#implied fem reader

[luffyvace]

Helloooo! I saw ur request open and writing for saiki k! I see so little context of him 😭

May I request where saiki is dating his favorite author(she is an anonymous writer) and he didn't know (like she Naver though to tell him about it and she Naver really think of her work when w him or when in school) and maybe finding out through his dad that she is ? And how would he react and think after he found out ?

(sorry if my request was long 😭)

Yeah me too !! 😭

ohhh wow! What an interesting and fun request! Thank you :}

(you used ‘she’ so reader implied is fem but I won’t mention you being a girl just in case <3)

Don’t worry it’s not too long at all~

☕️🌷

Everyday you get home after school and write, as a comfort and to make some change to buy things you like :)

You do publish your work, but your an anonymous writer

your sales have been doing really good and everything! Your forever grateful!

it makes you happy seeing as though writing makes you happy and is your comfort!

so the fact that you could be doing that for others makes you joyous 💓

there’s also your boyfriend Kusuo!

he’s a reserved and genuine guy who treats you very well :)

you’ve been an item for a while now and your really happy in your relationship!

man you’ve really got it going for yourself!! 😋💪

this company has been loyally publishing your work for quite some time which makes you satisfied to see they like your writing!

school’s good too! You and Kusuo have a friend group who you go out with pretty often

(alright that was a little bit of some reader POV now here’s the fun part! 😆)

Kusuo finished his coffee jelly and was going down stairs to put the dishes in the sink

until he spotted his dad reading his favorite book/manga!!

”hey dad what book is that?”

his dad’s inner dialogue: “holy crap my son is talking to me!”

“oh uh nothing son just uh (book/manga title name)—I uhh, brought a copy from work home”

”they have that series there?”

”yeah! We do! We have every chapter! Actually, we’re the ones publishing them! Do want me to get you the set?…..if I lick my bosses shoes a couple extra times I’m sure I could pull a few strings..”

”thanks.”

his dad’s inner dialogue: “holy crap I just had a conversation with my son! He was wanted to talk to…me! I can’t believe it..!”

saiki’s inner dialogue: “goodness..😒🤦”

”n-no problem son! Heheh..”

He was gonna go back to his room but stopped at the stairs

“hey dad..the author uses a pen name..do you know who they are?”

“Huh-! Oh!- yeah I do! I’ve met them in person actually- do you wanna meet them?”

Kusuo nods and walks off

his dad then proceeds to dance in his living room, as he’s had a successful conversation with his son that Kusuo started 🕺🕺

Later that week, saiki and his dad wait for you to show up at his job with the latest chapter

he was indeed able to pull a few strings…by licking some shoes..

when you walk in Kusuo’s dad came up to you and (re)introduced you to his son

”Kusuo this is (Name), the author you asked me to introduce you to. (Name), meet my son Kusuo”

you looked surprised to see Kusuo and that he wanted to meet you?? I mean you know your anonymous but he likes your work?! You had no idea he was buying!

Kusuo has a slightly amused expression on his face

“Kusuo? You…”

..were at a loss of words at such a funny situation! (LOL)

you two ended up explaining both sides of the situation

you said you love to write, but anonymously and you never got around to telling him

he said this is his favorite series from you and your his favorite author, he’s been buying for a while to be frank!

ohhh!

this may be the way his parents found out you were a couple and let me tell you he was less than pleased..(not that he wanted to hide it but his parents…..:^ yeah 😃)

Saiki got the privilege of getting the first copy of the latest chapter before it was even published! :)

and now he always does <3

he also has the perk of getting it for free!

horray! Now he can save his money for coffee jelly- 😚

LOL not that he doesn’t wanna support you

you simply give it to him and he accepts ♥︎

he also gets the honors of helping you decide things for the story!

He gleefully reads the parts in which his opinion was inserted

however he doesn’t want to influence any major plot points- he doesn’t like spoilers :P

(It is possible he persuades people at school to buy your books so you can have the funding to keep going and make you happy simultaneously—but we’ll never really know 🤷‍♀️ )

your actually my first saiki k request! Thank you! I appreciate it love!

hopefully you had a good meal out of these headcanons cherished anonymous~ ☺️

[chocsra]

yknow tht chuuyas friend got killed during the dragon head conflicts, right?(source dead apple) yea, wht if reader was one of them. letter fics reader confessing her love to chuuya and him finding it after she died.

"Tainted With Sin, Weakness Comes From Love."

16! Chuuya x implied fem! reader

summary: chuuya finds your letters to him after your death in the dragon head conflict

content: angst, heavy mentions of death, swearing

There, the boy remained victorious.

Others would furrow their brows, feel their heart clench into an impending drop. The utter and impeccable fear of such a small body, a young boy who yearned for nothing but a reason - a purpose, holding such power. He was as if he was sculpted by a passionate artist, a woman who presented herself as a 'mother' - soft orange locks, the ever glow of his skin that never left his face, and a harmonic assortment of features, those features that made him special. A child who was stringed together like a melodic harp by a mother is every child, and that was Nakahara Chuuya. He too, was a child.

At least, he felt like one.

"Chuuya," A tall, ginger woman speaks solemnly, clasping her hands together elegantly, as always. "here - [Y/N]'s stuff." Kouyou passes a large cardboard box to the boy; items like notebooks, pens, photos, and sticky notes. It had only been 14 days after the Dragon Head Conflict, and yet, the world's lost all sense of art: skies have been less blue, birds more or so melodically sing mantras of sorrow, rather than blissful chirps. Maybe it was because of his comrades who died, maybe it's because you were one of them, or maybe, it's his brain using his frustration with the world against him. In this box, consider it pandora's box of humanity - perhaps the sight alone brightened the sky, awakened the birds. You existed, and so, he longs to feel your existence once more. Be it through letters.

Chuuya runs his fingers along a folder of letters you've written. He'll close his eyes and pretend it's your skin - he'll close his eyes and make out each indent of each thought, each question you held for the universe on that paper.

Dear Chuuya,

Happy Birthday! You finally turned 16, loser. You're all over the Port Mafia, you know? Double Black is so goddamn popular I've been approached by people I don't know asking if we're friends. So ahem, here are my birthday wishes for my boy best friend - the only one I share my gossip to that isn't a girl.

You get taller.

You find out what the hell happened before you were 8.

A girl would finally like you or something - rare, I know.

You finally get a dog. PLEASE shut up about it :)

Thank you for being my friend, even though you lose your shit when we play UNO with Albatross. Get good, kid.

Sincerely,

- [Y/N].

The redhead can practically feel himself scoffing, even though it was more like a chuckle, before sealing the letter once again; a small smile tugging on his lips even though he finds himself wiping a bit of tears from his cheeks.

"Why did it have to be you?.." Chuuya chuckles, swallowing thickly to cover the strain of tears spilling out. Crystal tears were never a threat to the boy - once again, such things like a heart doesn't suit him - yet, he finds it ironic. Maybe you had it all along.

The boy, molded by the hands of divinity, stringed together by an otherworldly being, was nothing divine. Nakahara Chuuya reigned from torture, yearned for retribution, and became an artist - one acquired dazzlingly with revenge. He took the vessel of himself he loathed and despised it with his entire being. Arahabaki was no divine being, nor a mother who lovingly caressed and loved with dainty hands. He was a monster, Chuuya was too. But from the rippling shackles he's restrained himself to, there was an angel, sacred and divine, who chided him for his hatred, his sorrows, his regrets. You too, knew how it was like to lose, to betray and be betrayed, and yet, you would never bring those to him again, but it seems once again, you've failed.

You were an angel, his angel, a light in the sky that he never failed to follow. And yet, you too fell from heaven's gate. Chuuya, who has been by your side for years, never dare touch you - Nakahara Chuuya may taint you with his sin, ruin the wings that guide him through the light. But shit, as an artist of revenge - he'll repaint it with regret.

To grow from a child, child of hatred to man of soul, touch will remold him to his feet. Rebuke his despondency. Chuuya regrets, for his only reminder of your skin was your life slipping through his fingers like ash.

To be Chuuya's angel was to lace his hair in between your words.

To be Chuuya's angel meant you were going to be immortalized.

To be Chuuya's angel meant that was only going to happen once he's lost you.

Yet he still flips the page.

Dear Chuuya,

I like you.

I thought love was foolish. A four letter word, and one syllable of absolute bullshit. Love is only a fixation in TV shows and movies. Love is a weakness, and contrary to popular belief - love cannot save you.

But you saved me. Countless of times.

The first being when I botched an assignment miserably. I was about to sacrifice myself before you kicked all the enemies' asses! You even took the blame for me.

The second was when I ate too much during a celebration and you had to bring me home safely.

The third was when you didn't say anything after I farted in a closed elevator.

Maybe you're stronger than love, then. You're Chuuya Nakahara, the strongest ability user in the world. But, even if I fell for you - it's not because of your strength, or protection. I genuinely like you, Nakahara Chuuya, not the strongest ability user, but the boy who sought a past, the boy who longs for a wine collection, the boy who cries watching dog movies, the boy who thinks chokers are a fashion statement.

Don't think because you define yourself as Arahabaki I will too. You're so much more than that.

But eh, who cares anyway, its not like you know how to read or write.

Love,

- [Y/N].

The boy who sought a past, felt himself shatter, because now he actually he had one. A best friend of his memories. An angel only in his dreams. A desire he could only do so much but reminisce. But contradictory to your previous statement, Nakahara Chuuya could read, even write now.

All because you taught him.

[tw1lightstar]

writing semi-smut to get rid of my writers block

nsfw under the cut

Warnings | Brat taming(???), alluding to rough sex (its obviously consensual), implied fem reader. Let Me Know If I've Forgotten Any!

Also I didn't make it very explicit because I'm still practicing writing full smut

Joel's pissed, and honestly, pissed was being generous. You came into his house acting like a complete brat. He told you he needed to work.

You knew he needed to work, and yet, you begged for his attention. And here he is, giving it to you. Having your "pretty little face" (his words) stuffed into a pillow on his bed. You couldn't have waited one day?

Oh well, it's not like you can complain. I mean, listen to the noises you're making. Oh wait didn't he have to work? Oh well, he can finish it later. All he's focused on right now is giving you what you asked for. Him.

[foggyredkastle]

YN: I'm gonna eat the chicken breasts!

Jake, snickering: Yeah, eat what you lack.

Frank, deadpanning at Jake: Then maybe I should order brains on delivery for you.

[ebodebo]

I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man!

pairing: john price x fem!reader

wc: 7.2k...sorry lmao plz read…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, fluff, established relationship, oral (m. receiving), road head, porn w so much plot, hair pulling, angst, emotional conflict, complicated family dynamics, dysfunctional family, i.e., ongoing conflict, reader having familial issues (mostly maternal), age-gap, secret relationship & marriage, & john being a protector.

author's note: this was brought to fruition by a singular barry sloan edit that had me salivating and @sai-int's fic 'a ticket to play', which single-handedly re-sparked my love for price! so, yeah, anyways, enjoy this horny mess!

dividers by @/saradikagraphics!

John Price is a man...

“John, you didn’t,” you hiss, eyes wide as you set down the groceries on the counter, your wrists aching from the heavy load.

“Didn’t know it was your mother, sweetheart,” he replies, his tone sincere. He quickly grabs the bags and begins unpacking the groceries.

You glance at the house phone positioned beside the fridge, then peel off the old sticky note attached there. You read it aloud, “Don’t answer calls from the 406 area code. I’m talking to you, John,” before pausing to think, lips pursed in contemplation.

He opens the fridge, sliding the milk jug inside before carefully shutting the door. When he turns back to see your knowing smile, his eyebrows lift in a silent acknowledgment, a quiet ‘ah’ escaping his lips.

“Well,” you urge, grabbing the aromatics from the counter to put up. “What did she say when you picked up?” You ask, attempting to sound as casual and disinterested as possible.

“Oh. Nothin’ you’d find interestin,’” he hums with a knowing smile as he tears open a pack of paper towels.

You press your lips together. “Well…yeah,” you mutter, picking up a few grapefruits. “I mean, it doesn’t matter to me,” you defend, emphasizing the ‘doesn’t.’ “I just want to know what she thought,” you shrug, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Mhm,” he hums thoughtfully as he gathers the now-empty reusable bags, hanging them on the hook next to the cabinet.

“I’m serious,” you say, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “I really don’t care.”

"I know you don't, hon." He turns to wash the fresh berries in a colander, the water splashing against the metal steadily.

"You don't believe me," you exasperate.

He lets out a low laugh as he washes the berries. "Didn't say that."

You lean against the kitchen island, your body language betraying your frustration. "You were thinking it," you accuse, with a dramatic sigh.

He sets the berries back into the colander and turns his head toward you, a playful half-smile on his lips. “No, I wasn't,” he replies, clearly amused.

You poke your tongue into your cheek, mentally cursing yourself for marrying someone so adept at reading your emotions, your inner conflict laid bare.

“But,” he says, tearing a paper towel to dry his hands. “Now, I’m starting to feel that you do care.”

You don’t respond, trying to avert your gaze as heat creeps into your cheeks like he’s caught you sneaking a cookie from the cookie jar.

“Baby,” he moves closer, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders and pulling you into him. “It’s okay to care,” he whispers softly into your hair, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

You gently shut your eyes, pressing your face into his warm abdomen, finding comfort in his presence.

“Damn it,” you mumble, your words muffled against him. He chuckles softly in response. “Alright, fine,” you pull back slightly, locking your eyes onto his as his hands cradle your cheeks. “I do care. Now, spill the juicy details.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. “Well, she started by checkin’ in on you.”

You release a dry laugh, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, right. She always has ulterior motives," you grumble. "I swear that woman is always up to—"

"Shh," he squishes your cheeks together as both thumbs rest over your lips to silence you. "Will you let me finish?" He prompts, quipping a brow.

"Sorry, yeah," you apologize, your voice coming out muffled and nasal. 

He nods with a smile, moves his thumbs off your mouth, and drops his hands to massage your shoulders. "Said your sister is gettin' married, and she thought it would be nice if you came down for her engagement party this weekend," he supplies. 

Correction remarried.

She's on her fifth? No, her sixth husband now.

Guess she thinks six will be the lucky number.

Who’s gonna tell her?

However, that’s beside the point; you care about something much more…pathetic.

You feel frustrated because all you really want is to know how your mother reacted to the deep, gruff voice of the Englishman who answered the phone.

You wait with a bated breath, eyes wide with anticipation, but his expression remains flat, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What else?" You finally question, unable to contain your curiosity.

"That's all," he plainly says, his words hanging in the air.

You scoff. "She didn't ask about the random guy answering my phone?" You voice with disbelief.

Your mother is a shallow woman, but surely you getting what she’s constantly pressured you into getting would have her jumping for joy.

A sly smirk grows on his lips. "Am I just some random guy?" He jokes.

You smile yourself before pressing a kiss to his lips, arms coming to wrap around his torso. "You’re my husband, so not to me," you begin. "But to her, yes," your hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him down to peck his lips again. "You know that," you say matter-of-factly.

His hands drift to your waist. "Mhm, I'm your dirty little secret," he hums softly.

"John," you frown, guilt flooding your brain. "You know I would, but—"

"Just jokes, baby," he interjects, pressing a light kiss on your temple as his eyes light up. "I love you in any way you’ll have me," he murmurs softly.

"God, you’re perfect," you reply with a smile. 

"She did question who I was," he starts. "Had no idea she was so southern," he remarks casually before continuing. "She thought I was the plumber," he quips, trying to lighten the mood slightly.

He tried, but he could feel the tension in the air.

Sees the disappointment and anger in your eyes.

In your posture.

You're fucking pissed.

"Typical," you remark, stepping away from him, arms flailing around. "She—she thinks I'm so incapable of finding someone that she would resort to thinking you're a person I pay before actually thinking you're with me." Your voice is filled with frustration.

"Hon—" John begins, voice soft as his hand reaches for you.

"And she wonders why I never visit," you release a dry laugh. "Never reach out."

"Come ere,'" he coos, hand pulling you by your wrist, so he can engulf you in a hug.

"It's not fair," your voice is once again muffled by the fabric of his shirt, but he can hear the tightness in it and the sniffle against him, a clear sign of your emotional distress.

"No, it's not," he affirms, fingers easing through your hair.

"Nothing is ever good enough for her," you exhale into his abdomen, fueled more by anger than by despair.

John gently kisses your hair while his fingers soothe your back with a gentle massage.

"I’ll never be good enough for her," you mumble absentmindedly, your voice lacking emotion.

