#this is EXTREMELY long and took an hour to write

[mintedwitcher]

Maybe I should come off anon to have an actual conversation because I think what you said the whole them not committing to the effects of the Kim arc makes a lot of sense. Character assassination may have been a strong term for me to use but I think I meant it more in the terms of the fact that they kinda threw Kim there and did nothing with Eddie's character about it. Like okay yes, Chris goes away but that's it. And while that is the worst thing that can happen to a parent beyond their child actually dying, the show let's it fall flat. We get a bit of kinda depressed Eddie and the whole find joy priest thing, but for a plot point that could have been so interesting they fumbled it to the point of why even have it? Again I love the concept of the character Eddie Diaz. I have all these things I wish they did but they won't. Like the whole PTSD thing, that's a life long struggle and it's brought up once. They introduced the man by having him remove a grenade from a person outside of a war zone?!! HE WAS SHOT! AND THEY DID NOTHING!!! Sure we can write away he was expecting the grenade to go off he was prepared for it, even the helicopter when they introduced Taylor Kelly (who i also love, kinda wish they kept her around because Buck needs a friend who will tell him when his support system is being shitty and it's okay to be angry with the people he cares about and I feel like her and Tommy would have great bitch out sessions), dont even get me started on the whole fight ring thing. There was zero build up to that besides him punching one guy who definitely deserved it.

And I've lost the plot again. What you said about how they could have handled the Kim situation would have made great TV. And from a writers perspective I can understand why she was a good plot device but from a viewers it fell so flat and was disappointed.

Let me add another random topic. I feel like I would be so much more behind Buck and Tommy if they gave us even one scene with Tommy apologizing to Hen and Chim. As an audience we can assume since they reached out to him for help they must have made up at some point, and I understand the whole internalized homophobia and trying to fit in at the good old boys club had a heavy hand in what Tommy was like in the Hen and Chimney Begins episodes, but I just want one apology about how even if we dont see him activity participating in the whole old 118 being shitty to new people especially POCs, queer, and women how he acted was wrong, he'd probably actually move up to one of my favorite characters. Because god to I love how Lou plays that man, he sometimes does these small gestures or expressions that just scream he's a bitchy gay and it's so fun and at odds of what we usually see of gay men on TV because the man is built and very masculine and usually we only get twinks being the fun bitchy gays not the guy who is ex military and flies helicopters into hurricanes and plays pick up basketball with his buddies.

Sorry it seems your ask box has become my sounding board for my wayward 911 thought.

don't be sorry, I enjoy discussing this show. that being said, I'm gonna be as nice in my disagreements as possible right now.

This is going to get very long, and the first part of this is going to be entirely character meta/analysis, I'm ignoring every outside influence (writers/directors/etc) for the Eddie portion. The more technical side of things will come back into play when I get into your comments about Tommy. I'm going to try and touch on all of the things you mentioned in your ask, so buckle in. I'm gonna put this under a cut because it is obscenely long.

Eddie's PTSD is an undercurrent leading almost all of his character decisions.

He didn't have a visceral reaction to the grenade in the moment, because he was under pressure. He had to stay calm in that moment, triggers be damned. He had no other option. If he had panicked, if he had reacted negatively in any way, it would've made the entire situation - in which he had not one but two people relying on his expertise - so much worse. We don't know how he reacted after the fact, when he was alone, because we don't see it. It's also very possible that grenades simply don't trigger him.

The helicopter, as well. It's very possible that it's not a trigger for him, OR that he's already compartmentalised that particular trauma. It could be context dependent - Taylor Kelly's helicopter went down, yes, however, Eddie wasn't involved in the crash, only the rescue, so he might have been able to separate that from his personal trauma. Same as the grenade; he had civilians (non-military) relying on him to remain calm, to use his expertise effectively. Compartmentalisation is an incredibly important skill, and Eddie seems - at least at first - to have a very good grasp of it.

However, there are only so many traumas a person can take before the cracks begin to show.

There was, actually, a lot of lead-up to Eddie joining that fight club. Shannon, and all the baggage she represented. The insecurity of his relationship with her, the resentment he still held for her leaving, the hope of reconciliation, the pain of having that hope crushed three-fold: first, she wasn't pregnant, second, she wanted a divorce, third, she died in front of him. That is a LOT to handle in a VERY short amount of time. In canon, all of those events take place in under 24 hours. It's hit after hit after hit. This is where his decline starts.

Then, his best friend is crushed by a ladder truck, and Eddie has to watch from the sidelines, unable to help. That would have been a triggering event for him, too, calling back to his last ride with the Army. Buck was pinned, in the "line of fire" as it were, and Eddie was unable to help. There was nothing he could do until the bomber was contained and the threat eliminated. Again, we don't know how he reacted to it once he was alone, because we didn't get to see that, but we can imagine how traumatic that must have been.

Then, the tsunami. Even though he was unaware of Chris and Buck's involvement for most of the day, he still had to spend hours performing search and rescue. He likely came across dozens of corpses over the course of that day, which - no matter how well-adjusted you are - would leave an emotional bruise. And then, of course, at the end of that exhausting, emotionally draining day, Eddie finds Buck. And he finds out that both Buck and Chris were on the pier when the tsunami hit. And he realises that Chris isn't with Buck now. There is a moment there, where Eddie truly believes that his son is dead. Words cannot express clearly enough just how much agony Eddie would have experienced in that moment, especially so soon after Shannon's death. And then the emotional whiplash of having Chris turn up, alive... honestly it's a miracle that Eddie didn't fully break down right then and there.

But you see, all of this trauma compounded on top of each other. Shannon, Buck, Chris, every single hit that Eddie has taken since joining the 118, all of it has built on top of each other, and he's never taken the necessary steps to counter it. He knows he has PTSD, but he doesn't go to therapy for it. So all of this has been building up on him for over a year, without an outlet or healthy coping mechanisms in place to help carry that burden.

That was the build up. The guy in the parking lot was just the first piece of the dam breaking free.

Then Lena introduced him to her hobby: street fighting. She used it to blow off steam, to have fun. She had no way of knowing just how close to breaking Eddie really was, so she wasn't expecting him to latch onto it the way he did. But Eddie took what could have been a healthy hobby - if paired with extensive therapy - and turned it into a necessity. More cracks in the dam, to continue the metaphor; more leaks springing free, with no way to plug it back up. Then the money came into play, and Eddie got hooked. He could fight, and get paid well for it? He could use this to provide for his son? Sold. Another crack.

Until he nearly killed a man during a match, and he had to step back and realise, finally, that the dam was breaking and he was in the tidal path.

But even then, he had to be mandated by his employer to seek help. Because Eddie had been raised with the mentality that men did not need therapy, that therapy was 'admitting weakness' - he was raised steeped in toxic masculinity, and that has shaped every single decision he has made regarding his own life. His stint in therapy is short-lived - only so long as the mandated sessions continue - and then he leaves and never looks back. The dam is patched, he claims, even if it's just with duct tape and chewing gum.

Eddie doesn't effectively deal with his trauma, and so it continues to build up. He's just gotten better at ignoring it, shoving it aside, focusing on the better parts of his life - in this case, his son, his job, his best friend, and his new girlfriend, Ana.

Then the pandemic happens. Even more trauma to add to the list. He has an immunocompromised son, so he can't even be inside his own house for a good few months; he stays with Buck instead, until it's safe for him to return home. His son is struggling with the isolation of the pandemic, not being able or allowed to see his friends, or his caregivers, or his own family, because of the risk factor. Eddie, losing himself in the 'better' parts of life, decides to be spontaneous and Bold, and tries to introduce another person into Chris's life without taking his son's own trauma and insecurities into account.

He's operating on the stance that, well, any day could be his last. He could lose Chris in a freak accident, or he could die on the job, or he could screw up so badly that his parents come and take Chris from him. So he throws caution - and good sense - to the wind. This is common for people like Eddie. He's survived terrible traumas, he's finally happy, and so that happiness must be shared, because it could all disappear in the blink of an eye if he doesn't grab it with both hands.

And he very nearly does lose it all when the well collapses on him.

Eddie is happier, but he's no less traumatised. He still hasn't addressed his past, his grief, his fears, and those are all still building in the background. But he's determined not to care about them.

Which is why the shooting is so jarring.

He was helping, he was doing his job, he was saving someone, and he got shot on home soil. This is another major triggering event, far more similar to his last ride with the Army than anything else he's faced so far. Those "patched" cracks start leaking again.

Again, much of the recovery is glossed over, but that doesn't mean that the trauma isn't still affecting him. As mentioned above, he's gotten very good at ignoring his own trauma.

This is compounded, again, when he and Buck are taken hostage. And again, when he finally talks to Chris. His own son saying that he doesn't want him to die is another crack. Eddie quitting his job is another crack. Eddie losing his sense of self in Dispatch is another crack.

Eddie learning the fates of his former Army teammates is the TNT that brings the dam down completely.

Eddie has been carrying years of guilt and grief and pain and trauma, compounded endlessly and ever-growing behind his nice little wall of denial, but now he has no choice but to face it. Drown in it.

He breaks, properly, for the first time. His PTSD is unmanaged and unmanageable, his trauma is far heavier than he expected it to be, and he's been so busy pretending that he's fine, that he hasn't noticed the detonator in his hands the entire time.

He finally, finally, realises that he needs to seek help on his own terms. He can't be mandated into it, he can't be dragged, he has to take that step on his own, and it's one of the hardest things he's ever had to do, but he does it anyway. Because he knows he can't keep carrying all of that weight forever alone. He needs help, so he finally goes to seek it out.

All of this is an extremely long winded way of saying: the show does, has done, and continues to carry Eddie's PTSD, even if it's not explicitly mentioned on screen all of the time. It doesn't need to be. It's an omnipresent shadow looming over him at all times. Sometimes it's lighter, sometimes it isn't, but it's always there.

Which actually, helpfully, leads me to my next point: Tommy.

An on-screen apology is entirely unnecessary. It's been made clear already through character interactions (as far back as season two) that Tommy has mended his fences with both Hen and Chimney. If you want to see something like that depicted on screen, you'll have to rely on fanfic, because this is not that kind of show. We don't need to be shown every time a relationship is changed or repaired. We're also never shown Chimney apologising to Buck for punching him, does that mean that their relationship wasn't repaired? No, obviously not, they're in a good place now, and it's clear that what happened between them is water under the bridge. The exact same can be said here.

Tommy also wasn't nearly as bad as the fandom makes him seem. He makes two offhanded, poorly thought-out comments in both Hen Begins and Chimney Begins, but by the time Bobby Begins Again happens, he's already on friendly terms with them both. They go out drinking together, they make bets together, Hen and Chim organised a going-away party for him when he transferred stations. It's very clearly presented to us that Tommy has changed his behaviour in the time between Hen Begins and Bobby Begins Again. So why do we need to see him apologise? Through context clues and on-screen interactions, we can see that they're on good terms. Is that not enough? Would Hen or Chimney willingly remain friendly with someone who still exhibits bigoted behaviours? Should we not at the very least, trust these two incredibly intuitive characters to be able to make a judgement call regarding Tommy?

I'm not saying any of this to be rude to you, nonnie, but I do want you to consider carefully why you think it matters more to see Tommy apologise - and what level of apology you would "accept" - rather than to believe what the characters have shown us, which is that Tommy changed, made amends, and is on good terms with almost all of the original 118. Hen likes him, Chimney likes him (enough to keep his number even a decade after Tommy left the 118, by the way), Bobby likes him. Eddie and Tommy click almost immediately when they met. So, with all of that to be considered - and knowing Tommy's own recounting of that time, where he openly admits that he was a worse person under Gerrard as the 118's captain - what do you genuinely expect an on-screen apology to provide?

If you do want to come off anon, I do have my DMs open. If you'd rather continue like this, that's fine by me as well. I only ask that you consider everything I've said here. I'm sorry this got SO long, but Eddie's trauma is a very long topic, and I only covered seasons 2-5.

(This response has taken me an hour to write, so please, please, consider it carefully. I've been as neutral as possible despite my opinions on Eddie and Tommy, respectively, and there's a lot to cover in all of that. Sorry this got so absurdly long, but I'm looking forward to continuing this conversation, in any format you choose.)

[menlove]

was supposed to get this section of my capstone done yesterday but i don't have the meeting abt it until monday so i was gonna write it tonight but i just spent like 6 hours writing one tiny section of that section.........

[1800-fight-me]

Safety in Your Arms

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader Rating: M (Mature but as always-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) Warnings: Cursing, threats of violence, stranger danger i.e. stalking but don't worry Logan saves the day Word count: A bit over 2k Synopsis: Logan protects you from the unwanted advances of another man and shows protectiveness and care you didn't know he had for you. Author’s note: I'm thinking this might need a part two, let me know what y'all think- I hope you enjoy! P.S. I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on! Comments and reblogs make my day! Logan Howlett Masterlist Main Masterlist

There was a cold panic that shot down your spine. Fight or flight, you’d learned the technical term, but now experienced it for yourself. 

The five minute walk between your work and your apartment had never felt so long. It all started with a creepy customer- which was a regular occurrence at your job- but this customer took it far beyond creepy. 

He tried to make too much small talk, stared too much, made a few too many over the line comments, and was entirely too pushy when asking for your phone number. Your one male coworker escorted him out and you thought that was the end of it. 

Hours went by, you assured your coworkers multiple times that you were fine and you were safe, and eventually you were the last one left to close and lock up. 

But only one block away from your workplace, you had the feeling of being watched- of being followed. And it was just your luck that your phone was dead and you’d forgotten your charger at home.

You changed your route, taking one that was a bit longer but also more well lit and populated. With a glance back you confirmed your worry, that it was in fact the same creepy guy from hours before. 

Your heart pounded with terror as you contemplated every option for safety. Your apartment building required a code to enter, so you sped your walk, hoping if you slipped into the building and shut the door behind you that it would be enough. 

“Hey,” the man’s voice called out, but you refused to look back. 

Your apartment building was within sight, but the man’s catcalls and jeers were also getting louder and closer. 

“Hey, c’mere pretty lady! I’ve got somethin’ for ya!” 

Your whole body shuddered in fear. Your next door neighbor stepped outside of the front door of the apartment building and you nearly sobbed in relief. 

“Logan!” you called out. 

He looked up in surprise, but his expression quickly turned to concern as he saw the stress in your entire demeanor. 

You practically ran to him and threw your arms around his torso in a hug he clearly did not expect. He hugged you back, but you felt him stiffen as he looked behind you. 

That was one thing about Logan, he was extremely perceptive and quick to notice any form of danger. 

“Hey bub, what can I do for you?” he said to the man behind you in a gruff tone that was not at all welcoming as he gently maneuvered you so that you stood safely behind him. 

You gripped Logan’s strong bicep as you peered around his shoulder at the stalker. 

“I was just-” 

“Just nothin’. You better leave her alone,” Logan interrupted. 

“C’mon, I was just inviting the pretty lady to have a good time. Does he speak for you?” the creep asked as he made eye contact with you. The malice in his eyes made your heartbeat spike again. 

“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend,” you said nervously. 

He glanced between you and Logan as if uncertain. 

“She just told you, she’s mine- so fuck off,” Logan growled. A different kind of shiver went down your spine. 

“You live here?” the man asked. 

“No,” Logan growled before you could even open your mouth. “But I do, and if I see you around here again it’ll be a problem.” 

The man looked at Logan and finally seemed to take in the gravity of the situation, the danger that the large muscled man protecting you could pose. 

He gulped and nodded, yielded a step back as Logan took a step forward- muscles tense and fist clenched. 

The man turned and scurried away. You took your first full deep breath in several long minutes. 

Logan watched the man until he was completely out of view before he turned to you. He placed a large comforting hand on your shoulder and you looked up at him with tears in your eyes. 

“Princess,” he said in a gentle voice. 

He pulled you into a hug as a tear fell from your eye and made its way down your cheek. You were enveloped in his warmth and woodsy masculine scent and finally felt safe. 

“Thanks for pretending to be my boyfriend,” you said as you pulled back and wiped the tears from your eyes. 

“Anytime,” he said with a smirk. Your breath caught and you bit your lip as you looked up at him and saw such care and concern on his handsome face. 

“Who was that guy?” he asked. 

You shrugged, “Some crazy customer from earlier today, my coworker made him leave, but I guess he came back and waited until I was leaving alone….” 

Logan’s brow furrowed and he gritted his teeth. “That motherfucker,” he growled, “I’m walking you to and from work tomorrow.” 

“You don’t have to-” 

“No, I do. And I’ll do it until I’m sure he isn’t gonna bother you anymore. And if he shows up again…” he trailed off as his claws extended from his fist in an action that seemed involuntary due to his rage. 

A shiver ran down your spine. You had no idea Logan felt so protective over you. 

“Thank you,” you said in a soft voice, “I appreciate it.” 

This was not helping your ridiculous crush on your neighbor. From the minute he moved in with your friend Wade, you had heart eyes for him. 

The Wolverine, he took your breath away without even trying. With his large stature, huge muscles, and handsome face- you were a goner. It didn’t matter that he was older, way out of your league, and generally altogether grumpy. You were head over heels for him, and you were certain he had never noticed you before, that he merely thought you were Wade’s annoying friend. 

But you adored him, you adored the gentle heart you knew he buried under that gruff exterior, and displays of protectiveness such as this only proved what an amazing person you already knew he was. 

“I’m headed to meet Wade at the bar, d’you wanna come?” he offered. 

You nodded eagerly, not wanting to be alone after the stress of the day. 

“Lead the way,” you said with a smile. 

—--------

“Look who I brought,” Logan said as you walked behind him into the bar and approached a booth in the back corner. 

He stepped to the side so your friends could see you. Wade, Vanessa, and Dopinder sat at the table, already laughing and drinking beer. 

Wade gasped dramatically and exclaimed, “Princess Cupcake!” 

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your lips betrayed you and showed your amusement. 

“Hey Wade,” you replied then greeted the others. 

“What? No comeback? I’m hurt! What’s wrong?” he asked, speaking in that way too fast pattern that was his norm. 

Logan placed a hand on your back and leaned down closer to your ear as he asked quietly, “You wanna sit down? I can get you a drink- what do you want?” 

You smiled and sat down as you were told and told him your drink order. 

Wade wiggled his non-existent eyebrows at you in a rather suggestive manner. 

“What’s up between you and peanut? Did you finally fu-” 

“No,” you interjected quickly. 

“Wade, she’s clearly upset and Logan is helping her,” Vanessa said as she elbowed her boyfriend. 

You sighed and explained the events of your afternoon. During your explanation Logan came back to the table with two drinks and sat next to you. His large form crowded you into the corner of the booth, but you didn’t mind. 

“That motherfucker,” Wade said in anger at the end of your story. Vanessa gave you a look of solidarity, you knew she had experienced plenty of creepy men in her life. 

“That’s what I said,” Logan replied, clearly somewhat amused. 

“We should kill him,” Dopinder said.

“Calm down wannabe-vigilante,” you muttered which caused everyone to chuckle. 

“Don’t worry cupcake, ole honey badger and I will make sure you’re safe,” Wade reassured. 

You nodded and said, “I appreciate it, but I don’t think he’ll return. Logan can be pretty intimidating, it was amazing - I’m sure he scared him off.”

Logan grunted in agreement, although when you looked at him you could’ve sworn there was a tint of pink on his cheeks and the tops of his ears. 

As the evening stretched on, you were thoroughly distracted from your troubles and amused by Wade’s antics and Dopinder’s stories. 

“So, Princess Cupcake, any luck on the dating front?” Wade asked. 

You tugged at the sleeves of your shirt- a nervous habit, and without looking up from the table said, “Nope.” 

Logan let out a soft sigh of what your aching heart could only hope was relief. 

“I’ve never asked, what’s with the nickname?” Dopinder asked. 

You shrugged and gestured to Wade. 

“When Blind Al and I moved into our apartment this sweetie pie here brought us cupcakes!” Wade explained. 

“Good thing it was cupcakes instead of a pie because being constantly called sweetie pie would make me want to die,” you muttered and everyone laughed. 

“What about the princess part though?” Dopinder asked. 

“Just look at her,” Logan mumbled and you and everyone at the table looked over at him in surprise. 

“She’s got that innocent sort of pretty you only see in big bright eyed animated Disney princesses,” Wade said. 

Embarrassed at the attention you changed the subject immediately. Your constant filthy thoughts about Logan proved you were anything but innocent. 

“But why is Logan’s nickname peanut?” you asked quickly. 

Wade shrugged, “Just fits.” 

Logan rolled his eyes. 

You smirked and said, “I bet we could come up with a hundred nicknames for him that would fit better.” 

“Like what?” Wade challenged. 

You glanced over at the large handsome man sitting next to you as your face warmed. 

Daddy was the first word that came to mind. Wade chuckled in a way that made you momentarily worried that mind reading was one of his mutant abilities. 

The silence at the table stretched on, becoming a tad awkward, before you said, “Nevermind I’m not very good with nicknames anyways.” 

“Yeah, it’s probably best to leave choosing nicknames to the professional,” Vanessa said in a joking tone to ease the tension. You shot her a look of gratitude and she winked at you before she effectively changed the subject all together. 

Eventually, after enough drinks and conversation, you declared that it was time for you to go home. 

“C’mon!” Wade protested. “The night has just begun!” 

“I wish I could stay but I’ve got work in the morning.” 

“I’ll walk you home,” Logan said in a soft but firm tone that left no room for argument as he stood and took a step back to give you room to get out of the booth. 

You nodded in agreement and smiled in pleasant surprise as he offered you his arm. You wrapped your arm around his large bicep and linked your elbows as you followed him out into the cold winter air. 

The city glowed in warm orange light that reflected on the wet pavement. Your breath was visible in frostbitten wind, and you shivered slightly which caused you to burrow further into your coat and move closer to Logan and the heat his body provided. 

He then pulled his arm from yours, causing you to momentarily panic, but just as swiftly he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. 

You smiled and filled the short walk with endless chatter, you used to worry that your yapping irritated him, but the small uptick of his lips- the ghost of a smile- showed fond amusement and filled you with warmth enough to make you forget about the cold. 

“What time do you leave for work in the morning?” Logan asked as you reached the door of your apartment- his apartment door only a few steps away. 

“Eight o’clock,” you replied as you unlocked the door.

“But really, you don’t have to-”

“I’ll see you then,” he interrupted in a tone that indicated you would not win this argument. 

Then he did something you didn’t expect at all, he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to your forehead. 

You grinned, your smile wider than probably ever before as you said, “Goodnight Logan, see you bright and bleary eyed tomorrow.” 

He chuckled as he bid you goodnight and you walked into your apartment and shut the door only after he smiled at you again before disappearing behind his own door. 

You shut your door and locked it before leaning against it. You muffled your squeal of excitement with your hand- all too aware how thin the walls are. The stressful events of the day completely forgotten. 

[adispit]

‘Sweet thing’

Hare! original character x bunny! male reader

warnings: predator prey dynamic,humping, overstim, mind break (kinda), breeding, slight dubcon, naive innocent reader, size kink, scent kink, creampie

notes: this idea has been stuck in my head for too long lmfao I rly went down the rabbit hole writing this 💀

You were a sweet thing, a bunny bred to be docile and kept at home like the naive creature you were! Your owner was extremely protective, never allowing you to go out and always pampering you with treats and pets!! You were the perfect house pet. However, always being at home was so boring and dull. Sure, being fawned over by your owner was always enjoyable but you wanted to be like other bunnies! Why shouldn’t a grown-up bunny like you also be able to go out and explore the huge world? All you had was a small town where you and your owner lived in, nearby meadows. There were so many delicacies you hadn’t tried yet, like wild carrots or apples! All the food you had at home were just leafy greens and pellets…so you had to formulate a plan immediately!! Sure, your owner might be a tad bit worried or maybe even disappointed but you would just go for a quick trip into the meadows nearby, only a few hours you swore!

Hence, your plan began. No better time to slip out when your owner was busy at work. Full of excitement and anticipation, you quickly jumped out of the window onto the pavement. The fields were so close! You quickly hopped your way to the meadows where the other bunnies promised there would be the precious apples and food you had dreamed about. Hungry and ecstatic, you finally arrived but the delicious food that was spoken about was nowhere in sight… you were starving! Maybe this was a bad idea, you shouldn’t have gone out, your owner was going to be so angry… Not only was the pristine and white fur they loved so much now dirtied, you were a disobedient bunny who ran away because you were too greedy…

Tears began to form in your eyes as you thought about the disappointment in their eyes and how they probably wouldn’t love such a naughty bunny anymore… You were such a silly thing, knowing nothing of the world and yet you still wanted to explore! Hours went by, and you grew tired of wallowing in your misery, it was night now anyways, it was time to finally go home even if your owner would be unhappy. At least you had a roof and a warm bed to sleep in! Trudging through the tall grass, you tried to retrace the steps you took but it was too dark. The inky darkness filled your vision as panic began to fill your heart. How were you supposed to go home now?! Oh no…you could feel the waterworks starting again. However before you could even burst into tears, your ears picked up rustling in the grass behind you.

Without a single thought left in your brain, you immediately darted in the opposite direction of whatever monster was stalking you in the night. Fear clouded your senses as you felt a shiver go down your spine. What horrors were hidden in the night? You didn’t want to know! You really should have stayed home but now there whatever was hunting you! Unfortunately you began to tire, your hunger and outbursts having sapped your energy, but you could still hear the loud thumps of whatever chasing you get closer and closer, their hot breath on your nape. Your pace slowed and the creature tackled you. Clenching your eyes shut, you willed yourself still and accepted your fate.

You could feel something caress your cheek. “Open your eyes bunny.” A domineering voice commanded you and you meekly peeked one eye out to see a massive hare over your form. He was huge! Both in muscle and size, he overwhelmed your tiny body. You didn’t stand a single chance against him. “What d-do you want, Mister Hare… I-I just want to go home..” you trembled, the stutters in your voice unable to hide your fear. A low chuckle reverberated from him, “Oh you naive thing, I just want to eat you up. You’ve been in my territory since afternoon and emitting that sweet scent. A tiny creature like you should be protected but you just happened to chance upon me, what a pity.” Hearing his words, your suspicions were further confirmed. You were never getting home and a big bad hare now wanted to eat you. You went slack, what could you even do now… “O-okay, Mr Hare, just make it quick… I don’t want to be eaten painfully and slowly…” you were ready, this would be how you went…

“You misunderstood me bunny. I’m not eating you up literally, I’m going to breed you so you reek of me all over like my property.” Confusion filled your face but not long before you felt him grind against your pelvis. Oh. He meant that… Forgetting your initial terror, you immediately flushed red. You had never done this before..and your owner forbid it, saying something along the lines of “I’m not ready to be a father”. Wait, but you were both males, how could you both mate?! Your obvious inexperience and bewilderment must have been evident because Mr Hare laughed again. “It doesn’t matter if you’re male, there’s still a hole, you silly thing.” He grunted. Not waiting for your reply, he hoisted you onto his lap, the curve of your ass now rubbing against his huge bulge.

