#no need to move forward from here for a while

[ditzyrafe]

— bf!rafe has a size kink

warnings — slight somnophilia, petnames, unprotected sex, lewd language

the first thing you often feel upon waking isn't the sunlight or the lingering haze of dreams, but the blunt pressure of rafe's hardened cock pressing insistently against your thigh or lower back. he wakes up hard, and his first thought, almost invariably, seems to be about burying that impressive length deep inside you.

"mornin, baby," he'll rumble, his voice thick with sleep and immediate arousal, already shifting behind you, nudging your legs apart with his knee. "needed you so badly."

it's not just about morning wood; it's about his specific, intense need to feel big inside you, to feel you stretch and accommodate his size. that's his particular brand of obsession. he thrives on the sensation of filling you completely, stretching you snug around him.

you murmur a sleepy approval, already tilting your hips back instinctively. there's no point fighting it, and honestly, you rarely want to. there's a thrill to knowing exactly what turns him on so viscerally. he slides in smoothly, aided by the slickness that often greets him first thing, and lets out a low, visceral groan the moment he's fully seated.

"fuck-" he breathes against your neck, his hand clamping possessively onto your hip. "feel how full you are?"

he doesn't start moving right away. he likes to linger, buried deep, just feeling the tight clench of your inner muscles around him. he'll shift slightly, testing the friction, murmuring appreciative, filthy things about how perfectly you take him, how good it feels to be swallowed up by you. his pleasure is palpable, radiating off him in waves, fuelled by the specific sensation of his size being contained, gripped, enveloped by your fluttering walls.

it's not just the mornings. the urge strikes him constantly. you'll be cooking dinner, stirring sauce at the stove, and suddenly his arms will wrap around your waist from behind, his noticeable bulge pressing hard against your ass. "need it," he'll whisper, his voice dropping into that demanding register you know so well. "need to feel you around me. please, baby…"

before you can even respond, he's hiking up your skirt or tugging down your jeans, pressing you forwards the counter, lining himself up. he begs, usually a breathless mantra as he eagerly tilts your hips back against him. he pushes in fast and deep, groaning again as he fills you, needing that immediate sensation of stretching you, taking up all the space inside. quickies against the kitchen counter, bent over the arm of the sofa while a movie plays forgotten, pushed up against the wall in the hallway — they're all driven by the same intense need: to stuff himself inside you, to feel the tight reality of his size being accommodated.

he loves different positions purely for how they maximise the feeling for him. when you're on your back with your legs pulled up high, he'll watch his cock disappear inside you, his eyes dark with possessive satisfaction as he murmurs about how deep he is, how much of him you're taking. when he takes you from behind, he grips your hips hard, setting a pounding rhythm, groaning about how tight you feel, how good it feels to stretch you out with every thrust.

sometimes, it's almost comical — the sheer frequency of his need. you might have just finished round one, still catching your breath, and his hand will already be reaching, pulling you right back for more.

"think you can take this cock again, baby?"

taglist ; @mojitrvo @mayanqueenxx @kisses4rafey @zoenighshade555 @feverg1rl @onxlyemery @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @yncoded @millie--billie @laniirackssss @slut4you @g3t2kn0w @kravitzwhore @dollyfiles @kild4re @zzhenyac @sparklyananas @dsfault @rafesprttyprincess @lynst91 @nonbeliever1 @drewsephrry @k4yr14 @babydollll-bunny @leleasalwaysblog @cokewithcameron @mialuvsrafe @urcoolgf @love-ella333 @amelialovesrafe @kaisage45 @goodsoup19 @cicicavill7 @tezzzzzzzz (join here) | divider creds ; @/anitalenia @/fairytopea

© written by ditzyrafe — do not steal or claim as ur own, stealing will result in me blocking u, any resemblance to any other story is simply coincidental!

[malsmind]

shut up for a second

𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

contains ➛ ★ big dick!chris ★ size kink ★ crying ★ mentions of smoking weed ★ praising ★ dirty talk ★ slight dumbification ★ pet names ★ creampie ★

𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦!

word count: 1.3k

you don’t really know how you ended up here.

well, that’s not true. you do — you remember the smoke swirling around the living room, the low hum of music in the background, the lazy conversation that turned into lazy touches. the way chris had looked at you with that smirk, those heavy-lidded eyes that meant trouble, the slow way his fingers ran over your thigh while you passed the blunt back and forth. and now… now you’re straddling him on the couch, knees pressed into the cushions on either side of his waist, your hoodie pushed up around your ribs, your shorts long gone. he’s warm under you, hands already resting on your hips like he belongs there. like this is something you both do all the time. it’s not. not exactly.

but maybe it should be.

“you feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” he murmurs, voice already breathy, already dragging through his throat like he’s deep in it. “so tight—holy shit.”

you’re only halfway down.

your jaw clenches, breath catching in your throat. the stretch is slow and heavy, the high making it ten times worse—every nerve dialed up, every breath in your lungs tasting like smoke and tension. he’s not small. you’ve known that. you should’ve remembered that. but you’re too far in to stop now.

“chris…” you whisper, barely a warning. not sure if it’s a plea or a threat.

but he keeps going, hands tightening on your waist like he can’t help himself. “can’t believe how warm you are, shit—look at you. takin’ me so slow. bein’ so good for me.”

your eyes flutter shut, face scrunching, lips parting as you try to focus on breathing. he might be enjoying this part, but you’re hovering between pain and pleasure, trying to find the edge where one bleeds into the other. he groans again—loud, needy—and starts to say something else and nope, you’re done.

you reach out and slap your hand over his mouth.

“chris, shut up for a fuckin’ second…” you breathe, voice cracking, barely able to get the words out as your thighs tremble and you slowly, finally, sink down the rest of the way.

his eyes widen a little, but he doesn’t pull away from your touch. just grins under your hand, groaning into your palm as you bottom out on him with a soft, broken whimper. your head spins. your body goes hot all over. you stay there, not daring to move yet, just breathing, letting your body adjust. your fingers are still pressed against his cheek, your palm over his lips, and he looks so amused by all of this. he raises his brows at you, as if to say, are you done yet? you slowly pull your hand away from his mouth. roll your hips once. then again.

he groans out loud, head tipping back against the couch. “that big, huh?” he huffs a laugh, the cockiness returning full force. “needed to fuckin’ concentrate on takin’ my dick.”

you roll your eyes, leaning forward slightly, your palms flat against his chest now. “i swear to god,” you mumble, “i’ll hold your mouth shut again.”

he’s grinning up at you now, hands moving to your hips again, helping you move, slow and steady.

“ion think you will, ma,” he says, his voice smug. too smug. “not when you feel this good. not when you’re grippin’ me like that.”

you breathe out hard through your nose, trying to hold onto your pace, trying not to lose yourself in how full you feel, how good the pressure is, how he fits like you were built to take him. every roll of your hips makes your stomach flutter and your thighs tremble. he watches you like you’re a damn piece of art.

“c’mon,” he murmurs, guiding your movements, fingers pressing into your skin just right. “tell me how it feels. tell me how fuckin’ big that dick is.”

“chris—” you warn, but your voice falters, choked with need.

“nah, nah. you know you love it,” he keeps going, voice low. “look at that pussy. fuckin’ milkin’ me dry.”

you let out a broken sound, head dropping forward, forehead resting against his shoulder as your pace falters for a second. your whole body feels like it’s on fire. overstimulated and desperate and high—like every word out of his mouth is crawling under your skin in the worst, and best way.

he kisses the side of your face, grinning against your cheek. “you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this. dumb n’ needy. can’t even ride me properly, hm?”

you gasp softly, hips stuttering. “shut up—”

“you can’t even stop,” he says, voice dropping lower now. less teasing. more wrecked. “feels too good, huh? that it?”

you nod, barely. lips brushing his collarbone. you’re too far gone to argue. the way he fills you is too much. too perfect. it hurts a little still, but you love it—you live for this kind of overwhelming stretch. and he knows it. he knows what he’s doing to you. he lifts his hips a little, meeting you halfway.

“fuck, ’s so big…” you moan.

“mhmmm. there it is,” he breathes, hands tightening on you. “ride me, baby. just like that.”

you try. god, you try. your legs are shaking and your thoughts are scattered and you’re doing your best to keep going but it’s getting harder and harder to keep control.

“chris,” you whimper, voice barely there.

he kisses your jaw, still smiling. “you gonna cum?”

you nod, lips parting, breath catching.

“use me, then,” he murmurs, his voice low and hot and sweet like honey. “take what you need.”

and you do. you roll your hips faster now, harder, your thighs burning and your moans getting louder as your body takes over. chris groans under you, hands moving up your back, pulling you closer. your chest is flush against his now, your face buried in his neck, breath hitching every few seconds as the knot in your stomach coils tight and hot.

“thereee ya go,” he whispers, lips at your ear. “come on, baby. fuckin’ cum on this big dick. lemme feel it.”

his hands move to your ass, helping you grind down harder, deeper, until you’re trembling and crying out against his throat. you come hard, body curling in on itself, nails digging into his shoulders as you gasp and whimper, shaking. he holds you through it, whispering praises into your skin, voice cracking with how hard he’s trying not to lose it himself.

“that’s it… that’s it, ma… fuck—”

you don’t even realize you’re crying until he touches your cheek, brushing away the tears.

“you okay?” he asks softly, suddenly all gentle again.

you nod into his neck. “feels too good,” you mumble.

“i know,” he says. “i know, baby.”

you start moving again, slowly, almost mindlessly. still riding the high. still chasing something. he groans, hands on your hips again, letting you keep going even though your legs are weak and you’re still shaking.

“you’re insane,” he mutters. “you’re so fuckin’ perfect. can’t believe—shit—”

you feel him twitch inside you. and then his voice breaks.

“fuck, i’m gonna—”

you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel him throb, his whole body tensing underneath you. he pulls you down hard, hips jerking up once, twice—and then he groans loud into your neck, teeth sinking lightly into your skin as he comes. deep. warm. thick. you both go still.

just breathing. his arms stay around you. your head stays on his shoulder. the air is thick and quiet and buzzing with whatever just happened. a minute passes.

“i really did have to concentrate,” you mumble, half-laughing.

he laughs too, breathless. “yeah? and i made it hard?”

“you never shut up.”

“that’s crazy,” he says, grinning. “because you still came all over me.”

you smack his chest. “shut up.”

he kissed your forehead. “you love it.”

[sparrows4bats]

Inheritance AU

What if after Ras died, Damian accidentally inherited the League?

As in, he wakes up one day to an army of Assassins following him around like ducklings.

Damian didn't intend to become the Demons Head, not since he joined his father and embraced a life of heroism alongside his family.

His brief time at Lazarus Island and subsequent possession had only harden his resolve.

But the death of his grandfather and his reconciliation with his mother had made him start to reconsider how he is most useful to the world and the weight of the legacies he has carried since birth.

Damian grieves a lot of things. His grandfather and the relationship they could have had, Respawn, his biological brother and how he never got to know him properly, Alfred and how Damian caused the death of his greatest supporter and sometimes, on his worst night, he greives the child he never got to be.

But he's dealing with it.

Maybe.

It's sometimes hard to resist the urge to flee Gotham again and head back to the island where everything was simpler.

But his father and siblings keep a close eye on him now because apparently entering a death tornament was not an appropriate grieving process. Which he finds ironic coming from the people that became vigilantes because of their own experiences with death.

All of this is to say that Damian is back to living as normally as he can, with school and crimefighting, and so far, it has been uneventful.

Until he wakes up to find five Assassin's in his bedroom.

Damian prepares to fight for his life and grabs the sword that he keeps under his mattress and the dagger he keeps under his pillow, only for cloaked figures to kneel before him.

"We are here to pledge our loyalty, Demon Head."

That is not what he expected. At all.

"I am not the Demon Head."

"According to your grandfather, mother, and aunt, you are. The man that defeated the Lazarus demon and the true heir to the Al Ghul."

He was going to kill his mother. "I was disinheirited when I came to Gotham."

"Not officially, your grandfather even rewrote you into the line of succession before his death."

"My mother is much more suited to the role, would you really rather follow a vigilante?"

"The Demons Daughter has her own interests, the League of Assassins follows the Al Ghul, and you are the most worthy Al Ghul."

Damian doesn't know what to say to that. "I am no longer an assassin, I do not take lives anymore."

One of the dark figures moves forward. "We are aware sir, you need not sully your hands not when we shall do it for you!"

"No! No killing people for me!"

"But sir-"

"I said no."

"Is that an order sir?"

Damian groans and decides he can't deal with this. He goes to the Batcave, and the gaggle of Assassins follow him.

Batman is very confused by the deadly men that are in his home, following his youngest son like loyal puppies.

Unfortunately Father is not much help. The Assassin's claim they are the royal guard a d cannot leave Damians side. They are very polite and promise not to start trouble.

The bat doesn't trust them, but everytume they try to kick them out, they come back like a bad penny.

Damian gives up after the eighth attempt.

They try to get in touch with Talia only for her every contact to tell them she is on vacation and not to be disturbed.

Nyssa isn't any help either. She pledges her allegiance to Damian with a shit eating grin while handing him a stack of paperwork.

Apparently, the League of Assassins keeps a very detailed paper trail. Damian puts his business management and finance education to use very reluctantly.

Damian then tries to foist his new kingdom on his cousin Mara. She laughs in his face and gets the entire Demons Hands to give him oaths as well.

His family, apparently unaware of the fact Damian was a literal prince before coming to them, have a break down.

What do you mean the League is the size of a all country and you are it's leader?

No wonder Damian thought Bruce was poor when he first got to Gotham.

After a while, Damian starts to accept it, unfortunately. His guards never leave his side, even when he tries to ditch them. He still doesn't know where the tracker is.

When he is in school, they hang outside the windows or in the rafters. Damian has to actually behave so they don't attempt to murder his teachers for scolding him.

When he shops, they shadow him. They all get a taste for boba and Damianbuys them little treats on hard days.

Damian can't believe how often he has to stop them from killing people who attack him on patrol.

Dick and Bruce laugh at him and call it payback.

Damian has regrets. Many regrets.

Especially when Steph starts to befriend his guards.

Jon laughs at his predicament even as the Assassins try to assess his worth as their leaders partner.

Damian actually calls himself the Demon Head in order to get his guards to save a group of children.

And Damian has a realisation that maybe, just maybe, he could use the League as it was originally intended.

To Save the World and the Innocent.

And if his army of Assassins aren't happy, they should at least leave him alone.

Nyssa gathers paperwork and allies, and they slowly reform how the League operates.

They fund humanitarian missions, environmental research, and conservation.

They use centuries of Ras Al Ghuls medical research to create pharmaceuticals, surgeries, and treatments. They cure so many diseases and prevent others through free vaccination programmes.

Damian gets his mother to run that side of things while he earns his own medical degree as is family tradition.

Damian puts the League almost unlimited wealth to use lobbying for taxing co operations and creating accessible green energy.

He does alot of good and instead of the organisation crumbling under the changes he makes, it grows.

The Justice League signs an official alliance.

Damian earns undying love and loyalty from his grandfather's followers by doing good.

What he doesn't realise is that any that disagree or pose a threat to the new Demons Head are quietly taken care of.

Damian is slowly turned into a proper royal once Talia, Nyssa, and Mara force him into better clothing and jewellery befitting his status.

Jon chokes when he sees Damian dressed in Silk and gold for the first time.

Damians guard dogs eye him suspiciously, and Jon has to force himself not to touch his best friend.

He starts going on diplomatic mission and living in the public eye, much to everyone's fascination and his families distress.

