna cum. Gonna give my pretty baby my cum, fuck a baby into ya- oh-”

Body bowing into yours, teething latching onto the crook of your neck, biting down right over your pulse. Fingers digging and bruising on your hips, holding your filthy pussy to his cock as he cums with a strangled moan. Hard. almost painfully so.

White-hot pleasure behind his eyes, pumping thick, hot ropes to fill your snug cunt. Just animalistic movements from such a carnal part of himself as he fucked his seed deeper and deeper into you.

Not even thinking of stopping even as you keen at your poor overfilled pussy. Toji’s cum dripping down your legs and onto his quivering balls as he fucks you like an animal. Over and over and-

“Hey, who said we’re done, doll?” Toji tuts mockingly, snapping you out of the haze. “Don’t pass out on me just yet.”

And you don’t even realize it before he’s manhandling you onto the nearby couch. Pulling out only admire his seed gushing out of you, so white and hot and his. Cock twitching to life at the pool of cum and slick slowly forming on the cushion below. Fuck that, you’ll need a bigger couch for five people anyway.

Ramming his throbbing cock into your poor, swollen pussy. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders and bending down down down till your knees were at your tits.

Not even bothering to let you adjust this time before he’s fucking you again and again and maybe he was whispering sweet nothings in your ear - probably it was just promises of how he was gonna fill your pretty lil’ cunt till Megumi gets home. Promises he fully intended to fulfill.

“Fuck. One more. G-gotta make sure it takes, ma.” he swears into your mouth. Voice jagged, and you almost couldn’t recognize it as your boyfriend’s. Barely even lucid, just mindless motions of his hips as he watched your slutty cunt suck him up so good. “Yeah, who’s cum is that, doll? Who’s that painting your pretty pussy white?”

Drinking in the sobbed out little, “Y-you, Toji! Ah- Hngh-” as he starts ravaging your swollen clit again. Toji’s balls squeeze so painfully as he fucked you like his personal sextoy. And your pussy was so heavenly around him that you were basically asking for him to go harder. Begging. Begging him to ruin you.

“Ah! Fuck I’m-” throat shot, you can’t even form a proper sentence before you’re seeing stars being your eyes. Walls milking Toji’s thick cock as you cum - almost painfully. Mouth dropping into a fucked-out little oh! tears streaking down your face.

Ones that Toji can’t help but lick off, salty on his tongue as he cums again. And again and again. Voice stuck in his throat, eyes widening, the veins popping out on his arms as he pulls your hips closer to his.

Hips burning now as he breeds you like some animal. Like he was ready to fill you up until he was shooting blanks and couldn’t anymore. Cum squelching out of your sloppy pussy and seeping into where you were joined. Ah, well, the couch was ruined - time for Plan B.

Which is why Toji found himself wrestling you onto the cool floor, cock still twitching inside you, spreading you for him on whatever flat surface he could find. Milking his cock so he can cum more than he has his whole life.

Both of you barely lucid at this point. He wasn’t even sure if he could cum again - but by God if he wasn’t going to try. He was drunk off of the feeling inside you, so warm and wet with him. So perfect to carry his child.

“Hngh- yes yes yes wan’ carry your child, daddy.” you whine. Oh shit, had he said that out loud? Ah, who gives a fuck at this point. The only thing he cared about now was the feeling of your sloppy lil’ pussy wrapped around him and whether Megumi would want a brother or a sister.

“Hm, yeah? Like the idea huh, you little slut. Fuck s’perfect f’me- ngh-”

Running on just the sting of your nails down his back and your legs pulling him impossibly closer. Barely even thrusting at this point, just frantic shallow, grinds to milk his swollen cock. Trying to fuck out something delicious. It hurt, but it hurt so good.

So good that Toji doesn’t even realize when he’s cumming again. Just faint little tingles before his cock is shooting thin, long wisps of cum, making you squeeze around him as he fills you up again and again.Your own orgasm just a small spike of euphoria before he starts moving inside you. Again.

Ah, he wonders, vision hazy at the edges - but still perfectly capturing the white gushing out of your ravaged cunt. Taking in the messy floor, and your even messier pussy. Where to next, huh? He hasn’t even fucked you in the kitchen yet.

“N-next?” you repeat, eyes widening as much as they possibly could through the exhaustion and the urge to pass out. And oh he said that out loud too? Whoops.

“Of course.” he pools the cum trickling out of you on two fingers, shoving them in your mouth. Making your head spine as you choke and gag around his thick fingers, pressing the back of your tongue. Only two things ringing in your mind, Toji’s unforgiving cock - raw and hot, dragging against your ravaged walls again and again - and the words that spill from his lips.

“Besides, we gotta practice for the fourth one, too, ma.”

A/N. Fully believe this man will fuck you till both of you pass out.

Plagiarism not authorized.

16K notes · View notes

screampied · 11 months ago

Text

‘ THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER ! ’

ᡴꪫ‎ synopsis. university sucks major ass. on the bright side, you’re on break—you decide to go pay your father a visit. this 'visit' ends up to you being introduced to his best friend, toji. who’s he? maybe your panties know the answer.

wc. 7.4k

warnings. fem! reader, dad's best friend! toji, age gap (reader is over twenty), praise, cunnilingús, squìrting, implied multiple órgasms, unprotected, degradation, size difference, impact play, poor dad is kinda clueless, almost caught, overstimulation.

dbf! masterlist

“who’s he?”

a simple question — yet the moment the words ran out your mouth, it felt as if all eyes were on you. in reality, it was though. the tall man who was quite a few staggering inches taller than your own father had such a gaze. he had hands buried into the depths of his pockets, shifting his weight as he stood still before burning a stare right into you. an intense stare, you could almost make out somewhat of an intriguing smirk. that sly smile with an everlasting scar running down the right side of his mouth.

“hey honey,” your father waves out with a brief gesture. he throws an arm around the buff man before giving him a rough pat on the back. “this is toji. met him ‘bout a year ago at one of those boat races. heh, news flash—he lost.”

“woah. no need to embarrass me, man,” toji murmurs in a raspy tone and by all means was his voice deep. laced in pure baritone, far deeper than your fathers. by a mile, to be specific. his voice has a jagged huskiness to it, insanely attractive. as he spoke, his eyes flickered towards you and he’d occasionally look away with that same chaffing sneer. “but anyway,” toji averts his eyes back towards you. his cologne was loud, you could smell it from miles away from you. he pauses for a few good seconds before uttering. “it’s nice to meet ya, sweetheart.”

you gulped, suddenly feeling small. you couldn’t pinpoint what it was about him — his demeanor, the way he carried himself, anything was. but it was something that had you a bit drawn in so to speak. “i um..”