You could feel the copious amounts of precum wet the thin shorts your owner had insisted on giving you for the sake of “propriety” and yep there they went, as Mr Hare ripped them off. A whimper escaped you as the friction of his cock rubbing against your perineum sent sensations you had never felt before running through your body. “Uagh-?!” A surprised moan ripped from your throat as you could feel something thick fill your hole. His fingers were in you! You felt his fingers graze something in you that made you clutch at his shoulders in a fit of pleasure. A knowing smirk appeared on his face and he repeatedly jabbed at the spot, “I found your prostrate.” He snickered.

“N-nng- ah! T-too much!!” You keened as you buried your face in his shoulders, your body spasming at his relentless teasing of your prostrate. Shortly after, a loud sob left you as your cock squirted all over your stomach, leaving you limp. “Can’t have you weak before I breed you bunny.” Mr Hare clamoured as he left a chaste kiss on your lips, a sharp contrast to his rough man handling. Pushing you into a mating press, the head of his throbbing dick pushed at your weakly twitching rim. Glancing down at his cock, terror filled you at the size of his dick, that was monstrous!! “N-no, wait it won’t f- AGH” Before you could protest, he sharply thrusted into you as you wailed out in shock at the sudden intrusion.

Growling, the hare left no chance for you to complain as he snapped his hips against yours repeatedly like he was a man possessed. “You really are so tiny, look at your small excuse of a cock bunny…you deserve a good breeding..” he teased as his cock plunged into you. Endless whines left you as the onslaught of pleasure left you orgasming over and over again. You could only weep as Mr Hare painted your insides white without an end in sight. “P-please sir, it’s too m-mu-much!” You pleaded but your pleas for him to stop fell on deaf ears. “Gh- just gotta give you one more load one more bunny, gotta make you full of my cum.” He murmured as he grasped at your waist tightly. Oh that was sure to bruise tomorrow. Teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, you could only mindlessly mewl in response as another dry orgasm wracked your body.

The sun was rising and you were a sight to be seen. Eyes rolled in a dry orgasm as you unconsciously grinded back on the hare pistoning away at you, a mess in your own bodily fluids and the semen dripping from your abused hole. Unable to take anymore abuse, you blacked out and before you slipped into the welcome embrace of the darkness, you could feel yourself getting cradled and picked up and a kiss pressed to your dry lips.

You were definitely never gonna go out again.

note: why does no one ever talk about how hard it is to write smut OMG 😭😭 I legit spent an hour stressing over what to write so it sounded stimulating enough and legit 😞 anyways take this pathetic piece pls have mercy lol its like my first time writing smut (despite the fact I read smut 😭🙏)

Reblogs are appreciated :) if you want a part 2 lmk!

Pt 2 is here : Mates (Sweet Thing Pt.2)

[oaksgrove]

Hi! Can I request a Husband! John x Wife! Reader, in which he helps her wife who deals with migraines due to hormonal problems? Maybe John comforting her and being in domestic mode...

I love how you write!! Thank you! 🥰

Through Sickness and Health

Pairing: John Price x Reader

Synopsis: A brutal migraine leaves you bedridden, but John Price is nothing if not steadfast. Through gentle touches, quiet reassurances, and unwavering presence, he reminds you that you’ll never have to suffer alone.

Warnings: Chronic illness (migraine), descriptions of pain and discomfort, caretaking, extreme softness, John Price being The Husband™

Word Count: 1194

The pain had settled behind your eyes hours ago, a dull ache blooming into something sharp, relentless. You’d felt it coming—your body had warned you, the telltale pressure creeping in like a storm on the horizon. By the time the sun dipped below the trees outside, the migraine had swallowed you whole.

John had noticed immediately.

You tried to downplay it, as you always did. A tired smile, a quiet assurance of It’s not that bad. But John Price wasn’t a fool. He saw the way your shoulders tensed, the way your fingers curled ever so slightly against your temple, your breathing slower, more measured—like you were trying to will the pain away.

And now, here you were, curled up in bed, the room shrouded in darkness, curtains drawn tight to keep out the slivers of light that only made it worse. The sheets felt too heavy, the air too thick. Your stomach churned, nausea creeping in at the edges, but worst of all was the helplessness. The knowledge that no matter how much water you drank, how still you lay, how deep you breathed—it wouldn’t stop until your body decided it would.

John sat at the edge of the bed, his palm pressed against your lower back, rubbing gentle circles through the thin fabric of your shirt. You weren’t sure how long he’d been sitting there—maybe minutes, maybe hours. Time felt strange when pain took over.

“I hate this,” you whispered, voice raw, eyes shut tight.

John sighed, deep and low. “I know, love.” His voice was warm, grounding, but there was something else there too. Frustration. Not at you, never at you—but at the simple, infuriating fact that he couldn’t just fix this.

You felt him shift, leaning down, pressing his lips to your temple. “I wish I could take it away,” he murmured against your skin, like the words themselves might soothe you.

You exhaled shakily. “Not your fault.”

“Still.” Another kiss, softer this time. His beard tickled against your cheek. “Feels like I should be able to do something. Anything.”

You cracked one eye open, just enough to glimpse the furrow between his brows. He was frustrated, his lips pressed into a thin line. You reached out blindly, fingers brushing against his hand. He caught them immediately, intertwining them with his own.

“You’re already helping,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand weakly. “Just… being here.”

John didn’t answer right away. Instead, he brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss against your knuckles. “I’ll always be here.”

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest.

Another wave of pain pulsed behind your eyes, and you winced. John noticed, of course. He was on his feet in an instant, disappearing for a moment before returning with something cool—he pressed a damp washcloth to your forehead, adjusting it carefully. His movements were steady, deliberate.

“You drink enough water today?” he asked quietly.

You made a vague sound in response. You had, but probably not enough.

John clicked his tongue, but didn’t push. “I’ll get you some tea in a bit. Something light.”

You hummed in approval, too tired to say much more.

John stayed. He ran his fingers through your hair, tracing slow, soothing patterns along your scalp. He adjusted the pillows behind you, making sure you were as comfortable as possible. He checked the time, keeping track of when you last took your medication. He whispered quiet reassurances, telling you about his day in a low, hushed tone, like maybe his voice alone could ease you into rest.

Eventually, the pain dulled, just enough for exhaustion to win out. You drifted, barely conscious, but you felt it—the press of John’s lips against your forehead, the warmth of his body beside you, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

And you knew, without a doubt, that no matter how bad it got, no matter how many nights like this you had to endure—John would always be here.

When you woke again, the pain had dulled to something bearable, a ghost of what it had been. The air in the room was cool, the scent of peppermint and chamomile lingering—John must have left a cup of tea on the nightstand. Your mouth was dry, your limbs heavy, but the worst had passed.

The space beside you was empty, the sheets slightly rumpled, still holding the warmth of where John had been. He hadn’t left entirely—you could hear him in the kitchen, moving around with quiet efficiency. The sound of water filling a kettle, the occasional clink of a spoon against ceramic.

You sighed, pushing yourself up slowly, cautiously, half-expecting the migraine to rear its ugly head again. It didn’t—not fully, at least. Just a lingering soreness in your skull, a reminder of the battle you’d fought.

Padding into the kitchen, you found John at the counter, stirring something in a bowl. He was still in his undershirt and sweatpants, hair slightly tousled, looking every bit the man who had stayed up all night worrying over you.

He turned at the sound of your footsteps, eyes immediately scanning over you, assessing. “You shouldn’t be up yet,” he said, setting the bowl down.

You gave him a tired smile. “I’m okay. Better.”

John wasn’t convinced. He crossed the space between you in two strides, his hands finding your arms, warm and steady. “You sure?”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “Yeah.”

His eyes softened, but there was still worry lingering beneath. “You barely ate anything yesterday,” he murmured, tilting his head toward the bowl. “Figured I’d make something light. Oatmeal.”

You huffed a small laugh. “John Price making oatmeal? I thought you were more of a full-English-breakfast kind of man.”

His lips twitched. “And I’d make you one if I thought you could stomach it.” He brushed a strand of hair from your face. “Go sit. I’ll bring it over.”

You didn’t argue. The truth was, you were still exhausted, and standing too long made your legs feel like lead. You settled into the chair near the window, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.

John set the bowl in front of you, along with a cup of tea. He sat beside you, watching as you took a tentative bite. The warmth settled in your stomach, soothing in a way you hadn’t expected.

You glanced at him, taking in the crease between his brows, the way he still looked at you like you might collapse at any second.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he admitted quietly, eyes flickering down to his hands. “Hate not being able to do anything about it.”

You reached out, resting your hand over his. “You did more than enough, John.”

He exhaled, squeezing your fingers lightly. “Just wish I could take it away.”

You smiled, tired but grateful. “You already make it easier.”

John didn’t argue. Instead, he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, lingering there for a moment.

And in that quiet, intimate morning, with the scent of tea in the air and his warmth surrounding you, you knew—you would never have to face this alone.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap @rainyjellybear @anonymouse1807 @twoandahalfdimes

[sacr1ficialang3l]

Somewhere in the thoroughfare˚୨୧⋆｡ 

OLDER!DEAN WINCHESTER X YOUNGER!READER

SUMMARY: Dean and reader embark on a journey to see the west. They drive for hours upon hours, but reader knows the perfect way to distract Dean for a while. 2.9k

WARNINGS: smut (MDNI). oral m receiving. getting a blow job while driving. do not try this at home kids. age gap.

NOTES: Daddy is back! It took me a long time because I haven't been very inspired lately, sorry I disappeared for a bit. I am still not an expert in writing smut, I will learn one day I promise. Anyway, another one of my little self-indulgent fantasies for you all. As always, English is not my first language. Enjoy<3

Summer this year was hot and sticky, all humid air and warm sunlight.

It had been miraculously quiet in the supernatural world for the past few weeks, and Dean decided it was the perfect time to take his pretty girl for vacation. He had noticed that you were a little down lately, a little less smiley and your eyes a little less sparkly. You were good at hiding it, but Dean knew that the hunting life was hard on you sometimes. He had gotten used to it after so many years, barely feeling the ache in his bones and the weight on his shoulders anymore, but when he held you in his arms while you cried your pretty eyes out one night, he decided you two needed a break.

He got his credit card ready, picturing five-star hotels and bustling city nights. He was even willing to board a plane just for you. Anything for his sweet girl. So one night, when he was letting you talk about your favorite pop artists—

"So, this Taylor Swift album–"

"Oh, please. Don’t torture me like this, princess. I swear music died in the '90s."

"Shut up and listen, old man. Let me introduce you to peak lyricism."

He interrupts you and explains his plan, asking you to choose any destination.

Imagine his surprise when instead of asking for anything he thought, you chose a road trip.

“Really, sweetheart? All we do is be on the road.”

“I know, but never without the burden of hunting. I wanna drive around with you, no guns or monsters, just us and your other baby.”

“Aren’t you tired of it? Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled not to get into a plane, but this is for you. We can go anywhere you want, baby.”

“I could never get tired of it. In your car, with all of your dumb luck, is the only place I’ll ever wanna be.”

Dean stares at you for a long moment, eyes a little clouded with something intense, something that makes your insides burn.

“How can you be so perfect?” that makes you giggle, biting your lip and looking up at your boyfriend. “So, where are we going, love?”

“I don’t really care as long as you're with me.”

“Come on. There must be somewhere you wanna go, anywhere.”

“What about Oregon? Oh, but I would also love to drive down Big Sur with you. But what about–”

You were interrupted by Dean’s gruff laughter.

“I think I get the point. We have no time limit, I know how we can visit all the places you want.”

Dean grabbed your waist and pulled you on top of him, letting his hands –so callused from his pistol– brush down your lower back as he pulled you as close as possible.

“Come see the west with me, sweetheart.”

You are somewhere in north Oregon, almost in Washington. You had tried to convince Dean to take you to Forks, but the moment the word Twilight came out of your mouth he refused. (He ends up driving you there a week later, begrudgingly letting you take the aux and play Paramore the whole time you are in there.)

It is one week into your vacation, and the summer heat has only gotten worse. You and Dean are driving down a lonely road towards a little cabin you rented—it was in the middle of the woods and looked extremely homey. You were thrilled when you found it, even though explaining to Dean how Airbnb worked was an ordeal, considering he had only ever stayed in shitty motels without ever making a reservation or entering credit cards in some website.— You are planning to stay there for at least a week before resuming your journey to California.

So right now, you two are surrounded only by the trees, the setting sun, and the extremely hot air. The wind through the window is thick and muggy, clinging to your skin as you rest across the front seat of the Impala. Your socked feet dig into Dean’s thigh, and your head dangles out the window, hair catching the breeze, whipping gently around your face. Your eyes are closed while you tap your hand against your bare leg along with the beat of one of Dean’s rock songs, enjoying the way one of his hands is wrapped around your ankle.

You still find it astonishing that even in this weather, Dean is wearing his usual jeans and black shirt. At least you had convinced him to drop the flannel. You are the complete opposite, dressed in short shorts that barely hit your upper thigh and a white tank top with no bra on. You told him it was because wearing one made you sweat more when he asked, but the truth is that you liked the way Dean stared at the outline of your nipple piercings through the thin material of your almost translucent top, eyes hungry and feral.

You tilt your head up to look at your boyfriend when he starts singing along, his voice barely audible over the wind on your ears. There he is, knowing every lyric of a song released many years before you were born, his crow's feet even more pronounced as a relaxed smile settled on his face, the rough skin of his fingers brushing up and down your calf.

He catches you looking at him, and he gives you one of his signature smug grins.

“See something you like, sweetheart?”

“Oh, definitely.” You say flirtily, pulling your head back inside of the car and half-closing your window to eliminate some of the whistling.

Dean chuckles, and once again, you’re struck by how incredibly handsome he is. His elbow rests casually on the edge of his open window as he grips the steering wheel with ease. The setting sun casts a warm glow over him, making his green eyes practically glow. The veins on his forearms stand out, and the black shirt clings tightly to his chest and biceps.

At the end of the day, you are just a girl, so you lean forward and sink your teeth into the strong muscle of his arm. God, it was so big, almost as big as your head. Dean hisses a bit at the pain but doesn’t pull away, too used to your shenanigans.

“Is this what vampire movies did to your generation?” He grumbles when you let go of his flesh, but his expression softens when he hears you giggle while you admire your work.

There’s a deep set of teeth marks on his bicep—a perfect imprint of your canines. He pretended to be annoyed when you bit him, but he actually relished in bearing your mark. Because he is as yours as you are his.

“Nope, you’re just biteable.”

That makes him snort and shake his head fondly. You look at him again, now closer, and you have to bite your lip at how hot your boyfriend is. This older, experienced, kind, sweet man… all for you. You are so lucky.

A great idea strikes you. You check the GPS on your phone, (Dean refused to use it, saying that he knew how to find his way everywhere with just a map) According to it, you’ve got at least another hour on this empty road. Perfect.

You shuffle around in the bench seat of the Impala until the point of your feet are pressed against the car door, knees bent comfortably as you let your head fall down into Dean’s lap. He is a little startled at first, sending you a confused look. But you simply beam at him sweetly, staring into his eyes from between his torso and the steering wheel. He laughs, brushing some hair out of your face with his free hand.

You wait for a few minutes before putting your plan into action. The moment Dean’s eyes are extra focused on the road, his fingers drumming along to some song you think is by Led Zeppelin (you are learning, for him), you tilt your head to the side and press your cheek against his crotch.

Dean’s movements halt for a second, and he sends you a warning look.

“What do you think you're doing, sweetheart?”

You say nothing, giggling softly and nuzzling against his clothed dick again. The fabric of the denim was rough, and it burned your skin just right. You start to feel how Dean slowly starts to harden under you, and you start to leave soft kisses all over his upper thighs and over the growing bulge.

“Baby, I am serious.” He calls out your name when you don’t stop. “I am driving, for god's sake.”

You catch the edge of the waistline of his jeans in between your teeth, pulling at it softly before you look up at Dean, all doe eyes and fluttering lashes.

“You’ve been driving for hours. Let me give you a little thank-you, baby.”

Dean groans, both his hands now in the steering wheel, like he was scared to lose control. He licks his lips, thinking for a moment with an almost pained expression.

“You’re so… I’m gonna lose my damn mind.” He murmurs, more to himself than to you. “I won’t stop you, but just know that if we crash against some fucking tree it will be your fault.”

You giggle and proceed to unbutton his jeans and pull down the zipper. You lick a long strip across his now completely hard cock over his boxers. It makes Dean’s breath hitch, and his hips twitch subtly under you. You keep mouthing at the bulge over the thin fabric of the underwear until it is completely soaked with spit.

“Come on, darling.” Dean grunts. “Don’t be a tease.”

You use your hands to pull his erection out of his underwear. It is a little cramped and less than ideal in the small space you have, but you manage to pull his pants down enough so that his cock stands proudly in front of you, long and hard and wet with your spit.

You shift in the seat of the impala once again until you are laying on your stomach, feet kicking in the air playfully as if you were doing the most innocent of things instead of about to blow your boyfriend while he drove.

You brush your tongue against the throbbing tip of Dean’s dick, collecting the precum already there into your mouth. You hear Dean groan distantly, but your head was getting a little hazy already. You loved sucking Dean’s cock. He fit so right in your mouth, the weight and taste of him in your tongue so perfect that you felt dizzy with it. You could spend hours with him nuzzled against your throat, suckling and swallowing around him.

You give kitten licks to the whole length, getting him sloppy and ready. The moment the tip slides in between your lips, Dean lets out the first low moan. It was heavy and husky, and you absolutely loved it. You take him deeper into your mouth, starting to bop your head up and down.

“Fuck, yes. So good, so– ah, so fucking good for me, baby.”

You can feel his eyes on you, and you lean away slightly, his cock sliding out of your mouth with a wet pop.

“Eyes on the road, Dean.” There is a string of saliva connecting your lips and Dean’s dick, and the image makes him curse, his jaw clenching as his eyes flick back up.

You take him inside your mouth again, deeper this time. You breathe in through your nose before you sink in further, until he hits the back of your throat. It makes Dean grunt loudly, but it quickly turns into an extended moan as the warm walls of your throat contract around him.

“Mmnh— you feel so good, baby. You were made for this. Such a tight, warm little mouth just for me. Such, ah, such a good girl, taking my cock so deep. Fuck.”

Dean’s knuckles are white where he is holding the wheel for dear life. You hum at the praises, and Dean lets out a choked whine at the vibrations that throbbed through his length, cock twitching and more precum dribbling out of his tip.

You feel your mind spin a little at Dean’s words and the sweet feeling of him so deeply settled into your mouth. You brush your tongue against the underside of his cock, and it is messy. You’re almost desperate with it, drool dribbling past your lips and down Dean’s balls. He hiss at the feeling and throws his head back for just one second before his eyes return to the road.

“You love cock so much, don’t you?” He growls, strangled. “So fucking sloppy and messy. My pretty girl all needy for me.”

You whimper around him at his words, and you start to suck with renewed vigour. Slurping around Dean’s length and letting out pleased noises every time he hit the back of your throat. He keeps murmuring filthy words at you, fighting the way his hips desperately wanted to thrust into your mouth.

Seriously, you are lucky he has so much self control and doesn’t end up flipping the car.

“Yeah, just like that, sweetheart. I’m– a-ah, I'm close. Make me come in your mouth, baby.”

You pull back a bit, wanting Dean to come on your tongue— you want to taste it, savor the way it coats your tongue with a flavor that you can only describe as Dean. You use your fist to jerk whatever is left out of your mouth, and when your tongue presses into his slit, his cock pulses and he comes.

Dean’s groan is guttural and desperate, fighting to keep his eyes open and his hands firmly on the wheel. Thick ropes of cum fall onto your tongue, and you let out a contented little hum. You lap it all up, eyes rolling back in satisfaction. You swallow around his cock, prolonging his orgasm and making him twitch one last time. Even after he stops coming, you keep suckling around the head of his cock. Dean hisses in overstimulation.

“That’s enough, princess.” He pants, pulling you away by the hair. The combination of the pain and the lack of dick makes you whine. “Stop, or I am seriously crashing the car.”

You lick your lips as you try to catch your breath. You somehow look even worse than Dean did, eyes teary and lips puffy. There was spit dripping down your chin and your breathing was ragged. Your cheek is red and itchy where it rubbed against his jeans, but you love the feeling.

You blink at Dean twice, the fog in your mind slowly dissipating and a proud little grin taking over your face instead.

“I love the way you taste.” You murmur dreamily, and it makes Dean glare at you as he groans.

“You need to stop saying things like that before I pull over and fucking ravish you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” You wink at him, moving until you are sitting correctly on the car seat.

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes, but there is a pleased smile on his face. He looks somehow even sexier now, the post-orgasm glow turning his eyes shinier and adding an edge to his grin.

Fuck, you still couldn’t believe all that was yours.

You sigh, opening the glove box and pulling out some tissues. Dean has already put himself back into his pants, so you wipe the last traces of spit off your face. Your throat feels a little raw, so you turn and bend over the backrest of the front seat to reach the cooler Dean keeps in the back.

“Fuck, you’re a hazard while driving.”

You grab a water bottle when you feel him slap your ass. The sharp sting spreads through you, heat prickling every nerve. You sit back down with a huff, turning to him with an incredulous expression.

“What?”

Dean shrugs, trying —and failing— to look innocent, his smirk betraying him.

“Come on. You can’t bend over like that and not expect it. I’m only human after all, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but an endeared smile takes over your face.

“Why do I keep you around again?”

A day later, you are sitting outside of the rented cabin with Dean next to you, surrounded by nothing but nature. You made him a simple flower crow with some daisies and baby’s breath you’d found in a clearing nearby. It took plenty of begging, pouting, and soft kisses to convince him to wear it, but once it was on, he hadn’t taken it off.

The days pass in a blur of quiet moments—early mornings spent sipping coffee on the cabin’s porch, evenings filled with whiskey, laughter and many more of those old-man stories you loved so much. And of course, a lot more sex.

Weeks later, after countless motel rooms and small-town diners, you find yourselves standing on the coast. you are near the beach, where the salty breeze mingled with the sound of crashing waves, and the sun hangs warm and golden overhead. Dean stands behind you, strong arms wrapped around your waist, pressing you back against his chest, chin resting against the top of your head.

And right there, in that perfect moment, when Dean turns you around softly and presses his lips to yours, you know exactly why you keep him around.

Because there’s no one else out there for you. Dean Winchester—old enough to be your father, a big bad hunter carrying more baggage than most could bear, with a neon sign flashing 'trouble' on his forehead—is the love of your life.

NOTES: I am trying my best with the smut pls be nice. Another ode to sucking dick by me (I am a virgin if it wasn't clear by now).

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess <3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[satorusugurugurl]

Hiii :33 i literally read all ur works in one sitting omg ur amazing pookieee AND IT GOT ME THINKING-

What if reader and the JJK men had their bodies switched due to a curse??? Like- For example- Nanami Kentos body but readers mind/conscious and stuff like ykwim??? (same with readers body) Also i love how u write sukuna its so BEIFNSKFHKDD ARF👹👹 if u could add some smut and crack in it too pls🥹 tyty

(W/ nanamin toji sukuna n geto pls) ☺️☺️😚😚

JJK Men: Body Swap!!

Summary: Body swapping with your boyfriend? What could go wrong? 😃

Pairing: Fushiguro Toji, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna (Sorcerer AU), Geto Suguru, AFAB!Reader

Warnings: smut, a little crack, body swapping, creampies, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms

Word Count: 7,174

A/N: Hi Pookie!! hajsjjdjdthank-you so so much! I lo ove too! Modern Sukuna is one of my favorite boys to write for! I love him so much. (even though I know its OOC). Anyways thanks for being so patient with me. this last month has been insanely busy and I'm just now finding my creativity again!

Fushiguro Toji:

It was supposed to be a simple mission to take out a sorcerer. What you both didn’t know was that this sorcerer had a lot of curses to spirits protecting them. So when you both took him out, one of the spirits attacked you. And you weren't sure what happened. One second, you were standing back to back with your boyfriend. The next second, you were lying flat on your back, staring up at the sky.

While your head was spinning and you felt sick to your stomach, that meant you were alive and well, which was a success in your books. Sitting up, you grumbled out a groan as you blinked several spots away.

“Son of a fuckin’ bitch.” You said, but it wasn't you that said it? When your vision finally cleared, your eyes widened as you stared down at yourself. “I’m telling Shiu we need double the pay for that shit.” A string of vulgar words escaped your lips as you watched your body sit up.

“T-Toji?” You asked, finding your voice several octaves lower.

“Yeah, you good?” your head turned towards you, and that’s when your boyfriend finally seemed to notice something was wrong. Toji, I’ve been told you you were never good at hiding your facial reactions, and seeing a pure panic that crossed your features let you know he was right. “Oh, what the fuck?!”

“I-It’s me! I-I just—uhm—what the fuck happened?!”

After thoroughly researching the files you both refused to read, you discovered that this was one of the side effects of one of the curses you had taken out. It allowed the souls of its victims to switch with each other. The technique was only meant to last a few hours to a few days, which was a blessing, but your boyfriend didn’t seem to see it that way.

Although you both insisted that you could handle a few more jobs, Shiu couldn’t stand the way you were smiling sweetly at him with Toji’s face, and your face was glaring daggers at him from the rearview mirror. So he did the only logical thing he could think of. You were taking your asses back home until this side effect wore off.

Which was something you found yourself longing for. Because you weren’t sure how much longer you could handle being in the small confining space of the apartment with your boyfriend who is currently stuck in your body. You were trying to preoccupy your time, attempting to fix dinner with Toji’s sausage fingers, when you could hear your voice and make the most pitiful sounds in the living room.

“My fucking back hurts!” Toji yelled out, stretching his back out.

“Yeah?” you asked, “I told you I wasn’t fucking joking with you. Having breasts can weigh you down sometimes. Why the fuck do you think I ask for a back massage all the time?”

“Because you want my dick.”

“Hardy har asshole, now you know when I ask for a massage and being serious seventy-five percent of the time.”

You tried to focus on cutting onions but found it extremely difficult with the wines emanating from the living room. “Oww, babe, come give me a back massage. Your beautiful tits that I love are causing me immense pain.” Ignore him, you told yourself as you went back to cutting onions. If you just ignored his whining, everything would be okay. “Babe!” Your voice at you from across the apartment. “Baby!” Your fingers tightened around the handle of the knife you were holding, fighting the urge to use your newfound strength not to throw it at yourself. For just a moment, the tiniest millisecond, you thought maybe he had given up on calling you forward, allowing you to go back to cooking until you heard yourself cry out a wine that would make any toddler turn their head towards you.

“Oh my god!” You snapped, tossing the knife into the sink. “What?! What do you want me to do for you, Your Highness?!”

“Rub my back,” Toji grumbled as he shoved your face into the couch. “It hurts, and I know how good I am with my hands.”

With a sigh, you plopped down on the ground behind your body, using your boyfriend's hands to rub circles at the knots always in your back gently. Almost instantly, Toji let out a moan that was porn worthy. You could see him sink further into the couch; your fingers dug into the cushions as you continued to use Toji’s thumbs to rub circles into the sore muscles. Toji continued to whimper, squirming under your touch, pressing your thighs together as you worked your hands lower and lower.

