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moonstruckme · 15 days

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hi mae!!

would you be interested in writing something with steve (or any of the boys you write for) learning asl for their hard of hearing partner?

if not i totally understand!! luv ya 🩷🩷

Hi sweetheart, thanks for requesting!

Steve Harrington x hearing imparied!reader ♡ 558 words

“This is embarrassing,” Robin signs.

“It is not.” You grin, rolling your eyes at her. “It’s sweet. He’s trying.”

“SLOWER,” Steve finger spells, every letter emphatic.

“Sorry,” you say aloud, laughing. “We were just—”

“Just talking about how embarrassing this is for you,” Robin says.

“No,” you look at Steve, but he’s only rolling his eyes, “we weren’t.”

“I’ll bet she was,” he says into your ear, draping an arm across your shoulders. The three of you are taking up the entire sidewalk, not that anyone’s downtown to mind. One of the perks of Steve working the night shift at Family Video is that now he actually wakes up before noon to do things with you before work, and during summer in Hawkins you won’t find many people out in the mornings. It feels like you’ve got the town to yourselves. “Some of us weren’t in the special classes in high school, though.”

“Hey, if you thought it was more worth your time to practice your keg stands,” Robin skips ahead of you, turning around and spreading her hands helplessly, “that was your prerogative. I’m just saying that if anyone is Y/N’s soulmate, it’s looking like it’s me.”

You see the look in Steve’s eyes and know what he’s about to do a second before he signs, “Shut up,” with enough gusto to make Robin’s high school ASL teacher proud. You’d taught him that one last week, and it’s been his favorite sign ever since. His most practiced by far.

Robin only sticks out her tongue. You smile as Steve tugs you closer against his side, his skin and the material of his shirt sun-warmed against your arm. You love how badly he wants to do this for you. Every night for the past couple of weeks, you’ve been teaching him, and though Steve gets frustrated easily, he’s determined. The other day, you’d caught him signing “cereal” absentmindedly to himself while looking through the pantry.

You know he’s learning because he’s a sweetheart and wants to make things easier for you, but Robin swears he just feels left out of the club.

“Okay, I’ve got a question.” Steve retracts his arm and turns to you, walking sideways. His face goes serious as he concentrates. “Do. You. Want. To.” He signs every word, so intentional. Bless him, he’s trying so hard. “Go. Get…” He finishes the last sign, and you and Robin both burst out laughing.

His face falls. “What?” he asks aloud.

“Steve,” you say around a giggle, “where did you learn that?”

Steve looks lost for approximately one more second, and then his eyes narrow on Robin.

“You can’t blame me for taking the easy shot,” she says. There are tears in her eyes. “You’re just too gullible.”

“What did I say?” he asks, and you lean up to whisper in his ear. “Oh my god.” He rolls his eyes at Robin. “What are you, twelve? I was trying to ask if you wanted pizza, you pervs.”

“Maybe just take lessons from me from now on.” You take his hand, intertwining your fingers. Steve huffs and tugs you closer.

“Wait,” he says, “so, does this—” he signs with his free hand “—not mean ice cream?”

“Oh, honey.” You try to look sorry for your boyfriend, but it’s hard when you’re grinning so big. “No, it doesn’t.”

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undercoverpena · 1 year

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things you never asked

Javier Peña x f!reader (deaf/hard of hearing/hearing impaired!reader)

can you sign? biting the inside of his mouth, he at least attempts to look guilty as he shakes his head. gesturing, taking your pen, fingers brushing against yours ever so delicately. likely purposefully. but I will learn.

wordcount: 3.1k dedication: written for the wonderful anon who requested Javier Peña x deaf/hearing impaired reader, I hope you enjoy. AN: Please be aware, I am not deaf/hard of hearing myself, and therefore, I apologise to anyone who reads this and sees inaccuracies. I’m aware, even with the research, talking and asking questions, it doesn’t scratch the surface of truly knowing this experience.

javier peña masterlist

Initially, he doesn’t seem impressed that you are here.

Not at your presence, or that you’re standing in his office, bag in front of your thighs as you introduced yourself—never mind why you were here.

There was often little choice where you were sent. Assistance and special interests are rarely ever needed all at once.

Not that it matters, Javier Peña seems even less interested as to the reasons you’re here, or that you were sent here. Under it, though, you see something else. It's fleeting—breezing past like curtains caught in a draught—but he looks worried, concerned.

He does a good job at burying it, stuffing it down as he stares down at the file again, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge.

He does give you the nicety of looking at you when you talk, eyes, all hard and umber, flicking from the paper in his hand to you. Then, his eyes take in the sight you knew he would find eventually, the thing you don't hide, but rather wished you’d gotten to your credentials before it was spotted.

Then it flushes across his face, the flattening of creases and the immediate shift to concern.

You’ve grown good at reading people, having been around people who make assumptions as an occupational hazard. You’ve become well versed in reading lips, and the minor inflexions around them—the subtle shifts of their eyes, the way their lips try not to curl.

From the looks of it, if he had wanted someone, he had at least wanted someone who didn’t need an aid to hear him. And you foolishly wished to support someone who hadn’t written you off the moment you arrived, something you’d have commented on, if not for the fact you really wanted this particular job.

His eyes keep glancing over it—the cochlear implant—the object that allows you to do what you’d always wanted to and what you're good at.

Languages have always fascinated you, even with the clock ticking on how long you could hear them being spoken. It’s why you knew you’d be helpful—laundering didn’t tend to stick in one county, never mind the country.

“I don’t mean to be….”

You lick your lips, letting him do what he feels he must. Albeit softly, kindly.

“You can’t… you can’t go out—it’s dangerous and—“

Unmeaningly, you smile. “I’m aware I’ll be office-based, Mr Peña. But, a lot can be done from a desk.”

It leaves your tongue harshly, even if you don’t mean it to be. Even if his tone was the polar opposite, gentle, soft.

The rules of what you can and can’t do are firmly etched into your brain the number of times you’ve heard them. The amount of languages you’ve heard it said to you in—hell, someone had even once signed it.

It’s as though each time, they think you expect to run off with a gun and a badge rather than assess case files and assist.

“If you could show me where I can sit, I’ll get started—I was told you had transcripts I could read.”

He seems to run his tongue against his teeth before throwing the paperwork down on his desk.

The pile there large, sat at all angles, like adding to it is his hobby rather than sorting it.

He introduces you to his deputy—a man who tries not to stare but does so all the same. It’s his name, you remember on the initial paperwork: N. Stoddard.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Stoddard.”

“Neil,” he says, wiping his hand on his trousers before extending it.

Shaking it, your grip firm—just like you were taught—you stand a little straighter, spine a little stiffer, feeling brown eyes still on you.

In time, you’re left alone.

Playing catch-up is never fun. A risk of information overload set to hit at any moment, but able to keep it at bay with sugary snacks and coffee.

In the following days, you find it’s easier not to meet his eyes. To not suffer the same fate as the other women in the building—the ones who all sigh in the same horrid pitch that vibrates through your brain.

If he looks your way, someone else—an intern, a busybody—swoops in, desperate to remove you from the playing field. Because it’s a game getting noticed by him, each one stepping up to the plate, batting and seeing who can score.

All he ever manages to ask is whether you’re okay before his attention is needed.

You’re not sure you believe all of the reasons people give. But then, none of them realise you’re not interested in playing, not knowing that truthfully, as handsome as he is, even spending an evening with someone you assume wouldn’t be able to speak to you without your aid is more tiring and lonely, than declining the opportunity.

Even if, irrespective of the fact Javier Peña spoke Spanish and English, you doubted his language skills spread into Lengua de Señas Colombiana or ASL. Something you weren’t about to put to the test, time ticking, case mounting—there was little need in getting attached. In forming anything outside of polite behaviour and yes sir. Even if he had softened, even if he saw something in you that was worth keeping around.

Not that he shows that all too much to you, barely letting a glance fall in your direction. Occasionally, he’ll look, ask if you got that, whether he needs to repeat it.

With others, you’d have bitten back that you can hear him perfectly, but with him, you swallow it. Let it erode a hole on the tip of your tongue, suspecting he didn’t mean it as condescending as it came out.

You still do respond with a gesture—a thumbs up, an okay sign, just to stick the point in.

It seems he’s wired to keep everyone at arm's reach, you assume. Likely making up for something, a wrong or a right—you can’t be sure. So, you don’t assume, you’re too busy, too much needing to be checked, typed.

The more transcripts come in, the less it all makes sense. Your fingers typing, trying to find some pattern, so no one has to risk involving the wife.

It’s easier to fake being a workaholic as the reason you don’t look up at him when he walks past. When you keep your chin dipped when the end of the day arrives.

Because even if you’re here to help process legal paperwork, to be the middle person and keep the peace, you couldn’t help but notice that he was good-looking. Somewhat reserved, but handsome.

Something you get to see firsthand a few days later, finding him standing at your desk, fingers tapping against the wood.

At first, you don’t dare look up. Your stomach drops, your implant thrown in your bag—the lump in your throat from your earlier sob all returns.

You had known the day would end badly from how your morning began. An overslept alarm, a coffee-stained blouse and your lunch on the floor in a mess—and that was before you got in.

Then it was rushing, snagged trousers on a desk end and no batteries for your cochlear implant in your bag.

You reach for a pen, for paper—glancing up again, and it’s like the lights have been switched on, suddenly seeing what everyone else falls for.

The brown pools in his eyes—how they coax you in. Call for you. They make you forget how to think, breathe and recall. Mainly because, unlike usual, they’re soft, wide and large. They’re full of empathy and pleading for forgiveness—

Shit. He’s speaking.

His lips moving. Your brain quickly, and already, works a translation out as your forehead creases and your lips slide up into your cheek.

He’ll remember—you think. He’d stared at it enough in the moments you’ve been around him that he must.

But, the longer he talks, the more you fear that won’t be the case.

It’s why you stop him.

Racking your brain for the sign in ASL before slowly raising your index finger, moving it to your cheek near your left ear—to a spot close to your lower cheek, and signing to him.

His lips stop moving, sliding to a halt as he stares. And you grab a scrap piece of paper, your pen gliding over the sheet in the neatest you could get it:

I can’t hear you. Ask someone else.

Javier considers it. Leaning more so on your desk.

Doing so with a tilt of his head and a stroke of his jaw, the sleeves of his jacket rolled up—allowing you to see how his veins twitch and his muscles flex as he thinks.

Gesturing for the pen, he takes it, adding in neater writing than you banked on:

You don’t want to help me?

You smirk, looking up and finding him watching you—smiling.

Suddenly, you’re unsure whether you should remind him you can lip-read. That if he sticks to one language, you’ll be able to keep up.

Instead, you take the pen back, seeing something dance in his eyes, you know you should run from. But you don’t.

Can you sign?

Biting the inside of his mouth, he at least attempts to look guilty as he shakes his head. Gesturing, taking your pen, fingers brushing against yours ever so delicately. Likely purposefully.

But I will learn.

You snort. In all of your free time? you wonder, and from the way his eyes open a fraction wider, he reads your mind.

Staring, wiping his thumb over his lips as you stare at the imperfect handwriting with the perfect Spanish. You write:

I caught one word. Ask again, but slower. In one language.

It shifts, changes. Like day into night, like spring into summer. Things bloom.

Days bleeding into a week, a week ticking up to a month. The hours together, even with his meetings, growing, rooting something down that you know should worry you.

Because he’s not like this with Neil.

Neil who can hear him, and likely always will; Neil who works here permanently, and won’t be whisked away when all is said and done.

You let it happen anyway.

Watching it begin with him checking in, not just sending Neil to do so. His care spreads into offering you a drink, slowly mastering the perfect way you take it.

He hovers, and you don’t hate it.

An attachment forming, weaving itself between the two of you, pulsing—and you should stop it.

