#cannon can go fuck it’s self

[burnpygmalion]

i do enjoy homebrew a lot even tho i have the worst possible attitude towards it. ie i see whats being used in a game then mix and match to make the most disgusting build i possibly can

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel O’Hara ( 18+ f!reader)

ik you asked for HCs but I have no self control... my bad, anon!

College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: Miguel is your roommate. And he’s hot. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

warnings: 18+ as fuuuck. F-receiving oral, using toys, masturbation, voyeurism (-ish), grinding, praise, service dom (idk?) Miguel, recreational drug use (reader and Miggy smoke a blunt). Minors DNI

a/n: I am a firm believer that modern day Miguel listens to 90s rnb, back when men were men: unabashedly, unashamedly down so fucking bad for their partners. he just gives me those vibes!!

edit: I'm writing a full fic for this! Rigor Mortis, college au fic, read here.

wc: 6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm thinking you become roommates but he's your last choice. 

Very last minute: you have a big falling out with your now ex-boyfriend, and the plans for flatsharing next semester goes right out the window. 

So all the good places are taken, and you're going apartment-hunting, but everywhere's either too expensive, too dirty, or there's a predatory clause hidden in the lease: shitty landlords and blaring red flags in 9pt Times New Roman. 

When you stumble upon Miguel O'Hara; a student in private accomodation who, lucky you, is in need of a roommate; it feels like a godsend.

Rent is affordable and he's nice enough; refusing to grunt more than a few words to you, but is clean, organised, and from what you can tell, is barely in the apartment. 

You sign onto the lease, desperately, hoping you've just been lucky and trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

You give a thousand mile stare at the blank document in front of you. A bullshit paper due in exactly 12 hours. Yes, you left it until the final stretch, and yes, it's 10k words. Very doable. You're not fucked. Nope.

You blame it on the banging from next door. Paper thin walls; obscene noises. Cries of Yes Miguel and Just like that, daddy have been plaguing you for almost an hour. His stamina must be superhuman, the way the woman in his bed has been howling. Howling may seem extreme, but she sounds like a dying cat: cock drunk and babbling over Miguel O'Hara? 

Your new roommate had been nice enough. Quiet, unassuming, and seemed more than absorbed in his schoolwork. So you didn't expect him to unashamedly fuck the girl he's been tutoring for the past week. It all clicks. The "perfect roommate" turned out to have one teeny tiny little flaw: loud, obnoxious sex, well into the early hours of the morning. 

On autopilot, you're clicking through tabs on your bed. Perhaps you're a prude, but the sex noises are abrasive, excessive, to the point of parody. Persistent, Miguel's low voice reverberates in the walls of your bedroom; making heat pool at the base of your stomach. 

"You want it, hermosa? Tell me…. such a pretty girl… like that?" It's muffled, but his voice is unmistakable. Low, greedy, heavy with want. God, the last time someone's spoken to you like that was… 

You shake your head free of cobwebs. No. You're not rewarding him. You can't . Your roommate is shameless, and inconsiderate, and really fucking annoying . 

The smacking noises increase, coupled with banging on his side of the wall. Resolute, your face hardens. From where you perch on your bed, you slam the wall with the side of your fist. 

"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!" 

~~~

He's a biochem major, up to his ass in assignments and he still has time for societies, internships and tutoring. 

The only times he'd be in the apartment really was an impromptu session, and you didn't notice at first, but it became more obvious as the semester went on.

As a so-called tutor, he only seemed to pick the prettiest girls - they would twirl their hair on your kitchen counter and bat their pretty lashes at him when they didn't understand. Favours for a couple of friends, is his only response when you ask. 

It felt like you'd open the door to a new girl every week and you are baffled. Donned in makeup and short skirts, they'd waddle in asking for Miggy, or drop off half-finished assignments whilst craning their head through, trying to catch a glimpse of him. 

The absurdity would make you laugh if it wasn't affecting your sleep. 

Not that he's not absolutely gorgeous, but he's so quiet you would never have thought he had it in him: to have a revolving door of women lining up to lay underneath him. 

This time, her name is Sarah: pretty little thing in Miguel's Advanced Math class.  She perches on a stool, wearing a tight dress that is wholly not appropriate for a tutoring session. She's one of his regulars, if you can call it that, and has been failing for at least 2 semesters. You flash her a smile as you pad through the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a snack. God, she is gorgeous; dolled up for another long session with Miguel, no doubt.

"Where's he gone?" She asks politely. 

You shrug. "I couldn't tell you, sorry."

"It's okay… I'm just a bit stuck." You almost snort and catch yourself. For some reason, you didn't think they actually did any work, merely a pretense for the… cardio later on in the day. 

You glance at her sheet of paper, scribbles in purple pen with large swathes crossed out. Leaning over, you scan the page.

"Right here." You point and she follows with a manicured finger. "You fucked up with this integral and I think… yeah, I think that messes with the whole thing."

Her eyes light up as she follows you, explaining with a piece of cookie hanging out of your mouth. She's definitely smart, just a few little mistakes here and there that you're happy to point out. Thanking you fervently, she rushes to correct it. 

"Ah, it's no problem. I get mixed up with it too." You smile and notice Miguel by the doorway, watching with a strange look in his face. You roll your eyes as you walk past. What a fucking weirdo. 

"Thought I was the tutor?" He croons.

You raise an eyebrow, voice low as Sarah is engrossed in her work. "...I don't want to fuck her, Miggy , if that's what you're worried about."

A little cruelly you push past him, shoulders clashing against one another. Is he smiling ? For now, you blame your perpetual tiredness when you think you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

~~~

You're a light sleeper, and it all makes for a tired, delirious combo. You sleepwalk through the day, scramble to finish assignments and whilst it's not all O'Hara's fault, you can't help but blame him for a lot of it. 

After you successfully get through one long week, you decide to celebrate. That means a couple hours of mindless hedonism: your favourite movie, greasy food…. and your trusty dildo. Not at the same time, of course. 

Miguel's not home, and he's not tearing down the walls with some other girl, for once, so you decide to treat yourself. 

You've been going through a dry patch, and you'd hate to admit it, but he does sound good through the thin drywall. 

It was a joke gift; given to you by a friend for your birthday. An obnoxiously purple dildo with a suction cup at its base. Aptly named Hugh, due to its - ahem - large stature. Standing tall at 7 or 8 inches, far bigger or thicker than any partner you've taken in the past. Sitting around a small diner booth with your friends and opening the bag to reveal him, had been quite the experience, for sure. 

It wasn't your fault you had gone through a dry spell in the past few months. With work, with school, with relationship issues, you hadn't had the time or energy to sleep around. Not that you were desperate for drunk, lackluster sex, followed by an awkward dance of ubers and shitty coffee in the morning. Like many, you preferred to do it yourself. 

Laptop open, you ease yourself onto the toy, already slick with lube. Prepping yourself with your fingers had been quite the task, tabs open to something on a lewd website. It's cheesy, but you didn't really like the bright lights and plastic of usual porn. The moans felt too fake, the sex devoid of any real passion. So you found a couple of independent creators; couples, mostly; carnal fucking with fervour only borne from real love . It's embarrassing to admit it, but your favourite parts are the little kisses and touches in between, or light laughter after a rough session. As if to say: it's okay and I'm still here. 

On your screen now is a longtime favourite video, a broad man bullying his fat cock into his partner. You can't help but think he looks like Miguel, not as pretty but tan with strapping shoulders, and large hands that wrap around the neck of the girl in the video. 

" F-Fuck," You breathe, sinking down onto your toy. You bet Miguel's palm on your throat would be deliciously rough, and you imagine how he'd fuck the brat out of you like the man on your screen. 

What hadn't occurred to you, however, was that the thin walls went both ways. Whilst you were quieter than many of the girls Miguel brought home, you were fairly shameless with the moans and curses that fell from your lips. Headphones on, you were blissfully unaware that Miguel had slipped into the apartment some time ago. The slap of your thighs to the floor, the desperate whine as you roll your hips over the toy - he can hear it all. 

Miguel has a conscience, so he does feel some amount of shame when he slips a hand down his trousers and presses an ear to your shared wall. He closes his eyes and bites down lusty groans, fisting his cock to your pretty noises. Noises he's been wanting to hear from you for months, now, imagining it was you underneath him instead of his usual partners. 

He times it just right, squeezing around his tip in time with the steady slap just beyond the wall. Are you fucking yourself? On your knees, hands flat on the floor, churning up your insides with a toy… or maybe ass up, dildo attached to something…? He almost cums with that mental image, wondering what you'd look like on your knees for him. Is the dildo as big as him? He knows you, knows you'd want it to hurt - for his cock to stretch out your pretty pussy when he cums deep inside you. 

All things he thinks about with a hand around his cock, and he's already close. But he wants to cum with you, listening intently for the signs. 

" Fuck," Your voice comes out muffled, but it makes him buck up into his fist all the same. " Need it… oh God, I-" 

He speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him, what it would take to have you babbling and begging for more. How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length. Or on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God, thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-

" H-Harder, Miguel, please." 

He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes into his boxers. 

" Fuck, Miguel…"

He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool wall. 

~~~

He's hot. He's smart. He's a whore.

A total blindspot for you, and no matter how much you can't stand him; you still find yourself stealing glances whenever he's home. 

And he does seem to be home a lot more, often choosing to study on the dining table rather than his room. It's like he does it on purpose, using the warmer weather as an excuse to wear tiny tank tops and loose gray sweats - showing off the muscles of his broad back and arms perfectly.

Funnily enough, when he's not around those girls, he's bearable - seems to have grown a couple of brain cells in those short few days between sessions. 

You laugh and joke, sometimes, and he surprises you by suggesting a movie one quiet night. 

He offers you his sweater to snuggle into, you eat your weight in greasy takeout, and your roommate seems like an actually decent guy?? 

You had fallen into an easy routine: O'Hara leaves a flask of coffee for you to snatch up in the morning, hair damp from the shower and all, and you meet him with netflix and instant noodles in the evening. A push and pull that works in the little space - much smoother than your rocky beginnings.

After a truly shitty day, you come home to a quiet apartment. Almost sleeping through an exam, forgetting lunch, missing the bus home, and having to trek back through pouring rain in a thin coat. Everything that could go wrong, did, and you are left with the pieces. You trudge through the living room into the kitchen, the wet squelch of socks on laminate floor haunting every step. Shedding your limp outerwear, you lay the contents of your backpack onto the kitchen counter: clumps of loose paper, the damp leftovers of a textbook, bleeding ink. Your main concern, however, is your laptop slick with rain water. 

With baited breath, you put it on the slab, and press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. Your legs almost give out, and you lean on the counter to steady yourself. Half of your life was there; including the final project that would make up a good chunk of your grade. It takes you everything not to collapse onto the floor right then and there. 

"How was it?" You hear the click of a door and Miguel calls out from the hallway. 

You wince."...F-Fine?" 

You hear footsteps, as he gets closer. "Are you asking or telling me?" 

You clear your throat, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "Fine. It was fine. I'm just… it was fine."

Back still turned, you fumble around with the wet contents of your bag, hoping he doesn't notice. 

"Long day?" He says warmly, head poking into the kitchen. Haphazardly, you spare him a glance from behind your shoulder. He's dressed in a sweater that fits snug around his chest, rolled up to expose his forearms, and loose sweats. In his hands, he drinks from a cheesy mug - your mug, donning a stupid pun. He looks warm. Cosy. Domestic. For some, reason it makes your heart sink even further. 

Long day? "Something like that." You manage to squeeze out. There's a pregnant pause as he comes closer. Rummaging blindly through a cupboard, you try to hide behind its door. If he sees you like this, now, you don't know if you'll be able to hold it together. 

You close the door, and all of a sudden he's there, mug in hand. 

" Fuck, man- " It makes you jump, as he squints and takes a sip of his coffee. 

"You look… wet." 

"That's because it rained, Miguel." Snapping at him, your tone is biting. You're tired, stressed and in desperate need of a cry, but he is unrelenting in his gaze. 

"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed. 

There's a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod with a tight expression.  His eyes flicker towards the counter and you shuffle, trying to cover up the mess. And then you watch it happen; initial confusion, a flash of realisation, and then worry; all in the space of a couple seconds. 

Gently, he pulls you aside to inspect the damage. "Mierda. This is pretty bad. You sure you're ok?" 

He's got a hand on your arm now,  The dam breaks and you crumple into tears in the kitchen floor. Of course, he comes with you, rubbing your back as you blubber through the details. 

" Nothing's going right for me… and I've got my final project on there… I'm barely keeping up as it is…" All he does is nod, face tight with something you can't quite name. It must seem pathetic to him, you think, shamelessly crying on the kitchen floor, complaining to your poor roommate. He can't leave you like this, because he's a decent person - but internally, he must think you're going crazy. 

It helps, having him there: a steady presence by your side. Slowly but surely, your tears subside. 

"You could've asked me to pick you up." He hands you some tissues off the counter, and watches as you mop up the tears. "I would've come, if you called."

"I didn't… I didn't think we were…" You search for the right word. 

"...friends?" He offers, with a small smile. "You think I let just anyone steal my sweaters?" 

"First of all," It makes you laugh, despite yourself. "You offered. And second, I've seen what you do with your friends, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."

"Ouch." Bashful, he rubs his chest like it aches. He sits a little close to you, knocking your shoulders with his own. "I know this girl who's crazy good with computers. I could ask her to take a look, if you'd like? Might not be able to save it but maybe we could recover the files?"

"...I'd like that, to be honest."

"Muy bien ." He leaps to his feet, palm stretched towards you to help you up. "I'll run you a warm bath or something. You're creating a puddle and it's going to ruin my floor."

"Our floor, asshole. I pay rent here, too." 

~~~

You find that you enjoy being around him, and he feels the same. 

You can't help but compare him to your shitty ex who you were planning to move in with: and even with his quirks, Miguel is better in every way. 

There is harmony in your household, for a while, and you almost look forward to coming home to him after class. Almost. 

It doesn't last long, because of course it doesn't. You'd thought you'd come to a tentative ceasefire, able to casually rib and joke with each other - takeout and B-roll movies aside. He leaves you leftovers from food he makes, you turn down your music when he's studying, and he even woke you up the other day when you had slept through your alarm.

Beyond the wall, his music is loud: a playlist you recognise as the one he puts on to (unsuccessfully) mask the noise of his usual late night adventures. Cheesy love ballads, heady RnB that leaks into your own room. You'd rather die than admit his taste in music isn't horrible, but it usually means a long, long night for everyone around. With finals around the corner, there's no way you can let this stand. 

What kind of person does that? Lull you into a false sense of security with Snakes on a Plane and pepperoni pizza? 

Absorbed in your own work, you hadn't even realised he had someone over; let alone was gearing up for obnoxious sex. You'd bang on the wall, but you feel like you guys are past that: crossed a threshold of intimacy that means you can shout at him up close and personal. 

