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coco-loco-nut · 18 hours

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imgonnagetyouback

pairing: logan sargeant x reader

summary: you aren’t sure if you want to destroy his car or take him home with you

a/n: most of this was written late at night and not proofread. love y’all, thanks for answering the poll, that was fun. might do it again

requests open masterlist

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You enter your usual Miami haunt with your friends, one mission in mind. Your lilac skirt fits your like a glove, showing off your legs and curves. It was Logan’s favorite.

Logan was an asshole, he knows it, ever since he broke up with you last year. He’s been keeping tabs on your socials recently, knowing this is where you go when you are in Miami instead of Fort Lauderdale. He brought Oscar with him as moral support, they stand at the bar, laughing over some bubbly drink.

Your eyes scan the club as you walk in, slightly pausing when you recognize the blonde guy staring at you from the bar, you can tell when someone wants you. Instead, you train your eyes on some guy on the dance floor, sending him a flirty smile and joining him for a dance or two, giving Logan a chance to pull himself together before going in. He can’t help but tell Oscar how good you look. The trap has been sprung. You are going to get Logan back. Whether romantically or by revenge, you weren’t sure.

You walk over to the bar, pretending to have not noticed the pair, standing one seat over.

“Tequila shot,” you order and Logan takes his chance.

“Add two more and put it on my tab,” Logan tells the bartender, Oscar gags a little, but doesn’t protest. You give Logan a look he can’t decipher, but you slide into the seat beside them.

“Thanks,” you say, the awkward small talk between the three of you filling the time as you wait for the shots. Logan salts his wrist for his shot. You grab his wrist, lick it, and throw back the shot. Oscar barely suppresses his laugh as you turn to go back to the dance floor. Logan quickly throws back the shot and follows you. Your friends find Oscar and chat, the group curious to see how this pans out.

“Y/n,” Logan catches your wrist, you act like you don’t care about him, but you can see the whispers in his eyes searching if you still love him. It breaks your cold heart a little. “Don’t be mad, please. I never wanted to hurt you,” he says, trying to win you back.

“I’m like your fucking car. You steered me into the fucking ditch then ran off,” you say after a second, turning back towards the crowd, he just pulls you closer.

“I’m so sorry. I hate myself for that,” he admits, you ignore him, dancing to the beat, not pushing him away but not encouraging him to dance with you either. Just when things are feeling too comfortable, you walk away in the direction of the bathrooms. Logan follows.

“Will you give me a chance?” he asks, the music quiet in the background. ‘God, he’s so fucking fine’ you think to yourself. The lighting doing everything right, the shadows enhance his jawline but his eyes shine bright.

“I haven’t decided yet,” your eyes revealing more than you intended. He can see the hurt and love in them. You aren’t sure if you want to curse him out or bring him home.

“What can I do,” he grabs your hands.

“I don’t know. I’m between being your wife or smashing your car,” you say, steeling yourself. Logan is thinking twice, unsure if he was ever yours or was never not yours. Logan pulls your closer, kissing you. Your body automatically responds to him. letting him pull you close.

“You’re mine,” you whisper, the temptation to both flip him off or pull him into the bathroom strong. He follows you back to the dance floor, you can feel the tension and chemistry coming back, electricity humming in the way you dance together. It’s like pressing a reset button, becoming something new. Oscar and your friends left a while ago, knowing the two of you were determined to leave here together from the start.

You tell the cab the address of your Miami apartment. Every moment that passes sees the hurt and past fade to gray.

“Pick your poison, I’m poison either way,” you had told Logan earlier, he chose you anyway, the both of you wanting to play with the broken pieces of your former relationship.

He pushes you against the wall, kissing you passionately.

“Before we do this, where do you stand? If we go ahead, there is no turning back,” Logan stops, needing to know that you belong to him again, you already know he belongs to you.

“I hate you but I love you just the same. I’m gonna get you back,” you tug on his shirt, pulling him back to you, a feral need for him growing.

It wasn’t a surprise to Logan’s friends when you showed up to the Miami paddock later that week.

What was a surprise was the ring around your finger, one that matches the one around Logan’s.

“What the hell?” Oscar asks, a smile on his face.

“I’m not going to let her go again,” Logan looks down at you with a smile.

“I chose to love him till the end, luckily for Sauber,” you joke, referencing the team who decided to take a chance on Logan and help him develop.

“I’m happy for you two,” Oscar says, happy to see his best friend happy. Everyone but your parents were happy for you, the parents were just mad you got married without them there.

“I am too, but I will take it out on his car if he hurts me again,” you tell Oscar, joking but not joking. Logan just holds you closer. You both told each other about your plans to get each back, it caused a lot of laughter.

“That’s my wife,” he grins proudly. Oscar shakes his head at his friends.

“You did what!” Alex runs over to the two of you. “Where was my invite? Oh, glad to have you back Y/n, Lily missed you,” Alex says, as the two of you just laugh.

instagram

y/nsargeant what if i told you i’m a mastermind, and now your mine ❤️

logansargeant it was all by design ❤️

oscarpiastri not letting the two of you go back to a club, Y/n will end up pregnant or something

y/friend1 you both took getting each other back a little too seriously. this is why i love you

user1 hold up, since when were mom and dad back together??

user2 AND MARRIED??

y/friend2 you really went to the club heartbroken and left ready to get married😭 ilysm

alexalbon they are so unserious 😭

sauberf1 when did this happen? LOGAN??? we’re not mad. pick up your phone

charlesleclerc ^^^

carlossainz55 ^^^

landonorris ^^^

georgerussell iconic

y/nsargeant thanks pookie 🫶

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #logan sargeant #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x reader

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umbra-mayhem · 2 days

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Fools in the Rain

Ghost is spending the fourth night of his leave alone in his apartment, whittling mindlessly while an old sitcom plays in the background. A storm rages outside, so loud that when Ghost hears the knock at his door, he almost mistakes it for thunder. His head raises slowly as the realization dawns upon him that the sound was in fact a knock….and that he wasn’t expecting company. He’s never expecting company. He’s never even had company. Wouldn’t know what to do with company. Doesn’t enjoy company.

So something must be wrong.

He rises slowly…silently….his hand reaching for one of the many guns he keeps tucked around his apartment. Another knock, louder than the first, confirms his suspicions and spurs him to quicker movements. He dashes to the door, taking a breath before peering through the peephole.

Soap is standing on the other side, shifting his weight back and forth under the small awning as his heart races. Despite his body being drenched by the rain, he can still feel sweat creeping down his back and pooling in his palms. Sweat just has that distinctive feel.

Ghost unlocks the deadbolt and opens the door as far as the chain lock will allow. He eyes Soap as he demands over the cacophonous rain, “What’re you doing here, Soap?”

Soap’s eyes shoot up as Ghost cracks open the door. The rain, unfortunately, had not reached the confines of Soap’s mouth, leaving his tongue dry and his voice cracked. He swallows nothing and admits, “….I haven’t been able to sleep in days. Ever since we started leave…I’ve been….plagued….haunted with thoughts….they’re there when I’m awake, there when I try to sleep….”

A stone settles in the depths of Ghost’s stomach. He stares at the soaked man for what feels like an eternity, swimming in Soap’s bloodshot eyes as he searches for answers he has no idea how to find. Thankfully, Soap continues:

“I consider myself a strong man, Ghost. I’ve suffered things no person should experience. I’ve been beaten and shot, held hostage and interrogated and tortured. But this….this is a torture I cannot endure…..”

The desperation in Soap’s voice, the utter weakness in his shaking frame…it chills Ghost to his core.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. What you’re doing. Where you are. How you’re feeling. I-I keep worrying. I feel like every nerve is on fire when I’m not near you, I—”

His words die in his mouth as Ghost abruptly closes the door. Soap can’t help the tears that instantly well in his eyes. Tears that proceed to fall upon his rain-soaked cheeks as the door remains closed. In his stunned state, Soap can’t even raise a hand to wipe them away as they tickle his face, mocking him for thinking that this was ever a good idea.

Meanwhile, Ghost is on the other side of the door, his mind even more tumultuous than the storm outside. He places his gun down on whatever surface is closest. He paces as hopeful thoughts bubble up to the surface of his consciousness; he shakes his head with the rise of each one, hoping to quell them.

It doesn’t work.

Soap is frozen, tears no longer trickling. No, now they’re a steady stream. His mouth opens and closes like a fish drowning in open air. He hopes maybe he’ll be rewarded for his foolishness with a strike of lightning—something to end the pain coursing through him, leaving him breathless and yearning for death.

Ghost tears off his balaclava and tosses it aside. As he paces, he runs his hands through his hair, feeling the tremble of his fingers against his scalp. And then, before he even realizes what he’s doing, he unlocks the chain lock and yanks open the door.

The sight of the state he’s left Soap in is worse than any bullet, Ghost thinks. The two men stare at each other, stunned by the sight of the other. Ghost knows he has to move, to speak, to do something. Soap has left himself bare, disemboweled himself and placed his guts at Ghost’s doorstep. So he has to do something.

