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luvjunie · 10 months

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— headcanons. miles morales (earth42)

EARTH42!MILES who buys you whatever you want, whenever you want. you don’t even have to say anything, as soon as he notices your focus has gravitated towards a display in a mall’s window, he’s stopped in front of it and digging out his wallet.

“you want that?” “no, baby, it’s fine. it’s probably really expensive anyway.” “i don’t remember asking the price. do you want that, yes or no?”

EARTH42!MILES who shows up to your house to take you on you guys’ first date, two bouquets of roses cradled in the fold of his arm instead of one. he was raised by mama rio, after all, so he knows better than to show up to a girl’s house with only his words to impress her mother.

“wow, these are beautiful, miles… thank you. who’s the other one for?” “for your moms, to say thanks for letting me take you out.”

EARTH42!MILES who is so deeply regressed into the act of suppressing his love and affection for others, in fear that he’ll get too attached, only to lose you just like he did his dad. he doesn’t know if he can survive something like that happening again, so it takes a while for him to actually open himself up to you.

“i’m not going anywhere, miles. you can let me in, it’s okay.” “you promise?” “i promise, my love.”

EARTH42!MILES who gets so flustered when you kiss him or compliment him or hold his hand, though it doesn’t come off that way due to how good he is at hiding his true feelings. his stoic expression makes you think he just doesn’t like it, so you back off some. your fears are assuaged when you come over one day and skip your usual greeting of smothering him in kisses or confessions on how much you’ve missed him, and instead settle for giving him a brief, simple hug.

“¿qué pasa, mamí, what i do? ion get no love today?”

EARTH42!MILES who wasn’t the best at texting at first—often leaving you wondering where he was for most of the day or if he was even alive—but has since stepped his game up.

9:30 AM

[mi novio]: goodmorning mi vida, how you sleep?

11:30 am

[mi novio]: you eat anything yet?

2:34 PM

[mi novio]: i miss you

6:20 PM

[mi novio]: ima be busy at around 7, jus lyk so you don’t worry bout where i’m at. i’ll text you when i’m free, okay chiquita?

EARTH42!MILES who asks for a picture of you every time you get your hair done, because he’s too impatient to wait until the two of you hangout again.

[mi novio]: lemme see your hair and make sure your face in it too, i wanna see how pretty my baby look

[you]: attachment: 1 image [you]: you like it?

[mi novio]: lord have mercy it just keeps gettin’ better. [mi novio]: goddamn you look good [mi novio]: nah i gotta see this shit in person im omw

EARTH42!MILES who literally gets offended when he sees you wearing something he didn’t buy.

“where’d you get these from? i don’t remember buying them for you.” “yeah… i got them from the mall last week when i got paid.” “oh, what, so you sayin you don’t need me no more? it’s like that now, mamí?”

EARTH42!MILES who knows he can always run to you when things get rough; when it all becomes too much for him to handle on his own and he can feel his resolve withering. he knows that all he has to do is push open the window you leave cracked for him, climb through it and slip into bed next to you with his head nuzzled into your chest. you’re the only thing that helps him off the ledge nowadays.

“you wanna talk about it, papa?” “nah, not really. can- can you just hold me?” “i can do that.”

- please do not copy, plagiarize, or repost my works to other sites!

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗

#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#42 miles morales #miles morales #miles morales fanfiction #prowler miles #prowler miles fluff #prowler miles fanfic #miles morales x fem!reader #across the spiderverse #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales prowler #across the spiderverse fanfiction #earth 42 miles fluff #miles g morales

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nerdpoe · 4 months

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Billy's in trouble.

He'd been tired, and decided to spend the night in a random city instead of Fawcett.

The Justice League mission had taken it out of him, after all. It was alright if he just...stopped by uh...what was this place?

Amity Park.

But when he went back to being a kid, a bunch of men in white suits had come tearing around the corner, and Billy had just barely turned to run when he felt the prick of tranqs.

The last thought he had was to push the emergency button Superman had basically forced him to carry, then-

Nothing.

He wakes up in a pure white room, with a metal gag preventing him from speaking and a power dampening collar on his neck.

In the room with him is someone that could be his older brother-a teenager with the same hair and eye color, and the same muzzle and collar.

The other kid looks beat to hell, clearly having been there for awhile, but still shoves himself off the ground to try to comfort Billy, even though neither of them can speak.

Billy doesn't know who this other kid is, doesn't know who took them, but he does know that as a Hero it's his job to make sure that the civilian makes it out.

Danny, surprised that there was a scrawny kid thrown in with him, resolves to move his plan forward. He's gotta get this civilian out.

The Justice League, after scrambling to locate Captain Marvel, learn about the Anti Ecto acts as they are told that Captain Marvel doesn't count as a person, and barely counts as a pet.

Or; Billy Batson's powers come from the Infinite Realms and also a dead man. This is a problem when the Guys in White find him. His problem very quickly becomes every single Hero's problem.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #story prompt #phanfic

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its3nvy · 5 months

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Hello I was wondering if you could do a Billy the kid imagine where he gets really jealous of the reader and another guy and like drags her away or something. The rest is up to you

Possessive Billy the Kid

Summary: In order to get Billy to admit his feelings for you, you attempt to make it jealous.

Tags/warnings: mdni (18+), possessive!Billy, porn with no plot, angst, size kink, overstimulation, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink

Note : Gotta be honest not my favorite work of mine, but I hope you guys enjoy!! (Also, don't forget to like, comment & reblog) :D

tags: f!reader, smut

word count: 2.5k

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You were aware of Billy's infatuation with you. You weren’t blind to his gaze; you weren’t deaf to his words. It's undeniable that Billy was deeply in love with you, though he stubbornly denied it.

Billy's hesitancy to act on his emotions was largely fueled by the wounds of past relationships. He'd been hurt before, and those scars had left him cautious and wary of opening up again.

You've caught on to this, and it's what led you to your current predicament—flirting shamelessly with Luke. The idea was simple: You make him jealous to the point where you'll provoke a reaction, prompting him to confront the feelings he's been holding back.

You glance across the room at Billy, displeased with the unfolding scene between you and Luke. The room is dimly lit, adorned with rustic wooden furniture and low-hanging lanterns that cast a warm, intimate glow.

Ever since Luke entered the picture, his overconfident demeanor has irked everyone. Flirting with Luke was a sure way to get under Billy's skin.

“So, what do you say, hon’? Want to continue this conversation in my bedroom?” Luke flashes you what he clearly thinks is a charming smile.

Billy locks eyes with you, a silent exchange of challenges unfolding. Your eyebrow raises in defiance, met with Billy's stoic expression. A smirk plays on your lips, inviting the storm that brews in Billy's furrowed brows. Heightening the tension, you stand on your tiptoes and lean over the bar, your hand finding its place on Luke's bicep. You whisper something unintelligible into his ear, a secret shared in the midst of the growing chaos.

Luke's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and as he turns to look at you, a mix of shock and excitement gleams in his eyes. The room crackles with unspoken emotions as the atmosphere thickens with anticipation.

Billy's neck turns crimson as anger courses through his veins, catching the subtle shift in Luke's expression. It's the final straw, the breaking point that fractures whatever fragile equilibrium remained between Billy and you. A strange blend of dread and anticipation stirs within you as you watch Billy move decisively toward you, his face contorted with fury.

Sensing the impending confrontation, you back away from Luke, pretending to mull over his proposition. As Billy approaches, you let the tension build.

In a whirlwind of emotion, Billy shoves Luke forcefully against the bar, causing glasses to crash to the floor in a symphony of shattered fragments. He keeps him there by seizing him by the collar with a violent urgency, trapping him amidst the debris of the broken glasses.

A cold steel barrel emerges from Billy's hand, pressing menacingly under Luke's chin the ominous click of him charging it resonating in the tense atmosphere.

"You don’t fucking look at her again," Billy's voice is a low growl, each word heavy with an undercurrent of unspoken turmoil. His intense glare pierces through Luke, a fiery testament to the tumultuous emotions churning within him.

In the charged pause that follows, you find your voice, your words cutting through the tense air. "Billy, enough," you plead, the weight of the situation heavy on your shoulders. "Let him go."

For a moment, Billy's grip on Luke tightens, his eyes locking onto yours with a stubborn resolve. Then, with a reluctant exhale, he releases Luke, who stumbles back, visibly shaken.

As he turned your way, you gripped the edge of the bar nervously. He stalked towards you until he stood right in front of you, the sheer size difference making you look up to meet his eyes. The storm in his gaze was evident, and you couldn't help but steal a glance at his lips.

The hand that moments ago wielded a weapon now reaches for your face, holding it with a surprising gentleness—a stark contrast to the aggression in his eyes. He leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss that carries the weight of unresolved emotions and the turmoil that has been building between you.

Billy’s lips on yours is everything you hoped it would be: euphoric. His lips feel pillowy against yours, albeit slightly chapped. The force of his lips connecting with yours is gentle enough not to hurt you but aggressive enough to tell you he wants you. His teeth gently pulling your bottom lip between his makes you weak in the knees, and you can’t help but gasp.

Your arms quickly snake around his neck, eyes fluttering shut. You let him keep control of the kiss—you’d tortured him enough—and only pull away when you desperately need to breathe.

As your lips disconnect, he rests his forehead against your own.

"I've fucking had it," he said, his tone carrying an undercurrent of frustration. The weight of his words hangs in the air, and you find yourself locked in a silent exchange, a plea for an explanation lingering on your lips.

Billy, fueled by an intensity you hadn't seen before, grasped your arm, his grip forceful and unyielding. You stumbled along in protest, a mix of surprise and curiosity painting your face.

He doesn't speak, but his eyes tell a story of pent-up emotions, of things unsaid and feelings unexplored. The atmosphere is heavy with the weight of unspoken words as he leads you down the corridor, away from the prying eyes of the gathering crowd.

"Where are we going, Billy?" you finally manage to ask, your voice echoing through the quiet hallway.

He doesn't respond, his jaw clenched, and his gaze fixed ahead. The tension between you is palpable, the air thick with anticipation.

As you reach his room, he pushes the door open, revealing a space that feels both intimate and charged. The room is dimly lit, casting long shadows on the walls, and the air is heavy with the scent of anticipation.

"Billy, what are-", His lips crashed to yours, hungry and hot and demanding, stealing your breath in a heated rush. He lifted his hand, gently cradling your jaw as he kissed you. With a subtle tilt of your head, the kiss deepened, his tongue sliding into your mouth. A low groan rumbled in his chest as you melted in his arms, giving into him with a moan of pure want.

He pressed his body to yours, caging you in his arms and trapping you between him and the wall. In response, you surged forward, reaching up and clasping his face in your hands. Your fingers rasped against his stubble, digging into his skin. A low growl escaped him, intensifying the heat in your belly. He pressed harder into you, his cock forming a firm ridge against your thigh.

He broke the kiss, panting harshly, tipping you head back so he could look deep into her eyes.

You were barely able to form the words, desire swimming so thickly in your veins you could feel nothing else. “Billy, Please-.”

He groaned, a deep and visceral sound of relief and release. His thumb traced a gentle circle on her cheek in a brief moment of tenderness, but his desire for you was too strong to be placid and mellow right now.

“Turn around,” was all that left his lips.

You cocked an eyebrow at him, surprised by his sudden statement.

“You listening to me, doll?” There was that damned smirk again. “I need you to turn around for me.”

“Why is that?” God, you loved messing with him.

In a swift motion, he spun you around, your chest colliding with the wall, pinned against it. His grip on your hips tightened, a silent proclamation of his control as the atmosphere crackled with the intensity of unspoken words.

“Enough playing, doll,” he spoke against your ear. “You want me to make you mine?”

His fingers delicately traced along the fabric of your bodice, gently pulling it down to reveal your breasts. A soft exclamation escaped him as he pressed sweet kisses to the nape of your neck, his hands tenderly caressing and exploring the newfound intimacy between you.

