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I could absolutely match Braxton Wolff’s freak. Put me in coach I’m ready

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Would yall be mad if I also dropped The walking dead fics here

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you're BACK OML I THOUGHT WED LOST YOU!! anyways loved the second part of the box, very cute caretaking type of thing, you always get their characters so damn well its impressive! love to see you writing again, it's always so excellent!!

:)

aw thank you! sorry the wait was so long! I'm glad you liked it, i always try to work really hard on my characterization because bad characterization can ruin a fic for me personally. happy easter!

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AS A REMINDER ageless blogs get blocked! fuck them kids

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no big deal

Shouta Aizawa/reader/Hizashi Yamada wc: 1.9k READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. DO NOT READ THIS IF THEY DO NOT APPEAL TO YOU. 18+ content warnings: Kinky themes and discussions, teasing, honestly this ones just a lot of caretaking, use of 'brat', verrry light mention of punishment

ao3 link / link to chapter 1

-

After the humiliation of your box of fun being found out, the boys actually seemed to let the subject lie…

For now.

You weren't stupid, they would absolutely be bringing it up again. You'd agreed to talk about it eventually, and neither of them were the type to forget something like that. But as the days stretched on with nothing more than the occasional teasing remark, it was easy to slip back into denial mode, pretending the whole thing had been a weird little blip you could move past if nobody pushed.

Except... one thing kept circling in your head.

"We've already been taking care of you exactly the way you need. You just didn't think we'd notice what you needed before you did."

The more you turned those words over, the harder they lodged beneath your ribs, uncomfortable in the way that only the truth can be because he was right.

You liked how they took care of you. They'd been doing it for months without making a big deal out of it, sliding into the role so seamlessly that you'd barely noticed what was happening.

You liked not having to worry when you were with them. You liked that Hizashi always reminded you to drink water without making it sound like nagging. You liked that Shouta could shut down your spiralling with nothing more than a steady look and a quiet, "You’re okay."

It was like puzzle pieces clicking into place, the three of you fitting together in ways you hadn’t even known you needed. And now that they knew, they were only getting worse. 

More teasing, more protective, more stern, in these subtle little ways that made your stomach flutter without ever crossing a line.

The moments always seemed to come and go without you realizing what was going on until they were over. For example, one morning, when you were running late and they both insisted on hovering around like mother hens.

You were crouched by the door, lacing up your boots, when Hizashi’s voice cut through the apartment like a crack of lightning.

“WHERE do you think you’re going?”

You glanced over your shoulder to see him standing in the hallway in full hero gear, hands on his hips, head tilted in mock outrage.

“To work?” you said slowly, like maybe he'd finally lost his mind. “I have the early shift, I told you that.”

Hizashi’s eyes narrowed behind his shades, laser-focused. “Not like that, sweetcheeks. You'll freeze. Where's your coat?”

You snorted and turned back to your laces. "I don't have one — it was warm when I walked over yesterday."

There was a beat of silence behind you, just long enough for the realization to dawn. "You walked here without a coat?"

His voice shot up half an octave, sounding absolutely scandalized, and you winced, already regretting saying anything.

"It was fine-"

"It was negative two yesterday!"

Here we go.

"I'm gonna be late, Zashi-"

Hizashi was already stomping over, hands creeping onto your hips from behind like a cartoon villain about to deliver a lecture when Shouta finally shuffled out of the bedroom, drawn by the noise like a tired cryptid. He was still in sweats, hair loose around his face, looking like he'd barely opened both eyes, and you still lost your breath a little at how good he looked.

"What the hell is going on?" he rasped.

Hizashi's hands squeezed your waist lightly - more to keep you still than anything else - as he spun around to plead his case.

"She's trying to leave the house without a coat on. In this weather. Like some kind of- of-"

"Independent adult?"* You muttered under your breath.

Hizashi pinched your hip in warning.

"Like some kind of brat."

Shouta's mouth twitched, just barely, but his gaze landed on you, dark and half-lidded and entirely too perceptive for how barely awake he was.

"You don't have a coat?"

Your stomach dipped.

It was the way he said it, so calm, so simple. No teasing, no exasperation, just the quiet assumption that if you'd forgotten something, it was his job to notice.

You glanced away, fumbling with your bootlaces.

"I didn't think I'd need one."

"Hm."

That little noncommittal noise made heat flicker low in your belly.

He padded into the bedroom without another word, and you figured that was the end of it, until he came back thirty seconds later holding his own black scarf and one of his thick zip-up hoodies. Your heart flipped.

"I'm fine, really-"

"Put it on."

You opened your mouth to argue, and Hizashi leaned in, his voice low and warm against your ear. "I wouldn’t push your luck, baby."

You froze. They'd implied things before - little comments, subtle shifts in tone -  but this was different. This was the first time you’d actually felt like you were toeing a line. The first time, it felt like Hizashi might actually do something if you didn’t listen.

And he sounded so damn sincere.

Like he meant it. Like he’d already decided what would happen if you kept pushing.

You bit your lip and didn’t say another word.

-

By the time you finally made it out the door, bundled in Shouta’s hoodie and scarf, practically drowning in his comforting scent, your heart was hammering.

You weren’t sure if you’d won or lost.

Part of you felt chafed, a little raw from their overprotectiveness, from the way they’d both just assumed you’d do what you were told. But there was something else, too. A lingering hum just beneath your skin, something warm and buzzy and hard to name.

It stayed with you the whole walk to work, clinging to your cheeks and the back of your neck like heat from a too-long embrace.

-

Things started to ramp up slowly after that morning. The changes were subtle at first, more overt as time went on, but never abrupt. Never uncomfortable. It always felt��� good in a way you almost felt guilty about. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were taking advantage, letting them make all the decisions, taking care of you like this. But every time that thought crept in, it was quickly drowned out by the undeniable feeling that they were enjoying it too.

One morning, you arrive at work, groggily unpacking your bag. Your hand brushes against something that definitely wasn’t there when you packed it. You pull out a lunch box, its contents wrapped in the familiarity of care you’ve come to know all too well. You pop it open, and sure enough—there it is, a well-balanced meal: a mix of veggies, fruit, protein, and even a small handful of chips. You freeze, staring at the lunch, then quickly close the box, as if hoping it might vanish.