There’s fleeting things, ones which seem obvious, but it’s better to ignore. The way he moves you to the side of the pavement away from the cars when you find yourself going out for lunch at the same time as him; when he realises that you find it easier if he sticks to one language, not doing an oddly beautiful mix of Spanish and English.

You make him laugh, and he makes you smile.

Something you’re sure countless others do, but you try not to linger on it. Instead, finding his eyes barely glance at the thing, which helps you hear the sound he makes, instead only looking at you.

It’s why you don’t argue that you can’t go with him to Curaçao. Instead, you pack a bag—finding a rationale for the reason you’re on a plane, foot almost brushing his as you sit opposite.

“You stay out of sight, you’re here for—“

“My tongue,” you bite back, not glancing up, but smirking at the way the air shifts. “I know, Javi. You don’t need to read me my rights.”

He leans back, elbow meeting the armrest, studying you—thumb swiping his bottom lip. A movement you notice he does a lot, so frequently, you almost fear you’ll mirror it.

“¿Qué?” you ask.

He shrugs, thumb still tracing. “You’ve never called me Javi.”

Closing the file, you cross your leg over the other, the tip of your shoe brushing his in the act. “Well, I’ve never been taken from my desk.”

It’s chaos.

An inevitable coincidence when he takes off in a run, and Javi follows. Pink shirt blurring in the distance, your feet slowing to a near jog, knowing you’d never be able to keep up.

You try, because you’re stubborn, difficult.

A person who should know better, and yet finds herself very much somewhere you shouldn’t be—just because he asked nicely, and did so following a flurry of compliments.

You’re good, really good. You seem surprised. No. Not surprised. Just… Surprised? Alright, you got me, muñeca. You calling me muñeca cause I’m fragile? No, just other names seemed inappropriate.

It’s muñeca that circles your mind as you follow the mess the chase leaves behind—the shouts, the knocked-over furniture and the way the crowd parts like the sea. Your hands brush past people, guiding yourself back to him—to them. Your body catches shoulders, head almost knocks against walls as you try to follow. Running, fleeing—calves burning as the sun beats down on your skin. As your arm throbs from meeting a wall, a graze most likely being a badge you’ll wear for a few days.

Chest burning as you reach the square, finding pink and a crowd gathered you let a breath soak into your lungs. Taking another and another, steadying your pulse as you watch him raise a gun. You brace, but find nothing.

Just a shove and push of the crowd.

And nothingness.

Nothing.

It dawns then, as your blood stops thumping in your head. It rushes through you, crashes and slashes the relief at catching Jurado, because you can’t hear.

It rises like fire, spreading from your stomach and growing up your oesophagus. Disorientation mixing with loss, hand clutching the place it should be, eyes scanning the floor in circles as you pace and retrace.

It stings—the tears which come thick and fast. Your hand remaining against your ear, unable to catch each gasp from a sob, doing so, even if you can’t see through the thick pain coated in your eyes—

You’re spun, finding brown eyes, tousled hair and a pink shirt. Soft, but slightly calloused fingers, slide down your forearm.

He spots your tears, taking the sight of you in as his other hand cups your chin, tilting you to face him. Those brown eyes, the ones softening second by second, making you swallow, making your brain empty—

He’s speaking. A blend of languages from the look of it, mixing from one to the other, jumbling whatever thought process you had.

Lips moving quickly, fingers wrapping around your forearm, and you stare. It takes a second, your mind slowly engaging, before you lift your hand, tapping against your ear as you frown.

It’s then you can read it. Now he’s slowed his lips and chosen one language.

You can’t hear me?

You shake your head, unsure how to begin to explain, without sign language or paper, that you lost it somewhere in the chase. Your fingers pointing to your ear, moving your arm, signalling to him, but you could feel it—the dread. It creeps over you, half-expecting him to excuse himself.

But instead, he releases his hand from yours, asking with precise fingers and a concerned look if you’re hurt—if you can walk.

Answering with head shakes and signs in response, your eyes still brimming with tears—throat choked by emotion and the lack of sound.

There were moments, fleeting since you’d arrived in Colombia, where there had been no sound to the point it had hurt your head, and now you missed how loud it all was—missed the liveliness of it.

That feeling sitting with you, drenching you as he leads you into a car, and then a car into a plane.

It’s only after take-off, the sensation of being in the air felt by every bone, do you think, do you replay it all.

He’s lost in talking to Jurado. His words are not easily untangled, but his focus on him is enough to tell you that you can relax.

That’s when it floors you:

He signed.

Not once, twice or even thrice. He signed a multitude of times. In the square, in the car—even as you boarded the plane.

Your eyes look up, glancing over, finding his fingers wrapped around his chin, staring—as if waiting for you to notice.

He must read minds, concluding that you’ve figured it out. Not saying a thing. Neither of you is signing a vowel.

Not doing so until the wheels of the plane land in Miami, the people waiting to take Jurado do so, leaving the two of you for a moment.

He must wait for you to move, unbuckle your seatbelt and go over. But you don’t. The minutes collected, eventually finding him coming closer, sitting in the opposite seat—the table folded out without glancing at it. Pulling out paper and a pen.

Then he writes: Told you I’d learn.

You smirk, licking your lips, taking the pen—the one you realise is yours. You want a medal for learning a few phrases?

Tilting his head, he smirks back. Mirroring yours. The two of you sit in it, until you unbuckle your belt—shifting to the edge of your seat.

Now we’re done, I’ll be sent to another office.

He nods, smirk lessening as he takes the pen. I know.

The sorrow etched into his face is one you feel thumping in your chest. A longing to stay, to help in some other ways, not that you’re sure how.

Taking the pen, you offer a smile before you write quickly:

It cannot hurt to do this, then.

His eyes glance up to meet yours as they register, watching you move close—confusion melting outwards just in time for you to lean forward and kiss him.

A thank you, initially.

All soft, delicate—more testing the waters than anything else. Until, his lips move with yours. Thanking him again, thanking him for the kindness in the square, for trying.

Feeling that same palm cupping your cheek as he deepens it, as he holds you close, the other hand sliding along your knee.

It’s wrong, most likely—a breach of some kind of contract you signed. But, then, you weren’t meant to have left, to have gone with him, faux-finalising other documents in the air when you should have been on the ground.

So, this—giving in—kissing him, was minor.

an: to the anon, you deserve the world. thank you for trusting me with this.

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imaginedreamwrite · 1 year

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Not a request for your picture drop but could I request a little drabble on soulmates? Someone on my timeline reblogged a lot of soulmate fics today and I'm hooked again.

Maybe for Steve or Bucky?

It was the moment the door opened and they’d been cast into the decked out theme, that made them question whether or not they actually wanted to be here. It was the moment the smell of freshly made popcorn hit their noses followed by the shrieks and laughter of kids running as best as they could, that made them wonder if being roped into Stark’s charity event was as accidental as he claimed.

Neither Steve nor Bucky was opposed to being present at these charity events, neither one of them would truly negate the chance to give back however it was working closely with whatever whims Tony Stark had for them that was anxiety inducing.

All he had told the two super soldiers was to arrive exactly at 2pm and show up in their uniforms with their personas on full display. With the two men closely aligned, as being each others soulmates and just missing one third of themselves, they could detect more than most who were without any indicators of who their other half was.

“Its captain America!” A little boy with an oxygen tank being wheeled behind him had scooted toward Steve, and in a single bound had made all hesitations dissipate from the soldiers body.

“Sick kids hospital, didn’t Tony tell you?” Clint had slipped past the two, watching them as they were getting nearly bombarded with kids. “They’re raising money for new beds, new monsters, a new intensive care unit-”

“And the Winter Soldier!” Bucky was tugged forward, caught off balance and nearly stumbled flat on his face as a little girl reached for his arm in wonderment.

“Still wanna leave, punk?” Bucky teased Steve, looking back at one half of his soulmate with questioning gaze that centred entirely on Steve’s daze. “Steve? Ya alright, pal?”

Steve had felt the cusps of full colour slowly radiating into his field of vision, the hues of faint light hitting him with the all too real sense that he was in the same room as their missing piece. The kids around him were eager for attention and he was not one who wanted to disappoint them however he was held captive by a woman talking with Clint.

“Bucky-” Steve spoke his name, his throat and voice cracking as an air of suspense whipped around him and his world became brighter and more Saturday’s.

“Captain America! Captain America!” Kids scrambled to gain his attention as the world around him shifted into a new direction and dimension.

“Holy shit-!” Bucky cursed, coming to stand straight and tall, his eyes likely also becoming overwhelmed with colours that had never yet been see .

“THE WINTER SOLDIER SAID A BAD WORD!” The kids around them chortled, cackling and screaming in glee as Steve and Bucky were completely enraptured by a woman on the other side of the room.

Coney Island indoors, a fair inside for kids who may never have the chance to go. It was a fair to raise money for sick kids, and it was a cause Steve could get fully behind. He was a sickly child once, he was a child who could’ve died any number of times over and over again.

It was a Coney Island theme filled with colours and sensations, and yet all he could focus on was the missing part of himself and Bucky.

“Colours-”

“I never knew the world could be so gorgeous.” Steve inhaled and exhaled slowly, his eyes fixated toward their soulmate who was as equally shocked and in awe.

Steve’s smile was slow to rise, and he had awkwardly raised his hand to wave twice, back and forth to somehow acknowledge their soulmate.

Bucky had watched Steve, eyebrows furrowed and a soft chuckle threatening to spill from his lips. He was equally endeared by Steve’s continued awkwardness and embarrassed.

“It’s her.” Steve mumbled under his breath, falling back into his task at hand when he crouched and started interacting with the kids surrounding him.

He had only ever raised his head when two additional people joined their little space, and then Steve locked onto a gorgeous pair of eyes that stole his breath and his heart.

“Steve,” Clint addressed Steve and Bucky before introducing his friend, his fingers poignantly moving, “this is Y/N, a volunteer for the sick kids hospital. Y/N this is Steve & Bucky.”

Bucky stood from where he was crouching and inhaled sharply, just as captivated as Steve was.

“I lost my hearing when I was 16,” you used sign language to communicate along with your verbal explanation, fingers forming each word despite them not knowing ASL, “I had meningitis. I recovered but…”

You tapped your left and right ear and then shook your hand to signify your ability to only partially hear. It was a message that was received with the weight of the two soldiers finding out you were theirs, another layer to the life-altering news of the day.

“I can talk and I use sign language but-”

“Bucky,” Steve drew his hand between Bucky and himself, “Steve-”

“I think she knows, pal.” Bucky nudged Steve, attempting to save him from further embarrassment, only to falter himself when the sound of your laughter rang in their ears.

#soulmate!Stucky x deaf!Reader #soulmate!Stucky x hard of hearing!Reader #deaf!Reader #hard of hearing!Reader #hearing impaired!Reader #Steve rogers x deaf!Reader x bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x deaf!Reader x steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes x hearing impaired!Reader x steve Rogers #Steve rogers x hearing impaired!Reader x Bucky Barnes #soulmate au #stucky x reader soulmate au

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gniteruirui · 1 year

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Here my y/n (Chris) and sun/moon

Weird moments you will see me coloring the DCA (because I’m very lazy to do it and also because I suck at it) I would like to put so many things about them but I’m bad at writing in English lol

So I will draw about them more in the future (probably)

#my art #fnaf sundrop #reader is hearing impaired #fnaf security breach #fnaf moondrop #sundrop #moondrop #fnaf daycare attendant #DCA #fnaf dca #reader #y/n #bad English sorry

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velvettequila · 1 year

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Deja blue x hearing impaired reader

(For @dyingofcookies . I’m simply going off being hard of hearing and also my experience being around people who are deaf and use hearing aids and do not use them)

Being a scientist for the RDA was a dream of yours you never thought you would be a scientist for the deja blue team. You treasured your work, as the team treasured you. there was a catch though being hearing impaired and wearing hearing aids in an environment where you constantly needed to listen made it hard. The Deja blue team always made sure u heard correctly even writing things down if you didn’t sign. If you did sign due to being deaf they would probably learn to sign especially Lyle who would go the extra mile for you. Even in the quarters, you shared when you struggled to make out words they would be patient and speak slower and louder to ensure you heard.

