#or you can hold back on that front & give the reader just enough to understand those things as they pertain to the main plot

[supernotnatural2005]

'Ride em' Cowgirl'

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY, swearing, fluff.

AN: Here it is, the requested part 2 of my 'Giddy up Cowboy' Drabble. I'm blown away by all of the love and support on my work lately and had to give you something tasteful in return for all your lovely appreciation. I hope you enjoy ☺️

Tagging: @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog and @rizlowwritessortof

Main Masterlist

The ride back to the motel feels like an eternity. The engine of the Impala hums beneath you, a comforting sound you’ve grown used to over the past few months of hunting with the Winchesters. But tonight, that familiar hum does little to calm the storm that’s building in the air between you and Dean.

Sam sits in the passenger seat, blissfully unaware of the electricity crackling in the space between you and his older brother. His head is turned slightly, eyes focused on his phone as he scrolls through something, probably researching the next hunt. He’s completely oblivious, lost in his world, but you and Dean? You're both caught up in something far more dangerous.

You shift in your seat, the leather of the Impala's interior squeaking slightly beneath you, but it’s nothing compared to the way your body is reacting to the proximity of Dean, to the memory of the words you said back at the bar. "I think I can ride him better." The double meaning of the comment, the tease that you’d laid on him, was still hanging heavily in the air.

You glance at him, his profile visible from the corner of your eye. His jaw is tight, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too hard, and you can’t help but notice the way his bicep flexes with the tension. The urge to reach over and touch him, to bridge that last bit of space between you, is almost overwhelming.

Sam’s voice pulls you from your thoughts as he glances over his shoulder, a slight grin on his face. “You two are awfully quiet. You sure everything’s alright?”

Dean clears his throat, his voice low, a little too steady. “Yeah, we’re fine, Sammy. Just tired.”

Sam nods, not catching the edge in his brother’s voice, and goes back to whatever he’s reading on his phone. You, however, catch the way Dean’s eyes flicker to you—a brief glance, but enough to make your pulse quicken. You feel that familiar heat rise between you both, the kind that only the two of you understand.

Every mile feels like it stretches on forever. You catch Dean’s gaze again, and this time, his eyes linger a little longer, something raw and unspoken in them. You know he’s struggling to keep his composure, just as you are.

Finally, the motel comes into view. The neon lights of the sign flicker, the soft hum of the parking lot filling the quiet car. Sam lets out a loud yawn and stretches, oblivious to the way the tension between you and Dean has reached its breaking point.

“Man, I’m pretty beat.” Sam says, giving you both a tired smile as he climbs out of the car. You and Dean follow suit, both of you stepping out with a quiet but unmistakable urgency.

Dean’s hand brushes against yours as he walks you to your room—just a few doors before his and Sam’s, and it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine. You both stand there for a moment, looking at your motel room door in front of you, the unspoken weight of everything you've both been avoiding for so long finally sinking in. 

Sam walks on ahead, muttering something about needing to “hit the hay,” and you both watch as he disappears into the room before Dean turns to you, his voice low and controlled. 

"You weren’t kidding earlier, huh?”

"No," you say, your voice just above a whisper, because you can’t take it anymore, and it’s enough to send the heat between you two spiralling. "I wasn’t.”

Dean doesn’t need any more encouragement. He moves first, closing the distance between you two with a single, decisive step. His lips crash against yours, hard and desperate—like he’s been holding back everything he’s been feeling for far too long. 

His mouth is warm and insistent, and you open up to him instinctively, your hands finding their way to the open fabric of his flannel, pulling him even closer. 

You moan into the kiss, clinging to him as if he were your last source of oxygen. Consuming what he was willing to give as long as he was willing to give it. Dean’s hands slide down to your hips, gripping hard enough to leave small fingerprint indents when your tongue slides past his lips. His responding groan is low, bordering on a growl, and he walks you back against your door, his hands unable to stay in one place for too long. 

His touch, his scent, and his delectable mouth were quickly descending you into a state of ecstasy. You were already hooked and desperate for more. 

“Inside.” You mumble against his lips, and he offers you a curt nod before he breaks the kiss, allowing you a moment to breathe as you turn to unlock your door. He’s already pressing himself against you from behind, his hands wandering from your hips to boldly cupping your breasts over your thin t-shirt, beneath your jacket.

It takes you until your third try before you finally stumble inside. Dean quick to kick the door shut with his foot as he ravishes your neck with wet kisses and thumbs at your pebbled nipples poking through your lace bra, risen from both his ministrations and the cool air.

You push back against him and gasp at the feel of his obvious arousal through his jeans. His reaction to you sent a thrill of excitement through you as well as a feeling of pride swelling in your chest. 

"Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.” Dean pants into your neck as you roll your hips against him. He presses into you with each roll, making his eyes roll back and his hands move to find purchase on your hips again. 

“I think I have some notion.” You quip with one last push back against him before turning in his arms. You offer him a sly smile and look up at him through your lashes as you trail and hand down his firm chest and over his toned stomach before cupping him through his jeans. His hips instinctively thrust into your palm, and you grant him some relief by adding pressure and rubbing your hand along his length. 

His gaze is stormy as he looks down at you, watching you watch your own hand grope him in wonder. It was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen. Suddenly, he pulls your hand from him, the feeling both incredible yet frustratingly not enough, and you look up at him in question, but he’s quick to reclaim your lips again. 

The urgency from before is back with a vengeance as you claw at each other’s clothes, peeling away layers upon layers between heated kisses, until finally, you’re left in nothing but your panties, and Dean in his boxers. 

His gaze roams over you unapologetically, taking in every curve and scar; your heaving breasts on display with a hunger you’d never seen in another man's eyes before. But there was more behind his desire. There was a look of longing, of wanting this for so long and finally having it, simmering within those pools of green. And you understood. Because you felt the exact same. 

As if in sync, you reached for one another again. Dean’s hands framed your face as he dipped down to kiss you again. This time softer, more tender, making you all but melt into his arms. He walked you backwards, never parting his lips from yours, until the backs of your thighs met the edge of the mattress. 

You pulled away from him then and climbed up onto the bed, with him quickly following, crawling up and over you like a predator stalking his prey. Your head fell back onto the pillows as his firm body covered yours, his mouth quickly attaching itself to your neck, kissing, sucking, and nibbling at the tender flesh until you were bucking your hips up against him. 

He smirks into your neck, loving the fact you were so reactive to him, even by the simplest of touches. He decides to give you some relief and trails his mouth down your body, stopping at your chest. He waited for you to look at him, his warm breath fanning over your perked nipple, and only when you finally meet his gaze does he wrap his lips around your pebbled nub. 

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, watching his eyes fall shut as he sucked and nibbled at your nipple. The sensation was almost overwhelming, and your hips ground for any kind of friction to relieve the building ache between your legs. Your hand slid into his hair, pulling harshly at the soft spikes atop his head, making him groan, and the vibration sent tiny shocks of pleasure throughout your nerve endings. 

He moves onto your other breast, the wetness of your abandoned nipple cooling against the air conditioning unit, softly buzzing in the background, the feeling only adding to the incredible pleasure his mouth was giving your other breast. 

“Fuck, Dean.” You gasp, just as his left hand trailed down your side and sneakily slipped into your panties. Two of his thick digits were quick to find your clit and you shuddered from the contact. He begins to circle your bundle of nerves slowly, much like the motion of his tongue against your nipple. 

You fist his hair again, moaning loudly as he dips an experimental finger into your soaked hole, gathering your wetness and resuming his attention back on your clit. 

“You’re so wet, baby.” He grunts against your chest, frowning in concentration as he picks up his pace. “That all for me?” All you could do was nod and then cry out as his fingers rubbed you faster, sending jolts of pleasure down to the tips of your toes, which soon curled as your body began to tense. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You repeated it like a mantra, the coil in your belly wound tight and ready to spring. 

“That’s it, baby. Cum all over my fingers.” He husks in your ear, and you look down your body, watching the muscles in his forearm dance with effort from the maddening pace of the hand buried deep in your underwear. The sight was your undoing, and your whole body stiffened. Mouth dropping open in a silent scream, the sound trapped in your throat as your body convulsed and shuddered against him. 

Dean’s hand began to slow with your descent into bliss, coming to a complete stop once you deflated back onto the mattress, completely boneless. 

“Holy shit.” You huffed with an incredulous chuckle because, holy shit. You’re not even sure you’d ever come so hard with your own hand. And if just his fingers could bring you so much pleasure, it left you wondering what else you were in store for. Although you didn’t have to wonder for much longer when Dean shifted beside you and you felt the straining press of his cock against your thigh. 

You turned to him and cupped his cheek with your right hand, pulling him into a slow and sensuous, grateful kiss. He hummed happily against your lips as you rolled him onto his back. His arms coming up to wrap around you, to keep you close as you took his breath away. 

With him distracted, you grasped his tented length, massaging him as best you could through the fabric of his boxers. He broke the kiss and dropped his head back against the pillows, eyes shut tight as you relieved some of the pressure. 

You smiled devilishly at him and rose to your knees beside him. He watched you in wonder as you peeled the last item of clothing from him, helping you by lifting his hips. Your eyes widened in both shock and amazement at the sight of him. Your mouth watered and pussy throbbed, desperate for a taste, for the feel of him inside you. 

You gathered him in your hand, relishing in the warm weight of his impressive cock. Dean released a deep sigh at the feel of your delicate hand slowly, teasingly pumping him. He was as hard as granite, throbbing in your hand, and you marvelled at the way your simple movements had him panting, wanting and desperate beneath you. 

Laying comfortably between his parted thighs, You ran your tongue along the length of him. The deep, responsive moan from him giving you the encouragement to do it again and again until he was slick with your saliva and fisting the sheets beneath him tight. 

“Holy.. shit.” Dean gasped as you took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his silky head before sinking your mouth onto him. The action brought with it a salty tang and a variety of praises and profanities. Between your legs, a new wave of wetness coated your already ruined underwear as you worked him over in your mouth and with your hand. 

Looking up at him, he was a sight to behold. His skin glistening, chest heaving, sinful lips parted, and eyes squeezed shut. He was beautiful in every scenario it seemed. 

“Oh God.” Dean’s eyes snapped open then, his body tensing, and he quickly sat up, pulling you from him. You looked at him alarmed, wiping at the spit collected at the corners of your mouth. 

“What? What’’s wrong?” You lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, waiting for him to take a few deep breaths before he released a breathless chuckle.

“You were about to make me cum.” He told you honestly, and you blushed a little, but wondered why he’d stopped you? 

“And?” You giggled softly, though squeaked, when he suddenly manhandled you into his lap. You had to bite back a groan at the feel of his hard length bumping against you through your panites. 

“And? I was promised a ride.” His voice is low and sultry, but his face is filled with his usual boyish, giddy excitement. You giggled and shook your head, realising you’d somehow fallen for a complete dork. 

You cup his scruffy cheeks in your palms and plant a warm kiss against his lips, the smiles on your faces quickly fading as your tongue swept against his, reigniting the ache between your legs and the need for more. 

You reluctantly pull away and slide off of him, removing and kicking away your underwear before climbing back onto him. He welcomes you eagerly, claiming your mouth once again with a kiss filled with passion and ignition. 

You slowly guide him onto his back and pull away breathless. His hands slide from your back to your hips as you sit up, grinning down at him. His green eyes look up at you, dark and entranced, roaming over every inch of you in amazement. 

You bite down on your lip as you settle against him, the wet seam of your pussy covering his length, making you both groan at the contact. You roll your hips experimentally, your head falling back as you steadied yourself against his firm stomach, picking up your pace until you were slick and ready. 

“Fuck sweetheart. You’re a dream.” Dean says breathlessly and with an honest gaze. You smirk down at him, slowing your roll, and he watches you. 

“I think it’s time I make do on that promise.” You tell him. “Think I can last the full 90 minutes?” You tease, and Dean chuckles, rubbing lovingly at your thighs, hips, and up your sides. 

“I have no doubts, baby.” 

In one swift movement, you rise up on your knees and grasp his length, angling him just right before you sink down onto him. Both of your mouths drop open in respective pleasure. You’re slick enough to take him most of the way, only rocking gently a few times until he’s fully sheathed. 

“Fuuck.” He moans, and it’s long and drawn out because Dean can’t quite fathom the feeling of you wrapped tightly around him. He’s been to heaven, hell, and everything in between, but this was something else entirely. The best pie he’d ever tasted, the feeling he got behind the wheel of baby—all things paling in comparison to this moment.

Once the initial stretch of him blurred from pain into pleasure, did you then rise up and slowly slide back down, gasping in almost disbelief at the incredible feel of him inside you. You repeated the movement again and again until you built up a steady rhythm, rocking, rolling, and grinding your hips to find the most intense spots of pleasure. 

All the while Dean let you ride him, watching in awe as you did in fact “ride him better." However, to give you a challenge, he bucked his hips up into you, meeting you thrust for thrust. You held on tightly, eyes rolling back at the much harsher thrusts hitting you just right, but you weren’t about to let him win. 

With one hand firmly planted on his chest, you leaned back, reaching your arm around to fondle his balls. Dean jolted in surprise but moaned deep and loud as you gently caressed them in your palm. You smiled in triumph as he relinquished his thrusts, and you sped up your movements, feeling his balls draw tight. 

“Oh, fuck, oh shit.” His words were breathless and strained as his body tensed, brow furrowing, hands gripping tight onto your hips as he came. Hard. You felt his warm seed coat your walls along with a long, deep groan as you circled your hips, milking every last drop. 

You grinned down at him as he collapsed back onto the bed, panting hard and weightless. You could feel him still twitching inside you, and you involuntary clenched at the sensation, making his head pop back up to look at you. 

His eyes were wild, his chest flushed red, and wordlessly he slid a hand over to your lower stomach, his thumb pressing against your sensitive clit, making you gasp. Dean’s eyes closed at the feeling of you clenching around him but began circling your clit with the digit, watching on in admiration as you slowly rocked your hips into his hand, chasing your own sweet release. 

Dean was a generous lover, but you’d given him a run for his money in that department tonight. It was only common curtesy he had you come again. Even if your pussy was all but strangling his sensitive cock, it felt incredible—a sensation he’d never felt before. He could feel himself hardening again at just the sight and feel of you, surprising you as much as himself. 

“Oh God.” You cried out, your walls fluttering around him as you ground into his hand, his thumb flicking against your clit, harder and faster until you were shaking above him. Then he thrust his hips up, once, twice, three times, and you were falling apart. Your body tensed and twitched above him, your mouth falling open in a silent cry as the white hot pleasure of your orgasm rippled through you.  

“Shit.” Your eyes popped open when you felt it. Warmth spread inside you for a second time as Dean cried out in painful pleasure. Holy shit was all that you could comprehend as he tensed beneath you. 

Shocked silence filled the room as you both stared at one another, catching your breaths, until a chuckle of disbelief slipped from his lips, triggering your own laughter.  

You fell onto his chest, letting his soft cock slip from you with a slight hiss from him. You soothed a hand a long his chest, planting a sweet kiss there before leaning up and coming face to face with him. 

"So, was I…Better?” You wondered curiously, whilst absently playing with his mused, sweat slicked hair. Dean grinned in response and cupped your jaw tenderly. 

"Oh, you so were." He replied before pulling your lips to his. 

AN: Okay so this one was just pure smut! 😂 but let me know what you think? Was this a good tie up for these two 👀

[xhyjin]

BORN TO DIE (pt 1)

| megumi fushiguro x sorcerer reader! x toji fushiguro

| the first time (and probably the last) you meet toji fushiguro, you realized two things; he didn’t smile like his son and he definitely wasn’t here to give you his blessings.

| #angst #fluff #tojifushiguro #megumifushiguro

| roughly 2k

| ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ : lowk was under pressure while writing this because i got so many votes on the poll for this story that i was scared of messing it up ><

__________________________________________________

dating megumi fushiguro came with a lot of struggles, such as not knowing much about his past, but it also came with many advantages—like his uncanny ability to help you when you struggled with a particular curse technique. he had a way of understanding your frustration without you even needing to explain it, guiding you through the basics of jujutsu like it was second nature.

“ugh, i swear, when you’re here, i can suddenly do it, but when you’re not, i keep struggling,” you groan, slumping to the ground with frustration written all over your face. megumi watches you with a soft gaze.

“well, i’m rather flattered that you want to do well in front of me,” he teases, holding out a hand to help you up.

you give him a pointed look and push his hand away. “don’t flatter yourself.” you stand up from the ground, wiping yourself off. “i’m tired, gumi. let’s go home and do nothing but kiss and cuddle,” you whine, leaning into his broad chest and burying your face against him.

megumi lets out a quiet sigh, his hand coming up to rest on your back. “you’re so dramatic,” he murmurs, but the slight smile on his face gives him away. “i’m not dramatic,” you grumble, your voice slightly muffled against his uniform. “if i’d been trained by gojo-sensei since childhood like you, i’d be a natural too!”

megumi raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “you really think training with gojo would’ve made things easier? trust me, it’s not as great as it sounds.”

you pull back just enough to look up at him, narrowing your eyes. “yeah, right. coming from the guy who can summon shikigami without breaking a sweat.” “practice goes a long way, sweetheart,” he says softly, pulling your face away from his chest so you’re looking at him. “and as long as i’m here to help you, you’ll be better than everyone in jujutsu high combined.”

before you can respond, he presses a sweet kiss onto your cheek, his calm confidence making your frustration melt away. “are you guys coming or not?” yuji groans from his spot on the floor.

“hey, they were just about to kiss!” nobara says, smacking yuji, her eyes gleaming as she watches the two of you like it’s some rom-com. “yes, yuji,” you roll your eyes, pulling away from megumi as the two of you grab your things and leave, hand in hand, with yuji and nobara on either side of you.

“let’s get some pizza, i’m starving,” yuji says as you all walk out of the school grounds. “ugh, pizza is too oily for this summer heat. let’s get sushi!” nobara insists.

“i’m okay with sushi” megumi says, shrugging. “me too,” you chime in, grinning. yuji lets out an exaggerated sigh. “i feel like you guys hate me.”

“sushi it is, i guess,” he mutters dramatically, leading the way to the sushi restaurant near the school. before you guys walk into the restaurant, you stop. “wait, i need to quickly run to the gas station over there,” you say, pointing toward the convenience store. “i just need to grab something. you guys go without me!”

“need me to come with you?” megumi asks, suddenly pulling you back to him before you can run off.

“no, gumi, i’ll be quick. just order for me and save me a good spot.” you press a quick peck onto his lips before pulling away, already starting to walk toward the gas station.

megumi shrugs, not thinking too much about you going alone since he knows you can handle yourself and use your curse techniques properly if needed.

you walk into the gas station, tapping your fingers nervously on the counter. “can i get a pack of marlboro cigarettes?” you ask the cashier, trying to sound casual, but your eyes dart around, making sure none of the group decided to follow you.

nobody knows that you smoke; you don’t even drink. but you started smoking as a way to calm yourself down. you pay for the cigarettes and head to the alleyway beside the convenience store. you grab a cigarette, reaching into your pocket for your lighter, but it slips from your hand.

