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hyeque · 2 years

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asking him for nudes [nsfw]

feat. tsukishima, kuroo, kita, atsumu, tendou

notes: will probably do a version of this for jujutsu kaisen

warnings: female!reader, masturbating, degradation, edging in atsumu’s, atsumu flashes his team 😕, implied cum eating in tendou’s

tsukishima is annoyed, but when is he never? you begged and whined for nudes while the man was at work, for god's sake. he firmly told you no in the beginning and to stop acting like a brat. but when you kept pushing for some, and sending clips of how needy you were, he broke his composure.

the blonde slips into the employee bathroom, locking the door. finally freeing himself, he's already half hard. tsukki sends a picture of himself, smug expression and all with his pretty cock in frame. 'here. happy now?'. and of course he already knows the answer to that when you send a pouting picture in return. tsukishima can't help but take advantage of the photo to get himself off. he makes a video, spitting out profanities and words of degradation while he fucks his hand. he doesn't grant you the pleasure of seeing his face while he does. he knows how much you love seeing his face, but you disobeyed him, and this is punishment.

'you better not touch my cunt. i'm going to fucking ruin you when i get home.'

kuroo is ecstatic. he'll do anything for his pretty baby and the man is more than glad to send you some nudes. he doesn't send them right away though because he has to tease you first. he first sends a picture of his hard on through his slacks, the caption 'this what you want, baby?'. he knows you want more but he wants to see you say it. after successfully getting you to beg, he sends a video of him touching himself through his pants, telling you how it isn't nice for you to get him this worked up right now. how if you were in his office he'd have you bent over his desk. but of course kuroo asks for you to send nudes in return because he's dying to see just how wet you are for him.

being in his own office with no one else in the building, he doesn't hold back. he is loud—very loud. he's moaning your name excessively and telling you how good you always make him feel. asking you if you'll ride him and clench down like you always do so perfectly. his vest and button up are undone and you can see all of his toned chest. he whines and mumbles about how well you take him and how he can’t wait to fuck you. not long after, he orgasms and uses a tissue to clean himself.

'your turn, baby. let me see that pretty pussy i'm going to stuff full later <3'

kita is flustered. when he received a text from you saying 'there's an emergency' he was prepared to drop his farming tasks for whatever you needed. he wasn't expecting you to send him a video of you touching yourself, saying how much you need him. this is all new to him, but he wants so desperately to please you, so he tries his best. kita shreds his clothes, his fit and toned arms and chest in view, beautifully tanned from working outside. he truly looks ethereal.

he feels shy and a little embarrassed showing himself nude on camera but if anyones seen the man, there's absolutely nothing embarrassing about how pretty his cock is. he doesn't realize how pent up he actually is until he starts stroking himself, his whines and moans get gradually louder as he thinks about you and your cute cunt. but however the romantic person kita is, he starts rambling about how beautiful you are, and how he can't wait to start his own little family with you. he thinks you'll look so pretty round and carrying his babies. don't you? he rambled about how he'll take good care of you and your family. there isn’t anything that turns him on more than the thought of you having his kids. he knows you two planned to wait a little longer, but there’s nothing wrong with a little head start, right?

'sweetheart ya can't go and startle a man like that, now hurry home from work so i can finally have my way with ya. need ya pregnant by the end of the day'.

atsumu is smug. he knows he's attractive. he knows he's irresistible. especially when it comes to you. when he saw your message about sending nudes it was right after his practice had ended. sweaty and high on adrenaline, the blonde doesn't need to do much to get himself worked up. just seeing the messages of you being needy could be enough to get him to cum. but he is a performer, and as a performer, he must put on a show.

he teases you in the video, asking you just how badly do you want him and how you want him to take you. he assures you not to worry your pretty little head too much because however it is, he’ll be having you cum multiple times. the thought of getting you off brings himself to the edge and he knows he’s about to cum. but what's this? atsumu stops himself right before he can. his dick is a deep, scarlet red and his hard on by this point is near painful. but if there's one rule atsumu has, it's to not waste his own cum. the only place it belongs is inside of you and not the shower floor. once he’s done edging himself he sends a picture of his painful, rock hard cock.

he ignores the cries of his teammates and the noise of disgust (from sakusa specifically who said for him to 'put that thing away') when coming out the shower. he’s just trying to make it home to you now.

'ya don't know what you just started, angel. ya better be face down, ass up on the bed when i get home. yer not sleeping at all tonight.'

tendou is spontaneous. one nude was never the same from the last one. you're convinced that him sending nudes is more enjoyable for him than you, considering how worked up he gets. there was one instance where he told you he had a 'surprise for you' to bring home from work, and the man came home with his dick in a box full of chocolates. needless to say, if you didn't have a sweet tooth then, you do now.

but imagine this time around asking for some nudes he actually beats you to it, asking to send something at the same you do.

"i've been waiting for you to ask for this~" he sings in the video "i've been working on something for you, mon chéri~'. your anticipation eats at you while you wait, but it’s quietly followed by a gasp at the sight on your screen. low and behold, the man had made a chocolate mold out of your pussy. how he did it, you don't know. do you even want to know? you're even more choked up when you see him fuck the mold, his pretty moans taking up the video. your eyes are drawn to his slender hips and the way he moves them. you hate to say it, but you really do envy chocolate right now. tendou sweet talks you, saying how he wish he can't wait to have the real thing, and how your real pussy is much sweeter than any chocolate. a cute smile is plastered on his face and his pale skin is flushed a pretty pink, the way he shudders lets you know he's close. he loudly moans your name, cumming deeply inside the chocolate. grinning at his work, he shows it to the camera.

'i made all of this nice filling for you. you're going to eat it all, right?'

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sunderwight · 5 months

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SVSSS AU where Shen Yuan transmigrates as usual, except it's to find that his system is freaking out because it's been several years since Luo Binghe was supposed to show up at the sect trials to start his plot but so far there's been no sign of the protagonist, the Protagonist Halo Features aren't working correctly, and there's another transmigrator who arrived earlier, somehow hacked into the system, and erased its ability to track or punish him before disappearing into parts unknown (it was Airplane).

So Shen Yuan, now Shen Qingqiu, reasons that anyone who was trying to interfere with the plotline had either rescued or killed Luo Binghe while he was still young. Hoping for the former (but braced for the latter) he uses what scant knowledge the novel provided about Luo Binghe's origins, plus his new skills and some of the sect resources available, to track down Luo Binghe.

Turns out, in this version of events, some "random benefactor" showed up and gave Luo Binghe's mother some life-saving medicine. So she didn't die. But her health remained poor and Binghe never left her side, instead doing as much of her work as he was able to. So teenaged Binghe is basically a seemingly average, run-of-the-mill servant.

Shen Qingqiu is like "well this is pretty easy to fix actually" and approaches Luo Binghe as a wise immortal master type, says he sees Binghe's potential, and offers to take him on as a disciple. Luo Binghe is thrilled and kind of gobsmacked, but won't abandon his mother. Not a problem! Shen Qingqiu figured he wouldn't, so he offers to make arrangements to have Mama Luo comfortably set up in one of the villages at the base of the mountain. Sure, having her be alive and letting Binghe visit and write to her would be a deviation from the usual tragic backstory, but not a huge one! Shen Qingqiu is ready to mark this problem solved (and start dealing with all the other problems it creates for him) but the system is weirdly unsatisfied.

Turns out that even though Shen Qingqiu has found Luo Binghe (and a few discreet tests confirm that he has some sort of seal in place, and what are the odds of some other random orphan found on the Luo river, raised by a kindly-but-ill laundress, and named "Luo Binghe" exists in the same region?), the system still can't detect the Protagonist Halo Feature. The stupid glitching thing can't recognize the protagonist without it, so it keeps insisting that Shen Qingqiu locate him, even when he's kneeling right there and performing the tea ceremony for his initiation!

It's really annoying!

Especially since this means that the system won't actually safeguard Luo Binghe from harm. Which means it's up to Shen Qingqiu to make sure that his little white lotus disciple lives long enough to become the ruler of everything. This is easier said than done! Between the skinner demon side quest, and the demonic invasion, and various other side missions to build up the protagonist's potential, Luo Binghe is constantly getting into trouble and Shen Qingqiu keeps getting poisoned or injured trying to drag him back out of it in one piece!

Matters come to a head at the Immortal Alliance Conference (as they so often do). Shen Qingqiu is not planning to yeet Binghe, of course. Like this there's no guarantee of survival, and the system isn't even demanding it of him (because it still doesn't recognize the protagonist), but it seems to be demanding they turn up for the event anyway. Shen Qingqiu is a nervous wreck and fighting the urge to hover, because as expected, there is still a demonic invasion. Except this time Mobei Jun is there, and so is a mysterious cloaked figure who seems to be searching for something.

As soon as Shen Qingqiu claps eyes on the figure, the system chimes happily.

Protagonist Halo successfully located!

Turns out, part of Airplane's hacks involved stealing the halo and reassigning it to himself. Except that means that narrative destiny still wants him to hit certain plot beats, so he's been busily conquering the demonic realms -- in MBJ's name of course -- and mostly doing the bare minimum to satisfy the requirements while evading the system's efforts to regain contact. But now he's gotta go get Xin Mo somehow, except the minute Shen Qingqiu spots him so does the system.

The system, which immediately reassigns Airplane as the protagonist, and orders Shen Qingqiu to throw him into the Endless Abyss.

Which is like, better this rando than Binghe, so okay, but Mobei Jun is not cooperating plus the mysterious hooded stranger also seems pretty resistant to the idea (Airplane is NOT a heavenly demon, Protagonist Halo or no he's still actually a relatively squishy human cultivator, and he does not want to go into the hell pit), and between one thing and another Airplane manages to fall int the Abyss with Luo Binghe.

Not ideal. Which is to say, Shen Qingqiu is emotionally devastated and almost convinced that Luo Binghe has died for real and that Mysterious Halo Thief is going to come out somehow in a few years and chop off all his limbs, and Mobei Jun is extremely distressed because the man he intends to marry just fell into the Endless Abyss, and that seems like a difficult thing to somehow Evil Vizier your way out of.

The other peak lords arrive to keep Mobei Jun from killing Shen Qingqiu, and so everyone just kind of despairingly returns to their separate corners of the universe to wait and see what will happen.

Meanwhile, down in the Endless Abyss, Luo Binghe has unlocked his heavenly demon blood and is now constantly trying to kill Airplane. But thanks to the transferred protagonist halo it just doesn't work. The system interferes and creates a last-minute unlikely survival route for Airplane every time. They eventually reach an impasse where Airplane can't die but only Luo Binghe is strong enough to actually fight most of the creatures in the Abyss, and all this "fighting" between the two of them (generous description) keeps attracting big monsters.

So, Airplane offers a deal. He knows things about this place. Including how to get out. If Luo Binghe helps him fend off the monsters, then he'll help Luo Binghe survive and escape as well. He even offers to help him get away from Shen Qingqiu and make a place for himself in the demon realms! Luo Binghe tries to kill him again for that, so he drops that line of attempted bribery really quick and switches tactics. He knows more things! Things about Shen Qingqiu's past! Secrets he'll share if Luo Binghe helps him!

Is this the start of a beautiful new friendship?

No.

Turns out Luo Binghe and Airplane have exactly the correct combination of shared traits and differences to find one another mostly intolerable. But not intolerable to the point of not being able to manage teeth-clenched teamwork. By the time they get out of the Endless Abyss, Luo Binghe never wants to hear about cup noodles or tax collection or Mobei Jun's tits ever again, and Airplane feels much the same about anything at all to do with Shen Qingqiu (and either Shen Qingqiu is a fellow transmigrator now or else Luo Binghe has inserted a shockingly vivid delusion over the scum villain he wrote). But they're both alive and in joint custody of an evil sword.

Unfortunately, due to the bickering and the complexities of Shang Qinghua's sketchy memory for his own plots, it takes them even longer to get out of the Abyss than it took PIDW Luo Binghe to manage on his own.

And, uh. Well.

They don't find things in great shape, considering how they left them...

#svsss #bingqiu #moshang #long post #scum villain's self saving system #not totally sure where I'd go with the rest of this #but might add more if I think of it #airplane: oh boy can't wait to get back to my peaceful and stable demonic empire and my king #luo binghe: oh boy can't to get back to my peaceful and stable qing jing peak and my shizun #everything once peaceful and stable: *on fire*

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rikichie · 11 days

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Just don't ask me how that huge plush was thrown there

Under the cut, things I imagine in YOI pre-canon, with the ways my thoughts tie into canon to explain why I think them. These are personal headcanons and interpretations.

With Viktor, I imagine his family being high achieving, and Viktor having a lot of expectations on him. And he matches then successfully. But this means his parents think he's doing well, even in moments where emotionally he isn't. They look at achievements rather than looking at him. It's not intentional neglect, they just don't have the awareness of mental wellbeing. He has a bed and food and he's doing well in school and skating, so everything must be okay. It's fine when he's fine, it's lonely when he's not. And it's the first environment that teaches him to match himself to what's expected and wanted of him, fulfilling a role rather than just being.

When he's older, he quietly creates distance. Not cutting them off, but not reaching out. They don't mind. They follow news, and they can show off his success.

When he's young, Viktor loves having fans and being known and admired. Af first he doesn't see downsides to it. And then something happens, as simple as "did you see him throwing the flower at Christophe Giacometti? He was flirting, how cute" - and Viktor realizes his fans will draw their own conclusions and won't believe him if he tries to say they're wrong.

So he starts adjusting his approach. Building a persona, and building walls. Charming smiles that get him anything he wants. Practicing the skill of giving people what they expect. Being what they expect. And then flipping it on its head and surprising them.

If you're focusing on matching and subverting expectations, you're not necessarily being yourself. Any personal exploration of identity is hidden and alone. But on the ice, when he's performing, he can be honest. He can be seen. Because they're going to take it as fake. Think of how Minako reacted to Stammi Vicino - Viktor's earnest plea for someone to stay by his side, well, he's too charming for this to tug at the heartstrings. So he can play with stories that he won't share with anyone any other way, and he knows they'll take it as pretend.. The walls he builds don't allow him to be truly close to people. He has good relationships with other skaters, but emotionally keeps them at arm's length. He doesn't notice he's isolating. Chris and he have fun joke-flirting, but when Viktor steps away from the ice Chris doesn't seem to realize he needs this, isn't close enough to know what he's struggling with. He talks like Viktor is taking away the motivation he's entitled to by choosing to coach Yuuri. His rinkmates see him on good and bad days so they know when he struggles, and Yakov is the only person close to knowing him deeply, but even he doesn't take it seriously when Viktor burns out, so that is still limited.

