#besides the images have been used already

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

mc messing with sebastian when they are Professor Black, I need it, please. I image mc going Mr. Sallow I've heard you and our new fifth year are sneaking out together. I hope nothing improper is happening. I wouldn’t wish to have to oversee a wedding during my time as headmaster.

Polyjuice Potion | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

BAHAHAHAH I STARTED WORKING ON THIS IMMEDIATELY BECAUSE THIS IS HILARIOUS, THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!

Words: ~2,100

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor

The Polyjuice Potion had worked—perhaps a little too well.

You examined your reflection in the polished surface of a nearby suit of armor, recognizing yourself as Phineas Nigellus Black, the ever-ill-tempered, egotistical headmaster of Hogwarts. The pinched expression, the stiff posture, the perpetual air of disdain—it was all there. Even the scent of expensive cologne and the faintest trace of ink clung to the borrowed robes.

A smirk curled at your lips. Oh, this was going to be fun.

With an exaggerated gait befitting your new persona, you made your way through the halls, relishing the way students shrank back at your approach. Their hushed whispers and wary glances only fed your growing amusement.

The plan had been simple: borrow the headmaster’s form, strut around the castle unchecked, and slip into the Restricted Section of the library to retrieve a book you and Sebastian needed for your latest round of mischief. But when you happened to spot him lounging against a pillar in the Transfiguration Courtyard, casually chatting with a nervous-looking first-year, an even better idea formed in your mind.

You and Sebastian were newly courting, a fact that thrilled and terrified you in equal measure. There had always been something between you—something charged, something exhilarating—but now? Now your nightly post-curfew meetings had tipped over into the territory of... inappropriate. From late-night rendezvous in the Undercroft to the hours spent whispering in hushed tones behind stacks of books and the absolutely improper things he had said to you just last night beneath the Forbidden Forest’s canopy, it was a miracle you hadn’t already been caught.

And seeing him now, with your identity hidden, provided the perfect opportunity to push his buttons—and perhaps, make him think you had been caught in the act, after all.

With deliberate, booming steps, you approached, clearing your throat with all the authority you could muster.

“Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian stiffened immediately, snapping to attention. The first-year beside him went rigid, then bolted without a word, leaving Sebastian standing alone, blinking up at you—well, at Professor Black—with rapidly dawning concern.

“Professor,” he greeted, schooling his features into careful neutrality.

You clasped your hands behind your back, surveying him with the kind of imperious air you imagined the real headmaster would use. “I have been informed of certain… late-night escapades involving you and our new fifth-year student.”

Sebastian’s expression flickered—so fast that most wouldn’t have caught it. A tightening of his jaw. A twitch of his fingers.

But you did.

“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” he said smoothly, ever the picture of a model student.

“Oh, don’t be coy, Mr. Sallow.” You tilted your chin, enjoying the way his confidence wavered. “I am well aware of the frequent, shall we say, disappearances you and your companion have orchestrated.”

Sebastian blinked. Then, to your delight, his composure cracked just a fraction more. “Disappearances?”

“Yes.” You let the word drag, savoring it. “Discreet meetings. Secluded alcoves. Library corners far removed from prying eyes.” You paused for effect. “Surely, you don’t think the faculty are so blind?”

Sebastian was staring at you now, eyes darting around as if trying to determine just how much you knew—or rather, how much ‘Black’ knew. The corners of his ears were already turning pink.

You pressed on. “One might begin to wonder if these outings are of an… inappropriate nature.”

Sebastian choked.

Actually choked.

His composure—so carefully maintained, so effortlessly wielded in the face of authority—shattered like glass. He coughed violently, eyes widening in what could only be described as pure, undiluted horror.

“Inappropriate?” he managed, voice an octave higher than usual. “Sir, I—”

You held up a hand, cutting him off. “Now, now, Mr. Sallow, let us not be hasty in our denials.” You paced in a slow circle around him, watching the way his shoulders squared, the way his fingers twitched at his sides. “If, hypothetically, a situation were to arise—say, one resulting in an unexpected addition to the Hogwarts population—well, naturally, a marriage would be required.”

Sebastian’s mouth fell open.

“You mean a— a baby?!” he sputtered, looking positively scandalized. “What—no! That’s not—Sir, you have completely misunderstood—”

“I do hope so, for your sake.” You exhaled, shaking your head in mock disappointment. “It would be rather tedious, wouldn’t it? Organizing a ceremony, ensuring the Ministry is properly notified… And of course, the matter of parental consent.” You tutted. “Although, given your companion's… unfortunate lack of proper guardianship, I suppose we’d have to settle the matter internally. A pity, really.”

Sebastian’s ears were no longer pink; they were burning red.

“Sir,” he tried, his voice betraying the barest hint of a waver, “with all due respect, I—”

“Oh, but I must admit, the match does seem fitting.” You clasped your hands, peering down at him as if contemplating it seriously. “Our new fifth-year has certainly reined in that reckless streak of yours. A strong-willed partner to temper your unfortunate disregard for authority.” You sighed dramatically. “Perhaps it is not such a poor idea after all.”

Sebastian looked about two seconds from passing out. His mouth opened and closed, searching for a response but clearly coming up short. He was no doubt replaying every single one of your late-night meetings in his mind, tallying up just how scandalous they must seem from an outsider’s perspective.

You had never seen him so utterly speechless.

“Sir, I assure you, we are not—”

You hummed, tilting your head. “Not yet, perhaps.” Then, as if just coming to a realization, you gasped. “Or is it that you wish it were so?”

Sebastian made an awful noise—somewhere between a strangled yelp and a groan of agony. His hands twitched uselessly at his sides, like he was caught between gesturing wildly in protest and gripping his own hair in frustration.

“Sir—”

"What is it, Sallow? Spit it out, will you."

Sebastian swallowed hard, his usual bravado entirely abandoned. "Sir, I—this is—it's not what you think!"

You raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow. "Oh? Enlighten me, then. What exactly do you think I think?"

Sebastian floundered, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. "We—we were just studying!"

You exhaled heavily, as though exhausted by the sheer absurdity of his excuse. "Studying?" you echoed, dryly. "In the dead of night? In hidden corners of the castle? With your hands where, exactly?"

Sebastian made another strangled noise, looking truly panicked now. You almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. He had no idea. Absolutely no clue. And it was delicious.

"Sir," he finally managed, voice cracking just a little. "I swear on Merlin’s grave, I have never—my hands have never—!"

Liar.

"Mmm." You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to consider his words. "So you deny any inappropriate conduct with our new student? Any late-night whispers? Any—"

A voice rang out from behind you.

"Professor Black?"

You turned sharply on your heel, schooling your features into the most severe, disapproving expression you could muster. Ominis Gaunt stood a few paces away, his wand held aloft, his pale eyes blinking as he gauged the situation. His usual neutrality was in place, but you knew him well enough to detect the faint exasperation lingering beneath the surface.

As if he were already wondering what the hell Sebastian had done this time.

"Ah, Mr. Gaunt," you greeted, letting the headmaster’s usual tone of clipped condescension seep into your voice. "Excellent timing. I was just having a most illuminating discussion with your dear friend."

Ominis tilted his head ever so slightly, expression betraying a flicker of curiosity. "Sir?"

Sebastian, still reeling from your interrogation, turned to Ominis with wide, pleading eyes. The look clearly screamed: Help me.

You clasped your hands behind your back and resumed your slow, authoritative pacing. "Tell me, Mr. Gaunt, are you aware of your friend’s nightly disappearances with our newest fifth-year?"

Ominis frowned slightly. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Headmaster."

You hummed, turning to regard him with a sharp, scrutinizing gaze. "Is that so? And yet, I have been informed that Mr. Sallow has been... rather indiscreet in his late-night activities with her."

Sebastian choked again, making another strangled sound of distress. Ominis, for his part, merely exhaled through his nose, looking deeply unimpressed. "Sir, I can assure you, whatever you've heard has been exaggerated."

"Oh?" You arched a brow. "So you deny that Mr. Sallow has been sneaking about the castle at all hours, engaging in clandestine meetings?"

Ominis remained impassive. "Sebastian has always been prone to wandering, sir. It’s hardly a new development."

Sebastian latched onto that defense like a lifeline. "Exactly! I just—wander. Aimlessly. Like a—like a ghost!"

Ominis sighed. "Not helping, Sebastian."

You clasped your chin in mock contemplation, as if seriously weighing their words. "I see. And if I were to question our new fifth-year about these wandering excursions, would they give me the same answer?"

Sebastian blanched. Ominis, however, remained eerily calm.

"Undoubtedly," Ominis said smoothly. "And, if I may be so bold, sir, surely the Headmaster has far more pressing matters to concern himself with than the idle movements of two students?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. Clever. Too clever. Ominis knew how to handle authority far too well.

But you weren’t done yet.

You sighed heavily, shaking your head. "Mr. Gaunt, as Headmaster it is my duty to ensure the propriety of all student conduct—especially when it comes to matters of… courtship.”

Sebastian, who had been clinging to Ominis' defense like a drowning man to driftwood, practically flinched at the word.

“Sir, we’re—there’s no—” he croaked.

You cut him off with a sharp wave of your hand, shifting your gaze back to Ominis, whose composed expression now held the barest trace of tension. “Surely, Mr. Gaunt, you, of all people, can appreciate the need for… structure, when it comes to matters of the heart. A proper match. A respectable arrangement.” You sighed, feigning concern. “But alas, young love is so often reckless. Thoughtless. Irresponsible.” You clasped your hands behind your back and shook your head gravely. “Which is why I fear Mr. Sallow is on course to... how shall I say it? Ruin his own future prospects.”

Sebastian, who had already been pale, seemed to turn an even more ghostly shade. “Sir, I—I don’t understand.”

“Oh, but it is quite simple, Mr. Sallow,” you continued smoothly. “Should a scandal arise—an unfortunate circumstance, let’s say—there would be consequences. A proper course of action would have to be taken.”

Sebastian’s eyes flickered wildly between you and Ominis, looking more and more like a cornered animal.

Ominis, who had been handling this entire exchange with relative poise, finally faltered. “Sir, surely—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” you interrupted, waving a hand in exasperation. “You’ll both insist that nothing untoward has occurred. But I must consider appearances, Mr. Gaunt. And if Hogwarts were to find itself at the center of an improper affair, well, we would have no choice but to ensure all parties involved were secured in a respectable manner.”

Sebastian made a sound so strangled it barely qualified as human.

Ominis, for the first time, looked genuinely speechless. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again as though he had completely lost the ability to formulate words.

You clasped your hands behind your back, nodding in a manner you hoped conveyed utmost seriousness. “Yes, yes. A proper arrangement. Ensuring the integrity of all involved parties.” You let the silence stretch, watching as Sebastian struggled to form a coherent response.

“Sir, that is—” Sebastian finally managed, his voice cracking. “That’s completely unnecessary! I assure you, we have done nothing inappropriate!”

“Oh?” You arched a brow, unimpressed. “So you deny any late-night rendezvous? Any secluded meetings?”

Sebastian groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “I—yes, I mean, no! I mean—we weren’t—oh, for Merlin’s sake!”

Ominis, ever the composed one, finally seemed to regain his ability to speak. “Sir, if I may, I truly do not believe this warrants such drastic measures.”

You hummed, considering. “Perhaps. But one cannot be too careful. The reputation of this institution, and our new fifth year, is at stake.” You turned a sharp gaze to Sebastian. “You do care about your companion’s reputation, don’t you, Mr. Sallow?”

Sebastian looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. “Of course I do!”

“Then it is settled,” you said with finality. “Should any… unfortunate rumors arise, we will be prepared to handle the situation appropriately.”

Sebastian groaned again, looking pleadingly at Ominis, who, for once, had no retort prepared. He merely rubbed his temple, looking as though he too wished to vanish from existence.

With that, you turned on your heel, sweeping away with the same imperious air Phineas Nigellus Black was known for, leaving behind a thoroughly scandalized Sebastian Sallow and an utterly exasperated Ominis Gaunt.

And the second you were out of sight, you bolted, biting down hard on your knuckles to keep from cackling out loud.

Oh, that had been worth every single second.

[chxnsgirl]

방찬 ─── because i love you

♡ pairing ៸៸ idol!chan x fem!reader genre ៸៸ fluff, hurt/comfort ៸៸ cw ៸៸ mention of body issues and insecurities ♡ synopsis ៸៸ channie comforts you after you've been having bad thoughts about your body all day :( [ 1k words ] a/n ๑ i had a bad day yesterday, someone said mean things and i wrote this to cope. this is your reminder to be nice to people, you don't know what someone is going through. ♡ ♡ masterlist

you curled up on the bed you shared with chan, cocooned in the safety of your comforter, your body curled tightly as if making yourself smaller could somehow quiet the thoughts swirling in your mind. the room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, but even in the warmth of your own space, you felt unbearably exposed. you sniffled quietly, your face damp with fresh tears, your chest aching from the weight of emotions that had been pressing down on you all day.

it had started out like any other—waking up to an empty bed, chan already gone for the day, lost in his endless cycle of work, music, and practice. that was nothing new. but the moment your eyes landed on the mirror across the room, everything shifted.

the self-loathing crept in before you could stop it, sinking its claws into your thoughts. you had always struggled with your body image, always fought against the voice in your head that whispered cruel things when you least expected it. lately, though, it had been louder than usual, every glance in the mirror a fresh wound, every passing thought a reminder of how far you felt from the kind of beauty society seemed to praise.

and then there was chan.

chan, who was effortlessly beautiful, who spent his days around stunning, slender women—women who looked like they had stepped right out of a dream, with their delicate features and effortless grace. women who seemed to belong at his side in ways you never felt you could.

he always told you it didn’t matter. that he didn’t care about any of that. that you were enough—more than enough. but your mind was cruel, twisting his reassurances into empty words, making it impossible to truly believe them.

the front door clicked open, breaking the silence, and your heart clenched. he was home.

you barely had time to wipe at your face before instinct took over, yanking the comforter up and over your head. you didn’t want him to see you like this—didn’t want him to see the evidence of your tears, the way your face was blotchy and swollen from crying. maybe if you stayed still enough, he’d think you were asleep.

you listened as his quiet footsteps padded through the apartment, moving with the ease of someone who belonged there, who belonged with you. the bedroom door creaked open, and you tensed, bracing yourself.

the bed dipped under his weight, and a familiar warmth spread through the mattress as he settled beside you. a moment passed before you felt his hand, gentle and careful, smoothing over the comforter that covered you. his touch was soft, tracing absentminded circles over the fabric as if he were comforting you without even needing to see you.

“baby?”

his voice was low and warm, laced with that effortless tenderness he always carried when speaking to you. that single word was enough to make your throat tighten, and before you could stop it, another sniffle escaped.

chan heard it.

he tugged the comforter down just enough to reveal your face, his brows immediately furrowing in concern when he saw your trembling lip and tear-streaked cheeks. his fingers brushed gently over your skin, tucking stray strands of hair away from your damp cheeks as he searched your eyes for an answer.

“oh, baby…” his voice softened even more, dripping with concern. “what’s wrong?”

you sat up slowly, your arms wrapping around your knees as if you could shield yourself from his gaze. you wiped at your eyes, but it was no use—he had already seen everything. his hand found your arm, rubbing soothing circles as he waited, giving you space to speak when you were ready.

but you weren’t ready. you were embarrassed.

embarrassed that you were feeling like this again, embarrassed that he had to come home from a long day only to deal with your mess of emotions. guilt crept in, whispering that you were burdening him, that you were exhausting him.

still, when you finally spoke, the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“why are you with me?”

chan stilled, his brows drawing together in confusion. “y/n…” his voice was careful, as if he were afraid of breaking you with the wrong response. he moved closer, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. you let yourself sink into his warmth, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his hoodie.

