#she just did it while taking down as many people as she could in the process. and now shes a smoke monster

[randomshyperson]

The Bed Issue - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: Another retake of Wandavision, this time, the scene with the two single beds.

Warnings: (+18) pure smut, enchanted strap, fingering, creampie, wanda is in charge but r tops, dirty talking, some typical Westview angst (brief reality alteration) but purely sinful | Words: 3.284k

A/N-> At this point, I feel I should start a new collection with all the scenes I rewrote. I miss writing series people, where are my ideas. Also, sorry if there are too many spelling errors, I wrote this on my phone (it's hard to be poor and busy). But good reading!

General Masterlist | AO3

-&-

The sign of two single beds in the room made you giggle right away.

Wanda, who walked in first, looked back at you with curiosity. Her gaze scanned your face as she asked: “What's funny, darling?”

Your eyes found her and a deep sigh escaped your lips, the ghost of that giggle still present in your expression. 

“The beds, Wanda.” You replied quickly, almost offended she couldn't see the absurdity of that. Maybe she was playing innocent. Or at least, that's what her confused gaze looked like. Another sign escaped you. “Why would a married couple sleep on different beds, side by side?”

“Well, I…” but she cut herself mid-sentence, her gaze shifted as if she realized that really didn't make any sense. “I guess you're right.”

The bed moved as quickly as her fingers - the wood jumping to the side to connect and transform into one bed. You smile, moving forward to kiss your wife's cheek.

“Lovely tricks as always, darling.” You praise, catching the soft color rising up her skin before you step to the bathroom. But you comment again, giggling: “How odd that was, two beds.”

Distracted by your own joke, you didn't catch Wanda's shoulder tension. And she could only force a smile, giving a quick gaze at your figure brushing your teeth while mentality praying that for the sake of her poor heart, you wouldn't notice any other weirdness tonight.

-&-

A stupid tree.

A stupid tree branch against the window and things got out of hand completely. At least this time, in a good sense of things.

That is because Wanda found herself pressed into the bed, giggling at our bold hands under her clothes.

She remembers this teasing all too well. Beyond the sexual tension, and the teenage hormones, there was intimacy. You could always make her laugh, no matter the situation. Often, you would do that in inappropriate ones that's for sure. Just for the satisfaction of making her blush deeply when apologizing to whoever was around to testify you making a mess out of her. And then when in a situation like tonight, where it was too hard to breathe and too warm for a coherent thought - teasing fingers where she had tickles was the perfect way to ease her anxiety. To anchor her back and remember it's just you. Her best friend. Warming your way around her skin.

But things were a little - a lot - different in Westview. Neither of you knows why or how, or better saying, Wanda knew to a different extent than you.

When she brought the covers up your bodies, taking the lead for the night and expecting to meet your eagerness to kiss her again, she was met with more giggles.

She stared down at your shiny eyes, leaning into the hand you brought to her cheek.

“It's too warm here.” You let her know softy, and yes, Wanda was quite aware. Kissing you was more than enough to heat her entirely, but doing this under the covers was a challenge. She could feel the sweat starting to drip. She was ready to say she didn't mind, maybe even kiss you to change the subject when you added: “Why would you cover us anyway, darling? There's no one watching.”

It was meant to be a joke, obviously. You don't know. You couldn't know. And your eyes were innocent and your smile was sincere and Wanda hesitated.

Your hand remains on her cheek, the caress never stopping.

“Did I say something wrong? Where did you go just now?” 

She went outside. Outside the hex, all the way to monitors transmitting her sitcom of a fake life. But not really. Because she didn't consciously know about any of this. Yet, some part of her mind did know, and all the TVs that once exhibited her little show, now hold a Stand By sign. 

Wanda was the one who threw the covers aside. The fresh air was well welcome but you're now distracted with the gorgeous woman moving to straddle your hips.

“You're right, there's no one watching.” She says with the same urgency she burst open your pajama shirt. You don't understand the rush, but she looks too pretty for you to disagree. And Wanda purrs at the sight of your naked skin, biting her lips like a naughty child. “I missed you.”

You chuckle breathlessly, some confusion in your eyes. “I was with you all day.”

She shook her head, deciding now to control her tongue. If she doesn't want you questioning, she needs to stop saying things like this. So she forces a smile, shifting against your hips in a way that makes your breath catch in your throat. “I always miss my wife, I mean. Whenever she's not touching me.”

Even though you offer her a grin, there's a blush in your cheeks that goes down your chest and Wanda suddenly doesn't feel like talking anymore.

A feeling you two seem to share as you bring a hand to her face only to pull her down at you again. It's a heated kiss. With tongue and breathy whispers that turn her into needy sounds. 

Even without the covers, it's soon too hot to keep clothes on. 

You're the one who takes her nightgown off. Pulling down as your tongues dance together, until the item no longer hides the tits you started to play it. 

Wanda's eyes are tightly closed as your mouth sucks her nipple. Your hand plays with the other while she struggles to breathe. 

Her top needs to go, but so does all the other clothing. The nightgown barely reached the floor and you're already pulling at her soaked panties, eager to feel her inside.

“Need this off you now, witchy.” The nickname makes her gasp. You haven't used it until now and it has been way too long since she heard. Since you- 

No. No thinking about this, not now.

She forces herself back to the present, an easy task when she feels every inch of her skin burning with your touch. She needs to move away to take the item off but your hands hold her tight by the waist at the mere attempt of breaking apart.

She giggles breathlessly, aware of the new wave of wetness that dripped down with the feeling of your strong hands manhandling her back at her position, keeping her restless hips still. “But you said you wanted it off.” She tries to ration, receiving only a growl in return. The next second, when your hands shift, the item is torn off her without ceremony. 

“Hey! It was my favorite.” She pouts in protest but you merely give her a husky chuckle.

“I'm sure you can fix it.” Comes as a teasing answer that Wanda couldn't contradict even if she wanted to - all previous thoughts are gone when your fingers reach her front and penetrate between her warm folds without a warning. You groan at the delirious feeling of her pussy against your fingertips while Wanda whimpers at the ceiling, trying to get used to the sudden invasion.

“Fuck, you're so tight.” Your remark with a sultry voice against her ear. Wanda's arm circles your shoulder for some support while she feels the stretch of your fingers inside her. It's been a while since last time but dear God how she missed this. Her hips move on instinct and you have to chuckle at her impatience with herself. Your free hand moves to her lower back, caressing her skin while your fingers start to press your way inside her.

“Easy darling, I got you.” You guide, too deeply for her to give you any replies other than pleas and whimpers.  The position might not be the most comfortable for you but it's amazing to her. Wanda can grind down and ride your fingers as she pleases and you can feel how close she's coming to her climax so you don't dare to stop. Your thumb moves to her clit, circling the nerve and she nearly loses it. The bedroom lights start to flash with the build of this orgasm and you stare at her in amazement only to be rewarded with her gorgeous flushed face while she grinds into your hand in nearly despair.

“Fuck you're so beautiful.” You gasp, increasing the speed. The depth. Wanda breaks in a sob, her back arching. The first one is a charm. Your name is being screamed at the ceiling while you feel her wetness dripping down your hand. Unfortunately - or fortunately - it only makes you crave her more. She's still recovering from the intensity of this climax, all sweaty and flushed when you shift your hand. You're still inside her tight walls and your fingers start to pick up a pace again. She squeaks at the overstimulation, but her protest dies in your tongue sucking hers when you kiss her again.

Wanda's almost too distracted by the filthy of this kiss to notice how quickly her second climax is building - almost. There's a bite against your bottom lip that makes you groan when she breaks the kiss, unable to keep it up. Her hands grab at you for some grounding when she feels how close she is to come, stronger than the last time. You feel her nails piercing your skin when her orgasm washes over her and it's your time to moan at her ear.

Her body goes limp for a moment after this. It was two intense orgasms in a row after all. She just needs to take a breath. 

You move your fingers out, sucking them clean and murmuring satisfied at her taste while Wanda struggles to recognize her surroundings.

When you can hold her with both hands again, you nuzzle at her cheek.

“Enjoying yourself, witchy?” You dare to tease her when she can feel how she's still leaking in your lap. Honestly, the nerve. Wanda let out a deep breath, pushing her momentarily tiredness away. 

There's an easy smile on her lips when she finds your eyes again. “I am but I've been so selfish.” She starts with a particular accentuation of her ascent that she knows you drive you insane. She also watches as your breath catches and your eyes drift to her lips, mesmerized by every word. “You must be needing me as well.”

But you tense at her nails screeching your belly, a worried frown coming at your expression.

“Wanda… my powers.” The fear in your eyes is like a cold buck of water. Oh, yes, she forgot.

For the whole day, she forgot you had no idea of the life you two shared. Nothing outside Westview and this lovely fantasy. None of the creative ways you two once used to bypass the super strength issue. Your fear and hesitation at hurting her made perfect sense but the fact that she was the only one who could remember the whole history you two shared was still painful. Her expression probably gave her away and confused you even more. “I promise you this is more than enough for me. Bringing you pleasure is enough.” You add gently, but Wanda shakes her head, leaning in to kiss you. She leaves you breathlessly before breaking apart, taking some pride in the way you're blushing.

“Don't be silly, darling, there's plenty of things for us to do together. To please one another.” You gulp at her words and tone of voice, eyes following all of her movements. From the shift of her hips to the teasing of her fingers on the way down your pants. “I wanna try something I think you'll love it. Do you trust me?”

You nod immediately, watching as Wanda's fingers play with the hem of your pants. She giggles naughty at your anticipation and brings one finger up to your chin, to make you look at her eyes again. 

“Can you use your words?”

“Y-yeah.” You swallow, trying to win some composure back. It's not easy when Wanda Maximoff is naked and sitting on your tight. But you smile anyway. “Of course I trust you, witchy.”

She smiles at you, her eyes flashing a glimmer of naughtiness that makes your heart leap. You can't worry too much about that anyway - Wanda leans in to kiss you again. And it's the dirtiest one of the night. She takes the lead, pulling back now and then just to tease your tongue with the tip of hers, reveling at the way you pant and struggle to keep your hips still. 

But suddenly, you feel the new pressure inside your pants. The odd sensation shifts your attention entirely but Wanda brings her hands to your neck and kisses you hard. You moan into her tongue, hands holding her tight by the waist until her spell is complete. She presses down into you and the kiss is broken with your needy awareness.

“F-fuck, is that…?” You open surprised and aroused eyes at her, looking down where your middles connect only to watch Wanda's equal affected state. Her trembling hands reach down at your pants, trying to pull the garment off.

“Yeah, and I really need you inside now, alright baby? Think you're ready for me?” Her words are rushed as her fingers. Your pants and underwear are stuck in an awkward position on your thighs because Wanda is too impatient to wait another second. She grabs the hardness - barely giving you time to get used to the image or more important the feeling - of that scarlet strap magically placed there - before she sinks down.

It's a form of revenge, maybe. For the way you didn't give her time to prepare before, but what a sweet revenge that was.

The nearly animalistic grunt that escaped you when Wanda's cunt squeezed around you was a sound you didn't know you could make. She, on the other hand, rewards your ears with a pleasant deep moan while she adjusts to the fullness. There's also a new stretch. The toy is obviously larger than your fingers and goes deliciously deeper so Wanda needs to take a deep breath while she welcomes you in.

To her delight, not that you can remember this, but just like the first time you two tried, it's too much of a new overwhelming pleasure for you to handle. You came almost the same second you're bottom up. Tensing and shaking at the new feeling. You gasp, hands falling at the sides to grab the sheets that are torn apart while you hide your face into her neck and your climax washes over you.

Wanda giggles in amusement. The hot shot inside her feels as good as she remembers and you haven't changed. But the toy softening causes you to panic.

“S-sorry, god, I'm so sorry. I don't-”

“Shh, it's okay.” She cuts your anxious babbling immediately, firming her legs around you and bringing her hands to hold your cheeks. “I know it feels like a real one, but it's not a real one.” She says and without any warning, grinds down at you, stealing all the air of your lungs. Wanda bites her lip before adding “See? You're hard again already.”

You can't give her words. The only thing that leaves your mouth is a whine that makes her clench around you. 

Suddenly, she's moving. Rough grinding before she's undeniably riding your strap and it's dirty and maddeningly sexy so your hands hold her hips and help her when her body starts to betray her wishes to keep going. 

“Oh, Wanda, you feel so nice.” You moan with your eyes closed, outside the shared grunts and your words, the only sounds of the room are the bed creaking and the soaked toy coming in and out of her. Your lovely wife decides to give you a reason to be louder. Her hands push you back at the bed and now you can see her in all of her glory. Her pretty tits bounce with the hard pace she takes on top of you. “W-wait. Easy, I can't hold it if you-” 

Her hands move yours - trying to slow her by the waist - away, locking your fingers together at each side of your head. Her hair makes a curtain for your faces but Wanda kisses you again. Your tongues are still moving together when you come first. 

Because you're strong - stronger than her that is - scarlet magic holds you still, wrists and ankles when Wanda can't. She holds her climax just a little longer, enough to put on a show for your breathless figure under her when you are able to look up at it. 

It's divine when it occurs - The silent scream, her frown before the blissed worn-out expression. The flags of the light, the room vibrating and her eyes bright red before the dark green meets your gaze again.

She smiles down at you, still shaking but somehow ready for another.

“Enjoying yourself aren't you, Avenger?” she repeats your words from before, but the nickname so often used for teasing makes you frown in confusion.

“What is…? But she changed that before you could finish the question. 

As quickly as it happened, the scene shifted as if the words never left her lips. You were staring at her, with uneven breathing and adoring eyes.

“Is this really necessary?” For a second, her heart leaped in fear. The possibility that you could tell she altered things. But your gaze shifted to the magic holding you still, and you offered her a pleading stare. “Won’t you let me touch you?”

Wanda sighs, adjusting your hips and seeing the way your jaw tenses at the slight movement. You're still inside her, always magically stimulated to be hard no matter how many times you come. It made sense that you might be sensitive.

She bit her bottom lip, hands resting on your chest.

“But you look so pretty like this…” She starts, leaning in as if going for a kiss. You sigh as her lips meet your cheeks instead, closing your eyes when you feel her smiling before moving down. “I like having you at my mercy.”

You hum, somewhat distracted by her soft grind against you. If you're hard again, that's not only the magic to blame but Wanda's warm pussy squeezing you still.

“But I'm like this all the time.” you joke earning a husky giggle before she puts some distance between your faces again.

You let out a deep sigh when she pulls out the next second, catching her own soft groan at the emptiness. But your words fail you when you look down and see the mixed cum leaking from her and dripping down your abs.

Cursing under your breath a single “fuck.” at the image, you are not surprised at Wanda's naughty giggle.

“You made such a mess, babe.” She teases, the toy still vibrating and it occurs to you that it doesn't just answer to your arousal, but hers as well. 

“Me? You're the one who, you know… ride it. I didn't even know I would come through it.” You tried to defend yourself with rosy cheeks but Wanda is clearly teasing you. She giggles again, adjusting herself and causing you to shut up immediately. 

“I think you should stop babbling and start cleaning your mess.”

You swallow hard when you realize she's still moving. Up towards your face. The bed makes a strong crack sound when you use all your strength to pull your hands free from her magic chains.

Wanda allows you to break free. Mainly because she loves to feel your hands holding her thighs open when you eat her out.

Some old habits never die.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagines #wanda maximoff oneshots #wanda maximoff smut

[aouiaa]

Loser!Ellie Hcs

Imagining Loser! Ellie who makes fart noises with her mouth when you bend down to pick up something, and making fun of you for “farting.”

“Ewww, that one was nasty!”

A scoff leaves your mouth as you stand up, looking back to send a death stare her way to which makes her walk over to you, giggling.

“It’s okay, everyone farts.” she says with a cheeky grin.

An eye roll from you further causes Ellie to full on laugh and wrap her arms around your waist, pressing kisses to your neck.

She would be so silly with it too. Finding different ways to comment on you “farting.”

“That’s some narly tooting there, babe.”

“Woof, another left the cannon!” she says, pinching her nose while actually fanning the air to shooing away the smell as if it was real.

“A bomb just dropped, take cover!”

Imagining Loser! Ellie who invites you over to her house when you first started dating to review her concerningly large comic book collection.

“How do you have some many?!” you exclaim, looking over the many boxes filled with comics.

“I had to do some things to acquire such items that I rather not corrupt your mind with.” she says in a rather poor attempt of sounding suspicious and menacing.

“God, you’re such a loser! you laugh, and watch as Ellie immediately drops the act and turns into a big giant tomato.

A little shy “no” leaves her lips to which makes you smile and lean over to kiss her, “It’s okay, you’re my loser.”

Imagining Loser! Ellie who also has a smaller collection of space related books than the rather getting out-of-hand comic collection.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who has the deadliest grip over the last chicken while sending a death stare your way when you do that one trend on her to see if she’d grab her phone instead.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who’s laughing to the point there’s tears in her eyes when she suggested the both of you paint each other. And when revealed, hers was very detailed and while yours…’was insteresting.’ Ellie’s words…

Imagining Loser! Ellie who makes fun of people who dress “cringe”, but also wears this.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who write love songs for you in her little journal of hers and even plays them on her guitar. You’ve even caught her once.

Upon walking into your home, you hear muffled talking or singing. Presuming it’s Ellie, you walk into the room to see her with gutiar in hand. Immediately when she sees you she stops what she’s doing and look up, her face turning red.

“Oh—shit, you’re home early…” she says, laughing nervously, settling her guitar aside and greeting you with a hug and kiss as usual.

A little laugh leaves your lips as you return such greeting and ask, “What were you doing?”

She pulls away from the embrace and looks down upon hearing the question. Playing with her pinky and rings finger, she responds, “Oh, ya’ know—just…playing.”

