#then I got drunk and every thing got dull

[raitonsfw]

jjk men: sub edition

characters: gojo satoru, geto suguru, okkotsu yūta, kamo chōsō, & sukuna ryōmen.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader, gn!reader (gojo), sub!characters, vibrating sex toys (gojo's and geto's), face riding (yuta's), pegging (choso's), refusal to submit (sukuna's), whining, whimpering, pleading, begging, dirty talk, bondage (gojo's), p in v intercourse (geto [riding] & sukuna [mating press]), anal sex (choso's obvi), slight rim play (gojo's), degrading & praising, pet names, gojo selfishly whines, geto can't keep his composure, okkotsu loves you, choso's completely fucked out, sukuna shares a body with itadori (& doesn't care about your kinks), fyi the reader isn't very dominant (more neutral, maybe i'll write another one of these with a dom!reader later on)

a/n: this came about 'cause of some hate from an anon about me writing satoru gojo whimpering & that men shouldn't whimper or moan? next time, be a dear and send it off anon? i'll answer you more thoroughly that way. i love having the option that is 'write to spite'. wc: 3.2k total. m.list

divider credit: @hitobaby

❝𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮…❞ who isn’t really all that submissive– at least not on the surface. in public his exterior shone a haughty personality but in the midst of silk sheets, he whined like a little bitch. 

soft whines of ‘please, baby…’ and ‘r-right there– yes…’ as you moved the vibrator towards the tip of his cock. he was sitting up against the headboard, his knees slightly bent and his bright eyes were glued on your hand that held the small pink wand. 

you knew gojo quite well, the man could withstand almost anything sorcery related; curses expelling out left and right, best friends turned enemies– but he couldn’t handle the juddering feeling of a sex toy. he’d practically short-circuit. his entire body would freeze up as you ran it along the side of his thigh, a dulled lust sinking within his eyes and suddenly his cock would be rock hard.

you’d watch as his legs would spread open for you, a quiet obedience held within the air and you’d hum in content as he let you shed his trousers and boxers. and holy shit, it was so intoxicating to take in how fucking hard he got just from the slight indication of the vibrator buzzing up his thigh. 

he wouldn’t be quiet for long though, no– that was just for show. as soon as your hand grabbed at his flushed cock, a choked gasp would follow and a bunch of pleas would spill out of his mouth like a waterfall. 

“need the toy– give me the toy…”

“y/n, baby…sweetheart– c’mon...” 

“please, don’t want your hand right now–”

“‘m sorry, i’m so sorry– fuck-!”

and despite his empty words (and the rushed apology when he vaguely realized his mistake), the vibrator would be set to the near highest setting. ‘cause there was something so hot watching him squirm from such a delicate thing, bulleting at an overstimulating press firsthand.

god, you could get drunk off of his whimpers and cries as they spilled from his mouth every time you ran the vibrator over a vein on the underside of his cock… his jolts of pleasure when you upped the setting by a hair as he was so sensitive and even the slightest change would send him spiraling… the constant clenching and unclenching of his fists within the confines of his blindfold– courtesy of you tying it that way. 

you had the right mind not to edge him, his voice pitching higher and higher each second you ran the droning sensation over his slit, precum slathering the toy. his chest rose and fell quickly as you switched the settings to a different rhythm, his back arching out towards you and his cock bobbing against his tummy with a loud whine escaping him. 

his head had knocked back into the headboard with his eyelids fluttering closed, a fucked out expression washing over his face as his thighs trembled– as his whole body trembled in front of you. you knew he was close; the tiny whimpers felling long with each stroke of the toy and the way his muscles tightened in his stomach with each roll of his hips as he desperately feigned for more friction. 

which led you to take a quick gamble– and press the toy right against his rim. 

you didn’t even have time to replace your hand on his cock as he painted his shirt white. long spurts decorated it, nearly up to his chin and you hummed softly to yourself as you pumped him through his release, your name heavy on his lips as he rode it out. you cooed out praises as he bucked into your hand, dribbling the rest of his cum all over it with small pants filling the room. 

and as soon as he came down, his hands were slipping from his blindfold and pinning you underneath him– it was your turn now. 

❝𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮…❞ who’s slightly submissive– but knows how to keep his composure. it wasn’t often you got to see him needy, the man wasn’t exactly enthralled in giving you a show; so instead of begging for what he needed, he did everything in his power to please you.

the most he’d give you were tiny hums from the constant drag of his cock as you rode him, his eyes rolling in the back of his head. when he had the pleasure of cumming inside you – when he could because you’d fall apart against him in mere minutes – you’d hear the most sinful whimpers bare from his throat, his hands gripping your hips as he gasped for breath.

you couldn’t escape the cuddling afterwards either, the quiet contented sighs that captured you whole as he worked his body around yours in a tight embrace when the stars fell away from your eyelids. his mind would be reeling with the aftermath, still painfully hard in his boxers since he didn’t finish; but you came on his cock and that’s all that mattered to him.

but there were just some days where he needed you more than ever – and the aching pleasure of his cock spasming inside you – a pliant buzz reigning him in as he heard you come home. his arms would wrap around your waist as you’d toss your keys onto the kitchen counter and you’d feel his breath fan against your ear as he spoke, a slight whine etched in his voice.

“y/n, come to the bedroom with me…”

“ah–! shit… please?”

“need you tonight… can’t wait any longer–” 

“gotta be inside you– right now.”

and you thought it was the usual routine, you laid out underneath him with his cock driving into you like no tomorrow. but as you were pulled into the bedroom, the box of sex toys you shared with him had been dumped over the bed and you realized his neediness and the sound that droned lightly from him– the vibrating cock ring was missing.

you weren’t exactly sure if geto ever acted submissive in his life, never really wanting to push him too far as he already did so much for you; he never seemed bothered by the lack of reciprocation. but when he came home with the cock ring and your life sure flipped a sudden switch, your collected man reduced to nothing but a puddle as you drove him to the edge over and over again. 

as you fully sank onto his cock, his ring would vibrate against your folds and you’d sigh out in relief when you noticed his face screwed up in pleasure– and pain as he was already so close to his godforsaken orgasm. needy– fucking desperate whines would leak from his mouth as you bounced lightly on him, some hiccuped noises escaping him and– oh? he might cry. 

his hair was splayed out on the pillows, some of it stuck to his sweaty shoulders as the corners of his eyes brimmed with tears, his hands clutching onto you for dear life. he wouldn’t say anything, too drunk off of the overstimulation of your pussy and the vibrations pushing him over the edge; except he couldn’t cum yet. not until you took off the cock ring and honestly, did you really want to? 

this was one of the only times you saw this side of him after all. 

you eventually let him cum, pulling off his cock to ease the ring off while instructing him softly not to cum until he was inside you. and he’d be damned if he didn’t shoot off inside you, holding himself back for all of ten seconds before the feeling of your walls warm around him pushed him over– you felt him twitch inside you and a lengthy moan accompanied as he tried his best to pull you close into him through it. 

he stole kisses from you afterwards, his demeanor returning to the same old facade he encased himself in and you wondered if you buy him vibrating beads– what would that do to him?

❝𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐨𝐤𝐤𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚…❞ who is just the right amount of submissive. he would quiver at the faintest feel of your fingers ghosting his cock as he knelt before you. his eyes would be nearly blown wide, taking in your composure as his falls away when you bend down eye level to him. 

he’d know better than to buck into your hand like a poor puppy, desperate for any friction you could give him as his fingers reach out to grip at your clothing. and he wouldn't even realize he broke a rule as he repeated in his brain ‘don’t thrust’ into the warmth of your palm. 

as you backed away, you’d notice the tears that pricked the corners of his eyes, the pout that would cross his face when he tried to retrace his movements– and then his mouth would be going a mile a minute with apologies.

“baby… i’m sorry! i’ll be good, i promise– i won’t touch you again.”

“please… forgive me? use me to get off…”

and that wasn’t a bad idea in your eyes as you thought it over, squatting back up to let him breathe. god, he was so pliant with you, complete putty– pulled and stretched out for you. his cock curved up towards his tummy as it stood proudly from the confines of his jujutsu uniform; he was so excited he didn’t even care to unzip his zipper, he just pulled himself out ‘cause you told him to. 

as you finally allowed him up onto the space of the bed after his relentless regret, a muffled ‘thank you’ spilled from his lips before you could even position yourself onto his face and you clutched the headboard to steady yourself; because he wasn’t allowed to touch– and he sure knew that as he was chanting it in his mind.

he needed you to use him, to just sit right on his tongue and ride him mercilessly; it’s what he deserves for breaking one of your rules. but you were nice, you weren’t mean with your punishments and honestly this seemed more like a reward for him. he was manipulative, that one– you had to be careful as he could get you to do anything for him with just a glassy eyed look and a pout. 

his hands grasped at the sheets for leverage as you sat down against him, his tongue not hesitating in the slightest to swipe over the swell of your clit and you huffed out a relieved moan. you didn’t falter, your hips rolling against his mouth with the shock of warm pleasure flowing through your body. and he reciprocated your moans, humming gently into you as he lapped at your arousal trickling against the tip of his tongue.

and all he wanted to do was touch you – bury his fingers inside you and fuck the life out of you – anything for his girl. but he knew the moment he moved his fingers from the threaded sheets, you’d pull off with a whine falling from his lips. god, did he want to please you– and he wanted it in return; his cock was aching even as it laid against his tummy. he couldn’t take it anymore, between the sweet taste of your slick running down his chin and the insane amount of precum building at the tip of his cock– he begged. 

“fuck, please touch me… won’t cum til you say so, i swear–”

“just need your hands on me, y/n honey… l-love you so much– god, thank you.”

when you leaned back to pull him off, your other hand feathered into his hair and you caught a glimpse of his dark rimmed eyes staring back up with such profound desire– you just knew he wouldn’t last more than a few seconds.

❝𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨…❞ who takes the cake for being the most submissive slut known to man. when you sunk into him the first time with the strap nudging into him subtly, he couldn’t help but let out a choked whimper. he would be so fucking full– his rim clenching harshly around you and you’d coo at him; some praises that did you no good as he could barely hear you through the pounding rush of blood in his ears.

you couldn’t even begin to fathom the drunk passion you felt for this boy, arching his back for you as you started to ease yourself in all the way– it was fucking insane and you weren’t even the one with your nerves on fire. he’d grip at the sheets with a wanton moan, pushing back onto the strap with eager hips and it took everything in you not to collapse onto him with the heated arousal you felt in your cunt. 

you’d be on your toes, basically straddling the poor boy’s hips, your hands flush against his waist to keep you steady and all you’d hear was ‘more, please… i can take it–! need you to move.’ christ, you haven’t even gotten your bearings yet and he’s begging for you to pound him into the fucking mattress. 

his spiked hair wouldn’t be in their usual ponytails, it sleeked down the back of his neck and soon, it was going to be balled up in your palms while you fucked the living shit out of him.

once you actually rolled your hips into his tight hole, a broken moan flew out of his mouth and his head drooped down onto the side of the bed. his entire body shook in pleasure as you thrusted into him shallowly, hushed pants coming from him as his cock dripped onto the sheets beneath you. 

you noticed his cock rather quickly– and how neglected it looked, hanging between his legs with a reddened flush and you snaked your hand underneath him to tug at it a bit, earning a repressed whimper that was muffled in the sheets he buried his face into. before you knew it, your hips found a rhythm you were content with and one he was ecstatic with, his body jolting upwards with every stroke of his cock and bruising of your strap. 

you knew you nailed his prostate when his head snapped up, his entire body shuddering around you. his moan was so sharp in your ears, it delved straight towards spine and you threaded your fingers into his hair with the words ‘good boy, that’s it… that’s the spot?’ leaking from your mouth in a soft tone. to which he nodded, a heavy need carving out his common sense and replacing it with nothing whines and whimpers. 

‘soo good, thankyouthankyouthankyou–’

‘right there, keep going…’ 

and you did, even when you noticed his tongue loll out of his mouth– the fucked out expression blatant on his face as you pulled his head back to look at you. his violet eyes were watery, his mouth completely open in near silent moans as you pounded into him now, and you swore you saw a blood tear drip from his mark as he squeezed his eyes shut through a particular thrust. and now he begged for you, pleaded like no tomorrow as you fucked him senseless; his entire mind clouded with nothing but ecstasy.

‘am i being a good boy? please– tell me i’m being a good boy for you…’

‘fuck me harder, yeah– yes… shit–! so close…’

as he came around the strap, you watched in awe– ropes of cum spurting against the sheets and harsh gasps filled the air as you kissed down his back with your hands massaging his waist through the heavy orgasm. you ran a quick finger down his spine, reveling in the way he trembled against you as you pulled out of him. 

you wouldn’t even talk to him properly afterwards, just tiny adorations; because you knew as soon as he came to, he’d be out like a light.

❝𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧…❞ who isn’t submissive at all. the king of curses didn’t have a submissive bone in his body– completely overtaken by the dominant hull. you’ve tried to make him submit – more than once – but it never worked out in your favor.

your hands would delve towards his shoulders to pin him down as you rode him– well, tried to ride him as his cock pounded up into you harshly– but you’d be thrown off in an instant, a mating press following suit so you couldn’t move underneath him.

you’d whine for him to take you more than once in a single night, in pursuit of overstimulating him– but you failed to realize just how much stamina he had and you ultimately ended up being the one overstimulated with your cunt stuffed full of his cum each and every time.

there were some days where he played along with your endeavors to be nice. sometimes a quiet whine would fill his throat before replacing it with hefty growls and grunts while you sucked his cock. and other times he’d let you have the upper hand for more than a half a second, reveling in the way your body moved against him to try to overtake him. 

your tits would bounce right in his face and it made him think twice– he almost begged for them, wanting nothing more than to take them into his mouth and litter them red with teeth marks. but that thought left his mind rather quickly as your cunt pressed warmly against his cock, stirring it awake from its confines and it was game over. 

there was no way he’d beg for a lowly human.

why would he need to when you gave yourself up to him so easily? you’d practically jump him as soon as he switched with itadori, strong arms holding onto you as you pushed him onto the bed. but of course, he could flip you over in an instant and he would, his cock dragging deliciously along your walls within the next two minutes. 

as much as it was fun to watch you squirm and cry about him not letting up his dominance, it also turned him on immensely. his cock would ache inside you as you begged for him to make a needy noise… his eyes would threaten to roll back as you clenched around him in hopes he would show some type of submission… and he’d have to recollect himself when you breathed hot in his ear that he was such a good boy for fucking you so well. why the fuck did that affect him? 

but once he grounded himself, you were in trouble– his cock pounding into you with heinous phrases leaking from his mouth. he couldn’t bear to listen to you anymore, the idea drove him insane– a fucking human shouldn’t be calling him wretched pet names like that. so to shut you up, his palm would end up on your mouth and his tongue there would shove straight into it. he just needed to fuck the kink out you, that’s all. 

and of course being the curse that he is, once you couldn’t speak, he’d tease (berate) you about your subby needs.

“ah, so you get off on pussy men now?”

“don’t look away from me, doll, answer the question.”

“what– you want me to whine and beg for you like a goddamn pup? i don’t think so.”

“now hold your legs open ‘n take my cock… like a normal fucking human.”

yeah, you tried and all it got you was a sore cunt each time, unable to walk without a bit of a wobble– his devilish smirk and targeted eyes followed you every step of the way before he relinquished his form to itadori in the morning. 

taglist: @izakyun | @classyempathmongercloud | @satorawrrr | @winterskeleton

a/n: wanna get tagged in future writing posts? join my taglist!

#𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 •┈••✦ #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo smut #geto smut #yuta smut #choso smut #sukuna smut #sub jjk #gojo x reader #geto x reader #choso x reader #sukuna x reader #yuta x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #kamo choso #sukuna ryomen #okkotsu yuuta #gojo satoru smut #geto suguru smut #kamo choso smut #sukuna ryomen smut #okkotsu yuuta smut #fem reader #𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠 ✰

[thethingswedotomorrow]

Crowley has been with humanity since the beginning. The original serpent of eden, he is the first "monster" in humanity's bedtime stories. He is the figurative and literal demon on human's shoulders, always there to guide them one way or another. He's weaved through history itself, and prides himself on an impeccable track record of demonic activity throughout the last 6000 years.

But, naturally, after 6000 years, Crowley finds that he's spent more time pining after a certain Angel than doing any sort of work. Like, an extreme amount of pining.

And it isn't until after the notpocalypse that Crowley realizes that, entirely accidentally and very embarrassingly, he may have accidentally made his pining very, very public.

One of Crowley's favorite ways to waste a day is to take Aziraphale to different museums around the world and watch as the angel wanders around and points out all of the inaccuracies

"Good Lord Crowley, have you seen this painting? Portraying you as a dragon is a tad dramatic, I think. All we were doing were having a picnic. And I have never had my hair looking like that, thank you."

"I don't know Angel, they've got your wings spot on. Wa-Hang on, have they added horns to my head?"

"Oh, I see, suddenly it's only inaccurate when they've got you wrong."

The museums always seem to be miraculously empty, and whenever Crowley mentions this, Aziraphale suddenly finds a new, very interesting piece of art to admire

Crowley admires the lengths Aziraphale goes to to hide the small miracles he's done for Crowley's sake

As if Crowley wouldn't move literal mountains for the angel

*He did, actually, do that once.

In the 12th century, they were having a lovely evening together with multiple caskets of wine, up until Aziraphale complained about the amount of light in his eyes

"Honestly Crowley, all this sun and no shade, it must truly be awful for the humans around here with no shelter. It's a tad much, even for me."

Crowley, even then, immediately recognized this off-hand comment as an underhanded complaint, and knew that would not stand

When the small earthquake passed, Crowley claimed that the nearby church was on a fault line and he was simply doing his demonic duty by damaging holy goods in the area

If Aziraphale realized that the mountain range in the distance suddenly provided much more sun coverage, he never mentioned it.

Currently, however, Crowley follows Aziraphale around, wandering behind him and never truly looking at the things in the museum

In every single place they've ever gone together, there was only ever one thing that deserved Crowley's attention

And it certainly was not an inaccurate model of a 18th century tea set

But when Aziraphale wanders into a hall titled 'Love of the Past', he starts to panic. Just a very tiny amount, basically none at all. A small enough amount of panic that he could deny it, even to himself.

He thinks about the past, towards the beginning, back when Humanity was still getting it's footing and figuring out how to have governments and societies and (the most important part) figuring out the whole alcohol situation

Throughout the years, especially towards the beginning, Crowley began to resent any time not spent with Aziraphale

Everything seemed small and dull when compared to the way the Angel smiled when he saw new type of human dessert, or the way he laughed when Crowley managed to work out a clever comment

And once Crowley experienced those things, he never wanted anything else

He had seen the poetry the humans had written, how much emotion they could pour into a simple piece of parchment or a clay tablet

He never cared for written word, but he was shocked at just how much feeling the humans could manage to pour into words

So after Aziraphale left Rome (after the oysters and the wine and the smiles, for somebody's sake the smiles), he went due east for a new miracle on another continent

Crowley stayed and got well and truly drunk. As he did best.

He had spent a few weeks around the other drunks around the area, most poverty stricken and saddened with some sort of grief of one type or another

It wasn't until a group of poets wandered into his dark corner of the pub that he started to considered writing

Obviously nothing anyone would ever read, he'd ensure that. Every scroll or parchment that he'd touch with a quill would be burnt with hellfire before it left his sight

But, as many of his worst ideas started, he had nothing better to do and too much time to think

So he wrote. He wrote letters, first addressed to nobody, about random thoughts that would pop into his very intoxicated brain. Whether humans would ever find traces of the unicorns they lost on the ark, whether he would ever find a way to count just how many scales he had, whether he would ever reach a point where he didn't have to cover his eyes every day

Slowly, the letters started becoming addressed to 'A'. Whether he was conscious of this or not, he'd never admit.

But he wrote. He wrote to A about Hell, the jobs they required of him, the things they'd have him do. He wrote of the way humans had beaten him to the punch 90% of the time. How they would do things worse than Satan himself could imagine, and they'd never blink an eye while doing it.

He wrote of the way the sun darkened each day that passed without his Angel, the way his wine never seemed to have enough flavor when he was alone.

He wrote of the ways he imagined he could orchestrate an elaborate reunion, a convoluted mess of too much demonic activity in a small area that just happened to have a wonderful new tea, or so he's heard, and wouldn't it be a shame to leave the town without tempting the angel to try it?

He wrote to A about how he was sure he had no heart, no emotions. He was a Demon, for somebody's sake, he certainly had no need for stupid things like that, and so the ache in his corporation's chest when he sees the Angel had to be some sort of malfunction.

Anatural function, surely, that could be fixed with the right amount of aloofness and strong liquor

He wrote of the way the sun always seemed to hit the Angel's hair just right, and Crowley had no faith, he had no God.

But in those moments, with a halo around the angel and that smile aimed towards him, he might consider praying now to a different source altogether, a closer source. One full of life and light and actual proper goodness, not that fake advertised bullshit they plaster on church walls in pretty paintings and sad songs

Crowley wrote for a long while, and found that the writing helped the pain.

Even if only because it brought on memories of Aziraphale, and that was enough to hold him until they met again. It had to be, he had no choice in the matter.

And he wrote so often throughout the ages, and often while he was drunk. And he was so sure, so positive that he had burned every trace of his heart and emotion out of existence.

He had to be. The danger those words could put Aziraphale in was far too great. He couldn't be bothered to care of the danger to himself, but the fact that the very hint of any emotion could come close to hurting his Angel was enough to ensure that they would never come across another being's eyes.

He destroyed every letter and word that described his desire, his pain, his greed. He ripped the words he created out of reality as easily as he had written them. Every time, he burnt the parchment, and every time, it burnt a part of him with it.

And then the Apocalypse had happened. Or, well, didn't happen, he supposed. Really, he wasn't entirely sure if there was a difference.

Because everything had changed, even if the rest of the world hadn't noticed. And he was suddenly allowed to see Aziraphale with no excuse, no half-hearted reasoning behind it. He was allowed to want, and to crave, and he relished it.

And he was allowed to take the angel to museums to watch him fuss over small mistakes humanity had collected throughout the ages

Until he realized that they had, in fact, also collected HIS mistakes.