And while it seemed like he was finding some relief in your touch, you found his pants a little too tight for comfort sounds that were resonating from your mouth.

“Fuuuck, that feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, babe, Fuuck.”

The sound of your moans seems to affect your boyfriend’s body. Allowing you to move on impulse, allowing his body to take the lead. “I bet I can make you feel better.” You whisper against the nape of your neck, relishing how your boyfriend recoiled back.

“Oh yeah~? And how do you plan on making me feel even better?”

Your way was fast and hard, much like the way Toji always gave it to you. You wasted no time, ripping your clothes off of your own body, slamming your lips against the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin as his hands reached around, groping your breasts, just the way you liked it. Despite being in different bodies, neither of you were at all clumsy. As soon as you started ripping your clothes off, he told you he was tugging his shirt off his own body, turning to face, allowing you to pin him below you.

The kisses you shared were messy teeth clashing against each other as you both worked at your bottoms. Toji pulled your shorts and your underwear to the side. While you yanked his cock out of his sweats. Even though you were in different bodies, sex wasn’t any different. Toji just needed to feel you against him despite being inside your body, and the same for you.

You spit into your hand, rubbing it over your boyfriend's cock before you press it against your entrance. Never once did you break that kiss, the kiss that was full of raw need as if you both were high on an aphrodisiac when, in reality, you were high off of each other. Toji moaned against your lips as you pushed yourself inside of the tight, wet heat. Your breathing hitched at the strange new sensations washing over both of you.

“Oh my fuck,” you grumbled, pressing your lips against Toji’s. “I-It’s so tight and wet, oh, fuck.”

Toji wanted to laugh to make some crude comment about making sure you didn’t come too fast, but that was hard when he was being split open by his cock. “I-I feel s-so full.” He whispered nearly breathlessly against your lips.

“Does it hurt? Do you need a second?”

“No, I’m okay. Keep going, it feels good.”

Not needing to be told twice, you found yourself pulling out slowly before pushing back inside of your tight, wet walls. You both cried out, your head falling forward while Toji arched his back off the ground. You aren’t sure how long you could last like this. Hell, you weren’t even sure how Toji lasted as long as he did when he was inside of you. The man who was like a crazed sex god going for hours upon hours. While your boyfriend was wondering how the fuck you were able to take his cock like this every other night.

The pace you both set was messy and entirely out of rhythm. But despite not having any rhythm you were used to, it didn’t mean it didn’t feel good. Being able to lose control and lose yourself in the passion and sensations of just feeling good was hot. It was so hot that it had you both biting and sucking and clawing at each other. Your fingers dug into your hips while his nails scratched down your back as you both lost yourselves in the sensation of being with each other in a way you had never experienced before.

Being with each other in such a raw, more personal way allows you both, in a sense, to know how it feels for the other to know what to do, how to kiss, how to touch, and how to move against each other. This might come in handy for future sexual sessions for you. You knew that when you dug his nails into your upper back, your body trembled with pleasure. And Toji realized that when you angle your hips, a sure way to brush over your g-spot and cervix made your walls clench down so hard. He was afraid he was going to squirt all over you. Neither of you had ever expected it to happen, but both of you were excited that it had. Even if it meant neither of you was going to last very long.

“Oph fuck!” Toji cried out in your voice, his back arching. “B-Baby, I feel weird, like I need to pee!” Your boyfriend stared up at his face, which smirked sinisterly down at him.

“Yeah~? You gonna cum on my cock?” You asked, your voice deep and ragged. “Be good and cum for me.” You growled against his neck, smirking as you released your grip on his hip, rubbing circles over the swollen, sensitive clit.

“Ah! Fuck! Oooh fuck yes, gonna cum!”

“Cum for me, Toji~ come on!”

Toji screamed as he came so hard he squirted all over you, his legs shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm. As he screamed and squirmed underneath you, you lost yourself in the way your walls tightened around your boyfriend‘s cock. Hugging him, milking him, trying to get him to come inside. Which, fortunately, was far too easy to do. You collapsed forward, fingers digging into your hips so hard you were pretty sure you were going to leave bruises much, much darker than your boyfriend ever left on you. It was just too much, tightening the screaming, the pleasure. There was no way you could’ve stopped yourself.

“C-Cumming! Ooh fuck!”

“Yeah~! Give it to me!”

You thrust fast and hard, pumping your pussy full of your boyfriend's cum. Not stopping until the head of his cock was oversensitive, and you weren’t sure if you could hold yourself up any longer. You grumbled, somehow collapsing onto your side as your boyfriend giggled, curling up against you.

“Fuck, I understand why you don’t like pulling out now.”

Toji, your nails down his chest. “Yeah, it feels really good, doesn’t it?” You hummed, wrapping your boyfriend's arms around your more petite frame, not entirely used to the size difference. “God, I gotta give it to ya’ you take my dick like a fucking champ. Don’t know how you do it.”

You smirked, pressing a quick kiss against his forehead. “I’m lucky enough to have a boyfriend to make sure I’m more than ready for his monster of a cock.” He snickered, pulling back to look at me. “And I know I already failed at foreplay, but I couldn’t help myself when you’re making such pretty sounds. I needed to hear more.”

“Yeah, remember that the next time you bitch that I don’t prep you enough after giving you a massage.”

“Toji, I fully understand what you mean, and it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“Good, now— are you ready for round two?”

“Round two? Already?”

Toji swang your body over his hips, rocking gently over your oversensitive cock. “Oh yeah, I thought you were fucking with me, but your sex drive is insatiable; hurry up, I’m ready to go.” Maybe this whole body swap thing did have its downsides.

Nanami Kento:

It took five seconds for Nanami to turn away from the curse you were fighting. The curse shot out a green goop that coated you and Nanami in that span. It took five more seconds for your husband to act, blinking away the goop before jumping back into action. It was only when he went to swing his blunt blade that he realized something was wrong. Instead of swinging his typical weapon, he tossed a talisman paper instead.

In that momentary confusion, you and Kento took out the curse before looking at each other. Imagine his surprise when he didn’t find your pretty face looking up at him but his own, looking down at him. The initial shock turned into panic as he watched a look of pure terror and confusion cross his face.

“My love, it’s all right.” The calm manner of speaking sounded so strange coming out of your mouth. “We have to remain calm.”

“Oh my God, oh my God!” Nanami sighed, running a hand down your face. “What are we gonna do? This is terrible.”

Your husband wasn’t sure if you consider this terrible. Both of you were safe, so that’s all that truly mattered. However, he also found himself strangely intrigued by the predicament. He found yourself then. Seeing the expressions on his face, the cute little corpse you had, like picking at your nails, nipping up your bottom, lip, or weighing, looked strange to him, but it also left him longing to see what other reactions he could drop out from you.

Unaware of your husband’s intentions, you try to remain calm. You continued gently rubbing your hands together as Shoko and Nanami looked over your body he was in.

“Any pain or discomfort?” You watched in horny silence as Nanami moved your shoulder again.

“A little pain in my, well, my wife’s shoulder.”

“Let’s get that taken care of.”

You slipped your top over your head alone, you to see your body. The blue lace bra you wore was on display as Shoko's eyes flowed through her hands over your shoulder. Staring at your skin shouldn’t have any effect on you. It was your body. You had seen yourself naked one million times, but Nanami’s body reacted differently. Its bare skin and breasts had his pants feeling much too tight.

“How’s that?” Shoko asked as she stepped away, watching Nanami rotate your shoulder with a sigh of approval.

“Much better, thank you, Shoko.”

“And you?”

When Shoko turned her attention to you, your hands immediately went to cover your crotch. An action that seem to go unnoticed by your best friend but was clearly noticed by your husband. Nanami hummed cocking an eyebrow in your direction, his eyes focusing on his crotch, seeing how the fabric of his cream-colored suit pants with straining.

You cleared your throat, looking away, “I-I’m fine! Totally fine, just eager to get home and wait this out!” You wanted to get away from her and her praying eyes because how embarrassing would that be for you to be popping a boner in your boyfriend’s body at the sight of your tits?

“Alright, sounds good to me. If you need me, I’m just a call away; go home and rest.”

You have never been more happy to hear the words go home and get some rest in your entire life. You held your boyfriend’s hands in front of his crotch before taking his suit jacket to keep it over the prominent tent in his pants. This was perfect. You would be able to get home without anyone noticing. There, you could take a cold shower and sleep this off.

But your boyfriend had another plan.

Before you both could make it down the hall, Nanami grabbed your wrist, tugging you into one of the spare classrooms. “Kento?” You asked, the unsure tone of your husband’s voice sounded foreign. “What are you—nngh!” Your body jolted forward as he slipped his hand down, rubbing at the throbbing erection straining in his pants.

“Shh, let’s make this quick. I can’t have you walking around with an erection like some teenage boy.”

“W-Wait h-here?! If we get caught, that would be worse! At least I can hide a boner with your jacket!?”

At that moment, your husband was undoing the zipper of his pants, allowing you to see the hunger in your own eyes. It was a look that spoke volumes, and you suddenly realized why your husband had told you several times in the past to control your facial reactions. It was a look you only gave him when you were unbearably horny.

“Oh my god, that’s it. That’s the look you always talk about.”

“Mhm,”

“You’re horny?!”

Instead of answering your question with words, he took your hand and slowly slipped it under the waistband of your pants. There, you could feel the wet slick that you were familiar with. Not skipping a beat, your muscle memory kicked in as your fingers began to trace circles over your clit, knowing just how you like to be touched.

“I saw how hard you were and couldn’t help myself. Your body is screaming you need me. I’m so wet, and I’m throbbing; I need you.”

Hearing those words leave your mouth made you realize how your husband felt when he was in your position. When you talk like that in public, it is hard to control yourself at that moment. You had no clue how Nanami managed to do it because you lost your composure the second he opened his mouth.

You slammed your lips against his as you lifted him, pinning him against the wall, his hands worked at the button of his trousers while you slid your panties to the side. Luckily, both of you were so aroused that there was no need for foreplay. Lips moved against each other as you pressed the head of your husband’s cock against your entrance, pushing inside without a second thought. You couldn’t care less if the door wasn’t locked, and you seriously doubted anyone would enter from the moans resonating from both of you.

All that mattered was fucking each other's brains out. Whether it was a factor from the curse or your undying love for each other, you allow yourselves to lose sight of your control. You needed him just as bad as he needed you. And you gave it to him. It’s hard and fast as he gave it to you after he had been pent up from work all day.

Nanami screamed, head rocking back against the wall as you thrust forward, slamming the head of his cock against your cervix over and over, making sure to go as deep as you possibly could. You wanted him to know how good he always left you feeling after a rough session. Your fingers dug into the fat of your hips as you nipped and sucked at your neck, drawing out more moans from him.

You were giving it, your all fucking your husband as hard as he did; Nanami was gripping onto his biceps, staring into your eyes as he took it all in. Every thrust that led to immense pleasure, every kiss, he took in everything you were doing to him. Because the second he was back in his own body, he would make sure he made you feel as good as you made him feel.

And that was a promise he intended to keep.

“Oh, my fuck—” You cried out softly, feeling your orgasm already approaching you. “You feel too good—”

“Yeah, I know that’s how you make me feel every time. But it’s—nngh! It’s—haaah!”

“Hard to not cum?” You answered for him, feeling your walls tightening around your husband’s cock. “Fuck—oooh fuck.”

“C-Cummi—oh m-my god!”

There was no warning, no further words expressed. All that you managed to do was lose yourselves in your orgasms. Nanami cried out tears, picking your eyes as your walls constricted and convulsed around his cock, drawing out your orgasm. You roared a moan loudly into Nanami’s ear as you came inside, fucking his come further inside of you, doing exactly what he did to you every night.

The classroom felt stuffy and hot and reeked of sex. But neither of you cared as you slowly slid to the ground, holding Nanami flush against your chest. You kissed each other deeply, only breaking apart to take a deep breath as all the air escaped your lungs.

“I didn’t think it was possible—” Nanami whispered in your voice, “but I fell deeper in love with you right now.”

“Ken—I love you so much.”

You never made it home that night. Instead, you went to one of the spare dorms and ravished each other all night. Both of you took notes on how exactly your body reacted to certain touches and kisses because the second you were back in your own bodies, you planned on using this newfound information to spice up your marriage even more.

Ryomen Sukuna (JJK Sorcerer AU):

“I hate this!” Sukuna barked out, pacing the floor back and forth. “Ugh!”

“Calm down.” You said from the couch, rubbing your hands down your face. “You’re acting like it’s the end of the world.”

When Sukuna turned to give you the dirtiest look in the world, you weren’t met with his tattooed face, but your own instead. “Have you stopped to look at what happened? I am in your body.” That was true. Your boyfriend was in your body, and you were currently inhabiting his body.

“So it’s not like you’ve never been inside me.” You waggled your eyebrows at him, only to win it go to hell look in return. “Okay, shit, sorry for joking, but you heard Shoko. The effects of this curse will only last a few hours.”

“A few hours too many.”

You weren’t sure if it was the testosterone right now feeling in your blood or the very common annoyance you had with your arrogant boyfriend at times. But for some ungodly reason, watching him, he back-and-forth with a scale on your face was irritating, ever-loving fuck out of you. He was acting like a brat over something neither of you could control.

It wasn’t even just the whole situation itself. Shit like this happened when you were a sorcerer. You got hit with different curses, injured, and usually were expected to live not that long of a life. You knew there was always a chance you wouldn’t come home from a mission. You both were hit by a curse, and you manage walked away with minor injuries and a mild side effect. That was something he should be happy about. But for some damn reason, this whole situation only made him angrier than usual.

“This is bullshit; if only my reverse technique worked shit like this.”

“Kuna! Seriously, what is your problem?”

He growled at you, which would usually put you back in your place when you’re back talking to him, but it seems that growl wasn’t as effective when it came from your body. Meaning you were pretty much unaffected by his tactic of intimidating you.

“I feel weak, okay?!”

“Weak?” You asked with a scoff. “You’re seriously calling me weak?”

“N-No! Fuck I mean, I don’t feel as strong as I normally do.” The more he tried to defend himself, the deeper the hole he dug. “I don’t have the power or technique I have mastered through the years. Instead, I am unfamiliar with your technique, and all I have to defend myself with are these stupid papers.” He scoffed, digging into one of the pouches attached to your belt and pulling out one of your talisman papers. “I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to do with this fold origami?”

“You could shove it up your ass when you get back in your own body, and I hope you get a papercut when doing so.”

“No, I—you know how I see you.” He sighed, plopping down on the couch next to you. “You’re strong, and you’ve mastered your technique. But I don’t know how to do anything you do. I feel useless, and I’m not saying that you can’t hold your own in a fight you kick ass. I feel weak because I’m unaware of how to use your technique.”

There was a paying of understanding deep inside your chest. You knew what he meant because you felt the same way. There was an immense amount of power coursing through your veins, which could easily be used for evil instead of good. Having such a plethora of cursed energy made you feel as though you were a ticking time bomb, like if you were to sneeze, you would blow up a building.

So, instead of lecturing or giving him even more of a hard time, you draped a tattooed arm over your shoulder, pulling your boyfriend close to your side. “I get it, I guess.” You whispered, tilting your head back and staring up at the ceiling. “Being in your body makes me feel as though I’m destined to destroy things.” Sukuna snickered, turning to look up at you. “But just because I don’t have the same amount of cursed energy doesn’t mean I’m weak. I’m still strong in my ways.”

“Yeah? In what ways?”

“When I’m riding your cock. I feel all-powerful like nothing can stop me. Especially when you’re groaning, grabbing my hips, encouraging me to move faster.”

At that moment, you regretted the words that came from your mouth. Because all you heard was your boyfriend's understanding hum. A hum that led to his hands working at your pants.

“W-whoa, easy there, Kuna. What are you doing?”

“Taking control, to see just how powerful I’ll feel.”

There was no room for protest; once your boyfriend set his mind to something, he made sure to get it done. Even if that means stripping down, straddling your hips, and lowering himself awkwardly on his cock. Watching his wish contort with pleasure left you feeling as though you might be able to take the reins on this. It wasn’t as though your boyfriend would be able to take control, to ride cock like a pro.

But you seem to forget that this was your boyfriend, one of the strongest sorcerers of the modern age, just as strong as Gojo, if not more robust. The man was smart, and despite the facial tattoos and the muscles, he knew how to get shit done.

“Oh fuck!” You cried out as he slammed himself down onto his cock with a satisfied growl. “K-Kuna baby! P-Please slow down!”

His hand clamped firmly over your mouth, silencing your protests. “Shut up, I’m in control.” your voice sounded so dark and sultry, god it was so hot! “Just be good and sit still for me; let me use you.” you couldn’t argue with that, and with the way he slowly lifted himself off his cock, before slamming your body back down onto it, leaving you feeling pussy drunk.

“Fuck!”

You cried out, shaking as Sukuna rode you like there was no fucking tomorrow. “Oh fuck, fuuuuck!”

“Yeah~ I suddenly see why you like to be on top of a lot.” he dug your manicured nails into his shoulders, dragging them down over his chest. “From this position, I can do whatever I want to.” You couldn’t even ask what he planned on doing to you before his hips were rolling in circles and you were seeing stars. “Are You paying attention? This is how I want you to ride my cock from now on.”

“K-Kuna—Kuna!”

“I feel so powerful; seeing that pitiful look on my face should piss me off. But instead, it’s making me wanna draw out more.”

It was a combination of everything that was going on that sent you coming first. It was the way Sukuna was purring in your ear, so how he rolled your hips around his shaft, to the stinging burn left of your nails over his skin. It happens so fast, and your boyfriend's cock twitched inside of your walls as you came first. And it was unusual. Usually, you were the first to finish, but it never happened like this before. Your boyfriend being the first to fill you up rather than you soaking him with your release.

Sukuna wasn’t even upset about it. He swelled with a certain sense of pride at getting you off first and with a body he was unfamiliar with. That left him feeling so satisfied he could feel his ego swelling. Before he could brag over the fact that he was better than you, his head began to pound as his vision blurred. His grip on his own shoulders tightened. Sukuna thought he might black out for a moment before he was blinking the black spots out of his vision. When it cleared, he was no longer towering above you but underneath you.

Much to his relief, he looked up at your beautiful face instead of down at his own.

You barely had a second to process what was going on and how it happened before Sukuna’s strong hands and your hips were holding them tightly. Open your mouth to speak, but before any words had the chance to leave your mouth, your boyfriend was pulling you up the link of his cock before slamming you back down on him. You nearly came again just from that action in itself.

“N-Nngh! K-Kuna w-wa—ahh!”

He holds you up and back back down on his cock again and again and again. “I thought I told you to pay attention while riding you.” His hips thrust up into your dripping wet pussy. “I want you to do exactly what I did. Don’t keep me waiting; show me how strong you are, Kitten.”

Geto Suguru:

“So let me get this straight?” Satoru questioned while sitting across from you and your boyfriend. “You both took out the special-grade curse?”

“Yep.”

“Suguru turned it into a ball and gulped it down as he does.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then everything went black, and you both woke up like this?”

He motioned towards the bodies of his two friends, lifting his blindfold to watch as you knotted your head, which was your boyfriend’s head. Satoru got the story right; it was a simple mission, simple enough for both of you to handle. You could take out the curse with no issues, but when Suguru absorbed it, everything took a turn. Everything went dark, and the next second, you were sitting up in your boyfriend’s body with the most unpleasant taste in your mouth after swallowing the curse.

It was a shock initially, but weird things happened whenever your boyfriend absorbed a curse. That just came with the territory of a curse manipulator. Cursed spirits sometimes had different effects on his body and sometimes the body of those near him. Fortunately, you had been near him on this mission. Geto would have hated to be in Gojo’s body, so this was a win-win scenario.

“Yep, for the time being, we’re stuck like this.”

Gojo sat back in his chair, wincing at the situation, you both found yourselves in. “Shit, sorry about that, guys.” Suguru shook his head, stretching your arms above you.

“Eh, it could have been a lot worse.”

“ that’s true, but are you guys gonna—ya’ know?” Satoru jester to the two of you with his hands. “Use the opportunity to your advantage?”

Suguru and you looked at the white-haired man, blinking in confusion. “Advantage? Satoru, what are you even talking about?” you asked, running your fingers through your boyfriend's black hair.

“You know, I’ll get down and dirty?”

“What?!”

“Satoru~” Your voice purred out as Suegro shook her head. “Is sex the only thing on your mind?”

“Hey, it’s a genuine question. I’m just curious.”

Your boyfriend, who was irritated from the throbbing vein in your forehead. Having sex like this in his body hadn’t crossed your mind. When it initially happened, neither of you had been more concerned with making sure both you and Suguru were okay than about what happened. Besides that, sex wasn’t the only thing on your mind! The thought of doing it like this even occurred to you, and it wouldn’t have even crossed your mind, but thanks to manifest. It was out in the open, sticking out like a sore thumb.

You shifted, trying to listen to your boyfriend bickering back and forth with his best friend. Suddenly, you were aware of the throbbing inside your boyfriend, thankfully baggy pants. And you had the sudden urge to go home because the only thing you bring could focus on was how your boyfriend‘s dick was swelling. The last thing you wanted to do was pop a Boner in front of your mutual friend after he had just suggested hooking up with each other while in the opposite body.

If he found out how you felt, you wouldn't hear the end of his arrogant comments and encouragement.

Yeah, it was best to keep him out of your bedroom life. Especially when you weren’t sure if you wanted to take it that far. There was a burning desire deep in your stomach, one that had you itching to touch your body, to kiss your boyfriend, to succumb to the lust that was burning like a fire deep down inside of you. Was this how Suguru felt around you all the time? Or was it just part of the curse?

“Hey,” you looked up from the bed, watching as Suguru brushed your damp hair. “I think I'm going to sleep on the couch tonight.”

Suguru stopped turning his focus on you. “Why would you do that?” What could you even say? You were hard as a rock and wouldn't be able to control yourself? That you wanted him, but you didn't want to gross him out or make things even weirder?

“Well—I uhm—I—have a bit of a situation.”

“I know. You’re hard; you've been hard since we left campus.”

Your hands almost instinctively died towards the crotch, trying to cover the erection that was still throbbing angrily within the confines of the boxers. “H-How did you know?” Your boyfriend let out a giggle that sounded so strange coming out of your mouth.

“My pants may be baggy, but they aren’t that baggy.”

You felt yourself turn fifty shades of red as you groaned, covering your face in your hands. “Oh my god, you could tell?! Why didn't you say anything?” Another sweet laugh came across the room as you resisted the urge to summon Rainbow Dragon to eat you.

“I didn't want to embarrass you.”

“Yeah, well, I think I'm more embarrassed now. Can I manipulate your curses to eat me? To put me out of this misery?”

“Oh, stop, you're fine. I was only able to notice because I know my body.”

“That doesn't make me feel any better.”

“Well, it should be because you looked so fucking hot. Seeing you fight against those primal urges has your body reacting just as strongly.”

You perked up, watching as Suguru swayed your hips as he slowly approached you. “Is that so?” Suguru nodded, pulling your sleep shirt over your head and tossing it to the floor.

“Even though we're in different bodies, my soul is crying to be near yours.” He slipped your shorts down next, kicking them off to the side.

You slowly ran a hand down your boyfriend's stomach, grabbing his hard cock through his pants. "Fuck guess I got caught. But can you blame me? This is weird." Your hands slowly stoked his hard cock. "But also strangely arousing at the same time."

Seeing your hand stroking his cock had Geto’s eyes widening as he looked over his body before he was overtaken with the sudden urge to shove you down on the bed, immediately straddling his hips. "Don't mind if I do~"

You moaned, blushing up at Geto as he hummed softly. "O-Oh, holy fuck." You said, grabbing his hips. "Fuck is this what I look like to you?" you were in awe of your body. The curves, softness of your skin, and fuck, the fact your pussy was nearly touching his cock. Making it even harder, which seemed impossible.

“Mhm~” Suguru nodded; he rolled your bare hips as he ran his fingers over your hair. "It's really hot, isn't it?"

"Fuck yes, fuck look at my boobs." You said, reaching up and squeezing them. "The way they bounce, it’s so hypnotic."

Your boyfriend giggled, rocking your hips harder before reaching behind him, pulling his own cock from his pants with a moan. "Holy shit.”

"I know it's really hard," You whispered. "I-I holy fucking shit." His cock was so hard Suguru knew it had to be painful.

"I knew I was big, but Fuuck, this put it in a different perspective. Fuck, I'm going to put it inside of your pussy, Princess.” He hummed as he rolled your hips up and down your cock like you had done countless times before.

"Oh, you are?" You asked, licking your lips. "Nah, I don't think so; it’s time I give you a taste of your own medicine.” You growled out while flipping him over onto his side. "I'm going to put it in your pussy." You ground your hips against drenched folds with a snarl.

Suguru gasped, moaning as he felt the head of his cock rubbed against your pussy. Being the one to do it felt much different than being on the receiving end. But it still felt good regardless. He suddenly knew why you begged so pretty; he longed for more than teasing touches. He was about to start praying for more when his whole body seized up as you pressed the head against the tight ring of muscles of the entrance, fighting the need to shove it all in.

“Baby, please—!”

“Oooh, who's a needy slut?”

"Fuck, I am! I want you to fucking destroy me, please.” Suguru moaned, his head slowly rolling back against the pillows.

You smirked, running your tongue over your bottom lip. "Oooh, begging for me already, that’s so cute.” You slammed inside Suguru’s tight pussy. "Fuck—you're so tight~!!"

Suguru gasped before screaming out a moan while you thrust in and out. "F-Fuck yeah!! Just like that, oh god!!~ Princess!!” Hearing such pretty sounds only filled your desire, making you eager to move, to make him feel as good as he did for you.

"Fuck yeah~ what are you always saying? ‘You like me fucking your cunt slut?’”

“Yeah, I see why, fuck you feel so fucking good!!" Suguru cried out, his eyes rolling back. "Fuck! Princess!! Fuck, I'm your slut, god I want your cum so bad!!"

"Cum for me then~!" You commanded, reaching around and rubbing your clit in fast circles just as you knew your body liked it. "Cum all over my cock." Your thrusts were becoming erratic as you felt your balls tighten.

Suguru cried out, his head thrown back as he clenched hard on your cock. "Yesyes-Yes! Fuck, Princess!! Fuckfuckfuck-!!"

You followed immediately behind Suguru; your hips stuttered as you came hard, cum filling your pussy with thick white cum. "O-Oh fuck~!"

"H-Holy shit!!”

"Fuck, oh fuck." You panted roughly, looking down at Suguru, who was still trapped in your body. "That felt s-ao good."

"Holy hell, the cum feels so fucking good—"

“Yeah~ it makes you feel all nice and warm afterward.”

Your boyfriend moaned softly. "You know what feels even better? Fucking you with my cum~ I promise it feels fucking amazing give it a try."

You perked up at that, turning red, but you couldn't just take his word for it. You needed to feel it for yourself. So you slowly started thrusting back inside, moaning loudly.

"Oh god, you're fucking right, feels good.”

“I N-Nngh told you!”

