#it was okay for most of the day and then just now. complete drop | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thyras · 9 hours ago

Text

→ of dark deeds

PAIRING → annatar | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 9k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → complicated birth (no graphic stuff just wanted to warn y'all of that)

SUMMARY → his plan is in motion and there will be no stopping what he wills

AUTHORS NOTE → so i have maybe two chapters left for this story, so we are coming to the end. next chapter is going to be a long one because we have to cover so much, and it is going to be DARK so buckle up for that. i have a lot in store, but i had to get aerilaya's birth out of the way before we could steam roll to the end.

masterlist // series playlist // mood board

Weeks turned into months.

You remained a steady presence by Celebrimbor’s side, shielding him from whatever your husband sought to achieve. He still refused to help, unwavering in his stance, and you had made it your silent duty to ensure he stayed that way.

The two of you found solace in the study, away from the constant clang of the forge, in the quiet sanctuary where you had spent many days together over the centuries. It had become a refuge, a space of unspoken understanding, where words were not always needed. A small comfort in the face of the storm that loomed ever closer.

You had made your choice.

It had broken your heart, shattered you in ways you had never thought possible—but you had no regrets. You had to protect what was most precious to you.

Your child.

And the man sitting across from you.

A burden had been placed upon you the moment you had accepted this ring, a duty you could not abandon, no matter the cost. Even if it destroyed you from the inside out.

Celebrimbor, ever perceptive, did not pry. He never pressed into your personal matters, but you knew he saw the sorrow that clung to you, the tension that coiled in your muscles whenever his name was mentioned. The absence of Annatar in your life had become an unspoken truth, a wound left untreated, one you refused to acknowledge aloud.

Instead, Celebrimbor had simply congratulated you on your pregnancy and remained ever watchful, his keen eyes ensuring you did not strain yourself beyond what was safe.

It had been months since you had last spoken to Annatar.

Months since he had even tried to see you.

He had become a ghost, a shadow of a presence that lingered only in memory. But his words, his voids, still haunted you.

I want to heal you and create the world I promised you.

Lies. Beautiful, twisted lies.

If not for Nenya on your finger, you were impossibly sure that the sheer weight of grief would have unraveled you completely. Many nights had been spent tracing circles over the growing swell of your stomach, whispering soft reassurances to the life within you—seeking solace not only for your child but for the ache that still tore through your very fëa.

You wanted to give her everything. You wanted to shield her from the disappointment of never knowing her father as you once had. Of never seeing the light that once burned so brilliantly within him, the warmth that had made him yours.

"Thilwen?"

Celebrimbor’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, his tone gentle, laced with concern. You blinked, realizing too late that tears had begun to spill down your cheeks. Quickly, you wiped them away, offering him a soft, pleasant smile.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you murmured, leaning back in your chair, rubbing slow circles over your now-prominent belly. You were close to term now—your very fëa stretched thin with the final stages of pregnancy. It was a wonder you had not succumbed to exhaustion already.

A sudden, strong thud against your fingers startled you, and you giggled, running your hand over the spot where the little one had kicked.

Celebrimbor’s expression softened with quiet amusement. “Have they deduced what you are having yet?”

You shrugged. “The midwives tell me it is most likely a girl. And I believe so as well.”

Your gaze dropped to your stomach, watching as a tiny hand pressed outward, stretching your skin in protest.

“Well,” Celebrimbor mused, a warm smile curving his lips, “I am sure she will be as beautiful as her mother.”

A heat crept to your cheeks, the warmth of the moment settling over you like a fragile balm against the pain of everything else.

For a fleeting second, you allowed yourself to believe in the quiet. In the possibility that this life you had carved for yourself, for your daughter, might be enough.

But deep down, you knew the storm had not yet passed.

And Annatar’s silence would not last forever.

As that last thought settled in your mind, a sudden, thunderous crash echoed through the corridor, shattering the fragile moment of peace. The impact rattled through the walls, sending a tremor through the floor beneath your feet. Both you and Celebrimbor snapped your heads toward the open door, the once-quiet study now filled with the distant, panicked murmurs of voices beyond.

Celebrimbor moved to rise, but you were faster, pushing up from your seat before he could. A sharp flicker of concern crossed his face as you turned to him, pressing a steady hand against his shoulder.

“Stay,” you murmured, firm but gentle, ushering him back into his chair. He hesitated, eyes searching yours, but ultimately relented, exhaling slowly as he sat back down.

“I’ll go see what has happened.”

You gathered the folds of your gown, bracing yourself before striding toward the door.

“Thilwen.”

The way he spoke your name made you pause. There was something in his voice—something quiet, almost pleading. You turned, meeting his gaze. His knuckles were white where they gripped the arms of his chair, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Please be careful.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips despite the unease curling in your stomach. You smoothed your hand over your belly, the warmth of the life growing within you grounding you for just a moment before you spoke.

“I’ll be just fine.”

It wasn’t quite a lie.

But as you stepped out into the dimly lit corridor, the air thick with tension, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change.

Your ring chimed—a soft, resonant pulse against your skin—as you made your way down the hall toward the forge. The sound was not alarming, but it carried a whisper of warning, a subtle shift in the air that set your nerves on edge.

Voices echoed ahead, low and concerned, spilling from the open archway. As you stepped inside, the flickering light of the forge bathed the room in a dim, golden glow. The smiths were gathered in a tight circle around Mirdania, murmuring words of comfort, their postures tense with barely concealed unease. Tools were scattered across the forge and the anvil had fallen into the center of the floor.

But your gaze did not linger on the scene before you.

It found him.

Annatar stood apart from the others, his presence a stark contrast to the huddled group. He had not moved to comfort Mirdania, nor had he spoken. His piercing gaze was locked onto her, unwavering, unreadable. And yet, in the rigid set of his jaw, in the way his fingers twitched at his sides, you sensed something coiled beneath the surface.

He had yet to notice you.

But the moment you stepped forward, descending the short set of stairs, every eye in the room turned to you—including his.

The weight of his gaze settled over you like a crushing force, suffocating, heavy with something unspoken. Your breath caught, but you refused to let it show. You forced yourself to keep walking, closing the distance between yourself and the gathered smiths.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice steady despite the tension curling in your stomach.

Mirdania flinched at the sound of your voice, her head snapping up.

Your heart clenched at what you saw in her eyes—fear. A familiar fear. One that had once darkened your own face, months ago.

You tore your gaze away, scanning the other smiths, but none of them met your eyes. Their silence was deliberate, their reluctance thick in the air. Even Mirdania hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak before she cast a quick, nervous glance toward Annatar.

Then back to you.

She swallowed hard.

And you knew, without her saying a word, that whatever had happened—whatever had frightened her—had everything to do with him.

“Mirdania?” you pressed, your brow arching as you met her hesitant gaze.

She swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly at her sides, but before she could gather the courage to speak, Annatar’s voice cut through the silence.

“We were—”

Your hand shot up, a sharp gesture that halted his words in an instant.

His expression flickered—first with surprise, then something darker. His blue eyes narrowed, a shadow passing through them at the boldness of your interruption.

“I asked Mirdania, not you, my lord.”

You punctuated the word you, letting it land with deliberate weight before shifting your focus back to Mirdania. The smiths instinctively stepped aside as you strode forward, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

She exhaled, tension easing just slightly beneath your touch, the warmth of your presence melting some of the fear that had gripped her moments ago.

“Tell me,” you said gently. “What happened?”

Mirdania hesitated, her lower lip trembling as unshed tears welled in her eyes. “We… we were trying a new design. I—I tried the ring on, and—”

Her breath hitched, and a few tears slipped free, trailing down her cheeks.

Without thinking, you cupped her face, thumb brushing away the streaks of moisture.

“You can tell me,” you whispered, voice a soothing balm against the weight of the moment. “Here, or we can go somewhere else. Whatever makes you feel safe.”

Her gaze flicked nervously toward Annatar, uncertainty warring within her.

“Mirdania,” you murmured, your tone soft yet unwavering, “you do not need anyone’s approval to speak.”

Something in her resolve hardened. Slowly, she nodded and reached for your hand, gripping it tightly.

“I would like to go somewhere else,” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper.

You gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand lightly before turning to lead her from the forge. But before you could take more than a few steps, Annatar spoke again.

“I really must protest,” he said, voice calm, almost measured—but you knew that tone, knew it was meant to mask the brewing storm beneath. “We are hardly—”

You whirled on him, the anger that had been simmering inside you finally bubbling to the surface.

“She is frightened.” The words left your lips with an edge, sharp and cutting. “You have an entire slew of talented smiths at your disposal—you can do without one.”

Your eyes burned into his, daring him to challenge you.

For a moment, silence stretched between you.

His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line.

You could see it—the calculation behind his gaze, the way his mind worked through what to say next, how to twist this, how to turn it in his favor.

But this was part of his game, and you knew it.

And you would not let him drag Mirdania into it.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and led her away, leaving Annatar standing in the forge, the embers behind him flickering like a dying star.

You guided Mirdania gently into the chair you had been resting in, keeping a steady hand on her shoulder as she sat. Her breath was uneven, her body still trembling slightly from whatever horror she had witnessed.

Celebrimbor approached, silent and composed, a steaming glass mug of tea in his hands. He set it down before her with a quiet nod, his gaze filled with unspoken concern.

Without hesitation, you took the seat he offered you and reached for Mirdania’s hands, clasping them between your own. They were cold, shaking, the fear still clinging to her like a specter.

You waited, giving her the time she needed.

When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“I saw something,” she choked out. “Something terrible… Something in the forge with us.”

Your grip on her hands tightened instinctively, but you said nothing, only watching her with patient, steady eyes.

“It was there the whole time,” she continued, shuddering. “Watching. Waiting for something.”

Her fingers twitched in your grasp, her breaths turning shallow again, her pulse rapid beneath your touch.

You knew.

You knew what she had seen.

You knew what these rings could do—what they could show a person. And those that had his hand in their making… they were worse. Far worse.

Mirdania’s voice wavered, her expression twisting as though the memory alone was enough to break her.

“Its eyes… they were voidless black.” Her voice faltered, and she swallowed hard, her entire body trembling. “And it reeked of death. I—”

She broke, sobs wracking her frame as she collapsed forward.

Without thinking, you gathered her into your arms, holding her tightly as she cried, stroking her back in slow, soothing circles.

Your gaze lifted to Celebrimbor, and in his eyes, you found the same concern that was mirrored in your own.

But there was nothing you could say.

Because you knew who she had seen.

And you were powerless against it.

If you told them the truth, if you dared to speak his name aloud, then you would have to reveal your own secret as well.

And that was a risk you could not afford to take.

“I will go see what—”

Celebrimbor’s voice barely registered through the storm of your thoughts, but the moment he moved to step away from Mirdania, you reacted.

Your hand shot out, grasping his wrist in a vice-like grip, yanking him back before he could take another step.

“No!”

The word ripped from your throat, sharp and frantic—too frantic.

Both Mirdania and Celebrimbor froze, their eyes widening as they turned to you, confusion flickering across their faces. Rightly so. They did not know him. They did not understand what he was truly capable of—what he had already done.

But you did.

You could still feel the weight of his fingers around your throat. Could still hear the way his voice had snapped with finality when he told you the man you loved was dead.

You swallowed hard, forcing the panic down, scrambling for an excuse before they could question you further.

“I just…” you started, breathing unevenly. “I just think we should not escalate this.”

Celebrimbor’s gaze searched yours, the concern in his eyes shifting into something more wary.

“Escalate?” he echoed, his voice steady but careful. “Someone—or something—terrified Mirdania tonight, and you don’t want to investigate?”

“I just—” you hesitated, your grip still tight on his wrist. Think. Think.

“I just… don’t want you to act rashly,” you murmured, finally releasing him. “Not yet.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t press the issue. Not yet.

Mirdania, however, was still shaking in her chair, her hands gripping the cup of tea as if it was the only thing grounding her.

You turned your attention back to her, softening your voice. “We will figure this out, I promise.”

You did not know if it was a lie.

You only knew that you had to buy time—before Celebrimbor did go looking for answers.

Before he decided to intervene.

You had to protect him.

The moment Celebrimbor stepped back into that forge without you, he would be waiting. Watching. And you knew, without a shred of doubt, that Annatar would seize the opportunity to slither his way back into his mind, to twist his thoughts, to push him ever closer to the edge of a precipice he could not return from.

And you could not bear that.

You could not lose him, too.

Your fingers tightened around his wrist once more, a silent plea grounding him before you spoke, voice softer now—gentle, but unwavering.

“I promise, mellon,” you murmured, holding his gaze, willing him to believe you. “I promise we will find the answer. But first, let us take care of Mirdania. Then we shall see what has happened.”

For a moment, he hesitated, the conflict warring in his eyes. You could see it—the logic, the need to act, to uncover the truth. But there was also trust, the deep-seated understanding that had always bound you together.

Slowly, his shoulders eased, the tension in his stance relenting.

“…Alright,” he conceded at last, exhaling through his nose. “We tend to Mirdania first.”

Relief washed over you, but it was fleeting. Because while you had bought him a little more time—

You knew the storm had not passed.

Once Mirdania was safely home and settled, you knew there was no more delaying the inevitable.

You made your way back toward the forge, each step heavier than the last, weighed down by the looming confrontation ahead.

This was the moment.

The moment you and Celebrimbor would have to face him.

The moment you would have to stand against your husband.

Your breath was shallow, your fingers curling against the fabric of your gown as another sharp pang of exhaustion ran through your body. The weight of your pregnancy was taking its toll—your strength stretched thinner with each passing day.

And yet, despite the weariness in your limbs, despite the way your fëa trembled under the strain, you knew you had no choice.

You did not know if you had the strength to protect Celebrimbor from him.

But you knew, with unwavering certainty, that you had to try.

You fisted the skirts of your gown and ascended the stone steps, each step slower, heavier, as the weight of what was to come settled deep in your bones. At the top, Celebrimbor stood waiting, his sharp eyes scanning your face the moment you neared.

When you had left him, the tension in his shoulders had eased, if only slightly. Now, it had returned—wound tight as a bowstring.

He had seen your apprehension before, had known you long enough to understand that if you were concerned, then something was very, very wrong.

“I believe he has sent the rest of the smiths home,” Celebrimbor murmured, his voice quiet, yet edged with something unreadable.

You swallowed, glancing toward the forge’s doors. It made sense. Annatar would not want witnesses. Not for this.

Before you could respond, Celebrimbor’s hand came to rest gently beneath your arm, steadying you, supporting some of your weight as he tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow.

It was a quiet reassurance, a silent acknowledgment that you did not have to carry this burden alone.

You exhaled softly, nodding in thanks, and together, you turned toward the forge.

Toward him.

Toward whatever awaited you in the firelit depths beyond.

When you both finally entered the forge, Annatar stood off to the side, studying something with an air of quiet deliberation, as if he had been expecting you. His head turned the moment you and Celebrimbor stepped into the main chamber, his sharp gaze locking onto you both with unsettling precision.

Annatar’s presence was as commanding as ever—his tall frame exuding an effortless dominance, his face impassive save for the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. A silent confirmation that this confrontation was long overdue.

"Lord Celebrimbor. Lady Thilwen," he greeted smoothly, his voice rich and polished, like silk sliding over steel. "To what do I owe the pleasure at this late hour?"

Celebrimbor’s grip on your arm tightened, just slightly, a subtle gesture that betrayed the tension simmering beneath his composed exterior. "We need to discuss what happened with Mirdania," he said, his words measured but firm, his voice carrying an undeniable edge of steel.

Annatar arched a brow, the very picture of polite intrigue. "Ah, yes. An unfortunate incident. The poor girl seemed quite shaken." His tone was laced with feigned concern, but you knew better. Every measured word, every carefully chosen inflection was part of the mask he so expertly wielded. He was already shaping the narrative, painting Mirdania as some fragile, hysterical thing rather than someone who had seen something truly terrifying.

Celebrimbor’s jaw clenched, his entire posture stiffening in response to Annatar’s dismissive tone. "This is more than an unfortunate incident. Mirdania saw something in that ring—something that shook her to her core. We cannot simply brush it aside."

For the briefest moment, Annatar’s gaze flicked to you, his eyes darkening—a shadow passing through them before his composed mask settled once more. "My dear Celebrimbor," he said smoothly, "you, of all people, understand that the forging of such powerful artifacts can have... unexpected effects on the untrained mind. Mirdania is a talented smith, certainly, but perhaps not yet prepared for this level of craft."

You bristled at his words, at the quiet condescension woven into them, as though he were speaking of an apprentice, not a skilled artisan. Your fingers tightened on Celebrimbor’s arm as you stepped forward, voice even but firm. "With all due respect, my lord, I do not believe Mirdania's experience can be so easily dismissed. She has worked on countless complex projects before. What she saw in that ring was beyond ordinary—something unnatural, something truly unsettling."

Annatar’s pleasant façade cracked, just slightly. His eyes sharpened, his expression unreadable, before he composed himself with a practiced ease. "My lady," he said, voice still polite but now tinged with the subtlest hint of patronization, "while I appreciate your concern, I must remind you that the intricacies of ring-lore are not your domain of expertise. Perhaps it is best to leave such matters to those of us who understand the potential... side effects."

The words were a veiled dismissal, a gentle push to the periphery, as though your insight was irrelevant. Anger flared in your chest, but before you could reply, Celebrimbor took a step forward, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

"Annatar." His tone was sharp, commanding—unyielding. "Enough. Thilwen’s insights are always valued, as you well know. And Mirdania's well-being is not a trivial matter to be brushed aside."

He moved, ever so subtly, positioning himself between you and Annatar. A shield. A statement of allegiance.

Annatar’s gaze flicked between you and Celebrimbor, his keen mind reading the unspoken alliance between you. For a heartbeat, something dangerous glinted in his eyes—there and gone too quickly to be certain.

"Of course," he said smoothly, inclining his head in a mockery of deference. "Forgive me. I meant no disrespect. Though, with your insight, perhaps we could remedy these... unfortunate side effects. Your opinions on the matter could prove most helpful."

You moved past Celebrimbor’s shielding form, stepping closer, meeting Annatar’s gaze with an unflinching glare.

"No," you said, your voice cutting through the air like tempered steel. "He has told you, time and again, that he wants nothing to do with this craft. Why won’t you respect that?"

Your blood burned, a slow, rising fire, your fists clenching at your sides as you tried to steady your breath.

Annatar’s mask slipped further, a crack in the carefully controlled veneer. His irritation flared, brief but unmistakable, before he forced it back into place. His eyes bored into yours—a silent challenge, a reminder of who truly held power here.

"I am merely seeking a solution," he said, voice tight with the effort of restraint. "To ensure that such incidents do not happen again. Surely you can see the wisdom in that, my lady?"

"The only wisdom I see," you shot back, "is in heeding Lord Celebrimbor’s wishes and putting an end to this madness. These rings—whatever their intended purpose—bring nothing but suffering. Mirdania’s terror is proof enough of that."

Annatar’s jaw flexed, his blue eyes flashing dangerously. "You forget yourself, Thilwen," he said, his voice stripped of its usual silk, revealing the iron beneath. "And you forget to whom you speak."

The use of your name, absent of title or courtesy, struck like a blow. A cold, deliberate reminder of the widening rift between you.

Beside you, Celebrimbor tensed, his grip tightening on your arm in silent reassurance. "And you forget your place, Annatar," he said, his voice like carved stone. "You are a guest here, not a lord. I will not tolerate disrespect toward Lady Thilwen, nor will I allow the concerns of my people to be dismissed."

For the first time, Annatar faltered—only slightly, but enough for you to notice. His eyes flicked toward Celebrimbor, something sharp and calculating twisting behind them. For a fleeting moment, his composure slipped, revealing the frustration simmering beneath. He was losing his grip.

When he spoke again, his words were measured, deceptively calm. "Forgive me, Lord Celebrimbor. It was not my intent to overstep." He inclined his head, but the gesture felt hollow. "I only wish to continue our work unimpeded. Surely you understand that."

Celebrimbor’s gaze remained unmoved, his eyes storm-dark. "And I wish for the well-being of my people to be my highest priority. Anything that threatens that will not be tolerated, no matter how grand the ambition."

Annatar’s expression tightened at the clear dismissal. He was losing his hold on Celebrimbor, and he knew it. And you could see it—the frustration, the barely restrained anger, the way his fingers flexed slightly, as though resisting the urge to lash out.