“shoot,” you curse under your breath, watching the lighter tumble to the ground.

suddenly, a foot stops it from rolling any farther. you freeze, looking up to see who’s there. “need help with that?” a deep but spine chilling voice asks. before you can answer, the man steps closer, effortlessly picking up the lighter from the ground. without saying another word, he takes the cigarette from your hand, prying it between your lips before lighting it for you.

your heart skips a beat as you look up at him. you don’t know who this man is, but he eerily looks exactly like megumi, causing you to freeze up in shock, your mind racing. for a moment, you almost think it is him. you inhale the smoke, taking the cigarette out of your mouth before exhaling it all over his face.

you inhale the smoke, the bitter taste lingering in your throat as you exhale it all over his face. “do i know you?” you ask, trying your best to sound confident, but your voice wavers slightly, betraying the nerves crawling under your skin.

the man doesn’t flinch. his expression remains unreadable, his piercing gaze lingering on you like he’s sizing you up. the way he studies you sends a shiver down your spine, but you force yourself to hold his stare.

“maybe you do,” he says, his tone calm but laced with something unsettling. he plucks the cigarette from your fingers, his movements slow and deliberate, and places it between his lips. you watch, frozen, as he inhales deeply, then blows a cloud of smoke directly into your face.

you groan in disgust, taking a step back, but the hot breath and thick smoke cling to you, making your stomach churn. your instincts scream at you to put more distance between you, yet his mere presence feels suffocating.

“what do you want?” you manage to ask, your voice quieter this time, the bravado slipping.

he steps closer, closing the gap you tried to create. you instinctively press your back against the cold brick wall of the alley, trapped under the weight of his intense gaze.

the cigarette dangles loosely from his lips as he leans slightly forward. “relax, kid,” he murmurs, his voice eerily familiar. “i’m just curious about you.”

your heart pounds as you try to make sense of the situation. something about him unsettles you—not just his resemblance to megumi, but the way he carries himself, like he’s both lazy and lethal all at once.

before you can think of a response, the sound of your name being called shatters the tension.

“y/n?!”

your head snaps toward the voice, and your blood runs cold. it’s megumi.

“fuck,” you mutter under your breath, panic setting in as you desperately try to get rid of the cigarette smell clinging to you. you glance back at the man, but he doesn’t move. instead, he smirks, flicking the cigarette to the ground and grinding it under his heel.

“what? scared of being caught?” he teases, his voice carrying that same mocking familiarity.

you don’t respond, fumbling in your pocket for the perfume tester you always carry. you spray yourself haphazardly, hoping it’s enough, and then dart out of the alleyway, leaving the man behind.

“baby, where have you been? i thought you were going to be quick,” megumi says, his voice calm but tinged with concern as he spots you walking out of what he assumes is the store.

“i’m sorry, there was a long line, and the cashier was taking forever,” you say, the lie slipping out as guilt twists in your stomach.

he studies your face for a moment, his gaze steady but unreadable, before he lets out a quiet sigh. “it’s fine,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “but we should head back before yuji eats all your sushi. you know how he gets.”

he steps closer, leaning in for a hug. you hesitate before wrapping your arms around him, sinking into the familiar warmth of his embrace. standing on your toes, you rest your head on his shoulder, but over his shoulder, you glance back at the alleyway. your heart skips a beat, but to your relief, the man is gone. only the burnt remains of a cigarette butt on the ground remind you of the unsettling encounter.

as you pull away, megumi frowns slightly, sniffing the air around you. “you smell like cigarettes,” he says, his tone calm but vaguely curious.

your heart races, but you force yourself to shrug, keeping your expression neutral. “i was near shoko and geto-sensei earlier,” you say quickly, hoping the excuse is enough to satisfy him.

he raises an eyebrow, his gaze flickering over you for a moment. “they’re a bad influence,” he says, his tone dry but not unkind. “don’t start picking up their habits.”

you let out a nervous laugh, brushing it off. “that’s mean, megumi.”

he shakes his head, slipping his hand into yours as he starts walking. “just being honest,” he mutters, though his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles in a small, reassuring gesture.

he shakes his head, slipping his hand into yours as he starts walking. “just being honest,” he mutters, though his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles in a small, reassuring gesture.

when the two of you return to the sushi restaurant, the warm air and lively chatter welcome you back. yuji glances up first, grinning as he spots you both. “finally! what, did you get lost on your way back?” he jokes, scooting over slightly as you slide into the seat beside him.

megumi quietly takes his spot next to nobara, who raises an eyebrow at him before turning her attention to you. “you took so long i almost thought you ditched us,” she says, her tone light but teasing.

the food arrives not long after, plates of sushi and small dishes filling the table. nobara and yuji dive right in, but your thoughts drift as you stare at the plate in front of you. the man from the alleyway is all you can think about—the sharpness of his eyes, his voice, the uncanny resemblance to megumi. it’s too much to brush off as a coincidence. the thought tugs at the back of your mind, refusing to let go.

“y/n, are you okay?” nobara’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. she’s looking at you with a curious smirk. “i asked if you wanted to go to the mall tomorrow, just me and you, but you were too busy staring at megumi.” she nudges him with her elbow, her grin widening as she wiggles her eyebrows at you.

megumi glances at you, his expression softening when your eyes meet. there’s a quiet warmth in his gaze that makes your heart skip a beat.

“aw, you two are like little kids in love,” yuji says, dramatically resting his chin on his hand with an exaggerated sigh.

“they are little kids in love,” nobara quips, smirking as she grabs another piece of sushi.

you shake your head with a laugh, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. “okay, you two are way too invested in this,” you mumble, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“it’s getting late, let’s head home,” megumi says, gesturing to the waitress for the bill. “here, i’ll pay. sushi was on me, guys,” he adds, taking the bill and placing a sleek black card on the table that clearly didn’t belong to him.

“more like on gojo-sensei,” nobara jokes, causing yuji to burst into laughter.

“daddy’s money,” yuji chimes in, smirking.

megumi narrows his eyes at them, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “you know what? i’d like to only pay for mine and my lovely girlfriend’s meal,” he says to the waitress, his voice calm but pointed.

nobara and yuji immediately stop laughing. “wait, no!” they both say in unison, panic creeping into their voices.

“no, you guys don’t want me to do a nice gesture and pay for your meal, so you can pay for yourselves,” megumi says smugly, leaning back in his chair as nobara groans and yuji scrambles to check his wallet. you let out a small giggle, shaking your head. “gumi, be nice!” you say, your tone slightly teasing.

“yeah, ‘gumi,’ be nice,” yuji mimics, flipping his wallet upside down to reveal its emptiness. “seriously, man, i’m broke!”

megumi sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “hey, only she can call me that,” he says firmly before waving down the waitress again. “fine, i’ll pay for the rest of their meals too.”

the waitress nods, taking the card and disappearing for a moment before returning with it. yuji lets out a dramatic cheer, and nobara smirks.

“see? he does have a heart,” nobara teases, making megumi roll his eyes as he takes his card back. “you guys can go; me and yuji are heading to the arcade. unless you want to tag along?” nobara suggests as you all stand up and leave the restaurant.

yuji perks up immediately. “yeah! come with us! it’ll be fun!”

megumi glances at you, his hand lightly brushing against yours. “do you want to go, or should we head home?” he asks softly, letting you decide. before you can answer, megumi’s phone buzzes. he pulls it out of his pocket, staring at the contact name. “it’s gojo-sensei,” he mutters.

“why is he calling?” yuji asks, tilting his head in curiosity.

“gojo is like his dad, yuji. maybe he wants to know why his ‘son’ isn’t home yet,” nobara jokes, sending both her and yuji into another round of laughter.

megumi rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “you two are ridiculous,” he says before answering the phone. “what is it, gojo-sensei?”

megumi walks a few steps behind the group, his phone pressed to his ear as he talks to gojo. you barely pay attention to yuji and nobara’s playful banter, your mind distracted. occasionally, you glance over your shoulder, catching glimpses of megumi’s stern expression as he nods silently to whatever gojo is saying.

suddenly, he stops walking, his posture stiff. the abrupt halt makes you stop as well, causing yuji and nobara to pause and turn around to see what’s going on.

“megumi?” you call out softly, watching him closely as his grip on the phone tightens. his gaze flicks to you, his usual calm demeanor masking whatever was just said to him. the air feels heavier now, and all of you stand there, waiting for him to speak.

“i understand,” megumi says into the phone, his gaze fixed on you. he slides his phone back into his pocket before quickly walking toward you, gripping your arms firmly.

“ouch, megumi!” you protest, wincing at the pressure of his grip. but he doesn’t seem to notice, his attention sharp and unwavering.

“we need to get you indoors now,” he says, his voice firm and edged with urgency as he starts pulling you away. his strides are quick, his grip unrelenting.

“what’s happening?!” nobara shouts, panic clear in her voice. yuji looks equally alarmed, his eyes darting between you and megumi.

“gumi, you’re hurting me,” you plead, trying to wriggle free from his grasp.

“i’m sorry, y/n, but i can’t explain right now. we need to get you indoors now,” he says, his voice rising slightly at the end. the sudden force in his tone makes you flinch, his uncharacteristic harshness sending a chill through you.

as he pulls you along, his eyes dart around the area, scanning for something—or someone. every movement he makes is calculated, as if he’s expecting danger at any moment.

once inside the dorms, megumi is quick to shut and lock the door, his movements frantic as he pulls down all the blinds and checks every corner of the room.

“megumi, what’s going on?!” you ask, desperation creeping into your voice as you watch him move around like a maniac.

yuji and nobara exchange confused looks, their worry mirroring yours.

finally, megumi stops and walks over to you, his expression grim. “listen, y/n, you’re in danger,” he says firmly. “you’re being targeted by an assassin.”

his words hit you like a truck, and your knees feel weak. “an assassin?” yuji echoes, his voice laced with disbelief.

“why would she be a target for an assassin? she hasn’t done anything!” nobara chimes in, her voice high with confusion.

you don’t say anything, the weight of megumi’s revelation settling heavily on you. without a word, you sink onto the bed, your hands trembling slightly as your mind races.

“assassins don’t need a motive, they need an order. hell, they’ll kill a dog if they’re told to,” megumi says, taking a seat beside you on the bed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his chest. “nothing is going to happen to you, nothing,” he says, kissing the temple of your head while you continue shaking in fear.

“well, do we at least know who the assassin is?” yuji asks, taking a seat on the floor in front of you two. “that’s the thing, we don’t know. we don’t know who they are, why they’re after y/n, who ordered the assassination, or how powerful they are.” megumi says.

“i think i know who it is,” you say, your voice coming out breathy.

“who?!” they all say in unison.

[trixy812]

nanami smut one shot plsplslpslpls plz !!

First time

{Nanami Kento x reader}

ִֶָ࣪☾. Content: kento nanami x reader (boyfriend x girlfriend), fluff, smut!, mdni, first time, Nanami!Virgin, no protection

ִֶָ࣪☾. Synopsis: It was inevitable. Nanami was going to lose his virginity to you

ִֶָ࣪☾. AN: Sorry it took me longer than expected! It's been crazy and a little bit sad days. This is the second Omake of my Nanami x reader series :) it can also been read as a one-shote. This is my first time wrting smut it was really difficult (normally I write everything in spanish first and then I translate it and Man! sex words are hard to translate!

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4

Reader meets Gojo

First time

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The karaoke lights had been soft and almost romantic that night, but the heat between you and Nanami had reached an almost unbearable point. The kisses, the furtive touches sneaking under clothing, the palpable desire surrounding you both—it had been too much. At some moment, particularly when you had deftly and proudly unbuttoned and unzipped your irresistible boyfriend’s pants while still tangling your tongue with his, you were on the verge of freeing his pulsating erection from his boxers… when Nanami stopped you.

“Not here,” he said in a husky voice, his hands still gripping your hips. “This isn’t how I want our first time to be.”

At first, you felt a pang of frustration, but you understood what he meant. However, now, a few days later, something had shifted. Nanami was still attentive and loving, but there was a certain physical distance, as if something was holding him back. He no longer kissed you with the same urgency or held you by the waist with that passion that made you feel completely his.

Your mind, traitorous as ever, began whispering insecurities.

Maybe he doesn’t like you that much. Maybe he doesn’t desire you like you desire him. Maybe you’re not enough.

It had been a week since Nanami noticed something was different about you. It was almost imperceptible: a distraction in your eyes, a pause before replying to his messages. At first, he said nothing, preferring to give you space, but he couldn’t deny that the thought of something being wrong gnawed at him.

That afternoon, after your last class of the day, as often as his schedule allowed, Nanami came to pick you up. But instead of the animated chatter that usually filled the walks, you were silent, your gaze fixed on the ground. Nanami noted your unease, and although he tried to ignore it, he couldn’t.

When you reached your apartment, you turned to him with a tired smile. “Thanks for walking me home, Kento. I’ll see you another day, okay?”

He frowned, placing a hand on the doorframe to stop you from closing the door. “What’s going on?”

“What? Nothing, I’m just tired, that’s all,” you said, avoiding his gaze.

“You know I’m not stupid. Something’s bothering you, and you’d rather carry it alone than tell me,” he said with his usual calm tone, but there was a tension in his voice that made you step back.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “It’s nothing important, Kento. I don’t want to bother you with silly things.”

“Let me decide what’s important or not,” he replied, stepping into the apartment uninvited.

You sighed, closing the door behind him. “Fine, if you insist…” You hesitated for a moment. Nanami was already sitting in one of the two chairs at your small dining table, so you decided to sit down as well.

“Is it that… you don’t find me attractive?”

The question caught him off guard. His eyes widened more than usual. “What? Where is this coming from?”

“It’s just that…” You lowered your gaze, fidgeting with your hands. “After what happened at the karaoke, I feel like you’re different. Like you don’t want to touch me or kiss me anymore. And I’d understand if it’s because you’re not that into me, but… it makes me sad.”

Nanami seemed at a loss for words for a moment. He stood up slowly from the chair and knelt in front of you so your eyes were level with his.

“Y/N, that’s not true. Not at all,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re beautiful. I’m so attracted to you that sometimes I think I’ll lose my mind just looking at you.”

“Then what’s going on?” you asked, tears welling up in your eyes. “Why does it feel like you don’t want to be close to me in that way anymore?”

Nanami sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked uncomfortable but determined to explain himself.

“I’m nervous,” he confessed, lowering his gaze for a moment before meeting yours again. “That night at karaoke… I wanted to keep going. Really. But I thought it wouldn’t be fair to you, or to me… And after that, I started overthinking everything.”

“Overthinking what?” you asked, still confused.

“That I want it to be special for both of us. And that you’ve been with someone before.”

His confession left you stunned. “How do you know that?” Nanami ignored your question completely, not even reacting to it, and continued speaking.

“It’s just…” He paused, struggling to find the right words. “I feel like I won’t be able to stop myself from comparing to that experience. I don’t want to disappoint you or make you think I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You looked at him, incredulous. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

Nanami nodded, clearly embarrassed. “I’ve even been reading books like The Key... Books that might help me… do better for you. I want it to be perfect, something you’ll never regret.”

The tenderness you felt for him in that moment was overwhelming. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, though your eyes still shimmered with tears. “Kento, you’re a complete idiot.”

Nanami frowned, clearly confused. “What?”

“The first time is never perfect,” you said, cupping his face in your hands. “I don’t need you to read books or prepare like it’s an exam. I just want you to be with me.”

Nanami stared at you intently, his face so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with your own. His hand rose slowly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear with a tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine.

“T/N…” he murmured your name softly, but his tone carried an intensity, as if every ounce of adoration he felt for you was encapsulated in those letters.

He leaned in, and his lips met yours with an urgency that stole your breath away. It was a kiss filled with need, as if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. His hands were far from idle. One rested on your cheek, cradling you like something precious and fragile, while the other slid down your arm to settle on your waist, pulling you closer.

Still seated, you leaned into him, your fingers finding their way into his blond hair, tangling in the strands with desperate affection.

The kiss deepened, and Nanami let out a soft sigh against your lips, as though releasing something he had been holding back for far too long. There was a fierceness in the way he kissed you, but also a meticulous care, as if he wanted to commit every detail of this moment to memory.

His lips parted just enough to let you both catch your breath, but not enough to break the moment. His half-lidded gaze met yours, his breathing ragged, and his lips slightly reddened from the fervent kiss.

Despite the unrestrained passion, you could tell Nanami was still nervous—not out of lack of desire, but because he was, after all, himself: a perfectionist, someone who wanted to give you his absolute best.

You felt butterflies in your stomach too, but it wasn’t fear or insecurity. It was determination. The disappointment of your first experience no longer intimidated you, because this was different. This was Nanami. And that changed everything.

"Stand up," you instructed, your voice steady. Without hesitation, he obeyed, now standing before you, his posture stiff, betraying the nerves he tried to hide.

Still seated, with your legs crossed, you kept your gaze fixed on him, feeling a rush of anticipation course through you. Your hands, steady yet gentle, reached for the waistband of his trousers. The motion was slow, almost ceremonial, as you felt the firmness of his abdomen beneath the fabric. Your fingers worked precisely, unbuttoning the top before carefully sliding down the zipper, the sound amplified in the quiet room.

As your hands lowered the fabric without hesitation, the tension in Nanami's body became evident. His muscles subtly tensed at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he remained perfectly still, allowing you to continue. Inside, you felt a surge of courage—not because you were experienced, but because Nanami’s own nerves paradoxically gave you strength. Someone had to take the lead, to be the strong one for both of you, and you were proud it could be you.

Sliding his trousers and underwear down his hips, you let them fall gently to his knees.

And there it was. A solid and imposing erection. Just the sight of it made your core ache, pulsing with the desire to feel something tangible.

Nanami took a deep breath, his eyes glancing to the side, unable to meet yours directly. His cheeks burned with a deep blush, and in a low, firm tone, he muttered:

"Never say again that you don’t attract me…” His voice faltered slightly before he continued, still avoiding your gaze. “Look... how hard you make me.”

Hearing his words, something ignited within you, and an overwhelming wave of desire surged through your body. You licked every inch of his testicles, letting your tongue trace along the length of his shaft. Taking as much of his erection as you could into your mouth, you began sucking and drawing him in with eager attention.

Nanami didn’t moan—he growled softly, expressing his pleasure through the guttural sounds that escaped him, showing just how much he appreciated the care you were giving his throbbing erection.

But just as he neared the brink, you paused, withdrawing your attention. It was your turn now.

Decisively, you slid out of your pants and underwear, revealing your center. Without breaking eye contact with Nanami, you grasped his wrists firmly and guided him down until he was kneeling before you. The intensity in his gaze revealed that any lingering nerves had been replaced by pure desire, his rapid breathing reflecting how much you affected him.

Gripping the backs of your knees, he pushed your legs apart, exposing your most intimate self.

Nanami, always so composed and reserved, now stared at your exposed sex with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. Slowly, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your center. The warmth of his breath against you made your mind spiral.

As he tasted you for the first time, his eyes lit up in a way that was utterly uncharacteristic—a genuine, pure delight that disarmed him completely. You were delicious, and the realization left him undone.