“Just playing? But I heard you singing.”

An audible gulp is heard from the nervous girl as she looks up at you, “I was writing a song.” she finally admits.

A wave of surprise washed over you, “Oh—wow. Can…I hear it?”

“Uhh, maybe later..”

You chuckle and nod, “Alright then, my little musician. You can work on!” you quip.

A nervous smile presents itself on Ellie’s lips, “Shut up.”

Loser! Ellie who does let you listen to the song, but is stuttering and messing up the whole time!—Poor girl, you make her nervous :(—To which earns her a kiss on the cheek and a “You got this, baby. Just relax” To which she actually does! She Some might say it was the kiss that did it.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who has a special spot in her journal fill of doodles of you.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who has mutiple unfinished paintings of you that with time will be finished, just has to find time in her super busy schedule—that consists of sleeping and bothering you—to finished them.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who sleeps with stuff animals.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who HAS to absolutely listen to music when doing anything, literally doesn’t matter it could be showering, dishes, getting ready, etc. There’s music playing.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who’s a big ‘Savage Starlight’ nerd and actually at some point sent in one of her best fanart to the official insta page, but never got a response. :(

But the girl can’t take failure as a option and is still hopeful saying, “They’ll open my message…eventually.” with a sad little huff.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who’s screaming from the bathroom when she actually gets a response back!

You knock frantically on the door to realize it when she’s opens the phone and you’re met with her phone being shoved into your face, “Look, Look, Look!

A slight irritated sigh leaves your lips as you look at Ellies phone—which has mysterious residue stains on it—and see the instagram post. Once reading the caption praising Ellie for her work, you look up from the phone and at her, “I thought you were getting killed, Ellie! God…”

“Aweeee, you care about me?” she says, putting her hands on her chest.

“No, I came to make sure they finished the job.” you reply with a cheeky grin.

“Oh wow…well in that case, gimme my phone and get out!” she frowns.

You roll my eyes playfully and chuckle, giving back her phone, “Make sure to flush.” you say, closing the door.

“That was one time!” you hear a muffled shout.

Imagining Loser! Ellie whose phone is filled with multiple pictures of you. Some of you, sleeping, doing chores around the house, cooking—and some with you seeming to be yelling at her in the photo for not helping, and terrible pictures of you that you beg her to delete, but she protests saying, they’re “beautiful” to her.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who steals your chapstick since she always loses her’s within a few days of having it.

“Ellie?” you call out, searching in your nightstand for your chapstick.

“Yeah, babe?” you hear her voice become more clearly as she walks into the bedroom.

“Has you seen my chapstick? My lips are terribly dry…” you huff, unable to find it in your clutter.

“Uhh, no.”

*Imagine her in the background, sneakily swiping your chapstick back and forth on her lips as you annoyedly rummage through your stuff for it.* LMAOOO

Imagining Loser! Ellie who does feel bad and buys you a ten pack of chapstick, stealing one of course for herself.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who buys those princess or even soda chapstick ones.

(Okay i’ll stop talking about chapsticks…😭)

Imagining Loser! Ellie who seems to never drink water, but instead drinks like Arizona, Dr. Pepper, or Canada-dry, etc.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who’s rather disgusting when eating. Having dried up residue on the side of her mouth from dinner which was hours ago only to lick it off.

“Mmm, that burger was good.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Imagining Loser! Ellie who sometimes, but not all the times, thinks about how lucky she is/was to get—or “pull” as she says to her friends—someone like you.

Loser! Ellie who loves you for loving her despite her quirks!

How you can help Palestine, Why you shouldn’t support tlou/ buy the remastered, Educate yourself, #FREEPALESTINE.

a/n; Who wants Dina or Abby hcs? 🤭

Perm taglist: @elliesprettygirl, @dyk3ang3l, @ellies2fingers, @r3starttt, @slut4mascss, @k1ssesworld

Ellie Only fics: @herelieskrisy, @mikellie , @slaysksmska, @mina-281, @teawithnosugar, @kitkatkittycat111

#𝐘ᱹ writes ✐ᝰ #ellie williams #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams hcs #ellie williams x reader #loser!ellie #ellie williams au #ellie fanfics #tlou ellie #ellie fanfic #ellie the last of us #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams x f! reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fluff #ellie fluff #ellie williams tlou2 #the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us fanfiction #ellie tlou #wlw #lesbian

[kennarose1108]

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader !CHILDHOOD ENIMES! !PART 4!

ANTHONY'S POV

She looked so stunning... Standing there nervous with her breathing heavy and staring up at him.

He saw the innocent stare on her face and he wanted nothing more but to ruin that innocence and take her as his own...

But he was a gentleman.

He couldn't just do that.

So he leaned in but stopped about an inch away. "Wh... What are you doing?" She asks him again. Anthony's other hand trailed down her arm and slowly pulled off her glove. He dropped it to the floor when it was removed he took her hand in his. "You feel it too don't you...?" He whispers.

"That feeling... The one of desire..." He whispers, his lips barely away from yours. "I could teach you so many things..." He says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Anthony... We can't..."

"Oh, but we must..." Anthony whispers right after you.

"If you don't feel the same tell me now and I'll walk away..." He says. He could tell she was at a loss for words at first before she let out a shaky breath, "I do not know what I feel..." She murmured. His fingers intertwined with hers.

God... Her bare skin felt so good against his... He wanted to touch every inch of your skin... He wanted to taste every inch of your skin.

"Tell me... Tell me how you feel. Just think about it for a moment... About the feelings you have." He says while rubbing his thumb gently over her knuckles. "Anthony w-we really... Can't." She whispers. Anthony stares at her momentarily, just taking in her scent, looks, aura... Everything. He wanted her fully in his memory before he did something that took all his strength to do...

He pulled away.

He let his fingertips leave her skin and he takes a step back. "I understand..." He nods and looks down. "No Anthony it's not... It's not like that, please... Just... It's too complicated." She says, clearly nervous and slightly desperate for him to understand. And he did. He did understand.

He nods again and looks up at her, "I understand Y/N. I am a gentleman. I will not force you to do something you are not comfortable doing." He says with a soft smile.

"It's not that I..." She starts but stops herself. There was a moment of silence between the two, them just staring at one another and both contemplating on what to do next. Finally, Anthony spoke up, "Let's go back to the carriage." He says while shrugging off his jacket. "Here, we'll have to run." He says with a smirk while giving her his jacket. She took it and raised it over her head to shield herself from the rain as they both ran back to the carriage. The carriage ride home was silent other than her telling him to take her straight home.

Once they got to her home she went to hand him her jacket but Anthony put his hand up to stop her, "Keep it for now. Use it to get inside the house. I'm sure we'll be seeing one another again sweetheart." He says with a wink. She blushes slightly but doesn't say anything before leaving the carriage.

Anthony watched as she quickly ran inside her home and he sighed. He wanted her so badly... But he couldn't have her. Not yet anyway.

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

A couple of weeks went by and Anthony had done his best to try and ignore her and ignore his feelings and focus on Kate. He got fitted for a tux, and they picked out a wedding cake flavor and where to have the wedding.

But the thought of her still lingered in his mind...

And now tonight was another ball and he knew he'd be seeing her again... He swallowed his pride and went to the ball. Anthony and Kate entered the ball arm-in-arm with big smiles on their faces... That was until he saw her.

She looked stunning, as always, but she looked upset. She was sitting by herself and looking at the people dancing... She seemed to not want to be there.

After a few minutes, Anthony peeled away from Kate walked over to her, and sat beside her. "For such a stunning lady you surely do have such a sad frown," Anthony says. She turns her head and glares at him and he chuckles softly, "And such a piercing glare..." He murmurs under his breath.

She turns away and sighs, "My mother has been on me for days... And because I've been avoiding her and her suitors none want to court me anymore. So now she's on me even more." Her gaze fell down as she spoke. "I just wish to be free... Is that too much to ask?" She says while turning her head towards him. He could see tears in her eyes and it broke his heart.

He wanted nothing more but to pull her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be alright... But he couldn't. Not here at least.

"Would you like to take a stroll with me in the garden? To get away?" Anthony suggests. "I don't think that's allowed..." She says but she was clearly intrigued by this idea. "Who cares?" Anthony chuckles. He then stands up and holds his arm out to her, "I would enjoy your company." He says with a smile. She hesitates before taking his arm. He leads her out into the garden and they walk around in the dimly lit garden arm-in-arm and just in silence.

It was a comfortable silence. But finally, Anthony decided to speak up, "I know you hate getting dressed up... But you truly look beautiful." Anthony says with a charming smile. She smiles back, "Thank you..." She says.

Anthony then clears his throat, "I would like to apologize for my actions a few weeks ago." They both stop as he continues, "It was ungentlemanly and I shouldn't have been so forceful on you..." Anthony says. She shakes her head, "Anthony... I told you that's not what I meant by we can't I..." She says before sighing.

"Listen... I just... I don't understand my own feelings and I don't want to ruin anything with you and your fiancé..." She explains. "Y/N... I won't shy away from my feelings." Anthony says while pulling his arm out of her grip.

"I want you." He says. She shakes her head, "No... You can't." He steps forward, "Oh, but I can." He says, his arm snaking around her waist. "I know you feel the same... The way your breath hitches when we touch, the way your face blushes when I do a kind gesture for you... I know you feel the same." He says, repeating himself at the last part.

"It doesn't matter what I feel..." She says with a heavy breath. "To me it does..." He whispers, his lips just inching towards hers.

But then a bush rustled near them causing her to gasp and both of them turned to the sound. But, luckily, it was just a bunny running through a bush. She lets out a sigh of relief and pulls back. "Anthony... This is wrong... W-We can't..." She says while shaking her head. "We cannot deny our feelings for one another..." Anthony says and she sighs and turns to walk away. He quickly follows after her.

He calls her but she ignores him as they walk back into the ball, she hurries up the stairs, trying to get away from him. She goes into a room, which seems to be the library in the manor, and tries to shut the door in his face but he grabs the door and makes his way inside. She backs up until her back hits a table in the room.

"We can't..." She says. "We must." He answers back.

"Anthony it's wrong." She says with a huff. "Since when has love been so wrong?" He answers. She scoffs, "Now you claim to love me?"

"I have always loved you!" He says, a little bit too loudly. "Since we were children... I have always loved you." He says, his voice barely above a whisper. She stares at him with a sad stare, "You are to be married..." She whispers.

"I will leave her." He says quickly. Her eyes widened, "You cannot!" She says. "But I can." He says back. "Your reputation will be ruined! You cannot!" He then grabs her hips and pulls her close to him.

"I. Don't. Care. I want you. My heart aches for you... I only want you." He says in a low and seductive, but sincere, tone of voice... They stare at one another, both of their breaths heavy and their hearts yearning for one another...

She then grabbed the collar of his shirt before yanking him forward and kissing him passionately.

PART 5?

#fanfic #fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony x kate #kate x anthony #anthony bridgerton #kate bridgerton #kanthony #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x you #edwina sharma #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton smut #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton netflix #colin bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #reader x anthony bridgerton #y/n x anthony bridgerton

[angelsanarchy]

What It Cost: Samuel Lafferty x Y/N Mini Series PRT 02

Tagging: @ithinkitstimetonap @kappasbbgirl @chainsawgvtsfvck @luzclarita57 @miniisunshine @madamemaximoff06 @romanroyapoligist @thirtyratsinasuit @ethical-cain-vinnel @blueberrypancakesworld @dumbbitchdelrey @loljustignoreth4t @tvgirlsbluehair @s0ulfulll @dukesofsp00ks @mommymilkers0526 @vomiting-blood @lustkillers @s-0lar @hisemoslut @roryculkinsgf @ultrakissed @tempt-ress

Samuel was surprised when he heard they were baptizing Y/n into their church. She was apparently had already been baptized but she was urged into getting re-baptized so she could truly be apart of their family. This was a very special event that he would typically really enjoy but the uniform that they had to wear was always a pain to have to pull out. Having so many children and wearing a white suit was dangerous.

"Samuel, be sure to pull that hair back son." His father reminded him as they entered the church. He walked towards the bathroom and noticed Y/n trying to take a peak out of the curtains to see just how many people were already settled into the church pews. Samuel snuck up behind her and she jumped when he put his hands on her sides.

"Samuel! You scared the life out of me!" Y/n she gripped her chest and he smirked. She was dressed in the traditional white gown, not a single piece of makeup on her face, she looked angelic to him in this moment.

"You seem nervous. You've done this before right? It's not that big of a deal." Samuel could tell she was anxious by how she rang her hands out.

"Yes but this is different. It feels...different." She insisted. Samuel pushed the door closed behind himself so that it was just the two of them in the bathroom now.

"You're right. This is different but you aren't alone. You're joining this family we have here and we will never let you feel an ounce of fear ever again." Samuel rubbed her arms watching her take deep, calming breaths. He leaned his head against the side of her temple and she closed her eyes.

"You certainly have a way of reassuring someone." She smiled.

"You're going to be just fine Y/n. Hopefully you remembered to leave the red bra and panties at home today." He teased making her open her eyes.

"I did actually." She turned her head almost daring him to check. Samuel ran his hands down her the front of her gown and felt no resistance. His eyebrow went up slightly as he let his hand root to the bottom of her gown just to feel that she wasn't wearing anything beneath it. He felt his cock stiffen just touching her bare skin and she smirked.

"You do realize the moment that water cleanses you, the entirety of the church will be able to see you in all your glory." Samuel's fingers grazed her cunt and could feel the slickness between her folds.

"Naked in rebirth is how it should be." Y/n teased. Samuel couldn't help but push his fingers inside of her. She gasped gripping his wrist and throwing her head back.

"What sinful things have you been thinking about for you to be this wet?" Samuel pumped his fingers inside of her and used his thumb on her clit as she bucked her hips into his palm.

"I-I can't...oh Samuel." She turned her head to face him and he smiled watching her trying to contain her moans to an acceptable level as she rode his hand.

"Be a good girl and stay quiet." Samuel leaned forward and kissed the side of her neck as she whimpered. When she started cumming, he could feel her quaking around his fingers and he couldn't help but feel the front of his pants becoming damp with precum wishing his cock was buried deep inside of her cunt to feel the squeeze of her orgasm. She leaned forward and bit her hand to keep from moaning out loud before crumbling against the sink. Samuel removed his finger slowly and brought them to his lips, sucking her juices from them.

"Sweet...just as the lord intended." He smirked turning to the mirror and pinning his hair back while she collected herself next to him.

"You...you asked me what sinful things I was thinking about...it was you. You taking my body and thusting into me, cumming inside of me and knowing that I would be bathed in the holy water with your cum flowing down my legs.." Y/n explained. Samuel bit his lip.

"Is that so? Is that something you want? You want my cum inside of you?" He asked pushing her hair to the side.

"More than anything." She gripped his hand and kissed it. He thought about taking her right then and there but the organ music started to play and he knew things were getting started. He could see her stiffen knowing she had run out of time.

"You've got to go!" She fixed her gown and Samuel smiled impressed by her commitment to being baptized despite just being fingered in the church bathroom. He returned to his seat, hair now pinned back and uncomfortable hard on finally dying down as he sat next to his brothers.

He watched her go through the process of becoming an official member of their church and once she emerged from the vat of holy water, her white gown now soaked and clinging to her naked body, he could see her nipples and curves calling to him, begging him to be licked and sucked.

His brothers all shuffled a bit next to him, also feeling the arousal of her naked form but he had to smile to himself as her eyes met his. She belonged to him and no one else but God.

#TV Series: Under the Banners of Heaven #Samuel Lafferty #Samuel Lafferty x Y/N #What it Cost #What it Cost mini series #Rory Culkin #Culkin Cult #Under the Banners of Heaven

[acourtofthought]

Regarding Lucien’s scars. I think it’s basically a headcanon in the fandom that Lucien still has the scars on his back from being whipped, but if those are present in canon too, that could be interesting. Howeverrrr… the facial scar must be kind of a big deal for Lucien. Amarantha attacked him 50ish years ago and then within a few days she organized that masquerade ball “in Lucien’s honor” - the masked theme was a scheme to help him basically hide what she did to his face. Then the masks were plastered to the faces of everyone in Spring Court because Tamlin didn’t accept to sleep with Amarantha. So here’s Lucien, hiding his scars for 50 years no matter how uncomfortable the whole mask situation may have been… but now his facial scar that he cannot hide anywhere (unlike Azriel’s hands) is just in full view for anyone who looks at him. I think there is no question about it. He must be self conscious about it, especially since he thinks Elain is the most beautiful female he has ever seen and she doesn’t reciprocate anything yet. People have been writing about it here on tumblr recently but I really hope SJM explores Lucien’s character from this perspective too. I assume he must feel very inadequate compared to Elain. She has so much (family, friends, connected to the IC, safety and security, beauty, etc.), whereas Lucien refers to himself as a whole lot of nothing. He doesn’t have a home or even a court, he’s basically all alone in the fae world, his closest allies are two humans who so far don’t have much power or influence in Prythian. I assume he is probably also unhappy with his looks after such a traumatic experience. I hope SJM explores this, I think that would be a really cool addition to Elucien’s healing journey. Even though Lucien is quite snarky and cocky outwardly, his inner monologue seems very self conscious. Ahhh SJM give us the angstttttt

I AGREE!!!!!! I think while there are sincere aspects of Lucien's personality that are (hahaha, I just accidentally typed snocky which was my brain getting confused on whether I wanted to type snarky or cocky first) snarky and cocky, I also feel it's a default mechanism too. Lucien is known to take care in his appearance and he is aware of appearances. Even in book once he was a bit of a fashionista, commenting on how Feyre's tunic wasn't as pretty as a dress and being amazed at how positively fae she looked when she did finally put one on. There's also this: Lucien said, "True. But indulge me: you're a human woman, and yet you'd rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this" - he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face-" surely we're not so miserable to look at. Lucien must be constantly aware of others looking at him and I'm guessing he's never sure if it's about the eye or if his scars are unappealing to them. For someone who does care about appearances, whose job it is to talk to High Lords and make friends to be a successful emissary, there is definitely an inner discomfort he's trying to brush off through his nonchalance and jokes about his appearance. I think you're right. Elain is beautiful to the point that people talk. Eris somehow heard across courts that Lucien's mate is a real beauty. She had heiresses jealous of her at barely thirteen. Her mother commented that if her beauty held, she'd be able to secure them a decent match on the marriage market (Elain was 11). So Lucien comes along and not only is he given this super special, sacred bond with her but she turns out to be the most beautiful female he'd ever seen all while knowing that she's in love with someone else. And there he is, with no home, no family name, a scar running down his face and one eye. I would take Lucien in a second and we know that many in the ACOTAR world reference his good looks but you can see how he would struggle with his appearance. You can see how Elain literally took his breath away and she did not seem effected by him (I imagine we'll find out that wasn't the truth in her POV but it's how he perceived it at the time). He thinks she doesn't want him or need him and I definitely think we're going to find that he's been feeling very insecure about her perception of his physical appearance.

