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mariasont · 6 months ago

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TEDIUM - S.R

a/n: found this dress on pinterest and just needed to write something about it

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

summary: spencer is not having the best time at the FBI Gala, well, until you show up

warnings: just cuties being cute, spencer swooning, maybe suggestive if you squint, spencer asks out bimbo reader!!

wc: 1.1k

Spencer was bored, more than bored, he was tedium. The word, meaning a dullness in routine, had come to him during a lecture about the history of timekeeping, illustrating the repetitive tick of a clock which can lead to such a state.

That is what he felt like, like the monotone ticking of a clock was more consistent with a sonic boom bouncing off the walls of his brain. His hand was wrapped around a beer, not his typical drink of choice, but the stale surroundings seemed to demand a departure from his usual routine.

To anyone else, the surroundings would have been anything but stale. The air vibrated with music, elegant attire sparkled under the light, important people exchanged pleasantries, and drinks flowed like rivers. However, Spencer found himself disengaged, the usual allure of the FBI Gala eluding him, leaving him feeling oddly detached.

At his elbow, Penelope was sipping on something pink, the glass seemingly more decorative than practical. She was talking about something, something about how she wished Morgan was here and how he'd love the dress she was wearing. But Spencer's mind was elsewhere, locked on the door, his body immobilized by a sudden alertness.

The frothy concoction of pastels and ruffles you often wore were nowhere to be seen tonight. He felt as if his whole body was reprogramming itself as you descended the stairs, the green fabric of your dress seemed to flow like water, the peaks and swells of your body calling to him in a language that his rational mind struggled to ignore.

Your smile reached him before you did, the apple of your cheeks straining with a grin so effortlessly bright. You waved at him, your gold-heeled feet gliding across the floor towards him. Time seemed to slow. His fingers tightened around the beer, the chill of the condensation battling the warmth spreading across his brow. He wanted to memorize you, taking a mental screenshot that might come in handy later.

"Oh my gosh, look at the two of you!" Juggling your matching purse, you managed to slide it under your arm, freeing your hands to wrap Penelope in a hug.

Your hands then moved to Spencer, arms looping around his neck. He took a beat, his beer finding its place on the counter, before his hands settled on your waist, pulling you close. The sweet scent of coconut wafted from your hair, intoxicating him in a way that made him reluctant to let go. But he restrained himself, allowing you to be the one to draw back first.

"Makes a girl feel a little outshone." You were joking, he knew that, but he still couldn't help to reassure you.

"You look beautiful."

He caught the hint of a smile you were holding back, feeling it in the way your hand clasped his. You mumbled a thanks, so faint it was almost lost, uncharacteristic for you.

"Are you kidding? You look like a goddess. I feel like I should be asking for your autograph," Penelope gushed, her hands dramatically gesturing to you.

It was impossible for Spencer not to notice the way your hand didn't leave his, fingers laced together naturally, your thumb moving in soft strokes. His heart was failing, he was sure.

Penelope's attention was drawn to where Spencer's focus lay, eyebrows shooting up. A knowing grin pulled at her lips as she looked between you. "Oh my, I totally spaced that I was supposed to meet up with Luke! You guys will be okay without me, right? Hugs and kisses, I'll be back!"

Spencer laughed, his free hand reaching for his discarded beer, lifting it to his lips in an attempt to counter the heat coursing through him.

It didn't. Not with you so close, touching him. He was putty in your hands.

"Is it, like, super weird seeing me outside of work hours?" you asked, dropping his hand as you reached to dig inside your purse, signaling for the bartender. "It's like bumping into your dentist at a party—doesn't really happen."

As you ordered your drink, Spencer was already in motion, intercepting with his own card.

"I've got it," he insisted. "And yeah, it's a bit unusual, but a good kind of unusual."

"Thanks, Spence. Next one's on me." He definitely wasn't going to let that happen. You swivel the face him with a cherry-topped drink in hand. "I totally agree, it's the best kind of unusual. We should do it more often."

"Yeah, we should," he replied, the word floating on a shaky breath.

The opportunity was there, ripe as the cherry you were now teasing with your tongue. The question, however, refused to materialize, trapped as he watched your tongue slide over the fruit as it were second nature.

You didn't even realize what you were doing, looking up at him with a pure innocence, but somehow as if you knew he was toying with the idea of asking you out.

The intimate bubble that had formed around you two burst suddenly when Emily called out. You turned sharply, inadvertently pressing flush against Spencer as you tried to pinpoint her voice.

Spencer's muscles tensed, his arm instinctively finding the curve of your waist in an effort to steady both himself and you. Your hand lifted in a wave, presumably to Emily, while your other hand found a place on his bicep.

"I'm pretty sure Emily wants us over there," you mentioned casually, making no move to distance yourself or approach Emily.

Spencer's response was a nod, his eyes drinking in your face—the lushness of your lashes, the specks of color in your eyes, the gentle slope of your nose, the swell of your lips—each feature distinctly yours.

"Let me take you on a date." It was as if the phrase had a life of its own, announced from a version of Spencer that even he didn't recognize.

Your mouth, glossed in pink, paused mid-motion, opening slightly. "Like an actual date-date? I'd love to go on a date with you. I've been not-so-patiently waiting for you to ask."

The thumping of his heart was loud in his ear, his cheeks tinged with pink as you looped your arm through his. "You have?"

You let out a laugh, the kind that bubbled up effortlessly and seemed to warm the pit of his stomach. He was sure the team's eyes were on the two of you, but he wasn't sure if he cared.

"Oh, totally! Probably since my first day when you had the meeting with Chief Cruz. I was like, wow he's smart and cute."

The ticking of the clock seemed irrelevant now. Spencer realized that the tedium he felt might not have been a symptom of the event but the absence of you. Now, with your arm linked in his, everything felt like it took on a new hue, brighter and thrilling, as if the clock had been reset.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash

join my taglist here!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x bimbo!reader #spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader #spencer reid x bimbo reader #reid #spencer #bimbo reader

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itstheghostofmypast · 8 months ago

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Big Spoon

Non-Idol Choi San x (F)Reader

Summary: Who knew he'd wake up bleary-eyed to find her a mess, one that was out of her control and his - or so he thought.

Genre: Fluffish

Warnings: None (just mentions of sad puppies)

Word Count: 1.3 k

Est.Read Time: 10 min

Rating: PG-13

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @san-network

Banner: @cafekitsune

"What are you doing?" He sat up, squinting at his lover who was sitting with her headphones on, blasting God knows what at 2 am. Good lord, no wonder the bed seemed so lonely and-

"Why are you awake?" She snapped at him, causing him to flinch, his little pout and amusing bed hair had her mentally scolding herself for the outburst, he was sitting there half asleep, half awake, though completely ready to get to the bottom of this mystery. She took a deep breath before biting her lip and mumbling, "S-sorry, I didn't mean to sound mean, client called and Hongjoong needed more photos so I uh...got up to do it now so I won't have to do it later- just because that lady's rich. " Turning the chair to face him she winced slightly, hoping he wouldn't notice it, though how would it be Choi San if he didn't?

"What's wrong?" He asked pushing the covers off as he sat at the edge of the bed, feet planted on the cold floor. The moment of clarity allowed him to notice the small hot water bottle on her lap, and the cup of green tea in front of her beside a giant flask and a tissue box- "Were you crying?" He cooed, getting up to go closer only for her to whine and roll her chair back, keeping her distance.

"Hey, come on." He pouted before jumping at her causing her to gasp, only to realise he had held onto the armrests of her chair, locking her in place, "What happened?"

"I-it...nothing." She mumbled, averting her gaze, in no real mood for anything at the moment, she just wanted to finish editing these photos and- "Does it hurt here?" He asked, gently placing his palm against her belly, causing her to whine and try to push it away, only for him to shake his head and remove his hand, instead using it to cup her cheek, "Let me guess, you got the call, they asked you for something that makes no sense, and shark week hit mid brooding session?"

Her eyes widened by the end of his little monologue, as she nodded, staring at him in awe like a little girl who had just met a fairy, well, he was a fairy, a rather feline-looking fairy she could call her own. Elegant, yet endearing, soft and warm yet as solid as a rock, smart yet, just a little dumb- either way, he was her pretty, cute, little fairy- though if he heard this analogy he'd probably be throwing a fit for days, claiming he was anything BUT A FAIRY- he was, as he'd like to call himself and his bros (minus Wooyoung because frankly she had realised he was the only sensible one in the lot) A KING!

"How did you know?" Her lips quirked upwards when he leaned closer to place a soft kiss atop her head, a gesture that would oddly make her all putty in his hands.

"Because I'm the world's best boyfriend." His voice boomed across the quiet room causing her to cover her ears due to heightened sensitivity, before frowning up at him

"The world's best boyfriend missed one thing though."

His shoulders deflated at the statement, and he flopped backwards on the bed dramatically, his back landing with a loud huff, "And what is that?"

"I was crying cause- " her breath hitched as the memories resurfaced, "Some dogs go through depression and this puppy did too- I was watching the video and it was so sad...Sannie" she whined, calling him out for God knows but the flashing images of the puppy and the stupid client's appeal just bothered her even more, the cherry on top was the excruciating pain that was a constant reminder of how the world is too cruel to women.

Not a moment later she was gently pulled out of her chair, engulfed in a warm embrace as his familiar scent enveloped her senses, work left behind, as she felt the soft, warm pillow- nope that was his arm, "My head's heavy," with a small mumble she tried to move, but he clicked his tongue and pulled her closer, resting his chin on her head, "And my heart is heavy....my poor baby is in so much physical and emotional pain and I can't do anything about it-"

"We're never getting a puppy."

"I- um...okay?" He mused, giving her a gentle squeeze, of course, that one video of the sad puppies would make her come up with this verdict, possibly fuelled by her hormones. Making her laugh right now probably wasn't the easiest task, which is why he resorted to asking her the real question, though gentle toned and carefully curated, using his other hand to rub soothing circles on her back as he approached the topic, "I thought you sent the client all they asked for, did they want something out of the contract?"

With a loud huff she began, only to pause for a moment when another cramp hit, her fingers gripping his shirt as she took a deep breath before speaking (venting), "Apparently some of the guests, who refused to take solos then, now want their solo pics because the others who did get their solos taken got good results- like flattery will get you nowhere, I can't pull out your solo pics from my as-ah shit, " she hissed, trying to move, "I need my heating pad." He was quicker than her, jumping over her, letting out a hearty laugh when he heard her squeak and let out a few vulgar words. As quick and agile as a cat he hopped back on the bed, turning her on her back as he placed it on her lower belly, "There, all better?"