You kissed Suguru eagerly, thrusting faster. Your boyfriend smiled softly, cupping your cheeks in his hands, kissing you deeply as he moaned into your mouth. You kissed back just as eagerly, stroking Suguru’s cheek. Your nails dug into his hips as you moved faster than you could think.

"F-Fuck, can't stop—! God, you feel too fucking good!"

Suguru moaned softly, smiling up at you. "F-Fuck~ I love you too, Princess, so cum in me again!”

You groaned, sucking his neck, leaving a trail of hickeys. "I will." You growled, nipping her earlobe. "I'm gonna keep cumming inside your pussy." your hip bucked, slamming against her cervix as spurts of hot cum filled Suguru, the sensation enough to throw him over the edge with you.

“Y-Yeah! Oooh fuck!” He cried out a moan, clawing at your back as he felt himself cum around your cock when you slammed deep into him. "C-Cumming!! Cumming Princess!!"

You gritted your teeth as you came inside your boyfriend again. That’s how you both were. You were just in sync with each other. Despite the fact, you were in each other’s bodies. You knew how to make the other field good; you wanted to keep going because you weren’t sure how long this side effect would last. But your lack of experience having a dick and poor stamina said otherwise.

"M’ sorry baby, I-I do-don't think I can go anymore. I can’t take it.” You feebly cried out before collapsing on top of your own body, winning a satisfied sigh from Suguru, who was underneath you.

“Honestly, I’m okay with that,” he said as he gulped air. “Fuck you’re probably gonna be sore in the morning. And I don’t wanna hear you complaining about it because this was your own doing.”

Your mind felt fuzzy as you just nodded your head nuzzling your boyfriend‘s face into the crook of your neck because you took in the afterglow and the rash of being near him in such an intimate way. Suguru hummed happily, running his fingers through your hair. He was honestly surprised you were able to go two rounds.

“Sleepy?” he asked softly, only receiving a hum in return. “Ooh—my sweet girl. Lay down for a minute, and let's cuddle before we take a shower.”

“Okay.” you finally could form coherent words as you lay down on your side, cupping your boyfriend's cheek. “Can I—”

“Yes, you can be the little spoon.” You weren’t sure how long the curse's effect would last, but as long as you were with each other, it didn’t matter. All that you cared about was coming home safely with Suguru and sleeping soundly in his arms, which made your dangerous job worth it.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @luvsymai

[rafesbowbunny]

back again with some more sub-stepbro!rafe & mean-stepsis!reader .. thinking about how he’d practically beg her (pathetically) to have sex with him and/or jerk him off … so she does exactly that, but overstims him until he’s at the point of tears ໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶ ꒱ྀིა

sorry it took so long to answer this! i was away for new years but im back and getting back into it now <3 i hope i don't disappoint !

req! 𝜗𝜚 mean-stepsis!reader gives sub-stepbro!rafe what he wants... at a price

c!w; mdni !! step-cest, desperate sub!rafe, mean/dom!reader, teasing, 'unprotected' sex, p in v, oversimulaton, degradation, humiliation, size kink, cream pie, rafe is referred to as 'good boy' once lol.

notes; sorry if this isn't great ! i literally just got back from a trip with my family over new years so i'm a little tired and i'm just getting back into writing again <3

you were walking around the house in the middle of the night, nothing but panties and a t-shirt on, everyone was asleep so it's not like it mattered. you assumed everyone was asleep until you passed rafe's bedroom.

the door was barely ajar but you could hear him groaning lowly in frustration, maybe he was playing a game or something and it wasn't going well? you shrugged and pushed open the door to find him with his pants pushed down to his thighs, semi-hard cock in hand with his phone by his side clearly lowly playing some porn he'd found.

you both got a small fright when you realised what you were looking at, but a cocky smirk slid across your features as rafe furrowed his brow and his cheeks went red. he tore a pillow from behind him and covered himself nervously.

"having some trouble..?" you taunted, now stepping fully into his bedroom and closing the door. rafe was sweating bullets, exhausted from trying to jerk himself off for almost an hour and not succeeding and extremely tense from your intimidating presence in front of him.

you slowly inched closer to the end of his bed, still smiling. he turned his phone off and shakily ran a hand through his greasy hair, "wh-what're you doing up?"

you shrugged, now climbing onto the bed slowly on your hands and knees, it was so easy to make him so flustered. he squirmed a little when you brushed his leg as you made your way up to him.

"so pathetic... you've probably been at this for so long" you said with a scoff as you took his phone from him, trying to see what he was watching which was evidently something to do with a blonde step sister, she didn't look too far off from you but she was definitely missing your tits.

"i need... i need help... please" he almost whispered, your head perked up and you looked at him through your eye lashes. "what was that?"

he sighed heavily, sexual frustration seeping through his tone, "please.. please, i need it. let me be inside of you please..." his eyes were glossed over as if he were about to cry.

you scoffed and dropped his phone somewhere on the bed before straddling his thighs, you put your hands on the pillow that was still covering his cock and before long your hands were on him. "rafe, you're gonna have to tell me what you want? speak properly."

his chest was pumping with every breath, eyes fixed on the way your hands slowly pumped his cock, "uhghh... please ride me i need to be inside of you, pleasepleaseplease" he groaned, reaching out and grabbing your wrist.

you taunted him with your smile before one hand let go of him and snaked over your clothed pussy, rafe gulped as he noticed the wetness soaking through as you played with yourself a little before pulling the panties to the side.

"you want this big cock inside me?" you said sweetly, now on your knees and hovering menacingly over rafe's leaking tip. he was rock hard, you knew you were the only thing that had that effect on him.

he was practically drooling as he gazed down at the space between you, with mouth slightly ajar to accompany the pure bewilderment on his face.

you sunk down on him slowly, groaning a little as you got used to his size, he might be pathetic but his cock was still huge. a combination that easily made you let him stuff you full again and again.

he whined when you bottomed out and wrapped your arms around his neck. "don't- can't move for a second... i'll-"

"shut up and don't you dare cum yet. i just fucking slid it in" you snapped with a smirk before deciding to slowly grind back and forth. his large hands instantly connected with your hips, gripping hard as he tried to hold back from how tight your cunt was squeezing him.

"nghh... you're so tight, fuck... please don't stop" rafe whimpered as his eyes rolled back, he had died and your pussy was heaven.

"you're soo pussy whipped hm?? so hard over your step-sister's wet pussy" you sighed as you began to bounce up and down, rafe's jaw was going slack and his grip loose as he grappled for control over his own release but to no avail.

"y/n...oh! fuck please i'm gonna cum- please let me cum? please?" he begged, hands panted at a hip and your waist. you grinned at rafe coming apart underneath you, he was so out of his mind drunk off the feeling of being inside you.

"mm, yes cum inside of me, you've been a good boy" you hummed, hands stroking his tense and toned chest. his lips parted and his body tensed up as his cock twitched inside you before a guttural groan escaped his lips, his thick cum spilling into you.

but you weren't yet done with him.

he attempted to hold you still as he finished but as soon as you felt the hot stickiness inside of you, you continued to bounce on his cock, rolling your hips as much as you could.

rafe looked at you with panic in his eyes as he started to shake, "'s too much- ughh! fuck... please-" he groaned, tears beginning to spill from his eyes.

you kept riding him, milking him for every last drop and making sure to lift nearly completely off his dick only to take him all the way in again. he had cum a for a second time in tears, almost directly after you'd let him and was now limp against the headboard of his bed.

you giggled at him, "so pathetic, you wanted to be inside me so bad and you could barely handle it. look how much cum there is"

he lifted his head up to look down between you as you rose off of him, holding yourself steady above him you watched as some his thick cum leaked out of you. he was completely mesmerised and too fucked out to realise it was all over his pelvis now. you grinned and slid his tip though your folds, playing with his release with a giggle only causing him to twitch again with little whimpers.

finally you swung your leg over and readjusted your panties to cover the sticky mess spilling out of you. rafe watched you intensely.

"i'm tired," you called, walking to his bedroom door before opening it, "good night rafey." and there you left him, with tear stained cheeks and cum stained sheets.

[oldtowrs]

𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒' 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 cregan stark / afab!reader

summary—the hour of the wolf has ended, and cregan stark marches north again. upon his return to winterfell, he wants nothing more than to see you, his wife. when he finds you in the godswood, he could not be more pleased to see you and how you've changed in his absence. he's so pleased in fact, that he decides he must thank the gods for blessing him so.

word count—8.8k (i will not apologize)

tags & warnings—canon divergence (meaning i fuck with the details and timelines. read the author's note for exactly what i mean), pregnant!reader, afab!reader, reader prays to the old gods, SMUT (mdni), oral sex (f receiving), heavy pregnancy kink on cregan's part, breeding/pregnancy kink (its baked into those stark genes, i don't make the rules), flashback containing smut (missionary, vanilla-y type sex with cregan and his wife, p-in-v, unprotected sex, breeding), mentions of death and canon-typical violence, porn with minimal plot, porn with feelings, cregan loves his lady wife more than life itself, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns used for reader, no detailed description of reader other than afab!/fem!, private public sex (they have sex in the godswood, but no one catches them). let me know if i missed something.

author's note—this was barely proof read towards the end. let me know if i missed something. anyway, so detail-wise, it technically takes 5.5 months to travel from winterfell to king's landing, and technically, cregan is gone for closer to a year than 9 months, but for the sake of the plot and for cregan smut, pretend that his march to king's landing, the hour of the wolf and his return all takes place in a little less than 9 months. besides, the show condenses the dance by ~10 years anyway, so just pretend. please. for cregan's sake, your sake, my sake, etc.

special thanks to @dipperscavern @eldrith @aesteries @cassieopeiia and @swordgrace. this fic would not have made it out of my drafts if it weren't for you all and the kind words you offer and your encouragement and the inspiration of your beautiful works. this one is for you <3.

also if you like to listen to mood playlists while your read, may I suggest the one that I used to write this: listen to me here !

FEEDBACK & COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE EXTREMELY WELCOMED, PLEASE SUPPORT YOUR CONTENT CREATORS ! 18+ CONTENT AHEAD, MDNI ! YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME !

a storm was brewing over winterfell, if the ever-darkening clouds that seemed to amass in the sky above the keep were any herald. there was a metallic chill in the air that cloyed at one’s skin, chilling any and all to the very bone — even the most hardy of northern warriors succumbing to it. cregan stark took it as both welcome and warning. 

the hour of the wolf, though named after his short control over king’s landing, had felt longer than cregan wanted to, filling his senses with enough southern pleasantry to last a lifetime. the roads were rough, and the days of marching along the kingsroads were long — the groaning of his men growing louder with every day, and every mile that brought them closer to winterfell, to home. the dust from the road covered every inch of him, clinging to his furs and the sweat along his brow, collecting in the strands of his hair and in the beard he had grown while on the road. 

but mostly, cregan stark, lord of winterfell and warden of the north, held a deep longing in his heart — an ache that only seemed to grow in his absence from winterfell, from you. the roads were rough and the days were long, but nothing compared to the ache that had torn his heart asunder in the days that he had parted from you, his ladywife. 

you had only just been married when duty had summoned cregan south, only three turns of the moon before he was called from the marital bed to the battlefield. and while cregan was an honorable man, a man bound by obligation and noble responsibility, and so he went willingly. but he could not deny the image of you in his mind’s eye the night before the whole of the north marched south in the name of the rightful queen — queen rhaenyra targaryen.  

⋆.*･⋅𖥔⋅

“by the gods, cregan!” 

your moans echoed against the stones of your marital chambers, high and sweet and filled with the evidence of your husband’s amorous devotion. sonorous whines and lewd sighs fell from your reddened, swollen lips with every deep roll of cregan’s hips into your dripping heat. the sweet sounds mingled in the late summer’s air like a song, a murmur of cregan’s deep snarls and heaving grunts and the soft smack of his heavy stones against the softness of your core as a result of his relentless pursuit adding to it, a swelling symphony rising from the coupling of your pleasure to his own, from his sinful devotion and your heavenly desire.

your hands, which were so dainty compared to his own, maneuvered their way to his chest, your fingertips running over the thatches of brown curls that covered the warmth of his skin and swirled over the hardness of the thickly-corded muscles that lay beneath, grounding him to you. 

“oh, my love!” you cried, a testament to the depths to which cregan had buried his cock, the tip — which was undoubtedly weeping and swollen with arousal — kissing the inner most wall of your core with each impassioned thrust. 

cregan groaned roughly, allowing his hand — which was wide-of-palm and calloused by years of northern frigidity and the trials of the sword — to trail its way up your torso, from the plush curve of your hip, past your navel, between your tits that bounced with every thrust of his hips, to engulf the curve of your cheek as he cupped it with his palm. his weight shifted to the arm which had found purchase in the furs beside your head, forcing more of the weight and bulk of himself to bear down upon you, opening you wider to make room for him, your warden of the north, your lord husband…your love. 

“c’mon, take it for me, love. just a little longer,” cregan rambled, allowing the tenderness that filled every last frontier of his soul to seep into his voice as he praised you.“i know you can, my sweet wife.”

“oh, cregan, i can’t! i’m going to—” 

and with that, cregan felt you spill over the edge — your heat becoming impossibly tighter as you met your peak, walls fluttering around his length with every wave of pleasure that tore you beneath its tide and consumed you wholly. cregan’s every thrust grew easier with the slick of your peak and he groaned, his hips stuttering as you sighed and arched your back, forcing him even deeper into your sweet heat. 

your legs, which had settled about his hips ages ago, tightened around his torso in your pleasure and fought against the wide expanse of his torso to no avail — the thickness of him kept you entirely spread for him. cregan felt his release building in the base of his spine, a winding coil of fire that begged for absolution. and you would be the one to give it to him. his sweet girl. his lovely wife. the heavenly lady stark. 

some part of him, deep within the confines of his mind, imagined his seed taking root within you, imagined the sight of you swollen and glowing with his child. gods, it drove him mad. his mind wandered the imagined view you would make — tits heavy and amassing against your neckline and the corset beneath, the swell of your stomach protruding from your dresses, the glow that would overtake you like the warmth of a thousand summers after the long winer. and ti would be because of him. you would be pregnant — with his child. 

and that’s when the coil within him finally snapped and a blinding wave of pleasure had his hips stuttering, and his head drooping, forehead coming to rest upon the your sternum — just above your thundering heart.. cregan’s incessant attention, which he paid in bruising kisses and laving tongue, was broken as a moan ripped through him — the sound a near growl that originated somewhere deep within that he had not known existed until you pulled it from him. 

“my wolf, my king of the north,” your voice echoed from somewhere deep in is memory, the titles given to him so freely behind closed doors, would the world was quiet and the snow fell, and it was no one but him and you. 

softly, cregan’s lips found your skin, as a weary wanderer finds himself at the mercy of the gods. 

but the pulsing of your heartbeat against his swollen lips was addicting, and so kiss after kiss was laid to your skin, as cregan filled you with rope after rope of his thick cum, until he swore that you had drained him entirely.  he wasn’t sure when it had happened, but the fingers of his right hand had tangled with your own haphazardly against the plush down of the pillow beside your head, and he took the hazy moment in the aftermath of his release, when every inch of him was warm with the tingling of his frayed nerves to ground himself to you and squeeze your hand lightly — a silent testament to how wholly he relied on you, how wholly he loved you. the heady scent of arousal cloyed sweetly at his nose, something so distinctly you hidden beneath it that it drove cregan wild — even as he dropped his head to your sternum in exhaustion. 

and when he finally raised his head, he was delighted to see your glossy gaze brighten and a hint of your radiant smile shining through the haze of your own pleasure — pleasure he gave you. and by the gods, were you a sight. 

“gods, woman,” cregan teased as a hint of his own smile broke through his normally roughened exterior, his timbre thick and the harsh syllables of his hardy, northern accent honeyed with his love. “you’ll be the death of me.”

your laughter echoed through your marital chambers. and cregan swore there was not a more beautiful song in all of westeros. 

.*･⋅𖥔⋅

the remembrance of you, angelic and soft in his arms, glowing with the warmth of a thousand suns and flushed in the most heavenly manner from your peak, had cregan blushing even now — months later — as he lead his men through the gates of winterfell and into the keep. grey, stormy eyes scanned the parapets and walkways that lined the courtyard and found only servants rushing about the keep, preparing for a welcome feast or returning the horses to their stables, carrying luggage from the tired, dispersing men back to their chambers. 

you were nowhere to be seen. in fact, it was only until maester kennet found his way to his side, did cregan learn of your whereabouts. 

“she has taken to godswood, my lord,” the maester whispered in hushed tones, intonation speaking volumes of information left unsaid. it sent something akin to a deep-seated worry wriggling through his veins, as he slung the straps of his longsword and scabbard over his shoulder and unloaded his luggage from his sturdy black stallion. 

“thank you, maester,” cregan said, voice rougher than he meant for it to sound, as he passed the reigns to a nearby stable boy, who lead his horse away dutifully. 

“she insisted, sir,” the maester continued. “i tried to warn her about the storm, that she need take precaution, especially in her state — but she would not heed my council.”

her state? i leave her in your care for nine cycles of the moon, what is amiss with her state? cregan thought, a hint of annoyance seeping into the edges of his fatigued mind.

with a heavy sigh, he pushed the thought away and reminded himself that the journey had likely unraveled his last nerve, and his faithful maester was not deserving of such treatment. cregan clapped a hand over the maester’s shoulder then, a show of good faith, as he passed the older man his belongings.“i shall see to it she makes her way back to the keep safely. take this to my chambers will you?” 

“of course, my lord.” 

and with that and a heaving of his sword, and the stark legacy, more securely over his shoulder, cregan stark departed for the godswood with a determination only love could place in his step and in his devoted heart. 

*･⋅𖥔⋅ 

may the frost be kind to the remainder of the summer’s harvests. may every man, woman, and child have the facilities to feed themselves heartily so that they may last the winter. may the winter be kind, even if it is long, you prayed quietly, as your gaze flitted between the blood red leaves that hung in a canopy above you and the snowflakes that softly perfused through. 

the godswood was your refuge, when your husband couldn’t be. it was quiet and it had a constancy, a calm steadiness similar to that of your husband — enough so to turn the ache and yearning to a moment of lovesick reprieve. even if it was only a moment and especially in times like this, when the impending storm sent the birds to their nests, and the snow blanketed all sound in its cold grasp, turning the small forest into the most peaceful sanctuary you had ever known. these were wartimes, and in wartimes, only the gods truly knew the path that lay ahead. 

may the north’s soldiers return home safely and with little fuss.  

the past nine months had been strenuous, what with your husband’s campaign south as had been demanded by the late queen rhaenyra targaryen. it had left the people of the north tense, the absence of those who had marched south and those who would never return north again felt in every absence from small council and feast alike. one of those absences that weighed heavily on your heart was that of your husband, cregan stark.

but the troops were set to return any day now, what with word of their journey up the kingsroad having arrived to winterfell and to you on the dark wings of cregan’s raven nearly a fortnight ago.

may my husband return with haste. i pray that you all have taken care of him in his absence from me, and may you return him to me healthy and happy and warm. may the burdens of war not wear too heavily on him. he’s been through enough, after all. 

you missed the steadiness of his presence, the way he knew exactly when to pull you close and where to place his kisses to placate even your most tiresome worries. you missed his warmth, especially now that the nights grew colder and darker and his absence from your bed was more thoroughly felt. you missed his hugs, when he would bury you in his wide, burly chest, surrounding you with his arms and all of their thick corded muscle. there was nowhere you would rather be, nor anywhere you felt safer than in the arms of your husband. 

you had found peace beneath the blood red leaves, cried with the gods as the sap from the tree soaked its many faces. when he couldn’t soothe your fears, the gods did. and now, as the little flakes of ice settled in your hair and in the furs that were bunched about your neck and which kept you warm, the silence was more of a comfort than anything else could be in your husband's absence.

and yet, the reminder of the peace which had failed to meet you every night for the past nine months crept into your thoughts, sending them spiraling. gods, you missed your husband — terribly so. and while the gods and the silence could offer you comfort in your most trying times, it was only cregan who could offer you what you truly yearned for — companionship, his sweet tenderness, the gentleness with which he loved you. 

you missed cregan’s tender devotion and steady heart which you knew only beat for you, and for his people. you missed the gentleness with which he held your face between his thumb and forefingers and tilted your head back to place a tender kiss upon your lips. you missed the careful way with which he tucked your arm into the crook of his elbow as you walked about the keep, and held a steady hand upon the small of your back as he talked extensively with visiting lords or members of his council — a way in which to remind you where his attentions truly lied. all were wordless reminders of the love that burned hotter than the greatest hearths in his heart and in his soul — for you. 

you missed his nobility — how he tended to winterfell with a sense of duty that ran deeper than that of flesh and blood. you missed how he cared for all of his people, whether they be from as far away as the wall or widow’s watch, or as close as castle cerwyn. you missed his stiff upper lip and his forceful hand, his intelligence, his compassion, his loving heart. 

some selfish part of you missed how he would fuck you with a heady, passionate fervor, and how gently he would hold you in the aftermath, as if you were the most precious of treasures that the gods had given him to protect. you missed his kisses in the quiet of the mornings, where only the fire crackled steadily in the hearth and the gruffness of his northern accent turned soft and honeyed as he murmured praise after affectionate praise in your ear until you were burying your face in his large chest and he was rearranging the furs to swaddle you in to hide the flush that covered you from head to toe from any gaze but his own.

a similar flush covered you now at the thought, a slight guilt nagging at your heart. this was a holy place and here you were kneeling at the foot of the gods and reminiscing about your husband’s… physique. 

you shook your head, and placed a hand over the swell of your stomach, remembering your task at hand. yes, the burden of your yearning weighed heavy upon your heart, as you sat beneath the weirwood tree, but you would ask this last favor of the gods. you had to.  

may you return my husband to me before our child makes their way into the world, for i do not know if i can go through the birth alone. i cannot do it without him.

a tiny pulse against your hand was felt through your heavy furs and woolen dress, as if the child that you carried — his child, consummated the night before his southern departure — wished for their father almost as much as you missed your husband, your cregan.  

“i know, little one,” you whispered, wishing not to disrupt the peaceful quiet that had settled over the godswood as the storm rolled in and the sky grew dark. “i miss him too. but he’ll back soon, i’m sure.”

another glance upwards at the tree struck a chord of hope in your heart —  sap, viscous and red as freshly spilled blood slowly pooled in the eye of one of the tree’s many faces and began to drip slowly downward over the pale bark. 

perhaps the gods had listened. 

.*･⋅𖥔⋅

cregan’s footfalls were heavy upon the icy ground, the soft crunch of his boots in the frosted grass and icy patches of snow left by storms past broke the silence that had fallen over the wood. it was a quiet kind of moment, one that echoed reminiscent of a fragile peace the lingered before the storm, daunting and heavy, in the static air. 

the small trek was a familiar one, as the gods were almost as close to cregan’s heart as you, his lovely lady wife. he felt blasphemous at times for the thought, but you were dearer to his heart than anything or anyone else could be — old god or not — despite bringing you beneath his family crest in marriage only a short while before his departure south. you were soft and sweet, and a kinder sight than any other cregan had known — and he loved you dearly, and deeply, and more than words could ever truly say. 

and so, when cregan finally approached the weirwood and saw you sitting on the small wooden bench beneath its blood red leaves and stark white branches, it felt as if his heart had finally found its way back to him, thundering to life in his chest after the gruelling nine months he had been apart from you. you were a breath of fresh air in his tired lungs, and he found his pace slowing to a halt as he admired you, with your face upturned ever so slightly, with your eyelashes kissing the curve of your cheek, your hair and cloak alike catching the small flurries that had begun to fall through the trees above you. you were beautiful — angelic, in every sense of the word. you were peace — his peace.  

he caught sight of your guards a few yards away. a soft nod had them approaching their lord, and with a wave of his gloved hand he dismissed them. 

“i shall see to it that my lady returns to the castle safely,” he murmured gruffly, laying his hand on the shoulder of one of them — a show of his good graces. “thank you.”

it was only when the sound of the snow and the ice and the frost beneath his boot sounded did you resurface from your thoughts, your attention drawing to him with a gentle turn of your head and a straightening of your back. a small smile found its way to his lips as he basked in the tenderness of your gaze. he always had liked being the center of your affections. 

“cregan?” his name was somewhere between a murmur of hesitant disbelief and almost child-like excitement on your tongue as you realized who it was that had come to disturb your peace. tears had begun to sting at the corner of your eyes, burning in the frigid air.  

but the sting was short lived: a few quick strides and cregan was before you in an instant, large hands casting both sword and leather riding gloves into the dark earth in favor of holding your face within their warmth. the towering figure of your husband soon became a kneeling mass before you — in all of his wool and leather-bound, fur-wrapped glory. 

it was then that cregan’s thundering heart truly allowed him to observe you. your face had grown slightly more full in the past months, cregan realized with calculating grey eyes that seemed to soften to something more akin to molten silver as they beheld you. indeed, the curves, which had become heated and flushed from the chill, had grown ever plump, bunching at their heights as you smiled ever sweetly at your lord husband. an angel indeed. 

“cregan,” you repeated, voice somewhere between a sob and a burst of long-awaited laughter, delicate hands leaving their place in your lap to cover his own, as his thick thumbs pet at the curve of your well-rounded cheeks, exploring just how soft they had become with a heart which had undoubtedly melted like a freshly fallen dusting of snow in the springtime. 

cregan allowed his eyes to drift ever downward, deliberate in the way his eyes dragged longingly about your features, committing every detail to memory, with the aim of taking in the whole of you — a sight he had so dearly missed and so desperately clung to in his absence. your cleavage was on full display, even through the modest neckline of your dress and the heavy fur cloak that hung about your shoulders and tickled at the bare skin of your neck in the shifting air of the godswood. 

had her tits always been that full? cregan thought bashfully, a lick of shame running up his spine — you hadn’t seen your husband, the lord of winterfell and all of the north in months, and here he was looking at you like a green lad who had never laid a hand upon a woman. a hot flush rose to his cheeks, even through the cold of the impending storm. 

it wasn’t until the lord of winterfell allowed his yearning for you to pool in his gaze, allowing it to wander ever downward that cregan realized the heavy protrusion of your stomach. the curve of it was great enough to show through the heavy cotton and wool of your dress— and finally, the realization fell into place.

your state. 

“you’re—”

“i didn’t know how to tell you,” you murmured as a delicate frown gathered upon your lips. your voice quickly became an uneasy, fleeting thing that interrupted both him and the quiet of the wood in no more than a mere moment. yet, it was enough for cregan’s breath to catch in his throat, the word slamming to a halt on his tongue. 

you were pregnant. 

“i didn’t wish to worry you,” you went on. cregan’s heart clenched in his chest, a blade — born of love and fidelity — driving itself into his very core. cloudy grey eyes flitted back up to your own and caught sight of the tears that gathered there, in the corners of your beautiful, downcast eyes. unsurety and anxiety radiated off of you, as if you were unsure of cregan in that moment, of how he would respond. and with the crease of your brow, and the sweet way that you looked at him, as if pleading for the understanding that was already unequivocally your own, he knew without a doubt that you had spent the entirety of the past nine months missing your husband desperately, just as he had you. and yet, cregan stark, lord and warden of the north, couldn’t imagine how much weight this must’ve added. and you — you sweet, sweet thing —  you didn’t wish to worry him?

