#or else they are on their own for good this time

[waves-against-a-cliff]

After the end - Post-apocalypse Omegaverse AU

Summary - You won't be cornered in your territory and that's final. You begin to make little presents for your trespassers should they dare to enter your woods. Meanwhile, the four alphas find something very interesting...

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. Eventual smut, dub-con, knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. 141 x reader. The reader is officially a bad ass

Prologue

You stared down at the nest you had created and suddenly felt disgusted and angry. These alphas have stepped onto your territory and made you react like this. Three years of near bliss, despite the struggles, gone. The anger rolled over you in waves, it boiled your blood to the point you felt hot all over your body.

No. You weren't about to cower in your cabin and let some stupid alphas wander all over your territory. You were going to do something about it. You marched back towards your living room and opened one of the closets on the side of the hallway. You grabbed the bag full of supplies and swung it over your shoulder then looked at the shotgun leaned against the wall.

You hesitated only for a moment before you grabbed it too. Even in the times before the world ended you hadn't been one for conventionality. You preferred to be alone on your own property living your own life. And no alpha or beta, whether back then or now, was going to take this from you. You shoved the extra ammunition into your pockets and unbarred your door.

The cold winter air nipped at your skin and distantly you could still smell their combined scents. You pulled stuffing from a torn apart pillow and stuffed it up your nose. Happy hunting indeed, you thought as you stepped off into your piece heaven that would become their hell.

"Hey captain," Gaz said as they wandered through the very small town. It had likely been abandoned for ages. The first thing Gaz had noticed was that the windows were smashed in but the doors boarded up. Then he noticed the marks, spray paint in different symbols meaning something or another. "I think this place has been completely stripped bare."

Price hummed thoughtfully and turned to look around at the other buildings. All of them in similar states of disrepair but all with symbols sprayed onto them. He turned to his team, and contemplated their next steps. "Do you think they might still be around?" Ghost spoke up finally.

Price glanced at his lieutenant. They had stuck together when the entire world had completely gone down. First the electricity and then a disease. It apparently didn't take much else to throw the world into chaos. People killed people all the time before but not even Ghost had been prepared for the level of depravity some people dove to. Kidnapping local omegas, killing betas or hunting alphas for sport. Blowing up buildings and ransacking stores.

They had all stuck together as a pack since that was what they had always done. They wandered from place to place and it had taken them a little over a year to make it back to the UK. Bonds grew stronger and their ruts continued. They were all each other's support. Price considered the facts in front of them.

"Negative. I don't think whoever did this is still around," Price said as he eyed the pharmacy. The only building not having been closed off or marked with an 'x'. "Soap, Gaz, go investigate the pharmacy, me and Ghost will try to find any other buildings not marked."

They wandered around the town for a bit with Gaz and Soap meeting back up not long after they had departed. "Over tae counter medicine like Advil but nae much else," Soap tossed Ghost the bottle who looked over it.

"Not expired yet. Good find."

"Wait," Gaz suddenly said and sniffed the air. Everyone paused, Gaz had the best nose of them all. Able to sniff out any scents even days old. He walked over to a telephone pole that had a red smear on it and sniffed with his nose almost on the old blood.

He felt his cock chub up his pants immediately at the scent. At first it smelled like sweat and dirt but underneath that was a tangy, sour then sweet like a granny smith apple or a green grape, scent. An unmistakable smell of omega.

Gaz turned to the three other alphas, "There's an omega around." He grinned.

Hehe I'm gonna have fun writing this

Liked my fic? Buy me a Nutella jar

I do not give any permissions to repost my work, use it in AI, translate my work or any other thing. All rights reserved with me.

[reshinless]

Hear me out..Jealous!kinich x reader smut...also I love your writing style it makes me wanna explode🤭

──── bet you feel it now, baby

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ synopsis. you didn't have to laugh that hard at his joke. it wasn't even that funny. he's better, it's fine, he'll just show you how much better he is.

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ pairings. kinich x gn!afab!reader, !!NSFW CONTENT AHEAD!!

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ director's notice. posting wip list in a bit plus brief overview of 800 special fic (it'll probably be genshin/hsr :3)

۪ ⠀✧ warnings. possessive behavior (kinich), jalosi /j, kinda ass/pussy eating (see to it however you like, i used no real specific term, reader is blindfolded for some parts, jealous behavior, rough sex, sex itself, y'all get walked in on (be ready for this to be implied into more of my kinich works LOL), establish relationship

"ahhn- kinich i said 'm sorry.. pleasef- slow down!" your face in the pillows, your words muffled and long gone into the night. the black-haired man's raspy voice spoke from behind— your boyfriend, kinich, of course. "he wasn't all that entertaining, why laugh like how you do with me?"

it was torture to him, seeing how it went from an awkward laugh, a polite smile, to a more genuine appearance to the stupid guy that just had to come up to you while he was busy getting a little snack for ajaw— even ajaw wouldn't comment on how his face looked this time, keeping his own silence as he ate the delicious candy.

"fffuck- he was an old classmate i had at the akademiya- 'm sorry, i-i really am kin-!" he almost laughed at your words. classmate? doesn't mean you should be playfully hitting shoulder like that. or teasing him like that. it's all his, no one else should be able to have it.

you shuddered, what felt like cumming again for the umpteenth time in a row, he hadn't stopped pinning you against the wall, and making you see stars over and over again ever since you saw your "classmate".

"doesn't matter." he groans, finishing inside you once more, your eyes were blindfolded by his headwear, previously on his forehead. he carries you onto the mattress, laying you down a little roughly. "w- what are you doing?"

you shivered once more, feeling warm exhales near your entrance, his cheek resting suddenly on one of your thighs. "all mine, right?" the blunt tone present in his tone definitely made it out as if you couldn't tell him anything other than yes (because it was true). his lips start to scatter a plethora of glossy little kisses all over your thighs, the sensation of getting him to cover every inch of your legs felt like a fever dream.. was this really a punishment?

you could feel his other hand snake to one of yours, which was somewhere on the bed. holding it tight as he started to place wet pecks over your hole. "hhnnn.. kin stop- ... stop teasing me.." you felt yourself moan into his touch, your other hand reaching out for wherever his head was. your fist grabbing at his hair, almost trying to push him into you further.

you felt him groan into you, you could sense he was whipped for your taste. the way you moaned his name. his.. name. "ahh- ahhh fffuck!— kin it's all yours, i promise!" his hand left yours, and stopped lapping at your hole for a moment- you heard a small grunt, and two things landing on the floor.. was he taking his gloves off?!

you could feel him sitting you up with one of his other hands, arms setting you down onto his face, arms locking around your thighs. straddling you over his mouth, as he started to devour what was his. no other guy could do this to you, not without making you feel as good as he did.

shit and he definitely did, the way he made you feel wasn't like the stupid losers who'd try to hook up with you back in the akademiya. or tried to pick you up in the streets. they can't make you feel turned on as much as you did when kinich blindfolded your eyes with something he doesn't usually take off and hear his belt buckle start to come off- ahhh nothing was better!

oh you felt yourself almost creaming on his face just thinking about it. not to mention how good he worked his tongue into you, definitely tasting every little bit, every little nook & cranny his tongue could reach.

he made a small sound, looking up to see you slowly riding his face as is, trying to rub yourself near against his nose. his authorative hold was more than enough to stop you from moving again, one of his palms moving over your stomach to feel the way his tongue moved inside you.

his head busily buried itself more into your scent, glossing his tongue so carefully, making sure you feel it. you started to feel something pool in your stomach- ssshit you were gonna cum again! your hands trail back down to his hair, gripping it harshly again, him seeing signs that you're close, he fastens his pace, licking as much as he could, no longer concentrating on the taste, more on your facial expression.

"ahhn- kin i'm g'na-!" "mmm there it is, such a good kitty." were the words he moaned into your hole, as he gladly lapped up every inch of your delicious juice/cum.

as he placed a kiss onto your entrance once more, he places more than just one kiss onto your lips, making out with you for a bit. letting him taste what he's been tasting for the past hour, the shared, mix of both of your cum.

your lips finally parting from his, your eyes still shut close 'till you feel a fist of your hair being gripped, "not done yet." is all kinich whispers, his voice a little coarse as he continues to kiss you. "all.. yours," you feel him take your hand, putting it over his heart while you both pull away from the kiss, a string of saliva being created. "and all mine, please?" he points to where your heart is in your chest.

his blunt attitude could only make you laugh, planting a kiss onto his head, and nodding to an agreement. "mmm- yeah. all yours."

"you guys are reaaaaaaalll corny! you're lucky i like your partner this time!" ajaw butts in as you laugh, while kinich simply scoffs- looking the other way and burying his face into your chest.

not as cool as my other works, and it's more cringe if i keep looking back on it, cute request tho !!!!<3333

[veritasangel]

Can you do something with Simon and Price and reader? fluff or smut please:)

warnings: fem pov, contains nsfw content {mdni}, oral (giving/receiving), cum swallowing, handjob, threesome, price x simon

a/n: i haven't written smut in a while so it feels sloppy, sorry ↣ wc: 1.8k

Thinking about being one of the newer members to the 141 and you’ve quickly attached yourself to price and simon.

Late nights, when the rest of the team had turned in, you were often sat between them both. Price lights a cigar; the all-familiar tobacco smell mingles in the night air, the dancing flame casting shadows over his face.

Ghost, on the other hand, pulls you into his side with soft ease, as if it were the most natural thing. His arm falls over your shoulders, his body relaxed in ways you'd never see during the day-not when he's the silent, sharp-edged soldier everyone else knows. But here, in the quiet night on the base, he lets his guard down just enough.

Price's eyes flickered to where Ghost had you nestled against him, a quiet smirk playing on his lips. Though it wasn't just amusement lighting up his gaze-there was something possessive in it, something knowing, like he and Ghost were sharing some silent agreement over your head. 

Price turned to you, "Comfortable?" he asked, his tone layered with something more than curiosity.

You nodded, the warmth spreading through your chest, though whether from the closeness of their bodies or the way the gaze of Price lingered on you-you weren't quite so sure. You shifted slightly, only to feel Ghost's grip tighten, his fingers curling around your shoulder.

"Stay still, love," Ghost said, his voice in that low rumble, the quiet way he always spoke, but unmistakable beneath the tone tonight. His hand slid down your arm, deliberate and slow, leaving a trail of fire behind it. "We've got you."

Price chuckled low and deep as he watched your eyes flutter innocently at Ghost's words. "Poor thing," he said, the humour in his tone bleeding away to something a little softer, "Reckon you're not used to all this attention, are you?"

Before you could even respond, Price's hand landed on your knee, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles over the smooth skin. It felt like they were closing in on either side, enveloping you entirely, and you leaned into it.

"You don't have to do much, y'know," Price said again, and though his tone was teasing, it remained soothing. "Just let us take care of you."

Your words caught in your breath, your heart beating just a little bit faster as you tried to make sense of the change in air between the three of them, there was a possessiveness to the way they seemed so attuned to you.

Ghost's fingers brushed against your chin, his fingers tilting your head slightly towards him. "You're sweet, precious," he whispered, his eyes dark with the search for a reaction in yours. The edge in his tone was full of meaning. "Maybe a little too innocent for your own good, yeah?”

“I’m not-”

Price chuckled again, this time leaning in close enough that you could feel his breath against your neck. "It’s alright, nothing to be ashamed of," he said softly, voice almost a purr now. "Simon and I… we'll look after you."

His tone sent shivers down your spine, not out of fear but from the silent promise beneath his words. How their hands seemed to caress your skin in unison, touching you in a way that belied their sharp and deadly exteriors, your pulse racing at just the thought. You felt as though you were theirs-a shared treasure between them, and they had no intention of letting you go.

Ghost's thumb brushed your bottom lip and his eyes darkened just a fraction as he spoke again. "We'll take real good care of you, love. Won't let anything hurt you. Not while you've got us."

Price's hand had moved from your knee, drifting upwards to your thigh with slow, deliberate care. "You've no need to worry anymore," he murmured, the voice rich with the familiar comforting authority. "Between me and Simon, you'll always be safe.”

His touch was a blanket of warmth that wrapped you whole, and you couldn't help but sink deeper between them. By the way they looked at you, it was clear they'd taken it upon themselves to protect and cherish you-so long as you were willing to let them.

And of course, it wasn't long before these nights together turned into a whole lot more.

Price's grip on you tightens as Simon licks along your slit, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to leave marks. He can feel your body tensing, your breath hitching as Simon's tongue flicks against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you.

"That's it, love," Price murmurs, his voice a low growl in your ear. "Let him take care of you. You're doing so well." His hands wandered your body; one cupped one of your breasts, and the other drew circles on your side. He leaned into you, his beard rough against your neck as he nipped at the sensitive skin there.

Simon's fingers join his mouth, sliding inside you as his tongue continues its relentless assault. Price can feel your body seeking more, and he grins, knowing just how much you're enjoying this.

"Look at her, Simon," Price says in a husky voice. "She's fucking gorgeous like this. All flushed and needy." He leans back, giving Simon a better view of you, and watches as Simon's eyes darken with lust.

Price presses his cock against your ass, grinding into you, a low groan breaking free from him. "Fuck, angel," he mutters. "You feel so good. So fucking perfect."

You can feel the heat emanating from Price's body; the way he seems to revel in this moment-in your pleasure-is intoxicating. Simon's fingers curl inside you, and you arch your back, a moan slipping past your lips.

Price's hand slips from your breasts down to your clit, his thumb rubbing circles in perfect rhythm with Simon's tongue. The dual stimulation hits you at once, and you cling to Price, your nails digging into his skin as you allow yourself to fall deeper into the waves of pleasure that wash over you.

"She's close." Price growls, his voice hoarse. "You gonna’ come for us, pretty?" Simon's mouth works faster, his tongue flicking your clit with renewed urgency. 

You cry out, your body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you, leaving you trembling in Price's lap. Simon continues, drawing it out as much as he can before he pulls back, his eyes dark and hungry. Price's hand stays where it is, teasing your sensitive clit a little as he watches Simon stand up, his own cock hard and ready. Price's hand slides away, and he stands too, tugging you up with him.

"Get on your knees, love," Price orders in a strong voice. "Say thank you to Simon."

Still trying to catch your breath, you fall to your knees in front of Simon. His cock, thick and heavy, beading with precum.You don’t hesitate to take him in your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip..

Price stands behind you, watching you pleasure Simon, his hand resting on your head. "That's it-" he praises, his hand guiding your head, "Take care of him like he took care of you."

Simon's hand finds its way to the back of your head too, guiding you as his hips buck, forcing more of his cock into your waiting mouth. 

Price watches, the satisfied grin still plastered on his face as he leans over, his lips meeting Simon's in a heavy, passion-filled kiss. His hand disappears from your head, now sliding to Simon's hip to pull him closer as their tongues dance.

You continue to pleasure Simon, your lips sliding up and down his shaft, your hand joining the effort to help the parts you can’t reach. The sight of Price kissing Simon only adds to your own arousal, the two looking as though it’s not the first time.

Price draws back from the kiss. "She's a natural, isn't she?" he murmurs-low and husky. "Takes’ to everything we ask her to do like she was born for it."

Simon nods, his eyes meeting yours whilst you continue sucking him off. "Fucking amazing," he agrees. "She's so goddamn responsive. I love seeing her like this."

"And she's ours," he says, a possessive edge to his voice. "No one else gets to have her like this. Just us."

Simon's grip on your head tightens as his hips move faster. "God, yes," he growls.

As his breathing becomes increasingly ragged, he reaches for Price's cock with his free hand. His fingers wrap around the shaft as he begins to stroke it in time with your mouth on him. 

The sight of the two of them, the way they work together is intoxicating, your body humming with arousal. Price's fingers tug your hair gently while Simon's hips buck into your mouth, growing closer to the edge.

Simon's thrusts become more erratic as his orgasm washes over him, ropes of cum coating your tongue, before you swallow, much to his approval. Price observes this scene, his own orgasm not far behind either.

Price groans as Simon's strokes bring him closer to his own release. "Fuck, Simon," he growls, voice thick with desire. "You're going to make me come."

Simon's strokes don't let up, his thumb continuing to tease the head of Price's cock. "Go on then" he orders, his voice low in his chest. "Let go."

You draw back, eyes locked with Price as Simon's hand works him faster. You can see the tension in his body, muscles pulled tight and ready to snap.

Price's breath catches, his body straining as his orgasm rips through him. He groans, his head falling forward onto Simon’s shoulder as his release spills over Simon's hand and some dripping onto you as his body shakes from the force of it.

As Price descends from his high, he looks down at you, his eyes satisfied. He reaches out, hand cupping your cheek as his thumb brushes away the white glob from your cheek.

"You're such a good girl" he utters in a soft, murmuring tone. "All ours."

Simon pulls you up into his arms, his lips finding yours in a deep passionate kiss. You taste yourself on him, and it only serves to turn you on further.

Price watches, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as Simon takes over the kiss, his hand sliding down your back to your ass.

The three of you fall onto the bed again, bodies intertwined. And in this moment, surrounded by their warmth and strength, you know you're exactly where you're meant to be.

༄ cod m.list

© veritasangel ↣ do not copy or translate any of my works.

[pickingupmymercedes]

A bit mushy - Lewis Hamilton

Let's see how Lewis and his wife do in a Couple's Interview.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: none

wordcount: +3k

a/n: Fun and light Lewis for the win, again thanks a million times to @greedyjudge2 for the idea and for some of the questions, I know I don't usually write carefree Lewis but it's my favorite ❤️❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

_______________________________________

The room was buzzing—cameras being adjusted, light stands tweaked and a handful of crew members chatting as they waited for everything to come together.

Lewis sat comfortably on the low-slung, cushy armchair beside his wife, his hand resting casually on the back of her seat tracing lazy circles on her back. They looked impossibly relaxed, as if the cameras were invisible, and this was just another day at home.

The director, a laid-back guy with a coffee stain on his jeans and a clipboard that looked way too serious for the vibe of the shoot, strolled over.

He was juggling his phone and an energy drink, clearly a man trying to keep his cool while wrangling two of the most charismatic people in motorsports.

“Okay, so this should be easy” he started, his voice overly casual like he almost didn’t want to disturb the couple’s chemistry “No serious stuff. No PR-approved answers. We’re here for the real deal. Just answering a few questions about each other, nothing too scandalous. Think... fun, but, y’know, juicy enough to make people smile.”

Lewis’s wife, legs crossed and leaning slightly into her husband’s space, raised an eyebrow. “Define juicy” a sly smile tugging at her lips.

The director chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know, like... light-hearted scandal. Stuff people don’t already know. Maybe embarrass him a little—" he motioned to Lewis—"but in a cute way.”

Lewis shot the director a mock glare “Right, you don’t really need to ask her that” he said, his voice dripping with good-humored sarcasm.

His wife snorted, turning to face him with a grin. “Promise not to dig too deep. Unless we’re talking about those sneakers you wore to the beach...”

Lewis groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. “Not the beach sneakers again! One time and I’m branded for life.”

The crew around them snickered, and even the sound guy adjusted his headphones to cover a grin.

There was something about the way they bickered that had the whole room leaning in, as if everyone was witnessing the most intimate, casual conversation between two people who just fit.

The director, fully entertained, motioned to the cameraman to get ready. “Alright, alright. Let’s save the good stuff for the shoot. Remember, it’s just you two being yourselves. No need to put on a show.”

His wife reached over and squeezed Lewis’s hand. “No promises.”

As they shared a quiet laugh, the subtle touches and glances between them were enough to make anyone nearby smile. There was no need for grand gestures—the way they leaned into each other, how their conversations flowed effortlessly, said more than any scripted moment ever could.

They had that kind of love that made everyone else feel like they were in on something out of ordinary, just by watching.

The cameras zoomed in slowly as the couple got comfortable in their seats. Lewis leaned back, his arm still slung casually around his wife’s chair, his body slight angled so he could face her better, and she tucked one leg underneath her, turning toward him like she always did when they were in the middle of one of their many quiet conversations.

Except this wasn’t quite so quiet. The cameras were rolling now, and the world was about to get a glimpse into how they were with each other.

The director's voice came through, just loud enough to hear but never intrusive.

“Alright, let’s get this rolling. What embarrassing fashion trend did you take part in?”

Lewis immediately leaned forward, rubbing his hands together as if he was preparing for battle. “I’ll own this one. Bandanas. Wore them with everything back in the day. Thought I was some kind of rockstar or something.”

She tilted her head, eyebrows shooting up. “Bandanas?” she asked, feigning surprise. Her eyes glimmered with mischief, and she leaned closer, as if letting the audience in on a secret. “You sure it wasn’t the Timberlands?”

Lewis threw his head back with a groan, already knowing where this was headed. “Not the Timbs,” he mumbled, shaking his head like he was in actual pain.

“Yeah, the Timbs” she said, fully grinning now. “Let me remind you, you used to wear them with everything. Jeans, tracksuits, shorts, suits—”

Lewis raised a hand, stopping her, though there was a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I still stand by those, alright? I don’t care what anyone says. Timbs are timeless.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, patting his leg. “Sure, babe. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The banter between them came so naturally, it was easy to forget there were cameras pointed right at them. The crew standing around had mostly stopped what they were doing, some watching the couple with amused smirks, others clearly touched by how playful yet undeniably affectionate they were towards each other.

“Okay, next question: What first attracted you to each other?”

Lewis’s wife leaned back, narrowing her eyes like she was trying to come up with something profound. “His sense of style,” she deadpanned, lips twitching as she fought back a grin.

Lewis blinked, his head cocked to the side. “Seriously? You were just attacking my Timbs? That guy’s sense of style?”