Nodding she placed her hands on the pad, pressing it against her skin before sighing, continuing, "Anyway, someone was like oh can you like crop us out and put us somewhere to turn it into our logo- you mean cut you out and paste the image, spend time blending, shading, fixing the highlights- no, because its not in the contract and I'm not being paid more for this."

"I...wow..." he mumbled, running his fingers through her hair soothingly as he sat beside her, looking down at her only to notice her trembling power lip and glossy eyes, "What's...wrong...baby, you don't have to do anything that wasn't under your contract." He hummed, tracing his fingertips over the slightly warmer skin of her forehead absentmindedly, "You want me to talk to -"

"That puppy was so sad, he looked like he wanted to cry and..." Turning to her side, as she closed her eyes, the rush of emotions getting a bit to strong, the tears leaking through her clenched eyes, hugging herself. This was stupid, she had ruined his sleep, woke him up in the middle of the night, snapped at him, told him stories that were irrelevant and then ended up crying about a video on puppies.

"I like being the big spoon."

Oh- that's why she felt so warm, and-

"How is laying on top of me the bigger spoon, you're crushing me."

"I'm protecting you from the bad vibes. Told you Hongjoong as a boss sucks, man's a capitalist monster."

With a sigh she relaxed in his hold, the added weight actually helping with the pain, both, physical and psychological.

"To sleep, you should stop thinking, leave your worries, for tomorrow's you." He sighed, giving her another squeeze, though he didn't recieve any response to his wise words, he could get them printed, "You asleep?" He whispered peeking over her shoulder only to smile, two hours, they'd been awake for two hours, listening to God knows what she was going through, biological and induced. Either way, he was glad that she had the world's best boyfriend, he'd probably boast about this tomorrow to her, when she's in a better mood, when she's well rested and probably complaining once again, about how Hongjoong finding the dumbest, but richest clients. Need not worry, she'd always have someone loyal, sincere and the best big spoon out there- all her's.

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @the-kpop-simp @mlysalt @spooo00oky

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summikomi · 4 days ago

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I like the one where y/n is fascinated with Sukuna’s tummy 😂 I just think it’s so cute. Could I request an instance where she gives it some attention.

Like usually y/n will kiss Sukunas face and ignores his stomach but one day she finally notices his tummy mouth pouting because it never gets attention so she asks Sukuna before she starts spoiling his tummy mouth with kisses, sweet words and he blushes around his abs and maybe even purrs and coos at her doting. Sukuna is just stunned by the whole thing because none of his previous consorts/concubines would ever go near his tummy (fear of being bitten/esten) but yeah! That’s my idea 🥰🥰🌷🌷🌷

this is so cute i can't believe i took so long to get to it lolol here u go darling <3 it got totally away from me and also got mildy suggestive at the end, so cw for that!!

".. you're doing this again?" sukuna huffs exasperatedly, playing up his distaste as always, but you're not letting it get to you. with gentle hands you tenderly run your fingers over the lines of his waist, admiring the defined muscle that surrounds that mouth on his stomach. you can see he's scowling over your head, but the blush dusting his prominent cheekbones makes it hard to take his displeasure seriously.

you hadn't intended to make a habit of it when it began, but you and sukuna had a schedule. at the end of every week, you'd both settle into his massive bed together, and you would make an evening of worshipping him like he deserved. his large, powerful form would always turn to putty in your hands, basically purring in your hold by the time both you started to get tired. you knew he loved the attention, but there was a part of him you'd been neglecting without noticing.

it came to a head one night, while you were (totally innocently) running your hands over his chest, and you looked down to see the lips on his stomach.. pouting? the view was so surreal that your hands stopped, and sukuna didn't take long to notice and complain.

"mrrh?" he intonated, something like a confused cat, and although it was cute you were too entranced by the view to pay it much mind.

"who said you could stop?" a deep voice murmured, but it was less intimidating with the slightly dazed look on his face and the pout on his tummy.

"oh!" you gasped softly, turning to look up at him again, and resisted the urge to snicker at the almost matching pout he had on the lips of his face, "sorry, it's just, hm.."

with a cautious touch (more because you didn't know if he'd like it, rather than if he would allow it - sukuna liked to act tough, but he'd let you do basically anything) you reached out and splayed your fingers over his stomach, and then gently ran them over the lips there. it was surprisingly soft, but it felt more like the skin of his torso than the one of his lips, and you marveled at the curiosities of his anatomy silently.

"..what..?" his voice was gruff, and if you didn't know him better you might think he was mad - but he was definitely flustered.

"do you like being touched here?" you asked curiously, and he frowned at the question as if you'd just personally insulted him.

rather than answering upfront, because that would obviously be too easy, sukuna answered like this:

"do whatever you want."

do whatever you want, you did. if he wanted you to stop it would be more than in his power anyways, so you continued on your quest to spoil that neglected tummy mouth, and sukuna continued to pretend he didn't like it. just as he was today.

a thought popped into your head. hmm.

without much thought, you leaned in and pressed your lips over the ones on his stomach, and giggled softly over the skin when it made him jolt.

"what," sukuna said, a big hand flying over the back of your neck to scruff you like a cat, "are you doing now?"

"kissing you, silly." his grasp was too gentle to restrain you, so you leaned forward and pressed another kiss to the right corner of the mouth, delighting in the way his muscles tensed under you. he was very flustered, indeed.

it was a rare treat to make sukuna speechless, and you enjoyed every moment as you placed kiss after kiss over his stomach, going over his abs and the marks on his skin, including rough scars and a lost freckle or two. sukuna was so cute. not that you would ever tell him that - unless you wanted to see the world burn.

"you can cease this already–" he complained, but before he could finish a loud sound interrupted his speech - and your actions.

for a moment you almost thought his stomach was growling, but then the realization hit you like a brick to the head.

"sukuna," you enunciated, utter delight coating your words in honey, "are you purring right now?"

"it's not me, it's that stupid thing." he tried to defend himself, but his ears were matching the pink of his hair, and you laughed loud enough that you were sure most of the servants around the estate would hear.

"so it has a mind of its own now?"

"shut up," he barked without any bite before pulling you into his arms, one pair coming under your thighs to pull you close and the other wrapping around your shoulders and waist, fully surrounding you.

"i'll find a spot that makes you purr now. i hope you're ready."

"huh? wait, sukuna–"

..you learned a few lessons about your own body that day too.

#requests #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk scenarios #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader

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a66-1 · 8 months ago

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I NEED DRUNK SIMON DRABBLE OR SMTH ALL OKAY BUT I NEED DRUNK SIMON AAAAAAA

thx in advance 😈

(btw ur rules and regulations link isn’t working)

- HalloHello

thank you king for the idea and for the heads up

I accidentally privated the post so it'll be working right after this.

ANYWAYS

Drunk! Simon x Not so drunk! Reader

TW: Very drunk Simon. I think that's it

A/N: fangirling really hard rn

semi-proofread

You stayed up a little later becasue Simon said he'd be home soon, on a little drinking night with his buddies. He's usually good with controlling himself while drinking, but after missions? Man gets shitfaced and is all hugs and kisses and I love yous.

He's a sweetheart when drunk. Not to say he's not always a sweetheart, but when he has no inhibitions and is actually calm and not tense, he's a big old baby. His inner child really plays out.

You hear Gaz pull into your driveway, as he's usually the designated driver for the after mission drinks. You open your door to say hi to Simon but..

You see Gaz get out of the car with Simon. You open your door, waving. Simon doesn't wave back, and Gaz laughes quickly. He brings him up to the steps, and helps Simon walk up the stairs to your front door.

"Hey, darling. I'm handing you your.. Uh.. Very... Drunk boyfriend." Gaz holds back a hard laugh when Simon, his big self, stumbles forward to lean half his weight on you. You support yourself on the door confused.

"How-What-When--" You look for words but they fail you. Gaz shrugs.

"Even we don't know. Johnny told him to slow down, but.." Gaz gestures to the mess Simon is, and tips his head.

"Don't mean to leave you with him, but I got to drop off Price. Just.. Update me, yeah? I don't know why he'd drink so much," Gaz gives you a nice smile, and walks back to his car to drive off. You take Simon's hand, and try to lead him in. Simon laughs softly, a laugh you rarely hear, and he kisses your face a few times.

He gets in the house, just to crumple to the entrys mudroom seat, and leans back back into some of his own work shoes.

"Oh my, ya'... Y'r such a sore for sight eyes.." He mumbles. You tilt your head, in an 'excuse me' motion. He shakes his head, before trying to stand, and falling back.

"No no, love, a-a sight for sore eyes.. Yea' a sight.." He sighs, "I wish I had a girlfriend tha' wa-was like ya'.."

You snicker, covering your mouth. You manage to get him to the couch, and then your bed, taking off his sweaty shirt and changing his jeans to PJ pants.

"'F I ev'r 'ad a girl, 'd wan' her like ya'.." His words seemed to decline in coherence as he got more tired. You nodded slightly, smiling crookedly.

"Like me, you say? Why's that?" You kiss his temple, and he smiles warmly. His smile is the prettiest you've seen, and you love when he's even slightly drunk because he flashes it so much more.

"'M safe with ya'.. Why wouldn't I wan' a girl like ya'," he smiles, and takes your hand, and holds it.. Like a baby. His big ass hand is wrapped around your thumb.

You softly rub his scalp, as he moves himself onto your chest. You have the TV playing, watching your favorite show. Simon is mumbling.. Something, your sure, but he's just putty in your hands. Imagine: a big burly man, drunk, and infatuated in his girlfriend (but he apparently doesn't know) like a small school boy. It's adorable seeing him defenseless for once, relaxed shoulders, and his gaze is just as strong as he gazes up at you. You peck his forehead, and rub the bridge of his previously broken nose.

"Hey, Si, guess what?" You smile softly, your hand holding his jaw. He hums and tilts his head. "Did you know that I'm actually your girlfriend?"

He stares dumbfounded for a moment, before shaking his head.

"Can't be, mm... Y'r too pretty for me." He kisses your palm, and smiles.

"I promise. 2 years strong, honey." You kiss his lips softly, smiling at his cluelessness. His hands grip the sides of your shirt, looking up at you. He doesn't believe you, crazily, he's still got his insecurities.

"No no, ya'... Ya' shouldn't be.. Wasting Y'r time.." You shush him with another kiss, before his head falls onto his chest. He sighs.

"Wasting my time? Si, honey, I love spending my time on you." You kiss the crown of his head, and scratch his head. He mumbles more incoherent thoughts. He's lights out very quickly, and you follow suit a few minutes later.

The morning comes, and so does a very hungover Simon. He groans, sitting up, and wiping his jaw harshly. You were awake, on your phone when you feel him shift.

