#Of Halos and Heats

[fandomstuckportal]

((WHO PUT PONIES IN MY SERIOUS GMOD RP!!!!

2 fallout equestrians, a spartans brain worm (ai), and a normal mundane g5 pony. they are hell.

redraws of @punkitt-is-here's comics!!))

[tonydaddingham]

LWA: Regarding the halo: we see a variant in the Job minisode. When Aziraphale does his "avaunt" speech, he has a full-body aureole, which unlike the halo around the head is /not/ an angelic attribute in religious painting and sculpture. The design of Aziraphale's aureole, with golden rays emanating from his body, looks like it was modeled on Marian iconography, as in the case of the Virgin of Guadalupe (https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/635401). There are a bunch of other examples, like the Madonna of Humility at the Getty Museum, where both the Virgin and God have ray aureoles. I am not sure where the design team thought they were going with this, although it fits with the Madonna pose they used for that promotional photo of Aziraphale in his Job robes.

ahhhhh this is so interesting!!!✨ i had no idea before this that there was such a nuance between aureole and halo, and their individual meanings in iconography (and thats not even taking into account different individual depictions like mandorla etc!). given the - as ive now learnt - very subtle but definite distinction between the two, and their individual meanings in religious contexts, it seems reasonable that the design team might have gone to some lengths to research it similarly!!!

(and now i shall spam you all with research because i am excited and Must Share)

so as LWA, the oracle of all truth, has said - ep2 where aziraphale appears to crawley shows him with an aureole surrounding him, much like the multiple depictions of Our Lady of Guadalupe (above is the Virgin of Guadalupe, by Salcedo, 1779). other depictions/notable copies of the original however include:

(L-R: de Arellano, 1691, Gonzalez, c. 1698, and the original from cy/16th, upon which they're based which, as far as i can find, has no confirmed artist?).

and coming back to italian renaissance (which im slightly more familiar with), the following works show the same:

(L-R: Madonna and Child with Two Saints, Pisanello, c. 1445, The Last Judgement, Michelangelo, f. 1541, and Baptism of Christ, Verrocchio and da Vinci, c. 1475)

it is especially prevalent in christian religious art, but as LWA said it does appear to be mostly used for religious figures, and not necessarily angels or saints (most of those are depicted with halos instead). most examples, like the ones above, that ive found seem to be used exclusively for jesus and mary. in other religions such as buddhism, aureola appear to be shown in the form of a mandorla (an almond-shaped field) that surround enlightened beings, such as Buddha.

let's move onto halos; ep6 shows our funky angel removing his, and is shown in the form of a ring, emitting the same kind of light as the aureole. disks have been depicted in art from well before the time of christ, including in ancient egypt (ra) and in iran (mithra).

funnily enough, finding depictions of ring halos rather than disk/plate ones was actually quite difficult? either way - above shows Virgin of the Rocks by da Vinci, f. 1486, shows a subtle but clear ring halo over Mary's head. keeping with the cy/15-16th onwards for fair comparison, showing a combination of disk and ring halos:

(L-R: Branchini Madonna, di Paolo, 1427, Madonna of the Book, Botticelli, c. 1481, and Deposition of Christ, Raphael, 1507)

these all again are examples depicting christ and mary, so what about angels? i found the best example to look at is the annunciation to mary, as this was the subject of a number of notable pieces in the same time period:

(L-R: da Vinci, f. 1476, Fra Angelico, 1450, and Botticelli c. 1490)

all show gabriel with a halo around their head, as opposed to an aureole. the one that fascinated me though is botticelli; there is relatively little known about his depictions of the annunciation, but there are multiple - the above is in glasgow, there is another in new york, and the last is the Cestello Annunciation). however, in the first two, glasgow and new york, there is a clear feature of an aureole-type shaft of light coming from behind gabriel, and shining upon mary.

i certainly think that it's mostly representative of god's gift being bestowed on her, ("The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow thee.", Luke 1:35) but the perspective of the glasgow painting almost shows like the light comes from a crack in the wall, and would suggest that aziraphale stepping out from the aureole as some sort of glorified portal is a mirror of this.

anyway, because ive rambled on long enough about nothing truly insightful; what is the point in these two different displays? well, from my research, it seems to be that aureola are used to surround the head or the body, and iconographically represent divinity, glory and, depending on the subject/context, enlightenment.

but given that it has largely been reserved in art for the depictions of the holy trinity as well as mary, to outright use it in connection with aziraphale seems... strange. in this particular scene, or part of his story, why has he been purposefully elevated to the same level of importance and power? we have no reason to suspect from the ensuing dialogue that god sent aziraphale deliberately in her name to thwart crowley, carrying her power... or did she?

the halo however appears to be specifically used for instances of depicting angels or saints (in the case of gabriel and various apostles in multiple artworks), as well as jesus and mary. so that to me would suggest that halos are somewhat specifically meant to represent innate saintliness and holiness, inherent divine nature. were specifically touched by god's grace and love, and were embodiments of god's will.

what this necessarily means in relation to aziraphale though, beyond him obviously being an angel, a representative of the heavenly host, and a messenger of god's will etc... im not entirely sure.

there is presumably no reason for him to be depicted with an aureole unless, as LWA suggests, it's to draw parallels to artwork where mary is especially shown as having one. but in the context of s2 (and the job minisode), isn't this a little out of field?

another thing - aziraphale does seem to be able to turn it on and off like a tap, suggesting that it's there in the narrative for sheer Impressiveness, to Look The Part, in front of a demon... so, is it only for design purposes, because cinematically it's bloody cool to look at? or is it meant to give insight into aziraphale's thoughts and beliefs?

with it, would he (in aziraphale's mind, bless) look intimating enough to thwart crawley's 'nefarious plan' with minimal effort? possibly, but i doubt it; im a pretty firm believer in Reasons for certain design choices, especially ones that would take a lot of post-production work to animate. so, could aziraphale have chosen to appear with the aureole, to be suitably intimidating, but after having his faith in god's will shaken after the events of job, chose not to manifest it again, because its symbolism no longer rings true for him?

[terry-the-insane]

My favorite g/t trope is when T is scared of falling off high places even though being really small means your terminal velocity (maximum speed at which you can fall) is greatly decreased and T could probably fall off the roof of a 5 story building and only get scratched.

[doom-dreaming]

god the library sucks so bad. the halo level. not the actual library

[tronform]

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[impossibletrashcrown]

Japan imported tungsten filament, high quality quartz tube, long time in 1100 degrees Celsius high temperature use

[honeyblackberries]

In the back seat (18+)

caleb x fem reader/mc smut

minors dni | inspired by diet pepsi by addison rae | cross-posted to ao3

word count: 1466

cw: simp caleb, soft dom caleb, he also likes to bite, pantie freak caleb, reader enables him, praise, oral (fem receiving), p in v, responsible car sex <333 (don't get freaky in a rental car irl), irresponsible intercourse (caleb doesn’t wrap it before he taps it), porn with feelings, porn no plot because idk how to write plot but i also can’t really write porn so maybe this is a secret third thing, no set pov.

names used: pips (pipsqueak but cuter), good girl, pretty girl, my girl

If Caleb is being honest with himself this moment is something straight out of his teenage fantasies. Driving along the coast with you in the passenger's seat, listening as you sing along to a song that’s been on repeat for the past half hour. Hair softly blowing in the wind as the late afternoon sun glows behind you like a halo.

You’re an angel he thinks, how else could you bless him with such a gift on one of his rare days off. The keys to his dream car—with the disclaimer that it was only a rental during his visit to Linkon—and that short sundress… His gaze unconsciously drifts from the road and onto you.

Maybe wet dreams are a better description for this. The way the hem of your dress rides up your thighs while you shift to find a more comfortable position, cotton panties peeking out underneath it.

Your eyes meet his and Caleb feels his pants tighten.

Today was supposed to be a well deserved break from all the demands that come with being the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel. Something relaxing. Yet he can’t help but feel inclined to the complete opposite. Back ramrod straight and hand, previously loose and confident on the wheel, now gripping it so tight that his knuckles strain.

“I'm happy you’re here,” you say sweetly and he has to stop himself from acting like a horny dog. “Is there anything you wanna do before we head home?”

“Eat you out,” he thinks dreamily.

“..What?”

Shit. Shit. How could he say that out loud!? He’s an idiot, a depraved fool—

“Well, okay.”

He almost crashes the car.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to—I mean—I didn’t mean to say it out loud,” you laugh at him and he isn’t sure whether to be mortified or turned on.

“Pull over.” He does.

Caleb doesn’t realise it but despite the less than innocent circumstances his silly reaction makes you smile. Happy at the expression that settles on his handsome face. How his eyes light up in a way you never really see anymore, giddy and unrestrained.

