#I deserve something to make the task more fun for me

[mystxmomo]

HI im getting into vhaeraun so, tasks and Situations permitting, im gonna see if I can shoot you some questions to learn more about his scrunkly ass 👉👈

so! what, in your opinion, are vhaerauns most PROMINENT traits (ie whats most obvious in how he acts+interacts) and what are vhaerauns most IMPORTANT traits (core defining aspects that influence his decisions+behaviors and how he approaches relationships)?

often times theres overlap there, but i get the impression vhaeraun keeps a lot close to his chest. and as a bonus followup: are there any differences with those two between Vhaeraun-as-Person and Vhaeraun-as-Deity

hope this ask is fun!! ouo)7

Thank you for enabling me. Gladly.

Post write-up edit: Sorry ahead of time. This ended up being Very, very long. 6k words... a lot of it is transcription from the novels and guidebooks though. If you want the TL;DR of my thoughts I summarize everything at the end, but all the dirty details are in the middle.

Also late edit: Thank @abracadav-r for digging up a lot of these screenshots while I went crazy on the write up. They were a MASSIVE help getting all the information I needed to cite in order.

Okay so. Three things right off the bat before I get into this.

This is something that I feel like goes without saying when I talk about these things, but I always feel the need to add a disclaimer on just in case one of these posts escape containment. A lot of these thoughts are going to be conclusions that I have come to about this character based on the evidence we're given canonically. Given that it's my opinion, I don't want to imply that it's the only way to interpret this character and in fact I think the charm of DND and the various characters within it is that they're little tools you can use to best shape the narrative you're trying to tell.

As such, I'm going to be trying to make it clear when something is "This is a presumption I have made based on evidence." And "This is just plain-spoken canon" and generally speaking, I will try and cite directly what I've pulled from.

Now. Related to that first point. I'm going to be pulling from Evermeet: Island of Elves the novel. The thing about Evermeet is that the way it's presented is as an optional mythos for the elves. As in, in universe, it is told from the perspective of someone passing down an oral tradition. It is a biased origin myth written by the victors.

Now. The reason I personally like Evermeet, despite having some qualms with the metatextual framework of it (which I will get into in depth when it pops up but tldr; There's a lot of victim blaming and the author does not seem aware that she wrote an abuse victim. It was the late 90's of course familial abuse against men isn't treated seriously) is that I'm of the personal belief that the Elf and Drow mythos, when existing in conversation with one another, is best interpreted as a story about familial abuse through the largescale framework of the divine. This is my personal agenda and my bias, and something that Evermeet is great for giving me evidence of! But, still worth establishing that this is a novel that you don't have to take as canon.

Final point before our read-more, because this is getting dangerously long as is. Because of how things are framed within the stories we're given, I do I feel like it's very important to pull up the context itself and not just go off the wiki. The example I will use for this is that on Vhaeraun's wiki page, there is a quote from him that out of context makes it sound like he's choosing not to help one of his follower because the follower hasn't impressed him well enough

“You lack the skill.” — Vhaeraun to Malvag when asked, "Why won't you help me?"

However, in context it becomes (in my opinion) very clear that Vhaeraun isn't helping him because he sincerely thinks that the guy can't do it. Like it would be dangerous for him to try. I'm under the impression in context that he's not denying him because he thinks he doesn't deserve it, he's denying him because he sincerely lacks the skill to use that help properly. And I think that is an important place to actually start our larger character analysis.

Vhaeraun watched. Malvag could feel the god's presence just over his shoulder. He whispered yet another prayer, one that would allow him to touch the god's omniscience. "I need him," he pleaded. "Why won't you help me?" The answer was a whisper only Malvag could hear. You lack the skill. Malvag rocked back on his heels. stunned. That was it [...]

So I'm bad at keeping things into categories. So we're going to start with what I think are Vhaerauns most important traits, and then go into his most prominent ones, because I feel like the important traits color the prominent ones, but like you said I think that kind of meshes with who he is as a person and why he behaves like he does. I'm going to try and narrow it down as I go, but if some of this seems a bit scattered at times. [mumbling noises] don't worry about it.

So that in mind. Insane thing to start with, but the biggest thing I would argue for with Vhaeraun is that he is best painted as a victim of abuse. And this isn't implication. If you take Evermeet at face value and how he interacts with Lolth in the beginning chapters, this is plain text.

(This is going to be the longest section because I have a lot to say on this both in how it's portrayed on a media analysis level and in a "What this means for his character" level, so I apologize in advance)

"Sehanine!" shrieked the dark goddess. She rose and rounded on her son, who'd been standing at her shoulder like a hovering raven awaiting a chance to feed. Vhaeraun took an instinctive step backward. "You idiot!" she screamed her face contorted with rage [...]

"And he is your lord husband. If there is a difference, please explain it to me. Otherwise, we will say that I am your son and leave the matter as settled," Vhaeraun said. His words were blunt and the implications harsh; instinctively he braced himself for another display of his mother's ready temper. To his surprise she laughed delightedly "You are my

[...] "And then what?" he countered in a tone that approximated his mother's sneer. "How can you hope to rule, with a goddess of Sehanine's power to oppose you? You should kill her now, when she is still helpless." Araushnee's hand flashed forward and dealt a ringing slap to her son's face. "Do not presume to question me," she said in a voice that bubbled with rage. "If you are so ignorant that you believe one god can easily kill another, perhaps I was wrong to make you my confidante and partner!" "But what of Herne?" pressed Vhaeraun, eager to salvage something of his dignity even it that only meant winning some small point of argument. "You told me that Malar killed him. And for that matter, why would you set Gruumsh and Malar against Corellon, if neither had hope of success?" "Don't be more of a fool than you must," snapped the goddess. "It is one thing to destroy a god from another place and another pantheon even among the gods, there are hunters and hunted, predators and prey. But to kill a member of one's own pantheon is another matter. If it were so easy, would I not already rule Arvandor?" The young god regarded his mother for several moments, his eyes thoughtful and his fingertips gingerly stroking his stinging cheek. "If it is as you say," he said slowly, "then perhaps you should leave the Seldarine." "Have you not heard a word I have said this day? [...]"

;;

The young god regarded his mother for several moments, his eyes thoughtful and his fingertips gingerly stroking his stinging cheek. "If it is as you say," he said slowly, "then perhaps you should leave the Seldarine." "Have you not heard a word I have said this day? I wish to rule the Seldarine!" "Then do so by conquest, rather than intrigue," Vhaeraun suggested, "You have been amassing an army to do your will. Leave the Seldarine, and lead that army yourself! Imagine Araushnee at the head of a mighty force, the leader of the anti-Seldarine!" he concluded, his voice ringing with the drama of it and the pride of one who admires his own visions. Araushnee stared at him for a moment, then she shook her head in despair. "How did I give birth to two such idiots? Think, boy! List in your mind the great and glorious generals I have enlisted!"

Now. And here's where my issue with the metatextual framework of Evermeet sits.

The conclusion our wonderful friend Elaine Cunningham seems to want us to come to is that he is inherently complicit in his mothers schemes. Like, theres this consistent idea throughout the book that he is equally at fault as his mother for everything that happened, and that bleeds into the text. It's in the way he's framed around her as that of "A Hovering Raven", and like he's lesser for not standing up to her in that moment. But, what I'm reading with my eyes in the good god given year of 2025 is a character who is getting thrown around by his mother and fawning under her to keep her anger regulated. He's constantly portrayed as preparing to or actively take a hit from her, or deal with the repercussions of her anger, or being on some receiving end of some beration. It does not escape me that he adjusts his plans and the way he talks to make her happy. He suggests that they leave and when it's clear that she's not happy he adjusts his thoughts until she is happy with it.

Now, all of this isn't just a "Here's my propoganda as to why my poor blorbo did nothing wrong moment," (Being upfront, my conclusion for Vhaeraun is "Did a few things wrong, but not nearly as much as you'd think) I think this is something that genuinely colors his motivations and the kind of person he is later. Likewise, I think this showcases something thats not only deeply important about him as a person, but Eilistraee and the dynamic that they're in. I think Vhaeraun did, as a result of being her favorite child, experience more of Lolth's direct abuse than Eilistraee did, and it's given him more of an awareness and nuance of the kind of person their mother is than his sister has.

Editing in a long minor note going into the next section before I post this: I feel the need to establish. As a character, I do actually really like Eilistraee. Vhaeraun is my main focus, but Eilistraee is my third favorite Dark Seladrine god on a character level. I'm a little bit critical of her and her world view here because the book isn't. I feel a bit more of a need to defend Vhaeraun's logic and a bit more of a need to dismantle Eilistraee's because the narrative handling for both consistently isn't handled with the amount of nuance that I think they should be. I personally think Vhaeraun and Eilistraee are two sides of the same coin. Despite what DnD wants me to believe, I don't think Eilistraee is always right and Vhaeraun is always wrong. I think they're two characters responding very differently to the insane and extreme circumstances in which they stemmed from, and to say one is wholly correct and the other is "The wrong one" misses the point.

I also acknowledge that this is a DnD'ism that a lot of people have already criticized since even going back to the 90's. I am not the first to say that the alignment system doesn't hold up and the in-universe idea of good and bad is inherently flawed and lacks a lot of nuance. Like. I think there's this idea of "Because we know he ends up evil, this isn't as severe, because he deserves it for being evil" levels of logic happening within the narrative. Take my hand though, we're going to add nuance to it.

Something else important about Vhaeraun. Just a little thing worth mentioning, not too important in the grand scheme of things. Maybe a little more important than I'm implying. Vhaeraun was the original Main Influential God of the Drow.

So. Comparatively, Eilistraee to me reads as a little naive with how she's often portrayed. She was shielded from the worst of their mothers temper and abuse as a result of being her fathers favorite.

Eilistraee, to me, doesn't understand the intricacies of violence, war, and abuse. When she see's her brother, she see's the same kind of evil as her mother. But Eilistraee a FASCINATINGLY unreliable narrator. She is biased against her brother and his influence, so she is only ever going to see the spread of it as an evil. And because, as mentioned, the book is operating on the assumption that he too is evil, it doesn't so a lot to showcase HOW his presence is an evil. So. Vhaeraun came to Toril first, and Lolth followed because she felt his presence off of one of the elves that came into the Demonweb pits. And the country that he was worshiped in was implied to not only be functional, but like thriving in a time when Dragons were the main threat. And his power only collapsed like it did because of his people dying in a black plague level of tragedy.

Other effects of the Sundering also brought mixed emotions to the goddess. On the one hand, it had destroyed many of her worshipers. Yet for each of her elves that had tumbled into the sea or been crushed by falling stone, at least three of Vhaeraun's followers had perished. Lloth reigned supreme among the dark elves' gods.

The conclusion that I'm coming to (Admittedly, this one doesn't have canon basis in plain text to point to, but stick with me) I think Vhaeraun see's himself as the "Rightful" God of the Drow (As in, drow as a whole, not just male drow.) He see's himself as someone that had his "Kingdom" stolen from him. If HE was in control the drow would still be powerful. If HE was the main one being worshiped, they would be respected. But because his mother came and influenced them, he (they) lost everything.

Related to both of these point, I don't think that he has ever seen Eilistraee as a direct threat to him and his power. All of his hatred towards his sister has been portrayed (and outright stated) to be rooted reaction to how he's treated as a result of their father favoring her, and what he see's as her enabling. And again, that goes right back into what my thesis point is for the Drow/Elf pantheon. This is a story about an abusive family structure, and that colors everything about the relationships between parent and child and siblings.

[...] Likewise, the Masked Lord nurtures an abiding hatred of Eilistraee. The Dark Maiden always held Corellon's favor more than her hateful brother, and she thwarted Vhaeraun's early efforts to bring all the Ilythiiri (southern, dark-skinned elves) under his sway, enabling Lolth and Ghaunadaur to make great inroads among those who would become the drow. [...]

"Not alone," Vhaeraun said firmly. "Eilistraee plotted with us. She deserves to share my fate." "Eilistraee? I cannot believe this of the girl" began Sehanine. "You were not here!" Aerdrie broke in fiercely. "I saw her shoot the arrow that struck down Corellon! And as her own mother points out, the girl has never missed her mark!" Corellon shook his head. "I cannot believe she would do such a thing!" "Believe!" hissed Vhaeraun, enraged that Corellon suffered such doubt and anguish at the thought that his precious Eilistraee might have turned against him. He was willing enough to name his son a traitor! Vhaeraun had always hated his younger, favored twin. Now he would have his vengeance. The young god turned to his mother, his eyes burning with an enmity that set even one such as Araushnee back on her heels. "You promised me power and honor," he said in a voice meant only for his mother's ears. "But instead, your ambitions have cost me everything. Give me Eilistraee, and I will consider this day's bargain well made."

[...] Finally he looked to Vhaeraun. "Eilistraee has chosen. Go now, and take her with you. But know that the day your hand is lifted against her will be the last of your life. This I swear, by all the trees of Arvandor." Vhaeraun's face twisted with hatred and rage, but he had little choice but to comply. Corellon stood silent as the young god shouldered his unconscious twin and disappeared. Finally he rose to his feet and faced his fallen love. [...]

And I do think it's a bit telling that even at the height of his power, the most he did was exile her. (This is implied, who else would have done it)

[...] "I am known as Eilistraee, the Dark Maiden. I require from you neither reverence nor vigilance," she said softly. "I come as a friend, and in need of friends. Put aside both your weapons and your wonder, and let us talk. There are things that you must know if you intend to confront the Ilythiiri." The sadness in her voice smote Sharlario's heart, and he did as she bid. "You spoke of exile, lady," he commented. "Forgive me, but I have never heard of such a thing. From whence are you exiled, and, if I might ask, why?" "Most recently, from the southlands," the goddess said. [...]

Authors note: The Ilythiiri were drow before they were called drow.

If he wanted her dead (for the crime of existing), I think he would have killed her ages ago. But I don't think he does. I think he's just angry at the hand he's been dealt and it's easier to blame her than it is to unpack the complicated feelings he has towards his mother. Him attacking her in Lady Penitent feels like a means to an end for me. He's not attacking her because he hates her personally, despite what she thinks. He's attacking her because (In character logic and reasoning) if he combines their churches then maybe he will have enough power to combat their mother.

(Now. I as an author think this is flawed logic, and we know that because when Eilistraee took his aspects the churches splintered, because you can't force people to worship someone they don't like. But, his logic and reasoning nonetheless)

I'm not sure where to include this, but we're getting to the end of the family section and I still haven't mentioned Selvetarm.

Selvetarm... To keep it short. The cycle of abuse continues. He's absolutely blinded by rage when it comes to his family.

[...] "What I want, you speck of a creature" he brandished the stump of his wrist before Inthracis's face "is Selvetarm's obsequious brain torn from his foul head so that I can use his empty skull as a piss pot." [...]

Now. Going away from all of that to the next big thing with him.

I think a lot of people want to kind of. Dance around the drow racism of his character. I don't think we can dance around the fantasy racism of his character. I think, in fact, we need to sit on the fantasy racism a little bit and peel back the layers of it because I actually think the framework of what we're looking and what it says about him is kind of interesting. Because Vhaeraun really does not hate non-drow.

This can be a touchy subject. Up front, take none of this as a defense of his mindset, just an explanation toward its and an exploration of it.

Source citing note: This section comes from this video by Ed Greenwood on him.

[Start: 3:41] Non-drow can become priests of Vhaeraun, but it's very rare, as the deity is inherently suspicious of non-drow, and because many drow, holding similar suspicions, would refuse to accept, so train and work with, such an individual. So if someone wants to embrace the faith of Vhaeraun in service, that is, becoming an ordained priest, they are going to have to demonstrate personal support to Vhaeraun's aims, then appeal in prayer to the deity directly. Vhaeraun will respond, manifesting an avatar, and flood supplicant's mind with his own, an excruciatingly painful experience that may well drive the supplicant mad. His arrogance and force of presence is terrible to most mortal to prove their thoughts and memories personally. Vhaeraun must be certain of their motives and their loyalty. He dare not allow a traitor into the ranks of his relatively, when measured against the ever present malicious darkness that is the worship of his mother Lolth, small and weak church. If he finds treachery, he will typically destroy the mortal mind he has melded with, leaving the hapless would be traitor a drooling, vertigo smitten victim, able to speak and reason only slowly and haltingly, and so extremely vulnerable to almost any hostile being. If he finds loyalty, he will be delighted, for he sees the road to achieving his aim of drow supremacy as necessitating acceptance of his guidance and that of the mortal drow who serve him by non-drow. He will mark such a mind with a boon, typically darkvision, or, for a gifted mortal, the ability to cast dancing lights at will, or darkness, or fairy fire, once every 48 hours, from the moment of their last casting of a magic he's conferred. This boon is not entirely generous, but also serves to alert all drow, Vhaeraun intends it for his followers, but it works for drow of any primary loyalty, that this individual is his. That is, that he favors this being and they are loyal to him. This is what enables a non-drow wannabe cleric of Vhaeraun to find acceptance in the ranks of his church. They will never be entirely trusted, as in, they may well be trusted with dangerous, important tasks or missions by senior priests who see them as inherently expendable, but they will always be watched, both overtly and covertly. But so long as they accept their subservient role, they will be accepted.

But this isn't the only thing I want to bring up from this video.

How much do you know about the concept of noblesse oblige.

("the inferred responsibility of privileged people to act with generosity and nobility toward those less privileged.")

[..] Vhaeraun himself has bolstered this acceptance by protecting such non-drow priests personally in situations where he manifests, and clearly, by his words and deeds, caring about their health, safety, and welfare. When one of his senior drow priests, Alont Aerlarr of Athkatla, asked the god why he did this, Vhaeraun replied, "To lead and rule others means we must value those others; a shepherd who cares not for the sheep is no worthy shepherd. By valuing our livestock, we increase our own value and demonstrate to all our fitness to lead all other creatures." [...]

Using these as sources, here is what I think Vhaeraun's mentality and the drow supremacy of it all comes from.

Vhaeraun does sincerely see drow as being better than other races. However. To properly understand where his mindset is, you must also understand that it is a racism of patronizing rather than one of pure hatred. Drow are better, they're stronger, they're my favorite, so we must show our strength and power and our ability to care for those we will rule. How can we be trusted to rule over them if we do not carry ourselves with the honor and respect of someone that is worthy of ruling.

It is the divine right to rule on a hierarchical level.

I also think there is a level of distrust and discomfort that comes from their their circumstance. He is the counter to Eilistraee's "We must show others we are good and deserving of their respect." He is this logic of "Why should we trust and respect those that don't respect us? They should just already respect us."

So I think the drow supremacy of it all is uhh. Nuanced. I don't think his mindset is right, but I also think it is one that would be changed if their circumstances were less extreme. I also think the mindset enables his church to do uh. Evil Slavery Things! Again, we cannot get around the evil fantasy slavery things and the bigotry of it all.

But we can explore it. Because this is a fictional character in a fictional setting.

Now, semi-related to the above point as well, with all of that in consideration, I don't know if Vhaeraun wants power for the sake of power. I don't have any in-text proof of this outside of "Everything above is emblematic of a deeper motivation" but I'm kind of under the impression that to Vhaeraun, power is synonymous with stability and respect.

So. That's Vhaeraun and the important/prominent traits he has. Now I think we can get into him as a person on a personality level.

;;

It is now that we can actually pull things up from Demihuman Deities and Drow of the underdark, and a little bit from War of the Spiderqueen

Personality wise, this is how he's described.

I think your impression of him (That he's someone that keeps a lot close to his chest) is correct. My personal interpretation of Vhaeraun is that he is playing the part his followers need him to play. What he needs to be is a leader and a king. What I think Vhaeraun wants is to be one of the guys (for a lack of a better term). He wants to be included. He WANTS to be called out to, and wants to be wanted. He finds it hard to hold aloof from the needs of his worshipers. He doesn't want them summoning anyone but him.

and this is built into how he works mechanically. He's weak on his own, but he's supposed to be built around his followers and take advantage of their skill set.

Related: Do you want to see the hottest thing he's ever done. Like canonically. To me.

Defending one of his guys without even looking and then sending the assailant flying into the air. Deeply hilarious. Very hot. I would trust him with my life. I think about this passage a non-zero amount.

=

Not important to his character persay, but a fun sidenote to cut through all this. While the fact he's the god of thieves has gotten the most focus in recent years, in the many ways he parallels Eilistraee he's actually the God of the Night canonically, and a lot of things around him (especially in earlier editions) ride around that coding. If Eilistraee is the moon, he is the sky and the stars.

=

I joke about the fact he's a dumbass (Because he can be a little bit of a dumbass) but I do actually think he prefers logic and reason schemeing solutions to violent ones. If he can get power by doing tax evasion, he prefers that to doing it through conquest. Because conquest means the people that worship him die as well, and he really doesn't like putting his guys at risk.

As an example, and something I consider to be a deeply telling thing of his character. He's a bitch that LOVES a loophole. Gods aren't allowed to steal souls from other gods? That's fine. He'll just have his followers do it. He's not breaking any rules.

He can't kill mortals directly? That's fine. He'll hire demons to do it.

He's someone that LOVES getting away with things that he should not. He doesn't need to fight. He just needs to outscheme.

(Though, and this isn't supported by anything in text and another thing I just personally noticed as a trend. Despite seeming to view himself as a schemer and a logical person, he is a character who is not only deeply driven by his emotions, but kneecapped by them as well. As mentioned earlier, he's so blinded by his anger towards his family that it ruins multiple of his plans. His want to keep his worshipers safe stops him from using them, even when they might have allowed it. I think a lot of the things he did in WotsQ was driven by panic. He acts before he thinks, and he acts on his emotions, and he hides that he acts on his emotions by putting up this edgy, knives and shadows front.)

Anyway. Final note. He's a whore. Male slut. Libertine.

Now, there's a consistent implication with most gods in the Forgotten Realms that they are willing to sleep around, and I know that Ed Greenwood has described the presence of gods as caresses and touches. However, lets be clear. There's no implication here. He is just one of the few gods that even back in 2e that is directly mentioned to be sleeping with his followers.

Masked traitors receive the personal attention of Vhaeraun in the form of useful information imparted to them from time to time in their dreams. The Masked Lord richly rewards those who do well in his service, and he often (falsely) hints he is willing grant immortality to worthy traitors or even elevate them to the role of his consort

Now, you can interpret that the (Falsely) is applicable to both the immortal line and the consort line, but

Dragging evermeet back in for one last rodeo.

[...] This proved to be a difficult task, considering that the entire Seldarine was celebrating the dual victories of Corellon Larethian. Avoiding several score of celebrating elven deities, even in a place as vast as Arvandor, proved to be no easy matter. Nor was it easy to hold Vhaeraun's attention: Many a young goddess-and one or two of the elder powers as well-urged the handsome young god to join in the merriment. At highsun, Araushnee finally left Vhaeraun to his revels. She sought out Corellon, for he might [...]

Lolth voice: Ugh. Keeping my sons attention is so hard. Why is it always him and the partying.

Vain.... Handsome.... Okay. I see you DnD. He cares about his appearance, and how he's being perceived.

===

So where does all of this bring us. How do I summarize my thoughts on Vhaeraun: The Masked Lord.