"Sweetheart," he begins, his voice low as your hair muffles the sound. "Don't take offense, but you're mother is a real nasty woman. You're fuckin' perfect, and if she can't see that, it's her God-damn loss," his tone rough yet sincere.

You chuckled, a smile spreading across your face as the corners of your eyes crinkled. "I love you."

"Love you so much," he whispers, gently planting another kiss on your head.

He leans back slightly to look into your eyes. "Want me to run you a hot bath?" He asks, gently massaging your shoulders.

"That sounds really nice," you reply, taking a deep breath. "Thanks."

"Course. That's what I'm here for," he says effortlessly, leaning down to kiss your lips tenderly. "I'll let you know when it's ready."

You nod quietly as he moves to draw the warm bath.

The thought of sinking into steamy water and enveloping bubbles soothes your mind.

Honestly, to hell with your mother's opinions.

They just weren't worth the headache.

And there was no way you were going back to that house.

The promise of the bath, with its comforting warmth and enticing bubbles, would wash away your worries and quiet the thoughts swirling in your head.

Visions of your mother and that place would fade, never to resurface again.

"Can't believe she thought I would actually come down," you sigh contentedly, feeling the warmth of your husband, John, as he works shampoo through your hair, creating rich suds.

So much for the visions of your mother fading. 

It had been a whole day since your mother's call, and the weight of her words still lingered, stirring up a storm of conflicting emotions within you.

"Still on your mind?" John asks, eyes hyperfocusing on ensuring the shampoo coats every strand of your hair.

"I just—I don't understand why she thought I would come," you suspire, turning to massage the loofah against John's chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the tension in his muscles.

"Must have gone mad, I suppose," he jests, his fingers massaging the shampoo into your scalp, adding a touch of humor to the heavy conversation.

Your lip quips at his joke, eyes lighting at the sight of him taking such good care of you, ensuring your scalp is tantalizingly clean. "Maybe," you murmur. "Because all she ever does is ridicule me and constantly ask if I've found a man.” You gently move the loofah over his chest to ensure he is squeaky clean.

"Close your eyes," he murmurs, his hands coming to massage your facial cleanser into your face before returning to the issue at hand.

"Wouldn't let tryin' to examine your mother's psyche take your day, hon," his hands move with familiar ease as he massages the liquid into your cheeks. "You'll never know why. Can't change that,” he says.

"I hate how logical you are," you sigh, finding yourself relaxing at his touch.

He lets out a gruff laugh. "Would you rather me be some git?"

Your eyebrow quips, eyes remaining closed. "What does that mean?"

His lip quips. "Sweetheart, how long have you lived with me here, in England?" He enunciates the last word as he moves you under the faucet to wash away the cleanser's remnants. 

"Not long enough, I guess," you smile cheekily, wiping your eyes free of water to open them. "Honestly, forever isn't even long enough," you add, trying to shift the focus, though it's true; you can't quite remember how long you've been living together  

"Oh," he tuts softly. "Nice save. Can't argue with that," he replies, smirking before leaning in to kiss your lips.

After a stretch of silence, you turn around so he can wash your back with the loofah. Your mind is still swirling with thoughts. "I kind of miss seeing my niece," you find yourself reminiscing.

"Even though my sister and I don't get along too well, her daughter and I have always had a special bond," you say with a sigh.

"What else do you miss?" Since you never really talk about where you grew up, John prods, he's curious.

"Well, in the spring, my cousins and I would go flower picking in the field behind my grandfather's house," you find yourself getting more excited.

"He also had an old peach tree, Mindy, he called it, that we would pick dozens of peaches from and just lay in the shade under the tree and eat them till he thought we might become peaches ourselves," you snicker, turning around to face him, eyes light.

"They were fucking good peaches."

"Sounds like you miss it," he grins.

Your hand turns the lever off, and the water stops, leaving a lingering warmth on your skin. "I do," you confess, stepping out of the shower to grab you and him fresh towels.

"But, my mother knows how to ruin the best of memories," your voice is monotone. "I want those great ones to stay intact, you know?" You shrug, wrapping the towel around yourself, offering comfort.

He wraps the towel low around his waist. "Course I get it, sweetheart," his voice soft yet gruff. "Let's get you all nice and dry, and we'll order some takeout. Yeah?" He asks, reaching for your hand to lead you into your shared bedroom to get dressed.

"Sounds perfect," you voice, the thoughts of going home almost completely absolving. 

A few misses wouldn't make you completely switch gears and go.

It just wasn't worth it.

Only your mother could figure out how to make the enjoyment and amazing things crumble up and burn. 

But you won't let her. 

So, you've made up your mind. 

You will not be going.

That's final.

It's two days to Saturday.

You've been manically counting down the days.

And so, naturally, instead of basking in the serene morning, with birds chirping and the gentle glow of the sun filtering through your kitchen window, you're perched on a barstool, computer propped up, as your breakfast grows cold, hand hesitating over a plane ticket that will whisk you away tomorrow morning to your hometown. 

Just one click, and you'll have solidified yourself as going.

You're only feeling so impulsive because your impulse control, aka your husband, is at work.

Your finger hovers over the 'confirm' button for about twenty minutes.

You know what's holding you back.

The anxieties claw up about your mother and what ifs that could happen.

And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, it all becomes clear.

'Could.'

It's not a promise, just a possibility.

You had spontaneously decided that you wouldn't let the could control your decisions.

Yes, one thing was holding you back, but what about the multitude of things that you wanted to see or the many people who loved and cared about and desperately wanted to see after so long?

You were not going to let the 'could' control your decisions.

You were going to overcome this worry and take the leap.

You sit up tall in your chair, turning your head with a wince as you click "confirm."

"Oh," you murmur. "That was dramatic for no reason," you say monotonously.

But, now you can't help but feel a surge of excitement.

You would get to see your niece after so long.

And the flower field and, of course, Mindy the peach tree.

Who could forget your childhood room full of posters and knick-knacks you collected throughout your teenage years.

You find yourself smiling as you get that familiar chime from your email confirming your flight ticket.

Can't get cold feet now.

You take a swig of your tea, which has long since gone cold, but your throat is parched from the anxiety that grips you, a knot tightening in your stomach.

The mug was a gift from your husband for your birthday last year.

It featured your favorite flowers made into it and even had your birthday engraved on the bottom.

John was always so thoughtful.

You pause your movements, lips hovering over the clay mug, a moment of hesitation freezing your actions.

John.

Your husband.

Of course, he didn't care that you bought the ticket or wanted to go, but he would be pissed if you just left.

Sure, you could wait until he returned home, but the urgency to communicate your decision gnaws at you, compelling you to act now.

You hurriedly reach for your phone, fidgeting to press his number.

He's at the top of your contacts.

You tap your fingers against the cool granite countertop, waiting until he picks up.

It rings.

And rings.

...and rings again.

Until the line picks up, you sit up, ready to unload on him, only for it to be his voicemail line.

"Shit," you curse, hanging up as your foot bounces on the metal footstep on the barstool.

As you sit there, unable to wait until he gets home, you can't help but feel a surge of dramatic emotion. This internal conflict, this emotional turmoil, is what drives you to act impulsively.

But this is a big deal.

You never go home.

Rarely mention it.

So your next actions feel rationalized to you.

Without a second thought, you spring up, grab your keys from the hook by the door, slip your shoes and coat on, and speed to your car, most likely looking like a mad woman. 

But at this moment, who cares about appearances? 

The urgency of the situation overrides any concern for normalcy.

Normalcy is overrated, anyway.

You throw the car into gear, and though you are in a rush, you don't speed there. 

Carefully, you make your way, chewing on your lips nearly the entire drive.

Despite your earlier determination not to return, you find yourself on the way, a plane ticket already in your possession.

The anticipation of what your husband has to say fills you with a slight unease.

He wouldn't be mad.

More surprised than anything.

And honestly, you shamelessly loved seeing him at work.

His professional demeanor, always in control, never fails to impress you.

You can't help but oogle him.

It secretly really got you going.

But, this time, it was a purely innocent visit, of course.

You find a parking spot, ease into the front part, giving the officer guarding the gate your name.

She quickly lets you through.

You are the captain's wife, after all.

Walking, you head straight through a door and through another one.

So many God-damn doors in this place.

Until you reach the middle portion of the base, grass surrounds you, and various equipment is placed orderly around.

Sandbags, wooden ladders, and weights are among the items you see. 

Your eyes sweep the area until they land on the man you're looking for. 

He stands tall, his broad shoulders filling out his uniform, a few strands of hair escaping his signature hat.

His eyes are focused on the recruits, his expression a mix of determination and frustration.

From the looks of it, he's training new recruits, something he doesn't often do, but it's a real treat when he does.

His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his veiny arms. 

His arms, usually strong and steady, now appear more veiny than usual, a sign of his apparent frustration with the recruits. His jaw is set, and you can see the tension in his muscles as he barks orders.

"Runnin' like a fuckin' slug," he reprimands. "Pick up the pace."

You hate how hearing that makes you feel butterflies in your stomach.

"Get your head out of your ass," he grunts outs, clearly annoyed. "The hell are you lookin' at," he asks a recruit who, along with a few others, seems to be on another planet, eyes wandering behind him.

John turns to his side to see you in a cute dress, waving to him sweetly. "Course," he lets out a dry laugh, giving you a small wave.

He turns back to the recruits, his authority palpable.

"Eyes off my wife, or you'll be doin' extra laps," he scolds, his tone low but intimidating, before yelling to move to the ladders with Soap.

He makes his way over to you, a warm smile on his face. "Nice surprise, hon," he greets, kissing your cheek.

"I'm gonna go," you murmur.

His brows furrow in confusion. "Go where?" 

You raise a brow at his confusion. "To...see my family."

His eyes bore into your intently. "By yourself?"

"I didn't think you'd want to go," you say honestly. 

"I'm going with you," his tone final, with no room to argue. "You bought a plane ticket?" He questions.

"I did...sorry, I just thought—" you begin before he cuts in, his hand pressing against your cheek. 

"No worries," he says. "I'll get the ticket when I get back to my office," his tone casual. "You're sure about this?"

"I think so," you say. "Plus, if I cancel the ticket, we'll be out six hundred dollars," you laugh out.

"Screw the money, okay? You tell me if you don't want to go," he tells you, face serious.

"If I change my mind, you'll be the first to know," you lean up, pressing a short kiss to his lips. "Also, you should always wear your shirt like that."

His eyes narrow as he lets out a laugh. "You like it?"

"Looks sexy," you purr quietly, teeth coming to bite your lip.

His face warms slightly. "Should see what it looks like off."

"Are you flirting with me, captain?" You say, hand coming to your heart in false surprise. 

"Just givin' you a preview for later," his tone is husky. 

"I'll be waiting," you begin, beckoning him to lower his head so your lips can hover over his ear. "Already so wet just thinking about it."

He releases a low grunt as you press a kiss to his cheek.

"See you at home," you say sweetly as if you didn't just give him a hard-on at the thought of you all wet and needy for him.

"See you, sweetheart," he almost chokes out as you turn to go away, your ass swaying in the dress you wear.

He's going to make you pay later.

And honestly, you can't wait.

You need something to take your mind off tomorrow's morning flight. 

Though it was going to take a lot more than sex to ease your mind.

A horse tranquilizer may help.

No. Too dangerous.

Whatever, you'll take your chances with John's hand all over and in you to have you sleeping and at ease.

Maybe you'll get lucky, and you two can sneak off to the airport bathroom and finally join the mile-high club.

That would definitely keep your mind off things.

For now, you’ll wear a smile, and excitement will radiate from your being.

Everything will be fine.

Nothing bad will happen.

Even so, what’s the worst that could possibly happen?

Statement retracted.

Your trip thus far has been a shitshow, and you haven't even seen your family yet.

Your flight got delayed three hours because of fog.

That was understandable, annoying, but understandable. 

What wasn't was the lady who insisted on sitting between you and John on your flight in the seat you paid for.

An older lady, maybe in her late forties or so, with a determined look in her eyes and a set to her jaw that said she wasn't going to let a little thing like a seat assignment get in her way.

She was nice at first.

She became insufferable rather quickly.

Very persistent.

You deduce she did that so she could sit next to your man. 

It didn't bother you so much, plus you knew if you showed it did, John would make a scene, and you just wanted to close your eyes and sleep, so you let her have your seat and sat by the window instead.

But every time you got settled, eyes closing gently, the soft lull of the plane helping you drift off.

"Going off to college?" She piped next to you, oblivious or noncaring about your eyes shut.

Your eyes open rapidly, and you look at her, awaiting a response. "Uh, no. I graduated a couple of years ago," your voice is drowsy. 

"Oh. You two must be going on a father-daughter trip, then?" She poses.

Your wide eyes drift to John's; a smile etched on his face. "Such a kind father you are," she compliments without missing a beat.

The sheer absurdity of her assumption leaves you speechless, and John can't help but let out a quiet laugh.

"Thas' actually my wife," he says, trying to contain another laugh. 

"Oh," her eyes widen in shock and apparent envy. "Well, aren't you a lucky one," her tone is dry as she eyes you.

That was funny.

But not when she did it about five hundred times on the eight hour flight.

It was like a broken record, playing the same tune over and over again, and you were the unwilling participant. 

Over and over again like clockwork.

Drove you bat shit crazy.

Sure, maybe you could have just told her to shut the hell up, but you kept telling yourself it wasn't worth the fight, and you didn't have the energy to make the effort.

Also, since the lady was sitting in the seat between you, formally yours, you didn't feel comfortable asking John about the bathroom sex.

She would have most likely dropped dead or asked to join.

You didn't want either.

So, it is safe to say that when the plane landed, you sat up excitedly to escape the stuffy plane.

The lady tried to follow you and John out, but you grabbed John by the wrist, dragging him behind you as your legs gained more momentum to try and escape her.

It was like a horror movie.

"Oh my God. She was so weird," you laugh out to John as you manage to get away from her, stepping out of the airport to collect your rental truck. 

"I know. Kept lookin' at me the whole flight," he says with unease as he places your suitcases into the backseat of the truck, shooing away your hands from the bags so he could lift them himself.

"Do we need to get you a counselor?" You half-joke as he opens the car door for you to get in as he moves to the driver's seat.

"Think so," he gruffs before his eyes fixate on you. "You okay?"

You had put the address into the truck's maps system, settling back into the leather seat, eyes now on his. "I'm nervous," you confess.

"Nothin' to be nervous about. I'm here for you, okay? If you need to leave, just tell me," his voice is soft as his hand caresses your thigh in comfort. 

You give him a nod, turning to look out the window at the passing buildings, a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

You had already texted your niece you were coming, so you're sure your mother and sister know. 

It's not like you'd be staying with them.

That's too much too soon.

Plus, you and John could have sex anytime in the hotel with no fears of your estranged mother walking and seeing John balls-deep in you.

It was really better for all parties.

Once you pull up to the house, you swear you could hurl.

"Was this a bad idea?" You ask John nervously as he pulls your suitcases out of the backseat.

He gently sets them on the dirt. "It's just nerves," he says, locking the truck. "Let's scope it out, and if you want to leave, we'll go. No questions," his hand rests gently on your shoulder.

"Promise?" You prod, tilting your head towards him. 

He smiles at you. "You have my word, sweetheart."

You release a deep breath. "I think I'm going to pass out."

He chuckles deeply, hand snaking around your waist to lead you to the front door. "I'll catch you if you do."

You feel your nerves subside with John by your side as you flip up the familiar peach-shaped doorbell cover to ring the bell.

Stomping feet approach, the voice growing nearer and nearer until the front door pulls open to reveal your sister.

Flawless as ever. 

Her eyes light up. "Thought my daughter was tellin' fibs," she jokes, pulling you into a warm, tight hug. "Missed you." Her genuine affection wraps around you like a comforting blanket.

You reciprocate the hug with equal tightness. 

Although you may not have gotten along well, she was still your sister, and you could feel the love a million miles away. 

She pulls away, eyes falling onto the mysterious, hot, stoic man to your side. "Who's this good-lookin' hunk?" She coos, smacking her gun.

"This is my, um, my husband, John," you say, fumbling your words a little.

"Nice to meet you," his voice is low and most shockingly British, as he sticks his hand out.

Cordial as ever. 

"Oh, come on. That's just not even fair, sis," she jests, taking his hand fast and tight.

Her playful banter adds a lightness to the moment that almost absolves your nerves entirely.