"Oh, hey baby." You smiled, and out your phone down. He groans, and nuzzles into your neck, complaining about how his head hurts.

"I know, I know. I got some advil for you." You grab the bottle from the side table, and feed him 2.

"God.. I'm.. Was I..?" He rubs his eyes and gives up, seeking comfort in your arms. Your rub his head some more, and move your fingers to rub his temples.

"You gotta stop drinking so hard, baby." You whisper, "I know you don't do it often, but.. Are the mornings worth it?"

He nods, to your surprise, and leans into your hands. "Mm.. Yeah.. It's worth it.. Cuz'.. Ya' rub my head and kiss me and.. Mm... Hug me.."

You kiss his head, and shake your own.

"Next time, just ask okay?" You get a nod as a response from him. He whispers a thank you into your neck, before drifting off to sleep until 1, like usual.

ahh this was so cute to write and I fell asleep writing it so. thats why I'm posting it in the morning.

by babes!!

-a661

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon fluff #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley call of duty #cod x reader #ghost cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #a66-1 #a66-1 asks

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vervainandspritz · 1 month ago

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HEADCANONS - what would he do to get you in the mood?

Characters: Lenny Miller, Jonathan Crane, Robert Fischer, Jackson Rippner, Raymond Leon, Emmett (TQPII), Tommy Shelby,

A/N: Requested by @lau219 ,y'all feel free to send requests.

Lenny Miller - Leonard is an experienced man, he knows how to get his way around Y/N. Pretty frequently on his way home, he would already have a rough plan on the evening ahead of them. Sometimes grabbing a bouquet of flowers in the nearby florist shop or a bottle of wine. After coming home, Lenny impatiently would find her around the house, searching for any physical contact he could get. "Did you miss me like I missed you?" He'd ask her in that velvety voice, thumbs rubbing up and down on the little crevice of her hips, almost teasing. Sometimes they end up sitting on the couch, Y/N's feet on his lap as she told him all about her day, while Leonard listened and gave her a massage, hands barely visibly moving higher with each stroke. "Poor girl" He liked to tease, closing the proximity once his pants became too tight in a crotch from the simple touches. "Left you all alone here" From that point, he didn't play coy. Knowing all the right spots to touch, he effortlessly kept making her go soft, almost putty in his hands.

Jonathan Crane - Jonathan's methods differed depending on the mood he was in. Sometimes days in Arkham were more difficult than the others, and so his patience ran thin. He'd come back home abruptly, peeling the layers of clothing away. The way he'd press his bare, hot chest against Y/N's back, searching closeness he could get only from her. "Was it a bad day?" She would ask, turning around to face him. Sometimes it would all start from the touch as innocent as holding hands, when he'd direct her hand to his cheek, steely blue eyes carefully studying her body covered in the clothes she was wearing. Pulling her closer till their fronts would connect, and she'd feel the proof of his urgency. His own hands landing on her back, massaging the skin and pulling her against his chest while simultaneously hiding his face in her neck. The way she'd feel him so intensely slightly trembling, connected with shivering delightfully from how his hot breath bounced off her skin could come off as symptoms of fear to a mind so great in his very major.

Robert Fischer - Robert's favourite way of showing affection would come on display as soon as he made it through the door. He thoroughly enjoyed the ability Y/N taught him - talking. Using words of affection was one of the greatest joys for both of them, after all the time it took for him to get used to doing so. "I couldn't stop thinking about you. Missed you so much" He spoke softly into her ear, the vulnerable tone of his voice showing nothing but honesty. Y/N immediately mirrored his mood most of the time, growing warm in his embrace. In a couple swift movements he'd gain access to her skin, caressing it delicately while simultaneously holding her gaze. "I need you" he'd confess quietly, leaning to capture her lips in a kiss so needy, Y/N could barely breathe.

Jackson Rippner - Jackson was anything but patient when this urge would hit. It wouldn't matter whether she was busy or not, his hot hands would grasp her hips, often pressing her against something to gain control. Leaning down to graze his nose against the sensitive skin of her neck, taking in the scent that never failed to make him hard. "Jackson, I'm busy" Y/N would sometimes manage to stutter out, feeling the heavy weight of his body against her back. A quiet chuckle would push past his lips, as he pressed harder. "What can possibly be more important than taking care of your man?" His voice would come off arrogant, often purposely. Knowing how well it worked on working her up. His roughed up hands would move higher, barely brushing against her breasts to come resting on her throat, not squeezing just yet. "Feel what you do to me, sweetheart?" He'd growl, nearly on the edge of just... Bending her over the desk and taking what he wanted. Giving her throat a little squeeze, he'd quickly reach between her legs, getting a hold of her. Jackson's lips would stretch into an arrogant grin as he'd feel the wetness beneath her panties. Lightly rubbing against her covered slit, he'd lean closer to whisper. "So wet and needy. I'll give you what you need, but you owe me one, hmm?"

Raymond Leon - Raymond wasn't one to ask, not to.. talk too much. He liked to use the advantage of how easily bothered Y/N would get seeing him like that. "What are you doing?" he'd ask like it mattered, leaning on the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest. His scent and warmth would be enough to make her notice the close proximity, causing Y/N to squeeze her thighs together lightly. Not going unnoticed under his watchful gaze, as he'd keep looking at her, knowing well she could feel him watching. Brushing his arm lightly against hers, he'd move around pretending to be busy before finally having her cornered. She'd be breathing heavily, eyes taking greedily the sight of his bare, freckles skin and muscles on his torso. Sooner or later his hands would end up on her face, pulling her closer. Their noses brushing against each other as he'd smile, looking deeply into her eyes. "What got you so bothered, honey?" Raymond would ask, because even though he hated talking, he secretly loved hearing her talk.

Emmett - His favourite thing to get Y/N in the mood would always be kissing. He'd lean in for a kiss, his arms wrapping tightly around her middle to keep her in place. The deep groans leaving his lips would echo in her stomach, making the heat pool to the lower side of it. "So beautiful" He'd murmur in a deep voice, keeping her lips occupied with his own while slowly touching and grasping every inch of her skin he could get to. "Emmett–" Y/N's whiny voice would never cease to make him lightheaded as he moved lower, kissing a trail they both knew by heart already. "Keep saying it, baby. Keep saying my name" His voice was rougher with lust as he kept her legs apart, kissing her stomach and hips. She had a hard time staying still, squirming needily in his grasp. "Come here.." He cooed, looking her in the eyes as his face moved closer to where she needed him the most. "Let me take care of you" Emmett whispered, as his face leaned down, diving between her legs.

Tommy Shelby - Thomas loved the control he secretly held over Y/N when it comes to her needs. Being so fluent in directing them with his touch or affection. The way she'd move around, doing her own thing while pretending to not feel how he looked at her. "Come here, darling" He'd eventually call out, patting his thigh. He'd use the close proximity to look her in the eyes, encouraging to talk about her whereabouts when he was at work, while petting her thighs lightly. He touched and felt, eyes following the tender lines of her body beneath the clothes she wore. He'd proceed to touch caress her cheeks, pulling her closer as he murmured how beautiful she was. Y/N could never remain unaffected under his rough fingers and soft words, leaning into his touch with a sigh. "You're my good girl, aren't you? Always so good for me." He purred, feeling how fast her heartbeat became under the weight of his seductive words. He'd gently rub her inner thighs, before parting her legs and letting his hands claim what was his Swallowing every cry that would come out of her mouth not longer after, as she writhed on his lap in orgasmic spasms.

#cillian murphy #tommy shelby #Raymond Leon #Robert Fischer #Jonathan Crane #Thomas Shelby #Jackson Rippner #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #thomas shelby #jackson rippner #tommy shelby smut #raymond leon #raymond leon x reader #tommy shelby x reader #headcanon #headcanons #smut #lenny miller

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cyberm4n · 10 months ago

Note

May I request a bit of Lucifer with a plus sized reader who has a breeding kink? 💕

thank you so much for this request anon it has plagued my brain /pos as someone who's midsized and VERY gay i think the plus sized ladies need more love in fanfic. i hope you like it, im not 100% happy with the writing but lmk and ill change it up :)

cw: smut, breeding kink (duh), mentions of daddy kink but it's not rly used, reader is described as plus sized could be midsized ig, cum eating?? it's not like DIRECTLY mentioned but it kinda happens??, reader is overstimulated cause lucifer wants to make her a mommy, not proofread well

other: im on vacation and working through some requests so please know your request has been noted! ill probably come out with some more alastor/reader/lucifer sometime in the next couple of days.

■ for starters, i firmly believe that he's the kind of guy to LOVE chubby girls

■ like he loves how soft you are

■ if you're laying in bed with him you better expect for him to be all over you

■ no matter what you wanna wear he thinks it hot. seeing you confident is his biggest turn on and he loves it when you are feeling your best.

■ put on some low rise jeans and that man is on his knees for you

■ safe to say this man is 100% your number 1 supporter and will hype you up no matter what

■ if you're taller than him, literally no issue. like have you seen the height difference between him and lilith?

■ look he's a guy who knows how to handle anyone of any shape/size/gender

■ he's been around since the beginning of humanity this guy knows how to fuck

■ we all know he's a munch

■ i feel like he'd be the kind of guy to be REALLY into thighs

■ like you'd be laying in bed and he'd start kissing down your body, his hands running over your curves

■ paying special attention to your lower belly before moving to your thighs

■ he likes going down on you but if you at all want to ride his face he's 100% in

■ i feel like if you hadn't asked he'd definitely have suggested it before

■ the kind of guy to like pull you down on his face

■ he wants you to SIT dammit

■ the breeding kink tho.

■ i feel like he'd already have a daddy kink but the breeding kink just adds to it yk

■ he thinks you look absolutely divine when his cum is leaking out of you

■ but on days he's particularly feeling the breeding kink, he 100% shoving his fingers in you after he pulls out.

■ gotta make sure you stay full

■ he can't help it he just loves you so much he wants to see you swollen with his child :(

"darling just one more for me please" he breathes out, sweat dripping down his body as he tries to coax another orgasm out of you.

he had been feeling in a bit of a mood tonight, and when you came into his office with those shorts of yours on he couldn't think about anything other than breeding you.

so here we are, laid out on his desk, and him hovering over you. your legs ache from trembling so hard, and every orgasm makes you practically blind from how long he'd been going at it. his cum leaks out of your hole, he'd been dumping load after load in you, and now he's shaking too.

he's gotta fill you up though, he'd love nothing more than you carrying his love. he feels that pit is his stomach tighten, and he gently rubs your clit. "gonna be such a good mommy," he'd coo, feeling you turn to putty in his arms.

when the time comes and he crashes over his orgasm, spilling deep in you once more, he's careful to stay locked in for a little while, but he's peppering your face with kisses.