#lucien vanserra #pro elucien #pro lucien vanserra #elucien

[litnerdwrites]

"We don't treat Elain and Nesta the same because Elain Apologised,"

Elain and Nesta aren't the same people. They can't be compared. While I understand that Nesta said some cruel things in that cabin, so did Feyre. While Nesta could've made things a bit easier on all of them, so could Feyre. They both have reasons to apologise to one another, so if you're going to condemn Nesta for not doing so, then Feyre deserves the same treatment.

But if Nesta did want to apologise, what makes you think it would be the second that Feyre got back? And in front of fae, no less. Nesta is complicated character who carries herself with pride and is considered a very private person, and is described as being queen like multiple times. The two have more issues to work through than just a few mean comments, and the moments they have the most sincere heart to hearts, are when they're alone. Without Rhysand peering from behind a door way, listening in and commentating whenever he feels like.

Looking back, in ACOTAR 1, we learn some of the myths humans tell about the Fae including that they can't lie, and they have to and that if you catch one, then it has to tell you what you want to know. Both of those turn out to be false, since fae can lie, and Ianthe caught the Surreal, but we learn in ACOWAR that it wouldn't tell her anything.

We can assume this means that the rules the fae follow in our mythology are the same ones that humans believe about fae in ACOTAR, meaning it's a fair assumption that one of the many stories about fae include never letting yourself be indebted to them. Saying things like 'thank you' or 'I'm sorry' comes across like as owing them something, and Nesta is, at this point, under the impression that doing so will cause the fae to hold it over her head and use to demand things of her for as long as she lives, if not ask something straight up impossible to make her more indebted to them.

On top of that, Feyre just asked her for a favour that could get her and Elain killed. The Mortal Queens could've just decided to have Elain and Nesta arrested and executed for collaborating with fae, or have them exiled even. It wasn't a small thing that Feyre asked for, and basically peer pressured her into, with Elain. So it's understandable that pleasantries and apologies are the last things on her mind, when her and Elain's life could be forfeit at any moment.

Even if Rhysand offers to protect them, what could he do? Nesta's under the impression that the Fae hate humans, look down on them and would treat them horribly if she crossed into their lands. Moreover, she has a whole life there, that they're suggesting she could drop to move to the other end of the country without so much as a message to their father? Or an idea of what's waiting for them? To abandon their home, friends, family and peoeple?

For what? Potential servitude? Amongst creatures she were taught were slave driving monsters? To live under her little sister's rule (cause even if she wasn't HL at this point, as fae, she has significant power over Nesta. Plus the ruler of said land they're offering to take her too openly favours Feyre, and kind of Elain but hates her, so she'd basically still be living by Feyre's whims) for the rest of her short life? Literally what part of that is appealing?

So Nesta not apologising to Feyre at that dinner, makes sense. Our girl had bigger things to worry about. She probably would have if she Feyre didn't outright abandon her to deal with her trauma alone, only showing up when she wanted to parade Nesta around at parties for her own joy, without considering how it feels to her. Or when her court, who don't like her and whom she doesn't like either, show up to insult her, and blame her for having trauma.

If Feyre and Nesta had more moments like the one in the library, or the one all three had after Az and Feyre rescued Elain, Nesta would've likely healed and apologised on her own. If the IC had just stayed out of it, then all three sisters would've figured things out, on their own. The IC just want something to complain about, so like the CON and the HC, they make a problem, and they complain that it exists.

Also, if I remember right, Feyre herself said she wanted to start over at that dinner. So unless Feyre or Nesta want to bring it up or talk about it, why does any of her family get to hold it over her head for the rest of immortality? Feyre literally just called it water under the bridge and all three of them were going through their own shit at the time, so let them actually work through their own issues privately, and I'll bet that they'll solve it on their own within a year.

#anti inner circle #anti rhysand #anti acosf #pro nesta #nesta deserves better #anti ic #pro nesta archeron #anti amren #anti mor #nesta acotar #nesta archeron deserves better #acosf #The IC need to learn to mind their own business #101 problems could be soled if they all kept their own forked tongues behind their teeth #They are literally the ones causing problems.

[angstasff]

Remember Me Pt.1

🕸an: I'm backk, and what if I told you this came to be when speaking to a Peter Parker Ai Bot... anyways! Part 2 is in the works already, and tbh I don't know how many parts this may be. also gif creds to @mercurysstars

🕸Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

🕸Genre: ANGST, fluff (later)

🕸CW: parent death, no way home ending, kinda not exactlycanon I think

🕸Word Count: 2K

🕸Summary: After Dr. Strange did his memory erasing," the estranged daughter of Tony Stark, discovers she's the only one who remembers Peter Parker. In an attempt to restore their friend's memory of Peter, Peter and Taysia grow closer, but how long can her memory of him really last?

∘․‧₊˚✩彡🕸🕷🕸彡✩∘․‧₊˚∘․‧₊˚✩彡🕸🕷🕸彡✩∘․‧₊˚∘․‧₊˚✩彡

In the heart of New York City, amidst the hustle and bustle of daily life, there was a small diner tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was a place where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of sizzling bacon, and where the clatter of dishes and the hum of conversation filled the air.

It was here, in this unassuming diner, that y/n had started working as a waitress, weaving her way through the crowded tables every weekend. She had started working there part-time, while in high school, to help pay for her hopeful future at MIT, taking orders and serving up plates of comfort food to the weary souls who found solace in the diner's welcoming embrace.

It was minutes before she could clock out, and y/n had been wiping down the counter, lost in her own thoughts when the door swung open and a familiar figure stepped inside.

Tony Stark, billionaire playboy and renowned inventor, sauntered into the diner with all the confidence and composure of a man who owned the world. He was clad in a sleek suit that cost more than most people's monthly rent, his dark hair tousled and his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/n was confused and nervous. She had seen Tony Stark in the headlines countless times, his face plastered across magazine covers and news articles, but she had never imagined she would encounter him in person, let alone in a place like this.

Tony approached the counter with purposeful strides, his gaze fixed on y/n with a piercing intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "You must be Y/n," he said, his voice smooth and commanding. "I've heard good things about you."

Y/n blinked in surprise, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

"I, uh, yes, that's me," y/n stammered, her cheeks flushing with heat. "What can I get for you, Mr. Stark?"

Tony flashed her a curt smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Just Tony is fine," he said, leaning against the counter with casual ease. "I'm here on business, actually. I've been keeping an eye on you, y/n. You're smart, you're capable, and you've got a gift that most people can only dream of."

Y/n's brow furrowed in confusion, her mind racing to catch up with the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Tony's smile faded, replaced by a steely resolve that sent a shiver down y/n's spine. "I want to offer you a job," he said, his voice low and intense. "A job at Stark Industries, working alongside some of the brightest minds in the world. You'll have access to resources and opportunities that most people can only dream of."

Y/n's eyes widened in disbelief, her heart pounding in her chest. A job at Stark Industries? It was an offer she couldn't refuse, a chance to escape the drudgery of her mundane existence and step into a world of limitless possibilities. But what about MIT?

But as she stared into Tony's piercing gaze, a nagging thought tugged at the edges of her consciousness—a question she had been too afraid to ask, too afraid to confront.

"I have been saving up for months to be able to get into MIT, Why me, Why now?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Tony's expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering behind his eyes. "Because you're special, Y/n," he said simply. "More special than you realize."

And with those words hanging in the air between them, Tony reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope, sealed with the emblem of Stark Industries. He placed it gently in y/n's outstretched hand, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

"Think about it, Y/n," he said, his voice soft but firm. "And when you're ready, give me a call. I'll be waiting."

And with that, Tony Stark turned and strode out of the diner, leaving y/n standing there in stunned silence, clutching the envelope in her trembling hands.

When she got home later that night, when y/n was alone in her apartment, she mustered the courage to open the envelope and read the letter inside. And as she poured over the words on the page, her heart pounding with excitement and trepidation, she realized the truth that had been staring her in the face all along.

Tony Stark was her father.

The revelation hit her like a thunderbolt, shaking her to her core as she struggled to come to terms with the enormity of it all. Her born from accidental pregnancy? She had always wondered who her father was but could have never imagined she was the daughter of the legendary Tony Stark.

But as she stared down at the letter in her hands, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. The strange sensations that had plagued her for years, the memories that seemed to linger just beyond the edges of her consciousness—they all made sense now.

∘․‧₊˚✩彡🕸🕷🕸彡✩∘․‧₊˚∘․‧₊˚✩彡🕸🕷🕸彡✩∘․‧₊˚∘․‧₊˚✩彡

Y/n Stark stood before the towering window of her penthouse apartment, the panoramic view of New York City sprawled out before her like a glittering tapestry. The fading rays of the setting sun bathed the skyline in a warm, golden light, casting long shadows across the urban landscape. From her vantage point high above the bustling streets, y/n could see the city pulsating with life, the steady flow of traffic like blood coursing through the veins of a living organism. It has been two years since Tony died, and she is still left with so many questions about herself unanswered. 

Before Tony had died, he confessed to her, her real lineage. Her mother was not her mother. Her mother is dead and died when she was little. Tony revealed who your mother was. It was all too much. Of course, y/n believed him so he showed her. An image of her mother, and in an instant memories resurfaced.

In the faded image, y/n saw herself as a young child, cradled in the arms of a woman whose face was obscured by the passage of time. But it wasn't the identity of the woman that caught y/n's attention—it was the glint of recognition in her own eyes, a spark of familiarity that sent a shiver down her spine.

She remembered a time when she had been just a young girl, no older than five or six, playing alone in the sprawling gardens of the Stark mansion. The sun had been shining, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow across the lush greenery, and y/n had been lost in a world of her own imagination.

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she had seen something—a flash of movement, a figure lurking in the shadows. Intrigued, she had followed the mysterious presence, her curiosity leading her deeper into the labyrinthine maze of hedges and shrubbery.

And that's when she had found her—her mother, standing amidst a grove of ancient trees, her hands outstretched toward the heavens as if invoking some unseen power. Y/n had watched in awe as her mother's form seemed to blur and shimmer as if she were weaving a spell of magic that transcended the boundaries of reality itself.

At that moment, y/n had felt a surge of energy course through her veins, a tingling sensation that left her feeling both exhilarated and afraid. It was as if her very essence had been infused with the power of the universe, awakening something dormant and long-forgotten within her soul.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the moment had passed. Her mother had turned to face her, her eyes shining with a mixture of love and sorrow, before fading away like a wisp of smoke on the wind.

But the memory had lingered, etched into the fabric of y/n's consciousness like a scar on her soul.

Hours were spent conducting experiments and research, exploring the limits of y/n's abilities, and pushing the boundaries of what was possible. But as the days turned into weeks, and Tony became increasingly preoccupied with other matters, their investigations were pushed to the side, left unfinished and unresolved.

And now, with Tony Stark gone and y/n left to grapple with the truth on her own, she was faced with more questions than answers. What was the true extent of her powers? How had she come to possess them in the first place? And what did it all mean for her future?

The truth is that it didn’t matter. Tony was gone, and she now was accepted into MIT, she had other things to worry about now. Well, at least that's what she thought until the “shift happened”.

It was morning, a week into winter break when she felt it—a strange, disorienting sensation that washed over her like a sudden gust of wind. It was as if the very air around her had shifted, leaving her feeling unmoored and adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

At first, y/n had dismissed it as nothing more than a trick of the mind, a fleeting moment of vertigo brought on by exhaustion or stress. But as days went by she knew something was terribly wrong. 

It all started when she turned on the TV and the channel "The Daily Fix" hosted by the nosy and annoying J. Jonah Jameson was on. Y/n didn’t care for the usual news but kept it on as she made her morning coffee. She was mid-coffee pour when she heard Jameson criticizing Spider-Man once again, claiming he was a coward for hiding his identity. But that didn’t make sense because he was just the one outing Peter Parker as Spider-Man, so how could his identity be hidden? It didn’t make sense, but honestly, she was too happy about her acceptance to look into it. In fact, that reminded her that she meant to gush to MJ about it.

Y/n called MJ, and they expressed their secret excitement for MIT.

"Ugh, the fall is going to be so fun, MJ. I literally can’t wait. Did you ever find out if Ned and Peter got in?"

"Oh yeah, Ned got in, but uh, who’s Peter?"

"Ha ha, very funny, MJ. Did you guys get in a fight or something?"

"No, what, Y/n?"

"Peter. Peter Parker. The nerdy guy you are like totally in love with…"

"Y/n, I don’t know what you are talking about, but I have to go. I’ll see you later. Be safe!"

"Uh, okay, bye, see you later."

Why is MJ acting like she doesn't know Peter? Y/n dialed Ned's number, her mind racing with questions and confusion. As the phone rang, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at the edges of her consciousness.

"Hey, Y/n, what's up?" Ned's voice crackled over the line, filled with warmth and familiarity.

"Ned, it's me," Y/n began, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I just talked to MJ, and she acted like she didn't know who Peter was. She said she doesn't remember him at all. Do you know what's going on?"

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.

“Peter?”

Y/n felt her heart drop.

“Ned, is this some kind of prank that you two are pulling on me? Cause it’s not funny, everything has been all weird lately and-”

“Y/n, I have no reason to prank you, I have no idea who Peter is.”

“Oh- Okay pretend I never asked, also congrats on MIT, I have to go but ill see you soon.”

“Okay see ya, I hope things get better!”

As y/n hung up the phone, her mind raced with a whirlwind of questions and confusion. Why did MJ and Ned act like they didn't know Peter? And what was going on with the strange shift she had felt in the air lately? The pieces of the puzzle refused to fit together, leaving her feeling more lost and bewildered than before. But amidst the chaos of her thoughts, one thing remained clear—she needed answers. And the only person who could provide them was Peter Parker himself.

∘․‧₊˚✩彡🕸🕷🕸彡✩∘․‧₊˚∘․‧₊˚✩彡🕸🕷🕸彡✩∘․‧₊˚∘․‧₊˚✩

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker angst #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x y/n #peter parker x stark!reader

[virgil-anon]

Snippet from entwined, my tomarry ballad of songbirds and snakes au on ao3:

Mayor Aberforth drew a name from the bowl, which was rubbish since he already knew the capitol picked their players. They didn't want to leave anything up to chance, even something as simple as a slaughter (but, well, it wasn't so simple this year, was it?) 

“Hermione Granger,” the mayor announced. 

A girl with dark hair as big and frizzy as Tom had ever seen it squared her shoulders and marched up the stage, her “Sunday best” having clearly seen better days. The dress was worn and dirty in many places, the flowery pattern—either lavender or lilac—faded to look almost grey. 

She stood like a soldier prepared for war, but there was nothing else remarkable about her. 

“Lucretia Black, the girl is yours,” Slughorn announced. 

Well, perhaps they could suffer together. The last tribute was his, after all. 

“Harry Potter,” Aberforth called. 

The camera was pointed at a young man, hair wild and dark like an untamed forest. His eyes were startlingly green beneath a pair of glasses that were both too big for him and had clearly seen better days. His skin was warm, dark and tan, freckles prominent enough to count through the screen. 

There was a stubborn set to his jaw that Tom knew reflected in himself, a determined hardness to his eyes that gave him pause. 

The boy didn't move towards the stage quite yet. The air felt charged around him, tense and waiting for his next move. He radiated confidence and an air of sophistication that didn't match his appearance; he looked even less presentable than the girl, shirt untucked and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

Finally, Harry—was that really his full name? What kind of parents did he have?—shouldered his way through the crowd, people parting for him like he was some sort of celebrity. 

A large, pudgy boy snorted as Harry approached, face full of smug satisfaction. He seemed to be saying something, but the broadcast didn’t pick it up. Tom watched Harry walk up to the boy, pause for a brief moment before continuing on. A flash of movement so fast Tom wasn’t entirely sure what happened. 

Then pandemonium erupted.

The boy started flailing and screaming, his smug expression morphing into one of terror as he clawed at his clothes like he was itching like crazy. “GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF! MUM! MUM!” 

“It’s not poisonous,” Harry called without even looking back as he strode up to the dais while Aurors swarmed the still-screaming boy and Tom finally realised what Harry had done when one of the Aurors pulled a snake from the back of the boy’s shirt. 

He dumped a snake down his shirt, and continued walking as if he’d done nothing. 

Gasps erupted throughout the room, students whispering to each other and shooting Tom a few glances, the looks ranging from pity to contempt. 

“Did you see that?” 

“Was that a snake?” 

“Did he kill him?” 