You grab your phone and shoot a text to the group chat you three share.

"Zashi, I think you put your lunch in my bag. Want me to bring it to you on my break?"

Zashi <3: All yours babydoll!! Have a good day!! And eat the vegetables!

Your heart gave a little jolt, but you thanked him and then shoved the phone back into your bag and went about your morning, trying to focus on work. When you finally took a break and went to grab your lunch, you unwrapped the container and smiled as you looked at the neatly packed meal inside. Though you felt a little bad about eating the lunch he so carefully packed for himself, you enjoyed every bite and decided you would make him lunch tomorrow in return. 

By the time you made it back to the apartment that evening, the quiet smell of garlic and something vaguely gingery greeted you at the door. You slipped your shoes off and padded into the kitchen to find Hizashi at the stove, sleeves rolled up and golden hair tied back, humming along to whatever was playing through the little speaker tucked in the corner of the counter.

At the table nearby, Shouta sat with his hair tied up in a loose bun as he flipped through a stack of papers, pen moving with focused precision. He looked up when you entered, eyes sweeping over you for a beat before he dipped his head in acknowledgment and returned to his grading.

“You’re home later than usual,” Hizashi called without turning around, a little sing-song in his voice.

“Yeah,” you said, setting your bag down. “One of the newer interns needed help closing out inventory. Sorry I didn’t text.”

He made a noncommittal hum and tossed something into the pan that sizzled on impact. “No biggie, I figured. How was lunch?”

You blinked. “Lunch?”

He turned then, giving you a grin over his shoulder. “You did eat it, right?”

Realization hit you like a soft wave. “Oh. You packed that on purpose.”

“Well, yeah,” he laughed. “You’ve been skipping or just eating snacks lately. I figured I’d take matters into my own hands. Did you like it?”

You hesitated, caught between the gentle amusement on his face and the faintest quirk to Shouta’s mouth as he listened from the table. “...Yeah,” you admitted. “It was really good. I thought maybe you’d mixed up our bags.”

“Nope,” Hizashi said, turning back to the stove. “All intentional, sweetheart.”

You stepped further into the room, trying not to let the warmth rising in your chest show on your face. “You didn’t have to go to that trouble.”

“I know,” he said easily, stirring whatever he was cooking. “But I wanted to.”

You glanced over at Shouta, who was still grading, though you caught the way his pen had stilled for just a moment, like he was listening very carefully.

“We’re just looking out for you,” Hizashi continued, tone lighter now. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It kind of is,” you said before you could stop yourself. “It's not like I live here, I dont contribute to the groceries.”

That’s when Shouta spoke, his voice quiet but certain. “You said you liked being taken care of. We’re not going to make a big show of it. But if there’s something we can do to make your days easier… why wouldn’t we?”

You bit your lip, unsure what to do with the small swell of emotion behind his words. You had said that. Not in so many words, but… they’d known anyway.

“And we’re not gonna smother you,” Hizashi added, throwing you a wink. “Promise. But you’re ours, you know? Let us do the things.”

The simple, offhanded way he said it made your heart stutter. You didn’t even know what part of that got to you more, the “you’re ours,” or the casual, confident way they’d both decided to just start… being this way with you.

Not asking. Just being.

“Okay,” you said softly, voice catching just a little. “Thank you.”

Shouta didn’t look up, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Hizashi grinned wider and reached out to lightly flick your nose as you passed by.

“Go wash up,” he said. “Dinner’s almost done.”

You nodded, still feeling a little dazed. As you left the room, you could hear the quiet clatter of the pan, the low sound of Shouta’s pen resuming its movement, and Hizashi’s humming picking up again, domestic, steady, safe.

And all you could think about was how easy it was starting to feel to let go of the reins. Just a little.

Just enough.

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alexandria would have to deal with their problems on their own bc he would not be leaving my bedroom

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MY LOVE COME BACK THE KIDS MISS YOU😭😭😭 (but on a real note there’s literally no rush keep slaying bestie🫶🏽)

I KNOW IM SORRY i feel the need to make it clear that writing has never been my strong suit lol, i am a huge victim of getting hyperfixated on one idea, dropping 3k words on it and then not writing for like a long ass time because i cant think of anything new so like. my bad.

i could maybe start doing requests kinda? I'm not sure how consistently i could keep up with it, and it would probably be just like rambly thoughts and hcs but would that be better? sorry for the wait guys!

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ok heres the thing. I have 851 words written for the sequel to The box. now in theory i could post it. It has a start and end, and originally i was going to make it like a couple mini chapters in one, but if you guys want it now i could just go ahead and post it. Thoughts?

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just as you’re about to enter the kitchen, you feel a solid grip on your shoulder.

‘what job does your ass have in the kitchen at-‘ he tilts his head towards the clock ‘at 11 fucking pm?’ his eyebrows are raised, his face full of questions.

‘i’m just gonna go fix myself something to eat’ you reply.

‘i just fed you an hour ago you gremlin’ his face scrunches.

‘i know ryo and i love you for that, but i’m still hungry’ you pout.

unbelievable.

he just wants to sleep (possibly cuddle with you) so why are you ruining it for him?

and “fix yourself something to eat?” don’t make him laugh, that’s his job.

inhaling his frustration, he struts into the kitchen, and opens the fridge to pick out a few items ‘i should charge you for the things you make me do’ he glares at you as he puts on his “chef@work, do not disturb” apron.

‘but you love it when i make you do stuff for me’

that, he cannot argue with.

a few minutes pass by and the smell of whatever he’s cooking, fills the air.

‘ryo how much longer!? ‘m starving. you can even hear my stomach grumble’

he stops mid stirring as he sets down his spatula, and turns to you with a glare-

‘i don’t fucking recommend it but try cooking for once before you run your mouth. brat’ he rolls his eyes.

you giggle at this, knowing that the world may come to an end before the sukuna lets you anywhere near his kitchen.

yeah no, as long as you’re tied to him (which is forever) you’re gonna eat what only he cooks.

as hunger takes over your rational thinking, you waddle into the kitchen, your hands wrapping him from behind as you plant a kiss on his back.

‘you have amazing back muscles, has anyone ever told you that?’ you squeeze them to prove your point.