‘Cute,’ you want to tease, but he’s already rolling the tinted windows up. Undoing his seatbelt and moving into the back seat. Oh how could you keep him waiting when he’s just so eager? You undo your own seatbelt and amusedly follow along. Moving to get on top of him.

“Don’t hover pips,” he instructs—in that know-it-all voice he’s used since you were kids—and you don’t get the chance to consider it. Not when his hands trail under your skirt to grab your thighs and impatiently bring you down onto his face.

“Fuck you smell so good,” his nose presses right against your clothed heat. He inhales deeply. “I could get off just from smelling you, just from smelling these,” his lips part to let teeth graze the thin fabric of your panties.

“I can keep 'em when we're done, yeah?” His hot breath makes a shiver run through you in anticipation. His tongue licks down the centre where a wet patch starts to form. “I’ll cook dinner in return.”

You want to argue that he always cooks dinner. But you want what he’s currently offering more.

Your small hum of agreement is all he needs.

Safe to say, Caleb does mouth at you like a dog. Desperate, hungry, tongue heavy and slobbering. You have to push yourself against his chest to keep steady. The toned muscles there flexing as he eats like he’s been starved.

“Good girl, sittin’ so pretty for me,” his praise is barely understandable. Voice muffled and lower than a moment ago.

One of his hands leaves your thighs, his fingers moving to the fabric separating you. He teasingly pulls it back and lets go, a light snap against your skin. You flinch and he chuckles in response. He then pushes it to the side to expose you bare to him. Continuing to lick, this time with the addition of his thumb rubbing directly against your sensitive bud.

“Delicious,” he moans at the taste and sucks at your clit for more.

You’re not sure how long you last before everything crashes down all at once. Your orgasm racking your body and leaving you trembling. Dripping right into his open mouth.

The way your breath hitches and small whines you make when you cum always remind him how he could spend the rest of his life between your thighs. Forever wanting you pliant in his hold like this.

As you start to feel yourself coming down from the high, Caleb lightly bites at your tender flesh, making you yelp. He places a soft kiss in apology, even though you both know he isn’t sorry in the slightest.

In an act of revenge you start to reach for where he needs it. Fingertips barely brushing the large tent in his pants before he grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Next time pips, I’ll go crazy if I’m not inside you soon.” At that you’re suddenly flipped around, back pressed against the leather seat. Wedged in the cramped space afforded to you between the car and his large body.

Caleb looks down at you with a wide grin. The lower half of his face damp with your arousal and his own saliva.

“Let me put it in?”

Even when he’s like this the words come out as a question. He’ll only do it if you let him, only if you want it half as much as he does. His silver necklace dangles in front of you and reflected in it is your lips, curled up into an affirmative.

Caleb wastes no time. Hurriedly undoing his pants and freeing his hard leaking cock. Leaning over you with one hand beside your head as the other grasps his reddened tip and nudges you panties to the side with it. Lining himself up he sinks into you slowly.

“You’re heaven,” he yaps, already pussy drunk. "You feel like heaven, ugh—like you were made for me. Weren’t you?”

He shakes his head at his own words, as if a better explanation came to him. Then he resolutely bottoms out inside you.

“No, I was the one made for you.”

“Caleb—” you whine at the feeling of being so full. Arms moving to wrap around his torso, not sure if to hold him closer or push him away.

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to fight off the orgasm that would have had him cumming from the way you say his name. Testingly, he pulls out slightly just to push back in. Repeating shallow thrusts to get you comfortable.

“More,” you beg.

“Of course,” he kisses you and you can taste yourself on him. “I aim to please.” His pace quickens, becoming rough. You can’t help but clench at the immediate change.

“Oh shit—loosen up pretty girl.” You try to.

Over and over you feel his cock try to make your cunt give in to him, and when he feels the grip of your walls ease up slightly he angles his hips to hit deeper.

You claw at his back, the fabric of his shirt catching under your fingers. The feeling of him too much.

“You like that huh?”

The car windows are fogging at the spike in body heat, neither of you letting up until you both get your fill. The sounds of shallow breathing and skin against skin the only thing that can be heard.

Caleb bites your lip when he kisses you in between thrusts. Like he wants to devour you in every way possible.

“I’m—close,” you bury your face into his neck, trying to ground yourself.

He nearly slips entirely out of you. Hips starting to lose their rhythm, a sign that he is too.

“I know—fuck—cum with me.”

Your release comes first, and he doesn’t last long after.

“That's my girl.”

His movements slow as he spills into you. A white ring forming around the base of him as a mix of both your cum tries to leak out. He grinds a few times to make sure it stays then collapses on top of you.

The two of you remain like that for a few minutes, relishing in the feeling of your chests pressed together as you cool down. Caleb’s cock slowly going limp inside you.

His hands move to cradle your face, gently stroking your cheeks as he kisses all over with cherishing lightness.

“I love you.”

“Love you too Caleb.”

Then he has to go and ruin the moment.

“Panties please,” he holds out his hand. Asking for a treat.

You sigh, the post-nut clarity kicking in. “I’ll give it to you after I wash it.”

“Don’t wash it.”

“...”

a/n: rip need everyone to know this was initially supposed to be a sylus fic. also what do we think do we like me actually trying to make the layout nice/not write in all lowercase??

[ranafamily7]

Appeal to humanity 🫂

I beg you read that 🥺

vetted by gazavetters

vetted by dlxxv

I am writing this post with tears in my eyes, me and my mother.

We are living the most difficult suffering here in northern Gaza.

I will tell you some of our suffering

1.We do not find daily food as there is only bread due to the closure of the crossings in Gaza

2.There are some canned foods like beans that are expensive due to scarcity.

3.They are trying to displace us from Gaza every day. I have left my house several times and it is badly damaged.

4.My father cannot reach us, he is besieged in southern Gaza, and my sisters and I have no one to support us except my mother, and she cannot.

5.My father is sitting in a torn tent, suffering from the cold of winter and the lack of winter clothes.

6.We need more than $100 a day to buy a little food. And a little firewood for heating and cooking. And charging the lighting battery as there has been no electricity for more than a year

7. My mother needs treatment for her feet on a weekly basis for $70.

She has osteoporosis, cartilage fragility and salt deposition.

This is a small part of our suffering. Please plant hope in our hearts and give us a chance by donating to us to alleviate our suffering.

Donation Link

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #250 )✅️

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@khanger @thorerre @yourbelgianthings @handweavers @sketiana

@wellwaterhysteria @el-shab-hussein @nabulsi @irhabiya @stuckinapril @appsa @brutaliakhoa @buttercuparry @Everyone💔😴

[nasa]

5 Unpredictable Things Swift Has Studied (and 1 It’s Still Looking For)

Our Neil Gehrels Swift Observatory — Swift for short — is celebrating its 20th anniversary! The satellite studies cosmic objects and events using visible, ultraviolet, X-ray, and gamma-ray light. Swift plays a key role in our efforts to observe our ever-changing universe. Here are a few cosmic surprises Swift has caught over the years — plus one scientists hope to see.

#BOAT

Swift was designed to detect and study gamma-ray bursts, the most powerful explosions in the universe. These bursts occur all over the sky without warning, with about one a day detected on average. They also usually last less than a minute – sometimes less than a few seconds – so you need a telescope like Swift that can quickly spot and precisely locate these new events.

In the fall of 2022, for example, Swift helped study a gamma-ray burst nicknamed the BOAT, or brightest of all time. The image above depicts X-rays Swift detected for 12 days after the initial flash. Dust in our galaxy scattered the X-ray light back to us, creating an extraordinary set of expanding rings.

Star meets black hole

Tidal disruptions happen when an unlucky star strays too close to a black hole. Gravitational forces break the star apart into a stream of gas, as seen above. Some of the gas escapes, but some swings back around the black hole and creates a disk of debris that orbits around it.

These events are rare. They only occur once every 10,000 to 100,000 years in a galaxy the size of our Milky Way. Astronomers can’t predict when or where they’ll pop up, but Swift’s quick reflexes have helped it observe several tidal disruption events in other galaxies over its 20-year career.

Active galaxies

Usually, we think of galaxies – and most other things in the universe – as changing so slowly that we can’t see the changes. But about 10% of the universe’s galaxies are active, which means their black hole-powered centers are very bright and have a lot going on. They can produce high-speed particle jets or flares of light. Sometimes scientists can catch and watch these real-time changes.

For example, for several years starting in 2018, Swift and other telescopes observed changes in a galaxy’s X-ray and ultraviolet light that led them to think the galaxy’s magnetic field had flipped 180 degrees.

Magnetic star remnants

Magnetars are a type of neutron star, a very dense leftover of a massive star that exploded in a supernova. Magnetars have the strongest magnetic fields we know of — up to 10 trillion times more intense than a refrigerator magnet and a thousand times stronger than a typical neutron star’s.