In seconds, his usual restraint crumbled. He devoured you with unbridled enthusiasm, losing himself entirely in the act. For a moment, the ever-gentlemanly Nanami was gone, replaced by someone who savored every moment as if the world had narrowed to just you.

FLUTTER!

With a swift and decisive motion, Nanami reversed your positions. Now he sat in the chair, and you straddled his lap. This was the moment.

You brought your forehead to his, letting them rest against each other, and with one last kiss, you guided his erection clumsily but confidently to your waiting entrance. Holding your breath, you let him fill you completely.

"Nothing in my life has ever felt this good," Nanami thought.

You wrapped your arms around him, wanting him as close as possible. His hands gripped your hips firmly as he set a steady and fast rhythm. You could feel the heat building inside you as your bodies moved together in perfect sync.

Nanami’s rhythm faltered, and with a strained groan, he surrendered. The heat of his release filled you, leaving you trembling in his arms.

You shared a look, a smile, and one last passionate kiss.

Still holding him tightly, your forehead against his, you whispered: “It was perfect.”

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

A/N: Nanami knows you are not a virgin anymore because one time he overheard your mom said to your dad something like

"She thinks we are dumb. She said she was going out to eat with a friend and she came back hungry and with her hair wet..."

>////////////<

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4

Reader meets Gojo

First time

[wildvetch]

various thoughts on breaking- finished dying a bit ago, probably dropping those later.

the stuff on shin felt *kind of* rushed, but mostly i think that's just a side effect of the larger hurdle in the story, where you've got multiversal settings w/ limited povs & limited time/narrative real estate to afford those settings. thematically though i think it accomplishes a lot, and i think the story spends enough time investing in some of the things that become important during breakthrough's stint there that the arc still ends up being p satisfying.

the cape/anti-cape sentiment stuff plays pretty well here imo--i think bianca does a few good things for the story (gives us another access point/case example for how clusters--&shard-host-power dynamics--actually work, plays part of the slew of master-effects/brainjackings that help give dimension to vicky's trauma throughout the plot, etc etc) but more than anything i think her reign & the way it plays off of gimel's post-GM trauma helps to really emphasize the antipathy felt toward capes as not being like, categorically senseless/irrational spite-for-spite's sake. it comes from real fears and real needs, and i like that the arc spends time making breakthrough really contend with that.

really fun to see how fucked Vicky 🐷Dallon's best efforts at a criminal justice system are & then be confronted w/ Shin's insanely fucked prisons--like i obviously don't think willybilly sat down w/ the serial like "aha, today i will come up with the perfect justice system" & i'm not really holding out for like, the Antares Abolitionist Arc or anything, but i *do* think the story's pretty blatantly concerned w/ carcerality and i think the text definitely asks the reader to consider the victoria's prison world & shin's whole setup as differently cruel.

fuck amy

fuuuuuuuuuuuuck chris

fuck. amy.

okay so like i love capricorn, i think the twins are one of the best parts of the story, and i don't want to get into what happens next arc just yet but i do think that the stuff we get with byron/missy here is like. it's obviously way more about the twins & their relationship's growth than anything to do with vista. the capricorn interludes take the reader to some pretty extreme lowpoints in their relationship, but within the goddess arc they also really help to underscore like...not just the extent to which they've both grown, but the extent to which reconciliation was even possible for them in the first place--and it couldn't be forced, it wasn't something that either twin could get from brute-forcing or self-flagellating, it had to be worked for and worked through and critically they both had to want it. which itself took time. &what i like about the brothers is that even up to this point in the story, they still have their issues--like, the stuff at the beginning of the arc where it talks about them playing out arguments with each other (first as a therapy exercise and later with the team as a teacher-countermeasure), makes it pretty explicit that things aren't just All Better. but comparing the vista convo & its aftermath to the moonsong/nate convos, you really start to get this sense of like... a possible future for them--one that must be built, but one that's worth building.

all of which to say, like, completely and utterly fuck amy. it's kind of frustrating, because a lot of this just boils down to Unfortunate Consequences of Characterization, but i do think being reminded of all the obstacles overcome by the twins just sort of drives home how badly amy has hurt &continues to hurt victoria by demanding and coercing reentry into her life--to an extent that, even if there had ever been a question of repairing that relationship before (on victoria's terms), that avenue has been pretty thoroughly destroyed. like. to the point where i actually think chris comes out looking better by the end of the arc, despite having been the one to arrange for vicky to end up in that room with her in the first place--because in all honestly i don't think the story's as interested in redeemability/irredeemability as much as it is in the question of like... okay, you fucked up. you did something reprehensible. what do you do next? &I think one of the things that makes amy's character so deeply upsetting, is that all anyone's asking her to do atp is stop: own up to what she's done, and then stop doing it. walk away. respect the boundary that has been put before you. but instead we get more of the same refusal of responsibility that had her run away to the birdcage, we see her trying to lie and guilt-trip and violate her way into her version of forgiveness, demanding absolution while rejecting culpability in the first place--both for the molestation of her sister & for subsequent negligence and malpractice in her healing. and it's nauseating! but in this story, where more than a few of our protagonists have blood on their hands, where amnesty is a central question of the setting, where the world owes its continued existence to one girl's largescale act of mind-body violation and the story takes no interest in exonerating her, instead asking "would you do it over again?"... i think it says a *lot* that chris makes the choice that he does at the end of the arc, and amy refuses to change course.

[hayatoseyepatch]

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Description: Getting kinky with the windbreaker boys. I have so many thoughts about these men and I just needed to get them out of my system. Characters: Toma Hiragi, Ren Kaji, Haruka Sakura, Hayato Suo, & Yamato Endo. Word Count: 2.2k Tags: fem!reader, brat taming, praise, somnophilia, edging, mommy kink, dacryphilia, consent non consent, choking, degradation, oral (fem!receiving), penetrative sex, dirty talk.

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a/n: These are more like thirsts than headcannons but oh well. I might expand on some of these eventually and turn them into full fics if I can sit down and commit to it. It the mental illness, innit? Regardless, I hope you enjoyed these little blurbs! Special shout out to @foxyfiction & @to-eden for helping me with the prompts for some of these, you both are amazing. <3

I also have a masterlist now, if you’re interested that could be found : HERE

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Brat Taming

Hiragi had enough of you today, your skirt pulled up high, a constant switch in your hips while on patrol today with the Tamon team. Constantly teasing him, whether it was pulling him into an alley for an impromptu make out session, bending over in front of him letting him catch a glimpse of your already wet panties, or rubbing against his perpetually hard cock as you “just needed to slip past him real quick”. He was patient, tension building throughout the day coming to a fever pitch when you had both made it back to your shared apartment. He was on you in moments, lifting the back of your skirt to lay a harsh lap to you ass. Grabbing a fistful of your hair as he growls in your ear. “ I want you on that bed and I want you completely bare, do you understand?” He releases you hair, watching as you strip for him, climbing on the bed moments after you do.

Grabbing a hold of your cheeks with a rough hand he forces you to look up at him, eyes glazed over with arousal. Squishing your cheeks he props your mouth open, shoving a long digit past your lips. He grins as your mouth instinctively wraps around the digit, pumping the finger in and out of your lips, eyes rolling back as he feels your tongue wrap around the digit. Sucking his teeth as you shoot him a wink as he stuffs a second digit in your mouth. “Such a fucking brat, you know that?” He forces your thighs apart, free hand punctuating his words with a harsh slap to your dripping cunt.

His fingers sliding down, his fist two digits using your saliva that coated them to rub fast smooth circles against the sensitive bud. “Don’t forget your still getting punished baby.” He tsks giving you a sharp toothed grin. “Look at your pretty cunt, clenching around nothing, poor baby.” He coos, leaning down to your ear, lips grazing the shell to whisper. “You’re going to have to come from just my fingers before you can have my cock baby, think you can do that for me, hmm?”

Praise (Receiving)

Kaji had lost his temper once more, today a fight had broken out. One of the members of the opposing gang had harshly grabbed your arm, tugging you against him spitting extremities about the things he plandded to do to you. The words coupled with the fear in your wide eyes had Kaji seeing red. Completely blacking out in a fit of rage, he hated his, he especially hated you seeing him like this. The few times he had lost his temper in front of you, he ran, unable to face you. But not this time, you wouldn’t let him run from you. Grabbing the sleeve of his jacket you were quick to take him back to your apartment, silencing whatever apologies or exasperations with your lips against his.

Walking him backward toward your bedroom you wait for the back of his knees to hit the mattress. Pushing him to sit down as you climb on his lap. Mouths entangling in a heated embrace, clothes being pulled from each others bodies in a rush of passsion. Kaji trails kisses down your exposed body, lips wrapping arount a perked bud taking your nipple into his mouth. You rocked your hips against his, gronaing into the air. Your hands unfaten his pants, and with his help you pull his cock from his pants. You give him a smile, stroking his cheeks, eyes soft with fondness. “You're such a good boy Ren, always so good to me.”

You coo, the praise falling from your lips as you place one more kiss to his lips. Moving to grab him by the base, positioning him at your entrance, the desperate look in his eyes is all the confirmation you need to sink down on his length. You bite your lip, letting out a whimper at the feeling of his thick cock filling you to the brim. You tangle one hand in his hair, pulling lightly on his blonde strands, while the other moves up to his shoulder, nails digging into the skin. Pulling away only far enough to mumble into his lips. “Fuck, Ren.. Feel so good, you fill me up so good baby. I love you so much.”

Somnophillia

You wake feeling something warm between your legs. It isn’t long before your head is thrown back against the pillows you were once sleeping soundly against, voice crying out in pleasure as your boyfriend’s tongue draws slow patterns on your sensitive clit. You look down at him eyes lidded with sleep and now lust. “Haru.. what are you doing?” You mumble, blinking the sleep from your eyes. Between your thighs you can feel his cheeks heat up, a feirce blush on his features. He barely pulls from your cunt, mumbling against your center. “Couldn’t sleep, needed to taste you, ‘m want you so bad.”

He groans, hips rutting into the mattress, desperate for some friction to his aching cock. Any further arguments are silenced by a loud moan erupting from your lips, Sakura licks a fat stripe up your clit brfore reattaching his lips fully to your nub. He eats your cunt with such desperation, as if he needed to conume you to keep air in his lungs. His tongue is soon replaced by the rough pad of his thumb, head ducking lower to slide his tongue inside of your entrance, sliding against the silk walls of your pussy. He groans deep in his throat, the vibrations of the noise only enhancing the pleasure you’re feeling. ”Always taste so fucking good, need more..” He groans, pulling from your center, he slides up your body lips attacking yours with reckless hunger. He slid the material of his boxers down in one swift motion, grabbing himself by the base of his cock, collecting your wetness on the tip of his cock using it to ease himself inside your velvety walls.

He lets out a loud groan as he fully sheaths his cock inside you, head dipping to capture your lips with his own. The kiss is immediately laced with hunger, teeth clashing and tongues dancing in each others mouths. He pulls away, heavy breaths fanning against your lips as he sets a harsh steady pace from the start. “Fuck baby… can’t even sleep without you consuming my thoughts. Need you desperately… constantly.. feel like I’ll lose it if I’m not inside of you.”

Edging/Mommy Kink

You place a delicate kiss to his lips, trailing your kisses down his body until you were situated between his thighs. Looking up at him with hooded eyes from your current position. “You weren't lying baby boy. Look at how hard you are.” You grin, not letting him answer as you gave a few experimental tugs to his cock. Leaning up to lick a fat stripe from his base to his tip, collecting the pre come that had been steadily dripping since you had begun. Pulling away and leaning up once again, you grab his face in your hand, forcing his mouth open before letting your saliva mixed with his precum drip from your mouth to his. Placing a hand over his mouth, you lean down to his ear. “Swallow baby, I want you to taste us.”

You take his shock as an opportunity to lower yourself back down between his legs, swirling your tongue around his sensitive mushroom tip, taking as much as your throat would allow, hollowing your cheeks. Beginning to bob your head up and down on  his cock. Choji tugged at the cloth around his wrists, restraining himself as much as he could to not buck his hips. Failing miserably as his body writhed under yours He cried out as he felt your warm mouth around his cock, tears collecting by the corners of his eyes. Whimpers and cries falling from his lips as he found every ounce of restraint to not let his body betray him. The could in his stomach building once more for what seemed like the umpteenth time that evening. He didn’t want to fuck all of this up and receive punishment even further. “Mommy, please your mouth is so warm… be careful. I dont wanna come.. too soon.”

You grin around him, looking up at him through your lashes, nearly removing yourself from him before plunging back down, taking him until you feel him hit the back of your throat. You do this a few more times before pulling yourself off his cock with a 'pop'. You make your way up his body, getting impatient yourself, feeling your cunt clench around nothing. Straddling his abdomen, right above where he needed you most,  pressing your lips against his in a heated kiss. Desperately trying not to show that you were just as affected by your actions. You grab a fistful of his hair, tugging harshly, effectively separating your lips as you speak against his lips. “Tell mommy what you want baby boy. Go on, use your words I want to hear you.”

Dacryphillia

Each one of your pleas fog his mind with uncontrollable lust. Wram brown irises drowning in it. “So desperate for me already, darling, we havent even begun the main event.” He teases, directly into your ear, as he finally lines the tip of his thick cock with your entrance. Suo had been teasing you for what seemed like hours. Pulling orgasm after orgasm from your overstimulated cunt. Having made you come undone on his fingers and tongue several times, your pussy having felt desperatly empty without his cock filling you. He grins as you whine, his head just barely probing your entrance. “Please, Haya.” You whimper desperate for him to do something, anything, tears blurring your vision as they collected at your lashline.

“Please?” He tiles his head in mocking obliviousness. “Please what princess? Gotta tell me what to do or I cant help you, tell me what is it that you want?” He coos, free hand sliding up your stomach, thumb circling a pert nipple. Grinning he leans down tugging on your earlobe with this teeth, breaths fanning against your ear as he continues to speak. “Want me to fill this pretty pussy up with my cock? Feeling you flutter against me, whimpering out my name from those beautiful lips. Is that what youre asking for my pretty little bunny?”

He grins eyes lithe with mischief as you continue to babble, words coming out in a jumbled mess of pleas and calls of his name. Fat tears stream down your cheeks, desperation for him consuming your entire being. Suo’s hand coming up to caress your cheek. Thumb swiping at the tears that cascaded down your face. “Oh, sweet baby” He purrs, slipping the same thumb past your lips, letting you taste the salty wetness of your tears. “Crying for me already? We’ve barely even started.” He giggles, hips lurching forward, slamming into you to the hilt with one swift movement of his hips. Groaning as your back arches from the bed, eyes rolling back with a scream of his name being forced from your lips. “As much as I’d love to hear you beg for it, ive been waiting for too long for you my princess.~”

Cat and Mouse/CNC

Your breaths come out in heavy pants, your heart racing in your chest, your feet slamming against the grassy terrain as you run as fast as your legs can carry you. The shadow of the figure on your tail looming behind you. You pushed further, weaving in and out of trees to shake your assailant. The dark wooded area was easy to get lost in. You had only paused your running for a moment, attempting to take in your soundings, looking for a route to escape. Attempting to catch your breath, you were sure you had lost him. Just as you were about to turn on your heel and take off once more your eyes shoot wide, feeling fingers of a large hand wrap themselves around your throat. Your attacker using their grip as leverage  to shove you roughly against a tree, the larger figure looms over yours. Tattooed fingers squeezing just enough to make gaining air flow a bit difficult. Lips grazing your ear as he leans down to your height. “Gotcha~”

Endo’s piercing blue eyes lock with yours, leaning down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. Tongue invading your mouth, free hand coming up to cup your dripping cunt. Fingers circling your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. He smirks against your lips as you moan into his mouth. Pulling from you, he quickly removes your soiled panties, running his finger between your soaked slit. Bringing his finger to his lips taking in the way you taste, moaning around his fingers.

“Fuck doll, you taste so fucking good. Already so fucking wet for me.” He uses his thumb to force your mouth open, spitting a glob of saliva between your parted lips. “Go on babydoll, taste yourself.” He chuckles as you instinctively swallow, turning you in his embrace so your bent over. Flipping up your skirt, he leans back to take all of you in, eyes hungrily wracking over your exposed sex. Parting your folds with a thumb, watching as your entrance contracts around nothing a large grin splits across his face as he lands a harsh slap against your ass. “Gotta remind you who this belongs too huh? This cunt is mine princess.”

═══°∴,*⋅✲════〖✰〗════✲⋅*,∴°═══

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! I already have a part two in mind for this, so keep an eye out. Until then, see you later!

[mostly-imagines]

Dear God Get Out

jason todd x reader

aka not a moment of privacy

warnings: mild sexual activities, more people than jason would ever want in your apartment during those times

The second Jason’s through the door his arms are out, seeking to pull you into him. You let him engulf you in his arms without thought, this being the first time you’ve seen him all day.

“Missed you,” He mumbles into your shoulder.

You hum and rake your fingers through his hair. “I know. Missed you too.”

He pulls back to look at you and holds your neck gingerly in his hands. “You’re good?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” You nod and kiss his collarbone softly, wrapping your hands around his forearms. He gives your forehead a kiss and walks you backwards to the couch, leaning down over you until you have to sit.

He follows you down and kisses your lips and guides you backwards to lay. He drapes himself over you, inserting himself between your legs. He refocuses his attention to your neck, and sucks at a very particular spot below your jaw that you know he targeted on purpose.

“Okay, that’s not fair.” You breathe out, halfway to a sigh.

“No? How ‘bout this?”

He nips at you, startling you to a near moan. Your reaction only encourages him, as he holds your jaw and tilts your head to the side for more access.

He slips his hand under your shirt, grazing the skin underneath. He leaves open kisses all across your collarbone, trailing them down your stomach once he has your top off and strewn half away across the room.

You stop him, pulling him back up to you for a kiss. He furrows his brows at first, only understanding when you start to pry at his shirt too. He removes it for you, tossing it with startling accuracy right by yours.

He resumes kissing down your body, hands trailing down your sides along with him. He peppers kisses on your thighs and hooks his fingers into the seam of your underwear, readying to remove them.

It’s almost astonishing how silently he'd managed to open the window only to stumble and flail his way to the floor.

The sudden clatter scares the hell out of both you and Jason, who jumps to a stand immediately.

“Tim!”

“Evening. D’you guys still have any—oh.” Tim finally regains his coordination and stands up to see you sprawled out on the couch, bra and underwear your only cover.

His eyes go to the floor real quick and Jason lets out an exasperated sigh, looking around for something nearby to cover you up with.

“—you know, wait up means wait up!”

Oh good, Dick’s here too.

You sit up quickly and try to cover yourself with your arms, though there’s not much of a difference you can really make.

Dick ducks in from the fire escape and lands significantly more gracefully than his counterpart had.

It takes him no time at all to assess the room and see you, knees to chest on the couch, trying very hard to appear as though you’re not half naked. Takes him even less time to see Jason, standing in front of you, fuming.