"you did such a good job ducky" he murmurs, rubbing soft circles on your hips. until he'd pull back just a little to watch his cum leak out of you again, utterly spent.

when he finally completely pulls out its not long until his fingers make their way in you, "shh baby i know, but i gotta make sure it takes" he'd whisper to you as you squirm away from him.

he tsks a little shortly after, his fingers slowly withdrawing. he plunges thumb into your mouth, "suck" he says firmly, which you do, of course. cleaning off his fingers so good for him.

he pulls his hand back, it returns to your side, and you whine as you feel his fat tip press against your hole again, and he coos down at you, folding your legs up to your knees. "cmon missy, we can go one more time right? you can go again sweetheart" he says as he eases his cock into you again.

safe to say, he's dumping loads of his cum in you until he's shooting blanks.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer smut #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #request #plus size reader #mid size reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer

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theonotti · 8 months ago

Text

Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Years have past since the Battle of Hogwarts, and through his grief and desperation, Theo fights to get back every second lost since then.

Warnings: Major Character Death (Not Theo), it's just angst lads

Notes: Been a while! But I'm back with some writing! This fic will be 3 parts in total. Shoutout to @classyartisanpizza for letting me write this idea! <3

Masterlist

The nightmares are the worst part.

It's always the nightmares.

Theo wakes with a start, his chest heaving as he abruptly sits up. It takes a moment of his eyes darting around in fear for him to realise he's simply in bed. No battle. No green bursts of light flying inches from his head. No bodies dropping around him.

He closes his eyes, running his hand down his face to rid the beads of sweat rolling down his skin. Though he forces himself to take deep breaths, his heart continues to race. The room feels so warm. Why does the room feel so warm? His chestnut curls fall over his eyes, slightly matted to his forehead, and for the briefest of moments, he considers shaving his head.

The vivid technicolor of the nightmares always gets him. Blaring realism and exaggerated memories have him waking in a panic without fail.

A hand runs up Theo's lower back, followed by a soft voice speaking in tongues and distortion. A chill runs up his spine as his fight or flight kicks into high gear, causing him to jump off the bed and point his wand directly at the perpetrator.

Daphne Greengrass stares back at him, looking mainly annoyed yet mildly confused as she wraps the sheet around her naked form. There's a long, tense silence as the two of them stare at each other, and despite knowing there's no threat, Theo doesn't bother to lower his wand.

"I thought I said no sleeping over."

His voice is clipped, a stark contrast from the sultry tone he had taken with her the night before. Then again, he doesn't ever have to work in order for Daphne to become putty in his hands. Not really. Him putting on the show just makes him feel better about using her.

She sits up slightly, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. Even in the dark, the blush that fills her cheeks is unmissable.

"You fell asleep and I-"

"That's not an invitation."

You're such an asshole, He tells himself. But he can't help it. The point of the rule was so that he'd never have to wake up to Daphne. She's not ugly, or entirely terrible to be around. But his care for her only extends to the point of what she does for him. A means to an end. And the end is to distract him from the never ending abyss of his mind and the standing void in his chest.

Besides, that spot in the bed belongs to someone else.

Belonged-

No. Belongs.

Another beat passes before Theo realises that his wand is still raised, and he finally lowers it to his side. Although he should feel worse about his overreaction, he's only a slight tinged embarrassed. It's being overshadowed by his annoyance.

Daphne takes a moment to stare at him, her eyes searching his face for the humour that never comes. A quiet sigh of relief escapes his mouth when she finally climbs out of his bed and starts to get dressed.

"What are you doing later?" She asks while pulling her shirt over her head.

The clock on the wall reads quarter till three in the morning.

Theo tries to hide his smug irritation at the fact that she's already trying to plan when she sees him again, despite his complete disregard for her only moments ago.

When he doesn't respond right away, Daphne looks over at him, throwing a sock off his floor right at his face. In another life, with another person, Theo would've found this gesture amusing, but right now, he just stares at her in exasperation.

"I'm busy."

Merlin, you're a fucking asshole.

But Daphne remains unfazed as she pulls her jeans up her legs and fastens them.

"Maybe next week then? I'm working all weekend."

And despite his self awareness, Theo just can't fucking help himself.

"I'll call you."

Now he's done it. The sting ripples through her face as she pauses all movement, her eyes falling back on him. Under her confused gaze, the temperature in the room falls, but Theo keeps his expression neutral. For a long moment, they just stare at each other in tense silence, before finally Daphne breaks the prolonged eye contact to finish putting her trainers on.

"I don't understand why we keep doing this, Theo," She says in a low voice as she ties her right shoe. It's clear she's trying to be more confident in her words than hurt, but she's failing. "You clearly don't want to commit to me or even care about me. Why do you keep phoning if you can't be bothered?"

Theo leans his back against the wall, his shoulder brushing the door frame of his bedroom. The words leave his mouth before he's able to process them, or to consider not saying them.

"Because you always come running."

Twenty years on this planet and you still don't know when to shut your bloody mouth.

Daphne looks appalled as the words hang in the air. Despite the fact that Theo's guilt is radiating off of him and filling the room at a suffocating rate, he continues to say nothing else. An eternity later, she snatches her coat off the floor and storms out of the room, slamming Theo's bedroom door so loudly that he flinches, followed by the slamming of the front door of his flat.

Silence.

Theo pushes off the wall, walking over to his bed and collapsing on top of the covers.

Silence.

As he buries his face in the pillow, desperate to go back to sleep, his mind starts to drift back to the nightmare that started the domino effect events of the evening. A chill runs up his spine for a second time as he dives head first into the dreams that haunt his subconscious damn near every time he closes his eyes.

The falling bodies.

The walls crumbling down.

The flashes of bright green flying passed his head.

The set of eyes. His favourites. Watching as the life drains out of them.

Theo abruptly jumps out of his bed, his hands trembling slightly as he walks briskly to the door and throws it open. His flat is dead silent, save the sound of his footsteps across the hardwood floor. Through the darkness, he can make out the faint outline of his black cat moving quickly across the floor towards him.

"Piss off, Shadow," He mutters to the cat. She doesn't seem to notice his hostility as she continues to move between his legs. But he's quite rehearsed in this dance at this point, and manages to cross the pitch black living room without tripping over her and falling on his face. He makes his way to the spare bedroom, the room that used to be where he worked on his potions.

That is, until more important projects grabbed Theo in a chokehold.

Unlocking the door with his wand, he quickly goes inside quickly, making sure the cat didn't follow him through before shutting the door behind him.

"Mattheo, I'm fine."

"Is the kidnapper in the room with you and forcing you to say that?"

Theo rolls his eyes, rubbing his right eyelid with his free hand as his other one stirs the brewing potion in the cauldron in front of him. His phone rests on the desk next to him with his best friend's display name taking over the screen, the call on speaker.

"You think a kidnapper would willingly keep me?" He asks as he lets his free hand drop back to his wooden desk, accidentally into a puddle of spilled potion that had toppled from the cauldron. Making a face, Theo instinctively wipes his fingers off on his jeans. "They'd return me before you'd even realised I'm gone."

Mattheo lets out a quiet laugh before saying, "You're right. I'd say we could use the break, but no one's seen you in weeks."

Theo lets his other hand drop to the desk, sighing exasperatedly.

"Mate. We've just hung out. At the Leaky Cauldron, yeah? When Malfoy got so piss drunk, he fell in the toilets and smacked his face on a sink."

The memory causes a ghost of a smile to form on Theo's face, but the silence on the other end of the phone causes it to fade just as quickly.

"Hello? Did I lose you, Riddle?"

When Mattheo speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically quiet.

"That was two months ago."

Every single muscle in Theo's face slackens.

"What? No. That can't be right. It was just two weeks ago, yeah?"

"No, Theo. It was two months ago."

Shaking his head, Theo grabs his phone, switching to check the date as he stammers whispered denials, more to himself than anything. But Mattheo is right. Two months have passed since that last hangout, and besides the occasional mess around with Daphne, which he assumes are now over since the debacle a few nights prior, Theo hasn't seen anyone else since.

Where did the time go?

You know where the time went.

"We're really worried, mate," Mattheo says in a soft voice. "I know it's been hard, but-"

"Don't," Theo barks, almost instinctively as he sets his phone back on the desk. He knows where this conversation is going, because this is where the conversation always goes.

"It's been almost three years, Theo."

Theo shakes his head, his eyes closing as the air slowly starts to syphon from the room.

"It's not- Surely I can't be expected to just forget."

A quiet sigh rings out from the other side of the phone, as Theo fights to keep his rising emotions in check.

"Of course you wouldn't forget. We just-"

Theo quickly shakes his head, not wanting to hear the same things he always here's when one of his friends decides to play therapist for him.

"Oh shit, I've just remembered I have better things to do than have this conversation."

Theo lifts his hand towards his phone, with the intent to hang up, when he heard Mattheo's desperate voice quickly calling to him.

"Meet in the Three Broomsticks tonight!"

Theo pauses, staring at his phone as his brain starts its usual war on itself whenever someone wants him to do anything that isn't rotting at home. On one hand, going out with his friends would placate them for long enough that they won't have yet another conversation like this one. But on the other handâ€¦

He's close. He's so close to figuring it out. And any time that isn't dedicated to figuring it out is, in his eyes, a complete waste.

But as he stares down at his best friend's name on his phone, he lets out a heavy sigh.

"Piss off."

He can practically hear Mattheo's smug grin in his voice.

"See you there," He says, before promptly hanging up the phone.

A heavy sigh forcing its way out of his mouth, Theo turns back to the cauldron in front of him.

You need a break.

Maybe stepping back for a night and coming back will trigger an epiphany.

Theo lets out a resigned sigh. The last thing he wants to do is step away. When he's away from the work room, he feels like he can't breathe. When he's not working or researching or planning or even contemplating, he feels like he's drowning.

In his head, he's running out of time. But with every centimetre closer he gets to the finish line, he gets another centimetre closer to getting every lost moment back.

The remaining butterbeer swishes circles at the bottom of the glass as Theo twists it with his wrist. A quiet yet fake laugh comes out of his mouth, if only to mix in with the loud, howl-like laughter surrounding him from whatever funny thing Blaise just said.

Merlin, I should've gotten a firewhiskey.

Though, he knows it would've been a bad idea. His tolerance for alcohol has grown concerningly high over the last few years, and he doesn't want to explain why he would've been fully functional after seven hard drinks while his friends would be well beyond wasted.