Tom may have been slightly impressed, but he shoved that feeling down. He didn't care if the boy could walk on water, he wasn't going to ogle him like the rest of his district was doing. Like a handful of the other mentors were doing.  

“He's all yours, Tom Riddle,” Slughorn smiled. 

Jaw clenched so tight he was shocked he didn't crack a molar, Tom nodded. He didn't take his eyes off the screen as Harry stood proud on the stage, hands shoved in his pockets like this happened every day, as if the Reaping was beneath him. Then he turned his sharp gaze back to the still-shaking boy and two people fluttering around him that had to be his parents. 

“Tom?” Alphard murmured under his breath. 

He didn't reply, just sent him a scathing look before turning back towards the screen, his tribute—and oh how he liked the sound of that—now standing on the stage on the opposite side as the girl, her name inconsequential to Tom. 

Unlike the upper districts, no one even attempted to look happy.

Harry tilted his chin up, eyes defiantly staring up at the screen, and for a moment, Tom felt those eyes pierce his very soul. He scanned the entire crowd, Aurors included and shouted, “You can kiss my ass!”

Then the Aurors grabbed the tributes and hauled them away as the camera started to turn away. The girl looked undignified and scattered, but the boy looked above it all, somehow regal even as he was dragged away by a uniformed man.

The cameras went dark before flashing the signal of the capitol, Grindelwald’s symbol of power; a triangle with a line through it and a small circle in the centre.

Slughorn clapped his hands together, turning towards the students. “I hope everyone was paying attention, because we will not be going over this again. The tributes are due to arrive tomorrow. Good luck students,” Slughorn said, and he sounded inanely sincere. “And may the odds be in your favour.”

#ballad of songbirds and snakes au #tom riddle as coriolanus snow #harry potter as lucy gray baird #harry potter hunger games au #tomarry #harry potter #tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #tomarrymort #ao3 #its on my ao3 which is the same name as my tumblr

[celemilii]

03; HOME SWEET HOME | NOT IN LOVE

(this graphic was made by stardxxst on wattpad, who is the creator of the main plot too)

WATTPAD | INSTAGRAM | MASTERLIST

a/n: hii, how you been doing?? I decided that i'm gonna try being more active in tumblr. Anyways, if you want to be add to the taglist just let me know! Thank you for reading <3

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The sun was setting behind the horizon, painting the sky in warm tones while I was immersed in the complicated task of choosing the perfect gift for Alessia. His eyes would shine with that special sparkle when he unwrapped the package, and that was what he was looking for. But between the shelves full of stores and the pressure to find something unique, my mind wandered to another, more immediate problem.

My family in Spain had sent an invitation that, clearly, I could not avoid. An early party for my birthday. The reason? I still didn't fully understand it, but the simple idea of ​​returning to that home where the sighs outweighed the laughter filled me with anxiety. I was faced with a crossroads of emotions as I walked through the city, oblivious to the flickering lights of the stores around me. My relationship with my family was never easy. Although geographical distance had given me an illusory sense of freedom, the echo of disagreements resonated in every phone call.

My thoughts raced as I walked down the street, trying to evade the reality that was coming. Why, after so many years, did they insist on organizing something for my birthday? It was like my family was trying to force a connection that never germinated.

As I weighed the options for the perfect gift, the shadow of the family invitation lingered in my mind. Should I give in and return to Spain, facing the family I abandoned overnight, or look for a plausible excuse to stay and avoid that unexpected and uncomfortable celebration?

My steps slowed as I fell into deep thought. Despite the thorns in my relationship with family, a murmur of nostalgia and family duty began to take over my thoughts. Maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. Even when past experiences weighed on my back, a small inner voice whispered to me that perhaps the time had come to face them.

Arriving home, the bustle of Brackley was left behind, leaving me alone with my decision. The reality of the invitation became more tangible with each passing minute. I took a deep breath and, with determination, decided to give that family gathering a chance. After all, people could change, or so he wanted to believe.

As I opened the door, the homely atmosphere enveloped me, a mixture of bitter memories and the hope that this birthday could mark a new beginning. With my heart pounding, I headed to my room determined to face the situation. A quick search online and I got a flight for that same afternoon. The sooner I was there, the sooner I could get back to my routine.

The open suitcase on my bed was quickly filled with the necessary clothes. I wanted this trip to be brief, like ripping off a bandage in one go instead of slowly. The idea of ​​the early dinner for my birthday resonated like a clock ticking every second until my departure.

In the process of packing, my phone rang, announcing a message from Alessia. Her excitement when talking about her upcoming birthday reminded me where to buy her the perfect gift once she arrived in Spain.

The door to my room closed with a click, leaving behind a trail of uncertainty and anticipation. The road to Spain stretched before me, and as I zipped the suitcase, I knew that this trip could change everything and, maybe, just maybe, we could become the family we pretended to be in front of everyone for so long. With a sigh, I headed towards the airport so that this torture would end as soon as possible.

The flight passed in a whirlwind of thoughts. I looked out the window as the plane descended over the familiar Spanish land. The nervousness grew with each passing minute, but I kept telling myself that this trip wouldn't last much longer than this weekend. Upon landing, the Spanish storm hugged my skin, a constant reminder that I was back home. I took a taxi to the family home, surrounded by vineyards that stretched as far as the eye could see. The aroma of fresh grapes filled the air, a mix of nostalgia and familiarity.

My parents, busy among the rows of vineyards, barely looked up when they arrived. Although part of me expected a warm welcome, I remembered that in the family, work was the priority. I entered the house, where the stillness mixed with the echo of my own steps.

The afternoon progressed, and I decided to take a walk through the vineyards. The sun cast golden sparkles on the green leaves, and the silence was interrupted only by the whisper of the wind among the vines. Every corner evoked childhood memories, some bitter, others full of innocence.

Upon returning to the house, the aroma of home-cooked food wafted through the air. I would love to say that it is my mother who is cooking but it is Carmen, the woman who took care of me throughout my childhood. By her side, as always, was Rocky with puppy dog ​​eyes, begging for some of what she was cooking. I whistle at my dog, who, when she notices my presence, runs towards me and starts jumping.

“Victoria!” greets the woman with emotion. He approaches me and hugs me tightly. “Come here, let me see you,” he asks, bringing my face towards the light. “Look how pretty you are but you are very pale. Have you eaten anything?”

"The sun doesn't shine much in England," I tell her.

“How is everything there?” I lie down on the floor to be at Rocky's height to hug her. When I left, I decided that maybe it wasn't good to put her through all the stress that comes with her traveling with the rest of the luggage, so I left her here.

“Pretty good, the work is good and I'm traveling a lot. I'm happy," I say with a sincere smile. “How is everything going here?” Rocky climbs over my legs and leans his body against my chest.

“As always, things don't change here. You were right to leave, I'm telling you,” she says while stirring the paella. “That boy... What's his name?

“My brother?”

“No! The one you were dating.”

“David.”

“David!” she remembers. “That one comes here and starts giving orders as if he were the king. I don't know who he thinks he is... After what he did to you, Victoria.”

“Yeah, it's the power that my parents give him, I guess.”

"Well, let everyone go off on it, I'm already tired," she complains. “I'm the next to go, listen to me.”

“How long have you been saying that?” I get up and go over to hug her while I watch her cook.

“I even lost count. How old are you?”

“I'm going to turn 33.”

“Well 35 then because they called me to take care of your brother and then you came to…” the kitchen door opens and I can see my mother, who is in charge of looking at me from top to bottom, as if she were looking for some mistake in me.

“Victoria, I'm glad you arrived” she comes closer and gives me two kisses. “Why don't you get out of the kitchen? You're going to be filled with the smell of food.”

“I'm fine here.”

"We have to talk, Victoria, please," he insists. I share a curious look with Carmen but it seems that she doesn't know much either.

We left the bustling kitchen, leaving behind the familiar aromas of dinner. The fresh stone floor creaked under our steps as we entered the vineyard, enveloped by the darkness of the starry night. The moonlight illuminated the vines, which spread like a green blanket before us.

"Victoria, I need to talk to you about something important," my mother began in a serious tone, interrupting the rustling of the leaves under our feet.

The tension in the air made me frown, and a mix of curiosity and apprehension washed over me. What could be so crucial that we move away from the comfort of the kitchen?

"You've been away for a long time, but there's something you should know about your brother Manuel," she commented, her voice carrying with it the weight of years dedicated to the family business.

My brother has always been immersed in the wine business. From an early young age, he had taken the helm with a dedication that I consciously avoided. The idea of ​​spending my life among vineyards and wine barrels was never attractive to me.

“Manuel has worked tirelessly to grow our legacy,” my mother continued, her eyes reflecting undeniable pride. “He has invested time and effort, and I want you to be aware of that.”

I tilted my head, not entirely sure where this conversation was going. Why highlight Manuel's achievements now?

“Victoria, dear, the reason I'm telling you about this is because I've made a decision. As a birthday gift, I have decided to give you my share of the company.”

My steps faltered. My mother kept walking, but my mind was caught up in the magnitude of her words. The family business, which never interested me, was suddenly being handed to me on a plate, or at least part of it.

“Why now?” I asked, seeking to understand the reason behind this sudden generosity. My mother never does something just for the sake of it, and I know there is something hidden behind all this.

“Because I want you to understand how important it is for us, for your brother. I want you to be part of this, to follow the path we have traced with your father,” she explained, her gaze searching mine with determination.

An internal debate broke out inside me. I always wanted to make my family happy, but that didn't mean immersing myself in the world of vineyards. Responsibility loomed over me, and I felt caught between the desire to please and the struggle to maintain my own identity.

We walked in silence for a moment, the shadows of the vines falling across the ground. Finally, my mother broke the silence.

“Victoria, I just want you to take your time to think about it. This decision does not have to be immediate but I would like to have your answer before you return to England. Your father's share will go to your brother”.

So it's not a gift, it's a division of power. “And if I say no, who will get your part?”

“Well, we were thinking about giving it to David so that the company stays in the family.”

“But David is no longer family.”

"David, Vicky," she pronounces maliciously, knowing the effect that nickname has on me, "is the brother that Manuel never had. You know he will always be family, no matter what.

The night breeze gently caressed my face as I absorbed my mother's words. In the distance, the city lights twinkled like distant stars, and in that moment of shared silence I found myself facing a crossroads that would change the course of my life.

Upon arriving at the house again, the atmosphere seemed tinged with nostalgia and expectation. My father, who was normally immersed in his own world of responsibilities on the phone, looked up and greeted me with a genuine smile.

“Victoria!” He exclaimed, extending his arms to hug me. “What a pleasure to see you here again!”

The warmth of welcome enveloped me, and for a brief moment, we seemed like a united family, like the one we always pretended to be. My brother joined the hug and, laughing, the distance of the months seemed to shorten.

“We are very glad that you decided to come, Victoria,” commented Manuel, his eyes reflecting sincere affection.

However, the calm was abruptly broken when a familiar voice echoed behind me. “Vicky, how long! What a joy to see you again!”

I turned around, and there was David, my ex-boyfriend, with a smile that couldn't hide his arrogance. Surprise and discomfort washed over me as he approached to greet me.

"David," I murmured, without hiding my confusion.

"Yes, my name hasn't changed at the moment," he said with a laugh that I found unbearable.

I tried to hide my discomfort, but David's presence revived wounds that had not yet completely healed. My family smiled and were satisfied at the reunion but I couldn't feel worse.

During dinner, David joined the conversation as if no time had passed, as if he hadn't shattered my trust not only in myself, but in the world. He talked about his accomplishments and his travels, and although his presence was known, I felt like an intruder in my own home.

Discomfort settled on the table like an unwanted shadow. Every forced laugh and unnecessary comment from David echoed in my ears. While my family seemed to enjoy his company, I was sinking into a feeling of unease. Every time Carmen came to serve a plate of food, we shared a look filled with the same discomfort.

I dedicate myself to observing each member of my family and David, who is wearing an engagement ring on his left hand. Within a year he managed to leave me and get engaged to another woman, a record. As I spiraled into looking at my ex's ring, a warmth on my leg caught my attention. I look down and find Rocky's little eyes looking at me so I pet her.

"Victoria, please, we're at the table," she scolds me.

“Excuse me?”

“Don't pet the dog now, it can wait a little. There is a visit.”

"I thought David was family, I didn't think it counted as a visit," I counterattack.

"Don't put me in this position..." she warns.

“You were the one who started to give your opinion.”

“Well because it seems that you have lost your manners, girl. First I find you sitting on the kitchen floor with the dog and now you pet her on the table.”

“She's my dog, what do you want me to do?”

"Take her to England," my father looked at her surprised at that answer because he loves Rocky as much as I do.

“Don't worry, she's leaving with me tomorrow.”

“Enough, both!” my father says.

I inhale and exhale, ready to leave the matter behind but my mother won't keep her fucking mouth shut."I thought England would make it a little more civilized, I'm telling you," he exclaims into the air. I leave the napkin on the table and get up.

“I'm going to take a breath. Excuse me.” I went out to the patio of the house and let out the breath I had held without even noticing. Rocky went out with me so he curls up at my feet, like every time I get stressed. A few steps behind me make me sigh before speaking. “We're fine, Carmen,” I say, referring to Rocky's feelings and mine.

"Well, I'm glad you are, but I'm not Carmen," David says gracefully. “I wanted to know how it went for you in England.”

“No one has died from starting from scratch, right? At least that's what they say.”

“Yeah, but I bet it wasn't easy.”

“I've had to go through harder things with you, believe me,” I murmur and smile when I feel my eyes fill with tears. “But you got married. Who is the unlucky one?”

“Isabel, my…”

"Your secretary," I said for him. Now that I'm a secretary, I can't imagine how someone could end up involved in that way, especially when they have a partner. I couldn't touch Toto with a stick, not only because he's my boss but because he has a wife. I remember her well.

“You remember everything very well, eh?” he responds, trying to make the atmosphere a little lighter.

“I remember it very well, all too well.” I cross my arms and try to focus on the vineyard a few meters from the garden of my house.

“Are you dating anyone?”

“Yes, I married my job.”

“Being a secretary? Vicky, please, you know you can do more than that.”

“Well, your fiancee is a secretary, if I were you I would be careful what you say.”

“Yes, but she's not…”

“She's not what?" I ask offended. I don't like this Isabel, she cheated on me with her, but I'm not going to allow her to continue putting down each of the women in her life for the simple fact that she feels like the navel of the world.

“She doesn't have the same capacity as you.”

“Are you never going to change?” I question with pain. “Are you going to be the same idiot all your life who absorbs the energy of his girlfriends until they are left with nothing?”

As difficult as it was at the time for David to leave me, I realized that it was for the best because, in one way or another, it had followed the same pattern as with my previous relationship, which ended in an altercation with physical violence. David never raised his hand to me, I know he wouldn't dare, but he used me, minimized me and made me feel like the dumbest and most useless person in the world and that is also violence. As difficult as it may be, we must break the pattern before the pattern breaks us.

"I'm not going to discuss that with you."

“Why not?”

“Because I left you for a reason. You were unbearable and demanded too much." I look at him in disbelief as he lets out those words with resentment.

"Seriously, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, I hope that one day you grow up and are able to see everything you lost, David," I end the conversation. I entered the house and, as I walked away, he was left behind.

I would be lying if I said that his words didn't hurt me. That my heart wasn't twisting under my ribs trying to find a nook through which to escape and return to his side. It doesn't kill me that the idea that, after so much love and so many years together, this was the end of us. However, they say that time puts everything in its place. I just hope it helps me be me again.

Without saying goodbye to anyone, I go to my room, whose door I close with a sigh of relief. Dinner had been exhausting and the idea of ​​rest was tempting, so I got changed, opened the door for Rocky to sleep with me, and started searching for local news on my phone.

I was about to leave it and go to sleep but my eyes wandered to a specific note. The name "Fernando Alonso" caught my attention immediately now that I have seen the Spaniard. He is not a person that I like at all, but something about his media presence manages to capture my interest. With a hesitant gesture, I decided to take a look at that interview.

The dim light of the lamp illuminated the room as I immersed myself in the pilot's words. Although my initial intention was simply to browse, I surprised myself by reading every response, every detail of his life that was revealed on the screen.

Fernando Alonso, the man who tries to conquer me as if we were in high school, is a complete idiot. He couldn't deny his talent, but his attitude in the past had left a bitter and contradictory taste. Who goes to work for someone they don't even know?

As the interview progressed, I found myself falling into the trap of his charisma, unraveling layer by layer the mystery that surrounded his figure.

In the corner of my mind, I was trying to convince myself that I was an idiot, someone worthless, but my eyes remained glued to every printed word. Why spend time on someone who, in my own judgment, wasn't worth my attention?

The irony of the situation did not go unnoticed. I tried to convince myself that I didn't care, but there I was, immersed in the virtual pages of the life of a man who, in theory, should mean nothing to me.

At the end of the interview, I closed the screen with a determined gesture.

"It's not worth it," I tell Rocky, "it's not worth it," I tell myself.

I decided to push those thoughts aside and focus on what really mattered at that moment: the decision that loomed over me like a shadow. My parents were waiting for my answer regarding participation in the family business.

The night progressed, and as sleep caressed my eyelids, I faced a vital crossroads. The possibility of returning to England and leaving my mother's offer behind was always present, but something in the atmosphere of the house, in the look of my family, made me hesitate.

The next day, I woke up with a clear decision. My heart, although trembling, was inclined to accept the offer and, not because I was interested but because I am not willing to let an idiot like David continue to take anything from me.

I went down to breakfast with a resolution that was reflected in my eyes. My mother, seeing me, smiled with expectation, while Manuel and my father waited with serious gestures.