Ghost takes a step forward through the doorway. Soap takes a step back, mistaking Ghost’s intense gaze and advancement as a sign of aggression. Ghost takes another step forward, and Soap responds with another step back, leaving the shelter of the awning and walking backwards into the rain. As Ghost takes yet another step forward, he reaches out and cups Soap’s face, freezing him in place once more.

Ghost draws into Soap, bringing his other hand up to mirror the first. He brushes his thumbs over Soap’s cheeks, determined to wipe away the tears before the rain does. To somehow fix what he’s done.

Words have always been special to Ghost. He doesn’t speak much not because he doesn’t like to, but because he wants what he says to convey exactly what he means. Ghost handles his speech like a knife, knowing that with his words he carves in ways that can either create or destroy. He plans what he says carefully, steeping his thoughts like tea before pouring them from his mouth:

“I am a fool…for ever letting you feel the way you feel now…forgive me, please…”

Soap blinks the concoction of rain and tears from his eyes. He slowly raises his hands and grasps Ghost’s wrists, holding them like they’re a buoy. But for once in his life, he stays silent, much to Ghost’s distress.

“Please, Johnny…please say something….”

The sound of Ghost’s voice, as warbled and watery as the puddle drenching their feet, stirs Johnny to speak. The corners of his teary eyes crinkle as he smiles through his words, “You are a fool…but you’re my fool…isn’t that right, Simon?”

Simon chokes back a sudden sob and nods, pulling a laugh of relief from Johnny. He leans his forehead against Simon’s, tightening his grip on the man’s wrists.

Simon wrangles together his nerves and forces himself to be brave. “Can this fool kiss you?” he asks, the surprising sweetness in his voice melting Johnny like candy floss in water. He nods and Simon softly presses his lips against Johnny’s, tasting tears and rain.

#cod #cod fanfic #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #ghoap #ghoap fanfic #i’ve never played cod #i know cod is military propaganda but goddamn i cant get these men out of my head

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dystopicjumpsuit · 9 hours

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Hi DJ! If you’re still doing the ficlet requests, can I get 24 (cuddles of reassurance) with Wolffe? Maybe fem!reader is having a hard time with sex and feels embarrassed/overwhelmed? (If that’s too explicit/uncomy feel free to ignore :))

Just a Little Bit More

A/N: Thank you so much for this request, Alli! I’ve actually been wanting to write a fic like this for a while. I feel like so much of the smut we see in fanfiction AND in published fiction/media in general is so idealized that even when it has elements of realism, it can present a distorted idea of what sex and intimacy can really be like. I’m certainly guilty of writing somewhat idealized smut, though I do try to maintain at least some semblance of realism (unless Sev is involved; all bets are off with that man). While there’s nothing wrong with having that fantasy, I think it’s healthy and important to also show the reality that it isn’t always easy or flawless, even with a caring, experienced partner who takes our pleasure seriously and does everything “right.”

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Reader (Fem; has hair)

Rating: M (mature content intended for readers 18+; minors DNI)

Wordcount: 3.3K of straight smut with some cuddles

Warnings and tags: cuddles; hurt comfort; language; SMUT; oral sex; PIV; nipple play; light/playful spanking; body worship; sex toys; fingering; exhibitionism; voyeurism; creampie; difficulty with orgasm. AKA, the return of SMUTKEA.

Summary: Wolffe is the best you’ve ever had. That doesn’t mean it’s always perfect.

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: Fruit de La Créativité by Grès (raspberry & leather)

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

Wolffe gazed up into your eyes as you rolled your hips slowly, searching for the perfect angle. You knew you could find it: you’d done it before, countless times. His strong, warm hands glided up your thighs to your hips, pulling you closer, thrusting deeper, guiding you closer and closer to your pleasure. You could feel it building inside you, the tension gathering slowly.

Too slowly.

He smoothed one hand up your side, grazing along your rib cage until he cupped your breast, circling your nipple with his thumb. He knew exactly how much pressure you liked, and the way he touched you was perfect.

God, he’s so hot. Just focus on how hot he is.

Sweat glistened on your skin. The room hadn’t been this hot when he’d pulled you into bed, but after an hour and a half of vigorous activity, you were both slick with perspiration, saliva, arousal, and lube. He’d mapped your body with kisses, gliding his lips and tongue across your skin as he devoured you, bringing you right to the edge until you begged him to fuck you.

You’d wrapped your legs around his waist as he eased into you, a tormented groan rumbling from his lips as he felt your heat envelope him. Gods, he felt amazing, and when he started to move, you knew it would only be a matter of minutes before you came.

It took longer than you expected, and after a while, you realized something needed to change.

“Take me from behind,” you’d murmured, knowing how much he loved the way your ass pressed into his hips in that position.

“God, yes,” he’d replied, pulling out and rolling you over with enthusiasm.

You loved the way he handled you in bed. He was so fucking strong. He could toss you around so easily—it was hot as hell, but the best thing about it was the care he took to make sure you were comfortable and he didn’t accidentally hurt you. He lifted your hips up and positioned you exactly the way he wanted you. You heard a small click as he closed the bottle of lube, and then you felt his slickened fingers glide over your cunt as he ensured you were ready to take him from the new angle.

“Maker, that ass is gorgeous,” he said, squeezing your cheeks before giving you a playful smack.

Your mischievous giggle turned into a breathless moan as he sank into you, reaching deeper, stretching you wider, as his hand slid down your body to tease your clit. You loved the way he touched you, the way he caged you in with his body, making you feel incredibly safe and protected. And of course, you loved his cock. He knew exactly how to use it to ensure he gave you as much pleasure as he took—or more.

And still, your orgasm remained tantalizingly just out of reach. He shifted, and for a moment, his body rested heavily on you before he resumed his rhythm.

He’s getting tired. Fuck. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up. I need to give him a break.

“Want me to be on top?” you offered, hoping that yet another angle would be the one that finally pushed you past whatever mental block was keeping you from your release.

He paused, his hands resting on your hips. “Is that what you want?”

“Sure,” you replied. “If you do?”

He trailed his fingers down your spine before slowly withdrawing from your body. You turned to watch as he rolled onto his back and kicked the blankets off the bed. He reached for you with that sexy smirk that you loved so much, and you knew without question that he still wanted you.

He’s such a good man. Gods, he deserves the world.

“Hop on, darlin’,” he invited.

You crawled toward him with a smile, pausing a moment to kneel between his thighs. You traced your fingertips up his legs and over his balls, then ghosted a line up the underside of his cock. You glanced up to see his eyes fixed on you with an intense expression. Holding his gaze, you dropped lower and flicked your tongue over his tip, then slid his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue over him. You could taste yourself on his skin—salty, tangy, unspeakably erotic. His hips flexed beneath you, and you heard his breath grow ragged.

He caressed your head gently, stroking his hand over your hair and jaw before coming to rest on your shoulders.

“Not gonna last if you keep that up,” he said quietly. “Come up here.”

You gave him one last defiant, flirtatious little suck before you released him, then you began to crawl up to him, kissing a trail up his abdomen and chest. You straddled his hips, kissing and licking your way up his throat, and as you reached his lips, you whispered, “You taste like pussy.”

“Then I must be delicious,” he murmured, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and pulling you into a passionate kiss.

His tongue slid into your mouth as his cock thrust into your cunt, and for a moment you were overwhelmed with the sensations of him filling you. A fresh wave of arousal had flooded you as you’d pleasured him with your mouth, and he slipped into you easily, rocking into you with his powerful thighs. You braced your fists against the mattress on either side of his head, pressing down to meet his thrusts as you rode him hard and fast, chasing your pleasure with a desperation that started to border on frantic as release continued to elude you.

“Gonna make you come so hard,” he whispered. “And then I’m gonna fill you up. You feel so goddamn good. Can’t wait to feel you come around my cock.”

I’m trying, damn it!

“You feel incredible,” you replied breathlessly, and it was true, so why was this so kriffing difficult?

Your hips were starting to get sore from how long you’d been at it, so you shifted positions, bringing your knees higher and setting a slower pace to try to buy yourself enough time that you’d have the energy to make it to the finish line. Wolffe adjusted instantly, not even needing a verbal cue to understand the message your body sent. You found the angle that pressed his cock against the perfect place inside you, and you focused on trying to get as much stimulation there as you possibly could, cutting out all extraneous movement.

The longer it took, the more anxious and desperate you became. You tried to shut down the voice in your head that whispered, “He’s getting bored,” because you knew it was a lie. All you had to do was look into his beautiful, mismatched eyes to see how much he wanted you. And you were so close. So fucking close, if you could just get out of your own head long enough to let go.

You traced your fingertips across his cheekbone and along his jaw, grazing your thumb across his lips. You pressed gently, parting his lips to brush your thumb against his tongue, and then you leaned down and kissed him deeply, trying to lose yourself in the sensation of his lips and tongue against your own.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as you broke from the kiss and returned your hand to brace against the mattress. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

Please stop talking. You couldn’t say it out loud; what kind of an asshole says something like that in response to a compliment?