For a moment, she held her ground, lips pursed in mock-seriousness. But after a few seconds of staring at him—his bewildered look, the way he was just waiting for her to crack—she broke. Her laugh wasn’t exactly loud but it filled the room.

“Okay, fine!” She reached out, her hand landing on his thigh, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants. “It was your eyes.”

Lewis’s eyebrows shot up as he gave her a soft smile. He just stared at her, thrown off by her sudden honesty.

She smiled, her gaze softening too as she looked at him. “They’re intense, you know? Like you see things really deeply. The way you look at the world... it’s impossible not to notice.”

Lewis was quiet for a beat, his usual witty retorts momentarily forgotten. His hand moved instinctively to cover hers on his leg, squeezing it gently. “Well, damn” he finally said, his voice quieter than before, almost reverent.

The room around them seemed to still. There was something about the way they looked at each other that made it feel like they were the only ones there, like everyone else had faded away.

“Next one—‘On what occasion have you lied to me?’”

Lewis’s eyes went wide, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he glanced at his wife. “Uh… Remember when I blamed Roscoe for loosing up your house shoes?”

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him in disbelief. “No. You’re telling me you wore my house shoes, Lewis?!”

He winced, trying to play it cool. “I mean… It was just that one time! They looked comfy, and my feet were cold. I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Oh, I noticed,” she said, crossing her arms. “I just thought Roscoe had lied on them, not that your big feet had wrecked them!”

The crew chuckled, sensing the playful tension building between them.

“Roscoe was the perfect scapegoat…” Lewis defended himself.

“My poor baby” she sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “You threw him under the bus!”

“He didn’t seem to mind,” Lewis replied with a smirk, leaning closer to her, his tone turning softer. “But hey, I bought you new ones”

She raised a brow, clearly amused but still pretending to be serious.

“Have I ever made you jealous?”

Lewis leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, a playful smirk creeping across his face as he quipped in before she could. “She has, yes.”

His wife’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh? When exactly?”

He didn’t answer immediately, taking his time like he always did when he wanted to build up the suspense. She leaned in; her curiosity evident in the way her lips quirked. “Come on, give me the details.”

Lewis shook his head, clearly amused. “The silver dress” he said, voice low.

For a second, she didn’t react, clearly trying to place the memory. Then, like a lightbulb flicking on, her eyes widened in recognition. “Ohhh, that night!”

Her laughter exploded from her, loud and sudden, catching even the crew off guard. She leaned back in her chair, clutching her stomach slightly as she laughed, while Lewis sat there, arms still crossed, trying his best to look annoyed but clearly failing.

“That night was something” she said between laughs, her eyes shimmering with tears of amusement.

Lewis sighed, shaking his head. “I’m glad you think it was so funny.”

“Oh, babe, you were so grumpy” she teased, nudging him with her foot.

Lewis didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he just looked at her with that mix of exasperation and fondness that made it clear that, no matter what she did, she was always going to get away with it.

“What’s a song that reminds you of each other?”

This time, she didn’t even hesitate. “A Life Like This by Nao.”

Lewis’s face softened immediately. “Why that one?”

She smiled, but it wasn’t her usual teasing grin. This one was softer, more intimate. “Because... before you, I was just going through life, you know? Things were just happening, and I wasn’t really... present. Then you came along, and it was like everything shifted. It was like my Saturn return was finally over, and I could just... breathe.”

For a moment, Lewis said nothing. His face betrayed him—no amount of his typical coolness could hide the way her words hit him.

He leaned forward slightly, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re really gonna get me emotional, huh?” he murmured, his voice so low only she and the mic could pick up on his voice.

She just smiled; her eyes full of love. “That’s the plan.”

The crew exchanged looks and quiet smiles. It was impossible not to feel the connection between them, like they were watching something precious unfold right in front of them.

“What’s something you wish you did more often?”

Lewis leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Lazy mornings.”

She smiled, nodding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah” he said softly, his eyes on her. “No alarms, no schedules, no meetings. Just us. Laying in bed, talking, laughing... not worrying about what we have to do next.”

She nodded again, her smile turning wistful. “Yeah.”

Their eyes met, and once again, the room seemed to shrink around them, leaving just the two of them in their little bubble.

“Okay love birds, next up ‘What is the most treasured possession that the other has given you?’”

She paused, tapping her chin as if she really had to think about it, though the answer was clearly already on her mind. “The necklace you gave me on our third date.”

The director blinked, looking between them. “Third date?”

“Oh yeah” she nodded, leaning back in her chair, eyes sparkling as she shot Lewis a teasing look. “He was whipped by then.”

Lewis rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “You make it sound like I was proposing marriage.”

“You weren’t far off, though” she teased, reaching for the necklace hanging delicately around her neck. “He gave me this beautiful pendant, that he designed himself, by the way, and I remember thinking, ‘Okay, this guy is serious.’”

Lewis chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I knew what I wanted.”

“That you did” she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

“Yeah” he grinned. “No point in playing games.”

She looked down at the necklace again, her voice softening. “It’s not just the necklace though. It’s what it represented. He was showing me he wasn’t just there for fun—he was there for real.”

Lewis met her gaze, his smile quieter now, filled with affection. “I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

“When did you first know that you were in love?”

This time, she was the one to hesitate, a mischievous glint in her eye. “In love with whom?” she asked, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Lewis groaned, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, don’t start.”

She giggled, clearly enjoying every second of his exasperation. “I knew I loved you when we went through about a dozen paint stores in Milan looking for the perfect shade of gold for that painting.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, didn’t remember that.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I could’ve just mixed the colors myself and gotten something close. But you were so invested in finding the exact match that I just... I kept going. And I knew it then. I knew I loved you because you cared about the little things, the details that most people would overlook.”

Lewis stared at her; his face unreadable. Then, slowly, he smiled—a soft, genuine smile that seemed to melt the room around them.

“What’s your favorite memory of the two of you?”

Lewis leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That time we missed the flight in Paris.”

She let out a groan, breaking the feeling in the room, she already knew where this story was headed. “Nooo, not that!”

“Yep,” Lewis said with a smile. “So we were in Paris, right? And someone—” he pointed at her playfully, “—was absolutely convinced that the subway would get us to the airport faster than any car could.”

“It would’ve!” she protested, already laughing. “The traffic was insane!”

“Yeah sure” he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “So there we were, dragging our bumps through the subway stations, hopping from one line to the next. Every station was like a maze, and we were so lost. I kept telling you, ‘Let’s just get a cab,’ but nooo, you were determined.”

She shook her head, smiling. “It was an adventure!”

“It was chaos and we missed the flight by hours” Lewis corrected, his voice teasing but fond.

“But honestly? It’s one of my favorite memories. You were so carefree, so determined, so in the present. We were lost in Paris but we weren’t lost within ourselves.”

Her smile softened, her eyes holding his for a long moment. “You never told me that was your favorite memory.”

“Yeah” he said quietly, his voice more sincere now. “I felt like we could just... slow down. Be present. No pressure, no expectations. Just you and me.”

For a moment, they were silent, the weight of his words settling between them. The room around them was so still that the soft hum of the cameras was the only sound. The crew watched them closely, as if holding their collective breath.

She leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder, and whispered just loud enough for the microphones to catch “I think that’s my favorite memory now, too.”

Lewis smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, and for a few seconds, it was like the cameras weren’t even there. It was just them, lost in a shared memory, a world of their own.

The director, sensing the intimacy of the moment, cleared his throat gently.

“Alright, now to wrap this up ‘When can we expect little Hamiltons running around?”

Both Lewis and his wife exchanged quick glances, and almost in unison, they burst out laughing—only this time, their laughter had a bit of an edge, like they knew something the room didn’t.

Lewis leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands together. “Ooooh, good one.”

“You had to go there, didn’t you?” she added, her eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. “Real smooth.”

The crew, sensing the couple was playing coy, leaned in just a bit, waiting for a juicy response. But instead, Lewis leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Well, you never know, right?”

His wife smirked, glancing at him sideways, playing along. “When you least expect it”

The director, not quite satisfied, pressed on. “Any plans in the near future?”

“Oh, besides, like, tomorrow’s plans?” she quipped, keeping the teasing energy alive.

Lewis chimed in again, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “We’ve got a lot of plans. Travel, Roscoe’s bath time…”

The director chuckled, shaking his head. “Dodging the question, I see.”

Lewis gave a knowing look to the camera, adding one final, cryptic comment. “We’ll let you know when it happens... maybe.”

And with that, they both smiled at the cameras, their laughter filling the air as the director called “cut” for the final time.

The room gradually came back to life, the hum of equipment being packed up and crew members chatting quietly filling the air. The couple stayed seated, though, still caught in the gentle pull of their shared moment, almost unaware of the bustling scene around them.

Lewis exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing as he glanced at his wife, his arm instinctively pulling her a little closer. She smiled, still leaning into him, her head resting against his shoulder, fingers absentmindedly playing with his fingers.

“That was a bit mushy, wasn’t it?” she murmured, a teasing lilt to her voice, though there was warmth in her eyes as she gazed up at him.

Lewis smirked, brushing his thumb gently against her arm. “Just a little. But you started it.”

She chuckled softly, nuzzling into his shoulder. “Tou’re not usually one for getting all sentimental on camera.”

He shrugged lightly, but there was no real defensiveness in his posture.

She smiled, her heart swelling at the softness in his gestures. “Good. I like you better that way.”

She sighed softly, sitting up a little and stretching her arms out with a satisfied groan. “People are going to think we’re a pair of softies.”

Lewis chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Let them.”

She smiled, sitting back in her chair and looking at him with a tenderness that only deepened as she reached out, her hand cupping his cheek for a brief moment. “I guess it’s not the worst thing to be.”

He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly before he opened them and looked straight at her. “Nah, it’s not.”

Unbeknownst to them, the cameras were still rolling—just a little, a behind-the-scenes shot meant to capture those moments of candidness. The crew tried to keep their distance, giving the couple their space, but every now and then, someone would glance over, a quiet smile tugging at their lips. There was something undeniably magnetic about Lewis and his wife, the way they moved around each other, the way they fit together.

Without thinking, he stood up and extended a hand to her, pulling her up from her seat. As she stood, she let out a small laugh, one that was soft and filled with affection. But before she could fully straighten up, Lewis slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest in a gentle, protective embrace.

For a second, she stiffened—more out of surprise than anything—but then she melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. It was a simple gesture, nothing extravagant, but in that moment, it was everything.

“Alright, lover boy” she murmured, her voice laced with contentment. “What’s all this about?”

“Just holding you” he replied simply, his voice low and soothing, the kind of tone he used when it was just the two of them, no audience, no pressure. “Feels like we haven’t had a minute to ourselves in forever.”

She smiled as she found her place on the crock of his neck, her fingers absently tracing circles on the back of his neck “You’ll get them,” she promised quietly. “We’ll make time.”

Eventually, Lewis pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know,” he started, his tone teasing “about those Timbs.”

She groaned, playfully swatting at his chest. “I thought we agreed to leave the Timbs in the past.”

“I never agreed to that” he grinned, tightening his arms around her playfully. “I’m still rocking them, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face betrayed her. “Well, at least one of us has evolved.”

He laughed, pressing a soft kiss to her head. “Maybe. But you love me anyway.”

“I do,” she said softly, the sincerity of the words wrapping around them both like a warm blanket. “I really do.”

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf

@priopp123 @strqirlhrts @hmmmmm-01 @bisexual-babygirl-mj @bebesobrielo @hiireadstuff

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Satin Pillows To Cry On

CW: coercion with money, age gap(7 yrs), transactional marriage, obsessive/yandere behavior

gn! reader

﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀

You’ve got nothing else, no one else to rely on. 

‘You’re something he bought to keep from growing old.” 

Your clothes are worth small countries. Your cars stacked in 3-level garages. Diamonds, emeralds, pearls hanging from your wrists and ears, satchels made of endangered animal skins, different shoes for each day of the year. 

Your boyfriend of three years spat at your feet when you told him what you were doing. 

“His money can’t love you, not like I can.”

The wedding was only two months away when you broke up with him, told him you couldn’t live in his broke-down apartment anymore, that you couldn’t live with debt trailing wherever you went. You went so far as to make him hate you, to tell him that you never wanted to see him again, that you never loved him, that he better not bother showing up to the wedding. You didn’t want him there, you never wanted to see him again. 

“You’re lying to me; he’s making you say these things, he’s using you against me! You’ve known him what-- two seconds, and you’re going to marry this man?! He’s nearly a decade older than you!” 

Seven years of an age gap or not, he was still a thousand times more independent, wealthy, and a safer choice than your boyfriend. You weren’t some fresh college student new to the world, you had graduated over two years ago, still finding no luck in getting a stable income-- forget about whether or not it was in the field of your degree. 

You left in a single day, fitting all of your scavanged belongings into one of your fiance’s awaiting cars. You left anything worth of value with your ex-boyfriend, knowing he’d find more use out of it than you would. You would even leave the rest of your things there if he could find use for them, but you knew they’d just be one more painful reminder of your betrayal. 

He did as you said, not showing up to your wedding, staying clear, never appearing in your line of sight since the day you left. It made it easier…. For both of you that way. 

And now you were happy-- well, maybe not happy, maybe not even content, but you were… safe. You had everything you needed: a working car, a stable job that you felt productive in, a clean and comforting house to come home to, a spouse. Sure, maybe you didn’t get your new job yourself, or your house or your car-- but did that really matter, in this economy? Who wouldn’t trade their life and their independence for this kind of wealth?

And your husband… he wasn’t all bad. He might have only wanted you for the sake of having you at first, like a new jewel or the latest technological invention. But he was doting and caring in his own way. Maybe just a tiny bit too invested in you, in your schedule and who you talked to. A little too hateful towards your ex-boyfriend, the one who had you before he could. But everyone had character flaws, and on good days you could distract him from his grumpy mood and stress and obsessive behaviors by being the loving and oh so perfect spouse you had trained yourself to be ever since he asked to marry you. 

“Colder than all that gold…” You repeated in your mind, the words your family whispered to each other at your wedding reception only a few feet away from you. 

That was over six months now, though… the honeymoon phase never existed, you rarely saw your husband except for his midnight appearances back from the office, and whenever he would whisk you away for a weekend vacation to savor the time he had with you. For someone more sophisticated, much wealthier, and dare you say handsomer than the average man-- you were surprised to find he didn’t have a line of divorces behind him. 

No; he said, he had been “waiting for you.” whether  you or he knew it, he understood right from the moment of meeting you that you were the one he’d have for the rest of his life, even if it killed him. That severity… scared you. But in a sick sense, it made you feel relieved. Forever? This could be yours, forever? Your family would never have to struggle again, you would never have to worry where your next meal came from?

“I cleared your schedule until tuesday; we’re going to the isles. A mini vacation, you might call it. Get your things.”

He was cold, that was for sure. But, was he any worse than your ex-boyfriend, especially when he was offering you an expensive experience on top of that?

“All right..” You acquiesced. 

And now, you lied sunken into the bed feeling his loving, hot breath on your navel. Going so sweetly slow, so oddly and uncharacteristingly lingering with his touches as he gazes into your eyes. You didn’t like this; didn’t like that when he was cherishing you, making love to you, holding you so intimately, he was appearing… like a husband should. Where did he get the nerve to ignore you everyday, to have hardly any time for you, only to come back and beg for your love when it was convenient for him? 

But you keep your mouth shut, like you should, if you want to keep eating breakfast in bed, keep wearing silk robes while watching the view of the ocean outside your window.

“So beautiful…you’re like a work of art, the kind no amount of money can buy.” 

That was funny, hilarious even. Enough so to make you cry. 

A familiar face passes by the slightly ajar door to distract you, likely one of the housekeepers leaving for the night. But you swear the man’s figure reminds you of someone from your past, someone you loved and left for good. 

Your husband brings back your attention by placing a gentle kiss to your temple, blindly undoing the clasp of the necklace he bought you.

“I’m so lucky… so lucky to have been the one to catch you, forever. No one could’ve done it, not without what I have.”

He wanted you to kiss and caress back, but sometimes lying still was just enough. It was enough for him to witness you, basking in the glow of everything you wore from him, lying in the Egyptian cotton sheets he paid extra for, your body molded to the diet his personal chefs cooked. 

Even as he pushed a knee between your legs, traveling from your navel to your stomach with open-mouthed sucks and kisses in the rawest form of affection, you couldn’t help but turn your face deep into the pillow. So soft, the soft purple shielding your eyes from his tender gaze.

You might’ve given up love, given up everything familiar and those who you’ve cared for-- but at least you had satin pillows to cry on, and the finest jewelry to wipe your tears with. 

[kianamaiart]

Hello your magical girl story looks really intriguing, the premise feels very creative, the art style is simple but good with its own identity, and the characters seem to be fleshed out with depth, personality, and backstory. In short, I love it, and I do have a few questions.

One: Is the story character driven, story driven, or something else

Two: Is the story rated G, PG, PG-13, or something else

Three: Would the story be a web comic, web show, or something else

Four: Will there be a lot of lore and world building, yes or no

Five: what other inspirations did you have for the story's characters, plot, and art style

Six: What humor do you use for the story

I'm only asking these questions out of curiosity. This is just because I love your story, and would like to know more about.

So please be free to not answer all the questions if you want. I'm also fine if you ignore this ask. so please, no pressure.

At the end of the day, please have fun, relax, work hard, take your time, and have a nice day.

I'm so glad! Thanks so much for your interest <3

Character driven (always)

PG/PG-13

Dunno! I've been reached out to already for a few opportunities but right now, I'm just trying to have fun with it and keep it mine until I feel like the idea is fully realized and ready for something bigger. Right now, I'm shooting to make a lil pilot animatic mostly on my own with help from a few friends

Depends on what you mean by a lot but I'd say a soft yes

For Aika, just generally other anime protagonists from shoujo and shonen. I feel like when you're doing a spin on something you do have to rely on the tropes from the genre at least a little bit. For Zira, Toko Fukawa was the jumping off point but they're very different. They're also both based off of aspects of myself (I feel like most artists do this with their ocs tho). Style and story-wise, I was definitely looking at Doremi and Panty&Stocking. That chunky cute look that's distinctly anime but takes some notes from Western cartoons. But mine's flipped where it's more based on my own style from working in Western animation but then having anime influence. And story-wise I like how they're more episodic with an underlying story. The magical girl stuff is more a backdrop that helps the story move forward and enhances the slice of life stuff that's being focused on.

I'm not sure what kind of humor to say other than my own? But my sense of humor has been shaped by Big City Greens (obviously) Adventure Time, Jimmy Neutron, Bob's Burgers, Smiling Friends and many other things but hopefully that gives you the gist

[pennjammin]

❀ halle berry.ᐟ❀

a glimpse into the mind of jjk men being feral over your perfect thighs <3

content: gn!reader (Choso, Geto), switch!choso, thigh fucking, cunnilingus (Gojo), afab!reader (Nanami, Gojo), sorcery!au (Gojo), exhibitionism (nanami), toys (geto), husband!nanami, established relationship, ¿unprotected?

word count. 3k

incl pairings: choso, gojo, geto, nanami

soundtrack 🪐📀: p*$$y fairy!

a/n: the title is because in the song halle berry he’s like going crazy over how fine his woman is and so i thought it fit LMFAOAO

🧚🏼‍♀️

Choso

Choso loves when you wear thigh-high socks.

You’d scored a light blue and white striped pair with C’s on them, just for your Cho baby. They slip and slide all down your legs as Choso fucks between them, fingers entangled in the material.

“Hngh - warm,” is all he manages to mumble as his slick cock slides through your thighs.

The two of you stand in front of the mirror, your hands behind you, holding onto his back as he strokes needily.

You watch as his fat, light-colored tip pokes through with each of his thrusts, his fingers now sliding up, and shoved deep into the light stretch marks on your hips. All you have on is the socks, your back arched painfully, and you moan as you watch him use you for his pleasure.

“Feels so good, huh, Cho?” you purr, sliding a hand behind your head to fist one of his pigtails.

“S-So good,” he mutters, his pace quickening. You can feel his cock rub against your aching heat with every stroke, slicking him up, making your thighs all wet and sticky.

Lewd suction noises pour into the room to mesh with Choso’s moans, your own praises cooing out in time with his thrusts.

Yes. Good boy. So good. Like that. Don’t stop.

Choso’s hands come up and desperately grip your chest, holding on tightly and applying pressure to your achingly hard nipples.

“F-fuck,” you whine, and Choso’s head falls onto your shoulder as you release his hair.

“C-Can I please put it in now?” he begs, teeth clamping down onto your skin, softly planting kisses there after.

“Mm, dunno,” you taunt, “don’t know if you deserve it.”

“B-But I’ve been good,” Choso whines out. His grip on your chest softens but he continues to roll his hips, sliding that cock in and out, and you feel yourself drip more as the tip travels over the sensitive underside of your heat.

You shudder against him, and when he speaks again his tone has shifted mildly.

“That’s right,” he coos. “Y-Y’know you wanna let me in, baby, please?”

Your hands find his thighs and dig your nails in. He lets out a filthy howl in your ear, which makes you moan in frustration.

“Fuck it,” you whisper, leaning forward and planting your hands on the mirror. “Fuck me, Cho. Need you.”

Choso gasps, as if he hadn’t intended for that to work, but nevertheless he wastes no time grabbing himself at the base and pressing his tip to your soppy hole.

“Th-Thank you,” he mumbles. “Love your thighs, but nothing feels as good as your insides, baby.”

You shake your head and part your legs to give him more access. “Hurry up before I keep you from cumming,” you snap.

“Y-Yes baby,” Choso chirps, and it isn’t long before the two of you have completely forgotten about the socks as they slide to your ankles, your mind going brainless as Choso punishes you right back.