‘get your grubby hands off of me you freak! and here, eat this and get your ass to bed’ he says as he hands you a plate.

you take it to the table and settle down, ready to delve into the food.

shoving a spoonful of it into your mouth ‘mhmmm! oh my god- this tastes so good ryo!’ you look at him.

‘i bet, and chew your goddamn food properly’ he tsks, finger reaching out to wipe off the sauce at the corner of your mouth.

yeah he’s sleepy, but he’d never let you go to bed hungry.

(rblog if you find chefs hawt🍜🤘🏼)

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some more ex!frank pleaseee :)

literally anything: reader drunk calls him, reader is on a date and frank sees them (the date is awful) with some smut

I know you were probably looking for something different and this went a lot angstier but these things happen!

Believe Me | Ex-Frank Castle

You had already spent the afternoon crying in your apartment so you decided to cry in the corner coffee shop for a change of scenery. You'd managed to score your favorite table by the window -- a small win on an otherwise completely shitty day-- and you settled in with your book and the cheapest drink on the menu because it was the last of your cash. But after ten minutes of reading and re-reading the same paragraph, you accepted defeat and simply stared out the window and let your eyes lose focus.

You didn't even like the dumb fucker but the rejection hurt just the same. You hadn't truly liked any man since Frank, if you were being honest with yourself, but you certainly kept trying. And maybe you sought out a parade of losers to fulfill the the private prophecy that you could never be happy without Frank anyway.

Maybe most definitely. Frank would hate the self-destruction on you.

And Bryce (what kind of name is Bryce anyway for god's sake) was no different from the rest -- boring, no manners, pathetic in a way you couldn't pinpoint. Decidedly not Frank. But Bryce did have one quality that set him apart-- he was a thief.

What seemed like a run of the mill ghosting turned out to be a not-so-run-of-the-mill stealing of your credit cards, all your cash on hand, your fucking BLENDER and your dad's watch. That last one stung the most. And beyond the rage of being robbed by someone named Bryce, you couldn't help but feel the acute rejection of being ghosted while in the shower moments after sex and apparently, pathetic enough to steal from.

And yes, Bryce is the straw that broke the camel's back but you were headed to a crying session in a coffee shop one way or another. In the months since Frank had forced you apart, your life had been a series of hardships and moderate depression ever since-- some of it circumstance but a good deal of it self destruction. You almost welcomed the onslaught of sobs -- like finally opening the release valve to full blast.

And so that's what you did-- sat in the seat by the window, letting your eyes soften on some distant dark blob outside and letting the tears rip. At first you attempted to contain the sob like any normal well-mannered, unhinged sobbing woman in public but you soon lost control of that too, letting the sobs turn to embarrassing heaving hiccups, pathetically rubbing your runny nose on the sleeve of your sweater.

Who knows how long you let it go on-- 5 minutes? 10 minutes? 20 minutes? You could ask the guy beside you who, to his credit, pretended the whole thing wasn't happening-- headphones on and eyes glued to his laptop-- but there seemed to be a subdued scuffle happening at the moment. Through your blurry vision you turn to see him being manhandled out of his table by the black blob from outside, a gruff voice saying "Don't offer the woman a goddamn tissue? Christ. Move the hell outta the way."

"Frank?' you croak, your heart hammering in your chest at his appearance as you swipe away the tears on your face. God only knows what your mascara looked like. In the time since you'd broken up (well, since Frank left you) you hadn't seen Frank once but you'd... sensed him sometimes. You knew it sounded insane to say that so you kept it to yourself and had mostly convinced yourself that you were losing your mind.

"Sweetheart you ok? You hurt somewhere? Tell me what's goin' on," he asks, his brows crinkled together as he pushes himself past the man next you and crouches in front of your chair.

"How did you...." you ask, ignoring his questions.

"Saw you in the window from the street doll. Come on, let's get you cleaned up a bit," he replies, standing from his crouch and taking both your hands to guide you up from the chair. On instinct you follow his lead, your mind still catching up to the circumstances. Your brain always felt a bit floaty and detached after a good cry.

"my book," you mumble as Frank is walking you away from the table and toward the bathroom. He doubles back and swipes the book, stuffing it in his coat pocket as he guides you by the low back to the single-use bathroom.

Frank walks you in and shuts and locks the door behind him. You don't get a chance to look in the mirror at the state of yourself before he murmurs a quiet "up" as he takes you by the hips and puts you on the bathroom sink. The position leaves you feeling vulnerable, your skirt riding up an inch.

"Frank I'm not hurt or anything," you tell him as you watch his face inspect yours. His jaw twitches in that way it does as his eyes scan the rest of you.

"I find you cryin' in a coffee shop and you're gonna tell me you ain't hurt?" he replies, hands on his hips as he demands some answers. Answers that you didn't owe him, by his own design.

"Well not physically," you respond, your eyes casting down to where you pick at a loose thread on your sweater. Frank's heavy hand lands on yours to stop the nervous tic.

"S'not the only way to be hurt," he counters, adding, "Tell me what's goin' on sweetheart," he rumbles, his tone quieter.

"It's not your job anymore to--" you start but you're cut off with his scoff.

"I'll decide what's my job, understand?" he asks, bending slightly at the knees and hunching his neck to catch your eyes. You eye him in hesitation but there's an impatient bang on the door. "Hey buddy hurry up in there!" shouts a male voice from the other side.

"Occupied asshole!" Frank shouts back, turning for a moment to yell at the door before focusing his attention like a laser back to you. "Start talkin' baby," he says, his voice softer.

"It's a guy," you start with a sigh and you catch the way he casts his eyes away for a beat. "It's not like that," you assure him. This wasn't a story of a love lost. Frank would not have to tend to your broken, longing heart. At least not for Bryce. "I'm not sad that he's gone I'm just sad how he did it," you clarify, casting your own eyes away this time because the shame still felt too embarrassing to face.

Even without looking at him you can sense the way Frank tenses-- his shoulders shifting up an inch, his brows lowering, his finger twitching. `

"Tell me how he did it," he says, a mirage of calmness on the surface but you knew Frank well enough to know the suppressed rage underneath. You knew if you told Frank he'd find Bryce by tonight, beat him to a pulp if he was lucky and return your stolen stuff plus whatever Bryce had on him as interest.