For the first time, Annatar understood. His influence was slipping. And he did not like it.

The tension in the forge was palpable, like a bowstring drawn taut, ready to snap at any moment. Annatar's eyes flashed with barely restrained anger as he faced off against you and Celebrimbor. His carefully crafted facade was slipping, revealing the frustration and rage simmering beneath his calm facade.

"Very well," Annatar said at last, his voice tight with forced civility. "If that is your wish, Lord Celebrimbor, then I shall respect it."

But even as he spoke the words, you could see the lie in his eyes. This was not over. Not by a long shot. Annatar was not one to yield so easily, especially when his ambitions were threatened.

Celebrimbor gave a curt nod, his stance still guarded, his grip on your arm firm but gentle. "See that you do. The well-being of my people is not negotiable."

With that, he turned, guiding you away from Annatar and toward the forge’s entrance. You could feel the weight of Annatar’s gaze boring into your back as you walked—a silent promise that this confrontation had only been the first battle in a much longer war.

The moment you stepped outside, the cool night air hit your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating tension of the forge. The stars above flickered against the velvety black sky, indifferent to the turmoil unraveling beneath them. You exhaled slowly, unsteadily, as Celebrimbor led you a few paces away from the entrance before turning to face you.

His eyes searched yours, concern etched into every line of his face. "Are you alright?" he asked softly.

A sharp, twisting pain suddenly lanced through your belly, stealing your breath. Your fingers reflexively went to your stomach, pressing against the taut skin as another wave of discomfort followed, stronger this time.

You winced, your body tensing. "I... I don't know," you managed, your voice strained. "Something doesn't feel right."

Celebrimbor’s brow furrowed with alarm, his gaze dropping to the way you clutched at your middle. The moment stretched between you, heavy with unspoken dread. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, steadying you as he studied your face.

"Thilwen, what is it? Is it the baby?"

You swallowed against the rising panic, nodding jerkily as another contraction gripped you, radiating across your abdomen in relentless waves. It was too soon—a few weeks at most. The child was not ready, and neither were you. Fear coiled in your gut, cold and sickening.

"Celebrimbor," you whispered, voice raw with uncertainty, "I think... I think something's wrong. She’s too early. I’m not—"

His eyes widened, but to his credit, he remained composed. Even as the flicker of fear in his gaze mirrored your own, he forced steadiness into his voice. He reached for your hands, his grip warm and reassuring.

"Alright," he murmured, firm but gentle, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. "It's alright. We’ll get you inside, to your chambers. I'll send for the midwife immediately."

You nodded, but another sharp pain stole your breath, your knees nearly buckling beneath you. Celebrimbor wasted no time—without hesitation, he wrapped a strong arm around your waist, supporting your weight as he guided you back toward where your rooms were.

Each step sent a fresh jolt of discomfort through you, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. The pain was growing worse, your body preparing for something it was not yet meant to endure. Fear gnawed at the edges of your mind, but you clung to Celebrimbor’s presence, to his unwavering resolve.

Somewhere, distantly, you thought of Annatar—of the look in his eyes as you had turned away. You could still feel his gaze lingering, like a shadow crawling up your spine.

And in the back of your mind, a chilling thought took root.

This was not a coincidence.

Once Celebrimbor had helped you to your chambers, another sharp contraction seized you, nearly doubling you over. You gripped the edge of your bed, knuckles white, as you tried to breathe through the pain.

"Easy now," Celebrimbor murmured, his voice low and soothing as he eased you onto the mattress. His strong hands rubbed slow, steady circles on your back, grounding you as you fought against the rising tide of agony. "I'll go get the midwife. Just try to relax."

You gave a weak nod, your breath shallow, sweat beading on your brow as the contraction finally eased. Celebrimbor hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave you, his hand lingering at your back, as if he could somehow will away your pain.

"Go, please," you urged, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. "I'll be alright for a few minutes."

He searched your face, reluctant, but at last, he nodded and hurried from the room.

The door had barely shut behind him before another contraction ripped through you. A strangled cry tore from your lips as you doubled over, clutching at the bedsheets with trembling fingers. The pain was blinding, an unnatural force clawing its way through your body, relentless and cruel.

This was wrong. It was all wrong.

Your child was coming too soon—weeks before she was ready. And the pain... it was different. Not the familiar, inevitable pain of birth, but something sharper, deeper—twisting through you like a blade. It was as if something inside you was being forced, reshaped, against nature itself.

Gritting your teeth, you tried to steady your breath, but every inhale was like dragging shards of glass through your lungs. Sweat slicked your skin, dampening your shift, plastering loose strands of hair to your temples. Your body trembled with the effort of resisting, but it was useless.

A cold wave of realization crashed over you, sending a tremor through your aching limbs.

This was his doing.

The thought hit you with the force of a blow, stealing what little breath you had left. A shudder wracked through you, part pain, part horror.

Annatar.

Somehow—some twisted way—he had done this.

Another contraction seized you, white-hot and merciless, sending fresh tears streaking down your cheeks. Your fingers clenched into the sheets, gripping them as if they could anchor you against the storm raging inside you. A sob caught in your throat, raw and broken.

How could he?

How could he endanger the life you had created together? The child he had once sworn to cherish above all else?

But the answer was already there, lurking in the depths of your mind.

Because this child, this innocent life, was just another piece on the board to him. Another pawn to be sacrificed in his endless pursuit of power.

Your vision was coming to fruition.

And he was ensuring you would never see it through.

He wanted you away from Celebrimbor.

He wanted your mind, your heart, your purpose bound to him once more.

And so he did this.

A fresh wave of pain shattered your thoughts, your body convulsing under its sheer force. You gasped, curling inward, as a silent scream tore through you. But even through the haze of agony, one thing remained clear.

This was not just an accident of fate.

It was a warning.

A reminder that no matter how far you tried to run, how desperately you tried to escape his grasp—Sauron was always there. Watching. Waiting.

And now, he had struck.

With brutal, merciless precision.

And he would not stop until he had won.

The hours that followed were a blur of agony and terror, each wave of pain crashing over you with relentless force. Time lost all meaning, the moments stretching and twisting under the weight of suffering. The midwives moved around you in hushed urgency, their touch gentle yet unable to soothe the wrongness that had taken root inside you. Their whispers did not reach your ears, but their faces—etched with worry, with the weight of things left unsaid—told you all you needed to know.

Something was deeply, terribly wrong.

You clung to consciousness, but it was slipping, unraveling like frayed thread as exhaustion pulled at you, threatening to drag you under. Your body was failing, pushed beyond its limits by Annatar’s cruel machinations. Every contraction stole more of your strength, hollowing you out, leaving you raw and trembling.

The child within you struggled, caught in the merciless grip of something beyond nature’s design. You could feel it—her tiny fëa flickering like a candle in a raging storm, trapped between the light that had conceived her and the darkness that sought to claim her.

Celebrimbor never left your side. His presence was an anchor amidst the chaos, his hand wrapped tightly around yours, his voice a steady murmur of reassurance, even as fear flickered behind his eyes. He knew what it took to bring elven life into the world—that it demanded a toll on one’s fëa, a gift of spirit and strength. But he did not know the other truth, the one you had kept buried in your heart.

What he did not know was what it took to bring a piece of shadow into the world as well.

Each contraction was a dagger, stabbing deep, twisting, rending—not only flesh, but something far greater, something unseen. Your body writhed under its grip, but it was your spirit that bore the brunt of it. Your fëa stretched and frayed, unraveling with each wave of agony, like a rope straining under too great a weight.

This was no natural birth. This was not the sacred pain of creation, of life brought forth through light and love. This was something else entirely.

This was a violation.

A perversion of the natural order.

The shadow within Annatar—the darkness he had woven into himself—had passed into the child. And now it fought to break free, to claw its way into existence before its time. The pain was not simply that of labor—it was a battle, a war being waged within you. A struggle between the light and dark, between all that you were and all that he had sought to make you.

You cried out as another wave seized you, arching your back against the mattress, your fingers tightening around Celebrimbor’s hand until you felt the bones shift beneath your grasp. He did not flinch, did not pull away, though you knew he felt your pain as if it were his own.

"Hold on," he whispered, voice thick with barely restrained emotion. "Just a little longer."

“Keep her steady, my lord,” one of the midwives urged, her voice tense but steady as they worked tirelessly to bring your daughter into the world.

Celebrimbor obeyed without hesitation, his grip unwavering as he held you upright. His warmth was an anchor, grounding you amidst the waves of agony that threatened to pull you under. But even as he steadied you, the room seemed to tilt, the air growing thick with something unseen—something dark.

A shudder rippled through you as the shadows at the edges of the chamber deepened, stretching toward you like grasping fingers. It was subtle, almost imperceptible to those who did not know the nature of such things. But you knew.

And then, against the suffocating darkness, a familiar warmth pulsed at your finger.

Your ring.

The delicate jewel, imbued with light, with the very essence of all you had fought to protect, pulsed with a gentle glow against your skin. It was subtle, like the whisper of a breeze, but it was there. A reminder.

It had healed your curse.

It had been your sanctuary, a beacon against the creeping tendrils of Annatar’s influence.

It had kept you strong, even when his words had slithered into your mind like honeyed venom. Even when, for a moment—just a moment—you had believed him.

The pain sharpened again, stealing your breath, wrenching a strangled cry from your lips. The midwives moved swiftly, their hands working with quiet urgency, but you barely registered them. You clung to the ring’s warmth, its presence a tether against the abyss that threatened to consume you.

It would see you through this.

It was meant to.

Because this child—this life within you—was never meant to be claimed by the darkness.

You focused all your remaining strength and will on the warmth of the ring against your skin, drawing from its light as another contraction seized you in its merciless grip. The shadows that had coiled around the edges of the room seemed to recoil from its glow, pushed back by the power woven into its silver band.

Celebrimbor held you steady, his presence an unwavering pillar amidst the storm raging through your body and spirit. His voice was a low murmur of reassurance, though the words barely reached you past the all-consuming pain.

"Almost there," the midwife urged, her voice taut with both strain and determination. "Just a little more…"

Your entire body trembled, your fëa stretched to the breaking point, fraying like the last threads of a tapestry unraveling beneath unseen hands. You bore down with a final, desperate push, a scream ripping from your throat as the world seemed to fracture around you.

The ring chimed softly, its light piercing through the encroaching shadows, scattering them like wisps of smoke in the wind. The darkness recoiled, driven back by something purer, something stronger—something Annatar had never been able to touch.

And then—release.

A shuddering gasp wrenched from your lips as the pressure that had gripped you for endless, agonizing hours finally gave way. Your body sagged, boneless with exhaustion, as warmth flooded your senses. A new presence filled the space where once there had been only pain and struggle.

Then, a cry.

High and reedy, but strong.

"A beautiful little girl, my lady," the midwife announced softly, reverence lacing her voice as she lifted the tiny, wriggling bundle.

Tears welled in your eyes as she brought your daughter to you, placing her carefully against your chest. The moment your trembling arms encircled her, your body—ravaged and drained—became weightless. As if every pain, every fear, every whispered shadow had been silenced by the fragile warmth curled against you.

A choked sob escaped your lips, raw with relief, with joy, with something indescribable.

Celebrimbor’s hand found your shoulder, squeezing it softly, steadying you as you gazed down at the miracle in your arms. His own breath was uneven, his fingers shaking just slightly as they brushed against the blanket swaddling the tiny form.

"You called it," he said gently, a tired but kind smile pulling at his lips.

A watery laugh escaped you, weak but filled with profound gratitude. You turned your head toward him, taking his hand in yours, squeezing it. "I did." Your voice was little more than a whisper, but in it lay a thousand emotions, a thousand unspoken truths. "Thank you, mellon, for everything."

“Of course.” His fingers tightened around yours, offering you all the strength he could, all the love and devotion of a friend who had stood steadfastly by your side through it all.

Your gaze returned to your daughter, your heart swelling at the sight of her.

She was so small, her delicate features still soft with the haze of birth. Yet already, traces of him were there—the soft tufts of red-gold hair that curled faintly at the edges, the sweet dusting of freckles across her tiny nose and cheeks. Pieces of Mairon woven into her, undeniable reminders of the man you had once loved beyond all reason. The man your fëa still sang for in the quiet, aching corners of your soul.

For a moment, grief lingered at the edges of your happiness, the inescapable weight of what had been, of what was lost.

But then, her tiny eyes fluttered open.

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening, as you gazed into them.

Not tainted by darkness. Not the searing, molten intensity that had once looked upon you with promise and deception alike.

No.

Her eyes were bright and clear as starlight, filled only with the light you had imagined the Great Trees had.

Pure.

Untouched by shadow.

A sob of relief trembled through you, your heart breaking open with a love so fierce it threatened to consume you whole.

No darkness lurked within her. No corruption tainted the soul that had been formed in the balance between you and him.

She was yours.

Truly, wholly yours.

A child of both fire and light—yet free of the chains that bound him.

And as she nestled closer against you, her tiny fingers curling against your skin, you knew.

You had won.

After the midwives had completed their examination of both you and the baby, they helped you sit up and assisted you in feeding her—before one of them finally asked the question you had already prepared an answer for.

"Have you picked out a name for her?" she asked with a warm smile.

You looked down at your daughter, your fingers running gently through the tufts of red hair as she nursed.

"Aerilaya," you breathed, a soft smile grazing your lips. "That is what I shall call her. My maiden of the forest. A blessing from Yavanna herself."

You glanced up at the midwife, who nodded in understanding before offering a small curtsey to you and Celebrimbor. Then, with quiet efficiency, she and the others left the room, granting you privacy.

"Go get some sleep, my lord. I’ll be just fine," you said, squeezing Celebrimbor’s wrist reassuringly.

He hesitated slightly, before rising from the chair and moving to linger near the door, his hand resting on the frame. The concern in his gaze had not faded. "Are you certain? I can stay if you need me."

You smiled softly, shaking your head. "No, mellon. You have done more than enough. Please, rest. I promise I will call for you if I need anything."

His eyes searched yours for a moment longer before he exhaled and nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Very well. But do not hesitate, Thilwen. I am here for you, always."

"I know," you murmured, your voice heavy with gratitude. "Thank you."

With a final, reassuring smile, Celebrimbor slipped out of the room, the door closing quietly behind him. In the stillness that followed, you turned your gaze back to Aerilaya, her tiny form nestled against your chest, her breaths soft and even as she nursed. The love that swelled within you was almost painful in its intensity—a fierce, unwavering protectiveness that would never wane.

You had brought her into this world against all odds, against the very machinations of the one who had helped create her. You had shielded her from the darkness that had sought to claim her, pouring every ounce of your strength, your light, into ensuring she emerged untainted.

And she had.

She was perfect. Pure. A tiny beacon of hope amidst the shadows that had threatened to swallow you both.

Tears slipped down your cheeks unchecked as you gazed at Aerilaya, marveling at the delicate slope of her nose, the soft curve of her cheek. She was everything you had ever wanted, everything you had fought so fiercely to protect. In this moment, all the pain and heartache seemed to fade away, replaced by a profound sense of love and purpose.

As you held your daughter close, exhaustion began to creep in, weighing down your limbs and clouding your thoughts. Carefully, you settled back against the pillows, cradling Aerilaya securely against your chest. Your eyelids grew heavy, lulled by the warmth of her tiny form and the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath as she too settled into slumber.

Just as sleep threatened to claim you, a soft chime resonated through the room—the gentle hum of Nenya stirring at your finger, alerting you to something.

Your eyes shot open.

He was there.

Sitting where Celebrimbor had been moments before.

Your pulse lurched violently as you clutched Aerilaya’s sleeping form tighter to you, as if trying to shield her from the presence that now filled the room.

Annatar sat in silence, his gaze fixed on you and the child in your arms, his expression unreadable. The dim candlelight cast sharp shadows across his features, accentuating the tension in his jaw, the hollowness behind his eyes. He made no move to approach, yet his presence alone was suffocating.

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs as you met his stare, defiance and fear warring within you. "What are you doing here?" you whispered, your voice hoarse from exhaustion but edged with steel.

His lips twitched, a ghost of a smile devoid of warmth. "Can a father not come to see his newborn child?"

The words were soft, almost casual, but the undercurrent of danger in his tone sent an icy shiver through you.

Your arms tightened instinctively around Aerilaya at the word father.

"You lost that right," you said, voice steady despite the storm of emotions within you. "You turned your back on me—on us—when you chose your ambition over love."

Annatar's eyes darkened, a flicker of something sharp and unreadable crossing his face. "I have turned my back on nothing. Everything I have done has been for you, for us. To build the world I promised you so long ago."

You shook your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "No. What you have done is for yourself. For your own twisted ambitions. You nearly killed our daughter with whatever stunt you pulled tonight. That is not love, Annatar. That is possession."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, silken purr. "You still do not understand, do you? The power I wield, the rings I forge—it is all to protect what is mine. And you, Moríel, have always been mine. You and Aerilaya both."

The name—his name for you, spoken with such venom—sent a wave of nausea through you. Once, it had been a symbol of love, whispered in reverence and devotion. Now, it was a shackle, a claim you refused to accept.

"I am not a possession to be owned," you hissed, fury flaring through your exhausted form.

Annatar exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Your thoughts betray you, my love," he murmured, voice like silk. "Even now, after everything, a part of you still yearns for me. For us."

You flinched, hating the way his words cut straight to the heart of you, exposing the painful truth you tried so desperately to bury. Because he was right. Despite everything he had done, despite the darkness that had consumed him, a traitorous part of your fëa still sang for him. Still remembered the man he once was—the brilliance, the passion, the love that had once bound you together so completely.

But that man was gone. Twisted into something cruel and unrecognizable.

And you could not—would not—let that shadow claim you or Aerilaya.

"You’re wrong," you whispered, voice trembling but resolute. "Whatever part of me once yearned for you died the moment you threatened our child. The man I loved would never have done such a thing. You are nothing but a twisted shadow of who you once were."

Annatar’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous flashing through them. For the briefest of moments, his carefully maintained composure cracked, revealing the simmering malevolence beneath. "Careful, Moríel," he warned, his voice low and laced with menace. "Do not test me. You have no idea the lengths I will go to keep what is mine."

"And you have no idea the lengths I will go to protect those I care about, shadow." Your grip tightened around Aerilaya, pressing your ringed hand gently against her as if to shield her from his presence.

His gaze flickered to Nenya, his lips curling in a knowing smirk. "You think that trinket can protect you from me?" he scoffed.

You met his stare without flinching, despite the ice creeping through your veins. "This ring was made to protect, not to control. Free of you. Something you have clearly forgotten."

His expression hardened, the cruel amusement fading into something sharper, more calculating. "And who do you think will protect you when Celebrimbor is no longer around to play the valiant hero?"

The threat was thinly veiled, and yet it struck like a dagger to your chest.

"You wouldn’t dare," you whispered, horror creeping into your voice.

"Wouldn’t I?" Annatar leaned back in the chair, his smirk widening into something wholly malevolent. "Do not underestimate what I am willing to do, Moríel. Celebrimbor’s fate rests entirely in my hands. As does yours. If he does not craft those rings, I will start chipping away at this place, piece by piece, until there is nothing left of your precious life here."

A tremor ran through you, your mind racing as you struggled to suppress the surge of panic clawing its way up your throat. You tightened your hold on Aerilaya, her small, warm body grounding you, anchoring you in this moment.

"Why are you doing this?" The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, hoarse with exhaustion and something dangerously close to despair. "Why can’t you just let us be?"

For a heartbeat, something flickered in Annatar’s eyes—something raw, almost pained. But it was gone before you could grasp it, swallowed by the endless void of his ambition.

His voice, when it came, was soft—too soft. "Because you are mine, Moríel," he murmured. "You have always been mine. And I will not let anyone, not even Celebrimbor, take you from me."

His words hung heavy between you, a declaration not of love, but of possession.

Your stomach churned with revulsion, your very fëa recoiling at the cruel perversion of the bond you had once shared. The man you had loved had been brilliant, ambitious, yes—but he had not been this. Not this creature of shadow, of obsession and control.

"I am not yours," you whispered, your voice trembling but unyielding. "I haven’t been for a long time. The moment you chose darkness over us, you lost me."

Annatar’s eyes burned with a tempest of emotion—anger, longing, an unrelenting hunger that sent a fresh wave of dread through you. He leaned forward, his presence oppressive, suffocating.

