#They need to have some semblance of age differences!

[purplespacekitty]

Ramblings on Tora Ziyal

I think it’s well beyond a shame that they killed off Ziyal because I really would have liked to see her Cardassian-Bajoran identity more fleshed out and have her navigate the world beyond her father’s influence. She was starting to do that a bit with Kira and Garak (though I strongly feel that Garak should have been more of a mentor figure than a love interest) and it would have been really cool to see her get to hang out with Jake and Nog and just be a kid for once. It feels way too weird the way they began her character as this traumatized little girl who knew nothing but the brief time of her life she spent with her mother on Bajor and the horrors of the Breen mines and then magically turned her into this saccharine sweet, mostly well-adjusted young woman who loves her tyrant father despite his crimes (and in many ways, is seemingly unaware of them???????). Where was the therapy? Where was the rehabilitation? Where was the jaded child we saw in “Indiscretion”? What if Ziyal had been allowed to channel her anger and pain into learning about Bajor and Cardassia, into healing herself? Her dad basically plucked her out of the Breen mines after years of giving less than a Cardassian vole's asshole about her and then it turns out he originally planned to kill her when he found her? After she prayed for years that he'd come and save her? I'd be pissed.

But also, I wish they'd explored more of why she didn't appear to be all that pissed. We have almost no other context for Ziyal's childhood, certainly not any of what it was like before Dukat sent her and Naprem away. Was it simply exhaustion and desperation that led her to the conclusion that she'd rather die than not be with him once he'd found her? Was there a guise Dukat put up to portray himself as a kind father and mask the tyrant underneath before he sent Naprem and Ziyal away? Or did she even get to see Dukat at all in her early childhood? Did she simply assume he would be a loving father? Is that the image Ziyal clung to for comfort for all those years? Did she cling so tightly she could do little else but believe it?

It feels icky to kind of reduce her existence to Dukat Drama™️ the way the show ultimately did with her death. Why didn’t we get to see her experiencing disillusionment about Dukat, who never actually changed for the better when she was still alive and trying to get him to stop being so horrible? Why didn’t we get any Rugal-level anger from her, the hushed-up child of a Bajoran comfort woman and the genocidal former Prefect of Bajor? Because, obviously, Dukat never actually took his fatherhood to her seriously. She tried to imagine him as someone he was not and he predictably chose to inflate his own ego by encouraging her. She wasn't much more to him than a device to garner some twisted idea of sympathy for himself. Ziyal needed more of a chance to break away from relying on Dukat for unconditional love. Because his love, as we know, was not unconditional. In fact, I hesitate to even call it love at all, given how ready he was to manipulate Ziyal, how ready he was to get rid of her. She had unconditional love from Kira, who immediately went to bat for her before she’d even met her when she found out what Dukat planned to do to his own daughter. And I totally believe Garak’s love for Ziyal could have grown into something unconditional, but they ruined it with some weird, out-of-nowhere romance with an uncomfortable age gap and then had her killed off like some tragic, helpless maiden.

DS9 was sort of the only place Ziyal could experience any sort of semblance of real safety in her life, especially considering both Bajoran and Cardassian attitudes towards biracial children. It would have been interesting to explore an arc with her making DS9 her home as a place that is conducive to the cohabitation of many different species and cultures while also wrestling with isolation and ostracization from those who share in the two most pervasively impactful facets of her identity. Maybe the writers wanted to focus on portraying her girlhood and favored it over exploring the complexities of her Cardassian-Bajoran heritage. But honestly, they failed at both. She never got to have a girlhood and she ultimately became more of a plot device than a fully-fledged character. This franchise started off with its most interesting and beloved main character being both Vulcan and human. I know Ziyal is someone else entirely, but they totally could have done more with her than they did.

I would love, love, LOVE to see her engage with different aspects of both Bajoran and Cardassian culture. I wonder if she would develop any kind of spirituality regarding the Prophets. Since Bajorans are widely a spiritual people, it's possible Naprem shared some of her spiritual practices with her daughter. If she did, does Ziyal observe those practices to feel closer to her mother? Does she seek Kira's help in learning more about Bajoran spirituality? Do they connect over the struggles their faith has gotten them through? Would delving deeper into Bajoran spirituality open a gateway to acceptance from other Bajorans? Or would it make them turn their backs on her even more? How does her Cardassian-Bajoran heritage impact the way she interacts with her own spirituality and beliefs? As far as Cardassian culture goes, Garak certainly has an eye for art and I could see her connecting with Professor Natima Lang, Hogue and Rekelen and learning about Cardassia's resistance movements.

Also, multiple Bajoran and Cardassian drinks, confections and meals are shown throughout the series and especially with respect to its main character, DS9 frequently places food in an important cultural, community-building role. As someone whose strongest connection to their own heritage comes from food, I would have loved to see Ziyal engage with both Bajoran and Cardassian culture through food.

Obviously, we were robbed of heaps and heaps of space station shenanigans:

Nog sharing what he learns from starfleet academy with Ziyal, Ziyal trying tube grubs and actually liking them.

Ziyal illustrating Jake’s stories into comic books or murals and the two of them creating stuff together and maybe some nerdy pop culture history discussions on the side. I feel like Jake, Nog and Ziyal would totally have weekly movie nights.

Odo looking out for her, giving her advice about handling bullies, the two of them bonding over being generally considered the odd ones out and Ziyal making paintings to add to his quarters.

Kira giving her lots of hugs, teaching her to fight, protecting her from bigots and helping her embrace her Bajoran background, teaching her Bajoran culture. Ziyal stealing clothes from Kira's closet occasionally ("You hardly ever wear anything other than your uniform, anyway! And they fit, see?"). Ziyal sneakily tagging along on Kira and Dax's trips to the holosuites, eventually convincing them to just invite her to them regularly, anyway. She knows how to use her cuteness as a force for good, but more importantly, she knows how to use it as a force for capers and hijinks.

Garak making her clothes, teaching her the art of cunning deceit and helping her embrace her Cardassian background, teaching her Cardassian culture. More hangouts in the holosuites basking on steaming rocks. And the two of them giggling in tasteful mirth at Bashir because he finds Cardassian literature boring.

Gossiping with Bashir and Jadzia, learning to treat wounds and carry a bat’leth, never growing tired of Dax’s many tales of woe, romance and adventure.

Sisko teaching her how to cook and inviting her to play baseball with him and Jake.

Quark occasionally letting her have a drink on the house because she can be more devious than him if she wants to be (“Listen, kid, if you’ll get rid of all this root beer for me, you can have as many free glasses as you want”).

Leeta and Rom being the cool aunt and uncle who buy her all the jumja sticks she wants.

Babysitting Molly and Kirayoshi and learning about plants, science and Earth history from Keiko. I wish Keiko had gotten more screen time - in general, but also of her in her element, studying plants and playing music. It's criminal that we never see Keiko play her clarinet in DS9, so I definitely would love to see the two of them playing music together if Ziyal felt so inclined.

Leaving O’Brien in the dust at darts for reasons he simply cannot fathom.

Listening to Klingon opera with Worf over glasses of prune juice.

Becoming an accidental stowaway on Kasidy’s freighter one day and Kasidy taking her with on missions to Bajor. Kasidy, Keiko and Ziyal hanging out together is a trio dynamic that never happened and definitely should have.

Talking stuff out with Ezri, the two of them commiserating over their respective identity crises.

Dressing up for nights at Vic’s.

Learning about Klingon music from that Klingon chef (I believe his name is Kaga) on the Promenade.

Punching each successive version of Weyoun in the fucking face (maybe even Weyoun 6, accidentally or intentionally, doesn't matter, it would just be funny).

Rebel strategies with Damar (I think he’d come around if he didn’t have it out for her and got over Cardassian bureaucracy), Kira and Garak.

Helping around the house whenever she and Garak visit Mila, long talks with Mila about her Obsidian Order days.

Weekly dinners with everybody.

I want to see her making friends and being supported by all the loving, caring people around her who love her (collectively and individually) more than her actual-piece-of-shit dad. I want her to grapple with the fact that certain people hate the mere existence of her enough to want her dead but also decide to go “hell with it” and fucking live for herself. She deserves to be more than the tragedy that made Dukat finally snap and descend into pure insanity. She deserves to laugh and cry and stomp her feet and dance and shout and sing and love and play and paint to her heart’s content. She deserves to be angry. She deserves to have a childhood, an adolescence, an adulthood and an elderhood. She deserves to live. And maybe to be the perpetrator of a few political assassinations as a treat.

So………....................suffice to say, I have a LOT of thoughts about Ziyal. I love her and I wish the show runners had loved her more, too.

[sing-me-under]

I hc a very specific set of ages for the Batfamily, and every time I see any comics that deviate from those ages, I scream.

I just. Tim being like 2-3 years older than Damian makes me feel all sorts of wrong. Tim’s been like 16 for the past twenty fucking years. PLEASE. Let him age! Let him be an adult! They’re speeding through Damian’s childhood! At this rate, Damian’s going to be an adult before Tim! And that’s what they did to Jon???? At least Connor can get away with the age fuckery but Tim is just a guy!

But sometimes I read fics and stuff and it’s like: the logic is not logicking! Do you know how many years things take place in? Tim’s year as Red Robin then the One Year Later and like??? Are you trying to imply that Tim was gallivanting around the world and lost his spleen at 14? That motherfucker is not 14. This is all ignoring everything that happens after too! Batman Inc. City of Bane. We Are Robin. In no particular order.

Also, why is Jason recently portrayed closer in age to Dick than to Tim?? Even if you prefer Dick being older and Bruce younger when they meet (7 year age gap my beloved lol), he still spent his entire teenage hood having Bruce to himself before Jason showed up, and Jason is Firmly 12-15 when he’s Robin; that’s nonnegotiable. If you’re making Jason like an adult adult when he returns as Red Hood, Dick is already going to be in his late 20s, and why is Tim like 12 in Titans Tower attack fanfics?? Do you know how much fucking happens BEFORE Red Hood even appears???? War Games happened! No Man’s Land happens! Hush and Contagion and Knightfall! These all happen before Red Hood! How the fuck is Tim supposed to be younger than 16 ??????? You can’t reference events in your story and have Tim have a wider age gap to Jason than Jason has with Dick.

The only times I can accept the age fuckery is when it’s explicitly referencing the time line fuckery caused by the reboots and stuff. I read this one fic (TimBern-centric, need to find it later) where the general population retains bits and memories of past timelines even if those experiences never actually occurred in the current timeline. Get your cake and eat it too.

[l0v3tast3]

Ok but older perv bf ghost would be such a menace like he would destroy your cunt in his back seat and then shake ur dads hand.( these older bf hcs make me go feral bb)

anon you are so right. he'll be so mean but like it's literally his fault that he's hot asf and u just wanna jump on him 24/7 ??? anyways tysm for the request and the kind words i hope you enjoy this anon !! ◝(⁰▿⁰)◜

✎ tags: mdni! nsft, f!reader, age gap (r is 20's, simon is late 30's), dumbification, conditioning (consensual), orgasm control, spanking, degradation/praise kink, overstimulation/edging, car s3x, size difference/kink, possessive!simon, c0ckwarming

✎ word count: 1.8k words (not proofread)

masterlist | requests are open!

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who wants to see you become absolutely brainless because of him. you're such a smart girl usually, among the top of your class at university, and simon just loves to see that whole façade crumble away. he knows a good fucking is just what you need to unwind from your classes, and he is more than happy to give it to you.

✧ ˖ ° seeing you go all dumb on his cock makes simon nearly giddy, the feeling of how you stop pushing at his abs and just take it once he bullies his dick in far enough to fill your brain with him instead of whatever you're studying, the sight of your eyes rolling back and your little hands weakly grabbing at whatever they can reach for some semblance of grounding yourself. you know just as well as simon does that it's useless; he makes damn sure that you have nowhere to run to when he has you in his hold.

✧ ˖ ° another thing he makes sure of is that you steadily become the one to come onto him first. simon wants you to be his own little nymphomaniac, addicted to his cock, to him. it all works towards melting your brain quicker and quicker each time. there's a certain dedication he puts towards it- even by the time he was done with you the first time you slept together, he's planning it out, figuring out which muscles to press into to get you to mewl for him, just the right angle to pound his dick into you, how much you can take before he starts seeing dew drops collecting on your waterline.

✧ ˖ ° even outside of the bedroom (or kitchen, or living room, wherever he has yet to christen next in his house) simon's working on it. he'll give you so many hoodies, jackets, boxers, anything that smells like him that you want, and then he tells you that if you're going to touch yourself without him that you better be at least wearing his clothes while you do it. eventually you'll get to the point where you can't get off without the thought of him, without his scent, then without him. there's no doubt either that whenever you do get worked up without him, simon makes sure that you always tell him. text him, call him, send a damn carrier pigeon with a letter, he doesn't care, but he's going to guide you through every orgasm you have.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who can get to be a mean dom. he loves punishing you for whatever reason he can find, especially when you touch yourself without telling him. simon is an experienced special ops soldier who's used his hands to torture people as much as he's used them to pleasure you, so he has not a single problem with knowing how to get the truth out of you. obviously he doesn't torture you, though (not in a way you don't like).

✧ ˖ ° if it's been a long stretch of time where you haven't been able to see each other, he'll pull you onto his lap and start out all soft. he'll run his hands all over you, move his lips against yours sweet and slow, whisper about how much he missed his pretty little girl. he'll listen with a happy hum while you tell him how much you missed him, how much you need him. he'll guide your hips lightly when you can't help but start grinding against his thigh, hands pushing up your skirt to see which pair of underwear he gets to rip apart this time. and then he'll ask you how much you missed him.

✧ ˖ ° from the start you know the question is a double-edged sword, but you always answer truthfully. it only took you one lesson to learn that simon knows when you lie to him (he didn't let you cum for three days while he kept you at his house the entire time). he always appreciates the truth, praises you for being such a good girl for him when you honestly tell him that you only touched yourself during the short phone calls he was allowed while he was away. there's a little part of him that's always a bit disappointed though, the same part that turns into glee when you sheepishly admit that you couldn't wait for him.

✧ ˖ ° simon's always a bit too quick at flipping you over so your laying face-down over his thighs. one hand wraps around your neck to pull you up and arch your back, the other flipping up your skirt and grabbing roughly at your squishy ass. "couldn't fuckin' wait f'me, huh? y'so desperate for cock that y'can't follow simple orders? thought i already taught ya how to be patient," he spits, letting you fall back against the couch so his hand can move down to plant itself across your back. that's when he starts, not even waiting for you to try to apologize meekly or defend yourself. slaps that leave bruises you'll be feeling for days rain down across your ass and simon makes you count each one. if you lose count or stop, he'll push open your legs to smack your cunt and start all over. simon doesn't let up until you're sniffling and whining and your underwear is soaked through (which of course he makes fun of you for).

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who really is an absolute menace with you. he dangles your pleasure over your head like something he grabbed for you out of the cabinets, keeping it just out of your reach until he decides to give it to you. there won't ever be a moment where simon doesn't have most, if not all of the control. there's something about having that command over you, feeling you hand over your trust, your body and mind to him that's addicting. so no matter how cruel he can get, he'll always make sure to ply you with as many orgasms as you can handle (and then some) to show his appreciation.

✧ ˖ ° his brutishness can come in the form of wanting to see just how messy he can get you to be. he'll bury his face and fingers into your cunt until there's a puddle forming underneath you, and when he's done there, simon stuffs you full with his cock and fucks you until your makeup is running with your tears and smearing across the sheets. he'll rip off the clothes that bar him from seeing your gorgeous body so that you have to wear something of his afterwards. and god help you if he wants to fuck in the backseat of his car before you both go someplace. which, (not) shockingly, is something he wants to do before he meets your parents.

✧ ˖ ° with the car parked not too far from your parents house in some spot where people won't think to give the tinted windows a second look, he'll have you working your way down on his cock. every time you whine about how you're going to be late, they're going to know, they won't be happy, simon gives your ass a sharp slap and snaps his hips up into yours. "would y'rather i fuck you in your room while they're home? don't think you can keep quiet enough for that," he mocks, his tone condescending despite the fact that he's already planning on doing just that at some point.