“you already had so much to worry about,” you tried to explain, tears overflowing in two heavy droplets that caressed the curve of your cheeks as it careened down them. eventually, the two droplets wet the careworn palms of his hands as he gently swiped his thumbs beneath your tired eyes and the plump curve of your cheek, tuning your every nerve to his touch. 

“i didn’t wish to burden you.”

guilt, a heavier burden than even that of the sword on his back or the weight of his title and honorable duties, weighed on his heart as he beheld you then. in that moment —  in the quiet of the godswood, beneath the bloody leaves and the gaze of the old gods, as he knelt before you — cregan stark swore a vow. he would never part from your side. never again. not when you had given him more than he could’ve ever thought possible, and not when the gods had cursed him with a distance that had rendered him unable to show his utter gratitude. 

“what with the wa—”

cregan’s lips were warm and slightly chapped as they covered yours completely, swallowing your protests as he did so. the wide bridge of his nose was sturdy against your own, the tip of it kind as it graced your skin, his teeth and tongue clashing and roving against your own in a storm of tender frivolity as if he was reclaiming your mouth from the months apart. smoked pine and musk mixed together into a heady scent that was so undeniably cregan that it had your heart aching as his lips worked to consume your own, and so too your fears with it. the shape was familiar, a kind reprieve, as they molded to yours so perfectly — oh, how had you forgotten how well the gods had made him for you, and you for him. 

the kiss was only broken when his lungs burned for air, his forehead finding yours as a hand dropped to the swell of your stomach — to where you harbored his child. 

“i swear to you. with the eyes of these gods, both old and new, as my witness, that i will never, ever leave your side again. from this day, until my last day,” cregan murmured, northern accent thickening in his vigor and sure with steely resolve. your name was a soft sigh that left his lips only moments later. 

“i should have never left in the first place.”

tears continued to fall from your eyes, which had fluttered shut in total contentment the moment the frosted cloud of cregan’s breath had fanned across your face and his lips had found yours. a soft, mirthful chime of your laughter fell from your lips. . 

“it was your duty, my love. the realm needed you.”

“damn, the fucking realm,” cregan was quick to huff, reinvigorated conviction swallowing his composure whole, the hint of a smile dissolving into that firm northern resolve you so admired, basked in honor and commanded with steady strength. “no duty means more to me than you…and our child.” 

he should’ve been here, with you, ensuring that you were taken care of as you grew so round and swollen and beautiful with his pup. a need came over cregan then, his hands itching to hold you, to press himself so close that his soul might merge with yours forever — a need to feel your warmth and the promise of life that lingered within you. the need to show you how grateful he was of your effortless sacrifice and selfless devotion overcame him then, as if it were a searing flame that lingered just beneath the surface of his skin and you were the only cure for his every ailment. 

wandering hands brushed a stray lock of heavy brown tresses from his face before your fingertips buried themselves in the short beard cregan had taken to styling himself with in the months spent apart from you. a soft smile broke out across your pretty lips, a sign of your approval. 

“you did not sport this when last i saw you,” you hummed, pulling cregan from his thoughts. you smiled with the light of a thousand suns, ever the light of his life, as your gaze roved every detail of his face, a far-off look gleaming in them. what cregan wouldn’t give to see it grace your pretty lips for the rest of his days — for all the time the gods would allow him to remain by your side to witness it. and gods, had they grown fuller since he had left? pregnancy truly had treated you well. 

“you always pestered me to grow it out, did you not?” cregan laughed quietly in a moment of recollection, his hand covering yours as it cupped his bearded jaw. a twinkle of your laughter filled the cold air, soaking into the trees like sunshine after a long winter’s night. it was the most beautiful sound cregan had ever heard. 

“i will admit, it was a way to feel closer to you on the road,” he hummed softly, voice turning softer with the weight of his confession — as if, should he speak too loudly or too forthright, the sound of his voice may dampen the shimmer that seemed to remain in the air in the wake of your laughter. and cregan simply did not have the heart to overshadow such beauty. 

“it reminded me of you, you know,” cregan murmured, a soft fluttering thing as he gently gathered your hands into the warmth of his grasp. 

“it’s a welcomed change,” you sighed wistfully, a girlish admiration twinkling in your eyes, the radiance of your smile soaking into the soft lines of your face, burying the evidence of your joy such that it would never evade you again. 

“you’re even more beautiful than the day i left you,” cregan sighed in awe, a smile of his own working its way onto his face for the first time in months. he stroked a thumb over the back of your hands, over the little band of wrought silver that encircled your finger — a promise, a testament, a reminder. 

confusion was quick to set in however, as the compliment caused you to quickly avert your gaze as your allowed your hands to slips from with swath of his beard and the clutch of his large hands, and fall to your lap. there had been a time before the war that such a compliment would’ve had you beaming up at your lord husband with a smile brighter than the long summer’s sun. but now, it was received with what seemed to be shame. 

“oh, please, cregan,” you huffed gently. it was a quick dismissal, a thing that came too easily for cregan’s liking, if the drawing of his dark brows downward into a contemplative frown was any judgeable evidence. “i’m not the same as when you left. i’ve become—”

a wide thumb tugging at your bottom lip was your interruption, a fleeting press of rough calluses and warm skin halting whatever blasphemy cregan knew would come pouring out in your moment of insecurity. and as his other hand buried its finger tips in the roots of your hair and cradled the back of your head, you could feel the devout tenderness that lingered within him still. it was a small comfort to be sure, but you couldn’t ignore the sinking of your heart as the weight of the months apart began to feel apparent.

you had changed. some little inkling of doubt wriggled its evil way deep into your heart, even though you knew it was your duty as his wife to give him children, to give yourself up to continue the stark bloodline, to ensure that the north would be guarded by the family who had acted as its warden since before the conquering of the this land by the old targaryen kings from old valyria — likely as early as the days of the first men. your marriage was still young after all, and the few months you had had with cregan before the war had been overshadowed by the very thing that tore him away from you. for when dragons fight dragons and the realm cleaves itself in two and armies march to an ensured doom, there is little time to discuss future wants and familial aspirations — especially, given cregan’s position, his duty to his people, to the rightful queen, to the realm. 

and despite your best efforts, cregan could almost see the manifestation of your doubts — in the way you hung your head and allowed your hair, which was beautifully unburdened by plaits or decoration, to obstruct your features. in the way your hands wandered up your skirts to cover your swollen stomach — a poor attempt to hide your newly changed form from his observations, as if it would halt the criticisms that would never come to fruition from forming upon his tongue. cregan could see how deeply his absence had affected you, how going through pregnancy alone had instilled a hesitancy in love that you had once given so freely. 

 “oh, sweet girl,” cregan sighed, when his lips finally did part from yours and the guilt had wormed into some deep darkened pit of his very soul as he watched you whither before him. his voice was heavy with a longing that filled the space where your silence sat. the thought that you were anything less than beautiful was abhorrent to cregan’s heart, even if it remained unspoken. “i regret that i have given leave for this thought to flourish in my absence.”

“but it is true, cregan, i —”

“hush, my love,” cregan interrupted once more, a gentle swipe of his thumb along your lower lip silencing you in a moment. with the other, he covered your hand that still laid over the swell of your stomach and leaned closer to press a wary kiss to the plump curve of your cheek.

“you, my darling, have brought a light back to winterfell — one that i had thought was long extinguished. you breathe the promise of life back into her very walls. you are my light. you were when the war tore me from you,” cregan murmured, his voice growing huskier with each word, “and even now you shine ever brighter in my eyes.” 

cregan’s blood ran hot through his veins as he pressed another kiss to your flushed skin — his time to your temple, your hair soft against his cheek as it fluttered about you in the wind. your eyes caught his as he pulled away, hand still lingering to where it had drifted —  at the base of your neck — and it was then that cregan caught the glossiness that lingered in your eyes, tears inevitably building up within them at his words. a ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lip, a soft huff settling into the quiet of the moment, weighing it down even more than his words already had. you always had been such a sweet-hearted thing — soft and loving, and always his to honor, to defend, to protect, to guard, to love. oh, how could you not see?

“how could i shame the most divine beauty when she stares back at me so sweetly, hmm?” he murmured. his touch was gentle as it trailed from where he held your chin, fingers spanning the expanse of your face, thumb tugging lovingly at your lip, downward along the line of your neck, skimming your sensitive skin and pulse point alike, and up again, until finally his hand settled at the base of your pretty skull, fingers tangling in the loose roots. a delicate pressure built there as he gently tugged, pulling your head back and exposing your most sensual points to lips that immediately graced their surface. his breath was a delicious repose from the chill that had begun to work its way down your spine, replacing it with warmth as it fanned your neck. 

“must i show you how beautiful you’ve become in my absence?” cregan murmured, a certain mirthful insolence snuck its way into his tone in between the kisses he placed to your skin. “must i show you what lengths your beauty drives me too, my darling? especially now?” 

“cregan stark!” you gasped quietly. it was then that cregan realized you had abandoned your tears and instead fixed him with an incredulous gaze as you laid your hand to the sigil inlaid into the leather of his doublet, just above his heart, and gave a soft shove to his chest. “this is a holy place — you of all should know!”

“all the better,” cregan murmured, voice fully lowered an octave, the salacious syllables rolling like warm honey off his tongue — easy and saccharine. “perhaps then the gods will take those sweet little moans of yours as my sacrifice.”

a whimper nearly tore itself from your throat as cregan dragged his teeth along the skin of your neck playfully before suckling at the same spot, nursing the reddish hue to a deep purple as it bloomed on your skin.  

“come now, my love, let’s give them a show of thanks for their mercy. for the gift of my dear lady wife.” 

“cregan.” 

his name was a whisper of a moan, a song so high and breathy, a sweet manipulation of your normally steady voice. it was a sweet thing that almost left cregan dizzy with the amount of blood that eddied out of his head the moment it left your lips, the distance from you leaving him so depraved that his heart had no choice but to redirect his blood flow… lower.

“they can’t hear you, my love,” cregan smirked as he withdrew from your neck, normally ice grey eyes turned dark like the brewing storm above — heavy and alight with a terrifying energy that set your heart beating furiously in your chest. 

there had always been stories of the stark’s icy stoicism, of their stubbornness, their steady-handed rule and the silent ways in which they commanded respect — stories of their… fury. here, beneath the blood red leaves and the gods’ ever-watchful eyes, under the command of your lord husband and the way in which he seemed to hold you in the palm of his thick, warm, calloused hand, you thought that, perhaps, the stories rang true. 

“you’ll have to be louder if you wish for their ear, darling,” cregan hummed as he leaned back on his haunches, allowing him room to find the hem of your heavy skirts. the simple caress of his fingertips was a welcomed sensation as they sent warmth radiating through your wool stockings as they roved your thighs, the back of your knee where your leg bent so prettily, anywhere his fingers could reach. 

a glint of surprise flickered in his darkening gaze as he realized how much softer your legs had grown, how he could feel how wide they had become as they overwhelmed his grasp — even as large as his hands were. cregan felt the familiar ache of his heart clenching in his chest, the thought of your body unknowingly changing to better accommodate the life you fostered within it settling in, and the realization of just how strong you had grown under the added weight of your child… well, the thought drove cregan to madness. 

cregan’s fingertips, as calloused and rough as they were, found the sumptuous splendor of your thighs, and the softness of them which pooled over the rippling cuff of your heavy stocking and the silken grey ribbon that struggled to hold them up. it was then, as cregan’s wartorn hands found the plush undersides of them and tugged until you rested on the edge of the wooden bench upon which you sat, that cregan made a note to fully explore the extent to which your heavenly body had changed later, away from prying eyes and without the furs and the wool and the loosened corsets and the heavy cotton hiding you from his hungry view. yes, he would ravage you later, of that he was sure. he had, after all, been taken from you for longer than he would’ve liked. but for the moment at hand, you were his to thank, to praise, to show how utterly sorry he was, to make up for time stolen by forces greater than himself. 

“oh, gods, cregan!” 

the warden of the north’s thumb was warm as it found your pearl, the rough callous providing a delicious friction which you had so dearly missed. your hands flew to grasp at his forearms for some semblance of stability, only to find the solid mass of bulging, corded muscle that was only softened by the weather worn leather and the heavy pelts that kept the pale, sculpted planes of cregan’s physique from your gaze. 

perhaps, you were not the only one who had changed as a result of the months passed apart, you thought then, a blush collecting against the bridge of your nose and the tips of your ears. perhaps, the trials of sword and cold, the months of grueling battle and tedious marches, the dirt and the blood, had roughened your husband around the edges. perhaps, the months apart had not only softened you, but also hardened him into what now stood before you: your husband, an insatiable wolf whose grey eyes had gone soft as the dense fog that so often rolled over the mountains surrounding winterfell, as they beheld you at long last, whose warmth set your nerves ablaze, who’s love was so great it threatened to consume you whole as he hiked up your skirts and buried his head between your thighs. 

the first swipe of his tongue was fire as it licked its way up between your swollen folds. the sensation was in direct opposition with the frigid chill of the air and the snow that began to gather in the soft strands of your hair like the southron crowns cregan had fought to place upon the brows of those who now seemed so utterly undeserving of them given the sight you now made.

“cregan!” you gasped again, utterly taken aback that he would choose to do this — this heinous act of lovely sin — here beneath the eyes of his gods, but too overwhelmed with the feel of his tongue and the heat of his mouth to form proper protest. 

“i am right here,” cregan hummed deeply, his mouth leaving your core for a merely a moment, his words muffled by the heavy velvet, wool and cotton of your skirts. the reprieve was only momentary however, before your husband continued the waltz of his tongue through your folds and the assault of his kisses that had your core pulsing in protest to its emptiness, driving you mad with each beat of your heart. 

and alas, there he was: between your thighs which he caressed with hands so diligent and kind. it was there that he knelt, with his knees in the blackened dirt and lips dripping with a nectar more sweet than any the gods could think to procure, with his shoulders bearing the weight of your calves, with his hands bared along the swell of your hip, that his tongue worked a song more beautiful than any lyre could hum from the beautiful column on your throat. it was there that he turned your body — in all its heavenly-wrought splendor and indulgent softness, with its every swell and curve and valley — into an altar of his own worship. there, beneath the crimson leaves, and the maroon sap which leaked slowly from its ivory bark, beneath icy flurry and darkening storm, beneath the eyes of the god’s which had brought you into his arms and beneath the cloak of the dire wolf and the fields of white and sage that cregan stark prayed. 

cregan stark could live the rest of his life and be known by none other than the softness of your gaze, the heat of your lips and the honey of your mouth on his tongue, and the familiarity of your heart and still die a happy man. there was no better future than the one in which he was your husband, when he got to kneel before you, his lovely wife, and worship at the cradle of your thighs and the altar of your hips.

yes, cregan would die the happiest man in westeros. and he showed you just that. with every tug of restraint at your skirts, every swipe of his loving tongue, every reverent turn in the never-ending circles his thumbs to reverently traced into the softness of your flesh. and as he knelt and as his tongue set every fiber of your being alight with the pleasure he worked so diligently to pull from you, cregan pulled forth a sensation that had every ounce of sense eddying from your mind and a high, keening whine working its way from your throat. 

frustration soon began to bleed into the pleasure as your hands searched for purchase in cregan’s tawny hair, only for the swell of your stomach to impede your desperate attempt to ground you to this — to him.

as if sensing the frustration that worked your fingers into a fist buried around the fabric of your skirts, cregan’s strong hand fully enveloped yours, guiding it to his shoulder, allowing you to feel the hulking mass of him, even through the thick furs donned in spite of the oncoming winter. 

“i’m right here, my darling.” 

it was such a minute gesture, to be sure — yet it was a gesture made all the more sincere as his tongue fixated its pursuit upon your hooded pearl and began to circle it in wet, tantalizing circles as the pads of his calloused fingers found your entrance. 

“so wet for me, my girl.” 

the mumbled hum of prideful admiration, though mostly lost in time with the electrifying pursuit he waged against your core, ensured that all remnants of the winter chill be driven from your mind and memory, grounding you to him. to him. only him. 

“i’m right here, my darling.” 

it was with those last final words, the heat of his mouth, the diligence of his tongue, and the deft precision of his fingers that you found your peak, pleasure a pleasant burn that engulfed you entirely and left your heavy bosom heaving for ragged gasps of cold winter air. 

“oh good gods in heaven above! cregan!”

a warm chuckle was barely audible beneath your skirts and through the blur of your high, but its reverberations against your core were enough to have you lurching forward, fingers delving into the worn leather , thick wool and cotton, and the corded muscle of his shoulders alike. 

soothing kisses were the next sensation that registered through the pulsing bliss that had yet to subside and which sent you reeling, grasping for any ounce of your husband to ground you to the present, to this albeit lovely moment with him beneath the weirwood tree. each one was a delicate bloom of warmth against your plush thighs. when had he pulled your stockings down? truthfully, you believed in that moment that you would never know. 

“that’s my girl,” cregan murmured, voice low and husky. he had somehow resurfaced from the depths of your skirts, large calloused hands coming up to brush your wetness that still lingered in his beard, pink tongue peaking out to lap up whatever remained of his now shiny lips as he eyed you — with some lovesick reverence lingering in his gaze that fought with the greedy mischief that had dominated their icy gray depths only a moment ago.

through the ebbing haze of your pleasure and fluttering eyelashes alike you gazed back at him, nearly melted into his hand as he reached up to cup your cheek, its warmth all encompassing against the flushed surface of them — winter chill and burning pleasure making themselves both known. 

“there she is. there’s my girl,” cregan hummed, his other hand beginning to draw circles along your backside where his hand still lingered, his thick arms still supporting the majority of your weight in tandem with the little wooden bench. he lowered his head as though he were making a vow to the king of westeros himself, neck craning to allow him to place a gentle kiss upon the swell of your stomach. “hello, love.”

“hello,” you swooned sweetly, voice pitched and breathless under his affections. a wide smile spread across your lips, open mouthed and pliant. it was a smile which cregan returned, in his own subtle and lopsided way. 

“you know,” cregan mused, the mischief returning to his smile tenfold, snapping you out of your trance, your laughter ringing clear in the crisp air. “i believe they finally heard you, darling.”

“cregan stark!” you yelped, your hands gently pushing away from his shoulders in disbelief. though it did nothing to move the brawny, war-honed mass of thick, corded muscle that was your husband. “you are a scornful, greedy bastard!”

his laughter, a rare noise that seemed to rattle the very branches of the quiet forest with its deep radiant joy, echoed alongside yours. and when it quieted, his eyes found yours once more, his large hand cradling your own as he brought it from his shoulder to his lips. 

a million or more men resided in westeros, but none loved more fully than cregan stark. he was the stuff of legend, the type of lord little girls read about with their septas in their fairytales and folklore and dreamed of for the rest of their days. perhaps, there was something to thank the gods for — the devotion, the nobility, the honor of your lord husband and the love that he harbored in his heart for all things, but especially you. 

his hands were gentle as reached back beneath your skirts to pull your stockings back up over the swell of your thighs, tying the silken gray ribbons into bows with leisurely precision. and then he shifted his weight to place your feet fully on the ground once more, and grasped your hands to help you upwards with him as he stood.

“now, let’s get you inside, my love,” cregan hummed, now-gloved hands finding the collar of your cloak, hoisting it gently upwards to secure it about your shoulders, the long furs coating the collar tickling your jawline as he did so. “the storm is rolling in.” 

“if that mattered to you, husband, you would not have taken me in the godswood,” you teased sweetly, with a purse of your lips and a setting of your jaw in faux protest to his obvious excuse to overwhelm you with his love, to herd you inside to the warmth of the fire and the comfort of a good meal. you would let him utterly consume you, you were sure, if only to feel the press of his warm lips against your skin, to watch his eyes catch ablaze when he beheld you, to feel the evidence of his love move within you, to know he loved you as clearly as you beheld him now — a stoic mass of warmth wholly attuned to you as the snow gathered in his hair and the blood red leaves rustled in the wind above. 

“i believe the gods will be pleased with my tribute,” cregan teased, his hand trailing down, over your widened hips to settle upon the curve of your lower back, the light pressure he laid there enough to gather you against the thick wall of his leather-covered chest. “if i remember properly, sweet wife, you too were quite pleased with it as well.”

a warm chuckle sounded somewhere deep in his chest, as he watched you rest your forehead against the cool leather of his doublet sheepishly. cregan knew full well a wide, toothy grin bloomed on your face as well as his, despite your best efforts to hide it in leather and wolf’s fur and the wall of muscle that was your husband, knew it pulled at features he so dearly admired — the ever-so-faint lines that had begun to form in the corners of your eyes when you smiled, your eyes that no doubt shown with mirth, the sweet pull of your lips. 

“you shouldn’t speak like that, my love,” you murmured, though any ounce of scolding tone that lingered in your voice was swallow by him as he encompassed you whole. 

“aye, i shouldn’t,” cregan smiled warmly, voice even and subtle joy unshakeable. “but if done in pursuit of your heavenly smile, perhaps the gods can find it in their hearts to forgive a humble lord like me.” 

the warmth of the cregan’s gloves was warm and soft against your skin as cregan placed itself beneath your chin and lifted until he could behold your smile in its truest form — the one that you reserved for him and him alone. foggy grey eyes darkened to a hazy storm of lust then as his true motives shone through, despite his best efforts.

“now, will you continue to be stubborn, my darling, or will you, at long last, allow me to take you to our chambers to show you the true extent of my utter gratitude?”

©𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐑𝐒 2025— do not steal, copy, repost or expand upon my works without my explicit permission. i do not give permission for any of my works to be fed to any sort of ai generator or otherwise.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch.5 child's play

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 5/x

ᰔ words. 4.8k

a/n. helloo my ihm friends! long time no see. hope you're all doing well and thank you so much to everyone who sent me kind messages about the whole ihm gojo ex wife thing haha. i really appreciate it :) i feel more confident about my writing decisions now, and that's all thanks to you guys! anyways, i will be posting shorter chapters for ihm going forward, so sorry if some chapters have slightly abrupt endings or stuff like that. i guess my goal is to post shorter chapters but more frequently! we'll see how it works out. anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter and see you at the bottom!!

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Ever since admitting your mother into hospice, things have been calmer inside your mind. After passing the initial wave of agony that came with no longer hearing her voice down the hall or seeing her silhouette in her bedroom as you walked past it, you realized that…a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. No longer setting alarms at the height of every other hour to remind your mother to take her medication, no longer viewing every interaction you had with her as some form of study you needed to jot down in a binder for her neurologist’s records, and no longer driving her to all of her chemotherapy appointments, only to leave them feeling like you purposefully just took your mother to a place where they sucked all the life out of her in exchange for the slim promise of giving it all back to her someday.

Maybe it was evident in the way your shoulders felt less tense as you rolled them back, tilting your neck to the side and no longer feeling the painful strain that tugs a wince onto your face. The other day, you caught yourself humming a song as you drove to work. Your skin, usually feeling cracked and dry from stress and exhaustion, now has a slight plumpness to it like before. A more youthful glow, like the version of yourself you were before your mother became sick. The version of you that so quickly deteriorated, and one you didn’t even know still existed somewhere within you. 

There has also been time for hobbies. Rarest of occasions, you find yourself sauteing some yellow and white peaches in a saucepan over medium heat in Gojo’s kitchen, humming that song once again that’s been stuck in your head. The sundress you’re wearing matches the pink of the syrup that pools at the bottom of the pan, and you feel like you’re living your cottage core dreams in this brief moment of reprieve you’ve allowed yourself to fall into.

The sound of slippers tapping down onto the hardwood floor startles you out of your gleeful trance, and you turn your neck to the right to see a pajama-clad messy-haired Gojo shuffling his feet across the open area into the kitchen with a dark black mug in his hand.

“Why aren’t you dressed??” you ask him in a panic.

“I’ll get dressed later,” he tells you dismissively as he grabs the glass pitcher of coffee from where the coffee machine was nestled up against one of the counter corners.

“You’re stressing me out. Your mom told us to be there in two hours,” you say, putting your hands on your hips in disapproval as you hear the sizzle of the peaches in the saucepan. 

He entirely ignores you, choosing to instead drag his gaze down the form of your body. “Woooow, twice this month I get to see you in a cute dress,” he comments, pouring coffee into his mug but his eyes are still on you, “lucky me.”

“Oh Shut. Up,” you sneer at him with a harsh roll of your eyes, “your fake flattery might work on the lonely middle-aged women you seduce to make a living, but it won’t work on me.”

His shoulders push back before he slumps them slightly, his brow lifting with confusion. “It’s not fake though? I mean it. You look really nice right now.”

You point an accusatory sugar-syrup coated wooden spatula at him. “You’ve just been conditioned by the patriarchy to get a boner at the sight of a woman in a kitchen.”

“What–...no–...why do you always have to say stuff like that whenever I compliment you? Can’t you just accept it?”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I refuse to be flattered by an insolent man like you.”

He sighs, setting his coffee mug down on the counter, and you watch the way the fringe of his hair hangs over his forehead as he gazes into the contents, swirling it around with a loose grip on the handle. “Is this how it’s going to be everyday? I try to be nice, and you–...well, you know, are you.”

“Well who else should I be?”

His eyes lift up to meet yours, the slightest of a cheeky grin on his face as his eyes wander down the form of you again. “I don’t know. Someone a little…softer? Like, you’ve got this really pretty dress on, and then you’re telling me off about patriarchy-induced boners. It’s a little, uh, contradictory?”

You gasp. “You’re trying to control me. I knew it. You are poisoned by the patriarchy.”

“What?”

Your eyes narrow at him. “You have this image of a perfect and cute little wife, who’s gonna wear pretty dresses all the time, and bake stuff in the kitchen, and get all blushy when you tell her she looks beautiful, and you expect her to have this soft little personality that never argues with you or disagrees with you…ALL BECAUSE OF THE PATRIARCHY!!!”

“...I–...Okay, you’ve lost me.”

You let out a hmph! noise. “Can’t even discern his own brainwashing. Sad.”

“All of this just because I tried to tell you that you look nice?”

“I know what your ulterior motives are, you creep.”

His eyes spark a little at that, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a cheeky grin as he sets the coffee mug down onto the marble counter and he straightens his spine. You blink, watching with confusion as he crosses the distance between the two of you, to where you’re taking a small few steps backwards until your lower back presses against the edge of the island countertop. He cages you into the surface with his frame, followed by the palms of his hands sliding over the marble on both sides of you, and you feel his forearms press against the curve of your waist as he traps you in with no way out.

“S-Satoru,” you stutter, looking up at him with wide eyes, “what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he says, his voice deeper with a nonchalance that has you shiver, his gaze dropping to your lips when you part them slightly.

“T-The patriar–” you squeak out, but he suddenly dips his head down to kiss you.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes immediately closing when he moves his lips against yours, one of his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him and your hesitation is something that only lasts a brief second before you find yourself kissing him back. Some noise leaves his throat, deep and raw and sounding pleasantly surprised as he captures your lips more fervidly now, his hands smoothing down to hold your hips and his teeth slightly nip at your bottom lip. 