If you are shy and sometimes do not speak up when you didn’t hear they would speak up for you and have the person speaking repeat even if they can’t tell if you understood. In the quarters when you maybe are not wearing your hearing aids taking a break from hearing miles would probably get upset with you for ignoring him even though u simply don’t have your hearing aids in.

#deja blue #colonel miles quaritch #avatar recoms #avatar way of water #avatar quaritch #avatar miles quaritch #z dog #hearing impaired #avatar 2009 #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #avatar #lyle wainfleet #black readers #x black reader

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bloominstorm · 2 years

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Like… is Takemichi gonna die..

#let me just say I’m disappointed in Mikey’s backstory/POV #we’ve been waiting for fucking ever to finally hear his thoughts and see what makes him tick and we got subpar shit tht didn’t explain #everything like WHY DOES HE HAVE THESE DARK IMPULSES IT WASNT BC OF HIS PARENTS DEATH OR SHINICHIRO #HES BEEN LIKE THIS EVEN BEFORE HIS MOTHER DIED AND HE DIDNT REMEMBER HIS FATHER BESIDES ONE MEMORY #then we finally get to see Mikey’s unfiltered and raw thoughts on shit tht happened and all the important shit gets ignored and the shit #shown is rushed and doesn’t really reveal shit??? like why didn’t we get more on his true feelings about takemichi #i for one wanted to know if his friendship/affection was genuine considering we’ve seen how he really is and how he has no issues trying to #kill him.. like did he only fuck with Takemichi because of his similarities with shinichiro it’s like wakui started on it then said fuck it #back to Takemichis POV it’s so annoying and not rewarding at all for readers who’ve been waiting on this #Mikey talked about Kisaki more than Takemichi Thts just ridiculous #also can we PLEASE get his feelings on Draken’s death like why tf are we still waiting for tht #but Mikey is fr evil af because he’s completely aware of what he’s doing and he’s still trying to kill his old friends #dude didn’t you leave to protect them I understand they came to you but beating them down is enough why are you actually trying to kill #takemichi like he’s genuinely trying to beat him to death and he’s doing this consciously #i get he’s far gone but there’s no way to come back from this #also Takemichi is literally so close to death wtf I wasn’t wakui to give Takemichi anything really since it’s clear he hates him and is up #Mikey’s ass but my God why have him just charge in endlessly to just get his ass beat are we gonna see some variety #like my dudes vision and hearing are literally impaired now because of Mikey’s deranged ass when is enough gonna be enough 😭#but now with the vision he got now I’m hoping this will give him the upperhand in the fight #because I’m actually tired of seeing him get his ass beat it’s enough now #he’s been getting dogged the whole series can he FINALLY have his moment fr #like an actual moment where he’s not the punching bag??? he had it against Kisaki but tht was bittersweet since he wasn’t the one to #actually kill his annoying ass #so at this point I’m over Mikey and want him taken out so like..let’s get on tht #tokyo revengers spoilers #Tokyo revengers 266

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bradshawsbitch · 1 year

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#would anyone read rooster x hearing impaired!reader? I don’t know asl but I know some ssl #aka Swedish sign language #I am hearing so I’d never want to offend anyone #but I’m itching to write something along the lines #anyone with loss of hearing that follows me? tell me how you’d feel about it?#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader

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aeldata-usa · 4 months

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bubblebbg · 5 months

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❝𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞: 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧❞

Mizu x Reader

- Reader in this fic is of some sort of mixed or foreign descent, but this can also be interpreted as having any trait that would make them a pariah of sorts. Warning, not proofread lol. All spur of the moment.

When you found the blue eyed stranger laying bloody on a lonely street, you took her in. You keep her warm, fed, and with mends on her wounds. Mizu knows well that there are sacrifices to be made on her path. She doesn't know just how much they can sting.

Mizu can't quite pinpoint the most irritating part of the pain. The ache of broken bones, the sting of stabs and slices, the consistent ringing in her head; everything hurts, and she supposes that like every other injury, it's all par for the course. Small price to pay for revenge. She knew she'd have to rest at some point, but she didn't expect to be incapacitated, edging on consciousness for days. Every now and then there's a sensation like coolness on her forehead, or water at her lips.

It's on day three that she becomes lucid enough to realize someone's taking care of her. Her distrustful brain is immediately sounding alarms, but her body can do little to react in such a broken state. Mizu can do nothing but lie silent and weak on this futon, sipping medicines and soups when it's brought to her mouth and being patched, cut for cut, wound for wound.

The first thing she notices about you, her caretaker, is your eyes - eyes brimming with concern and care, eyes that catch every weakness of her flesh and seek to heal. She hears your whispers of "poor thing" and "I'll get you healed up in no time". And being Mizu, her first thought is...

"Why?"

She hadn't meant to say it out loud, but she doesn't rush to take it back. Why are you, a stranger, so willing to take care of her? Why are you expending your resources on a broken thing, a mistake that any other sane person would let rot in the street where they found it?

You only smile at her, and in such a way that makes her heart race. Gentle, patient, tentative. She doesn't like it one bit, the way it pulls at doors she's kept locked for years. Her eyes focus, taking in what you look like as you stand and ready yourself to leave the room.

"I don't need your pity!" She manages to choke out. It has you stopping in your tracks.

"It's," she coughs, sputtering on words, "It's because you're just like me, isn't it? You're different. A monster."

The look on your face is one of mild amusement, an eyebrow raised and the corners of your lips upturned. She's not sure if it's that or the confidence in your next words that makes her cheeks heat up.

"I am not a monster. Neither are you."

And you're gone, leaving her to deal with the weight you've left in her chest.

𓆩… . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . …𓆪

The days turn into weeks, the weeks into months. With so many parts impaired, it'd only make sense that healing would take this long. Most of all, it's your endless patience that surprises Mizu. When she reopens a wound by carelessly trying to train despite your cautions, you're there patching it up. When she expresses her frustration with not being able to take up the sword yet, you're there reassuring her that it'll all be fine in time. You're kind when she's haughty and sarcastic (which makes her feel guilty, and thus even more indignant), and this extends to others as well. She often sees you helping children or neighbors, anyone in need. You're loved in this town.

It makes her a bit irritated, seeing your kindness bestowed on others. At first she thinks it's because she sees weakness in your actions. Then she thinks it's jealousy - why are you, someone who would otherwise be an outcast like herself, so beloved by your town? How come it didn't turn out this way for her? But when she sees you cooking enough for the both of you and the family next door, stirring slowly as the food steams, she thinks to herself, god, they're even patient when they're cooking. And then it hits her.

She is jealous, but not in the way she thought. In the way that yearns for your priority, that seeks to be the only recipient of your sweet manners and loving nature.

It doesn't help that you've grown close, too close for her liking. There have been nights spent in each other's company, saying nothing but gazing at stars. There have been conversations in which you've both laughed, some in which you cried. Mizu's mind can't help but remind her that this isn't safe; the last time she opened her heart up, it returned battered.

But this - you - feel safe. You dedicated nearly three months to healing her body, all the while you had been patching up wounds the eye can't see.

"I'm leaving," she says meekly on a warm evening, the two of you sat in a field of grass overlooking your village. You look to her and she only stares forward. You suppose it's better than her leaving without telling you, but the pain is no lesser because of the thought.

You take a deep breath and exhale before answering, "I had a feeling."

There's a long silence between the two of you. It's your turn to watch the sun setting over the trees as Mizu looks at your expression, the hints of sadness in her eyes.

"Do you... do you really have to? You are welcome here, you know. You'll always have a home here with me."

The words have Mizu choking up and suppressing the sudden and unnerving urge to cry. What you've done to her in three months still astounds her.

"I do. You know I do. I was always going to have to leave."

Mizu is caught by another urge, the urge to take those words back when she sees streams on your cheeks. You sniffle and hiccup, and it's so much less pleasant than your usual smiling disposition. It hurts in the way no blade ever could.

The sun is disappearing, and she wills herself to stand. If she doesn't, she might never go. She turns to leave and you stand as well. She stops in her tracks when you tug on her sleeve. She faces you and you slowly, carefully bring a hand to the side of her cheek. When she doesn't flinch away, you lean in close. Your lips meet in a kiss that conveys words that neither of you have the power to say.

You pull back after a moment, your forehead pressed to hers and your eyes closed. Your voice is quiet, almost inaudible when you say your goodbye.

"Break my heart once by leaving. Do not break it again by dying."

She turns and leaves while your eyes are still closed. You open them to an empty field, your palm still wet with her tears.

#blue eye samurai #mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai mizu #taigen #akemi #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai angst #mizu x reader #mizu x you #taigen x reader #akemi x reader

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vanderilnde · 3 months

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a more fleshed-out version from the third prompt of this post of mine.

cw for emotional manipulation, breaking in, stalking, smut, babytrapping, and dubcon to be safe

simon riley/reader

Something is wrong.

Your suitcase is halfway past the threshold of your front door, halfway past your new grave, when you notice the hum of salt and tobacco in the air. Discomfort licks your insides and binds to your skin so heavily that you begin to sweat. A tinny sound peals out as you rearrange your keys between your knuckles, clenching it, and step inside your flat.

Your heels are at the foot of your shoe rack. Your coat isn’t where it’s supposed to be, crimped in a pool on the floor. Your framed photographs are all inched to the left—you know this because you committed their placement to your memory—because you feared this would happen.

Something is seriously, gravely wrong.

You feel like you’re lost at sea. Dull-headed and impaired under the alluring melody of a blood-thirsty siren. Walking towards their call, your legs moving before your mind can, spit in the presentiment of fear the same way insects get caught in spiderwebs. Stuck, and about to be eaten.

You trek further into your flat, following the telltale signs that someone has been here—is here. A general shift in air. The stench of stale herbs and metal. A trail of silt on your hardwood floors, that of which could only be caused by certain mud-clogged boots tracking into your flat.

Here, you pause. On the threshold of your kitchen. Your stomach turns inside out and if it weren’t for your ribs, your heart would have burst out of your chest.

It’s like you’re walking on glass. Every thin sliver that pokes your skin, invading you, is a splinter of fear. And it also makes it so that you can’t walk away—you’re frozen in place, watching him above your stove, setting a kettle to boil.

He hears your squeak. Simon turns around, cotton-plated in his civvies, and hums.

“Welcome home, Love.”

The moisture leaves your mouth and rushes to your eyes. A film of dew materialises on top of your waterline. It’s thick and pearlescent and clouds your vision, turns Simon into an incorporeal blob in your vision, turning him into a trick of your eyes that you hope will go away after you blink.

He doesn’t.

Instead, Simon rests himself against your kitchen counter. He crosses his tattooed arms over his chest, tilting his head, and bends his lips into an unseemly smile.

“How was your friend’s place?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?” You try getting your anger across, but your voice betrays your emotions. It’s heavily distorted by fear, waning, so much so that it makes him blandly chuckle. Like he can smell the terror roiling off of you. Like he feeds from it.

“How did you get in?”

Simon shrugs. “I’ve got a copy of the key.”

“I changed the damn locks.”

“I got new ones,” he says.

“We broke up.”

“You broke up with me,” Simon snarls. “When I was at my fuckin’ lowest. You broke up with me and I didn’t agree to tha’ shit.”

“Simon–” a gust of disbelief cuts your sentence short. You grip your hair at its roots, tugging it, twisting it, coiling your face in frustration. “Simon, you need to leave.”

“You’re talkin’ like that ‘cause you’re mad at me. Give it a few minutes, and you won’t be.”

“Are you fucking insane!?” You yell. You draw towards him and slam the kettle off the stove. “You broke into my flat!”

“I had a key,” Simon says. He steps towards you, bullying you backwards until the hind of your spine catches on the cold granite of your countertop. Until your back bends over it, Simon, looming over you. “I’ve always told you to use the deadbolt.”