For Yuri, I think his mother was going through a lot to let his grandfather take care of him. He has a lot of responsibility in that setting, and it all starts when he's so young.

I think, with Viktor being present in his life consistently from such a young age, Viktor is one of the people he sees as family. He absolutely looks up to him, just like he absolutely looks up to Yuuri. And I think he resents the emotional distance Viktor maintains.

He's not very attentive to people in general, but he's the one that explains to us how Viktor feels early in the show. When Viktor left to Japan so suddenly, I think Yura felt abandoned beyond just Viktor forgetting to choreograph a program for him. If it was just the program - he did end up getting Agape, he could have just asked for that, but he tried to get Viktor to go back. I feel like he hates that Viktor went to look for a way to get his spark back somewhere else, instead of staying and finding a way out of his slump with his rinkmates. If what Viktor needs is to coach someone, why isn't Yuri good enough? He's a talented skater and he sees himself as continuing Viktor's legacy, but Viktor chose someone else for that role.

And Viktor did choose Yuuri to continue his legacy. Because Yuuri skates so beautifully, because Yuuri has so much love for Viktor's skating, because Yuuri has drive and ambition and pride and skill and he finds joy in skating, and Viktor wants to nurture all of that into the performance Yuuri deserves to show.

And along the way, he learns how to connect with people as himself. His relationships with Yuuri and Yuuri's family open doors for him to better and deeper relationships with Yuri and Chris and anyone else he wants to be close to.

About Yuuri, there's very little I can say because we know so much. So I'll just share a lighthearted headcanon a few friends and I came up with as a story idea and I just adopted.

I don't share the fanon that Phichit got him into pole dancing. In my mind, he either started himself, or it was Chris - unintentionally. I think they're friends, because of how Yuuri reacted to him in the show, like he's used to him. And I like to think Chris kept saying things that made Yuuri feel competitive. Talking about how it's great for core strength, "but it's probably not your thing." Sent pictures of himself performing difficult moves, and got pictures back because Yuuri was trying to match him or do more difficult things than him. And meanwhile Chris thinks they're showing off to each other for fun. It's how Chris knew Yuuri can keep up with him at the banquet.

I still want to write something for that last bit.

#yoi #yuri on ice #yoi fanart #yuri!!! on ice #victuuri #viktuuri

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avelera · 2 years

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Some critical rules for writing coherent genre fiction, courtesy of my writing teacher, who is very wise. I don't pretend to have mastered all of these, but their application can do wonders for a story, their lack can cripple it:

Employ the causal chain - every action must be connected to what comes before and after. Each action and beat needs to have impact. They don't all need to be shown but the author needs to know what they are. It is impossible to build suspense without this principle. Things can't happen "just because" or there's no reason for the audience to become engaged with your sequence of events or do things like make predictions. All subsequent rules follow from this principle.

When showing a new type of fictional magic or science, you must show it work before you can show it break. For example, if a character has the ability to summon objects into their hand, we need to see them do so successfully and see how it works, before we see it break at a critical moment during the climax. Otherwise, the audience can't be expected to follow why this situation is unusual because they don't know how it works during normal circumstances.

When claiming a character is good at something, you must show them succeeding at it before you show them failing at it during a moment of pressure. Otherwise, we don't believe you when you establish your character's competence or badassery. For example, when saying your character is an excellent military commander, we need to see them win a fight using those skills and tactics. We can't open with a fight they lose, or else the character and author lose credibility. By all means, show the experienced hero/military leader/ruler/assassin/mage etc break down during a moment of intense pressure, fall down sobbing in terror at a truly insurmountable foe, or otherwise fail to meet the moment, but don't do this before we've seen them succeed at least once, or the moment loses impact.

During the build-up of tension, coincidences should hurt the hero and help the antagonist. This plays into the causal chain rule. Coincidences that help the hero feel cheap. Coincidences that help the villain raise the tension.

Every beat, whenever possible, should be connected to conscious action by central characters (hero, love interest, or villain). The more events are connected to purposeful action by key characters, the more satisfying the causal chain for the reader.

Avoid things that happen "just because" whenever possible. You can have one or two, sure, but the more often things happen "just because" the less interesting the story is, especially if those "just because" moments are core to the story. Fiction is not real life. Audiences are drawn to stories where purposeful actions dictate the success or failure of the characters.

#writing #writing advice #maggie rambles

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hubbvrd · 5 months

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#35 with Joe Burrow? Seems fitting with what's going on currently for him.

summary —Prompt 35: "What can i do for you right now?"

pairing — joe burrow x reader

words — 1723

notes — thanks for your request. I hope you like it!! 🧡

The music drifts softly out of the car radio. Your right hand is gripping the steering wheel tightly while your eyes are fixed on the road to get you and Joe home safely.

The last few days have been pretty chaotic and exhausting, so you are now more than happy to drive home with Joe in the passenger seat next to you.

Three weeks ago, Joe suffered a wrist injury during the game against the Ravens, forcing him to leave the second quarter.

This morning he had successfully undergone the operation and couldn't be dissuaded from staying in hospital any longer than necessary, so he was now on his way home with you.

He had been pretty quiet and lost in thought the whole journey, so you had more or less accepted the silence.

"Should we take some food home with us?" you break the silence as the building where Joe's favorite restaurant is located appears in your view.

"No, I just want to go home," he replies, mumbling, and a glance over at Joe shows you that he's still looking out of the window, as he has been the whole drive.

A soft sigh leaves your lips, but it's so quiet that Joe can't hear it.

Ever since Joe had to leave the field with his injury against the Ravens, Joe's mood has been pretty down and you knew the Bengals' star quarterback was blaming himself.

Every attempt to cheer Joe up so far had not really worked. But all the failed attempts were no reason for you to simply give up, which is why you started to plan in your head how you could cheer Joe up after all.

The rest of the journey, which wasn't too long, was another period of silence, in which not only Joe seemed to be lost in thought, but you too.

You were incredibly sorry and hurt to see your friend so dejected and introverted.

This situation wasn't easy even for you, because Joe wasn't the only one suffering. You were also affected by his injury and where he was.

You would have liked to take away all his frustration, pain and anger, if only you could do so without hesitation.

But as this was not possible, you had to resort to other means to make your boyfriend feel better.

- - -

"Wait, let me help you." With two big steps, you closed the small distance to Joe so that you could help him out of his jacket.

His right forearm was in a cast, which was in a sling in which Joe was supposed to hold the arm most of the time.

In the hospital, Joe had already cursed about the sling that the doctor had put on him, while he had made it clear that he had to wear it.

You knew that Joe would use every moment that you weren't looking to take the sling off for just a few minutes.

"Thanks," Joe mumbled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before slipping off his shoes.

"Would you like to get some rest?" you asked as you both went into the kitchen, where you unpacked the medication Joe was supposed to take for the pain.

"I'm fine, y/n. Really," Joe assured you as he gently pulled you towards him with his left hand on your hip.

"I'm sorry, Joey. If I'm being overprotective or worrying too much, please tell me, okay?" Your hands moved up to the back of his neck, where your hands interlocked and you looked up at Joe.

"You're sweet when you worry. And I'm grateful that you're by my side and getting through this with me."

"That goes without saying. But if you bitch or moan too much, I'll kick you out, just to make it clear, Burrow," you joked warningly, raising your index finger in front of his face.

A grin formed on his face. "Have you ever heard me whine?"

"Yes, only about forty-five minutes ago, when you had that noose put around you," you reminded him, pointing to the black sling that held his real arm

"That damn thing -" he began to grumble as his eyes wandered down to the noose and his face contorted slightly.

"Hey, what did I say?" you reprimanded him lightly. "Now off to the living room. You need to rest."

Without waiting for Joe's answer, you pushed the older man out of the kitchen and into the adjoining living room.

Only when Joe was comfortably seated on the sofa, with the remote control, his cell phone and a blanket within easy reach and you had given him a kiss on the cheek, did you make your way to the laundry room, where you began to take care of the delicate laundry.

- - -

From the living room you heard the sound of the TV, otherwise it seemed to be pretty quiet in the living room. Joe had probably fallen asleep in the meantime.

You tiptoed over to the living room and took a look inside.

There was some college football game on the TV, but your friend wasn't paying any attention.

Joe's gaze was fixed on the large living room window that led out into the garden.

His gaze was almost fixed on a point outside in the garden, so you knew he had been sitting there for some time, mulling something over.

"Babe?" you asked cautiously as you slowly approached your friend and carefully crouched down in front of him.

Joe didn't seem to react, however, as much as he was in his stupor, so you gently grabbed his left hand and he flinched.

"Joe." Carefully, your thumb began to stroke the back of his hand as Joe slowly began to come out of his stupor, blinking a few times before looking down at you.

He had tried to hide his watery eyes from you, but he hadn't really succeeded, as his eyes were still slightly watery and the skin under his eyes was slightly red.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Slowly, you rise from your crouch to sit down next to Joe.

Your warm hands gently touch Joe's cheeks as your thumbs gently and carefully stroked his cheeks, Joe looked you straight in the eye.

There was pain in his eyes, so the sight made your stomach tighten painfully.

Since Joe's injury, which you had witnessed live, Joe had hardly said a word about his feelings and thoughts.

Every time you had tried to talk to him about it, he had changed the subject and promised to talk to you when he was ready.

You knew that there was something that was bothering him so much, but you also knew that you had to give Joe time. You had to wait until your boyfriend was ready to open up and pour his heart out to you.

There were often days like that. Sometimes it took him more, sometimes less days before he could open up to you.

It always took the longest when he and the Bengals suffered a defeat or he had made mistakes in the game.

"I feel so bad," Joe whispered into the silence a moment later and slowly he begins to open his heart to you and give you an insight into what has been bothering him so much since the Ravens game and his injury.

"Oh Joe..." you murmur softly as your thumbs continue to stroke his cheeks. Because you know how much he enjoys this touch and that it makes him feel special that you are there.

"What if my recovery takes even longer than expected? What if this injury ruins everything and I won't be as good after my recovery as I was before the injury?" his voice sounds more and more fragile with every sentence that leaves his lips.

You feel your heart begin to ache slightly and you have to fight back the tears that are welling up.

It hurts you incredibly to hear your boyfriend thinking about himself like that, so you quickly wrap your arms around his body and hug him tightly to you.

"Joey, please stop that. You mustn't ruin yourself with these thoughts, do you hear me? I understand your fear and your thoughts and I'm sure they're not unnatural. If your recovery takes longer than planned, then unfortunately that's the way it is. But you know what? It's better that it takes longer than you get back to feeling fit pretty quickly and something worse happens in the end. And I'm sure that the rehab and everything around it will ensure that you get back to your old form, Joey. You are a fighter and no matter how rocky the road will be I know you will come through it with flying colors and be back in perfect shape in the end and who knows? Maybe you'll come back even stronger after the rehab and the whole program."

As you spoke, you felt Joe wrap his healthy arm around you and give you a gentle hug to silently show you how much his words meant to you and how much strength they gave you.

"What would I do without you?" he sniffled softly into your hair as you buried your face in the crook of his neck and gave him a gentle kiss on the neck. "I love you, y/n. So much, you wouldn't believe it."

"I love you too, so much, Joey."

You slowly sit up and look into Joe's eyes. There's a soft smile on your lips, which he returns and then pulls you close, pressing his lips to yours.

"What can I do for you right now? Make you feel better?" you ask him, after you've detached yourselves again and Joe has pulled you tightly against his chest.

He has wrapped his left arm around you while you rest your face against his chest and reach for the remote control to turn off the TV.

"Stay with me, very close. Cuddle with me and just stay here. You're all I need right now."

Joe carefully lays his head on yours as you carefully spread the blanket over the two of you.

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

And Joe knew you would never break your promise. And so you spend the rest of the day cuddled up close to each other on the couch.

#joe burrow imagines #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow #nfl imagine #nfl fic #nfl #cincinnati bengals #nfl imagines

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hxltic · 7 months

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Hello! I have a request!

Could you do something where Kenma isn't really giving the female reader any attention because he's busy streaming so the reader sneaks under his desk where the viewer's can't see her and she pleasures him until he eventually cums down her throat?

:) I un-ironically love writing bjs

The shared house was silent anytime after 5 o’clock. Kuroo had just left— his afternoon business management classes calling him in, and Bokuto’s practice overcrowded his schedule to the point where he went twice a day with some gym sessions in between. That leaves you alone with Kenma in your 4 bedroom home off campus that was supposedly his father’s apology gift.

The bills are mainly kept satisfied with Kenma’s profit as his streaming allows you all to live as you do. Of course, there was a sense of independency by your own jobs regardless. There has probably been twice where everyone was in the living room at once, but it’s like there’s a tacit agreement each of you have your own goals.

You can’t be mad at the man for being busy when his job supports his friends and himself.

Kenma has been your friend, now boyfriend, for the longest out of all of them, next in line being Kuroo. Kenma took computer engineering and coding related classes, despite having already perfected building PC’s just out of pure experience. The work is hard. You’ve seen it.

You’ve witnessed him stress first hand about a single error in a strenuous, long line of codes—and you ask him why he doesn’t stop doing it if it bothers him to the extent it does. His determination has grown for activities he enjoys over the years; 12 year old him would have quit.

Kenma’s way to deal with stress is isolation. The entire day he’s been crammed in his room, and with being the only other person in the house majority of the time, you bring it upon yourself to feed him. He gets focused and forgets to eat.

The reminder has you clicking your Ipad off from whatever distraction show you had playing. It was so boring most of the days, Netflix couldn’t even fulfill you. You toss the covers off yourself, then bounce downstairs into the kitchen.

It was so quiet that your feet patting against the floor filled the air. To cure the ennui you felt, you’d take the time to have fun with this culinary experience.

By the time there was fluffy white flour messily coating the kitchen and dishes stacked like game cards in the sink, your dish was plated for two. Maybe you’d keep him some company?

Careful not to fall up the stairs, you prod at his door in attempt to knock with one hand. Somehow you turn the knob successfully.