Gojo

Gojo tries to pretend he doesn’t have an issue with you leaving the house in fishnets, but realistically, it always makes him irrationally jealous. Especially to go on missions, when he knows everyone will be in attendance.

Now, he knows he’s the strongest sorcerer and - the most attractive - and well, the best. He knows you’d be insane to leave him for anyone else. You wouldn’t.

But he also knows that when you look like that - the big gaps in the nets not hiding the perfect shape of your smooth thighs and a pleated blue skirt to compliment your uniform - that you’re nothing but blood in a sea of sharks.

Even Nanami, the respectable man that he is, sneaks a second look when you come by. And Gojo wants to wring his neck for it.

He’s forced to watch as you kiss Geto on the cheek and laugh at one of Higuruma’s, no doubt, unfunny jokes. He swipes a hand across his face. Thank God for his blindfold. No one can see the rage in his eyes.

It’s only about halfway through the day when he can’t stand it any longer. He sees you keep messing with them, twisting and adjusting them, and he drags his eyes to your little fingers, reminding him how they entangle themselves in his hair whenever he has his tongue buried in your hole.

He’s thinking about ripping a gaping hole in the tights and pushing your panties to the side, too desperate to worry about taking all of it off, and devouring you around the material.

You’d let out a surprised moan, like you always do at first contact. He’d blow cool air on your clit while two of his fingers pinch and massage your wet folds. You’d writhe, your thighs would clench over his ears like fleshy earmuffs. He’d have no choice but to lift his blindfold off of one eye, just to get a better look at your head fallen back, your top teeth clenching your bottom lip.

He’d continue to shred the fishnets as he entangled his long fingers in them for support. You’d whine that they were your favorite. He’d whisper that he’ll buy you a hundred new pairs, and you’d moan from his breathy words landing on your aching clit.

“Satoru,” your voice chokes him out of his fantasy.

He glances down at you through his cloth, though he knows you can’t tell. He clears his throat.

“Yes?” he croaks out.

“Did you hear me? We’re going to grab lunch,” you run a hand over his arm and he feels his muscles respobd to your touch. “Coming?”

Damn near, he almost says, but he instead smiles and pulls you into a side hug - making sure to glide his hand over your hip as you begin walking together.

You chirp against him and put a hand on his chest to balance yourself. “Mmh, did you know you have a little… situation?” you question innocently, and Satoru doesn’t even have to look down to know how rock solid he is in his pants.

“It’s your fault,” he grits back. “I keep telling you not to wear these.” He stops to flick the tights with his finger.

You giggle and drop your hand. “And I keep telling you that I’m gonna do it till you force me to stop.”

Gojo stops walking. The rest of the group is well ahead, good. They won’t notice the two of you falling behind.

“Do we really have to eat with them?” he asks.

“You read my mind,” you look up and stand on your toes to kiss him on the chin, to which he shivers. You, making the most powerful and supposedly composed sorcerer, shiver. “I’ve got your favorite snack already.”

Gojo glances up again to make sure the group is at least out of earshot, and without hesitance he’s gripping your hand and dragging you off towards the opposite direction.

“Fuck, this is why I love you,” he growls. “But seriously. This is your last time wearing these, okay?”

You nod your head innocently, though he knows good and well that you’re just playing along, and after he’s done ripping your current pair to shreds, the following week you’ll be right back in a new pair to tease him with.

Nanami

Nanami is a conservative man. He doesn’t show off much of his skin. Not that it’s really the same for men, but he certainly doesn’t mind when you do it.

His favorite kind is you, wearing a strapless number with a dangerously high slit in it, holding a tiny clutch with nothing but lip gloss inside because you have no reason to carry a wallet when you go out together.

But what gets him the most is your tall, knee-high heels with red on the bottom. They had been a Christmas gift from him, but it still amazes him how you’re able to balance yourself on them each time, without fail.

He orders you a driver, like always, so that the two of you can drink together without worrying about the commute home. He’s immediately pulling your leg over his lap after he joins you in the backseat.

He watches as the material of your dress falls back against the leather seat. The skin on your thighs have puffed out; he’s ogling them like a schoolboy. He catches a glimpse of your hip under the slit. He realizes with a jolt there’s no panty waistline.

You’ve left the house commando.

He tightens his grip on the material of your boot, trying to pry his eyes away, but all he can think about is how disgustingly easy you’ve made it for him to sit beside you at dinner and tip-toe his fingers into the slit of the dress and part your legs with his fingertips.

You’d oblige immediately, gasping as you look over at him and pretend you don’t want to do this in public.

But he would continue on, making small talk with the waitress and ordering wine as he begins to drag the fingertip over your clit that’s already throbbing achingly.

When the waitress leaves, he’d lean over and kiss you on the cheek, and you’d lean back against the seat and part your legs a bit to give him more access.

His eyes would catch another glimpse at the delicious shoes and momentarily falter as he wonders what they look like over his shoulders. He doesn’t have to wonder what you’d look like under him, getting stuffed and bent out of shape in your skimpy dress, because your face is already so flushed - your lips slightly parted as you try not to moan.

He blinks, and he’s suddenly back in the car, and his hand has mindlessly travelled to rest on your bare hip. You stare at him a bit confused, because he’s sitting and just staring blankly at you with his jaw clenched.

“Is everything okay?” you question.

He swallows and smiles reassuringly.

“Perfect, my love,” he nods. “Tell me, was wearing no underwear a last minute decision?”

He watches as you tap your chin, and then scoot your hips a bit closer to him, and now he knows you can feel his cock poking against your legs.

“Kind of,” you shrug. “Who needs them, you know?”

Nanami exhales. You little minx.

“You do, for my sake,” Nanami pinches a bit of the skin on your hip and you respond by gripping onto his tie. “I… am going to find it difficult to sit at dinner with this information.”

You giggle, a soft sound that sends more blood pumping through his cock. He thinks of the two of you in bed, when his dick accidentally slides out of you and you giggle at him while you grab the base and put it back in. Your face immediately twists from a smug crack of amusement to furrowed eyebrows and pleasure.

God, he’s so worked up.

“Driver,” he says suddenly, and he feels you raise an eyebrow at him. “Take us back home, please.”

Geto

You’ve never worn fancy underwear around Geto.

Your relationship started as a hookup a few years back, and whenever you saw each other, you were always drunk and just trying to claw to the bare skin underneath - hardly concerning yourselves with what kind of bra or underwear you had on.

As time has passed, you feel Geto deserves a surprise. You wonder what his reaction would be, to you maybe wearing something simple, like matching underwear and a pair of garters.

As soon as the order comes in, you’re putting it on. They are tight and dig into your skin, but you hope it’s going to be worth it.

You’re wearing the look underneath a big shirt and pajama pants, your typical attire for bed. Geto is in the bathroom, massaging oils into his hair and slicking it back.

You lean against the doorway, “You act like you’re going to run into the president in your dreams.”

Geto turns to you and grins, dropping his hands from the wet locks. “I have a reputation to uphold as the guy with flawless hair, alright?”

You roll your eyes. “To whom? Satoru?” You begin to make kissy noises. “And they’re both boys, mwah, mwah, mwah…”

“Oh hush,” Geto swats at you before washing his hands. Then, he walks a few steps over and plants a kiss on your head before sliding his hands up your sides and under the big shirt.

You watch as his brain registers what’s going on. His hands halt over the leather material of your garter belt, before he rips the shirt up to your chest and examines what’s going on underneath.

“Hello?” he says, cocking his head to the side. “Where did this come from, baby?”

You pull his hands off of the shirt and let the material fall back down. “No, go back to your hair. Don’t worry about it.”

You turn to walk away brattily, but he’s already gripping your wrist and tugging you back into the bathroom with him. Now, he’s got your back against the shower door, and you gasp.

“Don’t play,” Geto threatens, bringing his hands to the waistband of your pants this time. “Never seen you wear anything like this. Wonder what you’ve got on the bottom half?”

You don’t stop him as he bends towards the floor and brings your pants down with him. His pupils go black as he registers the leather panties that are underneath the thin belt that connects the garters.

Geto is visibly taken aback. He swallows thickly, and then he’s forcing you to step out of your pants and your thighs are being lifted into the air.

“Geto, wait!” you screech, falling back onto the glass as he rises to a standing position with his eyes still fixed on your legs.

“No, no,” he taunts. “None of that, angel. You’ve been holding out on me.” He tucks his finger under a piece of the leather and releases it with a stinging snap.

Your hands are desperately holding onto his shoulders for balance as Geto hikes your shirt back up to examine the full set in its glory.

“Your thighs are so thick, they’re about to pop right out, baby,” his hands snatch the material which causes your hips to slide to the edge of the counter. “Don’t you want me to release some of that tension?”

You groan as your eyes flutter. “I just wanted to see your reaction,” you admit. “I didn’t expect it to be th-th- oh!”

He’s using the shower wall to hold you up around his waist, because his thumb is already massaging your bundle of nerves through the leather, while his cock presses against your inner thigh. His free hand keeps your shirt up, staring over your torso like it’s his last meal.

“Well, what did you expect to happen, baby?” Geto scolds. “You know your thighs are my fucking weakness.” He grunts and tugs on the garters again. It stings, but it’s so good. “Can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this, fu-uck.”

The leather’s tough, but Geto is tougher. He pulls your panties over, but he does it so harshly that the material shreds and falls over your leg. He doesn’t care, he’s still staring at your thighs, how they’re eating up the thin garters.

Your squishy skin feels so good around his waist, and he holds onto you as he dips his head into the crook of your neck.

You smell perfect, you feel perfect. He wants to take you into the bedroom and toss you on the bed.

He would die to see your thighs parted, a thick toy flushing in and out of you as you stare up at him with pleasure all over your face. He’d hold your legs apart by force, no matter how you tried to close them, and keep pushing it inside of you. Good girls deserve real cock, but since you wanted to tease him, you get rubber.

“G-Geto, please, I can’t take another,” you’d breathe, approaching your third orgasm already. He always recognizes it in your breath pattern, the way your moans pitch themselves up.

“Sorry, I wish I cared,” he’d purr, quickening his wrist to fuck the cum out of you that much sooner.

“Fuck,” he mumbles in real time, realizing he’d zoned out as his finger mindlessly plays with your clit. You’re already cumming under him, and he takes a deep breath as he feels your thighs shudder over his hips.

“Oh, Geto,” you moan, and he realizes how pussywhipped he really is.

And just how badly he needs to get you more garters, ASAP!

A/N:

just realized i need a whole fic of jjk men denying reader the privilege of his c*ck while he uses toys on them… oh boy.

ily guys for your support as always!!! wow i almost reached 500 followers this is so overwhelming <33 ty guys for your patience and kind words and muse when you see this bby, know you truly keep me motivated ^.^

~ pennjammin

[mcrdvcks]

Sweet Nothing

Summary: Mornings were Logan's favorite part of the day.

Word Count: 2.6k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: i came up with this idea yesterday when i took a nap instead of writing an essay for my energy policy class. this is my first time writing smut for logan so any critiques are welcome!

warnings/tags: no use of y/n, porn with no plot, pet names (baby, sweetheart), unprotected piv, creampie, not proofread

You were like a cat, practically purring into his neck as you slept peacefully, your arm around his chest and your leg hoisted around his stomach.

But Logan wouldn’t trade it for anything, not when he could watch your chest rise and fall steadily, your bare body pressed up against his own.

Logan’s arm tightened around your waist, the weight of you grounding him. He loved the way your breath hitched when he shifted, your skin pressed flush against his. "Mm, baby," his voice came out low, almost a growl, lips brushing against your forehead. His fingers grazed your bare hip, pulling you tighter against his side.

Your leg slipped further up his body, your thigh brushing his stomach, every part of you tangled with him. His chest rumbled, the warmth of your skin driving him wild. He couldn't help but dip his head, nuzzling the soft spot just beneath your ear, breathing you in, "Can’t get enough of you like this," he murmured, his hand roaming down your spine.

A sleepy smile tugged at your lips as you shifted, nuzzling closer into his neck, the feeling of his stubble grazing your cheek sending shivers down your body. The heat of the morning sun was nothing compared to the heat between the two of you, the sheets a tangled mess beneath you both, the air thick with something else entirely.

Logan’s rough hand slid lower, finding the curve of your ass, fingers splaying across the soft flesh. "Always gotta be all over me, don’t you, sweetheart?" His voice was thick with need, each word a low, gravelly tease as he squeezed, hard enough to make you hum softly into his neck. He loved the way you responded to his touch, every sound you made driving him deeper into the moment.

You shifted again, your hips rolling instinctively against him, and that was it. Logan’s breath hitched, his cock stirring against your thigh. He let out a quiet grunt, rough fingertips grazing the inside of your thigh, teasing your skin with lazy circles. "You keep that up, baby," he warned, voice darker now, more possessive, "and I’m not gonna be able to hold back."

Your eyes flickered open just a bit, catching the hungry look in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched as he gripped your ass harder. You couldn’t help but smile, that playful, knowing smirk. You knew exactly what you were doing. And so did he.

Logan groaned, his hand slipping between your legs, fingers brushing the heat between your thighs. "Fuck, you're soaked," he rasped, fingers gliding over your folds, teasing you just enough to make you squirm. "Needy already, huh? Such a good girl for me."

You whined softly, your hips pushing back against his hand, desperate for more. But Logan wasn’t about to let you have it that easy. He kept his touch feather-light, teasing, dragging his fingers over you just enough to drive you insane.

Logan’s fingers teased along your wet folds, barely brushing the surface, just enough to make you whine again, hips rolling forward, desperate for more than just a teasing touch. "Needy little thing, aren't you?" he murmured, voice a gravelly rasp that sent shivers down your spine. His breath, hot and thick against your ear, only added to the tension building between your legs.

You pressed yourself harder against his hand, a soft, pleading moan slipping from your lips. "Logan," you whispered, the word coming out like a prayer, breathless, full of need. He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your neck as he nuzzled deeper into the crook, stubble scraping your skin in that way that always drove you wild.

"Patience, sweetheart," Logan muttered, his fingers finally dipping between your slick folds, parting them with agonizing slowness. His touch was firm, yet still teasing, fingers gliding through your wetness, but never quite giving you the pressure you were aching for. His thumb circled your clit, slow, lazy movements that had you squirming in his arms, a quiet whimper escaping your throat.

You gasped, grinding against him, desperate for more friction, more anything. His body was a solid, immovable wall, warm and grounding, but that teasing hand had you on edge. "Fuck, Lo," you moaned, barely able to keep still, your hips rocking against his touch. Logan’s other arm tightened around you, holding you in place, his lips grazing your ear.

"That’s it. Keep making those sweet little noises for me," he growled, fingers sliding down to circle your entrance, teasing just enough to have your breath hitching. He pressed the tip of one finger inside you, just enough to feel how wet you were for him. "So fucking wet already," he murmured, his lips pressing against your neck, teeth grazing lightly. "You want it bad, don’t you?"

You nodded frantically, the need building in your core, hips pushing back against him. His finger slid in deeper, slow and deliberate, making you squirm even more. "God, Logan, please," you begged, your voice thick with desperation, body trembling with want. You could feel his cock pressing against your thigh, throbbing with need just like you.

He chuckled again, low and dark, before adding a second finger, curling them inside you, finally giving you that delicious pressure you’d been craving. Your back arched, a moan ripping from your throat as your walls clenched around his fingers. "There you go," he muttered, his voice rough as gravel. "Take what you need, baby."

You were a mess, grinding against his hand, your body moving on instinct. His fingers moved faster now, pumping in and out of you, slick and wet, the sound filling the room. His thumb pressed harder against your clit, rubbing in tight circles that had you gasping, your body tensing as you climbed higher, faster.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he growled into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. His hips rocked against you, his hard cock pressing insistently against your thigh. "Gonna make you come all over my fingers before I even think about giving you anything more."

The knot in your stomach tightened, your entire body trembling, on the edge, so fucking close. Logan knew exactly what he was doing, his fingers curling just right inside you, his thumb relentless on your clit, pushing you closer and closer. "Come on, baby," he urged, his voice dark and commanding. "I want to feel you come for me."

His words sent you over the edge, your body shuddering as the orgasm ripped through you, a cry spilling from your lips. Your walls clenched around his fingers, your hips bucking against his hand as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

Logan didn’t stop, his fingers still working you through it, prolonging the sensation, his other arm holding you tight against him as you rode out the high. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling, oversensitive and overstimulated, but still craving more. You wanted him.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he muttered, pulling his fingers out of you, wet and glistening. He brought them up to your lips, brushing them against your mouth, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Taste yourself," he growled softly.

Without hesitation, you opened your mouth, sucking his fingers in, tasting your own slickness on his skin. Logan groaned, his eyes dark with desire as he watched you, the heat between you both palpable. His fingers slid from your lips with a wet pop, leaving your mouth craving more.

Before you could even catch your breath, Logan shifted, rolling you onto your back with ease, his weight pressing you into the sheets. His body hovered over yours, his chest brushing against your breasts as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, hungry kiss. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting, claiming, while his hand trailed down your side, fingers tracing the curve of your waist.

"Fuck, you taste so sweet," he muttered against your lips, his breath hot, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand slipped lower, finding your thigh, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist. The pressure of his hips settled between your legs, his hard cock brushing against your soaked entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

Logan moved slowly, his hips rocking just enough for you to feel the length of him dragging against your folds, the friction making you gasp, your hands clenching in the sheets. "Shit, baby, you’re dripping for me," he growled, his voice thick with need, as he ground his hips harder, the tip of his cock pressing lightly against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

You bucked your hips, desperate for more, your body aching for him to fill you. "Please, Lo," you breathed, your voice trembling with desire. "Need you inside me."

A low, feral groan rumbled from his chest as he nudged your legs wider, positioning himself at your entrance. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, filled with a hunger that made your heart race. Slowly, torturously, he pushed in, stretching you inch by inch, filling you completely. The sensation of him inside you, thick and hot, made your head spin, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

"Fuck," Logan hissed, his jaw clenched as he buried himself to the hilt, his body still for a moment as he savored the feel of you wrapped tight around him. "You feel so fucking good, sweetheart." His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he began to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, the rhythm steady but deliberate.

You moaned softly, your hands sliding up his back, nails dragging across his skin as he set a slow, sensual pace, his cock gliding in and out of you with maddening precision. "Logan," you gasped, your back arching off the bed, the pleasure building steadily with each thrust. "Fuck... that feels so good."

Logan's mouth found your neck, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his teeth grazing your pulse. "I know, baby," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear as his hips rocked into you, deep and slow, every movement calculated to drive you insane. His hands roamed over your body, fingers squeezing your ass as he angled his hips just right, hitting that perfect spot inside you that made your toes curl.

Your breath hitched, a broken moan slipping from your lips as you wrapped your legs tighter around him, pulling him closer, needing more. Logan growled low in his throat, his thrusts becoming more insistent, his cock driving into you harder, deeper, each one sending a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body.

"Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me," he groaned, his voice rough and thick with desire. His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles that had you gasping, your hips grinding against his, desperate for more friction. "Come for me, sweetheart," he growled, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, his thrusts growing rougher, faster. "I want to feel you come around my cock."

You could barely breathe, the pleasure building to a fever pitch, every nerve in your body on fire as his fingers worked your clit, his cock pounding into you with just the right rhythm. It was too much, the heat, the pressure, his low growls in your ear driving you over the edge. With a strangled cry, your body tensed, your walls clenching around him as the orgasm ripped through you, your vision going white as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

"Fuck, yes," Logan groaned, his pace faltering as he felt you tighten around him, his cock twitching inside you. With one final thrust, he buried himself deep, his body shaking as his release hit, spilling inside you with a low, guttural moan. He held you tight, his breath ragged against your neck, his body trembling with the aftershocks.

For a long moment, the only sound was your mingled breathing, bodies entwined, his weight a comforting pressure holding you to the bed. Logan's lips hovered over yours, brushing them softly, like a lingering promise. His rough fingers skimmed along your side, tracing the dips of your waist, as if savoring the way your body still hummed from the intensity.

He shifted beside you, the warm length of him pressing into your skin, a quiet rumble in his chest as he nuzzled your neck again, his stubble scraping against your pulse. "Still with me, sweetheart?" Logan's voice was low, teasing, his mouth ghosting over your jawline. The rasp of his tone sent another shiver down your spine, even though your body was still heavy from release.

"Mmhmm," you murmured, barely able to form a coherent word, your breath catching as his lips trailed lower, grazing the soft skin just under your ear. Logan chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin, as his hand slid down, resting on your thigh, fingers splayed out across your skin.

He pulled back enough to meet your eyes, the intensity in his gaze making your pulse quicken again. His thumb rubbed absentminded circles into your skin, like he needed the physical connection just as much as you did. "You really wore me out this time," he teased, smirking that cocky grin of his, though the hunger in his eyes hadn’t fully faded.

Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging him back down toward you. "Don’t act like you didn’t love every second of it," you shot back, breathless but smiling.

Logan chuckled, low and deep, dipping down to kiss you again, slow and deliberate, savoring the way your lips felt against his. "Damn right," he muttered between kisses. "Could stay like this forever."

For a moment, the world outside the room felt distant, forgotten, the only thing that mattered was the heat between your bodies, the steady rhythm of your breaths, and the soft warmth of the tangled sheets beneath you. Logan's fingers skimmed your hip, then slipped around to cup your ass, squeezing gently, making you hum softly in response.

"You're a handful, you know that?" His voice was thick with affection, despite the rough edge to it.

"Mm, you love it," you teased, a grin tugging at your lips as your fingers traced the hard lines of his shoulders.

"Yeah, I do," he growled, his lips pressing harder against yours. "Too much sometimes." His breath fanned across your face as he spoke, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart, matching your own.