“what do you mean?” he smoothed his hand down your back, tucking you even closer, his chin resting against the top of your head.

you hesitated, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “you could have anyone. someone prettier. someone… better.”

chan inhaled sharply, as if your words physically hurt him. he pulled back just enough to cup your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. his thumbs brushed away the lingering tears on your cheeks, his expression unbearably soft yet filled with quiet intensity.

“don’t say that,” he murmured, shaking his head. “not about yourself. not to me.”

you tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let you. his hands remained steady, grounding.

“i’m with you because i love you,” he said firmly, as if that alone should be enough to erase every doubt in your mind. “not because of how you look, not because of anything you think you’re lacking—because you are you. and that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

his voice was steady, unwavering, but there was something pleading in his eyes, like he wished he could take away the pain, like he wished he could make you see yourself the way he did.

“i know it’s hard,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. “i know your mind tells you things that aren’t true. but i’ll keep reminding you every day if i have to—until you believe me. until you understand just how much you mean to me.”

a shaky breath left your lips, and for the first time all day, the weight in your chest felt a little lighter. you weren’t sure if you could believe his words just yet, not fully. but as you let yourself melt into his embrace, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you thought—maybe, just maybe—you could try.

and for now, that was enough.

taglist: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin @tirena1 @nickgurl4life

©chxnsgirl do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[sundaysconsort]

Sunday theme?! 👀✨ohhhh

Can I request for sunday x ghost! Fem reader who is already with him since childhood, like she is Imaginary his friend, but she is still with him when he became astral express member.

She is someone who sunday trust about his secret and when he want to making a plan about the dream world, he search a solution to make fem reader can be alive again, he just want to thank her for be with him all these years . Ghost! Fem reader just feeling okay that she is not alive, she just want sunday to be happy thats all and when he became one of trailblazer member she is still there for him. Their feelings are mutual like romantic type.

Entry: " No Death May Do Us Part "

Pairing: HSR! Sunday | Reader

Information: You have been a figment of his imagination for as long as he can remember—a figure who comforts him during his darkest nights. Over time, he comes to realize that you are more than just an image created in his mind; you are something much greater. He is determined to bring you into his ideal realm. However, even he has limits, and you remain a beacon of light, guiding him on his journey. | 2.2k Word Count

Tags: Slow Burn, Tenderness, Mutual Pinning, Admiration, Hurt/Comfort, Self Doubt, Longing, Appreciation, Confession, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Ghost Reader.

Sunday was entangled in a haunting belief that he had lost you forever, cast away from the radiant paradise he had once envisioned—not solely for his people but for you as well. In the depths of his mind, that dream had imploded into fine, shimmering stardust, the weight of his perceived failure draping across him like a heavy, dark shroud. You, the spirited woman who had once curled up beside him as he poured his soul into the ivory keys of his childhood piano, had now morphed into a mere echo, flickering in the pits of his fading memory. Each frustrated note he struck reverberated with an ache, an attempt to breach the daunting chasm created by his tumultuous journey yet to come aboard the Astral Express.

Oh, how he longed to hear the familiar tones of your voice again, each syllable a soothing melody that played like a gentle breeze across his senses. Memories steeped, echoing in his mind like the sweet chime of distant bells, stirring feelings of warmth and joy that enveloped him like a cherished embrace on a cold winter's night. Those moments shared—conversations filled with love—wrapped around him, creating a cocoon of comfort that he yearned to revisit, reminding him of a connection that transcended time and distance.

“No death may do us part.'” This whimsical vow once uttered with joy between you and him as mere children, a promise made by the young boy version of himself and his 'imaginary friend', now holds a profound weight in his heart. The words echo through his thoughts, a haunting reminder of the bond you shared, intertwining your souls in a love that transcends even the boundaries of mortality.

He often found himself engulfed in a profound introspection, questioning the very essence of your existence. Were you merely a figment of his chaotic imagination, conjured by the loneliness that enveloped his heart, yearning for companionship and understanding? Or could you be something far more transcendent—a divine blessing from Xipe?

Nestled deep within the tangled labyrinth of his emotions, he battled with a bittersweet reality: you were a spirit trapped in a merciless limbo, a wandering ghost gliding through the lit streets of Penacony. The city, once a beacon of hope and joy in his mind, now felt like a deceptive paradise, a place where beauty was tinged with sorrow. Each corner he turned seemed haunted by echoes of you, intertwined with the melancholy of your fate, leaving him to ponder the fragile line between longing and despair.

Though you never overtly revealed your fragility, he felt it in the weariness of your fading existence, the way your spectral form flickered like a fragile candle struggling against the suffocating embrace of encroaching darkness. He clearly recalls the precious moments when you reached out, yearning to wipe away his tears with your trembling hands, only to find that the effort was always too monumental, an insurmountable challenge. You appeared sorrowful, yet fiercely determined, lingering in a half-life, steadfastly remaining by his side, your voice a whisper that trailed behind him, echoing encouragement and heartfelt concern throughout his childhood.

What fascinated him most was how you seemed to age gracefully alongside him, your essence maturing within the fabric of the realm you existed in. Sunday ached to rescue you from the twisted chains of solitude that ensnared you, to liberate you from the cruel fate that had snatched away your life. As vivid memories of youth and giggles surged back, he held them close to his heart, even as he wrestled with the heavy burdens of guilt and regret that had haunted him since embarking on the Astral Express. All he could have done better.

Sunday carries a deep-seated disdain for the person he once was, haunted by the echoes of his past mistakes and shortcomings. Yet, he knows you possess a remarkable heart, one that sees beyond his flaws. One that is capable of embracing the possibility of redemption. You chose to care for him despite his imperfections, recognizing the strength they reveal in him. He is no monster. Perhaps this clarity comes from the innocence of youth, a belief that genuine goodness can emerge from even the darkest struggles. You, too, saw the beauty in his dream—a vision of a better world that he strives to achieve. Every day, he tirelessly searches for a way to manifest that dream, no longer for the ideal of Penacony, but primarily for you and his dearest baby sister. The two most important elements within his life.

After enduring defeat and comprehending the repercussions of his actions—how his misguided intentions had led to the suffering of those he cherished—he decided to pursue his own redemption. He yearned for the chance to apologize to you, to communicate his deep gratitude for the tenacious companionship that had stitched together the fragile seams of his heart. Once, you were two innocent souls intertwined by fate, and the question that nagged at his mind was: where could you be now?

Days bled into nights as he roamed the streets of Penacony, driven to conceal his identity in a land he once governed with authority. His heart was heavy with the fear that you might still be waiting at the piano you once shared in a place he nostalgically dubbed home. The mere thought of you, patient and hopeful as you had been in your shared childhood, tugged insistently at his heartstrings. How could he bear the burden of knowing you possibly lingered there? Were you destined to remain trapped in this twilight world? Is this separation punishment for his failure to embrace harmony? Amid all the struggle, he sought order under the guidance of Gopher Wood—ultimately a grave miscalculation that ensnared those he loved in his misguided vision of paradise.

He desperately dreamed of creating a world where you could take tangible form.

Upon his return to the express, a twist of fate awaited him. The lobby lay enveloped in shadows, an eerie silence wrapping around him like a thick fog until a familiar, haunting note drifted through the air like a ghostly breeze. It flowed gently, beckoning him toward its source. As he approached the empty piano bench in the Express, he was astonished to see your faint image—a vision of focused concentration, your hands tremulously grazing the keys, having difficulty applying enough weight.

Relief washed over him like a gentle tide, melting away the icy grip of doubt that had tightened around his heart. As he looked at you, sitting across from him, warmth flooded his being. Your presence radiated a beauty that seemed untouched by the passage of time, each feature as striking as he remembered. It was as if, in his darkest moments, your image would materialize to guide him, no matter how far he roamed.

"'See? Just let it flow out of you, like this,' he heard you softly murmur to yourself, your voice barely above a whisper yet carrying the weight of cherished memories. You sensed his presence nearby, and a wave of sentimentality washed over you. He had spoken those very words to you—each syllable a soothing balm that lingered in your mind. 'You can do it too. Come, give it a try.'"

As your gaze intertwined with his, the atmosphere transformed, charged with an electricity that sparked in the air. Everything around you faded into a soft haze, the vibrant colors and distant sounds melting away until it felt as though you were enveloped in a warm silence. In that suspended moment, it was just the two of you—intensely connected, as if the universe had conspired to freeze time and hold you in this perfect stillness, face to face once more.

Your focus returns to the piano, fingers dancing across the keys with grace. A rich tapestry of nostalgia wove itself around you, the melody resonating deeply within both your hearts. The sound fills the room, echoing off the walls, each chord a brushstroke, a masterpiece of emotion, painting the atmosphere with warmth and yearning.

"...this song is familiar to me; I believe I've encountered it once before," Sunday said, his eyes widening with a mix of nostalgia and wonder. It was as if he had been whisked away to a simpler time, a time when every sound carried a hint of magic. He looked at you, a faint smile playing on his lips, as the weight of time momentarily lifted, letting him relive those precious memories that felt so far away yet still lingered in his heart.

"A long time ago, you taught me how to play it," you replied, a gentle smile blooming on your lips, illuminating your ethereal form with a warmth that reached out to him, even from the veil separating your worlds. "I had time to practice while you were busy this passing year. I'll admit, I did miss you..."

His brow furrowed in thought, a hint of sadness shadowing his features. "I see… though I have little recollection of this melody in particular," he confessed, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a forgotten melody.

"I'll teach you," you assured him, your smile unwavering—a beacon of hope amidst the shadows. At that moment, the distance between your two worlds felt as fragile as glass, shimmering with the potential for connection. You reminisced with each note, your bodies almost touching; the warmth of his physical presence starkly contrasted with the coolness of your spectral form.

As if attuned to the unspoken doubts rolling through his mind, you felt compelled to address the silence that hung between you. With a gentle tone, you spoke again, instinctively grasping the complexity of his emotions and the weight of his unexpressed words.

"You are not obligated to carry the burden of my circumstances, Sunday. My deepest desire has always been for you to follow the path that resonates with your heart, rather than succumbing to the expectations of your family or the pressures of Penacony. More than anything, I want you to find true happiness in the choices you make and to embrace the life that fulfills your soul." It was a bittersweet blend of past and present, memory and longing, as the music continued to flow, bringing your hearts together once more.

You didn't crave an apology; that wasn’t what mattered to you. Instead, what you truly yearned for was simply his presence beside you, the warmth of companionship that brought comfort in moments of uncertainty. You understood that sometimes words were unnecessary; it was the connection that counted.

"And if the one I have been seeking, the bearer of my deepest desires, is the very person who can grant me that fulfillment, would she too share this feeling?" Amidst the enchanting melodies that surrounded him, Sunday made a solemn vow—to find the way to restore your essence so that you could finally embrace him as he had always longed to experience. "Would you, in turn, reciprocate my feelings?"

As you shift your position, a soft sigh escapes your lips, carrying with it a mix of longing and tranquility. Your faded hand gently rests atop his, fingers hovering close, as if trying to form a bridge between two worlds. The room is thick with unspoken emotions—a silence that feels charged, one where every heartbeat resonates with the weight of your connection. Though you can't touch him like another living soul might, a spark of hope flickers within you, illuminating the space between your hearts like a gentle flame in the dark.

"Of course," you reply, your voice steady, woven with warmth and an undercurrent of yearning. You sense his gaze shift towards you, eyes filled with an emotion that’s both tender and penetrating. He raises his free hand to brush the air between you as if he could touch the essence of your spirit.

Sunday smiles, a flicker of vulnerability dancing behind his charming exterior, his eyes momentarily betraying a depth of feeling that goes beyond mere charm. The soft glow of his halo seems to shimmer with ethereal light as if it were reflecting his genuine affection for the moment shared between them. “Then let’s not let this moment slip through our fingers,” he suggests, his voice steady but warm. “Can we promise to hold onto this? To each other?” His words hang in the air, inviting a sense of commitment and connection that feels both fragile and profound, urging them to embrace the bond forming in their hearts.

You take a deep breath, feeling the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins as your heart pounds like a drum in your chest. The air is thick with anticipation, and a sense of the unknown hangs tantalizingly in the space between you. "More than anything," you say, your voice steady yet infused with emotion, "I want to explore this… whatever ‘this’ is, together." The words linger, heavy with possibility, as you meet his golden gaze, hoping they share your desire to uncover the mysteries that lie ahead.

His eyes soften, revealing a glimmer of paradise within their depths. The warmth of his gaze envelops you, making your heart flutter as if dancing to an unheard melody. "Together it is, then," he murmurs, his voice a gentle caress that fills the space around them with an electric tenderness.

At that moment, the world fades away—the worries, the noise, all of it dissolves like mist in the morning sun. There's a palpable connection as if their souls are intertwined, each breath they take syncing in a rhythm that feels both exhilarating and comforting. He shifts closer next to you on the bench, and you can feel the warmth radiating from him like the sun breaking through a cloudy sky, banishing shadows and illuminating everything in its path.

Every heartbeat reflects the promise of shared dreams and whispered secrets. The piano, once the center of attention, now stood silent and neglected. In that moment, you both felt an unspoken connection—two kindred spirits intertwined in a bond that transcended words.

A/N: I hope this was to your taste! Ended up finding inspiration from other series, including Anohana and Wuthering Waves for this. I'm not the most satisfied with this, but I'll leave you to be the judge of its quality. I hope you enjoyed it. <3

[distracted-milkshake]

Backseats - Tony Stark x reader

Warnings: sex sex sexxx but not smut, mentions of injuries, typical pregnancy talk

Words: 3.7k

Rating: M

Summary: Tony grapples with the fact that, after finally getting you pregnant, you’re a bit more pregnant than either of you expected.

or

In which almost every important thing since you met Tony seems to happen in the backseat of a car.

Had an exact idea for this, and it just came out for once, ending me with a sweet little one-shot I’m happy to say came out exactly how I wanted. Hope you enjoy!

Little unfun fact, I may have broken my foot halfway through finishing this. Won’t know till tomorrow, but I am quite pissed

Also want to note that I didn’t notice till I was about half done, but there’s not actual reference to Tony being Iron Man or having the arc reactor anywhere in this. I didn’t exactly do this on purpose but it felt worth pointing out

Ao3 link

“No. No, that’s entirely too many.” 

Tony was sat beside you at your ultrasound appointment, squinting to get a better look at the image being displayed. 

“Tony…” you started, though you weren’t sure how to continue. 

He pulled his hands out of his pockets, standing up. 

“Did I hit my head?” He tapped the monitor, and the doctor gave you a disapproving look you could do nothing but shake your head at, shrugging. 

“Are you seeing this?” He looked at you, head at a tilt. 

“Yes. I told you.” 

“You’re kidding me. Tell me you’re kidding me, this has got to be some sort of prank.” 

He tapped his foot in relative silence for a moment, chewing his lip. 

“We’ve got to downsize.” You gave him an unamused frown, to which he put his hands up defensively. 

“Only joking.” He said. 

“Don’t even.” You said. Any way you interpreted that wasn’t funny. 

“What’s the odds on that, by the way?” He inquired. 

“IVF brings a much higher chance of multiples, so not that unlikely, actually.” 

You’d only gone for artificial methods after banging for almost a year with no results. 

Despite supplements and tracking and Tony stepping it up, something just wasn’t working. 

You’d brought it up when he made it home late one night. 

“You look lively after fourteen hours.” You said from the couch as Tony walked in, dumping his briefcase by the stairs for later. 

“Private plane’ll do that. I’m not even tired, I think I’ve grown immune to jet lag.” 

“How’d it go?” 

“It was wild. They asked about you. I said you’d gotten into beekeeping.” 

“That’s what we’re saying now?” You teased. 

“Hey, whatever they’ll print.” 

“Appreciate it.” 

You could only manage flying once or twice a year, otherwise? You could handle not seeing Tony for a few days. In fact, more times than not you could use it. 