[All of these are my personal conclusion summed up. If you disagree, thats totally fine! But this is the impression of him I personally get with all of this in consideration.]

I think a massive and defining part of his character is the concept of noblesse oblige. This is something that colors so much of the way he behaves. Because as a deity he is stronger than the drow that worship him, it is his job and his duty to protect them. Because drow are better than other races, and it is their duty to Shepard them. If they are not protecting them properly (And by proxy, If he is not protecting his guys properly) that is a failure on their (his) part. He's someone who believes in the idea of honor amongst his own people.

In contrast to that, I think he is deeply possessive, protective, petty, spiteful motherfucker. He is, above all else, emotional, and driven by the things he feels. And I think the things he feels most frequently anger and righteous fury.

And I think the irony of it all is that all of that comes from the fact that he cares. In fact, I think he only acts as he does because of how strongly he cares. The drow are his. They are something stolen from him. He loves the drow. That is his love and his empathy, because it is the only way he's ever known how to love and empathize. And the reason that is the only way he knows how to love and empathize is because he's an abuse victim. You cannot touch on the concept of Vhaeraun without touching on his sister, mother, and father because he only became the kind of person he is because of them. While you don't have to touch on his son, I think doing so adds another layer, because it shows another way he's kneecapped by his emotions. He can't separate the emotions he feels towards his mother from the feelings he has towards his son, thus inflicting the same neglect and pain he was subjected to onto him and leaving him in the hands of his mother, while blaming him and strictly him for what she made of him [Selvetarm, that is.]

You know. Like people to him.

I think his evolution of going from what seems to be this young, Dionysus like deity, to a god of territory who managed to make alliances with dragons and create a respected empire, to this militant and paranoid divine figure and leader of rebellion is fascinating.

And I think, despite his personality being the way it is? He's not unkind. He just isn't wearing that kindness on his sleeve. He CAN'T wear the kindness on his sleeve. But his gifts aren't insincere. He wants to include his worshipers in the things he's doing. He wants to BRING them places.

"Vhaeraun has called me to his service in the planes beyond Faerûn on several occasions," Tzirik admitted. "In fact, I have been in the Demonweb Pits before now. All the gods of our race reside here, each in their own domain within this great chasm of webbing. My previous business did not take me to Lolth's domain, though, and that was a good many years ago."

I think he is someone deeply motivated by the concept of "Means to an end." Doing bad things now is fine, because once we're in power we won't need to do that anymore. It's okay to do bad things to the people that don't respect us, because it is not our job to convince them to respect us. They will see our power, and then they will respect us.

And, if you want something that I think is never stated plainly, but my insane delusions of the upmost degree. I think he's a god who's a little uncomfortable with the divine. They're not something that can be trusted. But his mortals? The ones who chose to worship him and put their trust in him? They are the ones he likes. They are the one's he'll protect.

And also all of that and he's a slut.

[pleaseget-out]

Got myself a little treat today :3

[mecha--maniac]

Giving the scrungles chao saga

Mephiles's? Sweet babyangel service chao; if they did races Meph would definitely be dancemom manipulative of the other chao handlers just to make them fight, with the chao being none the wiser.

Metal's starts off as a feral little shit that loves to bite; but biting is not very effective on Metal, so oops bro, looks like you have been government assigned a chao (Who eventually warms up to him with the correct combination of ignoring their shenanigans and manhandling them into being socialized. No, we are having a nice day at the beach, you may not go and bite small children)

The third one is for an unpictured different Metal. This one was a rescue and is very shy, but their mommy is very scary with a resting murder face which gives them some more confidence as they grow up. Anyone who messes with this chao would wind up mysteriously missing.

If these were in the game...

Meph's chao would operate like a chaos chao, except it needs higher stats in power and flight.

Metal chao 1 would be neutral/speed/flight with a disproportionate amount of kangaroos and/or bug animals givin to it.

Metal chao 2 would be dark/power/flying, raised primarily on drives and dragons.

[gloomwitchwrites]

I absolutely love your stories they’re so amazing! Can I please request the task force and pranking them by telling them a guy did your Brazilian wax

Thank you! I can't take all the credit. I might be the writer, but the Imagines Series couldn't be what it is without all the amazing ideas people have submitted. I'm honestly blown away by the amount of creativity and ideas sent my way. My inbox is full of wonderful requests, and while it's going to take me a bit to get to them all, I'm eager to complete them!

The amount of prank requests I've been getting has been so fun. Not just this one, but telling mom to shut up, and the premium air prank, etc. All of these make me giggle and have been a blast to work on. Thank you so much for sending this in!

Presented in four double drabbles.

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

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, established relationship, pranks, non-descriptive nudity

Word Count: 800

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

John Price

John briefly licks the pad of his thumb before counting out the appropriate amount of pound notes.

“This enough?” he asks, presenting it to you.

It’s more than enough. “Plenty. Thank you, John.”

He leans forward a bit, and you eagerly greet him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Drawing back, you give him your best smile. But beneath the grin is a trick.

You want to mess with him a bit.

“I have a new waxer,” you shrug, adding the cash to your wallet. “Cheryl put in her notice.”

Cheryl did not put in her notice. That woman probably won’t retire until she dies.

John inclines his head, already turning away. “That’s too bad. You liked her.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, grabbing your purse. “They’ve put me with someone new. A Mark? Mike? No—Marcus? I think.”

John freezes. He slowly turns back, cheeks bright red. “What?”

“It starts with an ‘m’,” you muse.

“Your new waxer is a man?”

“Yes,” you shrug. “And?” John’s face resembles a beet. “Everything good?”

“Where does Cherly work now?”

“John—”

He grabs his phone from his pocket and starts tapping away at it. "I want to know if she accepts walk-ins."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle's hand slowly runs over your newly waxed skin. "Look at you. So soft and smooth." His touch makes you shiver.

"You paid for it," you murmur.

"I did," smiles Kyle, head dipping.

His tongue makes contact, and you release a moan. It’s slightly distracting, but not enough to detract from you poking at him.

“Had a new waxer,” you sigh as Kyle goes in for another taste.

“Did you?” he asks absently, more interested in your new smoothness.

“A man, actually. Undergoing training. There were two of them in the room.”

Kyle's head snaps up. "What?"

"Why'd you stop?" you whimper.

"There were two men that waxed you?"

“No, Kyle. Just one.”

A series of emotions pass over Kyle's face. His mouth opens. Closes. And then his hand forms a fist, fingers flexing and relaxing as he mulls over something.

"Everything okay?" you ask, suddenly worried.

“Can’t be that hard.” Kyle pushes away from the couch and reaches for his phone. “Or expensive.”

“What can’t? Kyle. What are you talking about?”

You lean forward and see him adding a waxing kit to his online shopping cart.

“No,” you say firmly. “You’re not putting hot wax anywhere near my vagina.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

"Oh, what's this?"

Johnny's hands are on your thighs and then beneath your skirt in a moment.

"Johnny!"

"Is this for me? You don't have to. You know I like a good adventure through the woods."

"Johnny!" you say again, slapping his arm playfully as his fingers lightly squeeze, making your squirm in his grasp.

"Was this on my dime?" he asks.

"Maybe."

"Oh, aye. Am I gonna find an unknown charge?"

"With a tip. A large tip. My waxer deserved it. He did a good job."

"Oh, they—he?"

"Yes. That a problem?"

Johnny's hands don't retreat but he's staring at you—hard. You arch an eyebrow and he finally speaks. "Your waxer is a man?"

No.

"Yes."

Johnny nods and then he leans in, lowering his voice. “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m—”

“I saw your location. I checked it out. They don’t have a single male employee in that place.”

Your face grows hot.

Johnny’s hands squeeze a bit harder, and then he lands a brief smack against the curve of your ass. “Lying to me, love?” Johnny tsks. He palms the curve of your ass where it stings. “Suppose I should punish you.”

“Maybe you should.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You reject the call and clutch your phone to your chest. You've messed up. Royally. Pranking Simon is always a terrible idea.

The texts were just a tease. Just a way to push Simon’s buttons.

I have a new waxer.

I thought it would be one of the other ladies.

But no!

It was a guy!

Your phone buzzes again and you nearly throw it across the room. It’s Simon. You decline the call. Everything is quiet for a few brief seconds before a text message from him comes through.

Answer your phone.

You click out a reply.

I'm in the car!

His reply comes instantly.

You're at home. I know your location.

Another incoming call. This one you answer.

"Simon,” you say flatly.

"What location did you go to?" he asks, voice rough with tension.

"Why?" you counter.

"What's his name?" he snaps.

"I know what you're doing, Simon.”

You always forget just how deep his possessive streak goes.

Silence. Then, "I just want to talk."

"Simon.”

He growls your name in warning.

"You don't need to go there. Just...come home. You can see the results for yourself."

He sighs. "I'll be there in ten. Be ready for me."

taglist:

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@tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus @no-oneelsebutnsu

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@ash-tarte @enarien @gingergirl06 @greeniegreengreen @certainlygay

[cumironi]

. . . KAWAI, HENTAI, BOOBIESSS!

ME AND YOUR GIRLFRIEND PLAYING DRESS-UP IN HOUSE, I GIVE YOUR GIRLFRIEND CUNNILINGUS IN MY COUCH!

shoko ieiri. it just happened that the girl hated satoru gojo so much that day, so she decided to give his girlfriend— you, a little fun, on her couch.

warning. cunnilingus, cheating, fingering, overstimulated, gxg, squirts, name-calling, pet names.

wc. 3,8k

𝜗𝜚. please don't judge me, it is my first time writing gxg and i'm trying my best to picturing it without overdoing it because i never experienced it. 🥹

in shoko’s cozy apartment, you and shoko were rummaging through her impressive wardrobe, trying to put together the perfect outfit for your date with satoru gojo, your lovely boyfriend. shoko’s playful mood had shifted into one of frustration as the conversation turned to satoru’s recent behavior.

“i just don’t get it,” shoko huffed, sorting through a pile of accessories with a frown. “why does he always have to be so late? It’s like he thinks time is a suggestion, not a rule.” you laughed softly, trying to lighten the mood. “you know how he is. he’s probably just caught up in something.”

shoko’s irritation didn’t fade. “caught up in something or not, it’s still rude. you deserve someone who respects your time.” before you could respond, shoko’s phone buzzed. she glanced at the screen and rolled her eyes, “speak of the devil.”

you peered over her shoulder at the message from satoru, apologizing for being late and asking if he could still meet up. shoko’s face darkened with annoyance, “seriously?” she muttered, her voice laced with irritation, “he’s been late three times in a row now. i’m about ready to give him a piece of my mind.”

you placed a comforting hand on shoko’s shoulder, “he does mean well. maybe something came up unexpectedly. let’s give him the benefit of the doubt.”

shoko sighed, her anger slightly diffused by your support, “i guess. but if this happens again, i’m going to have to set him straight. it’s not just about being punctual; it’s about showing you that he values your time.”

you nodded in agreement, understanding where shoko was coming from. “i appreciate you looking out for me. let’s focus on getting me ready for the date.”

shoko’s demeanor softened as she focused on helping you choose the right outfit. her frustration didn’t fully disappear, but she channeled it into finding the perfect look that would impress satoru and show him that you were worth his time or she might steal you from him.

as you tried on various outfits, shoko offered advice with a mix of seriousness and subtle jabs aimed at satoru. “this outfit is great—perfect for making an impression. let’s just hope satoru shows up on time to see it.”

shoko eyes focusing on your cleavage— seems like she can't stop her eyes from looking at the peak of your breast. with a small blush creeping onto her cheeks, shoko quickly looks away from your chest, pretending to be interested in the clothes hanging in front of her. “umm... i think this one might work,” she says, holding up a dress with a deep v-neck that accentuates your curves nicely.

her gaze flickers back towards your chest, unable to resist another glance despite herself. “it really brings out your... figure,” she murmurs under her breath before quickly clearing her throat and attempting to refocus on the task at hand.

blushing even more intensely now, shoko stammers out an apology while avoiding eye contact. “i-i'm sorry, i didn't mean to stare...” she busies herself with folding the rejected outfits neatly, hoping that by keeping her hands occupied she can distract herself from her wandering eyes.

but even as she tries to regain control of the situation, there's a noticeable shift in her demeanor— one that suggests she might not entirely regret looking at you like that. after all, what harm could come from admiring such beautiful curves?

“um... maybe we should try this one?” she asks tentatively, pulling out another dress that reveals even more of your cleavage than the previous one. “it's okay,” you smile at her kindly. you take off the dress without turning your back on her, now fully showing her your naked breasts. her eyes widen in shock as you suddenly strip down completely, exposing your bare breasts to her gaze. for a moment, she freezes, unsure of how to react.

then, almost against her will, her gaze drops to your nipples, which hardens slightly in the cool air of the room. a soft gasp escapes her lips as she takes in the sight of your pink, erect buds. slowly, shoko raises her eyes back up to meet yours, a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and perhaps even arousal flickering in their depths. she swallows hard, her mouth suddenly feeling dry.

“i... um... wow,” she manages to stammer out, her voice barely above a whisper. “you're so beautiful...” without thinking, she reaches out a trembling hand, hesitating only briefly before gently cupping one of your breasts. as her fingers make contact with your soft flesh, a shiver runs down shoko's spine. she squeezes your breast gently, marveling at its weight and suppleness.

“you feel amazing,” she whispers, her thumb brushing lightly over your nipple. the sensitive bud stiffens further under her touch, sending tingles throughout your body. unable to resist, shoko leans in closer, her warm breath ghosting over your skin. slowly, teasingly, she darts out her tongue and gives your nipple a quick lick.

a moan slips past your lips at the sensation, encouraging shoko to continue her exploration. she kisses along the swell of your breast before taking your nipple into her mouth, sucking and nibbling on the hardened peak. meanwhile, her other hand drifts downwards, tracing the curve of your waist and hip before settling on your ass.

shoko brings her feet to slowly move behind you until your back touching her chest— one hand still not leaving your breast before her other hand joining. she squeeze your breast lightly, fingers flicking your nipples from time to time.

shoko wraps her arms around your torso, pressing her soft body firmly against your back. her ample bosom squishes against your shoulders, making you acutely aware of her every movement. feeling bold, shoko's hands roam freely over your exposed skin, occasionally dipping lower to caress your sides or hips. her fingers continue to tease and pinch your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

murmuring softly against your ear, shoko's hot breath sends shivers down your spine, “you have such a beautiful body... i want to explore every inch of it.” her words are punctuated by gentle bites along your neck and shoulder, each nip causing your heart to race faster.

shoko's hands begin to wander lower, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt to stroke the smooth skin of your thighs. her fingers dance closer to your pussy, teasing the edges of your underwear. “mmm, you're so wet already,” she purrs, her nose nuzzling the side of your neck as she inhales your scent deeply, “i can smell how much you want me.”

with a deft motion, shoko tugs your panties aside, exposing your slick folds to her eager touch. two fingers delve between them, stroking your clit in slow, deliberate circles. “let me make you feel good,” she coos, her voice dripping with desire, “i want to hear you moan my name."

encouraged by your moans, shoko intensifies her movements, rubbing your clit harder and faster. her fingers slip easily through your slick folds, exploring every nook and cranny of your heated pussy. “ohh, you're so tight,” she groans, thrusting two fingers inside you. the stretch sends ripples of pleasure coursing through your body.

her other hand leaves your breast momentarily to join in the fun, sliding down to fondle your clit directly. the dual stimulation has you writhing against her, desperate for more, “please don't stop,” you beg breathlessly, “i need it.”

you throw your head back to her shoulder. hands gripping tightly on her arms as if your pleasure depends on it. your eyes flickering caused by the pleasure hugging your body. “oh, fuck. .” you moan into the air.

hearing your moans of pleasure, shoko becomes even more insatiable. her fingers pump in and out of you rhythmically, hitting spots that send shocks of delight surging through your entire being. her free hand snakes down to join the first, doubling the pleasure as both thumbs work relentlessly on your swollen clit. the dual assault has you bucking wildly against her, seeking friction where you can get it.

“that's it baby, let go,” she encourages, leaning down to whisper hotly in your ear, “come for me.” driven by your pleas and the intoxicating scent of your arousal, shoko redoubles her efforts. with each thrust of her fingers and rub of her thumbs, she brings you closer to the edge. with your raw moans, shoko's excitement grows exponentially. her fingers work you relentlessly, curling within you to hit that sweet spot deep inside.

“fuck yeah, just like that,” she growls, biting down gently on your earlobe, “let go for me.” the intensity of her touches drives you wild; her firm grasp on your arms is the perfect anchor amidst the storm of sensations coursing through your body.

suddenly, she adds a third finger, stretching you wider as she pumps them in and out rhythmically. simultaneously, she rubs your swollen clit mercilessly. “you're going to cum soon,” she predicts confidently, “and i want to be here when it happens.” the combination of her dirty talk and expert touches proves too much to bear. your inner walls clamp down around her invading fingers as an intense orgasm rips through you.

“yes! yes!” you cry out, shaking uncontrollably in her embrace. “don't stop!” shoko continues pumping her fingers vigorously, drawing out your climax until you collapse limply against her, spent and satisfied.

“that was incredible,” she praises, peppering your neck with soft kisses. “your pussy felt amazing squeezing my fingers like that.” gently withdrawing her hand, shoko brings her glistening digits to her mouth, sucking your juices off with a contented hum, “delicious.”

as your breathing slows, shoko tenderly strokes your flushed cheeks and neck, soothing away the remnants of your orgasmic high. her own arousal is palpable— evident in the way she presses herself against you, seeking friction where there wasn't any before.

“i want you,” she confesses quietly but urgently, “will you let me taste you?”

without waiting for a reply, shoko pushes you to the couch, gently landing your body on the soft material before dropping down onto her knees between your legs. her hands grip your hips firmly as she pulls you towards her awaiting mouth. once you're positioned to her liking, shoko leans in, dragging her tongue up the center of your slit in a long, slow lick. she savors the taste of your arousal, humming in approval at the flavor.

“mmm, even better than i imagined,” she murmurs against your sensitive flesh before diving back in for another lap, this time focusing on your throbbing clit. her tongue swirls around the bud, applying just the right amount of pressure to send sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerve endings. as she works you over, shoko's hands roam your body, kneading your breasts and tweaking your nipples.

“please let me make you cum again,” she pleads between licks, “i need to feel you lose control for me.” driven by her desperation to please you, shoko redoubles her efforts, alternating between licking and sucking on your clit while plunging two fingers deep inside your still-quivering pussy.

“oh god, you taste so fucking good,” she gasps, her own arousal leaking down her thigh as she loses herself in the act of worshipping your body, “i could do this all day.”

picking up speed, shoko fucks you with her fingers, curling them to hit that magic spot that makes your toes curl and back arch. at the same time, she increases the suction on your clit, sending you hurtling towards another explosive climax. “cum for me, baby,” she urges, her voice strained with lust, “fill my mouth with your juice.”

she doesn't seems willing to stop, still can't get enough of your taste on her tongue and heart. she looks up to you, seeing your fucked-face, eyes drop low and chest moving rigid, trying to catch your breath.

“do you ever squirt?” she ask, giving your clit a kitten lick. you didn't even get a chance to answer when you feel you leg shaking, “fuck!—” sometimes catch you breath as you arch your back and took a fistful of shoko's long brown hair. the action make the girl moan and groan on your clit.

at the sudden tangle of your fingers in her hair, shoko lets out a needy whimper, her own desire spiking at the dominant display. she gazes up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, panting softly as she continues to lap at your oversensitive clit.

“i've never seen you come undone like this,” she breathes, nuzzling her face into your heat, “it's so hot.” emboldened by your reaction, shoko begins to suckle more insistently on your clit, her tongue darting out to flick the hypersensitive bud. the sensation sends jolts of electricity straight to your core, making your already quivering thighs clench.

“squirt for me,” she urges, her voice a husky purr, “drench my face with your cum.” with each thrust of her fingers and lap of her tongue, shoko coaxes more and more moans from your lips until they merge into one long, drawn-out sigh. the sensation builds quickly, making your thighs quiver and your pussy clench tighter around her fingers.

“i think you might be close,” she whispers against your slick folds, “are you gonna give it to me?” feeling your impending orgasm approaching, shoko intensifies her efforts, doubling down on her relentless assault. her tongue darts and flicks mercilessly against your swollen clit, while her fingers pump in and out of your dripping cunt, hitting every sweet spot.

“come on, baby,” she encourages, her voice muffled by your pussy. “let go. show me how much you love this.” with a final, desperate suck, shoko draws you over the edge. a loud moan tears itself from your throat as your entire body convulses in pleasure. “s-so good, mmh-mmm, fucking goo-oh!” your pussy squeezes tight around her fingers, pulsating rhythmically as wave after wave of euphoria washes over you.

caught in the throes of ecstasy, you barely register shoko's triumphant cry as she laps up every last drop of your sweet release. eager to savor every last drop, shoko laps up your juices with gusto, not stopping until your spasms subside. she then slowly rises, standing between your spread legs with a satisfied smirk on her lips.

“that was amazing,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “you have no idea how long i've wanted to do that.” despite the mess, shoko makes no move to clean herself up. instead, she leans down and gives your thigh a gentle kiss, marking you as hers— more likely stealing you from gojo satoru.

“but i'm not done yet,” she teases, sliding her fingers out from within you and bringing them to her lips. “taste so fucking good, can't get enough of you baby,” with a sly grin, shoko brings her glistening fingers to your lips, holding them there expectantly. as you part your mouth to accept the intimate offering, she pushes them past your lips, letting you taste the essence of your own arousal mixed with her saliva.

“don't you agree it tastes divine?“ she purrs, her voice thick with satisfaction. “now open wide for me,” demanding that you taste what she had been enjoying moments ago. the tangy sweetness of your cum coats her fingertips, leaving a salty residue on your tongue.

once you comply, shoko slides her fingers into your mouth, gently probing your tongue with them. the dual stimulation sends a thrill through your body, leaving you weak and pliant beneath her. her other hand ventures downwards, tracing teasing circles along your inner thigh before dipping lower. this time, instead of plunging her fingers inside you, she focuses on your clit, rubbing it gently with the pad of her thumb. “you're so responsive,” she murmurs, watching your reactions closely. “do you want more?”

nodding your head like obedient dog, your eyes watering, “please. . . want more,” you beg her. shoko chuckle, “look at you acting like a little slut,” her lazy eyes never leaver yours. at the same times, her phone ringing and your boyfriend name pop up. gladly she accepted the call before putting her phone aside, purposely letting your boyfriend hear what a slut his girlfriend is and doesn't have any attention to let you know that your boyfriend is listening.

“you ask for it,” shoko sweetly said before pushing your tight upward, “now open your leg wider, baby,” she command and you happily follow. she land your thigh on her shoulder. lean down to spitting on your pussy and a soft moan left your glisten lips. you don't realize how your boyfriend listening on the other side.

a sound of shoko's hand slapping your overstimulated pussy echoes follow by your moan. “oh fuck!” gojo hear your whimpering voice. as soon as you utter those words, shoko's eyes light up with mischief. she grins wickedly, clearly relishing the power she holds over you in this moment.

