#is this about the Old Man? it is a mystery.
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little baby lime | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader
“does reid have a girlfriend?” emily asked derek and jj. they both shared a quizzical look with pouted lips, taken aback by the random question.
“not since that one time thing with that lila actress,” derek mumbled. now it was emily’s turn to be thrown off by this new information, “an actress?”
“an old case,” jj informed her. “spencer doesn’t seem like the dating type, mostly. never mentioned anything that might point to it, always doing his usual routine on his days off.” the blonde shrugged off her sentence.
“why do you ask?” derek turned back to emily who jerked her chin while looking behind the two, “cause he’s hugging a girl who might also be pregnant.” an impressed smirk to her mauve lips.
derek and jj wiped their heads fast around you could hear a crack from their necks. true to emily’s words, doctor spencer reid, well know to be a germaphobe, was wrapped in a tight embrace with a shorter woman. his back was to the trio but they could see that his arms were over her shoulders and hers were snug around his torso, also noting that spencer was giving both bodies a gentle sway.
“well that’s a sight,” derek teased. then jj followed with, “why might you think she’s pregnant? we can’t see with tall boy swallowing her.”
emily tapped the side of her nose, “saw her enter just before i asked the hundred dollar question and her tank was a bit snug on her stomach and she even gave it a rub.” eyes moving to the mystery duo then back, “then when spencer went to her he, one kissed her forehead then two also touched her stomach.”
three sets of eyes honed in back to spencer and his mystery guest. you leaned apart, head leaving spencer’s chest but arms wrapped to his back. you smiled brightly at spencer’s rosie face, “you’ve gotten prettier in only a week. not fair.” pouting exaggerated as you rubbed your palms along spencer’s spine.
he smiled nervously at the compliment. “that’s statistically not true. only with time and sometimes diet does your skin start to shift and change. like your body is doing now while going through pregnancy.” a quick peck upon your oily forehead, you sweat too much and sucks that summer is rolling in.
“this little lime is slowly stretching some of my clothes out. but i’m gonna be a sexy mama, like rachel green from friends. so i expect you to defend me against anyone.” teasing spencer since you already know he’ll defend you even over an argument about clothing.
before spencer could reply there was a loud, exaggerated cough from behind. stepping out of spencer’s hold you waffled your hands together and leaned your head against his bicep. a trio of agents you haven’t met before smiled questioning spencer’s way.
“pretty boy, you didn’t tell us you had a gorgeous girl waiting for you.” a tall dark skin man teased like an older brother. he looked at you and smiled his white teeth, “derek morgan, part of the bau.”
“oh, the playboy of the unit. i’ve heard a thing or two about you.” cocking a brow while derek showed surprise but covered it with a laugh, “glad to know i always leave an impression on pretty boy.”
“and thank you for the new nickname, i will be stealing it.” causing the two women to chuckle. a petite blonde woman stuck a hand out and you automatically took it, “i’m jennifer jareau, but you can call me jj. i’m the liaison for the team, deal with media and dictate our cases.”
“and a beaut. glad i snatch up spence before you had the chance.” spencer ducked his chin to his chest while jj just raised her brows, “think it’s for the best you took him off the market first.”
“lucky for me.” pointing a manicured finger to the left of jj, “now you, sexy lady must be emily prentiss since i already know wonderful penelope garcia. if i hadn’t know spencer earlier you would’ve been on my mind twenty-four seven.” a playful wink thrown her way, she didn’t protest to your suggestive words.
“maybe we can get together and see what i’m missing out on. but also, how long have you known reid? we didn’t know you existed.” a huffed laugh.
“use to live in vegas as a kid. thirteen my freshman year to have the local boy genius, twelve year old senior tutor me in algebra. with his help i didn’t need summer school. and i didn’t see him for a while until a few years ago when he’d make visits back into town.” cartoon hearts filtered through your eyes as you recounted your love story. “been dating two and a half years and then this dolt,” a light smack to spencer’s chest, “forgot to practice safe sex and here we are.”
all three of their faces showed complete shock at your last sentence and you can understand why. “don’t worry, spencer takes very good care of me. day and night if you know what i mean.” wiggling your brows suggestively.
spencer sighed, “i think they do, sweetheart. and i wish i could forget this whole conversation.” displeased at where this headed, but still stared towards you like you were the stars in the sky. “now if you’ll excuse us, garcia would like to see her favorite person.”
“second favorite,” derek cheekily pipped in. you waved him off as spencer walked the both of you away and further in the offices. to garcia’s dungeon or lair, whatever she’s feeling that day.
with a polite nock to her closed door and a muffled, “enter traveler,” you rushed inside for her bear hug. “penny!”
“oh my gosh! how are you sexy mama?” penelope rocked you side to side, cheek pressed into her neck. you giggled at the nickname, “is bean pole taking care of you?”
“bean pole?” spencer’s voice was mumbled but an unladylike snort escaping your nose. “i do have a thing for tall, lanky boys.”
“i don’t like this conversation either.”
#erin writes#spencer reid#early seasons spencer reid#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fic#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#spencer reid x pregnant!reader
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"It's so unfair to the Rat Grinders that they are killed instantly and the Bad Kids get to roll death saves." SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUUP
THIS IS LONG, AND HONESTLY FOR MYSELF, SO YEAH READ IF YOU WANT
I swear to god, this discourse is going to fucking be the end of me. Idk what kind of mind boggling spell Brennan Lee Mulligan wove into the fabric of the universe that spread through the data center of Dropout in order to absolutely hijack y'all's brains when it comes to Cocklord Assgape and her ragtag of character foils but whatever it was has made you Rat Grinder stans INSUFFERABLE in this site.
The levels of treating fictional characters as if they were real people have reached a level I honestly have never anticipated, to the point of y'all actually being mad AT THE CAST for "mistreating" them and ACTUALLY QUESTION BRENNAN'S CAPACITY TO DM. Do you not get how fucking insane that is?
We can't make fun of Copperkettle, one of the most pathetic, petty and incompetent villains in D20 history anymore (even though she is masterfully written and developed to generate this reaction from us) anymore because it's bullying apparently. I saw an account flip the fuck out because someone compared her rivalry with Kristen to Drake and Kendrick's beef. KIPPERLILY IS NOT A REAL GIRL. SHE IS A MAKE BELIEVE CHARACTER IN AN IMPROV SHOW SPAWNED FROM THE BRAIN OF A 36 YEAR OLD MAN
And then what truly pissed me off the MOST about this whole hell is the fact that, being chronically online avid consumers of this goddamn show, I would think you would have but a grasp of the main cast of characters' characterization.
Why the uproar about Riz saying they should chop Oisin's head off? The same Riz who tortured that pixie from Freshman year by shooting off their finger one by one? The same Riz who murked a disarmed and unconscious Coach Daybreak without battin an eye? The same Riz who ATE THE CORPSE OF KALVAXUS?
And the whole Fabian vs Ivy debacle MY GOD, THE GIRL WAS RACIST TO HIS GIRLFRIEND AND USED HER LAST BREATH TO CALL MAZEY "OBJECTIVELY UGLY". And the funniest thing is that is not even the most unhinged shit he has ever said.
And finally, Death Save Gate: THE RAT GRINDERS ARE NOT PLAYER CHARACTERS. THEY ARE NPCS! THE RULES FOR EACH WORK DIFFERENTLY, ESPECIALLY THEM BEING BOSS ENCOUNTERS. Imagine having to still hit Ivy or Oisin 2 more times to kill them when there is 14 foot tall Porter throwing legendary actions left and right, with Jace, and other 3 spell casters + Mary Ann and KLCK up and running. It's called balancing the fucking game. Also, game masters are entitled to break, mold and make up any rules they want if they find necessary in order to service themselves and their players. IF YOU PLAY WITH ALL THESE RULES AS THEY COME, GOOD FOR YOU AND YOUR TABLE. THIS IS NOT YOUR TABLE.
Not only is Brennan DMing for his CLOSEST FRIENDS EVER, he is also shooting and producing an ENTIRE TV SHOW. So yeah, i think he knows wtf he is doing.
"But the Ratgrinders had no real development": True. But it wasn't for lack of trying from the players. Everytime they tried to know more, the dice didn't let them, so they decided to focus on the mystery. It simply do be like that sometimes.
"But they are just kids!": And so were Penelope, Dayne, Ragh, Zayn, the Bloodrush Players, Aelwyn and Biz. Why wasn't it a problem then? Because most of them were evil to some extent and were about to bring the fucking apocalypse to the world? Yeah, sounds familiar right? And the ones who were manipulated or had any sort of redemption worked their way into earning it, right? Yeah.
In conclusion, I fucking love the Rat Grinders, I truly do, and not unlike 90% of this website, i'm still holding on to hope that they have any sort of development and redemption in the last episode, because I agree, they ARE children and they WERE manipulated by Porter and Jace, but like, can we also agree that they are fucking assholes and had it fucking coming? Also, the BKs are children too y'know. SO STOP BEING FUCKING ANNOYING.
#brennan lee mulligan#dimension20#dimension 20#fantasy high#d20 fantasy high#fantasy high junior year#fantasy high spoilers#rat grinders#d20 fhjy#d20#dimension 20 fantasy high#kipperlilly copperkettle#ivy embra#oisin hakinvar#dimension20 spoilers#ruben hopclap#mary ann skuttle#konic0 rant
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it's been way too long since i last did wildly self-indulgent fanart, so of course i did it for an SVSSS AU that doesn't even have any actual fanfiction written of it yet. but what can i say! it's a compelling scenario! Just check the original post for details!
here's a workplace doodle for his mess of an outfit, too:
Xin Mo is floating behind his back, wrapped in talismans. the collars are meant to be vaguely inspired on a flower bud.
Some notes i came up with for this version, copied straight from a month-old discord convo:
he may have protagonist halo now, but he's for sure not a stallion protagonist. he literally exchanged fates with his favorite person in the world in order to spare them a hellish trial-- that's romantic as fuck!! damn!! this is old CLAMP shoujo and no mistake!!
binghe may no longer be the protag, but he's still a half-heavenly demon. power-wise, heavenly demons can't be topped, and all the remaining heavenly demons are accounted for. so, SQQ can't be a heavenly demon, even in part.
HOWEVER, as a protagonist, there's a factor more important than power! it's the CHUUNI FACTOR. what's more CHUUNI™️ than being part demon?
one option is being part demon and part angel.
how would that even fucking work??????? IDK man, you can either pull from chinese folklore for fairies or heavenly beings or spirits, or you can blame Airplane and go "he accidentally implied the existence of christian elements by means of importing unexamined anime tropes"
Shen Jiu conveniently has a big fat blank on his parentage. We as fans can and have put whatever the hell we wanted there.
SQQ would jump into the abyss still under the impression SJ was a shallow villain. If his trip through the abyss involves recovering SJ's memories somehow, that sure would be fun times, huh?
so he awakens a mysterious ancestry and survives the abyss and takes Xin Mo, but he probably takes longer than Binghe did due to being squishier.
but Xin Mo isn't ACTUALLY his! so he papers it over with sealing talismans, and to battle the temptation to wield it he takes to wearing these longass sleeves. they're probably covered in talismans as well.
guessing Xiu Ya stayed behind to be mooned over by the clown trio in Cang Qiong. let's go full sparkle-sue here and say he's now fighting almost entirely via musical cultivation. i like swan-necked konghou harps so let's go with that, it'll look dope.
why is he barefoot? why WOULDN'T he be, is the question. fragile!! suffering!! dainty!! he's a shrinking flower, tormented by the weight of the One Sword To Rule Them All!!
also for extra pathos, his constant mental struggle against Xin Mo means he can't spare energy to front. it takes constant focus! he's still a bit in his delusional shit, but even when he's going "oh no, binghe is only latched throat-deep onto my dick because he's a good boy who's concerned about me and the danger i could pose by losing control" he'd probably… well, he'd probably say that out loud to anyone who asked. he's in a half-trance, mentally battling the crazy-making sword. lying is too much work.
Wouldn’t resisting Xin Mo’s influence be the mental and spiritual equivalent to training under 400x gravity or something? his wife-beam is going to be off the charts when he puts it down.
also also: who the hell dressed him like that? fucking shang qinghua, of course, after SQQ showed up in the northern palace to punish MBJ for hurting binghe in the conference. did the system explain shit to SQH? on the one hand, extremely funny if it updates him on the role change out of nowhere mid-alliance. on the other hand, extremely funny if he only finds out because Binghe is crying safely in Qing Jing while the scum villain apparently jumped into the abyss.
Here's another link to the original AU post! I've had it open on a tab all this time just so i could point to it when I was done, so make sure to check it out!
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SORCERER DRIVE!
༘♡₊˚ˑ༄ PAIRINGSؘ: Pervert Neighbor!Gojo Satoru x Fem!reader
˚ ༘♡₊˚ˑ༄ WORD COUNT: 12.2k
˚ ༘♡₊˚ˑ༄ CW: dubcon, noncon voyeurism, perverted themes, teasing, exhibtionism, groping, male masturbation, use of sex toy, talks of wet dreams, phone sex, implied voice kink, oral(f & m receiving) fingering, heavy clit play, slight themes of possessiveness (gojo just really wants you) public sex, multiple orgasms, begging, pussydrunk!Gojo, couch sex, pussywhipped!Gojo, creampie, overstimulation, aftercare
˚ ༘♡₊˚ˑ༄XOXO, CHRIS: It’s finally here :))) Literally so proud of this fic. I put aside all my other wips for this and God, I’m just so excited to share it with you guys :P
˚ ༘♡₊˚ˑ༄ WANT MORE?ؘ
pt. 2 ft. Toji (TBD)
Sorcerer Drive.
It’s a quiet neighborhood away from the buzz of the city, casted away by freshly cut grass, swaying trees, and a piece of mind. The suburban street holds twelve pristine homes—no more and no less. Some of these homes hold couples, families, and even singles; all escaping from the hectic life of the city. Its occupants aren’t what many would call typical however, each life sharing in its vibrancy.
Sorcerer Drive is also home to one Gojo Satoru, the twenty-eight-year-old man of unhinged transparency. He’s kind, open with his home, his heart—and his intentions. He’s persistent, a little too persistent to get exactly what he wants. His signature ruse of soft words and sly manners are all cause for harm, stringing along one too many housewives during the days he had off.
He knows it’s wrong to invade but it’s the attention he seeks, longing to fill some hole in his iron-clad heart. Every woman he sets his eyes on can never really commit to Gojo, some wary of his hidden natures. His sought-out success is usually foiled by the first date, ruined by a degrading facet he can’t repress all that well. It’s unfitting for a man like him to act in such a way, unable to subdue his perverse ways.
As far as Gojo’s aware, he’s always been like this, falling apart in the presence of women. He can’t help it, the desire that sits deep within his belly. There’s something about a woman that throws all of Gojo’s coherency out the window and pulls his insatiability to mind. He’s dangerously in love with every quality of those who tease his eye. He can’t go without wondering how his latest muse would look beneath him.
Even in his neighborhood, his perverted tendencies still bled through his new persona. He’d stare at whatever crossed his way—the tops of breasts jiggling during the morning runs of the housewives, snapping pictures of the many panties slips creeping out from the shortest of dresses at cookouts, even shamelessly ogling at how the wives shower their husbands in kisses.
Block parties were his favorite, he’s cocky with the husbands but flirty with the housewives. He knows all the tricks to pull, what to say, where to touch playfully, just to simply chase some fleeting attention for those around him—solely to end with him gaining yet another enemy.
Yet, in the three years he’s lived in the quiet neighborhood, Gojo’s never known what the company of a woman can do for him. None have ever been welcoming of his antics, both bold and suggestive. He only thrives off what surrounds him, gathering his collective moments of joy.
And it’s been that tragic cycle for as long as he’s known…until fate pulled on his tattered string.
There’s a house before his own, a shade of a pretty blue with its complements of white. And for as long as Gojo’s lived on the street, it’s never known the feeling of holding life. However, it wasn’t until just a few days ago that the desperate call for company was answered, the pitted sale sign finally freed from its staked prison.
Upon sight of the sign’s removal, Gojo’s imagination hasn’t found rest. He could begin to think of who his mystery neighbor could be—though, he hoped for a beautiful woman without the strings of a relationship or a family. He hoped for someone who was free for bonds of a family, could take in him for all he was, perfections and flaws alike.
Even now, he’s found himself whisked into the fantasy world of his living room window, watching the gathering clutter of brown boxes on the lawn of the neighboring house. Why, Gojo’s bubbling with an excitement so rich, he’s abandoned the breakfast he’s worked so hard to prepare. The icy hues of his eyes linger along every corner of the opposing house’s window, desperate to gain some insight into his soon-to-be acquaintance.
It’s almost unlike Gojo to express such childish whimsy, his fair skin roused with a cherry bliss. The highs of his cheeks and ears share in the same reality, dusted in its whimsical pink glow. The trilling giggles roll from his tongue, warming the air in its purity. He’s never found himself in such a state as this one, unsure of what really brews in the back of his mind.