Logan's hand slid up your back, pulling you closer to him, his chest warm and solid against yours. For once, the urgency had faded, replaced with something slower, deeper—like he didn’t want to let go of this moment, this feeling. "You good?" he asked, voice quieter now, more tender.

You nodded, resting your forehead against his, your hands curling around his arms, holding onto him like you never wanted to let go. "Yeah," you whispered, feeling the weight of the day melt away with him there beside you.

"Good," he murmured, kissing the top of your head, the gentleness of the gesture at odds with the wild, raw passion from earlier. But that was Logan- rough and intense, but capable of surprising softness when it came to you.

His hand settled on the small of your back, pulling you flush against him again as he let out a long, contented sigh. The steady rise and fall of his chest was soothing, grounding, as you drifted into the comfort of the moment, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield from the world outside.

"Stay here," he rumbled, his voice barely more than a growl, but there was something deeper in his tone, something protective.

You smiled softly against his chest, fingers tracing idle patterns along his skin. "Always."

[gutsby]

Cowboy Killers

Pairing: Cowboy!Joel x Reader

Summary: On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Warnings: 18+. Drunk-Assholes-to-Enemies-to-Lovers. Oral (m!receiving). Road head. Age gap. Daddy kink.

Note: My favorite sub-genre of country music is ‘I’m Gonna Fucking Kill My Husband,’ and I think Miranda Lambert’s ‘Gunpowder & Lead’ is a perfect representation of that.

Word count: 4.1k

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and—

“I’m about to lay this motherfucker out,” you announced.

Across the line, your friend laughed.

“Yeah? You see him?”

Of course you saw him. Who else would be wearing a Carhartt flannel and jeans in ninety-four degree heat? Not a soul in this world but your friend’s own lying, piece of shit, hopefully-soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, you guessed.

The game that Old Fuckstick Miller had decided to play tonight was a dangerous one—he was dumb as shit, and you were drunker than a skunk. He was dating your best friend, and she was not present at the Tipsy Bison to see the barefaced clusterfuck taking place before you now.

She was home, over thirty minutes away. He had told her that morning he would be working late, and not to wait up. You were here, at the bar, approaching one A.M. with a Redbull Vodka clenched in either fist and a Texas-sized frown on your face, seeing the very same man with his hands all over a woman that wasn’t your friend. You’d wanted to puke as soon as you saw them. You knew you could never trust a man who claimed to be an Austin native and couldn’t name a single George Strait song.

Your friend had only been dating the guy for a month, and you’d just seen his face in pictures up until now, but from what you could see less than twenty feet in front of you—slightly blurred from all the drinks you’d had—this guy was him. A dick. There, cheating on your best friend.

And no man would get to do that and walk out unscathed if you had anything to say about it.

Your grip tightened on either one of your fizzy drinks and, barely managing to cradle the phone between your head and your shoulder, you gestured over to another friend.

“Dave. Take it,” you said, words slurring a little.

Dave York cocked an eyebrow but said nothing as you passed him one of your RBVs and shimmied off the barstool. By the time he was able to pose his question, your ass, your phone, and your one remaining drink were already wobbling the other way. Vaguely, you heard him:

“Where ya headed, hon?”

You turned and raised your drink, then seriously doubted he would be able to hear you over the blare of the music, but yelled back anyway, ‘I’M GONNA KILL SOMEONE!’

The age-old pro-forgiveness aphorism continued to thump in your brain as you made your way over and began to contemplate every feasible method of murder.

A gun in the face would’ve been too simple—and besides, you’d never owned or shot a firearm in your life.

Poison could be fun, but from the way you were approaching the man now, you seriously doubted he’d ever let you get within a mile of his drink. You nudged the phone closer to your ear and took a sip from your own.

“Closing in,” you told your friend simply.

She’d already given you the go-ahead to execute the confrontation and beat his ass any way you pleased after the fact. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ you’d finally get to encroach on this little loved up scene at the other end of the bar. The man had had his back turned to you, and the stunning redhead hanging off his neck, likewise, had no idea what was coming. You smiled.

“Promise you won’t go to jail this time?” your friend said.

“Will you bail me out again if I do?” Your grin got bigger.

“Well, duh.”

“Good deal. I’ll be the shitfaced inmate with ‘Fuck Men’ tattooed on her forehead. Wait for Travis County to call.”

“I love you, psycho.”

“Love you more.”

You ended the call.

And you were fully ready to end this man’s life when you saw him lean in to kiss the woman’s neck—that was sick.

You weren’t thinking straight. You weren’t seeing straight

You yelled out, ‘He-e-e-ey, honey!’ without blinking.

The couple turned.

As soon as the man had done a full 180, you flung your drink in his face and made sure the cup struck his nose.

“You cheatin’ FUCK!”

He flinched, sprayed by your vodka-infused energy juice.

The music overhead was loud, but not so deafening as to prevent the bar from hearing your shriek. From the front of the room, a band was playing ‘Gunpowder & Lead,’ and you couldn’t help but feel the song had been fate.

“What the f—” the adulterer started, evidently stunned.

You knocked the Shiner Bock out of his hand and spat:

“Working late, are we?!”

And spilled another patron’s beer reeling back.

“Got a little caught up on the way home?”

Gesturing toward the green-eyed beauty to his left. At first, the girl fixed her stare on you as if you’d sprouted another head, but then, by turns, she was tilting it to him.

“You have a girlfriend?” she hissed.

Cheater McFuckstick was wiping his beard with his hand

Shaking his head.

“Hell no, I ain’t never—”

“LIAR!”

Channeling your inner Representative Wilson circa 2009, you let your mouth fall open and stared at the big, burly man like the Congressman had once done to President Obama all those years ago. The semi-stranger in front of you was far less composed than his political counterpart.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he snapped.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

“Is she your girlfriend?” would-be mistress said, shrill.

“NO!” you and been-knew asshole yelled together.

You saw the man’s nostrils flare, and at the same time, the woman beside him departed. Quickly. A few people around you cleared the way, while others still stared, gawked, and murmured amongst themselves. The Miranda Lambert cover band continued on without a hitch, though you could tell there had been a stir in the crowd. They probably thought the worst of it was over.

They thought wrong.

“You’re a dick,” you seethed, unrelenting.

You almost expected the man to turn and leave.

You thought wrong.

“You’re a cunt.”

And the man chucked a stray whiskey sour in your face.

The $15 spirits splattered on your skin like the meanest insult of all. His aim was better. Though he didn’t let go of the cup, as you had with him, he did make sure to coat the whole of your twisted look with the liquor, and once it landed, he had had the nerve to do something else, too.

He brought the glass to his lips then drank what was left.

“How’s it feel?” he sneered.

You stood in wet, sticky silence for half a second; arguably, you’d earned that cocktail to the face.

On the other hand, who the fuck did he think he was?

You grabbed a random can of Keystone Light and flung it at his chest to give him a hint—and catch him off-guard.

“You’re a bitch, Tommy Miller!”

“Wh—”

“Maria’s my best friend, you absolute f—”

“What—”

“—and you cheated on her for what? All so she—”

“What did you just call me?!”

“A BITCH!”

“No, the NAME!”

“TOMMY MILLER!”

“I’M JOEL!”

Oh.

Oh.

You and Joel were shortly escorted out of the bar.

Joel’s name, and a trace of bourbon, were still fresh on your tongue when you found yourself stranded in the middle of the Tipsy Bison parking lot two minutes later. You leaned into a car beside you and held your stomach.

“Someone drop you on the head as a baby?” Joel barked.

Presently, for you, the world was tilting sideways, and your head was throbbing at a nauseating tempo.

“Go around slingin’ drinks at any old man you—”

Green. Green must’ve been the color of your face as you braced your hands on your knees and assumed a stance as if to scream at the ground. Rather than expecting any noise to ring out, though, you had only to squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto a hunch for something much less pleasant. And viscous.

Reeking mostly of Red Bull and regret, if you had to guess.

Joel took a big step back, and then he took another.

“Da-a-adgummit, girl, what the—”

He turned away just in time to miss the sight of you emptying your guts on the ground, but not quite fast enough to be spared the sounds of you retching. They were loud. Joel Miller was known to be a largely imperturbable force around these parts, but even he was made to feel queasy hearing that. Out of habit, he clapped his hand to his own gut and stumbled off. He stared at the bar, then at his car, then at the gravel crushed under his feet for what felt like the longest time. Then his gaze lingered to his lower half, and he thought:

‘Please, please don’t gimme no daughters. Please.’

He was forty-five. The time for making babies and raising daughters to be anything like a woman of your ilk was probably long past him. All the same, he kept his gaze on his crotch and sighed. Balls, you better not betray me.

When he heard the crunch of rocks, he turned around.

“HEY!”

Oh, no. No. Not tonight.

You were staggering to your car, keys in hand.

“Hey!” Joel called again, jogging after you.

It seemed the second shout had done him no more favors than the first. You were fumbling to get the key inside the door, and you looked as determined as ever.

Over your shoulder, you tossed back, careless:

“You ain’t the boss of me, Tommy Miller.”

You got the key to turn. You opened the door. You were just about to climb inside what looked to Joel to be the ugliest Dodge Ram pickup he’d seen in his life, when he grabbed your arm.

“It’s Joel,” he growled. Pinching your elbow tight as he tugged it back, “And you ain’t driving anywhere tonight.”

Somewhere in front of him, tilted away from his line of vision, you must’ve been grinning, because the next thing he heard from you was the scoff of a laugh.

“Oh yeah?”

Joel flipped you around to face him.

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Feeling a bit like a kid for mimicking your tone.

What were you, twenty-two? Twenty-three? You couldn’t have been a patron of a place like Tipsy Bison for very long, or else he would’ve recognized you tonight.

Then again, you struck him as the type to have had a fake ID since you were fifteen, so he really couldn’t know.

“I’m twenny-wuh-un,” you slurred up at him, exaggerated, once he’d made you step down from the running board and onto the ground. Answering his last unspoken question with the same, sleepy grin as before. Then lifting one of your hands to wag a finger in his face, “I can drink legal anywhere I want to in this country.”

“Not there,” Joel nodded to the interstate.

You looked to where he’d gestured and whistled. Standing and staring, like he had done to his crotch.

“Well fuck me-e!” you said next, dragging out the sound a childish amount, “You the law or somethin’, Mr. Joel?”

“Ain’t no cop.” Joel rolled his eyes.

You kept smiling. Then you turned on your heels.

And instead of trying to climb back into your truck, you sauntered off—in what direction, Joel couldn’t tell. You were more so bumbling about, turning in circles like the world’s most scantily-clad, semi-intoxicated ballerina. And then you stopped. You put your hands on your hips.

“‘Cause I’m the law,” you resumed in a slow, deliberate drawl. The twang you used was mostly feigned, “And you cain’t beat the law. Don’t nobody get away with that, not even a bunch’a Alabama smart alecks, believe you me.”

Joel didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about. The man was Texas born and bred, and you knew it.

He communicated as much by pinning you with a wide, bewildered stare, and something in that seemed to amuse. You stared back, making your eyes bug out too.

“It’s a quote from a movie,” you said, after a beat, “You’ve never seen Fried Green Tomatoes before?”

Joel couldn’t say that he had.

Joel reckoned there was a lot more than just movies he didn’t share in common with you. Miss Twenty-One. Barely a year past the age he’d been when he’d moved out of the house and tried to make a living on his own.

This woman, this girl he saw twirling out in front of him now probably couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel if he’d asked you to. Joel shook his head and moved his feet, frown etching deep.

“Alright, princess. Up.”

You didn’t seem to understand, until he’d lifted you. Up.

You were thrown over his shoulder and carried to a truck much nicer than yours in less than fifteen seconds or so.

“Stinks in here,” you said as soon as he’d set you down.

Then, sniffing the air—and grinning:

“Aw, hell, Miller…you smoke?”

Joel wished he’d said no.

Wished he’d rolled his eyes and told you to pipe down, stop asking him questions. It would’ve made the drive a whole lot easier, and more peaceful. Nowhere near as painful, either, if he were being perfectly honest—the strain in his jeans had already gotten to be more than he could bear, and all you’d asked for was a pack of smokes.

“They call ‘em Cowboy Killers,” you said, matter-of-fact.

“I know what they’re called,” Joel grumbled in reply. Flicking the radio on and hoping to find a tune that would drown out the too-lovely, cloying voice you’d assumed as soon as you thought you might win a cigarette off of him. More chatty now than ever.

And for one, blissful moment, Toby Keith had you beat. The calm was fleeting. As soon as ‘Who’s Your Daddy’ started to drift through the car’s old speakers, you reached across and turned the knob to the left.

“Gross,” you muttered.

“What?”

“Got a light?”

“Blow me.”

Joel’s harsh, clipped tone was deliberate. The way he’d made himself mean—meaner than he’d been around a woman in a long, long time—was a choice. He couldn’t let your faux sweetness win him now. Not after you’d thrown two drinks in his face, mocked his truck, and foreclosed any possibility of getting laid by way of all your publicized infidelity philippics and shit-talking. Giving in to your charms from where you sat in the passenger seat now would only sink him further in his own esteem. Simply put, Joel’s ego couldn’t take it.

“Okie doke,” you said presently. Shrugging.

“Now keep your—HEY!”

Joel nearly swerved his truck off the road and into a ditch. Your deft little hands had slipped into his lap—and started palming his crotch through the denim.

He’d just managed to right the vehicle before jerking a look your way, staring at your hand, then your face:

“What the fuck was that?!”

“You said ‘blow me,’ Joel!” you huffed, and you seriously appeared as distraught as he was, “Sorry for listening!”

Joel grit his teeth with all the force of a cold steel trap.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts.” He gripped the wheel even tighter.

“I’m aware.”

“Where the hell do you live, anyway?”

You told him.

Your hand slipped down to the seat beside him.

And just as Joel let out what felt like the tiniest sigh of relief—he knew where that was, and the address sounded vaguely familiar—he yelped again. This time, he managed to keep control of his truck, but it was hard.

Your fingers had returned, and they were kneading the bulge under his jeans. Joel flushed from head to toe.

He didn’t have so much as half a mind to make you stop. He didn’t want to see you slink back over to your side of the car. But you were twenty-one, and he was forty-five. And you were both under the influence to some degree. And he was driving, for fuck’s sake. Shit like that only worked in dreams—not on a highway in a town like this.

He turned the radio dial to 75. At length, he heard it loud:

‘WHO’S YOUR DADDY? WHO’S YOUR BA-A-A-ABY?’

He saw you cringe.

“C’mon, Joel,” you groaned, “That’s…yuck.”

The fingers of the one hand kept digging, rubbing, but the other reached out and turned the music down again.

Joel shifted in his seat, feeling the pleasure start to bloom from the pit of his stomach, but not wanting to let you off that easy. Briefly, he looked from the road to you.

“What? You got a problem with Toby Keith?”

“I got a problem with anyone sayin’ ‘daddy’ like that.”

You unzipped his fly. Popped the button of his jeans from underneath the soft shelf of belly hanging over it, and held him, finally. You could only cup his erection through his boxers at that point, but the friction was enough to send a shiver through the whole of the old man’s body. He hadn’t been touched like that by a hand that wasn’t his own in…he couldn’t remember how long. He sighed.

“That why you’ve got your hand down the pants of a man old enough to be your father?” Joel quipped.

He couldn’t help it.

Your hand only gripped him tighter. From the passenger seat, you’d leaned over and started crawling. Scowling.

Your knees swiftly planted themselves on the old, upholstered cushion of the bucket seat, and you slipped a touch beneath the waistband of his underwear. With a hand that was smooth and soft and eager to please, you wrapped your fingers around that base and leaned in.

“You sound like you want me to say it,” you whispered.

Under your hand, he pulsed. His gaze stayed on the road.

“Don’t make no difference to me, sweet pea,” he said, and was amazed how even he was able to keep his tone:

“But those ‘Cowboy Killers’ you wanted…”

Your fingers curled tighter. Your head sank lower.

“…they don’t come cheap, y’know.”

Oh, you knew. He saw a smile snag at the corners of your lips as you brought them to his lap, and he had to force himself to look at the road again. It was empty and dark.

The tarmac stretched out for days. The fields rolling past warned sternly, ‘Don’t let her win,’ and something more in between each tree seemed to invite deliberation—remembrance, maybe. Joel was far too focused on the feel of your mouth to give the woods a second thought.

You’d worked the first inch between your lips in a slick, obscene sort of kiss; you made room for just the head and then toyed with a bead of precum leaking out of his slit. You licked it, squeezed the shaft in your hand, and hummed while the first real moan rumbled through him.

Joel turned to putty with just that flick of your tongue. He didn’t have to see your face to know he was losing.

On the wheel, his grip grew tighter, and he choked out:

“Ain’t your fuckin’ lollypop, kid.”

Then, dropping one hand to push down on your head—make you take him to the back of your throat in one go.

“Daddy wants you to suck him like a big girl, hear?”

At the base of his cock, he felt you gag. From the bottom of his heart, Joel knew there was no sound sweeter than that. He ran his fingers over your skull and tapped gently.

“If you want those smokes,” he told you—and really, with all the warmth and moisture of your mouth enveloping him now, he’d had to try to sound rougher than he was, “You’re gonna do what daddy says and suck him right.”

You gagged again, then squeezed his denim-clad leg with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his member.

Joel yanked you by your hair and made you look up.

Your cheeks were already smeared with spit and tears. Much to his surprise, he found your eyes alight and soft.

Suffused with desire, too, from what he could see.

“Yes, daddy.” You grinned up at him.

Joel knew if he let your gaze stay on his a second longer now he’d either crash his car, blow his load, or fall in love—and he simply refused to let you succeed on any of those fronts, so he shoved your face back down.

You sucked him obediently. Greedily. Mouth growing more pliant and wet by the second, as if your jaw and salivary glands had contrived to get him as close to release as possible, as quickly as they were able.

Joel took a left onto a road he had only a dim recognition as being connected to yours, and he got that feeling again. You were bobbing your head, taking him further, flattening your tongue along the bottom of his member when his pleasure swelled inside him. At the same time, he felt a sense of dread. His hands were shaking on the wheel. He didn’t dare steal a look down to the sweet, soaked, perfect little mouth sucking him dry, because he knew that feeling would only strike twice as hard. He had to cum, or make you stop, or bring his truck to a halt.

As it was, he felt five tiny crescents sink into his thigh as you gripped him tighter, and a noise bubbled up in your mouth. Your breathing went shallow, and your lips stretched wide—you were trying, and succeeding, in deep-throating his thick, throbbing, much-too-old-for-a-girl-her-age member down close to your windpipe, and Joel could feel it. He hit his blinker, not thinking, and saw a sign that marked your street. Trepidation hit him again.

Fully, this time, in a feeling that was more like terror.

He didn’t have another second to question it, either. By the time he had the old, lone farmhouse in his sights and his heart nearly halfway up his throat with fear, your own throat pulsed, and opened the last two inches to him in. Your nose found their home in the rough, grey, wiry hairs at the base of his belly, having swallowed him whole, and Joel quickly sensed the start of what he knew too well.

He came down your throat in one, two, three, four, five long spurts, and didn’t let his foot off the gas even once.

He saw your house, approaching closer now, and paled.

No fucking way.

You’d wanted to skip the whole way up your drive.

Spit still drying on your cheeks, cum resting comfortably in your belly, and a smile as bright as the sun on your face as you waved to the F-150 pulling off toward the road, you’d never felt more alive—or smug—in your life.

“Is your dad…Lucien Flores?” Joel had asked no more than a second after his dick slipped out of your mouth.

“The one and only.”

Somehow, his face got even paler. His jaw visibly clenched, and his palm hit the top of the wheel. Hard.

It was then that you’d learned your father had hired Joel Miller on as a full-time ranch hand sometime last week.

He’d remembered the address, vaguely, but didn’t connect the dots until he’d pulled up in front of your house and damn near punctured your windpipe with his pulsing dick from how fast he’d jumped up—and cum.

His spend had almost shot through your nose with the force of it, but you didn’t mind. Once he’d revealed the wild, gory, and admittedly hilarious details of his newfound employment, you were too busy laughing your ass off to care if he’d torn your throat in two with his dick.

“So you really are a cowboy, then,” you’d said, giggling.

Joel had scowled. Rolled his eyes. Practically turned the color of a tomato when you leaned in and kissed him.

Now you were waving to him from your front door.

Joel’s truck was slow to go. The taste of him was fresh.

And there, weighing light in your back pocket while you said goodbye was a brand new pack of Marlboro Reds.

2:21 AM

You were safely in bed. You checked your phone.

Aside from fourteen missed calls, you saw:

1:09 AM – Maria

DUDE

1:09 AM

TOMMY JUST CAME HOME

1:09 AM

THAT’S NOT HIM AT THE BAR

1:13 AM

IT’S JUST JOEL!! HIS BROTHER!!!

1:13 AM

ABORT ABORT ABORT

1:42 AM

DAVE SAID YOU BEAT JOEL UP???? CALL ME

1:54 AM – Dave York

Ur gonna fuck that old dude aren’t u

[tpwk-formula1]

Lando, Sicilian Crust, Red Sauce, Pepperoni, Tomatoes, Mushrooms, Coke, Root beer, Lemonade, Sparkling Water.

But the scenario is the readers got thick thighs, and she’s a little chubby (coming from a chubby girl🥹), she’s constantly talking down on her self and insecure. And lando won’t have it, so he is desperate to make her feel better about herself. (Make sex in front of a mirror?) 