“look at you, begging like a bitch in heat,” she taunts playfully, her fingers trailing along your slit. “i bet you'd let anyone touch this greedy little cunt, wouldn't you?” shoko punctuates her question with a sharp slap to your sensitive mound, eliciting a yelp from your lips. before you can recover, she pushes your knees up towards your chest, folding you nearly in half and exposing your dripping hole completely. her voice dripping with lust, “i'm going to feast on this pretty pussy until you scream.”

as shoko's palm connects with your sensitive flesh, another sharp slap resounds through the room, followed by your high-pitched whine. her eyes light up with sadistic glee at the thought of gojo listening in on their depraved activities. shoko dives in, burying her face between your thighs. her tongue delves deep into your folds, lapping up your arousal with reckless abandon. she sucked hard on your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your trembling body.

“oh fuck, fuck— ahh!” gojo hears your muffled cries as shoko devours you whole, “yes, just like that!” the sounds of shoko's slurping and your moans fill the room, creating an erotic symphony that gojo cannot tear himself away from. he listens intently, his cock twitching in anticipation as he imagines shoko's skilled mouth on him next.

shoko pulls back momentarily, her lips shiny with your juices. she looks up at you with a hungry gaze, her eyes dark with lust, “i want to make you cum again.”

“please— fuck, please don't stop,” you begging.

shoko smirks at your desperate pleas, knowing full well the power she wields over you at this moment. she returns to feasting on your pussy with renewed vigor, her tongue darting in and out of your clenching folds. “such a good little slut for me,” she purrs, the vibrations of her words sending tremors through your core, “i'm going to milk this cunt dry.”

with that promise, shoko redoubles her efforts, sucking harder on your throbbing clit while thrusting two fingers knuckle-deep into your slick channel. she curls them just right, stroking that magic spot inside you that makes your vision blur and toes curl. “fuck, yes! right there! faster. . .” gojo hears you scream, your voice hoarse from pleasure. “i-i— don't stop, please!” shoko continues to ravage your pussy with unrelenting intensity, her fingers pumping in and out of you as her tongue working overtime on your clit. she can feel your walls starting to flutter around her digits, signaling your impending orgasm.

“that's it, cum for me,” she growls against your soaked flesh, her breath hot against your sensitive skin. with a final, brutal suck on your clit, shoko sends you careening over the edge. your body convulses, a high-pitched wail escaping your lips as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

“oh my god, oh fuck— yes, yes. . .” gojo hears your voice rise to a fever pitch, your words barely coherent as your orgasm rips through you. shoko laps up your release greedily, milking you for every last drop. as your climax subsides, shoko slowly withdraws her fingers from your spent channel, bringing them to her lips to clean off the evidence of your pleasure. she savors the taste of your arousal, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

“you are even sweeter after i make you cum three times,” she murmurs, her eyes glinting with mischief, “so fucking good.” shoko rises to her feet, towering over you in a dominant pose. she reachdown to help you sit up, her touch gentle but firm. “now, let's get you cleaned up and presentable,” she says, her tone taking on a playful edge, “we can't have you looking like a mess when gojo gets here, now can we?”

with that, shoko grabs a washcloth and begins wiping away the remnants of your passion, her touch both soothing and intimate. she took her phone that lying flat on the floor before pressing the electronic against her ear, smiling as she looks down at you.

“satoru..” she sang happily, “i hope you don't mind me having a little fun with your girlfriend,” her voice dripping with mocking even though soft smile kissing her as she looks at you, “that's what you get for fucking pissing me off.” satoru's angry voice comes through the speaker, causing shoko to giggle softly. she runs a hand through your hair, keeping her eyes locked on yours as she continues the call.

“satoru, darling, don't be so dramatic,” she coos, her tone sugary sweet despite the mischievous glint in her eye. “i was just giving your precious girlfriend a little attention. after all, you've been neglecting her lately,” shoko leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “besides, she seemed to enjoy it quite a bit. maybe you should take some pointers from me on how to satisfy a woman properly.”

satoru growls in response, but shoko merely laughs, unconcerned by his anger. “oh, don't worry, i won't tell if you don't,” shoko ends the call, tossing her phone aside with a nonchalant flick of her wrist. she turns her attention back to you, a devilish grin spreading across her features.

“well, that was entertaining,” she muses aloud, running her fingers down your side in a teasing manner. “but enough about satoru. let's focus on making sure you're ready for him.” shoko helps you to your feet, steadying you as your legs wobble beneath you. she leads you to the bathroom, where she begins running a warm bath.

[karlachismylife]

Wrote the intro the day I started this work and decided to leave it since it reflects the shitstorm in my head quite well, eh.

Okay Idk what it is with me today (I actually do know, I'm having a bad fucking night as a consequence of my own actions but I prefer not to think about it), but I just thought about task force 141 and reader that has such a bad withdrawal after their orgasm that they actually cry and not in a fun way (cue my lack of understanding how crying in bed can ever be fun, but i'm not here to kinkshame)

CW: NSFW (so minors and ageless blogs DNI, I'll block you), but there's barely any sex, hurt/comfort, body image issues, low self-esteem, chubby/fat!reader, written with afab!reader in mind (but most parts can be read as gn), potential mental health issues (?), thoughts of selfloathing and selfharm, smoking mentioned once at the end. Very self-indulgent and I'm definitely unwell, so yeah. It's also more focused on reader's inner shitstorm than the guys in many places so idk if this even really is enjoyable...

Starts as a single piece, then splits into individual blurbs/drabbles/oneshots + some polyamory cuz I'm spoiling myself today having done nothing to deserve it, lol.

They vary in size and tone since I've been writing them through several ups and downs in my own mental state, so please don't take this as a sign of which characher/combo is my favourite. I'm greedy, I like everything.

This is unfair.

Like, you just had wonderful sex, probably came more than once in a short period of time, ears stuffed with cotton, limbs weak, head spinning... and it keeps spinning, sweet tingling on the skin turning into nasty rushes of cold, muscles too tense, but it's not a cramp.

You feel like shit, every possible hormonal and neuromediator crash downing on you, a hollow, depressing weight in your chest instead of a sweet afterglow. Sweat and cum feel disgusting on you skin, your skin feels disgusting, strangling, your whole body seems revolting, too heavy, too sluggish. A sticky, suffocating heatwave on your nape, but your chest is cold and covered in goosebumps, a feverish feeling clogging every pore. Nausea wrenches into your stomach and stops just before you can relievingly barf and get rid of this parasite inside.

You simply want to dig your nails into your own shoulders instead of his and rip the skin and meat off, free yourself from this burden (you're the burden). Each second as he stays blissfully unaware, holding you tightly with his big hands and panting into the crook of your neck, drags on like a hundred hours of pure torture - the torture of being yourself.

Throwing up feels like an appropriate reaction to how unappealing and ugly you feel.

You're spiraling. You couldn't fucking keep your own messed up emotional outburst - completely unreasonable and unprovoked, by the way - to yourself, and now it's going to be noticed. You'll ruin someone else's fun. Make it all about yourself when you've already been nothing but doted on, cared and provided for. Fucked so good that your body is still clenching around that magnificent cock deep inside you.

And you're fucking crying, like an ungrateful, egotistical brat. Never having enough, unable to provide something as simple as a hole to make someone else happy without fucking it up.

Ghost notices immediately. There's nothing that can escape this man, and definitely not his love's distress. He's not reacting immediately for a sole reason: he's frozen in fear, horrified that he made you cry. How - he's not sure, he always takes great care to stay within limits, never allows himself to push you further than you both agree on. But what if he slipped up? What if he got carried away? Did he cause pain? Did he say something hurtful in the heat of the moment?

"Fuck. Hey, hey, lovie... look at me... wha's wrong? Did I... did I hurt ya?" Good thing you're hiding your face and your red eyes so desperately that you can't see how distressed and downright terrified Simon looks, lost at the sight of your tears. When you shake your head and attempt to push him away to hide your pathetic sobbing, he somewhat calms down and brings his big calloused hands to cradle your face, gently prying your own palms away and holding your puffy cheeks tenderly. His thumbs brush your tears away as he holds you, holds you through the growing rage fit of touch aversion, through the shudders and actual wailing. At some point he moves his palm to cover your eyes, a dry, dark blinder to keep the world around you shut out, help you concentrate on his voice.

He's not talking, just humming, a familiar, deep, grumbling noise that soothes all the flashes of anger, hate and disgust in your brain. You're tired now, like you're always are after such an intense outburst, and as you go limp, he finally pulls away, only to pick you up - barely a strain, a direct spit in the face of your own insecurity - and bring you to the bathroom. A warm shower evens your distorted body temperature out, his hands running over your body and cleaning all the stickiness away bring back peace with your own skin. After a quick rinse Simon holds you, your head cradled against his chest, until you make a weak attempt to help him wash too - he lets you trace his body, that perfection you adore with all its old wounds, sores and scars, for a bit, and then finishes himelf.

Gives you fresh cotton underwear and his hige T-shirt, still holding you around your shoulders and keeping the comfortable pressure even while he changes the bedsheets, kissing your temple as you find it in yourself to help.

It's only after you settle on top of him, nice, clean comforter protecting your back against the world, head on his chest right next to his heart beating in a steady rythm, he finally breaks silence.

"Need anything else, lovie?" Just like that. No prying, no occusations, nothing that would put you on the spot. You can ask him to bring you the moon soaked in unicorn's milk, and he'll just nod, kiss your hand and start dressing up, already calling Johnny to ask where the fuck did Scots hide their last horned horse and if he happens to know where they enlist astronauts.

"Just you."

His grip on the small of your back tightens and you feel his uneven, scarred lips graze the top of your head.

"Ya've got me. Always."

Soap is running hot like a furnace, still shivering and panting after what he considers the best sex he has ever had (every time with you is). He lifts his face, buried into the crease of your neck previously, and starts peppering you with slightly sloppy, grateful kisses - your neck, your jaw, your lips, your...

When he tastes your tears and opens his unbelievably blue eyes to see your expression contorted in disgust, he panics. Pulls away immediately, hands both itching to grab you and shake a reason for that look on your face out of you and too scared to touch you in case this hatred is directed at him.

"Whit's wrong, leannan? Are ye a'right? Ye didnae lik' it? Shite, lass, Ah'm so sorry, Ah didnae mean tae-" He stops yapping only when he notices the way your lips tremble as you try to plead with him, sobbing that it's not his fault.

"'M sorry, I ruined it... I'm so sorry, sushine, I just... fuck I wish I wasn't so bloody sick in the head and ugly..." Speaking out loud only worsens your anger, directed solely at yourself, and you try to wipe your eyes furiously. As the tears keep rolling, your frustration only grows - maybe if you yanked your own hair really good or slapped the disgusting pudgy cheek you've despised ever since chidhood as everyone kept pointing out how big they were...

"Ye didnae just call the love of mah fucking life ugly." Johnny's voice is a mix of a harsh order to cut your bullshit and pure disbelief. His huge paws wrap themselves around your wrists, stopping you both from harming yourself and covering your face. You're forced to look at him, and as you do, you see his handsome face flushed with a passionate anger at the intrusive thoughts in your head, heavy frown in his thick eyebrows and the sea in his eyes dark and deep enough to drown a whole fleet. You'd be scared if it wasn't obvious how hurt he is underneath it all - like a kid whose favourite plushie just got mocked by his classmates.

"It's just a toy," adults would say, and they would be bloody wrong.

"Tis not a toy, tis mah friend."

You're his friend. His love. His heart, his soul, his everything - he whispers that frantically, kissing you over and over, hot palms running over your body, wiping the cold, the stickiness, the goosebumps away. You don't have time to think, to spiral again, you're drowning in that exact sea that's spilling from his eyes, staring at you with pure devotion - a sea of affection, admiration, love, love, love.

Johnny nuzzles up to you like an animal seeking comfort, hides into your chest, right after he kisses your sweaty double chin, breathes in deeply, lets go of your soft shoulders only to grab two handfuls of your tummy, kneading it, warming up the stale blood, squeezing your big thighs between his and getting lost in the frenzy - he honestly doesn't even remember already that he was comforting you, he's fully in the worshipping mode, leaving you no chance to dip even a single toe into the self-conscious thoughts again.

You'll just have to stay there, every single tear lapped up from your face, and accept every greedy touch and word of a man utterly in love with you. Even the messed up parts.

Gaz keeps his cool despite how distraught even the thought of your sadness makes him. First of all he moves aside to give you space, makes sure you're not hurt, asking in his usual kind - unbelievably kind, so much that you burst into tears again, feeling undeserving of such unapologetically soft treatement, tone.

"Shh, shush, gorgeous, you're not hurt, are you? It's okay, c'mere, jus-st like tha', very good, love," praises keep spilling from his tender lips as he carefully helps you sit up, simply dragging you away from the damp from sweat and everything else spot on the sheets. He ends up balancing half his bare ass off the edge of the bed, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest as he feels you already coming back from that hopeless place as soon as your body gets stuck between clean, dry and a bit cool sheet and Kyle's firm lean body of a litearal god - or a prince, at least.

His deft fingers are already at work, massaging your scalp, chasing the tension away, but the second he feels you grow uncomfortable with the repetitive movement, he stops and retreats to simply holding you in a steady, reliant embrace. You know he's good with his words, that's how he got you, swept off your feet completely and made you swoon with sweet compliments, hilarious snark and smart talk.

You just don't expect him to do it all over again in the face of your burdened mind crumbling in the paradise.

"Talk to me, angel. Let me inside that pretty head, hm?"

It takes this sweettalker just a couple of words to coax whatever that ugly, slimy knot in your throat is, out. You sob, retelling Kyle every single thought that has been stuck in that coagulated mess in your head, spill the bile that has been burning your retching throat, out in the open, for him to see the disgusting ugliness of your insides - matching your outside.

Somehow throughout your choking trade his soft, careful hand never leaves your back, rubbing circles of different radius and intensity into your skin to keep the aggression at monotonous touch at bay.

"Must've been some terrible person to overbear your spirit and plant all those lies in your mind, angel." You don't catch the meaning of his words at first, glancing at him confused and whoozy after you exploded with self-deprication. Those dark, calm eyes look at you no different than before: quiet, calm reverence and determination. A thread of spider's silk, thin as a hair, but stronger than steel, his love does not waver. Were you in the right state to actually pay attention, you would've seen it only grow.

"Well, beautiful, this isn't how I planned to start writing poetry, but since you insisted... maybe I can think of a diss track about you."

"A diss track?.." Poor you, so upset that you can't catch onto the mischievous glint in his eyes and that silly smooth sarcasm slipping into his words. You're actually half a step away from believing he would diss you, destroying that already non-existent self-esteem once and for all.

"Yup. Gotta diss-tract you from all that bullshit in your head for good. Unless you'd rather me fuck it out of you instead?"

You cannot not smile at that, even if it's a weak, timid smile. Kyle's face still lights up as if he sees an actual angel, bringing the good grace or whatever.

"There ya go. First step of the mission? Success. Permission to continue? I repeat, permission to continue?"

"You spend too much time with Simon. Permission granted..."

Price undrstands what's going on before he even hears your first sob, the tension in your body and the change in your breath telling him all he needs to know. There's enough experience in this man for the both of you, he has learnt to read people and immediately accomodate them in a way that serves a common goal so long ago that it's a secong nature already.

Your comfort is that common goal.

With a grunt, he rolls you over, planting you firmly on top of his warm, burly body. Untucking your head from his hairy chest, he holds your face and does not let you concentrate on anything but his stern, focued gaze under those bushy eyebrows - but there's still that undeniable tenderness in his eyes that's always there whenever John looks at you.

His voice sounds usual too: a calm, commanding, but not harsh tone, not a loud bark any of his subordinates would hear, yet still an order. "Look at me, darling. Tha's right, look at me, look at your John. You shut whatever's going through that troubled mind of yours out and let me take care of the rest, a'right? Can you do that for me, darling? I know you can. I'll do all the thinking for ya, eh?"

Giving control over to him feels natural at any other moment, but right now you're too deep in the trenches of the war with your own mind, hissing at you with pure disgust for being so selfish. Really, now? Had to use this sweet, caring man for your own needs, and now you're dumping all your perverted, fucked up baggage on him too?

"Nuh-huh, ya're still thinking. Told ya to cut if off. You know that's not you thinking right now, dontcha? You're a smart one, love, ya know shit like this happens. And when shit happens, who are you going to to deal with it, huh?" His deep voice rumbles in his chest, seeps into your clogged ears, fills your skull with the unyielding determination and leaves no room for your own dark thoughts.

When you hesitate to answer, John slides his rough palms over your back, tracing your soft rolls and landing onto the pudge of your hips, squeezing lightly to remind you who's in charge and what your task is. "Who is there for ya to deal with shit that happens, hm, darling? Need ya to tell me."

You want to hide, escape his demand for an answer, but he keeps you firmly in his embrace, a gaze of steel unmoving from you. It almost makes you tear up again, almost feels mean of him to put you on the spot, when all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and stay there for all eternity. But the love you have for this man overpowers even the seething hatred you bear for yourself, so you give up and murmur meekly: "You..."

"Tha's right, darling, it's your John. I'm here to deal with everything that bothers ya. Everything, ya hear? Tha's me job. Your job is to stay wit' me 'n' not overthink, eh? Especially not when it's just hormons making ya feel bad." You have nothing else left to do, other than sniffle into his chest and melt under a warm kiss he plants on your crown. "How about a cuppa, eh, darling? And something just as sweet as ya for a bite. Ya'll feel better in no time, I promise."

Ghost and Soap cancel each other's panicking out. As soon as both you and Simon slip out of the sweet afterglow, falling backwards each into your own pit of self-doubt and spiraling, Johnny starts babbling, terrified at the thought of both his beloved people feeling worse after being with him. His slurred, panting words and frantic kisses help Simon shake of his own horror - in return, he squeezes Johnny's shoulder to slow the worried mutt down and redirect his energy into helping you. Soap tenses up under the firm touch of his Lieutenant, then relaxes again, leaning into him for a moment to collect himself - they charge from each other, mere seconds of feeding off each other's energies in the middle of a time-limited mission with the highest stakes: your well-being.

They exchange glances, no words needed after the way their work together almost makes them mindreaders to each other, and turn back to you as you lay there, face painfully contorted in an attempt to keep the black foamy bile you feel rising in your throat from spilling. Slow, sticky, angry tears run down your flabby cheeks, and with each millimetre they go, your scalding wish to gouge your eyes out with your bare hands grows, just to punish yourself for being ungrateful after two perfect men spent so much of their time making you feel good.

"Dinnae cry, bonnie. Ye're a'right, ye're 'ere, wit' us. Right, LT? We're nae gonnae let ye marinate in whitevur got ye so upset." The pressure from inside your body that threatened to burst you open into a messy explosion of bile and rot, gets evened out from outside by Johnny's tight hug. He squeezes you up to the painful point, cradling against his broad chest, holding the fort while Simon leaves the bed, but not without kissing both your palms and holding them against his lips until he feels the cold leave your fingertips.

"Oi, Johnny. Help lovie get in 'ere," he calls out several minutes later out of the bathroom. Soap, who has been holding you and allowing you to sob against his heart this whole time, stroking your sweaty hair and murmuring every word of love he knows, scoops you up immediately. He pads over with you in his arms to where a warm bath is already filled thanks to Simon, and when you react to the temperature with another wave of tears, they both reach out to the tap simultaneously.

"Is tha' a'right, bonnie?" You make a strangled noise as Johnny finally sets you down into much cooler now water. It soothes you, makes you feel instantly cleaner, smaller, lighter. Breathing gets easier, that swollen blob of anger and disgust shrinking down in your chest and allowing you to inhale bathroom's damp air normally. You open your mouth to apologize and get cut off before even a single syllable leaves your mouth.

"Don't," Simon's voice sounds gruff, but even his murky reflection in the rippling water looks genuinely soft towards you. They're both perched on the cold bath edge, naked and seemingly not caring about that at all. "Jus' let us take care of you, yeah, love? Tha's what we're here for. Tha's what we want to do."

"Well, actually, there's one more thing," Johnny interjects, causing you to finally lift your sullenly lowered head and look at him, Simon's big palm using this moment of distraction to press onto your back in silent support. "Can Ah make ye a foam beard? Please, bonnie? Ye jus' 'ave the prettiest sweetest cheeks fur tha'."

Soap and Gaz feel like their world is sinking into a whirlwind of stormy clouds, the kind that sucks all light out of sky in mere seconds and can't be cut through even by blinding flashes of lightnings. There is no sun in their skies if you're not smiling, and the sound of your muffled sniffles hits their eardrums harder than thunder or explosions. The frowns distorting their faces only make you more self-aware of the fact that you ruined things between you - the initial hysteria starts rapidly flowing into complete shutdown, threatening to turn you into an emotionless shell for unknown period of time, when several warm, big hands intervene and cut the depressing trajectory down at its root.

"Damn, we did a shit job fucking all your thoughts out, didn't we, angel?" Kyle's joke sounds soft, teasing, but empathetic, ready to be met with sobs or silence instead of the usual laughter that flashes your teeth at him and makes his own smile grow brighter.

"Aye, we did. If anythin', Ah think we put more thoughts intae 'ere instead," Johnny scratches his head dramatically, and then you feel his big, hot palm on you sweaty forehead, as if he's trying to get a feel of the thoughts inside your skull. It doesn't linger there for long, though, rough fidgety fingers digging into your hair and tugging at the roots. This makes the hot-and-cold collar around your nape unclench, uncouth and chaotic massage confidently pulling every ounce of anger out of your brain. From time to time his calloused palm slips lower, squeezing your scruff, wiping the cool sweat away and taking control over what seems to have escaped your own.

"How does it feel to be the first person to get knocked up mentally, love? Having any cravings yet? Feeling your brainworms kick yet?" Dry cotton comforter suddenly covers your exposed to be looked at with disdain body, and before you can choke out a protest and something about you being sweaty and sticky and disgusting, Kyle grips your shoulders firmly, rubbing up and down as he slowly helps you sit up a bit.

"Ye eejit, how dae ye think thay can kick? They're brainworms, thay dinnae hae any legs!" The sheer passion in Johnny's heated counterarguement does the impossible - makes the corners of your deeply upset mouth twitch against all the weight the sadness put on them. Your knights in shining (from all the sweat your lovemaking covered them with) armor of their own warm skin seem to not notice the slightest twitch of your lips - there's no excessive attention drawn to you, none of them puts you on the spot. Their touch isn't going anywhere, but it almost seems mindless, simply their need to have something soft and pleasant to squeeze in their restless hands. "'N' wasnae Mary th' first lassie tae get up th' duff through th' heid?"

"That wasn't mentally, that was spiritually, read your books, Soap," scoffs Kyle, as if it was the most obvious thing, and ducks just in time to avoid a pillow thrown at him with sniper's precision.

"Oi, ye sayin' Ah cannae read now?!" Whatever snarky retort Kyle was ready to shoot, gets wiped out as Johnny tackles him, barely avoiding pushing all three of you off the bed. Their scuffle consists of chokeholds and sneaky kisses, legs getting caught in the sheets and somehow tangling you into the mess too.

Until you laugh, finding yourself squished into Johnny's hairy chest with Kyle in a gently headlock somewhere under your arm.

