#well... i haven't been convinced yet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mwphisto · 2 months ago

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I’m not sensitive!

Pairings include: Xavier x Reader | Rafayel x Reader | Zayne x Reader | Sylus x Reader | Caleb x Reader

Warning, this post includes: breast play, nipple play, breast kissing, nipple kissing / licking / and biting

A/N: as a girlie that was convinced her boobs we’re not sensitive, I present you this lmao. Of course, it is totally normal for your breasts to not be sensitive and for you to not be into breast play!!!! I am just writing based on my own experiences, and even then, it can be a 50/50 for me lol. Bigger chest = less sensitivity from what I've heard, but it's different for everyone! Much love!!

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Xavier

A lazy weekend afternoon, comfy clothes, lots of snacks, and some cheesy horror movies playing on Xavier's TV screen. You were more engulfed in each other than anything else, the conversation flowing naturally as you lounged against the armrest of his couch.

"I'm serious, they're not sensitive." Your feet rest on his lap, his long fingers gently stroking up and down the skin of your calf. "I highly doubt it." Xavier countered with ease, blue eyes sparkling as a smirk curled his lips. "I just think you haven't met the right person."

Some way, somehow, the conversation had turned towards intimacy. What parts of you were sensitive, what parts weren't, the whole nine. Tension had been growing, but neither of you were willing to bite just yet. Even as you fought the urge to squeeze your thighs.

"The right person, huh? You're saying you can prove me wrong?"

You boldly proclaimed your breasts were not sensitive, your nipples not all that appealing to yourself when you had time alone. You didn't really touch them, like ever, even when masturbating.

"I believe I can give it my best shot..." Xavier started, using one finger to trail up towards your knee. "... that way, we can be positive that it's not... user error." He grins, something boyish and full of mischief and dammit you're a goner. "Well, you have my permission, Xavi."

Just like that, he's tugging your legs as he lunges. Crushing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. The hand that had been playing with your ankles and calves now splayed over your exposed thigh. Sneaking under your lounge shorts and reaching up towards your underwear.

His other hand snuck under your hoodie - one you had stolen from him - and didn't stop until he cupped one bare breast. "No bra?" a murmur against your lips, he didn't give you a chance to answer before his tongue was slipping into your mouth.

You arched into his touch, the warmth of his hand against your skin making your lips tremble as you tried to keep up with Xavier's needy kisses. He squeezes, not hard enough to hurt but enough to elicit a gasp, a triumphant smirk already curling his lips.

"See... you needed the right person." Saliva keeps you connected as he pulls away, blue irises nearly devoured by his dilated pupils. "The right person with the best touch..." His thumb and pointer finger find your nipple, squeezing it a few times experimentally.

A gasp flees you, body jerking away from the shock of pleasure that zapped up your spine. You'd tried this before, when you had been so convinced that playing with a woman's chest was a key part of her arousal, and you had been so disappointed when nothing really... happened.

Now, Xavier was doing all the things you had tried and quickly given up on, and he was getting the reactions you craved. "Xavier h-how... oh!" You're panting as he rolls the bud between his fingers, adding more stimulation by sucking along your jaw. "You just needed the right person to prove you wrong." it's muffled against your skin, a sigh of annoyance leaving him a second later.

"Take this off." All at once, he leaves you. Just long enough to yank the hoodie up and over your head.

“Let’s try this…” Xavier wasted no time, not bothering to tease you by lingering his kisses. The cool air of his apartment caused your nipples to harden, and Xavier was quick to pull one of the buds into his awaiting mouth.

Your head fell back, hands shooting to grab his head as a feeble cry of his name fled your lips. Heat pooled deep in your belly, leaking slowly and ruining your underwear. You didn’t think it was possible for your breasts to feel this way, never mind for it to cause such a reaction to the rest of you.

“X-Xavier, fuck me, please.”

“Someone’s eager.” He lets go of your nipple with a slick pop, a cocky grin now sneaking up his lips. “I’ve barely got to have my fun, you need to be patient Ms. I’m not sensitive.” You want to punch him and kiss him all at once.

Rafayel

A study of anatomy, sketching various bodies in various shapes, colors, and sizes. You couldn't even pinpoint how or when the conversation switched to personal weak spots, but... "What about your chest? Most people list their chest as a sensitive spot."

"Not me." You pout a bit, hands coming up to cup your chest before meeting Rafayel's eyes. "Maybe I'm just broken."

Your chest had never been all that sensitive from what you could tell. You'd tried a handful of times to make it feel as good as it looks, books, movies, and even porn videos put so much focus on stimulating a woman's breast that you assumed it had to feel good.

And when it fell flat? You had concluded your breasts were simply less sensitive than others. "You're certainly not broken." Rafayel sets his sketchpad down, pushing up from his seat on the floor to stalk towards where you had been lounging on his bed.

"Your body is way more responsive to someone else's touch opposed to your own." You feel your eyebrows raise, glancing between where he towered above you and where his hand was heading. "Can I show you? Or perhaps, prove my theory?" Your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip, nodding a little to fast for your liking.

Rafayel sits himself down on the edge of his bed, a hand sliding over the thin material of your tank top. "You get too lost in your own head, of course, you won't be able to focus on how good it can feel." And your breathing stutters as his hand gingerly cups your right breast.

"Just relax, I've got you." As Rafayel speaks, he gently kneads the pliant flesh, silently noting that your nipples harden under his touch. "I-I just see these girls that can't go braless because their nipples are so sensitive and it just doesn't ma-oh!" Rafayel cuts you off by using his pointer and middle finger to squish the prominent bud.

"Ah-ah, what did I say about relaxing? Just enjoy..." Heat is starting to seep into your cheeks, your hand coming up instinctively to clutch Rafayel's wrist as he toys with your breast.

"They're so pretty, can I lift this up?" he's using his free hand to tug at the elastic material of your tank top, smirking when you nod your approval. "Atta girl, let me see these beauties...shit." His cheeks are turning pink, pupils dilating wide as he uses his other hand to cup your neglected left breast. "Fuck, they're so perfect."

You want to open your mouth and retaliate, but you think they are far from perfect. But you swallow it, knowing better than to dare contradict him when it comes to statements about your beauty. "And so responsive, see what happens when you listen to me?"

He seals the deal with a pinch, tugging both of your perked nipples between his thumb and pointer fingers before leaning down to kiss your sternum. "So damn beautiful." Another kiss, one closer to your right breast. "And so not broken, don't ever say that again."

This time, the kiss lands on your nipple, and you're mewling, cheeks burning hot as you clutch his wrist just a little tighter. Rafayel doesn't pull away this time, instead he removes his hand completely so he can suck the now-sensitive bud between his lips.

You're not sure how long he stays on you like that, but you know your panties are drenched and your nipple is swollen by the time Rafayel finally eases up. "Can I?" he swallows, chest heaving as he looks at your chest. He needs to mark them first and then sketch them.

"Can I fuck these after I show you how sensitive they can be?"

Zayne

You loved watching him type his reports, finding his meticulous typing to be both adorable and hot. Maybe it was just because you were so deeply in love with him, but dammit you could watch Zayne work all day. So, when he dragged over a human anatomy chart while typing on a patient file, you felt the need to pop the question.

"Zayne?" You sounded hesitant uttering it, so naturally, Zayne's attention was immediately focused on you. "Is something wrong?" Immediately, you wanted to swallow your words. "I-Uh, no, but I just kinda... had a question." You feel like you're going to die.

"Go on." He relaxed a bit, a telling sign that he could see your anxiety and wanted you to feel comfortable. "Ah, well." You look away, swallowing the lump in your throat before trying again. "I was just wondering if it was normal for... for breasts to not be sensitive."

The surgeon's eyebrow twitches upwards at that, and now you really want to melt into the chair you had been lounging in.

"Well, medically speaking, yes. It depends on the person. Sometimes chest size factors into sensitivity; sometimes it really doesn't. But, overall, it's pretty normal and fairly common...why?" Concluding his answer, Zayne seemed to really process what you were asking.

You felt a tad relieved upon hearing that it wasn't a one-in-a-million chance that you deemed your chest to be lacking sensitivity. "Oh, well, my breasts aren't all that sensitive, I kind of worried it wasn't normal, you know?" Zayne nodded, ears turning a shade of red. "Many forms of media have set unrealistic expectations."

"Tell me about it. I really felt self-conscious." You were ready to resume your lounging, but Zayne was still eyeing you.

"Would you like me to perform an exam?"

You swallow, eyes widening in surprise, but your head is moving faster. A nod escapes you before you can stop it, clearing your throat, you add, "That would be great, actually. I'd appreciate it."

Somehow, you're shirtless and braless on Zayne's exam table. The cool air of his office makes your nipples pebble. "They look perfect." He states it plainly, leaving no room for debate, even as your cheeks begin to burn. With skilled hands, the surgeon cups both of your bare breasts in his hands, kneading and squeezing meticulously.

The sensation sends a shrill of arousal straight to your tummy, and you find yourself gripping the edge of the exam table. "It's also quite common for your brain to pick a side. If you squeeze your own breast, your brain may focus more on what your hand is feeling rather than your chest." He squeezes them both to send the point home.

"And..." Zayne's head lowers, a gentle kiss placed on the top of each breast before he squeezes your nipples. "... different forms of stimulation can really shake things up."

In the blink of an eye, your back is against the cool leather of his exam table. The same table is now creaking as Zayne climbs up on it with you. "Z-zayne, what are you-" But his mouth descends on your breasts again, and suddenly all words die on your tongue.

His nose drags along your skin, inhaling your scent before suckling on one of your nipples. His hand comes up to toy with your other breast, determined to not let it go neglected during his exam.

"Some women find breast stimulation to be more effective when..." he swallows, angling himself so his free hand can slide down your stomach and towards the waistband of your pants. "...vaginal stimulation is provided at the same time."

Sylus

"Your chest is pretty sensitive, huh, Sy?" Your fingers dance lazily across his pecs, watching his expression for any signs. Sure enough, his brows pinch together briefly before relaxing again. "I guess you could say that." A gentle murmur, one that is full of exhaustion despite his eyes scanning over the pages of a book.

You were both supposed to be sleeping, but some days this was the only time you two could really spend time together. Snuggled into the crook of his arm, you found your brain wandering.

"Why are you asking, anyway?" his finger marks the spot he left off on, carmine eyes sliding to look down at where you peered up at him. "I just wish my chest was as sensitive as yours." You said it almost dreamily, as if you didn't realize what that statement did to him.

"Your breasts aren't sensitive?" Sylus countered, the book in his hand being tossed onto the nightstand so he could focus everything on you. "No, not really. I've tried but... nothing really works. I don't get how girls get so worked up when their breasts are touched."

He seemed to think it over for a moment, a small smirk curling his lips. "Do you care if I try something before you come to such a conclusion?" He turns towards you, his free hand resting on your shoulder and pushing you to your back. “You know what? Sure, go ahead. I doubt the outcome will change what I said.”

A little bit of defiance, sure. But Sylus caught the hint of sadness too. Now, he was even more determined.

"Don't be so quick..." His hand cups your breast through the silk of your nightgown, eliciting a small gasp. "...to doubt me, kitten." He's warm, hands that are honed to kill are now gentle as they massage your breast tenderly. "Just relax, let me take care of you."

Your lips are wobbling as he tugs the silky material down, letting both of your breasts spill out for his viewing pleasure. "If it doesn't work, if this doesn't feel good..." he pushed upwards, hovering above you slightly so he could lower his head and begin kissing your chest. "...I'll make it up to you in a way I know you love."

He tugs a nipple into his mouth, and you're arching off the mattress, the sudden sensation making your eyes water. The idea of not being sensitive has simply given Sylus the green light to be rougher.

"Sylus!" Your fingers curl into his hair, tugging as he bites down on the pebbled bud. His tongue lathers your nipple a moment later, soothing any pain from his bite. He lets go a second later, saliva connecting him to your breast even with the new distance.

"Let me..." he's tugging at your nightgown again, instead of your neckline, he's shoving the bottom hem up towards your stomach. "...fuck you while I do this. Nothing but the best, right?" Fuck, your head was spinning, legs parting as you welcomed his offer.

"I'll make you feel so good, promise." Sylus' lips are back on your breasts, kneading and sucking as he fishes his cock out with his free hand. "Sylus, I need you, now." dammit, maybe he was right. Your mind was going fuzzy from the attention he was giving you.

"I know, and you have me. Just..." he's nudging your entrance, sending you into a spiral as he bites down on your nipple and pushes himself inside. A shrill cry leaves your lips, hands gripping his biceps in a feeble attempt to remain grounded.

"Stick with me, Kitten. We've got a long night ahead, I need to be thorough with my research."

Caleb

You were lying on Caleb's bed, phone held high as you scrolled mindlessly. Caleb lies beside you, reading through some pilot magazine you had picked up at the convenience store earlier. A video on your feed has your mind going, chewing on on your inner cheek as you ponder your question out loud.

"I wonder what it's like to have a sensitive chest?"

"You uh... You asking me that, pip?" Caleb was caught off guard, one eyebrow twitching upwards as he turned his head just enough to look at you. Realizing your mistake, you can't help but laugh out of embarrassment. "More so talking to myself."

"Your chest isn't... sensitive?" Caleb jumps right to the point, suddenly more intrigued with your answer now that the initial surprise has worn off. "No, not really. I mean, I've tried like everything and it just doesn't... do all that much."

"Like doesn't feel good at all? Or just not what you expected?" The magazine is long forgotten, Caleb is rolling onto his side to really study you. "I guess... not as good as I hoped? I just feel like they're not as sensitive as they could be." You attempt to shrug it off, but Caleb doesn't seem to want to let it go.

"Can I... give it a shot, pip?" And suddenly it all clicked into place. You click your phone off, tossing it to the side and sighing. "By all means, Caleb. Have your fun." Like a dog who just got praised, Caleb is quick to get to work. Not bothering with touching you over your shirt. In one motion, he has tugged the clothing up and over your bare chest.

"Let's see..." calloused fingers are running up your stomach, his eyes focused on the way your nipples harden due to the exposed air. "...it's not odd for breasts to lack sensitivity." Even as he speaks, goosebumps erupt over your skin. "But sometimes, you just need the right touch to prove you wrong."

Gingerly, your right breast is cupped in his warm embrace, earning a sharp inhale as you flicker between his hand and face. "And hands aren't always what is needed." His head is descending on your chest before you can process it, a shrill cry of his name leaving your lips as he nips at the fat of your chest.

"Different sensations invoke different responses." A lick to soothe the bruise he had made. His tongue is wet and warm as it trails up to your nipple. "Some prefer ice..." a lick "...some prefer heat or wax" a kiss directly on top of the pebbling bud. "Others like tickling." His nose nuzzles it before pulling back. "And others like pain."

Caleb's teeth sink into your nipple, and your back arches off the mattress. "It's all up to you, whatever you deem best." You're seeing stars, a whimper leaving your lips as you guide his hand over to your neglected breast. "Just make me feel good, please."

"At your service, pip."

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joelsrose · 2 months ago

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Dark Matter

i haven't written reed before but here we go! i hope yall enjoy xx

warnings: fingering, age gap? (reader is mid 20's), cheating (sorry sue), power-dynamic, semi-public

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

You walked into the lab the same way you always did—quietly, carefully, your notebook hugged to your chest like a shield, pages dog-eared and smudged with graphite, filled with half-solved equations, theoretical scribbles, and tiny margin doodles of molecules and stars.

The click of your heeled boots echoed off the cold, polished floor, a sound that somehow felt too loud in the stillness of the room. The air inside was always a little too cold, like the whole space was suspended in a vacuum—untouched by the warmth of human hands—but you liked it that way. It made you feel sharp, focused. Like anything could happen here. Like everything already had.

It had been exactly seven days since you started your internship under Mr. Richards—or Reed, as he’d insisted you call him on the very first day, his tone polite but firm, eyes flickering to yours with something unreadable when you stammered out “Dr. Richards” instead. The man was brilliant. Obviously. He was also deeply intimidating in the way only truly intelligent people could be—effortlessly so, like he didn’t notice the way the rest of the world bent around his mind.

He wasn’t cruel, not at all, but there was something about him that made your pulse skip whenever he turned to you with a question, something about the way he spoke in low, thoughtful tones, his hands always busy with some piece of machinery or scribbling formulas on the glass board like his thoughts couldn’t be contained by paper.