He knows it’s something. It could be the joy of having a new face in the neighborhood, one who has yet to learn of his true natures. It could be the mystery clouding around said face, though he prays it’s the woman of his dreams. Needless to say, his reaction is a mindless one, the spill of words riddled with the confusion of intrigue and lust.
“God, I think I’m in love!”
A strained groan cuts through the air, Gojo’s uttering met with his own resistance. He’s reluctant to give into himself but can’t find anything to do except that. There’s a chance that his inspiring thoughts could be for naught, only to be met with the harsh reality awaiting him. The thick digits of his hand strum through the pure white locks of his hair, paired with a fatal sigh breaking the air.
Whether he is right or wrong. Gojo knows he alone stands in the way of discovering the truth. It’s because of that realization that he can swallow down his nerves—and pride—to make the first move in the unofficial game of cat and mouse, peeling away from his kitchen window and slipping out through his back door.
That lone thought fuels him, knowing that has to uncover the mystery before anyone else gets their hands on his muse. Gojo simply had to make the first impression, gathering his abundance of confidence to stroll through his front door, large hands sinking deep into the pockets of his navy slacks.
Dizziness dots his sights with patchy stars and all Gojo can do is bear the grave thumps of his heart clogging his sanities. “So much for that dopey build of confidence, huh Satoru?” the sole muttering to pass through Gojo’s lips as the fog of doubt doubles in its weight.
It’s the possibility that his hopes could be shattered upon the reveal of who now dons the title of his neighbor. He knows his whims can’t manifest into the woman of his dream but maybe the universe can smile down on him just this once…right?
Gojo peels his hands from his pockets, allowing for the pad of his digit to linger over the small button of a doorbell for a moment. He’s already come so far for second thought, being overwhelmed by the sinister blend of intrigue and lust flourishing all too well in his veins. The pearly whites of his teeth sink into the plush of his lips as he takes in a final breath, his finger pressing gently against the doorbell.
In a matter of seconds, the white door rips open from its post, revealing to Gojo a sight for sore eyes. It’s a dream turned into reality as the door rips from its post, all of his whims manifesting before his blown eyes.
Gojo’s breathing it all in, the woman leaning against the door’s frame with an arm braced for balance. He can’t begin to comprehend his thoughts, the composure he’s lost within moments gone to the wind. The heavy thumps of his heart chime at his ears once more the longer Gojo stares at your disinterest, a frigid wash of nerves licking across his skin.
There’s uncaringness riddled in the hues of your eyes—— the annoyance of interruption bleeding through to your spoken words.
“Listen, for the last time, I just moved here. I don’t wanna sign up for the—oh…hello there.”
Gojo’s still stifled in his thoughts, the presence of you rendering him numb. He had yet to speak without removing his eyes from you, scanning down the luscious curves hidden beneath the silk black robe. He clings to a scene quite particular in his favor, the supple mounds of your cleavage spilling from the robe.
“Um…,” your tone soaked in tender concern, eyelids narrowing in sight at the stricken man, “You look a little red in the face, sir. Are you okay, do you need some water or–”
The sinister blend of intrigue and lust flourish all too well in his veins as Gojo’s hand rushes to cut the air, the brash attempt to hold contact with you.
“I’m Gojo Satoru, 28 years old and I live right there, across the street…from…you!” His cherry-tipped ears are met with the delight of a giggle, your soft palm slipping into his own.
“Nice to meet you, Gojo. I’m Y/N! Call me your new neighbor!”
Gojo nods at your words, battling his snowflake-like lashes. He’s managed to pull you into a senseless conversation about the neighborhood, linked hands losing their strength. Your burning questions should matter to him, but Gojo’s too enthralled at serving his palm passing glances, the tingling warmth dancing about his skin.
“Fuck, can’t wait to see if her hand’s this soft ‘round me. S’ soft and warm, just squeezing at every inch of me,” Gojo’s unfiltered thoughts wandering to unreached highs.
It’s lewd in the way Gojo thinks, his mind far more deranged than what he’s led to believe. A switch flicks in his brain, his pervasive tendencies edging to ruin what facade he’s worked so hard to withhold. He’s seconds into a cliché trial of small talk, but can’t ignore how puffy your lips get when his words pull a giggle from your chest, or how your fingers rattled along the frame mindlessly.
It has him pondering—imagining—how puffy your lips could become against his own, smothered in a mess of spit and sparse bites. His cock thumps at the lewd thought, hoping that one day your thumb would work the same mindless pattern along his blushed head as you do to the wooden frame.
And he has yet to address the way your legs cross in your leaned stance, his thoughts hinged on the bundle of warmth residing between the chub of your inner thighs. He, your robe highlighting the little bow of your panties imprinting itself through the thin robe. One wrong move and he’ll see it all, the fat lips of your cunt just barely fitted behind pesky sheets of fabric.
Yet he’s so desperate to maintain the peace that Gojo has no choice but to shed his immoral self, his laggard breaths setting onto a steady pace. A subtle shake of his head is all it takes for what moments he can get, following his way back into the closing conversation.
“Well, I hope to see you around, Gojo.”
Maddening is the only thing fit to describe Gojo’s state, desperately searching to earn a minute more of his presence. He simply couldn’t return home, at least not yet. How could he willingly turn back knowing that you—the woman of his dreams—existed within fifteen feet of his reach? He had to find a way to entrap you, ensure that he’d be the only man to ever enter the temple of your home.
“W-Wait! If you ever—and I mean ever— need me for an extra pair of hands, I’m right here…unless your husband isn’t okay with that?”
“Oh, that’s not gonna be possible…considering that I’ve been divorced for the past two years. But since you’re offering, I’ll call on you!”
Before the moment can end, Gojo digs into his back pocket, pulling his phone out as another conversational segway.
“Can I get your number then? Makes it easier for both you and me.”
Gojo watches as you take the phone from him, thumbs typing away at the ten digits needed. He studies the focus that shrouds your features, imprinting every detail he can take. The gentle coo of your voice breaks his concentration, does eyes of a frigid blue falling in line with you.
“Here you go, hopefully, you’ll get a call soon…Gojo.”
All you do is give Gojo a giddy smile as you place the device back into his palm, before waving goodbye, bringing the door in delayed haste. You don’t know what you’ve done by revealing that detail to Gojo, the man stiff with an impressional glee.
The limited interaction plagues Gojo’s mind for the day’s remainder, the evening rolling around through his feverish daze. It’s been ensnared in his brain longer than he’s anticipated, his lewd thoughts following him into the night’s shower.
Water droplets bloom against his skin, washing away the snowy suds of soap and a sliver of his day’s sins. Gojo believed he had a handle on himself as he showered—until the white noise of silence leads his troubled mind to stray. He can’t get over how perfect you are, your smile, your voice, down to how the robe just barely protected you from him. He’d be lying if he didn’t want to see more, remembering how his digits twitch with the absurdity to strip your body down to the beauty of bare skin.
It��s such a thought that Gojo couldn’t help himself, his cock strained with a painful urge. Each droplet of the showerhead’s water struck him heavier than the last. The whimpers that rip from his chest are nothing short of chilling disgust. He didn’t want to lace his shaky hand around the thick tip, sealing the spry nerves in an etching fist.
His need for release has him so weak, his body trusting the brace of his forehead against the gray tile. He can’t ignore the ghastly sensitivity his body is forced to endure. From the building steam clouding his tiled chamber, his robust shower gel slicking him a cold sheen, he’s nearly crumbled beneath his own mundane actions.
Did you have to dress so freely, innocently provoking the hellish terror residing deep inside Gojo’s stomach. The pulling gush has yet to suspend, its heat swelling at his balls. He can feel the bloat of cum growing heavier than he’s ever bared.
That’s why Gojo brings his eyes to a close, filthy scenes obscuring his mind with images of you naked on his bed. He can see everything so clearly it’s utterly shameful—those legs of yours parted just for him, dainty fingers working hard at the cute bulb of your clit. Gentle, soft enough to coax shivering pretty moans from your chest. Gojo’s mentally noting how your touch trails between your folds to your glossy slit, two fingers barely fitting inside.
The tips of his digits tease the inflamed head of his cock with whispy swipes, foamy bubbles of pre trickling past his worked knuckles. Yet the crippling sensation isn’t enough for Gojo, bringing the full brute of his strength to strum about his cock. He doesn’t even have time to admire how his veins rise to meet his touch, the overwhelming rush of blood causing his head to spin.
“Just like that, k-keep going,—fuck, you’re so tight!”
He’s hung on the sight of you, weakened hips hoisting into the air with the swift delves of your fingers scarcely stretching your slit. There’s no comparison in his mind, knowing that your digits could never reach as deep as his cock could. You’re just barely scratching the surface of your body as far as he believes, leaving so much untouched yet so much to be discovered. He can almost hear you too, his mind conjuring the sweetest coos he has but to indulge.
At that alone, Gojo’s body falls into a shuddering hunch, his back folding at the breathless stir in his lungs. His slender hand lays waste to his poor cock, careless strides roaming from base to tip. To Gojo’s demise, it’s all in vain. He can’t handle the recoils of his strokes, the insufferable drag towards the bed of messy white hair freeing breathless moans from his chest. Even the force he strived to maintain shattered in his hands, bare thighs bearing the rippling waves stinging at his balls.
“You’re gonna keep playing with that pretty pussy fr’ me, right? I—fuck—need you to, Baby…‘m so close!”
His precum’s sticky when it spreads further across the expanse of his cock, the vile squelches echoing in his ear. He only seems to be growing more within his hand, bigger, thicker, and farther from his envied high.
“Fuckfuckfuck, I wanna cum for you, Y/N! S’ bad! Wanna watch it drip everywhere, your tits, cute funny, all over your pussy! I j-just wann—“
The rushing spill of white rinses over Gojo’s hand, the beads of water rising away his sins. Through the huffs of his emptied lungs, he stands in dismay, watching every drop wither into the abyss of nothing. His hand softly smacks the wall of the shower, quivering lips muttering his final thoughts.
“You weren’t supposed to waste it, Princess. All my hard work…gone like that.”
Regret sets in as a sigh empties from Gojo’s chest, his weary hand turning the shiny valve. The water’s suspension seals the last of his misfortune, the man returning to reality when he steps from the glass chamber. Disgust doesn’t resonate with Gojo as he peers into his mirror, imprints of steam drifting across the glass. It’s a passing glance but one he’s dangerously proud of amidst strolling towards his dimmed bedroom.
His digits reach for the towels he’s laid across the mahogany duvets, the contrasting fibers grazing across his skin. Gojo’s inches from it before a sight like no other catches his greedy eye, eyelids parting in pure shock.
To his unfortunate luck, the windows of his bedroom peer straight into yours—one free of any coverage as of now.
It’s a sight he knows he’s too blessed for, your body sheathed in the plush towel of white. It’s clingy, hinged on every curve of your figure. A squint is forced upon Gojo as he focuses on you, watching the faint sheet of fluff unravel at a single tug. Lust consumes him, clouded hues gawking at the plump swells of your chest and the curves of your physique, all set in his untimely direction.
Gojo’s hand settles over his chest, hardened pads drifting down to his flittering abs. He can’t believe it, how dumb you could be to allow a man like him to gaze at the divine physique of your body. A feeble pry claws at Gojo’s fading will, pulling him to fall onto his bed.
He gives you one final glance before whimpering out his distressing plea.
“Look at you, so close but so far…’nd you’re so perfect.”
His hand slips into the top drawer of his bedside, the shameful shell of his beloved pocket pussy falling into his grasp. Was it wrong of Gojo to get off to his explicit thought once more? Even going as far as to use what scene he had of you for entertainment?
Why...of course not.
His digits race to greet his mouth, the makeshift cup pooling with his spit. All it takes is a single rushed stroke to coat his length in the threaded gloss, eagerly nuzzling the slit of the toy over his own.
He’s swift to feed the growing impatience, pulling the toy to loosely hang around the tip of his cock. Sensitivity aided in his hand, the stings of the recent orgasm lingering at the forefront of his brain. Everything’s still clouded to Gojo, the blinding pulls along his girth to bring him to the present.
It soon became a harsh pill to swallow, that pit in his stomach deepening. He’s studying how the toy’s lips spread around his cock, the scene shrouding a haze of disgust over him. It’s nothing as he wishes it to be, no warmth, no gush, no heavenly moans begging for him to slow down. The feeling’s merely sinking deeper in Gojo’s mind, his body falling flat onto the bed at last.
“S-Shit…it’s not tight enough—fuck!”
His grip couldn’t afford to be any more endearing, his throbbing cock engulfed in a numbing squeeze. In truth, Gojo wasn’t sure what he was so desperate for, giving aim to an unsure goal. His hand could squeeze, swivel, and pull at his shaft all they wanted, but nothing can ever compare to the anticipation of having you clamped around him, struggling to take each fattened inch. He has yet to comprehend what has his hips jolting to meet the toy’s sad excuse for a cervix, or why his lust for you brought along gravitating rivers of sweat to lave across his scorned body.
“I-I can’t even– it’s no good, ‘m not gonna cum when the real thing is right there,” the summoning of Gojo’s desperate call to awaken. He’s aggravated with urgency, anxious to cum, but all the while, can’t commit to chasing the sweet high. The wretched pocket pussy gets paid a mere gaze, only to be ripped off his twitching cock with strings of glimmering precum in tow.
He wants to be the bigger person, to shut his own blinds out of respect...then again, Gojo isn’t that kind in both morals or character. Laying in his own misery, he stole a few gaps at you, grinning at how the night’s attire of a white tank and pink panties suited you best.
Amidst his gaudy oglings, sleep edges at his mind as heavy eyelids follow in the sun’s setting path. Gojo giggles to himself before mouthing off once more, ensuring that his mischievous dreams, and desires would soon manifest in his hands.
“Pray for the day I get my hands on you, Y/N. I swear I’m never letting go.”
Those words loom over Gojo’s head for the duration of the week, serving as a reminder to him. Why, he has to be on his best behavior for you, pitting all his perverted mannerisms to rot. During the day, he catches you on your daily expedition to the mailbox for idle chatter. It’s a fleeting few minutes but Gojo learns more and more about you. Within the days he’s caught your attention, he’s learned about your occupation, your favorite foods, and films.
He’s saving all these trivial exchanges for a certain day—like today— for when Gojo crosses your path again, a day written by the Gods themselves.
Since he had the chance to meet you, Gojo’s thoughts have revolved around you and only you. Your smile, your laugh, the way your nose scrunches while deep in thought—all of it, Gojo’s been hung up on. His days are spent on you, thoughts and imagination dedicated to you and you alone. He can’t help but reminisce on the minutes he’d spend with you, the mere trade of words igniting a hidden facet in his heart.
He’s unsure of what to call it, the very thing that hinders his day-to-day life as of late. He’s too intrigued to call it a crush but wouldn’t dare tread the lines of obsession. It’s a conflicting matter for one such as him, one that tests every fiber in Gojo’s being.
He’s never been so attentive to someone other than himself before, his interest in you surpassing the field of lust alone. He can spend hours just thinking about you, how you smiled at him the first time with such care, how you made him melt beneath your gaze.
He isn’t one to form connections, attachment never did serve the man well. Though, at the face of your arrival to the neighborhood, Gojo’s once paraded lifestyle now hints at the inevitable downfall. He’s suddenly frantic for your attention, yet shied away from his sprouts of self-doubt. He’s afraid to admit just how much he wants you, to have you around him at every waking moment.
For now, he resorts to the method he knows best, taking to his living room window to catch every rare appearance you’d make. Whether it be you walking down to the mailbox, discarding the next round of moving boxes, or simply stepping out to watch the sunset, Gojo sought to capture it all.
But today brings its own fruits of bliss, providing Gojo with the hand-delivered game of chance. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, you hoisting the next batch of trash out to the front lawn.
Yet, there’s something different in him, Gojo pinned to his favorite place amongst his living room window. Sure, he’s observing as you drag the next ensemble of boxes behind your heels, but that’s not what has his attention piqued.
He should be used to it by now, all the short outfits you’ve flaunted to the outside world. But nothing could compare to the pure lamb white tank and matching skirt adorning your curves. He can’t seem to take his eyes away from the cute pout breaks across your visage.
A furrowed brow, lips fostering a glossy pout and puffy cheeks limp with fatigue all entice Gojo to lengths even he can’t comprehend. He can tell you need some guidance, someone to tell you where to go from there.
Gojo’s more inclined to stand to his feet now, strolling to his front door once again. The sweep of deja vu settles onto him is chilling, the same cycle of steps repeating themselves. Just like the day he’d recognized your presence, Gojo can’t do anything but approach you with careful steps.
He’s brought to the scene in the lewdest of ways—you bent over the growing batch of folded cardboard. It doesn’t help that his ear picks up on every feeble whimper that escapes from your mouth, the clear frustration written in your voice. He is undoubtedly without shame as his gaze graces your body, grinning at how your panties tease past the edge of your skirt.
You’re so cute like this, too caught up in your own little world to notice Gojo’s staggering build towering behind you. He could stay like this forever, watching as you continuously shift through the clutter.
As pure as it’s intended, sin never lurks too far when it comes to Gojo. His hands slip into his pockets without delay, stretching the fabric of his navy slacks to conceal the growing bulge. It’s not his fault your skirt falls so short of you, but he isn’t one to complain either. The sight only triggers that devious side of him, firing all sorts of thoughts to cloud his tainted brain.