"Where's...mom?" You ask, your heart pounding in your chest, the unease apparent in your tone.

She looks back at you. "Kitchen," she says before offering a reason. "She's makin' peach cobbler. Come on in," she steps aside so you and John can enter the door.

The familiar scent of the old wooden floors, the sound of the creaking stairs, and the sight of the family photos on the wall all bring back a flood of memories.

Warm smiles and familiar voices greet you as you step inside.

Cousins, aunts, uncles.

They approach you one by one, their surprise at your arrival evident, but even more so at hearing that you're married to the burly man at your side. 

Your aunts keep him occupied as you wander into the kitchen.

They keep him engaged in their lively banter, shamelessly flirting with him while their husbands sit in the living room, engrossed in their own discussions. 

You feel a little bad for leaving him to fend with the wolves, but he assured you he was alright and all but pushed you into the kitchen.

Sure enough, your mother was busy rolling out some dough on the countertop for the crust for the top of the peach cobbler. 

"Mom," your voice is quiet as you move around the island to where she is.

She turns. "Well, I'll be," she begins, eyes wide and full of surprises. "Ya came."

"I did," you amend with a smile. "And I brought someone I'd like you to meet."

"Some city guy?" Her head moves back to the dough, no longer on you.

"He, yes, he's from the city," your voice is outwardly confused.

"Thought so," her tone is snarky as she delicately lays the dough over the cobbler filling. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" It comes out more defensive than you intend. 

"Nothin,'" she says flatly. "Enjoyen' your fancy life in the city?"

You roll your eyes, already anticipating the direction this conversation is about to take. "Mom," you urge, your frustration palpable.

"No, hon. I get it," she looks up at you, shrugging. "Honestly, surprised you came. Wouldn't wanna dim your new sparkly life," her tone is condescending. "That is why it's been so long, right?"

"It's not like that," you try to justify, but you know it will do no good.

She completely disregards that, instead changing the subject. "Supper's ready," she bussies herself with stirring the gravy. "Better snag yourself a seat quick," her tone is dry. "Table hasn't grown none."

You release a shallow breath, turning around to escape this stupid God-damned kitchen and moving to find John. 

It's a familiar feeling, this resignation. 

Guess some things never change. 

You approach him, and before you say a word, his eyes are already locked on you, body language now stiff. "What's the matter?" His hands are on you in an instant.

You should have known.

He can read you like one of those mission reports he reads daily.

"Nothing," you mutter, forcing a smile, but the words feel heavy with the things you're hiding.

His eyes narrow. "Can't lie to me," he voices.

You'd just about rather crawl in a hole and die than re-account. 

What was supposed to be a happy recount turned sour rather quickly.

"Tell me," he urges, sensing your inner turmoil. 

"Drop it," your tone is more icey than usual. "Please." 

He gives you a light nod, eyes full of concern.

"Let's go eat, okay?" Your hand moves to his, intertwining your fingers, and guilt claws up your throat.

He gives you a nod as you drag him into the dining room to snag a seat at the main table.

Mom was right. The table is still too small to accommodate a family of this size, so another table sits outside and another in the living room. 

Others crowd around the breakfast nook and sit on barstool at the kitchen island. 

This house has never known loneliness. 

Your mother, father, sister, sister's daughter, and your sister's fiance are at the table with you and John. 

Your niece opts to sit next to you, gushing about her new boyfriend, the son of the florist downtown, and asking questions about the city.

"Hush now, darlin.' She gets all fussy about that," your mother chides your niece, referring to your early conversation about you living in the city.

"Mom," you quip, eyes wide at her sheer audacity.

She hadn't even addressed John, just jumping straight into a fight.

Typical.

"I'm just sayin.' Ya jumped all over me for talkin' about it," she says, trying to sound innocent. 

Seems her memory is slipping.

"That's not why I got upset," your tone is teetering between desperation and frustration, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air.

She plops some mashed potatoes on her plate before passing the bowl along. "Then what was it ya were so hurt about earlier, huh?"

You're sure steam is rolling out of your ears.

"You hold a, a vendetta against me for leaving," you spew without much thought, anger taking over. "Because you never got to leave, you take it out on me," you finish, and you're sure you're shaking. 

If all eyes weren't on you before, they are now.

John is leaning back in his chair, eyes wide.

He's kind of scared if he touches you, you'll punch him, so he instead crosses his arm over his chest.

"I think the city is cool," your niece randomly chimes in, clearly trying to ease the tension. "Would love to visit someday."

You give her a smile before your mother starts up again.

"Didn't your mother teach ya about city girls," she snaps to your niece. "Nothin' good ever came from any of em.'" 

You can taste the metallic taste of blood on your tongue; you had bitten your cheek so hard you bled.

"Ain't that right," your mother says, eyes shifting to your sister.

Your sister is great.

Just not in the presence of your mother.

She takes on her personality and thoughts.

Agreeing with her without a second thought

That includes her fights.

"It's true," she snickers. "City girls can't tell a pencil from a pecker."

You find yourself standing abruptly, and your sister matches your action, spewing more garbage. 

And for some reason, her fiance stands up, which makes John stand up, matching his movements.

He's easily a foot taller than her fiance, and he's much more muscular, too.

"Enough," John's low, commanding voice is fitting for a military captain. It splices through the room, the commotion dying as he speaks. "I will not sit here and let you treat my wife like this," his head tilts towards your sister and then to your mother. "Now or ever."

He doesn't even need to yell to get any attention. 

His voice just demands attention already. 

Your sister, usually so quick with a retort, is silent.

The fear in her eyes is unmistakable, adding to the intensity of the confrontation.

She’s scared.

Hell, everyone is.

Well, except your niece, whose lip quips secretly, a small smirk playing on her lips despite the tension in the room. 

"Your daughter came down on her own merit to see you," he points to your mother. "Could have done so many other things, but she wanted to see you," he enunciates the last word.

"Well, she—" Your mother begins, her face bright red with anger, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Tired of hearin' the excuses," his voice cuts through hers. She quickly shuts up, a surprising silence falling over her. "Can't even believe your daughter turned out as amazing as she did growing up with this," he gestures towards you.

He stands with his hands on his hips, disappointment is evident on his face. 

"My wife is a God-damn saint," his voice is rough.

You find your lip quipping at the praise and how much he appreciates you.

He worships the ground you walk on.

That was made abundantly clear. 

His hands reach to rest on your lower back. "Appreciate the food, but we'll be leavin' now," he mutters, stepping back to push his chair in.

You don't argue with him.

Hell, how could you?

He said everything you couldn't

Laid all your thoughts on the table and even added some extra.

He did what he was born to do: protect.

You step away, push your chair in, and turn around, not bothering to say goodbye as you walk to the front door.

You'll text your niece later. 

The chill in the air, carrying the scent of magnolia trees and damp earth, hits you like a slap to the face.

John's hand is still on your lower back, guiding you back to the truck.

He opens the door so you can slip inside as he makes his way around the driver's seat.

The heater is blasting as he shoves the key into the keyhole, and the engine is stirring alive as he easily backs out and pulls onto the road. 

The silence is heavy as he drives down a straight, desolate road.

It's silent for a moment before he starts to comment, apologizing profusely about how he overstepped and saying sorry that this trip turned out bad.

You're tuning him out and instead focusing on how he stood up for you.

He was just such a man.

He always knew how to be what you needed him to be.

Protector.

Listener.

Talker.

He always knew which role to take on to support you, to be your anchor in the storm of emotions. 

Just that thought alone made you incredibly wet. 

You don't know why.

You should be crying from the way things unfolded with your family.

But you're not sad, not even remotely.

Just incredibly horny.

You find yourself slipping the rubberband off your wrist and quickly tying your hair in a messy ponytail.

"Hon," John says, noting your unusual silence. "I'm so sorry," he quickly glances your way before looking back at the road.

You don't speak, opting to brush your hand against his cargo pants as your fingers fumble with his zipper.

He makes a noise of surprise. "What're you doin?'" He asks, his voice breathy.

"You took care of me," you mumble, shimming your fingers under the waistband of his boxers to release his erect cock, to which he grunts. "Want to do the same," your voice is lazy, as your lips brush against the sensitive head.

"Me yellin' at your mother got you all hot?" He jokes though it dies halfway on his tongue as your lips spread open to accommodate his size.

His knuckles are white as he tightly grips the steering wheel so as not to crash.

Your mouth makes a pop noise before you speak. "You're just so sexy. All manly like that," you mutter against his cock, the tingle of your words sending goosebumps throughout his entire body.

"Am I?" He chokes out as your lips move back to encase his cock.

"So hot," your voice is muffled as you take in more of his cock.

"Oh—Christ, thas' it, hon," he groans as you bob your head up and down.

His mind has gone fuzzy at the feeling of your tight throat, taking him so good, even swerving a little, before quickly straightening the wheels.

"So fuckin' good," he grunts, as one hand moves to gather your ponytail in a loose fist. 

Your tongue works in tandem, rubbing against the underside of his cock, sending more pleasure through him. "Such a good girl, babe," he praises, and you just know that your underwear will be soaked. 

"So good." Your moan against him at the next praise, making him sputter his hips up, his cock slipping in your mouth entirely. 

He chokes out some incoherent words you can't make out; taking note of his body going taut, you can presume he's close.

"Gonna," he strains out as you continue bobbing up and down, his hand tightening around the fistful of your hair. “Come."

You bring your hand to pump the base as your tongue flicks across the tip.

He groans with anguish, legs shaking as he comes in your mouth.

You pull your head up, your eyes boring into his so he can watch you swallow out every last drop, even using your fingers to clean up the residue in the corners of your mouth.

His eyes stay glued to your mouth before you yell at him to watch the road.

"Christ," he shouts, gripping the wheel tight to stay in his lane. 

You laugh as you lean, pressing a sideways kiss on his lips.

He can taste himself on your lips.

He almost comes again.

But the high lasts just as short as when you look in the review to see police sirens hot on your tale, the siren invading your eardrums. 

John curses but pulls off to the shoulder, sneakily grabbing his military badge in his pocket.

"You always just carry that on you?" You smile slyly, the body still warm from your escapades. 

"Will come in handy," he assures, rolling his window down as the officer makes his way to his window.

"Evenin', folks. Gotta call from a concerned driver sayin' you were swervin' out of your lane," he says.

"No, sir. Not us," you answer, John glancing towards you.

"That right?" The officer prods. "I'm going to need to see your license and registration, sir," his monotone voice says. 

"Yes, sir," John says, slyly flashing his military badge as he "looks" for his license. 

"You're military?" John nods. "Hell," the officer laughs, tucking his notepad back in his pocket. "I know you aren't some juveniles."

John laughs as he glances over to you, glancing down to see a little remnant of his come on your shirt.

He almost feels guilty.

Almost.

He lets out a cough.

"You alright, sir?" The officer asks, brows furrowed.

"Yeah. Fine," his voice is strained.

You shoot him a look before the officer starts again.

"Well, I'll let ya'll get on your way," he pats the top of the car.

You both issue a heartfelt thanks before John pulls back out onto the road, a palpable sense of relief in your voices.

"Can't believe he just let you off," you groan, hand coming to intertwine his. 

"Thought you'd be happy?" He laughs. "Can get to the hotel in record time now."

You raise a knowing eyebrow. "For what?"

"Saw you squirmin' in that seat," he teases, his affectionate tone wrapping around you. "I need to take care of my girl," he adds, his voice filled with warmth and love. 

You release a shallow breath.

His girl.

You.

Just you.

That's what you loved about loving him. 

You didn't have to keep up with his expectations.

You could simply exist, and he would kiss the ground you walk on.

The thought lit up your brain.

John Price was your man.

And in his eyes, you'd always be his girl.

mini author's note: i'd have to be surgically removed from him...

[belowablue]

Not Boyfriend Material - James Potter x Reader

Who is she, posting frequently? I'm actually pretty proud of this one guys, over 2k words and everything!

part 2 part 3 <3

MDNI

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“How could he ever think I’d want to go out with him?” Lily exclaimed from your right side. You snorted. 

James Potter had once again tried his luck with the supposed ‘girl of his dreams’ and it had, once again, resulted in his public humiliation as she turned him down. You were beginning to wonder if it was some sort of weird kink he had. 

“I mean,” she continued, “I can’t make it much more obvious that I don’t want him, not like that.”

“I know Lils” you said, half-focused on the white flowers in the hedge you were walking alongside. The two of you had fled the Great Hall after Lily’s latest outburst and were wondering the grounds whilst Lily let it all out. 

“For goodness sake I don’t know how many different ways I can turn him down,” she babbled, “I’m running out of ideas here I can’t-“ 

You cut her off, “you shouldn’t have to, he should have it in his big head by now that the two of you are never going to happen.”

Lily sighed, flicking her hair over one shoulder, “but that would mean the end to his childhood dream.” You snorted again, “you’re not responsible for keeping that alive, its in his own head.” Lily hummed next to you, watching you trail your fingers across the leaves of the hedge. 

You two had done this song and dance a million times before, each time she rejected James you would put your heads together to try and figure out why he insisted on pursing her. You pretty much always came to the same answer; because it’s all he’d ever known. 

“Ugh” she began again, “it’s not like he’s ever shown any signs that he’d be a good boyfriend anyway.” 

Your brow furrowed but you let her continue. 

“He’s never dated anyone because he’s been holding out for me whatever that means”, she used her fingers as air quotes to say this, which made you giggle.  “But I think he’s slept with about half the girls in our year” 

“Oh but he’s just practising for you Lils” you said mischievously as Lily immediately began making loud vomiting sounds. “But I agree” you said “sex does not equal romantic experience.” 

Lily nodded. “Anything else?” She prompted. You thought for a moment or two, fingers encircling a delicate white blossom you’d plucked off the hedge. 

“I think he’d be a good lay, with all his practice and Black as his best friend,” You pondered before announcing “I’d shag him.” 

Lily nodded subduedly beside you, “but?”

“But he’s not boyfriend material” you concluded. “Just because he can find the clit does not mean he can plan a good date.” Lily laughed beside you, evidently relieved that you were backing her up, though you always did. She went quiet and you turned to look at her, flower still in-between your fingers. 

“I’m so tired of watching my back in case of another spontaneous proposal” she grumbled, “He just doesn’t get it I won’t ever want to go out-“ 

You cut her off gently. “You don’t need to justify yourself to me,” you took her hand and squeezed it gently. “I know why.” 

She smiled gratefully back at you, green eyes glistening. “Yeah” she murmured, “yeah.”

You both walked along in silence for a bit, thinking. “Come on,” you turned to her. “Let’s go back or we’ll miss dinner.” 

As you turned back to the castle you discarded the flower thoughtlessly on the ground.

It wasn’t until you had moved away that James Potter appeared from the other side of the hedge, rubbing his jaw ruefully. Noticing the discarded bloom, he bent down and picked it up, twirling it from hand to hand.

“Not boyfriend material huh” he said to himself. He glanced up at your retreating figure and spoke to your back “we’ll see about that.”

———————————————————————————————————————-

“Oh fuck, James!”

James Potter smirked as his hips met yours, balls deep in your pussy. He had managed to persuade you into having a little soiree, egged on by your own words bouncing around in his head, ‘I’d shag him.’ 

But he was also a man with a plan. Once he’d fucked you senseless, proving all the gossip true, then he was going to introduce a new side of him; one that was absolutely boyfriend material. 

He hummed, “you like that baby?” Flushed face staring down at your own as he kept up a quick deep pace. You were babbling nonsense, feeling your second orgasm approaching, “fuck yes, Jamie I, - shit, please, harder!” 

Who was he to deny you? Picking up his pace, silently thanking all that quidditch practice for giving him excellent stamina, he began to rub your clit as well, eagerly watching your face, delighted to see it crumple in pleasure as your orgasm built. 

He was panting hard and you were moaning like a pornstar when you came on his cock. Fuck he was done for, you got so tight around him and you looked so pretty when you came just for him that “Shit shit shit”, he moaned your name loudly as he came in you, filling you up.  

You both relaxed, panting, enjoying your post-orgasm buzz. James slowly pulled out, savouring the feeling, and leaned back to watch his cum drip out of you. You huffed, watching him watching you, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, was this some sort of primal thing boys had? 

You were just about to kick him away, already having mixed thoughts about what you were going to tell Lily, when you felt his finger on your clit again. You jumped. 

“Sensitive?” He asked. This time, you did roll your eyes “no shit.”

He grinned at you and there was some mischief in there you didn’t quite like. 

“Got one more for me?” 