You’d been selected from a pool of thousands—won the LUMINA International Science Initiative, a fellowship that granted a single spot, once a year, to shadow one of the world’s leading innovators.

You never expected to get it. You’d submitted your proposal last-minute, half-convinced it was too ambitious, too naive. But something about it must’ve caught their attention—maybe your hypothesis on temporal field distortions, maybe the way you phrased it like a love letter to curiosity itself. Either way, it landed you here, standing just inside the threshold of the Baxter Building’s most secured lab, wearing your best skirt and your favorite boots, heart thudding in your chest like a metronome gone mad.

You adjusted your grip on your notebook and cleared your throat softly, the sound swallowed by the lab’s cavernous quiet. “Morning,” you offered, voice smaller than you meant, eyes sweeping the room for him—half-hoping he wasn’t here yet, half-hoping he was.

From behind one of the massive monitors, you heard the gentle clink of metal, followed by a low voice.

“You’re early.”

You turned and there he was, sleeves rolled to his forearms, collarbone peeking where his lab coat had come undone. His hair was tousled, like he’d been up for hours already, running his hands through it between equations. There was graphite smudged on his wrist, and a faint streak of oil down one thumb, and somehow that made him look even more untouchable. He glanced over his shoulder at you, then down at your notebook.

“More scribbles?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifting—not quite a smile, but close enough to make your chest flutter.

You nodded, holding it out. “A few questions from last night. I kept thinking about the energy dispersion curve in the 5-D field model, and—well. It didn’t make sense that it plateaued. Not at those values.”

He took the notebook, flipping through the pages like he was reading a novel written in his own handwriting, then looked up at you with a sliver of something warmer in his gaze.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I think you might be the first person to ever challenge that curve. Everyone else just accepted it.”

You blinked. “Oh. I—didn’t mean to be... disrespectful or anything.”

“You weren’t.” He looked back at the page, his brow furrowing like he was genuinely considering your notes. “You’re just... asking the right questions.”

And the way he said that—asking the right questions—it made your cheeks heat, made your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag like you were suddenly fifteen again, flustered and awkward and unsure of what to say next, even though you were here because you belonged here, even though you were brilliant in your own quiet way.

He glanced at you again, slower this time, eyes scanning your face like he was watching a theory unfold in real time, and said, “Let’s run it. See if you’re right.” Just like that, like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean the world.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

Hours passed, though you barely noticed them. What started as a single equation quickly unraveled into an entire evening of hypotheses and recalibrations, the two of you moving around each other in this strange, quiet rhythm—typing, adjusting, scribbling, calculating, retrying, failing, fixing, retrying again.

The room had fallen into that kind of sacred stillness where every noise felt sharper—the whir of machines, the scratch of pencils, the occasional creak of the stool beneath you. Every time a result came back wrong, you’d lean in beside him and try again. Every time it came back right, your shoulders would touch, just barely, and you’d both say nothing.

And then it happened again—casual, effortless—Reed stretched.

This time, to grab his phone from across the room without moving from his chair, his arm extending impossibly far and elegant, fingers curling around the device with that same practiced ease, like it was just another part of his body responding to his mind. You watched it happen with that same quiet awe you always did, eyes following the length of his arm as it retracted, as he settled back into himself like it hadn’t been strange at all, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t even the stretch itself, not really—it was the nonchalance, the way he didn’t even think about it. But you did. You thought about it too much.

You were still thinking about it when he glanced at his screen, a quiet frown flickering across his face.

“It’s eight already,” he murmured, thumbing through a text. “We’ve been here all day.”

You blinked, surprised by the time, and then watched as his expression shifted—something soft and faintly guilty tugging at the edge of his mouth as he read whatever had been sent to him.

“Sue made dinner,” he said after a beat, sighing, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand like he hadn’t sat down for a proper meal in days. “Guess I should…”

He trailed off as he stood, the chair sliding back with a scrape, and something in your chest twisted—tight and unexpected. Not sharp enough to hurt, but deep enough to notice.

You weren’t sure if it was jealousy, exactly, but there was something inside you that ached a little at the thought of him leaving. At the thought of him sitting across from someone else, in a warm apartment somewhere above the city, eating food someone else had made for him, laughing over things that had nothing to do with lab results or radiation curves or the way your hands always trembled just slightly when he got too close.

You didn’t realize you were staring until he glanced back at you with one brow arched, curious, amused, his coat slung half over his arm and a faint smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“Something wrong?” he asked, voice low and too steady, like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it.

“No,” you said quickly, too quickly, the word tripping over itself on your tongue. “No, nothing.”

He looked at you for a long second, long enough that your skin prickled under the weight of it, his eyes steady and a little too knowing, like he could see past your flustered expression and straight into the chaos of your thoughts. Then—he chuckled, soft and brief, like the sound had slipped out before he could stop it, low and warm and close enough to make your pulse stutter.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly, not in disapproval, but something more bemused—like he found you endlessly curious and had all the time in the world to figure you out.

You ducked your head, the heat rising in your cheeks again, blooming in a flush that you tried to suppress with a tight little smile, your fingers worrying the corner of your notebook as though it could ground you, steady you, hide the fact that your heart was now pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears.

Then his voice came again, low and coaxing, that soft velvet drawl of someone deeply used to being the smartest man in the room—“Come on,” he said, “what’s going on in that brilliant mind?”

And you should’ve lied. You should’ve laughed it off, said something safe, something neutral, something clever and unassuming and appropriately scientific. But your brain had been wandering all week—had been drifting there over and over again, uninvited, unwelcome, inappropriate, gnawing at the edges of your curiosity in the quiet moments between experiments.

You’d tried not to think about it, tried not to let your gaze linger when he stretched, tried not to imagine what else could stretch, how far, how much, how deeply.

And somehow—somehow—it slipped out of your mouth before your brain had a chance to intercept it, just a whisper of a thought spoken aloud, soft and breathless and too curious to be innocent.

“Does everything stretch?”

The silence that followed was instant and absolute.

You heard it in the way the machines kept humming but your breath caught.

You felt it in the way Reed’s eyes snapped to yours, too quickly, like he wasn’t expecting that.

And you saw it—oh, you saw it—in the way he froze, the way the lines at the corners of his mouth shifted, lips parting slightly like he was about to speak but couldn’t quite remember how.

Your eyes widened almost immediately, your whole body locking in mortified horror, hands flying up to your face as if that could undo what you’d just said, as if that could pull the words back into your throat and shove them into the void where they belonged.

“Oh my God—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that, I swear—I swear, it was just—I was talking about your arm, I mean your body—not your—oh God, not your body body, I meant your abilities, like biologically—scientifically—I’m so sorry—”

You were rambling now, barely breathing between the words, voice growing higher and faster with every sentence, and he was still just looking at you, still absolutely silent, like you’d short-circuited him and he was trying not to let it show. His expression hadn’t changed much—but his eyes were different now, darker maybe, or maybe just sharper, like a wire had pulled taut somewhere beneath his usually-calm exterior.

Then—finally—he blinked.

And his mouth twitched.

Not a smirk. Not quite. But close. Very, very close.

“Everything?” he echoed softly, voice rough around the edges like it had dropped an octave without permission.

You wanted to melt through the floor.

“Forget I said anything,” you mumbled, practically squeaked, your hands halfway up your face now, notebook clutched uselessly against your chest like a shield made of paper and shame.

But he didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease. He just looked at you for another long moment, like he was tucking the question away in some private drawer of his mind, like he was considering it—you—carefully.

And then he said, his voice quiet and unreadable. “Some things stretch more than others.”

He said it with the same offhand ease he might’ve used to mention the weather or the results of an equation, as if the words weren’t heavy with meaning, as if they didn’t land like a struck tuning fork in the center of your chest and hum there, low and electric. And then—just like that—he glanced at the time again, slipped his phone into the inside pocket of his coat, his fingers moving with quiet efficiency, and looked toward the door without even a flicker of hesitation in his expression.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, voice smooth and calm, like it had all been nothing—your question, his answer, the unbearable silence that followed—like he hadn’t just reduced you to a trembling, wide-eyed mess with five words and a look you couldn’t quite decipher.

And then he turned and walked out, his footsteps steady and unhurried, as though the entire moment hadn’t happened, as though he hadn’t noticed the way your breath had caught or your lips had parted slightly or the way your fingers had curled around your notebook like you were holding onto it for dear life. The door eased shut behind him with a soft, final click, and the silence that followed felt far too loud, as if the air itself had been holding its breath and now didn’t know what to do with the tension left behind.

You stood there for a moment, completely still, eyes fixed on the door like he might come back—might say something, might clarify or laugh or admit that yes, that had been what you thought it was, that you weren’t imagining the way his gaze had sharpened, the subtle shift in his voice, the pause before he’d answered like he was trying to decide how honest he wanted to be.

But the door stayed shut. The lab was quiet. And your face was burning.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

The next morning, you thought about quitting.

No—worse—you thought about being removed, escorted out of the lab with quiet, professional shame, the faculty committee shaking their heads at the girl who couldn’t keep her thoughts scientific. You’d spent the entire night twisted in sheets and mortification, staring at the ceiling of your tiny dorm room with cheeks that wouldn’t stop burning and hands that kept curling into fists against your pillow, your mind looping the same sentence over and over like a taunt.

Does everything stretch?

It had sounded so much worse in hindsight. In your head, it was a purely biological question—curiosity, theoretical, relevant. But the moment it left your lips, soft and shy and tilted with unintended suggestion, you’d felt the way it landed. The way his eyes had flickered. The way his voice had dropped just a hair lower. The way he’d looked at you after.

And then he walked out like it was nothing.

Which somehow made it worse.

So when you walked into the lab that morning, notebook clutched to your chest like a shield, heart crawling up the back of your throat with every step, you were fully prepared for disaster—for tension, awkwardness, maybe even polite dismissal. But he was already there, of course he was—leaning over one of the central consoles with his sleeves rolled, hair still rumpled from sleep, lips pursed slightly in thought as he ran through some new readout, a mug half-full of black coffee resting near his elbow.

And when he glanced up at you?

Everything was... fine.

He offered you a brief, familiar nod, the same one he always did, and then gestured to a screen without so much as a hint of discomfort, as if the night before had been a dream, as if you hadn’t asked the most humiliating question of your life and then spiraled into a dimension of shame he probably discovered himself.

You blinked, stunned by the ease of it, by the way he moved through the morning without even a trace of tension, without a single flinch. It was—professional. Cordial. Kind.

And strangely, that grounded you.

The day unfolded slowly, then steadily—small victories, clarified hypotheses, new data sets—and your body slowly began to relax into the rhythm you’d started to love, the silent teamwork of minds that trusted each other. And even though he hadn’t said anything beyond the work, even though the stretch of time passed with nothing but research and updates, you caught yourself looking again—watching the way his hands moved, the way he’d lean into the screen, the way he thought so deeply with his whole body, and the way you were beginning to understand him in ways that had nothing to do with science.

It wasn’t until late afternoon, when the sun outside had dipped low enough to cast long gold shadows across the lab floor, that he finally spoke without referencing an equation.

“Sue was asking about you,” he said casually, eyes still on his screen, voice calm as if he didn’t know he’d just sent your stomach tumbling.

You blinked, startled. “Oh?”

He nodded once, the motion subtle. “Think I’ve been talking too much about how smart you are.”

Your breath caught in your throat and then returned all at once in a rush of heat to your face. You looked away, your lips parting slightly as your blush bloomed across your cheeks, creeping down your neck, the words lingering like sunlight on your skin.

“She wants to meet you,” he continued, finally glancing over at you with that steady, unreadable gaze that always made you feel a little exposed, a little unsteady.

“Really?” you asked, blinking up at him, your voice too soft, too unsure. “I—I mean, I’d be honored.”

He chuckled, quiet and amused, and God, it made your heart stutter.

“Tonight?” he asked, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Your lips parted again. “Tonight?” you echoed, because your brain was clearly still catching up.

He tilted his head, expression flickering with something close to amusement. “Unless you’re busy,” he said smoothly. “Or unless you were planning on camping out here all night again, trying to crack the wavefield inversion curve without sleeping or eating—because that does sound like you.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, the sound escaping like a sigh, soft and a little breathless, and he smiled—genuine and rare, the kind that made your knees feel unsteady and your chest warm.

You shook your head, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, suddenly too shy to meet his eyes. “No,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not busy.”

“Good,” he said, his smile deepening just slightly. “I’ll see you for dinner then.”

And with that, he turned back to his screen, the moment slipping away like mist, but the warmth of it stayed, curling low and steady in your chest.

You were going to dinner. With Reed Richards. And Sue Storm.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

The Baxter Building stood tall and impossible in the heart of the city, its sleek, glinting frame catching the last of the golden evening light like it had been plucked from some distant future and set gently down in Manhattan.

The security in the lobby had let you through without question, as if they’d been expecting you, as if your name already belonged in the same breath as Reed Richards and Sue Storm, and that thought alone made your stomach twist with something between awe and panic as you stepped into the elevator.

It was silent inside—sterile and smooth, the walls a brushed metal that reflected the softest version of your silhouette back at you, almost dreamlike. You stared at your reflection for a moment, adjusting the bottle of wine you held with both hands, the paper bag crinkling slightly beneath your fingertips.

You’d picked it up on the way here after spending a full thirty minutes in the wine shop pretending to know what pairs with intellectual dinner parties hosted by superheroes. You smoothed the front of your dress—a soft, modest thing that you’d chosen carefully, something that felt like you, but maybe a little prettier, a little more delicate than usual, your lips painted just faintly, enough to make you feel like you were trying without looking like you were trying.

You exhaled slowly, barely noticing the way the elevator glided up without a sound, your heartbeat louder than anything around you. Your thoughts raced, of course they did—what if it was too much? What if you shouldn’t have come? What if he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded, that subtle curve of his voice when he said see you at dinner, the glint in his eye, the way his attention had lingered for just a moment too long?

The elevator chimed softly.

The doors opened.

And then— There he was.

Reed stood just inside the threshold, one hand braced casually on the edge of the doorway, the other slipping his phone into his back pocket like he’d only just finished checking something, his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, collarbone peeking slightly where his top button had been left undone, no tie, no lab coat—just a simple, perfectly tailored shirt that made your brain stutter for half a beat.

His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d run his fingers through it absentmindedly more than once, and there was a tiny streak of ink or maybe graphite on his knuckle that hadn’t been washed off completely.

It was Reed, but not the version of him you’d grown used to seeing in the lab, not the hyper-focused, brilliant blur of intellect you worked beside every day—this Reed looked like he’d been waiting. For you.

His eyes moved over you slowly—once, all the way down and back up again, not rushed, not obvious, but deliberate enough that you felt it everywhere, like heat pressing into the skin of your chest and the backs of your knees, your fingers tightening instinctively around the bottle you were holding.

He didn’t say anything at first, just quirked the corner of his mouth into something halfway between a smirk and a smile, soft but amused, his gaze still lingering just a little too long.

“You clean up well,” he said finally, voice lower than usual, not teasing exactly—more like he was confessing something he hadn’t meant to say aloud.

Your mouth parted slightly, but your voice caught, and when you finally managed to speak, it came out soft and a little breathless. “I—brought wine.”

He glanced down at the bottle, then back at you, his smile deepening just enough to make your heart skip. “Dangerously overqualified,” he murmured, stepping back to let you in. “Smart and thoughtful. Sue’s going to love you.”

You stepped past him into the apartment, the warmth of the space wrapping around you instantly, the scent of dinner and city lights and him curling at the edge of your senses, and even as you tried to focus on your breathing, on your posture, on not tripping in your kitten heels, you could still feel the echo of his eyes on your skin, like he hadn’t really stopped looking.

The apartment unfolded around you like a page in some impossibly curated design magazine, only softer, warmer, more lived-in than anything artificial—clean, modern lines met rich textures, brushed steel softened by warm walnut floors and deep navy accents that glowed golden under the cascade of low, amber-hued lighting.

One entire wall was glass, and beyond it, the Manhattan skyline burned softly against the horizon, city lights just starting to glitter like distant stars, and even the air inside smelled expensive and comforting—like slow-cooked herbs and something faintly sweet.

You were still catching your breath, still clutching the wine like a lifeline, when you heard a voice float in from down the hall—clear, warm, and unmistakably female.

“There she is.”

Sue Storm walked into view like she had been sculpted from light itself—tall and impossibly graceful, wrapped in soft neutral fabrics that draped just right, her golden hair falling in loose waves that framed her face perfectly, her eyes a crystalline blue that held a kind of sharpness you immediately respected.