The fan cuts through the air, every click of Kenma’s pen accompanied with a glance to the paper beside him. He won’t even look up at the waitress bearing goods.

“Hi Ken,” you grab his attention but his slim eyes only dart up at the smell of cuisine. “Have you eaten?”

You know the answer. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail, so when he shakes his head the usual strands that follow aren’t there. You place the plate on his desk, next to the two cans of some energy drink and a diet Dr. Pepper.

“Thank you,” he speaks softly. There was a hint of edge to the sound, like he hadn’t used his voice all day.

“Mhmm.”

You turn on your heels to his bed, then sit criss cross as it squeaks and dips. “Do you mind if I just stay in here? It gets lonely in the house.”

To be honest, you forget he’s there sometimes.

“I’m kinda busy,” he replies. He loves you, and your presence, but he just knows he won’t be able to focus. “I’ll be done soon.”

The pout you flaunt deepens, “You’ve been stuck in here for almost a week now! Come out; I miss you Ken.”

He refrains himself from turning to look at you because he knows when he weighs his options, you’ll always come out on top. The chances of you getting picked multiply with your pout.

“Soon, I just need to finish this.”

“Please?”

He doesn’t even have a valid response for that, so he forces the spoon into his mouth. You’re actually a great cook, but since you all eat so much takeout, nobody’s at the dinner table at the same time to enjoy it.

You huff and negotiate to just sit in silence, as long as you’re in his presence. As long as you know he’s there.

This only lasts about fifteen minutes before you’re whining for him again. You completely understand the heavy load of schoolwork, and that it has to get done, but he genuinely has been at it for so long it cannot be healthy.

“I’m done,” he announces coincidentally, his soft fingers coming up to brush a tendril of hair back as he gathers his things on the desk into a neat pile.

Your head perks up like a puppy at attention. He arises from his chair after closing the laptop, pulling his rubber band from the hair connected at his nape as he steps towards you laying on his bed. You giggle in expectancy when he smiles gingerly at you, reaches his arms forward around your feet to plant his hands on the duvet, then crawls up your body. The hair tie wraps around his wrist to join all the other colorful bracelets and bands.

He makes you swoon by just giving you attention.

His hands grew into proportion as he aged, so now they were relatively large. Large enough to connect at your hips as he kisses his way up.

Stomach, chest, then an abundance on your chin and around your face, just for his thumb and index finger to hold your cheeks in position for his softer, slower kiss right on your lips.

You wrap your arms around him like he’d just disintegrate any second. You can feel his body slump, leaving you with most of his weight to carry and his head withdrawing from the kiss to between your breasts. With one hand massaging the round muscle, Kenma was in his element.

Black with barely-there blonde crowds your vision. His soft skin felt warm as you two lay intertwined in the still house, and if you were to fall asleep it would greatly help that Kenma never keeps the big light on. He moans in satisfactory below you.

You lift your hand to rest over his face, the bigger part of your thumb gliding gently over his cheek.

“I love you,” he mutters.

“I love you too Ken.”

After a while of Kenma following your heartbeat and breathing, you would’ve guessed he was asleep. He clarifies he isn’t when he groans lowly.

“I have to get up.”

The words rest tensely in the air, and maybe if you pretend you didn’t hear him, he’ll lay there and forget about it.

He attempts to raise himself from you, politely grabbing your hand and locking your fingers when he comes to a hover above. His pink lips come to the corner of yours as you blink open your eyes.

Truthfully, he wants nothing more than to be with you, here, resting—but he hasn’t streamed in a solid week because of school. You were completely his priority though, so he would make sure to give you equal attention as his stream.

He finds the little willpower to come off you and the bed. He was genuinely hoping you’d stay there and sleep peacefully, that way he’ll come back to join you and it will feel like he never left.

He flips a blanket over your body before he strolls to his setup usually beaming with bright lights. He takes a seat, making sure to turn the brightness down of everything, refraining from playing music, and ultimately deciding not to turn on any light not connected to his PC anyway.

As much as you hate that he’s not cuddled up next to you right now, you love the fact that he’s a steamer overall because he looks so damn hot doing it. Especially the way his muscles on his forearm flex as he quickly types or plays. His hair that’s usually up is down, because he isn’t wearing his mic.

Or like the way every now and then he’ll pop a piece of gum in his mouth and manspread in his gaming chair to shoot a quick message or check his feed. Or like the way he’s so attent, making call-outs, or whenever he gets angry his brows furrow the slightest bit and his face displays whatever he’s actually thinking. You find it hilarious when his eyes roll.

At some point, he hears you come up behind him into view, and his head relaxes into your two hands sliding up his neck to his jaw. You crouch into the screen and the chat immediately multiples. It’s too quick to read them all. Knowing his viewers, Kenma takes the responsibility of closing it with the click of a button, so fast that it seems he never even did it.

“Cracked, 130,” he calls.

You stood there for a moment to watch him play. He and his team beat the level, game, you don’t know, but he releases his focus from the screen and mindlessly cracks his knuckles.

A donation comes in that’s read aloud. Kenma tenses, but you’re excited to hear it.

“jump1nnit donates $70. ‘girl to girl, is it big?’”

Kenma’s head drops back in your hands, eyes closing in annoyance.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles. Where were his mods?

All you were thinking about was how much Kenma was actually earning. 70 dollars in a single donation? How many of these does he get a day? How much more do people pay that’s over 70 when you aren’t here?

You shake these questions away. You knew he was famous. This was not new information; his fans see you sometimes in the background, and they adore you. It’s why your instagram has so many followers and people saying outrageous things in your comments. Ken begs you not to check them.

You find it amusing honestly. God knows what he’s being sent despite his DM’s or what they’re saying in his chats. You know there’s girls all over the world after him, but he doesn’t entertain them, so you don’t either. You trust him completely.

Brought back to reality, you look down at Kenma.

He starts, “Are you-“

To rile up the scene, you nod at the monitor with a mischievous smirk on your face. You bend and kiss his forehead.

“Can I sit right here?” You ask quickly, already pulling up his desk stool because he has no reason to say no. He takes your momentary absence to mute the computer.

“Yeah. yeah, Definitely.”

The blonde’s tone is a little off, but you chalk it up to what just happened. He was just surprised you’d actually respond. He ignores them so he doesn’t get demonetized.

So you sit next to him on your phone playing games, or watching him, or laying on his shoulder. It made it a little difficult for him to play with the last one, but he doesn’t mind. He places a kiss to your forehead, matching earlier actions, and the way you two looked at each other after will definitely reel in some fan edits.

You return to gaming on your phone until you drop it. It tumbles down and under the PC, into the jungle of wires below.

At least with everything included in the setup, that’s what you expect to see, but they’re all neatly accounted for. The seat moves back against the carpet to accommodate for your body, the space you’ve created to retrieve the device. The problem is, you and Kenma occupy this space. You won’t fit.

Kenma heard your phone drop, so he had an idea why you’re down there. He even chuckled a little. Once you pick up the phone, you use his thigh as leverage to turn yourself around, causing him to flinch, and immediately an idea pops into your head.

You could stay down here.

You press the heart of your palm into him once more, the same reaction procreating ideas like a lightbulb.

His voice from above makes another callout.

The lightness of your fingertips glide across his thigh and up to his waist, slipping past the barrier of the thin shirt he’s wearing. Kenma is not ticklish, but his abdomen turns concave to your touch.

By now he has concluded what is happening, or going to happen, and just the thought has him hardening in front of you. Of course it’s something he’s thought about. He hasn’t asked because it feels unnatural—like you would only do it because he suggested it.

His poker face remains stone cold, but the rest gives him away. With every touch you only got closer. You trail your whole hand up the shirt, running this one along the dips of his pale skin, while the other goes back and forth along his thigh. Inwards, then back out. Your phone was long forgotten.

You run the length of your fingers over his center sneakily before meeting both hands in the middle and fiddling with his waistband. He shivers, but continues to play.

He hadn’t been purposely edging himself, and he definitely knows that you would help him whenever he asked, but with all the schoolwork piled on top of him, it never crossed his mind. It was now though, and sensitivity was at its highest.

“No, why would you do that; that’s stupid,” Kenma replies to what you assume is a donation. The technological voice isn’t there anymore for you to hear.

The tips of your nails dive past every ounce of clothing settled at his hips.

He shifts in his seat, whether to allow you to pull the band down just enough or to calm his nerves, you don’t know, but the opportunity was right in front of your face. Literally.

You don’t even do anything but hold his length before you start the up and down motions. It’s enough to turn him on more, having him grow in your hand. You can’t imagine the faces he’s making while his viewers’ minds were already polluted.

“Keep going, push,” he exclaims. Voice still soft, but with some sense of urgency.

He was not speaking to you, but you listen anyway, and do as he says. Maybe you could play a game: see how long it takes before he realizes you’re taking orders.

With this, you stroke him a little faster, then run your fleshy thumb over his tip. It began dripping, a single bud threatening to fall. After swiping it away, you disperse what little you could, then wrap your plush lips around his head.

He wasn’t expecting it right after your slow pace.

“Ugh, fuck- third party.”

The groan he emitted was covered quickly by a call, as if that’s what “frustrated” him.

You pop off as quickly as you came, spread your saliva, and now slide your enclosed hand down his cock steadily. Silky smooth, it took no energy to glide along him. Your unoccupied hand squeezes his thigh through the cotton.

“Down, he’s under and one shot.”

You jerk him off as his breathing barely picks up, occasionally coming down to wet him some more, but you see a significant difference when your hand consistently twists just the tip. You’d swirl your tongue around the reddening, most sensitive part of him before dropping even farther to take his balls in your mouth.

You tug and pull harmlessly.

“Hmm...”

Despite what was going on, the streamer was clever with how he hid it.

He asks, “Hey, what do y’all want to hear?”

The viewers were astonished they were being asked; Kenma has previously told them he likes his music and would play whatever he felt like hearing. He did a stream for song recommendations and half of it was him hating on their music and the other half was his viewers attempting to find songs he would like.

Regardless, he unmuted the sound on his computer and turned on the playlist, only slightly louder than usual.

You took this opportunity to actually wrap your lips around his cock, not having to worry about the sounds. You start on the slower side but it didn’t take long to get comfortable. Whatever you couldn’t fit, you jerked off.

His abdomen showcased whatever his face wouldn’t, stuttering every now and then with his hips correcting their position. You brought the wet hand to his balls once more, and attempted to fit all of him down your throat. There was a deep sigh above you.

You closed your eyes and went again, trying to go deeper. You didn’t gag, but your throat made sounds that was enough implication of what was going on. That’s okay though. Some random band one of his mods recommended was playing.

Once more, you tried to go deeper, actually sputtering this time, but once you got past the uncomfortableness of it all, you could go the same depth over and over. You did, breathing through your nose. He could hear your throat, but chat couldn’t. If they could, they would be saying something.

“Oh shit, oh shit, he’s on me,” he huffs, “I’m gonna twist around to cover.”

You remove yourself, partially to breathe, and take two hands to twist on top of each other in opposite directions. His belly button caves in with some more muscles, pure evidence of his pleasure.

This was the second he knew what you were doing. What game you were playing.

If you wanted to play, he could too.

“Where is she?” he reads chat calmly. “I think she’s downstairs eating.”

Was it calm enough—you’re not sure, because he was fidgeting excessively in the leaning chair.

The double entendre has you giggling silently. With a deep breath, you’re back down on him again. It’s not long until you sputter.

“Do you want me to tell her to come back up?” You hear him spit out quickly.

You do as he says, but not without the price of your fingers doubling speed at his head.

“Yeah, I’ll tell her. Hold on.”

With quickness, he mutes and turns his camera off.

He was sweating and physically overwhelmed. Pushing back on his heels, his chair rolls from under the table with you following, finally in his sight. He could already imagine how you looked.

Red lips. Glowing face. Glossy eyes, smiling and happy. You were ethereal. Your hands are working him, but now with his cock down your throat too? Oh my god.

He held a soft touch at your cheek and caressed your face with his thumb. Picking up speed, you smile.

The other hand of his would do the same, brushing a loose stand of hair behind your ear. Faster.

“Just like that,” he breathes.

“Mhmm?” you deepthroat him.

His head drops back involuntarily. His mouth does the same. The heavy breaths that he was holding from the stream let loose.

One last look at your flushed features and-

He groans heavily, adam’s apple bobbing and cock tightening. Skin usually pale but red with desire, he stills.

You close your eyes. It was so fulfilling with your throat stretched and his hands on either side of your plush face.

Warmth seeps past your tongue and down the cavern. It causes you to choke but Kenma definitely doesn’t mind. His sounds flow into your ears, plus some faint praise as he soon begins to release from his high.

You couldn’t taste anything as you slowly raise yourself from him, leaving his cock glistening with saliva and pink, but the taste just barely started to form once it caught your tongue on the way down. You swallow anyway—it wasn’t bad.

You use the back of your hand to wipe your eyes and breathe freely. You lay your cheek on the driest part of his pants, even though you’ll have to get up. You just aren’t ready to see the red wilts on your knees.

“You are amazing,” Kenma catches his breath. He looks back down with his eyes glossed over and tired, but he still runs his finger over your wet lip. You softly kiss it.

. .

“Are you getting back on?” You climb into his fluffy bed, throwing the covers back.

Kenma shakes his head and follows after you in a fresh new set. He grabs the covers and returns them over you both, pushing his hair back and holding you close.

©️ hxltic

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wandasfifthwife · 1 month

Text

(4) bruised ego ✩‧₊˚ competing series

hockey coach!wanda x fem!ex ice skater reader

tw: lots of discussion on dealing with an verbally/physically abusive mother, hurt/comfort, misunderstanding trope, slight argument, Wanda is kind of petty (but she doesn’t fully understand), angst with a happy ending, love confessions, super fluffy ending, there’s kissing at the end

a/n: we already know the drill, it’s not proofread babes. this hurt my soul to write, but the ending is so worth it.

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We have about 6,000 thoughts daily, and a majority of them are the same idea just repeated. Studies show that another majority of those thoughts are negative.

There were days when it felt like the stats were wrong because some days you feel like every thought is negative. The reason for that being your mother. She wasn’t with you physically, but her words still stuck.

If you were in bed too long, you could hear her telling you to get up. If you ate something with too many carbs, you could hear her telling you to put it away. If you spoke back to someone, you could hear her screaming. Some days you think you can still feel the burn of her hand on your cheek.