“Aside that, it has been a hell of a day. Meet you in bed?” 

“Sure thing.” 

With that and a kiss on the cheek, he went off to the bathroom. 

You headed to the bedroom, and a few minutes later Tony joined you, already stripped to his slacks. 

“God you look sexy when you do that.” He murmured, pulling off his socks and getting on the bed next to you. 

“I’m not doing anything,” 

“Exactly. You don’t need to.” 

He tugged off what little you were wearing, situating himself between your legs. 

“You gotta shave if I’m gonna do this.” He blew a tuft of hair off his forehead. 

“You offered.” 

“As if I’m going to pass it up, please. Waiter? There’s a hair in my meal.” He spat, picking at his tongue, making you giggle. 

He smiled. finished undressing and crawled up to kiss you, pulling you down by the waist off the headboard to on your back in the pillows. 

You stared ahead, brow drawn as he pulled your leg up over his shoulder. 

“Jesus that feels like coming home.” He huffed. 

“Tony?” 

“Yeah?”  

“Why haven’t I gotten pregnant yet?” He slowed, giving you a look. 

“Well I wouldn’t know. Hormones, cycles, the whole thing‘s finicky, never really made sense of it myself.” 

”Tony.” You voiced with a groan, scrunching your nose. 

“You want me to stop right now and answer?” 

“No, I just– I’m serious.” 

“So am I. I don’t know.” 

You sat up on your elbows, and Tony sighed, dropping your leg and sitting back. “Think maybe we should try something different?” You said. 

“Like what?” 

“You know.” 

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Not to be possessive, or whatever it’s called now, but I really don’t like to share.” 

“Oh Jesus, Tony, no! I mean like artificial insemination, IVF, you know, that kind of thing.” 

“Thank god. Though I was afraid you meant that.” He sighed, resting on his haunches. “Frick.” 

“You don’t want to?” 

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” he scratched his chin. “Actually, yes it is. I don’t want to. Scoot.” 

You moved over so he could pull his legs out from under him and climb up next to you, pushing the covers out of the way, gesturing for you. 

You laid back into his arms.

“No, we’ll keep trying. It’ll sort itself out, I’m sure.” 

“Any particular reason?” 

“Do we have to get into it? I just don’t want to.” 

“All right then.” You leaned up and kissed him, pulling him against you. 

You liked Tony because you hadn’t known who he was when you met him. He was stranded from some failed scheduling, and in the backseat of a ride share he’d asked to borrow your phone like any other person would.  

“Really, just one call and I’ll give it right back.” 

You'd rolled your eyes, but handed it over. “You should put your seatbelt on.” You had said. 

“I’m like ten minutes from where I’m going, this guy doesn’t care.” 

And then when he gave it back to you, you had found his number in it. 

You’d called him the next day, of course, with full intent to tell him to buzz off, only to be stunned into intrigue. 

“Great. Now I have yours.” Had been all he said before hanging up. 

After that, you texted near daily. He wasn’t always the greatest at responding, so you preferred video calls. It was like that for months before you finally went out. You played hard to get, right up until he got you. 

You had told him it was on one condition, that he wouldn’t chew you up and spit you out like he did to supermodels and reporters, or say, his secretary. 

That if you were going to date him, and really date him, that he’d have to be all in, it was you or bust; you weren’t going to let him play you into something just for it to fall through. 

Not when you knew he was the only one for you. 

He’d only said one thing to that: “Done.” 

And two weeks later he proposed to you on live television. 

The media still didn’t believe, no matter how many times Tony said you were special, that you were going to last. 

Stuff spread fast as soon as you were seen in public together, journalists certain you were his latest in a long line of heartless flings. 

So you agreed to help him change that. 

“Go easy on her, yeah? She’s not used to television, but it's cool, because she agreed to be here with me, and honestly that’s enough work in a relationship on its own, I think she’s clear for the year.” Watching Tony beam on camera, every ounce of charm working, was worth it on its own. 

“Well we’ve got some great stuff planned for tonight, so don’t you worry.” 

You smiled, seated on that couch next to him in front of a whole studio audience and probably millions of viewers, because although you felt out of place, and a little in over your head, Tony kept his hand on yours damn near the entire time. 

Despite being asked a few questions, Tony answered most of them for you, dismissing any negative rhetoric coming your way, which you appreciated, because you could hardly believe the audacity of some of the things they were saying. 

You wouldn’t have agreed to do it if Tony hadn’t let you pick your own outfit, a loose, patterned jumpsuit, and made sure you didn’t have to wear any makeup that you didn’t usually. 

You got to show off when they asked about it, giving a spin Tony stayed holding your hand through, to lots of claps and applause, which would’ve been your highlight of the night if not for what came right after. 

“Well might I just say I think I speak for everyone when I say you look amazing tonight,” the interviewer complimented a little too gushingly, eyeing you. 

“Hey, easy. I am taken.” You spoke up, smiling thinly. 

“Fiery; I like it. Where’s he been keeping you!” 

“Wherever she pleases,” Tony said. “As it turns out, because I don’t keep her.”

“So, last question, have you thought about settling down?” The interviewer pivoted, letting you breathe easier, not wanting but more than willing to make a scene over anything more.

“Thought about? Oh yeah.” Tony said. “We’re pretty inseparable as it is. I don’t go a day without talking to her.” He glanced at you, brown eyes shining. “We’ve discussed it a little. Playfully, mostly. I don’t doubt why she doesn’t always take me seriously.” 

“Does marriage scare you?” The interviewer asked. 

“Terrifies, if I’m honest. But actually, it’s more the asking, you know, the hardest part is deciding when is a good time.” 

You straightened your back, alert as Tony leaned back to dig around in the pocket of his suit before standing, giving you a nod as you stared at him with wide eyes, getting down on one knee. 

You could feel how red your face must’ve been with all the cameras on you. 

“You’d make me the happiest man on Earth if you said yes.” 

The interview had been to announce you were together, among other things, after months of tabloids and speculation, to clear things up. Though the way Tony had phrased it beforehand made it all make a lot more sense. 

“I just wanna let the world know I’ve met someone really special, and I’ve changed. I want to show them.” He adjusted your mic backstages behind the tech’s back, placing his hands on your upper arms. 

“Because things are gonna change.” 

The interview blew up, and pictures of your red, tear stained, smiling face as Tony hugged you, engagement ring held up, displayed proudly on your hand, were in articles and magazines the world over. 

All the attention was a little overwhelming, but you were the most thrilled you had ever been in your life to be engaged to Tony Stark. 

He’d asked you after, on the way home, if it was too much, but you assured him it was perfect. 

“I thought about it immediately when I was asked to do the interview, and I knew if I didn’t do it then I was going to put it off. So I’m, how you say…”

“Sorry?”

“That.” You gave him an expectant eyebrow raise. 

“I’m… sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but you don’t deserve that, being strung out.” 

“It was very you. I still can’t believe I didn’t see it coming, I was so nervous.” 

“I saw that, I was afraid you’d faint.” 

“Oh lord, don’t even say that!” You laughed, giving him a shove. 

“It’s fine, I would’ve caught you.” He kissed your ear, giving it a tug with his teeth before you threw your arms over his shoulders and pushed him into a heated kiss. 

You first started trying for a baby four months after the wedding. 

“Hey, be here when we’re done, yeah? It’s gonna be a long night. You get in there, get yourself a drink, enjoy.” Tony dismissed the cab driver with a tip. 

“I cannot stand when they talk. Tell me again why we couldn’t get a limo?” You were fidgeting, not because of nerves, but excitement. 

“Whatcha smilin’ about? It’s just an action flick, probably not even good.” You would forever commend Tony on his ability to read a room, mood, or vibe without seeming to even look. Especially when it came to you. 

“I was going to tell you when we got home tonight.” 

“Tell me…?” He tilted his head at you, doing that thing with his lips that never failed to make your chest tight. “We’re not getting back till late, come on.” He urged. 

“You know we were talking last month, and I– I took it to heart.” 

“Oh?” 

You took a deep breath. “I stopped taking my birth control yesterday.” 

His eyes lit up. “You serious?” 

“I think I’m ready.” You nodded. 

He all but tackled you in the backseat of that cab, littering your jaw in kisses before moving down to your cleavage, making you yelp. 

“It’s not going to work yet!” You laughed. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try. Celebratory sex, you, me, now.” 

“Tony…! We’ve got a premiere!” 

He brought up his watch, squinting. 

“I’ve got ten minutes and a hard-on, seriously, they’re still playing ads, we won’t miss a thing. And ‘sides, I gotta practice dropping my pullout game.” 

“You are unbelievable.” 

“Won’t make a mess, swear it.” 

“God I love you.” You gripped his lapel, pulling him into a kiss. 

Having straightened out your two-piece and fixed Tony’s hair, grinning when he gave your ass a more than friendly pat, you started the couple blocks to the theater. 

“Right, let’s hurry.” You crossed the street, close by his side. 

“You really cut it close.” You shook your head at him, double checking your clothes. 

“Completely worth it. Do it again in a heartbeat.” 

You swore you always felt like a teenager with their first crush around him, the way he looked at you, always excited you were in the room. 

He took your hand, letting his fingers thread with yours. 

“hey so, I promise I’m gonna be a better dad than mine was. I know I’m not great, but… I promise I’m gonna be decent.” 

“You’re already half there.” You squeezed his hand, giving him a nudge. 

“You think so?” 

“I wouldn’t have married you otherwise.” 

He kissed the crown of your head, before lights and cameras surrounded you both on the carpet. 

But not everything had been roses. 

A few months after that, you’d both been in an accident. 

Tony had been driving, when a tire blew along a turn, sending the car over the side of the highway into the bushes. 

He'd gone through the windshield, hitting the hood and landing a few feet in front of the car in the dirt. 

You scrambled to unfasten your seatbelt, stumbling dazedly out the passenger door onto your hands, shaking it off and rushing to Tony.

“Oh my god, Tony!” Relief washed over you as he groaned when you turned him over. 

“Ow .” 

“Are you hurt?” 

“Jesus, duh.” He felt his face and chest, blinking through the bleary vision. 

“Just my head, I think, but holy shit.” 

You helped him up into the backseat, pulling out your phone and dialing 911. 

“I’m calling an ambulance.” 

You grabbed Tony’s handkerchief for the bleeding from his head, telling the operator where you were and what happened, as well as your husband’s condition. 

“Right, they’re on their way. Don’t lean back, sit up.” 

”We should try IVF.” 

“What?” 

“You mentioned it, and I know I said I was against it, but I think we need to look into it.” 

“Tony we were just in a car crash–”

“Yeah and I really put something into perspective for me. I really don’t want to die before we manage to conceive.” 

“That’s what you were thinking about?” You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath. 

“Deadass, sweetie. Imagine how ridiculous it would be if we ended up childless at like fifty because I was too worried about being seen as inadequate.” 

“You’re kidding me. That’s why you didn’t want to?” 

“Come on. It should be obvious. I spent years sleeping around, making my name synonymous with sex, and I can’t even get my wife pregnant? I would never live that down.” 

“Hey, it was not for lack of trying.” 

“Don’t I know it.” He huffed, wincing as you checked where you’d been staunching his head. 

“I want kids with you.” He said. “And I mean that.” 

“Yeah, okay.” You nodded. 

“Okay? Okay.”  

A half hour or so later the ambulance showed up, and you spent the rest of the evening getting Tony stitches. 

He’d been lucky a concussion and a couple fractured ribs was all he got off with, and he wouldn’t have even gotten that if he’d been wearing a seatbelt. 

“I guess there’s something to be said for getting it over with.” Back in the present, Tony was still talking himself into the news. 

“What do I know, maybe it’s incredibly efficient.” He sighed. “How many did you want again?” 

“Like, two?” You threw out. 

“Surprise, bonus for ya.” He gestured like he was pulling a slot machine. “You struck a three for one, cash-in is in eight months. Hope you know this is your early birthday gift. Christmas too.” 

“That’s a relief.” You shook your head, remembering the last time Tony tried to get you something, and just how much of a disaster it was. 

“Don’t make fun of me, I’m in a very vulnerable place right now.” He teased, but you could tell there was some seriousness behind it. 

“Three kids…” he exhaled a drawn out breath. 

“You’re gonna do great.” You said. 

“I am? I should be the one telling you. It is safe, correct?” He addressed the doctor. 

“We’ll have to see how the pregnancy develops, twins and triplets are almost always born premature, which adds risk to any delivery.” 

“And they are?” The doctor gave him a confused look. 

“Boys? Girls? Other? All of the above?” 

“It’s too early to tell.” 

“Of course. What was I thinking. Right, well, thanks for the news.” 

He was quiet as you wrapped up, getting cleaned up, and printed off your pictures—three little fuzzy black and white shapes. 

“You good?” You asked out in the hall, on your way to the rear exit, noticing how out of it Tony looked. 

“I’m gonna need to think about it. I’m kinda tingly in the fingers, my heart’s racing, I think I’m still in denial.” 

As you approached the glass door, Tony stopped you with an arm, biting his lip. 

“Shit.” 

You followed his gaze to the moderately sized crowd outside, feeling your heart sink. 

“Oh goddamnit.” 

“Don’t people have anything better to do with their lives?” Tony muttered. 

“How. We took surface roads and parked behind the hospital!” You groaned. 

“Where there's a me there’s a camera hoping to catch something. Car’s close, yeah?” He asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“Right. Deep breath.” 

He tugged off his jacket, covering you as you made your way to the car, ducking you inside while camera flashes snapped from every direction. 

“Mister Stark! Mister Stark! Are you currently going through IVF treatment?” 

“Is your wife expecting?” 

“Sir, is it true you’re going to be a father soon?” 

“Fine, you might as well know now.” He caught your eye through the gap of the tinted car window, and you furrowed your brow. 

“My wife and I are expecting. We’re having triplets.” He said. 

“And that’s a you get.”  

You moved over as he opened the door and got in the seat beside you, quickly shutting it behind him. 

“I can’t believe you just did that.” 

“Yeah, believe it, before I change my mind.” 

“You can’t take it back now!” 

“Well yeah, but if I could, you would have to accept that I wouldn’t, unless I changed my mind, or you really wanted me to, in which case I’d figure it out.” 

“What?” 

“Nevermind.” He rolled up his window the rest of the way, drowning out the paparazzi still clamoring for his attention outside. 

“Hey,” you put your hand on his thigh. “Thank you, Tony.” 

“I’m not the one who’s going to have three human beings inside her, and not in a fun way. Jesus, you’re going to get huge.” He looked down at your stomach, then back up into your eyes. 

“You’re having triplets?” Happy exclaimed from the front seat. 

“Christ, Happy, you are not a part of this conversation.” Tony gave a dramatic slump against his headrest, throwing his hand up. “Is privacy dead!” 

“Yes, we’re having triplets.” You confirmed with a smile. 

Tony turned back to you. “But you are welcome. My sperm and all. Sorry I couldn’t get it the old fashioned way.” 

“I am not complaining.” 

Happy started the car. 

“Seatbelt,” you gave Tony's arm a tap with the back of your hand, and he quickly buckled himself in, kissing his fingers as you drove off. 

“What’s that for?” You asked. 

“I’m kissing my free time goodbye.” He exhaled heavily. 

“Half the house is going to be kids’ stuff, isn’t it?” 

“Half the house is going to be kids’ stuff.” You chuckled. 

“Not the basement.” 

“Basement can stay.” You assured him. 

“I’m gonna have to uninstall the fountain, aren’t I? It’s just not safe.” 

“I wasn’t gonna say it.” 

“Holy shit, what are we gonna name them!” He interjected,, his expression somewhere between panicked and elated. 

“‘Cause all I’ve only got Maria. That’s it. Does first to pop out get priority, or…?” He showed his teeth, gesturing. “There’s gotta be at least one girl out of three, right?” 

