#does boxing gloves hurt
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mail carrier winter gloves
A touchscreen glove is a type of glove that is designed to allow the wearer to use their smartphone or tablet while keeping their hands warm. These gloves are made with a conductive material on the fingertips that can register touch on a touchscreen device.
There are several types of touchscreen gloves available in the market, ranging from thin, lightweight gloves that are perfect for mild weather, to thicker, more insulated gloves that are ideal for extremely cold conditions. Some touchscreen gloves are also designed with additional features such as a non-slip grip, water-resistant materials, and reflective detailing for improved visibility in low-light conditions.
Overall, touchscreen gloves are a convenient and practical solution for anyone who needs to use their smartphone or tablet while on the go, without sacrificing warmth and comfort.
mail carrier winter gloves
Mail carrier winter gloves are specialized gloves designed for postal workers and mail carriers who need to deliver mail and packages outdoors in cold weather conditions. These gloves are typically made with durable materials that provide insulation, protection, and grip to ensure that the mail carrier can perform their job effectively and safely.
Some common features of mail carrier winter gloves include:
Waterproof or water-resistant materials to keep the hands dry in wet and snowy conditions.
Insulated materials such as Thinsulate or Gore-Tex to provide warmth without adding bulk.
High visibility colors or reflective accents for increased visibility and safety.
Reinforced palms and fingers for better grip and durability.
Extended cuffs or adjustable straps to keep snow and cold air out.
When choosing mail carrier winter gloves, it is important to consider factors such as warmth, durability, flexibility, and grip. The gloves should allow the mail carrier to handle mail and packages easily and safely, even in slippery or wet conditions.
photography gloves for winter
Photography gloves for winter are specialized gloves designed for photographers who need to operate their cameras in cold weather conditions. These gloves are typically made with materials that provide warmth and dexterity, while also allowing the photographer to maintain control over their camera settings and functions.
Some common features of photography gloves for winter include:
Insulated materials such as Thinsulate or Gore-Tex to provide warmth without adding bulk.
Fingerless or convertible designs that allow the photographer to maintain tactile control over the camera’s buttons and dials.
Gripping materials on the palm and fingers to provide a secure grip on the camera.
Fold-over flaps or removable tips on the fingers to allow for full coverage when not taking pictures.
Compatibility with touchscreen devices, such as smartphones or tablets, for easy access to camera controls or to review photos.
When choosing photography gloves for winter, it is important to consider factors such as warmth, dexterity, grip, and compatibility with your specific camera model. The gloves should allow the photographer to operate their camera easily and comfortably, while also protecting their hands from cold weather conditions.
gardening gloves
Gardening gloves are specialized gloves designed to protect the hands of gardeners from dirt, thorns, and other hazards commonly encountered in gardening activities. These gloves come in a variety of styles and materials, each suited for different gardening tasks.
Some common features of gardening gloves include:
Durable materials such as leather, cotton, or synthetic fibers to protect the hands from cuts, scratches, and abrasions.
Reinforced fingertips and palms to provide extra protection and grip for handling tools and digging in soil.
Breathable materials such as cotton or mesh to keep hands cool and dry during hot weather.
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Adjustable cuffs or straps to keep dirt and debris out of the gloves.
When choosing gardening gloves, it is important to consider the types of gardening activities you will be performing, as well as personal preferences for materials and style. For example, gloves with rubber or latex coatings may be best for handling wet soil, while leather gloves may be more suited for pruning and handling thorny plants. It is also important to choose gloves that fit properly, as gloves that are too loose or tight can be uncomfortable and may impede dexterity.
does boxing gloves hurt
Boxing gloves are designed to protect the hands of both boxers during a match or training session, but they can still cause some level of pain or discomfort, both to the wearer and the opponent. However, this pain is typically not caused by the gloves themselves, but rather by the force of the punches being thrown.
When a boxer lands a punch, the force of the impact is transferred through the gloves and into the body of the opponent. This can cause pain, bruising, and other injuries, even if the gloves are properly padded and fitted. Additionally, if the gloves are too tight or too loose, they can cause discomfort and even injury to the wearer’s hands.
That being said, properly fitted and padded boxing gloves can significantly reduce the risk of injury to both boxers. They distribute the force of the impact more evenly across the surface of the glove, reducing the likelihood of injury to the hands and wrists of the wearer, as well as reducing the force of the punch on the opponent. It is important to choose gloves that are appropriate for the level of training or competition, and to always use gloves that are in good condition and properly maintained.
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✧˖ ?!— TWO WHORES IN A ROOM, THEY MIGHT KISS. - (SUGGSTV.)
— ‧₊˚ — 🎸: "punch me in the gut, might be the only chance you'd ever have at wrecking my insides ??"
summary. having a lil punching sesh with the arrogant man-whore you oh so despised was not an easy game but def. a fun one at that !
notes. i don't know boxing like thattt so if this sounds a lil stupid i'm sry 😭😭 anyways boxer jk???? SJSPAAKMP
warnings/includes. (MDNI) non idol! jungkook x f! reader, hate fuck if you squint, enemies to lovers??? kinda, DEGRADING from both sides, slut, whore + man-whore mentioned, grinding
you don't know how long you've been circling around eachother, throwing insults left and right - yet nobody had landed the first punch yet. "you know for a man who keeps on yapping about being the best boxer in this shitplace, you're pretty damn scared of me" your eyes never leaving his, box gloves so tight around your hands, your tone sweet in that mocking tone, "you know you've got a pretty big mouth for somebody who claims they're not a slut" he responded no chalently as you didn't even shiver or visably reacted to the insult.
"you sound like you'd die to feel my precious mouth on you" you pouted sarcastically, the circle continuing once again.
"is that a threat or an invitation?" another one-liner fired back, your eyes narrowing - he may look serious but you know he's enjoying every second of this.
and right then and there- in the second he was waiting for you to reply, unfocused for just a split second you throw the first punch.
you immediately bring your fist back, landing a decent hook across his jaw. his head is forced back and eyes widened as he's obviously surprised, though he doesn't react much to the hit. he seems to quickly regain his composure and his eyes narrow sharply, a grin sneaking it's way onto his face: "well what do you know, the pussycat can fight"
it frustrated you that he wasn't fighting back - like you weren't deserving of a punch or two in the first place, like all you were deserving of were little mind games to rile you up but if he could play the game, you could too.
"no fucking shit, i've won more this year then you could dream of, you're just a man whore who thinks having abs and chicks on your dick are personality traits"
his eyes widen just a tiny bit and for a split second you feel you can see actual anger in him, before it's quickly replaced with a sly smirk as he's trying to play cool. he steps forward, getting so close and in your personal space to look taller on purpose, to tower you- to make you look weak, smaller, inferior to him - looking down at you, leaning in even closer and staring right into your eyes.
"you're a lot more fun when you're pissed off you know that?" he looks down a bit more and raises his eyebrows suggestively, "i just have to find the right buttons to press on you"
you're unaffected on the outside, he hasn't even reached any territory that could actually hurt your feelings - "you awfully sound like your talking about my tits, even in your mind there's an image of me permanently printed in, you can't stop thinking of me- you might need to get that chronical sexual obssesion checked at a doctor, that unhealthly ego might as well too"
jungkooks jaw tightens as you can see he's biting his tongue, trying to not react to your insult. looking down again, not saying anything for few seconds as he's processing the response. you can see him trying to not smirk in the corner of his mouth as he's trying to find an insult to answer back-
you took just the time: "huh? did that hurt? does the little pussyeater-for-a-living feel offended? do i need to bring you back to your mommy?" in a whiny tone like you're mimicking him yet still so insanely mocking.
kook tried his very best to sound calm and unbothered but his neck veins were already visable, a little frown on his face as well, ""i think i'm starting to actually get irritated"
"what? like it's hard?" you held eye contact with him without a problem, tension oh so heavy then adding, "c'mon punch me in the gut, might be the only chance you'd ever have at wrecking my insides"
he gets even closer, so close that his forehead is touching yours, still making that suggestive smirk as you see his jaw is clenched so tight. "i'd love to beat that pretty face of yours," he utters at last.
"oh but then there'd be no face for the men to kiss, is that what you want- oh, is our little kook jealous?"
his voice gets raspy and low, "jealous?" eyes remaining on yours ´, not breaking away even just once till he whispers (though there weren't even any people in the training room you both were in) like he was talking personally to you, he was trying to get under your skin: "you think a pathetic little whore like you would make me jealous?"
you're not hurt- not at all, i mean- if you were a slut, he was just the same. jungkook just had to little of reflecting skills or general understanding to coprehend just that- you punched him onto his stomach, him now stumbling just a bit now on more of a distance from you.
you can see he's struggling to not fall down from the impact of the blow. he clutches his abdomen, looking away from you to not let you see just how effective it wasbafter his lungs get the chance to refill with oxygen, he utters words with more passion than before, trying to mask the pain, "pathetic little whore, i thought you were better than this. but i guess you should stick to the dick, you can't fight like a man"
you roll your eyes at his tiny tries of regaining control: "your jaw that i punched just a few minutes ago says something else, c'mon knock me down- i bet you'd love to just be on top of me yet you're to afraid to even just fight and that's what i call pathetic"
that's where you reached his ego's final straw, lunging forward in rage knocking you down in a turn of events and pinning you to the ground, trying his absolute best to hold you down.
he's basically sitting on your body middle, straddling you in a way, you grinned like you weren't even afraid of him on top or you on the ground obviously you could feel his cock pressing hard against you "oh you got such a boner it's funny"
you saw him play with his left lip ring just how he always did when he was particulary focused, responding: "oh don't act so high and mighty, i bet you ruined your damn panties by now"
now you were the one silent, you truly didn't knew what to respond as.. he was right, fuck- maybe this turned you on more than you thought.
seeming a bit amused by that, his smirk becoming a cocky grin as he starts speaking again, in even more suggestive tone, "what's wrong, little slut? you're not even denying it"
he grinded onto you just a little, just so little against your core that it brought just the tiniest bit of pleasure but left you yearning for more, faster, harder leaving you to put your hands onto his hips, hands looking relatively small on his body.
he looks at you from his position, a mischievous smile on his lips as he moves his hips some more in a slow, grinding motion, while blabbering on and on, "not even i thought it was gonna be so easy to top you"
he tried his best to hide a moan by laughing that only half-working, hips continuing to grind onto you, bringing his lips to your neck, mumbling against the soft skin:
"i won"
#kpop smut#bts ff#bts fanfic#bts fic#bts imagines#bts x you#bts x reader#jungkook x reader#jungkook#jungkook smut#jeon jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook x y/n#bts x fem!reader#bts x y/n#bts ffs#jungkook ff#imagines#bts#jungkook fic#jungkook fanfic#jungkook imagine
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Excerpt from the one where Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it.
(The read-more is definitely necessary, length-wise. I . . . got very into this idea and frankly this is barely a third of it so far, lol.)
"So, uh . . ." Kon says, skeptically eyeing the softly glowing rock in his hand. Metallo, like, threw it at his head. He has no idea why. "Is this supposed to do something or . . . ?"
"It's pink," Kara says leerily, staying very firmly back. Like, unexpectedly far back, in fact.
"Yeah, I'm not actually blind, thanks," Kon says, turning the rock over and squinting at it. It continues not to do anything, aside from the glowing thing.
"No, it's pink kryptonite," she stresses.
". . . it literally doesn't hurt at all, though?" Kon says. Though he probably should've figured it was some kind of kryptonite, given that Metallo had it and had apparently thought he could hurt him with it.
Seriously, though, his gloves are fingerless and he's got it right in his hand. It should be hurting him, if it's actually kryptonite.
"Pink kryptonite doesn't work like that," Kara says, edging a little farther back. They're floating a few hundred feet in the air right now, but from the way she's acting Kon's vaguely concerned that he might be about to explode or something. "It just affects our sexual . . . urges."
"Oh," Kon says, frowning in confusion. Weird, but . . . "Is that all?"
"I don't mean like it makes you horny, Kon, I mean like it makes you homosexual," Kara hisses, looking mortified. "And don't ask how I know, alright?!"
Kon . . . blinks.
"What the literal fuck?" he asks incredulously, just staring at her. "How does that even–are you telling me Metallo went and chucked gay kryptonite at me in the middle of a fight?"
"Yes!" Kara says, still clearly mortified. "So just–just stay over there with it until somebody shows up with a lead box, okay?! The effects will stop after we get it contained."
"Alright, alright. So then do you think the dude was flirting with me or is he just a fucking idiot?" Kon jokes, balancing the kryptonite on his index finger with his TTK. "Although I really don't think he'd be my type either way. Like, nothing against cyborgs in general, obviously, just the whole thing with him being a murderous supervillain who literally runs on kryptonite seems like it'd make us totally star-crossed. I want somebody I can actually commit to, you know?"
"Sure," Kara says, still eyeing the kryptonite with serious trepidation. It's really not helping Kon feel less like a time bomb, to be honest. Is there like some other side effect that he should be worrying about right now or something? Like, is he missing something here?
"You seem kinda high-strung about this," he observes, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Look, you'd have avoided it too if you'd dealt with it before!" she says protestingly. "So stay over there and definitely keep it away from Kal, I don't know if Jimmy ever really recovered from the last time."
"Oh, well, congrats to Jimmy, I guess," Kon says, since he can't really see a downside to scoring a one-night stand with Superman. Like, a downside for somebody who isn't literally his clone, he means. The clone thing would definitely make it weird.
Just it's also Clark, though, so he'd probably be the generous type in bed. Like, the sort to really take care of somebody. Be as gentle as happened to be appropriate but also be down if his partner maybe wanted it a little rough for whatever reason. And he'd definitely be able to go all night. Again, Kon isn't gonna go there himself, it really would be too weird, but he can make a logical conclusion. Extrapolate one. Whatever.
Then again he'd be down with Power Girl absolutely destroying him whenever the fuck she wanted to and she's genetically his . . . some form of cousin or something, he guesses. His half-cousin from another reality. So really, Clark's not even that weird an option. And like, all appearances aside Kon's a binary clone anyway, not even a one-for-one match, sooooo . . .
Actually it's probably weirder that he thinks Power Girl is so unspeakably hot but comparatively Kara is just . . . fine? Like, that's a little odd, isn't it?
Maybe it's an attitude thing. Or the costume.
Might be safe to blame the costume, yeah.
It's just such a good costume. Like, Kon aspires to reach that level of costume.
But really, all that aside he still doesn't even know what the big deal about temporarily going gay is, although to be fair he's also currently talking to Supergirl and not, like . . . literally any dude whatsoever. So like, who knows how weird this stuff might actually make him under those circumstances. Maybe it like fucks with inhibitions and stuff too?
Yeah, hell if he knows. He's really only dealt with green kryptonite before. He was vaguely aware that other colors existed and apparently did different stuff, but . . . this just seems very different, put it that way.
Maybe best to avoid Jimmy Olsen for a little while, Kon decides privately. The guy probably doesn't need that.
Besides, Clark apparently got there first anyway and Kon just really doesn't want to be worrying about measuring up. Miss him with that, thanks.
. . . although maybe he'll go visit Tim later.
Eh, no, Kara made it sound like the pink K's gonna stop affecting him pretty quick once they box it up, so not much point in bothering. Though maybe he'll visit just to hang, come to think of it; they haven't seen each other in almost a whole week. Well, he hasn't seen Tim, at least–who knows how much Bat-surveillance Tim's seen him through.
Kon should maybe sweep his room for bugs again. Note to self.
Although would it be weird to just like . . . keep the pink kryptonite, maybe? Since it apparently doesn't actually hurt anyone or anything? Because that could be, well . . . just interesting, that's all. Like, Kon is open to exploring that experience. Just–as an experience.
"Actually, you're surprisingly not high-strung about this," Kara says.
"Am I?" Kon asks. "I mean, it's not that big a deal, is it?"
She stares at him.
"Kon," she says slowly. "Pink kryptonite affects your sexuality. It makes you attracted to people you're not normally attracted to. It confuses you and everyone around you and it is really freaking embarrassing to explain afterwards."
"I've been mind-controlled into shaving my head and breaking my best friend's arm," Kon says, continuing to not really see what the big deal is. "That was embarrassing. And fucking traumatic. This? This is just kinda weird."
"Only kinda?" Kara asks incredulously. "You're one of the straightest guys I know! How are you just fine with this?!"
"I mean to be fair, that's probably making some unfair generalizations about straight guys," Kon points out. Kara stares at him. "What?"
"I don't even know how to respond to that," she says.
"Sorry?" Kon says, then tucks the pink kryptonite into his jacket pocket with a shrug. He's not trying to hide it or anything; just getting kinda sick of holding it. And it's that or he either ditches it somewhere or starts tossing it around and that'd probably be . . . just, well, absolutely epically stupid of him.
Or it seems like it would be, anyway. Whatever color it is, it's still kryptonite.
"I mentioned keeping that away from Kal, right?" Kara says.
"Yeah, on that note, are they like . . . done down there yet?" Kon asks, glancing down towards the mess of the street that Clark's standing on a few hundred feet below with a whole bunch of randos from S.T.A.R. Labs, for some reason. Somebody mentioned something about neutralizing Metallo's kryptonite heart without actually killing him, but mostly it was science talk and clearly theoretical anyway so to be honest Kon'd kinda tuned it all out as "not currently relevant", and that's all he knows.
"Definitely not," Kara says.
"I'm gonna call Robin while we're killing time, then," Kon says, pulling out his phone.
"You're going to call your closest male friend," Kara says. "Right now. While you've got pink kryptonite in your pocket."
"Yup," Kon says, already pulling up Tim's contact.
"Can you not see how that might be a bad idea at the moment?" Kara asks. "Not in any way whatsoever?"
"Well I'm not calling Impulse," Kon replies reasonably. Kara stares at him again, for some reason.
Eh, whatever.
He calls Tim.
"Hey, Conner, what's up?" Tim answers distractedly, which Kon doesn't hold against him because when isn't Tim distracted, really. Dude's got too much going on in that head of his, for real. He's just glad the guy ever picks up the phone at all.
"So apparently I'm gay right now," Kon greets conversationally, figuring he should lead with that just in case he actually is about to do something embarrassing to explain. "Pink kryptonite is fucking weird, man."
". . . uh," Tim says as Kara covers her face with her hands. "What?"
"Pink kryptonite makes you gay, Kara says," Kon says. "And we're both just kind of chilling above downtown Metropolis waiting for Kal to finish up with the science-y people so we can get said pink K locked up, so I'm bored out of my mind right now and calling you to complain about it."
"You're calling me," Tim says slowly. "While you're . . . gay."
"What, is he asking to come over?" another voice asks from the phone, sounding amused. It takes Kon a second to recognize it, but–oh yeah, that's the mysterious Bernard, isn't it?
Right, Tim has a boyfriend now. Kon's never actually met him on account of being the worst at secret identities and the whole thing that is Bernard living very firmly in Gotham, land of "no metas allowed unless you're either a supervillain or Batman's too dead to stop you", but he's heard him over the phone a couple times now, although they've never actually personally talked. So maybe thinking about Tim while being high on pink kryptonite isn't actually, like, kosher? Or polite. Or whatever.