So he sips his butterbeer under the guise that he has an early morning the next day. If he had more observant friends, they would see through this excuse, but fortunately for him, they tend to miss a lot when it comes down to the quiet, chestnut haired lad whose mind is rarely on planet Earth.

"Oi. Space Cadet. Can you join us for a moment?"

Theo takes a casual drink from his glass as his eyes land on Malfoy.

"Give me something worth joining in on," He quips as he gently sets the glass back down on the table. The blond rolls his eyes as Mattheo and Blaise both let out a chuckle.

"We were just talking about the Harpies. Whether they'll make the cup," Mattheo explains just as the barmaid approaches with their refills. The fresh butterbeer is set down in front of Theo at the same time as he lets out his own laugh. A genuine one, this time.

"The Harpies will make the Cup the same day Malfoy stops bleaching his hair."

Now it's howling laughter from the two other lads as Malfoy slams his mug down on the table, pointing at Theo maliciously.

"Don't start your bullshit, Nott."

"I saw the bottle in your trunk, Malfoy. Third year. One never forgets."

"I don't bleach my fucking hair, and if you say it again, I'll make sure you can't see it ever again."

Theo doesn't miss a beat.

"Is that a promise?"

As Riddle and Zabini keep giggling, the alcohol already to their heads, Theo keeps his wits about him as he stares at the tip of Draco's finger that's still only inches from his face.

"Stand down, Malfoy," Blaise finally interjects. "You've become entirely too serious since getting hitched."

The silver band on that left fourth finger glints in the dim lighting as Draco pulls his arm back down towards his lap. Despite his recoil at the scolding, his eyes don't quite stop glaring their daggers towards Theo, who takes another unbothered sip of his drink.

"Maybe it helped me grow up. Someone should take a page out of that book."

Theo feels his fingers tense around the glass, the heat rushing to his cheeks.

Prick.

Absolute wanker.

Dead man walking.

If my life hadn't fallen apart, I would've been married by now. Maybe I'd even have kids.

A wave of nausea hits him at the thought. Instinctively, his eyes shift to look at the door, as his mind searches for his excuse to leave. If his shift in demeanour isn't obvious to every person at the table, it definitely is to Mattheo, who quickly clears his throat.

"Anyone hear about the hunt for whoever's trying to replicate the time turners?"

Theo's entire body ceases, his throat trapping any sound or breath from escaping, meanwhile his brain starts to race at speeds he has never experienced before. The conversation shifts to this topic as Theo desperately tries to remember how to breathe.

"What's the hold up?" Blaise questions before he empties his glass. Mattheo does the same while lifting his shoulders into a shrug.

"Whoever is doing it, they've covered their tracks quite well. But the Ministry has their best people trying to find them before they're able to muck up anything."

A quiet murmur fills the silence of the table. Sweat beads Theo's forehead as he accidentally chugs his entire glass. No one appears to notice, to his relief.

"How are they able to track that?" Malfoy asks curiously as he drums his fingers against the wood top table.

"A time turner has an Hour Reversal charm encased in the centre," Mattheo explains. "The Ministry is alerted every time one is cast, but whoever is doing it has protected themselves so much that their location is damn near impossible to track." Mattheo pauses to take a drink before he continues. "If it wasn't so infuriating, I'd be impressed."

A slight smirk crosses Malfoy's face before he says, "I take it the 'Ministry's best people' includes your team?"

Mattheo rolls his eyes, though the slight pink hue that covers his cheeks is unmissable. Despite him being nothing like his father, Mattheo has always been slightly embarrassed by his position in the Ministry. While Zabini, Malfoy and Theo all view it as a growth and a middle finger to Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Mattheo sometimes views it as a betrayal, though he only mentions it after he's hit a certain point of inebriation.

"It is a job for the Misuse of Magic department, in my opinion. So yeah, the best people include my team."

Silence fills the table as everyone takes a sip of their drinks. Theo swallows the lump in his throat.

And then he speaks.

"Any evidence that they've been successful?"

The table turns to look at him, and he does his best to appear casual when he shrugs.

"Just curious."

Mattheo shakes his head.

"We'll be alerted if they actually go back," He explains. "Which will lead to their arrest, if they continue to use the Hour Reversal charm."

"Doesn't that only go back five hours?" Blaise asks, receiving a nod from the curly haired man to his right. Theo can feel the impending panic rising in his chest, but he swallows it down.

In theory, it's only five hours.

But with a little tampering, it's longer.

Not that I would know.

No sir.

"Not unless they do something to strengthen the spell," Mattheo says casually. "Like some sort of potion. Or enchanting the sand in the Hourglass."

Theo's face goes slack, and it feels like his entire body grows hot.

There it is.

That epiphany.

His eyes fall back onto Mattheo, the room glowing in a new light as a chill slowly trails down through his extremities and his fingers and toes.

Instinctively, Theo tries to stand before he realises he's in the corner seat of the booth. The rest of the table looks at him in surprise.

"Nott?" Malfoy asks as Theo uses the table and the ledge behind the seat to launch himself over Mattheo and the booth, out into the aisle, only making their shock grow further.

"Fuck, sorry I forgot. I need to- I have-" He stammers, knowing full well nothing he says will be able to explain his sudden change in demeanour. The looks on their faces are the same sort of looks they'd have if he had stripped down in front of them and started screaming like a banshee. He closes his eyes, putting his hands out in front of him as he takes a second to calm down. When he speaks again, it's with less urgency. "I need to go."

And with that, Theo turns and sprints out of the Three Broomsticks.

Before the door swings shut behind him, he can make out Mattheo's distant voice shouting his name. But if any of the lads make any attempt to follow, Theo moves too fast for them to have any sort of success. Once out of the village, Theo apparates back home.

Where he stays for almost ninety six straight hours.

He doesn't sleep. He doesn't eat. He barely leaves his office to use the bathroom. And he definitely doesn't shower.

Theo's marathon is filled with work. The spell strengthening potion alone takes sixteen hours to brew, needing close management. And that was after all of the work he needed to put in in order to put the potion together. Meanwhile, he does an appalling amount of research, scouring text upon text about how one would enchant the sand. When he comes up with next to nothing after twelve hours worth of reading, he moves on to Plan B.

He starts to create his own spells.

It's not the first time Theo's dabbled in spell creation, but it is the first time it's something that's more serious than trying to make Malfoy's farts come out as actual bubbles. (A failed experiment, much to his thirteen year old self's detriment.) But this time is different. Hanging over the desk where he works is the picture of his motivation. And every time he starts to feel like he's failing, he looks up at the picture and a new resolve fills him.

Because he can't fail.

Failing isn't and never will be an option.

Every botched attempt leads to more research. Every new piece of information brings him that much closer.

Until, after almost ninety six hours of what he thought was going to lead to nothing, the moment is here.

He pulls the time turner out of the cauldron, and he can feel it. Despite having used the tongs to pull it out from the potion, Theo can feel the silver metals vibrating with magic, and that's how he knew.

It worked.

His hands tremble in the same manner as he reaches to touch it, almost hesitant from the anxiety that is running rampant in his head. But when his fingertips graze the warmth of the metal, nothing happens. Nothing changes. He looks around the room for a brief moment before looking back down at the makeshift Time Turner in his hands.

Spinning his chair around and leaning back, he examines the creation. His mind is quick to resume his doubts that it didn't work, despite the pure confidence he had just a moment before. Couldn't have worked. Because nothing he's done in the last few years has.

And yet.

There's only one way to find out.

Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he props it up on his knee before he turns the screen on.

And then, he gives the spindle in his hand a turn to the right.

Theo can feel his heart stop as he watches the minutes on his phone go down with every tick of the Time Turner.

It worked.

It actually fucking worked.

A tsunami of emotions runs through Theo, overwhelming him so strongly that he has to turn back around to lean on his desk. For a moment, he lays his head on the desk, in the cradle that is his arms, basking in the darkness as he takes three long, deep breaths.

And then he looks up to the picture on the wall.

To his motivation. To the one he's been working for.

To the picture of you.

"Did you see that, pretty girl?" He asks in a gentle voice.

The spell hits your chest.

And the life leaves your eyes.

His voice is a little choked as he raises the Time Turner to the picture on the wall, wishing once again it was actually you and not just a moving idea behind a piece of paper.

"I'm coming for you."

#theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #harry potter #slytherin boys #slytherin boys fanfiction #golden trio era #golden trio era fanfiction

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moremaybank · 2 years ago

Note

For the vampire Mikaelson’s, what part of their lovers body is their favourite place to bite? Neck, wrist, inner thigh etc and how likely are they to ravish them or make it a more intimate experience? 🖤

vampire!mikaelson's favourite place to feed from you...

a/n: i didn't include finn because ik he hated being a vampire and i honestly don't think he'd really enjoy it. also, i'm lazy. oops. 18+, sort of sexual content/sexual themes (not full smut but explicit mentions of it)

mikaelson siblings masterlist

elijah

i think elijah would love drinking from your wrist

i feel like his biggest fear would be hurting you, especially after how he learned that he was the one who killed tatia

he often doesn't trust himself when it comes to the women he loves. in turn, he will pierce your wrist as he drinks from you, one hand pressing it to his mouth while his other hand cups your face gently, holding your gaze on him. his eyes remain open, and they're fixed on you as a silent reminder not to get carried away and draw more blood than he should

i also feel like the eye contact makes it so much more intimate and makes the experience more special

if the two of you are making love and you ask him to feed on you, he has mixed emotions. he doesn't want to cause you any pain, but the feeling of feeding from you while he fucks you is wondrous

and so he hesitates

but all it takes is a whole lot of love and encouragement to get him there. you tell him you know he wouldn't willingly hurt you, and that you trust him more than you've ever trusted anyone

"please, 'lijah. i want you to. i want to satiate every one of your carnal desires. let me do this for you."

he is now putty in your hands

klaus

klaus loves sinking his fangs into your neck

99.9% of the time that he feeds on you is when you're in bed

the man is kinky, we all know that

once he gets a taste of you, he's going full on feral

he can truly feel you everywhere and he's so obsessed with you that it just gets him excited

he'll have one hand bracing the side of your neck he isn't drinking from, keeping you in place

he'll litter wet kisses over the skin, nibbling here and there and leaving behind small love bites if he's in the mood to mark you a little bit more

he begins to pound into you rougher as he feels the satisfaction of your blood sliding down his throat

it's hot, and tingly, and you

the man simply cannot resist

your cries are getting louder and it's spurring him on even more

he pulls back from your neck and you see the blood dripping from his lips, and he kisses you

you taste the savoury, metallic flavour of your blood

it's so sexy you lose your mind and fall apart as he pounds into you

is it hot in here? i just started sweating randonly. wonder what that's about

kol

kol, kol, kol

our cheeky little bastard

he's obsessed with feeding from your inner thighs

his large hands are kneading and squeezing your flesh, fingers brushing and trailing over your skin and getting you all worked up as he inches closer and closer to where you yearn for him the most