“Actually, I was thinking Virginia for a girl.” 

“That’s funny.“ He deadpanned. 

“She’s been a big help.” You shrugged. 

“You got me laughing.” He shook his head. 

“But seriously. I’m typically great at naming things, but, people who can get mad at me later– not to mention something I’m gonna have to call out across the house only about three million times, I’m not so sure if I want that to be my mom’s name.”

“We’ll figure it out.” You ran a hand through where his hair had shuck loose to hang in his eyes, kissing his cheek. 

It was wild to think less than a two years ago you’d met him for the very first time, and now you were closer to him than anyone, married and having kids. 

“Hey Happy, closest drive through with ice cream?” Tony leaned forward to ask. 

“You know this woman had ice cream every day while she was pregnant, and apparently, full fat ice cream has like fourteen grams of protein per cup? It’s nuts. More if you add nuts now I think about it. That’s not a bad idea. Butter pecan?” 

“Ice cream sounds great right now.” 

“I’m not suggesting you do that, but as far as becoming a picky eater goes… not the worst idea.” 

You pulled through a Dairy Queen, getting two butter pecan ice creams. 

Tony pulled out his phone and held up his spoon, clinking it with yours. 

“To becoming parents.” He toasted, kissing a bit of pecan off your upper lip, snapping a picture of you both as you laughed. 

[creature-of-the-stars]

Nah - I definitely like the more abstract ones. Maybe it's because so many of the pics with people lack color? They work in my little collage things, but for these, the more abstract the better.

credit: stock images except for Saudade

My fics if they were Penguin Classics

Opia cover art, KYEC cover art (no confirmed source), stock images via canva for the rest

made using the penguin classic cover generator

[applesofdaventry]

I'm thinking distinctly Manannan-ish thoughts right now but like. A five year old can totally cook right? Like (quickly looks up Matilda) Matilda could read at like 3 and a half so Manannan could get so frustrated at using capricious wind spirits he has Gwydion hop to it after only a few years right. He could be like Gwydion here is a time period accurate box of kraft mac and cheese make it for me. and then Gwydion could, indeed, make it for him right. Yeah a five year old could totally make a box of maccy cheese.

[cloudwisp]

✮ sylus x wife!reader

contents: fluff, suggestive. arranged marriage au. hints of slow burn. you like playing hard to get and he loves calling you his wife. 1.4k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ I had to deposit my messy thoughts somewhere and this headcanon post was the result.

part two here. ꒱

⭒ Arranged marriage with Sylus where he prefers to call it a “strategic partnership” as a means of appearances to flaunt that he has it all—an empire, riches, strength, influence and now a darling wife who waits for him at home. You’re not so much as a random choice, Sylus had been watching you from afar for a while and in exchange for his protection in the N109 zone he strikes a deal with you to play a simple role. You have every reason to be wary of him and know to keep your wits about yourself, but even you acknowledge that your chances are better with him. Though, if you asked him how he was so certain you’d agree to his proposal he’d admit that he wasn’t but he knew you’d consider it if he had an advantage over you.

⭒ He sets his terms and conditions—you reside in his humble abode, wedding ring always worn on your finger, and attend events with him as a pretty accessory on his arm to contribute to his image. But he’ll never admit that he actually enjoys your company at business functions that often feel dull to him. You are more than welcome to spend your days as you please so long you don’t cause him trouble, and that also means you have his black card privileges to spoil yourself rotten. Of course, he accommodates most requests you may have like sleeping in separate rooms if that’s what you wish (and redecorating because his furnishing decisions are quite bleak).

⭒ Luke and Kieran can sense that their boss feels something for you despite his nonchalance toward this little arrangement. It starts off small, it always does—Sylus takes note of your morning and night routine, your picky eating habits and has the chef make adjustments to your preference, how he sees you out in the gardens and come back with spring tulips to brighten the space and the next week he already replaced the slowly withering flowers with fresh ones. The twins whisper among themselves that he’s often less annoyed and irritated when you’re around, and their boss wouldn’t go through the trouble of being considerate unless he cares for you. It’s almost exciting for them both to witness a budding romance unfold before their very eyes and they do offer a helping hand here and there to keep things interesting.

⭒ Sylus thinks it’s adorable how you keep trying to resist him and that’s precisely the reason he loves seeking you out just to watch your resolve crumble under his touch. He finds you in the kitchen preparing a snack and cages you from behind with his hands planted on either side of you against the counter. “Hey kitten, I thought I’d find you in here.” You feel his hot breath down your neck as he pushes your hair aside just enough to lay a soft kiss on your shoulder. He chuckles when you comment that he’s being awfully touchy with you, and he purposely moves closer so that his chest is pressing against your back. “Perhaps I just can’t keep my hands to myself where you’re involved. Besides, you’re my wife now. I think I have the right to touch you whenever I like.”

⭒ You remind him that you’re his wife in title only, but that doesn’t discourage his flirtation and teasing as he allows you to nudge past him. He follows you into the common area and takes a seat on the couch, spreading his legs wide and taking up a lot of space. His gaze is settled on you as he pats his thigh and his lips curl into a smirk. “Come here, wife.” You naturally scoff meanwhile you place the plate of seasonal fruits on the side table and situate yourself closest to the armrest, taking a bite into a juicy red strawberry as you ignore his piercing stare.

⭒ For someone who always gets what he wants, Sylus isn’t used to being defied like this. And had it been anyone else his patience would wear dangerously thin, but he supposes that you’re a special exception because he seems to enjoy the chase and claiming its reward. With one small gesture, he drags you across the couch by a gravitational pull and you squeal when the swirling red easily turn and maneuver you so you’re forced to straddle him and your hands prop on his shoulders for support. “There, much better. Comfy? This is the best seat in the house.” His gaze locks with yours, and he thinks you huffing and frowning at him is simply cute. He firmly grabs your wrist with the bitten strawberry in your hand and lifts it to his mouth for a sweet taste.

⭒ “No fair… using your Evol against me like this.” You grumble under your breath as you gently trail your thumb from his chin to the corner of his mouth where the strawberry juices began to spill. Then an impulsive thought takes over and you pinch his cheek between your fingers, creating a sticky mess on his face. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. That’s for treating me like a sack of potatoes.” He chuckles once more, his hand falling on your hip and he gives you a light squeeze. “Oh, I do have every intention of fully enjoying my wife tonight.” And by that, he means taking you out for a joyride on his motorbike and feeling your arms wrapped around him tightly as the engine roars through the streets under the night sky and sinking moon. Sylus would never engage in any intimate acts you weren’t ready for, but he loves seeing you fluster at his suggestive remarks.

⭒ As the weeks cross over into months, you never imagined that you’d be spending so much time with Sylus outside of your agreed terms. He’s everywhere in every waking moment of your life even when he’s not there physically. You’re learning new things about him each day and you (begrudgingly) like being around him—even when he can sometimes be a playful bully toward you. When he’s gone for long stretches of time to deal with negotiations and other important matters in the N109 zone, you can feel your heart yearning for him but you’d never say that you miss him out loud when you think he's still toying with you. But with the way he cares for you like you’re both in a real and genuine relationship, it’s hard to know his true intentions and keep your feelings buried deep inside your chest for long.

⭒ You accidentally confirm that Sylus does harbor romantic feelings for you when you carelessly bring up your replacement in a lighthearted joke. You’ve never seen his face falter so quickly at your words as he averts his gaze for a moment to collect himself—a hint of vulnerability in his crimson hues. “I wouldn’t have found a new wife.” He shakes his head and tells you, his voice a little rougher than before. You don’t know what to say, but you manage a soft “No?” that reaches his ears. “No. I wouldn’t have been able to replace you, kitten. You’re it for me. The only one. No one could fill the void you’d leave behind.”

⭒ You and Sylus have kissed before, but this is the first time you’re initiating it. As you brush your lips against his, there’s a softness you never noticed. His hand slips around the small of your back and he pulls you close against him, returning your kiss with the same tenderness as though savoring the taste of you. You lean back after a moment, your palm meeting his cheek in a sweet embrace. “You know, I'm still getting used to the idea that I’ve fallen for you.” You can see him returning back to normal when he offers you a cocky smirk. “And yet here you are. In my arms, with your lips on mine. I think you’re not being entirely honest, my beautiful wife.” Sylus has waited a long time to hear those words from you but you don’t need to know that right now.

[muffinlance]

Hi ! prompt idea : What if Zuko was armed during the first episode and was stranded with the water tribe while the avatar left with Katara and Sokka, Iroh on his trail for white lotus reasons.

Oh we are going to have us some FUN with "stranded with the water tribe", say no more.

---

Zuko was dripping, and steaming, and staring down two dozen women and their gaggle of small children, plus that old not-the-Avatar crone from earlier. They were all cowering away from him. Which was--

Good. It was good. If they were cowering, then they hadn’t noticed how steam was not flames. He wasn’t sure he could make flames, not after the arctic water he’d landed in, with that last sight of the Avatar glowing; not after surfacing under the ice pack, after swimming, after kicking slamming breaking through and his ship was gone and there was only ocean all around and

and he’d made it back to this pathetic little camp of the Southern Water Tribe, because that was the only place he knew for sure would have shelter, and he wasn’t going to die just because they were all staring at him, even if felt like he would.

Even if the old not-the-Avatar woman could probably take him, right now. But she didn’t know that.

Zuko pulled himself up, taller than her by at least a few inches, and blew steam from his nose.

“I am commandeering one of your huts,” he said. And added, because Uncle said even a prince should be gracious: “You may choose which one.”

---

She choose her own.

...The only one without children that flames might scar, or younger women to catch a soldier’s interests.

Zuko sat by her fire and determinedly started struggling out of his wet clothes and she was still in here with him--

Zuko pulled one of her animal pelts over himself, and finished fighting off his clothes. When he stuck his head back out, cheeks still reddened from what was obviously the cold, she dropped a parka on his head.

“Dry clothes, Your Highness,” she said.

The parka was much bigger than he was. He fell asleep hoping that the camp’s men were on a long, long hunting trip.

---

He woke up again. Kanna tucked her favorite ulu knife away, newly sharpened, and stopped contemplating the alternative.

---

“I am commandeering a ship,” he said.

The crone led him across the village, all twenty paces of it, to a row of canoes.

“Take whichever one you want,” she said. “Will you need help getting it to the water?”

Zuko looked at the canoes. Looked at the ocean. Watched a leopard seal, easily the size of the largest canoe, dozing just past the ice his own ship had broken through the day before. It was frozen again, a great icy arrow pointing from the waves to the village, snow already starting to cover it over.

Beyond was blue sky and gray ocean and white ice, floating in blocks like stepping stones, like boulders, like cliffsides.

There wasn’t even a hint of gray steel, or smoke. Or any land, besides what they were standing on.

He looked down at the canoes again. Somehow, they seemed even smaller.

“I, uh,” Zuko cleared his throat. “I’ll require supplies. Before I go.”

---

They... did not have supplies. Not extra ones. This didn’t stop them from trying to give him supplies, food and blankets and anything else he could think to ask for. But each blanket was a pelt hunted by someone’s grandfather, had been inked with images and stories by someone’s mother, was the favorite of someone’s husband or brother or uncle or cousin--

They couldn’t go to the nearest market to replace things, here.

And when they talked about food, about what they could spare, they kept sneaking glances to their children, who were sneaking glances at Zuko from the huts, sticking their heads just over the snowy ledges like their fur-trimmed hoods would hide them. Their mothers and aunts shooed them away, and they crept back, like barnacle-crabs. Zuko glared, and they disappeared.

“When are your men coming back?” he asked. “They’re hunting, aren’t they?”

Oh. So that was what they looked like, when they weren’t trying to hide their hate.

---

Zuko wrapped himself up in the same blanket that night. It was printed inside with fine lines and images, telling a story he didn’t know. He wondered whose favorite it was.

---

Kanna wondered how quickly he’d wake—if he’d wake—if she built the fire up with wet driftwood and tundra grass, if she had one of the younger girls boost up a child to plug the air hole, if she let the smoke draw its own blanket down over this fire child.

---

It was hard to know when to wake up, because the sun never set. So everyone was up before him, and they all had spears and clubs and—and nets, and trap lines, and snow googles with their single slat to protect the eyes from snow blindness. Zuko had seen those once, at the Ember Island Museum of Ethnography, where they’d gone when it was too rainy for anything more exciting.

Oh. They were going hunting.

“Give me that,” Zuko said, and took a spear.

The women looked at him. One of them adjusted her googles.

“I can hunt,” he scowled.

He did not, in fact, know how to hunt.

---

“Give me that,” the Fire Prince said, and Kanna almost, almost gave him her ulu. Humans, like most animals, had an artery in their legs that would bleed them quick enough.

She kept skinning the rabbit-mink one of the women had snared.

“I can help,” he said, with less grace than most of their toddlers. Likely with the skinning skills of a toddler, too. She wasn’t going to let their unwanted visitor ruin a perfectly good pelt.

“Chop the meat,” she said, and gave him a different knife. “It’s dinner.”

“...This is really sharp,” he said a moment later, looking at the knife with some surprise.

“Is it,” said Kanna.

---

Things the Fire Prince was convinced he could do: hunt (until he realized he couldn’t tell the tracks of a rabbit-mink from a leopard-rabbit apart); spear fish (at least he could dry himself); pack snow for an igloo (frustrated princes ran hot); ice fish (the prince was a problem that kept coming close to solving itself).

Things the Fire Prince could actually do: mince meat, increasingly finely; gather berries and herbs, once he stopped trying to crush them; dig roots, under toddler supervision; mend nets, after the intermediary step of learning to braid hair loopies.

“Can’t I take him ice fishing again?” asked one of the women, as she watched Prince Zuko put as much apparent concentration into braiding her daughter’s hair as his people had into exterminating hers.

“Wait,” said another woman, sitting up straight. “Wait wait wait. I just had an idea.”

---

Three words: Infinite. Hot. Water.

---

Summer was coming to an end. The sun actually set, now, and the night was getting longer, and colder. The salmon-otter nets were mended and ready. The smoking racks were still full of cod-lemmings. The children were all a little older, the women all a little more used to doing both halves of their tribes’ chores; a little more used to not watching the horizon, waiting for help to come.

The Fire Prince was staring at the canoes again.

“Are you actually going to try leaving in one of those?” Kanna asked.

“...No.”

“Come on, then; someone needs to watch the kids while the women are hunting.”

She didn’t leave him alone with them, of course. But she could have.

---

Elsewhere, the war continued.

The moon turned red, for a moment none could sleep through; they did not learn why.

The comet came and went, leaving their castaway prince laying on the beach, his breath fogging up into the night sky above him, as the energy crashed from his system as quickly as it had come. Above, lights began to dance in the sky; Zuko pulled his hood up, so none of those spirits—children, dead too soon—got any ideas about kicking his head off to be their ball.

The war had ended. The world didn’t feel any different; no one in the south would know until spring came again.

---

Suffice it to say, Sokka and Katara were not prepared for this particular homecoming.

[ficmenrhot]

Minors DNI

Late night thoughts but…

Imagine Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley who was instantly enchanted by you the second you walked onto base wearing an innocent smile and a short skirt barely doing anything to hide your soft, plush thighs. You looked so out of place with your baby pink colours as you flounced amongst the tall, strong soldiers and pecked your dad, his Captain, on the cheek with a small grin that flashed your dimples. He groaned quietly, thankful for his balaclava to mask his slipped-up noise though the print of his hardened erection straining against the materials of his pants was undeniably prominent. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Later when his Captain, Price, called him over for a proper introduction, he played the facade of a restrained gentleman and even reached out his hand for you to shake (which he would’ve never offered to anyone else). Secretly, he just wanted to see the difference of your smaller palm swallowed beneath his larger, calloused hand, already mentally picturing the image of what your manicured nails would look wrapped around his cock.