“Oh. Oops…”

Jason chucks the tv remote at Dick and uses the distraction to pull you up from the couch, pushing you behind him. His massive frame is more than enough to cover what his brothers have no business seeing.

“Get the fuck—”

And just for good measure, Damian jumps down next and crouches in the window.

“Jesus Christ,” your boyfriend mutters, hands covering his face in exasperation.

Damian takes one glance at the room and grimaces—Tim’s eyes are glued to the floor, Dick’s acting as though there’s something very interesting on the ceiling, and Jason’s shirtless. He can’t quite see you behind Jason, though he doesn’t need to in order to guess what he’d just walked in on.

“Ugh, seriously Todd? That’s disgusting.”

You let your forehead hit Jason’s back, thoroughly embarrassed. He reaches back to caress your waist, and you know somewhere in that action there’s a reassurance that he’s going to get them out as soon as humanly possible.

“Yeah, seriously. This is our apartment, demon brat. Get out.”

“Maybe we should come back later…” Dick suggests, more awkward than in his usual character.

Jason glares up at the heavens. “Or never.”

“At least keep it in the bedroom, you animals.” Damian chastises.

Jason suddenly wishes he hadn’t thrown the remote so soon. “Our apartment.”

He looks back at you without moving the shield of his body, eyes apologetic. You meet gaze and turn your head to rest your cheek on him instead, your own hidden meaning of reassurance. It’s fine.

You can’t see them but you hear a shuffle and hope to god it’s not another vigilante.

You place a hand on Jason’s lower back and peer around his shoulder, seeing Tim turned back around towards the window and trying desperately to get Damian to move out of the way—Damian, seemingly having no regard for Tim’s urgency.

You’re not quite sure if it’s over discomfort or embarrassment in seeing you so undressed, or if it’s because his self-preservation kicked in when he saw the look on Jason’s face. Maybe both. Probably both.

Both.

“Will you stop?” Damian slaps his hand away. “We came here for a reason.” He looks past Tim at you, “Do you have—”

“No.” Jason cuts in, growing visibly more agitated.

Damian’s face contorts as he looks back up to Jason, “What is your—”

Now Dick cuts in, “Okay, that’s fine, we’ll just ask the old man.”

“Great.”

Dick pauses. “On the couch though, Jaybird?”

Jason takes a deep breath.

“Alright, ten seconds, then I get the gun taped under the table.”

That’s warning enough for Damian—he’s called that bluff once before and learned the hard way.

Tim doesn’t even take a second glance before hauling it out of your apartment, his cape getting caught on the window frame briefly before he scrambles away.

Dick calls out an apology to you before trailing out the window after him.

Jason lets out a heavy exhale and turns to you, hands gliding naturally to your waist.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t need to be.”

He gives a low hum and wraps his arms around you, pulling you down with him as he crashes down onto the sofa.

“Should I feel bad about almost railing you into the couch?”

“I wouldn’t waste any tears over it. Not like it would’ve been the first time we did it.”

He laughs and tugs you further into his chest. You curl into him and close your eyes, thinking.

“Jay?”

“Hm?”

“How did Tim survive as Robin?”

“I’ve been asking that question for years.”

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Co Parents To Lovers Again (part 1)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut

"Daddy? Can I ask you something?" Your and Charles' four-year-old daughter Louise, asks.

She was sitting in her car seat in the backseat of Charles car while he was driving her back to your place in Monaco. It was Sunday evening, the weekend was coming to an end and with that, Charles' time with his daughter for the week was also over.

"Of course, cherie. What is it?" He asked, briefly looking away from the road in front of him to look at his daughter behind him.

"When are you going to live with me and mommy again?" She asked innocently batting her big black eyelashes and waiting for an answer.

Charles's heart broke a little when he heard. This was the first she had asked him that since Charles had moved out of your shared apartment a year ago, and there was no way he could have prepared himself for this question.

"Oh, baby.." He sighed sadly with a pain in his chest. "I-I don't know. Maybe one day again, I hope.."

"But I want you to live with us now. I don't like it when you have to leave us."

He really didn't know what to say to her. He didn't even know how to explain the situation you found yourself in to himself, let alone to her. He could see Louise whenever he wanted, but this was some kind of agreement that the two of you had and most often it was that you had her during the week and he had her on his race-free weekends even tho sometimes he took her with him on races as well. So moments like this, when Sunday night comes and he has to return Louise to you by next Friday, were the hardest for him.

"I know, baby. I do too, it's just that at the moment, that's not possible, you know?" He said quietly tightening his grip on the steering wheel and leaning his head on the back of the seat.

"But mommy wants you to live with us too. I don't understand why don't you then?"

"Wh-what?" His breath paused briefly as he looked at Louise in the rearview mirror. "How do you know that, Lou?"

"Well, I asked her?" She sighs almost rolling her eyes at him, like, duhh how else would I know it?

"You asked her?" He chuckles. "And what did she say?"

"She said the same thing as you, maybe one day again. But I want to know when!" She says already irritated with always the same answer to her always the same question.

"Well, my love, if mom really said that, then I hope very soon." Charles says smiling, hope clearly audible in his voice. He wanted you to reconcile and be a family again so much that even this was enough to lift his spirits and restore hope in your relationship.

The drive to your apartment is over and soon Charles is knocking on your door holding Lou in his arms.

"Hello, baby!" You say excitedly as you opened the door, reaching out to Lou to take her in your arms.

"Hello" Charles greets you smiling.

"Hey, Charles" You greet him back taking Lou in your arms and giving her a kiss on the cheek. "How was the weekend? Was she good?"

"Of course, as always. We went to get new toys, her grand-mère came to visit and then we went for a walk and for ice cream. It was a lot of fun." Charles says.

"You got new toys, missy? Again?" You ask tickling her and making her laugh. "Good, good. Well, thanks for bringing her back."

"It's no problem. The next weekend is the race weekend so unfortunately I won't be able to have her."

"I know, I know." You say biting the inside of your cheek feeling a bit bad knowing how hard that was for him. "Are you gonna say bye to papa?"

"Can papa put me to bed?" Louise asked.

"But it's only 8:30 baby? You wanna go to sleep already?"

"But I want daddy to do it." She says.

You were a little taken aback because you felt like she didn't want you to do it like you usually do, but of course you didn't want to deny her her wish for Charles to be the one to do it this time.

"Well, if he wants to, then sure" You say looking at him.

"Of course I want to. Come here, baby" He takes her back from your arms kissing her temple and starts walking with her to her room.

You didn't follow them because you decided to let them have a moment for themselves, but you couldn't help but remember the nights you and Charles used to do it together. Him on one side of the bed, you on the other, Lou in the middle while Charles reads a bedtime story and you both listen.

You really missed that.

You really missed him.

But it was hard for you to admit it so you swallowed your tears once again and pretended it didn't bother you.

And so while Charles was putting your daughter to sleep, you occupied yourself with sorting the laundry that was left over from earlier today in your bedroom. After about half an hour, Charles came to greet you goodbye knocking on the door frame of your bedroom.

"Hey"

"Oh, hey. Did she fall asleep?" You asked.

"Yeah, she-" His attention was soon caught by an oversized black man's hoodie that was turned inside out and lying on your bed. His gaze was glued to it, and for a moment you weren't sure what he was looking at, so you looked in that direction too.

"I can't believe it" He sneered in disappointment.

"What?"

"Are you really having someone else here in our bedroom when Lou is with me?"

"Excuse me? What? What are you-" You were shocked and stunned by his accusations.

It was indeed a man's hoodie. But since it was turned inside out, Charles didn't recognize that it was actually his sweatshirt that he had forgotten to take when he moved out, and you loved it so much that you never wanted to give it back to him. And Charles being Charles, he jumped to a conclusion without letting you have a chance to speak and explain yourself.

"I can't believe it, y/n. You could have at least let me know that you decided to move on and see other people." He continued without stopping and anger slowly rose within you. "And how can you even bring him here? To our apartment? To our bedroom?"

You were offended and you didn't even want to justify yourself anymore, you just wanted to hurt him back because he thought such a thing.

"And why do you care if someone was here, huh?" You asked crossing your arms.

"Why do I care? Because while you're busy having other guys over here, our daughter is asking me if we'll ever live together again. That's why!" He said angrily, barely holding back from slamming his fist against the wall because he was so hurt by this situation and the very thought of you being with someone else.

"S-she asked you that?"

"Yes and I almost died when she did."

You didn't know what to do at that moment. You were sad and angry at the same time, but most of all hurt for your daughter. Before you could say anything, Charles turned and left the room.

As soon as the apartment door closed, you burst into tears. He left before you could tell him that it was actually his hoodie and that at nights when you can't sleep, like you couldn't last night, you put it on because it feels like he's there.

He didn't even give you time to tell him that you wear it when you miss him too much. Just like you did last night.

part 2

[pucksandpower]

Critics and Lovers

Max Verstappen x journalist!Reader

Summary: how would the paddock react if they knew that the woman writing scathing critiques about the reigning world champion weekend after weekend was the same woman who whispers sweet nothings in his ear at night?

“Did you really go to school for half a decade to get your journalism degree just to ask if I think I’ll win?”

Max’s voice cuts through the bustle of the press room, drawing the attention of a few journalists milling around with their notebooks and recorders. He leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, his smirk more amused than annoyed. His blue eyes — always so intense under the brim of his cap — lock onto yours, daring you to respond.

You raise an eyebrow, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at him. “I’m asking the questions the people want answers to, Max. It’s my job, remember?”

“Your job is to provoke me, apparently,” he counters, leaning forward slightly, his smirk widening. “But you know, you could at least pretend to be creative. Ask something that might surprise me for once.”

“I wasn’t aware you had the capacity to be surprised,” you quip, your pen hovering over your notepad as if ready to jot down his response.

Max lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Touché. But if you’re expecting me to give you a soundbite for your next article, you’ll have to do better than that.”

The exchange draws a few chuckles from the nearby journalists, but they quickly refocus on their own tasks, used to the banter between the two of you. After all, it’s no secret that you’re Max Verstappen’s biggest critic.

Week after week, your articles dissect his performances with surgical precision, never shying away from pointing out his flaws, his temper, his moments of questionable judgment. To everyone else, you’re just doing your job, holding one of the sport’s biggest stars accountable. But to Max — well, he seems to take it in stride, brushing off your critiques with the same ease he shows on track.

What no one else knows, though, is that this verbal sparring is just another part of the complicated dance you and Max have been perfecting for years. A dance that begins in front of cameras and microphones, and ends in private, where the lines between your professional rivalry and personal relationship blur into something neither of you can fully define.

“Okay, fine,” you say, pretending to think hard about your next question. “How about this: what’s your plan for today? Any new strategies to surprise us with?”

Max raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “That’s almost worse than your first question. Did you really think that would get me talking?”

You sigh, exasperated. “Maybe if you gave me a straight answer for once, I wouldn’t have to keep asking.”

He leans in closer, lowering his voice just enough so only you can hear. “Maybe if you asked me something off the record, I’d actually consider it.”

“Off the record doesn’t sell papers, Max,” you reply, your tone equally low but tinged with something more affectionate, something that would be impossible to miss for anyone paying close attention.

Max’s smirk softens into something more sincere, his eyes flickering with the warmth that you’ve come to associate with the quiet moments you share away from the track, away from the scrutiny of the world.

It’s a look that says he knows you’re playing a role, just like he is. That despite the biting comments and the professional jabs, there’s a mutual understanding between you. A connection that runs deeper than anything either of you would ever admit in public.

But here, in this crowded room filled with reporters who’d kill for the kind of scoop only you could provide, that connection has to stay hidden. Because if anyone ever found out the truth — if they knew that you, the woman who writes those scathing critiques of Max Verstappen, were the same woman who shares his bed at night — it would be the end of both your careers.

And so, the game continues, with both of you playing your parts to perfection.

“Next time, try asking me something interesting,” Max says, his voice returning to its usual volume as he straightens in his chair, signaling the end of your private moment. “Otherwise, I’ll start thinking you’re getting lazy.”

You give him a look that’s meant to be stern but can’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Lazy? I think you’re confusing me with your performance last weekend.”

The jab earns you a mock glare from Max, but he doesn’t take the bait, instead giving a noncommittal shrug. “We’ll see who’s lazy when I’m on top of the podium later.”

“Confident as ever, I see,” you remark, jotting down a few notes that you know you’ll never actually use.

“Just stating facts,” he says, and for a moment, you can’t help but admire the way he carries himself, the ease with which he navigates this world of high stakes and even higher expectations. It’s one of the things that drew you to him in the first place, back when neither of you had any idea where this relationship was heading.

“Well, good luck out there,” you say, finally stepping back to let the next reporter have their turn. But as you move away, you catch the briefest flash of something in his eyes — something that tells you he’s not just thinking about the race ahead, but about the conversation you’ll have later, away from prying eyes.

As you find a spot at the back of the room, your phone buzzes in your pocket. A quick glance tells you it’s a message from Max, sent under the guise of a work-related email, as usual.

You know I’m going to make you pay for that lazy comment later, right?

You bite back a smile, typing out a quick response.

Promises, promises.

The rest of the press conference goes by in a blur of questions and answers, none of which capture your attention the way Max does. You’re barely listening when the moderator finally wraps things up, and the drivers start to file out.

But before Max can make his exit, he pauses just long enough to catch your eye, giving you a look that’s all too familiar. It’s the same look he gave you the first time you met, back when he was just another driver on the grid and you were the new journalist determined to make a name for yourself. A look that says he’s already planning what he’s going to say to you later, when the cameras are off and the real conversations can begin.

You follow the crowd out of the room, blending in with the other journalists as you make your way toward the paddock. But your thoughts are already drifting to the end of the day, to the moment when you’ll finally be alone with Max, free to drop the pretense and just be yourselves.

Because despite the roles you play in public — the critical journalist and the cocky driver — in private, you’re something else entirely. Something that neither of you can fully explain, but neither of you wants to give up.

“Heading back to the media center?” One of your colleagues asks as you step outside, the midday sun beating down on the paddock.

“Yeah, I’ve got a deadline to meet,” you reply, forcing your mind back to the task at hand. But even as you say it, you know that your thoughts will be elsewhere for the rest of the day. On Max, and the secret you both share. A secret that, for now, is safe.

But how long can it stay that way?

The question lingers in your mind as you head back to your desk, the usual chatter of the paddock fading into the background. You’ve always known that this arrangement couldn’t last forever, that eventually, something would give.

The world of Formula 1 is too small, too tightly knit, for secrets like this to stay buried forever. And when the truth finally comes out — because it’s not a matter of if, but when — you know that everything will change.

But for now, you push those thoughts aside, focusing on the article you need to write. It’s what you’re good at, after all — crafting narratives, shaping stories. And today, the story is about Max, the driver who never fails to surprise you, both on and off the track.

The press room is quieter now, most of the other journalists having moved on to other tasks. You sit down at your laptop, the screen reflecting your determined expression. The cursor blinks at you, waiting. And as you begin to type, the words flow easily, the story taking shape with each keystroke.

It’s a story the world has seen before — another race, another analysis of Max Verstappen’s performance. But underneath it all, there’s a subtext that only you can see, a hidden layer that tells the real story. The one that will never make it to print.

The one that belongs to just you and Max.

Hours pass in a blur, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you lose yourself in the work. It’s almost too easy to write about Max, to analyze his every move, his every decision. You know him better than anyone, after all — better than any other journalist in this room, better than most of the people in his life. It’s a knowledge that comes with a price, though, a price you’re all too aware of.

But as the final paragraph falls into place, you sit back, satisfied. The article is done, the narrative complete. And with it, the day’s work is finally over. You stretch, glancing around the empty press room, and for a moment, you allow yourself to relax. To let go of the role you’ve been playing all day, and just be yourself.

Your phone buzzes again, pulling you back to reality. Another message from Max.

Meet me in the usual place?

You don’t hesitate before typing out a reply.

On my way.

The media center is almost deserted as you make your way out, the soft hum of electronics the only sound filling the room. You slip your laptop into your bag and sling it over your shoulder, feeling the weight of the day lift slightly as you step into the paddock. The evening air is cooler now, a welcome relief after the day’s heat, and the sky is streaked with shades of orange and pink as the sun dips below the horizon.

You walk with purpose, navigating the familiar maze of trailers and motorhomes, heading toward the secluded spot where you and Max often meet. It’s tucked away from the main pathways, a place where no one would think to look for you, and that’s exactly why it works. You reach the spot and pause, taking a deep breath before stepping around the corner.

Max is already there, leaning against the side of a trailer, his cap pulled low over his eyes, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks up as you approach, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Took you long enough,” he says, his tone teasing.

“Had to finish that article you’re so eager to read,” you reply, stopping a few feet away from him, just outside the reach of his hands.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s a glowing review of my abilities,” he says, pushing off the trailer and closing the distance between you in two strides. He reaches for your hand, pulling you closer, and you don’t resist. Here, in this quiet corner of the paddock, the walls come down, and the roles you play for the cameras melt away.

“Glowing might be a stretch,” you say, allowing yourself a small smile as his hand lingers on your waist. “But it’s fair.”

“Fair is good,” he murmurs, leaning in so his forehead rests against yours. “But if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re going easy on me.”

“Maybe I am,” you admit, your voice softening. “Or maybe I just think you deserve a break every now and then.”

“From the criticism? Or from you?” He asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Both,” you say, giving him a playful shove, but he doesn’t budge, his grip on you firm yet gentle.

“You know I’d never take a break from you,” he says, his voice low, serious now. His thumb strokes your side, sending a shiver up your spine.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation wash over you. It’s these moments you treasure the most, the ones where it’s just the two of you, no expectations, no pressure. Just Max and you, stripped down to the simplest version of yourselves.

“I know,” you whisper, opening your eyes to meet his gaze. “I’d never let you.”

His smile turns tender, and he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he says simply, before closing the small gap between you and pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, unhurried, a stark contrast to the fast-paced world you both live in. It’s a reminder of what you have, what you’ve built together despite the odds. And as you kiss him back, you feel a warmth spread through you, one that has nothing to do with the lingering heat of the day.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours again, he lets out a small sigh, as if he’s been holding his breath all day and can finally relax. “I hate this,” he admits quietly.

“Hate what?” You ask, your fingers playing with the edge of his shirt, needing the physical connection to anchor you.

“Hiding,” he says, the word heavy with the weight of months, years of secrecy. “I hate that we have to keep doing this, sneaking around like we’re doing something wrong.”

You feel a pang in your chest, because you hate it too. Hate the way you have to pretend to be something you’re not in front of everyone else. Hate the way you have to watch your words, your actions, every time you’re in the same room as him. But more than that, you hate the idea of what would happen if the truth came out. The scrutiny, the backlash, the way it would change everything.

“I know,” you say softly, your fingers stilling on his shirt. “But it’s the only way right now. We both knew that going into this.”

“I know we did,” he replies, his voice tinged with frustration. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No,” you agree, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “It doesn’t.”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and for a while, neither of you says anything. The silence is comforting, a shared understanding that words can’t always convey. It’s moments like these that make the rest of it bearable — the stolen kisses, the secret glances, the knowledge that, no matter what happens, you’ll always have each other.