"kol, stop teasing"

he draws his fangs out

"all in good time, darling. i'm enjoying you"

he's such a fucking tease it's torturous

but you can't lie about the fact that it pays off in the end

also, not to be crude, but...if you have a uterus and happen to be on your period...

man is straight FEASTING

this is just so on brand for him though, not gonna lie

he's a psychopath in the best way possible and he's down for anything

"i can smell you from here, love, but i'd much rather be tasting you"

like babes, you can do whatever you want

"did i mention that orgasms help soothe menstrual cramps? no? well, they do. i'm just saying"

rebekah

i feel like our bex is a tits person

i can just imagine it

you're walking around in a low cut top and her eyes land on the bite marks adorning the ample flesh of your breasts

and it sends her off the deep endddd

she does her little smirk as her eyes trail down and you're blushing

"bex, stop. i can't focus"

"i'm sorry, love. i just thoroughly enjoy seeing the marks i've left you with. it turns me on"

and then you guys are back in bed

you're both insatiable

in-sa-tia-ble

or a back-of-the-shoulder person

you're both sat in front of a mirror

you're in front of her in between her spread legs and she's feeding on you as her hands roam all over your body

she may or may not be toying with your clit softly as she soothes you from the slight sting

rebekah just give me a chance

pLS

i beg

mikaelsons tag list (join here!): @princess-charming-01 @maybankslover @darkmoonbloodshake @kittyqrt @techlipse @the-kaya-aa @catmikaelson20 @hopesdadswife @amournoir @skydisneylover @iluvniklaus @diyabhanushali1 @your_best_hoe @ijustlovetoread @lyn07 @elenavampire21 @theesexystallion @dudenhaaa27 @alexxavicry @@kenzi-woycehoski @elijahssuit @shawnspoems

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222col · 5 months ago

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sugardaddy!patrick can't get enough of you, but how does that make sugardaddy!art feel? | part whatever of sugardaddy!au | 18+

patrick's name is announced, walking onto the court and winking straight to you. you can't stop thinking about art's message. how could you not think he would see your instagram story.

please tell me you're not there for patrick, i'm begging you

art dm's you again. you can't consider replying, leaving him on delivered as your eyes dart back to the brunette. it hits you suddenly, as patrick serves. you have both of these successful, attractive men in the palm of your hand. wrapped around your little finger. two famous tennis players, who just happen to be best friends, like putty at your feet. this whole time, it was them who you thought had the power. but it's not, it's you. patrick's only known you for a few days, and already he'd do anything you asked of him, the same as art would. maybe tashi knew before you did, the power you had, you'd gained from showering her husband in the attention he'd never received. you realise, opening your phone, that yeah, tashi may be powerful, but maybe, just maybe, you weren't so scared of her after all.

so what if i am?

patrick shouts out as he hits the winner of the first set. drinking in the smirk on your mouth as you cheer for him. he takes his break, shirt off, the sun shining on the sweat on his chest. his eyes don't leave yours the entire time. his fuck me eyes glaring through you, it takes all of you to not jump the barrier and ride him on the side of the court. he places his shirt back on his body, ready to continue the game.

you're fucking joking me, is that why you left?

art never speaks to you like this. you could only imagine the anger running through his veins.

you can ask your wife why i left, patrick has nothing to do with that

would it be bad to admit all this power and anger and patrick's fucking arms had you readjusting in your seat, the hunger in your stomach growing. you're wet, soaked actually, wishing the match away so you can get patrick into his room and lick the sweat off his body.

then why are you there for him??

art is pacing his room, he hasn't stepped foot outside the bedroom all day. not eaten, not slept, and now he's angry. more angry than ever before. he hasn't closed the instagram app once since you replied.

so he can really celebrate when he wins.

he knows exactly what that means. his phone is hurled across the room, straight at the wall. his breathing is shaky, holding in his sick at the idea of you taking care of patrick the way you do for him. the phone is smashed to pieces, opening his bedroom door for the first time today. "tashi i need a new fucking phone."

you continue watching patrick's match, phone hidden away in your purse. shouting words of praise when he does well. by the time the match is over, patrick has completely dominated. you're up on your feet, cheering his name. throwing his racket to the floor, patrick walks straight over to you. grabbing your face and kissing you. you almost forget to kiss him back, in serious disbelief at his publicness. those around are either cheering or scowling. he pulls away and holds out his hand, laughing at him as he helps you slide over the barrier. "let's go, princess,"

"i can't believe you just did that." you giggle, patrick's lips kissing yours again, pulling you into his dressing room. he sits on the bench, placing you in his lap. "when you gonna get it into your pretty head baby that i want people to know you're mine." your arms loop around his neck. "and plus, i couldn't physically wait any longer to kiss those sexy red lips of yours." you kiss him again. "i need to tell you something." you whisper against his lips. "what is it, baby girl?" his arms tighten around your waist. "it's about how i know art and tashi."

you explain everything to patrick, he just listens and nods, keeping you in his arms on his lap. "so yeah, long story short, what i have with you is what i had with art." you're so scared of his reaction. "god, how the hell did he keep you so private?" he laughs into your neck, all your anxiety slips out of your body. "i've only had you three days and i'm already kissing you in front of tennis crowds." he stands up, placing you gently on the floor. "drink?" he asks, you of course follow. sitting down at the same table in the bar as earlier today, patrick ordering you your favourite. "so, i assume art doesn't know about you and me?" you take a sip of your drink, "welllll," you begin. patrick raises an eyebrow and smirks, you show him the instagram dm's with art. he's laughing as he passes you back the phone. "if he didn't already, he will if he watched my match."

the two of you laugh together, finishing your drink and picking up patrick's belongings from his room, making your way to his car. "would you wanna stay with me this week? at my hotel?" he asks you, beginning the drive back. "why don't you just come stay at my apartment?" you return. he looks at you smirking. "the apartment that art pays for? oh absolutely."

#challengers #challengers fic #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donalson x reader #art donaldson #challengers au #art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig #sugardaddy!au

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emjayewrites · 8 days ago

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a king & his queen • ibou konaté oneshot

SYNOPSIS: Ibou loves his wife — period, point blank.

WARNINGS: cursing, sex scene, mentons of religion, rude/judgmental parents - 18+

TAGLIST: @kj77, @ibouchouchou, @saturnville, @lev-1-1, @irishmanwhore, @certifiedlesbianbaddie, @f1-football-fiend @peyiswriting

Ibou worshipped his wife.

Some called him whipped, however. Down bad even.

The comments on his Instagram always got him laughing. Twitter buzzed with playful memes about how he turned to putty around his wife. "Biggest simp in the Prem," they'd joke, posting clips of him gazing at Saniya during post-match interviews or adjusting her coat as they left Anfield. He'd even dropped a heart emoji in response to every tweet or comment.

Ibou wore their teasing like a badge of honor—let them talk.

But see, that was the thing about finding your person at twenty-four. You didn't care what anyone else thought.

"Babe, you sure you packed your earphones?" Saniya was triple-checking their carry-ons in the Liverpool Airport lounge, her curls falling into her face as she dug through her designer backpack. "You know how your ears get on long flights."

"In my pocket." Ibou patted his hoodie, then reached over to tuck that stubborn curl behind her ear. "And I packed your anxiety meds, your favorite snacks, and that lavender roll-on thing you like."

She looked up at him with those eyes – part Southeast Asian from her mum, part Nigerian from her dad – and his heart did that thing it always did. Like someone had pressed pause on the whole world.

"What would I do without you?" she asked, leaning into his side.

"Good thing you'll never have to find out." He dropped a kiss on her forehead, gentle and quick. Even after one year together, these little moments still felt like stealing something precious.

The flight attendant called for business class boarding, and Ibou felt Saniya tense slightly. Flying wasn't her thing, never had been. That's why he'd booked the morning flight – she did better with daylight travel, one of those little details he'd filed away in his heart like other men memorized stats.

"Je suis là," he murmured as they walked through the jet bridge, his hand finding its home in the small of her back. "Right here, always."

Their seats were everything he'd hoped for when he'd spent hours picking the perfect ones – by the window because Saniya liked watching the clouds, but not too far back where the turbulence hit harder. He helped her settle in, pulling the blanket from its plastic wrap before she even asked.

"You're doing too much," she said, but her smile said different.

"Doing exactly enough for my wife." He loved saying that. Wife. Six months married and it still tasted like honey on his tongue.

The plane started its taxi, and Saniya's hand found his, their fingers interlacing like they'd been practicing this dance forever. Maybe they had been. Maybe that's why everything clicked that first night they met, when his teammate's wife had invited them both to dinner in London.

He remembered how she'd worn this blue dress that brought out the bronze hues in her skin, how she'd asked him about football but really wanted to know about the person behind the jersey. Most girls he met were already following him on Instagram, had their minds made up about who Ibou Konaté was supposed to be. But Saniya? She'd looked right through all that noise and seen him – just him.

Their love story wasn't conventional by any means: the Muslim footballer and the demisexual psychology graduate who didn't share his faith but understood his soul. Saniya's demisexuality meant emotional intimacy came first, long FaceTime conversations that stretched into dawn, shared silences that said more than words had built their connection slowly, beautifully. By the time they first kissed, four months into dating, he felt like he'd known her in a past life. And then he proposed two months later because why wait when you knew for certain she was the one?

"Remember when you tried to impress me with your French?" he teased now, watching her get comfortable under the blanket.

"Shut up," she laughed, nudging him with her shoulder. "I still say 'croissant' better than you say 'innit.'"

"That's because you're from London and I'm—"

"A proper French boy who thinks he's too cool for slang?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Mr. 'I Only Wear Designer But Still Steal My Wife's Hoodies'?"

"They're comfortable!" He defended himself with a grin. "And you steal my shirts all the time."

"That's different." She yawned, already getting drowsy as the plane climbed through the clouds. "I'm your wife. I have rights."

Rights. Like she needed any official permission to take whatever she wanted from him. His shirts, his heart, his whole world – it was all hers anyway. His teammates never let him live down about how soft he got around her, but that was their problem. They hadn't figured out yet that being strong meant knowing when to be gentle.

The plane leveled out somewhere over Europe, and Ibou watched Saniya drift in and out of sleep against his shoulder. She'd been nervous about this trip, not just because of the flying thing. "What if you need physio while we're there?" she'd asked last week, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "What if the injury—"

"The injury's fine," he'd promised, pulling her into his lap right there in their kitchen. "I'm fine. And you know why? Because I've got the best care in the world right here."