The triggers for these days are unknown. You do your best to block it out and seem positive as to not bother anyone, but you believe what she’s done is so ingrained in you it’s like your own thoughts.

Your girlfriend has been wonderful. A listener, provider, friend. She’s the first thing that’s felt like home in a long time. So it’s no surprise that you felt like you would scare her away. They made themselves known one weekend when wanda was out of town visiting family. Being back in your apartment with barely any stimulation was like leaving an open seat for the devil to arrive.

It started out simple. Just about yourself and how down you can be. It was somewhat positive as you had tried and successfully held off a few of them. You had to remind yourself of how grateful you should be, of how you’ve got a brother who cares, and a lovely girlfriend.

It started twisting out of control when it went past a day. One popping out of nowhere saying how down you are. It then did the worst by bringing Wanda into it. Why would she want to stay with someone who requires so much work? The emotional load on you felt treacherous; One you cannot handle most days, so how could Wanda?

It’s been two days since she’s been gone and since your triggered spiral. Wanda had called you when you were eating dinner. You hesitated, hand twitching from where it lay on your lap. You could text her to call you back later. It might be better to not drag her into it so soon. You can deal with your own thoughts yourself.

The two days turned into four, and the one missed call turned into six.

Your mind felt heavy. No matter where you went you could feel tears building in your eyes. Why weren’t you good enough for your mother. Why have you failed at a social life. Why did Wanda care for someone like you when she could have another who has their life together.

It was disgusting to talk about yourself like that, but how are you supposed to know after the childhood you had? Any compliment given to you felt like a non-stick band-aid. It’s purpose to cover a wound, but it falls off. It all felt like lies.

After five days your phone went silent. It still lit up, a text from Wanda asking if you were okay. To not worry her, you told her you were fine, just tired.

On Wanda’s end she was confused, concerned, and hurt. Her calls went unanswered and her tests went unread unless they were serious. Her last choice was to give you space and let you come to her.

It was mistake on both ends. A tiny crack changing into a chasm. Silence became common, but extremely uncomfortable between the two of you. No texts, no calls, radio silence.

When Wanda had come back, she had a sliver of hope you’d show up to practice and explain all of what was going on. When you realized practice was tomorrow, you had hope that Wanda would be ecstatic to see you and explain how she does need you.

Neither happened.

You were full of anxiety walking into the building, ears ringing. Tyler had been looking over at you often, but he’s been with you longer and understands. Wanda didn’t understand, watching from afar as you don’t think to come find her like before. It was like two separate people, you before she left and when she came back. She called everyone over and began practice as usual.

You felt an ache start in your chest, one pure as opposed to the others. It begged for you to seek comfort, for her to tell you it was all alright. You were fearful though, scared if you came to her she would react like your mother. The second practice was over you were almost rushing out, heart beating like it was going to fall out. Wanda had skated to the exit, previous emotions highlighted after what just happened.

“You need to talk to her, I haven’t seen you like this in—“

“I really don’t want to talk about this Tyler. I don’t want to hear another thing that I’m messing up alright?”

He nodded and swallows, looking out the window. Another mistake your mother would have represented you for. What kind of aunt talks to their nephew like that?

You drop him off and sit alone in your car for a minute. Wanda’s house was closer. And oh how every part of you aches for her to hold you near. So you give in and type her address in on your phone.

Your chest feels like it’s squeezing as you walk up the stairs to her apartment. With her door in front of you, you knock. Chest filled with hope that she talk with you, let alone be home.

“Oh,” she opens the door and crosses her arms, “why’re you here?“

“Wanted to see you.”

“And why now instead of three days ago? What’s up with this new avoidant attitude?”

Your voice gets caught in your voice, “nothing. Can I just come in, please?”

“It’s not nothing,” she huffs, “why is it so difficult for you to tell me? Busy at work?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“I would have understood if you would have communicated that? Leaving someone in the darkShe steps back so she can place her hand on the door. You feel your eyes water as she begins to close the door.

“I need some time,” is the last thing she says before the door is shut in your face.

Your tears feel like they’re drying up as hurt and shock fills up every bone in your body. It was the last thing you had hoped to happen. You regretted driving here, now you have to deal with blurry highways. You wipe at your face with your sleeve and climb back into your car. You really surprise yourself at how you keep your composure until you’re back in your own apartment complex.

A cry comes from deep within you, one different from the previous days. This one hurt.

.˚₊┈୨♡୧┈₊˚.

Your days felt empty. It was hard most days to get out of bed and concentrate. You were thankful work wasn’t miserable, it ran its usual course for a typical 9-5 job.

Your brother tried his best, but gave you space unless you intentionally seemed him out. He was deeply saddened when you had came to him the night after you had fought with Wanda. His house was opened to you that night. It usually is, but it was especially after that day.

You continued to take Tyler to practice. Each trip there felt like you were chipping away at your heart. Wanda wouldn’t look at you and it felt worse than her glaring at you. Now you regret not answering her first call and being truthful.

Your thoughts shifted. Once being self destructive and now they’re empty. You would avoid looking in Wanda’s direction and now she’s what your eyes are looking for when you walk in the arena.

You were sat on the bleachers, watching Tyler play and occasionally looking over to Wanda. You tried to have hope that she would look over to you, acknowledge that you were there. It was another day of mourning what would never happen.

Your chest heaves and you’re quick to clamber down the steps. A few steps is all it took to carry yourself outside. Nothing on your mind but to leave before your tears would be a show for everyone around you. It was moments like these that made you wonder why anyone would want to seek out drama.

You gasp once you’re outside, trying to breathe in the fresh air but it feels like you can’t fully take a breath. The door behind you shuts, catching you off guard. You twist around and falter when you see Wanda.

“Wanda,” you cry.

Her eyes are sad as she watches you crumble, hands already reaching for you. You sink into her, hands moving around her to pull at the back of her long sleeve. Listening to your cries break her, tears forming in her own eyes as she stands there with you. Once the tears begin to quit, your face grows warm at noticing a family at the playground nearby.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice cracking.

“No reason to be. You’re not required to wait until the perfect moment to cry, sometimes it just happens,” she runs a hand over your face, wiping her fingers over your puffy, tear-stained eyes.

“Tyler told me to come find you.”

“Oh, practice—“ you started to tear up again and she’s quick to be stern with you.

“Do not feel bad or apologize for anything else. I want you to stop being so hard on yourself. Listen to me. Practice ended. Tyler’s dad is coming to pick him up. Im going to pack up and then we’re going to leave, okay? I want you to quiet that mind, if you need me I’ll be right beside you, alright?”

You nod. Her hand finds yours, pulling you through the arena as she finishes up. She grabs any remaining hockey sticks, setting them back in the closet. You follow her around aimlessly, occasionally helping her.

“I parked out back this time,” she grabs her bag and keys off the stand, eyes looking to you after. She asks how you’re feeling, and this time you’re honey. You shrug.

“Let’s go home.”

.˚₊┈୨♡୧┈₊˚.

You’re not even a step into her apartment before she’s pulling you into a hug. A shaky sigh escaping her like she’s trying not to cry.

Your head hurts miserably from crying everyday, but hearing her hold it back causes another wave. It hurts when they form, but they still make an appearance, showing that your heart still has space to be wounded.

“While I do wish you’d have told me earlier that you’ve been feeling this way, I am not upset or angry at you for it,” she sets her forehead on yours.

“I am so sorry,” she cups your cheek as her own tears fall, “I said things I should have never said. And I pushed you away when I should have held you closer.”

“I don’t care,” you tuck your face under hers, “can we talk about this mess later.”

You feel her head move in a nod. Her hands pull you towards her room, where you both fall onto it.

She smiles, but it doesn’t feel real. You turn around so you can slide back into her. Wanda wraps her arms around you, pulling you close to her and sets her face on your shoulder.

“I’ve missed you.”

“Understatement,” you say and she laughs softly.

She presses a kiss to your cheek, “I want to stay here like this forever.”

“I love you.”

The three words take her back. Before you know it you’ve started another cry session. She flips you onto your back, smiling at the sounds you make when she kisses your face.

“Kiss me properly,” you demand, hands firmly holding her face in place. Wanda closes the gap, pulling your face closer and deepening it.

“I love you too,” she whispers against your lips, pressing a kiss between each word. Her arms wrap around you again, holding you tight. Being around her like this quiets all thoughts.

Resolving and moving past the situation will take open communication, but you’re both willing to take another chance. It was after you talked that you both realized the importance of being open with your partner as to not cause a misunderstanding. You both made an effort to not do anything before again. It took a little to work past the after-conflict. After a week, it was in the past. Every moment spent together was like you were mending what happened, and working towards the next day. Confessions and spending time together became frequent.

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@dorabledewdroop @aru-son @thelittleliars

@sokovianbaby @natsbiggestfan1

@r0manxff @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

@emiliaisdead @esposadejoyhuerta

@casquinhaa @scarlettbitchx

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #marvel wanda maximoff #cute wanda maximommy #wanda marvel #competing series #hockey coach!wanda

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willowser · 5 months

Text

now i wake up by your side—

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 2.8k+

tags: u.a. college au, canon-compliant, reader has a telekinesis/telepathic quirk, references (and potential spoilers) for the current arc in the manga, angst, a lot of secret hidden feelies

tysm to @alrightberries for giving me the opportunity to bring this lil thought of yours to life 🥺 your patience and understanding during the time it took me to write this is so appreciated it, and tbh you're the reason i'm even still here right now LOL you're so sweet, and i hold your kindness so close to my heart. i wish i could convey how much it means to me. i hope i did this even a lil justice !! happy birthday dear !!!! 🥺🩷✨️

Sero dreams of watching the sunrise on top of the Roppongi Observatory.

It’s a beautiful sight, one you’ve never seen with your own eyes, but you soak in the warmth flushing across his cheeks and the anticipated break of morning through the clouds. When he takes in a hefty breath, you feel the spring chill sting inside his chest, crisp and clear, like it’s you breathing instead of him, and it’s almost comforting enough to lull you to sleep, too.

But a clay pot shattering against a nearby bench has your eyes springing open, ripped from the haven you’d been lost to.

You have to blink several times in order to fight through the exhaustion wearing you thin, but the evening returns to you in small, bleary doses. It’s the middle of the night—or at least it was when you’d first wandered out to the training field, and you can’t be sure how many hours have passed since then. Across the yard, you’ve successfully managed to carry four pots from the garden plot near the entrance all the way to your feet with your Quirk— but number five sits in pieces in the grass.

You’ll have to clean that up by morning or Eraser will make you run laps until you puke. Again.

Kirishima flits through your mind in a suit and tie: not as a Hero, but a spy of some kind, chasing down men with masks covering their faces and wielding a gun that looks odd in his hands, even in his own dream. Despite being back in the dorms, stories up and near the end of the hall, you can see it—hear him yelling out at the criminal to stop, feel the thud of the ground under his feet. His own determination blares through you like a freight train, as strong and damning as he is, and you fight to force yourself back inside your own shoes as you try to carry another pot.

Recovery Girl used to tell you that you did this to yourself: all your worry about losing sleep psyching yourself out of it completely, chasing it away before it even had the chance. When everyone is getting ready for bed, heading out of the common room and hitting the showers, you can feel that suspense building; what will come across tonight while everyone dreams? Fantasies? Or nightmares?

During the day it’s easier to drown out the foot-traffic of everyone’s thoughts—you do it without trying, now—but your brain needs rest, too. Letting go of control for even a second, just to get some shut eye is—

Something frightening is outlined in your peripheral vision, the dash of a pale shape you aren’t able to discern before it’s gone. The air turns metallic and stale and you can hear water sloshing, though you’re nowhere near the pools. All your blood rushes in your ears and your fingers curl, like you’re gripping your seat—gripping the edge of the couch in the common room, where you’d been sitting beside Mina when Kaminari put on that horror movie. The one with the—

“The hell are you doin’?”

Your eyes snap open for the hundredth time that night—show over, credits rolling—and it’s Bakugou. Standing only feet away from the new set of clay shards of your failure, tangible and real and staring at you with an intensity not even your dreams could mimic.

You blink, eyes stinging and heavy. You must look insane. “Oh, hey,” the voice that comes out of you is far-away, chartered off to distant lands, and he notices immediately, focus razor-sharp despite how late it is. “What did you say?”

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, like he’s offended at having to repeat himself. “I said, what the hell are you doin’? It’s nearly 2 in the morning and you’re out here throwin’ shit around in your fuckin’ pajamas.”

Almost on cue, the breeze brushes past your legs, chilly enough to have you shivering, and you peek down at them as if you don’t know what they look like. The sweater you’re wearing is from second year and the U.A. logo is half-worn off, but it’s the comfiest thing you own and if you’re going to be plagued all night by the forced intimacy of your classmates’ dreams—you at least want to be cozy.

When you look back up at him, Bakugou is pointedly looking away, taking interest in something other than your wimpy state of dress.

It dawns on you then that he’s out here, too, in sweats and a simple back sweatshirt, hair a messy, golden halo in the pale, buzzing field lights. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think his face was a little rosy, but—maybe you’re seeing things.

Still. Being out and away from everyone, alone with Bakugou, makes your stomach tighten horribly. Like you’ve done too many sit-ups.

You try to brush off your sudden bout of shyness, because you know he’ll clock that in no time, too. “Well, I could ask you the same thing.” At the raise of your eyebrows, he only tchs, and casts you a filthy look. “But I think maybe I’ll just mind my own business.”

The face he makes is so awful and hot-blooded that you laugh, truly and earnestly, enough that a headache pulses to life. You wince, and the stream of pain that shoots down the middle of your skull brings back that image of Kirishima’s action-thriller: blood and knives, the sound of skin on skin, a fist against cheekbones, the ugly snap of breaking—

“Oi.”

Bakugou is closer than before, when you’re grounded back inside yourself. At least no pots have been broken this time. Less to clean up.

“Sorry,” you shoot him an apologetic smile that you know he must hate. “It’s just so—” your hand feels like it’s made of lead, but you drag it up to massage slow circles into your temple, trying not to grit your teeth and worsen the pounding in your head. “So loud sometimes.”

He’s silent until the pain ebbs out, and when you can blink without flinching, you peek up to catch how intently he’s watching your face. In the night like this, his eyelashes seem darker, longer, a kind of haunting beauty you would dream about, if you could get some sleep.