“You’re so sexy,” you whispered instead. “You’re amazing at this.”

It was true; he was amazing. Unquestionably the best you’d ever had. In the time you’d been together, he’d learned your body completely, identifying every spot that made you shiver, testing different approaches until he knew exactly how and where you liked to be touched, kissed, caressed. He knew where to use his teeth, and where to use his breath; he knew when you wanted him to be tender, and when you craved roughness.

He knew you.

He knew you better than anyone ever had, and that made your current predicament even more maddening. Because sometimes it was easy. Sometimes you came so fast that your orgasm surprised both of you. But most of the time, it took more work. A lot more. And sometimes, like this one, you would get so close to the edge that you were only seconds away, only to feel the wave of pleasure ebb and be replaced with frustration and exhaustion.

Please, please, please. Just a little bit more.

Your wrists ached. Your knuckles were raw from grinding them into the sheets. You shifted your weight and lifted one hand off the mattress, stretching your fingers and trying to get the blood flowing to them. He glanced at your hand, then back up into your eyes.

“What can I do?” he asked softly.

“Just… keep going,” you said desperately. “I’m so close—I’m so fucking close, and I just can’t—I can’t—”

Abrupt tears stung your eyes, and you buried your face against his neck to hide them, kissing his chest to try to distract him from your distress.

He wrapped his arms around your body, still rocking into you at the pace you’d set. “Do you want to take a break?”

“No, I want you to come,” you snapped, disappointment sharpening your tone more than you intended.

He stilled immediately. You felt his hand slide up your back to stroke your hair softly.

“Hey,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “Look at me.”

You shook your head and burrowed your face obstinately into the nook where his neck met his shoulder.

“Talk to me, little one,” he urged. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

The dam cracked and then burst.

“I’m so fucking tired,” you sobbed. “And I can tell you’re getting tired, and I just want it to be good for you, and every time I think I’m getting there, I lose it!”

Mortification swept through you that you were making a scene during such an intimate moment, and you tried to stifle your sobs, but it was too late. You felt him go soft inside you, and then he slipped from your body.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to ruin it for you.”

His arms tightened around you, and he rolled the both of you onto your sides, pulling you close against his body. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Holding you tightly with one arm, he began to run his hand lightly over your back, comforting you with his touch as he kissed your forehead.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he repeated. “You just got tired. It’s all right, love. It happens.”

“It’s so frustrating,” you confessed. “So many times, I thought I was there, and then something would distract me, and it was just gone.”

“Was it something I did?” he asked.

“No, of course not. It was just… I don’t know. A noise? Or a weird thought that popped into my head at a bad time?” You paused, feeling a little guilty as you remembered that, in fact, you had gotten annoyed at an ill-timed remark from him. “And then the longer it took, the more it stressed me out about how long it was taking, until I was stressing so much about it that that’s all I could think about.”

He moved his hand to your shoulder and began to glide it up and down your arm in long, languid strokes. “Why were you worried about taking too long?”

You paused, unaccountably hesitant to admit the truth. He waited patiently, still caressing your arm, until at last you replied, “I was worried you were getting tired. Or bored. Or—I don’t know…”

His hand stilled in its progress, then slid around your back as he pulled you even closer to him. “I would never get bored with you.”

“But—”

“I love you,” he cut you off firmly. “I love being with you. I love fuckin’ you. You’re gorgeous, and sexy, and kriffin’ amazing in the sack. Do you have any idea how lucky I am? Most men only dream of finding a girl like you, but I got you for real. How the hell would I ever be stupid enough to get bored with someone as goddamn perfect as you?”

You didn’t know what to say. You lay in his arms, clinging tightly to him as the tears finally stopped trickling from your eyes. You shuddered quietly.

“Yeah?” you asked in a tiny whisper.

He rolled you onto your back and moved to lie on top of you so he could look into your eyes.

“Yeah,” he replied.

You swallowed. “I love you, too, you know.”

“I know,” he said with a charming smirk.

He pressed his lips to your sternum as his hand slid lazily up your body to play with your breast. The weight of his body pressed you down into the soft mattress as you cradled his chest between your thighs. You took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, releasing the guilt and stress and self-recrimination you’d built up in your body.

He kissed you again, and again, then he began to work his way across your chest until he drew your nipple into his mouth, brushing his tongue over your skin as he sucked gently, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. You felt a spark of renewed arousal, but with it came a surge of anxiety that rose insistently in your mind.

“Wolffe,” you whispered. “I don’t know if I can. I really am exhausted.”

He looked up at you as he continued to tease your breast. At last, he released your nipple from his lips, giving you a devilish smile.

“What if we tried something else?”

You couldn’t help the way your lips curved into an answering smile when he looked at you like that. “What did you have in mind?”

He pushed himself up off of you and leaned over to rummage through your nightstand until he retrieved a vibrator—the one you’d once jokingly called “Old Faithful” for its uncanny ability to get you off like clockwork.

“I want you to fuck yourself with this,” he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly pitch. “I want to watch you make yourself come.”

Your breath stuttered to a halt, your eyes widening and your heart beginning to pound at the idea. Your gaze flicked from the toy to his eyes and back again.

“Wh—what about you?” you stammered.

“Don’t you worry about me,” he replied. He switched on the vibrator and traced it down your abdomen, making you twitch as its buzz tickled your skin. “Will you?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, taking the toy from him. “How do you want me?”

“Whatever way works best for you.”

You thought about trying to pose for him, to put on a show, but you knew instinctively that wasn’t what he was after. If he’d wanted to watch a counterfeit, staged orgasm, he would have just found a holoporn. No. He wanted the real thing. He wanted to see your genuine pleasure.

“All right,” you whispered.

You took the toy from him, and he moved off of your body to lie next to you, observing you closely. You adjusted the settings to your preferred speed and pattern, then took a deep breath and began.

The instant you touched the vibrator to your clit, your entire body tensed, and you gasped quietly. You glanced at Wolffe and found his gaze riveted to your pussy, his one good pupil dilated so wide you could barely see the amber ring of his iris around its inky depths. You felt a little self-conscious until you saw the way his lips parted slightly as his breath became heavy.

You pushed yourself back into the pillow and closed your eyes as you adjusted the angle of the toy, pressing it exactly as you needed it. With your free hand, you began to play with your breast, caressing and squeezing and rolling your nipple between your fingertips. You felt the warmth of his hand as it settled onto your leg and then slid up your thigh. Your opposite leg curled up to brace your foot against the bed, opening your stance wider as you moved the vibrator exactly the way you needed it.

“Fuck,” he rasped hoarsely, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin. His fingers grazed lightly over your pussy, but quickly withdrew.

“You can touch me,” you gasped.

He didn’t move immediately, and you continued to work yourself closer and closer to your orgasm, feeling the tension gather in your body and begin to tighten in on your center. Then his fingertips brushed over your cunt again, and you felt his lips and tongue descend on your hip. He didn’t try to take control, just touched you softly, kissing and licking and watching as you played with yourself.

You adjusted your position again, bringing your leg against his body, and you felt his slick, rigid cock press hard against you. You whimpered, so turned on you couldn’t even form words, and in response, he ground his erection against you. He kissed across your pelvis until he reached your belly, pressing his face into you.

“I’m so close,” you panted.

“Kriff, me too,” he growled.

His fingertip grazed into you, and your body jerked as you gasped sharply. He froze, and without thinking, you moved your hand away from your breast to grab his wrist and push him deeper. With an urgent grunt, he began to move his finger, stroking exactly where he knew you needed him.

Abruptly, your hips arched off the bed, and you let out an inhuman wail. If your brain had been functioning, you might have also heard Wolffe’s rough groan, but at the moment, you were aware of nothing but blinding, shattering pleasure as your body finally found the release it had been denied for so many hours. You jerked the vibrator away as the intensity suddenly became too much, and your body convulsed again and again until at last you collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent.

Wolffe covered you with frantic kisses, crawling up your body until he reached your face. His body hovered over you as his tongue brushed between your lips and flooded your mouth with his taste. Your arms wrapped around his torso as your legs tightened around his hips, and you pulled him into you. His cock slid easily, and he thrust hard and fast, fucking you through the last tremors of your orgasm.

He came within seconds, flooding you with heat as he thrust hard, one last time, burying his cock as deep as he could inside your body. He stayed there, his entire body taut, until at last he exhaled a hard breath and relaxed onto you. His lips broke away from yours, and he rested his forehead against the pillow next to your head.

“Fuck,” he panted, the word hot against your ear. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”

You stroked your hands up and down his back, digging your nails lightly into his skin. He groaned and slumped heavily against your body. You loved the weight of him on top of you, but before long, you began to wheeze quietly as you struggled to draw breath. He heard the shift and immediately rolled off of you, pulling you against himself as he came to rest on the bed.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you pressed your lips to his chest.