“I-“ you were speechless. Again, he wanted you to cum again? The other girls had said nothing about stuff happening after he came. 

Taking your silence as permission he stretched out between your legs and it was then you saw what he was planning to do.

“James there is definitely still-“ He cut you off, “don’t care, I’ll be able to taste how good I fucked you, now come here.”

Well, you didn’t have any complaints. James’ head was legendary. 

You left your legs nice and open for him as he continued to thumb your clit and brought his tongue down to your entrance, plunging it in, tasting the combination of your two releases. He groaned into you, sending delicious vibrations through your body. You gasped. 

“Fuck, we taste so good together baby” you were only half-listening, your third orgasm building embarrassingly quickly. With his quick, enthusiastic stimulation you were coming in two minutes flat, moaning so loudly, and, to your mild horror, squirting on his tongue. 

You weren’t sure what he would think, but his noises of surprised delight and the gyrations of his hips into the mattress relaxed you. You had to push his head gently away to get him to stop. 

He pulled back, male pride written all over his shiny face. “Alright?”

You lazily glared at him from your fucked-out state, “yeah yeah.”

He grinned and disappeared into the bathroom. This was the perfect time to make your quiet escape. Nobody really stuck around afterwards. Just as you were trying to get your twitchy legs to move, he reappeared, was cloth in hand. 

His grin dropped slightly as he saw you trying to wriggle off the bed. “Hey” he called softly, “hang on.”

You had no choice but to do as he asked. It was that or have the full embarrassment of having him watch you drop to the floor with jelly legs. So you stayed where you were and watched with surprise as he brought the damp cloth in-between your legs, gently and reverently cleaning up the mess he made. 

You stayed very still, unsure where this was going.  No other girls had said anything about receiving this kind of aftercare. It was normally a slap on the arse and a “same time next week?” 

Once James had finished, he stepped back, still naked, and began wringing the cloth in his hands, as if he was nervous. You almost couldn’t believe yourself, James Potter was never nervous. 

“Um” he began, “you don’t want to, to stay, do you?” 

You froze. Definitely uncharted territory. And the worst part was you couldn’t figure out his motivation. Why on earth was he suddenly being so nice about his hookups? But the more you thought about it, the more you were sure you wouldn’t make it back to your own dorm in your current state, so you nodded silently. 

Clear relief flooded his face as he tossed the cloth aside. “Good, I mean great, I mean fine” He said, sidling in next to you, fixing the duvet from its crumpled state so you were both covered and warm. You refrained from getting too close to him, you still had no idea what the fuck this was, until you glanced over and saw him lying on his back, the arm nearest you outstretched, giving you an in to lie on his chest. 

You thought about it for all of two seconds, weirder things had happened tonight than you cuddling with James Potter. So you came over, head lying on his warm chest and he brought his arm up to encircle you, holing you there.

You sighed contentedly, eyes already drooping closed. This was nice. It had been a while since you cuddled with anyone like this. You very quickly fell asleep, tired out, leaving James wide awake. 

His head was buzzing. You’d agreed.  You’d actually agreed to stay with him. To sleep in his bed and cuddle him. This was perfect.  This was all he wanted. He’d not been dissatisfied with his previous hookups by any means, but,  but it was nice to feel anchored down. Phase two of his plan was going splendidly. By the next morning, if he successfully completed it, you would have no choice but to see him as the best boyfriend ever. 

With this comforting thought in his head, he closed his eyes, squeezed you a little closer and fell asleep.

Sunlight fell onto your eyes, waking you up. You pried your eyes blearily open and peered around. The warmth was gone. You sat up a little. No James. ‘Typical’ you thought, angrily tugging at your hair, ‘he’s the one who borderlines begs me to stay the night yet disappears first thing.’ You began to look around the room for you clothes, ‘probably scared of the commitment’ you decided.

Just as you were about to get up, the door flung open. In breezed one Potter holding a tray adorned with all the breakfast food you could want. You stared, what else was there to do? 

“Oh you’re awake” he said cheerfully. “I’ve brought breakfast” It was like he had sunshine injected into his voice. “Sorry lovie, I wasn’t sure what you like, so I got a bit of everything.” He chuckled, “the house elves are so helpful.” He set the tray down at the foot of the bed and stepped back, looking at you expectantly, smiling from ear to ear. 

Dazed, you murmured something unintelligible, reaching for a piece of toast and honey. Once he saw you were eating, he plopped down on the side of the bed and took an apple out of his pocket. 

“Did you sleep well?” 

You blinked. What alternate universe had you woken up in. You nodded slowly at him and he rewarded you with a dazzling smile 

“Excellent, I did too incase you were wondering, you’re very comfortable.” No one had ever said that about you before. You had to credit James for originality there. 

His eyes fell on your naked torso and widened slightly. Looking down, you suddenly had the urge to tug the duvet up to cover yourself as if he hadn’t had his face there hours ago, but James had silently turned away, apple abandoned and went around the room gathering up your discarded clothes. 

You watched him, chewing your toast, lost for words. This never happened. This actually never happened. No one stayed the night. No one cuddled. No one was treated to breakfast in bed. What was he doing. You decided he must have sustained a head injury at some point. Only rational explanation. 

You reached up to push your hair away, only find your fingers sticky with honey. James noticed, because of course he did, and cleared his throat. You looked at him. 

“You could go” he offered, “or you could, y’know, have a shower, get cleaned up.”

Words finally found you, which was great because you decided to make the most of this very domestic situation. “Would you join me?” 

James beamed, “what ever you want baby.” 

Getting up, you also took note of the frequent use of endearing pet names. It was almost like he was your boyfriend.  

AN: guys I saw the most heartwrenching marauders edit on TikTok to that one Alex Warren sound, fuckass app. I also wanted to put this picture in at the top but I couldn't format it right so it's going here xxx

[sunnie-angel]

Jason Todd will cockblock himself if he thinks you can’t give 100% informed consent.

A few too many drinks at a gala and you’re drunkenly trying to make out with your gorgeous boyfriend. He’ll stop kissing you once he can taste the champagne on your lips, notices the glassy sheen to your eyes. Jason folds your roaming hands back into your lap and makes you promise to be good. He’ll take you home early and get some water into you before tucking you into bed. He’ll go so far as to sleep on the couch, door open to the bedroom so he can hear if you need him.

Jason remembers what Catherine looked like, coming off of a high and not remembering what day it was. The fear in her eyes and the shake in her voice when she asked if anyone else had been in the apartment.

Jason remembers the early days after the pit. When he’d wake up after blacking out in rage and not remember what his body had done. Seeing the blood on his skin and not knowing where it came from.

Jason never wants you to wake up with that same fearful not knowing. So he’ll sleep on the couch and make sure you’re safe. In the morning he’ll cook you breakfast and kiss you silly. But you’re going to have a talk, the two of you, once you’re sober enough to have a real conversation. Establish boundaries and plan consent for if you do want to fool around if one of you is impaired, or how you want to handle it if you don’t. But it’s not tomorrow yet, and Jason’s tired. He can sleep soundly though, knowing that nothing’s going to happen to you.

[thee-horny-thicky]

TW: Yandere!Gojo, baby trapping

I know it's fanon that Satoru became a fuckboy once Suguru left, which I've written about before. However, I think the reality is that intimacy is rare for Satoru. He's busy, and vulnerability is his biggest fear. It's why he always maintains his childish, energetic persona, because after Suguru tore out his heart and stomped on it, opening up to another person was out of the question.

However, even the strongest isn't immune from developing crushes.

You were a new hire, a foreign sorcerer that recently transferred to Jujutsu Tech. You were born the same year as Suguru, and the similarities didn't end there. You might not look like him, though you were attractive in your own right, but so much about you echoed the man who broke Satoru's heart. Despite your serious demeanor, you knew how to take a joke, and were seriously competitive. You were cunning and sly, with a wit that he admired. You were loyal to those you cared about, but ruthless to your enemies. Best of all, you tolerated him in a way few could.

He found himself falling hard, and was delighted to know you felt the same way... sorta. You see, while he was planning a wedding, you wanted something purely physical. Satoru didn't mind indulging your lust, but he expected it to transform into love at some point. And it did, on his end. But you, you were a different story.

Your trajectory was similar to Satoru's. You too had a high school sweetheart who broke your heart, and you responded to it by shunning relationships. The difference was that you indulged in a decent amount of flings and one night stands. What started as a way to ease heartbreak became a stress reliever and your favorite hobby. Moreover, being a sorcerer, conventional dating was risky. The risks weren't canceled out by someone like Satoru.

In fact, they were amplified.

Put simply, you didn't want to be a clan leader's wife. You enjoyed being a sorcerer, but if you wed the leader of a clan, you'd be reduced to a baby maker. You wanted kids one day, when being a sorcerer had lost its thrill. Maybe they'd fill the void, but for the time being, you were happy childless.

Unfortunately for you, your time without kids is nearing an end.

You see, once Gojo hears that you wouldn't mind being a mommy one day, he decides that's how he'll keep you. If his expensive gifts and lavish dates aren't enough, certainly a baby will be. Because after losing Suguru, he isn't willing to miss out on HEA with a great love again. If he has to use...questionable methods, so be it.

And hey, if a baby doesn't work, he has a cozy little room waiting for you, complete with security measures only he could disarm.

[luffyvace]

Boa Hancock & Neferatari Vivi x female reader for women’s day!!

ik I’m late to women’s day guys!! But I’m still gonna participate! (Totally not an excuse to write for some of my fav op girls that I haven’t written much for yet)

Hancock x a fem reader would be like the ultimate alternative timeline to her not falling in love with luffy lol

let’s say your in the kuja pirates specifically,

that would make more sense as to how you got closer since your on the same crew and obviously get to interact with her more versus just fan girling in the crowd lolol 😂

just the same as luffy, she’d realized her love for you after getting worried for your safety and feeling ill (love sick 😀) mid expedition at the fact that you might be hurt

when everyone gets back to the boat she tried to unsuspectingly scope you out (tried because she was actually frantically searching for someone and wouldn’t say who as everyone panicked-) and as soon as she saw you she sighed in relief! But soon after, she started blushing and she felt a warm fuzzy feeling!

what was this? Is this what they call..? Love?!

it was such a joyous feeling..! She couldn’t believe she was feeling such intense emotions at your presence alone!

”Lady hebihime!! Are you all right?!”

”Lady hebihime!! Are you all right?!”

”Lady hebihime!! Are you all right?!”

”all right..!”

”right..!”

”right..”

Your words echoed over and over again in Hancock’s spinning head. You..we’re worrying for her?! Your so…kind!- So!- so!- your such a selfless woman!!

and yeah that’s pretty much how it went HAHAH

you can pretty much guess you’ll get special treatment from then on, she’s in love with you after all!! Naturally it’s her duty to protect her lover! 😊 (you haven’t even asked her out yet Hancock! - Glorisa)

she invites you into the palace and gives you the best food and treatment straight away!! Put your feet up dear! Are you hot? tired? Do you need water?? “Hurry up and bring the giant fans! My lover is hot!”

no pun intended even though you are 😉

“lover..? Lady hebihime..! May I ask what your talking about..😅”

”o-oh! W-well..I was just thinking…maybe…we could go on a date..?! ☺️😅”

“ME?? Hebihime!! I- I’m honored but what brought this about?! This is….strangely sudden, you know? Not trying to be rude!-”

”Hancock!”

”eh??- I mean!- hebihim-”

”Hancock!! Y-you..can call me Hancock..if you’d like!- I mean if you’d prefer to call me something else like a pet name, honey or dear m-maybe-…!”

”But!- hebihime-”

“-And to answer your question! What brought this about……I’m not sure myself…I have no idea actually, I found myself worrying about you and when I saw you again….When I saw you..! When I…..Kyaaa! 😍”

”Hancock!! Are you all right?! What happened!?

“ !!….You…! You!- You said my name!! This must be..! This must be!! What they call!- Engagement!~ 😍😍”

”huh?? 😀 hebihime?-“

“No! Go back! Don’t call me hebihime anymore!! We’re getting married next month so!- So call me by my name from now on! Okay honey?! 😍💗”

*mutters while being carried bridal style by Hancock* “I’m getting married…to the hebihime..😵‍💫💫”

and yes you actually did get married the next month :)

being the wife of the pirate empress is the liiiife 😎👍 you get whatever you want, whenever you want and however much you want of it!! Without a question! Your words are as absolute as sold gold on the island of women! Hancock will likely even ignore elder nyon/Glorisa for you <3

and yeah you can pretty much just imagine your dream life for the rest! Expect that to become your reality when married to Hancock bc even thanos snap can’t compare 🗿😭

Vivi is such an awesome girl - honorable mention okay? 😤👏

let’s say your not a straw hat tho :) just for funzies :3 imagine you’ve lived on alabasta just as long as she has and even infiltrated Baroque works with her. And also helped save alabasta!

best friends to lovers anyone?? Lesbian edition >:> 👩‍❤️‍👩 🧡🤍💖🏳️‍🌈

after it’s all said and done, and crocodile is defeated, you two say cya to the straw hats and you help Vivi rebuild her kingdom

somewhere during the time things start looking up as for alabasta’s cleanup, she confesses! Oops spoiler :}

“hey!!..I’ve been looking all over for you 😅”

“Oh hey Vivi! What is it?”

”oh nothing I just, well it’s not nothing…can we talk? Uh- you know..in private?”

”oh yeah sure! Come inside I was just cleaning up heheh, excuse the mess..”

“It’s nothing! Really, it’s fine no need to be so formal…we’re close, right?”

“Yeah :) what is it you wanted to talk about though? Is it something bad I’m nervous 😃”

”Oh! Nononono! Nothing bad nothing bad!-“

*sigh of relief* “hah, that’s good 😅”

*awkward yet adorable giggles come from both you and Vivi*

“well..what I wanted to talk about was…us, as in…who we are”

“Oh no Vivi don’t come out and tell me we’re aliens now we’ve barely finished cleaning up alabasta! 😭😂😂”

”what?? Hey! No! I-I’m trying to be serious here! 🤦‍♀️“

”OH! Oops 😄 go ahead go ahead!”

“I meant who we are as in, as a….relationship! Like- um..we’re friends right? Soo..if we could be……”

“Vivi..you mean..?”

”YEAH! 😭😅 I mean if- if we could be..more, if- if you want if not we can just stay friends-“

”No! I- hahah, I honestly never thought you’d ask, like- literally! I’ve kinda been waiting but you never did so is assumed-“

lots of awkward laughing and explaining of feelings ensue from there 💗(🏳️‍🌈😜)

actually being in a relationship with her includes training, yes training, because you never know what could happen. Just as crocodile happened and no one knew he would. So from now on she wants to be prepared, she refuses to be blindsided again—for the sake of her people!

she’s a cute mix of awkward, kind and a tad bit shy 💗 it’s like, she almost wouldn’t know how to act around you if you weren’t so close, but you are! So that makes things easier :)

she’s highly knowledgeable and I feel she’d have quiet a bit of hobbies. if you like to do similar things she’d love to partake in those activities with you! But if you have different interests, exploring each one as you teach her about them would be fun too! <3

Vivi is a literally princess, which means as her lover you get princess treatment! 😘 (all puns intended) She can afford it after all! Pell and Vivi’s father would adore you! You make Vivi so happy, how can they not?!

she talks about you more often than you know 🤫 “Dad!! Don’t tell her that!- it’s kind of embarrassing you know?!” oops Vivi heard him

well anyway 😊

Vivi is a very caring and protective lover as seen with Nami (when she stayed by her side the whole time she was ill). So of course that’s not any different when it comes to you, it’s highly likely Vivi knows first aid so if you get a minor injury? Be more careful!! 🩹❤️‍🩹💋 A major injury?! Hurry! Rush her to the royal hospital! Quickly! Giver her the best treatment! It’s okay, relax, she’s here 💖

Vivi will be with you through thick and thin and her loyalty is unwavering. She may not be the strongest banana in the bunch but she’ll certainly defend you with all she has if it comes down to it! 😤💪

Also!!! Can’t believe I haven’t mentioned this yet!!- Karoo!!!! Karoo loves you <33 Vivi thinks your bond is adorable, especially how Karoo always lets you ride on him :} you bring him snacks and drinks and he runs to you each time. If your tired of walking he’ll carry you without complaints as well so that’s a perk!

I feel the other spot billed ducks would love you as well! Karoo probably tells them how great you are 🤗 You might even like one of them enough to make them your duck! (I would, they seem cooler than a freezer 😎👍)

Okayyy~ lovely readers, followers and anyone new here..!