"You cannot escape me," he hissed, voice like silk and steel. "No matter how far you run, no matter who you turn to, I will always find you. And I will take back what is mine."

A chill swept through you, your very spirit recoiling at the venom laced in his words. You cradled Aerilaya closer, her tiny form a beacon of warmth against the oppressive weight of his presence. Nenya pulsed against your finger, a steady, calming force amidst the turmoil.

"Leave," you whispered, your voice shaking but firm. "You are not welcome here. Not anymore."

Annatar’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek as he stared you down. The air crackled with tension, an invisible battle waging between your defiance and his unwavering belief in his own dominion over you.

For a long, suffocating moment, neither of you moved. His gaze bore into yours, dark with something unreadable—a storm of emotions barely contained.

And then, for the briefest instant, you saw it.

A flicker of something deep and aching, something hollow and wounded beneath all the malice. A wound that had never fully healed, an emptiness he had spent centuries trying to fill.

Your heart clenched painfully, grief mingling with your fury. But you refused to let it weaken you. Not now. Not when Aerilaya’s safety was at stake.

"I said leave," you repeated, the quiver in your voice barely noticeable now.

Annatar watched you for a moment longer, something unreadable shifting in his gaze. Then, slowly, he rose from the chair, every movement graceful and deliberate. He loomed over you, his shadow stretching long and ominous in the dim light.

"This isn’t over, Mori," he murmured, his voice deceptively soft. "You cannot hide from me forever. Sooner or later, you will see the truth. And when you do—" his smirk returned, sharp and knowing "—I will be waiting."

The room grew cold as his presence faded, an unnatural stillness settling over you in his absence. You barely registered the door shutting behind him, too consumed by the violent shudder that wracked your body.

And then, the dam broke.

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks, your entire form trembling with a volatile mix of fear, rage, and exhausted relief. You clutched Aerilaya close, pressing a kiss to the top of her tiny head, breathing in her innocent warmth.

And yet, despite the warmth in your arms, despite the constant reassurance of the ring’s presence, an icy dread had taken root deep in your chest.

He would not stop.

Not until he had what he believed was his.

You.

Aerilaya.

The rings.

And the power to reshape the world as he saw fit.

#sauron x reader #sauron #annatar x reader #annatar #rings of power fic #trop fic #the rings of power

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gvshing · 3 days ago

Text

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─PRETTY GIRL DEALING─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

(warning for weed usage and dealing!!) pt 1. pt 2.

⊹₊⋆CHAPTER THREE⊹₊⋆

A week has passed since you last bought from Ellie. You still had some from the last time you had bought, but you wanted to see Ellie. It had been kind of awkward since the day after you two had hung out. Not to anyone’s fault most likely. Classes are busy right now, it’s the middle of the semester. Lots of projects and essays are due right now, so you tried not to take it personally that Ellie and your texts seemed a bit dry. But, it was hard not to. It felt like there was a connection, so the sudden awkward tension is off putting to you. Swallowing your anxiety you text her a simple ‘Hey :)’.

When Ellie receives your text she feels her heart skip. She stares at it for 15 seconds before she opens it and replies. ‘Hey! What's up?’ She’s pretty sure you’re just wanting to re-up on weed but part of her hopes you’re wanting to talk or hang out. Even though she should be finishing her physics homework. The other part of her hopes her hypothesis is correct. She likes you, but she can’t. She shouldn’t. Within a minute your reply dings on her phone. ‘Think I can swing by later? Same as last time! Maybe we could hang out too? Dina’s busy today :( it’s okay if you’re busy too obvi!’ She’s not sure how to process the fact that both halves of her get what they want. Dina’s words ringing through her head. ‘Trust me by trusting them’ She sighs and runs her hands over her face roughly. Staring at your text she decides there’s no harm in being nice and at least trying. Ellie’s hands have a hard time gripping her phone from how sweaty they’ve suddenly become. ‘Yeah that sounds good! Is about 6 okay?’ She drops her phone on the bed and blows out the breath she was holding, feeling faint from the lack of air. She can do this. It’s just hanging out with somebody, and at least she sorta knows you now. It’s not like you’re a complete stranger. Now at least.

Come six o’clock and she’s pacing around her room, nerves tingling all through her body. She’s put herself at a distance since the first and last time you guys had hung out. She doesn’t want you to think she’s weird, or get fucked over if you’re only using her for weed. Which would be fair, she sells it so of course most people just want weed from her. If you just want weed, fine. She just can’t fall for somebody who might use her. She hears your light knock on the door and jumps, getting pulled out of her train of thoughts and anxiety. She opens the door and sees you smiling wide at her. Chest fluttering, she lets you in. “Hey, El! How’s your day been?” You beamed at her, sitting down on her desk chair. You’re looking around the room, memorizing all her wall decor and small trinkets that line her shelves. “Uh… it’s been good. Just school today thankfully. I’ve been meaning to call Joel, but I’ve been so busy or tired so I keep forgetting.” Ellie rambles while she pulls out her weed supply and sits on her bed to unlock the box. You cock your head to the side and furrow your eyebrows. “You’ve mentioned him a few times. Is he your dad? Sorry, you’ve probably told me before.” You laugh awkwardly and rub the back of your neck. “Oh! Yeah! My bad, I always forget not everybody knows him. He’s practically my dad. He’s taken care of me for longer than I have memories and I don’t know. He’s great. He can be a bit of a hard ass sometimes, but that’s just the old man in him.” She locks her box back and walks over to the desk you’re sitting at. She begins to weigh out the weed and you start to stand up to offer your seat. She shakes her head and motions for you to sit back down. “I’ll be okay. Thank you though. Pretty girls should always be allowed the seat first.” She mutters, her face getting redder by the second. Before you can retort back at her flirting, or at least you hope it’s flirting, she begins talking again. “I don’t mean to sound like I hate Joel. I love him, we’ve had our disagreements for sure though. I wouldn’t trade him for anything though. He gave me my guitar, I grew a love for playing because of him.” She finishes weighing it out, much faster this time than last. Stuffing it into a small ziplock she hands it over to you. “That’s sweet. About Joel I mean. He sounds great. I understand completely about putting off calling them. Sometimes it makes the pain of being away hurt more than usual. It’s midterms soon also, so you’re busy. I get it. And thank you for the weed Ellie. You’re the best.” You look up at her, grinning wide enough your eyes close. She smiles softly back at you. “How much do I owe you?” You question. Ellie seems to think about it deeply before telling you the same amount as last time. “What? Ellie, seriously. You don’t have to give me another discount. I’m willing to pay whatever you charge. I don’t want to take money out of your pocket.” you bargain, or I guess reverse bargain. She shakes her head. “No seriously! I know you’re good for it. And plus I expect us to smoke together while we hang out.” She crosses her arms and strikes a silly pose. You giggle at her theatrics. “Of course I’m gonna share. Don’t be ridiculous.” You reach in your pocket and grab a twenty dollar bill. You place it halfway under her laptop and stand up. “Okay, sit your ass down, smoke my weed and keep me company instead of pouting.” You flop down on her bed scooting over to the wall and pat the space next to you. She grins and mimics your flop down. Stretching and groaning loudly, you laugh and roll your eyes. “Okay drama. What do you smoke your weed out of?”

For the next few hours you and Ellie smoke and laugh together. “No seriously! She was so fucking drunk. She was leaning on Jesse and we were all dying of laughter! She just kept telling him she loved him and repeatedly proclaiming how drunk she was. As if we didn’t know. Dina made me promise the next day to never let her drink that much ever again or to ever even bring it up to her.” You reminisce about Dina and her antics together, crying with laughter over your mutual dear friend. “God, she’s always been a silly drunk, getting emotional and all lovey dovey.” Ellie had her head in your lap, resting it there over an hour ago. She had been complaining about her back hurting from the shitty sitting position she had subjected herself to. So you told her to lie back in your lap, after a long deliberation she eventually gave in. You wipe your eyes free from the tears that accumulated from laughing too hard. You drop your hands down and set them in Ellie’s hair. You stroke her hair mindlessly, focusing only on catching your breath. Ellie can only focus on the way your hands feel when you run them through her hair. While you’re catching your breath, hers is getting lost in her chest. Her face growing red and her palms getting sweaty. You look down at her smiling and blowing out a final deep breath. You catch her eyes with your own. You both stare at one another, a tension in the air. “Hi.” you say softly. “Hello.” She mutters back, not able to break eye contact. Realizing the position you’re in, you join her in the blushing. You break eye contact first, opting to look over at her T.V. that plays some random youtube video at a low volume. “It’s late. Um… I should probably go. I don’t want to keep you up late again,” You say to her. Realizing your hand is still resting on her head, strands of hair intertwined through your fingers. She sits up and rubs her arm. “Yeah, yeah. I hope I didn’t keep you too long. Thanks for hanging out and… yeah. I enjoy your company. Can I… Maybe if you would like, can I walk you back to your dorm? Just to make sure you get back safe!” Ellie adds quickly. You smile shyly at her and nod enthusiastically at her offer. “Please.”

When you arrive at your door you turn around and gleam at her. “It was really sweet of you to walk me home. I’m really happy to have met you. Thank you.” You place a hand on her shoulder and lean forward to press a kiss against her cheek. Leaning back you move your hand to cup the cheek you had just kissed and smile at her. She blushes furiously and gapes at you, butterflies dancing in her chest. “Goodnight Ellie.” She raises a hand and gives you a small wave muttering a goodnight as you walk into your dorm. She stands staring at your door. In shock of your endearing interaction. Her heart was beating all throughout her body. She begins her walk back to her own dorm, hand placed over her cheek. The feeling of your lips and cupped hand lingering. She feels a buzz in her pocket and pulls out her phone. “Text me when you’re home safe please :) Thank you again for hanging out with me. You’re the best.”

Stumbling through her haze, she arrives at her door before she knows it. She pulls her key and phone out of her pocket. Unlocking her door with one hand, she types back a reply with the other. “I’m home :) I’d hang out with you anytime. goodnight Y/N.” Ellie gets ready for bed, overthinking everything. Maybe opening herself up to have these experiences can be good. She should try at least. She’s starting to like you a lot. More than just a simple crush. It’s growing for her. How does she feel these feelings so fast? She can’t wrap her head around it. She wants this to be good, she wants to try to do this. What if though? She still feels like she shouldn’t be this happy. You have only hung out twice. She needs to pump the breaks. But how? All she wants to do is be around you all the time. She thought maybe taking a step back from texting past that first night would make her feel less intense about you. She couldn’t be sure it wasn’t her just starved of physical attraction or attention. She could just be taking whatever she could get subconsciously. But she knows that’s not the case. She likes you. She sees the beauty and gentleness inside you. She’s infatuated. Your eyes she gets lost in, your soft hands she would die to hold just one time, your soft lips she couldn’t imagine actually kissing instead of just feeling pressed against the soft of her cheek. She wants you, all of you. She needs to know who you are, every angle, the good and bad. She’s sure she’s already in deep. She hopes she’s not reading too far into your actions. What if that’s just how you are with your friends? Some people are touchy with their friends. She hugs Dina all the time and once or twice has received or given her kisses on the cheek. Anxiety ignites in her chest at the thought of her taking your actions the wrong way. She crosses her fingers that she’s not. She lays down on her bed and opens her window, forever thankful she got a dorm room that actually has a window. Some people weren’t so lucky. She was though. She loved to look up at the sky and imagine being up there, where the stars and moon are. She daydreams about making her own civilization on the moon's surface. Somewhere better, somewhere perfect. Away from all the uncertainty of earth. She stares up and hopes for a falling comet, hoping for a wish to fall into her lap. A wish that she was correct, and that for once her feelings were reciprocated. She falls asleep staring up at that sky. She dreams of you. She dreams of that perfect life together. One with a cozy house and a big backyard. Definitely a dog that leaps over with glee when she gets home from a long day’s work. A perfect life that involves you greeting her at the door with a kiss. She thinks that if that was her life she’d never have another complaint for as long as she lived. She wakes up feeling empty, knowing that’s not her current reality. But, when she’s dreaming, laying so sweetly and breathing so calmly, it’s real. And it’s perfect.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ── ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ── ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

that took longer for me to write than it should've... it's not like I write a lot when I write, so why must it take my brain so long to get this all out... anyway! Lowkey... surprised anybody has been reading my stuff so I appreciate everyone who's taken the time out of their day to read my silly little story! Thank you thank you thank you!

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pukefactory · 19 hours ago

Note

Hello hello! I’d love some Sprout or Cosmo headcannons! Or both if you want, up to you. (◍•ᴗ•◍)

Certainly! I wasn’t sure if you wanted x reader headcanons, so I wrote some general ones for each character instead. Apologies if this isn’t what you had in mind.

‧₊˚✩彡 ‧ DOUBLE FEATURE ₊˚✩彡๋ ࣭

✮ Summary: A compilation of headcanons about Sprout and Cosmo

✮ Character(s): Sprout Seedly (Dandy’s World), Cosmo (Dandy’s World)

✮ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

✮ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

✮ Image Credits: ZAPZAPPY on Open3DLab.

SPROUT SEEDLY

∇ Sprout is always up before most of the other toons, enjoying the early morning quiet. He uses this time to check the kitchen, plan his day, or make breakfast. If Cosmo isn’t awake yet, he’ll leave a small snack for him before getting to work.

∇ Despite his pushy nature, he’s surprisingly perceptive when it comes to sensing when someone needs space. He doesn’t always respect it, but he at least recognizes when something is wrong. With those he cares about, he tends to linger—watching silently until he’s sure they’re okay.

∇ He has a habit of adjusting his scarf absentmindedly when deep in thought. It’s a leftover tic from childhood, back when the scarf was too big and constantly slipped off. Even now that it fits perfectly, the habit remains.

∇ Baking is one of the few things that can completely absorb his focus. He’s methodical, precise, and refuses to cut corners. When he’s in the kitchen, he expects others to either help or stay out of his way. That said, he gets a little smug when someone compliments his pastries.

∇ He’s oddly competitive about the smallest things. Whether it’s a game, a challenge, or even a staring contest, he refuses to back down. Losing simply isn’t an option.

∇ Though brash at times, he has a strong sense of fairness. He has no patience for dishonesty, cheating, or manipulation. If he catches someone lying, he’ll call them out without hesitation, no matter how awkward it makes things.

∇ While he pretends to be indifferent to affection, he secretly enjoys it. If a friend ruffles his leaves or playfully nudges him, he won’t react much—but his blush gives him away.

∇ Sitting still for too long makes him restless. If forced into inactivity, he fidgets—tapping his fingers, shifting in place, or glancing around impatiently. He needs to feel productive.

∇ He has a soft spot for Pebble, though he’d never admit it. If the rock dog approaches him, he acts indifferent—until he thinks no one is watching. Then, he’ll subtly make sure Pebble is comfortable, maybe even sneaking him a snack.

∇ If someone he trusts asks for help, he drops everything to assist them. No matter what he is doing, if a friend needs him, he’s already on his way.

COSMO

▹ Cosmo’s pockets are always filled with snacks—cookies, candies, tiny pastries—just in case someone needs a pick-me-up. If a friend looks even slightly down, he’s already offering them something sweet before they can protest.

▹ He hums while baking, never sticking to the same tune. If he’s really focused, he starts singing to himself without realizing it.

▹ He has a soft spot for kids and lights up when teaching them how to bake. He’s endlessly patient, carefully guiding them through each step. If a child messes up a recipe, he quickly finds a way to turn it into something new so they don’t feel bad.

▹ He talks with his hands, especially when excited. If he’s explaining a recipe or sharing an idea, his gestures become so animated that he nearly knocks things over.

▹ Though he’s an incredible baker, he rarely eats his own creations. He tastes everything to ensure quality, but he’d much rather see others enjoy his food than indulge himself.

▹ He struggles in high-pressure situations. When overwhelmed, he freezes, looking to Sprout or another toon for reassurance before making a decision.

▹ Sarcasm completely goes over his head. If someone makes an exaggerated statement, he takes it at face value, blinking in confusion before realizing they were joking.

▹ He’s surprisingly meticulous about his hoodie. While it may not look fancy, he keeps it spotless. The moment he notices a stain, he’s scrubbing it clean, and if it ever got torn, he’d be devastated.

▹ Despite his anxious nature, he’s incredibly generous. If a friend admires something he owns, he offers it to them without hesitation, even if it’s something he loves. Their happiness means more to him.

▹ He keeps a small notebook in his hoodie pocket filled with recipe ideas. Some are carefully detailed, while others are scribbled notes like “rainbow star cookies??” or “marshmallow surprise??? (what’s the surprise???)”

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seeminglydark · 3 days ago

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Hi! I have SO many questions about ALL of them 🤣

Honestly I'm curious about their family and friends. Does Mickey still talks to someone in his family or did he completely cut them off? Did him and Reggie had some close friends that are still around? What about Caro and John? Do they have friends other than the ones we already know of? Is there a story about Reggie and John's mother? I don't remember if you said anything about them already... And I know they don't have siblings but have you ever considered Caro and/or John not being an only child?

Again I have so many questions! I just love them and can't wait to know more and continue to read your comics 💜

Bye and have a nice day!

haha hi! I love that. Okay here we go cuz theres a lot of answers to this that I havent actually gotten to put in comic or anything yet so hold on to your seat...

Mickey has a little sister, Mari that he DOES in fact keep in contact with. She will come around more actually later in comic, and she also is in Mil-Liminal where she will play the part of Caros personal trainer. His mom cut him off, so he didnt really have much of a choice there, but he has a friend or two he keeps in contact with as well, Luis was his boss back in LA and the one who gifted him the el camino, for instance. He and Reggie did have a group of friends, mostly people from Seattle, so we see them less in comic. The baristas from micks first washington job of course and reggies friends from growing up there. They still come around once in a while, but people drift after college sometimes. Caro isolated themself a lot after highschool, and most of their friends dropped off, though they still keep in contact with Dee. They don't really have any real friends besides the folks at the gas station, particularly Juan, whos closest in age. John still has his old friends from back in the day, The band he used to play with sometimes keeps in touch now that hes out. He also has convict pals, being as young as he was in prison, and a pretty boy with a pretty face he ended up making some connections there that helped save his life. prison wasnt great, but theres a couple of rowdy guys we've yet to meet but will, who come around once in while to Check On Their Boy. He's also friends with the family that runs the grocery below his apartment and his landlord who is 95 and not very landlord like at all.

Reggies mom and his dad were never married. They had a kid together and co-parented and it was pretty good, she got along very well with maddies mom, but shes got her own thing going now and is with a very lovely lady living in portland so we dont hear about her much, but she sends mick birthday cards and calls him every Valentines Day. Johns mom is MIA, she escaped when he was a little boy, he unfortunately didnt go, even as a little boy he knew his mom couldnt take all of them and wouldnt leave without him, so he made a fuss to stay with dad. he doesnt know if shes ok, or his siblings. The cross earrings he wears are hers.

I guess that answers that haha! John isnt an only child. He got younger twins and a younger sister. They just arent in the picture at the moment.

Caro is an only child mostly because most of my other ocs have siblings (probably because i have a sibling and we write what we know) but their character trait is isolation and loneliness so they always WISHED for one, but sadly, the ghost in the mirror was the closest they ever got.

#WHEW ok that was probably way too long #but i love it #original character lore #oc stuff #ask box

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sleepymaddy · 1 year ago

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#me.txt #it was okay for most of the day and then just now. complete drop #and now I just feel so unbearably pathetic #like ‘delete all social media off your phone forever and never interact with anyone ever again’ kind of pathetic #trying not to cry over nothing now #there is no actual reason for this #which should make it easier to shake off but instead it’s more like #the veil is lifting? like these moments are when the lies I tell myself don’t work anymore #and the real truth is revealed #that is: I’m a whole lot of nothing wrapped in crappy boring packaging #nothing to see here #even just writing this out makes me feel even More Pathetic like can’t I stop complaining over nothing? god #no wonder no one would want to care about you #even though I have literally made this space specifically so I could vent without bothering anyone #bc supposedly writing these things out is better than keeping them in #but it’s like. girl. shut up lol

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nereidprinc3ss · 3 months ago

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bambi

in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex! a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!

You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there.

How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that.

So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for.

He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”

You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips.

“Fuck—I said slow.”

You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.

Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”

“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”

“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”

“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more.

Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it.

“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling.