Again, you think of Kaminari’s horror movie, legs pressed against Mina’s under the heavy comforter she’d brought down from her room. It’s warm, the kind of pink, fluffy thing you’d imagine a girl like her to have—but it didn’t stop you from shivering every time you chanced a glance at Bakugou and found him already staring back.

The heat in your cheeks spreads to the back of your neck, so immediate that you think you might start sweating. “Dreams and stuff,” you murmur, by way of an explanation, “nightmares, sometimes.”

Bakugou's frown deepens, the muscle in his jaw tightening once as he grits his teeth. “What, you can just…hear that shit all night?”

“Usually,” you shrug, “It just comes in, you know? And I—” you steal another glance at him, aware, then, of just how intrusive you might sound. The veil of privacy is thin between you and others, and they don't often like being reminded of that. “Not for you, though. I don't—I don't get anything from you.”

And it's true, frustratingly enough. Not that you are ever intentionally peeking into anyone's head, but things slip through, occasionally—sudden reactions, wild, loose trains of thought.

Bakugou's face twists, regardless, and you're reminded of all the times you've been forced to spar together, at Eraser's behest. One of the smartest in your class, quick on his feet and never without a plan; every time you've managed to get a hand on Bakugou, there's been nothing but a sea-shore calm.

It's hard to do and, at this point in your life, you've seen a thousand people try it—but he's the only one that's ever succeeded in keeping you at bay.

Nothing in his expression changes, but all your nerves spread to your voice until it shakes. “You're—I don't look in there, of course, but it's—you've always been…” Bakugou is terrible at taking compliments, you know that, almost as bad as you are at giving them. “Pretty, I guess.”

Awful, at giving them.

Embarrassment floods him, suddenly stained pink as he curls into himself. “Piss off,” he barks, and though he’s scowling at you in what must be disgust—you can’t help but to smile at how aggressively bashful he is.

You almost get the guts to make matters worse, just because you can. Admit how handsome you’ve come to find him, after the last few years, until his face is steaming in the sweet nighttime chill; the kind of intimacy you wouldn’t mind dreaming about again and again.

The absence of his thoughts are a comfort for your tired mind, has all the harsh edges of night fading into something a little easier to swallow, to breathe in. You know he does it on purpose as a strictly defensive move, but you almost want to thank him. For the quiet.

You don’t know if it’s from you or him, but when you reach a hand up to hover near his temple, the air buzzes between you, gently. Charged with that same thing that had you unable to look away from him in the common room only days ago. “In here, I mean,” you murmur, and the smile you pull on feels lame, but it’s as genuine as ever. “I don’t know, I don’t know how you do it. But it’s…nice.”

You’ve seen him die a thousand times.

Mostly in Midoriya’s dreams, sometimes in Eraser’s when he nods off during last period, but that horror—like many others, from that day—stains you all. When dinner is put away and showers are finished and the lights go out and the flood gates open, someone almost always relives the ugliness of it all; you’re more familiar with that moment than you are with any of your own.

Here and now, you close your eyes and see Jirou staring back at you, face beautiful and full of hope. You see Kirishima’s torn suit jacket and the blood on his cheek and the empty gun in his hand, the most dedicated secret agent. Aoyama is dreaming of his mother, something warm that makes you feel like you’re dazzling, too.

And yet—Bakugou is silent. Even right in front of you. Even after everything.

If anyone deserves the peace and quiet, you suppose it ought to be him.

“When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

You blink until his blurry figure is clear, and it’s like you can physically feel whatever energy you had left seeping from your body at the mere mention of sleep. “Maybe a morning or two ago,” you tell him truthfully, “I usually pass out after a few rounds of ‘throwin’ shit around’.”

Bakugou only stares at you as he digests the words, and once he’s gotten them down, he shakes his head before looking out over the mess you’ve made of the training field. With his head turned like this, you can take in the full weight of his scar—the one that’s wide and still baby-pink across his cheek.

You almost get the guts to tell him he’s handsome. Almost.

Frustration is evident on his face when he looks back at you, but his voice comes out softer than you expect, like he's struggling to get out any words at all. “Can’t keep doin’ this,” he chastises. “Can’t be a Hero if you’re half asleep all the time. Gotta figure this shit out.”

“I am,” you give a lazy wave to your pots, “What’s wrong with this solution?”

“It's ass.”

“Alright, you have any better ideas, pretty boy?”

He bristles, visibly enough to have you snickering, and—you’re not sure what you expect of him; to continue his griping or leave you to your own devices, building his walls up high as he always does. Ever the fighter, ever the protector; maybe it’s a good thing, you tell yourself, because you’re weak like this and one of you needs to be thinking straight.

Despite his flush, there’s a playfulness to his grouchy expression, his raspy tone—and it has you leaning too far into things you don’t know how to name.

You never know what to expect of him.

There’s the slightest brush of skin against the back of your hand, and when you drop your eyes to the slowly-dwindling space between you—the rough pads of his fingers are touching you, gently. Softly enough to be the breeze, if it weren’t so warm.

You’re afraid to look at him, suddenly, like it will break whatever spell the night is casting over both of you; instead you press your lips together to stop their wobbling and the smile fighting to give you away. You’re waiting for that sea-shore calm, that quiet comfort, whatever it is he’s trying to offer you, strangely enough, in this moment. When you turn your hand over to catch his, the air buzzes again and the blood rushes in your ears.

You focus and—all you can see is your own face staring back at you. In a flash, like he’s cycling through his cards in a hurry, trying to find the best one.

You, across the arena during the entrance exam. You, in the locker room before the Sport's Festival. You, sitting in the common room during Christmas. You, ruined with tears and your own blood and covered in grime, on the darkest day of your life.

You, now. On the field in the stale light, prettier than you think you must look, for being so exhausted, the lines of your smile deep as you grin up at him.

—And then there's nothing.

The absence of noise is louder than anything. A stark, white silence that cuts through; a different world trickling away. A single touch and a little focus is all it takes to take root inside someone’s head and that’s always felt like a weapon, but now it feels like coming inside from a snowstorm, relief shuddering down your spine. Everyone else's fears and nerves and heartaches dissolve until they’re only a bitter taste at the back of your throat. Something far, far behind you

There’s just Bakugou. A strong silence that feels impenetrable, invulnerable to the outside. The steady beat of his heart is comforting in a way you didn’t realize it would be, has that bloody, dead-eyed image of him shifting into something else: another moment in Midoriya’s memories, of his silhouette standing in the sun, tall and fierce and alive.

Returned. Here and now with you, after numerous, unforeseen turns of events. You wonder if the ease surrounding you is his own, something else he’s sharing—or if this is just how it feels to be with him after so long. Maybe in the past it was different—you know it was; during the entrance exam, during the Sport’s Festival—but now you feel more relaxed than you ever have. A reminder that, no matter how dark the nights get, the sun is only just beyond the horizon.

Returned, comforting and quiet.

(You won't know this until much later, but your hand will go slack in Katsuki's and his fingers will tighten around your own because he's not ready to let go yet. When your knees buckle, he'll already be there, awkwardly holding you up against his shoulder as his face flames and his eyes dart around the empty field, checking for any shitty snoops.

Ears is always up damn late, too, and there's a decent chance he'd get caught trying to haul you back to your room on the third fuckin’ floor, so there's really no better option than to gently lower you both to the grass. After a couple of minutes with no movement, the field lights will shut off and only the distant glow of the stars will remain.)

(You won't know this until much later, but Katsuki will arrange the both of you so that your head isn't slumped on the hard ground, but resting on the plush of his bicep, an arm around your shoulders so that the warmth can be shared between you both. His heart will pound hard enough in his chest to be worrisome, and every time you shuffle and scoot closer to him and nudge your nose into his sweater—Katsuki will fight to stay open and true, only honest with you in this wordless way.)

(You won't know this until the sun rises high behind your lids and your bones ache and he’s shown you things he could never say, but it's the best sleep you think you've ever gotten. With him, under the stars, surrounded by his calm and his constant.)

(You won't remember this but in your dream—your real dream, born from with solace Katsuki offers you—the morning will rise and settle in and he'll walk you back to your room despite the stares and in the elevator when you're alone, his lips will touch yours and you'll feel his heart in your chest and his nerves in your stomach and his fear and relief all in one.)

(And right away, when you wake up, you'll finally have a name for this thing that's been blooming between you both for as long as you can remember—and he will, too.)

#i was so nervous about getting the quirk right kahfkahf #and then i was so nervous about it being fluffy enough bc the first draft of this was too angsty ??#SO I REWROTE IT LOL #i hope this is okay !! 🥺#i love the idea of bakugou being able to express how he feels in emotion only #that the fear he doesn't know how to name or how to explain or understand is conveyed to you somehow #whenever he touches you #🥺#tysm for giving me the chance to write it !!!#literally no but seriously you're the only reason i haven't privated this blog again LMAOOO tysm 🥺#✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

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bandgie · 5 months

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Hi! I ABSOLUTELY LOVED your Beast of a Man tarzan!smut. Seriously it was so engaging and you wrote him so well (HES SO HOT AGHH). He's such a hot character idk why others don't write about him, I'm starved for Tarzan fics...

Could you please make a part 2 to the smut? You have such a great/smutty idea going I would love to see you continue it!!

It would mean everything to me!

( ^◡^)

a/n: hi yes thank you so much and ofc! it's been so long since I've written smut on Tarzan so please bear with me! (fic anon is referring to here)

synopsis: You have successfully brought back the ape-man for research. Despite behaving like an animal, he's a lot more human in more ways than you originally thought.

warnings: MDNI 18+, recording during sex, oral (m!), 69ing, semi-public oral sex, cumming in mouth (m!&f!), rough throat fucking (f!rec), cum eating (m!&f!)

2.8k words

"Who the fuck is this?!"

Your colleagues screamed and ran upon seeing who, more like what, you brought back to camp. They hopped up on tables and held up papers as weapons. They eyed you both wearily, on the verge of tears as you stood just a few feet away.

"I think that's a bit extreme," you sigh.

The ape-man was beside you, clinging onto your leg like a child would do with a mother. He, too, was very wary around these strangers. You could hear him grunting and pulling at you as if keeping you from getting too close.

Cute yes, but this would mean it would take a lot of work to build trust in the entire group.

Slowly, the fellow researchers began to try and communicate with the man. Talking slowly and softly, just like you showed them to. All of you agreed that this being could be the missing link, the answer to the question anthropologists have tried to find for decades.

It took over a month for everyone to be comfortable around one another, but of course, another issue was raised.

"So does he just not have a name?" Professor Porter asked.

As of now, you all were just calling him 'the ape-man' or 'hey you' to get his attention. It never crossed your mind to give him an actual name.

"We're not gonna name that beast," Clayton butted his way into the conversation. Clayton, as big and strong as he was, seems the most afraid of your new friend. He's hostile, rude, and arrogant. Even if the ape-man cannot understand the words thrown at him, he can feel them.

The best thing to do in these situations was to ignore Clayton, he just loves the sound of his own voice.

"No," you turn your attention back to the professor. "Not that I know of at least. Should we come up with one?"

"Oh great," there's heavy sarcasm laced in Clayton's voice. "Here you are naming a dog you're not even gonna keep."

"With no due respect Clayton, please shut the fuck up," Terk, the youngest of you, speaks. Terk is small for his age, but he has built. A hairy man who's lively, talkative, and one of the natives that live here. He and the ape-man get along well, a little too well sometimes.

Clayton flips Terk the bird.

"A name for him would be nice, yes." The professor looks as though he's sweating from the tense atmosphere. "Do come up with one dear, I think the missing link would rather you do it."

It's no secret that the ape-man prefers you over the other researchers. He's constantly at your hip, following you like you have an invisible leash on him. Your colleagues, however, don't know how close you two actually are.

The conversation stays in your head for the rest of the day. A name. A name. Something everyone has yet is unbelievably difficult to come up with. Hundreds of possibilities run through your mind as you carry out your daily tasks. Even the ape-man, who's used to you ruffling his hair, grows confused about your behavior.

Nightfall comes with everyone in their tents and you still haven't come up with a name.

With a groan, you turn on your side to see the very person who's making you struggle already looking at you. His eyes are dark, but the candle in your tent lights up his features just enough. You reach out and brush a lock of hair out of his face, watching how he moves to try and get you to touch his skin.

You settle with resting the palm of your hand on his cheek, rubbing your thumb over it.

"A name," you tsk. You narrow your eyes and let your gaze travel over his body. He needs to look like his name, that's a must. "Hey, do you know what a name is?"

He doesn't answer.

"Something to call you. That's a name. Do you have one?"

He stares at you.

Well, this is going to be harder than you thought.

Pursing your lips, you say the first name that comes to mind, "Edward?"

He reacts to that. His calm expression turns into a scowl, bushy eyebrows coming together. You quietly laugh and shake your head, "Not that one okay."

"Tony?"

He frowns.

"Taren?"

He pouts.

"Okay, okay. I think I got it...Garrett."

The ape-man groans, mimicking the behavior he's seen you do hundreds of times. It shocks you to see him act so human, so you. It's equally adorable as it is terrifying.

He's gotten closer to you, a breath away. The proximity used to freak you out, but you've learned it’s how he shows his affection. His trust.

The ape-man is waiting for you to say a word he likes, a sound that comes off your tongue magically. Judging from your facial expression and earlier absent behavior, this is an important task for you.

You want the name to be strong, versatile, and not easily replaceable. The being you've found is one-of-a-kind, it's only fair his name is as well. You play with a few letters in your head, bouncing them in your mind until you think of one that suits him.

"What about Tarzan then? Do you like that one?"

His pupils dilate, watching your beautiful lips pronounce the word. His word.

"Yes."

You gasp, sitting up abruptly. Your sudden movements make him panic as he sits up with you. He scans the tent to find an intruder while you sit there stunned.

He spoke. The ape-man no! Tarzan just spoke to you. He understood language and used it, even if it was just a mere word. A one-syllable answer that has shaken you to your core.

"Oh my god. You just, Tarzan you just spoke. Holy shit, say it again. I need to capture this on video." You ruffle through your bag looking for your camera.

Tarzan stops searching the tent and looks back at you looking as confused as ever. Like he didn't just display human speech in a mere month.