You bite your lip. The blood sticking to the roof of your mouth isn’t as bitter as Simon’s eyes. His are cold, depthless.

“Fuck off.”

Then, Simon flips. His expression shifts in a whirlwind of seconds. Now, his brunette eyebrows are pursed and his lips are pointed down. His head is ensconced on your neck, his shoulder suddenly laden with an invisible weight as he kittens into you.

“Just came ‘cause I wanted to talk…” he mumbles. “One a’ my men died on me yesterday. Got early R&R for it. Thought you’d be happy to see me...”

You’re motionless as Simon clemently begins kissing your neck. You split your hands on his chest and try shoving him away, but he doesn’t move. He’s as solid as rock. Pushing himself into you, grovelling into your sleek skin.

A phantom chain is tightening around your throat. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you can say. You feel that with any words that poise themselves on your tongue, Simon won’t take kindly to.

“Simon… I’m sorry for you. I really am,” you slip out from under him and step back. “But this isn’t the way to go about it. We’re adults. And I’m asking you to leave.”

Simon raises his head, lukewarm. He stares at you through his half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily, clenching his fist around the lip of your countertop. Thickly, you swallow. You fidget with your cardigan and hope it will offset the discomfort hanging in the air. Simon takes a deep breath, sucking it all up—the discomfort, the presentiment—and you expect his huffing to precede an explosive reaction, but it doesn’t come. He just slips himself off the island and turns around, quiet when he speaks.

“Yeah,” he hums. “My old man didn’t want anythin’ to do with me, so why should you?”

Your eyes widen. Though you’ve spent so much time trying to bury it, trying to familiarise yourself with Simon’s sick gambits, a pang of guilt hits you hard.

“Don’t say things like that,” you point an accusing finger to his chest, “it isn’t fair.”

“No, no,” he grumbles. “Makes sense, does’n’it? My old man walked out on me, so I should handle you walking out on me, too.”

Simon shudders with a long breath. He slaps his face into his hands, and it’s at this point, does your knee-jerk impulse to comfort him take hold of you. The last of your even-tempered brain screams at you—he’s trying to ply you with a humanised side of him, but that side died a long time ago—but you press forward and awkwardly bring him into your arms, patting him on the back.

“Simon, I’m… sorry, okay?” He buries his head in your neck, nips at your skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Can’t you jus’ yell at me tomorrow?” He asks. Simon slips his hands into the depression of your waist, pulling you against his chest. Against the ever-rising tent of his jeans.

Your mind protests, but Simon keeps you close. He stinks of sweat, impairing you with it, spinning you around and pushing you against the counter.

“Simon–”

“Shhh,” he hums, catching his fingers on the hem of your leggings. “Y’said we can talk later. ’m tired, Love. Just need you right now.”

Any protests rot on your tongue because the wind is knocked out of you as you’re folded over the counter. Simon’s hands travel, gripping every part of you, rekindling old bruises left behind and making space for new ones.

He ruts into you, cock fattening in his boxers and stressing against his jeans. He slides a hand over the divots of your spine and bends it around your neck, hoisting your head back, huffing into your ear.

“You’ve no idea how much I missed y’Love,” Simon’s humping you now. Rutting himself against your ass with unrestrained vigour. He bites the husk of your ear, flattens you against the counter, and sinks a hand below your waistband. He spreads your pussy open like the shell of a fruit, pushing his thick fingers into its flesh, knuckle-deep and kneading you.

“How’s here?” He grumbles. You whine, and he twists himself deeper. “What about there?”

Your mind and body wrestle between pushing him away and yielding under his touch. Simon fucks his fingers a little deeper, a little meaner, into you, and chuckles when you squeal.

He rests his chin on your shoulder, and you see a sliver of bared teeth as his lips hitch up into a gnarled smile. “Ah, so that’s the spot, innit?”

You’re dew-skinned and fuzzy when Simon throws you over his shoulder, carrying you to your bedroom. Your tongue is heavy and numb and bootless against any objections as he throws you on the mattress, standing balefully at the foot of the bed.

If you were a child, you’d hide under your sheets until he disappeared. But you’re not a child, and Simon doesn’t disappear. He sinks his knees into your bed and swipes his shirt off over his head, unbuckling his belt in one slick motion.

He unzips his jeans and doesn’t even pull his balls out, just cups the gauze of his boxers beneath it and leans onto his hands.

A pearlescent bead of precum slips down the slit of Simon’s dick and drools onto your comforter. He wraps his hand around it, slips his palm up and down, tugging down your pants.

Your legs kick into a paltry complaint, but Simon pins your legs down.

“No reason in fighting,” he says, rubbing his cockhead against your clit, “You’re so wet, Love.”

Simon nudges your panties to the side and thumbs your clit. Leans in for a biting kiss and swallows your moans, slapping his fat cock against your puffy, wet cunt.

“Missed me just as bad, eh?” He huffs, setting his dick against your winking hole, pushing past your first ring of muscle and rolling at the sticky sound of your cunt spreading open.

“Simon–” you hic, latching onto his forearms. Trying to offset his bruising grip on your hips as he falls into a steady, deep rhythm. “At least wear a condom.”

He’s so thick, so heavy between your legs. Hoisting you onto his thighs and leaning over you, snapping his cock into you. He screws his face tight, pellets of sweat running down his marred collarbone. Congealing into the spindly, blonde threads of hair on his chest. Down to the wire of steel wool that thickens on his pelvis, pinching your clit each time he slams into you.

“You’re stayin’ with me, Pup,” he pants, kissing a stripe up your neck, suckling on your pebbled nipple. “Gonna gimme a litter, ain’t you? Just like we talked about?”

A little, lone tear slips down your hot cheek. Simon leans in and licks it off. He stuffs himself to the hilt, shuddering with abrupt pleasure as he skips to his feet and folds you in half, pounding into you, biting down on your shoulder.

It hits you like whiplash when Simon pushes himself so deep that you feel him swelling under your skin. He gives you no warning before emptying his balls inside you, flooding you with a white-hot come, clutching your jaw into a wet, messy kiss.

You’re blinded and eclipsed by pain as your orgasm shoots through you. The pleasure is numbing and makes you quiver, tremble, until you’re gushing around Simon’s cock and swivelling your hips to get away.

You’re shaking when he pulls back, giving your pussy no time to soften. Simon gives it a swat and flays himself off of you, heading to the bathroom. You hear the cellophane of your birth control peeling open, and the successive thunk as Simon tosses it into the bin.

You try getting up but Simon flattens you back as he crawls in bed next to you. There’s a hand of his on your waist, seemingly benign, but tightens itself each time you try slipping away. Your sniffles are piercing and Simon pulls you close. Brushes your tears away, kisses your eyelids.

“You’re not gonna leave me now, eh? You can’t,” he whispers, “you’re all I’ve got. You and our baby. You can’t leave me now.”

A pitiful cry escapes you. Simon takes that as agreement.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost smut #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost/reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 #writing #simon riley/reader #simon riley smut #simon writing

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batterygarden · 2 months

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love is in the air . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

contents: big bro! yuuta x fem & afab reader, dead dove do not eat, sex pollen, incest, virginity loss (reader), drugged sex vibes, unprotected sex w cream pies, size kink w slight pain, oral f!receiving, overstimulation, dacryphilia, 3.2 k words. hbd to my king

18+, minors dni please

When Yuuta’s teleported into his room, he’s horrified to see you already there.

You’re wearing his clothes, as per usual, and flopped across his bed while you do your homework—likely waiting for him to get home to help you with the math. Normally, this wouldn’t be out of the ordinary; the two of you have always been close and Yuuta doesn’t mind the way you tend to loiter. The thing is, you were supposed to be out shopping with your girlfriends after class today. You’ve been talking up these plans all month–-Yuuta never imagined you’d cancel.

And here he is, high off his ass on cursed aphrodisiacs (misted straight into his lungs by some flower monster) and contemplating every forbidden fantasy in his arsenal with a newfound urgency.

You jump nearly a foot in the air when you see him, so perfectly still and silent at first that he goes unnoticed.

“Oh my god, nii-san! You scared me!”

You don’t seem to catch how off he is yet, how labored his breaths come or how he’s covered in a sheen of sweat. He wishes you would. Maybe then the proper alarm bells would be ringing and you’d leave.

Yuuta only backs away, shoving hair from his face while his eyes dart all over the room, anywhere to avoid drifting to your body and the way his t-shirt pools around it.

His fatal mistake is his failure to beeline it straight out his bedroom door. In his defense, Yuuta’s thoughts are awfully foggy, and an escape route is hard to pin down, even within his moderately-sized room. Instead he trips over a book bag and lets himself tumble backwards to the floor, his katana thunking loudly when it drops from his shoulder.

His vision and hearing are a bit foggy, too, as he watches you approach him off his bed, almost appearing to move in slow motion.

“Nii-San? What happened to you?”

He makes a strangled sound when you reach to touch his face, leaning away from your hand.

“Just lost my balance! I’m okay. Y’shouldn’t touch me right now.”

Did his words come out slurred?

You frown, letting him know the fall wasn’t what you meant when you were asking, practically pinning him against the wall to feel his forehead.

“Hmm. I can’t tell if you have a fever or you’re just hot.”

“It’s probably nothing. Was fighting a curse earlier and—achoo!“

Yuuta turns away to sneeze just as you move your head to the side to look at him closer. He accidentally sneezes directly into your face, earning a little gasp.

He scoots away frantically then.

“Sorry, sorry! I don’t wanna get you sick, okay? I need to be alone. You can leave.”

You wipe at your face, holding back a giggle at the state of him. You haven’t seen Yuuta this impaired since he had the flu when you were kids.

“Nii-san, you need me to take care of you.” Your tone is matter of fact, but doting too. Deep down you’re relishing in this role reversal—Yuuta’s always the one looking after you, not the other way around.

He starts shaking his head, rubbing tiredly at his eyes when suddenly a wave of vertigo hits you.

Then you’re tumbling to the floor with him.

Your voice sounds far away when you breathe a little woah, taking longer than you should to register what’s just happened. When you do, you turn to Yuuta—a reflex whenever you’re hurt or something goes wrong—you’ve grown spoiled by his overprotective nature. So much so that even the tiniest stumbles have you expecting a warm, calloused hand beneath your elbow, lifting and steadying you.

Yuuta takes longer than he should to come into the focus of your eyes, and when he does you find his face buried in one of his hands while his other adjusts his pants.

“Are you okay?” He sounds breathless, making no move to touch you or help. Something is seriously up.

“Mhm. I don’t know why I just…” You pause, almost forgetting what you’re even saying while your thoughts navigate a new fog. Suddenly you’re warm. “I dunno what came over me.”

Yuuta only scoots a bit farther away in response, dragging himself along the wall. To you it’s almost like he’s moving in slow motion.

“Nii-san, something is wrong. I feel wrong.”

Yuuta’s breaths come in huffs when you drag yourself to him then, nuzzling your way between his bent legs.

“M-me too… that’s why I want you to go.”

You shake your head, staring at Yuuta while he stares back, squirming and uncomfortable under your gaze. The warmth inside you is starting to grow uncomfortable—almost painful between your legs. You wonder if this is exactly how Yuuta’s feeling before you consider the possibility that he may be even worse, having been infected with whatever strange illness this is before he even arrived. He’s really working to hold out on you—what a gentleman.

In fact, you think, that might be the perfect word to describe your sweet big brother. Always looking out for you more than anyone else, Yuuta sets a bar for chivalry unattainable by any man who isn’t him.

He’s always opening your doors and offering you rides. Holding your hand to cross the street, tugging you back if you try to cross without looking and, occasionally, shoving your tangled fingers in his coat pocket if it’s chilly. He always has this protective nature when other men are involved, glaring at wandering eyes and warning you of potential danger (you recall one time he tripped some guy who asked for your number as he was walking away—he was too old for you and clearly had bad intentions).