In a hall. A whole bloody hall. A hall, dedicated to and full of stupid parchment and sappy letters and wine stains over words written so long ago

And honestly who gave them the right? Leave it to the humans to collect other people's belongings and put it on display as their own

And he knew, from the moment Aziraphale read the first page on display, he just knew. This was it. All of it was ruined.

All because Crowley had gotten so drunk and passed out in his room above the pub, and when they'd thrown him out in a drunken stupor, they'd collected his belongings to sell afterwards. And he'd never even realized, so concerned about the next meeting, the arrangement, concerned about anything and everything except the one thing he forgot about and could end them both.

Any moment now, Aziraphale would look up at him, with disgust and confusion and all those emotions that he'd really rather not see on his face, preferably ever, but especially not towards him.

But Aziraphale never looks up. He reads the first page 5, 6, 7 times, being sure to capture every single word. Every wrinkle in the paper, every crease.

Then he moves to the next, and then the next. He repeats this process. Every page, he scours each and every page. Searching and scanning, analyzing every word.

Crowley is frozen at the entrance of the hall, too terrifed to say a word, but too hopeful to leave. He stands there, suddenly feeling the same feeling in his chest that he felt so many years ago, in the corner of the pub, sitting in the dark, wishing for the light that he knew would never come.

He's so panicked, that he doesn't notice Aziraphale finishing the last page, and wiping the tears from his eyes. He startles when he accidentally meets his eyes, and prepares a number of excuses and deflections, all to preserve this shred of peace and safety they had carved out for themselves.

"Angel, I- you really- ngk- humans are so rid- are you hungry? I could eat, I've heard they've got a killer bar around here, and we cou-I can get us there in 10 minutes, ngk actu- scratch that, we could be there in 5, I bet. Museums aren-angel?"

Crowley finds himself stopping the random stream of words coming out of his mouth, when he notices tears in Aziraphale's eyes

"Angel, I-"

That's all Crowley can get out before Aziraphale is walking towards him with a purpose

And suddenly Aziraphale is very close to him

Very very close

And suddenly Aziraphale's lips are on his, and Aziraphale is holding onto Crowley's jacket, and Crowley's hands are just waving in the air back and forth while he processes the last .5 seconds.

By the time he realizes what is actually happening, Aziraphale pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against Crowley's, and laughs.

He laughs. Laughs. Aziraphale is laughing and it's a wonderful, beautiful noise and Crowley doesn't quite understand why, but then he's laughing too and then they are both standing there, arms around each other, laughing and Crowley realizes now that all the words he's written, all the praises he sang of his Aziraphale, the way he wished and prayed for his heart and laugh and love

Not one bit of it is at all comparable to the real thing.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable boyfriends #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable #otp: ineffable #ineffable idiots #good omens crowley #good omens aziracrow #good omens aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #crowley good omens #crowley x aziraphale #good omens fic #good omens headcanon #good omens fluff #crowley aziraphale #aziracrow #crowly x aziraphale #crowley x arizaphale #aziraphel #azicrow #azirowley #good omens headcanons #good omens hc #fluff #go2 #good omens 2

[ohimsummer]

...I CAN DO BETTER

— minors dni, jealous! satoru x virgin! reader, both of them came in their pants lol, dryhumping, consensual recording/photography, teasing because it's satoru gojo, degradation (use of slut), nipple play, biting/hickeys

sequel to “anything you can do…”

If there is one thing a Satoru Gojo will not allow, it is to be one-upped by Suguru, no matter what it was.

He had too much pride. It was so easy for Geto to bait him into a competition because Gojo would do anything if it meant being declared the winner. Shoko would warn him that his pride would be his downfall, and would land him in quite the unfavorable predicament if he kept it up. Judging from where he was now though, Satoru would beg to differ.

His smirk grows wider at your longing whine, pressing his bulge harder against the growing wet patch of your panties. He smoothes a hand over your bare thigh, pinches you out the blue and can’t help but giggle when you flinch and yelp. The camera app open on his phone, Gojo twists and turns the device to get the best angle of little ol’ you.

Satoru was, of course, quite unhappy at the dark spot on your neck. Because who did Suguru think he was marking you as if you belonged to him? And you, how dare you give Geto the privilege of seeing you so pathetic and desperate first? And, even worse, cumming on his thigh? Appalling. Sickening, even. Satoru’s headache got worse every time Suguru rubbed it in his face.

“She was so cute.”, he brags in a soft, nonchalant voice, dripping with delight. “Should’ve been there, Satoru, she came all over me.”

And Satoru doesn’t know that your display wasn’t as thrilling as Geto makes it out to be. You only came on his leg, fully clothed, but Geto can tell by the protruding veins along his friend’s forehead that Gojo assumes you were bent over the dresser and fucked silly. Unfortunately false, but where’s the fun in correcting him on that?

“S- Satoru–,” you whimper, fabric of your skirt bunched around your waist and between your fingers.” Please, please…”

Gojo steadily grinds into your core, and you think you might just fucking die. The firm tip of his dick rubs into your throbbing clit so nicely, though barely satiating the dull ache in your pussy. You clench around nothing, drunk and tense and so lost in such a simple pleasure as you messily rock your hips to meet his thrusts.

“So needy, sweetheart.” His mockery is relentless. “Actin’ like such a little slut. You always this desperate for some dick, baby, or is it just mine?”

The minute your head falls to one side and breaks his gaze, suddenly your cheeks are smushed between fingers and Gojo forces you to look at him again. “Answer me.”

A meek whisper trickles from your mouth, lips littered in indentations where you’ve sank your teeth into them. “Just yours…”

He lowers the phone a little and holds his hand up to his ear, then leans closer, all this while still massaging his stiff cock against your swollen clit. “A little louder, baby, so Suguru will hear.”

Before you can register his words, Gojo gives you a particularly sharp thrust that mashes his tip against your clit so perfectly and you can’t help crying out for him. “J-just yours, Satoru–!”

His free hand runs beneath your shirt, up to your bare breasts underneath, and Satoru carelessly thumbs a nipple beneath his finger. “Aww, Suguru will be so disappointed.”

There’s not a chance to protest, instead he’s mindlessly driving himself into your cunt again, low grunts and broken moans leaving him. Gojo props his phone up on your nightstand and, now that his other hand is free, begins leaving his touch all over your body. He looms over your weak, shivering form, mercilessly humping against you and eager to swallow the saccharine whines that escape your lips. Your legs, on either side of his waist, clench around him and it feels like your body has a mind of its own as you so desperately grind back against him.

“S-Sato-“, he lands another kiss on your lips, interrupting your plea. “Satoru..!”

It’s the way you’re so desperate and needy and so fucking endearing, no wonder Suguru couldn’t keep his hands off you. Gojo had to end this quick, too much longer and he’d be ripping these flimsy, cotton panties off (and they’re just so cute with a little blue bow in the center that’s calling for him) and having his way with you until Suguru’s name was completely erased from your mind, all on another video to add to his now-growing collection. But, he wouldn’t, not yet anyway. Not that he doesn’t want to, but really just out of bitterness because fuck Suguru for having his way with you and fuck you for letting him.

Before Satoru finishes up, he litters your neck in love bites; they’re spread across your collar, up your jaw, and especially over the previous mark Geto made as a big ‘fuck you’ to that man. And shit, why not, on your chest too. Signs of his possession all over your pretty tits, and the sight almost has him immediately cumming in his pants.

He realizes too late that you’ve gone silent, and looks up to see your head thrown back and bottom lip tucked right between your teeth. Your trembling form is enough to push Satoru closer to his own high, though in the back of his mind he refuses to believe that you deserve such a luxury after being naughty with Suguru.

Your little droplets of cum squirt onto his pants, and your release triggers his own before he can relish in knowing he got you to squirt for him and Suguru didn’t. Gojo dumps a hot load into his boxers, which in turn soaks all the way to the front of his trousers. Chest heaving, Satoru grabs his phone, ends the video, and again holds the device above your writhing figure. In all the excitement, he almost forgot what he was doing all this for.

“Up here, sweetheart.,” he sings at you, and he’s satisfied when your lids flutter open to look at the lens.

Satoru snaps a few pictures of your fucked-out form. Some with your soaked, cumstained pussy just cropped out the bottom, some exposing the marks on your tits, and even one where he uses your skirt to hide his cock, which he’s laid over your cunt. He didn’t actually do what the picture implies, but Gojo thinks the look on Suguru’s face when he assumes he fucked you senseless will be worth it. You certainly look the part, gasping and sweaty and quivering all from him just humping your little clit.

“Don’t you look perfect.”, Satoru grins as he taps around some more on his phone, and your eyes widen when he shows you the screen. “You make such a cute wallpaper, babe!”

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru smut

[sukunasweetheart]

👀👉🏾👈🏾 Sukuna x Reader ex's to lovers?

wowowow i cant believe im doing like another celebrity au again but here goes nothing ahaha...

i love this trope, i ended up writing a WHOLE, lengthy ass, detailed plotline on it i hope u dont mind <3 (A WHOLE WHOPPING 6K WORDS YALL)

prepare for hella angst, OOC sukuna, insecure fem!reader, ghosting, messy break up, conflicting and complicated feelings + sexual tension and then intense smut @ the end (make up sex)

imagine sukuna being like, an amateur model-turned-actor, with you being his highschool sweetheart, who was there to support him since day one

a very happy, fulfilling relationship for the most part-- until he starts gaining huge amounts of popularity.

youve always known that he was meant and born to reach sky-high levels of success, and you were certain he was going to make it one day

but things get rockier by the second, and insecurity is such an ugly, ugly thing

seeing him model with other beautiful celebrities, acting in roles where he had a love interest to kiss and fondle, reading those gossip scandal articles involving him and another party every few months or so-

it all got too much for you.

all you needed was some reassurance... but young and vivacious sukuna, drunk on this fame and attention, failed to recognise that and left you feeling neglected.

not on purpose tho, he's never engaged in infidelity, he's never gazed upon someone else with lust or love on his mind - he was using everyone around him as a stepping stone towards his own career

sukuna's known you since forever, and he was confident that you knew his affection for you was unwavering... so he failed to understand where you were coming from whenever you brought these things up

arguments after arguments after arguments

the worst part of it was that he wanted to keep his relationship with you a secret. saying something about how having a significant other would slow his progress in his career down... the decision was urged on by the entertainment company that he was in a contract with

it hurt so damn much when he was being interviewed on tv about his romantic life, only for him to tell the world he was single.

it leads to more arguing.

of course, as a rising celebrity, he was quite awfully busy with many business trips and attending a lot of parties and galas

another terrible fight occurred right before he had to leave for a flight overseas but by then, youd pretty much already decided that you were going to leave him

you basically ghosted him, packing all your belongings overnight, blocking his number and all his social media accounts, making sure even all yours and his mutual friends didn't know of your whereabouts. you're going to start fresh. and give him no closure.

it was petty revenge, and maybe immature of you, but you were just as young as he was, and you wanted him to hurt as badly as you were hurting back then.

sukuna's still overseas, having just come back from another fancy gathering and is fresh out of the shower, in his hotel room... he decides he's gonna try and give you a call, but ofc you don't pick up

he sighs and convinces himself that he'll sort things out with you later when he gets back, not knowing that there won't be a 'later'.

meanwhile you're dragging a suitcase out of the apartment, taking a taxi somewhere else far away, crying as you pass by giant billboards that have pictures of sukuna plastered all over

he feels like such a faraway person now. no longer someone who you used to cuddle closely in bed, or hold hands with. you're not even sure of who you are without him anymore.

you could imagine his reaction when he came home, only to find your entire existence missing. seriously, it was like you were never there. you left nothing of yours behind, and the place was cleaned spick and span, not a hair of yours to be found.

when was the last time sukuna felt so panicked?? this dull ache in his chest, as he spams you calls and texts that never reach you

he contacts mutual friends in rotation but everyone is absolutely clueless... he considers filing a missing persons case but then a trusted friend of yours tells him to not look for you... and that you wanted them to relay a message to him, just a simple goodbye.

what the fuck are you talking about?

oh, here comes a severe headache.

his mind is whirring with overlapping memories, thoughts, regrets, thinking about any clues that might give away where you couldve gone, but theres simply nothing

the shock moves into sorrow, then denial, and then it turns to anger. does he mean nothing to you? so much so that youd abandon him without saying a word?

its like he was going through the five stages of grief, but for someone who he knew was still alive..

eventually, he finds a rebound out of spite. if youve left him, then it's means he's free and single, right? he gets himself piss-drunk, and beds another, only to wake up feeling absolutely disgusted. it feels like... it feels like he's cheated on you. even though you're already gone. he's just a mess of conflicting emotions, and it lasts for so long.

the reason why he doesnt hire someone or use some other underhanded method to actually look for you is because of a weird mixture of both his pride and feelings of insecurity, thinking that maybe, just maybe, you do deserve someone better, someone who understands you more... (and he's also fearful that someone like you, might've already found love somewhere else, and he's definitely not confident that he'll be able to act maturely if he sees its true)

eventually, acceptance does come... but does it really?

i like to think he went through many failed relationships, his partners always leaving him upon witnessing him getting intoxicated and calling for none other than your name in his state. someone who no one around him knows anymore.

years pass, and time really does allow you to forget. for both you and sukuna alike. in your mid thirties, both of you are single at this time.

you've been busy with your new job at some company (dont ask me, i was too lazy to decide what kind, so u guys can make this one up bye), and he made sure to keep himself busy as well. no time for fleeting romance.

of course, until fate does that weird thing where it pushes people together again... a new project lands in your lap, where it involves some kind of collaboration with THE celebrity, ryomen sukuna. of fucking course.

you really did desperately try to get it off and pass this off to some other colleague but they insisted your involvement was necessary. what are you supposed to do? you almost decide to quit... but this job means a lot to you... you can't just throw everything away because of an ex... right?

and, oh my god, when the first meeting does happen, involving the celebrity himself, you and a couple other coworkers to discuss the project, sukuna sees you and his brain short circuits for a moment.

he starts doubting his own vision, and then he reminisces, in the middle of whatever the fuck everyone else was talking about during the meeting.

"... Mr. Ryomen?" one of the other participants ask.

he clears his throat, regains his composure and regathers his focus. he's an actor for god's sake. and he starts speaking, with thoughts of you in the back of his mind. about how much youve changed, but also remained exactly the same...

during introductions, you shake his hand and act professionally. his eye twitches. will you continue to pretend not to know him even afterwards? should he talk to you separately after this? no... doing that would mean he's the desperate one...

when you saw sukuna hesitating, part of you felt relieved. so you're not the only one getting freaked out. you don't expect him to acknowledge you anymore, though.

after the meeting, he walks out feeling confident that he's going to ignore you back, if this was the kind of game you're going to play with him. you mean nothing to him, just as he means nothing to you.

but he remembers the shock that went down his spine at the feeling of the warmth in your hand. he watches you take an elevator by yourself, and tries to make a split second decision on whether he wants to let you go, or if he wants to chase you down.

he probably shouldn't bother.

but he impulsively speed walks down towards you, anyway.

youre startled when the elevator doors are blocked from closing just at the last second, with someone's arm coming through between. your heart skips a beat seeing that it's none other than sukuna.

what is this sensation? this mix of fear and... excitement. you should be unperturbed. you're over him. he's someone from the past. you're buzzing with these feelings, but there also comes a creeping resentment that finds its way to you again, as you try to remember why you left him in the first place.

he unclicks whatever level you were heading to, and clicks on the highest level instead. he's gonna take you to the rooftop of the building, where he can confront you peacefully.

"Mr. Ryomen? Is there something wrong?" you ask him. still feigning ignorance. like salt to a wound. you know its another petty move from your part, but you can't help yourself.

"Don't call me that. You know damn well why I'm here," Sukuna drawls, sounding more sad than angry. they've really become strangers.

you grow silent, being hit with a pang of guilt. deep down, you knew you shouldve handled it more maturely than that. he deserved closure, and you needed it too. but isn't it too late for all that now?

the conversation flows tense, but unravels slowly. there's still a lot of questions being withheld though. he wants to ask you how youve been. were you able to sleep peacefully after you left him? why did you have to leave in the worst way possible?

a familiar headache creeps up.

simultaneously, the anger finds its way in his heart all over again. he knows he didn't do much good towards the end of their relationship either but ghosting him was plain disrespectful and childish.

you surprise him when you give a sudden heartfelt apology.

you tell him that you know apologising now after all these years is frankly almost meaningless but still, he didnt deserve to be left behind in that kind of way. you admit that you should've communicated with him properly that you were breaking up with him.

he's left kinda speechless, bc he was so ready to be all snarky to you after everything.. he's still mad, but he can't really say shit anymore without sounding like too much of an asshole.

truth be told, if you did stay around to tell him that you were breaking up with him beforehand, he probably wouldn't have let you go... where would you guys be now, if you never separated?

"i've always wanted to apologise. it's been weighing on me ever since i left."

...and yet, you didn't ever think to call or text him even once afterwards? he never changed his number in hopes for that, and he hates himself for it.

"i understand that you hate me now, but let's try to get through the collaboration without trouble. and then we can part ways again."

that one pierces his heart, like a bullet. you haven't said anything technically wrong. he should hate you. or at least, he should feel indifferent by now. and yet... the way that you automatically assume so irks him badly.

"do you really believe that i hate you? aren't you the one that hates me?"

it's a stupid fucking question. what the fuck is he even saying? he wants to kick the elevator door.

"...i left because i thought you hated me, that you didn't need me anymore. and i tried to convince myself that i hated you too. but that couldn't be further from the truth. even now, i don't ha-"

before you can say any more, the elevator doors open, and a small group of employees are standing outside them, looking curiously in at you and sukuna. then, they realise who he is. they come flocking in, asking for autographs and pictures.

you quietly slip out of the crowd, and after giving one quick glance at sukuna, who visibly wants to pursue you again, you walk away to avoid gathering attention on yourself. wait-! dammit- he thinks.

he can't chase after you. he can't call out for you to stop. he can't push all of these people away. if he did, it will cause rumours and unfavourable articles to fly out. let's try to get through the collaboration without trouble. his own fame becomes another obstacle between you and him.

back then, you were his whole world, yet somewhere along the path, he started to fail in making you feel like it.

he watches you take the fire exit towards the emergency stairs, while he's surrounded by overbearing fans who beg for his attention. you're going to have to walk down in your heels, all because of him. as he catches the final glimpse of you, as he's reluctantly dealing with his fans, he begins to understand, a little bit. he didn't want to understand why you decided to leave him. but he does now. a little.

a couple of stairwells down, you eventually pause for a moment and sit down on the last step to take a breather. you wipe your sweaty palms against your skirt. the familiar tug at your heart, in which your insecurities come flowing back to you, seeing him surrounded. you need to build higher, stronger walls around you from now.

when sukuna is done on his end, and sends them off down the elevator, he goes off to check down the stairs you went, but you've already booked it. slipped right through his fingers. you were about to say something important. with unresolved feelings, sukuna also takes the stairs down, with a heavy heart. each step down brings him another old, nostalgic memory of you to him.

from then on, the more he interacts with you during work-related matters, the more apparent it becomes that he still harbors feelings for you. he tries to ignore it, push it back down, but it only returns twice as overwhelming.

your voice. the way you smile. the scent of your perfume. exactly the same as back then. yet, he also observes the changes that have occurred in you; how you act, speak and the kinds of words you use, as well as seeing you in such a professional setting rather than personal - everything is coming together to allure him more, and he's in a state where he's unable to resist this attraction, but also unable to act on it, because he's not sure how you'd react to it.

he knows it's not just him getting drunk on nostalgia.

the next time he catches you alone, he makes sure to tell you that he doesn't hate you like you believe he does. you'd never admit it, but that gave you butterflies in your stomach.

in fact, everything sukuna does, even just locking eyes with you for a few seconds, is enough to make your heart rate increase, intensifying when he looks at you almost like... almost like he wants you. you must be imagining things.

he finds himself doing uncharacteristic deeds, like sending coffee for all the staff members. his manager passes them out to everybody, including you. he doesn't know if you still like your coffee the same way as he remembers, but he makes sure that yours is a little different, a little more specific than everyone else's, in hopes that you'll notice these small gestures of his.

over the course of the project, he inches closer to you, ever so slowly. but you don't seem to budge. even worse, you seem to be avoiding him as much as you possibly can. you avert your gaze from his. stagger away when he gets close.

he brings it up on one occasion, when he's able to approach you at the back of the building, where there's no one around, and no watchful eyes of a nosy audience. it's definitely frustrating and unpleasant- when he wants to speak with you, he has to keep distance in case another scandal rises. he doesn't want to drag you into the spotlight, without knowing if you're okay with it first.

sukuna only really talks to you when there's nobody around. maybe he's being considerate of you, but it gives you the impression that he doesn't want to be seen hanging around with you. it makes you remember things you don't want to. it makes you remember that being with him now requires a courage that you're not sure that you have. at the very least, you know you definitely didn't have it back then.

you keep conversations short with him, and try to leave. but he keeps at it persistently. what is he trying to do? is he toying with you?

"you're acting like you want us to get back together. don't do things that'll make me misunderstand," you tell him. you were trying to provoke him. expecting him to deny it harshly and back away, because you knew he was prideful- he'd never be caught being hung up over an ex.

"...and? what if i told you that i do want that? would you stop avoiding me then?" he takes one step forward, and you take one back, proving his point.

why is he pushing aside his ego for you? where did all his arrogance go off to? this isn't how the sukuna in his twenties would've responded. his answer makes you waver, and you don't appreciate that. you try not to show it.

"no. i'd only begin to avoid you even more. so don't start."

"i'm not," you deny, but your voice betrays you. he clings onto that.

"why? ...afraid that you'd cave in to me?"

like the way he's already pretty much caved in for you?

"you don't sound very convincing."

"...would you want someone who'd choose their career over you?"

that stops him in his tracks. he has nothing to say to that. because he did make that mistake. where he prioritised his job over your feelings.

"i don't hate or blame you for that anymore, sukuna. but you have to understand... i don't want to go through that pain ever again. i don't want to hold you back. we both deserve more compatible partners."

your own words sting yourself, and you try to go again right after saying that, because it's getting too much for you. his hand flies out to grab yours out of instinct, to stop you from leaving. leaving him again.

it's really not like him to be the clingy ex, pathetically begging to be taken back, but he's willing to throw such pride away if it means you'll be appeased. if you'll let him back into your life again.