Quickly, you pull out the camera and hit record, aiming the lens at Tarzan's hard, yet beautiful features.

"Repeat what you just said," you look at him through the monitor. Instead of complying, Tarzan stares blankly into the lens. "Do you like the name Tarzan?" You press.

No answer, his eyes flick from the red light to your eyes.

"Come on! Just tell me whether or not you like the name." You're starting to grow impatient. At this point, you're convinced he's just being an ass.

Finally, he adjusts his seating position. Tarzan glances down at his crotch then back up to you, then back to his crotch. You follow his gaze, trying to understand what he's trying to say. Then it clicks.

Compensation. If you want him to do you a favor, you have to do him one as well.

"Are you being serious?" You sigh at him. Tarzan gives a faint nod to you. Even if he can't do so, you swear you see him smirk. Asshole. Setting the camera down, you angle it towards the two of you. Might as well have fun with it.

You crawl your way towards him, parting his thighs slightly before giving him a playful glare, "You're such a man sometimes."

Unlike before, Tarzan wears cargo shorts rather than a mere piece of clothes from last time. Professor Porter made it clear that if he was to hang amongst you all, clothes were necessary.

They suited him nicely, even now. The way the material hugs his toned thighs, how his cock bulges through the shorts even when he isn’t hard. You couldn't help but run your hands along his muscular legs, finding his crotch.

He groaned as you palmed him, straining to not thrust his hips up. Tarzan learned to be patient with you, especially in the presence of others. Most animals didn't care whether they mated alone or in their pack. Even if Tarzan was raised by those animals, the thought of others hearing the sounds you make for him is repulsive.

Instead, he has to settle for brushing your hair from your face as you undo his buttons. Delicate fingers unzipping the seam until his half-hard cock sprouts in your face.

It doesn't matter how many times you've seen his dick, it makes your pussy quiver every time. All you can think about is how perfectly it stretches you, how the tip slides against your cunt deliciously. Your mouth salivates at the memory, and you let your spit drool off your tongue to land on his cock.

Tarzan loves the sigh. A pink tongue just hovering over his length. He also remembers the feeling of your hot mouth on him. The way your lips slowly come closer to the crown of his head, how your breath wafts over him. It feels euphoric when you finally make contact with him, mouth enclosing his flushed head.

It's so warm in your mouth, smooth as you lightly suck on him. The hand on your head slightly grips your hair, a sign that he likes the slow pace you've set. You hum around his cock, taking him a little deeper as you widen your jaw.

One of your hands makes way to grip the base, pulling the skin upwards in a stroking motion.

This makes his hips jerk, gagging you for just a split second. Your wide eyes look up at him, small tears peeking at the corners. Tarzan gives an apologetic look, but the sight of your teary eyes and pretty lips around his cock makes him fuck up toward you again.

You pull away from him, earning a whine as Tarzan throws his head back dramatically.

Maybe he thinks you're going to stop as punishment, but it's quite the opposite. Your cunt is sopping from tasting him, even if it was for a brief moment. Even if you have a task at hand, and your camera is still recording for 'research,' you have your own needs to take care of.

Tarzan is none the wiser as you put a hand on his bare chest and lay him down. He eyes you curiously but lets you push him all the way down before hopping on top. His eyes widen as he's faced with your clothed cunt. Underwear the same color as your tongue that holds the strongest smell of you.

He doesn't need any directions as he dives his nose into you. Tarzan is obsessed with your natural smell. His nose immediately grows damp from your wetness, his tongue poking out to lick the juices that leak out.

Softly moaning, you take a hold of his cock once more. You pump it a few times before taking it into your mouth. It's surprising to see that he's not humping in your mouth like normal, but he's so distracted with your pussy that he can't seem to bother noticing his own pleasure.

It's hard to focus on his hard length as his teeth tear off your panties. You gasp when you hear the fabric split, but it turns into a whine when his tongue finally makes contact with your bare cunt.

Tarzan has to grip your hips to keep you still. As much as he would love for you to grind on his face, he needs to have his meal first. His tongue runs over your folds, finding that little bud you love so much to be touched.

He sucks on it and pulls, stretching your clit. Your legs shake and you have to pull away from his cock to catch your breath. Lazy hands stroke his hard-on as you look back. You clench at the sight of his unruly hair peeking above your ass, the sounds his mouth makes as he laps at you.

Turning back to your literal task at hand, you find the energy to take his cock once more. You unhinge your jaw and exhale, taking Tarzan deeper and deeper until your eyes roll back. You hollow your cheeks and suck, moving your head back up until just the tip remains in your mouth, and go all the way back down.

Now Tarzan can feel the bliss of your mouth on him. He moans into your pussy and slightly jerks his hips up, making you gag around him once more.

Feeling you work so hard makes him want to reciprocate. He shakes his head left and right to try and bury himself deeper. He uses his grip to force you further onto his face. Tarzan's tongue finds the squeezing entrance that he's breached so many times. He digs his tongue into you, finally getting a taste of you from the source.

He's guiding your hips so you could drag your pussy against him how you like. Tarzan can feel your hips trying to pull away from him as the feeling of his tongue has gotten too much. And it has.

You're trying to distract yourself by deepthroating him, but it's no use. All you can feel is his experienced mouth, how he remembers every detail he knows you like. You can feel your orgasm approaching, and how it builds in your stomach rapidly.

Tarzan feels your legs shake. Your thighs trembling and giving out, full lower body weight on his face. He can taste how the wetness has changed, thicker and tart. Tarzan knows this taste like the back of his hand. You're going to cum, give him that white cream he loves licking out of you.

You've completely stopped paying attention to his dick. A part of you should feel bad for neglecting him, but you can't seem to care as Tarzan's tongue fucks you. Instead, you find yourself humping his face, his mouth following as you approach your high.

You squeal as you come, clamping a hand over your mouth as you finish. Warm gushes out of you, body quivering as the eager man under you happily drinks it all. Tarzan gulps and slurps until he's beginning dripping from the corners of his mouth.

He takes and takes until you're the one having to tell him no more, that you can't handle another orgasm.

Tarzan hears the desperation in your voice, the way you plead. It takes strength for him to pull away from your pussy, a soft growl emitting from his chest.

Then his thighs wrap around your head, securing you in front of his cock. You have no time to question him as you involuntarily take his cock into your mouth.

There's so much pre-cum dripping from the slit that all you can taste is its saltiness. He's throbbing, fucking his hips into your mouth as he holds you still with his legs.

All you can do is take it. Lips wrapping around his girth as he desperately slides his dick in and out. You gag and silently plead for Tarzan to be gentler, but he's having none of it. Your hands warp around his thighs to steady yourself, your head bobbing uncontrollably to match his movements.

Tarzan twitches in your mouth once, stilling his hips deep into your throat. Tears immediately prick your eyes and fall down your face, and you swear your vision goes black for a fraction of a second before he pulls out. You get the chance to gasp for air as he lines up his cock to your lips again and shoves it back in.

You think you might pass out. You're at the mercy of Tarzan, and he's still unable to see how much stronger he is than the average man. Your mouth is nothing but a fleshlight to him as he makes you choke around him. It makes you feel like a toy, a warm hole for him to fuck his seed into.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

The familiar twitch in his cock occurs again. Once, twice, then three times before he unloads in your mouth. Hot spurts of his cum find themselves in your throat, forcing you to gulp it down.

Tarzan's hips slow, letting his cock drag against your lips before he finally pulls out. You cough and pant as his orgasm drips from your tongue.

His thighs release you and you promptly plop down on them. You feel his hands rub soothingly over the curve of your ass, up and down your thighs. And an extra apology, Tarzan presses a kiss to your throbbing pussy. You chuckle and kiss his thigh back before sitting up, hoping off his face.

You have to crawl to grab your camera, breathing a sigh of relief to see the red light still shining. You aim the lens at his face as he too sits up. You can see the arousal on his face from eating you out, his swollen lips, and messy hair.

"So," you start. "Tell me, Tarzan, did you like that?"

Tarzan's lips quirk into what you think is a smile before he looks at you directly through the camera.

"Yes."

a/n: holy fuck I dont think y'all know how hard this was. I kinda went all out for the first one so the second one was hard as hell to match lmaooo. I physically and mentally can't do a third installment. this is the final one sowwy also I added some characters from the film! hopefully you caught that, I made Terk human, Tarzan needed a friend even if it's a fanfic

#smut #tarzan x reader #tarzan smut #tarzan 1999 #tarzan and his mate #tarzan #beast #jungle smut #tarzan of the apes #tarzan au #tarzan fanfic #holy fuck what do I tag??#professor porter

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hoss-bonaventure · 2 months

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i want to expand on this post just cause i can.

so much of gus and jesse’s relationship is played as an affair. this is only because it makes walt’s anger about their dynamic feel more jilted, like a lover. when he confronts jesse about the two of them having dinner he uses language an excusatory husband would use if he caught his spouse cheating such as “tell me you weren’t as his house last night?” it’s very clearly written as jesse being disloyal to walt and their partnership. now the audience knows that’s just simply not true with jesse literally saying “if you kill mr. white, you’re going to have to kill me too” when he thinks gus is suggesting killing him. he’s devoted to mr. white throughly. even when he’s being shoved into these new situations by mike and gus, there’s never a moment where he thinks about abandoning him. he’s still in the back of his mind through everything, and every character knows this except for walt. that’s what makes most of the build-up leading to gus’s death so ironic. to walt, gus is the other woman who needs to be killed for fraternizing with what’s “his”. in reality, it’s his own brutality and sadistic behavior that is putting a wedge between him and jesse.

it’s very reminiscent of walt finding out about skyler’s affair with ted. he lashes out and throws a tantrum but he never stops for a second and asks why it happened. he never comes to the conclusion that his actions are what’s driving skyler into another’s arms. he plots to get revenge on ted, but it’s never more serious than toxic masculine how-dare-you-sleep-with-my-wife bullshit. he wants to kill him, i don’t doubt that, but he can’t. how can he? killing, torturing, and all that depravity belongs in the “heisenberg” part of his life. he cannot touch ted because he is as mundane as the life he is fronting.

now, i will admit, the skyler affair storyline and jesse’s so-called adultery are really not that similar at all. like i said, jesse is not betraying anyone--he is still fiercely dedicated to mr. white. his unfaithfulness is only interpreted as much by walt himself, and it’s walt’s delusions drive him away in the first place. skyler cheats as a means of revenge, as a way to take back some autonomy that walt had stripped her of. however, it’s the way that walt handles these individual perfidies that’s so captivating to me. when deciding what to do with gus, he immediately decides he needs to kill him. this was his plan prior, but now it’s more dire. jesse is gone. he needs to kill two birds with one stone: win back jesse and kill gus. more importantly, he needs to show jesse that him killing gus was something he did for the both of them. so thus he embarks on this convoluted, deplorable, fucked-up scheme. and hey! it works. he successfully manipulates jesse once again, implanting in his brain that no one will have your best interests at heart but me. “gus had to go” and jesse has to agree because this pseudo-son is dying and mr. white is right there and he saved him right? he saved brock and he saved jesse and it doesn’t matter that their love has a body count. their reunion is so impactful because they’re like magnets in a way. the connection they share is so strong that it doesn’t matter how hard they fight or run away, they will cling to each other once more. but what’s devastating this time around is that jesse doesn’t have a leg to stand on with mr. white anymore. he almost fucking killed him and it turns out the “real” mastermind was gus all along. so he offers his submission as an apology, when mr. white holds out his hand he takes it because this is how he can say he’s sorry. and walt? how could he not fall in love all over again. he has jesse, freshly martyred and in his arms once again.

#i found this in my drafts #tbh i cooked #i miss being able to watch breaking bad without crying #now i can't look at jesse's baby blues without fucking sobbing up a storm #takes me 2 days now to finish one episode #waltjesse #walter white #jesse pinkman #brba #Breaking Bad #Aaron Paul #bryan cranston

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bongo-clash · 1 year

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If I had a nickel for every billionaire that tried to kidnap me, I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice

DP/DC week prompt: Mistaken Identity

'Look, in Bruce Wayne’s defence, he has a lot of children with black hair and blue eyes, and he’d had a very long day. But in Danny’s defence, he has no idea what’s happening right now and, according to his previous experience in being kidnapped by billionaires, his reaction is incredibly reasonable.'

(No content warnings || fic under cut!!)

Danny’s been in Gotham for about a week with his family, and so far it’s honestly been one of their most relaxing vacations to date. Sure, the drive had been long and finding a place to park the RV had been unsurprisingly difficult, but once the initial getting-there-fanfare was over with, everything had been great. The whole ‘not my circus, not my monkeys’ thing had been amazing for his anxiety. The famous Batman was more than capable of dealing with his peanut gallery without some random dead kid intercepting.

Okay, he was a little bit worried about Batman’s ‘no metas’ thing, but there was no good reason the vigilante would find out that little tidbit. It’s not like he’s even a meta in the first place! Being dead is a medical condition. Regardless, he’s doing the sensible thing and not making a show of himself; he may have flown over the top of the city invisibly on the first night to get some good shots to send to his friends, but no one needed to know about that but Sam and her gothic-architecture-inspo wall.

The hotel they’re staying at has good breakfast, the buildings in the inner city look cool as Hell, they already have heroes dealing with their issues so Danny doesn’t have to do anything, and there’s no ghosts barging into his room but the constant chaos of the city still feels homey. Overall, a ten out of ten vacation spot.

Surely, nothing can go wrong.

“Tim? What are you doing here?”

He’s taking a morning walk away from the hotel after he and Jazz successfully convinced their parents he would be fine on his own, and he’d stopped in front of Wayne Enterprises because Tucker would be frankly offended if he didn’t. He ignores the call at first, because he doesn’t know anyone named Tim, and it’s not his business, but that’s clearly shown to be a mistake when the call comes again but closer, and then again, but with a man putting his hand on Danny’s shoulder. He’s turns around to tell whoever it is to clear off when he actually catches sight of the guy’s face.

Sleek black hair, sky-blue eyes, a healthy tan and a very expensive suit. That’s Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne as in the guy who owns the building in front of them. Bruce Wayne as in the multi-billionaire.