“I’m gonna show you how no one else can satisfy you.”

Your head was whirling. Your eyes closed at his words, drinking them in like a shot of expensive liquor. “All you’ll be able to think about is me. You want that?”, he whispered against your ear as his free hand hiked your skirts up, and traveled upwards. You gasp when you feel his cool fingers press up against your clit, then travel slightly downwards where your wetness was beginning to leak from.

“Gotta talk to me, doll,” he cooed as a finger danced along your clothed slit, soaking in just how wet you were. “Need to hear how good you feel.”

He watched the way your lips fell open in the sweetest O shape at him pushing your panties to the side and sliding his calloused finger across your clit. You sighed at the break from pleasure as his fingers left your clit. You were breathing heavy, head spinning as he slid his index finger inside of you.

“Billy,” you whined, hand wrapping around his wrist as he pumped his finger agonizingly slowly.

“Hmm?”, he hummed. “Want another? I bet you can take it.” Your chest was rising and falling faster than before as you dug your nails into the skin of his forearm when he slid his finger out and added another.

“That’s it,” he pushed them into you with a delicious curl. “That’s a good girl.”

“Shit,” you hissed as he pumped harder, making sure his palm bumped against your puffy clit. “Fuck, Billy.”

“You’re close already?”, his words filled your thoughts. You nodded dumbly, mouth open and panting. Heat washed over you, pushing you closer to the edge of coming undone for him. Honestly it felt embarrassing how fast he had you melting his just his hands. You were shameless though. Throwing away any dignity just to chase the high he was about to give you. Just as the cord tightened and your body tensed, he withdrew his hand with an adoring smile hidden under his mask.

“Oh you’re so-,“ you struggled to get out. “So fucking cruel.”

The look you gave him over your shoulder was deadly. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked teasing,” he smirked and you knew it from the way his eyes stared down at you.

‘C’mere, doll,’ he tore the buttons from your skirt, freeing you from any garment you wore that went with them.

“I’m gonna need you to bend over for me, baby,” he voiced as he began undoing his own pants. You groaned, shuffling your feet backwards and keeping your chest to the wall.

“That’s it,” he kissed you along your jaw and hissed as he began to pump himself slowly. “Good girl.”

You bit at your lip, holding in the moan when he placed the tip of his heavy cock against your slit and began rubbing up and down as he slowly started to press inside of you. Your squirm, his other hand coming to your hip to keep you still. Slowly, he pushes inside.

“Fuck doll, you’re taking me so well,” he hissed, gripping your ass to spread you open even more.

“Billy,” you whined, “too much.”

“You can do it,” he pushed further, splitting you open with a delicious ache. “Relax for me.”

“That’s it,” he groaned, moving his hips slowly. “So proud of you,” his praise made your cheeks burn. You both pant as he starts to bottom out, feeling him deep, pressed tightly against your cervix. Pausing for a moment, he gently kissed you, giving you the sweetest reassurance as you adjusted. His actions were tender, creating a gentle moment amid the heated passion.

Billy drew his hips back, brushing against that delicious spot on the way before almost pulling completely out and slamming hard back into you. His grip was sure to leave bruises on your hips, but he found that he had little concern about it as he watched your eyes roll back. With how he was handling you, he'd wondered if you'd mark him up the same if he asked you - it would only be fair, and he would be more than happy to wear any branding that you'd put on him. But for now, he'd put his on you.

“Good,” he growled. “So fucking good.”

His thrusts were relentless. Ensuring you felt every inch of his thick cock when he fucked you. You yelped as the tip brushed against your cervix, earning a hiss from him when you tightened around him. Wet slaps filled the air as he pounded you faster, determined to fill every inch of you that he could.

He watched the way your mouth hung open but no noise could even leave this sweet lips of yours, not when he fucked you this good.

“You’re mine,” his other hand reached to the front of you, tugging on your puffy clit. You moaned in response but that wasn’t what he wanted.

“Go on,” he growled in your ear. “Go on. Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“Billy-“ You felt like you could cry. “Please-“ Every word was cut short by his thrusts deeper into you. You were so close your mind was racing.

“I’m - fuck - I’m yours,” you moaned. “Belong to you.”

He reached for your hands, pulling them behind your back and pinning them against you to use to fuck you harder. He yanked you back on his cock at the same time he thrusted forward too many times to count before the inside of your thighs ran slick. Your vision grew into a blur with each thrust as your brain became fuzzy, your stomach tightened as you grew closer to your climax.

It only took a second for your wails to turn into sharp gasps, your trembling body going taut as all the tension he'd built inside you snapped. It felt like bliss, it felt like a high from a drug you’d just taken for the first time. You came with a scream as he continued to fuck you. In and out, in and out, it was about all your mind could process as your body zipped and sparked like it had been hit by a thunderstorm.

"Fuck, I love the sounds you make when you come undone, doll." he mumbled. "So beautiful..." A few more dizzying pumps and you felt him pull out of you with a moan.

“Fuck.” He mumbled to himself, slipping his free arm around your waist to keep you from falling.

“You did so good for me, baby.” He praised between pants against your shoulder. “Don’t think I’m ever gonna let you go now.” You smiled, as he peppered you with kisses.

"I'd be surprised if the entire fucking town didn't hear us", you managed to breathe out. Billy simply grinned. "Good. Maybe now everyone will know to keep their fucking hands off."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, reblog and follow for more!

requests: open!

#billy the kid #billy the kid smut #billy the kid x reader #coriolanus snow #tom blyth #william bonney #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #not my gif

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lovebeatriceplz · 3 months

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☆WHOLESOME Choso boyfriend headcanons☆ because i can only find smut

( bro's a cutie patootie)

Choso! who literally lives for your kisses. He's very quote and quote "inexperienced" so your kisses bring on a whole new rack of emotions and sensations. ( He's arguably touch - starved too).

Choso! who would never dare initiate any of these kisses but is not afraid to ask. Will march up to you and say kiss me in a very serious monotonous voice.

Choso! who only smiles around you. He's never felt so comfortable around anyone, much less a human.

Choso! who would lie, stab, cheat, kill for you. He would actually do anything for you with no questions asked. So everybody knows that they gotta watch their mouth when it comes to you.

Choso! who listens to anything you tell him. For a 200+ year old curse bro is whipped, like a little puppy. You say jump he says how high.

Choso! who has never had an intimate relationship with anyone except his brothers. So he gets very attached, more than he would want to admit.

Choso! who can't say no to you and spoils you sick. You want this? His credit card is already in your hand. You want to go here? He's packed and ready go.

Choso! who can't stay mad at you. He sets his foot down and vows to teach you a lesson. But the second you bat those pretty eyes and kiss him with those pretty lips his resolve vanishes.

Choso! who makes sure you always feel safe and comfortable. Once he's with you everything will be ok.

Choso! who slowly starts to get clingy over time. Not in an unhealthy way, but he can't sleep without holding you.

Choso! who never in a million years would think that he'd allow someone to get so close to him, like you did. It makes him scared sometimes but the feeling of your warmth and your smile always manage to calm his anxieties.

Choso! who genuinely just wants to love you and be loved, has no clue if he's doing this thing right but tries none the less.

#relationship hcs #wholesome hcs #boyfriend hcs #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #choso #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso x reader #choso hcs #choso wholesome #anime #anime x reader #anime hcs

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nastybuckybarnes · 5 months

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Welcome Home

Pairing: Simon Riley X Reader

Summary: Nothing shatters the tension of a fight quite like needing your boyfriend to rush home to save you from people who would do you harm.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Fighting, Fluff, Kind of mean!Simon but not too bad, very minor violence, home invasion, I think that's it...?

Word Count: 1.5K

A/n: we're gonna dip a toe in the COD water and see what happens. I love ghost and Konig so we'll see what else I do there. For any and all COD stuff, I use Canadian Military as a basis for the readers background.

~*~

"I've had enough of this. I'm not gonna argue with you about somethin' so stupid," he hisses, glaring at you with hard, cold eyes.

"It's not stupid, Simon, you just don't want to ever entertain the idea of talking about things that might make you slightly uncomfortable!"

"Oh fuckin hell." He drags a hand down his face and shakes his head.

"Everythin's always gotta end with you being right, doesn't it?"

You frown at his absolute lack of any sort of understanding or empathy.

"This isn't about me being right, this is about you at the very least hearing me out!" You try.

"You knew what you were getting in to the moment you met me, m'not sure what you're expecting of me now. S'not like I can go and change the way things are, now can I?"

You narrow your eyes at him and his blatant ignorance.

"I understand full well, Lieutenant. I've been there, which is something you seem to conveniently forget."

He lets out a humourless chuckle and shakes his head, "don't go put yourself in the same category as me now, lovey. You know you weren't exactly at my level when you served."

His words are a slap in the face.

Sure, you were never quite JTF2 or SAS level, but that doesn't mean your time in the military is any less valid than his.

Seven years of your life you devoted to serving your country, the medical help for teams like his, and all he can do is turn his nose down at it as if it means nothing to him.

"You know what? Fuck you, Simon. I never even insinuated that we were at the same level and for you to try and..." you stop, pinching the bridge of your nose as anger fills you.

"What? Got nothin' to say now? That's a shock."

It takes all your strength not to lash out at him and even more to stop your bottom lip from quivering at just how mean he's being.

Sure, he's always been a little rough around the edges, a little harsh and brazen, but never has he been so downright mean to you.

"Get out."

"What?" This seems to genuinely catch him off guard, his arrogance faltering for a moment.

"Get out. Leave."

Simon Riley isn't a man who gets scared. He's been chewed up and spat out of hell before. Nothing on Earth can get the jump on him and nothing can scare him.

At least, that's what he thought.

His palms tingle and he needs to grind his teeth together a few times to collect himself before speaking.

"So that's it then?" He asks, his deep voice barking the question like he would an order.

You two have had your fair share of fights in the time that you've been dating, even more since you moved in together, but none where he's thought you might end things.

"I'm not gonna stand here and take a verbal beating from you, Si. Get out and come back when you've had a chance to fucking cool off."

He stares at you for a long moment, testing your resolve, waiting to see if you really mean it.

When you hold his glare, not backing down, he grabs his coat, mask, and keys and storms out of the house without another word.

You stand there in the kitchen for a long moment, the silence ringing heavily in your ears before you storm up the stairs to take a shower and, hopefully, argue out all your hostility in private.

The warm water runs over your tense shoulders for a few minutes and you try your hardest to relax, to let the anger seep out of you and run down the drain, but when you hear the front door open you're filled with rage once more.

You stand in the shower silently, waiting for the door to open and close again, signalling his departure, but instead you just hear boots on the kitchen floor.

Scoffing and shaking your head, you start to seethe.

As if he's wearing his shoes in the house on top of everything else.

You yank the shower curtain aside and step out onto the mat, not bothering to turn the shower off.

A crash from the kitchen makes you freeze.

Simon is never this loud.

Like a deer on the highway, you stay still, silencing your breathing as you listen to the noises coming from the kitchen.

Instead of calling out to him and potentially causing more trouble, you take a silent step to the counter where your phone lies.

You grab it and hit his icon quickly, listening to it ring for a while before he sends you to his voicemail. A loud beep sounds tauntingly in your ear and you huff out an angry breath.

You hang up and call him back, grinding your teeth together when he sends you straight to voicemail again.

The noises in the kitchen continue, and your heart jumps into your throat.

Answer your phone, Simon.

You shoot the text off quickly then immediately call him again, your stomach settling when the call connects.

"Are you home?" You waste no time on pleasantries, and instead hear him sigh heavily.

"You told me to get the fuck out, didn't ya? Why would I be home."

Your breath hitches and you press your back to the bathroom door, turning the lock silently as panic fills you.

"Simon, someone's here."

The fear in your voice has his blood running cold, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter as your fight gets shoved from his mind.

"What do you mean 'someone's here'?" He asks, his voice lacking the anger it had only moments ago.

"I heard the door open and I can hear someone in the kitchen."