Gojo knows he can’t get ahead of himself, not when he still has to maintain his fragile impression around you. All it takes for a single huff of air to crowd Gojo’s lungs for him to speak at last, the spiteful smirk embedded behind his words.
“Quite the mess you’ve got here. The recycling truck only comes once every other week, y’know.”
The bit of insight he offers is enough to pull your attention elsewhere, your head whipping around to meet his lidded regards.
“Oh, hi Gojo! I know, right?! It’s even more of a mess inside too!”
Gojo takes the chance to close the distance, leaning over your hunched form gradually. His head falls into a timely tilt, allowing him to breathe in the shift in nature befalling you. Suddenly, ripples of blinks overtake your eyelids, lips faltering to hold fast to the pretty pout. He seals your brash flusters with the soft hum of his voice, the warmth of his breath fanning across the tip of your nose.
“Well…aren’t you gonna ask me for help? I do remember saying I’d be here to give you an extra pair of hands for all your…problems.”
There’s a silence falling amongst you both, the eyes of you two falling into a blurred line. Gojo’d be lying if he said he didn’t succumb to you too, the exterior of smug pride crumbling with each second. Sure, Gojo has you stifled in your steps, forced to endure the sweltering heat of his stare—but he’s the one that suffers in the end. Waves of heat strum throughout his body, laying claim to the highs of his cheeks and ears alike. His chest lags in the slightest of breaths, the uneven pace coming to light.
His ears perk at the aimless whimpers spilling from your mouth, ensuring that your body shares in the same symptoms—uneased breaths, flares of heat, and uncertainty pitted deep within your belly. He wants to reach out, hoping his hand could bring you down from the fluttering gates of nirvana. It takes for the tiny squeak of your voice’s inquiry to break the fallen silence.
“Can you…help me fix the inside…please? I’d appreciate it so much!”
“ ‘Course I will! Just lead the way, beautiful!”
You offer Gojo a pleasant nod before turning from him, dainty hands clutching at your chest. Within a matter of moments, he’d so easily brought you to your knees. From his sly grin, his overwhelming allure, down to the very way he seems to keep a specific look for you, Gojo could just as easily have you wrapped around his finger should he say the words.
“Over there, I need the most help in the kitchen,” your hand pointing in the appropriate direction as you close the door behind him.
Gojo encounters your sights for a brief moment more, a toothy grin spreading itself thin as he explores your home. Finally, he has you to himself, free from any wandering eyes to be found along the block.
“It’s nice in here, Y/N. I see you like the finer things, just something else we have in common.”
“Thanks, but wait till everything’s in place, finish cleaning and arranging…it’s gonna be great!”
You pay Gojo one final glare of amusement, the teasing stares pulling you both towards the unkempt vast of the kitchen. There’s a certain set of cabinets that call your attention, the blanched wood doors wide in welcomes your gaze. Your finger points to the plates before you, recalling the details of Gojo’s task.
“Since you’re tall, can you put the plates up in the cabinet? I’ll put the pots and pans in the lower cabinets.”
A cheeky smile is all it takes for Gojo to oblige, breaking his looming stare to tend to his assignments. Though, as much as Gojo wants to help you out, he truly can’t. Within the placement of one plate, his focus finds means elsewhere, those blue eyes hinged on you beside him.
How could he carry on such a leisure task when he has you so close to him, the curve of your ass just hugging at the thighs of his pants. There’s so much to unfold and too much for him to ignore—the bend consuming your body revealing more than he deserves. The warmth of your skin pecks at his skin, a thrill of heat surfacing to your touch.
You’re soft against him, brushing a silky plush donning the title of your skin. He just doesn’t get it, why must your skirt be so short teasing the whims of a man like himself? He wants to look away, savor the time he’s been given with you thoughtfully…
But damn it all when you dip forward to better your reach, the silhouette of your cunt sucking through the thin inseam of your black lace panties. For a moment—just a brief moment—Gojo’s blessed with the delicate curves of your clothed pussy.
It’s tantalizing to him, pulling his mind to an unmatched euphoria. His mind is swift to flood with his lewd thoughts, hoping that one day he hopes to endure the forbidden sight of your cunt’s lips splitting around his cock.
“Oh fuck!” his inner thoughts coming to light. He’s swift to conceal the slip of his words with a cough, the deep draw straining his throat. It’s enough for you to jolt, bouncing back onto your feet to tend to Gojo.
“Gojo! Wait, I’ll get you a cup of wat—”
Before you can even think, the brash pads of Gojo’s hand lace your dainty fingers into his own. He pulls your hand to the plush pink curves of his lips, placing a lingering peck along your laxed knuckles. His free hand slips to fill the small of your back, pulling you to crash against the chest of his black sweater.
“Well, well well, look at you, racing around to help little ole’ me…just knew you were perfect fr’ me.”
His eyes flicker over you once more, a rush of thrill licking at his skin. The question he has is heavy, sits a little too heavy on his chest. That’s why he has to say it—to free himself of his one true desire.
“Let me take you out…tonight. I can show you around town, show you all my favorite spots and more.”
“A date? Already? We just met, Gojo…I don’t…”
A cast of hesitation settles onto you both, a tension so thick that neither of you could withdraw. Gravity condemns you to his side, body falling prey to Gojo’s allure. There’s something about the man that compels you, the saccharine tone of persuasion dripping from his voice. He could put you in a trance and you’d be at his every whim, that alone serving as your conclusion.
“Okay, pick me up around seven. I’m kinda tired of being surrounded by so many boxes and dust.”
Gojo presses a final kiss onto your knuckles before breaking away from you, an indescribable elation written across his features.
“I promise you won’t regret it. I’ll make the night worth your while.”
With that, Gojo left from your side, unable to wipe the stupid grin from his face. A date with the woman of his dreams, the thought alone pulling nervous flutters from his heart.
Through a passing glance, he manages to catch a glimpse of the digital clock embedded in the stovetop: 4:30 pm.
From the moment he left your home and entered his own, ensuring your good favor was all that weighed heavy on Gojo’s mind. He simply had to win you over, knowing that you too shared some interest in him.
It’s the first time in a long time that Gojo’s felt this way, endowed to someone other than himself. In Gojo’s eyes, to have you is to have all the riches in the world. He knows there’s something so different about you, something that sets his body aflame.
That’s why in the hours he has left to prepare for the impromptu date, he puts in all the effort to become the best version of himself. From grooming his closet for the finest outfit—stone gray slacks, a mauve silk button, and his favorite set of leather black loafers— picking up a bouquet of white roses for good measure, and rushing to arrange reservations at the nearest restaurant a few block away, Gojo knew he’d have to use all the tricks in his arsenal to eventually call you his one day.
By the time seven did set in, Gojo brought himself to stand right outside your door, wearing that stupid smile once more. The nerves have yet to settle beneath his fair skin, flairs of red ripping across his cheeks and ears alike. Before he can bring his finger to press the small button, deja vu befalls Gojo again.
He’s welcomed by the sight of you, dressed in an orange satin mini dress. His eyes hang upon every inch of you, the dress’ low cut neckline especially appealing to Gojo’s taste, coaxing the corners of his lips to tease with a smirk.
He hands you the bundle of florals carefully, allowing his fingers to graze along your own for a moment. Gojo lets his head fall into a tilt, plush lips of pink curving as he watches your expression bloom into a whimsical grim.
“Don’t you look perfect? The color suits you, Gorgeous.”
“Aw, why thank you! But first…tell me where we’re going…please?”
“Like I said, I wanna show you around. There’s a nice restaurant a few blocks from where we’re walking to, I think you’ll like it.” He lets his hand fall from the bouquet to brush along your waist, the mere weight of his touch drawing you to rest against his chest. The pinning force melds within his heart as he’s finally introduced to your body’s warmth, a subtle sigh escaping from his lungs.
“Let’s get goin’ I wanna spend as much time with you as I can…y’know, being a gentleman and all.”
The words Gojo utters aren’t so much spoken for your liking, as they are to him—a reminder of the persona he wears tonight. And for the night, he swore to maintain his composure, to keep his dangerous thoughts away in order to hit every mark with you.
A final glance of exchanges takes its place between you both before the journey begins, Gojo leading with you by his side.
“Gojo…who lives in that house?” you hand motioning towards the passing house. Gojo’s eyes fall into a squint, a scoff trailing from out his lips at the realization.
“Oh...that’s Toji Fushiguro. I heard he’s in his forties and lives alone in the house. But, he’s someone you should stay away from, especially when you’ve got me,” he teases, using all his efforts to distract you from Toji’s burning stare.
Your eyes linger on him for a moment longer, such imbues of green searing into your memory. He’s not one to forget, the man lounging upon his porch with a smoke in hand. His eyes are murky with an unseen objective, the lingering leer fading away with a salacious wink doused in trouble. A gasp escapes from your lips at his notion, intrigue bubbling high among your sentiments.
“He seems interesting, though…” the last review you give Toji before he’s out of sight.
It isn’t long before you reach the restaurant, the soft twinkle of lights meeting your eye. The quaint establishment holds no more than a few, the other patrons spread thin across the restaurant floor. You and Gojo found yourselves towards the back, a table free from the immediate presence of others.
The tension between you both is one of a thickened atmosphere, both of you itching to solve the mystery of each other. Rather than ask Gojo your burning question, you wait an assured time without interruption, the opportunity presenting itself minutes after the waiter receives the orders of dinner.
You find yourself pulled towards Gojo, his speechlessness creating an aura of enticement for your favor. Your eyes suffer the weight of intrigue, eyelids heavy with an underlying taunt of lust. Your hands fold beneath your chin for support, the gradual silence coming to an end.
“Tell me Gojo, why are you single? You’re such a handsome man with a really smooth personality, it honestly shocks me that you are.”
Gojo’s hand rises from the white tablecloth, slender rubbing at the point of his chin. It’s a question he’s addressed but has yet to confront the clauses of such an inquiry. He knows the answer through and through but knows he’ll scare you—the woman he’s been waiting for— away. But he prays you’ll understand him, understand why he is the way he is and accept all that came with him. He gives you one wavering glance before replying, a hefty sigh guiding the spill of words.
“Why am I single?...it’s more than what you’d believe, Princess. I’m not all that…accepted, to put it shortly. And I can’t be with someone who doesn’t accept all of me, right?”
Eager to close the distance, Gojo pits himself inches from you, a lazy stare lurking across your placid visage. You’re eager for an answer, that much is enlightened to Gojo through the thick shroud of silence. He grants your burning question with another facer to be uncovered, the question rolling off his tongue with sinful ease.
“Can you accept all of me? All it takes is a date to know if you wanna put up with someone…so does that same ideal—Oh, look at that, I dropped my fork.”
You watch as Gojo sinks beneath his seat towards the burgundy carpet. All’s quiet for the seconds your date spends hidden underneath the table…all until the vibrations of your phone earn your distant attention. Bringing the call to your ear, your voice leads the conservation with a shushed giggle, your head tilting in a blissful delight.
“Is there a reason you’re calling me from under the table, Gojo?”
“Of course there’s a reason, I want you to hear everything I have to say…”
The tips of Gojo’s digits brush along the prominent curve of your thigh. A heft of warmth follows his breath as he inches towards you, brimming your skin with a chilling lick of desire. It’s almost embarrassing for you to admit, the swirling flame crowding at the dormant bulb of your clit. There’s a prowling heat that consumes your cunt, the plunging weight wedged between your poor walls. A bare squeak rips from your lungs, only to fade beneath the barrage of Gojo’s speech.
“You asked why I’m single, it’s true that no woman has really accepted me…but there’s more to it. I’m a mess when it comes to love, I let lust run as high as my heart and no one has really kept up with me because of that. As for you, my pretty girl…you’re so cute, so perfect for me to ruin. From the moment we met, I just knew you were the woman of my dreams. There’s something hidden deep within you—and I wanna be the one to bring it out.”
“So then, you wanna–”
“I wanna lose myself in you. Touch you, kiss you, call you mine, I just want you so bad it hurts.”
You can’t comprehend how fast Gojo’s fingers sneak beneath your dress to tug at your panties. Then again, you can’t begin to comprehend how fast you’ve fallen at his pleas, your thighs breaking from the harsh clasp for his head to fill the space. It’s the anticipation that has you this wet, what has your skin inflamed with spry nerves, the thrill of Gojo indulging in your pussy within the company just surrounding the promiscuous atmosphere.
The plea laced behind his pants brought along a course of thirst throughout your body. You can’t wait for it, the soft heat of his tongue dragging through your folds, strides of spit melting with your nectar, the moans pried from the depths of his chest. The thin cloth suddenly grows to be an annoyance, your hips bucking to wedge the cinched waistband from its post.
“Please…please, let me do it. I just wanna make you feel good, just me and me only.
“Fuck, Gojo, I–”
At the sound of your voice, Gojo finally allows himself to falter in your stead, shedding the kind persona he’d donned for the night. His fingers tug the pesky panties of yours down your legs, the limp white cotton bunched at your ankles. His touch drifts further across your body, a gentle rattle against your skin forcing your thighs apart.
Gojo can’t resist it any longer, the vast of his palm breaking from your thigh. The tips of fingers trace the curves of your cunt’s lip in tease, parting the plushy mounds to reveal the ness awaiting him. The sticky unclasp echoes in his ears, a hiss of resistance cutting through the air.
He’s met by the salacious mess of your pussy, the puffy lips breaking from the sticky hold. It’s more than he expected, the glossy strands of your essence dripping from the hood of your clit. The patterns dresses your pussy in a delicate manner, fragile strands illuminating your folds. Yet what teases at that ache deep within his stomach was your slit, soapy flutterings gasping to be filled. The threads string across the silky sheets are diamondlike, glimmering even in the dimmest of light.
“Look at how much of a mess you made fr’ me, Baby—fuck!— clit’s so damn cute under my fingers. Bet you wanna cum real bad…but not yet. Not until I play with you, alright?”
All you can do is whimper out your transgressions to Gojo, the cry of urgency muted by your cupping hand. He’s so gentle with his touch, the calloused pads of his fingers drifting along the glistening folds to reach your clit. He’s so gentle that it’s teasing, laying a fluttering trail to swirl about the pearl. Why, he’s so gentle that it's taunting, your hips reeling from his touch. Yet, all you earn is a huff from Gojo through the phone, his sloppy grip bracing your hip.
“Don’t do that, just gonna make you cum harder now, y’know.”
You don’t know it just yet, that side of Gojo that can alone uphold his honor. The side that keeps his word, ensuring that he’ll follow through on his part. The same principle applies to you all the same. It’s why he can bring his tongue to your frail slit, dragging that slippery ingraining stride through your folds—just to strike the raw bulb of your clit. The whimpers, gasps, and moans all fill Gojo’s ear, spitefully pawing at his ego. It fuels him to pursue further endeavors to test you.
“So pretty, Baby. Gonna let me kiss that pretty clit too, aren’t you?” his voice tapering across your roused skin. “Now relax, let me suck your clit, ‘kay?”
His words pull at your body’s temperament, releasing a wave of frigid heat to shroud your pussy. The plush mounds of his lips lay soft kisses against your clit, teasingly sealing the hood between each peck. At first, it isn’t noticeable, just the puffy seal of his lips enveloping the perked bud.
The gradual pull of your clit that alerts you, the streamlined squelching suckles pinned on the raw nerves. He’s even managed to make a mess of you, returning spools of spit dripping from his pursed hold over your clit.
The slobbering unclasp of his lips chime through the call, the lewd symphony strumming through your lips. His fingers cup at your cunt, parted digits placing gentle pulsing squeezes along your clit. Gojo pulls back for a moment, hungered eyes taking in the beautiful fixture he’d made out of your pussy.
“Mhm, that’s it, good girl, relax fr’ me. I think I’m falling in love with your pussy—tastes so good.”
“Oh m-my God!! Fuck Gojo, y-you can’t say it like that!”!
“Aww, but it’s the truth. Your pussy s’ good and fuck… twitching against my tongue like that. You’re so needy, Angel…gonna make you cum real soon.”
Just as he promised, the final clasp of his swollen lips brings about your downfall, the mind-shattering orgasm milking at your worth. A chain reaction breaks across your body, claiming your lungs in a breathless gasp. It’s heavy, the insufferable burden pulling the hull of your chest to the surface. Your legs know no bounds either, the innermost plush threatening to smother Gojo.
He repels himself from you before harm could arise, dragging the flat of his tongue along his plump lips. Pride boils at the forefront of Gojo’s mind as he returns to his seat, wearing a nonchalant smile in your presence. He knows what’s passing through that fuzzy mind of yours, the hues of lust and curiosity melding into one. The look of widened eyes, high eyebrows, and an agape mouth tell Gojo all he needs to know as he sets his phone down onto the white tablecloth: you’re curious.
The questions of what he can do to you fill up your mind, latent desires grooming at the surface of your skin. Gojo’s awakened something inside you, something that can’t quite be transcribed into words. It’s heat, a warmth so fierce that it grows with impatience.