Occasionally, magnetars experience outbursts related to sudden changes in their magnetic fields that can last for months or even years. Swift detected such an outburst from a magnetar in 2020. The satellite’s X-ray observations helped scientists determine that the city-sized object was rotating once every 10.4 seconds.

Comets

Swift has also studied comets in our own solar system. Comets are town-sized snowballs of frozen gases, rock, and dust. When one gets close to our Sun, it heats up and spews dust and gases into a giant glowing halo.

In 2019, Swift watched a comet called 2I/Borisov. Using ultraviolet light, scientists calculated that Borisov lost enough water to fill 92 Olympic-size swimming pools! (Another interesting fact about Borisov: Astronomers think it came from outside our solar system.)

What's next for Swift?

Swift has studied a lot of cool events and objects over its two decades, but there are still a few events scientists are hoping it’ll see.

Swift is an important part of a new era of astrophysics called multimessenger astronomy, which is where scientists use light, particles, and space-time ripples called gravitational waves to study different aspects of cosmic events.

In 2017, Swift and other observatories detected light and gravitational waves from the same event, a gamma-ray burst, for the first time. But what astronomers really want is to detect all three messengers from the same event.

As Swift enters its 20th year, it’ll keep watching the ever-changing sky.

Keep up with Swift through NASA Universe on X, Facebook, and Instagram. And make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[drgnflyteabox]

can't get much better

pairing: ghost / simon riley x fem reader summary: simon is forced to take some time off - he makes the most of it. tags/warnings: very soft, pregnant sex, size difference, softdom!simon- he's a masculine man who doesn't let his lady lift a finger :'), oral (f), one (1) butthole kiss, dacryphilia, daddy kink (sigh), minor minor foot stuff, allusions to injuries and chronic pain, title from an adrianne lenker song w.c: 2.5k

You try very hard not to think about it, but it's hard not to notice how massive he is.

Even shirtless, he somehow looks bigger, muscles flush with heat and exertion under the sun. He toils and breathes hard like an ox, working while you sit on the porch wrapped in his big flannel. Wearing his clothes is like being swaddled in a blanket straight out of the dryer, warm and nostalgic and syrupy with love. It leaves you feeling some type of tender. You're afraid of that feeling sometimes, of how soft it is and how soft it makes you. He could ask anything of you, and you'd yield like he was pressing his thumb into a bruised peach.

You have.

"How are you two?" Simon is so quiet when he wants to be. One would think he'd clomp like a horse with how big he is, but he can float like dust. It used to startle you, but you've been sinking deeper into the memory foam mattress of this life with him and it doesn't anymore.

"Tired, even though I'm not doing anything," you squint at him through the late afternoon sun. It haloes him like an angel.

"You're growing my baby in there, love. That's not nothing," his voice is rough, it always will be. But it's rough now like earth and soil rather than rough with pain and smoke the way he'd sounded when you met him.

You're feeling especially nostalgic, it seems, not like it's hard here. His hand is warm on your belly.

"I guess so," you let him pet you for a moment. Your stomach is swollen but not as big as it'll get, just enough to veto pants. A few months to go still. "How's your back?"

"Argh," Simon says, taking a heavy seat next to you. Dismissive and yet he groans a little when his muscles unclench. Classic.

You slowly reach up and nudge him until he's facing the field opposite to you, face toward the golden afternoon sun and his back to you. He's never asked you to do this, to take care of him, but it's your favourite thing in the world.

His back is always rock-hard no matter how many times you take your knuckles and fingers to it. Just a condition of a hard life lived for him, countless falls and impacts and pushing through injuries. There's a slight slant to his spine now that isn't there in the pictures he's shown you of his youth, but the stiffness is the same. You might've said he was born to be a soldier, had you not known him as a father. He could do both, but - you'd never say this out loud - you were privately grateful for this injury. It wouldn't take him out forever, but the recovery would be long. Long enough to get the homestead started, to get you pregnant.

Simon would never be completely still. This was compromise. Sweet compromise, a life started and time with him you could think back on the next time he shipped out. Making the most of things, he would always say. Making the time count.

"That feels good, love" he groans. Bending forward slowly, relaxing, he's like an aloof stallion finally accepting an apple from your hand. Acquiescing. Showing you his back. It's trust, and you savour it.

"I bet it does," you tease back, just a little. Your fingers are nimble and attuned to his specific aches and pains. "Are you hungry for dinner?"

"I'm hungry for something," he turns, slowly, hands reaching for your thickened waist. Huge, work-roughened hands. War-roughened hands, holding you like a delicate egg. Sometimes it feels like he's the only thing that holds you together; all your pieces, everywhere, until he's holding you.

Kissing him is a contact sport. It's his hands moving, cupping your breast and then your pussy through your panties, your own hands wrapping around his broad shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you from drowning. It's open-mouthed, breathing into each other. Impossibly, you get softer, melting like ice on a hot day. 

Before you can lean back on the bench, he stands and lifts you with him. He's still hot from the day, damp with sweat, pushing you into the house while kissing you still.

"Simon-" you start, with no goal in mind. "Please."

"I've got you, love," he murmurs. He always does. Before you know it, you're laid back onto the plush armchair in your living room. Simon knows this is the most comfortable place for your newly-aching body. Affection swells in your chest uncontrollably and comes out through your eyes leaking down your face. Sure, pregnancy makes people emotional - but you're still embarrassed, touched by how considerate he is.

"It's alright, shh," he thumbs the tears at the corner of your eyes. His cock tents his work pants, aroused by them. "Let me take care of you."

The next words he murmurs are into your cunt, right over your panties, tongue laving over the already-wet fabric. "Just need your daddy, don't you?" You clench in tandem with his words, hot all over, skin prickling. He pushes your dress up, bunching it right under your tits.

It's reminiscent of how you spent the first night with him, on the very first day you'd met. Hurried, his big head between your thighs and clothes hanging off you still while he made you fall apart.

He's fucking good at it, too. Pulls your panties to the side and builds up the pressure with which he sucks on your clit, softly and then harsher until you shake. You've been extra horny lately, always wet around him and always so swollen. The scrape of his five-o-clock shadow against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh is what tips you over, clamping his head tightly and shouting your orgasm into the heady summer air.

"That all it takes?" Simon grins, chin wet, fingers moving from your hips to your pussy to gently rub along your slit.

"Give me a second, please," it's humbling how quickly you come nowadays. Quick and intense. Fireworks.

You set your foot on his shoulder and he turns towards it, kissing your ankle. Patience is rare with him, something come about only since you confirmed your pregnancy. You miss being overwhelmed by him, miss the nights where he'd guide you over the edge one, two, three times in succession.

He pushes now, just a little, not waiting for your go-ahead but watching you intently. His fingers spread your cunt in a V and he puffs a breath on your sensitive clit. You jump. He grins again, leaning down to lick you, using one hand to hold both your legs under your knees and push them until they meet the soft bump of your belly.

"Hold them there," he says. It's spoken not to you, but to your hole, which he spears his tongue into. You obey as you're helpless to do, holding your legs up and giving him an unimpeded view. It's more than vulnerable, it's not only baring yourself to him completely but giving him the authority to do what he wants. What you need.

Simon eats you out like it's a kiss, slurping you down and letting you leak until the evidence of your weakness to him is all over you. Your legs are wet, and it drips down onto your other hole. He pushes a thumb into your cunt, dipping it in and out.

"Needed me, did'ya? Watched me all day," he's so smug, sometimes. His lips find your bare foot, kissing your sole. "Been wet like this all day?" His other hand finds the meat of your asscheek, spreading you open further, letting the split of you open to him. He leans down, kissing your inner thigh, then your other hole. You whine and clench your pussy around his thumb. 

"So needy," he murmurs, finally finally moving back to your clit. Flicks his tongue over it, something that might've been teasing before but is intense now. Your hands tighten against your legs, head thrown back.

"Oh please- Simon!" You shout again, abs drawing up, stars in your eyes. "Ahh- I'm-"

"I know, honey," his lips suction again around the hard little pebble of your clit, eating like a man starved. 

This is how he likes you. Losing control, coming apart, helplessly vocal against the onslaught of his tongue. No matter how many times you've done this, it never gets old. The release almost always makes you cry, especially intense like this. You're wet all over, face and cunt and legs. He is, too.

"You still with me, love?" He pets your flank like you're a horse.

"Yes," but that's not what he wants.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl," and fuck if that doesn't always fill you with warm fuzzy energy. Wipes your brain, keeps you soft and floaty.

He guides you up and out of the armchair, lifts you into his arms when your legs shake too much. That electric feeling is still coursing through you, tingles in your extremities as they come back to life.

The hand he strokes over you is half affectionate, half proprietary. You've been his since the first time he laid eyes on you.

He reminds you of it as he sets you down gently on the bed, your hair a halo around your head and hands reaching to his face where you pull him down for a kiss. Hands find his shirt, pulling it off you, and then the dress. Fingertips touch the headboard, your arms stretching up, making room for him. Slips your panties down your legs.