“she’s not that much of a speaker,” your father chuckles, giving you a soft rub near your back. “poor brain’s probably all fried from those midterms. right honey?”

“you don’t say.” toji raises a brow, glancing away for a moment and a smile tugged right against his his dimples—and for a moment, he was suddenly intrigued by his best friend’s daughter.

that was the initial first reaction between the two of you. you ended up staying at your father’s house for the remaining duration of your visit.

nothing too much sparked between the two of you, of course there’d be subtle moments. real subtle moments—stupid things, like having him help you grab something from one of the top shelves.

of course he’d help, he was taller than you by many many inches. effortlessly towering over you. it’s the way he’d press up against you. it was quite hard to shut those thoughts of yours up. those lewd salacious thoughts that were forever kept into the very back of your brain, silently fantasizing about your father’s best friend.

apparently, he stayed for quite around the same time you did since he and your father would typically hang, do all sorts of men activities you never really cared about—golfing, shooting ranges, watching the most recent football games. that was the most annoying part, how they’d both obnoxiously yell at the screen whenever their favorite team was pathetically losing.

your room was directly upstairs, you heard everything. it was as if the walls were merely thin. in a way, they were. the constant repetitious hollering from the two men were so irksome. eyes merely rolled to the back of your head whilst you were trying to scroll on your phone in peace.

you never did understand why a dumb game of balls would drive men so crazy. nevertheless, you let off a tiny sigh before plopping right down in your bed. immensely, you stared off into space.

you had no idea why, but the minute your eyes linger into the white nearly peeled off drywall near the ceiling, you thought about him. toji.

stupid, maybe…

it’s been a few days and you hardly knew the guy. encounters between him were subtle and brief. he’d nod his head at you, barely acknowledging your existence and going straight back to some meaningless conversation with your father.

there was one day however, one day that had you hot all over. it was when you walked in on toji, he was using the spare shower that no one really uses, it’s reserved mostly for guests—perfect for him in this case.

you remember it like it was yesterday. since you were wide awake during this time for whatever reason, your dad sent you to go replace some towels from downstairs since he was doing laundry so you mindlessly make your way downstairs. the door was visibly cracked. sure, you probably should have knocked but who takes showers around three am?

apparently, this guy.

toji was literally just getting out the shower when you walked in. steam fogged throughout the entire space.

it was hot, stuffy and dampened with mist clinging against the rectangular mirrors. smothered with fog, you practically end up bumping right into something hard.

to be specific, that something was toji’s broad chest. maybe you were a bit delusional but you could have sworn, the moment you made contact with his bulky pecs, it moved upon impact.

“excuse you, sweetheart,” toji would scoff teasingly, his low voice was a bit more rougher since it was late at night. you were definitely speechless, barely able to process a single word from your mouth. thankfully a towel was wrapped around his slim torso—yet you started to wish maybe he didn’t have it protecting his lower half.

your eyes stuck to his chest the entire time, talk about embarrassing. immediately, your pretty dilated pupils ran down his chest, down his v-line, his perfectly structured build . . and then, his happy trail. he was well trimmed of the sort, practically. toji’s version of well trimmed was a bit hairy. regardless, it was still an attractive feature.

the more your eyes rove, the more you glance at his nearly perfectly sculptured structure. his chest was painted with a plethora of battle scars, now you were the one intrigued. you wanted to know more.

“you’re a little rude, huh,” and you abruptly snap from your thoughts. it was so brusque…

returning back to reality, out of that lewd trance you were so desperately trapped in—you blink twice, not even realizing how he was right up close to you. toji stares down at you before sneering. “it’s like three am. shouldn’t you be in bed?”

you shift your feet a bit, maintaining a little distance before trying to reply in the best nonchalant way possible. “uh no,” and then you utter awkwardly. “shouldn’t you be in bed? who randomly wakes up to take showers this late?”

“guys my age,” he jibes. “ya wouldn’t get it.”

you deadpan, fully aware it was a joke but you held everything in you to not have your eyes roll all the way back. “whatever,” and then you nearly forget what you were about to do. he watches you, you open near the lower cabinet and replace the clean towels. it grew profoundly quiet, a pin could drop. the moment you turned around, toji scoffs to himself. “did you need anything? something else?”

“ah. thank you, i’m fine, princess,” toji huffs with a sly grin. he reaches near the small wooden table to grab what seemed to be a half-used lotion bottle. however, you didn’t expect for him to completely change the topic, flipping your own words around with a blunt, “do you need something?”

“huh?”

“you heard me, girl.”

the banter…

he was definitely cocky, playful, literally any other synonym would fit.

you hated how he’d get you speechless everytime. you loathed how he was such an effect on you. with a brief gnaw on your bottom lip you narrow your eyes, mumbling out a, “stupid question.”

“i agree,” toji smirks. “but eh. y’er a smart girl. ‘m sure you can come up with a good comeback soon.”

he was so annoying, entirely so.

it’d be simple interactions like that between the two of you. much to your surprise though, nothing really else happened. toji would tease you a bit then pretend nothing happened, throw you a compliment or two and call it a day.

toji would often visit daily or twice a day, mainly to hang with your father. you could care less about what they did, but you were bored out of your mind from being in the house all day. you could go out, but it’s not like you had anyone to go with. everyone was either busy or … busy. besides, most of your friends were on exotic vacations or out of the country—you sighed, rubbing a hand against your stomach as you stared in the ceiling wall.

but then, the most lasciviously filthy thought made its way into your thoughts. you thickly swallowed before reaching a hand down between your legs. the air grew abnormally dry, shame…

to be completely honest, you couldn’t even remember the last time you touched yourself. this couldn’t have ever been a more perfect time. you were sure your father and his cocky best friend was out at top golf, probably.

intaking a single breath, you lean back against your pillow—slowly, you started to focus on your breathing.

parting your legs, you lightly pull down your shorts before tugging your panties to the side. you wince for a little, realizing how you were already a bit soaked. a little dampened spot right towards the front part of your underwear. you knew it had to be from pondering about toji.

speaking of, you remember that time where he helped—well, ‘attempted’ to cook dinner that one time. all you could focus on was his hands. such rough thick hands, you wondered what’d it feel like to have those same hands gingerly wrap around your throat. such thick fingers shove down your throat while he calls you such degrading names—just anything.

the more you were deep in thought, the more drenched you started to become. you went slow, being patient with yourself. you imagined it was toji’s fingers instead of yours. such big fingers thrusting in and out of you.

steadily, you start to insert a single finger in. a middle finger, it felt good, you suppressed a single moan and by this point, your imagination was running wild. you allowed your body to relax for a few moments before you slipped another finger inside. seconds later, you started to gentle move around inside your clit. your pace was sweet and precise—you let out a soft moan that rang throughout your thin walls. “toji—f-fuckkk.”

your voice was shaky, imagining toji being here right now made you throb ten times more. just propped all up behind you, thrashing his fingers against your swollen folds made you more aroused than you ever thought. your thrusts against your own entrance was small, a steady pace but irregular enough to make your knees start to buckle.

throwing your head back a little, you started to whine as each second dragged. your breath became insignificantly heavy, hitched and all. you made sure to stimulate in all the right areas, adapting to a perfect rhythm, then that’s when you’re rudely interrupted. talk about a cliche.