. . . then again, Bernard did ask.
"I don't know, maybe?" Kon says thoughtfully, considering the idea. "Are you open to me coming over?"
"Yes," Bernard says.
"Bernard," Tim says.
"Babe, I know we're pretending I don't know you're an ass-kicking vigilante and all but come on, don't make me turn down Superboy," Bernard says wryly.
"We're–wait, pretending?!" Tim sputters.
"Pretending so, so hard," Bernard confirms, sounding nothing but fond. Kon's actually a little jealous of that tone of voice, he's gotta admit. Like–it's been a bit since anybody's talked to him that way, is all. "But like, if you actually thought you were being subtle maybe you shouldn't talk about kryptonite on the phone right in front of me or put themed emojis next to all your superfriends' civilian names in your contacts list?"
"Oh my god, you do that?!" Kon asks with a gleeful cackle, immediately forgetting everything else in favor of that absolutely delightful piece of information. "You're the worst! Batman just rolled over in his grave and Oracle is absolutely losing her shit on the other end of her wiretap!"
"B's not even dead right now," Tim says in exasperation. "And if O cared she'd have already hacked my phone and changed them. And for the record plenty of people put random superhero emojis next to their friends' names, that's a totally normal thing to do!"
"Usually the random superhero emojis aren't associated with contact pics that are dead fucking ringers for said superheroes," Bernard says, sounding amused again. "Just as a thing and all."
". . . anyway so you're gay today, how's that going for you, Conner?" Tim says as Bernard laughs gleefully in the background. "Triggering any unfortunate mental health crisises or anything? Making you worry about the validity of your masculinity? Because I can safely assure you that's all bullshit and you're fine."
"Naw, I know all that, being gay is just a thing," Kon says with a shrug. "Kara's being a little weird about it but honestly it's going way better than, like, the times supervillains mind-controlled me into being into them. Like just as an overall experience, I mean."
"Wait, how many times has that come up?" Tim asks in bemusement.
"I dunno?" Kon shrugs again. "I mean you were there for the Poison Ivy incident, and then Gorgeous Gilly happened to me a while later, which was, uh, genuinely horrifying because she tried to literally marry me during all that, so . . . I think just the twice, probably? But don't quote me on that, I don't even remember what I had for breakfast."
"And how is Kara being weird, exactly?" Tim says in his very unsubtle "assessing my teammate's psychological condition" voice.
"Oh, she's mostly just avoiding me?" Kon says, as a guy who's personally not really all that concerned with his psychological condition at the moment. "Because I've got the rock in my pocket on account of not wanting to just leave it lying around somewhere and she doesn't want to get affected by it. I don't know why, I don't really get why it matters."
"I mean it matters, definitely," Bernard says. "Like it very strongly matters to a lot of people."
"Fair, but I think we're all too invulnerable to really have to worry about getting gay-bashed or anything," Kon reasons. "Like, at least not as a heat of the moment thing."
". . . god can you imagine the world we would live in if every piece of shit gay-basher had to deal with the consequences of punching fucking Superman?" Bernard says feelingly. "For real."
"Oh, pink K's temporary," Kon clarifies. "Kal's not gay anymore."
"Hold up, I'm sorry, are you saying that at some point he was?" Bernard demands in obvious delight. "Is that what you're telling me right now?"
"I guess he was into redheads?" Kon says, tilting his head. "Slightly twinky redheads, specifically. Which I don't blame him for, I'm gonna be honest."
"Well now I know that forever, thanks," Tim says dryly.
"Alternate option: he could've been into Batman," Kon points out.
"Redheads it is," Tim says. "You just . . . redhead away over there."
"I mean I thought about it, kinda," Kon admits.
"Ngh," Tim says, for some reason.
"No thinking about Batman, though?" Bernard asks with a snicker.
"Not so much," Kon says, making a face. "Did consider having some Superman thoughts but I'm apparently not that narcissistic, surprisingly enough."
"Kon!" Kara chokes.
"Tell me you've never considered having Superman thoughts and I'll tell you you're a fucking liar," Kon snorts, shooting her a dry look. "Weren't you like totally naked when you first showed up on Earth? And then he found you like that and wrapped you up in his cape all nice and gentlemanly and took you home with him?"
"He is my baby cousin and you're being affected by pink kryptonite poisoning!" Kara accuses, her face bright red.
"Wait, is it actually poisoning me?" Kon says with a frown. "I feel like you should've led with it actually poisoning me, if that's actually a thing."
"Well no, not actually, it's physically harmless," Kara says grudgingly, folding her arms. "But you're still being affected! You're having Superman thoughts, of all things!"
"He just seems like he'd be considerate," Kon says reasonably. "Like, you know. Biblically."
"Ngh," Tim says, again for no apparent reason. Bernard sounds like he might be laughing. Or choking? Or maybe both; it's unclear.
"Please don't hit on Kal," Kara says. "Especially don't hit on Kal with pink kryptonite in your pocket. I don't want to know how that situation would end up."
"Ideally with him being considerate," Kon says. Tim chokes. Kara covers her face again.
"Does pink kryptonite affect your inhibitions too or are you just always like this?" Bernard asks curiously.
"Eh, pretty sure I'm just always like this, going by the things I've definitely still not been forgiven for saying to Power Girl," Kon says, idly tapping a finger against the side of his phone case. "Like, pretty damn sure at this point."
"That is unfortunately accurate," Tim agrees resignedly.
"So you're saying it is ethically okay to have Superboy over while he's gay," Bernard says in a promisingly speculative tone. Kon grins. Just a little, but yeah–definitely he grins. Kara grimaces, because she is absolutely no fun whatsoever.
Spoilsport.
"I did not in any way say that," Tim retorts dubiously.
"I mean that's what I heard, man, and I'm the one with super-hearing in this conversation," Kon says with a wider grin. "My inhibitions are all inhibited and my personal opinions of people are all the same, I'm just currently batting for the other team."
"So your normal opinion of me is that if you were gay, you'd come over," Tim says dryly.
"Yeah?" Kon says, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, obviously."
"How is that obvious?" Tim says.
"Because I already come over every time you let me," Kon reminds him.
"Oh yeah?" Bernard says slyly. "And how often does he let you come, exactly?"
"Not often enough," Kon replies honestly, and doesn't even bite at the obvious dumb sex joke Bernard so thoughtfully set up for him even though it is frankly painful not to.
"Ngh," Tim says. Kon continues not to understand the reason for him repeatedly making that same weird little noise, but whatever, he guesses. It's Tim, maybe he's stitching his own bullet wounds again or something. Guy's a multi-tasker like that.
"You know this would probably make for a fascinating case study about sexuality, actually," Bernard says musingly. "I mean, all I intend to do is abuse the situation to get into your very tight tights, but seriously, maybe we should all be taking notes or something."
"Ugh, hell no, Rob'll go full Bat if we let him do that," Kon snorts, then smirks. "He can take pictures, though, I know he's into that."
"Ngh," Tim says yet again, accompanied by a weird random "thump". If Kon didn't know better, he'd think he'd just fallen off a chair or something.
"Aw dammit, dude, I think I actually like you as a person now," Bernard says, sniggering. "Are you keeping the kryptonite? Please keep the kryptonite. Like, just for Valentine's and Tim's birthday, that's all I ask."
"Honestly don't know if Superman's gonna let me but I do kinda wanna," Kon admits. It seems pretty convenient, really. And definitely fun.
". . . and you're sure his inhibitions and opinions aren't being influenced in any way, Kara?" Tim asks suspiciously.
"He's really just like this, yeah," Kara says resignedly. "Well admittedly Kal spontaneously developed opinions on window treatments and used the word 'smashing' in cold blood when it happened to him, but that might've just been him sucking at flirting. Because he really does suck at flirting."
"What about when it was you?" Kon asks curiously.
"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara says.
"You kinda implied–"
"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara repeats, narrowing her eyes at him and doing an impressively bad job of acting like she's not blushing.
So it definitely happened to her, yeah.
"Okaaaaay, we'll pretend about that too then," Bernard says. "Well, what are your opinions on window treatments, Conner?"
"That I don't know what they are," Kon says.
"Sounds like he's in his right mind to me," Bernard says.
"He is absolutely not," Kara retorts dubiously.
"I really don't feel weird or anything, I swear," Kon tells her, since he still doesn't get the problem but also doesn't actually want to worry her either. "I don't even feel any different."
"Kon, you are hitting on your best friend and his boyfriend," Kara says. "Together. At once. Simultaneously, one might even say."
"You've met Wonder Girl and Arrowette before, right?" Kon says. "And both the Batgirls? And–"
"Oh my god, Kon," she cuts him off.
"Just saying," he says, then pauses for a moment and frowns consideringly. "Actually, question, how gay is this stuff making me, because while we're on the topic of threeways I kinda always wondered about what Starfire and Nightwing get up to together and if–"
"KON!" Kara yells, covering her ears.
"I'm just asking," he huffs.
"I don't know if it's actually possible to be gay enough to not be into Starfire," Bernard says musingly. "Like I can't imagine how it ever could be."
"Right?" Kon says.
"It's possible to not be into Starfire," Tim says. "Like, theoretically. Asexuals and aromantics both exist, for one."
"Do they?" Kon says doubtfully. "Like in general, sure, but when around specifically Starfire?"
". . . I can't technically prove you wrong due to a lack of reliable evidence but still," Tim says. "The possibility is there. If nothing else the multiverse is a thing."
"Last time I saw her she was wearing half a gold lamé bikini and I am not going to tell you which half or define how loosely I am using the term 'wearing'," Kon says.
"I said it's possible, not probable," Tim says.
"What about you, man, are you the gold lamé type?" Bernard asks with a teasing snicker. "Just while you're gay and all, of course. That's like, practically a cultural thing. Gotta be authentic to the experience, yeah?"
"That is in no way whatsoever a cultural thing, babe," Tim says dubiously.
"Please, like I've never worn freaking lamé," Kon scoffs. "I've worn collars and loincloths and leather and crop tops and enough unnecessary belts to tie up a Bat, lamé is nothing."
"Collars and . . . loincloths?" Bernard repeats, sounding confused.
"Yeah, this one time I crash-landed on a lost isle of beast-men and they kidnapped and enslaved me for a few months," Kon explains, waving a hand distractedly. "Frankly I count myself lucky they even let me have the collar, much less the loincloth."
". . . um," Bernard says.
"You, uh, never mentioned the collar part of that story before, Kon," Tim says, clearing his throat. "You very definitely never mentioned the collar part of that story before."
"Oh yeah, the prince kinda kept me as his pet for a little bit?" Kon tells him with an easy shrug. "Like he and all his buddies ganged up on me and then took me home with them, but I was kinda . . . feral, I guess? Technically? So like, collar and chain setup. But he was cool, he took real good care of me."
"Ngh," Tim says just barely faintly.
"Yeah you should definitely come over," Bernard says. "Tim, get the check. Conner, exactly how super is your super-speed?"
"You can just call me Kon," Kon says. "And . . . mach 3, last I clocked it?"
"Isn't that like two thousand miles per hour?" Bernard asks.
"Two thousand two hundred and twenty-three point three," Kon replies with a pleased smirk. "Faster than a speeding bullet. Or so they tell me."
"We'll just meet you at Tim's, how's that," Bernard says. "That work for you, Kon?"
"That works for me, Bernard," Kon confirms, smirking wider.
"Oh my god, Kon, you cannot possibly be serious right now," Kara says in exasperation, rubbing at her temples. "Just because you're temporarily gay doesn't mean you should do anything about it!"
"I mean, I'm feeling pretty serious?" Kon says, shrugging again. He still doesn't get why she's being so sensitive about this. "It's not like this is the weirdest thing I've ever done in pursuit of a good time. Like, holy hell, lemme tell you about the Ravers sometime."
"You're going to have to look Robin in the eye after this!" Kara says. "And work with him! And be a normal person in his presence! Normally!"
"I'm aware?" Kon says, vaguely bemused by her concern. Like he's never been normal around somebody he's slept with before, geez. "Tell Kal I ran off with the pink K, if he wants to lock it up in the Fortress or wherever I can bring it back tomorrow."
"Maybe Monday," Bernard says.
"Or maybe Monday," Kon amends.
"It's Thursday!" Kara sputters.
"So it's a long weekend," Bernard says.
"I'm not explaining this to Kal," Kara says. "I'm not explaining this to Batman."
"I really don't see why you'd have to," Kon says. "Rob, you cool with the long weekend thing? Not too much of an imposition?"
". . . I got the check," Tim mutters in obvious and absolute mortification.
Kon's gonna take that as a "yes".
"Cool," he says, grinning broadly. "See you soon, Boy Wonder."
He ends the call. Kara drags her hands down her face and continues to stay very far away from him and the pink kryptonite in his pocket.
"When you go back to normal and freak out and make everything weird with Robin and your team and even Robin's literal boyfriend, I'm going to say so many 'I told you so's," she swears vehemently. "So don't say I didn't warn you."
"Your objection is on the record," Kon says, then tosses her a lazy salute with another grin and takes off, kryptonite and all.
Best to just scarper while Clark's distracted, yeah?
Definitely best.
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𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧
james potter x f!reader | modern!hockey au
cw: injury, language, use of pain medication (gas and air), exes reconciliation
summary - James is there for ex!reader when she has an accident on the ice.
2.8k
Took a break from writing ch3 of FOW to write this lil ficcy.
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The arena goes silent the minute the programme music starts, the lights a deep blue, the music soft and slow. He’s on the Gryffindor bench, helmet at his feet, bottle half empty and hanging limply from his hands – they’re cold now they’re out of his gloves. The rest of the team has eyes on the tunnel, the whole arena does, and when James catches sight of you, he understands why, would singlehandedly go into the stands and force anyone who wasn’t paying enough attention to just – look.
Look at the way you skate so softly, like every movement comes straight from your soul, the way your dress glitters under the light, the way it makes your skin glow. He thinks you’re ethereal, honestly. He always has. But he’s not exactly allowed to think that, anymore, is he?
You skid to a stop in the middle of the ice, getting into position. Remus places a supportive hand on James’ shoulder, gives his friend an understanding look. Everything you do is always so precise, so fluid and beautiful. The way you skate is pure elegance, unlike hockey, which is rough and fast, harsh movements and even harsher words. The music fades out, changes to the start of a song James has never seen you skate to, before. But then, he supposes – he hasn’t seen you skate in four months. He hasn’t watched you try, and try, fall, and try, and fall again until you get a new move, a new routine, a sense of achievement.
He hasn’t sat on the bleachers freezing his arse off after practice just to be in your presence, or took you to eat, after. He hasn’t made sure you’re eating, sleeping, taking time to look after and care for yourself, and not just your talent.
You look different. Still beautiful, still the girl James fell in love with. But you look different. He can’t pinpoint it, really. There’s just a difference in the way you look straight at the empty penalty box as you wait for your cue that doesn’t sit right in James’ chest. It’s clunky and a little painful, a broken promise of something. You’re not looking at him. Whenever you skate at Hogwarts Arena – you look for James. Whether he’s playing or in the crowd. A nod from him, and you’re off like a shot into whatever performance your coach has chosen. Now, though, you’re staring blankly at the penalty box, not James.
He gets it, he does. It’s over. Has been for a while. But he wishes you’d look over, knows how nervous you get, wants to give you a reassuring smile. James sees the way your knees wobble as you kick off, floating across the ice like you could be flying.
You make it look so effortless, skating. You look weightless as you twist and turn into jumps James could never imagine being able to pull off – and he’s been skating since he could walk. He admires the steady movements, the emotion on your face as you glide, and spin, and jump, and the emotion on your face as the music follows the highs and lows of your routine. You’re so focussed you don’t seem to notice how the pain, the heartache of the song, the weight of the routine, bleeds from you.
It’s beautiful, in a way.
You’re beautiful in every way.
James feels the weight of watching you crushing him like a building sitting on his chest. He’s been slammed into the boards eight times in the first two quarters – not once had it hurt as much as watching you out there, so lovely, so gentle, so sad, so close but so fucking far. James thinks perhaps Remus’ hand on his shoulder is to keep him in place, for if it wasn’t there, he’d be out on the ice following you, right now. Heart in his hand, begging you to take it, no matter what it costs you both.
He’s always been selfish with love. He knows that, now. He does.
James should see it coming a mile off. He knows everything about you, the way you skate. He has every breath change, every wobble, every movement you make on the ice memorised. So, when you jump off with your left pick instead of your right – James should know what’s about to happen. You spin once, and James realises, too late, that jumping with the wrong foot has thrown you off. You’re on the ice in less than a second, the music cuts off, the crowd and both teams make gasping noises, murmured concerns. James doesn’t hear any of it.
All he can hear is the ice shattering scream you let out.
You don’t get up. James waits several seconds, and you don’t get up. Remus shoves him, Sirius pulls open the board door and James, in only his under armour and protective trousers, skates loosened for the break, skates to you as fast as he can. There’s cheering from the crowd when James comes flying out of the team box, but James can’t hear any of it over the sounds you’re making.
He’s seen you fall hundreds of times. He’s seen you pull muscles and break ribs, bruise tail bones, sprain ankles and he has never heard you make noise like this in his life. The medics haven’t arrived yet, James skids to a stop, drops to his knees. You don’t look up, face tilted towards the ice – a media training stunt so the crowd can’t see how much pain you’re actually in. But he can tell your eyes are screwed shut, fists clenched so tight he’s concerned you might break your wrists.
He says your name, soft, gentle, and it sounds foreign coming out of his mouth.
You take a shuddering breath, head tilting in the cage your arms have made for it just slightly. Your eyes are filled with so much fear that James finds it hard to breathe, tears spilling out and onto your red cheeks, “My hip. My hip, Jamie, my hip.”
You sound terrified, broken, in agonising pain. James shouts for a medic, loud enough that he thinks the whole arena can hear. There’s refs and managers, your skating coach, all on the ice when the medics come running. James feels as though he could throttle every last one for taking so long. You’re crying, curled in on yourself, and James knows better than to touch you, like this. It makes the pain worse, makes you feel like you’re suffocating. And he thinks, maybe, that you just don’t want him to touch you, regardless, anyway.
The medics slide the board under you, roll you onto your back and the scream of agony you let out breaks James. He’s crying, and you reach for his hand, squeeze it so tight he feels his bones rub together.
“Potter!” Moody, his coach, yells after him when he starts to follow the medics off the ice with you.
“I’m not leaving her.” James doesn’t leave room for negotiation, doesn’t want Moody to challenge him on this because he might do something stupid and lose his place in the league all together.
His coach sighs, nods, and James is off like a shot. He catches up with you in the tunnel, headed straight for the Gryffindor PT room. You’re still sobbing, awful, throaty cries that are etching their way around James’ ribs, threatening to break and scratch and pull at them. It’s a flurry of noise and shouting and protests from you whenever someone comes close to touching your hip. It’s chaos.
James isn’t really all that sure if you’ve fully registered that he’s there, honestly, or if you’re in so much pain you don’t have it in you to argue over his presence. The medic gives James a look, a rather pointed one, when you refuse for the millionth time to let anyone touch your hip. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do. You’re not his girlfriend, anymore. You’re not his, you don’t love him. He can’t comfort you the way he used to.