"I've made a decision," I announced calmly. "I accept the offer but I have several conditions that you will have to accept if you want me inside." My mother gestured for me to continue. I couldn't care less about wine. I will own half of the company but don't ask me to be here because I'm tired of you dragging me into your shit, especially you,” I exclaim, pointing to my mother. “Manuel has done a wonderful job and I find it disrespectful to barge in on him. On the other hand, I'm not going to leave my job at Mercedes if that was your intention.”

"Your mother and I will continue to manage everything," my father clarifies. “The only thing I would change is your signature on the contract but you don't have to leave anything.” The smile he gives me makes me understand that he means it.

“Where do I sign then?”

The silence that followed was broken by a relieved sigh from my mother and a proud smile from Manuel. My father nodded approvingly, and although the feeling of commitment weighed on my shoulders, a small spark of hope shone within me.

In the hustle and bustle, Alessia kept sending me excited messages about her birthday, reminding me of the pending task of finding the perfect gift. I think I already have it. Nearby there is a place where they sell handmade instruments, you could order a violin and have it carved with your name.

Finally, later that day, my flight would leave and, yes, Rocky would come with me. My parents, aware of my commitment to work, did not insist that I stay; I doubt they would have done so anyway.

Upon arriving in England, the familiarity of Brackley enveloped me. The city, with its familiar streets and warm afternoon light, reminded me of the decisions I had made and still had to face.

___________________________

@vettelsvee @bellinghamsbitch @marshmummy

#f1 #f1 fanfic #fanfiction #formula one #formula 1 #fernando alonso #f1 x reader #fernando alonso fanfic #fernado alonso x oc #not in love #f1 x oc #f1 x female oc #f1 x female #fernando alonso x female reader

[jennyboom21]

In 2023 actor Sophia Bush made headlines when she filed for divorce one year after a storybook wedding. By the fall it was public knowledge that she was in a new relationship. With a woman. The internet seemed to be foaming at the digital mouth for a scandal, but to those who knew her, it was clear she’d never been more herself. Here, in her own words, Bush speaks to the power of finally learning to listen to her intuition.

In April of 2022 I was close to calling off my wedding. Instead of running away, I doubled down on being a model wife. In 2023 my now ex-husband posted a lovely tribute to our first anniversary on Instagram. When I saw it, I felt the blood drain from my face. Fans and friends were telling me how exciting this milestone was and how happy I looked. I felt nothing. Things hadn’t been easy at home, but everyone says marriage is hard, right? As the day wore on, I felt mounting pressure from strangers online waiting for me to post something—what a strange part of public life to have to navigate—so I sat myself down and chose a picture.

It was a black-and-white photograph of us running away from the camera. Yes, I see the bittersweet irony now. I wrote a really nice story about the people in that picture. Except it was just that: a story. I typed something about how incredibly happy I was and tried to drown out the familiar voice in my head. Make it look easy. Make it look perfect. If your smile is shiny enough, maybe no one will notice that up close all of your teeth are broken. But sometimes broken is just broken.

I hit post. And then I walked into the bathroom and threw up.

I believe in people and ideas so deeply—and those feelings are often so powerful to me—that I hadn’t realized I’d spent the last two decades moving through life showing up for others but often turning my back on myself. This time things felt different. Maybe it’s just cold feet, I told myself. Maybe I was too sensitive. Maybe this was the feeling you get when you settle down later in life and have to make space for another person. There have been moments in my life when it feels like the universe is screaming at me to pay attention. This was one of them, but I didn’t listen.

I kept repeating the adages we all know so well: Relationships are hard. Marriage takes compromise. You know the rest. And so I got married. We threw one of the greatest wedding weekends ever. We had an amazing time with our closest friends and family. It was truly one of the best parties I’ve ever been to, and we raised a ton of money for charity. I don’t regret any of that.

But after the wedding I found myself in the depths and heartbreak of the fertility process, which was the most clarifying experience of my life. It feels like society is finally making space for brutally honest conversations about how hard and painful any fertility journey is, but I kept mine private. I was trying to get through months of endless ultrasounds, hormone shots, so many blood draws that I have scar tissue in my veins, and retrieval after retrieval, while simultaneously realizing the person I had chosen to be my partner didn’t necessarily speak the same emotional language I did.

As I lost track of how many examination tables I had lain on alone, I felt something in me seismically shift. Six months into that journey, I think I knew deep down that I absolutely had made a mistake. It would take my head and heart a while longer to understand what my bones already knew.

And that’s why, when I got an opportunity to do a play in London, I had to go. I had to get out of our house. I had to get onstage. I had to get back in my body. Maybe that could shift things. Maybe that would jump-start the joy I’d been chasing. The play slowly began to put me back together. It was grueling, and it was also the most exhilarating experience. I loved every second of it.

But the book doesn’t lie. The body does, in fact, keep the score. When half of our company went down with a virus, everyone recovered fast except for me. I continued to decline. I would put every fiber of my being into my performance onstage, and then be packed in bags of ice as soon as the curtain closed. I spent multiple nights in the hospital, I was pumped with endless amounts of fluids, I underwent cardiac testing and organ monitoring. It was clear that my body was screaming and I had to listen. It was hard for me to accept. I was part of a team. But I needed to go home, where my doctors (and, truthfully, my health insurance) could get a better handle on my symptoms. My time in London was over. So was my marriage. It all came crashing down at once.

During the summer of 2023, I moved back into my empty home in LA. I was separated and preparing to file for divorce, and groups of women in my life started opening up about issues they were going through in their own homes. It seemed like every week there were more of us, including [former US soccer player] Ashlyn [Harris], whom I’d first met in 2019 and who was in the process of figuring out her own split from her wife. She’d been such a kind ear for those of us who opened up about our problems during a shared weekend of speaking engagements at a fancy conference in Cannes, and soon it became clear that she needed our ears too.

For those of us who had no solution in sight or Hail Marys left, having this community changed everything. We really wrapped one another up in support. It was tragic and hard. But it was also beautiful. There were moments of incredible sadness because no one signs up to get married thinking it’ll end. The days when we knew people needed to laugh, we sent inspirational memes and silly TikToks. We read books written by great therapists and shared emo quotes from poets. Our “Begin Again” Amazon shopping list, which we created for the ones moving out and starting over, has now been forwarded to so many other women.

I didn’t expect to find love in this support system. I don’t know how else to say it other than: I didn’t see it until I saw it. And I think it’s very easy not to see something that’s been in front of your face for a long time when you’d never looked at it as an option and you had never been looked at as an option. What I saw was a friend with her big, happy life. And now I know she thought the same thing about me.

It really took other people in our safe support bubble pointing out to me how we’d finish each other’s sentences or be deeply affected by the same things. When you’re so in the trenches of hardship—plus you have the added weight of having to go through it on a public stage—it can be hard to see anything but what’s right in front of you.

It took me confronting a lot of things, what felt like countless sessions of therapy, and some prodding from loved ones, but eventually I asked Ashlyn to have a non-friend-group hang to talk about it.

And that meal was four and a half hours long and truly one of the most surreal experiences of my life thus far. In hindsight, maybe it all had to happen slowly and then suddenly all at once. Maybe it was all fated. Maybe it really is a version of invisible string theory. I don’t really know. But I do know that for a sparkly moment I felt like maybe the universe had been conspiring for me. And that feeling that I have in my bones is one I’ll hold on to no matter where things go from here.

But there was a lot that quickly turned ugly too. People looking in from the outside weren’t privy to just how much time it took, how many painful conversations were had. A lot of effort was made to be graceful with other people’s processing, their time and obligations, and their feelings. What felt like seconds after I started to see what was in front of me, the online rumor mill began to spit in the ugliest ways. There were blatant lies. Violent threats. There were accusations of being a home-wrecker. The ones who said I’d left my ex because I suddenly realized I wanted to be with women—my partners have known what I’m into for as long as I have (so that’s not it, y’all, sorry!).

The idea that I left my marriage based on some hysterical rendezvous—that, to be crystal-clear, never happened—rather than having taken over a year to do the most soul crushing work of my life? Rather than realizing I had to be the most vulnerable I’ve ever been, on a public stage, despite being terrified to my core? It feels brutal. Just because I didn’t want to process my realizations in real time on social media and spell them out for the world doesn’t mean the journey wasn’t long and thoughtful and exhaustive.

It’s painful to be doing deep work and have it picked apart by clueless strangers. Everyone that matters to me knows what’s true and what isn’t. But even still there’s a part of me that’s a ferocious defender, who wants to correct the record piece by piece. But my better self, with her earned patience, has to sit back and ask, What’s the fucking point? For who? For internet trolls? No, thank you. I’ll spend my precious time doing things I love instead.

I don’t believe it’s my place to discuss details of Ashlyn’s circumstances or her children, but I will say that I am absolutely in awe of her relentless integrity. The way she prioritizes and centers her kids, not only in her life but in the core of her being, is breathtaking to behold. Falling in love with her has sutured some of my own childhood wounds, and made me so much closer to my own mother. Seeing Ashlyn choose to not simply survive, but thrive, for her babies has been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed a friend do. And now I get to love her. How lucky am I?

I sort of hate the notion of having to come out in 2024. But I’m deeply aware that we are having this conversation in a year when we’re seeing the most aggressive attacks on the LGBTQIA+ community in modern history. There were more than 500 anti-LGBTQIA+ bills proposed in state legislatures in 2023, so for that reason I want to give the act of coming out the respect and honor it deserves. I’ve experienced so much safety, respect, and love in the queer community, as an ally all of my life, that, as I came into myself, I already felt it was my home. I think I’ve always known that my sexuality exists on a spectrum. Right now I think the word that best defines it is queer. I can’t say it without smiling, actually. And that feels pretty great.

Would I have liked to make the public part of this journey a choice for myself, and not have it taken from my lips and set ablaze by gossip blogs and bottom-feeder online bots? Of course. I’m very aware, though, as we discuss bullying and harassment and being outed without consent—that I’m incredibly lucky this happened in my adulthood. I really love who I am, at this age and in this moment. I’m so lucky that my parents, having spent time with Ash over the holidays, said, “Well, this finally looks right.” I know it could have gone differently.

We’ve all learned about kids who have taken their own life after being outed or who have been killed simply for being who they are in a place or time that is threatened by their expressed joy. I am so lucky to be here, now. I have real joy. It took me 41 years to get here. And while I marvel at it, I will also make space for people’s pain. But I will not carry anyone’s projected shame. When I take stock of the last few years, I can tell you that I have never operated out of more integrity in my life. I hope that’s clear enough for everyone speculating out there, while being as gentle as I possibly can be.

After the news became public, my mom told me that one of her friends called her and said, “Well, this can’t be true. I mean, your daughter isn’t gay.” My mom felt that it was obvious, from the way her friend emphasized the word, that she meant it judgmentally. And you know what my mom said? “Oh honey, I think she’s pretty gay. And she’s happy.”

I finally feel like I can breathe. I don't think I can explain how profound that is. I feel like I was wearing a weighted vest for who knows how long. I hadn’t realized how heavy it was until I finally just put it down. This might sound crazy—but I think other people in trauma recovery will get it—I am taking deep breaths again. I can feel my legs and feet. I can feel my feet in my shoes right now. It makes me want to cry and laugh at the same time.

It is so, so scary to do the brave thing, to say, “I’m just not happy.” Especially if you’re in a partnership and you have to say it first. But if you do it, you get the chance to be happy. To find your joy. I turned 41 last summer, amid all of this, and I heard the words I was saying to my best friend as they came out of my mouth. “I feel like this is my first birthday,” I told her. This year was my very first birthday.

#sophia bush #her gf is an ass but I’d be hypocrite with any hateration #happy lesbian visibility week #coming out #the celesbians are restless

[stil-lindigo]

scorched earth.

a comic about a princess who died in a fire.

(this is a sequel to bite of winter, a comic about Snow and what became of her after her death.)

--

creative notes:

--

all my other comics

store

#cw: blood #cw: beheading #cw:death #cw: gore #cw: burning alive #so nice of ash to have prepared a barbequed buffet ready for snow when she arrives #if it wasn't made clear enough ash did die in that fire #she just did it while taking down as many people as she could in the process. and now shes a smoke monster #and yes. the fire powers do imply she's not quite human. but shes human enough to fall in love and die and thats enough. #im sorry this comic took me so long. i had about a week where i was very depressed and nothing got done. #thank you for your patience #and as always #thank you for reading #comic art #sapphic art #lgbt #horror #somehow not as scary as snow but ash is still fearsome in her own way #stillindigo art #stillindigo comics

[felicitywilds]

also slowly turning around in my brain how rose said she was going to stay with the doctor forever, and then later donna says the same thing (to martha!! the doctor doesnt even hear or know!!! it would make him so happy but hurt him so much if he did!!!!!!), and then when she tells the doctor shes going home in sontaran stratagem he immediately assumes it means shes leaving him for good and accepts it but also launches into all the things he still wanted to show her.

and i know its played for a joke like haha silly martian thats not what i meant! but this is the same man who, when he needed to turn human, loved someone SO DEEP AND HARD that he didnt think he'd ever fall in love again. ever. even with his memory erased. so when you take that moment of "oh you're just popping home for a visit" and like ACTUALLY look at it you're like. this man gets so so so attached to people, and is so incredibly scarred by losing these people he loves that he has no choice but to let them go when they want to leave on good terms, because he knows how bad it could get for them if they stay, no matter how much he wants them to stay.

anyway donna's forever and rose's forever are just different flavors of the same "i need you as much as you need me, so im in it for the long haul, bad stuff included" and its chefs kiss

#doctor who #dw #nuwho #donna noble #rose tyler #tenth doctor #by me #dont skip nine #i just. i have so many thoughts about donna i cant even get them all down #ill probably need another post about this #but i just LOVE how much she takes those classic Rose Things and turns them on their heads #donna travels with the doctor bc she has nothing else just like rose did #but while rose traveled so he wouldnt be lonely and through that company he learned to be humane #donna travels with him to keep him humane and through that company he starts to heal from his grief of being lonely #if that makes sense #when rose was there he always did things for HER and it was so dangerous for both of them and scarred them more than it could have #and now with donna its like nah man do it for THEM. you cant live for your companions. you gotta live for you and the people you save #ok i think im done now

[cosmicmakos]

imagine holding your f/o when they need comfort from their lover (even if they don't make it known and/or try to deny it). they feel safe in your presence and can finally let their walls down and release all of their pent-up emotions while in your embrace.

#my favorite war criminal <3 would sometimes avoid letting herself let her emotions out #half the time its because her mission takes priority and she wants to avoid distractions and the other times she denies she needs it #when she first came back to the citadel after she died and got brought back she shoved all her emotions down when she saw me again #a friend of hers convinced her to go over to me while i was watching skycars go past in the market area #she came up right next to me and said my name quietly to get my attention - all i could do was stare at her confused #she started to stumble out what happened and to tell me everything but she started talking too fast and the tears made it worse #i pulled her close to me and told her it was a story for another time while she mumbled apologies into my neck #she held on to me like i was going to disappear into thin air #during the war she just refuses to give herself a moment's rest since the galaxy is depending on her to save it #she always tells me her emotions can wait and goes off on her next important mission #unless we're all alone between missions she won't let her emotions out as they could compromise the task at hand #if those conditions are met she finally lets her emotions out while i hold her close to me for as long as i can #corporate necromancer has a hard time letting her walls down and at one point it caused an argument between the two of us #she doesn't like/want people to see the vulnerable side of her #she thinks it'll make people think less of her or make her look weaker #she slowly opens up to me and after some time she doesn't keep her walls up around me #its hard for her to admit she wants to be held while she lets her emotions out but one of the times she did was before the o4 relay mission #oops only two characters on this one since i have too many thoughts on this #f/o imagines #imagine your f/o

[sutorus]

THE GRUDGE PROFESSOR!GETO for KINKTOBER 2023!

DESCRIPTION: everybody loves professor geto, and judging by the thousands of viewers you get on every live, a lot of people love you, too. but you and professor geto hate each other. you’ve had enough of his humiliation rituals, and decide to do something about it.

PAIRING: mean professor!geto x student!reader

WC: 5.3k i am an unstoppable beast

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, teacher/student dynamic! adult age gap! (reader is in college, unspecified age), sw/camgirl!reader (don’t like don’t read! no shaming 😤), strong language, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel, darling), reader calling geto "sir", unprotected relations, creampie, afab reader and terms

A/N: this switches between povs a lot so i hope that’s okay or at least readable lol! also i set out to write him so much meaner but he’s just kind of a simp... enjoy?

reblogs are very much appreciated i'll uwu for u :pleading eyes emoji:

it is said that those who cannot do, teach. 

geto suguru could have done many things. he had the brains, the muscles, the features, the traits. the ambition to succeed in any field he desired. satoru says in a world ruled by the strong there is no place for humility. 

but humility is not why suguru became a teacher. neither is ineptitude. no, he’d become a teacher because it was the right thing to do. 

to use his gifts to help shape new generations, help unlock potentials long dorment and buried deep under years of a lackluster schooling system. geto suguru prided himself, above all, in being a righteous man. 

but japan’s most upstanding citizen for 28 years in a row held a shameful secret. a secret in the shape of you. 

he saw the darkest sides of himself on your face (eyebrows scrunched, eyes shut tightly, jaw slack as you—), your voice (higher in pitch with desperate moans that sound almost scared on the brink of your—), your body (taut and plump in all the right places, glistening with sweat, bouncing up and down on a—). 

when you walked into his classroom that fateful day, the world tilted on its axis. his first thought was, fuck, then, it can’t be, then, most embarrassing of all, i’ll finally find out what she smells like. 

