#//i don't usually pass this kind of thing along!

[mosquego359]

𖤐One Kiss and A Quidditch Match — Chapter 6: A Quidditch Rivalry𖤐

Prologue (recommended to read)

Chapter 5 (previous)

Pair: Cedric Diggory x Male Slytherin Reader

Word count: 2.7K words

Summary of the book: You and Cedric Diggory hate each other. It has always been this way. But everything changes one night when you kiss each other at a party. Now, it seems you can’t escape each other — from being partnered up in Herbology for an important project to having to help Cedric during the Triwizard Tournament.

Summary of the chapter: Professor Sprout requests that you help Cedric out and befriend him. You meet him in the library and things don't go as planned

Notes: Please comment anything I should change to improve this. Also, I am not British so I am not 100% sure how to correctly write people from the UK.

Content warning: A lot of curing.

!PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION OR CREDITS TO ME!

...

“No.���

Professor Sprout sputtered, “Mr. (Surname)—”

“I said no,” you spat, despite how disrespectful that was, “I don’t want to be associated with him anymore! I know I agreed to partnering with him for Herbology, but look how well that went. I’m sorry but you’re quite mistaken if you believe we ever got along.” And with that, you turned on your heel and walked off

“Mr. (Surname)! Please calm down and listen,” she said, running after you. For a teacher, she didn’t have much authority, “I care about my students-”

“No you don’t. You only care about the Hufflepuffs and those who take interest in herbology. But not me. Why would you? I’m just this silly little Slytherin who loathes your beloved Cedric Diggory.”

“Of course I care about you!” Professor Sprout said, “I hold all of the students close to my heart whether you know it or not.”

You stop and swivel around to face her, “Then why do you want me to spend time helping the person I despise most in the school? If you really wanted the “best for us”, you wouldn’t want us clashing again.”

A short silence passed between the two of you. The stout woman sighed, “Sometimes, what’s best for someone isn’t evident.”

“What do you mean?” You huffed, your confusion and irritation obvious.

“We can’t have the top students in Year 6 constantly butting heads. It’s not even friendly competition; both you and Mr. Diggory are constantly at each other's throats, whether it’s helpful to the situation at hand or whether it bothers everyone!” She explained, “And now that you are 6th Years, you hold so much more influence over your houses. Every corner I turn, it seems that no one gets along if they’re from different houses!”

You frown, perplexed at what she was talking about. Maybe it was because you stuck close to your group and didn’t bother venturing to make new friends, but you’d never seen any conflict between Slytherins and Hufflepuffs. 

“I’m not actually aware of this, Professor.”

“Of course you’re not! You’re so engrossed in your rivalry with Cedric that you don’t notice how the problem’s spreading around campus,” Professor Sprout attempted to keep her voice soft as usual but it held a twinge of annoyance, “Now it’s time to grow up and forgive each other.”

You looked away, a bit irritated yet understanding where she came from. “Apologies, but I don’t like him enough to try and solve whatever’s going on. And, anyways, it’s been going on for a while, so it's kind of hard to forgive.”

“Well, do you even know how this whole deal started?” She asked.

The question made you pause, attempting to recall what caused you to hate him. You racked through your brain to find the root of the problem or even an interaction between the two of you before the start of your rivalry but your mind was blank. 

“I-I don’t know, Professor, it just seemed to always be that way.” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“You don’t even know the root of your problem and look at how your relationship with him turned out!” Professor Sprout responded, then more kindly, “It’s unfortunate; Cedric — Mr. Diggory — is a kind lad, and you two could have gotten along quite well. What a duo you would have made.”

“And…you’re saying that kids younger than us are fighting because of us?”

“Yes, that’s the main issue.”

“Oh. So I have to…talk to him nicely to fix this?”

“Well,” Professor Sprout chuckled, “It’s a tad bit more complicated than that, but in theory, it could work. And who knows, you might even make a friend…or more.”

You gave her a slightly judgemental look but didn’t confront her on anything, “Did Diggory agree to this or…?”

“Well, actually, I visited him right after the first task and he was the one that came to me for help. Not specifically for your help but he was never very good at puzzles and I thought that you could use this opportunity to make up. He found it an excellent idea.” She beamed.

The fact that Diggory thought of it as a good idea to speak to you was suspicious but Professor Sprout tended to be a little positive when summarising things so you didn’t think much of it. But your mind wandered to the kiss you shared at the party. The one that kept you up at night.

“Fine,” you sighed, giving in, “I’ll do it.”

“Really?” You nodded apprehensively. “Fantastic! I’ll schedule a date with him and inform you then. Thank you so much, (Name)—Mr. (Surname). Sorry! I have to go now, so I wish you a safe return to your dorm or wherever you may be heading.”

You smiled and waved her goodbye as she slowly backed away.

At around 6 PM, she came to you as you were looking for a book at the library. She informed you that Cedric wished to figure out the egg’s secret as quickly as possible, so they scheduled the meeting for tomorrow afternoon.

For the rest of the day, all night, and the next morning, you pondered on what you were going to say to him and felt generally nervous about the interaction. 

Your thoughts wandered to the kiss back at the party. It’s been over two months, and you still had it stuck in your head like a catchy song. Maybe you two could’ve been friends if not for the entire rivalry thing. Or more. The back of your neck grew warm at the thought. You quickly shook it out of your head.

As per usual, you informed Winnie (who reacted rather pleasantly to the news), Brian (who started theorizing the other possible reasons why Diggory wanted to meet with you) and Elsie (whom you felt you could trust and joined Brian in his speculation). 

You didn’t inform Alistair, though. You hadn’t forgiven him for his rudeness after the first Task of the Triwizard Tournament and generally didn’t feel you could trust him with something like this. He always seemed to dislike Cedric more than you ever had and never handled his emotions well.

So after class, you bade Winnie goodbye as you headed to the library where you expected Cedric to be.

You found him sitting in a corner by himself, back to the window where the glass rattled, the shimmering golden egg on the table next to a book he was reading. On the table lay a pile of books. You recognized a few about riddles and old treasures. Diggory seemed focused on the novel in front of him, hand in his hair. 

He looked so calm, so at ease, that you nearly forgot that you were supposed to hate him. Nearly.

The handsome Hufflepuff looked up as you approached him. His face was blank, but his eyes seemed to glare daggers into your own, taking you aback with how much hate was in that gaze. 

Diggory stood up and walked past you, “Follow me.”

You gave his back a perplexed look but followed him nonetheless. “Where are we going? Why aren’t you taking the egg? Answer me, Diggory! This isn’t about wanting to apologise and becoming friends, isn’t it?”

“I’d never be friends with someone like you.”

“Then what do you want?” You replied, slightly peeved at his response, and somewhere in your heart, you felt stupid and betrayed. Of course he wouldn’t be friends with you. “Where are we going? Respond or I’m leaving.”

With that, he swivelled to face you, causing you to nearly bump into him, “I challenge you to a one-on-one Quidditch match.”

You stared him down, finally getting a look at his outfit. What you thought as his school garments were actually his Quidditch uniforms, and with all the hints he gave you, you realised he was leading you to the Quidditch storage rooms where the brooms were kept.

You stepped away, feeling a bit weirded out. Earlier in the year, you would’ve probably accepted his challenge, but now, with the knowledge of the conflict between your houses and the turmoil of emotion clouding your head, you hesitated. And that hesitation gave Diggory the information he needed to get your answer.

“So you’re too scared for a competition?” he snarled.

“No, I’m just being logical.” you huffed, peeved, “It’s a tempest outside. Too dangerous to use our brooms.”

“So what? I don’t mind the extra difficulty.” Diggory looked you up and down, a cocky look in his eyes, “But it seems you do.”

The challenge triggered something in you, “I never said I refused. Get ready to get your ass beat, Diggory.” You spat his name at him and brushed past him to go to the Quidditch storage where you knew they kept extra brooms. Whatever hope of fixing the problems with the Houses vanished from your mind.

You were going to crush that motherfucker.

You grabbed your old broom — which you had given to the school for their own use — and stomped to the back door the Quidditch players used to leave unnoticed by other students. Along the way, you passed little to no students, most locked up in their dorms, cosying up by the fire as they watched the storm pass.

As you expected, Diggory was waiting for you, a confident look in his striking grey eyes. “You regret quitting, (Surname)?” he asked, eyeing you up and down.

Since you quit the team, you renounced your Quidditch uniform and stuffed it in the back of your closet back home instead of throwing it out. Maybe one of your cousins would grow up to love Quidditch. Who knows?

But now, you regretted your decision not to bring it to Hogwarts as you stood in your school cloak and warm uniform.

You huffed, “I’ll only regret if I lose to you, Diggory. Which would never happen, no matter how we play this game.” After a short yet intense pause, you added, “How do we do this with only two players?”

“Good question,” he said with a smirk and pulled out a small golden ball, “The goal isn’t to score points but to catch the Snitch. But for a little extra challenge, we also have to avoid the Bludgers.” He patted a case next to him.

A bead of sweat ran down your neck, and you silently gulped down your nervousness. “Sounds like you put the odds in your favour. Can’t wait to see the look on your face when I obliterate you.”

Diggory clicked his tongue, brows furrowing slightly as he pushed the backdoor open.

A gust of wind bludgeoned through, causing you to block your face with your arm. Rain splattered you in the face, and you turned it from the entrance.

“Are you sure this is safe, Diggory?” You asked, hesitant.

He handed you big goggles and put his own on his face. “An Impervius spell has been cast on them, so you’ll be able to see.” As you grabbed it, he added with a sly grin, “I can’t be beating you that easily.”

You shot him a glare as you put the goggles on your head. It certainly helped against the beating rain, but you kept flinching when it touched your face. You hated playing in shitty weather.

Diggory stepped outside, and you followed, closing the door behind you. You had to slow it so it would slam loudly.

Once the two of you were in the middle of the court, you got onto your brooms, and Diggory released the Snitch, keeping it in his line of sight until it zoomed behind him. As the case where the Bludgers rattled, you felt your heart rate increase; never had you felt unsafe playing Quidditch — there was always a professor around and Slytherin Beaters having your back — but now, the vastness of the court and unseen danger of it all frightened you.

“Three. Two. One.” Cedric counted over the blasting wind.

“Go!”

Then the both of you took off.

You scanned the court for the minuscule ball of gold that circled the arena — which was difficult because of how foggy and rainy it was but mostly kept away from Diggory. That was until he flew right next to you.

“I’m going to release the Bludgers. Be careful.” He yelled over the roaring wind and pulled out his wand, heading away from you. Your stomach dropped as he said those words; you had secretly wished he had forgotten about them.

Despite the tempest around you, you somehow heard the chains of the Bludger case falling and the sound of them zooming in the air in search of you. You let out an unconscious whimper and gripped your broom tighter, heart pounding your chest.

The rain drenched your clothes and skin, sticking your hair and uniform to your skin. The roaring wind reminded you of a howling pack of wolves: hungry and ready to take what they wished to feast on.

Your eyes frantically searched for that flash of gold, eager to get the game over with. It was rather difficult, considering the amount of fog and rain hindering your vision and the wind beating against you and your broom.

You occasionally saw Diggory close to you or heard the sound of a Bludger, but every time that any of the two seemed to approach you too much, you quickly flew to a different area to search for the Golden Snitch as you fought against the harsh winds of the growing storm.

Suddenly, you saw a dark shape in front of you, zooming towards you. A Bludger.

You swerved to the right, barely dodging the ball and willed your broom to fly away as fast as possible. The Bludger chased you across the pitch like a starving lion chasing an injured antelope. 

You rolled to the left, turned to the right, rushed up and dropped down, desperately trying to get away from it. It nearly hit you once, but instead ran into your broom. You hoped it wasn’t damaged. At that point, you had completely forgotten about the Snitch, the beating of your heart against your chest blurring your thoughts. You normally don’t feel this fear. You shouldn’t feel this afraid.

At some point, you’re flying neck to neck with Cedric. Throwing away your pride you yelled at him to put the Bludgers back in their case.

“What, are you scared? You’re backing out this early?” He mocked.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you think; I value my safety. This is certainly not keeping me safe!” You growled, “Put the fucking Bludgers away! Ah!” A gust of wind had pushed you, and you nearly ran into Diggory.

“Safe? The way you’re flying isn’t safe!”

You grunted, trying to keep your broom under control, but for some reason, it was swerving wildly. “I can’t — It’s not doing what I want! What the–” You yelled over the screaming wind, your panic increasing and your stomach dropping.

By now, Diggory had noticed something was actually wrong, and you weren’t fucking with him. “(Surname)! Your broom is broken!” He warned, realising too late that the Bludger probably hit your broom, cracking it.

You swore under your breath, the crazy winds abusing your broom, and the ride suddenly worsened when your broom seemed to stop working altogether, causing you to go spiralling across the arena.

You held onto your broom out of fear as you screamed.

Oh God. Oh God.

You were going to die.

Suddenly, you felt your body jolt. You felt branches whip at your face and limbs, and your right arm felt numb and like jello, but the tree nevertheless caught you and prevented you from hitting the ground, which would have probably killed you instantly.

Your head felt light. You probably hit it when you crashed into the tree.

If this was how death felt like, you wouldn’t mind dying.

You closed your eyes, and it was as if the light in your body was snuffed out, and everything around you turned black.

[troublcmakcrs]

☆ Put this star into the inbox of your favorite blogs. It's time to spread positivity!

//it has occurred to me that i did not make an ooc answered banner for this blog. oh, well!

thank you so much, though! i love your blog as well, and i'm very excited to write with you!! :3c

[incoherent-orca]

In ASL and SSL, this is the gesture for "Inshallah," which means means "God willing"; it's used to express hope that a specific future event will come to pass.

🇵🇸 Things you can do below 🇵🇸

🍉 SHARE posts from Palestinians, especially journalists on the ground (copy link on IG works just as well as sharing?). They're literally dying for that footage 🙃 let's make sure it counts

🍉 DONATE an E-sim @connectinghumanity_ on IG

🍉 DONATE to @CareForGaza (Twitter; donation links should be on their profile too). A lot of donation drives are just... making a grab at clout but this one is legit; a number of Gazans confirm that the food/produce is getting to them. The organizer seems to be Palestinian and living there as well

🍉 BOYCOTT brands listed by @bdsnationalcommittee on IG

Official boycott targets: AXA, Puma, Carrefour, Siemens, Ahava, HP, Sodastream, any products from Israel

Organic boycott targets: Domino's, McDonald's, Burger King, Pizza Hut, Wix

🍉 PRESSURE your governments & officials to call for a ceasefire and #InvokeGenocideConvention at the ICJ (rootsaction.org)

🍉 PROTEST. If there are mobilizations in your area, show up to be part of the count. No heroics—do what you feel safe doing and listen to the organizers.

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it was also important to me to include an Al-Qassam fighter in this, because they're often scapegoated by Western media, and also by well-meaning allies who say "but civilians are not Hamas"; there's this attempt to separate militant resistance from the process of liberation as a whole

Yeah, most civilians are not Hamas, but they don't denounce them either. Palestinians call them freedom fighters, protectors.

because the resistance is not a bunch of evil, violent outliers; they are as much victims of the occupation as the women, children, and non-combatants are. Most if not all of them were born under the occupation; a good percentage of them are also orphans.

I will never condemn boys who live along the coast but have never seen the sea.

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And end to the violence can't mean a return to business as usual, where the occupation and apartheid continue and Palestinians are still getting displaced on their own land. it will still take decades to rebuild homes. priceless historical and cultural items & structures have been callously destroyed and can never be recovered. nearly all the children in gaza have been made disabled and traumatized and murdered—what kind of future will they inherit?

israel must be abolished. They, the US, Canada, and the EU, must pay

Inshallah, we will not stop at a ceasefire

Inshallah, we will see complete liberation for Palestine

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 10th. tom riddle — oral sex, experienced!tom.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: your ex couldn’t make you orgasm, so you were certain you were broken. tom shows you just how wrong you are.

warnings: 18+, SMUTTT MDNI, tom riddle can eat me aliv—sorry who tf said that?, tom riddle is such a realist; he sees a problem and he finds a solution, tom is a munch, praise kink, oral f!receiving, experienced tom, hufflepuff!reader.

Months pass, and your project remains the only thing Tom ever prioritizes when it's you asking.

Progress is slow—slow because you're usually far too busy talking to actually focus—yet, he always stays. He listens, even when the things you say should bore him, even when they mean nothing at all. He sits there—giving you hardly the barest scraps of himself in return as you fill the space between you with everything that crosses your mind.

Things he'd never waste a second hearing from anyone else.

And tonight, to no-one's surprise, you're doing it again—rambling on about nothing and everything all at once. You've got this way of talking—weaving tangents into something almost poetic, and usually, he lets it fade into the background as he works. You're saying something about the differences between the seasons, or maybe it's just some other kind of sentimental nonsense—at this point, he's not entirely sure.

It's easy to tune out. He tells himself he's not really listening.

Until—

"Actually, I guess I should clarify that—it's all hypothetical. I don't date," he doesn't know what you said before this, but he's certainly intrigued by it now. "And really, it has nothing to do with like, self esteem or anything, I'm just broken. Best to save someone the trouble."

That stops him cold. It's not so much the declaration that you don't date—he could have guessed that himself—but more so the way you've just called yourself broken.

It's not a word he's ever heard you use before.

"What do you mean, broken?" He asks, the question coming out far more blunt than he probably intended.

It just seems so out of character for you—you've always been an optimist, far too annoyingly positive to speak of anything this way. He blinks when you freeze, and blinks again when a moment of self consciousness seems to pass over your face—and he notes how that's a first for you, too.

"Broken...as in, uh, not normal," your eyes flit down to your lap, tracing the wood beneath where you're seated on the floor in his dorm. "My ex made that very clear in his assessment of me."

The mention of an ex is something he'd been anticipating—you're in your twenties, after all—but it's the idea that your ex is the source of you calling yourself broken, that he can't quite swallow.

"You're 'broken' because of one ex?" He says, and he can't stop how derisive and skeptical his voice sounds. He doesn't care to try. "I'm not following."

"I'm what you'd call, damaged goods, I think," you murmur, and there's an almost self-deprecating smirk on your face. He can't help but think how he's never seen that look on you, either. "I've got a slew of unhealthy baggage that comes along with me. You know, childhood traumas, abandonment issues, daddy issues—"

He snorts at that—daddy issues—and your head snaps up, smirk deepening despite yourself.

"Don't snort at my daddy issues," you huff, and there's a familiar annoyance in your voice that puts him at ease. "They're valid and real."