Eventually, Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression softer now, the frustration replaced with something gentler, more resigned. “I just wish it could be different,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Me too,” you admit, your heart aching with the truth of it. “But we’ll get through this, Max. We always do.”

He nods, though you can see the doubt lingering in his eyes. “Yeah, we will,” he says, as if trying to convince himself as much as you. “And when we do, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

“Together,” you echo, holding onto the word like a lifeline.

He leans in to kiss you again, and this time, it’s slower, more deliberate, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail, every sensation. And you let him, because you’re doing the same, savoring the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his hand cradles the back of your head like you’re something precious.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathless, and the world feels a little less heavy, a little less overwhelming. Max rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his breath warm against your skin.

“I love you,” he says, the words so simple, yet so profound in the way they ground you, remind you of what’s important.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady, certain.

He smiles then, that slow, genuine smile that’s just for you, the one that makes your heart skip a beat every time. And in that moment, everything else fades away — the doubts, the fears, the uncertainty of what the future holds. Because right now, in this quiet corner of the paddock, it’s just the two of you, and that’s enough.

For now, it’s enough.

“Come on,” Max says after a moment, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Let’s get out of here before someone comes looking for us.”

You nod, and together, you slip out of the shadows, making your way back through the maze of trailers and motorhomes, hand in hand. The paddock is quieter now, most of the crew having called it a day, and the sky is a deep, dusky blue as night settles in.

As you walk, you can’t help but glance at Max, the way his profile is lit by the dim lights of the paddock, the way his grip on your hand never wavers. It’s moments like these that make it all worth it — the sacrifices, the secrecy, the constant balancing act between your public and private lives.

Because at the end of the day, it’s not the criticism or the articles or even the races that matter. It’s this — being with him, knowing that no matter what, you’ll always have each other.

And as you slip out of the paddock together, unnoticed by anyone, you hold onto that thought, letting it carry you through the darkness, through the uncertainty of what tomorrow might bring.

Because for now, it’s enough.

And that’s all you need.

***

The Hidden Truth: Why I Kept My Marriage a Secret

By: Y/N Y/L/N

For as long as I’ve been a journalist, I’ve prided myself on one thing: honesty. I’ve built a career on asking the tough questions, on digging for the truth even when it’s uncomfortable, and on holding the powerful accountable. That’s why, as I sit down to write this, I find myself in an unfamiliar position — one where I’m the subject of my own scrutiny.

Over the past few years, I’ve become known as Max Verstappen’s biggest critic. I’ve questioned his decisions on track, his attitude off it, and his approach to the sport we both love. I’ve written article after article dissecting his every move, never once pulling my punches. And, in doing so, I’ve created a persona that many have come to recognize — a journalist who isn’t afraid to speak her mind, no matter who she’s writing about.

But there’s something I’ve kept hidden. Something I’ve chosen not to share, not because I’m ashamed of it, but because it’s deeply personal. And now, it’s time to tell the truth.

Max Verstappen is my husband.

Yes, you read that correctly. The man I’ve spent years publicly scrutinizing is the same man I wake up next to every morning, the same man who knows me better than anyone else in this world. We’ve been married for two years, together for even longer, and our relationship is something I hold incredibly dear.

I can already hear the questions — how could I, a journalist dedicated to transparency, keep such a monumental secret? How could I write so critically about the man I love, knowing the impact my words would have? The answers are complex, but I’ll do my best to explain.

When Max and I first started dating, it was easy to keep our relationship private. We were just two people trying to navigate the chaotic world of Formula 1, and neither of us wanted the added pressure of public scrutiny. But as our relationship grew more serious, we both knew that revealing it would come with consequences — not just for us, but for our careers, our reputations, and our personal lives.

So we made a choice. We decided that our relationship was something we wanted to protect, something we wanted to keep just for ourselves. And yes, that meant keeping it a secret from the public, from our colleagues, even from some of our closest friends.

But the secrecy wasn’t about hiding. It was about creating a space where we could be ourselves, away from the cameras, the interviews, the constant analysis of every move we made. It was about having something that was ours and ours alone, in a world where so much is shared, dissected, and often distorted.

Now, as for the criticism — many of you will likely wonder how I could write so harshly about the man I love. The truth is, when I put on my journalist hat, I’m not Max Verstappen’s wife. I’m not Y/N, the woman who loves him. I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the journalist who has a job to do. And that job is to report on the sport objectively, to ask the tough questions, and to hold everyone — including my husband — accountable.

Max knew this from the beginning, and he respected it. In fact, he encouraged it. He didn’t want me to go easy on him just because of our relationship. He wanted me to be true to myself and to my profession, even if that meant writing things that were difficult for both of us. And yes, there were times when it was hard — when I wrote something that hurt him, when we had to have difficult conversations about where to draw the line between my role as a journalist and my role as his partner.

But through it all, we’ve managed to keep our relationship strong, because we both understand that what happens on the track, what’s written in the press, isn’t the full story. The full story is what happens behind closed doors, away from the public eye, in the quiet moments we share when it’s just the two of us.

And now, the secret’s out. I know this revelation will come as a shock to many, and I’m prepared for the questions, the speculation, and yes, the criticism that will inevitably follow. But I want to make one thing clear — I’m not sorry.

I’m not sorry for keeping our relationship private. I’m not sorry for protecting something that means the world to me. And I’m not sorry for continuing to do my job with integrity, even when it meant writing things that were difficult for both of us.

This is our truth. It’s messy, it’s complicated, but it’s ours. And now, it’s out there for the world to see. I’m not asking for understanding or approval, because I know this will be a difficult pill for some to swallow. But I am asking for respect — for my choices, for our relationship, and for the fact that, at the end of the day, we’re just two people who fell in love in a world that’s anything but ordinary.

Max and I are still the same people we were before you knew about us. He’s still the incredible driver you’ve come to admire, and I’m still the journalist who will continue to ask the tough questions, no matter who’s on the other side of them.

The only difference now is that you know the full story.

And I’m okay with that.

***

The Other Side: Why We Chose to Keep Our Love Private

By: Max Verstappen

I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge, whether on the track or off. Racing is in my blood — it’s what I’ve known and loved my entire life. But writing? That’s a whole different race, one where I’m definitely out of my comfort zone. So, when Y/N suggested I write this article, I wasn’t sure if it was such a great idea. But she convinced me — like she always does — so here I am, trying to find the words to explain what’s been one of the most significant parts of my life, one that I’ve kept hidden from the world until now.

As you’ve probably read by now, Y/N Y/L/N, the journalist who has been my harshest critic, is also my wife. Let that sink in for a moment — I know it took me a while to get used to the idea too. Not the fact that she’s my wife, but that the world now knows something we’ve kept private for so long.

When Y/N and I started dating, we had no idea where it would lead. We were just two people who happened to find something special in each other, despite the chaos of our worlds. But as our relationship deepened, so did the challenges. How do you navigate a relationship when one of you is in the spotlight 24/7, and the other’s job is to shine that light as brightly as possible, even when it’s uncomfortable?

We quickly realized that what we had was too important to let the world dictate how we lived it. So, we made a choice — a choice to keep our relationship private, not because we were ashamed, but because we wanted something for ourselves, something that wasn’t up for public debate or scrutiny.

People will ask why we did it, why we went to such lengths to keep it a secret, and the answer is simple: because we had to. Being a Formula 1 driver means living your life under a microscope. Every move you make, every word you say, is analyzed, criticized, and often misunderstood. It’s a pressure cooker, and adding a public relationship into that mix was something we weren’t willing to do.

It wasn’t an easy decision. There were times when I wanted to scream from the rooftops about how much I love this woman, how much she means to me, and how proud I am of her. But I knew that doing so would open us up to a level of scrutiny neither of us wanted or needed. And so, we kept it quiet, we kept it private, and we built something strong and real away from the cameras.

That’s not to say it was without its challenges. Y/N’s articles about me — some of which were less than flattering — were hard to swallow at times. But I respected her too much to ask her to change the way she does her job. She’s a journalist, and a damn good one at that. She has a responsibility to her readers, to the sport, and to herself to be honest, even if that honesty stings.

Did it hurt when she wrote something critical about me? Of course, it did. But I also understood that what she wrote came from a place of integrity, not malice. It was her job to ask the tough questions, to hold me accountable, and to do so without bias. And I loved her even more for it.

You might wonder how we managed to keep our relationship strong despite the secrecy and the criticism. The truth is, we did it by being honest with each other in ways we couldn’t be with anyone else. We talked — about everything. About the articles, about the pressures we were both under, about our fears and our hopes for the future. We made sure that, no matter what happened on the track or in the press, we were solid in our relationship. And we were.

But now that the secret’s out, I know things will change. People will have opinions, and they’ll want to know every detail of how we made this work. They’ll want to dissect our relationship just like they dissect my races. And that’s fine — we knew this day would come eventually.

What I want people to understand, though, is that our decision to keep our relationship private wasn’t about deception. It was about protection. We wanted to protect what we had, to give ourselves the space to grow as a couple without the pressures of the outside world bearing down on us.

I’ve always been a private person, and that’s not going to change just because the truth is out. But I’m also incredibly proud of what Y/N and I have built together. She’s my toughest critic, yes, but she’s also my biggest supporter, my partner, and the person I trust more than anyone else in this world.

So, why write this now? Because I want to set the record straight. I want people to understand that our relationship is real, that it’s built on love, respect, and a shared understanding of what it means to live in this crazy world of Formula 1. We didn’t hide it because we were ashamed — we hid it because we wanted to protect it, to keep it safe from the chaos that surrounds us every day.

And now that the secret’s out, I’m not afraid of what’s to come. I know there will be challenges, but I also know that we’ll face them together, just like we’ve faced everything else.

This is our story. It’s not perfect, and it’s far from simple, but it’s ours. And now, the world knows it too.

***

The sun hangs low over the paddock as you walk beside Max, your hand nestled comfortably in his. The usually bustling environment feels different today, like the air has thickened with anticipation. You can feel the eyes on you — hundreds of them, some curious, some incredulous, all hungry for the next piece of the puzzle that is you and Max Verstappen.

You’ve written about this very paddock more times than you can count. You’ve captured its energy, its chaos, its unpredictability. But today, for the first time, you’re the story.

Max squeezes your hand, a silent reassurance, and you glance up at him. He’s calm, or at least he appears to be. You know him well enough to see the subtle signs of tension — the set of his jaw, the way his eyes scan the crowd with a little more intensity than usual. He’s ready for whatever comes next. So are you, or at least that’s what you tell yourself.

“Ready?” He asks, his voice low, meant only for you.

“As I’ll ever be,” you reply, managing a small smile.

The first few steps into the paddock are deceptively quiet, almost serene. But then, as if someone has flipped a switch, the cameras flash, the microphones extend, and the questions start flying at you from every direction.

“Max! Is it true you’ve been married for two years?”

“Y/N, why did you keep it a secret?”

“How does this change your dynamic on the grid?”

“Will you be writing about Max differently now?”

You and Max exchange a glance, a wordless conversation in the middle of the media frenzy. His hand tightens around yours, a steady anchor in the chaos. You can feel the eyes of your colleagues, the other journalists who are now looking at you not as one of them but as a subject. It’s a disorienting feeling, like the world has suddenly shifted and you’re standing in a place you no longer recognize.

Max leans in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “Welcome to my world.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up, a sound that cuts through the tension like a knife. It’s absurd, this whole situation. You’ve spent years writing about him, criticizing him, analyzing his every move, and now you’re on the other side of that scrutiny.

You straighten your shoulders, drawing on every ounce of professionalism you have. This is what you signed up for. You’ve spent years dissecting the lives of others, and now it’s your turn to be under the microscope. It’s only fair.

But Max isn’t letting you go it alone. He steps forward, his presence commanding as he addresses the swarm of reporters. “We’ll take questions, but let’s keep it civil,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The first question comes from a reporter you recognize, someone you’ve shared more than a few press rooms with. “Max, how does it feel to have your relationship with Y/N out in the open?”

Max glances at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It feels good. We’ve wanted to keep this part of our lives private, but now that it’s out, we’re ready to move forward.”

Another reporter jumps in, this one more aggressive. “Y/N, how do you expect to remain unbiased in your reporting now that everyone knows you’re married to Max?”

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I’ve always strived for objectivity in my work, and that won’t change. My relationship with Max is separate from my role as a journalist. I’ll continue to ask the tough questions, just as I always have.”

It’s a carefully crafted answer, one you rehearsed in your head a dozen times before stepping into the paddock. But you can see the skepticism in their eyes, the doubt that you can truly keep your professional and personal lives separate. It stings, but you knew it was coming.

Max’s voice cuts through the murmurs. “Y/N has always been one of the best in the business, and that’s not going to change just because we’re married. If anything, she’ll probably be even harder on me now.”

There’s a ripple of laughter, a brief moment of levity in the tension-filled space. But it’s short-lived. The questions keep coming, each one sharper than the last.

“Max, do you think your performance on the track will be affected now that your marriage is public?”

“Y/N, do you regret keeping this a secret for so long?”

“What about the other drivers? How do they feel about this?”

You’re starting to feel the weight of it all, the relentless pressure of the cameras, the voices, the questions that seem to dig deeper and deeper. But Max is by your side, unwavering, and that gives you strength.

“I don’t regret anything,” you say firmly, your voice cutting through the noise. “Max and I made the decision to keep our relationship private because it was what was best for us. We wanted to protect something that mattered to us, and I don’t think anyone can fault us for that.”

Max nods, his hand still wrapped around yours. “We knew this would come with challenges, but we’re ready to face them together.”

There’s a moment of silence, a pause as the reporters digest your words. But you know this isn’t the end of it. The scrutiny, the questions, they’re not going to stop anytime soon. You’ve become the story, and that’s something you’ll have to live with.

But as you stand there, side by side with Max, you realize that you’re okay with it. You’ve spent years writing about other people’s lives, their triumphs and failures, their relationships and rivalries. Now, it’s your turn to be in the spotlight, and you’re ready for it.

“Max, Y/N,” a voice calls out, one of the more seasoned journalists you’ve always respected. “What’s next for you two? How do you plan to navigate this new chapter?”

Max looks at you, his eyes softening. “We’re going to keep doing what we’ve always done. I’ll keep racing, Y/N will keep writing, and we’ll keep supporting each other every step of the way. This is just another challenge, and we’re more than ready to face it.”

You nod, feeling a surge of confidence. “We’re not going to let this change who we are or what we do. We’ve always been a team, and that’s not going to change now.”

There’s a finality to your words, a sense that you’ve said all there is to say. The reporters sense it too, the questions starting to taper off as they realize they’re not going to get anything more out of you today.

Max squeezes your hand one last time before turning to the crowd. “Thanks, everyone. We’ll see you in the media pen.”

With that, he starts to lead you away, but not before you catch the eyes of a few of your colleagues. There’s a mix of emotions there — some understanding, some curiosity, and yes, some judgment. But you don’t let it get to you. You’ve spent your career building a reputation, and one revelation isn’t going to tear that down.

As you walk away from the crowd, Max’s arm slips around your waist, pulling you close. “Not so bad, huh?” He murmurs.

You laugh softly, leaning into him. “Speak for yourself. I think I’ll stick to writing the articles, not being the subject of them.”

Max chuckles, his breath warm against your temple. “Now you know why I’m not a fan of the media. Present company excluded, of course.”

“Of course,” you echo, smiling up at him.

The paddock is still buzzing with energy, the usual pre-race preparations in full swing. But you and Max walk through it with a new sense of purpose, a newfound clarity. The secret is out, and while it comes with challenges, it also comes with freedom — a freedom to be yourselves, to love each other openly, without the burden of secrecy.

You know the road ahead won’t be easy. There will be more questions, more scrutiny, more judgment. But as long as you have Max by your side, you know you can handle whatever comes your way.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hey 😊👋 I love your Task Force 141 Imagines and finally had the courage to request one myself:

How would they react to the trend where their partner makes dinner but gives them the bigger portion and gives themselves only a small one with the excuse that "That's all we had left" ?

(I hope you understand what I mean)

I'm about 99.9% sure you're talking about the viral TikTok trend. That's what I interpreted the ask as (which is how I wrote it). Most of the time, those videos are pretty wholesome. Sometimes they aren't. But with regards to 141, they're gonna be wholesome about it. No body shaming. Not dismissive. Just walking green flags who are also done with your shit (because pranking them is just hilarious). Anyway! Enjoy!!!

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

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, pranks & practical jokes, humor, fluff, married couple, mild suggestive themes

Word Count: 1k

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

John Price

"Love, what is that?"

"That's all we had left."

"That's all we had left?" repeats John.

You shrug nonchalantly. There's plenty of food, enough for each of you and leftovers for tomorrow, but John doesn't need to know that...yet.

"It's fine,” you shrug. “I'm not that hungry so I gave you a bigger portion."

John's concern only worsens. "You did what?"

"I wasn’t hungry so I—"

“I heard what you said,” interrupts John. He points at your plate. “But there’s nothing on it.”

“I’ll be fine.”

"No," he says firmly, waving his hand. "No."

Without asking, he swaps your plates.

"John. Stop."

"I'm not that hungry," he says, repeating your own words back at you. "Ate more than enough at work. I don't need all this. You do."

You reach for the plate but he lifts it off the table, holding it out of reach. Part of you wants to scold him to carry on the rouse, but instead you're giggling.

"Not sure what's funny,” grumbles John.

"There's more,” you laugh, covering your mouth.

"There's—” John glances between you and the kitchen. John rolls his eyes but he's trying to hold back a smile. “You naughty fucking thing."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You place a plate piled high with food in front of Kyle.

“Thanks, babe.” He glances up at you, grinning. His gaze shifts to your plate, smile fading into confusion. You purposely gave yourself less just to see his reaction.

“I forgot forks.” You walk back into the kitchen. “You want a fork, right?”

“Yeah,” replies Kyle slowly, now pointing at your plate. “But…what is that?”

You return to the table. “That’s all we had left.”

Lies. There’s plenty left.

“But why is mine full and yours—” He gestures at your plate.

You feign confusion. “You work really hard. You need it.”

“This,” says Kyle pointing at his own plate. “Is a lot.” He then points at your plate. “That’s not.”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re taking some of mine.”

“Kyle—”

“Don’t argue with me.”

You pick up your fork, intending to eat, but Kyle is quick, snatching your plate right off the table and swapping it with his. He keeps your plate in his hand, shoving you away when you try to reach for it.

“Sit,” he commands.

“Kyle.”

He ignores you, clearing the plate in a couple of bites.

“Kyle,” you scold, but you’re giggling, dropping the guise.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks, glancing around.

Unable to keep control of your composure, you point in the direction of the kitchen. Frowning, Kyle follows your index finger. He takes a few steps into the kitchen and comes to a dead stop.

He slowly spins on his heel, his expression so exasperated that you burst out laughing. With a loud sigh, Kyle returns to the table, swapping the empty plate for the full one.