It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching.

“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”

By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”

You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air.

“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”

Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.

“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”

Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact.

“Please can I go faster?”

Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out.

“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”

You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for.

Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Császár polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—

“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”

“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”

“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon.

“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion.

Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it.

“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”

“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm.

“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”

And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him.

“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline.

So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”

“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits.

“According to who?”

“According to… I was on top…”

“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”

You whine softly. “No they’re not.”

His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles.

“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”

You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”

“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”

“Hm.”

“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”

And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time.

Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest.

“I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment.

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”

“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”

“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”

“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”

“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble.

“Tender?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”

“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Lie down.”

Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling.

“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind.

The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him.

Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway.

“Was that on purpose?”

“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact.

Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair.

“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs.

He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”

The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.

And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.

Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long.

The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind.

In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving.

You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved.

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed.

You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles.

“Shaky?”

“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”

“No.”

He sighs good-naturedly.

“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”

“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”

When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can walk in the morning.”

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer Reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 8 months ago

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So I’m a minor (16 to be specific) and I frequently watch and read stuff with explicit sexual or 18+ content in it. I live in an extremely conservative Christian household and things like explicit fanfic are pretty much the only option I have for learning about sex that isn’t abstinence only. I do feel bad about it, especially when I see adults online say stuff like “oh i watched lots of inappropriate things as a teen that i really shouldn’t have” and it makes me feel like I’m ruining myself in a way that I won’t realize until I’m an adult? Right now I don’t see what the big deal is but i get the feeling that when i’m 24 or something I’ll wake up one day and be ashamed of this for some reason i’m not mature enough to know yet. Should I just stop and wait until I’m 18 to continue or what?

hi anon,

okay. I'm gonna hit you with something:

turning 18 does not actually change the way you feel about porn or sex or anything. the difference between being seventeen and 364 days and being 18 is nonexistent. there's not a magical switch that changes you as a person; that comes from lived experience. if you're 18 and your experience is still that porn and smut and what have you i something that you should feel bad about, it's still going to feel that way and a birthday won't change that.

look, the whole notion of "I saw [x] that I shouldn't have when I was young" is like. okay. so you saw something that was a little mature for you that you didn't quite get? awesome. did you die? no. most people's hangups about sexuality don't come from seeing a rogue titty when they were a teenager, they come from the culture that person was raised in that made seeing a rogue titty feel like something to be ashamed of instead of a completely natural part of life.

story time! when I teach my 4th-6th grade OWL classes (Our Whole Lives, great human development program) I always start by holding a meeting with the kids' parents. I've been doing this for seven years, and every time without fail some of the parents will recall seeing porn for the first time as a kid. these guys were kids when printed porn magazines were still a thing, so they were discovering them in all kinds of places - the bedrooms of their parents or their friends' parents, at bus stops, in the woods, once even stowed in some farm equipment. and they remember it feeling illicit and exciting, sure, and possibly making them confused or even horny for the first time in their young lives, but like... that's it. none of these people are irreparably damaged by seeing porn. in fact, they've grown up to be the kind of people who go out of their way to make sure their young kids are enrolled in a queer-friendly, body-positive, diversity-embracing sex ed class to counter stereotypes and misinformation they might receive elsewhere.

looking at things that arouse you is morally neutral. it can be a great way to help you learn about what turns you on, and even if it's not the best source of factual, realistic depictions of sex, it can still help you discover things - hell, I only figured out what the clitoris was by reading Young Justice fanfic (shout out Snaibsel).

you can't ruin yourself, at any age, with the media you like to consume. what makes you uncomfortable and anxious is the attitude you've been taught to have about that media, which is something that has to be actively unlearned, because it's certainly not going to just disappear on its own when you become a legal adult.

tl;dr obviously no one is making you watch porn and you shouldn't if it makes you uncomfortable, but if you drop it right now and come back when you're 18 don't expect to feel any different if you haven't done any more unpacking re: the conservative Christianity of it all.

#sex edventures 2024

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luv-lock · 1 month ago

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𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ MY CRAZY BOYFRIEND 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

☆⁠ 𝘗𝘈𝘐𝘙𝘐𝘕𝘎 : Robins x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : 𝘋𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘰𝘥𝘥, 90𝘴 𝘛𝘪𝘮 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘬𝘦, 𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘞𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦.

☆⁠ NOTES : 𝘛𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺!

⎯ DICK GRAYSON

You walked into your room, ready to flop on your bed after a long day, only to scream when you saw Dick fucking Grayson himself sitting cross-legged on your floor, holding one of your shirts. “What the hell, Dick?!” you yelled, clutching your chest. “What are you doing in my room?” He looked up, completely unfazed, flashing his signature charming grin. “Hey, babe. I missed you.” You pointed at the shirt in his hands. “Why do you have my shirt?” Dick stood up, holding it close to his chest like a lifeline. “It smells like you, and I needed it to get through patrol last night. Do you know how hard it is to fight crime without the love of your life’s essence keeping you grounded?” “Dick, that’s so creepy!” you exclaimed, though you were trying not to laugh. “But I love you,” he said with those puppy-dog eyes, leaning closer. “And I thought about you the whole time. Did you think about me too?” “Not like this!”

⎯ JASON TODD

You were out with Jason at a local diner, enjoying some milkshakes when you noticed he kept glancing at you while trying (and failing) to be subtle about it. “Okay, what’s up?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. Jason grinned, leaning forward with his chin on his hand. “Nothing, just thinking about how cute you look when you drink your milkshake.” “...Thanks?” you said, feeling your face heat up. Then, out of nowhere, Jason pulled a tiny notepad out of his pocket and started furiously writing. “What are you doing?” you asked, bewildered. “I’m cataloging everything you do that makes my heart race,” he said matter-of-factly. “Like, right now—number 438: The way you scrunch your nose when you’re confused.” Your jaw dropped. “You have a list?” “Of course I do,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “How else am I supposed to remember every little thing I love about you?” You buried your face in your hands, torn between laughing and dying of embarrassment. “Jason, people can hear you!” “Good,” he said, smirking. “Let the world know how much I love you.”

⎯ 90s TIM DRAKE

You were sitting on your couch when Tim burst through your front door, looking frantic. “Tim?! What are you doing?!” you shouted, startled. “I need to check your internet history,” he said, completely serious. “What?” you gawked, standing up. Tim held up his laptop like it was a sacred relic. “I hacked into your Wi-Fi and noticed some…suspicious searches.” “You WHAT?!” “Why were you looking up ‘how to tell if your boyfriend is crazy’ at 3 a.m.?” he demanded, his face a mix of hurt and desperation. You stared at him, your mouth open in shock. “Tim, what the hell! That was a meme! I wasn’t being serious!” “Oh.” He blinked, looking sheepish for about two seconds before he perked up. “Well, now you don’t have to wonder. I am crazy—for you.” “Get out of my house!”

⎯ DAMIAN WAYNE

You were in your backyard when you heard a rustling noise coming from the bushes. Frowning, you approached cautiously, only to jump back when Damian crawled out on all fours like a feral cat. “Damian?! What are you doing in my bushes?!” He stood up, brushing off his uniform like this was a perfectly normal situation. “I was ensuring your safety.” “By hiding in my bushes?” you asked, flabbergasted. “I must remain vigilant,” he said, crossing his arms. “You are surrounded by incompetent fools who cannot be trusted with your protection.” “Damian, my dad is literally inside the house.” “He doesn’t have the necessary training to spot an assassin from 300 yards away,” Damian scoffed. “But do not fear—I am here.” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “This is so creepy. Do you even hear yourself?” “Creepy? No. Devoted? Absolutely.”

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

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mariasont · 19 days ago

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Laced With Love - A.H

summary: while hotch is away on a case, you do nothing but shop, and when hotch insists you use his card who are you to disobey him? especially when what you buy benefits the both of you

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader spending hotch's money (it's giving sugar daddy af), so much teasing, fingering, oral fem receiving, hotch worshipping reader, some inappropriate comments made in front of morgan accidentally, they both just completely forget about dinner and don't mention so ya know my bad, dirty talk, soft dom hotchy poo

wc: 3.5k

You had a little problem.

It all started innocently enough: one coffee to-go, a quick window shop in your favorite boutique, and somehow that led to you walking out with a bag containing the most adorable pair of heels that you couldn't leave behind. Then it snowballed—another store, another bag. A perfume counter. A cute sweater that was on sale, and, well, that one really didn't count because it was practical. It was warm. Functional, even.

Okay maybe you had a big problem.

But it wasn't until your phone buzzed in your bag, pulling you out of a deep debate over whether you needed the floral dress you were holding, that you realized just how many bags were hanging off your arms.

Mr. Bossman flashed across the screen.

The name was completely ridiculous (and more than a little outdated now that he was your boyfriend), but it fit in a weird, nostalgic way. He'd been away on one of those long-distance cases, the kind where you weren't needed, and you'd been counting the days (and minutes) until he'd call.

You grabbed your phone so fast you almost dropped the dress.

"Hi!" you answered, a little too quickly, your voice so giddy and sugar-sweet it could've given you a toothache. He always teased you for it, but right now you didn't care.

"Hi." His voice was warm, a little rough around the edges with exhaustion. "Just wanted to call and let you know I'll be home tonight."

Your heart practically leapt at his words. "Really? Finally! I thought I was going to shrivel up and die from boredom without you here. Okay, maybe not die, but like... what's the point of anything if you're not home to tell me I bought too many candles?"

"I'm not sure how you've lasted this long," he said. "Should I be worried about the state of the house? Or your bank account?"

"First of all, rude. Second of all, if you are so worried, maybe you shouldn't leave me alone for that long. Ever thought of that, Mr?"

His laugh came through the line, short and deep, and it hit you square in the chest. You closed your eyes, leaning into the sound like it could somehow bring him closer. You could see him so clearly--the way his face softened in a way that made him look ten years younger, the way his shoulders would drop, the way his eyes would crinkle. You missed him so much it hurt.

"Poor thing," he teased, still chuckling softly. "What's a girl to do when I'm not there entertain her? Besides spend my money, I mean."

"Don't worry, Aaron, your money is perfectly safe. My super respectable paycheck—you know, the one you sign—is covering me today."

"Hmm," he said, his voice still muffled. "Sounds like your boss is paying you too much."

"I don't know... I think you're getting a pretty good deal considering I keep you very taken care of. Would you like me to prove it later?"

"Hotch, tell me I did not just hear that."

You froze mid-breath, your hand flying to cover your mouth as a wave of heat rushed to your cheeks. That was Morgan’s voice. Morgan. You felt like a cartoon character with steam pouring out of your ears as your face burned red hot.

A nervous little squeak escaped you just as you heard Aaron fumbling with the phone, his voice clipped as he said something you couldn��t quite make out. There was a muffled shuffle, the sound of a door shutting, and finally, the blessed beep that meant he’d taken you off speaker.

"Christ, honey."

You peeked through your fingers, cheeks still burning as you tried to decide if you should laugh, cry, or maybe just dig yourself a hole and live there forever.

"So," you said, hesitating for a beat, "scale of one to ten, how dead am I? Should I preemptively file an HR complaint against myself, or just let Morgan handle my inevitable downfall?”

You heard him exhale sharply, the creak of a chair following as you pictured him leaning back with that half-smile he always gave when he was equal parts amused and exasperated.

“It’s fine. It’s a little embarrassing, sure. But nothing Morgan hasn’t done to himself ten times worse. He’ll give you a hard time for a day or so, Garcia will laugh, and then they’ll let it go.”

There was brief pause, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “That being said, maybe think twice before making explicit promises while I’m at work, honey.”

You bit your lip, your gaze dropping to the shopping bag in your hand as you toyed with the strap absentmindedly.

"I mean, it's only fair I keep my promise now," you said softly, barely loud enough for him to hear. "It's the least I can do."

You heard a faint sound in the background—maybe him clearing his throat—before his voice dropped an octave. "You're already on thin ice today. Don’t make promises you can’t deliver on."

You let out a little huff, batting your lashes instinctively even though you knew he couldn’t see it.

"I don't know why you're doubting me, Mr. Hotchner. You should know I'm very serious about keeping my promises."

"You know, you're not making this easy on me, " Aaron muttered, his voice low and gruff. You could hear a faint groan, followed by what sounded like pacing on the other end. "Alright, I've really got to go now. Behave yourself. And how about you use my card for the rest of the shopping trip?"

"No, Aaron, I can't!" you said quickly, shaking your head as if he could see you. "You'd never trust me again with your card after the damage I'd do. Besides, you're already going to be shaking your head when you see what I got with my own money."

Aaron sighed, his voice going into that low, authoritative tone that always made your stomach flip.

"You will use the card." There was no room for argument in his words. "I want you to. End of discussion."

And just like that, the call ended with a click. You stared at the screen for a moment as if it might magically reopen the call so could argue your case one more time. But, of course, that didn't happen.

He’d told you to use his card—he demanded it, actually—but your fingers still hesitated, clutching the little piece of plastic like it was about to bite you.

You glanced at the white lace lingerie folded neatly on the counter, the delicate fabric practically winking at you. It wasn’t just pretty—it was the kind of perfect that made your heart flutter. Normally, you’d talk yourself out of something so indulgent, but this time? Well, Aaron had practically begged you to buy something… and you couldn’t think of a better way to treat both of you.

You only hesitated for the briefest moment before swiping his card, your heart doing a little flip as the cashier folded the lingerie into tissue paper with careful hands. It felt like a tiny secret between you and Aaron—a very fun secret.

By the time you got home, the sun had started to dip below the horizon, and you knew you had some time before Aaron made it back. He always gave you a pretty reliable ETA. It was the perks of dating someone so anal.

You lugged your shopping bags up to the bedroom, your arms aching a little, but in the best way possible. Once in the bedroom, you started unpacking everything like it was Christmas morning. Dresses went in the closet, shoes were lined up neatly, and you stashed the receipts in the nightstand just in case Aaron did ask how much damage you'd done.

Then you pulled out the piece—the one you'd bought with him in mind. The silk felt decadent under your fingertips, and the delicate lace was almost too beautiful to wear. Almost. It fit like a glove, hugging every inch of you like it had been tailored specifically for this moment.

Feeling pleased with yourself, you made your way to the kitchen and slipped into your favorite frilly apron, tying the bow neatly at the back. Cooking wasn’t exactly your specialty, but you were determined to make this work. Pasta seemed foolproof enough (right?), and you threw together a salad and garlic bread for good measure. By some miracle, nothing caught on fire, and the kitchen actually smelled amazing.

You found yourself glancing at the clock every few minutes. When you finally heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, you glanced over your shoulder, heart skipping a beat.

"Hi honey!" you called sweetly, pretending as if standing in the kitchen wearing practically nothing was the most common thing in the world.

Aaron stepped inside, the door clicking behind him, but the second his eyes landed on you, he froze. His tie was loosened, his sleeves slightly wrinkled, and his hair looked like he’d run his fingers through it at least a dozen times today. But none of that mattered now—he stood there like he’d forgotten how to breathe, his dark eyes drinking you in.

You smiled at him, slow and innocent, brushing your hands lightly against the counter. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Sweetheart..." His voice was deeper than usual, strained and almost ragged, like he was trying to pull himself together and failing miserably.

"Yes?" you replied, acting as if you didn’t notice the way his eyes were glued to you while you turned off the burner and set the pan aside.

"What..." He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as his gaze dragged down your body, lingering shamelessly on the curve of your ass. "What are you wearing?"

You turned to face him fully, the delicate lace tugging just slightly as you moved, drawing his eyes lower without him even realizing it.

"Oh this?" you said, gesturing vaguely to the piece. "It's just something I picked up today. You told me to use your card, so I thought I'd get something you'd like."

His jaw tightened, eyes scanning you slowly before lingering on the pink bows peeking out over the apron. "You used my card on this?"

"Mm-hmm," you hummed, your hands gliding down the soft lace as you took a step closer, looking up at him through your lashes. "I figured it was an investment. You know, for both of us."

Aaron groaned, low and frustrated, pinching the bridge of his nose for a brief second before letting his hand drop.

“Using my card for this…” His voice was rough as he closed the space between you in one long stride, his hands landing on your waist and pulling you flush against him. His lips curved into the faintest smirk as his voice dipped lower. “Was the one thing you’ve done right today. Now take this off—slowly, sweetheart—and let me see exactly what I bought.”

He pinched at the bow on your apron, his fingers tugging lightly, but you stepped back just enough to be out of his immediate reach.

“If you were that eager to see what I bought,” you teased, your fingertips grazing one of the straps of the apron, “maybe you shouldn’t have left me waiting so long.”

You slipped one strap off your shoulder, letting it fall halfway, then paused, tilting your head slightly as if daring him to come closer.

"Trying on pretty things, waiting for me to come home—must've been absolutely draining," Aaron shook his head slowly.

You pouted at him, pushing your bottom lip out just enough to make his eyes soften. He chuckled quietly, stepping closer until his hands braced the counter on either side of you, caging you in.

"But you know what? I missed you too. And seeing you like this... makes being away feel like torture."

Your pout melted into a glowing smile as your hands found their way to his chest, your fingers brushing lightly over his shirt.

“You mean it? You really missed me?”

"Of course I did." His hands cupped your jaw gently, his thumbs brushing along your cheeks as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His other hand moved slowly to the bow at your waist, pulling the knot loose with an easy tug. "Now, angel, let me see what else I've been missing."

The apron slipped to the ground, forgotten, as Aaron’s eyes locked onto you. He blinked once, then twice, his expression unreadable except for the slight parting of his lips, like he’d been robbed of air.

His gaze traveled over you like a slow caress, taking in the way the lace hugged your curves, teasing him with everything it didn’t quite cover. His eyes lingered on your chest, where the sheer fabric exposed the peaks of your nipples, and you caught the subtle hitch in his breath as he swallowed hard, his jaw clenching slightly.

You tilted your head, letting your expression soften into something sweetly innocent as you leaned back against the counter. The lace shifted with the movement, exposing just enough to make his jaw tighten. Then, just for a second, you parted your legs, catching his sharp inhale as you gave him a soft, almost shy smile.

When he realized what wasn't under the lace, his eyes snapped back up to yours. Without a word, he dropped to his knees, hands sliding over your thighs until they rested just above your knees.

A soft gasp escaped your lips, heart skipping several beats as you stared down at him. You hadn't expected this. Not the way his knees hit the floor like it was second nature, not the way his palms spread wide against your skin, thumb brushing over the curve of your inner thighs as he looked up to you.

He must be exhausted, that was your only explanation. But then his hands pressed harder into your thighs, and the thought evaporated. His eyes weren't clouded with exhaustion—they were focused, like he was memorizing every inch of you.

Your stomach twisted sharply, your legs suddenly feeling like they couldn’t hold you upright anymore. He was looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. That singular thought settled in your chest, blooming like a flower, before curling low in your belly, leaving you breathless.

His lips grazed your thigh in the softest of touches, like he was savoring the moment. Slowly, he pressed another kiss, firmer this time, his fingers tightening around your thighs as his grip became more insistent. He kissed you again, higher and slower, his nose grazing your skin, breath fanning over you. A deep, contented hum rumbled from his chest.

"What have I done," he murmured, his voice rasping like the words have been pulled from his chest, "to deserve this? To deserve you?"

His eyes flickered up to meet yours. "Tell me, angel, because I'd do it a hundred times over if it meant to have you like this."

You wanted to tell him everything—the depth of your love, how he made you feel like the luckiest person alive—but the words lodged in your throat.

"Aaron... I... you're just..." you stammered, voice trembling as your fingers curled around the edge of the counter.

Before you could gather your thoughts, he lifted one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder, fingers digging into your skin. His lips brushed higher, dangerously close to your exposed cunt, and a soft, broken sound escaped you.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration shooting straight through you.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" His breath was hot against your thigh. "You always have so much to say. Don’t tell me you’re out of words already. I haven’t even started.”

"I was going to tell you how—oh, gosh, Aaron—"

Your words you had been trying to string together scattered completely, replaced by a shaky moan as his mouth pressed firmly against your clit. Your breathing stuttered, your chest rising and falling as waves of pleasure coursed through you, drowning out every thought but him.

His mouth was everywhere—warm, insistent, and impossibly skilled as his tongue traced over your clit with maddening precision. He worked like a man possessed, drawing sounds from you that you didn't even know you were capable of making. He was too good at this—too good at knowing exactly where and how to touch you, too good at making you fall apart with just his mouth.