You almost stop the story there because you knew this wasn't Frank's problem. You weren't Frank's problem anymore. He made sure of that. Frank couldn't keep fixing things forever. Hadn't you needed enough from him?

"Hey," Frank says, his face a little softer as he reaches for the paper towel and runs it under the sink. "I, uh, need you to tell me what's goin' on alright?," he adds, dabbing at the run mascara on your face. His expression is drawn, the rage from before simmering into something like sorrow and unease.

"You don't owe me anything anymore Frank," you reply, reminding him of the distance he so carefully crafted between the two of you.

"Hey fuck that talk doll. You can spare me that because you know I still love you," he replies, agitation making his jaw tense. He balls up the paper towel and tosses it in the trash.

But you didn't know. You had felt utterly isolated and alone, when every moment since then felt uncertain and unstable-- just a somersault downhill of bad decisions and destructive behavior.

"Don't say that. Don't say you love me," you reply, your voice shaky with exhaustion.

At that Frank looks taken aback-- surprised in a way you hadn't seen him before. He's agitated, yes, but he's ... scared. Afraid of what you had believed for the last three months since the breakup.

"Sweetheart," Frank starts as he cups your jaw and tilts your head so that your eyes find his, "tell me you know that I love you." You'd seen this determination before but never this fear-- the way his fingertips sunk into the back of your neck and the way his chest rose and fell as he awaited your response, his usual composure giving way to something more desperate.

"I-" you start. Could you say you knew that? Was the last three months of pain because he no longer loved you or because he loved you but made you live without it? It was easier to hate him for it. To wallow in abandonment and find validation in losers like Bryce. It was easier to believe maybe you were just unlovable.

"But then why did you--" you start but are cut off by your own sob. Why did you leave. Why did you leave. Why did you leave.

Frank's face crumples as he holds your face upturned toward his. Regret tugs at his features as he pulls you to his chest, your legs dangling from the bathroom sink, and smashes you into him.

He cups the back of your head, murmuring "I fucked up sweetheart. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry doll." He rocks the two of you back and forth and you hear the way his chest hammers against your ear. "Thought you knew, thought you understood sweetheart."

You shake your head against him -- you didn't know. And you didn't want to let yourself be cared for if he was just going to leave again. You make a feeble attempt to push him away. The force does little against his grip and he only becomes more emphatic, "Need you to hear me doll," he rasps, "never stopped loving you."

He kisses the top of your head as your lean against him, "You believe me sweetheart?"

You shake your head no again. It was easier not to believe him. To think the months of misery weren't for nothing. To let him feel a fraction of the torment you did.

He releases his grip and cups your face again, the strength of him smashing your cheeks as his thumbs swipe at your tears.

"Look at me," he demands, tears in his own eyes, "c'mon doll, look at me," he repeats, his tone softening. You still don't meet his eyes, choosing to fixate on the button on his jacket.

He kisses your forehead, "Please," he begs, "please look at me sweetheart." Still you refuse and he kisses your lips -- soft like a whisper and wet from your tears.

"Look at me sweetheart," he repeats, "need you to believe me," he adds, his tone desperate and sad and hurt and terrified.

You finally let your eyes find his, his face a blurry mess through your tears. His brows are set low and his chin is curled as he bites back tears.

"Believe me baby," he says quietly, kissing your lips again and lingering a moment longer.

"Believe me that I still love you," he says again, kissing below your eye.

"Believe me," he repeats, kissing below the other eye.

"Believe me," he begs, kissing you once again on the lips, extending another moment and tugging you closer by his grip on your face. The last one forces a breathy whine from your throat and the action is like a tinder-spark. He pulls you closer with sudden force, his lips locked to yours and his tongue teasing its way inside.

He anchors his hands to your hips and yanks your body to the edge of counter, your legs straddling his hips and tugging your skirt up.

"Tell me to stop sweetheart," he huffs in a moment between devouring you, his fingers sinking so deep into your hips you'll be bruised by morning.

You don't. You should but you don't. You cling to this moment because you need it. Because maybe it'll heal you. Maybe it'll let you believe that you were lovable to someone like Frank.

When you don't say a word, he uses your permission to continue, yanking you even closer to him so that you feel his hardness against your thin panties. The sensation makes your desperate, rolling your hips and starting to claw at his belt and whining his name.

"I got it sweetheart," he pants, removing his hands from you for a moment to unbuckle himself, reaching into his dark denim pants to tug out his heavy, thick cock. He deftly moves to your sweater, tugging it over your head in one motion and unlatching your bra with one hand.

Your nipples instantly pebble in the cold bathroom and he pops one in his mouth and sucks, the stinging pain making you arch againt him.

"Frank, please," you beg for him and he grunts in impatience, reaching between the two of you to pump his hard cock twice before tugging your panties to the side and pressing his tip to your soaked slit.

"Fuck," he huffs at your slickness, slowly pressing the rest of the way in, "Fuck I missed this," he murmurs to himself, his eyes locked on where he enters you, stilling. He stays this way a moment, like he's memorizing the feeling of you.

"ohmygod," you whine, feeling nearly pinned in place on the counter by the size of him. At your whimper, he returns to service. He grips you by the back of the thighs to pull you from the counter and flush against him, lifting you in the air to spin and press you against the wall of the bathroom.

With you pressed in place, he pumps, slow but deep. You squeeze your eyes shut, and feel yourself squeeze his cock at the angle.

"Open f'me doll," he grunts between a pump and you feel a light tap to your cheek. You squeeze your eyes tighter-- transporting yourself somewhere where this never ends.

He taps again, his touch light but insistent. "Look at me sweetheart," he says, his tone begging.

You open your eyes to find his and they're already boring into you, a breathy "attagirl" from his lips.

"I'm sorry baby," he grunts, pumping once.

"So fuckin' sorry."

Pump.

"Ain't gonna hurt you again."

Pump.

"Gonna fix it baby"

Pump.

"Gonna make you feel better"

Pump.

"Gonna keep you safe"

Pump.

"Gonna make you feel good sweetheart"

Pump.