"I'm not denying their validity," he counters, his own smirk beginning to surface. "But daddy issues? Come on. You're not some tired cliché ripped out of a teenage romance novel. I refuse to accept your declaration of brokenness until you give me factual reasoning."

You laugh at that—alive and genuine—and for a moment, he's reminded of why he even tolerates you in his space at all.

"Fine," you cross your arms over your chest. "What do you want to know then?"

He makes a low, contemplative sound at that—because there's a million questions that come to mind with the words damaged goods—and after a moment, he settles on the one that falls out first.

"What is it, precisely, that makes you broken?"

You sigh, a bit theatrically—he knows you're just putting on a show and he wants to laugh at you for it—but he reigns that in, for now, while you figure out how you're going to respond to that.

The truth is, you don't know how to tell him the real reason you're broken—the part that has nothing to do with the laundry list of emotional baggage you could rattle off with ease. It's something...different.

Something more physical.

"I don't know, okay?" You're getting defensive. You're not sure why but you are. "Just—forget I said anything. We have this assignment to—"

"You dodging the question tells me it's more than just psychological," he cuts you off, leaning back into the couch. The way he's looking at you makes it clear—there's no way he's letting this go. "You getting defensive tells me you're embarrassed by it."

You sigh again, leaning back on your palms to mirror his body language, though it doesn't feel half as natural on you as it does on him.

"And you, being an insufferable arse, is telling me I never should have mentioned it in the first place."

His smirk at that makes you want to glare at him.

"Stop dodging," he says. "You brought it up. You don't get to take it back."

It's a challenge—the gleam in his eyes is practically screaming so. You're not sure why the sight of it makes something low in your stomach clench, and you're even less sure of why you want to tell him something like this—something you haven't told anyone else—not friends, certainly not family.

Whatever the reasoning, you can feel yourself relent.

"Maybe," you pause, the look on his face makes you second guess yourself. "...maybe I don't want to tell you because I'm afraid you'll look at me differently." You glance down at your lap, fingers twitching against the yellow pleats of your skirt before finally meeting his eyes again. "And I kind of like the way you look at me now."

Something like curiosity passes over his expression at that—but it's quickly hidden by the type of skepticism that tells you he still doesn't believe you're being serious.

"You're overthinking it," he replies, unmoving. "Whatever it is you think you're going to tell me, I'm not going to look at you differently. You're still you—no filter, unabashedly verbal—"

"Too verbal. Too positive, too loud," you finish his sentence for him—because you know that's how he thinks of you. "Too annoyingly optimistic. Far too hufflepuff for your cold snake skin. I know."

"Exactly," he says, tongue running over his bottom lip in attempt to quell his smirk. "So I reiterate. There's nothing you could tell me that would change that."

"Fine," you relent, giving in begrudgingly because you know there's no other option. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

He just lifts a hand at that, as if to say; whatever you think it is, I can handle it. The action makes you suck a breath into your lungs, trapping it there.

"You're right," you say after a long exhale. "I have a slew of psychological bullshit that would take the span of a year for me to fully go over in one sitting—but, I'm fine with it. That's...that's not the thing that made me call myself broken."

He says nothing, just makes a motion with his eyes for you to keep going.

"It's, uhm...physical." You whisper, and your brain is moving too much and too fast and you're not even completely sure how to say it without sounding insane. "And...I don't know, I just...I can't orgasm. No matter what. I just can't—it's frustrating and embarrassing and it's the reason my ex ended things."

There's a silence that follows, and he knows if it were anyone else, they'd probably find a way to comfort you. Reassure you. Tom, however, isn't anyone else—

"You're joking," he says, and his tone is incredulous again.

A self-depreciating laugh leaves your lips involuntarily, the sound of it making you almost want to cringe.

"Would it be less embarrassing if I was?"

He's still just watching you, dissecting your words as if waiting for you to crack a smile and confess this was all some stupid joke—and the vulnerability of it aches like a stab to the gut.

"This is the reason you think you're broken?" Is what he goes with when he finally realizes you're being serious. "Because you haven’t orgasmed?"

The bluntness of it makes you flush, makes you wish you could sink into the floor. "I know it's not normal, okay—"

"It's not an abnormality, either," he asserts, with casualty. "You might just have a disconnect."

You blink, caught off guard—not just by his choice of words, but by how matter-of-fact he sounds, like this isn't the mortifying confession it feels like.

"A disconnect?"

"A disconnect," he repeats, looking you over, something clinical slipping into his eyes. "Between mind and body. And considering how loud your thoughts are—"

"Hey—" you snap, suddenly feeling a bit indignant, but he just continues on.

"—it's not surprising that you can't get out of your own head."

You open your mouth to argue, to tell him he's not a therapist, so what the hell does he know? But the certainty in his expression makes you pause. He doesn't look patronizing or condescending, just...assured. Like he knows exactly what he's talking about.

You hesitate, lips parting, a protest forming on your tongue. Before you can say anything, though, he raises a hand to stop you.

"Come here," he says, standing up from the couch.

You blink, trying to decipher what the hell he's implying—because if anything, the last thing that's going to make you less paranoid about intimacy is proximity.

"What?"

He just looks at you, making a motion with two fingers, beckoning you to stand.

"Don't ask questions. Just come here."

It's an order, and it makes your spine tingle in a way that's definitely not comfortable—but you get up from the floor, and move closer to him anyway, closing the distance between you with only a few steps until you're close enough to him that you can practically feel the heat that seems to come off him in waves.

It's weird—he's suddenly too much all at once—you're so much more aware of him being in front of you than you think you've ever been before and it does not help that he's just looking at you—as if studying you—blinking only once as he raises those same two fingers to your neck, resting them against the pulse point at your throat.

Your entire body tenses. His touch is far more gentle than you ever imagined it being, something disarming that makes your pulse beat faster against his fingers as a result—and because this is Tom, with all his smug and certainty—he gives you a look that tells you he can feel it before he slides his fingers up to rest on your forehead.

You scowl at the motion, but he clicks his tongue, the sound as condescending as it is amused.

"I told you, you're an overthinker." He murmurs, eyes dipping to your lips. "Too much noise."

You want to refute that—mostly because you're not overthinking, you can't be—he's just so unequivocally overwhelming—

"I'm not—"

You start, but he moves his fingers from your forehead and places them against your lips—

"Quiet." He scolds, and that makes something low in your stomach clench. "Your body knows what to do. You're just letting your thoughts get in the way."

You long to protest again, just for the sake of defiance—but then his fingers are against your collarbone, and that motion in your stomach becomes a bit more of a squirm—

"Your body is trying to tell you something," he whispers, watching each little hitch in your breath. "But you're too busy talking over it to hear what it's saying."

You realize—with a sort of horror that's laced with something a little more uncomfortable—that he's right. Your body is trying to say something. It's communicating through the unsteady force of your breaths, through the clench of your fists against your skirt—

Of course, he notices. He's noticing far too much.

"Relax," he murmurs, and now he's trailing those same two fingers in an unhurried path down your shoulder. You suddenly regret every decision that led to you wearing a T-shirt. "I'm not going to bite you."

Something about the way he says it makes you wish he wasn't quite so convincing—the familiar banter you long for gone with the sharp exhale that comes out of your mouth as his fingers encircle your wrist—

"Your pulse is racing," he says casually, far too casually for how much effort it's taking you not to scream. "Does that seem broken to you?"

Gods—you want to respond—you really, really do— but your thoughts flatline when you realize his touch has shifted. He's no longer just holding your wrist; he's guiding your hands to rest against his chest, and—

"There you go," he whispers, and the tone of it tells you he knows exactly what it is he's doing to you. "See? Your body's doing exactly what it's meant to do. You—" his fingers trail up your arms, and his voice gets lower. "—are not broken."

You swallow hard, acutely aware of your hands on his chest and the way your palms are clammy against the fabric of his shirt. He's shifting you now, deliberately crowding you, and it's only when you feel the edge of the couch press against the back of your calves that you realize—perhaps a second too late—exactly what it is he's doing.

You stumble back onto the leather, and he follows—crushing his lips to yours.

You gasp, startled, because despite everything you truly hadn't seen this coming. The kiss is messy, clumsy, and his hand finds the nape of your neck, tugging at your hair with just enough force to make it sting. And inevitably, when you gasp again, he takes it as an invitation to work his tongue into your mouth, other hand slipping under your shirt—trailing up your stomach.

You're trembling now, and he makes a low sound at the realization. Your brain is racing to catch up, and the irony of this isn't lost on you—he'd just claimed you weren't broken, but he might as well be destroying you himself.

He parts from your lips only to trail his own across your jaw—

"You're shaking," he murmurs with a smirk against your throat—as if he's taking immense pleasure in the fact—you hate how smug it makes him sound. "Do you want me to stop?"

You want to tell him he's being a bastard, but then his lips press to that spot on your neck—the one that makes your breath hitch and your pulse stutter—and you find yourself whimpering at the sensation.

"No," you breathe, and you'd be embarrassed by the pleading tone in your voice if you weren't so lost in the moment. "Don't stop."

He makes another low, satisfied noise at that.

"Good," he whispers. "No thinking. Just feel."

You swallow—throat dry. It's unfair how easily he's dismantling you with nothing but his mouth and hands. Unfair how he's leaving you breathless and unraveling while somehow making you feel seen in a way you can't explain, even with your eyes shut.

"Tom," you find yourself whimpering, and you aren't even sure what you're asking for—you just know you want more as his lips trail lower—as his fingers work to tug down your skirt. "Gods."

"Shh. Feel me," he murmurs, almost possessively, his lips brushing lower, grazing over your stomach, then your pelvis. "Let your body do the talking."

You've got your hands tangled in his hair before you even know what you're doing, and you hate the fact that you're pretty sure you'd melt into a puddle if he weren't holding you together.

"I feel you," you whimper as he kisses lower. "You're all I feel."

He makes another low sound at that, and you just know it's the response of ‘yeah, that’s right’—but then he's between your legs, panties shifted out of the way, and the first sweep of his tongue against your clit makes all coherent thought shift to static.

"Oh! God," you gasp, the word barely escaping before dissolving into a whimper when he does something with his tongue that makes your vision blur. "Tom—oh, fuck."

He just makes that smug, satisfied noise against you again before his tongue swirls over your clit and you find yourself almost cursing whatever deity made him so good at this, because it's not fair how quickly he reduced you to a whimpering, shaking mess beneath him and—

"Don't stop," you find yourself babbling, digging your nails into his scalp and knowing you look like a goddamn wreck as he makes a meal out of you—tongue lapping up your slick and swirling your clit before sealing his lips around it and forcing your back off the leather beneath it. "Please, don't stop, please—"

It's all you can manage to say. Your thighs are shaking now, and you're sure he's got you dripping all over his face with how soaked you are. He knows you're falling apart and he just keeps going— your brain ceasing function in favour of just focusing on how fucking close you are—how close you are to something you've never felt before in your life—and you're not even sure what you're begging for anymore but it's incoherent and loud—

"I need—" you whimper, your hands tightening in his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan against you. You don't know what you're asking for, but you know he has it. "I need—I need—“

"Let go," he murmurs against you, the roughness in it vibrating up into your belly. "I dare you."

There's still a little bit of you functioning on autopilot, just enough to tell you that when he murmurs those words—vibrations rattling up your cunt and into your chest—you're completely done for.

It’s merely a few seconds later that your high reaches its peak and he just keeps lapping as you shake apart beneath him with an intensity you've never felt before in your life—orgasm shredding you apart at the seams. Your thighs clamp around his face, your eyes squeezed shut, ears ringing so loud you barely register his low, muttered praises: "good girl," "so good," "there you go."

You’re fairly positive your legs will never be able to support you again when you finally come back down, feeling entirely like jelly as he pulls back, tongue flicking over his lips to clean off whatever's left of you.

And without thinking, you grab him and pull him up, crashing your lips against his in a messy, desperate kiss. He tastes like you, like him, like something you can't quite describe—and it makes everything feel intense and unbearably real all at once.

He gives you a moment, as if letting you recover, just languidly kissing you back—and you have to be honest with yourself and admit that this kind of makes you want to scream.

"A disconnect," he smirks against your mouth, the tone still smug. You manage a weak smack to his shoulder, though it does nothing to wipe the satisfaction off his face. "Still sure you're broken?"

You hate that he's right. Hate that he's managed to pull a reaction from you that you didn't think was possible. But as you sit there, shaky and spent, you know you can't deny the truth: no, you're not broken.

"Not broken." You whisper back. "You will be though, if you don't stop smirking at me like that."

[3motionally3xhausted]

Redesigning the Fentons!!

Hi yes this is for yet another Danny Phantom AU of mine it has nothing to do with the Apprenticeship AUs but unlike that batch I actually wanna turn this AU into a fic eventually once I get through a few other big projects I have *sobs*

Anyway individual files for each character under the cut along with my obligatory rambling about all the choices I made ;)

Jazz! Honestly, when I was a kid, I always thought she was 18 not 16 so it was kind of a shock when I started rewatching the show about a yr ago and heard that. Anyway, she's 17 in this AU but already moved out to college on a scholarship bc living in FentonWorks is kind of hell and she has that Older Sibling Guilt for leaving Danny there. For her clothes, I wanted it to be a mix of tactical and preppy.

Danny! (Fenton) The effects of FentonWorks hell is much more visible on Danny than Jazz because she got out of there as soon as she could. Because of that though, a lot of the chores in the lab got pushed onto Danny, without passing on many safety tips, like replacing the ecto-filtrator, cleaning contaminated tools, organizing ecto-weapons, etc. And because he doesn't know any better when it comes to safety, he has many symptoms of radiation poisoning: visually, this comes through in the discoloration/scarring on his skin (Jazz has some slight scarring on her face and hands as well), the cataract on his left eye, as well as burst blood vessels in that eye. For his clothes, I wanted them to look a bit ragged and worn through ripped seams, tears in the jeans, & duct tape around his shoe.

Danny! (Phantom) I don't actually have a lot to SAY about my choics, but I am really happy with it. There are still a few things. I wanted his hair as Fenton & Phantom to be different but still reminiscent of the simplistic rendering of the original show: Fenton is kind of timid so his hair falls over his face, & Phantom is more active/aggressive so his hair is pushed upward. The only other thing I want to comment on is his skin: it's kind of about how I usually stylize Phantom (and I mentioned this when I redesigned Dani a while back) but a "healthy" Phantom in my style would have more bright cyan skin and an unhealthy Phantom has a more dull/zombie green. And lastly, as a ghost, the radiation poisoning kind of cleans up into more neat scarring rather than the muddy/bleeding look as Fenton.

Maddie! Now, I'm gonna be honest, real vulnerable here,... I hate Maddie's canon haircut. It's ugly, I'm not sorry. But I can modify it, so it's fine: now it's curlier, a bit darker, and has a few grey streaks bc she's a genius and constantly pulling long working hours. And, it didn't come across as much as I wanted, but she's got some biceps, strong lady. Now, I'm not really sure why, but I wanted to shift the color of her and Jack's jumpsuit, making hers much more desaturated.

Jack! Big guy. I don't have many thoughts about him either, but I did give him glasses and some stubble for a little bit more dad energy (?) I mainly changed the color of his jumpsuit bc Orange is an extremely hard color for me to render for some reason, so now it's the classic Hazard Yellow. Finally, the most notable difference is the coat I put on him for a bit more scientist energy but my main reasoning for it is the potential visual of him being an absolute tank jumping from overhead with the ghost gauntlets and his coat flapping behind him. Also, I generally like the idea of him presenting himself as a big, dumb teddy-bear, always smiling, but completely unhinged below that facade: dropping the smile or not while towering over you in shadow. Wild imagery.

FINAL THOUGHTS: Do not count on any actual steps towards creating this fic in the near future, it's just on my mind right now, but I NEED to finish my other projects first 🙏🙏🙏 That said, I will (eventually) get around to a handful more character redesigns for this AU including: Vlad, Sam, Tucker, Valerie, Paulina, and maybe Lancer & Dash

[kujiba]

【Go on and Love Me】

୨୧ — ꒰ male!reader | he/his prounouns | Sagau | Genshinimpact

୨୧ — ꒰ Streamer!Reader who gets sidetracked by people's donations/chats making the genshin characters feel jealous

Ft. Xiao, Wanderer, Kinich, Traveler

A/n: inspired by la2yn0va hsr fic

X I A O

(Name) happily smiled at another donation sent to him after recently completing a natlan quest

"Thanks for the 20 bits donation!"

He thanked the chat with a wide smile, the chat which was filled with people commenting every second flooding the entire screen making (Name) shift his focus to answer their questions about himself.

This cute interaction made (Name) feel warm and lovely in the inside, being able to interact with fans who admired him.

You know who wasn't happy? A dark headed male inside a screen wasn't that happy unlike (Name). Why were these people gifting you so low? Most of all why was (Name)'s attention not on him anymore?

He had to pull alot of strings to make his own crit rise up since (Name)'s luck on the Vermilion domain was absolutely dog shit.

(Name) — Hm? My favorite character in genshin?

Xiao — You called?

Xiao unintentionally blurted that out without any thoughts whatsoever, but when he did realize and saw (Name)'s confused face along with the chat going wild.

Without any choice Xiao did his idle animation to hide his face away from you, he used his mask so that Xiao won't face you for a while since he was in a very vulnerable state

(Name) — New mail? Sweet 300 primos!

(Chat) — Fr? I didn't get any new mail from hoyo yet.

(Name) — Well.. Free primos is free primos

If (Name)'s happy then he'll rest easy today. Hopefully no rumors circulate about what happened earlier.. Self aware fanfics are crazy these days.

W A N D E R E R

Wanderer stared at (Name) blankly, he was too busy thanking people with countless of donations to even realize they were still in a boss fight farming material's for upcoming characters.

Wanderer became (Name)'s fan ever since he saw him at that temporary event named 'Unreconciled Stars Event Quest The Crisis Deepens'.

Smug mf since he made (Name) hit hard pity for him. But was kind enough to give you his c1 after 140 wishes

(Chat) — Why don't you change your main (Streamer Name)?

An irk mark appears on Wanderer's face but wasn't that visible on screen.

Is this swine telling (Name) to replace him with someone else? Hard pass. He was already stolen from (Name)'s attention and now these nobody's are trying to persuade him into maining some other weak random than him.

Just so happen that (Name) spotted a chest nearby and happily went over to open it, Wanderer took this opportunity immediately

(Wanderer) — Unnecessary.