"don't say that. you never held me back-- you were my home and my everything, and i was the one that started to take you for granted," he says gently, his low voice laced with sorrow, so uncharacteristically. you've only ever heard this kind of tone from him once before, and it was when his grandfather, who was like a parent to him, had passed away. his thumb brushes over your hand.

"give me another chance. this time i'll let the whole world know about us. about how much you mean to me."

he gets in close ever so slowly, and you let him, for only a moment, before gently pushing him away, with a hand on his chest.

sukuna hitches in a breath, heart sinking to his stomach. he wants to embrace you so, so, so bad. he needs your warmth. always has been. always will. but he sees that you're unrelenting, which breaks him.

"no, stop... i'm sorry, i can't."

you're still scared. you keep thinking about how lonely you felt when you were with him, at least right before the break up. seeing him laughing through the tv screen. alone in the living room. and all the arguments.

your hand slips out of his, and he lets you go. he feels empty when you walk away. hollow. the similar feeling he felt when you first left him, but less anguish and more despair. when he gets home, he tries to drink those feelings away. something he rarely does. old regrets and heartaches return, and he drinks until he passes out.

while he drinks, you weep. crying into your pillow, wondering if you're doing the right thing. wondering if this is how it's supposed to be. terrified of being with him again, but also terrified of losing him, like a hypocrite.

from then on, sukuna keeps a respectful distance from you... no longer trying to make approaches in secret, no longer pursuing you every chance he gets. but he still sends out coffee. even provides snacks to the crew. little do they know, they're the kinds of snacks that he knows you loved. hopefully, you still do. he'll keep his distance because it's what you want, but he wishes to keep doing these little things for you. subtly.

and you notice it, too. you have vivid memories of telling him about your favourites and preferences back then, and you recognise what he's trying to do. you drink the coffee. and you always grab a handful of the snacks. you do appreciate it. it makes you happy that he remembers. on a few occasions, you turn to look at him, only to witness him looking away at the last second.

it's not too long before the project is successfully finalised, and all their efforts have been rewarded. a celebration is due, and your boss throws a party at a fancy hotel for everyone to enjoy themselves at. sukuna had stopped going to so many gatherings and parties quite a while ago, but he attends knowing that you'll be there as well. he'll see you for the final time before he'll lose any excuses to be around you ever again. it'll be the final night.

you exchange a few words with him at the venue, but the two of you leave each other to mingle with other groups reluctantly, to avoid suspicion. both of you are quite tense all throughout the night, sipping on some wine to ease it, but it still doesn't relax the tension you feel, no matter how far away sukuna stands from you.

a few hours in, and you decide to excuse yourself early to head up into your designated hotel room. your boss covered the expenses for a night, and it would've been a waste to decline it, so you decided to stay. sukuna isn't around anywhere at the venue anymore, so you assume he's already left. you thought about saying farewell, but it didn't seem appropriate after you flat out rejected him. you still have doubts about the decision. because you miss him. but what's done is done, and you can't take back what you've already said.

however, getting to the hotel elevator, you notice he's standing there, with miraculous timing. you awkwardly "hey" him, and he says it back, hands in his pockets.

the two of you step inside when it arrives, and the thick tension remains.

"i'm surprised. i thought you'd be staying around longer for the party," you tell him.

he can't tell you that he found it unbearable, to see you hanging around other people, but being unable to get closer to you himself.

"i just got a bit tired," he lies. "did you have a lot to drink?"

"not at all. i had a few glasses, but i'm still sober."

"same here."

as the lift gets closer to your level, you get antsy, thinking about what to say before you leave, but your thoughts get interrupted when he asks you something abruptly.

"...can i walk you to your room? for the last time."

you swallow thickly on nothing, and feel how your chest aches at the words. last time.

"alright. sure," you say.

he wasn't expecting you to say yes, but he's glad you're letting him stay beside you a little longer. you're staring at the elevator doors, but he's looking at your face from the side. if only the lift would malfunction and stop, right here.

but it doesn't, and soon, he's really walking beside you as you get to your hotel room door, in silence. you unlock it using your key, and then that's it.

"thanks for walking me here," you say rather sheepishly. the thought of him wanting to spend even a few more seconds with you... your hold on the door knob is tight as you stand, face turned around to look at him. it's taking everything in you to stand your ground. last minute guilt and regrets are bombarding your thoughts, and...

"i'll say this now because i probably won't get another chance again," sukuna starts, looking directly into your eyes. his eyes are mellow, and he looks wistful.

"i'm sorry. i realised i never apologised, even though that's the first thing you did for me," he starts. he knows there's a mountain of reasons he is apologising for, but he decides he'll keep this short for your sake.

".. i can't lie to you and say that i wish for your happiness with someone else. 'm not that nice." you know it the best. and you understand, because you don't think you'd be able to withstand seeing him happy with someone else, either.

"find your happiness elsewhere, thanks," he grunts humorously. for god's sake. he's never been good at things like this. being heartfelt. at least it made you chuckle a bit. his expression of indignation melts away into a melancholic one again.

"i still love you." (always have, always will.)

you fight back sudden tears, and your throat begins to ache. sukuna unclenches his fist, and tries to relax himself more.

"and...i'll miss you," he breathes the phrase out. says it so quietly, like it hurts for him to say. (i don't want to let you go.)

something snaps within you and everything starts to scream at you to take everything back, and stop him from going away. don't go- don't go- don't go-

"...goodnight."

he notices your wet eyes, and he has to fight back against the urge to reach out and wipe it away. to rescind his farewell, and pull you into his arms again - forcefully, if he has to. he needs to leave, before he loses control.

you're panicking, and your vision is swimming, and you don't think you'll ever be happy again if you let him go like this-- you're gonna be heartbroken in the worst way imaginable. you want him back, and you know you're being unreasonable after turning him down like that, but you don't care anymore. you want to go against your fears. you want to try being with him again.

before you can stop yourself, your hand catches onto the hem of sukuna's sleeve, seconds before he takes another step away from you.

his eyes widen, and he looks at your grip on his sleeve, like he's checking to see if it's real, and he's not making this shit up in his mind. his heart beats impossibly fast. his hopes skyrocket. the world decided to have mercy on him.

"...you're being unfair, grabbing onto me like this. after i went through hell just now, trying to say goodbye." he's being awfully patient right now.

you don't respond, only silently weeping.

he waits to see if you'll let go, whether this was just an act out of a temporary fickle in your heart, but your grip remains tight, and you're now just looking up at him with tears rolling down, eyes glossy and desperate, pulling at his heart strings. you only let go when he comes back to you, not hesitant to brush his thumbs across your face now, wiping the wetness away.

"what do you want me to do? tell me, and i'll do it. leave? stay?" sukuna coos at you, like he's always done before, waiting patiently until you've calmed down enough to respond properly.

"i shouldn't... i shouldn't let you in. not after how much i'd pushed you away," you whisper. today was supposed to mark the end of it all.

he doesn't even give a fuck about that anymore. what matters is now.

"...but do you want to let me in?"

"...yes," you hic.

he takes a couple of steps forward, making you step back with him, his hand on your waist to make sure you don't trip on the way. he goes past the doorway and into your hotel room slowly. one- two- three- steps. he closes the door behind him quietly.

"and..? what next?" he asks in a low voice, standing close to you, one hand still remaining on your waist, and the other on your upperarm.

"i... i don't know. i just need you," you mumble, looking up at him, eyes red from crying and half-closed. your hands inch up along his back, grabbing handfuls of his suit jacket. sukuna hitches in a breath and something dark flashes across his eyes. they reflect his desire, his almost carnal desperation for you-

"forgive me. i don't think i can hold myself back, anymore."

he captures your lips in his, and groans shamelessly into you. you grip onto him tighter, heart beating so rambunctiously that you fear he can hear it too. it feels too good. the moment he reached you, it felt like the final piece of a puzzle clicking in to complete a full picture.

you part your mouth, and he wastes no time in slipping his tongue inside, kissing you in the way he knows you love, in the way it makes your lips tingle, and, oh god, even after all these years, he still knows how to get you going like no other.

sukuna tastes the traces of wine on your tongue, and even better, he tastes you, the one he'd been missing and craving all this time, the warmth of your skin and touch, your scent, just everything about you, you, you.

he backs you towards the bed, without breaking this breathless, hungry kiss, where he softly lays you down, with him being above you, chest to chest, arms supporting his weight. he momentarily pulls away from you simply just to breathe, and the two of you gaze at each other for a hot second, full of love and lust, breaths overlapping one another. he attempts to ask you "do you still wanna continue?" just in case, but before he gets to say a word, you grab him by his tie and pull his lips to yours again, beginning to loosen it and take it off.

he understands that you want it, now. you successfully manage to untie it, somehow, with just willpower alone, and you start aiming for his buttons next, undoing them one by one. your actions send sparks down to all of his limbs, and he feels so fulfilled by your desire of him, being as intense as how he obsesses over you.

soon after you're done with it, he takes them off and chucks his own clothes away, rendering him half-naked. your hole clenches around nothing at the sight once he pulls away again, his firm muscles and the same old tattoos that you vividly remembered the patterns of. you greedily run your palms across his pecs, eyes turning to hearts. he smirks at you.

it's his turn now, and he doesn't hesitate to start undressing you as well. sukuna gets dizzy at the thought of being able to feast his eyes on your body. he dives in to keep kissing you, and then begins to unbutton you with such speed, it almost startles you.

it's off. your breasts are out in the open now, and sukuna has his fill with massaging them with his large hand, having missed them so much. his palm feels so hot, and your nipples pebble up at his touch, making you gasp into his mouth.

his kiss moves over to the side of your face, it glides down your neck, shoulders, and eventually reaches the swell of your chest. your fingers brush through the pink of his hair as he does so, and you purse your lips together, basking in the feeling of his warm kisses littering your skin. he leaves you hickeys-- the same shape and size and same locations as he used to even during your days in highschool, and you chuckle to yourself at the thought.

it's not long before he's loosening your skirt and slipping your undergarments down, getting rid of your slick-stained panties, much to his satisfaction. sukuna rubs a thumb over your aroused clit, and you whimper, having missed the touch of a man- his touch specifically.

"fuck... you're so wet.... all for me?" he asks, proceeding to slip two fingers into your weeping hole. you arch your back at the feeling, how his thick digits scissor inside of you and press up against a particularly lovely spot. he watches your every response as he does so, watching how you moan because of his touch, and how you're grabbing at his wrist because it's getting too intense. his cock prods uncomfortably against his pants. you're producing so much slick, and his fingers are getting absolutely drenched.

when he takes them out, you whine a little in disappointment.

"i know, i know. i'll give you something better," he whispers, kissing your cheek.

he unbuckles himself, and lowers his boxers to reveal his aching dick, tip wet with precum, veins bulging out the sides. looks the same as you remember. he pumps it a couple of times with his hand that's still covered with your slick, and he twitches. this isn't a dream, is it?

"oh god, please, i need it-" you plead, your hole feeling eager and empty.

"it's all yours," he mumbles. your begging makes him lightheaded as he lines himself up at your weeping cunt.

"i'm all yours."

when he sinks in deep to the hilt, you cry out at the fullness, as his tip pushes the spot inside you that had been feeling so lonely for years. your hands finds themselves against his back, feeling for his tight muscles.

"shit- 'm gonna lose my mind," sukuna groans as he gives a few shallow thrusts into you, cock so hard and throbbing wildly as your plush walls clamp on him and coats him with your arousal. he grabs one of your hands from his back and interlocks his fingers with yours against the mattress, before leaning down to bring his lips against the side of your neck.

"oh, thank god... thank god, you changed your mind. i love you. i would've been so fucking miserable without you, doll. for the rest of my life," he croons, breath fanning so close to your ear. you shudder at the tone of his voice, tearing up again, mixed with pleasure and relief, and you grab his hand tighter.

you turn your head a little more to the side, making it easier for sukuna to bite and suck on the sensitive skin of your neck, as his thrusts increase in speed, nudging your g-spot with every movement.

soon enough, he's bringing his attention back to your tongue, which he caresses with his own, nibbling on your lower lip, maintaining this same perfect pace in his thrusts that brings you closer to your orgasm.

"sukuna- i'm- i'm gonna-" you say breathlessly.

but he merely kisses you again, swallowing up any words you could say or moans you could let out, not minding the gasps and whimpers that you make.

sweat beads on his perfect body, and he makes out with you through your high, groaning back when he feels your walls flutter around him. he's close. even once you've finished cumming, he begins to pound into you quicker, wanting to get to his own orgasm. you claw at his back, crying out in pleasure, as sukuna's tongue lathers your jawline.

he wants to breed you so fucking bad. but no, that'll have to wait. he can't do something to jeopardize your trust in him. he'd rather die than endure another second of being distanced from you again.

right before he's pushed off the edge, sukuna pulls out and desperately jerks himself off above your stomach, panting as his cock throbs in his hand with every spurt that coats you, feeling so hot against your tummy.

you feel a twinge of disappointment, because you also wanted to feel that in your womb...

his dick twitches weakly after being spent, and he breathes heavily, liking the sight of you being covered in his seed for another time. (and many more from now.)

" 'kuna... it's a safe day for me today," you suggest to him without thinking. "i want it inside me..."

the phrase is enough to get heat pooling in his abdomen, and he feels himself get hard all over again.

"you sure, doll? if it's what you want, i'll..." he begins to say, almost flustered by your suggestion. you know you shouldn't say this next line, but it's so easy to get carried away with this man... get caught up in the heat of the moment.

"i want your babies so bad."

you've hit his switch. sukuna growls and puts you into a mating press instantaneously, making you squeak.

"no takebacks," he mutters dangerously, beginning the second round.

the night is long, but heavenly, as soon after he dumps everything he has into your womb, then proceeds to eat you out, making you cry for the third time before sunrise.

when you're awake, it's already heading past midday, and you're relieved to see that yesterday's happenings were not a dream, seeing as the large man is sleeping with an iron hold around your body, as if subconsciously afraid you'd leave him before he woke up again.

he awakens from his slumber to your light, feathery touches on his face, which puts him in a good mood from the moment he opens an eye. it was the scenario he's always dreamed of. waking up next to you, smiling.

there's much to talk about. about what's to come next, future plans, worries, and things they need to do to make amends for all the lost years between each other. but you decide to take things slow.

back to bullet points again bc im lazy to write it properly now

you spend the weekend w him at the hotel and stuff, just playing eating and sleeping, catching up yk

he tells you on his own accord that he wants to let everyone know that he's with you now, but he's worried that it'll bring backlash to you but you tell him you're going to be brave and take it, bc you WANT everyone to know

anyway prepare for turbulence

but everything'll be alright bc hes with you

im thinking about how mopey he'll be when you have to separate from him bc you each have your own homes rn, hes always asking you to come over or if he can come over to your place

and he'll be begging you to move in soon, like old times (he lives in a rich man house now tho)

and also thinking about how its a fresh start, but they also go through old memories and now reminiscing isnt painful anymore bc yall are back together

sukuna also says he's stopped doing romance genres in acting bc he had felt annoyed acting in lovey dovey scenes when his own love life used to be in shambles all the time

and bc hes at a point in his career where he has more choice in choosing between scripts that are offered to him, he's going to continue to decline the ones that have love interests, it doesnt affect him that much anyway

he's just being more considerate of your feelings now... and you promised him that you'll never just disappear like that again when you're upset haha...

sometimes when you still have a few disagreements with him, he keeps subtly checking up on you (hes traumatised, leave him be)

lots of facetiming when he has to go overseas for filming purposes <3

okay, thats all, bye <3

Masterlist

#sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #poe answers

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

white wine | f. odair

(part two of red wine)

part one

summary: another celebration in the capitol leaves you and finnick in an argument that threatens to strain your friendship.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: reader’s pov, flirting, angst, argument, struggling finnick :(

notes: i don’t know if i like this, let me know what y’all think! final part will be out in a few days.

word count: 1.6k

A Sphynx cat dressed in a white suit scurried beneath your feet, disappearing around a vine-covered pillar in the courtyard of the Presidential Palace. Fairy lights were hung on every tree, bush, and pillar, providing light in the growing darkness of the evening. Orchestral strings played in a small band off to the side, so beautiful that it sent goosebumps prickling across your entire body. People were dressed to impress, though to you, they looked more ridiculous than impressive.

The 72nd annual Hunger Games had come and gone, and a tour was held for the victor whose name you had not bothered to learn. At last, the infamous grand celebration in the Capitol had arrived.

Months had gone by since your night of red wine and white cats. Parties had not been in short supply since then, meaning your meetings with Finnick remained regular. But something was off about him. Something you couldn’t place no matter how hard you tried.

Winter snow was beginning to stick to the ground, blending with the pure white gown you were wearing, gifted by the generous president. If purity and innocence were what he was going for, he probably should’ve chosen a dress without a plunging neckline. The proof was in the pudding. Or rather, the voice of the heartthrob from District Four.

“That dress is quite distracting.”

Sauntering toward you came Finnick Odair, a playful grin plastered on his face. Just like you, his outfit only consisted of white. A billowy V-neck that dipped down to his navel, paired with white dress pants and a golden netted belt.

“Finnick.” You smiled, your dull mood lifting from his presence. “So, he got you too, huh?”

“What? You don’t think I look dashing in white?” he teased.

“I think you look dashing in anything.”

The words just slipped out, supposed to only remain a thought. Finnick was a flirt, through and through. You hardly ever entertained his flirtatious manner; rebutting with either attitude or timid silence was more your style. So, the last thing you needed was for him to take your words to heart, however genuine they might be.

He blinked in surprise, only to quickly laugh it off. “Thank you, but I don’t think the spotlight will be on me tonight,” he said, his eyes scanning your dress from head to toe, then settling back on your face. “I hate to admit it, but Snow knows beauty when he sees it.”

“Snow knows everything,” you replied sarcastically.

And there it was again. That out-of-character shift in his demeanour. Like a storm cloud had suddenly rolled over head, dampening the mood with its gloomy presence. This was becoming a more frequent occurrence each time you saw Finnick and you were desperate to know why. What had changed?

Sunshine broke through the clouds again in the form of a splitting grin. “Unfortunately, so,” he said, brushing the topic aside as though it were nothing. “Would you like to dance? Give them a taste of real beauty?”

You couldn’t say no.

The instrumentals had slowed to the tempo of an assumed waltz. Although you had been trained in social etiquette, dancing was not your strong suit—unless you counted drunk dancing. With this knowledge, Finnick took the lead, his hand gently cupping your waist, another interlocking your own, and you followed his simple steps until you found a comfortable rhythm.

“I have got to know who your dancing instructor is,” Finnick quipped, his tone full of jest. “He’s got to be pretty talented to be able to teach you how to dance. Undeniably attractive too, considering your incredibly vain nature.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “I can’t seem to recall his name. Not very remarkable. Phineas was it? Or maybe it was Finnley.”

“That hurts, sweetheart.”

“Truth hurts, Odair,” you said, sending him a teasing smile.

He chuckled, the dance continuing smoothly. “You’re getting better,” he said, his voice now sounding sincere.

Before you met Finnick, fitting in with higher society was a struggle. All of their customs and etiquette seemed so foreign to you, especially since you came from a lower-ranking district. But as he meticulously wound himself into your web, he brought with him an abundance of knowledge which he happily shared with you.

You had spent countless hours together, learning different subjects such as how to keep conversations going, the art of seduction, and even dancing, even though you never quite got it down.

Times came when dangerous situations arose—conferences with President Snow, meeting obsessiveCapitol citizens, and being given unreasonable demands. More than once, Finnick saved your life through his guidance. You owed him everything and more.

Heat spread in the places his hands touched you, subduing the slight chill of the winter air. You would expect someone from District 4 to be cold, as the ocean was like a second home to them, with their days spent fishing, swimming, and collecting underwater vegetation in the cold depths. Despite this, everything about Finnick radiated warmth. His bronze hair was like the embers of a dying fire; his skin was fiery upon touch. Even his smile was sunny, always beaming like a golden ray of light.

Slowly, the fairy lights transformed in colour, highlighting the luxurious scenery and both yours and Finnick’s clothing. White turned to green, accentuating the striking colour of Finnick’s eyes which gazed down upon you as your bodies swayed together. After green came a colour that turned your dress a deep crimson.

“This one’s my favourite,” Finnick said, his voice so melodious it sounded like a part of the orchestra.

“Why is that?”

You felt his hand glide to your lower back and your knees almost buckled.

“Because—” The music swelled before its end and he gracefully dipped you as if to emphasise his answer— “you always look stunning in red.”

Everything went quiet. The music had ended and all you could hear was the sound of your heartbeat thumping in your ears. Beautiful sea green washed over your body, enveloping you in complete serenity that resembled the feeling of floating beneath the ocean’s surface. Finnick was there with you, holding you in his arms, his eyes penetrating deep into your own—sea-green serenity.

You lowered your gaze to his lips, admiring the pink colour and velvetiness. It was a dilemma you constantly struggled with—having a crush on the Finnick Odair. The Capitol’s Darling. Everybody wanted him; some actually got him. You heard whispers of his little adventures in the Capitol, how a select few would get to spend the night with him whenever he visited.

There was no judgement on your part; Finnick was your closest friend. And that was all he would ever be, making you the most envious of them all. Condemned to forever wishing to be something more than platonic. Always being the one watching from the sidelines. That was the singular thing you had in common with the people of the Capitol.

But in that fleeting moment, you were undeniably certain no one had ever yearned to kiss anyone more than you yearned to kiss Finnick. Your heart lurched when his eyes flickered to your lips and suddenly, you were questioning whether or not he felt the same. When he started to lean in closer, your heart just about exploded.

But before anything could happen, you realised that the waters were infested with gossip-hungry sharks, waiting for their moment to strike.

Soft murmurs were echoing around you, reeling your harsh reality back into existence. Finnick too noticed and pulled you back into a standing position. His hands dropped from your body and without a second glance, he took off in the opposite direction, leaving you momentarily in shock.

“Wha—Finnick!” you exclaimed, trailing after him.

You weaved through the crowd of engrossed bystanders, ignoring their hushed whispers and unwavering stares. Finnick had climbed two of the marble steps leading up to the mansion before you reached out and grabbed his white sleeve, forcing him to face you.

“What, Y/N?” he snapped, wearing an expression that was a mixture of frustration and hurt. The usage of your real name took you aback. He would always call you ‘sweetheart’ or some other term of endearment. Hardly ever your name. “What do you want?”