So you stomp over to the hallway, banging at the door to his room. In the short trip there, you've worked yourself into a frenzy. How many times have you told him to keep it down? That it was rude and inconsiderate to flaunt his sex life in your face; to fuck other women so loud you were practically involved? There was something about the little smile he would give you afterwards, when you catch him shepherding his latest out the door in the morning - like he gets off on it, enjoys it, when you react. Even when you think you're over it, he still manages to drive you absolutely crazy. 

“Miguel? Open the fuck up!"

You're still fuming when the door opens with a click, and Miguel appears in the sliver of the doorway. He opens it so that his frame is half swallowed by the door, top half peeking through with a lazy hand in his hair. And of his top half, he's bare from the waist up, black band of his boxers sitting low on his v-line and loose sweats. 

All the wind is knocked from your sails, and you lose your train of thought. 

"Yeah?" 

"I…" You clear your throat. "I don't care who you fuck, but when I'm doing work-" 

"-I'm not." He chuckles. "There's no one here, hermosa. Just me. And you, I guess…"

There's something about the way he says it, lazily, as if it's his first time saying those words - wrapping his tongue around your name to see how it fits. If it fits, how it tastes. His relaxed posture, the way his hair falls…

"You're high." Your brow shoots up. "... you're high!" 

With a finger pressed to his lips, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his room, eyes darting around the hallway. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone. "

"I won't." You breathe. His face is serious at first, and then you're both giggling. You've never seen him so carefree, and it's nice to see Miguel walking around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He's still holding your hand, pressed close, and you see him drag his eyes up and down your figure. "You want do something you'll regret…?"

"...I've got a 9am, tomorrow, I really-" 

"-shouldn't?" He finishes, dragging his hand up your bare arm, pupils blown. He gets up to your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's sinful, the way his touch is gentle but gaze heavy - violent in the way he practically eyefucks you. You feel bare, in little sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

He steps back, lounging on his bed, and makes for a half finished blunt by the adjacent window sill. Sighing, you sit by him, sinking into the mattress. He pats you closer, dangerously close, and you comply. One arm curled by your waist, the other brings the blunt up close and you wrap your lips around it. When Miguel brings a lighter to the blunt, you lean into it, knuckles brushing your lips. 

You take a drag, long, heavy, eyes closed. And when they open, you're met with his own. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the heady atmosphere, but you swear his eyes are low and deep with lust.

"Good girl." He rumbles, cupping your chin and tracing a thumb to your lips. He separates, bringin the blunt to his own lips before leaning back to pass it to you. As quick as he gets close, he pulls away; leaning back into the expanse of his large bed. And he looks good, head drawn back and the curve of his tan arm drawn upwards. Tufts of hair from his chest, the trail that leads down suggestively - and without inhibition, you basically drool over him. God, there it is. You feel it kick in and let it wash over you. 

His music, long forgotten, blends into your downy haze. You want to sit in his lap, rest your head on his chest. You get it now: if this is the view all those women he tutors get to have, then you finally understand. 

"Come closer, hermosa ." You barely register the nickname, only focused on the way he says it, the delicious way it rolls off of his tongue. You nod, and shuffle closer. His siren song sounds sweeter, somehow, up close. 

You pass the blunt between you both, and watch it dwindle to the last dregs. Lying down next to him, he clutches your hand and takes the butt between his fingers, letting its flames die as you watch. You giggle and his gaze softens.

"I didn't expect this from you." You look up to see an upside-down Miguel, hiding a smile. 

"Expect what?" He drags himself downwards, to rest his head by your side. 

"All…" You gesture vaguely. "This. Don't even think I've been in your room for this long, before."

His room looks exactly how you'd expect it: tidy and modest, a row of trophies neatly lined up on a shelf, a telescope pointing out towards a window. There are posters by his bed; science related, mostly. You tilt your head in the direction of one of them.

"Is this what they see?" You mumble to no one in particular. 

He manages to catch it, sluggish in his response. "...Is this what who sees?" 

"All the girls you fuck." It tumbles your of your mouth, before you can help it. 

He tilts his head too, looking at the poster and you watch the sharp lines of his jaw besides you. Even at this angle, he's so pretty. 

"Huh. I guess they do." 

"It's not very romantic, is it?" You blink, oblivious. Your question is met with a noncommittal shrug. "What was her name last time? Cassie, Clara-something…"

"Katie." He hums. 

"Katie." Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at his quick response, you hope it's the weed and not jealousy that made you pretend to forget her name. 

You sit up on your haunches, tracing the valleys and mountains of his bare chest with a leisurely finger. You try not to notice the way he shivers at your touch. 

"I could hear everything. Every, 'Yes daddy'," You feign a moan by curling your lips into an O-shape. You bring your other hand to your hair, head tilted back with exaggerated movement. "And 'right there, Miggy, right fuckin' there' ." 

Technically, you're making fun of him and laughing, expecting him to follow. But he doesn't, head back and eyes boring into you - only bringing a hand to press yours at his chest. 

"Thin walls, Miguel." You clear your throat, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Too far, probably. "Sorry, shit. I didn't mean-" 

"I hear you too." He says softly. "I heard you, the other day."

Head filled with cotton, it takes a moment for his words to really click. So he elaborates, lacing his fingers with your own. 

"Fucking yourself, hermosa ." He says it lazily, like the vulgarity of the act doesn't register.

Your eyes widen in horror. How much exactly did he hear?

"...and I heard you say my name." 

"It was…. i-it wasn't like that-" Fuck. You can't think straight as it is: and his voice is low and silky, rubbing circles on your hand close to his chest. Even now, he oozes confidence, the steady thump-thump of his heart giving away nothing. 

"Hmmm? Then what is it like?" You blink at him, unable to answer. "You're a hypocrite. You complain about all these women I supposedly fuck, but then-" 

He pulls you closer, so that your lips almost touch his. "-you lock yourself in your room, touching yourself and thinking about your poor roommate. What am I meant to do with you?"

A pause, and in your daze, you can't breathe. For all your theatrics, it's too easy for him - to prod and tease, and for you to chase after him. You move to kiss him, but he grabs your chin at the last second. "Not quite. I want to hear you say it."

"Fuck- " You crumple, hiding your head in the crook of his shoulder. Even in your haze, the nerves bubble up from the base of your stomach. "Fuck me, please , Miguel."

He places a hand on your thigh, leading you to straddle his middle, other hand wrapped around your waist. He grinds your lower half into his, leaning up to bring your lips together. 

He tastes sweet, greedily lapping up your moans in the clash. You're not thinking, not really, lost in the heat of his body, desperate and eager when you kiss. To contrast, Miguel cups your chin, pulling you away for air whenever you sink too deep. Somehow, he still manages to look smug, taunting you with a flash of his little fangs whenever you separate. If you weren't feeling the effects of that blunt, you may have had the means to be embarrassed at how much you want him - needily grinding against him and pawing at his chest. 

It's too slow, too leisurely, like a punishment; and he refuses to give you what he knows you want. Your whines betray you when he finally slips a hand down your shorts. 

"¿Paciencia, hmm?" He grabs a handful of your ass, clothed cock catching on your clit. It rips another moan from you, which he happily swallows with another kiss. "Patience, princesa."

You hump against one another like teenagers, your hands planted by his head for purchase. Hips moving of their own accord, you chase the relief Miguel provides: with his hands kneading your ass, length catching at your clit, and teeth nipping at your bare neck. 

He licks a stripe up your collarbone, soothing the blossoming hickeys with a hum. 

Fuck, how can he be so casual ? You don't know if it's the weed or something else, but he is in his element, hand dipping down your back to graze at your pussy from behind. He hisses when he realises how wet you are, swiping his fingers down your slit and taking them out to pop them in his mouth. 

Now, flushed and face hot with embarrassment, you look up at him with big doe eyes. It makes Miguel feel guilty for stopping you so close to your climax. Beautiful : lower lip hooked under your teeth, plump and swollen and kissable. He'll make up for it later: a promise he whispers into skin. 

"You're soaked." He cups your cheek to press a kiss to your forehead, and all you can do is whine. His gaze dips down, to the swell of your tits in that thin shirt.. 

"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" It's soft, said in the warm press of your bodies; hook-shaped and hazy and you fit like you were made for one another. The thought lingers, plants a dangerous seed that makes you forget that the man underneath you is your roommate : unrepentant whore, Miguel O'Hara. 

"You." You've seen it first hand, he eats hearts for breakfast; and yours is on a platter for him to devour.

He laughs, deep and rumbling, hands resting on your waist. "I know that, baby. You don't have fantasies? Fuck yourself to the thought of someone touchin' you just right?"

Not just someone, him, you think. Your voice dies in your throat at the way he looks at you. "Just… n-nothing really-"

He hums, grinding your hips onto his. "Speechless, I can't believe it. Is this what I need to do to get some fucking peace around here?" 

You roll your eyes, "Don't be a dick, Miguel. When I shout, it's because you deserve it."

"...there it is." Eyes shining, his face stretches into a shit-eating grin. Wide, unabashed, unambiguous. "You back with the living, sweetheart?" 

It makes you laugh, even though you hate to give him the satisfaction. 

"What do you want?" He kneads your thigh and pleasure pools at the base of your stomach. 

You mumble something begrudgingly.

"Hmm? Can't hear you, baby."

Louder, now. "...want to sit on your face, Miguel." 

Lowly, he groans, shaking his head. "Mierda… of course you do."

Expertly, he helps you take your shorts off, dragging the thin material down your thighs. You clambers upwards, wrapping them around his shoulders, watching intently as he kneads the soft skin. It's tentative, at first, and you place your hands on the headboard to perch just above his mouth. 

He licks, diving in with the flat of his tongue: a long upwards stroke that ends with him sucking your clit. Moaning, your hips jump and he chases your pretty pussy up, large palms pushing you back down. He concentrates on your bundle of nerves, lips around your clit like a man on a mission.

And, God, does it feel good; he watches and learns from your every movement, committing your body to memory. His moans vibrate deliciously, tension building at that spot faster than your mind can register it. Then, you clench around nothing, gushing into his mouth whilst he eases you through it. The noises he makes are obscene; one leg off the bed and a hand snaked under his boxers. He's getting off on it; watching you crumple and sob around his tongue. 

And when you begin to move off, thighs sore, he doesn't relent, sealing his mouth on your pretty little hole. 

"Miguel.. fuck-" After your first orgasm, it surprises you when he continues, tongue fucking you with fervour. He presses you close, impossibly close, and your body fights against his ministrations. Heat, everywhere, and it's too much. The haze of the blunt begins to wear off and you are left with biting clarity. You want more of him, deeper; drunk off of just his tongue. 

You card your hands in his hair, and he moans: deep and wanton, with his eyes fluttering shut. He wants to look, to watch you when you cum on his tongue for a second time. Back arched, the curve of your tits peeking through a tiny top, fucking yourself on his face. He wants it hard , wants you to take control and use him to get off. 

"Right there, fuck… "

Like you can hear his thoughts, you press yourself down harder, riding the deep ridge of his nose for relief. Miguel complies and leans into it. He eats you out like a man starved and the carnality of it all brings you to a second peak. You cum once again, legs wrapped tight around his face. Head back, he laps it up readily. 

You separate with a wet pop, and Miguel looks blissful : fucked out and panting, wiping the slick off of his face with a forearm. Exhausted, you lean back onto the mattress beside him. 

"That was…" He searches for the right word, and it's your turn to finish for him. 

"... good. " Scarily good. So good you won't be able to see him around the apartment without remembering what he looks like trapped between your thighs. 

Gently, he turns to cup your cheek and bring your lips to his. It starts off sweet and deepens rapidly, making that thread at the pit of your stomach tighten, again. He grabs your thigh, bringing it closer, and you feel his length poking your stomach. Fuck. 

"You haven't…?" Your hand makes for his trousers, and he stops you. "I want to, Miguel. Want you to feel good too."

His head sinks into your shoulder. "I know, baby, I know. Not like this. Not yet."

You nod, still wrapped up in his arms. You haven't even fucked, and it feels more intimate than it should. 

"You've got a 9am tomorrow." He smiles with a hand underneath his head. 

"I've got a 9am tomorrow," You repeat, sighing. "...and my life is falling apart. I'm failing half of my classes as it is."

He turns to you, lazily. 

"I could tutor you, if you'd like."

…

"That's not fucking funny, Miguel."

_

_

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings

_

edit: the full fic xx

[highvern]

Waited

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader

Genre: smut (18+)

warnings: mentions of mental health/poor self image, drug use (weed), alcohol consumption, cheating, violence (nothing explicit), oral, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, degrading, spanking, marking, jealous Yoongi, rip Namjoon, bi Taehyung

Length: ~4.2k

Note: this originally was gonna be a short FWB smut but alas nothing turns out like i plan hahahahahahahahah shoot me thank you @the-boy-meets-evil and @onlyhuis for subjecting yourselves to this mess.

Summary: Best friends since childhood means you can tell each other anything. Right?

m.list + support my work

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Yoongi enters your world three days before you turn six years old. His parents buy the house across the cul de sac that's sat empty for months and show up with a moving truck and their two sons. While they're unpacking your mom walks over to welcome them to the neighborhood and you hide behind her leg to stare at the boy with a choppy bowl cut who stares right back from behind his own mom’s leg.

You dub Yoongi your best friend in fourth grade. It’s a silent declaration but one he quickly falls in line with. He’d always been the smallest in class, easy cannon fodder for bullies that want to push around the quiet kid. One time too many people called him stupid under their breath and you snapped. After school detention for three weeks and a handwritten apology addressed to the boy with a broken nose is the price you pay but no one messes with him again after that. 

The first time you realize your best friend is handsome is senior year of high school. An hour before prom your date decided he wanted to go with someone else and Yoongi, who had zero interest in “cliche, organized humiliation rituals” trugged across the pavement to your house in a borrowed tux too big in the shoulders.

He posed for pictures while both your parents cooed, hands respectable at your waist as you both smiled through the awkwardness. His brother drops you both off and slips a contraband flask full of shitty alcohol in Yoongi’s hand before taking off. 

You pretended not to notice when Jisung and Yoongi both simultaneously disappeared, only to reappear twenty minutes later; Yoongi sporting bruised knuckles and the traces of what would become a black eye come the next morning along with a split lip. Instead, you take another sip of what must be gasoline and pull him to the dance floor. During the singular slow dance he allotted, with your head against his shoulder and the reak of his older brother’s after shave burning your nose, you realized you wouldn’t mind if he kissed you. 

The rest of the night is spent emptying your guts in Yoongi’s ensuite because your parents were so confident nothing would happen between the two of you that sleepovers at Yoongi’s were too common.

The first time you kiss Yoongi is also the night you lose your virginity. Your sophomore year boyfriend broke up with you two days before finals. Yoongi couldn’t stand Taehyung or the way you apparently believed he shit rainbows so you expected him to find nothing but joy in the news. 

But when you showed up outside his apartment, elephant tears streaking down your face as you gasped around an explanation, Yoongi said nothing. He simply walked into the kitchen, pulled out the bottle of liquor he saved for special occasions, and passed it to you along with a shot glass. 