I hope you enjoyed these headcanons!!~

[girl-celestial]

What about some angsty post-break up, lingering feelings stuff between Arthur and reader? Maybe they get back together, but who knows!

Just a Handkerchief

Reader Requested ♡ — thank youu so much for sending this. i really enjoyed writing it for you! it means a lot that you took the time to share your idea with me, and i hope yearning arthur is all you wished for!!!!!!

ARTHUR MORGAN X READER, angst and heartbreak. yearning and desire. arthur’s desperate lol. fixing of relationship? sorta. 700+ words

YOU hadn’t even realized Arthur was back.

He’d been gone only a few weeks, sent off on one of Dutch’s jobs. Not so long you could forget him, but long enough to notice the space he left behind.

No one had said a word when he rode in, and maybe that was because he didn’t seek you out. Why would he? You weren’t together anymore.

So you kept yourself busy at camp, quietly tending to small tasks and avoiding the ache of waiting. Pretending you didn’t care.

Later that night, when the fire had dimmed and most had turned in, you found yourself near the horses, breathing in the cool night air.

And there he was—sitting on a log, rolling a cigarette slowly, his silhouette framed by the moonlight.

He didn’t look up as you approached, didn’t move. Just sat there, still and quiet.

“You’re back,” you said softly, folding your hands in front of you, trying to steady your voice.

His eyes met yours then, tired but steady. “Yeah. Dutch sent me out quick after Rhodes.”

You nodded, swallowing the flutter in your chest. “You didn’t have to take that job.”

He shrugged gently. “Not much choice in that.”

“No,” you whispered. “You never do.”

The silence between you stretched, heavy and fragile. Your fingers twined nervously.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

“Still here,” you replied, offering a small, sad smile.

Arthur shifted, glancing down at his hands. “I brought you something.”

Curious, you raised your brow. “Why?”

From his saddlebag, he pulled a handkerchief—white, edged with delicate blue stitching.

“Saw it and thought of you.”

You took it with trembling fingers, your skin brushing his. His hand was warm against yours.

“You didn’t write,” you murmured, eyes downcast.

“I thought you didn’t want me to.” He paused for a moment and his jaw tightened, “I thought I was doin’ right by you.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, a hint of bitterness in your tone.

He stood slowly, hesitating, but not stepping closer.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said. “Figured lettin’ go was kinder.”

“Kinder than what? Staying? Trying?”

His eyes dropped away.

“I thought about you every day,” he said, voice rough with honesty. “Even when it tore me up.”

You swallowed hard, your heart fluttering despite yourself.

Then, before you could think, he stepped closer.

You should have moved back. But you didn’t.

He was near enough now to see the lines beneath his eyes, to feel the weight he carried. His gaze flickered to your lips, then back.

“You look real pretty tonight,” he said quietly, rough around the edges.

You said nothing.

His hands found your waist, pulling you close with a sudden urgency. You gasped softly, your hands resting lightly on his chest, but he didn’t let go.

His breath brushed your neck, warm and uneven.

“I shouldn’t…” he muttered, voice thick, before his lips pressed to the side of your throat—slow, firm, tracing your pulse with a hunger that made your knees weak.

Not gentle. Not soft. Like a man wrestling with himself to hold back but losing.

You shivered, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. His stubble scratched tender skin.

“I shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he murmured again, voice trembling with need. “But I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you… what you smell like… how you taste…”

His kisses traveled lower, teeth grazing, hands tightening at your waist, pulling you flush against him. His desperation was raw, unfiltered, like he was making up for every night apart.

Your body softened instinctively, leaning into him, hands clutching his back like you never wanted to let go.

His lips moved from your neck to your jaw, the heat of him burning through every wall you’d built.

You didn’t stop him.

Because you missed him just as much.

Tonight, neither of you had the strength to fight it anymore.

[bitchface24-7]

THE GORGEOUS PROFESSOR TALIS

synopsis: You didn't think Professor Viktor was the only heartthrob at Piltover Academy, did you? Meet his charismatic, undeniably gorgeous partner, Professor Talis. But please, call him Jayce.

warnings: again age gap (Jayce’s gotta be anywhere in his 30s-40s to be a professor, reader is in their 20s (early to late I don’t really care) ), power imbalance, switch!jayce, this isn’t gonna be a full on story, just bullet points I come up with, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f or m/m (implied future m/m/f or m/m/m)

Professor Talis doesn’t have his own class at the Academy, instead he and Professor Viktor alternate in “The Science Behind Magic: HXT101.” The two professors are trying to incorporate a lab aspect to the class; so it's not just theory.

There have been many times Professor Talis (please call me Jayce) has taken over from Viktor due to unforeseen circumstances, such as Viktor having a flare-up in pain and being unable to lecture for three hours straight.

Professor Jayce and Professor Viktor have many similarities. They're passionate, intelligent, and quite funny. But it's their differences that set them apart.

Professor Viktor’s voice is smooth, sultry, and his accent makes everything sound sexy. He's got the perfect voice to do ASMR to make people fall asleep.

Professor Jayce is much more hyper. He talks a bit louder and a bit faster than his partner. But his enthusiasm and bright smile make it endearing to witness.

He's also much broader and taller than Professor Viktor. His shoulders are wide, his waist is narrow, and his thighs are begging to be bitten into.

He's got messy hair, a glorious beard, and a microscopic smattering of grey at his temples. He's got a strong jaw, big eyes, pouty lips, a tantalizing neck, and sinfully beautiful body. He too has a brace, except it's on his opposite leg. And his leg seems to be stronger than his partners.

He's also got incredibly sharp canines. You can't help but squish your thighs together envisioning how they'd feel against your neck, your chest, your thighs.

Professor Jayce seems to enjoy receiving praise just as much as giving it to his students. You'll never forget the time you complemented his teaching style and he got all flushed. Shyly looking down as a sweet smile graced those plump lips.

You wanted to devour that man right then and there.

One day, you almost did.

Professor Talis had just casually walked into the classroom, wearing an all-black outfit with red detailing. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair artfully messy, and his slacks obscenely tight.

You felt like leaping across the desk like a lioness to feast on the meal right before your very eyes.

Professor Jayce seemed to be oblivious to the stares he received. You thought that until he stopped right in front of you; ceasing his walk around the classroom, and his bulge was damn near eye level with you.

It was big. Massive really, and quite girthy from what you could make out in the dark fabric. You coquettishly look up as you suck on your lolly, knowing exactly what you're doing.

Professor Jayce just quirks an eyebrow at you as he taps his finger on your table, making you look down at your sheet of paper, “Have you finished your assignment?”

You can't help but impishly nod, “Yes, Professor Talis.” as you give a long lick on your lollipop before popping it into your mouth.

Professor Talis’ eyes darken as his jaw clenched. He's heard about you from Viktor. The smart, slutty student who has a throat to die for and delectable moans that'll keep your spank bank full until the next time you need them.

Jayce just smirks at you and tells you to stay behind after class, there's something he needs to discuss with you.

You were curious.

You weren't expecting to be folded like a pretzel as your gorgeous professor pounded away into you like it was his last day on earth.

Your body is delectably sore, you're stuffed to the brim in cum, and you have bruises all over your body. Hickies surround your neck and chest, hand shaped bruises are on your hips and thighs. You even have some bite marks. You had a feeling his canines would feel amazing. Called it!

You also called it that Professor Talis enjoys praise and being told what to do. Telling him how good his cock feels and that he's doing amazing really amped him up.

You can't help but wonder how demolished you'll be once both Professor Viktor and Jayce get their hands on you.

(You’ll die very happy and very satisfied)

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Personal Trainer!Toji Fushiguro—”Push through, ma. Do it for me, yeah?” [next]

req by: @sumbarbietingz tyty hope u like <33

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday at 6 AM.

By now, working out is muscle memory—a chore you tick off your list without much thought. You’re not aiming for an Olympian’s physique, nor do you dream of flipping tires or crushing quadruple-digit squats. For you, fitness is about balance, not obsession. The gym is filled with the usual suspects: frat bros showing off one-armed pull-ups, bodybuilders flexing between sets, and athletes moving like they own the place. You don’t envy them, nor do you aspire to join their ranks. In truth, their antics are more intimidating than inspiring.

But lately, something’s shifted. You’ve grown restless with your go-to routine: treadmill sprints, a quick core workout, and stairmaster till failure. It gets the job done, but there’s a whisper in the back of your mind, daring you to try something new. Maybe it’s time to add weights to your regimen. Maybe it’s time to sculpt those glutes and finally chase the coke-bottle figure you’ve been daydreaming about.

For weeks, the squat rack has been your Everest. You’ve watched others load up the bar, their muscles taut with effort, and wondered if you could do the same. It’s not fear holding you back—more like the memory of too many gym bros turning innocent glances into unwelcome conversations. At this gym, you’ve perfected the art of blending in. Headphones in, eyes down, immersed in the personal concert blasting through your ears. The only human contact you entertain is a nod and a quick smile for the woman at the front desk.

Today, though, is different. After your core workout, you finally approach the empty squat rack. Your heart races—not from exertion, but from the thrill of trying something outside your comfort zone. You set down your water bottle, lift the bar experimentally, then add two 20-pound plates on either side. It feels doable. With a deep breath, you duck under the bar, letting it rest on your shoulders. A hype Sexyy Red track thunders in your ears, spurring you on as you knock out your first set.

The burn in your thighs intensifies with each rep, but you keep going, driven by the mental image of your future self: confident, curvy, unstoppable. Sweat beads along your forehead, catching the fluorescent lights above and glistening on your skin. By the time you hit your second set, you’re locked in, laser-focused—until a firm hand lands on your shoulder, breaking your concentration.

You freeze mid-rep, your eyes snapping to the mirror in front of you. A tall, broad-shouldered figure looms at your side, leaning in close enough to be unavoidable. Your stomach twists with annoyance. Of course. Another unsolicited interruption.

Lowering the barbell with a controlled motion, you let out a sigh, already steeling yourself for the usual spiel. You tug your headphones down to your neck, the music fading into background noise as you prepare to deliver a polite but firm rejection. Why is it always men who think mid-squat, drenched in sweat, is the perfect time to chat? And why, without fail, are they never the gym’s best-looking prospects?

Before you can speak, a gravelly voice cuts in.

“Damn, ma, you tryna go deaf? I could hear your music from all the way across the gym.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. The irritation brewing in your chest falters, giving way to reluctant curiosity as you turn to fully take him in. You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead, collecting the beads of sweat rolling down your neck, letting your gaze rake upward. 

Crisp white Air Force 1s. Baggy black sweatpants slung low on his hips. A fitted white compression shirt stretched tight over a chiseled torso. Broad shoulders, thick biceps—his entire frame is a testament to strength, and the shirt does little to hide it. You swallow, willing yourself not to gawk, though it takes effort.

When your eyes finally reach his face, restraint becomes even harder. Fine as hell doesn’t do him justice. His sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and the scar slicing through the corner of his smirking lips paint a picture of rugged perfection. Jet-black hair falls messily over his forehead, accentuating dark, brooding eyes that seem to hold an unspoken challenge.

He arches an eyebrow, clearly waiting for you to respond. Too many seconds have passed, and you hastily clear your throat, scrambling to collect yourself.

“And that compelled you to approach me?” you ask, arching a brow of your own. A teasing smirk plays on your lips. “Don’t tell me you’re a fellow Sexyy Red fan?”

His smirk deepens, and he crosses his arms, leaning casually against the squat rack like he has all the time in the world.

“Me?” His voice is low and gravelly, carrying an almost teasing edge. “Nah, can’t say I’m also bumping F My Babydad. In fact, that song’s been used against me in the past. Strongly recommend shuffling your playlist.”

The implication makes you blink. He’s someone’s baby daddy? You glance at him again, and yeah, it tracks. His whole aura screams DILF.

You laugh, breathless from both exertion and his audacity. “My heart goes out to you, but that’s not enough to turn me off the song. It’s keeping me pumped.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling low in his chest. His eyes sweep over you again—this time lingering on your two-piece set, the biker shorts and zip-up jacket hugging your frame. You feel a flicker of pride, knowing the pump is definitely doing its thing. But you quickly remind yourself not to encourage him, no matter how good he looks.

“I noticed,” he says, straightening. “That’s actually why I came over. Hope I’m not overstepping, but your form could use some tweaking. You’re targeting hamstrings more than glutes right now.”

Oh. So he wasn’t hitting on you? Maybe he’s just one of those older gym vets who genuinely want to help. Reluctantly, you concede, eager for the guidance. “Damn, is it that bad? I’m tryna build a dumpy for real. Any tips would be great.”

His brows knit briefly. “A what?”

You grin. “A dumpy. A dump truck. A fat ass. Come on, oldhead.”

His scowl deepens, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Toji. Use my name, not that.” He rolls his eyes, moving to strip the weights from your bar. “But that explains the Sexyy Red. You’re out here tryna Skeeyee or go to Pound town, huh? Don’t worry—I got you. Grab the bar.”

Snickering, you follow his instructions. “Absolutely not. Just help me with my form, Toji.”

Satisfied with your correction, he places a hand on your back, guiding you into a squat. “Wider stance,” he instructs, nodding as you adjust. His hand trails lower down your spine, encouraging you to drop further. “Lower. If you don’t hit a 90-degree angle, you’re not getting the full range of motion.”

You comply, biting back a shiver at his touch. He stays beside you, squatting to observe your form. “When you rise, drive through your heels and tense your glutes—lightly. Not too much.” His hand rests briefly on your hip as you rise, and your focus wavers dangerously.

Somehow, you power through the adjustments and complete your next set, his guidance making all the difference. By the time you finish, you’re drenched in sweat, thighs trembling from exertion, but the burn feels… good.

“You’re a quick learner,” Toji says, lifting the bar off your shoulders and racking it. His tone carries an edge of approval that makes your chest swell. “How’s it feel?”

“Sore, but good.” You glance in the mirror, a grin spreading as you take in your reflection. The pump is real. “You’re a lifesaver. You could seriously be a personal trainer.”

His smirk returns, and for a moment, he almost looks proud. “Good thing I am one. Imagine if you’d said I was trash.” He pauses, then extends a hand. “Hey, doll, this might sound out of line, but I’ve never trained someone on a glute-dominant program. Most of my clients are bodybuilders or boxers, but this could open doors. If you’re down, I’ll train you for free so I can develop a structured workout regimen. What do you say?”

You blink at him, stunned by the offer. Free sessions with this hunk of a man? The decision is a no-brainer. 

“How could I say no to that big guy?” You swat playfully at his arm, earning a chuckle. You retrieve your phone from the ground handing it towards him, “I’m in. Here, give me your number.”

Toji takes the device from your hand, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen. His grin is almost teasing as he hands it back. “Demanding,” he murmurs with a grin. “I like that. I’ll text you over the weekend. We’ll start Monday. That work for you?”

Though you agree, the wait over the weekend feels endless. You check your phone obsessively, half-convinced you’d imagined the whole interaction. But finally, a notification pops up while you’re leisurely sprawled out on the couch, half-heartedly scrolling through your timeline.

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) Wassup, ma. How about 6 AM on Monday? Tues-Fri, I’m booked mornings, but anytime after 2 works.

You grin, slightly confused by the contact name he’d given himself, but already planning your reply.

You Bet, I’ll be there. We can do 3 PM the other days—I get off at 2.

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) Bet.

You I gotta ask… what does YHPT mean in your contact name?

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) 🤣🤣🤣  Young Hot Personal Trainer

You Young?! Sorry I asked. Lemme fix that.

Toji Fushiguro 👴🏼 (PT) Not too much on me, ma. 😒

On Monday, you start to wonder if Toji even needs to develop a new glute routine. He seems to already have it down to a science. When you meet him outside the locker room, he’s surprisingly professional, carefully explaining the plan for the day.

He considers your current fitness level but warns that he won’t go easy on you. “If you want results, you’ve gotta work for them,” he says.

Back at the squat rack, you steal a glance at his backside, confirming your suspicions: Toji definitely practices what he preaches. His ass is… impressive. Bubble butt levels of impressive. If this workout built that, you’re sold.

The session starts with barbell walking lunges. Toji adjusts the weights slightly heavier than you’re used to, staying close as you move through each step. He’s comfortable in athletic shorts and a pullover, barely breaking a sweat while you’re already glowing in your two-piece set. His hands are steady and deliberate when tweaking your form, his words always encouraging.