"Hey, hey, careful, mate, our lovie's expecting, we can't just throw 'em around!" However obvious that deflection is, Johnny reacts as if you were actually with child and grabs your face, boring his eyes into yours, slowly widening his two blue lochs in pretend horror.

"Och naw! Ah think we lost 'em, Ah cannae see nothin' there now!" Flushed after the playfight, you avert your gaze, still a trace of self-consciousness about yout outburst somewhere deep inside, but none of the "brainworms" that clogged your insides in sight indeed. Johnny's little drama earns him a soft nip on his thumb from you, and he smiles at you, clearly satisfied with the effect their little scheme had.

"Aw, damn, and here I was, ready to hear the pitter-patter of 'em little feet," Kyle's warm lips somehow find their way to kiss your temple, eliciting another shy giggle.

A pillow crashes onto both of you with the force of a small bombshell.

"THAY DINNAE HAE FEET, GARRICK, THAY'RE WORMS!"

Price and Gaz fall into their usual ways seamlessly, responsibilities and tasks split between the two seemingly without even any verbal communication. Clearing out the space around you with the same quick efficiency they clear out enemies with, they prop you up on some pillows, assess your condition in case they got carried away and hurt you, and finally settle on both sides of you, warm hands on your knees squeezing softly.

"Are ya gonna talk to us now, lovie? Or will we have to use interrogation tactics to learn what made our love so upset?" John's voice bears no trace of threat, but it still makes you cower and try to take up even less space that your curled up body already has, which earns you a sigh from the Captain. "I see. Take over from here, Sergeant. I expect results once I return."

The matress sighs with relief a Price's weight leaves it, bare feet padding a few steps before he reaches his slippers and leaves the room. The pit that the sound of your bedroom's door closing opens in your chest is crushing your ribcage with the iron fist of vacum. You can't blame John for not willing to deal with your bullshit, but the hearbreak only reenforces the choking smog in your head that's rasping in a hundred different voices that the only thing you deserve is pure repulsion.

Kyle's soft thumb pads wipe the tears teetering on the arrows of your lashes, and in a smooth movement you find your face cupped and pulled close to his shoulder. His smooth skin sticks to your wet cheek and you find yourself crying like a little kid, the unbearable pain of the revolting dark knots inside somehow replaced with surprisingly more bearable grief over what you consider an ending reltionship. Perhaps John leaving our bed finally shattered your heart, letting the ungodly pressure out and allowing it to beat - and bleed - again.

"We'd really like if ya talked to us, angel. Don't think Captain can stand there bare-ass naked much longer, might catch rheumatism at this point, he's not getting younger, you know..."

"I hope you know I can hear you perfecrly clear, Garrick." You stop mid-sniffle, eyes snapping to the closed door. You can finally see the shadow of a man standing just outside, and the air slowly feels with some flavour you can't distinguish through all the snot yet, but seem to like a lot...

"Good, so your hearing's still intact, sir. You're in good shape," Kyle's cheeky remark must've broken John's famous patience and restraint, because the bedroom door finally opens, and you see him there. With a tray with a whole bunch of tea mugs and little plates of treats balanced in his hands.

"Still not talking? Well, we'll try another method then, lovie. Sandwich for your thoughts, eh?"

His cheeks are round with a kind smile, confusing your tortured mind even further - Kyle uses your stupor to fetch John's big, slightly scratchy bathrobe, successfully wrapping you into a cocoon of grounding stimulation all over your feverish skin. With a huff and a grumble about staying butt-naked a bit longer, John puts a pleasantly warm mug into your hands and looks at you, arms crossed and tucked into his armpits now that he got rid of the tray.

Expecting an answer.

"'M sorry..." seems appropriate right up to the moment when a little finger-sandwich gets shoved into your mouth. The bread is soft, nice, salty ham and crunchy cucumber filling your senses and cracking a bit fat line of light right in the middle of the dense cloud in your thoughts.

"Try again, love," Kyle gives a hint and wipes a crumb off your lips, licking it off his thumb. "We don't need an apology, we just want to know what's troubling ya. John, tell 'em."

"Already did," grumbles Price in response and clears his throat, sitting back down on the creaking bed. "Food's working though. Eat up, darling, get your energy. Then we'll talk properly, a'right?"

You chew slowly, still stiff in your own body, but regaining control gradually. Yes. Then you'll talk.

Ghost and Price exchange a single glance over your from, choking on the self-destructive rage, and John shakes his head so slightly that one can barely notice, but it's clear enough to stop Simon from tumbling down the traumatic spiral staircase of his own. Grounded by his Captain's presence, he shrugs his broad shoulders, shaking off the creeping up feeling of his own monsterous nature, and rolls onto his back, pulling you out of the miserable wet ball of wrinkled sheets and onto his firm lap, sideways, his big palms resting comfortably around your hips; he's not squeezing or digging his fingers into the fat like he usually does, but it's a secure hug you can't really escape.

Exposed held too far away from his chest you could hide on, you shrink, rising your shoulders protectively and trying to cover up your soft belly, spilling over your pelvis in a shapless manner - that's when John's arms come from behind, catching yours and instead of pulling away forcefully, simply repeating your own safety cocoon, hiding your body from your distorted sight and keeping you warm.

"You're not thinking straight right now, darling," every phrase he murmurs gently, calmly, convincingly into your ear is accompanied by a little kiss, beard tickling and burning your already irritated by tears skin. "So good for us, so kind. Can you spare some of that kindness for yourself?"

Even though it doesn't sound like a rhethorical question, Simon cups your cheek and shushes you tenderly, pressing his thumb to your lips, allowing John to continue with his little speech aimed to dispel the storm coagulated in your chest.

"'Cos if not, it's a'right, love. We know it's hard, and ya're doing good already. Ya 'ave us, eh? To love ya, to cherish ya. No need to overthink, jus' let us hold you, a'right?"

He finally pushes you onto Simon's chest, his big heart stuttering with worry as you seek shelter among his many scars that paint a horrifying picture once you put all the fragments together.

"How'd you do that, sir?" Simon's voice sounds vulnerable - so much that it strikes through all the layers of your egocentric self-hatred and shifts you almost immeditely into a completely different mindset; one where you throw your whole self into loving your scarred and battle-worn men in such abundance that it's ought to compensate for all the unfairness they've gone through.

There's no need for it now, you realize a little too late: Price is there, keeping Simon away from the darkness. They're fine. Better than ever. It's a distraction, a trick, a play to make your bleeding heart stop the internal self-destruction and turn to healing.

A sly little switch you're not sure they were planning to flip, but it worked.

"Hm?" As if emerging from the depths of his thoughts in response to Simon's question, John caresses your cheek as gently as his rough thumb can and then smiles, maybe catching onto the change in your mood or simply remembering all the times he pulled Ghost out of the same gloom and darkness. "Jus' taking care of me own, Simon. Tha's what a Captain does, no? Now, love, how about a shower? I reckon we can squeeze in all together and papmer you really good, what do ya say, eh?"

Ghost and Gaz manage to keep their cool. Kyle's confident and gentle presence serves to reassure any doubts Simon has about hurting you, he shoots a single glance at his sergeant and recieves support immediately. Two pair of hands cradle you with all the tenderness two soldiers are capable of, which is always enough to drown you in fully. It's a tight hug, a hot mess of limbs, too much skin on skin contact that makes your brain flare with undirected rage, but as seconds trickle by and you're still trapped between two firm bodies, you have no choice but to slip into the exhaustion phase of your outburst.

It's not pleasant, nor could you say you feel calm; if anything, you just petrify, a permanent frown on your face and blindly staring forward glass eyes. You're tired, you'd still rather be anywhere but inside your own body that still feels like a useless deformed bag that should be gutted and emptied to lighten up, inner layer of your skin scrubbed with a knife to peel off the suffocating thickness of fat trapping this heated rage inside...

Instead, you get a kiss.

It's Kyle, soft, full lips touching your wet with tears cheekbone, then again - your temple, your cheek, the overheated spot behind your ear. They're light, soft kisses, too gentle to be playful or arousing. Calming. They do not demand anything in return - he allows you to stay in your inner world where you feel secure, even pauses to kiss Simon the same way right in front of your eyes. A silent demonstrationg of the love and reverence these pecks carry, Simon's hooded eyes fluttering shut as if his own compartmentalized demons get exorcised by Garrick's touch.

"Wanna talk about it, angel?" Kyle's voice rumbles at a nice, grounding, smooth timbre, and your still-too-slow mind struggles to grasp how is it possible that he's talking and you're still getting kisses - until you recognize the uneven texture of Simon's scarred lips, trailing along your skin tenderly. "Whenever you're ready, love. But we would love to know what's going through your head right now."

It feels strange to say it out lound when you're held and caressed like this, but their kisses and solid embrace cleared your windpipe enough of the mental gunk for you to be able to speak.

"I hate myself... 'M disgusting, and-" A displeased grumbling kiss from Simon interrupts you, and even Kyle pushes his huge shoulder to reprimand his own Lieutenant for the interference. Kisses his temple immediately to make amends, though, and turns back to you, prompting you to continue.

"Wot? Don't like when someone talks shit 'bout mine," grumbles Simon like a dog that got flicked on the nose for growling at welcome guests.

"Let 'em talk, mate, it's good to get things off your chest." At least their little bickering coaxes a tiniest hint of smile out of you, and Simon, noticing it immediately, stares back at Kyle with such pride, as if he just did something great.

The thing is, in the way his arms squeeze you a tad bit tighter, pressing into his firm body, you can read that for him - your smile is the greatest achievement.

"Don't tell me you prefer his silent treatement, angel, I'm trying to be the attentive boyfriend here, and for what?" Your smile grows a little braver. A little brighter. You would've kept talking if you could remember what it was that hurt so fucking much in your chest.

"Shower. Then a cuppa. Then we have the talk." No one dares to argue with the Ghost and his gruff commands. You feel the sheet sticking to your skin as he lifts you up, Kyle already sneaking off to prepare towels and clean clothes for you three. He'll stay with you and help you wash the remaints of the mind attack off. Simon will make fresh tea.

You're going to be alright.

Price and Soap take quite an intense approach the second they notice your distress. You feel Johnny's weight disappear from you after the first strangled sob that escapes you, and if you could open your eyes glued shut by the hot, messy tears, you would see John practically dragging the poor Sergeant away by his scruff. It's easy to suspect that Johnny couldn't contain himself and went too hard, too rough on you - with no malice, but pure passion that's spilling from his big, hot heart every time he gets to be close to you.

But it's not Johnny's fault, neither is it John's. It's all you, a useless, pathetic thing, good for nothing and holding two gorgeous men to yourself like a greedy glutton hoarding delicious food.

"Ah'm sorry, bonnie- ow, Ah got it, Ah got it, Ah'm not touchin'!"

"Did we hurt ya, love? Was Johnny boy too rough wit' ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel big warm hands gliding over your skin, quick assessment of your state in search of potential harm caused. This immediate care only makes you feel worse, every cold sweaty patch of your disgusting hide shivering and twitching under Captain's careful touch. You struggle against your own spiraling anger, fight it with what's left of your exhausted resilience - and lose, curling up with another burst of tears, shoving the loving hands away and dusting the lingering warmth off your body.

After all, you do not deserve to be treated with such kindness after the fit you just threw.

"No, no, no, it's not his fault, it's not Johnny's... it's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault, I ruin everything, I'm- I'm disgusting!"

The silence that follows you blowing up on them is heavy. Just as bad as the knot in your chest.

"Johnny."

When you open your eyes to find a way out, run away, scatter and hide in the furthest corner of the apartment until everyone who tried caring for you leaves again, you're met with Johnny's bright blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

It's a shocking sight, pushing you out of the muffled misery into an alerted worry - his face is red with unexplainable pained anger, fists clenched as John holds him tightly by hunched shouders, seemingly trying to prevent a violent outburst.

"Ah wanntae ken names of th' bastarts who made ye feelin' tis wa'. Ah swear Ah will mak' thaim fuckin' choke oan thair ain tongues, Ah'll rip thair spines oot 'n' shove thaim up thair-" - "Enough, Johnny. Stand down. This won't solve anythin'. Ya calm down and help our lovie feel better, a'right?"

Still a bit shells-hocked, you stir on the bedsheets and push yourself up to sit upright, stretching your arms hesitantly to the men in a weak attempt to remedy whatever shitstorm you caused in their minds.

"Don't get mad, please," you whisper sheepishly, and the shy sound of your still choked voice seems to wash Johnny's explosive anger away better than the firm grip of his handler's (Price's) hands. With a look of a beaten dog, Johnny huffs loudly, cuddlng up to you and hiding his face in your lap. His heavy jaw sinks in the plush of your thighs, accomodated nicely with the softness of your body.

"'M nae mad at ye, leannan. Jus' dinnae say tha' again, a'right, bonnie? If ye need me tae prove ye-"

"No..." your hand finds it place in his damp mohawk and brushes through, while you glance at John. His eyes are shimmering with love and love only as he looks at you and Johnny, and you feel a wave of shyness - the good, giddy, warm kind - replacing the paralyzing shame. "I'm fine already. With you."

"Maybe we should 'ave a little chat 'bout it, love," John's hand meets yours on the sad mutt's head in your lap, intertwinig fingers with you through Johnny's soft hair. "When ya feel better. Jus' so we know what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Yeah. A bit later. Thank you."

All four of your men get frozen witnessing your reaction, struck with a horrifying sense of helplessness - it feels like the biggest failure among many unsuccessful missions, operations where lives were lost and enemies missed, to have you curling up and crying in misery between all the love they've been pouring onto you just mere seconds ago. As if everything they touch is bound to go up in flames, drown in blood and rot, be it on the outside or from the inside.

They're lost, and as always, they turn to the Captain, giving themselves up for him to direct, trusting that he knows better what use they can be of.

And, frankly, he does.

They're barely talking, but the commotion around you is decipherable even through the red mind fog and closed eyes - it honestly only makes you feel worse, unsafe, exposed, despite that simply being Soap, sent off to fill a bath ("Ye want it hot or a tad bit cool, bonnie?" - Silence. Your nails dig into your scalp, the soud of someone simply breathing, even more so talking to you, sending you into a new fit of rage. "Make it warm, Johnny, we'll adjust later."), and Simon, leaving for tea duty - silently, your favourite way to have it attentively observed in the first two weeks you've been together and memorized ever since.

It's Kyle whose voice, murmuring into your ear sweet, reassuring nothings as he keeps you caged in a tight embrace, your back pressed against his warm chest, forces you out of the highly irritable state. You have no choice between his short, chaste kisses on the crown of your overloaded head, and John's calloused hands massaging your calves, soft flesh dipping under the firm pressure.

"Ya jus' focus on fighting tha' storm off, a'right, darling? We'll take care of th' rest. It happens, we know it does, 's not your fault. Jus' a funny lil' thing your mind does, eh? Yeah, love, we know wha' it's like when your mind does funny things. Don't we, Kyle?"

"That we do." Maybe it's just your own depressive state rubbing off on them or distorting your perception, but Kyle's voice sounds almost solemn. You would turn to look into the smoky quartz of his eyes, but either he holds you too tight, or you have barely any strength left in your upset body - you simply can't.

Maybe it's alright. Maybe tonight they don't need you ripping your heart out to tend to their restless minds, and you can just allow them to take care of you.

Allow Kyle to carry you to the bathroom.

Allow John to stay there and help you wash yourself with a nice, scrubby loofah.

Allow Johnny to bring in his huge, baggy loungewear that doesn't hug your curves too snugly and allows you to simply forget what you were so angry about for a while.

Allow Simon to serve you perfect temperature tea in your favourite mug and keep you quiet company on the balcony, night air cooling your wet and clean now skin and hair further and blowing all thoughts out of your troubled head away.

As you share a cigarette with rich clove aftertaste, breathing ironically becomes easier. Behind your back the bedsheets are being changed, proper meal is being cooked, a good movie you won't be upset falling asleep to is being chosen.

"Simon." - "Hm." - "You sure you're okay with me being like that?" - "Standin' in the wind with your hair wet, tryin' to catch a cold?"

You grunt, not appreciating him taking the piss while you're tryig to be vulnerable, but allow him to pull the hood of Johnny's hoodie onto your head.

"No. I mean, fucked up in the head?"

You don't actually know what answer you expect. With an unreadable expression, Simon turns his head, looking through the glass door at the men crowded in the living room and waiting for you, and then stares back at you with a smirk, a permanent scowl carved into it by someone's cruel hand.

"Nah. Tha's how I like 'em."

He throws the cigarette butt away and chuckles, cupping the back of your head and pulling you inside, into the warmth of home.

"Oi, bonnie! C'mere, As saved ye a spot." There is no spot as you look at the two-story cuddle pile on the sofa and the blanket nest in front of it, unless of course... ah, yes, Johnny's patting his lap. "Ah promise Ah'll behave. Mostly."

And as his warmth envelops you through a big hug, his hands clenched humbly on your belly and behaving indeed, you feel stupidly happy.

Because you're enjoying touch again.

[everlastingauthor]

When You Cook With Them

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒ 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Please do not re-upload my work or feed it to AI, if you wish to translate my work and upload please get my permission first and credit me that's all I ask for, please remember to stay hydrated, take your vitamins and medicine, and remember you are loved. I'm basing this based on headcanons from the fandom, like Mihawk being Romania or Crocodile being Italian.

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You are cooking or baking with them! 🍳🍥🍝🍴

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧: Yes

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Romance, established relationship, Cooking, Baking, Fun In The Kitchen, Different dishes, & Cute Moments

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Dracule Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Shanks, & Smoker

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: Click Here | ﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒ 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬: Click Here

Usually, Mihawk cooked dinner by himself while Zoro trained, Perona made adorable dolls, and you did whatever you could to keep yourself busy. But this time, you wanted to cook with Mihawk to assist your stoic swordsman in the kitchen; Mihawk agreed to let you help him in the kitchen as long as you followed his directions and the recipe. " Those who can't follow simple instructions, especially the recipe, don't deserve to have a tasteful meal. " He would say. Mihawk washed his hands with you and helped secure your apron he told you that you both would be making. Sarmale (Cabbage Rolls), Mititei, & Balmos. Mihawk grabbed a book from the kitchen shelf where he kept all his recipe books. He had all kinds of books from The Secret Of Spices, The All Blue Cooking, Southern Style, & Ancient Desserts. Mihawk and you began cooking. He would watch you from time to time and assist you if he saw that you were about to mess something up.

He wouldn't yell or berate you but he would have a firm and gentle tone. " Be careful, dear, or else the cabbage will be too spicy, and we wouldn't want you coughing up a storm. I'm sure Zoro will appreciate the spice of the meal, but my only concern is making sure you enjoy what we cook together. " Mihawk would stand behind you and help you chop a few things gently guiding your hand with the knife. Before returning to his own task. Seeing Mihawk cook was like watching a talented artist or someone focused on studying. Mihawk was no stranger to the kitchen, and he was showing you just that, but you could see he was also enjoying himself that cooking was kinda like a hobby to him, a break away from the blade.

When you and Mihawk finished, you watched as he placed the food on the plate making sure that the dish looked presentable. Seeing how Mihawk planted the food made you think that if he had never become a warlord, he could have opened up his own restaurant. Mihawk had you go get Zoro and Perona to tell them that dinner was ready. So you left off to go call the swordsman and the ghost princess. All four of you were seated at the table eating; Mihawk sipped on his wine, watching as Zoro filled his mouth, probably hungry from training. Perona, like always, tried eating with grace. After dinner, you and Mihawk did the dishes together, he washed, and you dried. " I had fun cooking with you today, let's do this some more. " Mihawk said, without looking at you. You smiled and nodded your head as you and he continued to do the dishes in silence.

" Burrata Pizza Sandwiches? " You looked at Crocodile. The both of you were standing in the kitchen as you yawned, rubbing your eyes. " Yeah, you'll love and it will fill us both up. " Crocodile walked around grabbing what you guys needed to make burrata pizza sandwiches with. It was nighttime, and you woke up hungry; you noticed Crocodile wasn't in bed, so you went searching for him. He was in his office reading important documents when he saw you and asked what you were doing up. You told him you were hungry, which made his stomach growl; he had missed dinner, so here you two were now, and he was going to teach you how to make these delicious sandwiches. " I used to get these when I went on walks, I also know a family recipe. " Crocodile had you chop a few things while he did his own task. Crocodile wasn't much of a cook. And neither were you.

Crocodile usually had the cooks prepare breakfast, lunch, and dinner for him. But the cooks always left after dinner time and Crocodile shooed away the cook that tried to bring him dinner earlier. You, on the other hand, ate dinner, but sometimes, once in a while, you crave a midnight snack. Crocodile talked about Italian cuisine with you, telling you that it was something that should be cooked with love and respect and that you should take time to appreciate Italian cuisine. You listened to his words and continued to help him.

" Hey! Don't add too much black pepper! " Crocodile yelled, rushing over. You were already sneezing. Crocodile rolled his eyes and pulled you away from the food while he finished up the last of the work. Once the sandwiches were done you and Crocodile sat on the couch eating them as his pug named Gator sat in between the two of you. " How is it? " Crocodile asked. " Delicious! " You told him while taking more bites. Crocodile smirked as he wrapped his arm around you and rubbed your arm. " That's what I like to hear, maybe we should do this more often if we both happen to be awake during the middle of the night. " Crocodile took a bite of his sandwich. And this indeed did happen more often.

When you told Buggy you were hungry and craving a burger you sealed your fate. " One Buggy Belly Busting Burger coming up! " Buggy told you as he grabbed your hand and led you into the kitchen. " But I'll need a special helper. " Buggy fitted an apron on you. He ran around gathering ingredients like beef, tomatoes, onions, lettuce, tomatoes, different types of cheese, pickles, potatoes, and hot peppers. All these things for the burgers made you aware of why Buggy called them belly-busting; Buggy hummed a tune as you both chopped up tomatoes, onions, and lettuce. Buggy started cooking the meat while you went on to cut the potatoes for fries. " Make sure not to make them too small or too big. " Buggy said. As he went to see if the buns were soft and not hard, Buggy grabbed the fluffy buns and gave a light press. " These buns are soft, kinda like yours~ " Buggy winked at you.

You blushed and quickly turned around as Buggy roared with laughter. And kissed your cheek, his hands resting on your shoulders. " I like seeing you all flustered sweet cheeks~ " Buggy kissed you on the cheek twice. Buggy pulled away as he got the oil ready for the fries, he wanted you to put the fries in because he was scared of the oil popping him. Despite being a pirate captain, sometimes your boyfriend was a scaredy cat.

When the fries were done and seasoned, Buggy began assembling the burgers and putting the fries on the plate. Once he finished, you two sat down to eat. You knew the burger was going to be big, but you didn't expect them to be this big; also, when the hell did he add bacon to the burger!? You ended up using a knife and fork to cut it in half while Buggy wolfed down his burger. After the two of you finished, Buggy lay in your lap while rubbing his stomach. " If I fall into a food coma, kiss me awake. " Buggy closed his eyes. You rolled your eyes and eventually fell asleep, too, due to the large meal.

