#weak!reader

[luvlyycy]

"it's sticky."

gojo hums, watching the sticky substance spreading from his fingertips and right back to your hole. you whine as you clasp two hands over your face, embarrassed.

cute.

he stuffs two fingers back into your pulsing cunt, pressing against that one spot that makes your head spin, his other hand curls around your head propping it up so he can give you a kiss.

"such a cute sticky pussy." he mumbles against your lips, smiling when he feels your pussy twitch and pulse around his fingers.

[quarterlifekitty]

“Just the tip”

cw: includes some dubcon/noncon depending on interpretation

Gaz is saying it to tease you when he’s just barely inside of you. “Is that enough for you, love?” He can feel you pulse around him as you whine, just short of begging.

Soap is saying it when he’s drunk, you’re drunk, and you definitely shouldn’t be doing it. He’s promising you don’t have the go all the way— just a little, just to help him get it out of his system, ok?

Ghost is just straight up tricking you. Told you he’d take it slow tonight, but then he snaps his hips against yours so hard that your ass flesh of your ass ripples. “Can’t believe you keep fallin’ for that one, birdie.”

Price is condescending as all hell. He’s talking to you in that babying way when you’re horny and desperate. “Just the tip— that’s all she needs, yeah? This sweet little pussy… Aw, does that feel better, darl’?”

König really meant it in the moment that he said it. He knows you’re anxious about taking him— and for good reason. But once he finds himself inside, how is he supposed to resist? You’re just too sweet. Too warm. Too wet. Too tight. Too breathtaking beneath him. He’s only a man, liebling.

[simonbrain]

simon who sees poor little you hiding behind a tree, watching your village get massacred by a band of vikings and decides to take you with him on his way home as a little treat :(

as hard as you try to escape, yelling at the brute to let you go, he delivers a sharp smack to your ass and props you on his shoulder more securely. "be still, woman. we're almost home." he grunts, ignoring your quiet sobs and the pounding on his back.

when he sets you down inside, you don't speak to him, still worried sick to your stomach about your family and still feeling a little embarrassed about how he smacked you earlier. you don't eat the food he puts in front of you, which only annoys him. "eat. now." he says, grabbing your face and pushing your cheeks together, holding a spoon of whatever stew he made in front of you. you scoff, shaking your face away from his grip and reluctantly taking the spoon from him. while you both eat in silence, you try to ignore his intense stare. simon doesn't say anything about how you've eaten almost your whole bowl of rabbit stew.

when it's time to go to sleep, you nervously stand in front of him, watching him climb in. he nods at you to follow, opening his arm and making space for you. you hesitantly climb in beside him, squeaking when he pulls you into his chest. despite your head screaming at you to escape while he sleeps, your heart feels a little warm and fuzzy, and you find yourself falling asleep in this strange man's embrace.

[yuwuta]

satoru puts his glasses on your face whenever he thinks you’re giving him bedroom eyes in public bc he really cannot stand to think about it or you for too long or he’ll be walking around hard in his pants for the rest of the day. the thing is, you’re not even trying half the time, but that doesn’t stop him—you flirt with him a bit too much, bat your lashes the wrong way, or even smile at him a little too long and he’s already feeling warm in the face and satoru knows he doesn’t have the self control to stop his thoughts so he has to stop you. he’ll promptly stick his sunglasses on your face and turn away with a sigh like they’re some kind of last minute sexual deterrent. 

it’s not because then, if satoru thinks too hard, he gets stuck on the image of you in his glasses, of you in his clothes, of you in anything that belongs to him and that’s way worse then you smiling prettily at him or saying his name or touching his arm. so, then he has to kiss you, and then take his glasses back, so he has something to hide the burning blush on his face.

[shlutmeow]

when i noticed caitlyn did the knee thing, i couldn’t- i replayed this scene more than once. vi’s reaction? oh im weakkk. (not mine; art cr @/salmonzouju)

[tojisun]

simon’s so possessive :(( so naturally he had to show some pictures you two took to his squad. just, y’know, to stake his claim.