You hear his tires screeching on the pavement and his engine roaring as he speeds home.

"Where are you right now?" This isn't Simon talking now. You recognize the change.

This is Ghost.

"I'm in our bathroom. Door locked and shower on."

"Good. Keep that water running. As long as they think you don't know they're there, you should be okay until I get home."

"Okay." You feel a little bit safer knowing he's on his way home.

"Keep me on the line."

"Okay."

There's a few seconds of just breathing before you speak again.

"How far are you?"

"Two minutes away."

"Okay... After you deal with these guys we can go back to yelling at each other," you whisper, wrapping a towel around your body and leaning against the wall across from the door.

He chuckles softly and the sound makes a small smile tug at your lips.

As much as he pisses you off and even sometimes hurts your feelings, deep down you know you'll never love anyone the way you love him.

You don't realize you've been quiet until he calls your name softly.

"You still with me, dove?" His voice is soft and you hear him turn the car off.

"I'm here."

"Good. I'm home now, don't come out of the bathroom 'till I come get you, understood?"

"Understood."

Sometimes living with Simon reminds you of being on base, and there are times when you despise it.

And then there are the times when you don't mind it as much. This is one of those times.

You hear the muffled sound of what must be him putting his phone in his pocket, and you close your eyes as you hear the soft click of the door handle through the speaker.

His footsteps are silent, even through the phone, and you feel ridiculous for ever thinking you'd hear it if he came home.

You can hear him as he takes down one intruder, and then what must be a second one.

He says nothing to them, that you can hear. But a series of dull thuds echo through the house before silence remains.

A few minutes go by of nothing, but you don't dare speak or open the door.

Ghost gave you an order, and you have no intentions of disobeying.

There are a few more moments of silence before you hear a crisp knock on the door.

"Lovey? You can open up now."

Breathing out a sigh of relief, you open the bathroom door and are immediately engulfed in Simon's strong arms.

He walks you backwards into the bathroom and squeezes you to his chest, mask hiked up over his nose so he can breathe in the scent of you.

"You all right, love?" He asks softly, his voice gruff and ever so rough.

"M'okay, Si. Thank you for coming home."

"S'my fault anyway. I shoulda locked the door before leavin' in a huff the way I did."

You frown and shake your head, pulling away to look up at him.

"This is in no way your fault, Simon. I could've easily locked the door after you. I'm just happy you got home in time."

Though you're not sure what the intruders really wanted, you're glad you didn't have to find out alone.

"I'll always come home."

And with those four words, he puts to rest not only the intruder situation, but also your argument from earlier.

Because he will. He'll always come home to you, regardless of what he needs to do, he'll make sure he comes home to you.

#simon Riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon Riley x reader fluff #simon x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #cod mw2 x reader #soap #price #gaz #fluff #angst #simon Riley fluff

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martiniluvr · 2 days

Note

I just read your NSFW alphabet and hear me out. Jason fucking reader in the batmobile, let the man play out his fantasy

may your harvest be bountiful anon. I was praying someone would ask for this muahaha 😈 you can find the prompt from the nsfw alphabet here ❣️

18+ minors dni

warnings: semi-public but not really 🏎️

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

you should probably have tried to sound a little more appalled when jason todd told you he’d ‘borrowed’ the batmobile, but there was something about the way he was sitting in the driver’s seat, with his red hood mask over his face, and his arm hanging out of the window, that weakened your resolve.

all it took was a cock of his head and a coy, “you gettin’ in, ma?” for your scowl to melt into a giddy smile. that’s how you found yourself here; zig-zagging through traffic in gotham with a barely-reformed crime lord piloting the in the batmobile like it’s a ferrari. sure, piss off batman. what could go wrong?

thankfully, you don’t have time to dwell on the thought as jason’s hand inches up your thigh, slipping under the hem of your short dress. “wanna take a detour?” he asks, and you can practically hear his grin under the mask. you glance over at him with a smirk as he veers off the city’s main motorway, heading towards the old harbour.

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

jason’s large hands knead the soft flesh of your ass harshly as you grind against him on his lap, dragging you along his rock hard length and drawing out another whine from your lips. maybe it’s the knowledge that you’re in the batmobile when you definitely shouldn’t be, maybe it’s that jason is in his full red hood gear, or maybe it’s just because it’s car sex—whatever the reason, there’s a sense of urgency between you that has you both rearing to go now.

you lean back slightly to unbuckle jason’s belt, your back bumping into the steering wheel as your hands move dextrously. “shit, you in a rush, princess?” he chuckles, but you barely hear him. your lower lip is between your teeth as you work fast to free his cock from his boxers, and he hisses in pleasure as you pump him gently, smearing his precum down his shaft. he reaches between your legs to hook his finger around your panties, pulling the gusset to the side.

his green eyes widen as he feels your slick drooling out of you—fuck, you really are in a rush. you align your hips with his again, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock. in the dim light of the setting sun, he can see the way your eyes flutter shut at the feeling, and it sends heat rushing down his abdomen. you brace yourself on his shoulder with your free hand, sinking down on him gradually. you’re so wet that it only takes a moment to adjust to his size before you’re rocking against him again, and he pulls you back in for another hungry kiss, guiding your hips with his hands.

jason grins as he feels your cunt tightening around him when he brings his fingertips to your clit. “what, already, ma?” he teases, pretending his own release isn’t just moments away. “c’mon, that’s gotta be a new record.” you try to laugh, but he increases the pressure on your clit, and you arch your back as the coil in your belly tightens. shit, you realise, you’re about to cum in the fucking batmobile.

“fuck, jay, I’m so—” you begin, tangling your fingers in his hair. he cuts you off by sucking harshly at the delicate skin of your throat, and instantly you feel the coil snap. you cry out as you convulse around jason’s cock, slumping forward onto his muscular chest with a shiver. the sensation of your walls clamping down on him like a vice makes jason dig his fingers into your flesh as he pumps his own release into you, swearing raggedly as his hips buck.

the batmobile is silent apart from your heavy breaths, and the windows are conspicuously fogged up. you’re glad the harbour is deserted, or rumours might start circulating about what batman gets up to in his free time. jason runs his hands along your back tenderly, laughing to himself. “what?” you ask with a smile, picking your head up off his chest.

“that’s been on the bucket list for a while’,” he grins, and you giggle. you’re about to pull him in for another kiss when an incoming message from bruce wayne that makes your eyes widen lights up the dash. you know there’s a tracker in the car. I suggest you and your guest bring it back now. there’s a pause, and you and jason share a panicked look right as a second message comes through. in good condition.

#jason todd 🤝 defacing the batmobile #his beef with that car…unparalleled #luv u brucie xoxo #jason todd #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood #red hood smut #red hood x reader #red hood x you #dc comics #batman #batfam #batmobile #fem reader #batboys

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lightvixxen · 8 months

Text

Say it.

Just a small Spencer Reid drabble!! Im p sure its a gn!reader soo

Summary: Spencer is hellbent on getting you to finally call him daddy.

Warnings; 18+ MINORS DNI, edging, daddy kink, dom!spencer reid, soft dom!spencer

Words: 430

“Say it.” Spencer whispered in your ear, and you whimpered, shaking your head ‘no’, Spencer rolled his eyes.

Spencer had you on your stomach, pounding you behind, you ended up in this position after you had almost let the word ‘daddy’ slip from your lips earlier.

Now he was hell bent on getting you to say it, he had only caught the first syllable, but he was pretty sure he knew what you wanted to call him.

“Spence please- fuck” you moaned, your cheeks were wet with tears after being edged, he wasn’t allowing you to cum until you said it.

“Please what?” He asked, pulling your head out of the pillow that you had your face buried in by your hair.

“Pleasee let me cum, please, please, please!!!!” You begged with your boyfriend, begging for an ounce of mercy.

“If you wanna cum you just gotta say a simple word, baby, all you gotta do.” His hips stilled as you clenched around him, a tell that you were close.

You sobbed, this was probably your fifth ruined orgasm, but you were too embarrassed to admit you wanted to call your boyfriend daddy.

Spencer started up again, you were even surprised he’s lasted this long, he had to have been edging himself too.

A particular hard thrust has your back arching a loud moaning clawing its way out of your throat, that was the thrust that happened to break your resolve, desperate for relief.

“Fuck- daddy! Fuck please daddy please, i need to cum-!!”

“There you go.” Spencer smiled wickedly, his left hand moving to rub circles against your clit, more tears of pleasure rolled down your cheeks. His right hand that had been holding your back down, making sure you couldn’t move against him, moved to grip your hip.

“Cum for me, sweetheart, let go” he told you, thrusts becoming increasingly sloppy.

“Daddy- shit, thank you, thank you, thank you-!” You practically screamed, thanking him for finally giving you permission to cum. Once you reached your high you were pretty sure your soul left your body. Eyes rolling back into your head, shortly after Spencer came in you, his cock buried deep inside of you.

“See? Wasn't that hard was it?”

You shake your head, “it’s embarrassing…”

Spencer chuckled, letting go of your hip Spencer moved a hair out of your face.

“You’ve written worse baby.”

“Wait what-“

Spencer just smirked at you, he got up to grab a washcloth from the bathroom.

“Spence, wait- how did you-?”

“Your phone password really doesn’t work to keep me out sweetheart.”

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #dom!spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #criminal minds smut #lightvixxens Spencer

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erwinsvow · 1 month

Text

you fiddle with the r necklace, rubbing it between your fingers like you always do deep in thought. you should have gotten rid of the necklace the day the two of you broke up, but a hopelessly sad and defiant part of you refused to take it off. it’d been long enough now that it was getting to the point of weird rather than just pathetic. at least, your friends thought so, and they never hesitated to let you know. after all, there was no one that hated your boyfriend more than them.

“you’re doing it again,” kiara comments, staring at your hand mid-motion, the pendant slipping from your grip as you drop it immediately.

“doing what?” you question innocently, face burning.

“i still think it’s creepy that he wanted you to wear a necklace with his initial. it’s like a brand. it’s dehumanizing.”

“or, like, a dog collar,” jj says, holding back a laugh. you look up at them with a blank expression, because you really don’t have any retort. maybe it was rafe’s brand on you, maybe your friends are right. but you think, chest tight, that you didn’t mind being branded by him.

you change the topic because you’ll start crying if you think about it too long—of course they don’t mind, they encourage you to talk about anything but rafe these days. if only it was that easy to get your mind off of him.

rafe doesn’t make it easy on you either. what was supposed to be an amenable break-up had transformed and twisted into something completely different—something that your friends would kill you if they found out about. the first few weeks had been normal, like any other break-up, you sobbed on john b’s shoulder, accepted tissues from pope and listened to jj talk badly about rafe for as long as you could listen. you spent hours with kiara and sarah exploring all the reasons why it was so not meant to be, not when you and rafe were night and day, not when he was still dealing and doing coke. and then, just like other break-ups, the time came to put all of rafe’s shirts and the teddy bears he’d bought you and the photos on your wall into a box and get rid of it all.

you think you’re doing a good thing, by bringing rafe his shirts back instead of burning them like jj suggested. you knock on the door to tannyhill, making sure you spot his truck parked outside—even though one glance at the car where you’d lost your virginity to rafe makes your face burn up. you feel flushed and clammy when rafe opens the door, and he looks at you like nothing’s happened since he saw you last, and the rest of your resolve caves almost immediately.

“hey, kid.”

“hi,” you chirp, pulling your eyes away from rafe’s before he convinces you to do something you’ll regret. “i brought your clothes back. i had more than i realized.” you offer him the box, but he doesn’t extend his arms.

“nah, you can keep them. you’ll be needin’ them anyways.”

“what?”

“how long d’you think we’re gonna stay broken up for? huh? another week? two?”

“rafe, i-”

“it’s okay, kid, just keep them.”