When the topic of marriage comes up, Dick panics when he overhears Talia discussing an arranged marriage with Nyssa and suitable candidates.

In that panic, he talks to Jon Kent.

Jon knows Damian is for all intents and purposes a king, but it hadn't hit him what that means.

And if he was honest with himself, the idea of a snobby little royal marrying Damian felt like a stab to the heart.

So the Super flies to Damian to ask who he is marrying, much to his confusion.

Damian never agreed to an engagement. Couldn't have, he is already I love with the jealous fool in front of him.

When he tells Jon this, he doesn't expect to get kissed for his efforts or for his guards to stab Jon with Kryptonite.

They go through the official courting process after that. Talia insists upon it.

[freakmcnastyy]

"Angel"

Warnings: bullying, non-consensual touching, power imbalance, manipulation, toxic dynamic, suggestive content

Summary: You ran into your bully at the convenience store.

Note: Anon requestt

⸻

The rain was falling like a thin curtain from the sky.

When you caught the glow of a small convenience store sign on a side street, you quickened your pace—just to find somewhere warm, somewhere to hide for a little while. The door jingled with a tired chime as you pushed it open. The warmth inside was jarring compared to the cold outside. You ran your fingers through your wet hair as you wandered between the aisles. After grabbing your favorite brand of instant noodles, you approached the counter. The boy behind it glanced at you from the corner of his eye and gave a small nod. No words exchanged. You paid, grabbed a pair of plastic chopsticks, and headed for the small kitchen corner near the register.

Once the food was ready, you sank into the chair and let out a quiet sigh. Setting the plastic bowl on the desk, you leaned forward and took your first bite. The heat, the salt, the spice—they filled your mouth and spread through your chest. The sound of rain outside and the soft hum of music from a speaker somewhere in the ceiling wrapped around you.

Until—

A shadow moved in front of the window.

You looked up and saw someone staring in from the other side of the glass. A boy, head tilted slightly forward, breath fogging up the window.

Han Soo-gang.

He raised a finger and drew a small heart in the center of the foggy glass. His eyes locked on yours. Then, grinning, he exaggeratedly mouthed, “What are you eating?” He added a tiny arrow beneath the heart and started laughing.

You slowly set down your chopsticks, your body freezing mid-motion. Was it dread tightening your chest, or just unease? You couldn’t tell.

The door jingled again.

Han Soo-gang walked in, followed by Lee Moon-gi and two girls. One of them flipped her hair over her shoulder as she entered, while the other linked her arm through Soo-gang’s and looked around the store. Laughter, footsteps, the squeak of wet sneakers on linoleum—

Moon-gi’s eyes went straight to you. He didn’t hesitate to slide into the chair right next to yours.

“Well, well, Yn-ssi… You here too?” he said, curling his lips in a fake smile. “What a coincidence, right? The way our paths cross in this world… it’s practically romantic.”

You started to get up. Your hand pushed your bowl aside, chair legs scraping slightly on the floor. But before you could rise, an arm slid around your waist, and in one smooth motion, everything shifted.

You couldn’t breathe properly—because the next second, you were in Han Soo-gang’s lap.

“Don’t get up,” he said, voice soft but firm. “We just got comfortable.”

His arms tightened around you. The more you struggled to stand, the more he pulled you back into him, adjusting your position so your hips rested right against his thighs. When you looked up, his gaze burned into you. He didn’t need to speak to tell you exactly what he was thinking.

“Let me go,” you said through gritted teeth. “What are you doing, Soo-gang? Let me go.”

You squirmed, but his grip didn’t budge. If anything, it became gentler—more deliberate. He leaned his head to the side, reached up, and gently tucked your damp hair behind your ear. His fingertips brushed your skin, trailing from your hairline down the curve of your neck.

“Angel…” he whispered. The word dripped with a sweetness that felt wrong. “I heard… you snitched on us. To the teachers. Hmm?”

A familiar grin crept across his face—equal parts amused, mocking, and dangerous.

“I… I didn’t,” you stammered. “Someone got it wrong—”

“Sure they did,” he breathed, his mouth close to your cheek now. “But you know… if you do report us…”

His laugh was low, vibrating against your skin. Then he looked directly into your eyes.

“…they’ll tear us apart, won’t they? You wouldn’t want that. You wouldn’t want to be separated from me… would you, angel?”

And then his hands moved.

They slid from your waist, down to your hips, then between your thighs. Your breath hitched. Panic? Anger? Something else entirely? You couldn’t tell anymore. But his touch wasn’t hurried. It was slow, calculated—like he was reminding you who was in control.

Soo-gang leaned closer, brushing his mouth along your cheek before planting a soft, lingering kiss right on the center of it.

He smirked.

Then leaned back casually, like nothing had happened.

You were still in his lap when Moon-gi suddenly said, “You two look so cute right now. Wait—don’t move! Lemme get a photo.”

He was already pulling out his phone. “Can’t miss moments like this. We all need something to talk about tomorrow, right?”

You couldn’t even speak. Soo-gang tilted his head and pressed his cheek against yours again, casually, intimately. You hated the way your body was frozen, like all the fight in you had drained out somewhere along the way.

One of the girls laughed loudly. “Omg, you guys actually look like a couple. Moon-gi, take it! Quick!”

Moon-gi lifted the camera. “Three… two… say kimchi, Yn!”

Your face was burning. You stayed silent.

“Kimchi!” he said again, rolling his eyes.

Click.

The flash went off. The photo was taken. And in the faint glow of the phone screen, Soo-gang’s stare was as clear as ever—he was enjoying this. Enjoying you. Enjoying the way he’d boxed you in.

When it was over, Soo-gang shifted. He pulled out a cigarette from inside his coat, lit it without hesitation. The no-smoking sign meant nothing to him. The first drag lit up his features again, glowing amber.

He held it out to you.

“Wanna smoke, angel?”

You shook your head, your voice coming out quiet. “No.”

He pouted. Overdramatically. “Aw…”

Then he looked down at you again, smoke curling between his lips.

“You know,” he murmured, “we actually make a really cute couple, don’t we?” He chuckled, then added, “Maybe you should date me.”

He took another drag, and this time, exhaled directly into your face. The smoke stung your eyes. Your lungs tightened.

His hand moved again.

From your waist, it crept upward. Then his palm pressed against your chest. He didn’t move it away.

“Damn,” he muttered. “These are pretty big, huh?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Stop it! What are you—!”

You pushed at his chest with both hands, but his body was a cage around yours. He just smiled lazily, like he hadn’t heard you. He took one last look at you, then slowly loosened his hold.

You slid off his lap. Your legs felt unsteady.

He stood.

“Alright, angel… I’ll see you at school tomorrow, okay?”

He took one final drag, then reached over, dropped the cigarette straight into your ramen bowl.

“I love you,” he said, almost cheerfully.

He winked.

Then turned and walked out, Moon-gi and the girls trailing behind him.

The door jingled one last time.

The rain hadn’t stopped.

But somehow, it felt quieter than the noise still ringing inside your chest.

[kawaiigirly21]

Our Little Soda Pop: Chapter 3

Later on, the rest of that day went about as smoothly as it could go. During the recording, the boys did become a bit more touchy but Natasha simply chalked it up to nerves. She fought the urge to smirk everytime one of them tried to allude to something sexual. She was perfect at playing dumb. As if she couldn't smell their wanton arousal. She knew she triggered something and had perfect and total control. So much for their loyalty to Gwi-Ma.

She bet that if she asked them to, they would give up all alliance with the so-called king. Watching as the boys got through their last lines, Natasha had food brought in so they could eat something after singing for so long. Abby and Baby were the first to attack the food but after minor scolding, made sure to leave some for the other three. “You boys sounded great in there.” Natasha complimented as she fixed a plate for Mystery who practically became attached to her hip. “Thank you Ms. Natasha. We're one step closer to our goal in taking down the hunters.” Jinu replied after taking a few bites of his food.

“Jinu lean forward.” Natasha responded. As he did so, his eyes widened as Natasha took a napkin and wiped the corner of his mouth clean. “There we go. Oh? What's up Mystery?” Natasha asked, turning her attention back to the other idol. “Hey um miss manager? When do we get what Romance got this morning huh?” Abby asked, huffing a bit. “I think we all behaved ourselves today. Don't we deserve a little reward too? How come you touched him?” Baby added. “I don't have to explain myself to you and if you keep asking about it, you won't get it. Eat. You have a photoshoot later.” Natasha replied unbothered.

That evening as the boys wrapped up the last of their photos, Mystery watched as Natasha typed away on her phone with a serious expression. She was talking to someone about something important for them. He loved that about her. She was always working. She always looked so busy. Like she completely had her shit together. He adored that about her. However, he also wished she would take a break every now and then.

“Alright boys. Time to go! Max, I expect those photos by Friday!” Natasha spoke while ushering the band out the doors and into their van. “I call shotgun!” Abby shouted as he practically launched himself into the passenger seat. “You had it on the way over here Abs, let someone else get the seat.” “Ugh fine!” He huffed as he moved to the back and Jinu climbed in the front. The drive home was silent save for the silent music playing in the background.

After arriving home, while everyone scrambled to get in Natasha's bed, still, she asked to speak to Abby alone in the living room. “I know you didn't want to give up your seat but you still did because I asked. I like when you boys listen to me.” She smiled as she led him to the couch and sat him down. “It makes me happy knowing that you respect me that much.” She whispered before leaning down to kiss him sweetly.

Almost instantly, his arms were around her and bringing her down to his lap. “Do I get some lovin this time?” Natasha giggled slightly before nodding. “Yes you get one thing of your choice tonight.” The man wasted no time in choosing his reward. “I want your mouth on my cock. I need it Mistress… please~” He whined as he began to free his cock from the confines of his jeans. Looking down, Natasha smirked before pressing a quick kiss to his neck.

“You’re a big boy aren't you?” She then moved off his lap and settled on the floor in between his legs. “Nervous?” Abby chuckled. “Oh please. I've had bigger sweetheart.” Natasha sighed before leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of the large cock waiting to take sanctuary in her mouth. That was a lie. Natasha had her fair share of fun sure, but none of her past exploits were ever this well endowed. Taking the tip into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it, her ears perked up at the heavy breaths Abby was starting to take.

Slowly but surely, she started to bob her head on the erection. Taking more and more of the cock until it almost filled her mouth completely. Save for a few inches at the base. “Oh f-fuck… you look so hot…” Now, at this point she would have smirked and made a comment about how desperate he sounded, but doing anything but trying to fit the rest of the cock down her throat was impossible. “Mm… oh yea… keep going…” Abby moaned as he watched Natasha suck his cock.

Although he was definitely enjoying himself, he was also physically fighting the urge to take the older demoness by her hair and fuck her throat. Not because he was worried about her, oh no. He knew she could handle it. It was his own safety he was worried for. Getting on her bad side was something that was not on his list for that evening. Suddenly, he began to moan louder and his grip on the couch tightened as his eyes watched Natasha quicken her movements.

Humming around his cock, creating vibrations that added to the pleasure. “Shit! Y-yes! Please! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” Unable to resist anymore, Abby grabbed a fistful of Natasha's hair and began to fuck her throat. Pushing her head all the way down to his crotch causing her to deep throat him. “Fuck!! Mistress! Your throat feels so good! Your mouth! Mm! Mm! Fuck! So good!” The sounds of her wet mouth fueling his desire and urge to paint her throat white.

“Cumming! Oh shit! I'm cumming!! Yes! Yes! Mistress!! I'm cumming!” Looking up at the man, the moment Natasha's eyes met those of Abby's he immediately came down her throat. Pushing her head all the way down to his crotch once more. “Mistress!!! Mm! Fuck!!!” It didn't take long for the man to come down from his high after Natasha pulled away from his cock. “You alright? I-i didn't mean to get that crazy.”

Natasha only laughed and smiled before standing from her position and kissed his forehead. “I'm fine hun. Are you ok? I didn't think you could sound so…whiny.” She laughed as she watched the man groan before standing as well. “Put that away and get ready for bed. I'll join you shortly.” Natasha smiled before grabbing her phone and walking into the elevator. She then dialed a number, while the elevator descended.

“Natasha. I am pleased to hear from you. How are the boys settling in?” Gwi-Ma asked. “Fine. That's the only update you're getting from me, asshole. Don't contact me anymore.”

@prettygirlkiki

@rivainimermaid

Chapter 4

[femmesport]

hi love, your fics are amazing. i love them so badddd!

can i request juju watkins x oc being mommies?

just like maybe their day to day lives and routines, them being soft for the kiddos and absolutely just being the fun chill parents who provide structure when need be.

you can turn this down if you aren’t too comfortable writing it, all love boo 🌸.

wc: 1k an: thank you so much for your sweet words!! omg this is such a cute prompt! i love this!! i didn't want it to be super long and so i strayed from the prompt (so sorry) but i just wanted to describe a super sleepy and soft morning. i will be returning to this prompt at a later date with a pt. 2 that focuses on them with older kiddos and how their parenting styles develop. i really hope you enjoy!! as always, feedback would be appreciated!! tysm <3 -- tea ★’*•.¸♡

exhaustion didn’t feel like the right word to describe what juju was feeling. exhaustion sounded so negative and none of what juju was feeling was negative. 

watching you become a mom and spending these early mornings with you two were some of the highlights of her life. you and baby miles had brought her more joy and love than she ever thought possible.

it was nearing six in the morning when your son began whining slightly. you tried to shift gently out of juju’s arms, but she tightened her grip.

“you stay, baby. i’ve got him” she pressed a kiss to your temple and then went to stand up.

“you have your first practice back today, i’ve got him. you lay down and get some rest” you are standing up but don’t see her making moves to lay back down.

juju beats you to his bassinet and is gently picking him up. she cradles his head carefully and presses him to her chest, which was only covered by a thin sports bra. your son coos at the feeling of his mother’s skin.

you smile at them gently.

“you should really be back in bed, baby” you wrap your arms around her waist and rest your chin on her shoulder looking over at the boy who made you two moms.

“mm, i’ve been up for a while” she hums smiling down at your son.

“should’ve woke me up” you smile into her shoulder.

“nah, you spent the last nine months growing our baby and now you are spending so much time doing so much. you need the rest” she turns her head and kisses your forehead gently.

you decide to step back and let her have a moment with your son. you take some time preparing a bottle and checking the temperature to make sure it is perfect.

by the time you return to your bedroom, you found juju in the rocking chair you guys had put in the corner near his bassinet. juju had your son snuggled gently against her chest and a smile so full of love.

you froze in your tracks feeling so overcome with emotion. seeing the woman you love become a mother has been a feeling you have been struggling to put into words. you just wanted to bottle up every moment and live in this forever.

“here you go, baby” you offer her the bottle and she looks up at you with a dopey love-filled smile.

she mutters a soft thank you and leans forward to kiss you before feeding your son.

“why don’t you take a shower while i feed him” she smiles up at you.

you nod and head to the bathroom. you take your time brushing your teeth and detangling your hair.

once the water was nice and warm, you stepped in and let out a sigh of relief. you have been so worried about your son, that it has been so hard to have these moments to yourself. you wanted to enjoy it despite the guilt telling you that you should be in there with your son.

you were quick in the shower and finished up getting ready in a comfortable pair of sweats and an old oversized practice jersey you had found in juju’s side of the closet. by the time you had finished, you walked into your room to see miles asleep in the bassinet and juju standing over him.

you lean on the door frame with a soft and sleepy smile as juju turns around. she slowly approaches you and wraps her arms around your waist. you wrap your arms around her neck and look up softly at her.