Then there’s the way he’s thoughtful. Even when you were kids, Yuuta was always getting you gifts, setting time aside from his busy schedule to play with you or take you somewhere—forging some of your favorite memories growing up. You think particularly fondly of all your old dance recitals—how yuuta would always make time to be there and give you flowers and praise (out of all the bouquets your family supplied, his were the only ones that ever earned a spot on your night stand).

Even now you’ve got a vase of pink roses in your bedroom down the hall for passing your latest algebra test.

Yeah, Yuuta’s a chivalrous brother to a tee.

And the heat in your veins has you wishing he’d be anything but.

“Y-yuuta. I need you.” Your hands reach to pull at the open buttons of his uniform, but your wrists are quickly shackled by strong hands, gentle but unyielding.

“Do you know what you’re asking?” His voice is steady for the first time since appearing in his room, albeit a little pained.

“Yes. Yeah I do.”

You scoot closer, and Yuuta’s entire aura seems to change, darkening in a way that leaves goosebumps crawling across your flesh.

Your wrists are freed but you still feel immobilized as Yuuta grabs you carefully by the neck then, tugging your face to his till his lips can capture yours for the very first time.

You can’t deny that you’ve fantasized about kissing Yuuta, if only on the rare occasions that you loosened the reins on your self control. The kiss feels as electric and all-consuming as you’d hoped, hungry like you’re trying to swallow each other whole. His lips are a bit chapped, rougher than yours and hot in a way you’ll surely imprint into your psyche. What surprises you, though, is Yuuta’s brashness; he’s not reserved like you used to imagine he’d be if he kissed you. He’s being selfish, sucking on your lips and licking inside your mouth like you’re his—and when his teeth sink into the plump of your bottom lip you start to realize that maybe you always have been.

Yuuta’s kiss is needy and passionate, but it clearly doesn’t sate him as rough palms travel over your body throughout, kneading your sides and your arms and your thighs till you're rearranged on top of him, straddling where he needs you most.

You’re instinctually grinding down on him once you are, your insides painfully empty and sensitive so that the hard feeling of him through his pant fabric pressing against your clit is the most satisfying feeling you’ve ever had. He’s quickly grabbing at your hips to help push your core against him, and that angle of pressure paired with his attentive mouth against yours has you cumming in minutes, crying out into his mouth while he grips you harshly like a ragdoll, eventually mouthing at your jaw and throat so you can breathe again. It’s the kind of orgasm that has your senses short-circuiting, your vision going in and out of focus while your hearing turns fuzzy—it’s intense and euphoric. You feel drugged.

It’s unnatural how you’re instantly needy again once you come down, panting and light-headed but impatient when you scoot back to reach for his belt. Yuuta’s hand stops yours.

“Hang on—”

“Please! Nii-san, I can’t wait, I need you—”

“I know, let me—“ he interrupts himself to peck your lips again. You want him to never stop doing that—the satisfaction is addicting. “Let me give you head first.”

Those words knock the wind from your lungs. Because now is the first time you truly reckon with a truth you’ve been avoiding… Yuuta is experienced. You don’t know who or when (as far as you’re aware he’s never had a steady girlfriend) but the way he says those words makes it clear. Yuuta has made a woman cum. The idea brings a wave of jealousy you usually keep carefully buried—it’s an unspoken rule yuuta doesn’t mention his romantic affairs, so the reality of his sex life is something you’ve avoided.

“I’m a virgin.” The words bubble out of you uncontrollably. Yuuta chuckles just a little before giving another quick kiss.

“I know. That’s why I’m gonna go down on you.”

The effects of whatever aphrodisiac you’ve been exposed to clearly haven’t waned as Yuuta manhandles you into a position of his liking before he finishes his sentence—neither of you have gained the common sense necessary to move yourselves off the floor to Yuuta’s bed a yard away. Yuuta’s still the most aggressive you’ve ever felt him as he lays you down, trailing kisses and occasional bites down your skin till he makes his way to his own boxers that rest over your hips. You catch a little glare when he spots them, a week ago he told you to stop borrowing these—you’re my little sister! It’s not appropriate.

How ironic, he doesn’t chastise you as he yanks those very same boxers down his little sister’s legs. Then he tosses them aside—not even commenting on how you got them all messy—and instantly sets to work, lapping at your pussy like a man starved.

It isn’t an experience to be taken lightly—the first lick of your brother's tongue has you moaning like a pornstar. You have to grip the roots of Yuuta’s soft hair for stability as his mouth sends electricity through your body, pleasure radiating from your cunt all throughout you till you’re not sure you know what to do with it all. Once he latches to your clit, sucking it like a pacifier while his pretty lashes blink closed in content, you can’t help but come undone again—your orgasm intense and lasting even longer than the last time—this feeling is addicting.

Yuuta licks up as much of your release as he can when you do, then he’s quickly rising up, wiping his face with an arm before tugging off his shirt.

You feel like the luckiest sister in the universe when you finally come back to earth to watch him, his sculpted body glistening in sweat as he reveals more and more skin—all for you.

Yuuta’s pants are tugged off next, but not all the way. He gets impatient once they’re low enough for his cock to be freed, stroking it shamelessly, coating it in the mess he made from cumming in his pants.

Your eyes go wide when you see his size.

“S-sorry I know t’s a lot. Are you doing okay?”

There’s a silent but in there, an unspoken i still need more.

You nod quickly, spreading your bent legs so he has full access—it’s true that you’ve cum hard enough twice to pass out for days, but your body is insatiable. Yuuta’s cock is what it truly wants; you won’t—can’t—rest till you get it.

Yuuta’s wasting no time—clearly as needy for you as you are for him. He’s already leaning over you, running his tip through your folds before you can find the desperate words to reply, “Need you inside me, Yuu.”

That’s as much confirmation as Yuuta needs before he thrusts, stretching your virgin hole till it molds to fit him. There’s a pinch, a sting that pricks tears in your eyes as you accommodate his thick girth, but it’s replaced by the pure relief of him in a matter of seconds. You whine when he bottoms out, your body clenching and grinding towards him of its own volition—again, you’re insatiable. Luckily Yuuta seems to be on the same page as he quickly pulls almost completely out of you, earning a louder whine before slamming back in, hitting a deep, warm spot that has your vision blurring.

It’s ruthless and mean the way he starts beating your cunt then—you can’t help but contrast it to the way Yuuta rocked you in his lap just a night ago to soothe you through a scary thunderstorm. This man, the one snapping his hips against your hole with bruising force and no breaks, is a different man completely.

You want to meet him halfway, to contribute to creating the absolute bliss that his cock quickly brings you, but your body can hardly keep up once Yuuta gets going. He’s so fast and strong, the most you can do is lay there and take it, clawing at his shoulders and back in a way that matches his animalistic energy.

Maybe a minute is all it takes before your body comes undone around Yuuta’s cock. Almost too eagerly and certainly the fastest you’ve ever cum before—it would be embarrassing if it weren’t for Yuuta’s loud, wanton moan at the feel of it.

“F-fuck your pussy’s too tight! Why does it feel so—ngh good—“ Yuuta fills you up for the first time then, flooding your insides with his creamy seed before you even finish twitching from your own release. The heat of your big brother’s cum in your tummy is irreplaceable—you fall in love with the feeling and don’t want it ever to leave.

Luckily Yuuta’s not done, he’s still hard even after he pumps you full, and his movements don’t relent, in fact it almost feels like he’s fucking you deeper.

“Y-yuuta it’s so much…” you manage to say through the stuffed sensation that reaches your throat.

You’re still crazy with want, you feel like you’d die if he stopped, and yet your mysterious sex-craze does nothing to counteract the overstimulation.

“‘M sorry, ‘m really sorry I can’t stop,” Yuuta pries your weak legs up while he talks, folding you up in a mating press. You don’t have the words to reassure him that it’s fine, that you need this, because then you’re coming undone again, throbbing wildly on Yuuta’s cock while your eyes roll back in your head. Yuuta cums with you shortly after, and something in you rejoices that he’s filling you with more of himself—that he’s irreversibly spilling into your most intimate parts.

He pulls out after that, and your legs go limp—all of you lifeless except your twitching, leaking cunt. It’s a good thing Yuuta’s still needy though, because even if your legs lack the strength to hold him, your insides are devastated by the lack of him—it’s wrong that he’s not still inside you.

“Yuuta—“ you start to protest before he’s manhandling you, dragging you till you’re half draped across his bed, shoving your school books and pencils out of the way. It’s like you’re partially standing, bent forward with your tummy against the mattress, but you let your legs dangle limply while you lay, unable to hold yourself.

“I know pretty,” he replies, spreading your messy thighs and cunt before shoving himself back inside you, “can’t be done.”

The sound his cock makes is obscene as it spreads you open again, paired with the whine you let out at the sensitive feeling mixed with relief. The new angle yuuta reaches makes you feel stuffed all the way to your chest.

Yuuta doesn’t waste time before he’s pumping into you as relentlessly as before, pulling easy orgasms from you again and again till your hips are bruised from his hands and his comforter is soaked with your tears and snot and cum.

Yuuta’s crying too by the time he cums a final time, gasping and whining while he fills you with what feels like his entire remaining life force, eventually using the last of his energy to pull out with a wince and collapse on the bed, pulling you up so you’re all the way on the bed next to him. You both lose consciousness finally.

When Yuuta wakes he’s under unusual covers, and finds his vision illuminated by a pink night light—it takes him a minute to recognize that he’s in your room.

But he’s still naked. He sits up with a gasp, reaching for you as the events of evening come flooding back to him, but you’re nowhere to be found—he realizes you must have coaxed him in here for some reason then left. The clock beside him reads five in the morning, but considering how early the two of you passed out the night before, it’s not surprising you’d clearly already woken.

Yuuta sips from a cup of water on your nightstand, then finds a used bath towel you’ve got hooked on your door and wraps it around his hips, venturing dizzily out into the apartment.

He hears the laundry machine going, and passes his room to find his bed stripped of sheets, the mess from your school supplies cleaned up.

Then he finds you in the kitchen with wet hair, clean clothes and an apron, flipping pancakes.

You look delighted when you see him—more than usual—with a sweet smile and giant pupils.

“Yuuta! Made you breakfast.” You say making your way to him.

Not that Yuuta’s had much time to think on it, (he wasn’t worrying over his future when your tight pussy was milking his drugged senses yesterday, that’s for sure), but in the back of his mind, he was sure that fucking you would have irreparable effects on your relationship. You’d always love each other, of that much he was certain—you had a mutual trust in that department for sure. But he was also sure things would be awkward, maybe you’d need space at first and wouldn’t look at him the same.

But then you hop your way over to him once he walks into the kitchen, rubbing hands up his bare chest before locking your arms behind his neck, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss his lips. And it’s not just a peck, either. And the curse’s aphrodisiacs have worn off.

And maybe, the irreparable effects from last night aren’t going to be so awkward after all.

#yuuta x reader #jjk x reader #yuuta smut #jjk smut #yuta x reader #yuta x y/n #🐞 writes #tw.incest #tw.sex pollen #tw.drugged sex #🐞 q

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moonstruckme · 6 months

Note

Hey!! I saw your posts about colour blind!reader and reader with hearing problems and i really love them, I have to wear hearing aids myself so it is really lovely to see some representation!! So I was wondering if you could do remus x reader (or any marauder i don't mind) where the readers hearing aids broke and remus has to help them communicate for the day while they wait to get them fixed? If you aren't comfortable with that don't worry<33

I'm so glad you liked them sweetness, thanks for requesting! Unfortunately I don't have anyone in my life who uses hearing aids that I could consult about this, so I had to rely on the internet and apologize for any inaccuracies <33

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 653 words

“Moony,” James says, cocking his head at you inside Remus’ car. You’re sitting placidly in the passenger seat while the car trembles with bass. “What’s she doing?”