“hey. is it anymore detergen—”

toji pauses mid sentence, literally trying to process the scenery in front of him. he stands still and his initial reaction was slow. the first thing he does is chortle lowly. “well, shit. is this a bad time?”

you’ve never felt anymore embarrassed in your life, a sudden wave of heat rushed over your body before you quickly shielded yourself with your blanket. “oh my god,” you’d squeak out, and toji averts his eyes elsewhere for a few seconds. “i thought you all left already.”

toji hums. he takes a moment, and it’s as if he’s thinking of what to say. he was amused, seeing your flustered state and he looks back at you. “we were but it got canceled last minute since a storm’s approaching,” and you let off a soft gulp, hearing his footsteps creak against your wooden floor as he got closer. “thank god it was me who came in here ‘n not your father, right princess? now that’d be embarrassing.”

“stop calling me that,” you grumble, and you don’t even realize how soft and weak your voice was. you slowly pull your fingers out before intaking another sharp breath. he glanced at you before simpering. “haven’t you heard of knocking?”

“girl,” toji utters in a low rasp. “the door was wide open. i can’t knock on air,” and you mentally eye rolled — he was so insufferable. incredibly so, toji’s eyes roam across your old room that was a bit scattered with some boxes from when you moved out four years ago. it was a bit unkempt, your father usually used your room sometimes just to store things from the attic. toji buried his hands into his pockets before chuckling. “i heard you, ya know. moaning my name all loud like that.”

you blinked thrice, sitting up before compressing your eyebrows together. “what?”

“whaaat?” he jeers, mocking you. toji inches closer towards you until he was right beside your bedside. you gaze up at him and he had a blunt sticking out from the corner of his lips. he looked so appetizing, even while dressed down. ripped jeans and a sweatshirt. you could tell he was fit, of course he was—you saw him shirtless. he was well likely in his early thirties, dressing so laid back and casual. “between you and me, sweetheart, you can do better. ‘s cute ‘n all but that’s not how ya finger yourself. been a while, yeah?”

this guy, he was so bold. casually speaking his dirty mind, not afraid to say anything.

you don’t know why, but those last few words made you throb. you loathed how right he was, it was as if he could read you like a book. between studies and actually living a university student’s life, you barely ever get time to yourself. time to please yourself.

“whatever,” you utter. “yeah... it’s been a while.”

“poor thing,” he clicks his tongue before taking a seat on your bed. it jitters from his weight for a bit before he peers a gaze at you. “hm,” he puffs out, dragging a hand against his jeans. “i’d be happy to help though. those useless fingers of yours can only please you so much, right? heh.”

this indescribable effect he had on you, it heavily irked your nerves. “…please,” and you don’t even register what quickly came out of your mouth.

you were so pent up by this point, being interrupted. you wanted to finish, you desperately wanted to finish. your soft breaths hitched, and toji’s intimate stare lingered on you for a bit. his loud cologne started to waft across the entire room, so intoxicating. “just make me finish, please.”

“there’s those manners,” he coos in a husky tone, and he gets up closer. he was purely teasing you, you just wanted to feel his touch . . . feel something at least. he pulls the fat cover that went over you, yet at a more tantalizingly slow pace. he was a mere tease, you nearly let off a whine once you felt the tips of his warm fingers skim past your thighs. “messy girl,” he mumbles, and then he pauses to glance at you. “are you sure? jus’ wanna-”

“toji,” you mutter, and you liked hearing you roll his name so sweetly off your tongue. seeing you grow purely frustrated was utter amusement to him. the way your eyebrows would curl and furrow, irises flaring and your jaw slightly tensing. you had such readable body language by default too. “please. i want you. just touch me.”

he simpers. “pretty please.”

“……”

again, he was so infuriating. you felt yourself starting to pant, not knowing how much longer you could take as he started to softly trail a thumb against your skin. his touch was so warm, it was intense and ignited something within you.

“touch me—pretty please, toji.” you mutter out, sprawling your legs out just a bit. it was so hot, the temperature surrounding the atmosphere of the room was so humid. he glances at you before smiling.

“that’s a good girl.”

his words warmed your heart in such a lewd provocative way, you just wanted his touch.

desperately yearning for it, toji leans up close, bringing a big hand to part your legs apart and he was so slow. he takes the blunt that was propped up between his teeth, setting it aside near your nightstand. you prepare to inhale deeply, not expecting him to then bring a tender kiss towards your inner thighs. he started to create a trail—a trail that gingerly went up and up and up.

“so sensitive,” he’d purr, watching your own body melt from just the softness of his lips against your skin. you wanted him to hurry, you replayed this exact scenario over and over at least a dozen times. now that it was reality, you just knew that your body wanted him. “oh. don’t give me that look,” and he smirks, watching the pout grow against your lips. “gonna stare at me all day or are ya gonna tell me how you’d like for me to start?”

“i need you to—eat me out,” you huff out in short singular breaths. you were throbbing rapidly, each moment he stalled to speak, the more aroused you grew. his warm breath just fanning against your folds had you nearly going weak.

he snickers. “need?” he repeats, and you moan once he swiftly drags a finger down your soaked cunt. it was drenched, but it could be a bit more. toji hums to himself cockily. “you don’t need shit, girl. fix your sentence ‘n talk proper..”

“i—” you gripe, starting to grow more and more frustrated. your vexed facial expression amused him. he raises his darkened brows, awaiting for your answer and the cute pout that continued to stretch across your lips was so cute. “i— i want you to eat me out, pretty please.”