She was breathtaking, in that way women are when they know who they are, and the moment she looked at you, her whole expression softened with something kind and curious and real.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said with a small smile, her voice smooth like honey stirred into tea, her gaze never once breaking from yours.

“Hi,” you breathed, the word escaping before you could shape it into anything more eloquent. “It’s such an honor to meet you.”

She waved you off with a flick of her manicured fingers, as if the formality embarrassed her. “Please,” she said with a light laugh, stepping closer. “The way my husband talks about you? I’m the one who’s honored.”

And you blushed so hard you felt it in your ears, your whole body warming beneath the soft light, fingers tightening just slightly around the neck of the bottle as you dipped your head in modest disbelief, not quite sure if you should laugh or hide.

Reed, who had stepped away to adjust the music or maybe just give you a moment, said nothing, but you felt the weight of his glance again—the quiet satisfaction in the corners of his mouth like this was exactly what he wanted: you here, now, nervous but luminous, admired and welcomed.

“Come in,” Sue insisted gently, her hand brushing your arm in a way that grounded you immediately. “Dinner’s almost ready. I made way too much food—he said you don’t eat much, but I never trust him when he says that. He’s never once finished a plate himself.”

You smiled, heart still beating a little too fast, and followed her deeper into the space, the sound of your shoes soft against the hardwood, the city glowing quietly beyond the windows as if watching you take your first steps into something bigger than an internship—something warmer, more dangerous, and far more personal.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

Dinner was lovely—elegant but warm, the kind of meal that felt intimate without trying, served at a long polished table that glowed honey-gold under the overhead lights, the city sparkling just beyond the glass like a living mural.

You sat across from them, Reed to your left, Sue across from you, and despite the tight coil of nerves you’d carried into the evening, it was… comfortable.

Sue had a way of making you feel like you belonged, like you weren’t just a guest in the home of two of the most brilliant minds on the planet, but someone worth sitting at their table, someone they genuinely wanted to know.

You found yourself watching them more than you meant to—Sue leaning toward him with quiet laughter, Reed murmuring something back without looking up from his wine glass, the two of them moving in the kind of rhythm that only came from years of intimacy and quiet understanding. And still, as you watched them, something bloomed low and warm in your stomach—not jealousy, exactly, but a kind of quiet ache, a fascination that hummed beneath your skin, a longing that had less to do with their relationship and more to do with him.

You were still chasing the thread of that thought when Sue turned to you again, eyes bright with interest.

“So,” she said, “how did you get interested in all of this?”

You blinked, startled out of your reverie, and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear with a shy smile. “Well,” you began softly, glancing down at your plate before meeting her gaze again, “ever since I was a kid, I just… I always wanted to understand how the world worked. The math, the movement, the rules. I remember watching the stars and thinking—that’s what I want to learn. That’s what I want to be part of.”

Sue offered you a warm smile, nodding in that gentle, encouraging way that made you feel like your words mattered, like they weren’t small or naïve or too eager. “Well,” she said, “it’s always nice seeing young people interested in this kind of work—especially a fellow…” she paused, grinning as she reached for her glass, “…girl genius.”

You laughed softly, cheeks warm, about to reply with something awkward and grateful and probably too modest—when it happened.

You felt it.

Unmistakable.

A hand. Large, warm, and undeniably real, sliding gently across your thigh under the table.

Your heart stopped. Your breath caught somewhere high in your chest, your eyes flickering toward Reed so quickly you barely caught Sue sipping her wine across from you. But he didn’t look at you—not exactly. His gaze remained calm and forward, his profile composed and entirely unreadable as he took a slow sip of his wine and then glanced up at Sue, his hand still resting firmly on your leg.

“She’s brilliant,” he said casually, his voice smooth and even, like he was commenting on the weather, like he wasn’t currently touching you from across the table while sitting next to his wife.

You sat frozen, pulse thundering in your ears, body rigid but electrified, your fingers tightening ever so slightly around the stem of your glass as you tried to focus, to breathe, to not move.

“She corrected me the other day about a flux equation I wrote in ’04,” he continued, eyes finally drifting to meet yours—and holding there, steady and direct, a silent dare written behind his calm expression. “She was right, too.”

Sue laughed, clearly delighted. “Good. God knows someone needs to keep you in check.”

You could barely hear her. Could barely focus on anything except the heat of Reed’s hand, the way it pressed gently into the top of your thigh, just enough to let you know it was real, just enough to make your stomach twist with something hot and shivery and shamefully thrilling.

And then—his hand moved.

Not in that subtle, polite way you might’ve been able to ignore or convince yourself had been some kind of misunderstanding, not a graze or a twitch or something incidental—but deliberate, slow, intentional, his palm sliding higher, slipping beneath the hem of your dress in a single fluid motion that felt so impossibly confident it made your entire body lock up at once.

The heat of his skin against your thigh stole the breath from your lungs, and when his fingers skimmed the delicate edge of your underwear, just barely brushing the fabric, you felt your heart climb straight into your throat and stay there.

You almost choked on your wine.

The glass halted halfway to your lips, your hands trembling just enough for the crystal to click against your teeth, and you let out a strange, stifled sound—half gasp, half cough—your eyes wide, your posture going ramrod straight as you struggled to swallow the panic and arousal crawling up your spine in tandem.

“You alright?” Sue asked gently, glancing up from her plate with concern etched between her brows, the picture of warmth and kindness and everything undeserving of what was happening beneath her dinner table.

“Yes,” you stammered, too quickly, the syllable snapping out of your mouth like it had been fired from a slingshot, your cheeks flushed a deep, telltale red as you nodded a little too hard. “I’m fine. Just—went down the wrong way.”

Across from you, Reed glanced up from his glass at the sound of your voice, his expression calm—no, worse than calm—amused, like he was enjoying watching you fall apart in real time, like he was studying the way you squirmed and flushed and fidgeted with quiet, academic satisfaction. His fingers moved—barely a shift, just enough to press the pad of his thumb along the inside of your thigh, skimming the thin lace of your panties with a featherlight drag that made your vision blur for a moment, your teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek to stop a sound from escaping.

Sue kept talking, mercifully, unaware of the silent war happening beneath the table, and you tried to nod along, tried to pretend you were still following the story she was telling about something at the foundation gala last week, but Reed’s hand was still moving—so slowly, so wickedly gentle, fingers drifting along the edge of the fabric like he was memorizing it, teasing it, learning every soft line of you with nothing more than a ghost of touch and that insufferable, unreadable look in his eyes.

You were blushing so fiercely now you were sure it had reached your chest, heat blooming down your neck like a fever, your knees squeezing together reflexively beneath the table as your breathing turned shallow, chest rising and falling in a way that did not feel casual anymore.

“Are you hot, honey?” Sue asked suddenly, concern returning to her voice, her eyes flickering to your cheeks. “A house full of so-called geniuses and we still haven’t figured out how to fix the aircon properly. I’ll be back—I’ll check the thermostat.”

And before you could answer—before you could find any response at all—she stood, placing her napkin neatly beside her plate and disappearing down the hall with a rustle of fabric and the click of her heels.

The door hadn’t even shut all the way before Reed finally spoke, low and calm and just for you, his fingers still resting against the soft, soaked curve of you beneath your panties.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, voice a dark, honey-dipped whisper that sent shivers straight through your bones. “Don’t stop now.”

“Reed—” you stammered, your voice cracking under the strain of your own name trembling on your lips, barely more than a whisper, a breath caught halfway between panic and disbelief, your thighs squeezing together out of instinct, out of desperation, out of need you didn’t yet know how to name. “What are you—”

He didn’t lean in.

He didn’t move closer.

He didn’t even blink.

He simply sat there, on the opposite side of the table, one elbow resting near his wine glass, the other arm subtly stretched beneath the surface like a quiet secret unraveling in the dark, and his voice, when it came, was soft and low and steady.

“Tell me to stop.”

And as he said it—calm, impossible, infuriatingly composed—you felt it: the cool air against your skin, your panties slipping down your thighs with a slow, torturous grace, peeled away by a hand that wasn’t even near you, stretched from across the table, precise and gentle and unspeakably brazen. The fabric caught just slightly at your knees before his fingers nudged it past, and you sat there frozen, wide-eyed, red-faced, with your dress pooled neatly over your lap and nothing beneath it now but heat and humiliation and the thundering pulse between your legs.

“Reed—” you breathed again, barely able to shape the word, and his gaze met yours in that maddening, quiet way—no urgency, no shame, only that still, measured calm that made your insides tremble, as if he was watching a reaction unfold under glass.

And then—

Sue's heels clicked softly on the polished floor as she entered the room again, moving with that effortless, elegant grace as she crossed behind you and returned to her seat.

“That should fix it,” she said lightly as she sat, her smile warm and unbothered, her tone casual as if nothing had changed in the few moments she’d been gone.

You turned toward her, your face flaming, your smile shaky and paper-thin as you tried to find your voice again, tried to stitch together whatever pieces of yourself hadn’t yet dissolved under Reed’s hand, which now rested high on your bare thigh like it belonged there.

“Thank you,” you managed softly, the words nearly catching on the breath that refused to sit still in your chest, and somehow, impossibly, you held her gaze.

And across from you, Reed Richards—calm, brilliant, monstrous in his control—simply took another sip of wine.

You tried to focus, truly you did—on Sue, on her words, on the soft clinking of silverware and the gentle thrum of jazz somewhere in the background—but all of it became nothing more than a blur of light and noise the moment his fingers moved again, slow and purposeful, the stretch of his arm impossibly seamless beneath the table, as if he could command every tendon, every muscle, with surgical precision.

He didn’t even shift in his seat, didn’t look down, didn’t so much as twitch, and yet—you felt him, truly felt him now, his fingers slipping between your thighs with exquisite control, brushing over your bare, trembling core with a deliberate slowness that made you forget how to hold your breath steady.

And then—he pushed.

Just one finger at first, and it was too much, because it was him, because it was stretched impossibly long and thick, curling up with inhuman ease, reaching deeper than anyone had ever dared, pressing into you like he already knew exactly where to go, what you needed, like he’d studied your anatomy and had all the answers memorized.

Your thighs tightened automatically, knees trembling under the weight of holding in a sound you very nearly let out, and your hands clenched into your lap, the wine glass beside you forgotten, your whole body alight with the unbearable tension of being touched like this—open, pulsing, absolutely undone—and doing nothing about it.

And then—

“Why don’t you explain to Sue what we went over the other day,” Reed said smoothly, as if he hadn’t just buried his finger inside you under the dinner table, as if he wasn’t slowly crooking it up to find that sweet, aching spot that made your stomach twist and your eyes nearly flutter shut.

You froze.

“What?” you whispered, blinking at him.

He offered a slight tilt of his head, his eyes resting on yours with a look of calm expectation—amusement, even—and then shifted his gaze to Sue, who was looking at you with the kindest, most open smile, entirely oblivious.

“The resonance collapse formula,” Reed said helpfully, voice steady. “She corrected one of my assumptions about it earlier this week. She’s sharper than she lets on.”

He curled his finger again.

And it took everything in you not to cry out.

You blinked rapidly, your lips parting around a breath that wasn’t quite a word, trying to remember the theory, the math, the basic principles of language, but all you could feel was the stretch inside you, the thick, gentle press of him moving in slow, unrelenting circles, coaxing you open without haste, without apology, without shame.

“I—” you started, your voice embarrassingly thin, “we—uh, we talked about—about the resonance curve failing at the threshold of—”

He added a second finger.

Your breath caught so hard you coughed, the burn of it tight in your chest, and you reached for your water like it might ground you, like the coolness of the glass could balance out the unbearable heat pulsing between your legs.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Sue asked again, concerned.

You forced a smile, shaking your head quickly, eyes wet with the effort to look normal, to act normal, when Reed’s fingers were pushing deeper now, stretching you in a way that was obscene, careful, perfect, and somehow managing to keep the rhythm slow and steady, barely moving, just enough to make you drip helplessly onto his knuckles under the table while you tried to describe a physics principle with your body unraveling second by second.

“I’m okay,” you managed to whisper, voice too soft, too high.

Reed’s thumb brushed upward. You jolted. He smiled—just slightly.

“You were saying?” he asked gently.

You wanted to cry. Or scream. Or crawl under the table and never come out.

Instead, you looked up, cheeks flushed, throat tight, and murmured, “We adjusted the decay rate curve based on the harmonic threshold failing beyond point-six-three, and—and recalibrated the control conditions to reflect a more dynamic waveform—”

His fingers pressed up, deep, and you gasped—but you made it sound like awe, like wonder.

Sue beamed at you. “That’s amazing.”

You blinked, barely nodding, and Reed—still untouched himself, still seated like a man entirely at ease—just gave you the faintest smile across the table, like he was proud of you. Like you had passed some unspeakable test.

You weren’t sure when it changed—when Reed’s fingers, once so slow and exploratory, shifted their rhythm, no longer teasing but deliberate, their movement suddenly quickening beneath the tablecloth, each stroke firmer, deeper, more precise, curling up into that one devastating place inside you with the kind of methodical expertise that only a man like him could possess.

His thumb pressed again and again against your swollen clit in quiet, unrelenting circles, and it was obscene, unbelievably obscene, because he was still sitting across from you, back straight, shoulders calm, expression thoughtful and polite as Sue continued her story—talking about an ambassador, or a charity gala, or maybe a speech she gave—and you couldn’t hear a single word of it.

Because you were about to come.

Right there. At their dinner table.

Your thighs were trembling beneath the fabric of your dress, your body pulled taut like a string about to snap, nerves alight and burning in every limb, and you could feel it rising, fast and hot, building in your belly like a storm, spreading up through your spine with every practiced motion of his hand—stretched from across the table, long and dexterous and hidden beneath the soft, quiet clink of silverware.

You were soaked, dripping, pulsing around his fingers, and he knew. Of course he knew. He could feel every flutter, every desperate little squeeze your body gave him, and when he looked at you—really looked at you—his eyes burned with a satisfaction so soft it felt like praise.

You tried to hold it back. God, you tried. Your nails dug into the fabric of your skirt, your breathing shallow and uneven, your lashes fluttering as you ducked your head and bit into the back of your hand, trying to hide the sound, trying to bury the moan that threatened to rip itself from your throat. You were right on the edge, hovering there, helpless, when—

DING!

The sound of the oven’s timer rang out sharply through the kitchen, perfectly, cruelly timed—at the exact second you broke apart, your body shuddering around his fingers as the climax hit you so hard and fast you saw stars behind your eyes. You muffled the moan with your hand, trembling violently in your chair as you faked a cough so sharp it made Sue look up, concerned, just as she was standing to go check the dessert.

“Poor thing,” she said sweetly, already halfway out of the room, completely unaware of what had just happened right beneath her nose. “Let me go grab the cobbler—Reed, didn’t I tell you to turn on the vent fan for the oven? It smells like caramelized sugar in here.”

You barely managed to nod, your breath still stuttering in your chest, the taste of your own bitten-down moan lingering in your mouth like smoke, your vision wet and dizzy as you tried to collect yourself—but it was impossible, completely impossible, because Reed was still watching you, still calm, still composed, still seated like nothing had happened at all, as though his fingers hadn’t just coaxed your orgasm from you with the kind of precision that only a man with endless patience and supernatural reach could possess.

And then—he moved.

His hand, the one he had just pulled back from beneath your dress, rose slowly from beneath the table, casual, unhurried, and with the sort of smooth detachment that made your blood run hot all over again. You watched—helpless, horrified, entranced—as he brought his fingers to his mouth, his expression unreadable but his gaze never leaving yours, and then—

He licked them.

Just the tips. Just a quiet, deliberate motion—his tongue flicking out to drag across the pads of his fingers with unbearable slowness, like a man tasting something rare and sacred, like someone who savored knowledge, savored reactions, savored you—and your breath caught so hard it made your throat ache, your hands clenched in your lap, body still trembling beneath the table.

And that was the exact moment Sue walked back in.

The tray in her hands held a golden, bubbling dish still steaming at the edges, a pitcher of vanilla sauce tucked beside it, and she moved with the same easy grace she always had, placing the dish gently in the center of the table as the scent of caramelized fruit and butter filled the space.

“Was the sauce that good?” she asked with a light laugh, glancing over just in time to see her husband finishing his little motion, his fingers slipping from his mouth like it was nothing at all. “You just licked your fingers like you hadn’t eaten in days.”