“Jamie,” You’re breathless, face red and blotchy, hand gripping his, looking up at him with fear, “Don’t let them. It hurts.”
And James feels like he’s drowning.
“Hey,” He gets close to your face, the thumb of his free hand swiping away the tears from your eyes, “They can’t help you if you don’t let them see what’s wrong.”
“It hurts.”
“I know,” He soothes, pushing strands of hair from your forehead, “But it’s gonna hurt a lot longer if you don’t let them fix it.”
You seem to consider, hiccupping breaths filling the silence. The medic makes an impatient sound and James throws him a cutting look.
“Short term pain, long term gain.” James murmurs into the skin of your forehead. It's a joke saying - something you used to say rather bitterly when you hurt yourself learning a new stunt.
You don’t flinch, don’t pull away or protest when he presses his lips to the heated skin. It provides the distraction the medics need to cut the seam of your dress and reveal the skin of your hip. A junior medic passes you a nozzle, wheels a tank to the side of the table you’re on, and passes you it, “Gas and air. You’re going to need it.”
James wishes he could have some, too.
The medics work, you almost chew through the air nozzle when they try to push your hip back into place, and eventually, James has to murmur panicked and overly loud sweet nothings into your ear over the gut wrenching cries you let out when the medic yanks and then pushes your hip right back into place.
The game is long since over. Gryffindor won.
You’re limp on the table, waiting for the crowd to leave before the ambulance can make it to the player exit. James sits, watches you drift in and out of consciousness, begs his heart to return to normal because you’re not in pain anymore, not in danger. You’re here. In front of him. Okay.
Sirius appears a little after the game, freshly showered and in his suit.
“She okay?” He asks, hands stuffed into his suit trouser pockets.
You and Sirius are close. Still. James doesn’t hold it against either of you. You’ve both been such an intracule part of each other’s lives that he’d be evil for expecting that to come to an end just because you and James didn’t work out. You both deserve better than his jealousy.
“Dislocated her hip. They think she’s torn some ligaments; need to wait on the hospital scans to be sure.” James replies, eyes roving over your face.
You look so peaceful, asleep. So free of pain, of the fear and agony you’d been in only half an hour ago. His heart aches. He wants to coddle you, assure you you’ll be okay. He knows he can’t.
Sirius nods, “She’ll skate again? Or no?”
The medic hadn’t seemed hopeful. James doesn’t know who’s going to have the job of telling you, but he’s praying for them. You won’t take this news lightly, “Not at the level she’s at now.”
He watches the concern wash over Sirius. They both know what it’s like to skate. Sure, hockey and figure skating are different – but the mindset is often the same. James can’t imagine being told he couldn’t skate. It’s part of him – his soul. As it is, yours.
“You okay?”
James shakes his head, “No. I can’t stop hearing her. That scream, Padfoot - It hollowed me out.”
Sirius nods, like he understands. Perhaps he does, in some way. He heard it, too. “She’s okay. For now. You going in the ambulance?”
“I don’t think she’d appreciate that.”
“I’ll wait for you in the car, then.” Sirius leaves without another word but offers James an understanding look. He gets it. He knows what it’s like for love to hurt. He and Remus spent years hurting each other for no good reason.
The room is quiet when Sirius goes. Just the steady sounds of your breathing, the beeping of your monitor. James allows himself to press his palm to your cheek one last time. He wills himself to stand up, to leave. He can’t manage it. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to walk away from you. Not like this.
“Stay. Please.”
You’re awake. He’s not sure how long you’ve been awake, but he has a feeling you heard his conversation with Sirius. His heart feels like it’s been kick started, like for the first time since you hit the ice, he can breathe.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He promises, thumb rubbing at your neck, hand cupping your jaw.
You nod, swallow, “I won’t skate again, will I?”
“You don’t know that.”
A noise akin to a scoff escapes your lips, which wobble as you speak, “Everyone knows how these injuries end, Jamie. I’ll be a coach, at best.”
He wishes he could tell you that you might make a full recovery, that you’ll go back to being the ethereal, elegant skater you’ve been since he met you all those years ago. He’s never lied to you before, though, so he won’t start now. You both know the statistics, the stories, how it goes. Rehab for six months, and if you’re lucky, you’ll skate in a straight line again.
“I’m so, so, sorry.” He doesn’t know what else to say.
You shush him, a fresh set of tears springing to your eyes, “I should’ve looked for you. I should’ve, I knew I should’ve, but I thought if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from coming to you. From coming to tell you that I was sorry, that I was wrong, I should’ve…”
James takes his turn shushing you as the quiet sobs rack your body. You used to chide him for his superstitions, it breaks his heart that you think breaking one caused this. He leans over, lips to the skin of your forehead, pressing over and over as though it might make the weight of his love settle into your brain, “No. Please don’t do that, please. Don’t blame yourself. These things happen. Accidents, they happen, no one is a perfect skater, okay?”
“But it’s my fault we broke up.”
You sound so broken, so tired. James doesn’t know what to say, isn't sure what relevance that has to this, so he says nothing.
Time passes, the medics return, bring James his joggies and hoodie and his shoes. He changes quickly, comes in the ambulance to the hospital.
He waits with you, holds your hand, gives you as much reassurance as he can. The doctor tells you three hours later that you’ll never skate at the same level again, and James holds you. He’s careful not to crush you when he climbs into the hospital bed, and he holds you until there’s no more tears left for you to cry. He sits with you in the silence, is patient when you get angry, frustrated, blame yourself and the world, even him, and he’s there. He stays. He doesn’t allow you to push him away this time.
The sun creeps up over the trees, cuts through the fluorescent hospital lighting and casts its golden glow on you, and James remembers.
He remembers all the time away from the rink, the beach, his parent’s summer house, road trips, theme parks, early mornings in his apartment, coffees in the car after practice. He remembers that there, once, had been more to your relationship than skating. It became habit, after a while. Skate, fight, train, skate, fight, train. It got tiring. It got old, and it drove a wedge between you both.
But he remembers how freely you once loved each other, the person you are, not the way you skate. Your soul, bright and luminous, off the ice. You’re so much more than a pair of skates and a beautiful routine. You’re ethereal all on your own.
You wake not long after, the pain medication worn off and reality starting to set in.
If you’re surprised to find James in your hospital bed with you, you don’t show it. You offer him a gentle smile. A kind smile. A hopeful smile. He kisses the crown of your head, nestles as close as your hip will allow. You make a grateful humming noise.
"I'll survive this."
James notes that you don't sound all that sure. But he knows you will. He squeezes you gently, "You will."
"And you'll be there? I know it's selfish of me to ask..."
"I'm not going anywhere. Promise." James' thumb pulls your lip from where it's worrying between your teeth, and you look so soft, so scared. So. Lovely.
You seem happy with that answer, cheek rubbing happily against his shoulder, "We'll work it out."
"We will."
#james potter#james potter oneshot#james potter fic#james potter imagine#james potter x reader#james potter x fem!reader#james potter angst#marauders#marauders era#marauders fic#marauders imagine#sirius black#sirius black fic#sirius black imagine#remus lupin#remus lupin fic#remus lupin imagine#hockey au#marauders hockey au#love#angst#exes to lovers#figure skater reader#fourmoony
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The only way I can rationalise people accepting literal children going out and fighting crime as Robin is if they don't think Robin is a real child.
I think it would be fun to see how Bruce would use that to his advantage in protecting his kids. Like, if people think Robin isn't human, if they instead think he's a spirit or a ghost, they are less likely to shoot at him, less likely to try and physically attack Robin because they think it would be no use.
The fun part would be deciding HOW they would do this. I like to think that Robin's domino mask doesn't have a hole for his eyes but instead is glazed over so that he can see out of it, but you can't see in. Maybe they install small lights in it so it looks like his eyes glow in the dark, because can you image how fucking scary it would be to just see these two sentient light-like eyes and just know the Batman must be lurking somewhere close by?
Maybe Bruce installs super strong magnets in their gloves because on the chance that someone does pull a gun on his kid close range, it would be a lot easier for them to grab the gun away if they had the force of magnetism on their side. Also, grabbing onto poles and other metal materials would make all the scaling on tall buildings a little safer. Obviously, they'd need a way to turn it on and off, but still. Can you imagine, you're in a warehouse and there are steel frames fucking everywhere and you look up and suddenly there's a child gripping onto one effortlessly? Horrifying.
Maybe they have a voice box. Want to scare people? Play this really ominous recording of a child's laughter that echoes just a bit too loud to be normal. Play this ominous screaming that seems too silent to be real. Play this ticking that seems to never end that induces stress and increases the chance of them messing up.
What would be even funnier is keeping this act up with the Justice League and other teams.
Batman doesn't bring Robin to these meetings at the beginning because he sees no need to involve a preteen in such matters, but at some point the subject does come up and it's sort of like; So, Bats, what exactly is the kid? Like...is he yours?
And Bruce (paranoid as fuck) doesn't want to admit to these people that yes, Robin is my son because hello? That's gotta be his biggest weakness, he would do anything to keep that kid safe and fuck them if they ever tried to hurt him to get to Bruce.
So, he tells them that he's a spirit sent to haunt him and remind the city of it'd failures and the Justice League just... believe him?? Because this is Batman, and why would Batman ever lie about something so, frankly, strange? And it's not a huge deal, like they're a team comprised of metas and aliens and literal godesses, so what if the one normal human guy has a weird little ghost child? Who cares if he cares about it like it's a real boy? Maybe the baby spirit has rights, too!! They don't know!
So, when the JLA gets more popular and becomes an actual, legal part of the American government, they're required to list all of their members. And they class Batman as a human, because that's obvious but next to Robin, they don't really know what to say or how to ask Batman about it, ao they just put "Unknown Child Spirit - TBD"
And then just... never change it?
So, they don't question why a few years later Robin seems to look entirely different, or why after that he changes again, or why Robin is suddenly a girl for a while before going back to a little boy. That's obviously just some weird spirit thing they don't understand, and it's not like Batman is going to explain it!
#batman#batman and robin#robin#justice league#bruce wayne#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#stephanie brown#damian wayne#the kids obviously play into this as well making themselves seem not fully human#but also??#they arent exactly normal anyway so it really doesn't matter#dick joins a team for the 1st time as robin and everyone else is kind of like#“so...do you eat? are you...wanna play video games??”#and dick#who has been raised in a circus before joining a family comprised of batman and alfred has not really played any video games#and obviously there is no way a real human child has not played video games before so everyone never even thinks that MAYBE its not true#shit talker talks
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𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍' 𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍' 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍
do they trust your driving?
one piece + driving
feat: like the whole one piece cast lol
(header by gh2ting)
you think you're a passenger princess? nah, you're a passenger survivor. these delusional ones that think you suck at driving and always make fun of you when you're behind the wheel, but the moment it's THEIR turn to drive, it's like y'all are in GTA. and you can't even call them out on it cause they actually think they're like an F1 driver and will not take ANY criticism.
ace. kid. LUFFY. buggy. roger. FRANKY.
nervous smile on their face whilst they're GRIPPING the car seat so freaking tight. listen close enough and you can hear the nervous chatter of their teeth. they don't have the heart to tell you to stop the car, but the moment you swerve a little too fast you best bet they're opening that car door and walking the rest of the way there.
chopper. CORAZON. vivi. bepo. ace.
absolutely does NOT trust you. you wouldn't even be allowed near the wheel, but if you somehow manage to convince them, they would force you to stop mid way and switch because there was no way they would let you even NEAR the highway. also type to act like a parent teaching their kid how to drive. every two seconds they go 'SLOW. SLOW DOWN. YOU'RE GONNA HIT INTO THE CAR INFRONT OF US', even when you're a good five meters behind the car. you both defs start screaming at each other and end up going 90 in a 40.
usopp. IZOU. crocodile. NAMI. sabo. iceberg. lucci.
the BEST person to drive with because they are patient and don't mind if you accidentally take a wrong turn. will give advice whilst driving like 'okay make sure you turn on your indicator'. if you get stressed out, the coax you to pull over on the side of the road and will help you calm down before encouraging you to drive again. pls they are literally the only people you can trust to get on the road with.
robin. LAW. mihawk. marco. rayleigh. jinbe.
will not hesitate to tell you that you suck ass but will help you drive. it's all good with this drive if you can take a couple of insults because you eventually do get better with driving if they're with you. you might get your feelings hurt a little though.
LAW. nami. rayleigh.
you're not driving, they are. the whole time you guys will be arguing with each other cause they have NO chill and will lean over the glove box to turn the wheel or honk the horn with absolutely no warning. absolutely the worst people to have as a passenger because 90% of the time you're gonna be late to your destination cause you got into an accident.
kid. DOFLAMINGO. shanks. crocodile. BOA. perona. LUFFY. ace.
they don't tell you that you suck at driving. even when you don't slow down for a speed bump and they end up getting a concussion. they're too preoccupied with your feelings and don't want to hurt you. so cute of them but this just means that you STAY sucking at driving. everyone gets concerned when you guys show up and they have a nasty bruise protruding on their forehead.
SANJI. bartolomeo (only if ur a strawhat lol). ace. brook. yamato.
calm ride but you're never getting there if you ask them for directions. it's kinda on you for trusting them.
zoro. aokiji.
#one piece#one piece headcanons#one piece x reader#one piece imagine#luffy x reader#zoro x reader#kid x reader#sanji x reader#ace x reader#roronoa zoro x reader#shanks x reader#buggy x reader#mihawk x reader#corazon x reader#killer x reader#aokiji x reader#bartolomeo x reader#crocodile x reader#perona x reader#nami x reader#robin x reader#one piece scenario#one piece fluff
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Heyy hope your day going good I have a request for a Matt fic based on their recent pod they did with there parents basically when they were talking about how Matt was on the hockey team and he would get mad a lot maybe he has a game or something and loses it and he takes it out on his gf? Hope that makes sense
Take It Out - Matt Sturniolo
warnings : roughhhh sex
—
It’s around 6:30 and I’m already running late. Matt’s hockey game started ten minutes ago and I’m not even on my way to the rink yet. I know Matt’s probably upset about it, because I’m upset about it. However, I got stuck at work, and now I’m on my way home to pick up a gift bag I have for him.
We’ve been talking about this specific game for weeks now. They’re facing their rivals and Matt’s been practicing so incredibly hard. I know how important it is for me to be there for him, cheering for him.
I pull into my driveway and run inside, quickly gathering everything I need before running back out to my car. I toss it on the passenger seat, swiftly reversing and semi speeding to my destination. My nerves are on ten, I just want to get there to support my baby.
Upon pulling up to the rink, I hurriedly exit, leaving his gift bag in the seat and running inside. Once I give my ticket to the booth and they let me in, I swiftly make my way to the front, sitting in my reserved seat.
“I’m so sorry I’m late! Ugh, Matt is gonna kill me.” I exclaim, my face ridden with guilt.
“It’s okay, it was a late start anyways.” Marylou reassures me.
“Yeah, but he’s still upset. You can see it in the way he’s playing.” Nick says, making me frown.
He’s right, Matt’s game is off tonight. I can feel my stomach tighten at the thought of it being my fault. Sure, it’s just a game, but I know how much it means to Matt. I continue watching the game unfold in front of me, my leg anxiously bouncing with every passing minute.
The score’s 1-5, Matt’s team unfortunately down. I can visually see the frustration in him, he’s been extremely aggressive. He’s already been put in the penalty box several times this game, having been too rough.
Suddenly, Matt is checked by someone from the opposing team, crashing into him and resulting in a violent collision. I can practically see the steam coming from his ears. He jumps up and flings his gloves off, shoving the other guy into the wall, and throwing a punch at his face. A gasp leaves my mouth at the scene in front of me, my hands crossing at my chin.
“Jesus, Matt!” Nick shouts, tossing his arms up.
The two are quickly pulled apart and he’s once again sent to the penalty box. They’ve only got five minutes left on the clock, so it’s crucial that he’s on the ice to help his team. I watch as he anxiously paces back and forth, occasionally screaming through the glass as he watches the game play out in front of him. He then looks over in my direction, our eyes locking momentarily. I shoot him a smile, which he doesn’t return, and rolls his neck, something he does when he’s aggravated.
“God, he hates me.” I mumble, frowning once again.
“He doesn’t hate you. He just hates tonight.” Nick clarifies, reassuringly patting my knee.
I take a deep breath and nod, wishing the words to be true. I know he doesn’t actually hate me, but I would be surprised if he weren’t ridiculously upset with me right now. Though his feelings would be valid, it would still hurt. It’s not like I planned to be late, life just happens.
Once Matt’s two minutes were up, he quickly skated out, heading straight for the puck. Even if he were to make this shot, his team would still lose. They’re just too far behind to make it up in three minutes. As he chased after the puck, swiftly swiping it from his opponents, he began racing towards the opposite end of the rink, heading towards their goal. He swings his stick, hitting the puck and sending it flying into the goal. He turns around and throws his arms up, cheering. I can see the smile through his helmet. However, it quickly vanishes when he looks at the scoreboard and sees they’re still 6 points behind, just as the final buzzer goes off.
They lost.
I sigh, already knowing how the night’s going to go. As the teams exit the rink, I stand up, bidding goodbye to Nick and Marylou, and make my way towards the locker room, waiting for Matt to come out. Around ten minutes go by before he walks out the door. He looks at me, rolling his eyes, and continues walking towards the building’s exit.
“Seriously, Matt?” I toss my hands up, following after him.
He doesn’t say anything and just makes his way towards my car. Once we reach it, he tries to open the passenger door, but doesn’t succeed as it’s locked. He sighs loudly, rolling his eyes once again as he impatiently shuffles on his feet. I hit the unlock button and he opens the door, only to be met with his gift bag. He looks at it, then up at me, then back at it.
Without a word, he puts it in the backseat with his duffel bag, taking his place up front. I can’t help the deep frown that tugs on my lips. I knew he was going to be upset, but he doesn’t have to be a jerk. I silently start the car, waiting a minute for it to warm up, then pull out of the parking lot, heading for my house.
It’s tradition. After every game, he comes to my house and we spend the night together. Win or lose, it’s never been different. Though he’s never been this upset with me before, and I don’t even want to ask him if he’d rather go home. It could be selfish of me to want him to spend his time with me when he’s clearly mad at me, but I also want us to work through it.
It doesn’t take long to get to my house, and he’s getting out without a word, and grabbing his bag before making his way inside. Noticing he left the gift bag in the car, my frown deepens. I don’t understand why he’s being so mean. With a sigh, I retrieve the bag and follow him inside. Upon making my way into the living room, I notice him setting his bag against the wall.
“Matt, seriously! What the fuck is your problem?” I ask, finally giving in.
“My problem?” He asks, bewilderment taking over his face. “What’s your problem? You were supposed to be there.”
“I was there!” I exclaim.
He dryly chuckles, “Yeah, late.”
“But I still showed up! I’m sorry that I got held up at work, but I still showed up. Yes, I was late, but I still showed up. When have I ever not been there, Matthew?” I snap, already feeling frustrated with the audacity of him.
“You promised.” He mutters, his voice angry with a hint of sadness. “You were supposed to be there for the whole thing, and you weren’t.”