“much better,” he says in a low gruff. the moment he finally hovers his mouth over your sopping clit, toji gently strokes a thumb up and down. opening you up slowly, he creates a single slow lick to make you whimper. “i’ll make ya cum quicker than you ever could, princess.”

and you knew he probably wouldn’t lie about a simple fact like that. toji’s touch, it was sloppy.

without a doubt, he was a messy eater.

just one taste of you and he was hooked—a new addiction for him and it wasn’t gambling.

you tasted sweet, candied even. he was in so deep, occasionally the tip of his nose would prod against your entrance. you slumped back against the bed, your legs twitching in pleasure. not before long, your lips started to part and you started to gnaw on your hardened knuckles. you didn’t wanna be too loud—you just remembered your father was right downstairs.

he didn’t have the best hearing in the world, but knowing you, you could be a bit overzealous with your moans.

the noises his tongue made, sliding his tongue between your folds, sucking and nibbling. he even broke away his lips just to spit a nice wad onto your pussy. you watched the entire time, mesmerized. he was so nasty—nasty and you only wanted more. toji continued to drag a thumb against your slit, lapping up your slick arousal that was already starting to drip down his chin. it ran further down, a bit of his trimmed facial hair now soaked with your sweetness.

“how’s it feel, princess,” he’d mutter out, briefly departing his lips away. as he does—you stare as a pretty cobweb of his own spit tugs against your own entrance. glistening and all, it was so sheeny. he was right between your precious thighs, and you couldn’t help but give his ruffled dark hair a light pull. “tell me how i make you feel. talk to me nice, girl.”

“good,” you whimper, nearly choking on your own saliva. your words were so trembly, you could hardly recognize yourself. it’s been a while since you’ve been eaten out, let alone being intimate. as you continued to let off irregular breathing patterns, you swallow. “f-feels good.”

“just good?” he’d tease, bringing a long suck towards your clit. you let off a whine once he playfully nibbles near that particular spot with his teeth. his tongue scrapes against your folds time and time again. it’s indescribable—toji’s head shook back and forth as he was nose deep into your pussy. for a moment, he sounds offended.

toji gives your cunt a sweet little kiss, and he feels it start to hastily pulse from doing so.

he knew you were getting close, all from a simple cue from his tongue. speaking of toji’s tongue . . it was lengthy.

so long, it reached areas that had your eyes mindlessly rolling back.

cute little cacophonies of, “oh my g-godddd,” repeated ghosts past your lips as you started to practically drag his face against you. the texture of his tongue—so moist and slick, already wet from obvious reasons, but grew even more dampened from your sheer arousal. it was a taste his tastebuds grew to crave more of. “gonna c-cum toji. f-fuckkk.”

“you’re gonna wait for me, little girl,” he grouses, and your irises fleetingly dilate. he gifts the entrance of your cunt with another string of spit, then he rubs a few circles against it. mean vigorous circles that made your legs pathetically twitch. “you make a mess when i tell you too.”

he was so mean.

such sternness in his tone, yet it turned you on. that slight secretive rasp that hid underneath his voice. toji breaks his lips away for a moment, glaring at you before focusing near the crevices of your thighs. he teasingly slides his tongue upward, away from your most sensitive area just to watch you squirm.

“toji,” you’d whimper, feeling his tongue just roam everywhere from below. he was so skilled, you’ve never had a man be so sloppy. at least in a way that toji was. he greedily sucks near your thighs, gently sinking his canines into the plush of your thighs before going back towards your pussy. “i can’t—can’t hold..”

you were barely able to finish your sentence, and that’s when you came — it was so sudden and abrupt. gushing all out of you and your nerves had your mind spiraling. a constant crazed loop.

it felt like a wave, a tsunami crashing down and it felt so good.

your orgasm that shortly followed was so loud, you didn’t even bother trying to cover your mouth. toji chuckles, cupping his mouth around the very top part of your achey slit before lapping his tongue against your hood. your hips temporarily quavered due to his tongue, and you still maintained a rough grip on his head.

“easy on the fuckin’ hair,” he’d grunt after feeling you roughly yank on his strands bringing a kiss towards your slick entrance. you swallowed, your legs feeling practically mush before he brings a terse spank towards your clit. “cute ‘n all, but i didn’t say you could finish yet.”

“s-sorry,” you’d breathe out, still feeling the after effects of your intense high. it was so good, your eyes were all hooded and droopy. toji saw a bit of drool seeping from the corners of your mouth and hums silently.

he sighs, leaning up before getting on top of you. he hovers himself and you stare up at him. he rests both arms over you, groping near the rickety headrest before leaning up close to your face.

“are you sorry, sweetheart?” and he gets up a bit closer, green viridescent eyes glance right into you—you smelled the mint and brief tang of alcohol residing on his tongue. using another hand to grab your chin, he softly pulls your bottom lip down before derisively grinning. “aw. nothing to say? no back talk this time?”

“i… want a kiss,” you pant, feeling his warm body just inches away from colliding against yours. just a single inch and he’d be grinding on you. “kiss me.”

“oh i dunno. sounds like a demand, babygirl,” he’d sneer, and your eyes leer near his scar. it was damp a little from him just being between your thighs a moment ago. perhaps it was a bit filthy, but you wanted to taste it. taste him. “ask me the right way.”

you pout, staring right into his eyes. “i wan— can i get a kiss, pretty please. i just want a kiss.”

“course ya can,” he utters, and that’s right when he squeezes your chin. your lips were plump and glossy. toji stares at you back for a long while, studying your cute expressions before he leans right in. the kiss was passionate, it felt so wrong but felt so right. you moaned the second his lips crashed onto yours. he finds it cute, feeling your arms rub and feel around his slim waist. you were pulling him closer — a sign that you wanted more of him. toji teasingly grinds his hefty body against you, and you whimper in his mouth once you feel his thick bulge prod against your panties that were halfway on you. “mhm.” he’d groan.

while his tongue skims against yours, you part your lips a bit for him and the incoming savory taste you’d get a treat out of.

you made sure to savor it, so sweet with a bit of spice.

running your tongue against his, breaking away to lick near his chin, softly making sure to lick near his stubble—you cleaned your own mess off of him. without him asking you either, toji grunts as he watched you through his peripherals. he’d never expect his best friend to have such a nasty girl for a daughter.

“y’er fuckin’ filthy,” he mumbles, breaking away and watching both strands of spit leave and depart. your lips curv into a cute needy scowl before he heard your father suddenly call out from downstairs.

“honey? i said, was that a scream…? is everything okay?”

your eyes widen, not even knowing your father was speaking—yelling actually. toji snickers, and now he’s the one suddenly quiet. prick.

“o-oh um,” you clear your throat, sitting up and that’s when toji starts to create soft chaste kisses near the inside of your neck. you nearly moaned before turning your head to speak. “i’m—i’m fine. i thought i saw a cockroach.”

“cockroach? do you need me to come up and—”

“no!” you’d quickly reply before clearing your throat once more. you let off a sigh, feeling toji start to suck near your collarbone. “i mean, no dad. i’m okay. thanks anyways.”

“okay honey, if you say so.”

toji chortles. “fuck. you’re bad at lying. just tell y’er old man you were getting eaten out by me.”

you glare at him, immensely bringing your brows into a furrow. “no, i’m not gonna say that. are you crazy?”