Your entire body tensed.

Reed—calm, collected, horrifyingly composed—didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch. He simply tilted his head toward her, then turned back to you, his eyes locking with yours across the table, his gaze heavy with meaning, with memory, with the weight of what he’d just done to you, and said, without a flicker of shame—

“Delicious.”

Your stomach dropped. Your cheeks flamed. You looked away instantly, your eyes darting toward your lap, toward your empty plate, toward anywhere that wasn’t him, your skin hot and crawling with mortification, your thighs pressed tight together under the table, still slick and tender and sensitive as hell, and now—now you had to eat dessert.

With him. With her. With the taste of your orgasm still on his mouth.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

You said your goodbyes to Sue as sweetly and shakily as you could manage, your voice still thin and breathless from the quiet ruin Reed had left you in, the remnants of your orgasm still echoing in your body like a pulse you couldn’t calm, and still—still—you smiled, you nodded, you played the part of the polite, well-mannered girl who had not just come in silence at the dinner table. Sue hugged you lightly at the door, warm and soft and lovely, thanking you for coming and saying how nice it was to meet you, her words kind and sincere, her smile so genuine it made you ache.

“We’ll have to do this again,” she said gently, her voice carrying no suspicion, no awareness, only the comfort of a woman who’d welcomed you into her home and truly meant it.

“It was an honor,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper, eyes lowered, fingers nervously wrapped around the strap of your bag, heart pounding loud and unrelenting in your chest.

Reed appeared behind you then, as if summoned by the rhythm of your exit, and without saying anything, without asking, he moved to walk you out, his hand resting lightly at the small of your back—a simple gesture, one that should’ve been harmless, innocent, but that felt anything but, especially after what those fingers had just done to you beneath a tablecloth in the dim golden light of a family dining room.

The door clicked shut behind the two of you, and the hallway beyond was quiet, cool, and still, a soft hum from the city beyond the glass, but the silence between you buzzed with something thicker, darker, more intimate than you could bear. He said nothing at first, only walked beside you with slow, unhurried steps, like the moment hadn’t already been branded into both your bodies, like he hadn’t watched you fall apart with your hand over your mouth while his wife got dessert.

At the door to the elevator, he stopped, and you turned toward him, still too flustered to meet his eyes, still trying to hold yourself together with trembling fingers and shallow breaths, your lashes lowered as you whispered, “Thank you for… dinner.”

His response came after a pause, his voice smooth, impossibly steady. “You were perfect.”

You froze—eyes flicking up, breath catching—and found him watching you with that same calm, unreadable expression, but there was something beneath it now, something warmer and darker and dangerous, the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth that made your knees weaken all over again.

“Good girl,” he added softly, low enough that only you could hear it, and the elevator doors opened behind you with a soft ding, cool air spilling out into the hallway like a breeze that didn’t belong.

You stepped inside on trembling legs, unsure if you remembered how to breathe, and as the doors began to close, you looked back—just once—and there he was, standing exactly as he had before, his hands in his pockets, head tilted ever so slightly, still watching you, like you were a puzzle he couldn’t wait to take apart again.

And when the doors shut fully, sealing you into silence, your hand finally flew to your chest.

Because you had just survived dinner. Barely. And you weren’t sure you’d ever be the same again.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

let me know your thoughtssss

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doberbutts · 5 months ago

Text

With this latest round of discourse being "trans men shouldn't complain about being kicked out of women's spaces", I felt the urge to write up a relatively long post regarding the topic, as I feel it is a long tangled mess and involves a significant amount of people simply talking past each other.

To begin, what is a woman's space? I ask this, because "women's spaces" often fall under one of three categories: medical services, social services, and social gatherings. Of the three, trans men need access to nearly everything if not everything included within "medical services" and "social services". These things often need to be considered co-ed anyway, but are still considered "for women" and often are labeled things like "women's health" or "women's defense". Social gatherings- things such as book clubs, concerts, festivals, and other similar outings- can have a nuanced and complicated history when it comes to the inclusion, or exclusion, of trans men.

As an example- I am a binary, gay trans man who has not yet been sterilized. If I become pregnant and need to seek out social services, I must do so via my provider's "Women and Babies" department. I am neither of those things, and yet regardless of whether I am completing or terminating the pregnancy, I must label myself a woman in order to receive care. If I wish to have a pap smear, receive birth control, or investigate my chances of ovarian and cervical cancer, I must do so via the "Women's Health Clinic". I am not a woman, but I must label myself as one in order to discuss sterilization options. Many trans men who have had their gender markers changed prior to sterilization have reported difficulty even booking an appointment, as well as difficulty convincing their insurance to pay for this appointment due to a discrepancy with gender markers vs gendered care. Many have discussed the realities of being a pregnant man, whether they remained pregnant until their child was born, or whether they terminated said pregnancy with an abortion.

It should come as no surprise that the statistics for trans men receiving quality gynecological care are abysmal. It should be equally unsurprising to hear how many trans men have died from botched abortions, untreated miscarriages, infections and cancers of the uterus and cervix and ovaries, and complications during pregnancy or birth. We belong in this space, despite it being labeled "for women", and the only thing pushing us out has done is quite literally what's been killing us.

This is, of course, not even taking into account the numbers of trans men who have been forced to become pregnant via their husbands or families as a means to detransition them, and those who have become pregnant as a result of corrective rape. There is a saying among trans men of my age- it isn't "we all know a guy this has happened to", it's "which of us haven't experienced this? who among us doesn't fear this? who will it happen to next?"

Which brings me to my next point: women's social services. As with women's medical care, nearly everything labeled "for women" as a social service must be inclusive to trans men. Shelters for domestic violence survivors, rape crisis centers, self defense classes, family planning, these are all things that honestly should already be co-ed. But, many times, they are exclusively targeted towards women. I understand why, I do. But with trans men being statistically more likely than cis women to experience the need for these services, it seems a cruelty to close their doors to a vulnerable demographic reaching out for help.

Where should trans men in crisis go? Shutting the door to us without addressing the reason we need to access these resources gives us a single ultimatum: detransition, or die. Go back to being a woman, or die knowing the likelihood that a woman's name will adorn your headstone, and "daughter, wife, mother" will be said in your obituary. Much like the medical services, this incomplete answer has lead many trans men to their deaths. Whether by their own hands, or by their attackers'.

But there are other social services out there that perhaps are not as dire. Women's scholarships, colleges, all girls schools. Girl Scouts, women's sport leagues, gym memberships. Trans men don't need access to these, right?

Well... is the trans man in question out? Has he been living as a man, or is he still closeted? Is it safe for him to come out? Does he pass, or has he just bought his first binder and given himself his first buzz cut? Is he living under the control of his parents, or is he able to freely decide for himself the type of person he'd like to be and the type of life he'd like to live?

You see, I was a Girl Scout once. And, if we are to believe to our core that trans men are men even before they know the words "transgender", this means I was a boy in a girl's space. I didn't know that being transgender was an option for me at the point where my troop disbanded, and another leader to replace the first within my local area was not found until after I had aged out.

But also... I was in 7th grade when my troop disbanded. Two years later, I would learn the word "transgender", and suddenly everything would make sense. Two years later, I would come out to my parents and my sisters. To put this into perspective, I graduated high school in 2010. The Boy Scouts officially allowed cisgender girls and transgender people of all genders to join all programs in 2019.

I was not expelled from my Girl Scout troop. My leader simply stopped showing up to meetings, and my troop disbanded to go our separate ways when leadership could not find someone quickly enough to replace her. But... if this had not happened, I would have been a recently out transgender boy in a girl's social service, still wearing push up bras and frilly shirts because that's all my parents would buy me until I became an adult and moved out and had a job with my own money to re-purchase myself a wardrobe. Indistinguishable from any of the others, outside of what went on inside my own mind.

I would not have been accepted into the Boy Scouts, if Girl Scouts had been taken from me as abruptly as it was from a different transgender boy in the same state I was born and raised. Which would have left me with... nothing. Neither. And the only reason I even joined the Girl Scouts was because I had wanted to join the Boy Scouts and the local troop had refused to allow me, because they had labeled me a girl.

I don't believe I'm the one that coined Schrodinger's Gender, but I do reference it often. In this situation, one is both a boy when it hurts, and a girl when it hurts. Even if that gender label changes by the second, the point is to use your gender and your assigned sex to hurt you.

But then, why do these services even have to be gendered to begin with? After all, Boy Scouts just updated to be The Scouts, and has removed (on paper) the insistence on gendering.

Well... I certainly agree that the majority of gendering these services is at this point a concept that needs to be reformed, but I'm unconvinced that we will be able to completely integrate without addressing the reason they were segregated by gender in the first place.

Women's gym memberships are gender segregated for two reasons. Women and girls- and anyone labeled as women and girls, regardless of true identity- are frequently not afforded the same access to resources as cisgender men and boys. Women and girls- and anyone labeled such- are frequently at high risk of predatory sexual behavior and physical violence. Both of these problems are symptoms of a larger system of misogyny at play, and both of these problems directly affect trans men especially those who have not transitioned in a way that makes them pass for cis men.

Regardless of the truth of my identity, the reality is that I was seen as and treated as a girl when it came to physical fitness, and thus barred from the same activities freely offered to the boys. Regardless of the truth of my identity, I have experienced predatory sexual behavior from cis men as young as 8 or 9 years old, continuing past when I came out and began to transition socially.

If the problem is not addressed, cis women cannot re-integrate with cis men. But, additionally, if the problem is not addressed, the choice still remains clear for trans men. Detransition, stay closeted, or go without.

A common complaint of trans men is the invisibility and erasure our demographic faces. It should be easy to see why this happens. The problem of a misogynistic society is one that continues to this day, and without addressing the problem we cannot hope for success in creating a more inclusive space. At the same time, trans men are being pushed out and isolated as they realize they must make a choice.

As for social gatherings, such as a woman's retreat or a woman's music festival? Of course, it may sound odd to say that a trans man should feel welcome there. But the truth of the matter is the majority of the trans men asking for the ability to stay are trans men who have been within that space for years already, prior to coming out, prior to realizing some things about their genders, prior to taking their first steps as men.

I'm pretty good friends with an older butch who told me that I am the first person they ever told that they were a nonbinary man. This person is in their 50s. They're married. But the wife doesn't like it, and they love their wife too much to cause friction in the relationship, so they keep it to themselves, and they keep quiet, and they don't say anything about being transgender, but in their head they aren't a woman. This person is not a woman, by their own insistence. Should this person be forcibly ejected from their local lesbian community, which they and the wife helped form decades ago? Should they divorce their wife, since that would make her not a lesbian anymore?

What harm is it, truly, to allow this person to stay? Social isolation kills people. The trans man suicide statistics are just as abysmal as any of the others I've mentioned here. Forcing someone to burn 20, 30, 40 years of their lives and their friends and their achievements because they are finally living as themselves is a deeply hurtful and isolating experience.

The majority of trans men asking to be included in these spaces are not trans men like me- who never really jived with the idea of womanhood and distanced ourselves as much as possible the moment we saw the opportunity. They are men like my friend, often existing outside of the binary, often with a deep love and appreciation for womanhood despite realizing that perhaps the label does not fit them as well as they once thought. They often have many years of connection, entire lives spent intwined in these spaces.

What good does it do to chase them out? What harm does it to do let them stay?

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dilf-docs · 7 months ago

Text

All Roads Lead To Rome

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: your boyfriend swears he isn't annoyed at your little surprise visit on the set of gladiator II; you might have to help him release his anger, one way... or another.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (BARK BARK BARK), smut, p. in v., bit of exhibition kink cause they fuck on his trailer, he swears he's mad but he just wants head, oral (m. receiving), he also uses his armor and skirt while at it bc its hot and not bc i totally want that to happen to me or smth!!!, brat taming, orgasm denial, breeding and daddy kink lowkey, i'm so down bad for him so there's fluff!!! + pedro being whipped cause that's exactly what i want in my men, the cast makes cameos bc i love them!!!, use of spanish (i'm latina so don't even try me)

word count: 3,519 words

side note: i'm about as FERAL and horny as much as one could be!!! damn u pedro, making me walk out in the middle of class and walk on foot to the nearest theather for an early gladiator II screening (bc they're cheaper and i'm a jobless broke student lmao) that mind u it's my first solo trip to the movies but it's okay!!!! nobody interrupt me on my horny dilf hours amirite I TELL U that cinema was almost empty: just me, pedro and hey there's a spot if u wanna join mescal (look at my blog banner IYKYK) so yeah!!!! enjoy this porn lovechild that steemed from it; my pedro renaissance that'd been asleep since tlou dropped AWAKES (u don't get it, i literally watched narcos just for him) i'm so fr i need this man BIBLICALLY!!

"Lemme guess, that's her, right?"

Pedro looks up from his phone, slightly red and embarrassed. He would blame the color on the sun, and as an actor, fake his way out.

"No idea what you're talking about, Paul"

The young man chuckles.

"I mean, every break we get, you take your chair, sit the farthest and pull your phone with the most ridiculous grin I've ever seen. I'm afraid to tell you, friend, you aren't as slick as you think"

He leans back against the chair, covering his face with his large palm.

"At least I tried" he finds no point in lying anymore, "seems like I'm addicted, but if it wasn't for y/n, I wouldn't touch it"

"I'm curious, though" Paul scoots his chair closer, "who texts who? You or her?"

"Me" he answers, but then corrects himself quickly, a bit ashamed of how that makes him sound, "but it's mostly her first".

"Right" he doesn't sound convinced, rather curious and annoyed, something he's too old and tired for, "I don't believe you"

He's about to lock his phone, but the wallpaper (a selfie with you) would probably earn him another mock from Mescal.

"Too bad I don't need you to"

Before he can do so, the irish man yanks his phone away.

"Give it back!" he shouts, earning a few glances from the crew around them, "what are you, ten?"

"No, twenty-eight" they look like kids bickering. "No need to fight me, Mr. Pascal, they haven't taught us the new fighting choreography yet" he mocks, before the phone chimes; they both stop at the sound.

"What does this mean?" Paul asks. "Malta's nice" he reads out loud, "were you talking about possible future vacations? I might have to tag along"

He doesn't follow the man's joke, instead, looking at the message on your chat. Malta's nice, says the little cryptic message, and yes―it is cryptic, because you were just talking about missing each other and some other corny stuff he'd take to his grave. Not vacations, and certainly, not about the european island, which happens to also be the place were he's filming his latest movie.

"No, we weren't" he replies confused, "what do you think it means?"

"Well, obviously, you boys don't know anything" May pops up from behind, laughing.

"Were you eavesdropping?" he asks playfully, albeit, a little offended.

"No, you guys are just too loud" she replies nonchalant. "Besides, you aren't very good at hiding it, either"

"That's what I said!" Paul backs, laughing on his face.

"Stop being misterious and just drop it"

"It means" she pauses―laughing at her own little dramatic effect, "that you're getting a visit soon"

When you met Pedro, you were working in The Last Of Us. Nothing fancy, just part of the technical cast of the show: helping with the filming and stuff.

During those months, it was easy to find yourself falling for the main star (alongside Bella Ramsey), especially when you spent months behind a camera, capturing all of his perfect features; learning them by memory until you could draw them without seeing his face.

Yes, you had fallen for the older man, because it was as natural as breathing; easy as being alive―the fall so gentle and so easy, it was hard to know when the feelings started. You just woke up one day, feeling different.

You liked to act up―always had what you wanted, and times had changed (so it's not like he had to ask first): why not? Which is why during your last day of shooting you took some liquid courage on your veins and went up his way. It was at a little gathering the crew you've grown to call family organized, while wearing your favorite and tightest dress, that you approached him.

It surprised you that he even recognized you, but that's who he was: warm, welcoming and caring.

To augment the surprise, turns out he had eyed you already, but was too shy to do anything. Yes, the worlds most famous Chilean man. It did stroke your ego, and maybe that's why you feel like most of the time, you've got the upper hand on your relationship, despite the years in between.

Still, you feel like the last message you just sent was a bit too blunt. Now you sit at the tiny airport, pondering your next move.

You know your boyfriend isn't exactly the type to scold or get mad―despite his strong figure, but going against the only thing he asked you might test him. Which is why you feel nervous, despite the happiness around you, everyone in the airport looking straight out of a picture perfect summer edition magazine.

And your theory is proven exactly right when you arrive impromptu at the Gladiator II set: making heads turn and guards almost kick you out, thinking you're a fan.