He laughed quietly. “Thank you. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Worth the wait?” you asked.

“Worth everything,” he murmured, drawing you even closer. “Everything, and more. You always have been.”

---

Want to request a ficlet? Check out this list of prompts!Want more Wolffe? Here’s a tiny little fluffy ficlet.

Taglist:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @merkitty49

@anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella

@cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @sunshinesdaydream

@littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @marierg @idontgetanysleep

@moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine

@multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam

@skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist

@cw80831 @kimiheartblade @flyiingsly @lightwise @swcowgal

@reader6898 @cdblake1565 @epicy0n @starstofillmydream @msmeredithrose

@totallyunidentified @eclec-tech @euphoriacafe @hipwell @yve-barr

@dangraccoon @transactivecybermemory @etod

#commander wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #star wars #the clone wars #fem reader #x reader #dystopicjumpsuit writes #flashing gif

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dinogoofymutated · 2 days

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SFW!Cable/GN!reader - Pt 2.

@gildedjerk YOU DID THIS TO ME. I was supposed to finish my homework an hour ago but I wrote this instead. I literally haven't written a part 2 to anything this quickly ever. what is happening to me

Read pt 1 here :)

TWS: Angst with happy ending. Falling buildings, minor depictions of death, timeliness bullshit, big man cries and we smooch him. Possibly part 3 if the mood takes me

For the first time in a long while, Nathan is panicking. Buildings in the city are crumbling around him, sentinels closing in around every street corner- and he can't find you. He calls out your name, and you don't respond. He reaches for you, searching for your mind with the telepathic ability he can spare- and he can't feel you.

He can't feel you.

For the first time, he's more struck with the absence of your running mind than he had ever been annoyed by it.

He should have gone with you. He never should have let you split away from him. The two of you were a duo. No matter how much grief you gave him when you first started to tag along, he couldn’t imagine life without you. He refused to. Cable narrowly dodges a falling fire escape, and he knows he’s running out of time. He calls for you, again, and again- and there’s no response. He can’t let this happen. He won’t.

Cable bolts down the street as the smoke billows and the world crumbles. The device on his wrist beeps, and his blood runs cold when he realizes it’s a warning. Still- he perseveres. He follows the psychic echo you left behind, rounding every corner he can, staying on your scent like a bloodhound. He wouldn’t leave without you. Not again.

He’s getting closer, he can feel it- but his fear only grows, knowing that you were so close, and yet he can’t feel you. He can’t find that beautiful mind of yours. He can’t find your memories. Your nervousness. Your running mind. He can’t feel that love he was so afraid of anymore- and he is so scared for an entirely different reason than before.

He follows your trail through a warehouse, weaving in-between the machinery as he hears the distinct sound of a sentinel, but he’s horrified when he realizes it’s not coming towards him. Towards you. It’s walking away. Cable exits the warehouse, and on the other side, he finds… nothing.

Cable finds rubble. The building in front of him is rubble. He hears the shrieking of metal as the building on his left begins to fall, but he’s preoccupied. A beeping is heard, but it doesn’t come from him. It sounds again and again. Never stopping.

Cable sees the blue light from underneath the rubble, and he finds a device identical to his own. It’s still attached to your arm, but you are not there. Your mind is not there.

The building to his left finally gives in to the weight and falls.

A stabbing influx of… something, strikes Cable’s forehead, and he wakes up in a cold sweat, lying on the cot in the safehouse. His body is disoriented, his mind chilled with something more than just horror. Cable realizes that it wasn’t a dream, It was a vision. It was the future. A future.

It was real. It felt so real. He’s not entirely sure it hadn’t happened. Cable sits up frantically, looking towards your cot to find you. But you’re not there. His mind is still addled by the influx of information, powers mixed and scatterbrained, unable to find and feel. The one thing it still seems able to do is keep the virus at bay. He’s stumbling as he stands. Cable slams the bedroom door open, that cold horror all he can think of as his mind cannot find you in its haze.

He moves through the house like a storm cloud, opening every door, searching for you in the same meticulous manner he uses to search the house for threats.

You find him before he finds you. Having heard the commotion, you exited the kitchen, stepping into the hallway halfway wondering if there had been a breach in the security.

“Nathan?” The footsteps stop abruptly when you call out for him, only to pick up the pace a second later. Cable looks absolutely furious when he exits a spare room, storming over to you in a manner that almost makes you afraid he’s going to yell at you.

But he doesn't. The moment Nathan reaches you, he takes hold of your face, and he kisses you like he’d never get the chance to kiss you again. It’s desperate, almost forceful- but after a moment of confusion, you kiss him back. His hold is all-consuming, presenting his love and care for you out of urgency, and necessity. Nathan only pulls away when his thoughts pull back together. He looks at you in shock, like he himself hadn’t expected the kiss to happen. He looks worried. Scared. You pull him down by his collar to kiss him again- if only to wipe those emotions clean from his face. Tears are running down his face, but he can’t bring himself to pull away from you like he had so many times before.

He kisses you again, and again, hoisting you up into his arms when his back starts to hurt from bending down to reach your height. Nathan sets you on the kitchen counter, finally pulling away from you- and he begins to sob.

However afraid he was to fully experience the love you had for him- the fear of losing you without showing you his love had triumphed it all. You hold him close as he sobs into your shirt, wrapping him in your love. You don’t know what started this. What set him on this path when yesterday was spent the same as any other day for the two of you- dancing around each other. Leaving the ties blurry. Leaving your love unclear, choosing not to tread through the rapid waters just yet. -but what did that matter anyway, when he had kissed you with such intense emotion? You’re concerned for him. You’re worried for him. You love him. You love him. You love him. Nathan wants to bury his mind so deep within your thoughts, like a warm blanket that kept all of his self-made fears of intimacy at bay. That made them disappear.

Nathan doesn’t want to show you what he had seen. What someone had made him see. He doesn’t want you to experience the fear, the pain. Despite all of his confusion, his pain, what he did know was that he was never going to let that happen. He didn’t care what timeline he had to tear apart, what plan for the future he had to ruin. He had lost so much in life, but he wasn’t going to lose you. Not again. Not ever.

#x men 97 #x men #x men comics #x men 97 x reader #x men headcannons #cable headcannons #cable x reader #cable xmen #cable imagines #nathan summers headcannons #nathan summers x reader #nathan summers #c

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calmangel · 2 days

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No because why am I scared of being made fun of for loving these men when Destiel is probably the most beautiful thing ever created.

An angel pulls a righteous man from hell and heals his wounds and is so overcome with this triumph that he screams DEAN WINCHESTER HAS BEEN SAVED so loud that he awakens fallen angels. He rebuilds this man from dust. The man is scared of Castiel, they don’t trust each other, but they need each other—the man begs the angel to see why Heaven, why God’s plan is corrupt and the angel should trust him. Against nature, breaking from the script, against God, his Father—the angel rebels. The angel rips out the part of him that serves Heaven all for this man and only because he asks. Only because now he’s starting to feel, and angels don’t feel.

What’s coming isn’t an easy task—the man considers giving himself up but the angel won’t let him, beating him unconscious while yelling I rebelled for this? And still, when the day comes, the angel dies for him. The angel attacks his own brothers for this man, is incinerated instantly, and never gave it a second thought.

After the angel is resurrected, they spend years trying to fix everything for each other and almost always do it wrong. They are eventually sent to purgatory together, and the man spends every waking moment praying to his angel. He could’ve escaped, he could’ve been angry at the angel for his misdoings, but he stayed, ripping flesh and killing anything in his way to get to the angel. But he doesn’t understand—the angel, upset, says they’re after me, Dean. I avoid you to protect you. The man won’t listen. He can’t. He pulls the angel to the exit but their hands slip right there, on the precipice. And the man is so distraught that he tells himself he’d let go by accident, but we know this isn’t true. The angel wanted to stay, wanted to feel punishment. The angel saved the righteous man and stayed behind.

But they can’t be kept apart can they?

The angel finds his way back, like always, and Dean is seeing his face everywhere. Dean blames himself. It’s easier than thinking his angel wanted to stay. It’s easier than being abandoned.

Heaven isn’t happy with this angel—this silly thing that gave up its innate purpose and programming all for a human—so they attempt to rewire him, resorting to lobotomy as a way to force him into conforming. They create infinite copies of his human and force him to kill each one, testing his loyalties. And after all this, after being turned into a mindless soldier through torture, it only takes one thing to break the connection. Dean, on his knees, saying I need you.

And this does not fix everything. Now the angel is desperate to undo his wrongs, searching for ways to repay him; so desperate that he misplaces his trust and is irreparably damaged, intimately violated by God’s Scribe. His grace, every part of his angelic traits, is stolen from him, literally ripped from his throat before the Scribe sends all angels plummeting to the Earth. And now the angel is an entirely new species—a human, soft and vulnerable, with nothing to his name—a prime target of angry, wingless angels.