“maybe.”

you eye rolled, yet part of you felt like he wasn’t exactly lying. after all, he could probably be insane—perhaps he was.

you didn’t know, and to be frank, you didn’t really care. all you really cared about was getting pleasured—riding out orgasm after orgasm with him, and that’s exactly what you ended up doing for hours on end.

toji would find himself leaned back against your pillow, studying your hips carefully before grinning.

the moment you lightly shove him back, he clicks his tongue. “oh?” he says, and you already sprung his dick out. he was very much hard, presenting you with an upward slight curve. you licked your lips, hovering over him before giving him a few strokes. a groan slips past his lips and your thumb brushes against the various veins that ran just below his foreskin. “y’er gonna ride me? can a sweet girl like you even handle it?”

“shut up,” you’d fuss, and he just smirks at you. you wanted to wipe that smug expression from his face. he knew just how to irritate your nerves. toji watches you throw your leg over him, a simple hook around. you’re straddling him now and he brings two rough hands to attach near your hips. you lean in to kiss him again and he returns it, slowly tilting his head back and your arms wrap around him. he feels you reach down, grabbing ahold of his shaft before softly sliding the head of his dick near your slick entrance. “s-shit. you’re big.”

“i try not to disappoint,” he slyly says, sliding a thumb near your hips. his voice was so low, so pompous and arrogant. you give him a glare but he only hums out of pure amusement. “barely the tip in ‘n y’er struggling. need my help, sweetheart?”

you ignored him and he smirks, allowing you to do your thing—you bring one hand towards his chest, gently feeling near his perfectly chiseled abs. he was so toned, tracing against his tense muscles and he watches your every move. it was as if time was stood still, he chuckles at how eager you were. you weren’t like him, you weren’t patient and thorough. you were a bit more rushed and sloppy—cute, it was very much cute to him though.

a moan goes past your lips once the wet tip of his slowly starts to sink inside. it had a few droplets of pre-cum leaking down, and you slowly rocked your hips in place to get comfortable. his eyes go lower to focus more on your body, the grip he had on your waist was so rough and sensual. because toji was so thick — it took you a good six minutes, six precise minutes to reach all the way down to the base. your lips opened a bit, and you let off a soft shrilling whimper once you did a cute attempt at jerking forward.

“take it slow,” he purrs in such a rasp, you leisurely started to lurch back and forth once he was buried all the way down to the hilt. you inhale deeply and he was so hefty. balls deep, swollen balls that was hidden and engulfed beneath your inner walls. “atta girl.” he praises, watching you try to maintain a decent rhythm.

ringing went throughout your ears, you felt all hot.

toji playfully brings a hand to feel near your tummy. you were wearing some old university hoodie. it was comfortable, but much to his surprise, you didn’t have a bra underneath. he hums to himself, and you let off a moan once his hand trails ever further. further and further until his thumb brushes against your perky nipples.

“t— toji,” you’d moan, and another hand of his was tightly clinging onto the left part of your waist. you were riding him smoothly. yet since he was so big, you started to feel your thighs building up with drowsiness. your efforts were cute to him, so desperately eager to get off.

his black lashes flicker, and the way he’s all leaned back and manspread was so attractive—you felt your back start to naturally arch and it didn’t take long for toji to reach that particular spot. once you felt his tip prod against there—way past inside the orifices of your cunt, you let off a sweetened whimper. “found it,” he whispers, bringing you close towards his chest. you lean into his touch, intaking his cologne into your nose before your hand starts to wander all over his body. he liked how handsy you were, slipping a hand right underneath his shirt to feel a part of his abs. you made sure to trace directly on each line, each tender flexing muscle. all the way down onto his sharp v-line. further down, you started to feel his happy trail. your favorite.

he grunts, feeling the softness of your hands meander freely. “that’s it, sweetheart,” he gruffs in a sharp breath. an imaginary lump getting caught in his throat — he was holding both of your hips upright and by this point you were slamming right onto his thick cock. “touch me more. feel all over me baby.”

“can i—” you started, leaning in to kiss near the crook of his neck. your voice was soft, a bit trembly before your hands went up this time. feeling near his pecs before a breath gets caught in his throat. “can i feel here, toji?”

“f-fuckin’ girl,” he groans, a chill running down his spine the second he feels you gently rubbing a thumb against his nipples this time. toji was surprisingly far more sensitive despite his rough front he was putting up, it was a bit cute. after all, he did say feel all over you. toji was panting now, while you rode him continuously, he swiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead. “whatever.”

you giggle, watching him now be the one with a pouty expression this time. you plant a kiss near where his slanted scar went down his lip before he spanks your ass. “just ‘cause ‘m sensitive there doesn’t mean ‘m gonna get all whiney for you, girl,” he utters in a raspy tone. the sharp sting from the spank felt good.

you felt yourself twitch between your thighs whilst your hips moved in harmony. you do a little back bend with your hips, constantly jerking against him and he grunts with how slow yet sloppy your movements were. “keep goin’ slow like that. ‘m gonna—cum.”

his voice consistently got deeper, and the tips of his fingers gently pierced into your skin—you were vocal yourself though. moan after moan, a constant repeat. you found yourself whining out his name as if it was a lewd mantra. over and over again, to toji though, it was purely music to his ears.

he feels you start to slow down a bit though, exactly at the minute he tells you he was approaching his incoming release. toji clenched his jaw, gifting the fat of your ass with another mean spank. “f-fuck. keep fuckin’ me. make me fuckin’ cum.”

you plant kisses near his neck this time, near the very inside and you swiftly quicken your pace a little. he was stuffing you full of thick inches, full of such girth that had your tongue salivating right in your mouth. you could only imagine what it’d feel like to have his seed pouring into you. you couldn’t lie to yourself, ever since you saw toji shirtless. his bulge sticking out through his towel, you only imagined he’d be so full of cum to give. you tilt your hips backwards, and he lets off a husky groan.

that particular spot reached so deep, you felt it too. his cockhead pokes and taps repeatedly against your sweet spot and you sob out a needy, “f-fuck, ‘s right there,” you tilt forward and he’s just about reaching his peak. the longer you took, the more spanks you received.

toji was a patient man, but only for so long.

the bed frame creaked constantly, it was the only tune that played in the background. he slithers a hand down between your thighs and spanks your cunt a few times. you whimpered, already a bit sensitive but felt something else approaching. “toji— toji.”

toji groans, the build up nearly taking his breath away. with your rhythmic thrusts against him, his eyes merely roll and he has to take a minute to catch his breath. you wrap a hand around his throat—tenderly of course—then place your lips onto his once he finally finishes inside of you.

he didn’t expect for you to choke him, but he liked it.

he liked how forward you were, your thumb lightly grazed against his adam’s apple, and a deep grunt gets trapped in his throat. your cunt was practically overflowed with such dumps of his cum—you’ve never felt more filled. toji shook a little, a hand gripping your ass as you kissed him.

slowly, he started to feel himself get addicted.

he already was addicted from having a simple taste of you earlier, but he was getting infatuated. you had him whipped, and he knew this probably wouldn’t be a one time thing.

albeit, the last thing you expect is to pull away from the kiss once you feel a sudden pressure brewing up within you.

momentarily, you whine—feeling a sudden familiar wetness coat his base. nerves all throughout your body had you locked in a trance, and you pause your hips before toji tsks.