Promises tumbling from his lips and Frank didn't make promises he didn't keep. He was going penance for the harm he caused, praying at your alter and making sacred commitments-- to fix this, to love you, to keep you. You start crying again, nodding your head with every promise and your heart pounding in your chest.

"That's it, let it out pretty girl," Frank coos, relief in his tone at your release. He plants his thumb on your swollen clit and with only a few flicks, you cum through the tears, feeling Frank grip you tighter in his arms as you jerk and spasm. At the constriction around him, Frank follows quickly after, cumming hard and filling you in a way that felt proprietary.

And you let yourself believe him.

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[sweets-library]

JUST READ WHAT YOU WROTE??? HELLO??? THIS IS SO GOOD OML THANK YOU SO MUCH! (also i lovelove the way you write aizawa and hizashi its so scrumptious)

:)

omg thank you!!! ive actually started the next one too! thank you so much for reading!!!

[sweets-library]

GLORY BOX | old man!logan x fem!reader

summary: calling old man!logan daddy for the first time ever…

content warnings/tags: smut! mdni. literally porn with no plot or whatsoever. old man!logan. unspecified age gap. stressed reader. established relationship (surprising). soft daddy dom!logan. sub!reader. daddy kink. dd/lg undertones. subspaces. pet names (princess, little girl, etc). unprotected p in v. slight breeding kink. barely proofread. wc: 1,3k 

All the work you’ve been having these past weeks is knocking you out, mentally and physically. The sight of never-ending paperwork before you makes you want to throw your dinner up to the desk. Although you know it’s not healthy to push yourself like this—you just couldn’t help it. Your anxieties are always eating you and forcing you to do this and that subconsciously. 

Luckily, Logan always notices when you’re tiring yourself to death. His love comes in many forms, one being taking care of you. He always takes care of you at the price of nothing. 

Well, maybe one or two things. 

Your obedience, is in fact, required. Your loyalty to him and only him is expected. Your submission is essential. 

Both of you find a simple way of living by holding onto those systems. You love to be taken care of and Logan loves to take care of you. It is the foundation of your and Logan’s relationship. It is enough. 

His presence is greatly felt as he watches you overworking yourself to a dreadful agitation, “Come on, sweets. Rest up for a bit.” 

“Can’t, Lo. ‘M still doing this.” Your head lulls lazily as the burden on your shoulders becomes overwhelming. Deadlines loom all over your mind, all over your brain like grey clouds before a storm. 

He just can’t take it anymore. The sight of his pretty baby all slouched down and defeated in the dim living room. “I’ll do all the work for ya’. C’mere, princess.”

And before you know it, or even before you register it—your head goes radio silent for a minute. All because of Logan.

“Little one.” Your paperworks on the desk are long abandoned as Logan tenderly whispers to your neck, to the skin he had plastered with many love bites and little hickeys. 

“Mhm—”

His cock is stuffed deep inside of your soaking pussy, stretching you up with his thick girth, and locking your figure to his with his strong biceps like glue.

This position, you on top of him, usually makes you tired and your thighs sore—but it’s different now because he’d taken a willingness to do all the work. I’ll do all the work for ya’. The sight of his girl—his gorgeous girl opening herself to him; letting yourself rest up a bit after all the sobs you had swallowed this entire week—electrify something inside him.

You love to be taken care of by Logan. 

“My pretty pillow princess, hm?” He mutters sweetly to your right ear, gently brushing your hair along the way. Your figure slumped into him, leaning your entire body weight onto him. You managed to nod lightly, lazily, and slowly, but still with desperation. 

“Yeah. My little girl. All mine.” His fingers reach your chin and nod your head with him. Slowly lifting his hips up and down, he makes his cock hits that spot deep inside you. When he talks to you like this—you just can’t help it. The more he babies you, the more you fall into subspace. 

Before you can’t stop yourself, you croak out a small breathy voice, “Daddy.” You sounded so feeble - you barely even recognized your own voice. 

Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. 

All this time, you call him lots of names, alright. Jokingly or in a serious manner: Grandpa, Lo, Logan, Old Man, Old Guy—but never that.

You feel Logan tense and how his cock twitches inside your walls. Then he slightly pulls you up and down on him, way deeper this time.

His rugged palms dug into your hips, rubbing circles there, “What was that, sweetheart?” The older man’s voice tremble slightly because fuck he didn’t think he could get harder. He knows he’s a bad bad bad man for enjoying shit like this. Young, delicate thing like you drooling over his cock.

You whimper into his shoulders and shy yourself away from his intense gaze—the one that made you clench your pussy around his girth. “What’d ya’ just call me, princess?” He repeats as his fingers squish your cheeks to look at him in the eyes. Bullseye.

There he went again. Making you fall deeper into your subspace you can’t even think. “Repeat whatcha’ say to your old man, baby.” Pushing just the right buttons. 

“Daddy…” you managed to get away from his gripping fingers and nuzzle your face deeper into his neck—your voice comes out needier than you expected.

Logan groans and you could feel his cock twitches again, “You wan’ more of Daddy’s cock? Hm?”

He managed to slip his thumb into your spit-slicked mouth and make you suck at the tip. “Mmhm. Please, Daddy—”

“Wan’ Daddy t’a stuff you up, little one?” He grunts, loving all this, you could tell. His thumb slips out of your lips and makes its way down down down and then his hand drifts to play with your breasts, squeezing and pinching your peaking nipples.

“Ah! Y-yes, Daddy.” You’re full-on sobbing now. You’d do anything. Only one word repeats in your dumbfounded mind now.

Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. 

“‘Aight. Hold on t’me.” Logan lets out a dry chuckle and trails his hands from your breasts to the plush of your ass. “Daddy’ll fill you up.” He lifts you up and lets the tip of his cock slip from your clenching wet hole, barely even the tip. He scolds you softly when you start moving around in desperation, “Stay still for Daddy. Lemme’ do my job.” 

You cry out loudly when he thrusts himself back in, deep and hard. “Daddy!” Your nails dig into his shoulders and he sets a rapid pace. 

The sound of slapping flesh against flesh obscenely roams around the room as Logan pistons his hips up off the cushion, eagerly meeting your bouncing body above him. “T-there ya’ go, kiddo. Always grippin’ Daddy so fuckin’ tight.”  