“i know i say it a lot, but i will say it a million more times” juju whispers into the space between the two of you, “i am so in awe of everything you have given to us and our family. i am so in love with you that i cannot even begin to describe my feelings. you really are my everything.”

she leans down and kisses you softly. “i love you.” you kiss her in return, mumbling the words into her mouth.

“what time do you have to leave?” you ask softly, breaking up the moment.

“i need to leave in an hour and a half, but first i am going to make you breakfast” juju leans down and kisses you one more time before letting you go and heading out of your bedroom and into the hallway.

you head to the bassinet and gently pick up your son, careful not to wake him. you hold him closely to your chest and head out towards the living room. you set him up in the bassinet that juju had built for out here.

you made sure that he was going to be visible and then sat at the counter. you kept an eye on him and then occasionally turned to stare at your beautiful wife.

“alright, my love, here you go” juju sets a plate of your favorite breakfast foods in front of you after a bit of her quietly humming while cooking.

she sat her own plate beside yours and poured each of you a morning cup of coffee prepared just how you liked it. you just sigh in contentment.

“miles and i are the luckiest people in the world, you know that right?” you ask and juju smiles at you.

“i’m sure i have you both beat. i am so lucky to have the woman of my dreams beside me and the product of our love in the form of the world’s sweetest boy.”

any words you want to say are caught in your throat. you smile and turn to your breakfast. you eat quietly, occasionally glancing up at your son who slept gently across the room.

as you finish up, juju gathers the dishes and presses a kiss on your forehead. you smile and stand, heading back towards your son. you look at his sleeping form and smile.

you and juju might not get it right all the time, but this life you had built was more than enough.

[sylusgworl]

(INVOLUNTARILY) GAWKING ft. xavier

content: fluff, fem!reader, housemates!au, pre-relationship situation, reader is awkward, xavier tries at flirting (and kinda fails),

a/n: it's too hot outside to properly function so my brain birthed this fic, uh enjoy ig - wrote this in like 15 mins (my study break) so it yet to be proofread. wc: 857 . rbs are very appreciated <3

m.list

it is infact not alright when it's 37 °C outside (about 100 F) and you are living with a (male) housemate.

nope, you no way you were going full on nude in front of xavier, nope. you'd rather die from the heat. although, at some point the heat became so unbearable any insane thought became completely rational.

“ugh it's so hot,” you groaned while stretching on the sofa, the shorts and tank top feeling sticky against your skin.

oh, right, the ac refused to turn on for some reason, and the fan was broken, apparently one of its blades had snapped off and it just stopped functioning correctly.

xavier cocked his head out of his room, a pearl of sweat sliding down his temple until it fell in a bead down from his chin.

he had it way worse, his wide shorts just right above the knee and a white t-shirt... just the sight of that made you sweat.

“it's alright [name], i've just ordered another one, it'll be delivered in a couple of hours,” his soft voice angelically carried the glad tidings, except you felt even more desperate and exhausted.

more hours of that inferno.

you closed your eyes. maybe a short nap would help take you out of that dread. minutes passed and... nope it was too hot to sleep.

you sat up and headed for the kitchen. there, a sight made you stop in your tracks. an unexpected one.

xavier leaned against the counter, shirtless, while drinking a can of chilled soda. his toned muscles seemed to shine under the natural light of the sun, his adam's apple bobbing up and down with each sip.

he didn't seem to notice you, so that gave you a chance to observe him for a while longer.

he was attractive alright.

you'd been housemates for about a month, but your schedules never aligned in a way that you'd be that often in each other's presence, so you'd never actually paid attention to xavier's presence around you.

you just thought having a man as a flatmate had too many downsides for your liking, but still accepted him as you really needed someone to split the rent with.

“oh, you're here,” his calm tone slowly carried you out of your trance.

xavier put down his soda and turned to face you, but then noticed his bare chest so he crossed his arms against it and swiftly turned around, a faint blush tinting his cheeks.

“oh how long have you been there? i'm sorry, i didn't realise...”

“no no, it's alright haha... i've been here for a while, i didn't mean to stare,” you stretch your hands forward in a defensive way, “but! i was going anyway...” you trailed off and ran away in a jiffy, heart thumping and a familiar warmth in your face.

shit. did i just get caught gawking?

you bit your lip in frustration and closed the door to your bedroom before plopping onto the carpeted ground.

dignity gone, you started planning your move-out. because, how could you even face him after that.

desperation aside, two hours went by, and except for the heat and the embarrassing scene from earlier replaying in your head every time you closed your eyes, nothing eventful happened.

“[name]?” a voice called out to you, followed by a knock.

you hesitated but still got closer to the door. “is she asleep?” a voice mumbled from the other side, so you nervously opened up.

xavier's watchful blue eyes were the first to meet your surpised - not really - gaze.

your heart leaped to your throat, you cleared your voice. “y-yes?” oh god, how awkward.

“i just wanted to tell you, the new fan has just been delivered,” he pointed to the living room.

“i already installed it, i think the maintenance is coming to fix our ac in about a day or two,” he said, trying to keep a neutral tone while scratching the back of his head.

your eyes involuntarily jumped to his flexed arm and you had to call each and every atom of your self-control to avert your gaze and stop staring.

“oh! that's... great! yeah!” you answered, a bit to excitedly. you hoped it sounded as natural as possible, embarrassment from a couple of hours prior still holding you captive.

xavier nodded and turned around, walking a few steps. then, as if he'd remembered something, he stopped and turned around.

you'd only now noticed a small bag he was carrying in his hand. he then offered it to you.

“here, since i've put the fan in the living room, use this if it's too hot at night,” and off he went, as soon as you grasped it.

closing the door behind you, you unpacked the gift(?) only to find a mini desk fan. how adorable, you thought with a smile, thinking of xavier's attentiveness, as warmth spread across your chest from gratefulness... and maybe something else.

a small paper fell out, so putting the object aside, you opened it.

i'm sorry for making you feel embarrassed earlier. also, i didn't say you couldn't look, you can stare as much as you want.

you gulped. oh.

© sylusgworl - 2025, all rights reserved / i don't allow anyone to copy, repost on other platforms or sell my works.

[arbitrarykiwi]

Heyyyyyy it's shawtyyyy (again)

So I have a question 👉🏾👈🏾

I just read your namgyu x big boobs!reader and it made me wonder...

If you'd do a reader with a big butt

Like a whole bakery behind her back

I feel like namgyu (or Thanos you can do either) would go crazyyyyyy just smacking readers ass all the time LMAO

Would you do that? Pretty please? *bats eyelashes* 🥹👉🏾👈🏾

SHAWTYYY!!!! MY LOVE!!!! ABSOLUTELY I WILL DO THAT!! 😩😋 this was already in the works after the big boobs!Reader because I couldn’t get the thought of riding him reverse cowgirl and making him see stars because he can’t handle all that ass

I hope you like this one!!!!! I’m prayin I did it justice

Warnings: nsfw themes , smut (18+)

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LMAO!! I said this in the last one I’ll say it again, idc- uses your ass as a pillow

Mf will make you get up from where ever you’re laying, flip on your stomach, and he will lay down. Head on your ass, cheek nuzzling into the jiggling flesh, arms wrapped around your waist and connected under you

Resting on your ass is also one of his favorite way to smoke

Sprawled out on the bed, you’re on your stomach. Red eyes watching some video and he’s laying on his back horizontal to you, head leaned up against your ass as he hits the blunt

He’s also such a fucking dweeb and gives you fake back shots everytime you bend over

Having just taken the laundry out of the dryer, you’re realizing you haven seen your phone in a long minute.

“Hey baby, have you seen my- oh fuck.” You groan, dropping one of the shirts you were carrying from the laundry room to the bedroom. You drop the rest of the pile you were holding to better scoop up the warm clothes.

You’re not even sure how he did it- how he got up that fast and knew you were bending over- he was in the living room and you were in a hallway! He couldn’t have seen you! But, Nam-Gyu is practically bounding down the hallway and coming up behind you.

One hand crossing over your lower back to hold your hip and the other presses down on your back, putting you into the pretty little arch he loves so much.

“Fuck, there you go.” He hisses out, pressing his pelvis flush against your ass. He’s pulling you back against him, drawing his hips back then thrusting forward.

Nam-Gyu is quite simply addicted to the image of your ass rippling against him, the way anytime he drives his hips forward his cock is completely surrounded by your ass- yeah, he’s in heaven.

“Fucking hell!” You giggle out surprised, placing your palms on the floor to steady yourself, “How’d you even move so fast?!” You say, simply taking each faux thrust he gives.

“I know when my baby’s bending over, it’s like a radar.” He says, laughing along with you.

When you play is game along with him, putting more weight on your hands and shaking your ass back against him??? Immediately to the bedroom with you!!!

Hand on your ass 100% of the time

Walking with you and you’re wearing jeans? Hand in your back pocket cupping your ass

No pockets? Fuck it, hand down the waist band of your pants. He really doesn’t care

Slapping your ass anytime he gets, much like you said

Walking by him while he’s playing some video game, he’s risking his character dying to reach out and slap your ass as you walk by

Pouts if the slap wasn’t good enough and makes you walk by again so he can try to slap your ass again

The sound of the slap echos out through the room, its dull, and really hits the side of your thigh more than anything. You don’t think anything about it, it’s happened more times than you can count- you were expecting it!

“That wasn’t a good one”

“Get the fuck back here, I need to try again.”

You two speak at the same time, laughter ringing out through the room as he realizes you really got him down to the littlest thing he does. Hell, you seemed to have some grasp on his ass slapping rating scale to realize that wasn’t going to cut it.

“Fuuuuck, you’re not real.” Nam-Gyu says with a groan, “You know me so well.” motioning you to walk backwards and pass by him again, he’s grinning and shamelessly looking at your ass when you step backwards.

You repeat what you just did, walking by him to your original destination. This time his palm is connecting with your ass in a perfectly time slap. It’s sharp, your ass recoiling with the impact- you can even feel the throbbing sting of where his palm landed seconds after it happened.

His eyes are locked onto your ass like a predator about to bite into a chunk of raw meat, “Ughhh, so much better, that one had some good fuckin’ recoil.”

And then he’s sending you on your way!

Also has definitely hit you with a “You need help holding that? Looks heavy.” And then grabs you ass

Yeah he loves lil’ short skirts or short shorts that ride up so high they’re not even shorts anymore- he adores them

But what really gets him going?!? You wearing his boxers or tight jeans

There’s something about the way you fill out his boxers- damn near busting at the seams becuase men’s boxers in his size aren’t sewn for that much curve.

And jeans?! Fuck, he could cum in his pants watching you walk away from him in jeans. Theoretically, the fabric should be constricting, should limit the amount of movement…but nope! It’s still moving

Especially loves the little jump you do when you put them on to get them over your ass

100% has went out and bought you a pair of jeans with his own money just to recreate a porn video he saw where the crotch of the pants was ripped and the girl was getting fucked from the back through the opening

ALSO THOSE NIGHTGOWNS!! Yk the ones that have that thin soft fabric that is baggy as hell but the second you’re walking the outline and jiggle of your ass and waist is so visible?

Yeah he’s like on his knees barking like a dog. You put that on he’s taking it as a sign he’s bout to have a fantastic fucking night even if all it amounts to is him getting to just look at you in it.

He’s the type of guy to literally not give a fuck what you wear outside. He’s confident you’re his and if you want to show off what you got?! By all means!!

He gets a sick ego boost when you’re out at the club he slides up to your side, arm pulling you into his side and watching every man who was staring at have a look of defeat when they realize you’re taken

More than a little tipsy and definitely stoned beyond belief- you’re having the time of your life at Club Pentagon. Having a boyfriend as a club promotor has its perks!!

The music is thrumming and you’re on the dance floor with a group of girls you randomly met. Dancing and hyping each other up like you’ve been friends for years. They’re so welcoming that you feel like you can dance more without having to worry about someone coming up to you.

So of course you have the time of your life!! You’re swaying your hips to the song, the fabric of the lil red dress you have on flowing with every little movement you make. And as the music picks up and the lovely group of girls around you dance with you- of course you’re throwing some ass!!

Nam-Gyu likes when you do this- a personal show just for him to watch while he works the floor of the club. It’s entrancing really, you know you look good, you know you have a lot of ass, and you know how to move- you’re a fucking masterpiece to him.

Standing against the bar, having just finished talking to some random VIP who was far too drunk to even realize the promotions Nam-Gyu was trying to sell, he’s now watching you dance.

You can feel his eyes on you, drinking you in like you’re the finest wine this bar as to offer (and a bottle is like 3k at the club). He’s licking his lips and doing his best to discretely adjust his pants as he watches- studies- you, ass and thighs jiggling with every shake you intentionally do.

He doesn’t move when he watches you throw your hips back on some girl who giggles and playfully smacks you ass- nah, you’re simply having fun- if anything he’s glad you found a little group to hang out with.

He does move when he sees a man somehow pushing his way through the group of girls surrounding you and try’s to talk to you. He can see how you freeze what you were doing, looking at the man with an irritated look. He can see how the man tries to reach out and touch your waist, attempting to talk to you.

You jump a little when you’re pulled into his side, you didn’t even see Nam-Gyu walk up! Nam-Gyu steps so he swats the man’s hand away from you, his own arm wrapping around your waist.

“Pretty isn’t she?” Nam-Gyu says, his voice low and stoic, hand squeezing you to him even more, “She’s not for you to touch though.”

“You just gonna let your girl whore out on the dance floor like that?” The guy scoffs, immediately switching his mood now that he knows he doesn’t have a chance to take you home

“Yeah.” Nam-Gyu says shrugging, “Why not, I’m the one taking her home and imprinting my hand on the ass she was just shaking.”

Your face is flushed and your body heated from your boyfriend’s words but Nam-Gyu just smirks lazily and waves the man off.

When he hugs you he’s putting both hands on your ass and using it as leverage to pull you closer to him and squish you against his chest

Sit on him

On his lap on his face…literally anywhere he wants it

Says that no chair is good enough to handle all of your ass so he’s the only option….again he’s a fucking dweeb

Facesitting 1000%

Facesitting, but!!! He’s making you twerk on his face. He’s so fucking nasty.

Also more often than not- he’s eating it from the back

Hands spreading your ass, fingers pressing into the flesh and shaking your ass on his face, going to town- like dudes obsessed

Of course he’s a doggy style fiend but I raise you…..

Prone bone!!!

His favorite position hands down.

“Just put it in~” you’re whining, trying your best to wiggle your hips back onto him. It’s hard the way you’re literally pinned to the mattress. He’s straddling your thighs- pelvis pressed against your ass as he just inspects you.

He can’t get over the way his dick looks pressed into the valley off your ass. He’s rocking himself back and forth just dragging the weight of his cock through your thick ass.

“You have no fucking patience.” You can hear how he’s speaking through gritted teeth- he’s trying not to blow his load all over your ass then and there.

You whine, “youve been doing this for hours…”, hips arching off the bed, when two large hands switch their grip and grab a handful of each ass cheek. He’s spreading you apart, watching how your own wetness strings between the fat of your ass in shiny webs.

The smartass he is, is pausing all movement to turn his head to look at the digital clock under the TV, “it’s been 15 minutes..” he scoffs, shifting back to prod his fat tip against your dripping pussy.

It doesn’t take much, the second you feel the tip of his cock draaag nice n’ slow through your folds, you’re moaning out his name.

“This fat fuckin’ ass…” he’s growling more to himself than you, one of his hands that grips your ass, shaking it and watching the flesh recoil against his pelvis and dick, “so good…just letting me play with you…you can wait a lil’ longer, yeah?”

Sobbing into the pillow you’re trying your best to press back against him and slip his cock into your cunt yourself! But Nam-Gyu was never one to rush things.