(you two know he’s got the exhibitionist streak in him since the first time you two fucked in his car, in an empty parking lot, and he came within the first few minutes. it was so sudden, so intense, that simon had to resort to fingering you because he’s gotten so sensitive that a next round wasn’t even an option. you tease him about it constantly, only to end up on your knees as simon fucks the giggles out of you.)

the pictures start off ‘simple’—shots of your tits in one of his favourite set of lingerie, with his cum staining your chin while pools of it build up along your cleavage; or of simon’s hand loosely wrapped around your neck, your supple skin a beautiful contrast underneath his expanse of scars and tattoos.

the recent one is this: simon’s sitting in front of the mirror, his bulk covered by your body. you’re facing away from the camera, something johnny loudly complained about of course, but you’re bare. you’re stripped naked and stuffed with his cock, and the insinuation was enough to silence their grumbles.

his squad sees everything that simon allows them to see—the plane of your spine to the globes of your ass—and then, they break.

pitiful pleas spilling, filling up simon’s inbox. even price seemed to have trouble with hiding the tides of his own desire, and, well, is that not something?

(you and simon indulge them, of course. the pictures become more bold, more revealing, until simon’s got them adjusting themselves from underneath their slacks when he shows them a little slip of a video.

it’s not even that conspicuous; it’s just simon’s hand squeezing the pudge of your belly. but the pose, the angle—it’s what made their breaths run ragged. the way simon’s hand is tilted just enough to make it look like he’s fully covering your groin, leaving them nothing to salivate over but the stretch of your skin and the softness of your fat.

it’s not like that wasn’t enough, not when it even had price calling off their briefing and rescheduling it later in the afternoon instead because none of them could focus.

simon devours the sight they make, all reduced by you, unable to even deny how much pleasure he’s gaining from this. he licks the backs of his teeth and sends you a short message.

“want to make a film for them?”

not even a minute passed by before your reply came in.

“i thought you’ll never ask.”

simon can’t even stop the bark of laughter that tumbles from his throat, his eyes glinting with deep interest.

he knows just what to make you wear for that film.)

(it’s price’s boonie, one he snagged from their captain’s office.)

[peachsayshi]

sukuna is sitting under a tree, his eyes observing his son whose running towards him. he's calling out to his father, his feet tinted green from the grass.

"look!" his son squeaks as he approaches the monster king. "it hurt!"

sukuna arches his brow and looks down at his son. his hair is pinker underneath the sunlight, his cheeks tinted in a rosy flush. his palms are open and inside is a butterfly, its wing broken.

"looks like it," sukuna responds quite matter of factly, bringing one large hand to massage the top of his son's head.

his son pouts, and looks down at his hands again in disbelief. "but it can't fly..." he says, his voice so tiny and sad.

"no," his father confirms coldly, "it can't."

there's a slump in his small shoulders, and his son gazes back up at him from underneath his lashes. his big eyes watering slightly, his nose scrunching in a little sniffle. "can uruame fix it?"

the cursed king's heart sinks. parts of you mirrored in his child's reflection.

he has no patience for humans, except the ones that the's claimed as his own. it doesn't matter if he think it's stupid. that uruame shouldn't waste their time on something as trivial at this. but whatever his little prince wants, he will get. so, he scoops his son up in one arm, watching as his own blood cradles the small butterfly in his hands.

he kisses the top of his head, "let's ask and see..."

[ponderingmoonlight]

Gojo watching 'How to Be a Better Husband' videos in secret so he'd be ready if you ever said yes

Satoru Gojo isn’t exactly known for being serious. He’s loud, playful, and the absolute embodiment of overconfidence dripping from each and every pore. So when you walk into the living room and see him hunched over his phone, intently focused on something, it’s strange enough to make you stop in your tracks.

You peer over the back of the couch, curious. His earbuds are in, and his eyes are glued to the screen. You can’t hear the sound, but the title of the video makes your brows shoot up and heart skip a beat.