"You don't get it!" you protest, "he's my boyfriend".

"Sure", they laugh on your face. "you're not the first to say that".

"She's not lying" oh, how you love that gravely voice. But not today: not when he sounds like a parent scolding a naive child. Not when his eyes bore into you, slightly irritated.

So now he's dragging you among the set, right to were his trailer is.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" you ask, puffing your cheeks out in annoyance. He keeps dragging you by the arm, without sparing a glance in your way. Who does he think he is? "I wanted to tell Paul he made me cry―twice. You know I don't play about Normal People and Aftersun"

"But you do seem to play about my orders" he grunts out, opening the door to his trailer. The sunlight reflects against the white, slightly bothering your eyes with its shine, contrary to your boyfriend's gloomy behaviour.

"Are you being serious right now? You're not my dad to scold me. I just wanted to surprise you" you stand still, refusing to get inside. Pedro knows your character tends to be stubborn, and thought he finds it hot to reel you up sometimes, there are other times where he can't just stand that juvenile spirit of rage you tend to have when things don't go the way you want them to. "What's gotten into you?"

"I could ask you the same" he mocks. "Get inside. Now"

"Rude" you scoff, but obey regardless, and he breathes out relieved you didn't do a scene like last time; he still can't show his face on that restaurant to this day.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me" you say a tad bit dissapointed, and Pascal feels the pissed off feelings clouding his brain start to dissipate.

"I do, amor" he sighs, "just hate to see you do things I tell you not to; waltzing in here like you own the place".

You don't see the mistake, though. What's wrong with wanting to do a little surprise? It's not like you were a stalker or something; just a very clingy girlfriend who happens to miss her boyfriend.

"So, you're not mad?" you venture, "tell me you're not embarrassed"

He looks at you, the fondness of his gaze betraying him.

"I'm not the one wearing a skirt while trying to sound intimidating" you joke while caressing the crook of his nose, knowing you always get on his good side. Being mad isn't something that lasts, "if anyone should be embarrassed, that's you"

"Are you saying I shouldn't wear one because I'm a man?" your boyfriend looks offended, "Have you forgotten the movie I'm starring in? People feared the skirt-wearing Roman army"

"Well, I'm not intimidated" you stand defiant, and something dark tints his brown eyes. You can feel the excitement begin pooling in your stomach.

"You're not?" he grips your wrists and yanks you to him, then holds your chin, tilting your head between his calloused fingers. "Well, cariño, you should be"

Your body slams against one of the trailers walls, and you have to suppress a whine.

"You must be punished for what you did today"

You give him a doe-eye look, pretending to be all innocent, as if you weren't enjoying the punishment.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've been a good girl"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about" he clicks his tongue, "don't play dumb with me"

"I just came to visit you" you murmur, voice husky against his ear. He grunts, and with the proximity, his hard-on rasps against your bare legs, only partly covered by the flowy summer dress you're wearing, "is that so bad?"

"It is. Has sido mala, cariño" his hand travels down under your dress, carresing with his large palm the silhoutte of your ass. The rings on his fingers create a shock, cold metal against your warm sun-bathed skin. "Naughty girl"

"I promise I'll be good, papi" you purr, using that honeyed voice of yours that makes it hard: hard to say no and hard between his pants.

Pedro sits on a small couch he has inside the trailer, guiding you with his hand enveloped around yours, motioning you to follow with a care so soft, you'd doubt he's about to do to you what he is about to do to you. He pulls you across his lap, smiling (God, you love his smile) as your stomach presses against his tights.

"Don't worry" he breathes low, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll make you a good girl. Tell me, aren't you?"

You swallow, "I am"

He moves the panties easily to the side, rubbing your pussy a little. He then spanks it softly, making you mewl at the sting.

Pedro continues to trace over it, "Are you sure about that?"

"N-no" you shiver in delight, resolve dissolving as quick as it came. "I'm naughty"

"It's good to be aware" he murmurs, "Dilo otra vez"

"I'm a naughty girl"

He lifts your head by your hair. "Tell me what you did"

"Disobeyed your orders, coming to the set" you whisper. He lets go of your hair, his hands traveling down again, slowly teasingly rubbing your pussy while he humms.

"You were a little brat, amor"

You whimpered and mewled in delight. "I was a very naughty brat"

He pushed his fingers inside you, plunging his fingers into your pussy.

"Look at you. You're soaking wet" he pumped his fingers in you, making you moan, "Is that why you came to see me? Couldn't wait any longer for daddy to be inside of you?"

You bucked a little, making him stop. He drags his fingers out, causing you to beg for him to go back.

"Answer my question you greedy thing" He leaned closer to your ear. "Did you need my cock this much?"

You whimper, "I do! Missed you so much"

He pushed his fingers back into you, provoking a moan out of you.

"You're always so needy for me" your core tenses, making you shiver. "How badly do you want me? Tell me"

You whimpered "Badly, papi"

"Say it" his face contorts in satisfaction at your pathethic display; crying little mess, "Who's cock, fingers and mouth make you feel good?"

You can't think at this point, your brain fuzzy and pussy hot, leaking. You kiss his lips, moaning against them, "you!"

"Just me, yes? Nobody else can make you feel this good?"

"No one!"

You involuntarily roll your hips to aid you in pleasure, yet Pedro stops you just before you can reach your orgasm.

"Little brat." he tuts, making you groan. "Did you think I'd let you? You were naughty today, baby"

You huff in annoyance, used to having your way.

"That's your punishment"

"But I'll behave" you mewl against his ear, "I promise"

“Good, because I'm planning on fucking your brains out” his hot breathe whispers in your ear seductively, trying his best not to slur the words at the drunken haze that your arousal provokes in him, "but you have to help me first"

You get on your knees, looking at the garment he's wearing. The skirt and general costume makes this all the more hot, mouth watering at the sight. You raise the skirt, glancing at the briefs; just seeing his dick strained against the fabric makes you wet in anticipation.

He sees the pleasure bore into your orbs, and before you do any dirty idea of yours, he's already warning:

"You have to take this off, what if we-"

"Alright" you cut him off, "but the skirt stays"

"Sigue, pues" he growls, voice low yet demanding, following you in your little game.

As you pull the briefs down, his erection springs out enthusiastically, slapping up against his lower abdomen. You shifted your gaze up to meet his, his eyelids heavy and his proud smirk driving you absolutely wild.

"That's right" he chokes out, "show me how much you missed it"

You give him a proud lick, and Pedro hisses at the moment his preseminal fluid goes in between your hungry lips.

Your tongue darts to the head of his cock, running over it several times before bobbing your head down, taking most of him in your mouth. He keeps praising as you pump the base of his cock with your hand. Your head bobs, yet you peek up to hear Pascal's little sounds and facial expression, a motivation so intimate in the way his brows furrow and eyes roll, mouth agape at your movements while his lip suck on those pretty lips of his. It makes you keep going. With every bob you take as much of him in your mouth as you can, before slowly moving your way back up to the tip, increasing your suction the closer to his head you got. A throaty moan escapes the man above you when you now focus on the final lick, making him closer to coming, all while maintaining eye contact the entire way through.

"Don't do that" he rasps, yanking you by the hair again, as of punishment, but he knows you enjoy it, "you promised you'd be good"

You can't answer, so instead, you reach the head of his cock again, and now his eyes roll back, mumbling profanities that sound like heaven.

"Do you want them to hear us, brat? Qué necia eres" he manages to chastise while moaning.

You feel his dick stuck in your throat, and the way he's about to come; you think that after some time dating, you know him well enough.

You're about to leave with your mouth when he stops you.

"No" your eyes open in shock, "what? Did you think your punishment is over?" Pedro laughs, "don't look at me like that. Like you have never done it before"

He keeps you in place by the hair, the rings prickling against your scalp. You feel his muscles tense up, and before you can think anything else thick and hot shots of cum invade your mouth, making it sticky and warm.

"Don't pretend you don't like it" his voice goes dark, husky. "Swallow it all. Te han enseñado a no desperdiciar nada, ¿verdad? Show me your good manners, then"

When you pull out, your throat feels raspy.

"You gotta reward me" you cough out.

"I promised, didn't I?" his fingers trace your face delicately, with adoration.

"It's all about duty, General Acacius" you purr, and the dick springs out again. Hard.

"Princess..." he warns.

"For the glory of Rome" you joke and laugh, then cough, as your throat is still sore.

"Have you been reading my script?" as you avoid to answer, he just chuckles, "ay, nena"

"C'mere" he motions, and you sit on his lap again. Pedro lifts your dress, exploring the curve of your ass. There's anticipation as he hooks his finger around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to access your core.

"Fuck" you squirm at his touch, grinding your freed cunt against his hard cock. He grabs you by the hip, adjusting you right on his lap.

"You taste so good" he kisses down your throat, ending at the chest were your tits peak.

"Want them?" you offer, pulling your dress down. He kisses them, gently nipping at your perked up nipples.

A wave of pleasure courses through you, and with whines and moans, you show how desperate you are, the hunger making the meal taste better. After all those weeks missing him, you just want him to fuck you senseless.

His lips are rosy and swollen against yours, mouths clashing; starved of the yearned contact. Truth is, no matter how much you know how to touch yourself, it'll never be the same as having his hard cock tear through your tight folds.

Pedro easily aligns his leaking cock with your uncovered pussy, all while mantaining the kiss. He pushes down on you, your dripping cunt taking all of his rock-hard cock, fingers holding onto the soft brown grey sprinkled locs.

"Pedro" you cry out his name, full of ecstasy as the stretch burns so sweetly. His low grunts only fuel your desire.

You trace with your eyes his body, now bare without the upper part of the costume: his pecs and abs, flexing with every pump. With now free hands, your fingers travel to softly caress his stomach, even if your tits are jiggling and the pace is rather frenetic.

"I missed you so much" you pout.

"I missed you too" he whispers out, getting tired.

He's reminded of his old age, forgetting about it as soon as you two kiss, because you bring out a stamina he thinks he doesn't have anymore; almost animalistic. His bones creak and adding the tiring filming day under the hot sun, he feels his body start to give up, the orgams closer and closer.

"Missed how you look" you clash your lips onto his, the adoration translating through the smile you press against, a trail of saliva that symbolizes how interwined you are, "you always look so fucking good"

He blushes, feeling like a stupid school boy with a crush. What did he even do to deserve you? Never thought a pretty young wild thing like you would even spare a glance on his way, but now you're taking all of his cock inside with such greed yet loom into his eyes with a love he's only dreamed of.

You're real, and his.

As soon as those words leave your mouth your orgasm spills over him, some of it dripping onto the skirt, making him curse. You can't stop, still meeting his thrusts halfway, despite your trembling body after reaching your high.

"Mierda" he groans against your mouth,

You feel yourself collapsing on top of him, the weight of the jet lag catching up.

"Getting tired, baby?" he coos. "Shit, and I thought I was old"

"You are" you reply back; you can never not have the last word. And he lets you, because, God, doesn't he love you? He pretends to look offended by it, but the way your eyes shine tell him you didn't mean it that way. "You and your white hairs" tracing over his moustache, a soft hand combing through his locks, "These wrinkles... don't you know how much I love them? how much I love you?"

"And you have no idea how much I love you" he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling it coming through. "God, wanna make you mine. Sólo mía" his pace slows. It's coming, and yes, you will take it all. "Wanna make you a baby, mami. Want you to take it all like the good girl you are"

When he comes, filling you with burning hot cum until you feel like you might burst, you're numb. But there's a feeling so content that pools warmth in your chest, that you can't say anything else, resting your head against his bare chest, both covered in sticky sweat.

"No sé cómo voy a explicar esto" he speaks through ragged breathes, and you can only smirk, "a squirted and cummed roman skirt".

"That isn't my problem" he scoffs, and you feel your head rise against the movement, earning a laugh out of you, "I'm not part of the movie"

"You'd sure think so, with the way you walked in here"

You roll your eyes, face hidden against his chest, "can you let that go?"

"You're right" he pulls you closer to him, hand enveloping you behind your bare back. The quiet doesn't bother you as you lie closer to his chest, his heartbeat the only thing you need to be at peace, "I think punishment time is over. Think you've learned your lesson"

"Then, how about we go out? I've heard Malta's beaches are pretty"

"Relájate, cariño. Seems you've gotten your energy back" he quips, then kisses your forehead. "We need to wait for everyone to get out"

"That embarrased you are of me?" you joke.

"No" he can already imagine his fellow cast members making fun of him, starting with Paul and Joseph when they see you and Connie who will totally notice the fun sticky stains on the costume, "but embarrased of the explanation I'll have to give"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas

#dilfistwrites #gladiator II #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #marcus acacius #joseph quinn #connie nielsen #may calamawy #paul mescal #i love him #so down bad for my latino man #pls excuse the filth<3

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writersdrug · 10 months ago

Note

I NEED waitress!reader accidentally letting it slip that she’s got a date after her shift and so when bartender!simon overhears, he suddenly has a list of things she needs to do after work, causing her get to stay late ))): missing her date ))):

ANGST TIME

He's been watching you like a hawk for the past two hours - and rightfully so. You've been rushing through your tasks, rolling more than enough silverware, keeping your tables happy and stocked - you somehow managed to convince Soap to mop front of house for you. He doesn't like it. Why are you trying to get away?

"Got a date tonight." You tell him, skimming through your receipts as you sit at the bar and calculate your tips. You're not off the clock yet - you still have thirty minutes left. But the restaurant's empty, and all your tasks are done. Your makeup is a little nicer today, softer and less "morning after a deftones concert".

Simon's thankful for the mask, or else his frown would be impossible to miss. Is he dumb? Haven't you been flirting with him all week? Was this another one of your games, pretending to act innocent and coy, messing with him, then announcing you're going out with someone else?!

He feels his shoulders tensing as he watches you tap away at your phone's calculator. He shouldn't be so bothered by this - some things just need to be let go. But he can't. He wants to keep you in his back pocket, or in an empty whiskey bottle on his liquor shelf - not the one behind the bar, but the personal collection in his room on the third floor.

"That's nice," he grumbles, slicing through a lime. "Jus' make sure you finish your chores 'fore you head out."

"Already did!" You chirp at him with a smile. "Just need to do my tips, and I'll be done."

"Did ya clean the ice bins?" He asks.

You furrow your brow. "Huh?"

He jerks his head to the whiteboard on the wine fridge - sure enough, your name is scribbled in, right next to "drain and wash/sanitize ice bins + buckets", along with today's date.

You look back at Simon, your expression now crestfallen. Your date is in an hour, and you still have twenty minutes on your shift. "Don't you usually do it?"

Truthfully, he does. He could do it today, in fact. But his brain is acting on thoughts before he has the chance to consider the consequences. "Can't today, luv. Preppin' for a bigger crowd tomorrow."

Your shoulders slump. "How long does it take?"

"Well, you got to turn 'em off - one by one, I can't have two empty ice bins durin' a shift - then ya dump the ice, wait for 'em to warm up, then ya go in there with soap n' a rag, rinse 'em out, then-"

"God, can this please wait until tomorrow? I'll come in early and do it, I promise."

He looks at you sternly, and you suddenly feel ashamed for asking. "Wot, so I can pay you overtime?"

"Simon, please - if you do them, I'll give you half my tips for today."

"Now y' dumpin' your work on me?"

"I've got a date!"

"I've got my own shit too!"

You snap your mouth shut. He's never been this stern with you, but you know it's well deserved. It's your chore, after all. You'd been wrong to assume he would do it himself, despite that being the usual. You quickly hop out of the barstool and make your way behind the bar, unplugging the first icebin.

Simon watches as you scurry around, running to and from the ice bin into the kitchen, filling up bucket after bucket of ice and dumping it into the sink in the back. You pace as the machine warms up, glancing at your phone every few minutes, then touching the inside of the ice maker to check the temperature. After a few minutes, you're scrubbing the machine as fast as you can with a soapy rag and a bucket of sanitizer eater next to you.

Twenty minutes have gone by. You're supposed to be on your way to your date, but you're biting your lip, staring angrily at the ice machine as it cools down again. You need to wait for it to be cold before you refill it with ice, and only then can you start on the other machine.

You make another attempt towards Simon. "If I just do one tonight and do the other in the morning-"

"No." Simon snaps, his eyes angry as he drops a container of sliced fruit onto the bar. "This is part of havin' a job."