You grab a fistful of his shirt, unsure of whether you want to pull him closer to you or push him away, but the moan that you mumble against his lips only makes his grip on your hips even stronger, fingers digging into the softness through the thin fabric of your dress. 

The oven suddenly starts beeping, startling you and you pull away from the kiss with a gasp, eyes rounded as you look up at him, but his are lidded and dilated as his gaze remains glued to your lips. 

With a heaving chest, you try to push him away by a weak fist to his sternum but he’s unrelenting.

“You taste sweet,” he says, like some comment he noted in his head but accidentally voiced out loud.

“I–...” you inhale sharply, “I just ate three macerated peaches.”

“Uh-huh,” he barely acknowledges before leaning in to get another taste, but you push him away harsher this time.

His hands let go of your hips entirely, finally breaking out of that kiss-induced trance he was in, but he still remains close to you in proximity, so much so to where you can feel the heat from his body. It’s comforting almost, radiating through the soft cotton of his long sleeve shirt, and you find yourself subconsciously leaning towards him before you snap out of it too, and rock your weight back against the island countertop.

You cross your arms over your chest, hoping the flush to your cheeks isn’t showing. “Oh okay so we just casually kiss now?”

He shoves his hands into his plaid pajama pant pockets, leaning away from you slightly. “For as long as I can get away with it, yeah.”

“You are breaking the rules.”

“You never said no kissing.”

“I said no touching.”

“Ehhh kissing isn’t really touching, though, is it?”

“You sound stupid.”

“I always sound stupid to you.”

The oven starts beeping again, and you realize it’s long been preheated to the setting you had placed earlier. You slip away from him with haste, feeling his gaze on you as you press a button on the oven to turn the alarm off, and you stare at the handle for a moment or two to calm the beating of your heart down. 

Your eyes catch sight of something on the side of the fridge. A little magnet made of rubber that has the word London on it as well as the design of the Westminster Cathedral with golden accents. You recall that Gojo went on a trip to London recently, and that he didn’t bring you back any souvenirs from there like he did for your other neighbors. And you want to pretend, you want to shove it down, that incessantly childish feeling that wonders why he didn’t bring you anything back. You want to continue to pretend like it doesn’t hurt your feelings. Something so miniscule and small. But you–...well, you can’t.

You spin around to face him. “Do you hate me?” you bluntly ask.

He blinks at you. “Huh?”

“Do you, what, I don’t know, think I’m annoying or something?”

He shrugs with his hands still in his pockets. “I mean, yeah, I do think you’re annoying sometimes. But in a silly way. Like we’re just pals horsin’ around, y’know?”

You snarl at him, putting your hands on your hips and narrowing your gaze until he’s hardly even visible anymore. “No. I actually find you annoying. Like, wanna-run-you-over-with-a-bus annoying. You just have horrendous social awareness and think that everyone loves you.”

“You actually don’t like me?” he asks, like he can’t even believe that someone wouldn’t.

“Yes,” you say, “now get out of my way.” You make an attempt to push past him, purposefully knocking your shoulder into him to assert dominance but he is unfortunately much bigger than you and so all it does is make you stumble ungracefully from the recoil.

He quickly grabs your arm to steady you, and you glare up at him before yanking yourself away and then step backwards until your back hits the fridge.

He studies your demeanor for a second before taking a deep inhale, and then lets it all go in a heaving sigh. “What do I have to do to get you to lighten up a bit?” he asks.

“You really want to know?” you sneer at him.

“Yes,” he says with a slight hint of frustration in his tone.

You cross your arms. “Pay for the fucking fence.”

He blinks at you, confusion replacing whatever frustration was previously decorating his tone. “What?”

“The fence,” you reiterate with a step forwards towards him, “the one I built six months ago. The one where you laughed in my face when I told you to help pay for it.”

He leans forward. “Yeah. Because I never wanted that fence built. Like I said, it fucked up the roots on my avocado tree. You should’ve asked me before building it. In fact, it’s illegal to build a fence without joint consent of both neighboring property owne–”

“Oh my god, okay, see? This is why I can’t stand you,” you snarl at him and make another move to get past him but he easily steps in front of you to keep you from going anywhere.

With a sigh, he relents. “Fine, I’ll pay for the fence.”

You try to keep the twitching muscles of your face still as you resolutely stare up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. Through a strained tone, you say, “No. I don’t want you to pay for it anymore.”

He lifts a brow, utterly bewildered at this point. “Huh?”

“Now it just feels like pity. And I don’t want your pity money.”

“Two seconds ago, you did.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. That was two seconds ago.”

“So…let me get this straight, you don’t want me to pitch in?”

“No. I want you to have wanted to pitch in SIX MONTHS AGO.”

“Okay but what the fuck am I supposed to do about that now?”

“NOTHING!!!” you finally snap at him, the shrill to your voice startling him slightly to where you see his shoulders jump, and his eyes are now rounded blue as he looks at you. “There’s nothing you can do about it, there’s nothing you can do to get me to ‘lighten up’ or ‘act softer’ or whatever the fuck kind of damage control you aim to achieve with me due to your pestering incessant need to be liked by every fucking person you come across. So just deal with the fact that I hate you and let me do it in peace.”

He’s silent for what feels like a long time as he blinks at you, his bottom lip pushing up slightly in a way that suggests he’s almost impressed by your little outburst, then he takes a step forward, and in that one large stride, he’s closed any distance between the two of you. Your back is up against the frigid steel of the fridge, your heels tucked under the warm rubber at the foot of it, and you’re looking up at Gojo as he towers over you, his hands still annoyingly and relaxedly shoved into his pockets.

“Do you think it’s gonna be a problem that I think you’re kinda hot when you’re mad?” he asks you.

A small puff of air leaves your lips, like you just can’t believe the audacity, but also having him this close to you suddenly made it a little harder to breathe. “C–...Can you just be fucking serious for one second?”

His head dips down, the fringe of his hair tickling your forehead, tip of his nose slightly brushing against yours, but his gaze never falls to your lips. “You think I’m not being stupid fuckin’ serious when I say that you’re hot?”

“S–” your breath hitches in your throat, and his gaze finally falls to the lick you pass over your lips, “Satoru–”

Like God himself answered to your (cognitively dissonant) prayers, the bell rings, and Gojo leans himself away from you, straightening his spine so he can glance over his shoulder towards the door, a slight look of irritation on his face through the furrow of his brow.

You blink up at him. “A–...Are you expecting someone?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “No. Don’t think so.” He sighs before shuffling around the kitchen island and across the dining hall towards the entryway of the house, and you peer at the sight from across the hall.

When he opens the door, you see Sana standing outside, dressed in mom jeans and a t-shirt with her black Coach purse slung around her shoulder, arms crossed, and you barely register the fact that she looks pissed.

“Sana?” Gojo says, “what’s up.”

She entirely ignores him when she catches sight of you, pushing right past him and into the family room that you were currently finding solace in.

“You,” she points at you, storming right up to your personal space, “what the hell did you say to Juno when you were babysitting her?!”

“H-Huh??” you squeak out, taking a step backwards. “What are you talking about?”

“You told her to fight kids at school?!” she snarls at you, and your eyes widen.

“What?” you say, your face twisting with confusion, “I–...I never said that. I just said that she should stand up for herself if she needs to.”

Sana inhales deeply with rage, leaning back and jutting her hip out as she crosses her arms again. “Yeah, well, I had to pick her up early from school today because the principal called and told me she shoved a little girl on the playground during recess, and now she’s facing suspension.”

Gojo approaches suddenly from your periphery, standing in front of you as he faces Sana. You stand on your tiptoes to peer at her over his shoulder. “What? Why would Juno do something like that?

You hear Sana start to tap her foot impatiently against the hardwood floor, and then she turns her head away from Gojo as a slight hmph! noise leaves her throat. “The why is irrelevant.”

You poke your head out from behind Gojo and glare at her, but then Gojo turns around suddenly to look at you.

“y/n,” he says, “what’s going on?”

“I–” you start, glancing at Sana again who now has a solemn look on her face with pursed lips. You glance back at Gojo, who’s looking at you with confusion and anticipation. A heat spreads down your neck from the attention of the both of them on you, and you’re not sure what the smart thing to say is, so you figure you’ll just tell the truth as it is. “...I just didn’t want her getting bullied and thinking she can’t stick up for herself.”

At that, you see Gojo’s shoulders stiffen. “Bullied?” he repeats after you, then quickly turns towards Sana, “what does she mean, bullied? Juno’s getting bullied at school?”

Sana faces him full-on, raising a stern pointed finger between the two of them “No. Satoru. Stop. You always do this. This has nothing to do with you, so don’t even start. It’s not a big deal, let’s not make it one.”

“The fuck do you mean it’s not a big deal? She’s getting bullied at school, and you want her to just suck it up?” he asks, venom dripping from his tone. 

“It’s for her benefit!” Sana exclaims. “Jun and I have spent months trying to get her into this school! We don’t want her getting kicked out.”

“Y’know, I’m–” you stutter, “I’m gonna–...I’m just gonna go upstairs,” you say, “this seems like a family matter. I think you guys should probably just settle this on your ow–”

“No,” Gojo says, pointing to the couch that you were standing in front of, “sit down.”

You sit.

Gojo turns to face Sana again, and although you can’t see his face, you imagine he’s pissed off from the way Sana’s shoulders drop slightly and her sharp expression is cut into a more sheepish one.

“Who cares if Juno is suspended for sticking up for herself? It’s the teachers’ fault for not making sure she’s safe,” he says.

“Shoving other kids is not the solution.”

“Well if you fuck around, then you find out. Kids are too soft these days.”

“This is not the 90s, Satoru.”

You watch the back and forth between the two of them for the better part of an entire minute, feeling uneasy in the hostile environment of the room, but there’s a sense of underlying familiarity between the two, one that is recognizable amongst family. And you feel rather foreign, but then remember that, technically speaking, now that you’re married to Gojo, this is your family too.

Amongst the arguing of the adults, none of you noticed that Juno had gotten out of the car in the driveway and was now standing in the doorframe of the front entrance. She looks scared and guilty, fidgeting with her fingers in front of her, and you notice her scrapes and bruises that you tended to last week were now mostly healed. 

Gojo catches sight of her, and you see his shoulders relax. “Juno, c’mere.”

With the permission, she instantly runs towards him and into his arms from where he was crouched down to the floor in order to welcome her, and then she starts sobbing.

“I’m–hic,” she cries, “I’m so–hic–I’m so sowwyyy Uncle Toru…I’m–hic–I’m sorry mommyyyy.” 

You see Sana sigh and she makes a move to brush Juno’s tear-dampened hair out of her face when Gojo pulls her away from his shoulder by a delicate hold of her bony little shoulders.

“Juno. Listen. If people are being mean to you, then you do exactly as your auntie y/n said. You stand up for yourself. And if that doesn’t work, then you cuss at them and threaten to shove their faces into the dirt until they run away with their tails between their legs. Do you understand me?” Gojo tells her.

Sana gives you a pointed look.

“Oh, I–” you put your hands up in front of you, “I didn’t say any of that last part.”

“Do you understand me?” Gojo repeats again, and Juno nods her head slowly before she falls back into him and soaks his shirt with tears. “I’m soowwwwwyyyyyy.”

Gojo pats her back a few times to comfort her, and your heart breaks for the little girl. It’s bad enough to be bullied at school, but then to be reprimanded by your mother the one time you stand up for yourself…you can imagine how emotionally exhausting that would be for a five-year-old. 

Juno sniffles, rubbing her snot all over the cotton of Gojo’s shirt, and then pulls her face away to rub at her eye with a weakly closed fist. “I–hic–I just…I just wanted him to feel–hic–the same hurt.”

“Huh? Who?” Gojo asks.

“The boy,” Juno says, “the one that shoved me today.”

“It was a boy?!?!?!” Gojo yells. “Alright. That’s it. I’m grabbing my bat.”

“Satoru.” Sana deadpans.

Sana and Gojo continue to bicker about the ethics of threatening five-year-old boys with baseball bats, going back and forth about how Gojo wasn’t actually going to do anything but just wanted to instill fear (he’s lying), while Sana isn’t exactly sold on a single pacifist thing that he says, and you sigh, because you realize you’ve become invested in one of, what you feel like will become many, of their family quarrels.

Juno sneaks around Gojo’s legs and comes up to you while the arguing is taking place in the background, and she gently taps your knee as you’re seated on the couch. “Auntie y/n,” she whispers.

You rub an eye crustie from her face and then hold her hand in yours. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Mm? For what?”

She smiles at you, her cheeks pink and flush from crying but rounded now in glee. “My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that, sweetheart?”

Why wouldn’t Sana and Jun be on normal talking terms? What does Juno mean that it’s been a long time? What exactly was going on at home?

“Juno,” Sana’s voice interrupts your thoughts, her arms crossed across her chest, “c’mon. Let’s go.” She points a stern finger at Gojo. “Seriously. I mean it. No baseball bats or rodent traps involved. I’ll talk to the teachers and sort something out.” She glances at you, that strict look on her face now dissolving into one of pure exhaustion. One you can imagine only a mother can face. “See you later at dinner, you two.”

Juno runs up to her mom and grabs onto her outreached hand, and you see Gojo ruffle her hair as she walks past him, her giggles ringing in the air, and then he sees them out the door. 

The air is awkward, at least to you, the second he closes the door, and when he turns around to face you, your body stiffens up.

He leans back onto the front door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks,” he says, “for telling Juno to stick up for herself.”

You blink at him. “Well. I don’t feel too great about it at the moment, to be honest.”

He sighs. “I just think that Jun and Sana are raising her to be…kinda meek. I wish they’d teach her to be more confident and take up space.”

“Mhm,” you nod. Because you agree. Little girls need to learn how to be that way at a young age, because the world is seldom very kind to them.

“Well, what you said to her is what I would’ve said to her anyways,” he says.

You roll your eyes, standing up from the couch and heading back into the kitchen to presume your work on your peach cobbler. “I never told her to shove kids’ faces into the dirt. But, uh, sure, I guess so.”

You see Gojo enter the kitchen too in your periphery, but you don’t give him any glance or look or attention. From what you can see as you stir around your macerated peaches in a Pyrex bowl, he’s leaning against the island counter about three feet away from you, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s watching you. A slight warmth radiates in your cheeks, but you attempt to ignore the nerves by being hypnotized by the pink syrup that pools at the bottom of the bowl.

My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.

An unsettling feeling takes over your senses. It could be the past few years you’ve spent walking on eggshells around your mother, or the way you’ve become so keen to her energy as a way of staying on top of any shift in her symptoms, any single sign of disease progression, any clue that she wasn’t getting better. Any clue that she wasn’t doing okay. And you feel a sense of dread, because that skill, you realize, has now made you aware of similar circumstances in the people around you.

Not to mention, you are a child of divorce. You know what that fear feels like.

You just want to know if Juno feels safe at home.

“Hey, um…” you start, turning slightly to finally face Gojo, your eyes hesitantly flickering up to meet his gaze, “when was the last time you saw your brother-in-law? And with Sana?”

He raises a brow at you. “I just saw them last weekend for one of Juno’s dance recitals.”

“Ah…I see,” you say. You purse your lips together. 

Right. Kids say things all the time. They believe in Santa Claus and think that blueberry pancakes are called blubbery pancakes. And they sometimes read too into things, and they sometimes read too little. Surely, things must be okay. Maybe Sana and Jun had had a little argument with some stubbornly thawing cold shoulders, a demeanor that was noticed by their child, and now things have resumed to normal. That was normal. Part of every family. “That’s good to know…” 

You turn away from Gojo to stare back down into the bowl of macerated peaches again. With a furrowed brow, you close your eyes tightly to try to shake the chilly feeling in your bones, and you feel better when you open them again. The slightly numb sensation in your hand dissipates and you have enough dexterity to mix the peaches around in the bowl.

“I wonder what news they want to share with us over dinner,” you say, to quell the awkward silence.

“Hm?” Gojo hums, and you see him turn around face the counter now, hovering over the bowl of raw crumble topping you had mixed together, prodding at it with the wooden spoon. “Oh, they’re moving.”

Your head snaps to look at him. “W-What?”

“Yeah,” he nonchalantly affirms, scooping up a spoonful of the crumble. “They wanted to up-size, and move a little closer to the school that Juno’s at. I found them a nice place about an hour from here on the outskirts of the city. They just signed the papers a couple weeks ago.” And then he shoves the spoon into his mouth.

“Oh…wow,” you say. “Okay…”

“Damn,” Gojo says with surprise laced in his tone, "this is really good.” He’s staring into the bowl in awe and then scoops up some more crumble with a spoon.

You blink at him, irritated that he’s eating all your ingredients without even asking, and before you’ve even finished your dessert. It’s like he was born to piss you off.

You walk up to him and yank the bowl away, “Gimme that.” Then you pull it into the divot of your waist possessively and glare at him. 

He sighs, and then says something out loud that you’re sure he meant to keep in his head:

“I’ll get used to it.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. it feels so strange to post such a short chapter bahaha hopefully the ending isn't too abrupt. but hope you enjoyed! i'm so sorry ab the slow burn in this series aaa but i can try to assure you that it'll all be worth it hopefully lol i'm really excited for what i have planned for this series!! alsooo sorry if there are errors or anything, i'm trying to spend less time editing since it really stalls me n leads to writer's block lol. hope to see you in the next one :) much love! - ellie

➸ take me to chapter six!

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note. going foward, i will be tagging only interacts because i want to make sure i'm tagging active readers! so taglist may change every chapter. i'm also getting rid of the extended taglist bc it's too much work for me lol, so only 50 tags per chapter. i'd recommend subscribing to the fic on my ao3 so you can get email notifs :) but as always let me know if/when your taglist preferences change; please do not ask me/pressure me for updates or ask me when i am going to next update (read rules)

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[magicalmanhattanproject]

man im just like. thinking about egg signs and how they've evolved over the course of the qsmp and how the qsmp has evolved over the course of the qsmp and just feeling so much love and affection for every part of the project. i dont have any grand overarching point with this just. like. here's a history of egg comms bc of the kind of person that i am

so wayyyy back ten months ago now at the start of the short and sweet egg event that was planned to last maybe a month at most, the eggs had their own custom, decorated signs!

[ID: Leo with a pink sign with an egg on the bottom corner that reads "hello" in all caps. Her nametag reads Leonardo. End ID]

They were extremely simple, single word signs. There was hello, hola, story, feed, sleep, and maybe one or two more and each was its own separate sign. The eggs could only communicate the most basic needs in words and everything else was through minecraft body language or just hoping their parents guessed right.

But obviously, there was a lot more that parents wanted to hear from their children. I'm not sure who was actually first, but the earliest departure from this system I know about is BadBoyHalo giving Dapper a simple oak sign so he could name his pet slime. (Screenshot from @/lxrd-ren)

[ID: Dapper wearing a diver's helmet standing next to a tiny slime in a boat with an oak sign reading "Bouncy (slmecicle but better)" End ID]

Parents quickly realized how much more convenient this was and pretty soon every single egg had stacks of signs to communicate with.

The next innovation came from Vegetta, who was the resident mod knower at the time. He knew about colored canvas signs and gave Leo signs in her favorite color purple because he loved her and gave her everything she wanted.

[ID: Leo's bed in her room under some Fooligetta fanart with a purple sign reading "<3" End ID]

Colored signs obviously had a lot of advantages. Being able to tell at a glance which egg placed which sign was a huge step forward in eggs being able to have long, complicated conversations as well as leaving obvious marks of their personality everywhere they went. It took a little while for them to be standard for every egg though. Bobby never stopped using oak signs even after Richas and Pomme both showed up with colored signs.

[ID: Two signs reading from right to left a red Pomme sign reading "we already started working on a guillotine factory" and a dark grey Dapper sign reading "thats the most french u have said so far pomme" End ID]

And this was the system for a while! And it worked pretty well for most people! The biggest struggle most people had was egg signs not being translated, but streamers adjusted to that by reading signs out loud so the translators would pick up on them. This also lead to adorable and fascinating dynamics like Richas swearing in signs he wrote for Bad and then warning Bad not to read them out. There was also the genuinely phenomenal development of Leolingo where Leo writes only in Spanish to Foolish because it's easier for her to write and he takes his time to puzzle his way through it and learn in a way that's super cool to watch someone else do onscreen.

Then Tubbo joined the server. And Tubbo himself had no problems at all with the system, but he is dyslexic and he casually mentioned offhand that it was getting kind of annoying to read signs after a ten hour long stream and the admin team Fucking Cooked.

Within 24 hours, they had TTS working on the signs. Within 48 hours, it was working on books too. I can't remember how long it took to get translation working, but it was definitely under a week.

And this opened up a whole new world of possibilities for the entire QSMP. The admin team has been on top of capitalizing on it for story purposes, but also just allowing the egg admins to speak in their native languages to everyone whenever they want has been so enriching for everyone involved. Leolingo is awesome but Foolish has been learning Spanish insanely fast and his process is a lot slower and more frustrating than most people can do in front of an audience of thousands of people without feeling discouraged. That's also one language. We've had everything from Foolish being able to check his work a bit more faster to Phil insisting on his eggs taking a day to speak to him in their native languages to Ramón writing a book for Fit in Cantonese, a language we haven't even seen on the server in any other context!

And all of it is fully understood and fully communicated! Sometimes the translators mess up but no one expects them to be perfect and people ask for clarification if the translator says something that doesn't sound right. It's not only a massive step forward in communication technology, but it's a great demonstration of how to use it and when you can and can't rely on it.

And finally, the most recent innovation! One of BBH's viewers sent him a dono saying they had trouble reading certain signs because they were too low-contrast. Bad, Richas, and Pomme just. Took it upon themselves to fix the problem right there and then. Based on One (1) bringing up their own personal struggle, those three came up with new signs that innovate tremendously on the originals.

[ID: Two separate images of the before and after. The first is the egg signs in their original colors with the corresponding egg's name written on them to demonstrate the font color and the second is in the new, higher contrast colors with the same text. The new signs also have custom decorations for each egg. The second picture also has two signs from Pomme in all caps that read "Send all the love to Richas he spent a whole night making this he's the best <3" End ID]

There are three main innovations visible in the above pictures

1: Obviously, the colors are higher contrast. The signs with white text have darker colors and the signs with black text have lighter colors.

2: The colors themselves are lower saturation. Richas said this made it easier for him personally to read them so he corrected that way, but that's open to change if it causes difficulties for more people than it helps

3: The decorations are for accessibility reasons! People with various different forms of colorblindness will find different sets of colors easier or harder to distinguish, but any of them can look at the decorations and use them to identify whose sign is whose instead.

But! Those innovations are not why I made this post! It's these ones!

[ID: The backs of the new signs when placed on the ground. Most visible are Chayanne's with vines and a hardcore heart, Sunny's with shining sunglasses, and Pomme's with an apple and the Eiffel Tower. End ID]

Richas added distinguishing marks to the backs of the signs too! This is something that Bad brought up specifically as something he wanted because it was hard for him to tell who was talking when he was using TTS from behind signs and couldn't see the colors at all.

We went from custom egg signs (a hotbar or so of words and nothing else to communicate with) through a long journey of expanding communication and expanding who we're bringing along on the communication and how easily they can join in and we've circled all the way back around to custom egg signs (they can say anything they want in any language they want and anyone will know it's them saying it from any angle)

and i guess i have enough feelings abotu that to write All This about it

[xoxochb]

— here comes the sun ꣑ৎ‧₊˚.

warnings: just headcannons pairing: riordanverse boys x daughter of apollo

percy jackson loves how good you are with your bow and arrow. he sucks majorly at archery so when you found this out you did everything in your power to teach him to be just as good as you were. this took four months. but! the good thing was that he learned eventually. it took this long solely because every time you were explaining something his eyes would trail down to your lips and he’d zone out and one thing leads to another now he’s kissing you and now you’re kissing back and now you’re not even in the archery field anymore— it’s a whole thing. during the fourth month you got sick of his nonsense and forced him to finally listen to your words and he ended up finally learning basic archery (he later earned a reward for his obedience). besides your great archer skills you’re also skilled at painting. like usual, percy loves to fool around. you’ll have your canvas out and paint sprawled along your pallet but this dumbass takes a finger of paint a spreads it over your face. you both end up covered in paint and your work long forgotten. you made a mental note never to let him paint with you again, but knowing percy and his gorgeous sea green eyes you had no choice but to let him join you again. though you do warn him not to play around with your paint or he’d wake up blue (he probably wouldn’t mind this though)

jason grace is utterly obsessed with your singing voice— most to all nights this is the only thing that can soothe him to sleep. but not even just during the evening, it’s basically mostly throughout the day when you’re singing to him. sometimes you even play a variety of musical instruments to add onto the factor (he ended up learning how to play piano thanks to you). and!! another thing he loves about you is your poetry, especially when the poems are about him, those make his knees go all weak and his cheeks flush pink and he’s such a school girl, it’s ridiculous. but he loves your poems regardless if they’re about him or not, he likes listening to your sweet-like-honey voice and your extremely high vocabulary (gods, he loves your high vocab). along with your love for poems you also share a love for reading, often you’ll find old books to read together, whether it’s together, or separately then you talk about them later, he adores talking about nerdy books together. and since writing is something dear to you and your siblings you wrote your own novel some day with the help of your boyfriend (he’s your number one supporter), including a sweet dedication to him as a thank you and an I love you

leo valdez takes advantage of your healing abilities. every hour he shows up in the infirmary with a new injury whether it’s a small cut or something serious. after a while you started to realize he was purposely hurting himself so he could see you during your work. you scolded him for this and told him you’d much more appreciate his visits if he wasn’t hurt all the time. so after you told him this he started spending less time with his trinkets and getting hurt and more time bothering you in the infirmary (additionally bothering your patients). you’ve found, though, it’s not so easy to care for your patients when your boyfriend has permanently attached himself to you, you eventually had to restrict him from seeing you during your working hours. but do you think this would stop him? no it did not. every day he would wait for you outside as you work, your siblings scold him and tell you to take care of him so that resulted in you getting kicked out of the infirmary too. though with this new free time and all your siblings busy you were able to get the cabin all to yourselves!!

luke castellan is pretty sure every room you walk into instantly brightens up with beams of sunshine (not even figuratively, he really does believe this). your aura is enough the blind the regular man— but lucky for luke he is no regular man, he’s your boyfriend. unfortunately, this does have its downsides, which includes you waking up at the literal ass crack of dawn watching as the sun rises. slowly and carefully you slip yourself from his arms to sit on the porch of cabin eleven as you watch the sky switch from a dark purple/black hue to various colors including orange, pink, or yellow (sometimes all three if your dad is feeling generous enough). over time, though, luke realizes you aren’t in his arms anymore— the first time this happened he was confused and searched frantically for you, but eventually he gets used to you waking up early. on some mornings he will sit outside with you (he loves the way your irises get all bright and yellow at this time of day), he likes how everything is quiet and tranquil and this is one of the only times he’s able to spend alone time with you. he savors these moments over anything else in his life

[fawnsprings]

tense

pairing ;; matt sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings ;; oral (fem receiving), fingering, praise, use of y/n, fluffy beginning and ending, softdom!matt, pet names (sweetheart n princess, etc), no actual p in v, lowercase intended !!

word count ;; 1.1k

a/n ;; this was based off a request!! had lots of fun writing this:) also sorry if this is bad im ovulating and im a little bit high

yk the basics .. pink is u , blue is matt !!