With a sharp slap! His hand is connecting with your ass. You’re moaning out in response, hands gripping at the pillows to try and ground yourself in anyway possible. When he witnesses the recoil and the blossoming red imprint of his hand, he’s moaning with you.

“Yeaahhh,” Nam-Gyu’s drawling out, “you can wait a lil’ longer.” He’s answering for you. He needs to make it even and do the other side of course!

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Taglist: @namsgyu @nuttybeans @namgyucat @g1rlonthe3internet @reilapse @yuuumeee @thanosspills

((Lmk if you wanna be on my taglist for everytime I post <3))

[bewitched-hours]

Forsaken | Mafioso & (His)Child!Reader (Part 3)

Go see Part 1 and Part 2 here~

Reader gets She/Her once more（-＾▽＾-）

Your pace only picked up the louder the whistling got...

You could feel your body shift and twist in uncomfortable ways.

Bones growing and deforming but not hurting you.

Even your vision was blurring and forcing you to rely on your hearing to go forward.

By the time you've reached the source of that comforting melody, you could feel yourself going limp and passing out. All the pain and exhaustion from your sudden change caught up to you in one swift move while the figure who had been whistling quickly approached in a clear panic.

Did you look bad? Maybe you looked worse than you felt...

Whichever the case, you felt much better upon awakening.

Especially when you saw the goons around you. Amongst others.

"Kid, you okay?!" One of them asked as they noticed you woke up. You felt groggy but nodded, shuffling your body towards your family as they were quick to go in for the reunion hug.

Only when you stood up did you notice you'd gotten taller. It was hard to balance at first.

You were still smaller than your dad but now were as tall as the goons. It surprised even them.

"Explaining this to your dad is gonna be tough..." One of them chuckled nervously, though you just made little happy squeaks.

You were just happy to have your family back, it allowed the Spectre to manipulate you better. Now you could safely betray the survivors without any guilt, right?

Exactly.

Watching their faces twist in horror when they first saw you in a round gave you an odd sense of pride.

You were no longer just a scared kid constantly needing help and protection. You were your father's daughter and made sure to get rid of the debt-ridden survivors to make him proud.

Which was technically already the case. Mafioso would always be proud of his kid and regardless if you won or not, you'd be rewarded with headpats and praise before being dragged off by the kids to play with them. Since you were slightly smaller than them, you loved convincing them to play hide and seek so you could find new spots where you barely fit into.

Though Mafioso wasn't exactly one to want you in danger, he could recognize that the fact you couldn't die or take real damage was an opportunity for you to have fun and learn.

Even if he was confused whenever you'd bring up being a survivor before...

I kinda enjoy child!reader, especially when they're the kid of someone else lol

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[camficdiner]

Heyy can I get [1.1]

[2.9]

[3.5]

[4.3]

Age gap younger woman!

Thank you 🤍

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 056

🍒 thank you for your order, angel.

you brought enemies, jealousy, rival teams, and an age gap straight into my kitchen and said “make it feral, but then tuck it into bed with a wine glass and a salad.”

i hope jack’s possessiveness hit exactly where you needed it to, and that the dinner scene made you giggle and gag in equal measure 😌

come back anytime — your table’s always open at the diner

💬 “You Can’t Hide Love in the NHL (But You Can Try)”

✨ Description and prompts:

– Character: Jack Hughes

– Prompt: Secret relationship + age gap + jealousy & possessiveness

– Tropes: rivals to lovers, secret dating, age gap, possessive smut, brother interrogation

– WC: ~2k

🛼🧁✨🍒

You’d both agreed to keep it private.

The league didn’t need to know. The fans didn’t need to know. The teams sure as hell didn’t need to know — especially since you wore a Rangers jersey and Jack Hughes bled Devils red.

The media would have torn it apart. The age gap. The rivalry. The way you chirped each other on the ice. (“Nice toe drag, Hughes — did your brother teach you that in preschool?”)

No one would’ve believed it was real. And maybe for a while, you didn’t either.

It started quiet. Off-season workouts. Shared glances in training facilities. A chirped text here and there.

Then a kiss.

Then another.

Then Jack pressing you against a locker room door at 2 AM, saying, “We’re not supposed to be doing this,” while undressing you anyway.

But it stayed secret. It had to.

Until tonight.

You’re in the middle of a regular-season game against the Flyers when it happens — you’re flying along the boards, puck at your stick, when someone on the opposing team doesn’t like how fast you’re moving. The hit slams into your shoulder and sends you crashing against the glass hard enough to draw a groan from the crowd.

Jack sees it happen from the stands.

He’s there with his brothers — Quinn flew in for a few days, and Luke tagged along for sibling bonding. And of course, they’d suggested catching a Rangers game.

Jack hadn’t said why he agreed so fast.

He sits there, jaw clenched, fists locked on his thighs, eyes burning into the glass.

“Jesus,” Luke mutters as you get up slowly, shaking your helmeted head, waving off the trainer.

“You know her?” Quinn asks, not looking away from the rink.

Jack’s quiet. Too quiet.

You’re back on the ice in seconds. Like nothing happened. Just another hit in the game. But Jack can’t sit still. His leg bounces. His gaze hasn’t moved from you in five full minutes.

After the final buzzer, you’re pulled for post-game press. You’re laughing. A little sore, but fine.

Then Matt Rempe walks in — all 6’8” of him — and slides onto the stool beside you like he owns the place.

The press eats it up. You’re giggling. He’s chirping you. Some reporter asks what your ideal date is and Matt leans in and says, “She likes soft serve and horror movies, right?”

You’re blushing.

The entire room loses it.

Jack stands up from his seat so suddenly Quinn reaches for his arm. “Whoa. Dude. Chill.”

“They’re friends,” Luke says, tilting his head. “I think?”

Jack’s jaw tightens.

Quinn raises an eyebrow. “You wanna tell us what’s going on?”

Jack doesn’t answer right away.

You’re still on the screen in the hallway outside the suite, laughing beside Rempe. He reaches out and fixes your hair — just casually — and Jack snaps.

“She’s mine,” he says, voice low.

Luke blinks. “What?”

Jack’s already walking. Hands on his hips. Pacing the suite.

“I’m seeing her. We’ve been… it’s been a few months,” he mutters. “Since pre-season.”

Quinn’s stare sharpens. “The Rangers forward? She’s barely twenty.”

“She’s twenty-one. She’s not a kid.”

“She’s also a Ranger,” Luke points out. “You realize how bad this looks, right?”

“I don’t give a shit how it looks,” Jack snaps. “I’ve been sitting on this for months while everyone talks about her like she’s just hot. Like she’s just some new headline. And now I’m supposed to sit here while they push her and Rempe like they’re some— some power couple?”

“No one’s saying you have to—”

“She’s mine,” Jack says again, and this time it sounds feral.

Quinn crosses his arms. “You sure this is more than just… wanting what you can’t have?”

Jack turns to him. Staring. Wild-eyed. “I’m sure.”

Luke exhales through his nose. “Then let us meet her.”

Jack stops moving.

Quinn nods. “If you’re serious about this… then let’s see what the fuss is about.”

---

Jack doesn’t say a word on the way home.

He drives with one hand clenched tight on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh like a silent claim — a brand that says mine, even in the dark.

You barely make it through the front door before he’s on you.

His hands are under your jacket, mouth crashing into yours like a punishment. You gasp, try to speak, but he cuts you off with his tongue and a growl in your throat.

“That’s what you do now?” he mutters against your skin, dragging you backwards toward the bedroom. “Giggling with Rempe? Letting him touch you on live TV?”

You pull away just long enough to breathe. “We’re friends, Jack. We’ve always—”

He grabs your jaw, not hard, just firm. Possessive. “He’s not your friend tonight.”

Your back hits the bed. Jack’s already undoing his belt, his eyes dark and unforgiving. “You knew I was watching.”

You lick your lips, head spinning. “That’s not fair—”

“Open your mouth.”

You hesitate for half a second, but your body knows him. Your body wants him — especially like this. Especially when he’s jealous and starved and looking at you like he might break.

You kneel.

Jack exhales a sound that’s half growl, half laugh. “God, look at you.”

He’s thick and flushed in your hand, already leaking. You barely wrap your fingers around him before he says again — quieter now, like a prayer:

“Open. Now.”

You do.

He doesn’t ease in — not at first. Not when his blood’s still boiling and your lips are so fucking pretty and there’s still the ghost of Rempe’s name in your mouth. He sinks into your throat, slow but relentless, holding your hair back with one hand and using the other to tilt your chin just right.

You choke. Gag a little. He groans — loudly.

“Yeah,” he pants. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear it.”

You make a sound, mouth full, eyes glassy, hands gripping his thighs. He starts to move — shallow at first, then deeper. Every thrust forces another tear down your cheek.

“You wanna make me jealous?” he rasps. “You wanna let the whole league think you’re single?”

You try to shake your head, but he doesn’t let you. “No, baby. Say it. Say who you belong to.”

You pull off with a wet gasp, spit clinging to your lips. “You, Jack.”

He nods, wild-eyed. “Fucking right you do.”

He fucks your mouth like he needs it — like it’s the only way he knows how to calm down. His hips snap faster. You gag again, but don’t pull back.

When he finally finishes, it’s messy and deep. You swallow it on instinct, throat burning, heart thudding. He pulls out, watching your mouth as you breathe, wrecked and flushed and perfect.

Then —

A knock on the front door.

You both freeze.

Jack curses, dragging a hand down his face. “Fuck. They’re early.”

You blink. “What?”

He grabs your hand and pulls you up. “Dinner. My brothers. Remember?”

You stare at him, still on your knees. “You just fucked my throat like—”

“I know,” he says, tossing you a sweater. “You’ll be fine.”

You’re not fine. Not even a little. But ten minutes later, you’re at the table, pretending.

The dining room is cozy. Candles lit. Wine poured. You’ve brushed your hair and wiped your lips raw, but Jack’s fingerprints are still on your hips, your throat still tight.

Quinn gives you a polite smile. Luke keeps glancing between you and Jack.

You try to act normal. Pass the salad. Talk about the Flyers game. Compliment Quinn’s watch.

But under the table, Jack’s hand rests on your thigh again. Thumb rubbing slow circles. Quiet, grounding, and dangerous.

“Thanks for having us,” Quinn says at one point. “Sorry if it’s weird.”

You smile sweetly. “Not at all. Jack said it was time we met.”

Quinn raises an eyebrow. “Did he now?”

Jack shrugs, sipping his wine. “I’m not hiding her anymore.”

Your stomach flips.

Luke squints. “You okay, dude? You’re acting weird.”

Jack grins. “I’m great.”

You nudge him under the table.

He turns to you, all fake-innocent. “More salad, baby?”

You don’t speak. You just glare.

Because you both know the only thing full is your throat.

----

The second the front door closes behind you, Jack exhales like he’s been holding in air for hours.

You disappear down the hall to bed, hoodie half-off, still wearing his sweatpants, hair a little damp from the fastest shower on Earth. You don’t even look back. Just a sleepy, mumbled “night,” and he’s sure you’re out cold within minutes.

He turns to his brothers.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Luke and Quinn don’t respond. Just follow him silently into the quiet street outside your place. They walk a few blocks — the air cool, the streetlights low — and then it comes.

“Are you serious about her?” Quinn asks.

Jack sighs. “Yeah.”

Luke kicks at a loose pebble on the sidewalk. “You’re not just fucking around? She’s like, barely older than me.”

“I know.”

“And a Ranger.”

“I know.”

Quinn stops walking. Turns to face him. “Jack, this isn’t like every other girl you’ve pulled. This is different. You’re different.”

Jack meets his eyes. “I know.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I’m in love with her,” Jack says. Quiet. Solid. Like he’s known it for a while but needed the right moment to say it.

Quinn stares at him. Luke squints like he misheard.

Jack keeps going. “I’ve never felt like this before. Not with anyone. And yeah, she’s young, and yeah, she plays for the wrong damn team, but—she’s it for me.”

Luke blinks. “So… you’re gonna marry a Ranger?”

“Eventually,” Jack mutters, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. “Yeah. If I don’t fuck it up first.”

Quinn is quiet again. Then — finally — he huffs a small, reluctant laugh.

“She’s cool,” he admits. “Fierce, too. Like, terrifying.”

“She’s kinda scary,” Luke adds.

Jack smirks. “Yeah. She’s a little psycho. I like it.”

Luke kicks his shoulder. “You’re so down bad it’s embarrassing.”

“I literally walked in on you dry heaving into her hoodie once,” Quinn deadpans. “You were like, in love with the scent.”

“I did not dry heave—”

“Jack,” Quinn cuts him off, “just take care of her. And if you fuck this up, you’ll have both of us to deal with.”

Jack nods. No smile this time. “I know.”

The three of them walk back toward the apartment. Jack’s a little quieter. A little softer. But he’s smiling now — the kind that says mine.

And when he steps back into your bedroom, you’re already half-asleep, curled up in his hoodie, one hand reaching for him even in your dreams.

Yeah.

You’re it.

[custom-fic-studio]

Toji Fushiguro x Female Reader

This Isn’t How Coffee Dates Go

The morning had started slow with the sunlight cutting through the clouds warming your skin as you sat at a quaint outdoor café nestled on a quiet side street. You were going to dress casually, but Toji had insisted you wear the soft lavender sundress he liked—the one that clung just right and low enough to tease but still left to the imagination.

He had said it was his treat today, his idea to finally take you out on a proper date. It’s been a long while…You’d both been swamped with sorcery work, missions, and that cursed scroll that nearly blew up the last apartment you stayed in. But today? Just coffee. A little peace.

Toji had gone inside to get your drinks, muttering about grabbing that chocolate croissant you always looked at but pretended not to want.

That man knew you too well.

You waited outside, arms crossed, legs curled slightly beneath your chair, wedding ring gleaming in the sun. Everything felt… right.

Too bad it was short-lived.

You were scrolling absently through your phone, the sun warming your bare shoulders as you waited for Toji to return. From the corner of your eye, you noticed them—three men hovering just beyond the patio’s edge. You hoped they’d ignore you, just pass by like any normal group of strangers.

But you were sadly mistaken.

All in their early twenties maybe, loud, cocky, with a swagger that screamed insecurity wrapped in discount cologne. One of them spotted you, nudged the others, and walked up with a sleazy smile.

“Hey there, beautiful,” one purred, leaning against the table like he belonged. “You waiting on someone—or are we lucky today?”

You didn’t even blink. “I’m married.”

He gave your ring a cursory glance and laughed, low and dismissive. “Yeah? I don’t see him here.”

Another leaned closer, eyes shamelessly roaming. “You’re too fine to be sitting all alone. That dress… mm, you were asking for attention.”

You gritted your teeth. The burn in your gut wasn’t from embarrassment—it was rage. You could level them. Bend their knees backward, shatter a jaw or two. But you didn’t. Not in front of civilians. You couldn’t risk such a lovely day by going overboard, even if these bastards were practically begging for it.

“I said,” you said calmly, fingers twitching, “I’m married. You should leave.”

They didn’t. They laughed. One even tried to reach for your hand—

“I suggest you move that hand unless you want to lose it,” came the low, grating growl behind them.

You didn’t even have to look.

Toji had returned, iced coffee in one hand, black cold brew in the other, his muscles stretching beneath his dark shirt. His emerald eyes were shadowed and calm but his mouth was strained, pulled tight in a forced grin that didn’t reach his eyes—he was furious, barely holding it back.

One guy looked back and froze. The second guy dropped his smirk. The third? He took a cautious step back, like he could feel something shift—something primal and dangerous coiling in the air.