The longer you return his gaze, the heavier the flames weigh on your mind. It entraps your entire body in a trap of heat, the inescapable urge swirling deep within your shuddering tummy. Suddenly, a single demand falls from your lips without regret in sight.
“Gojo, I really…um…I really wanna go now.”
“Aww, but we haven’t even eaten yet. I guess we can—
“Take it to go? We can do all that at the reception table. So can we…go…now?”
Gojo falls back in his seat as he stares at you, hiding a growing grin behind with the single thought looming above.
He’s got you. Exactly where he wants you, a hot and rowdy mess falling before his very eyes.
In response to his goal being met, Gojo stands up straight from his spot on the chair. His hand falls from its hold as a makeshift shield, presenting both his beckoning call and grin to you.
“C’mon, let’s get you home. I’d hate to keep you waiting.”
Leading you back home was nothing short of thrilling to Gojo. He studies you with a watchful eye, how you dropped your walls for the likes of him. It’s not vulnerability in the slightest but a taste of a life he’s always sought for. And here you come, providing him an earnest peek at that softer, susceptible side of you.
Your touch welcomes him, warms his heart to a point as he bears your dainty hands clinging to his sleeve. He’s exposed to this soft side of you by the soft nudge of your kisses, his cheek covered in trailing pecks as he struggles to pay for the night’s incomplete outing.
Gojo can’t help but fall prey to you, his heart set aflutter with skipping pangs. He finds himself returning your endearing favors, catching your lips in a kiss every so often. His touch vacates anything formal, fitted perfectly along your lower back to squeeze at the swell of your ass.
All the formalities Gojo should have maintained fell from his arsenal with every passing minute it takes to reach your home, the quaint house welcoming both your heavy hearts. He’s clinging to you, a hand pulsing at the plush of your waist and the other occupied with the bag of forgotten dinner.
“Do you…” Gojo begins, his smirked lips curling at the shell of your ear. “Need help with the keys?
His digits drift along the flushed skin of your forearm, lacing around your palm to aid in the envied endeavor.
“Just one last turn and…that’s the click. Now…push open that door if you don’t want the neighbors to see.”
Your body’s compelled to fall to Gojo’s words, entering through to the door with crazed haste. As the door falls shut, there’s a break in the tension, a moment for your mind to return to some state of coherency. Your first instinct is to walk, to separate for just a step. But it’s his swiftness you overlook, how quick he comes over to tower over you.
The hull of Gojo’s chest harbors a heavy tune, scattered breaths melding through you. His arm travels across your hips, laxed fingers creating lazy pleats along the hem of your dress.
“No, no, no…I finally have you to myself, Pretty girl. Where do you think you’re goin’ ?”
Your eyes cower with obligation dotting the blurred hues of your eyes. You can’t refuse Gojo, not with the pulling attraction guiding your heart thus far. Especially when he towers above you like this, the heat of his encasing you whole. There’s almost a compelling force, something bringing you onto your toes to close the distance. Your lips just barely brush past his own, the puffy heat teasing you with an invite.
“I’m…—!”
Gojo’s lips meet your own, the intoxicating smother of heat exhausting remnants of your energy. It’s intoxicating, how fixed you’ve become to his touch. There isn’t a moment to falter. Your lips cling to his own, such supple curves desperate to match the careful weaves he guides you through.
Languid trudges usher you and Gojo to the living room, smothered bodies collapsing onto the black leather cushions. He pulls you to warm his lap, hands steady along your hips. He’s so insistent to close any distance that keeps you both apart. It’s why his hands are sent clutch at your dress, tugging at the silk to pull right over your head.
Clothes continue to sprinkle across the room, piles upon piles falling to the abyss surrounding the lucid scene. His lips return to adorn your body, mindless pecks falling into the crook of your neck. His kisses bring about a rouse beneath your skin, each press of his lips earning a rush of blood to greet him. The trails of his affections fall prey to the valley of your chest.
Truth be told, he’s been dying for this, to touch you in ways only he could. His digits cup at the delicate swells of your tits, entrapping the hardened peaks in between.
“You’re so beautiful, Baby. So fucking beautiful.”
His eyes refuse to falter from yours, clinging to the sight of ecstasy as his lips seals your nipple away with the expanse of his mouth. A moan rips from Gojo’s chest, deeming him to have a senseless sense of self. Control isn’t something attainable in his current state, the man drunk off you.
Everything about you is heavenly, your warmth, your company, the pretty whimpers you make as Gojo’s tongue whisks around the puffy peaks lazily. He’s squeezing your tits softly, serving as his reminder of just how explicit everything’s become.
It’s not until you find yourself relaxing in his hold that you realize just how much you do to Gojo, bare lips of your cunt splitting around something hard.
“You’re so hard, ‘Toru. Does it hurt?”
“Mhm,” he hums, breaking away from the slobbering mess he’s made of your tits. “I really wanna feel those lips ‘round me, can you do that for me? Please?”
You offer him an enthusiastic nod, sinking onto your knees before his trembling thighs. The plush espresso carpet cradles the curve of your knees as you adjust, placing your lithe fingers along his abre thigh. But it’s the sight before you that stirs the brew of butterflies deep within your belly, coaxing a piercing shock to widen your hazy eyes.
Gojo’s big. Not just in his towering stature but right between his legs all the same. Your eyes are welcomed by the pretty plush of his cock, the tanned fat sitting pretty against his thigh with miserable want. The girthy shaft blooms with inflamed hues of green and blue. The thickest of veins are free from such imbues, too roused to don any single tint. Your eyes trail to the head of his cock, greeted by the bullying fury of reds. The tip weeps an uncontrolled sob of greed, the blushed adorning a smear ring of his precum.
Your lips falter at the scene, a pool of spit budding just beyond sight. Gojo’s hand cups the back of your neck, rattling a gentle pace of encouragement to soothe your nerves. It’s kind encouragement, his efforts allowing for your lips to part for his girth. A gentle kiss lays upon his slit, staining the pout in his essence. The throbbing pulse of his cock is hot against your lips, beckoning you to place yet another peck.
Your mouths with every bit to be covered, gradually slipping the fat head to sit snug between your suckling lips. It’s soft, pulling at the mere surface of the swelled tip. Your tongue even peeks for a moment, wavering along the underside all too teasingly in faint swipes. Gojo winces at the sensation, tingling with a striking thrill. His fingers find work at the nape of your neck once more, playing an uncoordinated tune upon your skin.
“You…You know what to do, take it all in your mouth fr’ me, Baby.”
Mindlessly, you lose to his imminent demand, your eyes suffering under the influencing weight. Your head strums along Gojo’s length without care, the throbbing head pecking at the back of your throat. The sensation’s nothing short of brutal, brash strikes threatening to pursue deeper lengths. Your ears help ease what coherency remains, hinged on the pretty crumbling moans ripping from his chest.
Gojo’s hot-blooded spree of lust carried you through the consistent hollows of your lungs, begging for just a lick of air. He’s desperate for it, to use your poor mouth like his favorite toy— so warm, wet and even tighter than his fist could ever begin to achieve.
But little does Gojo know, it’s more of a strain on you than him.
It’s a struggle, a harsh journey to endure to please Gojo. He’s far from the concept of silence, but there’s more dying to fly off his chest. He’s feeling it, courtesy of his jutting hips reckoning to reach the plump cling of your lips. The pitiful whimpers tell you all that’s known about his crumbling state. You want to deliver that taste of irresistible heaven to him.
Your hands migrate from the loose casing formed around his cock to his thighs, the pads of your digits settling into place. The thoughts swirl at the forefront of your mind. It had to be thoughtless, free of any worry, care, or restraint. If you faltered for even a moment, the teasing would be ripped right from the hands of Gojo.
You pull your lips to rest at the fat head of his cock, head tilting to greet his drowsy eyes. He’s high off his anticipation. Sweat works across his body, bringing the white locks of his hair to stick to his forehead. But more attaches onto Gojo’s fleeting persona, the glints of his own vulnerability coming to light. It’s present in how he looks at you, lust melded with the forbidden glints of genuine peeking through the haze. A chilling sight at first glance, a forced endeavor to endure at his whim.
His hands cup at the chub of your cheeks as an unknown comfort, his thumbs swiping at the polished highs with a look of intrigue. His tongue curls with a lax pull, putting the ramble of words to flood the air.
“W-why are you so…fucking pretty?... Hm? Can’t even look at me straight b-but you look s’ perfect just like this.”
A muffled moan vibrates about the inflamed crown from your throat, barely processing the praise to rattle off Gojo’s tongue. Your mind’s numb to it, the brisk descent of your lips down Gojo’s cock. Bubbly foams of spit dribbles from the corners of your mouth, only to be brushed away by the lewd gurgle brewing in your throat.
It’s sloppy and messy, taking all of him in one swift notion. And you know it’s working, your eyes peering up at Gojo Through the thick gather of your lashes. He’s singing a song so passionate it simply can’t be hidden, head nicked between his shoulder blades with the ball of his adam’s apple sent awry.
Gojo doesn’t mean to be mean, ripping his cock from your jaw destructively. He’s sure you aren’t aware of all you’ve done to him in a matter of seconds, your tongue nipping at the heavy bloat of his balls. A few moments longer and he’s sure you would’ve milked him of all he’s had. He hopes you’ll appreciate it as an apology, his strong arms wrapping around your waist.
He pulls you onto his lap, digits latching onto your chin once more. He doesn’t take a second to acknowledge your ruined state, crashing his lips against your own. It’s heavy, the press so rich it’s almost dizzying. His tongue curls along with yours, draping the flat laggardly. That’s all he does before breaking from your lips, falling back onto the couch’s plush backing.
“S-Shit…did such a good job…I want you—really fucking want you— to use me, ride me, fuck that pretty lil’ pussy on me!”
“O-Okay…just let me do it.”
A small hand disappears between the clash of bodies, in your palm holds the head of Gojo’s cock. He’s wet, slick with the fruit of your labor. It’s just enough to press the slit at your own, your hips lifting to a degree. Timing is all you need, the time to raise your hips just enough to prepare, fueling the frantic sink onto his cock.
Yet, you couldn’t have really prepared for Gojo, not with how much harder he’s become with you in his grasp. His cock’s brimmed with spry nerves, prickling with a fiery heat. It’s that same heat that keeps your walls from fluttering, sending the rich burn to nip at your poor entrance.
“OhmyGod, you’re so—”
“B-Big? I know, it’s all for you, baby…”
Your hips are caught in a bind, stubborn to move from their cocooning state. It takes for gentle rocks of Gojo’s hips to relax you, your hips rising voluntarily. He’s easing those walls of yours to a point, pushing past your sweet spot dumbly. You almost give him the full right to control in those moments, your body growing limp in his hold.
Right until you start to question it, the privilege to ruin your date by your means. He’s right there for the taking. It’s because of those very ponderings that you can sit high, swiveling about the head of Gojo’s cock before delivering a shattering pry at his building high. You can handle yourself this time, smothering your clit in the hairs surrounding his base. Your strides hold fast along his length, your pussy enveloping the entirety of his cock. Whiffs of insecurity whisk through your mind, unsure if Gojo would succumb to the lust as quickly as you did—only for you to discover the sweetest sight known to man.
Gojo’s brought himself to a whimpering shell of himself, mind numb off the slobbery squeeze of your walls. It’s so good to his poor, ruined mind, drunk off the bliss of your pussy. Spit spills from his mouth and glosses his lips, eyes glassy by the burning onslaught of tears—he’s a wreck underneath you. He’s finally got you, putting the effort to be used as some boy toy. He can’t take it, Gojo’s mind being beyond comprehension.
You take him so well, granting his sullied tip to nudge at your precious cervix. He deems himself blessed in the moment too, studying the pleasure trap itself beneath your features. Your lips fall from their pursed build, eyes rolled back into your skull, and hips set at a senseless pace. Why it’s so good, Gojo can’t believe it, freeing himself from the binds of his carnal lust.
“Shit, you’re gonna make me cum like that, Angel—and I don’t want that yet.”
Gojo’s brute strength comes to play as he takes hold of the reins, using her sheer force to pin you beneath his body. He settles onto his haunches, pulling you that much closer to close the distance. He doesn’t, guiding your legs to fold against your chest. He’s focused on your behalf, eyes queued on his bucking hips.
“B-But I’m gonna fuck you now, kay? Wanna make you feel good too, cover my cock with your pretty cum.”
The head of his cock pushes into you, splitting the lips of your cunt in an open kiss. He’s fitting inside you with such vivid ease, his cock almost sitting homely in your heat. The thick head kisses your leaving his shaft to curve at your sweet spot explicitly. He stretches you just right, fills you to the hilt, and the pulsing throbs that twitch inside you are nothing short of lewd.
With a few dips of his cock, Gojo could’ve made you cum just like that…but you’ve come to know that he won’t.
Gojo’s hips snap with no prevail, sending his cock to plunge so deep inside you. He’s hitting your cervix on every drive of his hips, smothering the perked nerves in a mess of fluttering pecks. He prefers it this way, pitting himself to the brim of your pussy that you have no choice but to cry out, his name falling from your lips.
He’s unforgiving when he’s like this, bringing forth the clash of skin echoing around the room. Gojo’s feverish in such nature, desperate to savory your pussy and desperate to cum. It’s more or less a reward for him, witnessing you handle all he’s giving. He can bury himself as much as you would allow, your walls sending his cock to. Each reel of his hips pulls the glossy sheens of your essence to paint his shaft
There’s much to take in but not a coherent thought in sight to do such bidding. From his chest smothered against your own, breath fanning—it’s simply too much for you to endure. The friction doesn’t offer you much either, the melds of heat running your body hot and throwing your mind into a flushed haze.
Gojo’s the one to blame, the thick of his fat cock rummaging tempered drags along your walls. It’s the hot and gummy fat bullying your walls that trap you in a trance, his cock rendering you a dumb mess of drool and spilled tears.
“G-Gojo…wait! It’s so–no, it’s too much! Jus’ slow down—”
Gojo’s hand peels from your thigh, his palm curved to the plush of your tummy. The tips of his fingers sit deep upon you, his soothing touch massaging your skin.
“It’s going too deep? Oh pretty girl, I can go, so, so much deeper than this. So deep that all you’ll know is me, baby.”
But it’s unbeknownst to Gojo how much he’s ruined you. He’s caught up in the sight of you so distraught and needy that he doesn’t know how close you are to your high. It’s hinged on so close that all it does take for you to reach that high is the pretty head of his cock to kiss at your cervix, the kiss of reassurance allowing for you to crumble.
Your spine arches from the dented cushions, hands fighting for solid grounding. Patches of stars coat your vision, courtesy of. Violent waves of exhaustion all strike your body at once, pulling what energy was left behind. You’re caught in a bind, the firm hold looming over your limp physique until it breaks at the sound of Gojo’s voice.
“That’s it, let everyone know that you’re all mine, Angel. You’re all mine, and I swear to fuck I’m not letting you go,” the oath rolling off his tongue. Gojo can’t help himself, refusing to quit amidst your high. His hips tilt to better his reach against your sweet spot, riding through the course of your orgasm.
A sharp seethe of air cuts through Gojo’s lips, pity boiling at the forefront of his mind. He knows it’s too much for you, watching your body attempt to flee. His eyes settle on your tits, bouncing with each flinch consuming you. He wants to say it, ask for your fleeting patience as his own orgasm hints at its arrival. But bless his foolish heart, he’s so drunk off your drooling pussy that words come out harsher than he means.
“Ah, don’t run from me, just take it…take every inch of me.”
A longing whimper of defeat wails off your chest. He’s fucking you to undiscovered lengths in your body, so far gone that babbles serve as your conversings. That same crowding influence seeps into your limp tongue. There’s no control in what you can say or do, your hands resting along the ridges of his flexed abs. Even your legs lose the urge to resist, lacing around Gojo’s waist to push him deeper than he’s even been.
“Please, c-cum inside me, Gojo. Please cum inside my pretty pussy, ‘Toru, please!”
“Oh Y/N, that’s so dirty of y-you…wait—fuck!—”
The threads of reality snap in Gojo’s mind at the sound of your pleading voice, a violent reckoning crashing over him. The spill of tension that sits in the fat bloat of his balls ruins you, thick ropes of a creamy white flushing your walls white.
Gojo’s lost all strength to carry on, his impoverished body collapsing onto yours. A dizzy head and heaving chest is a combination he’s used to but tonight holds a different story. Words can’t be found to describe the state he’s entered. He’s astute, taking everything in as his hands cling to your waist. His thumbs draw mindless circles into your skin, Gojo’s silent form of apology.
It’s a strange instinct for him, the sudden urge to shower you in his care. His mind’s racing with thoughts, how to show his intentions for you. It’s not in his character but god did he was To soothe you with kisses, rub all the sores and knicks he’d inflict, just to lay next to you in idle conversation was all he wanted at the moment. The effort’s worth it in his eyes.
So he decides to try his hand at it, pulling his chest from yours. His hands lay flat beside your head, closing the distance between you both with a smirk.
“Lemme clean you up.”
With a quick peck of his lips, Gojo turns his attention between his legs. His eyes fall shut as he pulls out from your cunt with a hitching breath. But it’s the sight that has him whimpering, his cock glistening with slick and spattered patterns of white.