He let your drunken sobs stain the collar of his shirt until you laughed yourself hysterical at the irony of it all. How Taehyung claimed he wasn’t ready for anything serious when he pursued you first, how he broke up with you after you told him you weren’t ready for anything physical. 

“Fuck him,” Yoongi grumbled, burrowed between the pillows of his bed.

Your head lulled onto his shoulder with a snort, “I think that was part of the problem.”

Then you kissed him and Yoongi kissed you back. And when you planted yourself in his lap and touched him, he took the chance to touch you too. At some point your clothes were gone, allowing your best friend to take as much liberty as he liked. But even though the details are fuzzy you know he was gentle and devout. Yoongi took all the time in the world, pushing and pushing until you almost broke and melted to the floor.

And after all was said and done you cried while Yoongi held you until your eyes swelled shut.

The next day Taehyung called and asked to work things out. Like a naive fool you agreed and then two years passed in a blink before you caught him fucking the doe eyed underclassmen from his fraternity the night of graduation. 

You wanted Yoongi but the last time you ran crying to him about Taehyung sat in the back of your mind. Since that day he’d taken a step back, missing your calls or dodging plans. Still your best friend but not present like before. Half your own fault because he warned you getting back with Taehyung was a bad idea but rather than listen, you told him to fuck off and mind his business. So he did and managed to get a girlfriend in the process.

But the universe has a weird way of shoving people together. Sipping from a bottle on the steps to the should-be-condemned house you rented with six other girls, eyes glassy and unfocused, you didn’t realize someone was calling your name until he sat down beside you. 

“I heard,” Yoongi says, snagging your drink and downing his own mouthful before going back for seconds.

Your lips bruise under your teeth, the pain barely managing to consume your focus away from the new wave of tears threatening to crop up. “That I’m an idiot?”

Cold hands find the blanket wrapped around your shoulders, pulling it back up in the places it's dropped before curling around your frame and wrangling you into the boney side of his. 

“That Taehyung is still an asshole.”

It's too familiar. Your hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt, his neck wet with your cries. Yoongi barely managed to get you upstairs and in bed without fuss, a plethora of pathetic cries none of your roommates are around to hear blurring your vision. 

“Where’s Tiffany?” You ask, fumbling into the mattress. You’ll ask him anything to get your mind of the hurt.

Yoongi fought to tuck you in, shoving you back into the pillows everytime you tried to get up and attempted to convince him to go to the bars where your classmates are currently celebrating. Where Taehyung is probably strung out across whoever will give him the time of day.

He lets you pull him into a hug when a new wave of sadness erupts. It’s the first time you get a good look at him in months despite the blur in your vision. Silver in the streetlights flooding through the slits of the blinds, the dark dye he used to appease his mom washing out at the fried tips of his hair. Any more to drink and you’d convince yourself this is all some cruel dream. A ghost of the past haunting you in misery. 

Yoongi might as well be. Nearly two years gone from the face of the Earth, only to be caught in short glimpses at parties or between class changes. Both of you spent the time reserved for each other with new people.

You missed him. 

He turns to leave too soon; already halfway to the door before you speak.

“Stay?” 

Even in your double vision you see the crack in Yoongi’s mask, the regret swelling to the surface. “She’s waiting back at my place.”

The summer comes with the suffocating muggy heat of your childhood home. Your parents fail to stifle their thrill Taehyung is out of the picture, more content to pretend he never existed in the first place. 

Everyday blurs together, a routine you’ve maintained since you can remember. Hot days by the pool in your parents backyard (without Yoongi hiding in the shade), dinner at the greasy restaurant by the river with friends (but not Yoongi), and packing your room one last time (which holds too many memories of Yoongi).

The news comes from your mom. 

She probes for information about the last time you heard from your neighbor turned friend turned stranger, complaining she misses having him around like when you were kids, asking what he’s been up to lately. It’s evident by your short response you haven’t heard yet.

He’s on the dilapidated swing set in his parents backyard when you find him. Shoulders slumped, toeing in the dirt, while he gazes beyond the treeline. 

Silently, you take a seat in the second swing, ignoring the way the wood creaks under your weight. Without a word he hands you his phone. The screen is bright with the last messages.

Tiffany: you just seem to have a lot going on…

Tiffany: i don’t know if I can handle all of it

You hand back the device. There's nothing to say. Cursing her till you’re blue in the face won’t make him feel better and neither will platitudes. Yoongi won’t believe anything contrary to what she said, at least not right now when he’s reeling from a blow to his most vulnerable parts.

So you sit in silence until the moon swells in the sky. He isn’t ready to talk about it when you both fumble down to his parents basement. Or when he hits the Rick and Morty bong Seokjin bought him for Secret Santa years ago. Definitely not when he tries to kiss you and you let him. And not when you end up in his lap, both naked and fighting to detach from what exists beyond the tattered upholstery of the couch. 

Yoongi finally speaks hours later, shoulder to shoulder in the comforting murky darkness of his room. You both still have the heated glow of bare skin sticking together where you touch but it turns clammy when he spills his guts.

He told her those three words after meeting her parents the week before. The first girl you’ve ever seen him be serious about. She said them back but Yoongi didn’t believe her. And the proof he was right sits immortalized in texts messages.

Each word cuts like a knife. Admitting his hurt, his vulnerabilities and weaknesses before shifting the focus to something safer like your break up from May and if Taehyung has tried anything.

He softens when your lips crest his shoulder. The lingering franticness fades with each peck as you move across his chest, then his throat, then his lips. Because you know Yoongi wants to talk about this once and never again. Needs to put it behind him before it becomes too real.

You leave for the city two weeks later and Yoongi follows after managing to snag a shitty IT job. He spends more time at your apartment than his own and when the girl you met through a roommate group moves out, Yoongi moves in.

Maybe it becomes too common of an occurrence. What was once reserved as an escape from the crushing weight of rejection, a way to find comfort in each other more than before, turned into a quick fix at the slightest annoyance. When you’re too pent up or Yoongi had a hard day. If you were feeling insecure after another failed date, or he simply wanted an easy lay with someone who knew how to get him off without the awkward pauses of learning.

Now, Yoongi bends you over the counter at three in the morning, lapping at your cunt like he didn’t have you sitting on his face before leaving for Namjoon's apartment to pre-game. The dig of the marble edge in your ribs is less alluring than the comfort of your bed; but what Yoongi wants he more often than not gets, so how do you refuse when he shuffles you into an Uber with hunger in his gaze and possessiveness in the grip on your thigh. 

“Yoongi,” you sigh. Reaching back, one of your hands anchors in the short tufts of his hair, pressing him firmer into the ache of your pussy. 

The tug of the cool counter top against your nipples works in his favor, leaving you desperate with a hitch in your throat each time you rock back into his waiting tongue. It dips into your opening, wedged between his fingers that dig into your walls just right after years of practice. Yoongi knows how to push all your buttons, he’s sewed half of them on. 

Your forehead meets the marble on the next swell of his tongue except this time is across your ass and punctuated with a bite you’ll feel next time you sit. A harsh clench around his fingers grants you sinful drag of his tongue across the hole only ever explored by him. 

“Fuc–Yoongi!” 

Sloppy kisses follow your spine until he’s at your ear with his cock resting against the meat of your ass. You're bent back at the waist once again so he can pluck at your nipples the way he likes, until you're shuddering away and pleading for mercy in a way meant to spur him further.

“Bet Namjoon wouldn’t do this,” Yoongi grunts with a tease of his cock inside, bare.

He’ll never let you forget the semester of freshman year you drooled for his friend's dick while Namjoon remained none the wiser. Every unconscious shut down sent Yoongi into a sadistic fit of laughter until you cut your losses and called it quits. 

You know why he’s bringing it up now. Namjoon looked good tonight. Newly single with a buzzcut that ruined most men’s allure. Maybe you contemplated re-igniting the old flame when he first showed up but now there's history and comradery that didn't exist in your younger days and it's too complicated just for the chance to satiate your curiosity. They’re all the same reasons you shouldn’t be fucking your best friend since grade school but none of it seems to have the same weight.

It didn’t matter what you decided because Yoongi saw enough temptation in your gaze to bring it up like he isn’t the one fucking you regularly.

Your pants fog across the marble. “Should we call and find out?” 

His palm stings into your ass, heating the skin on impact. The opportunity to neg him into another smack passes too quickly. You’re already at the mercy of Yoongi’s mouth on yours, the taste of whiskey, stale cigarettes, and your pussy less than appealing but his tongue is hot when he licks behind your teeth.

A hand takes up the work between your legs, rough and rushed as you trapeze down the hallway towards the bedroom. Yoongi thumbs at your clit with intent. You nearly collapse against the wall with buckled knees from the onslaught of too much stimulation.

Breaching the bedroom door proves too much a struggle. Yoongi bounces off the door jam from a rough grope against his zipper which leaves you flailing before catching in the corner of the mattress. His room is too damn small for the king bed he insisted on but it makes for a great backdrop to your fucking. Miles better than the more practical queen hidden in your room further down the hall.

You manage to push him off long enough to dig your knees into the sheets, crawling to the pillows with an arch you know he’ll rib you for later.

“Coming?” You ask over your shoulder, eyeing the flash of his boxers creeping through the opening of his zipper.

Flopping on your back, you splay across the over abundance of pillows like a queen while Yoongi works off his pants. His hair is a mess and a bruise the size of your mouth blooms high enough on his neck he’ll have to wear turtlenecks for the next two weeks. “Spread your legs.”

“Do you one better.” It's a goad in the most obvious sense. He likes to watch you huff, failing to get yourself off until he intervenes and gives exactly what you need. So you throw your legs wide, bent at the knees just to make it clearer in the faint light spilling from the window, and sink a hand down and play with the mess he caused. “Mmmm, Yoongi.” 

“Finger it for me,” he drawls.

Muscles melt at the first pass inside your already battered walls. Not as deft as his fingers but you won’t tell him that unprompted. Yoongi’s ego is big enough when it comes to your sex life, fueled by the knowledge he’s collected many of your firsts. But the way he palms over his underwear in mimic of your rhythm tempts you to break that rule.

“Come here.” 

Yoongi just smirks at the demand, pushing the mess of his pants off until he’s bare and the maroon head of his cock makes you drool.  “You come here.”

“I’m not playing naked chicken.” You growl. “Come fuck me before I get my vibrator.” 

Flipping on your front with your ass in the air, you drive a hard bargain Yoongi’s never been capable of saying no to. The bed dips behind you, knees between your own, shuffling them wider so he can stretch you until you’re pliant and aching.

His chest melts to your back, sticking uncomfortable but you don’t care because it feels good. Like he’s consuming you. “How bad do you want it?” Yoongi bites into your shoulder.

“Yoongi, fuck.” Your arms collapse under the first rush of his hips, spin dipping harshly to take every inch until he’s flat against your rear.

In a blink, you’re parallel to the mattress, pinned under his weight. It’s pathetic for so early in the game but Yoongi is the same man who gave you so many orgasms you’ve cried so it only stands to reason he crumbles your bravado like it's nothing. 

Sniffling in his hold, you turn to nose at his cheek over your shoulder. “Please, fuck me.” 

“Shit,” he spits with a harsh thrust. “You’re so fucking tight for me.” 

The next press of his hips leaves you heaving. Your hands scramble when he cants a bruising pace against your ass. Hard. All while every noise he tries to hide sings straight into your ear.

With immense effort, you wiggle onto your back. Yoongi meets you with a kiss, tongue to tongue while he works back inside where you both need him most.

The callous of his palm rakes against your throat, not squeezing, just a possessive firmness.

“H-harder,” you beg, nails leaving crescents in his shoulder.

Yoongi hitches your thigh over his; slowing so he can fuck you deeper, crushing every noise hiding in your gut out. 

Shocked from the sudden rush against your clit, your leg kicks out straight. It’ll leave you sore in the hips come morning but right now you don’t even register the discomfort. “Oh, oh, oh!” 

“Like that?” Somehow he manages to drag the head of his cock deeper from the praise.

“Just like that,” you pant into his mouth.

He leans back to watch your decay into desperation but stops when you tug him back by the sensitive roots of his hair. Cracking open your eyes, you find his brown ones inches away. Forehead to forehead while you both synthesize into a heap of flushed skin and need.

Fingers intertwined, Yoongi pins your hand on the pillow. Then he stares. Not at your face as you crest the first wave of an orgasm but your fingers curled between his. Like he’s never done it before, like he doesn’t know exactly how you two got in this position. 

“Oh my god, Yoongi.” 

You cum hard. Nearly managing to drive him out from the force to your insides. Every muscle twisting tighter and tighter until it breaks and when you pull his mouth back to yours all you can do is shake under his lips with cracked mewls.

Yoongi might be shaking too but he swells inside you with a groan, collapsing into your neck before your brain catches up to consider the idea.

Dodging an attempt at a final kiss, he favors his lips on your throat. Fleeting wet pecks that get you choking on air. Then your breasts where he takes up his abandoned work on your nipples, teeth flashing across the sensitive peaks until your shoulders cave and you're desperate for him again; grinding into the fingers he’s so readily supplies.

He’s fucked you like this before. When he has something to prove to the non-existent entity constantly creeping on his subconscious, when he feels he isn’t good enough in some intangible way. Asking him what's wrong won’t do anything. Yoongi will tell you when he’s ready; if he ever is. Years of friendship and the fear you’ll see a part of him capable of scaring you away still eats him alive. So you’ll give him whatever reassurance he needs this way and hope he understands.

Your second orgasm comes faster than the first. Trails of the previous pleasure pushing you swiftly along. Yoongi latches his lips around your clit and sucks until spots flash and your thighs nearly crush his head.

“Fuck, Yoongi. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You cry, threatening to fold in half under his fingers. “G-gonna cum again.”

Flares of lightning in your blood explode. Throat raw from wailing, Yoongi works you through until you dig your ankle into his ribs and kick him off.

The cold air in the room helps cool your feverish skin unlike the dark haired man flopping next to you. It’s quiet around two sets of gasping breaths and the rain tapping at the window.

Shoulder to shoulder, you calm in the drum of the overhead fan. Yoongi’s fingers tangling and untangling with your own confirms your suspicion. Whatever he needs to tell you bubbles below the surface, swirling until he finds the safest words to share his feelings. There's no point in guessing but it doesn’t stop you from spiraling through the possibilities.

The major suspects lack any clear indication. His date last weekend ended with mutual disinterest. Nothing concerning his job registers in your vague memory. Both your parents were fine the last time you visited months ago. Yoongi’s nephew is fine—

 “I told my mom you're my girlfriend.”

Well that's new. “Oh.”

“It was an accident but—”

“What’d she say?” You cut him off. 

Yoongi hesitates. Your voice doesn’t betray disdain or hope, only reluctant curiosity. If you set too many expectations he’ll clam up and avoid you for months like when he lost his virginity at a party freshman year. Yoongi shares on his terms and you listen.

“That it was about time I got my head out of my ass.”