Then he shifted, his hand gripping your other thigh as he lifted your second leg over his shoulder, leaving you completely at his mercy. The sound you made was somewhere between a gasp and a moan, your hands flying to his hair as your head tipped back.

Your back pressed against the edge of the counter awkwardly, a dull ache building in your lower spine, but it was nothing compared to the torrent of pleasure radiating through you. His tongue moved in devastating accuracy, his hands gripping your thighs like he was gluing you to himself. Your chest moved in shaky breaths, his name slipping from your lips in trembling cries that you couldn’t hold back.

"If I'd known this would be my reward," you gasped, tugging hard at his hair, your words faltering as your head tipped back. "I'd have emptied your whole wallet—oh, fuck—“

His lips closed firmly around your clit, pulling firmly in a way that destroyed your sentence completely. His hands tightened on your thighs, keeping you locked exactly where he wanted you.

"You must really mean it if you're cursing now." His tongue flicked over you again, making your back arch sharply. "Didn’t know you had that in you... let’s see what else I can get you to say, angel."

A warm flush spread up your neck and into your cheeks, heat rising faster than you could control. "I didn't mean to--"

You were cut off once again as his finger slid into your pussy. Any trace of embarrassment was gone, swept away by the overwhelming need pooling deep in your core, leaving nothing but raw desire in its place.

The pressure, coiling low in your stomach, was building so fast you could barely keep up with it. Every tell-tale sign was there—the trembling of your thighs, the way your chest shuddered in shallow breaths, and most incriminating of all, the words spilling from your lips before you could even think about them.

"I love you," you gasp, the desperation clear as ever. "I love you so much, I love you—Aaron, oh—"

He groaned against your clit, his tongue pressing hard as though your words were the fuel he needed to pull you apart completely. His finger curled again, hitting that spot that made you vision blur. His eyes flicked up, and you could tell he knew exactly what was happening. He always knew.

"I know, angel," he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "Now show me just how much."

Your orgasm hit you with staggering intensity, a wave of heat and pleasure crashing through you that left every inch of your body trembling. Your breath came in uneven, stuttering gasps as his name spilled from your lips, over and over, like a mantra you couldn’t stop repeating.

"That's my girl," Aaron murmured, his lips brushing against your sensitive skin as his finger worked you through the waves.

His lips pressed on last kiss to your thigh before he straightened, his hands immediately wrapping around your waist like he predicted you'd collapse without him. As soon as he lifted you, you clung to him like your life depended on it (and in that moment you were sure it did), your arms winding around his neck.

Everything felt distant, like you were floating somewhere above yourself. Your head rested limply on his shoulder, your lips brushing against the side of his neck. Your fingers curled weakly against the fabric of his shirt, and for a fleeting moment, you weren’t even sure your body had substance anymore—you felt soft, boneless, entirely his.

Aaron tapped the back of your thigh gently. "Come on, sweetheart, up."

You tried—really, you did—but your body wasn't cooperating. Your legs dangled uselessly, and you let out a soft, half-laugh, half-whisper. "Can't."

He huffed a quiet laugh.

"Hopeless," he teased. He hoisted you up before you could process it, his shoulder pressing into your stomach as he flipped you over it. A surprised squeak escaped you, but his hand was already bracing your thigh as he started up the stairs. "I guess I'll just have to do all the work, as usual."

"You're so strong," you mumbled dreamily, your head lolling against his shoulder. "Like... disgustingly strong. It’s so hot."

Aaron laughed, his hand smacking your ass. "Keep talking like that, sweetheart and I'll start using you for my next workout routine. And I guarantee it'll be something you'll feel tomorrow."

"Mr. Hotchner!" you gasped, your voice half-indignant and half-giggling. "And you act like I’m the inappropriate one in this relationship!"

Aaron chuckled, shaking his head as he carried you into the bedroom. He lowered you down, tossing you onto the bed just hard enough to make you bounce lightly against the mattress. You let out a soft laugh, body sinking into the covers as you looked up at him.

“The difference is, I have the good sense not to say things like that on speakerphone.”

You let out a small laugh, raising your eyebrows. “And you should have the good sense not to trust me on speakerphone. Really, Aaron, rookie move.”

He stood tall at the edge of the bed, his fingers slowly loosening the top button of his shirt as he tilted his head. "“That’s fine. We’ll call it even—after you make good on that promise."

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#aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo assistant reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut

1K notes · View notes

leeechin · 3 months ago

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(ꗃ) cat and mouse [nerd sunghoon] ! ⋆ › ◟⊹

after sleeping with the cute quiet dork that sat nearby you and your friend during lunch, you find yourself playing silly games with him, due to a miscommunication. [wc: 2.5k]

CONTENT: college au! sunghoon and jay are big losers in this lol. nerd!sunghoon x fem!reader, 2010s era :p | mdni.

WARNINGS: lots of teasing, handjob, sunghoon is pretty switchy but more dom leaning, unprotected sex (big no), bigdick!hoon, fingering, slight degradation, ass slapping, etc.

lee’s note: this is a continuation of my most popular nerd!hoon fic here ! this can be read as a stand-alone!! gaeul from ive is yn’s bff NOT sunghoons dog LOL.

“you should’ve known it was a one time thing..” jay murmurs to sunghoon, who wasn’t focusing on their round of star craft, instead sulking on the couch with his legs crossed. “someone like her wouldn’t do a second time with someone like us— you to be exact.” adding on.

you had the best time of your life, choosing to hook up with the cute quiet dork unexpectedly. it was planned by you, it was just never expected of you for the plan to be executed perfectly. and you weren’t going to let another opportunity slip beneath you.

“she agreed to let me take her on a date though! and it’s only been two days.. maybe she’s busy.” he exasperates in response, opening his phone to see no new messages from you in his inbox.

“orrr maybe she wants you to text her first instead of her..” jay suggests, throwing the control at sunghoon to play the game again, sunghoon shrugs it off, putting his attention back to the next round of star craft.

you were indeed busy.. rambling to gaeul and your other roommates about the other night with sunghoon. raving about how he was ‘so so good.’ completely oblivious that you not texting him, or expecting him to text you.. is causing a minor miscommunication.

now, being back on campus, you were hoping to catch sunghoon at the campus cafeteria, and throw him teasing glances. strutting confidently in your cute denim shorts and low cut tee, you sit yourself across gaeul at the usual table. and looking up, you notice the pause in sunghoon’s movements, pathetically dropping his fork and pretending it was an accident, coughing so fake.

you let out a small giggle, kicking your feet back and forth underneath the table, forgetting that your friend was across you. “helloooooo? earth to y/n?” gaeul waves her hand in your face, causing you to finally blink.

“god, he’s such a loser.” gaeul points out, turning around to see sunghoon, try to not so obviously peek at you from his canned drink, attempting to hide his eyes from staring at you. “a hot loser though.” you correct, going back into a daydream like trance, thinking about the past weekend you spent with him.

flipping your phone open, you shoot a message to sunghoon, you hear the clatter of the metal can he was drinking from, seeing how fast he scrambled to flip open his own phone. was this really the same guy who railed you into the next dimension a couple days ago?

[you]

you know, i could see you staring at me

[hoonie (^з^)-♡]

What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.

[you]

sure sureeeeeeee

you were surely so quick to open your phone

and dropping your little drink that made a loud sound from hitting the floor, okay though! (=´∀｀)

[hoonie (^з^)-♡]

Why haven’t you reached out to me since that night?

Did I do something wrong?

—

sunghoon didn’t beat around the bush. you wanted to apologize over and over, feeling guilt flood your body for not taking the initiative, especially for someone like sunghoon, who mainly kept to himself with one friend.

but something ignited a plan of mischief in your mind, wanting to tease the fuck out of sunghoon until he ruined you completely. the urge to tests the waters until you were in the hands of his mercy. looking up from your phone, you throw sunghoon a small grin, causing him to nearly drop his phone over a pile of rice on his lunch tray.

“just go get him in a room for christ’s sake, stop eye-fucking him infront of me.” gaeul scoffs, gathering all her things together to head to her next lecture, waiting for you to follow pursuit. “go without me gaeul.”, she raises an eyebrow at you, but then sees how your gaze is stuck on sunghoon who seems to be minding his own business now, eating the food on his lunch tray.

“mind if i take a seat here?” you ask sunghoon, making him startle at the sudden sound of your voice, eyes attempting to only focus on your face, rather than the sight of your juicy tits tight against your shirt.

“yeah.” he mutters, returning to finish the last of food on his tray. “why so silent..?” you fake pout, seating yourself across from him, leaning forward slightly.

“whyareyouavoidingme.” sunghoon quickly speaks, you’re unable to catch what he was saying. “hoonie, what?” you giggle, hand reaching under the table to grab at his knee, feeling how it tensed up under your touch.

“not in the cafeteria, please.” sunghoon flinches, trying not to draw attention by avoiding to have a big reaction, feeling your hand squeeze at his sensitive knee, bumping his knee up to remove your hand. you giggle and use both of your hands to straighten up your shirt.

“answer my question, hoon.” you repeat coyly, leaning forward across the table, sunghoon looks around at the people sitting at the surrounding tables, worried they’re catching onto what’s happening between you two.

“can we— talk somewhere else— please.” he stutters, looking down to hide his now flustered face. “hmmmm.. okay.” you contemplate, looking around the direction sunghoon was. “no one’s looking at us, hoon.” adding on with a playful smile painted across your face.

sunghoon opens his mouth to say something, but you interrupted his sentence that hasn’t even started; “oops! didn’t pay attention to the time! i’ll drop by your place at some time soon!”, gathering all of your things as his eyes blink rapidly.. so dorky, and so hot at the same time.

“but what if i happen to be busy..” sunghoon manages to slip out, seeing how you got up and was ready to leave him behind at his lunch table. “i’m sure you won’t be.”

sunghoon was convinced, no he was aware you were playing games with him now. every time you self-invited yourself to his table, right when he’s about to ask you if you want to study together, you leave abruptly. and it doesn’t help with you sending him suggestive messages on his phone while he’s around jay to stir things up.

“what game are you trying to play with me?” sunghoon blurts out, looking down at his hands on his lap, fidgeting nervously as you sat down on the lunch table seat across from him for the fourth day in a row.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you fake acting confused, playing with a strand of your hair in between your fingers. sunghoon sighs in defeat, only knowing you are continuing this silly little game of yours.

“i think you do.” he frowns in response, moving on to eating the bun he had in his hand. “how long are you going to keep going on with this?” sunghoon adds on to his sentence. you sigh in defeat, sitting yourself properly.

“don’t you enjoy taking to me hoon?” you frowned, doe eyes blinking at sunghoon’s as you await an answer.

“i do. but before we can even talk properly, you leave. how long are you going to keep this game of yours up?” sunghoon finishes the last of his bun before crossing his arms together, seeming to be less nervous and shy now.

“i guess i’m done..” you sheepishly replied, trying to read sunghoon’s unreadable expression. “what’s on your mind, hoon?” you ask, noticing the silence that filled between you two for a good 10 seconds.

“you know.. we’re supposed to be studying..” sunghoon comments, seeing how you crawled on his mattress seductively to seat yourself over his lap. “but what’s the fun in only studying hoon?”

“you said you needed help on— fuck.” sunghoon groans, sentence cutting off, throwing his head back with his glasses tilting lopsided, feeling you shift on his lap, back against the headboard of his bed, as your hands clumsily fumble at the zipper of his jeans to pull out his painfully hard cock that has been straining against the tight constraints of his boxers.

“is this what you wanted from me this whole time.?” you speak softly, gathering saliva to slip past your lips, onto the center of your palm, enveloping his base around your hand, gasping when you forgot how big he was when you looked down at your hand jerking his base slowly. you found the sight infront of you to be so pleasing.

seeing sunghoon’s tilted glasses, moving your free hand to put it back in place. “stop playing with me, y/n.” his voice strains, his large hands finding purchase on both sides of your waist. he sits himself up, looking at your irresistible glossy lips that slightly parted as you concentrated on working your hand at his base.

leaning forward to place his lips over yours, you whine against him from the sudden action, hand slipping off his thick cock as your hands run under his shirt, nails trickling at sunghoon’s soft skin causing him to hiss at the contact. you pull away from the kiss to pull his shirt off and over his head, along with him removing yours, throwing the articles of clothing everywhere in his neatly organized room. your lips return to tangling messily along with his, the smacking sounds filling the silence.

your lips trail down his exposed collarbone, leaving soft marks as you attempt to go down lower, feeling him stop you, a soft whine leaving your lips when you feel one of sunghoon’s hand grasp a good handful of your ass.

“this game of yours is ending right now.” sunghoon speaks lowly, gently removing the remaining material of your undergarments, taking in the sight of how your naked body looked so good, even with the dim lighting in his room— the lamp being the only source of light.

“hurry up then hoon..! oh.” you moan at the feeling of his fingers rubbing against your sensitive clit, moving to circle at your dripping entrance, teasing you by only pushing in his fingertips a few times, before plunging two of his thick digits past it. the warmth of your walls clamping down tightly from simply just his fingers.

“you can still barely even take it.” sunghoon chuckles, his free hand brushing his strands of hair back. moving his other hand, flicking his wrist at an angle that had you seeing all sorts of colors, relishing in the feeling of his fingers reaching the spots yours could never reach.

“please hoonie..” you whine, nails digging deep into his shoulders, holding onto him tightly to avoid falling off of his lap with the sensation of his fingers dragging in and out of you rapidly, crumbling apart when you feel the familiar sensation of your orgasm approaching.

despite the advantage you might’ve had in your position of being seated over him, you were powerless, taking in what he gave you, not seeming to mind loosing dominance you once had over him a little bit ago.

“you’re close aren’t you?” sunghoon raises an eyebrow, seeing how you grinded your hips slightly, to take in his digits even further, your eyes looking down to see how well you sucked his fingers in. “mm— yes please hoon i— what the fuck—!” you protest, feeling him pull his fingers out, one of his hands holding you still in place.

you squirm around on his lap, trying to escape his grasp, gasping loudly when you feel his hand smack your ass, the soft flesh jiggling from the touch. “can’t you be more patient for me now?” sunghoon smirks, flipping you onto your back, leaning over the side to reach his drawer for a condom when you grab at his wrist to stop him.

“want you so bad, hoon.” you strain out, face flushed with desire and neediness. you hear sunghoon let out a deep chuckle in response, stroking himself at the sight of your body splayed on his mattress, legs spread.

“you make me wait several days, but you can’t even wait a few minutes.” he scoffs jokingly, pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist, aligning his tip to your entrance, wasting no more time to slide in easily- due to your wetness that trickled down your thighs.

you hear sunghoon let out a long groan at how your walls once again clamped around him tightly, glasses falling off his face and somewhere beside him on the bed, slowly bottoming out and relishing the feeling of your warm velvety walls. “fuckkk. you feel even better without a condom.” he groans, finding a pace with his thrusts, his cock dragging so perfectly and so deep into you to where you couldn’t even form proper words.

“s’ so good-!” you manage to slip out, palms pressed flat to hold tightly onto sunghoon’s back as you try to keep up with his fast, merciless pace, cock deliciously hitting repeatedly in that one spot in you that sent you spiraling.

“not talking now? had me playing a game like i was a cat and you were the fucking mouse.” sunghoon grunts, eyes meeting yours as you let out a small whimper at his words, clenching around his thick cock, causing him to let out a groan at the feeling, closing his eyes to take in the feeling of not having a condom wrapped around him. deciding to bring your other leg to wrap around his waist, moving to push the back of your thighs to practically fold you in half. you feel him press against the soft bulge of your stomach from how deep he is inside.

your high-pitched moans and mewls of pleasure fill sunghoon’s room when you take what he’s giving you, eyes rolling back as you feel yourself reaching your orgasm, arms wrapping sunghoon’s neck as he leans forward to kiss you, his lips muffling your loud moans.

“inside please.” you whisper, moving your legs to wrap around sunghoon’s waist again, watching how his thick eyebrows furrow in concentration when he twitches inside you, hips moving sloppily as he’s not too far from you— eventually stilling his movements to fill you up with his creamy white essence, seeing how you shut your eyes tightly as your chest heaves heavily, letting yourself go, whining when you feel him slip out.

“you’re nasty.” you giggle, seeing sunghoon return with a warm towel to help swipe up the mess on you. “you indulged into it, you’re not any different from me, y/n.” he laughs in response, throwing the towel into his hamper, laying himself down beside you as he pulls his boxers back on. you’re wearing one of his t-shirts, blanket pulled over as you’re ready to doze off.

“so when are you going to take me out on that date you suggested the last time i was here?” you smile, eyes half lidded as you melt into the embrace of his bigger frame.

“whenever you stop playing those silly little games.”

the both of you releasing a fit of laughter, feeling yourself slowly drift off to sleep, thinking about the next time you’re gonna have this with sunghoon.

hai i wrote this for @00kittenz and @pshbites ily both sm, i’m so glad we are friends bcuz of this silly little app. 💓💓

tag: @aewon

#lee writes ! ‧₊˚ ୨ ୧ ˚₊#enhypen smut #nerd sunghoon #sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon smut #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon x you #sunghoon scenarios #park sunghoon scenarios

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classyrbf · 3 months ago

Note

jjk men vs nipple piercings🤭

LOOK, BUT DON'T TOUCH! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...how the jjk men act when you decide to get your nipples pierced

INFO...jjk men x fem!reader, suggestive content, talks of sex, talks of touching breasts, talks of sucking on breasts, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

thank you for the request @kyymanii

GOJO

he’s completely shocked the moment you pull up your shirt and reveal them. I’m talking, jaw dropped, eyes bulging out his head. It’s nothing his six eyes have seen before. “Holy…can I touch em?” He pouts, reaching his hands out before you slap them away. “Ow!”

“They’re freshly pierced and I’m not risking you ruining them.” You shake your head. “Look all you want, Toru, but no touching!”

“Baby! Please!” He clasps his hands together. “I’ll get down on my knees! Just touch around them? Please, please, please—”

“I said no.” You pull your shirt back down and he lets out the most dramatic cry you’ve ever heard in your life.

“How long do I have to go without touching your beautiful melons, baby?” He sniffles, wiping a fake tear.

“Ew, don’t call them that. And a few months at least,” you explain.

“No!” He cries out, dramatically flopping on the bed.

NANAMI

As soon as you walk in the door, Nanami can already see the mischievous smile on your face. He knows you’re up to no good. “Kentoooo!” You call out his name, walking over to him.

“Yes, honey.” He pulls his reading glasses off and looks up from his book. And without warning, you lifted your shirt and his eyes go wide. “Oh…I—wow…”

“You like ‘em?” You giggle. He nods silently, he can’t even take his eyes off of you. “Can’t touch ‘em though.”

“What? What do you mean?” He sounds genuinely confused, blinking up at you. “Honey, you can’t just show me that and not expect to want to touch them.”

“No touching, mister. Look all you want, drool all you want, but no touching.” You pull your shirt back down carefully.

“You are such a tease.” He huffs, putting his glasses back on. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

GETO

“Sugu, baby, guess what?” You place your bag down on the bed, carefully slipping your jacket off. He walks out the bathroom shirtless, stretching his arms.

“What is it, babe?” He leans against the wall as you turn towards him and lift your shirt up. “Oh? Oh!” His brows furrow.

“You like it? Now we match.” You nod towards his pierced chest.

“Baby, you can’t get your nipples pierced.” He walks over to you, placing his hands on your waist.

“Why not? You don’t think they look nice?” You frown.

“Oh, no, they do. That’s the problem. Now I have to wait months before I can suck on your pretty tits again. You torture me, love,” he sighs heavily.

“Oh shit. I didn’t think about that.” You’re quick to realize the consequences of your actions knowing it’s all too late to do anything about it.

TOJI

You hid your piercings as best as you could from Toji in the few days that you got them. Opting on wearing a shirt everytime you had sex and he found it odd, thinking you were growing insecure. Then, one day he realized he could see piercings through one of your tight shirts. “You sneaky little shit.”

“Huh—hey!” You protest as he lifts up your shirt, exposing your chest. “Toji!”

“No wonder you’ve been wearing shirts during sex.” He stares at your tits, reaching a hand out.

“Do not touch them!” You grab his wrist. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you. You can’t keep your hands to yourself for shit!”