“Princess, this is one of my best man. Meet Ghost,” introduced Price. Simon swore he saw your lashes flutter as you gazed up at him, tinted cheeks with pretty plump lips pulled into a small shy smile he couldn’t wait to corrupt.

“Call me Simon, luvie,” he drawled, his voice a deep yet velvety timbre which made an odd flutter erupt in your stomach.

Who could’ve blamed you when you ended up pinned against the wall in Simon’s room, your legs wrapped around his thick waist, his large hands cupping your bared ass as he rutted into you like a bitch in heat. He just seemed so nice….and if your dad had trusted him to bring you safely to your temporal stay after dinner, then why couldn’t you?

How convenient was it that his room was right besides yours? It wasn’t that he forced another soldier to swap with him for the night by abusing his authority.

A goodnight kiss grew heated when his gentle hold on your cheek turned into a grip around your neck, pulling your smaller frame against his toned muscles, letting you feel how much he’d been craving you the entire time since your arrival.

“You feel this, luvie? Can you feel how hard you make me, little tease?”

“Gonna be a good doll for me and help me feel better hm?”

His face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling in your sweet scent and wishing he could engrave the sound of your soft whimpers, desperate moans and pleas into his mind as he stretched you out so good…pounding roughly into your tight heat with long, hard strokes that made your eyes roll to the back of your skull, digging faint crescents into his broad shoulders.

Sure, your cervix may have been bruised for the next few days, but the ache was worth it for the most life-changing marathon of blissed orgasm he gifted you. Lengthy fingers thrusting and curling against your sweet spot, his balaclava lifted high enough to attach his lips to your swollen clit, sucking and licking so expertly and tongue-fucking you into oblivion. Lapping at you to taste your sweet nectar after he brought waves of pleasure to wash over you again and again, then again.

“Little pussy so fucking warm and tight, mhm,” he groaned almost gutturally, “made to be fucked…made to be mine.”

“Know what this means, luvie? You’re tied to me now…forever mine to use and spoil and love…”

Simon delivered a small, firm squeeze to your neck when you responded with an incoherent mewl and not words.

“Say it.”

“…ah..nghm…” you were a whimpering mess, mind completely hazed with pleasure at this point, legs shaking, “…yours to use…and spoil and…love”

“That’s right, that’s my good luvie.”

With one final thrust of his hips and a low grunt, he released, filling you to the brim with warm, spurts of his cum and ensuring you were stuffed full with his sticky seed.

Now that Simon had a taste, he would be crazy to let you go. He was a man of many things but never a liar, and indeed, he’d intended to keep his promise of making you forever his.

Much to his satisfaction, the next time you returned to base after a few months, you were more than just a visitor for his Captain but his girl…

And when you ran up to kiss his cheek, he noticed, the slight curve of a bump forming beneath your soft pink sundress.

——————

A/N: Has it been a year? I don’t know, but I’m back and I’m in my COD era! Hope you enjoyed reading this. All likes, reblogs, and follows are appreciated, so are comments!

[chithereader]

jealousy, jealousy / aaron hotchner

here’s my masterlist! pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader / shy!reader word count: 2.4k genre & cw: fluff, a little jealousy and pining angst if u squint, mentions of made-up case, different use of cm character a/n: thank u so much for all the support i've been getting on my fics!! hope you love this one as much as i do, i really enjoyed writing this one the most!

Today was a bad day. That much was clear. From the moment you woke up to the minute you arrived at the BAU– you’re convinced that the universe has simply gone the extra mile to make your life a little harder. 

You slept through your alarm and a few phone calls from Garcia, making your morning stressful and complete chaos. You didn’t have time to grab a cup of coffee or a snack, and apparently you also didn’t have time to remove the colorful pimple patches that adorned your face. 

Your blouse is buttoned asymmetrically, your hair resembling a bird's nest, and you left your ID at home, making your arrival more delayed as you had to employ Garcia’s help in presenting a copy of your ID to let you through. 

That too was not without stress given that your phone was on the verge of dying as you were in the call, but thankfully you could finally breathe in the elevator. Or so you thought. 

There were two things that immediately caught you off guard as you walked into the bullpen: one, almost all the desks were deserted and two, Reid and Morgan were watching you- as if waiting for your reaction, which led you to look around in anticipation. Is there a surprise? A prank? Did I miss a patch? I’m…wearing pants, right? 

Not wanting to prolong your search, you look at the two for any indication or clue. Tilting your head to the side as if to ask what? But to your surprise, they both nod their heads in one direction. Oh.

Strauss was in Hotch’s office, along with Rossi and a woman you don’t recognize. Hotch looked a bit tense, Strauss firm, Rossi is as relaxed as ever, and the woman… is looking directly at Hotch. Just Hotch. Huh. 

You were stood just shy of your desk when you shook thoughts out of your head, slowly approaching your desk to settle your things. Dozens of scenarios were running through your head, trying to make sense of new additions to an otherwise normal day. 

But the way she was studying him made your chest tight like someone was stepping on it.. and you couldn’t figure out why. 

You approach the two rascals only to lean on Derek’s desk as you whisper under your breath, “What’s happening there?” 

Morgan shrugs but his focused face remains, “I don’t know, kid. I tried Garcia but she doesn’t have a clue either.” Eyes studying the people in the room, noting anything that could tell them something. 

Mulling over more possibilities, you hum in response. Turning to Reid, you ask him- hoping that his eidetic memory can tell you anything about the woman even if they’d only met in passing. 

“Do you know anything, Spence?” But Reid only pouts at you, a sign that he’s thought about it hard but is coming up empty. 

Shaking his head, he soberly replies, “No..I don’t think so. I– I’ve never seen her before. Sorry.” 

Before any more thoughts could be voiced between the three of you, the door to Hotch’s office opens and all four of them file out- the woman walking a little too close to Hotch. 

-

You’re approaching your usual seat on the jet beside Morgan and across from Hotch when suddenly Agent Seaver overtakes you and sits on your seat. Caught by surprise, your eyes instinctively go to Hotch who’s already looking at you. 

He nods to himself, moving from the aisle seat to the one by the window. But it appears Agent Seaver misunderstood his gesture and moved beside him, “Oh! Thank you, sir.” Even going as far as touching his arm and leaning closely. 

Now, you’ve never been a violent person. Rage has just never overcome your senses like that but today.. of all days– you couldn’t help the image of spilling your hot chocolate all over her cream blouse. 

You don’t even notice that you’re frowning as you sit beside Morgan, somehow still unaware of how much their closeness really upsets you. You honestly thought you’ve maintained an expressionless face until Morgan looks up from his file and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You’ll need claws not paws, baby girl.” Winking at you as you separate. 

You steal a glance at Hotch only to see him watching you and Morgan with furrowed brows. He almost looks normal if it weren’t for the clenching of his jaw that’s his tell of irritation. Moving your gaze to Seaver, in case you missed something that’s causing his new mood, you find her reading the case file. 

As you return your gaze on Hotch, you watch as Seaver touches his arm again and engages him in conversation about the case. It’s through the whole jet ride that you had to stomach the constant Agent Hotchner, Agent Hotchner! paired with a giggle or a slight touch. UGH!

If it weren’t for Strauss personally recommending Agent Seaver as a consultant for this case, you would have done– …still absolutely nothing. You had no claim whatsoever over Hotch. Morgan and Rossi may tease the two of you occasionally, forcing that he treats you specially or whatever but his behavior could simply be chalked off as him being a good and attentive boss. 

And yes, okay fine. You may have some moments here and there… but! they could honestly just be built up in your head because of the feelings you have for him. Like when he said he likes it when you stare? Come on, being stared at can be flattering and that’s just a universal truth. 

- 

After a whole day of coming up with theories, visiting crime scenes and M.E.’s, you’re all completely spent. Lounging in the makeshift discussion room, all of you are still working tirelessly on the case given that the unsub’s on a spree and his timeline is alarmingly short. 

Reid’s been silently staring at the board for 20 minutes while Morgan’s pretending to read files of potential suspects with his legs stretched out and feet on the table, “This is impossible. We just don’t have enough.” He exclaims as he tosses the file on the table with a thud. 

To the left of Morgan, you’re also silently mulling over files of potential suspects. Not wanting to admit that he’s right, you guys don’t have enough…bodies. You barely have anything on the guy, barely any clues- for a working profile. 

You sigh heavily, peeling your eyes off the paper and looking at the board. “Reid?” The boy genius shakes his head softly, confirming that the known dump sites don’t say much about the unsub’s comfort zones or hunting ground. 

You suddenly wonder where Seaver, Hotch and Rossi are. You and Morgan got back to the precinct at around 11PM, and you realize you haven’t seen any of them, “Where are the others?” 

Morgan, in an effort to lighten the mood, jumps at the chance to tease you, “Hmm. I think what you’re really asking is: Where’s Hotch and is he with Seaver?” He punches your arm lightly, making it obvious he’s only teasing. 

The smug, playful smile on his face makes you fight one of your own, desperately trying to not give yourself away, “Shut up,” hitting him in the head softly with the file in your hand. 

While you two were exchanging playful glares, Reid interjects, “Seaver wanted to turn in early since she’s also the one meeting with the families tomorrow so Hotch brought her to the hotel.” 

You instantly lift your gaze to him and watch as he removes the marker’s cap and scribbles rapidly on the board, quickly adding “And I’m pretty sure Rossi’s getting us coffee from the diner around the block.” 

You want to blame it on your exhaustion– your inability and ineffectiveness at hiding how you truly feel about what Reid just revealed to you, groaning loudly in pain and frustration. You put your head in your hands, muffling the sounds you’re making that are somehow a combination of a laugh and a sob. 

Morgan understands your reaction immediately and laughs out loud. 

“It’s not funny!” There was honestly no point in hiding it. As much as Morgan teased you, you knew he wouldn’t tell anyway, and Reid.. well, he was honestly an even better keeper of secrets than Morgan, Rossi and Garcia. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, “Baby girl, worry not. You know you hold a special place in boss man’s heart.” Then gripping both your wrists to pry your hands off your face. 

Pressing your face even further into your hands, you let out a muffled version of “That’s not true!” that came out more as “Daffs noft thwu!” 

When Morgan successfully pries your hands off your face, you’re surprised to see Reid’s moved from the board to behind Morgan, half leaning half sitting on the table, curiously watching you. 

Morgan turns around to look at the door behind you, making sure the coast is clear before he says, “Kid. Be real with me for a sec… are you blind?” That was not the question you were expecting. 

You must have looked so lost because he continues, “Hotch cares for you. Deeply. And not in the same way he does for us. You’ve gotta have felt that, kid.” Funny, you are starting to feel like a kid– the only thing missing are his hands on your shoulders to complete that huddle pep talk experience. 

“That’s just not–” you try to start. But Reid swiftly raises his hand, signing you to stop–

“Did you know that every morning Hotch makes sure all the pens and mug handles on your desk are pointing to the right– the way you need it to be– in case the night janitors move any out of place?”

“Or that he never really ate lunch in the office before but started bringing sandwiches and other food he could microwave, while timing his lunches with yours presumably so he could strike up a conversation with you during break?” 

“Or do you remember that one time the AC in the bullpen broke and we were all sweating badly, and I said the heat was making me too thirsty then he disappeared into his office and came back with a bottle of water and an orange juice box only to give it to you?” 

Morgan lets out a loud laugh at that one while Reid pouts playfully, “I mean I was genuinely dying then.” 

Not without his own input, Morgan smiles softly at you with a raised brow “Did you know he personally restocks your favorite hot chocolate in the pantry and on the jet? Including the marshmallows.” 

You breathe in deeply, the revelations sounding too good to be true but winding nonetheless. You crack a small joke, trying to play it off “And I thought the bureau was just feeling really generous.” 

The two, who have grown to be such brothers, give you the exact same look of Really? 

As Reid rounds the table to go back and stand by the board, Morgan catches your attention and holds your eye, “Look, there’s so much more, kid. But they all point to the same thing.” He says this as softly as possible, as if to not scare you away. 

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. Shaking your head, “That just can’t be true.” 

With all three of your backs to the door, you don’t notice Rossi nearing. You just suddenly hear his voice from behind, rounding the table and settling the coffee cups in front of all of you, “Coffee, anyone?” 

As if trapped in the null of the previous conversation, you’re still looking at Morgan as you lean back in your chair, slumping further to seek non-existent cover. Reid, who is now back in his own world with the board, is handed a cup by Rossi, who didn’t even turn to look- only stretching out an arm to receive it and mumbling a distracted “Thanks.”  

Rossi, who is simply too smart for his own good, impressively senses something hanging in the air, nonchalantly asking about the tailend of a conversation he was not supposed to hear, “So… what can’t be true?” 

Back to lounging excessively on a chair that is a tad too tiny for him, with legs outstretched and feet on the corner on the table– Morgan spouts, “That she’s Hotch’s girl, and has no reason to be jealous of Seaver– who by the way needs the HR orientation more than Penelope and I.” 

-

Now– all of your backs are to the door except Rossi’s. Not one of you tried to move due to fatigue, let alone look.

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan, and Reid, on the way back to the precinct from the hotel, Hotch had the genius thought of picking up Rossi so the latter wouldn’t have to walk a block with trays of coffee on hand.

Hotch and Rossi arrived together. And as Rossi went around the table to give you your cups of coffee, Hotch stayed behind– leaning on the doorframe with arms crossed, watching you and the team.

Imagine his surprise, hearing what Morgan just said. His heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropped. His entire being froze entirely.. What? Jealous? 

In his mind, he had two choices: Act like he didn’t hear it and save you from embarrassment or use it to his advantage and make his intentions clear..ish. 

-

You gasp loudly at his bluntness– and in front of Rossi! Straightening in your chair and pointing an accusatory finger at Morgan, “You little– I am NOT jealous! and I am NOT Hotch’s–” 

Cut off by someone loudly clearing their throat from behind all of you, you all freeze, including Reid who hasn’t been actively paying attention until now. 

The hair on your neck stands up as you hear the nearing footsteps, already envisioning digging your own grave in your head when finally, Hotch is standing right beside you. 

You’re all still pretty frozen, save from the slow movement which is your eyes slowly lifting its gaze to the man in question until they meet his hazel orbs. He holds your stare as he leans on the desk, arms straining in his shirt– 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Rossi fighting a smile, and just as you’re about to mentally curse him in your head, you’re broken out of your thoughts by a deep voice, 

“You don’t think you’re my girl?” 

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Gladiator! Ghost

Warnings: 18+, Dub-Con, Breeding Kink, Implied Forced Pregnancy, Dominant! Ghost, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex, Master/Servant Dynamics, Voyeurism, Public Humiliation, Sexual Coercion, Scene Inspired by ‘Spartacus’, Based on Spartacus’ In-Universe History, Profanity, Implied Fem! Reader, Images Used aren't Mine.

Gladiator! Ghost abuses his power over you every chance he gets. No exceptions.

And all because you had to go and show him voluntary kindness, tending to his post-battle wounds and praising him for his efforts, all while touching him as delicately and as gently as you could. More so than anyone ever has.

It’s not long after this interaction that you find yourself stationed as Gladiator! Ghost's personal handmaiden; the perfect servant to see that his every desire is satiated.

And, unfortunately for you, that often includes him coercing you into compromising positions.

Even when he’s been training all day, his muscles bulging, skin glistening with sweat, eyes ablaze with bloodlust, he finds time to seek you out and take you someplace isolated and quiet – where nobody else can see or save you – and pumps his fury into you.

He’s never gentle with it, either. He isn’t trained to be.

He’s panting, chest heaving and broad at your back as he presses you into the stone wall of the cellar, your legs forcefully parted by a thick, toned thigh – the skin of which is covered in your dripping essence – as he pounds into you with all his might.

He calls you his maid – only his. Tells you that no-one else can have you, that they’d have to kill him if they wanted to possess you as he does.