You wait for him to continue but he doesn’t. Yoongi’s palm slick against your own betrays his nerves, the ghost of squeeze begs for some kind of reassurance he isn’t crazy. 

“Huh.” You exclaim to the ceiling. It’s not the worst idea. And its definitely not the first time you’ve entertained it.

He lets you go the second you tug on your connected hands, anticipating swift rejection that leaves you feeling sour. But you’re rolling into his chest, the now free hand protecting his sternum from the dig of your chin so you can stare him down until he finally blinks your way. You won’t let Yoongi wiggle away from this ten year overdue conversation.

“Is that what you want?”

The answer is clear in his eyes. Yoongi’s mouth rounds over the words to tell you, floundering silently because he’ll admit he isn’t good at things like this. But if it’s worth it to him then you need to hear him say it. 

Rising up, you sit bare in his lap while he works through his nerves. Finally, when your hand cups his cheek and his eyes sink closed, leaning into the warmth, he tells you.

“That’s what I want.”

Your nose wrinkles with a shy smile. “Kinda cliche.”

Yoongi snorts when you kiss him but melts the cold facade swiftly.

“Yeah well,” he huff. “So is losing your virginity to your prom date but let's not talk about that.” Yoongi may spit the words but his hands, gentle where they trace the curve of your sides, betray his euphoria.

“We can talk about that too if you want.” You whisper into his jaw, lips prickling from the shadow growing there. “Prom me probably would have let you fuck her.”

“Yeah?”

You choke on a laugh at the pleased shock on his face. “Yeah, but not after that black eye came in.”

“Cheap fucking shot.” He grumbles under his breath, but you’re already there kissing the words from his lips. Yoongi indulges, melting further into the bed when his tongue timidly slips along yours. After you dip away to press more languid pecks where his cheeks round, he speaks again.  “If I asked you out then what would you have said?”

“Well the only reason I said yes to whats-his-fuck was because someone else was too stubborn to ask me himself.” You hum in his ear. “Does that answer your question?” 

You're on your back in a flash, pinned under your boyfriend who smiles as you flounder and fail to push him off. 

“You need to be nicer to me,” he grunts when you knock out his arms and collapse his chest to yours.

“If you wanted someone nicer, then you had years to figure that out.”

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @lovelyhachi @sliceofwoozi

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[ns-imagines]

Nikto никто

Nikto Character Introduction

If you find yourself drooling over possessive and obsessive!Ghost or König lemme introduce you to Nikto…

SFW [ all cannon information ]

Word Count: TBA its a lot

Warnings: Disorder mention; Torture mention; dissociative disorder mentioned;

A/N: Lemme talk to you for a moment…

My new masked crush. Heart and coochie go brrrrrrrrrrrrr

Post has not been checked for grammar corrections / Not requested :D

Cannon Information:

Nikto (Neeek-toe) is a Operator in Spetsnaz for the Allegiance faction which is within the KorTac Organization. Basically hes a contractor for the contractors. Its cannon that he has facial scarring which is why he wears a mask. Not a turn off for me ah ha ha

So he isn’t necessarily a good guy like the 141 guys (even though now they’re considered war criminals I suppose) but he’s also not a bad guy. In summary, man does what he gets hired to do.

Anyways, after going AWOL in October 2022 from the Russian contracting military group he resurfaced in June 2023 (also the introduction of his character in the game). He resurfaced being the leader of a military group which was overtaking the Dutch city of Vondel.

On the Official Wiki he is only given two paragraphs of biography. You can read it here -> https://callofduty.fandom.com/wiki/Nikto

Also mentioned on the page [ for the COD Mobile universe ] is that theres cannon beef between Ghost and Nikto!! Yes, you heard me right. So on the wiki it is mentioned that Nikto was working for a guy named Templar. Whom is betrayed and killed by Ghost. Then when Ghost went after everyone else in the helicopter he shot Nikto. It was thought that Nikto died from the shot but he didnt….

Nikto reappears when he takes a group of people hostage and records a video explaining that the world has failed them and has left people like (Nikto) to beg and then fight over the scraps. Price (yes Price) tries to convince Nikto to let the hostages go and to basically chill out but Nikto wins by blowing up the building. With the hostages inside.

Okay maybe he has beef with all of 141… and is kinda a bad guy I can change him

SO then time passes and Nikto reappears again seeking a gun deal with a dude named Gunzo. Gunzo asks Nikto “why a man wanted on every continent, doesnt have guns” this pisses Nikto off. Nikto replies with “i dont need guns” then proceeds to buy the guns from Gunzo. Then Nikto gasses the fuck out of Gunzo and his men with Nova Gas. Nikto explains to Gunzo that the world is failing blah blah. He then goes on to brag about how he doesnt need a gas mask to breath like everyone else because hes that edgy and then he just executes Gunzo. We can fix him

Nikto disappears again only to reappear flying a F-85B Bullshark and leading a military riot. He then orders a attack on Prices convoy (video below) and basically down their helicopter. In the video below you can see small arms fire, an RPG, and then a finishing shot. Which was shot by Nikto’s aircraft. Okay maybe he is bad, we can fix him ?

Which you can watch here -> https://youtu.be/dDaCTCu82t0

In game bio from MW, CODM, and MW2

It is referenced in his bio MW and CODM that he has acute dissociative disorder. Which according to WebMD

“Dissociative disorders involve problems with memory, identity, emotion, perception, behavior and sense of self. Dissociative symptoms can potentially disrupt every area of mental functioning. Dissociation is a disconnection between a person’s thoughts, memories, feelings, actions or sense of who he or she is.”

Which is explained to be from when he was tortured by Mr. Z. That event is also where he got his facial scarring from. Although he is Russian; in current MW2 timeline his nationality and language is [ REDACTED ]. I was looking around on the internet for why and Reddit believes its due to current world current events/tension. Rewording to: we can accept and love him. I dont think we can fix him.

I don’t expect this post to get a lot of attention but for those who like it my requests are fully open ❤️

i will definitely be posting more Nikto content and what I think Nikto looks like and how he acts.

Thank you for reading! -Kiv

[kcrossvine-art]

hi friends! :D y'all voted and fought neck and neck for this SO- heres the first entry into our little cooking journey of J. R. R. Tolkeins fictional food for his fictional little guys he puts in fictional turmoils for our enjoyment and awe!

 Before we get started i wanna say i owe my heart to all the LotR fans who upkeep the wiki, debate the cannon, and create their own versions of the foods mentioned. Both because of my love for people who LOVE (passionate people)(passion about anything) and because my own knowledge of this series is a little dusty. I've never seen the movies but I did read the books growing up. I'll be learning and remembering things from a fairly newbie standpoint, so no worries if you yourself arent familiar with the series! (and if you are familiar, hopefully youll forgive me!)

We will be making Lembas ('waybread') today! If you've made your own version of this please feel free to share it, similarly if you have any ideas for what we make next!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to Lembas?” YOU MIGHT ASKWell so the funny thing is we kinda dont know. At least not entirely? The elves are dicks like that. But heres what we'll be using in ours-

Butter

Self-rising flour

Granulated Sugar

Raisins

A small dried fruit of your choosing

Almonds OR Pecans

EGG

Whole Milk

Heavy Cream

And if you would like for dipping-

Blackberry jam

To the extent i understand this is kinda like hardtack from the bri'ish military, but a fantastical version of it that actually tastes really good. Hardtack was a military provision with the texture of a brick that took a long time to spoil and could be easily carried with soldiers. So the texture we're going for is super dense, packed full with nuts and fruits (haha just lik-), but perhaps not that dense. We want something closer to a dog biscuit than actual tack.

I remembered something about corn being mentioned, thankfully the wiki clarified that no actually the british just referred to any grain as corn back in the day. Thank Fuck! Although I would like to try a version of this using masa in the future.

AND, “what does Lembas taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

Took a few tries but eventually got it perfectly chewy and dense

The raisins cook-in like little beads of flavortown sweetness

Cant speak for other fruits but for dried apple it softened up nicely, kinda matching the raisins in the end

Im a big pecan slut, pecans fuck on anything especially here. Crumble them on top after you coat the dough with the egg-mixture for some visual appeal

Somewhat flakey outside

The jam was my idea, it was nice but might be too sweet for some tastes

Would pair very well with a kiwi flavored drink

Or mead

I can see why this would a travelling provision. Its both sugary (a good thing when expending energy) and filling (also a good thing when youre travelling) while not being overwhelming with flavor (if youre prone to motion sickness. Horse sickness? Do get motion sickness on horses?)

Its like how if you're going hiking you want a good mix of sugars and salts, to balance your intake of water.

. If you wanna make it like the illustrations or the movie, use a cookie cutter for either triangles or squares . If you don't have a cookie cutter, an apple cutter also works ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . try to keep the board you'll roll the dough out onto chilled before you use it, it seems better for the texture of the food though i dont entirely know why

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So from beginning to end, it took about an hour and half for the first attempt. Down to about 40 minutes for the second attempt. These are a real simple recipe because its not like a croissant where the margin for error is nonexistent. Middle-earth be damned my boy can work a grill.

I'd recommend storing in a tubberware container, but if you're deadset on using leaves please rinse and dry them first, and wrap the bread in either wax paper or saran wrap underneath. We dont have mallorn leaves in real life (as far as we know) but most salad greens should work, or as Marie Porter says (linked in the reblogs!) a banana leaf.

I really enjoyed the process of making this recipe, itd be really easy to batch-bake these en masse, and the process of eating said recipe. Like all jokes aside, i think this would be a great substitute for trailmix. Its not going to get smushed and even if it breaks a bit it wont affect the taste. It wont keep you fed for a whole day but pair it with some pickles or a salty snack and yeah itll keep your motor running.

I give this recipe a solid 10/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Let me know if you think I got something wrong, or if you ran into issues with the recipe. We're off to a strong start, lads!

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

6 TBSP butter, chilled

2 cups self-rising flour

1 TBSP granulated sugar

½ cup raisins

½ other dried fruit (strawberry slices, oranges, etc.), chopped

Handful of almonds or pecans, chopped

1 egg, well beaten

½ cup whole milk

4 TBSP heavy cream

Method:

Preheat your oven to 400 f.

Cut the butter into slivers/small pieces. With your hands, combine the butter into the flour in a mixing bowl until the mixture resembles coarse sand.

Chop your dried nuts and dried fruit until it feels right.

Mix in the sugar, raisins, nut, and dried fruit of your choosing

In a seperate bowl, beat the egg until combined, and then mix in the milk until combined. Keep a bit of this mixture to brush the tops of the bread.

Stir while adding the egg/milk mixture and the heavy cream into the flour. Mix just until combined into a soft dough.

Knead the dough until firm on a floured surface.

Roll into a half inch thickness and cut with a square or leaf shaped cookie cutter. (...or in my case, an apple corer).

Place on a lightly greased baking sheet, with about an inch of space between each piece. Brush the tops of the lembas with some of the mixture you saved earlier.

Bake for about 15-20 minutes, or until it turns a soft gold and the inside is chewy.

[ur-dad-satan]

I have spicy Obey Me! headcannons!!

I'm just gonna be talking about my different spicy head cannons for my little Obey me men. If you don't agree, that's fine but I don't take criticism. <3

MDNI please and thanks. I'm looking at you specifically. Go away. I'm gonna start blocking blank blogs too.

Leviathan has two dicks. I know this is a pretty popular thing, but I agree. I feel like if he's in his casual form or relaxed they look human, but when he's in his demon form, they mimic his tail in color and texture (scaly).

Leviathan has a forked tongue. This might also be popular, but I haven't really seen it. I think that Levi's tongue looks like a snake's tongue. Like I think it's also blue and like really skinny and long.

Barbatos likes to fuck with his tail. Not only does he love it, but he's also really fucking good at it. Weather MC is afab or amab they love it Barbs can do DP with just his tail while... doing more stuff. His tail is smooth and probably always kinda cold too. He and MC aren't the only ones who enjoy it.

Any character with wings would wrap them around their partner after they fuck. This is pretty self-explanatory but after they're done fucking and everything, if their wings are big enough, the demon/angel will protectively wrap their wings around their partner as a form of aftercare.

Levi, Barbs, and Satan all love to tail fuck. Again, self-explanatory, but it's a bit different for each. For Levi, it's more instinctual. He doesn't think about it; it's like his tail has a mind of its own and he loves it. Barbs does it in a slow teasing way where both he and whoever he's fucking get a ton of pleasure from it. Since Satan's tail is so rigid, he would only use it if he or his partner is really desperate or overstimulated to help them finally come.

Dia, Luci, Barbs, and MC are all fuck buddies. They all fuck each other on the regular. Sometimes it's just Dia and Luci or Dia and Barbs. Or all three or MC with any of them. I wouldn't be surprised if there have been times where Luci came in for a meeting and MC is under Dia's desk sucking his dick while Luci is none the wiser until Dia's coming or MC needs something.

The twins also fuck MC at the same time. They will DP, take turns, spit roast, and all times of shit to MC but of course, never touch. If you ask them why, they'll say it's because they like to share.

I will do another if this gets 15 notes. <3

[khattikeri]

always fucks me up how every major male SVSSS character barring liu qingge (dead for all of PIDW) and shen yuan (literal transmigrator) have some variation of airplane bro's personality, insecurity, and shitty coping mechanisms. like.

shen jiu!qingqiu lashing out, letting people assume terrible shit about him because it's easier than trying to clarify his intentions only for his actions and words to be misinterpreted anyway?

yue qingyuan being politely vacant, aimless and self-deprecative, believing himself a failure who deserves to be hated?

og!shang qinghua being a cannon fodder "cowardly traitor", cut off from protection and money and killed by his former liege?

mobei-jun having deeper set issues with trust and loyalty, especially from family members and personal servants?

tianlang-jun's naivete and emotional attachment leading indirectly to his being sealed under a mountain miserable and alone for years?

zhuzhi-lang's excessive degree of loyalty to people who show him sincere kindness, since most people find him ugly and unapproachable?

PIDW!luo binghe's emotional apathy and detachment after all he suffered; him being rewritten into an overpowered, intelligent, revenge-driven, manipulative man so good in bed he can force anyone to join his harem?

SVSSS!luo binghe being similar to the above, but otherwise being clingy, deeply insecure, clumsy and inefficient in bed and in love?

SVSSS!luo binghe being desperate to maintain emotional connections and terrified of the perception that he's being abandoned by someone he loves and looks up to?

SVSSS!luo binghe being willing to go to concerning extremes to find out WHY that person changed their mind and chose to hurt him, abandon him, and what he can do to fix things?

SVSSS!luo binghe's most bitter anguish being the thought that they despise him and are throwing him away for unchangeable aspects of who he is, for being himself?

PIDW was originally a romanceless web novel driven by its unique fantasy setting and lore. it was stripped down of those elements to make way for cliche heterosexual porn tropes until it became an inconsistent male power fantasy harem novel that fickle readers-- whose money pay airplane's bills now that his parents both remarried and started new families, cutting off basically all money and contact with him-- would keep reading.

everything about PIDW (and SVSSS) reflects part of airplane. not only the characters' personalities and experiences, but the original story as a whole, considering how much of it (of himself) airplane ended up sacrificing and shuttering away to present a different image that would be more easily accepted.