Okay, don’t get him wrong, Bruce Wayne does some pretty honourable charity work, and his tech is pretty cool and Tucker’s obsessed with it, but Danny has a very sour history with billionaires and even before he’d met Vlad he wasn’t a fan of them; being friends with Sam for long enough does that to a guy. Dealing with the fruitloop had only cemented what he already knew, and that’s that you shouldn’t trust people that rich as far as you can throw them (or, maybe just not at all, since he figures he could actually throw them pretty damn far, considering the ghost powers).

Plus, Bruce ‘Brucie’ Wayne has this really weird habit of acting like a ditz, and quite frankly, Danny doesn’t buy it. He’s been successfully running a huge company and heading welfare campaigns for years, and if he’s truly as air-headed as he presents himself to be Vlad would’ve snatched up his company and his wealth in a heartbeat. Vlad, who is the other billionaire he knows, who is also pretending to be something he’s not with the whole ‘gentle hermit’ vibe he maintains with the press. No, there’s definitely something weird about Bruce Wayne and he hadn’t particularly wanted to meet the guy to find out what it is.

However, it’s looking like he doesn’t have much choice, what with the man having a hand on his shoulder and being about ten inches from his face. “Uh.” He blurts eloquently. “Hi?”

“Tim,” He repeats, frowning. “Why are you here? I told you to take the day off- don’t tell me you were just planning on sneaking off to work anyway.”

Danny’s certain Tucker mentioned some co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises called Tim, and he’s fairly certain Tucker mentioned he was the same age as them and also Bruce’s ward, but do they really look similar? No one’s ever said they do to his face, and he thought that was the kind of thing people talked about- the whole ‘who’s your celebrity lookalike’. So why-?

…Tucker also mentioned that almost all of Bruce Wayne’s wards have the same black hair and blue eyes. He’d even joked how Danny ‘fit the bill’. Oh no. What if this is an obsession-with-having-a-son-just-like-him thing? Do all billionaires do that or is that just Vlad? He could really do with someone else to compare the guy to that isn’t the fruitloop right now- it’d be really great to have some kind of gauge amongst general average billionaire behaviour so that he actually knew what to do.

Staying quiet to gather his thoughts was apparently not his greatest move, though, because the man’s frown only deepens. Bruce Wayne’s hand moves from the top of his shoulder to his arm, giving it a light squeeze that seems like it’s supposed to be comforting but really just makes him more nervous. “I’m taking you back to the manor. You were supposed to take a day off and I really think relaxing would do you some good.”

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and the smartest of all of them would be to inform him that there’s been a misunderstanding and that he’s just some random tourist who’d been wanting to take some pictures.

“I— what- can’t you just leave me here? Don’t you need to go in there?” Is what he says instead, because fight, flight, or freeze apparently includes brain freeze too. His mom was right, he never should’ve been allowed out unsupervised. Why didn’t he bring Jazz with him?

“The meeting can wait, you’re more important.” The man soothes, and suddenly the hand on his arm is pulling him away, leading him over to an incredibly expensive car and Danny’s so bewildered by the whole situation he doesn’t even fight back. He stands there, limp, as Bruce Wayne opens the car doors, nudges him inside, starts the engine, and drives further and further away from Danny’s hotel.

They’ve been driving for about twenty minutes before his stupor finally breaks, and by then they’ve fully left the bustle of the inner city and entered the sparsely populated realm of high society estates— Bristol, he thinks it was called? Doesn’t matter. He needs to get out and he needed to be out yesterday; he can’t believe he ever thought he could have a remotely sensible vacation. Let your guard down one time and you get kidnapped by a man with more money than everyone else in the state combined (though, to be fair, that sounds more normal given his circumstances than it should. Still, the billionaire being Bruce Wayne isn’t normal).

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and the smartest of all of them would be tell Bruce Wayne that he’d been too shocked to refute the man, but he wasn’t actually his son, and had finally gathered his bearings to say so and was very sorry for causing him undue stress.

Instead, Danny jumps out of a moving car.

Distantly registering the yell of alarm and the screech of the vehicle pulling to a sudden stop, he tanks the roll and springs back up again, taking in his surroundings for all of a second before sprinting in the opposite direction of wherever they’d been going. Bruce Wayne is definitely chasing after him- he can hear the heavy footfalls pounding behind him- but Danny’s been running from his problems for years. There’s no way he’s letting them catch up to him now.

He rounds a corner and disappears into thin air, because Batman’s not a day time hero so what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him and surely he’d get that Danny was only doing it for the sake of his personal safety. I mean, who’s he to say that Bruce Wayne doesn’t layer on his fortunes with the occasional ransom situation? …Maybe not the best excuse he’s ever come up with, but the damage is done now, and he drifts away for a few more minutes until he figures he’s far enough from his initial launch point that he can drop the invisibility.

Looking around, he can tell that he’s definitely lost, his surroundings still reeking of big money and the actual meat of the city barely hanging on the horizon. Well, technically he’s not that lost, given that he can still see inner-Gotham from here, but he doesn’t know where the Hell his hotel is in all that grey, and the walk looks far. While he was willing to risk the momentary power-usage to get himself out of the billionaire’s sights, he figures that trying anything else would be pushing his luck a bit further than it was willing to take him.

He must’ve been thinking about it for a lot longer than he realised, though, because he hears a quiet thud behind him, and there is now a vigilante blocking his exit. Long-ish black hair, an admonishing expression, and a black and blue outfit with a bird decal.

That’s one of the Bats. NIghtwing, he thinks?

Aren’t they all supposed to be nighttime vigilantes?

As if hearing his questions, the taller man tuts, bringing his hands to his hips like his mom does when he breaks curfew. He hasn’t got out the electric-stick-things that he’s pretty sure the guy owns, so that’s good. “Tim,” He starts, tone starkly disappointed, and- hold on, why is Nightwing on a first name basis with the Wayne Enterprises CEO? “I thought B told you to take today off.”

Hold on, that’s a weird thing for a vigilante to know about the Wayne Enterprises CEO, and- Danny’s assuming B means Bruce Wayne- why is he using such a casual nickname for the billionaire? Do they know each other? He supposes it makes sense if they’re all in cahoots, since the Bats’ stuff does seem pretty expensive-looking, but he’d honestly kind of assumed Batman was just some rich reclusive vampire or something. Like Vlad but morally-reversed.

Unless Batman is still a billionaire and not just funded by Bruce Wayne. Nightwing knowing the Tim guy would make sense, then, given they might see each other at rich people things. But, actually, would that make sense? Vigilante socialites don’t usually go around telling their other socialite friends that they’re vigilantes, do they?

Unless Batman is Bruce Wayne. But that’s ridiculous. He’d figured the guy was hiding something, and the hoard of children is kind of indicative of a weird guy generally, but the man being some kind of edgy bat-themed hero in his spare time was just too ridiculous. There’s no way.

…

…Holy shit. Batman is totally Bruce Wayne.

That means that Nightwing is probably one of Bruce Wayne’s many sons, which means that he’s one of Tim Drake-Wayne’s many brothers, which means Bruce Wayne may have called him to chase him down and bring him back to the manor. Even though they shouldn’t be doing that because he isn’t Tim Drake.

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and the smartest of all of them would be tell Nightwing that by some hilarious comedy-of-errors, Bruce Wayne had mistaken him for his son Tim the CEO when he is in fact Danny Fenton the tourist, and he’s very sorry for the fuss he’s caused, but he should probably call his sister to pick him up now, thank you very much.

Instead, Danny feints left and tries to dash out the corner he’d trapped himself in from Nightwing’s other side. Nightwing grabs him like a small dog with one arm and raises a grappling hook to the nearest roof. Danny feels like this is probably karma for all the property damage he’s caused in Amity as they’re flung violently across roofs higher than his town’s tallest apartment complex. He is quickly discovering that being airborne is actually so much worse when you’re not the one in control.

He doesn’t have an awful lot of time to ponder this, however, because they reach what Danny assumes is the Wayne residence soon after. Nightwing does an absolutely terrifying set of flips as they careen over to the other side of the ledge the mansion is on, and lets him go when they’re on the ground to put a finger against his hear, presumably to some communication device.

“I’ve got him, B! We’re outside the Batcave now- yep, all safe- see you in a sec!”

…They’re outside the what now?

Nightwing slings an arm over his shoulder- some mix of friendliness and making sure he doesn’t run away- and leads him into a concealed entrance against the ledge just beneath the Wayne mansion.

He has to be hallucinating at this point. There are actual bats in here. The whole place is scary and dark and gigantic and—is that a fucking dinosaur?

“Tim!”

And, as if just to cement how utterly absurd today has been, Bruce Wayne is striding towards them with an expression contorted by worry, and he feels bad right up until the moment the guy cups his face with his calloused hands (calloused because he’s Batman, what the Hell). “Tim, I was so worried,” He croaks. “What happened back there? Why did you jump out the car?”

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and finally, finally, he-

“What the Hell is happening right now.” He blurts, taking a sharp step back and letting the hand fall from his face, watching as surprise falls over the men next to him like an overcast.

Okay, maybe not the the smartest thing he could’ve said, but not the worst thing either, and that’s probably the biggest win he’s going to get today, so he’ll take it. “What are you talking about?” Nightwing asks gently, reminding him rather neatly that he is still in an absolutely gigantic pile of shit, seeing as he’s now going to have to explain that they have all made some very big mistakes today.

“Uh, okay, so funny story- and you have to promise not to like, beat the shit out of me or whatever-“ He ignores the horrified faces they make at that, nervousness leaking out into a hysterical laugh. “But, uh, a very bad thing has happened, and— it’s like, fine! I won’t tell anyone if you won’t tell anyone, it’s totally chill and I’m really great at keeping secrets-!”

Bruce Wayne cuts him off, looking terribly concerned. “Tim, whatever’s going on, we’ll-“

“I’m not Tim!”

The moment the words are out of his mouth, he backs away with his hands raised placatingly, panic heightened by the way the two men freeze in their tracks. “I am so sorry,” Danny chokes, figuring he can’t dig himself into any deeper of a grave than he already has. “I was just- I was outside Wayne Enterprises to take pictures and when you came up to me I had no idea what to do so I just froze, and by the time I came to I was in your car and like, I was kind of scared you were kidnapping me? Because I kind of have a history with billionaires and kidnapping so I just panicked and jumped out the car but that made everything worse ‘cause you chased me and now I’m in the Batcave and you’re Batman and-“

There is a very long pause when Danny’s words fail him. The Batcave is very quiet beyond the chittering of bats on the ceiling.

“You have a history with billionaires and kidnapping?” Nightwing asks, like literally nothing else he’d said registered.

Quite frankly, Danny does not want to know what their expressions are like. Averting his eyes, he replies- “That was definitely a weird thing for me to say. Sorry. Uh, yeah.”

“Are you safe?”

What is happening? “Like… right now? I mean, so long as you aren’t gonna feed me to that dinosaur then yeah; I’m just in Gotham for vacation. I don’t- it was a very nice vacation. Until like half an hour ago. Now it’s a stressful vacation.”

Bruce Wayne, to his credit, is not trying to kill him for his knowledge of the man’s secret vigilantism, which already makes him better than the only other billionaire he knows. The man drags a hand down his face, looking stressed beyond belief. “I should’ve known you weren’t Tim,” He breathes. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Yeah, now that I’m actually hearing you talk, you sound nothing like him. Bruce, were you actually listening when he was talking to you before you shoved him in the car? This guy’s midwestern. What happened to world’s greatest detective, B?” Nightwing snorts and, wow, they’re not taking this half as badly as he thought they would. And, hey, now that he’s thinking about it, these are the first actual vigilantes he’s ever met outside of himself and Valerie, and wouldn’t it be a waste not to ask them for pointers?

Maybe it’s not the best idea in the world, but he already knows their secret identities and they’re being chill about it, so maybe they’ll be chill with his, too. Screw it, he’s doing it.

“Again, I promise I won’t tell anyone- I’m, ah, pretty good with secrets like this.” They turn to look at him curiously there, and he tries to talk past the lump in his throat. “I’m kind of, um, also a vigilante as well? Funny coincidence, right? Small town gig, though, nothing like Gotham! And I’ve only been on the scene a few years, so… I don’t know what I’m asking, here. Any good pointers?”

Nightwing looks thoughtful. “Does this have anything to do with the billionaire you mentioned?” He asks.

“It very much has a lot to do with the billionaire. If Vlad Masters ever asks you for anything- I dunno, punch him? He’s got a really punchable face, you’d know if you met him. It’s all creepy and shit.”

Nightwing continues asking questions as Bruce Wayne’s head remains firmly buried in his hands, and sure, maybe letting this well-established team of heroes know about his less-than-legal and more-than-ectoplasmic hobbies might come back to bite him, but right now he can’t help basking in the fact that he gets to bad-mouth Vlad to someone who Vlad will probably care about his reputation with. Everything else comes second.

“-Hang on, you said you’ve been a vigilante for a few years, right? How old are you?”

Okay, almost everything comes second. Both men are looking at him now with something that’s probably-definitely concern and is getting worse the longer he neglects to answer, and Danny is very suddenly reminded once again that the majority of Bruce’s children fit the same appearance-criteria as he does.

He’s just doubled his own problem, hasn’t he? It’s not just one anymore-he’s going to have to deal with two billionaires now.

He’s never going on vacation again.

#dp/dc week 2022 #It turns out Tim Did actually sneak out to work on his day off #But he fell asleep at his desk so he didn't answer any of Bruce's calls #And now Danny's fending off threats of adoption with a stick #Tim and Danny aren't even twins or anything. They have literally Nothing to do with each other Danny's just a lookalike with horrible luck #If there's any mistakes please just ignore them I read it over once and I just wanted to get it out into the world #Exciting news tho!! I'm posting another thing for the peacock au for tomorrow's prompt :)#dpxdc #Bongo's Writing!!!

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tiredfox64 · 7 days

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🔆 you’re popping off. your writing rocks brah.

I was hoping maybe you could do Raiden and Kung Lao fighting over readers (fem/afab) attention. Like back and forth jabs. And like Kung Lao trying to show off, kinda talks down on raiden in front of her. where as Raiden takes a more gentle approach with helping the reader with their training, helping her with her form he’ll glance at Kung Lao knowingly. It builds a small wedge between them, so reader decides to invite both over one night. And like you know that movie challengers? Like the zendaya scene where she’s got the two guys kissing her? Like THAT. LIKE THAT. If you can do this. I’ll piss rainbows. 🌈

Are You Challenging Me?