✧ ˖ ° once you're practically limp against his body, letting him use you like his personal toy, he'll finally cum. you finish with him, your third orgasm in less than an hour, as he buries his cock to the hilt inside you and grinds his hips up. once you're semi-conscious again he helps you put on your underwear and pants and gives you his hoodie. and after you've taken off your ruined makeup and redid at least some of it, you'll drive the remaining minute to your parents house, where simon seems to know just how to get them to love him. meanwhile, you'll be shifting in your seat next to him while his cum creates a stain on your jeans.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who wants you to be with him basically 24/7 while he's not away on missions. you're his girlfriend, of course he wants to spend as much time as he can with you! never mind the fact that this man has probably been boxing away his libido for years. so while he's at his home, so will you be.

✧ ˖ ° you'll find that any clothes you bring over to your stays with simon don't really go missing as much as he blatantly makes them unwearable for you as long as you insist on still bringing them. why would you have any need for those when he has plenty for you? it's not like you'll be wearing clothes much anyway while he has you. it's a lesson you learn quickly to pack light, otherwise you'll be going home with scraps of fabric. simon doesn't not like your clothes (he thinks your style is adorable on you), but the way you smell like him with his hoodies and shirts, the way they're basically dresses on you serving to remind how much bigger he is than you, it drives him even crazier.

✧ ˖ ° because of how touch-starved (and horny) he is, simon prefers to always physically have you close to him. which means lots of cockwarming; he won't lie about how much he loves watching you try your very best not to squirm on his lap, not to lose yourself to how full you always feel with him inside you. whether you're watching a movie or he's working in his office or even just trying to sit down for a meal, simon will preemptively have you sinking down on his cock, chastising you about how eager you always are for him to just fuck you. it's nearly torture for him just the same as you, but the difference is that he has a lot more self-control than you do- just enough to give your thigh a stinging pinch every time you move a muscle.

✧ ˖ ° no matter how long he keeps you there, it'll always turn into simon pushing you against the nearest table or wall and fucking away the last few straggling thoughts in your head. he always waits until your breathing gets ragged and your nails are digging in hard. until you're panting against his neck from the effort it takes to not bounce yourself on his dick. until you're begging. "what? turned y'into that much of a whore that y'can't go five minutes without my cock? fine." he'll say it as if he's doing you a favor, as if he's going out of his way to satisfy the nymphomaniac that he himself has proudly created.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 27

Bruce Wayne + cock cages

Schools killing me, I am so tired rn 👍

Kinktober 2023 masterlist

Bruce stood amongst the many attendees of whatever Gala it was he was taking part in. It was one of many he had to attend during this time of year, so many people to greet and so many hands to shake, as surface level conversations passed from person to person, in some weak attempt at comradery.

But only about half his mind was on the Gala and people around him, instead he was more deeply focused on the metal constraint weighing on his crotch. You two hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks, both busy with your work, as heroes and during the day.

Bruce wasn’t sure what had come over him, but around halfway through the third week he had started sending you pictures and texts that he knew would get in trouble, but he couldn’t help himself. From pictures of him in just his tight black briefs, to him in even less splayed out on the deep red silk sheets of his bed. Every picture he took was planned and posed just right, showing off just what he knew got you going.

It awoke some giddy almost bratty part of him when you texted him back warning him about punishment, part of himself that Bruce thought didn’t exist anymore at his older age, but you lived to prove him wrong. When you finally reunited again, you gripped onto his shirt and pulled him to his bedroom, Bruce almost stumbling along after you as excitement and arousal bubbled in his gut.

But as you kissed and licked and bit, never once did you actually grab his cock. Even as you sat him in your lap and pinched and twisted at his nipples, or sucked hickeys on his thick pecs, even as he groaned and whined, his hips lifting off the bed in search of any semblance of friction.

Instead, you just kept teasing him until he was a dripping wet mess, the crotch of his boxers and slacks wet and sticky to the touch. But in the end, you didn’t bring him any type of completion, just laying down on the bed beside him and pulling out your phone, scrolling through different work emails or notifications.

Bruce found himself feeling almost wild as he scrambled into your lap, trying to gain your attention as he gripped onto your chest, his blue eyes misty and lip red from all the biting he had done to it. As he tried to grind against you, you wound your arm around him and pulled him down against you, letting out a displeased noise that had him going slack almost immediately.

This kept up for a few more days, you teasing him and kissing him, but never touching him where he wanted you the most. The closest Bruce got to it was when you pressed up against his back and rolled your hips into his ass as he was working on the batcomputer, but the touch was gone as quickly as it came, leaving him aching even more than before.

The lead to this night, as he stood getting ready for yet another gala he had to attend. As he did his tie, you came up behind him and wound your arms around his waist, the small touch almost having Bruce keening and buckling at the knees from the gut burning need he had for you and your touch.

“I have a way we can end this little game, what do you say?” you mutter against his neck, Bruce finding himself nodding before he even heard what you had to say. But it had been weeks apart, and now almost a week of you teasing him any chance you got. He knew it was his own fault for teasing and sending those pictures, but just the thought of going another day almost had him in tears.

That’s how he found himself on the bed, an ice-cold rag on his hard cock as you dug through the drawers beside your shared bed. Bruce had gasped as you placed the rag on his dick, but the metallic clinks of the item you were messing with made it obvious what you had in mind. Bruce found himself gulping nervously as he caught sight of the cage, made of stainless steel and custom made for his specific size and needs.

His legs shivered as you removed the rag and got to work securing the cage around his cock, the coldness keeping him from getting hard immediately again, and when he could feel the heat returning the padlock of the cage snapped shut. Bruce exhaled shakily as you wound the kay around your neck, placing an almost loving kiss against his tip through the cage.

He twitched and gasped as you patted his caged cock a few times as you got to your feet, the grin on your face a little cocky as you watched Batman himself writhing against the sheets. “Come on Love, we have a gala to go to” your voice as thick with want yet teasing as you stepped away from him, moving to get dressed up yourself.

Bruce needed a moment before he shakily got to his feet, tucking on the clothes needed. It was only experience that kept it hidden that he wasn’t feeling as even footed as usual, but your hand on his lower back kept him steady, even when your thumb rubbing against his lower back had him shiver softly.

Through the whole night he could feel his cock ache against the bars of his cage, trying again and again to get hard as the smallest touch from you set his senses alight. But no matter how hard he tried, it was impossible, and he could almost had cried as you finally left the Gala together.

As you got into the drivers’ seat of the car, Bruce took his spot in the passenger side, his hips softly rocking against his own wishes like his body just couldn’t take it anymore. A soft chuckle left you as you placed a hand on his thigh, your hand dangerously close to his still locked up cock as you drove back towards the manor, soft mutters of praise leaving you as Bruce tried to keep himself presentable. He knew from your praise that he had done good, he could only hope you would keep up your promise and finally touch him, whenever you decided to take off the cage, that was.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for an anon; a fake cryptid and a real romantic.

“I think I’m gonna try making him a ruby and do that in a trilliant cut,” Superboy says decisively, which isn’t necessarily much progress towards “normal” friend-making but again, Clark doesn’t want to discourage either a hobby or a creative outlet for the kid. Or just literally anything that isn’t about being a superhero, even if the trilliant cut resembling the S-shield and making friends with a vigilante are only sort of “not about being a superhero”. 

Look, the kid’s six months old and was educated by ethically bankrupt scientists and absolutely exhausted grad student interns, absolutely none of whom had either normal childhoods or an interest in instilling any semblance of “normal” in their cloned Superman’s head. Clark’s not going to be picky here, he’s just gonna meet him where he’s at and go from there. 

Superboy has some unfortunate difficulties understanding the difference between celebrity attention versus genuine admiration and things like that, and also an unfortunate tendency towards causing a lot of unnecessary property damage and jumping to conclusions and temper issues, but he tries, and he clearly does think about things. There’s just a lot to figure out in the world, and he’s had to do it in speed-run mode and while being an active superhero. 

Really, Clark thinks the kid’s doing a lot better as a superhero than he would’ve done at his “age”, and he’d actually been that “age”. Superboy is frankly just about the best-case scenario that could’ve come out of a situation like Cadmus and also mercifully only seems to be minimally traumatized by the sorry excuse for a “childhood” he was provided, so . . .

“That sounds nice,” Clark says, smiling at him. “I’m sure you’ll do a good job with it.” 

“I’m gonna do a good job with it if it fucking kills me,” Superboy says, looking determined, which seems like a lot of intensity to put into making a gift for a friend, but again: six months old and educated by ethically bankrupt scientists. Clark is going to stick with the “meeting him where he’s at” approach. 

“Just do your best to start, maybe,” he says wryly, reaching over to pat the kid’s shoulder. Superboy grins at him, his expression turning pleased. 

“I will!” he says. “Wanna see some of the test ones?” 

“Sure,” Clark says, figuring Superboy will just–

Nope, no, Superboy just immediately stuck both hands into his jacket pockets and came up with two big fistfuls of a good dozen high-quality diamonds done in trilliant cuts. Very large diamonds. 

Heavens to Betsy, Clark thinks a little faintly. That is . . . that is so many diamonds for Superboy to just have in his pockets. They weren’t even zipped shut! They weren’t even buttoned! 

Superboy lays his series of diamonds all out in neat little rows on the ledge, because there are enough of them to require multiple rows, and then reaches back into his pockets for a few more, because of course there are more. Clark continues to feel vaguely faint and has absolutely no idea how to point out how much money this is. Even at lab diamond rates, this is so much money. Just–so much. 

At this point in his life Clark has seen entire planets made of diamond, mind, but he still grew up in smalltown Kansas as a farm kid, so there’s something about seeing quite this many virtually flawless ones just laid out on a Metropolis rooftop the same way he would’ve shown off his POG collection to his friends as a kid. Even the damn cuts are just shy of perfect. 

Well, at least Superboy’s enjoying his first hobby, he supposes. But also, Jesus H. Christ.

“They look good, kid,” Clark says, smiling at him encouragingly. No need to take the wind out of his sails, obviously. Though seeing them now, it does occur to him to wonder–“Where did you get the tools?” 

They must be good ones, because honestly he really wasn’t expecting results this good–or even half this good–from a six month-old teenager. Superboy could definitely ruin De Beers’s day with those.

Or their industry, again. 

. . . well, it is De Beers, so . . . 

“Oh, I don’t have any,” Superboy says, shaking his head. “I just use my TTK.” 

Clark . . . pauses, for a moment. 

Clark pauses for a long moment. 

“Tactile telekinesis can cut diamond?” he asks carefully. “This precisely?” 

“Yeah!” Superboy beams proudly at him. “Cool, right?” 

Clark looks very, very closely at the diamonds. The cuts on them are practically atom-sharp. 

Alright then, he thinks to himself even more carefully.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Aemond is soon to be married to a political arrangement by their mother, so for his last unwed nameday, Aegon takes him to an elite brothel on the street of silk. He’s shy and doesn’t know what kind of woman he wants, so the owner of the brothel send him her most expensive girl to seduce him

A short little thing for Aemond (longer requests are coming, don't worry)

Warnings: 18+, prostitution,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Coming to the street of silk was Aegon’s idea. Unlike his brother, Aemond never visited brothels. They never appealed to him. He’d much rather sit in his chamber and read about the history of Valyria than bed a stranger for some gold coins. But Aegon insited that his brother needed to experience the ‘pleasure of fucking’ before he got wed to a highborn woman for the sake of politics. 

Aemond had never seen a more bustling place. The sounds of ambiance music, laughter and whispered promises filled the space, accompanied by lewd moans in some corners. Women were dancing and parading around scantily clothed as men were pawing at them. 

Holding back a grimace, the prince shifted his eye away from them. Despite his discomfort, he held no judgment for the people who made a living here. Not everyone was born in luxury.

Aegon nudged his brother forward. ‘’Pick the woman you want,’’ he urged as they entered.

Cloak still covering his head, Aemond gave him a quiet hum. 

They separated and ventured into the brothel. Women attempted to seduce him, attracted by his tall stature and youthful face, but Aemond politely rejected their advances, not interested.  

He spent a long time looking around, knowing Aegon would never let him leave the brothel without bedding a woman. 

Exploring further, Aemond followed a narrow hallway lined with makeshift rooms crafted from old sheets, offering a semblance of discretion in an otherwise open environment. The muffled sounds of pleasure emanating from behind closed curtains were more explicit, making the prince not want to take a peek. He wasn’t into voyeurism or exhibitionism. 

‘’Found anyone, brother?’’ Aegon asked after a few minutes, already having his own eyes on a few for himself. 

The taller prince shook his head. ‘’I have not…’’ 

Aegon pursed his lips, observing around them. There were women of every body type, age and hair color, why did Aemond have difficulty picking one? 

Then, it struck him. It wasn't a lack of options that troubled Aemond, but rather a mismatch of tastes. Perhaps he would prefer someone more elegant? Aegon searched for Maege, the owner of the brothel and asked if she had a higher priced woman for a special customer. The plump woman smiled, her eyes shifting to the white hair beneath his cloak. She nodded and Aegon handed her a few gold coins. It was much more than she was requesting, but he figured it would buy her silence too.

Maege showed the way to one of the private rooms of the brothel. They were expensive, therefore only used by exclusive customers. 

Aemond thanked Maege as she opened the curtain for him, and told him to get comfortable. The room was about the size of his bathing chamber and had a large canopy bed dressed in red sheets and cushions ornate of a gold trim. Aemong felt like he had been transported to a completely different brothel. Candles were lit on the cherry-wood tables, bringing light to the room. 

As he waited, echoes of other people's pleasure could be heard. Aemond tried to ignore them, telling himself that this will soon be over. 

After a few minutes of waiting, you pulled the curtain open slightly and slipped inside in silence. Maege had given you a couple of rules before she sent you to the private room. 1. Do not ask the customer any personal questions and keep the talking to a minimum. 2. Treat him with your best services. 3. Never mouth to others about his identity.

You assumed he was a Lord, a married man. Not the Prince Aemond.

You curtsied upon recognizing him, bowing your head before straightening up.  

Aemond glanced at you, his good eye surveying your figure from head to toe. Your hair cascaded down your back as if they hadn't been cut in years, rivaling with his own. Your body was covered by a long chiffon shift that didn't leave anything to the imagination. From the color of your nipples to the curve of your hips and even the slit between your legs. 

He inhaled a deep breath. A part of him wanted to dismiss you, or simply sit in silence for long enough to trick Aegon that he fucked you, but something about you was calling to him.  

‘’What do you want me to do, my Prince?’’ you asked, your peaked nipples poking against the thin, pale fabric. 

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen@naty-1001@katiepie67@moshpot24x@hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler@saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag@wondxrgurl@aerangi@strmborns@astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection

All and more taglist:  @kenqki  @hawkegfs  @gillybear17   @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade   @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff   @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity  Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever

[eyesxxyou]

(rq, ftm!reader) maybe something w all the diff variants of hobie? them all spoiling you, being all touchy and needy, maybe something about how much they need this, how in their universe you're still in the friendzone

-🕸

💿 ꩜ ❝ favor ❞ hobie brown x ftm trans!reader ꩜ 💿

❝ contents ❞ dilf!Hobie, loser!Hobie, mean!Hobie, kissing, palming, sharing between them, dry humping, implied foursome

Hands. So many hands. Pulling at your clothes, grappling at your flesh. Fingers press and knead supple skin to bruise under the weight of their desire. Lips pass you around like a joint, each maintaining the same shape you almost thought you were kissing the same person. You were kissing the same person technically. There were just so many of him.

Hobies, all spawning from universes slightly different than the next. Their lips all tasted the same but it was no difficult feat differentiating one from the other based on how they loved you. Despite their hands, fiending for a feel, a sliver, a taste of you, they take turns with you.