“She likes the vibrations,” Remus replies, carrying a giant tupperware container of chili. Ever since he moved in with Lily, James has taken to “accidentally” making too much of nearly every meal they have so that his friends are forced to come over and take home leftovers. (“I thought the recipe was supposed to be tripled,” James had said over the phone. “You’ve gotta take some off my hands, Moony, it’s gonna go bad.”)

“She’s gonna be shaking the whole block if she turns that up any louder,” Sirius says, following them out of the house. “How can she stand it?”

“Hearing aids broke yesterday,” Remus explains, opening the passenger door. James flinches at the sound that bursts out, and Remus hands you the chili before reaching around you to turn down the dial on the radio. “We’re waiting for the shop to call so we can pick them up,” he finishes.

You wave at the boys, and they wave back with smiles somewhat bemused.

“How bad is her hearing without them?” James asks concernedly.

You go to respond, having read the question on his lips, but Remus sets a hand on your shoulder.

Hold on, he signs to you. This will be more fun.

You roll your eyes, but play along with his game, letting Remus speak for you as if you can’t do it yourself.

“She can’t hear much of anything,” Remus says. It’s the honest truth, though he neglects to mention that you’re still perfectly capable of speaking and also quite skilled at reading lips even without the aids. “Some loud noises or things with a deep pitch, but not enough to make out speech.”

“Huh,” James says. “Well, tell her I hope she enjoys the chili.”

This is great, Remus signs to you. I never get to practice.

You’re mean, you sign back, even as your lips twitch at the corners.

“She says she’s sure she will,” Remus says. “Thanks for saving us some.”

James grins. “No problem.”

“If she really likes vibrations, she should come take a ride on my bike sometime,” Sirius suggests, and he’s smiling, because he knows exactly how Remus will feel about that offer. Remus hates the idea of even Sirius, let alone you, on a motorcycle. “Tell ‘er, Moons.”

You’re already looking at Remus with a mischievous smile.

No way, he tells you. Not happening.

Buzzkill, you fingerspell.

Remus shrugs, and he doesn’t need to sign anything for you to read and what about it? in his expression.

“Ooh, they’re fighting,” Sirius deduces, laughing darkly. “This sign language stuff isn’t so hard to pick up on, is it Prongs? You can get the general meaning from their faces.”

Remus plasters on a smile. Not hard? I’ve been learning for two years, he vents to you.

You give a little laugh. Don’t listen, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. But at least tell him I said thanks for the offer.

Remus turns to Sirius. “She says fuck you.”

You make a sound of offense, slapping Remus’ arm lightly.

“Okay, okay,” he relents. “She said thank you for the offer. But no.”

“It’s crazy,” James says with a little smile. “Everything you’re claiming she says sounds exactly like what you would say if you could choose, Moony.” He glances at you, and you raise your eyebrows like I know, right?

“Alright, we’d better be off,” Remus decides, shutting your door for you and rounding the front of the car. “Thanks for the chili, Prongs. And Pads, your bike is banned to her, so don’t offer again.”

“Buzzkill,” Sirius calls after him, but Remus pretends not to hear, shutting his door.

“Hey,” you say, your voice a bit louder than you’d usually allow. You’re grinning at Remus. “That’s exactly what I said!”

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randomshyperson · 7 months

Text

I Put A Spell on You - Wanda Maximoff Kinktober #03

Summary: After a tense week and a training session, Wanda finally had enough of your attitude.

Warnings: (+18), heavy smut with power dynamics, brat tamer!Wanda and sub!Reader, edging, orgasm denial, slapping, a lot of teasing, blindfold and magical restrictions, enchanted strap, kind of rough, implied enemies to lovers, some cursing | Words: 3.559k

A/N-> This is almost late. I totally forgot I had to post the stories.

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

It was Natasha's idea, or at least it was a Black Widow kind of thing.

Most of what Wanda knew about it came from Steve's official report on the training, and the rest of the story came from Sam gossiping around the tower.

But in a nutshell: You had your vision temporarily impaired on the last mission, you were knocked out by it and it almost fucked everything up. Wanda would have thought that this was all it took to diminish your ego a bit, but instead, you and Nat had a weird widow's agreement about eliminating weaknesses or whatever, and this was adapted to your training.

The whole story was the reason you were training with a blindfold on.

And don't let Natasha hear this, but you were an impressive fighter, even more than the older widow. Somehow you were more agile and stronger than Nat, and it was the kind of thing that made Clint remark worriedly about how much harder your widow training could have been and secretly made Wanda's heart beat faster.

But back to the point: Wanda shared very few training shifts with you. Steve and Nat found peaceful interaction between team members advantageous, so as you didn't get on so well, she had fewer training sessions in your company.

Well, that changed because you seemed determined to prove that you could block blows without seeing them.

"Wow, you're still here." It came out more ironic than she wanted, but Wanda was actually almost impressed. It had been nearly a month since the whole thing had started, and this training was coming after a particularly exhausting mission. She was just going for a quick session - so that the muscles wouldn't lose habit as Steve liked to say - when she found you in the empty tower gym.

The eyes covered by a black cloth were an almost comical sight, or at least, Wanda assumed that finding it funny was what she was feeling, every time she saw your serious and concentrated form, sweating in the gym.

"Good evening, Wanda." You greeted her without looking at her, your head down. You were listening to her movement she assumed.

Wanda muttered the greeting back, busy leaving her belongings on the bench and looking for a treadmill. But you cleared your throat. "Don't you want a real challenge?"

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Oh, and that would be you, of course."

You smile, your hands behind your body. Wanda thinks she likes the blindfold, it allows her to stare you brazenly, without you even knowing.

"I'm a legendary fighter, yes."

She has to laugh at how naturally you say that. She takes a quick look at the treadmill, and well, smashing your ass really does sound more interesting.

"Okay, real challenge, show me what you've got."

Wanda positions herself on the opposite side of the mat from you, and clears her throat when you remain static.

" Won't you take your shoes off?"

She grimaces softly. Yeah, your hearing was starting to impress. Sighing begrudgingly, she uses magic to make the shoes come off and float away, and before she even has a chance to speak, you do.

"No magic tricks." It sounds like a serious warning, rather than a request, and Wanda doesn't miss a chance to torment you.

"Oh, is that too much for a legendary fighter?" She mocks, but all she gets back is an easy chuckle that she isn't able to reciprocate because you adjust your training gloves and the movement is distracting enough.

After a moment, you get into position. "I'm ready."

"At last." She scoffs, stepping forward.

Ultimately, she's impressed. And she almost begins to believe that maybe the cloth is fake - there's no chance that you can dodge absolutely all the blows she's so exhaustively learned with such ease.

It doesn't take long for Wanda to start getting impatient, and for you to start smiling at her, in that smug way that makes her skin itch.

She makes a mistake, and it's enough for you to knock her to the ground.

"Again." You say, standing next to her, equally out of breath but without a scratch. Wanda huffs.

"How the fuck are you doing this?" She asks, getting to her feet with a magical push. You swallow dry, taking a step back, very alert.

"Practice, of course." You mutter. "Are you ready to continue?"

But Wanda narrows her eyes, her head tilting slightly at your sudden alertness. She decides to test a theory, and red sparks appear in the air near your head.

The leap you make in the other direction makes her giggle playfully.

"Something wrong, darling?"

You grumble, raising a hand in warning, irritably hitting exactly the right spot to point it at her. "Stop this. I told you, no magic."

But Wanda is tired, and she's feeling naughty tonight. Something about your vulnerability makes her body heat up.

She chuckles darkly, taking steps away that only make you swallow dry. "Someone's scared." She sighs, and the sparks appear again. You gasp, clearly anxious and not knowing where to strike.

It's Wanda's fault, there are too many of those and magic is much harder to defend against.

She chuckles at your state, and you snap back almost immediately."That's not funny, Maximoff."

A magical tug pushes under your knee, behind your elbows, near your foot. Everything makes you jump with fright and sends Wanda into a fit of giggles.

"You're not so cocky when you're scared."

In a desperate attempt, you try to attack the magic, which only disappears into thin air against your skin. Wanda just stands back, watching the scene with amusement.

With an impatient grunt, you raise a finger at her. "Stop this shit, I'm warning you-"

"Don't be rude, darling. I like you best when you're polite." Wanda interrupts, and your exclamation of indignation turns into a grunt of pain when a magical tug forces you to your knees on the mat.

"What the hell?" You gasp, raising your hand to remove the blindfold.

But the sensation that follows is like ropes grabbing your wrists and pinning your fists behind your back. Your heart is racing at the same moment. "Wanda, what the actual fuck you're doing?"

Although you can't see her, you hear her very well. Her slow steps towards you, until she makes you jump gently when she touches your cheek. You swallow dry. "Stop this bullshit, Wanda, I'm serious."

She pushes her tongue into the roof of her mouth, a clicking sound that makes you swallow dry again. Her fingers caress your cheek, and the lack of visibility makes everything all too vivid.

"You have a very dirty mouth, kotenok (kitten)." She retorts in a tone that makes you shudder from head to toe. With a dry throat, you look up, even though you can't actually see her.

It must be a good thing for your sanity, though. God knows what you would have done if you could have seen the way Wanda's eyes darkened with hunger when she saw you on your knees, looking up at her.

Licking your lips, you say calmly: "Be very careful with your next action, Wanda. It will be definitive for our future interactions."

She bites back a smile, and her hand leaves your cheek for your hair, the motion in the strands at the nape of your neck drawing a stubborn sigh from your lips.

"See, it's much better when you're polite." She says softly, letting her fingers slide between the strands, stroking your hair gently. "That's how it goes. You behave nicely, and you're rewarded. Behave badly, and well..."

To illustrate, she moves her free fingers. You hear the magic before you feel it - right under your blouse, like a rough tug on your left nipple that makes you grunt in pain.

"Fuck, you little shit-" But swearing at her makes it worse. The sensation is repeated on the other nipple, not real enough to hurt the flesh, but enough to cause pain. And in the current scenario, on your knees and blindfolded, just the right amount for a wave of pleasure to wet your panties.

It takes you by surprise, so much so that instead of grunting in pain, you practically moan. And that makes Wanda smile, especially as she can see the blush rising on your face.

"You need to improve that attitude." She starts again, adjusting the grip on your hair to force your face in her direction again. You bite the inside of your cheek hard, certain that this time, you would have whimpered. "You've been acting like this for too long, you've gotten comfortable in your naughtiness. I can fix that."

"Wanda..."

"Shush, darling, now you don't talk. You listen. Isn't that what you were hoping to train yourself to do?" She teases, and the grip loosens. You don't have to obey, but you're desperate to do so.

With a lump in your throat, you nod and remain silent. And the next second, when the sound of a zipper fills the room, you grow restless and alert.

You're ready to question when Wanda sighs.

"Shit, honey, that's been working for me too." She panted and you were dying to understand what the hell she was talking about when, along with her shortened breaths, you heard a sound that shook your body to its core.

Was it really possible that Wanda Maximoff was fingering herself right in front of you?

"W-wanda-"

The slap isn't magical - nor is it weak. Your cheek burns, but Wanda grabs your face anyway.

"I told you to be quiet." She grunts, and in a way, the affected voice is confirmation enough of your suspicions. You can feel your underwear starting to feel uncomfortable with the dampness gathering. "You've talked a lot of shit since I joined the team, now you listen, you brat."

Not only do you hear it, but as the movements continue, you can smell it. Her sweet, intoxicating essence is enough to make you moan for the first time in the night.

Wanda let that one slide, because the sound is too good to punish you for it.

And because you've held still long enough for her fingers not to be enough anymore, she's decided that you deserve a reward.

"Open your mouth, darling, I've got a little treat for you." She sighs, and you obey almost immediately, even though your face is burning.

Wanda removes her fingers from inside herself, sighing softly as she does so. Unhurried, she presses them against your tongue and has to bite down hard on her own when you buckle forward, sucking on her fingers with enthusiasm.