It's a lingering, indulgent kiss. Breathing each others air, gasping into his mouth, he puts his elbows by your head and lays as much weight down as he can without cramping your full belly. He's as vocal as you, groaning and rutting like a dog.

"Ready for me, sweet girl?" He leans out of the kiss, sitting back on his heels. You nod, desperate and pulsing between the legs again like you didn't just come twice.

"Daddy's gonna take care of you, don't you worry," he rearranges you like a doll, turning you to your side and getting between your legs. A pillow is tucked under your belly, and he tests your flexibility by holding your leg tight to the length of his body. Your hamstring burns a little with it.

A hand holds your knee, another to your waist. His jeans scrape against your sensitive skin.

You focus on little details. His scar, touching his eyebrow and splitting through his nose, ending down by his jaw. The knuckles on his fingers holding your knee, and how rough the pads of his fingers feel on your waist. This man has never had soft hands in his life. Those same hands capable of so much force, so much violence, the very same that hold you and guide you. A shepherd, you his lamb.

The weeping head of his cock kisses your hole, catching there and traveling up. He taps it against your clit until you're tensing, whining, needy again. Tears down your cheeks.

He steadies you, pets your waist, guides his cock inside and it feels like you can breathe again. His mouth laves hot kisses over your ankle, the sole of your foot again, reverent and controlling all at once. The stretch burns - it always does, and maybe always will. Simon is just so big, thick all around and the mushroom head of him could always bump your cervix if he's not careful.

He's careful now, but only just. You can sense his control fraying, his hips driving forward steadily but his thighs tensing and his grip getting meaner. This is your favourite part. Watching him sweat, breathe hard, taking his pleasure in you.

"Yeah-" he cuts himself off with a long, drawn out groan. Deep, from the bottom of his belly and out. "Already so full of me, aren't ya? Can't get full enough."

You plead with your sounds, words out of your grasp. Your hands clutch at the sheets but it isn't enough. He's solid, he's your anchor, but he's losing himself in your cunt and you're free falling.

"Play with your tits for me," he commands, pumping faster. You're reflexively tightening around him, clit jumping for attention, squeaking each time he lets himself in as deep as possible and touches the mouth of your cervix.

Sunlight slowly fades on the bed, the last golden rays escaping out the window as you're bathed in dusk. 

There's nothing to do but obey, hands finding your swollen breasts and squeezing. They've been sore and huge, like that week before you get your period only it's been a couple months. None of your bras fit anymore.

Simon appreciates it, he loves it. Has you cooking for him with your tits out, nipples peaked and pussy leaking. They bounce, now, stopped only by your hands pinching and twisting. It's insane - no one in the world could replicate the feeling. No artist, no musician. Electricity zips from your breasts down to your clit and shit - you might come just like this, untouched, just full of your man and fondling yourself.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking," he pants, leaning over you, bending your leg. "Pinching my dick, sweetheart. Your pussy's so fucking good."

The orgasm begins in your toes, tingling. Your muscles tighten, drawing up, up, towards your cunt, which is making obscene sounds around him.

Simon sees the signs, sees your eyes rolling and your body going taut. He abandons your leg in favour of rubbing your clit with two big fingers quickly, up and down.

"That's it, sweetheart, come all over my cock. Go on," his voice is a snarl, barely distinguishable as human, beastly. "Be good for daddy.”

It's like the crescendo of an orchestra, like a summer afternoon in august, like waking up without a clogged nose after being sick, it's - really fucking good. You're near sobbing, crying out his name, abandoning your tits to reach for him desperately. He meets you halfway, shuddering his own orgasm into you. The press of his hips against yours is better than buttered toast, the delicate press of his chest against yours as he lets your leg go is bliss.

"Si-imon," you slur, hands on his cheeks. He laughs and kisses your forehead.

"What's that, sweet girl?"

"I love you," you cry a little more then, feeling him pull out and lay next to you. You're boneless.

"I love you too," his arm reaches across you, pulling you into him. "Both of you." Hand on your belly again.

"That was insane," you pant. He barks a laugh against your hair. "I'm serious."

"I know you are, love," he kisses your forehead, petting your stomach. You can tell it's meaning, can feel the gratefulness behind the kiss. He's saying thank you, for staying with him, for making him a father. Your hand finds his, squeezing back a wordless reply. Of course, it says.

<3

[nereidprinc3ss]

in infinite universes

in which spencer reid picks up uni!reader from a party. you're drunk, and he's in love with you

fluff:) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, university!reader x professor!spencer but you're not his student, unspecified age gap, um statistic about deaths from drunk driving, spencer is a nerd a/n: this is accidentally so romantic I'm gonna puke

The night is chilly—a still, dry type of cold that comes before snowfall. It’s quiet, like the world is preparing for that heavy blanket of white. Even the pounding bass from the frat house doesn’t make it very far before falling flat at the end of the yard. By the time Spencer gets you to his car down the block, it’s a thready pulse. 

“Thanks for walking me,” you say, giving him a saccharine smile as he opens the passenger door for you. His scoff is a thick white cloud, crystallizing against cold, shining skin, slightly pinkened from the temperature. Spencer is glowing like a star tonight. You don’t know if it’s the blurriness from the alcohol in your system smudging the edges of him, or if it’s just that incandescent halo that always seems to follow him around.

“You know I wasn’t going to let you walk down frat row by yourself at one in the morning.”

You pout and look up at him, leaning close. 

“So you don’t want me to say thank you?” 

Spencer’s mouth is curved in absent-minded affection as he takes advantage of the opportunity to study you up close with darting eyes, entertaining your girlish flirtation, and you in turn get to admire the starlit flush of his cheeks, the way his hair falls around his face and thick eyelashes frame irises that could melt ice. You’re not entirely conscious of the huge grin that cracks open your face, but you suspect its presence when his own lips part, still smiling, like he’s maybe going to say something sweet. Or teasing. 

“You’re drunk.”

At this absolute and unarguable truth, you frown. He’s grinning now as he adjusts the thick scarf around your neck, shielding your ears and neck further from the chill that the open car door can’t block. 

“No I’m not.”

“C’mere,” he murmurs, and before you can process it he’s leaning down, so of course your eyes are going to flutter shut and of course you’re going to kiss him back. The gentle ferocity of it only has you stumbling in place a little bit, and he steadies you with hands around your waist. It’s over entirely too soon. You blink up at him, your shock and fluster betrayed by the visible huff of air dispelled as soon as he pulls away. He’s smiling even wider now. Vindicated. Eyes sparkling. “Gin? Wow. You are drunk.”

It takes you a moment longer than it usually would to decipher how he figured this out. 

“So you just kissed me to prove your theory right?”

The sparkling satisfaction from his indictment softens around his eyes. 

“I knew you were drunk when you almost fell down the stairs a minute ago. The kiss was purely selfish.”

“It’s icy,” you defend, and your heart flutters as he comes in for another kiss. It’s soft and still shockingly deep for being on the street, where anyone could see—although everyone smart is inside, and anyone else is too drunk to care that his mouth is open against yours and the heat of it is translating deep in your stomach. You’re dizzy by the time he laughs quietly against you. 

“What college student is pounding gin and tonics at a frat party?”

The thick wool of his coat bunches under your searching fingers. 

“Me,” you whisper. “I was classing up the joint.”

The final kiss he presses to your lips is sweeter and half smile. “Drunk.”

The murmured accusation shouldn’t make you feel so giddy. Maybe it’s all the gin. 

“Not.”

Another little chuckle warms the tip of your nose and your lips as he breathes it out.

“So you’re good to drive us home?”

You itch to kiss him again, but instead, you respond, “One person dies every thirty nine minutes in America from drunk driving.”

“Good job. You passed.”

The praise is accompanied by a thumb rubbing at your hip through denim. He probably thought you weren’t listening when he’d spouted that particular statistic a few hours ago. 

“Do I get a gold star?”

He kisses your head. 

“We’ll see. Get in.”

On the way home, that last shot hits you. You slump down in your seat and hide your face in your hands. 

“Oh, Spencer. I’m… I’m drunk.”

You feel him glancing at you before he sets a concerned hand on your thigh. 

“You okay?”

Morosely you nod. 

“Yeah. I took a shot with this… Delta Phi Epsilon guy, right before you got there. I wasn’t gonna, but he was like, no, you have to! And now I realize that was dumb.”

Spencer’s hand finds the back of your head, stroking your hair. 

“Do you know what I’m going to say about frat boys pressuring you to drink?”

“It wasn’t like that. He was really nice.”

“I’m sure he was,” Spencer says dryly. “Lots of men become really nice when they think they might have something to gain.”

“I thought he was gay!” You laugh, uncovering your face. “Sorry, dad. I won’t drink alcohol or talk to boys anymore.”