. . .

your pov

i stepped into my boyfriend’s house after a long shift at work. “hey chris.” i sigh, putting my bag down on the island. “hey y/n, matt wanted me to tell you that he was gonna be streaming when you got back.” the brunette boy spoke from the couch, sipping on a can of pepsi.

i nodded before making my way down the hall to matt’s room. i knocked softly on the door and a small “come in” was heard from inside. i slowly walk into the room with a light smile on my face. “alright guys ima go on mute real quick.” matt spoke into his mic, muting it then getting out of his seat.

“hey baby, how was work?” he asked me, bringing me into a hug. i let out a small mumble in reply as my arms wrapped around his neck. "could be better, my legs hurt so bad from running around all day. but i got a $100 tip from this guy since he said my ass was fat" i laugh, letting go of matt so i could take off my hooters uniform. matt was literally forgetting that he had been streaming the entire time.

“could you get me a shirt baby?” i ask matt, struggling to take off the tight white long sleeve uniform top. he nodded, tossing me one of his shirts that i missed terribly. we laughed about it quietly as i took off the extremely revealing shorts. i put on the pink hershey bear shirt, then body flopping down on his silk sheets. “im gonna lay down, my legs hurt so bad.” i pointed out as my body laid comfortably in his bed.

matt hummed, looking at his pc. he quickly walked over and sat down in his gaming chair. “hey guys, sorry ima have to end the stream a bit earlier. thanks for watching love you guys.” matt spoke into his mic after he unmuted. he clicked the red ‘end’ button before he stood up. “matt you didn’t have to end it” i smile, opening my arms for him. “eh its whatever, i was already streaming for a few hours so its okay.” he reassured as he laid down next to me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

he kissed my temple softly, rubbing my lower back gently. “tell me about your day y/n/n.” he whispered into my skin. i let out a small sigh. “well, it was a bit stressful. a lot of guys asked for my number, got a lot of tips since i had good tits and ass…” i trail off, playing with matt’s hair. “i also fell, so that’s probably why my legs hurt.” i pout. he hummed quietly, figuring something that could help me. “i can give you a massage if you’d like.” the brunette boy suggested.

my eyes twinkle a little bit, “hm i’d like that a lot.” i giggle. matt rolled over to his nightstand and grabbed a small bottle of lavender scented lotion from his drawer. i sat up slightly, throwing the blanket to the side.

matt sat crisscrossed while squirting a bit of lotion into his hands. “is this the lavender one i bought you?” i ask with a small smile. he nodded, spreading the lotion evenly on my thighs and calfs. his thumbs kneeded into my skin, making sure every inch of my skin got touched.

his palms massaged every part of my leg. i let out a quiet shaky moan as matt soon neared his fingers close to my inner thighs. he looked up at me with slight doe eyes. “is this okay sweetheart?” he asked, tilting his head to the side slightly. i nod slowly, allowing matt to give soft kisses on my thighs.

matt’s hands ran up and down the sides of my thighs with a bit of pressure, leaving goosebumps. “does this feel good princess?” matt whispered as his eyes shot through mine. i whine in agreement, the spot in between my legs starting to ache. his fingers continued to get closer to where i needed them to be. “matt, baby.” i whine. matt hummed quietly, looking back up at me. “hm? what is it sweetheart?” he whispered, spreading my legs apart. i blinked at him slowly, “mh, i need you.” i breath softly.

“awh my poor baby.” he teased, his thumb rubbing small circles on my clothed clit. my back arched off the bed just a bit. his fingers hooked around the waistband of my panties and he slowly pulled them down.

matt looked up at me, his hand sliding under my lower back. his fingers traced my entrance teasingly, making me let out soft moans. “i barely touched you sweetheart, and your already wet.” he laughed softly, allowing his fingers inside of me. “mgh, baby.” i whine to the slight burning sensation of matt stretching me out. his fingers slid in and out of me easily, sending me over the moon. “taking my fingers so well huh?” matt purred, his tongue soon flicking over my clit. his tongue started to work wonders on my cunt, it swirling around my bundle of nerves.

i whimper out quietly, my legs wrapping around his head slightly. my hands reached down to his hair, tugging on it gently. a string of curses left my mouth that was falling agape. “fuck fuck please keep going.” i moan out. “such a needy girl.” matt whispered softly with a cocky smile on his face. my breath quickened so fast as his fingers continued to thrust in and out of me, hitting my g-spot repeatedly.

matt was determined to continue eye contact with me as his mouth worked on me perfectly. “mmmm. matt please dont stop it feels so good.” i whimper out as the familiar knot started to form in my stomach. “oh yeah?” he teased, letting his fingers out of my pussy and replaced them with his tongue. my back completely arched off of the bed, moaning out to the sensation of his tongue starting to fuck me.

i continued to let out small whimpers while matt continued to fuck me faster with his tongue. my eyes roll to the back of my head as my hips jolt upwards into his face. “m-matt im gonna cum.” i whimper, my hands pushing his head closer to my cunt. ”cum for me angel.” matt whispered, making the knot in my stomach unknot. he lapped up anything that he could and his mouth detached from my pussy.

his slender fingers curled up into me a few more times before he kissed my clit softly one last time. matt let soft wet open mouthed kisses on my inner thighs. “lets finish giving you that massage, yeah?” he laughed, as if he didn’t just practically make out with my pussy. “yes, please.” i pant out with a lazy smile on my face. we both giggled about it for the next few minuetes of matt kneeding his fingers into my skin.

taglist ;; @cheetahmadi @sturniol0s @luverboychris @mattsluttywaist

[cheonstapes]

miguel o’hara stars in… ‘SUGAR BABY CHRONICLES’ ヽ(´o｀；

･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡. miguel o’hara x fem!reader .｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･

SMUT

REQUEST from my lovely @miguelzslvtz; So I was thinking of an older!Sugar daddy Miguel x reader. The reader is working at small country club and Miguel noticed her. She’s serving him drinks, and taking care of him. He tells her she’s too good to be working there and introduced the idea of being her sugar daddy (basically some arm candy). He invites her over to his mansion for a party and she’s dressed up for him🫶🏻 all night she’s being looked at by other men and woman, he’s being very protective of her. He loves on her all night and makes sure she’s taken care of💗💗spoiled✨

cw; older!miguel, slight age gap (reader is in early 20s, miguel is in early 30s), cumming inside, slight breeding(not really, i just have a problem), sugardaddy!miguel, readers a little bit of a tsundere kinda, miguel’s really in love, cunnilings, shower sex, hair pulling, NAWT PROOFREAD!!

4k+ words (longest fic omg!!)

@cheonstapes; hi again…🤗 these hiatuses are killing me. i’ve been absolutely swamped and i lost so much motivation to write but im glad to say i think i’ve found my footing. i found myself again and i’ll work on balancing everything from now on! i apologise for the mammoth amount of time it took me to do this (this is what i get for working chronologically) and i have not forgotten about your requests if you sent one! pyramids and project ex will still be coming but i want to make sure requests are out of the way as they’ve been there for months and it’s not fair for the lovely people who’ve waited so long. thanks again! i love you all🩷

you loved your job, you really did.

not many people can say that genuinely, but when you’re getting the tips you’re getting, seeing the men you’re seeing, you definitely don’t wanna leave anytime soon. working at such an elite club meant you were among the rich of the rich — the big shots of the city that wouldn’t be caught anywhere else.

at the very least, the uniform was modest enough — obviously though, there would always be a few buttons left undone on your shirt, your skirt pulled up just that little bit higher. that window of flesh, no matter how small, was a guaranteed extra thousand in your pocket by the end of the night — and that wasn’t even counting him.

mr. o’hara. that’s all you knew him by. the man was overtly secretive, often arriving alone or occasionally with a very small group of associates. he was by far your biggest tipper. at times, you wondered if he owned the club due to the pure influence he has on your boss — somehow, much to your excitement, convincing him to bump your pay-check up by a lofty sum. the amount of money you make could send you into an early retirement, but of course you wouldn’t do that. it meant you wouldn’t get to learn more about him, and you needed to learn more about him.

summer was always the busiest, the great weather meaning there was more members than usual coming out to play. although, running around and serving for 9 hours a day was extremely tiring — gruelling even. there was sweat dripping down your face, your black dress feeling like a leather coat with the way it clung to you like second skin.

one last drink. you had one last drink to serve and then you could go on your break. double checking the table number, your eyes widened slightly as you saw him. mr. o’hara was not a small man by any means — the bulging muscles tucked away under his tight dress shirt, shoulders almost akin in length with the table. to put it simply, he was the epitome of sexy. you were barely at his table and you could smell him already, the masculine musk of his oud creating a musky, rose scented bubble that ensnared all your senses.

“‘s that for me, sweetheart?”

yes, yes it was. but he really wanted to hear you say it. your voice was such a sweet caress to his ear — he could guarantee an angel got its wings every time you spoke. miguel usually prides himself on being in control of his emotions, his body — but having a pretty, little thing like you just within his grasp was the ultimate challenge of restraint.

the man felt absolutely helpless, his heart pounding in his chest like a hormonal teenage boy when you placed the drink in front of him. “you know it, mr. o’hara — you order the same thing everyday.” fuck. the sip he was having was definitely becoming more than a sip the longer he held the cup to his mouth — chub twitching against the fabric of his slacks.

you were just the sweetest little thing — much more enthusiastic than the other girls that worked there. he might be just imagining it too, but he can feel deep in his heart that you dress up just for him. miguel knows you want him, and he’s more than happy to give himself to you.

“you know me better than i know myself, dulzura. almost like you’re keeping tabs on me, hm?”

“i mean, yeah, i kinda am. it’s my job, mr. o’hara. you’re one of our most frequent regulars, it’d be crazy if i couldn’t tell you your order ‘fore you give it to me.”

oh…yeah.

in miguel’s defence, it’s been a while….a long while since he last flirted — and having an 8-year-old daughter who’s judging your every move means there’s not a lot of time to work on your game. but he’d be damned if he lost an angel like you, he will be yours. plus, gabi does need a woman like you in her life too.

“do you enjoy it, though? your job, I mean — not keeping tabs on me.”

“you probably won’t believe this, but i actually do. the pay’s good, at least, and i can afford to pay my bills, uni, and still have fun. i’m kinda lucky, i guess.”

“you wouldn’t have to worry about that with me, nena.”

miguel knew he was probably breaking some sorta rule, flirting with staff or whatever — but god you were worth it. if being able to take you home meant that he would never set foot in the club again, then so be it.

“sorry, what was that, sir?”

“…quit your job — not in a ‘you’re bad at your job way’ — i’ll take care of you. i can give you everything, anything you want.”

you couldn’t say you were surprised, especially with the nature of your job — old men say stuff like this to you all the time. but, miguel wasn’t any old man. as much as you loved your job, had a stable income and good connections — the thought of quitting and running away with a man like him? fuck, it was so tempting.

“alright then. i hope you live up to those words, mr. o’hara.”

———————————————————————————

mr o’hara (sugardaddy?)

I’m throwing an event at work tonight, I want you to be there.

sent 16:42

(y.n)

hi, mr o’hara. i’d love to but i finish work at 7,i don’t know if i’ll be able to make it. and i don’t really have anything to wear :(

sent 16:50

mr. o’hara (sugardaddy?)

Don’t worry about it, gorgeous. I’ve already got you off work for the rest of the week, and I’ve got you something nice to wear.

sent 16:50

(y.n)

oh, really? well, i guess i’ll see you there then! ;)

sent 16:56

mr. sugardaddy

Mmhm, I can’t wait to see you, babe. And call me miguel.

sent 16:56

———————————————————————————

miguel had promptly sent his driver to pick you up in a sleek black sports car, much to the dismay of your co-workers. a beautifully wrapped box was placed on the seat beside you, a bouquet of orchids and a small note that read ‘for you, las flores más bonitas para la chica más guapa - m’

it was hard to not feel a tinge if heat was rising in your face, for someone whom you’re only just getting to know to be so utterly romantic — it was a new experience! relationships had never been something you were particularly interested in, but there was no denying the allure that someone like miguel held and only time could tell how it would all play out.

arriving at his mansion, which was nothing short of jaw dropping — the halls were mostly desolate aside from the quite bustle of the staff that were preparing for tonight’s ball. an elderly woman escorts you upstairs to the master bedroom, your eyes roaming the area as you take in the grandeur of the building — aged walls paired with a modern nueva york touch.

“where’s mr. o— miguel?” the woman turns to you, an indecipherable smile on her lips.

“mr. o’hara is just getting prepared for the ball. don’t fret over him, he’ll join you shortly.” well, it was a bit rude to invite someone over and not be there to greet them but ok! “ah, i forgot to mention,” she opens the door, stepping aside to let you in. “i left you a little something on the dresser. i believe you both’ll be needing it.” the woman winks, silently closing the door behind her — leaving you alone in the large room.

god, even the room smelt like him. a musky wood and cinnamon smell, with the faintest hint of vanilla from the candle burning by the window sill. it wasn’t everyday you were in the presence of such luxury, especially old money luxury. your eyes flitted over to the dresser the woman was referring to, that sneaky grandma.

a box of xl condoms, birth control, towels, all wrapped in a cute gift basket. “seriously? who does she think i am? i’m not fucking on the first date.” wait— was this a date? it definitely felt like one, but it was hard to be 100% sure. this was too much to deal with now, all that was left to worry about was the ball and getting ready.

on the bed behind you lay a beautifully wrapped box, with a red ribbon to top it off. it fell gracefully onto the bedsheets as you unwrapped it, lifting the lid to reveal the shimmering red dress underneath. a sleeveless satin dress, fabric lined with the finest crystals, a slit raising mid thigh, lined a sheer lace. it was the definition of classy, with a hint of seduction.

putting it on felt like a crime, something so beautifully should be preserved and put into a museum. it took all of your willpower to not tuck the dress away somewhere safe and just go and get one of your own — but alas, it was a gift, the least you could do is wear it. the craziest part was how perfect it fit. practically a glove, clinging onto every curve and crevice of your body — extenuating places you never even noticed before.

smoothing out the wrinkles, making sure it was as perfect as possible — fuck, you looked hot. the colour complimented your skin exquisitely, adding a soft glow to your complexion. in the time it took you to get ready, it seemed like the party was already amping up. you could see the surge of people from the window, flashing lights and an abundance of cars being handed to the concierges. you still had yet to see miguel and what better time to look for him than now?

there was a pair of red heels that matched the dress to a T, slipping them on and bouncing down the steps. the butterflies fluttered wildly in your tummy the nearer you got to the party, joining the line of people being checked in by security. though, from the corner of your eye, you catch sight of him. standing there in all his 6’ glory, curls lightly slicked back, wearing a tight button up shirt and those sexy slacks.

something about seeing miguel like this, so carefree and relaxed, set something off inside of you. even though you were supposed to be his guest, you did everything in your power to avoid his gaze — purely cause you don’t think you’d be able to maintain eye contact him for longer than a few minutes without jumping his bones. but of course, fate was destiny’s whore, and soon enough you were being escorted straight into the ballroom.

“were you avoiding me, cielo?”

a hand splayed across your waist, leading you deeper inside the hall as he whispered in your ear. it was obviously due to the fact that you probably couldn’t hear him all too well because to the loud music, but the way his hands caressed your sides, his lips brushing against the lobe of your ear — it felt all too intentional.

“no…i just didn’t want to cut in line. i figured i’d see you when i see you.”

“is that so?” he slid a champagne flute in your hands, grabbing one of his own as he tilted his head at you — a stray curl unfurling down his forehead. “you’re like an open book, cariño. you think i don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head by now?”

“so you’ve been studying me, hm?” now it was your turn to raise a brow, tilting your head back as you took a long sip of your champagne. it wouldn’t be a huge surprise if he had been, it was kinda obvious from all the stares he’d give you and when he’d ‘enquire’ about you from your colleagues.

“mmm, studying’s a strong word. i was simply…observing you. can’t blame me for wanting to know someone as enchanting as you better.”

he had quite the mouth on him, didn’t he? you couldn’t stop the small smile that graces your lips, shaking your head in disbelief.

“you’re so stupid, miguel.”

“if falling for you is stupid, then i’m the dumbest of them all.”

it was so bad, so bad that it was actually good. and that comment shaped the rest of your night together. considering your new arrangement, he took the liberty of introducing you to his circle of friends and their wives — conveniently leaving out that he was your new sugar daddy, but that was a story for another day. miguel revelled in the looks they all gave you, seemingly forgetting they themselves had a date nestled on their arms. he really couldn’t have picked a better dress, but damn if it wasn’t killing him.

you really didn’t know how beautiful you were, and he so badly wanted to show you. the dim lighting was a blessing for the tent in his slacks, giving him a flimsy disguise for the arousal he felt at that moment. after more than a few drinks too, wandering hands and lingering words, it was becoming unbearable. however, scaring you off wasn’t on his bucket list tonight. he didn’t take this long fighting for your attention to loose you on the first date. he vowed to do everything at your pace, leaving it up to you to make the first move.

as the party wrapped up, and miguel said his goodbyes — you stood at the door, shivering from the cold air as it nipped against your bare arms. the fun you had was incomparable to any party you’ve ever been to, but you thought you may have overstayed your welcome. shakily tapping on your phone with freezing fingers, ordering an uber to pick you up —

“leaving already?”

“yeah, i had a lot of fun tonight, though.” it was a genuine smile, one that spoke a million words. “thanks for inviting me, miguel.”

for a man so big he sure did move so silently. he stood behind you, gently grasping your hand in his as she looked down on you. “when i invited you, i didn’t invite you as a mere guest — you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

it didn’t even sound like he was simply offering, miguel was begging. you could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice — urging you to stay the night, stay with him.

“miguel, are you sure? i don’t even have anything to change—“

“i’ve already organised sleepwear for you, but you could wear something of mine if you’d like?”

that sly smirk slid its way onto his face once again, rolling your eyes as you walked past him — pulling out your phone to cancel the uber. “fine, i’ll stay. i might take you up on that offer too.”

lo and behold, an array of skincare and pyjamas were set out on his bed as you entered the master bedroom once again — and to top it off, gift bags filled with designer items that you’d never thought you’d ever own. “miguel…is this all for me?”

“unless i have another sugar baby, who else would it be for? ‘course it’s for you, darling — consider it a…’welcome’ gift.”

“more like my entire tuition fee, hell. you didn’t have to spend all this money on me, y’know?”

“cariño,” you could see miguel walking up to him from the mirror in front, his arm slipping round your waist to pull you into his back. “i spend my money how i want, and i want to spend it on you. so i don’t want to hear no more complaining from you, understand.” the small nod you gave earned a small grin from him, a hand smoothing up the curve of your back until it reached the shimmering zipper under your neck.

“you look like a goddess tonight, baby. so fucking beautiful…” his words were whispered softly into your neck, gentle breaths caressing your skin. as he spoke, the zipper slid lower and lower — until your dress was held together by the tips of his fingers. the cold metal of his rings brushed against your bare skin, the tips of his fingers dancing on the curve of your waist as he lets the fabric pool at your feet.

“m-miguel, i’m sweaty from all the dancing! at least let me wash up first, or something.” if you weren’t sweating much then, you were definitely sweating buckets now. the heat radiating from you mixed with the heat simmering between the two of you made for a heady cocktail of unspoken desire — and you silently cursing yourself for almost breaking the number one rule: ‘don’t fuck on the first date.’

“we can use my shower then, it’s large enough for the both of us.” we? oh, you’re definitely breaking that rule now. “i didn’t say this was gonna be a joint effort, did i? i can wash myself, miguel.” you weren’t even convincing yourself with the breathy way you spoke, the way he was caressing you, the pure adoration in his voice was something you haven’t felt before. plus, this is the guy who’s willingly paying you to simply be around him — it’s a win-win situation.

“i know you can, baby —“ letting out a deep chuckle, miguel intertwined your hands and lead you towards the bathroom — “but it’s more fun with two, no?” the gentle pitter-patter of the waterfall shower reverberated through the silence of the room, the sound of fabric rustling followed shortly after. glancing down at your feet, miguel’s clothing was promptly discarded — your widened eyes trailing up his hefty frame.

“fucking christ…”

the man in front of you was nothing short of absolutely beautiful. despite spending everyday surrounded by older men, you never found yourself truly attracted to them until now — or maybe it was simply just miguel himself. “i thought you wanted to take a shower, muñeca?” oh, yeah, the shower. before you could even finish your thought, miguel was already occupying half of the space in there, leaving a small pocket for you to slide into.

the expeditious beating of your heart was muffled by the steady stream of water, but it was more than clear to miguel what you were feeling in that moment. the moment was strangely intimate, and dare i say innocent, for the predicament you found yourself in. his hands gently roamed your skin, barely making contact with any sensitive areas aside from fleeting brushes. he made a point to use his hands instead of a rag, claiming he could ‘clean you better than a flimsy cloth’.

it was truly getting unbearable, utterly frustrating. your subconscious and ovaries were in an intense battle of wits, when a third party made itself known in the worst way possible. you really had forgotten that miguel was as naked as you were until you felt the base of his cock slide between your ass cheeks, chest flush against his back. the slightest hitch of your already shaky breath earned another rich laugh from within him, thick fingers playing with the skin of your tummy.

“you feeling cleaner or what? i’m more than happy to keep going if you are, baby.”

of course you wanted him to keep going! you were already as wet as is, in every way possible. “i..i think you might’ve missed a spot.” the hand on your tummy paused, his breath hitting your ear as he bent down slightly. “i did? i like to consider myself very thorough, cariño — enlighten me.” you did your best to turn with the small space you had, looking up at him with a more confident expression than the one you wore previously.

“here.”

now it was miguel’s turn to be surprised, the tip of his finger brushing against your swollen clit before tapping against your slit. it had been so long since you had a real good fuck, and right now you were genuinely about to give this man some babies if he kept on smiling like that. “mm, looks like i did. forgive me for being so careless. i’ll make sure she gets extra attention.” his words trailed off as he sunk to his knees, the gentle spray of water splattering against his face.

he tapped your ass, lifting you up with one hand as he pressed you against the cool glass, legs resting on his shoulders. his pretty lashes were dusted with droplets of water as he gazed at you from between your thighs, nipping and sucking on the sensitive skin as he kneaded your skin gently. his thick tongue was enough to completely spread you open, eagerly collecting your creamy essence.

miguel was moaning like a pure slut, you would think he got more pleasure in eating you out than you did. his eyes were rolled back, hips absentmindedly bucking to the rhythm of the shower as he sucked on your clit. the position was not uncomfortable by any means, but the unadulterated pleasure you were feeling made it hard to stay upright — nails raking down the expensive marble tiles as you practically grasped for straws.

“grab my hair, darling. i don’t want you to fall.”

whilst his words were slightly muffled, the undeniable concern in his voice had you moaning embarrassingly loud. miguel was clearly strong enough to hold you up all alone, so you surrendered the grip you had on the wall to rake your trembling fingers through his hair — tugging on the curly strands.

“nngh..fuck..”

he fucking whimpered. miguel o’hara, the richest and most powerful man in this city, was shamelessly whimpering between your thighs. that was certainly the biggest ego boost ever, the fact that it’s your pussy that has this huge man so drunk. pushing out your hips, you practically smothered his face — riding him mid-air as you felt the delicious sensations bubbling up inside of your stomach. breathless chants of his name left your lips, panting softly as your head fell back against the panels.

“c-cumming! ugh— fuck, miguel!

the jerks of your body made miguel grip your ass tightly, licking his lips of your release as he shuffled upwards, grinning down at your disheveled form. “you’re breathtaking when you cum for me, beautiful. can’t believe you’re all mine.” he whispered against your lips, forehead to forehead as he kissed you for the first time. it felt like a million tiny fireworks going off inside of you, the previous tension in your body instantly melting away as you leaned into his touch — tongue’s pressing against each other as drooled slipped down your necks.

he kept his mouth latched onto yours as he gripped his leaking cock, dipping the pearly tip inside of your sensitive hole. his movements were unhurried, sloppily kissing you as he dipped in-and-out, in-and-out. it was a steady pace that you soon found yourself liking more than usual, a stark contrast to the inexperienced fucking’s you were getting before. “inside, please…i wanna feel you, all of you.”

you were too dangerous for this old man’s heart. having a pretty little thing like you beg for him to fuck you like you deserved, to mold that sweet cunt into the shape of his cock — it was all too tempting. he was more than willing to do anything his sweet baby asked him to, and he wasted no time in giving in to you. “shit, cielo, no one’s ever fucked you right, huh? she’s gripping onto me like a vice.”

he was right, in every sense of the word. you didn’t know how many partners he had before you, and really didn’t want to find out — but one thing was for sure, miguel knew exactly how to please you. your head fell against his chest, his hand lifting it up by your chin as he pumped into you. “tell me, dulzura, i’m the only one that’s made you feel like this? only man to fuck this perfect pussy right?”

he took the tiny nods and breathy whimpers as a yes, grinning like a madman as he revealed in the satisfaction of ruining you for anyone else — not like he was gonna let you go in the first place. his pace picked up vigorously, finding the perfect balance between pounding into your sore cunt and softly rutting against your ass. the skin where you both combined was tinged red, the on-going waterfall above unable to fully wash away the evidence of your cream on his pelvis.

“only you, miguel — no one…no one’s better than you. i’m yours, daddy.”

those words, hushed and warm, pushed his already inflated ego to the edge. his hips bucked widly, prodding at the spongy spot inside of you as she pressed his lips against yours once more. all sounds were trapped between your connected lips, muffling the choked squeal that left your lips and the guttural groan that left his as he came deep inside you. he did promise to clean you extra throughly, and what better way to do that than flushing out your canal with his cum!

he lazily rolled his hips against yours, ignoring the sticky liquid bubbling on the side of his spent cock. “did so well for me, my beautiful princess. i’m so proud of you.” the fluttering of your heart made you instinctively turn away, cheeks flaring with heat as you pouted — you really can’t believe you fucked on the first bloody date. your little tough act didn’t fool miguel, in fact it fuelled him even more. he continued to praise your very essence, worshiping the ground you walk on despite your protests — smiling softly as he sees your fierce resolve weaken. “there she is, you ready to let me love on you now?”

“yeah, yeah. but first, we need an actual shower. no fucking this time.”

“no promises.”

this was the last place you saw yourself in life, but maybe being in miguel’s arms were where you were supposed to be.

- thank you for waiting and make sure to watch ateez at coachella!!!!!

[michaellangdonswhore]

warnings: again, smut. put me in a fucking hospital.

word count: 5.5k

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You were, by far, Jonathan Crane's least favorite student.

You knew it, and it was complete bullshit. You were always on time, always in every class, and always completed the work. You had always had such good grades in every class, but not with him.

While not giving you the worst grade imaginable, you were never able to get over an A-, which pissed you the fuck off. Obviously, to any other normal student studying psychology, they'd take the A-, but not you.

And again, nothing over an A-. There was the frequent B+, sometimes B, and when you really pissed him off he would go as low as a B-.