(he did, when you went up to his desk to hand over your test. a whiff of vanilla, argon oil shampoo. too sweet, too youthful. and he’d watched you leave, tennis skirt flowing like a water lily, dick already chubby in his pants.)

it was slowly starting to consume him.

the first time you spoke in class, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. it was really you. the cute, slutty girl he’d been milking his cock to for the better part of a year. 

god, when you finally said his name. you would never in your wildest dreams think that he’d been imagining those words coming out of your mouth, of him coming out of your mouth, dripping out of you, all over you—

he was losing it. this was not like him. this was never supposed to happen, and he has to put an end to it. 

everybody knew of geto suguru, the prodigy professor. already getting a phd despite not even being 30, handling the administrative slack for the department while managing office hours every day of the week, promoting student events, helping organize spirit weeks and charity drives. 

everything he did, he did for others. those not as capable as him — which was most people. in other words, it was really, really hard to hate him. 

but you damn well managed to. 

and to think you were excited to take his class. everybody told you to run, not walk, to sign up for his twentieth-century Japanese philosophy chair. 

“oh, professor geto is just the best,” they’d said. “he makes it sound so interesting and engaging, he gives the most life changing assignments, he really cares about us.”

bullshit. 

the first time you stepped into that classroom, suspiciously full for a philosophy class, you felt a shift in the air almost immediately. 

and sure enough, professor geto suguru was eyeing you down like he’d just seen a ghost. it made you self conscious, like he’d taken one look at you and decided right then and there you were too dumb for the class. 

it made your blood boil. sure, you stood out a little bit from the actual philosophy majors, but that doesn’t mean he gets to judge you. he literally doesn’t know you!

but fine, first impressions are tricky like that. for all you knew, you could’ve been misjudging him right there. 

however, with each passing day, you grew more and more assured in your suspicions.

you knew the man had it out for you, always calling on you to answer when he knew you weren’t paying attention, never grading your papers above a B even though you did everything right, somehow managing to fucking avoid you during his excessive office hours. 

his looks were almost the most infuriating part of it.

his beautiful face constantly set in that nonchalant look, his big veiny hands always gesticulating, his huge fucking arms straining the fabric of those dress shirts, his ear gauges and man bun contrasting the prim and proper image the rest of him conveyed. 

under different circumstances, he’d make your mouth water. under different circumstances, you’d imagine him going down on you all night long, singing praise about how good you taste and how tight you are. 

but in this timeline, you absolutely loathed him. and he loathed you too. why? you didn’t know. 

but you knew for a fact that it was personal. 

“i don’t care,” megumi said around a mouthful of meatball, cutting your monologue short. “i’m not doing it.”

you sigh, melting into your chair. “megumi. please. i am literally begging you, i just need some hard evidence so i can go report his ass.”

he eyes you curiously. “report him for what?”

“i don’t know. bullying? sexism? whatever the hell his problem is,” you pick at your food, huffing in annoyance. 

“you’re overthinking it,” megumi replies, dismissively. 

“okay, how about this,” you lean forward, putting an elbow on the table. “if you write the assignment for me, i’ll get your dog that expensive halloween costume you’ve been wanting.”

megumi lifts an eyebrow. 

“you need to get one for each,” he says simply. 

you grin. “deal.”

suguru really does give it his all to make your life with him a living hell. pulls out all the stops, years of friendship with gojo satoru paying off as he comes up with ploy after ploy to get you to drop his class. 

it feels bad, being mean to you. but for the hidden, twisted parts of him, it feels delicious. 

watching you huff and puff, all hot and bothered when he corrects your answers on the spot. watching you nibble on your pen at the increasingly difficult exams he hands out. letting himself wonder if you missed a stream this week because you were too busy cramming for a make up test. 

he knows he’s pushing you to your limit, and even if there’s some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing you so agitated at his hands when it’s usually the other way around, he doesn’t enjoy upsetting you. 

the problem is, suguru knows it’s either he gets his shit together or he continues tormenting you, and, well. 

the spirit is willing but the flesh is so, so weak. 

he knows it’s getting worse, too, because he’s not infatuated by you only when you’re undressing on his screen, or all dolled up in class. 

when you tie your hair up in a ponytail, when you suck on a hangnail, when you lick your thumb to erase a smudge on your paper… all of it drives him wild. 

he can’t teach with a permanent half chub anymore. this has to end, one way or another. 

you sit down in front of your computer, adjusting the camera before turning it on. soon, viewers start trickling in, little dings notifying you of their messages. 

you smile, waving at the screen. 

“hi everyone! i know i’m a little bit late today, i hope you can forgive me…” your eyes scan the chat, giggling at the compliments. “‘you look tired, sad face’, ah. i’m sorry. i guess i’ve been a little stressed lately.”

your robe falls over your shoulder as you readjust your position. a few donations come in, accompanied by supportive messages.

“you guys are so nice. it’s not a big deal, it’s just this dude giving me a hard time at college.” 

you absentmindedly trace your collarbones, reading what your viewers are saying. 

“you’ll kill him for me? that’s so sweet,” you joke. “nah, it’s not a student. it’s a professor. exactly, ynlover444, a grown ass man picking on me!”

you sigh deeply, allowing your body to finally unwind and relax on your chair. you prop a knee up against the armrest, giving your viewers a little peek in between your legs. you’re wearing one of your favorite sets, trying to get in the mood after the week you’ve had. 

“ugh, sometimes i wish i could just…” you suck in a breath, clenching your hand into a fist before releasing it. “sit on his face and get him to shut up, you know?”

you laugh at the countless me firsts that flood the chat, bringing a finger to your lip. 

“anyway! enough about that horrible man,” you reach beside you to grab a box your viewers know all too well by now. “let’s get to the fun stuff, shall we?”

as always, satoru is no help. 

“why don’t you just fuck her?” he asks, eyebrows arching above his sunglasses. “ya gotta just fuck her.”

suguru clears his throat before taking a drag of his cigarette. “i’m not fucking a student.”

satoru shrugs. “everybody does it. besides, you basically already do.” 

suguru wonders, not for the first time, why he ever told his friend about his situation. about your streams, that he’d stumbled upon randomly and innocently and had gotten instantly hooked, about you barging into his classroom like an angel at hell’s gates, about you you you you, everything about you. 

“that won’t fix anything.”

satoru clicks his tongue, swirling his soda inside the can.

“poor, naive suguru. did you not just tell me about what she said on her stream?" and yes, regrettably, suguru had told him. "it’ll fix everything.”

suguru doesn’t even let himself consider it, except he does.

at this point it’s no secret that he’s thought about being inside you, but now that you’re here it’s just too real and too risky and completely fucking wrong. 

it goes against the entire life he’s built for himself. 

he’s lost. he wants you so fucking bad, wants you close, wants you so far away, wants to ravage you and never have to see you again. 

it’s fight or flight. if he got you alone, it could go either way, he realizes that. 

suguru wonders what part of him will win by the end of all of this. 

your heels clack on the linoleum floor of the hallway as you approach professor geto’s classroom, megumi’s graded paper clutched tightly against your chest. 

the thing about megumi is that he's a star student. he’s never gotten anything below an A on any of his essays, makes the dean’s list every year, tutors his seniors. so the big, bright B- on the page tells you everything you need to know. 

damn right it’s personal. 

you don’t even bother knocking, slamming the door open while still trying to contain your indignation. 

geto is sitting at his desk, piles of papers sprawled on top. he has his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a surprised look on his face that would be cute if you didn’t want to slap it right off. 

he says your last name like he’d been expecting you all his life.

“to what do i owe the pleasure?”

your jaw clenches as you take a few loud steps towards him. you slam megumi’s paper down on his desk, leaning over. 

“professor geto, i demand an explanation. a real one, this time.”

the man takes a deep breath, lips twisting disapprovingly. he smoothes the paper over.

“as i already explained in my notes right here, the structure is fine, but i couldn’t help but miss a more in-depth analysis of the four nodal concerns of philosophy that we talked about in class, such as—“

“no,” you interrupt. “just no. you know you’re bullshitting me and i’m sick of it. this paper deserved an A!”

“miss—“

“what’s your problem with me?” you spit out. your eyes finally meet and there’s nothing in geto’s that could answer your question. your chest is heaving, lips wobbling and hands shaking, trying to contain your anger. 

geto clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “like i said, your paper could’ve used a bit more—“

“no it fucking couldn’t have, because it’s not my fucking paper, it’s fushiguro’s fucking paper and the only reason you gave it a B is because i was the one who handed it in!”

he sits up, straightening his posture.

geto sounds austere when he asks, “do you realize how much trouble this could be for both of you if i reported it?”

you can’t believe this man. he’s been picking on you the entire semester and when you finally confront him about it this is what he chooses to focus on. 

“are you fucking kidding me?” that earns you a stern look from him, eyebrow raising taller than that fucking high horse he sits on. “professor geto. what did i ever do to you?”

there must be something earnest in your voice because geto sighs, getting up from his chair. 

he walks until he’s standing in front of you, leaning against his desk and crossing his feet. 

“do i bother you?” is all he says. it surprises you. 

you jut your chin out. “as a matter of fact, you do.”

the man hums. 

“i bet that’s really difficult for you,” he speaks like he’s sympathetic, like he understands. he sounds almost sheepish when he says, “i bet sometimes you wish i would just shut up.”

you blink rapidly. “no, it’s not like that. it might shock you but i genuinely do enjoy your class, it’s just that—“

“or maybe you wish you could shut me up,” he continues, ignoring you. “maybe going as far as to say that you could… sit on my face to get me to shut up.” 

your mouth goes dry.

before your brain can fully process the shift in the atmosphere or the fact that your professor is maybe possibly hitting on you, you realize where those words are coming from. 

it’s what you said. about him. on stream. right before fucking yourself on your hot pink dildo. 

you can’t speak, can barely even look in his general direction. 

you had really thought things couldn’t get any worse. had barged into his office with nothing to lose, almost hoping he would cordially invite you to remove yourself from his class permanently. 

but now? now you have no idea what’s going to happen to you. 

“i…” you start, the words dying in your throat. geto chuckles, crossing his fat fucking muscly arms across his chest. 

he says your name, low and syrupy. “is it true? you’d like to?”

you can feel your face flush hot in embarrassment, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, wishing desperately that you’d never walked into his classroom. 

you have half the mind to apologize to him, right now.

“it’s just a figure of speech,” you try. geto clicks his tongue. 

“what a shame.”

your wide eyes shoot up and meet his. “w-what?”

he smiles sweetly. 

“it’s a peace offering. you can take it, or we can forget you ever said anything,” and isn’t he just so slimey, actually, when he’s the one who brought it up. he had said it, and now… 

now you can finally allow yourself to look at him.

those delicious, broad shoulders, the ever-present bored look, the stubborn fringe that falls out of his bun. 

you could so easily forget what you came here for. 

“so, like, a truce?” you ask, taking a daring step forward. geto nods, uncrossing his arms. “and you stop treating me like i’m fucking dumb?”

he tilts his head. “i think you’re a very smart young lady. determined. entrepreneurial…”

“geto—“

“professor geto,” he corrects you, hands reaching out to graze your hips. “you’re intelligent. i just like to push my students.”

you both know that’s a lie, but it’s okay, because now you know exactly why you got under his skin and it makes your own burn. 

you run a hand down the line of buttons on the front of his shirt, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

“then… push me, professor.”

it’s so incredibly lame, the porn line you hit him with, but to your surprise it works, a low groan rumbling deep in geto’s chest. 

he swiftly closes the distance between the two of you, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing your lips together. 

it’s ravenous, the way geto dips his tongue inside when you gasp in surprise. you moan against his mouth, slipping a leg in between his two. 

he’s half hard already when he rubs up against your thigh. 

geto picks you up with ease and sets you down on his desk, and it’s so fucking cliché, the papers crinkling under your weight, the pens clattering to the floor. but it turns you on beyond belief. 

you share a few open mouthed kisses, an exchange of tongue and moans and hot breaths between your lips. 

if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that you've fantasized about it before. a silly idea, at first, something you'd just blurted out mid-stream.

but that little seed had been planted, and when you got yourself off that night, you might've imagined for a moment that it was your mean professor's cock squeezed tight inside you, making you come undone.

geto slips his hands under your skirt, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him. you line up your crotch with his, moving your hips in tight little circles that make the both of you groan. 

his fingers are tugging your underwear down, down, the soft patch sticking to your gooey cunt. he lets the soaked fabric dangle from your ankle, grazing the back of his knuckles on your core. 

“mmm, fuck,” geto breaks the kiss, swallowing. his pretty lips are flushed and shiny, parted around his panted breaths. “you always get this wet or am i special?”

he’s smirking, the bastard, leaning back in to kiss your neck.

god, you smell so good, like lotion and perfume and sunshine and sin. 

“shouldn’t you know?” you sneak your fingers up into his bun, pushing your chest against him. he works his lips expertly on your skin, using just the right amount of teeth, of pressure.

geto hums against your neck, kissing a line up to your jaw. he snakes a hand under your skirt, thumb pressing down hard to rub on your clit, two fingers slipping inside. 

you immediately clench, a soft, drawn out mewl leaving your lips. 

the slide of his fingers against your walls send a chill down your spine, filling you up so perfectly. you feel the thin skin at your opening stretch around him, burning at the friction as his fingers plunge in and out of you. 

“god, look at that,” he rests his forehead on your shoulder and pulls the hem of your skirt up. “do you hear that, baby? so fucking wet for me.”

you whine, hands cupping his jaw so you can kiss him again. 

“please…” you mumble against his lips. “more…”

you wonder how much of what you can say he's heard before, which exact words have left your lips and sent him over the edge. it makes you self conscious, oddly, like he can see right through you.

not-so-kindly ignoring your request, geto removes his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth.

you watch as his eyelids flutter in pleasure, a hum rumbling low in his throat. 

he looks so good like this, just edible.

you pull him in for a kiss before he can, relishing in the surprised little noise he lets out. your knees are wobbling, feet dangling from your seat as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

he swallows your moan hungrily, forearms trembling with the need to hold back.

geto knows this is wrong, so wrong on so many levels, puts both your positions in jeopardy, it makes him feel perverted and primal and so fucking alive. 

he’s been watching you fuck yourself on those silly toys for god knows how long now, knows every spot that makes your hips buck, knows exactly how to make you cream like a debased slut around a cock. 

it should feel unfair, how easy it’s going to be for him to make you cum, only if it weren’t for the fact that your mere presence is enough to get him hard as fucking diamonds. 

“tastes good, huh?” he whispers, thumb caressing your chin. you nod, smiling devilishly. 

“tastes better on your tongue, prof.” 

geto groans low like a starved animal, holding your throat in his hand with a loose grip. he’s overwhelmed, that much shows, not knowing what to do with you or where to start. but there’s one thing he’s sure of. 

he presses one last kiss to your spit-slick lips before dropping to his knees. 

you can hardly believe it. sulky, big bad bully professor geto suguru on his knees for you. you prop a foot up on his desk, your sole skidding on a piece of paper. 

“scoot closer, please,” he asks, cordial even like this. you bring your ass to the edge of the desk, your dripping pussy hovering over his face. 

he looks so good under you, hair already disheveled, a delicious tent in his tailored pants. 

you tuck the hem of your skirt into the waistline so you can watch as he sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning like he’s fucking relieved. 

you throw your head back, fingers buried in his silky hair as geto’s fingers find their way back inside. 

he fucks them in and out of you lazily, pushing out strings of slick. geto slurps it all up, spreading your wetness all over your clit and sucking it back in his mouth. 

god, his cock is straining in his pants but he doesn’t dare touch it, can’t until he’s inside you. you taste like fucking heaven, like all his fantasies, like he always knew you would. 

you’re whining softly, bucking your hips into his face almost shyly, as to disrupt his pace.

you sound so much better in person, although he can’t wait to have you moaning into his ear without needing the headphones. 

“god, this perfect pussy,” geto mumbles into you, his breathing labored. he runs a thumb all over your cunt, gliding it over your soaked lips. “been dreaming about it for so long.”

“yeah?” you ask. “tell me. tell me how you stroke your cock to me every night.”

and every night might be overselling it. geto is a busy man. 

but your words do make him realize that no girl he’s had since he found your stream has satisfied him quite like you do. your flirty smile, your moans, the way they sometimes turn into uncontained giggles as you stuff your pretty cunt with a dildo. 

so he tells you, blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“fuck, i do,” he tongues your clit, tracing lazy circles. “i do. just look what you do to me.“

and there it is, that cheeky, slutty giggle, directed at something he said this time. 

he takes his fingers out, spreading your opening with both thumbs as he licks you all over. 

geto gulps, tongue dipping inside of you, sucking your clit into his mouth, sliding down to your entrance, every clench of your pussy pushing out more and more slick for him. no one's ever eaten you out as thoroughly as this.

“oh, fuck, sir,” it slips out casually, the way it would were you talking to any other professor. but given the circumstances, you revel in the deep moan geto buries into your cunt. 

you trap your lips between your teeth to keep anything else from tumbling out, but it’s useless.

“please, sir, i’m so close—so close just keep doing that, yeah just like that—“

“fuck,” he mumbles, pulling away to suck in a desperate breath. then, “fuck,” sultrier, right into your core. 

you grind against his face, finding purchase in his hair as a final few flicks of his tongue push you right into the crest of a mind-numbing orgasm.

it’s so good, so much better than when you're alone. the friction so perfect, his long, thick fingers plugging you up last minute to viciously fuck into you. 

“god…,” you breathe out, legs trembling as he runs his hands up your thighs. 

his chin is glistening, bubbles of spit and cum gathering in the corner of his mouth. he looks so good like this, like he was meant to please you and nothing else. 

geto feels like a fucking teenager, so goddamn close to busting in his pants at the sight of you. his dick hurts, balls tight and the head throbbing where it’s tucked into his underwear. 