Now, watching her breathe softly beside him, he thought about how lucky he was. Two injuries this season had knocked him sideways, yet she'd been his constant. Running him bath salts after rehab. Making sure he ate properly. Never once making him feel less than whole when the press speculated about his future.

"Stop staring at me," she mumbled without opening her eyes.

"Can't help it." He brushed his lips against her temple. "You're too beautiful."

"You're too much." But she snuggled closer, and his heart did that expanding thing again, like it couldn't quite contain everything he felt for her.

The flight attendant appeared with their lunch service, and Saniya stirred properly awake. Ibou had made sure to pre-order halal for himself and that salmon dish she loved. Little things. Always the little things.

"Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw you?" He asked as they ate, his voice low enough to stay private in the cabin.

"Only about a hundred times." She rolled her eyes fondly. "But go on then."

"You were wearing that blue dress..."

"You and this dress!"

"It was a beautiful dress, mon cœur. And you were sitting there at Mo's dinner party, talking about your psychology thesis like it was the most fascinating thing in the world."

"It was fascinating," she protested, but her eyes were soft with memory. "A study on athletic performance anxiety and cultural pressure in first-generation immigrants."

"See? Even now, you light up talking about it." He caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I remember thinking, 'This girl has no idea who I am, and it's perfect.'"

She laughed quietly. "I knew exactly who you were, babe. I just didn't care."

"Exactly." The word came out like a prayer. "You saw me. Just me."

Some turbulence hit then, making Saniya grip his hand tighter. Ibou switched seamlessly into comfort mode, pulling her closer, murmuring sweet nothings in French until her breathing steadied again.

"Tell me about the villa again," she said, clearly wanting the distraction. "What's the first thing we're going to do when we get there?"

"First? Get you settled. There's this massive bathtub with a view of the Gulf…" He painted the picture for her, watching her eyes light up at each detail. "Private beach access, infinity pool that looks like it melts into the ocean. No cameras, no schedules. Just us."

"Sounds perfect." She yawned again, the gentle hum of the engines lulling her. "Wake me when we're landing?"

"Always."

That was their thing, really. Always. Not just the big moments like wedding vows or injury recoveries. But the small ones too. Always checking her tea was the right temperature. Always knowing when she needed space to read or cuddles to decompress.

The flight tracker showed they were somewhere over Turkey when Saniya stirred again. "Been thinking," she mumbled.

"Dangerous, that."

She pinched his side playfully. "Been thinking about what my mum said. About us being too young for marriage."

Ibou tensed slightly, but her next words melted him.

"She was wrong, wasn't she? Because this – us – it feels like the most grown-up thing I've ever done. The most real thing."

______________________________________________

Dubai appeared below them like a jewel box spilled across the desert, all glittering towers and impossibly blue water. The captain's voice crackled over the speakers announcing their descent, and Ibou squeezed Saniya's hand.

"Almost there, baby."

Landing was smooth, thank Allah, and Saniya's relief was visible as they stepped into the terminal's cool air. Their driver was waiting in arrivals, holding a discrete sign reading simply "KONATÉ."

"Assalamualaikum," the driver smiled warmly, reaching for their bags.

"Walaikum assalam," Ibou responded, while Saniya echoed the greeting with practiced ease.

"I am Hassan. Welcome to Dubai." He led them to a sleek black Mercedes, the AC already running against the afternoon heat. "The villa is ready for you, and the weather is perfect for swimming today."

The drive from the airport was like watching a movie of impossible architecture, each building more striking than the last. Saniya pressed close to the window, phone forgotten in her lap.

"Mad, isn't it?" she whispered to Ibou. The city stretched endlessly around them, a mix of ultra-modern and ancient that somehow made perfect sense.

Hassan proved to be the perfect guide, pointing out landmarks with quiet pride as they made their way to Palm Jumeirah. "Your villa has the best sunset view on the beach," he mentioned, catching Ibou's eye in the rearview mirror. "Very private, very peaceful."

The front gates opened to reveal their home for the next week, and even Hassan's description hadn't done it justice. The villa rose from its private beach like a modern dream with all clean lines, wooden accents, and endless glass.

"Ibou, this is..." Saniya breathed, stepping out of the car.

But words failed her, and that was okay. Some moments didn't need them.

Hassan helped them with their bags, leading them through massive glass doors that slid open silently. The entrance opened into a space that seemed to float between sky and sea, the late afternoon light painting everything gold.

"The kitchen is fully stocked," Hassan explained, setting down their bags. "Your private chef will arrive at seven, unless you prefer a different time?"

Ibou glanced at Saniya, who was still taking everything in. "Seven is perfect, shukran."

"The pool controls are here," Hassan demonstrated on a sleek panel. "And this button calls the concierge. Anything else you need?"

"We're good," Ibou smiled. "Thank you, brother."

After Hassan left, Saniya kicked off her shoes and padded across the cool marble floors. "This is actually ridiculous," she laughed, spinning slowly. "How did you even find this place?"

"Did my research, didn't I?" He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. The wall of windows in front of them framed the Gulf like a painting. "Had to make sure it was perfect."

"You spoil me."

"That's the plan."

She turned in his arms, reaching up to touch his face. "Shower first or explore?"

"Shower. Definitely shower." He pressed a kiss to her palm. "Then I want to see that smile when you discover the rooftop garden."

"There's a rooftop garden?!"

Their laughter echoed through the villa as they grabbed their bags and headed upstairs. The master bathroom was bigger than her first flat, with a freestanding tub positioned to face the sunset.

"Oh my days," Saniya whispered, running her hand along the marble counter. "We're never leaving."

"Fine by me." Ibou was already unpacking their toiletries, setting out her favorite products exactly how she liked them. "Though I think the gaffer might have something to say about that."

The shower was all steam and quiet giggles and Saniya using Ibou as a wall to lean against while she washed her hair. These were the moments no one saw – just them, just peace, just love without cameras or commentary.

Wrapped in fluffy robes later, they wandered onto their private terrace. The sun was starting its descent, turning the water to liquid gold.

"I can hear you thinking," Ibou murmured, pulling her close.

"Just happy," she said simply. "Just really, really happy."

The call to prayer floated over the water, and Saniya squeezed his hand. "Go on. I'll finish unpacking."

But before he could move, she pulled him down for a proper kiss. Slow, sweet, familiar. A thank you, a promise.

While Ibou prayed, Saniya unpacked with the methodical care she brought to everything. His favorite sweatpants folded just so. Her books stacked on the bedside table. Little pieces of home scattered across this dream villa.

They dressed quickly and their chef arrived precisely at seven, a warm-faced woman named Lailah who spoke English with a soft Lebanese accent. "I've prepared a special menu for your stay," she explained, moving through the kitchen with practiced ease. "All halal, of course, and I remembered your note about seafood being a favorite?"

Saniya's eyes lit up. "You're an angel."

The scent of grilled fish and aromatic rice soon filled the villa. Ibou set up their dinner on the terrace, arranging cushions on the outdoor sofa. The sun was almost gone now, painting the sky in impossible purples.

"This is mad," Saniya said for probably the hundredth time, curled up against him as they ate. "Like, actually mad."

"Good mad though, yeah?"

"The best mad." She popped another grape in her mouth. "Though the group chat is going mental. Mads keeps demanding photos."

"Let them wait." He pulled her closer. "This is just for us right now."

The evening settled around them like a warm blanket. They could hear the gentle lap of waves below, the distant hum of boats, the soft whisper of palm fronds in the breeze. Saniya had changed into one of his t-shirts, drowning in the fabric but looking so right it made his chest ache.

"What?" she asked, catching his gaze.

"Nothing." He smiled. "Everything."

After dinner, they explored the rooftop garden. Fairy lights twinkled between potted palms, and a swinging daybed beckoned them. Saniya immediately claimed it, pulling Ibou down beside her.

"Remember our first proper date?" she asked, playing with his fingers. "When you tried to be all smooth and sophisticated?"

"Tried? I was smooth!"

"Babe, you knocked over an entire bottle of water trying to pour it."

"That was tactical," he protested. "Made you laugh, didn't it?"

"Everything about you made me laugh." She looked up at him, her face soft in the fairy lights. "Still does."

The night air was perfect, just cool enough for her to snuggle closer. Below them, Dubai sparkled like scattered stars, but Ibou wasn't looking at the view. How could he, when she was right there?

"We should probably sleep soon," Saniya yawned. "Get over this jet lag."

"Probably," he agreed, making no move to get up. "Or we can just stay out here....all night."

"All night?" Saniya scoffed in mock disapproval. "You're crazy."

"Crazy about you, Mrs. Konaté," he quipped automatically, giving her a wink. Ibou’s grin softened as he reached for her, his touch was warm, grounding her in a way that felt both familiar and electric. He brought one hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against her knuckles before meeting her gaze again.

"Saniya," he murmured, his deep voice laced with something that made her heart skip a beat.

She tilted her head, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Yes, Mr. Konaté?"

Instead of answering, he leaned in, closing the small distance between them. The moment their lips touched, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. His full lips slanted against hers, soft yet insistent, drawing a soft gasp from her.

Ibou took his time, savoring her taste—hints of the mint tea they had shared earlier and something uniquely her. His hands, large and gentle, cupped her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as though memorizing every inch of her skin. Her soft moan melted into the kiss, and he responded by deepening it, his mouth moving with hers in a slow, deliberate rhythm that left her breathless.

Her fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. Gently, he broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers for a moment before rising and pulling her to her feet.

"Come," he said softly, his voice laced with tenderness as he led her downstairs, their fingers intertwined.

The journey to their bedroom felt suspended in time, each step heightening the anticipation between them. When they reached the room, the moonlight streaming through the curtains cast a silver glow across the bed.

Ibou turned to her, his dark eyes filled with an adoration that made her chest tighten. "You’re beautiful," he murmured, brushing a stray curl from her face before pressing another kiss to her lips.

This time, the kiss was slower, deeper, as though he was savoring every second. He eased her onto the bed, hovering above her, his weight carefully balanced as his hands framed her face once more. "Tell me if it’s too much," he murmured, his voice low and reverent.

Saniya’s breath hitched, but she nodded. He pressed a line of kisses along her jaw, his stubble grazing her skin just enough to make her shiver. His mouth traveled to the hollow beneath her ear, then down the smooth column of her neck. The faint scent of her perfume—warm, floral intoxicated him.

She leaned into him, her fingers threading through the tight curls at the back of his head as his lips traced the line of her collarbone. Slowly, deliberately, he eased the t-shirt over her head, revealing more of her.