[haveateadude]

bleak horizons

summary *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ yeah, okay. maybe you're sad.

warnings *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ depression, self-harm, mommy issues (dw there's A LOT of fluff and cuddles and hugging and it all ends up alright) this is just talked about but it can still be triggering!!!!! pls take care of yourselves!!!!!!!! my dms are open :)

author notes *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ wasn't planning on posting this but i love validation. also, this is not like cannon ellie i guess?? i did a really bad characterization bc i used this as a vent and i just wanted comfort lmao. hope this still makes y'all feel seen or fucking something. btw this first part is really boring hehe, i wrote this when i was in a rush and in a train and i was tired and sad so i don't mind if it flops lol

i hate this so much idk why i'm posting this as my first pots. aghh. here u go ig. don't hate on me. bye.

(not proofread, sorry abt that)

pt1 — pt2 — pt3

you look so out of it

pull it together

we can love you

forever and ever

I've recently moved in with Ellie after weeks of looking for someone to move in.

I had checked other apartments, but this was the one that didn't smell like there was a corpse under my feet, hidden from the light beneath the floor and it didn't look like it was haunted by ghosts. The walls weren't chipping away, also, so that was a plus. There's no denying that getting used to living with someone else was difficult, but it was the only alternative to live away from my parents. Not to mention I had developed feelings for Ellie—she's beautiful, with those eyes and auburn hair, and her tattoos just make her look fucking badass.

After a few weeks, I settled in with her: we both have a routine, and established unspoken rules, and now it's comfortable living with her.

Tonight was a lovely night—I had already finished everything I had to do, and I didn't have an exam until next week, probably—until I got a call from my mother. I know I can't run away from this one. She always threatens to unroll me from college and take me home when I don't answer her calls. And I know she's capable of doing so.

“Hello?” I said as I went out to the kitchen, to take a glass of water.

“You know, most people say something sweet when they answer their mother.”

I roll my eyes, even if she can't see me. It was just a fucking hello.

“What happened, Mom?” I ask, not wanting to fight.

She takes a second to answer, “Well—I was looking at some resources and there are a lot near your area…”

She takes a second to answer, “Well—I was looking at some resources and there are a lot near your area…”

“Resources about what?”

“Therapy. Conversion therapy.”

It takes all of myself not to gasp, or cry. I don't know. I hear Ellie going out of her room, and walking towards the kitchen. I don't care if she's here; I haven't been caring about anything these past few days.

“Okay,” Is all you say. I don't know how to answer, or what to do. I leave the glass on the aisle with trembling hands.

“That's all you have to say?”

“I—I don't know what you want me to say.”

“‘Thank you’, maybe?” I stay quiet, I don't want to thank her, I don't want her to speak to me ever again. “You could also get therapy for, you know…”

“For what, mother?”

“The cutting. Your scars—I always thought they looked repulsive. No one is going to lov—”

I hung up before she could say anything else. I hate her. I hate my mother. I can't even believe she's a mother, let alone mine. I suddenly feel the need to hurt, and I hate to admit it, but my mother has always been right about the way they look—so I just shut my eyes and try to breathe. It always helps—deep breathing, that is. I have to remind myself that I'm clean. I've been clean for months. Maybe even a year, I lost count.

“You okay?”

Ellie's voice almost makes me flinch, already having forgotten about her. I open my eyes as she walks over to me and lays her elbows on the aisle, while I rest my back on the counter behind her.

I look at her, with a knot in my throat, “I'm fine.”

“Your mother…” She makes a pause, short enough to not make me go crazy, “Is she, like, a pain in the ass?”

I chuckle at that as I cross my arms, “Yeah.”

“If it gets too bad, you can talk to me. I don't mind. And my dad has some contacts, we can maybe scare your mother away.”

“It's okay,” I tell her with a smile. “I can manage.”

“I know,” She smiles, and I can feel my heart fluttering in my chest.

Before I say anything I regret, I go to your room with my door open—a technique I've acquired to avoid hurting myself.

I sit at my desk and look up conversion therapy first, I want to know what this is all about—I know that it's harmful to people in the community, that it leaves you screwed and fucked up. I don't like what pops up on my screen, so I close the tab and go to another one—where I search for therapy. The real one.

I went to a lot of therapy sessions, but my mother was always behind them, so I don't know if it ever was effective. I like this one a lot better. It should be helpful. It will help, I know that for a fact.

I'm having dinner with Ellie, which we normally do—today we ordered, since we were hungry and it always takes a little while to prep a meal—when I think to ask her about the topic.

“Do you know any therapy center?” I ask her. “Or the number of a therapist? Whatever.”

If she's curious, she doesn't show it. She stops chewing on her food, then looks at me; then continues to chew, and after she swallows she speaks, “Sure, I have some friends that go to the same therapist, so it's completely trustworthy, I guess. I can ask for the number.”

I wipe my mouth with the napkin on my side, “Yeah, that'd be alright.”

Ellie takes a sip from her cup and then looks at me, “You okay, though…?”

“I'm fine, just—you know, making sure everything's okay.”

She nods, “Got it—I was just asking.”

After my first therapy session, I ended up tired. My therapist—which feels weird to say out loud and even in my head—is a nice lady in her thirties who looks like a hippie.

I've realized I tend to lie a lot—I didn't talk about self-harm or my mother. Or anything else, really. Just about the movie Speak, and then almost cried when talking about the weather.

So, “Yeah, it went well,” is my answer when Ellie asks how it went, sitting in her car. She picked me up since I had taken my car to maintenance.

“Okay, then,” she says once the car engine starts. She connects her phone to Bluetooth, and we listen to music for a while. Ellie places her hand on my knee when I start bouncing my leg, which sends shivers down my spine and gives my brain something to think of that isn't any of my shit. “Do you want to go eat something?”

“Sure,” I accept. Her thumb makes little circles on my knee. I wonder if she knows what she's doing, her eyes are still fixated on the road. My heart does the flutter thing that it did a few days back again, and my core heats up.

She doesn't want you, I try to convince myself. She's your friend, she doesn't want you. She will fall in love with you, not your brain nor your scars, and when she finds out about the way you think she'll leave.

When we arrived at the restaurant, we ordered a plate together, since we always share and the food here comes in big sizes that we wouldn't finish if we ate it separately.

When we arrive at the restaurant, we order a plate together, since we always share and the food here comes in big sizes that we won't finish if we ate it separately.

“So, how's work?” I ask when we're waiting for our food.

“It's going well, I guess.”

“You guess?”

"I just hate my boss."

I furrow my eyebrows, “do you want to talk about it?”

“It's fine, he just sucks. But well, Jesse is postulating to—you know, be a boss; that fucker.”

I chuckle, “Well, I like Jesse.” I soon realize what I said, and my cheeks go red. “Not in a, uh, romantic way or anything. You know. Fuck. He's just nice.”

“Just nice?”

“I like you better than him,” I blurt out, which only adds to my embarrassment.

Oh, oh.

I like Ellie.

Fuck, yeah. You do.

Who am I kidding, I knew I did. From the start—from the first time she looked at me, for the first time touched my hand and spoke to me; for the first time she played guitar for me and made dinner because she knew how tired I was.

Ellie is flushed. I can tell.

“Oh, do you?” She asks with a grin.

The waitress comes with our food, and leaves the plate. I look at her, she looks at me at Ellie and then leaves.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and lay my elbow on the table, with my chin propped up in my hand.

“What if I do?”

She bites her lip, looks at mine and then at the food, “The food's getting cold.”

What the fuck. What the actual fuck. Did that actually happen, or was it my imagination? Holy shit. Shit! Fucking fuck.

It leaves me thinking, but my thoughts leave when I hear her laughter after I crack a joke.

We take the stairs up the apartment, and we laugh all the way up. We just laugh and laugh and laugh because she said something and now I'm almost falling to the floor from how much my stomach hurts.

“Stop,” I say when we get to our apartment door. I keep laughing because Ellie's laughing too and she can't open the door. “My stomach hurts.”

She looks at me and laughs. Idiot. I laugh, too.

“Hey!” We hear our neighbor say. “Quiet down!”

“We're sorry!” I exclaim back, as he closes his door.

Ellie giggles, “You're so fucking dumb, I'm not sorry at all.”

“Shut up,” I say.

“Oh, make me.”

And then—oh, god—and then, and then she looks at me as the curvature of my lips goes down, and then I kiss her.

I kissed her. I fucking did. Me, not her—not Ellie's brave and confident ass, but mine. The butterfly in my chest flutters harder when she kisses back. She puts both of her hands on my waist and deepens the kiss, while my hand moves from her cheeks to her neck, then finds its way to her torso.

Ellie manages to open the door without breaking the kiss, and then she shuts the door with her foot.

“We should—” I speak between kisses. “Ellie—couch.”

“Yeah, okay. Okay.”

Our tongues fight, but our souls mend and I find my way to her in every sense. 

[r0-boat]

Whb Belphegor prediction head cannons

This was written before belphie came out where I'm predicting what he might become and may not be accurate but it's still fun too speculate please enjoy!

Sfw mix with nsfw

Belphie is a night owl, probably because he sleeps all day. He does go out just... Not where his subordinates want. Going out at night probably to night clubs when or Hangouts. But that's when he actually wants to go outside which is usually once in a blue moon.

Has broken every single one of his own laws five times.

However normally, he is a shut; he stays inside his room and never comes out. His subordinates freedom like frustrated parents and an unruly teenager, always trying to get him outside for exercise. When he does go outside, he always goes outside at night. In the dead of night when barely anybody is outside. What's he doing in his room? Probably playing fps games, sleeping, or watching porn

I like this idea because, when the MC meets them (probably because they deem that they can protect them the best) Mc is shocked that the King of the militaristic Kingdom is so lazy. We start cleaning up after him and then taking care of him like a certain friend of ours. (Mc Self reflection)

Belphie is actually extremely intelligent. Despite his lazy and neet lifestyle, Belphie is extremely smart and a top war strategist. So like extremely strong, in hand-to-hand combat and knows a lot about military weapons. Occasionally if bothered enough He will step in, And that's when the enemies know they're fucked.

Of course, after he meets you, he starts making me sort of protective of you. You take care of him! And you're so kind to him, small, stupid(by his standards), and cute. How could he not fall for you? Everywhere you go you always have like two to three bodyguards around you appointed by Belphie.

The nobles look at you like you have five heads because you easily convinced there closed off King to actually go outside. You're such a good influence on him! You should come over more often :). Belphie will not do anything unless you are involved.

Belphie the avid porn watcher. Kinky pervy pillow princess piece of shit who would def call you mommy on accident.

But at the same time, make you ride his big fat cock till you see stars. And jerk himself off while staring at you when you can't move anymore. Completely fine with using you as his pocket pussy.

[mrwavellswaps]

Hi, im a scrawny guy studing arts in college, can you make me a hulking lebanese stud with a more interesting life?

I most certainly can! 😏

You’ve just gotten home from a long and slightly boring day at college. I assume you enjoy studying arts but it can drag on at times and that leads to a lot clock watching. And you can’t help feeling the same about your life in general. That it’s just not interesting enough for you. Well that’s where I come in.

You’re sprawled out across your bed and scrolling your phone as you usually would when first arriving home. Only this time I’d be watching you silently. Invisible of course as I peered into your mind and search through it until I found what you desired most. My face twisting into a grin as I point a finger towards you and beam my magic directly into you so it may begin it’s work.

It felt like a bolt of lightning had struck you. A huge flood of energy surging through your entire being. Flowing up and down in rapid succession. You would sit up in confusion while looking down at yourself. You wouldn’t be able to put the strange sensation into words. However your train of thought would be completely smashed when that feeling began concentrating on your chest.

It happened almost instantly. Like an explosion inside your body. Your shirt immediately ripping down the middle as your chest heaved forwards with an unprecedented amount of muscle, forming two huge solid pecs. You could hardly believe your eyes. Never having imagined you’d be able to look down at yourself and see actual pecs! They really were huge! Though before you could even really comprehend what’d just happened, your arms and shoulders ballooned just as swiftly, making sure to destroy whatever was left of your shirt. Going from scrawny noodle arms to enormous bulging biceps and triceps that teemed with strength matched up with a set of cannon ball like shoulders. Even your hands grew bigger and meatier as a result. Yet still no time was wasted as your back proceeded to bulge and widen to compensate for the rest of your upper body.

You got about 20 seconds or so the breath and flex your new muscles curiously before the transformation continued. Unfortunately not even your pants were safe as your skinny stick legs exploded with instant muscle. Blowing your pants apart completely as your grew into massive meaty trunks of power. Gigantic thighs that a scrawny dude like his former self would’ve done anything to have his face smothered between as well as bulky calves that looked the size of footballs. Even your feet grew several sizes to be able to carry all that new size. But even that wasn’t enough as you let out a small grown while your ass ballooned into a perfectly bubbly muscle ass.

Amidst the chaos your body had certainly grown taller as well, but that wasn’t what concerned you. Rather it was the pinching pain in your face as your features began changing. Hair changing colour as your jaw widened. Eyes turning to that of a piercing teal while perfect scruff decorated your face and your lips proceeded to plump up slightly. Your entire heritage and DNA being reworked to become that of a hulking Lebanese stud.

The world around you was starting to blur as you began to feel somewhat light headed. But before you could pass out, there was one final change that had to happened. Suddenly your balls fattened without warning. But what really made you groan was the feeling of your once average cock engorging with newfound length and girth until it reached an almost monstrous size. Bucking and pulsing excitedly as it grew. And the last thing you could remember before passing your was blowing an enormous load all over your chest and stomach before everything faded…

When you awoke however you weren’t in your bedroom at all. Rather you were sat on a lawn chair by a pool you didn’t recognise. You blinked your eyes a little while looking around only to become startled as you looked down at yourself. Your body. You were fucking huge! You couldn’t believe your eyes your rational brain told you that it must’ve all been a dream and yet… it wasn’t. As you flexed your biceps and groped your pecs, all it confirmed was just how real it all felt. Even down to the fat anaconda you called a cock that was stealthily hidden in the large yet still tight shorts you didn’t remember owning. You didn’t know whether to feel afraid, ecstatic or just plain horny.

That when they hit you. The memories of your new life. All of it striking you at once. You were now a famous Lebanese model and actor that was huge on social media with millions of followers across different platforms. You frequently got to travel the world for rolls and fans you met would frequently express how much they looked up to you, adored you or even how much they wanted to be you. And how could you blame them? You were dashing manly hunk in every sense of the phrase. A walking embodiment of testosterone even. And better yet you were of course still openly gay and always helped to support the LGBT community with your extraordinary reach and influence. And as a side effect, other gay dudes practically threw themselves at you left and right.