There is only one thing he can do. He can call his human, beg for help, but it’s not going to come quickly. He has to decide between eating and warding himself from his murderous siblings. He virtuously refuses to steal or hurt anyone. He just wants to be safe. He trusts the wrong person and, seconds away from being saved by his human, is stabbed through the heart. Although his brother is injured, Dean caresses his angel’s face and sobs, insisting that the entity inside his brother’s body fix Cas despite how it will hurt the entity and likely put Dean’s brother at risk. It doesn’t matter. Then they go home, and the angel feels safe for the first time as a human.

But nothing lasts forever. The entity inside Sam is anxious, insecure around Cas, and so Dean asks the angel to leave. For probably the first time, Castiel feels intense sadness. Betrayal. Grief. Stress. And it’s because of his human, the one human he was attempting to make everything up to before. Well, apparently he hadn’t done well enough. The angel leaves, still desperate for cash and food, resorting to sleeping in the storeroom of a gas station to stay warm.

The angel has to protect himself from enemies, stealing angelic grace just to keep going. At the same time, Dean takes on the mark of Cain and slowly loses sanity. The angel earns a league of likeminded angels that believe in him, and it finally looks like maybe he can do things on his own again. Naturally, this can’t last for long—his allegiance to this dangerous, marked human is too risky for any angels to trust him.

And his allegiance is tested, but holds strong. Dean can tear the angel to pieces and he’ll still lay there on the floor, unwilling to harm him, and Dean will walk away knowing he could’ve killed Cas but didn’t. Couldn’t.

Over and over, they fight together or they fight each other and it never ends any different. They stick together. They get angry about how the other is acting. And they stay, because leaving just isn’t an option.

The next time the angel dies, the righteous man isn’t the same. He can’t accept it now, now that it seems real and now that the angel was so solidly good, so individualistic and pure. He burns his body and watches, red-eyed. This time it’s real. This time God isn’t on their side to bring him back. So he does what he knows—he drinks, he hides in comfort, he puts himself at risk. He starts thinking that maybe the solution to their problems is for him to die—really, hadn’t they destroyed the natural order enough?

And then the angel calls him from a payphone and all thoughts of ending his life are wiped from his mind. Dean didn’t care how he’d returned, just brought him home and indulged in a way they never did—they took a fun case, they dressed up like cowboys and caught a bad guy.

They’re not allowed fun, though. They’re doomed by the narrative—the God that is insistent upon failure. Over and over they’re tested, and no matter whose mother is killed and whose psyche is broken by being blamed for it, they stay together. Because you can hate and love at the same time. Because you don’t really hate them.

And at the end of it all, they’re still together. In the angel’s last moments, it’s still only about his human. What’s important is getting Dean safe, is coming up with a plan that saves Dean. Because even though Castiel had all his grace, Dean was the powerful one. Dean was the one who needed to kill God, who needed to stay alive, and who deserved a life.

And the angel did the only thing he knew how to do, the only thing that always worked—he sacrificed himself for his human. He told his human that he was in love with him, and told him the things he needed to hear, and let himself be swallowed up by eternity. All for Dean. For Dean, who was still beautiful.

And this did save the world, but Dean wasn’t the same, really. He vowed to give himself a good life, try to move forward, but it really wasn’t going to happen was it? It was always going to end in his brother’s arms after a hunt. And he was okay with it. And when he got to Heaven, sitting beside his true father with a beer in hand, he heard Cas’s name and smiled. It had been ages since he smiled.

#spn #supernatural #castiel #dean winchester #destiel #dean x castiel #sorry I’m just like. it’s so good? I know the ending is blegh but like #the love story should be appreciated for what it is as well as what it could’ve been #so many writers know exactly what they created and I think we should appreciate it even if they weren’t allowed to write it more obviously

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loveinsprings · 2 days

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seasons- part 1

pairing: enzo vogrincic x f!reader

warnings: none

genre: angst-ish

notes: (1) this is my first story ever, so it might not be that good, comments and opinions are welcomed (2) the story will have three parts, this works more as a intro (3) it was inspired by my favorite wave to earth song seasons

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I can’t be your love… Look it’s too trivial for you now

She sits in the restaurant’s terrace eating her meal in silence, her eyes focused on her phone’s screen. She reads the article carefully time and time again and takes a couple of screenshots of the parts she finds interesting. She smiles and takes a sip of her beer, the response to the movie is great, she had suspected it would be good, the director and production behind it had made great films before, how could this one fail?

She opens X and searches his name again. She always feels slightly guilty while doing this, as if she’s stalking someone, but she still goes ahead and does it. People love him, and how could they not? For the eight years that she knows Enzo she knows that he’s one of a kind, someone special. He’s kind, intelligent, talented, and obviously, attractive, of course people would love him. Her friend had worked hard all these years, and while it makes sense that he gets the recognition he deserves, the way that the film-and his popularity-have exploded almost globally shocks her a little bit.

Her heart beats a little faster in an uneasy way. She takes another sip of her drink, trying to wash those feelings away. She’s happy for her friend, she’s proud. But this weird feeling keeps popping out of her heart and flooding her veins. Uneasiness, fear, confusion. She doesn’t know how things will work out. How their friendship will work out. How her feelings will work out.

She focuses on her food, it’s useless to overthink about things that haven’t happened yet, and after all, everything will turn out well for him; and she’s his friend, she will be happy for him, she’ll be by his side cheering him on his next big steps. How could she feel upset even for a bit? When everything is going so well?

Her phone’s screen lights up, it’s a message from him, he’s asking her what are her plans for next Monday, maybe she would like to go for coffee in the afternoon? After checking her calendar she quickly answers him, of course she can go for coffee, she doesn’t tell him that she’ll have to work late into Sunday evening to be able to meet a work deadline. He doesn’t need to know, it’s a trivial thing really, besides she really needs to take a break from work, and hanging out with one of best friends will help her relax.

She schedules their meeting in her calendar after she finishes her meal, and quickly writes a text to him asking him how everything’s going, he replies saying he’s super busy, but that everything’s well, he’s surprised that new appointments are being made, events are being programmed for the next couple of months at least. ‘It’s Netflix, what did you expect?’. He just laughs at her response.

While she walks back to her apartment she reminds herself that she’ll take a break from her phone, she hasn’t done much reading these days. She also reminds herself that she can’t keep going on like this, checking stuff related to him so frequently. It’s not good, she tells herself, ‘I’ve been here before, it’s no use to get hung up on him again’. She looks at her reflection on a shop’s window, ‘You made a choice all those years back-she tells herself-no one forced you, and now, for your own well being, you have to look after yourself and don’t get your feelings tangled’.

As cliche as it sounds she fell in love with her friend and of course she didn’t tell him. She won’t be telling him any time soon anyways. She finds it ridiculous, how could she end up in a situation like this? She often feels guilty, how could she call herself his friend when she has all these feelings inside of her? And that’s why she made a choice, she would be just his friend, never tell him her feelings, don’t take things too far, and don't play silly games around him.

She arrives at her place, takes off her boots and quickly takes a shower. While shampooing her hair she tells herself that it wasn’t a hard choice, it wasn’t hard at all. Years ago, when she told Silvia, her best friend, that she had, sort of, fallen in love with Enzo, and that she wouldn’t not tell him, her friend asked her if she was afraid that “it would ruin their friendship”. Her best friend wanted to argue that it was worth a shot, she had feelings for him, and if he rejected her, she could move on. She laughed, Silvia looked confused at her, she said ‘look, I did this for me, not him’.

Contrary to the cliche “I’m afraid that it would ruin our friendship, that’s why I kept my feelings for myself”, Y/N had decided to not act on her feelings because she felt that there were many things in her life that she needed to work on. At the time she felt like she was an incomplete person, and she honestly couldn’t say that her lover would be ‘her other half’. She had to have her other parts together, she had to be able to assemble all her pieces, by herself. What good would come out if she confessed her feelings to him? She felt that her insecurities would be a burden, her short temper could be hurtful, her clinginess could be a bother. She had more problems than she could count. She could end up dragging him with her instead of finding a solution.

She doesn’t pity herself, and even though it can be hard sometimes she chose to be just his friend. But, she had learned to move on with her life. She had gone on dates, she had had brief relationships with other guys. She couldn’t deny her feelings existed, nestled in her heart, sometimes they were more present, like a wind chime on an open window, tingling softly whenever the breeze hit them. Sometimes it felt like they were hidden, and the only way she could reach them was on sleepless nights when she focused on their memories together.

She had been going through the pages of her book slowly, she was actually enjoying it. Her wet hair making a damp patch on her back, the soft hum of the air con creating a soft relaxing sound, when another notification came on her phone. He had sent her a picture he took that day when he managed to go out for a bit. She jokingly told him that she was shocked that he could be a good photographer, ‘if by any chance you can’t find work as an actor, you could do this for real’ she wrote. He sent her a laughing emoji and asked her if she was busy, if she could talk for a bit.