You’re passed between the 3 of them, so similar yet so different it leaves you delirious.

The first one is visibly older than the rest of them by about 10 years, settled nicely in his early to mid 30s. Hobie was handsome, aged like fine wine. Smile lines etched into his dark skin by the sands of time, a few stray hairs slowly turning more gray by the day. He lived a happy life, presumably with a child. You wondered if in his universe, they were yours; that child.

He kissed you deeply, like he missed you, like it’s been so long. His hand settled against your neck, between the peppered kisses of the others against your tender pulse points. Thumb stroking against the rhythmic beat of your pulse.

This Hobie held an air of maturity around him, a responsibility that the other have yet to understand. His tongue lapped at the seam of your lips and with each stroke he coaxed your lips apart. “Are ya ‘kay wit’ this?” The sweet baritone of his voice hummed against your lips, hand holding your waist to keep your body flushed with his. You nodded, sighing just enough to let him slip his tongue into your mouth and explore steadily cautiously.

He took his time exploring you. Lavishing in every shiver and moan you offered up to him like a sacrifice to a god. “It's okay,” he cooed into your mouth, “yer such a good boy f’me. ‘m gonna pass ya off but I’ll be righ’ here if ya need me.”

He offered you up to the next Hobie and you cried softly at the feeling of his lips leaving yours but just as quickly as his lips parted, another pair found yours, identical to his.

His hands were far more timid, his kisses less experienced than those that preceded him. It was almost cute how hard he tried to kiss you with some semblance of authority. It was an act and you knew it. It was easy to overpower him, your tongue dragged over his bottom one, teeth nipping til he moaned.

This Hobie almost trembled under your touch, stammering over his few words. “Fuck, yer— God…” he let out in baded breaths “Yer so-” he choked. “Pretty.” He panted into your mouth, hands squeezing softly at the pudge of your body. Your hands guided his from place to place, letting him find purchase on your ass where he kneaded the flesh almost respectfully.

“He doesn't know how to handle you.” Another Hobie whispered in your ear, his hands grasping your waist and pulling you out of the weak grasp of one Hobie and into the next.

This one, this one was aggressive, demanding. His hands grasped so hard that you were sure there’d be bruises in their shape later on. Despite all their holding, caressing, grabbing, and pulling. Hands sliding under your shirt, brushing over your swollen, perky nipples. This one held you the tightest.

His hand held a firm place around your tender throat, squeezing until you felt you could hardly draw air into your lungs. You liked his roughness, the way he bit your lip and drew just the smallest bit of blood until your kiss held the smallest twing of a metallic aftertaste.

This Hobie was the possessive type, his eyes flickered to the others and his lips curled into a snarl at them. He had look in his golden gaze, feral, mean, unyielding. Not in the mood to share. His tongue parted your lips forcefully, stroking your tongue and pressing it back to give himself full access to your hot, wet mouth. His hand reached between your thighs and cupped your sweet cunt in his large palm, claiming it as his.

“The tings I’d do t’ya if I had ya alone.” He murmured.

“Don't hog ‘im. He’s ours too.” The second Hobie whined, his hands tugging at you to pull you back into his arms. His lips were against the side of your throat, the thick of his clothed cock pressed against the round of your ass.

“We agreed to share.” The older Hobie commented. He grabbed your chin gently and turned your pretty little head towards him. His eyes were softer than the other two, wiser as well.

“Ya don' know how much we need this, luv. Yer doin’ is a favor. Be a good boy f’me and le’ is ‘ave our way wit’cha, yeah?”

You found yourself nodding, a choked whimper escaping your lips as the last Hobie, the mean one grasped your face, nimble yet strong fingers turning your face to kiss you while the quiet Hobie kept thrusting his hips into you, whining all the while into the nape of your neck.

You told yourself you were doing them a favor.

taglist: @hobs-kiss, @hoe-bie

[wildflowerluver]

sweet pea

aaron hotchner x teen!reader, bau team x teen!reader

5 times the team hears about you and the 1 time they actually meet you

cw: fem reader, set over the span of three years, case mentions, broken family unit, hotchner trio, hotch is a swiftie, also refers to his daughter as ‘sweet pea’, team is nosy, eating/food, forehead kisses run the hotchner home

wc: 3.4k

༺♡༻

1. inception

child cases are always rough.

they’re not only extremely sensitive, but they hit emotionally for everyone involved. 

it’s a small town and yet no strong leads. there’s no reason for the case to be as difficult as it is, but every case the team looks into is different.

local p.d. bring in a woman named chancy solace. she was the last one to see the missing boy alive and no one wants to wait around for another death to happen to look for evidence.

hotch was set to do the interview.

he asked basic questions about the missing boy, keeping his voice calm as she recounted her day through tears. they all knew she was innocent, no doubts about it. he was set to finish up after a few moments. it was clear she didn’t know much.

as he went to stand, however, solace had stopped him.

“do you have children, agent hotchner?” her voice was broken.

hotch nods. “i do.”

“how old?”

“my son is 3 and my daughter is 13.”

the air outside the room went stale. everyone on the team knew jack. some had even met him within his first few weeks of life. he was three, that was a fact - but a daughter? not once had hotch mentioned one, let alone one with such a large age gap. jack never rattled about a big sister either.

solace frowned, more tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. “then you must understand the guilt i’m feeling right now. can you imagine if you were the last one to see your daughter before she disappeared? how can i possibly have it in me to be a part of this?”

hotch doesn’t want to think about the question she posed, not at all.

“we’re going to find him. it’s going to be alright,” it was a promise, one hotch intended not to break.

he left the room after that. their only known witness wasn’t much help for the case and there was no point in wasting time.

rossi stops hotch before he can walk away.

“why’d you lie?”

there’s no question on what rossi is asking about. it’s profiling 101 that lying to a suspect, no matter innocent or not, could be dangerous.

hotch glanced at his team.

“i didn’t.”

2. first encounter

you’ve had a really, really, really bad day.

from the second you woke up, everything seemed to go wrong. school wasn’t any better and by the end of the day, the only thing you wanted to do was see your dad. he’s your favorite person and a hug from him always reassures you that things will be okay.

you text him before your last class of the day to ask when he’ll be home. if it’s even possible, a deeper frown appears on his face when he tells you no later than six. 

part of you wants to be happy from that response. no later than six means there’s no cases and he’s on top of his files. but after the day you had, you just need someone and waiting nearly four hours for him to get home is less than ideal. 

can i come to the bau?

your text is a shot in the dark. your dad keeps you out of his profession and you’ve never stepped foot in quantico. you just hope he gets some sort of semblance for what's going on if you're asking to come see him.

he responds back seconds later. ‘i’ll send an agent.’

it’s not that he doesn’t trust you to get there on your own, there’s even a direct line from the train station closest to your school, but you're still young, only 14, and you know he would feel more comfortable having an agent pick you up.

the next time you check your phone, your dad has sent a message with the name of the agent and instructions on how to prove that it’s him. it’s not him being overprotective, it’s him wanting you to be safe. 

agent anderson is easy enough to spot. you run through the procedures your dad wanted and once you know it’s the right person, you get in the car.

he doesn’t say anything when you shove your earbuds in your ears and shuffle your playlist and you’re thankful for that. you’re especially grateful that he doesn’t ask questions when you bite your lip and swipe away stray tears that have fallen down your face.

music is an outlet for you, an escape, and right now that’s all you wanted to do. 

earbuds remain in your ears as you step into the bau building. anderson leads you through security and gets you a visitors badge. you very faintly hear any of his verbal instructions.

he leaves you once you reach the right floor, pointing through the glass doors to show you where to go. with a smile, he’s gone.

you weigh your options for a moment before walking in. you told your dad you're here but you don’t know where his office is. and right now, you really do not want to deal with anyone else. but with a deep breath, you decide to take your chances and head in.

a child walking into the bau is an automatic red flag, let alone one with puffy eyes and red cheeks, a clear sign of crying.

morgan and j.j. are the first two to stand up, wasting no time in circling their desks to walk to where you stand at the bullpen entrance; j.j.’s mouth already open with an “are you alright?” on the tip of her tongue.

but before they reach you, and before j.j. can speak, hotch is out of his office and moving down the stairs.

he steps in front of them when he faces you, thus shielding you from the prying eyes of the team. you look up at your dad, eyes full of a new wave of tears.

hotch doesn’t hug you then, though he desperately wants to, nor does he explain who you are to the team. instead, he places a strong hand on your shoulder, turning you slightly before guiding you up to his office. the door is shut and the blinds are closed. the two of you are cut off from the others and all of them know not to intrude.

“who was that?” rossi questioned after stepping onto the catwalk. the commotion was noticeable.

“i think we just met y/n.”

3. phone call 

on flights home from cases, what the team does onboard genuinely varies with what time of day it is.

during early morning and late night flights, you can find most of the team asleep, trying to make up for the rest lost in the past few days. anything between that is typically a more active time.

hotch is dealt into a game of poker with the entire team. rossi acts as the dealer claiming he’s “not in the mood to get outsmarted at his favorite game.”

the entire group is laughing and chatting among themselves as they play. there’s no reason not to, it was a successful case - worth the positive mood on the jet.

hotch’s phone ringing cuts through emily’s turn.

he holds his hands up in defense and mumbles a quiet apology.

“hi sweet pea,” hotch barely has time to greet you before he gets cut off with your frantic “did you listen?”

his laugh causes the others to bring their heads up from their cards. a hotch laugh is uncommon, rare.

“i did. we finished up here last night so i listened before i went to bed and finished when i woke up,” he answers your question. 

he waits for your response, already knowing that you want to know his thoughts on the album.

“well,” hotch pauses. “if i’m being honest, i liked it more than fearless.”

j.j. and emily are the only two who have any idea what he’s talking about. a record could be set for how fast their eyes snap to each other once it clicks.

hotch is quiet for a few moments. though no one can make out exactly what you’re saying on the other end, they can hear your muffled rambling.

“yeah yeah, i liked that one too,” hotch agrees. “i think my top two are dear john and haunted, though. her songwriting is incredible in those.”

whatever he means clearly pleases you judging by the content look on his face.

“alright i have to get going,” he starts. “but i have the vinyl reserved at the record store. we can go when i get back? should be home by two.”

you agree without hesitation, several “thank you’s” being repeated. hotch won’t admit it ever to anyone besides you, but he’s excited to hear it on vinyl too. it’s kinda your shared thing.

“i’ll see you when i get home, okay? i love you.”

he hangs up after goodbyes, placing his phone back onto the table before picking up his cards. the silence lingers in the air even after he makes the motion that he’s ready to continue. “what?”

“you listen to taylor swift?”

hotch smiles, a genuine one. “my daughter loves her. have to keep up somehow.”

4. vacation 

when hotch doesn’t show up to work for a week, it takes only the first day for the team to panic. it had been a little over a year and a half since foyet had stabbed hotch and hotch had gone missing. no one was going to take chances when their boss, who typically had perfect attendance, showed up without notice.

rossi and morgan went to strauss at the end of the day. 

their interrogation on hotch’s whereabouts is in good faith, but it doesn’t take a profiler to notice strauss’ sigh at their concerns.

“agent hotchner is on vacation,” she starts. “he should be back next week. until then, i am under orders to not assign a new case unless necessary.”

the agents turn to each other in confusion as they leave. “a vacation? come on rossi, when in all the years of knowing him has hotch ever willingly gone on vacation.”

the older man shrugs. “i don’t know. maybe this’ll be good for him.”

there’s no arguing with that.

when hotch returns the following monday, no one hesitates to notice the change in his physical appearance.

his skin is tanned and he has a slight tinge of sunburn on his nose and cheekbones; a clear sign he went somewhere warm.

“hotch!” emily catches him before he can retreat to his office.

all eyes are on him and he knows it. 

“where were you?” she inquired. 

hotch sighs. “greece.” 

this catches the attention of the other team members in the bullpen. rossi seems to have found an empty chair at j.j.’s desk. even garcia had chosen this exact moment to get a new cup of coffee.

“greece?” emily stutters. “like the european country?”

hotch nods. “that’s the one.” 

morgan whistles. vacations in the bau are fairly uncommon. the looming threat of being called back for a case stops most from planning. even if the timing does work out, no one goes far; let alone out of the country. 

“and you just decided to go there for a casual vacation,” j.j.’s tone isn’t condescending, but rather showing genuine curiosity.

“it’s y/n’s birthday in a few months and she’s always wanted to go,” hotch explains like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “jack’s still a little too young so he stayed with jessica.”

he doesn’t mingle around after that, choosing to head up to his office to get set up after his week away.

“huh,” garcia murmurs. “didn’t take him for a greek island guy.”

“guess that shows just how much he’s wrapped around y/n’s finger.”

5. baked goods

you don’t have school today.

despite that, you still get up early to have breakfast with your brother and dad. once jack is picked up by the bus for school, your dad gets ready for work.

you stay in the kitchen, however, moving the cookies you made last night from one container to the other.

when your dad reappears, you wait for his hands to be empty before posing your question.

“is there any way you can give these to agent rossi?” you practically shove the container into your dad’s hand.

aaron raises an eyebrow. “rossi?”

“you mentioned he was italian,” you wait for a nod of confirmation. “these are canestrelli, they’re an italian cookie. i wanted to know if you could give these to him for a taste test.”

he smiles. “trying to expand your baking horizons?”

you match his expression. “exactly.”

with a kiss to your forehead, your dad is out the door and off to work.

“delivery,” hotch’s tone is steady as he knocks on rossi’s office door.

“from who?”

“y/n,” hotch answers as he sets the container down. “she tried to make canestrelli and wanted your opinion. i’m just the messenger.”

rossi takes the container from hotch. he opens it up before plucking a cookie out and examining it. “looks authentic.” 

if he’s being honest, even if the cookie isn’t good, he’ll still love it.

but it isn’t.

of course it isn’t.

rossi takes one bite and his eyes widen.

“i haven’t had canestrelli this good since the last time i went to italy. tell her she should be very proud and i will be happy to pay for more.”

hotch can’t hide his proud expression. “i will.”

+1 first meeting

you always wait for your dad to get home from work. it’s routine.

plus, you made a promise to jack when you put him to bed that you would send your dad upstairs when he got home.

you bake in the meantime. it’s something to pass the time and you figure having something fresh to eat would be a nice surprise for your dad.

music plays from the record you have spinning. you keep it quiet as to not wake jack up upstairs. he’s not a light sleeper, but you don’t want to disturb his rest.

the side door opens as you're mixing the flour to the batter. tonight’s bake is gingerbread. easy enough to make. 

it surprises you when your dad doesn’t call out a hello. he’s come home this late before when you’re still up and he always makes it a point to greet you. plus, you have music playing. there’s no doubt he can’t hear that.

“dad?” your voice is quiet.

you peer around the corner, stepping out a bit further when you see him, though you freeze when you notice the other people following him. 

“hi sweet pea,” his voice is tired, you can tell. you close your eyes when he hugs you and kisses your forehead. if his team is here you know it’s not good.

“what’s going on?”

he turns to you. “i can explain in a few minutes. are you okay for introductions?” his voice lowers for the last part, not wanting the team to hear if you say no.

you nod, though anxiety bubbles at the pit of your stomach at the deflection of the question.

“everyone, this is y/n, my daughter,” your dad starts. unsure what to do, you wave slightly. “y/n, this is my team, that’s dave, derek, emily, spencer, j.j., and penelope.” he points to each of the people as he rattles his name off.

while your dad kept you out of his work, you did faintly know each member of the team. he talked about them in passing and jack rambled often about something “uncle dave” or “uncle derek” did.

“why are they here?” you hope your question doesn’t come off as rude.

your dad squeezes your arm. “can you go back in the kitchen for a few? i’m going to get these guys set up and then i can explain. is jack asleep?”

you nod. “i put him to bed a few hours ago. he was asking for you.”