You shook your head, confused as to where his sudden hostility had come from. “What’s going on with you?” you asked, searching his eyes for anything that would help you understand, but there were too many emotions for you to decipher. “Whenever we see each other it’s like something is weighing you down. Sometimes you can’t even look me in the eyes and then other times you’re asking me to dance with you and flirting with me. I don’t understand, is it me? Have I done something?”

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as he averted his gaze. You let out an exasperated breath, lowering your gaze to his chest in frustration. The brilliance of his white shirt caught your attention and a troubling thought popped into your mind. “Has Snow done something?”

His eyes snapped to yours, a silent command to lower your voice. Descending one step, Finnick leaned down, towering over your body. His voice was low, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

In one last attempt to break through his barrier, you slid your hand into his. “Then explain it to me,” you pleaded. “Please.”

The inner turmoil was evident on Finnick’s face. His gaze softened but the deep worry lines were still etched into his skin. For a moment, you believed he was finally going to lower his walls. However, your hope was diminished as he exhaled a long, weary breath and said, “I wish I could.”

And then his hand slipped out of yours, disappearing entirely as he ascended the stairs and left you at the bottom, defeated.

tags: @bellamybellamyblake @teigo-the-explorer

part three

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️ #finnick odair #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair smut #finnick odair imagine #sam claflin #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen

[55sturn]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ OH, BABYDOLL.

↳ masterlist!

↳ summary: in which a night of drunken celebration between matt and his best friend turns into something more, something they both yearned for.

↳ pairing: matt sturniolo x fem!reader

↳ warnings: swearing, alcoholic consumption, making out, use of y/n, slightly suggestive (?) touching, pet name [doll], drunk confessions.

↳ important things to note: finally a dominic fike inspired fic!

THIRD PERSON POV

everyone has someone in their life that they’ll never really get over, whether it be an ex friend, or an ex lover, there’s always going to be lingering feelings for that person. for matt, it was his best friend.

at first he figured that he was only attracted to her physically and sexually because he was pent up. so the day he noticed that he kept checking her out, he sent a text to an ex hookup and got the job done. but the next day, he was backing to wanting her in such an animalistic and carnal way that it was hard to be around without all the blood rushing from his head to somewhere else.

but the longer his attraction went on, the more confused he ended up. he searched for her in every room, after every joke he told in hopes that he’d find her laughing. he began immediately seeking her the moment he’d step into the house after a rough day.

he realized it became something more when he found himself driving to her apartment complex without prior announcement the moment he received good news about his yesterday’s problem project.

he realized it became something more when he crafted journals for his own personal brand based off the journal she carried with her everywhere.

and he realized that he’s never really wanted anyone the way he’s wanted her, and once that was revealed to him, he tried to move on. he dated girls far and few in between, and none of them never really ignited the flame that lay dormant in the pit of his stomach the way y/n did. other girls never stirred up the butterflies that lay peaceful in his chest every time he was away from her.

he realized that he was fucked. he loved her and there no changing that.

so when he began noticing that you seemed so different after starting your new assistant job, he begged you to quit. it changed you into a dull shell of the lively, bright, and happy person you were. he really believed that it had caused you to lose that sparkle in your personality that made you everything he loved, and honestly he loved you regardless, he just missed your bubbly personality. he had noticed that even your eyes seemed dull.

so when you called him later in the day, muttering something along the lines of “i didn’t think the day would come but it did and i don’t have to get up at nearly five in the morning tomorrow!” he couldn’t fully make out the words because of how jumbled you become whenever you’re excited.

“doll, you’re getting all jumbled again, can you repeat that?” he hummed, the pet name you knew all too well that still managed to have the tips of your ears turning pink and hot slipping from his lips, sounding sickeningly sweet. he started calling you doll not too long after you guys met, every time he picked you up when he asked to hangout, you’d come out singing babydoll by dominic fike because it was a song you were obsessed with, but the real reason behind was the night you guys met at some party, you were wearing a cropped raglan style baby tee that read babydoll in the iconic bratz font. the sleeves and collar were bright pink, and the text matched.

he felt that calling you “babydoll” made him sound a bit too much like a boyfriend, so from then on, he coined that nickname “doll”, and it stirred up a sweet and delicate feeling in your chest but it also caused your head to fall fuzzy to the utmost dangerous thoughts about your best friend.

but honestly, you were entranced with the sentimental feeling that bloomed in your chest every time he spoke the nickname.

“i said,” you start, dragging out the “a” as you turn on to his street, “that the day where i quit my job has finally come! so i’m outside because we’re gonna go to some bar or club and celebrate. that’s why i told you to get ready earlier and order an uber.”

“holy shit i cant believe you actually did it!”

“same now get the fuck out here!” you giggled, ending the call and climbing out of your car, waiting against the driver’s door as matt stepped outside, making quick strides over to you, and pulling you into a hug as the uber he ordered came into view.

the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, not wanting to talk about too much with a stranger in the car, knowing very well it could fall on the wrong ears when another passenger climbs into that very seat.

you were beginning to question whether or not getting drunk with matt was a good idea, you had been harbouring so many things directed toward him for the last little while, and you were about to combust. you knew that if you had even the tiniest bit of liquid courage in you, your deepest secrets would come tumbling out like word vomit.

as if matt could sense your worry, he placed a hand on your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh as if to say “you’re okay.” and in all honesty, you were both convinced you each had a sixth sense when it came to one another, you could easily read matt and figure out what he was feeling or thinking after a split second of looking at him, and vice versa. your internal spiral was cut short as yours and matt’s favourite club came into view.

you both quickly thanked your uber, giving him a perfect rating before making your way into the club.

“what are we drinking first, doll?” matt hums, however his words fell on vacant ears, you couldn’t stop yourself from zoning out on the way he looked tonight, his shoulders look broad and defined beneath the dark muscle tee he wore, and the pants he paired his shirt with were your favourite pair of anything he owned. they were his black carhartt carpenter pants, paired with his notorious key ring attached to the belt loop, and his white airforces. matt noticed the way you were watching him, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of confidence flow through his veins.

“huh?” you sputter, finally meeting his eyes with your face turning a deep pink, but you were glad the strobe lights in the club were red.

“what are we drinking first?”

“i need a shot of tequila and a vodka redbull.”

“make that two shots, a vodka redbull for her, and i’ll just have a jack and coke.” matt calls to the bartender, having to raise his voice over the loud music and chatter surrounding the bar. once again, as you wait for your drinks, you finding yourself falling into deep concentration, unable to tear your eyes from matt as he leans against the bar. matt turns to hand you your shot, only to find you roughly feeding half of your bottom lip between your teeth, your stare vacant but determined.

“doll, you’re gonna split your lip, stop doing that.” he murmurs, loud enough for only you to hear as he presses his thumb against your lip, pulling it from your teeth, slowly becoming hypnotized by the way it recoils back into its natural pout.

“sorry, the realization of everything is settling in you know?”

“that’s why we’re gonna take our shots, chug our drinks, order more shots, and then dance.”

“matthew sturniolo? offering to dance before anyone else? did i trip and fall into an alternate universe?”

“shut up.” he laughs, downing his shot after clinking his glass against yours, and once again you’re entranced by him, watching the way his adam’s apple bobs slowly as he swallows, finding it incredibly attractive how he hardly makes a face after the shot is gone. before he can meet your stare, you down your shot, followed by your drink, getting rid of both quite quickly, and ordering two more shots for you and matt.

about an hour passes, and you’re both quite tipsy as you dance and scream along to the music, laughing at the moves you both pull out, not caring if anyone sees or judges. but you’re about to tap matt on the shoulder to tell him you’re going to order another, when babydoll comes on. you’re shocked to say the least, it’s not really a clubbing song but you’re thanking what being above compelled the dj to play it. matt watches you dance along to your favourite song with a dazed grin, his eyes beginning to become hooded as the alcohol takes over his body.

as you’re singing along, you make eye contact with him and it feels as id the entire world stops, like time was standing still as you slowly gravitate toward him. you’re watching him with through rose coloured glasses as his hands fall to your hips, pulling you flush against him with your hands on his shoulders, and rocking your bodies back and forth. the heat emanating from his palms against your hips and lower back makes your head spin in the best way as you lean in close, your lips ghosting over his as you mumble the words,

“oh babydoll, i cant move on.”

the words almost act as if they’re an unspoken confession, because matt’s nodding along to your words, understanding the underlying meaning behind them. and matt humming the next line, his lips pressing just the slightest bit more against yours, and you’re understanding everything he’s implying.

what started out as an innocent celebration between you two, has now become a flustered mess, your lips are so close, and yet neither of you are ready to cross that line as the next song begins playing, and it’s a raunchy and filthy song, making the moment all the more erotic.

“i need to kiss you, matt.” you whisper against his lips, the torture of having them so close yet so far was causing your head to spin, and you couldn’t wait anymore. and as if to tease you more, matt’s tongue darts between his lips, wetting them, the tip of it brushing ever so slightly against yours. and he couldn’t help smirk as your eyes flutter shut at the smallest amount of contact. and all your self will goes out the window as you hook your fingers around his silver chain, tugging his lips completely against yours, your mouths moving in sync as you reach the moment you’ve been craving since you met matt.

the kiss is sloppy, warm, and extremely hot. it was a mess of clashing teeth, spit swapping, and tangled tongues. matt’s the first to pull away, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth ever so gently, loving the way it bounces back. he loves everything about your lips, the fullness, the shape, and god their shade of pink drives him crazy.

“you don’t know how long i’ve wanted that, doll.” his whispers, his voice think with want and fulfillment as he stares down at you, his left hand moving from your hip to your jaw, his thumb resting against your lip as you smile at him.

“i think i have an idea because i’ve wanted it just as long, matty.”

the two of you don’t break too far apart for the rest of the night, allowing yourselves to sit comfortably in the purgatory of staying the same or indulging in something more that you’ve turned your friendship into. you’re sure to regret letting yourself give so easily into wrecking your friendship with him in the morning, but right now, you couldn’t be bothered, especially not after finally kissing him because right now, all you want to do is keep kissing him. the way his lips fit against yours has almost become addictive, loving the way his lips taste slightly like your lip glass with remnants of coke and rum.

you weren’t sure how you were going to navigate the new change, but what did know was that you were going to be utterly fucked when you wake up tomorrow and remember that you made out with matt.

↳ taglist: @dylsdunbar @verosivy @florcult @flynnriderishot @33sturniolo @sugrhigh @rootbeerworshiper @soursturniolo @spencerstits @meanttomeet @bluesturniolo333 @graciereid @abbie13sworld @ghostofbrock @l9vesick @mylifeisevenstranger @bethsturn @ifilwtmfc @themattgirl @lovingmattysposts @lacysturniolo @freshloveee @fawnchives @cindylcuwho @freshloveforthefit @freshsturns @forevergirlposts @sturniolo-fav-matt @cupidsword @lustfulslxt @sturnifyed @teapartyprincess4two @mangosrar @querenciasturniolo @pinklittleflower @ellie-luvsfics @strniolo @junnniiieee07 @hearts4chris @evie-sturns @nicksmainbitch @gnxosblog @sturniolopepsi @wronqness99 @sturniolossss @hesvoid3434 @mattsfavwh3re @inlovewithmattstur @melanch0lybby

© 55STURN 2024 ! REBLOGS NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED ! [ you do not have permission to copy or save or share my work to other platforms and devices! ]

#Spotify #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo oneshots #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo oneshots

[formulaforza]

💐 hi my wonderful birthday girl !! so i was thinking about a dress coded lewis blurb (because i was born a lewis and ts girl) where they just get drunk together and there’s teases flying and stuff. keep it as brief as u wish <333

—you can take it off

lewis hamilton x merc!reader summ. thank you stephy i love u bad <3 inspo from... ur never gonna believe it... this. hope it's up to your standards my love. 2.7k (kind of got out of hand)

You were half-asleep and half-drunk the night of the Belgium Grand Prix. The air was cool, recycled like all air seems to be in hotels, smelled of too-strong perfume and was filled with the dull noise of elevator jazz. What had begun as a before-we-go-to-bed night cap in the hotel bar with Bono had turned into a seemingly never ending addition of guests. 

Valtteri was first to join—never could pass up the opportunity to give you shit, to offer you job postings at Alfa Romeo that weren’t job postings at all—and with him around, there’s no casual drinking. You don’t try to keep up, not really, because you know you don’t stand a chance, but also because he would never let you. After all these years of being just a few months younger than him, he still calls you kiddo, still promises to call your parents when you’re out after dark, and always sends you a text after a race with some… questionable strategy decisions you’re catching flack for online. 

A brief appearance from Toto and Susie, just long enough for them to know they had no business trying to go drink for drink with Valtteri, and then they’re wishing all three of you a wonderful summer break and retreating to whatever room is considered prestige enough for Motorsport’s it-couple. 

And then there was Lewis, the last to arrive, who never called you kid, who never viewed you as one. He sits adjacent you in the red, high back leather booth and takes up a seat and a half, the toe of his shoe brushing against the side of yours, flashing you apologetic puppy dog eyes every time he bumps against yours. 

It’s somewhere between drink number five and six that Lewis gets his first, insists on a toast to the summer break that officially began… six hours and fifty-three minutes ago. For a long season this and a too-short summer break that, you lot had a mouthful of things to complain about, but a million more to be grateful for. “To not having work for a month,” Lewis proposes, clinking his glass against yours, offering a quick wink and holding it up properly over the table. 

“To no racing-talk for a few weeks,” Bono adds, clinking his glass against Lewis’. 

“To summer-fucking-break,” Valtteri chimes in, laughing at himself before the rest of you get the chance to match it. 

“To summer fucking break,” you repeat because you know there’s no better way to sum it all up. 

Unlike the other two, you slowed down when Lewis joined, wanted to give him time to catch up, to give yourself time to meet him somewhere in the middle. A glass of water and a virgin rum and coke and another water and the night is still young. 

“First summer break as the big boss, kiddo,” Valtteri remarks, and you have to squint to hear him through the alcohol-induced thickening of his accent. 

“That’s right!” Bono laughs. Your cheeks run hot at their mention of your title, of your promotion following James’ departure earlier in the season. Lewis smiles against the rim of his glass, bumps his foot against yours and doesn’t give you apologetic eyes. No, he raises his brows so slightly you think you’re the only one that notices, which is probably exactly the way he intended it to be. “Little miss queen of strategy is making the big money now, got any big travel plans?”

Lewis clears his throat, and your eyes dart over to his almost instinctively. “You’re staying in London, yeah?”

He’s right. Your summer-break plans consist of four weeks of trying to remember what it feels like to do nothing, failing at that task pathetically, and spending the rest of the time meticulously picking apart every call you’ve made all season and imagining the million and one things you could’ve done differently and their billion and two outcomes. 

You pick apart the drink napkin, tear it into tiny little pieces. “Yeah, yeah. Just staying home, catching up with friends and family,” you clarify, try not to sound as pathetic as you feel. It’s hard not to when you’re sitting next to the guy who spends his offseason snowboarding in Antarctica with his celebrity friends and his weeks off traveling to Paris fashion week for front row seats next to supermodels. Anything you say would sound pathetic to someone who makes thirty-five million a year. 

“I love it,” he nods, stares right through you and into your soul so you know he’s being genuine. “That’s awesome.”

You nod, swallow hard, purposely angle your body away from his, to the rest of the group. “What about you guys?”

Lewis laughs, soft, quiet, completely under his breath. The kind of laugh that deserves to be bottled into a jar and kept on a shelf for safe keeping. You know he’s always laughed like that, even before he knew you, but in the last few months it just feels different. Good different, like he’s laughing just for you now instead of everyone else too. 

You know you’re crazy, that he’s just Lewis being Lewis and you’re just single for the first time in a long time and also drunk. Not half drunk anymore, just drunk—even if you do think you’re meeting him in the middle, you’re not. He’s just chasing after. 

“Back home, too,” Bono concludes. “Take a breather, might head up to the country with the family.”

“You’ll take pictures, yeah?” Lewis asks, starts to pick up the pieces of your napkin tear pile and move them in front of him like a kid who isn’t patient enough to share or destructive enough to rip up his own. You watch in your peripheral, the way he fiddles with the wet paper, gets it stuck to his fingertips. You can’t laugh, so you don’t, but you want to. You think he knows you want to. 

Bono scoffs, nods while swallowing a sip of his drink—something dark, something pungent. Not what you would have pegged him for ordering, even after knowing him as long as you have. “So I can compare with the likes of you lot and,” he turns to Lewis, leers around you to emphasize the eyeline, “your million dollar vacations or,” and then the other way, back to Valtteri, “your olympic cycling events?”

Valtteri smiles, swirls his drink—gin, you think. Expensive. “Yes.”

“No chance.”

“I’ll be sure to send you a picture of me having a meltdown when I think about our side pods from the beginning of the year,” you chime in, because it’s not like they all don’t know you well enough to know exactly what you mean by spending time with friends and family at home.

 “What sidepods?” Lewis chuckles.

“Fucking exactly,” you add, mirror his mannerisms without even realizing it, all the way down to readjusting in your seat when you’ve had your laugh. 

“Could be worse,” Bono offers. “Could be last year.”

Lewis nods, holds his drink up in the direction of Valtteri across the table. “We never should have let you leave.”

He smiles, weak, lips  pursed. “I could have told you that.”

The night continues on, all drinks and laughs and yawns, occasional remarks that it’s about time I head up, followed by another round, another joke, another comment about this, that, or the other thing. 

You’ve always liked Lewis when he’s a little tipsy. He lightens up a bit, you can actually watch the stress drip from him like sweat, all the titles and the wins and the losses, they all just fall away when he’s relaxed like this. You’ve always liked him like this. Always. Before he was king of the world and before he was the prodigal son and every moment in between. 

After every joke he makes—or, after every comment he makes that he thinks could be considered a joke—you find yourself laughing, because it’s Lewis and you have a crush on him and of course you do. And, without fail, everytime you laugh, he winks, like you’re in on some inside joke even though he’s making it to the whole table, like there’s some double meaning to all of his words that are meant just for you, just for the two of you to understand. 

Somewhere in it all, it comes back to Lewis, because, well, it always does. “Is your back still bothering you?” Bono asks, and you think you already know the answer. You think you know, because you can’t remember the last time you;d seen him take careful consideration of his posture when he sits. Not even now is he sitting up straight, with his legs perfectly spread a shoulder’s width apart and his feet flat on the floor. Instead, he’s taking up more room than he needs to, all relaxed and comfortable on the leather booth bench. 

He swipes his thumb over the  condensation of his glass, looking up from the action at you, and then to Bono. “No, no. All good there.”

“All good?” Bono prods, because he was on the receiving end of a year and a half of complaints from Lewis.

Lewis nods, clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “No Paracetamol in a month.”

Across the table, Valterri chimes in. “None?” 

“None for my back,” Lewis says, and the whole table laughs. You just watch him, though, because who laughs better than he does? You could wax poetic about it without a second thought, the way that his lips upturn and his cheeks round and his eyes crinkle and go soft in a way that makes you feel like you’re the funniest person in the world even when you’re not making a joke. The way that his smile is brighter than anyone’s you’ve ever seen, and the way that if you look at it for too long, you think about how it would feel to run your finger along the gap in his teeth. 

“That’s what I thought,” Valtteri mutters off the end of his laugh. “You're getting old.”

“Not too old to make half a million.”

The entire table’s heads fly to him. You gasp, an embarrassingly wide smile on your face. “You didn’t!” You almost yell, smacking his upper arm with a weak hand. 

He mocks your gasp, makes it somehow more dramatic and over the top and laughs sweetly, shrugging your hand off his arm and letting his hand fall to your leg, bumping your foot with his again. “I didn’t.” The table chuckles, you pout, and then you realize that his hand is on your thigh, that it’s staying there quite comfortably, and that you mind it less than he does. 

“Don’t be a tease,” you sigh, take a swig of your drink. Your knees are suddenly weak, like you know you wouldn’t be able to stand up if you wanted to. It’s like he can sense your change but can’t quite read it, because then he’s moving his hand back to his own lap, interlocking it with the other and resting it there.

 He nods, suddenly shy, suddenly guilty. “It’s as good as done.”

Valtteri laughs. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” You hear what he says, but you’re not listening, not really. Lewis stares into you like he wants to look anywhere else—apologetic eyes and a fear he’s taken a misstep. He hasn’t, you want to tell him. You haven’t, put your hand back, please. Silently, you try to convey what shouldn’t dare be spoken. “I’ll believe it when pen is on paper.”

He snaps his eyes away from you, back to Valtteri. You don’t follow suit, stay fixed on him, on trying— hard—to get your message across. “I’m telling you, they’re announcing it after the summer break.”

“Whatever you say, Mate.”

Bono nods around a mouthful of alcohol, sets his half-empty glass down with an incidental thud. “Who’s to say we still want your geriatric ass?”

Lewis raised his interlocked hands from his lap, to the tabletop, resting his elbows on the wood grain and rattling the empty glasses when he does it. He leans in towards the center of the table, even though the only person separating him and Bono is you. “Would you tell Schumacher ‘no?’”

“What was that?” You ask, your words a convenient excuse to lean in closer, to settle into a spot that much closer to him without raising any brows. To brace for the shift, you leave your hand on his thigh with less subtly than your original movement, but it’s okay. It’s okay—only Lewis knows where your hands are, and you don’t want it to be subtle, don’t want anything to be lost in translation. “I can’t hear you over your ego,” you smile, and your fingers dance up his leg just a few, careful inches. 

He drops back into his seat, drops his hands back into his lap. Under the table, he grabs yours and laughs, but it’s stifled, stunted, not quite relaxed. “Very funny,” he humors, and moves your hand back. His stays too, though, and he crosses one leg over the other under the table. His thumb moves over the fabric of your slacks in shudder-worthy circles. 

“Someone’s gotta check you,” you smile, nod in the direction of your tablemates without ever looking away from him. “These two won’t.”

Bono scoffs.“Are you kidding?”

Your smile grows. “How do you want me to answer that, Peter?”

“Damn,” Lewis laughs so hard he coughs. “She Peter-ed you. That’s cold.”

“You’re the one comparing yourself to Michael fucking Schumacher,” Bono scolds. 

“I didn’t say that, but,”

“But!” You interject. 