Slotting himself between your legs, Gojo presses his cheek along your inner thigh, hands keeping your limbs apart.
His eyes return to the timeless sight of your slit, dribbling with his cum. He’s apprehensive about it for the moment, admiring the rare scene with doting hues. Yet as his tongue finally curls up against your folds, all thought suspends from him.
He can’t help but to be lazy, the flat of his tongue lapping at the puffy sheets of flesh. Each drop of your essence is caught by Gojo’s ministrations, relishing in your taste.
He’s guided to the hood of your clit, the bud perked twitching in regards. The tip of his slicked muscles tightens upon the sticky contact , swirling around the pearl gently. Gojo’s digits gravitate to your pussy, catching the hood of your clit in a flurry of strokes. He couldn’t care less about his cum pooling from your entrance, too enthralled with the unsteady gasps trapping your lungs.
“G-Gojo, wait! It’s t-too much!”
“Told you I love this cute clit of yours. Just give me one more, please?”
Feverish nods spill from you, the heft of the impending orgasm reaching like no other. It’s passing you in waves, the tingling numbness claiming the soles of your feet. Your legs fold to meet your chest rapidly, the knot in your lower back unraveling at godforsaken heights.
Gojo’s humming a giddy tune as he presses his lips to your quivering clit. He watches as your body thrashes about the sunken cushions, a prideful glint illuminating his eyes.
“Mhm, that’s my girl. ‘M so proud of you!”
Gojo pulls from your side for the moment, leaving the couch to sort through the vast piles of discarded clothes. He returns with his briefs and wrinkled button-down in tow. The dress shirt drapes across your body as he pulls you to your feet, his arms laced around your waist.
“C’mon, let’s go get comfortable,” he coos, pressing his lips to the crook of your neck. The two of you stroll up the stairs, passing through the first right door to enter the moonlit bedroom. The duvet’s tint of blue beckons you and Gojo to grow closer. He leads you to the bed, collapsing beside you with sleep itching on the brain.
As he settles at your side, Gojo’s eyes scan about your room. He’s greeted by the blanched white walls, a few paintings that hang—the bare coverings over your windows. A streak of blush surfaces at the highs of his cheeks, turning to meet your languid sights.
“Y’know, you have to buy some blinds, Princess. It’s especially dangerous at night, people can be so nosy.”
“Is that right?” you giggle, staring at Gojo through your lashes. You can’t help but admire his beauty, how the faint light of the moon kisses his fair skin and white hair. Even the way he looks at you holds radiance, his eyes of blue holding the purest glow you’ve ever seen.
Gojo doesn’t bother to keep his distance, bringing his body to cocoon your own. His hand catches yours in a hold, paired with the gentle pecks riddled across your cheeks.
“Promise to take you out on a real date tomorrow. We can do everything, walk around town, go to a different restaurant–”
“What’re you doing, Gojo?” the question calling about reflective silence.
He lets your inquiry bake on his mind for a while, keeping his fingers intertwined with your own. Gojo knows exactly what you mean. Promising another date, even just being in the same bed as you for this long was foreign. But with you—for you— he’s inclined to do anything that’ll keep you around.
He pays you one final glance before replying, a small grin teasing the corners of his lips.
“Trying something new.”
˚ ༘♡₊˚ˑ༄ؘ TAGLIST: @po3ticb3auty @dabilovesme @katsukismelons @ebiharachan @kenmasbimbo @pixelsanji @slaughterakira @woahhajime @hannas16 @omniuravity @sweeneyblue1 @yukihime-mikeys-girl @kazusugar @jjjangsta @10-jiku @missyasma @a3trogirl @chaoticevilbakugo @desiray562 @lovemegood @luvrdrop @yourmommy52726 @tojibreedingme @widepipepaladiknight @tojishugetiddies @taesd-urag @nekoriots @ladyackerman @ladyackermann @holychocopie @bloobrryktty @dukina @hon3ybee-3 @dabis0bitch @kensgff @23victoria @sisnot @insideboburnham @shima707 @patchi-chi @brokenheartshards @akiko0-0 @mx-luvzz @whore02 @lilystarknette @your-favorite-god @missakward123 @ssetsuka @alwaysfreakingout @httpstoyosi
#//✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀—𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒’𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐋!//#//✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀—𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎!//#jujustsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo smut#jujutsu gojo#gojo x reader#jjk gojo#gojou satoru x reader#gojo x you#gojo satoru#gojo saturo#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru smut#jjk drabbles#jjk fic#cw sex mention#cw smut
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simon "ghost" riley as a father
dad!simon spent endless hours building the tiny furniture and painting the nursery walls. Of course, all the equipment was picked by you, as he didn't really have a taste for those things. If he were to choose, the room would end up looking like shit.
dad!simon who smiled the whole time as you folded the new clothes and blankets, stealing some of them to feel the fuzzy material, so calming to his growing anxiety.
dad!simon dreamed of this day for so long, but couldn't help the knot in his stomach at the idea of actually being a father. The fear of turning out to be the same as his old man was disgusting, but never left his mind.
dad!simon who discussed every thought and decision with his therapist, making sure he was really prepared. Coming back after every session, he'd sit down with you and discuss everything, being so happy to feel your touch and reassuring words.
dad!simon who thinks it's a true miracle that he lived so long to carry his little kid home. Holding their tiny body in his arms, the love of his life beside him as he stepped into the house.
and now:
girldad!simon who is completely smitten with his little girl, those huge eyes staring at him as if he was some sort of angel.
girldad!simon spends his free time studying how to style her hair, different ponytails and braids, all depending on his princess's wishes
girldad!simon who lets her color in all of his tattoos, watching her trembly hands holding the newest set of body markers.
girldad!simon who teaches her how to defend herself from a very young age, starting with simple lessons on assertiveness and boundaries, through various self-defend practices.
girldad!simon who spoils her rotten, he just can't deny that pouty little face whenever he tells her no. He has his limits, but most of the time she gets all the dresses, toys, and ribbons she gets.
girldad!simon gets a tattoo of her favorite stuffed animal somewhere on his body.
girldad!simon who encourages her passions, especially when it comes to sports because that's one of the few he has any expertise on. He spends a lot of time getting to know others, so he always has topics to talk about.
girldad!simon who feels pity towards any possible love interest that might even think of hurting his little girl.
girldad!simon is often seen walking around the park, holding her hand at all times. All his scary mysteriousness disappears the moment she talks to him, Simon just turns into the sweetest parent in seconds.
girldad!simon always kneels down in front of her so she feels taller.
girldad!simon will watch any show or movie she wants, doesn't matter how 'girly' it is. Secretly enjoys Barbie movies.
girldad!simon watching her grow up and getting into make-up makes him feel very happy, but nostalgic. Reminding himself that not so long ago she was running around and playing with little bugs.
girldad!simon who always drives her around, a personal taxi driver whenever she wants to hang out with her friends.
and:
boydad!simon who focuses on making sure his boy doesn't pick the same field of work as him, no matter how much his boy idolizes him.
boydad!simon who spends most of his time with his son outside, running, playing soccer, or building him some DIY shelters around the house with branches, leaves, and stones. (my ass can't get this out of my head, such a stereotypical polish childhood)
boydad!simon who adores his boy's interest in the military, but like I said, always reminds him to pick something else. This doesn't stop him from spending hours talking about little details and stories.
boydad!simon spoils him by buying him little cars, wooden models, and sports equipment.
boydad!simon makes sure not to push his boy too much into the toxic masculinity he had to grow up with. His son can be as expressive and sensitive as he wants, there's no one to stop him.
boydad!simon who becomes his son's best friend and savior whenever he has nightmares.
boydad!simon tries to be on-trend with electronic devices, spending lots of time to learn how to play his son's favorite video games whenever the little one is asleep, so he can help him if he struggles with a mission/achievement.
boydad!simon who has to make sure his son is a responsible person, giving him adequate punishments so he doesn't think there are no consequences to his actions.
boydad!simon studies dinosaurs just because his son finds them oh so cool. After reading some articles, he finds himself fascinated with them too, sharing all the facts and sources for them.
overall:
dad!simon would do anything to keep his child safe. He'd let the world burn if it meant his little one was the happiest kid on the planet.
dad!simon gets anxious if his kids don't answer him immediately, so he made sure their phones have their locations turned on all the time.
dad!simon doesn't argue with you around the kids, any serious discussion is only between the two of you, so in case emotions take over they never witness it.
dad!simon thinks it's crucial to show up, so he rushes from his deployment to make it to his child's school play or graduation, just to be able to support them.
dad!simon encourages his kids to go and see a psychologist, even if they don't struggle with much. He understands that there are just things important to talk about, but the kid might not want to open up in front of their parents about everything.
dad!simon turned out to be the father his old man could never be. In his kids' eyes, he's a true hero and the best dad they could have.
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#riri writes#simon riley x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#gender neutral reader#cod mwii#cod mw2#headcanons#dad!simon#dad!simon riley#dad!simon ghost riley#simon riley headanons
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tf141 hanging out together and finding out that old man!Price has a girlfriend 💫
The crowded pub bustles with the commontion of drunkards of varying degrees. Some slightly tipsy while others have decided to forgo their pants in the name of the King.
And then there's a good of men occupying a table at the corner of the pub. Simon with his balaclava on, Kyle with a cigarette between his fingers savouring the arcid flavour and Johnny ogling some girls on the other side of the pub.
All that was left was John, who makes his way to the table with four pints of beer. He sits down at the table with a grunt as he passes each on of the boys a glass. They all start chatting and catching up about everything's thats happened after Price's retirement.
Johnny begins to bitch and whine about the new captain saying how uptight he was critising everything the squad does that John would've probably turned a blind eye to.
John chuckles slightly, listening to them all talk about what's is going on with the taskforce. Despite the smile on his face, there is a bitter resentment inside of him, gnawing at him.
Useless, useless, useless
He takes a swig of his drink hoping that it'll calm his worries down. And lo and behold he receives a call from you, his baby. He smiles to himself and picks up the phone.
"Hey birdie, doing okay by yourself at home?" He asks softly.
That one sentence caught the attention of the other boys as they give each other quizzical looks. Who the hell could their former captain be talking to?
His mother, maybe his sisters? Nah, he wouldn't call any other birdie.
They listen to John's gravelly voice and breathy laughs as he talks to the mystery person on the phone.
What felt like hours to the boys and a few fleeting seconds for John, he hangs up and faces the group. He raises an eyebrow when he sees their faces contorted into expressions of confusion and curiosity.
"What?" John asks slightly defensively
"Who's the birdie, Captain?" Johnny asks with a tooth grin.
John shakes his head, "my girlfriend." he says in a matter-of-fact tone.
Their jaws drop to the floor. Shocked would be an understatement as to what they were feeling and thinking right now.
"You sure it's not schizophrenia, sir?" Kyle asks.
John huffs in annoyance. What the hell? Couldn't they just accept that John finally had someone in his life. A perfect little doll who patiently waits for him at home.
They all start to laugh obnoxiously, barking and howling as if they were witnessing a circus show. And John's irritation grew tenfold and he huffs a sigh of annoyance.
"Oi captain, why don't you show us a picture of your birdie and then maybe we'll believe ya. Or well just keep thinking that the sarin gas is still in your system." Simon says, followed by a cackle.
John rolls his eyes and opens his photo gallery and shows the trio a photo of you and him. The picture is of the two of you in bed, with you resting your head on his shoulder with a smile on your face as John is still fast asleep. Evidence of the previous night's lustful tendancies still apparent on both of them.
This time their jaws drop for certain as the tangible evidence is placed in front of them. You're beautiful, and that fucked-out, post orgasm face is something else. This isn't fair. How did Price get blessed with a beauty such as yourself.
Soap scowls and scoffs looking away and crossing his arms in annoyance. While Kyle gushes about how lucky Price his to hide his jealously rearing its ugly head. And simon simply stares at the photo with a discerning expression on his face.
John smiply smiles, his ego fuelled and his pride sky high.
"Well boys, I gotta get back to my doll. Maybe next time I'll bring her along." He exits the pub, leaving the boys all confused and jealous.
#john price#john price cod#john price smut#john price x reader#captain john#cod smut#tf 141#tf141 smut#captain price#john price x you#ri's rants
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The Heir
(requested)(@kayleigh--23 <3)
[fem reader] contains: pregnancy angst, arranged marriage, pressure to become pregnant.
pairing: young coriolanus snow x fem reader
summary: (au) You thought being married to Coriolanus Snow would be enough, but when there is pressure on the two of you to have a child, the events that follow are life changing.
author’s note: Oh I do adore pregnancy angst. Another take on the arranged marriage trope, please enjoy!
"...an heir."
You could barely hear the words through the door. Your husband of one and a half years and an old Snow family friend, a man called Mr. Vesta, had disappeared into his study an hour ago and they hadn't allowed you in. It had sounded important, and you couldn't help it, you needed to know what it was. Especially after you'd heard your name mentioned more than once.
With one ear to the door, you'd caught bits and pieces of the conversation. None of it made sense in your mind, this new bit of information least of all.
Coriolanus Snow was the least objectionable option when it came to marriage. Not that you'd had a choice at all in the matter, but for your own peace of mind you pretended. You pretended it hadn't been a strategic political move on his part to marry someone from your family. You pretended Mr. Vesta wasn't overbearingly and old fashioned-ly invested in the image the two of you presented as a married couple.
The goal was to make him president. You knew that much. And Mr. Vesta, as well as having known Coriolanus his entire life, had experience in running for office. But you knew very little else. Politics in Panem were a mystery to you, and at times they could be archaic. At least, the things everyone wanted you to do were.
The dresses you had to wear, the people you were seen with, how you acted. Hell, the arranged marriage itself seemed that way to you. But this was how it was done. Your own mother had married your father for similar reasons, though her situation had nothing to do with politics, only social gain. Yours was both.
You went into the marriage with a positive attitude. This will be what you make of it, you'd been told. You figured if you walked in with a positive attitude and determination it would work out the best it could.
But then you met your husband to be.
He was handsome but cold. Charming but manipulative. Attentive at times but distant at most. Every good thing about him was punctuated by a flaw. He'd make a good politician, you'd noted.
The wedding was a blur of photographers and fed lines. He'd barely acknowledged you, and you knew every look, every touch was false. It cheapened the whole experience for you, and a resentment built up inside you.
At least after the wedding night he'd allowed separate bedrooms.
Maybe you'd have felt guilty about your feelings toward him if he'd shown any sign of fondness toward you. But he didn't. He ignored you most days, except when he needed your influence or your image or your body.
Which is why now, in the present, you hardly worried about the consequences of eavesdropping. If they were talking about you in there, you deserved to know.
"...bring her in..."
Forgetting your confidence, you scurried away as quietly as you could, returning to the sitting room, where you'd last been spotted by them. Picking up a book, you pretended to read until Mr. Vesta, an older man with a beard, came in and said that your presence was required in the study.
Ignoring the way he'd spoken to you in your own home, you followed him back through the study doors, nodding at everyone in the room before your eyes moved to your husband.
Coriolanus was sitting behind his desk, a look of discontentment on his face. What had they been talking about in here? You moved to his side automatically. He may have not been your number one pick, but he was the safest person in the room for you to stand by.
Putting your hand on the back of his chair, you looked between them. "What did you need from me?"
"We're here to discuss a proposition," Mr. Vesta said, looking entirely too comfortable. He nodded at your husband. "Snow?"
Coriolanus took in an almost frustrated breath and turned up to you. He held eye contact with you for a moment before speaking. "It has been suggested that we..." he inhaled through his nose. "...produce an heir."
You blinked in surprise, doing a double take. When you looked at the other man, you could see that this wasn't a joke. They were serious.
"...No," you said in disbelief, looking back at your husband. "This was never part of the arrangement."
"Things change," Mr. Vesta said, giving you a pointed look. "It is imperative that you produce an heir by the end of the year. A male heir."
That sentence was so offensive to you that you had to look away for a moment. When you gathered your manners back, you said, "Why is this suddenly so important? Isn't us being married enough?"
"Coriolanus is the last of the Snow name," Mr. Vesta said, seeming to think he was providing an explanation. "It would have to happen eventually. In the best interest of keeping the old family names around."
"I don't see how that serves your interests," you said stiffly, and Coriolanus grabbed your hand, squeezing it as a warning, the cool of his ring pressing into your skin.
"It was of the utmost importance to Crassus that I, specifically, see this through," the bearded man said in stern tones. "He hoped his son would be able to carry it out on his own-" he gave Coriolanus his own pointed look- "but since he has not, it was time for me to step in. Not to mention that having a son would increase political gains greatly. Seeing that an old family is still strong."
You were dazed. It all felt so ridiculous to you. Of all the things they'd made you do for this role, this had to be the worst. They were asking you to not just sleep with a man you hated, but to bear his child. And Coriolanus himself looked less than happy about it.
"Within the year," Mr. Vesta repeated, and he stood up. "Both your image and your obligations to your family depend on it." He nodded stiffly at you, then left. You never got the impression that Mr. Vesta was all that fond of you. He didn't see you as a person, more as a machine that broke now and then but was ultimately served its' purpose.