“thank you,” he starts. “i’ll go see him in a bit.”

the conversation is over. you feel awkward standing in the foyer where you’re clearly the center of attention. you turn and walk into the kitchen. finishing your baking seems like a good idea.

aaron enters the kitchen as you’re pouring the batter into the pans. the music is off by now, though the record stays on the turntable. he waits for you to put the pan in the oven and face him before explaining.

“there’s a mole in the bau. we’re trying to figure it out but we obviously can’t work there. i volunteered our house. we would’ve gone to dave’s but he’s having work done.” you know he’s giving you the most minimal answer possible.

“oh,” you’re honestly not quite sure what else to say.

he continues. “we’re hoping to have it cleared up soon but we don’t have a lot of our normal equipment. i wasn’t expecting you to be up for all this. couldn’t sleep?”

“was waiting for you to get home,” you shrugged. “you know i always do.” 

“yeah i know. i should’ve called.”

you turn to him. “It’s alright. i’m just going to clean up while i wait for the gingerbread to be done and then i’ll go to bed.” 

your dad nods. “let me know when you do.” he disappears out of the kitchen after that.

cleaning up doesn’t take long and you’re still elbows deep in soapy water when the oven beeps. you take it out of the pan and set it on a cooling rack before gathering your stuff. you’re honestly exhausted.

going into the living room takes a moment of mental courage. you know everyone is in there and you don’t want to interrupt them. but, you’ve missed your dad and you want him to say goodnight.

“um, i’m going to head up to bed,” your voice echoes through the room. it was fairly quiet before and you feel embarrassed for interrupting that. the first part is directed at your dad. you turn to the rest of the team. “i made fresh gingerbread if anyone wants any. it’s on the counter, help yourself. i also put on a fresh pot of coffee and that should be ready soon.”

aaron’s heart is so full that he almost forgets the case at hand.

“i’ll be up in a minute,” aaron voices.

you hum, nodding to the team as a non-verbal goodnight.

he dishes out individual assignments within the team. they’ll work as a group to start before taking shifts so others can rest.

jack’s room is his first stop. he doesn’t wake the boy, choosing to instead kiss his forehead before picking up his stuffed dinosaur, a gift, and placing it back on the bed.

you’re just getting under the covers when your dad knocks.

“come in!”

your dad steps inside, shutting the door slightly.

“hi,” you smile.

“hi,” he echoes. “good day?”

you shrug. “yeah, i guess so. i got jack from school and we spent the afternoon together. missed you though.”

aaron frowns. “i’m sorry sweet pea. didn’t think this was going to happen. none of us did.”

“i know you didn’t. i’m not mad.”

you want to continue your statement and wash away any guilt you know he’s feeling. but, your body betrays you and a yawn cuts you off.

“alright, time for bed,” his words make you feel like a child but you know he’s right.

he tucks you in and like with jack, he kisses your forehead.

“goodnight dad, i love you.”

“i love you too.”

his demeanor changes when he goes downstairs and sits with the team. he’s serious, ready to work. right now this case is his priority. he, like others, wants to wrap it up quickly and efficiently. 

emily nudges him when he sits down beside her. spencer and derek’s banter about the case is long drowned out.

“she’s a good kid.”

hotch beams. 

“i know.”

[grapementos]

perseverance

aged up bakugo x reader

pt. 3 to this

numerous panic attacks had ensued since you were discharged from the hospital, but not all of them reached their final stages like the first had.

you’d grown better at grounding yourself and having some semblance of control over your anxiousness. slowly but surely, you felt the pain ebbing away.

it would never be gone completely, you knew, and every day you questioned the possibility of things being different.

what if katsuki hadn’t quit being a hero? what if he’d proposed just as he’d planned to? would your wedding have been beautiful? your marriage successful and healthy?

there were so many what ifs that hurt your heart just to think about.

yet, all you did was think about it—in the best, healthiest way.

you set aside your pride and fears and confided not only in your friends, but in a therapist. you had sessions weekly, and every time you walked out of the office, you felt a little lighter.

for the first time, you understood that it was okay to still love katsuki, to still want to be with him. in fact, they initially expressed how they wished the two of you had tried couples therapy before everything went south.

that was another what if that hurt.

you were always the more rational, levelheaded one. why hadn’t you thought of it, encouraged it? would it have made a difference? those thoughts kept you awake at night, haunting your mind and mocking you with images of a perfect life with katsuki. the life you could've had.

those thoughts were bumps in your path to recovery. it was only through those thoughts, however, that you learned that the road wasn't linear. you had amazing days when you felt strong and independent, days when you'd feel like you were in a colgate commercial. other days, you wanted to set your apartment on fire and disappear. you wanted to scream until your voice was gone, vocal chords torn to shreds. some days, you just wanted everything to stop.

through the good and the bad, you were able to persevere through the challenging navigation of a breakup. still, you granted yourself permission to still love him. to be in love with him. that love would never just vanish, you'd realized a few months into your journey. it dulled, flickered, and faded, but never vanished.

-

you'd found that implementing a routine in your daily life had greatly improved your overall mental health.

this morning, you turned on the news as you made yourself breakfast--a meal you forced yourself to consume, no matter how little it was.

as you grabbed what you needed from the cupboards, a name in the news had you pausing everything.

"...following his spontaneous philanthropic streak, former hero dynamight announces that he will be hosting a tell-all session at our local library. there, he intends to, quote, 'make amends with those i might have hurt with my words, actions, or lack thereof...' well, you heard it here. don't miss a valiant display of heroic vulnerability today at noon. in other news..."

you gaped at the tv, the glass bowl slipping from your suddenly clammy fingers.

philanthropic streak? where had you been?

the sound of the glass breaking reached your ears a whole minute after it hit the ground, snapping you out of your dumbfounded stupor.

"shit," you cursed, crouching down to pick up the pieces.

no, don't even think about it.

you looked at the clock, reading 8 as the time. plenty of time for you to get dressed and go.

no.

you could easily make it in time and sit in the back, just to see him and hear what he had to say.

no.

you'd wear something inconspicuous and hide in the back, just being silent. and then you'd leave, after ten minutes.

no.

every no carried a little bit of yes at the end of it, forcefully dragging you out of the kitchen and into the bathroom for a shower. it was closure, you argued to yourself, closure that you desperately needed.

it's going to be excuses, nothing but lies.

dark clothes are the best choice, you decided, anxiously changing into something you deemed inconspicuous. just ten minutes, it was all you needed.

don't throw all your progress away for ten minutes.

you stared at the mirror, trying to find a single good reason to stay home. yet, every thought in your mind convinced you that this, this is what you needed. you needed to hear him express his regret, his remorse to other people. people who once trusted and supported him in his endeavors, only to be woefully let down by his bouts of anger.

this will just make you hurt more. don't do this.

you discarded every invasive voice in the back of your brain and found yourself at the library come noon, hidden behind a bookshelf. you browsed the shelves with unseeing eyes, thoughts drowned out by the low murmur of the large crowd seated in front of the small stage in the center.

the library was home to many plays around the city, which you found ironic. would this be another display of dramatism and lies?

just as you found a book with a flattering cover, the mic whined with a little feedback.

"sorry about that."

you knew the voice, but the genuineness was foreign to you. you peeked over the row of books, your blood running cold as you saw katsuki sitting meekly on a chair on the stage.

"hello, everyone. i'm, uh, i'm bakugo katsuki, but most of you might know me as dynamight," he began, scanning the crowd, "a lot of you might not be fond of me based, um, based on my time as a hero."

many voices mumbled in agreement at that, which made him laugh, just the slightest. it made your chest swell with pride he didn't deserve.

"and i really don't blame you. i carried a lot of my immaturity from high school into adulthood. my biggest problem was that i saw heroism as a means to an end, a," he motioned with his hands, trying to find the words, "a stepping stone to being 'the best'--whatever that means. and i got lost in my obsession with my image."

you listened intently, at least half sure that you were listening to a complete stranger talk. the katsuki you knew had nowhere near this much humility.

"with that being said, my first apology goes to you, the people of this beloved city. you deserved someone who had your best interest at heart, and i'm sorry that couldn't be me. but, rest assured, i am very familiar with the current top ten and can say with confidence that they are the heroes you deserve."

you found yourself tearing up at his words, so awestruck by the complete 360 in his persona.

the crowd cheered at his words, as pleasantly surprised with his chanage as you were.

"thank you," he chuckled when the crowd quieted down, "next, i'd like to apologize to my friends and family. they definitely got some of the worst of it. for years, they suggested therapy for the anger that i just couldn't seem to control. and for years, brushed them off, over and over again. i insisted that my anger was fuel for my quirk, when in reality, it was detrimental. dangerous. so, mom, dad, all my friends, i'm sorry it took me so long to take your advice. thank you for standing by me."

you werent sure if the session was being broadcasted, but you sure hope it was. kirishima, mina, sero, and denki deserved to hear it. more than that, you were shocked to discover that he'd also been in therapy. so he really meant it..

another round of applause.

"last, and most important," he sucked in a sharp breath, "i'd like to apologize to the love of my life."

you stilled, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over your head. no, no way.

"i spent three amazing years with the only person i could ever see myself loving. they were the most patient, the most kind person you could ever imagine. they stood by me during every slandering headline, every angry episode, every single ugly moment. they were there."

you covered your mouth and crouched down to the floor, squeezing you eyes shut. no, hell no, you refused to cry.

he exhaled shakily, rubbing a sweaty palm against his jeans, "they were devoted to me, to us. i'd be nothing without their impact on my life, and i've done the worst job at showing it. i," he stammered, scrunching his eyebrows together, "i ruined what we had, and i've never regret anything more. i know all the philanthropy and therapy and apologies in the world can never take back my insensitivity, but i will never stop being sorry, and i swear i'll grow every day."

you had to clamp your hand harder over your mouth to prevent any sniffles or sobs from escaping and alerting everyone to your presence. his words were so genuine, so wholehearted that you knew he truly had changed.

"i'll love them forever, regardless of if they hate me. with that love, i'll destroy any semblance of the douchebag-asshole-monster i used to be." he smiled out to the crowd as a final goodbye, "thank you, everyone. you don't owe me your forgiveness, but i hope you'll consider forgiving me one day."

people clapped, whistled, cheered for him as he turned off the mic.

meanwhile, your heart was racing. you didn't have a single coherent thought in your mind other than the fact that he loved you. he loves you.

he wasn't begging or crying this time, his acts weren't out of desperation. he was completely and totally vulnerable in front of a group of people that he didn't even know included you.

as people flooded out of the library, you shakily pushed yourself to your feet. what now? how could you possibly be expected to walk all the way to your car and drive home in this state of mind?

with a quick breathing technique your therapist taught you, you calmed down enough to get your hands to stop trembling.

katsuki had started helping the security guards pick up and stack the chairs, making small talk with them as they cleaned up the area.

you wiped at your cheeks, hoping they weren't too blotchy. with a quiet breath, you silently crept away from behind the bookshelf and toward the exit.

unfortunately, your far-from ninja-like skills couldn't get past the years of hero instincts engraved in every muscle fiber of katsuki's body.

"y/n?"

you froze, shoulders tensing as you slowly turned around.

"hey, bakugo," you cleared your throat, averting your eyes, "that was, uh, that was nice of you. good job."

there was something undetectable in his face, something you couldn't put your finger on, "oh, thanks, i-" he stepped closer, but stopped when he sensed your hesitance, "i didn't expect to see you here."

"i didn't expect to be here." you said honestly, fidgeting with your fingers, "but i should, uh, probably get going."

he opened and shut his mouth a few times before he sighed and nodded, "okay. but i really meant it, you know? everything i said."

fuck, you were going to cry again. you didn't want to, not in front of him.

"i know." you nodded, "i don't.. hate you, you know? we both had issues that we chose to resolve separately."

"i just wish," he sighed, looking for the words, "i wish that was't the case."

you couldn't hold in your tears anymore, a few cascading down your cheek, but you quickly wiped them away.

"i know." you swallowed hard, trying to prevent your voice from doing that embarrassing, high-pitched crack, "i do too."

he opened his arms, offering a hug and you just couldn't say no. the space was so perfectly carved for you.

you hugged him tight, burying your face into his shoulder.

"i'm so sorry, y/n. i'm sorry for everything." he whispered into your hair, his voice wet with tears, "i never deserved you."

you just cried harder, knuckles white as you gripped onto the back of his shirt. you wanted to speak, to reassure him that it wasn't completely his fault, but you couldn't pause for a breath long enough to say a single word.

instead, the two of you dropped to the ground, arms wrapped around each other with a desperation that you only feel for each other. a once-in-a-lifetime desperation.

the two of you cried and held each other, and somehow you knew everything was going to be okay.

and this concludes the triology! thank you for the overwhelming support on this series that wasn't even meant to be a series!

taglist: @blackout-ice-biohazard @survivorofmath @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory @odessa-is-my-queen @firesmokeandashes @valentineshiftz @sil-ver-shadow @echosfadve

[apas-75]

So last night I finished reading Rise of the Red Blade for TotE Vibes Research purposes and the two Inquisitor characters in it really illustrate exactly why I think Barriss is going to survive and escape them.

Because the thing is that there are two kinds of Inquisitors! The ones who volunteered, and the ones who...didn’t. Iskat (RotRB’s focus character) perfectly exemplifies the first type: she had some traumatizing experiences at a young age, fell through a number of institutional cracks in the Order, had a really terrible master (meet me in the pit, Sember Vey), everyone was too busy to give her the follow-up they would under normal circumstances, Palpatine had an agent actively gathering information about her and pushing her to become Worse—she was a pre-selected candidate who was offered the choice to come quietly when Order 66 hit, and she took it. By that point all of her issues and doubts had been exacerbated to the point where it wasn’t hard for her to make herself hate the Jedi, and then she rationalized her way through any indication that her freedom was a lie and doubled her way down right into hell.

By contrast: Tualon, Iskat’s crechemate situationship guy. He had some issues but was not someone on Palpatine’s radar; Iskat left him to die in Order 66 and he survived getting shot by darksiding out about her betrayal. Because of that he was taken alive and they did some shit to him. When Iskat runs into him at the Inquisitor HQ after he’s freshly-inducted he can barely remember why he hates her, or anything else from before he was taken. He woke up in the room where you fight Trilla and they fully shattered him and glued a semblance of a person back together out of the wreckage, just COMPLETELY Winter Soldiered the guy, and the only way he had to cope with it is to lean into a weird codependent situationship with Iskat.

And that distinction’s always been there with the Inquisitors; you have the true believers who ended up hating the Jedi or wanted to go on a power trip (or had the kind of revenge plan only a 12 year old could come up with and then stick to for a decade, in one case) and didn’t need any additional coercion to volunteer, and you have the ones that they broke. In the former group you’ve got the Grand Inquisitor, Reva/Third, Lyn/Fourth*, Fifth, and Iskat/Thirteenth. For the most part they’re certified freaks, but they came by it naturally. (Reva’s a different flavor.) In the latter, you’ve got Trilla/Second, Seventh, Masana/Ninth, Tualon, and probably most of the others. They all got disassembled and reassembled without much care given to the process and are all Coping with it badly in different ways, whether by deciding it’s Empowering, Actually (Trilla & Seventh) or by becoming completely jaded about everything (Masana & Tualon).

(*We obviously don’t know a lot about Fourth yet, but the fact that she shows up to recruit Barriss while rocking yellow dark side eyes before ROTS is even over tells me she’s definitely a volunteer.)

All this is to say: The Grand Inquisitor is making a colossal mistake with Barriss from the drop, and it’s why I think she’s going to win their battle of wits and escape. Because he is treating her like she is an Iskat and she could not be any farther from it.

He sends Lyn to get her to come quietly! They actively withhold information from her about what happened to the Jedi and what her expected role in it is! That’s not how they recruit the ones they think will be a problem; if that were the case she would have been stunned out of hand and woken up on a rack.

Instead, he’s giving her special attention,, he’s training her—he doesn’t think they need to break her. She’s just got a few...pesky hang-ups from her time as a Jedi that need ironing out**. He’s projecting on her; he doesn’t just want an empty shell holding a lightsaber—he wants Barriss Offee, loyally kneeling at his side, fully believing in their mission. She’s his favorite.