“little girl,” he mumbles with a sly smile. “did you just squirt on me?”

it was so unexpected, you pant heavily—heave after heave leaving your lips before you moan out a sweet, “y-yes.”

“don’t be shy about it. i like when it’s messy,” he sneers, his eyes tantalizingly trailing down your body once more before he lifts you up just a bit from his shaft. he observes the lewd mess, how much cum trickled past your thighs and he hums. “wanna do that again? i bet i can do it in five minutes, baby.”

to say you were being treated like a rag doll was an understatement.

toji was ruthless with you, ruthless with you in your own house. well, ex-house. you didn’t live here anymore but you used to.

he coaxed orgasm after orgasm out of you like it was nothing. making you imitate and try positions you’ve never even heard of—you were getting stretched, easily said. it’s been hours by this point, you weren’t even in your room anymore. you were in the bathroom with him.

toji had you propped up against the door, you’re taking him from behind and you’re roughly biting down on your lip.

entirely so, it was still risky.

your father was right outside near the living room doing who knows what. probably watching some sports program—yet of course, he started to grow curious of where his best pal went. initially, toji said he had to use the restroom.

like four hours ago . .

he was so mean too, spanking your ass numerous times. your ass was perked upright for him, and you’re leaning against the door. you whimpered, feeling him grip on your panties that he refused to pull off of you.

oh, he likes seeing it dangle and thwack against your skin. the pretty fabric just cutely rubbing against your thighs. his weight just barely hovers against you and he’s smacking right into you.

your cunt swallowed his hefty inches each and every time—by this point, you weren’t sure if you could even give him one more.

you lost count of how many mind blowing orgasms that you were just completely intoxicated from his dick and his dick alone.

toji’s rough bare hands grab onto both parts of your ass, spreading it before deepening his strokes just a bit. you moaned, feeling every inch store inside of your sweet cunt. he knew just where to hit you. you breathe through your mouth and your nose at the same time, heavy cute pants that started to fog up the door’s material.

“fuck, fuck me f-fuckkk,” you’d drag out, and your back naturally arches just from a teasing touch of his finger racing down your back.

your ass was held up high and your cheek was softly nudging against the cold door. another build up was approaching and you were just so in awe—you were literally thinking, where has he been all your life? “close, ‘m getting closer.”

“bet you are. drippin’ all on me ‘n it’s fuckin’ nasty,” he replies—yet you freeze once you hear footsteps approach the door. it was your father, right when you were about to cum—you feel toji’s hand wrap around your mouth. your eyes roll backwards, and then he speaks through the other end of the door.

“toji? hehe, did ya fall in there man? you’re missing the game. we’re down by four points.”

toji chuckles, hearing a tiny muffled squeak go past your lips. he was balls deep, giving you such thick vigorous inches. that’s when he leans right up close to you—a hand still propped to have your mouth shut before whispering in a raspy tone. “you gotta be quiet, sweetheart. you want y’er old man to hear you make a sloppy mess on me?”

you shake your head, making an attempt to try and suck on his fingers and be smiles. “messy baby.”

your mouth was now stuffed with nothing but his thick fingers. you moaned, coating each digit with your glistening saliva as he pounded right into you. the grip your cunt had on him made him groan. eyes roll into the depths of your cranium so far back that your vision was pure black. squelch after squelch, it was so erotic. the build up of your incoming release yet again.

it was so slow and tense, you felt your thighs ache and tremble the more you were arched all over for him. the most sluttiest arch he’s seen in a while.

“huh—oh, nah man i’m good,” toji replies with a simper. you were trying so hard to be quiet, if your father heard anything, that’d be a wrap for you.

dying out of pure embarrassment certainly wasn’t on your bucket list for sure. the way toji responded was so casual, almost as if he wasn’t just happily drilling into his best friend’s cunt in his own home. “four points? shit. defense can’t do anything right.”

“telllll me about it! i could play better with my eyes closed, damn.”

you found it so irksome how they were casually having a dumb conversation whilst you were just about to gush right onto toji’s shaft—you felt him dip his hips into you deeper though, and you let off a sweet whine.

toji leans into your ear and whispers. “you’re doing a good job, sweetheart,” and then he chuckles. removing his hand, you nearly let off the most loudest orgasm imaginable but you kept it together by biting your tongue. it was a cute squeal, and as your legs part you made such a mess.

again…

it was probably the umpteenth time.

while you ride out your release, he’s slowing down his strokes and stares at the excess cum filling up your entrance. toji licks his lips, dragging a thumb to plug it all back in once he pulls out. he didn’t like putting things to waste. you whimper, feeling so taken aback from how stuffed full you were.

it was an awkward silence, you felt a sharp scare in your stomach once you thought your father heard everything — but thankfully so, he plopped right back down on the couch. toji lets you take a moment to calm down, and then he brings a wet kiss towards your lips. you were so sensitive, trembling within his hold—you didn’t want him to leave just now.

“atta girl,” he purrs, that same sly smile pressing against his lips as he brings a thumb towards your lip. his gaze was so hypnotizing. such pools of green eyes looked like it had a story to tell, and perhaps you wanted to know just who toji fushiguro really was.

maybe that story is ready for another day though.

thankfully you didn’t get caught.

or did you—you had to leave out the bathroom first, then toji after about a lengthy minute time difference so it wouldn’t be remotely suspicious. once the both of you were out, after about an hour of you all crammed up and watching the boring never ending basketball game, your dad ends up going to the bathroom.

while he was occupied, you leaned against toji and he wraps an arm around you. he could tell you wanted more—but his gaze was stern, telling you with his eyes to basically be a good girl and be patient.

a few seconds pass before you father bellows out a pitched, “erm. toji? is this shampoo—? what’s this white stuff over the sink? doesn’t look like shampoo.”

the both of you share the same frozen expression, impish smiles fading before you nudge toji to speak after long seconds passes.

“huh? oh, that’s uh mayonnaise. i forgot to clean up after myself.”