"Look at you, who knew you were such an eager little thing?" She taunts, although the sensation of your tongue on her fingers is almost making her lose her train of thought. She can only imagine how deliciously warm you must feel elsewhere.

You just keep moaning, sucking all her wet pleasure from her fingerprints, and Wanda has to reach down and grab your hair once more to regain some of her sense of grounding.

Her voice is hoarse when she speaks again, but you don't seem to mind. "Did you like your treat, darling?"

You open your mouth to reply but hesitate before doing so. And Wanda smiles proudly when she realizes. "Oh, dear, you can speak if it's to answer my questions. Tell me how much you appreciated your treat."

Swallowing dryly, you lower your head. "I loved it, Wanda. And I would love to taste it from the source."

She bites back a giggle, using one hand to lift your chin. "You didn't even thank me."

"Th-"

The magic squeeze comes directly to your clit now. You let out a little yelp, but Wanda's hand doesn't let you lower your head.

"I didn't tell you to thank me. Rather, I was reprimanding you because good manners don't come to you naturally." She clarifies, and with tears of pain and pleasure in your covered eyes, you nod in understanding. Wanda sighs. "I'm going to make a good girl out of you, even if I have to keep you on edge all night for it."

The whimper that escapes your throat is humiliating, Wanda loves the sound.

The next sensation on your skin is that of a chain, wrapping itself around your neck.

"We need to continue this in a more private place, darling. Where no one will interrupt us." Wanda guides, and the chain gives a gentle tug, the hint caught just in time by you, who are on your feet almost immediately. Wanda bites back a smile. "Fuck, I could get used to this."

She manages to lead you quietly and obediently through the empty corridors, but your anxiety overcomes you at the door to her room.

You stop walking, gulping. Wanda smiles because you're waiting for permission to ask a question, even when you're dying to have it answered.

"It's my room." She clarifies, but you shake your head, signaling that it wasn't your doubt. She shouldn't be impressed that you've already become able to memorize the sound of the way to the rooms, but she is. Smiling, Wanda brings a hand up to your face again. "What do you wish to ask, darling?"

You sigh at the permission granted. "Are you... are you sure? About this..." Wanda is taken aback. Your hands are still bound, you're still blindfolded, at her mercy, and yet you're worried about how sure and comfortable she is. You take a deep breath as if trying to find the right words. "This is important, Wanda. We can't go back to how things were before if I come in. And if you're not sure, send me away, and I swear we won't talk about this again and-"

Wanda moves in, it's quick and less hungry than she thought your first kiss would be, considering recent events and frankly, the way she's been craving you.

Your lips are soft and kind of addictive. Your mouth kisses her with real confidence as if you've done it a dozen times, and Wanda has no idea how often you've done it in your dreams.

But reality is superior to any of those.

You grunt against her mouth, impatiently, and Wanda knows it's because of your trapped hands. But all she can do is smile mischievously, using hers to pull you by the shirt into the room.

The door is magically closed behind the two of you.

You're not surprised to be put on your knees again - even if a moan of protest escapes you. Wanda smiled, feeling a wave of excitement at your vulnerable anxiety, your eyes blindfolded and your head moving gently as if you expected to hear what she was up to.

Wanda bit her lip, working on her own clothes without magic, so that you could hear the motions. It brought a shiver to watch you squirm gently, swallowing dry as if you could picture her naked. And your pleading sigh, practically meowing her name, made Wanda lose her mind.

Now wearing only her underwear, she grabbed your face again and kissed you with everything she had - teeth and tongue - and swallowed every throaty moan until she needed to breathe again. When she pulled away, a line of saliva connected your lips.

"We need a system, darling..." She murmured, her fingers working to open the belt loop of your sweatpants. "You know the color one? Green for go, and red for stop?"

"Y-yes, Wanda, please, just keep going-" She interrupted with a kiss mixed with a giggle at your desperate response, the hands that had opened your pants helping you to the bed, laying you down. The magical chains had adapted, and your hands were attached to the headboard now, holding you open for Wanda. Your arousal grew so intense that Wanda could see your muscles twitching.

She sighed contentedly as she sat on your hips, watching your curious and expectant movements. Magic did the work of removing your pants, but Wanda was taking her time teasing your skin under your blouse, having the best time in the world watching you squirm and gasp.

"Tell me what you want."

You swallowed dryly, forcing your voice out: "Anything you want to give me."

Wanda bit back a giggle, her fingers tracing your torso. "Good answer, darling." She sighs, and in one tug, rips off your shirt. The remaining pieces are swept away as you try to keep your breathing under control. Wanda adjusts herself and sits on your stomach, her wetness and warmth against your skin making you wince. "I have an idea, you let me use you and I might consider letting you touch me, what do you think?"

"Fuck." You moan, and Wanda can't let that one slide, though the slap on your cheek is light, and much more of a teasing warning than a punishment. It makes you throb inside.

"Language." She warns, and you sigh.

"I'm sorry."

Wanda strokes the soft red on your cheek, leaning in in a way that makes her wetness slide down your abdomen. The involuntary contraction of your muscles draws a gasp from both of you.

"Behave yourself." She warns, and it seems to be as much about the language as your slight movements, and although you nod, you repeat the gesture. Wanda gasps and grips your cheeks tightly. But you force your body upwards, and her grip loosens as she begins to grind against your stomach, giving in to the sensation.

It brings some kind of pride to know that she's just as affected by this as you are, but even as she's drenching your skin with her hot pleasure, Wanda lowers herself to wrap her hands around your throat and as she uses your tense abdomen to reach her own orgasm, her grip warns you who's in charge. She doesn't take long to come - all the teasing outside has gotten under her skin - and it's the hottest thing that's ever occurred to you, even if you can't see it.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." She gasps through the last waves of her orgasm, her hips thrusting hard into you, who pants beneath her. Her juices run down your belly and you squirm impatiently.

"Please, Wanda. Let me touch you." You beg breathlessly, but she kisses you hungrily, her hands going down to your waist. At first, you think she's going to give you what you want, but Wanda gropes you in an unusual way, and you hear her magic before you feel a new volume between your legs. It takes you by surprise, the enchanted item and your tense body makes Wanda break the kiss.

With her forehead pressed against yours, she asks: "Red or green, darling?" As if to encourage an answer, Wanda grabs the conjured fake cock in her hand. It's really enchanted because you feel everything and the pleasure of the moment's stimulation brings a gasp. You move your hips, in the same direction as her without realizing what you're doing, and Wanda giggles. "I still need words."

"Fuck, green, yes." You moan and Wanda gives you a warning bite on the lips for cursing, but your head is spinning with pleasure from the movements that continue between the two of you.

Toys are nothing new - but a magic strap-on that you can feel as an extension of you certainly is. And Wanda seems willing to drive you to the brink of insanity when she simply adjusts the toy at her entrance and sinks in all at once.

You whimper, almost coming at once. She rocks gently against your lap without caring.

It's hard to breathe, especially when Wanda picks up speed and practically jumps on your cock, her warm walls clenching around you, trying to stop you from pulling out. Everything is too hot and just when you're ready to come, Wanda grabs your throat.

"Hold it." It's an order, almost impossible to obey when she rides your lap with such determination. You choke, struggling against the chains, the hot knot in your belly begging to break.

You almost sob. "I-I can't... please-"

She lets out a wicked giggle and doesn't stop moving. "Don't worry, babe, you're not coming. No matter how much you want to."

Wanda moans, and suddenly her movements stop. She groans heavily, gets impossibly tight and you think you're going to come, but something holds you back. Almost like a force of strength, and when Wanda falls limp against you, and her body continues to tremble from the intensity of the orgasm in contrast to yours, burning with more frustration, you understand what she's done.

"Wanda, what the fuck?" you gasped in a mixture of disbelief and irritation. And instead of losing her temper, she giggles mischievously at you.

"That's why you don't deserve to cum, baby. You're a foul-mouthed brat." She bites your jaw as she sits up, and you gasp, feeling her clench around you. "You're not coming until you improve this attitude."

She thrusts into you as a warning and although you feel as if you could come, your body simply won't obey. Because of the blindfold, you can't see her red irises either.

"You're so mean, Wanda." You groan, sighing at the sensation of her pulling out.

"Oh, darling, we have barely started."

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #kinktober 2023 #wanda maximoff oneshots

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guess-my-next-obsession · 1 year

Note

can u write a drabble of joel fingering reader under the covers trynna keep her noises quiet👀👀 tyyy

The Distraction

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader (Elementary-verse)

rating: E (18+ ONLY, semi-public, sort-of fingering, edging, unprotected feral piv)

wc: <1k

series masterlist | joel masterlist

“Joel—“ your voice was a whisper, hushed but urgent as you reached to grab his hand as it crept up your thigh beneath the blanket over both your laps.

You were at his parents house for dinner which turned into a movie night, Mary and Sarah on the loveseat, Paul in his lazy boy, Tommy and you on either side of Joel on the main couch.

The volume was up loud enough for no one to hear your whispers, and while they did seemed consumed with Jurassic Park, you weren’t sure you wanted to risk Joel’s parents, brother, and daughter finding the two of you fooling around.

Joel clearly didn’t share the same worries.

His hand crept higher, inching towards the hem of your sundress that had been teasing him all spring. Your hand remained over his, though you weren’t stopping him anymore, the warmth of his fingertips through the cotton covering your center impairing your judgement.

You turned your head to look at him, finding him convincingly lost in the movie, though you knew he was distracted. You bit your lip and faced forward, determined to prove you were just as good of an actor as your partner.

Joel’s fingers worked up and down your seam, pressing against you until you were nearly bucking to meet his fingers. In your peripheral, you caught him smirking, seemingly pleased by your neediness.

He teased you like that the entire movie, alternating between firm circles over your clit and long stroked up and down your seam, never letting you cum but giving you just enough attention to keep you on the edge the entire time.

By the time you arrived at Joel’s place and waited for Sarah to go to bed for the night, you were nearly aching from the build up. You yanked Joel down onto the sofa as he tried to lean down and give you a teasing kiss, your legs bracketing his hips as you straddled his lap, your lips on his neck.

“I need you so bad,” you whined in a whisper, your hands undoing his belt buckle and pulling him out. You stroked him in your palm until his brows were furrowed, his lips parted and plump as he watched you work him.

“Baby—“ He was cut off by you moving your panties to the side and sinking down onto him, his hands squeezing your hips as he watched his length disappear into you. “God damn.”

“Need you so bad,” you repeated, drunk on him. He wrapped both arms around your waist and hugged your body against his as he started thrusting you into you. One hand rested between your shoulder blades while the other rested over your tailbone, guiding you to meet his thrusts. You gripped onto his shirt, burying your face against his neck so that your moans would be muffled. Joel’s lips remained against the shell of your ear, whispering sinful praises that had your body humming for him.

“Did so good for me,” he purred, sending chills down your spine. “Lettin’ me work you up…here you go, baby. Take what you want.”

“Fuck,” you whined, your hips rocking furiously against his as you sought your own pleasure.

The head of Joel’s cock brushed and nudged against that spot inside you that had your thighs shaking, but the cherry on top was the way your clit grinded against the curls at the base of his shaft, the friction lighting you on fire. Your fists were balled in the cotton of his shirt as you got yourself off, Joel’s groans getting dangerously loud as he neared his own relief.

“Go on, baby,” he urged, his voice now just as desperate as yours. “Use me. Make yourself cum on my cock. Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

“Joel,” you gasped, crumbling against him as your high hit you like a punch, turning you into putty in his arms. Joel held you close, rocking his cock into you slower until he spilled inside of you with a soft whine of your name. “Fuck,” you sighed as you regained your consciousness. “That was good.”

“So you’re not mad at me for bein’ a little shit?” he mumbled against your cheek as he kissed it. You smiled and shook your head against his chest.

“Not if it ends like that.”