(Chat) — Is it just me or is his voice rougher than usual?

Damn right it's rougher since he just wanted to vent his anger out on any enemies on sight

The chat won't know but what he had said was directly targeted at them, if only he could say every insult known to man right now

So (Name), keep your eyes on him only and no one else, then maybe he'll make his attacks stronger if you comply

(Name) — Well to answer your question earlier chat, no I don't think I'll be changing my main anytime soon. Wanderer's pretty fun to play with.

After (Name) finished talking he took a closer look at Wanderer's face, but his eyes swore Wanderer had a tad bit of pink on his cheeks

His eyes must've been starting to break with the amount of streaming his doing

T R A V E L E R

(Name) had just began to prep for his stream of the week and now he was currently adjusting the Traveler's artifacts to try out a new build

You know what's crazy though? His builds are pretty shitty.

He has the absolute worst luck in artifacts plus in leveling up pieces, most of which usually goes to defense or HP%

But he still hits about 800k regularly with the Traveler! How could he do such thing with only 44.6% Crit rate!?

(Chat) — 1 MILLION?? (Name) are you doing hacks?

(Name) — What? No! Guess my Traveler's just really op

The Traveler is a smug motherfucker

Of course the Traveler wouldn't hit such high numbers without using a...slight adjustment to the system

Sure their pieces are pretty bad but they'll accept anything (Name) had given them! How could they just shake off his hard work on griding for their ascension and talents?

Whenever the Traveler sees (Name)'s shocked expression during the massive crit's appearing on his screen they are damn right happy and overjoyed they managed to satisfy their grace!

(Chat) — Your builds are bad af tho lolol

(Chat) — Why main the Traveler? They're a pretty bad character to main, you should go for Nuevillete or Alhaitham.

The Traveler's good mood immediately faded into dust once he saw the chats text

Are those no lifers saying that they're not fit to be (Name)'s vessel? They're the most perfect one!

What could Nuevillete or whatever character have that they don't? Could they switch elements? Don't think so

If they wanted bigger numbers, the Traveler will show them big numbers all right, if you want them to hit 10 million they're gonna make it happen with just one click

(Name) — Thanks for the suggestion chat but I'm going to stick with the Traveler, I'm already wayyy too attached

The Traveler's mood once again took a 360 and smiled softly at what (Name) said to them, their stomachs fluttering with delight

(Name) is attached to them? No other compliment or praise could ever reach what the Traveler was feeling at the very moment

Their grace! Oh their grace... If only they could just grab onto you and drag you here where you rightfully belong

K I N I C H

Kinich is an upcoming playable character but many in the genshin community have fallen head over heels for him

Yet he couldn't careless about them, after all just being near (Name)'s presence even though it's just by the Traveler's vessel already makes him nice and comfortable

(Name) — Day 10 of saving up for Kinich let's goo

(Chat) — Woah already 200 wishes? You're quick man

(Name) — Can't help it lmao, Kinich seems fun to play and he's really pretty!

(Chat) — He seem's boring though

(Chat) — Dude the dialouge is slightly glitching wtf

The dialouge's glitching is caused by Kinich's embarrassment and rage, he was previously just about to talk till he heard (Name) sing praises about him! How could he not accidentally stutter and mess up the dialouge!?

But on the other hand, the hell did that person meant by he was boring? He wasn't even released yet! This caused Kinich to panic mentally if whether or not you'll change your mind about pulling for him

He stared at you from the screen, clenching his fists tighter by the second. Just a small bit more... Just one more step and he'll be released, then he could really be by your side now.

(Name) — Aw man, hold on chat I gotta pause the stream to fix this glitching

(Name) eventually had to exit the game to try and see what the problem was with his device or if it was overheating again

Meanwhile Kinich was still standing there re-adjusting his thoughts about what just happened. His feelings were all a mixed bag at this point, he sighed rubbing his temples slowly

Ajaw eventually came to his side while looking at him weirdly like he had done something wrong

(Ajaw) — Wow.. Just wow

(Kinich) — Shut up...

To rightfully apologized the system eventually sent 10 wishes in (Name)'s game mail which he was confused at first but eh, more wishes for c6 knich!

Once he becomes playable Kinich would definitely spoil (Name) with high numbers and crit's. He would just have to deal with Ajaw's yapping in the meantime..

So don't get distracted over what those 'Chat' people say about him!

A/n: likes and reblogs are appreciated! Have a nice day(ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

[prael]

Touch

Kinktember Day 9: Spa

Newjeans Danielle x male reader smut

words: 7,422 Kinktember Masterlist

"My client, did you see her come in?" you ask.

"No, why? Is she famous or something?"

"Well, that would explain the secrecy, and it would also explain a woman barely twenty having cash to burn at a place like this," you whisper to the colleague who is far too jealous of how you just got requested by name because that usually means big tips for a good service.

"Did you get her name?"

"Supposed to be a secret." Your answer dissatisfies her, and she throws you a side-eye. "Okay. Okay. Danielle something... Marsh?"

"Shut up!" She hits you on the shoulder. "No fucking way. Let me take this one and you can have my next ten VIP bookings."

"Sorry, but she asked for me by name," you tell her. She mutters an obscenity under her breath. "Want to tell me what I'm getting into here?"

And then the girl spews out a jumble of ramblings about K-pop this and K-pop that—the kind of reaction that only the truly obsessed can have. Millions of views on this, charting on that, really fucking popular is the gist of it. So basically the whole planet Earth knows who this Danielle is. Well, shit. No pressure or anything. "Get in there already, do your best work and maybe get me an autograph."

A few forceful pushes out of the staff room and you find Danielle where you left her, her cleansing mask still on her face, sitting in that long white robe. You step barefoot over the soft wood, heat rising from underneath it.

As you draw near, you ask, "Miss Marsh, are we ready to begin?"

"Dani, please," her voice says from beneath the mask. It's hard not to be intimated after being hit with the fact that the woman before you is world-renowned. Though from here, she looks like any other delicate young woman. Her feet are small. Bare, tiny and arched, they hang just a few inches from the floor, and they are as perfectly still as the rest of her. "No need to be formal, I'm here to relax."

"Then let me start by offering you a drink." The bottle pops as you twist it. The label is adorned in cursive. "Bottled at source, premium mineral water." Your arm raises the bottle so she can see the brand clearly.

"Is it magical water?" There is a playful lilt in her voice, "Maybe it has some healing powers?"

"Guaranteed to nourish the soul and unclog those emotional pores," you deadpan.

The facemask stretches with Dani's wide smile, and she lightly chuckles. "That's good, laughter is good for the soul."

"Right." You pour from a height and a theatrical stream flows. When the flute is halfway, you stop the flow and pass it to her hands, which take it gently.

"What? You don't even hold the glass for me? Put it to my lips and tilt?" It's another tease, the joke stretching on her grin, but now it is her hands holding the flute, her fingers long and smooth around the stem.

"I serve, not control."

"Those don't have to always be exclusive." She laughs, and the sound makes you feel something. "But I appreciate the intention. I hear you're the best in the business."

"I'll let you be the judge, Miss Marsh. Now, allow me to remove that mask. I have raised the temperature in here to help open the pores, and I would like to begin with a facial."

"I do love a facial." Danielle smiles to herself. "And again, please, just Dani is fine."

You step over behind her, where her head tilts back against the chair, her long hair cascading below, shimmering in the moist air. Lightly, you place the tips of your fingers along her jawline, finding the edge of the mask and gently lifting it upwards. She doesn't flinch at all, and you watch the wet mask give way to her face. Even upside down, Danielle is indeed beautiful.

With her sun-kissed hair, radiant skin, and effortless, elegant beauty. She is, in summation of all her parts: perfect. The image the word calls up has always been fuzzy around the edges, an abstract idea more than a specific concrete thing, because real people aren't like this. That's what you believed until you laid eyes on her.

"You take good care of your skin, Miss—Sorry—Dani."

"Thank you," she says simply, no joke this time. Your fingers ghost over her chin and then trace to her cheekbones, moving lightly to test her texture, all so smooth.

"First, I shall cleanse away any impurities," you say and lean down to examine her face. Even when you are so close, there is nothing for your scrutiny—no visible crevice, no blemishes, despite there being not a trace of make-up. It's all-natural.

There's a light whisper on her lips, one that you barely make out, "Good luck with that."

You tilt your head as you reach over for a fresh sponge, run it under hot water until it is filled, squeeze out the excess, and slowly drag a path of heat across her forehead. As your other hand holds the sheet over her neck to catch stray water, your first-hand works in large strokes from above, rinsing her skin with each successive pass.

As you focus, she leans back into the chair, and a soft hum escapes her lips. "Feels nice already," she murmurs.

You say nothing, working her in silence. Her eyelids are closed, her lips slightly parted, and she remains so still that, if not for the sound of her breaths, she could be easily mistaken as unconscious. This silence has a tranquillity and familiarity to it, one that feels like home, and without thinking, you are smiling.

She stays just the same as you begin to exfoliate her, brushing across her face in ever-widening circles. It's with such tenderness that her cheeks take a pink tint as she grows hotter and she smiles as you rub in gentle swirls, one spot, then the next.

Time passes in silence as you finish the exfoliation and apply all manner of natural, topical lotions, toners, and peels to Dani. When her skin is primed, you press your fingers against her skin and, starting at her forehead, you massage her face to a rhythm of long, soothing strokes. You enjoy touching her, you admit, which isn't exactly right for a professional, but since you have no outward reaction from her, you assume it isn't the end of the world.

Throughout it all, she keeps her eyes shut. Over time you move around her face, applying more pressure in some spots than others. She shifts and sighs, soft exhalations of her warm breath tickling your arm, yet otherwise doesn't move an inch. Her shoulders relax against the leather of the seat. "You really know what you're doing," she says, with a smirk. You pull her skin with your fingertips, moving them in large circles as it comes to an end. Finally, you tap your fingers gently over her skin to soothe.

"Now, your body, Dani."

Her eyes crack open, but slowly. "Are we moving?"

"I'll wash your skin over there, but the massage will be in the next room. Now, I'll need you to—"

Dani doesn't let you finish your sentence before she rocks forward in her seat and pushes herself to a stand. She's facing away from you and puts her hands in front of her, then she throws the robe back off her shoulders and lets it slide off her arms to the floor in one quick motion.

"Good," she says. "I was for too hot in that thing anyway."

Of course, as a professional, you would never gasp in surprise, yet, at the sight of her ass, the muscles tight, small, and round, the curves of her waist so thin, hair over her shoulders threatening to hide her slender back and those long slim legs, you manage to just barely gulp.

Too hot, she certainly is, you want to tell her and not just in the sense that perspiration coats her skin. Tiny beads of sweat that, as your eyes crawl over her, are in the process of running downwards. This glistening on her flesh is hypnotic. The curve of her ass, the slight tilt of her hips forward, the way the base of her spine leads downward, right down to a crack between her—

Focus. You remind yourself you have a job to do.

"In the far corner. The stone pool. Please, stand by the edge." It takes a second before Dani's head bobs, and then she slinks forward, slow and catlike. Her stride, and every motion of her muscles beneath her flesh that accompanies it, are mesmerising. And with every sway of her hips, you love her tight body more.

She pauses, a foot by the edge, and looks down into the water. Steam rises and envelops her form in a pale white that hugs her curves.

"Please, step in," you say as you walk over to her side and take her hand. Now, you catch a glimpse of her profile, and her chest, small, round and perky, and as you avert your eyes to guide her down the step, you tell her, "Watch your step now, go from stone to stone until you stand in the middle just there."

"Got it," Dani says. She steps with confidence and the hot water reaches quickly above her ankles and then halfway up her calves. With each careful move down the next step she gasps, soft and light. The water splashes with her movement and then swallows her up to the upper thigh.

"Please, take a seat there, on the wide stone." You reach to help steady her as she sinks down, her knees bending as she perches down so the water is at her hips as she sits.

"I just sit?"

"Yes, Dani, and I will bathe you." You step into the pool until the hot flowing water covers your knees, and then you stand behind her. You reach for a sponge, submerge it, and watch it fill, then draw it out and over her lower back and drag a large circle across her soft skin. "How's the water? Feel okay?"

"Great. Wow." She goes quiet as you work up and down her back, long, relaxing, soothing strokes until all the tension has left her shoulders. "That's wonderful," she says.

You clean her shoulders and then down her arms, the sponge dipping under the surface, and caressing her in a movement that feels like worship. With a slow rhythm, you run the sponge over her shoulders and around her neck, and finally, reaching over her, down to her chest. She shifts back as you do, resting herself against your legs. You run it over her chest a few times before coming up again to her shoulders.

"So soft..." her voice says, almost a breathy moan, and you catch a hint of it. Maybe she realises how it sounds because she soon goes quiet. Next, you work downwards, to her tight, toned stomach. Slowly you make sure you cleanse every part of her body. All while her back rests on you and her breathing is warm and pleasant.

"Miss, I mean Dani, can you stand now? We need to get you clean." You prompt, a hand on her shoulder.

"Sure." Dani snaps out of it. She stretches and cracks her neck before rising, leaning forward for a moment. When she rises, ripples run out in all directions and your eyes drift over her ass. It looks plump, perky, perfect. Then you sponge it, giving purpose to your stare. You push it down, over her cheeks and Dani shivers.

You repeat your slow, languid movements. Wipe away any trace of imperfection from her hips and thighs and then when you make her slowly step out of the pool, you work down her bit by bit. Finally, she stands on the edge of the pool, looking down at you, towering over you in her naked glory. She presents to you her foot and you hold her ankle to steady it and clean each digit, scrubbing between the toes.

"You can take the towel, on the peg, Dani."

"You do it." Dani doesn't move at all, keeping her eyes on you, staring into your eyes and through you.

You cautiously nod and then climb from the pool. You keep eye contact and wrap the towel around her small, wet frame. In your arms, she feels so fragile. You rub her down, first her legs. Long strokes, left and right. Each, in turn, both legs. Then you bring the towel up. When you wrap it over her hip and move upwards along her torso, Dani presses herself to you.

"You really know how to put someone at ease," she mutters.

You nod silently in return, and finish drying her shoulders, down her arms, back up, and down her back. You remain stoic as the heat between you builds, and she turns around without prompting. You wrap her again and bring the towel all the way down. Then over her rear. Soft, short circular motions with your palm.

"The table in the next room, Dani. Start by lying on your front, you can use the towel on the table to cover yourself. Once I see you settled in, I'll join you."

She laughs quietly and starts her slow walk to the door. You take your own towel, drying your legs, the water has soaked into the front of your shorts from where she leant against you.

She's on the bed. The towel, provided for her decency, is in a pile on the floor.

"Dani, the towel..."

"I'm fine, I want it off. I want everything off. Is that a problem for you?" There's this undeniably confident quality to her like the universe just has to be as it is because she likes it that way.

"Not a problem," you tell her. "It does tend to get in the way."

You're close to the bed now, looking down at her, still so perfectly nude. So vulnerable and relaxed, and not a drop of shame in her eyes. She gives you a look that says she's in charge, and that she's been waiting for this, and now it's finally going to happen. And that smile is impossible to refuse. "You could join me if it helps. Make it feel more like an equal partnership."

"Miss— I—"

"I'm joking," she winks. Danielle bunches her hair by her head and turns her head to the side as she rests.

The first of your oils, imported, rich and infused, drip with a consistency thick as honey over her. You watch it roll from the top of her back and run down her spine. Its warmth makes her twitch gently.

Slowly you reach out, press your hands into her skin and drag them from top to bottom, following the oil, making sure you cover her.

She hums in delight.

With great care, you begin your work. Fingers sink in, and your thumbs feel her muscles. Stroking and rubbing, from the top of her back, your fingers coax and prod at the flesh beneath. Pressing it back and forth, at times as gentle as a summer breeze and then as hard as a hammer.

There are knots in her back, beneath the tender surface. You find them easily and work at them to relax, coax them into submission, untying the muscles until they go soft. She gasps at your touch as you release them. Her body responds to you in the sweetest ways. With the smallest of whispers, the little fluttering breaths, and with her skin taking on a pink glow.

When the last knot goes soft, she writhes in response, and a content, relaxed murmur comes out of her.

"Oh god, that's it, don't stop," she says, the first words to come from her for a while.

"You were very tight." You reach across, add a small amount of more oil and start working back upwards. One stroke at a time. Up her neck. Over her shoulders. She trembles when you go deep into her flesh and reaches out to grasp at something, anything, and finds the edge of the table, holding herself steady. Her arms now, you lift them one by one, prying them from her grip and then holding and rubbing and pulling to coax the stiffness out.

Oil over her legs, next. Slowly you run your hands over the outside and inside and rub them into her skin, kneading it into her. Danielle keeps her mouth firmly shut the whole time. No jokes. Nothing funny. You lean down to her, focusing on her thigh that refuses to let go. Bending down, you push into her. As you feel her tension drain, you are rewarded with another quiet hiss.

You place the oil upon her feet and work it into her soles with a finger, an instant trigger, she cackles as her foot recoils at your touch. "Sorry, that's a bit ticklish," she tells you, apologetically.

Her feet go still and she inhales deeply as you set back to your task, much to the quiet amusement of Danielle. It's the slowest you have ever worked on a client, with long, dragging strokes to make sure she really enjoys it. Each is careful, so careful, to pull and tease. "Keep working it all the way up, all the way up my legs," she orders, quietly. "Nice and slow. Can you do that?"

You agree.

You hear Danielle sigh as you move your hands slowly up her calf. So soft and firm at the same time as she breathes so gently. A trace of laughter, an easy smile. You work her in the same manner, up her thigh, as slow and relaxing as before, massaging deep and heavy. Danielle begins to roll her hips as you grip the flesh at the top of her thighs and dig in.

"Higher, please, just for me." Danielle makes a little hum to accompany the instruction. You obey, knowing where this is leading. You take the oil, and let it pour lightly onto the peak of her cheek, it threatens to roll away so you capture it in your palm, a firm squeeze of her rear, a spread of oily warmth. She shivers and pushes up her hips in silent encouragement.

Your hands trail along, smooth and oily, each touch brings more shivers. Her legs part slightly, a slow squirm of her hips. Your fingers glide on her tight, round cheeks; running across, back and forth as she breathes deep. You press deeper with each sweep and listen as her gasps become a little louder, and her body moves a little more. She bends her arm, reaching back, as you watch it shake. Her nails claw onto the side of the bed.

The more you tease her with your touch, the harder she grips and the more she parts her legs. You've known the perfection of her body, just by seeing it, but this feeling confirms it.