“But,” Lewis laughs, threatens to continue even though all at the table know he won’t, knows that no matter how often the media and the girlfriends and the friends and the family tell him he should put himself up there with the greatest, he’ll never quite see himself in the same light. “But it’s about time I head up, I think.”

“Ah, see,” Valtteri chuckles. “Old man Hamilton can’t hang.”

“No, he can not,” Lewis remarks, pulling his phone and his hotel keycard from his pocket, setting the latter on the table and if you were feeling a little crazier than you are, you’d swear he nudges it ever so slightly out of his bubble and into yours. He types away rapidly at his phone, and you try to pay attention to the jokes Bono and Valtteri throw around, the pokes at Lewis they make, but suddenly you’re feeling like it’s a good time to head up, too. You try to shake the crazy, to leave it with your backwash in the final sip of your drink, and you do. You do.

You do, but then he’s slipping his phone back into his pocket. He’s leaving his glass just beyond his keycard and telling you to feel free to finish it. He’s saying his goodbyes while he moves out of the booth and his hotel room key is still sat on the table next to you. It stares at you—the hard, thin plastic. Stares at you in its white paper pocket with the intricate printing of the hotel label and dares you to look at him when he walks away. 

You do, begrudgingly, subtly, and his eyes are already on yours. They’re expressionless, and yet, say so fucking much. You hold the remainder of his drink in his direction before downing it in a single gulp and then he winks at you. He looks at his keycard on the table, and then to you, and then he winks, and you’re sure you’re absolutely crazy. 

You swallow. 

“Oh, fuck,” Bono says, reaches over you to grab the keycard from the table. It’s like you were zoned out and he snapped in front of your face, the way it pulls you from Lewis to the table. “He forgot his key.”

“Oh,” you squeak, and then louder, “I can take it to him.”

“No, no, It’s okay,” Bono says, and he makes you stand up to get out of the booth. “I should be heading up anyway.”

“Really,” you half-insist, trying to convince him you can handle it without letting him in on why you’re convincing him. “It’s no problem.”

Bono pulls out his wallet, flips through the pockets of it and fiddles with his bills. “Our rooms are right by each other,” he insists, tosses his share onto the table. “I got it.”

“Okay,” you nod, accept your defeat. “Yeah, I should be heading up, too, I guess.”

#f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton fluff #f1 fluff #lh44 #lh #mercedes #mercedes amg f1 #cameos from #toto wolff #susie wolff #peter bonnington #valtteri bottas

[clerc16]

✯ music? date? both ; charles leclerc

a/n: based on a tiktok i saw earlier, by teilhard_ :)

summary: she listens to music when getting ready. he loves it. she sends him a note - he asks her out.

warnings: none.

── ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You were a major music lover.

Getting ready? Listen to music. Reading? Listen to music. Driving? Listen to music. Bored? You guessed it.

Everyone knew that about you - you were unbelievably passionate about music. Any type of music.

“Y/NNNN, can we hang out today? iʼm bored” said a text from your friend. Naturally, you agreed - why not? It was a Saturday night and you had no plans whatsoever.

Like always, you turned on your regular playlist, making sure the volume is suitable only for your ears to hear, not to disturb any of your neighbors. Unbeknownst to you, your next door neighbor could listen to every sound coming out of your speakers. He was a nice guy - you interacted a few times, little “hello”s and “how are you”s every time you would randomly bump into each other. Despite being famous worldwide, he was extremely humble.

He was also devilishly handsome. But you never actually admitted that.

As you swiftly moved around your apartment to grab little bits and bobs needed to get ready, occasionally humming or singing along with the music, Charles Leclerc was sitting in the apartment right next to yours, attempting to read.

If he was bothered by your music, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell you - but he wasnʼt. It gave his currently dull and dead apartment a lively feel to it. Plus, your music taste was unmatchable.

As you put on some final touches, you paused your music and turned off your speakers. You grabbed your purse, phone and keys and left your apartment, shutting your door with a soft thud.

It wasn’t the first time Charles heard your music - in fact, ever since he moved in, he’d be hearing various music genres at various times of the day. This almost seemed like his final straw; he wanted to get to know you more.

He didn’t know how to approach you - he didn’t have your number, your social media, not even an email. So he channeled his inner creativity and decided to talk to you in a special way.

The special way was by leaving you a note by your doorstep. Not very original, eh?

As you were out with your friend enjoying your night, Charles was tapping his pen on the desk trying to think of what to write. After a few long hours, Charles had written the perfect note and placed it by your doorstep, hoping to see a response in the morning.

You stumbled back into your apartment complex, trying not to make a noise. You werenʼt drunk, just tired, your body begging you to fall asleep. You paid little to no attention as to what you were stepping on as you approached your door, keys in hand. As you were about to walk in, something felt stiff underneath your shoes. Looking down, you saw a small cream envelope with your name written on it in fancy cursive writing.

You bent down to pick it up and walked inside your apartment, your eyes still on the envelope. What is this?

You sit down on your couch and carefully open the letter, not wanting to rip the envelope.

“Bonjour -

Je voulais juste dire que tu écoutes de la très bonne musique, jʼadore ça!

PS: écoute “This Charming Man” de The Smiths, tu devrais aimer...

- Charles (ton voisin, n°28)”

[ Hello -

I just wanted to say that you listen to really good music, I love it!

PS: listen to “This Charming Man” by The Smiths, you should like it...

- Charles (your neighbor, n°28) ]

You immediately smiled at the note, your heart bursting with pride. If someone compliments your music taste and recommends a song, they are immediately very dear to you.

You placed the note back into its envelope and got up to change and refresh. Youʼll make sure to write back - you just donʼt really know how.

The next day, the first thing Charles did when he got up was to check for a note. He didn’t find anything. Nothing.

He sighed and decided to get on with his day. He shouldnʼt have expected a lot, really. As he left his apartment, he checked for one last time - still, nothing.

Little did he know you were just writing his name on an envelope to place on his doorstep.

The day passed, both of you anxiously waiting for a reply from each other. When Charles finally came home and saw a pink envelope on his doorstep, he smiled so hard his cheeks must have been screaming. He grabbed the envelope and rushed inside, the smile never leaving his face.

“Bonjour!

Merci beaucoup! Cela signifie beaucoup. La chanson est incroyable, The Smiths ne déçoivent jamais.

PS: écoute de “Good Looking” de Suki Waterhouse :)

- Y/N”

[ Hello!

Thank you so much! It means a lot! The song is amazing, The Smiths never disappoint.

PS: listen to “Good Looking” by Suki Waterhouse :) ]

Charles immediately opens the song on his phone, listening to it. Your music taste never disappoints, either.

It was like that for a few days - notes filled with song suggestions being passed back and forth. Every time you played music, you made sure to turn it up just a notch so he can listen to it with you.

Eventually, phone numbers were exchanged too, so notes on doorsteps were replaced by texts. Despite all this, you two didn’t actually talk in real life - even though you were literally next door neighbors.

One day, you were doing your usual, listening to music while cooking dinner. Your doorbell rang, and you walked over to the door to see who it was. Funnily enough, no one was there - but a small envelope on the doorstep was. You were confused; you and Charles text now, so why another envelope?

You brought it inside and sat down, opening it swiftly. Your hands grasped at the paper and pulled it out, curiously reading.

“Bonjour!

I feel like itʼs appropriate to ask to see you in real life now. Talking to you has been lovely. What do you say, coming by my house tomorrow at 6PM for dinner?

☐ Oui

☐ Non

- One last letter from Charles :)”

You grinned from ear to ear as you grabbed a pen and ticket the oui box, placing the note back in its envelope and by his doorstep.

Hopefully he lets you play your music on that dinner.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #charles leclerc imagine #formula 1 #scuderia ferrari #charles leclerc x you #fanfics

[corpsebasil]

Karma

I’m just dabbling in this because I saw Scream 6 so do not judge me

He’d thrown you.

So hard that when your head cracked against the wall you dropped to the floor, the world spinning like a top. He’d stabbed Anika. Stabbed her. And he was banging his way into the bedroom as you watched from the hall, eyes gaping as you took in the sight of the Ghostface costume.

But then your chest seized up—they had left you. They had gone into the bedroom without you, trapping you outside with—

“Stop.” You mumbled, voice a strained whisper out of your mouth. The killer either didn’t hear you or didn’t care, not as he slammed his shoulder against the door so hard it almost popped off it’s hinges, and he was inside. “Wait, don’t—”

You pushed yourself onto shaky hands and knees and began to crawl, lurching to the left almost immediately. Your balance was completely off; you reached up to touch your head and your fingers came away wet with blood.

“Hey..” you mumbled again, still dragging yourself across the floor.

Maybe if you could just get the door, just get to the…No. You forced your eyes open wide, refusing to fall into unconsciousness as your arms almost gave out. A pained groan left your mouth as you continued to press onward. You didn’t know what the fuck you were going to do when you got to the room. You could hear screaming, panicked sobbing, and that was the only thing that bent your sanity enough to crawl to the doorframe.

“Don’t do anything..” you forced out, but you sank down onto an elbow as you took in the sight before you.

Ghostface was standing in front of the window, shaking a ladder that had been connected between this and the opposite apartment’s window. You watched with blurry vision, mouth dry, as one final shake threw a body off the side.

Your stomach dropped.

Your ears rang as the screams began to dull, your vision and hearing both draining from reality. But you had enough sense to try and scoot away as the killer turned, finally ready for you, and you heard shouts of your name from the opposite window.

“I cant fight you.” You breathed, staring up at the opposing figure. Frightened tears began to well up in your eyes, your bottom lip trembling as you looked away. “Please make it quick.” The last whisper was the words of a coward but fuck it, you couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore. So you closed your eyes, squeezing them shut against the terror and awaiting pain.

Nothing. Just stillness.

You cracked a single eye open and almost bashed your head against the door frame as you lurched away. Ghostface had crouched beside you, head tilting, peering at you almost curiously. You squinted your eyes at him as you moved to position yourself as best you could on your elbow again, noticing the very surprising, very unexpected, lack of a knife in his hands.

“You gonna…throw me out the window too?” You asked, feeling slightly drunk as his mask began to double in your wavering vision.

“No.” He replied, and you grimaced at the voice that came out of the mask. But he didn’t seem to be leaping to slaughter you yet, so you dragged up every last ounce of sass you had in your system and threw it at him.

“Quite the…killer huh?” You half laughed, almost hysterical, but still flinched when he reached out to touch where you’d hit your head. “If I were you I would’ve—” you swallowed, blinking hard against the blackness creeping on the edges of your vision. “—finished me off in the hallway.”

You could’ve sworn a dark chuckle left the figure, especially when he pulled his hand back and studied the blood on his gloved fingers. You grimaced at the sight. What a damn sadist.

“Are you even going to kill me? You’re really… dragging this out.”

He only shook his head, and you heard one last shriek from someone, maybe Tara, you didn’t know, before you closed your eyes and slumped down onto the floor.

-

You woke in the hospital.

You had no idea how you’d gotten there, or what had happened. But then you remembered—remembered him touching you, sparing you, and—

You jolted upright in bed, a headache immediately raging war against your temples as your vision spun.

“Easy, easy,” a familiar voice said, moving to your side. “you’ve got a concussion. Chill.”

“How did I—?” You blinked at Chad, one of your friends, and searched the room for any other guests.

“Sam and Tara went to get you something to eat. This hospital food is garbage lemme tell you—”

“Chad how did I get here?” Your voice sounded strained, and you immediately didn’t like the wary expression on his face.

“That’s the uh, thing.” He said, moving to the hospital chair beside you. He gestured to your IV, then at your entire body, as if that explained anything. “Well you um, so you passed out right? And the others were already out? Yeah, so—”

“Ghostface carried you.” An accusatory tone informed you, entering the room with a cup of something steaming in her hand. Mindy gave you an obvious up down. “Carried you allll the way to the hospital. And left you. Set you right down on the front steps and dipped.” Your heart rate began to increase as her words sank in, the ridiculousness of the statement muddling your already concussed head. “Wanna explain that, Y/N? Why he didn’t kill you when he wanted to kill everyone else?”

“I don’t know I—” you swallowed, still blinking. “He threw me against the wall, he—”

“Convenient right? For you to be out of the way while the rest of us get butchered?”

“Mindy, come on.” Chad scoffed, gesturing to you. “She’s been through this before. She’s not new.”

“She doesn’t have to be new. Maybe she got so traumatized the last time this happened that now she’s working with—”

“Stop, stop.” You snapped, closing your eyes against the pain in your head and the frustration running through you. “I don’t know why he didn’t kill me, okay? I even offered him different ways of doing it and he just said no.”

“You offered him different—” Chad started, incredulously, but you cut him off.

“You think I don’t remember what it’s like?” You asked Mindy, glaring with a ferocity that usually had no place in your typically bubbly personality. You held up your arm, showing her the long, curved scars that ran along your forearm and bicep. “That bitch took her time with me. The only reason I’m not dead is thanks to Sam. So don’t come in with a big swinging dick accusing me of—”

“Can we deescalate the situation?” Chad begged, in the same moment Mindy raised her hands in a placating gesture and said, “Okay, okay. I’m just—on edge.”

“Clearly.” You mumbled, but still accepted the paper cup of tea she offered to you. Your hands were shaking, just a bit, as you took a sip.

-

An hour passed. An hour in which the hand on the clock moved to four in the morning, and you’d been allowed off your IV. You’d be discharged later, but for now, after a dinner of fruit cups, Turkey and cheese sandwiches, and bottles of water from the gas station, Tara and Sam had left, promising to pick you up later, and Mindy and Chad hung out in the waiting room.

You fiddled with your nails, picking at the skin around them, as you stared absentmindedly out the window. All you could see was his face—that mask—and the one word that still haunted you. No. He had the opportunity and he didn’t—he’d taken you to the hospital. The only question was why.

You heard voices and looked to the door, surprised to hear some yelling and footsteps moving loudly on the linoleum outside. You sat up, eyebrows knitting together as you heard someone being slammed against the wall outside your door, the sound recognizable due to you having had it done to yourself hours before.

And then you stared in surprise as the door opened, a pissed looking Chad dragging a startled looking Ethan, your friend and study-partner, inside the room. Mindy followed, glaring even as she rubbed at her tired eyes.

“This one,” Chad said, by way of introduction, “tried sneaking past us. What were you gonna do, math boy? Kill her?”

“What the—no. Tara said you guys got attacked and I wanted to see her.” His brown eyes slid to yours, giving you that look of his that meant help.

You couldn’t stop the tiny smile that somehow wound its way onto your face, and you looked to Chad, shaking your head at him.

“Are you going to interrogate every single one of us?” You asked, crossing your arms. Chad grumbled something under his breath, muttering about Econ and whatever, before Mindy followed him out the door so they could resume their lobby vigil.

“What happened?” Ethan asked, the moment the door shut. He moved to your side and crouched beside you, making himself eye-level, and your skin itched with the urge to lurch away from him. With him crouching like that he— “Y/N?”

“Sorry.” You said, blinking away the horrific images in your mind. “I’m currently concussed. I might be a little out of it.”

“I don’t mind.” He urged, tilting his curly head to the side. You swallowed as he stared at you, face so filled with concern, and glanced away.

“Well, he uh, the killer, came to the apartment and he—he almost knocked me out while the others locked themselves in the bedroom, and then he was banging on the door while I was watching in the hallway, and—”

“They left you?” He demanded, and his surprising flash of anger made your words stumble momentarily.

“They—I’m sure they didn’t mean to but—”

“Bullshit.” Ethan scoffed scooting closer and lowering his voice as if he could be overheard. “I would never have left you. Never. He could’ve killed you right there.”

“He didn’t, though.” You whispered, glancing down to grip your blanket with both hands. Your knuckles went white as you took a steadying breath, but you couldn’t ignore the rush of something like butterflies that occurred when he reached out to lace his fingers with one of your hands. “He didn’t kill me he just—”

“He just what?” Ethan asked. He sounded almost breathless.

“He just. Stared.” You turned to look at him, the confusion written all over your face. “I asked if he would—if he would kill me and—” you were embarrassed to realize you were tearing up, but allowed him to stand and slip cautiously into the hospital bed beside you, resting your back against his chest.

Ethan mumbled a curse when he saw the wound at the back of your head and, very carefully, ran his fingers over your hair. He didn’t touch the sore spot—the bleeding had long been stopped, and you were desperate for a shower—but you still felt a tremor run through your system at the touch.

He didn’t know about Ghostface touching you. He wouldn’t know how doing the same would effect you. But he stopped, sighing and looping his arms around your middle and allowed you to sink further into his chest.

“Then what happened?” He asked, calm enough as if you cuddled like this all the time, and it eased you enough to speak.

“He took me to the hospital.”

The laugh that left Ethan jostled you and you tensed, turning a glare onto your friend. He quickly mashed his lips together and forced a half-hearted frown, but you could still see the amusement in those doe-like eyes of his.

“Sorry. Very terrifying. How evil of him.”

“Oh, shut up. I don’t get it either.” You rolled your eyes, snuggling farther into him, as you brought your hands up to rest on the arms he had around your waist. Your thumbs brushed against his skin contemplatively as you thought. “Neither does anyone else. I woke up to a full interrogation.”

“Respectively, Y/N,” Ethan muttered, voice close to your ear. “I cant stand Mindy.”

You snorted.

“She’s my friend, but. Sometimes I cant either.” You sighed, sleepily, and turned your cheek to rest against his arm, your eyes closing. “How come—” you yawned. “—you trust me?”

Ethan’s reply took long enough for you to feel a twinge of hurt, but his answer made your heart drop into your stomach.

“I care about you too much to ever not trust you.” He admitted, not able to see the pink beginning to rush into your cheeks. “And I’m sure it’s safe to say that if Ghostface spared you, he might do it again. Maybe you’re not on his shit-list.”

You snorted, but you’d been hoping for that to be true. That maybe you had some sort of immunity card in your pocket that you hadn’t known about. Like maybe this was Karma, the universe’s gift to you for suffering so long under the knife in Amber’s skilled hand.

So you sighed, breathing him in, and allowed yourself to fall into a hesitant, jumbled sleep.

-

“We’ll isnt this freaking adorable.”

Your eyes opened and you groaned, your headache back, as you adjusted yourself against the body behind you. And then you tensed as you remembered. It was Ethan behind you, his arms still snug around your body, every single inch of you tugged up against him. You slowly moved to sit up, locking eyes with Mindy, who had an eyebrow raised as she watched you.

“He was just trying to comfort me.” You said, running a hand down his arm in an attempt to wake him up. But you squeaked when he tugged you harder against him, grumbling in his sleep, as if he wasn’t willing to let you go.

“Uh huh.” Mindy deadpanned you, glaring at the boy behind you. “And I have three tits. Tara and Sam are waiting for you. Can you get yourself up?”

“As soon as I wake him, yes.”

Mindy grumbled something under her breath and left the room, leaving you alone with Ethan. So you squeezed his arms, turning in his grip to look at him, as he slowly roused himself from sleep. When he lifted his head, hardly a few inches in between you, the immediate glance between your mouth and your eyes made your face warm.

“We gotta go.” You said, attempting to shift away, but he held you fast. “E, we need to—”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t harsh, or intense by any means, just a soft kiss that made your blood run hot. And then he was pulling away, running his hand down your cheek, before shifting away from you.

“Then we’d better go.” He said, leaving you winded as he scooted out of bed and picked up his backpack. “What?” He asked, noticing your surprised expression.

You moved from the bed, still in your outfit from the night before, and crossed the small space over to him, tugging his mouth down to your own.

hello

Part 2

#scream #scream 6 #ethan landry #Ethan Landry x reader #Jack champion

[sweaterweatherever]

If you are taking request, could you write an enemies to lovers with ajax? Like, expand on what you wrote in his post?

Do me a favour (Ajax Petropolus x Reader)

Pairing: Ajax Petropolus x Fem reader

Warnings: SMUT, sub Ajax, making out, mentions of getting high, thigh riding. Reader is judgy and bitchy. I wanted to hit her halfway. Reader is a vampire, but it’s mentioned like two times. Kind of an enemies to lovers, except Ajax refuses to get into it. And yes, I stand by thinking this boy has got to have somewhat initiative because did you see the date he got to the Rave’n? AGED UP CHARACTERS.

A/N: I really wanted to subvert the trope of enemies to lovers when it comes to smut. We usually get angry sex and the character domming the reader hard, and it’s cool, I like it, but I thought combining these two requests could be nice. Man, drunk me is wordy.

Requested: Yes, expansion in headcanons and Subby Ajax. I tried my best with the second.

“Oh, my god! Ajax is like! So cute, you guys! He is so tall and dreamy, and the way he puts his arms around me…!” Enid blabbered. You gave Wednesday a look, rolling your eyes. Wednesday glowered, which, considering she had like three facial expressions (Murderous rage, homicidal maniac and neutral serial killer, as you had affectionately named them) was just about an agreement.

“I don’t get what you see in him.” You said, laying back on her bed and doing some pretty hard gymnastics to keep painting your nails without messing up the covers. “He is just so…” It was not your intention to offend your friend by saying the guy she was dating was lame, but that was what came to mind.

Ajax was pretty normal, the only thing he had going on was the fact he was a stoner and tall. You didn’t approve of the first, and there were plenty of guys with the second on Nevermore. The bar was too low, really. He had a bland personality and wasn’t a great student either. It wasn’t like there was anything to dislike because he was the most boring boy on earth. Ugh, it was always the prettiest girls like Enid with the most dull boys.

“Me either. He’s just so…” Wednesday said, clearly trying to find a word that described her feelings. Then, with a shudder of disgust, she said the word. “Normal.”

You couldn’t agree more, but didn’t say anything, so Enid didn’t get upset. Besides, your dislike of Ajax was totally baseless because he treated Enid like a goddess. You kept quiet. Until Wednesday came to get you in the middle of the night because Ajax and her had broken up.

“She is… Emotional.” Wednesday explained to you. Her facial expression was definitely bordering dangerous levels of murderous rage. “I don’t know how to help, I already offered to bring her his head on a platter, the old Perseus style.”

“That's racist.” You said to her, frowning. “I’m in.”

“Go see her, please.” And so, that meant you made your way to the dorm, with a cup of hot chocolate in hand, Wednesday fretting uncomfortably around you. You held Enid until she fell asleep, her body wrecking with sobs.