And you take it because that’s all you can do. All you’re allowed to do.

You let him make your body feel like this is right, that the cracks of euphoria splintering between your legs justifies the way he grabs your hair and pulls you back to face him, only to force his eager tongue into your mouth.

You clench around him – unwillingly so. Encourage him.

You hear him groan, feel his voice heavy on your tongue before he pulls away, slipping a hand beneath the fabric of your tunic and squeezing your clit between his fingers. You cry out, pressing back into him, taking him deeper.

“You’re mine,” he tells you. He punctuates his point with a quick, harsh slap to your clit – one that leaves you whining. “I’ll give you my babe – give you the privilege of bringing my son into this world.”

Amidst the reluctant pleasure electrifying your every sense, you know he’s close. His tip – pressing into the deepest part of you, a place you didn’t even know existed before he found it – bulbous and aching, pulses in time with his heartbeat. You close your eyes and brace for it – the warmth, the wet. The inevitable.

And, sure as rain after thunder, Ghost growls, pressing as deep into you as your body will allow and then some, as he cums, hot and heavy. You can physically feel his semen pumping through his shaft as he empties every ounce of his seed into your wanting womb – filled beyond full – leaving you whining and trying your best to pull away from his cock.

He holds you still and glowers, a vein across his bicep twitching – almost winking at you – as he slams his hand beside your head, caging you . As if to remind you that he’s the one in charge here.

So you still, panting, sweating and almost crying, as his seed nestles inside you, knowing there’s nothing you can do until he’s ready to let you go – until he’s sure his efforts have taken. And all you can focus on is how heavy he feels inside you, the feeling of his chest almost crushing you against the wall as he breathes deeply. The gradual softening of his tip at your cervix as he grows flaccid.

The hand between your thighs – coated translucent and white – comes to rest upon your stomach. You can feel him looking down at the phantom bump from over your shoulder. His voice is obsidian.

“If I haven’t imparted him upon you already.”

In Ghost’s head, he’s justified in his actions. Even though he can feel you trying to peel away from him, your heart racing to the rhythm of fear and not of lust. Even though he knows you will likely retreat to your shared chambers and weep into your pillow. He knows, deep down, that you want as he does. A family.

It’s all he can think about aside from the bloodshed and the fight for survival. You are all he can think about. The only thing that can placate his rage.

It’s his reason. His only reason to continue.

In his own way, this is his manufacturing of a family. Turning you from a servant into the mother of his children, and transforming him – a beast – into a father.

Not that you’d know this, but he has more influence within the Master’s residence than most – especially as his most prized gladiator. 

Whenever the Master throws parties, he convinces him to put the maids – you – on display, to show the other houses that his gladiators are not just fighters, but incessant lovers, too.

More often than not, you’ve had to strip bare and bear the weight of the stares of party-goers as Ghost, assigned to be the night’s show pony, makes sure everyone knows who you belong to.

It’s an exercise of power. Of ownership.

He makes no effort to hide his endurance, his speed, often finishing at a rate that leaves you terrified knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it, to hide away and prevent your seemingly inevitable pregnancy at the hands of the man you call Master.

Truth be told, you’d be ashamed of enjoying the weight of him inside you – the familiar feeling of his tip hitting a note within you that leaves you whining a wanton tune – if it weren’t for the fact that your situation could be worse – that it could be another of the Master’s loyal fighters pounding you, holding you and bruising your waist. Degrading you from a maid to a whore for all to see.

Ghost can see, during times like these, the women who wish to be you and the men who crave to be him. And he hides his smile beneath learned stoicism, even as he’s overcome with the euphoria of emptying himself inside you, lifting you by the hips so nothing of his making is wasted.

And you can do nothing to fight against it.

And, when he’s asked by some curious voyeur, he’ll do it all again. And again. And again.

This is the only way he can guarantee his seed takes – the only way he can make sure you won’t go off running trying to cleanse yourself of his semen rolling down your thighs, of his efforts taking form and bearing fruit inside you.

He knows it’s just a matter of time until he can afford both your and his freedom, until he can take you away from this place and raise your family together – someplace far from this spectacle of murder.

Until then, he’ll convince his Master to fund these social affairs, to allow you to remain as his maid.

His.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist Gladiator Ghost AI

AO3 Wattpad X

[dollyichi]

YOUR BIGGEST FAN!

pro-hero katsuki bakugou x actress f ! reader ᯓ★ he finds out who the main admin is of his biggest fan page. 1.4k words. fluff / established relationship / not proofread / little smau at the end

spin-off from ‘a little mystery never hurt anybody’ [m—dni]

katsuki never cared about his image at all. nor did he care about what people post about him online. aside from his own beliefs, he only cares about what you think, and if you think he’s ‘fucking cool’ then he’s fucking cool.

he only ever checks social media and posts something that you’re a part of. if he had the chance to have all his platforms with a picture of you both or even just you, he’d do it—but you would scold him and tell him that he should just have a photo of himself. which you had to do instead since he’s stubborn and wouldn’t know what photo would look the best.

well fortunately for you, who has an album of pictures of him whether you took it yourself to gate-keep, from his fan sites, or his modeling / commercial projects just picked one portrait that would match his overall style. not too much, not too zoomed out, but still would exude that cool side that you loved so much.

and the moment you changed his profile you’re already switching to your verified fan account to notify your followers of his new profile photo. multiple notifications spawn at your lockscreen, the tweet already blew up too.

your co-admins don’t even know that it was the ‘dazzling actress y/n’ running the account in the first place, and it was for the better. you always had this account the moment katsuki was in his third year in UA. usually posting threads about how amazing of a hero he is, or his rankings in the recent fan polls such as ‘hottest hero’ or ‘most powerful rookie hero quirks!’ and your favorite, ‘heroes i wanna get in bed with.’ just from that, anyone other than you knowing your identity would be real bad.

pro-hero dynamight always had a loyal fanbase anyway. and you were always the first account they’d come to for any news on him.

when you started dating you had to ask for some help which is why you had some of your followers (who have been supporting your blog for so long too!) to assist you when you couldn’t post as frequently as you used to. it was easy to juggle the fan account while you were starting as an actress, but when you started dating katsuki, manning the page is a big challenge. he’ll definitely find out in no time since personal space was thrown out the window when you became his.

you wanted to keep it a secret since you were still such a big fan and it felt like a waste deleting the account since you worked so hard on it—pouring so much passion on it despite being with the main source. there were even times when you begged your staff to get him to sign your merch, which you happily post on the fan page too, wearing thick gloves because you figured katsuki would recognize you immediately.

sometimes you would slip and mess up. your co-admin posting about katsuki taking a photo of your new digital billboard by the station. and you accidentally quoted the tweet on your fan page that reads ‘he really likes me~’ and you immediately take it down before the viewer count goes up.

it was a very close call, and when someone did ask you about it since some of them had notifications on for your account you just made up an excuse like ‘i mean y/n! sorry it was a typo.’

sometimes you’d get katsuki to look at the fan page when you both have free time. and he only ever likes the tweets when it involved you. like when you’re both spotted on a date, or a quote from an interview of him promoting your own projects.

you begged him to follow and he didn’t really think that much of it. shrugging and pressing the button and going back to indulging himself beside you.

you never really post any updates on the pro-hero that’s related to you though. and when you do find out about it, you had your co-admins to thank. especially for that one video clip of him struggling to take a picture of another billboard you had in the middle of the city.

until one day, the two of you were apart for a bit. he was out on a mission, and it’s sad that he couldn’t spend the first few days of your break with you.

nonetheless, you are currently working with his fan sites near the area for some updates on him at the time. you end up missing him too much when they send you the photos in your direct messages. though, “he looks really good,” you think to yourself. up in the air with that pretty grin of his whenever he wins.

on your fan page you always have that certain ‘watermark’ when you make a post. ending the tweet with ‘admin ⭐️💥’ to indicate that it was you posting.

quickly, you make a new post about his new feat, scheduling to have it posted on the next day.

you didn’t think much of it, just happy that your boyfriend was safe and he could come home earlier to you.

when you wake up, katsuki’s already back home seated on his side of the bed. but what was unusual was for him to be on his phone this early. concerned, you reach out to him, hoping there wasn’t an emergency or anything bad that happened.

then he starts laughing that goofy laugh of his that you love. which gets you to giggle yourself, “what’s so funny?” you give him a kiss on his cheek as a morning greeting. it’s nice waking up to him so happy, until you feel your own face drop in horror on the screen.

it was your tweet, with that exact format that you always used—not on your fan page, but at your own main account with already thousands of engagement. you feel yourself sink in your spot on the bed.

you did it now, you knew you shouldn’t be posting when you’re sleepy. now you fucked up, big time. you don’t even want to know the replies on that post, and you couldn’t even face your boyfriend who’s already crying from laughing so hard.

“you’re such a dumbass no wonder you kept pestering me about this fan account.”

you groan, hiding yourself under the covers. you couldn’t even imagine what’s going to become of you and how your manager’s going to react. it’s not like you could just abandon your following either! “it’s different as a fan!”

you take your phone from the bedside table and delete the tweet immediately. it’s been 30 minutes after you scheduled it, but there’s nothing you could even do to remedy the mistake. not when thousands have already seen your tweet. you don’t even know how to tell your co-admins who probably found out your real identity.

“just kill me!” you say, wrapping the comforter around you which leaves nothing for him anymore. he puts his phone down and wraps an arm on you. “don’t be so fuckin’ embarrassed babe. if it helps i’m your number one fan too.”

you won’t budge, staying still in your self made blanket burrito with a pout. facing away from him and with a huff. you were so embarrassed that your whole body freezes, and your mind goes blank. “hey come on, i’m happy about it!” you hear him say.

you could already feel the scoldings of your manager, you just hope this is mainly good publicity if it resurfaces—because you’re damn sure a lot of your shared fans are going to spread it all over the net.

“don’t fuckin’ ignore me babe! i’m really damn flattered here!” and he’s laughing again. he really couldn’t take it seriously, and you really wish this was just a really bad dream. it’s not like you wanted to keep it a secret forever! but you didn’t think he’d find out this way, bummer.

he pulls you on top of him, kissing all over your pouting face that’s sticking out from the thick comforter. “ah fuck this is so good! i bet when we get married you’re just on your phone posting live updates or some shit.”

you’re never going to hear the end of this. especially not when he digged a little deeper and found your ‘thirst’ postings from years ago. oh well, at least he knows you’ve always loved him. it was honestly such an ego boost learning his girlfriend just ‘as obsessed’ as he is towards you. besides, his page was almost a fan page of you in itself. whatever, you’re gonna laugh it off next week anyway.

at least you’ve given him another new thing that has him head over heels for you again.

bonus!

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : aaaaa this was so funny to me idk T^T it’s really stupid

[kvroomi]

it's 9 o'clock in the evening when atsumu barges into your bathroom while you're taking off your makeup

“hey, babe, yer phone’s charged, right?”

his voice breaks through the quiet hum of your evening, pulling your attention away from the bottle of moisturiser you'd been trying to open for the past 5 minutes. you glance up to find him leaning in the doorway. his black dress pants and light blue button-up are long gone, now replaced with a large white t-shirt and his obnoxious 'world's best setter' boxers that he must've left in the dresser you bought for him when he started staying over more often.

“yeah, why?” you ask, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

he holds up his phone with an exaggerated sigh, the screen dark. “mine’s dead." he sighs and you look at him confused.

"i was gonna call ‘samu—messaged me somethin’ about the shop. think he forgot to order noodles or… or whatever. can i borrow yours for a sec?”

you furrow your eyebrows, skepticism creeping in. atsumu wasn’t exactly known for prioritizing osamu’s last-minute “emergencies” unless they directly concerned him. “can’t you just use the landline?”

“the landline?” he places a hand on his chest in mock offense.

“what am i, a fossil?" you turn your gaze back to the mirror with a roll of your eyes.

"c’mon, babe, it’ll only take a minute. please?”

you stare at him and he stares back, the two of you locking eyes in a silent standoff. atsumu, for all his dramatics, was never great at hiding when he was up to something.

alas, as much as you wanted to pry, you also didn’t have the energy to argue over something so trivial when it was so late into the day.

“okay,” you breathe out, followed by a long sigh as you hand your phone over.

“just don’t mess with anything.” your eyes narrow threateningly.

“mess with things? me?” he shakes his head around, feigning shock. “never. yer phone’s in the safest hands imaginable.”

that already should’ve been your second red flag—though before you can even question him, he's got his back turned halfway out the door yelling “thanks, babe! yer the best!” over his shoulder.

a brief fifteen minutes have passed, which you only vaguely realise in the haze of beginning your book. you're comfortably tucked into the corner of the couch when he strolls into the living room. plopping your phone onto the cushions beside you and pressing a quick, warm kiss to the top of your head—he pokes your cheek.

“yer a lifesaver,” he says with a grin, flopping down beside you. “what would i do without ya?”

you offer him a glance, “what did osamu need?”

“huh?” you notice his grin falter. it's a split millisecond, but he's quick to cover it with a casual wave of his hand. “oh, somethin’ about… rice.”

you squint at him, trying to read his face. “i thought you said noodles earlier?”

“rice, noodles—same difference,” he says, getting up and walking over to the fridge to pull it open. “food stuff... y’know how he is.”

you let out a hum, satisfied with his answer. and just like that, the moment passes. your attention is drawn back to your book while atsumu rifles through leftovers.

it isn't until later that night when you're climbing into bed and reaching for your phone to set your alarm that you notice. the screen lights up, and instead of your usual photo of cherry blossoms, you're greeted by him—a photo of atsumu.

and it's not just any photo of atsumu, though. this one was pure chaos.

his entire face filled the frame, nose slightly scrunched, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, and his golden-brown eyes wide with faux innocence. his lips were puckered in an over-the-top kissy face. across the bottom of the image in bright, white text were the words: “miss me yet, babe? ;)”

your jaw drops.

“what the—?” you're immediately sitting up and unlocking your phone, going straight into your photo gallery. what you find only makes your disbelief grow, (and maybe your heart too, out of fondness).

the first photo was relatively tame: a selfie of atsumu sprawled out on the couch with his head sitting in his hand with a cheeky and flirty smile. of course, you think.

the second was him in the doorway of the living room with his finger pressed to his lips in a "shh" gesture while you sat on the couch, engrossed in your book.

and then things get progressively more ridiculous, (assuming that's even possible).

there's a close-up of atsumu holding up your favorite snack with an inflated, brash grin, almost as if he was offering it to you. the caption reads: “this one's for you, babe."

another captured him perched on your desk chair, holding your pencil like it was a quill. his nose is scrunched again, an attempt to portray his concentration as he pretends to scribble something brilliant.

it's the final photo that stops you in your tracks.

it's atsumu stood on the balcony, wrapped in your favorite blanket like a superhero while his arm stretched dramatically toward the sky. the caption read: “protector of this household and defender of snacks ;)”

you stare at the screen in silence, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. quite frankly, you couldn't tell whether you wanted to laugh or cry.

atsumu was many things: he was ridiculous, he was almost always over the top, and he was also occasionally the most infuriating person you’d ever met. but, there was one thing for certain—he was undeniably, wholeheartedly yours.

many people don't understand him the way you do. atsumu hadn’t just messed with your phone for the sake of it—he’d left you a trail of love notes that were neatly tucked behind each photo’s absurdity. it was his way of saying "i’m here, even when i’m not," without actually saying the words verbally.

and it worked.

you didn’t text him right away. instead, you curled under the blankets, scrolling through the photos again and again. your heart swelled with every outlandish caption, every childish expression, every trace of him.

eventually, you couldn’t help yourself.

you: you’re a menace.

his reply was almost instant: atsumu: a menace with a pretty face, though. miss ya, babe x

you beamed, your thumb hovering over the lock screen settings, conflicted between whether or not you should switch back the photo. though how could you? not when you already knew tomorrow would bring another excuse for him to check your phone again, just to see if you’d kept it.

so you decide to leave it—his face on your lock screen as a proud display of the world’s most unconventional love letter.