By the time you’re on weighted step-ups, you’ve shed your zip-up and tee, left in just your sports bra and shorts. When you transition to hip thrusts, you play coy about your familiarity with the exercise. It pays off deliciously as Toji demonstrates.

He drags a bench over, slides a barbell onto his lap, and gets into position. His thighs flex, the barbell pressing into his hips as he slowly thrusts upward, his voice low as he explains the importance of balance and control. But honestly, you’re too distracted by the sight of him—muscles taut, skin glowing under the gym lights, his bangs sticking to his forehead.

“Got it, ma? I’ll hand it over to you in a sec—might as well finish this set myself.”

That breathy ma and the half-lidded look he shoots your way? It’s lethal. You fidget on your feet, suddenly aware of how warm the gym feels.

When it’s your turn, you do your best to mimic his movements. To dispel any awkwardness, you wink at him. “How’s my form, big guy? I’m giving you all I’ve got.”

Toji chuckles, his grin playful. “Someone’s catching on quick.” He places a firm hand on your knee, his voice dipping, returning your wink. “That thrust is second to one.”

You end with sumo squats, a challenge given their deep range of motion. Determined to achieve those coveted “Megan knees,” you complain to Toji, who looks at you like you’ve sprouted a second head.

“Alright, hold up. I know you can nail this—let me help.”

He positions you in front of the mirror, his presence towering behind you. When he steps closer, your breath hitches, his chest brushing against your back as he adjusts your stance.

“Open your legs wider. Angle your feet out,” he murmurs, his hands warm on your thighs. The heat of his breath on your neck nearly sends you spiraling, but you focus on the squat, sinking lower under his guidance.

“Atta girl,” he says softly, his tone making your heart race. “Just like that.”

It hits you then—there’s no way this is just standard training. Especially as you’re keenly aware of the firm press of his body behind yours.

“Toji, how many more? ‘M so tired,” you mumble, struggling through another rep.

“Two more. Push through, ma. Do it for me, yeah?”

His hands guide your hips, and you somehow manage to finish the set. Resting your hands on your knees, you catch your breath while he smirks, handing you a water bottle.

“Good girl,” he says.

Your brain short-circuits.

By Tuesday, you’ve settled into the routine, though Toji remains as hands-on as ever—literally. His physical guidance feels less like training and more like testing your resolve, especially when he throws in casual touches that linger just a bit too long.

The workouts are brutal, but Toji’s encouragement and relentless banter keep you going. You learn snippets about his life, mostly centered around his middle-school-aged son, Megumi—a tech-obsessed, angsty tween with whom Toji is actively struggling to connect with.

You start caring about how you look for these sessions—styling your hair, spritzing perfume, even picking out your cutest gym fits. You tell yourself it’s just motivation, but deep down, you know you’re becoming weak to Toji’s charm.

And Toji? He’s an enigma—a hot, muscular DILF who knows exactly what he’s doing.

On Friday, you meet Toji outside the locker room as usual. His unusually upbeat demeanor is paired with an announcement: he’s reserved a private room upstairs, equipped with advanced machines and, most importantly, a touch of exclusivity to let you experiment with new moves in peace.

“If you wanted to get me alone so badly, you could’ve just said that,” you tease, poking a playful finger at his cheek.

He smirks, catching your hand mid-air before letting it drop. “Can’t a guy be a gentleman and save his moves for later? But if you’re looking for forwardness…” He leans in with a wink, the grin on his face equal parts charming and incorrigible. “I won’t hold back.”

Rolling your eyes, you laugh. “Sure, big guy. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I took your advice,” he says, leading you up the stairs, his hand warm on your back. “Set up Discord for Megumi. Now the kid can actually game with his friends without me being the middleman. Thought I’d reward you with an advanced workout for that stroke of genius.”

You scoff, withdrawing yourself from his grip to cross your arms. “Reward? Sounds more like a punishment.”

He grins wider. “You’ll thank me later, mama. And if you’re not satisfied, you can choose your own reward.”

Inside the private room, your eyes roam over the space. Polished mirrors line one wall, reflecting sleek machines—a leg press, rowing machine, power bike, and more. A faint scent of disinfectant lingers, blending with the promise of an intense workout. Toji tosses his duffel bag near a large speaker in the corner.

“Look at that—a speaker. Gonna cut on some throwbacks so I can put you onto some real music.”

“Still not helping the oldhead allegations,” you quip, shaking your head as he connects his phone.

His smirk widens. “I’m whatever you want me to be, doll. That’s the business I stand on.” He points skyward with dramatic flair.

You bury your face in your hands, groaning. “Toji, your usage of slang is deteriorating by the minute.”

Stretching side by side, his 90s playlist humming through the speaker, you fall into the familiar rhythm of the glute routine. The effort is paying off; you swear you’re already seeing results. 

Between sets, you’d even started pestering him for diet tips—anything to build that elusive shelf.

But as always, your attention drifts. During hip thrusts, your eyes wander to Toji’s defined arms, the way his shoulders shift as he mirrors your movements. During squats, you can’t help but notice his hands lingering on your hips, guiding you down with whispered encouragements.

“Drive through your heels, mama,” he murmurs near your ear, his breath warm against your neck. You’re panting by the final rep, equal parts exhausted and electrified.

When the set ends, Toji steps back, his absence leaving a surprising chill. He crosses his arms, eyeing you with that ever-present smirk. “You’ve mastered this routine. How about graduating to mine? Fridays are upper body days. What d’ya say?”

You trail a finger down his arm, tracing the veins. “And get jacked like you? Obviously.”

His grin softens into something almost fond. “Bet. Just try not to distract me too much, yeah? It’s hard enough maintaining my professionalism around you.”

You laugh as he pinches your cheek, only to retreat and yank off his tee, leaving him in a fitted black tank. He leads you to the dumbbells for bicep curls, and you challenge yourself with heavier weights to avoid ogling his sculpted frame.

“Look at you,” he says approvingly as you curl the weight. “Getting stronger every day.”

“Thanks, coach,” you reply, though your arms burn with effort.

Toji hoists a 45-pound dumbbell with ease, and your curiosity gets the better of you. “How much can you bench, anyway?”

He pauses mid-rep, considering. “Good question. Haven’t checked in a while. Wanna find out?”

Before you can answer, he’s clearing the bench, stacking plates with casual efficiency. Three 45s on each side—a total pushing 300 pounds—makes your jaw drop.

“Damn.”

He meets your stare, the bar balanced on his lap. “Don’t just stand there gawking. Come spot me.”

You circle behind the bench as Toji reclines, gripping the barbell above his chest. His muscles coil with tension, veins slightly raised under his skin. As you hover your hands just above his for support, you give a small nod for him to start.

Toji pushes the bar upward, arms locking at full extension before lowering it with precision. The rhythm is steady, his breaths growing heavier with each rep.

“Fuck,” he exhales, voice low and strained.

A laugh bubbles up from you, and you instinctively place your hands on his shoulders, feeling the solid swell of muscle shift beneath your touch.

Toji glances at you, eyes narrowing with playful admonition. “What’d I say about distracting me, huh, ma? Cut me some slack.”

Setting the bar down with a controlled thud, he looks up at you, dark locks falling across his face. His smirk is wolfish.

“I don’t think anything could really distract you,” you counter, grinning. “You’re benching 300 pounds like it’s nothing. Feels a little… superhuman.”

“Damn right.” Toji sits up briefly, flexing his arms like a bodybuilder and striking exaggerated poses in the mirror, whistling at himself.

You snort. “Alright, don’t let it go to your head now, big guy.”

He lays back down to begin his second set, but you’re feeling bold. Moving swiftly, you straddle the bench, swinging one leg over and settling into his lap.

His eyes widen briefly as he lowers the bar back to his chest, but he recovers fast, a lopsided grin spreading across his face.

“Guess you’ve got a better view from there, huh?” he murmurs. “You don’t mind counting these out for me, do ya?”

“Not at all.” You plant your hands on his stomach, the fabric of his tank top taut against the solid expanse beneath.

He starts again, pressing the bar up with ease.

“One… two… three… four,” you count, smirking. “You think you can hit twenty?”

“Easy work,” he grunts, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

But you’re feeling mischievous. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, fingers grazing the hard ridges of his abs. The contrast of warmth and strength makes your breath hitch.

“Five… six… seven…eight…” Toji’s steady rhythm falters as you increase the pressure of your movements. His eyes narrow at you, daring yet pleading for restraint.

You relent—for now—your hands sliding to rest firmly on his hips as he recovers.

“Nine… ten… eleven… twelve.” His reps slow significantly, the strain visible in his taut muscles. 

Sensing an opportunity, you lean into his weakness, grinding your hips down against him deliberately, the friction drawing a sharp hiss from his lips.

“Shit, ma,” Toji mutters through clenched teeth, sucking in a deep breath before lifting the bar again.

“Thirteen,” you murmur, your voice laced with mischief. You rotate your hips in a slow circle, reveling in the way his eyes squeeze shut and his breath hitches.

“‘s not fair—you’re playing dirty,” Toji rasps, lowering the bar with a groan. For a fleeting moment, you envy the steel weight—it holds all his focus while you fight to claim just half of it.

But it doesn’t matter; his body betrays him. You feel him harden beneath you, the friction growing deliciously intense through the thin layers of clothing separating you.

“Toji,” you gasp, biting down on your lip to stifle the sound as heat pools low in your stomach. Your movements become instinctive, grinding against him in search of relief.

And yet, Toji—ever determined—continues his reps, each lift of the bar accompanied by a subtle grind of his hips into you, fueling the dangerous tension.

“Sixteen—shit… seventeen—mhm… ah—eighteen… n-nineteen…” Your counting falters as you ride the edge of control, each syllable more breathless than the last.

“Mf—ma… I can go to thirty,” Toji growls, his voice thick with desire. “Take it out. Use me. Make yourself feel good.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you scramble to shed one leg of your shorts, fumbling with his waistband. Relief blooms when you find him bare beneath his sweats. You flick his chest, the movement playful yet teasing.

“Slut.”

Toji’s eyes darken, the weight of his gaze making your pulse race. “And what does that make you?” 

His voice is a low rumble as he lifts the bar again. “Keep counting, doll.”

“‘Kay,” you breathe, positioning yourself above him. The thick head of his length presses against your clothed center, and the sensation draws a near-whimper from your lips.

“Twenty… fuck—twenty-one… Toji—shit… twenty-two…”

You grind down harder, your movements desperate as you pump him with trembling hands. The feel of his shaft, hot and solid, against your slick sends you spiraling. Toji twitches under your touch, his breath ragged.

“Twenty-three—ah…”

A sharp, obnoxious buzzing cuts through the air, snapping you both out of the haze. The speaker blares with Toji’s ringtone, and he fumbles to set the bar down safely. The sudden motion sends you toppling to the floor in an undignified heap.

You blink, dazed, trying to make sense of the abrupt interruption as Toji curses under his breath. He hauls you back onto the bench, his movements rushed but gentle, before striding to his phone.

“Fuck, it’s Megumi,” Toji grumbles, glancing at his phone connected to the gym’s speaker. He picks it up, the ringtone still blaring. “Kid’s got the worst timing.”

You nod in acknowledgment, adjusting your shorts and ignoring the visible wet patch at the crotch. Toji answers the call, his tone shifting to frustration as he paces.

From his clipped responses, you catch snippets about school, carpooling, and a very annoyed Megumi. Toji sighs heavily, muttering a half-hearted apology before ending the call with a gruff, “See ya soon.”

“Mama,” he starts, turning to you with a weary look. “Forgot it's my turn to pick up Megs and his friends this week. In my defense, he deliberately didn’t remind me this morning just to get me caught up.”

You laugh softly as he digs through his duffle bag, pulling out another pair of sweats. Approaching you, he presses them into your hands.

“Here. Can’t have anyone else noticing the strong… impression I left on you,” he teases, his grin cocky. “Next time, I’ll double it.”

You step into the loose pants, tying the drawstring snugly around your waist. “Next time,” you echo, smiling up at him.

Toji hesitates as if it pains him to leave. He briefly embraces you, firmly squeezing your ass, and planting a wet, lingering kiss against the side of your neck before jogging toward the door.

Hooking up with your personal trainer. Immoral? Yes. Professional? Not even close. Hot? Absolutely.

But hey, it’s still exercise. Gotta see it through.

don’t try that freaky bench press position at home, take spotting seriously—not everyb got a heavenly restriction LOL

[xjulixred45x]

Now you GOTTA do handmaiden!yuu with the house wardens

And for you to drink water

THAT WAS THE IDEA BABE! and thank you :D

Housewardens and Handmaiden! Yuu

THIS CAN BE TAKEN AS EITHER ROMANTIC OR PLATONIC, ALUSIONS OF SA, SLAVERY AND RELIGIOUS THEMES.

Riddle Rosehearts

• Ugh, definitely the one who feels the most guilt for his disparaging comments before his Overblot. One day he finds Yuu staring at Heartslabyul's bookshelf, and when he asks her what's going on, she confides that Cater had asked her to pass him a specific encyclopedia, but she didn't know which one it was because she couldn't read any of the titles. When Riddle realizes what this means (and that he had called an illiterate woman "uneducated and unsuitable for NRC"), he wants to bury his head in the ground of shame.

• Aside from apologizing in a thousand different ways, Riddle tries to help Yuu by joining her tutoring sessions and helping her with her writing, spelling, reading, etc. He even pairs her up with his in team activities so she doesn't fall behind in class. He's so kind to her that the other members of Heartslabyul are jealous. Well, except for Ace and Deuce, they know that if anyone deserves special treatment from Riddle, it's Yuu.

• Riddle is completely horrified and furious when Yuu tells him the reason why she can't read, what her world is like, and how SHE is perceived there, not as a person, but as an object. Riddle genuinely can't fathom a world where women are treated in such a truly monstrous way, or worse, that Yuu believes it's THE NORM (it's ironic that now it's Riddle who's trying to convince Yuu that the rules of their world are wrong, lol).

• Honestly, Riddle feels a lot of sympathy for Yuu. They're similar in many ways. They both lived with an upbringing (in Yuu's case, an entire system) that forced them to maintain an almost impossible line of obedience and "perfection," when that perfection didn't benefit them at all, but rather those around them. Seeing her get scared by loud noises, by her eyes glowing when she's given something that REALLY belongs to her, or when she wears something other than the red dress (Riddle will never see red the same way) and white hat, is sad.

• Fortunately, Yuu now has her own little red guard dog, who not only teaches her to enjoy reading (and tea parties) but will also chop off the head of anyone who makes fun of her reading or writing. Riddle knows what it's like to feel your world, the one you've known your whole life, crumble, but he's ready to support Yuu in these moments, because after all, he wouldn't be improving and moving forward as a person if it weren't for her, so he'll do the right thing and do the same.

Leona Kingscholar

• To be honest, Leona felt something strange about Yuu ever since he met her at the botanical garden, when he tried to threaten to “teach her respect” for stepping on his tail. He hadn't even finished his sentence when Yuu literally curled up, gripped the weird hat she had on her face tightly, and started practically screaming how sorry she was, as if she were afraid of getting beaten up. It threw him off; he even felt bad for her and had to help her back up, only to realize this girl was CRYING WATERFALLS in fear. Leona couldn't tell if it was pathetic or extremely worrying (the latter, definitely the latter).

• When Yuu starts talking more about her life in Gilead with the Savanaclaws, everything starts to fall into place... and at the same time, it doesn't. For the Sunset Savannah residents, women are not only an important part of their society, but they're also stronger than men. The idea that in Yuu's world, most women simply view them as pieces of meat or, at worst, dolls, is disturbing to say the least.

• Leona is offended by everything he hears. What do you mean she didn't even have a name until she arrived in Twisted Wonderland? How can she claim to be someone possesion? And it's worse considering Yuu probably wouldn't mind sharing the most... disturbing details with the older students, so Leona ends up learning things he didn't want to know (e.g., the maids' role/the ceremony) and is livid, sickened, and above all, outraged.

• Surprisingly kind to Yuu after learning all this. He can see how scared she's of seeing the patterns of her world again, so he gives her space and tries not to seem so angry/grumpy around her so she doesn't take it the wrong way. He probably even tells Yuu that she's forbidden from apologizing to him, not just for the Overblot, but for anything (Yuu apologizes too much, it's a hard habit to break).

• Fortunately, no one wants to mess with someone who has the entire Savanaclaw dorm as a protection squad. Yuu ends up constantly being invited to eat with them, almost like an honorary member at this point (Ruggie says she's so thin he's afraid she'll blow away, lol).