Once he was gone, you turned to Coriolanus, your expression horrified. "You're not seriously thinking about this are you?"
"We don't have a choice," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.
"Yes we do," you protested, kneeling by his chair, grasping the arm. You were trying to look him in the eye, but he was avoiding you. "We're already married. Your image is intact-"
"But my family isn't," he said sharply, turning suddenly to look at you. "You don't understand. I have a responsibility to continue the line and Vesta reminded me of that." He ran a hand through his hair frustratedly. "I apologize that I didn't disclose this before but it's not optional."
"Coriolanus-"
"You think I want to do this?" His voice was irritated, and he stood up suddenly. You did too, surprised.
"No, but-"
"We have to," he said angrily, pacing. "I don't want to do it either but there are no other options. I need Vesta's support, and unfortunately that comes with the wishes of my late father."
You were silent, tears pricking your eyes as you realized this was really going to have to happen. Scoffing in disbelief and trying to hide your emotion, you buried your face in your hands.
He sighed, and you heard him move closer to you, his polished shoes making a distinct sound on the hardwood floor. "Sweetheart...I'm sorry. I am. But you're my wife. You know that means fulfilling certain...obligations."
Coriolanus took your hands in his, removing them from your face. "We'll make the process as quick as possible, okay?"
When you nodded, there was a ghost of a smile on his face. "That's a good girl. The sooner you're pregnant the sooner it'll be over with."
It was terrifying how well Coriolanus knew himself.
The domineering persona he'd built up when entering the political game may as well have become him. It was a skill he'd honed- the art of pretend.
But every thorn had its flower.
You.
Before meeting you he had high hopes for marriage. He'd hoped you'd be tolerable to look at, decent in conversation, with half a brain. Someone who'd please him, but nothing more.
But you were far beyond that.
Upon your first meeting he knew he was doomed. You were extraordinarily beautiful, with a pretty laugh. And so clever. You'd discussed literature and art so naturally, easy as breathing. Within the first hour of knowing you he knew he could fall deeply, madly in love with you.
And therein laid the problem.
Love was not the goal. In fact, love strayed so far from the goal that it was almost the opposite. If Coriolanus fell in love with you, it would ruin him. His mind, his soul, his pursuits. He'd gone to Vesta afterward and asked if there was anyone else, anyone at all. Surely there was some other girl who was less...enticing, but still had good connections.
Vesta hadn't seen a problem with the arrangement. He'd chided Coriolanus for it. He had the most sought-after woman in the Capitol. Your social status would make him more favorable in the eyes of voters, as would seeing him in love. Seeing no other options, Coriolanus had agreed.
To marrying you, not being in love.
He'd endured the game, accompanying you to dinners and galas, and going through with the wedding, all the while keeping you at arm's length. Coriolanus resolved that the only way to keep himself from falling in love was distance. And distance he maintained.
Except for at public events, he avoided you. Occasionally, he'd beckon you to his bed, whenever he needed to relieve some stress or tension, but that was the extent of it. He couldn't help himself- you were just so perfect. And you were his wife after all.
No matter how he justified his actions, it still felt wrong.
With Vesta's newest demand Coriolanus felt his control over the situation slipping. The old man didn't know what he was asking of him. Honestly how could he have, but it was still frustrating. He was asking them to produce a child as casually as one would ask a favor.
The worst part was seeing how distraught you were over it. A bit of his heart had warmed at seeing how you'd come to stand by his side but it was squashed quickly by what he had to tell you.
An heir. And not just an heir, a son.
Coriolanus could have strangled Vesta. It was ridiculous how invested he was in such private affairs. But his father's old friend was experienced in an area he desperately needed help in: politics. So, he had no choice but to accept.
Seeing you on the verge of tears had nearly broken him. He allowed himself to comfort you, just a little, convincing himself that that was what any husband would do, even if he didn't love his wife, which Coriolanus certainly didn't.
You fell pregnant quickly, which he was thankful for. For his sake but surprisingly, more for yours.
Naturally, he kept close tabs on you while still trying to maintain the distance he'd determined was the best solution for the situation. Reports were delivered to him daily.
You were quiet most days, hardly speaking to anyone. He felt guilt over that. Vesta and their public relations team had determined that for the first bit of pregnancy it was best for the two of you to stay out of the spotlight. That meant you were hardly able to leave. And with his insistence on distance, well...it was inevitable that you'd be lonely.
As the months progressed, his reports contained more concerning information. You were losing weight at an alarming rate, becoming more drawn. The baby was doing exceptionally well thanks to the doctors he'd brought in. But you...you were suffering for it.
He saw evidence of this when he was standing at the window of his study one day, taking a pause from his work, when he saw you in the rose garden wandering amongst the blooms.
The reports had not done your condition justice. Even from the window on the third floor he could see how thin you were, even with your belly swelling.
Beautiful, he couldn't help thinking as he watched you. Even in your current state, you were glowing. He tossed a look over his shoulder at his papers, a mountain of work he suddenly did not feel like doing. then in a split-second decision, he abandoned his study and headed down the stairs, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt.
Heading into the rose garden, he hesitated at the sight of you. You were bent slightly over a flower, lifting the rose to your nose. The corners of your lips turned up slightly as the fragrance hit you. Turning slightly, you caught sight of him, and straightened, your hand sliding over your belly immediately. "Coriolanus."
"Sweetheart," he greeted, stepping closer.
You looked a little puzzled. "Did you need something?"
He felt a little dazed, unsure really why he came out here. "No...I just..." Coriolanus was now less than a foot away from you. "I wanted to see how you were."
Your expression grew slightly more surprised, but you stayed graceful. "I see."
"Yes," he said, unable to stop looking at you.
Biting your lip, you looked to the side, fingers splayed out over your belly. "I'd have thought you'd gotten enough from your reports."
He blanked. "You know about those?"
"You aren't very discreet," you said, giving a tight smile. "Besides, I know you. You're nosy."
He sniffed a laugh at that. "It's hardly being nosy when it's concern for my wife."
Silence.
Your hand fell off your belly and you moved to examine another rose, a white one. "I didn't know you cared for my wellbeing."
He followed you, tracing your steps. "You're carrying my child, sweetheart."
"Not by either of our choice," you said softly. You reached over your belly to touch one of the rose petals on the outside of the flower. "It is an obligation."
"And yet here we are," he said, picking the rose. He snapped the stem, tucking it behind your ear, his hand sliding under your chin, lifting your eyes to his. "Making the best of our situation."
Your doe eyes as you looked up at him nearly melted his heart. Coriolanus wished he could paint a portrait of you as you were right now: belly round and full of his child, one of his family roses in your hair. You looked so utterly his.
"You haven't been well sweetheart," he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek. "Even if I wasn't getting reports-"
"I'm fine. As fine as I can be," you said quietly, trying to avoid his eyes. "Growing a child is taxing, believe it or not."
"This is different." Coriolanus took your hand, which hung limply in his. "I worry about you."
"There is no need for it." You walked over to a stone bench, sitting with both your hands beside you. Your dress fell over your belly in such a way that your knees were not visible. The little detail made you all the more endearing to him.
"Darling." Coriolanus sat beside you, taking your hand once again. "I know this is hardly ideal, but I need you to try."
"What on earth do you think I have been doing?" you asked, looking up at him.
"You're fading," he said simply.
Taking in a breath, you turned slightly to face him. "I'm doing the best I can. I'm pregnant, you'll have your boy. There is nothing more to ask of me."
"Part of that obligation is taking care of yourself," he said, looking you straight in the eye.
"Am I not doing enough?" you exhaled softly. "I don't know why you're so concerned. You've ignored me for the brunt of our marriage. You do not seem to feel any affection for me. I don't see why you should care."
"You know exactly why I care," he insisted, his tone growing frustrated. "I cannot watch you wither away into nothing."
He stood up, holding out his hand. "When is the last time you ate?"
You bit your lip, casting your eyes to the side as you thought. "This morning."
It was nearly the evening. "Come. Let's find something."
"Coriolanus," you said exasperatedly.
"Sweetheart," he said earnestly back, extending his hand further. Even though he wanted to stay distant, there was a protective urge festering inside him, one he couldn't ignore like he'd done in the past.
You pursed your lips for a moment, then seemed to decide something. Taking his hand, you carefully stood up and let him lead you back up to the house.
As he found you something to eat, he thought of his earlier promise to himself not to let himself fall for you. He knew deep down that you had the potential to entrance him, make him adore you. Despite his aversion to this trait of yours, he knew he couldn't keep you at arm's length any longer. Not when your health was on the line.
Perhaps he could resist but stay close.
Your pregnancy progressed with a few things to note.
The first being that your health improved greatly. You were kept under watch, and your weight became less concerning. You found yourself feeling better, a little less tired all the time.
The second notable thing was the sudden closeness of your husband.
Since the day in the rose garden, he had become warmer towards you, more open. He took meals with you every day, diligently making sure you'd eaten enough.
One evening he summoned you to his study, surprising you.
"Is something the matter?" You stood in front of his desk, slightly worried. You'd rushed up so quickly that you hadn't put your book down, your finger still marking your place.
"Will you sit with me?" he requested, gesturing to the seat in front of him.
You tilted your head, sitting down carefully, hand over your belly. "Is everything alright?"
"Of course," he said, nodding. "I just...wanted you to be close to me. Read your book."
Slowly, you nodded, leaning back in your chair. You opened your book and began to read, peering up to see that he'd begun writing again. Slightly confused but surprisingly pleased that he wanted you near, your eyes found the page again.
Shifting in your chair, you did your best to get comfortable, but it proved to be a difficult task. Your belly didn't exactly make things accommodating for you. Doing simple tasks with ease was becoming increasingly harder.
Apparently, this fact was noticeable to your husband as well. He set his pen down. "Darling?"
You looked up. "Hmm?"
Coriolanus patted his lap. "Come sit."
Tilting your head, your brow furrowed confusedly. "You want me to-?"
"You're uncomfortable," he said, leaning back in his chair, his arms open and ready for you. "Come."
Hesitantly you stood up, book in hand, and went around the desk to sit across his thighs. He secured an arm around you, a little over your belly and you leaned back against him comfortably. "Is this okay?"
"More than," he said, smiling just a little. "Stay here."
And with that, he went back to his papers, working with one hand and keeping you against him with the other. You returned to your reading, perfectly content against him.
This became a routine of sorts. You'd come shyly into his study; he'd hold out an arm for you and you'd sit on his thigh and read. You began to look forward to it, to this time you spent together. His touch was somehow comforting to you.
That was the third thing to note. How much you liked his closeness. The way he went out of his way to make sure you were comfortable, to make sure you weren't lonely.
That wasn't to say there weren't challenges.
At the first gala you attended with him since becoming pregnant, you knew it was going to be a trying affair. Coriolanus was attentive, whispering to you that he'd get you out as soon as possible.
Dressed in a white gown that accentuated your pregnancy, you knew pictures of you and Coriolanus would be splashed across every headline. Keeping that in mind, you did your best to be gracious, to smile and say the right things.
But, three hours into an event that would surely last all night, you found yourself becoming weary. You tugged at Coriolanus' arm, which you'd been glued to all night, but he didn't notice. He was speaking with a senator, engrossed in conversation.
His wife turned to you, starting to speak. "How have things been so far? With the baby?"
You smiled tightly, not upset with her, but tired. "Very well. It's been a wonderful experience."
"How lovely," she smiled, eyeing your figure. "It is a wonder to be sure. A great deal of people have thought you'd never give him a child."
You didn't quite know how to respond to that, so you merely smiled shyly.
"And you're certain it's a boy? We certainly don't need any more young girls around here," the woman laughed, oblivious to your discomfort.
"I suppose we'll see," you nodded, stifling a yawn with your hand and tugging at Coriolanus' arm again. He didn't respond.
"I suppose you aren't eating enough then," the woman noted, raising an eyebrow as she caught your yawn. "If you were you wouldn't be so tired. Or thin for that matter. I know when I was-"
"Darling," Coriolanus cut in, turning to you. "I believe it is time for us to leave." He nodded politely at the woman in front of you and escorted you out, one hand holding one of yours and the other on your back.
Once you were alone at home, you started to cry, a hand over your mouth as you let yourself break down. Your fatigue, the unsolicited advice, the comments on your appearance...it was all too much. You couldn't stand any of it.
It was just another reminder to you of how alone you were. You had no friends- the women of the Capitol were less than inviting, only speaking to you out of obligation and jealousy. And your husband...well, you weren't sure what to think of him at the moment.
Knowing you needed to move around to calm yourself down, you left your room, wandering down the hallway. You tried to keep your breathing even, a hand on your heart as you walked.
You stumbled upon the ballroom, opening the door and wandering inside. The vast emptiness of the large room made you feel small, and you marveled at the feeling. Sometimes being married to Coriolanus made everything feel more heightened. But being alone in this large room made everything feel smaller...less important. It was wonderful.
There was a piano in the corner of the room, and you meandered over to it, running your fingers along the keys. In your training as a socialite, you'd had several lessons in the instrument, but it had been a long time since you'd played.
You sat on the bench carefully, positioning your hands on the keys and beginning to play an old favorite. Muscle memory was your companion, and your fingers moved nimbly and easily. It was comforting to know that you still knew how to do it, that not everything in your past was easily forgotten.
When you looked up after you finished playing, Coriolanus was standing in the doorway. The corners of his mouth were turned up slightly, and he walked over to you. You turned slightly on the bench as he did.
Your husband knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his and bringing them to his lips. He lifted his eyes to meet yours, seeming to take you in. You were still in the same white dress you'd worn to the event. He squeezed your hands. "I'm sorry. I know tonight was hard."
Closing your eyes, you nodded, trying not to cry again. "I'm okay." Coriolanus was still looking up at you when you opened your eyes, and you gave him a small smile when you saw how sincere he was in his apology.
"Are you tired?" he asked softly, searching your eyes.
You shook your head. Somehow your fatigue had vanished somewhere in your walk through the halls.
"Okay." He nodded and stood up, helping you stand as well. "Will you come with me?"
It was a genuine question, and you nodded at it, somehow trusting him more in that moment than you ever had before.
He led you upstairs and up to a door you recognized as his room. You hesitated before going inside but ultimately decided to follow him. Coriolanus kicked off his shoes and sat you down on his bed, hands in yours. "Are you well?"
"Yes, I'm fine," you managed, looking down at your joined hands.
"Darling," he murmured.
"I just...it gets so lonely sometimes," you said softly, looking up at him.
"Oh, sweetheart," Coriolanus lifted your chin, searching your eyes. "I had no idea."
You closed your eyes, shaking your head. "It just gets to be too much sometimes."
His hand came to your face, thumb stroking your cheek. "Sweetheart." You opened your eyes. He brought his forehead to yours, the gesture surprisingly comforting. "I'm sorry. I never meant for you to feel this way."
"I feel like I'm all alone in this," you said quietly, rubbing a hand over your belly.
Coriolanus pulled you closer to him, his expression softer than you'd ever seen it. He kissed your temple. "I'm sorry sweetheart. I know that's my fault."
"It's not. Not really," you murmured, leaning into him. "I know you didn't want this."
"That doesn't mean you should suffer for it," he kissed your forehead. Then Coriolanus took your face into his hands, and you leaned into his touch. "I want you to know how grateful I am for you."
You softened between his hands, looking up at him with doe eyes. "Grateful?"
"Grateful," he clarified, looking over you, your body and your belly. "Grateful because you have given yourself wholly to me. You're doing all this for me. And you might say you didn't have a choice. But you did. And you chose to do this for me. Whatever the reason is, I am grateful for you."
You were stunned at this, your lips parting slightly. He saw you. He had seen you and he cared. A tiny smile made its way onto your face as you looked up at him. "That means a lot."
"You deserve more than a lot," he breathed, his hands sliding from your cheeks to your shoulders. "After everything...what you've given me..."
His voice was husky. "Nobody's ever done anything close to this much for me. You..."
"Coriolanus," you whispered, your lips ever so close to his. Months ago, you never would have allowed it, never would have gotten so close. But things were different now. The child growing inside you had changed everything.
"I'll never let you feel alone again," he breathed. "Never let you feel undervalued, unappreciated...nothing less than what you are."
"And what's that?" you asked.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "The beautiful mother of my child. A woman who is more than I deserve."
"Hardly," you looked up at him, feeling like you were seeing him for the first time. His expression was caring, his touch gentle. He seemed so different now than he was at the start of your marriage.
"Let me show you." Coriolanus muttered, hands coming back to yours, lifting them and kissing your fingers once more.
Your heart pounded, breath quickening, and you nodded. He set your hands down, moving his hand to the zip of your dress and pulling back slightly to look at you. You nodded and turned so he'd have easier access. He slid the zip down carefully and you helped him move the dress over your shoulders and down your body. It ended up as a pile of fabric beside his bed.
Gently, Coriolanus laid you back onto the bed, eyes roaming over you. He appeared entranced by you. Your skin was glowing, your body curvier, belly swollen. His lips parted. "Beautiful," he breathed, leaning down. Your lips were terribly close to his...