(**That “mercy only breeds defeat” line isn’t just a generic darksidism; I’m pretty sure he’s directly critiquing how Barriss got caught because she showed mercy to Asajj Ventress.)

And surely that's something he can turn her into, right? Because she hates the Jedi, right? She attacked them, she outsmarted them, obviously she’d be down for wanting to wipe them out! He was there when she confessed and, like pretty much everyone else in the room save for Ahsoka, he didn’t hear a single word that she said—just what he wanted her to be saying. He’s got a deeply incorrect idea of her, and that idea is “she’s just like me for real.”

And he’s wrong, because the Inquisitorius is everything she feared the Jedi Order was becoming—literally, an army fighting for the dark side—and the Empire is everything she knew the Republic was becoming. She might be prone to despairing, it might in some hypothetical be possible to get her into the same resigned despair trap as Anakin, but she would never actually want to serve the Empire, and they don't think they'll have to try hard to convince her to.

She loves the Jedi, she loved being a Jedi, she wanted to save them. She wants to be one again more than anything even though right now she thinks she doesn’t deserve it, thinks that she’s already too broken to reclaim what she was. But I think being surrounded by actual fallen Jedi and being told over and over again that she’s like them is, in the end, going to be what reminds her that she never stopped being a Jedi in the first place.

And as long as she can make sure her captors don't realize that's true until it's too late, she'll be home free.

[2012wannabe]

6. Dubcon

cw/tw: no outbreak, stepmom!abby, virgin/innocent reader, grooming, mommy kink

wc: 1378

an: is Abby a lesbian? Yes. Is she married to a man in this au? Also yes but just for useless plot purposes.

Walking through the door you sighed upon seeing a very particular set of keys on the ring. There was only one set, letting you know that your dad was out while your new stepmom Abby was home. You walked up the stairs, attempting to bypass your dad's room and not see her but to your annoyance you heard her voice calling you.

“How was your day sweetie?”

“Uh it was good.” You said shortly looking up her. She was different than all the other women your dad dated, but just personality wise but appearance wise. She was 5’8 which isn’t very tall, but coming from a very short family where the tallest man is 5’7 it was a big difference. She also had the most muscle mass you had ever seen on a woman. Her thighs were bigger than your head and her biceps bulged with every movement of her arms. Her personality matched her appearance, being strong willed and dominant while still being generous and kind to others.

“I’m glad to hear,” she said before pausing.

“How would you like to watch a movie, get in some bonding time?” She asked pursing her lips. You kind of liked that she made the effort to hang out with you even though you had just turned 18 and would be leaving your childhood home soon.

“Uh sure, let me just get settled.” You said, walking down the hall to your room. Entering the room, you plopped your things on your bed, slipped off your shoes and changed into one of your sleep shirts and a pair of shorts that barely covered your thighs.

“What movie are we watching?” You called.

“Some kind of wonderful! It was my favorite movie when I was your age.” She called back excitedly. Putting on your slippers, you went back down the hall and entered your dads room.

“When is my dad getting home?”

“He said he’s working until 6 so around 7.” She said popping in the DVD. You sat on the bed with her and being so close you started to realize just how much bigger she was. You felt tiny and that you paled in comparison to her. Instead of feeling intimated though, your brain felt kind of fuzzy. Her nature of causal touches, rubbing your arm, resting her hand on your back only made it worse. Your eyes trailed from the screen up at her, taking in the beauty of her features. You always thought she was pretty but never really studied her. Her eyes met yours and you quickly looked away embarrassed. Abby gave a laugh.

“You know,” she started.

“I realize that it must be weird to have a new step mom so late in your life but I do want us to keep the really good relationship we are starting have. You can take all the time you need but I want you to know that you can always come to me when you’re feeling down or just need some extra support.” Your face flushed and the moment made you weirdly emotional. You never really had any semblance of a normal mom, a good one. She smiled warmly and let you hug her, your arms wrapped around her middle. She kissed you on the forehead and you both cuddled together. Her strong arms held you close and still fighting off your emotions, you felt her hands slide up to patch of skin right underneath your breasts.

Another reason you had been so surprised when your dad brought her home is that she defied many stereotypes and roles that you grew up believing. Granted you were extremely sheltered and were homeschooled your entire life but it was a surprise nonetheless. Just like that moment, a swirl on confusion formed in your brain. Her fingers gently brushed the underside of your breasts and you heard her take a breath before saying,

“You trust me right?” You nodded and she continued to speak.

“How you do feel about me making you feel extra special?” Her fingers reached the hem of your sleep shirt and started to slip underneath.

“What are you doing?” She responded by ghosting the pads of her fingers over your nipples, tracing circles around them and twisting them. You instantly felt it in your cunt wetness pooling in your panties. She cupped your breasts, massaging the fat.

“Mmm, that’s it baby.” She cooed as you leaned into her moaning slightly.

“You can take off my shirt.” You whispered warning a grin from Abby. She slid the shirt off of you tossing it the side and pressing light kisses to your breasts.

“You’re perfect.”

“You like them?”

“I love them. You’re gorgeous.” She confirmed latching her mouth on one of your nipples while squeezing the other breast in her other hand. She swirled her tongue around it and it hardened allowing her to suck harder.

“Oh my god, Abby!” You moaned. She switched breasts and the other opposite treatment.

“I’ll give you more if you ask nicely.” She teased.

“Please Abby,” you begged.

“Please what?”

“You know…” you trailed off embarrassed.

“Make me feel nice.” You whispered, barely audible.

“Alright sweetheart,” she giggled.

“But remember this is our special secret, no one but us will ever know.”

“Ok.” Abby looked at you expectantly like she was waiting for you to finish your sentence. You looked at her confused,

“Ok…” she repeated, mouthing ‘mommy’ afterward.

“Ok mommy.” You said, the same feeling stirring in your cunt.

“Can mommy take off your shorts?” You nodded yes and she cooed slipping them off revealing a tiny black thong.

“Look how beautiful.” She mused. You yelped as you suddenly felt her hand collide with your ass slapping it.

“God.” Abby groaned. The movie still played quietly in the back long forgotten. She pushed you against the bed laying down on your back with your legs to the side and your hips up. She left the bed and retrieved something you couldn’t see before returning and showing off a strap on. An 8 inch black strap on dildo with a girth that instilled fear in your chest. You flushed with panic as she crawled on the bed.

“What’s that for?” She giggled,

“I’m going to show you how much I love you. Now, open your legs.”

“Wait, you’re going to put in there?” You asked.

“Yes, baby.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s going to feel amazing baby I promise.”

“What if it doesn’t fit?” She laughed again.

“Of course it will fit. Just try to relax.” She said, letting her fingers drop down to your pussy.

“Gotta warm you up first.” She traced the the outline of your pussy letting your wetness soak your fingers.

“You’re so pretty.” She murmured before slowly pushing in one of fingers. Your body twitched and grabbed her forearm. The intrusion felt strange but not totally bad just a sting. She moved her finger around exploring and let a second finger work its way in.

“You’re so tight. Let it hurt a bit, it’ll feel so much better in just a moment.” She breathed. She lined up her strap with your pussy and pushed it in stretching you out. You gasped and curled forward groaning.

“Shhh it’s ok baby girl. Mommy’s got you, mommy’s got you.” She continued thrusting in and out.

“Hurts.”

“It’s ok, it’s gonna feel good I promise.” Abby cooed. The pain turned to pleasure as you started to gasp. Your grip on her tightened and you looked at her wildly for reassurance as you started to moan. Her thrusts got quicker and she bottomed out against your cervix. You let out another languid moan and your eyes rolled back.

“Ah wait, I have to pee. I have to pee-“ you said, your panic returning.

“You don’t have pee i promise.” She said.

“Let go, it’s gonna ok. Mommy promises.” Abby’s thrusts started to stutter and you go, squirting onto the bed sheets. You immediately started to apologize and she was quick to correct you.

“It’s perfectly normal, don’t worry about it. It’s okay.” Your eyes softly closed and she kissed your lips softly.

“Can I clean you up?” You nodded, watching her take a rag and wipe between your thighs.

“You’re such a good girl.”

[arthenaa]

Requesting angsty moment with Ominis x f!reader that takes place after what happens with Sebastian and Solomon where Ominis and reader are distraught and guilty and angry but they end up having passionate sex bc they just need to be close to each other so badly in the midst of everything they lost

my saving grace — ominis x f!reader

summary: It happened. Sebastian has completely lost himself and you and Ominis have no idea how to deal with the repercussions. You fear that it will only take just enough for the both of you to lose yourselves but then you remember that the fact that you haven't is because you both still have each other.

content tags: 18+, explicit sexual content, characters are aged up and instead of the seb thing happening during their 5th year, it happens on their 7th, the reader uses she/her pronouns, angst, comfort, reader is ravenclaw, i havent reached this part of the game yet but i kinda know what happened but idk the details so it might be different from what actually happened in the game HAHA, you guys make love in seb's house, comfort sex, crying crying, self reflection, ominis is in love w you, p in v sex, cockwarming, heavy petting, foreplay, ominis fucks u while standing up and against the wall teehee, nasty stuff, you both miss sebastian, i am so sorry i love writing them as a poly relationship but i dont rlly imply anything of both of your relationships with seb, poor you and ominis :(( , kinda short tbh

Silence. Complete and utter silence.

It gives an unpleasant itch in your brain the longer you spend time in it. It's nothing like the ones you have with Poppy while tending to the beasts in class or the ones with Samantha in the comforts of the common room. Or maybe the ones you spend with Ominis and Sebastian in the undercroft.

Ominis and Sebastian.

Sebastian.

Right. That happened.

A few hours ago, you were in the Feldcroft catacombs, helping Sebastian in his quest to find a cure for Anne then next you're standing in shock as your very own best friend had cast an unforgivable on his uncle and he had chosen the worst out of the three. The Killing Curse.

It had happened all too fast. You barely caught a glimpse of the green ray of light heading toward Solomon. You watch as Anne fought off her twin, face filled with disgust and disbelief as she hauled her uncle's unmoving body from the floor. On her way out, she sent you a face of despair and desperation and you knew what she was telling you.

'Take care of him. For me.'

You're currently seated on the steps leading to the Sallow home. The silence was deafening not because of the night but because of the lack of people. No one was home.

You expected Anne to be here but she wasn't and you were close to ripping the strands of hair from your head because now you were worried for both twins. Sebastian was nowhere to be found after the whole fiasco. You remember the scared look on his face after he had done what he did, looking for some sort of semblance of comfort from you, that what he did was right and just because he was doing it for his sister. You thought maybe he had learned from the dangers of dark magic when you were in your 5th year but it seems as time passed, his quest for finding a cure for Anne overshadowed his morals as a person.

You let out a shakey sigh as you hug your legs closer to your chest. The cold breeze of the night provided some sort of comfort in the silence. Your chin rests on the top of your knees, observing the houses around you. It was close to midnight and so you suspected that the people inside were already in their slumber.

"It's late." A familiar voice breaks your reverie. You jump at the sudden presence before turning your head to the culprit.

"Ominis." You whisper, almost so quiet that Ominis barely hears it. The young Gaunt stands in the greenery surrounding the front yard of the Sallow home. You stare as he allows his wand to guide you to where you're seating and seats down beside you.

Somehow, the silence becomes tolerably better as you feel Ominis's warmth from your side. He bites his lip as he fiddles with his wand. "Did you find him?"

"No." You whisper back, eyes staring dead into the night. Another cold wind blows past you.

"Anne?"

"Nope." You could feel the tears start to well in your eyes, you try your best to hold them back. Ominis nods in understanding before he pulls his knees up and rests his hands, outstretched on his knees. His head drops as he lets out a sigh.

It's silent once again and then you finally realized why the silence feels too hard to bear. It's because this town that had always been too silent, always had comfort in it from the way Anne sips her morning herbal tea to Mr. Sallow grumbling as he yet again flips another coin into the well and of course, Sebastian; Sebastian who had both shown you the wonders of his tightly-knit hometown and welcomed you with open arms from when you were 5th years up until your 7th. Sebastian who had shown you Feldcroft's love for tranquility and comfort in silence. You had found yourself in a town— in a home with just the two of you.

Just you and Ominis.

The dam breaks out of nowhere and you could only prevent yourself from full-out bawling as the palm of your hands cover your mouth. Ominis is startled by the sudden sounds of your crying.

"I-I should've stopped him." You sobbed as your hands shake. It was quite muffled with the hindrance of the hands against your mouth but Ominis hears it nonetheless. The blonde only falls silent as he listens to your worries. "Way back then! I should've—"

"No, Y/N." Ominis gently intercepts as he tries to swallow a sudden lump in his throat, preventing the breakdown caused by the events that occurred a few hours ago. "You were just trying to help. I-I would've done it as well, had I been in your place. There was nothing we could do."

Ominis sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than you. You look at him with swollen eyes as the urge to bawl dwindled. You let out a shaky sigh once more as you try to calm yourself.

"All of this started because of me," Ominis whispers. You turn your head towards the young Gaunt in confusion. "I was the one who exposed him to the dark arts. He was a natural learner and when concepts and magic like this are exposed to a person like him, it's innate for Sebastian to know more. He loves Anne more than anything. I-I should've known better when I brought you both to the scriptorium a few years ago. I helped set up that situation for him. I helped him hurt Anne. I made him—"

He couldn't say the words but you knew what he was talking about. You scowl at his insinuation before grabbing his cheeks in your hands and facing them toward you. You could now see the tears silently running down his face. It had sounded like he was so composed but he was just as broken as you were.

"I miss him," Ominis whispers as you hold his face close to yours. Your lip wobbles as you lick your bottom lip to collect yourself.

"You need to listen to yourself, Ominis." You mumble as your thumbs brush against his cold cheeks. "There are a lot of things we don't understand today and most of them we may try to blame ourselves for it but never try to point the blame on something that Sebastian inflicted himself. He was perfectly aware of what this might lead to and he cast it with perfect intentions."

Ominis quietly sobs in your hands as you press your forehead against his. "I'm scared to think right now."

"Then don't." You whisper as your eyes focus on the trembling boy in front of you. "Just focus on me."

Ominis gulps as he tries to compose himself, letting out short breaths as he lifts his hands to feel the sides of your arms then your shoulders then your neck then your jaw then your cheeks. You softly smile as you allow yourself to be seen by Ominis. You bask in his touch before feeling his touch on your lips. Its gentle and faint. Your eyes glance down at his lips before looking up at his cloudy blue eyes.

He leans in hesitantly before placing a soft and tender kiss on your lips. It rests on yours for a couple of seconds before he gently pulls away. There's a moment of pause before he breaks the silence.

"Stay with me." He whispers. You admire his face for a bit as you lean back slightly. You know what he means as he intertwines his hands with yours. It almost makes you cry but you know you needed to both be strong for what's about to come and right now, all you needed was each other. You press your forehead against his to let him feel your nod.

"O-Ominis." You moan softly as the blonde buries his head on your neck. His hands pull you close against him as you seat on his lap. Your cloaks and coats are forgotten on the floor of the house as your bodies entangle with one another on one of the beds inside the Sallow home.

The moment the two of you entered the house, it was just a mess of limbs wanting to be close as they physically can to one another. You can't remember the moment Ominis pulled you into his lap and sucked the living daylights out of you but you can't complain with how good it felt.

"Fuck." Ominis curses as his hands move under your skirt to grip your ass against the fabric of your undergarments. You whimper as you move against the hardening bulge on his crotch. You wrap your arms around his neck as you place your forehead against his.

"Pretty." You whisper, smiling as you trace his features with your hand. "My pretty boy."

Ominis whimpers at the praise before moving his hand in your inner thigh and boldy cupping your sex. You jolt in response, moaning as he grinds the palm of his hand against your clit.

"You've done so well. Done so much." Ominis licks his lips as he feels your wet arousal leak through your underwear. You rest your head on his shoulder as Ominis slides the piece of fabric to the side and slide his fingers in with ease. You moan at the intrusion.