“please, sweetheart,” he can’t hold himself back any longer, slick fingers already undoing his belt. 

you get to work on his zipper, pulling his pants down along with his underwear and damn. 

you figured he was big. he was a tall man, broad shoulders, shoes the size of a yacht, and the bulge in his trousers was a pretty good indication. but it couldn’t have prepared you for the sheer size of him. 

longer than it is thick, cleanly shaven, pretty veins and ridges and standing angry red in attention. god, you want it inside you. 

he notices you looking. 

“do you need more prep? i can—“

“no, fuck no, suguru, need it inside me now,” you wrap a hand around him and he hisses, caging you in with his arms on the desk. 

he huffs out a laugh, blowing the fringe framing his face. “what happened to sir?”

you kiss down his jaw, squeezing right below his tip. 

“sorry, sir,” you say against his ear. “are you going to punish me for my slip up?”

geto groans, pulling on your hair hard and making you face him. 

“take your shirt off for me,” he instructs, and you obey, maneuvering around his tight grip on the back of your head. 

his spirit is so unbreakable.

here you are, teasing him, coaxing him to rough you up, push you around, relieve both your frustrations properly once and for all, but he’s just so… adoring, and hungry, and just so irrevocably into you, and you find out that’s so much better. 

geto relents his hold on you to unclasp your bra, cupping your breasts and sucking a nipple into his mouth. you whine, caressing his hair. 

“so fucking perfect,” he massages your tits, looking mesmerized. 

“yeah? they haven’t gotten old to you yet?”

he laughs, so cute, and you can barely remember that just hours ago you hated the sight of him. you stroke his cock up and down, squeezing harder at the tip trying to milk all that delicious pre he’s been wasting on the inside of his boxers. 

“no, f-fuck—never gonna get old,” he pushes your boobs against each other, imagining his cock sliding in between them, his balls nestled underneath, his load blown all over your pretty face—

fuck, he’s gonna cum if he keeps going like this. 

he rips your hand away from him, ignoring your knowing smirk and pushing his tongue into your mouth. 

“i’m gonna fuck you now, okay, sweetheart?” you moan, nodding, shimmying your hips so he can have the perfect angle. 

a big hand clasps your thigh to wrap your leg around his hips as his tip pokes around your entrance.

you’re whining in anticipation, clenching around nothing, nails clawing his clothed back. 

when he slips in, it feels like coming home. you’re like warm honey around him, cunt pushing him out but clinging to him at the same time, with every stroke. it’s fucking maddening. 

“ahh, g-god, sir, ‘s too big—“ you swallow around the lump in your throat, feeling the tip of his cock in your guts. 

he’s huffing, concentrated, bullying his cock into you inch by inch with shallow thrusts until he finally bottoms out. 

“fuuuuck, angel,” he grips your waist with both hands, like he could just fuck you up and down his length if he wanted to. “took me so well, look at that.”

you do, dropping your heavy head to look at where you’re connected. you clench around him and he whines, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. 

the metal legs of the desk skid on the floor, papers and pens raining down to the floor as geto starts roughly plunging in and out of you. 

you let out little ah, ah, ahs in time with his strokes, the ache deep in your stomach finally starting to fade. 

“f-fuck, you’re gonna—topple us over, suguru, go easy—“

“can’t,” he chokes out, wheezing as he pushes his cock in as far as it can go. 

he gives shallow little thrusts, his length straining the fine skin at your entrance so good, hitting a spot inside you over and over that makes your head spin. 

your fingers twist into the back of his shirt, pulling him in to whine right into his ear.

he’s so big, stretching you out so thin that you feel every ridge and vein, can feel both your heartbeats inside your cunt. 

“ohhhhh fuck, fuck sir, please please touch me—“

he grabs your ass before you can even finish your sentence and presses you flush against his hips. 

geto’s tip is kissing your cervix now, his balls sticky and creamy against your ass, your clit grinding against his pubic bone as his thrusts violently shake the both of you. 

“fuck, wanna do it so fucking loud but i can’t, we can’t, what if someone walks in—“

you moan wantonly at his words, expecting to be chided, but geto seems to love it despite his worries because his cock kicks deliciously inside of you.

“look how loud you’re being, listen to yourself,” he grunts out, the belt pooled around his feet clanging with every stroke, the absolutely lewd squelches from your pussy resonating in the entire classroom. 

you two sound so good together, better than you’ve ever had, better than he could’ve ever imagined. 

“so loud, so wet on this cock,” he spits out, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “do those toys make you feel this good? this full? answer me.” 

“hahh, n-no, no one but you,” you can’t think straight, head thrown back in pleasure and eyes squeezed shut. “only you, sir.”

geto whines like he’s aching, pounding into you mercilessly and making a mess under the two of you. 

“fuck yeah, that’s right. i’m making you feel good, baby?”

“mm-hm,” you mumble, tongue lolling out. geto's going so hard now, has you pressed up so tight against him, body caging you in, fucking every breath and thought right out of you. “close.”

“yeah?” he speeds up his effort slightly, and you’re sure he’s going to have desk-edge shaped bruises on his thighs tomorrow. “gonna cum on my cock? cream all over me?”

you let out a long, drawn out whine, tits bouncing up and down with the force of geto’s thrusts. 

“let me see your face when you cum, darling,” he cups the back of your neck, breathing hard through his nose. “keep your eyes on me. that’s right, sweetie, so good, you’re doing so good.”

you preen at the praise, feeling suddenly self conscious with the man's laser focus attention on you. 

you coo out little noises, growing in desperation, holding onto his biceps for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you. 

your pull him into you closer and rub your clit against him, grinding helplessly as your orgasm creeps closer and closer. 

the moment you open your eyes and meet his hungry ones, you’re cumming. your walls spasm around him, making the glide of his dick impossibly wetter with your release. 

geto chokes on a sound, his cock hostage of your pussy’s vice-like grip as your greedy cunt milks him for all he's got. 

“f-fuck, baby, look so pretty when you cum, always look so fucking sexy so fucking perfect that you’re gonna make me bust, i’m gonna cum for you god gonna cum inside, gonna blow my load all deep inside this pussy—“ 

it’s the most desperate he’s ever sounded, speaking through clenched teeth and a soaked mouth. you moan in return, letting him use you. 

he slams his forehead down your shoulder when he thrusts once, twice, three times and cums, his balls drawing up so tight that it hurts. he fucks it into you with shallow thrusts, panting, almost wheezing in pleasure. 

it feels like it lasts forever, his orgasm. like all of the blood in his body goes straight to his balls to push out the thickest, most satisfying nut of his life into the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

you feel it fill you up so good, hear it, too, squelching and sticking to both of you. 

geto’s body slumps against yours and you stay like that for a while, catching your breaths. there’s cum sliding out of you, down his balls, onto some poor student’s essay you have your ass on top of. 

when he pulls out of you, he takes a beat to watch it spill out of you some more, his face and chest red, his smile groggy. 

“god, this,” geto has to fight the urge to say thank you for letting him fuck your brains out. he swallows. 

“yeah,” you blink away the haze, feeling sore and fucked out. “this.”

“…is probably going to happen again, right?”

he knows it shouldn’t. he knows it will.

maybe both parts of geto can learn to coexist.  

you grin, touching the tip of your tongue to his lips. 

“well, i still haven’t made good on that promise of sitting on your face, have i?” 

the next morning, in class, the students erupt in happiness at the news that professor geto had an accident that ended up ruining most of last week’s graded papers he had in his possession. 

so he decided to give everyone an A for their troubles. 

and finally, finally, there was peace in the world.

#OOF. #this was a doozy it feels like sooooo much more than 5k words tbh #i wanted to wait to post it bc im rly proud of it i dont want it to flop but : #i cant resist it i want it out #✩.kinktober #✩.geto #geto suguru smut #geto smut #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru x reader smut #geto suguru x you smut #geto x you smut #geto x reader smut #ummm what else #jujutsu kaisen smut #tw power dynamics #jjk smut #kinktober #jjk kinktober #geto reader smut #✩.tw power dynamics #✩.petra.doc #geto suguru x female reader #geto x female reader

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

The Daycare

Danny moves to Gotham after Lady Gotham themselves asks for his help.

Gotham's natural ecto has been deteriorating, and considering ecto was what held everything in existence together safely this was a major problem for Lady Gotham.

If Gotham got too bad it would spread to the rest of the world, and could cause it to cease to exist entirely.

So Danny came, as the Ghost King he had the power to filter in great amounts of the corrupt ecto just by being in the city.

But part of his obsession was protection & helping, Gotham already had a lot of help (Batfam). So he decided to focus on helping not with the problem at the top (villains), but with the problems at the bottom.

The problems at the bottom that would be the root cause in breeding more problems.

After all, many didn't start evil, but need and desperation pushed them towards that path.

So Danny moved to the worst part of Gotham, The Bowery.

What did he do there?

Why open a Daycare of course!

Many parents could not get a good or stable job simply because they needed to look after their kids and could not afford to pay the daycare fee.

Danny wasn't worried about money after all the coffers that he inherited as king would take forever to even make a dent in it, and that's only if he was living a very lavish lifestyle everyday for several human generations.

With this in mind his Daycare fee was pretty much nothing.

He would take care of the children of a very wide age group, while the adults could focus on getting a decent job or even returning to school for a higher education for better opportunities.

How does he care for so many children?

He duplicates himself of course!

At least in the very beginning, after a while he begins expanding his Daycare offering classes and tutoring to the children as well as free food at all times.

Who's helping him ?

His ex-rouges and other ghosts who volunteered.

Lunch Lady absolutely adores having so many people and kids to make food for, and Box Lunch can socialize and play with the other kids while she works.

Ember even volunteers to be the music teacher!

Danny has the help of many ghosts who once they heard his plans were very excited to help, many having the obsession with teaching children or in general. Other ghosts helped with building, expanding, and just generally helping maintain the building in great shape. Even building a very diverse and fun playground.

Of course all this catches the attention of Red Hood. Danny just appears one day on his territory with many others and practically having a building appear out of nowhere with how fast it was built, asking literal pennies to take care of the children, and free food for anyone who asks.

All that gains a lot of attention and is rather suspicious.

But the crime rate has been going down since he opened, which is a good thing.

But many people don't want good things and decide messing with Danny and his Daycare.

Unfortunately for them cuz Danny is absolutely down for violence if he's protecting what's his.

~

Villain: "What a lovely place you have here would be a shame if something were to happen"

Danny who has the audacity to fight Gods and win: "Someone call an ambulance! But not for me!

Also Danny: "These hands are rated E for everyone"

~

Other people:"Should we call someone for help?"

The ghosts:" Nah, let him have his fun he needs his enrichment"

~

Red Hood: "He's very suspicious"

Danny is absolutely covered in paint and singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star with the young kids: "Ah yes I'm totally doing normal Gothamite behavior"

~

Lady Gotham is having some self care spa time she's having a grand time: "Should I warn the young king of the other halfa (Jason)? Hmm best not, it'll be more entertaining if it happens naturally"

~

Just an Idea

#dp x dc #danny phantom #dc x dp #dpxdc #batman #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #jason todd #red hood #dc x dp crossover #dp #ghost king danny phantom #ghost #ghost king danny #ghosts #Daycare #daycare #Lady Ghotam #she/they #pronouns for Lady Gotham #batfamily #adult danny phantom

[velvetures]

Got Me Snoring

A/N: One of my favorite things inspired by all the Ghost/König cosplayer TikToks using that one, song audio. Summary: Ghost admits getting head is boring. Reader isn't happy with that idea and goes about changing his mind. T/W: NS/FW 18+ Only, blowjobs, deepthroating, size kink if you squint, spit?, cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and it's been a long ass time since I've written full-on smut.

“All I’m sayin’ is that if she calls again, I’m not about to answer.” Soap’s voice carried from the living space of the hotel room to the kitchenette where you stood microwaving some rice from a convenience store down the street.

After-mission talk always leads to the most strange conversations. Maybe the adrenaline or the high of getting almost killed got everyone in a talking mood. However as the Captain slid behind you to go grab more ice outside in the hallway, you couldn’t help but shoot him a questioning look. They’d been talking about their previous accomplishments and failures in the bedroom for nearly twenty minutes, and thankfully they’d not roped you into the ridiculous conversation but with the Captain leaving out of the room, it drew their eyesight right to you standing patiently for your instant rice to finish cooking.

“What about you, huh?” Gaz was the one to poke a little. “Have any horror stories from the bedroom?” His eyebrows raised in mischievous curiosity as all three men sat staring at you with great intent.

“I’ve faked it plenty of times.” You reply offhandedly, waving a hand at them and going back to staring at the small plastic cup rotating around in the microwave.

You overheard the men pass through the moment of silence with low laughs, most noticeably, Ghost. Who’d apparently found something very funny and decided to grace everyone with the sound of deep and resounding chuckles. With a gloved hand, you take out your food and rejoin them in the room, finding a spot on the corner of one of the beds and crossing your legs to hold the bowl while you watch and listen to more of their recounted stories.

Soap complained more about the one night he’d met up with one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, and drank himself into oblivion to try and ease his nerves. The only problem was, that when he finally had enough liquid courage to make a move, he couldn’t get it up. Even watching him recount the tale now, you could see his embarrassment. You couldn’t imagine just how beautiful that woman had to be for Soap to give himself whiskey-dick so bad that to this day he regretted the memory and undoubtedly wished he could take it back. Gaz got pressured into retelling the story of the woman he met in Russia just for you since you’d never heard it; Detailing just how she’d been absolutely obsessed with him right from the get-go.

She couldn’t stop fawning over his accent and just how downright good-looking he was. Gaz on the other hand felt very embarrassed and never really tried to take things further on that trip. Fortunately for him, on a trip back a few months later for pleasure, he ran into the woman again and this time around she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Soap and Ghost laughed, poking fun at how utterly exhausted Garrick was when he met up with them in London. His shit-eating grin was more than enough for them to surmise that his little Russian vixen had taken him for a hell of a ride.

Then there was Ghost.

He didn’t have much to say in the way of his own successes, but did share one or two small comparisons with the other two as they kept pulling out detail after detail about the many people they’d met over the years and how they either felt they’d left their mark… or totally fucking missed it. All of it came to a very interesting topic that you suddenly became very interested in when Ghost uttered one single statement that left your mouth hanging open and staring at him almost in disbelief.

“I don’t like someone blowin’ my cock,” his voice sounded flat. Totally unbothered and nearly sleeping at the idea. “Never cared much for it when half doesn’t fit.”

You couldn’t help but insert yourself into the conversation after a long hour or so of sitting like a viewer at a movie. “Wait a second… You mean to tell me you don’t like getting head because you're too big?” The gasp in your tone was obvious, and even Soap and Gaz looked at him a little strangely as if they didn’t truly believe the idea either. It gave you a bit more reassurance in your belief that almost all men enjoyed it. Sure, there was the odd chance that Ghost just didn’t like it at all, but you really wanted to hear his explanation if he’d give you one.

The Lieutenant turned to look at you and nodded stiffly. “Yeah, ‘bout always puts me to sleep.”

It was at this point you felt the slightest urge to tell him he’d never had someone give him a legitimately good blowjob before. But before you could even say something to the contrary, a thought crossed your mind. Ghost didn’t seem like the kind of man who attracted ill-experienced women. Especially when he had already proven throughout the evening that his previous encounters were much more interesting and expansive than even that of yourself. Something a bit… jealous rose inside of you at the thought.

Imagining your Lieutenant laying on his back and hardly making any sort of sound while someone pulls out every single trick in their arsenal to make a blowjob somewhat entertaining or arousing. You didn’t necessarily profess yourself to have a crush on Ghost, due to just how grey the line between operators and anything felt when you spent so much time together under high-stress environments. There was bound to be some level of emotional attachment that devolved past… professional. And for whatever it was, knowing that Ghost had such a bad opinion on the receiving end of pleasure became a challenge you wanted to overcome.

About that time, Price returned with half-melted ice and a half-smoked cigar hanging between his lips.

“Finished talking about chasin’ tail yet?” He grumbled, walking past the group of you still sitting around each other like a bunch of kids getting caught staying up late by Dad at a sleepover. “Wanna go to fuckin’ sleep.”

He dropped the ice bucket down on the dresser with a little thud before settling himself down on the pull-out couch with his hat covering his eyes and both arms resting behind his head with that cigar still puffing smoke rings into the air. Ghost was the first to stand up, making his way out of the hotel room without as much as a comment about when he’d be back or where he was going. Your eyes trailed over his shoulders tapering into a slim waist before giving way again to thick and muscular thighs enhanced by all of gear still strapped to his body. His kit did leave a lot to the imagination. And god did your mind start to wander as both Soap and Gaz began winding down, settling themselves down to sleep for the night or at least lay somewhere quietly so the Captain didn’t lose any more of his patience and kick someone out or force them to pay for their own room. Not nearly tired enough with all of the questions and thoughts about Ghost now floating through your mind, you didn’t care the least bit about laying down or pretending not to care about the fact of the matter and headed out of the hotel room after the Lieutenant as Soap turned out the final lamp in the corner of the room.

The air was a bit cold outside without your jacket, breath materializing in front of you in light wisps of fog with every exhale as you looked down both ends of the hallway hoping to see some sign of where Ghost might’ve gone to. Down on the far left side, a larger cloud of smoke blew past the breezeway entrance and you knew right away that Ghost would be at the end of it. And when your eyes peeked around the corner, you weren’t the least bit surprised to see him with a shoulder resting up against the wall; his back to you with enough of his mask pulled up so that he could smoke a cigarette. The sweet vanilla and cherry smell hit you like a wall, reminding you that Ghost preferred rolling his own cigarettes and used pipe tobacco instead of buying packs of anything else.

Leaves no trace behind… He’d explained without prompting one night after noticing that you’d been watching him.