“aren’t you allergic to mayonnaise?”

you mentally facepalm, watching toji break into a sheepish sweat before he gruffs out a low, “i guess not that brand of mayonnaise.”

“right. riiiight,” your father mutters, and you heard sudden shifting. it was abrupt, and you felt something fall — probably a brush from the familiar after sound, you then hear your dad add a follow up question. “wait a minute,” and he glances down near the floor. “are these panties?”

#★vegasbaby.#toji x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #anime smut #female reader #cw sex mention #jjk x reader smut

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loveanddeepthroat · 7 months ago

Text

Baby Blues

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - In the first two weeks of being new parents, the dynamic hasn’t been quite what you and Sylus expected. He’s eager to be involved, but your daughter doesn’t seem to have warmed to him.

Word count - 2.7k

⚠️Warning⚠️ - Mentions of pregnancy and childbirth. Hurt/comfort, fluff, and a little sprinkle of angst.

Your newborn didn’t like Sylus.

It sounded ridiculous, but you know he was thinking it too. You didn’t have the gall to say it out loud—not that it even needed to be said. The fact was definitely lingering between you both.

You never thought much of why she would wriggle and kick up a storm in your stomach whenever he touched the swell of your belly, but you now had an inclination that it was because she didn’t like his hands there.

It was strange and upsetting, but he didn’t seem too hurt by it so far, only silently helpless as he watched you do everything. You were two weeks postpartum, so your emotions were already all over the place. It seemed as though Sylus was holding his own feelings back to make room for yours, and when you had asked him about it, he simply kissed your forehead and reassured you that he was fine. All while your screaming daughter cried for you against his chest.

Not that he opened up to you all that often. You did manage to get things out of him with a push sometimes, but he was like an unyielding gate, refusing to open to anyone.

Your exhaustion was only adding to the toll on your fragile emotions. The baby only wanted your touch, and sleep was almost impossible for you because of that very reason. Only you could feed her. Only you could soothe her. Only you could touch her.

That was one thing that was really getting to Sylus. The bloodshot whites of your eyes as you rocked the fussy newborn to sleep and fed her at all hours of the morning. The barely touched plates of food that ended up stone cold and in the bin. Not to mention the completely non-existent ten minutes you needed to at least have a wash without having to run out of the shower to her aid.

He must have felt quite useless in the weeks where you should be recovering, but he didn’t want you to worry about his feelings by indulging you in his thoughts.

Your pregnancy had been smooth, ending with a good twenty-seven hours of rather torturous labour, and pushing that went on for an agonising two hours. It had all been worth it, though. Your little bundle of joy with tufts of platinum hair had finally greeted you both with a piercing wail, but eased her protests once placed against your heaving chest.

You just wished she would settle with both parents.

It was another day of desperate wailing, your arms becoming so heavy with the exertion of having no option but to hold her. You tried to put her in her pram for Sylus to push her around for a while, but her cries only increased to the point of her little face turning purple. You couldn’t sit and just listen to it, and you absolutely would not ignore her—no matter how much Sylus pushed for you to go and get some sleep.

“She wants me,” you say for what felt like the millionth time that week.

Sylus was evidently reluctant to stop trying, but he wouldn’t keep you from her. He conceded with a defeated huff, watching your every move as you gently lifted your screeching daughter out of the plush pram. Her screams died down quickly as you placed her against your chest, her ear-piercing wails whittling down to soft whimpers.

“Of all the dangerous paths I’ve crossed and violent challenges I’ve encountered, it’s our newborn daughter who finally defeats me,” he mumbles quietly, trying to make a lighthearted joke about it.

You tried to smile at his attempt to add a bit of humour to the situation, but the comment only made you cry. Hard.

“Hey.” He immediately stepped toward you, rubbing a large hand up and down your back soothingly. You had to give it to him, his patience with you in the last two weeks had been immaculate. “Don’t cry, sweetie.”

You couldn’t stop, your ragged breaths and shaking shoulders refusing to relent. “I d-don’t get it,” you bawl. “What are we doing d-differently?”

Sylus sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His hand continued to rub soothing circles against your back to ease your upset. “Well, she did live inside you for nine months. Besides, you didn’t exactly like me either when we first met.”

He smiled faintly, tilting his head down to capture your gaze. Despite the obvious tease, he still seemed to be holding himself back. It was frustrating him more than he wanted to admit to you. You knew he was protecting your feelings, but you wished he would just show some sense of vulnerability.

You don’t dare set your sleeping daughter down in her moses basket, knowing full well that she would just wake straight back up. So the rest of the afternoon is spent with your tiny newborn curled up against your chest, a few feeding and changing breaks in between.

Once the day turned into night, nothing in the world sounded more appealing to you than a hot shower, a hot meal, and a hot cup of tea. But letting her scream and cry while you did that was not an option. It wasn’t fair on her, and it wasn’t fair on Sylus.

He didn’t leave you unless he absolutely had to throughout the day. You watched him every time he heard a little whimper from the baby, his hands flexing and twitching. Every time you had to get up to do something for her, he was either at your back or side.

He wanted to help.

The chef brought through a very large bowl of marinated chicken and pasta for you, upon Sylus’s instruction. As soon as the bowl was set on the little table beside your recliner chair, you almost began drooling. You hadn’t managed to eat much at all in the chaos, and Sylus wasn’t amused when you didn’t even get the chance to finish the two biscuits he’d brought you earlier in the day.

You reached a careful hand over to the fork, not even lifting it before your daughter began to wriggle and whine in your other arm. Dropping it immediately, you retract your hand, only making it halfway back to the fussy newborn before long, slender fingers wrapped themselves around your wrist.

“No,” Sylus says firmly. “Absolutely not.”

Your initial response is to immediately go on the defence. “She’s cry—”

“I know she’s crying,” he interrupted tightly. “I know. But you’re going to eat while your food is hot, and you’re going to do it without our screaming daughter on your chest.”

“But—”

“No buts.”

He had that commanding look in his eye, the one that would intimidate most, but was only used on you when he was especially adamant on you doing something necessary for yourself.

You were a little relieved to see him so passionate, if you were being honest. He had been treading on eggshells to not upset you or the baby for fourteen whole days, and it wasn’t good for anyone. You felt the tension on him every time you both managed to get into bed together for more than five minutes. He needed this little outburst.

“This needs to stop now. I’m going to figure her out, and you are going to eat. Alright?” His tone left no room for argument, and the more your daughter protested against your intention to eat, the more hungry and tired you felt.

It wasn’t easy, but you handed her off to him carefully, swallowing a lump in your throat. You couldn’t take your eyes off of her distressed little face as Sylus attempted to cradle her.