“no, i think you should take them-”

“why don’t you come upstairs and put them away f’me? hm?”

the first time it happens, you tell yourself it was a one-time mistake, that could happen to anyone. you’re wrapped up in rafe’s sheets, naked and sweaty, trying your hardest to catch your breath while you stare at the muscles of rafe’s back while he pulls up his laptop and finishes whatever he was working on. your phone keeps going off, probably your friends wondering why you’re so late to dinner. you pray to god kiara doesn’t check your location.

“you gonna get that?” rafe asks, turning back to look at you. you just look at him, delirious and still incredibly sad, wondering if this is the last time you’ll ever be in rafe’s bed again.

“no, they’re just gonna ask me where i am.”

“still lettin’ them control how you really feel? gotta work on that, baby.” you feel any anger bubbling up at the fact that rafe still thinks you let your friends decide your feelings for you—a key point you had argued during the break-up—melt away at the sound of the nickname.

“they don’t like how much i like you.” you say it kind of sadly, like things could be different, like the two of you could have made it work in another world. you fiddle with your necklace, before unclasping it and letting it drop onto rafe’s palm. “i should go now.”

it feels much too intense, like the third-act breakup in the cheesy books you read. you want rafe to fight for you, you want your friends to like him, but that means he has to change, and as much as it pains you to admit it, you don’t want any part of him to change. you want your friends to change their minds, but they won’t, and you want rafe to care that your friends don’t like him, but he doesn’t.

you try to move but he manhandles you into place, a hand on your wrist tugging you back into bed. he pushes your hair aside, clasping the necklace back on, and then rafe presses a kiss to the back of your neck.

“don’t ever take this off again, got it?”

you nod. rafe sends you to the chateau in one of his shirts and you pray to god no one notices that or your necklace is still in its usual place.

the next time it happens, you can’t even try to argue that it was an accident. you knew rafe wouldn’t make this easy for you, but you didn’t think he could make it so impossibly difficult. his texts light up your phone, only a few feet away from pope and john on the couch, watching the movie but only half paying attention.

R: where are you tonight

R: you coming here or do i need to come get you?

your heart settles into your stomach, being attacked by the wings of the butterflies that have made their home there. rafe talks to you like the two of you are still dating, and your mind slips into an easy, soft place where that is still your reality.

“what kinda porn are you lookin’ at right now?” jj asks, and you break out of your fantasy.

“what?” you blubber out, before john b interrupts.

“jj, stop making everything about porn.”

“i’ve seen that look before, man, it’s the exact face pope makes when he found somethin’ fun and fresh. so what’s your type, i mean, you can share with the class-”

after slapping jj on the back of the head and reassuring everyone that there was no porn on your phone—only the promise of something better waiting for you, but they don’t need to know that—you head out, replying to rafe quickly.

coming now.

this time, you can’t lie and act surprised that you’ve ended up here again. rafe turns on his tv to watch the evening news, and it’s so silly you almost want to laugh, but you stay silent, watching him watch the news and taking a sip of the water he got for you.

you turn your head to place the cup on his nightstand, and see your lip balm perched next to his lamp.

“i’ve been looking for this,” you say, picking it up and turning to rafe.

“yeah, you left it here.”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“‘cause i knew you’d be back.”

you think that’s enough to be your reality check. it’s not.

a week later, you accompany your friends to the bonfire. you play with your necklace while they fill up plastic cups with beer from the keg.

“you’re never gonna get over him if you keep wearing things he got you,” kiara says, taking a sip from her cup. you know she’s only trying to help you, that she’s only worried about you. you wish they would stop bringing him up.

“i’m not ready to take it off.”

“that’s not healthy. in fact, that’s so unhealthy that-”

“i said i’m not ready. can we drop it?”

“why not?” she asks, and you feel tears start to build along your eyes. “oh jeez, speak of the devil.” you feel a familiar hand on your shoulder, turning to face rafe.

“can i have a minute?” he says, looking at kie.

“no. you can’t have any,” comes her reply, until you look back.

“kie, i’ll be right back.”

you and rafe walk, ignoring the shout of your friend to not go, to an empty spot by the fire.

“didn’t think you’d come here,” rafe says, quietly. you look at your shoes to avoid looking into his eyes.

“they dragged me along… trying to make me meet someone new.”

“yeah? is it working?”

“i just told my best friend i’m not ready to take your necklace off, so, what’d you think-” rafe stops you, his hand coming up to lift your chin to make you meet his eyes finally. he presses his lip to yours—it feels different than the hundreds of times he’s kissed you before. your eyes flutter shut, a sole tear spilling down your cheek.

you wonder if everyone’s looking. you decide you don’t really care.

“i told ya not to take that necklace off.”

“i listened, rafe,” you breathe softly.

“i know,” he says, kissing you again and then pulling away. “you’re a good girl. you always listen. i’m done with this crap, and i don’t care what your idiot friends say. not staying away from you. no one can make me, not even you.”

“i don’t want you to stay away.” rafe takes the pendant with his initial into his fingers, playing with it before letting it fall against your chest.

“good. now go tell them you’re coming home with me and let’s get outta here.”

#lolll #this is one of those things you write for yourself n get embarrassed to post #this ones like.... you and rafe are broken up but 'broken up' means nothing to him #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader

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lovelyverosika · 2 months

Text

You didn’t know but with a twist

Hazbin Hotel! Adam x Fem!Reader

Warning: swearing

A/N: Hey<3 My name is Verosika and I’ll write fanfictions whenever I have the time to :) This is my first time writing one, so it’s based on the song "You didn’t know" to make it easier for me. Just to let you know english isn’t my first language..so be prepared for some grammar mistakes :,D

Y/N POV:

We all sat in the courtroom, waiting for the trail to begin. Next to me was my husband Adam and Lute. I wasn’t supposed to be here but Adam wanted me to hear the "childish" and unrealistic ideas of the princess of hell.

After everyone was here Sera spoke "We're gathered here today to determine whether or not a soul in Hell, can be redeemed into heavenly realm by means of this 'Hazbin hotel', Princess Morningstar?",Sera said wanting Charlie to speak up.

I looked down to Charlie,my head resting on Adam’s shoulder. "Webster's dictionary defines redemption as-" before Charlie could speak Adam interrupts her: "Objection, lame and unoriginal". I sighed at his immature behaviour and gave him a slight bump with my head.

Charlie was flipping through her cards making Adam roll his eyes. "If you have actually evidence, then show it already." He said,glaring at Charlie. "We have two patrons already they’re making incredible progress" Charlie defended and I smiled, "Who?", I asked. "Angel Dust" Charlie spoke. "Oh yeah, the pornstar demon" Adam snickered as he added. "He's totally worth being redeemed".

Suddenly Monika,another demon stood up. "Well then, if you know so much…what do you think it takes to get into heaven?",she spoke. It was quiet until I asked if Adam was okay. He scoffed as he pulled out a golden paper from his pockets and a pen, "Give me a fucking moment, okay?",he then started writing and gave me the paper as I read it out, "Act selfless, don't steal, stick it to the man?", I chuckled looking at him with an raised eyebrow. He shrugged "Uh, yeah? Sure got me here...didn't it?",he said seemingly questioning himself. Sera sighed before saying: "He was the first human soul in heaven."

In the following hours Charlie showed us the improvement of this demon called Angel dust and how he did everything what Adam wrote on his list but nothing happened. Sera only sighed as she wanted to declare the trail as failed and that we will see what brings someone to heaven when the first soul arrives. I sat there with my head hanging. I felt bad for keeping my secret,especially when I looked over to Emily,who held the paper that Adam had written earlier.

Emily: But she was right, Sera. She showed us a soul can improve. He saw the light, Sera. Checked all the boxes that you said would prove a person deserves a second chance. Now we turn our backs, no second glance?

Sera: It's not as simple as you think. Not everything is spelled in ink.

Charlie: It's not fair, Sera!

Vaggie: Careful, Charlie, keep a cool head.

Charlie: No! Don't you care, Sera? That just because someone is dead, it doesn't mean they can't resolve to change their ways turn the page, escape infernal blaze.

Y/N: I'm sure you wish it could be so. But there's a lot that you don't know.

Lute: What are we even talkin' about? Some crack-whore who fucked up already? He blew his shot, like the cocks in his mouth. This discussion is senseless and petty.

Lute & Adam: There's no question to be posed!He's unholy, case closed. Did you forget that Hell is forever?

Adam: A man only lives once, we'll see you in one month. Gotta say, I can't wait to…

Y/N: Adam…

Adam: Come down and exterminate you.

Emily: Wait!

Adam: Shit…

Emily: What are you saying? Let me get this straight…You go down there and kill those poor souls?

Charlie & Y/N: You didn’t know?

Adam: Whoops

Lute: Guess the cat’s out of the bag.

Adam: What’s the big deal?

Emily: Sera, tell me that you didn't know…

Sera: I thought, since I'm older it's my load to shoulder

Emily: No!

Sera: You have to listen, it was such a hard decision. I wanted to save you, the anguish it takes to do what was required.

Emily: To think that I admired you, well I don't need your condescension. I'm not a child to protect! Was talk of virtue just pretension? Was I too naive to expect you to heed the morals you're purveying?

Charlie: That's what the fuck I've been saying!

Emily,Charlie & Monika: If Hell is forever, then Heaven must be a lie! If angels can do whatever, and remain in the sky. The rules are shades of gray, when you don't do as you say. When you make the wretched suffer just to kill them again.

Monika: Don't you act all high and mighty!Adam did you ever think your "sweet" wife might be a liar?

Y/N: Huh? Wait no…please!

Monika: Don’t be such a crybaby! Why hide the fact that you were a demon just like us?

Part 2

#hazbin hotel #adam x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel adam x reader #x reader

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mcondance · 10 months

Text

other side of the game; hobie brown

summary // hobie swings by when you’re cleaning your room, and you know exactly what he wants.

cw // dubcon-ish (you say stuff akin to no but like.. you want it. it’s just a game you n hobie play), they talk a lot of shit, missionary

extras // you and hobie r Black so i don't wanna hear anything abt the grammar i used! "it's supposed to be doesn't" kill yourself idc, the song has. nothing to do with what happens in this fic btw it just.. it makes sense when you read it and it helped me write

wc // 2.6k

song shoutouts // special thanks to other side of the game by erykah badu and i get lonely by janet jackson

signing off // thank you to poetnon for this idea i hope you like this <3

you know the second you hear the knocks at your window that you won't be getting anything else done today. he does this every fucking time.

walking across your room, you unlock the window for your boyfriend, eyes meeting his as you psyche yourself up for what you know is coming.

you return your attention to your desk, and with your back turned to him, you hear him slide his lanky body through the frame, landing softly on your carpeted floor.

"you busy?" he muses pointlessly, already shrugging his jacket off and reaching down to untie his boots. player one, ready?

"yeah," you hum pointlessly too, hands fiddling with the trinkets on your desk. maybe if you don't look at him, you won't cave. player two, ready?

"what you up to?" his voice grows closer. you close your eyes, breathing deep and slow to try to build your resolve, but you can hear him inching towards you, the clinging of his belts giving his movements away.

"cleanin' my room." you spin around, figuring you'd face your doom instead. his shoes are off now, placed up against the wall under your window. and now the game has started.

"mhm. well don't let me stop you," he smiles, and you wish you could say that it didn't put another dent in your already rusty resolve, but it does. with shaking hands crossed in front of you, you push yourself up and away from your desk and move across your room to your pile of clothes, folding shit hastily, already so fucking nervous.

he takes your place leaning against your desk and scans your room, taking in how much you’ve already gotten done. it makes him feel a little less bad about what he’s going to do. “looks good already. how long you been cleanin’?”

“since like, 10.”

“mhm. ‘s 2:24 now. think you’re ready for a break?” you snap your head towards him, rolling your eyes and screwing your lips up at the implications of his words.

“not the kinda break you’re talking about,” you sneer, rolling your eyes again as you return your focus to the meaningless pile of clothes.

“and what kinda break is that?”