Spencer makes a face and you know you’ve successfully traded pounds of flesh. 

“If you call me dad again I’m making you take an abnormal psych class.”

You give him a lazy smile which he only takes his eyes off the road for a few seconds to admire. 

“I’d take abnormal psych if you were my professor.”

That perpetual upturn at the corners of his perfect mouth flickers wider. 

“Wow. Does gin make you sexually frustrated?”

“It makes me lazy. The professor-student thing is really low hanging fruit.”

“Yeah, it is. You know I’ll expect better material from you once you’ve sobered up.”

You sigh and let your head loll to the front again, studying the tunneling road through the windshield. A few flakes slash the headlights. Your mind wanders. You don’t bother reeling it in. 

“I’m really glad I’m not your student. I’d have the worst crush on you.”

Spencer casts you another side-long glance before adjusting the rear-view mirror. 

“You don’t have a crush on me now?”

“Of course I do. But you like me back. If I was your student you’d never look at me like that. I would just have to pine after you and fall in deep unrequited love like all your other female students.”

He hums skeptically. 

“I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t imagine not being in love with you.”

“There are universes where you’re not. There are infinite realities where I am your student and you don’t like me back and you’re dating other girls who aren’t me and you’re saying this exact stuff to them.”

“True. There are also infinite realities where I find you and I fall in love with you.” Spencer reaches over again, taking your hand and settling them, joined, in your lap. “For each trillionth of a billionth of a second of the life I’ve lived thus far, there are infinite universes which exist solely so I can fall in love with you in a new way. Over and over again. There’s not a choice I could make in any timeline, or in any universe, that doesn’t lead an infinite number of me’s to an infinite number of you’s.” 

The engine hums. The tires roll. 

Other than that—it’s dead silent. 

Because how could he ever expect anyone to respond to that?

You slink low in your seat and bring his hand to cradle your face, warm against your cheek. 

“I hate you,” you mumble. Spencer strokes your jaw absentmindedly, not at all concerned by your dramatics. 

“You hate me? I just said I love you.”

“No, you did not. You said th—I don’t even wanna call it romantic. Romantic doesn’t—I don’t even know what that was. You can’t just say things like that, Spencer! You can’t just casually say stuff like that to me, and especially not when I’m drunk, because I’m gonna start crying!” 

The last word pitches up and perfectly illustrates your point as tears begin to roll down your cheeks—still nipped by the cold. 

Spencer quickly pulls the car off to the side of the abandoned road. 

He’s all affection as he twists to face you and take your face in his hands properly, thumbing away tears. 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

“You j-just love me so much,” you sob.

“Yes,” Spencer laughs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I do. I love you so much. I didn’t mean to make you cry, sweetheart.”

“You—you don’t even realize, that you said the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to anyone, and you love me more than anyone’s ever loved anyone, and—and—”

You cut yourself off with another hot wave of tears and a shuddering cry. 

“Oh, my girl,” Spencer coos through an adoring little laugh as he pushes hair out of your face. “You are so drunk, baby. Come here.”

You let him undo your buckle and pull you across the console-less seat (thank you, vintage car) into his arms. For a minute or two you can hardly speak, crying into the warmth of his jacket as he holds you. 

Eventually, you manage to raise your head and pull back enough to look at him. Immediately he’s assessing you with those soft eyes, watching how you wipe away whatever tears didn’t soak into his clothing. Under his watchful gaze, you exhale a sniffing laugh. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

It’s so immediate you’re knocked off balance again. “Well—you were just being nice, and I—”

“I do love you more than anyone has ever loved anyone.”

Usually, you dislike being interrupted. 

In this instance, you’ll let it slide. 

It’s simply too earnest, too honest as his eyes dart between yours like he couldn’t contain it. Like you said it and the thought struck him right in the face—an obvious truth he hadn’t considered before. 

“In infinite universes?” You sniffle. 

“In infinite universes,” he agrees. 

Both of you notice the snow has started to come down outside. Over the course of a few silent minutes, it gets heavier and heavier—a soft hail, sheets of whispering white. 

You’ve never been afraid to break the silence with him. 

But maybe if you weren’t drunk you could keep your questions to yourself. 

“How many snowflakes are we looking at?”

Spencer hesitates, drawn from some kind of hypnosis. 

“Hard to be sure. Heavy snowfall like this could easily put us at six inches within the hour. In that case we’ve watched around point two inches fall. Visibility is probably reduced to about a quarter mile… point two inches across a square quarter mile is a hundred and seventeen thousand five hundred square feet of snow, average density of flakes at this temperature being about three kilograms per cubic foot of snow, and a snowflake weighs maybe… point zero zero zero zero zero��two kilograms, so, roughly… very roughly… we’re looking at one hundred and forty two million snowflakes. That’s my best guess.”

You look up at him from where you’d been resting your head on his shoulder. 

“You’re the coolest person ever.”

He blushes. 

Tries to reply. 

Looks back out the window and huffs a nervous laugh, like you’ve flustered him. 

“Lots of people could do that. The math isn’t too complicated. It’s also probably wrong.”

A slow smile blossoms on your face. 

“You’re never wrong. So… what percentage of infinity is a hundred and forty two million?”

“Uh… undefined,” he laughs, looking back down at you. “But… in tangible terms, which is inherently contradictory because infinity is completely intangible, and actually pretty meaningless to mathematicians—more of a philosophical concept than a numerical one… it is a very small fraction. It’s nothing.”

“I don’t want philosophical,” you murmur, reaching up to graze your knuckles along his cheekbone. “I want hard numbers.”

He catches your hand and holds the tips of your fingers to his lips as he thinks, watching hundreds of millions of snowflakes falling from the wide black heavens through narrowed eyes. 

“A googol is written as a one followed by a hundred zeros, and a googolplex is a one followed by a googol of zeros. That’s the largest named number we have. It surpasses the estimated number of atoms in the universe. It’s too large to conceptualize. Mathematicians don’t really have any practical use for numbers above one trillion, but the largest number you’ll find in a dictionary and which might be formally accredited is a centillion, which is a one followed by three hundred and three zeros. It’s bigger than a googol but hardly a fraction of a googolplex. But—okay, we’re setting aside the conceptual numbers. What was your question?”

Your head spins as you laugh. 

Too much gin. Too many IQ points. 

“Infinity divided by, uh… the number of snowflakes I can see right now.”

The engine is still on—heat blows steadily, warming your arm through a coat and sweater, and whatever it can’t reach is warmed by Spencer. 

“Right. Okay. Well—to put it into perspective, with snowflakes, you have around one septillion that fall each year. That’s twenty four zeros, so… a lot. Are you with me?”

“No.”

“Great. So, a hundred and forty two million is basically infinity.”

This earns a clumsy, drunken laugh from you, and he smiles like he’d been hoping for that. 

It’s so warm in the cab of his car. It’s so warm under his gaze. 

Outside, the snow continues to fall. 

For each flake, there is a world where you and Spencer fall in love. And in the grand scheme of things, you’re not looking at very many. 

In infinite universes, you’ll find each other. For eternity. 

You’d be happy with just this one. 

[grenadehearts]

soft domestic katsuki sighhh

Thinking about Bakugo—all grumpy and exhausted from a grueling day at work. New scars stretch across his rough skin, marks you’ll be sure to kiss better come morning. But right now, you’re peacefully asleep, and he knows it—knows it before he even reaches the front door of your shared home.

He wants so badly to slam that door, to let the pent-up rage from the day crash out of him in a storm of noise and haphazard explosions. He wants to stomp through the house, muddy boots and all. But he doesn’t. Why?

Because his precious baby is sleeping.

So instead, he exhales through clenched teeth and fumbles with the keys, biting back the frustrated grunt that aches in his throat. The door opens with a soft click. He knocks his heavy boots off by the mat, not bothering to untie them, too worn down to care—but careful all the same, because you're upstairs, dreaming peacefully.

He creeps up the stairs, every muscle in his body burning with fatigue. He's got a raging migraine, grime still clinging to his skin, fingers twitching from adrenaline mingled with leftover fury, and a desperate need to touch you. But none of that matters. Not when he sees the little signs you left behind—proof you tried to stay up for him.

A blanket tossed over the couch. A half-melted pint of your favorite ice cream abandoned on the counter. A tipped glass of wine, the red staining the coffee table in a messy splash. It should annoy him—hell, with anyone else, it would—but with you? You're so messy and soft and sweet that he could drown in it. And oh, he would. Happily.

Everything that spills from your mouth is like honey to him. He’s desperate to lap it up, memorize it, let it coat every raw part of him. He makes a silent promise to himself to clean everything up in the morning. Maybe even stop by that café you like on his morning run. The thought soothes something in him.

But for now, his soul aches for you.