You were practically twitching, your legs about to push the footrest of the recliner down to retrieve her in the first thirty seconds she was away from you. Sylus noticed immediately, and pushed it back up with his foot before you could close it down fully.

“She’s not in any danger,” he said calmly, but his whole body was visibly tense. “She’s right here, I won’t leave the room. Just eat, sweetie.”

You wanted to protest further, but he wasn’t going to yield this time. His eyes remained trained on you until you finally sagged back into the chair, and it wasn’t until you picked up your fork that he finally turned away, focusing on the distraught newborn kicking up a storm against his chest.

He held her the way you did, one hand cupped over her head to keep it steady while the other hand softly patted her back. Why she didn’t want to be near him was an utter mystery to you, he wasn’t doing anything incorrectly.

You couldn’t eat while the two most important people in your life were quite clearly in a distressing situation before you. “Are you alright?” You asked him gently, hoping that he would answer you.

“I will be if you eat,” he quickly responded, not looking at you.

Sighing, you stab a slice of the chicken onto your fork, just looking at it for a moment. Your brain had managed to kick itself into gear as you forged a new approach to his silence.

This was an opportunity to head in the right direction.

“I’ll eat if you speak to me.”

Blood red eyes shot in your direction, an eyebrow raised. “Blackmail?”

You quickly shook your head. “You were right, this does need to stop. Starting with you shutting yourself off from me.”

“Eat.”

The forked piece of chicken points straight at his unamused face. “Talk.”

He shook his head a little in clear annoyance, the stress consuming him. Your daughter continued to wail, immune to the warmth and safety of his arms. He was basically trapped after promising to remain in the room with you.

Your bleary eyes held his irises of rubies, neither of you conceding. It was a mental challenge to ignore the fragrant aroma of garlic and fresh basil beneath your nose, but you were not eating until at least one of the two beautiful people before you had calmed down.

Sylus visibly swallowed, finally giving in as he noticed your lack of a bluff. “Do you think she knows?” His voice was quiet, barely heard over your newborn’s cries.

“Knows what?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again, nodding his head towards the piece of chicken on your fork. You shovel it into your gob, eager for him to continue.

His eyes flicker down to your daughter before he speaks again. “Do you think she knows that I’ve done terrible things? Do you think that’s why she doesn’t like me?”

“I—” you grumble and roll your eyes as he nods to your plate of food again, waiting for you to take another mouthful that you end up having to speak through, “I don’t see how she could. Is that why you’ve been so quiet?”

The corner of his mouth curled upward ever-so-slightly. “Missing my tongue, kitten?”

You couldn’t help your own smile as his shoulders sagged a little from where they were practically touching his ears. It wasn’t often that he opened up to you like this. You almost always had to pry or throw in a proposition to coax him into speaking.

You took another bite of your food, moving the plate from the small table to your lap. “Do you really think she doesn’t like you?”

His smirk faded away quickly, a gentle thumb brushing over your daughter's head. She continued to cry, but the volume had dropped a little. “Do you not think that?” He asked.

You didn’t know how to answer that question. To tell the truth, you did think that, but not for the same reason he was thinking.

“I think she may be a little attached at the moment. We’re very different shapes and sizes. Maybe she feels—”

“Unsafe?”

His tone had dropped an octave—something you didn’t think was possible considering the already bone-chilling vibrations of his voice. Never before had you witnessed him in a state of such vulnerability. He was insecure about this, and it was finally starting to show.

You went to stand up to be near him, but he immediately stepped forward to halt your movement.

“Eat.”

Not wanting to lose this free-speaking Sylus you had barely met before, you did as he said, twirling a fat mouthful of pasta onto your fork for extra brownie points.

You both remained in silence for a few moments, only your fork scraping against the bowl in your lap marrying with the sounds of your baby’s cries surrounding the small sitting room.

Sylus’s gaze didn’t leave the newborn cradled in his arms, a gentle sway in his hips as he tried to keep her moving. All you could do was study his composure, seeing it as it cracked.

After a moment, he looked back at you. “I don’t want to keep failing you.”

You coughed on the mouthful of the creamy pasta at his words, completely in awe of his confession.

Failing you? How did he get to that conclusion?

“You’ve done everything for her,” he continued, not allowing you to immediately reassure him. “I want to be able to do everything, too. For both of you.”

The all too familiar sting in your wet eyes built in intensity by the second, and you quickly found yourself sniffling.

Not only was he insecure about your daughter not feeling safe in his arms, but he felt that he’d failed you both in the past two weeks. It was heartbreaking for you to hear.

“Don’t cry—”

“You’re…fuck, Sylus. You’re not failing anyone,” you tuck your fork back into the pasta with a loud sniffle, ignoring his glare that silently demanded that you continue to eat. “How the hell did you come to that conclusion?”

He looked entirely reluctant to answer, his head dropping back down to stare at his tiny twin. You didn’t want him to stop speaking again, so you quietly picked your fork back up, hoping it would capture his attention.

The silence stretched between you as you made the effort to eat for his sake. Even your daughter's cries became a little weaker—like she was pitying him.

He didn’t look at you as he said, “I’m the bad guy. The boogie man. The kind of monster that parents threaten their kids with visits from in the middle of the night if they don’t brush their teeth before bed.”

“Not in our story, you’re not,” you quickly reassured him earnestly. “You’re the husband and father who keeps the monsters away from your family. That’s the only Sylus she will ever know. The real one.”

He still didn’t look up from the newborn, now almost completely silent in his arms, but you catch a subtle bob in his throat. You didn’t need him to respond to you. You knew you had said the right words to soothe that self-deprecating thought in his complicated mind. You could see it.

“Have I told you how perfect you were two weeks ago,” he asked, knowing full well that he’d told her every day since then.

Your mouth curled into a soft smile. Even after all these years together—after welcoming your first child into this scary, yet beautiful world—Sylus had no trouble giving you butterflies.

“I think you might’ve mentioned it,” you hummed softly.

And on that very note, the baby was fast asleep in his hold for the very first time in two whole weeks. His face didn’t reveal anything, but you knew he was relieved. All he wanted to do was make this easier for the both of you.

Finally, you had managed to figure out what the problem had been all this time.

“You were too tense,” you point out quietly, noticing how openly at ease he now was. “That’s what she didn’t like.”

He hummed in response, unable to tear his gaze away from the sleeping babe in his arms. You didn’t say anything further, letting him enjoy that special moment in peace while you proceeded to enjoy the rest of your meal.

Despite the challenges of becoming new parents, things were going to be alright from that point onwards.

A/N - Hello! I hope you enjoyed this oneshot, thank you so much for reading. Just to let you know, I do take requests ❤️

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