“the kinda break when you end up inside me. i don’t have time for it.” you don’t face him as you speak. you can’t. if you do, it’s all over. you don’t want it to end just yet. it’s fun. it always is.

“what, you think ‘m just tryna get in your pants? i jus’ think my girl should have a little rest, yeah?” at his words you drop the shirt in your hand, switching gears to organize your nightstand instead.

“you’re lying. you always do this.”

“do what?”

“this. you come here and sweet talk me and the next thing i know i’m under you and my room doesn’t get cleaned. i’m not doing this today.”

he’s silent— your brain isn’t. you know it’s only a matter of time until he’s doing exactly what he’s doing now.. wrapping his slim fingers around your waist and pulling you back onto him.

speaking directly against your ear, he finally comes out with what he wants. “take a break, baby, lemme make you feel good." his lips meet your neck, ghosting over your heated skin.

"can't, hobes, i gotta clean up,” you whine, but it's futile at this point, cause you're already leaning back onto him, already tilting your neck to the side to give him more access, already dropping the half-empty water bottle in your hand.

"you sure, love? y'can clean up after we're done, hm? i'll help you.” he sounds earnest, like he really cares. you shake your head no, but you let him pull you away from your desk and turn you around. "gotta clean," you repeat, but you let him push you down onto your ruffled sheets.

"then clean." he’s standing over you now with his hands tucked into his pockets, and he motions towards the pile of clothes with his head, knowing eyes fixed on your frame sprawled out on your bed. from here, the light frames him perfectly, and he looks so damn pretty. maybe you'll blame what you do next on that. doesn't matter now, though. eyes meeting, you both know you're not getting up— seconds pass with you both staring, a silent confirmation, and hobie knows your answer.

shrugging, he leans down with his hands still in his pockets, placing a damning kiss on your lips, murmuring "gave you a chance, baby. knew you didn't give a fuck about cleanin'." and he's right, embarrassingly so, so you roll your eyes, channeling your faux-frustration into a rough kiss, curling your hands under the straps of his t-shirt.

he falls forward, hands flying from his pockets to balance himself on top of you. smiling against your lips, he speaks again, “see. . you want it. you’re desperate.”

his hips start to rock against yours, stacked belts clinging against your dangling legs. hands finding the side of his face, you huff at his irritating need to almost shame you, to show for some made-up record that no matter how much you turn him down, you want him. you need him.

so you push your hips against his, humming at the groan that flies from his lips. tapping your thigh, he ushers you up the bed, your bodies turning until your head is laid on your pillows.

he reaches down between you two, sliding your shorts to the side to rub his fingers against your already sloppy cunt, smiling when he feels and sees how wet you are. “cleaning my ass,” he jokes, kissing you before you can get upset again.

sliding his fingers up, he brushes the pads of them over your sensitive clit, swallowing the pretty moans that start to flow from your spit-slicked lips. hobie knows you like the back of his hand, knows just how much pressure you need, how tight his circles have to be, knows how to make you cum hard, and cum fast.

it’s always like this when he comes by with the goal to distract you— you always end up under him with whatever you have on pushed hastily to the side, fully clothed and his hand between your legs, shaking arms wrapped around his neck. it’s desperate, really, both your need to get off.

though you try to remain steadfast, try to act like you don’t want this, the way your hips move against his hand gives you away. “did all that sayin’ ‘no’, bu’ look.” he points his eyes down, towards where his hand is hovering above your cunt, fingers glistening.

“‘course ‘m wet, don’t mean shit.”

“it don’t? that’s wild, love,” he slides two fingers in without warning and presses his thumb against your clit before he starts his circles again, other hand moving to hold you in place when you thrash against him, “cause last time i had t’almost beg. ‘n the time before that, i did beg.”

you know what he’s trying to say, and it makes heat rise in your face and makes your eyes close, cause you can’t face him. no matter, though, cause he grabs your face, spits, “open your eyes. look a’me.”

you open your eyes and meet his low ones, ones that are always black with lust, ones that bore straight through you and make you feel so small and dirty underneath their gaze. he nods at your obedience, and then his fingers catch that spot inside you, and the licks of flame inside you morph into something like a fire, lighting you up with pleasure. you’re close, so close.

“you’re gettin’ easier, baby. act all you want, you’re desperate.” that sends you over the edge, and it’s embarrassing. it’s filthy, how he just has to talk to you a little mean and you’re cumming on his fingers, shaking as you choked out sobs of his name, like you weren’t just telling him to leave you alone 10 minutes ago.

before you even come down he’s kissing you, pulling your shirt up to free your tits.

"fuck you." you spew as you separate, but you still pull him closer, position him where his clothed dick rubs right against your cunt, kept away by the fabric of his sweats and your shorts that have almost rolled back into place.

"you will, in a second," he bites back, a wicked smile plastered across his ethereal features— features that are driving you fucking insane.

you’ve grown sick of his mouth— fisting his hair, you yank hard, drawing a pained moan from him and another drag of his cock against you. “you keep talking all this shit, but you’re the one who came up to my window looking for some ass. i don’t wanna hear it.”

“yeah? and you’re the one who kept going on about havin’ to clean your room, but i got you in bed so easy. we’re both fucked.”

and it’s true. the statement grounds both of you, and you both realize just where you are— inches apart, seconds away from what you both want. snapping out of it at the same time, your hands tangle together as you reach for each other’s bottoms, you freeing his pretty dick and him ripping your shorts right down the middle.

you laugh at his haste, his deep chuckles mixing with your giggles, foreheads meeting as you both calm down after your frenzy.

“‘m sorry. still forget how strong i am.”

“‘s fine. just fuck me already.”

“ehhh,” hand around his cock, sliding his tip up and down your waiting cunt, he teases once more, “y’sure you don’ wanna clean? room’s still a bit messy.”

“hobie, i swear to god, if you do not put it in me now i will pin you down and take it.” reading your eyes, he can tell you’re dead serious.

“‘s much as i’d love that,” he slides in with a pretty groan, and you wrap your arms around his neck with a throaty whine, “i want you like this.” pushing his hips up, he seats himself inside you.

breathing heavy, you both just take a second to calm down, to bask in the feeling of being intertwined with your lover again, no matter how annoying they can be. with closed eyes, you throw your head back, resting on your pillows. hobie takes that as a sign to spread kisses down your jaw, grinning when you smile.

“move,” you breathe, shifting your hips to give him better access.

that first stroke always drives you both crazy. the slow pull out, faces contorting in pleasure, bodies getting closer and closer until the next best thing is merging together again, you pushing down and him pushing up and then his cock takes its rightful place inside you, sensitive tip leaking against your cervix.

“‘m all the way in, love, can feel the end of you,” he murmurs against your neck, and you nod, curling your arms tighter around his neck. then, he just grinds, circles his hips, just barely pulling out.

it’s perfect, the way your bodies move against each other, giving and receiving pleasure at the end of the game you both love playing. with fluttery glides and soft slides, and pitchy whines and deep groans, you dunk yourselves into that familiar pool of feeling, let it fill up your noses and mouths until it’s spilling over, your bodies shaking and jerking against each other.

blissed out of your fucking minds, your lips meet the others, lazy connects of your lips that you can just barely call kisses. they’re slack-jawed and sloppy, spit-swapping, the lewd smacks filling the air, mixing with the harmony of fucked-out sounds.

slowly, hobie starts moving his hips around differently, on a mission now, one that has you tensing up, cause it never takes him long to find it, that sweet spot that has you—

“fuck,” you drawl, throwing your head back, and hobie just smiles and keeps his hips moving that way, keeps his cock kissing that same spot.

"that's it?" he hums.

when you try to articulate what you're feeling, try to tell him "yeah", the words never come. instead, he's raising up to spread your legs and balancing himself above you, switching from slow grinds to deep thrusts that have him pressing against that spot even more now.

now, with him slapping his hips against yours and his thumb on your clit, the sound fills the room, skin against skin. jolting against him, his eyes are still trained on yours, fixed on the furrow of your eyebrows and the o-shape your lips make, focused on how pretty you look when he fucks you.

your choppy moans fill his ears, the background to his barrage of words that fill yours. sentences about how pretty you look, how good you feel, how he just wants to fuck you forever, and then for the second time without warning, you cum again, right when he says something about wanting to keep you fucked and filled, "'s why i keep comin' over, cause i wan' you full of me all the time."

it's gentle, this time, streams of feeling flowing softly through you. hobie makes sure to keep his pace steady through it all, makes sure he prolongs it as long as he can.

when you come down, you're pushing up on his hips with shaking hands, nodding your head and telling him to move. he doesn't waste a second, lifts up and grabs your headboard with one hand to give himself some leverage, his other hand resting on your calf. this time around, he's forgotten all that slow shit.

he rocks his hips hard and fast, jolting you up, and your back rubs against your sheets, your hands fly to your thighs to ground yourself.

"keep 'em open," he slurs, eyes fixed on where he disappears inside you, on the way you cream on his cock, his pretty dick painted white. "watch," he tells you, "she swallow me up so nice." his tone is awe-filled, brown eyes lit up at the visual of you taking him so well.

your eyes roll back in your head, another wave of arousal overtaking you and you can't watch any longer or you'll go crazy, so you watch his face instead. watch his pretty fucking face contort in pleasure, watching his eyebrow piercings dance in the light, watch his sharp jaw clench when you clench around him.

and god, it’s building up again. how could have ever even thought you’d clean up today, when this is so much better. “you gonna cum?” he asks, cause he knows your tells better than you do. you nod shakily, hands gripping onto your thighs so hard you swear you feel your fingers going numb.

“then do it.” it’s an order, really, and you know what he means. hand flying to your clit, you rub messy circles, and hobie moves his hand from your calf to your thigh to keep you open for him. nodding with wild eyes, he watches you make yourself cum, watches your circles became sloppy side-to-side motions while you whine and almost fucking cry, watches your cunt clamp down on him and suck him in “like she don’t wanna let go.”

through the mind-fuck in your head, you hear him groan loud, and then he’s cumming too, gripping your headboard so hard you swear you hear a soft crack, but fuck the headboard, cause hobie looks so pretty when he cums that it don’t even matter.

laughing, blissed out of your minds, hobie lays down on top of you, breathing hard and sweaty as shit, just like you are.

“i really did need to clean my room though, hobie.” you hum, turning your head to face him.

“i wasn’t just tryin’ to get in your pants, love, i was serious about helpin’,” he mumbles against your neck. and he does help. by the time he’s sliding back through your window and kissing you goodbye, your room is perfect.

#hobie brown x black reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown smut #hobie smut #hobie x reader #hobie brown x you #prolly flopped cause i tagged it wrong so here y'all go again

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moonstruckme · 4 months

Note

Hi lovely!!! As I mentioned earlier, I apologize again do sending so many asks, I'm sick and stuck at home rn, so my brain has been working on overtime, so if I have an idea and think u might like it, I am sending them lol.

I wanted to know if u could write spencer x bau!reader, where reader is a technical analyst with Penelope for the team. But the last case was a pretty big one and she ended up sacrificing her sleep and needs to Penelope and everyone else could rest? So now that the case is over shes beng kinda stubborn and doesn't really wanna adress it, nor rest till she finishes the few remaining things?

Like always, you don't gotta write anything I request!!! I hope you've had a good week so far and get plenty of rest lol <333

Sincerely, :]

Hi sweetheart! No worries, send as many as you like! I'm just answering them at my own pace :)

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 876 words

“Hello my favorite genius.” Penelope snags Spencer by his sleeve just as he’s about to step into the elevator, using his momentum to swing him around and start him back the other direction. “I need you to get your ladylove out of my office—” she winces. “Our office. Sorry. Old habits, they do die hard.”

“She’s still here?” Spencer asks, having learned long ago how to bulldoze through the fluff of conversations with Garcia. “I thought she’d be home already.”

“Oh, no,” she says gravely, voice dropping to a whisper as they near the tech room. “I don’t think she’s been there in days. You cannot say anything, but she’s starting to smell.”