"Beautiful." His hands followed the path of his gaze, calloused fingers trailing over her arms, down her sides, lingering at her hips. He kissed her again, this time on her shoulder, then lower, his lips finding the curve of her breast. His hands mapped her body with care, as though learning her anew.

"Ibou…" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, her hands gripping his shoulders.

He looked up at her, his dark eyes soft but intent. "I’ve got you," he said simply, his deep voice steady and soothing.

His mouth continued its journey, kissing the plane of her stomach, the curve of her hip. He was thorough, unhurried, savoring her every reaction—the way her breath hitched, the soft sighs that escaped her lips, the way her fingers curled into the sheets.

When he finally moved back up to kiss her lips once more, his hand slipped lower passed her underwear, finding her with a precision that made her gasp. He didn’t rush, didn’t press too hard. Instead, he focused on her entirely, his deft fingers pleasuring her, his eyes watching her closely as he brought her to the edge and then over it, her body trembling beneath him.

He smiled faintly as she came down, her breath ragged. "Always you first," he murmured, his voice a mix of devotion and pride.

When he finally removed the remainder of both their clothing, he entered her fully, and it was with the same care and intention—his movements slow and deliberate. Each thrust was measured, his lips brushing against hers or finding the curve of her shoulder, the soft line of her neck.

He couldn’t believe this was his life—her warmth, her trust, the quiet intimacy they shared. It overwhelmed him sometimes, how deeply he felt for her, how much she meant to him.

Saniya’s nails dug lightly into his back, her moans soft and breathy in his ear, and it only spurred him on. He shifted slightly, adjusting their angle until he felt her tighten around him, her cries growing louder, her body arching beneath his.

"That’s it," he murmured against her skin, his voice low and encouraging. "Let go for me, Saniya."

And when she did, shuddering against him, her head falling back against the pillows, he followed soon after, his release quiet but no less profound.

He collapsed beside her, immediately pulling her into his arms. Their breaths mingled, still heavy, and he pressed a kiss to her damp forehead.

"You okay?" he asked softly, brushing a curl from her face.

She nodded, her lips curving into a lazy, satisfied smile. "Perfect."

Ibou chuckled, the sound low and content. "Good." He kissed her once more, lingering, before resting his forehead against hers. "Because you are. Perfect."

He held her against his chest, their breaths mingling as they lay tangled together. His fingers lazily traced patterns on her back as he pressed a kiss to her hair.

"Sleep now, Mrs. Konaté," he whispered, his voice soft and steady.

But she only smiled, her fingers trailing over his chest. "Not without you, Mr. Konaté."

He chuckled, his deep laugh rumbling against her cheek. "I’m not going anywhere."

Dawn painted their bedroom in gentle pastels when Ibou stirred awake. Saniya was still deep in sleep, her curls wild against the pillow. The sheets held the memory of last night's slow, tender intimacy.

He slipped quietly from bed for his morning ablutions, a familiar ritual grounding him in the new space. The bathroom tiles were cool under his feet as he performed wudu, each motion a meditation. Through the vast windows, he could see the first rays of the sun turning the Gulf to molten gold.

Back in the bedroom, Saniya had shifted into the warm space he'd left behind. She always did that, seeking him even in sleep. The sight made his heart swell. Last night had been perfect, the way she'd whispered "I love you" against his skin, the way they'd moved together like waves meeting the shore.

The call to Fajr drifted through the villa. Ibou pressed a feather-light kiss to Saniya's temple before heading to pray, his heart full of gratitude. For her. For them. For mornings like this.

When he returned, she was sitting up in bed, his shirt slipping off one shoulder, scrolling through her phone.

"Morning, baby," she smiled, voice still husky with sleep. Her skin glowed in the early light, marked here and there with evidence of his devotion from the night before.

"Admiring your handiwork?" Saniya teased as Ibou slid back into bed, his fingers tracing a constellation of marks along her collarbone.

"Mhm." He pressed gentle kisses to each one. "Had to make sure everyone knows you're taken."

"Everyone who? The seagulls on our private beach?" But she tilted her head, giving him better access. "You were a man on a mission last night."

"Always am when it comes to you." His voice softened, lips finding that sensitive spot behind her ear. "Speaking of missions…"

She knew what he meant. They'd been letting nature take its course lately – no planning, no pressure. What Allah willed would happen. The thought of a little one with her eyes and his smile… but they weren't stressing about it. Just loving each other, living life, seeing what happened.

"Stop thinking so loud," she poked his chest. "I'm starving. Feed me?"

The kitchen was a chef's dream, but Ibou kept it simple – fresh fruit, pastries from the bakery Hassan had recommended, eggs done just how Saniya liked them. She perched on the counter watching him cook, stealing berries and planning their day.

"So beach first? Then that art gallery you mentioned?"

"Sounds perfect." He slid a plate toward her. "Then I got us reservations at Cavalli for dinner. There's this whole show with dancers and everything."

"Ooh, fancy." She swiped a bit of egg with toast. "Good thing I packed that new dress."

"The red one?"

"Maybe." Her grin was wicked. "Guess you'll find out."

The beach was exactly what they needed. Private, peaceful, just them and the endless blue. Saniya looked gorgeous in her burgundy swimsuit, curls wild from the salt air. They splashed in the waves like kids, Ibou chasing her through the surf until she shrieked with laughter.

"Put me down!" she demanded when he caught her, lifting her easily.

"Make me," he challenged, right before she kissed him quiet.

The art gallery was a modern marvel of glass and steel. They wandered hand in hand through exhibitions, making up stories about abstract pieces, Saniya's psychology training giving her unique perspectives on each artist's mindset.

"This one's clearly about maternal longing," she declared about a swirl of blues and golds.

"Pretty sure it's just a fish, belle."

"Everyone's a critic."

Dinner at Cavalli was something else entirely. Saniya had worn the red dress – a flowing thing that made Ibou forget how to breathe for a second. Their table overlooked the whole restaurant, giving them a perfect view of the show.

"This is insane," she whispered as acrobats spun overhead, music pulsing through the space. The lights caught the gold flecks in her eyes, and Ibou found himself watching her more than the performance.

"You're staring again," she murmured during dessert.

"Can't help it." He reached across the table, thumb brushing her knuckles. "You're the best show in here."

Later, walking along the marina under stars that seemed close enough to touch, Saniya tucked into his side. "Thank you for this. All of it."

"Thank you for being here to share it with."

Because that was the thing about love like theirs. Every moment – from breakfast kisses to beach chases to fancy dinners – was better because they were in it together. No pressure, no expectations. Just them, writing their story one day at a time.

The call came during their third morning in Dubai. They were lounging by the infinity pool, Saniya reading one of her psychology journals while Ibou dozed nearby, when her phone buzzed. The moment he saw her face fall, he knew who it was.

"Hi, Mum," she answered, her voice already smaller. Ibou watched his confident, brilliant wife shrink under her mother's words, and something in his chest tightened.

"No, we're not being irresponsible... Yes, I know the season's not over... No, his injuries are fine..." Each response came quieter than the last.

He could hear Mrs. Okafor's voice through the phone, sharp with disapproval. Something about "gallivanting around Dubai" when they should be "settling down properly." About how "mixed marriages never work" and how "that footballer lifestyle" wasn't sustainable.

Saniya's hand trembled slightly as she ended the call. For a moment, she just sat there, staring at nothing.

"Come here," Ibou said softly, opening his arms.

She curled into him like she was trying to disappear. "I don't know why I let her get to me."

"Because she's your mum." He stroked her hair, choosing his words carefully. "Even when she's wrong."

And she was wrong. So wrong. The woman had never given him a real chance, viewing their relationship through a lens of prejudice and fear. She'd been cold at their wedding, barely hiding her disappointment that her daughter had chosen a Muslim footballer instead of the nice Christian banker she'd picked out.

"She thinks we're rushing everything," Saniya mumbled against his chest. "Says we're too young to know what we want."

"And what do you think?"

"I think..." She lifted her head, meeting his eyes. "I think she doesn't understand that some people just know. Like how I knew, that first night, that you were different. Special."

"Tell me again," he encouraged, wanting to draw her out of that dark place her mother's words had pushed her into. "Tell me about that night."

A small smile touched her lips. "You were wearing that ridiculous designer tracksuit..."

"Excuse you, that tracksuit was fresh!"

"It was awful," she laughed, the sound still a bit watery but real. "But then you started talking about your family in Paris, and your eyes got all soft, and I just... knew."

Ibou pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Want to know what I remember?"

"What?"

"How you put salt in your tea by accident because you were so busy arguing about cognitive behavioral therapy. And when I pointed it out, instead of being embarrassed, you just said 'new recipe, don't knock it till you try it.'"

That got a proper laugh out of her. "I was trying to play it cool!"

"You were perfect." He tilted her face up to his. "Still are. No matter what anyone says."

They spent the rest of the morning just being together. Ibou ordered her favorite foods for lunch, then suggested they skip their planned desert safari in favor of a couples massage at the villa's spa. Sometimes healing meant just being still, being held.

"I love you," she whispered later, as they watched the sunset paint the sky in colors no painter could capture. "Even when my family makes things hard."

"Especially then," he replied, because that's what love was. Being there for the hard moments, the quiet tears, the healing laughs.

On their last night in Dubai, they skipped the fancy restaurants and elaborate shows. Instead, they ordered room service and sat on their private beach, feet buried in sand still warm from the day's sun. The stars seemed bigger here, braver, like they were putting on a private show just for them.

Saniya wore his Liverpool training jacket over her sundress, curls wild from a week of sea air and happiness. She was using his chest as a backrest, both of them stretched out on a huge beach blanket, watching waves catch the moonlight.

He pressed a kiss to her hair, breathing in the coconut scent of her shampoo. "We've built something beautiful, haven't we?"

"And we're just getting started."

She was right. Whatever Allah had planned for them – babies, more trophies, challenges, victories – they'd face it together. A team. Partners. A king and his queen, like those fairy tales his little sister loved, but better because it was real.

The call to Isha prayer floated over the water, and Saniya squeezed his hand. Their signal, their rhythm, their dance. But before he moved, she turned in his arms.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For seeing me. All of me. For loving me exactly as I am."

Ibou cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. "That's the easiest thing I've ever done."

Because that was the truth of them. Beyond the football, beyond the headlines, beyond family drama and cultural differences and everything else the world threw at them. They saw each other. They chose each other. Every day.

And if the boys at training still teased him for being sprung, if Twitter still called him the biggest simp in the Premier League, if her mum still hoped she'd "come to her senses" – well, that was their problem.

Because Ibou worshipped his wife. Simple as that. And in the end, that was all that mattered.

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