“I’m sorry, okay? But it wasn’t my fault! It’s not like I intentionally decided to come late.” I yell, before tossing the gift bag at him. “Here’s your gift, even though you’re far from deserving of it right now.”
I don’t spare him another glance, and I don’t wait for a response, I simply walk up the stairs, already ready for bed. I can’t believe him. He’s being ridiculous. Before I can even make it into my bedroom, I’m yanked back.
“I’m not done with you yet.” Matt says from behind me, his voice low.
With that, I’m spun around and his lips are slamming into mine, kissing me fast and hard. One of his hands holds onto the back of my head, the other one gripping my ass and pulling me closer to him. He shoves his tongue into my mouth, exploring every inch of it as I moan into his. I hate how easily he affects me, I’m always at my knees for him.
He pulls away from the kiss, quickly pulling my shirt off and attacking my neck with wet kisses. His teeth graze over my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. He backs away once again, frantically removing his shirt. He yanks me back into him, smashing his lips on mine once more.
Our lips are working together, teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance, hands touching any and everywhere. His hands then reach my jeans, swiftly unbuckling them and tugging them down. To assist him, I kick them off of my feet. His hands then reach into the waistband of my underwear, pulling them down just as quickly. Once they’re discarded, he pulls his sweats off, leaving him in his boxers. I can see his hard on pressing against the fabric, constricted against it.
His lips are on mine again, his hand reaching in between my legs, feeling my bare heat. With a simple brush of his fingers, they’re now coated in my juices.
He pulls away and groans at the sight, “I knew you loved this shit. Such a whore.”
I can’t help but moan in response, him now rubbing my bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasure through my body. His other hand massages my boobs, squeezing and tweaking my nipples. His fingers move from my clit, down to my entrance, pumping into me. The pace is slow and steady for only a split second, before his fingers are thrusting into me, fast and hard. My legs almost give out, so he wraps his arm around my waist, holding me up as he finger fucks me.
“Fuck, Matty.” I moan out, my face contorting in pleasure as the knot in my stomach grows tighter.
“Look at you, you’re eating this up.” He groans into my ear, “You love it when daddy’s rough with you, don’t you?”
I can only moan in return as he curls his fingers so perfectly. Unhappy with my response, he halts his movement inside of me, and his hand holding me up grips my jaw as he moves his face in front of mine.
His lips slightly ghosting over my own, he says, “I asked you a question.”
“Yes, yes. I love it so much.” I admit, lewd moans emitting from my mouth.
“That’s my girl.” He grins, continuing to pump in and out of me.
With a few more thrusts, I feel myself lose it, giving into the pressure in my stomach. A loud moan falls from my lips as I let go, squirting all over his hand as he fucks his fingers into me. My breath hitches in my throat, feeling utter euphoria coursing in my veins.
As soon as he removes his fingers, he has both of my legs wrapped around his waist, leaving me to hold onto the railing behind me, my elbows resting on it. Without a word, he’s shoving his cock into me. A loud yelp escapes my mouth, and a guttural moan from his. Off the rip, his pace is fast, fucking into me so deliciously and hard. My boobs are bouncing from the force and I can’t help my eyes rolling to the back of my head.
“F-feels so good, daddy.” I moan out, my breathing erratic.
“Mhm. Such a good little slut.” He groans out, his thrusts increasing in speed and strength.
The knot in my stomach returns, pleasure building up very quickly. I force myself to keep my eyes open just to take in Matt’s appearance. His brows are furrowed and his bottom lip is tucked in his mouth. His torso is glistening with sweat, whilst his hair slightly sways with every movement, aside from the pieces sticking to his forehead. His cheeks are flushed a rosy color, and his eyes are dark with lust.
Just the sight of him was enough to push me over the edge as I let go for the second time tonight. Pornographic moans leave my mouth as I tighten around him, feeling him pulsating inside of me. Me clenching around him caused him to shudder, immediately releasing his nut into me, fucking us both through our orgasms.
“Fuck, so good to me, baby.” He moans out, his thrusts coming to a stop.
Both of us are breathless, panting together as he pulls out of me, slowly letting me down, but still holding onto me, so that I don’t drop.
“That was-“
“I’m sorry.” He cuts me off, pulling me flush against him. “My team was shit tonight and I took it out on you when you did nothing wrong. Thank you for coming to support me, I love you so much.”
I smile, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll always be there for you, Matty. I love you so much.”
He gently kisses me on the lips, soft and slow, savoring the moment. He then picks me up and throws me over his shoulder, running in the direction of the bathroom.
“Come on. We need to shower.” He laughs, making me laugh in return as he’s not wrong.
—
a/n : so sorry this is so short!!! i hope it does the trick tho :( pls enjoy fr, send in more <3333
#lustfulslxt#joss speaks#sturniolo triplets#sturniolos#the sturniolos#matt sturniolo#imagine#matt sturniolo x me#matthew sturniolo x you#matthew sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#request#smut#sturniolo smut#fanfic#one shot#hockey
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WHY'D YOU LET ME LET YOU GO? Satoru G.
They say that time takes away the pain, but you're still the same. After the divorce with Satoru, you were summoned to Jujutsu High to help him with a case, but it soon becomes clear that the pain from the breakup is still very much alive. As the two of you work together, you can't help but wonder if time really does heal all wounds, or if some wounds are just too deep to ever truly heal.
♱ pairing: Satoru Gojo x afab!reader
♱ content: hurt-comfort/no comfort (that really depends on you ;)), angst, toxic relationship, MATURE. unprotected sex, baby trapping. jjk S1.
♱ a/n: ksugurwho, thank you for visiting my haunted mansion. take this jewelry box that you so courageously searched in my basement. until next time and have a twisted halloween. 🖤
♱ wc: 3k
5k event masterlist
You have mostly been keeping yourself busy since the divorce from Satoru, working hard as a sorcerer outside the school, determined to show your ex-husband that his opinion of you didn’t matter. You were in the middle of examining a curse under a private employer, when you unexpectedly received a message from the authorities of Jujutsu High.
Shoko said she “needs your second opinion”. This of course gave you a sense of pride, and the fact that she mentioned your ex referred you by name was a big deal. So as you entered the school to consult a case, you weren’t surprised to see Gojo waiting for you.
“Thank you for coming.” He calmly spoke and bowed alongside Shoko and Ijichi. You bow in response before listening to them go over the incident involving a student while walking towards the morgue. “The kid is only a first year student, [ Y / N ]. But this had never happened before… he’s a vessel.” Shoko explained.
“A vessel? Like… he turned into a curse?” You wondered.
“Sort of… he ate one of Sukuna’s fingers which gave him that ability.” She replied.
“The king of curses?!” You exclaimed, almost stopping your tracks.
Satoru found himself surprisingly drawn to your voice as you made your way through the hallways to the morgue. Even though your marriage had ended, he had missed your mere presence in his life, despite all of the pain and heartache you caused each other.
“Exactly. A unique case, right?” Shoko nodded as she led everyone into the morgue. You watch Shoko uncover the boy’s body, a huge tear in his chest that devoid him of color.
“What was his name?” Your voice is slightly muffled by a face mask as you put on a pair of gloves.
“Itadori Yuuji.” Satoru answered flatly while he sat in a corner with Ijichi.
“Your student?” You asked as politely as you can, out of respect for the kid.
“Did you even listen to a word Shoko said earlier?” He spoke as he sat on a manspread, avoiding your gaze.
“Tch…” You snarled softly, ready to bite back until Shoko stopped you with her arm. “Hey, hey, this isn’t going to be a problem, remember?” She softly reminded. You knew that you are way more professional than your ex, and you were determined to prove yourself not just because the Gojo Satoru had referred you, but because you knew that you are more than capable of handling the case with your ability.
You took a second to look at the kid, offering a moment of silence and wishing him peace— something that you always did before examining deceased sorcerers. Until you noticed the tear on his chest start to close up, as if it was healing itself. You were convinced that this kid was already dead, so you were too shocked to process what was happening, nor to tell anyone in the room.
“We are about to start, are you just gonna sit there and watch?” Shoko was looking at the two men talking as Yuuji casually got up like he was waking up from a nap, which left you more baffled.
Ijichi was terrified, but Satoru was smiling to himself, seeming relieved.
“I’m kinda disappointed, I was looking forward to working with [ Y / N ].” Shoko frowned.
“This is kinda embarrassing. Who are you?” Yuuji looked at you two.
“Yuuji. Welcome back.” Satoru enthusiastically walked up to him.
“Sup, good to be back!” You watched in a mix of emotions as the two hi-fived. The scene reminded you too much of a particular spiky-haired child you used to sort of mother a while back… While you were still newly dating, Satoru took Megumi and Tsumiki in after the death of their father and raised them as if they were his own, alongside you.
With a bittersweet smile, you couldn’t help but picture Megumi now. He must be around Yuji’s age, maybe even his classmate. After all, he was just only learning the basics of his cursed technique by the time you dropped the Gojo last name.
Satoru excused himself with Shoko while you were left to clothe Yuji and give him an examination. You picked up the pace, eager to see Megumi and Tsumiki again. Yuji thanked you with a kind smile for giving him a check-up, before turning to Ijichi.
Discarding your medical gear and coat, you hurried outside the morgue to catch up on Satoru and Shoko.
“Satoru…” you followed Gojo through the hallways, feeling a sense of longing for the children you looked after together. You love them like their own, and the fact that you hadn't been able to see them since the divorce was painful. Satoru didn't know, but you occasionally sent messages to Megumi when you could.
“I want to see the two.” Shoko tensed a little and diverted her attention to something else, distancing herself, knowing that this is something between you and Satoru.
“Hmm… I'm not sure.” Satoru hesitated, knowing full well that he was being petty by not just giving her a straight answer. He knew that he was hurting you by not letting you see the kids, but he couldn't help but feel some resentment towards you for the way you didn't check on them after your marriage, unbeknownst to him.
You were hurt by his response. You knew that both you and Satoru had both made mistakes in your marriage, but you couldn't help but feel like you had lost more than just your husband. You lost the home you made with him and the Fushiguro siblings, and the fact that you're not sure if you can see them was like a knife in your heart. But you refused to let it show. You knew that he was just doing it to rile you up, but you can play this game with him like you did for years.
“I have the right to see them too, Satoru. We took them in together.” It was a long shot, but reminding him of the past was a bad idea. “I told you, you're not their legal guardian.” He flatly spoke. “Because you never fuckin let me be!” Satoru remained silent.
He had always been protective of the two, and [ Y / N ]. He didn't push through with the legal matters of it, because if anything untimely and unfortunate happened, Satoru did not want her to make tough calls, or have the children orphaned once more if anything happens to her. It was something he believed was in his hands, something he had to do alone.
This issue of responsibility and trust was something that had driven you apart since during your marriage, and it was a source of ongoing tension until now.
Nonetheless, you felt the right to see Megumi and Tsumiki again.
“Fine. You can see them after I return Yuuji.” Satoru finally answered.
“Return Yuuji?” You ask, puzzled.
“He remains 'dead' while I train him before the exchange event.” He explained.
“Are you nuts?! You're gonna hide the kid away while his friends think he's dead then you bring him back like potluck?!”
“Exactly. Megumi is going to be shocked.” Satoru smirked.
You scoffed in disbelief, “He's Megumi's buddy?! You're gonna do that to him?!”
“You're overreacting! So what? As if you know what he is like now! Don't tell me how to parent him.” As they began to bicker, you and Satoru found yourselves slipping back into your old patterns. You continue to bicker and argue with him, just as you had in the past.
This gave Shoko time to light a cigarette and look over the balcony, finishing the stick while you continued to bicker nearby. She couldn't even make out what you are arguing about by this point.
“I mean, who even does that?! That's just so fucked up. What if I pull that shit on you with Suguru, huh?” You felt a sense of frustration building inside you, and the pettiness reaching a new level… you knew it was a moment of weakness, a low blow, and you knew it immediately after you said it.
But you just couldn't shake the feeling that you had been backed into a corner, and that Satoru was determined to be the one in control of the situation.
Shoko's expression grew as you mentioned Suguru's name, and she knew that you struck a nerve. As they stood there in awkward silence, Shoko got in between the two of you.
“That's enough.” Shoko stepped between you as she saw the anger in his eyes and knew that it was about to boil over. She could see that the two of you were being petty towards each other, and that it wasn't helping the situation
"Let's not let our emotions get the best of us," Shoko said, her voice firm but calm. “You two need to focus on the case at hand. You can discuss this later.” She pointed out.
As Satoru eagerly welcomed the students from Kyoto, Megumi and Nobara stood off to the side. They were both visibly shaken by Yuuji's sudden return, contrary to what their sensei expected. “You got something to say?” Nobara asks, still baffled.
“Everyone, come with me. We have a guest I’d like you to meet.” Satoru turned to his students with a smile.
He walked into the office with them, and Megumi in particular was surprised, not expecting to see you today. As he walked up to you, you got up and gave him a warm hug. You wished that you should have been there for them the way you wanted it to be,and you were just so lighthearted to see him again. Despite the tension, Megumi couldn't help but smile softly, accepting the gesture.
“[ Y / N ]-sama, when did you arrive?” He asked after bowing.
“I was actually here a couple of days ago to help with Yuji.” You explained.
“You didn’t tell...”
“Well, someone said keep it a secret.” You mumbled, fixing up Megumi’s uniform.
“I can hear you.” Satoru replied, and you rolled your eyes.
“You hear someone talking, Megumi?” You said and pulled him aside. “Come on, let’s get some drinks.”
While the seniors talked to each other, the students sat on a separate table having drinks. Nobara couldn't help but notice the tense atmosphere in the room, and she knew that there was a lot of tension between their sensei and the woman he introduced. “Is it just me but there’s a lot of tension between Gojo-sensei and [ Y / N ]-sama?”
“They used to be married.” Megumi casually spoke while drinking from his cup.
“What?!” Yuuji and Nobara exclaimed, bringing themselves closer to the boy. “So, she’s like, your step-mom?” Yuuji asks. “I don’t call her that.” Fushiguro visibly regrets revealing this information to the two too soon.
“They must’ve married young then.” Nobara wondered.
“That’s why they kept bickering at the morgue…” Yuuji recalled.
“Why did they break up?”
“Dunno. Can’t remember.” Megumi truthfully answered.
“Fushiguro shall have them back together again… this means one thing— parent trap!” Yuuji spoke dramatically.
“Right… If they reconcile, sensei is going to be in a good mood all the time.” Nobara agreed. Megumi had his face in his palms just by listening to the two’s bizarre ideas. “Here’s our plan...— they’re leaving.” He cut off Yuuji.
“What a shame.” Nobara shrugged and opened another can of cola.
Meanwhile, Satoru was already approaching you and asked if you could talk in his office, away from any prying ears.
“Why do you hate me so much?” Satoru dropped the question. Your eyes filled with pain as he asked you that. You had thought about this question so many times, and had always struggled to find the right words to answer it. You knew that you didn't hate him, you were just hurt and bitter, and you wished he had tried harder on being your husband while still serving the jujutsu world.
But she also knew that he had his own resentments, his own burden to carry, and she couldn't blame him for that. She just wished that he had been there for her in the way that she had always been there for him. And as they stood there, looking at each other, they both felt the weight of all that had happened between them.
“You hate me!” Satoru couldn't deny it, he had acted like he didn't need you in his life, but he realized that he did. You meant more to him than he let on, and he hated himself for making himself believe otherwise, leading him to be resentful towards you.
You only wanted to be there for Satoru when everything fell apart. When Suguru fell into the darkness, Shoko became distant, and he carried all collateral damage, you thought it could make you stronger. But it only drove you further apart. It is clear that it wasn't enough. Satoru was struggling to deal with his own pain, and it was spilling out into your relationship in the worst ways possible. You tried to be strong for him, to hold things together, but it was clear that it was only making things worse.
“It shouldn't be like this… Satoru. Everyone should be in there right now, poking fun at your students or something…” You pointed at the door.
“Everyone? You know who is "everyone" to me, [ Y / N ]?” Satoru asks, mirroring your words.
“Everyone is… my smartest and sweetest friend who I never see anymore, my best friend and other half who I should have given more time to, and my ex-wife who I probably should have ended up with and raised the kids with.” He painfully spoke, enumerating each of them. “There's so much going on in all of our lives right now… but all of us hanging out at Shoko's, being young and stupid… we weren't meant to do that forever.”
“I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have come here to see you.” You shed a tear, turning to the door. But before you could make another move, Satoru pulled you into a hug, feeling the weight of all of his pain and everything he had been holding back since seeing you again. It was so heavy that you both fell on your knees, still holding each other and tears welling your eyes.
His firm grasp caught you off guard but you embraced it, not wanting to let go. You felt the weight of all that you had been through together, all over again, but you still did not want to let go. Like instinct, Satoru leaned in for a kiss, returning it with a passion that you didn't know was still there.
He was able to grab your thighs and lift you with ease. You kicked off your shoes and pulled off your coat, while your ex-husband opened his uniform, teasing you to his cut abs.
Satoru didn't take his eyes off of your full tits, the cleavage peeking from your low neckline, and your thighs firm in his palms. He's still in love with your body all these years, filling out all in the right places. His dick throbs just thinking about the new things he could do to you.
His eyes flicker down to yours. “Do you think about this? Having me fuck you again? No one else does it like I do.”
“All the time,” You admit, recalling all the lonely nights you missed his touch. Now you're experiencing it and it doesn't feel real at all. You feel like I've crossed another dimension, one where your body is actually worthy of having his against it once again.
He pulls himself away and lays you on your back with a grunt. You suck in a breath as he hovers over you and then hear his pants being discarded. placing his hand on your waist, he brings his face down next to yours and his hips suddenly thrust in a gradual rhythm, your walls accommodating his length in a reunion. It had been way too long…
“I never stopped thinking what it would feel like to grab your hips and fuck you like a doll.” He growls. He leans back and grips harder, his nails leaving marks. You feel them desperately dig into your flesh as he thrusts forward while I push you hips back to meet him. “Fuck, [ Y / N ]. Yes,” He groans. “You're gonna make me come hard in your pussy if you keep doing that."
Holy. Shit.
His voice is nothing but orgasmic. Deep, guttural, and fucking sexy. You keep doing your movements, arching your back back and meeting his thrust for thrust.
His groans got louder and you breathe raggedly as you clutch your hand to the edge, feeling him reach an area inside you that is triggering your body in ways you've never felt before.
“I feel you getting tighter, honey,” He whispered, addressing you by the pet name he called you when you were briefly married. “Can you feel my cock getting harder for you? Fuck, you're so damn wet.”
The guttural sound of his voice brings you to a dangerous high. You curse beneath your breath and then bite into your bottom lip, feeling that same feeling you had when his tongue played tricks with your pussy for the first time. You were building up second by second, on the verge of climax.
“What if you'd just give me a baby of our own…” You pant as he continues clutching your hip. His mouth falls to the bend of your neck, his lips caressing the sensitive skin there, and you can't take it. “Tempting.” He smirked and his hips stuttered, his tip releasing beads of precum.
“Please…Satoru…” It spills from your lips again and again as he meets you thrust for thrust, you let go, body vulnerable and sensitive to his touch.