You hug him close as he works your inside, shaping you to fit him. He curls his fingers in, pushing them deeper as it brushes against your sweet spot. You whine at its closeness, your hips trying to push it deeper as you grind on his fingers. Ominis peppers kisses on the side of your neck and jaw, cooing as you continue to let out soft moans and gasps at his ministrations.

"P-put it in." You whisper as your hand grips his wrist to stop him. You had almost come from his fingers alone but all you needed right now is to be closer to him. Ominis nods before the two of you remove your remaining clothes. He casts a protection charm and you watch as a thin sheen surface wrapped around his cock. Your hands find themselves cupping his cheeks once more as he angles his cock against your entrance. You gulp as you feel the head bump into your opening.

"You ready?" He softly asks, rubbing his hands against your hips. You smile as you pull him into a kiss, gently lowering yourself down onto his cock. Both of you softly moan out as you take in his length inch by inch. It takes you a while before you feel his thighs hit against yours. You let out a shaky breath as you rub your noses against one another.

Silence, but this time it's comfort. It fills in your heart with warmth and tranquility. It renders you both speechless and only relying on your bodies to communicate how you feel and so, you move.

You bounce passionately on his lap, feeling his length go in and out of your cunt. It draws out whines and moans as you try to keep yourself as close as possible with your foreheads still against one another. Ominis grips your hips as he tries to meet your bounces with his thrusts, pushing him deeper in you. The pleasure is immense and the need for each other's warmth is felt through the clashing of lips and gripping of one another's skin.

At one point, Ominis grabs your waist and pulls you to stand up with ease. Your legs wrap around his waist as he bounces you up and down his cock with vigor. You make choked noises as you certainly feel the thrust of his cock hit the back of your throat. You wrap your arms around his neck as he pushes you against the wall, growling as he rams his cock into you.

You allow yourself to be at his mercy. To be his canvas as he paints you with reds, greens, and blacks signifying the emotions brought by earlier events. Sebastian. Anne. Mr. Sallow. The triptych. The Scriptorium. His family. Slytherin. You allow him to use you as he sees fit as you do to him.

Ominis pulls his head back from your neck, thoroughly marking your neck. He presses his forehead against yourself as you feel his hips stuttering.

"Stay with me. Please—" He whispers, broken as he pleads softly. You grabs his face between your hands as he practically fucks you into the wall. "Stay. Stay by me. F-Fuck."

"I'm here." You reassure him as you place a chaste kiss on his lips before you move to press against his ear, your hand gripping his hair tightly. He moans in response. "I'm here. I'll be here, always."

He snarls at your response as he moves his hips faster. His hand dives down to rub your clit, stimulating you further to your climax. You let out high-pitched whines against his ear as you grip his hair tighter.

It's him who releases first as he bottoms out and let his fluid be caught by the protective charm, forming a barrier from being released inside you, yet despite his release being protected, you could still feel its warmth which prompts you to release as well. Your body jolts at your orgasm, your thighs shake and your toes curl at the intensity. You push against Ominis, head banging against the wall as you choked out moans.

"I love you. I fucking love you." Ominis snarls as he dips down to suck your breasts. It further enhances your lengthy orgasm as you grip his shoulders in sensitivity. Ominis gently pries you from the wall as you slump in his arms before gently placing you down on the bed.

Its all hazy as you feel being cleaned up before a body is pressed up yet again against you. Ominis wraps you in his embrace as you pull him close. You feel overwhelmed with the need to be close to him as he continues to give you soft kisses against your face. You didn't even know you were crying before Ominis gently brushed against your temples, catching the falling tears. You open your eyes as you stare at him beside you.

"Ominis." You whisper as you face him on your side. You place a soft kiss on his lips as your leg rests over his hip. The need for each other's touch never left. His hand runs the length of your thigh as he slots himself between your legs. You miss the fullness as your swollen and sensitive pussy clenched over nothing. "Inside. Please."

Ominis moves in silence as his hand pushes you close against him through the small of your back before grabbing the shaft of his semi-hard cock and pushing it back in with ease. You dreamily sigh as you place kisses against his lips. Both of stay still, feeling your inner walls pulse against his slowly hardening cock, both riddled with sensitivity.

"I love you too." Your reply to his declaration after a few moments of silence. You trace his features with your finger as he softly smiles at you returning his affection. Tears flow freely down your faces as you kiss once more. It's you who pulls back first.

"I'm here with you."

"As am I, my little dove."

A/N: smut is done best at 3 am. hope yall enjoyed this :D you and ominis fucked each other so hard bc yall needed to vent <3

[jbird-the-manwich]

I keep running into a sentiment along the lines of “If you’re a witch you shouldn’t need to study” and A) I feel like it has to come from tiktok (or that one scene in GoT and they wanna cosplay circe for a minute) and B) there’s almost always an insinuation that any who do study are looking to correct a lack of ability.  I think we should actively dismantle the notion that studying witchcraft or magic and performing the labor of information hunting and verification is always a power grab or a pursuit of results actually. 

You can get fine results without tomes of historical spells. but studying is fun. Especially when in the course of that study you often find threads of theory or practice that despite vast gaps of distance or time have nevertheless appeared to have evolved very similarly. 

You don’t need to know things I suppose. But you also don’t need a wall of funko pops or plants or paintings. There is enrichment in the act of collecting, curating and preserving. Decorating your mind and your books and your drives with little scraps of treasured, hard won data. Particularly when what you collect is obscure historical parallels or precedent for things you yourself experience. Seeing how other people have wielded and directed and policed power throughout time can be and often is less driven by a thirst for power itself and more a thirst for knowledge, trivial and not.

 Most of us already know how to wield our own power. That’s not what we're looking for. We’re looking for inspiration, information, a thread we can pull chronologically from one age back to another to find that it’s some semblance of ourselves holding the other end. To see the creativity and logic of our ancestors. To learn the ways in which magical practice has been rationalized. Some of us simply have an archivists bent and find joy in the work of learning itself. It’s not about the power. It’s about the high. The Interest. The Intrigue. Some of us just plain adore a spreadsheet. Some of us are witches and nerds. Sometimes studying is a hobby. Some of us like to pick up a book and come away with an answer to why the fuck we found a shoe in the wall that one time. Some of us want to leave behind for our progeny a grimoire or seven that slaps. Some of us are alchemists and artificers and smiths and enchanters in the genuine physical sense and require data to generate an object we’ve been tasked to create. Some of us are comforted by the knowledge that we’re merely doing a dance that has been done before. Some of us want the future generations of our bloodlines to know exactly where to look if they’ve been cursed. Some of us are just procrastinating. But I would bet that most if not all of us are studying within a context that invalidates the sentiment that we’re bothering to learn at all because we’re not “powerful enough” otherwise. Some of us just want to see what other people did with the same power in a different context. Some of us are hereditary and long-matured in our ways and have massive beautiful veiny dicks you will never get to see with that attitude. 

[queenshelby]

THE FUTURE (PART THREE)

Pairing: Emmett (A Quiet Place) x Original Female Character

Warning: Age Gap, Forced Procreation, Past Sexual Abuse, Angst

Three weeks after Caitlyn and Emmett returned to the Island and Caitlyn was afforded some time to settle back an, the Council summoned them for a meeting to discuss some arrangements for them and Caitlyn's fostered children.

Evelyn was on the Council as well, and she was sympathetic towards Caitlyn's precarious position as a young woman who, before coming to the island, had escaped from the clutches of those who had destroyed her life. She could not imagine what Caitlyn was going through now that, due to her age, she was asked to partake in the procreation program and, therefore, tried to help her as much as she could. 

Emmett also understood Caitlyn's plight, and he sympathized with her even though he was usually rather harsh and private.

He had known loss, pain, and sacrifice himself, and as he witnessed the vulnerable young woman navigate her own struggles, which somehow made him soften a bit. Despite his reservations, he agreed to move in with her and act as a guardian to her children. Essentially, he was to play the part of father and lover without actually being neither, but the Council did not know this, other than Evelyn who was privy to Emmett's plan.

"Emmett," one of the members of council began to speak. "It is our understanding that you have agreed to be paired with Caitlyn and, considering her youth, we expect this collaboration to yield results quickly, as per the new procreation program," the representative decreed, bringing forth a chuckle.

"You fucking people," he sighed, rubbing the crease between his brows. "Why someone would go through the trouble of reproducing when we can barely offer a decent life to those who already live here is beyond me but, yes, I agree to be paired with Caitlyn," he exclaimed, making his position clear. 

The air in the room grew heavy with tension, intensifying with every word he spoke and a ripple of unease crept through the Council's ranks, challenging their demands and causing uncertainty to bubble beneath the surface. Evelyn observed the exchange silently, proud of Emmett's defiance and confident in his abilities to navigate the challenges that lay ahead and, yet, she had to caution him.

"Emmett, we need your assurance that you will comply with the program," she emphasized, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy, causing him to sigh again. 

Then, Emmet nodded nonetheless, understanding the implications of his earlier words. Being paired with Caitlyn meant that she was safe from other men who might abuse her just like the men on the mainland did before she was rescued. This was not something Emmett wanted for her and, as thus, he agreed to comply.

"We will do our best," he then reassured the council while you sat there, silently, nodding and wearing a forced smile. You tried to hide how you felt about this arrangement, but the subtle glint of distress in your eyes gave you away. Yet, you silently hoped that this would be enough to keep you safe from the prying, and at times malevolent, eyes of those that ruled over this strange island.

The meeting carried on for a while, as they discussed all the details of your new living arrangements and it was decided that Emmett had to move in with you and make available his cabin on the beach for new arrivals.

You were also told that you had three months to fall pregnant, failing which you would be paired with someone else. 

Emmett observed the distress etched on your face, knowing the immense anxiety this news provoked. But like the strong and resilient woman you were, you reframed the situation in a different light. Three months was enough time to devise an alternative plan. Three months meant you could continue working on your farm, growing food for the community. Three months was enough time to consolidate your relationship with Emmett, forging a friendship that could ultimately buffer the emotional storm that was about to unleash upon you.

And this is exactly how you chose to look at it, on the outside at least.

***

That same day, Emmett brought his belongings to your house

. You watched as he carried his bag, taking in the sturdiness of the worn leather, the way it hung from his shoulders, remnants of a once simpler time before everything changed, before the world as they knew it collapsed.

"I will take the floor," he signed, rolling out the swag in the living room which is where you too were sleeping. In the corner of the Livingroom there was a small bed which was yours and in the one small single bedroom next to it, the two boys were sleeping on mattresses on the floor. You had no kitchen and only an outdoor shower. Your house was simple as you had built it with your own hands, but Emmett did not seem to mind. 

It was a roof over their heads, after all. He nodded approvingly as he surveyed the small but cozy home. Despite the austere conditions, Emmett could not help but appreciate the tranquility of your surroundings.

"You did well here, Caitlyn," he complimented, as you watched him shed his worn-out jacket, revealing the muscular contours of his upper body beneath. The cuts and creases on his arms were fitting reminders of the life you both led on this island.

Though Emmett was a seasoned survivor, Caitlyn wondered if he was capable of fathoming the inner turmoil you harbored as you navigated your complicated existence on the Island.

Emmett's eyes fell on the crude drawings that adorned every vertical surface of your wooden walls. They were children's stories, representations of their lives that your two boys had curated. He smiled warmly at the simplicity of their stories, the pure joy and imagination they conveyed.

They reminded Emmett of his own children who had died on the first day of the invasion and his look softened almost instantly.

His thoughts were miles away, lingering on the memories of their soft laughter, beaming smiles, and his heart caught in his throat with a longing so deep, only the silence of their world could contain it.

But things were different on the Island. Life was fragile, but Emmett had learned to be resilient. It's all about adjusting to new situations, and this was one of them.

Reaching for his bearded chin, you made him look at you as, clearly, he was lost in his own thoughts right now.

"Thank you," you signed, grateful for his genuine show of support. "I truly appreciate it."

Emmett met your gaze, his piercing blue eyes radiating strength and resilience, as well as a shared understanding. "You are welcome, Caitlyn," he signed back sincerely. "But don't expect too much from me," he went on to add, his wry smile serving as a reminder that, despite his strong-willed appearance, Emmett still grappled with his own demons and unresolved issues.

"The boys are your responsibility, and I will stay out of your way wherever I can and I expect you to stay out of mine," he continued, his hands swiftly conveying his message, as Caitlyn studied him with equal parts curiosity and suspicion.

His blunt honesty startled her, and she found herself struggling to respond, until eventually, she nodded her assent. "Understood." She knew that he did this merely to protect her and this was enough for her to be grateful to him.

It was a sham they were running for the sake of the procreation program and she had no intention of falling pregnant. Living with Emmett saved her from being abused by other men and offered her a measure of protection which, at least for now, was all that mattered to her.

To be continued...

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred

[rindearest]

— SUNFALL

pairing: megumi fushiguro x f!reader

tags: NONCON, stalking, obsessive behavior, creampie, master kink, male masturbation, dacryphilia, alcohol use, cunnilingus, aged up characters, reader is a maid cafe worker + smokes

wc: 6.5k

a/n: hii i basically just heard that maid cafe/outing in akiba drama cd and ran a marathon with it ٩( ᐛ )و  you don’t really need to listen to it, it’s just mentioned in passing in the beginning.

summary: megumi wants to find relief from the cold, unforgiving world of jujutsu sorcery. he finds warmth in your hands.

➳ crossposted on AO3

There is nothing glamorous about being a jujutsu sorcerer. It’s a thankless job. The people you put your life on the line for aren’t aware that they’re in any particular danger, and it’s common to see your colleagues die young, their dreams and ambitions dying alongside them. With that in mind, it’s no surprise Megumi yearned for some semblance of warmth that could relieve his stress and burdens. So he found himself at the maid cafe he went to with Itadori, back when they were still students. He usually wouldn’t be caught dead at an establishment like this, but it was one of the only places from his academy days that weren’t tainted with wretched memories of dying civilians and near death experiences.

The bells on the entrance of the cafe jingle as he steps in, alerting the workers of his presence. It’s gaudy, to say the least. Bright walls and pastel checkerboard floors line the interior. There’s a couple of cork boards by the entrance, showing the lineup of girls as well as some polaroid pictures of them with customers. The seats and tables alternate between pink and white, and Megumi can’t help but consider turning on his heels and running out the door. Before he can even turn to face the door, you step towards him, with a cheerful smile painted on your face. 

“Welcome master! Table for one?” Megumi is taken aback by the sight of you. The black socks that squeeze the plush of your thigh, the cat ears that adorn your head, the fluffy skirt that seems to bounce with every step you take; it is all too much for him. The ‘master’ pet name doesn’t help either. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s been referred to as such. It’s been thrown around here and there during his rare visits to the Zenin Estate when he was a child. There was something different; the timbre of your voice, the excitement in your tone. Remnants of your voice echo in his head as he tries to compose himself.

“Yes.” Megumi’s eyes shift to the side, unable to maintain eye contact.

“Alright, follow me master!” You lead him to an empty table by a window, and place a menu down. Megumi sits down, perplexed at all the options presented in front of him.

“Do you have any recommendations?”

“The omurice is super yummy! It even comes with a super special surprise.” You wink at him, pointing your pen to your face. 

“Then can I get that?”

“Of course, master! One omurice coming right up!” With a dramatic rip of the order slip, you deliver the ticket to the kitchen, skirt flouncing about with each step you take. As you disappear into the back, Megumi relaxes his shoulders, unaware of how tense he was in the first place. 

As you pop back out from the kitchen, he’s taken by surprise as you skip to sit in the seat in front of him. 

“Is this part of the service?” He asks, tilting his head in confusion. 

“No, but it’s not like we’re busy or anything!” You gesture to the empty tables in the rest of the cafe, and your other coworker who’s lounging on their phone in a corner. “Unless, you’d rather be alone?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“No, this is fine.” He responds coolly, despite his heart threatening to burst out of his chest. When was the last time he held a conversation with anyone outside of Jujutsu society, much less with someone as cute as you? 