You had a sweet tooth and wanted to try something sweet, so you asked Shanks if he wanted to bake something with; he gave a wide grin as he was watching the sunset and turned around, to look at his beautiful partner. " Baking? Someone's got a sweet tooth, sure let's go bake something delicious. " Shanks stood up, walking with you to the kitchen. He decided that you two would be making Irish Cream Poke Cake. Shanks talked to you about the ingredients and how he used to eat for breakfast when he needed something sweet and energetic for breakfast. You and Shanks cleaned yourself up and got to cooking, both of you even deciding to make enough for the crew to enjoy. You weren't much of a baker, but Shanks seemed to know his way around the kitchen.

He let you help him make two cups of heavy cream and put three cups of instant espresso powder into a bowl. " These will cure your sweet tooth, maybe even keep you up. " Shanks grinned pulling you close as he kissed you. Before pulling away, it was beautiful to watch Shanks bake to see how he looked peaceful and focused, wanting the sweet treats to be perfect.

Everything was close to being prepared, Shanks had you pour the pudding mixture on top of the cake. " Make sure each hole gets filled~ " Shanks rested his chin on your shoulder giving a lewd grin. You rolled your eyes and finished. After a bit, the delicious treats were finished, and you and Shanks brought the large tray out to share with the crew, who also enjoyed it as well thanking both you and Shanks. " Sweet and delicious, just like you~ " Shanks winked at you, holding you close as you continued to eat the Irish poke cake while cuddling your boyfriend.

You and Smoker were on vacation; it had been a while since the two of you had taken a vacation. But the only thing is that you both didn't know what to do. You tried reading while Smoker worked out. He even asked you to sit on his weight while you read; later on, the two of you did some cleaning around your shared home and took a nap together, afterward, you both went on a walk to do some shopping. " Do you want Angel Food Cake, when we get back to the house? " Smoker asked while getting some fresh strawberries. " We could make it together. " Smoker said while paying for it. Smoker purchased a couple of other ingredients, but it wasn't much since you both had a Marines discount when it came to buying food, clothes, or even daily essentials. You and Smoker made your way back to the house to get started on baking.

The smoker made the white sugar while you prepared the egg whites; thankfully, he wasn't smoking in the kitchen; for once, he set aside his cigarettes and focused on preparing angel food cake with you; this was better than sitting around bored. " Don't drink that you idiot! " Smoker yelled seeing you trying to sip on the vanilla extract. Smoker ended up keeping the vanilla and almond extract with him, he had you sift together the flour, sugar, and salt five times.

Smoker already had the oven set at 325 degrees and you both let the yummy dessert bake until it was golden brown and let it cool. Smoker carefully garnished it with strawberries, you haven't seen him this focused unless he was hunting down a criminal pirate. After it was finished you and Smoker sat down eating the delicious treat. " Let's make Texas sheet cake next time. " Smoker said, before taking another bite. You smiled and agreed, it was fun cooking with your partner.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ One Piece Taglist: @asura0nepiece @anonymousewrites

Comment to be added to the taglist for every character or even certain characters! 🌹🕊

[a-998h]

Could you make one of Yandere!Red Velvet and Male Dragon!Reader? Reader being very calm and just accepting Red's way

This is a fun idea to work with.

You're a very chill dragon, like you don't bother cookies as you only want to collect treasure for your hoard. This was your way of life for centuries. You had watched as cookies gave treasures to the ones they cared about and while at first confusing you grew to want someone to gift some of your treasure to.

Red Velvet meets you after Chiffon had run off into the forest. His cake hound compainion had found you and while you're a dragon you can't deny the cuteness of cake hounds. Red Velvet was watching from the treeline, cake hand gripping the handle of his knife sword and watching for any signs of you attempting to hurt Chiffon.

Instead he watches as you hold Chiffon in your arms, hand him a treat you had made, and continue on your treasure hunt while carrying Chiffon. This was slightly confusing as he had seem cookies be scared of cake hounds, calling them monsters but now he's just watched a random cookie feed Chiffon and treat the loving cake hound with kindness.

"Hey! You!" He yells.

You turn around as Red Velvet runs toward you. You ask what he wants and he says that the cake hound you're holding is his.

"Oh, I didn't know. Here," You say as you hand over Chiffon.

Red Velvet, know getting a good look at you, sees that you're a dragon in cookie form. You were waiting for him to react violently but instead you just watch him thank you and walk away with Chiffon in his arms.

Is an overprotective, delusional, kuudere yandere of a man

He would keep thinking about you, wondering why you stuck in his mind

Next time he sees you is when you're being chased out by a village of cookies, armed with weapons and torches

This allows him to do the mental gymnatistics of "he's being chased out for being different -> he's like the cakes -> I am helping making a better world for cakes -> I protect the cakes -> because he is like the cakes I need to protect him too -> protecting him means I love him -> if i am his protector that means he will love me back -> him loving me back means we can live happliy ever after with the cake hounds"

His loyal cake hounds now spy on you for him in return for more love and treats

Thinks you're like his cake hounds in a "the cake hounds/reader are cute beings who deserve the world but can't fight for themselves" way

He is full prepared for you to fight him on this front but you don't

The day he shows up ready to kidnap you to his place, he is surprised that you just pack your treasures into bags and go with him

Your habits of giving him small treasures is something he likes but he doesn't like you being out of sight from him

When he's off doing his tasks you are guarded by a small army of cake hounds

Enjoys your willingness after a long while

Doesn't know that this kind of behavior is normal for you to get from other dragons

Only lets you treasure hunt when he's with you

Gets you your own cake hound friend

Your calmness about the situation fuels his delusions

Overall is very happy you accept his behavior and will be a loving yandere so long as you don't try to leave him

[whydon-twego]

"You have Arthur's complete trust" Merlin laughs when Gwen tells him this and asks her what she is talking about.

Gwen looks at him strangely, as if she thinks Merlin is joking but then she sees Merlin's expression and can't hide her surprise.

"Merlin, you do realise that you're the person Arthur trusts most in the world, right?" Merlin chuckles again but this time it is with a sense of guilt and annoyance that won't let him alone.

"I don't think so."

Gwen, who until then had been mending one of Morgana's dresses, puts down her needle and thread and looks at him seriously, Merlin doesn't think he has ever seen her like that.

"You two fooling around and teasing each other is fine, Merlin, but you can't really think Arthur doesn't trust you. You can come and go from his rooms as you please, whether he's there or not, you have the keys to his room, and you're the only person who has them, and the whole castle knows perfectly well that Arthur has priceless things in there. I know you shave him every morning and believe me, that is not the job of a manservant,"

"But he is the one who-"



"That's right, Merlin. He's the one who."

Gwen seems genuinely annoyed that Merlin doesn't grasp how much Arthur trusts him, and Merlin finds himself having a chasm in his chest because he doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think about Arthur's trust in him, he doesn't want to think that Arthur thinks Merlin is a person worthy of his trust, because Arthur is the most noble and sincere person in the world and Merlin is hiding most of his life from him.

"I have to go, Gwen."

Merlin leaves everything where he is and does not even turn around when Gwen (probably guilt-ridden from that lecture) calls him back.

Merlin hides in the first crevice he finds and struggles to breathe.

He struggles to breathe because Arthur trusts him and he knows it, but he tries to think about it as little as possible. He tries to live life day by day and not think about tomorrow and how long it is that he is lying to him. He tries not to have a heart attack every time Arthur looks at him and smiles or pats him on the back saying "good job!" or when Arthur is the first to worry about him when they are attacked by bandits.

Merlin tries not to think about Arthur's scream when they were separated on a mission and Merlin had to drop rocks to protect him. He tries not to think about the time he had to steal the keys from Arthur's room and Arthur, finding him in the room early in the morning, didn't bat an eyelid at the excuse of the woodworms because Arthur trusts him and simply told him to leave.

Merlin is a horrible person who does not deserve this kind of trust, not when he is lying to the most important person in his life.

"Breathe."

Merlin, caught in the middle of a panic attack he didn't even realise was happening, jerks at the voice and Arthur's hand resting on his shoulder.

"Breathe, Merlin, come on, in and out, calmly, follow me" Arthur takes deep breaths and Merlin tries to keep up with him but Arthur's mere presence makes the situation worse and Merlin finds himself with tears in his eyes as Arthur looks at him more and more worried.

"Gwen!" shouts Arthur then and Gwen is at his side within moments "Go get Gaius, I can't move Merlin from here in this condition."

Gwen looks at Merlin and she's so worried and feeling so guilty that Merlin wants to say something to her but is already so much if he can breathe.

Gwen leaves and Arthur and Merlin are alone and Arthur strokes his back trying to calm him down and Merlin bursts into tears. 
Arthur lays a hand on his shoulder and settles him on top of him, not holding him too tightly for fear of Merlin's breathing getting worse.

"I was looking all over for you, you know? I thought you'd be at the tavern or having fun somewhere and instead, I find you here doing the doppol-head."

Merlin laughs between sighs and sobs and Arthur continues.

"You have a myriad of tasks to do. My armour is completely ruined, I have no idea where my sword is and you were supposed to revise my speech for this afternoon but apparently, you had better things to do."

Merlin's breathing calmed and he was finally able to concentrate better, noticing that the king was sitting on the dirt floor next to him and practically rocking him.

"Arthur…"

Arthur turns his head slightly but they still can't make eye contact.

"I have magic."

Arthur stiffens and Merlin already feels lost without his king by his side even though he is still physically there.

"Alright," Arthur murmurs and Merlin gets up to look at him because there is no way he is hearing correctly. Arthur turns to look at him and his expression isn't the happiest but Merlin can't blame him "we've been through a lot worse, haven't we?"

And etiquette be damned, what is right or not right to do at court, Merlin throws himself onto his king and holds him as if he never wants to let him go again, holds him trying to tell him everything he is unable to say right now in words.

Arthur holds him just as tightly and Merlin finally knows that everything will be all right.

And that is how Gwen and Gaius find them, embraced tightly in the middle of a corridor in Camelot.

[bamfkeeper]

Reunion.

RQ: 'I was hoping for some hurt/comfort 🙏🏽. I was never really satisfied with Kurt and Amanda's reunion after he came back to life(aside from the fact that that ship gives me a major ick for ibv reasons). It was so anticlimactic! You would think a woman who knew him all his life would she'd a few tears. I was wondering what your take on a reunion scene with Kurt would be? Like the reader was a member of the X-Men and saw Bastion kill Kurt. Because of her grief she leaves the team unable to cope from the loss. And then after years of being without him he just shows up at her apartment just like he did with Amanda.' - @gildedjerk

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader

Warnings: Major character death | Descriptions of injuries | Mourning & grief | Happy ending ofc

A/N: Wooo I had a lot of fun with this one. Angst and comfort, yum. Anyway I did try to give a realistic response to him coming back from the dead. I was stuck between two reactions but I think this one is good. I hope you enjoy! Unedited hehe WC: 3.0k

It had only been a week. A week since your heart became slow, dull, and empty.

The mansion took a hit. The team broken into pieces.

It was unusually quiet around the manor. Normally, the sound of padding footsteps and excited laughter and voices filled the halls, but now...it was silent. You weren't' the only one that lost something, but by all hell, you deserved to grieve.

You hadn't left the bedroom you shared for days, your body curled tightly on the bed, clutching his suit against your chest as if it were a lifeline. Tears flowed endlessly, soaking the pillow beneath your head. The salty streams seemed inexhaustible, leaving your eyes red and swollen, leaving you with a constant headache you ignored. You were likely severely dehydrated from the constant outpouring of grief, but in your state of mourning, those concerns held no importance to you. All you desired was to be left alone with your sorrow, to process the loss in solitude.

His suit bore a large, jagged hole, Kurt's dried blood stained the fabric, a sight that simultaneously pained you and kept you connected to him. You couldn't bring yourself to wash it, fearing that doing so would erase the last tangible traces of his presence. The suit still carried his distinct scent, a bittersweet comfort that you clung to desperately. No amount of spraying with cologne could ever bring back his natural musk that he had, and you would rather die than get rid of it.

Embedded within the flexible fabric were tufts of his fur, some parts adhering more stubbornly than others. As you ran your fingers over these patches, you recalled with a mixture of fondness and anguish his playful complaints about how the suit would cause him to shed. Those light-hearted moments now seemed like echoes from a distant, happier time, making the overwhelming ache of his absence feel much worse.

The team struggled to regroup, attempting to rally support and formulate a plan of action in the aftermath of the blatant slaughter they endured. However, you found yourself emotionally paralyzed, unable to contribute to their efforts. The weight of loss and despair settled heavily upon your shoulders, making even the simplest tasks seem insurmountable. In a daze, you rose from your seat, your movements mechanical and detached from conscious thought. You were on autopilot, nothing else mattered, you couldn’t even think.

You began to pack your belongings, carelessly tossing clothes into a small bag without regard for order or neatness. Your fingers then ghosted over the familiar fabric of his suit, the last tangible remnant of Kurt's presence in your life. With reverence, you gently lifted the garment, cradling it against your chest as if it were a fragile, living thing. This suit, once a symbol of his strength and selfless heroism, now served as a poignant reminder of all you had lost. As you held it close, memories of Kurt flooded your mind, intensifying the ache of his absence and solidifying your decision to depart.

You had no tears left. Not right now.

You took your bag and you left.

The nightmares were relentless, haunting your sleep with disturbing frequency. Night after night, your subconscious mind replayed the horrific scene of Kurt's demise, each detail etched with painful clarity like you were reliving that exact moment over and over again. The vivid imagery of Bastion's merciless act - the brutal impalement - refused to fade. You could still see, with sickening precision, the crimson spray erupting from Kurt's azure lips, staining his chest in a macabre pattern, the life essence dripping down his skin and mocking you. The memory of his lithe form, once so full of life and grace, suddenly tensing and then crumpling lifelessly to the ground as Bastion withdrew his weapon, was seared into your mind.

The physical sensations were equally intense. You distinctly recalled the disorienting waves of heat and cold that washed over you, and the violent tremors that wracked your body as adrenaline surged through your system in rage fueled torrents. The emotional trauma was blatant, manifesting in physical symptoms that left you feeling drained and vulnerable, pathetically and frantically scrambling to get to his side in the middle of the battlefield.

The image of your final moments with Kurt were the worst of it all, your eternal Hell that never ceased. Holding his rapidly cooling body in your arms, you watched helplessly as the light in his beautiful, golden eyes gradually dimmed. Even in his last breaths, Kurt's selflessness shone through, as he valiantly attempted to offer you solace and comfort, despite his own dire circumstances.

Your grief and suffering was a wound that never healed. Each night proved that it would only reopen from the desperate scab it tried to become.

As the years passed, your close friends from the mansion persistently attempted to maintain contact with you, but you deliberately distanced yourself from them. The desire to communicate with them had completely faded, and you found yourself wanting to sever all ties with the X-Men.

Your sole focus became an attempt to carve out an existence devoid of the tumultuous chaos that had been an inherent part of life within that unconventional, misfit family. You couldn’t stand any more pain, the loss you took had been severe, thinking about any of your old friends losing their lives was too much to bear.

You retreated into a life of solitude, taking on a mundane and unremarkable job that offered little stimulation or fulfillment. It wasn't so much living as it was merely existing - a bare-bones survival that felt hollow but required.

Yet, in your current state of mind, this was all you felt capable of managing. The weight of your grief remained a constant companion, refusing to lift even as time marched relentlessly forward. The passage of years did little to alleviate the profound sense of loss that had taken root in your heart, leaving you trapped in a perpetual state of mourning that colored every aspect of your isolated existence.

You tried therapy, for a while.

It didn’t help much.

You were constantly bombarded with well-intentioned but ultimately unhelpful advice. People would tell you to move on, as if it were a simple switch you could flip.

They'd say he was in a better place now, as though that somehow lessened your pain.

They'd remind you that years had passed, implying that your grief should have an expiration date.

But none of these platitudes actually provided any comfort or solace. In fact, being told to move on was perhaps the most infuriating of all. It felt dismissive, insensitive, and completely disconnected from the depth of your loss.

The suggestion to move on ignited a spark of anger within you. How could anyone possibly understand the magnitude of what you'd been through? You couldn't even share the full story with them, the pervasive discrimination and prejudice against mutants still ran deep in society, and you weren't ready to expose that part of yourself.

But regardless of the details you had to keep hidden, the fact remained that you had lost the person who brought light and love into your world. It was as if the sun had been extinguished, leaving you in perpetual darkness. The audacity of someone demanding that you simply move on from such a profound loss was both hurtful and enraging. How dare they trivialize your grief and dictate the timeline of your healing? Your pain was yours to process, and no one had the right to tell you when or how to do it.

You came back from a rather dreary work day, annoyed and angry with the world. It felt so unfair. You wondered if Kurt would be disappointed in the sheer amount of hatred that you allowed to consume you. Did it matter?

As you closed your door, you trudged through your barren apartment, your footsteps echoing in the emptiness. You hadn’t bothered to decorate, it was just you, and when you were home all you did was sleep. No reason to waste money on furniture.

Suddenly, a familiar scent wafted through the air - brimstone. That sharp, smoky odor that had haunted your senses for years now made its presence known once again. The acrid smell tickled your nostrils, bringing with it a flood of memories you'd rather forget. At first, you dismissed it as another phantom smell, a lingering remnant of Kurt that your mind conjured up in moments of solitude. After all, these olfactory ghosts had been your constant companions over the years, taunting and mocking you with their ephemeral nature.

You continued your way through the apartment, your mind wrestling with the reality of the scent. The logical part of your brain insisted it was just another trick of your senses, a cruel joke played by your subconscious. Yet, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered that something was different this time. The smell seemed more tangible, more real than the fleeting wisps of memory you were accustomed to. Still, you pushed the thought aside, convincing yourself it was nothing out of the ordinary.

You were just tired. It had been a long day.

As you rounded the frame of the door, preparing to step into the next room, an inexplicable chill ran down your spine. In that instant, you felt everything around you freeze up. The air grew thick and heavy, as if time itself had come to a standstill. Your muscles tensed, your breath caught in your throat as you looked at the familiar figure laying on your couch.

Kurt smiled at you, his familiar figure rising from his seat. His arms extended in a welcoming gesture, a warmth radiating from his presence that you hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. "Liebling...I've missed you so much," he murmured, his voice carrying the same tender inflection you remembered.

Every detail about him was overwhelmingly authentic - from the timbre of his voice to the subtle cologne mixed with that harsh brimstone that always clung to his clothes. Your senses were inundated with evidence of his reality; he wasn't just there, he was undeniably real.

A maelstrom of emotions surged through you, leaving you utterly bewildered.

What the Hell is happening?

The thought ricocheted through your mind, unable to find purchase in the face of this impossibility.

You found yourself frozen, incapable of formulating a coherent response. The shock of the moment had completely blindsided you, leaving you reeling as if you'd been struck. It was as though you were face to face with an apparition, a specter from your past that had inexplicably materialized before your eyes.

But this was no ethereal vision - this was tangible, corporeal.

The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on you; if this was indeed some sort of phantasm, it certainly had a sick sense of humor.

Your lips parted as you let out a soft, trembling sound, his name barely a whisper escaping through the opening. Your eyes, wide with disbelief, were glued on him, taking in every detail of his familiar yet seemingly impossible presence. His demeanor faltered slightly as he noticed your lack of enthusiasm at his sudden appearance, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Ah, liebe...I...understand this might be quite shocking to you..." He mumbled out shyly, his voice a mixture of hope and apprehension as he slowly walked towards you, each step careful and measured. "But, I am back. I am truly here, alive and breathing. Can you see that?"

You remained rooted to the spot, unable to bring yourself to move a single muscle. The overwhelming tsunami of emotions that crashed over you felt like it was too much for your body and mind to handle. A wave of nausea washed over you, making you feel as though you were teetering on the edge of consciousness, your stomach churning violently. The sheer impossibility of the situation threatened to overwhelm you completely.

You couldn't fathom how he could be here, standing in your apartment, flesh and blood, after years of believing he was dead. The grief you had painstakingly lived with, the torturous reminders that mocked you every day - it all came crashing down around you in an instant, leaving you reeling in a maelstrom.

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, sensing the overwhelming shock that had gripped you. He anticipated a joyous reaction, but instead, a heart-wrenching, soul-shattering sob escaped your lips, echoing through the air and piercing the silence between you.

Taken aback, Kurt's body tensed, his eyes widening with a mixture of concern and confusion. This unexpected outburst was far from the jubilant reunion he had envisioned in his mind. The stark contrast between his hopeful expectations and the raw, emotional reality before him left him momentarily stunned.

You had always been strong and level-headed with your emotions, but seeing you like this made him realize his absence and sudden appearance again had clearly done some psychological damage. "L-liebling," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with uncertainty and worry.

Hesitantly, Kurt extended his hands towards you, offering comfort and desperate support. However, the fear of exacerbating your distress held him back from actually making contact. His fingers hovered in the air between you, trembling slightly as he grappled with the desire to console you and the apprehension of potentially making matters worse.

Kurt bridged the gap between you with a single, desperate motion, not wanting to watch you sob any longer. His arms enveloped you, strong yet gentle, pulling you against his chest. You felt the solid warmth of his body, a sensation you had been deprived of for what felt like an eternity.

As he held you close, Kurt became your anchor to reality, proof that this wasn't just another cruel dream. His familiar scent washed over you, a mix of brimstone and something uniquely him, further cementing his presence. "I'm here, liebe... I'm here," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Es tut mir Leid... I never intended to be absent for so long, but... the circumstances of my return are a mystery even to me. Perhaps this is a divine gift, a second chance from Gott…a miracle. Ja?"

His words were soft, barely above a whisper, yet they resonated deeply within you. "I cannot imagine the anguish you've endured in my absence," he continued, his accent more pronounced in his emotional state. As he spoke, his hand moved in soothing circles on your back, a gesture so achingly familiar it threatened to unravel you completely.

In the safety of his embrace, years of bottled-up emotions finally found their release. The dam broke, and you allowed yourself to experience the full depth of your agony, your body shaking with the force of your long-suppressed grief. Kurt held you through it all, a steady presence as you wept the tumultuous sea of your emotions, whispering words of comfort and love in a mixture of English and German.

You don't know how long you cried for.

You felt your body gradually succumbing to exhaustion, your strength ebbing away with each passing moment. What seemed like mere minutes to your grief-stricken mind had, in reality, stretched into over an hour of uncontrollable sobbing. Throughout this emotional display, Kurt remained steadfast, his arms encircling you in an unwavering embrace, not daring to let you go. He bore witness to your anguish, listening intently to every heart-wrenching wail that escaped your lips, each cry a testament to the depth of your sorrow and mourning. He felt so horrible, seeing just how much you loved him and how the grief had overtaken your being.

Kurt did everything in his power to provide solace. He held you close, gently squeezing you with his arms, whispering soft reassurances, each gesture carefully crafted to soothe you.

"I'm here now," he murmured, his voice a balm to your frayed nerves. "I'm not leaving. I promise..." His indigo lips grazed your sensitive temple while he whispered gentle nothings against your skin. The contact was feather-light, yet profoundly comforting. He peppered your clammy skin with tender kisses, unable to hold back on his affections.

The sudden nature of Kurt's reappearance left you reeling. After enduring the agonizing belief that he was gone forever, his unexpected return stirred up a complex cocktail of emotions - happiness, relief, anger. A part of you yearned for the joyous reunion he seemed to expect, but another part bristled at the simplicity of such an notion.