The weight in his stare was bone-deep. Menacing in that quiet, I-could-end-you-without-blinking kind of way.

“You creeps deaf?” Toji hissed, his voice low and lethal. “That’s my wife you’re hovering over.”

One of them scoffed, clearly too idiotic to catch on. “Relax, man. We were just talking. It’s not like she was saying no.”

Toji’s smile was slow and cruel, the kind that made your skin crawl if it wasn’t meant for you.

“She did,” he said, voice calm as a blade unsheathing. “You just didn’t listen.”

The guy bristled. “Tch. You’re gonna fight me over a girl?”

Toji stepped forward, just once. One slow, deliberate step. The power behind it was all controlled, but his energy shifted like a predator switching gears.

“Fight you?” he echoed, tilting his head with mock curiosity. “Nah. I don’t waste effort on worms. But you really want to test me over my wife?”

His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. Each word sank in like venom, slicing through the cocky persona that held them upright.

“She didn’t want your attention. She said she was married. And you still acted like she was free game.” He leaned closer, eyes dark. “See, that’s not confidence. That’s desperation. And I don’t like desperate men hovering over what’s mine.”

The third guy—who’d taken a step back earlier—finally cracked. “Let’s go, man. He’s… he’s not worth it.”

“You’re right,” Toji replied flatly, still watching them like a bored apex predator. “I’m not.”

That was all it took. They turned fast—one muttering something under his breath, another tripping over the leg of a patio chair, and the last bolting like he’d seen a damn monster looming behind him.

Only after they were gone did Toji move, finally walking to your table and setting the drinks down with a heavy clink. His jaw was still tight, his gaze lingering in the direction they fled.

You didn’t speak right away. Just reached for your cup and exhaled slowly, the tension in your chest easing. You hadn’t needed to act—Toji had handled it without lifting a hand, and that alone was enough to settle the storm beneath your skin. Relief anchored you now.

“Thanks,” you muttered, your voice barely above a breath.

Toji didn’t answer right away. He grabbed the empty chair next to you and dragged it close, the scrape of metal against pavement sharp in the quiet. He sat down with his body angled toward you, knee pressed against yours in a silent, grounding touch. Without a word, he reached out and took your hand, his calloused fingers curling around it firmly.

His thumb traced over your wedding ring—slow, deliberate, possessive. Like he was reminding both of you that it meant something, even if those bastards had ignored it.

“They didn’t even care about the ring,” he said, voice dark and low like distant thunder. “Disrespectful little shits.”

His grip on your hand tightened just slightly, not to hurt—but enough to let you feel it. That quiet fury. That promise: they wouldn’t have gotten any further. The air around him still crackled with residual heat, but beneath it was something steadier—protective, unwavering. He wasn’t angry at you. He was angry for you.

You met his gaze, his eyes still sharp but softer now that they were on you. “I didn’t want to cause a scene,” you murmured, your voice calm, but laced with the tension you hadn’t quite shaken off.

Toji’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk as he brushed his thumb once more over your ring. “Good thing I don’t mind causing one.”

Without warning, his hand rose from your thigh and gently tilted your chin toward him, his touch deceptively tender—until his mouth descended, hot and possessive, pressing firmly against the soft skin just beneath your jawline. His lips were warm, but it was the deliberate way his teeth grazed you—followed by a slow, unrelenting suck—that made your breath catch.

Heat bloomed under your skin as his mouth lingered, claiming you in a way that was far from subtle. Your eyes darted around—across the café patio, the nearby tables, the passing strangers. You could feel stares even if they weren’t there. Or maybe they were. That only made the flush racing up your neck burn hotter.

“Toji!” you hissed, voice sharp and breathless.

He didn’t stop. If anything, he smirked against your skin, his tongue flicking over the fresh mark before finally pulling back—slow, almost lazy. “Hmm?” he hummed, the vibration of his voice still echoing in your throat. “Problem, sweetheart?”

“We’re outside! People can see!”

Toji leaned back just enough to look at his work, his hand still resting on your cheek like he was holding something delicate. The hickey he’d left behind was unmistakable—dark, deep, blooming like a bruise kissed into existence. Right where no one could miss it.

His grin widened into something feral, satisfied.

“Good,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “Now no one will believe you’re single after this.”

You were burning, your whole face ablaze, torn between swatting him away and curling closer into his touch. The PDA was bold, reckless, embarrassing—but the way he looked at you? Like you were his whole damn world?

It made your heart race for an entirely different reason.

Cheeks on fire, you tried to hide behind your hand, shooting him a flustered glare as your other hand swatted lightly at his arm. Toji only laughed under his breath, reaching up to trail a knuckle across your lower lip, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Shit, I missed that look. You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You pouted, sipping your drink in flustered silence. He watched you the whole time, practically vibrating with the urge to touch you more. You knew that look—the way his eyes lingered on your thighs, the curve of your neck, the rise and fall of your chest.

“Toji…” you said cautiously.

He tilted his head. “Yeah?”

“You’re looking at me again.”

“I’ve been looking at you all day, baby.” He leaned closer, voice dipping dark and hungry. “And I’ve been thinking about everything I’m gonna do to you once we get home.”

That was your warning.

Except… you didn’t even make it that far.

Toji waited just long enough for you to finish your drink, watching you with that telltale glint in his eyes—the one that always spelled trouble. The moment you set the empty cup down, he stood abruptly, grabbed your hand, and tugged you up with a quiet, firm, “Come on.”

You barely had time to blink. “Wait, what? Where are we—”

He didn’t answer you. Just kept walking with that purposeful stride, his grip on your hand unwavering. You stumbled a bit to keep up, eyes wide as he turned sharply into a quiet side street—then ducked into a narrow alley between two buildings, hidden from the main road by shadows and a half-cracked maintenance gate.

Before you could ask another question, he stopped, backed you against the cool brick wall, and braced one arm beside your head, the other settling low on your waist. His body caged you in, so close you could feel the heat rolling off him, his breath brushing against your cheek.

“Here?!” you gasped, heart racing, glancing toward the mouth of the alley. “You’re seriously—”

Toji leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he murmured, voice all gravel and heat, “Can’t wait.”

Your breath hitched, spine straightening as your palms pressed lightly to his chest. “Toji—people—what if someone—”

He turned your chin with two fingers, forcing your gaze back to his. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark with intent, and that wicked smirk curled at the edge of his mouth.

“Then be quiet, sweetheart,” he said, low and firm, his tone sending a shiver straight through you.

There was no reasoning with this man. Not when he was like this. Not when his entire focus had narrowed to you and the way your body already trembled with anticipation.

Your breath hitched, caught between shock and desire. Your hands pressed against his chest unsure whether you were trying to push him away or silently begging him to come closer.

“I can’t believe you… we’re in public!” you hissed, cheeks burning hotter than the sun overhead.

Toji didn’t even flinch. He leaned in, lips brushing the corner of your mouth like he had all the time in the world, like the risk of being caught only made it sweeter.

You clenched your thighs involuntarily, heat pooling deep in your core. Your voice came out in a strangled whisper, helplessly breathy. “Then make it quick.”

He let out a low, hungry chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest and against your fingertips. “Good Choice.”

Before you could even catch your breath, his hand was beneath your dress—rough and warm against your skin, sliding along your inner thigh with purpose. The contrast made your entire body jolt.

You gasped, fingers instinctively tightening on his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. The alley spun around you, your senses tunneling down to the feel of him, the heat of him.

“Toji!” you whispered harshly, voice caught between reprimand and need. “You’re insane—”

He grinned against your jaw, the stubble on his cheek scraping just enough to make you shiver.

“And you love it,” he growled, fingers finally brushing over your already aching core. “Don’t lie to me now, sweetheart.”

You hated how right he was. Hated how good it felt. And yet—you wouldn’t stop him for anything.

His lips crashed against yours again—dominant, hungry, claiming you like he’d been starved for this exact moment. He swallowed every soft gasp, every breathy whimper you tried to stifle, his tongue parting your lips to taste the heat you couldn’t hide.

His hand slid beneath your dress without hesitation, fingers hooking your panties and pushing them aside with practiced ease. Fingers sliding between your folds, slow and deliberate. You were soaked, throbbing with need, already too far gone to feel shame.

“Fuck, baby…” he hissed against your mouth, his breath ragged. “You’re dripping. What, that hickey got you this worked up?”

You couldn’t answer. Not when his fingers curled inside you, his thumb pressing gently against your clit in slow, torturous circles that made your thighs shake.

“Toji…” you choked out, hips bucking against his hand, needing more.

He chuckled darkly, voice thick with lust as he pumped his fingers deeper, slower. “Such a good little wife. So fuckin’ ready for me.”

You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his shirt, your mouth falling open against his neck as heat bloomed beneath your skin. He knew every nerve, every reaction, every breathless moan you’d try to hide. You felt like you were unraveling in his hands.

“Toji—ah—someone might see—” you whispered, panic and pleasure woven together.

He pulled your leg up around his hip, gripping your thigh tight as he pressed you harder against the wall. You barely heard the zip of his jeans over the sound of your beating heart.

“Then let ‘em,” he growled. “Let ‘em fuckin’ see who you belong to.”

Your eyes widened. “Toji, wait…”

But there was no waiting.

With one sharp thrust, he buried himself inside you—deep, thick, hard. The sudden fullness knocked the air from your lungs, your gasp swallowed instantly by his mouth as he kissed you through it, keeping you pinned between his body and the brick.

He didn’t ease you in. He took you. And you let him.

His rhythm was fast, brutal, almost punishing—but your body welcomed every thrust. Your back arched against the wall, dress hiked up around your hips, his hips slamming into yours with a need that bordered on feral. His grip on your ass was possessive, fingers digging in so hard you knew there’d be bruises later. His mouth trailed down your neck, biting and kissing, leaving more marks, staking his claim with every inch of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned against your skin. “So fuckin’ tight. You’re made for me… made to take me like this.”

Your moans came out soft, desperate—muffled by the way he kept your lips occupied or pressed you into his shoulder. The stretch, the pressure, the intensity—it all had your body trembling around him. Your walls clamped down, clenching, drawing him deeper.

“Toji… please…” you breathed, voice trembling. You didn’t even know what you were begging for—release, mercy, more.

Maybe all of it.

He growled low, primal. “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

His pace hit that perfect rhythm, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit with every hard thrust, his free hand gripping your thigh tighter around his waist. You couldn’t hold back anymore—not with the way he was filling you, breaking you open, loving you in the only way Toji knew how: completely, unapologetically, and utterly possessive.

Your climax tore through you—all-consuming. You shook in his arms, your body clenching down around him as he fucked you through every pulsing wave of it. Desperate to stifle your moans, you bit down on his shoulder, muffling the cry that threatened to spill out into the alleyway.

Toji froze for a beat—his jaw flexed, his breath hitching sharply—and when he looked at you, his eyes were dark and blown wide, mouth twitching into a crooked, feral grin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice low and wrecked. “You just bit me.”

You whimpered against the skin of his neck, too breathless to speak.

He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he loved it. The heat in his gaze deepened, and he drove into you even harder, as if your bite had only fueled him further.

“You’re lucky that felt so damn good,” he growled, lips brushing your temple. “Do it again, and I might lose my fuckin’ mind.”

His fingers dug into your thigh as he held you there, gaze locked on your face—your lashes fluttering, your lips bruised from his kisses, your whole body still trembling from the aftermath. The way you bit him, clung to him, moaned his name into his skin pushed him right to the edge.

He shifted his grip, hand sliding to the back of your neck, foreheads nearly touching as his pace grew rougher, deeper, chasing his own release with single-minded hunger.

“Such a good girl,” he growled, voice raw and strained. “Fuck—you feel so damn good.”

With one final, punishing thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came with a deep, guttural grunt, his hips shuddering against yours. Your name spilled from his lips like a prayer, wrecked and reverent. He ground into you as he emptied himself, thick and warm, his breath ragged in your ear.

The alley was silent but for your shared panting breaths, bodies still pressed tight, your chest rising and falling against his. He stayed there, forehead pressed gently to yours, as if grounding both of you back into reality.

“…Well,” you finally mumbled, voice shaky, your face still flushed. “… there goes our cafe date.”

Toji chuckled, low and smug, brushing a hand through your hair before tucking a few strands behind your ear. His thumb brushed your lower lip with the same tenderness that contradicted everything filthy he’d just done to you.

“Nah,” he said, eyes still dark with satisfaction. “This was way better.”

Then, with all the smugness in the world, he added:

“You’re lucky I let you finish your drink first.”

You smacked his chest, breathless and embarrassed.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, face still flushed, lips kiss-bitten and trembling.

Toji chuckled, then gently eased you down from where he had you pinned, his strong hands steadying your waist before reaching down to adjust the hem of your dress—fingers brushing over your thighs with a little too much fondness to be innocent.

He straightened up and zipped his jeans without a hint of shame, still grinning like the devil. “What? I’m just sayin’—you married a menace, sweetheart.”

Your knees wobbled slightly when you took a step, and without missing a beat, he offered you his arm. You took it, silently grateful, letting him pull you close into his side.

Together, you stepped out of the alley—your hand in his, your heart still racing—as if nothing had happened, except for the mark he’d left on your neck and the undeniable warmth still leaking between your legs.

…

If you enjoy my writing and want to support future stories, tips are always appreciated but never expected. Thank you for reading and being here—it means the world! 💛

[thelawfulchaotic]

o mister lawyer of the internet do you have anything to teach us what do we say to a lawyer (or what do we do when we get one) how do you know if a lawyer is good or bad, and how much does it affect us what happens to the lawyer when you lose, or win -a very naive anon who wants more information

It is madam lawyer, I gotta slap my pronouns around here somewhere. (Ms./Mrs. feel bogus after you get called Madam Counselor enough times.)

Absolutely nothing happens to the lawyer. No matter how my clients cases go, I'm leaving the courthouse the same way I walked in, and I'm going to go sleep in a comfortable bed tonight in my safe home. Some people who try to be public defenders can't handle this, knowing that their clients are suffering while they aren't. Truth is, I need the sleep and the comfort and the safety to come through for the next client and the next and the next. I do my best not even to think about active work problems while at home (I think about them anyway).

If you get a lawyer, especially an appointed lawyer, CALL THEM. Do not wait for them to call you, because they have piles of cases and plenty to do. Don't be scared to be a little annoying, because they work for you. Leave a few messages, if they have administrative staff then make an appointment and show up for it. Best way to get a lawyer's attention is to be right in front of them when their schedule says to pay attention to you.

Whether a lawyer is good or bad will absolutely change everything. Lazy idiot attorneys just move their clients towards pleas. Energetic attorneys who litigate issues get a reputation for it, and they get better offers.

How you know a lawyer is good or bad is a pretty hard question to answer. There are a lot of things that make a lawyer good: they could be intensely well-researched, they could have an impeccable reputation that causes judges to listen to them when they make arguments, they could be from a locally-famous lawyer-judge-politician family which again causes judges to listen, they could be empathetic and good with client counseling. There are a ton of ways to be a good lawyer, and a ton of styles for being a good lawyer.

In general, a good lawyer will make you feel better after the interview than you did before. You'll have a good idea what the possible consequences could be and what the vague shape of some paths forward might be. You'll feel empowered in the sense that you'll know at least the important decisions are in your hands.

But those things are pretty easy to tell in the moment. Some more subtle red and.green flags that you might not know to look for are:

The lawyer pauses to look something up: GREEN FLAG. It's easy to mistake this for a red flag (lawyer doesn't know what they're doing!) but this is a sign of caution and thoroughness. Lawyers have to remember a lot, and the best know that they don't know everything.