“We are killing this asshole.” You muttered to her, adjusting your sunglasses as you exited the room.

“I’ll get the sword, you go for the mirror.” And that’s how it got started. Every time you found yourself near Ajax, you sniffled in disgust. Wednesday glowered in a menacing fashion, both of you shielding Enid from him. You couldn’t help it. Your reaction was visceral. When you saw the face Enid made when she looked at him, eyes lowering to her shoes, something tugged in your stomach. This mediocre guy had crushed your friend’s heart, and Enid was too kind to say anything to him, even going so far as telling you to stop glowering at him.

The breakup took a toll on her. Before, she was practically glowing, but now even her bright-colored clothes and makeup seemed to lose their shimmer. The first weeks were hard, but after a month she seemed to be over it. You remembered, though. Your opinion of Ajax had hit a new low, and so, you avoided him like the plague. It wasn’t really notorious because you weren’t his biggest fan before.

Two whole months after the fact, you sat down to lunch with the girls and your smile froze on your face. In the table in front of yours, Ajax was sitting down with Xavier, eyes glued to Enid’s back. You could only tell because you were sitting in front of her. Maybe it was a fluke? You waited a bit, but he wasn’t stopping. He even made eye contact with you, giving a tiny smile. The nerve of this guy!

“Oh my god, the guy can’t stop staring.” You whispered to Wednesday, when Enid was distracted with her phone. “Maybe he wants to get back with her?”

“We’ll nip that in the bud.” She turned to face him and gave him her most homicidal grin. Ajax quickly averted his gaze, looking properly cowered.

“Wednesday! Y/N!” Enid snapped her fingers playfully. “What are you two looking at?”

“Nothing.” You quickly said, but it was too late, she was already turning around.

“You guys have to stop with the whole hating Ajax thing. We have been texting and decided we want to be friends!” Enid chastised, clapping happily. Wednesday blinked. You knew her well enough to know that when Enid talked, she listened. And so, having lost your biggest ally, you had to let it go.

“Fine.” You grumbled. “As long as I don’t have to talk to him that much…” Oh, Ajax might have won this battle, but you would win the war. You lifted your head, catching him staring once again. You waited until he met your eyes, just so you could give him a smile and a cheeky wave, popping your fangs a little and almost making him spit out the water he was drinking.

You had to give it to him, the little shit was always one step ahead of you. That’s what you realized when you got called into the principal’s office just so they could tell you got a new job. Apparently you were to tutor Ajax in Botanic, a class in which you were surpassed both by Bianca and Wednesday in terms of skill. The excuse had been that Wednesday didn’t have the people skills necessary and Bianca refused, citing schedule conflicts. Besides, Ajax had asked Bianca before, and when she said no, he prompted your name to the principal.

You walked straight to him when you got out of the meeting, face so hot from your fit of temper, you could feel smoke coming out of your ears. You had tried saying no, but the principal wasn’t having it. They had explained one tutor had already refused, and you didn’t have schedule conflicts like her. You weren’t getting out of it.

“What game do you think you are playing?” You asked him, and he had the nerve to look confused. Xavier gave you a weird look. You ignored him too, eyes attached to Ajax. “You asked the principal for me to tutor you. Why?”

“Umm… because I suck at Botanic and you don’t?” Ajax peered at you, a small smile on his lips. Xavier snickered. You paid him no mind.

“Fine.” You eyed him, distrust clear in your face. "Meet me tomorrow in the library. We’ll go over the material for this week. Three o’clock.” You walked away, looking over your shoulder as you did so. Might be showing weakness, but you trusted him only as far as you could throw him.

“That went over well.” Xavier whistled, looking at your retreating form.

“Oh, I will win her over, you just watch.” Ajax punched him in the arm. “Maybe then she will smile at me.”

“Keep dreaming, Ajax. Girl has it out for you since you and Enid…” Xavier started saying, quickly trailing off when Ajax got a dopey look in his eyes.

“Yeah, but that only shows she is loyal. I like it.” Ajax defended you.

“You are delusional.”

The next day found you sitting in the library with some diagrams you had printed and a copy of your notes, ordered by date. You had two different practice tests because you were the kind of person who went all out. You took your education very seriously.

Ajax was right on time, looking for you in the different tables until you waved him over. He was holding two coffee cups, looking a little awkward out of uniform. He was in a hoodie and a nice pair of jeans. Not like you were paying attention or anything.

“Here. I got you a latte.” He said, sliding it over to you. You kept your expression closed off, not wanting to betray your real thoughts.

“Thank you. It was nice of you.” You deadpanned.

“Oh, tough crowd, aren’t you?” Ajax didn’t seem deterred in the very least. You grabbed the latte, eyes going wide when you sipped it and realized it was just the way you usually took it.

“Oh, so you are a talker. I don’t like it.” You slid a pen and one of the tests towards him. You were taking your questions to the grave. “Solve this, just to know where we are.”

He kept quiet, slowly filling out the test. Ajax’s brows were furrowed in concentration, lips pursed, a hint of teeth appearing sometimes when he bit his pencil. Without anything else to do, you kept watch of him. You noted with interest the way he didn’t seem to hesitate on filling up the diagrams, easily identifying the parts of plants you had picked on purpose because they were the hardest to do.

You went to grab the sheet at the same time Ajax was going to hand it to you, quickly, too quickly. Your hand ended up brushing his, and a confused, sinking feeling took place on your stomach. Were you imagining it, or there had been a spark? You pulled the sheet out of his grasp, desperate to stop this strange feeling, and wincing when the sudden move made it so you cut yourself with the paper.

You lifted your index finger to your mouth, sucking the blood from it. Your fangs went down automatically at the smell of blood, uncaring it was your own.

“Fuck.”

“Are you okay?” Ajax eyes darted from your finger, to your mouth, to your eyes. In that specific order. When you met them, unafraid, he scratched his neck, cheeks going red and quickly averted his gaze. You smirked. Was he afraid of you? Good.

“I’m fine. Give me five to check this, and we will talk about weak areas.” You stated. The test was pretty good for someone who claimed to need tutoring. Ajax was passing, even with a good grade. That made you tilt your head a little. The few errors you could see were pretty easy to fix, and weird compared to his level of compression of the rest of the subject.

You felt watched, weirdly enough. But every time you lifted your eyes, Ajax was staring at his phone or at the table, eyes never stopping on you. It was unsettling. What did he want?

You made up your mind when you got to the end of the practice test. You would call him bluff.

The tutoring session kept going, with you on your best behavior. You gave him the second practice test for homework and decided to meet again on Friday.

“Okay, I can work with this. You see the first question here, you got this one wrong. Not only that, but you said Nightshades’s properties included being poisonous, when it’s actually the contrary.” You blatantly lied. The lie was so evident, Ajax should jump to correct you with the level of knowledge he had displayed. But interesting enough, he didn’t. He kept his eyes politely trained on the first question, right where you were underlining with your pen. You were going to get to the bottom of this, you decided then. What could he possibly be gaining with this? “Oh, sorry, it was a slip of the tongue, I meant to circle the fifth question, forget what I said. You were right.”

To that tutoring session, Ajax showed up with a box of your favorite candy, munching on them and offering you one casually.

“Oh, I love these!” You smiled at him, in a truly involuntary way. You quickly cleared your throat, focusing on the homework. “So, page six…”

Ajax smiled at you, looking far too happy for someone who was about to be assigned additional homework on top of what he already had.

“Here.” He pressed the bag of candy against your hand. “Have them, I don’t like them much.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“Why did you get them, then?”

“They were on sale.” Ajax quickly answered.

“At the vending machine?” You perched yourself on the chair, searching his face for any sign of deceit. As usual, he avoided your eyes. But you were unable to tell if it was from his nervousness about his powers or because he was lying.

“Does it matter?”

“Why are you giving me things?” You asked, rubbing at the bridge of your nose. A headache was starting, you could tell. “First the coffee, now the candy…”

“Umm, maybe because you are doing me a huge favor by cutting your study hours to help me pass?” Ajax offered, looking sheepish.

“You don’t need me for that.” You muttered, but humored him and started going over the errors on his homework, getting more sure with each one that this guy was smarter than he looked.

You didn't understand why you didn’t put a stop to it right then. You kept repeating to yourself you weren’t sure Ajax was faking his weakness in the subject, you needed more evidence. But thing was, you could just ask Wednesday to get you the evidence and call it a day anytime. And yet, you kept going back to him. You tried to rationalize it, saying it had been a while since a boy showed interest in you, that you liked the attention. You also said that the principal was making you do this, that it wasn’t like you went back to him every week out of your own accord. But you had also started to look for him out of tutoring, smiling at him in the hallways, making small talk when he was near. Something was wrong with you.

Why did your heart flutter every time he pressed a tiny trinket in your hand? Why didn’t you pull away, why did you smile at him?

You were unable to keep denying the truth when, under the pretense of fixing his tie in the middle of a tutoring session, you placed your hand on his chest. Ajax always wore his uniform messily, and it drove you up the wall. This time, something about the way his tie was messily knotted called to you, something told you to fix it for him.

Ajax didn’t pull away, transfixed by the way your fingers grabbed at the item. You unknotted it, going on your tip toes to take it off, lacing it over your neck and tied a Windsor, before placing it over his head and adjusting it. Your hands lingered, adjusting the knot, once, twice times too many.

You looked up, lips parted. For the first time in a while, you made eye contact. But this time, you were the one who blushed and looked away.

“I… I… I got to go.” You grabbed at your backpack, almost running out of the library.

“Y/N, wait…” Ajax called out. You didn’t listen. You were too preoccupied with your newly discovered feelings. You had a crush on Ajax. No. That didn't sound right. This wasn’t a crush. It was something worse. You were in love with Ajax. The plainest, most undeserving of Enid, boy in the school.

Your feet took you to your friend's room, without needing to think about it. You knew the school like the back of your hand, and right now, you needed something only Wednesday could give you. Cold, hard truth.

You knocked on the door, frantic, hoping Enid was somewhere else. She could never find out about this, it would mean destroying your friendship. God, why? Under this new light, your conduct looked terrible. Enid would think you had been trying to break them up from the start. No, she could never find out. You needed to fix this.

“Y/N.” Wednesday said, from her place in front of the writing machine. “What do you want? You sounded pretty desperate.” You looked for Thing, assuming he must have been the one to open you the door, giving him a little wave. He responded to it, and you smiled a little, before starting to pick at your nail beds.

“I might need some cognitive recalibration, Wednesday. Could you slap me, please?” You asked, and Wednesday rolled her eyes.

“What has brought on this fit of dramatics? Surely, Enid is better prepared than me to deal with it?” Wednesday rose, all elegance.

“I fucked up. I’m in love with Ajax.” Wednesday raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Plainest boy on earth? Turns out he can really turn on the charm offensive, it was really insidious, he got inside my head, with his stupid jokes, and stupid smile and perfect eyes…” You groaned in frustration. “Ugh, see? Please, slap me, and let’s see if it goes away because I won’t fuck up my friendship with Enid over a boy, especially if he is plainest that white bread, untoasted.”

“I think it is a bit late for that.” Wednesday said, looking behind you. You turned, heart beating wildly.

“Enid!” You screeched. The werewolf looked impassible, expression blank. This girl had been the first friend you had made at Nevermore, in your orientation on freshman year, when you had been terrified by strangers and jumpy at every sudden move, overwhelmed by your recently awakened senses. Enid had approached you then, kind and gentle, making sure of not scaring you, and befriended you swiftly. She had helped you grow into your powers, and become more confident in yourself. You owed her everything you had. If you had to choose, your heart would break, but you would force yourself to forget Ajax. You would rather be heartbroken than without her. You loved her like a sister, and so, if she asked you to help her get back with him, you would.

“Please, forgive me. I didn’t mean to, I swear I won’t ever look at him again, hell, if you want me to stop tutoring him I will, I never wanted this, you have to believe me, when you guys were together I was trying to break you up, but not from why you think it is! I didn’t want him then, I don’t want him now!” You begged, tears prickling at your eyes, not noticing how a tiny smile started to make its way on the other girl’s face. You would have kept blabbering, totally uncontrolled, if not for the interruption.

“Y/N.” Enid said, and your jaw clicked with how fast your mouth shut itself. “I was the one who broke up with him.”

You opened and closed your mouth, looking at Wednesday, who looked as dumbfounded as you were.

“But… But… You cried so much… And we gave him so much shit!”

“Don’t be mad at me, okay?” Enid raised her hands in surrender, looking between Wednesday and you. “I felt terrible because I had a crush on someone else! That’s why we broke up! I was just too scared to tell you guys.”

“Oh.” You sat down on one of the beds. “Oh.”

“Ajax has already forgiven me.” Enid sat next to you, passing an arm over your shoulders. “You can have him if you like, I know you genuinely weren’t trying to break us up, so you could steal him from me, you know? You were looking out for me.” Then, she turned to look at Wednesday, eyes full of love. “You both were.”

It was too much. You promptly started bawling your eyes out, relieved. Enid hugged you and Wednesday placed a hesitant hand on your shoulder. You cried even harder.

“Oh, stop it.” She said, pinching you hard on the arm and making you yelp. “There, a reality check. If you want that plain boy, even if I can fathom why, you can have him. Enid already authorized it, and he trails after you like a lovesick puppy. That must be enough to put an end to your dramatics.”

“Wednesday!” Enid exclaimed. “That was rude.”

You started laughing uncontrollably. Everything was going to be fine. You just had to deal with Ajax, but that could wait until tomorrow.

The next day, you woke up with a pep in your step. You did your hair and make up, putting on your nicest outfit. After breakfast, you sought Ajax out. He was sitting with Xavier on the grass near the woods, headphones on. Xavier was drawing something and leveled you with an unimpressed glance. You ignored him.

“Ajax.” You smiled. “Walk with me?” He looked adorable this morning, in a light blue hoodie with a matching beanie. The butterflies in your stomach started making their appearance once more. Ajax quickly found his feet, and started following you.

Once you got far enough so that Xavier wasn’t in hearing distance, you turned.

“You wanted my attention, didn't you?” Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, and you couldn’t help but wring your hands in front of you. Remembering that was the signature gesture of the house elves in the Harry Potter franchise, you quickly dropped it, hands coming nervously to brush at the sides of your jeans. You didn’t want to look like a house elf, you wanted Ajax to think you were cool.

“What?” Ajax asked, blinking at you. “What are you talking about?”

You kept walking, this time by his side.

“You didn’t have a need for a tutor in Botanic, Ajax. Your grades are almost as good as mine.” This piece of information had come from Wednesday, who, for someone who hated gossip, knew her fair amount of it. Maybe Enid was rubbing on her.

“Where are we going?” Ajax deflected, looking away from you.

“My room.” You answered, even when you could feel the blush that was starting to form on your cheeks. “You wanted my attention.”

“I did.” He admitted, blushing. Then, looking like he was about to faint, he made eye contact with you. “What are we…?”

“We are going to have a talk about valuing people’s time and then, if you are good, we might make out.” You could feel your blush go darker, and you closed your eyes, remembering Enid’s advice. Be bold. Be blunt. Ajax wouldn’t know subtlety even if it hit him in the face. She should know what she was talking about because she had dated him. Hesitantly, your hand went to grab his. Ajax’s fingers opened, accepting yours, sliding in between them. His hand was warm, and a little sweaty. You found it so endearing, you wanted to kiss him. Ugh, was love supposed to feel like this? You trusted Wednesday, you did, and so, you were pretty sure Ajax liked you back. But still, you were nervous.

“Wait, so you like me? You are not…mad?” Ajax turns to face you, hesitantly grabbing your other hand.

“Would you prefer I was mad?” You ask him, carefully schooling your expression.

“I just wanted you to smile at me.” Ajax nervously ran his thumb across your wrist. “You smiled at everyone, but never me. You didn’t like me. ”

“Oh, I didn't want to like you, you infuriating, clueless, handsome, stupid boy.” Ajax looks confused, and you can’t stand his kicked puppy look anymore. So, you press a kiss to his lips, just so he gets it. Ajax parts his lips a bit, allowing you entry, and his hands drop yours, choosing instead to go and circle your waist. You let him pull you closer, so you are flush along his body. You have kissed some people before, from clumsy first kisses to passionate making out just for the sake of it. But this, this has to be the best kiss you have ever had.

“Come on, dorm” You say, unable to stop kissing him. It’s a miracle you managed without a teacher catching you, unable to keep your hands off each other. At first, it's only you, Ajax much more hesitant. But then, when he catches on you want him and that he is allowed to touch you back, his hands are everywhere.

This is what you will say after. You have no clue how things escalated, how one kiss turned into a dozen, how you ended up with that hickey in your neck. How you end up on your back, Ajax’s hip bones digging into your upper thigh, with the way he is kissing and sucking your neck like he was the vampire out of the two of you.

No clue how, or why, he lifts his head, pretty blush on his face and says, “Umm, sorry, can you…?” Ajax wets his lips, suddenly self-conscious. “Umm, maybe, move your leg, sorry. It will go away.”

You don’t get it at first, until you zero exactly into what the weight against your thigh is.

“Can I?” You tease, unable to not do it. Ajax looks too damn good with that blush on, you want it to stay as long as possible. He is sweet, too, leaving all choices in your hands. You had been the one setting the pace, begging him to kiss you everywhere. You like it. It’s a heady feeling, having all this power at your fingertips, but also a responsibility. Ajax is trusting you with his body. “Which direction?” You ask, suddenly serious.

“Excuse me?” Ajax is getting redder by the minute. You can’t help but smile. You want him to feel good, he worked so hard at winning you over, waiting patiently for you to met him halfway. Ajax deserves something nice.

“Away or forward?” You say, pressing your thigh more against his erection, just so he knows what you mean. “I’m cool with whatever.”

“Oh. Forward, maybe? If you want?” He asks, eyes closing. You pass your arms beneath his armpits, locking them behind his back and pulling him back to you. You press a kiss to his jaw, open-mouthed. It’s cute he is into hickeys so much, you think, hearing his whimper. His heart beats wildly, pulse fluttering in your grasp. He smells good, and your gums itch with the urge to bite him, to own him, to make him yours.

“What do you want, Ajax?” You kiss his neck next, dragging your teeth along the carotid. He shivers, but you don’t receive any kind of response. “You just have to say the word.”

“Forward, please.” And you aren’t so cruel as to make him beg, head over heels as you are for him, so you press your thigh lightly against his erection. You intend to take him apart with light touches, playing the long game. But Ajax doesn’t agree. His hips rut against your thigh, harshly, hungrily.

“Greedy.” You mutter, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Come on, rub yourself on my thigh, baby boy.” You encourage him, one of your hands dropping to his hips to help him settle into a rhythm and not only desperate, jerky movements.

Ajax shakes, whimpers once again, face going to hide in the crook of your neck. You scratch at his nape, surprised when something cold touches the tips of your finger. A tiny, bifid tongue. His snakes.

You keep your cool, closing your eyes just in case. You will mention it after when Ajax settles down. Determined, you press your thigh a little harder, pulling his face out of your neck, blindly searching for his mouth, pressing kisses all over his face.

When you finally find it, you bite on his lower lip, lightly. Not enough to draw blood, but you have caught him staring at your fangs once or twice when he thought you weren’t looking, when he thought you hated him. Maybe he would like it, you have a hunch about it. And you weren’t wrong because Ajax gives a little shout, hips pushing once, twice, thrice and freezes. His body goes taut, you can feel it against yours and so, you are careful as to not press too much. You don't intend to hurt him, after all. Not yet. You would love to see the face he makes when he comes, but you would rather not end up stoned.

“Shit. Sorry. How embarrassing…” Ajax sounds disappointed in himself, and you don’t want that. Never. In your mind’s eye, you can see his kicked puppy look, how the blush on his cheeks would make its way down his neck. You don’t want his eyes to go all sad, you know your heart would break at his face. It’s for purely selfish reasons, you think to yourself, and smile blindingly.

“That was the hottest thing ever. “ You say, eyes still closed, looking for his cheek, so you can press a kiss there. “Got, like, dozens of fantasy material.”

“Why do you have your eyes closed?” He asks, hand stroking your cheek lightly and steering you back to his mouth. You press a kiss there, too. You can tell Ajax is worried, but he seems unable to contain himself, and he smiles into the kiss. “Did my snakes do…”

“One of them licked me, by your neck. Just in case, I’m not scared or anything, but it would have been hard to explain to the nurse how this happened.” You say, and Ajax laughs. You two would be busted, totally. Your dorm mom would have your head, and probably you would have to speak to the principal. You hear him shuffle around, likely adjusting the beanie.

“You can look now.” His eyes are full of regret, and you want to get rid of the sadness there by any means necessary. “Sorry again.”

“Was cute, you know? Maybe they were curious.” You smile at him, lightly scratching his back. Just like a puppy, Ajax melts against you, offering more of his back to scratch. You don’t know what drug you took, but you smile, again. You just can’t help yourself.

“Aren’t you scared of them?” He hesitates, pulling his face out of your shoulder.

“Ajax, I bit your neck and lips, and I am a vampire. Were you scared?” You ask back, biting your lip a little. You were pretty sure he liked it, judging by his reactions, but you knew having a vampire’s teeth against your throat might be off-putting for some more rational people.

“No, but…” You shush him, placing your index finger against his lips. Ajax playfully bites it, but his eyes are on yours the whole time.

“Unlike dying out of blood loss, stoning is temporary. It’s cool.” You say.

“Cool.” He mutters, but he doesn’t go back to his place near your shoulder. “So…I am… We are…” Ajax can’t find the words, but you know what he is asking.

“Yes, now come here, I wanna cuddle.” You pull him on top of you once more, wrapping your legs around his waist. Ajax just slumps and you sigh happily. This was precisely what you wanted.

#wednesday 2022 #wednesday netflix #my writing #ajax petropolus x reader #wednesday addams #xavier thorpe #enid sinclair #ajax petropulus x y/n #ajax petropulus x you #ajax petropolis x reader #ajax x you #ajax smut #ajax fluff #ajax petropulus imagines #ajax petropolus #ajax petropulus smut

[ryukatters]

4EVA (that means forever) - s. gojo

⟡ Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader

⟡ Content/warnings: //smut, //cockwarming, //unprotected smex, overstimulation, //cunnilingus, //cum eating, some dub con if you squint, lovesick! Gojo, Gojo’s also a little shit but what’s new? (Pls let me know if I forgot anything) 

⟡ A/N: brain go brrrrr. i want him so bad. completely not proofread

⟡ Summary: I know two things and two things only: 1) Satoru Gojo is obsessed with you and 2) he is obsessed with overstimulating you

⟡ wc: 1.8k

Your boyfriend is annoying. 