How could he materialize out of thin air, after all the grief and pain you had endured, and anticipate an uncomplicated, happy welcome? You supposed that is his specialty…appearing suddenly in a rapid purple cloud with that happy smile exposing his fangs.

Kurt wanted that happy reunion. He wanted you jumping in his arms and that loving, passionate kiss he dreamt of and missed since his departure from this plane of existence.

But you couldn't give him that. Not now.

For now, you needed his comforting presence more than anything else. Recognizing your emotional state, he gently lowered himself onto the couch, cradling you in his arms. His embrace was firm yet tender, providing a sanctuary where you could finally release everything that had been weighing heavily on your heart. As he held you close, you continued to sob and cry into his chest, each tear carrying with it a fragment of the pain and stress you had been harboring for so long.

Time seemed to stand still as you remained in his protective embrace, your sobs gradually subsiding as exhaustion began to overtake you. He made no move to interrupt this cathartic process, understanding that sometimes silence speaks louder than words. His steady heartbeat and warm presence served as a lullaby, slowly lulling you into a state of tranquility you hadn't experienced in years.

The conversation you needed to have could wait.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you found yourself drifting into a deep, peaceful slumber - a luxury that had eluded you for far too long. His presence alone had snuffed out the vicious plague that infected your mind, the nightmares that were forced upon you over and over of his gruesome death were destroyed.

For the first time in years, you actually slept.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight & @/strangergraphics

Cover image from Nightcrawler #1 (2014)

[greensagephase]

What If...? (Father's Day)

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x Female!Reader Summary: It’s Father's Day and you celebrate Miguel, the father of your son. You surprise him with an unexpected gift! Word Count: 4.7k Warnings: pre-established relationship; reader is married to Miguel; parents of a three year old; breast fondling; oral sex, male receiving; unprotected sex (pls be safe); p in v; light spanking; soft Miguel Masterlist Link to part 1!

MINORS PLS DO NOT READ

In the kitchen, you put away some dishes you washed earlier from breakfast. You take care of other little tasks around your kitchen, making sure it’s organized and cleaned for dinner time.

In the living room, Miguel is hanging picture frames since you recently took new family photos. You’re both taking the time to do some quick chores since Gabrielito is taking a nap in his room.

Among your tasks, you put away some leftover homemade tortilla chips from this morning.

Today is Father’s Day and of course, you’re spoiling Miguel just like he spoiled you for Mother’s Day. You cooked his favorite breakfast - red chilaquiles, two fried eggs, and fried beans topped with queso fresco - a typical Mexican dish that can be served both for breakfast and dinner, hence the tortilla chips.

With a smile, you recall this morning when you surprised Miguel with his favorite breakfast in bed. You bought him flowers because you wholeheartedly believe men also deserve to receive some, at least your man does, and then cuddled with him and Gabriel for a while.

It’s now around one in the afternoon and you’ve had lunch already. Miguel subtly told you earlier in the week that he wanted to spend the whole day at home with his family and do little tasks around the house, like hanging new picture frames. That’s why you decided to order takeout for lunch from one of Miguel’s favorite places, at least.

However, just because you plan to stay home all day doesn’t mean you didn’t plan something fun and special for the evening. Your plan is to cook another one of his favorite dishes for dinner and then end the day with a movie night.

You’ve bought Miguel’s favorite snacks and drinks for the movie, and you have plans to make the living room even more cozy than it already is with blankets and pillows.

You snap out of your thoughts when you hear Miguel’s drill from the living room, a smile forming on your face.

Your handy husband, gotta love him.

You grab two cold drinks from the fridge, one for Miguel and one for you before heading to the living room. You find Miguel standing in front of one of the walls with a pencil behind his ear as he drills into the wall. He looks so… You have to stop yourself from letting your thoughts wander but wow, he’s so handsome.

“I got you a drink,” you say approaching him.

Miguel turns, smiling at you. “You’re always thinking about me, preciosa. Gracias [precious, thank you],” he says, accepting your offering with appreciation. He opens it and takes a few sips. “Almost done here. ¿Como se mira [how does it look?]?” he asks, pointing his chin towards the wall.

You step closer and take a better look at the pictures of the three of you, smiling.

“It looks fantastic, corazón [heart]. Look at us,” you say softly as your eyes settle on one picture in particular. Miguel is holding Gabrielito, his arm wrapped protectively around his son. The other one? Around your waist in an equally protective manner. The three of you are smiling at the camera, a happy family.

Miguel steps behind you, quickly resting his head on top of yours, his arms finding their rightful place around your waist. “My whole life,” Miguel whispers sweetly. “In one picture alone.”

Your heart swells with love and tenderness. With a sigh, you place your hands on his arms.

“Our little family,” you whisper.

“Si, nuestra familia [yes, our family],” Miguel whispers. He moves his head and pecks your cheek from the side. “El amor de mi vida y mi hijo [the love of my life and my son].” He pecks your cheek again. Again. And again, until he has you giggling like a schoolgirl, his arms tightening around you. “Ven aquí, preciosa [come here, precious],” he murmurs against your lips. “Te amo [I love you].”

“Mm, I love you more,” you murmur back, eyes closed as you bask in Miguel’s attention.

“Impossible,” Miguel murmurs, his lips moving to your neck to continue their mission. “You’re my whole universe - the very air I breathe.”

With a low moan, you move your head aside to grant him more access.

“Good girl,” Miguel says, his mouth on your neck. He peppers your neck with more kisses before he gently bites the soft flesh, eliciting another sweet moan from you. “Dios, te amo mi reyna [God, I love you my queen].”

“I love you,” you reply. “Te amo, mi corazón [I love you, my heart].”

Miguel smiles and plants a few more kisses on your neck, creating an ache between his and your thighs. He pauses his kissing for a moment to look at the photograph, looking at the three of you. His arms tighten around you, even more somehow, protectively.

He can’t help but think about something. It’s been a few weeks since Mother’s Day, since that night when you both decided to start trying for a second baby. Ever since that night, the two of you have been going at it, which is not unusual, really. Your passion for each other has always been ignited, no matter the ups and downs of a normal, healthy marriage. Even when you both thought you’d find it difficult to make time as a couple with the arrival of your firstborn, it turned out that your baby boy only strengthened that passion - that love.

So, Miguel supposes your recent love making moments are not shocking, however he can’t deny that there’s an extra special layer because you’re trying for a second baby. Either way, he knows the two of you have been going at it and he can’t help but wonder if it’s happened yet, if his seed has taken and you’re now carrying another baby in the beautiful, gorgeous, goddess-like, and breathtaking body you have. The thought makes him giddy.

He really wants to be a dad of two, wants your little family to grow.

“Soon, mi amor [my love], there will be four of us there,” he whispers with hope and longing.

You smile at the thought. “Very soon. I have no doubt,” you whisper.

That makes Miguel grin. He kisses your neck again, his tongue darting out to taste your sweet skin. Your breath hitches when you feel his tongue running down your neck, moving to your shoulder. You lean back on him, pressing your ass to his groin area and immediately feeling his semi-hard cock.

“Miggy,” you whisper.

“Mhm?” Miguel runs his tongue upwards now.

“You’re growing hard.”

“I know, preciosa. Can’t help it,” he whispers. “I’ll stop if you want.” He begins to pull back, understanding you may not be in the mood and being respectful as always of your boundaries.

“No, come here,” you say holding him by his arms, attempting to stop him from moving away from you. Once you feel him pressed against you again, you lean back as much as possible, pressing your ass more firmly on his cock.

“Mmm, you want to, hermosa [beautiful]?” he asks pushing forward.

“Yes, I want to. I want - need you,” you reply realizing you’ve grown so wet just with his neck kisses and bites.

“Say that again,” Miguel whispers.

“I need you,” you whisper, making your husband groan softly.

“I need you, too, preciosa,” he whispers back, his mouth attaching to your neck again. His hands slide up from your waist to your breasts, cupping both of them with his large hands. He brings them closer together, squeezing gently and fondling them.

You whimper softly, laying your hands over his. “They’re a bit sensitive,” you whisper.

Miguel loosens up his grip. “’m sorry, princesa [princess]. Did I hurt you?” he asks, concerned. He begins to massage them even more gently, tenderly.

“No, you didn’t. Don’t worry. I’m just letting you know,” you reassure him. “They’ve been sensitive for a few days.”

“I’m sorry, baby, why didn’t you tell me?” Miguel asks, resting his chin on your shoulder, massaging your sensitive breasts. “I could’ve massaged them for you,” he says genuinely as he knows you find his large and warm hands helpful for these kinds of things - and other things, of course - but especially when you need a little massage, his hands are perfect for it.

“It hasn’t been bad, I promise,” you reply.

“Okay, but I still want to help you,” your sweet husband says, still massaging your tender breasts. “We can stop - we can focus on this, preciosa. I don’t want you hurting or feeling discomfort. Plus, you’ve been feeling fatigued, too. Maybe you ought to rest a bit, mi reyna [my queen].”

“N-no,” you say, shaking your head. “Please? I want to.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“M’kay, but I’ll be extra gentle with your breasts.” Miguel gives a gentle squeeze, feeling your hardened nipples through your top and bralette. He lowers his hands and pulls your top up by the hem. You aid him by lifting your arms, knowing it’s only the beginning.

In a matter of seconds, you’re both naked in the living room, pressed against each other kissing. Miguel’s hands fondle your ass while your hands glide up and down his back, your nails digging slightly into his skin, leaving goosebumps behind. You chuckle while kissing him, getting an idea. Miguel pulls back, wondering what you’re chuckling about. He soon finds out the reason when you deliver a gentle but firm spank to his ass.

His eyebrows raise, a smirk on his lips. “Oye, oye,” he says in a feigned offended tone. “Spanking your husband’s ass?”

“What about it?” you ask nonchalantly, grinning up at him.

Miguel hums, smirking. He pulls you closer, leaving no space between you. “I love when you use that tone,” he whispers leaning down and taking your bottom lip between his teeth before he kisses you.

You return the kiss, your hands gliding to his hips. You give them a squeeze before you slide one of your hands between your bodies with a clear intention. Not even a second later, Miguel lets out a soft growl as he feels your fingers wrap around his thick cock.

Smiling, you pump his cock gently, swiping your thumb over the engorged tip. You let out a soft hum of approval when you feel pre-cum. “So hard, baby,” you whisper as your hand wraps around it more firmly.

“Mierda, preciosa [shit, precious],” Miguel groans, leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours, his breath fanning over your lips as he feels your fingers’ ministrations.

“I want to please you,” you whisper.

You push Miguel’s arms off you and get down on your knees, still holding his cock in your hand.

“Fuck, preciosa,” he says, looking down at you, the sight of you on your knees with his cock in your hand doing nothing to help his now throbbing member. “You look so pretty for me.”

His words encourage you - fuel you. You lean forward and lick the tip, wiping clean the new droplet of precum, staining your tongue.

“Ah - fuck,” Miguel lets out. “Your teasing licks. You’re gonna end me, mi reyna.”

You chuckle before licking again. “You like that, baby?” You don’t need to ask that, you know Miguel does but you still love to hear him say it.

“Yes - I do - You know I do.”

“I like to hear that, corazón,” you say before you take his cock into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around it, coating it with your saliva.

“Mi-erdaa- fuck- fuck - preciosa,” Miguel grunts.

You take more of him, struggling to take his size even years later because he’s so big. You slide back, only leaving the tip in to look at the rest of his cock for a second. It’s so damn big sometimes you’re still surprised at the fact that you can take him both in your mouth and pussy.

You lean forward, taking more of Miguel. Your mouth gets stuffed with your husband's cock, stretching your mouth. You hollow your cheeks out, causing Miguel to groan, before you begin to bop your head, settling into a rhythm that you know he loves.

“Fu- ayy - amor [love] - Esa boquita [that little mouth]- you're killing me”

You look up at him, making Miguel moan. “You look so pretty, preciosa. Look at those pretty eyes.” He cups your face with one hand, caressing your cheek tenderly. You notice the way his stomach and legs flex, fighting back the urge to move his hips. Tapping his thigh, you let him know he may do it.

He bites his bottom lip, understanding, before he holds your head still. He always does that, not to keep you still for his own need but to ensure he doesn't hurt you, it's the last thing he ever wants to do.

He groans as he pushes forward, his tip hitting the back of your throat. He stays like that for a few seconds, eyes closed and appreciating the way your mouth feels around him before he slides out, only leaving the tip in for a second before he pushes back in. He repeats his actions for a few moments, grunting as he feels your sweet, small mouth struggle to take him in but still trying nonetheless.

“That’s enough, preciosa, or I'm gonna cum in your mouth,” he says pulling out gently. You both look at his cock, shining with your saliva and his precum.

You lick your lips and lean forward again before taking the tip in your mouth again, sucking it gently.

“Ahhh- ahh- fuckkkk!!”

You moan, hearing Miguel's voice.

“Mmm,” you murmur, closing your eyes as you suck on his tip. You swirl your tongue greedily, trying to get more reactions from him because his grunts and whimpers always turn you on. Unfortunately, Miguel cups your face with both his hands, holding your head still. You whine, opening your mouth and reluctantly releasing him. “Miggyyy.”

“Shh,” he replies. “I’m gonna cum in your mouth if you keep going with that little mouth of yours.” He helps you up to your feet, always the gentleman.

“I want to please you,” you start, pouting. “It’s Father’s Day.”

That makes Miguel’s gaze soften. He pulls you into his arms, embracing you. “You want to give me a blow job for Father’s Day?” he whispers against your cheek before kissing it.

“Mhmmm.”

“How sweet, preciosa.” He kisses your cheek again, moving to your lips to kiss them. “So sweet - so sweet, my little pretty wife. You’re the sweetest.” He kisses your other cheek, your forehead, your nose, and chin. Your entire face is getting peppered with kisses.

“Migs, I’m the one that’s supposed to spoil you today,” you murmur, making him laugh.

“Who says you’re not spoiling me? Getting to kiss you is one of the best gifts I could receive,” he says continuing to kiss you. “But if you’re thinking in terms of this,” he pauses and motions to the state you’re both in - naked, aroused, and with the need to make love. “You know what I would love more than a blow job?” He leans close to your ear.

You nod, whimpering as he squeezes your ass cheeks with both hands. “Yea- yeah - mhmm.”

“Why don’t I show you instead?” he murmurs, tugging on your earlobe gently with his teeth.

“That sounds - good to me,” you whisper, your pussy soaked and needy for your husband’s cock.

So he does.

Miguel grabs a blanket from one of the couches and spreads it on the living room floor. He wastes no time to bring you to your knees, positioning himself behind you and pushing your torso down, leaving your ass high in the air.

He smacks your ass cheek firmly, eliciting a whimper from you and leaving a sting on your skin.

“Gonna take this pussy from the back, mi amor [my love],” Miguel mumbles, his cock hard and needy, ready to be buried deep, deep inside you. He pushes your legs apart with his knee, pressing behind you and rubbing his cock against your heat. He groans loudly, feeling how wet you are. “Mierda [shit] - you’re drenched, princesita [little princess]. You’re so eager for my cock?” he asks, moving his hips to rub his length up and down your slit, making you whine with need. “So eager to get fucked from behind - to get this pretty pussy filled with my cum?

“Yes - yes - I want it, Miggy,” you reply eagerly, moving your body to get more friction. You rub yourself against his body, pressing your ass to his hips. The movement earns you another spank.

“So needy, princesita - rubbing yourself on me like that,” Miguel murmurs, squeezing your ass cheek with his large hand. He lands another spank on your ass as he rubs against you, coating his cock with your sleek. “Good girl,” he praises, loving how soaked and needy you are. “Gonna fill this pretty pussy, baby, gonna make you feel good, okay?”

You hum in response, biting your bottom lip and feeling more than ready to take your husband’s big cock as he continues to rub the tip along your slit. He makes you gasp in pleasure when he suddenly slips in, pushing the tip with no trouble thanks to how wet you are. Your legs tremble as he slips in, burying himself into your heat while groaning and praising you.

“Good girl - so fucking wet for me - so ready - you’re so ready for me,” he says, his words coming in pauses to groan as he feels your walls stretch around his cock, accommodating to his size. “Mierda, princesa - so fucking tight, squeezing my cock so good.” He spanks you again, watching the way your ass recoils from it. “Look at this pretty ass - all mine, yeah, baby?”

“Fuck - yes -ahh!” you start but moan when you feel him push all the way in, his tip reaching that sweet spot of yours. “Miguel-”

“I know princesa, I’m all the way in - buried deep inside you. You feel so good, so good for me,” he says groaning, your walls clenching around him. “Gonna fill you with my cum, princesa - we’re gonna have another baby, yes?”

“Mhmm, another baby, yes,” you coo.

“Good girl, you’re gonna look so pretty pregnant with my baby again,” he says pulling back and leaving only the tip in. “So pretty carrying my baby, princesa, so fucking beautiful.” He’s barely done talking when he slams right in, pushing his heavy cock deep inside you. He relishes on the way your legs tense, the way you moan beneath him as he begins to thrust into you, quickly finding his rhythm.

“Fu-ckkk - Mig- ye-ah - don’t stop,” you beg, whining as he thrusts into you, over and over again, stretching your walls deliciously with his fat cock.

“Don't stop, baby?” Miguel asks as he grabs your ass with both hands to support himself, thrusting into you without faltering.

“Don't - pleas-e -ahh- ahh - please- fuc- me-!” you manage to get out, moaning and whimpering, feeling your husband's fingers dig into your soft flesh just the right way. He keeps hitting that sweet spot, making you a moaning mess beneath him. You curse in pleasure as his thrusts grow heavier and stronger, his heavy balls slapping against your clit, adding stimulation.

And God, Miguel's grunts as he slides in and out of your pussy is making you hazy - he sounds so pretty, so needy for you.

“Fuck,” Miguel groans as he leans on you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he keeps thrusting. He pulls your upper body up so your back is pressed to his chest before he presses kisses and little bites to your shoulder. He then slowly moves his hand down, reaching between your thighs to play with your clit, making you arch against him. He flicks your clit and rubs his thumb over it, making it his mission to make you orgasm before he does.

Thrust after thrust, your sweet moans and whimpers reach Miguel's ears, motivating him. He knows you're close when your walls start squeezing his cock, trying to milk him dry before he's even climaxed.

“Cum for me, preciosa,” he grunts out as his hips snap into your ass over and over again until he has you shaking beneath him and screaming his name.

Panting and whimpering from your climax, Miguel pulls out of you and quickly, but gently, turns you on your back. You whine as soon as he slips out, feeling empty, but Miguel takes care of it. He spreads your legs and immediately settles between them, slipping back into you, needing you.

You both moan as soon as he bottoms out and you waste no time in wrapping your legs around his waist, knowing, even in your hazy state, why he switched positions.

“Fuc- ‘m gonna - gonna - mierda - gonna cum inside you, preciosa,” he says in between groans as he thrusts into you fast and hard, chasing his own climax to fill you with hot seed.

His thrusts become sloppier and sloppier until he eventually goes still, moaning. A second later, you feel his cock twitch a few times before he fills you with his hot, thick cum, painting your walls white. You moan, your legs tightening around him as you get filled deliciously.

Watching your blissful face, Miguel lowers himself on top of you, wrapping his arms around protectively. You both pant, riding out your highs together. You kiss his head gently, whimpering as he thrusts a few more times, letting your hungry pussy milk him until he’s spent and you’re full of him. He stays buried inside you as you both recover from your highs, both of you wanting to let his seed take since you’re trying for a second baby.

A few minutes later, your sweet husband takes care of you during after care. When you feel like you can walk again, you both shower quickly to get properly cleaned up before Gabriel wakes up from his nap.

Once he does, the three of you chill until it’s time to make dinner. You keep Miguel out of the kitchen even though he keeps popping up with your son, offering to help but you stand your ground and keep him out in order to really surprise him.

You succeed, despite his attempts to help, and your sweet husband, not surprisingly, thanks you with lots of kisses and words of love, which you one hundred percent reciprocate.

Before you know it, it’s movie time. You give Miguel’s last surprise of the day by revealing your plans for the evening, including the basket full of Miguel’s favorite snacks and drinks. You also give him a proper gift, something you saw him eyeing a few weeks ago at the store but didn’t buy because he said he had an old one - a set of tools. You’re happy with your purchase when you see the way Miguel’s eyes lit up with excitement while he opens it. You have no doubt he’s already thinking about all the ways he’s going to use it before he’s even done opening it.

Once that’s done, you get Miguel on the couch and pamper him by throwing a blanket over him and Gabriel, who insists on cuddling with his “daddy.” You place the basket with snacks near him and finally start the movie.

The three of you are having a great time, or at least you think so, Gabrielito doesn’t seem too interested in the movie but more on playing with his dad’s hands before he asks to play with his toys on the ground.

Halfway through the movie, you begin to feel sick all of a sudden. You try to push past it, thinking maybe you’ve eaten too many snacks since Miguel has been sharing everything with you. It grows worse by the minute, nausea hitting you suddenly. That’s when you decide it’s better to head to the bathroom, just in case.

“I'll be right back,” you tell Miguel standing up and hurrying, looking off.

“Preciosa, what's wrong? Do you feel sick?” Miguel asks, quickly checking in on Gabrielito and making sure he's safe before following after you.

He reaches the bathroom in seconds where he finds you already vomiting, his concern going through the roof. He immediately reaches you, helping you as much as he can. He rubs your back gently, sticking by you all the way until you wash your mouth and face, trying to catch your breath.

You sigh softly as he helps dry your face, gentle as always.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Do you feel better? Is the nausea gone?” he asks, brows knitted with concern.

You nod, swallowing saliva and wincing a bit. “Yeah, much better now. I just started feeling sick out of nowhere.”

Miguel’s head tilts to the side, your words sinking in.

You stare at each other for a few seconds before you connect the dots. Miguel comes to the same conclusion because he suddenly smiles warmly and happily at you before he places a hand on your tummy.

“Mi reyna [my queen],” he coos.

You smile at him, knowing.

“No wonder,” you say as Miguel pulls you into an embrace. “Sore breasts, nausea, and I’ve been feeling a bit tired the last few days.”

Miguel kisses your forehead. “We’re expecting, mi preciosa [my precious],” he whispers. “We’re having a second baby.”

Hearing his words makes it suddenly feel real and you can’t help but let out a happy noise of content, throwing your arms around him. “I’m pregnant!” you say hugging your husband, who hugs you tight to him.

“You’re pregnant, mi amor [my love]. You're pregnant - I can't believe it. I mean, I do, we've been working on it,” Miguel says with a playful smile, making you laugh. “But it happened so fast. I'm so happy right now!” Miguel picks you up, hugging you. “I want to go outside and yell it to the whole world that we're having a second baby. Dios [God],” Miguel says, kissing your face. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeats in between kisses. “Te amo [I love you].”

“I love you,” you whisper, caressing the curls at the back of his head. “I love you so much.”

“Yo a ti más, mi preciosa [I love you more, my precious],” Miguel whispers pulling back to kiss your lips, lovingly and tenderly. He breaks the kiss a few seconds later and holds you in his arms, the two of you standing in the bathroom. “Gracias, hermosa, gracias [thank you, beautiful, thank you]. You've given me the best gift for Father's Day.”