The lawyer promises you results: RED FLAG. The lawyer is not in charge of the outcome and doesn't get to make the call. Weird shit happens in court all the time. No one making promises about the overall outcome can be trusted.

Lawyer won't give you a straight answer to your fucking question: completely neutral flag. Some questions don't have straight answers and lawyers love to say "maybe."

The lawyer makes some remark about the tendencies of the particular judge/prosecutor: most likely green flag. That lawyer is paying attention to their court and how it does things.

Lawyer is impatient and hard to connect with. Neutral flag. One of the most impatient attorneys with trouble with attorney/client relationships in the office is one of our best trial attorneys, and they get a lot fewer complaints after they win.

Shitty suit: Neutral flag. They should look put together, yes, but what a pain in the ass to put together a whole wardrobe of suits, much less GOOD suits.

Hitting on you: extremely red flag and possible ethical violation.

The rest is pretty easy to figure out on the fly.

As for what to tell them... confidentiality is absolutely real and very serious. The lawyer is not allowed to tell anyone else what you tell them. But some lawyers have different styles on what they ask. I'd say follow their cue, answer what they ask, but don't bury the lede, make sure to tell them the most crucial details. Bring documentation of stuff: text messages, screenshots, even diary entries. ER discharge notes. School transcripts. Whatever. Lawyers love documentation.

Honestly, I have so many great public defenders hanging around this blog, y'all can probably add some good stuff.

[twistedheartsclub]

A Cage Built From Vows Male X Female Reader

⚠️ Domestic abuse • Psychological manipulation • Non-consensual sex • Kidnapping • Gaslighting • Obsession • Forced captivity • Pregnancy under coercion • Emotional trauma • Power imbalance • Grooming • Court corruption • Threats to child safety

⚠️ Trigger Warning & Disclaimer:

This story is a work of fiction. It contains dark and disturbing themes, including emotional and physical abuse, coercion, forced captivity, non-consensual sex, and psychological manipulation. These elements are intentionally exaggerated to explore power, control, and trauma through a fictional fantasy lens and are not meant to romanticize or excuse real-world abuse.

This story is not suitable for all readers and may be triggering—please prioritize your mental and emotional health while reading. If you need to step away, you should. Your safety and peace of mind come first.

If you or someone you love is experiencing abuse, there is help available. You are not alone, and you are not to blame. There are people who will believe you, support you, and help you find a way out.

U.S. National Domestic Violence Hotline:

📞 1-800-799-7233

💬 Or text “START” to 88788

🌐 Visit www.thehotline.org for live chat and resources

You are worthy of love that does not hurt. You deserve safety, healing, and hope.

Please reach out

“Don’t touch me—no, let go!” Y/N screamed, shoving her husband’s hands off her with trembling fury. Her vision was blurred with tears as she clawed more clothes from the drawers, stuffing them into the open suitcase sprawled across the bed. Her sobs were ragged, her breath sharp and desperate. She was shaking, but she moved fast, methodically—grabbing socks, her nightgown, her daughter’s stuffed animals.

She could barely breathe.

In the other room, their two-year-old slept peacefully, still napping from the warm afternoon lull that had once held the promise of a quiet evening. Y/N had been slicing vegetables when the text came in. A random number. Unknown. The photos had loaded slowly—first, one of him and his secretary in the elevator. Another in the office parking garage. And the final one… in bed, limbs tangled, sheets barely covering them. The timestamp from just days ago.

And then the message:

“Just thought you should know.”

Everything in her shattered. And now, here she was, desperate to flee before her baby woke up, before she broke down even more.

Her husband loomed near the doorway—tall, broad, the very image of strength and stability. But now, with panic spreading across his face, that image cracked. His voice trembled with disbelief and rising anger.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing? What’s wrong?” He stepped forward, his hand reaching for her again.

“Where are you going? You’re not leaving me.”

His tone was sharp, desperate—and dangerous.

She turned on him like a flame.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned through clenched teeth.

“Don’t you fucking dare act like you don’t know why.”

He grabbed her by the upper arm, hard enough to make her wince, yanking her toward him until their faces were inches apart. His jaw clenched, stormy blue eyes blazing.

“Why are you like this?” he growled.

That question broke her.

Y/N laughed, bitter and shaking, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

“Why am I like this?” she spat. “You cheated on me. You touched her. You kissed her. You fucked her—and I saw the photos. Don’t pretend you’re confused!” Her voice cracked as she slammed a small pair of toddler shoes into the suitcase.

“I gave up everything for you. I gave you a home. A daughter. I loved you. I was going to tell you tonight—I’m pregnant again.” Her voice dropped to a whisper on the last part, and for a moment, the air went still.

He froze.

Her shoulders trembled as she gripped the zipper of the suitcase.

“But you don’t deserve to know anything more.” She stepped back from him, yanking her arm free.

“I’m taking our daughter and I’m leaving. You will not put your hands on me again. And if you try to stop me…”She looked up, eyes bloodshot, “…I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”

He followed her down the hallway like a shadow, heavy footsteps trailing behind her as she entered their daughter’s room. The soft hum of a lullaby toy buzzed faintly in the background. Her hands were shaking as she reached for the small suitcase at the foot of the crib, hurriedly packing pajamas, her daughter’s favorite toy bunny, a bottle.

But then—

“Where would you even go?! Fuck, just stop—” his voice thundered behind her as he lunged, grabbing the suitcase from her grip and flinging it aside. Toys scattered across the floor. Y/N gasped, spinning around—only for his arms to clamp around her, pulling her back against his chest with a jarring force.

“You’re not leaving me, god damn it.”

She struggled in his grip, kicking at his legs, trying to push him off, but he was too strong—too tall, too solid. With brute force, he began shuffling her backward, out of the nursery and back into the bedroom, his hands still locked around her waist.

“Let me go!” she screamed, nails digging into his arms.

“You don’t get to control me anymore, I’m done—”

SMACK.

The sound rang out like a gunshot. Her head jerked to the side, her cheek searing in pain. She staggered slightly in his grip, stunned, one hand flying to her face.

The tears came harder now—hot, bitter, and full of disbelief. She looked up at him, stunned, breath caught in her throat. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, but his eyes… they had shifted. The fury was gone, replaced by a twisted calmness. A terrifying kind of softness.

“She meant nothing to me, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and eerily gentle now. “You’re the one I love. The love of my fucking life. I would never leave you. Never.” His hand reached out, fingers brushing against her stinging cheek as he cupped her face like a man soothing a frightened animal.

“She tricked me. That bitch—she’s going to pay for what she’s done.”

She flinched, her heart pounding.

“You hit me,” she whispered, barely able to speak the words.

But he just leaned in, pressing a kiss to her red, swollen cheek.

“You needed to calm down,” he murmured, voice low and sickeningly sweet. “This kind of stress? It’s not good for you. Not good for our baby.” He let his hand drift lower, spreading across her stomach, possessive and warm.

“Let’s talk calmly now, okay?” His smile was soft. Deceptive. Dangerous.

Y/N, frozen in fear, barely nodded. Her sniffle was barely audible.

Because now she knew.

She wasn’t just fighting a man who had betrayed her.

She was trapped with someone who would never let her leave.

Y/N flinched again when his fingers brushed her skin—soft now, almost reverent—as if the man who had just struck her could erase the bruise with a touch. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and she didn’t dare move. Her breath hitched as he wiped away the tears streaming silently down her face, the pad of his thumb lingering too long, too intimately.

She said nothing—only nodded at his request to “talk calmly.” Her voice had vanished somewhere inside her chest, locked behind panic and disbelief. Her arms hung limp at her sides as he watched her, searching her face for compliance, for surrender. And when he found it, even if it was only fear masquerading as submission, he smiled.

That soft, crooked smile he used to give her when she’d wake in the morning beside him.

Then—he kissed her.

Hard.

Desperate.

His mouth crashed into hers, hungry and demanding, tasting like guilt and power and something darker. His hand held the back of her head, angling her just how he wanted, while the other slid down her back, pressing her flush against him. She whimpered, her body going rigid, but he groaned like he missed her, like this was love.

She didn’t kiss him back—but he didn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe he didn’t care.

When he pulled back, breath ragged, lips red, he whispered against her mouth:

“That’s my girl.”

Y/N blinked slowly, trying to ground herself. Her lips trembled. Her skin burned where he touched her. Somewhere in the other room, the faint sound of their daughter stirring broke through the tension.

She swallowed hard.

She would play along—for now.

But inside, something had broken.

Her hands trembled as she stirred the sauce, the wooden spoon clinking softly against the pot. The scent of garlic and herbs filled the kitchen, but to Y/N it smelled like nothing—tasted like ash in her mouth. Her stomach was a knot of dread.

He hovered behind her. Too close. Always too close.

“Smells good, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and warm like everything was normal—as if he hadn’t just slapped her hours ago, as if she hadn’t tried to flee with their child, as if he hadn’t destroyed the very core of her.

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t.

His arms snaked around her from behind, looping around her waist like iron. He pressed a kiss to her neck, then another—his breath hot against her skin. His hips moved forward, slow and deliberate, until she felt the firm shape of his arousal grind softly against her lower back, still separated by fabric but unmistakably there.

Her entire body went still.

The spoon faltered in her hand, nearly slipping from her grip.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered. “Back in your place. Making dinner for our family.” He inhaled her scent, sighing like he was content—like this was love, not the aftermath of a prison.

Y/N stared down at the bubbling pot, jaw tight, stomach twisting.

She knew what he wanted.

The way his hands started to drift lower. The way his cock throbbed through his slacks against her spine. The way he called her baby again, like nothing had changed, like she was still his obedient, docile wife.

And maybe… maybe she was.

Maybe she had to be.

Because what would happen if she pushed him away again?

Would he raise his hand? Would he grip her arm too tightly? Would he turn violent with something worse than a slap?

Her cheek still throbbed from earlier. And she wasn’t just protecting herself now.

She placed the spoon down carefully, forcing her voice steady.

“Can you check on her?” she whispered, barely able to meet his eyes over her shoulder.

He blinked, surprised by her soft tone. Then he smiled—slow and satisfied.

“Yeah,” he murmured, brushing a final kiss behind her ear. “Of course.”

As he stepped away, Y/N’s hands gripped the counter, knuckles white.

She didn’t know how much longer she could do this.

But one thing was clear.

She had to get out.

And next time… she couldn't get caught.

He entered the kitchen with their sleepy daughter nestled in his arms, her small hands rubbing at her eyes as she blinked up at the bright lights. He whispered sweet nothings to her, brushing kisses to her forehead, her nose, her tiny cheeks—soft, patient, loving. The picture of a devoted father.

Y/N stood at the stove, watching with a hollow ache in her chest. He could be so gentle. So warm. So perfect.

Why did he have to be like this?

Why did his love always come wrapped in violence and control?

Dinner passed in relative silence. He talked in a calm, pleasant tone, occasionally brushing her hand as if trying to pretend the slap never happened. Y/N nodded, answered when needed, smiled faintly when their daughter made a mess with her fork.

Afterward, she cleaned the kitchen, then took her daughter upstairs for a bath. The child giggled and splashed, tugging at Y/N’s sleeves, asking her questions she couldn’t answer—like why her eyes were red or why she was “so quiet tonight.”

Y/N read her a short story—something about a cloud and a butterfly—but her daughter grew distracted quickly, drifting off halfway through. Once she was tucked in, Y/N showered alone. She wore a soft nightgown, rubbing lotion into her arms as the mirror fogged behind her. Her belly, still flat but warm with life, ached faintly.

She emerged from the bathroom to find him in bed, glasses on, typing something on his laptop. He looked over at her with a smile—like the world was perfect—and she smiled faintly back, heart pounding.

When he leaned in for a kiss, she gave it to him.

Then she crawled under the covers, turning away and curling up, blanket pulled tight around her body. Eyes closed. Breath held.

Around midnight, she awoke to the press of him inside her.

No warning. No words.

Just grunts of “I love you,” his lips on her neck, his hands cupping her hips. Her body limp with exhaustion, eyes staring at the wall.

She didn’t fight. She didn’t cry. She let it happen.

Because fighting only delayed the inevitable.

And the next morning, as if nothing happened, she woke before him. Made his breakfast. Poured his coffee. Laid out his clothes.

She dressed her daughter in a pretty dress, even added a matching bow to her hair. Her heart pounded in her chest when she stepped down the final stair to find him at the door, patting his pockets for his wallet and keys.

When he saw her, holding their daughter’s hand, his entire face lit up.

“Look at my girls,” he said proudly. He scooped the child into his arms and leaned in, giving Y/N a deep, passionate kiss. She forced herself to kiss him back, swallowing hard, bile rising in her throat.

“We’re going to the library today,” she said gently. “Story time. I thought I might look for some books for myself too.”

He nodded, brushing her hair behind her ear, kissing her forehead.

“Text me when you get there and when you leave, alright, darling?”

“Of course,” she whispered.

He left, keys jingling, her daughter waving from the window. As soon as his car disappeared down the road, Y/N turned away—her chest heaving.

Today had to be the day.

She couldn’t survive another night.

Not for herself.

And not for her daughter.

The library was quiet, peaceful. Soft murmurs between pages, the hum of fluorescent lights, the occasional delighted squeal from the children’s room behind glass. Y/N sat near the window, pretending to scroll through her phone, but her eyes never left her daughter, who sat on a colorful carpet inside the children’s reading room, her tiny hands flipping through board books.

She was safe. For now.

A soft voice broke through her thoughts.

“Y/N?”

She turned, startled, eyes meeting a familiar face—Iris Vale, her husband’s younger sister. She was dressed sharply in a fitted blazer and heels, her dark curls pinned back from her face. A sleek laptop bag hung from her shoulder, and the lanyard around her neck still bore the name of a corporate consulting firm.

“Oh my God—you’re glowing,” Iris said warmly, pulling her into a brief hug. But when she pulled back, her expression shifted, catching the look in Y/N’s eyes.

That look. Hollow. Tired. Sad.

Iris glanced past her, to the children’s room.

“Is everything okay?”

Y/N hesitated. Her lips trembled.

And then it poured out, like floodgates breaking.

“He’s cheating on me.”

Iris blinked, shocked still for a moment.

“Wait… Grayson?”

Y/N nodded quickly, wiping her eyes.

“I saw the photos. Someone sent them to me. It was his secretary. And I—” she cut herself off, lowering her voice. “I don’t know what to do. I want to leave, but… I’m scared.”

Iris exhaled slowly, the pieces clicking into place behind her eyes. She didn’t touch Y/N—didn’t crowd her—but her voice was firm. Gentle.

“I just came from a meeting,” she said softly, motioning to the rooms nearby. “Come on. Let’s go get lunch. Talk. Bring the baby. We’ll go somewhere quiet.”

Y/N hesitated, but her feet moved anyway.

Lunch, in a small family-run café just down the street, felt unreal. Y/N sat across from Iris, her daughter in a highchair coloring with a kids’ menu and crayons. The warmth of soup in front of her didn’t quite reach her chest.

“I’m pregnant again,” Y/N confessed quietly, stirring her spoon. “I was going to tell him that night. But then I got the photos. I can’t trust him—I don’t feel safe around him anymore.”

Iris leaned back, crossing her arms, eyes narrowed.

“I always hated that snide blonde bitch.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s had her claws in him since the holiday party. I told him she was trouble, and of course he acted like I was jealous.”

Y/N looked up, startled.

“You knew?”

“I suspected,” Iris admitted. “But he always played the perfect husband card so well, and you never said a word. I didn’t want to overstep. But Y/N—if he hit you, even once—”

Y/N lowered her head.