Your hand wanders with long, oily strokes as you glide up her back, tracing the curves of her slim back up, all the way to her neck. There, you hold her as you lean in. "You can turn over now. Let's work out your front," you say, and Dani nods in agreement.

She smiles, though she remains silent, slowly, with such care, turning onto her side, then twisting to face you, her face flush, eyes drowsy, her mouth agape. She rests upon her back, arms by her sides, legs flat against the bed, open, as you gaze into her eyes.

You apply the oil with long slow strokes down her stomach, feeling her as she flinches, watching the dimples at her waist appear then vanish with her body's twists, with every flexing of her muscles. When you trace up, her flat, beautiful chest, and slowly slide a finger beneath her small pert breast, Dani takes a deep, quick, raspy breath, then says, "They didn't lie when the reviews said you have the best hands in the world."

Your oil-covered thumbs graze upon her nipple, soft at first, gentle in pressure, but this becomes firmer, building and rising, faster. Round and round it swirls, and this delight sends Danielle's breath to hitches and sharp, shallow pants. As she squirms in delight, her legs twist, rubbing and clenching. Her teeth bite down on her lips. The flesh of her body glistens.

One hand reaches, down a thigh then back up, across her stomach and down the other. Repeated in pattern as the other thumb never ceases on her pert nipple. Dani's eyes go blank as your touch continues, circling, teasing, stroking and grabbing. Her body responds and you are delighted to witness every tremor and gasp as it arches. And finally, for the first time, a full-blooded moan rings free.

Your hand goes lower. Deeper into the pit of her thigh as she spreads her legs wide. You seek out the inevitable and when you reach her crotch, you watch her tense up. And when the touch slides between her pussy's folds, and against her clit, there's an immediate reaction, her body jumping as you make the slightest flick of motion with your middle finger. You lift and let a trail of oil roll down her slit and back down to her rear.

"I wasn't really joking before," she gasps. "You should be naked. It would make this whole experience better." Dani tilts her head, fixes her drowsy gaze onto you, and holds the stare for what feels like a hundred heartbeats. "Don't you think that's fair? The way things are going?"

You hold the eye contact and consider this, a sudden lump in your throat making any immediate reply a struggle. Her eyes don't move from yours. Even her chest barely heaves with her short, fast panting.

"Go on, I want you naked. I'm going to feel so, so empty otherwise..."

That's all it takes.

How could you deny her?

Your hands, still covered in the hot oil, reach for the buttons at your collar. You slip them in order from the top and release one after another. Danielle's lips twitch, and her teeth rake them to a shine. Your clothing drops to the floor. Bared. It feels so wrong, and unprofessional, yet Dani looks on and gapes with a hungry, dark delight.

"Nervous now?" Her eyebrow twitches up.

"Never," you bluff.

Danielle's mouth stays open wide, and her breaths get caught and flicker as your touch returns to the same spot as before. Gentle, light touches flutter with your fingertips, drawing the tips of your fingers back and forth, back and forth, over her clit. You watch as her eyes widen, how her legs straighten out and she starts to kick her feet with the faintest hint of frustration as you tease.

"I paid for a deep massage." She emphasises the adjective, dragging the syllable out like a whine. "This teasing is bad for my heart," she whispers.

Her arm rises, then reaches for your chest and trails its way downward. The pressure of her finger, nails lightly scratching at your skin, trailing down to the waistline and then she wraps her slender fingers around you. It's hard. Incredibly so.

"And I'll show you how generous I can be with a tip."

She licks her lips slowly and sensually as her eyes meet yours with a mischievous gleam.

You grunt, pressing down with your fingertip, and then without a second thought, push it inside of her. Danielle throws her head back in silent bliss.

"Holy shit," she mumbles in a muffled, muted moan. "Don't hold back." You circle inside her slowly with one finger, letting the oil's moisture guide you. Then, adding a second digit, you delve back into her, pushing in deep and making sure she can feel it all the way inside as the palm of your hand pushes against her crotch.

Dani rolls her head to one side as you work, staring you right in the eyes and biting down on her lip as she throbs and you press down inside of her, moving in all sorts of subtle directions that are impossible for her to guess. With that, she moans again and there's a little grunt from deep within her. Her fist twists around you and she gets bolder with her touch.

You build it into some sort of rhythm and she moves, each time, reacting so well with your own thrusts. When she's relaxed enough for it, you introduce another finger.

"I— You can— Go a little bit faster," she pleas. Stretched wider, Dani starts to grow even more restless. This time, instead of small, languid strokes, your whole hand works, fingers rubbing and swirling, thumb finding her clit to massage it with purpose, building, always building, until she is shuddering under you, every single time, tensing and twitching with every change in direction.

"Come on—more," she pleads, bucking up against your hand, so slick with arousal.

She's barely jerking your cock, not even intentionally, just the jolts through her body causing the occasional twist of her grip or slide of her palm. You let it just rest in the loose curl of her grip and focus on doing what she commands, twisting your hand, gripping and stroking, tugging in circles and holding inside. The quivering gets worse and worse. And her breath grows heavier.

You keep working her relentlessly, as she squeals a drawn-out curse. Dani nearly loses control. She grips you hard, tightens her fist around you in spasm, a pained wince on her face, as she curls her toes so hard.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop." It's the only thing she says, no jokes, no banter, as her eyes roll back, mouth agape as if the wind's been knocked from her, and a final, body-length spasm overtakes her. Her whole body. Back arched off the table, eyes pinched shut. It lasts for the longest time, almost impossible to sustain, you watch with an odd mix of terror and wonder. Her hair is a mess. Her naked, stretched-out limbs, glisten in the warm light.

It takes her a good half minute to fall back down, her lungs now sucking in the air as if there were none at all. One leg quivers. Her breaths slow, her eyes open again and you're holding her stare, her cheeks a faint scarlet, strands of hair plastered across her forehead.

More oil. More rubbing. From tension to relaxation again. Slowly she softens and you turn her whole body limp beneath your hands. All while you barely manage to hold yourself back from ravishing her. She keeps her eyes fixed upon you, so you force a smile, ignoring the ache clenched in her fist. You could kiss those lips, right now. Taste them. How soft and smooth would she feel pressed against you? What noises would come out of her?

You'd be forgiven for letting your imagination run wild with desire, but not forgiven for taking this service in any direction that Danielle didn't command.

She watches your thoughts as they float by, and seems to be considering the same. Then she smirks, and just with a look, reassures you that it's going to happen, and it's going to happen just exactly the way she wants it.

You're working your slick hands over her midriff, and have been for a minute or two, waiting for instruction. You work slightly up her body, perilously close to taking some initiative, but then she speaks, "That was... unexpected."

"Was it? Seemed to be your plan all along."

"Planned to tease. Planned to be touched. But did not expect it to be that good." She shakes her head softly, her cheek touching her shoulder as she stares with a fuzzy, dreamy look that is impossible to decipher. She has a cute, beautiful way of pouting her lips that's fascinating, you're struck still, hypnotised by the sight and the motion. "A few more would be perfect."

"You have me booked for another hour, and the client gets what the client wants."

Dani laughs. A light, melodious chime. "I know what I want," she tells you, gently rocking her palm over your cock. "I'm incredibly hard to fully satisfy, you better get to work."

Dani releases you from her grasp, and turns back over to her front, stretching out once more and looking back at you over her shoulder, holding a stare as she parts her legs. This stare could kill a man if his heart were too weak, and though your heartbeat quickens, your mind focuses on your purpose.

Your hands glide over her oil-coated thighs, wet and glistening. Dani rests her head back down and you are unable to stop your gaze from wandering along her spine, the gentle dimple above her ass, the two tight round cheeks below and the line bisecting between them. Up over her ass, you caress, then you slip and stroke in the valley, this, she clearly enjoys, judging from how her butt rises to greet your touch, her hips rolling once more.

Lower now. Lower and lower, until once again, your finger meets her lower lips and she hisses an inwards breath and tenses. Her body is so reactive to every touch. It makes this so easy, so rewarding, so deeply arousing. You are confident you can build her up, high, and crash her down in waves, for hours, until the sun breaks.

Two fingers again, to begin, that same twist and swirl to coax her towards delirium. Her quiet huffs and suppressed moans fill the air. With a heavy push, you dive in deeper, to watch as her whole body, muscle by muscle, starts to become lost in the sensation. And when you curl your fingers down and grind the heel of your hand over her clit, Dani absolutely loses it. She bites the sheets, body tight, hands trying to grab the far edge of the bed to give something to hold onto.

Her feet kick uselessly and a series of incomprehensible phrases fill her breath and break apart on the way out of her. Though you don't quite understand them, you grasp the meaning. This is what she wants you to do right now, to see how high you can bring her.

Her whole body starts trembling again. Tingling, quivering, shivering. It's one constant shake and her moans are louder, and longer. She struggles to breathe out a scream. Sweat begins to mix in the oil, and she lets out another unintelligible mess of words as you pull away. Dani collapses back into a quivering heap, gasping for air and stretching her hands out as if reaching out to the void, reaching out, grasping for something in the dark.

She lies there, spent, breathing deep. Her entire body is hot and burning as her muscles relax. Each breath is a moan, and her thighs clamp tightly together as if the feeling of nothing after being so worked up is torturous to endure.

Your fingers are soaked in her creamy fluids, it drips down onto the bed below. Yet somehow, this isn't over. No. There's a single goal, right in the back of your mind, that's never stopped clawing. If only you could taste her. Sink your face between her firm ass cheeks and tease her with your tongue and suck and devour her, the entirety of her.

Maybe you could ask. Or maybe you could just start kissing her lower back, your nose rubbing against her tailbone, working to the left, towards her hip and tease, trailing your lips ever lower to a spot just over the peak of her butt, until she wants your tongue to dive right in.

The thought is interrupted by her blessing, "Again. Another. However you want," her words stumble upon each other, a raspy, spent quality to her. "Whatever you want."

You kneel at the very end of the bed, lean over and take her hips and you lift them up with an abrupt strength that earns her immediate interest, judging by her sudden gasp. You put her on her knees, ass in the air. Beneath it, her lips shine and spread. You're going to drown in her. You lean over, planting kisses along her body until they land right where your fingers had been, right along her soaked pussy.

The taste is so sweet. Dani whimpers as her body twitches. Your lips part her, and your tongue stretches and laps her up with an unshakeable excitement. Dani tastes amazing, like every inch of her, hot and rich and so unbelievably delicate. She is desire—concentrated and distilled into the female form. Your mouth descends, kissing every tiny spot you can reach, your lips closing, sucking the sticky warmth into your mouth. You might spend the rest of eternity here, savouring her juices.

Each rough lick gives Dani a small burst of pleasure. This is perhaps not the most elegant approach, but you wouldn't dream of stopping and so you continue, over and over, eager to return Dani to her previous, tranced bliss. So wet and sweet and smooth as velvet, your tongue flattens over her clit.

Dani cums twice like this. Ass in the air, your face in her cunt, two more delicious releases and you lap up both. They come accompanied by Dani's musical screams and moans and swearing and mumbles and complete incoherence. Every part of her body tenses. Every movement becomes forced, with less control, until every part of her, quivering and shaking, is taken by a rapture. Her throat chokes off her moans and breathy whimpers, and then she becomes lost for a time, struggling to remember to breathe, caught up in the overwhelming, and unstoppable waves.

"Enough, enough," Dani chokes out, and so you stand back, watching as she twists back into a flat position on her back again, her hips shaking with the effort. She trembles for a while longer before lying perfectly still on the table. As you gaze at her, she still appears ethereal, unattainable. She gazes up at you with lidded eyes and the drowsy content smile that rests upon her lips—she is a goddess. Even after all those body-racking orgasms, she settles into that same elegant grace that makes you question what makes her mortal.

Dani raises a hand and curls a beckoning finger, "Come here."

And you come to her, to her smile that draws you in, a moth to a flame and the moth will burn, not the flame, it will never tire, it will consume anything. She takes you in her hand, hard and throbbing under her delicate touch, and yet so helpless against it. With a pull, Dani draws you in—to consume.

She parts those pretty, pink, curled lips and then looks up into your eyes and sighs as her warm breath runs across your length. Danielle curls her tongue to the underside of your head and engulfs it. She doesn't raise her head from where it rests, instead making you clamber up to her, so you put a knee on the wooden frame and a hand next to her shoulder. The heat grows, and Dani is swirling her tongue over your tip, making you twitch and throb in her grasp, a slave to her touch.

You're pushing forward, leaning over her, as her mouth opens wide and lets you in, then, all at once, tightens. Her tongue and lips stretch around your thickness and then enclose you, sealing tight. She makes a point of looking you in the eye, holding your stare, a curl at the corner of her mouth that only further sets a tremble to your loins. She pulls, slow, agonising and without hurry, her mouth holds tight and sucks back.

You pull out of her, an inch, and she stays clamped tight and as she draws away, she uses the time to slowly slide her tongue along and around your crown and against the sensitive underside. Once Danielle has pulled right off with a wet smack, the warmth of her breath covers your cock once more. She flicks her tongue against your tip, first as a long, sweeping, lingering brush, then a rapid flick that teases.

"Dani, fuck," you groan.

"That's the idea," she whispers, right against you, her warm, panting breath driving you crazy, her own burning desire barely contained. "Get down there and do me. Right now."

Then, in one fluid movement, her hands find her legs. She grips behind her knees and pulls her thighs up and back. She spreads her legs wide, with her feet in the air.

"Fuck me. I mean it," she states firmly, fixing you with that stern gaze. Her words send a flaming arrow directly to light the most basic of your instincts.

She has presented everything to you and wants to give even more. You can think of nothing else but ploughing her into the table until your vision fades to white. It takes only seconds and you find yourself over her, between those slim legs. You put a hand on each thigh and spread her.

Cock bearing down on her leaking cunt, you lower your body until she has all of your weight on top of her. Her hips squirm under your pressure, and she drags your arm tighter around herself until she finds exactly what she's been looking for. A rub between her folds as your length slips against her, up and down.

"Mmm, yes," she giggles, "put it in, all of it."

In an almost unconscious action, you place the head of your cock against her opening. Her wetness provides no friction, and Dani uses her nails to scratch your back impatiently. Slowly you flex forward. Every inch. So warm, so fucking hot. Tighter than anything.

"Oh, yes," is all Dani has to say as her breath cuts short. You feel the intense squeeze, you have no doubt this is a step beyond the pleasure your fingers gave her, and her entire body tightens, and she pulls you in, deep and full. Her eyes grow wide and her fingers dig into you as you draw back and drive in once more.

Another moan, her pitch gets deeper, this one drawn out from her very core. You hear it right in her chest, from the depth of her lungs, before it squeals free, right into your ear. "Worth every penny." Her words are thick and drawled, hard to make out, she can't seem to decide whether she wants to open her mouth or close it and keep it shut.

She wraps her arms tight around your neck and pulls you in deeper, you push her legs higher, folding her body up and it only makes things tighter, a thrill she clearly relishes.

You roll forward, holding her close to you, giving you a better purchase with her feet held up so high. Dani groans as you bite and suck at the soft skin along her neck. Your thrusts are still slow, so damnably slow. You push, and fill, and wait. Over and over, it's a cruel torment to both of you.

"Ah, come on. Give it to me, hard," Dani says, raking nails on your neck. She turns her head. Finds your mouth. Seals her lips against yours. Teeth nibble and then her tongue penetrates your mouth. Her hips start to rise and drop. Her sex grabs at you, pleading to pound her.

So you let go of your iron self-restraint and fuck her. Fuck her good.

Your tempo grows more powerful. Her walls squeeze and pull and writhe with a desperate need. It's tight, so, so tight, the way she envelops you, the slick warmth around you. Each stroke sends a shudder through her. Another ripple follows and with it, her high, pitchy wails. Dani's never been so loud, so demanding that her pleasure be delivered.

Number five is close, you can feel her body going rigid, the quivering, twitching, curling of her toes, the growing tension, you go faster, a force building within, trying to rush her to the inevitable. Dani screams, moaning incoherently, her eyes screw tight as you throw yourself into her with such ferocity, like an animal, with no regard for pace, or rhythm. Pure, unrelenting pleasure.

She grips so hard on your shoulder, and then her other hand goes back, over her head, gripping the edge of the table in white-knuckled desperation. "I'm... cumming," Dani spits through a clenched jaw, unable to even form her tongue around the word.

Her orgasm feels more powerful this time, so much more; it flows through her and you can't help but stare. Watching the way the pink blossom blooms on her face and how the rest of her pales. One orgasm into another, you think, it's difficult to discern. You're in no rush. No race. Instead, you delight in the absolute loss of control you see in Danielle's face and you feed off it.

Her mouth forms a soundless scream and she reaches up and sinks her nails into your chest and drags them across, not breaking the skin, but hard enough to leave marks. It feels amazing. All the more so watching Danielle break herself, willingly.

"Holy shit..." Danielle pants then sucks air into her empty lungs.

Her little, flexible body, pinned beneath yours, seems incapable of even the tiniest motion, save the trembles.

Through gritted teeth, she says, "I want— I want a facial. My face. Cum."

This is the single sexiest thing she could have possibly said at that moment. For all the time you've spent watching that pretty doll-like face contort in a hundred different ways, you want nothing more than to see it coated with your lust. To paint every last bit of that sweetness on her lips, on her cheeks—everywhere. To witness that brief moment, after climax where she is confused and awash with bliss and trying to remember how to breathe, and it's interrupted by a load of your cum. You want it.

You round the table, standing over her head, lowering down and watching her eyes spark with anticipation. Danielle knows how bad you want it, how close it is, and you watch, enraptured by the way she tilts her head up and licks her lips. Her little, eager tongue.

Dani wraps her fingers around you and strokes and pumps fast, pulling, urging you to completion, teasing you to spill over her, onto those pretty, dainty features. Your skin feels alive, like static and pinpricks and pure lightning, like your nerves have come to the surface. Pent-up energy coils low, threatening to snap. You cannot resist her anymore.

It all unfurls in a glorious, explosive instant. Blinding. A shiver climbs up your spine, spreading to every limb in one long spasm. A long, raw growl in your throat as you shoot thick and hard, some on her face, and some overshooting onto her chest. Dani gasps a cute little "Oh" and then starts to giggle as the second rope lands right over her perfect little features. And then another, this time across the bridge of her nose and her cheek and down her lips. Her tongue collects whatever it can.