Logan takes his right hand and press it down on your tummy, feeling his cock bulging through, "Ya' feel me here, kiddo?" And God, how could you not melt at that?

He pounds his large cock into your slicked pussy, chasing his high and yours. “Go ‘head play with your pouty clit.” Says Logan as he keeps bullying his way inside your heat. But your hands stay locked around his shoulders. You’re just too tired and he said he’d do all the work, right? 

Logan knows you’re close when he feels your toes curl on his thigh and your arms tightening around his neck—suffocating him with your presence and your cunt.

“Daddy,” you call out to him again, making grabby hands on his salt-and-pepper beard. A continuous line of DaddyDaddyDaddyDaddys in a loop and you’re so full of him, you feel him everywhere.

“Cream my fat cock, baby. Daddy’ll fill you up real nice.”  You try to tell him yes but it comes out of you broken and high-pitched.

“Daddy-” you can feel his big fingers circling your swollen button—doing all the work for you. It’s not even a second later until you babble that you’re coming, repeating it over and over in his ear. “‘M coming, Daddy—‘M-” 

Logan mutters a curse word as he feels your velvet walls squeezing his cock so tight and milking him dry. “Shit. Such a good little girl.” He coos at the sight before him, your shaking figure, coming down from your high, and rolling your eyes to the back of your head in pleasure. 

He can’t help himself anymore—his pace becomes relentless, and he indulges his body forward closer to you, burying his face on your neck. “Fuck, princess.” You whimper at the burning feel of his untrimmed scruffy beard.

“Come.” 

Oh, you want to order him around now?

“Come, Daddy. Need your cum so bad, pleasepleasepleas—” 

Nevermind.

In your neck, he lets a roaring grunt as his cock twitches and swells inside of your dripping pussy. “Jesus Christ.” He huffs every time he spurts his release, his thrust going weaker and slower. Yet the pleasure that you deride him for is inescapable. No amount of power could take him away from you. He makes sure of that.

His breath finally comes back to him, and so does your senses, little by little. You whimper as you feel his cum gushing out of your hole, “Daddy-”. 

But he keeps his position still, his legs grounded to the floor—he just kisses your temple, then your cheeks, then your lips. “Shh. Daddy’s here. Daddy’ll take care of you.” He coos at your hair, kissing the crown of your head. 

He decided that he’d have you like this for the night. Seated atop of his muscular thighs—full of his seed and spent. 

Daddy always takes care of you.

[sweets-library]

BED CHEM | old man!logan x fem!reader

summary: how you and logan become strangers-with-benefits & how he talks you through it for the very first time.

— prequel to motive but could be read as a standalone!

content warnings/tags: smut! mdni. porn with little plot. old man!logan. unspecified age gap. daddy dom!logan. sub!reader. daddy kink. subspaces. pet names (kid, doll, princess, etc). inexperienced!reader. sorta soft!logan. fingering (f receiving). oral (m receiving). semi-public sex (in a car). cum swallowing. innocence kink. not proofread, ignore any mistakes! wc: 2,3k. 

“No attachments.” Logan said before and after every time he fucks you dumb with his cock. You’re unsure if he intends to mumble those words to you or himself. 

You first encounter each other in a 24-hour diner you work at. He was a regular customer and you’re the new girl who services during the night shift. 

One random night, Logan sees you pour down the liquid into his mug and since then, he keeps coming back for more and more. For the coffee and your sweet smile. 

Always greeting him so warmly after he finishes his tiring job, “Oh, hello, Logan!” ‘making his late hours bearable no matter what kind of pile of shit he faced that day.

“Hey, kid.” He replies in a deep voice, taking his typical black coffee in his hand, which you already prepared beforehand–knowing he’s coming. 

At first, it was sinless, innocent–friendly, even. Merely an exchange between two lonely people in the after-hours, “How’s your day, Lo?”

Though you can’t stop yourself from checking him out. He’s the embodiment of a real man, the man of your dreams. You may even say that you have a small (sorta big) crush on the older man–but you don’t want to ruin anything with your customer and decided to bury your feelings deep deep down inside your big heart.  

He probably doesn’t want someone as young and inexperienced as you, you thought. 

Logan raises his eyebrows, “Not bad, dollface. How ‘bout yourself, hm?” His glasses rest at the tip of his nose as he takes another sip of his bitter drink, looking at you in your white blouse paired with your white ribboned apron that rests upon your black skirt. Making a mental note of how you look today so he could remember it when fucks his fist later.

You did not know that, obviously.  

It goes on much the same, the peeking glances and the yearning and longing lust, until he offers you a ride back home. You shouldn’t feel so excited being in a stranger's car, at this time of night—but you do.

Inside the dark space, the tension grew thick and it finally shattered when he, so abruptly, questioned you, “What kind of guy ‘re you lookin’ for, sweets?”

Your brows raise themselves in confusion–would it be weird if you say ‘you’? Yeah, it’d be weird. “Not sure…‘dunno, really.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle as he glues his eyes on the street, “You gotta know these things. What, you into one of those young boys who comes into the diner?”

“N-no. Nothing like that.” You feel your cheeks heat up at more of his direct inquiry. 

“Tell me, then. Keep me awake while ‘m driving.” 

The pads of your fingers start playing at the hem of your blouse out of shyness, “Well… I’m typically into someone who knows what they’re doing, y’know?”

Logan heavily hums at that, stopping the car under the red light sign. “Tell me more ‘bout it.” 

After a few seconds of silence, you begin to ramble about anything that comes up in your mind because you feel him slowly resting his large palm on your knee as the car is decelerating, “I- Someone who treats me right and is m-mature.” The heat that radiates from his hand goes straight to your core.

When the traffic lights turn green, the tips of his fingers tease alongside your inner thigh and making your breath hitch. His free hand creeps higher and higher until he reaches the lace of your underwear. “Anythin’ else, kiddo?”   

“S-Someone’s older.” Every sentence feels like hard work for you as he palms you through the cotton fabric experimentally—making you whine as you throw your head back.

He nods along while looking back and forth between you and the road. “Please, Logan—” You didn’t even know what you really wanted—you just needed more.

As if he understands, he hooks your panties with his index finger and pulls it aside. Then his thumb starts rubbing circles on your swollen button, making you grasp his bicep and breathe out a small ‘ah’ into the air. 