“How to Be a Better Husband.”

Your first instinct is to laugh. Satoru watching something like that? The man who can't even remember what day of the week it is, let alone handle responsibility in any meaningful way? The man who never fails to make fun of you, who never gave you the feeling that your relationship is this serious before?

But as you watch him sit there, shoulders tense and gaze unwavering, a strange warmth curls in your chest. Is this...really how he feels?

He pauses the video to take notes - actual notes. Scribbling them down on a notepad with the same intensity he usually reserves for strategizing in battle. You blink, feeling heat shoot up your cheeks.

What’s more shocking is the care written all over his face. His usual cocky smirk is gone, replaced with concentration, like this is something he doesn’t want to mess up. And maybe that’s what hits you hardest. The fact that he’s trying. That he’s preparing for something you haven’t even agreed to yet.

You haven’t said yes to marriage, haven’t even had a real conversation about it. But here he is, studying for a future he’s hoping for, one where you’ve chosen him. He’s already thinking of how he can be better, how he can be enough for you.

The thought stirs something deep in your chest.

“What are you doing?” you finally ask, your voice teasing but soft as you lean over the back of the couch.

He jumps slightly, pulling out one earbud as he looks up at you, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, y’know… just, uh… preparing.”

He waves his phone in the air, as if that explains everything.

“Preparing for what?”

You tilt your head, pretending not to notice the blush creeping up his neck.

“For… when you marry me, obviously.”

He grins wider, but there's a nervousness underneath it, like he's half-joking but also completely serious.

“Gotta make sure I’m husband material, right?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“And watching YouTube videos is going to make you a better husband?”

“Hey, don’t knock it 'til you try it. These guys have great tips.”

He taps his phone, the confidence slipping back into his voice, though his eyes still flicker to you like he’s waiting for your reaction.

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself.

“Satoru, you’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” he teases, sliding his arm around your waist as you lean over the couch.

His tone is light, but the way his eyes hold yours for a moment longer than usual - it makes your heart flutter.

And he’s right. You do love him. In all his chaotic, larger-than-life glory. But this? Seeing him like this, quietly working to be better for you? It’s a different side of him, one that makes you realize just how much he’s thought about a future with you.

You press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he blinks up at you, surprised.

“What was that for?”

“For trying,” you say quietly.

"You’re already enough, you know."

His grin softens, and he pulls you down into his lap, wrapping you in his arms.

“Good to know. But I’m still watching these videos. Just in case.”

You chuckle, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Whatever makes you feel prepared.”

Satoru hums, content. “I want to be ready for the day you say yes.”

And the way he says it. Like he knows that one day you will makes you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to feel the same way.

[mianieaaa]

mentally

physically

weak.

[crowsofdarkness]

Moment Of Weakness: Mob!Bucky Barnes[AU]

Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and a beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

COMPLETE

*repost from my old blog*

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE| SIX | SEVEN | EIGHT | NINE | TEN | ELEVEN | TWELVE | THIRTEEN | FOURTEEN | FIFTEEN | SIXTEEN | SEVENTEEN | EIGHTEEN | NINETEEN | TWENTY | TWENTY ONE | TWENTY TWO | TWENTY THREE | TWENTY FOUR | TWENTY FIVE | TWENTY SIX | TWENTY SEVEN | TWENTY EIGHT | TWENTY NINE | THIRTY | THIRTY ONE[END]

[nonville]

"so pretty, 'toru."

he's like putty in your hands. eyes drooped low as he gazes up at you, he mumbles something unintelligible through cheeks squished by the hands that cup his hands. he wouldn't dare move to make himself coherent, though. moving any of the long limbs wrapped around your like a koala would be more offending than his students calling him old.