Dropping into his seat, Kyle shakes his head. “Get yourself a real portion and then come join me.” Then, with a smirk, “You little terror.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny reclines on the sofa, completely absorbed in the rugby match on the television.

With you, is dinner. Two plates, one for each of you. You’ve loaded Johnny’s plate, but have hardly filled yours. It’s just a prank. A test to see if he notices anything.

He has a knack for not paying attention to the smaller details. Sometimes Johnny is so distracted whenever there is a game on that he's oblivious to everything else around him. One time—just to see—you walked around completely naked. It took nearly a full fifteen minutes for him to realize it.

You casually take a seat next to him, offering Johnny his plate.

"Thank you," he says, taking it without removing his gaze from the television.

You keep your plate in your lap, casually moving the few bites of food around while taking incredibly small bites.

Johnny chews. Watches. Still oblivious to your tiny portion.

You purposefully bang your fork against the side of the plate.

He does a double take. "What’s that?"

"What’s what?"

"That.”

You shrug. "It’s all we had left."

With a growl that’s more groan, Johnny starts pushing his food off his plate and onto yours.

"Johnny. No. That's your food." He tuts, not saying anything. "I'm fine." you insist, trying to push his plate away.

“No, love,” says Johnny. He settles back onto the sofa and gives your cheek a quick peck.

You wait a beat. "There's plenty of food."

Johnny turns. Blinks. "Oh, aye?" He grabs your plate and dumps the food back on his.

"Johnny!"

"You’re having a right laugh.” He gestures toward the kitchen. “Go on.”

As you stand, he gives your ass a light smack. When you turn to swat his hand, you’re greeted with his cheeky grin.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The plate you set before Simon is nearly overflowing.

"Thank you, love," he murmurs, placing his hand at your back.

You lean in, giving him a quick kiss. He accepts it with a soft smile, lightly squeezing your thigh before you step away to grab your own plate.

Compared to Simon’s portion, your plate is practically empty. It’s really only a few bites, but it’s just for kicks. There is plenty still left in the kitchen. You just want to fuck with Simon.

When you set your plate down and fall into your seat, Simon’s attention immediately focuses in on the lack of sustenance.

He leans forward a bit, staring you down, silent.

“What?” you ask, pretending that this is all perfectly normal.

He keeps staring.

“What is it?” you prompt.

“No.”

No. Just—no.

You blink. "No? No what?”

Simon sucks his fork clean and tosses it onto the table, still shaking his head. You’re losing. It’s hardly started and you’ve lost.

“It’s all that’s left!”

He shakes his finger at you, walking away and into the kitchen. “I know you,” he says over his shoulder. “You’re taking the piss.”

Goddamn it.

Simon sees right through you. Always does.

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[marvelwitchergilmore]

Sleeping, Dancing and Mistletoe

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Times when people found evidence that you and Logan were possibly a couple, and the one time you both finally confirmed it.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff, mentions/illusions to sex, Logan checking you out. Couple of swear words here and there. This has been unfinished in my drafts for at least a week so...yeah. This is finished. little Christmas at the end. Not Proof Read.

For what felt like the thirtieth time in the hour, you turned over with a huff and pressed your pillow to your ears, trying to muffle the sounds coming from next door. 

And just as it finally died down, you sighed and was just about to thank some ancient being for hearing your prayers when…it started again. 

“That’s it.”

Changing out of your longer pyjama bottoms and into some sleep shorts, you made your way out of your room, keeping your footsteps as quiet as you could until the noises faded away and you started to reach your intended room. 

Opening up the door, you found exactly what you were looking for. 

Shaking his shoulder as he lay on his stomach, you whispered his name, hoping he’d hear you. 

“Logan.” You shook him for a third time. “Logan.” 

Nothing. 

With another sigh, you slapped his face gently and said his name once more, a little louder and firmer. 

“Logan.”

Finally, he groaned. “What?” 

His voice was muffled by his pillow but you could hear him just well enough. Or maybe you were just used to his grunts that they were starting to become their own language you could understand. 

“Move over. I’m sleeping here tonight.”

“What’s wrong with your bed?”

“Nothing.”

“Then go and sleep there.�� Logan turned his head away from you and scrunched up his pillow beneath his head.

“I can’t. My neighbours have decided tonight is Valentine’s Day 2.0.”

You pushed half of his body with your hands until he finally got the cue to turn over. 

“Too much information.”

You shook your head, “Too much information is what I’ve been hearing for the last hour.”

Finally, Logan rolled onto his back, his covers covering his bottom half, and groaned. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

Logan straightened himself in his bed, giving you room to get in beside him. And the minute you touched his covers, you were glad you had changed into shorts. 

Logan was like a furnace. Just constant heat radiating from his body and for as much as it, at times, got too hot to stand near him, he was also, in your opinion, the best person to fall asleep beside. 

“Just shut up and go to sleep.”

Laying on your side, it wasn’t long until you closed your eyes, thankful that you could hear nothing other than Logan’s steady breathing and the distant clock down the hall that was forever ticking. 

However, just before you fully drifted off, you felt Logan’s hand take hold of yours and you smiled. 

He could be gruff all he liked, but when it came to you, he could be a softie. 

By the time morning rolled around, Storm was in search of both yourself and Logan. So, when she found your bed empty and cold, she figured Logan would know where you were. 

But he was asleep. 

Right beside you. 

Storm leaned against the door frame for a while, taking in the picture in front of her. 

Logan was fast asleep, something that was a miracle in itself, with you right beside him, your head turned towards the windows in his room, his own looking towards you, all the while, his arm slung over your midsection and one of your own hands, holding his. 

“Storm- what are you- Oh.”

Jean looked inside. 

“Looks like someone had a good night.” She smiled before looking back at Storm. “Do you think we can finally ask if they’re together?”

“I’d say this is confirmation enough.”

You shifted in your sleep as did Logan, and the two girls hid behind the corner for a moment. 

You turned your head and the rest of your body towards Logan, all the while his arm held you in a stronger grip and pulled you towards him. 

It took you a moment but you finally opened your eyes, adjusting to the light before your vision finally cleared on a sleeping Logan. 

For a moment, you allowed the hand between you both to reach up and brush the stray hairs from his eyes. It was rare you ever got to see Logan this…calm. 

Serene. 

Rested. 

Unknowingly, you started to run your left thumb over Logan’s arm that still held onto you. 

Then his fingers twitched, running over the exposed skin at the bottom of your back. 

“Are you watching me sleep?” His voice was rough, the first words in the morning. 

“Not anymore,” you smiled, brushing the final parts of his hair out of his face. 

“Thanks for letting me stay.”

Then a cough came from the door. 

Logan groaned. “Is this a new hobby; watching people sleep?”

Jean and Storm laughed from the door. “You two look cosy.”

You lifted your head and glared at Jean. “There is one reason I’m here. Maybe I think it’s time you make an investment in soundproof walls.”

Jean turned a little red and Storm laughed. 

“Look, we’ve got a busy day. You can kiss your boyfriend later.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you called out just as Logan called; “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Storm and Jean nodded and just as Jean snapped a picture, she sent it to both yourself and Logan as they walked away. 

“Sure.”

Leaning up, Logan reached for his phone to see the notification pop up before he placed it back down and you climbed out of bed. 

“They’re got a point.”

“About us being a couple?”

You threw a t-shirt at Logan. “Having a busy day.”

Logan laughed a little, scrubbing his face as he watched you leave his room before he reached behind him and took hold of his phone once more. 

Jean and Storm were right. 

From the picture…they did look like a couple. 

A couple of days passed and you were sitting in the quiet living room, the fires on both sides roaring. 

All classes had been finished for two days and some kids had returned home for the holidays, which meant you had some free time on your hands. 

And for you, that meant finally reading. 

Until you sensed someone stood behind you. 

“If you want to know what happens, you could just ask me.”

Logan plucked the book from your hands and circled around the sofa before coming to sit down beside you. 

“Logan! Give it back.”

“I want to see what it’s about.”

You sighed and sat up, “It’s a romance, Logan.”

“A romance?” Logan had a hint of a smirk on his face. “Like the…trashy kind?”

“Like the romantic kind.”

Logan looked at you and smiled. “The trashy kind.”

You rolled your eyes and took the book back from him, leaving him to fix the blanket so it rested over both of you. He placed his arm over the back of the sofa, allowing you to lean into him, whether you noticed you were doing so or not. 

“Just because you might not believe in romance, doesn’t mean the rest of us are the same.”

“I believe in romance.” 

“Yeah, right.”

Logan couldn’t help but smile. “What?”

“The Wolverine,” you said with a deep voice. “Believes in romance?”

Logan nodded. “Occasionally.”

“Occasionally?”

“Do you just like repeating everything I say?”

You nodded and smiled. “Occasionally.”

Logan rolled his eyes and took the book back from you and read a line out loud. 

“People really talk like this?”

You leaned into Logan. “No, but in a book it’s not so bad. Go on, read some more.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You nodded. “You’re like my own personal audiobook.”

Logan gave a short smile before getting a little cosier and continued reading out loud. 

It wasn’t long before Logan found you asleep against him and he shifted in order to avoid you getting a crick in your neck. 

“Keep reading.”

“I thought you were asleep.” 

“Now I’m awake.” 

“Fine, just be quiet.”

You gave a fake salute. “Yes, sir.”

Holding his arm around your body that was pressed between himself and the sofa, Logan quickly kissed the top of your head and went back to reading. 

And ten minutes later, you were asleep. 

And so was he. 

An hour passed before someone found either of you, but this time, it was Scott and Bobby. 

“They might be in- oh. What do we have here?”

“Oh my god, Rouge has to see this. I told her they were together.”

Bobby rushed off and soon returned, pulling Rouge with him. 

“What is it?” Then she gasped. 

“Believe me now?”

And what Rouge saw made her smile. 

On the slightly too small sofa for Logan, you lay both between him and the sofa, as well as partly on him with your hand a little over his heart. His head was turned towards you. The blanket had fallen a little, so she reached over and pulled it up both of you before turning around and throwing a log onto the fire. 

“Come on, let's leave them.”

“But-”

“No, you are not going to disturb them. Come on.”

Rouge dragged the pair out and closed the door behind her. 

The third time people suspected you and Logan were an item was one late evening in October. 

Half of the kids were playing outside with all the freshly fallen leaves, whilst some of the older kids helped them find different critters and point them out, and build them habitats. The rest of the kids were either in their rooms or studying. 

Save for two. 

Bobby and Rouge were hiding outside of the kitchen watching yourself and Logan cook. 

“I didn’t even know he knew how to…chop. Let alone cook.”

“You should have more faith in him.”

“Come on, Rouge. You can’t tell me you weren't thinking it, too.”

And she couldn’t. Because she was. 

Meanwhile inside the kitchen, Logan was watching you from the kitchen island as he continued chopping the veg. 

There was something different about you. From the way you practically danced around the kitchen finding the different items for the recipe, to just…you. Whilst he was (semi) shirtless, just having his zipper hoodie on, along with his jeans and socks. He would have been fully dressed, except you had come and ambushed him in his room – even though you denied the word “ambushed” – to get him to help. 

And you were just simply in your pyjamas (of sorts) along with one of his zipper hoodies. 

“Bub,”

Logan laid down his knife and walked over to you as you stood by the stove, standing a little higher to see how much water was left in the pot at the back. 

You hummed a questioned response, but was met with a question…you didn’t expect. 

“Dance with me?”

“What?”

Logan smiled lightly as he pulled the wooden spoon from your hand and pulled you closer to him, despite him walking backwards. 

“Come on,” his voice in a light whisper. “Dance with me.”

“Didn’t take you for a dancer.”

Outside the door, Bobby and Rouge mouthed to each other; “They’re dancing.”

And you both were. 

Gently swaying to the music for a while, you allowed Logan to lead you around a small space in the centre of the kitchen. 

“We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Logan gave a slight smile at you as he spun you out and back in, “We’re not gonna burn the sauce.”

“Logan.”

“Can’t you ever just enjoy a moment?”

“When that moment doesn’t include burning the house down, yes.”

“Bit of a jump, don’t you think, from burning the sauce.”

“Ha, so you agree. We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Moving over, Logan turned down the heat on one of the pans before taking your hand back into his. “Now we won’t.”

Bobby and Rouge watched, in shock, the rest. 

For one, Logan knew how to dance? Since when? And since when did he…cook and dance in the kitchen? Unless…

Then Logan did something even you didn’t expect. 

He dipped you. 

You hand tightened its grip on Logan’s arm as you let out a small, if a little nervous, laugh. 

Logan had been full of surprises recently. From the impromptu audiobook session in which you woke up in his arms, to him not only dropping off a cup of coffee during your break from teaching but also a freshly baked muffin. 

And now he was dancing with you in the kitchen. 

And dipping you. 

When you had rushed him out of his room to help you cook, you hadn’t expected him to know the recipe for the sauce from the top of his head. Something he just happened to rattle off whilst you were looking for the cooking notebook that should have been in the cupboard beside the oven. Let alone be the one to ask to dance in the kitchen, and dip you. 

Bring you back up, both of you gave a slight chuckle as you turned around, the music slowly fading away in the background. 

“Logan…”

Looking at him, you forgot what you were going to say. 

Had his eyes always had so much green in them? 

Logan’s palm became warm against your back as it pressed further into you. Or maybe you pressed further into him and he just held you tighter. 

Slowly, your hand left his bicep and trailed towards his chest all the while your eyes studied his face. You’d known him for years and seen him a thousand times or more. 

So why did now feel like you were seeing him for the first time? Noticing him? Noticing each particle he was made up of that allowed him to sway with you in the kitchen to the music that had changed on the radio?

Only, before the space between yourself and Logan became any more closer, a noise came from outside the door. 

A sneeze. 

A sneeze that shocked you and Logan back into reality. 

Still holding you, Logan looked towards the door and gave a hint of a smile when he saw the flash of white disappear behind the beam. 

Realising what was happening, you lowered yourself back to the ground and slowly stepped out of Logan’s arms. “We should finish up.”

Logan nodded in agreement, however did look back at you when you got back to the stove, not noticing you do the same a few moments later, watching him pick up the rest of the veg and toss it into the collider to be washed. 

Time passed and after more music, more conversation - including a burnt tongue from when you had shoved a wooden spoon with fresh sauce on, into Logan’s mouth for him to try - and a lot of scrubbing later, you found Logan sitting inside the library and collapsed next to him. 

“Good news, the kids loved the food,” you told Logan. “Double good news; Jean and Scott are on cooking duty tomorrow.”

“Thank fuck.”

“Thank you for helping me.” Turning to look at Logan, you found him already looking. 

“You did ambush me.”

“I didn’t ambush you.”

“I wasn’t dressed.” Logan examined himself. “Technically, I’m still not.”

You rolled your eyes with a slight smile. “Fine. Maybe it was a mini, tiny, miniscule ambush.” 

You made a small space between your fingers. “Like this big of an ambush.”

Logan looked at you, at your fingers and then back to you in slight disgust before moving your fingers wider with his own. 

“That big of an ambush.”

You rolled your eyes and dropped your hand. “And they say us women are dramatic.”

It was Logan’s turn to roll his eyes. However, as he did so, his arm wrapped around you, and pulled you back into him and the sofa. 

“Just shut the fuck up for a minute and listen.”

You did so. 

“I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s the point.” Logan’s eyes were shut as his head rested on the back of the sofa. 

Eventually you gave a shrug and joined him. 

An hour later, Storm found you both fast asleep beside one another so with a knowing smile, she found a blanket, covered you both up and closed the door behind her. But not before reminding herself she needed to get verbal confirmation from you both. 

She wasn’t handing over any money to Jean and Xavier until she had verbal confirmation of what exactly was going on between you two. 

And she didn’t have to wait long…at least in the long run, she didn’t have to wait long. 

Until then, there were plenty more incidents of falling asleep next to each other, bringing each other coffee, dancing to music in the kitchen, smiling and laughing – all before she finally got verbal confirmation that the inevitable had finally happened. 

Finally, it was acceptable to decorate for Christmas. 

Two days prior, Rogue, Logan and Storm had been helping you find all the old decorations in the attic and bring them down. Storm did try then to bribe something out of Rogue, but she apparently was just in the dark as the rest of them. 

But the smile she gave when she looked over at Logan, who was placing down another box from the back of the pile for you to take a look at, told Storm something different. 

“I can’t believe you leave it this late to decorate.”

Logan looked at you. “We’re still in November.”

“So?” 

Taking hold of the garland, you started to climb the ladder. Logan held onto the bottom just to be safe. 

“If you had it your way, the decorations would be up all year round.”

“Hey, no.”

“Hey, yes.”

“I’d take them down for…” you tried to think. “Halloween. You’d have a little break.”

Logan didn’t look entirely thrilled. “Halloween is one day.”

“Technically, it’s a month.”

“To you, it’s a month. To the rest of us, it’s a day.”

You looked back at him. “To you it’s a day, to the rest of us it’s a month.”

Then you looked back at the garland. “How does that look?”

“Great from where I’m standing.”

You looked a little confused for a second before quickly looking over your shoulder, realising where Logan was, in fact, looking. 

Not at the garland, but at your ass. 

You smiled and started to step down the ladder, hitting his shoulder on the way down. 

“I meant the garland.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Logan looked up. “Looks great.”

You laughed. “You didn’t even look.”

With a smile as you finally stepped back into his arm, he looked to the side and up. “It looks great.”

“Good. Now,” Logan turned back to look at you and you kissed him quickly. “We have to put up five more.”

“I get to watch you put up five more.”

You smiled. “This is why you’re my favourite person.”

Logan smiled. He could help you with everything else, but when it came to the garland, you had full control on where it went. Which, he didn’t mind. So long as he got to watch you put it up. 

You quickly kissed him once more, only to be pulled back when you tried to walk away. 

Then Logan gave you a real kiss. 

A little dizzy, you smiled and placed a hand on his chest and closed your eyes. “Wow.”

He gave you a quicker, lighter kiss. “You better get going before Rogue comes back with another box of lights.”

“Light?” Then it hit you. “Oh, yeah.”

Logan smirked a little as he watched you walk away and down the hallway. 

It was a couple of hours before everyone was in the same room, making the final touches all the while most of the other kids were either playing outside in the snow, were taking naps or decorating their own rooms. 

And the others had been watching you and Logan all day. 

The stolen glances, the stolen touches, the slightly knowing smiles from both Rogue and Bobby. And then, as Logan was helping you down from the ladder, his hand on your thigh, Bobby went to make the final hammer to hang up the mistletoe. 

“Wait, no. Not there.”

“Where then?”

Storm looked around. “I know. Y/n, hang this just above there. We don’t need a remake of Mistletoe Central 1997.”

Logan looked at Storm. “Do I wanna know?”

Storm shook her head. “Here.”

She handed you the mistletoe before Logan passed you the hammer back from his belt. 

Three knocks and the nail was set in and the mistletoe was above you on a corner beam, just a little to the side of the christmas tree. 

At least this way, those looking for it, would find it. 

"Oh, no, wait.” Jean said, looking at you. “Have to kiss someone. It’s tradition. You’re under the mistletoe.”