Iris’s voice dropped, sharper now.

“You need to get out. Don’t wait. Not for him. Not for the illusion.”

Y/N nodded slowly, tears threatening again.

Iris reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

“You’re not alone. I’ll help you.”

Grayson Vale sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his tailored navy suit crisp, a silver watch glinting under the office lights. He was 38, commanding in stature—6’3, broad-shouldered, impeccably groomed. His chiseled features were only sharpened by the cold edge in his eyes, the kind of gaze that silenced boardrooms and bent the wills of weaker men.

His corner office overlooked the city skyline—floor-to-ceiling windows behind him painting him in golden light, like some false idol. But inside, Grayson seethed.

He slammed the laptop shut, veins in his temple pulsing. His jaw locked as he stood and turned toward the trembling woman near the door—his secretary, Madeline, blonde, early 30s, with bruised lipstick and a tear-streaked face.

“She was bound to find out,” Madeline said coldly, one arm cradling her ribs as she wiped the blood from her split lip. “You smack your wife like that too? Like a bitch?”

Grayson’s glare darkened.

“You told her?” His voice was deathly quiet, but his rage buzzed beneath every word.

Madeline sneered.

“She deserves better than you. And I’m not sorry. I was tired of hiding. I thought…” her voice cracked. “I thought you loved me.”

Grayson stepped forward—swift, brutal. The back of his hand cracked across her cheek again with enough force to stagger her. She let out a small cry, hand flying to her face as she hit the wall behind her.

“I told you,” he hissed, towering over her now. “I would never leave my wife. Never. You were a distraction. A convenience.”

His lip curled.

“I gave you what women claw each other apart for—a condo, a car, fucking diamonds. And this is how you repay me?”

Madeline’s mascara ran down her cheeks as she trembled, her voice reduced to a whisper.

“I want you. Can’t you see how much I love you?”

She reached out, desperate fingers clutching for his chest, for his arms—anything.

Grayson stepped back, disgusted.

“Don’t touch me.”

He brushed her off with a sharp shove that sent her stumbling.

Then he turned his back, straightening his cuffs, brushing imaginary lint from his jacket like she was nothing.

“You’re dismissed,” he said flatly. “Don’t bother coming back.”

Madeline stood frozen, eyes wide and red, as the door slammed shut behind her. Alone again.

Grayson exhaled slowly and moved to the window, watching the traffic snake through the city below. His jaw clenched.

She was slipping away.

His wife was slipping away.

And now—he had a decision to make.

Dinner was nearly ready. The house was warm from the oven, the smell of rosemary and lamb clinging to the air like perfume. Everything was spotless. Intentional. The cushions were fluffed, the toys tucked away. The candles were lit—not for romance, but for appearance. Y/N had spent the afternoon in a haze of performance, desperate to keep the peace.

Her hands were trembling, but she kept chopping. She had to look normal.

Her daughter sat in the highchair, sticky fingers curled around apple slices, babbling nonsense. Y/N offered her a shaky smile, brushing sweat from her brow. Her sundress clung lightly to her body, thin straps slipping from her shoulders—chosen carefully. Everything tonight had to feel safe.

Then—

The door opened.

She didn’t have to look. She felt it. Felt him.

Grayson’s presence was something physical—thick and oppressive, like gravity had shifted.

The door clicked shut.

She stood completely still, heart pounding in her throat.

Footsteps.

Heavy. Measured. Confident.

“Mmm… smells good.”

Before she could react, arms snaked around her from behind—wrapping around her waist, dragging her against his chest. She flinched involuntarily, the knife in her hand clinking against the counter as her body stiffened.

“You always do this for me,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. He kissed her cheek—slow, claiming. “You always know just how to make me feel at home.”

His hand slid down, over her stomach, resting there. The motion wasn’t affectionate—it was possessive. She could feel the weight of his cock, hard through his slacks, pressing against the curve of her backside. He rocked slightly against her, groaning like it was love.

But it wasn’t.

It was ownership.

“My girls,” he said again. “My good little wife… my perfect little family.”

Y/N forced a smile. Her fingers clenched the counter until her knuckles turned white.

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know I saw Iris.

He doesn’t know what we talked about.

He can’t know.

He turned her around then, so fast her breath caught.

“Hi,” she whispered, barely able to keep her voice steady.

And then—he kissed her.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. He shoved his mouth over hers, lips bruising, his tongue pushing past her teeth like a man marking his territory. One hand slid up her spine, gripping the back of her neck to hold her in place. His other hand trailed lower—possessive, firm, resting right above the swell of her ass.

Y/N kissed him back.

Because she had to.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes glittered with something dark. Something dangerous.

“How was lunch?” he asked casually, but there was a sharp edge beneath the words.

Her blood ran cold.

He knows.

He doesn’t know—but he suspects.

She felt herself shrinking under his stare, heat prickling her skin. She shifted her weight nervously, glancing toward their daughter, who had paused in her snack to hum at her toy.

“Fine,” Y/N replied quickly, too quickly.

Grayson’s eyes narrowed.

He reached out and took her wrist. Not hard—not like before—but firm. Controlling.

“Next time, let me know where you’re going. Okay?”

Y/N nodded instantly.

“Okay. I will.”

His expression softened. He leaned in and kissed her lips again, this time slower, almost tender—but laced with unspoken threat.

“Good girl.”

As he stepped away, going to the table to pour himself a drink, Y/N stood frozen at the counter, chest tight.

He’s watching me.

He knows something is wrong.

And still—Iris’s words clung to her like a lifeline.

“Don’t wait. Not for him. Not for the illusion.”

Y/N exhaled shakily and turned back to the stove.

The bedroom was dimly lit, a single lamp casting golden shadows across the walls. The sheets twisted around her legs, damp with sweat. Her sundress had been torn aside long ago, pushed up to her waist as her husband moved over her—strong, relentless, claiming every inch of her like she was nothing but his possession.

Grayson’s hips rocked into her steadily, his breath hot against her neck. Y/N lay beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms loosely draped over his shoulders. Her body responded from muscle memory, the way it always did—soft, pliant, accommodating.

But her mind was elsewhere.

He groaned, kissing along her collarbone before dipping lower, taking her breast into his mouth. His tongue circled her nipple, sucking greedily as if it already belonged to him.

“Mmm,” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “Not long now. Milk will come soon… I can feel it. Can’t wait to taste it.”

Y/N shuddered.

His words made her stomach curl.

He came inside her with a low grunt, pressing deep, hips stuttering as he clung to her body, his fingers digging into her hips as if trying to root himself there forever. He always came inside. Always. He said it was natural. That it was what husbands did.

She turned her face away.

A tear slid down her cheek.

As he collapsed beside her with a satisfied sigh, Grayson wrapped his arms around her from behind—spooning her tightly, his chest pressed to her back. One hand slid over her stomach, warm and firm, rubbing small circles just below her navel.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck. “So full, so soft. My wife. My girl.”

Y/N blinked up at the ceiling, eyes glassy.

And just like that—

She was pulled back into a memory. A life she once dreamed of.

She had been twenty, wide-eyed, idealistic, and full of plans. Studying to become a teacher, devoting herself to early childhood education. She adored children. She’d spent her summers volunteering at local programs, babysitting, helping cousins learn to read. She dreamed of a life surrounded by laughter and learning.

She wanted to finish school.

She wanted to travel.

She wanted to stand in front of a classroom, chalk in hand, shaping minds and lives.

Then she met him.

Grayson Vale. Thirty at the time, charming in a tailored coat, his eyes locked on her like she was the center of the universe. He spoke like a man who knew the world. Who could give her the world.

He wooed her fast. Flowers. Dinners. Promises of forever. Of safety. Of a life without struggle. And she fell. Hard.

When he proposed after just a few months, her parents were surprised—but happy. He flew her whole family out for a destination wedding on the coast of Spain. It was breathtaking.

And then… she became a wife. A full-time wife.

He convinced her to take a break from school. Just until the baby.

He insisted she didn’t need to work. He could provide.

He said she could finish her degree later. She had plenty of time.

And slowly, her dreams folded away like clothes no longer worn.

Now, lying in that bed with his seed still warm inside her, her daughter sleeping just across the hall, her swollen cheek still faintly tender from the day before—Y/N realized:

She didn’t even recognize herself anymore.

She wasn’t just grieving her safety.

She was grieving who she used to be.

Grayson kissed the back of her shoulder. His voice was thick with sleep.

“We should look at houses by the lake, huh? Raise our kids somewhere quiet.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

She just closed her eyes.

And let another tear fall.

The bedroom door slammed shut behind them, rattling in its frame.

Grayson’s grip on her collar didn’t loosen—he threw her forward, and she stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the bed.

“You think you’re leaving me?” he snarled behind her, yanking at the back of her dress. “You fucking whore, after everything I’ve done for you—”

The fabric tore violently, seams splitting with a sharp rip. She gasped, tried to turn around, but he grabbed her again—fingers like vices around her upper arm.

She kicked him.

Hard.

Her foot landed square against his shin, and he howled in pain—but it only made him angrier.

SMACK.

The slap rang through the room, snapping her head to the side. White-hot pain exploded across her cheekbone. She barely had time to react before another blow came—a backhand this time, splitting her lip.

“You think you’re strong now?” he spat, shoving her to the floor. “You think you can fight me? After all I’ve given you?”

Her eye throbbed. The room blurred. She tried to crawl away, but he grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her back toward him.

Her heart pounded like a war drum. Her daughter. Her daughter was downstairs. What if she woke up?

No. No. No.

His hands were on her again, tearing her bra down, growling something vile as he fumbled with his belt.

But through the chaos—through the blood and fear—Y/N saw the nightstand.

The lamp.

She reached with all the adrenaline-fueled rage and panic she had left, her fingers closing around the base.

And with a cry—she swung it.

The ceramic shattered on impact.

Grayson staggered back, eyes rolling, a groan caught in his throat as blood dripped from his temple.

Then—

He collapsed.

Right there on the bedroom floor.

Still.

Unmoving.

Y/N panted, chest heaving, her body trembling so violently she could barely stand. She stared at him, sprawled out across the floor, and for a terrifying second, she thought he might be dead.

But he groaned.

Alive.

And she knew—

She didn’t have much time.

She pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, not even bothering with a bra. Her hands shook as she snatched a duffel bag from the closet and shoved her daughter’s clothes into it—barefoot pajamas, her bunny, a small blanket. She didn’t stop to fold. She didn’t care. She threw in diapers, a bottle, whatever she could grab.

Down the stairs.

Her daughter stirred as she lifted her from the sofa.

“Mama?”

“It’s okay, baby. We’re going for a drive.”

Her voice cracked as she kissed her temple, strapping her into the car seat. Her hands were bloody. She didn’t even notice.

The keys jingled in her hand as she unlocked the door.

She looked back once—at the house she had been a prisoner in.

And then she drove.

The police station was cold. Too bright. Too sterile.

She burst through the doors in sweats and slippers, her daughter clinging to her neck.

The officer at the front desk stood immediately.

“Ma’am? Are you hurt?”

Y/N’s voice shook as she spoke.

“Please. I need help. He hit me. He tried—he wouldn’t stop—my husband. He’s unconscious, but he’ll wake up—he’ll come for us.”

The words broke in her throat.

She was crying, full-body sobs. Her daughter whimpered quietly, curling into her mother’s chest.

The officer escorted her back. She was offered water. A chair. An advocate.

She gave her statement with trembling lips. She showed the bruises—her eye swollen, her cheek raw, her lip cracked. She filed the report. She gave his full name: Grayson Vale.

And then—she gave Iris’s number.

Twenty minutes later, Iris burst through the doors, hair wild, blazer askew, face pale.

“Y/N,” she whispered, rushing forward to pull her into a hug. She froze when she saw her sister-in-law’s bruises. Her eyes welled up. “Jesus Christ… what did he do to you?”

Y/N sobbed harder.

“Everything.”

They held each other for a long time.

Then Iris kissed the top of Y/N’s head and took her hand.

“We’re going to fight. We’re going to burn him to the ground.”

That night, Iris drove her home—to her own place. A guest room was made up. Her daughter was given a warm bath, pajamas, and a soft bed.

Y/N couldn’t sleep. She sat on the edge of the bed in Iris’s house, knees hugged to her chest, the bruises aching—but for the first time, she breathed.

She got out.

The news reached Grayson Vale in his hospital bed, just hours after the police had come. The bruising on his skull had left a hairline fracture, but the real damage—the kind he cared about—was to his image.

His wife had filed a report.

Assault. Domestic battery. Fear for her child’s safety. An order of protection.

The words rang in his ears like a joke. A lie. And still—

The headlines never made it to print.

Because by the next day, Grayson had paid off the police chief, the intake officer, the clerk, and the internal file trail. Nothing stuck. His lawyer shredded the official copy of the statement. His PR team hushed up what little had leaked.

To the public?

There was no scandal.

To Grayson?

There was only rage.

He had given Y/N everything. A perfect life. A home. A child. A future. And this—this—was how she repaid him?

For weeks, she vanished.

No appearances. No outings. No updates. Not even a trip to the store.

His private men confirmed she was holed up at Iris’s townhouse, hiding like a pathetic, wounded animal. His daughter locked away from him. His unborn child being raised in betrayal.

He clenched his fist around the whiskey glass, jaw tight.

"She thinks this is over," he said aloud, pacing his office weeks later. “She thinks I’ll let her go?”

Iris refused to speak to him. She had taken a formal leave from their company, citing “family matters.” He knew what that meant.

She’s protecting her.

But she wouldn’t be able to for long.

Grayson was a man of power. Of wealth. Of patience. And the longer Y/N played this game, the more he planned. Carefully. Strategically.

Then—he made a decision.

He would play along.

The calls from her lawyer started coming in. Requests to settle. To mediate. She wanted full custody. She wanted freedom.

So Grayson did the unthinkable.

He agreed.

“I’ll sign the divorce papers,” he told the judge. “She’s clearly afraid. If this is what she wants, I’ll give it to her.”

The court hearing was scheduled for the following week.

Y/N and Iris would relax. They’d believe he’d given up.

They would walk into that courtroom believing they’d won.

And then?

He would take what was his.

The plan was precise.

Security rerouted.

Transport staged.

A private jet prepared.

The house—his second estate, tucked away in a rural region of Vermont—was stocked and waiting. Staff loyal to him alone. Surveillance installed in every room. The nursery restored.

Y/N would be escorted directly from the courthouse.

No one would stop it.

No one could.

She would learn obedience again. Slowly. Properly. He would recondition her—mind, body, soul—until she remembered who she was:

His wife.

His woman.

His property.

And by the time the world asked questions?

They would be long gone.

THE COURTHOUSE – THAT MORNING

Y/N sat stiffly at the plaintiff’s table, her hands clenched around the edge of the table, her body trembling in quiet anticipation. The courtroom was still. Polished. Impersonal. Iris sat beside her, offering the occasional touch to her hand, whispering reassurance. Y/N's lawyer, a sharp, fierce woman named Alma Reyes, stood ready beside them.

Grayson sat across the aisle, calm. Too calm.

He wore a crisp suit and a disarming half-smile, as if this entire process amused him.

But Y/N refused to look at him.

Her heart beat only for her daughter—safe in Iris’s care, waiting in the hallway with a book and her stuffed bunny. For her unborn child, who didn’t deserve to grow up in terror.

She wanted freedom. Nothing else.

Not the house. Not the money. Not his name.

Just peace.

When the judge entered, Y/N straightened. An older man—Judge Matthew Brecker—with a deep voice and a kind, fatherly face.