Dani's small hand keeps a hard grip and keeps coaxing, even as you feel like you have nothing to give, with it all painting her face, still, she jerks up and down, until you are empty, trembling and drained. Still, she goes, forcing you through painful shivers, laughing the whole time until the pain becomes too much, and your hands take hers and pull.

You prop yourself against the table, looking down at the mess you made. Dani's happily laughing to herself, licking up what she can. "You'll need to clean me again now, won't you? Sponge away all your dirty filth," she giggles.

Her giggle is intoxicating. Loving. It warms you right through. You wish you could bottle up her laughter.

"Need a minute," you grunt, and there's so much pride on her cum-strewn face.

"Aw, need time for recovery?" Dani quips. "I'll just lay here, all messy and defiled. Waiting to be tended to. Enjoy the sight of me, of your filthy cum all over my sweet, innocent face, until you get the strength to lift me. Really, don't rush, I love this feeling."

[sceletaflores]

woo, my baby's got me all mixed up!

feat: logan howlett & wade wilson

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, swearing, a bastard doomed polycule, more of 'why have just one bf when you can two bf's and why have just two bf's when you can have two bf's that are also each other’s bf's???', p in v, double penetration, one (1) single use of daddy, creampie(s), fingering...kind of (fem!receiving), oral sex, face sitting, face fucking, straight up nasty porn w/ zero plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this is a shorter one-shot but i can't not format it like a full fic i have to or i'll get hives. this is also just pure freak nasty gross actually probably the filthiest thing i've ever written that i thought up off too much nyquil pm last night. kisses!

wade gets to whiskin’ (and logan's there too)…

"You're killing me babe," Wade groans lowly, cheek pressed to the slick skin of your inner thigh. "If my balls didn't feel like they just got the shit beat out of them in a back alley I'd be as hard as David Hasselhoff watching David Hasselhoff movies."

His hand is at work between your thighs, thick index finger slipped into your sensitive, puffy pussy.

It should gross you out that he loves doing this so much. It should make your stomach twist with all the unpleasant feelings a normal person might get.

It should, but it doesn't.

The familiar stretch is lost from taking Logan and Wade at the same time, a rare thing in your sex life because of how big they both are. But you were in a mood tonight.

Your pussy still clenches around him, trying in vain to tighten up, not used to feeling so empty.

The subtle pressure of Wade’s finger toes the line between pleasure and the sharp burn of 'almost too much' as it swirls along the sensitive walls of your pussy.

The first time he did it you were too fucked out of your mind to do anything other than ask what the hell he was doing.

"Gotta mix it up babe," was his reply, as easy as anything. "Don't want the baby batter to curdle, if you know what I mean."

Your heart stopped, flames lapping their way up your body as Wade scooped the thin line of come trickling from your abused hole to fuck it back in, back where it belonged.

It was so filthy, so depraved that it made you go liquid between your legs.

Your eyes almost immediately slid over to Logan, ready to see him shaking his head in irritation like he usually did whenever Wade ran his mouth in bed. You found nothing, no deep grimace or raised brow in sight.

There was an unmistakable heat in his gaze that matched your own, the inky black of his pupils blown so wide you could hardly see the hazel of his irises.

The casual raise of his right shoulder when he met your eye was undermined by the way his cock started to harden where it laid against his thigh, effectively tattling on him.

It told you all you needed to know about how he really felt watching Wade between your spread legs. That alone was enough to get you ready to go all over again.

It sort of became a thing after that.

"I'm not even doing anything..." you mumble breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't have to baby," Logan purrs from behind you, lips pressed to the top of your head. His hand skimming down the side of your body is enough to make goosebumps pebble along your skin, "Look perfect just like this."

It's been hours now, but they're still going. You're convinced that the two of them are the world's biggest horndogs, just once is never enough.

You lost track of tonight's rounds sometime after number five, not counting mouth and hand stuff of course. And it's starting to catch up to you, you’re tired, spent.

Wade curls his finger just right, brushing against the spot inside you that has a broken whine passing through your grit teeth. Your thighs start to tremble as a smug grin spreads across his face.

"Yeah, there it is," he teases, his voice low. He keeps the tip of his finger snug against that spot, rubbing firm circles over the sensitive nerves. "That's that spot ain't it, gorgeous."

"Wade," you mewl, hands fisting the sheets as you fight to keep still. You're worried too much squirming will make their come start dripping out around Wade's wrist, and you can't have that.

There’s a sudden silence to your right, the heaviness of it pulling at your attention. You shift slightly, catching the faintest rustle of movement from Logan.

His breath is warm against the crown of your skill, his strong chest still plastered to your back—but he's too quiet, too still. You tilt your head just enough to peek at him out of the corner of your eye, and the sight alone is almost enough to make you come on the spot.

Logan is leaning against the headboard lazily, arm that isn't circled around your waist snaking down his own with the hard length of his cock in his hand.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him, red and leaking pre-come all over his knuckles each time he twists his fist over the thick head. Your hips grind down unconsciously, a needy moan falling from your parted lips. The wet sound of it has your cheeks burning, eyes fixed on the way his heavy balls bounce with each rough tug, still so full.

"Fuck, that's it," Wade murmurs, slipping a second finger inside you while he presses a shit-eating grin to the soft skin of your lower stomach. "You like it when daddy jerks off while I'm knuckle deep in you?"

"Watch it," Logan mutters warningly, tone gone low and dark as spilled ink. His hand doesn't slow, the loose grip of his fist slipping up and down his dripping cock in time with the slick squelch of your pussy.

Your hips buck up against Wade’s hand, a loud whine tearing from your chest at the dirtiness of this whole thing. The familiar heat starts to stir in your belly, your pussy drooling more mess over his wrist the longer he plays with you.

Wade barely muffles his chuckle against your hip, dropping a quick kiss there before pulling his soaked fingers from your velvety warmth. You whine at the loss, but he doesn’t pay it any mind.

You’ll both get what you want soon enough.

"Alright, we should all know the drill by now people," he announces to you and Logan with a loud clap, pulling away from between your thighs to roll flat onto his back.

“Time to hop on the saddle, John Wayne,” he finishes, giving your ass a loving tap.

Logan snorts into your hair, dropping his cock to grab your hips and gently manhandle you until you’re situated directly over Wade’s face while Logan kneels in front of you. The jut of his cock bobbing inches away from your mouth.

Wade’s greedy fingers pry your swollen lips apart to watch the way his and Logan’s come starts to seep out from you, falling to drip onto his bare chest. He blows over the wet length of you, the cool air from his mouth has your hips twitching down in search of any friction you can get.

“Not so fast,” he scolds lightly, grinding his knuckle against the wet seam of you. Your nails dig crescent moons into his scarred shoulders, threatening to break the skin.

“You’ve gotta savor this moment, hot stuff,” he says slowly, leaning up to press a kiss directly over your throbbing clit. “You got the best seat in the house, don’t take it for granted–”

"Enough," Logan grunts, heavy hands falling on your shoulders to push you down on Wade's face, fully closing the gap. "Quit runnin' your damn mouth and make our girl feel good, red."

Wade's hands tighten their hold on your thighs, his hips bucking up off the mattress like he can't help it. His surprised moan rumbles against your clit, loud and shameless.

You cry out at the first drag of his tongue over your aching pussy, hot and wet as it slides through your dripping slit. You pitch forward, too caught up in pleasure to think clearly as you take Logan’s cock into your mouth. You take him all the way down to the root in one swift move, burying your nose in the dark hair surrounding the base. 

"Fuck," Logan bites out, eyes twisting shut as he feels your warm throat enveloping him. He takes your hair in his fist gently, just holding it as you swallow around him. 

Your hands move to rest on his thick thighs, nails scratching over the hair scattered along his skin. His breath shutters in his chest, his hips rolling forward ever so slightly, chasing the tight heat of your mouth.

The mix of your tongue tracing along the sensitive vein on the underside of his cock and the low, wet sounds of Wade devouring you has him pulsing in your mouth.

Your thighs shake on either side of Wade's head, the steady grip of his hands the only thing that keeps you from collapsing into a boneless heap on the mattress.

Your hips twitch the tiniest bit, rocking forward enough to grind your clit over the slope of his nose. He groans under you, squeezing the meat of your thighs in encouragement as he swirls his tongue through the mess dripping from your hole.

“That’s a good girl,” Logan praises gruffly, his hips speeding up. “Shut him up, baby. Make him fuckin’ eat it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, dragging your pussy along Wade’s mouth faster. You moan desperately around your mouthful, brain going hazy around the edges.

The frantic pace you set only makes their come leak from you faster, dripping down Wade’s face faster than he can keep up, and there's just so much.

A steady, thick stream of it that feels almost never ending thanks to Logan coming like he busted a pipe and absolutely flooding your insides every single time.

Wade doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest though, swirling his tongue along you with a new sense of urgency. His hands grip your hips tighter, his blunt nails digging into your skin deliciously as he slurps and sucks with unbridled enthusiasm, chasing every drop of come.

He’s sloppy with it, come sliding down his cheeks and chin in thin rivers of white.

Logan’s rough breath hitches above you, his fingers tightening in your hair as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks just the way he likes. His growl sends a thrill down your spine.

"C'mon, Wilson," Logan grunts, his hips speeding up. When you peer up at him, you can see the goading smile that just barely tugs the corner of his mouth up.

“Spitters are quitters, you know that."

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[poisonlove]

Absolutely ignore/get rid of this is you don't wanna do it buttt

Can I request a Wednesday x Fem!reader where Wednesday has a general disregard for everyone and their feelings EXCEPT for her little situationship (reader) and it's just little instances where she's softer with her?

YOU | w.a

pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

A/N : I tried to satisfy your request as much as possible but Wednesday and reader don't have a situationship, they will develop... something ;)

"The most precious things in life are usually the most helpless." Penn Badgley

Wednesday Addams walked along the corridors of Nevermore Academy with a brisk yet graceful step, the sound of her shoes against the cold marble determining her hurry to get to the library. The other students stepped aside as she passed, probably intimidated by her dark and menacing gaze that seemed carved into her features.

"Addams, one word"

Wednesday reluctantly stops, turning slightly and raising an eyebrow. Yoko Tanaka strides toward her, sunglasses perched on her head revealing a pleading look. Wednesday had no intention of wasting her time with her roommate’s best friend, but seeing the vampire in such a state of despair piqued her curiosity.

"What do you want Yoko?" Wednesday asked, her tone of voice deliberately rude. But the brunette didn't care at all.

"I need your help," Yoko began, trying to keep calm, but her voice betrayed a certain frustration. "Could you help me with Thornill's homework? I can't find the damn Moon Flower anywhere."

Wednesday could hardly believe her ears: how dare she interrupt her plans for something so stupid? With her classic impassive gaze, the brunette stared at Yoko in a prolonged silence that made her feel more and more uncomfortable.

"I don't care," Wednesday finally replied with venom and disinterest, surprising the vampire. "If you can't do such a stupid task, maybe you deserve to fail," the brunette added in a cutting tone.

"but it doesn't cost you anything!" Yoko exclaimed in despair.

Wednesday's behavior annoyed her deeply, but Yoko had hoped that following Enid's advice to be kind and tolerant would at least provide some relief. Apparently she was wrong.

"I said no, Yoko," Wednesday replied, her tone even more icy. Her gaze was steady and impenetrable, and her patience, already thin, was completely exhausted.

Yoko sighed deeply, realizing that pushing further would get her nowhere. She put her sunglasses back on in a quick, controlled motion, hiding her annoyance behind a forced smile. Her grin revealed her pointed canines, a gesture that might have seemed threatening in other circumstances, but here it only served to hide her irritation.

"ok, Addams"

with one last look, Yoko walked away, keeping that forced smile until she turned the corner. Wednesday didn't follow her with her gaze, already tired of that brief and, in her eyes, pointless interaction.

As she set off again, determined to finally reach the library, she was interrupted again. This time it was her two friends Ajax and Xavier who stopped her. The two approached quickly with an air of urgency that seemed to want to drag her into some other stupid discussion.

"Wednesday, can we talk to you for a moment?" Xavier asked hesitantly.

the brunette stopped again, clearly irritated now. her gaze narrowed to a slit of annoyance as she waited for them to speak.

"I have a problem with my new work... and I think you can help me," Xavier said, trying to be persuasive.

Wednesday looked at both of them coldly, her patience crumbling with every passing second. All of Nevermore ignored her and labeled her as the school freak, psychopathic and creepy... and now, by some strange twist of fate, everyone needed her today? She simply wanted to go to the library to further her research on poisons and their uses , see you , continue writing her story, or go to the cemetery later.

“I don't care,” she replied coldly, hoping Xavier would understand that she felt some urgency in leaving.

"Addams," Ajax intervenes, "I wanted to ask you for advice... you know that I'm interested in Enid and since you're her roommate..." the gorgon continues, purposely leaving the sentence hanging.

Wednesday stared at them in silence for a few moments, her impassive gaze betraying her impatience. "I don't care in the slightest about your problems and if you don't get out of my way immediately, I won't hesitate to make you regret this conversation" the brunette threatens in a low and cold tone.

Ajax and Xavier look at each other in confusion and fear, pondering Addams's words. They both knew Wedsnesday's reputation and the very real danger of being killed by the shorter girl terrified them.

they decided to step aside.

Wednesday continued on her way, completely ignoring them, while the two boys exchanged glances of resignation. The massive wooden doors finally loomed in the distance and the swarm of students' voices faded as she entered the less frequented part of Nevermore.

"WED!" an all-too-familiar voice shouts enthusiastically.

For the third time that day, Wednesday had to stop. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to suppress the killer instinct that threatened to surface and put an end to her blonde roommate's irritating exuberance. She was seriously starting to believe that it was a curse cast by her mother, some sort of psychological torture designed to test her patience. Unfortunately, it was far from her favorite torture, and she focused on something she knew would calm her down: you.

"Wednesday," Enid exclaimed, catching up with her with a beaming smile, "I was just looking for you... The Poe Cup is coming up again and we have to defend the title! You'll be there, right? We can't do it without you!"

Wednesday stared at the blonde, impassive. Entering the Poe Cup again was the last thing she wanted to do, but she knew Enid wouldn't give up so easily.

"I'll think about it," she replied, keeping her tone detached. She didn't want to seem too involved, but she didn't want to completely dampen Enid's enthusiasm either.

"Awesome!" Enid clapped her hands, thrilled by the response. Then she walked away, skipping happily down the hallway.

Wednesday watched her go, mentally wondering how Enid managed to maintain all that vitality. With a barely audible sigh, she finally resumed her walk towards the library. The brunette lifts the corners of her lips as she enters her haven of peace, looking at the shelves covered in books and dust.

the sound of footsteps echoes throughout the library, her figure getting lost among the endless avenues of shelves and books of Nevermore. Her diligently runs her fingers through the tomes, grazing their rough and fragile covers, the wisdom that hides within them. The few students who were there were busy reading or studying among the various desks scattered around that place, the silence broken only by the sound of the pages being turned.

but it is among those shelves that she finally sees: you

she knew basically the essential things about you: your name is Y/N; you are a year older than her, you are Italian, you love blue and your power is to control fire. You were very good friends with Yoko, for some strange reason, and you were a person who despite the aura of mystery and darkness that surrounded you, smiled and was kind to everyone.

she noticed you a few days ago and still hasn't figured out who you are. Were you really that nice? what's really bothering you Y/N?

Wednesday watched you intently, savoring your every move. She noticed the way you brushed your hair back from your face, the smile that lit up your face when you read something that excited you, and even the grimaces you made in response to bizarre or banal passages you encountered.

Some might call it stalking, but she's really just trying to understand you better.

her black eyes never left your figure: you were tall, you had a sharp jaw that accentuated your strong face and you had full lips that were somehow always ready to whisper something provocative or sarcastic. at that moment you had chosen to gather your hair in a messy bun, a practical choice but one that added a touch of carefree elegance to your appearance.

you were struggling with a pile of books that seemed to have a life of its own. Some had already fallen, scattering across the floor. You quickly bent down to pick them up, but each attempt only seemed to make things worse.

Were you disorganized or did your hunger for books make you so careless?

Wednesday realized it was the perfect time to come out of hiding. She approached you cautiously, then crouched down and picked up a couple of books. Her cold fingers landed on Wicked Plants: The Weed That Killed Lincoln's Mother and Other Botanical Atrocities by Amy Stewart, and a thin smile threatened to appear on her lips. She was almost certain that she was the only one, aside from maybe Thornill, who had read that book in the entire school. Finding out that you shared the same literary tastes hit her in a surprisingly pleasant way.

“Here.” Wednesday’s voice was almost a whisper, as if she were intimidated by the idea of an interaction.

your eyes lift from the floor to meet hers.

Wednesday held her breath. They were the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. You looked at her with curiosity, maybe surprise, but there was something in your eyes that made her feel strangely vulnerable.

“Thank you,” you croak embarrassedly, your cheeks pink knowing someone had witnessed your disaster.

“Maybe you should stop devouring more books than you can handle,” Wednesday said venomously. Her words were a wall behind which she hid the slight agitation she was trying to ignore.

you smile. Shouldn't you be annoyed by my answer?

"What's your name?" she asks curiously

Wednesday stared at you for a moment, cold as ever. “Wednesday,” she replied dryly, not giving anything away. But when you smiled again, the brunette felt a shiver run through her mind, one she tried desperately to ignore.

“Happy reading,” Wednesday adds quickly, turning around as she notices the slight look of confusion crossing your face. It was clear that you wanted to continue the conversation, maybe tell her your name, but Wednesday couldn’t stand there beside you without feeling her body boil.

she needed to leave the library and distract her mind

would have continued after the search, with the necessary calm

but there was an unexpected relief in knowing that she now knew her name

just like she knew yours.

A/N: yes I know, very inspired by the YOU series

[evis-gossip]

Thinking hard about retired!Simon and retired!Riley. A cute little fluffy thing about Simon and his K9 unit dog. Cuz he named the dog after himself and I personally find that a little odd, that at the same time, the dog would somehow be an exact replica of him but as a German Shepard.

Also thinking about how worried Simon would be about you and the dog getting along. His lil birdie he so in love with he's already planing your future together has to love Riley as much as he does. And maybe you've mentioned in passing that you don't enjoy dogs that much, but he holds on to faith. Simon knows how lovely Riley can be he just hopes he likes you as well remember how he has de same personality .