You chuckle softly, hugging him. “It was an unexpected gift.”

“Perfect way to end the day, hermosa.” Miguel smiles and kisses your forehead again. “God, I'm already thinking of all the things I'm gonna hang up in the new nursery using my new tool set.”

You laugh and pull back. “One step at a time, corazón. It's still early, but if all goes well, in a few months you'll be doing all of that.”

“Happily,” he replies. “You know I'll be there every step. I'll rub your feet and carry you to the bed. I'll do your nails, I'll do anything and everything,” Miguel promises, peppering your face with kisses, caressing your back.

You smile, knowing they're not empty promises.

You spend a few more moments in the bathroom before you return to the living room where you cuddle with your son, happy and excited that in a few months, your family will gain one new member.

A/N: Meant to post this earlier and then life happened, but it's still Father's Day for me so, happy Father's Day to my husband Miguel!! Thank you for reading!!

-Alondra ❤️

[thankyouivy]

Slick Tongue - Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!reader Warnings: SMUT! (18+), oral [f rec], non-con voyeurism? (the team listens in), dryhumping, squirting, overstimulation, dirty talk, begging, HANDS, multiple orgasms, fluff! Summary: Instead of going out with the team for drinks after a stressful week, the only thing he wants to do is bury his head between your thighs. Notes: a gay and a lesbian attempted to write straight smut: this is that attempt. there is a significant lack of munch!spencer content on here and I am willing to attempt to fix that very serious problem. this is literally just 3k words of Spencer being a munch, enjoy! :]

———

“Reid, are you sure you don't wanna come out with us? I mean, after the last few days we all deserve a little fun time!” the grainy voice of Garcia speaks through the phone as Spencer makes his way into your shared apartment. Spencer chuckles and the ruffle of him taking his coat and shoes off can be heard on Penelope's side of the line. Spencer sets his bag on his desk on the way to your bedroom where he knows you’re waiting for him. “As much as I would like to spend more time with you guys, I have other things I need to atten- …”

You’re lying on your side of the bed, undressed except for the navy blue lingerie set Spencer bought for you in LA when the team flew there for a case, and one of his button up work shirts. This one is light blue and it complements the navy blue of your lacy bra and thong peeking out through the half-unbuttoned shirt. You look up from the book you have in your hand, and smile as you sip your red wine, and then place the glass on the bedside table. Spencer is just standing in the doorway and manages to get out a breathy “Hi,” before Garcia seems to snap him out of the trance he's in. He blinks a few times and looks around for a second before remembering where his coworkers' voice is coming from.

“Reid? Reiddddd??? Are you still there?” She says as he lifts the phone back to his ear. “What? Yeah, I’m still here. What- what is it?”

You giggle at him. Despite being one of the smartest people in the BAU, all of his concentration and genius goes out the window when it comes to you, it seems. Spencer can tell Garica is saying something to him, but he can’t really tell what it is that she’s talking about. “Hey, Garcia- I’m- um I’ve got to go- no it's- nothing wrong! I just have to- I- I’ll see you tomorrow, have fun at.. wherever- bye.” He stammers out quickly, and shuts off his phone and throws it onto the bedside table as he makes his way over to the bed.

It seems in Spencer's delusional state of mind, clouded by the nakedness of his girlfriend, he has forgotten that when you turn your phone off, the call you are on does not automatically hang up, unknowingly leaving Garcia and the rest of the team to listen in on the escapades that follow:

“Hi, baby,” You greet him happily as Spencer reaches your side of the bed and leans down to place a passionate kiss on your lips. “God, I missed you,” he mumbles into your mouth and you smile and hum in agreement into the kiss, running your fingers through his soft fluffy hair.

His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, placing kisses along the edge of your face to your ear, and then down to your neck where he begins marking you up. You giggle happily as he works on his task.

He pulls away from the kiss momentarily to run his eyes over your body once more. You look absolutely delectable in this set, it's one of his favorites. He bites his lip and runs his hands over your sides and down to your hips. He leans back in to kiss you all while he makes quick work of your bra, unclasping the back and pulling it off as you work on taking off your shirt, it falls off of your shoulders gently revealing your gorgeous bare tits.

You bite your lip and the blush from your cheeks makes its way down the rest of your body, and Spencer groans at the sight of you. “Fuck, you look so good, baby… but in order for me to have any fun, these need to come off…” He says darkly, as his pointer finger slips its way under the strap of your thong and he places kisses along your collarbone.

You gasp as he grips your hips and slides you to the edge of the bed, dropping down to his knees immediately, and making quick work of taking his own shirt off, leaving him in only his work pants. You let him pull your panties down your thighs and off your legs slowly, already panting hard as he watches you open your pretty legs for him, giving him the perfect view of your tiny bare pussy and completely naked body.

“Fuck…” he says breathily as he licks his lips, obviously salivating. “Please baby…I wanna taste you so bad… been thinking about it for days…” He begs on his knees, and you moan at his words. He looks exhausted but eager, and that combination of things usually only means one thing; "Bad day?" you ask as he grabs the underside of your left thigh and places it over his shoulder, "Terrible."

You lace your fingers through his soft hair, and watch as he closes his eyes, tilting his head to the side to give the inside of your thigh an open-mouth kiss.

"Mmmm.. I’m sorry work was bad baby…Y'can tell me everything after you make me cum, yeah?" and then he's groaning, "Fuck yes," nodding his head and sighing happily, before surging forwards and lapping at your cunt as if its the one thing he wanted to do all day.

Immediately your hips arch off of the bed as his lips press against your folds. "Fuck, Spence," you gasp, he parts his lips before dragging his tongue up your centre, circling the tip around your clit, "oh my god," you moan, fingers tangling into his hair to hold him there. This spurs Spencer on further, his body pushes further between your legs, his hands holding your legs apart while he starts to moan into you. “Tastes so fucking good, baby.” He mutters and licks his lips, before licking at your clit softly.

Your view is obscene. Spencer's large veiny hands are gripping your plush thighs, making his arms muscles flex as he holds them open. His gorgeous sharp jaw moves in a steady rhythm, his long hair falling in front of his face as his dark eyes look up at you, completely focused on pleasing you.

Your body feels like it’s on fire. It feels like too much and not enough at the same time. You shut your eyes and tilt your head back as his tongue runs over your pussy over and over again. “Fuck! Spencer, that feels so good!” You gasp out. You can feel his smile against you as Spencer sucks hard on your clit, vulgar noises fill the room as he leans into you, one hand around your hip holding you down and the other pressing against your abdomen. His nose rubs against your clit as he mouths at your opening, and that sends you over the edge. You cum hard and with no warning, letting out a yelp followed by a string of loud moans. Spencer groans against you as he licks you through it, the vibrations just adding to the intensity of your orgasm.

He kisses your thighs when he's done licking up your arousal to help you come down from your sudden high, and then stands to maneuver you onto the bed properly. “You know, the tongue is one of the strongest muscles in the body…and although cunnilingus isn’t the intended purpose of the genioglossus, styloglossus, and hyoglossus muscles, they really do make it easy for me to make you cum.” He speaks as he positions you up against the pillows so you have a clear view of him, and places a pillow underneath your hips to get better leverage. “Speaking of cumming, did you know the average woman can orgasm up 5 times per session? So if you think I’m stopping at one… you must be out of your mind, sugar.” He licks his lips.

Without giving you a chance to reply, he delves back into you, his tongue lapping over you slowly, suckling over your clit which has you shuddering instantly, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. Suddenly you feel his fingers tease at you, you gasp, then whimper with want, desperate for his long fingers to fill you. Without warning he presses two fingers into you easily with the aid of your cum-slicked opening. His gaze traveling up your body as you cry out and clench around him "fuck, baby, so fucking tight and desperate for me, huh?" Spencer mumbles.

He has you panting and whining whilst throwing your head back in no time. Your nails dig into his scalp, hips grinding slowly against his face and fingers as heat starts to form in the pits of your stomach. His fingers fill and stretch you in the best way possible as he works you open. Your orgasm builds again, embarrassingly fast, thighs shaking, back arching away from the bed while he plays with your body.

"Oh, fuck, i'm gonna- I'm gonna cum, baby" you cry out, letting your thighs close around Spencer's body, you feel him smirk against you as he lifts off you momentarily to mutter out a little “yeah? Gonna cum?”

"Mhm! fuck- Ungh- oh god!" you choke out in between your moans, stomach clenching underneath his hand as he doubles down, fingers speeding up slightly and his own moans sending vibrating pleasure straight up your body, "th- fuck, there, stay there,” he makes you babble, gripping his hair as you keep him where you need him. Spencer is revelling in the way his motions pull a string of pretty sounds from you; a mix of moans, whines and whimpers because words are failing to express how fucking amazing you feel.

“Doing so good, sugar" He groans, the heel of his hand pressed into your pelvis, the pressure making you clench around him. "So good," he groans as loud moans spill from your open mouth.

Spencer pulls his fingers out of you but before you can protest he's sliding them straight back in at a slightly different angle, hitting the exact spot you need him to. "Please," is all you can manage as the air gets punched from your lungs by a scream when he starts pressing and rubbing hard over it, knowing how close you are to your orgasm.

Your boyfriend watches your stomach tensing and he feels your knees trembling at his sides, your pussy walls fluttering around his fingers and clit pulsing on this tongue as he flattens it against you, “uh huh, come on, baby," he starts, fully aware of what his words do to you. "So close, I know..." He pauses when you interrupt with a high pitched whine, "cmon, cum for me," he finishes, moving his mouth to suck on your clit and curl his fingers inside you, and it sends you over the edge, your back arches away from the mattress, somehow pushing Spencers long, thick fingers into you even further, and you're done for.

Your cunt floods, wetness gushing from you and soaking the sheets beneath you. "Don't stop," you sob.

Spencer moans loudly as he continues his attack on your cunt with his mouth, greedily trying to lick up everything you’re giving him.

This time, he doesn’t give you a chance to breathe, keeping a steady rhythm of his fingers and mouth as he attempts to get you to squirt again. You loudly whimper and try to squirm away from his grip and relentless stimulation on your poor, swollen, fucked out pussy, but to no avail. He doesnt let up as he pushes your hips down harder, and all you can do is let out pathetic little cries and whines as he overstimulates you.

“I- I can’t again-” you cry out at him. It's all too much; his fingers inside you, the heel of his hand pressing into your folds, his lips and tongue toying with your clit, his free hand exploring your body, the stimulation is making your brain short circuit. He pulls his mouth away from you for a second, “yes you can. Just one more for me, sugar, yeah?” He pants, and then resumes his work when you let out a broken cry.

Spencer feels like he's harder than he's ever been in his life. The sounds you're making, the way you taste, the way you're trembling under his ministrations just spur him on more. The only thing on his mind is how he wants to make you squirt again, the very thought of it makes him lightheaded as he doubles his efforts.

In your haze of overstimulation, you can feel the bed rocking at a steady pace, and you realize Spencer is humping the bed. The thought of him getting himself off on the sheets below him, because eating you out is something he does for his own pleasure and not yours, goes straight to your core and your hips spasm upwards into his mouth.

“Spencer!” you moan, “I’m gonna- fuck-” one of your hands tangled in his curly locks, a silent plea for him to stay where he is as you grind your hips sporadically against his tongue. “Cum on my face, baby.” You could feel his smirk on you, and how it grew when your hips started to hump his face as he increases his pace.

"Uh huh, cum on my tongue," he hums against you, and that sends you hurtling over the edge for the final time. You come harder than before, you let out a scream as your body shakes and your thighs close around Spencer's head, trapping him there while your entire body spasms, eyes clamped shut.

His thumb presses and flicks against your clit as he eats you, and you're sure you black out, thighs practically vibrating from the intensity as your body releases even more cum than last time.

"Oh my god, baby," you barely hear Spencer over the pounding in your ears as your body continues to convulse and spurt liquid. His fingers move at an inhuman pace, desperately trying to milk as much cum from you as he possibly can, and all you can do is scream. When he is convinced you can't give him anymore, he gives one final lick through your folds and slips his head away from you.

Spencer looks incredible, his hair tousled and messy, the bottom half of his face completely soaked with your slick and his cheeks red as he catches his own breath and licks you off his lips. Gently, he slips his fingers from your body moaning softly to himself when your pussy squelches from the mix of ejaculate and his saliva. Strings of your slick connect his fingers together as he spreads them apart. "Were so fucking good for me,” He moans. Looking right at you, he slides those fingers onto his tongue, lips curling around them as he sucks you off them and hums at the taste, “so fucking good”.

After giving your hip a kiss, he lifts himself off the mattress and heads to the bathroom to wipe his face off and run a bath for the two of you. He comes back to find you still completely fucked out and breathing heavily, your body still twitching. He chuckles at you, completely spent and exhausted. “Want me to carry you, sugar?” he asks softly and you just let out a small ‘mhm’.

He picks you up with ease, holding you up by the bottom of your thighs. one of your arms wraps around his neck and the other grabs his face to kiss him deeply, whining when you taste yourself on his tongue. You can't feel his erection against you, but instead a damp spot on the crotch of his pants, which just makes you whine more, hooking your legs around his hips and burying your face in his neck.

He pets your hair and makes his way into the bathroom with you in his arms, placing you into the bath following close behind after making quick work of his remaining clothes. Your back presses against his chest as you both relax in the warm soapy water.

“So, what happened?” You ask in a sleepy mumble as his hands rub up and down your arms methodically. “Hm?” He mutters, burying his nose in your hair. “What happened at work?” You smile up at him, and he just laughs and places a delicate kiss on your lips.

Back at the BAU, Rossi, Prentiss, Morgan, Garcia, and JJ are still in the bullpen, and not out at the bar. Garica’s phone rests in the center of the roundtable as the entire team stares at it, slack jawed. “Well… now we know how he can talk so much without his jaw hurting.” Rossi says, dumbfounded.

The door to the room opens suddenly, Garcia snatches her phone and hangs up the call, that has now gone silent on Spencer's end, as everyone’s heads snap to Hotch.

“What are you all still doing here?” Hotch asks, receiving five immediate “nothing!”’s as they all scramble to collect their things and rush past him out of the room.

More of my stuff can be found here.

~ Ivy 🪴

[ruruvxz]

what is making out with newjeans Minji would be like ? Oneshot idea

“DRAIN ME”

Roommate!Kim Minji x Law Major!Reader

↳synopsis: College was hard enough especially ever since your new roommate moved in with a high and mighty attitude. Always berating you for your life choices and the people you constantly surround yourself with; she was the epitome of annoying. But you couldn’t help but be… enamored by her in some weird way.

↳cw: classic roommate troupe, swearing, overachieving, making out, Minji is stuck up, reader is also stuck up, both kinda annoy me, pure fluff, slightly sexual themes

↳wc:2.6k

a/n: how does… how does someone write a kissing scene what the fuck heuahhfhhhhh, i was a little bit too embarrassed to write this. kinda halfassed but idk what else to add anther … Also this is the 5TH rewrite for this Minji fic im trying to cope with the news that they might disband rn.

Harvard was hard enough to get to, especially with the scholarship you broke your back for, no one deserved to be here more than you. Needless to say, you found it awfully annoying whenever, Kim Minji, your roommate who was an undergraduate in the arts section, would belittle your talents—always having snarky to say when you couldn't understand the lecture, and insisting that her life was far more complicated than yours. Not to mention how much of a slacker she was during house tasks, often refusing to do any chores even if she was the sole factor in the apartment was a mess.

Minji often rebutted all your complaints with the same excuse stating that "she shouldn't have to help because your friends were always over, and that they can do it." Which wasn't all that false, you did have someone over almost every day, and you knew she didn't like them because of how loud they were, but that's what made it fun. Seeing the scowl on her face whenever she opened the door another batch (of completely different people) walked in with no remorse. Or whenever she avoided talking to any of them because she simply hated being around them. A stern believer that people like you and all the people who accompanied you were plastic and fake.

It wasn't until she called them out to you that you reached your boiling point. "None of them actually like you Y/N, how do you expect every single person to actually fuck with you like that, let alone the hundreds of people you constantly have over." She spat out, reaching her hand out to grab the trash your guest left all over the living room, Minji didn't even have the curtsey to look up at you while she spoke.

"What is your problem, Kim." You scowled as you grabbed the empty beer cans; shoving them into the black plastic bag you were lugging around. To be fair Minji was far nicer than you thought, even if you were the one who threw the party without her knowledge, she patiently camped out in her room, only coming out once it ended to clean up beside you. It wasn't all that out of character since she was the nicest one between the both of you, always offering to help anyone in need, for example, right now. Minji was somehow so endearing in her weird way, that you almost felt bad taunting her every single moment you could. I mean, she reciprocated the banter, so who really is at fault here?

Minji just scoffed as she pushed her glasses back up from the bridge of her nose, she was about to say something before cutting herself off with a heavy sigh. "Nothin— nothing, they just..." She slurred looking up at your scrunched face before looking back down, continuing to throw trash into the bag. "Y'know what— never mind, forget what I said," Minji mumbled, looking back at her annoyed before picking up a pillow and chucking it at her. She let out a soft yelp before looking up at you, ready to attack Minji couldn't help but notice how you broke out into laughter once the pillow collided with her face.

"Hey, what was that for!" Minji scowled as she dropped the trash bag next to her knees, you, being you, continued to laugh harder as her expression tensed. She grabbed another pillow from the couch and flung it at you, hitting your shoulder with a heavy thud. "Woah! What the!" You bite back rubbing your shoulder with your arm in pain, not realizing she would throw it too hard she reached her hand out, not before she laughed her ass off. "Hah— I'm so sorry—" Minji said before bursting out laughing as well, grabbing the pillow you threw at her from the ground and placing it back neatly on the couch.

Laughing at her action, "Why are you saying sorry? Aren't I the one who threw the first hit?" grabbing the pillow she threw, you dropped it haphazardly on the couch and walked away from her. "Not that." Minji cackled as she fixed the couch again, "I mean, yeah..." she cut her thought off "What I meant to get at, is I'm sorry for the other thing I said."

You stopped cleaning up the trash from the floor and peeked your head up, firstly why was she apologizing for anything, secondly, out of all people, she was apologizing to you. "Uhm, I'm sorry too I guess..." You rubbed your nape uncomfortably, taking your gaze off of her, "Y'know, for everything." Sighing you continued, feeling terrible because most of the stress she had coming back home was due in fact how horrible of a roommate you've been. "I haven't been— the best." It hurt a part of your ego to say that, as out of people you were apologizing back to your art freak of a roommate, Kim Minji.

"Thank you for acknowledging that Y/N." Minji exhaled as she looked back on all the times your bare presence had been obnoxious towards her. Despite understanding how dreadful you've become towards her, you still couldn't let that slide, who was she to talk like that towards you anyway? "Hey!" Was the only that could come out of your mouth, until Minji eventually cut you off. "I'm being honest Y/N, I'm glad you know, and that's not in a sarcastic way whatsoever."

The way both of you stood slightly as you continued your cleaning task was unbearably awkward, trying to figure out what to say next after that comment was gruesome. It finally ended when you had to bright idea to turn a new leaf with your roommate, could you go through your whole college experience hating someone you lived with? And to be fair she wasn't all that bad, she cleaned up to herself, she was mild-mannered, and she didn't actively seek conflict. (unlike you.) "Ahem... so Minji you busy after this?" You asked as you tied the black plastic bag and leaned it against the wall.

She followed in your footsteps as she chucked the last few beer bottles into her bag, tying the note protectively tight and chucking it aside. "I have an anthropology exam to study for..." She thoughtfully answered, you pouted at the thought that Kim Minji, of all people, was going to turn you down. "But that's in a few days, so I guess I'm free?" She moved across from you, heading to the kitchen to wash her hands, coming back to talk to you face to face. "Well, uhm, do you want to watch a movie or something— like to get to know each other... or something." You interrogated, trying your best to be nonchalant about the whole thing. "Sure, that couldn't hurt." She shrugged her shoulders as she made her way to the couch, and you soon followed behind her.

Needless to say, the whole interaction was more awkward than the both of you apologizing to one another. The movie picking was terrible as you both seemingly couldn't agree on what to watch, finally landing on The Idea of You. During the beginning, part felt as if you were having a dopamine cleanse, everything was so oddly boring, and without having any form of enjoyment like stress eating popcorn, you were going insane. It wasn't until the first kissing scene of the film that things got interesting, you were so bored you could only find entertainment from making fun of her expressions throughout. This scene in particular made you more intrigued by her as she was blushing madly while watching the protagonist deeply kiss the main lead, almost as if she's never experienced that herself.

"Pst, Minji." You leaned into her, jolting as your head hovered next to her shoulder "You good? You look like you're bugging out." She looked at you as you laughed quietly, still focused on the movie, only taking a small gaze at her as you leaned away.

"What." She scoffed, covering her face with her hand, "You're crazy. Just watch the fucking movie."

"Alright, just saying." You chuckle as you lean forward, pretending to go back to being 'interested' in the movie.

As the movie reached the peak of its raunchiest moments, Minji failed to hide her blush more and more, having trouble focusing as she stared down at your leaning posture and back at the movie. She failed to focus on the actors, finally reaching her breaking point, "What is with this movie, what is the whole point of recording a whole scene like this..." She muttered loud enough for you to hear. You gave her a noisy laugh, before leaning back up and resting your back on the cushions. "Dunno, maybe that's what does good nowadays— speaking of which, why don't you ever invite people over to y'know..."

"To what?" She scoffed, folding her arms and looking back at you, clearly offended by the insinuation that she was a geeky dirtbag who had the inability to attract suitors. "Not everyone's like you Y/N." Minji insulted, coming back a little more sleazy than intended.

"Oh? And what does that mean?" You pouted, stretching your neck wondering what snarky comment she would say next. "Nothing, I didn't mean it like that, I just hate when people bring that up." She took back her words quickly, turning her head away from you and back at the movie ahead, watching the two actors absolutely go at it. "Makes me feel like I haven't accomplished everything I 'should've already accomplished', catch my drift?"

"Ah, so you think that just because you haven't done anything inherently explicit it feels like you're less than an adult?"

"Woah, that was a quick evaluation, how'd you get that?"

"I mean, I do minor in psychodynamic psychology, maybe that's why? Hah… Sorry didn't wanna sound like a major nerd there, but I don't think you hold base your opinion on yourself over something you can't do at the moment." You spoke, turning your head towards her as she studied you, looking at inspecting every single one of your facial features before snapping out of the trance she was in. “I guess, well if it means anything, you’d ace that course if you kept up with those assumptions.” You both chuckle loudly at her comment, not noticing how both of you are slowly leaning closer to one another.

Minji was closer to your face, the tip of her nose colliding with yours as she inched your lips to hers, the soft huffs as she glanced down at you before finally interlocking your mouths together were exhilarating. Her touch was soft and hungry, she wanted to conquer every part of your lips; not wanting this moment to slip her by, she reached out and grabbed the back of your head gently. Pushing you farther down her lips, Minji felt herself getting lost in you, her eyes squeezed shut as she was in a deep state of euphoria. Before pulling you away from her, she slid her hand off your cheek and back, creating distance.