You look away from him, tears stinging your eyes now. You're so frustrated you want to snap back at him - but he's right, isn't he? Maybe you could ask him if you could just call Max and let him know you'll be running late - but the thought of asking Simon for anything right now (other than more chores) makes you queasy.

Simon doesn't know where the anger came from, but it's still simmering. He watches as you continue to run back and forth, filling up the old ice bin, unplugging the second one, dumping the ice in the back... he's refilling the bloody Mary mix and restocking the bitters. Simple things. He's got nothing to do after this besides go up to his flat and sit in front of the telly, or maybe chat with Soap before he heads home. Why didn't he just do it? Because you had a date, and that was a problem for him. Why? Now you're upset, and it's that knowledge that makes him finally feel the shame that he'd been swallowing down.

You finish dumping the last bucket of ice into the second machine. It's forty minutes after your shift ended. You still have to get to the restaurant you and Max were meeting at, which is a twenty minute walk. You were supposed to be there ten minutes early - now you're going to be an hour late. Frustration mingles with anxiety and burns in the forefront of your mind. But you can't be mad. You should've done your job.

Simon doesn't say anything when you run to the back, your phone pressed to your ear and tears in your eyes. You barely manage a wave to Soap as you grab your bag and jacket and flounder back into the restaraunt. You don't look at Simon.

"I'm leaving now, I'm so sorry- I had to finish up at work and it too longer than I-" you slowed to a walk, then a stop, standing in the middle of the floor. Simon was frozen, watching your shoulders shake.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had-... it's not an excuse, I promise I'm-... listen, we can go for a walk or something, right? Or go get fast food, someplace still open, just you and me, and we can try again another-"

His eyes burn in his skull as he watches you stand there for a few more seconds, staring at your phone as the call disappears from the screen. He wants to say something - but what can he say? He's already fucked you over. And he doesn't feel any better than when he first discovered your little date. He feels worse.

You stuff your phone in your back pocket, unable to hide the single, choked sob that escapes your throat. You shoulder your bag and stomp your way out of the restaurant, door clanging behind you. Your bike is still in the alley out back, and your unfinished tips are still on the bartop. He wouldn't be surprised if you never come back to collect them.

Soap emerges from the kitchen breaking Simon from his thoughts and wiping his hands on a rag. "Real feckin' kind of ye, Ghost. Never seen such a right cunt." He glares at Simon, before slapping the rag on the table and heading back into the kitchen. His shift was over, too.

Simon has three more hours left to deal with himself before the bar closes.

#bartender ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod #ghost cod #call of duty #cod x reader

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moon-fics · 19 days ago

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So I dont know if this is your style but I figured I lose nothing by asking!

I have been really wanting to see a Bob Floyd x reader, baby announcement using B.O.B (since hangman calls him Baby on Board) like reader wear a shirt with BOB right on the stomach as a hint to either the dagger squad or Bob himself and it takes way to long for people to get it 🤣 just a thought!

Your fic's have been a saving grace for my Lewis Pullman hyper fixation!

I love this idea! It's so cute and I KNOW the dagger squad would be so excited.

You cannot believe you let Jake and Nat convince you of this. Is the idea cute? Yes. Will this put a smile on Bob's face? Also, yes. So, in theory, this is a good idea. It's witty and adorable, which Bob loves.

Except you've been standing next to him the entire night, and he hasn't mentioned it. It's gotten to a point where Nat pointed at your shirt a complimented it in hopes Bob realizes. He, instead, complimented it as well.

It's comedic and torturous. You want so badly for him to figure it out on his own, but you aren't sure he will. It's not because he's stupid; he's far from that. He's just a little oblivious to the hint you're dropping. In other words, he's not picking up what you're putting down.

You haven't had a lick of alcohol either, of course, for the baby's sake. However, that can't even be seen as a hint, either, because you don't get drunk on the regular. So, you're stuck hoping something will click in his brain.

"Hey, you're looking a little different," Jake says. Your eyes snap to him with a glare that could kill him where he stands. Jake's eyes are darting between you and Bob with an expression that can only say 'come on, man'. You quickly realize he's trying to aid the process. "Have you been doing anything new?" He says with a smirk.

"A lot more cardio," You say through gritted teeth. Bob's attention has already been grabbed by the conversation. His eyes were bouncing back and forth. "I thought this shirt really showed that off." You cannot be anymore clearer.

"You do look amazing," Bob agrees with a sparkle in his eyes. "You've been glowing recently," He adds with a smile.

"Yeah, I just find it weird she's wearing a shirt with your call sign on it," Natasha finally joins in. She plants the butt of her pool stick on the ground as her investment in the topic grows. "Y'know, it reminds me of those stickers people put on their cars. What's it stand for again?" She taps her chin.

"Oh, baby on board," Bob answers with a nod. You want to slam your head into a wall. He is right on the money, and yet, he is somehow using it as printer paper. "I always thought those were cute," He chuckles. Natasha and Jake are left staring at him with amusement.

Bob turns towards you and glances at your shirt for the thirty-first time tonight. His smile drops after a few seconds, and his eyes widen. They flicker to lock with yours, and there's a question on his tongue he can't quite get out.

"Is that what it means?" He asks loudly. He already knows the answer, but he just needs to hear you say it.

"Yeah, it is." You can't stop the grin from growing on your face as his eyes light up. The moment he knows the answer, he's lifting you off the ground. His arms are tight around your torso, and you can hear his laughter.

"I'm going to be a father!" He cheers while placing you back down. Bob's enthusiasm gathers the attention of the rest of the dagger squad. Everyone besides Jake and Natasha is surprised. They all let out a few congratulations while clinking their drinks together.

"Fucking finally. I was starting to think I'd have to just straight up tell him," Jake jokes with a slight nudge to your arm.

"I would have snapped his arm for ruining the surprise," Natasha steps up next to him. Before she can say anything else, Bob is pulling you away. He's already heading out of the bar with a mission in mind.

"Honey, where are we going?" You ask in a sing-song voice.

"I just found out my wife is pregnant. I'm spending the rest of my life pampering you," He says while pulling out the car keys. He says that as if he doesn't already do that. However, you won't say anything to argue against him. You know it's pointless.

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fic #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd #robert floyd x you #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd fluff #top gun x reader #top gun #top gun fandom #top gun maverick #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x you #lewis pullman x reader

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dreammfyre · 11 months ago

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targaryen dynasty ⋆ jacaerys velaryon

SUMMARY. You are the first daughter of Daemon and Laena Velaryon, betrothed to Prince Jacaerys Velaryon whom you have known since childhood. Queen Rhaenyra personally asked you to seek out knights and ladies with Targaryen blood to try and get them to claim a dragon to join the cause. You, always so attached to reading and the most studious and intelligent, did not hesitate to obey your queen, however, it was proving to be more difficult than you imagined. Luckily, Jacaerys knows how to help you.

WARNIGS. (+18) Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!oc. Targaryen incest. Smut, oral (fem receiving).

NOTE. The thuth is that I don't know how thid got 5000 words, but here we are!!!

If anyone asked you, you had no idea how long you had been locked in the castle library. The queen had left you the task of researching in depth about the Targaryen lineage with valyrian blood and the right to claim a dragon, you did not refuse to comply with her orders, you were known for your intellect and interest about history, always with a different book under your arm, you handled data that the others did not, so you were in your comfort zone. However, you did not imagine it was going to be so complicated, you had had breakfast and lunch in the library in solitude, which meant that you had been locked up all day among papyrus, books written in the language of your family, you had read about the dragons still alive, especially Vermithor and Silverwing, but you found more than you needed and your attention jumped from subject to subject, you had never access to such a place and did it hold information on Targaryen history from the time of the conquerors to the reign of Jaehaerys I Targaryen.

"My lady." Elinda's voice, so soft and gentle as she addressed you, dissipated your attention causing you to turn your head up from your reading. The maid was standing in the doorway and you behind the wooden desk in the midst of your own chaos, you had ordered not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency. "Why don't you go upstairs to dine with the queen in parlor?"

"I'm fine, thank you." You smiled trying to put on your best face, the truth was you didn't want to appear before Rhaenyra without any advances.

Elinda sighed knowing she wasn't going to be able to convince you to come out for fresh air, she wasn't surprised at your response, always so stubborn and driven to your ideas.

"It's okay, I know you, so I went ahead and brought dinner up here." She said walking over with the silver tray holding a steaming plate and a cup. "Eat before rest, you've spent a lot of time in this place, you haven't been eating well and we don't want your body to weaken."

You nodded and thanked her before she left. You watched the food from afar without appetite, so went back to reading, the Targaryen bloodline had expanded to different places, moving out of King's Landing and Dragonstone to other lands. You were writing down the possible names of knights and ladies with what needed to claim a dragon, so far there weren't many options, but you didn't want to be left in doubt you looked everywhere. You stood up to look for another book that you had not yet read, this time from the houses to the north, you had a mess everywhere and on every table, open books, scattered papyrus, the shelves almost empty. Your notes on the other hand, Valyrian texts that read without problems, as if a hurricane had swept away the order.

You took from the cup that Elinda had brought with sweet wine to which you gave a generous gulp. You paced back and forth reading and reviewing the history, trying to find useful connections to the present, back and forth, flipping through the pages and drinking. When you started to get dizzy from the spinning you found no better idea than to sit on the table crossing your legs no matter how uncomfortable your clothes were, on your thighs opened the heavy book so you could hold the glass in your hands.

"Are you still here?" Jacaerys had entered the library, taking you by surprise. The heir found you in the middle of the mess, surrounded by papers, sitting on the table which was frowned upon for a lady. "I haven't seen you all day."

"I think I hate the Targaryen." Sighed, relaxing your shoulders and looking up. Jacaerys smiled coming closer, watching the mess around you out of the corner of his eye, but he was sure you were the one to find what Rhaenyra was looking for. "Is that wine?" he pointed to your goblet raising his eyebrows.

"Elinda feeds me like an imprisoned animal."

"I doubt an imprisoned animal would be fed lamb and wine." This time it was you who smiled. "How are you doing with your mission?"

"I found some names that might be of use, let's hope they are still alive." You replied setting the cup aside, on top of other papers that were of no use to you at the moment. "The children of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alyssane were a great starting point that I cannot yet move on from."

"My mother asked about your absence at the table. I told her you needed time, and that I was going to keep an eye on you." You nodded, a little flushed at the last part, but you knew how to hide it.

"That's Visenya Targaryen?" Jace asked excitedly as he looked at the draw in the book open on your legs, moving closer to you to get a better look, invading your space.

"Queen Visenya," you corrected him causing him to apologize. "Vhagar's first rider." You looked at the image closely admiring her beauty, trying to take in the closeness of Jacaerys. "And the first in her name."

Jacaerys watched you from the corner of his eye biting the inside of his cheek, he liked the way you corrected him, even on some occasions when you chatted privately he would purposely get it wrong to make you angry. You just looked up meeting your fiancé's gaze, which made him realize he had gone silent.

"This place is…" the heir looked around you carefully analyzing the room, he didn't know how to continue the sentence without offending you.

"Say it, a complete mess." You sighed exhaustedly.

The prince nodded with concern for your well being, you are his fiancée and he had to take care of you, he looked at you noticing your tired eyes, your hair a bit messy falling a few unruly strands down your face, the dress disarranged on your shoulders. And somehow, through his eyes, even though it sounded bad and he didn't have the courage to admit it out loud, that was attractive.

He took a lock of your hair and tidied it behind your ear, it was a gesture he repeated and you liked it.

"Do you need help?" you denied immediately, you didn't want to look pitiful or desperate. "Don't be proud, I know you."

"Apparently it's not as simple as I imagined." You said discouraged, looking at the papers scattered around you. You closed the book putting it aside, you couldn't think anymore, you were blocked, tired and your body was asking you to eat and rest, maybe not in that order. You stretched your legs, still sitting on the table with Jacaerys watching you. "Targaryen dynasty is vast and diffuse, complex to trace, now I understand why several names are missing. I don't want Rhaenyra to be disappointed, I'm trying my best."

Hearing you, Jacaerys quickly interrupted placing his hand on your thigh unknowingly unleashing a shiver down your back. "The queen could not have chosen anyone better than you, you are the smartest lady I know." He said sincerely, positioning his other hand on your shoulder. "Go to sleep, you need it."

Tired, you rested your forehead on his shoulder resting on it. Jacaerys stroked your loose hair without removing his hand on your leg. The physical contact comforted you, but you didn't accept it often, so it was a surprise for the prince to have you so close.

"I'll dream of dragons." You joked with eyes closed, Jace's scent intoxicating you immediately. "I'll stay a while longer, I think I know where to find a thread to pull on."

"Eat something first." He added as he noticed the tray with the untouched plate. His caresses relaxed you, feeling his fingers tangle in your hair made you feel a delicious shiver, so you let him repeat it, even his tone of voice relaxed your muscles.

"I'm not hungry yet."

Jacaerys swallowed hard as your warm breath hit his neck, bristling his skin. He didn't know how the hell she was managing to control himself like that, when she held you close his thoughts were easily confused and the heart was about to burst out of his chest. In a moment of weakness, the prince closed his eyes in order to intensify the sensations, in the middle of the silence and taking advantage of the hidden place where they were, he squeezed thigh on the fabric of the dress, it was not strong, just enough to steal a sigh and that now the tachycardia clouded your reason. You didn't know at what moment that comforting embrace turned into a boundary of something else, Jacaerys Velaryon stirred as he felt the tip of your nose brush against his exposed neck before you, a slow, torturous contact.

The heir's hands were too still, he was controlling himself as much as his duty allowed him. While you had little interest in complying with the damned traditions, they were teenagers, you couldn't ask much of them in that regard.

The tension of their bodies rubbing against each other grew with each movement in a pleasant and affectionate rhythm, but you urgently needed it to increase, so opened your legs to surround his body with your thighs, the prince did not think a second to position himself between them taking advantage to squeeze your ass tearing you a sigh that vanished in his mouth. You brought your lips to his neck leaving kisses all over, Jacaerys did not want to stop you, he had fallen too easily into the game. The prince's hands were eager to touch as much as possible went up from your waist to your breasts, you had never seen him like that, then your fiancé sought your mouth before you kissed his bristling skin again.

"Jace…" you whispered against his lips touching slowly with yours, your warm breath hitting his face, he could hear the desperation in your call looking into your eyes, but his gaze was focused on your wet lips.

Shit. His name sounded so different when you said it.

It was he who had the courage - or the impulse - to make the move to close the distance between you, an accurate approach to trap your lips between his, his hand took your jaw and prey to desires you opened your mouth to let his tongue enter your cavity, sticky, wet noises echoed off the stone walls as Jacaerys brushed his tongue along yours. The taste of sweet wine ended up intoxicating him as well. His slow movement caused a wave of heat to grow in the underside of your belly, you rested a hand behind the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his wavy hair.

Your heart could not calm down, on the contrary, it begged for more. The crown prince began to lift your red dress, a messy piece of infinite fabric, so you clumsily helped him by crumpling it until he slipped his hand underneath it, running his fingers over your bare skin playing with your sanity by how slowly he explored.

"Someone could see us at any moment." You reminded him that they weren't in the privacy of your quarters or his, trying to gesture because your labored breathing was making it hard to think.

"They can listen to whatever they want." He responde kissing your neck moving down to your collarbones, the heat of his mouth on your skin felt like the most exciting thing you had ever tasted. The intense grip on your legs didn't bother you at all because it was him, his deep voice made you bristle complete when he whispered too intoxicated in the moment to be his usual proper prince self. "I said I would take care of you."

You laughed at how little importance he gave to your innocent concerns, too sure that nothing was going to happen, but maybe it was just adrenaline and desire clouding his rational thoughts. Jacaerys kept going down, kissing between your breasts on the fabric, until he knelt before you, you held your breath when you understood his intentions, he raised his gaze towards you, an intense silence where your nobility was at stake for falling into carnal temptation, it was a few seconds until you decided to lift the skirt of your dress so he could have the access he desired.

Your fiancé began to kiss the inside of your thighs gently, just that minimal contact made you tremble on the table. "Don't close the legs." He ordered.