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

sicilian dating red sauce rough sex pepperoni "Be a good girl, and you'll get what you want" tomatoes "Do you enjoy pissing me off?" mushrooms "Wrong, wanna try again" coke spanking root beer daddy kink lemonade body worship sparkling water spitting dessert yes served by Lando Norris

AN - Omg yay! I loved getting this request as I am also a fellow chubby girl! If anyone else has plus size requests please send them in as I am passionate about wanting there to be representation for everyone <3 Lee-Lee

TW - spanking, spitting into mouth, blow job, unprotected sex, cum swallowing, some degrading terms, body worship and appreciation

WC

Y/N POV

I groan again while staring into the mirror. I knew I wasn't the ideal wag and I will never understand why Lando had picked me. The reflection in the mirror showed me a girl with thighs that touched, wide-set hips, and a belly that most people made sure to point out in the comment section of any photos released of me.

I stare a few more seconds before I start pinching at my sides trying to see how soft they had grown over the past few months. I feel the tears well in my eyes when I realize nothing is changing. I had tried dieting but then after a few weeks and a couple pounds down I find myself giving up again.

I'm so lost in my own world of self-hatred I don't hear Lando come home and I sure as hell don't hear him come into the bathroom leaving again the door frame with his arms crossed.

"Do you enjoy pissing me off?" Lando suddenly announces making me jump slightly and wrap my arms around my body to try and hide still embarrassed at being caught.

"Lando, I- I was just getting ready for the day," I lie softly not even believing myself. Lando raises a brow at me before approaching making me step back slightly. When Lando reaches me he softly removes my arms from my body just eying me up and down. I feel myself growing red in embarrassment not enjoying the feeling of his eyes on my bare body.

Wordlessly Lando takes my hips into his hands gently squeezing them before turning me towards the mirror so I can stare at myself. With Lando standing behind my I feel his arms wrapped around my hips while starting to trail his hands up and down in admiration.

"So beautiful," Lando mumbles softly placing a soft kiss on my should. I try my best to keep eye contact with Lando not wanting to see my body against his touch knowing my thighs would dwarf his wandering hands.

"I love you," Lando says softly starting to trail kisses around my shoulders and the back of my neck making my breathing pick up.

"So fucking beautiful," Lando says while pinching my hip softly before rubbing it in a soothing manner.

"Watch yourself in the mirror," Lando says roughly making my eyes instantly snap to where his hand is now wandering up my sides grazes his touch past my stomach roll before settling his hands near my face.

When his fingers graze my lips he mutters a soft beautiful before trailing his hands to my heavy tits giving them a stong squeeze making me gaso.

"These tits are gonna be the death of me one day, so fucking good," Lando says confidently giving one of my nipples a soft flick instantly making it harden.

"And this," Lando started while rubbing my stomach softly making me cringe away from his touch making him drop his hands to his sides and stare at me in the mirror.

"Wrong, wanna try again," Lando says after a moment before bringing his hands back to my stomach this time trying to relax into his touch.

"This stomach you love to pinch and probe at, will one day carry our children. That thought alone makes me hard," Lando says softly making me gasp when he grinds his jean-covered crotch into my thick ass letting me know just the sight of me turned him on.

"I wish you could see yourself through my eyes," Lando adds softly moving his hands down to my thighs giving them a soft rub before landing a soft slap on them making me whine.

"And these fucking thighs! My favorite thing in the world. After a good race, I just wanna burry my face between them, after a bad race I can't wait to get back to the hotel to hide between them and let all my problems away, these are the best thing the Lord could have blessed me with," Lando says softly while rubbing them. He was back to laying soft kisses around my neck before I feel his teeth sink into the side of my neck before leaving a small hickey.

"Oh! And this fucking pussy," Lando says softly digging his fingers through my folds finding them to be coated in a light layer of my juices. Having Lando softly rubbing his hands around my body had definitely turned me on a bit.

"This pussy and the best pussy a man could have. Too bad I will never share it again," Lando says softly before lifting my thigh and resting my foot on the counter so he can burry his fingers into my pussy making me gasp and throw my head back onto Lando's shoulder when he hits my G-spot.

"Feels so good," I whine softly clenching around Lando's fingers before they're ripped out of my pussy leaving me gasping for a breath,

"No daddy," I whine not wanting him to stop.

"Be a good girl, and you'll get what you want. Count them for me," Lando says roughly letting me know he was about to spank me.

The first slap rang out through the room startling me just a bit.

"one" i mumble softly.

"two" I groan a little louder after the second much harsher slap landed on my left ass cheek.

"I love the way your ass shakes when I slap it," Lando said before landing another rough slap on the exact same spot making me scream out softly.

"three," I finally gasp out still trying to catch my breath.

"four," I scream out with the fourth slap lands on the top of my right ass cheek.

"Last one," Lando says softly while rubbing his hand over the last spank he had landed.

"Five, oh my god," I scream while my knees buckle only staying up because of Lando's strong grip. The last one was always the hardest one but today it was so much harder than normal. It knocked the wind out of me in shock.

"Did so good for me. Took your punishment so well baby," Lando says softly turning me around to give me a soft kiss.

"Open," lando says roughly cleaning moving from punishment mode to 'I ned to fuck you right now' mode.

When I part my lips and open my mouth I wait as Lando gather s a bit of spit before spitting right down my throat some hitting my bottom lip making me moan before swallowing.

"Good girl," Lando says before flipping me back to look at myself in the mirror again. Lando was still fully dressed which changed rather quickly cause he started stripping down not having any time to waste.

When I feel Lando poking at my folds I moan softly while pushing my hips back trying to get some kind of stimulation which finally came when Lando roughly sunk down fully into me.

"Oh god," I moan out when his hips hit my sore ass making the the slight burning sensation instantly turn from pain to pleasure.

“It’s too much, daddy,” I moan when Lando speeds up his thrusting making me grip onto the counter harder to make sure I don’t fall.

“Watch the mirror, I want you to see how beautiful you are,” Lando grunts while reaching between our bodies to find my swollen clit to give it a few pinches before rubbing it in circles.

“God, you have the wettest fucking pussy, baby girl,” Lando groans collectiving some on his fingers before bringing his wet fingers to his mouth and cleaning them off while moaning at the flavor.

“You’re fucking delicious baby,” Lando whispers while bringing his fingers back to my clit making me instantly tense around Lando’s cock in anticipation of an orgasm.

“Can I cum,” I moan feeling my orgasm approaching making Lando speed up his actions, and throwing me off the edge and into a knee buckling orgasm as soon as he have me the go ahead.

“Fuck daddy,” I scream out as I feel the peak of my orgasm hit, making the world around me go dark slightly letting my body feel all of the pleasure coursing through my body. Lando helps me ride out the longest orgasm I’ve ever had before softly slipping out of my pussy making me whine from overstimulation.

“On you knees,” Lando grunts making me turn around and drop to my knees and instantly reach for his cock but he pulls away while shaking his head.

“I need you to listen to me real quick,” Lando says making me nod and trail my eyes from his soaked cock up to his eyes to show he has my full attention.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. You have been my best friend our entire relationship and I have loved every aspect of who you are. So I’ll be damned if you hate even the smallest speck on yourself when all I can ever fucking see is perfection,” Lando tells me softly making me smile back at him.

“It’s just hard sometimes. I see the girls who would do anything for even a second of your times. I see the other wags and can’t help but compare. And i see the comments, i know you see them too and while even if I was skinny they would still find a reason to be dicks it’s just hard sometimes,” I tell him softly making him scoff each time I compared myself to someone else but watched as his eyes softened at the mention of the comments.

“All Im saying is I better not come back home to find you pinching your sides or damn near in tears at the sight you see in the mirror,” Lando says back making me nod my head.

“Daddy can I please finish you off now,” I whine getting impatient with staring at his hard cock. Lando just chuckles before stepping closer and leaning down slightly to spit in my mouth again. I savor the flavor this time before swallowing his spit.

When I open my mouth again Lando instantly shoves his cock down my throat making me gag slightly.

“Prettiest fucking slut Ive ever laid eyes on.” Lando groans still on his complimenting run but too lost in the pleasure to not throw in some teasing nicknames.

I feel Lando’s pace start to falter which makes me bob my head faster wanting to keep the same momentum as he starts cumming down my throat.

I do my best to swallow every drop he gives me before he’s slowly pulling out if my mouth. I feel a bit of cum leak down the side of my lips and before I can wipe it away Lando is crashing his lips onto mine now caring about the cum.

“I love you so much! Be nice to yourself,” Lando tells me softly making me nod my head in agreement.

When Lando helps me from the cold ground he draws us a bath. When we both sink into the hot water I can see the stress of the day melt away for Labdo while I i feel all my tense muscles slowly start to relax.

“What triggered it?” Lando asked softly.

“I was getting ready to take a shower and kinda got lost,” i replied back softly making Lando wrap his arms around me a little tighter.

“M’sorry I wasn’t here early to prevent it,” he tells me while leaning down to place a soft kiss on my cheek.

“Wasnt your fault,” I reply back shrugging a little. We both know I would do it again but I also knew it didn’t matter to Lando cause I was always gonna be his girl.

[ellecdc]

Black!reader that is “I don’t smoke” (mitski) because if their parents ‘you need to be mean be mean to her me, she I can take it and put it inside of me’

hi babes, this was my take on Black!reader who was always hurting on behalf of everyone else. this fic is very angsty compared to my usual standards, so please keep that in mind before reading, and mind the warnings. of course, as typical on ellecdc we have a happy/hopeful ending

Remus Lupin x Black!sister reader after The Prank™ [4.7k words]

CW: The Prank™, Black family trauma, the Marauders aren't speaking to each other, depressive episodes and self-loathing, siblings get quasi-violent/threats of violence? but for a good cause?, Remus' typical self-loathing, discussion of forgiveness and hatred, breaking up [not pictured] and making up [pictured]

The worst part-

Though, even the thought caused Sirius to scoff humourlessly, because what could possibly be the worst part of this? What could possibly be any ‘more worse’ than the worst thing he’d ever done?

Still, Sirius supposed, wand to his head, the worst thing about all of this would be the fact that Sirius didn’t regret it. Not really.

If anything, he only felt stronger in his conviction that Snape deserved to be mauled violently to death.

Yet…

Yet he didn’t find he felt particularly good about it all; about the way Remus woke up with new, deep, angry scars across his face courtesy of The Wolf who finally had a chance at a meal only to have that stolen before he turned on himself, about the way he looked at Sirius with an expression of pure unadulterated betrayal and fury when he realised what happened, about the three well aimed hits he took from James, nor about the way he had to listen through the door as Remus ended your relationship with you, officially giving into all of his deep-seeded self-loathing and beliefs that no one could or should possibly accept him.

And all Sirius managed to do was prove that to be true; that Remus couldn’t trust anyone. And as a result, he robbed you of the only love you had access to save what little you received from Regulus and Sirius.

So perhaps Sirius regretted that, but without access to a Time Turner, there was nothing to be done. 

Nothing to be done. 

James had told him that “until he made things right with Remus, he wanted nothing to do with him”, and while he didn’t blame James, Sirius knew he was officially on his own because there would be no ‘making things right’. There was nothing right, not with Sirius, at least. 

There was nothing to be done. 

He brought the cigarette back up to his lips, the sensitive skin at the corner of his mouth cracking painfully as he took a drag. He appreciated the sting as his teeth started to taste like iron; the pain was both a welcome reminder and a distraction of his inner turmoil as he kept his gaze on the grounds below him.

He couldn’t look at the common room; the red and gold that once felt like home were merely shades of grey. He couldn’t look in a mirror; his permanently downturned lips and angry eyes found him looking more like his father than he did himself. He couldn’t look at his hands; they were blistered and cracked from his tryst in the forest where he emptied his lungs by screaming until he was choking on air and punching uselessly at a tree.

He couldn’t look at any of his friends, because they couldn’t even look at him; they hated him.

He was hated. 

Sirius had begun to wonder how many more classes he could miss before McGonagall followed through on her threats to write home when the portrait hole opened.

He couldn’t look, though. Because he was hated.

“Aren’t you meant to be in class?” He heard you call to him, listening to your measured steps as you made your way to his spot on a windowsill. 

“I could ask the same of you.” He gruffed; voice cracking from disuse, from chain smoking, and from the perpetual tightness he had felt since That Night. 

“What are you doing, Sirius?” You sighed; you were exhausted. Exhausted of him. 

He was exhausted too.

“I’m minding my business, Y/N.” He spat back, stubbing out his smoke before lighting another one with a snap of his fingers. “You should try it sometime.” 

With a wave of your hand, the smoke was gone.

“What the fuck?”

“Get up.” You ordered simply, and Sirius shook his head at you.

“Go back to the dungeons.”

“No.” 

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Y/N.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Great, neither am I.” 

“I don’t want you here.”

“And I don’t want to be here,” You agreed, voice rising at Sirius’ petulance, “but I’ve got a brother who decided to stop functioning a few weeks ago, so here I am.” 

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“You smell.”

“Yeah well, you’re ugly.” Sirius sneered, pulling out another cigarette only for you to vanish the entire pack. 

“When was the last time you showered?” You demanded, and Sirius refused to look at you.

“Hm? Or changed? Or ate? When’s the last time you brushed your teeth?”

Sirius kept his gaze pointed at the grounds outside. 

“Sirius. Your hair is greasy, you smell stale, you look gaunt, and…they’re going to write home.”

“Good.” Sirius spat quickly. “As they should.”

“Is that what you want, Sirius? You want more people to be mad at you? More people to punish you?”

He didn’t answer.

“You’re already doing that enough for the rest of us.” You sighed, attempting to grab him by the arm only for him to shove you away. 

“Get away from me, Y/N, I mean it.” 

“No, get up.”

“Fuck off.”

“Now.” You nearly growled, and Sirius turned to see you pointing your wand at him.

“What? Gonna hex me? Or are you gonna skip right to the Unforgivables, hm? Maybe an imperio? Or are you going to try some negative reinforcement? A crucio for disobedience? Salope stupide, de plus en plus comme ma mère chérie chaque jour.” (translation: stupid bitch, more and more like mother dearest every day)

Sirius flinched as you quickly raised your hand, prepared for a blow that you never landed. 

He looked back to see you standing there, hand poised like it was ready to hit him as you stared at him defiantly; your cool, piercing eyes so much like his own, but the displeased pinch of your mouth was that of your mother. 

“Is that what you want, Sirius? Huh? You want to be walloped a few more times on the nose so that everyone knows what a bad dog you are? You want to be punished for your misdeeds? Maybe get a few more of these?” And you punctuated your question by roughly grabbing at his jaw, fingers pressing into the painful bruises still healing courtesy of James. “That’s why you haven’t bothered healing them, yeah? So that everyone who sees will know what a right bastard you are.” He smacked your hand away with one arm and shoved you away from him with the other. 

“Or,” you continued - rather unphased by Sirius’ aggression - grabbing his balled up fist and bringing it up to your own face, “is it me you want to hit, hm? You want everyone else to hurt just as badly as you are? The world has been just terrible to you Sirius, you were dealt an awful hand! You just want everyone to suffer for it; to pay for the wrongs done to you.”

“Stop it.” Sirius hissed, trying to yank his hand away from you to no avail. 

“Hit me then, Sirius. Hit me. You wanna give into that Black Darkness? Want to be just as bad as they are? Just as bad as they’ve painted you to be? Go ahead.” 

“Stop.” 

“Then get up.” 

“Y/N…” He warned.

“Get up, Sirius.” 

“I hate you.” He spat, and your jaw tightened but you rolled your eyes as if you found him to be quite tiresome.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like you very much right now either.” 

He stood then, giving you no time to get out of his way before he was towering over you. You never faltered, though. He let you grab him by the sleeve of his shirt, he let you drag him up the stairs towards his dormitory - somewhere he hadn’t been since That Night, opting instead to sleep on the couches, a time or two in the room of requirement, and one night in the Shrieking Shack as Padfoot - and he let you bodily shove him into the boys’ bathroom. 

“Get in the shower, Sirius.”

“Sunny, please.”

“I’m not asking.” You said firmly. “Get in the shower.”

“I can’t.” 

You swore under your breath as you dragged him over to the shower stall, said nothing as he went no bones and sunk to the floor, and simply turned the shower on, soaking you both.

“Y/N, stop.” 

“Sirius, if you’re not going to take care of yourself, I will. Those are your choices.” You said defiantly, staring down at him as your school uniform became more and more drenched and your hair started sticking to the side of your neck.

Sirius let out a sigh and rested his head against his knees, and you accepted his relenting as the acquiescence it was. 

You pointed the shower head at him and began lathering soap into his hair before doing much the same with the conditioner. 

Sirius let the soap burn his eyes; welcomed it, even. He did nothing to help you with your tasks, though you didn’t ask him to. He did, however, draw the line at you trying to disrobe him.

“These need to come off, Sirius.” You said, pulling at his uniform shirt like something disgusting you found in a gutter.

“And I will take them off once you’re no longer staring at me.” He growled, causing you to scoff a humourless laugh.

“Like hells I’m letting you out of my sight again.”

Sirius simply groaned. 

“How are you going to wash your body, Sirius? Please don’t tell me you’re going to make me do that too.”

Sirius ripped the bar of soap out of your hands and glared at you as he shoved it beneath his clothes, washing himself the best he could under his sopping wet uniform. 

Though he was more than likely still sudsy, you shut the water off and vanished what water you could from both of your beings; each of your heads and uniforms still soaked as you flung open the bathroom door and marched across the hall.

Sirius’ mouth ran dry when you knocked on their dormitory door; somewhere between you confronting him in the common room and forcing him to bathe, classes seemed to have ended. 

He should’ve flung himself out of the common room window when he had the chance; he couldn’t see Remus, James, or Peter. They hated him.

He was hated.

Remus wouldn’t talk to any of them, and James and Peter weren’t talking to Sirius. Even though Remus had told them he didn’t want them “taking sides”, he didn’t seem to mind watching Sirius get iced out. 

Because he hated him.

Sirius was hated. 

“Oh…hi, Y/N…” James offered awkwardly as he opened the door. 

You barely spared him a glance. “Potter.” You greeted simply as you dipped under his arm which had been holding the door open and marched towards Sirius’ bed. 

Remus pulled his head through the hole of his jumper as he watched you start digging through Sirius’ trunk, sharing a quick glance with James and Peter before his gaze moved to Sirius all but cowering in the doorframe. 

“Are you…wet?” Peter asked cautiously then, all three boys staring at you in bemusement as you packed up a duffle. 

“Yeah.” You responded simply, throwing Sirius a towel that he (thankfully) caught as everyone’s eyes fell to him. 

Sirius quickly ran the towel over his person as you let his trunk close with a loud thunk, hiking the bag you packed for him over your shoulder and stalked out of the dorm room without sparing any of the boys - including your ex boyfriend - a passing glance. 

“Don’t you hate me?” Sirius whispered as he allowed you to lead him to the Slytherin dorms.

“No, Sirius. I hate what you did.” You sighed, never faltering in your steps but strengthening your hold on your brother's wrist. “I love you, that’s why I’m here.” 

Remus had tried telling Peter and James to leave him alone; he wanted to be alone. 

Yet somehow, every morning, the two of them would sit across from him in the Great Hall, say hello, and then talk amongst themselves whilst pretending he wasn’t there. 

That was fine, though. Remus was sort of pretending he wasn’t there, too. 

But while Remus could ignore James and Peter’s existence, Sirius’ existence, and even his own if he really tried hard enough, he couldn’t ignore your existence. 

He’d been more than slightly confused when you stormed into his dorm room last night completely drenched without your eyes ever cutting to him and packed up a bag for your equally drenched brother. 

He’d been more than slightly hurt when you left without sparing him a glance, too. Though he figured perhaps he deserved that. This is what he wanted, right?

Scratch that, actually, what he had wanted was to be safe and loved and protected by the people who promised to do that for him.

It wasn’t until Peter and James paused in their conversation to look at Remus concernedly that he realised he had caused his tea to overflow by means of accidental magic. 

Remus threw a wad of napkins at the mess as he made to stand, but his legs felt wholly incapable of holding him up when he saw you enter the Great Hall, quickly followed by a rather dispirited looking Sirius who nearly bumped into you as you paused at the entrance.

Your gaze automatically fell to the Slytherin table where Regulus was shooting you and Sirius a perturbed look. 

You turned then towards the Gryffindor table when your gaze fell to Remus.

He found himself unable to break your gaze; he wondered if you could see the heartbreak pooling in his eyes, or the longing painted in the space between his brows.

He wondered if you could even see past the new, ferocious scars decorating his face.

He certainly couldn’t. 

Your shoulders fell as you shook your head - so minutely that Remus wondered if he had only imagined it - before you grabbed Sirius’ sleeve and dragged him towards the Ravenclaw table where both Pandora and Benjy accepted the pair of you without issue. 

He was simultaneously grateful that neither of you were sitting over here and furious that the two of you deigned to sit anywhere else. You were his; his friend, and his girlfriend, you were supposed to be here with him. 

But he didn’t want either of you over here, he didn’t want… 

He didn’t…

“Moony?” James asked cautiously.

“Don’t call me that.” Remus gruffed before he stood abruptly and stormed out of the Great Hall. 

He never wanted any of this; sure, he wanted to go to school, but he never wanted friends. He didn’t need friends, he’d never had them before. He met some kind kids on the train who ended up being his roommates, but he was ready and willing to hold them at arm's length. 

And then…

And then he found that he rather liked their company, and that they seemed to enjoy his. And then he found that he cared for them, and that they seemed to care for him. And then they found out, and they were accepting of him. And then they did the impossible and found a way to be there for him like no one else before, they showed up for him in ways no one else had ever tried, in ways he never imagined possible. 

And then he fell in love, and then…

And then. 

And then one of the worst people Remus could imagine to know learned of his darkest secret, his biggest shame, his lifelong curse. 

And he learned that from one of his best friends. Snape learned of Remus’ darkest secret, biggest shame, and lifelong curse from one of his best friends. 