And then you meet Riley. It's the first time he has you over to his place. The flat is pretty empty, barely any furniture and absolutely no decoration, but it doesn't even cross his mind that you might find that odd, he just wants you to like Riley you can redecorate as much as you want once you move in. The dog barks when Simon comes in, and would usually go back to his nap, an old doggo yes he is, he gets up and goes to inspect this new guest. His tail starts wagging happily when you crouch down and coo over him, licking your face and practically jumping on you when you scratch behind his ears.

Simon almost frowns. He hadn't considered the possibility that you would start paying more attention to the dog than him, kissing his head repeatedly and sitting on the floor to cuddle him cuz Simon doesn't let Riley on the sofa. He was supposed to get cuddles from you but no, his dog gets all the attention. And then you start to spoil Riley rotten. Buying him all kinds of expensive treats, new toys and enrichment activities. Never would have Simon tried to put Riley on pastel pink sweater, but you do and Riley lets you. And Simon is almost jealous. Every time you coo at Riley that he's such good boy, yes he is, while rubbing his belly, he just crosses his arms, thinking "I'm a good boy too, I want belly rubs too"

Masterlist

[mooncleaver]

Love Is The Reason

ღ pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, familial fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

ღ warnings: MAJOR JJK268 SPOILERS. pls don't read if you don't wanna know!! slightly cannon divergent

What the hell.

His ears didn't stop ringing as he brought his body up from its position on the surprisingly soft surface, feeling every ache known to man throbbing all over. Megumi felt the cosmic numbness ebbing away like a flash, and suddenly, he could discern the warm cotton wrapped around his upper body along with the linen sheets that lay beneath him. The three—out of many—scars on his face pulled his skin tautly, so close to his eyes where that devil's face wore his for however long this limbo period was. It hurt to open his eyes. Well, it hurt to do anything, but he's thankful that he can see the world through his own view.

Megumi's ears perk up to the sound of poorly attempted hushed arguments. The sound was so familiar that for once in his life, he was relieved to hear it. To feel that irritation ticking in his chest, the mindless crease that's fully starting to make itself known on his forehead and that growing scowl—he could truly cry at the return of bodily autonomy.

Nobara was trying to fit herself inside a present-shaped cardboard box while Yuji stood next to the thing, pushing down the lid on top of her head, which ruffled the strands like crazy. Of course, the girl would not stand for this butchering of her beauty. She spent a lot of time trying to look presentable. Not that this pink-haired fool would understand.

Megumi is hit with a deep sense of dejavu as he sits up against the headboard, looking back at the memory of Gojo doing the same exact surprise tactic to announce that Yuji was, in fact, not dead after his literal heart got ripped out of his chest. The boy can feel a smile forming on his lips, and he makes no move to try and stop it.

"What are you two doing?"

He sees Yuji and Nobara freeze in their spots, both eyes widening comically. A second passes before the two let go of whatever it was they were contending about, rushing forward to stick their faces into Megumi's. The former vessel looks—well, he looks like he's had better days. He's thankfully clean of all the blood oozing out of his skin when he fought Sukuna for the last time, his usual uniform with the red hoodie looking incredibly pristine, absent of any rips or blood. Still, some are sticking onto his face, notably a darker shade cutting down across his eyebrows as the dried blood clings onto his wounds. Nobara looks happier. God, he thought she died. He was ready to mourn her with all the losses he'd suffered, but for once, Megumi was glad to hear her voice. He welcomes it. She's wearing a black eyepatch on top of the eye that she lost fighting Mahito, and her uniform is equally as clean as Yuji's—Megumi can tell that she's relieved by that fact.

Finally, they're back together again. The trio of first years with lost dreams who've gone through horrible, terrible things now have found hope again—hope that never died within each other.

"Fushiguro!!" The two yell in unison, going in to hug him despite knowing he didn't usually like that kind of thing. But to their honest surprise, Megumi returned the gesture, fully and truly, closing his eyes and letting out a breath. Yuuji and Nobara didn't hesitate to tighten their arms around the spiky-haired boy, be damned the near-death exhaustion clinging to their bones. They may be battered and bruised, but they survived.

After a quiet moment, the momentum was back again as Nobara looked at the two boys with a disgruntled expression, her exaggerated self on display at the lack of reaction to her return. "You know, the class's Madonna, who everyone thought was dead, by the way, turned out to be alive?! You two should be either wetting yourself or crying with joy!"

Megumi didn't even bat an eye, unlike Yuji, who was scrambling out of his mind, replying to her in his usual stoic and flat voice. "I see. My bad."

"So, the bastard is dead then." The Fushiguro didn't phrase that like a question, more so stating a fact. The fact that he was here in his own body, alive and breathing, undoubtedly meant that the curse was dead. It was still surreal to utter, knowing that this was the one thing they'd all been fighting for since forever. Maybe now, everyone who was gone didn't die in vain.

Nobara sounded like she was still in disbelief, shaking her head slightly while she grinned and exclaimed, "Ha! Yeah! Itadori beasted that guy like it was a piece of cake!"

"Eh.. well, it was pretty tough, I'm not gonna lie. I cried a little when resonance was hit." Yuji himself could only scratch the back of his neck at the rare praise, his eyes crinkling into thin lines as he admitted his own emotions. It was kind of daunting to be the one who killed Sukuna with the fact that he used to be the curse's vessel. But out of everything, making that final blow was something he didn't once hesitate on. Yuji was going to finish all this madness. It all started with him and ended with him—the way it should be.

Megumi didn't sound too surprised at the boy's admission, only giving him a look in response. "I know. I saw everything happening inside Sukuna."

"Ugh... don't even remind me. Well, at least you two have the shared experience of being a vessel now." No matter how sour the fact was, it was true.

Breaking his thoughts, Yuji suddenly lit up as he shifted through his pants pockets, haphazardly pulling out the crumpled pieces of paper in his hand. "Oh, wait guys. I have something for you two. It's from Gojo-sensei. Gojo-san, too, I think."

The pink-haired boy grew incredibly sullen at the mention of both his teachers. He'd miss calling out to the two Gojo's, mixing the couple up despite your previous urgings to the students of simply calling you by your first name. Of course, your husband would not absolutely have that, sneakily going behind your back and basically forcing his students to call you Gojo, too. If he couldn't get the second years to follow, he'd make his own kids do it. The man would not pass on the chance of hearing people call you by your shared last name.

"A letter.." Megumi looked shocked at the fact. His sensei (and self-proclaimed dad who stepped up) never did this kind of thing—seriously, that is.

Growing up with Gojo and his wife, Megumi knew the white-haired sorcerer never strayed away from being lighthearted and childlike. Despite witnessing the lanky heir change from the bratty 18-year-old who approached him as a child in the streets into the mature, married man he was the last time, it just wasn't in his nature to be doing some sentimental things like this. That was more like something you'd do. From the daily lunch notes, deep-meaning gifts (that he still kept to this day), and the affectionate texts you'd always send, he would wager that you might've been the one to drag your husband to write the letters. But, knowing that Gojo probably had a feeling that he wouldn't make it out of the fight, it's not impossible that this truly came from him.

Nobara chuckled at his tone of voice, silently agreeing with his disbelief. Gojo was definitely not the type to do this.. it unsettled her.

"I feel you.. this is totally not like him. It's slightly gross to even imagine him writing letters.."

Though, after reading, she crushed the piece of paper in her hand, pursing her lips. Yuji noticed this, facing her to ask what it said. With slight hesitation, Nobara revealed that it contained information about her mother's whereabouts. To be honest, she wasn't sure how to feel. Some part of her still longed to feel her love.

"Oh, did you even want to know in the first place?"

She shook her head as she looked down, leaving no room for the topic to be continued. "Not at all."

Suddenly, they heard the very, very rare sound of Megumi's laughter ringing out from the bed. Gojo would've bawled knowing he made his son laugh. It took a moment for them to snap out of the shock, seeing the fresh face of their friend's smile. He looked like a brand new person—content, young and carefree. It was refreshing.

Megumi hasn't felt this happy in a long while. He expected that the message wouldn't be some deep, meaningful thing, but out of everything, it was a joke about how he killed his biological dad. He wasn't sad, surprisingly. Megumi never really knew the man that left him and his sister to fend for themselves, and the memories he had of him weren't great. At least he found some closure. The boy shook his head, reading the familiar and large handwriting of his father figure. You'd think that it'd be messy, but as the former heir of the Gojo clan, Satoru was a trained guy in the art of handwriting. He wouldn't be caught dead with scribbles.

Unfortunately your father isn't around anymore!! Cuz I killed him!! Sowwy!! :P

Short, simple, and kind of foolish.

He bit back a grin. Even in death, the man couldn't take anything seriously.

Beneath it was a softer and more serious note. From you, of course. Megumi did not doubt that you wrote this to make up for your husband's short message, writing a heartfelt one that he could sense even before reading. The two of you must've known that this was not a fight you would come out of. And as much as that hurt him, Megumi was glad that he was in your last thoughts. It meant a lot to know that you and Gojo believed he, Nobara, and Yuji would live through everything.

Firstly, don't take this idiot too seriously. If you're reading this megs, we're probably gone, but hey, you're okay! Live your life fully okay? Don't forget that you're still a kid in the end. We're always looking out for you, sweetheart. ♡

There was a chibi doodle in the bottom and a sweet greeting that said,

— Love you beyond infinity, mom & dad

Megumi could tell that this was Gojo's handwriting. It was meant as a joke (the boy didn't call Satoru dad very often, despite calling you mom. It was kinda cringe.) but he accepted that sincerely. You two were his parents, biological or not. He loves you so much.

And he'd promise that for you. For Satoru, too, to be honest.

To live life fully.

Ever since he knew what living meant, he never intended to live a proper life. The absence of his biological father and the death of his mother left an untreated wound in his heart, altering his mind in a way that left him isolated—a recluse from the world, almost. The only thing that used to keep him going was his sister, Tsumiki. Now she is really gone. But then, everything shifted when he first saw Gojo Satoru.

It was a big change to have people to look up to. To have a mother. Megumi called you mom way before he even considered Satoru as his father figure, and it was one of the most precious things in life. You never took that for granted, always spoiling him and treating him like he came from your own womb. You knew you'd never take the place of his biological mother, but you wanted to be someone the boy could rely on in such a cruel world. It was a bit strange when Satoru first brought up the idea of raising the Fushiguro boy. You were both still 18, barely even adults with so much pressure and responsibilities. But you knew, from the moment you saw this poor boy getting dragged home by your boyfriend, that you'd love him like no other.

You and Satoru gave him and Tsumiki a home. An unlikely one, but a home nonetheless. You gave him a love like no other, an unconditional, wholehearted, and absolute kind of love, even when the two of you were struggling. It was a type that couldn't be described by words and only felt. That, along with the friendship and true family he found within Nobara and Yuji, made him realize that even if he didn't live his life for himself, there were others in the world. Other people, whether that'd be a mother, a father, a sister, or a brother could give everything meaning. A reason to keep going.

At first, he only lived for Tsumiki. To use everything he had to save her. But then he found himself living for you, for Satoru, for Nobara and Yuji. Once more, he would try again. This wasn't a chance he'd take for granted.

Reading the note made Megumi feel a kind of warmth he hadn't felt in a long time. The kind that he last felt when you hugged him tightly and kissed his forehead before everything in Shibuya happened. That was probably the last time he saw you happy and alive. The world was dull when you died. A victim of that son of a bitch curse Mahito. That was a loss like no other, so incredibly painful and numbing.

At least you died in an honorable way.

After that, he didn't know how to function. Tsumiki, Nobara, and now you. The boy felt half of his soul chip away.

Your husband was even worse. Inconsolable. Watching his wife die in front of his eyes before getting sealed the second after. When the man came out of the prison realm, anyone could tell he wasn't the same. There was no chance the old Gojo would ever return. And sure, he was still lighthearted, but Megumi could tell there was a weight in his gait—the heavy burden of the loss of his darling wife dragging down every word that came out of his mouth. He saw the sadness, longing, anger, and pure vengeance in his eyes. It never did go away. Not even when Sukuna butchered the man in half. At least now, the two of you were together in the afterlife. Megumi truly hoped that. He didn't believe much in that kind of stuff, but for his mother and his father, he prayed for a final peace to be granted.

That hope—along with the one amongst the living pushed Megumi to go on. To not just survive but to really live. Even beyond that, there were others too. His cousin, Maki, who was thankfully alive, and even Toge and Panda.

This was love. That unanswered purpose of life. It's to give love and find love in others. Love is why people do crazy things: to sacrifice the world, to sacrifice themselves. That's why he kept living even when his own dad disappeared or why he kept fighting to keep his sister alive. Love is why, despite the grief, Satoru still fought for you, for your memory, and for your efforts. Love is the reason he's alive.

And if anything, Megumi learned that when you have people in your life, you'd do anything to keep them in it. That's what you and Satoru taught him. Waking up in his own body again and greeted by the sight of his best friends—that was one of the biggest blessings he has ever received.

For his family, he would do anything.

i'm fucking crying. like actually. 3 chapters to go until this manga ends and i still can't fathom everything happening bruv

btw, this is what i imagine the letter would look like haha. half cannonical cuz it's the panel translation!! excuse my handwriting um

also sorry this isn't really proofread lol, i really wanted to post!!

dividers @cafekitsune @i-mmaculatus

[see-arcane]

I have been possessed by a stronger than average craving for tinkering with Jonathan Harker's genders (Jonders). Jonathan Harker is undeniably and forever my favorite gothic heroine. But, being that there is so much to chew on regarding his potential fluidity when it comes to gender roles within the story--the classic damsel, the willingly submissive half of the couple, the vengeful berserker, etc--it's got me thinking.

Let's take the metaphor out. What would happen to the Dracula narrative if Jonathan Harker was...

First thing's first--she almost definitely gets shouldered out of the Important Solicitor's position due to reasons of Being Girl. But she still has to get to Transylvania to be menaced by Count Bat Bastard. How?

Hawkins! Johanna is working at the firm as a secretary and personal assistant to a still very paternally mushy old Peter Hawkins. When Dracula's request comes around, he can't give up such a lucrative client over his gout and there's no one he trusts to pass it to. He has to go. And it'd only be right to treat his surrogate daughter to a paid scenic vacation have his aide along on the business trip. Especially when she hunted down Carfax Abbey herself! What a lovely outing they'll have.

...or not.

True to form, Count Dracula is very much not to be trusted around pretty young things of any kind. Considering his canon habits, things aren't about to go any easier for Miss Harker. But at least she has Hawkins watching out for her in-person! It all makes for some very tense talk when discussing anything other than the estate purchase; which Hawkins seems as keen to rush as Dracula is to dawdle over. But at least they'll be out of here soon. What's a couple of awkward nights, right?

One in particular has Johanna nervous as she goes to bed. Hawkins had taken Dracula aside with a hard smile, insisting there was a 'delicate matter' he wished to speak with the Count about. The last time a 'delicate matter' was brought up was when he nearly lobbed a typewriter at one of his ex-solicitor's heads for some distinctly unseemly behavior in her direction. She hopes there isn't a storm brewing under their host's roof. She hopes harder that tomorrow they'll be heading back to the Borgo Pass.

Instead:

Oh.

Oh no.

Between this and one requisite nightmare-week in which the joys of womanhood come and go--let's leave it unspoken whether her set of bloodstained cloths stay in her possession or not--Johanna gets put through the wringer. Per usual. But eventually..!

Yeah. No shock there. Deep calming breaths, Jack. Don't let the wonderful diary concuss you.

Part of being one of two (gasp) G I R L S in the Scooby Gang, Van Helsing and company vote Johanna and Mina out of the dirt hunt. Except. Well. Johanna is still necessary to have on the ground here. She's the only one with the location intel--and a surprise willed gift of inheritance and the firm from poor Hawkins, who the Transylvanian locals all vouch for as being 'slain by wolves,' leaving Johanna free of blame--so she's still running around for the crew.

Even so, odds are high that she initially gets sidelined with Mina. Which isn't overly awful. It is good to be side-by-side in this timeline! No needless sequestering from each other! Johanna is already planning to see Mina back to their new house before they have to sleep another night in an asylum.

And then comes the 3rd of October.

Van Helsing: "Madam Harker, is it not somewhat attention-catching to wear trousers in public? We are meant to be unremarkable while we wait on th--"

Johanna, has already smoked through two cigars, kukri in her lap, playing a game of chicken with God: "Do you think I scaled a mountain in three layers of skirts, Professor? No? Then I will not do the same if the rancid bastard tries to escape out the window."

Van Helsing, aside: "Friend John, can you speak sense to her?"

Jack, melting off the side of the bench: "I think I hauve consumption"

Anyway. She very much does get to the Dracula head chopping. And there will be much rejoicing. BUT all that grimdarkness aside, there are other, more hijinks-flavored opportunities to think of with this particular set up. If only because I genuinely believe that Lucy and Art, having two spare best friends on hand and a general vibe that radiates 'ooooh what if triple wedding???', would come up with the following master plan. Some truly Shakespearean folly kind of shit:

Thankfully, Johanna and Mina nix the idea pretty quick. Case in point:

And, last but not least, my final word on the range of Jonders that exist within my very best gothic heroine friend:

ha ha I do that

[loveemagicpeace]

🍸Saturn in Houses🍸

A lot of people ask me about Saturn in houses so I decided to make a new series about Saturn in houses in general.

☕️Most important thing about Saturn is that Saturn represent time , age ,reward , growth but in some kind of different way than Jupiter. Also represents your way of coping with life,things that you are more serious about and more responsible with. It also represents holidays. The planet is known for its reality and practicality, but also for its tendency to excessive strictness. His expectations may be too high. A strong Saturn in chart can indicate that we want to control everything in our life to the point that we consider ourselves a failure if we fail to reach the goals we have set for ourselves. However, Saturn provides the desire for we develop the areas in which we feel weak and this weakness can therefore become our greatest virtue. Strong Saturn connection between two charts in relationship (especially if saturn is in aspect with the moon or the sun) indicates a serious long-term commitment that can last forever (whether we like it or not). Saturn can also be cruel sometimes because it is the planet of hard reality but it also the planet that help us the most to achieve something much more greater than that.

🫧Saturn in 1st house- in your early age you can have problems with yourself image ,with your appearance ,confidence & energy. It can also be hard for you to express yourself. With Saturn here you can feel weak sometimes. You can feel like you don't have that much power that other people do have or you can feel like you are not good enough. Many people may underestimate you. Many times you can give off a very different energy than it really is (especially when people meet you for the first time). You are a more closed person and you only give energy to those who deserve it.