Spencer prepares himself for the worst as the door opens, but all he finds is you, cute if a little bedraggled, hunched over your keyboard.

“Hi,” he says tentatively when your glassed-over eyes don’t leave the screen. Your face is awash in blue light, blank but for the determined pinch of your mouth as you work. “Ready to go home?”

“You can’t kick me out,” you say. Spencer blinks in surprise and a bit of hurt at your blunt tone before he realizes you aren’t speaking to him. “You can’t make him kick me out, either. I just have a few things left to do.”

“Very admirable work ethic,” Penelope shoots back, her own voice chipper with a steel edge, “but you’ve done plenty. We can finish this tomorrow.”

You don’t stop typing even for a second. “Go home, Pen.”

She gives Spencer an emphatic, helpless look behind your back, and he nods, signaling for her to go. She backs out of the room with her hands held up in front of her like she’ll need to ward you off, grabbing her bag and shutting the door behind her.

“Hey.” Freed from the last constraints of professionalism, Spencer slips into his most honeyed tone. “Let’s get out of here, sweetheart. I’ve got a bed and a fridge full of almost-bad takeout waiting for us at home.”

“Just a couple of things left to do,” you mutter, but your tone is considerably less hard than it had been with Penelope.

“There will always be things left to do.” He walks up behind your chair, setting his hands on your shoulders and his chin on your head. You smell a bit stale, a sure tell you’ve been too long in this room, but nothing so bad as Penelope had warned him about. Just day-old you. “I may not know the full scope of things, but I know you’ve been working really hard on this case. You deserve some rest. You need some rest,” he amends. “Let me drive you home.”

Something like longing flickers across your expression, but then it hardens back into resolve. “Thanks, Spence, but I can drive myself once I’m done.”

Spencer decides to switch tactics. Oftentimes, the best way to get you to accept help is to let you think you’re actually helping someone else. He straightens and takes a couple of quick steps back from your desk with your chair in hand, rolling you with him.

“Hey!” you reach for your keyboard, but Spencer’s already swiveling your seat, turning you to face him.

He sets his hands on the armrests. “Sweetheart, I just got off a four hour flight after a three day case. I’d really like to go home, but I’m not leaving here without you.” The divot between your eyebrows takes on a new character, frustration softening into sympathy. “And you haven’t even let me say a real hello.”

A spark of happiness lights your eyes a second before they fall closed, face tipping up in eager anticipation as Spencer dips down to kiss you. It’s soft and lingering, and you rub your lips together self-consciously after it’s over, realizing how chapped they are. Spencer wonders when the last time you drank water was.

“Sorry,” you say softly. “I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

“You’re not,” he reassures you quickly, wanting you pliant but not guilty. “I mean, I don’t mind. Of course I don’t mind waiting for you. But are you ready to go now?”

You cast a hesitant, skeptical look back at your computer, but Spencer smooths his thumb over the inside of your wrist, and you relent. “Yeah, okay. I just have to come back early tomorrow to finish up.”

Spencer hums noncommittally. He was already planning on disabling your alarms after you’re asleep tonight. You need rest more than the higher-ups need your reports. You stand, grabbing your bag from under your desk and letting him shepherd you towards the door.

“Do you think we could order some new takeout?” you ask him.

“Good idea,” he agrees, somewhat relieved. “The stuff in the fridge has chicken in it, I don’t trust that.”

Your laugh is somewhat lighter than usual, exhaustion setting in now that you’re out of your cave, but Spencer relishes the sound regardless. “Yeah, me neither. Pizza?”

“Pizza,” he confirms.

You make it all the way downstairs before your eyes flare and you spin around. “Shit, I think I left the light—”

“Nope.” Spencer takes you by the shoulders, steering you towards his car. “Someone else will take care of it.”

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heartpascal · 1 year

Note

can we get more father figure joel? You know when Ellie killed the David, and then Joel comforted her? Maybe that but instead of Ellie it’s the reader, thank you <3

i am good

▹ joel miller x platonic!f!reader

▹ — summary: joel finally sees the darkness in himself reflected in you.

▹ — a/n: ok first request i hope it’s ok!! i know its kinda similar to the game but erm. its reader and joel this time!! and reader is much much less ok with the whole. murder thing but its ok bc joel is there to fix it <3 yes he is your dad no you don’t get a choice he has decided it

▹ — warnings: allusions to sexual assault (nothing happens but the intention was there), vivid descriptions of murder, reader is misled and attacked, similar to the game with ellie (so kinda spoilers?), joel is ready to kill for you (and does), lots of blood, tears, father figure joel, lots of angst and upset, vomiting

masterlist

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Getting air into your lungs was proving to be one of the hardest things you’d had to do for a long time, which, considering the journey you’d been on, was shocking. The act of simply breathing should have come easily to you, but it didn’t. It couldn’t. Not as you saw the reflection of your own bloodied face in the knife that was held up, a clear threat polluting the air.

You knew you had probably been lucky to even make it as far as you had — born into a world full of death and chaos and infection, you were bound to meet your gruesome end some day, but you didn’t want to die.

For the first time in a long time, your chest ached for the breath you couldn’t seem to provide, the want, the need to live almost suffocating you on its own. You had someone now, someone who cared whether you survived or not, who felt like you deserved even a glimpse at a happy ending, even if he didn’t like to state those things out loud.

Resentment was growing in your stomach, filling you with the need to be sick. Why did you always have to listen to the words Joel didn’t say, rather than the ones he did say? If you had just listened, conserved your trust for those who actually earned it, you wouldn’t be in this situation.

When your hunting escapades had led you into a small horde of infected, you had just blindly put your faith in the aging couple who came to your aid, not thinking of what they might want for their troubles. You’d never had to escape without Joel’s help before, and you quickly discovered you weren’t all that good at it.

The two of them had dragged you back to their nearby settlement which they shared with a couple dozen others, all whilst you were kicking and screaming, trying to get away, your resolve fading each time they hit you to near unconsciousness. When they passed by a young man stood beside an older lady, you had called out to them, “Please, help me, please.”

“Gotta get something in return for the gear we wasted saving her ass,” the man had snickered to the two of them as glanced at the couple, just nodding at his words before turning back to their conversation.

You’d been knocked out when they approached a large community house, just getting a glimpse of the carpeted floor before the woman had struck her gun against the side of your head.

You had woken up in the middle of a chilled room, your arms straining with effort as you pushed yourself to sit up, seeing the woman holding a knife towards you. You couldn’t be sure how long it had been since they’d taken you, not with the way your stomach clenched with pain. The whole reason you’d been out there was to solve that, but you were sure that it had gotten worse.

“Listen, please,” your scratchy voice came out, much quieter than you had meant for it to be, “I—I can get you replacements for everything you used, but you gotta let me go.”

“We don’t gotta do anything, girl.” The lady snickered, as if even you saying such a thing was amusing. It made you feel small, powerless.

She got up, hearing her name being called, Cheryl, you noted, and sneered at you. Her skin was dull, and she looked vaguely ill, but that didn’t change anything about her threatening demeanour. At least one thing you’d taken from travelling with Joel was never underestimate your opponent, no matter how small, or ill, or kind they may appear to be.

Her hand grazed your face as she strode past, “Yeah,” she said quietly, like she was complimenting you, “You’ll do nicely. We’ll both enjoy you.”

You managed to avoid throwing up until she left the room, hearing a lock click into place. All that came up was bile, the clench of your stomach just becoming sharper afterwards. Your muscles felt weak, likely beginning to waste away with you having been inactive for a little while and injured, less energy wasted on muscle cells and more going into fighting off the infections that were likely trying to poison your blood.

Scanning the room, like Joel would’ve advised you to, you found nothing of much use to you. An old rickety chair, perhaps, but that would only help you if you could lift it, and you weren’t convinced you had the strength left within you, but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try.

Something deep in your chest nagged at you, the longing for Joel, probably. He had saved you on countless occasions, and you could only hope that it had been long enough that he had finally gotten worried. It seemed likely, he really did worry a lot for a man who wasn’t meant to care, but then there was the factor of him finding you, managing to take down all the people in the settlement that might fight to protect each other and—

You took a deep breath, finally feeling your lungs expand and take in some oxygen, and pulled yourself from the ground, keeping the bile that threatened to rise down as the nausea hit you.

The chair was lighter than you expected it to be, the insides of the wooden frame likely rotten away, and you managed to pull it towards the door, waiting beside it with shallow breaths. When the lock finally began to click open, you raised the lightweight chair as high as you could, and smacked it down against the person who entered the room. Splinters flew from it as it impacted, and you heard the clatter of metal as a tray they carried hit the ground with them.

Food, maybe, to keep you alive for… whatever it was that they had planned for you, you reasoned, but didn’t look to check. Instead, you grabbed a mostly-intact leg of the chair that caused splinters to dig into your palm, and stepped over the body of the man who had taken you, exiting quickly.

Footsteps hurried you, and you ducked behind a booth as they approached the room you were being kept in. There were lanterns lit all around the room, giving it a warm look that greatly contrasted the cold air and feel it had.

“Shit!” Cheryl cursed, and you saw her bend down to check on the man from over the top of your booth. A radio crackled though the air, before, “Lewis is down, the girl’s out. Anybody got eyes?”

Your fingers shook and you gripped on to the booth to stop them, hearing the distorted reply of whoever was on the other end of the radio, “She ain’t got out, yet, she’s gotta be in there with you. You need backup?”

“No,” Cheryl replied, her cold voice sending shivers down your back, “I’ve got her.”

The drag of Lewis’ clothes against the floor made you peak your head up, seeing her drag him into the room, before she exited and locked him inside. You ducked back down, heart hammering. You couldn’t escape from them in an open forest — how would you get out of a locked down building?

“Come on out, kid. It’s okay, you just gotta start behaving yourself.” She called, her slow footsteps failing to mask the sound of her unsheathing her knife. It wasn’t okay, it was very far from okay, you would argue, and you could feel that crushing fear of death pushing down on your shoulders, your chest constricting once again.

You tried to reassure yourself — you had faced countless amounts of infected and come out on the other side, what was one woman with very bad intentions? But it didn’t make you feel better, not when it was another human, who could feel exactly what you felt.

Her footsteps approached, and you leaped from where you were in the booth, trying to run as far away from her as fast as you could, but she caught up to you with surprising ease, your muscles clearly weaker than initially thought, and she grasped the back of your shirt, pulling you to a stop as you fell to the ground.

“Get the fuck off of me!” You cried out as she knelt down, one knee beside you and another pressing against your stomach, knife approaching your throat as soon as she settled you firmly against the carpet. It was red.

“You could’ve made this real easy for all of us,” she muttered your name, and you froze, having forgotten the way you’d yelled it out to them in the midst of the battle. “Be a good girl, now.”

You heard gunfire outside, and when her face glanced toward the guarded front door, you twisted underneath her, pushing yourself away to find enough room to kick the knee against the floor out from under her. She fell, her chin hitting the ground with a satisfying crack, and when she cried out, anger overcame you.

“You were gonna hurt me,” You said aloud, almost as if it was a realisation, rather than just fact. Your eyes hardened, gaze going red as you snatched the knife from her weakened grip. She reached out to try and snatch it back, but only got the drops of your blood that fell from the blade as you held onto it, twisting it until you finally held the handle. “Why— why were you going to hurt me?”

Her response didn’t filter through your ears, and the rage at how easily she and Lewis were going to do it pulsed, making your vision go blurry. When she sat up, tumbling forward to take you down again, you swiped her own knife until you felt the drag of something resisting it, and then you pulled harder, feeling something warm gushing down your hand.

Cheryl’s breath stuttered slightly, her hands rising to her chest as she groaned in pain. You looked down to your hands, where they were coated in a red that was darker than the carpet below them, and you were so lost that you didn’t notice her hand coming below yours, hitting it so hard that the knife went flying to the other end of the carpet.