•

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peacelovepandora · 1 year

Text

Daddy's Here

Jake Sully x Daughter!Reader

sorry to put some of you through this. ik we're all gonna have war flashbacks to the film with this, but some of you wanted this so here it is.

btw I listened to The Songcord and cried while writing this. if you want a good cry, listen to it while reading lol

TW : bleeding, death

Initially, you hadn't felt the injury. Your only priority was to successfully jump over the railing and follow your brother into the sea. With one hand gripping the railing, you hoisted yourself up, using your limberness to your advantage, before kicking your legs over. Once your upper body followed, you released your grip and allowed yourself to plummet towards the water. Within the time that you fell, you crossed your arms over your chest before straightening your legs and squeezing them together. The position, which was modeled to resemble a spearhead, was meant to help you reach the water faster.

Your pointed feet were the first to spear through the water's surface. Soon after, the rest of your body followed. As the crisp water rose above your head, the cold temperature sent an electrifying shock through your body. However, that shock was quickly replaced with a massive wave of relief.

I made it! you thought to yourself.

Looking up, you saw your eldest brother, Neteyam, break through the water's surface. Like you, he sunk underneath the surface, but not as deeply. After stretching your arms above your head, you lowered them forcefully before kicking your legs, giving yourself the momentum to swim to the surface. Once you'd finally broken through the water, you inhaled deeply--opening your mouth and blinking your eyes rapidly.

"There she is!" Spider exclaimed.

"Good you finally joined us, baby sister!" Neteyam teased, making you turn to him, "You had us worried there for a moment!"

"Well, I actually dived in with the correct positioning to go deeper, big brother!" you teased back, swimming closer to him, "You just cannonballed in like a child."

"Hard to make those quick decisions when you're getting shot at," he replied with a smirk before placing a hand on your head, "but I admire your quick thinking."

"Hello? Are we gonna get out of here or not?" Lo'ak stressed, raising his hands in exasperation, "In case you can't tell, we're not out of here, yet."

Neteyam nodded. "You're right. Let's go find Dad."

You smiled, preparing to swim alongside your brothers when a sharp burning sensation pierced through the middle of your chest. The searing sensation came suddenly, and its intensity increased immediately. This ache, this red hot fire--which had initially been burning your chest--began to move through you before igniting a prickling pain in your back.

Releasing a gasp, you looked down at your chest, hoping that it was a simple fluke. However, after you lowered your gaze to your skin, ice ran through your veins.

It was unmistakeable. Even if you'd tried to convince yourself that your eyes were playing tricks on you, the red liquid that was seeping into the water proved otherwise.

The shock of the sight produced a domino effect, and it quickly impaired your entire body. Treading water, something you'd been doing so mindlessly before, suddenly became a challenge. The air, which you had been effortlessly breathing into your lungs, became much harder to consume. Everything seemed to come to a standstill as you stared at the red river, which started just below your collarbone, emptying into the blue sea. When the redness reached the blueness, it spread out, refusing to dissolve and disappear. It remained constant as it made its way around your body, sealing your fate.

"Y/N?" Lo'ak called, turning around when he noticed your lack of movement.

Upon hearing Lo'ak's call, Neteyam turned around, as well. Since he was the closest to you, he was the first to begin swimming back to you. As he grew closer, his gaze grew uneasy as he took in your expression.

"Baby sister, what's wrong?" he asked, reaching you before placing a hand on your shoulder, "Come on, we must go."

Your eyes, which had temporarily locked with his, dropped back down to your chest. This time, he followed your gaze. When alarm overtook his expression, you knew that you weren't hallucinating things.

"Oh no," he breathed, "Shit! Lo'ak! You skxawng! Get over here now! Spider, you too!"

The world was moving at a slower pace than usual. At least, that's how it looked to you. The slow movement of Neteyam wrapping an arm around your waist before pressing his palm against your wound. Lo'ak and Spider splashing through the water, swimming back to you with frantic eyes.

"What's going on? What's wrong?" Lo'ak shouted, closing the distance between all of you.

However, he answered his own question by looking at Neteyam's hand on your chest, and the red liquid seeping through his fingers.

"She's hit!" Neteyam stressed, "We have to go now!"

Lo'ak cupped your head before turning away and clicking his tongue. Spider replaced his hand on your head while Lo'ak set up his ilu, preparing to lift you onto its back. Your gaze grew blank as your panic reflex wore off and it manifested into a weighted acceptance.

"Baby sister!" your brother's voice called, "Baby sister!"

Neteyam's face grew in and out of focus. Processing your surroundings, you realized that you were laying across his lap. Spider and Lo'ak were holding on to the front ends of the ilu, and you were moving through the water.

A hand was placed on your cheek, forcing you to turn your head.

"Look at me!" your brother's voice demanded, "You're going to be alright!"

An instinct within you wanted to nod, but your body resisted, deeming that as too difficult of a task. Instead, you released an incoherent moan.

Leaning your head back, you let your eyes focus on the eclipsing sun. It would be dark soon. As you processed the darkening sky, your mind wandered to home. The forest, which lived and breathed on its own, always seemed to reach its climax at eclipse. The swaying tendrils of the tree of souls glowed with an unprecedented luminescence. Fan lizards and seed spirits delicately danced through the sky, never passing by without briefly landing on your skin. Their gentle touch filled you with an all-embracing aura.

"Dad! It's Y/N! She's hurt!"

You were jolted out of your vision as you felt yourself being moved again. With drooping eyelids, you tried to fight the increasing fatigue that was overwhelming your body.

"Watch her head, bro! Watch her head!"

The echoing voices grew clearer as you forced your eyes open. A large body hopped over your head before settling itself by your right side. The body reached out, gripping your shoulders before gently tipping your body and rolling you on your side.

"Oh no," the body breathed.

As you were rolled back onto your back, your brain processed the voice you'd just heard. When a large hand cupped your cheek, your vision finally cleared. Yellow eyes, tormented by grief, looked back at you. Those familiar yellow eyes, slightly smaller than other members of your family's, caused relief to wash over your body.

"D-Daddy?" you choked out, cutting yourself off with a fit of coughs.

You were shushed as the comforting yellow gaze glossed over.

Tilting his head, Jake's voice cracked as he responded. "It's me, babygirl." His hand moved beneath your head, cupping the back of your neck. "Don't worry. I got you, I got you."

Neteyam, who was sitting on your left side, close to your head, had never lifted his hand from the wound on your chest. His pressure was consistent, but you felt the fatigue growing stronger as a foreign force pulled at your mind.

A large shadow flew over your body before landing on your left side.

"No, no no, no, no!"

That was your mother's voice. Within a few seconds, she appeared next to Neteyam, eyeing you with wide eyes.

Your breathing grew shallow as you struggled to tilt your head up, making sure that Lo'ak and Spider had made it alright. Both boys were on Neytiri's opposite side, maintaining quivering grasps on your legs.

"Lay back, baby, it's okay," your father's trembling voice spoke, bringing your attention back to him, "We're all here."

Gasping for breaths, you gripped your father's wrist that was closest to your face. "Daddy, I-I . . . I'm scared," you wheezed, "I wanna go home."

He nodded, using his free hand to grip your hand. "I-I know, baby. I know," he soothed shakily, "We're going home. We're going home."

The fatigue was immense. Panic was returning, but its intensity was far less than its original state. Your organs panicked as they fought a cyclical battle. Your body wanted to take in air, but the action of breathing was too taxing, which caused it to weaken further. As it weakened, it begged for more air, but the cycle repeated itself.

The longer Jake watched you, the more he understood the internal battle you were facing. As he locked his eyes with your exhausted, panicked gaze, the weight of the situation dawned on him. Forcing a thick swallow down his throat, he promised himself to make sure that your departure was peaceful.

"Look at me, baby," Jake rasped, gently coaxing your head to turn towards him.

As you eyes locked, he cupped your neck again. "It's okay. I got you," he whispered, becoming choked up as he raised your knuckles to his lips and shook his head, "You don't need to be scared."

His words were like a warm blanket, engulfing you as your consciousness grew weary.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered, "Daddy's here."

Following those last two words, your hearing was no longer coherent. Your gaze shifted above Jake's head, watching as the eclipsed sun seemed to grow closer to you. Distant voices echoed, but you could only make out a few words.

"Oh, Great Mother! No, Great Mother! Please!"

Your brain could no longer comprehend the meaning of those words, or any words. The distant sound of wails grew fainter as the pain in your chest faded.

A white light overtook your vision, and the feeling of a welcoming embrace consumed you.

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#jake sully x daughter!reader #jake sully daughter #protective Jake sully #jake sully #jake sully x reader #jake sully x you #avatar way of water #avatar 2009

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stvrni0lo · 10 months

Text

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡

matt sturniolo x reader (fluff)

summary: matt gets his wisdom teeth taken out, which makes him incredibly clingy

warnings/notes: reader is referred to as ‘girlfriend’ , that’s about it

requested?: yes!

> > >

Matt had been having tooth pains for weeks now. Every time you urged him to go to the dentist, he would just claim that he hated the dentist and that the pain wasn’t a big deal anyway.

Clearly he was wrong. Sitting next to him as he woke up from his anesthetic daze, you wished you could tell him ‘I told you so’ but you decided to refrain until he was fully sobered up.

His eyes were squinted, probably sensitive to the light since he had been put to sleep for a while.

He looked around for a bit, adjusting to finally being awake. His eyes darted around vigorously once he couldn’t find you.

“Where’s my girlfriend?” he mumbled, disoriented at his surroundings.

You tried to stop yourself from laughing. You were literally beside him, but his drugged state impaired his common sense.

“I’m right here, love.”

Reaching over, you took his hand in yours, rubbing soothing circles over his skin.

“I missed you,” he said, his voice muffled by the gauze in his mouth.

“I’ve been here the whole time.”

You tried speaking gently since the doctors said to be patient and quiet with him in case he had vertigo or a headache.

“Why do I sound like that?” he asked almost childishly.

“You have gauze in your mouth. They took out your wisdom teeth, remember?”

You brushed his hair out of his eyes. Tucking some other strands behind his ear, you noticed the bewildered look in his eyes.

“They have my teeth?” he whispered.

You couldn’t help but giggle at him. He was so clueless it was adorable. “Yes, but they were bad teeth. The doctors made you all better.”

He nodded, seemingly understanding. He looked around once more, a confused look on his face.

“Can we go home? This place is creepy,” he said, his puffed out cheeks still impeding his speech. It took all his strength to be able to speak even somewhat coherently.

As soon as you got home, Matt was all over you.

He was leaning his head on your shoulder and gripping onto your arm, following you around wherever you went.

You didn’t mind. You actually found it cute - but you were worried for him. The doctors said he shouldn’t be walking around too much since he probably didn’t have a lot of balance.

“Hey how about we go lie down for a bit?” you asked him.

His eyes widened. Matt grabbed onto your arm with both hands now, looking up at you.

“Yeah! Will you lie with me?”

You smiled before nodding and helping him to his bedroom. You tucked him into bed before getting some water and painkillers for when he wakes up, but not without Matt whining for you to come back and cuddle with him.

You could hear a “where are youu?” from the room over as you scrambled to get as many supplies as possible.

His eyes were droopy when you came back into the room, head lolling to the side as he tried to fight off sleep. You set everything down next to him, including some clean gauze for him later. Changing them would be a pain in the ass but it doesn’t compare to how he’s about to feel in the next hour or so.

“Am I gonna hurt when I wake up?” he whined again as he made a grabby motion for you to come next to him.

Climbing into bed, you gently pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Only for a little while, but I’ll be here to help.”

His lips broke out into a smile, his cheeks making him look like a chipmunk. Closing his eyes he cuddled into you, resting his head on your lap as you sat up in the bed.

“You’re the best,” he said as he drifted off to sleep.

- - -

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

@lollibumblebee

@d0wnt0wnstu4n1ol0

@gracietaylorsversions

@20nugs

@thetriplets3

@stxrniqlo

@sunshinewwx

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