She laid on her couch and dialed his number before he could beat her to it. It only took him a couple of seconds to answer ‘hi Y/N, how was today?’ She laughed, he sounded tired, he had never done promotions for such a big project, he was exhausted by all the things that were happening. ‘Hope you don’t forget to drink water and eat properly these days’, she told him, she didn’t think it was necessary to answer his question. She preferred to focus the conversation on him, whether she would tell herself that if she ignored her problems she wouldn’t need to deal with them, and that her friend had more important things going on.

They fell into a conversation quickly, he was tired, he felt like he needed to prepare himself better for interviews, with the popularity of the film he got more and more requests for them and he kept doubting if he was doing well. At the same time he found it amusing how things had gone so far. He genuinely hadn’t predicted that people would be so hooked on the film, he felt like he was part of a boyband. Throughout the conversation she keeps making jokes about all of this, she knows he has lots of things in his mind and she’s trying to keep things light.

He sighs, she changes her phone from her left hand to her right one, and sees that they’ve been talking for more than forty minutes. At that moment he tells her ‘Everything is so easy with you, it’s not like I won’t stop thinking about these things, but whenever I talk with you, everything seems more simple, thanks, I know I’m lucky to have you as my friend’

‘Yeah, I know, we’re lucky to have each other’s back… to be friends’

#enzo vogrincic #lsdln x reader #enzo vogrincic x reader

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speciouspessimism · 2 months

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crazy over how the raven cycle is as much about gansey’s quest to find a dead king as it’s about his quest to find a dead son, the Ronan Lynch that died with his father

#and in the end #he doesn’t ever find what he’s searching for #it was long gone #but it was worth it anyways #ronsey #ronan lynch #gansey #richard gansey #glendower #trc #the raven cycle #the raven boys #trk #the raven king #tidbits

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camscendants · 2 years

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That Jaiden Animations video about her being aroace really messes with me cause it’s way too relatable so it just adds another layer of confusion to me

#I’m not doing a read through of this so any weirdly written stuff just bear through it #like women ❤️#and maybe guys?#but idk if I have definitely had a legit crush #like her explanation of actively looking for a crush #I’ve never organically just developed a crush and I’m second guessing if I’ve actually ever had a legit one #I’ve debunked the ones from elementary one I just said I did cause I knew he had a crush on me the other I have 0 memory of any feelings so #idk then I debunked a few from middle school there Might be one viable one #maybe #but any ‘crushes’ I’ve had I’ve actively searched out #like this girl at work idk if the nervousness I feel around her is a crush or just my social anxiety #and people say fiction doesn’t count towards your sexuality #and idk how I feel about being all touch feely with people #guys are confusing too cause sometimes it’s like yknow maybe but if girls are discounted too then it’s a no #idk #but yeah her whole ‘went to school searched for a crush couldn’t find one damn unlucky’ is literally what I’ve done for YEARS #I think I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m either bi or aroace #she did say 0= 0 but I don’t know which 0 I am #I think I need to like. actually experience things for my self for real to know though #but nobody likes me I’m weird so guess I’ll just sit here and crush on fictional women #aro ace #asexual #aromantic #jaiden animations #aroace #ace #lgbtqia

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katsukiizmoon · 11 months

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╰┈➤ ꒰🍓💌🌶 ┊Katsuki fucks like he can’t live w out you

『♡』 unprotected sex, spitting in mouth, cum eating, pussy licking, creampie, squirting, f!reader, reader has acrylics, biting

Katsuki fucks like he’s going to die without you. His hands shake despite his rough grip on your hips, yanking you down onto his cock. You gasp and moan every time he does it, fingers desperately searching for something to grip onto.

His mouth finds yours, tongue invading your mouth, like he’s hungry. It’s like he’s trying to devour you. He wants to take your soul and keep it. Make it his- make you his.

“Fuck fuck fuck-“ He gasps, face tingling and shaking with pleasure.

Your pussy is squelching, frothing at the base as slick juices run between the two of you. His thick hand reaches to your jaw, thumb pushing between the plush of your lips.

He pries your mouth open and spits, a long string of saliva drizzling into your mouth. Your head throws back against the mattress and you squeal. The coil in your stomach begins to grow taut.

Your hand reaches to blond hair, tugging him lower and you push his spit back into his mouth with your tongue. He groans into the kiss before pulling back.

Katsuki snatches a pillow from his side of the bed, hooking his arm under your knees to lift your ass. It’s placed under your lower back and he shoves your knees to your shoulders, folding you in half.

The angle makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Thick, hot, heavy dick slamming into you with long strokes. He’s got to be in your stomach- you can feel it. The head pushes against the spongey spot inside you and squirt gushes from your pussy onto the both of you.

“Give it to me, y’feel like- oh-“ Katsuki babbles, watching you frantically nod your head.

Your pussy clenches around him and he’s on cloud nine. Acrylic nails dig into his shoulders, your teeth clamp down on the side of his throat. It’s raw- needy and desperate.

He can’t get enough of you. Stray hair sticks to the side of his face, sweat beads at the nape of his neck. His muscles are almost sore from fucking into your tight cunt. And he can’t stop.

He’s addicted. You begin rambling between moans and gasps, telling him filthy things. How he’s god, that you’re in love with him, no one’s gonna ever compare. And the coil in your tummy snaps.

Because he presses his cock against that special spot and stays. As much as it pains him he doesn’t move, waiting. And you explode, clear juice spurting from your pussy and all over his cock and pillow.

Your head throws back and you scream, tears beginning to form in the corners of your eyes. He’s the closest to heaven he’ll ever be when you tell him to cum inside you.

And god, he does. His fingers dig into the plush of your thigh and he clamps his jaw, teeth marking your shoulder. His hips stutter and he slams his length into you. His entire body goes taught and he fills you. Katsuki starts whining at the thought of what he’s doing.

He can feel his cock head pressed against your cervix now. If there was a way, he’d go further. But for now his cum fills your pussy, drenching the inside of your walls. He pushes your hips up.

“Don’t let it out, fuck- don’t.” Katsuki rasps, fingers running through his hair to move it out of the way.

He laps at your pussy and you squirm in his grip. He’s slurping his own cum out of you like it’s his last meal on this god forsaken earth. Licking at the squirt on your ass, his white ropes, sucking at your clit. You buck up and fuck into his mouth a bit, trying to ride his tongue and escape all the same.

You cum like that, shaking and writhing. He leaves a smack to your ass and shoves his cock back into you, fucking the cum that’s left back in. He’s got one more in him.

You get flipped over to your chest, where his cock is bullying that same spot again. And you just can’t stop squirting. It’s everywhere. The bed is soaked, you’re soaked, he’s soaked.

He finishes in you again after you’re drooling all over the bed and desperately begging for it. He thinks about another round. He doesn’t know how long he can go without you.

Cause to him you put the stars in the sky and your pussy tastes better than water to a man dying of dehydration.

#<3 I’m ovulating teehee #gochujang #boba time #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #bakugou smut #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x yn #bakugo x you #bakugou self insert

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luveline · 2 months

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𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky.

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely.

Total quiet.

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?”

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?”

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?”

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…”

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?”

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.”

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.”

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh.

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated.

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry.

“Spencer?” you ask quietly.

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?”

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?”

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups.

“Where are you?”

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him.

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.”

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?”

“Where was I?”

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed.

“Still where?”

“Did you hit your head?”

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.”

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk.

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.”

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.”

“…What?”

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.”

“I annoy people.”

“You don’t annoy me.”

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here.

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?”

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection.

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?”

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly.

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?”

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.”

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says.

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room.

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark.

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly.

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!”

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer.

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask.

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again.

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.”

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath.

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers.

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year.

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.”

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.”

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.”

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!”

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity.

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek.

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.”

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly.

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says.

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway.

“I don’t want to be alone forever.”

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates?

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess.

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.”

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol.

“She kind of looked like you.”

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.”

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.”

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says.

“Do you?”

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Is that why you make all your jokes?”

“What jokes, babe?”

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.”

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?”

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.”

“Spencer, you remember everything.”

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.”

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him.

You’re happy to.

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled.

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse.

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully.

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally.

“Can I come home with you?” he asks.

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.”

— —

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.”

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.”

“So you want three?”

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.”

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time.

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?”

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him.

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory.

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that.

The avocado is making him feel sick.

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?”

“I think I'm gonna throw up.”

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes.

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button.

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.”

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.”

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.”

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now.

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said.

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say.

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again.

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.”

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do.

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask.

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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peaktora · 2 months

Text

𝐂 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘 ˚◞♡ ⃗ satoru gojo

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ your husband is unbearably clingy.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊0.9k words. no pronouns used or specified gender for the reader. intended lowercase. established relationship (#married).

a/n. — i’m warning u guys right now that this is not proofread 😭 .. i literally just typed this up rq and posted it bc it’s been too long since i’ve last posted something on here

p.s. the prompt was in my notes from a longgg time ago, but i believe it’s from @/creativepromptsforwriting .. if not please lmk !!