Like a reflex, your fists came down on her face, feeling the shift of bones beneath your knuckles as they shattered upon contact. You didn’t stop, too wrapped up in the fact that you didn’t want to die, that she was going to hurt you, to kill you when she was done, she was going to tear you apart and throw away the pieces, she was going to take away what little humanity had left, she—

Arms pulled you away from the body beneath you, arms much stronger than your own, and you screamed, yelled out with your broken voice, “I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you, get off of me! I’ll kill you!”

The person shushed you, only holding tighter as you thrashed, turning away from Cheryl where she… wasn’t breathing. You stopped, tense muscles in your body going slack and burning as you stared at her, at her body, lifeless and covered in blood.

“Kid, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” said the person holding you— said Joel. Your hands dropped from where you had scratched his forearm, his arm covered in blood — though whether it was his, or Cheryl’s, or yours, you didn’t know.

He loosened his grip on you, eyebrows creased in concern as your entire body slipped when he moved his arms away, as if you couldn’t even hold yourself up.

“No… she— it wasn’t, I didn’t—” you trailed off, unsure of what to say, the words dead on your tongue, because you didn’t what? Didn't mean to kill her?

Joel followed your blank eyes to the body he’d pulled you from, and he turned your head towards him quickly, eyes hard. “No.” He said, and at your somewhat confused expression, he continued, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Joel, I—”

“No,” he repeated, and pulled your head towards him, keeping you looking away from Cheryl as a gunshot rang through the room, echoing in your ears so loudly you couldn’t hear Joel at first, as he held up the smoking gun for you to see, “—killed her, see? I killed her.”

“They were going… they wanted to—” You choked on the words, feeling that bile come creeping back up your throat, and you lurched away from Joel as it came out, feeling him pull your hair back from your face.

Something in his eyes settled, however, at the choice of word you’d used — they. So this body wasn’t the only one in here? His question was answered by a bang at a door on the other side, the way your entire body flinched at the sound.

The door splintered, and a battered man came tumbling out, hurrying over to where he could see people crowded. His face went red, and he began to shout, “You fucking bitch—!”

Joel shot one between the eyes, and the man crumpled before he could get anything else out. He turned back to you, to where you were hunched in on yourself. He shoved his gun back in its rightful place, and held your cheeks between his hands, gunpowder residue transferring to your skin.

“Do you hear me?” His muted voice said, and you looked up to his face with a confused shake of your head, “It was you or them, and the only answer is you.”

“But, Joel,” you were interrupted, and he wiped the underneath of your eye of a tear that you hadn’t even known had fallen.

“No. You listen to me, remember?” Joel affirmed, and you nodded, the tears falling more now that you’d acknowledged them, your hands shaking as you tried to look past Joel, but he just pulled your face back to him. “I’ve got you, kid. Keep your eyes on me.”

You turned your face into his neck as you all but threw yourself into his arms, and they wrapped around you like they’d been waiting to do so. You missed his pained expression at the words, and the way heartache burrowed in his chest as he stood the two of you up, his knees clicking.

He swept you up, as if you were the smallest and lightest thing he’d carried in years, and he carried you away, your eyes staying glued to him as the two of you left behind the carnage he’d caused in looking for you.

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oepionie · 1 year

Text

—"GOTTA ESCAPE THE VOID." overblot mc!

SYNOPSIS: The Ramshackle prefect has a reputation for frequently encountering fatal magical mishaps. And when a magical accident involving Crowley almost kills them, Crewel resolves to take matters into his own hands. But it appears that his impulsive decisions cause the prefect to reach their limit and go off the rails.

⊹ [ cw ] — heavy warnings, please read before you proceed. arguments with father, self-depricating thoughts, mentions of blood, protective parent, thoughts of offing self (only once), overblot mc!, miscommunication w friends, crying, physical fights ◞

⊹ [ tags ] — angst! gender neutral reader, crewel really embodies the 'cruel' in 'cruella', ace gets mad at you :(, deuce tries to comfort you through it all, crowley feels guilt (wow), crewel is vry vry angry and punches crowley, crewel has a mother gothel moment<3◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 2.5k+◞ | 🦇masterlist◞

YOUR VISION WAS NOTHING, but a myriad of colorful blurs and shapes. Muffled voices spoke to you, but everything was practically just incomprehensible, panicked babbling. The heavy pressure of metal was pressed up against your windpipe, restraining your breath as it wound tighter and tighter. Though, a few seconds later, it vanished as if it had never existed, bursting into bright magical sparks.

The gush and pool of blood surrounds your dirtied, tangled mess of hair, a dark scarlet seeping into the knotted strands. Kneeling before your body, Crowley felt his heart skid to a stop. The sight of your fatigued form writhing around the ground tore at his chest, claws of guilt digging in deep and dragging across thick tissue.

"Prefect…Can you hear me?" The crow murmurs, clawed hands pressing against the side of your pounding head as he guides it to rest atop his lap. Vibrant blooms of red stain the dark fabric of his pants, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Dad…it hurts s'much." You slur in hushed tones, your eyes wringing shut from the pain. That was enough for Crowley to put his arms around you.

He shielded your body with his torso, hands clawing at your back as he wracks his mind of what to do next. Hastily turning round, he shifts his gaze to the surrounding students, all of them looking equally mortified.

"What are you standing around there for?! Call the nurse!"

"Y-Yes, sir!"

Drip. Drip

The pungent smell of alcohol and medication fill your senses as you groggily blink awake.

The familiar creaky wood of Ramshackle's ceiling greets you as you pull yourself from dreamland. Looking over both sides of your bed, you smile once you see both Deuce and Ace seated on a nearby couch. Both of them were quick to jump up and approach you, fussing over your bedridden form.

"Thank Sevens." Deuce murmurs, tenderly combing your damp hair back. You roll your head to the side to face him, but wince at the sudden throb of pain in your spine. Ace darts over and hushes you, gently repositioning your head to face front once more, making sure your neck was supported by a pillow. "Hey…It'd be great if you don't move so much…"

“Right. Makes sense. 'Nways…how bad was my injury?” You mutter, your recollections of the past event still foggy. All you could remember was that Crowley had fired a spell, and you somehow got into the crossfire.

“Fucking horrible.” Ace scoffs, looking at you sternly.

"Yeah, take it easy for a bit. The injury was…pretty serious. It was a miracle that the spell missed your head by a thread…" Deuce murmurs as he presses a gentle hand on your bandaged forehead.

Strands of blueberry hair fall loosely at the sides of his face as he stares down at you with worry. "You were out for three days."

"Ah…well—you know, me and my dumb non-magical ass. Always getting into trouble," you giggle, a cheery grin stretching over your cracked lips. Though it rapidly drops when you realize your two friends aren't laughing with you.

Ace shifts his gaze to the floor, hands clasped into a fist. "You're not dumb, prefect…"

"Well—I kinda am," You snort, tugging the blanket closer to your chilly form. "I really have to stop being around the old man's magic shows."

Unconvinced, Ace only shakes his head and scoffs at your jokes. The ginger reclines back into his chair, hands vigorously tugging and pulling at his hair. "You aren't. The real issue here is that deadbeat crow. I mean...hasn't he learnt anythin' from last time? What kind of idiot treats his child—"

"It wasn't his fault, Ace." Pushing yourself off the bed, you immediately interrupt him, voice stern as you rush to defend Crowley. "He didn't mean it. I got in the path of his magic. And—I'm pretty sure he's already beating himself up over this."

Sinking back into the bed, you clasp both your hands together. "It wasn't his fault. Sure, he's reckless and all but…but he's still my dad."

Silence washes over your room.

Ace was visibly frustrated, the blunt tips of his nails dug deep into his skin, nearly piercing past skin. With a final scoff, he stands from his chair and quietly excuses himself from the room.

The door slams shut with a blaring bang as both you and Deuce were left alone.

Sighing, the freshman takes your trembling hand in his, clasping it tight as his body temperature warms the cool skin. He draws your right arm up to press your palm against his cheek, eyes looking deep into yours.

"Professor Crewel is pissed," Deuce whispers as you trace gentle circles on his skin. A pair of shaky cyan eyes meets your concerned ones. "He was planning to—"

Deuce's mouth parted open and close and yet he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. You cast a questioning glance his way, but Deuce shakes his head, disregarding your questions.

"…nothing."

Surprise washes over you as you stare down at Deuce's hunched over form. It…wasn't like your friends to be so dismissive.

You, Ace, and Deuce had always been good friends. Sure you had your differences but you always communicated openly with one another. Nobody has ever been this...secretive.

Just…what was happening?

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sickening crack of a bone echoes through the faculty room as the rough knuckle of Crewel's fist connects with Crowley's face. The headmaster reels, mask flying off as his hands fly to his bloodied nose.

Everyone in the vicinity quieted as the only noise heard was the potionology professor's labored breathing.

Then, without hesitation, Crewel surges forward. Loud commotion and screaming could be heard in the meeting room as everyone quickly circles around the two. A couple of hands seize Crewel by the arms, but the professor only grows more agitated, attempting to fight past the herd.

"Let me go!" Crewel roars, tugging his arm free as he attempts to swing a fist at the headmaster. "Dire! This is your fucking fault!"

"Divus! Calm yourself!" Trein scolds, arms locked tight around the man's torso. A few more pairs of hands restrain the professor as he is forcibly pushed down onto a couch.

His face was the epitome of unrepressed rage: With his cheeks drawn back in a deep sneer, eyes bloodshot red, and hair a knotted mess.

Trein stands before the younger man, looking down at him with disgust. "Have you no shame? What will the prefect think once they hear of this?"

Across the room, Crowley spits out a little blood, blinking fresh tears out of his eyes. For the last three days, the crow has been suppressing all of its emotions; however, all of a sudden, he is overcome with an unfettered and unhindered flood of shame and rage.

When the headmaster finally turned around, he fixed Crewel with an expression so scathing that the potionology professor felt compelled to charge at him again.

Once, coldly, sharply, and bitterly, Crowley laughed. "It's my fault, you say? You think I don't know that?"

"Oh please—Dire. I couldn't care less about what you think." Crewel seethes, venom practically dripping from his lips. The alchemy professor strides forward, heels clicking against the floor as he grabs Crowley by the collar.

"You're a failure of a father. All you've ever brought their way is danger." The professor cackles kicking the crow's skin.

Digging deep into his red handbag, Crewel snatches out papers and jams it into Crowley's chest. The crow unravels the creased pages to read the text on the document, eyes ripping wide open as he realizes what it was.

"You…can't possibly." The headmaster sputters, hands shaking as he reads the texts again and again.

"Oh, but I can." Crewel sneers, taking pleasure in the look of fear Crowley sends his way. He snaps around, coat billowing up behind him as he briskly walks towards the entryway. "I expect those papers to be signed by tonight."

Before walking out of the room, Crewel spares the headmaster one final glance. "The prefect departs this Monday."

Days after the event were all followed by violent storms that appeared to go on forever. Every night and day, the rain endlessly poured down from the bitter grey skies and roars of thunder echoed through the dewy clouds. Some days, it was nearly impossible to go to school.

It was almost as though Mother Nature herself was upset.

Just like how everyone was.

Crowley and your other friends shunned you like you had the plague. Even bright Kalim greeted you with a deep frown, a flimsy excuse slipping off his lips as he ran away. Only Deuce stayed by your side through it all.

The blueberry had told you everything was alright—that everything was normal and fine— but you couldn't help but be skeptical.

So when Crewel came to visit, you welcomed him right in. Eager to hear what he has to say.

The clatter and click of your father's heeled boots echoed through the walls of the dormitory as he examined the premises, comparing it to his own much more lavish flat back home in the city.

Finally, after an excruciating 5 minutes. his gaze flitted over to your bedridden form.

And the words he utters out next shatter your entire being.

"I'm withdrawing you from NRC."

What.

The glass clasped in your bandaged hands slips from your grip, smashing onto the oak wood of Ramshackle's flooring. You raise your mortified gaze to scowl at your professor, jaw dropped open in shock.