Her heavy breathing was apparent as she tried to gain composure, stunned by her actions she let out a meek cough, staring straight into your soul to gain back any confidence left within her. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what had gotten into me." Minji tittered, pulling away fully her hands gripping the section of denim on her thighs, you didn't know what was going through her head right now as she fumbled her gaze away from yours. It took a long moment for Minji to open back up, only muttering a few words before clamming up again "I wouldn't blame you if you ended up moving out—"

She couldn't continue as her breath sharpened and took focus on how your hands rested on top of hers, gently rubbing her fingertips, taking a count of how soft she felt under your touch. Smiling, you answered back, confused as to why you would ever do such a thing (despite despising her moments ago, and being quite literally on the verge of signing your lease termination to get away from her) "Why would I?"

Minji was astonished by your sudden change in attitude because if she were to ever be this raw and genuine towards you any time before this, you'd curse her out and avoid any contact after. This was different, you seemed so... empathetic and sweet, it made her heart thump out of her chest, staring at your lips was not making it any better for her. She lacked any self-restraint as she interconnected your lips with hers once more, with much more haste. Minji yearning for your touch, pitifully grabbed onto your hands, holding them tightly with a slight shake.

Despite doing much more sinister things with other people, you felt as if you were flung back to high school and having your first kiss, it was all so electrifying. You didn't want to admit to yourself that you were enjoying this a little more than she was, but gosh, does this woman know what she's doing? From her timid (even borderline, loser-ish) personality, you wouldn't expect her to be dancing her tongue with yours. "For something oddly explicit, she's very delicate..." you wondered to yourself. Finally taking charge, you pull your hands away from hers, Minji pulls back regretfully, questioning why you stopped holding her.

It wasn't until you cupped her cheeks with both your hands and pulled her down on the couch, that she finally got a hint. Minji's cheeks burned up, she was able to rest her elbows to leverage herself up only to be met with your face inches away from hers. She was stunned by the visual you pinned her against and was unable to speak as you kissed the tip of her nose, anticipating more only to be cut off by you pushing yourself off of her. “Woah! Okay, let’s end that there today.” You cut yourself off, not wanting your relationship to be another victim of hookup culture, knowing that you’d be stuck with her for the next few months.

“What…” She furrowed her eyebrows, her cheeks still flushed with a pink hue, “Don’t get me wrong, I’d want to continue, this, with you. But I don’t want the consequences of being in an unhealthy, uncomfortable, and unethical relationship with my roommate, whom I was getting closer to.” You coughed, realizing how fast you were speaking right now, Minji who was still under you processed everything you were spewing out. “So what I’m getting at, is that instead of wanting to sleep with me… you’d rather just have me as company first?”

“Correct, unlike anyone I’ve been with, I’d like to get to know you first before committing to anything that sexual.” You nodded, pulling yourself off of her and sitting back normally on the couch “Not because I don’t want to, I just wrong want to take it too far.” Sheepishly admitting as you watched her sit back down next to you, a bit embarrassed by the situation. “Truly what I want to take away from this, and what I took away from spending this time with you, even if it was fairly short, was to get to know you as you. To take in what you’re capable of and understand if you can handle someone like me.” Minji stared at you in awe, the complete shift from a prudish foulmouthed popular campus student, who couldn’t barely hold her own emotions, was now so prim and proper.

Minji wondered if maybe it was her who did that, or maybe that’s how you were this whole time, but it took one day to bring that out of you. Whatever it was, she didn’t want this moment to slip by her! “Hmm, well then, take what you want.”

[glowettee]

✧ ˚.The Ultimate Study Guide: How to Become a Top-Tier Student ✨📚

Hi besties! 💖 It’s Mindy here, your resident study buddy and glow-up guru at Glowettee. I wanna talk about how to become a top-tier student this upcoming year without losing your sanity—or your vibe. Imagine sipping on a latte, surrounded by pastel notes and cute stationery, feeling like the main character of your academic journey. That’s the energy we’re channeling today. Ready to take your study game from blah to iconic? Hopefully these tips could help prepare for the second semester!

1. Active Recall and Spaced Repetition Hacks

Okay, so here’s the deal: simply reading your notes is not the move. You’ve got to make your brain work a little harder to really soak in all that info.

Active recall: Write down questions from your notes and try answering them without looking. This forces your brain to actually retrieve the information (and helps you remember it longer!).

Spaced repetition: Spread out your study sessions instead of cramming. Use apps like Anki or Quizlet to create digital flashcards that you review over time. Bonus: Anki is super aesthetic if you customize the fonts and colors. 🌸

2. How to Make Study Sessions Feel Luxurious

Studying doesn’t have to feel like a chore, babe. Here’s how to romanticize the grind:

Set the mood: Light a candle, play soft lofi beats, and wear your coziest silk robe. (Yes, the fancy one.)

Aesthetic setup: Use pastel highlighters, cute pens, and a clean desk space. Your desk should feel like a Pinterest board come to life.

Snacks & drinks: Treat yourself to something yummy like matcha lattes or chocolate-covered almonds. A chic study session is fueled by snacks, trust me. 🍵

3. Step-by-Step Pomodoro Method Breakdown for Focus

Pomodoro is basically magic for productivity. Here’s how to do it:

Set a timer for 25 minutes and work on one task. (Pro tip: Choose something specific, like summarizing one chapter.)

Take a 5-minute break after each session. Stretch, grab a sip of water, or scroll Pinterest for inspo.

Repeat four times, then take a longer 20-30 minute break. Use this time to dance around your room or journal—it’s all about balance.

🦢 ✧ ˚.Why it works: Breaking your tasks into bite-sized chunks makes studying less overwhelming and way more manageable. Plus, the breaks keep you refreshed and motivated.🦢 ✧ ˚.

4. Best Apps for Studying

Bestie, your phone doesn’t have to be a distraction—it can be your ultimate study tool. Here are my faves:

Notion: Perfect for organizing your study schedule and creating dreamy, color-coded notes. You can even add cute icons and headers to make it so aesthetic. (SPOILER!! I'll be making some soon for you guys!!)

Quizlet: Great for flashcards and testing yourself on key terms. Bonus: You can use other people’s study sets if you’re short on time.

Anki: Ideal for mastering those tough subjects (hello, bio and chem!). The spaced repetition feature is a lifesaver for long-term retention.

Forest: Keeps you off your phone by growing virtual trees while you study. The guilt of killing your tree will keep you focused, I promise. 🌳

5. How to Romanticize School and Make It Fun

Here’s the tea: school doesn’t have to be boring. Treat every class like a stepping stone to your dream life.

Dress the part: Show up like the best-dressed main character. Think Blair Waldorf vibes but comfy—plaid skirts, cozy cardigans, and knee-high socks are always a win.

Curate your supplies: Invest in cute stationery, a pastel planner, and maybe even a monogrammed tote bag. If it feels luxurious, you’ll want to use it.

Celebrate small wins: Finished a chapter? Reward yourself with a TikTok break or a face mask. You deserve it.

Shift your mindset: Instead of dreading school, think of it as part of your glow-up. Every essay, test, or project is one step closer to the 🦢 ✧ ˚.elite🦢 ✧ ˚. version of you.

Final Thoughts

You’ve got this, babe. Becoming a top-tier student is about working smarter, not harder—and looking cute while doing it. Make your study sessions a vibe, stay consistent with these hacks, and watch your grades (and confidence) skyrocket. Remember: You’re not just studying for school; you’re building the foundation for your dream life. 💕

Let me know how you’re leveling up your study game in the comments or tags! And don’t forget to tag @glowettee if you post your aesthetic study setups—I’d love to see them. ✨

Xoxo, Mindy/Glowettee 🌸

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Comfortable

Vinnie Hacker x Y/N - Drabble - 1.4K WC NSFW 18+

Masterlist

Warnings: slight angst, dry humping, setting boundaries, consent checks, Vinnie being sweet, lust, SMUT, i really cooked with this one guys - it slaps harder than your mom, female reader, praise like a mf because you deserve it pookie bear, moaning, absolutely pathetic man - as they should be, L bombs, no penetration

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You smiled politely, thanking Vinnie as he held the door open for you. You’d been to his house before but today was different. He had asked if you wanted to stay the night for the first time. Initially you were excited thinking of all the fun stuff you and him could do and not have to worry about going home. Now… all you could feel was nervous. Your friends had convinced you that his intentions weren’t all pure. Obviously he expected something physical or else he wouldn’t have asked you to stay. You liked Vinnie. A lot. Begrudgingly you were even starting to consider the forbidden L word. And he had been nothing but a gentleman, never pushing you beyond your comfort. Yet your mind swam with anxieties of what you would do or say if things got to a point you didn’t want to pass. You set your bag down with your shoes once inside, looking around at his decorations. The house smelled like him, sweet but gentle and earthy. You felt Vinnie’s arms sneak around your waist, nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck where he placed a gentle kiss. You smiled, enjoying his presence.

Turning your head, you kissed his cheek “Wanna watch a movie?” you asked.

“What movie?” he mumbled. 

“Labyrinth, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, or Princess Bride?” you said giving him options.

“Princess Bride, hands down.” he said, squeezing your hips. 

You chuckled, turning out of his grip so you could go to the living room. You flopped on the couch, enjoying the many blankets Vinnie had thrown out before you got there as he mentioned building a pillow fort. Vinnie walked into the kitchen as you went and sat on the couch. 

“Wanna put your pajamas on while I make the popcorn?” he asked as he took out a bowl and grabbed the microwave popcorn bags.

You nodded with a smile, happy he wanted you to be comfortable. When you returned from changing in the bathroom you saw Vinnie in the kitchen without a shirt. How did he look so hot doing the most mundane tasks? “Popcorn needs to be made shirtless?” you sassed.

Vinnie laughed, “The butter exploded.”

“Rookie mistake.”

Vinnie brought the giant bowl of popcorn over, sitting it on the two of your laps so you could cuddle. Towards the end of the movie your eyes felt heavy, not in a sleepy way but in a relaxed way. Completely comfortable and happy. The warm expanse of his chest against your cheek, his arm circling your waist. You never wanted to move. You leaned up, kissing his cheek sweetly. 

“What is it baby?” Vinnie said, his eyes tracing every curve of your face. He smiled seeing how relaxed you look.

“I’m just… happy.” You said with a content sigh.

Vinnie ran his hand up and down your waist, his warmth made you lean into him even more so your foreheads were touching. His hand stilled on your hip, letting the tips of his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt. Your breath hitched, your hand flying to his. 

“Sorry…” was all you could think to say.

Vinnie’s eyes softened, his hand moving from your waist to cradle your face, “Baby, you never have to be sorry for having boundaries. We never have to do anything you don't wanna do.” he smiled at you sincerely. 

You breathed a sigh of relief, “I just…  is this the only reason you wanted me to stay over?” you asked, not meeting his gaze, your voice felt small. 

“Honey, of course not. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. I guess I just… wanted to make you feel… good?” he said, sounding a bit shy. A slight pink settling on his cheeks. 

You sat back a little bit, your mind was stunned with that little revelation. Nobody had ever done that for you before. Focused on your pleasure more than theirs. You looked between his eyes and his lips with want.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered.

You nodded.

“I need you to say it baby.” he said, leaning in slightly.

You closed the gap, your lips meeting his gently. But you wanted more; you wanted to devour him and be devoured by him. 

He responded to your touch, holding your angelic face. You gave into yourself - fuck what your friends said. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you. You sat up, as did Vinnie so you were both sitting up on the couch instead of laying down. You straddled his lap as he leaned back against the cushion, admiring the view of you taking control. 

“Is.. is it ok if we just make out?” you asked.

“Of course,” Vinnie said, holding your hips. “Anything else?” he asked.

“Feel me, kiss my neck… Please…” you stuttered slightly, already wildly turned on by him. 

Vinnie nodded, leaning forward to kiss up your stomach before pulling you closer and pushing your hips down so you were flush against his lap and finally face to face. One of his hands clasped around your throat but didn’t squeeze, he wanted to guide you. He gently pulled you to him, kissing you softly before you sped up, needily feeling over each other. Your tongues tangled together before he moved on to kiss down your neck sloppily. He gave you a slight nip, testing the waters. When you moaned at the contact he gave you another, and another, and another. Smoothing his tongue over them to relax the slight pain. Your breaths were erratic, your heart pounding fiercely. 

“You ok?” he asked, checking in with you.

You smiled at him hazily, still lost in the feeling of him. You nodded slowly.

“Words baby.” he said, kissing your neck softly trailing up from your neck to your cheek. 

“Please don’t stop.” you said, out of breath.

Vinnie bit his lip as he looked up at you. You were flush, looking needy for him. Your eyes looked hungry, feral. Vinnie slowly pushed your hips down so you were grinding against his clothed cock. He was unbelievably hard. “How’d you get hard so quick?” you chuckled softly. 

“Because it knows you want it.” he mumbled, his voice deep and heavy with lust. His hands gripped your hips tightly, slowly starting to rock you back and forth. The thin fabric of your shorts doing nothing to dull the pleasure the grinding was doing for you. You let your eyes roll back, letting him take the lead and guide your body - as long as it pleasured you. 

“So pretty baby… so so pretty… so good…” he mumbled between kisses he left over your chest. “Can I suck your tits?” he asked.

You moaned at the very thought, quickly lifting your shirt, not wearing a bra under your pj’s. 

Vinnie attached his lips to your chest, kissing and sucking over your nipples. He never stopped moving your hips and you felt the heat in your lower belly start to spread. Your legs started to shake, unable to hold you up. Vinnie held your waist to keep you up while his other hand kept grinding you into him through your orgasm. When you slumped against him trembling and twitching he relaxed his hold on you and stopped grinding into you. He placed a few soft kisses on your cheek as he held your face in his hands. 

“You look really pretty when you cum.” he smiled at you.

You covered your face, for some reason you felt embarrassed.

Vinnie laughed at your shy antics, “And you feel so soft, every part of you.” he said, trailing his hand to your breast before giving it a slight squeeze making you let out a squeak.  

“Did you feel good? Like everything we did?” he said, checking in with you.

You nodded, “Yes.”

Vinnie kissed your cheek once more before gripping the back of your thighs and carrying you to his bedroom. He set you down on the bed. Admiring you as he looked down at you. “Wanna cuddle?” he asked.

You nodded, crawling under the blankets. Vinnie smiled hopping in with you. He pulled you close so your head was resting on his broad chest, his hand tangled in your hair as he massaged your scalp. His free hand rested on your waist to keep you close. 

Right on the verge of sleep, completely vulnerable you let it slip. “I love you.” you said barely above a whisper.

Vinnie hardly heard you over the TV but his eyes snapped down to look at you. Your face was so peaceful, your breaths even and relaxed. “I love you.” Vinnie whispered before kissing the top of your head. He settled in letting himself slip away as well, enjoying the feeling of you next to him as he drifted off.

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Naboo's Note:

this man has me in a chokehold unfortunately - enjoy cookies <3 XOXOXOXOXOOXOXXOXOXOXOOXOXOXOX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[thebookbin]

TimKon Fic Recs Part 1.

So I mentioned in a reply to @oneswordstyle that I had a ton of TimKon fic recs and I was about to spam them with a million comments in the replies, but then I figured it was probably easier to do in a post. So here it goes. It also got too long so I split it into 2 parts.

Scions by Winterlive (Explicit) 2008 - 63K words - Complete

Tim Wayne, adopted son of Gotham mogul and secret vigilante Bruce Wayne, shows every sign of being his father's true successor - by day, and by night. Tim sets his sights on a valuable Metropolis lab for merger with Wayne Biotech, and all that stands in his way is the city's own rising star: Conner Luthor.

Note: I really love when characters get to grow up. I think Tim was a really fun teen to read about, and this fic explores him as a young business man and true heir to the Wayne legacy. Kon is Luthor’s son and prodigy in this, and it makes them interesting foils.

⭐️ call me cute and feed me sugar by suzukiblu (Teen) 2024 - 80K words - Ongoing

Tim Drake had absolutely no intentions of ever becoming anyone's sugar daddy when he met Superboy. This would have worked out better for him if Superboy had ever had an actual legal identity or an actual legal guardian or just . . . literally anything whatsoever in life. Ever. At all.

Just a bank account, even.

Note: Kon is fresh outta the test tube in this one, and despite the author’s facetious use of the word “sugar daddy” this is actually really sweet. Make sure to drop a comment and let the author know we’re excited for the next chapter!

Baby, Talk Me Down (Take Me Out) by sage (Teen) 2020 - 90K words - hiatus

Tim has been working too hard lately, and everyone is starting to notice. Bruce takes it upon himself to help Tim do some self-care and ships Tim off to the Kent farm for the summer, forcing him to take a well-earned vacation. Naturally, things get out of hand.

Note: This fic is on hiatus, so make sure to stop by and leave an encouraging comment, so we can get the ending this sweet story deserves. Tim finally gets a minute to breathe and really process all that’s been happening. He also gets to experience small town life but also he’s Tim so he gets himself into trouble. I find in a lot of fics, Kon always feels out of place or like he doesn’t quite belong, but he’s very settled and has really taken the time to learn who he is in this one, which I appreciated very much.

The Classic Shenanigans of Two Idiot Boys in Love by MashpotatoeQueen (Teen) 2021 - 94K words - Complete

In which the papers get hold of the fact that Timothy Drake-Wayne is dating another boy, Kon is all chill, Tim is no chill at all, the internet is flipping out, and Dick Grayson is quite possibly the greatest big brother of all time.

Note: An attempt to explore the public side of their relationship, a story told in vignettes.

⭐️ Stars Over Gotham by madaliz (Explicit) 2025 - 170K words - ongoing

Kon is tasked by the Planet to write the defining piece on Gotham City (no pressure). As he learns more about the city's first family and its criminal underbelly, he finds himself increasingly entangled with the mob and the vigilantes he's supposed to keep away from.

or

A story about how Kon and Tim grapple with their family legacies, fall in love, and team up to foil a conspiracy to ruin Gotham's hard earned order.

Note: Adults! Self-assured Kon! A really interesting world in which the Bats and the JL are completely separate and do not mingle. They are aware of each other but maintain strict rules. When Kon goes to Gotham in his civilian identity as a reporter his and Tim’s game of cat and mouse quickly turns into a Romeo and Juliet situation and I AM OBSESSED. There’s only 3 chapters left and I love this fic so much I’m dreading saying goodbye to it. Make sure to leave a comment to let the author know!

I’m alone here, I think by unluckyloki (Teen) 2019 - 93K words - Complete

Superboy is fighting robots in San Francisco and remembers something that wasn't. There's a new priest in the Naxos temple appointed by Dream of the Endless. Kon is missing something. Tim is missing everything. One day Krypto practically drags Superboy to a remote island in Europe and there's a dark haired guy smiling at Kon like he knows him.

Maybe he does.

Note: I’m not usually a fan of fics set in the cartoon Young Justice world, but this one is really special. The prose is exquisite, and it feels like reading an epic poem. Even though it’s kind of in the blurb it took me way too long to realize it was a Sandman crossover, but honestly you don’t really have to know anything about that. I’m also not usually a fan of ‘Tim Drake has magic AUs’ but again, I can read anything if it’s executed well, and this writer executes basically everything perfectly.

I Want it That Way (1990s Tim/Kon) by WynterSky (Series) - 140K words - Complete

On a field trip, Robin has a close encounter with the newest super in Metropolis, only to discover the hard way that Superboy secretly works for Lex Luthor. They agree to work together on a plan to free Superboy from Luthor’s hold, but Robin isn’t sure how far he can trust him—and his developing feelings only make things more complicated.

Note: Series says “not complete” but the series currently has 3 fics, which are all complete. Set int he 90s, which I think is perfect for superheroes. A lot of the mythos collapses with modern day technology. Fresh outta the test tube Kon is sort of held hostage by Lex Luthor, and young Tim realizes this and decides to save him. The 90’s setting is what MAKES this series something truly special.

buy back the secrets by sundiscus (Teen) 2024 - 90K words - Ongoing

He takes a long, slow breath. Ignores the glares from the other students. “Superboy,” he murmurs. “It’s me. If you’re listening, I could use some help.”

Or: 5 times Superboy saves Tim Drake, and one time Tim Drake saves Superboy.

Note: 1 chapter left! Don’t forget to leave a comment so we can let the author know how much we’re anticipating the last chapter. This is another love-square AU, I can’t help myself. In this one, they’re both skewed a bit younger, but they deal with the more heavy side of vigilantism.

Trust fall by Ididloveyou_once (Mature) 2021 - 22K words - Complete

‘Drake?’

Tim felt like he was choking. His throat was tight. He couldn’t swallow.

‘Damian?’ He managed.

Damian was… here. At Kent Farm. Dressed in the too-big Batman pajamas that Dick had bought him last Christmas as a joke. And- And-

Tim was wearing Kon’s t-shirt and his hair was messy and his lips were swollen and- He wasn’t ready for this- He wasn’t- He couldn’t-

How had he been so stupid?

Or: Tim comes out to Damian and prepares for the entire family to know by morning. It just so happens that Damian can keep a secret. Multiple, actually.

Note: Not usually a fan of Damian/Jon but I think this fic handles it well and is more of a puppy-crush than anything. This is a coming-out fic that deals in all those tropes, and I think handles it really well. Again, I’m not usually into the more fanon interpretation of Tim as a timid, neglected, anxiety-ridden wet cat, but this fic explores some insecurities without, I feel, straying too far from his actual characterization.

⭐️ First Kontact by Chiyana

Two years after a disastrous first encounter with an alien entity called Necros, Captain Tim Drake is given his first mission back in the field. The simple six-month exploration mission babysitting a group of LexCorp researchers goes abruptly downhill upon the discovery of a missing colony ship, landing Tim directly back into the horror that took him out of the field in the first place and leading him to his second first encounter with an alien race. Usually he's all for over-achieving, but even he finds this to be a bit excessive.

At least this time one of the aliens is more interested in him alive than dead.

Note: This may be my favorite fic I’ve ever read, like ever. This is a sci-fi au, where Tim is a captain, and the Kryptonians are space refugees after the destruction of their planet. The WORLD BUILDING is exquisite. I absolutely love Bart in this world. Also, despite the new world building, the explanation for Kon’s ostracism from the House of El is fantastic. This is one of those stories that has dug into my brain. Although, please mind the tags, it can be intense.

What happens in Vegas by Ididloveyou_once (Mature) 2022 - 92K words - Complete

57 missed calls.

Bart_ahhh tagged you and one other in a post

The Gazette (4 hours ago)

Bruce Wayne’s youngest eligible bachelor is off the market: Timothy Drake-Wayne eloped in Vegas [EXCLUSIVE pictures]

63 unread messag-

Tim jolted upright. His eyes scanned over the headline again. Timothy Drake-Wayne eloped… Timothy Drake-Wayne what?

And with who?

Or: Tim and Conner accidentally get married in Vegas and decide to stay that way until they can get quietly divorced. It’s simple. Except the Bats are detectives and the press is relentless and oh, Tim is hopelessly in love with his best frie- husband?

Note: classic accidentally married first, then fall in love. Obsessed with this fic, and the author has indicated it’s supposed to be a series, so I canNOT wait to see where this AU goes. Honestly Cassie is the most relatable person in this fic, because she totally believes that these two idiots would do something so ridiculous but what she can’t believe is the audacity to get spontaneously married on her birthday.