There was no one else apart from Logan.

Logan looked around at the others. He wondered how long it would take. 

Coming up behind you on the ladder, you moved over for him to stand beside you. His palm on your back held you steady and, leaning his other arm on the ledge of the ladder, his hand cupped your face and he kissed you. 

Lasting a little longer than the others had expected, you soon heard Rogue giving a little cheer, as well as a couple of whistles from the others. 

“Okay, I think they get it.” You whispered to Logan as he finally pulled away, a smile very noticeable on both of your faces. 

“Happy now?” Logan asked, turning towards where Jean and Scott were standing. 

“That was some kiss.”

You felt yourself blush at the comment. As did Logan. 

He helped you back down the ladder before you both turned and really saw the other's expression. As well as the exchanging of money between people. 

“Sooo…how long has this been going on?”

You were leaning into Logan, his hand around your back and on your hip. 

You looked at Logan, “A couple of months. We’re…what? November now so that would…”

“That would…” Logan counted back in his head. “May…June, July…six months.”

You looked back to the others. “Six months.”

A chorus of shocked faces and loud voices sounded out; “SIX MONTHS?!”

All before a small call from Rogue was made, which made both yourself and Logan smile. 

“I knew it!”

[satoruan]

SNAPING AT THEIR KIDS — Jujutsu Kaisen

( CW ) f!reader, children, tantrums, lots of tears  

FEATURING: Nanami Kento, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Choso Kamo 

Authors note: the way Choso’s son refuses to eat dinner when you all sit down, he just huffs and puffs and you eventually have to give in and buy him Taco Bell, so he doesn’t go to sleep on an empty stomach. And Gojo’s son knew what he was doing when he hit him hehe. 

☾GOJO SATORU 

“Daddy, I wanna go to the park.” His twins yell for what feels like the thousandth time today. Satoru whines, throwing his arm over his eyes when one of the twins points flashlights in his face. “I said no, Daddy doesn’t feel well today—we can play in your room, how about we build a fort?” Satoru answers again—just like he did the last time and the time before and the time before that. “No Daddy! Wanna go to ‘park!” His girl screams before his son hits him square in the dick with the flashlight. He jumps up, howling in pain. “I said not today!” He snaps and instantly regrets it when he hears the venom in his voice. How holds his throbbing dick before looking up and his babies. They both stare at him with frowns. His little girl looks about ready to start sobbing and his son looks like he wants to hit him with the flashlight again. “Shit, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to yell,” He apologizes, flinching back when little tears slip out their eyes. “I’m sorry, I'm sorry, don’t cry. How ‘bout we go to the park okay? Daddy didn’t mean to yell, oh don’t cry, baby.” He whispers, reaching out with big hands to grab them and pull them into his lap. “Park?” “Yep, park.” They look at each other before breaking out in a scream. 

☾GETO SUGURU 

“Daddy?” His daughter pulls the end of his long hair. “I'm busy, baby.” He answers as he scrolls through his emails on his work computer. “Wanna see.” She whines, trying to climb onto her father’s lap. She just slides off, unable to pull her body weight up with small arms. “In a little bit, go play with Mommy baby,” he says, trying to convince his daughter who just huffs and holds her arms up to him. “I wanna work too!” She whines and Suguru grumbles before lifting her onto his lap. He sets her in the nook of her arm. She snuggles into Suguru's content for a few minutes. “My turn Daddy.” She stands up on his lap and reaches over to touch the computer. She fails, instead pushing the cup of water he had been slipping on. The cup tilts over and pours all over Suguru’s computer. “Dammit D/n!” He growls out and though he doesn't yell his deep voice is enough to cause his daughter to jump in fear. “Sorry, ’m sorry.” She cries, trying to crawl out of her father's lap. “Shit--It’s alright baby. Hey, it’s okay sweet girl.” “I didn’t mean to.” “I know. Let’s clean up our mess, okay?” He kisses his daughter's forehead and carries her to grab a towel. 

☾CHOSO KAMO 

“I don’t want your ugly food.” His son screams at him. “Well, you aren’t getting Fast food.” He mutters. “I want Taco Bell!” He screams, but Choso just ignores him and continues to stir the food. “I said I want Taco Bell!” He throws himself on the floor, kicking and rolling around Choso’s legs. Choso tries to ignore the temper tantrum his son is throwing but after several minutes it starts to get unbearable. Anything he says just goes in one ear and out the other. “No Fast food!” He eventually snaps. S/n immediately stops rolling on the floor when he hears his father yell. Choso turns the stove on low before walking over and crouching in front of his son. “Daddy doesn’t wanna yell baby, but you gotta understand that you can’t get Fast food every day. It’s not healthy for you alright?” He explains to his son. His son just glares up at him. Choso smiles back which prompts the little boy to grumble how stupid and ugly his father looks. When they eventually come to an understanding, he picks him up and lets him help him cook.  

☾NANAMI KENTO 

Nanami’s loud voice echoes through the living room, and you race to the living room in worry. Once you turn the corner you see your daughter looking at him with wide tear-filled eyes. She’s never seen this side of her dad; you can’t think of one time her dad raised his voice at her. “Kento? What’s going on?” You glare at him as your daughter comes running into you. You hold her little body to you. Kento stands there with a shocked expression on his face. He didn’t mean to snap at his little girl, he just had a bad day at the office and brought that attitude home. “Daddy’s mean.” Your daughter cries out, wrapping her small arms tighter around your legs. “Princess,” Kento whispers as he cautiously walks towards you two. “I didn’t mean to yell at you princess, I’m so sorry.” He chokes out, crouching down to her level. When she hears the familiar softness in her dad’s voice, she slowly peaks around you. Kento holds his arms open. She doesn’t hesitate and jumps into her father's arms. “s’ok I forgive you, Daddy.” She sniffles into his neck. Nanami squeezes her tightly, whispering out apologies on how he’ll never do it again. You can tell by the look in his eyes your daughter will be getting extra spoiled in the next few days.  

[pathologicalreid]

wavelength | s.r.

in which your son ends up in the hospital on one of the BAUs busiest nights of the year

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (hurt/comfort) content warnings: child in hospital with unnamed illness, seizures, pregnant!reader, boy dad!spencer, MRIs, head injury word count: 1.96k a/n: this is my little reid family from three's a family, but as usual, you don't have to read that one to understand this one. (it's one of the cryptic pregnancy ones so maybe keep that in mind lmao) - welcome back to the spencer reid dilf agenda, i missed it

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your thumbs enough to press the call button, tapping the green icon, you press your phone to your ear, listening to the rings as you keep your other hand on the bed in front of you.

Sniffling, Leo holds your hand in his much smaller one, “Mama?” His voice is little more than a whine, and you find yourself wishing he’d fall asleep while you wait for his turn in radiology.

“Yeah, lovey?” You whisper, squeezing his fingers gently as he looks at you with sad eyes.

His eyes were sad in a way that only a three-year-old’s could be, not quite understanding why he had to stay in the hospital, and continuously asking for his parents. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, his voice soft as he shifts on his side in the hospital bed.

Your shoulders slouch ever so slightly, trying not to show him how much of his displeasure you shared, “I know. I’m so sorry.” They were holding off on giving him more medication, but it just made him miserable.

Starting to wonder if they could just give him something to help him rest, you distantly hear your name being called, taking a moment to be confused before you remember that you called Spencer.

“Hey,” you greet a little breathlessly, “Are you working?” You move your hand, smoothing back Leo’s hair in an attempt to coax him to sleep.

You hear a shuffling of papers on the other end of the call, answering your question well enough before he responds verbally, “We’re just trying to finish a few things up before calling it a night.”

Bowing your head, you sigh, “Right, you have that senate review next week.”

Spencer groans at the reminder of the meeting, “And finding some of these files is proving to be difficult. I think Garcia’s just about had it, but we’re all starting to get to that point. Why the call? Not that I’m unhappy to hear your voice,” he clarifies. “Did Leo get to sleep alright?”

You falter slightly knowing that Spencer is already stressing about work, “Honey,” you start softly, “Leo’s alright, but I had to call an ambulance for him about an hour ago.”

“What happened? You said he’s alright?” He asks, fear changing the pitch of his voice.

Swallowing thickly, you watch Leo continue to fight sleep, his brown eyes watching you while you’re on the phone. “They think he had a seizure,” you whisper, keeping your voice down so that your son doesn’t catch onto your anxiety.

There’s a shuffle of papers on the other end, “Is he sick? Was it a febrile seizure?”

“Uh, no, hold on,” you flip through the pamphlet, “They called it a drop seizure when we were in the emergency room, and they did an EEG.” You explain, reading over the papers in front of you for the nth time.

Spencer talks to someone else in the room, hopefully letting them know that he has to leave, “What happened?”

Tears prick your eyes, and you look up into the fluorescent light to will them away, “I was just getting him ready for bed, and he went to go potty, and he just fell. He hit his head on the tub and I just… I panicked,” you admit the last part. “I was not very collected, and the 911 operator knew that,” you tell him, watching Leo’s eyes finally fall shut.

“I wouldn’t have been either,” Spencer assures you, “What hospital did they bring you to?”

Rattling off the name of the hospital, you risk assuming that Leo’s asleep enough for you to step back, enabling you to speak at a higher volume, “Can you leave work?” You weren’t even thinking about how busy the BAU was when you called, you were just thinking about getting Leo his dad. “They want to do an MRI, and he’s allowed to have someone in there with him, so he doesn’t get scared,” you explain.

“But you can’t,” Spencer needlessly reminds you.

A huff of frustration escapes your lips as you look down, eyes focusing on where your shirt catches on the soft swell of your lower belly. “No, I can’t,” you say miserably.

A nurse walks through the door, sparing a pitying glance at you, the pregnant mom whose toddler was in the PICU, before checking on Leo’s vitals. Spencer clears his throat, “I’m already on my way.”

You lose track of time, sitting in the reclining chair that lives in the corner of the PICU room, and memories of Leo’s first month of life start to flash in front of your eyes. He was a thirty-two-weeker, and he spent twenty-nine days in the NICU before coming home for the first time.

You felt like a failure then, and you feel like a failure now.

Tapping your fingers on your belly, you watch Leo sleep, his body curled up on the hospital bed and collodion stuck to his forehead. You remember finding out you were pregnant again, the overwhelming joy that mixed with the stunned fear like oil and water—Spencer had to remind you to breathe.

Something caught your attention, a small, high-pitched beep from one of Leo’s monitors sent a group of people flying into the room, standing around your son and listing off things that your fear-addled brain couldn’t comprehend.

He’s there when you stand up, Spencer stays at your side for all twenty-one seconds of Leo’s second seizure, watching as strength returns to his tiny body and his eyes open, “Mama?” His small voice calls out for you, afraid of being surrounded by doctors and nurses that he doesn’t know.

Slipping away from Spencer, you make your way back to the hospital bed, hovering over your son as you cup his cheeks affectionately, “I’m here, baby.” Hiding your face to wipe tears away, your fear that he still feels ill is only exacerbated by the fact that he doesn’t insist that he’s not a baby—he’ll always be yours, though.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you let him see past you, the way his eyes light up at the sight of his father, “Daddy!” He chirps, trying to reach out for Spencer.

“Hey, buddy,” Spencer says, his voice tight while he crouches in front of Leo, “Mama says you don’t feel good.”

Leo shakes his head, “I hit my head,” he recounts mournfully, “then we had to go in the loud car.”

Your husband frowns for a moment before he realizes Leo’s talking about the ambulance, “Did they tell you I get to go with you to get your tests done?” He warps the narrative to make the MRI seem like a fun activity—something they get to do.

“Can mama go?” Leo asks, tilting his head to the side slightly, leaning into you as he does so.

Gently, you wrap an arm around him, dressed in a pediatric hospital gown with all kinds of wires and electrodes attached to him. “Mama has to stay up here,” Spencer breaks the news to him, sparing you a sympathetic glance, “but she’ll be here when we get back. Then, we can tell her and the baby all about it.”

The baby won’t be able to hear outside voices until you’re much further along, but when Spencer tried to explain that to your toddler, the only response he’d gotten was Why?

As it turns out, even Spencer Reid has a limit to the number of questions he can answer, so you let Leo talk to the baby. “I’ll be right here when you get back,” you reassure Leo, taking a shaky breath when he wraps his arms around you.

He’s in tears by the time they come to get him, only willing to go to radiology if they let his daddy carry him there.

You’ve let go of the hope that this was all just a freak incident, but the looks that the nurses have started exchanging squashed that optimism immediately. Taking the opportunity to lie on the hospital bed, you try to reassure yourself—if Spencer didn’t seem worried, you shouldn’t be worried.

Though Spencer wouldn’t show his concern to you, he certainly wouldn’t do it with Leo in the room.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by something being set on your side, your eyes cracking open just enough to watch Spencer lay Leo down on the bed next to you. “Hey,” Spencer whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “I was trying not to wake you up.”

Cringing at the brightness of the room, you watch Leo as he curls into your side, “How did he do?”

“He was great,” Spencer says, gently ruffling the sleeping boy’s hair. “He fell asleep about halfway through,” he informs you, carefully pulling a chair up to the bedside.

You hum, making sure Leo is snug in his blanket before turning back to Spencer, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”

Spencer shakes his head dismissively, “It’s okay,” he whispers, mindful of the hour—it’s nearing midnight now.

Reaching a hand up to cover your mouth, you hiccup a sob, “I’m a bad mom.”

“You are not a bad mom,” Spencer responds quickly, peeling your hand from your mouth and taking it in his hand.

Your lower lip quivers, “This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been born so early.”

Spencer’s face softens, squeezing your hand comfortingly, “That wasn’t your fault. That was a situation that you didn’t have any control over.”

Deep down, you know he’s right, but your mom guilt that was on the surface level made the truth hard to see. “I couldn’t even hold his hand while he got an MRI,” you cry, small tears falling from your eyes.

“Honey,” Spencer murmurs, carefully wiping the tears from your cheeks, “You’re pregnant. Even more, you’re high risk,” Spencer reminds you as if it’s something you’re soon to forget. “There’s no way I would’ve let you in that room. You can blame that on me if you’d like.”

Leo shifts next to you, garnering your attention for just a moment before you turn back to Spencer, “I thought an MRI was better for pregnant women.”

Sighing, Spencer looks at you fondly, “Compared to a CT, an MRI is the better option if it’s medically necessary. Logically, I’m well aware of this, but I do find myself more protective over you these days,” he admits, eyes flickering down to your bump.

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I should’ve been watching him before he hit his head.”

Your husband dismisses your concern immediately, “We’ve been teaching him privacy, he’s proud that he gets to go potty on his own.”

“Why won’t you let me feel guilty?” You ask, frowning at him.

He hums in response, “Because you aren’t guilty. Your baby is in the hospital, and you might have some unresolved issues from when he was in the NICU.” He takes a deep breath, “and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re tired, and you have a lot of conflicting emotions and hormones that you’re struggling with.”

Leaning your head back on the pillow, you sigh loudly, “You know me too well.”

“I also know that our son loves you, and what happened tonight was not your fault,” he reiterates. “Whatever is going on with him, we’ll figure it out, okay? The four of us are going to be just fine.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you nod in understanding and listen to the soft whistle of Leo’s nose as he exhales. “We’ll be just fine,” you echo, intertwining your fingers with Spencer’s and preparing yourself for what’s bound to be a long night.

[luveline]

jade!! I come on hands and knees begging for more rockstar!remus with shy!reader. I LOVE THEM. how are they doing?!

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k

You fit the part, tonight. Marlene has dressed you in her clothes —you wear a dark jacket covered in gothic, skeletal linework, a skirt barely long enough to show beneath it, with black tights and tall shoes. 

Remus isn’t sure what it is about the slightly too big jacket that he likes so much. Maybe it’s your thighs on show, shadowed flanks of softness he knows too well. It could be your eyes, their ringing of dark kohl, your lengthened lashes. Perhaps it’s none of those things. After all, Remus has always loved to watch you laugh. 

James thrusts his pint against yours, a splash of his cherry cider lapping the end of the cup to seep into your lemonade. Remus is unsure if there’s anything in it of substance, but you sip it through a breathless laugh and confirm that it hasn’t changed. No harm, no foul. 

Remus taps his cigarette carton against the table out of habit. Sirius reaches for him before Remus has even split the seal, fingers pinching, pale hand expectant. Remus knocks into them with the carton and turns so Sirius can’t see him opening the box. ���Thought you were off them?” Remus asks, quiet with the slower atmosphere at the table, so far from the bar. 

“Can anyone ever really be off them?” Sirius asks. 

He pressed himself into Remus’ arm, all the overfamiliarity of a best, best friend. Searching for comfort and selfish vices. 

Remus hugs him suddenly, a rough arm around the back of his head in a hold that tugs curls as he uses the other hand to slide a cigarette between his lips. “Here, you baby.”

“Fuck off,” Sirius says around it. 

Remus takes his own cigarette and shoves the box back in his pocket. Sirius lights his own, lights Remus’, and together they tip their heads back, getting a glance at the oranging ceiling and the upstairs drinking pit. 

“She’s sweet, letting Marl dress her up a bit.” 

“Makes Marlene feel better,” Remus says. 

“Yeah, it does. Reckon she and Mary will mend it?” 

Remus shrugs. The love triangle between Mary, Marlene and Dorcas is confusing. He loves them, though, so it’s a confusing he understands. “It won't be long before we find out.” 

You, James and Emmeline begin to make your way back to the table. You have two drinks each, too many for the amount of people, though none of you seem to have noticed. You’re just giggling and meandering around low chairs until you get there. 

James slams his drinks down and grabs you from the side. “My sweethearts, I return the sweethearts.” 

“Can I have one?” Emmeline asks. 

Remus passes her the cigarette carton dutifully. 

“Can I–”

“No,” Remus says. 

You squint at him. “Don’t be weird,” you say, embarrassed, taking the box when Emme passes it, sliding it between painted lips, “I’m not a baby.” 

You talk around the cigarette with the ease of practice. If there’s one thing life on the road gives, it’s addiction. Remus is thankful that you and all of your friends chose nicotine. 

“You’re trying to quit.” Remus feels the funny burn of smoke as he inhales again. “And I’m trying to help you.” 

“Same help you gave Sirius, clearly,” James says. 

“C’mere,” Remus says, opening his arm for you. “Come on.” 

You grin and weave around Emme to his side of the table, propping a drink in front of him. “For you.” 

“Thank you.” He blows smoke as far from your face as he can manage and tucks you under his arm. 

The makeup on your lips is rubbing off, a darker outlining with light insides, but it’s enough to express Marl’s taste. Remus will be happy to kiss the rest of it away later on, when James and Sirius are drunk enough to become openly obsessed with one another and leave him alone, carving out some rare alone time. 

You smoke as Remus taught you to. He remembers the day, your shaking, his chest pain, not wanting to corrupt you and yet enlivened by the way you looked trying to foster the flame at the end of it. Nicotine helps calm your nerves, which you’re often in need of, but Remus never meant for it to become a crux. He snuffs his cigarette in the ashtray and catches yours to do the same, barely two puffs in. 