He starts to pound after pound, skin clapping together as he lets out a deep, hoarse groan and his dick starts to throb inside your pussy.
You knew what was coming, and so with all your strength, you lifted your legs to his waist and locked himself inside of you.
“Shit… [ Y / N ]... Nng-need to pull out…” His voice was more desperate than you've ever heard it— raw and vulnerable, as if he's needed to cum like this in ages. You couldn't fight your smile when you saw that desperate look on his face and his dick throbbing.
You couldn't imagine how much cum he's spilled, but it seemed like he hadn't had a good fuck like this in a long time.
“Holy fuck…” He panted out with a smirk, slightly shaken by the possible parental consequences of what you just did, but also turned on by the fact that he was able to claim you again…
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru smut#gojo x reader smut#satoru x reader#satoru x reader smut#jjk smut#jjk imagines#satoru smut#gojo satoru x you#satoru gojo
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𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞~
Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Damian Wayne x Reader
Word count: 1.9k
Warning: mentions of blood, slight cursing, might not be accurate to real ice hockey so I apologize in advance.Damian being a demon on the ice, I wrote Damian OOC, mostly likely, he’s just in love
Damian looks flawless in ice, I’m just going to put that out there. I know he would.
He gets a bit carried away, ramming people up against the walls. That’s what he’s known for when he’s on the ice so the other team tries to stay far away from him, but also try to take the puck from him. Never really works out.
Always get penalized for it too and put in penalty for 2-5 minutes. Is pissed off at that for no reason.
The MAIN reason why his team wins. (Most of the time)
Really loyal to his team. If the opposite side ‘accidentally’ hurts his teammates he’s the first one to skate over to them. Might throw the first punch but it depends 🤷♀️ (100% will throw the punch no matter what :))
He gets hurt a lot. Whether it’s him digging with other or simply ramming into thing to hard , theres bound to be blood, a lots of it sometimes. But he always comes back with bandages around the wounds or maybe stitches.
If he does get hurt he puts out a little signal that only you know telling you he’s okay.
His signal in telling you that he’s going to make a goalie and dedicate it to you is literally stopping right in front of you and placing his gloved fist on the clear barricade, giving you a grin.
Buys you the tickets to go to his game. You never miss one. That’s because he says your his lucky charm during the games. That’s why his team wins all the time.
First row right next to his team where he can keep an eye one you and hold small conversations before it’s his time to go back on the ice
Likes to show off.
A lot. Only does it to impress you 
Gives you the puck he made a goalie and won with (is that allowed?)
The crowds get louder and louder as the seconds count down. You're anxious and you don't know why. Damian’s team and the opposing team are tied with points. You’ve noticed Damian’s actions get more violent as time goes on. The more violent he got the more penalties he got which is a time out on the benches. Which means the other team gets a chance at scoring a point without Damian roughly ramming them against the wall. You’re cheering him on as he glides against the ice, but soon find yourself taking a break from the yelling.
Your eyes follow his figure as he glides against the ice, hockey stick in hand as he moves the puck back and forth against the base of the stick. There’s another figure coming for him, one from the opposing team. You cringe, knowing what’s about to happen to the poor person.
Lucky it wasn’t another penalty, but you would hear the crowd gasp witnessing the sight for what seemed like the nth time in less than twenty minutes. But, every time he did get a penalty and put in the penalty box, or as you call it the time out box, you can’t help but laugh. Knowing that Damian was put out for being rough much like how a small toddler would be put in the corner for not listening at all. It was always such a funny sight. Damian rams into the person hard, knocking him down.
“OH!” Dick says from behind you “that’s gotta hurt!” You know he wasn’t talking to you but you hum and nod. Dick and the others know first hand how rough he can be, having been practicing with him last time it didn’t end will with. “I think he gave him a concussion” Tim was also behind you sitting next to Dick, while Jason was no where to be seen.
‘Probably went to go shove his face with food’
Despite being on the other team you feel bad for them and the bruises they’ll be getting the following day. Not to mention the sore body’s they’ll have to work through. You’ve been sitting in the same spot for more than an hour with each game period being at least twenty minutes long, with fifteen minute breaks. Maybe they were shorter but you really couldn’t tell.
Damian misses his shot by a few inches away from the goalie, not being able to stop in time he slams himself up against the wall, the people behind it cover their mouths out of shock and you slap your forehead, shaking your head as you watch him brush it off and continue to play. However, his coach calls him out to replace him with another teammate. He compiles but has a sour look on his face, once he reaches the dry ground he throws his stick. Clearly angry and frustrated all you could do is watch for a while as he takes off his helmet, hair slightly damp from the sweat—giving him helmet hair, all messy and pointing in different directions. It makes you laugh a little. But your sudden mood changes quickly as he sits down head in his hands—running over his sweaty black locks. You don’t think twice as you tap on the screen that keeps his and your row apart.
Damian has good hearing with a small sound so it wasn’t hard to hear you tapping away. He turns to your directions, giving you a small nod. You frown and tilt your head down a little and he rolls his eyes knowing what you're implying and gives you a forced smile. You give him a thumbs up as he scoffs, he watches carefully as you pull out your phone and type away. His eyes never leave you until you place your phone, screen side up against the clear glass divider. Green eyes squinting as he reads away:
‘don’t worry. You got the next goal. I know it!’
That sentence alone makes his heart swell. Damian takes off his right gloves and pats his chest—right where his heart would be two times. A way of saying he appreciate the small gesture.
You take your phone off the glass and erase the previous sentence replacing it with a new one—placing it back on the glass: ‘Have a plan for when you get back on the ice? He quickly reads and nods his head. At least he has a plan, you thought and place your phone back in your pocket. Hands shaking for the cold and lack of warmth you had for them considering the fact that you had forgotten your mittens at home. You focus your attention back on the game. The opposite team ahead by one point— but Damian’s team can do good without him for a while.
He’s out for about half of the game until his coach decides to replace him with another one of his teammates. He taps on the glass to get your attention and once he has it, he Winks at you before making his way back on the ice.
“So are they losing or what?” A familiar voice says beside you and you turn your head, Jason takes his seat next to you with two cups in his hand. “Where the hell have you been?”
“The line for hot chocolate got long” he hands you one “I got you one too, know you stressing over the Demon playing Disney on ice right now” the warm drink warms up your hands a little.
“Thanks. That’s nice of you Jason” You ignore the comment and he hums before he takes a sip of his one drink, eyes scanning the ice before he yells out with the audience. Someone from the Damian team made a shot and they’re tied with the other team.
You go back to cheering him on, the warm drink soothing your throat from all the yelling earlier. It’s later forgotten as you place the half empty cup on the ground right beside your foot— watching the minutes pass by quickly like seconds.
Your heart skips a beat, and not in a good way when the other team shoots their shot but thankfully they fail. With time becoming shorter and shorter it was only a matter of time before Damian took matters into his own hands and his teammates are quick to learn to stay out of it when the time was cutting short and they were off by a point or two, or in this case tied, They had faith in him and so did you.
The seat is now cold from your absence, you’re up on your feet cheering and screaming right along with his brothers who seem to be cheering louder than you. Your eyes glued to Damian as you try to keep up with his figure. He has the puck, sliding it back and forth against the curve of his stick once more.
You don’t have time to think—especially when his helmet makes a horrible sound right up against the clear barrier as one of the players from the opposite team slams into him harshly. Right in front of you as you flinch back. Cheering can be heard from the opposite side of the ice rink which is where the other team supporters were.
Your side falls silent, few gasps and murmurs could be heard. Damian’s back up on his feet, his gloved fist pressed up against the clear barrier. His eyes locked on yours with a glint of mischief and something else. One of those grins grace his lips, one that makes you smile as he waved at you before he leaves.
He’s much faster this time and it makes you think if he was slacking off all this time—or maybe it was the adrenaline that runs high in his veins with these last few minutes. He was going to make a goal, dedicating it to you. Your body feels warm and your heart skips.
“ Ohh~ I know that look” Jason teases from beside you, Dick and Tim are leaning down giving you cheeky grins.
You roll your eyes trying to hide the smile that tries to form itself on your lips “I don’t know what you mean.” You play stupid as you glance back at the game.
fifty seconds left of the last game, everyone seemed to be cheering and calling out those who were on the ice. Damian pays no mind to his teammates as they let him do what he needs to do. You cheer for him, calling out his name. Despite there being hundreds of others yelling out at the same time his mind blocks them out, every single one of them but you. they get louder the minute he gets ahold of the puck swiftly, quickly making his way to the goalie.
His main priority was to get the puck around the goaltender and into the net. He was doing this all for you and you knew that. Those fifty seconds go by quickly, as if you’ve blinked and when you open your eyes ten seconds we’re now left. Everyone counted down, even you. It felt like time went slower once it hit that five second mark, you’ve quiet yourself down and the only thing you can hear is the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. You watch Damian has he left up his stick and takes a hit.
Pointing and loud gasp could be seen and heard, half of the ice rink goes quiet—as if the loudness would mess up his plan. Right as the Puck glides under the goaltender and into the net the timer makes a sound—indicating that the game is now over and Damian scores a point, officially breaking the tie. Relief washes over you, hands thrown in the air as a yell of excitement leaves you as Damian’s brothers cheer alongside you. The other side slouches, defeated as your side basically rubs it in their fasts by how loud they were being, but you didn’t care.
A win is a win.
You can see Damian, as he is pulled into a group hug by the rest of his team, some patting his pack and some patting his helmet and shoving it gently as a gesture. The part you don’t notice is him escaping from the group and skating to the Net where he had thrown the puck before he picked it up, waving it in the air like some sort of trophy—however, in this context, it was. He shows it off with pride, making his way towards you.
With a loud yelp you’re picked up by the others, Jason, Dick, and Tim, as they lift you up until you're basically above the spectating glass. Your lover stands below on the other side with his arm stretched out high, he waits. With the help of the others, they hold on to you as you lean done and over the glass.
Your own arm stretches down as you grasp the puck in your hand. His gloves are now off and so is his helmet, his hair pointing in all directions much like earlier when he was away on a penalty, his warm hand grasping yours with the puck still in your hand
“I did that just for you, habibti!” Eyes glistening, you Can’t really tell if it’s from his sweat or his love for you.
“I know!” You laugh “I love you!”
“And I too, love you!” The crowd fills itself with loud cheers and small ‘awes’, watching the sight of the son that belonged to billionaire Bruce Wayne was a rare sight to see, considering how he would rather keep private about his relationship with you.
His warm lips connected to the coldness of your knuckles , making a mental note to bring an extra pair of gloves just for you in the future.
“If you lean down further you’re going to eat shit”
“shush I’m having a moment here”
“just saying”
Tried to make it as accurate as possible bc, again I know nothing about ice hockey. I had googled the rules and watched videos
And god knows how many references pictures I tried to find about hockey. Probably spend like an hour trying to find them just to draw Damian :|
I will be taking a short break from writing requests just bc school is starting in like a few days or so. So I can get my life together and actually have time to mentally prepare myself and fix my schedule seeing as I’ve been up most night until 6 am and waking up at 2pm.
#damian al ghul#damian wayne#damian wayne x reader#robin x reader#damian x reader#damian al ghul x reader#damian scenarios#hockey player!damian wayne
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Howdy? Hope you're having a great day so far!! had an idea for Kid! Tenko if you don't mind?
Tenko as a kid is a bit (a lot) yandere(platonic) for his mom and doesn't let her go outside without him tagging along to go to the grocery store, he gets really possessive. Then he grows up, becomes taller and more intimidating (ig around high school?!) brags about her cooking being the best and won’t let any man ask her out at all (cuz she only needs him obv).
i really don’t know if it makes sense hope it does lol let’s us cultivate this idea 😭
- （＾Ｏ＾☆♪
YESSSS anon you get it omg imagine how protective your baby boy is its so dfdjvhhdvsbdb anw here's a short fic. i might make a full fic in the future, full on plot with lots of angst <3 lemme know if yall would like that!
Platonic Yandere!Tenko x Mommy!reader
"Mommyyy mommyy!! can we buy this??"
You were out grocery shopping with your little boy when he showed you a cereal box that had a toy with it! Akali from league of legends, it says on the box. You were always wary about your little boy playing that game, because you saw how other people in YouTube or.. tweetch? would rage and cuss out loud! You can't have your precious baby become like one of them! But you still gave in, I mean come on, who could resist those cute little puppy eyes. You rubbed his fluffy head as you placed the cereal box inside the cart, while he made a little happy dance and proceeded to explore the grocery store. Back then in his dead old family, he didn't have the luxury of going to the grocery store, he thought it would be boring but with his precious mommy everything is so fun! He went further into to the snacks isle of the store and took a lot of snacks and junk food, he knew you would scold him lightly about needing to eat healthy food, but he'll promise that he'll be a good boy and eat as much vegetables and fruits you want! Just as he was going back to you he saw a man talking close to you. It seemed like he was telling a joke and you just had to laugh so sweetly. Tenko immediately felt his stomach drop and his blood boil at the sight, he ran to you, dropping all the snacks in his arms, and clung on your leg tightly, glaring at the man. The man chuckled nervously, genuinely scared of the feral eyes your little gremlin had.
"Mommy who's this?"
"Oh Tenko, this kind gentleman is from my work! I never knew he lived close to us!" Tenko still held his glare, not trusting the man. How could he trust him? He might hurt you, take you away from him. Tenko felt his hand twitch, he really wanted to disintegrate the man right now, no one will take mommy away from him no one. His hold on you was tightening and you quickly reached down and asked him what was wrong. "Mommy I really want katsudon later.. can we have it for dinner, pretty please?" He looked up at you with those adorable eyes and you immediately kissed his cheek as you went to the meat section of the store. Tenko had other plans though, he went to the man you were talking with, with an apple on hand. The man looked at him curiously "Hey little sport, do you need anything?" Tenko just stared at him with dead eyes which creeped the man. Tenko then took of his gloves then fully disintegrated the apple. The man looked in shock as goosebumps began to cover his skin, his instincts telling him to run this kid was not normal, so ran he did. Tenko smiled to himself feeling proud as he ran to you engulfing you in a hug. You just thought how innocent and cute he was! That night you both had katsudon and cuddled to sleep. This would become the norm, him always going with you to the grocery store. On days that you went shopping without him he would get nervous and fake cry thinking that you didn't want him anymore, guilt tripping you into always letting him tag along.
Now he wasn't your little baby boy anymore, he was now taller than you, stronger than you, smarter than you and is entering 2nd year of high school. He would always go with you whenever you went outside, and to be honest you found it a bit worrying, I mean, he wasn't a little kid anymore. Kids his age usually would go out with friends their age, but your baby boy always chose to be with you. Did you baby him too much? yes He would sulk if you didn't invite him to go with you, wherever it be. Whether you went to the mall, salon, grocery store, convenient store, literally anywhere outside. He still thought it was too dangerous for his fragile mom. And you thought it was too overbearing. Even at school, all he talked about was his mom, games, and his mom. Bragging about how his bento that his mommy made was the best, though always refusing to share when his friends asked for some. His friends made fun of him being a mama's boy and he didn't really mind, I mean it was true, and he kinda liked being called like that. What he didn't tolerate however, was when his friends would start talking about you in a way that little boys in puberty did. An ex friend of his once made a comment about how you looked "Damn Tenko's mom is literally so hot. What a milf. I'd smash hard" the dumbass laughed as every friend of Tenko looked at him, scared for him. Needless to say, Tenko beat the shit out of him, 10 people including teachers and security had to work together to pry him off the poor guy. The poor dude got confined in a hospital for months. Tenko got in trouble by the principal, and was almost expelled, but your pleas reduced it into home suspension instead. Oh well, Tenko thought, sounds like a reward. You gave him a good scolding at home and asked him why he did what he did, but he wouldn't say a thing, not wanting you to hear the disrespectful comment. After a few days of sulking and asking for forgiveness you finally gave in as you hugged him, rubbing his hair, your baby wouldn't beat someone without a reason right? There had to be a reason. After all, all this time during home suspension he was such a good boy, doing all the chores for you, cooking food, and even giving you a massage. All you knew was that your not so little baby boy was an innocent angel. You kissed his cheek as you bid him goodnight and went to your own room.
One day, while in the grocery store, Tenko was hording some snacks and junk food to place at the cart in the other isle where you stayed looking at ingredients for dinner. When he went looking for you he saw a tall buff man in sweatpants and a hoodie talking to you, huh deja vu, you looked so happy and you were...blushing?? Tenko couldn't believe his eyes as he felt his skin burning, he wanted to rip his skin out. He rushed to your side as he scratched his neck furiously demanding to know who the man was. "Mom who the fuck is this? Is he bothering you?" You gently took his hand to stop him from scratching his neck "Language Tenko! I guess its time to introduce you two. Tenko meet Toshinori, we have been talking for a while now." You say as you shyly blushed. Tenko wanted to gouge his eyes out. He felt like vomiting. He felt his heart race as he began to slightly shake, in disbelief, in fear, in anger. "Hello young Tenko! Y/N talked about you many times before! You're her pride and joy."
Tenko was quiet the entire ride back home, and even at home he remained eerily quiet. "Tenko is something wrong? It might be a bit of a shock to you, but I promise Toshinori is a good man. When I started dating him, I thought about how this would affect you of course. I think he would make for a good father for yo-" He stood up abruptly then went to his room without saying a word. Once inside his room he started to throw his things, breaking them. You heard all of it but decided to give him space, feeling bad for hurting him. Tenko couldn't believe it how did he not notice?? No wonder you would always look at your phone and smile. Why did it have to be him of all people. He sat at the middle of his mess of a room and began scratching his neck. He had to think of a way to get rid of that pest. He had to keep you with him. All you needed was him, no one else matters.
"You stupid fuck, I'll fucking kill you. Mommy's all mine."
A/N: hii anon! omg i hope this was okay, i enjoyed writing it and i miss baby!Tenko lol. feel free to ask for more!!
#bnha headcannons#mha headcanons#platonic#platonic yandere#shigaraki x reader#tomura x reader#baby tenko#baby tomura#yandere shigaraki#shigaraki fluff#platonic shigaraki#shigaraki x y/n#x reader#bnha fanfiction#mha shigaraki#shigaraki tomura#tenko x reader#mha tenko#tenko shimura#yandere x reader#yandere x y/n#bnha drabble
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Hi this my first time requesting, if you do head canons, can you do ghost head canons where he has a crush on you. Please?
Hello 👋 of course I can do that for ya ☺️ I hope you are satisfied with them.
Ghost has a crush on you.
Ghost wouldn't pick up on it right away. He was very sheltered as a kid and romance wasn't his main concern, even as a teenager. He joined the military early on life so the thought of a relationship absolutely NEVER occured to him.
He starts to pick up little signs though. Whenever you smile his way or greet him in the morning he can feel his stomach twist in a way it's never done before. You start to become a big part of his daily thoughts and he starts to purposefully seek you out.
When you first join the task force he isn't sure about you. He's a man built on trust and constant betrayal so you're a threat to his environment. But you are on the softer side. You start to bring him tea in the morning when he's stocked high by paperwork and start idle conversation during training.
He starts to realize that a lot of things he would do alone start to include you.