"c'mere, hold my hand," satoru pleads for what has to be the third time. he pouts at you, who’s sitting on the countertop.

your brows furrow as you look up from your phone, "but, you're washing the dishes?”

he twists the faucet handle, and a steady stream of water flows down. after a brief glance at you, he places the plate beneath the water and says, "i know how to multitask, baby."

clinginess is defined as “the tendency to stay near someone for emotional support, protection, ect.” but there has to be another term for what satoru is, because you can't give any of those things while holding his hand right now.

you let out a deep breath and turn off your phone, watching as the screen fades to black. "satoru, there's no way i'm sticking my hand in that dirty dishwater," you say, sliding your phone into your pocket.

he practically shoves the plate into the drying rack. "i can't believe this," he huffs. "we literally had vows."

“what are y—“

“we had vows that said you’d love me in sickness and in health.”

"well…are you sick?" you ask, crossing your arms across your chest.

he pauses his task of washing dishes, leaving them untouched. leaning over the sink, he rests his arms against its edge. he steals a furtive glance at you, only to find your gaze locked onto him. with a hint of hesitation, he softly mumbles, "no..." before you can respond, he interrupts, "but i’m in health, and the vows said that you have to love and cherish me in this state too."

you lean back, searching your mind for what the alternative of holding his hand would be. because in no world would you hold his hand in dishwasher. then, it hits you. "for now, would a hug make you feel better?"

he answers your question with a hum, and you can't believe he's debating whether or not to accept your offer after all that drama over holding hands in dishwater. even so, he adds, "i'll have to give it some thought."

two can play that game.

“it’s okay,” you say, gracefully hopping down from the counter. a smirk spreads across your face. “i could just go—sit on the couch?” slowly, you start to walk in his direction and make your way over to the living room.

he doesn’t say anything, letting you do as you please. it’s not until you start to pass by him, that you get the reaction you wanted.

or atleast, somewhat similar to what you wanted.

"on second thought—" he exclaims, and the dishwater swirls around him as he turns around, his hands still wet and dripping.

you cringe as small puddles gather on the tiles. "hey—" but he interrupts you as he reaches out to grab your wrist. “ew—I—what the hell?”

you instinctively try to pull back, but he slips his wet hand in yours; sealing your fate.

“satoru—”

“what happened to nicknames?”

“satoru.”

"’m not sure who that is. i go by a lot of names, but not that one. lets go down the list, yeah?” he clears his throat. “i go by "babe, baby, swe—"

"you should consider adding "gojo" to that list."

"now, when have you ever called me gojo?”

"right now, in exactly ten seconds.” your husband gasps, hanging his mouth open. “satoru go—"

“woah woah woah—what’d i do to deserve this treatment?”

“you put your dirty dishwater hand in mine.” you jerk your hand back, struggling to escape free of his grip.

his grip tightens on your hand, “if you’re feeling like not loving me today then just say that.”

“hey—don’t discredit me. i offered you a hug and you said you had to “think” about it.”

“cause holding your hand ‘s better.”

you sigh, “after you’re done with the dishes, you can hold my hand as long as you want.“

he lets out a soft, thoughtful hum—the same hum that got you both into this situation in the first place. at the same time you shake your head, a mischievous twinkle appears in his eyes, and a smile twists onto the edges of his lips. "deal" he says, shaking your hand. “but before-“

you tsk, making him drop his excuse.

“wh—“

"the quicker these dishes get done, the quicker you’ll be able to hold my hand. so get on with it—go," you playfully command, and his grip loosens in response. seizing the opportunity, you slide your hand out of his grasp. you look down at it, seeing bits of food that’ve stuck to your palm. gross.

you walk over to the sink, feeling the cool water flow over your hand, washing away the food and dirt that clung to your skin. as you stand there, you hear satoru's voice grumbling from behind, "i hate doing dishes,” and you can’t help but snort.

before you know it, you feel his presence close behind you, his body pressing against yours. his arms encircle you, creating a cozy pocket of space between the counter and his body. satoru leans over your shoulder, gets a sponge from the soapy water, and starts washing a bowl. you simply lean back and look at his features.

the sight almost makes you want to stay in his arms forever. that is, until you realize the predicament you're in.

“you did not,” you whine. you desperately try to break free from the cage he’s trapped you in, but your attempts prove more and more pointless.

"oh, yes, i did," he declares with a smile. “what did you say earlier?" he clears his throat before proceeding. "the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you'll be able to hold my hand," he says, mockingly imitating your tone. "so, the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you can leave and do anything you want."

you sulk and moan while you reluctantly grab a dish and a spare sponge from the sink. “i hate you.”

“i love you more.”

#(っˆ ³(ˊ ᵕ ˋก ) ⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 ࿐ྂ #i have a essay due in a couple hours and i’m over here writing fics .. 😣#gojo x reader #gojo x reader fluff #gojo angst #gojo x you #gojo headcanons #gojo scenarios #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jujustu kaisen #jujustu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen headcanons

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cosmosis · 11 months

Text

MOVED TO @seratopia

miguel o’hara x reader (fluff) - call

miguel calls you because he misses you

. . .

“Lyla.“

“Yah?“

“Call y/n.“

“What do we say?“

“Oh my god, just call her. Please.“

“You’re in your office, call her yourself.“

“Lyla!“

Lyla scoffs, flickering in and out in a flash of cream and pink. Miguel rolls his eyes, watching as a module is pulled up in front of him.

Lyla flickers in, pressing the obnoxiously green “call” button on the screen as Miguel subconsciously fixes his hair. The screen starts to dial, and Lyla chuckles to herself.

“What?“ Miguel asks, crossing his arms together.

Lyla’s hand runs up to her mouth. “Pfft. Nothing.“

And with that, she disappears.

The screen dials for a few more seconds, and finally, you answer the call. A video calling of you, looking down at at the camera on your watch. You’ve got your spider suit on, chaos seeming to be crashing in the background as you zip through a metropolitan city with your webbing.

“Miguel, baby, you know I’m busy.“ You say, the man watching on his screen as you simultaneously glace down the watch and look back up to swing your webbing against random architecture.

“I know. Sorry.“ He says, and you look expectantly down at your watch.

“Did you need something?” You ask, and your watch suddenly drifts over towards behind you, an anomaly chasing behind you.

“How long will it take for you to be back?“ He asks, hand slithering to the back of his neck. Even from the shitty camera quality, you can see the slightest tinge of blush on his cheek.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, sighing to yourself as you bustle through skyscrapers and towers galore. “Is this really was this was about?“

“Yeah, I wanna see you.“ He states. You watch as he starts tapping on the holographic screen, seemingly zooming in on a particular picture.

You watch as Miguel already goes to grab his spider mask, clutching it in his hand while he taps at his own watch. “Where are you, honey? I can take them off your hands.“

“It’s fine, Miguel. I got it.“

“But I wanna see you.“

“You can wait a little longer, right? Jessica sent me out on this mission.“

“No. I’m going out there, where are you?“

You sigh. “Fine, I’m at Earth-681, Queens.”

“See you in a sec, hun. Love you, bye.“

“Love you. Bet I can finish this guy off before you can even make it down here-“

You hang up, and the call screen flickers dark. Miguel yanks on his spider mask, leaping off his office until...

“Wow.“

Lyla sputters in front of Miguel, laughing to herself in a doubled over position. She flashes in a few more times, each one a different frame of her laughing. Miguel tries to ignore her, speeding up into a run whilst tapping at his watch.

“You’re really that whipped!“ She exclaims.

“What does whipped even mean?“ Miguel asks, obviously annoyed.

“You’ll find out later.“

“Hm.“

“Oh and, just so you know. That entire convo was recorded. Thanks!“

Miguel groans, and Lyla vanishes as soon as she came in.

. . .

Miguel dives headfirst into the inter-dimensional juncture, leaping directly into the skies of Earth-681. There’s millions of skyscrapers below, all of them almost identical to any other Earth he’s been on.

He webs a nearby building, slinging himself through Queens in search of you. His spidey-sense picks up, detecting you to be in his far right. Faster than ever, he slingshots himself through buildings, his heart quickening in his chest at the thought of seeing you.

Unexpectedly, you aren’t where you’re supposed to be.

Miguel pauses himself onto the head of a gargoyle, eyes flickering left and right to try and find you. You’re supposed to be hugging him, kissing him, teasing him about dates and what not.

“Boo.“

Miguel doesn’t even flinch, but he’s more excited than ever to see you. He misses you so much.

You laugh to yourself, taking a few steps forward to Miguel. He rolls his eyes, and you can even see it through his mask.

“Haha, very funny.“

“I know, I’m the funniest.“

“C’mere.“

Miguel wastes no time, hastily tugging you into him by your waist, until you’re close enough to hear his heartbeat. You tug your mask off, revealing the face that Miguel knows and loves.