Too kind, Alma thought with a hint of unease.

“After reviewing the agreement,” Judge Brecker began, flipping through pages slowly, “and considering Mr. Vale’s voluntary cooperation, this court will—”

Y/N held her breath.

“—grant dissolution of marriage, full custody awarded to the mother. Assets remain with Mr. Vale as per petitioner’s request. The matter is hereby settled.”

The gavel came down.

It was done.

Y/N burst into tears.

Not from grief—but from relief.

Iris immediately stood, pulling her into a fierce embrace. Y/N clung to her like a lifeline, whispering over and over, “It’s over—it’s finally over.”

Iris kissed her cheek. “You did it, sweetheart. You’re free.”

They didn’t even glance at Grayson on the way out.

THE COURTHOUSE – BATHROOM

“I just need to take her to the bathroom,” Y/N whispered to Iris, holding her daughter’s tiny hand. “She’s been so patient. I’ll meet you at the car.”

Iris nodded without suspicion. “I’ll warm up the backseat for her nap.”

The bathroom was quiet. Y/N guided her daughter to the stall, helped her wash her hands, brushing her little curls out of her face as they giggled softly at the hand dryer’s noise.

The moment felt normal.

The first normal she had felt in months.

Until—

The door opened.

Heavy.

Purposeful.

Two men entered—dark suits, blank eyes. No uniforms. No hesitation.

Before Y/N could move, one grabbed her arm.

“Hey—!” she yelped, heart spiking, but the other had already scooped her daughter into his arms, muffling her cries with a hand over her mouth.

“Keep quiet,” one of them hissed, flashing a handgun tucked discreetly in his jacket. “You scream, your kid bleeds. Understand?”

Terror exploded in her chest.

She nodded—numbly. Frantically. Anything to keep her baby safe.

She was dragged out the back exit of the courthouse—through a restricted corridor, to a waiting black car. Iris would still be waiting at the curb, smiling. Unknowing.

Y/N’s phone was taken. Her bag too.

They shoved her into the back of the car. Her daughter sobbed against her chest. Y/N clutched her tight, whispering, “Mommy’s here, it’s okay,” even as her heart shattered.

20 MINUTES LATER

The car doors opened beside a sleek private jet parked on a rooftop airstrip, hidden from view. The sun was setting now, casting orange and pink hues across the city skyline.

And there—standing at the top of the jet’s stairs—was Grayson Vale.

Whiskey in hand.

A smirk carved into his face.

Y/N was pulled roughly from the car, her feet dragging, daughter clinging to her shoulder.

“Dadda!” the little girl squealed, arms stretching.

“I know, baby,” Grayson cooed, walking down the stairs to take her from the guard. “I missed you too.” He kissed her forehead, holding her like a prize.

Y/N sobbed, stumbling toward him.

“Please—Grayson, don’t do this. Don’t do this—”

“Shut up,” one of the guards snapped, shoving her forward.

“Careful,” Grayson barked, his smile curling into a sneer. “She’s pregnant.”

Y/N’s knees buckled.

He caught her arm and dragged her up the steps himself.

“You ran,” he whispered, almost lovingly. “You made a fool of me. In court. With my sister. But you forgot something, sweetheart.”

She shook her head, trembling, tears streaming down her face.

“You belong to me.”

He shoved her into one of the jet’s plush leather seats. A seatbelt clicked over her hips before she could move. Her daughter curled beside her, too young to understand, reaching for her bunny.

Grayson took the seat across from her, his glass of whiskey glinting in the cabin light.

And without another word, the jet engines roared to life.

The wheels lifted off the rooftop.

And the city she had nearly escaped fell away below them.

Gone.

Skip

The house was silent.

A wide, sprawling estate tucked deep into the hills—no neighbors for miles, no signal, no exit.

The windows were tall but barred.

The doors locked from the outside.

Inside, the walls were soft colors, warm wood floors. A perfect home. A picture of peace. But peace had never looked so much like prison.

Y/N sat on the porch in a white dress that wasn’t hers, hair brushed back the way he liked. Her daughter played quietly in the grass, drawing with chalk. The sun was golden, dipping low behind the hills. A breeze moved through the trees like a whisper.

From inside, Grayson watched them.

Glass of whiskey in hand.

Satisfied.

She didn’t try to run anymore.

He had erased her name from the world. Deleted her accounts. Severed her ties. No one knew where she was. No one dared to ask.

And she had learned.

Obedience.

Silence.

She smiled when he touched her now. Kissed him when he asked. Laid still when he climbed into bed. She was tired of fighting. Or maybe just too broken to remember how.

Sometimes she cried when he left the room.

But never when he was near.

Because she knew better.

And he?

He had everything.

His wife.

His daughter.

His heir on the way.

He stepped out onto the porch and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple like the loving husband he pretended to be.

“See?” he whispered, as their daughter giggled softly in the grass. “This is how it was always meant to be.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

Her eyes stayed on the horizon.

But she nodded.

Because in the end—he won.

And no one came to save her.

Because the villain always wins.

Not in stories.

In real life.

Where monsters wear wedding rings…

and call it love.

@cutelittlesugarfairy @lilyalone @alebrasil0101 @amanduhh1998 @bananaasfordewin @rachfart @hopingtoclearmedschool

[sweetestmilli]

We Will Be Free

00. | 01. | 02. | 03

an: hello! this is my first fic ever and i haven't written anything in SO long so i'm kind of rusty with this stuff and i apologize for that. english is also not my first language so please, please, be kind. this is unedited and i’m quite unsatisfied with its length and how it turned out but i had fun writing it. still, i hope u enjoy! <3

very short chapter. sorryyyy

there's barely any dialogue on this part!! but the next parts will have many of it

CONTAINS WARNING FOR K-POP DEMON HUNTERS!!!

guaranteed happy ending :p

────୨ৎ────

Rumi hated nights like this.

Ones when it was so dark you could barely see anything and not even the brightest of the bright city lights that shine below helped. Nights when the stars seemed to shine a little duller than the usual. When the moon hid, not daring to show its face and it seemed to have been in a deep slumber way before the thought of sleep even crossed anyone's mind.

But if Rumi had the chance to be honest, what she hated, in truth, was the silence that comes with nights like this. The silence that kept ringing on her ear. The same silence that she once found solace in was now something that she couldn't even bother listening to for a second more. What used to be a comfort was now associated with fear.

Not of monsters and not of demons.

But the thought of him. And this turmoil of feelings that never found peace ever since that fateful night happened almost half a year ago.

She hated how the silence seems to be whispering those last words. The words that’s seeping through her cracks, making its way right into the very core of her heart, twisting it just enough to make her feel the weight but not so much that it distracts her from the things that needed to be done and the words that needed to be said. Gripping it oh so tight but never crushing it.

On her usual days, the thought and memory of Jinu would be something that keeps her moving forward. A source of strength. But seldomly does she let herself go. Let herself fall apart and mourn til her eyes almost fell apart with all the crying. Grieve him and grieve what could've been.

If only...

Rumi shooked her head and waved off the thoughts that were filling her head. She looked around, feeling the air thicken as every second pass. Her footsteps becoming heavier with each step.

Only now does she realize that she often found herself back here. She doesn't know why. Not exactly, at least. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was because here, right here, was the first time she felt free and it was with him.

As she walked past the very same alleyway, her mind flooded with the memories. The words to the song they sang. The almosts. The way his grip on her wrist was so tight yet so gentle and so warm and soft didn't go unnoticed by her. The risks they were finally willing to take.

Her train of thoughts on till to up was immediately cut off when Derpy—with a quick and sudden movement—stood in front of her, its back facing her as it fiddled with something on the ground while Sussie could only look back at Rumi, seemingly tired of Derpy’s antics while Rumi could only chuckle at the sight.

Rumi bent down. "Well, what do we have here?” She asked Derpy, her hand grabbing whatever it was that caught Derpy's attention.

She stared.

And her heart dropped.

Her hand shook as she traced the intricate knot of the bracelet. Colored in blue and purple. Her head tilted to the side as she brought it closer to her, inspecting it, seeing how the bracelet is so identical to the one she'd given to Jinu.

“But that's impossible.” She spoke in a low and soft voice, careful not to let it tremble like the way her hands—heck— perhaps her whole body did. “It's supposed to be gone.” She added, wanting to convince herself.

And suddenly, the wind felt like it blew a little stronger. Like the stars were shining a little bit brighter. And she was quite sure that the moon had finally come out of hiding.

And then she heard a voice. A voice a little too familiar. It sounded so soft but she could swear that it almost made her knees go weak, almost making her stumble and fall to the ground.

“I think that's mine.” The voice said.

She didn't know what else to do but to look up and meet those eyes

“You...” Her breath hitched, eyes almost watering as her heart thumped against her ribs. “Jinu?”

The way his name rolled out of her tongue, it sounded like a prayer. An angel's song. A lover’s poem. A siren’s lullaby.

But he just stood there.

Unmoving. Unaware. Unbothered.

Not even uttering a single word. His eyes—they were not blank but she wished that they were. She wished his eyes reflected anything but this.

────୨ৎ────

all works and contents belong to @sweetestmilli. do not reupload.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Stay in My Corner

Chapter 2 - Stay, Go

Logan Howlett X F! Reader

You and Logan discuss his next move

A/N: I was planning to upload a chapter once a week but lets have two chapters this week <3 also a little short but sweet.

Warnings: Fluff, first kisses, implied sexy time at the end ;)

Series Masterlist

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Back When

“Are you feeling better?” 

Logan nodded, handing you a root beer. He sat down next to you with a groan. “Been fine.”

“Sure, after nearly dying on top of the Statue of Liberty. Totally fine.” 

“Mm. I’ve had worse happen.” He sips his own root beer casually, then looked at you. You smiled at him. 

“You should be more careful.” 

“I always am.” 

“You- a man with metal bones, literally threw yourself at a guy who controls metal. That doesn’t scream caution.” 

“I ended up fine didn’t I?” He looks at you, a playful glimmer in his eyes. “Thanks to you.” 

You tilted your head, shooting him a look. “Yeah okay, maybe, it doesn’t mean you should go throwing yourself in harms way. ” 

He doesn’t respond, just looks away at the wall as he sips his drink again. You observed his face, noticing the crease in his brows, the frown set on his lips. Eyes focused but not on the bookshelf- somewhere else in his mind. 

“Is there something on your mind Logan?” You asked, placing your hand over his. He seemed to jump out of his thoughts, eyes glancing down to where your hands touched, then met your concerned gaze. 

He sighed, looking away. A heartbeat passed, then he looked at you again, his gaze falling back down to your hand. “While I was out I was having these…Flashes, memories..I think Charles may have unlocked something when he was prying around in my head.”

You listened, turning your body to face him on the couch, resting your head on the back cushion and squeezing his hand. “What was it?” 

“I don’t know.” He says. “I think it’s got something to do with what happened all those years ago. a lake. Lake Akali, up North.” 

“Are you thinking about going?” You ask. 

“Yeah. I…I need to find out what happened.” He looks back up at you. “Felt like I’ve been stuck all this time.” 

You nodded. “You should go.” Your thumb brushed over his knuckles gently, and you could see the small hitch in his breath from your touch. “You need to know. It’ll bring you some peace.” 

“Yeah….” 

His hand turned, taking yours in it. You noted how warm it felt- how yours seemed to fit in his perfectly. The way he was admiring the union told you that he must feel the same way. 

Since Logan has been here, there was an undeniable attraction between you both- something magnetic, constantly bringing you side to side no matter where you were. Shared glances, flirting that made Scott gag, and a constant need to find some way to touch the other. The entire team noticed. Jean has chatised you for your taste in men, Ororo has pushed you to pursue it further, and Charles merely winked at you- which was extremely cryptic but you accepted that as his support. 

“Would you come back?” You broke the silence. While you would support him in whatever he wanted to do- you merely were just getting to know each other, and there was no reason for him to come back. The mansion, the X-men, were just a strange experience of his apparently long life. He didn’t want to stay before and even though you all went through the same fight; you’re not sure if he’s changed his mind.  

He glanced up at you, and a faint smirk growing on his face. 

“Would you want me to?”

Your heart fluttered. You could have countered with something witty, something flirty, the way you’ve been- tip toe around the feelings. This time, you felt actions would be better than words. 

You took your hand from his, bringing it up to his jaw. You leaned forward to press your lips to his, gentle- giving him room to pull away but he only deepened the kiss. He leaned forward, one hand now climbing into your hair, urging you closer as the other rested on your thigh. You felt him squeeze it.

Mirth escaped you and he only smiled into the kiss in response. 

“Does that answer your question?” You parted from his lips. He hums in response. 

“Yeah- but now…”

“What?” You asked in concern. 

“Now, I don’t know if I could leave this.” He murmurs into your lips, nose bumping into yours, his hand was sliding up your thigh. Another small laugh escapes you. 

You could ask him to just stay- but you’ve seen the pain in his eyes, he was lost, he’d never be able to move on if he didn’t find out what happened to him 15 years ago. He hasn’t been able to move on, in an endless loop of cage fighting, drinking, and living in motels and a shitty camper- which was destroyed anyway. 

You liked Logan, a lot. This could get complicated, but you wanted to support him. 

“Stay for one more night then.” Your hands climbed into his hair. You pressed another kiss to his lips. “Go in the morning- take one of the cars. But-” You pulled away, hand coming down to grip his chin between your thumb and forefinger, “You have to promise, once you go there and find what you’re looking for, you come back. Got it?” 

He smiled. “Yeah, sweetheart, got it.” 

You didn't know he already decided that he was going to come back to you no matter what.

He leaned in to kiss you again, pushing you down on the couch as his hand trailed up your shirt and he slots himself between your thighs. A lingering thought in the back of his mind- something he doesn’t voice, not for a long time anyway. 

Maybe you are what I’m looking for.

[lelet-draws]

There was a concept in Miraculous where Adrien needed crutches and frankly I hate that they didn't move forward with this concept.

Apart from adding so many layers to Gabriel's overprotection and to his alter ego as Chat Noir, it's a missed opportunity having a main disabled character in a children's show.

Little disclaimer here, I'm not physically disabled (only neurodivergent). Don't take my word as absolute truth cause while I do have a lot of experiences in common with physically disabled people, I'm not physically disabled and therefore do not speak for them.

If you are physically disabled and want to add something or feel like I said anything problematic feel free to comment, I'm happy to hear your thoughts.

I'm not sure if they intended to go the route of the miraculous temporarily "curing" his disability (not a fan of that), but it would be interesting if they used a "the miraculous offers him more endurance, so he is still disabled but can support himself without his crutches for more time than usual" approach.

This is only one idea of the multiple storylines possible, the writers could make it so that Adrien's way of rebelling against his father overprotectiveness is still somewhat rooted in internalized ableism. He wants Chat Noir to be everything he's not (sassy, cool, confident enough to disobey authority, free and also physically strong), it's basically a form of escapism.

But at the end of the day even with powers Chat Noir is still him and so he forces himself to go way beyond his body capacity (+ the additional miraculous bonus). It's an unhealthy way to rebel his father idea of him being weak and fragile.

Unsurprisingly it ends up being detrimental to him and his health, which Gabriel notices and prompts him to become even more controlling, worsening Adrien's mental health and leading him to a vicious cycle.

It's the power of love that ends up saving him. He learns to accept himself through the friendship and partnership he develops with Ladybug and later the other miraculous users. That it's ok to have limitations and need help, real friends won't judge or infantilize you for it.

Later on it could even add more emotional weight to the story when Marinette hides the fact that Hawkmoth is his father, since it can be easily interpreted as infantilization. Big missed opportunity, really.