His body is breaking down, his head pounding, but his heart won’t let him rest until he’s by your side—until he’s close enough to feel your warmth in the quiet dark. So he continues up the stairs as silently as a man of his stature can manage.

And there you are.

Your pretty, doll-like head rests on the pillow, soft locks spread around you like a halo. Your lips part slightly with every gentle breath, forming a perfect “O,” and your lashes flutter in sleep like you’re dreaming something sweet. He stares, caught in the stillness, overwhelmed by how much he loves you.

He wants to crawl into your arms, bury his face in your neck, and feel the steady beat of your heart against his chest. But he needs to shed the day first—to wash the grime and blood and exhaustion from his bones.

So he moves to the bathroom, runs the water scalding hot, and lets it sting as it washes him clean. He stands there, eyes closed, letting the heat dig into his muscles while images of you flicker behind his eyelids.

When he finally steps out, he dries off, slips on a pair of boxers, and pads back to your room. The bed welcomes him like a sigh, and he lowers himself slowly beside you, careful not to wake you—at least not fully.

But like always, you stir.

Just enough. Your lashes flutter again, and your body shifts instinctively, head turning until your ear rests over his heart. You don’t say anything, and neither does he. You never do.

But both of you lie there, breathing together, listening to the rhythm of each other's heartbeats in the dark.

Because everything is okay, as long as you end the day in the same bed together.

masterlist link here. i lwk hate this bye

taglist: @lotusstarr @luvseraphh @candiiee @xoxojisu @cvnt4him @cupkiki @wokar @soundtrqck @princessshnazzy @chlosology @203steph @chitteringcicadaeyes @idk1187 @notartemis777 @chosostonguepiercing @chocolatedefendorbaa @t33th--r0t @3lenaatvt @the-faceless-bride @tuneinwlosers @moonstonejpg @dollyfetti

[kurooh]

I SAW RECS R OPEN YAAAY!! can i req morning sex w inarizaki boys where reader wakes them up bc shes needy?

if its too much, just with suna plspls? <3

☆ HIT IT IN THE MORNING ! — HAIKYUU

⊹₊˚. featuring miya atsumu, miya osamu, aran ojiro, kita shinsuke, & suna rintarou messin’ around with you when the morning rolls around.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, consensual somnophilia, oral sex, cuddlefucking, creampies, squirting, minor stomach bulges, some fluff, prone bone.

xoxo, juno. hi!! this request is from summer 2024 & i really hope you see this nonnie 💘 i’m so sorry i didn’t get to this sooner

MIYA ATSUMU.

atsumu’s the heaviest sleeper around, sighing contentedly every now and then as he cycles through his dream, eyebrows jumping up and twitching when it only seems to grow more pleasant. it takes a little longer than it should for him to finally stir, his first yawn melting into a soft moan when he registers the sight between his legs.

this is when he wonders if he’s toeing the precipice of sleep and consciousness, too delighted to believe that this is a dream until you pull off of his cock with a pop. “good morning, tsumu,” you purr, a smile playing on your spit slick lips while you dip your head toward his glistening tip. “sleep well, baby?”

atsumu’s head falls back against the pillows when you take him in your mouth, unbearably tight and oh so hot. blond hair fans out around his head, reminiscent of a halo. “mornin’ to you too,” he chokes out, swallowing dryly, “haah, damn—that’s my girl. g-gonna make me cum like a—okay, shit.”

he can’t hear the giggle, but he sees the amusement dart across your face as you purposefully push harder, forcing his cock another inch deeper. from your place between his thighs—the best seat in the fuckin’ house—atsumu looks gorgeous, with his mussed hair, lidded eyes, and flushed cheeks.

“y’know, ‘s actually rude to laugh at yer husband if he stutters. if i wasn’t gonna—oh, oh—spread those pretty thighs right after this, i’d give ya somethin’ to laugh about.”

with a white-knuckled grip, atsumu fists the sheets between his fingers, fighting every instinct to jerk up into your mouth and make you choke. but you make it look like it’s too easy, gagging quietly and not even tearing up when it happens. frustrated, atsumu shoves a hand through his hair, yanking roughly at the tufts, just like you do whenever you’re on his lap and giving him a kiss.

“ya better be teasin’ me right now,” he says—whines—without any heat behind it. “d-don’t make me drag ya on top of me, babe.”

he nearly rips his hair out, back flying up and off the bed when you swallow around him. the squeeze of your throat and your audible struggle is almost too much for him to take—he might actually cum so hard he puts himself right back to sleep.

in order to save himself the embarrassment and give you the princess treatment you deserve, atsumu pauses, willing himself not to be greedy. his clammy palms settle on your shoulders, and he bites back a moan upon seeing the slight bulge in your throat.

“‘kay, wait—lemme eat ya at the same time, sweetheart. get up here.”

MIYA OSAMU.

“‘m so thankful i get to wake up next to ya every day. even better when yer the one wakin’ me up, my pretty lil sexomniac.”

“call me that again and i’m leaving this room before you can finish the sentence,” you snap, voice weaker than you’d like it to be, “don’t—fuck—test me, samu.”

osamu only snickers from above you, finding your threat ridiculous in its entirety. you wouldn’t voluntarily try to leave, and it’s not like you really could either; he’s pressing his chest to your back while he rocks his hips into you, both stretching and filling your cunt deliciously. with your hips and abdomen flat against the bed, he’s able to push deeper than usual—just as ‘he’ did in your dream, and it clearly had an impact on you. you’ve been together for years, but this is the first time you’ve woken up half naked and grinding all over a surprised though pleased osamu.

“uh huh,” he drawls, and his tip presses against your cervix in a filthy sort of french kiss. “well, ‘s nothing to be ashamed of, baby. and hey, i know ya wouldn’t go that fuckin’ easy, ya hate openin’ the restaurant on weekends.”

“in my dream, work didn’t exist,” you say blandly, growing impatient with his lack of energy. yes, it’s a saturday morning, but osamu said he’d fuck you the way the dream version of him did, and this is far from it. “stop teasing me and fuck me like you mean it, samu.”

a laugh bursts out of him, but soft hands find the curves of your hips and squeeze, blunt nails digging into your skin. “when’d ya get so bossy, angel?” and before you can retort something back, he follows up with, “not that ‘m complaining, though. ya tellin’ me what to do turns me on.”

you keen loudly when osamu goes from one to a hundred, ears ringing with the sharp smacks of skin against skin. heat surges through his body when he buries himself to the hilt inside you, groaning at the tight, all-encompassing squeeze of your cunt around him—you always take him so well, making enough noise to completely shut out the nagging of responsibilities in the back of his head.

it’s a saturday morning, and osamu is enjoying it to the fullest with you. his grip on your body tightens, palms growing damp against your skin.

“swear ya were fuckin’ made for it, angel,” a groan surges out of his chest, shaking his entire torso under its pressure, “i jus’ can’t get enough of ya, yer always drivin’ me crazy.”

he’s folded over you, burning face pressed into the crease of your neck while he babbles endlessly. everything he’s saying makes your stomach twist with arousal, but what makes it feel even better is the fact that all of it is true—the fit of your bodies couldn’t allude to anything else, and you do drive him a little insane every day.

“keep that pace ‘n you’ll make me cum, samu,” you pant, clawing your fingers into his hair, “mmmh, oh my god—g-gonna cum all over you—!”

osamu nods into your neck, rambling more nonsense that eventually fizzles into muffled gasps of affectionate petnames and such. you fall off the edge and straight into liquid euphoria soon after, gushing all over his cock with a pitched whine. and goddamn, he’s so lucky to cum deep inside you at the same time, gushing against your cervix while your walls milk him for everything he’s got. as he rides out the high, weakly bucking his hips into your ass, osamu holds you closely.

an irritating, grating sound (his ringtone that atsumu set for him) splits the pleasant come down in half and he groans, half collapsing on top of you. “have the manager open today,” you purr, more convincing than you should be, “i don’t wanna leave the bed just yet.” then, more quietly afterward, “also, my legs are numb.”

ARAN OJIRO.

“this good, baby?” aran murmurs into your neck, voice thick with sleep as a warm palm smooths over your abdomen, “feelin’ me here?”

absolutely, you are. he’s big, and not completely aware of just how much he’s stretching you out—it’s a tight fit, but you can take it. shuddering with heated bliss, you groan and press back against his chest, “how could i not?”

aran only laughs, easily holding up your leg while his hips slide slow against your ass. “yer cute, always complimentin’ me so much.”

stripes of sunlight scatter over the bed, split by the blinds and illuminating small specks of dust in the air. this is supposed to be a lazy morning, but it only is for one of you—he’s in no rush, opting to draw this out as long as he can before finally making a mess of you. his movements are slow and languid, endlessly aggravating.

as if he can hear your complaining, aran allows his fingers to coast down your belly and toward your aching clit. you cry out with relief, clawing at the sheets when he finally touches you, unceremoniously pressing the pad of his thumb into your clit. it’s only a light bit of pressure, but damn—sparks of heat burst along your spine and shoot straight to your pelvis.

your voice cracks over the words, hips chasing his touch. “ooh, r-right there.”