And now you were sat by the pool at a 5 star Spa Hotel! One of the many you got to stay at while shooting for a new movie. So just sit back, relax and let that hulking body of yours absorb some rays from the sun. Enjoy your new life and status. Though I have a feeling you’d be far too excited by your new body to sit still for long. No doubt you’ll be heading back to your Hotel room soon enough so you can peel off those tight shirts and get a good long look at the new you. Exploring every last inch of muscle until you’ve bust so many loads you can hardly stand.

I can only hope I’ve fulfilled your wish in granting you a more interesting life.

[buzz-in-your-veins]

Hello! Love your work! Is it okay if you could write Valentino x fem!reader? Like NSFW and SFW Headcanons? Thank you, keep up the great work!!

Hi! I’m happy you like my work!!

I will give it my best shot for ya!

My opinion of Valentino fluctuates constantly, so this may seem a bit everywhere.

Valentino

Head-cannons about the famous moth pimp of hell <3

CW: NSFW content, possessive, love bombing, stalkerish, abusive, lying, non consensual drug use, plugs, sorta noncon, toxic, overstimulation.

SFW

• He in no way trusts you to dress yourself. Genuinely believes if he let you, you’d either look awful or hurt yourself. He gets Velvette to make you custom clothes in your style.

• He’s the most famous Pimp and Adult Films Producer in hell. He has more money than he can use, why wouldn’t he use that to constantly spoil his firefly?

• Absolute cuddle whore. Can and will stop his entire day if he wants a cuddle. Oh you’re busy? Forget it. Val can pay more than that stupid job anyway, you should quit, he’ll take care of you limelight.

• He uses his wings as blankets, a consequence of the cuddles is you will fall asleep on him, and sure sometimes Valentino will wake you up, but he’s just as liable to wrap you up in his wings to keep you warm.

• If he doesn’t want to wake you up and can’t keep you with him, he’ll tuck up up nice and walk in his bed, write you a note, and leave you a snack on the table.

• Constantly checks on you. Doesn’t matter if he left you five seconds ago, if he texts or calls you, you’d better answer. Claims Hells to dangerous of a place for such a pretty Coraźon, he needs to know you’re okay.

• Always has to know where you are. Definitely made Vox bug your phone. You’re the amor of the first V. He needs you safe constantly. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost you to his competition.

• Okay, Valentino knows he’s not that great, he knows you could find someone so much nicer, you’re such a darling it would be no hassle. But, Valentino needs you. So he overcompensates for everything. If he’s constantly around, always with a pretty word and a shiny gift, you’ll never think to look elsewhere.

• Barely ever calles you by your name, always calls you a pretty nickname, “Coraźo”, “Amor”, “Cariño”, “Firefly”, “Limelight”, and “Mi Vida” are just a few of those, wants you to always know how much you mean to him.

• Valentino only cares about your self confidence in the capacity that if you have a poor self confidence it will reflect badly on him, and will make you more withdrawn, Valentino already thinks your indescribably gorgeous, why does he need to remind you? But he does it anyway.

• Valentino is possesive. If someone else so much as breathes near you without Vals permission, you’ll find their bloody head outside your door in the morning. Always touching you when you go out.

• Has 100% slapped you when you’ve angered him before, “Oh you didn’t mean too? Too bad.” You tried to run away once. Valentino brought you back bloody and screaming. “I’m sorry Amor, you make me loco Mi Vida, never again.”

• He lovebombs you, after every fight, every disagreement, even when there nos arguments, always tells you your amazing, he loves you, “you’d never leave him.”, buys you everything and anything you could ever like.

• He gives you whiplash with his attitude towards you. Most of the time he treats you like his “preciosa princesa” showering you in as much love and affection as he can, but will also treat you like garbage. “Useless slut! ¡Solo quieres estatus, puta sucia! Leave!” He never means it. “It was — Amor, they were being so foolish today, never you firefly, I’m so sorry, let me make it up Vida.”

• Valentino owns your soul. You gave it to him freely when he drugged you, you still don’t know that Valentino owns your soul, and there’s no way for you to get it back. He doesn’t even want it to make you behave, it’s the power trip of knowing he owns you in every way.

NSFW

• If Valentino isn’t fucking you, he has you plugged full of his cum. And if it leaks? Even better. Doesn’t matter where you are, he’ll bend you over and start licking it up.

• Valentino is possessive of you. If he takes you to an event and notices anyone looking at you, he will definitely bend you over in the limo and fill your pussy with his cum again.

• Loves seeing you covered in his marks. Does not hold back, not even a long turtleneck can cover them. And if he sees you walking around wearing his marks proudly? Best prepare not to walk.

• Valentino can fuck you. If the two of you are really going at it, you won’t be able to walk of days. He will bend you in two and blow out your back.

• Loves giving you sexy presents, fucking you in the lingerie he bought you? Seeing you wearing his jewellery as he pounds you? Noticing you’ve got the plug he bought you in when he’s buried in your throat? “Fuck Vida, shittt.”

• The little noises Val makes? He makes them when he’s screwing you too. Little squeaks as he’s thrusting into your mouth, he’s wings vibrating when he’s really into it, just soft little noises as you draw pleasure from each other.

• Valentino’s never had to ask someone for permission before, and when he’s worked up he doesn’t ask you, just gets straight on with it. He will stop if you safe-word.

• Valentino’s not really big on consent, especially with his workers. With you though? For some reason it’s different, Valentino wants you to want him, not just open you legs because you were told.

• Valentino can be really rough with you, but he also loves taking his time with you, working you up and up and up slow and soft, watching as you reach your peak and fall apart so prettily, before starting all over again.

• Valentino is so verbal with you, constantly telling you how you feel, how much he adores what your doing to him, what he’s going to do tou, “My heart, Mi Vida, just like that, gonna fuck you long and slow.” “Firefly, gotta be quite so they don’t here, while I pump your pussy full of cum, gotta be quick.” “Cariño be as loud as you want, let them hear how you belong to me.”

• Valentino adores degrading you, telling you how much of a puta sucia you are, how your such a filthy slut, “you’d let anyone screw you too get off dirty slut” but he also loves praising you. Telling you your his Corazón bonito, his darling firefly, how youre “such a good girl for me, only mine, so pretty Mi Vida”, seeing your eyes glaze as you drink it all in, Val can’t get enough.

• Valentino love’s overstimulating you, fucking you until your legs are shaking, you can’t speak anymore, your moans are cut with whimpers, and you’re cumming dry? Please, he’d do it every day if you’d allow it, it only shows how well he’s doing.

• Valentino definitely has a playlist he likes to put on when he’s fucking you, setting the mood, letting you pick the song you’re going to be railed too.

• Valentino doesn’t believe in safe word really. But you were adamant you had one, otherwise you would never move past heavy petting. So Valentino agreed, he uses Charlie, you use Red. Valentino has always respected that.

• Valentino has videos of the two of you together, and some of just you, there his personal videos, no one else is allowed to ever see them. He had Vox make a secure private server even he couldn’t access for them.

Feedback is always appreciated <3

Comments are my high.

They make me write faster.

I hope it meets your expectations Anon<33

~Vyrus

[sulumuns-dootah]

NSFW Alphabet - Beelzebub  

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

‎‧₊˚✧ 18+ Minors Do Not Interact‎ ✧˚₊‧

   ༺☆༻

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

None, unless you're someone very special to him. Beel's the type to nut and bolt. Though, if by some miracle you manage to dominate him, expect him to demand every type of aftercare under the sun.

   ༺☆༻

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On him it's thighs in cannon. I also imagine he loves his piercings, more specifically the tongue one. On a partner, I'd say piercings too as well as their armpits and tits(or ass – whichever you have more of).

   ༺☆༻

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

His shit tastes * good *. Also definitely has some aphrodisiac effects. I HC it looks like an icing and this bastard loves to offer you some pastry with his “icing” on top without telling you it's not actually the normal kind of icing.

   ༺☆༻

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Not really a secret, more like something you'd expect him to do, and he actually does it, but doesn't have the need to mention it: He fucks with his clones/doubles. He's hot and they're hot, so why not? Just don't ask me how they work out who's gonna be on top.

   ༺☆༻

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's the most experienced out of all the kings. Even more than Asmodeus. There's only so many ways you can relax while being on the run from your kingly duties.

   ༺☆༻

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves to eat and be eaten so it's 69 for sure. Also I can imagine him loving having you bent over the counter while he's cooking.

   ༺☆༻

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? Etc.)

More cocky than goofy, but definitely would crack a few jokes if he's not that desperate to cum. If he's teasing you, he'll definitely be sporting his signature smirk.

   ༺☆༻

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? Etc.)

This man doesn't grow hair unless he wants to so he's as hairless down there as he wants. If he did however want some hair, I imagine it would be a bit darker than his hair.

   ༺☆༻

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Mostly cocky unless you've teased him for a bit too long, then he'll start degrading you. On the other hand, if you get him to sub, he'll be praising you like there's no tomorrow

   ༺☆༻

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Who needs to jack off when you're the most attractive demon in all Hell? There's always a time and a place for a quickie with this demon. Beel doesn't jack off, unless you count fucking your clone as masturbation.

   ༺☆༻

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Aside from the obvious cannon one, I feel like he would be into cum eating and aphrodisiacs. Beel's also someone who might get into love cannibalism. Plus, I kinda hate to say it, but he is into feeding.(No hate if you're into that yourself, just not my thing)

   ༺☆༻

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere and anytime. Let's be honest, this lovable bastard is a walking aphrodisiac and when he's horny, he doesn't care.

   ༺☆༻

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you smell nice, obviously, or if you cook something that smells good. Also, he's probably into seeing you workout since you're sweating.

   ༺☆༻

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Put you in a harms way. Sure, you two can play rough, but only as long as Beel is still in controll. The last thign he want to happen is getting you seriously injured.

   ༺☆༻

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

This man doesn't care. With him it's 24/7 open buffet with the option to eat or be eaten.

   ༺☆༻

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? Etc.)

For him there's two modes: rough and fast, when he's really horny, and slow and teasing, for when you're the needy one.

   ༺☆༻

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Being on the go, it's almost a requirement. Staying too long in one place is a risk for being attacked or worse – cought by Bael and dragged back to Abyssos. So most of his encounters are short, rough and to the point.

   ༺☆༻

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? Etc.)

Only those that he can control, like I already mentioned. It's also important to remind him of your limits though. Just because something is in his eyes low risk, doesn't mean it's the same for humans.

   ༺☆༻

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This juicy ass packs a lot of stamina from all that running around he does. How long he lasts entirely depends on how long he wants to. If he's in a teasing mood, he can go for hours without actually finishing either one of you off while still maintaining the same speed.

   ༺☆༻

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

If you introduce them, he'll be down. He himself doesn't do toys though. All he needs are his hands, tongue, horn and clones. Actually, you could technically count the clones(?)

   ༺☆༻

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This bitch is a tease and a half. Bully him a bit too much and rest assured, you'll be woken up in the middle of the night by him eating you out and don't expect to have him be merciful on you.

   ༺☆༻

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Ooh the way this man talks. Someone call Astaroth that he's not the one with the hot voice. If you have the Attacker card and have been to secret club with him, you know what I mean. I do have a tiny little clip actually posted here (watch out for the Trixie Mattel jumpscare)

   ༺☆༻

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He's slept with Bael few times when they were young. Afterall Bael is supposed to realistically portray Beel or no? Why not teach him hot to fuck like Beel too?

   ༺☆༻

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

If you have the Erolabs version, there is an option in secret club to take a look, but I kinda disagree with it. Our chaotic piercing king has a frenum ladder at least and you can't convince me otherwise. The 666 tattoo is nice, but Beel strikes me more as a piercing freak than tattoos.

   ༺☆༻

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

This man literally tried to fuck us while dying. This man is ready to go anytime. Someone call Asmo, because Beel has him beat in all fronts.

   ༺☆༻

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

No time to sleep for this one. Gotta go fast before someone catches up to him. If you're lucky he'll stay with you until you fall asleep, but he's gotta go and maybe see you some other time.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

There Are Circumstances

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x F!Reader

Summary: Maverick refuses to bring you on the mission which further deteriorates your already fragile relationship. And the true reason behind his decision catches you off guard.

CW: age gap, student/instructor dynamic, swearing, and, as always, a hefty dose of emotional torment

WC: 3000+

This is Part 4 in the There Are Rules universe.

“Lieutenant!” Maverick calls after you as you storm out of the briefing room before anybody else can exit. You hear him pushing past the others as he follows you out the door. “Lieutenant!” he repeats, his voice echoing in the narrow passageway.

You quicken your pace, the curve of the steel walls blurring in your peripherals as you nearly sprint through the winding corridor.

“Y/N!” Maverick hollers over the persistent rattle of the ship. You keep your course without acknowledging him, but the hum of machinery drowns out Maverick’s footsteps and you don’t hear him running up behind you until it’s too late and he’s cutting you off before you can go any further. He stops so abruptly that you nearly crash into him. He releases a sharp breath, his lips pressed together tightly, and blocks your way when you try to move past. “Don’t take it personally,” he says.

“Fuck off,” you snap, trying to go around him.

Maverick holds his hand out to stop you and gives his head a slight shake. “If this is your idea of professionalism” –

You scoff indignantly. How dare he speak of professionalism after washing you out for no good reason. You’re the best pilot in the squadron – he’d admitted it himself – so his decision to keep you off the mission is personal. “Never would’ve pegged you for the spiteful type,” you say, trying to keep your voice level despite its underlying tremor.

Maverick’s gaze drifts as he looks stoically over your shoulder. He seems unfazed by your assessment or, at the very least, he hides it well. “This has nothing to do with our relationship,” he says, still not meeting your eye.

“What relationship?” you respond maliciously, reminding him that he had severed whatever connection the two of you shared weeks ago.

Maverick breathes out steadily and looks at you once more. “I can’t take you,” he says firmly. “Please don’t question my judgement.”

You let out a bitter chuckle and it reverberates in the passage, for a moment drowning out the rumble of the ship’s engines. “Did Cyclone put you up to this?” you ask.

Maverick shakes his head sternly. “This was my decision.”

You grit your teeth to keep your mouth from trembling. You’re so offended that Maverick has excluded you from the operation, it hardly matters why he chose to do it. All that matters is that Maverick keeps hurting you. And all you want to do is hurt him back. “Let me pass,” you hiss, trying again to force your way through.

Maverick takes a hold of your arms to keep you in place. “Don’t do this,” he says, an edge to his tone despite the composure on his face.

“Do what?” you yell, fighting his firm grasp.

“You’re acting irrationally,” Maverick says in a low voice.

“Oh, am I?” you respond scathingly.

“We can discuss this in a mature, professional manner,” he urges.

You blink at him, stunned at his choice of words. “Are you saying I’m immature?”

He shakes his head solemnly. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“That’s the word you used” –

“Just listen to me, for god’s sake!” he growls, his volume rising threateningly. But you’re only pleased to witness the dissolution of his self-control. After all, you can’t be the only one here who feels something.