Tenderly, the man presses you into a kiss, savoring the taste of your lips for a moment longer than he should’ve. You can feel the poke of his fangs on your bottom lip, and you yelp a little in his mouth.

“Ah, I’m sorry.“

“It’s fine-“

And he a presses a few more gingerly kisses to your cheek, stroking your other with his thumb. His big hand lingers on your lower back, threatening to ghost his fingers against your behind.

“See, told you I’d finish him off before you’d come.“ You say, indulgently resting your chin on his chest.

“Can’t believe Jess sent you out here, on your break day too.“ Miguel scowls, “Wanted to take you somewhere special.“

“Welp, now I’m free.“ You shrug, and Miguel leans the both of you against the concrete walls of the tower.

Something sparks in Miguel’s mind.

“Hun, what does whipped mean?“

“Whipped?“

“Mhm. Lyla mentioned it earlier.“

You chuckle a little.

“It’s what you are, Miguel.“

“And what, exactly, is that?“

“Absolutely in love with me. Like you’ll do anything, k’know?“

Miguel grumbles to himself, releasing you from his embrace.

“I hate that she’s right.“

miguel gets jealous oneshot (same universe)

#miguel o'hara #spiderman #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #atsv x reader #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse x reader #x reader #reader insert #fluff #lyla #atsv lyla #lyla across the spiderverse #cosmosis-writes ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 5 months

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Diasomnia with “who hurt you” trope

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia doesn’t feel like himself when he sees you, your eyes closed, your body impossibly still - he can feel his heart hammering in his chest as he approached you, fingers desperately searching your skin for a sign of life. It seemed his touch brought you back, even briefly, eyes finding his alongside a weak smile. He whispered his question with an intensity you’d never heard from him before, flinching as he almost yelled it in his next breath. He had to know who did this to assure they never did it again. When he sees fear reflected in your eyes he calmed himself, a hand delicately caressing your cheek as he asked again in a gentler tone and leaned down so you wouldn’t have to strain yourself or your voice. He hummed thoughtfully at the description and seared it into his head, hiding the eerie look on his face as he pressed a kiss to your head and promised you’d be okay soon.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus had always been observant of the people he cared about, especially when there was a comfortable routine to be found. He had found such a routine with you, where your classes were right next to each other and you had the same lunch; you would often walk to the cafeteria together, getting your food and finding a much quieter spot to eat or enjoy each other’s company. He can’t say he hadn’t been curious about how long this might last until you forgot, when this wouldn’t just be a daily pleasantry to you but like an appointment you were expected to keep to appease the dragon. He tastes bile in the back of his throat the one day you don’t appear, a lingering disappointment though he tried not to let it show as his emotions tended to cause disasters. It’s only when he sees you again, your eyes looking lifeless and your body language closed off, that he realized something must have happened. He wants to pry, to ask a million questions to get to the bottom of this so things could return to normal, but his experiences had taught him many things, so he chose to wait beside you until you were ready to confide in him. He was confident he’d find out who hurt you regardless, and that he could handle it swiftly.

Sebek Zigvolt:

Sebek doesn’t immediately notice any odd behavior, going about the conversation regarding your schoolwork as normal. It’s when tear drops began to stain the paper in front of you that he’s rendered speechless, knowing you weren’t weak enough to cry over something like potion ingredients. He’s incredibly clumsy in his attempts to understand what upset you, who upset you — it wasn’t him, right? As brash as he could be he had learned the proper way to act without pushing you away, so he’s confident it wasn’t that. He’s meant to be a fighter and if someone had physically hurt you, he’d know exactly how to restore your honor. However, with only figurative bruises on your heart he’s struggling, twice as much as he would with a regular friend due to the depth of his feelings for you. You can at least find some amusement in Sebek’s ever changing facial expressions as he used all his brain power to remedy the situation.

Silver:

Silvers steps were steady as he approached, stealthily following the trail of blood and hoping it didn’t lead to an unfortunate prize. He broke out into a sprint when he sees your form curled up on the ground, a much larger puddle of blood gathered nearby to hint he had found the main source behind the trail. He’s fighting not to panic as he kneeled over your body, hands holding your face as he begged for you to wake up, to just look at him. When you do it brings him enough relief that he could cry, forehead pressed to yours as he asked who did this to you. He doesn’t know what his next course of action is, frown plastered to his face as your eyes slid shut again; he could see your chest moving now, in the familiar way it did when you slept, leaving him a little more at ease. Silver felt like he might not sleep for another hundred years, not until the person who hurt you was thoroughly punished.

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Lilia Vanrouge #Malleus Draconia #TWST Silver #Sebek Zigvolt #Lilia Vanrouge x Reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Silver x Reader #Sebek Zigvolt x Reader

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moonbeamsandmayhem · 1 month

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Idea for smutty request: virgin Eddie who has never even eaten a girl out so he asks if he can practice by eating reader’s pussy…. Ofc reader says yes cos she’s had a crush on Eddie for forever

a/n: I’ve been working on this for months. So for that, I apologize!

warnings: reader with titties, cunningulus, mentions of a shitty ex-partner. I think that’s it. Please let me know if I missed anything.

“You sure?”

“Ed—.”

He held up his hands in defeat, licking his lips anxiously. “I just wanna — I don’t wanna fuck this,” and he gestures between the two of you, “Up. Our friendship. You know?”

“I know.”

Eddie stares at you, deep brown boring into you as if looking for a flicker of doubt. There was none. Your friendship with him meant the world, and when he approached you with his request, well. You could never deny him anything. Your heart stammered and you could feel your cheeks heat, but you agreed.

His room had always been a safe space. The smell of old spice, burning wood, and Marlboro’s infiltrated your lungs, causing the tension in your body to uncoil. Ever the gentleman, Eddie made sure to clean up for you, have bottled water on the bedside table and extra pillows at the ready.

You started to shimmy out of your shorts, but Eddie’s hands replaced yours, fingers caressing every bit of skin as it’s revealed. “You’re so fucking pretty,” his tone is awe-struck as if he’s seeing you for the first time. Thighs squeeze together and he takes note, a sly little smile curling his lips. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“Nothing.”

He lifts a brow.

“Promise. Just never been referred to as ‘pretty’ before.”

The metal head blinks at you slowly as if he can’t process what you’re saying. “Not even Chad or whatever-the-fuck that dick ex’s name is?”

You shake your head.

“Asshole.” Eddie declares, strong hands finding yours, fingers threading together. “If you were mine… I’d tell you every damn day. You’re gorgeous. Not that you need my or anyone else’s validation.” His eyes soften, “Thank you for this.” It’s the first time you see a hint of vulnerability cross his features cutting through all the bravado. It makes your chest squeeze with affection.

He wastes no time, peeling away your underwear. You resist the urge to slam your legs together, shyness taking over. “No hiding,” as if he can read your thoughts, his eyes are the softest brown, pools of warmth you could get lost in.

Eddie kisses along your thighs, nipping gently, experimentally. Your breath hitches and he chuckles, hot breath fanning over you. A whine emits from the very back of your throat. “Sensitive little thing, ain’t ya?” He licks his lips before he leans forward, kissing directly onto your seam, head buried between your legs. He nestles his nose against the thatch of curls there, breathing in your scent.

Eddie’s breath is warm, the flat of his tongue dares to spread you apart for him, flicking upward toward your clit. He’s slow, calculated, watching your expressions for some guidance.

“Jesus Christ,” you moan, he takes a part of your labia into his mouth and sucks softly, humming around you , “you’re - you’re sure you’ve never done this b-before?”

You can feel him smile against your cunt, before his tongue dips, finding your entrance. You gasp, hands grabbing those wild locks of his, tugging sharply. He groans, deep and reverberating, the muscle curling inside of you, working in and out, searching for that spot. You grind your hips down, desperate for more friction. “God, Eddie - fuck -!” It doesn’t take much before you’re arching off the bed.

“Mmmhm.” He’s drinking you down, lapping and slurping at everything you have to offer. A calloused thumb finds your neglected clit, circling it in tandem with the actions of his mouth. Your own hangs open, spewing expletives, moans, praises, gibberish and Eddie revels in it.

The coil in your stomach snaps sooner than you’d like and you’re cumming, clenching around his tongue while white hot pleasure burns through you. He continues, working you through your climax until you’re pulling him off, tears streaming down your face. You both lock gazes, his cheeks are rosy, lips covered in your spend, eyes heavy with lust. As for you, your face is covered in a light sheen of sweat, your body flush.

Eddie makes his way up to you, caging you in between his arms, hair falling in curtains to frame his face. He reaches up to wipe away a stray tear.

It’s just the two of you against the world, all panting breathes and longing gazes.

He looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. For a second you feel a pang of fear that maybe he was having second thoughts. That this whole thing was a mistake and you should just forget it.

“Can I kiss you?” He finally asks.

You blink owlishly.

“Or - or we can not do that - that was a stupid suggestion, forget I said any- .”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Thank fuck.”

#dd writes #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson/reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson/you

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