You took the final step and pressed your lips to his, capturing them in a kiss that started innocent but quickly became searing.
He pulled you in by the waist, pressing you against him. You knew from experience that Coriolanus' kisses were hungry, but tonight he must have been starving. The way his lips moved against yours was sinful, but you wanted it, wanted it bad.
Your hands moved of their own accord, tugging at his shirt buttons and discarding the garment once it was unbuttoned. His pants were the next to go, joining your dress and his shirt on the floor. When he kissed you, his hands wandered over your body, reaching for the clasp of your undergarment. His touch set you on fire.
When he'd gotten you completely bare and he was in the same state, he pulled back, not kissing you for a moment, just looking. You squirmed a little under his gaze, which was intense although caring. "What is it?" you questioned softly.
"Breathtaking." He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "You...carrying my child...you're very nearly a goddess."
That made the corners of your lips turn up sweetly, and you pulled him down for another kiss, his body hovering over you, careful not to put too much weight on your belly.
As you laid tangled in his sheets in the aftermath of it, your body was more wholly satisfied than it had been in a long time. You looked over at him, smiling softly and resting on your side. He reached out and rested his hand back on your cheek, stroking your soft skin. You felt a connection with him then, for the first time since your pregnancy began.
Coriolanus leaned down and kissed you, his lips soft and feather light. He moved on the bed, so he was facing you. The soft light combined with what you'd just done made him look a way that pulled at your heart.
His eyes never left yours. You recognized that look. He was making sure you were comfortable, that you felt safe. Usually, you only saw that look at public events but seeing it right now after something so intimate sent a flutter through you.
"Will you stay tonight?" he murmured, one hand in your hair.
"Yes," you breathed. He opened his arms and let you snuggle close. As you drifted off, you felt one of his hands wander to your belly, caressing it gently. It was the first time he'd really touched it your entire pregnancy.
For the first time, you began to think of the baby in your belly as yours too. A baby. Your hand ran over your bump, and you smiled softly. It was both of your child. As much yours as it was his.
And you didn't mind it one bit.
He had vowed not to fall for you.
He had spent countless hours convincing himself he hadn't.
But after the night of the gala, he couldn't deny it anymore.
Every time Coriolanus looked at you, whether it be at the breakfast table when the sunlight filtered through the windows and hit your face just right, or when he looked up from his work every night when you were on his lap to see your concentrated face as you read, he felt the tendrils of feeling close around his heart.
He found himself becoming more affectionate with you. He used your pet names in an abundance, and he always felt like he needed to be touching you. You were the bright point in his life.
The last months of your pregnancy were bliss. Vesta rarely called on him, so he was free to spend all he free time with you.
Walking in the gardens, reading side by side. He'd press a kiss to your temple now and then, keeping you close, making sure you were well.
He feared childbirth for you the closer you got to it. Thoughts of his own mother, and the stories he'd heard of swam through his head and he held you a little tighter because of it.
Now he insisted you sleep in the same room as him, wanting to keep an eye on you. Sometimes he'd wake in the middle of the night and just watch you sleep, making sure your breathing was steady, wanting to be around in case you needed anything. He was paranoid you'd go into labor while he was asleep.
And of course, when you finally did, he was.
You woke him in a panic, the bedsheets soaked, telling him in hurried tones that it was time, that the baby was coming. He leapt into action immediately, sending for the doctor. The two of you had fallen asleep in your bedroom tonight, and when he tried to move you, you whimpered and shook your head, a cramp rippling through your body.
The doctor arrived, and everything was a blur after that. He never left your side, even though the sight of you in pain made him feel faint.
Before the both of you knew it, the baby was out, and you were collapsing back into the pillows, your body exhausted. Coriolanus looked over to the doctor, who was holding his new baby...
Girl.
Coriolanus stood up, his heart racing. A girl. Vesta would be furious. He was just outside the door after all, expecting the news any moment now.
He went to stand by the window as the doctor handed you the baby, gathering his thoughts. What would he tell Vesta? More importantly, what was the man going to do? His blood started to boil as he thought of Vesta hurting you in any way for this.
Looking over at you with the baby girl in your arms, close to your chest, he was filled with a sense of wonder. You'd grown his child, pushed it out of your body, and he was supposed to be upset that it wasn't a boy?
The door burst open, and Vesta revealed himself, looking over the scene. You rushed to cover yourself, and Coriolanus moved to your side, making sure you had some privacy.
"For heaven's sake Vesta," he said protectively. "You couldn't have allowed us ten minutes."
"Not when the bloodline is at stake, my boy," Vesta said, grinning. "So, your son?"
"Not a son," you spoke up, cradling the baby close to you. You smiled down at your daughter, who was fast asleep.
The man's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Exactly what she said, Vesta," Coriolanus said in quiet tones. "Not a son. A daughter."
Vesta's face grew cold. "This is unacceptable. A daughter isn't good for the family."
"And yet," Coriolanus folded his arms, still standing in front of you.
"She will have to be hidden away. We'll tell the public the baby died," Vesta moved forward, as if to take the child from you.
You shook your head, holding the baby tight to your chest. "No, no don't."
"To have a firstborn daughter isn't good for your image," Vesta reached out for the baby. "Your wife is clearly defective in some way. We'll have the child taken away. Given to another Capitol family."
"No," you cried out, looking fearfully up at Coriolanus. You looked so scared, and the surge of protectiveness that shot through him was amplified with what you said next. "Coriolanus, don't let him take her."
As Vesta moved toward you, Coriolanus stood in his path. "You won't be taking our daughter."
Vesta's face grew sterner still. "I beg your pardon?"
Coriolanus was unmoving. "A son will come eventually. But in the meantime, our daughter will be claimed as ours."
"Your image-" Vesta started.
"Will not be ruined by a child," he cut him off. Coriolanus took a step toward Vesta, his frame tall and intimidating. "Since I enlisted your help in my career, you have been rude, demanding, and disrespectful, especially toward my wife." He glanced back at you. Your eyes were wide as you held the baby.
"If I ever see you insult my wife again," Coriolanus started, his voice quiet but deadly. "Even if I hear of it, I will not hesitate to disappear. You see, since last year, my resources have grown exceptionally. I suppose I have you to thank for that."
Vesta was silent, looking shocked at his words.
"Now get out before I have you escorted," Coriolanus pointed at the door. "Out."
Vesta huffed, straightening his suit. "If your career collapses, you'll only have yourself to blame." He cast a dirty look at you. "Well, I suppose not only you."
And with that, the older man left.
Coriolanus stood there seething for a moment. He had half a mind to run to his study and call the right people to have Vesta taken out right now. But he controlled himself. Later, he thought.
For now, he turned to you, kneeling beside the bed and pushing sweaty strands out of your face. "I'm sorry sweetheart."
"You stood up for me," you said, smiling softly as you looked up at him. You looked down at the baby. "You didn't let him take her."
"How could I?" Coriolanus murmured, leaning in and nudging his nose with yours, which made you smile again. "How could I when I..." he swallowed. "When I love you too much to let that happen."
Your eyes widened a bit, your smile sweeter. "You love me?"
"I think I've loved you ever since I've known you," he said, the adrenaline from the interaction with Vesta seeming to give him courage. "And after this..." he reached down to the baby, stroking her soft little cheek with his finger. "I can't keep it in anymore."
You watched as he sat on the bed next to you, encircling you and the baby in his arms, pushing a kiss to your hair. He smiled, a real smile he always found himself wearing around you.
"I didn't think I'd be able to love you when I married you," you said quietly, looking up at him. "But somehow I do."
He lifted your chin, kissing you briefly. "You love me?" He'd repeated your words, which made you smile.
"I love you," you confirmed, looking into his eyes. You looked so tired, but happy. He'd never understood before how one could feel happy because of someone else's joy, but now he did.
He kissed you again, wrapping his arms tightly around you and the baby, around his little family.
The sun rose that morning, the dawn of a new day, but also a new life for him. He now truly had his wife and his daughter, both so loved.
And he was loved too.
#coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow fanfiction#coriolanus x reader#coryo x reader#coriolanus fanfiction#coryo snow#the hunger games#the hunger games fanfiction#married to young president snow#coriolanus x you#ballad of songbirds and snakes#tbosas#tbosbas#tbosas fic#tbosas x reader#Spotify
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"One step backward. Two steps forward"
Summary:
“호랑이🐱: Congrats to the happy couple! @Hans839 I’m sure you’ll take good care of our Snow.”
Or
Snow make one silly post and it accidentally blew up.
TWs: Nothing. Just some weird stuff.
Words Count: 900+ words (Not really much)
It was meant as a harmless joke – Snow never dreamed it would cause such a stir. It all started when she took a rare week off to help a friend with their photography project. Trying on various elegant gowns was good wholesome fun – at least until she impulsively snapped a selfie in her favorite flowing white gown with some vague caption about “Feeling nervous for the big day”
Her post were blowing up with congratulatory messages, assuming the gown meant something more significant. Snow laughed it off, replying with bubbles and clown emojis.
Suddenly she noticed a new tag in one of the comments from a certain Korean operator, Horangi.
“호랑이🐱: Congrats to the happy couple! @Hans839 I’m sure you’ll take good care of our Snow.”
Squinting in confusion, she clicked to see who this “Hans” person was that he had tagged – only to realize that the account was set private.
Then Snow nearly dropped her phone in horror when Horangi’s congrats and mysterious tag unleashed a torrent of notifications – their colleagues from KorTac flooding her post, assuming the worst.
Her blood ran cold.
Even some higher-ups Snow barely knew chimed in with off-color jokes. Great, now she’d given the crotchety old Admirals yet another reason to gossip about her love life.
Holy shit, was this some practical joke? Snow wracked her brain trying to connect the dots as more congratulatory messages poured in.
All at once, things clicked into place. Hans must be a high rank man on their base. And knowing Horangi’s mischievous streak, he had purposefully tagged the him just to stir up trouble. Judge by his name this Hans dude was probably a German person, and she was aware of the fact their Colonel is a German.
Fuck
It was König.
As in, her commanding colonel at KorTac, König. The scary, stoic commander she’d only ever patched up in medbay. Faceless weirdo who’d never said more than four words to her but ALWAYS stared so intensely she swore he hated her guts. Snow had no idea he even had social media, much less that his profile was connected to his real name! What was Horangi thinking?
There was only one thing to do – delete the evidence and face the heat wave of embarrassment back at base. But when Snow pulled up the post, she froze again when she noticed more senior commanders had already congratulated her! Deleting it meant the possibility of loosing her face on her workplace!
That day, Snow was mortified hurrying back to base, ready to hide in the weapon lockers for a year and came back later like nothing happens, praying and hoping everyone will forget about her silly post that created these misunderstanding if she suddenly show up one day with a big smile and say “Oh, no, That post is just a joke hahah. And no, I don’t marry the colonel. It was Horangi’s idea haha..” Oh how she wish it was easier like that. Pretty sure it wouldn’t end too well.
“Soooo, when’s the big day? I call being best man.”
Snow’s panic must have showed, because Horangi chose that moment to saunter over with a shit-eating grin.
“Horangi I swear to God, you and I are gonna have words-“
“Oh, by the way Colonel König wants to see you, Snow. Good luck…” And with that he leaves doing only God knows what while humming something that sound similar with ‘Here Comes The Bride’, leaving Snow shuddered to imagine König’s reaction, quietly seething behind his closed office door no doubt.
She was so screwed.
How could she face him now without dying of mortification?
Steeling her nerves, Snow marched over and gave a tentative knock. At his gruff “Enter,” she slipped inside, bracing for the inevitable eruption. Instead she found König leaning back casually in his chair, staring at her with an amused glint that somehow wasn’t comforting at all.
“So Schatz , care to explain this intriguing post I saw over your break?”
Snow spluttered helplessly, launching into a garbled excuse about costumes and photoshoot as König watched with growing amusement. Finally he cut her off, standing to slowly circle her desk until she was caged between his arms.
“I see. Well since we’re apparently already engaged…” His predatory tone sent a shiver down her spine. “…We may as well have some fun with it, ja?”
That’s when Snow knew she was absolutely fucked when she felt the cold feeling of metal on her ring finger. She sighed before replied back, fighting a smile of her own while mentally plotting Horangi’s demise.
“Of course, Sir”
=====
At the base, König went about his duties as usual. But come evening when things quieted, old habit drew him to Snow’s profile like a moth to flame when she was away from him. What he found made his breath catch.
There she was, his beautiful Schatz, beaming radiantly in white satin. Before reason could intervene, König double tapped to like the photo, mouth curving up at the image he hoped to see for real someday.
Unfortunately one certain meddlesome comrade had been watching too, ready to seize any opportunity. Not long after, a notification popped up on König’s phone – Horangi had tagged him in a comment on Snow’s post, congratulating them both excitedly.
On the one hand, he knew Snow too well, It was undoubtedly just an innocent tease on her part. But on the other hand, the thought of another man putting that gown on her, claiming HER as their wife... Makes König saw red. At that moment strange knot formed in his stomach as he studied the photo more closely than proper.
And then, an idea took hold that he might be able to use this amusing misunderstanding to his advantage…
=======
Phewww. I just done write this one a few weeks ago. Don't worry, I'll continue the other fic later but don't know when, since my right ear is getting worse and I might go seek medical treatment.
Also Love, Reblogged and Comment will be really appreciated!
#könig cod#doodle#art#cod mw2#cod x oc#cod oc#könig#konig call of duty#konig mw2#könig mw2#cod fanfic#könig x oc#call of duty original character
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Noah's Spring Jewish Book Review
this isn't gonna become a regular thing, don't worry. I just need to gush some about these books. I'm gonna keep the reviews short too because who's got that kind of time!
So far I've read 4 Jewish novels this spring and I'm working on a fifth. We'll go in chronological order
1. Thistlefoot by GennaRose Nethercott
~ Two estranged siblings, Isaac and Bellatine Yaga—the grandchildren of the famous Baba Yaga—inherit their ancestor's chicken-footed house. They travel the country putting on puppet shows and exploring their own mysterious abilities, all the while trying to escape from a threatening figure known only as the Longshadow Man, as well as their own pasts. History relives itself in a book filled with magic and mystery ~
This book was so damn good. Every other sentence is tattoo-worthy and hits you like a sack of bricks. The characters feel so real and raw while also managing to fill out their respective roles with a sense of poetry. The book has a supporting cast of memorable characters and a sense of real danger throughout. Every so often the house will interject in a way that reminds me so much of my bubbe (עליה השלום). I've read reviews that said it dragged on a bit in the second act but I was enraptured the entire way through. It's also pretty gay, which I always appreciate. 10/10
2. When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb
~ An angle and a demon—best friends for 200 years—set out from their tiny Pale shtetl to America in search of a girl who hasn't been heard from. They're accompanied by Rosie, a spunky and fire-spirited girl from their shtetl desperate to get away and have an adventure in the far-off West ~
No book has made me feel quite so seen as this one. As someone who grew up Orthodox there's virtually no representation for people like me. The majority of Orthodox characters in media are trying to get away. None of them love it quite so much as I do, as much as the characters in this book do. From Little Ash tucking his peyot behind his ears like my older brothers used to to the angel waking up to daven shacharit. Sacha Lamb takes the brave stance of "what if Jewish theology is real, actually" and it shines on every page. The writing effortlessly intertwines spirituality and reverence with a classic Yiddish folktale. It's also pretty gay. 10/10
3. From Dust, a Flame by Rebecca Podos
Hannah, the descendant of the famed Rabbi Yehuda Loew, wakes up one morning to find herself transformed, her eyes turning to yellow slits. Her mother seems to blame herself without explaining why, and soon after disappears. After receiving a mysterious letter, Hannah and her adopted brother Gabe travel to upstate New York to meet their mother's family, to learn the secrets of her past, and of their own lineage ~
I'll start off by saying I'm not sure if I was the target audience for this book. It was good, don't get me wrong, but the writing wasn't to my taste. It was a little... blatant, where I prefer prose to be a bit more subtle. Again, nothing wrong with it, just not my particular thing. I definitely relate to Hannah and Gabe a lot, each in their own way. A lot of the book felt very comforting and familiar to me. The book is equal parts supernatural action and intriguing mystery, and keeps you engrossed til the end. It's also Extremely Gay 7/10
4. The Way Out by Gavriel Savit
~ Yehuda Leib and Bluma set out from their tiny Pale shtetl, each on a mission of the utmost importance. Yehuda Leib is looking for his lost father, and Bluma is running from Death. Navigating the Far Country full of demons, goblins, and angels, the pair fight their way through history and mystery alike, and prepare to make war on Death himself ~
This book. Oh boy this book. Where do I start? This book made me cry several times, which hasn't happened in over 15 years. This book said everything about death I've been feeling since my bubbe passed away (עליה השלום). This book genuinely made me re-think how I view G-d? All that and more in less than 400 pages. This book harmonized with my soul. This book changed who I am as a person. This book made me crumble to dust and then built me back up from scratch. 10/10
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EB Jewelry
I’ve mentioned before, just once in one of my earlier stories, about a mysterious jewelry store which sells items that change people. The ring that turned a younger man into a soon to be married muscle daddy came from said store. But I never went into details, I never even mentioned anything about the store, not even its name. But today I want to correct that. Today I want to introduce you all to EB Jewelry.