“Awe, come on,” he chuckles. “How do you expect me to when your tits look like that. And now that you got them pierced? I’m hard just thinking about it.” He bites down on his bottom lip.

“Look at them however you want, but hands off!” You pull your shirt down.

“As long as you keep wearing shirts like that, oh I will.” He smirks.

CHOSO

Choso sat there with his eyes closed, smiling as he waited for the surprise you supposedly had for him. “Can I open?”

“Not yet!” You smile, lifting your shirt to your chest. “Okay, open!”

He opens his eyes expecting a gift bag or a box, but nope. All he sees in front of his are your tits. Your pierced tits. He feels his cheeks heat up and looks away. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to look!”

“No, Choso! That was the surprise!” You laugh. “I got them pierced. He slowly looks back at your chest, blinking.

“They…look really, really nice.” He gulps.

“Yeah? I think so too. Can’t touch them though or they can get infected.” You pout, feeling how sore your breasts were.

“What? You mean I can’t touch them? Like at all?” He asks.

“Well, not too close to the piercing. It’s very sore,” you explain. “Boobies are off limits for a good while, baby.”

“But your boobs are my favorite.” His face scrunches up in dissatisfaction.

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batshit-auspol · 1 year ago

Text

With the sudden collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s, many of the former empire's resources were sold off to the highest bidder, and their $14 billion space shuttle program was no exception.

Seeking to recoup some of that eyewatering spend, in 1998, the "Buran" (Russia's answer to the American Space Shuttle) was offered up for sale on eBay for $10 million.

No serious offers were received - with most people assuming the listing to be a joke, until the New York Post confirmed the sale, with Russian authorities stating they "actually have two" if anyone is interested.

(Pictured: A later auction of a smaller scale Buran in 2005)

Sensing an opportunity, a group of Aussie entrepreneurs including Australia's first astronaut and the lawyer for Prime Minister Paul Keating offer to lease the shuttle from Russia, to put it on display in Australia during the Sydney Olympics.

After gaining permission from the Kremlin for the lease, in 1999 the Russian military briefly stops bombing Chechnya in order to dismantle the Buran, and it is placed on a barge to be shipped to Sydney on the (soon to be infamous for other reasons) Tampa shipping vessel at a cost of $5 million.

Once in Sydney, after a disastrous few months on display where crowds failed to flock to the shuttle exhibition featuring such compelling educational offerings as "activities is to assist in the development of issues of nutrition and hygiene at home" (an actual quote from their website) - the leasing company declared bankruptcy and washed their hands of the space shuttle completely.

The Buran Gift shop where you could buy soviet space ship themed football jerseys, in case you needed one of those

One of four people listed on the lease, described as a business partner of the Prime Minister, also claims he never knew he was a director of the company, which went on to cause a lot more problems.

This whole debacle presented a slight issue for the cash strapped Russian authorities, who had now only been paid $100,000 for the 9 year lease of the shuttle instead of the $600,000 they were owed. Eventually the decision was made to abandon the once $1 billion Soviet pride and joy in a Sydney carpark, where it resided for a year under a small tarpaulin.

Failed attempts to be rid of the shuttle included a 12 day auction hosted by an LA radio station, where listeners were offered the chance to buy the shuttle for $6 million, however all bids turned out to be pranks and the shuttle remained.

Multiple attempts were also made to sell the shuttle to Tom Cruise, with the exacerbated movie star's representatives repeatedly telling the insistent traders that he was not interested in owning a Russian spaceship.

Eventually a Singaporean group dismantled the shuttle and shipped it overseas, however Russian authorities soon reported they once again had been failed to be paid for the lease. Singaporean representatives responded that they definitely had paid for the shuttle, and that they simply couldn't remember when or how much was paid.

Representing the Russian government, Lawyer Suhaila Turani told the Wall Street Journal “I feel sorry for the Russians. They’re good in space, but they’re very naive in business.”

For a time the shuttle was abandoned in the storage yard of event company Pico, with the company owner telling the Wall Street Journal "I just want this thing out of my life" after three years of being stuck with it.

A few years later the shuttle was found by German journalists dismantled in a junkyard, and it was then bought and shipped to Germany to be put on display a museum, so all's well that ends well (except they dropped it from a crane while trying to set it up, but it polished up okay).

#auspol #australia #russia #history #fun facts

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brunchable · 4 months ago

Text

How's retirement, Bucky? | Bucky Barnes x f!reader.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Themes: Funny. Bucky trying to find things to do to kill time, while also being a menace to Y/N and the neighbours. Prequel to 'Ouch, My face.'

Summary: Bucky decides to retire and leave the super hero world behind, but now he doesn't know how to be normal citizen.

A/N: Just another scenario tha rudely popped into my head. . .

Bucky Barnes was retired.

It still felt strange, even after months of settling into a life of quiet mornings and unhurried afternoons. He had fought in wars, spent decades as an agent of chaos, and dedicated years to redemption and healing. Now, here he was—waking up whenever he pleased, making breakfast in a house that didn’t have bullet-proof glass windows or a panic room, and trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his day.

Today, like most others, started off simple enough: a run through the neighbourhood, a cup of coffee, and a lazy scan of the news. He’d even managed to fix the leaky faucet that had been bothering you for weeks, earning a soft kiss on the cheek as a reward.

But then… the day stretched on. There were no missions, no tactical planning, no world to save. Just the quiet ticking of the clock and the gentle hum of suburban life around him.

So, Bucky set his sights on something—or rather, someone—far more interesting: annoying you.

And thus began the saga of Bucky Barnes’ Retirement Phases.

Phase 1: The Handyman Hero Phase

Duration: One Month

Bucky started off strong, becoming the ultimate handyman of the household. Everything was fair game for improvement. Leaky faucets, creaky floorboards, wobbly shelves—if there was a screw to tighten, Bucky was on it like a well-oiled machine.

“Bucky, what are you doing?” you asked one morning, sipping your coffee as you watched him carefully measuring the distance between each picture frame on the living room wall.

“Making sure they’re exactly one inch apart,” he said without looking up, his voice deadly serious.

“Why?”

“Because last night, I noticed this one—” he pointed to a frame on the far left “—was slightly off-center, and it’s been bothering me ever since.”

You blinked. “Bucky, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, Y/N. It’s one and a quarter inch apart. Do you know what happens when things aren’t balanced?” He gave you a haunted look, as if you’d just suggested destabilizing the world order.

“Chaos,” you muttered.

“Exactly.”

Within weeks, Bucky had rebuilt half the house, repainted the walls (twice), and installed a state-of-the-art security system that even Tony Stark would envy. You came home one day to find the couch moved three inches to the left, the coffee table completely gone (“I dismantled it; we don’t need it”), and Bucky seriously contemplating whether the kitchen would look better with marble or granite countertops.

“Bucky,” you said slowly, trying to remain calm, “I’m begging you—stop fixing things.”

He blinked at you. “What do you want me to do then?”

You panicked. “Anything. Just—find a hobby!”

He gave a solemn nod, as if you’d just entrusted him with a new mission. “Okay. A hobby. Got it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. If only you’d known what was coming next.

Phase 2: The Google Scholar Phase

Duration: Two Weeks

With his newfound free time, Bucky discovered the internet. And when Bucky Barnes discovers the internet, chaos ensues.

It started innocently enough. You’d come home to find him glued to his laptop, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“What are you doing?” you asked, setting down your bag.

“Research,” he said ominously, fingers flying over the keys.

“Research on… what?”

He glanced up, his eyes wide. “Did you know sharks have been around longer than trees?”

“Uh—”

“And that banana slugs can grow up to 9 inches long?” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s a whole website dedicated to weird animal facts. I’ve been reading for hours.”

And so, you were subjected to two weeks of nonstop trivia.

“Hey, Y/N!” he’d shout from the kitchen. “Did you know an octopus has three hearts?”

Or: “Did you know cows have best friends?”

And: “Do you want to hear about the deepest point in the ocean?”

“Not really—”

“It’s called the Mariana Trench, and it’s seven miles down!”

You tried banning Wikipedia, but he just switched to obscure forums. You blocked YouTube, and he found a random chicken fact blog. The worst part? He’d share his newfound knowledge with anyone who’d listen.

“I’m calling Sam,” you muttered one evening after hearing Bucky recite the entire history of the humble potato to the mailman. “You need social intervention.”

Phase 3: The Home Décor Perfectionist Phase

Duration: Two Exasperating Weeks

Denied access to his newfound internet pursuits, Bucky turned to interior design. You were caught off guard one Saturday morning when he asked, “What do you think of paisley?”

“What’s a paisley?”

“Pattern. I’m thinking of reupholstering the couch.”

“Bucky, no—”

Too late. Within days, every room was a different colour. You came home to find polka-dotted curtains in the bathroom, and he’d somehow managed to install a chandelier in the laundry room.

“Bucky, why is there a 10-foot mirror in the hallway?”

“It makes the space feel bigger.”

“Bucky, this is a two-bedroom house!”

He paused, squinting at the living room wall. “I think the polka dots need to go.”

You nearly wept with relief when he announced he was moving on to the garden.

Phase 4: The Amateur Detective Phase

Duration: One Overly Suspicious Month

After redecorating the entire house, Bucky set his sights on the neighborhood.

“Y/N, did you see that guy across the street?” he whispered one morning, peering through the blinds with a pair of binoculars.

“That’s Mr. Henderson. He’s eighty-five.”

“Yeah, and he’s up to something. No one goes to the mailbox that often.”

“Maybe he likes getting his mail?”

“I’m telling you, something’s not right.” He tapped the binoculars. “I’m gonna get to the bottom of it.”

And so began Operation: Neighborhood Watch. Every delivery truck was scrutinised. Every dog walker received a full background check. The poor Girl Scouts who came to sell cookies left looking slightly shell-shocked.

The Girl Scout Incident: When Bucky Barnes Met Thin Mints

The Girl Scout incident started out innocent enough—just a kid selling cookies to the neighborhood. But when Bucky Barnes answered the door, things took a turn.

It was a sunny Saturday morning. You were in the kitchen, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when you heard the doorbell ring. Before you could even get up to check, Bucky’s voice echoed from the living room.

“I got it!” he called out, already making his way to the front door.

Curious, you peeked around the corner just in time to see him open it. Standing on the porch was a sweet-looking little girl, no more than nine or ten, decked out in her green uniform, clutching a clipboard and flashing a bright, eager smile.

“Hi, mister!” she chirped, clearly undeterred by the stern look on Bucky’s face. “Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies today?”

You watched as Bucky’s expression softened just a bit, his head tilting to the side in confusion.

“Cookies?” he repeated, as if she’d just offered him nuclear launch codes.

“Yep!” She held up a laminated chart with pictures of the various cookies, pointing to each one with a tiny, rainbow-colored pen. “We have Thin Mints, Tagalongs, Samoas—uh, I mean, Caramel deLites—”

He squinted at the chart, clearly trying to make sense of it all. “Why would you need to sell cookies?”

You nearly face-palmed. Oh no.

The girl’s enthusiasm didn’t waver. “It’s a fundraiser! To support our troop activities and trips.”

“Fundraiser?” Bucky’s voice dropped suspiciously. “Who’s your troop leader?”

The girl blinked, a little taken aback. “Uh, Mrs. Patterson?”

“Uh-huh. And how many boxes of these so-called ‘cookies’ are you supposed to sell?”

Her smile wavered just a fraction. “Um, as many as possible?”

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “And where does all this money go?”

“Bucky—” you tried to interrupt, stepping forward, but he held up a hand without looking back, eyes still locked on the bewildered Girl Scout.

“It goes to our troop!” she answered nervously, glancing down at her clipboard as if for reassurance. “For badges and supplies and—”

“Supplies,” Bucky echoed, his tone suddenly sharp. “What kind of supplies?”

“Uh… arts and crafts…?” she stammered, clearly starting to get uncomfortable.

“Arts and crafts?” He leaned in, dropping his voice to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Or something else?”

You saw the poor girl’s eyes widen, her grip tightening on her clipboard as if she was contemplating using it as a shield.

“Bucky, stop,” you hissed, stepping forward to intervene. But he was on a roll now.

“Who gets the money, huh?” He narrowed his eyes, peering down at her like she was an enemy combatant. “Do you get it?

“Or does it go to some mysterious ‘troop leader’ who’s hiding behind a desk somewhere, raking in profits from innocent cookie sales?”

“M-Mister, it’s just cookies,” she squeaked, glancing nervously at the boxes stacked beside her. “We just wanna go camping this summer.”

“Camping?” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. “And what kind of ‘camping’ are we talking about here? Deep-woods recon training? SERE training?”

The girl blinked up at him, clearly having no idea what he was talking about.

“Bucky, she’s nine!” you practically shouted, rushing over to save the poor child from what was rapidly escalating into a full-blown interrogation.

“But Y/N, this could be—”

“It’s not a conspiracy, Bucky!” you snapped, turning to the girl and giving her what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “Sweetie, how much for a box of Thin Mints?”

“Uh… f-five dollars?” she stammered, still eyeing Bucky like he might suddenly sprout fangs.

You reached for your wallet, pulling out a ten-dollar bill and handing it to her. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you, ma’am!” she squeaked, stuffing the money into her pouch with trembling hands.

You shot Bucky a glare. “Apologize.”

He crossed his arms, looking mulish. “But—”

“Bucky.”

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Uh… sorry… for, um… asking about your troop leader and, uh… the money laundering?”

The girl blinked up at him, clearly not following.

“Bucky!” you hissed, elbowing him sharply.

“I mean, sorry for… for… being weird,” he mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

The girl gave a hesitant nod, glancing back at her stack of cookies. “Um… would you like another box, mister?”

Bucky frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe. Which one’s the best?”

“Bucky—” you started, but he was already leaning down, listening intently as the girl launched into a detailed explanation of the flavour profiles of Samoas versus Tagalongs.

Twenty minutes later, Bucky was the proud owner of a dozen boxes of Girl Scout cookies, which the girl somehow managed to upsell him into buying. The look of relief on her face as she walked away was palpable.

You turned to Bucky, hands on your hips. “Really, Buck?”

“What?” he said defensively, clutching his armful of cookies. “I needed to make sure it was legit!”

“Uh-huh. And that’s why we now have enough cookies to feed an army?”

He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I guess I got carried away.”

“Just… try not to scare any more children, okay?”

“Hey, I was just being thorough,” he muttered, glancing down at the boxes. “Besides… these ‘Samoas’ are actually pretty good.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. Because only Bucky Barnes could turn a simple cookie sale into a full-scale interrogation—and then end up buying out the entire stock.

“Whatever you say, Bucky. Whatever you say.”

He gave you a sheepish grin, holding up a box of Thin Mints. “Want one?”

“Sure,” you sighed, reaching out to grab a cookie. Because, at the end of the day, this was Bucky Barnes: ex-assassin, super-soldier, and now… terrifyingly dedicated Girl Scout cookie connoisseur.

The Girl Scout incident, unfortunately, didn’t mark the end of Bucky’s neighbourhood watch endeavours.

“Hey, Y/N, that’s the third day in a row Mrs. Higginson has gone jogging past our house,” Bucky muttered a few days later, scribbling furiously in his notebook.

You glanced over from your spot on the couch, raising an eyebrow. “Uh-huh,” you replied absently, already wondering if now would be a good time to text Steve for a little ‘rescue mission.’ “Maybe she likes jogging?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not natural. It’s a cover for something. Probably espionage.”

“Bucky, she’s seventy.”

“Exactly. No one that age moves like that. She’s gotta be a retired agent.”

“Or she’s trying to stay in shape?”

“Or she’s spying on us.” He narrowed his eyes, peering through the blinds. “Maybe she’s HYDRA.”

“Bucky, she brought us homemade banana bread last week.”

“Which tasted suspiciously good,” he muttered darkly, tapping his pen against his chin. “I’m keeping an eye on her.”

It didn’t stop there. He began obsessively tracking patterns—when neighbors took out their trash, when they left for work, who picked up their mail first thing in the morning. His conspiracy board rivaled the one you’d seen at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, complete with photos, string, and a suspiciously large map of the neighborhood.

“Y/N, I need to talk to you.”

You blinked, looking up from your book. “What’s up, Buck?”

He leaned in, his voice low and serious. “Did you know Mrs. Patterson’s dog peed on our lawn three times this week?”

“I—what?”

“And Mr. Thompson left his house twice yesterday. Twice.”

“…is that a crime?”

“Yes. Who leaves the house twice in one day? He’s clearly up to something.”

“Like… groceries?”

Bucky frowned. “No. Something bigger. I saw him walking to his car, get this—without any bags.”

“Maybe he forgot something?”

He shook his head, eyes narrowed. “It’s a diversion tactic. I’m keeping a close watch on him.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re stalking the neighbours.”

“Of course not!” He paused. “I’m… observing. For science.”

“For science?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Buck. I’m putting my foot down,” you finally managed. “You need to stop this. The neighbours think we’re crazy. You’re scaring the kids and… the mailman won’t come to the door anymore.”

Bucky looked genuinely confused. “Why not?”

“Because you interrogated him about his route last week!”

“He was being shady!”

“He’s a mailman!”

There was a long pause as you stared each other down, Bucky looking defiant and you looking exhausted. Finally, you sighed and ran a hand through your hair.

“Buck… I know retirement is hard. But you need a new outlet. Maybe something a little less—”

“Paranoid?” he offered, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. And a little less terrifying for the neighbours.”

He sighed deeply, like you’d just asked him to hang up his shield all over again. “I was just… trying to be useful.”

Your heart softened immediately. Because that was what it all boiled down to, wasn’t it? The man who’d spent his life fighting wars and doing battle against his own mind was now left trying to figure out how to fit into a world that no longer needed him to save it.

You walked over, placing your hands on his shoulders and giving him a soft smile. “You’re always useful, Buck. Even if you’re not interrogating the mailman about federal postal regulations or… spying on seventy-year-old retirees.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “I might’ve gone a little overboard, huh?”

“A little,” you agreed with a grin. “Maybe you should find something else to watch over.”

“Like what?” he asked, looking genuinely curious.

You bit your lip, thinking. “I don’t know… Maybe get a pet? You could… I don’t know, babysit a cat or something.”

Bucky blinked at you. Then his eyes lit up like you’d just handed him the Holy Grail of retirement activities.

“A cat,” he murmured slowly, as if testing the word. “A cat.”

“Yes, a cat,” you repeated cautiously, wondering if you’d just unleashed some new kind of havoc on the house. “You could train it to… I don’t know, not scratch the furniture or something.”

“Or… I could train it to keep an eye on the pigeons,” he muttered to himself, looking thoughtful.

“Wait, what?”

But Bucky had already gone inside, the gears in his mind clearly turning. You shook your head, deciding to let him have this one. After all, how much trouble could he really get into with a cat?

Phase 5: The Pet Phase (aka Operation: Find a Feline Friend)

Duration: Ongoing, with Fur Everywhere

You didn’t think he’d take it seriously. Until you came home the next day to find Bucky sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, a small, white ball of fluff curled up in his lap.

“This is Alpine,” he announced proudly.

You stared at the kitten, then at Bucky, then back at the kitten. “Bucky, what… why…?”

“You said get a pet,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So I did.”

And that’s how Alpine, the grumpy old woman in a cat’s body, became part of your household. Bucky spent weeks trying to train him (“Sit, Alpine! Sit! … Okay, fine, just glare at me, that works too.”), set up elaborate obstacle courses (“Alpine, jump! No, don’t walk away—okay, you know what, just do your thing”), and spoiled her rotten with toys and treats.

With each phase, Bucky’s retirement became a new adventure. And while it drove you absolutely crazy at times, you couldn’t help but smile when you saw Bucky lying on the couch, Alpine curled up on his chest, both looking completely content.

“Retirement isn’t so bad, huh?” you teased one evening, curling up beside him.

He hummed thoughtfully, scratching behind Alpine’s ears. “I don’t know… I think I could use a new project.”

You groaned, but your groan turned into a laugh when he grinned at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh no,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “No more projects, Barnes. You’ve nearly redecorated us out of house and home, scared the mailman half to death, and—”

“Don’t forget the gourmet cookies,” he interjected with a cheeky smile.

You shot him a playful glare. “I’m trying to forget the cookies, thank you.”

“Aw, come on. I think I finally got the recipe down. I’ll just try one more—”

“No!” you practically shouted, your voice echoing through the living room. Alpine, unbothered, merely lifted her head, gave you both a disinterested look, and went back to napping.