And suddenly, everything everyone had ever said about lycanthropy was true; he was a monster, unloveable, a threat and hazard to everyone around him.

And as he paused in front of a window where he could see his reflection - three violent claw marks from his left eye across the bridge of his nose down over his lips - the monster stared back at him. 

He was a beast. He was a monster playing dress up; cosplaying as a wizard day in and day out when in reality, deep down, he was a vicious, disgusting freak. 

And now everyone knew it; Sirius knew it, you knew it, Snape knew it.

And for those who didn’t know it, they could suspect it; rumours flying around of how Remus managed to be mauled by some creature and survive to tell the tale, because the only thing scarier than a beast among men is a man that can take on a beast and live to tell the tale.

The worst part-

But the thought made Remus snort humourlessly, because really, how could there be a worst part of any of this? What could possibly be ‘more worse’ than the worst thing to ever happen to him, second only to being bitten all those years ago. 

But Remus supposed, wand to his head, that the worst part of all of this was losing you.

Remus let out another humourless chuckle as he let his head fall with a thunk against the windowpane. 

And the absolute fucking kicker was that losing you had been his own doing. 

For the first time in perhaps five days, you were alone. 

You sat in the farthest corner of the library near rows of tomes with enough layers of dust on them to promise you some solitude as you waited for Sirius’ meeting with McGonagall to end. 

You’d convinced him (rather forced him) to start attending his classes again, though you were certain he wasn’t exactly a delight to have in the classroom at the moment. You only hoped it was enough for the school to refrain from writing home.

You dropped your quill and pressed your fingers into your eyes hard enough to see stars. Sirius was displeased with you for ordering him about. Regulus was displeased with you for babysitting Sirius and ‘cleaning up’ after him. Your parents were displeased with you seemingly because you were born with free will. Your professors were displeased with you for submitting sloppy work because you spent the majority of your time doing Sirius’ for him in order to keep him from being expelled. Your roommates were displeased with you for smuggling a dog into your room for the past week, even though he was very well behaved and slept dutifully on the end of your bed. And Remus…

And Remus. 

He had looked so hollow and… dead when he told you this needed to end, that he couldn’t see you anymore. You didn’t think he was capable of occlusion, but that was the only thing that could possibly explain how he could manage to look at you like you didn’t even matter to him anymore.

Perhaps you didn’t.

You didn’t matter. 

Perhaps you were too much like your brother; he couldn’t forgive him, so you were unforgivable too. Perhaps you were just too much of a Black for him; perhaps he realised the mistake in keeping your kind around. 

You couldn’t blame him, you supposed.

You were a tiresome bunch. You didn’t often want to keep your kind around, either. 

You shook yourself out of your pity party and returned to your notes, only to watch as Remus pulled out a chair opposite of you at your table. 

“The library’s plenty large, Lupin; I’m sure if you looked harder you could find another table.” you offered, hoping for indignation but landing somewhere around disheartened. 

“Is Sirius alright?” He murmured quietly, and you forced your eyes up to meet his. 

He looked dead tired; his eyes were sunken and his skin was missing its warm glow. But in his eyes laid an earnestness that had you remembering just how wholly safe and full you felt whenever you found yourself pinned beneath his gaze. 

You quickly looked away.

“Not really.” You replied honestly. “But I think he deserves that.” 

Remus made a noncommittal sound as he continued staring at the top of your head; you couldn’t see it, mind you, but you could certainly feel it.

“And you?” 

“What about me?”

“Are you alright?”

“Why?” You demanded, and Remus finally looked down into his lap. 

You stared at him as he wrung his hands in his lap while you catalogued the scars across his face. You wondered if where they landed over his eyes caused him any vision issues. You wondered what the ones over the bridge of his nose would feel like as you traced your fingertip over them. You wondered what the ones on his lips might feel like under your own. 

You hated them, knowing that he did too, knowing how he came to have them. But you loved them because they were his, because it was him. Because you loved him. 

“Are you alright?” You decided to ask then, and he looked up at you as if he was surprised you were still there.

“No.” He responded quickly.

“I’m sorry.” You offered, though you knew not what for. You really hadn’t done anything. 

“How-” Remus started, though he quickly looked back down at his hands as he searched for the words.

You waited for him. 

“How…can you help him?”

You felt your eyebrows furrow, because whatever you thought Remus might’ve been about to ask, it certainly wasn’t that. 

“What?” You asked dumbly. 

“How can you help Sirius? After all that he’s done?” He continued gently.

“I… because, Remus, someone has to.” 

Remus nodded as he considered your response. “There’s a… part of me that feels as though you’re choosing him over me.” 

“Remus. You chose; you made that decision for me. I didn’t choose anyone’s side.”

“So if we were still dating right now, would you have forgiven Sirius?”

“Forgiven?” You repeated incredulously. “Who said anything about forgiveness?” 

Remus simply blinked at you owlishly. 

“Remus, I cannot just sit here and let him whither away into nothing because I’m mad at him. He fucked up - big time - there’s no question about it. And deep down, I know he knows that too; that’s why he’s been torturing himself over it. There is no way in which I could treat him that would be worse than the way he’s treating himself right now. But I-”

You shook your head as you fought off the stinging in your sinuses; you did not want to cry in front of him. 

“There is no one rooting for us, Remus. No one. You’re pissed at him - rightfully so, and completely justified - Potter and Pettigrew are pissed at him too, he’s pissed at himself and I… someone has to, Remus. Someone has to root for him, I can’t…I can’t just abandon him, not when there’s no one else.” 

“I can’t… I can’t feel bad for him, Y/N.” Remus exclaimed helplessly. 

“I’m not asking you to; I’m simply telling you why I do.” 

“I don’t…I don’t know how to forgive him, dove, I don’t know how to not hate him for this.” He nearly sobbed, holding his hands out helplessly as if the grief and torment were tangible things he could crush in the palm of his hands if he could only catch them. “Why don’t you hate him? Please tell me? Because I genuinely want to know. I need to know - I don’t…I don’t want to hate him.” 

“He’s my brother, Rem.” You said simply, shrugging your shoulders helplessly. “I hate what he’s done, I hate the choice he made, I hate the outcome of that choice, I hate what he did to you, I hate what that’s done to me, but… but I don’t hate him.” 

The two of you sat in silence for a while; the only sounds coming from the odd book being magically sent back to its shelf and the odd voices from students downstairs when a study group got a touch too boisterous. 

“Do you hate me?” Remus whispered then; your eyes flit up to meet his which were already steady on you. 

“No, Remus.” You whispered back.

He nodded as his gaze fell. “Just what I did?” 

Your lip quirked in the faintest ghost of a smirk. “Yes I…I sort of hated that, I suppose.” 

“I don’t want to hate him.” He repeated.

“I know.” 

“Do you-” Remus paused, turning away and screwing his eyes shut as you realised he was crying. “Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive me?”

“Remus…”

“I was scared, and hurt, and angry, and-” he hiccuped, reaching across the table as he nearly begged for your hand. You gave it willingly. “-and I hated him but I mostly hated myself.”

“I know, Rem.”

“Please? Do you…do you think you’d be able to forgive me? For leaving, for running, for abandoning you? You’ve never once given up on the people important to you and one bad thing happens to me and…and I just throw you away, I-” He looked at you as if he was only realising all of this now; hurt, frustration, anger, and betrayal all on your behalf flickered behind his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Remus.” You insisted, but he quickly shook his head at you. 

“It’s not; it’s not okay, I- … I’m not as gracious as you, clearly, but I just…I just feel like if you’re strong enough to forgive me then there’s…there’s hope for me, too. That maybe I can be strong enough to forgive Sirius.” 

“You’re forgiven, Remus.” 

His eyes fell shut as more tears fell, but you were sure it was more from relief than it was from pain. 

Both boys - Remus and Sirius - were so good at torturing themselves over choices they’ve made that you were certain no one else would ever have to as long as they both should live. 

And for different reasons, you loved them both beyond measure. 

“I don’t deserve forgiveness.” Remus whispered.

“Of course you do.” You countered, squeezing his hand in yours and watching as some of the tension in his shoulders dissipated. 

“Does Sirius?” He asked quietly, keeping his eyes pointed at where your joined hands sat on the table between you. 

You’re not sure when or how you became the leading expert on conflict resolution and forgiveness; perhaps it was in refereeing Sirius and Regulus’ petty squabbles growing up, perhaps it was in shielding Regulus from your parents fury, perhaps it was in trying to tame Sirius enough to keep him out of trouble, perhaps it was in being the youngest cousin along with Regulus and watching the siblings before you find their own ways to define what was right and good, perhaps…perhaps it came from the many examples of conflict and spite that you had witnessed growing up.

“I don’t know, Rem.” You answered honestly. “I think…I think the only one who can really know that is you.”

If he was displeased by your answer, he didn’t show it.

“But,” you continued cautiously, “I don’t think you have to forgive him for what he’s done. You just have to decide whether you’re going to hate him for it or love him in spite of it.” 

His lips pursed, pulling at scars both new and old in ways you’re not sure you’d ever grow tired of watching, as he nodded. “I don’t want to hate him.”

“I know, Rem.” 

“I don’t want James or Peter to hate him either…I don’t know why they were willing to watch him wither away like that.”

You couldn’t hide your smile at that; the first real smile you’d had since That Night. “They don’t, and they weren’t.” You countered, only moving to explain when he looked at you in bemusement. “They were the ones who told me how bad he was getting…they wanted to make sure someone was looking after him without giving into his pity party.” 

“Always taking care of everyone else, hm?” Remus murmured at you, bringing your hand up to his lips to press a delicate kiss to your knuckles. 

You simply hummed noncommittally. 

“Can I return the favour?”

“You can certainly try, but I’m quite high maintenance.” You teased gently. 

“That’s alright.” He agreed quickly. “You’re more than worth the effort.” 

You breathed out a quiet laugh through your nose. “Whatever you say, Lupin.”

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 22 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After weeks of looking forward to a quiet day with you and Rose, Bradley almost messes up his own Father's Day celebration. He's lucky you're quick to forgive him. Every day with his daughter is a collection of moments he wants to commit to memory. Every day with you makes him fall more in love.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, lactation kink, blowjob, DILF Roo

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"Do you have any big plans for Sunday? For Bradley's first Father's Day?"

You looked up from your computer when you realized Cat was talking to you. Truthfully, you did have plans, but they weren't big at all. Your husband just kept telling you that all he wanted was to spend the day with just the three of you.

"Isn't it kind of Jake's first Father's Day, too?" you countered with a grin. When Cat sputtered instead of actually answering, you felt like you'd won this wrong of proverbial chess against a master. "It's okay... you don't have to admit it out loud, but I just know Jake is exceeding all of your expectations."

She dropped down into the seat next to you and leaned in like she was afraid someone else might be listening. "He took Jer to the park with Bradley and Rose the other evening."

"I know," you replied with a laugh. "I needed to clean my house, so I kicked Bradley out and told him to call his bestie, Jake."

Cat looked a little panicked now. "No, you don't understand. I can trust him to take care of Jeremiah."

"Yeah... that's good, right?"

"I don't know!" she hissed. "When I moved to California, it was my intention to never ever get involved with a man again. Just me and Jer. And then when he went away to college, I was going to start collecting exotic pets or something."

You tried not to laugh. "Yeah, Jake kind of ruined that agenda for you, huh?" She buried her face in her hands, and to your surprise, she started crying. You glanced around the lab, but Macy wasn't paying any attention as you put your arm around Cat's shoulders. You were very confused as you whispered, "Are you okay?"

Cat's dark eyes were wet with tears as she met your gaze while somehow shaking her head and nodding at the same time. Her voice was raspy and uneven as she said, "He bought an engagement ring."

"Jake proposed?" you gasped, ready to jump out of your seat. You knew for a fact he wanted to, but he kept saying he didn't think the time was exactly right yet. 

"No. I found the ring. He's terrible at hiding things."

You sat quietly for a minute while she worked at getting herself under control, but then more questions started to formulate in your mind. "I know this isn't where you saw yourself, Cat. I know trusting Jake after leaving your ex is something you've struggled with, but if you love him, then what's holding you back?"

Her fingertips were pressed to her lips, and her hand was shaking. You weren't sure she had even heard your question as she stared off into space and said, "I can't even accurately describe it, because it was so pretty. The diamond was huge. Absolutely enormous. Obviously expensive." She paused and pulled away from you, opening her computer like she didn't just let herself fall apart on your shoulder. "And I have nothing to offer except a child that isn't biologically his and a crippling amount of debt that I'll probably never see the end of." When you opened your mouth to respond, she slammed her computer shut again and said, "And now I'm late to meet with Bickel," before rushing out of the lab.

You stared at the door for a few seconds before you took your phone out and started to draft up a text for Cat. You didn't see her again for the rest of the day, and you didn't send the text until you got home with Bradley and Rose. But you meant every word of it.

You're tenacious and strong, and that's worth a lot more than money. You're the kind of person someone would want to buy a big diamond for.

------------------------------

"Why is everything so expensive?" Bradley muttered to himself. "Holy hell."

He was trying to plan out the few days he would have alone with you when your parents came out again for Independence Day. Going back to the oceanfront boutique hotel in La Jolla where you and he had celebrated his birthday two years ago was going to cost a fortune over the holiday.

"Rose isn't going to need money for college anyway," he mused, shrugging at his phone before charging the room to his credit card for three nights. His daughter was going to be a genius. She was already so strong, trying her best to roll over and getting better at holding her head up without support. Suddenly he needed to see her.

Bradley tossed his phone aside and headed for the nursery where you were feeding Rose in the glider chair. When you looked up at him expectantly, he said, "I missed you."

Your gaze was soft as he sat down on the floor next to your feet. "We were with you ten minutes ago."

"Ten minutes ago? No wonder I was getting so lonely," he whispered, reaching out to run his finger along the back of Rose's hand. "Hey, Nugget."

She paused, lips pursed, before she continued eating. It was unreal how adorable she was. Bradley could look at his daughter all day long and never grow tired. He could look at your tits dripping milk all day long, too.

"Let me burp her," he said, making grabby hands as soon as she started to slow down. "It's my favorite."

You handed Rose, who was already dressed in her sleeper, to him, kissing him on the cheek as you stood. "Should I just keep these out for you?" The way you gestured at your breasts left a smile on his face.

"Please. I would very much enjoy it if you did."

You stretched your arms over your head and said, "I'll meet you either in the shower or in bed." Then you were gone, and he was excited to burp the baby and then do whatever you let him do to you.

"Let's see if we can get a nice, big burp out of you so you'll sleep for a few hours," he muttered, pulling one of the many storybooks down from the shelf from his spot on the floor. He'd read every book in the room to her multiple times already, and he couldn't wait until she started to have favorites. Tonight he read about a dragon while he patted and rubbed her back, pausing every page or two to kiss her soft cheek.

She was yawning by the last page of the book, and she did indeed burp for him. When he set her gently in her crib, Bradley whispered, "I can't believe I get to be your dad." He stood there, leaning on the side of the crib until he was certain she was asleep, then he headed for his own bedroom, unzipping his pants along the way.

Bradley found you naked in bed, fresh from the shower and rubbing lotion all over your legs. It was such a mundane yet intimate thing for him to watch, and you didn't realize he was in the doorway yet. "Get in bed," you told Tramp, nodding toward the fluffy mat he slept on next to the bathroom door. "You can't play with Rosie any more tonight. I'm sorry, but she needs to go to sleep after Daddy finishes reading to her."

"I'm finished reading to her."

Your gaze met his as your palms went gliding up your thighs, and you smiled a little shyly at him. Then you reached for the sheet like you were going to try to cover yourself, and he headed for the bed.

"Please don't, Baby Girl," he whispered. "I was really enjoying that view."

You paused and let your eyes drift down his body. "Get undressed and come here."

He did not need you to ask him twice. Bradley yanked his jeans off and tossed them aside followed by his tee shirt and his boxer briefs. You giggled when he climbed into bed in just his socks and hovered above you like he was going to do push ups with his hands planted next to your shoulders.

When he lowered himself down to give you a kiss, you raked your fingers through his hair. He knew there was no hiding how hard he was getting, so he didn't bother. He just pressed himself against you while you licked his bottom lip.

"You're really horny, Roo," you murmured, and he simply nodded. You let one hand drift down along his scarred cheek, and then you were touching your tits. 

He was salivating immediately. He could practically smell you. White beads of your milk formed on your nipples as you gently squeezed yourself, and he whimpered your name. His cock was tapping against your thigh in excitement as he lowered himself down to kiss your lips again.

"It's okay," you whispered. "I know you want to. Go ahead."

Bradley sighed and came to rest on his elbows, letting his mouth meet your nipples.

-------------------------------

You spent all day Saturday running to three different grocery stores to buy ingredients for Bradley's Father's Day picnic lunch. It cost a small fortune to get everything you needed to make chicken salad sandwiches on homemade bread, a charcuterie board, fruit salad, and brownies. Your plan was to get up very early on Sunday to start making everything, but now Bradley's words made you feel like you were going to cry.

"I'm playing golf in the morning."

He was so nonchalant about it, you thought perhaps he was joking at first. But his expression showed a tiny bit of alarm and remorse, and you knew he was actually ditching you and Rose on Father's Day.

When you spoke, you hated how small your voice sounded. "You said all you wanted was a day with just the three of us."

"I do!" he insisted, reaching for you and pulling you close. "That's all I want. I promise I'll be home by lunchtime."

With that, you excused yourself to go to bed. You didn't bother to set an alarm, because what was the point? Rose would wake you up when she started crying her lungs out to eat, and Bradley would already be gone with Jake, Javy and Reuben. Honestly, you would have thought Jake would want to be home with Cat and Jer, and now you were mad at him, too. You thought about texting him but turned your phone screen side down on your nightstand and tossed your glasses aside instead.

A few minutes later, Bradley climbed in bed as well, and you could feel him trying to coax you closer. "I love you," he whispered, but you stayed curled up in a ball until you fell asleep.

Sure enough, he was gone when you woke up. You didn't even bother changing out of your pajamas to feed Rose. Your plans to wear a cute sundress seemed pointless now as you tried to appease your cranky daughter while you made chicken salad and baked a small loaf of bread.

"You'd probably calm down if your dad were here," you mused, handing her toy after toy only for her to push them all away. Finally Tramp had mercy on you and plopped down next to her on her play mat for a few minutes.

Of course the picnic foods looked absolutely perfect, and you struggled to get Rose burped and down for a late morning nap. "I swear you don't act like this for him," you groaned, fighting the urge to start crying. You'd been feeling better over the past few weeks. Your body was becoming more your own again, even though you were still sharing it with your daughter. The birth control and the healing time were certainly helping, but right now, you and Rose came in second place to a round of golf. On Father's Day.

She spit up all over you before she fell asleep, forcing you to change into your dress anyway. The wrapped present on the coffee table along with the homemade card were enough to make you set a timer for noon. If he wasn't back, you were going to eat the meal yourself. Your stomach was already growling.

But Bradley came through the door at 11:58 wearing gym shorts and a tank top with his aviators low on his nose. "Sweetheart," he said, sounding a little bit out of breath as he headed your way. "You look pretty."

Did he think you were stupid? You got up from the couch and turned off the timer. "Where were you, Bradley? Because you weren't playing golf dressed like that."

His cheeks flushed pink at the same time you noticed something wrapped around his right bicep. When he held his arm out to his side, you gasped.

"Why didn't you just tell me that's where you were going?" you whispered, tears burning your eyes. You felt frustrated and embarrassed that you got upset in the first place.

"I wanted to surprise you," he murmured, wrapping his left arm around your waist. "I've been waiting to do this since you told me you were pregnant." You buried your face against his chest and let yourself cry. "Shit. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said I was golfing. I panicked when they called me back and said they could fit me in this morning. I just really wanted to get my second paper plane as soon as possible."

He held you tight with both arms wrapped around you. "You said you just wanted a day with your girls, and I planned a picnic and got you a present, and then you said you wanted to fucking play golf," you sobbed. "Next time just tell me you're getting another tattoo, okay? Because now when you say you're going golfing, I'm going to think you're getting another one anyway."

"Hey," Bradley rasped, tilting your chin so you were looking up at him. "I'm spending the rest of today with my girls. That really is all I wanted to do today. I'm sorry I lied to you. I feel terrible about it now." His brown eyes were sincere which made you feel a lot better, and now you weren't mad at Jake anymore.

"Can I see it?" you whispered, and he immediately started to unwrap his arm. Right there next to the large paper airplane that had Baby Girl written across it was a smaller one that said Rose in the same script. "God, Roo. It's perfect."

"Just like my girls."

----------------------------

Okay, so he came within an inch of completely fucking things up on Father's Day. It wasn't like he planned it that way. He wasn't even sure why he said he was going to play golf. None of his friends would even make a tee time on Father's Day and include him. Or Jake for that matter. Plus, Bradley was fucking terrible at lying. He felt apprehensive the entire time he was getting the tattoo done.

It didn't even really matter if you knew about it ahead of time, but he wanted it to be a surprise declaration of his love for his family. Instead he made you stress out and cry, because of course you had a whole fucking day planned. You loved him that much.

He was right there with you and Rose for the rest of the afternoon. He changed her diapers and helped you pack up the food along with a bottle of pink champagne that was tucked way back behind everything else in the refrigerator. He carried everything out to the Bronco and got both of you buckled in. Then he started driving where you told him to.

"Are we going to our wedding venue?" he asked after a few minutes, and you started laughing.

"Is that what we're calling the parking lot?"

"Sweetheart. That's our wedding venue." Rose hadn't been to that beach yet, and now he was excited. So excited. "Rosie, we're going to show you where Mommy first kissed me and fell so in love that she's incapable of being mad at me even though I didn't tell her I was going to get tattooed this morning."