He found himself excited to spar with you in the morning or to join your table in the lunch hall. Every small thing you do makes him feral in a way he's never experienced.
It's platonic, but the first time you hold his hand he's a disaster. A. Fucking. Disaster. He wants to swat you away and curse you out for touching him without permission. He wants to pull away and find a corner where he cannot be bothered. And another part of him drops his shoulders and sits/stands there in bliss. The feeling of your warm palm soaking through his gloves. How you grasp his hand so firmly and yet it's so reassuring.
Ghost doesn't understand his feelings so he often gets frustrated with you and himself. He'll mutter and even yell at himself sometimes at night about what he was letting you do to him. Whatever it was. He'd lay awake in his bed thinking of you and all the conversations you'd had that day as his stomach drops in this weird way.
Tries admitting himself to the ICU for heart problems after you giggle at a very sarcastic joke he makes.
You're not dating yet but you for hell better treat him right. Bean is very hurt on the inside and it'll take a lot of nurturing for him to come clean to you about his affection.
He's scared when he takes off his mask in front of you and the others. Of course the others were seeing his face for the first time excepting Price. But something about the way your eyes locked. You looked over every scar. His jaw, his throat and his messy untamed hair. He almost felt ashamed. He felt so small until you smiled and nodded in what almost looked like approval.
Refuses to show you again though, even if you ask.
Being completely unsure of his emotions he grows protective over you. He has become very alert of when other men talk to you or when women give off a flirty remark. It makes his insides hurt and it confuses him as to why he cares.
Now, when he does figure it all out, he cannot, and will not come forth. You could kiss him on the lips and he won't say a word.
He physically can't say 'I love you'. Not because it isn't true, but he's never heard it said to him before, and he's never said it. He doesn't know love or how to love. He's scared of commitment and hurting you.
So instead he'll start leaving little notes and gifts in your sector. He'll watch from his desk filing paperwork as you walk in with a smile and a box of mints in your hands.
When you get hurt out on the field he panics. He does everything he physically can do protect you on missions and is even more alert on stakeouts. If there is a threat to you better rest assured Ghost is putting himself between you and the threat even if it's a fucking train.
What you do for him, he starts to do in return. He is always up first so when you get up and make it to your desk, Ghost is already there with a warm cup of coffee for you. You always see the way he stiffens and his eyes light up when you thank him.
Scary guard dog privileges.
Going on nightly patrol? He's your shadow. Going to a secondary base? He's your shadow. Bring harassed or annoyed. He's your fucking shadow.
It took a while of back and forth of witty remarks and hour long conversations but eventually you manage to confess to him. You were terrified because Ghost was a rollercoaster of mixed signals that whole time.
"I love you, Simon Riley."
Literally just stared at you.
And then slowly nods his head.
Your getting nervous at this point. Does he like you? Does he not like you? Is he about to kill you for saying such a thing? What do you do?
Simon over there is sweating bullets because. What does he do? The most beautiful person in the whole world is staring at him with love and adoration equal to a puppy and has just confessed to having the same tumbling stomach syndrome as himself.
"me too."
"You like you too??" You gulp.
"No! Me- you! You and me- fuck. I feel the same. I think. But I'm not sure yet."
You understand. He's a bit shy suddenly, surprisingly. He gets the hang of the whole boyfriend thing with your help. Though he's certainly an extraordinary man.
Has never kissed so when you roll up his mask and place your lips upon his... HOLY FUCK. Do it again. He's got no damn clue what he's doing but he will hold your neck as if you are glass and try to bring you ever closer.
He will suffocate himself on you until he's literally forced away. His new favorite thing to do is kiss you. Every chance he gets he'll kiss you. (Hates PDA though.)
He's very touch starved so you have a lot of work to catch up on.
I hope this works! I will die on the hill that Ghost is clueless at first on how all the love stuff works. ❤️
#simon ghost riley#call of duty headcanons#headcanons#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost x reader#ghost x y/n#simon ghost riley x reader
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Could you please do a Winchester sister fic where her and the boys go on a hunt and something goes wrong and the sister gets hurt and tries to hide it because the boys are too busy blaming each other and fighting about the hunt going wrong until the sister like loses too much blood and like passes out or something
Dilemma
Summary: When you and your brothers get caught of guard during a werewolf hunt, they are quick to try and blame each other. But little do they know that their bickering might cost you your life.
Warnings: Fighting, Injuries, Hospitals
Word count: 2.1K
⛤ SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST ⛤
“Why does it always have to be werewolves?” You groaned from the backseat, leaning your head up against the cool window. You and your brothers were on your way to a hunt just a few towns over from where you had been staying: A pack of particularly disruptive werewolves had been disrupting the town.
“It’s not.” Sam shrugged, “We took out that banshee last week. and the poltergeist the week before that-”
“Don’t be pedantic, Sam. You know what I mean.” You pouted.
“Look Sweetheart, I know you don’t like them but everything will be fine. This is a routine hunt and it’ll be over before you know it.”
You had always hated werewolves. Ever since you were you. The majority of them were cruel and tricky to catch, but over all just more of a pain in your ass than anything.
“Sure.” You mumbled leaning back into your seat. “Whatever you say, Deano.”
~
The minute the impala rounded the corner they were on you. Swarming in from every corner of the space, weaving between the trees with their teeth bared and a cantankerous look plastered on their faces. You heard your eldest brother curse, reaching into the glove box and pulling out the gun loaded with silver bullets. Your fingers reached blindly for your silver knife stashed away in the side pocket of the door, as you continued to watch them swarm still not blinking. Like maybe if you focused on them hard enough they would disappear. Poof. Gone.
Of course it’s never that simple, is it?
Dean’s fingers lingered on the door handle but before he tugged it to open the door, his green eyes met yours. One look said a million more things than words ever could. Be careful. Please. He pleaded with unspoken words. You gave him a nod of reassurance and that was all it took for him to turn and charge out of the car towards them.
They came toward you snarling. Thirsty for bloodshed.
You charged forward, engaging yourself in a tussle with the nearest one. She bared her teeth, scowling as you charged at her with your knife. When you swung she jumped back so your blade missed her completely. Cursing, you moved around her quickly as she moved to attack. She went low trying to catch you off guard but your trained eye noticed this and you stepped out of the way. When her back was to you, you slashed down firmly with the weapon. The werewolf howled in pain struggling on the floor as the silver burned her skin before her body gave out and she lay dead on the ground. One down, who knows how many more to go.
But it was like something had been set off the minute you killed that first wolf. Head’s snapped toward you, eyes twitching and two of them made a beeline for you.
Gunshots fired and one of them went down before she had even managed to take more than three steps in your direction. Dean’s pistol simmered with heat as he moved to aim the trigger at the second but quickly had a change of plan when he was tackled to the side landing with an uncomfortable sounding grunt. The two of them scuffled on the ground as Sam tussled with two of his own.
The wolf that was racing toward you was bigger than you. Much Much bigger. And stronger, given his wolfish strength. The thought made your stomach drop a little. But you had handled worse.
He swung at you with his claws which you managed to duck under. As you moved, you managed to nick his calf with your blade. Not enough to really do any damage, but enough to piss him off even more. He turned impossibly fast, knocking you to the ground. You groaned as you collided with the gravel but scrambled to get back on your feet and then ran, trying to create some distance between the two of you until you either found a way to get the upper hand or one of your brothers noticed. But the werewolf was much faster, and so it had been a stupid idea in the first place. He gripped the back of your shirt, jolting you back before slamming you into a tree. Your knife dropped to the floor and you had to bite your lip to keep the whimper slipping from your lips as you heard your ribs crack from the blunt force.
And then his face was uncomfortably close to yours. So much so that you could feel his hot breath fanning across your neck.
“You killed her.” He spat, pinning you closer to the tree and letting the bark dig into your back. Droplets of blood began to seep into your shirt from where his nails dug into your skin as he pinned you into place.
“Yeah. And you’re next.” You lifted your leg to knee him in the groin. He recoiled and you scrambled for your knife in vain for he knocked you to the ground with another kick to your already injured ribs. You went down with a cry and he moved to pin your wrist to the ground before kicking the knife away and tossing you back up against the tree.
“I thought you would be better than this, Winchester.” The werewolf taunted “An infamous Winchester taken down pack of wolves.”
Then he slashed at you: Long, irregular stripes down your stomach tore open as he dug his claws into your skin.
“Funny really. Almost poetic.” He leaned closer, keeping you pinned as he loomed over you. His hands had found your waist making you squirm as he pushed his fingers into the wounds he had created. An agonised sob slipped out. “But I suppose it’s only fair. You kill my sister…so I kill you. Oh how I can’t wait to see the look on Sam’s-”
He never got to finish his sentence because he had dropped to the floor dead. Sam stood behind him with his pistol ready and a worried look on his face. That was when you noticed that the rest of the creatures had been disposed of by your brothers.
“Jesus Christ, Kid. That was close.” Dean breathed out. “You need to be more careful.”
He was angry. You could tell from the way he stood; jaw clenched, shoulders a little too high to look natural.
“You’re okay though?” He asked, checking you over visually for injuries.
You opened your mouth to speak but were cut off by your other brother.
“ What the hell was that?” Sam frowned, drawing Dean’s piercing gaze away from you and distracting him enough that he didn’t notice how you favoured one side.
“I’m sorry?” Dean’s eyebrows shot up and he stopped in his tracks, twisting toward his brother.
“You didn’t think to park somewhere less obvious?”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere, Sam.” Dean’s voice rose as he began to walk back to the car.
“Exactly. And they still knew we were coming.”
“And how is that my fault?” He scoffed.
You had fallen behind. Their voices began to fade in and out as your head pounded, throbbing in sync with the gashes in your skin, still gushing with blood that stained your flannel. You pulled it closer, stumbling. Though soon it would do little to conceal what should have been so obvious to your brothers.
“Dean…” Your vision swam and you lost your footing slightly. But your call went unheard.
“Clearly they heard the car. If you were less obsessive over the damn thing and had just left it on the side of the road then they would never have known.” Sam spat. “Honestly Dean, It’s careless. An attack like that… Y/N could have gotten seriously hurt.”
“Oh so it’s all my fault?” Dean threw his hands up in the air as he snapped at his brother. “If you had done the research like you were supposed to then-”
“You always do this, Dean. You can’t always pin the blame on me. It wouldn’t hurt for you to help out once in a while instead of sleezing around in some bar-”
“Sammy…” You whispered, trying again to desperately gain one of their attention.
You felt sick. Weak. staggering slowly behind them.
And then, you hit the floor.
Your legs gave out beneath you and you crumpled to the ground in a heap of agony clutching at your stomach.
“Y/N?!” Dean cried out your name at the sound, whipping around. His eyes widened in horror at the sight as he dropped to your side. Wrapping his arm over you, he rolled you onto your side to examine what he had failed to see before.
Sam paled at your bloody hands, gawping as crimson flowed around what little pressure you applied.
You whimpered as Dean pushed up your shirt to reveal the mangled cuts. Sam sucked in a sharp breath as he blinked away tears.
“S’rry.” You slurred eyes barely open as your head lolled on the ground. “Tried to… tried to t’ll you…”
“Shh.” Sam’s voice trembled. He gripped your hand to try and ground you not caring for the way your blood tainted his skin. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be just fine.”
“Mmh-” you cried out as Dean applied pressure to the wound with his bundled up flannel. The cold air pinched at his skin. He cared little for it. They needed to get you to the car. It wasn’t far at all; he could see the bonnet shining in the moonlight. But the thought of moving you made his stomach weak.
“We need to move her.” Sam voiced.
“I know.” Dean swallowed thickly. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Sweetheart, we need to move you okay it’s going to hurt but you need to stay awake, okay? You’ve already lost too much blood.”
You made no response except an incoherent murmur. You skin was paler than usual and your lips had began to turn a concerning shade of blue. But the cold was worse.
“Okay. On three Sammy. You lift.”
Sam nodded.
“One…Two…Three-”
Sam lifted you swiftly, expecting you to howl in pain. But your body didn’t so much as twitch. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you passed out.
~
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
The two of them sat waiting anxiously at your side. They had rushed you into the hospital, alarming the nurses as they demanded you get help.
The youngest Winchester bounced his leg. “She’s going to be fine.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Sam shifted his gaze ever so slightly, afraid to tear his eyes away from you for too long.
“I shouldn’t have yelled. It wasn’t your fault.”
Sam nodded gently. “It’s not yours either, Dean. So don’t go getting that in your head.”
“But it is-”
“Stop. We’re not talking about this now. I can’t.” He returned to watching over you cautiously.
The two of them fell into a pregnant silence.
“The doctors said she should be awake soon.” Dean tried to lighten the mood, but somehow it made it feel darker.
“I know.”
“You think she’ll be mad?”
“Who, Y/n?” Sam tilted his head. Dean nodded. “Nah. She’s too forgiving.”
“Yeah. Wonder who she gets that from.” Dean teased playfully. Sam just rolled his eyes and continued to rub circles into your hand.
And then you stirred, scrunching your face up. When you tried to shift, your eyes shot open as pain joleted through you despite the drugs the hospital had dosed you up with.
“Hey, Hey.” Sam cooed. “You’re alright. It’s okay.”
“De? Sammy?” You blinked.
“Yeah Sweetheart. It’s us.”
“You’re in the hospital.” Sam added. “They fixed you up.”
You nodded slowly, noting the bags under their eyes and the extra stubble. “Are you okay?”
Dean could have laughed. “You’re in the hospital and the first thing you ask is if we’re okay?”
You fell silent, shrugging, which caused your ribs to pull, earning a wince.
“What are we gonna do with you huh, Kiddo?” Dean chuckled. “You’re too good for this world.”
“Well then, it’s a good thing she’s gonna be around for a long while longer.”
⛤ SPN TAGLIST:
@defnotashleyr
@aestheticdaisies
@xxrougefangxx
@hell-o-kittys
@inlovewhithafairytale
@harleycao
#supernatural x reader#supernatural x sister reader#supernatural x hurt reader#Dean Winchester#Dean Winchester x Reader#Dean Winchester x sister reader#sam Winchester#Sam Winchester x reader#Sam Winchester x sister reader#spn#supernatural fanfic#angst#hurt/comfort#hurt no comfort#blood#gore#injury
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a love worth fighting for.
pairing: abby anderson x f!reader
synopsis: anderson is the name on everybody's lips when it comes to discussing the newest up-and-coming boxers of the season. with the help of her coach and you by her side, she's going for the world title. but what will she have to sacrifice to get there?
an: so, it's finally here. this is a big one for me folks - i'd go as far as to say the biggest fic i've ever worked on. ever. i'd love for this to be multi chapter, but that depends on the reception part 1 receives. if you like it, please reblog and let me know your thoughts. i'm proud of this, so be kind with your comments x
warnings: 18+ mdni. violence, swearing, references to smut (despite this chap not having any super explicit content, if i decide to continue this fic there will defo be heavy smut in the next upload - so don't even bother reading the first part if you're not of age).
The MC’s voice reverberates throughout the stadium, drowning out the cacophony of cheers, boos, and overarching buzz from the crowd. You could never predict who they would back until the night, usually finding that boxing fans are easily swayed depending on who gets the first punch in. You were hoping all support would be directed at her tonight, god she needed it. Trying to maintain a positive attitude is hard when your girlfriend's opponent is making his way into the ring, his impressive height and wide, muscular shoulders towering leagues above his teams; arms raised, working the crowd and hyping them up in anticipation for the fight to come. They’re already eating out of his hands, the bastards.
“Ladieeees and Gentlemaaan! Welcome to the main event. In the blue corner, weighing in at 188 pounds, undefeated in 48 fights; he needs no introduction folks - it’s the man, the beast, Zach ‘Thunderstorm’ Norriiiiiis!”
The crowd roars in excitement, slapping their hands together and pumping their fists in the air. Zach is one of the nation's favourites, as any undefeated boxer would be. The nickname ‘Thunderstorm’ came from the sound his opponent’s bodies would make when they hit the canvas, like the crack of lightning. You look ahead with a neutral expression, keeping your eyes focused on the empty archway ahead of you - trying not to zero in on just how big his arms were. How they could crush someone's airways, smash apart their ribs, do irreplaceable damage.
You inherently hated what your girl did as a profession, hated the way she put herself in harm's way time after time after time. But there was also a part of you that admired her for it, for the unbreakable determination that radiated from her - if she got beaten down, she would get right back up and come at you even harder. It’s what kept forcing you to show up. That, and also the tiny factor of being absolutely in love with the woman. But when she got hurt, which seemed to be every other day lately, you really wanted to grab a hold of her fucking head and shake the-
“Aaaaand coming into the red corner, Thunderstorm’s opponent, weighing in at 175 pounds. She hails from Salt Lake City, and is rising through the ranks quickly. With 30 wins, 24 of them coming by way of knockout, give it up for the new kid on the block - it’s Abbyyyyyy Andersooooon!”
And here she comes, bowling out of that archway with Coach right on her tails; the hood of her red robe covering her plaited hair, matching red gloves already fastened and ready. Even from where you were waiting by the stalls, you could see the all-too-familiar expression that befalls her face before every fight. Eyes so dark they look black, focused, unwavering; brimming with unshed aggression that are preparing for the violence that is about to ensue.
Frightening. Arousing. Another reason you’re still with her.
Abby ducks under the ropes of the ring, bouncing on her feet as she grounds herself on the canvas before moving over to her corner where Coach is now waiting. As you rush up to them, Coach gives you the look he always does before a fight - the type that screams, ‘you shouldn’t be here, girl.’ He thinks you’re a distraction, an irritating fly he’d rather swat away so he can make sure his prized money maker has the best chance at winning. You weren’t giving in that easily. Coach could go to hell for all you cared; you knew his real motivations when it came to all of this. Abby may regard him like a father, but you saw him for what he really was. A leech.
Coach shouts up into Abby’s ear, her head bent in concentration - “He’s a fucking showman. That, and a bit of muscle. You know you got the upper hand tactically; he has no fucking clue what’s about to hit him. Just stay focused Anderson, and this bout is yours.”
Abby nods resolutely, eyes trained on the canvas as she rolls her shoulders back and cracks her neck. Coach’s hands come up to grip the ropes between them.
“You gotta win this champ, you can win this. Just don’t. get. distracted.”
Both Coach’s and Abby’s eyes turn to you at the same time as you offer up a reassuring smile to your girlfriend, also now clutching at the ropes that separate you.
“You got this babe.”
She nods quickly and gives a tight smile, but you can tell from the tense line of her shoulders that she’s stressing out. Yes she’s fought before, but it was never on this big of a scale. Never against opponents like him. It was what Coach insisted was the next step –
“You wanna face off a load of wimps Anderson? Or do you wanna make it to champion status?... Yeah? Of course you fucking do. Then you gotta get in front of the crowds and beat the shit out of the favourites.”
Easy for him to say, he’s not the one going up against an undefeated fighter. But you had faith in your girl. That was never going to change. You move closer to the ring as she crouches down into the corner, Coach double checking he has all the supplies that she would need between rounds. You take her face in your hands through the division of the ropes and pull her in for a quick kiss - before she can move away, you hold her there and take her chin in your grip, eyes lingering on hers.