KVROOMI © 2024, DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[chuluoyi]

✎ treasure

- gojo satoru x reader

the strongest sorcerer meets his match in his petulant son, who inherits his six eyes and is having trouble with them

genre: taking care of your son with dad!gojo, fluff/comfort

note: AAAA i love this waaay too much!😭 this brilliant idea gave me baby fever so bad came from an anon who so energetically dropped by my askbox, thank you! and seeing this artwork by Yoon in twitter definitely gave me more ideas too!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

"No!"

"Why? This helps—"

"That's ugly! I don't want to look ugly—like you!"

Satoru blinked in utter disbelief, and you broke into the most satisfying fits of laughter. In front of him, standing tall and sullen and very much like him was his own son, now barely five years old.

Your boy mentioned that he had been experiencing discomfort in his eyes lately, which also caused him to become dizzy. And Satoru attempted to persuade him to use a blindfold like he did because it was effective.

However, as we can see, his son didn't take his suggestion well at all. His bright blue eyes, ones your husband passed down, bore an intense glare aimed squarely at him.

"I..." Satoru sputtered, his eyes twitching. The sight was comical as no one had ever managed to elicit such a reaction from him. And no one ever considered him an unattractive person too! "I'm not—"

"You are!"

Once again, you let out a triumphant cackle, and this time your husband shot you a glare. But you didn't care. All those years of tolerating his antics had paid off. His son had finally put him in his place!

When he was a baby, you thought your son was Gojo Satoru incarnate. He was the spitting image of him—with all gaits and expressions too. And you had worried if he would turn out to be just as much of a menace as he was.

But apparently, life has other sweet plans because like you, he was a relatively calm boy, diligent, and didn't like to make a fuss. Satoru argued that it was definitely in his genes—claiming he had also been a sweetheart when he was a child, but you couldn't quite imagine him being remotely as reserved as your son.

That aside, the cause of this hilarious exchange did actually make you worry a bit.

"Look, I know it probably looks odd," Satoru gestured at the blindfold in his hand, but your little boy still didn't seem convinced by the pout he displayed. "But it will help you, I promise. If only you would—"

Oh, but it was almost like karma because besides his appearance, the other trait your son inherited from your husband was his strong sense of winning.

His face reddened from sheer indignation, and he once again screamed, "I don't want to! I'll just cover my eyes with—" he took a nearby napkin and pulled them over his eyes, "—this!"

Satoru sighed in annoyance, and you decided to jump in. Crouching down next to him, you gently pried the napkin from his hand.

"Papa just wants to help you, okay?" you reasoned, cupping his plump cheeks. Gods, he used to be this round thing in your and Satoru's arms and now he was already this big. "He uses it everyday and he has no problems, see?"

"But it doesn't look good..." Your son drooped his head in disappointment, and you could feel Satoru rolling his eyes beside you, evidently miffed at the thought of him being less than good-looking.

Parenting is challenging, especially when your husband still holds onto some of his childlike tendencies. So you decided to end the discussion here.

It was later at noon, while you were in the kitchen preparing lunch when you heard your son's scream and something crashing. Your heart was in your throat as you rushed to the backyard, only to see something that made your heart lurch even more.

Your sweet boy was wailing on the ground, clutching his head, and Satoru—

His expression was as horrified as yours if not more, as he ran and caught your son in his arms, pressing him tightly against his chest as if shielding him from the sun altogether. "Shit. Hey, hey—buddy, you okay?”

Satoru lifted him up and carried him inside. You were right beside him as he settled on the sofa, gently hushing your son, who was still shaking and had his eyes covered against his chest.

"M-My head..." your son whimpered, tears streaming down his chubby cheeks. "...h-hurts..."

"It's okay, it's okay..." he murmured, caressing the child's hair in a soothing manner, and it reminded you so much of what he would do to you in the early mornings. "I've got you now, nothing’s going to happen to you. Hang on a little longer, yeah?"

You felt warm tears threatening to well up in your eyes at the sight. It was heart-wrenching to see your son in such torment, and the way your husband was consoling him deeply touched you. It served as a poignant reminder of just how many years had passed from when Gojo Satoru was still that brat who used to mess with you during high school.

Soon, your little boy's breathing became even, and he went to sleep in Satoru's comforting embrace.

You looked at him while biting your lip, undiluted worry in your voice. "What should we do? He's been experiencing pain often lately..."

Satoru really wanted to wipe that expression from your face, but with his precious child clinging onto him for dear life, even he didn't have the heart to.

"Don't worry, I'll be with him," he assured, a plan already forming in his mind. "If he hates blindfolds that much, then I'll get him some pairs of glasses just like the ones I have—for kids. We'll start with that."

Bearing the weight of his clan's revered eyes was a heavy burden, and honestly, he would prefer it if none of his children had to inherit them. After all, he went through it all too as a child—the manifestation of the six eyes' powers marks the beginning of life as a sorcerer. The perilous world he was still trying to keep away from his son.

Nonetheless, he would be there for him every step of the way. It was what he vowed to himself on the day he was born. He wouldn’t let anything befall him—or you.

You had calmed down after hearing his plan, and as you gazed at your precious boy’s innocent face in his protective grip and the gentle pats he gave him, you suddenly found yourself in a mischievous mood once again.

"Heh, quite the doting papa, aren't you, Satoru?" you winked, a teasing smile on your face. You could have sworn his cheeks slightly flushed as he retorted:

"Hmph. He is my personal little body warmer, after all."

[gloomwitchwrites]

morning after one night stand with 141?

Anon! You have me kicking my feet and giggling over here!! I am cackling so hard omg. I've been waiting for a prompt like this, and I know it has been sitting in my inbox for a while. (Really there are a ton sitting in my inbox and I will get to them all I promise). But after feeling like garbage and having some health issues, this prompt just came to me naturally and I didn't need to force anything. I thought it would be best to tackle this first on my dive back into fulfilling these requests after the 1k follower event.

I went spicy with this one. I won't lie. Because, let's be real, a morning after with any of these four will only end up with you still in that bed. I know I'd fold instantly. No question about it.

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, feelings, oral sex (male & female receiving), sex w/ and w/o condoms, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, aftercare

Word Count: 3.6k

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Bonus Chapter: Alejandro Vargas

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

John Price

The ceiling fan above you spins slowly. It’s not nearly enough air. Your skin is sticky with sweat, and you’ve hardly slept at all.

The sheets you’re tangled in are thin, but what can you expect from a cheap hotel?

All of this was last second. A moment of tipsy-laced passion. Now you’re reaping the consequences. And the air is too damp, too hot, too—

Fuck.

You glance to your right, at the man softly snoring beside you. All the memories from last night appear before your eyes, replaying like a grainy recording. Images of all the positions this man put you in, and how fucking good his dick felt inside you.

Even now, you still feel the slight sting in your scalp from when he tangled his fingers in your hair while you took him into your mouth.

You need to leave. You need to leave with a thread of your dignity in tact before he wakes up. Before John wakes. You know the name well enough. He had you screaming it nearly all night. Insisted on it, and you happily obliged.

Shifting slightly, you shimmy to the very edge of the bed, trying your hardest to sit up without making too much noise or rocking the bed.  Swinging your legs around, you push up, coming to an upright position, feet planting firmly on the floor. Between your legs is a mess. You don’t have to see it to know.

Most of the night, John used condoms. But when the two of you finally curled up together, John had slid his hand between your thighs and parted you just enough to push right on in. You didn’t protest. You had sighed heavily, and then groaned when he rocked his hips, moving inside you.

In the moment you didn’t care. Not one bit. In a way, you still don’t, but what the fuck were you thinking?

You breathe in deep through your nostrils and then exhale slowly through your mouth. Lingering won’t help. You need to collect your clothes from the floor and leave.

As you open your eyes, and blink, you’re faced with your reflection. The full-length mirror against the wall shows the carnage from the night, but it’s not your appearance that has you pausing.

It’s John.

He’s awake.

And he’s staring right at you.

“You leaving me already?” His voice is husky. Sleep-tinged. The sound of it goes straight to your pussy.

“No,” you reply automatically.

He yawns, muscled chest flexing. “You’re lying, love.”

Your limbs do not cooperate. Move. That’s what you need, but your body isn’t listening. It’s melting instead, wanting to draw back into his arms.

“Am I?”

He nods, and rubs his large hand across his chest. The dark hairs there are tempting. You remember running your hands over those pectorals, and how your fingers dug in as you used him to rock back against his cock.

John pushes up and reaches over, that hand pressing against your back lightly, rubbing soft circles.

Fuck.

“Come here,” he says softly, and yet it isn’t soft at all.

It’s not pleading. It’s not exactly a command. John isn’t demanding anything and yet you are unable to form any will of your own. It’s like John has just taken a shot of whiskey.

Finally, your limbs move, but it is not away from him. Your feet find the bed again, and John is grabbing onto your thighs and waist, drawing you back. The whimper you release when both of his hands grasp the backs of your thighs as he pulls you into his lap is obscene. It’s silly. Downright ridiculous.

But it’s cut off. Cinched.

John’s mouth is on yours and then you’re kissing him. It is open-mouthed. A bit messy. But fuck is it good. His hands slide up your thighs, over the curve of your ass, and meander their way over your back. One arm wraps around your waist while the other comes up to your throat.

He won’t let you leave. He won’t allow you to slip away. John’s hand seems so large against your throat, and yet you don’t care. It’s possessive the way he claims your mouth. When you begin to wiggle, John growls, and you’re flipped onto your back.

John doesn’t cease kissing you, and his hands are everywhere. Your legs effortlessly part from him, and you feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

What’s one more? Couldn’t hurt.

You shift your hips, and it’s like John already knows. Drawing your legs up and into a more bent position, there is little effort in the way he buries himself to the hilt. You almost choke on your next breath but that is all you have.

There is nothing lazy or soft about this. John’s hips snap forward and back, skin smacking against skin. He presses his face against the side of your head, lips brushing along the lien of your jaw as he continues to relentlessly fuck you into the bed. Your hands claw at his back, fingers digging for a semblance of steadiness.

“Can’t leave yet,” he huffs against your throat.

Your face shifts toward him and John takes this opportunity to find your lips again, and this kiss is so much different. It is passionate, and speaks to something more desperate than a mere need.

This is only supposed to be a night. A fun, drunken fuck you can latch onto your belt.

But no. That’s not what this is.

Not really.

John "Soap" MacTavish

The air conditioning kicks in, and that is what wakes you. A cool burst of air travels over your skin, making you shiver, pulling you from sleep.

You groan, snuggling against the warmth you’re curled against. It’s a comforting warmth. A bit soft with some hardness too. Not completely comfortable but better than the blast of cold air.

When you sink further against this warmth, it shifts beneath you. Dazedly, you blink, pulling back slightly from this nice heat you don’t wish to leave. Your cheek grazes against something scratchy and then you’re frowning down at chiseled pectorals.

The night before comes rushing forward. It is a battering ram of information, one that sends your already foggy brain into overload.

“Morning, love.” The husky, Scottish voice grounds you, slamming you back to reality.

You twist slightly and are greeted by soft blue eyes and a lazy smile.

“Johnny,” you murmur.

“Remembered my name,” he laughs. He reaches over to grasp the back of your thigh, drawing it over his waist. That large hand of his squeezes gently and you shiver.

“You remember mine?” you ask, teasing back.

He hums softly, and then draws you in, whispering your name against your lips.

This was a one-time thing. A quick hookup. You met Johnny at a pub. He had zeroed in on you instantly, making his way toward you with eagerness like he knew he wanted you out of everyone there that night.

And you had melted. Complied. Fallen for his Scottish accent that only seemed to thicken the more he drank. He cracked jokes, and gave you all of his attention. It was nice to be wanted for once, and when he discreetly asked you if you wanted to go back to his place, you didn’t hesitate.

But the morning is here. It has come calling. And now you’re left with the consequences.

“I need to go,” you murmur, drawing away from him.

Embarrassment is starting to sink in. You have no idea what you might look like at the moment but it can’t be anything other than a mess. Your makeup is likely smeared, hair tangled like a bird’s nest, and you fucking ache everywhere.

Which is fucking understandable because Johnny has stamina. You’ve never been with a man with such quick recovery time. He’d finish, take a couple minutes, and come right back at it like he wasn’t winded at all. He also put you in all sorts of weird positions.

No wonder you’re sore.

Johnny’s face falls slightly, and his arms tighten, keeping you crushed against him. “Don’t want to stay for a bit? Could grab some breakfast.”

He’s offering it to you casually as if your rejection won’t mean anything, but you see the hesitation in his gaze. Johnny wants you to say “yes” and yet you don’t know why. It could just be a show of kindness. An offering of nourishment after the workout he put you through last night. But perhaps it’s something more?

No. That’s silly. Ridiculous.

The two of you met just last night. If anything, the two of you have only known each other for twelve hours. That’s hardly enough to go on.

But breakfast sounds lovely.

When you don’t answer right away, Johnny adjusts his hold on you. His face draws close, gaze lazily scanning your body. Slowly, he moves in, brushing his lips against your shoulder, and then the curve at your neck.

“Or we could stay here for a bit longer.” He presses a kiss to your throat. “Breakfast after?” Johnny’s hand changes position, slipping up to grasp the curve of your ass. His body twists, and you feel his hard cock against the inside of your thigh.

Your pussy immediately clenches, remembering all the things he did to you. You attempt to push the feeling aside but it only grows, flowing outward, zapping your self-control.

“Johnny,” you whimper as his hand ventures further downward, sliding between your legs.

His fingers part your pussy, and the sound of the mess between your legs reaches your ears. The two of you didn’t use condoms last night, but you’re both clean and you went for it. It seems overly loudly in the room, and Johnny’s breathing quickens slightly as he explores.

“Don’t mind me adding to this?” His lips come down on your neck before his teeth lightly sink in.

Your lips part and you cry out as Johnny slips a finger inside your pussy. He takes his time, slowly moving in and out of your pussy. Lazily, his thumb brushes over your clit. He repeats the gesture, and your hips buck against his hold.

“Staying?” he asks, lips brushing over collarbone to descend downward to your breasts.

His actions aren’t fair. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. He’s supposed to kick you out. To tell you to leave either politely or like an asshole. Instead, Johnny is trying everything to get you to stay. And you can’t say you’re all that mad about it because—fuck, this man knows how to use his fingers.

Johnny runs his tongue over your nipple and you nearly come undone right then. Your hips flex forward, pushing your clit against his palm. He inserts a second finger, and Johnny groans against your breasts as your orgasm builds toward its peak.

“Stay,” he says, and you squeeze around those two digits, gasping for air as your fingers dig into his pectorals.

Johnny withdraws and rolls you onto your back. You spread your legs gladly, your orgasm still buzzing under your skin. He boxes you in, the head of his cock pushing in. All that soreness returns but it is fleeting. Once he’s seated entirely inside you, you hardly care.

“I’ll stay,” you gasp as he rocks his hips.

“For breakfast, too?”

“Whatever you want.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

When you awaken, it’s a jolt. A sharp shake.

You blink, not recognizing your surroundings for a moment. Hazy memories bubble up to the surface. There was a man with blonde hair and scars. There was whiskey. Lots of it. A bottle shared between you and him.

His hand kept straying to your thigh, squeezing with intention. You leaned in, asked if he was interested in going elsewhere.

This is elsewhere. And it’s not a hotel.

Simon.

You remember him now. His gruff voice, his large hands on your body, and the way he stripped you down in seconds before his mouth sought supple skin. Your cheeks heat with the memory, and you absently press your palm there, the warmth radiating into your fingers.