Your cheeks flared in heat as a reminder of the sin they were committing, yes, it was your fiancé who was between your legs unabashedly, but it was still Jace, whom you had known all your life and had grown up together, the most proper prince Westeros had ever seen, so devoted to duty that no one would imagine he would be able to steal your innocence out of wedlock, but there he was, he was the same, kneeling before you like a believer, kissing your thighs feeling his hot breath approaching your cunt exposed to his delight. The sighs coming out of your mouth were intensifying as Jacaerys swollen lips approached your most sensitive area making him beg, you felt he was toying with your sanity but he only wanted to extend your pleasure as long as you would hold out. Your hands clutched at the fabric of your dress, his wet tongue flicked across your cunt, he didn't quite finish his journey when your knees had the urgent urge to close like a natural spasm, but Jacaerys prevented it by holding your legs tightly apart for him, continuing his work of giving you the pleasure you deserved.

"Oh, Jace, gods." You said with bated breath, an emotional torture of not knowing how far you could go before you screamed. His tongue kept licking like candy, unabashedly tasting knowing what he was doing, moving up and down listening to your moans that excited him as much as it did you to feel his mouth on your center, the heir seemed to be having fun taking his time under your dress, reveling in your desperation. The warm wet sensation on your folds sliding down began to make you desperate, in an attempt to quiet your moans so as not to draw attention to yourself you bit your tongue so hard that the moan was one of pain rather than pleasure. You crumpled some papers in search of what to hold on to, you closed your eyes intensifying the spasms even more. "Jacaer…"

Saying his name seemed the most difficult task.

You managed to feel the crown prince's long fingers opening your pussy slippery with his saliva and your transparent wetness dripping. Again he ventured in with his mouth, this time with more euphoria and hunger, making little circles with his tongue, drowning himself in you tasting your cunt as he had never done to any of the whores on the island, with you he took great pains to get it right. Agitated, chest rising and falling from your erratic breathing the prince placed one of his hands on your belly as if he knew you were looking for him, intertwining his fingers you squeezed as his tongue pushed into your entrance. Curiosity as to how he learned to do that had to wait because your legs began to tremble and you began to move struggling against the strength of Jacaerys who wasn't going to stop servicing you until you were done.

"Please… Jace."

"You are so wet." Said the prince as an accomplishment, but you were embarrassed to know how vulnerable you were before him. The sound of his mouth playing with your clit, so wet and wrong, similar to a kiss where Jace was just doing all y he work. You searched for his head with your hand which was complicated by being hidden under your skirt, the damn dress prevented you from looking into his eyes, you wanted to look at him and beg his face not to stop now that you were so close to touching the best orgasm of your life. Jacaerys was struggling with your legs, so he put your thigh over his shoulder without letting go of your hand. "You have to hold on a little longer. I promise you'll like it."

"I c-can't." You cried trembling.

Between your legs, Prince Velaryon was reveling in your pleasure with a painful erection trapped in his pants that only hardened against the fabric with every high-pitched moan coming from your throat. He had to be strong to hold back the urge to take advantage of your wetness and penetrate you right then and there, that wasn't the first time he thought of you that way nor was it going to be the last after tonight, he would go to his quarters overwhelmed to attend to himself just thinking of you for another night. You were so open that with a little strength you could take it, but you were not ready for the moment and deep down, Jacaerys felt just as guilty for giving in to temptation by breaking traditions, disrespecting you to a lady of nobility.

"Jace, oh, like that." You moaned wiggling your hips.

But shit, he couldn't take one more moon without claiming that belongs to him. Your whole body, your every desperate moan and plea. It was an addictive melody that he didn't want it to end.

You reached for his head with your hand under the cloth that was being Jacaerys' salvation because if he saw your sweaty face, pink cheeks and pleading gestures he wasn't going to be able to hold back the urge, fucking you right there on that table. Merciful to your clumsiness, Jace took your hand turning it towards the back of his neck, you tangled his wavy hair between your fingers, bringing it closer to your center than it already was which only encouraged your fiancé to lose control by gently biting your cunt and with his finger caressing your exposed clit like a throbbing button.

"Gods!" You exclaimed so loudly that Jace feared for both of your lives. You covered your mouth yourself, waiting for someone to walk in and find them you sitting at the table with the heir kneeling between your legs under your dress. "I-I'm sorry." You whispered in exasperation.

"Scream whatever you want." It was a command rather than a comfort.

And you listened to him. Your body couldn't resist any longer, the spasms were getting stronger and Jacaerys knew you were close to orgasm, your legs faltered and couldn't hold still. You pulled your fiancé's hair, which instead of annoying him, he liked to feel. You mumbled incoherently, cursing everything, your hips couldn't stay still and Jacaerys' tongue wasn't making it any easier. You let go of the heir's hand on your belly to cover your mouth, however, Jace grabbed your wrist preventing that from happening. The rule had been clear, he wanted to hear you screaming his name to burn it into his memory, he wanted to hear your whimpers and pleas not to stop, your choked moans, the curses and incoherent ramblings.

"Jace!" your chest was rising and falling so fast you felt short of breath. The pressure between your legs was increasing, you closed your eyes tightly trying to hold on a second longer, but it was impossible. "Oh, shit!"

Your orgasm came as a spasm that controlled your whole body, from your hair to your legs. Jacaerys knew it when the tension in your muscles disappeared and he didn't have to exert any more force to hold you back. His pace slowed considerably, he didn't hold back from licking one last time.

Your body was wracked, aroused to return to normal. Your chest was expanding and contracting fast, the sweaty skin made it look shiny. Your body had peaked, and now, you missed Jacaerys' tongue between your legs. The heir stepped out from under your skirt, his mouth wet from his own saliva and your wetness in a mixture that soaked into his pink, swollen lips. The prince was red in the face, his hair falling down his face in the most exciting mess, he looked so good. He wiped his mouth with his clothes and fixed his hair behind his ears without taking eyes off you.

"You were very good lady." He stroked his thumb across your red cheek, you closed your eyes at his gentle, almost brotherly caress, a well-deserved congratulations. You were still weak and rambunctious with ragged breathing and a high pulse, your body wasn't going to withstand another orgasm, not for tonight. Jace moved closer to your face, he wanted to admire you up close, your exposed neck was the target of a kiss. "Did you like it?" he whispered so slowly against your ear that a shiver brought you back to reality. His breath beating against your damp skin was a reminder that you were completely crazy about him, no one in all of Westeros could service you so well.

You nodded in shame and innocence. You couldn't hear him, but you knew he was smiling.

"Y-yes." You replied looking into his eyes. Your innocent look reignited the fire in Jacaerys, who was still holding back the urge to fuck you.

The prince closed his eyes and swallowed saliva in frustration. He had to be aware that no matter how good it felt, it wasn't right.

"We can't do it here again." He took your face in his hands caressing your skin with his fingers. You nodded again, seeing you so obediently at his mercy only triggered his excitement, fighting until the last second. Jacaerys moved closer to your face, you closed your eyes expecting him to kiss you, but you only felt the brush of his lips against yours and his breath against your mouth. "Next time I'll rip that fucking dress off you myself with my bare hands."

⊹ ࣪ ˖ MASTERLIST

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linagram · 2 years ago

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I'm working on your ask, I swear! Just give me 1-2 business days-s...

Also, making our ocs interact is really fun! I can imagine everyone living in a sort of shared Milgram where they can meet up, but the guards don't exactly interfere with each others' work. Which doesn't make sense, but shhh. The details aren't important.

"You know, it's at times like this when I'm glad I got my bunch of prisoners," Haruto remarks while munching on a cookie. "At the very least, none of my prisoners have tried to attack anyone." Well, there was that time Yui chucked her chair at him. But she missed really badly so that doesn't count. "Three prisoners guilty and shit hits the fan. How are you both coping? Is anyone actually keeping an eye on Yurika?" He turns to ask Eiji and Miki, but quickly reaches out for another cookie. These shared warden tea breaks have gotten awkward lately. Eiji, who wasn't very sane to begin with, seems to be spiraling his way towards a mental breakdown. And Miki...is acting weird. Haruto keeps his expression neutral, keeping his gaze away from them. Not his problem.

it's okay, it's okay, take your time! also yeah, making our ocs interact is really fun! it's like playing with dolls together or something except almost all our dolls are murderers but anyway and the concept of shared milgram is so cool!

--------------------------------------------

Eiji and Miki try to stay calm, but both of them end up looking at Haruto like he said something.. bad. Very bad. Their work is slowly getting harder and harder every single day and he still dares to talk to them like that?

"I would love to see you try to calm someone like Yurika down." Eiji looks away from him. "If you say or do something wrong, even unintentionally, she will immediately try to attack you."

He looks at his bandaged arms for a moment and shakes his head.

"At least she's not that strong. I mean, from what we already know, she was kicked out of her house by her own parents for not doing any work and not helping them in any way, so that was expected. She really is pathetic."

Eiji says the last words like he's trying to calm himself down and make himself believe that Yurika really is just a pathetic ex-rich girl who can't protect herself and just goes for the weakest and most vulnerable people here.

W-well, Eiji is not one of those people, is he? He's literally the Milgram guard, so..

Whatever. It's not like she can actually hurt him in any way..

"U-um, well, maybe we can just vote those three innocent this time and everything will be alright.." Miki tries to stay optimistic even in this situation. Looks like she's really excited to forgive the guilty ones.

Does she actually want to save them or she just wants more people to depend on her?

"I told you that's not gonna happen." It looks like Eiji hates the idea of voting the prisoners innocent even more now. "Akio still thinks he did nothing wrong, Yurika is way too unstable to forgive her and we don't even know what she did and Kei is.. Kei."

He turns back to Haruto.

"We're gonna be fine. And you better be more careful. Who knows, maybe one day one of your prisoners will snap too."

It honestly sounds like Eiji even wants this to happen so that Haruto can experience the same thing they're going through.

#as you can see they are NOT doing well! :D #writing eiji's part and also looking at what i wrote for the voice dramas #“oh eiji you haven't even been *SPOILERS* yet :)”#watch eiji try to convince your guilty prisoners to make haruto's life worse /j #(or maybe /hj. maybe he would try to do that)#meanwhile miki is just like “oh i'm gonna save so many prisoners this time :D!!”#💬interactions!💬#🗡️guard 001: sanada eiji 🗡️#🌼guard 002: andou miki 🌼

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heavyhitterheaux · 1 month ago

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Push The Limits

Synopsis: You and your husband aren't on the same page when it comes to disciplining your sixteen year old son, but that changes once his safety becomes compromised.

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Requested by: a beautiful anon 😍

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

The night had been peaceful and calm with a cool breeze coming from the bedroom window that was slightly opened until Joe was woken out of his sleep for unknown reasons.

He hadn't been sleeping well the past few nights and tonight was no exception.

He peeked over at you, his wife of close to twenty years and saw that you were still resting comfortably despite him moving to sit up with his back against the headboard.

Joe knew what a light sleeper you were ever since you had your first child and he was convinced that even a pin dropping would startle you.

Running a hand through his hair, he was caught off guard when he heard a small shuffling sound. He didn't think anything of it, blaming it on the wind outside until he heard it again.

And again.

It was evident that the sound was coming from downstairs and Joe silently cursed underneath his breath. Trying his hardest not to wake you, he slid out of bed as quietly as possible before slipping past your master bedroom door.

As soon as he reached the bottom of the staircase, he was face to face with his oldest child, Maddox, who looked like a deer caught in headlights coming through the front door.

Joe raised his eyebrow at him and crossed his arms as Maddox started stuttering in order to try to come up with some type of excuse.

“Um, h-.. hi dad.”

“You better have a good reason why you're sneaking into my house at three in the morning.” Joe replied as he glanced at the clock on the wall behind Maddox.

“Uh… I…..”

“You what? I'm waiting.”

“I went to a party. All of my friends were going and I didn't want to be left out.” He quietly confessed as he gazed down at his Nike's that were covering his feet.

“So instead of asking me, you sneak out instead? Do I have that right?”

“Well you weren't here earlier and I knew that if I asked mom that she was going to say no.”

“How do you know that she was going to tell you no if you didn't even ask her?”

“She's just…. She hovers too much.”

“Hovers? You are literally a child. OUR child. You can barely take care of yourself as it is and you're complaining that your mother is trying to keep you safe? And I would have told you no too considering it's a Sunday night.”

“I… just how much trouble am I in? Are you going to tell mom?”

It was no secret that Maddox, even standing at 6’1, a few inches below his dad was terrified for a lack of a better word of you.

Even though you were 5’2 on a good day.

He was mentally preparing himself for you to rip him a new one.

You were the no nonsense parent, while Joe on the other hand would be more lenient. Being in a house full of boys will do that to you seeing as Maddox was the oldest of four.

You were longing for a girl, but since your last pregnancy had taken such a toll on you, both you and Joe decided that four was enough.

“I haven't decided yet. But, I'll keep this between us as long as it doesn't happen again. If it does, I'm telling her.”

Maddox looked up at his dad with admiration in his eyes and he nodded saying that he was in agreement.

“Get upstairs and you better be on time for school because I don't want to hear any excuses. If you fall asleep in the next ten minutes, you can get a good two hours in.”

“What!? I still have to go to school!?” He groaned as Joe stared at him.

“You have two options, go to sleep now and wake up for school in two hours or… I can wake up your mom right now. Your choice. And no one told you to stay out late partying on a Sunday night. And so you just assumed that you wouldn't have to go?”

“Nevermind! Goodnight!” Maddox said all within the same breath as he took the stairs two at a time. Joe followed close behind him and made sure he was inside of his room before slipping back into the master bedroom that he shared with you.

He climbed back into bed and once he was settled and laying on his back, you turned to face him and scooted closer as he wrapped his arms around you and you placed your head on his chest.

“Are you okay?” You quietly asked him as you peeked one eye open making it so you could see the outline of his features in the dark.

“Fine, baby. Just thought I heard something downstairs. Go back to sleep.” He told you as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

As promised, he didn't tell you the sound that he heard just happened to be your oldest child.

“Okay.”

It was now almost 5:15 in the morning and your mom radar immediately went off. You usually hear movement by now coming from your eldest son's room and when you didn't hear anything, you quickly got up to investigate.

Slipping from your husband's grasp, you made your way down the hall and softly knocked on the door.

“Bubs?”

No answer.

“Maddox, baby. You need to wake up for school.”

When you didn't get an answer for the second time, you slowly turned the knob to see him still knocked out and sprawled across his bed.

Laughing to yourself, you walked over to him and stroked his hair before attempting to wake him up.

“Maddox! Come on, baby. Wake up.” You said as you shook him and he let out a groan, letting you know that he was showing signs of life.

“What time is it?” He asked while shielding his eyes from the light that you just turned on.

“Almost 5:20, you're going to be late if you don't get up and get ready. I'll go make you some breakfast.” You replied as you slowly pulled off his comforter and grabbed his hand to help him sit up.

“Come on, baby boy. Wake up. Why are you so tired? I thought you went to sleep early?” You curiously asked as he looked up at you.

“Oh, um I was up late studying.”

“Hmm, makes sense. I expect nothing less if you want to go to LSU like we did. Be downstairs in 20.”

“Okay, mom.”

Closing his door and walking down the hallway, you made your way downstairs to decide what to cook for breakfast. You usually ended up cooking breakfast twice seeing as Maddox would get up the earliest, and then the three youngest would wake up around seven, Ryder, Silas, and Hunter being the youngest at two. And no one ever wanted the same exact thing.

As you were hovering at the stove, you could tell that it was Maddox that had entered the kitchen by his footsteps, who immediately went and sat at the island and put his head down while throwing his backpack at his feet.

“Waffles sound good, bubs?” You asked him and turned to look over your shoulder to see him slowly nodding his head against the table.

A few minutes had passed and you were mixing up the batter when Joe walked into the kitchen to see Maddox asleep at the island once more and lightly grabbed his shoulder for him to sit up.

Joe leaned down to whisper in his ear so that you wouldn't hear him.

“Hope it was worth it and you better take an energy drink to keep you awake because you have until 2 pm before school is over and you better not miss football practice after either.”

At the same time Joe was hovering over him, you turned around and was honestly confused because Maddox looked like he would fall over at any minute and you were concerned.

“I have never seen you this tired even if you had stayed up the night before. What class were you studying for?” You curiously asked as you poured the batter in the waffle maker.

“Yeah, Maddox, what class was it?” Joe added on as he eyed him before walking over towards you to properly greet you.

Maddox wanted to glare at his dad, but decided against it since he knew if he stepped out of line now that he would definitely tell you what he did.

“Um, AP world history.”

“And you have a test coming up this week, right?”

“Yes, on Wednesday.”

“Hmm, I expect nothing less than a B since we've gone above and beyond with our studying.” Joe replied sarcastically as he wrapped his arms around you from behind and placed his chin on your shoulder before kissing your cheek.