“Y’want me?” He teases your folds as he palms himself through his pants, letting go of the steering wheel for a second and snarls a curse word under his breath after another. 

“Y-yes! ‘Wan you!” Your head lulls back when he finally gets one finger inside you—he gets harder when he notices how it barely even fits. 

“Y’re gonna let Daddy hear ya’ when he gives it to ya’?” He mockingly asks and adds another finger, creating a pace in and out, in and out.

“Mhm! Gonna sing for Daddy…” You’re too focused tussling around in your seat and utterly missed how Logan pulled the car to the dark side of the road. 

He unbuckles his seatbelt and latches his body forward towards you—placing an open-mouthed kiss on your neck while he cradles your face, “Shit. ‘Been wantin’ to do this for a while, princess.”

“R-really? Me too.” You blushly turn your head slightly, hence making you nose to nose with him so he can finally kiss you in hunger that a pathetic whimper comes from your bitten red lips. 

You made an effort to push against his chest and lightly shove his figure backward, making him sit straight in his car seat. Logan’s surprised exclamation is muffled by the kiss, caught off guard by your sudden keenness—but he also lets himself rest back onto the headrests

“Eager little girl, aren’tcha?” He exhales deeply as he observes his favorite diner girl with half-lidded eyes. Fixing his gaze on your much smaller fingers that are working on the zipper of his pants before your hand slips beneath the waistband and cups him through his boxers.

He should’ve been the one with the reaction but instead…you made out a high-pitched girly noise at the feel of his large member. The older man’s tongue prods at the inner of his cheek, trying to fight the urge to smirk at how cute you’re being. A young, inexperienced thing like you, trembling as you free his cock from his briefs.

“It’s all yours, kiddo.” The size is bigger than average, but what caught you off guard is the thick girth—it intimidates you—but you never have this much desire towards someone - something before. He feels heavy in your palm, his pubic hair scratching your knuckles.

“‘S okay, sweet girl. Daddy will guide you, c’mon.” Logan caresses your hair then your cheeks as a way to encourage your hesitant demeanor. 

His free hand palms his own greying beard because the sight of you hovering above his hardening cock and smearing his precum over his cockhead makes him embarrassingly more aroused than he has ever been before. 

And you haven’t even done anything yet. 

“Be a good girl now.” Logan lifts his hips to pull his pants until it reaches his ankles, he’s way harder now. “Like this.” He instructs as he pushes and guides your hand to wrap entirely around his cock.

Your breath grows heavy as he takes control, using his calloused hand to help your hand move up and down on his shaft.

“T-That’s it.” The confidence inside you bubbles up when you look up at him and see how he got his eyes shut and his head slightly tilted to face the ceiling. You must’ve done something right, you thought—you really really want to make a good impression.

“Do it on repeat- move your hand all the way up, then down.” You nod in understanding—Logan drops his hand leaving yours still stroking his cock. As you repeat what he told you to do, you take the opportunity to admire the man before you, the way his brows furrowed shows all the wrinkles on his face. Evidence of his age. 

Truthfully, you still don’t know his real age. When you ask him before, he only replies with “Maybe ‘m older than your grandfather, doll. Who knows?”

You figured that he was joking around to poke you. Well, he’s not.

When he gazes down at you again, you feel shy and quickly avert your attention to his cock, trying to be his good girl—before he suddenly stops your gesture.

“Is that it?” You confusedly ask the older man. 

Logan lets out a breathy laugh because you’re so fucking adorable, “No, baby. We’re gonna try somethin’ else, ‘kay?” 

After you bob your head in agreement, he pulls your bottom lip down and slips his thumb inside your spit-slicked mouth, “Prettiest girl I’ve ever fucking seen,” Logan whispers as he gently pushes your head down—inches away from his hard member. 

The feeling of his heavy cockhead resting on your lips makes your cheeks warm out—pushing you to open your mouth. 

“Wanna have a taste of Daddy?” And you move your head up and down in eagerness, earning a smile from Logan. Good Lord.

You part your lips and experimentally lick the pre-cum on his fat head. After taking a moment to savor the salty taste, you lick and lick and lick a couple more times like a kitten, earning a groan from him—yeah, he remembers—that’s what you remind him of: A kitten.

Logan lets out a strangled ‘Fuck’ as you pressed a soft kiss to the head, smearing more pre on your lips. That was your favorite sound from him so far.

“P-put it inside your mouth, baby.” And you did. You open your mouth slightly and let Logan’s cock land on your tongue. Sucking his head gently, running your tongue up and down the seam, “Atta girl. Suck on it real good.” His free hand starts to grab a fistful of your hair as he curses in pleasure.

Be a good girl now.

“That’s it, little one, there ya’ go.” Your thighs squeeze together at his praise, “Makin’ Daddy feels so good.”

When you looked up, Logan’s head had fallen back again, humming heavily—you took that as a good sign.

He manages to softly push your head deeper into his cock. It was hard to get all of it inside because your lips barely fit around his thickness but you tried your best. “Use your hand to stroke the rest of it.” 

Be a good girl now.

Oh, you know what he meant—you’re a fast learner. You try to do what he instructed you, sucking on the part you could and stroking the rest of his girth with your hands, “Fuck. Such a smart girl for Daddy.”

Logan cannot hold it anymore, “Taps my thigh when it’s too much, alright?” With his shaft still inside your warm mouth, you manage to incline your head and mumble ‘mhmm’ around him. 

He dragged you in, shoving his entire length into you, deep down into your throat all at once and you gasped in surprise. With both of his hands on the back of your head, he moves you up and down to take him—while you keep moaning and choking and gagging around him. What did he ever do to deserve some shit like this, huh? He wonders as he gets closer to his climax.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, kid.” You tried to gape at him but your eyes ended up rolling back in his head at how much you’re loving this too. 

Logan put on a steady pace to pull your head, fucking you on his cock. The musky taste of his skin and his manly smell make you go insane. Your pussy clenches around nothing when every time you feel Logan’s cockhead force its way to your throat.

Tears welled up in your eyes as noises came out of you, wet choking sounds. Every single thing that is happening makes your body feel electric. 