Glancing over, you find the bed empty. Reaching out, you test the sheets, finding them cold. Simon has been gone a while, but this is no hotel room. It’s too personal, which means he’s somewhere. This must be his home.

If you’re careful, maybe you can slip out. You sit up, and listen. Quiet. No running water or feet padding softly against the floor. The bathroom door is ajar and the light is off. Simon might be out in the kitchen or living room—or he might be gone.

That’s happened before. You’ve awoken only for the man to be gone, leaving you alone in his home to put yourself together and make an exit at your convenience.

It’s…fine.

Simon was a good fuck. You can’t complain on that front. He knew exactly how to work your body. He found all your spots—all the things that make you melt—and stuck with it.

Sighing heavily, you crawl out of the comfortable bed. Your limbs scream in protest, soreness making itself known in places you’ve never been sore before. It’s a game finding your discarded clothes on the floor. With only a sliver of sunlight from the window, you’re forced to grab and hold the item up in the air to determine if the clothing item is yours or Simon’s.

“Finally,” you mutter, identifying your shirt. It’s halfway over your head when you hear the front door. “Fuck,” you hiss, only tangling yourself further.

You take a step back only to smack your leg against the bed. It sends you backwards, sprawling onto your back. You manage to sit up and wrestle your shirt on when Simon enters the room.

He stands in the doorway holding a plastic bag, and wearing a black tracksuit. Simon’s hair is a bit of a mess like he quickly ran his fingers through it before leaving.

“Hi,” you say weakly, because you can’t stand awkward silence.

“Leaving?” asks Simon, but he doesn’t sound upset.

You shrug, and swallow down the lump in your throat. “What’s in the bag?” you reply, switching tactics.

Simon is quiet a moment before he reaches in and tosses something to you. You manage to catch it without fumbling it.

Glancing down, you look at the box. At the—oh.

“We ran out last night,” he states simply.

It suddenly grows hot in the room.

“We did,” you agree, clutching the box of condoms like it’s a lifejacket.

He bought more. Which means—

“You’re welcome to leave,” he says, crumbling up the bag and setting it on top of the dresser. Simon reaches into his pocket and deposits his keys along with his phone. Unzipping his jacket, Simon reveals bare chest.

When the jacket is gone, Simon is left in only black joggers. He’s on full display. Broad shoulders, muscled arms and chest, large hands that perfectly wrapped around your throat as he bent you over and fucked you from behind.

“Is that what you want?” you ask, but you already know the answer. If Simon really wanted you gone, he wouldn’t have left to purchase another box of condoms.

“It’s what you want,” he replies. Simon is so calm—so casual. He’s not moving away from the door. He stands there, shirtless, gaze intense.

You sigh loudly and glance down at the box of condoms. “You did go out of your way to buy these.”

By the time you glance up, Simon is right there, grasping your throat, easing your head upwards so that you can look at him. With his other hand, he takes the condoms and tosses them onto the bed.

“You’re staying.” It’s not really a question, more of a confirmation.

You nod once and Simon’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip. That soft touch is enough to part your lips, and Simon makes a noise deep in his throat that sounds like a groan.

“Take me in your mouth,” he rasps. “Like you did last night.”

Your hands find the top of his joggers. Sliding beneath the band, you wiggle them down until the base of his cock appears. You pull a bit more, and then it’s free, already hard with a tiny bead of cum blooming in the slit. Your tongue darts out, swiping it up.

Simon shivers, and his hold on your neck adjusts to grasp the back of your head. He doesn’t haul you against him, or force himself down your throat. He is waiting for you, and that action in and of itself is enough to get you to stay a bit longer.

The head of his cock slides over your tongue and you throat him deep. Simon’s eyelids flutter and his groan is sweet. You bottle it up for later with the intention of recreating that sound—to make him moan like that again.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Sunday mornings are lazy mornings.

Some of the alcohol from last night still lingers in your pores, leaving a tightness behind your eyes and at your temples. But it’s not all that relevant.

Right now, you’re floating. There’s a man between your thighs. Well, his head anyway. And his tongue is doing all sorts of things to you.

Kyle’s tongue lazily flicks back and forth over your clit while he pumps two fingers in and out of your pussy. He is in no rush. No hurry. He’s taking his time, and you’re in blissful motion, hips rocking against his tongue, meeting his fingers with each thrust.

He groans softly against your pussy just before he sucks your clit into his mouth. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and your back arches off the bed. Kyle’s name is on your lips. A repetition you cannot cease.

Even with your orgasm blossoming, you feel his smile against your skin. Kyle is smug that he’s done this to you.

What a way to start the day.

Kyle’s fingers slip from your body, and then he’s pushing up, reaching for the box of condoms on the bedside table. He snatches one up, tearing it open quickly.

“How do you want me?” you murmur, not trusting your voice. It’s still hoarse from sleep and the smokes you accepted last night.

Kyle rolls on the condom. His skin is glossy with sweat. The two of you have hardly slept. You thought this would be a quick fuck but it’s something else. Kyle takes his time, and that has drawn this one-night stand out into an all-night fucking marathon.

“You’re good as you are, love,” coos Kyle, settling between your legs again. You both groan aloud when he slides home.

It’s the next day. You should be out of this bed. You should be doing your usual walk-of-shame, and yet you’re still in Kyle’s bed, full of his cock, and completely strung out on orgasms.

“Promise I’ll let you rest after this,” he murmurs, testing with a roll of his hips.

You almost laugh. “You said that the last two times,” you moan as he hits somewhere deep.

“Did I?” he asks, absently.

Kyle is sweet, but he knows how to make you yearn. It’s agony. And it’s fucking beautiful. This isn’t how any of this is supposed to go and yet here you are, getting dicked down by a man who is clearly beyond simple hook-ups.

This man is boyfriend material, and even as your mind starts to drift back into a lustful haze, it’s scheming of ways to keep him.

Shifting slightly, Kyle adjusts your legs, setting a pace that makes each stroke divine. Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re exhausted that it feels so goddamn good. And maybe the two of you will actually rest after this.

The birds are chirping, and traffic is already moving. It’s the morning after, and yet the night seems to have been unending.

Kyle leans forward, and then your lips are connecting. Each kiss is deep. Tender. It’s unfair how nice this is. It shouldn’t be like this, and yet it is, and that makes it all the more painful when you do finally leave. This is not your home. It is his.

This is just an agreement made in a smoky pub. Nothing more.

“Kyle,” you moan, drawing his name out as your orgasm crests.

He smiles against your mouth, his pace stuttering out as the rest of him starts to tense.

“Almost there, love. Promise.” That word, promise, is strained. Kyle’s eyelids flutter, and then he too finds his end.

In the muted dark, the two of you exchange breaths. A car honks outside but it’s a muted thing. You’re hardly paying attention.

“Can we rest now?” you ask. It’s almost a laugh, but it’s also cautious. Maybe rest just means rest for him, and you’re about to be kicked to the curb.

“Yeah,” he smiles, rolling onto his back. Kyle reaches down to remove the condom before pushing himself out of bed and into the bathroom. The light flicks on. Water runs. And then Kyle returns with a damp cloth.

“Open those legs for me.”

You do so obediently, and Kyle patiently cleans you up before returning the cloth to the bathroom.

When he returns, the words tumble out of you unexpectantly. “I just need a couple hours and then I’ll go.”

Kyle frowns as he slides back into the bed. “You don’t need to rush out of here.”

You don’t need to rush out of here.

“I don’t want to bother—” Kyle shakes his head and you cease speaking.

“Come here,” he murmurs, offering himself. You slide up next to him, and Kyle wraps his arms around your body, dragging you into his chest.

Your lips begin to form words but Kyle makes a grunt and you promptly close your mouth. Kyle has you locked in his arms, and it’s comfortable. Normal. This is all too personal, and yet Kyle doesn’t seem to mind.

Maybe you could make this into something else.

Maybe this is him offering more.

Whatever it is, the concept fractures, slipping away as the warmth and comfort of him lulls you to sleep.

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[sunniepoo]

your roommate never knew when to keep his hands off, even when you were asleep

cw: dubcon, somno, dark!jj

jj knew what he was doing was disgusting, he knew that it was pervy and creepy and gross and every name under the sun for just straight up wrong. it’s not that he didn’t feel bad but the pleasure and satisfaction he gained every night, jerking off into his hand with the image of you naked, with the pellets of water trickling down you wore greater than his conscious

when you’d moved in,a couple months ago, there was a silent reminder in his head to not scare you away or push any boundaries but he couldn’t help but have a slight inkling that you wanted him to prey, you wanted him to push and play to his limit. the way you would leave your panties laying out on the floor, it was like you wanted him to pick them up and fist them around his dick, inevitably cumming into them

or how you’d shower with the door open just enough so he could see the outline of your tits through the foggy shower door. he knew he sounded like a perv when ranting on about it to the brunette boy, hands flailing about, mumbling about how ‘she’s gotta be doing it on purpose…i mean - wh-why else” earning a questionable stare from john b who scoffs out about him being a full on classic creep

it was so so conflicting, he knew he shouldn’t - you were probably just being naive, your usual sweet mindset blurring the sultryness within your actions but he couldn’t help but use your actions as justification for what he was doing. you would’ve said something by now id it bothered you, right?

but it wasn’t always weird,there were quiet domestic moments aswell, like tonight.

the loud rumble of thunder was enough to make you squeal eliciting a soft laugh from the blonde in front of you, who continued to stuff food in his mouth “jayyy” the slight tease in your whine was impossible to miss as the word left your mouth “lets sleep together tonight” you ask, eyes opened wide and focused on him, leaving him to struggle to understand the meaning behind the question

“what” the blonde in front deadpans, ears in disbelief of what he’s hearing - mind already rushing to the stickiest of ickys

“just hate storms and m’gonna not be able to sleep” you respond and as the words fall from your mouth, his figure visibly relaxes as soon as he hears the nonchalance in your voice in your words - god he has to get his head out of the gutter!

“right-right…uhh yeah- i mean i don’t mind” he rambles, struggling to hide the rising pink in his cheek aswell as the rising boner in his pants. it was going to be so so so hard to behave well when you’d be right next to him, your pretty pussy just a couple inches away, how was he supposed to resist himself

“thanks jay’ make sure not to kick” you giggle before pressing a light kiss to the side of his cheek, continuing to walk off towards the bathroom. he couldn’t describe the feeling in his stomach as he watched you, excitement? guilt? shame? whatever it was, it had to be pushed down until the late night dawned upon the both of you - when he’ll find out how bad he can really be

the sight of you softly snoring in his bed, arms tucked beneath your head as you curled away from the wall, would have been cute if it wasn’t for the raging boner that poked through his boxers. you’d hit the sack quite early leaving jj and his twisted mind alone, jerking off in the shower of all the lewd fantasies stored in his head.

he wouldn’t. he couldn’t. that’s what the blonde repeated in his head as he rest beside you, keeping some distance between the two of you, trying to close his eyes and sleep - hoping his mind could clear before the morning. his large figure slowly relaxed, slowly drifting to sleep. and that’s when he felt it your leg carelessly shifting underneath the covers, grazing against his dick, making it jump.

he was convinced. you were doing it on purpose, you had to be. but when he saw your limp body, pressed against the bed, dead to the world around you, he couldn’t help but groan. what if you were truly so naive that all your actions were done out of pure thoughtlessness, he’d be disgusting- you’d probably never want to speak to him again

but it was getting impossibly hard to ignore your foot dancing around his already hard cock leading a soft groan from him. the call of your name from him falls on deaf ears as you continue to sleep, not aware of the turmoil you’re causing him. ‘god m’going to hell” he whispers to himself as he shifts closer, forehead hovering over yours

he wished he could blame it on something like he’d drunk to much or that he was high out of his mind, but he wasn’t - the only drug that consumed him was the presence of you, clouding his every thought and action. the long strand of blonde that kissed his forehead now grazed against yours as his fingers traced down the length of your body, dipping between your legs, rubbing against your clothed mound.

the heat between your legs was enough to warm him on the unseasonably cold night, thumb stroking against your clit causing you to shift. he panicked for a second, taking your stirring as a sign of you waking up but he was wrong. you were moving because you liked it - he watched as your mouth parted softly, a soft whimper filling the air as you continued to squirm beneath him

it didn’t take long before he slipped your panties off, throwing them to some corner of the room - careful not to wake you. he watched as you writhed at the feel of the cool air breezing against your bare pussy, fingers having a mind of their own as they pushed into you. god you were so tight, he could feel the ache in his pants as he continued to thrust his finger into you. he couldn’t help but watch your eyebrows raise, mouth opening to let out an inaudible moan “m’sorry so so sorry” he heaved out, before adding another finger, watching you hiss at the intrusion.

you were making a mess on his hand and between your legs with each thrust of his and all he could think was how good you were taking it, wondering what noises you’d be making if you were awake - would you grab at his wrist and make him slow down if he went too fast? would you reach down and rub your aching clit?would you whine at him to stop?

he felt a sudden urge, he wanted to kiss you. he wanted to feel your lips against his as he curled his fingers that were wedged deep inside you. he moved even closer, dipping his head down, pressing a sloppy kiss against your lips as he thrust his fingers harshly in you making you all putty in his arms

it was rough the way he pulled out, fingers resting against your thighs but he was desperate, his cock had been painfully poking against the fabric of his shorts waiting for some sort of stimulation. it was bad, it was so so bad but what was worse was that he stopped caring,it was a need to feel your gummy walls sucking you in, to watch your face contort into a mixture of pain and pleasure as he slams into you

you’d understand right? i mean you had to with the way you’d tortured him for so long, how you’d walk around wearing next to nothing or how you’d rub up against him. he remembers wanting nothing more than to bend you over the nearest surface and dick you down like the good little whore you were but how could he, you weren’t a whore - far from it actually, you were his sweet little angel that he wanted to corrupt, the little lamb that the big bad wolf wanted to bite into

he spent every minute trying to savour this moment, slowly pulling of his boxers throwing them next to your panties - making a mental note to take them later. he wished he could’ve been gentle and soft and sweet but he didn’t have it in him that night, he wanted you to feel the ache he’s been feeling.

the whine that left your mouth was loud as the blonde slammed into you, stilling with his movement - soaking in the feel of your velvety walls wrapped around him that left him wanting to paint your insides with his cum.shocked at your still state, deep sleeper he thought- who knows maybe he can have more fun

for a minute he stayed stilled feeling every pulse or clench of your little pussy, he was disgusting! but he didn’t care, what he cared about was how your face would look like when you cum? how you’d look like when you wake and see the pool of white between your legs? that was enough for him to begin drilling his cock into you, the once silent room being filled with his low groans and the sound of skin slapping

“so good f’me… huh?” he breathed out “wanna cum so-fuck so-deep inside you….fill you with all my babies” his pace didn’t falter as you’d tossed against him, body shocked by the harsh and sudden intrusion. his right hand travelled down from the side of your hips to your bright red clit, pinching it softly causing your brows to furrow

“sorry baby…. just needed to do that” he laughed out, head falling down to the dip in your neck, breathing against the skin “fuck-” the blonde could feel his high coming close, he fastens his face getting ready to empty himself inside of you “fuck fuck fuck m’coming” the blonde curses, eyes screwed tightly as he spurts out a fat load inside you, moaning with every slight movement. he watched as you spasmed around him, your own high being provoked by his - he couldn’t miss the way your back slightly arched, he’d bet you were in heaven right now - well atleast he was

following a few sloppy thrusts, he flops against your sleeping body, looking up to see your face, god you looked so innocent! you hadn’t even known the way he’d violated you yet and something in him ached for you to find out, for you to wake up to the feel of his morning wood, throbbing inside of you and feel the sticky pool of cum that formed beneath you. and he couldn’t help but thrust deeper inside of you, chin resting against your head - slowly feeling his eyes close, he’ll deal with the aftermath in the morning but for now he wanted to sleep wedged inside you, sweaty bodies pressed together