“Win this…like I know you can, and then come home and fuck me like a champion.”
You don’t give her time to respond as you let her face go and back away, moving into the crowd as you cheer her name. That posture of stress has eased slightly, and a smug smile is planted on her face instead. Coach, of course, comes and wipes that smirk away as he puts her mouthguard in, holding her head still as he most likely shouts some type of bull at her once again. But of course, she’s listening to him like it’s gospel. Amped up and ready to fight, Abby raises herself to full height, bouncing on her feet and swinging her arms to the side. The crowd aren’t sure what to make of her, most of them never even hearing her name before. But there is the occasional cheer for “Anderson!” amongst the rally of support for Norris. After all, people do love an underdog.
The announcer calls Abby and Norris into the middle of the ring, a hand on both of their chests as he explains, “Now I want a nice, clean game. Nothing below the belt. Are we clear?”
Both nod, pressing against the MC’s outstretched hands in an act of intimidation towards the other. Abby’s face is like stone, never breaking eye contact and standing strong. Norris on the other hand, his smirk was the show of pure arrogance. She better fuck this dickhead up. Both back away from each other, getting into a southpaw stance as the MC’s voice rings out for the last time.
“Are we readyyyyy…FIGHT!”
You forget about everything else when that bell rings; the crowd getting louder, Coach’s bellows erupting from her corner, the look on Norris’ face as he circles his prey. The toll of that bell ringing in your ears sounds like a death sentence, also signalling the start of round 1.
____________
By round 4, the feeling of uneasiness settles in your stomach and your eyes continue to follow her quick-shifting form, matching her movements so that when she ducked or flinched back, so did you. Both fighters have been pretty level with one another so far, both sending out jabs and uppercuts - only for them to be warded off before any real damage could be inflicted. It’s not enough to win though, she needs a clear hit.
Abby goes in for a right hook, ever so slightly clipping Norris’ chin and the crowd ripples in response, hoping for the real fight to begin soon. Norris responds with a clinch to stop her from advancing too quickly, wrapping his arms around and over her. You hated seeing him touch her like that, your own fists clenching at your sides in response.
The bell tolls again signalling the end of the round, both fighters making their way to their respective posts - but not before you see Norris saying something in Abby’s ear. She doesn’t move for a second, eyes unwavering on Norris as he turns his back. For a second you think she might go for him, but she’s worked too hard to let her temper win now. With a shake of her head, she goes over to Coach and plunks down on the ground - tearing off her gloves with her teeth and ripping out her mouthpiece. Her focus is still sharply on Norris across the ring, most likely getting strategy tips and a pep talk in her ear from Coach, reminding her to channel all that anger back into the task at hand.
You don’t move from your seat in the crowd, wanting to give her the space to fully zone in. She knows you’re here for her and only her, and you provided enough motivation at the beginning of the night to last the duration. You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy the view at the moment either, and that those feelings of uneasiness were also coupled with an overwhelming tide of arousal.
The way sweat is dripping down her face and neck, trickling down her chest and onto her arms. How she runs her hands over the top of her head, dousing it in water and brushing through the roots with her fingers to cool off. Yeah… you really hoped she did win tonight, not just because she deserves it from how hard she’s been training, but selfishly a part of you really wants to get fucked good tonight. Especially after the show she’s putting on for you right now. And you know for a fact it’s only for you.
Abby’s let you know multiple times how much she loves you watching her fight, seeing her crush opponents to a pulp and looking absolutely glorious doing so. It’s upsetting that tonight, she isn’t doing so well. But this is what she and Coach wanted, to start moving up the leagues and facing off against better fighters - solidifying her name among the real competition. You try to stop the negative thoughts from creeping in, try to stay positive for your girl.
The rounds keep stacking up, neither Abby or Norris winning the upper hand for long. It’s evident that both fighters are getting aggravated by round 9, their punches falling on the side of reckless, their expressions displeased and downright pissed. You shout as loud as you can, “Come on baby, you can do this!” in the hopes that Abby can hear you over everyone else. And she must have done, as her head slightly turns in your direction on instinct, and Norris’ gloved fist takes the opportunity to make contact with the side of her face in response.
The crowd screams with excitement, satisfied with the fact that something is finally happening. But all you see is red as the blood sprays from Abby’s mouth on impact, her body crashing into the ropes that barely keep her form upright. You take a step forward as does Coach, you both now waiting for the bell to ring so you can meet her at the post. 12 seconds.
Come on, just stay out of his way for a bit longer…avoid the fucker for 12 seconds!
Abby’s so stunned from that first punch that as she tries to right herself on the canvas and pick up her stance, Norris is already waiting with another blow to the face - this time an uppercut that sends her head flying back and her legs out from under her.
No no no no, NO!
5 seconds.
You’re screaming for her to get up as the crowd counts how long she’s been down.
1…2…3-
“Stand up! Abby stand the FUCK UP!”
A wave of an arm and a twitch of a leg has you screaming in relief, as Abby slowly gets back on her feet before a KO can be declared, just as the bell signals the end of the round.
Abby all but bolts for her corner, leaning her body and head back against the post - her eyes shut from exhaustion and pain. Coach partially moves out of the way for the cutman, who is trying to clean the blood from her face as best they can - the enswell pressing against the areas where Norris’ punches made impact.
You can see she’s starting to give up, that undeniable fire in her eyes has dulled to a mere glow. You can’t stand it. You try to move your head further into her corner to say “Baby, you can do this, you just gotta-”
Before you can finish, Coach has climbed through the ropes so he’s kneeling directly in front of Abby’s hunched figure, grabbing the back of her head so their foreheads are nearly touching.
“You listen to me Anderson. You’re jumping about this ring like a fuckin’ monkey on steroids. Calm the fuck down, focus in on the technique we’ve been working on for months and stop…getting…distracted.”
At this, both heads turn in your direction. Abby’s expression shows you she isn’t angry about being distracted from your support; she knew you were coming from a good place. Coach on the other hand is looking at you like you went up there and hit her yourself. He never liked when you were around, always insisting that partners were just unwanted emotional baggage that could wait until after the last punch was thrown. But Abby refuses to get in the ring if you aren’t watching from the sidelines.
“Not going out there without my girl, Coach - she’s my lucky charm.”
“Well your lucky charm has been making you late to training. Gotta get your head back to the task at hand. You can play housewives later.”
But tonight isn’t the night to bicker with Coach about things that won’t change. You will both always be here for Abby, and right now she needs you. You hold her gaze, giving a smile and a wink - “Are you seriously giving up this easy? You and me both know you’ve got it in you to bring this piece of shit down. Come on Abs…fucking finish it.”
Coach is clapping her shoulders in agreement, lifting Abby up so she can shake out the stiffness and get ready for the next round. What you hope to be the last round. You take your position back up in the crowd, and get ready to cheer for your, and her, life. The bell rings out.
Round 10.
____________
She makes every punch count, unleashing herself at Norris like a fucking beast. He doesn't know how to respond to it at first, taken aback at how quickly Abby has switched up her fighting style. The renewed vigour in her movements only enrages Norris even further, the confidence that this fight was his now starting to crack under the weight of Abby’s rage.
He still manages to land some blows, but it’s almost as if she’s stopped feeling them - blinded by the sheer animalistic instinct to push through and keep punching. A flurry of blows to Norris’ face causes him to hunch down and over for relief, but what he doesn't realise is that he’s just given her the perfect head shot from above.
The blow comes fast, and hard. You wince as her gloved fist makes impact with the back of his bent head, forcing his body further beneath her.
Norris goes down, face first into the canvas at Abby’s feet.
Knockout.
The volume of the crowd increases, if that’s even possible, counting along with the MC to ten to see if Norris has it in him to keep going. You’ve never been more relieved when he doesn't move a muscle.
8…9…10! KNOCKOUT!
You’re screaming, jumping with your arms in the air like a crazy person. She won. Abby won. The MC brings her to the centre of the ring, raising her arm with his to signal her victory. She’s shouting too, showing her black mouthguard mixed with the sight of fresh blood, unable to stand still as she takes a victor’s lap, celebrating her win.
Coach rushes up, gripping her in a bear tackle whilst you look on from the sidelines - still trying to come to terms with what you’ve just witnessed. She won. Against ‘Thunderstorm.’ This is what she’s been working towards for months, hoping for the chance to make her name known among the big leagues. Your girlfriend just put herself on the map, and it wasn’t about to go unnoticed…
____________
It takes a while for you all to make your way out of the stadium, fans constantly asking for autographs and pictures with the underdog-turned-champion of the night. It was nice to see. Finally, Abby was getting the recognition she deserves. Coach was eating that shit up, as expected, spreading the word to anyone that listened that we had a new heavyweight world champion in the making. Abby would get that glint in her eye at every mention of the ultimate title: world champion.
Her head might as well be made of glass, because you can see exactly what’s happening up in that brain of hers as she processes the weight of what’s happened tonight. She can see the prize that has never been in reach now that little bit closer. And she wants it. Bad. You go to remind her to take it one step at a time, but you know it would be received the wrong way.
A number of journalists and presenters were waiting by the entrance of the stadium as you emerged into the cold night. They rush you as soon as they spot Abby. You weren’t expecting so many people to come at you with cameras and microphones, reaching around, past, through you to get to her. A flurry of voices swarm the now enclosed space.
“Anderson, how do you feel after tonight’s knockout performance?”
“Who’s next on your kill list?”
“Are you staking your claim on the heavyweight belt?”
“How will you be celebrating tonight, Abby?”
Overwhelmed, you take a step back so Abby is ahead of you - Coach now placing his arm around her shoulders to also lean into the microphones held up against Abby’s mouth.
“The next fight is coming sooner than you think. Anderson is ready to take on any of these amateurs and claim the title that is rightfully hers.”
The interviewers all look to Abby expectantly, hoping she seconds the statements made. Of course she does. It’s Abby.
“I’m ready for the next fight. This is what I’ve been training for and I'm not going to slow down now. Put any fighter in front of me and I’ll deal a knockout to whoever wants one.”
You hear this and let out a long breath. This was the flaw that irked you most about Abby. She never knows when to take a break - to step back and appreciate how much she’s already achieved. Once she gets something, it’s on to the next. You just worry that she’s going to burn herself out.
As expected, her comment only invited them to ask more, now wanting to hear the name of the next person she wants to challenge and when that would be. Coach begins to move you all forward again, giving that cheshire smile he’s perfected and a sly “you’ll have to wait and see” - most likely aiming to leave some suspense in the air so more articles are printed tomorrow.
All three of you go to move through the reporters, making your way to a black SUV waiting just ahead. From where you took a step back, the crowd sees an opening and begins to slot themselves in between you and Abby, hot on her heels with more burning questions. When she turns her head to answer them, that signature smirk on her face is quickly replaced with alarm, then stone cold anger.
One reporter is physically elbowing you out of the way to get a better angle for his picture, the flash blinding you for a second, causing your head to snap the opposite direction.
You hear her voice ring out over everyone.
“Get your hands off my girlfriend and back away. Now.”
She pushes through until she’s in front of elbow-camera guy, who is currently regretting his choices now Abby is towering over him, his mouth slightly open with a mixture of awe and fear.
“Do you think it’s ok to treat a woman like that? Do you think you can push my woman out of the way and expect me to pose for a photo?”
He’s frozen to the spot, and Abby only raises her eyebrows in response. Taking your hand and pulling you to her side, she turns you both around after muttering “watch yourself” to the wimp you leave behind.
“Sorry baby” she whispers in your ear, thumb brushing down the side of your arm. Placing a hand on the small of your back, she leads you both through to the SUV and watches you get into the car before joining you. The voices now muffled; you finally release a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding in since the start of the night. She was fine. She’s safe. Everything’s ok again.
Now you finally have a chance to talk just the two of you - well, you and Abby and Coach - you want to make sure she isn’t serious about jumping straight into another fight. But when she turns to you, her eyes alight with pure happiness that you haven't seen in a long time, you decide to have that talk in the morning.
You have a champion to take home…
____________
The minute you get through the front door of your apartment, you’re leading her to the bathroom to get cleaned up. She’s got that dazed look in her eyes of someone in a dream. Only this dream is real, and you couldn't be happier for her. But God, does she look rough. Hot, always, but rough.
“Did you see how fast he went down when I threw that last punch, bubs? I felt like my chest was going to explode during those 10 seconds, it felt like a lifetime to wait. I need to start thinking about my next move with Coach and strategizing ‘cos I could never use exactly the same technique, these fighters are way smarter than any of those fuckin’ rookies I’ve fought before and-”
“Woah, Abs slow down.” You give a slight chuckle as she realises her rambling, holding her hands up in defeat - allowing you to lightly push at her shoulders so she can sit on the toilet. You grab the first aid bag in the cabinet, packed with the essentials that have come in handy many times through the years. The cutman at every fight has of course offered to clean Abby up, but you always took it upon yourself to take care of her wounds at the end of the night. You both liked it that way. You were gentler, caring.
Getting down on your knees in front of her, you get to work wiping the dried blood from her face, placing cold packs and plasters over her swollen cheek and jaw. She sits there in silence, patiently watching you do it all - her hands trailing over your face, neck, arms.
“ ‘m sorry for not noticing you got left behind…don’t want you to think I forgot about you or anything. I just get carried away with it all, ya know?” she mutters, cutting through the silence - cupping the side of your face with her hand as her fingers begin to brush through your hair. You close your eyes as you revel in the feel of it, nuzzling into her palm to give it a kiss.
“It wasn’t your fault, bubs. Besides, you came to my rescue in the end…like always” - you give another kiss to her open palm, reaching up to take her hand in both of yours so you can kiss her sore knuckles.
“Besides, it was kinda worth getting pushed just so I could see you make that guy absolutely shit himself.” You both burst out laughing, leaning in close to one another as if you were best friends sharing a secret. This was the Abby that only you saw. The one who didn’t have the weight of the world on her shoulders, who could just be and not think about the next move.
You whisper, “I’m so proud of you,” and she almost begins glowing with pleasure from your praise.
Abby pulls you in by your face, hands back to cupping either side, eyes turning mischievous.
“I nearly forgot…I have one more thing I need to do tonight.”
You grin up at her, “oh yeah? And what’s that?”
She leans in further, her mouth stopping to hover just next to your ear, whispering “I need to fuck you like a champion.”
Her hand comes down to cup you through your jeans, squeezing ever so slightly. You’d be lying if you said you haven’t been waiting for this ever since they declared KO, getting wetter by the minute just thinking about the moment when she fucks you good and proper.
“Come on baby…time for round 1.”
#abby anderson#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson smut#abby anderson imagine#abby anderson fic#abby tlou#the last of us#the last of us 2#tlou2#i love abby anderson#tlou#abby anderson tlou2#abby anderson x you
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jaehyun perv imagines - inspired by emotional oranges songs.
Warnings: pure filth (minors, don’t interact), anal sex, oral (female receiving), cheating, fingering, public sex, squirting.
© original work by jaevie, 2023.
✷ Not Worth It: Your hands lovingly rubbed the pieces of cotton over Jaehyun's cheekbone, cleaning the blood that insisted to run down. "It's okay to lose sometimes, babe" you consoled him, aware that losing a boxing fight was never easy on your boyfriend. He often kept his eyes low, as if he was too embarrassed to face anything. On those occasions, you liked to kiss his knuckles to remind him he was holy to you, precisely where the impact with the boxing gloves caused deep red bruises. Kisses turned into bites. Bites, into licks, and when you noticed, you were already sucking on his fingers like your life depended on it, your saliva lubing their every inch, glowing under the dim light of your bedroom. You had to show him. Had to show Jaehyun he deserved it all. So you had him lie back down as you undressed and turned on your knees, letting him watch with a bulging cock as you played with your cunt and ass, sliding your favorite plug in and letting it sit inside until you were ready, gripping the sheets hard as your boyfriend pushed in, filling your back hole slowly not to hurt you. “This is just for you, my man,” you made sure to outline, with your head pressed to the pillow as your ass was stretched with the girth of his tip. “That’s it, you’re the best-” you whimpered, sliding one hand lower to rub your swollen clit. “You’re the best, Jaehyun.”
✷ Devotion: You took a deep breath when your husband poured some white wine between your legs, making your bare pussy glisten before he dived in for a taste, tongue darting out to slurp on your juices. “It tastes so good, my love,” Jaehyun praised, brown eyes ravishing with the wanton ideas filling his head. What was a man to do if not make sure his wife came back home and had a relaxing night? What was his role but to ensure you had some rest after all the work meetings and decision making? Jung Jaehyun knew his place. It was his responsibility to take care of you: cook your favorite meals, prepare you aromatic baths, massage the knots out of your muscles with the mere pressure of his thumbs. “Such a yummy pussy, I love it so much,” he added, using his fingers to spread your pussy lips and make space for his tongue to take broad licks from your entrance to your clit. Then, his tongue focused solemnly on it, licking the tiny bundle of nerves from one side to the other until you were shaking on the chair and your husband was slightly drunk, pouring some more wine before he sucked your clit inside his mouth.
✷ She Got a Man: "Does your husband know?" Jaehyun grunted in your ear, speeding his hips as he fucked you raw from behind, the same hands he used for chopping firewood now gripping your hips mercilessly. He was known for being the most helpful lumberjack in your village: everyone loved him. The grannies, the teachers, the priest... And yet there he was, cock buried deep in your cunt, eyes clouded with desire and sin. "Does your husband know you've been wanting me to fuck you dumb since we were still in school?" You had just confessed it: how you had a crush on him since you were sixteen, before he moved abroad and you found someone else. Someone that never compared to him, his calloused hands, the roughness of his breath against your neck. At your silence, Jaehyun landed a hard slap to your ass cheek, making you hiss. "Answer me." You looked at him over your shoulders, eyes burning with fire. "He doesn't." A sly grin blossomed on Jaehyun's lips. "Then we should tell him." He pushed your panties to the side even more so he could have a broad view of your pussy lips gripping him hard. "I'll send you back to him with my cum all stuffed in your pussy."
✷ West Coast Love: “Shh, be quiet. We don’t want to get caught, do we?” His words were smooth, breathed into your neck as you sat between his legs, your own spread on the hot crystal sand. Your bikini bottom was pushed to the side, exposing not only the recent tan lines on your hips, but your drenched cunt, stuffed with two of Jaehyun’s fingers. You tried keeping your eyes open, but even the graceful orange palette in the sky, waving the afternoon goodbye, was not enough to make you pay attention. You bit the inside of your cheek in an attempt not to moan, thankful whatever god existed that there were not many people around, as your boyfriend fingered your cunt right then and there, at the beach. The tip of his fingers pressed your walls exactly where you were the most sensitive, and it made you grip his arm, hard. “Go… Gonna squirt,” you warned, already feeling the familiar coil in your stomach, hand in hand with the pressure down your navel. “Go on, baby,” it was Jaehyun’s freeing reply, his palm rubbing against your clit with every thrust. He loved it when you squirted, your nectar smelled so good, it made him want to lick you whole. “Squirt all over my hand.”
#jaehyun#jaehyun x reader#nct 127#jaehyun smut#jung jaehyun#nct smut#kpop imagines#jaehyun imagines#nct imagines
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Pay it no mind
Part IV
In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).
Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. There is a brief mention of reader being injured.
Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III
----------------------
“Dr. Ieiri?” you called in a singsong voice.
The door was open, and you were half inside the infirmary, but you still knocked.
Shoko was standing with her back to the door, reading a file. She did not turn to face you, but asked “How’s your shoulder, [name]?”
Two days ago, you had been hurt during a mission. A curse had slashed your upper arm and you had taken quite a strong hit to your shoulder. The mission had been successful, though. The curse was exorcised, and you were technically still in one piece, but the wound had looked pretty nasty. You assured Ijichi that it did not hurt as bad as it looked, but Gojo escorted you to Dr. Shoko when you were back at the school, saying "We can't have your arm falling off, can we?"
Ieiri had healed it almost completely, but today was checkup day.
“It’s alright.” You sat on one of the empty beds and Shoko closed the file she had been reading.
She moved away to wash her hands while you removed your jacket and placed it next to you. Then you asked her about her weekend.
“I didn’t do much really. My neighbors got a new dog, though.” She had stepped closer, gloves now covering her hands and a mask on her face as she expertly removed the bandages off your arm.
“Oh, is it cute?” You looked into her tired eyes.
“I haven’t seen it, but it’s a dog for sure. It did not stop barking since Saturday evening.” Shoko’s attention remained on your arm.
You heard her vent about the dog and how a medical emergency had interrupted her weekend activities, and then she had asked about you.
She was wrapping fresh bandages around your arm when your next words slipped mindlessly “…I went there because Ikeda said the tea was on another level, but maybe I just haven’t tried enough kinds to tell the difference between that and the one I buy at the market.”
“Ikeda?” Shoko was securing the wraps on your arm but directed a brief questioning look at you. Then it hit you: you had not told her you had ran into him and exchanged contacts. Things really had been busy lately.
Your eyes widened. “I forgot to tell you...”
“Tell me what?”
“Remember Ikeda Haruki?” No reaction. “Tall, brown hair, hazel eyes?” You could tell no bells were ringing for Shoko.
You sighed. “Cute-coffee-shop-waiter-guy we met in high school? He served our table like a hundred times.…” You said that last part in a lower tone and Shoko’s eyes shone with realization, but you could not see her complete expression because she was still wearing the mask.
“Cute-coffee-shop-waiter-guy? That Ikeda?” You nodded, but she did not stop there. “The tea-obsessed Ikeda?” Nod. “The anime fan Ikeda?” Nod. Nod. “The Gojo-wants-to-kick-his-butt Ikeda?”
“Huh…” You frowned a little at that. “It’s odd you remember him for that, but yeah... I guess that would be him.” You put your jacket back on. “We ran into each other a few weeks ago. He is back in Tokyo.”
Weeks...
“And you are talking again…” Shoko said thoughtfully.
You nodded slowly. “We are… I mean, it’s not like we were ever on bad terms.”
A question popped up in Ieiri’s mind: does Gojo know? She doubted it. You may have forgotten to tell her, but as transparent as you were, it would not surprise her if you had decided to keep it from him. After all, if your friendship with Gojo was the Titanic, Ikeda Haruki had almost been your iceberg.
The way Ieiri saw it, it had begun innocently enough, but the half-friendship-half-puppy-love that started blooming between you and Ikeda at the end of that summer, many summers ago, had opened for a second the Pandora’s box of Gojo's messy feelings, and doom had almost engulfed you all.
Fortunately, the box had been closed when Ikeda moved away.
Gojo had told her and Suguru once “He should have moved to a different time zone, but I guess out of Tokyo is good enough.” And that was the last time she ever heard him say anything about Haruki.
“So, I’m good to go?” You were gesturing to your shoulder.
Shoko nodded. “You can stop wearing the bandages in two more days. I don’t think it’ll leave a scar.”
You thanked her and walked to the door. “[name]?” Ieiri called, and you expected her to instruct you to take painkillers if your shoulder was still sore or something like that, but that was not what she said.
“Tell Ikeda I say hi.” Had she not been wearing a mask, you would have seen the amused smile on her face.
I will not be the one to rock the boat, Shoko thought, but Gojo Satoru, you have had enough time to man up.
***
“Would you stop?” You slapped away the finger Gojo had been poking your cheek with.
Your computer had broken, and he had told you to come to his place and use his, but you had not been expecting him to just stay there watching you work all afternoon.
Gojo sighed dramatically and returned to the couch across the room. “You are not fun. Why do you work on the weekend anyway?”
It was your turn to sigh. “I have to finish a report I could not hand in to Yaga during the week,” you replied while still typing.
“Boring.” You rolled your eyes at that and continued working.
Your fingers pressing the keyboard was all that could be heard for a few minutes. Your eyes left the screen to look at Gojo. He had put away his phone and was leafing through a magazine he had picked form the center table.
Gojo was quick to feel your gaze on him. “If my beauty is too distracting, I can leave, you know?” he said turning the page of his magazine.
“Sorry to stare. I was just too surprised at the fact that you can read. Or are you just looking at the pictures?” He lifted his head and you both smiled when your eyes met.
“Coming to my home, using my stuff, sitting at my desk, and insulting me on top of that.” Gojo was speaking calmly, almost as if his words were not directed to you. “The audacity of it all...” He left the magazine aside to stand up and walk back next to where you were sitting.
“In my defense,” your focus returned to the screen in front of you, “you are the one who refused to let me take your computer home with me. So, if I am here, it’s your fault.”
“Is it now?” Before you knew it, he was leaning over your shoulder to peek at what you had been working on.
“I just finished…” You turned your head to look at him at the same time he had turned to look at your face, ending up with you two almost nose to nose.
He was wearing his sunglasses, so you saw your own eyes widen slightly when his blue ones showed over his frames.
Growing up with him, you were used to seeing Gojo up close, but lately, a weird feeling had been growing in your heart. Still, neither of you moved.
“Hey, do you know what personal space is?” you said softly.
A smile formed in his lips and you did your best no to look at it.
“Of course I do.” And he bumped your nose with his before straightening up and walking away, leaving you a bit too shocked at first.
“If you are done, we can eat out, right? Or should we order something?” He was looking at you.
“Yeah… Let’s eat out.” It took you a second, but you had recovered your composure. “Just let me save this.” You saved your report and turned off the computer.
It's all dark.
You opened your eyes and looked at the clock on your nightstand. 4:32 am.
It had been a dream… Well, not exactly. It had been a memory. That had happened some time before you confessed your feelings to Gojo, when you were already presenting the symptoms of having a crush on your best friend. Dreams and memories involving him would mix during your sleep in the months leading to your confession.
As if seeing him almost every day was not enough.
Sometimes, your mind would replay the memories the same way they had happened, like the one you had just had. Some other times, it would be a dream about you and him, ranging from the most romantic to the most bizarre scenarios, including some actual nightmares, like that one in which you had died and cursed him?
That idea is not too bizarre if you are a sorcerer, though.
It had been one of the reasons why you had decided to come clean about your feelings. Perhaps the dreams about Gojo were powered by your guilty subconscious feasting on the emotions you were trying to hide. If you stopped hiding, the dreams would also stop, right?
But you had been only kind of right. While the weirder dreams had ceased almost entirely, every once in a while, you still woke up with a memory of Satoru, sometimes, one you did not even know had been stored in your mind.
Is replaying memories a way of grieving what cannot be?
You sighed and looked at the clock again. 4:34 am.
----------------------
Note: No notes from me today, just love. Thank you for reading!
Next: Part V
@mavs-stuff
#gojo satoru#jjk#gojo x reader#jjk drabbles#gojo x you#jjk fanfic#gojo x y/n#jujutsu kaisen#jjk gojo#gojo fluff#satoru x reader#jjk satoru#gojo#pay it no mind
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Silken Webs & Pirouettes - Miguel O’Hara x Reader
Summary: (transitional chapter) you are far too drunk to understand what just happened on the dance floor. Ballerina!Reader & CEO!Miguel. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333
TW: indications of sexual ab*se, coercion.
chap nine 1/2
You’ve made many interesting decisions in your life. Some of them causing you to lose the only all you’ve ever had. This, however. This is new. This is different for you. Dancing with a man who made you hyperventilate only a week prior. A man who you can’t be in a room with for more than five seconds before becoming infuriated.
God, your head is spinning.
Your heels feel too tight now, your dress too stuffy and scratchy. You need to change everything, including your rose print panties. You’re not thinking of anything else other than the doors as you push through the crowd.
Only this time? You actually make it out, away from him.
The December chill greets you viciously, like an old friend scorned. Oh, you forgot your sweater inside. It wasn’t on your mind. Your dress is not enough to keep you warm, so you create one with the hug of your arms against your ice bathed body.
The chill turns your nose pink, alongside the apples of your cheeks. Gusts of December’s breath are like harsh slashes against your supple skin.
It’s so terribly cold that you can see each and every exhale that leaves you, your breaths tangling in the air for your gaze to follow. The cold hurts your eyes, as do the faint streetlights that look like blurred watercolor from where you stand. You hide them.
It’s only until your eyes shift from being squeezed tightly shut to opening that you realize how truly drunk you are right now.
Oh…
You need to get home, the stars in the sky are spinning and your head is pounding. You’re so nauseous, so tired. Jagged rocks meet your palm as you steady yourself upon the wall. You can’t decipher where you are. The street signs seem so far away, but the stop sign is close and it’s doing pirouettes before your very eyes.
Did you take the wrong exit?
Oh you must have, no wonder there’s no crowd. Regardless, it doesn’t matter right now. A taxi will have to stop by eventually.
The chill makes you shiver, nails digging into your arms as your teeth chatter. You don’t think you can stay upright for much longer without emptying dry cereal and free alcohol onto the concrete. Your back falls against the jagged rocks.
You’re bound to be beyond hungover when sunrise greets you, you’ll dwell over what you ran from no doubt. The thought is already plaguing you. You tilt your head back, watching your breaths float all the way up to the sky.
You feel it far too much now. What you were chasing away with the dancing. God, why did you drink this much?
You attempt a weak whistle, hoping a taxi man will take the wrong exit too. None do. Cars pass you by, probably amused by how pathetic you must look trying to keep yourself upright against the rocky wall.
You need to sit down, you’re about to faint.
“Hey hey, you alright?”
Your eyes snap open, body doing its best to straighten up as a stranger with two heads and bodies comes to your sights. Sight.
You don’t know.
“Oh yeah yeah, m’ fine.. just waiting for a cab.”
The man smells of boxed beer, and he looks scruffy even in double vision. Both pairs of his eyes are glistening for a reason you’re unaware of, and his voice seems so far away. Even so, your body knows he’s close. His hands— donned in itchy gloves, they fall upon your elbows.
“Come on sweetie, I’ll take you back home.
Before you get the chance to inhale a breath so you may protest, the man slides an arm round your lower back, pulling you off the rocks. Oh, he really does smell like beer. Your eyes are glazed over with tequila’s hold on your stability, but they still wander upon his features to find that he’s missing a tooth.
The handsy one, from earlier. The one Cindy scared away.
“Wait I know— know you.” You attempt, a hiccup breaking apart your sentence into two. You find yourself stumbling as he tugs you a bit further now and with a bit more force. He’s quiet, focused. Rushing.
You don’t like this.
He’s so sweaty, so close. His skin upon your own, it’s nauseating. Perhaps he’s getting the wrong message. You’ll just be kind.
“Oh no no it’s okay mister— I have a cab it’s coming.”
He’s not listening.
Your breaths get a bit quicker now, more panicked as realization begins to settle in. He’s taking you. Even though you know this, you can’t find the energy to form more words. To tell him to stop— to do anything.
Your body stumbles alongside his and you try to plant your heels into the concrete divots but he’s far too quick and far too big.
He’s stronger than you.
His car is worn and adorned with tinted windows.
“What are you doi-” Your speech is slurred, he interrupts you.
“Shut up.” It’s all he says as he opens the paint-chipped door. Your heart is pounding fast, banging against its bone cages. If it could, it would leap right from your throat.
And god— you are so sleepy, but fear won’t let your eyes rest. It’s all so quick and sudden. You hear the same metal doors you escaped from close, you jump. He doesn’t spare them a glance; he’s trying to push you into the back seat with even more urgency now.
“Wait— n-no.” You whisper as your trembling, numb fingertips which must be frost bitten by now, shoot up to grasp the snow fallen metal; attempting to keep your body out from the car. Though he is relentless. He pushes harder, you fall in.
Your head presses against the cool leather, body laid out long ways in the back seat of his dirty vehicle. It smells even worse than him. There are cigarette buds on the carpet, and empty beer cans in the seat pockets. You’re so drained, you could just close your eyes right now. But you feel his own gaze, looking over you.
You can’t give into it, not right now. You won’t.
Your mind is on autopilot, dazed by the shots you downed. Your body? It’s trained. You try to sit up but he immediately pushes you back down with a calloused and rough palm. His gloves are off now.
“But my cab mister… I gotta leave n’ I gotta-”
You hear a grunt, and in one swift motion— toothless is snatched back from where he once stood over you. The car creaks and shifts with force as he’s slammed up against it and in a spout of adrenaline, you shoot up— body steadying itself by leaning against the door.
Oh, woah… what a nightmare. Two Miguel O’Haras— and both of them have picked this overweight man up off of his feet.
Wait—
You blink lazily, watching as Mr. O’Hara— er a guy who really looks like him, drags the one-gloved man to the same jagged wall you once leaned up against. Your eyes watch through the tinted window as he slams him against it, sharp teeth bared like an animal while his veins protrude.
Must suck to be that guy.
You know what it’s like to be cased up against a wall while he’s angry with you. While his jaw is tense and his eyes are wild and overflowing the brim with fury.
Why is he so angry?
You hear his voice, far far away.
“Te gusta aprovecharte de las chicas? Eh, cabrón? Tienes suerta de que no te arranque el resto de los dientes de la boca…”
Something about his mouth. Something about his nauseating ways. If it were any other girl, this would be chivalrous. Maybe he just feels pity for you. The thought makes you wince.
The toothless man, his eyes are wide as he shakes his head back and forth. Panicked, frightened and desperate.
“Come on man, I don’t know what you’re saying! I don’t understand!” He’s pleading with a madman.
You don’t know how it’s possible, but Miguel drags him even further up the wall with just the strength of his arms alone. He does have big arms…
The jagged rocks slide into his tan skin, slicing it open until crimson pours from the fresh wounds— making him cry out.
Mr. O’Hara’s voice is low now, scarier. He speaks through clenched teeth.
“Understand this. If I see your face here again, I’m gonna bludgeon it. Get out of my club.”
His club?
You can’t unpack the idea of it, the door suddenly isn’t enough to keep you upright. You huff as you fall back against the cold leather. It smells of cigarettes and sex in here. It’s nauseating.
You can’t feel your feet, the chill has eaten away at them too. Faint footsteps kiss the worn pavement— closer and closer but you’re too unavoidably tired now to move from them. You can hear your own heart pound, hear each breath muffled in your pink-kissed ears.
You hope the toothless man doesn’t come back. Maybe he already has… maybe you’ve already fallen asleep, maybe you’re just dreaming.
No. The scent of firewood and bourbon is an entirely new and undiscovered sensation to the rest of the world— singular to you, it has recently become. Far too vivid and warm to simply exist in a state of your slumber.
“Dios mío…” he whispers for only the night to hear, for the wind to take with it.
Warmth, familiar and baffling wraps around your ankle. He tugs your body to him with ease, but your dress lifts. You’re not wearing anything but your soft, rosy panties beneath it.
Your eyes fall shut, lashes fanning upon your skin— hearing an echoed noise from the back of his throat. He smells more of bourbon than firewood today. He’s been drinking too.
He doesn’t tug again.
“Vente, cariño.” His voice, it sends a shiver up the base of your spine. So filled with heat, honey and silk even in this horrid weather.
Maybe your mind wants to stay right where it is, not by choice but rather impairment. Yet one command from him and your body complies, unsteadily forcing you to sit upright. You practically slump right over when you do.
He robs his shoulders of his navy coat— but it’s not like he will suffer much without it. He must have an internal heater built within his chest. He wraps the soft material around you tight. It’s far too big, it engulfs you.
When you’re close enough to him, he reaches his arms around you. God— so warm. Mm, and he smells intoxicating. Intoxicating enough to forget the events of the week prior, and even the events of tonight. Yes, he’s a stranger. Kind and chivalrous. Sweeping you away to keep you warm.
Beyond the firewood and bourbon, he smells of spices. Strong and sultry in his hair. You’re up in his arms in a swift movement, so high up from the ground where he always towers over the rest of the world. You understand now why he feels so powerful all the time.
He holds you in a fireman’s cradle, your face buried in his neck. It’s heated there too, and you don’t have the strength or energy to part from it.
His leather shoe kicks the car door shut with force— annoyance. No— anger.
“Man I’m sorry again I-”
“Cállate.” He practically hisses. The stranger complies, quick footsteps hurrying off.
You’re so exhausted, and he’s so cozy. Just a quick nap, maybe. You’ll have plenty of time to feel embarrassment tomorrow. Not now. No— you’re just so drained right now. Not just from the shots, but the feelings. The dance, the gaze, the intensity. You’ve had enough for one night.
Your soft breaths kiss the place where his pulse rises and falls, body moving in a soft sway with each commanding step he takes. A singular metal door creaks open.
“Thank you, Cindy.”
“Yes sir, of course. Everything is in there— her keys, wallet, phone. She left her sweater too, but we can’t seem to find that…”
“She doesn’t need it, I’ll get her home.”
“Sir…”
The door slams shut— and no other words are spoken, you only feel movement. You only hear breaths. His… and maybe your own. Though they are softer now, your heart doesn’t pound as loudly. Your breathing is drastically different. His is laced with the remnants of his fury, and yours is only laced with your peace.
He must feel on top of the world, so high up like this. His feet pound against the pavement, it echoes in your ears. The soft hiss of tires rolling against pebble halts at the curb. Another different set of footsteps open the car door and scurry to open another. Mr. O’Hara approaches and you’re immediately placed inside. The seats are warm, heated you think— and the car smells of him. Far different from the one you were once inside of.
Your seatbelt is fastened, hair brushed away from where it tickles your face. The warmth, it’s as if you’re a child again— aching from the harshness of the icy world until steamed milk is offered to you. The feeling lulls you— and it isn’t long before your eyes fall shut.
Just for a little while, that’s all…
Then? You’re fast asleep…
🏷️’s @reirain @needybitez @migueloharastruelove @laysmt @maomaimao @daisy-artfield @poutysprouty @chorizobeets @tabalittlelong @iitangerine @dprmoon @neptunieesworld @cyd2301 @amelialysm @justanothers-things
#atsv miguel#miguel 2099#miguel o'hara#miguel ohara#miguel o’hara across the spider verse#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara fic#miguel o’hara imagine#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel smut#miguel imagine#miguel o hara#miguel x reader#miguel spiderman#miguel spiderverse#miguel x you#miguel x y/n#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara masterlist#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara fluff#au!miguel o’hara#spider man 2099#spider man#sw&p fic#silken webs & pirouettes fic#reader insert
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