“right thereee?” he parrots, in a voice that makes your pussy throb with sheer need. warmth races to your cheeks and sizzles in your stomach, right where his hand had been—it’s not quite the same sensation, but your hand settles there. a gasp tears out of your throat when you actually feel him, his cock leaving an aran-shaped impression inside you.

“oh, oh my god,” your lower lip quavers, an audible tremble pushing through your words, “you’re jus’ so fucking deep, i can’t—”

“heh, and to think ya thought we just couldn’t go slow,” as each word leaves him, his thumb moves over your clit a little faster. “i’ll make ya cum hard just like this. whaddaya think, baby?”

“i want to,” breathless and teary, you nod frantically, feeling your toes curl as the arousal burns a crater in your stomach, “please, need you to keep going. hngh, it’s—it’s so damn good.”

aran’s voice is soft still, but a touch more suave now that he’s finally pushed past the sleepiness. strong and accentuated with veins, his forearm flexes as he pushes further between your trembling thighs. “that good, huh? good enough to make ya cry?”

a breathy yes! tumbles out of you, and aran continues, enjoying the intermittent spasming of your pussy. now that he’s completely focusing on you, there’s less movement of his hips, although he does push up every now and then to make you mewl.

“yeah, yes,” you stutter out, feeling a thin sheen of sweat starting to form on your forehead, “g-getting closer, don’t you dare stop.”

aran can both see and feel you digging the heel of your hand into that soft spot on your lower stomach. such a simple technique, and yet it amplifies every single sensation to the max—tears spring to the corners of your eyes, and he knows you definitely won’t be able to hold out much longer.

pleasure looks ethereal on you, complimenting your already pretty features and flattering you in a way that makes his heart swell. it’s all for him, all because of him—fuck, he could cum to just the thought.

so aran holds off, letting you twist and sob on his cock while your hips struggle to decide on chasing his touch or running away from it. there’s so much sensitivity that it might just send you into overstimulation before orgasm, something you haven’t experienced together yet.

“cumming, i’m gonna cum,” you squeal, voice breaking and pitching into a whine when the ecstasy washes over you. you can’t quite breathe by the time you’re coming down from your high, trembling all over and yet still thinking about when the next will come. aran presses a chaste kiss to your temple and playfully flicks a finger over your sensitive clit, because he can already grasp what you’re thinking about.

“finally ready to move past the warmup, babygirl? i hope yer not too tired, i haven’t even gotten ta properly fuck ya yet.”

KITA SHINSUKE.

shinsuke sometimes gets hungry at night, so he ends up heading into the kitchen to eat an apple or he’ll push his head between your thighs. he wouldn’t have it any other way until he woke up to your cunt hovering right over his mouth, soaked with bittersweet arousal.

“oh, shin,” you moan, hiccupping over the words, “y’always do me so good—god, yes, jus’ like that!”

his tongue strokes over you again, starting at the bottom of your slit and dragging all the way up to your clit, silky soft yet rough. shinsuke thinks you sound oh so pretty, whining and whimpering for him with your fingers twisting in his hair.

“ride it,” he groans, voice muffled. to make sure you get the memo, he pulls your hips down encouragingly. “use my tongue, sweetheart. yeah, ya got it.”

shinsuke’s proud to let you steal his air away, if it’s for something as meaningful as this—you’re so focused on making use of his tongue that you don’t even notice his hips uselessly rutting up into the air.

the air fills with obscene, wet squelches and the smell of his spit all over your inner thighs. you’re both bending forward and arching back as the impending high sears its way through your entire body in the form of countless sparks of heat. “‘s coming,” you sob, words bunching together, “i - shin, it’s gonna be messy.”

your orgasm crescendos before it finally rips through you, cunt squirting waterfalls all over him. shinsuke desperately laves his tongue against you, sucking down everything you’re giving him without a shred of hesitation—it’s just so much stimulation that it subverts the length of your high, and a delightful shriek tears out of your throat.

“shin,” you plead, lower lip wobbling as you try to twist your hips away, but to no avail. he’s got you, and he intends to finish this meal, just like he’s always been taught. “i won’t—shit, i can’t cum again just yet! if you’d wait a second—”

mercifully, he loosens his grip on your hips but still doesn’t allow you to go. he looks up, an eyebrow raised expectantly as though he doesn’t believe you. no nonsense as always, it seems.

“ya can and ya will,” he says simply, shutting you up before returning to flicking his tongue against your twitching pussy. now that you’re more lucid than before, you’re able to pick up on the noisy creaking coming from beneath you. it’s when you swivel your head around that you actually notice the dampening spot on the front of his boxers—white cum seeping through the fabric.

shinsuke kind of notices you looking and feels his cheeks grow a degree warmer. it’s nothing to be embarrassed of, he knows, but still.. maybe he can help ease the process of forgetting along with another orgasm or two.

he clears his throat, letting the tip of his tongue circle your clit. “eyes on me, c’mon. we ain’t done just yet.”

SUNA RINTAROU.

“rin,” you whisper-hiss, voice scratchy with sleep and tight with unmistakable desperation. “open your eyes.”

‘is there a fire?’ is the first thing he thinks, until he blinks the sleep out of his cloudy eyes and sees the genuine distress on your face, feels you sitting directly on top of his hard cock. the need for friction is intoxicating, especially with such thin layers of fabric between your bodies, and—wait. rintarou can actually feel himself leaking precum through his boxers, and there’s a damp spot forming right where you’re sitting on him.

“aw, baby,” rintarou says dryly, palm lazily skimming over your bare thigh, “thought you had enough earlier. what happened?”

“well,” you begin hastily, fingers slipping under his waistband to tug the clothing away inch by inch, “i was really hot, so i woke up, and i was still soaked from earlier. also, you were humping my ass.”

if rintarou wasn’t as tired as he is from having fucked you in more than three different positions, he’d playfully push you off him for making him sound like a dog with a stuffed animal. instead, he settles on wrinkling his nose emphatically, hand dropping back to the mattress.

“okay. just for that, i’m not helping you out over here.”

you deflate, having just lifted his boxers almost off of his thighs. him and his damn attitude, always acting up in your moments of need. rintarou mentally takes a photo of your disappointed face and saves it into his long term memory, thoroughly pleased with himself.

“nooo,” you whine, debauched, and his dick starts to get harder. “what if i ride you?”

because he’s too petty for his own good, rintarou mimics your tone with a smirk on his face. “yesss. you can try, but it’s not like you can handle it.”

“uh huh,” you look down your nose at him, all while angling his cock so you can sit down on it. rintarou’s breath hitches in his throat when your pussy swallows him whole, hot and tight and so damn wet as it squeezes firmly around him. you huff out a breath, throwing him a proud look—but he notices the pinch of your brows, the minute tremble of your lower lip. “see? what was i just saying, rin?”

“right,” he says, folding his arms behind his head to sit and watch. that same snark makes its way through just the one word, and you’re determined to fuck it right out of him—so you set your hands on his chest and properly plant your feet on the bed, on either side of him.

“holy fuck, rin,” you mewl, sounding like some kind of fucking pornstar, all natural and operating off of sheer lust, “you’re hittin’—yes, right there!”

sweat blossoms between your thighs and his, allowing for more slip n slide as you slam down on him with enough force to rattle him to his core. rintarou’s never been fucked before, but this is definitely something he could get used to—his cock seems to be thinking along the same lines, having the audacity to throb with sensitivity this quickly.

your babbling continues, growing filthier and filthier the more you lose yourself in the moment. there’s something so delicious about the way you’re taking what you want from him, and the realization ignites an inferno in the pit of his chest. “s-so deep, that’s it,” he sees your pretty eyes roll back the millisecond his tip plunges into a soft, spongy spot somewhere around your cervix, “i could just—i could cum just from this.”

rintarou realizes that you’ve woken his ass all the way up, and you’re also proving him wrong, doing both at the same time. what is he supposed to say, now that you’ve got him choking on his own words? he absolutely knows his fate is sealed when a bitten moan slips out of him and you arch a brow in response.

“what did i tell you, rin?” you ask smugly, voice still strained as you brush a hand along his clenching abs, “deep down, y’know i can handle you.”

[rainydayathogwarts]

Off limits - Remus Lupin

summary: remus can't help but liking the one person who's off limits, but it seems like they him too. find pt2 idk what my problem is with remus and any marauder sibling reader but it seems to be a recurring theme on this blog. wc: 1.8k+

The soft click of your heels on the ground is drowned by your laughs. You and Narcissa walk down the hallway, arms linked together, neither of you in any rush to make it to your next class in time. Remus can’t help but stare at you from where he and the marauders are jammed in a corner, plotting their next prank on Professor Binns in an attempt to make his lessons a little more interesting. Sirius follows his line of vision and says “Oh they think they’re so much better than the rest of us, these two.” He huffs, adding in a mocking, and slightly envious tone “The perfect Black cousins. Married by twenty and successful without working a day in their lives.”