Azul Ashegrotto

• Let's be honest, at first Azul would see the fact that Yuu is clearly uneducated to his advantage in the contract in Book 3 (the whole thing just becoming very realistic), but he definitely starts to take a more sympathetic viewpoint when the events of Book 4 occur. Azul thought Yuu was either too naive or too idealistic, but he didn't expect her educational level to be so poor (even Floyd is doing better academically, which is worrying).

• Since Azul doesn't like being in debt, not even to the person who saved his life, he would try to help Yuu with her education, but more so in the financial realm, either by offering her a job at the Monstre Louge (seeing that she's unusually good at the job) and helping her organize her money (even threatening Crowley to give her more money).

• Azul is genuinely concerned about Yuu's joy over her rather mediocre salary, but it's not even about the money; it's about finally being able to HAVE money that's hers. Let's just say it's from this, and from some conversations with Riddle, that Azul begins to realize the seriousness of the situation. But he's observant; he can see several signs. Yuu's obedience and almost obsessive diligence aren't something you learn the hard way; it's something you do to avoid the worst. Something you learn to avoid punishment, to survive.

• Imagine Yuu telling Azul what happens if someone makes a mistake at work—"ah, they're tortured, or at best, publicly executed." WHAT? Or imagine a situation where Yuu accidentally breaks something in the VIP office and has a panic attack out of pure reflex, because she still has such a deep-rooted instinct to be in constant danger of making ONE SINGLE MISTAKE that could cost her her life. Azul has to spend TWO HOURS comforting her.

• Probably because of this, Azul fires Yuu from the Monster Lounge—not because he wants to or because she's a bad worker! Quite the opposite, but he realizes that Yuu is clearly still traumatized, and that instead of working, she should take advantage of her youth and live it up (and probably pay for some therapy sessions with the money that was supposed to be her allowance).

Kalim Al-Asim (+Jamil)

• Kalim is so oblivious that he probably doesn't realize Yuu comes from a bad background in her world unless she tells him or something similar to the aforementioned panic attack occurs. Not because he doesn't want to see it, but because Kalim honestly can't imagine such a cruel world. He treats Yuu with so much respect and affection, like a real friend, that Yuu probably cries (much to Kalim's surprise and concern).

• Yuu probably doesn't have to say much for Kalim to literally burst into tears for her. She had a life full of pain and injustice! She endured so much from horrible people who treated her horribly! (Jamil feels like he's going to roll his eyes into his brain) He just wants to give her a hug.

• Kalim definitely buys Yuu a lot of things he thinks she might like! Or things she's never seen before. It's thanks to him that Yuu has a smartphone. It's also not uncommon to see Yuu at banquets (I understand the handmaids also had a pretty strict diet?), and Kalim enjoys giving her a taste of various foods (except curry, never curry, anything but curry). Kalim likes to bring her dress fabrics or different types of clothing from the Scalind Sands, as well as offering to stop by Scarabia whenever she wants!

• Jamil is ironically the one Yuu connects with the most—after all, they've both been victims of a system that perpetuates slavery and forced servitude. But Jamil can tell that Yuu has seen things, horrifying things. Jamil is probably the only second-year who knows EVERYTHING Yuu went through, and they have a strange solidarity with each other. Jamil can't really judge Yuu for accepting Kalim's gifts and advances after everything she's been through? She deserves it.

• Jamil and Yuu have more in common than they think, and that's precisely why Jamil respects her, REAL respect, not only for being so much more than her trauma and what the family she served did to her, but for SURVIVING it. Let's just say they support each other quite a bit on their respective healing journeys, and he's willing to listen late into the night if Yuu is having a particularly bad day with memories of her world. Kalim and Jamil will always have a place in Scarabia for her.

Vil Schoenheit

• Definitely Kalim's opposite, he can tell something's wrong with Yuu just by looking at her: the way she walks, the way she acts around people (especially people who could be considered "authorities" within NRC), and the way she sometimes seems desperate to avoid conflict—obvious signs of someone always on guard, always scared, always on edge. Let's just say that's why Vil is less rude/demanding toward Yuu than he is in canon.

• Definitely another thing out of place about Yuu was the way she dressed when they went off campus—always wearing that long red dress and white hat. Vil thought it was old-fashioned and uncomfortable (especially doing all the housework she offered to do), but every time he brought a different version of that same dress (sometimes shorter, with thinner fabric, or a different color), Yuu rejected the idea, not really because she wanted to, but because those clothes were the only things she knew (which only set off alarm bells in Vil's head even more).

• Vil expected to learn that Yuu came from an abusive family or something, but when she opened up about why she acted that way, how she'd been indoctrinated and raised her whole life, what things were like in her world, his stomach tightened. It all made sense, but it sickened him to see how they'd tried to destroy the spirit of someone so... gentle. Vil is quite attentive to Yuu's bouts of panic and assures her of multiple options for when there's a collaboration between Pomefiore and Ramshackle, so she dosent feel overwhelmed or pressured.

• Yuu probably has a lot of overly traditional/misogynistic values due to her upbringing, so she and Vil end up having a relationship similar to the one she has with Epel, but much gentler. Vil understands that Yuu doesn't really mean the things she says, but rather it's something that's been drilled into her head, so he's surprisingly patient with her.

• I like imagining Vil and Yuu going clothes shopping together, or Yuu just accompanying Vil on a casual outing, and Yuu notices a pretty summer dress (but one that's more revealing than her normal dress), but can't bring herself to buy it. So Vil ends up surprising her by buying it for her (or telling Rook to get it). Overall, Vil helps Yuu figure out what she likes, what she doesn't like, and to develop her overall personality.

Idia Shroud

• I'll be brutally honest, by the time the events of book 6 occur and Idia and STYX take Grim (who, to Yuu, is the son she DID raise and has now been ripped from her arms again), Yuu HATED him with all her might. It was one of the few times the characters saw her so distraught, angry, and, above all, determined to find Grim and DESTROY the blue phosphorescent head. Even Idia was scared when she glared at him with such hatred the first time they met.

• However, in later events (and a couple of therapy sessions), Idia is surprised to see Yuu acting completely different than he had known her. She's not a vengeful soul out for blood, but is actually very sweet, and wants to be friends with HIM?! Idia is genuinely alert and thinking it's part of an intricate plan to kill him as revenge for Grimm (imagine Yuu wants to give him homemade cookies, Idia has Ortho check if they're poisoned... they were delicious).

• It's not until Yuu sits him down with her that she explains why she decided to forgive him. She spent much of her life thinking she could be nothing more than an object, a "mobile womb" for the upper class, but being in that world gave her the chance to truly start living, loving and hating, experiencing emotions she's been suppressing her entire life, so she doesn't want to hold on to resentment when, after all, she and Idia are just people in bad circumstances. Yuu just wants to live peacefully with Grimm, nothing more.

• Idia was probably too shaken up to realize until he was alone that Yuu had just spilled all her lore trauma to him. But he shows signs of trying to be there in his own way. Whether it's downloading books on mental health, or researching women in abusive environments and/or dictatorships and how to help, he's probably even made some sort of protocol for Yuu's panic attacks (believe me, he understands) and a study guide so she can catch up on the most important topics and graduate around the same time as Deuce and Ace.

• Idia may be cowardly, socially awkward, and many, many other things, but he respects Yuu not only for her resilience in the face of everything she's been through, but for remaining sweet and gentle despite it all.

Malleus Draconia (+Lilia)

• Malleus had already felt something odd about Yuu from the first time they met, and she was immediately scared beyond belief, not for the reasons Malleus thought, but because she had been "discovered" without her cap or red dress by a man, which was... unusual. Malleus had to assure Yuu that she wasn't being "immodest" or "inappropriate" by wearing her pajamas (which were, in fact, those long, old-fashioned nightgowns because Crowley didn't give her pajamas from this century). Still, Malleus could tell Yuu had a hard time believing him.

• Fortunately, Yuu's discomfort with her nightly visits diminished the more they occurred. They began to talk about various topics. At first, they settled on Malleus's interests, such as gargoyles and abandoned structures, but soon he became curious about his new friend's peculiar customs and habits. Why was she afraid of being seen without her normal hat and attire? Why did she always act as if she'd done something wrong? Why was the idea of being alone with a man so terrifying to her?

• And when Yuu opened up about it? Let's just say... there was a thunderstorm for two days. Malleus was beyond furious; he was filled with emotions he could barely contain: rage, disgust, disbelief, indignation, but above all, empathy for this new, vulnerable side that Yuu decided to show him, since she decided to tell him EVERYTHING that happened to her in her universe, every.detail. Because she trusted him. That, in a strange way, gave Malleus a warm feeling he couldn't quite place, but treasured.

• Malleus probably went to Lilia for advice on how to handle the situation appropriately and be of help to Yuu. He saw how Lilia's smile disappeared when he told him a SMALL fraction of what Yuu had told him, in order to know how to act. Overnight, Yuu was constantly invited to sit with the Diasomnia people, almost always between Lilia and Malleus, who didn't know whether to find it endearing or confusing how Lilia was now hovering over Yuu like a mother hen, commenting on how thin she was and how she needed to eat and rest more, how Crowley shouldn't be giving such a young and sweet girl so much work, etc.

• More than once, Malleus has intervened when Yuu has night terrors, either by accompanying her to sleep, or by using a simple spell to give her a dreamless night, or, better yet, to dream something pleasant for the first time in years. Malleus will make sure that Yuu never sleeps in fear or anguish again, but in the deep happiness and tranquility she deserves.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

@garlicfriezzzzz

[cherry-pop-elf]

Honey, I’m Home-!

Sirius Black x Mom! Reader

Ever since Sirius was sent to Azkaban, you were the one in charge of raising Harry. Doing your best, and lucky to have Remus to help. Because of that, a certain Rat wasn’t able to avoid any of your gazes. When Harry’s third year came to a end, you were given quite a surprise at the train station

Warnings 18+, P in V, Female Reader, high emotions, hurt comfort, fluffy and heated sex, getting back together, implied breeding kink, taking care of your man with baths food and you, sir this bed is about to be destroyed with how hard he’s going to rail you. Also, implied Wolfstar/ Remus x You/Poly situation deal up in here hehehehe

“Harry-!” You called, with a smile. Always there to pick him up from the station, every single time. As a good parent would. Ever since you found out he had such a risk to end up at the Dursleys, like hell you would let that happen. Made you pamper him a bit, given your good friends lost their lives for him. But like hell he didn’t deserve it.

“Shhh shh-!” Harry was soon hushing his friends, leaving you confused. Hermione and Ron quick to hush up, while Remus would set the last of the bags off the train. Wanting to help out, since there were so many Weasleys to worry about. The way he smiled, you were even more curious. You couldn’t recall the last time he looked so relieved. Was there a change in laws that permitted him to work at Hogwarts?

“Children, settle down. Settle down. Go on and show her the surprise.” He teases them, as he would help Molly with the rest of the Weasleys. He threw you a wink, which had you very confused. Not what did that Marauder have in mind this time?

“Mum…..Can we get a dog?” Harry asked you, as the trio stood next to each other. With cuts and bruises all over, but smiling. Even Ron seemed chipper, despite the fact he was in crutch. The hell did those three get into this time?

“A dog-? Harry….You know why we can’t get a dog.” You sighed, not wanting to have this discussion again. With out Sirius, you just couldn’t. Any dog was to painful of a reminder. Oh how you miss your padfoot. What you would give to see him again.

“Mum, please? He’s got no where else to go. Just look at him-“ Harry pleaded, as the trio stepped aside. The dog now exposed to you. Was so painfully skinny, yet also so furry at the same time. Matted fur, and just looking like a grim. He looked so much like Sirius, but so dead as well. Your heart just couldn’t say no this time.

The defeated sigh had them cheer, as Remus returned. Still giving you this coy smile, that had you furrow your brows. You felt like you were missing something, but you didn’t know what. You just knew that it was time to take everyone home.

With Harry hugging his friends goodbye, while this new dog stuck close to your legs, Remus would catch up quickly with Molly. Explaining something. You swore it was about Scabbers, but the new playmate was keeping your attention. Suddenly jumping on you, and licking your face.

“ACK-! HEEL HEEL-!” You called, as the dog was just to strong. How was something so fragile so durable? Reminded you of Sirius. How even in his dog form he was able to tackle people down. Was just making your heart hurt more, which in a morbid sense made you unable to refuse the dog either.

“Mum, Uncle Remus said you should head home with our new dog. He needs me to stay here and catch Mrs. Weasley up on stuff.” The way he fidgeted with his glasses told you it was a mixture of a lie and some truths. What the hell were these people planning? Was this some scheme to help you move on? Accept Sirius was never coming back? That hurt, but also a point was made. Who can escape Azkaban?

“Alright. But be home before dark.” You warned, as you kissed his forehead. Right on his scar, which made him smile. He made sure to give you a hug, before quickly returning to the red heads. Poor Molly looked ready to faint. Make that she did, and the twins had to catch her. Yeah, like hell you wanted to be involved with that.

“Alright, let’s-“ But the dog was running. Right through the wall, with no hesitation. You were flabbergasted, but had no time to think. Harry’s new dog was running off. No way you wanted his poor heart broken over that. So, you ran after it. Trying to catch up, but it seemed high on life.

“GET BACK HERE-!” You hollered, as the dog was running like it was the last thing it could ever do. You were so focused on trying to catch up to it, you barely noticed where you were running towards. By the time you finally caught up, you were wheezing. Hands on your knees, as the door the dog stopped at opened.

“About time Master and Mistress Black returned.” Kreacher sneered, as the dog hurried inside. Did he say what you think he said? No way. That can’t be Sirius. No way in hell. Looks like him, but he’s in Azkaban. You don’t just escape Azkaban. Sure, the daily prophet said he did. But it was more than likely gossip gone wild. You swore every week they said someone did, only for them to be returned the next day.

“Kreacher, phew, give me a minute here.” You coughed, as you stumbled inside. Left for the building to vanish, in the early morning fog. As if it was never there. Leaving you to be alone, with the elf and dog, as you hung up your coat.

You did your best with making the home more live able. The spare rooms built for whenever Harry wanted friends over for the summers. Along with just a safe haven for friends in need of a stay. You turned what was once a cage, into a proper home. Seemed the dog loved it, as it was quick to run up the stairs. Bolting past the curtained painting, and straight to your bedroom.

“How does it….No. no this can’t be. No way…” It was starting to become harder to deny, as you walked up the stairs. By the time you reached the door, you heard it. That familiar eerie bone cracking, when a animagus was changing forms. No way. It couldn’t be. It can’t-

“Home sweet home-“ That gruff voice sung to you, as you opened the door. There he was. Your husband. Your world. Your everything. Standing there, bending his back, as he sported a tattered Azkaban uniform. Bloody, dirty, hardly clothing at all. Hair a mangled mess, and in desempate need of a bath and shave. He was so sickly thin, the very thin fabric was just a sheet on him. Hardly could process it, when those dark eyes locked on yours. Hair so long now, and body tattered. No matter the design, it was still him. Your Sirius.

“Hardly changed a day…” He dreamily said, with that exhausted smile. He was so drained, but you could still see the pure joy in his eyes. He was home. He was with you, and could be there for Harry now. His best friend Remus was in his life again. He’s not in that damn prison, and he’s in your sight once more.

You didn’t care about the grime, as you practically fell into his arms. Sobbing in joy, as he held you close. Despite his thinner structure, he was able to hold you tightly. As tightly as he could, and sway with you. No need for words. Just gentle tears.

That was why Remus was so coy, and why Harry had you two run off. You two needed time to reconnect. Even so young, Harry could grasp how important this was. Guess you were rasing him right. Seemed also that Kreacher might have missed Sirius as well, because you could hear a bath being run. No one asked for it, but he did it. His own free choice. He missed him, in his own way.

“Darling, I love you so much. I really do, but I am so fucking gross right now. You know I’m being honest when even I’m unable to handle my own stink. I’ve had sex with Moony under a full moon. I’m GROSS gross right now. I will kill for a bath-“ He went on, making you just laugh with your tears. Despite the years in such a horrific prison, he was still himself. Guess he was always a little insane.

You didn’t let him go an inch, as you trailed after him to the bathroom. More than happy to help him wash. Just enjoying the needed intimate moment. Just a wife, washing her husband. By god was he filthy. By the time Harry and Remus returned, he was finally drying off. You had no idea if the bathtub will ever recover. Least he was now in his favorite black robe.