“He'll be fine. Leave my oldest baby alone.” You said as you were placing his waffles on the plate.

“Could you hand this to him, please?” You asked Joe who quickly nodded and grabbed the plate from your hands.

He came face to face once again with Maddox as he placed his food in front of him.

“Step out of line between now and what I decide your punishment is and I'm telling her. Now eat up, don't let it get cold.” Joe added at the end with a smile.

Maddox was now beginning to regret sneaking out the house and had a feeling that Joe would not let go of this easily or any time soon.

–

A week later, it was around 2 in the morning when Joe collapsed on top of you trying to catch his breath and placing kisses all down your body.

Your four children had actually gone to bed early which was a surprising feat so of course you and Joe took advantage of that.

“You okay?” He asked you and the only thing you could do in response was nod.

Finally rolling off of you and onto his back, he quickly pulled you on top of him and wrapped his arms around you while placing a small kiss on your forehead.

“Babe?” You quietly asked while looking up at him.

“Hmm?” Joe answered you as he had closed his eyes.

“Can you go get me some water?”

“Yeah, you want anything else? Maybe round 3?”

“For you to hurry up and come back so I can lay on you. And maybe.” You said as you looked up at him and smirked.

“In that case, be right back.”

He leaned down to give you several kisses before sliding away from you to look for his sweatpants in order to leave out of your bedroom.

Once he found them, he quietly opened the bedroom door and shut it behind him before heading downstairs.

By now it was close to 2:15 in the morning as Joe poured two glasses of water to take upstairs for the both of you.

Once the glasses were poured, Joe started his journey back upstairs and as he was passing the front door, the sound of a key sliding into the lock was heard as the knob turned.

“You cannot be fucking serious.” He said out loud to no one in particular.

He already knew that it was Maddox, but simply waited it out for confirmation.

After what he pulled last week, Joe simply just gave him a warning and told him not to do it again and the whole thing would be forgotten.

He clearly didn't listen and was trying to take advantage.

Sure enough, he came through the door and seeing his father made him instantly freeze.

“Maddox, you literally suck at sneaking out. Get upstairs right now and we're talking about this in the morning. I literally don't have the strength or mental capacity to deal with you right now.”

“But…”

“Don't want to hear it. And you better stay quiet so that your mother doesn't hear you. I already let you slide once before, but I'm not letting it happen again.”

With a defeated sigh, Maddox slowly climbed up the steps but was surprised to see you standing at the top with your arms crossed.

You had slipped on your robe after you decided that you wanted a snack as well but overheard Joe and your oldest. You had caught the tail end of the conversation, but you knew enough to know that he snuck out and you wanted answers immediately.

“So, where were you? You think you can come and go in and out of this house as you please?”

“Out.” Was all Maddox said and from that point on all you saw was red as he tried to move past you, but you moved to the left blocking him from going any further.

“Hmm, we aren't done here. Out where? And I'm not going to ask you again. Because you have absolutely no business sneaking in and out of my house at all times of the night. Last time I checked, you were only sixteen years old and nowhere near being an adult and you being irresponsible shows that.”

“I was out with my friends, so what is the big deal? It’s not like you ever let me do anything anyways.” He replied while shrugging. He was tired and at this point didn’t care if he got yelled at by you.

“Well that’s a bold face lie. If that was the case then you would never leave this house.”

“You are the main two people who taught me not to lie.”

After you let out a sarcastic laugh, Maddox spoke up again.

“You are always so strict and the only way I can usually get something is if I ask my dad who obviously doesn’t care that I snuck out last week since he has yet to ground me for it.”

At that exact moment, Joe appeared behind Maddox on the stairs with the water he promised you in his hand and his eyes went wide, indicating that he had heard him.

“Oh, is that true, Joseph?” You asked, ready to go toe to toe with your husband who would always try to avoid conflict at every turn.

“I.. umm… I still made him go to school?” Joe replied as if he was answering a question.

“Maddox, get out of my sight. I’ll deal with you later and I can promise that you are not going to like anything about this punishment that I’m going to give you seeing as your father can’t be responsible enough to do so and went behind my back to sweep this under the rug. You can start by handing over your keys.” You said as you held out your hand towards him.

“Dad?! You’re not going to say anything to her?”

“What do you want me to say, Maddox? Come to your rescue after you literally threw me under the bus for letting you slide last week and not receiving a punishment in return? Give your mother the keys, NOW.”

“I swear I hate living in this house.”

“Well it can be arranged for you to live somewhere else if you don’t want to abide by my rules. Rules are set in place for a reason and EVERYONE in this house needs to follow them, no exceptions.”

With a heavy sigh, he handed over his keys before dragging his feet towards his bedroom and closing the door. Once it was closed behind him, you turned back towards your husband to glare at him and snatched the glass of water from his hand.

“Baby…”

“No, absolutely NOT. He snuck out last week and you didn’t tell me?! Is that why he was so tired that morning and I had to wake him up for school?”

“I… look…”

“You are so lenient with them that it is honestly ridiculous. There is NO leniency, WE HAVE FOUR BOYS! Why do I always have to be considered the bad guy because their father doesn’t want to properly discipline them?! We have standards in this household that we abide by. I even have expectations for Hunter and he’s TWO.”

“Okay, hold on a minute. First, we need to go into our room and finish talking about this so the other three don’t wake up. Second, we were once teenagers too and we also know about peer pressure.” Joe tried to reason with you as the two of you walked back inside your bedroom.

“What does that even have to do with anything? Yeah, I was a teenager, but I also wasn’t stupid and taking advantage of my parents, either.”

“I honestly think that you are making a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be. He's 16 and can have a little more freedom, he's not a bad kid.”

“Joseph…. If our child sneaks out of this house in the middle of the night, who knows what he is getting into and I’m making a big deal because I want to keep him safe? Is that right?”

“Taking things away from him isn’t the answer, because more than likely he’s going to do it again. I’m trying to keep us from having to go in circles with this.”

“So what do you suggest since you obviously have all the answers?” You asked as you finally sat down on the bed and crossed your arms after you had placed your water on the nightstand.

“I am not trying to argue with you about this.”

“Too late. Shouldn’t have kept it from me. And did you honestly think that I wasn’t going to find out? Let’s be real, Maddox has a big ass mouth and can’t keep secrets for shit. Been that way forever. Actually, you know what…”

“What?”

“On second thought. You discipline him because it seems to always be me. If something else goes wrong, I’m not stepping in and he has to answer to you. Now goodnight.” You told him as you turned off the lamp next to you and slid underneath the covers.

“Wait, babe…”

“Goodnight, Joseph. And if you knew what was good for you, you would be quiet and let it go because I am done with this conversation.”

Maddox's heart rate was increasing by the second because of the situation he had now been thrown into.

And now he was honestly regretting not listening to his parents.

His best friends CJ and Travis had come to get him around midnight since you had taken his keys away from him a few weeks ago and he had yet to get them back. There was a party across town that he wanted to go to and since he couldn’t drive his car, they offered to come and get him to take him home once it was over.

When he noticed that CJ, the designated driver, was downing cup after cup of alcohol like it was water, he started to get nervous. Even if Maddox didn’t always listen to his parents, he knew how dangerous drunk driving could be and did not want to risk getting in a car with him if he could help it.

He could see the disappointed looks on both of your faces now.

Travis had gone off somewhere with some girl and Maddox knew that now he had absolutely no one to help him with CJ and trying to get him to sober up so that they could all go home. It was nearing close to 5 in the morning and he knew that you would be waking up soon.

When he had asked Maddox to get him another drink, he decided to switch his drink out for water and when he handed it back to him, he instantly got a sour look on his face after taking a sip.

“What the hell is this? Maddox, I didn’t ask for this shit.”

“I know you didn’t, but you had enough to drink tonight and there is no way that you are driving the three of us home until you get a little more sober.”

“And why the hell do you care all of a sudden? You have definitely been in the car with me before when I was a little buzzed.”

“Yeah, buzzed, not flat out fucking drunk. We wouldn’t even make it down the street until someone would be pulling us over.”

“Listen, man. You worry too much. It’s going to be fine. Travis is about to go home with that girl anyway so we don’t have to worry about him.”

“Only way I’m getting in a car with you is if you let me drive.”

“Hell no. That’s my mom’s new Escalade. If you scratch that shit it’ll be my ass.”

“Scratch it? Your ass will probably total it at this rate. CJ, just give me the keys.” Maddox pleaded with him but he was slowly running out of patience.

“No and I’m about to go and get me another drink.”

As he walked away all Maddox could do was shake his head and send a quick text to Travis to tell him to keep an eye on CJ and to make sure he didn’t drive anywhere.

Maddox- CJ is drunk out of his fucking mind. Just keep an eye on him because I’m leaving.

Travis- He’s always doing some dumb shit, but yeah I’ll make sure he’s good.

He took one last look over at CJ who was talking to Kevin, who was another player on the football team before he walked outside.

Grabbing his phone out of his pocket again, he took a deep breath before dialing your number knowing that you were probably going to kill him and would be grounded until he was 70 years old.

Joe wasn’t home since he had a few events to attend so you were his only option.

It took him calling you twice before you answered.

“Hello?” You groggily said and Maddox sighed before saying anything.

“Um, mom? Can you come and get me?”

Him asking that question immediately made you sit up in your bed and turn on the bedside lamp.

“Come and get you from where?” You asked as your heart was pounding with the worst possible scenarios running through your head.

“Uh… I’m in Greenwood….”

“MADDOX!”

“I know, I know that I’m in trouble and that I snuck out again and I’m sorry but CJ is really drunk and I’m not getting in a car with him behind the wheel. I have enough since to know not to do that.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I'm fine. I'm standing outside.”

“Just send me the address.” You calmly said since it literally took every ounce of you not to yell.

“Okay.”

After hanging up the phone, you quickly sighed before throwing the comforter off of your legs. Since Joe wasn’t here, it wasn’t like you could leave your other three boys here by themselves and go and get Maddox, especially when Greenwood was almost forty five minutes away.

Quickly brushing your teeth and throwing on some sweatpants, you got your boys up one by one and got them into the car as sleepy as they were. Two of them you had to carry and you considered that to be your workout of the day.

Once everyone was buckled in, including yourself, you quickly typed in the address on your phone to get to your oldest son as soon as possible.

The main thing that you were grateful for was that he wasn't hurt and was in one piece.

Pulling up to the address roughly forty five minutes later, you saw Maddox waiting outside and quickly unlocked the door.

He slid into the front seat and turned around to look in the backseat to see all three of his siblings knocked out cold and it dawned on him since his father wasn’t home that you would have to bring them.

“Mom?” Maddox said as you started to drive and turn onto the highway.

“Yes?” You quietly replied.

“Thank you for coming to get me and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it this time, Maddox.”

Sitting on the couch after you had been playing with your youngest and he had finally gone down for a nap, you heard the door open indicating that your husband had finally returned home.

When all of you were back in the house that morning, you had sent a quick text to Joe telling him what had happened after making sure all of your children were in their beds and accounted for.

It went unread for about ten minutes, but once Joe had finally seen it he was fuming. You could tell by the text bubble suddenly appearing and then disappearing. That was when he finally called you.

You explained to him in detail what had happened and he simply told you that he would handle it, that he loved you and that he would see you later.

Later had finally come and your oldest was about to be in for it.

Throwing his bags by the door, he came straight over to you as you had your arms wide open anticipating a hug.

He quickly embraced you and pulled you off of the couch in one swift motion and kissed you.

“Besides the oldest, did everyone behave themselves while I was gone?” He asked as he placed you back down on your feet.

“Everyone else was fine. No complaints. I was waiting for you to get back and order pizza because Hunter made a special request.”

“That’s fine. I just need to do something first.”

“And what's that?” You asked as you had sat back down on the couch.

“You'll see in a minute. MADDOX NOAH BURROW GET DOWN HERE, NOW!”

In all of the years that you had been married to him, you could probably count on one hand how many times that you had heard him yell. So, you were simply going to sit back and let him handle it.

Maddox was dragging his feet and it was no surprise. He was taken aback when the only thing you said when he got home was to head upstairs to his room.

That was this morning and he had been on edge for the entire day knowing that something else had to be coming. What he honestly didn't expect was you waiting until his father came home for his punishment to be handed down to him.

Once he reached downstairs, he walked into the living room to see you sitting on the couch and Joe with his arms crossed.

“It has come to my attention that you think sneaking out all times of the night is some type of game? And it seems like every time you do it, you end up being caught.”

“Dad, I can explain.”

“Strike one. In the thirty seconds that you've been down here, I didn't once ask you to speak.”

“But…”

“I'm being nice at the moment so don't make me go to strike two. Sit down.”

Maddox did as he was told and sat on the couch opposite of you as you scrolled through your phone, but was listening at the same time. You had absolutely no plans of intervening and would let Joe handle it as he said he would.

“I'm not letting you slide anymore with this. Your mother should have left your ass there to teach you a lesson since you think you're invincible and that nothing bad can happen to you. You had found your way there so you should have been able to find a way back. So, this is what we're going to do. Are you listening?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

Maddox was honestly taken aback seeing that he had never seen his father get as mad as he was at this very moment.

“No car for two months added on to the month that I already told you about, you go to school and come straight home. I'm still debating on even allowing you to participate in any sports. Considering how I had an interesting phone call on Friday about how you're failing almost all of your classes and one more failing grade away from getting kicked off the team anyway and I also found weed in your car-”

“You smoke too, so what are you even saying?!” Maddox yelled quickly, cutting him off.

“What I'm saying is that I'M AN ADULT. And can do whatever I want considering this is MY house and I pay the bills. Interrupt me again and we're going to have a problem. You know what? Yeah, football is done, no car, can't go out with friends, and I don't think you need to go to prom with an attitude like that. And how about we get a part time job that you will start looking for TONIGHT after dinner. Only way you get there is if me or your mother takes you and picks you up. Step out of line again and we're selling your car.”

“Mom!?” Maddox said while looking at you. Before you could respond, Joe jumped in.

“No, don't look at her. You put her through enough. You're talking to me.”

“It's not even that serious.”

“Oh, not that serious? Drunk driving isn't serious? Disobeying your parents isn't serious?”

“Dad, that's not what I meant.”

“I don't think I care to hear any explanation of what you did mean. I said my piece and now give me your phone and every electronic device in your room. I am sick and tired of you acting out so we have to learn the hard way. Go upstairs and put everything in our room, NOW. Do you understand?”

As much as Maddox was fuming on the inside, he knew that he had brought it on himself and couldn't be mad at anyone else.

“Yes, sir.” He mumbled and Joe not being satisfied made him repeat it.

“What was that? Say it loud enough so that I can hear you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And apologize to your mother.”

“I already did when she came to get me.”

“Did I ask you all of that? You're already on thin ice with me so I suggest that you do what you're told. Apologize to your mother and don't make me ask you again.”

“I'm sorry mom. I promise that it won't happen again.” Maddox sincerely told you as he came over to hug you.

“I want to see you change your actions and that is the only way that I'm going to accept your apology.”

Maddox nodded towards you as Joe pointed him in the direction of the stairs.

“We'll call you when dinner is ready. In the meantime, you need to do your homework and I need to see it once you finish.”

Nodding his head towards your husband, Maddox started climbing the stairs. Once you heard his door close, you looked at your husband and smirked.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” He asked as he sat down and slid you onto his lap.

“Oh, nothing.” You replied as you kissed the side of his mouth.

“Yes, something because you are literally giving me bedroom eyes. You missed me that much?”

“I just love when you get like that.”

“Like what? I'm not following, babe….”

“When you take charge like that and all I literally have to do is sit back and watch. Even more when you're inside me, but I take what I can get.”

“That can definitely be arranged for later.” Joe told you as he leaned down to kiss you.

“But question, what if he tries it again?”

“I changed the security system alarms from my phone before I walked in here. If he tries it, he'll wake up the entire house. I also have to apologize to you for not meeting you halfway with this. I honestly thought he wasn't going to take advantage.”

“I forgive you. It's not easy having a teenager and figuring out the best way to discipline them. We have to take it one day at a time.”

“Agreed. Just have to learn as we go.”

“But in the meantime, we have thirty minutes until the food gets here if you want to meet me upstairs.”

“Say less. I'll give you a head start.”

#joe burrow #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow fanfic #joe shiesty #nfl imagine #joey b #joey burrow

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