“Followin’ me now?” His voice heavy with smoke and unhindered by his mask landed directly on you, not even needing to turn around to know you were the one tailing after him.

“Couldn’t let you freeze to death alone.” You reply with a little smile, taking it as your chance to go ahead and walk -slowly- over to him giving him the privacy to smoke without needing to fuss with keeping his face covered.

By standing just at his back leaning against the wall, he knew right where you were, and it put the weight of conversation on him for the moment. He gave you a gruff sort of sound and took another drag off his cigarette before turning just far enough to offer it to you. You take it from his gloved fingers carefully, licking your lips a little in slight nervousness. This wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a hit, but it was the first time you’d ever actually taken him up on it. Seeing the damp rolling paper on the end made you shiver a little; Hopefully, the cold weather would be a good enough excuse to keep him from recognizing your sudden anxiety around him. Wrapping your lips around it and inhaling, you’re a little more than guilty for noticing the taste of Ghost instead of the vanilla and cherry. With a quick glance to your side, you saw his mask was pulled back down over his mouth and his dark eyes were focused right on you as you blew the smoke out of your mouth and back in through your nose. Attempting to hand it back, he just shakes his head.

“You didn’t come out here to be cold,” He finally broke the silence. “What’d you really want from me?”

No matter how long you spent around Ghost, you never got used to just how miserably direct Ghost could be. Like nothing was truly surprising to him or worth being the least bit delicate over. Even if it concerned someone -like yourself- at least attempting to be a little more discretionary. Yet you sighed and took another drag before tossing the rest of it down on the concrete, putting out the ember with the toe of your boot.

“Were you lying earlier?” Your question falls a little short of confident, giving Ghost the impression right away that you were nervous. For a split second, you thought you saw the phantom of a smile under the cover of his mask before it was quickly hidden back under late-night shadow and white paint. Ghost put his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and gave a sigh, making more fog swirl around and through the woven material around his mouth. Another thought of what his mouth looked like flashed through your failing mind.

“Why would it matter?”

You licked at your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to word this without sounding desperate or downright shameless in front of your commanding officer… you shouldn't be thinking about doing this in the first place. So many more bad outcomes could come of this than the one good one. Even then, it was risky. Leaving you a bit dazed and staring at Ghost.

“Asked you a question. I’m expectin’ an answer.” He pressed forward, a slight swagger in his hips as he got closer to you, resting a hand on the wall and tilting his head a little to the side. Damn near mocking you for being so much smaller and easily intimidated. You look down at your boots for a moment, deciding to just put your money where your mouth is and take the hit no matter the outcome.

“If you weren’t lying…” You look up, internally screaming at how heavy his eyes look down on you. “I’d like to try and change your mind.”

A deep chuckle comes from the Lieutenant in response followed by his heavy hand resting on your shoulder, almost totally engulfing it.

“You’re jokin’,” His voice lowered with humor that made you almost shrivel up and die inside. “Why would I let you do that?” You give a frustrated sigh and take a step back away from Ghost. Mentally and physically distancing yourself from the slight Ghost had given you by accident or otherwise.

“Never mind.” You give a short nod and turn on your heel to head back to the hotel room and find somewhere to curl up on the floor or in a bed with someone and try to sleep off your damaged ego.

Yet five steps away from Ghost, you’re stopped short with his arm snaked around your waist tightly and his mouth resting against your ear with a heavy and hot breath fanning against your neck. His palm spreads over your stomach and squeezes almost aggressively at the soft flesh under your shirt. Tall and wide, Ghost yanks your back flush to his chest as a silent threat.

“Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me,” His low growl makes you shiver. “I’m not finished with ya.”

In an instant, you’re spun around and hauled aggressively with your back against the nearest wall with Ghost’s chest holding you from fighting back. His legs limit your ability to try and escape out from under his arms, and while one hand is flat against your chest, the other restricts both your wrists above your head. Breath evacuates your lungs with the sudden shock of your back against the wall, but your eyes are locked on Ghost’s as he glares at you harshly through the wavering mist of his breath in the cold air.

“Now I’ve got you pacified…” His smirk was clear in tone, outright mocking you by pressing those massive thighs tighter against yours. “Let’s continue shall we?” The gloved hand pressed against your heaving chest slides up to grasp firmly at your chin and jerk it up to look him in the eyes.

“Why don’t you be a good little thing and tell me why you think you could change my mind, and maybe… I won’t punish you for talkin’ shit to your superior officer.” He spat loudly, his face less than an inch from yours, eyes flaming with aggression.

“Sorry Lieutenant…” You mutter stiffly through the struggle of his hand against your jaw. “Thought I could do better.” You add a lot weaker, averting your eyes as far from Ghost as you can.

“What was that?” He made dark fun of you, terribly obvious, and downright happy with himself. “Say it again.”

You squirm in his grasp, only to get your wrists slid up higher on the wall and a thigh shoved between your own to lift your feet almost totally off the ground. Toes tapping the ground, Ghost holds you totally of his own power without the slightest effort needed to keep you held right where he wanted you to be.

“Thought I could do better.” You repeat yourself louder, and more clearly, feeling utterly stupid for enduring such pathetic treatment. Only you knew it was your fault for letting such a pipe dream of an idea come to reality by prodding Ghost about his sex life so confidently. The masked man hummed lowly, tilting his head as he inspected your face lighted only by a small sliver of moonlight creeping around the corner of the hallway.

“Better, huh?” Ghost chuckles darkly, this thumb tracing over the bottom curve of your lip carefully. “That’s a lot of confidence for someone so small.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Size has nothing to do with it.”

Ghost barks laughter, grumbling something under his breath before dropping his hand away from your jaw and releasing one of your hands to press against his groin. You can’t miss his meaning from the massive erection pressing back against your hand and twitching impatiently when your Lieutenant squeezes your hand around it tighter. A growl escapes his throat and he looks up at you with almost evil eyes.

“Still think size doesn’t matter, little one?” He questions, one eyebrow raising above the hemline of his mask.

Your mouth falls open in shock. Not only because of the sheer girth of Ghost’s cock pulsing in your hand but realizing that he was actually taking your proposal seriously no matter how aggressive his mockery of you was. It shouldn’t have been so damn surprising when taking into account just how large of a man Ghost is. Surely everything would be proportionate, and his erection was proof of it.

Your face is enough to make Ghost chuckle. “That’s what I thought…”

It’s enough of a dismissal that thaws your speechlessness and throws you right back into the present with enough of the guts to speak up for your own desires.

“I can do it,” You blurt breathlessly, fingers tracing along the curve of Ghost’s dick and earning a lusty growl from him. “I can make it good. I’ll make it fit.” You nod your head feverishly in an attempt to keep your chance open. Ghost’s eyes widen at your desperation and his cock twitches hard in your palm with the sound of your shallow breaths and pleading eyes.

“You want it, huh?” He questions, mask moving like he’s grinning under it.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

The moment his hands release you, you feel yourself sliding down the wall until your knees make a bruising thud against the concrete floor in front of Ghost. Your hands holding on his thighs without the slightest care that you were standing in the middle of a hotel breezeway where anyone could see you. A weight settled in your lower stomach with the idea of anyone coming out of their room and witnessing such a sight.

“My belt.” Ghost instructs a bit pinched, looking down at you with his chin almost touching his chest.

You’re frantic yet shaking as your hands slide up his thighs and begin pulling his belt loose, hearing that metallic clink as you pull the two sides apart with a watering mouth. No instruction is necessary for you to know where to go next, and as you unbutton his cargo pants, your free hand palms his cock as you pull down just enough of his waistband to expose him but not make him cold. Ghost’s hands help just a little, settling extra material where he prefers it, almost patiently holding up his own hoodie and t-shirt out of your way as you slid your hands under his boxers.

“Fuck…” Ghost mutters quietly, tensing when your fingers wrap around his base and free him from his underwear.

Your thumb smears over his swollen head soft enough to not make him jerk away with sensitivity, and you lick your lips at just how wet his cock already is from sheer anticipation. Hell, you were turned on too, practically dripping in your underwear at the sight of Ghost with nothing but a perfect dick exposed and ready for your mouth. The first lick is a teasing one. Flattening it over his head just because you couldn’t wait to taste him, gathering up his arousal, and making it a point to swallow with your eyes locked right on Ghost’s. You're certain it’s enough to affect him just by the way he grunts and rests both of his hands against the wall behind you to steady himself.

When your lips wrap around his tip and slide down towards his base slowly, you hollow your lips and suck hard. Almost mimicking drinking through a straw with both hands wrapped around his thick base to restrict blood flow, adding to his sensitivity. You feel his feet flex in his boots next to your thighs and another low grunt. It spurs you forward, sinking down further and massaging your tongue on the underside before raising back up to lick at his frenulum and repeating the process with quiet whines each time he’s unable to hold back some sound.

“Shit-” He hisses after no more than a couple of minutes, jerking his hips back away from you and moving your hands out of the way so he could tighten his own fist around his cock with a heaving chest.

He stays like that for a few moments, undoubtedly trying to stave off the pleasure you’d been giving before his eyes meet yours again and they’re downright hungry and raging with fury that you’d brought him so close without any extra fancy moves or those fake moans that porn always showed. With one quick movement, he stepped closer and tilted your head back until it gently rested against the wall behind you, his cock smearing your own spit and his arousal over your open and awaiting mouth.

“You look pretty like this…” He muttered, rubbing his length over your face and tapping it teasingly against your mouth. “You hungry for more?” You’re sticking out your tongue and nodding right away, earning you a tense chuckle and the feeling of Ghost’s dick sliding into your mouth while his hand cushions the back of your head from the wall.

“Let me feed it to ya,” He grunts. “Shove my fat cock in your mouth and fuck your throat..” He adds with a feral sort of sound mixing with an ever-thickening accent.

You moan around his length, feeling your jaw muscles begin to start aching when your nose just barely grazes his pubic bone and his tip touches the back of your throat. He’s thick enough to qualify as the largest you’ve ever experienced, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about whether he’ll be able to fit. You know he’ll make it fit if nothing else.

And him utterly pounding your throat sounded so hot that you tried pushing further down on his shaft yourself. Eager to feel Ghost as deep in you as possible. Ghost obliges you, and rocks his hips forward slowly, easing his thick head past that ring of pressure at the back of your throat and cursing under his breath when a wet, gurgling sound vibrates around his shaft as you begin swallowing around him.

“Bloody, fuucckk yes…” His groans punch through the quiet air, far louder than he should be risking in such a public space. But he’s only getting started with this experience as your nose presses against his pubic bone, and his hand flattens against the wall.

“So tight… doggin’ me right where anyone can see.”

It’s the thought that had you so eager, and right away you felt just how much it turned Ghost on too. Because the second he said it, he pulled back just a fraction and pushed himself back down your throat, beginning tight and quick thrusts that made your eyes roll back. He kept a furious pace, growling and holding tight to the back of your head until you tapped at the back of his thigh a few times, and he pulled out with a loud grunt, giving you a moment to breathe. You panted, seeing a thick web of spit connecting your mouth and his tip before watching it break and drip down your shirt.

You’re about to tell Ghost… something. But you instantly lose thought of it when he’s bent down with his mask rucked up just far enough to smash his mouth to yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth and practically eating you from the inside out. You can still taste the salty edge of his skin, and it’s almost heady to have his mouth mingling with yours and sharing his arousal between soft moans and heavy breaths. The kiss is long and feverish, but not near long enough before he’s standing back up and stroking his fist up and down his cock right in front of you like an unreal kind of dream somehow coming to life.

“Please.” You mutter a bit hoarse from the rough treatment of your throat, totally unsure of what you really want most. Between his mouth, words, and dick there’s so much more than just one you desired, but at least one of them needed to be delivered to you to attempt satisfaction.

“Open up, little one…” Ghost whispers face re-masked already, and it makes you whine pathetically, having naively believed he’d allow you just one glimpse at the mouth you’d just tasted. “Need to have more of you.” You’re totally happy to resign by leaning your head back against the wall with your tongue wetting your lips in the cold air.

Ghost starts painfully slow, holding your head on both sides of your jaw and teasing his head against your tongue and the textured roof of your mouth; indiscernible words falling from his mouth and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. You would’ve thought it was nothing more than your Lieutenant just taking his pleasure as offered. But the way his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and his fingers would occasionally rub over the stretched muscles in your jaw gave you the feeling that he was well aware of what you were surrendering to him. As well as how thankful he was to have you on your knees, and looking so fucking angelic swallowing and spitting on his dick like a dirty little whore.

“Let me - Wanna…” His rising breaths and steady strokes begin to falter the longer he thrusts inside your mouth, meticulously avoiding forcing himself deeper in disappointment; resulting in your whining and muffled complaints and pleasure. Had his hands not been purposefully holding you back to prolong the session, Ghost probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.

“P-patience…” His stammer made your chest clench in satisfaction. “Don’t - don’t wanna finish in your mouth…”. That breathy comment nearly struck you stiff as concrete.

You couldn’t believe that after this entire ordeal, Ghost was actually trying to end a blowjob without you finishing it the way you honestly believed it should always end. With you swallowing every last fucking drop that the Lieutenant gave you; wearing a goddamn smile bigger than anyone has ever seen. If he hadn’t been lying and head never impressed him, there wasn’t a chance in Hell you were going to let him finish anywhere that wasn’t down your throat. In a split second, you were shaking your head no and pulling back off his cock with a slight gasp.

“No, finish.” It’s the most demanding and certain you’ve sounded all night. “Finish in my mouth, Ghost.”

His eyes say it all.

They’re wide with his pupils blown at impressive dimensions and his thick eyelashes flutter as his shocked expression forces him to blink over and over again to make sense of you. Mouth and chin covered in spit, on your knees, and literally begging him to come in your mouth.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking filthy…” He mutters aloud, watching intently as you slide back down over him one more time and begin doing what you wanted to from the very beginning.

Bring Ghost to his knees.

It’s a moment before you have him cursing and holding onto the wall with both hands again as you push deeper and deeper until you're teasing the tip of your nose against him yet again. Unwilling to let him pull you off this time or prolong this. Deserving this release was the bare minimum. Not only did you want to provide him ultimate pleasure where no one else had, but you enjoyed every single bit of it. You needed this as much -if not more- than Ghost.

Heavy and twitching in your mouth, Ghost was teetering on the edge of his orgasm with stuttering hips and one hand sliding down to rest on your head. Not pushing this time, just laying at the crown like your movements were too much to feel with only one part of his body. Short pants were cut short by unintelligible words and strained attempts to say what you already knew.

As if giving your final approval of the idea Ghost had found unacceptable, you push him as deep as you could one final time; Hearing his loud shout echo down the breezeway as both of his hands grabbed harshly onto the sides of your head. Pumping stream after stream of his hot release down your throat you moaned deeply, feeling him gently rock his hips against your face as he rode down his high on shaky legs. You gagged a little as he pulled out, feeling your throat begin to burn in an unfamiliar way that had never followed you sharing a moment like this with another man. Only one look at Ghost’s cock right in front of your face was more than enough to reassure you he’d just been the one who gave you enough of a delicious stretch to feel for days to come.

Your eyes met his and a small little shy smile crossed your sore lips, contrasting the absolutely deplorable -and punishable- act you’d ever committed with a superior officer. Wordlessly Ghost tucked himself back into his underwear and neglected to button his pants back up before dropping to a knee right in front of you and pulling up his mask again to brush his lips against yours.

“Want to taste,” He whispered ever-so-softly, hands holding your head gently.

“Need to taste me inside your mouth.” He added, licking your lips before closing the distance between you for a second time. This kiss was still intense. Ghost controlling the pace and just how much dominance you had, which nearly came to zero when he licked into your mouth, groaning shamelessly. He could taste his release coating your mouth as he utterly overwhelmed you with kisses, licks, bites, and more moans that fell like honey on your ears.

You were the first to pull back for a gasp of air you’d gone full minutes without, feeling your own mouth and body beginning to feel a little weak with exhaustion not typical of a well-conditioned soldier like yourself. Your Lieutenant took note right away and rested his head against yours reassuringly, his nose touching yours.

“You’re too cold to be out here like this.” He whispered, pulling your cheek affectionately and wrapping the other arm around you. “Not gonna let you freeze after that.” He chuckled a bit sluggishly, kissing you again long and chaste.

He pulled his mask back down and gave very little effort to pick you up off your knees and into his arms without question or hesitation. Leaving you feeling like a treasured prize he’d won and refused to let out of his sight for more than a moment. Safe and protected, you couldn’t care one bit about the cold nipping through your thin clothes and resting your head against Ghost’s shoulder as he carried you back to the hotel room the 141 had already retired for the night in.

Expertly avoiding Soap and Gaz laying on couch cushions on the floor and covered with extra bedsheets, sliding around Price’s bed without bumping it, all while carrying you Ghost sat you down on the edge of the bed he’d been keen to claim as his own right when you’d arrived. You were nearly asleep just sitting there when he unlaced your boots enough to tug them off, pulled your shirt off over your head, and replaced it with one of his hoodies. Finally, he takes off your pants and nods for you to move up to the top of the bed, acting just as he would normally. But as he climbed into the bed next to you and tugged you back against him tightly, you realized you’d gotten a lot more than you bargained for.

Sure you might’ve changed Ghost’s mind about getting head… but you weren’t finished yet. Because Ghost was curling his arm around your waist and burying his masked face in between your shoulder blades like cuddling with you at night was the usual way of things. His fingers innocently traced the waistband of your underwear, and he radiated body heat that melted away the fringe sensations of cold on your body easily.

“I’ve made a decision,” He whispers very quietly so as not to wake the others. And you wiggle back a little closer to him, nodding your head as a silent acknowledgment for him to go on. Expecting him to say that you did -in fact- change his mind about getting blown.

“You’re mine now.”

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