You hate him. You want him. Everything’s too much. It’s not enough.

You snap out of your stupor at the sound of Satoru’s voice. “I thought I told you to focus, sweetheart,” he tuts with a teasing tilt. 

You want to scoff. How could you not focus when the very person asking you to is the same one that’s consuming all your senses? 

“Fuck you, Satoru,” you hiss. Unsurprisingly, no matter how much venom laces your tone, your words go rushing straight to his dick. You’re just too cute, all the time, Satoru thinks. Especially when you’re like this, completely at his mercy. All bark and no bite. Though he wouldn’t mind if you had the latter, either. He likes it when you put up a fight, because making you fall apart is so much sweeter that way. 

You can feel him twitch inside you. The dull throbbing within you makes you shudder with pleasure, still over-sensitive from how Satoru’s managed to fuck you until you’re cock-drunk and delirious. A whine manages to escape from your lips, and Satoru can’t help but laugh. You can snap at him all you want, but he knows exactly how to give it to you, just how you like it. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” he hums into your ear, running his large hands up and down your body in an attempt to comfort you. Goosebumps are left in the wake of where his burning hands pass. “Sensitive, huh? I haven’t even done anything to you.” 

Liar, you think. Gojo’s managed to take orgasm after orgasm out of you— always urging you with a, “It’s okay baby, I’ve got you. You can give me one more, right?” —no matter how much you whine that it’s too much.

He’s insatiable in every regard to you. If he could, Satoru thinks he’d crawl under your skin and live there. 

You want to cry. You feel so very overwhelmed, all senses heightened. The hot puffs of Satoru’s breath over your neck, the way one of his hands squeeze at your tits, and the way the other snakes down between your legs to rub loving circles into your clit.

You gasp at the sudden surge in pleasure, head lolling back to rest on Satoru’s shoulder. You can still feel his lips against your neck, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he presses a kiss followed by a hard suck and loving bite against your jugular. Your hips involuntarily lift up, walls dragging against Satoru’s cock. He hisses before he slams you back down into his lap. 

“Nuh uh, pretty girl,” he borderline growls, hand leaving a warning slap against your clit. “The whole reason we’re here is because you didn’t want to behave. You’re going to take what I give you like the good girl I know you are.”

You nod like you understand, but your mind is far too hazy to take in anything aside from how your boyfriend is making you feel.

“Toru, toru, fuck. I’m gonna cum,” you cry out, nails digging deep crescents into either of your boyfriend’s thighs. 

“Yeah? Cum for me then, sweetheart.” 

The coil that’s slowly been threatening to unravel this whole time suddenly snaps, sending you spiraling into a state of euphoria. The pleasure is so mind-blowing it feels like you’ve ascended to heaven. 

Satoru’s eyes roll back into his head as he lets out a guttural groan. Your pussy pulses around his length, and he only gives a few shallow thrusts before a moan comes tumbling out of his lips and he paints your insides with his cum. His grip on you somehow gets even tighter, strong arms squeezing you as he rides out his orgasm, like his subconscious is determined to meld the two of you into one. 

You can barely comprehend what’s happening to you as Satoru slips out from behind you, and forces you onto your back as you hit the mattress with a soft thud. Your eyes flutter shut as you come down from your high. 

You feel a dip in the mattress by your legs. Your thoughts go static still. No, it can’t be. Your eyes snap open to see Satoru make himself at home in between your legs for what feels like the hundredth time today. 

He smiles sweetly up at you, planting a few open mouth kisses down your stomach and on the insides of your thighs. Your eyes meet his, and you’re hit with an overwhelming surge of emotions. Satoru’s eyes are blue like the clearest sky, and they could never hide anything from you. Right now, all you can see is pure, unadulterated want. There’s a predatory glint in his eyes that makes your legs feel like jelly. You stiffen, breathing jagged as your heartbeat quickens. 

Satoru wastes no time in pressing a sweet kiss to your clit, sucking lightly. His hands have a vice grip on your hips as you thrash beneath him, willing you to stay in place. 

“Toru, please,” you cry out. It feels like you’re begging, but you’re not quite sure for what. Release? Or for him to let you go so you can wipe that smug grin off his stupidly handsome face? “It’s too much, I can’t—“

“But you can, pretty,” he hums, with so much conviction that you start to believe him too. The subtle vibrations of his murmurs against your pussy do nothing for your near-delirious state. “And you will,” he says with finality.

There’s no room for arguing, because what Satoru wants is what Satoru gets.

And what Satoru wants right now is for you to fall apart even more for him, to feel the squeeze of your thighs against his head as you try to rock your hips against his face until he passes out. 

“Besides,” his tongue prods at your entrance, “we need to clean you up somehow. You’re dripping.” And to prove his point, he drags two fingers inside you, expertly hitting that spongey spot that knocks the wind out of your lungs and has you seeing stars. You can vaguely make out the lewd squelches that fill up the room, and the warm mix of yours and Satoru’s cum dripping out and down your slit. Your boyfriend watches in a trance as the milky white slick dribbles out of you, slowly but surely on its way to wet his bedsheets. He wastes no time in lapping it up before it can even hit the sheets. It would be a shame for any of that to be wasted, he thinks. 

“Look at me,” he demands. You manage to weakly prop yourself up on your shoulders, tears threatening to spill as Satoru continues you finger you. You look so needy, so pretty like this. Your lip juts out in a slight pout and Satoru swears he can cum just by looking at you. “There’s my good girl,” he all but coos. 

“You’re so perfect,” he rasps, and he shudders at the way you clench around his fingers at his praise. He alternates between sucking at your clit and licking up and down your pussy, moaning at the way you taste when combined with him. You taste phenomenal normally, but the fact that you would even grant him the privilege of letting him ruin you has his mind reeling, and it makes him a little crazy. 

You’re so, so close. Your eyes screw shut in an attempt to drown out everything that isn’t Satoru’s tongue and fingers. Just a little bit more— then all of a sudden the mind-numbing pleasure is gone, ripped away from you. 

“I thought I told you to look at me?” Satoru’s voice cuts through you, and although there’s a slight teasing tilt to his question, you know better than to disobey him a second time. That smile on his face promises no mercy. 

“Satoru, I—“

“If you want to cum, keep your eyes on me.” 

You know not to argue with him when he’s as pussydrunk as he is (though you also know that even if you didn’t listen, he’d let you cum anyways. Satoru could never refuse you that.) 

Satoru swears he’s found heaven between your thighs as you grind your pussy against his face. He’s practically making out with your pussy, looking up at you with hearts in his eyes as he suckles on your clit, his saliva mixing with your slick that begins to pool beneath you. Your incessant whines and chants of his name fill his ears and he feels dizzy. You look at him, dazed, and he can’t help but think that he’s never seen a sight more beautiful than you. 

A melody of your ecstasy and his bliss fill the open air. The wet sounds of his tongue slurping your pussy and his fingers stretching out your tiny hole are enough to make your ears burn. But all of that hardly matters when Satoru takes one of your hands and places it on top of his head, urging you to card your fingers through his white locks, tugging a bit roughly, just how he likes it. Satoru doesn’t let up, and the way he’s going down on you almost feels greedy. 

The familiar pleasure bubbling up within you threatens to spill again, and all you can do is babble as a tear slips down your cheek. Satoru hasn’t stopped looking at you, and even with him practically devouring you, the stare he gives you is primal and hungry. 

“You’re about to cum, aren’t you baby?” Though it seems more like a statement than a question. You nod desperately, clenching around Satoru’s fingers. 

“Need to cum so badly, Toru. Pleas—“ you begin to plead, but you’re cut short by a hard suck to your swollen clit and Satoru thrusting his fingers in and out of you at a quicker pace. 

“Shh, it’s okay, baby. I know. I’ll let you cum.” 

You trill as you hit your umpteenth climax, with Satoru not stopping his ministrations until you’re pushing him away. He pulls away from your pussy with a slight pop and smiles at you, chin shimmering with his spit and your juices. He cages you underneath him, and gives you a loving kiss on the lips before he pulls away slightly. 

He grips your jaw, tapping his index finger against the plushness of your cheek. He grins when he hears you whimper. You open your eyes to meet his once more.  “Hey, pretty girl.” Satoru coos, sickeningly sweet. You can feel a wet spot accumulating on the apex of your thigh, followed by a few taps of something hard. 

“Think you can give me one more?”

Then y’all go for 3 more rounds

Work belongs to @ryukatters. Please do not repost or translate my writing anywhere.

#can u tell im ovulating #i wrote this with one hand #gojo my king i have finally written about you #officially a gojo fucker and hater #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #tw.overstimulation #cw.overstimulation #tw.dubcon #cw.dubcon #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #kat’s writing #kat’s demon time

[magneto-was-fucking-right]

The Ghost Next Door - Chapter 7

Prompt: After suffering an almost lethal injury in combat, Simon "Ghost" Riley expected a dull, and uneventful leave back at his shitty apartment. His new next-door neighbor ruins his plans. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (named Riley Thomas for plot purposes)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 8

Disclaimer: slow burn; neighbor!Simon; explicit sexual content

Chapter Summary: In which Simon's neighbor gets free lunch and ends up with her hand on his pants.

Word Count: 2.1K

Simon Riley and Riley Thomas sat face to face at her round kitchen table, the random assortment of food containers from their favorite Chinese place being the only thing separating them. Their afternoon reunion had been as awkward as could be expected: extremely hungover, Riley tried her best to pretend she hadn’t embarrassed herself tremendously the previous night, and Simon pretended he hadn’t jerked off twice in his shower after he put her to bed.

Tension filled every moment of silence, which Riley was quick to heap with useless chatter on how she hoped the weather got better (it never did) and how delicious the food was (it always had been). Simon simply hummed in agreement when necessary, finding it amusing to silently observe her flustered expression and the way she avoided his gaze.

To her dismay, she couldn’t even count on Johnny to help diffuse the awkwardness between them, since he had immediately - and very excitedly - asked her to take Rex for a walk in the park, while Milo dozed off in her bed. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to refuse the cheerful Scot anything at all. 

When the meal was finished, and the young woman had finally started to relax against her seat, believing him to have opted to forget the matter, Simon cocked his head to the right, readjusting his facemask and therefore silently allowing her to look at his face once again.

“Are we gonna talk about last night?” His deep, low tone made her cheeks flush immediately, her hands covering her face as she sighed nervously.

“Can we not?” She grimaced at the faint memories of her inappropriate behavior, dreading the possibility of having ruined their friendship - her only one - for good. She couldn’t make out exactly what she had said, but she painfully remembered how she had desperately tried to kiss Simon, and the way his hands had firmly kept her away, the rejection still staining her heart.

“You don’t wan’ to?” He raised an eyebrow, but she kept hidden behind her palms. “Riley…” He called and she shivered at the softness in his tone.

She slowly parted two of her fingers, uncovering one of her eyes tentatively. 

“Let’s talk, yeah?”

“Hmm.” She grunted, shaking her head.

“What’s the matter, love?”

“Don’t call me that!” She reburied her face in her palms, feeling her skin heat at the nickname.

“Talk to me, then.”

“I…” She started, but the words died down in her throat. “I’m so sorry.”

Simon leaned back in his seat, arms crossed at his chest.

“What for?”

Riley sighed deeply in exasperation, feeling more humiliated than ever.

“For practically assaulting you!”

He let out an amused chuckle, and she uncovered her teary eye once again, assessing his reaction.

“You’re not…mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Simon…”

“I’m serious, love.”

“You rejected me.” Her voice slightly trembled.

“You were drunk. And very vulnerable.”

“So…I didn’t ruin our friendship?”

“You did. Jus’ not in the way you’re worried about.”

She cocked her head in confusion, but he gave no further explanations, standing up and beginning to collect the empty containers.

“What does that mean?” She frowned, finally fully looking him in the eyes. He ignored her panic, beginning to stuff them in the bin. 

“Simon!” He didn’t let up, turning to wash the dishes she had left piled in the sink the day before.

When he didn’t respond, silently taunting her, she stood up, walking over to him and pinching his behind roughly.

“Easy, kid.” He flinched, surprised at her unusual boldness.

“Tell me! How did I ruin it?” She seemed on the verge of tears, but he returned to the dishes, grunting in response.

Riley let out an angry breath, grabbing his bicep and forcing him to turn to her, pinning him against the sink.

He looked down at her smaller frame, not even a little intimidating, amused at how cute she looked when she was mad.

“Tell me. How. I ruined it.” She commanded slowly, concern visible in her doe eyes as she pulled him down by the collar of his shirt.

Simon was stone cold serious, holding her gaze as he grabbed her wrist gently, lowering it all the way down to his jeans, where he pressed her hand against something hard, and girthy behind the denim.

“Friends don’t usually give me a stiffy.” 

Riley’s lips parted in shock, her eyes fixed on his growing bulge, head emptying as she tried hard to process the meaning of his words.

“Fuck.” Was all she could come up with as she palmed him through his pants, too shocked to move away (not that she wished to, anyway).

“Hm.”

Riley Thomas bit her lower lip pensively, before looking up at the man through her lashes, innocent curiosity mixed with emboldened desire. She pressed her palm more firmly against the protruding hardness, her breath caught in her throat as she carefully mapped out the contour of his length, noticing the way his eyelids grew heavy, dark brown eyes hazy with something she couldn’t yet decipher.

“D-do you mind if I…” She trailed off, hooking a finger behind his belt.

“Let me guess…My consent would be greatly appreciated?” He taunted and she bit her lip once again, nodding slowly with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“By all means.” His deep, sultry voice conceded, and her trembling hands made awkward work of the buckle, followed by the button, and the zipper.

 Riley felt like a hormonal teenager when she placed a sweaty hand on his navel, lips parted in wonder at the lovely blondish happy trail that dipped into his briefs, keen on exploring every inch of his pale skin as her heart hammered violently in her heaving chest. She looked up once again, searching for further approval, unsure of how far he was willing to take it. Simon cocked his head to the right in his usual casual manner, raising a hand to caress her cheek in a comforting gesture.

“You don’t have to.” He assured, thumb grazing her freckled cheek tenderly.

“I want to.” She immediately countered, eagerly. “But do you?”

Simon felt his heart melt at her care and concern, his cock twitching at the kindness in her eyes and the tenderness of her touch.

I’m so fucked. A part of him ached, terrified of those new, unexpected feelings he had worked so long to subdue. 

“I do.” He nodded once “We ain’t got long. Johnny has tiny legs but he walks fast.” And that was the last coherent sentence he was able to utter, until her cold fingers snaked their way inside the fabric of his briefs.

Riley let out a shaky breath as her fingertips grazed the coarse, trimmed curls where his velvety, thick shaft rested, feeling it pulse once she actually gripped it. Simon’s hands rested on the sink, gripping it so tight she was surprised he hadn’t broken it yet, his head tilted back as he let out a deep sigh of relief.

A firm grip around the base, silently measuring the impressive thickness of his hard length and fantasizing about how good it would feel inside of her, stretching her out. She took a deep breath before finally pulling it out from the confines of his warm briefs, a drop of pearly pre-cum leaking from his pink tip. She pumped him once, twice, three times until Simon finally let the smallest, lowest groan fall from his lips.

She bit her lip at the sound, gazing up at his beautiful brown eyes as she moved her hand lower, gentle fingers cupping his heavy sack. Simon’s hands latched onto her hips, holding on for dear life as he kneaded her flesh.

It wasn’t enough, the soft, languid touches exchanged between the two, as Simon’s large, warm hand palmed her breast tentatively, too carefully, over her shirt. Riley gasped when his thumb lazily grazed her hardened nipple over the fabric, lips parting as she teased him right back, her own thumb caressing his leaky slit, eliciting a deep, pleasured sigh from him. 

He held her gaze as his left hand slid under her clothes, calloused fingertips grazing the softness of her tummy, before fully cupping the plump flesh, fingers pulling on her pebbled nipple softly. She felt her insides burn with need as she outright moaned, eyes shutting as he rolled it between his fingers, eyes assessing her every reaction, body responsive to every sound and movement she made.

Riley picked up the pace, pumping his cock more eagerly when his right hand dipped into the hem of her sweatpants, easily gliding a finger over her soaked panties. She blushed in utter embarrassment at the desperate sound that left her lips when his fingers traced the outline of her folds, and Simon smirked under his mask.

“Seems you weren’t lying last night.”

“I really wasn’t.” She whimpered, forehead pressing against his chest as his fingers finally dipped in her knickers, a groan of approval rumbling in his chest at the warmth and wetness of her folds. He couldn’t help it as he pressed the tip of his middle finger against her entrance, testing the resistance as he slowly pushed in all the way to his knuckle, making her hiss at the unexpected stretch.

“Sorry, love.” He wasn’t actually sorry as he took in the desperate way in which she ground her hips to his hand, eager to find relief. Riley lowered her head, and allowed some spit to fall from her lips onto his sensitive tip, lubricating his cock as she pumped him faster. Simon’s weaker leg faltered and he struggled to focus as he gently moved his finger inside her tight hole, massaging her walls with the utmost care before removing it and spreading her slick over her swollen clit. She whimpered and Simon thought he could cum at the sound.

He knew he wouldn’t last long, not with the way she was desperately bringing him close to the edge, wet sounds of her saliva coating him all the way down to his balls filling the small kitchen. He felt like his virgin 16 year old self, barely hanging on at the feel of her round tits beneath his hand, the both of them all avid gropes and desperate caresses as he kneaded every inch of bare skin he was lucky enough to touch, while she pumped away any of his remaining sanity with firm strokes.

The young woman almost begged him to remove his mask, to let her swallow those pleasured groans and soft whimpers that made warmth pool in the apex of her thighs as the mutual masturbation continued, but she didn’t want to push her luck. Not yet, at least.

“I’m close.” She admitted, not even five minutes since they had begun, her cheeks flushed with shame and vulnerability as she looked up into his eyes.

“I’ve been close since you started.” Simon groaned in her ear, veiny shaft pulsing,leg faltering.

“Simon…” She whispered quietly, panting as he quickened the pace at which his fingers fervently rubbed tight circles around her bundle of nerves. Her loving gaze and her parted lips awoke something deep within him, something that meant much more to him than the pleasure she was coaxing from his body.

Simon Riley had had lovers. Not many, but a considerate few who had managed to set his guard down long enough to earn a shag, nothing more than meaningless, quiet humping, meant to satisfy primal instincts and stifle his relentless loneliness - temporarily, at least. But he had never had that: Riley’s warmth, and beautiful, loving eyes that seemed to look beyond him, his mask, and actually care.

He didn’t object when her left hand slowly reached up, pointer finger ready to pull down his mask as her right hand continued her ministrations. He actually leaned down, his face so close to her he could breathe in her soft sighs of pleasure. Her nail had barely grazed the side of his stubbled jaw when they heard loud barking in the hallway, their bodies freezing at the same time.

The two neighbors barely managed to get their hands off each other’s underwear, Simon’s mask snapping back into place, hands fumbling to tuck his hard cock back into his jeans awkwardly while Riley readjusted her shirt. In a minute, Johnny McTavish was already bursting through the door, the pup at his leg wagging his tail excitedly.

“Christ…Am I interruptin’ something?” He teased, mocking their suspicious proximity, Riley’s face and neck reddish like a tomato as Simon quickly turned to the sink, pretending to do the dishes.

“Did ya get us tea?” The Lieutenant asked, coolly changing the subject.

“Of course. Anythin’ for my two favorite love birds.” 

“Fuck off.” Simon rolled his eyes as he threw the sponge back in the sink, side eyeing the drinks he placed on the table.

Riley still blushed furiously, seemingly inclined to throw herself out of the window as Johnny smirked, unleashing Rex and turning to his best friend while pointing to his midsection.

“Oh and Simon?”

“What?”

“Ya forgot the belt.”

A/N: Once again, apologies for the delay!! Uni and work have been kicking my ass so as per usual I'll be doing my best to upload as fast as possible! Thank you so much for every single comment and message <3 Keep the feedback coming, it really motivates me :)

TAG LIST (I hope I haven't forgotten anyone)

@xaestheticalien @bossva @missmae3004 @yyiikes @lillysfrogsandbogs @missmae3004 @spicyspicyliving @shuttlelauncher81 @generaldestinychild @semendreaminsblog @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @iloveghost900 @anaromanov9 @flaminghotcheetosinhaler @cigsm3rcy

#ghost cod #ghostxreader #cod #ghost imagine #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #neighbor!ghost #modernwarfare2

[chosoguapo]

𝒥𝒥𝒦 𝑀𝐸𝒩 𝒲𝐼𝒯𝐻 𝒮𝒜𝒩𝑅𝐼𝒪 𝒢𝐼𝑅𝐿𝐹𝑅𝐼𝐸𝒩𝒟𝒮 x black fems! ⤷ content: just a lot of fluff really and some suggestive stuff but nothing descriptive. itadori & megumi are aged up to 18 (to seem more exclusive since i think you can imagine them like this at anytime), but it’s all for fluff reasons. Merry Christmas ❤️💚🤍

signed mumu . . . just fun hdcs with our favorite jjk men, some suggestive content, but nothing overly descriptive. any kind of support is appreciated buns <3 @hoori @ifuckslasherz @scarfac3 @sukuette @pekejs @yeagersex | banner credit to @cafekitsune

itadori with a hello kitty girlfriend

❤︎ we saw this coming, what can i say two main characters belong together. you both enjoy being out all the time, whether that’s just spending time with each or friends. just being out and about with each other.

❤︎ a lot of times people like to think itadori doesn’t have a girlfriend when he mentions he does have one. the way he goes on and on to brag about you to his closest friends. you’d think you’re some fictional character from a game, but no you are his and only his!

megumi with a pochacco girlfriend

❤︎ there is never a dull moment between the two of you. as you both can make the smallest things into a competition between each other. let anyone simply ask “who’s better at ___?” you both are jumping at the opportunity to beat the others ass.