“I am listening!” you retort. “You’re professional and I’m not. You’re mature and I’m” –

“Why are you starting a fight?”

“I didn’t start this!” you shout, finally freeing yourself of his grip.

You push past him angrily, but he doesn’t let you get far before roaring, “YOU’RE A LOOSE CANNON!”

You freeze, silent for a second as you process this appraisal.

“If I can’t trust you down here, how am I supposed to trust you up there?” he yells.

You turn slowly to look at him, meeting his turbulent gaze. “You don’t trust me?” you ask quietly, your words barely audible amidst the clatter of the ship.

Maverick’s features contort apologetically, as though he immediately regrets his words. He sighs despairingly, his eyes glistening in the low, fluorescent lights as he squares his jaw. “I can’t get you to cooperate,” he says regretfully. “I don’t know how.”

You stare at him in disbelief.

“You’re a hell of a pilot,” he continues. “But, unfortunately, that’s not enough.”

You suck in your cheeks and bite into them aggressively, trying your best not to cry.

“I can’t have you ignoring my orders up there because you think you know better” –

“I would never –” you start, but he cuts you off.

“You have not demonstrated evidence to the contrary,” he says decisively.

“Maybe not during training, but on a mission” –

Maverick shakes his head. “I told you, Lieutenant: we train like we fight. So that, when we fight, we can come back alive. Ignoring instructions during training may have created bad habits that I don’t want to creep up on us in combat.”

“So, this is punishment?”

“No,” Maverick says quietly. “This is a lesson.”

You let out a disdainful sigh. “What’s the difference?”

Maverick takes a step toward you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says.

You back away. “And yet, here we are.”

Maverick watches you levelly, having nearly regained all his composure. “I don’t want to leave this unresolved.”

You consider his request. In just a few hours, he will be leaving for a mission from which he may never return. And yet, your resentment gets the best of you anyhow. “You know that I would never jeopardize this mission,” you say through gritted teeth. “You know that your reason for leaving me behind is bullshit!”

Maverick nods solemnly. “You’re entitled to that opinion.”

You clench your jaw. “Don’t patronize me.”

Maverick doesn’t say much after this point, and you’re too distraught to carry on the conversation all on your own. Within minutes, other officers begin to round the corner as they make their way back to the living quarters and you join the procession mutely, giving Maverick one last, wounded glance.

…

You’re on deck when Maverick and his crew prepare for takeoff as your own fighter is on standby alert. He watches you solemnly as you wish your fellow aviators a successful mission and, when he approaches you, his eyebrows lifted inward worriedly, you’re suddenly overwhelmed with anguish at the thought of losing him for good.

He holds out his hand to you, but you don’t take it. Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, shutting your eyes tightly when you feel his hands close around your back. “Fly safe, Captain,” you mutter, and you feel his head move up and down in a nod against your neck. When your eyes flutter open, you notice that Cyclone – who’d been watching your interaction from the sidelines – has turned away with a sour expression.

It takes every ounce of your self-control to keep from kissing him as you pull away from the embrace. And, when you catch Maverick’s miserable expression, you gather that he’s fighting the same impulse. He squeezes your hand discreetly before backing away with a grim expression. “We’ll see you soon,” he assures you.

…

“Requesting clearance for takeoff, sir,” you say tensely, interrupting the chaotic feed in your headset.

“Denied,” you hear Cyclone’s rigid response.

“But, sir –” you start when Cyclone interjects.

“I said no, Lieutenant.”

You throw your head back into your seat in frustration. Your heart is hammering so insistently that you feel its pulse in the tips of every one of your fingers. You’ve been trained to keep your emotions in check when faced with stressful situations. You’ve been taught to manage anxiety and overcome fear. But this? No amount of simulation exercises could have possibly prepared you for an event like this.

Maverick’s plane has been shot down and Cyclone has made the difficult decision of leaving him behind, despite the very real chance that he may still be alive. Rationally speaking, you understand that going back for Maverick isn’t worth the unnecessary risk of additional casualties. But, as is to be expected in such unprecedented circumstances, you’re noticing a rapid deterioration of your own logical reasoning skills to the point where you contemplate ignoring orders, taxiing to the runway, and taking off without pre-flight checks. Just when you’re about to release the parking brake, however, the ground crew cuts your engine. You glance down to see them signaling for you to exit the aircraft. “Admiral Simpson, what is happening?” you ask in a panic. “Why were my engines shut off?”

“You’ve been grounded, Lieutenant,” is his response. “Please report to mission control.”

The thought that Cyclone might be omitting information about Maverick and taking you off the deck in order to share it in private is causing you to stagger as you climb out of the cockpit. You’re so nauseated that you feel like you might faint before reaching the ground.

You remove your helmet at a run, skirting the maintenance personnel on the flight deck to reach the first stairwell. You barrel down the stairs and through a passageway toward the center of the carrier. Then down another flight of stairs, and then another. It feels like a lifetime has passed before you finally reach the Combat Information Center.

“Is he okay?” you cry, bursting through the door.

Cyclone turns to look at you with barely concealed irritation. He doesn’t appear impressed with your conduct.

You clear your throat and salute your superior. Then, you try again. “Where is he, sir?”

Cyclone tightens his mouth sternly before looking back to the screen behind him. “We don’t know,” he responds.

“What?” you screech, forgetting protocol yet again. This time, however, Cyclone doesn’t even flinch at your tone. “Why am I here then?” you ask, adding, “Sir,” as an afterthought.

“You’re here because I’m not losing another pilot to insubordination,” he replies without so much as looking in your direction.

“Another pilot?”

Cyclone grimaces. “Maverick pulled a stunt.”

“A stunt, sir?”

“They missed the target,” Cyclone states. “Their time was up, I ordered them to return.”

Your heart sinks. “He went back.”

“He took it out,” Cyclone says with a hint of respect. “Just before he was shot down.”

There’s a somber stillness in the room which tells you that there isn’t a soul here that thinks Maverick could have survived. You feel yourself start to shake, the hope that you were clinging to extinguished as the words shot down begin to finally sink in. Meanwhile, you’re stranded in the depths of the carrier, watching helplessly as the tactical team continues strategizing with their commanding officer on how best to bring the rest of their pilots home.

You lean your back into the wall, trying to steady your breathing, not sure how you’re still standing at all. You notice Cyclone’s occasional glances in your direction but you pay him little attention; in fact, you’re doing a fine job of tuning everyone out, until someone’s surprised tone of voice peaks your interest.

“Sir.” One of the operators points at the radar screen. You and everybody else look up at the blip moving swiftly in the direction of the carrier.

“Is that…” Cyclone leans over the operator’s chair. “One of ours?”

“Comms are down, sir,” the operator responds. “But it’s a Hornet.”

"How the hell?" Cyclone straightens his back in awe. He looks over his shoulder at you with a mildly amused expression. “It’s his tail code,” he says, holding your gaze significantly.

Before he can say anything else, you’re out the door, hurtling back up the stairs. You’re blocked, however, by med crews as they flock to the flight deck. By the time you arrive, the crowd surrounding the returned aviator is so large that you can’t get through. But it doesn’t matter. Because he’s alive. Maverick is alive.

…

Half an hour later, you rush into the officer’s locker room to find a shirtless Maverick grabbing a t-shirt out of his locker. He whips his head around when he hears you enter and lowers his arms slowly as you approach.

He glances over your shoulder anxiously. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says.

Although this isn’t the greeting you had in mind, you gaze at him affectionately, nonetheless, still in shock that he’s made it back. That you were so close to losing him forever and yet, here he stands before you, alive and relatively unscathed.

“Y/N,” he warns as you draw nearer.

But you barely hear him. Or, rather, you ignore his words. Perhaps he’s been right all along about your reluctance to comply with authority.

Maverick opens his mouth as if to speak again but, the closer you get, the more powerless he appears in your presence. And before he can say anything else, you throw your arms around him, burying your face into his neck.

Immediately, he’s hugging you back. He holds you firmly, as though he knows just how much you need to feel him after the fear of never being able to touch him again. You collapse into his embrace entirely, until all your limbs are so weak, he’s practically holding you upright. You’re crying and kissing his neck, and his chest heaves as you fall apart in his arms. “Sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear before pressing a burning kiss on your cheekbone. “You can’t be here.”

You compress yourself against him, completely disregarding everything that followed the word Sweetheart. Maverick’s biceps contract as he hugs you even tighter than before, his rapid breaths washing over the top of your head. You lift your face to glance up at him from the snug embrace and he lowers his head to rest on yours. He closes his eyes when your hand starts to move softly down his bare, upper body. “Just a little longer,” you breathe.

He nods against your forehead, bringing a hand up to rest over yours on his chest. His fingers curl around yours and he lifts your hand up to his lips, kissing your fingertips gently. “I owe you an apology,” he says in an uneven tone.

Slowly and very reluctantly, you detach yourself from him. “No.” You shake your head. “You don’t.”

“Trust me,” he says, his gaze dropping. “I do.”

It’s the hard set of his jaw that makes you uneasy at first. And then, when he looks back up at you, the grief in his swimming eyes alarms you further. “What is it?” you ask, not entirely certain you can handle the answer.

Maverick exhales resolutely and turns away to grab his duffel bag out of the locker. The muscles in his back shift when he bends to set it down on the bench. “I applied for a transfer,” he says.

You stare at the back of his head, paralyzed. Confused. Feeling like you might be sick. “What?” you breathe. “Why?”

Maverick straightens out and gives you a somber look. “Because,” he says. “I’m letting my feelings for you cloud my judgement.”

“What are you talking about?” you exclaim. “You didn’t take me on the mission! Despite knowing that I’d get mad. You were right; I’m impulsive and unpredictable and –” you stop short when Maverick shakes his head.

“That’s not why I didn’t take you,” he says with a hint of regret in his tone.

You watch him drag a tired hand over his face. “It wasn’t because you don’t trust me?” you say quietly.

“No,” he admits. “It’s because I don’t trust myself.”

You furrow your eyebrows, wanting more than anything to know exactly what Maverick is thinking. What Maverick is feeling.

He meets your gaze hesitantly. “I couldn’t trust myself to prioritize the mission objective over your safety.” He shakes his head, letting out a tortured sigh. “I couldn’t do it,” he whispers desperately. He releases an uneven breath and shifts his jaw to keep it from trembling. “I can’t fly with you.”

You watch the man who so rarely demonstrates emotion crumble under the gravity of his own words. But the show is fleeting. Abruptly, he wipes his brow in frustration and presses his lips together tightly, squaring his shoulders after having dropped them in despair. You can tell that he’s made up his mind and, despite it being an obviously valid decision considering the situation, you’re hurt that he’s done so without consulting you. “So, you’re just leaving?” you say, stunned.

“I have to,” he responds, finally pulling his shirt over his head.

You stare at him as he packs up his uniform and puts his gear into the locker. You want to tell him that he can’t leave; he can’t because you can’t stand the idea of him leaving. But he’s already resumed his stoic expression, so you can’t possibly tell him that you’re in love with him now. “That’s some bullshit,” you comment resentfully.

He pulls his duffel bag over his shoulder and glances over your face as he straightens his posture. “Lieutenant,” he says. “You’re still not listening to me.”

You grit your teeth in anger. “Luckily, it won’t be a problem for very much longer,” you reply coolly.

He nods, then he steps over the bench to head for the door.

You glance after him, barely able to hold back your tears. “How could you?” you yell, no longer capable of keeping it together.

Maverick turns back in alarm. He drops his bag and, in two wide strides he’s standing right before you with a severe expression on his face. “Are you kidding me?” he hisses. “Why are you screaming?” He looks over his shoulder to ensure that the door is still closed.

You scoff. Of all things, he chooses to dwell on your momentary lapse in self-control. “Stop pretending like this means nothing to you,” you spit out angrily.

His eyes widen and his eyebrows converge. “That’s the impression you got from I can’t perform my duty if it means putting your life in danger?”

You open your mouth to say something, but his words have rendered you temporarily speechless. Finally, you remind him, “Putting my life on the line is my job.”

Maverick sets his jaw. “Precisely.”

“So, you’re going to run away because it’s a challenge?”

“It’s not just a challenge, Y/N,” he says. “It’s not possible. This was never going to work! Perhaps under different circumstances…” he sighs miserably. “We knew that!”

You let out a strangled breath. “I didn’t.”

His eyes search yours as though he can’t believe you haven’t come to the same conclusion. “Not only is it completely out of line for me to pursue a relationship with a lieutenant in my own squadron, but we also keep glossing over the fact that you are half my age! How could this have possibly gone anywhere?”

You feel the trembling of your bottom lip and bite into it forcefully, closing your eyes. “Please don’t go,” you whisper. “I… I –” I love you, is what you ought to say. But, instead, you utter, “I’ll stop disobeying orders.”

“That’s not what this is about” –

“I won’t question you,” you continue, opening your eyes. “I won’t seek you out. It’ll be just like before. A strictly professional relationship, nothing more. Just please don’t go.”

“It won’t change how I feel” –

“It will,” you assure him. “It will… in time. You’ll see. We can do this. You don’t have to go.”

Maverick watches you skeptically so you extend your hand to him to formally shake on it. His gaze sweeps over your features and the heartache is apparent in his eyes. “I can’t,” he says, but you can sense the hesitation in his words.

“You’re Maverick Mitchell,” you say, trying to sound casual while your heart hammers with dread. “Of course, you can.”

Maverick’s mouth twitches upward slightly, although his eyes still watch you sadly. Finally, he places his hand in yours. His grip isn’t nearly as firm as you’d expect; in fact, he’s barely touching you. “For the record,” he says, “I think this is a terrible idea.”

You let out a nervous chuckle when you glimpse the faint smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “How hard can it be, Captain?” you say lightly.

He glances at you pointedly, then responds cheekily, “It can be very hard, Lieutenant.”

Read Part 5

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[strawhatkia]

lip gloss, lil mama.

INCLUDES ! sero hanta, katsuki bakugo, mirio togata, hitoshi shinsou and hawks x black!reader

GENRE ! fluff

SYNOPSIS ! only after you apply lip gloss, do they wanna kiss from you or, the boys actively mess up your lip gloss !

WARNINGS ! before the war arc, highschoolers are still in highschool, cursing, def self-indulgent on shinsou's part, lemme know if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT ! 1.4k+

A/N ! this is an old request from my deleted account but it's a favorite of mine 🤍 original request look like this -> ”head cannons of Y/N applying a coat of lip gloss on in her room or with her friends and suddenly Bakugo, Shinsou, Hawks, Sero, and Mirio barging in like “My lip gloss senses are tingling” and Y/N’s like “Aht Aht! I just put this coat on, stay back!” She’s just struggling to keep these fools from kissing her and ruining her lip gloss. It don’t matter if she running, struggling, or dodging they kisses (they ruin it with kisses anyways smh)”

MAIN MASTERLIST | BNHA MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

reblogs and comments are welcomed and loved !!