“So, what brings you in?” You ask, placing an elbow on the table and resting your face on your hand. It catches him off guard, just how close you are to him. The table couldn’t have been longer than 2 feet, but it was more than enough to bask in your beauty. 

“I was in the area and just thought it’d be fun. I came here with a friend a while ago.”

“Oh really? Was I your server?” You bat your lashes as you bring your hands to your face, cupping your cheeks. Heat rushes to his face as he looks at you before briefly shifting his eyes to the side. 

“I don’t think so. It was a few years back.” As far as he remembers, the last time he was here, he was focused on keeping Yuuji in line and keeping an eye on Gojo. Checking out the maids of the cafe was the least of his worries, though in retrospect, he might be feeling a twinge of regret for not paying closer attention. 

“Aw, that’s a shame. I think I’d remember if I saw someone like you around.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?” Megumi raises an eyebrow and tilts his head, unsure of what you’re trying to get at. 

“Just that you look a bit different from the usual kinda guy that comes in.” You respond, leaning your face onto your hand. “But enough about that. You liked us enough to come back?”

“Not necessarily. I don’t really know the area that well.” He runs his fingers against the back of his hand, not knowing how to explain that he was feeling nostalgic for a place he’s only ever visited once in his life. 

“Well, what are you into?” 

His head perks up to look at you, perplexed that you’re attempting to strike up a conversation with him. It’s not a common occurrence for a waitress to talk to him beyond taking his order and dropping off his meal.

“I like reading.” He answers matter-of-factly.

“So like, manga?”

“No, non-fiction.” 

“Not sure if this is the best place for that. If you give me a bit I could probably come up with a list of nice bookstores.” You grab the pen from your apron pocket and spin it in your hands before pointing it at him.

“It’s alright if you can’t think of anything. I can’t find the time to read these days anyways.” He’s touched by the idea but doesn’t want to place a burden on you.

The ring of a call bell from the kitchen marks the end of the conversation short, as you perk up to go pick up his order. 

With your return, your tone shifts to a higher register as you place the plate on the table and announce, “Alright master, one omurice for you! What’s your name?”

“Megumi.” You take the ketchup bottle and carefully squeeze out his name onto the omelette, adding a smiley face at the end.

“Alright master Megumi, we have to do this together. It’ll make the meal complete!” Master Megumi. He likes the ring of that.

“What are you talking about?” He asks in earnest.

“We have to give the omurice a super love beam!” You puff your chest out with your hands on your hips, as if that’s the most obvious answer on the planet.

“I’m not sure I understand wh-”

“Come on, it’s really easy!” You place your hands around his, molding his fingers to form a heart. Your hands are soft and warm against his rough calloused fingertips. A soft blush forms on his face as you play around with his hands. When was the last time he’s held anyone’s hands? Are they always this warm? This welcoming? He never knew someone’s touch, especially that of a stranger’s, could make his heart race.

You finally get his hands in the right shape, before pointing it at the meal. “Say it with me, suuuper love beam!” 

“Su-super… love beam…” He mutters, looking away from the meal. He can’t bring himself to say it without feeling embarrassed at how absurd it seems. You let go of his hands, but the warmth still lingers. Megumi finds himself holding his hands where yours were; longing for the sensation to stay.

 “Now, it’s ready to eat! Oh wait, I almost forgot something.” You briskly walk to the back counter, skirt bouncing with every step, before returning with a polaroid camera.

“It’s your first time back in a while, right? We have to celebrate with a picture!” You kneel down next to him before pointing the camera at the two of you, but you can’t seem to get both of your faces to fit in the tiny viewfinder.

“Hmm, you won’t be in the frame this way.” You lean in closer towards Megumi, your chest pressing against his arm, face only centimeters away from his. If Megumi wasn’t flustered before, he definitely is now. He can feel the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe and the heat radiating off of your body. His breathing stills, as if the tiniest movement will push you away. Time halts for a second, even if that’s not the reality he’s faced with. He wishes this moment could last forever.

“Alright, say cheese!” You throw up a peace sign and smile at the camera. With a press of a button, a bright flash illuminates the room and fills your eyes. The flash catches Megumi by surprise, causing him to blink and rub his eyes to alleviate himself of the stars clouding his vision. A dull buzzing noise emits from the camera, as it slowly prints out the photo. 

“Here you go! Enjoy your meal!” You hand him the polaroid and wave before going back to work.

He holds the image in his hand, shifting it back and forth in the light, waiting for it to develop fully. The black starts to fade, revealing your radiant smile, in contrast to Megumi’s awkward expression as a result of him blinking. In that moment, Megumi realizes something as he stares at the polaroid of the two of you: your smile shines like the sun, and he wants to go blind.

---

The plan to find something to get his mind off work may have worked a bit too well, as Megumi finds himself in a pocket of the bustling city again, standing in front of the maid cafe entrance. 

“Welcome, master! Oh, back so soon?” You ask with a smile.

“Yeah… I am.” He says with a hint of hesitation in his voice, as if he doesn’t quite believe it either. You show him to a table, a different one than last time.

“Can I get the omurice?”

“Coming right up!”

“By the way, here’s that list of bookstores. You left before I could give it to you.” You hand him the list, and he bows his head slightly in thanks and acknowledgement.

The list is written on the back of an order ticket, slightly crumpled, probably from being in your apron for the past couple of days. Blue pen is scribbled along the off-white paper, listing addresses of various bookstores; some located nearby, others located elsewhere.

“You really didn’t have to…” He looks away from you and scratches his neck, trying to collect his words. “But thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it, it was fun to make!”

The conversation is interrupted by a call of your name from a back room. 

“Hey, could you help out back here if you’re not too busy?” Your coworker peeks out and gestures for you to follow them.

“Sure!” You turn to look back at Megumi. “I’ll be back in a bit.” You leave with a simple smile and a wave, before disappearing to the back. 

As much as he’s disappointed that he can’t spend more time talking to you, he’s grateful that he knows your name now. Something so simple yet it hadn’t occurred to him until he heard it. He tucks it into the depths of his chest, locking it away as a secret for him to keep.

He takes a harder look at the list of bookstores you gave him. It’s more detailed than he expected, as you took the time to write out a rating and other interesting notes for each store. He traces the ink with his thumb, imagining you hard at work writing this for him. It brings a tender smile to his face and butterflies to his stomach. Maybe he’d be able to return the favor someday.

He jumps in his seat at the ring of a bell from the kitchen. You come out soon after, heels clacking against the tiled floor as you approach him.

“Alright, one omurice just for you master!” You place the plate on the table and start shaking a bottle of ketchup. “Your name was... Megumi, right?” 

His head perks at the mention of his name, delighted to hear it coming from you again.

“Yeah.” You carefully squeeze out his name onto the omelette. To change it up a bit, you draw cat ears above his name, reminiscent of the accessories that decorate your head. He finds it endearing, seeing your eyebrows furrow, the slight bite of your lip as you concentrate on drawing, your hands delicately wrapped around the bottle and fingers pressing into the pliable plastic.

“Alright, we gotta hit it with the super love beam! You know how to do it, right?” He does, but doing it right means that he won’t be able to feel your hands against his. Besides, doing it of his own volition filled him with a deep sense of embarrassment, and although nobody he knew would be all the wiser, he still couldn’t bring himself to do it. Megumi puts his hands up into an awkward shape, resembling an oval more than a heart.

“Like this?” He presents his hands to you, with a raised eyebrow.

“No, silly, more like a heart! It’s a super love beam.” He fumbles with his hands a bit more, but the shape that unfolds looks more like an 8 than a heart.

“Here, let me help.” You place your hands on his, gingerly putting each finger in their proper place. You bend his thumbs backwards slightly to form the right curve before pushing them together. His hands are rougher than you expected; all calloused palms and hardened fingers. They’ve seen enough woes to last a lifetime or two.

“There! Alright, say it with me. Suuuper love beam!”

“Su-super love beam…” Megumi still can’t bring himself to say the phrase out loud.

“Alright it’s ready to go! Enjoy your meal!” 

Megumi’s hands ball into tight fists, contemplating whether he should ask you for another photo but you’re gone before he can muster the courage. He hesitantly digs his spoon into the fluffy pillow of eggs on his plate, as he watches you walk away. He blankly stares at the dome of egg blanketing grains of rice before taking a bite. The metal spoon scrapes against his teeth as he takes a bite, chewing for what seems like an eternity before swallowing.

It doesn’t taste as good as last time.

---

It’s the only picture of you he has. He was hoping during his last visit to the cafe, he could get a proper picture where he looks presentable, but he couldn’t find it in himself to ask. Maybe it was embarrassment, maybe it was a useless sense of pride, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s sitting at his desk holding one polaroid instead of two.

His thumb gently traces along the curve of your face, the glossy finish of the film sticking to his finger.

Oh, how he wishes he could feel more of you. He wonders how soft your cheeks would feel if he were able to caress them, if they would be as comforting as your hands. His mind starts to race with questions, each more obscene than the last. How would you react when his thumb wanders from your cheek to the pout of your lips? What kind of choked moan would escape your lips as he hooks his thumb into your mouth and presses down on your tongue? How warm would your mouth feel as it wraps around his cock?

He shouldn’t be doing this; he swears he’s better than this. But any concern of pride or saving face is quickly melting away as his hand wanders down to his boxers. He palms himself through the fabric until the muted sensation just isn’t enough. He reaches over to the bottle of lotion on his desk, pumping twice before stroking himself, desperately wishing it was your hand instead of his.

He lets out a groan as he leans his head back and closes his eyes. Pictures of you fly across his mind as his breaths get heavier. Impatient hands desperately undressing you, finally being able to see you at your most vulnerable. Maybe you’d be a bit bashful as he grabs your waist, his hands gently traveling to the curve of your hips. Maybe you’d squirm under his touch as he traces your inner thigh, teasing you before getting any closer. 

What kind of lewd sounds would leave your mouth as his fingers slide up and down your folds? How would your face contort in pleasure as his cock splits you open?

He thinks about you chanting his name, no, Master Megumi, in between choked moans and whimpers as he fucks his fist.  His pace quickens as he loses himself in his fantasy, panting your name under his breath. With a final pump, his cock starts to twitch, hot spurts of his seed painting the polaroid in white, the excess dripping onto the floor. 

As he comes down from his high, shame washes over him, but it’s short-lived. A burning desire arises in its place: to have you all for himself.

---

He’s heard the tale of Icarus before, the man who flew too close to the sun. He never paid it much mind, especially since it came out of Gojo’s mouth during one of his long-winded lectures in his middle school delinquent days. The strongest sorcerer lecturing him about reckless pursuits and self-constraint? How rich.

And though he disregarded it before, it weighs heavy on his mind as he stands in front of the cafe entrance for the third time this week, chasing the high that is the warmth of your hands enveloping his.

He throws on that aloof expression as always, walking into the familiar jingle of the cafe’s bells. The atmosphere of the restaurant is completely different from his past two visits, bustling with customers and workers rushing from table to table.

“Welcome master! Table for one?” He doesn’t recognize the worker in front of him, his eyes wandering off to a corner where you’re helping another customer.

He supposes that this was a possibility, but he doesn’t want to accept it. Your hands are all over theirs, demonstrating the super love beam. Your smile is as radiant as ever, and envy begins to simmer in his body because he isn’t at the receiving end of it. The rational side of him says that this was to be expected; it is your job after all. But another side of him can’t help but be disgusted.

“Um, sir? Is everything okay?” The waitress waves a hand in front of Megumi’s face to get his attention, causing him to blink a few times before responding to their question.

“Oh, sorry. I’m okay, I’ll be back later.” Megumi shows himself out the door, the bells ringing as it closes. He stands still for a moment, staring again at the entrance before letting out a heavy sigh.

His hands feel a bit colder today.

---

While Megumi hasn’t returned to the cafe in quite some time as a customer, he’s developed a bad habit in its stead. Well, he tells himself it isn’t a bad habit; he’s just making sure you get back home safe from work. 

It’s a fairly quick commute; a walk to the station, staying on for a few stops, before getting off to walk for fifteen minutes. But anything could happen within that time. If anyone tried to hurt you and he wasn’t able to protect you, he would never be able to forgive himself. 

So he’s started to enjoy this peaceful little routine, lurking in the shadows and following you home, unbeknownst to you. Though he misses the banter and the warmth of your hands he tells himself this is ok for now. If anything, there was a special sense of intimacy in seeing you wearing something other than the ornate maid dress that seemed to swallow you whole. 

Today was… different. You left the cafe in a rush, heading in a different direction than usual. Megumi follows close behind in your shadow, as you make your way to an unfamiliar part of town. It’s quiet; away from the hustle and bustle of the city. 

You make your way into a bar, and a seedy one at that. Overhead lamps hang from the ceiling, painting the room in a murky yellow. The floor is littered in scratches and nicks, the wallpaper worn down and stained with patches of brown of varying intensities. It’s fairly empty for an evening, save for a few patrons scattered along the worn down leather booths and tables.

You sit down at the counter, your body plopping as you sit down on the bar stool. The wooden counter has deteriorated from years of wear and tear, scuffs and water stains well settled into the surface.

“Would you like something to drink?” the bartender asks.

“Not right now. Waiting for someone.” you answer.

Something cracks in Megumi upon hearing your response. What kind of person were you meeting in such a run down place like this? 

You wait and wait. Megumi does as well, with bated breath. Fifteen, thirty, forty-five minutes pass by with no appearance of this mystery person. You finally unlock your phone, finding something to cure your boredom.

His eyes glance over, your eyes glued to the screen as you scroll.

The world stops for a second.

A dating app.

He should have known it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, but it doesn’t matter. 

You open up your inbox, typing with an annoyed expression, and Megumi’s chest tightens with each tap on your keyboard.

if you’re gonna stand me up at least choose somewhere nice lol

You both sigh for different reasons.

Though he can’t help but think, what kind of asshole would stand you up of all people? Even with his limited interactions with you, he can see your kindness shine bright through your smile. Your hands, soft and inviting, are warm and comforting to the touch. His heart skips a beat at just the thought of you touching him again. Whatever, it just keeps things easier for him.

“Give me something strong please.” You ask the bartender, tapping your fingers against the counter. The bartender silently nods, pouring a concoction of various liquids into his mixer before shaking vigorously. He gingerly pours the drink into a glass with ice before sliding it your way. 

The drink burns on the way down, but you don’t care. You take large sips, only taking breaks in between to let out a heavy sigh.

“Another one please.”

Megumi should stop you. He knows he should stop you. But he’s too distracted, enamored even, by watching you drink. The way your lips pout to reach the straw, the way each gulp slides down your neck, the way you suck to make sure you’ve cleared the glass of every drop of liquor. 

The evening continues uneventfully, and at some point you’ve lost count of how many glasses you’ve had, and decide that’s a good marker to start making your way home. You’re stumbling a little bit, but you’re confident in your ability to get back, though that doesn’t really matter.

Megumi will be right by your side, whether you know it or not.

---

Even with your hellish shift at work, you’ve somehow gotten through another day. The sun sets on the horizon, painting the sky and cityscape in a mix of hazy orange and soft pink hues. Even in your drunken stupor, you can appreciate the beauty of the skyline, maybe even more so as your vision blurs all the colors for you, like watercolor paints blending into one another on paper. Whether it’s the last of the sun’s rays washing over you or the alcohol in your system warming your cheeks, you don’t care. The warmth is comforting in contrast to the chilly breeze of the city.

You’ve come to admire this view on the rooftop of your apartment complex, arms leaning against the metal railing as you take it in. While living in a cramped unit you can barely afford has its burdens, this has been one reassuring constant; your temporary place of respite from the chaos of the world around you. You take out the box of cigarettes from your pocket, cellophane packaging crinkling as you unwrap it. Flipping the top open, you place a cigarette in your mouth, the faint smell of tobacco wafting through your nostrils. You reach for your lighter, spinning the wheel once, twice, three times until the flame comes to life, before bringing it to your face. 