✨Saturn in 2nd house- maybe it's hard for you to find your value or set boundaries for yourself. You have very strong and serious approach to money you will never buy something that it's like I don't know some random thing. Also a lot of people think that you cannot work with money or things related to money maybe people don't trust you with that but this is all because they don't really know how smart you actually are. Low self-esteem is a characteristic trait of this placement in astrology. Self-confidence doesn’t come easy to you, though.

⭐️Saturn in 3rd house- many people underestimate your thinking, expression, intelligence. U can usually get insecure about the way you speak or the way you say some things. I think the fear in this house is that you are afraid that you will say something wrong. You have to be confident in whatever thing you say and you should say confidently because you are intelligent ,you're smart. You can also be a good writer & speaker. Many people can pass their driving test late, but that's exactly why they drive much better than others. You can get along better with your siblings later in life. You are capable of seeing things in depth.

🎧Saturn in 4th house- you can have a lot of rules in your early years. You grow up with rules at home that you can stick to. Your parents are more strict with you and allow you to do certain things later. I just feel like that parents will buy you a phone later in life or something. People usually come from a family where they weren’t emotionally nourished. But it's not always like that because when it comes to family the Moon is great indicator for how you feel at home and how you vibe at home. So saturn doesn't mean that your family cannot be good. You can also be the person who grows the fastest in the family.

❄️Saturn in 5th house- dating life can be very serious topic for you. You cannot date people with whom you don't feel that you can have committed relationships with. Saturn brings a strong desire for fame, recognition, and success but may result in delays and disappointments in love life and artistic creations. U can also struggle to find love. You can also have very high standards when it comes to love because 5th house represent dating ,represent meeting people and flirting and falling in love so usually people who have Saturn in 5th house are very serious when it comes to that. In some cases, your partners are older than you. Often, your love life significantly improves after the age of thirty. Your best relationships will probably come later in life. As you become more carefree and spontaneous, you become more attractive to others.

🍃Saturn in 6th house- you can have a lot of struggles in the work. You feel that working is just anxiety for you or when you work, people are just rude or mean to you. You are always in the shadow at work. People find you like you are not good enough or you don't do the job good enough. You can also stress a lot about your health and you can also be obsessed with being in the some kind of routine or having some lifestyle. Being healthy all the time.

🐚Saturn in 7th house- there can be issues with your relationships. You can have relationships in your early years or you don’t have for a long time. You usually have many karmic relationships from which you can learn a lot. Saturn helps you to choose the right person for yourself and to be happy in the end. You are a person who is serious when it comes to a relationship (when you find a person, then that person is the one and only for you), you hate cheating, and when you decide to leave then you leave. Saturn can also bring a sense of responsibility and duty to relationships. The individual may take their relationships seriously and work hard to maintain them.

☁️Saturn in 8th house- there can be a lot of family secrets that family kept from you. People with Saturn in this house usually feel very lonely or alone in their soul. They have this mindset that you are all alone in this world. You are aware of the hard truth in life that people don't. You can fear the death of loved ones. If you overcome the challenges of your Saturn in the eighth house, you will be able to understand people very well. You can develop a talent to see into the soul. Saturn here gives you a deep understanding of life, death, crisis, transformation, and sometimes a talent for healing.

⚡️Saturn in 9th house- Saturn gives you a deeper view of the world in which you live. Saturn in ninth house people have very strict moral code. This placement indicated a religious person, someone who either follows the set rules or makes their own views. You meet new people and experience new activities that make you see the world from a new perspective. You can also meet a lot of people that change your perspective and your mindset. But there can also be a deep fear of new views. Maybe you don't feel like you're not smart enough or that you're not educated enough.

🖤Saturn in 10th house- You usually go over many obstacles to finally achieve what you really want. Many people have problems with whether they will ever be successful or achieve it. But in the end, they achieve even more. Many times people don't believe in you and see you as a person who will never be that successful and then you surprise them all. You can learn a lot from your father and your father can be your role model or a person who helps you through life. The best advice will give you your father.

🫐Saturn in 11th house-you can have a lot of karmic friendships and you can change a lot of friends in your life. Every friend that you have is the friend that you have to learn something from them. Your hopes and wishes are another important life area associated with this house. It shows everything that comes into your life and how your dreams can come true. Saturn in eleventh house suggests that you are quiet and reserved when in a group. Sometimes you feel invisible: it feels like no one hears you out in a group. In this lifetime, you have to learn how to have a healthy relationship with groups and how to behave in your social circle.

🥃Saturn in 12th house- The individual may experience a strong sense of responsibility towards charitable or behind-the-scenes work. Sometimes you don’t let even those the closest to you to see your weaknesses. As a child, you had to learn to hide your feelings, especially the negative ones. You absorb all the energies around you, and if you are surrounded by negativity, it can affect you badly. It can happen that you have a job that requires you to be isolated in some way. Maybe you work in a hospital or prison. You are often unaware of the reason why you are in pain. If you have planets in the twelfth house, you can benefit a lot from psychotherapy. But when you have Saturn return you can benefit a lot from it and you can become very spiritual opened and you can have a lot of blessings.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

✨Ig-bekylibra✨

-Rebekah📀💘☁️

[enviedear]

𓆰𓆪 what a waste, army dreamers

jacaerys velaryon

- ˏˋ 🎧ྀི 1.3k words, no use of y/n, no specified house, childhood friends to lovers, team black victory!au ˊˎ -

in which the war ends in favor of the realms’ delight and life attempts to return back to what it was before the war—only, you pray a naive oath of love—spoken in haste before the fight grew old—still rings true.

the red keep almost feels like a figment of your imagination. the castle, still reminiscent of your first moons in these halls, and shockingly unchanged by the recent war. you met the seasons again and again away from these walls, waiting for the war to end—a mere girl the last you strode these halls, but the memories are as vivid as ever. glimpses of the past seem etched invisibly in the stone around you, coaxing you back to a time when the world was simpler. before the war had upended everything.

your household's return to the capital had been met with all the formalities expected of a family in favor with the crown. your father, newly appointed to queen rhaenyra’s council, had brought you along.

the red keep was your home once more, yet it felt strangely uncharted and distant—much like the young prince you had once known so well. jacaerys.

he had been a constant in your life, his presence as usual to you as the castle itself. you grew together, shared secrets, and once, when the fight was still young, he had confessed something you're unsure you'll ever be able to forget—“i think i’m in love with you.”

it had been spoken so softly, you remember. the same softness you recall him showing when his duties kept him from you. but his eyes, dark and brimming with a genuine kindness unparalleled by any other, are what you remember most.

those words had hung between the both of you, hearts heavy by the sentiment. you had left him that night with a promise to speak on the matter when the war was over. a practical choice, you had told yourself. but the war had taken longer than anyone anticipated. by the time it was over, everything had changed. he had changed. youth had changed—turned into the morbid realities of maturity, and with it, ended your puerile prayers for the prince.

you hadn’t dared seek him out since your return. so much time had passed, too many things left unsaid. Most of all, you weren’t sure you could face him again without surrendering entirely to what might have been. transfigured into a ghost of the past.

despite your efforts, you know that the castle walls are not large enough for you to evade him forever. no matter how hard you try.

you're standing in front of your chamber door, hand resting on the cool brass handle. the day had been long, filled with courtiers and formalities, and all you've yearned for is a moment of peace. still, you stand there, frozen in place by the steady beat of footfalls. undeniably heading your way.

you hadn’t sought him out. wouldn't have dared.

but he had sought you.

the footsteps echo softly from behind you, and you let out a tense breath. you don't have to turn around to know who it is. his presence still feels as keen as your own shadow.

your name falls from his lips, voice low and rough around the edges. you turn slowly, heart hammering in your chest, and meet his gaze.

jacaerys stands there, just a few paces away, his expression a mix of emotions you can’t read. the moonlight from a nearby window casts soft shadows on his face, underlining the sharp angles and his deep, tempestuous eyes. they've always been able to see through your defenses.

“my prince.” you rush, his title slipping out before you can stop it, habit now.

he withdraws, the reaction so slight you might've missed it if you weren’t watching so closely. “don’t.” he starts, voice softer now, almost pleading. “not when it’s just us.”

you hesitate, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. for that moment, everything feels suspended. stuck in that delicate space between what was and what could have been. a space you're all too familiar with.

he takes a tentative step closer, gaze fixed on you as though he fears you might vanish if he moves too quickly. the warmth of his presence is a bright contrast to the cold stone surrounding you, and you find yourself drawn to him, despite the years and the changes that have come between you.

"you're well, i hope?" you ask, the words escaping before you can reconsider. it’s a question laden with too much civility, but it’s all you can manage in the face of his lingering brown eyes.

jacaerys offers a small, rueful smile. "it has been… a challenge." he admits. "but i’ve managed, as has the realm. and now, seeing you here—"

he stops himself as if searching for the right words. you can see the struggle etched across his face, the inner turmoil battling with the calm exterior he tries so very hard to maintain.

"seeing me?" you prompt, gently, eyes softening as you look at him. the years have changed him, but the boy you once knew is still there, just beneath the surface. still sweet and delicate with his words, and playful and jovial in actions.

he exhales slowly, and the breath seems to release the tension in his shoulders, only slightly. "it’s strange." he decides finally. "to see you again after so long. i did not expect—" he shakes his head, frustration evident in his voice. "for it to be this difficult."

the openness in his tone catches you off guard, there's a swirl of bittersweet confusion swimming in your mind.

"it has been difficult for me as well." you confess quietly, your gaze dropping to the floor. "i do not know if you still—"

"still what?" he interrupts, taking yet another step closer. his eyes search yours, filled with a hope that appears fragile and fervent. "if i still care for you?" he finally lets his smile peek through, "i do. i’ve thought of you in every moment and prayed for you in those inbetween."

the sincerity in his voice makes your heart ache, a bittersweet pang that is both reassuring and painful. you look up at him, meeting his eyes with a meld of apprehension and longing.

"i never thought you would." you confide, a hint of a smile touching your lips despite the nervous flutter in your chest. "i conceded to the belief you'd come to forget me."

he reaches out, closing the minimal distance between you, his hand brushing yours in a tender, almost hesitant touch. "i never could." he whispers, voice steadying as he holds your gaze. "i was hurt at the gullet, you know. the maester's said it was the mercy of the gods that let me live." a pause, "but it wasn’t. it was you. i heard your voice, saw your face. no gods, only you. i knew i just had to wait."

your pulse quickens at his words. all at once, you feel the warmth of his hand against yours. such a gentle pressure and still, it seems strong enough to bridge the gap that had grown between you over the many moons apart.

"wait for what?" you question, nearly heady for his words.

he looks at you with a vehemence that makes your heart race, gaze unwavering. "for you." he says softly. "i told you i thought i loved you, and yet it wasn't the truth. i always knew it was as true then as it is now. my love for you seems to come easier than breathing and it always has."

your breath hitches as his words hang in the air, a promise and a confession all at once. the warmth of his hand on yours feels like a lifeline, and for a moment, everything else falls away.

"i don’t know what to say." you admit, voice soft. "it all feels more like a dream."

jacaerys’s eyes soften, and he ambles closer, his hand still gently clasping yours. "it's no dream, issa prūmia." he murmurs, his voice a tender caress. "let me show you that i meant every word. from every moment i spent waiting."

unable to stop yourself, you reach out and cup his cheek in your hand, inclining at the feeling of his warm skin beneath your fingertips. his eyes soften even further at the gesture, a small smile dancing at the corners of his lips.

"i've missed you." you whispered, fingers slipping up to his dark hair. you let yourself card your fingers through the soft tresses—just as you would moons prior.

jacaerys leans into your touch, closing his eyes briefly—as if savoring the moment like a hearty meal. and when he opens them again, they’re gleaming with the same utter adoration you remember so vividly.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Delicate

Homelander x F! Reader

Summary: You and Homelander have been official for a while now, but you have yet to understand why things never went beyond a certain line.

Warnings: slight angst, slight manhandling, somnophilia, masturbation, explicit smut, praise kink, dirty talk, oral sex

A/N: not proofread as always bc I cringe at my own writing. take it or leave it

Homelander had never learned how to be gentle.

Of course he knew how to touch someone without breaking them if necessary, but there's limits to his self-restraint. Especially when it came to the intimate kind of encounter.

This sadistic side of his was an expression of his desperate need for control, an inability to truly let himself fall and be vulnerable with another person.

For decades his mantra was that normal humans only exist for supes' - and mostly his - entertainment. Your weakness was his thrill, the sheer difference in power so ridiculously high that you might as well be filthy bugs - and Homelander was like a cruel child with a magnifying glass.

Usually his mates were supes themselves and even they could barely handle his violent urges, but you are a mere human. So fragile and precious that it terrified him at times.

What if he loses control in the heat of the moment? What if he breaks you? Or even worse: What if you see him for the monster he really is and run away like everyone eventually does?

A while ago Homelander heard the story about Ice Princess' fling, some Vought employee nobody. She accidentally froze his penis off during climax. Hilarious, honestly. The first time he heard this story he had a very good laugh, and he still can't look that guy in the eye without cackling when he passes him in the hallways.

But now, being romantically involved with one of those weaklings himself, the possibility of something similar happening to you made his stomach turn...

...but of course, as Homelander always does, he chose to ignore the problem at hand instead of addressing it.

Why bother with an unpleasant conversation if he can just prolong this innocent, chaste bond for as long as possible? He'd rather have you like this than unnecessarily putting you into harm's way.

You on the other hand slowly but steadily grew impatient with your boyfriend.

At first you thought he was merely being chivalrous, but it's been three months and still nothing. He's famous, so you had involuntarily learned about his past affairs - and he's definetly not old-fashioned.

Then why is he hesitating so much?

Most of the time you don't dare talking about what's bothering you, simply because any issue of yours seemed so insignificant compared to the horrible things John's been through.

Admittedly, he once literally lasered a guy's head into mush just for throwing a can to his son's head. So while his reactions can be a bit unpredictable, John cares so deeply about the few people he loves that you want to spare him any more trouble.

Unhealthy way of handling things, admittedly.

Last week you had planned it all out: What you could only describe as the perfect date was supposed to continue in his apartment, and you could literally see all blood flow from his brain to nether regions as you entered the bedroom in finest lingerie.

Anyways, you had initiated several times up until now, and initially he'd always go along with it. However as soon as your make-out-sessions turn more heated, he'd abruptly end them and practically storm off.

Everything went so well at first, with you straddling his waist and tentatively grinding against his lap. His hands moved against his will as his resolve crumbled, finding the curves of your body and relishing in the feeling of your exposed skin under his gloves. His jaw clenched as he fought the urge to go all out, fearing dangerous consequences.

A proper dosage of pain can function as aphrodisiac, at least in your opinion. So you didn't tell him to stop, in fact your senses were too clouded by desire to even notice the way his fingers dug into the cushion of your hips.

Yet there was just the tiniest microexpression, just the fraction of a second where your heart sped up and your face contorted in pain...

...and Homelander, shocked with himself, threw you so frantically off of his lap, you landed face firsr on the floor instead of the bed.

Against all reasoning, you laughed hysterically at his not-so-subtle rejection, and god knows you'll tease him about it until forever. But also, understandably, on the inside you were as hurt and confused as never before.

Doesn't make it any better that your boyfriend had been avoiding you like you were the goddamn pest ever since.

Just like today, when Homelander comes home to you way past midnight, double checking with his x-ray-vision whether you were already fast asleep.

John was aware that this topic has been tormenting you for a while now, and while he never intended to hurt you - quite the opposite, really - he also clung to this pleasant illusion he had created with you.

Lucky at cards, unlucky in love, or so they say.

The course of his life had convinced him that all remotely good things happening to him will be taken away again. A farce prepared by destiny itself just to mock him, maybe evening out the scales since he had been blessed with too much power.

On days as shitty as this one however, nothing compares to having someone to come home to - even when he made sure that you weren't awake to confront him. He tosses his boots aside, grateful for you to be a sound sleeper as they fell to the floor with a loud thump.

Your boyfriend's heart sinks as he pulls up the blanket, being greeted by a handprint-shaped bruise on the side of your hip. Seems like it still hurts too much to sleep on that side. His fingertips run over the dark purple-ish mark, a pained groan escaping your throat when he gives in to the temptation to squeeze your ass.

He really is the worst.

Homelander freezes until he's certain you continue sleeping undisturbed, the sound of his own heart hammering against his chest drowning out all other noise. His palm is still lingering on your body, running up and down your sides and earning relieved sighs in return.

Before you'd feel his excitement too much, he manages to tear his body away from you, his erection twitching painfully as he rolled onto his back.

John really had pure intentions when he embraced you from behind, simply wanting to distract himself and fall asleep while cradling you in his arms - yet instead his already hard cock buries itself neatly between your thighs, the friction making him utter vile things.

Damn it Y/N, why the fuck do you always sleep in underwear only?! Is it to taunt him or to test his limits? Because it's working.

A breathy moan escapes his lips as he spread his legs wide, cock already leaking precum when he ran his thumb across the slid. He grabs it fiercely, pumping hard to make quick work of it, while roaming every inch of your skin he can get his other free hand on.

"Need some help with that?"

Shit.

ShitshitshitshitSHIT!

Seems like he was a little too busy with getting off - so much that even his heightened senses didn't catch you waking up to this scene. Your boyfriend had a habit of sleeping naked, so right now there was none of what he did left to the imagination.

"Heyyy sweetheart..." John tried to put on his trusty showman attitude, an awkward grin stretched across his face while trying to cover himself with the next best pillow. "Sorry babe, didn't wanna wake you up. Just go back to slee-"

"And miss out on the show?" you chuckle half-sleepily and he wants to die. He's done worse things in his life, way worse to be precize - so why is he fucking shy nowy just because you caught him? "Aww, you're blushing." He contemplates lasering your lips together to make you shut up.

"C'mon, John, I know you're holding back for some reason, but we don't have to go all out." Shuffling closer to your boyfriend, you give him those damn doe-eyes he can never say no to. "And I'd love to lend you a hand, if you know what I mean."

John instinctively closes his eyes as your face moves closer, lips eagerly awaiting yours...

...but just when you were about to touch him, he takes a hold of your wrist. "Y/N, I-" he shakes his head, trying to regain his composure. "Just- just let me go to the bathroom, okay?"

You frown. Worse, the humiliation makes tears dwell in your eyes. Pushing your partner is wrong, but without context you really start doubting yourself here.

Suddenly the stench of fear was lingering in the air, and your heart starts racing like a hummingbird. Trying to calm yourself was a fruitless attempt in front of a man that could perceive almost anything, even your pathetic strangled sobs.