Bucky chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. No more cookies. No more redecorating. No more… scaring the Girl Scouts.”

“Or spying on the neighbors.”

“Or spying on the neighbors,” he agreed, still looking a little too amused for your liking.

You sighed, leaning back into the couch and resting your head on his shoulder. “You know, most people take up hobbies like gardening or painting in retirement.”

Bucky nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, but those aren’t as exciting.”

“They’re not supposed to be exciting. They’re supposed to be calm. That’s the whole point of retirement, Buck.”

He glanced down at you, his gaze softening. “You really think I’m the ‘calm’ type, doll?”

You snorted. “No, not really. But it would be nice if, just once, I didn’t come home to find you plotting to build a moat around the house.”

“Moats are an excellent defense mechanism,” he said matter-of-factly. “But okay, I get it. I’ll tone it down.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You promise?”

“Scout’s honor,” he said, holding up his right hand. The glint in his eye, however, told you he was already planning something new.

“Bucky…”

“What?” he asked, all innocence. “You don’t trust me?”

“Not for a second.”

He chuckled, then pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “Alright, no more projects. I’ll just focus on Alpine. She’s a full-time job anyway.”

You glanced at the cat, who was now sprawled out like she owned the place. “You’ve turned her into a diva, you know.”

“He’s just refined,” Bucky said defensively. “He’s got standards.”

“Uh-huh. Like the way he refuses to eat unless you hand-feed her?”

“Refined,” Bucky insisted.

“And how she sleeps on your side of the bed and shoves you off with her tiny, evil paws?”

“Selective.”

“And how she sits on the counter staring at you like she’s plotting your demise?”

“Observant.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’ve created a monster, Bucky.”

“Eh,” he said with a shrug, smirking down at you. “I’ve handled worse monsters. She’s a good one. Besides,” he added, scratching Alpine’s head fondly, “she’s family.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you smiled up at him. “Yeah, I guess she is.”

There was a comfortable silence as you both sat there, content in the peaceful moment.

Then Bucky cleared his throat, and you glanced up to see him shifting slightly, like he was working up the nerve to say something.

“So… I was thinking…” he began slowly.

“Bucky.”

“No, no, hear me out,” he said quickly, raising his hands as if to ward off your incoming refusal. “What if we… I dunno… made a baby?”

You blinked, certain you hadn’t heard him correctly. “What?”

“A baby,” he repeated, his voice steady, though there was a telltale blush creeping up his neck. “You know, a little human—our human. Someone we can train to take over the world… or at least keep me entertained.”

Your jaw dropped open. “You want to have a baby—because you’re bored?”

Bucky gave you a sheepish grin. “I mean, I was thinking it could be a good project… long-term investment… future troublemaker…”

“Bucky,” you interrupted, placing your hands on his shoulders and staring at him, bewildered. “Are you seriously suggesting having a child like it’s another DIY project?”

He shrugged, looking as nonchalant as ever, but his eyes were soft and serious. “Maybe. But I was also thinking it’d be nice to have something, or someone, that’s just… ours. A mix of you and me. Something that isn’t tied to the past, or fighting, or… all the other stuff.”

You stared at him, trying to wrap your mind around the sudden turn the conversation had taken. “You really want a baby, Bucky?”

He nodded slowly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. I do. Don’t get me wrong, Alpine’s great and all, but…” He sighed, his smile turning tender. “I just think it’d be amazing to have something more. I’ve spent so much of my life taking orders or fighting ghosts. But starting a family with you? That’s something I get to build. Something that’s ours.”

You bit your lip, heart swelling at his words. Despite the completely unromantic way he’d suggested it, there was sincerity in his gaze, a yearning for something deeper than fixing leaky faucets or buying out the Girl Scouts’ entire cookie stock.

“And you think you’d be a good dad?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Please,” he scoffed, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’d be the best damn dad. I’d teach our kid how to throw a proper punch by age five, dismantle a toaster by six—”

You laughed, shaking your head. “So, what you’re saying is… you want to raise a tiny super-soldier?”

His grin widened. “Hell yeah.”

“Bucky, we are not turning our child into a mini-Winter Soldier.”

He pouted dramatically. “Not even a little bit?”

“Not even a little bit,” you affirmed with a chuckle. You leaned in, resting your forehead against his. “But… maybe we could talk about it. You know, actually talk. Not just… plan a tactical baby mission.”

Bucky’s eyes softened as he brushed his thumb along your cheek. “Yeah. We can talk about it.” He paused, then added with a mischievous glint, “After we practice a little more.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Oh my God, Bucky.”

“What?” he asked innocently, his grin widening. “Practice makes perfect, right?”

You shook your head, letting out a breathy laugh. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you love me for it,” he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

“Yeah,” you whispered when he pulled away, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I do.”

You glanced down at Alpine, who was still sprawled across Bucky’s lap, looking utterly uninterested in the conversation. A baby. You hadn’t really thought about it seriously before, but now that Bucky had put the idea in your head… you couldn’t help but wonder.

There was a brief pause as Bucky gazed at you, his expression growing thoughtful. “You know,” he began quietly, “after that whole Girl Scout cookie fiasco… I kinda started thinking… I’d really like to have a daughter.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “A daughter?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softening. “That kid was just so… brave, you know? Standing there, staring me down even though I was being a total idiot. It reminded me of you—fierce and unafraid. I couldn’t stop thinking… what if we had a daughter like that? Strong, smart, and completely capable of putting me in my place when I get out of line.”

You felt your heart clench at his words, his quiet admission making your chest ache. “You want a little girl because she’d keep you in check?”

“That,” he said, smiling softly, “and I think I’d like the challenge. I’ve spent so much of my life dealing with people who only saw me as a weapon. I just… want to prove that I can be something else. That I can be gentle… and kind… and love someone unconditionally. The way I love you.”

You reached up, cupping his face gently. “Bucky, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“I know,” he murmured, his gaze warm and intense. “But I still want to try. And I want to be the kind of dad who isn’t just a protector, but a friend. Someone who’d sit through endless tea parties and help her build pillow forts… and buy all the Girl Scout cookies she wants without scaring anyone.”

You laughed softly, tears stinging your eyes at the picture he painted. “You’d be a great dad, Bucky.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice low and hopeful.

“Yeah,” you whispered, smiling up at him.

There was another beat of silence before Bucky leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “So… when do we start?”

You felt your cheeks heat, a mix of laughter and surprise bubbling up in your chest. “Bucky!”

“What?” he asked, his smile as innocent as ever. “I’m just asking. I mean, you know I’m a man of action. Gotta have a timeline.”

“Oh my God,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands as Bucky laughed softly, his arms wrapping around you.

“Okay, okay,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. “No rush. We’ll take it one day at a time, sweetheart. But just know… I’m ready whenever you are.”

And somehow, you knew this next phase—whatever it looked like—was going to be the best one yet.

× × × ×

Ten months later

The soft glow of the nightlight bathed the nursery in a warm, golden hue, casting gentle shadows on the pale blue walls. The room was still, save for the quiet creak of the rocking chair as Bucky swayed back and forth, holding the tiniest bundle of joy in his strong, yet tender arms.

His daughter, barely a week old, was nestled against his chest, her small, delicate breaths in sync with the steady rhythm of his own. Her tiny fist curled around the fabric of his shirt, as if she knew just how safe and loved she was in her daddy's arms.

Bucky hummed quietly, the familiar melody of an old lullaby drifting into the air. It was a song his mother used to sing to him when he was no older than his sweet little girl was now. The words came softly, almost whispered, as if they were sacred—meant only for his daughter.

“Darling, you're my bloodYou have my heartbeatYou have my heartbeat, beating loud,”

His voice was gruff, yet softened by emotion as he sang, the gentle rocking lulling his daughter further into her peaceful slumber. His fingers brushed through her soft, downy hair as he looked down at her with nothing short of awe. How had he, of all people, gotten so lucky?

He had been through so much darkness in his life—seen and done things he would never be able to forget—but here, in this quiet moment, everything seemed to fade away. The world outside could wait. Right now, his whole universe was cradled in his arms, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes felt at peace.

Unbeknownst to him, you stood at the door, your heart swelling at the sight before you. You had come to check on them both, worried that Bucky might need help with the baby. But when you saw him there, rocking your little girl and singing so sweetly, you couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you leaned against the doorframe, content to watch the love of your life in this vulnerable, beautiful moment.

Bucky was a natural, even if he didn’t believe it. You had seen the worry in his eyes when you first brought your daughter home—the fear that he wouldn’t be good enough, that he wouldn’t know what to do. But here he was, proving himself wrong in the most heart-melting way possible.

The lullaby continued, each note filled with so much love it made your eyes mist over.

"You are my lighthouseA peak of light from the dark cloudsI've lived under my whole life. . .And there's nothing I won't do for you."

Bucky’s voice cracked just a little on the last line, overcome with emotion as he gazed down at his daughter and carefully wiped his tears away.

She had his eyes—bright and full of wonder, even when they were closed in slumber. He couldn’t help but trace the delicate features of her face with his gaze, committing every tiny detail to memory.

Finally, you couldn’t resist any longer. You stepped into the room quietly, not wanting to startle him. Bucky looked up, surprise flickering across his face when he saw you standing there. His expression softened when he realised you had been watching him.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked, his voice low so as not to wake the baby.

“Long enough,” you replied, your smile widening as you walked over to him.

Bucky blushed, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I’m not exactly a professional.”

“I beg to differ, I think you’re the best dad in the world.” you whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his temple.

Bucky’s heart swelled at your words. He never imagined he would be here—sitting in a nursery, holding his newborn daughter while the love of his life stood beside him, calling him the best dad in the world. It still felt like a dream.

“She’s so small,” he murmured, looking back down at the baby. “So fragile. I didn’t think…I didn’t think I could love someone I barely knew this much.”

Your hand gently rested on his shoulder as you gazed down at your daughter. “You’ve got a big heart, James. I always knew you’d be amazing as a father.”

He glanced up at you, eyes soft and full of affection. “You’re the amazing one.”

You reached out to gently stroke the baby’s cheek, and Bucky leaned into your touch, feeling more complete than he ever thought possible.

“I never thought I’d have this,” he admitted after a long silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “A family. A reason to feel…whole again.”

You knelt down beside him, resting your head against his shoulder. “You deserve it, Bucky. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

Bucky kissed the top of youe head, holding you close as he continued to rock your daughter. The world outside could be chaotic and unforgiving, but in this room, in this moment, everything was perfect.

× × × ×

Baby at six months

The house was peaceful, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow through the windows. You were out running errands, leaving Bucky home with their now six-month-old daughter, who was currently kicking her chubby little legs and babbling on her playmat. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she reached for her favorite stuffed bear, the one Bucky had given her the day she was born.

Bucky sat beside her, legs crossed, watching her every move like she was the most fascinating thing on the planet. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a playful whisper.

“You know, blossom,” he began, glancing over his shoulder dramatically as if checking to make sure Y/N wasn’t around. “Your mom thinks she’s the boss.”

Their daughter let out a high-pitched squeal, and Bucky grinned.

“Right? Can you believe it?” he continued, keeping his voice low as if sharing the biggest secret in the world. “She thinks she’s in charge around here. But between you and me, we know the truth.”

His little girl giggled again, her tiny hands grasping at the air as if she was agreeing with him.

“See, you and I?” Bucky said, tapping his finger gently on her nose, “We’re a team. We know how to get things done. I mean, just look at us—surviving nap time, figuring out how to stack those weird little ring toys, and we don’t even need to look at the instructions. Meanwhile, your mom still thinks I can’t fold laundry properly.”

He paused for dramatic effect, raising his brows. “Can you believe that? Laundry. I fought in World War II, and she’s worried I’ll mess up the towels.”

His daughter let out a delighted shriek, her little legs kicking excitedly. Bucky reached over and tickled her belly gently, making her burst into even more giggles.

“Oh, yeah, I know you think it’s funny,” Bucky chuckled. “But trust me, your mom’s got some pretty high laundry standards. I tried to fold one towel, just one, and she came over with this look like I’d committed a crime. 'Bucky, that’s not how you fold them!' she said. And I’m standing there like, ‘It’s a towel, not a top-secret mission.’”

He leaned in closer, as if telling her something top-secret. “She doesn’t know this, but I might’ve folded them wrong on purpose so I wouldn’t have to do it anymore.”

His daughter cooed, her tiny hand reaching out to grab his finger, which she promptly brought to her mouth to chew on. Bucky let her, his heart melting at the sight. She was his little sidekick, always hanging on his every word, even if she didn’t fully understand yet.

“And don’t even get me started on the bedtime routine,” Bucky continued, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Your mom’s got this whole plan—bath, story, lights out. Meanwhile, you and me? We’ve got a better plan. We chill, we rock, maybe sing a little. You get all cozy, and bam—out like a light.”

“Bababababa,” His daughter babbled something back at him, her little voice full of enthusiasm, and Bucky nodded seriously.

“Exactly. That’s what I’ve been saying. We’ve got this figured out.”

He scooped her up from the mat and held her close, her head resting comfortably against his chest as he walked them over to the couch. He sat down, cradling her in his arms, and continued his lighthearted rant.

“And the thing is, she’s always right, which drives me crazy. Like, the other day, she told me you were gonna try to crawl soon. I thought, ‘Nah, she’s too young.’ But then what happens? Two days later, you’re scooting around like you’ve got places to be. I swear, your mom’s a psychic or something.”

Bucky gazed down at his daughter, who was now looking up at him with those wide blue eyes that never failed to melt his heart. She let out a happy gurgle, and Bucky chuckled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“You know I’m just kidding, right? Your mom’s the best. She takes care of both of us.” He sighed, feeling a rush of affection as he thought about Y/N. “Don’t tell her, but I’m pretty lucky to have her. She keeps me in line.”

Just then, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house, and Bucky’s head shot up in mock panic.

“Uh-oh,” he whispered to his daughter, his eyes wide with exaggerated worry. “The boss is back. Don’t say anything.”

You appeared in the doorway, raising an eyebrow as you saw Bucky and the baby cozied up on the couch. “What are you two up to?” you asked, a knowing smile on your lips.

Bucky gave you his most innocent look, bouncing your daughter gently in his arms. “Oh, nothing. Just hanging out with my best girl here. Right, darling?”

The baby let out a little squeal, clearly delighted by the attention.

“Mmhmm,” You said, stepping closer and giving Bucky a playful look. “You haven’t been filling her head with nonsense, have you?”

“Me? Never,” Bucky replied, trying to keep a straight face. “We were just talking about how great you are. Isn’t that right, kiddo?”

Bianca, oblivious to the conversation, giggled and reached for you, and took her from Bucky’s arms and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Well, if she grows up thinking she’s in charge, I’ll know who to blame,” You teased, casting a glance at Bucky.

He grinned, leaning back on the couch. “Hey, she’s gotta learn from the best.”

You smiled, shaking your head in mock defeat. “You’re lucky she likes you so much.”

Bucky stood and wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder as you both looked down at your little girl, now happily nestled between you. “I’m lucky to have both of you,” he murmured softly, kissing the side of your head.

And in that moment, with his two favorite girls in his arms, Bucky couldn’t imagine a better kind of luck.

1K notes · View notes

aakeysmash · 3 months ago

Text

you manage to make college!sukuna take yuuji trick or treating

college!sukuna masterlist

You barely put your foot inside the apartment when you hear sniffling coming from the kitchen.

“Please ‘Kuna, I can’t go alone,” Yuuji mumbles, moving a single piece of spaghetti around his plate.

Sukuna huffs, standing up from the table. "Can't you just go with that kid you invited over the other day? Meg... Meg something?"

"No! I already told you I can't, like 3 times!" Yuuji starts, getting progressively more frustrated.

"Don't throw a fucking tantrum, Yuuji, you know I hate that shit," the older grits out, cleaning his plate.

"But-"

"Hello...?" you say, peeking inside. Two sets of eyes fix on you, and silence engulfs the three of you for what feels like the longest three seconds ever. "Y'all are weird," you whisper, getting inside and going to the fridge. Yuuji waves at you, trying to be polite even if you can see he's on the brink of tears, before the two brothers in the room with you resume their conversation.

"Brat, I'm not coming. I have assignments," Sukuna sighs. He doesn't turn around, he knows Yuuji is pouting and he might or might not have lied. Well, not completely: he does have to turn in two different projects for his economics class, but he's almost finished. He did say he would take a double shift the night Yuuji is asking him about though. They're tight on money, but it's not like he wants to admit that to his little brother. Is this what guilt feels like?

The little pink haired boy sniffles, then nods. "It's okay," he slurs out, cleaning after himself in silence. For the next 5 minutes, you can hear a pin drop from how silent it is. Sukuna keeps on washing dishes, Yuuji keeps on cleaning the table.

You're still standing by the fridge, trying to mind your own business, but seeing the whole scene makes the hair on your nape stand up. The two siblings would have the same stoic and unmoving face if it wasn't for Yuuji's lip trembling imperceptibly from time to time.

"I'm going to my room. Sorry for having bothered you, 'Kuna," the little one says, opening the door to the kitchen softly, and closing it even softer. Sukuna inhales strongly, putting his hands on the counter in front of him and closing his eyes. You feel like if you breathe harder than what a mosquito does, he'll crash out.

He pats his pockets repeatedly, searching for something. He takes out a pack of cigarettes and turns around to reach for the lighter you keep in the first drawer, when your voice startles him. Seeing him startled startles you too. He's never startled. What is going on?

"I thought you quit."

"Mind your own fucking business," he snarls, snatching open the drawer.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" you reply, matching his rudeness.

"Can you shut the fuck up? Damn," he continues, glaring at you, taking one big drag of the pressed tobacco between his fingers.

"No, I'd like to eat a normal dinner with both of you today, so are you going to tell me what is going on or do I have to ask your crying nine year old little brother?" you hiss out, snatching the cigarette he just lit and tossing it in the sink, still wet from when he washed his dishes, effectively turning it off.

He's on you in a second. "Don't piss me off, woman," he says, trapping you between the sink and his body. He's towering over you, and he has to bend down to look at you properly. "Stay out of it," he says, menacingly. You gulp, but you're not finished. And most importantly, you know him. You've been living together for forever, or maybe it feels like it because you're always together, either for Yuuji or because... wait, why are you always together?

"I'll stop when I feel like it, Sukuna," you say, getting closer to his face. Your voice is clear, your nose an inch from his own. You look into each other's eyes so intensely that if you had the power to shoot lasers he'd be blind by now. You're about to speak up again, when he headbutts you. Hard.

"Ouch!" you yelp, punching him in the arm as hard as you can. He just traps your fist in his, squeezing until you wince, then lets go, smirking.

"Don't play with me, girl," he says while getting off of you. You pout, rubbing the spot he hit on your forehead.

"Asshole," you mumble.

"Mh? What'd you say?"

"Nothing, sir," you respond mockingly, assuming the position of a soldier. "You know what, I'm going to report you to the police for domestic violence," you continue, still pouting.

He throws you a single cube of ice. You raise an eyebrow.

"That's all we have, make it work. I ain't got the money for court," he shrugs.

Something clicks in your brain. You know he sees it. You see it from the way his eyes widen waiting for you. "Is this what this was about?"

He sighs, then sits on the floor across from your figure, which is still standing by the sink. You raise the ice cube on your forehead. This feels nice.

"Yuu asked me to accompany him trick or treating on Halloween."

You wait, but he's not looking at you anymore. He seems distant.

"Oookaaay, and...?" you push. He sighs again. His hand repeatedly passes through his pink locks.

"I picked up a double shift for Halloween like... last week. I can't lose the money right now, or I won't have enough for rent on the 1st," he grits out, keeping his head low. You hum. You throw the melted ice cube in the sink near the cigarette. The image makes you smile. It looks like you two.

You get down on the floor too, the tip of your sock clad feet grazing his.

"You could've asked me, you know," you say, trying to sound nonchalant. He scoffs.

"Baby, I know you're whipped, but I didn't think you wanted to be a sugar mommy at twentytwo," he says smirking. You try kicking him, but he just gets out of the way, snickering. "I'm not asking a girl for money, that's fucking humiliating."