❤︎ the way you two ended up together is a mystery to yourself, but also so funny. your brother was a delinquent that often got into arguments with other students. just this one time he decided to bother megumi which didn’t end well for him. of course you went to go stand up for your brother and cuss out the jackass you put his hands on your family. but let’s just say…. you got completely distracted and ended up bonding with the guy? you overheard him talking about one of your favorite special interests and couldn’t help but join in. it’s rare that you find someone else who deeply loves something like you.

nanami with a melody girlfriend

❤︎ nanami with his melody girlfriend are such a odd but complimenting couple. the both of you have an understanding, you love being the “traditional girlfriend” while he loves being a “traditional boyfriend.” basically he provides for you while you spend his money on all your precious desires (he prefers it this way).

❤︎ often you find yourself on top of nanami almost every night. often you find yourself having silly little nightmares from recent horror movies you’ve watched, but nanami is always there to comfort you. he hovers over, without letting you feel any of his weight. “here take melody” he tucks her into you and kiss you on the head before cuddling up with you.

geto with batz a maru girlfriend

❤︎ oh boy! two people who look like absolute meanies but care so deeply for the ones who know them best. relationship consists of you two constantly picking on each other or just plain embarrassing the other.

❤︎ geto’s most fondest memory with you is when you both first met for a blind date. it was at a bar that is now only but a block away from where you both call home. he remembers you getting so drunk that you couldn’t even properly write your signature that night. geto had never seen someone show how genuine they are with their real personality, jokes, and being loud as hell. he loved that you didn’t feel the need to hide yourself for others benefit.

gojo with a cinnamoroll girlfriend

❤︎ you know how everyone loves the girlfriend that speaks for their boyfriend when the waiter gets his food wrong? well that’s the dynamic you and gojo have, but he’s the one who speaks up for you.

❤︎ sometimes you find that a lot of your cinnamoroll plushies are missing and that because of no one other than you boyfriend. gojo enjoys taking them and putting them in his office to dress them up as a mini version of him. “doesn’t he look way better with my shades on” he proudly displays cinnamoroll with a mini version of the outfit he has on.

sukuna with a kuromi girlfriend

❤︎ naturally sukuna would gravitate towards a kuromi girl. someone that’s just as rebellious and mischievous as him, but also girly at the same time.

❤︎ sukuna loves getting reactions out of you. something like hiding your favorite plushie. can get you so heated and he loves seeing that side of you come out. when you come to him to ask where he placed it, he always pretends he has no clue as to what you’re chatting about. “oh, you’re talking about that black and purple plushies of yours right?” “yes!” “ i don’t recall ever seeing it love” he says with a wink.

choso with a mocha girlfriend

❤︎ you two are the perfect example of a pink aesthetic girlfriend with a black aesthetic boyfriend. do people constantly question you both being together because of your different aesthetics? yes, but doesn’t choso give them a death stare for it? absolutely yes!

❤︎ choso is too shy to admit it to you but he loves cuddling you or just being able to touch you in anyway you allow him to. he prefers to sleep in your room filled up to the brim with pink and he cherishes every second of it.

toji with a choco cat girlfriend

❤︎ a mischievous and carrying boyfriend with the laid back girlfriend that’s friendly. dare i say that how toji acts with you is like a golden retriever but in a black cat form. he’s does all the carrying and doting things regular boyfriends do, but he always had to remind you who he is at heart. which is a childish man with a fat cock!

❤︎ toji knows how self-conscious you get when going to the gym. not because of the curves you possess, but because you feel like you’re doing the workouts completely wrong. which is why he always has to be your hype man at the gym. while your taking pictures for your social media hes right behind you slapping your ass. “beautiful just beautiful” he says as he slaps your ass again and leaving a kiss on your cheek.

#gojo headcanons #jjk fluff #choso headcanons #jjk x reader #toji headcanons #jjk headcanons #geto headcanons #itadori x reader #jjk.txt #megumi headcanons #sanrio #jjk x you #black reader #jjk men #jjk multi #ᕱ⑅ᕱ ۪𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒖𝒎𝒖 ۪ ۫ 〜

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 2: Late Night Visitor

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter two of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (once or twice), Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. Reader is described as being "curvy." I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Masterlist

Chapter 1

*************************************************

1934 Philadelphia

The subtle scratch of your pencil against the smooth page of the sketchbook filled your quiet bedroom. One look at the ticking clock on your bedside table stated that it was past midnight, but you didn't care. The dark circles under your eyes the next morning were well worth it, tiredness forgotten as the haze of creativity dulled the weariness of the day you'd had.

It was your fifteenth birthday, and although your parents had thrown you a lavish party to prove that the y/l/n family had not been touched by the destruction of the depression and were not concerned with the horrors of war overseas, there was only one person that you wanted to be there.

Ben wasn't of course. He was still at boarding school number five, and you imagined that a number six was already in order, given his track record.

You smile to yourself when you think of your best friend. You hadn't seen him in two months, not since you walked with him to the train station and he tried to act like he didn't care that his father was sending him away again, but you knew he did.

The things that Ben's father said and did to him made anger surge behind your ribcage. You didn't understand how his father could be so callous, so uncaring. You also hate that it drove Ben to drink, though Ben didn't seem to drink quite as much when you were around, because he knew that you didn't like it.

The party would have been more entertaining if he was there. Yes he did tend to get drunk and flirt with whatever walked past him, but he always had a way of cheering you up. And he had a wonderful knack for keeping your mother at a distance, who prayed that Ben would stay away from you, but never did.

If he was there your mother wouldn't have hovered over you all night, slapping away your hand every time you tried to take a piece of cake or hiss something at you when you pulled at the itchy pink dress that she brought home three days ago, your least favorite color. When you got dressed for the party you felt like a porcelain doll in a China cabinet, made to be looked at, but never touched.

It wasn't too far off. Being the only daughter of one of the richest families that lived in Philadelphia your reputation and pedigree were two of the most important things to your mother. It meant that in a few years you would be married off to another rich family, have rich babies, and then put your own daughter through the same cycle of hell all over again.

Suitors were already beginning to trickle into your life, sons of your father’s business partners each screened by your mother before the introductory meetings where you felt bored, stiff,  choked by the thick fabric of the dresses your mother picked out, and plastered with makeup. All of course the best of Europe, which you had no idea how your mother managed to get given that there was a war on.

Ben was the only thing in your life that wasn't planned and you loved him for it.

You look up at the dark corner of your room to get a view of the long shadows that creep along the bedroom floor, and cut through the light coming from the gas lantern on your bedside table. You try to distinguish the sharp edges and smooth curves and watch them take shape beneath the ministrations of your pencil against the page.

Art was your only escape, the only thing you did that your mother approved of.

"A proper lady should have a hobby." She had sniffed, but then narrowed her eyes at the graphite and ink stains on you hands.

Part of the fun is the mess. You had thought to yourself watching her disapproving look.

A tap on your window makes you lift your gaze from the page and look towards the window seat that faces out the third story of your home onto the street below.

Ben is crouched there on the ledge that juts out only a foot from the outer brick wall a wide smile on his face that you can't help but return. You had been friends since you were both eight, when your parents threw yet another party and you found Ben in one of the side rooms trying to avoid his father. When his father tried to come in to find him, you lied and said you hadn't seen Ben.

And when his mother died two years later, Ben would show up some nights, scaling the large tree outside your window to stay with you. He never wanted to talk about it and you never asked, instead you talked about everything else until you both fell asleep.

You felt your heart thud loudly in your chest and a familiar warmth tracing lightly against your skin when you lock eyes with him. It was hard to be in love with your best friend. But you were, and you couldn't tell him. You didn't want to ruin the only meaningful relationship you'd ever had in your life. Ben knew everything about you, you trusted him and you couldn't imagine what it would be like to live your life without him, didn't want to.

Sometimes you hoped he felt the same way. When you woke up before him in the morning and the light from the window made his hair lighter and he held you close to his chest because in his sleep he had wrapped his arm around you. You liked to pretend that he did it on purpose, not just because there was barely any room between the two of you in your bed because now you both weren't as small as you used to be. You don’t know when Ben got so broad, tall, and muscular, but now it was impossible to ignore, especially being pressed against his chest when you woke.

 It was improper to be that close in bed together of course, but you didn't care. You didn't care what other people thought about him or you. He was your best friend, and although you wished for more, you wouldn't turn your back on him just because other people thought he was trouble.

Which he was.

You put your sketchbook down and go to the window to unlock it. "Ben what are you doing here?"

"I couldn't miss your birthday." He smirks as you take his hand to help him into your bedroom.

"What about school?"

"Wasn't a good fit." Ben pushes his dark hair out of his eyes and you try not to think about what it would be like to do it yourself.

"Uh-huh. What you're really saying is that you flunked out of another boarding school just to make it back for my birthday. Right?" You laugh.

"Thought it would be a nice birthday surprise." He leans forward with a smirk. "Would you like to unwrap your present?"

You roll your eyes and raise a hand to push him back, but he catches it against his chest.

"Come on. You're telling me that you didn't miss me? Not even a little?" Ben pretends to be hurt.

Of course you missed him. When he wasn't there it felt like apart of you was gone, but you couldn't tell him that. You knew that Ben didn't feel the same way. He was just flirty, all the time.

"No."

"Liar." He says. "How was the big party?"

"Oh it was the bee's knees." You snark. "I danced with Howard Stine and he stepped on my toes, my mother didn't let me eat and bought me a ridiculous dress-"

"Let me guess, pink?"

"Pink and ruffly. I looked like a giant cupcake."

"I'm sure Howard loved it." Ben sing-songs.

"Shut up." You punch his arm. "He's not that bad-"

"With a boring name like Howard, imagine how boring he'd be in-"

"Big talk from a guy named Benjamin." You interrupt.

The look in Ben's eyes darkens for a minute. "I'd be happy to prove you wrong."

You shake your head at him to stop the flush in your cheeks and avoid the way your breath catches in your chest at his words.

It would be so easy to give in to him, but you knew that Ben didn't see you that way. Ben had chased after anything and everything that caught his eye. If you were to give in, you were afraid of what would happen after. Ben was your best friend and if you crossed that line what would it mean?

"You're incorrigible."

"If that's another word for gorgeous then yes, yes I am."

You turn back to the bed and where your sketchbook waits, trying to calm your racing heart.

"But you don't want your birthday present?" Ben asks from behind you.

"What happened to you being the present?"

"I am a gift, but I did get you something."

You turn and see that Ben is holding out a package wrapped in gold paper a little bit larger than a book. Surprise momentarily spikes at the back of your mind. Ben had gotten you gifts in the past, but you hadn't expected one this year, especially since he just got out of boarding school.

"Did you steal it?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Not this time."

You take the box from his hand and sit down on your bed to peel back the paper. "I can't believe you actually wrapped this."

"The saleswoman did. Now she was really-"

"Don't need to know." You shake your head with a smile, eyes still on the gift. When you finally pull back the paper you can't help but smile. It's a box of watercolor paints, a package of brushes, and a small pad of watercolor paper. "Ben-" You look up at him with a wide smile. "Thank you!"

 "Do you like them?" Ben asks hesitantly, he looks almost nervous.

"I love them! I've never tried to paint before."

"I know. I remember said you wanted to try. Plus I thought you could do some nice nudes of me in color-" Ben smirks.

"Ben!" You snort.

“I’m just trying to help you learn how to draw anatomy.” He wets his lips with his tongue arching an eyebrow in a challenge. “Of course there are more fun ways that I could teach you that.”

“Ben!” You flush bright red.

“Sorry. Sometimes you’re too easy.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you.” You shake your head at him with a smile.

An odd look crosses his face, but it disappears as quickly as you see it.

"Honestly, thank you. I can't wait to try these out." You look back down at the paints, admiring the silver box they came in.

"You're welcome."

Ben hovers by the window at the edge of your room as if debating whether or not he should stay. After all these years you noticed that Ben had trouble with the idea that you genuinely wanted him there. You knew it stemmed from his father's constant disapproval and his father's constant need to push him away, and it made your heart break for him.

And yes, maybe Ben did fill his life with brief flings and alcohol, but he was still your Ben.

"You’re going to stay right? Because you’ve already missed my birthday and I’d like to know how you got kicked out of boarding school number five.”

He nods once a small smile quirking the edge of his lips before he removes the dark jacket with the embossed prestigious logo of the aforementioned boarding school. It catches on his shoulders and you look away before he can see your blush.

“Are you hungry?”

Ben shakes his head.

“Ben, when was the last time you put something in your stomach besides alcohol?” You raise an eyebrow. He couldn’t lie to you and you knew he was only saying no because he didn’t want you to have to creep downstairs in the dark and also because he didn’t want to admit that he was hungry.

“Earlier.” He says it with a shrug, looking down at the coat in his hands to avoid your gaze.

“Well I was going to go see if I could find some of that birthday cake anyway. I haven’t eaten since this morning and all I had was half a grapefruit.”

“Another diet?” Ben frowns.

“Mother thinks I can slim down a little more. Says that I’d get more suitors if my hips were not so big.” You try not to dwell too much on it, you’d been dealing with your mother’s constant berating  since you were born. The corset you’d worn at the party was so tight that it left bruises on your hips and under your arms, but your mother had been pleased with how it looked. “She won’t be happy until I’m thinner than a chicken bone I suppose.” Instead of looking at Ben you stand and turn to look at yourself in the full length mirror in the corner. You never thought that your hips were too big or that your chest was, yes you were more curvy than any of your friends but you liked it.

"You shouldn't listen to her."

You shrug.

"I'm serious y/n. You're-" Ben stops talking.

"What?" You turn to look at him again eyes wide and open.

"Well you're-" Ben looks nervous again, tightening his hands on the dark jacket. He swallows. "You're not fat." Ben finishes.

"Well I don't think I'm fat Ben, but thank you." You can't help but be a little disappointed with his answer, you were hoping that he would say that you were beautiful.

My mother thinks I’m fat. You try not to wince when you think it, but instead you focus back on Ben.

"Alright, stay here. Try not to wake my parents up."

"Trust me that's the last thing on my mind doll."

*************************************************

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know. :)

Taglist: @roseblue373

#jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #the boys #the boys fanfic #soldier boy #the boys amazon #jensen ackles #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy fic #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys series

[roronoaism]

♥︎ IN THE DARK ♥︎

+ warnings: established relationships (not mentioned, js for ref), semi-public sex, oral sex (f receiving) (sanji), kitchen sex (sanji), sanji calls you pet names (love, princess, doll, baby, mon amour), fingering (both), sex on the deck (zoro), zoro calls you baby, ooc zoro (hes so sweet in this but we NEED sweet tender zoro)

+ ft: sanji and zoro (separate)

nsfw under cut, minors dni!!!

+ note: i love sanji and zoro so much mmmm <3 so late night sex w them hehe

also for sanji's part, you're referred to as '-swan', just because thats how it sounds when he pronounces san (Im assuming?? unless hes genuinly saying swan idk) so yea

♥︎ vinsmoke sanji

it was late at night, and you couldn't sleep due to you're throbbing headache. you didnt want to wake up the crew, so you carefully snuck out into the kitchen. you got a pot ready to make yourself some tea, hoping it would at least help to ease the ache.

little did you know, you woke up sanji.

"y/n-swan, what has you up at this hour?? you should be sleeping, love." the blonde looked at you, concerned. he comes over, applying a hand to your forehead, as if checking for a fever. "is everything alright?"

"yea, just couldn't sleep. my head's just bothering me a bit, nothing huge." you respond, looking at the tea pot, deciding if you wanted to have tea or something else to soothe your headache. "sorry 'bout waking ya up."

"no, no, never be sorry, i was already up." he reassures you, holding your hand.

you nod, dumping out the water. tea didn't sound good right now, you needed something faster.

"looking for something to ease it?" sanji ask, a small smirk creeping across his face.

"yea, do we have anything?" you ask, rummaging the cabinets.

"no, not really, but i do know some things that could help, doll~" he replies, the words falling from his mouth like sugar. you had an idea of what he was entailing, yet you wanted to hear him say it directly.

"yea? 'nd what would that be?"

"well- uh- i could, and its completely hypothetical, like only if you're okay with it, but uhhh-" he stutters, clearly flustered. you cross your arms, waiting for him to spit it out.

"i could eat ya out? ill treat you so good, y/n-swan, just your pleasure. trust me?" he practically pleaded, and how could you say no to such a sweetie?

and thats how you ended up propped on the counter, legs spread as sanji laps at your pussy. he enjoyed, loved it so much, it felt like a drug to him. his lips suck at your sensitive bud, two of his slender fingers curling up into your soaked hole.

you never had a man as talented or pleased as him. he moaned every time you tightened your grip on his hair, his voice vibrating against your cunt.

"baby, please, cum for me." he mumbles against your lips, before fucking you with his tongue, nose rubbing against your clit.

"sanji, fuck, im close" you mutter, your legs trying to close, but being restricted by his arms holding you down.

sanji takes it as an invitation to get closer, his whole face practically in between your legs as he draws an orgasm from you. he drinks up every drop, before wiping his mouth on his sleeve and glancing up at you.

"you taste divine, mon amour~" sanji states, before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

"now please, go rest up, y/n-swan. you need some rest." he replies, helping you up. "i love you" he whispers, kissing your head, before walking you to your room after dressing you.

♥︎ roronoa zoro

fuck. you rise out of your bed after what felt like endless hours of tossing and turning. you couldn't sleep. not with the dull headache keeping you wide awake.

it was zoro's turn to keep watch, so you figured you would go visit him. and pray he wasn't drunk.

you walked out to the deck, and noticed zoro leaned against the railing. approaching him, you tap his shoulder, causing him to suddenly turn around. "oh, its just you. hey."

"hi."

"what's up?" he ask, before taking in your figure. the shorts and bra combo seemed to shock him, as he turned back towards the sea.

"i just have a headache, and couldn't sleep." you reply, hugging his waist. "can i just sit here with you?"

zoro nods, before turning to face you again. "anythin' i can do to help?"

"mmm, not really. unless you have something stress relieving."

"well, its quite vacant here. and it's been a while since it's just been you and me."

"are you suggesting sex?"

zoro nods, before planting a kiss to your lips gently. "whatcha say?"

your nod was all the confirmation he needed. he gently laid you down on the deck, before removing your shorts and undergarments.

"already wet, baby? i didnt know you were thinking of this" he teases softly.

"it was an idea" you mumble, before his fingers find their way to your clit and trace it once. you moan softly, groaning as he slowly inserts a digit and curls it in you.

he slides another finger in, curling it in unison with the other.

"fuckkk, zoro" you groan, as he presses a kiss to your head. his other hand finds its way to your clit, rubbing in time with his curls and thrust.

he feels you tighten around him, before inserting a third finger. you moan a soft string of incomprehensible nonsese, before cumming onto his thick fingers.

"you did so good, baby." he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "feelin better?"

you nod, cuddling up to him. "can i stay here for the night?"

"sure" he replies, holding you against his chest as you let sleep claim you.

©2024 roronoaism - please do not repost or translate my works on other media sites ♡

#one piece #roronoa zoro #zoro smut #zoro x reader #zoro roronoa #zoro roronoa x reader #sanji smut #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji x reader smut #sanji vinsmoke #sanji one piece #zoro one piece #one piece smut #♥ - vinnies corner

[leclercsainzz]

RIGHT PERSON, WRONG TIME

— 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: not much, just a small series collection of taylor swift’s songs with the formula one drivers

or

in which they say that timing is everything when it comes to love, and that sometimes the right person can come into your life at the wrong time

➝ f1 drivers

→ → → → → → → → → → → → →

i. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐂 - red

— “losing him was blue, like i’d never known … missing him was dark gray, all alone … forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you never met, but loving him was red”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: as time passed and they went their separate ways, the intensity of that love faded into a dull ache of longing and regret

ii. 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐙 - champagne problems

— “she would’ve made such a lovely bride, what a shame she’s fucked in the head”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to say “yes” to his proposal

iii. 𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍 - the way i loved you

— “you were wild and crazy … just so frustrating, intoxicating, complicated got away by some mistake”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: despite knowing the fact that they aren’t good for each other, they can’t help but want each other

iv. 𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍 - cardigan

— “i knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in which memories of their time together come flooding back, making it hard to fully move on

v. 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐋 - my tears ricochet

— “and you’re tossing out blame, drunk on this pain crossing out the good years”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in which his bitterness and resentment erase the moments of happiness they once shared

vi. 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎 - i don’t want to live forever

— “i’m sitting eyes wide open and i got one thing stuck in my mind, wondering if i dodged a bullet or just lost the love of my life”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in which she might’ve dodged a bullet, but he certainly lost the love of his life

vii. 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 - i bet you think about me

— “i bet you think about me when you’re out at your cool indie music concerts every week”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: they’re over, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking about her every now and then

viii. 𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈 - you’re losing me

— “my heart won’t start anymore for you ‘cause you’re losing me”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in which she’s slowly falling out of love

ix. 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐘 - mr. perfectly fine

— “how’s your heart after breakin’ mine?”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: despite being the one who ended things, he’s more heartbroken than she is

x. 𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐍 - the great war

— “i vowed not to fight anymore if we survived the great war”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: many of them did not survive the great war of heartbreak, and unfortunately, they were among those who did not make it through”

xi. 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 - exile

— “all this time, i never learned to read your mind … i couldn’t turn things around”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: “he was so focused on his own feelings and needs that he failed to notice the subtle hints she was trying to send

xii. 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐗 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐎𝐍 - right where you left me

— “you left me no choice but to stay here forever”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in which she’s still at the restaurant

xiii. 𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓 - happiness

— “no one teaches you what to do when a good man hurts you and you know you hurt him too”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in which they both deeply hurt each other

xiv. 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 - better man

— “push my love away like it was some kind of loaded gun”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: she’d been hurt many times before and didn’t want to risk getting hurt again, so she pushed his love away and caused more heartbreak

xv. 𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒𝐎𝐍 - bigger than the whole sky

— “what could’ve been, would’ve been, what should’ve been”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: what could’ve, would’ve, or should’ve been the one for her, but sometimes things don’t work out as you hope

xvi. 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐎 - sad beautiful tragic

— “distance, timing, breakdowns, fighting … silence, the train runs off its tracks”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: maybe it was the distance that kept them apart, or the timing that always seemed to be off

author’s note: helloooo! so i decided to start a new series:) i got inspired by some of @love-belle series of the drivers, so make sure to check her page out:))

i’ll still be posting request that you guys have sent in … if you have sent requests, don’t worry i’ll get to them eventually 😊

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