Also known as the Eye of the Beholder jewelry company, it started out as a small local business somewhere in the American Midwest, and began to spread like weeds. It isn’t the largest chain out there, but it is strangely far spread. You can find at least one in every state, and some in other countries. Despite their size and their unconventional and generally confusing business strategy, EB Jewelry has been surprisingly successful, making millions in profit and delighting their investors. But none of that really matters to you does it? You don’t care about how well the company is doing or how they operate. You just care about the transformations.
There are a lot of rumors about how the transformations work. Some people say that the original founder discovered a type of magical gems that are now used in the jewelry. Some people say that the entire company is a front for a group of scientists testing out new transformation technology. I even once heard a theory that the mysterious board of directors are a group of ancient gods enacting their will on the world. Whatever it is, the transformations usually follow a certain pattern. People who need a change are almost subconsciously drawn to EB Jewelry. Eventually they enter a store, and their eyes land on a certain piece of jewelry that they feel is calling to them. They go into a trance, and before they even realize what’s happening they buy it. Then they start to change.
It doesn’t always work like that however. Take their new CEO. The founder of the company and their original CEO died years ago, and the most recent CEO had to leave suddenly due to some… unforeseen circumstances. The company needed a new CEO, stat. And instead of trying to find one this time… they decided to make one. Colin here used to be a 24 year old internet troll who weighed over 250 pounds (most of it fat) and was living in his mothers basement. His Uncle, a high ranking investor in EB Jewelry, made a few calls to the board and ended up buying his pathetic nephew a new watch.
The new Colin was the perfect fit for a CEO. Charming, attractive, young, but also clever, with incredible business acumen and sense of style. He might be younger than a traditional CEO, but he is a better businessman and leader than the last CEO ever was. He’s truly been thriving, and I hear he’s even engaged to marry the company CFO later this year. I can’t wait to see the wedding rings.
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Tiny Spark, Mighty Flame
Sterek || eventual Alpha Werewolf Stiles [ao3]
Among born werewolves, it was common knowledge that the prime age for a human to endure the bite of an Alpha and survive was typically during their teenage or young adult years. In fact, the youngest recorded case of a bite resulting in a transformation and not death was previously eleven years old, so imagine the Hale pack’s astonishment when they learned of a small seven year old who was bitten and miraculously survived, challenging the known boundaries of possibility.
Chapter 3 - Friction's Inferno
The table was laden with sizzling meats and a medley of fresh ingredients. The savory scents of beef, chicken, and shrimp mingled with the aroma of grilled bell peppers and onions, promising the delectable flavors of the homemade fajitas Elijah whipped up with Cora’s assistance.
As Claudia and Elijah set about helping Stiles and Cora serve their plates, Noah turned to greet Dr. Deaton who had arrived while they were upstairs. “I take it you’re a werewolf, too?” he asked with a resigned look on his face.
“Oh, no,” Deaton replied quietly. “I am as human as you are.”
Noah’s face scrunched up in confusion.
“Alan is our pack’s emissary,” Talia told them from the head of the table.
“Emissary?” Claudia asked. “Like, a pack ambassador or something?”
Deaton smiled mysteriously, “Of sorts.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Noah blurted out. He already felt out of his depths, which is something Noah does NOT like to feel, especially when it comes to his family. As this little boy’s dad, Noah was supposed to have all the answers and make him feel safe, but Noah hasn’t been able to provide that ever since his son was bitten by a real life werewolf , which shouldn’t even be a real thing. This little meeting was supposed to be for answering the questions he and his family had about this whole situation they suddenly found themselves in, and now this, apparently human, vet decided this was the time to be vague and mysterious? Fuck that.
Claudia, sensing his rising tension, reached over to put a hand on his.
“What he means,” Talia said, giving Deaton a swift look before making firm eye contact with Noah, “is that as pack emissary, yes, he is an ambassador for the pack with other werewolf packs and acts as our link to the human world. He helps to smooth over any issues the pack might have to deal with, and he works to keep the supernatural secret from the majority of humans.”
“Why does the supernatural world have to stay a secret from humans?” Claudia asked.
Noah didn’t like the looks Talia, Elijah, and Deaton exchanged with each other.
Elijah put his hands together under his chin and sighed, “People don’t always trust what they don’t understand.”
Talia put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck as the pair exchanged commiserating smiles. “There’s already an unfortunate number of people out there who already know that we exist and hate us simply for existing.”
“Hunters,” Laura muttered.
Noah’s heart clenched at the thought as he looked over at his son’s wide brown eyes. Claudia’s hand tightened in his grasp.
“Like, werewolf hunters?” Stiles’s little voice piped up. “That’s a real thing?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Talia said gently. “However, they live by a code,” she continued. “They are to only hunt those that cause harm to innocents.”
As a man of the law, that didn’t sit right with Noah.
[continue reading on ao3]
#sterek#my writing#mywriting#eternalsterek#werewolf stiles#werewolf stiles stilinski#derek hale#the hale pack#hale family feels#laura hale#talia hale#papa hale#cora hale#claudia stilinski#noah stilinski#sheriff stilinski#sterek fanfic#teen wolf
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Summaries:
After learning about his parentage, Mikey sneaks inside an art auction of Hamato Yoshi's art, learning both about his father and Draxum.
After Iron Fan manipulates her son into a state of possessiveness over his mate, Red and her enter a civil war. DBK and Qi Xiaotian are watching on the sidelines. (Or, Ironbull and Spicynoodles keep fucking in each other's bed. Smut.)
Eros and Psyche AU: Lunar New Year this year is both tense and exciting- Xiaotian's pregnancy will soon be over and Red and DBK are rebuilding a rocky relationship. Both become issues when Spider Queen attacks.
There is a thirst account for Qi Xiaotian, the Monkie Kid, and there is a thirst account for Red Son. Both men run the other account secretly, admitting their dirtiest fantasies about their rival to Twitter. And then Xiaotian slips up. Smut.
After Marinette's horrible excuse of an expulsion, Sabine decides to call on her older sister for help. There is rot in this school, and it'll take a demon queen to root it out.
Chloe successfully crashes and saves a train, with the only casualty being Maribrat's leg. Lila is climbing up the social ladder with her lies, trampling Marinette underfoot. Both queen bees see an opportunity when the school announces its first prom and prom queen contest.
Long Xiaojiao and Qi Xiaotian do everything together. This includes being deflowered by Red Son. (Smut.)
Prince Red is cursed into the horrific form of a bull man, with the only cure being him learning true love. Unfortunately, Red likes his new form too much and scares away the suitors his parents send. He meets his match in the latest suitor, Qi Xiaotian. Smut.
In the wake of learning about Splinter’s real identity, Leo and Raph struggle with deciding on how to handle it. (Or, according to @stylishbutdefinitelyillegal, Hamato Saki earns the Worst Uncle award.)
The first part of Episode 1, when trying to leave their hometown of Crystal Cove to start their second year of college, the Mystery Gang finds themselves trapped in Crystal Cove.
@draw-of-the-moon's Chimera Parents: Pigsy just had to suggest that the kids come along to his grandmother's farmhouse with him and Tang. He just had to go to the store. Hopefully, Chimera will never learn that he let their kids get kidnapped. (Or, Tang opens a scroll labeling the locations of four golden weapons, only for him and Nya to get kidnapped by skeletons. Kai is recruited by a mysterious old man to learn spinjitzu, and Pigsy has child leashes for all three of them.)
LMK S5 theory fic: Erlang Shen is supposed to be on vacation. However, in an hour,he learns that his uncle is dead, someone is trying to do another coup, and Sun Wukong has been filleted again. The people who deliver this news, including mass criminal Master Subodhi, the duo of Ao Lie's descendant and Iron Fan's son, and the creation goddess Nuwa, make things... difficult.
#LMK#Monkie Kid#LEGO Monkie Kid#Dawn of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles#DotTMNT#TMNT#teenage mutant ninja turtles#Miraculous#Miraculous Ladybug#ML#MLB#Scooby Doo#Scooby Doo: Together Forever#SD#SDTF#Ninjago#posted this early so I would stop fussing with it.
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May Prompts (20)
Day 19 here. Start at the beginning here.
Do Over
“Perhaps you need a …. I believe the colloquial term is do over.”
He pulls the mobile away from his ear. “Please don’t try to talk like a normal person ever again,” he says forcefully into the receiver. He returns the mobile to his ear and says, more quietly. “It’s off-putting.”
His brother sighs. “Yes that was unpleasant for me too. But the advice stands, brother mine. This isn’t some grand mystery for you to solve.”
“Mycroft, I assure you I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Your guilt is getting tedious, Sherlock. And you are far more transparent than you think. You obviously omitted some information in your recounting about the night John fell. me. It’s surely trivial but it’s bothering you so just tell John.”
He says nothing, unsure of how to respond. He hates when Mycroft is right. He walks back down the hall to John’s room and looks in the window. John is sleeping. He looks so peaceful. “I don’t want John to be mad at me,” he says, unsure of why he feels the need to be honest with his brother of all people.
He can hear Mycroft’s eye roll. “That seems unlikely, under the circumstances. And even if it were a probable outcome, Sherlock, delay is hardly an effective tactic. John will remember whatever it is you aren’t telling him.” A pause. “Dr. Watson has always been much more … let’s say hurt … by subterfuge than anything else. A lie by omission is still a lie.”
“He might not remember.”
“We both know that is unlikely. And, in terms of his recovery, not what you want.”
Arg! Why does it brother have to be right?
… And why is the constable guarding John’s room intently watching Sherlock’s half of this conversation? The man’s recently acquired (and atrocious) bleach blonde hair certainly shows a clear lack of judgment.
“Don’t you have something better to do? Your job perhaps,” he snaps at the constable before turning his back on him. It’s not entirely fair because the man’s job is, basically, just to stand there as it seems the constant presence of police has been enough to deter any further intruders. That and the rather Orwellian number of highly visible CCTV cameras that Mycroft had installed.
He hears Mycroft sigh on the other end of the line. “Go talk to John, Sherlock, and put us all out of our misery.” A pause. “But first, put him on. I need to speak with him.”
“John’s sleeping,” he snaps, “and I won’t be waking him to speak to the likes of you. He’s already having enough trouble keeping food down.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Mycroft mutters. “Sod it. I have a message … give him my condolences. I heard his old friend Robert Larkin died. Fentanyl. Terrible thing. I know old Robbie had been planning on visiting but … well he got tied up, I suppose.”
“I’ll pass on the message,” he says, fingers itching to start looking up everything on this Robert Larkin. Mycroft is not all that great at subtlety.
There is silence for a moment before his brother speaks again. “Sherlock, John is safe. Rosie is safe. Let yourself enjoy it.”
@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @quimerasyutopias @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels @dapetty
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Thank you @shivstar for such an interesting prompt and this rare pair! It took me a while to figure out how to write these two interacting together, but I love a good challenge. :) I hope you enjoy what I came up with. Here's Gellert Grindelwald/Sirius Black. The pairing is mostly implied because of the pre-dating phase.
Rating: G
__
Out of time
He knows something has gone wrong the minute the world stops spinning around. His knees buckle and he collapses on the floor.
He's shaking and gasping for air, and a wave of nausea threatens to overtake him. A force yanks his wand from his hand, then the metallic object from his pocket.
Sirius Black raises his head, blinking. Everything is dark, until a wand lights up a few metres away from him. Decorated stone walls. Large fireplace. Arched windows. He's in a castle.
A man comes to stand above him, blond strands peeking out from under his hood. His pale blue eyes stare down at Sirius, cold and curious.
"And who do we have here?"
__
1920. He went back in time 76 years.
The Ministry. The Department of Mysteries. Death Eaters. Everything was a chaos. Curses flying around. Bellatrix's spell hit Sirius squarely on the chest – and on the Time-Turner hidden in his breast pocket as he was flung backwards towards the veil.
He picked up the object when they rushed through the Time Chamber towards the Death Chamber. He didn't really know what he'd do with a damaged Time-Turner, but it probably saved his life, even if he's now stuck in the past with nowhere to go.
He hopes with all his might that Harry is safe.
"Who is Harry?"
It's him. The Dark Wizard he only knew from history books until now.
Sirius doesn't reply but hastily tries to clear his mind, even if he barely knows the basics of Occlumency learned years ago. He'll never yield willingly.
"Interesting." Gellert Grindelwald smirks. "You'll talk eventually. We've got all the time in the world."
__
He's been imprisoned in the bedchamber for a month. The irony of it all is staggering. At least his bed is comfortable, there are no Dementors or cranky house-elves around, and he receives regular meals that are surprisingly tasty.
Based on the amount of cheese and pastries on the menu, as well as the mountainous view from his window, he must be near the Alps. How the Time-Turner transported him to another location, he doesn't know. It must be the result of magic having behaved unpredictably under such special circumstances.
Grindelwald visits his room every day with questions about the future, and, confusingly, to play chess with him. Sirius remains tight-lipped but agrees to play the game, if only to pass the time. He's surprised that the man has let his mind stay unpenetrated, even though it probably wouldn't take much effor to break through Sirius's mental walls.
Grindelwald always leaves the room with the same infuriating smile on his lips. Why hasn't he just forced the answers out of Sirius yet?
It's baffling.
__
After two months, Sirius has come to the conclusion that Gellert Grindelwald isn't the same kind of monster as Voldemort. He's similarly smart, calculating, charming and polite when he wants to be, though beneath the surface, there's undoubtedly a more ruthless side. Sirius isn't naive. But Grindelwald has the capacity to feel something for another person; he mentions an old friend with whom he used to play chess once upon a time, and Sirius knows the look of loss when he sees it.
The blue eyes bother him. They always study Sirius, his every move. He supposes he does the same with Grindelwald.
There's curiosity there, and it's not one-sided.
He could try to prevent Grindelwald from committing the horrible things he's going to do. He could try to make things better.
Sirius needs to do something.
__
"So, Sirius. You have finally decided to talk?"
The light from the fireplace flickers in Gellert's eyes as he leans closer to Sirius over the empty chess board between them.
Sirius licks his lips. Three months in, he's made his decision.
"I can tell you some things. But nothing that will endanger those closest to me."
Gellert smiles. "Very well."
They clink their glasses of amber liquid together, and the gesture holds the promise of something more to come.
"I'm surprised you didn't just force me to spill my secrets," Sirius finally says.
"I did consider that," Gellert muses. "But you're out of your time. Stuck here with me. I thought we could have some fun together, you and I, once you got used to the idea."
"Fun?" Sirius raises his brow.
"Why, we're both intelligent men. Surely, all the strategising we do day by day requires a release."
Sirius finishes his drink in one gulp. His cheeks flush, either from the alcohol or the implication in Gellert's words.
"I'm sure it does."
This time, he responds to Gellert's smile.
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#my writing#sirius black#gellert grindelwald#time travel#sirius black/gellert grindelwald#grindelblack?#blackwald?#starwald?#give me suggestions for a ship name! :D
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Poem-prayer-invocation inspired by the Song of Amergin. Spring 2023
#devotional polytheism#polytheism#mysticism#devotional poetry#heathenry#my poetry#is this about the Old Man? it is a mystery.
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我还道方兄与李兄乃是至交，没想到和阿飞兄也是如此默契。
DI FEISHENG and FANG DUOBING | 莲花楼 Mysterious Lotus Casebook
#莲花楼#mysterious lotus casebook#asiandramanet#dailyasiandramas#asiandramasource#cdramagifs#cdramanet#cdrama#difang#xiao shun yao#joseph zeng#lhlgifs#jielin's edits#my posts#hello difang nation. my humble contribution#FINALLY. A WHOLE NEW WORLD HAS BEEN OPENED WITH 2160P SOFT SUBS#WHO WAS I WHAT WAS MY LIFE BEFORE IT. i'm not crying over my dihua sets (lying and crying)#one thing about me is i guess i am defenceless against 不高兴和没头脑 a dynamic so old but gold#two men brought together by their common love for another man. 有本土狗爱的味道#阿飞撞飞小狗ヽ(*≧ω≦)ﾉ#我是举笛花大旗的 不过老笛和小狗在一起的时候的那个宠溺感 请看看他对小宝稍微挑眉的那幕😔👌 （有时对花也是 所以我很想相信老笛本质上是个温柔的人#其实老笛原本不屑和小宝打架的可是就被他的节奏代跑了 才有了狼狗和奶狗xxj式的掐架#然后小宝放下成见 想要感化老笛 逐渐到会想要保护照顾他 信任他让他做自己#是个双向成长的感情#真的太香了 你说能不嗑吗😔👌#如果说花花把老笛困在了过去 那小宝是最有可能把他带到未来的人#老笛昏过去了花花都不去接相信小宝会接的👍 小狗看起来就是要给人宠的花花就让笛盟主接手👍#笛方的本质是笛方花 可以独自美丽但是永远离不开花 花花对他们的爱的延续是他们之间的爱#（我已经语无伦次了ojbk 我现在很需要笛方的代餐饿到要昏过去了55555#finding a really good caption for these two was hard.
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