So he was right: You're afraid and maybe even disgusted by his behavior, and just offered yourself to placate him.

Maybe he should just snap your neck to escape the inevitable heartbreak.

"A-Are you cheating on me?"

"Huh?" That question caught him off guard. He was prepared to hear anything, seriously all kinds of insults or accusations, but that? "Are you dense? Why the fuck would I cheat on you?"

And that's when it dawns on him: You are scared - but not of him.

To your defense, he did have a reputation of not being able to keep it in his pants. Maeve had remarked that fact more than once so you wouldn't forget. And him constantly being swarmed by the prettiest celebrities didn't do any good to your self-esteem either.

You're scared of him leaving you.

"Then what is it?" you sniveled, shrinking into yourself as you hugged your own legs. Seeing you like this and knowing he's responsible was somehow even worse than his earlier apprehensions. "You always react as if you got burned whenever we touch. Did I do something wrong, or- or am I not attractive enough?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" John scoffs in an almost irritated tone, unable to refrain from rolling his eyes. Comforting people didn't really come easy to him, even if he hated himself for not being able to let the shielding facade drop just this once. "You're gorgeous and you know that! C'mon, you women are always causing arguments out of thin air. Stop making this about yourself, would y-"

Seeing your glossy eyes turn into a glare at his ramblings made him shut up immediately, but the damage has already been done. "You know what, I'll-" For a while, you sit on the edge of the bed thinking and with every passing second of silence, Homelander's anxiety skyrockets. "I think it's better if I sleep at my own place for a while."

That's exactly what he's talking about, damn it! The line between control and insanity is a thin thread, and he is not willing to take any chances - when it comes to you at least.

"No!" he almost screams at you, jumping up from the bed and pointing a warning finger at you. "You're not going fucking anywhere!" When he sees your wary expression John's eyes soften, instantly regretting his outburst.

Why does he always fuck up? Why can he never seem to keep what makes him happy? Why can't he be what you need?

Homelander buries his face in his hands, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself just like you taught him. "Look, I-" He reluctantly put his hands on each of your shoulders and when you don't flinch away, he starts rubbing circles on your back. You always do it for him when he's upset, so he figures maybe it can help you too. "Please...I'll tell you the truth, okay? Just...don't leave."

You turn around to face him, nodding mutely as he wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb. Seeing you cry was gutwrenching, moreso when he was the reason. "I..." he helplessly gestures around, wishing there was a script to this like he was usually provided. "I tend to become...rough."

"So?" The initial hurt now turned into confusion, suspicion even about whether he was telling the truth. You defendingly cross your arms, like a barrier so you wouldn't falter before you got answers.

"I'm not made out of glass." Compared to his strenght, you might as well be. "And I can talk. If you become too wild I'll let you know."

Stubborn as always. But he loved that about you, too. "It's not that easy, Y/N." His head falls in defeat and exasperation. John's about to cry himself, and he hates you seeing him anything less than perfect. "I'll hurt you, and then you'll hate me. Or worse..."

Consciously ignoring the worse part, you cup both sides of his face, making him look up to meet your eyes. "John..."

You straddle his waist again, feeling relief now that you finally understood. Peppering kisses across his face and neck you whisper "I was so, so worried you had grown tired of me..."

"Never." Homelander wasn't someone to apologize often, let alone sincerely. The times he did ever since leaving the lab he can count on one hand.

But despite him being...well, him, John knows best what it's like to be plaqued by insecurities. He hugs you tight enough to make you feel the sincerity of his words. "I only wanted to protect you. I never wanted to make you feel this way."

"Next time talk to me from the start, okay?" You smile softly as he aggrees, and he doubts to be deserving of all your sympathy.

Your hands never leave his body, featherlight touch reassuringly calming his nerves. And yet together with the fact that the only thing currently separating your bodies was your thin panty, it was no wonder that his body reacted the way it did.

A moan disrups your conversation when his cock stiffens again, and you can't help but buck your hips against him in response. Your panties were already soaking anyway, due to the friction and his dirty little deed earlier.

The scent of your lust wipe all negative emotions from your boyfriend's mind, replacing them with something else.

"I want you, John" you breathe against his ear and he whines. "We could just take it slowly..."

"I don't know how" he admits, and you smile at his reluctant aggreement. Gently being shoved down on his back again, it feels like he melts beneathe your fingertips. "Then I'll teach you."

Goosebumps rise on his skin as your fingertips ghost over his body, and you lean over for a longdue kiss, so tender and affectionate John thinks he will fall apart.

Homelander's groan gets swallowed by your lips as you pull your panties aside, slick folds now grinding against his cock. Your name falls from his lips in meek whimpers and you refuse to believe this wonderful man could ever harm you.

"Let me take care of you." Shit, how do you always know exactly what to say?

Raking your hands through your hair as you sit up, air gets stuck in Homelander's throat at the sight, making him choke.

You look fucking magnificent.

Hell, he'd pay an artist to paint you like this so he could look at it forever. If only it didn't require another person seeing you naked...

"You know, I thought it was just my imagination..." A mischievous smile plays on your lips now that you think of it. "But my panties have been disappearing a lot lately."

Your boyfriend didn't respond anything else but a whimmer, shame washing over him at being caught. Not that he was really subtle to begin with.

"Speak up" you tease, giving his shaft a soft squeeze and he instinctively thrusts into your hand like a dog in heat. "Did you use them to get yourself off to your fantasies, huh? Naughty boy." His cock twitches in your palm at the words. "From now on, I want you to come to me for release. Always."

"I trust you" you add as doubt is clearly written on his face, voice firm and as unwavering as your loving eyes, driving tears into his own. You lower yourself on his cock, savouring the feeling of being filled out like this. "Mhh...you feel so good inside of me. Will you behave, John?"

"Y-Yes..." was all he managed to wring out, since it takes every ounce of strenght inside of him to not cum to your sweet affirmations right away. John clutches the bedframe so hard that it crumbles under his grip, but to his surprise you don't wince at the sound - quite the opposite, it shot a wave of heat right through your core.

"John...look at me." You guide his hands away from his eyes to cup your breasts instead, looking at him like he's the best fucking thing in the world. The intensity of your gaze causes him to shiver, makes him wanna hide.

Yes, this is too good to be true.

Whatever you see in him right now he will taint with his own hands given time.

And yet he can't stop anymore, now that he's aware of the depht your love helds for him.

You read him like a damn book, noticing his internal struggle so you silence the voices in his head with a passionate kiss. "So good for me, John" you cheer him on, moving your hips at a low pace.

Tension finally leaves his body and he dives his tongue into your mouth, groaning deeply as he moves his body alongside yours. His touch was careful yet bruising, sending pleasant tingles down your spine.

"I love you, John" you cry out as your foreheads touch, eyes never leaving his. "I love you so damn much!"

That declaration was enough to drive him over the edge.

Homelander pulls you as close as close as humanly possible when he stills momentarily, jackknive-like thrusts chasing after his high. The sounds he made as you got filled up bordered on obscene, as did the amount of cum spilling out of you.

"Shit" he speaks breathlessly against your skin, covering a bitemark he had just caused with kisses. "M'sorry..."

And yet he wasn't willing to let go off of you just yet, this amazing orgasm unable to ward off the embarassment of his poor performance.

"Never apologize for having a good time, silly" you chuckle, brushing your nose against his. "I'm flattered, if anything."

John never knew that sex could be so...satisfying, more than just physically. Filled with carefree laughter instead of expectations.

After all, he was conditioned to never wanna disappoint.

"Nah-a-ah." You yelped as he spun you around effortlessly, now him being the one howering over you, bearing his canines like a starved predator. "I refuse to let my goddess go unworshipped."

"John...I'm okay, really. Sex between lovers is not just about that..." And yet when he opens your legs, you don't resist.

He bets you taste just as fucking good as you smell, feisty little thing. Driving him crazy all those weeks. Do you have any idea how hard it was to endure this sweet torture for your sake?!

A shiver runs down your spine when he licks his lips at the sight of your leaking entrance, taking a deep inhale. There's a hunger in his eyes that no sane person could ever comprehend - but you indulged in it, craved in his twisted kind of love.

Heh, you were a goddamn freak just like him all along, isn't that right?

Homelander takes his time kissing a path down to your navel, admiring the marks he left on your body he was now able to see as the lovebites they are. He briefly looks up to assure himself of your consent, an answering smile all he needs to continue.

"Myyyy tuuuurn" he chants so cheerful, you almost thought he had put on his formal persona.

A relieving finger finally has mercy and slides into your already overstimulated sex, making you arch your back when he curls it inside. Pleads and curses falling from your lips as he enters a second one and then another, and you desperately try to move yourself deeper onto him.

"Attagirl!" Seems like his confidence has returned, at least judging by that damn smug smile his tone indicated. The frustrated pout you wore right now was so adorable, he decided to end your misery and bury his head between your legs as well.

You were still fucking yourself on his fingers while he relished the taste of himself on your pussy, before enveloping your clit with his tongue. "That's my fucking girl right there" he mouths as he ate you out, pumping his fingers keenly on your weak spot he so easily found. "Come on, I want to hear you."

When you came it felt like you were ascending to the afterlife, screaming his name at the top of your lungs before collapsing into the sheets.

Your legs had long since gave out but John put them over his shoulders, humping the mattress while his tongue still ran over your nerve endings, shooting jolts of overwhelming pleasure through your system.

"Oopsie" he coos, a predatory glint in his eyes as he crawled on top of you again, his kiss giving you a taste of your own spent. "Made me hard again."

You eyes flutter open after the last bit of your climax had ebbed out, exhausted yet invitingly batting your lashes as your limbs entangled once again.

"Seems like I found the Homelander's weakness."

[always-just-red]

HIIIIII congrats on 200 followers!! Can I have a Zayne smut fic pleasee?? Like the reader sees him wearing scrubs for the first time and she finds him hot or (reverse) him seeing the reader in uniform for the first time? Thank you!!

Sorry it's taken me so long to get around to this! '200 followers' is like a punch in the face reminding me how long this has been in the queue haha, but thank you so much! ❤ I don't write smut I'm afraid but this is a quick lil build-up to a cliff-hanger, so if any of the talented smut writers out there wanna write a part 2? Go for it! And tag me so I can read it link it here for everyone to enjoy!! Smut writers, I summon you!!! ✨🔥✨🔥✨✨

Professionalism

Zayne x Reader ❄

Summary: You love a man in uniform! Or... well, scrubs or whatever.

Genre: Suggestive (not smut sorryyy)

Warnings/Additional tags: still PG i guess since it cuts off before anything happens? gn!reader, established relationship, inappropriate workplace behaviour (shame on you Dr Zayne!!)

| Word count: 1.7k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

You’re not quite sure when this game started, but you’re going to win.

It was unassuming at first— harmless, even innocent little acts that slipped into something else altogether, as they so often do. Almost like falling in love: it snuck up on you. Coincidences— a chance meeting in the park, an accidental brush of two hands— become suddenly calculated. You take the reins from fate; you walk in the park where he takes his lunch, and he takes his lunch in the park where you walk. How fortunate it is, that you’re always running into one another.

Yes, this has been like falling in love. And neither one of you is naïve.

It’s dark outside the hospital. The stars are contesting the scattered, infinite lights of Linkon and you watch them through a window, finding meanings and shapes. They’ve a warmer glow than the cold, white, clinical lights in here.

“Could I get you something while you wait?” Yvonne asks, peeking over the top of the reception desk. She sounds anxious, and you can make a pretty good guess as to why.

“I’m fine. Thank you, though, really,” you smile cheerfully back.

She humours you with one in return. “I’m sure Dr Zayne will be along shortly,” she titters nervously, trying to fill the quiet. “He was with his last patient of the round when I spoke to him. It shouldn’t have been too much trouble, he must be— ah! Dr Greyson!”

The man was just passing through, face buried in a clipboard, but he stops at Yvonne’s greeting.

You lift a hand. “Hey, Greyson.”

“Hey!” He squints at something he’s read. “What a coincidence! I was just saying to Zayne it’s been a while since you paid us a—” he looks up and loses his train of thought. 

“Visit?” you finish.

“Umm… yes,” he chuckles, with the kind of reluctance that tells you he can’t decide if he’s falling victim to some prank. It’s the same anxiousness you’ve inflicted on poor Yvonne. He tests the waters with a: “Rough day at work?”

You beam at him. You’re sat with your usually pristine uniform marred by swathes of half-dried blood, too dark to be human. Not one bit of it is yours. By some miracle, you managed to perfectly dodge every swipe of that Wanderer’s claws today. Rolled out the way of every flying piece of rubble. “You should see the other guy,” you say, then double back, “well, the other thing.”

Greyson gives a stiff grin, still sceptical, but you’ve almost won him over. Nonchalantly, you reach for one of two brown paper bags at your side, then hold it out to him. “Here, for you!”

He tucks his clipboard under his arm, then comes over and takes it. There’s a soft crinkle as he unfurls the top. Sneaks a glance inside. His face lights up. “Thank you,” he enthuses, his hand diving in to retrieve a large chocolate-chip cookie— one of many. “Yvonne, would you like—”

She holds up her own paper bag. Greyson chuckles again, tucking into the treat. Like Zayne, he’s prone to working through his breaks, and you know he’s so often starving. Midway through a bite, he looks up at you, frowning. “Is this a bribe?” he mumbles, cheeks so full you almost can’t make out the question.

You smile at him pleasantly.

He chews slowly— connecting the dots. “No questions asked?” he guesses with a raised eyebrow.

“No questions asked,” you nod.

It’s a fair trade. The cardiac surgeon thinks it over, his eyes narrowed at you behind his glasses. He takes another suspenseful bite of the cookie. Chews. Swallows. Then there’s the broadest grin you’ve seen yet. “Works for me! I don’t want to know.”

With a nod to Yvonne, he carries on down the corridor, shooting you a knowing wink as he passes. You adore that man. Hell, half the hospital staff feel like family. You’d lay down your life for them, but you also delight in having them wrapped around your finger, albeit, with the help of a cookie or two.

You’re so busy watching Greyson leave that you don’t notice his absence has already been filled. Not at first, anyway, but then you feel it: hazel eyes on you.

You turn to meet them. Zayne stands, one hand curled around a small stack of paperwork, the other retrieving his glasses from his face. He tucks them into his breast pocket. “What a pleasant surprise,” he says, and the enthusiasm has been carved out of his words and replaced with suspicion.

“Hey, doctor,” you tease, lifting the last of your care packages from the coffee table. “Thought I’d join you for your break before I head home. Do you mind?”

His gaze flits over you, and it isn’t the honourable inspection he’d claim it to be if you dared call him out on it. He’s trying not to look again. “Of course not.”

This would usually earn you a sheepish smile, or a kiss on the cheek, but you’re angling for something else today. Victory. Look at him: he knows.

Like you said, neither one of you is naïve.

…

All right— knife to your throat?— you have an inkling as to how this started.

It was a more honest version of this: you’d stopped by the hospital, a few months ago, to boost the morale of a certain doctor and his hard-working team with some coffee from down the road. The machine in the staff room was broken, and by multiple accounts: made shitty coffee, anyway. So you often found yourself, hot drinks in hand, trying to catch Zayne on one of his few breaks.

(You miss that old coffee machine. They’ve replaced it, now.)

One morning, you were a little too late. Zayne had been called on to assist with a surgery, and you almost clashed in the corridor— you hadn’t recognised him at first. He was out of his usual attire: dressed head to toe in his medical scrubs. Despite the rush he was in, he made time to flash you a gentle smile. Said you could wait in his office; he wouldn’t be long.

You never did give a coherent answer. There was something about seeing him like that— so professional, so in his element. Off to save someone’s life, probably. Gods, he was amazing, and he just looked so, so good. 

Zayne knew from the start, of course; he’s so perceptive when it comes to you.

You used to feel guilty— positively sinful— until you caught that look in his eye, one day after work. You’d gotten to his place, kicked your boots off while he watched from the couch, enamoured, but you hadn’t noticed. You’d been complaining about a Wanderer. You were a mess: your hair, your uniform.

You remember looking up, and there it was. A flicker of something dark in his gaze.

He was quick to disguise it. Always quick to disguise it, because he’s a gentleman.

It’s been an unspoken war of attrition since then, and you’re both determined to outlast the other. You pick and choose your battles; there are times Xavier tries to drag you to the Association’s medics for surface scrapes and bruises, but you turn him down: you have a doctor at home, thank you very much.

Zayne tends to every wound with tight lips and steady hands. You’d feel bad, but…

He sometimes turns up to your dates still wearing his lab coat. (He left his regular coat at home again, and it’s cold outside, isn’t it? A lab coat is better than nothing.)

Last week, he really pushed his luck. He was demonstrating a new experimental technique in the operating theatre, and Greyson insisted you come along to watch. It was so innovative, he said. Zayne was working something of a miracle, he said.

So here you are, fighting back.

“Well?” Zayne asks. He’s sitting back in his chair while you ‘straighten’ his tie.

You’re perched on his desk, not listening. “Hmm?”

He catches your hand gently, using it to pull you closer, so you’re forced to meet his eyes. His tone is low. “What did I just say?”

You glance down again. Chuckle: “Something about responsibility?” 

A finger lifts your chin, tilting your gaze back up. “It’s inappropriate,” Zayne says.

“What’s inappropriate?”

“You know what you’re doing.”

“No,” you mutter, and the finger on your chin can’t keep you from staring at his lips. You speak a whisper of enticement: “Tell me what I’m doing.”

Will he do it— say it— after all this time? Put it to words so that it might finally be acted upon? Break, you will him, looking into his eyes, because the last stunt he pulled pushed you over the edge, and you can’t hold on much longer. It’s starting to hurt.

All in. You are going to fall, so you’ve got nothing to lose by trying to bring him down with you.

“It’s just a uniform, Zayne,” you smile innocently. “But if it bothers you that much… I could always take it off.”

Your doctor stares at you, his expression refusing to melt. Then he lets out a sigh. In the beat of a heart he’s up out of his chair, striding away from his desk, away from you.

“Zayne?”

Now he’s not listening. He’s by the door, taking his lab coat down from a hook and threading his arms through the sleeves. He fixes the cuffs, straightens it, but that’s where the motions of habit end. His fingers don’t make it to the buttons, and of course you notice; you’re not naïve.

Zayne turns to you, and there’s no disguising that look in his eyes and its common counterpart: a rare, inevitable smile. Complete surrender. He locks the door with a click.

Ha.

You were always going to win, weren’t you?