Prior notes: I had only the trailer to work off of so I hope I got things right. Also what a statement from you at the end. It’s not bad it’s unique and I like it.

Pairings: Kung Lao x Afab reader x Raiden

Warnings ‼️: Suggestive at the end

Even those who have been friends for so long can end up fighting over something. That something could be a girl. That girl would be you.

No one has ever seen Raiden and Kung Lao turn a friendly competition into a serious one. Constant bickering and jabs at each other that turn to hisses from nasty remarks. You would only see this kind of tension from middle school boys or some cheesy teen movie from the 2000s. Ah but boys will be boys. Who can blame them?

You are the prettiest girl they’ve ever seen. Not just that but you are tough and always willing to learn more. That’s why you train with them so much. Well, it used to be training. Things have changed since you came around. Mostly their attitude and their closeness.

You knew Kung Lao was cocky and boastful, even for a Shaolin monk. The things he did in front of you made the other monks groan in frustration and caused Raiden to shake his head in disapproval. He was always calling for your attention.

“Hey! Hey! Look! I can spin as fast as a tornado!” “Check this out! I can beat up five guys at once!” “I bet Raiden can’t strike as fast as I can! What do you think?”

That was the usual stuff you would hear. Though comparing himself to Raiden was mostly common. He would put Raiden down the moment he had the chance. It would go beyond fighting and go into ridiculous stuff.

He can eat more than Raiden. He can jump higher than Raiden. He can stay up later than Raiden. Everything Raiden could do, Kung Lao could do better. He’ll prove it again right now.

Kung Lao ran up to you and Raiden, almost crashing right into him.

“Hey Raiden, how about another fight? Whoever loses has to pay the next time we visit Madame Bo’s.” Kung Lao was hoping he would say yes just so he could beat Raiden up.

“I can’t, Kung Lao. Can’t you see we are busy?”

“Oh I see. You’re afraid of losing again. Bet you’re afraid of embarrass yourself in front of her. Don’t worry, I get it.” He patted Raiden on the back before letting out a laugh like he successfully humiliated him.

“That’s not it,” he rolls his eyes before speaking, “I’m helping her with training right now. We can fight soon just let me finish up here.”

Raiden loved to help you and you were grateful for that. Though it always seemed like you needed adjusting when it came to your form or help when stretching. Even if you are a centimeter off he had to correct you. Guess he is a perfectionist. Or maybe he is sneaky.

Raiden came behind you and placed his hands on your waist. His foot tapped yours to make it move to the side more. You didn’t notice but he gave a light squeeze to your waist. He wished he could wrap his arms around you but now is not the time. Though it would upset Kung Lao a lot.

His hands traced up your arms till they were at your head. Your face was so soft he wanted to kiss it. But all he can do now is adjust it. Raiden glanced at Kung Lao and saw he was almost seething with rage. For once he decided to be a little cruel to his dear friend.

He went down till his face was inches away from your thigh. His hands grabbed at the tantalizing piece of flesh before him and turned it slightly. Now your form was perfect.

Kung Lao couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Though Raiden’s straw hat was concealing his eyes it could not conceal that smirk on his face. He knows exactly what he was doing. He’s just too good at hiding his devilish intentions behind a sweet, kissable face.

It seems that no matter how many time Kung Lao shows off, Raiden will always be the winner here. He’s the one who gets to touch you.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You’re not dense you can feel that something is wrong. There is tension in the air and it only appears when Kung Lao and Raiden are in the same vicinity.

You have been keeping a close eye on their relationship. They have been drifting apart for some time now. Everyone can see that. What you didn’t get was why. You were missing the signs. You missed the glances Raiden would give to Kung Lao. You missed the fact that Kung Lao would only call for your attention, not anyone else’s.

You had to do something about this. It would be a shame if their friendship crumbled over something silly. Whatever that silly thing was.

Inviting them over to your place was a great start. Though they might be shocked when they see each other at your place. You might have left that out on purpose.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

“What the—what are you doing here, Raiden?”

“What am I doing here? I should be asking you the same thing, Kung Lao.”

They both stared at each other with mouths agape. They were confused as if the possible reason was outlandish. It’s not like there is a universal rule that you can only invite one person to your place.

“What are you two standing there for? Come inside, you’ll catch your deaths out there.” You called for them.

They didn’t even realize you opened the door. But now that they do they were racing to get it. Kung Lao pushed Raiden out of the way, leaving him with a disappointed expression.

Your place was well decorated and well kept. It’s only you living in this small house. That doesn’t make it any less of a home. Your house expresses you which the boys really like. They followed you closely but realize you were heading in the direction of your room. There was hesitation, especially from Raiden. Why not just stay in the living room? What gives?

You don’t have time for this stupidity. You grabbed their hands and dragged them into your room. They always imagined being in your room , of course that fantasy always involved you on the bed and the other one not being there. Clearly none of that good stuff will happen, right?

“Alright, sit down, I need to ask you guys something.” You plopped down on your bed.

The bed is off limits in their minds. The chairs? No. The bean bag? No. The floor? Probably a safe bet.

They sat in front of you, looking up at you like loving puppies waiting to be loved by their master. That’s not the first order of business tonight. Don’t be fooled by their eyes. There is still a wedge between them.

“Mind telling me what’s got you two so bothered. Don’t act like I haven’t noticed your strange behavior recently. I’m concerned about you guys.”

They can tell that you really care just by the tone of your voice. But a silence still hung in the air. Kung Lao nor Raiden wanted to speak the truth. It’s awkward, especially with your bro there. Kung Lao’s cockiness got to him though, reminding him of who he is. He shouldn’t be afraid so he’ll say it.

“I want you to be my girlfriend.” He declared.

Well that was a shock. You know what else shocked you? Raiden.

“I want you to be my girlfriend.” He said as well.

They glared at each other after saying that. They don’t even acknowledge the fact that you were sitting there with a confused expression. It’s not usual for two men to ask you out at the same time, in the same way. It was at least straight forward. You snapped your fingers at them to bring their attention back to you. Like the good boys they are they obey.

“How often does this happen? Going after the same girl?” You asked.

“Not as often as you think.” Raiden responded.

“We usually have different types.” Kung Lao chimed in.

This is weird. Somehow you were the connection between them when it came to types yet at the same time being the wedge between them.

“So…are you saying I should be flattered?”

“Aren’t you everybody’s type?” Kung Lao said it so innocently that it was smooth. He does good when he’s not trying too hard.

Think about this for yourself now. It’s no lie that you like them both. They have their own quirk that draws you in. You love Raiden’s kindness yet ability to be brutal while in battle. He works hard and is willing to guide others to try hard as well. Kung Lao’s cockiness can be annoying to others but it enriches you. It gives him confidence and the ability to think of new ideas. That razor-rimmed hat didn’t come out of thin air. There is so much you can say and love about them. But which one do you choose?

Alright, you have an idea. A weird one but it’s an idea.

“Come here.” You motioned for them to join you on your bed.

“Which one of us?” Kung Lao asked but Raiden was already up and running to your bed. Kung Lao got there just as quick as he did.

Nothing else was said from you. You only had actions. You leaned into Raiden first, bringing his head closer to yours. Your lips captured his in a passionate kiss. It was just like everything he imagined. Your lips were soft and had the slightest hint of vanilla that came from your favorite lip balm. He was practically melting in the palm of your hands as he wished this could last forever. But you pulled away, you have someone else to get to.

When you turned towards Kung Lao he has an upset expression on his face. It turned to shock the moment he felt your lips against his. That softness and the taste of vanilla enchanted him. He almost turned the passionate kiss into a whole make out session. That desperation to have you and touch you himself was building up for quite a while. He doesn’t want to hold himself back. But just like with Raiden you pulled away.

From the kisses you gave to them you came to the conclusion that you like them both equally. You don’t want to break either one of their hearts since it will break yours as well. So why not have both men. This can do good in bringing their friendship together again. It might even make it stronger. Yeah, this can work out. And you would have told them but they came to a similar conclusion as well. That will be discussed later.

For now you are more focused on their lips that are leaving kisses all over your neck. It makes your body heat rise up and causes a stir between your legs. Their hands are all over you. Kung Lao’s reaches for your neck to hold it still while Raiden’s reaches for your chest. You whimper at the sensation of their tongues lightly licking your skin. Kung Lao thinks it best to stay leaving hickeys on you. It will show everyone who you belong to. Raiden should do the same so that all know that you belong to them.

They lightly push you back against your bed. There is a hunger in their eyes. One that has built up for days. Raiden just can’t wait to hold you close as Kung Lao goes to town on you.

There is no shame is wanting this as well. Don’t hide that devious smirk from them. It will let them know to keep going.

You know what they say. Sharing is caring. And they care for you a lot.

After notes: If you’re gonna piss rainbows do it in the ditch I dug. If a skittle don’t fall out imma be disappointed. I have a sneaking suspicion that imma be asked of more from this. I didn’t want to push it beyond anything I’m sorry if you wanted more. Now I must finish eating before I mentally prepare myself for my class tonight. Adiós!

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bonny-kookoo · 5 months

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Hi Ms Bonny

So I remembered you said no one sends asks for the ilysib couple anymore, and I just had this idea last night but didn't have the energy to pick up my phone again💀

Okay so, basically kookie shaves his head right, maybe for the weather or his hair was damaged or I don't know really I'll need your creative mind for that part👀 and he becomes a little self conscious and oc comforts him by saying he's still😋 and he doesn't believe her. So she takes him out on a date and like before, everyone is looking at him and basically building his confidence back up.

PS I really hope you get this ask because I've sent some for this couple before and it was never answered

Tumblr sometimes eats asks, I'm so sorry :(

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──💜── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

He's avoiding you- and that's just so not your Jungkookie.

You thought everything was going well between the two of you- but apparently something must've happened to make him so withdrawn again, refusing to see you, refusing to meet up, refusing to show himself. You're not sure what's wrong-

But you're about to find out.

"You know, I'll just camp outside then, I don't care!" You threaten, sitting in front of his apartment door, stubborn as ever- when his voice is finally heard.

"You'll laugh." He whines, before you can hear something slide along the door before it falls to the floor with a thud- he's probably sat down on the other side of the door. "You'll.. I look stupid." He says.

"Did you dye your hair or something?" You ask, and he's quiet, making you angry. "Jeon Jungkook you could've buzzed it all off and well full on Vin Diesel on me what do I care! Are you serious right now?!" You get up to knock on the door and right his doorbell again. "Open that goddam door, I'm worried about you, nerd!" You cry out again, even stomping your leg in anger.

"No, I'm.. I'm fine. Just.." he stumbles over the words, clearly panicking.

"I'm sorry." You say, and it's quiet. "I.. I'm sorry if my constant joking has gone too far at some point, if I made you feel like.. self conscious or something, I swear I never wanted to do that." You confess, feeling terrible. This must be your doing, right? It has to be your fault. Because you're insensitive as fuck, and you can't read a room, and you got way too comfortable with him and-

The door opens. He stands in front of you, beanie on his head.

"Its.. it's not your fault." He tells you. "You didn't do anything." Jungkook mumbles, and you can't help yourself.

You basically tackle the poor guy, door falling out of his grip and closing behind you, making you successfully infiltrate his home. He holds you because he's missed you too- he hates the fact that he couldn't have you this close for days by now, no physical contact with you whatsoever, no visual sight of you. It felt like torture-

But he just feels like he can't face you.

"Why are you doing this?" You whine, tears clear in your eyes, making your eyelashes already heavy with them. You're not even wearing makeup today, he notices. This must've really gotten to you.

You're still so pretty.

"What happened?" You worry, and he begins to bite his lips, a nasty habit he has whenever he's nervous. "Jungkook.." you say his full name, no variation of it, no silly petname.

He knows it's serious.

"I.. look stupid." He confesses. "I.. had an accident, a few days ago, in the bathroom." He sighs, sitting down on his couch with you, while you listen. "I slipped when I stepped out the shower, and hit.. my head on the edge of one of the cabinets.."

"Oh Jungkookie-" you whine.

"And- and they had to like.. cause my hair was so long they couldn't stitch it without, you know, shaving it, and it looked dumb when I came home so I thought might as well buzz it all off-"

You're quiet, staring at him.

"Are you okay now?" You ask, oddly serious.

"Yeah, they kept me overnight to make sure I was fine-" he answers, before you shove him, hard, angry.

"You stupid idiot!" You scold. "You're so dumb! What the fuck?!" You complain, angry tears in your eyes. "What the hell do I care about your hair?! You could've died or something, and all you thought about was how you could look to me? Am I that shallow to you?" You ask him, and he shakes his head.

He deserves this. You're right.

"No.." he denies, taking the scolding like a dog that's being told off. "No you're not. I just.. felt weird. Like I'm not.. fit for you anymore. You should have a nice looking boyfriend and all that, and you always said how you love my hair-"

"I love you most!" You whine, leaning forward to climb on his lap, and cling to him. "I love you, not your body. That's just.. that's just the only thing I can touch, so I want you to take care of it.." you explain into his chest. "..so it'll be here for as long as possible.. until we're all wrinkly and old.."

"Oh." He hums, realizing what you mean.

He's never thought about it that way. But you're right- he doesn't love your body first and foremost either, but you- your personality, your soul, your mind. Your body is simply the vessel you live in, and he'd want you to keep it up and running for as long as he's alive too.

"I'm sorry." He confesses. "I'll never do that again."

"I sure dare you to, I swear I'm gonna break in next time!" You threaten, letting him dry your tears before your hands reach for his beanie. "..can I see it?" You wonder, and he looks down, shrugging.

"I guess." He confirms.

The moment you skip his hat off, you search for something- finding the small stitched wound near the tip of his ear, making you immediately coo at it, fingers carefully touching it. "Does it still hurt?" You wonder- and he shakes his head.

"Just a little, if I lay on it or something." He admits.

"Oh my baby-" You whine, before you rub his head. "This feels weird though. How is it still soft?" You wonder, taking the pressure away from the situation, making him laugh. "And you honestly rock this look. Now you really do look like a guy who can throw a punch."

"..I can and will, for you." He mumbles, making you laugh again.

"Heh, and I lo~ove you for it!" You sing a little, kissing his nose before you kiss his lips a couple of times, cheeks held in your hands.

And he can't believe he's been living without this for just a week.

He never wants to miss you ever again.

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