"I'm serious, idiot. If you didn't want the money I could've taken Yuuji for you, it's not like it's the first time," you tell him, rolling your eyes. "He tried to be strong for you at the end, I know you know," you add, delicately this time, Tentatively. He stares at you and sighs for what feels like the hundredth time. He grabs your foot again and manspreads, just to position your calf on his thigh. This position feels incredibly intimate, and you try not to stiffen. You two have never been the cuddly type of roommates, but he looks like he could use a little bit of physical contact.

"It wouldn't be the same. He wants me there because all of the other kids are with their families, even if he doesn't want to tell me so. Satoru texted me about it this morning. He's taking the two brats he basically adopted too," he rambles. Sukuna is not one to open up, so you just let him talk, absorbing everything like a sponge.

"Couldn't you like... move the appointments up by a few hours?" you ask.

"I could, but I still have two fucking assignments for Halloween. If I don't turn them in I'm fucked, and I need the scholarship," he grits out. His thumb caresses your exposed ankle mindlessly. Shivers run up the entirety of your leg.

Suddenly, an idea pops into your mind.

"But what if you had an amazing roommate who oh so happened to love your brother so dearly that could turn said assignments in for you if it meant to see him happy?" you say, looking at him expectantly.

"I can't ask you that, come on," he rolls his eyes. You jump up, almost falling over him in the process. "I'm not doing that for free."

"I knew you were a bitch," he growls. You just whistle, going toward the door. He squeezes his eyes hard, before opening them, jumping up too and grabbing your wrist before you can exit the kitchen.

"What do you want?"

You grin.

That's how you find yourself holding a badly sponged muscled up Tarzan-Yuuji's little hand while going from door to door, your cute yellow Jane dress on.

"Might have given you a concussion the other day, doll," Sukuna, dressed as a monkey, grumbles next to you. You laugh, and he throws you a mean glare.

Yuuji leaves your side and runs up to his friends, screaming "Trick or treat!" with them, beaming. He looks back at you from time to time, smiling, offering you something every time the people he rings the doorbell of give him more than one candy.

You suddenly feel an arm drape over your shoulders roughly, before getting slammed into a hairy side.

"Thank you, y'know," Sukuna mumbles near your ear, pressing your head in a way where you're not able to see his expression. Then, he pushes you away. "Not for the fucking costume, that's for sure," he adds, disgusted, scratching his neck and arm at the same time. You just stand there, mouth gaping a little, in front of him.

"Cat got your tongue, sugar mama?" He tells you after a while, grinning.

You scowl, fake mad, before chuckling. "Who knew you were capable of saying thank you?"

"Don't get used to it."

#college au #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #big brother sukuna au #sukuna ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna fluff

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nikkento-writes · 7 months ago

Text

Babysitter - Part 2

Pairing: dad!Toji x babysitter!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~3.8k

cw: age gap (reader is 21, Toji is in his 30s), explicit language, cheating, pregnancy, smut – PIV sex (doggy style)

Summary: You deal with the aftermath of your summer babysitting job turned adulterous summer scandal.

Author’s Notes: Thanks for all the kind words and support on Part 1 of this! I hope you enjoy part 2, and who knows, maybe I'll write a part 3 one day lol. Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

Taglist: @scorpiosugar @diegojeanne @f4irygard3n @cvixmei @soniiyi - more tags in the comments

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You blink away the tears in your eyes, holding the pregnancy test, hoping that somehow, you’ll blink away the second line indicating that you are indeed pregnant.

“No way.” Chiyo waits for you outside the stall, the apprehension in her voice apparent.

“Yes. I’m…” There’s a lump in your throat you have to swallow before you finish your sentence. “Pregnant.”

Your best friend’s silence on the other side only makes you panic more, but you don’t blame her. What can she really say to make any of this better? To stop your world from turning upside down?

She whispers your name quietly, at a complete loss for words. Then, she clears her throat, sounding as if she’s fighting tears herself. “I’m going to buy you a melon pan. Just…wait for me here, okay?” It’s the only consolation she can offer you in this moment, huddled in a public restroom of a convenience store; you appreciate the effort, nonetheless. You wait for her to leave, completely alone now. As soon as she’s gone, you sob into your hands.

It's not that you oppose being a mother. You’ve always imagined handing a positive pregnancy test to the love of your life with the biggest smile on your face, excited to raise a family together. Ideally, this would have happened sometime in the future, once you’ve established yourself as a full-fledged adult. Not like this: twenty-one years-old, less than a year until graduation without the slightest clue what you’re doing with your life. Worst of all, the father isn’t your husband, a boyfriend, even a friend. It’s Toji Fushiguro, the dad of the little boy you babysat over the summer, the husband of the kind woman who hired you. You still haven’t forgiven yourself for your adultery, the guilt eating away at you since the start of that lecherous summer fling. And now, you have this pee-on-a-stick to remind you how incredibly reckless you were to get involved with him in the first place. How undeniably irresponsible you were to have unprotected sex with a married man. Sure, it was the best sex you’ll probably ever have in your life. But was it worth it?

You wrap the pregnancy test in toilet paper, tossing it in the trash bin. Knowing that no good will come out of sulking in the 7-11 bathroom any longer, you finally exit the stall, washing your hands clean at the sink. Your phone vibrates in your back pocket as you stare at your reflection in the mirror, fixated on your belly, wondering what it will look like round and full of life. It buzzes again, snapping you out of your trance. When you check to see who’s messaging, you almost drop your phone out of shock.

Somehow, someway, the universe has it out for you. Because in the most perfectly disastrous timing ever, Mrs. Fushiguro decides to contact you.

~~~

A week later, you’re sitting on the train, heading to the Fushiguro household. Your stomach is in knots, both from anxiety and from the morning sickness. Sweat beads on your forehead, skin sticky against your clothing in this hot weather. The closer you approach your destined stop, the more and more nervous you get, almost convinced to call the whole thing off.

Believe it or not, Mrs. Fushiguro did not contact you to confront you about the dirty deeds you did with her husband. Instead, she messaged you in dire need of a babysitter once again. She spares you the details, asking if you could meet her in person to better explain herself. And for whatever reason, you agree.

You haven’t come up with a solid plan yet on what you want to do about your little predicament. So far, the only people that know are Chiyo and your parents, who, after the initial shock of it all, have been surprisingly supportive. They advised you to take the rest of the term off, which you were able to get arranged quickly through your school. This gives you several weeks to decide what you need to do. With one issue resolved, it leaves you with the next, and the most pressing: whether or not you should tell the father. The last thing you want is to break apart the Fushiguro family. You’re fully prepared to raise this baby as a single mother, which, with the help of your parents and best friend, seems doable. Besides, you’re not even sure if you want Toji to be involved considering his complete lack of interest in his other child, Megumi. Despite that, you believe that as the father, he has the right to know. Can you gather the courage to actually tell him?

Still lost in your train of thought, you hop off to walk to the house. When you arrive, you spot Mrs. Fushiguro already outside, leaning against her car in the driveway with little Megumi in her arms. They both smile upon seeing you, warming your heart. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for whatever is to come.

“Hello Mrs. Fushiguro,” you greet her, bowing politely, too shy to meet her gaze. “How are you?”

“Doing really well. Thank you for coming on such short notice.” She lets her son down, who steps towards you until he’s hugging your knee, cooing. “I wanted to talk to you in person about my complicated situation.”

“Is everything alright?” you ask, unable to resist kneeling down to meet Megumi at eye level, making funny faces at him.

She giggles. “Oh, everything is great! The divorce finally went through and I’m living with my new boyfriend now, who’s been the absolute best, especially with Megumi.”

You make a shocked expression, mouth agape, exaggerated for the kid’s entertainment, though you’re pretty much stunned yourself. “Divorce…?”

“Yeah! Toji and I have been separated for a long time now. I’m sorry I didn’t mention that over the summer. You’re still so young after all, no need to rope you into adult things.”

You almost bust out laughing at the irony, but you hold your tongue, continuing to listen to her.

She sighs, flipping her long, beautiful hair behind her shoulders. “That being said, I still care about the guy. I mean, he is the father of my child. Without me or Megumi there on a regular basis, the whole house has gone to shit. It seems like he’s actually taking this divorce pretty hard. So, I want to hire you as a babysitter for my ex-husband. Just for a little while until he can get back up on his feet.”

Another shocked face, which makes Megumi laugh while dread sinks into your chest. “Babysitter…?”

“Babysitter, housekeeper, whatever you want to call it. You did such a wonderful job with him over the summer, even while you were taking care of Megumi! I don’t know what you were feeding him. Whatever it was, he was definitely a little bit nicer when you were around.”

Lewd flashbacks replay in your mind of Toji eating you out sloppily, slurping up all your pussy juices in every room of the house. You focus on the ground, too ashamed to look at her. “Mrs. Fushiguro, I don’t know if I can do this.”

She squats to your level, reaching for your hand, holding it gently in hers. “I know this is a lot of ask. You’re the only one I can rely on for this. Please.”

A sense of déjà vu hits you. There’s desperation in her tone and it tugs at your heartstrings the same way it did when you first met her a few months ago. It doesn’t help that Megumi is now squeezing the index finger of your other hand, eyes full of curious wonder, grip surprisingly strong for such a young child. Would she be pleading with you like this if she knew the truth about you, Toji, and the baby? Even though they were separated during this whole ordeal, it doesn’t make what you did any better; you still decided to do it regardless of their marital status.

Maybe you can use this opportunity as a way to atone.

You finally look at her, giving the most convincing smile you can muster, trying your best to ignore the wave of nausea washing over you. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

~~~

Mrs. Fushiguro asks you to start at noon the following day, giving her enough time to notify her ex about your temporary employment. When you use the set of keys she gave you to open the front door, you step inside cautiously, not sure what to expect. You’ve been dreading this impromptu reunion all night, wondering if you could even face him.

It’s a mess inside, heaps of dirty laundry scattered all over the furniture, fast food wrappers and empty ramen bowls littered on the kitchen counter. There’s a stench lingering in the stale air in here and you almost think the worse, but Mrs. Fushiguro had warned you about this. Seeing it in person is more heartbreaking than disgusting. Toji really is taking this divorce hard. It wouldn’t be right to burden him with more life-changing news, right?

You begin by gathering all the trash into garbage bags, flattening any cardboard to recycle. By the looks of it, he’s been living off junk food and protein bars for the past month. The refrigerator is near empty, aside from a questionable take-out container in the very back, which you end up dumping along with everything else. You make it your next task to get groceries after you load the washing machine.

When you return from the store, Toji remains absent. Nerves prevent you from leaning against the bedroom door to listen for any signs of him in there. His ex-wife mentioned that he goes out to gamble at the horse races whenever he’s short on cash, so it’s likely he’s there. Still, you’re anticipating his return, mentally preparing yourself for how you’ll behave around him. Given your current circumstances, you are serious about turning over a new leaf. No more funny business with him. Absolutely not.

It’s near dinnertime now and you’ve miraculously accomplished tidying the house and doing his laundry all within a few hours. You even managed to cook soup for dinner, full of hearty beef and fresh vegetables, something to provide nutrients compared to the processed food he’s been consuming lately. You’re stirring the pot when you hear keys jingle from outside the front door. He comes in, clad in a tight-fitting black shirt that accentuates his muscles and grey sweatpants that don't leave much to the imagination. A plastic bag is slung behind his shoulder, clearly from a convenience store. Despite his concerning diet, his physique is still impressive as ever. Just one glance at him has you fluttering below your belly, replaying the erotic memories you share together. You turn to face him, standing up straight, feigning confidence while you fret internally. He looks at you, brow raised slightly, a small smirk forming on his lips.

“Hello sir,” you greet him, bowing politely. Acting as if he’s a total stranger and not the man who rocked your entire world over the summer, now with evidence to prove it.

He sets the bag on the counter, revealing a couple of ramen packets inside. “What’s with the formalities?” he asks, grinning. “If I remember correctly, you were screaming my name nonstop the last time you were here.”

Heat rushes into your cheeks instantly, not surprised by his vulgarity, though still embarrassed. You clear your throat, trying to stay strong. “I’m here to work. Nothing else.”

He walks towards you, his stature casting a daunting shadow as he steps closer and closer, towering over you. His voice is low, borderline threatening to a point that has you trembling. “So you don’t want me to fuck you anymore?”

You swallow hard, composure wavering. “That’s right.” Even you don’t fully believe it when it comes out of your own mouth, how can you expect him to?

There’s a strange look in his eyes, almost like he’s disappointed by your response. He turns his back to you, mumbling something about taking a shower. You watch him enter his bedroom, hearing him clear as day before he shuts the door with a dull thud. “I guess you don’t want me either.”

~~~

A week into being Toji’s live-in housekeeper, the two of you figure out a routine together that involves minimal interaction. You wake up in the morning to cook breakfast, eating it quickly and leaving the rest for him while you go out. You use this time to go for a walk, meet with Chiyo or your parents, do some grocery shopping, or just sit at the nearby park, enjoying the sun with your baby, who grows little-by-little each day.

Toji is usually gone the whole afternoon, either working out or gambling, so you’re able to do chores back at the house, like cleaning his room. He doesn’t return until dinnertime when tension seems to be at its highest. A big reason for that is because he’s made it a habit to eat right after his shower, shirtless and with his legs crossed on the floor, displaying a perfectly visible outline of his manhood. It’s distracting, to say the least. Chiyo mentioned the other day how you can have an increased libido during the first trimester. That’s definitely proving itself now.

Aside from the half-nakedness, something else surprises you about him. The two of you mostly avoid conversation with each other, eating in silence at the dining table while sneaking furtive glances whenever you get a chance. But he never fails to mutter, “Thank you for the meal,” before washing the dishes at the sink, retreating back into his room when he’s done. It’s the tiniest act of consideration that makes you wonder what’s going on in his head.

Tonight you sit across from each other as usual. You just finished eating the chicken katsu you made for dinner, along with a couple of side dishes you prepped earlier in the week. His abs look especially spectacular today and you find it harder than usual to stop peeking at them.

“You’re gonna burn a hole through me with the way you’re staring,” he says, chewing his last bite.

Shit, caught red-handed. You quickly look down at your empty bowl, mumbling an apology. “Sorry. I just…I can tell your hard work is paying off.”

“Yours too. The house has never been cleaner. And the food has never been better.” He’s looking directly at you, a genuine smile on his face. “Thank you.”

It’s no good. Your hormones are raging, sexual desire courses through you, all from that stupidly handsome grin and a silly little compliment. How did you ever think you could resist him?

You stand up, grabbing everything from the table. “I’ll do the dishes,” you offer, walking them to the sink, trying to calm down.

It’s no use, though. He sees right through you.

He gives you only a minute alone before he follows you, caging you between his big arms, your back to him, his mouth hot on your ear. “Let me help you.”

You let out a frustrated huff, already unraveling from his proximity. The smallest jut of your hips and there it is, his erection pressed to your ass, throbbing and even more massive than you remember it. “Toji, we can’t,” you whine, not making any attempt to separate yourself from him.

He slides his hands around your hips, pulling you in closer, rubbing his rock-hard cock against you. “I know you want it. I know you want me.”

And he’s right. You do. You want him with you, around you, inside of you. In all the ways he’s had you before, in new ways he’s never had but you’ve fantasized about. There’s no denying it anymore. You want him. You want him so fucking bad.

He takes you right there at the kitchen sink, bent over with your grip tight on the edge of the counter, pounding away at your wet, needy cunt. Neither of you bother to remove your clothes completely, Toji’s sweatpants shrugged down his thighs just enough, yours pooled around your ankles, soaked panties at your knees. “Fuck, Toji!” you moan, sticking your ass out to meet his thrusts.

His fingers find your clit, rubbing slippery circles around it. “Say it,” he grunts, increasing the pace.

Drools leaks out from the sides of your lips, too fucked out to process what’s he’s asking you. “What?”

“Say you want me,” he demands, massaging your swollen bud so deep, you feel it all the way down to your fucking toes.

“I want you. I want you, Toji!” you respond breathlessly, squeezing him tight with your orgasm.

“Fuck, I missed you. Missed my good girl.” He continues to fuck you, slowly now, relishing every second of being inside you. “Always so fucking creamy for me, fuck.” He pulls you up to embrace you from behind, fingers still pleasuring you, his other hand at your chin to face you towards him. The two of you kiss passionately, lips smacking, tongues swirling. So sloppy and wanton that it puts you on the verge of another orgasm, completely succumbed to pleasure.

You sleep with him in his bedroom after several more orgasms and a big one of his own, wrapped comfortably in his arms, with his cock and creampie inside you the rest of the night. For the first time in a while, you’re oddly at peace.

~~~

Your reckless decision making has led you into another troublesome scenario. Fortunately, you haven’t had any morning sickness the entire first week of your employment at the Fushiguro household. Unfortunately, it decides to come back today. There’s no way you’ll be able to make it to the bathroom near your room, so you have no choice but to hop out of Toji’s bed and run into his, clutching onto the porcelain bowl until it’s all out. You rinse your mouth off at the sink, hoping Toji didn’t hear any of it. But you know all too well by now that luck is never on your side.

He’s sitting up against the headboard, watching you come out of the bathroom. “Did you just puke in there?” There’s a hint of concern in his normally blunt tone.

You nod, bending down to retrieve your underwear and pants off the floor, avoiding his gaze.

“Are you sick?” he asks, the worry even more obvious now.

Shaking your head, you respond, “No, I just…I’m feeling a little nauseous, that’s all.” You walk towards the door, still not willing to look at him. “There should be leftovers in the fridge, so help yourself to breakfast. I’m going to lay down.”

He calls out your name. “Wait – ”

You ignore him, closing the door shut behind you, letting the tears fall down your cheeks as you retreat into your own bedroom, muffling your sobs into a pillow. After your wild romp last night, this bout of morning sickness has swiftly brought you back to reality. You’re still harboring the secret growing in your womb from the man who gave it to you to begin with.

There’s a firm knock on your door, startling you. “Hey, it’s me.”

In this split-second, you decide to stop with the lies and finally tell the truth. You open the door, Toji standing in front of you fully clothed in his usual attire, a serious expression on his face. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

Eyes still puffy from crying, you take a deep breath. “I’m pregnant. And you’re the father.”

His mouth parts the slightest bit, no words coming out of it. The silence seems to linger on forever. You fill it by rambling all the thoughts that have been swimming in your head the last couple of weeks. “Before you start freaking out or anything, I’m telling you so that you know. I don’t expect you to be involved. I’m perfectly willing to raise this child on my own. And besides, I won’t be completely alone. I have my family to help me, my friends too. I’ll be totally fine. This baby is going to be well taken care of, I’ll make sure of it. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just didn’t know how. But I feel better already because this has been stressing me out. It’s all going to work out okay? I think. I hope.”

After the long spiel, he stares down at the floor, jaw tight, mouth opening and closing, unsure how to respond. Eventually, he says, “I have to go.”

When he leaves the house, you crawl into your bed, bawling until there are no tears left for you to cry.

~~~

You wake up in the late afternoon to an enticing aroma wafting from the kitchen. It’s been hours since you’ve been in bed, moping about how poorly everything went with Toji. His reaction left you devastated. While you always expected to do this alone, hearing his negative response to it hurts more than you anticipated it to.

Curious, you make your way into the kitchen, shocked to find Toji standing over the stove, stirring a pot, the soothing scent of soup surrounding you. “What’s going on?” you ask, noticing a plethora of fresh vegetables laid out on the counter, along with a big bottle of prenatal vitamins and various snacks.

He turns the heat off, covering the pot with a lid. “I’m cooking,” he answers, facing you with a grin on his face. “Bone broth is a good source of calcium. And you need to keep eating lots of veggies so our baby is strong, like me. No more of this instant ramen shit.”

“I thought you were upset,” you say, stepping closer to him.

“I know. I’m sorry I left like that. I was shocked at first, I’ll admit it. But I started to get excited." He takes your hands in his. "I have a lot of regrets in my life, but being a father isn’t one of them. Being a bad father is. I want to change. I need to change. For Megumi. For our new little one. For you.”

Strangely enough, you believe in his heartfelt declaration. You smile at him, letting him go to stand in front of the stove, taking a whiff of the comforting aroma of the hot soup he made for you, happy tears welling in your eyes. He hugs you gently from behind, nuzzling his nose to you. “I’m going to do it right this time, okay? I know I can do it with you.”

As Toji caresses your belly, kissing you softly along the neck, you feel the weight that’s been heavy on your shoulders ease up. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

#toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #jjk smut #cw pregnancy

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