You've done everything you could to get him to like you. You would ask questions, clearly put extra effort into the homework, and even applied to laboratory studies that he ran. You hated not being liked.

However, at this point in the year, you had given up on trying. You still did everything you were supposed to do, because you wanted a good grade, but you hadn't bothered participating or showing any interest anymore. You had decided to focus more on your other classes. Due to this, you had been working late into the night, causing you to be exhausted for your 8 AM lectures with Crane.

You were exhausted, trying to pay attention. Your head hurt so much for looking at a screen for so long last night.

Crane is flipping through a slideshow, and you find yourself dozing. It's not that this stuff bored you, you had just already learned it back when you took AP Psych your sophomore year of high school.

You snap back into reality when you hear your name being called.

Crane is singling you out with an annoyed expression on his face. You turn red because everyone, all 400 other people in the class, are staring at you.

"I'm sorry. Is this boring you?" He puts his hands on his hips.

"No-" You begin.

You're stammering. You normally don't have such a rough time with public speaking, but being downright exhausted and being singled out for nearly falling asleep in class is extremely embarrassing.

He pauses for a moment and stares you down.

You feel as if you were naked, as if you were completely exposed to him. You didn't like him looking at you like that, like he was taking into account every imperfection.

"As I was saying..."

Thank god.

He resumes to what he was talking about before and you're more alert, heart pumping full of humiliation. You're taking notes now, typing quickly and probably annoyingly loud (you can tell because he keeps shooting you small glares every time you hit the spacebar).

Finally, the hour is up and he reminds everyone about the homework due that Friday. You collect your stuff and head out the door. You don't realize, but he watches you leave.

Everything you do irks him.

Maybe it was because your first paper challenged his psychological beliefs, or because your intelligence challenged him in general. But literally everything about you pisses him off.

Your loud typing, your questions that challenges his lectures, how you turn everything in on time, how you flawlessly converse with the other students. He is so desperately waiting for you to slip up.

As previously stated, you were putting less effort than before into his class. He picked up on this. You were turning your papers and chapter readings in the last minute, you weren't asking questions, and you were even falling asleep.

You had three days to complete a portion of the assignments given. You completely forgot about it.

Due to your tiredness and your weakening desire to try for the class, you had forgotten to write down the homework in a planner that you always checked daily.

Crane is a quick grader, and usually he always grades your homework first; more specifically, as soon as you turn it in.

You realized you didn't do the work as soon as you woke up that morning for your 8 AM class. You had never ever missed an assignment. Ever. And you had no time to do it and make it to his class on time. You were freaking the fuck out.

It's okay. Maybe he hasn't graded it yet.

But no. He was such a strict grader. He was harsh.

Whatever. You may as well hope for the best.

To distract yourself from your predicament, you talk to the boy who sits next to you in the class. It's just smalltalk about the workload and about an upcoming test.

You stop talking when Crane clears his throat. You shift back in your seat and open your laptop.

"It's a Friday. It's 8 AM," Crane begins. You think this is going to be the introduction of a psychological speech. "For all 399 of you that did your homework last night, go enjoy your Friday morning."

People being looking around and whispering, not sure if this is a trick, but you know it's not.

You're freaking out. Your heart is racing and you cannot believe that he would actually do this to you. Usually teachers will just give you a bad grade and call it that, but to single you out and have the entire class leave except for you is an all time low.

"I'm not messing with you," Crane continues. "Go. You know who you are."

He's looking at you dead in the eye and you stay put as people slowly get up to leave, looking around to make sure others are doing the same. You avoid his gaze, looking at your computer screen.

Soon enough, everyone is out of the large lecture room, some looking back to see the one person who didn't do their work.

Once the door is shut, and everyone is completely out of sight, Crane locks both of the doors and looks up at you.

"Are you deliberately trying to fail my class?" He questions. "I thought you wanted to be outstanding."

You can't find words to say. He scoffs and moves to his desk, shuffling through papers and bringing out a decently large stack to over to you. It feels like hours pass by as he walks up the steps to you and drops them onto your desk.

You look at them, confused.

"This is the homework that was due at midnight." He explains.

"It's never so much..." You stammer. You can feel his hatred burning into your skin.

"It's what's due next Wednesday, Friday, and the following week too. Let's see if you can get this done by.... hm," He checks his watch. "By the end of the period?"

"All of this?" Your eyes widen.

"When's your next class?" He asks.

"You're my only one today." You continue to avoid his eye contact.

"Then you can stay." He says. "Until you finish all the work."

"But-"

"I can't trust that you'll do it." Crane says, taking a step back from you. "You need to complete it. In front of me."

"Please, Professor," You try to defend yourself. "I've been-"

"I can assume what you've been doing, you've almost fallen asleep in my class." He scoffs.

You feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment over him getting the wrong impression. Does he really think that low of you?

You take a deep breath. You'll just have to deal with this.

"Do you have a pencil?"

He grabs a black pen from his desk and looks up to you, motioning to sit in the front row. Close enough. You swallow your pride and grab your things and the stack of paper, walking down to the seats in the front.

The class itself is an hour, but it took you almost five to complete the amount of homework he gave you. The readings were long, and the quality of work was demanding. You were eager to do well, to prove yourself.

You hate that he hated you.

His eyes were on you the entire time you did your work. The silence was loud, but you pushed through it. You got three weeks of homework done, and proudly put the stack back onto his desk.

"I'll see you Monday, Professor," you smile, then walk away.

After that, you tried harder; harder than you tried compared to every other class you took. You did this, not to get him to like you- but to get back at him with the fact that you knew your shit; you were a good student. You sat in the front, did side research, and spent nights studying for his endless quizzes. And he wanted to fail you to make you stop what you were doing, but you were getting all the answers right and you both knew that. He wouldn't want you taking anything to the next level.

With you in the front, it made it harder for him to not be distracted by you. Mid speech he would find himself locking eyes with you, disrupting his words and leaving him stammering for a brief moment. Ever since you've upped the eye contact, you've gained more control of the situation.

You arrived in class that Wednesday; the situation in which Crane forced you to stay and do two weeks worth of work in front of him occurred around three weeks ago. You're sitting in the front in between two empty seats; no one likes to sit in the front in Crane's class. It's usually only filled with around three to four people. Crane isn't in class yet, which is weird considering he's always there early, before anyone else even gets there. The class is almost about to begin and he's never been late.

Soon enough, it's one minute after the class is supposed to start and he's still not there. You start feeling antsy, wondering where he is.

Finally, he walks in; two minutes after class is supposed to start. So unlike him.

He places his briefcase on the desk and begins setting up his computer while everyone takes out something to take notes with.

"Now, you all know what I specialize in, I hope," He states, not breaking eye contact with his computer.

He specialized in phobias. Apart from dedicating his time to teaching you, he was a therapist mainly for fears.

"I'm sure we all know what exposure therapy is, correct?" He asks. Pretty much the whole class nods in unison. "Good. For those of you not on the same page, it's the type of therapy which someone is exposed to their fear or trauma."

He begins flipping through his slideshow, giving more and more information and lecturing about it, but you can't help but notice it's an almost bias review.

You're left with homework to write a review on some boring documentary on the history of exposure therapy and a pretty long excerpt of the textbook you all were reading.

So, you did your work and followed all of the instructions. You wrote a review on exposure therapy.

The next Monday, you get to class and you sit in the front row. There's a big stack of paper on Crane's desk, and you assuming that you're getting a pop-quiz, but no, that's not the case.

Crane's waiting for everyone with his shoulder rested on the large stack of papers. Once the time hits 8, he begins.

"I printed out all of your outlines," He begins. "I've made some comments and given some feedback. We'll spend the class working on them."

He starts calling out names and one by one, people receive their papers. You're sort of anxious- you left a pretty negative review on exposure therapy, something that he seemed so passionate about.

"Y/N Y/L/N." He says, saying your voice with more of an annoyed tone than the other students. You get up and grab your paper from his hands, tugging harder due to his firm grip. Clearing his throat, he continues calling out the following names. You go back to your seat, nervous to look at the paper. When you sit and look at it, your stomach dropped.

There's nothing on the front page. Then you look at the second.

See me after class.

There is literally nothing but a see me after class.

Oh my god.

What did I do?

Was he offended at all by what was written? Surely, that wasn't your intention... yes, you wanted to piss him off, but you had some respect for him. You didn't want to actually maybe- make him insecure about his work?

Class seemed to take hours to go by; you didn't even know what to do about your paper. He gave no other feedback other than to see him after class. How were you supposed to work with that?

You looked around at your classmates typing away. You're annoyed that he actually helped them.

See me after class.

At least give me feedback on my fucking paper.

Everyone then realized the time and began to pack up. Crane stood up from his desk and took his glasses off.

"Remember, papers are due Friday!" He manages to get out before people start heading out the door.

You put your things in your bag, trying to act out to your classmates as if you were leaving. You felt so embarrassed. You hated how he kept embarrassing you and how he had the power to do that. It was infuriating. You felt him staring at you as you packed your stuff up, moving slower, nervous that he would call you out.

You took your time, though, waiting till everyone was out of the room.

With everyone else there, you felt so confident. You were one of the smart ones and you at least had witnesses, but alone with him? You were completely inferior. He could quite literally ruin your life with a bad grade and could easily tarnish your image, being the head of Arkham and all that.

"I found your paper quite interesting," He says, emphasizing quite.

"I'm sorry-" you begin. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"Offend me?" He scoffs. "You think you offended me?"

"I just- I know this is what you do, right?" You stammer.

"I'm interested in your point of view." He says. "About the pain, how it's long term. I'm interested as to why you seem so against it."

You shrug.

"What's your biggest fear, Y/N?" He asks you. "What is it? Failure?"

"I'm not trying to fail."

"Oh, yes, you've proven that." He clicks his tongue. "Sitting in the front, turning things in quickly, wearing shorter skirts. Don't think I don't notice what you're doing."

"What?"

"You write intensely about the struggle that people with PTSD-"

"Wait," you interrupt him. "What did you say?"

"I'm trying to discuss with you what you've written."

"Professor, my clothing choices have nothing to do with me wanting to do well in this class," you say. Now you're offended.

Instead of apologizing, which is what you think any decent person would do, he looks you up and down and scoffs.

"You're wearing tights."

"What?"

"Surely, those must be uncomfortable. You're not wearing those to satisfy yourself," he says.

You grow red, and angry.

He keeps humiliating you.

"Who are you trying to impress?"

"Will you stop?" you groan in frustration. "Why don't you just let me get by like you let everyone else get by? I do everything you ask!"

"I want to know who you're trying to impress."

"I'm not trying to impress anyone," you hiss, finally looking up at his crystal eyes.

You know it's disrespectful, but you turn to walk away and to leave.

"No, no. We're not done."

You ignore him, walking towards the door, but he quickly beats you to it, shutting it and locking you in.

"I said we're not done." He said, completely composed. "Sit."

"I want to leave."

"Your biggest fear is failure, yes?" He questions. You don't nod or shake your head, but it is pretty much true; you hate failing. You need to succeed and be good at everything you do. "Sit. I can very much make that fear come true."

"I do everything," you repeat. "Everything. I do it on time, I'm here always, I'm prepared for everything."

"Can you just fucking-" He pushes you down onto the seat next to his desk. "Sit?"

You weren't expecting him to physically force you to sit down, but you could pick up on the pent up frustration he had with you.

"The off the cut sweater, no bra-" He points out.

You weren't wearing a bra. You were surprised he had picked up on the fact- you could've been wearing a strapless, but no. He was right.

"Are you even wearing underwear?" He whispers.

You're flushed.

What the fuck was going on?

You thought he hated you.

And yeah, you knew he was an attractive man, that's what made this whole thing pretty exciting, but you never thought you would be sat down with him leaning over you saying things like this.

"Let me see."

"Professor?"

He grabs you off the chair and pushes you onto his desk, spreading your legs for you. Everything was moving too quickly; this all felt like a fever dream.

He tugs at the middle of your tights, ripping them open to expose your- and he was right- bare pussy. He lets out a chuckle.

"You're not trying to impress anyone?" He questions, again, peering up at you.

You try moving your thigh to cover yourself, but he forcefully keeps them open.

"Who was that boy you used to sit next to... Tim, is it?"

To be honest, you really didn't know that kids name. He was just someone you sat next to out of habit since you had picked that seat the first day of classes. But you hadn't been sitting with him for weeks at that point.

"Is Tim who you're trying to impress?"

"No!" You argue, still trying to fight the grip of his hand off your thigh. "I told you... I'm not trying to impress anyone."

"Hm." He says, placing two fingers on exactly the right spot of your clit, slowly rubbing in circles. . "You're not even trying to impress me?"

You stay silent, for a brief moment.

"Not in this way..."

But it's past that point now. He's already touching you, rubbing faster, and your exposed pussy is laid out right in front of his face. You're embarrassed and self conscious. He's too close for comfort.

"Yeah?"

The fingers once on your clit are now entering you. You still can't comprehend the situation.

But for him, he was putting you in your place. It was enough of the looks in class, the semi sexual and revealing clothing, the obvious need for his approval and to show him she was as smart- maybe even smarter than him himself.

"Is that why you're letting me touch you like this?" He asks, using the two fingers to pump your pussy.

It's out of your control but you're getting wetter the longer and faster he fingers you. It's beginning to show, beginning to drip down his fingers and onto his wrists. He notices this, then stops and looks.

"Disgusting," He huffs before licking his fingers clean.

"That's disgusting," You repeat at him, glaring a little, but you can't help but want his finger- more of him back inside you. You feel empty, desperate for his hands back on you.

"I don't see you asking me to stop."

You're silent, again.

He smiles, kneeling back down and spreading your legs open again, this time with a more forceful grip. He doesn't use his fingers this time, devouring you with his hot mouth and basically digging in.

He was really good at this. To be fair, no one had ever actually eaten you out, but you had never felt anything like it. He moves his fingers towards you again and fucks you with them as he sucks and licks at your clit. He was freakishly good. You felt something drip down your thigh; you didn't know if you were sweating or if you were fucking leaking. By the sound of it, probably the second one.

He removes his fingers and dives deep into your pussy more, making obscure sounds as he does so. He stops and looks up at you.

"Take your shirt off. I want to see your tits," he demands.

You comply; he's already seen a lot.

"Fuck, they're perfect." He says, now standing over you, playing with them and poking and twisting at your hardened nipple. He's pushing his hardened clothed dick into your bare pussy, giving you some friction has he sucks on your neck and plays with your nipples.

He grabs your hips and flips you over, putting you on your stomach and leaning you over the desk.

He kneels back down, eating your pussy again; he can't get enough of it. He can't get enough of the small whines escaping your throat and the way you leak and how you shake when it feels good- or when the pleasure becomes too much.

He adds his fingers in again, this time three, and you let out a louder, but not too loud, moan than usual.

"Professor-"

"You can take it." He assures you. "You better take it. If you can't take this how can you take my cock?"

You just weren't used to it- you had been fucked, but not for so long. He keeps licking and devouring your clit while pumping in and out of you. You feel so full- on the brink. You feel hot, and god you feel good. You don't even realize it, but you're riding his mouth and his fingers.

"You know, I wasn't going to let you come," Crane begins between breaths, keeping his face close to your pussy so you could still feel him. "But now that I think about it... I want you cum drunk on my dick. I wanna make you cum over and over again until you're a fucking mess."

He goes back to sloppily and messily eating you out again. It was so dirty; the noise, what was leaking out of you. You then felt that familiar feeling and you couldn't stop it; no matter how wrong this felt or how humiliated and exposed you felt, you couldn't stop yourself from moaning like a mess and cumming all over his mouth.

You needed a second to recover, but he stood up and grinded his clothed dick against you. You weren't ready for the friction, wincing over the contact with you sensitive clit. He grabbed your neck and pulls your back to him, kissing you, continuing to grind.

He unbuttons his pants and undoes his boxers, his large thick cock springing out, begging to be touched. He pushes one of your legs up onto the desk to give him better access to you.

"You're fucking soaked," He says as he teases himself some more, collecting what's came out of you as some lubricant.

He keeps rubbing your clit and the outside with his dick, back and forth. It feels good, but it's not enough. He pushes harder with his dick on your clit, continuing to hump you.

"Professor, please," you look back at him, trying to guilt him into giving in and fucking you, but it's not that easy.

"Shut up, and let me take my time." He says. He continues this for a little, before getting a new idea. "I want you to cum on my cock without me fucking you."

"What?"

He pulls you towards him then on his lap on the chair next to his desk.

"Grind on it." He demands, holding you in place by your hips. "Get it soaked."

You hesitate, but he's impatient. He pushes you down and moves your hips for you until you begin to do it with him. You grind your pussy against his cock, stimulating your clit once more. It didn't feel as good as his mouth, and god it probably didn't feel as good as his dick would feel inside you, but it felt good. And you were so fucking horny, you were on the brink of cumming again.

"Yeah, yeah, you got it," he praised you, rocking your hips back and forth. He digs his nails into your hips, definitely leaving some cuts in your skin, but you didn't care. You were so close. He begins to bounce up, pretending to thrust into you, adding to your pleasure. "That's it, you- oh fuck, yes, cum on my fucking dick."

You're dripping onto him as you ride out your high, clenching around nothing. It seems to last for a while, wrapped up in all the pleasure combined with his dirty talk.

He angles his cock towards your entrance and pushes into you- he feels hot and he's sensitive due to teasing himself. But no- he doesn't want to cum yet. He wants to put you in your fucking place. And even if he does cum, he has no issue continuing and even fucking a baby into you. Then, you'd have to walk around with the shame.

He gently picks you up, but then harshly slams you up and down repeatedly onto his cock. You've had no time to readjust after cumming a second time, and you were extremely sensitive.

"Slower, professor, please," You cry, burying your face into his shoulder. "It hurts..."

"Shut the fuck up."

He grabs you by the neck and pounds up into you, rubbing your clit as well to add to the sensation.

Yes, it feels good, but it's so overwhelming you can't help but tear up. Crane notices this and it goes straight to his head.

"Are you fucking crying?" He scoffs. "Fucking crying for me?"

He picks you up, keeping you firmly attached to his dick, and throws you over the desk again. He's fucking you deeper and at an animalistic pace; like he fucking needs this.

"Keep crying for me. Keep fucking crying."

He harshly grips your tits, twisting your nipple in the process.

"Fucking perfect tits, perfect pussy, perfect everything. You fucking strive for perfection- but you're letting me fucking ruin you. Is this how far you'd go for a good grade?" He laughs, fingers deep in your clit.

You can only moan in response, but this doesn't satisfy him.

"Fucking answer me."

"Yes," you cry out.

"Yeah, you're just a fucking whore who'd sleep her way to the top if that's what it took." He says, tugging your hair back, your sweaty bodies pressed closer together.

His words are filthy, but you're fucking cumming again.

He's laughing, mocking you for doing so.

"You fucking like being treated like a bitch, don't you?" He says, fucking you through your third orgasm. You don't know how he's not tired. As you expect, he doesn't give you a fucking break. You're worn out at this point; almost numb.

"Professor, I don't know-"

"You don't know if you can keep going?" He questions. "Yeah, you can. I'll fucking make you keep going. What was that... your third orgasm? Let me see if I can double that."

"Professor..."

"I'll stop when you give me three more."

You feel like you're going to pass out; the pleasure had become too much, but you were so fucking sensitive that a fourth one had come quickly. Your pussy was so swollen and red, but he had not gotten off of you.

"You're fucking..." He brings you back to the chair and places you on top of him. "You're fucking leaking all over me, fucking hell. So wet... do you hear yourself?"

You could hear yourself. It was disgusting. It was filthy.

"Aren't you embarrassed?" He asks. He slows down his pace, and you know he's teasing you. "Embarrassed that you're whoring yourself out to me like this? To a professor that so clearly disliked you? This is what you do for my approval."

He slows his pace some more.

"Would you do this for any other professor, Y/N? Let them fuck your pussy till you have nothing left to give? Bounce on their cock the way you do for me?"

"No, professor," you shake your head, trying to bounce faster but he keeps your hips in place, restricting you. He had succeeded- made you cum drunk and fucked you stupid, but this wasn't enough. He needed more. "No, no, only you. I'd only do this for you."

You're squirming around on his dick. He's stopped moving at this point, just staying in you.

"Stop fucking moving around. Don't you want to impress me?"

"Have I not?" You begin to regain some of your strength with this somewhat of a break he was giving you. "Have I not impressed you, professor?"

You give him puppy eyes as you gain some control of the situation, his grip loosing and you bouncing on his cock at a pace you like.

"I want to impress you, professor," you say seductively. "I want to- fuck!"

You start chasing your high again, you didn't even realize that you'd ever be able to cum this many times.

"Fuck!" You repeat. Crane is letting you take control, enjoying the show of you riding his cock, using him for your pleasure. "Do you like this, professor? Do you like when I fucking bounce on your dick like this?"

You had never heard yourself like this, or ever expected to talk like this. You had never felt so confident.

"Have you imagined this professor?" You continue. He's obviously at a loss for words, not expecting this side of you. "Have you imagined fucking me? Have you imagined bending me over your desk and eating me out till I came all over your face? My tits? Putting me in my fucking place?"

His hands found your hips again and he's helping you ride his cock. He's loving the words coming from your mouth.

"God, I think you wanted this more than I did," you laugh. You're so close. You wanted him to talk, but his reactions to your words were enough for you. "Make me cum again, professor, please. I- fuck!"

He's pushing into you and bouncing you up and down quickly and you're riding out your fifth orgasm.

He pulls you off of him and lays you out on the desk again, licking up your sore pussy. He hums while doing this, telling you how you taste so good. You're so- so sensitive, though, and you can't help but cumming on his tongue again not even seconds later, letting out a string of incoherent words.

That's six.

You look at him, but he's positioning himself in you.

"You said six-"

"I say a lot of things. I want you to cum on my cock again." He says, kissing your neck. "Last time. I promise."

He pumps into you, at a softer, but still quick pace. You feel so incredibly numb, but he still manages to work you up quickly while fondling your breasts and pressing hot kisses into your neck.

"Ah- fuck." He pants, fucking himself into you. "Fuck... gonna cum in you. Want you to fucking carry me around for the rest of the fucking day."

You don't object- your hearing was probably a little impaired at this point.

"Yeah, you want that, don't you. It's like a fucking award to you."

He's holding you closer now. You both are so sweaty and sticky.

You're about to cum again, but he grabs your throat tightly.

"Fucking wait for me. Don't be impatient."

As hard as it is, you listen to him. He speeds up, becoming sloppy before he cries, "Fuck, cum! Cum all over my fucking- ahhh, yes, fuck."

He shoots hot loads into you as you clench around him, milking more out of him. He doesn't stop, continuing to fuck you until every last bit of his seed has marked you. Even after he's done, he gets a few more strokes in before he pulls out, showing the combination of you and him leaking out of your pussy. He pushes you onto the floor and presents his dick in front of him.

"Clean it."

You obey, wrapping your mouth on his cock and licking away the filth that the two of you made. He groans and pulls you off of him.

"You'll get me hard again." He says.

He puts all his clothes back on and hands you your sweater. Your nipples are hard, poking through them now.

"I look forward to your next draft of your review." Crane says calmly, as if what just happened didn't happen.

"You- um..." you stammer, brushing your fingers through your hair. "You didn't give me any notes."

"I didn't?" He questioned. You shook your head. "Well, stay again after class next session. I'll go over it, personally, with you."

"Oh." You blush. "This wasn't a one time thing?"

"Y/N..." Crane looks at the floor. "I'm your professor."

You felt awkward. Of course it was a one time thing; how could it not be?

But then he looks back up at you.

"You don't want to fail my class, do you?"

[tacowacco]

deceit's new favorite

shadow milk cookied x gender neutral reader

cw: mentions of mind breaking, heavy posessive behavior, implied forced relationship, and potential ooc.

my request is open, therefore requests are heavily appreciated and encouraged!

As you entered the Spire of Shadows, an eerie sensation coursed through your body. Inside, there were endless halls that seemed to stretch on forever, and stairs that appeared to have no beginning or end. Chaos awaited you in this unsettling place. Some might even argue that it felt like a never-ending nightmare—akin to one meant for cookies instead.

The outcome of your arrival at the beast-yeast became far worse than you'd ever imagined. Just within hours of stepping into the domain of the Beast of Deceit, you managed to find yourself lost in the unfamiliar terrain. You hurriedly searched for an exit, desperate to reunite with your friends.

You were certain that you had found an escape, but to your surprise was another pair of endless halls filled with trickery and lies. You took a moment to sit down and catch your breath after what felt like hours of searching. 

“Oh, my! Well, isn’t this just a lovely surprise?~ One of little Silly Vanilly’s pals all lost, and alone?” the jester cooed, as he stepped forward and his mismatched eyes met with yours. 

Shadow Milk yearned to shatter Pure Vanilla and witness his slow descent into madness and despair. He wanted to see the truth and hope he cherished so much deeply crumble. He'd ensure to sever the delicate thin thread that Pure Vanilla was holding so dearly to by toying with you. By immersing yourself completely in his world, you find yourself captivated, consumed by an overwhelming admiration that borders on obsession. Only focusing on him, the main character. He’d make sure to make you forget about these pesky side characters. 

You were now in his possession, his pawn to use for his advantage. 

“Now what’s with the looooooong face? Not thrilled to see me?” he purred.

“Hmph! This isn’t a part of the script, looks like I’ll have to make some adjustments and alterations. Alas, that’s what improv is for!” he exclaimed while flipping through his script— schemes, filled with theatrical mischief. 

"You'll be the most exciting addition to my prized collection! It's been so long since I've had a new puppet to cherish. Even better, I'll make you the star of my new show!" Your eyes widen as you feel your muscles tense up. 'Prized collection? Most exciting addition? New puppet?' What did he mean by that?

“C’mon, we’ve got a show to prepare for, and an audience to amuse!” Shadow Milk said excitedly in a singsongy voice.

-----

You sat in the front row of the audience and watched as the red velvet curtains opened, revealing the first act of Shadow Milk's puppet show. The stage lights dimmed before focusing on the center of the stage, casting a spotlight over the cutout puppets.

“Once upon a time, long long ago there was a very beautiful cookie called ‘Y/n cookie’! Unfortunately, they were focused too on that stupid soul jam-thief pure vanilla.” Shadow Milk said, irritated once mentioning Pure Vanilla.

"Fortunately for dear Y/n, a cookie so dignified, very sophisticated, and—not to mention extremely handsome appeared...

ME! The one and only, shadow milk cookie appeared to save Y/n!" Shadow Milk exclaimed. 

The brainwashed audience began to erupt into applause and enthusiastic clapping, creating a wave of energy that enveloped you. You started blinking rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the bright, scorching spotlight that blinded you. 

"Since dear Y/n was SOOO grateful that I, Shadow Milk cookie, saved them from Pure Vanilla..they decided to become my newest puppet!” Shadow Milk enthusiastically said, as his glowing mismatched eyes met with yours.

a/n: first post! currently writing instead sleeping.. (it's 11:51PM on a school night)

likes, reblogs, etc. are highly appreciated :))! thank you lovelies