Now you were laughing harder, and you turned his playlist up a little louder, and the sun felt a little brighter. When he pulled into the parking lot, he backed into the spot where you became his wife, and then he strapped Rose into her baby carrier against his chest.

Bradley watched you pull Rosie's little sun hat out of the diaper bag, and you kissed her nose before putting it on her head. "Don't want you to get too much sun." Then you led the way down the rocky path to the sand below where you spread out a beach blanket. You tugged Bradley's hand until he was on his knees, and then you kissed his nose as well. "Don't want you getting too much sun either."

When he remembered the sunburn he got the day of Mickey's birthday kegger, he shuddered, but you were already squeezing some sunblock onto your hands and smoothing it along his face. You smiled when you got some in his mustache, and Bradley leaned closer to kiss you, and then he didn't want to stop. You ended up on your back on the blanket with sunblock on your nose while Bradley cradled Rose's head.

"Happy first Father's Day," you whispered, running your fingers up inside his sleeve to touch the wrapping around his bicep. "Rose is lucky you're her daddy."

The lunch you made was absolutely perfect. Bradley couldn't remember ever having homemade bread before, and he ate two sandwiches in a row. You and he drank the champagne from the bottle on the blanket before walking down to the water. Your tipsy giggles as he dipped Rose's toes in the water made him smile.

"She hates it!" you cackled when Rose pulled her legs up and wailed. Bradley lowered her down again when the next wave came in, and she pulled her feet away from the water once again.

"Aww, Daddy's sorry," he said, lifting her up and flying her around in the air like a plane to get her to calm down. "I'll take you to Virginia Beach where the water is warmer," he promised. "And we can go to the cemetery and visit Grampy Goose and Grandma Carole. How does that sound?"

His daughter looked much happier at the prospect of warmer water and more time with grandparents. Even though Bradley was here with his family, he couldn't help but think about everything he missed out on. Everything he was still missing out on. 

He never had a dad to fly him around or dip his toes in the water, at least not that he could remember. All he could recall were glimpses of laughter and being lifted out of his crib. He could almost hear a voice, but he wasn't sure if it was even Nick's or if his memory was playing a trick on him.

Bradley held onto Rose a little tighter as you let your head rest on his shoulder. Your voice was soft, barely loud enough for him to hear you over the waves. "I wish I could have met them. I wish they were here to see you with Rose."

He knew one thing for a fact. "They would have loved this little Nugget."

----------------------------

Quite effortlessly, Bradley led you back up the rocks while he carried Rose and all the gear. As soon as the sun started to set, the wind picked up and the air got chilly. Even though you nursed Rose, you knew she was going to need to eat again so she could fall asleep.

"Oh, you still have to unwrap your present," you told Bradley when you got home and walked past the living room table.

"Right now?" he asked with a smirk.

"If you want to."

He started to take your shirt off, and you ducked out of his grasp with a laugh. "Not me!"

"I don't want anything else though," he rasped, still reaching for you, but you pushed him toward Rose on her play mat instead.

"She needs a quick bath while you open your present, and then I'll give you a blowjob after she's in her crib."

"Hell yes," Bradley muttered, scooping up the baby and the wrapped gift and heading for the bathroom. You filled up Rosie's little tub, and he set her down in the water then started unwrapping the present but keeping his attention mostly on his daughter. 

"Do you like it?" you asked over your shoulder, and then he realized he was holding a book. A book about him and you and Rose and Tramp.

Bradley flipped through the pages, staring in awe at the cartoon versions of his family. Each of you had been drawn as a superhero, and even the sketched version of Tramp was wearing a little red cape.

"This is the cutest thing I have ever seen. How did you get this?"

"I had it made," you told him. "I sent photos of all of us to a local artist, and she created the book for you."

"Damn," he whispered, tears in his eyes as he looked at each page again. "I'm such a sappy mess now, I swear." Then he sat down on the floor next to you while you rinsed the sand from Rose's tiny feet and started to read the book out loud. "Once upon a time, the Super Bradshaw Family was just about to eat dinner when Super Dad Bradley's phone rang. The city of San Diego needed help, and there was nobody better to turn to."

The story was fun, and the drawings were silly, and he just knew Rose would probably adore this book when she got a little bit older. And he was so lucky he had a wife who did things like turn him into a cartoon superhero for Father's Day and make him a four course picnic lunch.

He also had a wife who dropped to her knees as soon as they were alone. You looked up at him as you pulled his shorts and underwear down to his thighs, kissing his cock as you whispered, "There's my Super Daddy Bradley."

He grinned as he pulled his shirt off as well, enjoying how pretty you looked below his flat abs with your hand cupping his balls. "You absolutely own me, Baby Girl. I'm a fucking wreck for you. I'm all tattooed for my girls now. If you want me to be your Super Daddy, you know I will be."

You licked your lips and parted them, and then Bradley was in heaven.

---------------------------------

I need Jer to have a dad. I need it in my bones. I also need Bradley to have a sensational 38th birthday before he packs his bags and goes to La Jolla with his wife for three days in bed. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@furiousladyking

@godsfavoritebabe

@bethabear12

@halo-mystic

@sherlockstrangewolf

@theamuz

@khaylin27

[megamindsecretlair]

heyyyy sugarplummm, you already know why i’m here🤭🤭🤭. i’d love to a request for teddy richmond??? im thinking smutty smutty down to the ground, but i NEEDDDD overstimulation from oc to teddy and him tapping out??? some crazy crazy shit LMAOOOO please and thank you, i would forever be in your debt🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

A/N: Hope I did it justice! I read a FILTHY fic from @planetblaque, make sure you check her fic out here! Good & Plenty

Ruined

Pairing: Daddy Dom!Terry Richmond x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female and male receiving), fingering (fem receiving), teasing, size kink, dirty talk, face sitting, mean Terry, daddy kink, praise kink, overstimulation, reader is able to be picked up, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some, rushing.

Summary: See Ask. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog . Terry has been spending more time in the gym lately, preferring to retreat into his head like he often does. Tonight, however, you aim to take his mind off of his worries if only for a little while.

Word Count: 3,232k

AO3 Link

A/N: Ya'll don't ask about this man no more! I need to focus on this book, lordt LOL. He has rotted my brain, enjoy! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

Your favorite part of your nightly routine was watching Terry workout. He was never more so in his element then when he was pumping iron, blasting his metal music, and in the zone. He became so focused, lifting weights, leg day, arm day, biceps, triceps, and whatever else he managed to hone into a deadly weapon.

You joined him most nights, but quickly became entranced in the way he lifted his body doing pull ups. Or working his legs out on the machine. Your home gym was nothing to sniff at. Making him deck it out in all of the equipment he ever wanted when he got his settlement from Shelby Springs. 

You liked using the bike mostly, setting a program, and pretending to ride up the side of a mountain. You were able to zone out, picturing the mountain air and the subtle breeze. It was a wonderful sight to behold but did little in comparison to Terry’s massive form. 

Terry had been a little distant lately, spending more and more time in the gym instead of resting. You entered the gym now to find him facing the wall of mirrors along the far wall, watching himself as he lifted heavy weights in his arms, doing curls. 

Something was bothering him. You bit your lip as you watched him. What could it be? 

He was focused, not even noticing that you were standing in the doorway. He wore a dusky blue tank and black shorts, compression shorts underneath showing off massive thighs. His earphones were in his ear, probably listening to his favorite band. 

You thought over what could possibly be his problem… it occurred to you. It was the anniversary of all the shit that went down. Losing his cousin, violence, racism. You sighed, wondering why he didn’t say anything. Then again, he wasn’t the type of man to burden others with his thoughts. 

You sauntered into the gym, taking off your pajama shirt as you did so. You wore no bra underneath so you were bare to the heated room. Your eyes were trained on Terry beside you, soaking through his tank top with sweat. The tattoos on his forearm moved with him, the star and moon on his arm curling.

You stopped beside him, taking off your sleep shorts and panties in one fell swoop. You grabbed your own set of weights and went through a series of light reps, stretching out your limbs and loosening up your body. 

Terry looked over at you and then faced forward. He did a double take, nearly dropping the weights in his hands. He caught them at the last minute, placing them down on the dumbbell rack. 

“What you doing?” He asked, a smirk curving his face. He took out one of his earbuds.

“Working out, what does it look like?” You asked. You didn’t look directly at him, opting to look at him in the mirror. That was easier. Easier to admire his face without having to look at his eyes dead on. Sometimes it seemed like he looked right down to your soul. 

He licked his lips, siding up to you. He was huffing with exertion, reaching up to grab your shoulder. You sidestepped him, tsking at him. “You didn’t finish your workout,” you said.

“You gon’ do me like that?” His voice. Good god. He pitched it even lower, sounding put out and superior at the same time. 

“Finish your workout. Go on,” you said. You switched up your stretches, adding in lunges and stretching your thighs. 

Terry admired what you were doing, the jiggle in your ass, and the sway of your breasts as you moved. He looked at you in the mirror and you smiled at him. He nodded and then yanked off his tank top. 

You faltered in your own routine. His body was insanely ripped. Like a lifelike painting. Like an artist painted each and every ab. You admired the way his body moved. Effortless. Easy. His eyes were trained on you as he took off his shorts and compression shorts, letting his dick spring free.

He was already semi-hard, long and thick, as the tip slapped against his inner thigh. He pulled his other earbud out, tapping away on his phone to put on a playlist you both enjoyed to pump through the house’s speakers. “Coming Undone” by Korn began to blast through the speakers and the dirty beat had you feeling excited. The vibrations in the floor tingled your bare feet. He moved back to retrieve his weights, standing beside you as you both got into your workout routines. 

No words were spoken as you looked at each other, eyes dragging along each other’s bodies like a physical caress. His wide chest glistened with sweat as he pumped his arms, curling those biceps that you just wanted to sink your teeth into.

Your plan was to take his mind off of things, coax him into relaxing, and then talk about what was in his head. But you were making your own self bothered, staring at his lean hips, thick thighs, and strong legs. 

Your pussy throbbed, as you stared at his dick moving with his effort. Wet slick starting to pool between your legs. 

You grunted as you lifted shaking arms to put away your weights. You weren’t as skilled as him and that was okay. You would work yourself up to his level. Sculpting your own body the way you wanted. 

You free-stretched, lifting your arms above your head and pushing out your chest. The room seemed to get hotter. You felt every inch of Terry’s gaze on your body. Everywhere his eyes roamed, your body tingled. You were connected to him on a deep, spiritual level. 

Terry put away his own weights, the metal clanging above the music playing. The song continued to blast, making your body sway to the chorus. Terry stalked forward, licking his lips, eyes looking his fill as he approached you.

“Time for pushups,” you said. 

Terry smirked, encroaching into your personal space. He leaned down to kiss you and you turned your head at the last minute, making him kiss your cheek. He chuckled. “You think you’re cute,” he said against your skin.

You shrugged, a big smile on your face. “Just a little,” you said. You pinched your fingers to show him how much. He laughed, sinking down to his knees. He got into position, facing the mirrors. You climbed onto his back. He tested a few push ups before flicking his eyes towards yours in the mirror.

Wordlessly, he began. He lifted you with ease, not a grunt on him as he kept going, kept pumping his arms. Sweat dripped from his face. You felt his muscles bunch between your legs. You giggled, excited from the high of being lifted on his powerful back. 

“Good Daddy,” you purred on top of him.

Terry stopped, staring at you. You smirked and leaned forward, redistributing your weight so you didn’t hurt him. You licked the shell of his ear and he shivered from head to foot. “Such a good Daddy to me,” you moaned in his ear. 

Terry shook his head, starting up the push ups again. You rubbed his back, caressing him, scratching your nails against his skin. He groaned, body shuddering again. You continued to tease him, running your nails anywhere you could touch. 

“Fuck,” he moaned. 

“I can’t wait until you’re all done, sweaty, feeding me that long dick of yours,” you purred in his ear. 

Terry stopped again, arms extended. He smirked at you. God, he was fucking beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. He literally took your breath away whenever you saw him. A sigh carried off in the wind. 

Music thumped as you looked at each other. Your thoughts were probably broadcast all over your face. You took a quick peek at yourself. You were perched on top of him like a lazy, feline goddess. Brown skin gleaming, eyes low, bottom lip between your teeth. You looked so pretty like this. Felt pretty. Felt amazing because he made you feel like you were flying every time you were with him. 

You moaned, thinking of him. Of how wonderful he truly was to you. An entire gift. You rubbed yourself on his back, finding that little bit of friction to keep you going. “Oh shit,” you moaned, head falling forward onto his shoulder. You moaned, getting yourself there.

“Hol’ up.” Terry’s rough voice cut through your fog. He lowered himself to the ground and he rolled to the side to let you off. You climbed off of him and then faced him on the floor. 

“You think you get to play with what’s mine?” He asked. He got to his feet, pulling you up with him. 

Your thighs tingled as he stepped into your personal space. He grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the weight bench. He straddled it, laying down. You hopped onto him, and he groaned. He must feel the slick between your thighs rubbing against his stomach. His muscles flexed beneath you and you closed your eyes, pussy fluttering. 

“Mine,” he growled, winking at you. He pulled you to slide over onto his face, lips sliding through your folds.

“Oh, god,” you sighed and moaned. 

Terry hummed, licking his lips. You felt the entire motion, pussy growing wetter from the action. He began to lick you in earnest, moaning between your legs. You gripped onto the weight bar above the bench, held on for dear life, as your legs shook. 

The song switched to “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails. Terry followed the erratic beat, flicking his tongue across your clit rapidly, making you shake and twitch on top of him. “Oh, fuck, Terry, shit, oh fuck,” you moaned. 

Terry chuckled, gripping onto your ass and spreading your ass cheeks. Terry wrapped his lips around your clit and suckled. You screamed, your toes pushing you off of him from the ground. Terry held on, using his tongue to tease around your entrance. 

Stars were blinking on and off in your mind’s eye, lower belly burning with desire. “Terry,” you begged, voice weak and pathetic. Oh fuck, you were about to cum. You began to sink onto his face, putting all your weight down when Terry moved his lips. He pulled away from your entrance right before you were about to cum. 

You groaned, leaning back to look at his eyes. There was something deeply erotic about those mesmerizing eyes staring up at you from between your thick thighs. He winked at you and then pushed you off of him. 

He sat up so that you straddled his lap. “Ready to stop playing games?” He asked, wiping your essence off.

“Who’s playing?” You asked. You blinked at him innocently, wrapping your arms around his neck. His dick was nestled in your ass, growing harder as you rubbed yourself against him. He hissed, hands flying to your waist to steady you. 

You kept moving, kept rocking and rolling your hips so that your wet pussy rubbed against him. “Baby, the games have just begun,” you leaned down and whispered in his ear.

He pulled back, his eyes crinkling as a smile split his face. It was a predatory grin, full of evil intent as he kissed you. You sighed, nibbling on his big, juicy lips. He suckled your bottom lip into his mouth, and you moaned, canting your hips forward once again. 

“Another Way” by Sleep Theory came on, turning up the heat. The heavy beginning reverberated under your skin as you scratched at his nape. You moaned into each other’s mouths. Terry’s hands on your waist were no longer hindering you from rubbing on him, grinding on him. 

Terry cursed, his hand slipping between your legs. “Good fuckin’ girl. Getting wet for Daddy,” he said in awe. 

“You make me so fuckin’ horny, I can’t stand it,” you confessed, capturing his lips with yours again. It was all true. The way his body felt beneath your questing fingers. Tracing every vein, every muscle, every inch of skin. It all served to turn you on more, drive your desire higher, reaching new heights. 

“Let me train that throat,” he said, more of a command than a question. You smirked as you slid off of him, already planning your method of attack. 

Terry scooted forward on the weight bench, and you gripped his thighs for stability as you lowered to the floor. You smiled, grabbed his dick, and rubbed the bead of pre-cum across your lips. 

Terry moaned, licked his lips, tilting his head at you. Your pussy throbbed at the way it made his eyes narrow, made him look cocky. You aimed to change that. You opened your mouth, sucking him down and he groaned as you took him down to the base. 

It was hard, no lie, considering his size. But fuck, you were greedy. You breathed through your nose and then slowly dragged him out of your mouth, making sure to lick every inch of him. 

“Fuuuuck,” he moaned, throwing his head back. He grabbed the sides of your face, stroking his thumb across your cheek, before moving your head faster, making you take more of him. 

Silly boy. You resisted, pushing against his hold. He grunted before he let up and that’s when you took over. Giving him the sloppiest, messiest, nastiest head you’d ever given him. “Shit, let me get out yo way,” he breathed, his moans competing with the sounds of the song playing in the background. 

You stroked him as you sucked him off, his tip leaking cum. The salty taste of him made you moan, made your thighs tingle. You moved your fingers between your folds, rubbing your own clit as you sucked him off. 

Curses flew from his mouth, eyes squeezed shut. Fuck, he was perfect. Absolutely perfect. His mouth dropped open, jaw going slack. He groaned, eyes crinkling with the effort. You took him deep, near gagging, bobbing up and down on his length like you were trying to suck the soul out of his body.

“Shit, slow down,” he said, voice growing needy. 

You didn’t listen. You kept going, kept going faster, shaking with the effort. Rocking back and forth on your fingers and bringing your own pleasure back to the front. Back from where he teased. 

“Damn girl,” he moaned. His jaw flexed with restrained effort. You moaned around his dick, humming, flicking your tongue across his sensitive tip. You suckled him there, drooling. Your saliva and his pre-cum dribbled down your chin. You locked eyes with him, spat on his dick, and then sucked him back down. Returning to the pace you set, sucking with extra pressure.

“Fuck, fuck,” he panted, his hips pushing up. He tapped your cheek softly and you reluctantly pulled off of him. His huffing breaths were better than the music. His eyes turned deep blue like a lagoon, drunk with pleasure. 

His eyes narrowed, staring at you like you stole something. You licked your lips, licking up any extra taste of him. He watched you do it, before he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you to him.

He kissed you, lips soft and sweet. You opened your mouth to him, to his exploring tongue, to the bite of his teeth. You moaned, hands trapped by your side. 

He stood up abruptly, pulling you over to the mirrors. He wrapped your legs around his waist, pushing your back against the cold, smooth glass.

You yelped, trying to get away from it. Your skin was too heated for it, too sensitive. “Terry, please,” you moaned.

“My turn, baby girl,” he said. He grinned, sliding into you with no preamble. Your mouth dropped open with a scream as he split you open. 

“T-T-,”

“Shh, shh, Daddy’s got you,” he cooed as he moved in you like he was punishing you. He was relentless, moving like a jackhammer. Like a well-oiled machine. He held your legs spread open, taking his dick.

“T-too, mu-uch,” you cried, pussy flooding his dick. He was pounding into you so good, your vision turned black. Your ears began to ring. Your back tapped the mirror, shaking it, with the force of his deep thrusts. 

“Too much?” He asked.

You held onto his shoulder, nails digging. “Too good, too good,” you moaned. 

He moaned with you, synching up your sounds and bringing a new level of intimacy to the moment. He stared in your eyes, nose to nose, heavy breaths fanning across each other’s faces. The wet, dripping mess you made was leaking down your ass and leg, growing wetter. 

“How ‘bout now?” He asked. He increased his thrusts, angling you so that he was fucking up into you. The tip of his dick rubbed against a deep spot inside of you, rubbing up into you and making you see stars again. His dick was huge, splitting you, and god it felt so fucking amazing. 

“Meanie,” you whimpered, grip growing weak. 

Terry kissed along your jaw, your cheeks. “So fuckin’ pretty. So fuckin’ good for me. Such a good girl, creamin’ on this dick. You always know just what Daddy needs, huh?” He asked. 

“Daddy, please! Please let me cum, please, please,” You begged. 

His dick throbbed and you crumpled, falling into that abyss of pleasure. Where it filled up your entire being. All of the teasing and edging just sent you overboard, losing yourself and finding yourself in an endless loop of give and take. You twitched and jerked, moaning loud in his ear. 

“Fuck. Grip that shit. Show Daddy you love it,” he said. “Show me. Show me.” His thrusts grew frenzied, hips out of alignment, as he lifted one of your legs higher on his hip and then groaned as he climaxed.

His hot, pulsing seed filled you to the brim. “Ahh, that’s my good girl. Take all of me,” he cooed. 

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. 

You lazily found each other’s lips. He stilled against you, deeply lodged inside like he lived there. Like he didn’t want to leave. Hell, you didn’t want him to leave either. If you could live like this, you would. Never going a moment without him buried in your pussy where he belonged. Where he was always meant to be. 

Terry kissed your temple and slowly, so slowly, pulled out of you. He looked down as he watched himself exit, a thick load of cum spilling out behind him. Your pussy contracted, trying to push him all out. You shivered as the cum slipped down, leaking onto the ground. 

“Ruined,” he said, smug smile to accompany his words. You looked up at him and kissed him, needing his lips on yours just one more time. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” you whispered against his lips. He smiled against yours, leaning back just far enough to look you in the eye.

“I think I have a few ideas for the sauna,” he said.

“The sauna?” You asked. He fucked you so well, you didn’t think you could walk straight at the moment. However, there were plenty of areas to sit in the sauna. Light bulbs flashed in your mind, thinking of what dirty schemes he was up to.

Terry grinned, turning away from the mirrors and heading towards the sauna. You giggled and talked to him the entire way there.

The end.