"What?" you breathlessly utter. "What do you mean?!"

"I'm transferring you to another school." Crewel replies, pushing himself off the fireplace and slipping his thick fur coat off his shoulders. The scant light emitted by the candles atop your study table did nothing to help you navigate his form as he strode around your bedroom.

"Now. You might be asking why? For one, look at the…accommodations Dire provided you with."

Crewel kicks a piece of splintered bark aside while making a gesture towards the disorder and wreckage all around you.

In the evenings, you had to use candles because the ceiling lights seldom ever functioned. The flooring had so many tears and holes that they were virtually falling apart. On occasion, you could even see the scuffle of rats beneath. The roof leaked, horribly; You had no money to fix it so you placed a bucket below instead. The front door was broken, barely hanging on its hinges, evidence of all the times your friends visited and never bothered to knock.

All of these problems and so many more were present, but this dorm was with you since the very start. It provided you with a roof over your head…it helped you survive.

"So what?" You retort, leaning back into your bed and sinking deep into the scratchy yet familiar pillows. "I don't mind it!"

"A foolish decision." Crewel sneers, running a hand into his hair. "Your accommodations aren't the only problem. Your self-destructive habits endanger you as well!"

There it was.

Groaning, you wring your hands through your hair, tangling it up. "When are you gonna stop saying that I'm self-destructive!?"

"When you start acting like somebody that actually cares about their life!" Crewel barks out, hands grasping your shoulders. The sudden increase in volume makes you recoil, but you were stubborn and refused to give in just yet.

"But I do care about my life!" You sputter out. "Why can't you just—"

"Remember what happened when Rosehearts overblotted?" He reminds you, "You charged towards a bloodthirsty tyrant with no protection, no magic, and no plan." Crewel then crosses his arms over his chest, addressing you with a pointed glare. "And you have the nerve to tell me you're not self destructive?"

"Riddle is not a tyrant!" Crying out, you slam your hand against your bedsheets, face twisting into an unsightly sneer. "I was trying to save my friend!"

Crewel gets right in your face, returning the expression of anger you sent his way. "Those friends of yours only care about you when you're useful!" he thundered, jabbing a finger into your chest.

That comment immediately silenced you.

Your hand was clasped over your mouth, jaw dropped wide open in disbelief as a sharp gasp escapes your dry throat.

A poisonous and dangerously harmful feeling gripped at whatever remnant the professor had of a heart. It colored his thoughts with regret as he began to feel a twinge of guilt, the weight of words sinking in.

There was a deep sigh of resignation from Crewel before he put a hand on your shoulder and looked you deep in the eyes, voice lowering to a softer lilt. "Why is it that every other person in that dorm had the sense to run away from the blots, but you didn't?"

Kneeling down, your father gazed at you with such vulnerability in his eyes as he murmurs, "Do you know how terrified I was every time I'd get the same message from Dire that you were out fighting overblots again? Putting your life at risk for those rabid dogs?"

The recognition of your destructive habits hit you like a splash of ice cold water. With a guilty and uncomfortable grimace on your face, you averted your attention to the floor. "I just wanted to help."

Slowly rising to his feet again, Crewel casts a deep frown your way. "I know you do, but you're careless with your life and if you're not careful…one of these days, you're gonna die."

"I will not hear anymore disagreements about this, do you hear? I've allowed you to run rampant around these past few months. You will so as I say and I'll have you transferred by the end of this week." He says simply, dropping a pristine sheet of paper clasped in a clipboard before you. Your dull eyes flicker across the title as you grudgingly reach for the pen he offers you.

TRANSFER APPLICATION.

That blank line at the end of the page is swiftly covered by your shaky red signature and Crewel is powerless to stop the relieved sigh that heaves past his lips.

A surge of victory, certainty, and an intense sense of relief overpowers the tangled and conflicting sentiments of guilt that were swimming through his chest.

You were safe, that's all that matters.

With a grieving heart, you nudge the pen and page back to your father dismissively, placing them both atop the bed. Crewel re-rolled the page and tucked it back into his handbag along with the pen.

The professor raises a hand to gently pat your shoulders as he bends down, pressing a kiss atop your head. "Father knows best."

As Crewel quietly takes his leave, he is none the wiser to the formation of impure, tainted tar-like blot dripping from your tears. Curling in yourself, you tuck your head into your knees, a broken sob spilling from your lips.

A sick and twisted feeling arises in your heart as you replay the argument you had with Crewel, and you start to wish that maybe, just maybe, Crowley's spell had succeeded in striking you.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

"Oi…Henchhuman?"

Drip.

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mitsies · 11 months

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thinking about high-school!gojo today.....

he’s top of his classes, a-list student, and everyone knows him. people across campus gossip about his latest romances and grades and all— he’s an open book. and a new york time’s best seller, apparently.

gojo is specifically notorious for his position as top student at your prestigious school. only the best from the best lineage, it seems. in graded discussions, he’s viciously tearing down others’ points. he disagrees with the teacher. makes jokes that make the whole class laugh. has been responsible for at least 3 faculty members’ quitting. all this, and he’s still failing art. sculpture class, to be exact.

it’s an elective both he and you have been forced into; you’re a lot happier about it than him, it seems. because he always complains. loudly. and he sucks at art, quite frankly.

it's plain to see that the boy has never even drawn a portrait in his life. he's got two right hands and he's left-handed, it looks like, that's how bad he is. and even worse is the fact that he's got no friends in this class; everyone's a stranger. which is probably why he resorts to bothering you.

you like to think you're a strong person, of mind and of being. but your resolve to being kind crumbles as soon as gojo opens his big fat mouth.

you see why people like him. he can be funny. he's good at lots of things (arts not included) and sometimes, only sometimes, does he have something valuable to say. but mostly, you find gojo satoru to be a nuisance.

working on your projects is made incredibly difficult when 6 feet of pure frustration is bitching right next to you. "this clay," he'd complain, "it's gotta be broken. it's not working."

you try to ignore him, you really do. him and his inane excuses, and empty commentary. and for the most part, he disregards you right back. he looks through you, sometimes. sometimes. that is, until the teacher pulls him aside a few weeks before the end of the school year and he comes back more stone-faced and scared than you've ever seen him. he's quiet for longer than you've known possible and you're surprised to find that you kind of miss hearing his voice.

he doesn't really say much, and class lets out, and you go on with your life like normal. but there's an itch in the back of your mind, and it sounds like his name over and over and you can't quite get it out of your head. not until the next day, when you see him again- 2nd period sculpture class, 9 o'clock in the morning.

and this time, he looks right at you.

"you're really good at this whole sculpture thing." he's making a statement, not asking a question. you blink and realise that this is the very first time he's spoken to you, directly. he was complimenting you in a way- on what? does this mean he's seen you? all this time you presumed he stared straight through, blue eyes burning holes through your skull. maybe, just maybe, he's been looking at you the whole time. you're not sure how to reply so you just nod, "i guess."

"i," he says the next words like he's choking on glass and you see his adam's apple bob (his skin is so pale; translucent. you think it'd be cold to the touch,) "need help."

you almost feel bad. he looks like a cat that just got soaked in water. pitiful. playing dumb, though you know exactly what he means, you tilt your head innocently. "help with what?"

he grimaces. you bite the inside of your cheek to stop a smile from spreading like wildfire.

"this class."

"oh? what about it?"

he dramatically slumps against the desk, knocking over the boy in front of him's water bottle. he doesn't bother picking it up. "sculpting. art. everything."

"i thought you were good at everything, though."

that might've been too far, because he looks at you again. he really, really looks. and you think he sees you. because he smiles, "my reputation precedes me. i'm so famous, aren't i?"

"i guess you are," you concede, allowing an edge of amusement to lighten your tone. he is still looking at you. he does not break eye contact. it makes your stomach churn with something sickeningly alive, something abhorrently beautiful.

"then it should be your honour to help me out or something, yeah?"

it should be. it will be. you could let it be.

"i'm pretty busy. sorry."

he blinks at you. you turn away. why did you say no? you didn't want to. but then again, you'd prefer to be away from him and his life- lavish, elegant, mansions and stars and cameras and glamour- you have homework to do.

you think that, after this, gojo satoru will leave you be.

he does not.

in fact, you think it gets worse.

if he wasn't talking to you much at all before, it's all he does now. he sits in your seat before class starts, getting there before you, waiting for you. chats your ears off, too, when you try to get work done. and he always ends up bringing up that proposal again- to help tutor him in sculpture, or give him pointers, or whatever, you try to tune him out.

you wonder why he only asks you. there's plenty of much more talented, much more friendly students in your class. ones that'd say yes. but he only asks you. you think he knew it was only a matter of time before you gave in. that was what he was banking on, probably. all it took was two weeks worth of asking, talking non-stop, and basically borderline begging. and you folded.

..which, is how you find yourself in the art room, after-hours, sitting next to gojo satoru and a pottery wheel as he helplessly squishes the miserable and miserly beginnings of yet another deformed clay pot.

"you can do it," you encourage rather dryly. he shoots you a look. "great acting."

"sorry. i'm trying my best here."

his hands are covered in wet clay, so when he wipes his brow he uses his forearm. the crewneck he wears is pulled up and pale, pale skin glows a wintery shade. you tear your eyes away. "and i am too! but it isn't working!"

you frown. he really is bad at this- ignoring all your direct pointers and advice. you've told him what he needs to fix; be gentle, go slowly, be patient, patient, patient. all that has gone in one ear and out the other.

you really dread what you're about to do. but you want to help him save his grade in this class, because gojo satoru was not gojo satoru without his 4.0 gpa. so, bracing yourself, feeling a tight, tight knot in your stomach, you ghost your hands over his on the wheel and hold on, shadowing them. a guide.

his skin is cold, you were right. big hands, bigger than yours, they feel good and frigid beneath your touch; like they were made for you, sculpted to your touch. you feel his breathing stall before he starts rambling again.

his words move fast, but not faster than his heartbeat, which you feel in his wrist. you'd be dizzy with the proximity if you weren't so focused on making something. it's almost magic, how 2 pairs of hands come together to make something- a small pot, spinning on the wheel.

it's a little lopsided and wonky looking but it's far, far better than anything gojo's accomplished. he goes quiet. "wow," he says, so so hushed you almost don't catch it. you know he's not talking about the pot.

"i told you that you could do it."

his hands break away from the wheel, leaving the clay formation and pulling your hands away, too. they're in his, still, and covered in a think muddy-coloured sludge of slip. but he holds them.

"you have something on your face," you exhale after a beat of silence. because he does; a dash of clay, marking the expanse of skin on his cheek. just below his lip. he smiles and a dimple creases his pretty, pretty face.

"yeah? why don't you get it for me?"

you blink. "my hands are filthy. i'd make it worse."

"do you think i care?"

you're surprised your hands are steady, a sculptor's hands, as you wipe away the drying residue of slip. it crumbles and flakes off his cheek, but your thumb brushes his lip and you feel him freeze before grinning wider and pulling away. you miss his cold. you feel a bit too hot all over, now.

"it's all over your face now," you inform him, snapping your gaze away to hide your embarrassment. he doesn't look away. he looks at you, he looks at you, he looks at you. like he likes you, a little bit.

"we can deal with that after the lesson, yeah?"

you expect him to sound different than he does, when he says this. you expect his voice to be full of ego and confidence, like usual. boisterous, louder than life. but he's quieter. almost like he's shy. you turn back, and you see the way he watches you. like you're precious, like you're fleeting and rare and the most beautiful, beautiful piece of art he's ever seen.

"okay," you say, "okay. sure."

his grin is worth a million dollars and his boyish confidence returns after the lapse of shyness; "awesome!"

promptly after, he moves to go back to the clay pot. in his excitement, he squishes it into a lump again.

"awesome," you sign, resigned. but you can't find it in yourself to be mad. you like him too much for that.

#me chugging 2 energy drinks to get through my homework but ending up writing this instead #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #mitzi's world!#gojo satoru #reader insert

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