“You have a lighter?” The voice takes you by surprise, causing you to jump. You raise an eyebrow as you take a skeptical glance at the hooded man next to you. Something about him looks and sounds vaguely familiar, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

“Do I… Do I know you from somewhere?” You ask, tilting your head as you try to get a look at his face.

“I moved here recently.” he responds, slightly shifting his face away from you and adjusting his hood. 

“Well, nice to meet ya, neighbor.” You hand him your lighter before looking back at the sunset and exhaling a puff of smoke.

“Are you ok?” 

“Yeah, ’m fine. Just had a shitty day.” you respond, pinching your forehead.

“Sorry to hear that.”

“What’re you sorry for? Not like it’s your fault I had a shit day.” you scoff, before inhaling another puff of smoke.

“Would you like to talk about it?” 

“It’s--” you let out a sigh before debating on whether or not you should go on a drunken rant in front of a stranger. Instead, you let out a guttural groan, planting your forehead against the railing, trying to find some form of catharsis. The metal is cool against your nearly feverish skin, as you slightly raise your head to bring up the cigarette to your mouth and take another hit. 

“Are you drunk?” 

“Probably.” The answer was definitely yes, extremely. It was obvious with your gestures, the ways your words slurred, the stringent scent of alcohol leaving your lips with each sentence. It was a miracle you even found your way home, or up to the rooftop for that matter.

“Do you need someone to walk you back to your apartment?”

“’m fine.” You attempt to shoo him away as you take a step forward, only to stumble over your own feet. 

“Seriously, I’ll take you back.” His offer sounds enticing, especially considering how intoxicated you are. There’s no way you’d be able to walk down three flights of stairs to your apartment without falling or hurting yourself. So you collapse into his arms, accepting his proposal.

“Thanks. ’m three floors down.” 

---

The trip down three flights of stairs wasn’t ideal, but manageable. Megumi had your arms slung around his shoulder as he attempted to keep you balanced during the descent. You messily shift through your keyring once you get to your door, metal clinking against each other until you find the key to your apartment.

The hallway is cramped, a small kitchenette built into one of the walls. The coat rack is nearly collapsing in on itself with the amount of clothing you’ve thrown on to it, some of the garments already forming a wrinkled puddle of fabric on the floor. With a few steps he’s already in the main room, where your bed and desk are crammed together.

He places you gently onto the bed as you shift around and sprawl yourself against the sheets. 

“Thank you.” you mumble into the mattress.

“No worries.” he takes a step away from the bed, but his eyes are glued to your body. He knows he should be leaving but he can’t bring himself to look away.

If seeing you outside of work was intimate in and of itself, he didn’t know how to describe this sight. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your cheeks squish against your pillow and cause your lips to pout slightly. He wishes he could see this side of you more often.

He’s not sure what comes over him. Maybe it’s the lingering sensation of your warmth from helping you down three flights of stairs. Maybe it’s a selfish desire to prove that he can make everything better. You don’t need anyone else: not those customers who are undeserving of your touch, and definitely not the pathetic loser who stood you up.

And like Icarus who flew too close to the sun, his hand stretches out to reach for your waist, greedy, desperate for your warmth.

His hands feel like they’re burning as they gently lift the hem of your shirt. Nimble fingers softly graze against your supple skin, as blood rushes through his body from the contact. He works to unbuckle your pants before peeling the fabric off from your body.

“Hmm?” You shift around trying to make yourself comfortable only to realize your pants have been stripped off of you, and that hooded stranger from earlier is staring you down like a deer in headlights.

Panic starts to course through your veins as you start to thrash your body around, but your coordination is less than ideal with all the alcohol flowing through your system, and he’s able to easily overpower you, pinning down your legs.

He slides your underwear to the side and pushes your legs apart, salivating at the sight of your cunt. He wastes no time, swiping his tongue against your folds. The sensation is foreign and takes you by surprise as you instinctively push your legs close. He seems unphased by this, wrapping his arms around your legs as he desperately sucks on your clit. Tasting you is better than anything he could have imagined. His hips roll into the mattress in languid strokes, mimicking how he wants to fuck you.

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction that you’re enjoying this, but the tension building in your stomach is undeniable. It becomes harder and harder to choke back your moans, soft pants occasionally escaping your lips. Hearing even the smallest sliver of your voice sends him into a frenzy, with him pulling you in closer and messily lapping at your cunt while a mix of your arousal and his spit pools onto the sheets.

He adjusts his position, bringing his fingers to your clit before drawing tight circles. His tongue licks at your folds before going lower, prodding at your hole before going in all the way. He flicks up at your walls, saliva mixing with your juices before slipping a finger in. His tongue pulls out to messily lave at your clit while fingering you. He adds another finger in, curling them as he finds a steady rhythm. His fingers are longer, thicker, reaching places you wouldn’t be able to on your own.

“You have such a pretty cunt.” He purrs into you, before going back in. His breath is warm against your folds, seeping out and brushing against your inner thighs.

He’s unrelenting as he hooks his hand over your leg to pull you closer. Your breaths get shallower as the pressure in your core builds. His fingers move faster, slick wet noises echoing through the room as they thrust inside you.

“T-too much!” You squeal, grabbing onto his head to push him away. It only has the opposite effect on him, as he shoves harder into you, his face buried in your cunt. His tongue swirls around your clit, bringing the tension in your core to a head. Your moans fill the otherwise quiet room as you wrap your hands around his hair, needing something to grip as you come undone. Your climax seems to have no effect on him, as he plays with your clit and guides you through it.

He’s out of breath by the time he pulls away from your legs, face covered in your juices. He casually wipes it off with the back of his hand before licking it off. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest, clit throbbing from overstimulation; your body is spent. There’s no way you can take any more.

On the other hand, this was just the beginning for him, and he’d rather not ignore the growing length in his pants. He could cum from the taste of you alone, but he’d much rather feel your cunt squeeze him for all his worth.

He needs more. 

The sound of a belt buckle jangling and fabric shifting brings you back to reality, as you look down to see him removing his pants, revealing his fully erect cock.

“Don’t worry,” he pants out, before lining himself up with your entrance, “I’ll make you feel even better.” 

He breathes in shakily before entering you slowly, feeling your warmth surround him. He savors the moment before bottoming out, biting down on his lip and letting out a hushed moan. His head leans back as he starts moving, hands shaking as he takes in the view of his cock splitting you open. Just the sight is enough to send him over, but he can’t lose focus; not now when he finally has you all to himself.

“F-fuck, you feel amazing.” 

He rushes to take your top off, pulling the fabric over your head before reaching around your back to unclasp your bra. He shoves it into the pocket of his jacket, planning to keep it as a memento. He’ll have fun with it later. 

His hands find yours, delicately intertwining your fingers together. Your hands are just as warm as he remembers, maybe even warmer than before.

He can’t stop himself from kissing you. It starts gentle as he acquaints himself with the shape of your lips. The lips he imagined wrapped around his cock, the lips he’s only been able to see from a distance for so long. He takes his time exploring them, trying to see what makes you tick. He tastes the faintest hint of alcohol on your lips,  but he’d rather you remember the taste of him instead. What starts gentle becomes overwhelming, rougher. His hands wrap around yours tighter and it feels like he’ll swallow you whole (maybe that’s what he wants).

His hips start striking into yours faster, his lips quivering as he tries to control himself. It’s taking every bit of self-restraint to keep himself from pounding you harder.

Fucking his fist to the polaroid of you came nowhere close to the real deal. Your soft moans are much cuter than anything he could have imagined. The way your cunt swallows him whole, the bounce of your breasts with each thrust, it’s all a work of fine art to him. And though this was the moment he’s been dreaming of for so long, something was missing.

“Megumi.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Master Megumi.” 

Everything comes crashing down. Your alcohol-induced haze shatters, as you finally remember where you’ve seen him from. You attempt to shuffle your legs closed, panicking as you try to free your hands from his iron grip. Megumi swiftly pins your hands above your head, adjusting so that he can hold them down with one hand. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this, p-please just once-“ he begs as he continues fucking into you.

Tears start to pool in your eyes at the realization, burning as they run down your cheeks. 

He feels sick at the sight of your tears. It’s a mix of things; guilt that he’s the cause of them, but also the desire to see more. There’s a certain satisfaction in being able to see something so intimate, something you don’t just show off to any old patron at the cafe. Something for his eyes only.

If your smile is the sun, then your tears are the ocean and he wants to drown.

Megumi grabs your thigh with his free hand and starts to fuck into you harder, as you hiccup and cry with each stroke. You’re barely able to stifle your cries back as he gets rougher, holding your hands so tight it feels like they’re going to burst. He bites on your neck, a bit too hard, but he’s overwhelmed with the urge, the need to leave proof that this happened, that he was here with you.

“Please, just once.” He moans into the nape of your neck.

“M-Master Megumi.” You whisper through gritted teeth and muffled sobs.

The pressure in your stomach starts to build as Megumi desperately hits the spot that has you seeing stars. You can barely bite back your moans as you squeeze his hand in an effort to ground yourself. He mistakes it as reciprocation.

“I knew you’d come around.” His lips form a soft smile before he loosens the grip on your hands slightly. It’s just enough space to separate your fingers but nothing beyond that. The hand on your thigh moves closer to the space between your legs to start playing with your clit again, languid slow strokes that have you desperate for relief. 

“Say it again.” 

You close your eyes tightly in response, not wanting to give in to his demands. The grip around your hand tightens again, pain building from the pressure.

“M-Master Megumi.” You blurt under your breath, doing your best to muffle your cries. His fingers around your clit start to move a bit faster, along with his strokes. 

“Louder.”

“Master Megumi.” 

He brings his face closer to yours, his eyes only a finger’s width away from yours.

“Who’s making you feel this good?” 

You attempt to look away from his face that’s dangerously close to yours. You wince as his fingernails start digging into the skin of your hands, the sharp pain demanding an answer to his question.

“You are, Master Megumi.” You respond, more tears falling from your eyes.

The last thing you want to do is give in to the pleasure growing in your core, but the way his hands play with your clit and his cock bullies you into submission, you can’t help yourself. Your breaths get faster, your heart beating so hard you can feel it in your head. Your grip tightens around his hands as you grit your teeth and come undone on his cock, a mix of garbled moans and hushed whimpers echoing in the room.

Just the sensation of your walls clenching around him and cute moans are enough to send him over. He pushes one last thrust into you, cock twitching as he paints your insides with ropes of white. He takes a moment to catch his breath before taking himself out of you, admiring the way his seed drips from your hole.

Flying too close to the sun and drowning in the ocean may have been a terrible fate for Icarus. But after seeing the glassy tears on your face, your form glistening with sweat, and the taste of you lingering on his tongue, he’d argue otherwise.

[nebulaafterdark]

Can you write something about Aegon x Velaryon(Strong) reader. The war has over and blacks are defeated. Sunfyre kills Rhaenyra at Dragonstone and Aegon takes his little niece and her only remain brother to King’s Landing with him. He marry his niece and imprison young Aegon to prevent any attack come from black supporters. I always read this plot with Aemond but I haven’t read anything with Aegon yet. I know you will write something amazing with this plot. I love your Aegon x niece!reader serie, I hope you’ll expand it with different plots.

Listen, as long as there is a demand for Aegon x Velaryon(Strong) Reader I will provide 😂 I’m not sure how yet, but these two have slowly taken over my current WIPs.

Dracarys

Aegon x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Warning: Targcest, major character death, angst, mentions of sex, dubcon/noncon.

“Aegon,” Y/N chases after her uncle. The usurper who had conquered and killed so much of her family. Who has surely come to Dragon Stone to finish what he started. “Please, Aegon.” Her mother and young brother, Aegon III, are all she has left.

He grabs her forcefully, hands trembling with sheer adrenaline and rage as they squeeze the sides of her skull. “Your family hath slain my brother, my sister jumped to her death after assassins were sent to kill their child and then the towns people tore apart the other. I feel no remorse for what is about to transpire.

In fact, I take pleasure in it. No amount of your begging and sniveling can stop me. I’ve no heart strings left but for the one you hold and I will sooner remove your hands than allow you to tug at it.”

Y/N heaves in a breath, head light and spinning, “you’re hurting me.”

Aegon tears himself away. “Take the Princess to her rooms, confine her there until I return.”

“Please, Aegon! She’s my mother, Aegon is her only living child.” Y/N continues to scream for him, struggling against the guards. Then slamming her fists against the door, trying to tear it down. It makes no difference, the room does not open again until Aegon marches inside.

He takes in the Princess, her chest heaving wildly, dark hair astray, eyes wide and wet. Sodden from tears and her clenched fists painted in her own blood. “It is done.”

Y/N wraps both arms around herself, a feeble attempt to keep some semblance of composure, howling with the extent of her grief as she crumples to her knees.

“There will be time to cry about it later.” Aegon says cooly, forcing her to stand. Holding her upper arms taut, supporting her weight. “I need you to listen very carefully.”

Y/N can’t seem to catch her breath, forcing her eyes to focus on him.

“You are in quite a state, the Maester will bring milk of the poppy. You will take it and you will rest on our voyage home.”

Home. Y/N is home. Dragon Stone is her home.

“Once we arrive, we will be wed before the eyes of the seven. It is your great honor and you cannot wait to serve as my Queen. In exchange for your undying devotion, I will spare your brother’s life. He will be kept under lock and key at the Red Keep and when he comes of age he will wed my niece, Jaehaera. This will quell any and all of your mother’s supporters.”

“Aegon, let us discuss this.”

“My dearest love,” he clicks his tongue at her. “We can do this the easy way.” He pulls her close, inhaling the sweet scent of her dark hair. “Or we can do it the hard way. Either way, my will be done.”

“Is my mother truly dead?” Y/N asks, the words muffled against his collar.

Sunfyre sent her out in a blaze of glory. “It was an honorable death.”

“Why spare me?”

“You dare question it? After all I’ve done for you!” His patience is growing thin. How could she not see it is her who he dreams about. That she is the image conjured up when his cock is aching for release, she who was promised to him and then cruelly snatched away. He grips her upper arm forcefully, “you ungrateful little cunt.”

“I am grateful, I am.” Y/N bites back.

“You should be on your knees thanking me.” Aegon uses his hold to draw her in again, close enough that their noses nearly brush. “Your great and merciful King; yet you toy with me.”

“I’m sorry.” She feels the sting of unbidden tears at the back of her eyes. “Please, forgive me, your grace. That was not my intent.”

Aegon’s eyes soften a bit. “You will earn forgiveness.” He presses his lips to hers harshly, a clash of lips and tongue. “You will give me everything I want, or you will die trying.”

“What is it you want, Aegon?” Y/N wonders.

“When my mother forced me to take the crown, I wept down to the dragon pit. Everyone cheered…while I was dying inside. There was a time I would have given anything to be standing here with you. I used to fantasize about up and leaving in the night to warn Rhaenyra of my mother’s plan to put me on the throne. That was before. Before I had suffered horrors and lost my family to death or madness. I suppose all I want now is someone to suffer alongside me. Who better than you?”

“I am sorry, Aegon, for all you have lost.”

“As I am sorry for your losses.” Though it changes nothing.

————————————————————————

Y/N is crowned in the dragon pit, they are sure to milk her claim as Rhaenyra’s daughter. To squash any hopes of the black’s supporters. There would be no rebellion. No undoing what has been done.

Aegon allows his bride to visit her brother often. It’s painful to think that they had been in love once, the life they might have had…if only.

He requests an audience with her in his chambers nearly every night. She tastes as sweet as he hoped she would and Aegon can’t seem to get his fill of her. His Queen is so pretty when she cries.

Y/N lowers her gaze as he comes to stand before her. Perhaps in fear, perhaps she cannot bear to look upon him. Y/N flinches when he pulls her close.

“Do you love me?”

“I did,” Y/N admits. “I don’t think I’m capable of loving anymore.” It is far too intense a feeling to live inside of the cold, dead, abyss of her shattered heart.