There will be more, but seriously ya'll. Stawp distracting me! The Secret Terry Richmond Files

Taglist: @planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva

@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

@semi-yah @halfreal-and-halffiction @motheroffae @melaninpov @pinkpantheris

@slutsareteacherstoo @blackerthings @dreamsinfocus @brattyfics @mermaidchansons

@monaeesstuff @henneseyhoe @blowmymbackout @charismablu

@misskiki90 @miyuhpapayuh @satoruya @starcrossedxwriter @yamst3rdamctrl

@steampunkprincess147 @sweettea-and-honeybutter @theblacklewinsky @soft-persephone

@thegreatlibraryofalex @miyuhpapayuh @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh

[tragedy-of-commons]

"You're burning up" + Aventurine?

"You're burning up."

Aventurine doesn't know what else to say, so he goes with those three words. Safe bet - the doting parents in all the movies and sitcoms say it just like that; with care and worry, palm splayed out across the ill's forehead.

And holy hell are you ill.

Collapsed on his lavish sofa, you groan in response, swatting his hand away. "I'm gonna be just fine..."

He's inclined to disagree. You're sweating buckets despite how he'd mashed the thermostat down to its limit - he even had to shrug on a jacket. Perhaps Aventurine would have poked fun at you for your intolerance, but he has enough decorum to hold his tongue. He really doesn't like seeing you so put out, as much as you're welcome to crash here.

"Your poker face could use some work. Save your words, we can hang out another time," he dismisses easily, bracing himself for your incoming opposition. He reluctantly breaks away from your side to amble over to the coffee table, beginning to clean up the remnants of game night.

"No way," in the corner of his eye, he notices you shifting restlessly, "finals are coming up. Won't have time after this..."

Aventurine sighs, sweeping his very nice clay chips into one hand while using the other to click open their case. This time of year, things become almost unbearably hectic. He has exams coming up in a few weeks himself, and though he never needs to study, he always adheres to your modus operandi of 'cram now, cry later'.

"Well, you're not going back to those dorms in that state."

"You sound like a dickhead," you murmur. "You think I wanna live there? Shitty thin walls... shitty dining hall food..."

He chuckles, snapping the case shut and dusting his hands of nonexistent dust. "You're cruder than usual when you're feverish."

Aventurine almost startles when you gasp. "I have a fever?!"

...and you're loopy, too.

He gets you to sit still with the promise of retrieving a fever reducer and some water. Aventurine roots through his bathroom cabinets, combing through his own extensive collection of self-care and skin products to reach where he keeps his medication.

It takes several minutes of crouching down on the tile for him to realize he doesn't have any. He clicks his tongue - well, it seems his own lifestyle has backfired on him once again. Aventurine doesn't get sick often, doesn't spend a lot of time at home, and has enough stubborn resilience to power through any ailment that might plague him.

But for you? The only reason he spends any time at all in this stupidly expensive penthouse?

Yeah, he'll make a quick trip to the drugstore.

When he walks back into the living room with his shoes on and wallet in his pocket, his heart warms. You've somehow slipped into an upside down position, hair spilling over the edge of the cushions. You somehow make it look comfortable, eyes closed and brow free of any creases.

"Does that help your sinuses?" he asks, really only to test if you're awake.

"You smell good..."

Aventurine ignores how those words make him feel, eyeing the door (and where your shoes are lined up neatly against the wall).

"I have to restock on Tylenol," he swallows. "Will you be okay by yourself?"

"Yes," you respond coherently this time.

Before he departs, he cajoles you into another position in case you throw up like that and end up choking - not without some strangely endearing complaints that you'd normally never voice, positive thing you are.

He doesn't get to the inside mat before you pipe up again, making him stop in his tracks.

"C'mere," you cough. "Please, humor a dying star's last wish..."

He really should be going so he can get your temperature down quicker, but leaving you on the sofa while you're about to cough up a lung strikes him as cruel. Aventurine gives into your dramatics - which happen to perfectly align with his own at times - and makes his way over to you.

"What is it? Did I forget something?" he sits down on the armrest, perching there with perfect balance. When you don't respond immediately, an odd little expression on your face, he rests his chin on his fist, pensive.

You hum.

He doesn't expect much; a request for another pillow, a plea for him to turn on a movie for you while he's out. Instead, he's caught off-guard as you throw an arm around his waist and pull, effectively whisking him off the high ground and right into your grasp.

Aventurine initially tenses but settles as you nuzzle closer. You're the only person in the world that can get away with loving him so easily.

"M'sorry I got sick on game night..." you whisper, uncaring that you're spreading your sickness (and your homely oxytocin).

He finds himself not caring much either.

"Do you believe me to be that hung up on you catching a cold?"

Aventurine's heart rabbits cruelly - he's sure you can hear it, with the way you're snuggled against him and whatnot, but maybe he'll get lucky like he always has, and you'll remain oblivious and perfect and unbothered, despite what you do to him.

You sniffle, words thick with exhaustion. "I dunno. Just stay."

He can't. Not just because he has to go pick up that Tylenol, but because he feels like he might die if you keep saying things like that.

"Five minutes," he acquiesces.

Aventurine waits for your celebration of victory, but no such thing comes. You're fast asleep, clinging to him like he's worth something.

He stays for a lot longer than five minutes, only wriggling out of your arms when he's sure you won't wake up to find him gone. When he returns later with his spoils (which also just so happen to include your favorite drink), you're cradling a pillow in his place.

Before Aventurine is your boyfriend or lover, he is a liar.

He is most definitely, unequivocally, one hundred percent hung up on you.

🏷️: @akutasoda, @aviiarie, @lowkeyren

a/n: modern au because i couldn't possibly resist. just wanted to mention here that u guys absolutely killed it with these quotes. you have my gratitude! also why is he like that. soggy wet cat

event post here

[bpmiranda]

Teacher/authority figure hugh please please!!

Follow My Lead (Hugh Jackman) nsfw

A/N: teacher!hugh, dancer!reader, virgin!reader, age gap, hugh is in his mid 40s in this one, 20+ f!reader, power imbalance, sir kink, unprotected sex

Landing a role in this particular broadway show was an honor beyond imaginable. You had worked incredibly hard to get to this place in your career and you couldn’t be more overjoyed, or so you thought. Apparently, Hugh Jackman was a co-director of choreography for this show and that meant you and your group would be learning the steps from him. Having been a fan of the X-Men franchise growing up, to say that you were starstruck by him would be an understatement.

“That’s very good, great job, you guys!” Hugh clapped for you and you all beamed happily, you and the girls in your line all turned to each other, giggling and sharing knowing smiles as he walked around and gave everyone a few pointers to work on for tomorrow as they filtered out. Your eyes locked with him and he gave you a charming grin as he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, is that right?” He asked you, leaning in close as if this were to be a private conversation. You give him a small nod, clutching your hands nervously close to your abdomen as he leans into your ear. “You moved so wonderfully today, I truly have no notes to give you.” He whispers and your heart skips a beat as your face warms up. “Perhaps this is a bit of an amateur production for you.”

“Oh, I-I don’t know about that.” You laugh lightly, shaking your head as he looks down at you with a small smirk. “I’m so honored to be here and working with you, sir. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Hugh’s tongue peeks out to moisten his lips and he grins at you. “Care to stay behind and run the main number through, just the two of us? We still haven’t found an understudy for the lead woman.”

Your mouth falls slightly in astonishment and you press a hand over your chest, your heart beating hard in your ribcage. “Sir, I-I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure that I’m qualified, I mean-”

“Say yes.” Hugh whispers, his hand falling off your shoulder and down your arm until he squeezes your hand softly.

A breathless sigh falls out of your lips as you nod, looking up at him with doe eyes as you whisper, “Yes.”

After rehearsal had ended, Hugh insisted that you let him take you out for a quick bite so as to regain energy. “Can’t have you goin’ hungry if we’re going to put in some work.” He teased as you walked together to a casual restaurant around the block from the dance studio. Your face couldn’t seem to reach a temperature below hot as he continued teasing and complimenting you during lunch. It simply could not register that you were having dinner with him. “I’ve never seen someone so in tune with the steps, and not even just for your own choreography. I’ve noticed you counting the steps for the main number during full show runs.” He comments and you simply wave him off.

“Oh, please, I’m sure there are others in the class better than me. I just absolutely adore dancing and the choreography you’ve written is a gorgeous depiction of the story and the feelings of these characters.” Your hand inadvertently touches his as you gush and Hugh smiles at you.

“Well, leave it to you to know about gorgeous.” He says as he takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. Again, your face warms up and you look away shyly. “Shall we get back?” He asks and you nod, almost too eager to spend one on one time with him.

It’s hard work, much harder and far more intimate than the background choreography you usually run. Hugh stands in for the part of the man who is gazing in bewilderment at the female lead before he jumps in to join her. The steps to the dance are quick tempo, fun and light hearted at the start. Hugh spins you around, he lifts you mid jump before you continue down the stage. Then the steps become slower, more intimate as the characters fall in love. Hugh’s hand runs down your back, guiding you around the stage, your eyes locked together while you breathed heavily. The man can’t let her go, he can’t have their dance finish before he confesses his love for her while she tries to fight against the fall, remembering there are other expectations of her than to simply dance, responsibilities much larger that would be cast aside if she fell head first into a romance. The music is dying down as Hugh suddenly stops, his hand still on the small of your back as you get in position for the big kiss which solidifies that the characters have fallen for each other.

There is a moment where you wonder if you’ll actually kiss, but you don’t want to mistakenly cross a boundary. “How was that, sir?” You find yourself asking, breathless from the dance and he glances at your lips. Your arms are trapped between your bodies and you settle your hands on his chest which rises and falls with his own heavy breathing.

His deep green eyes snap back onto yours and he smiles. “You’re a natural.” One of his hands comes up to your cheek and you inhale sharply as he smirks. “You’re really responsive to being led which is great for dancing.” He says, his other hand moves onto your hip and you inhale shakily. “It’s great for other things too.” His tone is heavy with suggestion and you feel your face warm up.

“Sir, I-should we-” You’re cut off by him suddenly kissing you, his lips are domineering and you all to eagerly give into him. One of your hands moves up his chest and over his shoulder as he blindly guides you backstage, your ass hits a table and he’s quick to sit you down on it. Without a thought, he pulls your blouse up and you let him take it off, shivering as he kisses your chest while undoing your bra clasp.

“You want a shot at that big role, sweetheart?” He asks against your breasts as you run your hands along his beard and you distinctly hear the buckle of his belt lightly jangling between you. Your body reacts to his words, your thighs clench around his waist and he chuckles. “It could be yours based on pure talent, but I can make certain it happens.” He whispers and you shake your head.

“I don’t need it,” You breathe out, biting your lip as you quickly lift yourself up so he can tug your leggings and jazz shoes off. “Not as much as I need you, sir.” You confess and he grins.

Hugh kisses you, hard, as he steps back between your legs and you run your hands up his shirt to feel on his toned, hairy chest. “Love how you keep calling me that.” He groans as he removes his t-shirt for you and you smile bashfully. “Such a polite little thing, aren’t you?” He teases as his fingers rub at your clit, prods at your entrance and he groans from how wet you are already. “You want this?”

“Yes, sir.” You sigh as you feel the head of his cock rub between your folds. You hook one arm around his shoulders while caressing his jaw, bringing his lips back to yours as he firmly places his hands onto the table behind you, pushing himself into your tight pussy. A sharp inhale catches his attention and he smirks.

“You a virgin?” He asks curiously and you shyly nod, looking at him with such a submissive gaze he can’t help the twitch in his cock and you whine softly. “Fuck, how’s that possible?” He grunts, pumping slowly and deeply into you, his lips attaching to your neck while you moan in his ear. “You’re so damn gorgeous.”

“Just-uh-waiting for-oh, my god-the right guy.” You whimper, holding tightly onto him as your walls coat him in a sheen of your arousal. It’s embarrassing how eager you are, how wet you get for him, but Hugh is crazy for it. Crazy for you.

“Want me to be that guy, sweetheart?” He asks, his forehead resting against yours, his lips kissing you softly as you nod desperately while your lower belly tenses. “Yeah? Want me to make you cum?”

“Yes, sir, please!” You mewl against his lips and he groans as he presses himself flush to your cervix, one hand squeezing tightly onto your hip, and you suddenly gush all around his cock. It surprises the both of you that you squirt, and Hugh can’t help the breathless gasp that falls from his mouth.

“Shit, baby.” He groans, smiling to himself quite proudly.

“Fuck!” You cry out, breathing heavily as he leans further over you, his hand pressing you into him by your back as you hang onto him and let him fuck himself into your sopping cunt. Hugh growls lowly against your neck as he quickly pulls out and unloads his release onto your thigh, his body jolts and his arms flex from the force. His hand squeezes your other thigh tightly as he milks himself onto you, groaning softly as you caress his shoulders and watch him, all dazed and high on the endorphins that cloud your mind. It’s quite a sight seeing him, the Hugh Jackman, so vulnerable here with you. “Was that-was I good?” You ask, swallowing hard as you steady your breathing. Hugh cups your face in his large hands to kiss you sweetly, making you whimper against his mouth.

“A natural, sweetheart. Is there anything you can’t do?” He teases and you laugh softly, sighing contently as he pulls away from you. “Come home with me?” He asks you as he grabs the towel he had been using during rehearsals to wipe your leg off and you nod, smiling sweetly at him.

“Yes, sir.” You say, earning a chuckle from him.

While writing this one, I realized I enjoy the sir kink a whole lot more than I thought🤭

🏷️: @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @peterparkernotfound @httpsells @evasmlp @ayatotiddies @thatlittlered @seasonofthenerd @littlemisscantloveyouback @scorpiosaintt @simpingfor-wakasa @spencerswh0r3 @thatweirdtheaternerd12 @shybluebirdninja @iamburdened

[verstappenverse]

What We Never Said

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max Verstappen, your best friend, has always been a constant in your life. But when jealousy surfaces over a recent date, it stirs emotions he hadn’t quite confronted. Is there more between you two than just friendship?

1.9k words / Masterlist

Max had always been good at keeping his cool. On the track where everything is measured in tenths of a second and a moment’s hesitation can cost everything, keeping a level head was what set him apart from the others. But lately away from the track something had been gnawing at him, disrupting his usually unshakeable focus.

It wasn’t new this feeling it had been there for a long time, simmering quietly beneath the surface. Max knew that. He was painfully aware of it in every shared glance, every late-night conversation, and in the way your laugh could instantly pull him out of his darkest moods. For years you’d both kept things easy, uncomplicated, two best friends never crossing the invisible line that tethered you close but never too close.

At least that’s how it was supposed to be.

It wasn’t until a few nights ago when he overheard a casual comment at a party that Max realised how fragile that balance really was.

“I didn’t know you’d gone on a date,” your friend had said her voice light and teasing.

Max wasn’t eavesdropping intentionally he had been halfway through a conversation with another driver when the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He barely registered what was being said to him after that. His attention had been locked on you, watching the subtle shift in your posture as you casually replied.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was nothing. “We went for dinner and drinks, it was really nice...he was nice.”

Max’s hand had tightened around his drink. Nice. The word grated against Max’s nerves. The conversation around him faded into white noise as his mind fixated on what you hadn’t said, on what you’d kept from him. A date? You’d gone on a date? Since when did you go on dates without mentioning it to him? It felt like the ground beneath him had shifted, like something fundamental had changed, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

For the rest of the evening Max stayed quiet his usual easy-going demeanour replaced by something darker, something more brooding. You didn’t seem to notice or if you did, you didn’t bring it up. But every time he looked at you all he could think about was someone else sitting across from you, someone else making you laugh, someone else getting to know the parts of you that Max had always believed were his to cherish.

-------------------

He thought about it more than he should have over the following days, a slow burn of frustration and confusion twisting in his chest. It wasn’t that he had a claim over you but there had always been something unspoken between the two of you, and hearing about you with someone else, someone who wasn’t him, made it feel like everything was slipping through his fingers.

Max found himself at your door days later, heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of racing. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say only that the unresolved tension between you needed addressing.

The door opened and there you were, smiling like always, the kind that usually made his stomach flip, but today it only made him more tense. “Hey you,” you greeted stepping aside to let him in.

He walked in without hesitation, but his usual ease was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t been able to shake the image of you with someone else. Max had tried to push it down, to convince himself that it was none of his business. You were your own person, free to do whatever – or whomever – you wanted. But the truth was, it did bother him. A lot more than he cared to admit.

He dropped onto your couch more tense than he’d been in weeks. You sat down next to him, your brow furrowing as you picked up on his mood. Max was many things, but unreadable was not one of them. He wore his emotions on his sleeve and right now you could sense the storm brewing behind his usually calm exterior. His jaw was clenched, and you could see the tension radiating off of him in waves.

“What’s up with you?” you asked, tone light but probing. “You seem… off.”

He wanted to shrug it off, say it was nothing, but the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t pretend anymore, not with you.

Instead he turned toward you, his blue eyes sharp “Why didn’t you tell me you went on a date?”

Your expression shifted subtly, surprise, then confusion trying to place his tone, “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

A beat of silence passed, Max could hear the faint hum of the city outside your apartment window, but inside, the air felt thick weighted with something unsaid.

“I overheard you the other night,” he continued, his voice rougher than he intended.

You blinked, processing his words. “You overheard?”

Max nodded, watching you closely waiting for some kind of explanation that would ease the knot in his chest. But you just sat there, not defensive, not guilty, just calm.

You hadn’t kept it from him on purpose. In fact you didn’t even think it was that big of a deal. The date had been fine, nice, but nothing extraordinary, certainly not enough to warrant telling Max about it right away.

“It wasn’t anything serious,” you said after a long pause. “Just dinner. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

Max exhaled sharply running a hand through his hair. “And if it had been serious?”

Now you were even more confused. Your eyes met his then, a flicker of something passed between you. “Why does it matter?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Why did it matter? He wasn’t your boyfriend. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he was anymore, except confused. Maybe a little scared. The kind of fear that sinks deep, the kind that makes you realise you’ve been taking something for granted.

“Because it does,” he muttered quietly, his voice tight.

You leaned back slightly, studying him. There was something different about the way you looked at him now, more attuned to whatever was hanging between you. You’d always known that Max was protective of you, but this? This was something else entirely.

“You’ve never cared before,” you said, your voice quieter now, like you were piecing together a puzzle neither of you had fully acknowledged.

Max hesitated then sighed. “Maybe I should’ve.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and they hung in the air, heavier than anything he’d ever admitted to you before.

You didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, uncomfortable in a way that it never had been between the two of you. And then, after what felt like an eternity you leaned forward resting your elbows on your knees hands clasped in front of you.

“Is that what this is all about? Me going on a date and not telling you?” You paused, your eyes searching his face,“Or is it something else?”

He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Because of course it was something else. It had always been something else. He just hadn’t let himself admit it not until now, not until the idea of you with someone else had thrown everything into sharp, painful focus, and maybe that wasn't fair but he didn't know how he could go back now.

Max stood, pacing the length of your living room his mind racing. “I don’t know,” he finally muttered, though it was a lie. He did know. He just wasn’t sure how to say it, cross the line you’d both been skirting around, to take years of friendship and lay it bare without ruining everything.

“Max,” you said softly, your voice pulling him out of his thoughts. “Look at me.” You needed to hear him say it. You needed to know if what you felt for him was mutual or if you were reading too much into this.

He stopped pacing but didn’t turn around right away. His fists clenched at his sides, and for the first time in a long time, Max felt completely out of control. It wasn’t like driving where every move was calculated, where he could read the car, the track, the competition with precision. This was messier, rawer, and there was no strategy for it.

Finally, he turned to face you his blue eyes meeting yours. There was no running from it anymore, no pretending that what he felt for you was anything less than what it really was.

“I didn’t like it,” he said quietly, the admission catching in his throat. “Hearing you talk about him… I hated it.”

You didn’t look away but your eyes softened, your expression still guarded.

“Why?” you asked, though your tone told him you already knew the answer.

Max let out a shaky breath. “Because… I’ve always wanted it to be me.”

The confession hung in the air, and for the first time with you Max felt truly exposed, vulnerable. The invisible line between you two, the one he’d always danced around, was gone.

All the emotions you’d been burying for so long, all the feelings you’d tried to convince yourself weren’t there, came rushing to the surface.

You walked toward him slowly, and for a moment, Max wasn’t sure what you were going to say, but when you reached him you didn’t say anything. Instead you just looked at him, really looked at him, like you were seeing him in a way you hadn’t before.

“I’ve always wanted it to be you, too,” you whispered, the words so soft he almost missed them.

“I didn’t want to ruin things between us,” Max continued, “I didn’t want to lose you. But hearing about you with someone else… it made me realise that maybe I’ve already lost you and I didn’t even know it.”

You took a step closer to him your heart pounding in your chest. “You haven’t lost me."

His heart clenched, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, gently cupping your face with his hand. Your skin was warm beneath his palm and for the first time in days the tension in his chest eased slightly.

You didn’t pull away, you stepped closer eyes never leaving his. It was as if all the years of unspoken tension between you had finally come to a head, and neither of you could ignore it anymore.

He leaned in, slowly, cautiously, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t. And when his lips finally met yours it was like everything he hadn’t been able to say, everything he’d been holding back for years, poured into that kiss.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It was slow, deliberate, a moment stretched out between two people who had spent too long pretending they didn’t want this. Max’s arms wrapped around you as the kiss deepened, but still, there was a softness to it a tenderness that spoke of the years of friendship, of trust.

When the kiss broke, you both stood there inches apart breathing in the moment. Max's hand lingered on your cheek his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“You know,” you whispered, smiling against his lips teasing, “this is probably something you should’ve told me ages ago.”

Max let out a soft laugh, his forehead resting against yours. “Yeah, well” he said, his voice low and teasing back, “I guess this means I can stop pretending I’m okay with you dating other people now," you laughed softly as he smirked "but I wasn’t too worried, everything’s about timing isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, your lips brushing his. “I guess you got it right.”

"Finally," he whispered with a grin, before pulling you into another kiss.