— ☾⋆⁺₊🕸✧ SERO HANTA !

this mofo is the most annoying lil tease ever

the minute you pull out your lip gloss, all of sudden you have his undivided attention

let’s say you were at your desk and he was on the bed on his phone, not paying you any mind

you check to see if he is watching you and luckily he isn’t so you proceed to put it on

and if I know black women as well as I think I do, considering I am one you put a good amount of that bitch; lips all shiny and shit dripping diamonds 

but halfway through, you look up and this motherfucker is staring right back at you

he done sat all the way up, resting on his knees and waiting on you to finish 

he has the audacity to smile when you make eye contact annoying lil shit, even to start giggle when you glare back at him 

he’s the type to let you finish, put the cap on, put the lip gloss away and then swoop in and fuck it all up 

i can not tell you how angry i am right now

“what? got something to say, baby?” “nigga, fuck you.” 

It’s war that you never win unless you know for sure that he is unaware

newsflash: that shit never happens either

you don't even have the option of running unless you ready to be taped to the floor

all he gotta do is whip some out and boom! ya ass is grass!

as soon as you put the lip gloss down, he casually walks over, grabs your cheeks and smashes his lips straight into yours before calmly going to sit back down

lil fucker doesn’t even bother wiping it off for a while either

“thanks for sharing, my love.” fuck this nigga bro

but it’s not like you can argue as much, his kisses are so sweet and if you ever wanted a kiss, just put on some lip gloss; win-win when intentional

plus, all the shawties want this man (can't blame them) so lowkey the lip gloss smears let them bitches know he not single !

— ☾⋆⁺₊🌟🫨✧ MIRIO TOGATA !

as soon as he knows that your about to put some on- he’s there, boi can sense it through the walls and shit

he just knows and now that he does, he will stop at nothing to get to you 

even if you successfully get far away to put it on and have it on for a couple of minutes, the second you are in his line of sight it’s over 

running away is like an unfair game of tag, that bitch cheats

his quirk makes it so easy to get to you and the lil gremlin is so fucking fast (although class 1-a praises your ability to get as far as you did) 

“sunshine~ !” “aht, go play with tamaki or some shit! i just put this on!” “no can do, sunshine!” 

once he’s got you in a pretty tight hold, he grabs your face and messily kisses you and wipes the extra lip gloss off

He then nuzzles into your neck and places kisses there, asking for forgiveness 

“Aww come on, sunshine! You know I can’t resist and plus you can just put more on later!” mirio, lemme go before i slap up upside the head. i can't stand you.” “that’s why you’re sitting in my lap!” “LET ME GO-”

he’s a big ole ball of happiness and just laughs at your frustration, knowing that you can’t stay mad forever (brat knows you love him too much)  

— ☾⋆⁺₊🪶🪽✧ KEIGO TAMAKI / HAWKS !

he comes out of no where and he knows what you doing, shawty

and when he does, one by one, little feathers start filtering into the room, circling around you 

little by little, you start to see the feathers around the vanity you're sitting at

one look in the mirror and you see him standing by the doorway with that sly as smirk ouu i could smack him

“…keigo tamaki.” “yes, dove?” “ you betta get yo feathers outta here, boy” “aw but i think they like you~”

cornball ass nigga 

ofc he doesn't move from his position and neither do his feathers- and don't bother trying to drag it out either, he's been a hero for too long to not know the waiting game

once you’re finished, the feathers stop circling around and just stop in the air, waiting for yo ass to move.

you can try to look for a way out but you not succeeding, them feathers are acting like a barrier, moving when you move and the one controlling them is cheesing like an idiot 

“keigo, baby, come on. i just put this on.” “yeah well, you can just put more on later- i'll even buy you more.” “...bird brain.” “i love you too~”

fortunately, he’s much more neater than the others but that just means he’s taking everything with him when he moves away

and ofc you can't move until all the feathers back off, one wrong move and they will swarm you honey (im telling you the one controlling them don't know how to fucking act)

when the feathers are gone, is when you finally get some hits in

“GOD DAMN IT, KEIGO! THAT’S THE FOURTH TIME TODAY, NIGGA!!” “aww come on, dove! it’s fun to tease you like this!”

he’s laughing so loudly and having such a good time that you pipe down and admit defeat for the fourth time that day (he's beautiful when he's happy so just let it go stink) 

— ☾⋆⁺₊🧨💢✧ KATSUKI BAKUGO !

THIS NIGGA BRO

HE DOESNT EVEN LET YOU PUT IT ON PROPERLY BEFORE HE SWOOPS IN MESSES IT UP

it’s absolutely futile to run from him, he’ll get way too excited and start chasing you down like some animal

“whatcha got there, huh?” “AHT! go on somewhere, bakugo! go mind yo business!” 

he just loves fucking with you and making you angry, it's his favorite past time

it's just you two running all through the dorms, jumping over tables and couches, ducking between people, screaming at the top of your lungs, causing chaos and giving iida a heart attack

once Bakugo has caught you because he will and throws you over his shoulder like a bag of fucking potatoes wit his rude ass, he treks all the back to his dorm and proceeds to literally smash his lips into yours 

after he's done with his short tyranny, he just play-fights you as you try to hit him, smiling like he won the lottery  

“WHY THE FUCK DO YOU ALWAYS DO THIS!” “STOP YELLING, DUMBASS!! IT’S NOT THE END OF WORLD AND PLUS YOU GOT MORE!!” “THAT IS NOT THE POINT, NIGGA!!” 

after a while he kinda forces cuddles upon you until you not angry anymore and it's hard to be when he starts rubbing ya back and sides, pulling you into his chest

do not get it twisted. he does it on purpose b/c he knows that it's real soothing- damn near his tactic every time he does this doesn't stop it from feeling good tho

eventually and as planned, it ends in y'all taking a nap after running around the dorm god knows how many times

“bakugo, i’m still upset witchu nigga.” “no you’re not, now go to sleep”

— ☾⋆⁺₊🐈‍⬛🌀✧ HITOSHI SHINSOU !

ouuuu new contender !

he is the most excited you have ever seen him

the moment you even pull out the lil clear tube of gloss, he's right behind you waiting with a small smile

anyone looking from afar would think it's just a bf looking at his gf reapplying her lip gloss vv lovingly...little do they know

that man is waiting behind you with a damn vengeance and best believe you not even getting far this is time i remind you who his teacher is: AIZAWA !!

"toshi?" "...yes, pretty?" "i swear if you mess up my gloss, we gon have some problems." "what are you talking about? i would never do such a thing." liar.

the moment your compact mirror closes shut is the exact same moment he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in close

and he does the whole works: arm around your waist, that hand rubbing your lower back, one hand holding your face as his thumb rubs against the top of your cheekbone while gently getting you to look up at him you guys im being very self indulgent with this

he's just so soft and so so so cute when his lil smirk that when he does kiss you, he doesn't take all of it off, just a lil bit !

he chuckles when he backs away, using his thumb to wipe away any that might have smeared

AND THEN PROCEEDS TO WALK AWAY

"...i hope aizawa whoop yo ass during training today." "ouch, that hurts pretty. it's too bad i'd do it again as long as i get to kiss you." fuck this nigga bro

©STRAWHATKIA ━ all rights reserved. all content published on this blog belongs to starsoir. please refrain from copying, stealing, profiting off my works, or using my works for asmr related work. i don’t allow my works to be used or adapted in any way without my permission.

reblogs and comments are welcomed and loved, so leave some please ! i will respond ! 🤍

wanna read more ??

boyfriend. | f. | katsuki bakugo

taglist : @mypimpademia @sevvnt

[taurasiluv]

can you do a Diana x gymnast reader head cannons? How would she react to seeing you in a small Leo doing huge and dangerous flips in front of thousands of fans?

dt x gymnast!reader hcs

ᰔᩚ the first time she saw you do a flip she freaked the fuck out

ᰔᩚ "YOU CAN JUST DO THAT???"

ᰔᩚ so so impressed by it

ᰔᩚ it also secretly scares the shit out of her

ᰔᩚ shes js worried you're gonna get majorly hurt one day

ᰔᩚ she doesn't really understand any of it but shes very much going to learn for you

ᰔᩚ the small leo... she also freaked out when she first saw it

ᰔᩚ she saw it and then yall fucked she has ZERO self control

ᰔᩚ shes always gonna help you stretch n stuff

ᰔᩚ begging to watch your routines like all the time

ᰔᩚ "i just think its really cool!!"

ᰔᩚ brings you water and snacks to events

ᰔᩚ cheering so hard for you

ᰔᩚ you tried teaching her how to do a backflip one time and she was very convinced she was gonna break her neck if she tried

a  /  n  :  gonna  be  so  fr  this  is  so  short  because  i  have  a  very  limited  understanding  to  gymnastics  so  i  didnt  wanna  mess  anything  up  :(  i  hope  you  still  enjoyed  though  <3

[jeansplaytoy]

aot sleeping head cannons just because.

lowercase, includes: eren, connie, jean, levi, and armin, (this is actually kind of long)

eren

he sleeps heavy asf, like heavy heavy 💀 there could be a shootout and he dgaf what’s going on like he literally doesn’t wake up at all even if you yell his name he’ll be dead asleep and you’re just like “what if i was getting killed or kidnapped, dude?”

doesn’t sleep with a fan on. you don’t know what the problem is, he don’t know what the problem is, but he cannot sleep with a fan on. he claims it makes too much noise and somehow sleeps perfectly fine, but you’re the one sweating bricks and stones, + he’s all up on you and he’ll be a perfect temperature, but you’ll feel like you out on a hot summer day.

hates shirts. this man despises shirts. like he’ll full on throw a fit if there’s another girl or something staying at y’all house so he tells his self he has to put a shirt on (even when the girl has a boyfriend) and you don’t even tell him to. he complains like sleeping with a shirt or even a tank top is too much work so you can always feel his bear chest on your face or your stomach when you sleep in a crop top or something.

let’s be completely honest, he def twitches hard asf in his sleep 😭. like you’ll be watching a movie that he fell asleep watching with you, and you’ll be on his chest, boom. he jumps hard af for no reason.

falls asleep everywhere, every time. he promises to stay up with you when you’re with him and then next thing yk, his eyes glued closed.

connie

alwaysss sleeps in sweat pants. you don’t know why, but the sweat pants + no shirt combo is his favorite. he sleeps under the sheets in sweat pants and it makes you so uncomfortable when y’all cuddle 💀

you have to go to sleep with him at all times. at random times he’s just like “bae, let’s go to sleep.” even when you’re not sleepy. “i don’t care man, come on.” like it’s literally a priority because if you’re not with him when he’s planning to go to sleep, then he’s gonna have a hard time falling asleep

he’s a slobber frfr. like you’ll wake up at random times and honestly be disgusted because his slob will be on your arm or back or something and he honestly laughs it off like doesn’t even apologize he’s just like “oh shit i drooled on you.” and laugh 😭.

sleeps with one of his legs propped up. like when he’s laying down on his phone or something, both of his legs are rested up and he’s man spreading or something, but when he’s sleeping on his back, one of them are def up and you like it because for some reason it’s more comfortable.

this boy hates when people wake him up out of his sleep. he’ll give you a mean ass mean mug and stare at you before getting up (not you because he’d be dead if he did ts) but if anybody wakes him up, even if he asks, he’ll be pissed off. like when his alarm goes off, “‘the fuck up.” and grip his phone tight asf to turn it off. 😭😭

levi

surprisingly a light sleeper, he gets woken up by the smallest noises and randomly pops his head up if he hears your footsteps to the bathroom or something. he’ll be like “what’re you doing?” in the most non-sleepy voice and you’ll like be like “i have to pee.” and he’ll say okay and lay back down 💀

jumps up from his sleep. like sometimes he could be having the most peaceful dream and if you even tap him, his eyes will literally shoot open and he’d look at you like you just called him something he never heard of.

he def likes it cold asf in his room when he’s sleeping. he cannot sleep in a hot room at all. he needs the air, ceiling fan, and fan on. he hates sweating and/or feeling sticky when he’s asleep. literally gets disgusted at the thought or feeling of it.

he honestly doesn’t even think about cuddling with you unless you suggest it or you want it, or if you’re feeling sad. but if every things fine, he’ll go to sleep unbothered if he doesn’t feel you on him. but if he doesn’t feel your leg touching his or if he doesn’t hear you breathing or feel your presence, that’s when he gets confused like “where did she just go?” sometimes he’ll purposely move him leg over just to make sure you’re still beside him.

now if y’all are cuddling, just know, some part of his body will randomly be over another part of yours. like if y’all are spooning, you’ll wake up and feel his arm over your head and be like wth? 😭 and his leg over yours sometimes, but the thing is, he doesn’t even mean to do it. it just happens.

jean

he bear cuddles you 💀. like he will wrap his arms around your waist so tight but be dead asleep, and he doesn’t even try to sometimes, but he literally forgets his own strength and it just happens.

he only wakes up to someone calling his name, never to being shook. like you will shake the hell out of this man and he won’t move, but the minute you say his name, “huh?” he’ll look at you. like one time you accidentally tripped over something while walking to you guys’ bed in the dark, and fell on his legs. he did not budge.

ties his hair up in a tiny ponytail in the front so that when he lays on you, he won’t get sweat on your body. 🙏🏾 and he always makes sure his earrings aren’t in when he’s sleeping so that they won’t poke your arm or chest when he’s laying on top of you.

he hates sleeping in silence. he has to have the TV on or hear something because if he doesn’t he’s gonna get uncomfortable. like he’ll ask you, “baby, can you snore real quick?” when you’re asleep and you’ll just be like man what?

this mf is like a couch dad 💀 everytime he falls asleep when he’s not supposed to and you call him out on it he’ll try his best to defend his self claiming he wasn’t asleep when he was literally just dead and it doesn’t make sense to you.

armin

when he’s sleepy, he’s gonna go to sleep, no doubt about it. he doesn’t care where he’s at, if he’s at church, his mom def used to pinch him by the ear when he fell asleep💀. this boy used to fall asleep at the dinner table after school, he seriously does not care at all.

he snores soft asf like you’ll hear him snore and it’ll never stop but it never bothers you somehow. like sometimes when he tries to fake sleep and prank you, you’ll be like wtf are you doing because he’s not snoring.

he hates when you go to sleep before him. like he won’t bother to wake you up because you’ll give him a mean ass look but he’s gonna be like “did she really just fall asleep on me?” especially when you don’t tell him goodnight and give him his nightly kiss, he’ll stare at you for a minute and shake his head (but of course he still loves you!)

he sweats cold sweat. 😭. don’t even ask how or why i would assume (or know) this but you cannot tell me he doesn’t sweat cold sweat. like sometimes he’s not even hot and he’ll think you poured water on his forehead or something and you’ll just be like “baby, you sweat in your sleep.” but he literally forgets and you have to tell him over and over again.

he wakes up so calmlyyyy like you’ll wake him up from having a good ass dream or a deep ass sleep and he’ll just be like “hm?” kind of like levi but more sleepy. like he’ll open his eyes fully, forgetting that it’s gonna burn after a few seconds. he literally doesn’t care about being woken up, honestly.