“Wha–”

“Let me have a look at you,” he says. 

Your friends scoff and jeer but quickly move on. Remus catches your chin between his fingers. 

He’s not like Sirius. He couldn’t do this to any girl, can’t seduce like that, but it’s not any girl he touches. Your eyes go to swimming pleasure as he pulls you forward, edging downward to kiss you. You both taste of smoke, of drink, and it would put him off if there wasn’t something sweeter to be chased in your mouth. He kisses you like there’s no one at the table but you.

He’s had more to drink than he thinks. 

“You taste like jaeger,” you say, pulling away with cheeks he’d find hot if he were to cradle and a shy smile. 

“Do I?” 

“That’s a thousand times worse for you than those, you know.” You point at his quickly dwindling pack of cigarettes. 

Remus curls an arm behind your neck and kisses you again. James cheers, says, “Fuck, I wish Moony kissed me like that,” and Remus tries his best to ignore him, but you’re laughing. The kiss breaks.

“Just ask him nicely like I do,” you advise. 

“You know that doesn’t work!” James says, tipping his head back with a hand to the forehead. “I always ask him nicely, he just doesn’t want to kiss me. Must be something about you…” He gives a huge smile as he lifts his cider.  “Something I don’t have?” 

“Impossible,” Sirius says blithely, “you’ve everything, gorgeous boy.” 

“Something about you,” Remus echoes. 

You shake your head minutely, a silent warning. Don’t flirt with me, it says. Don’t torture me. 

“How do you want the answer?” Remus asks, sliding his arm back behind your shoulders, pulling your burning face against his neck. “I can give it to you in an essay or a list, but it’s an extensive explanation.” 

“Write it down for me.”

[suiana]

(yandere! vampire groom x gn! reader)

He just wanted you forever. Was that too much to ask for?

"I don't understand why you're being difficult. I thought you loved me."

You were a human, he was a vampire. You were destined to live a much shorter life than he is. In fact, he's already lived way longer than you have. 500 years without you. 500 years without having a meaning in life.

And now he's found you.

How could you be so cruel to deny both you and him eternal happiness? To take away the very reason he's willing to live?

"Why would you resist heaven's grasp? This is our fate, to be forever together. You know it."

His sharp nails grip your arms, eyes narrowing at you as he tries to convince you into seeing his point of view. He really just wants to shake you until you give in, but he probably will achieve the opposite if he does so.

"Come on, a human life is pathetic. You can barely live a hundred years. I am not seeing my spouse wither away in front of my eyes."

Your vampire groom's tone turns desperate as he grips the sleeves of your wedding outfit. You look absolutely beautiful, he thinks. All dressed up like the angel you are.

You'll look even more beautiful when you're turned.

"Why are you so hesitant to be a vampire? Surely being human is not that important to you."

But it is. He knows that. You've told him multiple times already. That you don't want to live forever, to see all your friends and family die in front of your eyes.

His eyes narrow slightly as you remain silent. He leans in even closer, face stern as if challenging you to speak back.

"Come on, is being human more important than being with me?"

"I- and if I say yes?"

The vampire's jaw locks at your answer as his grip on your upper arms tighten ever so painfully. Wrong answer. He didn't like that response of yours at all.

"You'd let me watch you die? You're cruel, you know that?"

He spits in your face as he pushes you against fhe church pew. The candles around you burn bright, their wax dripping to the cold floor of the church.

If you squint hard enough, you'd see a hint of fear in his cold eyes. Fear of losing you. Fear of you dying . Fear of you being ripped away from his embrace.

"But you should respect my choice-"

"And watch you die?! When it could all be prevented?!"

His voice is shrill, eyes widening in a mixture of anger. You wonder if you've ever seen him like this before. Seen him this angry and fearful, or this desperate and annoyed. He's always put you before him. Never asked you for anything but your love.

"Come on my love... You're not seriously dead set on staying human, are you? You'd be so beautiful as a vampire too. I'd let you drink from me and we'd be together forever!"

His grip on your arms grows tight before he nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck. You remain silent, unmoving, rooted in your place. You didn't want to say anything. You know anthing you say will only anger him further anyway. He's so dead-set on turning you.

You'll reject him every step of the way though.

"I said no... Can't you just-"

"No. You're being selfish."

His words cause you to pause and think. You? Selfish? Well...

"Can't I have at least one thing? I deserve it. I deserve you."

You feel his lips touch the softness of your skin, his teeth threatening to pierce you. Instinctively, you try to push him away. No way! Was he actually trying to turn you into a vampire right now?

Your beloved groom merely holds your wrists down before nipping at your neck. Wait wait wait! Just hold on a moment-

"If you can't see it on your own... It is my duty to help you see it."

You lock eyes with your vampire groom, blood running cold as he slips a ring onto your finger.

"After all, I belong to you now, as you belong to me. In life and in death."

You feel a surging pain in your body as his teeth sink into your flesh. It's not like the bites he uses when he feeds, no. This time, it's clear he's doing it to lock you with him for eternity. To keep you with him.

"I am your husband now, my love."

Yours, forever and now.

Just like you are his, forever and now.

[fxllfaiiry]

─ you're the sunflower ੈ✩‧₊˚

✶ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader

✶ synopsis: everyone on the team loves you, expect miguel who seems to hate you more than anyone.

✶ warnings: angst!! major angst. sunshine!reader x grumpy!miguel. reader is nicknamed sunflower, mentions of death.

✶ notes: there's one spanish sentence in this, I'm not good with spanish so if I've made a mistake please tell me so i can fix it! part two is already up!!!

Everyone on the team loved you from the moment you joined, everyone, except Miguel. 

You knew Miguel was cold towards everyone, but he was extra cold with you. Maybe it was because of how different your personalities were. 

You were the embodiment of sunshine, always positive in any situation, putting others before yourself. Hence why everyone calls you sunflower, it fits perfectly, Miles was proud of coming up with it. 

Miguel on the other hand was cold and distant but that didn't stop you from trying to get him to open up. You'd try to have simple conversations with him but nothing, all you would receive in reply was an eye roll or a slight grunt, but you wouldn't give up that easily. 

Like today, you got him some coffee. 

"Morning, boss. Got you some coffee." You said in your usual cheerful tone. 

"Why?" He raised his eyebrows, looking down at you suspiciously. That's the most he's said to you all week. 

"Because I wanted to." You shrugged, placing it down on his desk. 

He steped down walking towards his desk, you couldn't help but stare at him, unfortunately for you, everything about him was so attractive, it's such a shame he hated you. 

"This isn't how I like my coffee." 

"Huh?" You snapped out of your daydream at the sound of his voice. 

"The coffee, it tastes terrible. Get it from another place next time." 

"Well, actually I made it-" But he had already walked away from you not listening to a word you said. "Alright, never mind, I'll just go back to work." You mumbled hurt by his words. 

"Wait, hold on." You looked up, thinking, maybe he'll say something nice after all. 

"Yeah?" 

"Take the coffee with you, I won't be drinking it." 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Girl, why do you look so sad? Did Miguel do something again?" Jess asked with a frown, she did not like seeing you sad. 

"No."

"Sunflower…"

"Okay, yes." Miguel being cold towards you was normal, he never spoke to you unless necessary. Out of everyone here, he probably hated you the most, even more than Miles.  

"Sunflower, I've told you to stop trying." Jess sighed. 

"I know, I know… why does he hate me so much, Jess?" 

"That's just the way he is, don't overthink it. It's his loss, baby." She replied, gently patting your shoulder. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Today was going to be a good day, you were so sure of it. 

But, of course, you were wrong. 

Everything was going great up until a few hours ago. 

Miguel had assigned you on a mission to catch an anomaly, alongside a few other spider-people. His instructions were clear, stick to the plan and catch the anomaly. It was supposed to be simple. 

If only you didn't disobey him. You screwed up badly, and because of that, you could have been killed. 

"Why don't you ever listen?" Miguel shouted. No one had ever seen him this angry. 

"I was just tryin-" 

"¡Ay, por el amor de Dios!" Being yelled at by your boss in front of your coworkers was humiliating, everyone was looking at you with pity. 

"I'm sick of this, why can’t you follow simple instructions? Is it that hard to understand?" He barked, towering over you. 

"It's not a big deal." You tried to keep your composure, you didn't want to humiliate yourself further by bursting into tears. 

"Not a big deal? You could've died! A simple mistake would have ruined the whole mission." 

Don't cry. Don't cry. 

"But we're all fine, aren't we?" You weakly chuckled. That was the wrong thing to say because it only made him angrier. 

"Oh? If that's the attitude you have then you shouldn't even be on the team." Ouch. 

"Miguel, I think that's enough-" Hobie said, quickly jumping in. 

"Not now, Hobie." He growled. 

Never once did you think that you'd be in a situation like this. 

"If you put more focus on trying to be good at your job, rather than impressing me, we wouldn't even be here!" Oh, so he did notice that. 

At this point, tears were streaming freely down your face and you made no attempt to stop them. 

"Yep, you got it, boss." You smiled up at him through your tears. It was pathetic, but you did not care, you just wanted to leave and never come back. 

"Next time make sure this doesn't happen." 

"It won't happen next time." That's because there won't be a next time.

[wyvernest]

back massages

pairing: miguel o'hara x college roommate f!reader

warnings: smut, miguel is a bit cocky, unprotected piv, suggestive massages, dry jumping

summary: you give miguel the proverbial back massage, and he returns the favour

"Ugh, my back-" he groans loudly, entering the cramped dorm room and slamming the creaking door shut in frustration.

"Still?" you reply, absent-mindedly, not looking away from your laptop screen and the from project you're working on for tonight's delivery. "Didn't the trellises at the gym help?"

You hear the cot springs coil under his weight as he drops to the bed on his stomach. "Couldn't even use them."

"Hm?" You're still half focused on your research, briefly catching the last words of his replies.

"The gym was full." He groans, shuffling on the mattress.

He is increasingly frustrated with the lack of attention he's receiving from you. You two have been teasing eachother for a while; enough of a while to get him riled up late at night, and to considerably speed up your heart rate whenever he was around.

But even now, you were afraid of being more obvious than necessary. He seemed so confident and easy to talk to, but sometimes you could only wonder if that's just what he was like with everyone else.

He wasn't. He was only this open to you. This relaxed. At least he wasn't aware of how attractive and intimidating his confidence could be to you.

Your delicate fingers kept tapping on the keyboard, unrelenting. Nearly indifferent.

"Didn't you say you'd finish it this morning?" he groans, slightly muffled by the pillow he rested his head against.

"Yeah." You aren't paying attention. Truthfully, beneath the façade, you can barely understand what you're reading, your eyes mechanically darting across the text in front of you. All you can think about is how much you'd want to straddle him and make out right now. Especially with the way he's groaning from the back pain-

"- I overslept." You explain, scarce and somewhat cold. He sighs deeply, and you feel your heart sink into your stomach. Fuck. You don't even know if being roommates is either a blessing or a curse. How are you even supposed to study with-

"Can't you take a break? Por favor." He speaks, his voice down an octave. You can't take it anymore. You peek at him over your shoulder, pondering.

He's shirtless. Of course. He has to be doing it on purpose at this point.

Your attention drifts over the line of his back that bends just slightly for him to hold his beefy arms under his pillow. His muscles ripple as he shifts to get more comfortable into the greyish bedsheets.

"Give me a back rub." He challenges, squinting his eyes and watching your face drop the second his request is processed in your brain.

"Come on." He chuckles lowly. A few ruffled strands of hair on his face make it look like he had just woken up. You can't resist. "Help me feel better."

Raising from the desk chair and moving to sit on the edge of the bed, you place your hands on his shoulder blades, pushing gently, kneading the tensed muscles there. He sighs deeply once again as he feels your small, warm palms on his broad back.

"Ugh." he groans, relaxing under your touch. "Push harder."

You comply, applying more pressure, digging the heels of your hands into his toned muscles.

Your vision washes over his body, comforted by the fact that he can't see you. His back is so much bigger than your whole body. You feel an unfathomably strong need to lay on him, to feel the heat of his skin invade yours. Or better yet, have him lay on you, feel the whole weight of him, cozy and constant.

"Oh-" He moans, raspy and low when you find another tensed up knot, "-feels so good." You're starting to soak your panties from the sounds he's making.

"You're so good at this." He halfly speaks into his pillow, evidently pleased with the special treatment. "Ah, yeah, right there- oh-"

Insisting on the spot, you start putting your upper body weight into the strokes, not having any more force in your arms. He groans again at the sudden change, only this time it comes out very much like a prolonged moan.

Soon enough your own back starts to hurt from the twisted position you're in, legs dangling on one side of the mattress and your torso turned to him. Ceasing your movements, you bring your hands to your lower back, pushing so you could straighten your spine as a faint ache begins to form.

"Get on the bed." He moves his head to gaze up at you over his shoulder. "Straddle my waist. Better for the both of us.", He advices, as if it's nothing.

Your heart rate picks up as uneasiness shoots through your veins as in a lighting strike. You've never been this close to him before. This physical, this intimate. Heart fluttering at the faint hope of reciprocated feelings and the possibility of something more, you silently accept the suggestion.

Climbing on the bed, you hop on his lower back, gradually and slowly laying your bodyweight on him.

"Is this okay?" You're finally settled, and he groans in an infinitely relieved exhale.

"More than okay." One of his hands slips away from under his pillow to tap on your thigh, nearly making you jump. "Continue, it was so good."

Trying to ignore his hand still resting two millimetres away from your leg, you resume the massage, searching for more knots over his broad back.

"That's it, that's it, oh fuck- ugh" His voice sultry and raspier, he flexes his back muscles involuntarily the second you finally reach the spot.

You have to use all that's left of your self control not to accidentally clench your cunt on his lower back. But you can't help it. Wearing a skirt wasn't the best idea today.

The way he's slightly squirming underneath you as you massage his huge shoulders, the way your clothed clit rubs against his skin with the motions have you shivering lightly.

"Yeah- oh, fuck" Your hands are behind his neck, undoing all the aches and rigidity from hours of hunching over his desk, of not taking long coveted breaks.

"I'm done, my arms are starting to hurt." You announce, partially true. You also couldn't stand his noises anymore, all the obscene groans and rough moans, fearing he might start feeling now wet you've actually gotten in the meantime.

In a surge of confidence, you lean forward, more or less intentionally letting your breasts squeeze flush against his back, and you kiss his cheek, soft and tender.

He's surprised and flustered for a flashing second, before letting a smirk tug at the corners of his mouth.

"Let me give you one too, cariño."

You shiver at the pet name, hearing him talk this way to you for the first time.

How could you possibly say no?

You lay on the bed where he had been, feeling the clean sheets warm and infused with his musk.

The mattress dips, springs creaking slightly as he adjusts his weight, finally straddling your upper thighs. Your breathing quickens in shock, not having expected him to take the same position as you did. You feel his weight on you, grounding you.

His broad hands start at your shoulders, questionably innocent at first. But just as you start to think that there isn't more to the way he's sat behind your ass, to the way he's touching you, his palms drift away from the usual motions of the massage he is supposed to give you.

Expert, cursory fingers pretend to knead down, to your waist, gripping hard.

You start feeling your pulse in your neck.

One of his thighs flexes on your side as he slightly adjusts, lifting himself a mere inch above you and settling back down. Only this time, you can feel his erection through his sweats, snugly sat between the globes of your ass.

Leaning forward, his grip on your waist remains strong as he slightly grinds his cock on you from behind, his hands mimicking his rhythm as if things aren't already obvious. It's still a massage, it's just not his main goal.

"Mm- Miguel-" you attempt to protest, only it comes out as a moan laced with anticipating pleasure.

A broad, warm hand slowly and unabashedly moves from your waist up to your shoulder, only for a mere second kneading the tensed muscles before drifting down. His fingers ever so slightly slip underneath you as he palms your right breast, not stopping his hips from rubbing his dick against you.

He's slow and careful, as if still hoping you hadn't noticed or aren't bothered to ask him to get off, even through your mewls and his moaned name.

“You're so..” He speaks quietly, for himself, “soft, and fragile-” He leans forward, much like you did, but instead he kisses your neck, down your spine. “I wanna-”

He leaves the voiced desire unfinished as he picks your torso up to his chest, his arms encompassing you, flipping you around.

Now with your body trapped in his embrace, thighs between his and hands squished together, he kisses your flushed cheeks with fervour.

“Tell me to stop.” A low whisper below your ear. Watching your face for any trace of doubt, you shake your head, ‘no’.

‘Don’t stop.’

Placing you back down on the mattress, he bunches your skirt up to your middle, moving your panties to the side as his other hand takes his rock hard cock out of his sweats.

You feel the precum coated head flush against your pussy lips, pushing in with a gravel groan.

As soon as he gathers the courage to advance, his length grazes your clit, your hips automatically jerking away, akin to having touched hot coal.

A shiver runs down your spine that makes your cunt flutter, his awaiting cock twitching in enthusiasm. He feels you spasm and grow wetter.

“Ugh, that- you feel so good-”

He’s only taking his time before he can bottom out inside you. With a look over your shoulder, you don’t trust your voice to respond. You nod and clench your pussy around him, aiming to viciously drive him mad.

He suddenly pushes forward, hands forcing you onto him, the contact with his own blazing flesh making your brain melt and eyes roll back into your head. You can almost feel his bulbous tip in your guts, messing with your nerves and sinews.

Quickly adapting to the new conditions your body has given him, he corrects his grip on your waist, hoisting you until your feet lose contact with the bed. Back now arched, ass well-adjusted to meet his height, upper body rested on the plush pillows. He drags out halfway before sinking back in.

His hips slowly rotate against yours, his tense abdomen waving into you

You can’t take it anymore. Your limbs feel like radio-static, heart sending its pulse into your pussy, breathing laboured and synced with his. The broad head flicks a spot deep inside you that curves your spine this time, feet no longer able to find balance away from the stimulation.

A strong forearm curls around your middle with snake-like speed. You settle obediently back into his hold.

Your hips wiggle closer into his, apologetically stuffing yourself full of him. He smirks at the gesture, satisfied.

“Fuck, Miguel-”, you moan for him, giving him exactly what he wanted before he started pounding into you.

A combination of his pelvis slamming into yours and his hands violently dragging you back onto his dick has high-pitched whimpers crawling out of your throat. Your head rings with the sound of the bed squeaking back and forth along with the harsh returns of his cock in between your come-soaked folds.

His firm hands hold you from flinching, fingers digging into your waist while his thumbs press down into your lower back.

It's when he changes his angle that you scream out, all consciousness dissolving into raw, carnal bliss. Ruptured cries and fractions of his name bloom out of your nearly-dry throat.

He feels his heavy cock pulsate as your ass jolts with each slap, your pussy choking his dick in the process.

With a suffocating groan, he releases inside you, his ecstasy drawn-out into fractured grunts blended with heavy breaths.

You sense his warm come spilling inside you. Your own climax sends your head spinning, your loud pulse dropping in your ears.

The thunder subsides through your veins like a candle being put out by the cold.

a/n: sorry for the delay i have a ton of stuff to do for college 💀