“Fuckfuckfuck. Gonna come, baby,” the older man opens his eyes and mutters down at you, “y’want it? Wanna eat it all? Make Daddy proud, yeah?” 

You did not answer until he pulled you off his cock and you finally can bob your head as another form of ‘Yes’. There was a string of spit connecting your mouth and his moistened member before he jerked his cock in front of you in a fast-paced manner, “Open your mouth f’me, sweets.”  

Logan pulls you closer to him with his free hand and your mouth falls open again—tongue hanging out slightly. Gosh, you want it so bad, want anything Daddy could give you.

You’re sure you’re coming too when you watch Logan cums for you. How his chest heaves at an unsteady pace, how his greying hair is all messy because he keeps tugging at it, how he looks so good with that salt and pepper beard which fits his face so finely. 

Ropes of his come spurting out at your face, mostly landing on your tongue.

Be a good girl now.

You feel like a brand new person as you still struggle to comprehend it all, everything that has happened in the last hour. But that’s okay because Daddy’s here with you; your big eyes fixing on him as you swallow his semen that ends up in your mouth, gulp after gulp while never tearing your eyes off his.

“Fuck, kid. You’re good,” Logan coos as he tries to catch his breath, “my girl—Daddy’s pretty girl. Did so good for Daddy.” The tips of his fingers reach your reddening cheeks and caress your skin there before bringing you up to meet him face-to-face. 

Take him some time to admire your soft features, “You alright, darlin’?” You hummed at him, smiling widely at how much praise you received. Logan leans in and locks his lips on yours, mumbling praise after praise—how good his favorite diner girl is.

After you both collect yourselves—you watch Logan tuck himself back into his pants before dropping another kiss on your forehead. 

“Let me take ya’ home.” 

By home, he means his house. The night ends up with you lying bare on his bed sheets—all the clothes you had lie mindlessly on the ground. 

“‘You free on Wednesday night, kid?”

He thinks he’ll keep you around for a while. 

[sweets-library]

you cannot tell me that old man!logan doesn’t have a daddy kink…

cws/tags: sexual content. oldman!logan. mild daddy kink. subspaces. dd/lg undertones. crying. dom!logan.

Old man Logan would be so into daddy kink; the name rolls off his tongue easily—“So good for Daddy, sweetheart.” 

He just can’t help it when you accidentally call him by that name while you were reaching your high. He is the one who continuously brings it up; never letting go of it. Because he fucking loves it.

“Yeah’ that’s it, kid. There ya’ go.” Logan murmurs endless praises as you try to sink down on his large girth. Calloused hands are rubbing circles on the skin on your tummy, guiding you down and down, “Fuck. Ya’ feel me here, kiddo?” 

You only respond to his question in a whimper, closing your eyes and biting your lips as you try to take more of him. The sight of his pretty baby fucked out on his lap is the most adorable thing he has ever witnessed, “Wanna be good for dada, huh?” His mouth trails soft kisses on your warm cheeks and temple.

“Can you speak, baby?” To let him know you’re alright, you lightly bob your head as you place your hands on his shoulders to support your body and raise yourself so only his tip remains—before dropping down again—way deep this time, you’re sure you got all of him inside you and you gained some confidence.

Logan lets out a strangled grunt in surprise, “Hey, take it easy, little bug. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.” He draws his palms on your back to cling you closer to his chest.

Slowly but surely, you rest your heavy head on his neck and rub your own head there to feel his untrimmed greying beard. You’ve earned your motivation again.

“I can do it, Daddy.” You plea to him, “Can’ do it. ‘M a big girl.” 

He tilts his head to lovingly scold you, “Don’t hurt yourself, little one.” Logan’s tired sugary smile only remains until you’ve managed to lift yourself upwards—your velvet walls wrap so deliciously tight around him and making him shut his eyes and inhale sharply, “F-fuck.”

“‘M a big girl!” You repeat as you bounce irregularly—feeling like you’ve overtaken him and everything else.

Well…not for long. 

Because after around five more times going up and down on him, you could feel yourself getting exhausted. Your eyes barely open up as you squeak a high-pitched whine—making grabby hands at him to get his attention. 

To get Daddy’s attention. 

“Ah- n-need help, Daddy.” You choke out, opening your eyes slightly to see that he’s already looking - observing you.

“Hm?” Logan hums as he brings his fingers to pinch at your soft cheeks, “Thought you’re a big girl now, baby?” His thumb rests just outside of your spit-licked mouth. Earning more humming approvals from the older man when you willingly open your lips and sucks it inside. 

“Wha’dya need Daddy’s help for if you’re a big girl?” He paraphrased his question again—his palm roaming below your breast before kneading each one of them. 

Tears begin to well up in your eyes as you’re feeling the stretch, “Daddy—” and the sting in your dripping pussy as an effect of your previous actions, “I-I thought I could do it…”

“What’d Daddy say?” Oh, you know you’re in trouble because he’s scolding you now. For not listening to him and to play-act in front of him. 

“‘M sorry!” You cannot help but cry out then wrap your arms around his neck, “Was just so excited, Daddy—need you so bad!” 

Logan coos your figure by threading his big hands through your hair, shushing you hiccuped sobs down, “Shh,”

After hearing your breath steadying, he ruts his hips up against yours. Circling and thrusting to your tight heat as you rest your entire body weight onto him. You tremble in his arms as you hear skin-meet-skin slapping sounds echoing through your shared bedroom. Fully giving yourself to fall in his embrace. 

“Ya’ see? Y’re just a little girl, baby. Daddy’s little girl.”  

You nod and make out a confirmation whimper. Before you register it, he starts to move you too. 

Yeah, you feel way much better like this.

Being Daddy’s little girl and letting him have all the control there is.

[sweets-library]

ok now that i did a fr post do we want more smaus or no

[sweets-library]

"If I was to write an established erasermic x reader story (with the same vibes as the other stuff I write, iykyk) where the chapters could be read as seperate one shots but were also connected, should I put it on ao3 as one story or as a series?"

PLSEASEEEEEEEEE YESSSS OML BLESS US WITH YOUR STUNNING WORKSSS

(okay im being dramatic, but that'd be cool as hell)

:)

ok cool so ill do that then. the box is the first installment, its kinda like an introduction to the series. thank you!