“I’ve got dinner handled, don’t worry-!” Remus called, as Sirius would come down the stairs with you. Unable to let go of his arm, and he hardly complained. He missed your touch all the same, as you two would enter the dinning room. Where Harry sat.

“Guess we better start from the beginning.” Harry murmured. You had already gotten used to your son’s insane adventures, but this one took the cake. He got his god father out of Azkaban, somehow-? Yeah, you were sitting down for this. Mindlessly playing with the exposed chest hair you could grab, as the trio of misfits began to explain.

Even while eating, more like Sirius devouring anything in sight, there was so much to discuss. Was mostly Remus, and Harry, speaking. Given Sirius was more so busy hiding during that time frame. Oh how your heart had broken, and repaired, over and over from it all. Your poor husband. But, he’s back now. He’s back, and he’s never leaving you again.

“I know you are my god father and all, but….Do I call you dad now-?” Harry asked. He’s thirteen, still a child after all. It’s going to be a lot to process, even by Wizard standards. With his meal finished, Sirius did have to think a moment. Dispite the fact Harry knew Sirius from stories, because of you and Remus, he was still a stranger after all.

“Uncle Padfoot will work just fine.” He smiled, as he ruffled Harry’s hair. That made the young teen give an awkward grin, as there was something to work with now. Uncle Moony and Uncle Padfoot. It’s a start, and you couldn’t be happier. Just staring with such love to him, with your head on his shoulder. Taking in that scent, as Remus was unable to stop his smile to.

“Harry, dear, why don’t we go out for a walk. Hm?” Remus asked him, making the boy raise a brow. Why would he want to….Oh. Right. Remus would give a gentle head nudge towards the door, and Harry was quick to get the message. Grabbing his jacket, wand, and chasing after his uncle. Not wanting to say another word, as he really rather not think about his mother’s sex life. Even if it’s with his god father.

The second the door closed, you were yanked from your chair. You gave a squeak, as you were tossed over his shoulder. Just like the old days at school. Whenever he wanted your attention, he simply tossed you over his shoulder. Forcing you to pay attention to him, as he would steal you to a private room for a discussion.

“I’m not letting you out of that bed until the head board breaks-“ He warned, as that had your heart racing. Twelve years is a long time, and there was most certainly some catching up to do. You couldn’t deny that, as you watch the stairs trail behind him. Escorting you to your once shared bedroom. Now together again.

You were plopped right on the bed, and he was on you like the hungry dog he was. Stealing you into his lips, and you couldn’t stop your moaning. It had been so long. You needed him as badly as he needed you. How you were enjoying the new long hair, and tangling your fingers into it. Needing as much skin as you could get from him.

He was more than happy to give it to you. The robe thrown aside, as he was pulling at your clothes. Not giving damn if they tore. Nothing else mattered in this moment. He wanted to fuck his wife, and by god was he going to. Twelve years, in Azkaban. He’s going to get all twelve years of pent up desire out in one night. Will your body recover? Do you even care?

“Sirius-“ You sighed, as he finally got your top off. His face buried into your chest, as he snapped your bra strap off. Tossing it aside, as he drank you up. Just feeling your skin on his, and savoring the long missed flesh against his bearded face. Feeling that freshly softened hair on your chest felt so good. Every single fiber of your existence was on fire. Felt like you might implode.

“Not a day passed by, that I wasn’t thinking of you. You, Remus, Harry, you three were what kept me sane. I knew you three were safe with each other. Waiting for me. I came back. I came back, like I promised.” He sighed, as you felt the tears on your chest. Gentle fingers played with his hair, as to try and calm him down. Comforting him.

“I always knew you would.” You felt so silly thinking Remus would ever try and help you move on. Hypocrite he would have been. Human emotions be human emotions, and they were being carnal right now. Needing to burn and burn and burn.

“Have me again, like you’ve had me before.” You asked him, as you cupped his face. Having that thick beard nuzzle into your palm, as those dark eyes stared up to yours. So much pain in his face, but comfort in his eyes. It’s a long journey to recover, but his soul was still there. His body is damaged, but a body can repair. A mind is harder, and that was the battle. A battle he won.

With a kiss to your palm, he would soon attack your lips. Growling into you, as he pulled away the rest of your clothes. Needing to devour your body. Soon marking away at your neck, your chest, your arms. If there was anything his lips could grasp, and making sure you were marked. As if to remind the world you belonged to him, and he wasn’t going anywhere. Not anymore.

“Sirius, how can you still be such a tease?” You whined, as he was grazing his teeth over your thigh. Leaving a bite on your flesh. Letting himself enjoy the flavor of the tingling flesh under his tongue.

“What? I’m an old dog. Old dogs have bad habits.” He teased, before he finally allowed you to get some attention. He really didn’t change, and you were shocked. Never thought being abused could be useful. Only a Black would have such a morbid survival skill.

Before any more depressing thoughts could fill your head, you were able to enjoy the familiar sight. Your husband between your legs, with his cock rubbing against you. The tip of his cock coming into view, whenever he rolled his hips up and down. Rubbing right on your clit, and making you whimper. Sure you’ve played with yourself, but nothing beats his touch.

You both were gripping tightly. Him on your thighs, while you grabbed his shoulders. Needing to feel him in your hands. You both needed it so badly, but both held a near fear. As if afraid that it was all a dream. Luckily, he had the nerve to test that fear. Test it, as he finally pushed in.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this-“ He moaned, as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. The way he growled, and his body just shivered. Aching, and moaning. Might spill just then, if he didn’t stop. Just savoring the feeling of being back inside of you, and how your eyes watered from pure comfort. To have your husband back.

He would lean down, and kiss away your tears, before he allowed himself to move. Just moaning for you, as his nails dug into your flesh. Marking you more, as you moaned into each others mouths. Needing to drink in every last thing you both could offer. So much to catch up on, and to make up for.

With the tender moment passing, you were soon reminded of the wild man you married. The feeling of your legs being pushed towards your shoulders, as he tried to get into you deeper. With his hands now on your ankles, as he was snapping his hips into yours. Needing to make sure you felt ever inch of him.

You loved it, and missed it, all. The feeling of your arms around his neck, and tangling your fingers into his hair. How he growled into you, and the snarls. Oh how you loved how animalistic he was for you. How he would bark and howl at the beg and call to you. Your big bad wolf.

It was all you missed. Had you in a mixture of tears, and pure desire. How he wanted to fight your tears, and kissed you. As heated as he could, to make up for the years parted. To taste you, and savor you all over again. Just the sounds of your moans, the creaking bed, and the flesh on flesh.

You didn’t know how long it lasted, but you felt him pull your lip. Sinking his teeth into it. A typical sign that he was close. A need to ground himself, to last a little longer. Oh how you missed his little habits. That thrill of pain again sent you over, as you came with him. To be as connected as possible.

You expected to get a moment to savor the after glow, but he kept true to his word. You were soon tossed onto your stomach, with the ass in the air. Of course he wanted doggy. It’s cheesey, but a favorite. Suppose one more round could be mustered.

One more became two, and three, and soon you had to chug a Pepper Up potion to keep up. You lost track of the rounds, before you were laid on your back. Soaked in sweat, and sticky from it all. Sheets hardly on the bed, and you were certain there were cracks in the wood. Hardly could breathe, but it seemed he was satisfied.

“Pretty sure you fucked a dozen kids into me.” You wheezed, as he chuckled. Enjoying a much needed cigarette, but still making sure you were comforted. Having your head in his lap, as he played with your face. Admiring all your features.

“Good.” He snickered, as you swatted at his hand. The both of you able to share a laugh, as there was a soft knock at the door. All Sirius had to do was give a sniff in the air, and he knew who it was. A whistle was given, before he grabbed a pillow for you. So you could cover up, despite the fact Remus has certainly saw you naked many times.

“Feeling better now-? Could have used a silencing charm. Had to tell Harry Kreacher was fixing a wardrobe.” Remus scoffed, with a tray of needed drinks and snacks. He would set it down on the bed side table, before joining on the bed. He deserved to catch up with Sirius to. Fine by you.

With some shifting, you were soon snuggled between the two men. Sirius still playing with your hair, as the two men remained sitting up. Keeping their voices low, so you could drift. Just able to be safe, and warm, again. Snuggling your husband, and comforted by the sound of old memories.

What a wonderful lullaby.

[munsster]

sundress season headcanons

A/N: it’s summer, you know what that means. mini warning for slutty horny nasty rooster (implied), but on the real i KNOW this boy loves a good sundress like do not go near him in that thing so help you god

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

this freak and his sundresses, let me tell you

the shorter the better

no really though, especially if they are floral, light blue, frilly, etc he’s gone

fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of your dress the second you’re sitting near enough (or on his lap, which he prefers)

he gets excited every time a package is delivered under your name when it gets to the summer time thinking maybe you went on an online dress shopping spree again (it was one time, but he’ll never get over the try-on haul you gave him)

you cannot take him into a store the second the weather hits 70°F because he will be going around picking out every sundress they sell and handing you the pile while ushering you into a changing room

and he refuses to leave that little stool in the corner until you’ve tried on every single one for him

generally beware of wearing one around him because you will end up on the nearest flat surface, including the wall

he can’t help it! god forbid a guy has a guilty pleasure!

hangman always teasing bradley for being absolutely unable to tear his eyes away from you (in general, but especially when you’re wearing a sundress)

like do not try to get his attention, he is long lost in his mind palace with you and your sundress

matter of fact, all the daggers (even maverick) teasing him for blatant flirting/drooling/goo goo eyes/pda whenever you’re all together

they call it gross and yes maybe one kiss is enough and maybe his hand placement doesn’t have to be so obvious, but everyone’s looking for their person and they’re all glad bradley found his

honestly prefers sundresses to bikinis at this point

seriously just go commando underneath and skinny dip (kidding! unless…)

to bradley, sundresses show just enough skin and have the perfect amount of movement in the cool summer breeze

of course, he won’t complain if you wear a sundress as a cover up for beach day

he still lets the image of you tugging the dress off to reveal that skimpy number underneath linger in his mind

the photo he keeps in his wallet is of you smiling wide in a little white sundress

a constant reminder to pop the question so he can see you in that dream dress you’re always giggling to nat about

oh yeah and that necklace he got you? uh huh the one with his initial on it? yeah if you pair that with a sundress, you’re not making it out the house

talk about a danger zone

he’s so touch and go. he could be content driving his bronco with you shotgun and on the way to dinner plans, but if he catches a glimpse of your bare thigh peeking out from underneath the skirt? he’s turning right around (or pulling over and fumbling his way into the backseat with you)

he once literally drooled on himself when you came bouncing out of the bathroom in a short sundress and tall boots

are you trying to send him into cardiac arrest? cause you’re doing a damn good job of it in this get up

he can’t keep his hands off you the first time you test this combo out

“hey, cowgirl” & “wanna save a horse?” & “hold on, let’s match” & “does your boyfriend know how lucky he is?” & “can you leave the boots on?”

actually don’t even think about trying to take any of it off

he’s getting down and dirty without so much as the tug of a zipper or the pop of a button

all he needs is your skirt flipped up and a can-do attitude

boots and all

the worst part is: you know what the dresses do to him

not-so-innocent sundress strip teases when he’s busy or distracted

he should’ve known better anyways; nothing is more important than his pretty lady

if he’s being sassy, you put on his declared favorite sundress and flit around the living area humming and dancing until he can’t stand not having his hands on you any longer

but you really can’t stay mad at each other for that long anyway

not while he’s eating you alive with his eyes and not while he can see the delicate lace of your bra peeking from beneath the low neckline

speaking of dancing, it’s gotta be one of his favorite sundress season activities (just below the obvious #1)

seeing you shimmy around in a flowy dress while he plays your favorite song on the hard deck piano

or you swaying beside him on the piano stool while the fabric hugs your thighs

or him dancing right there with you on the floor when he’s had enough of the sidelines. let the jukebox take over for a while so he can dance with his girl.

what’s better than his baby in a sundress, though, has gotta be the spark in her eye or the catch in her breath or the way she moves right up against him like it’s not just love but gravity

he’ll have you in every season. sundresses are just a perk.

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[shroompette]

141 x Clown Girl!Reader is eating my brain <3 (Also thank you all so so so much for helping me achieve more than 100 followers, I love you 💜)

Thinking about 141 who babysat Johnny's little nephew together ONCE and somehow ended up invited to his birthday party. The non-related men would have declined were it not for Mrs. MacTavish's insistence on feeding them something good (and perhaps have them introduced to some of the single women from the MacTavish clan.)

When the day comes and they show up with gifts, they're quickly separated by a swarm of Johnny's relatives who are curious about the friends he brought in.

Price ends up in the kitchen and volunteers to help with making lunch to which Mrs. MacTavish objects at first, but he manages to persuade her into at least letting him keep her and her sisters company. He swoops in here and there to hand one of them an utensil, spice or just a cup of water, gradually taking over each of their tasks and having them rest while he simultaneously keeps an eye on the beef and potatoes in the oven, mixes the cookie dough and casually chats with the women watching him, charming each and every one of them to the point one of Soap's aunts seriously considers poisoning her husband just to have a shot with John.

Gaz, meanwhile, was asked by Soap's sister - the mother of the birthday boy - to help with blowing up a couple more balloons for the little ones to play with. He obliges, spurred on by all the pretty cousins cheering him on, realizing after about half an hour that they've been staring at his arms bulge the entire time he's been operating the air pump (not like he's complaining, he's proud of what he's rocking).

The other half of the female relatives who weren't currently drooling over Gaz's body were in the living room swooning over Ghost, specifically the fact all the kids flocked to him like curious kittens. Last nail to the coffin was someone handing him a baby - although he looked as if someone just gave him a ticking bomb, he tried his best to entertain the tiny wiggling thing in order to keep it from crying, even gave it an awkward little bounce (call him The Ovary Whisperer the way the women who swore did not want another child suddenly changed their minds).

Johnny watched all of this occur with a wide grin, eventually taking pity on his buddies - though Price didn't seem too bothered - and plucked them away from their respective tasks to lead them out into the garden, picking up a few beers from the cooler and handing the cans to them.

While enjoying their break, they notice the kids rush from the blow-up castle to you, a Clown Girl that Soap's ma hired to entertain the kids in the afternoon.

Price arches an eyebrow, glancing at Johnny who seems just as surprised.

"Strange, usually my uncle Thomas dresses up as clown for the bairns."

"Maybe he wanted to be a part of the audience this year," Gaz hums, sipping his beer. Ghost doesn't say anything, only watches as you crouch to the kids' level and smile at them brightly, chirping about something that he's too far away to hear. On the enigma spectrum, you'd be on the opposite end from him; donned in a white button up with a flower in your pocket, rainbow suspenders and a frilly tutu accompanied by silly shoes, you're a picture perfect goof. You pick up the birthday boy and tickle his sides before making a show of not knowing your way towards the house standing just a few feet away, causing the children to giggle and tug on your sleeves, dragging you to the backdoor. The closer you get, the more the men notice what a cute little thing you are. Your make-up's not too heavy, some white foundation, pink cheeks and, of course, a big red nose. As you pass them, you flash them a bright smile and honk it, making the children giggle and nearly stomp over one another with how they skipped and begged you to let them have a go too.

The four men exchange a look and then gaze back at you, so lively and sweet. Neither says anything for a few moments before Soap speaks up:

"Ye think her titties honk too?"

The only reason Price hadn't smacked him on the back of the head was because Ghost was faster.

They quickly finish their beers and go back inside, following the trail of confetti and glitter that Johnny KNOWS is going to be a pain in the ass to vacuum later (he likely will pester Gaz into assissting him). They find you in the living room, expertly twisting long balloons into dogs and giraffes and whatnot, making sure every child has one to play with. It's sweet, the way you try to include everyone in your silly games, letting every child have a turn sitting in your lap and talk your ears off. You even get to hold the baby that Ghost was handed earlier, naturally softening your voice and calming your bouncy gait while maintaining your image as an entertainer, shoes squeaking loudly as you go round jokingly asking the parents whose pet bean it is.

With every passing moment, the men find you more and more adorable; you're funny, obviously good with children and your costume does very little to hide all your assets. And the way you smile so warmly? It makes Gaz want to go back to middle school, retake his geography test and change the answer to the question about the cause of ice caps melting to your full government name.

For the second time that day, the men's eyes meet in an unspoken agreement. They've shared pretty things before; and you'll certainly be the prettiest one yet.

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