Right. There was the fact that you were Sirius’s sister that always managed to slightly influence his opinions of you. Similarly to Sirius, you had an inexplicable elegance to you, with your head held high and an ego that was excused by your intelligence.

Remus sighed, watching as you disappeared behind the corner of the hallway, a last flash of your smile catching his eye before he lost sight of you. “Right.” He scoffed, turning his gaze towards Sirius. He internally cringed. There was nothing Remus could say or do that would ever make Sirius forgive him for liking his ever-praised sister, so he kept his thought to himself. Call it the halo effect, but Remus was convinced that you were a good person, despite being a Slytherin who seemed to get along with her evil parents. James clapped Remus on the shoulder as he got up, a sign of the boys leaving to their classes. 

When Remus slipped through the door to the potions classroom, his eyes instantly landed on you and the empty seat beside you. His seat. Wordlessly, he sat by you, just in time for Slughorn to enter the room. Your posture made Remus insecure of his own, instantly straightening his back and catching view of your legs swinging slowly underneath the tall stool. Slughorn’s boring drawl nearly lulled him to sleep, and he was ecstatic to find that you shared the same opinion, opening your notebook and quill to begin scrawling words over a blank page. Remus looked over your shoulder, watching as you took your time to write neat letters that formed the phrase 'Could not care less what sluggy has to say.' Remus didn’t care that anyone could tell he was reading your note to Narcissa, an amused smile forming on his face.

Narcissa returned your notebook with a short new sentence added to it. 'Sameee. Hogsmeade after?' Shutting your notebook, you  nodded curtly at your cousin, sighing silently. He understood where Sirius was coming from. You and Narcissa didn’t only share your perfect reputation within the pureblood community, but around Hogwarts too. When Slughorn passed around your graded papers, he even smiled at you, and Remus couldn’t even be angry at the favouritism because he knew he felt the same. The ‘Outstanding!’ on your paper shone in red ink that could be seen from the other side of the room. Remus wasn’t surprised when he saw the matching grade his paper held, but it seemed impressive when you did it. 

You glanced at your neighbour’s paper, angling your head slightly and shooting Remus a smile in congratulations. Remus gulped, feeling his heart beat particularly hard in his chest, and he was barely able to return a grimace before you turned away. Shit, Sirius would hate him right now. 

At Hogsmeade, you and Narcissa giggled over a butterbeer about your crush on the forbidden boy, your cheeks gaining heat with every passing thought about him. “He’s Sirius’s best friend, he's off limits.” Narcissa shrugged her shoulders at you, mumbling something incoherent into the rim of her butterbeer. “And even so!” You started again, “Salazar knows Sirius has probably spoken so badly about me to him that he wouldn’t be able to look at me that way.” Narcissa’s eyes widened in front of you, and you spun in your seat to see what she was staring at. There he was, in full glory, walking into the Three Broomsticks on a Wednesday afternoon, Remus Lupin. “Coincidence? I think not.” Your cousin whispered to you, watching in amusement at the way you fixed your posture and hair in a quick second before shooting Remus a smile from where you sat.

Sirius squinted at you from the entryway of the pub, facing his best friend and asking “Why the hell is my sister smiling at you?” Remus made a noise, shrugging his shoulders in mock cluelessness. “What is she up to?” Sirius added, glaring at you when you waved at him with a smile. Whether it was genuine or not, it didn’t matter; Sirius would forever hate you for abiding by your parents’ rules. 

You faced Narcissa once more, muttering “Did they look away yet?” And waiting for the nod of her head, eyes trained on Sirius as he walked to the bar, returning his unforgiving stare. You slumped against the table with a groan. “See what I mean?” The unsure hum from in front of you had your head snapping up once more, raising your eyebrows at the blonde woman. “What does that mean?” Narcissa cocked her head to the side, a grin forming on her face. “You think tall Mr. Lupin can’t see what you’re writing down in class? He’s definitely the one who suggested coming here.” When you shot Narcissa an unimpressed look, she added in a sing-song voice “Because he likes you!” You rolled your eyes, leaning on your arms again. “Don’t feed into my delusions.” 

You and Narcissa stood up in unison, making a beeline for the pub’s exit when you came face to face with your brother. He and his friends were all carrying a bottle of the famous drink. A quick in and out of the cozy pub. Sirius didn’t tear his gaze off you for a single second as you scanned the group of people he was with, and finally, you said “What, are you stalking me or something?” 

Your brother sneered at you, and the expression on his face instantly sent a painful pang to your chest. “Don’t flatter yourself. We wouldn’t be here if Remus didn’t suggest a trip down here.” Narcissa’s pleasantly surprised giggle communicated all the emotions you felt in that moment, and you let a smile creep up your face at the revelation, glancing at the boy stood next to your brother. His cheeks had turned rosy: he knew that you knew what he did. Your brother didn’t seem happy with the look on your face, and especially not with the next sentence that came out of your mouth. “Yeah? Well, I’ll see you around Lupin.” You winked at the chestnut haired boy before spinning on the balls of your feet and walking out into the fresh air with Narcissa on your heels. There was no need to witness the interaction that took place behind you to know that Sirius was angry, pointing an accusatory finger at Remus as he questioned him about your relationship, or lack thereof. “Don’t fall for her tricks Remus, she’s just trying to get to me!” Sirius had stressed after Remus had assured him that he had no idea what you meant. What Sirius didn’t notice was the way Remus’s face had fell at his comment, all hope of your potential feelings towards him falling apart.

‘Well, I’ll see you around Lupin’ Your melodic voice echoed through Remus’s mind as he followed Sirius and James, a few steps behind the pair whilst thinking of the smile you had shot him. The same sentence resonated in Remus’s mind as he laid in bed that same night, causing him to toss and turn within the confines of his four-poster bed, tightly shutting his eyes in a weak attempt to eliminate your siren song from restlessly repeated itself. Remus groaned, sitting up in bed and shoving the curtain of his bed open, sliding his feet into warm slippers at the bottom of his bed, letting his legs guide him down the the staircase and out of the common room, into the darkness of the deserted hallways oh Hogwarts. It wasn’t long until Remus found himself in uncharted territory, that of which he only visited when attending his potions lessons. Remus cursed himself out, spinning around in the vast hallways. He barely recognised this side of Hogwarts in the dead of night.

An amused hum had Remus reeling around towards the sound, a scared expression on his face. He should have just tried harder to sleep, tried harder to ignore your captivating song, dragging him to an unknown side of the castle. Your laugh resonated in the hallway, and Remus turned once more, this time stopping to find himself face to face with you. Remus gulped harshly, eyes locked with yours from where you hunted him like a prey from the other end of the hallway.  “Remus Lupin. In the land of the enemy.” Remus’s mouth dropped open with an inaudible gasp as he took in your nighttime attire. Your joggers and tank top paired with your bare face and animal themed slippers contrasted widely with your regular appearance, though you didn’t seem to care what you looked like in front of your brother’s best friend. Your hands were crossed over your chest, a genuine smile on your face at the sight of the tired boy. Silently, the boy walked towards you, stopping only when he was a couple of feet from you.

“Mr. Lupin. Or should I call you my secret admirer?” Remus blinked slowly, and for a moment you feared that he would fall asleep on the spot, but with a slow rub of his fists against his eyes, Remus mumbled shyly “I didn’t know it was that obvious.” You stepped forward, reaching out to grasp Remus’s jumper, the soft fabric lacing between your fingers, and you tugged softly, pulling him closer to you until your chests touched. “Kiss me Remus.” You begged, hand closing into a fist on his jumper. With his hands trailing to your hips, Remus fulfilled your request, leaning down to press his chapped lips against your soft ones. With a quiet moan of satisfaction, you brought your second hand up to grip his jumper, trying to use your grip to pull him closer to you. Remus broke the kiss with a sigh, leaning his forehead against yours with his eyes shut, a mix of his joy and sleepiness.

You brought your hands to the nape of Remus’s neck, playing with his short hair and sending a shiver down his spine.

“Remus?” You asked, and Remus replied with a noise of acknowledgment. “Remus?” Remus furrowed his eyebrows, eyes shooting open just as he heard a last call of his name. “Remus!” The boy gasped, sitting up straight only to find himself in his bed, a frustrated Sirius standing on the side of his bed, mumbling something about being late to class. The sun shot beautiful golden rays into the room, a reminder of the new day that had come. Tiredly, Remus thought ‘Why did it have to be this sibling I woke up next to?’ 

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