(you've seen plenty of that firsthand.)

but here, in the comfort of your shared space, he's not a teacher. he's not a sorcerer, or the shoulders that carry jujutsu excellence, or the strongest. here, with the window cracked just a bit to let in the night breeze and the blankets fresh out of the dryer warm on his skin... he's just 'toru. hopelessly loved by you to the furthest corner of his domain and beyond.

you can't help but smile as he drifts further and further into sleep in your hands, lids falling closed for a brief second before fluttering halfway open again. it's almost like a little game at this point. how long will he last this time?

and as if on cue, you mumble with him—"'m not tired, just restin' my eyes."

you giggle when he looks up to glare at you halfheartedly, expression already slipping into fondness as you stroke your thumbs against his cheeks in calming circles. you watch in real time as he sags into open adoration. your certain he can hear your heart fluttering around inside your ribcage.

"my heart," he manages to sigh between drawn out yawns. "everything i do is for you. because of you. and the kids, and.."

"if i could turn your brain off for the next few hours, i would," you muse in return, smiling when he gives you a knowing look. pale eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones before he burrows his face into your neck. you move easily, petting through his hair. "but you're appreciated, 'ru."

your voice lowers to a whisper. "if not by anyone, then by me. always going to be in your corner. always."

he doesn't respond. not verbally, anyway. but as his shoulders finally give way to exhaustion and his body leans against yours, the ghost of a kiss brushed against your jawline is as much as a thank you as it would have been shouted from the top of the world.

[allimili]

I’m here again to say an angst idea

( OKAY AND I KNOW YOU SAID IN THE TAGS YOU WANT TO STOP DRAWING SAD SMC but I lwk just wanted to let out my ideas rn so it’s perfectly really okay that you don’t want to do this ! ^_^ )

so I feel like after we died, the guilt inside shadow milk cookie is eating him alive and is coping hard so hard that he starts to hallucinate or smth that we’re still here

referencing to the pictures on the top

for some reason I can imagine pure vanilla pulling out an Elysia to see smc’s reaction or something but pure vanilla would NEVER do this ‼️‼️ (I think)

well feel free to skip this request considering I requested quite recently :3

Pure vanilla would never..but Truthless Recluse would...

[quarterlifekitty]

Weaknesses: preening

Things you do that make them so proud of themselves

Gaz loves it when you tell him he’s the first person who’s done something for you. First to buy you a bouquet, first date to pull out your chair for you, first man to offer to change the sheets for you after making you cum all over them. Man loves raising your standards.

Soap’s tail is wagging whenever he fixes something and you take notice. He’s always been a tinkerer, and doing little fixes and repairs is one of his favorite acts of service. So yeah, when you noticed that dial on the stove isn’t sticking anymore? That the refrigerator stopped making that weird noise? He’s pleased as punch.

Ghost feels his chest puff out when you ask him to talk to someone for you. Sometimes when you’re anxious, sometimes when you just don’t know how to be mean to someone who’s being an asshole. Being your guard dog is his favorite thing.

Price is most happy when he recommends something to you, thinking you’ll like it, and you do. This can be food, a movie, a sex position— anything. He just likes the affirmation that he knows you so well.

König is on cloud nine when you tell him you miss him, or that you’re waiting for him because there’s something you just can’t do without him being with you. He loves being needed, so when you need his presence alone? That’s a high he’s never coming down from.

Nikolai likes it when you use him to hide. Whether it’s from an unfamiliar person or merely the sunlight coming in through the bedroom window. He loves to be your shelter, for you to grab his hand or put your face against his shoulder or get behind him. And yes— he insists on holding the umbrella for you both.

[sunsburns]

To add on to my previous thought, Joaquin could simply be doing the dishes his tags dangling an inch away from his chest or seeing them outlined under his shirt and I’m still drooling.

Like if he put them on me would he be acting the same way? Let’s find out, Joaquin lemme borrow your tags pls!

anything he does would have me swooning i don’t know what to tell u

and joaquín isn’t even doing anything particularly noteworthy, just standing at the kitchen sink, washing the dishes after dinner. he’s humming something soft under his breath, something familiar, and the low, absent-minded tune settles in your chest in a way you don’t quite expect.

he’s wearing one of his usual loose-fitting shirts, sleeves cut just enough to tease the toned definition of his arms. the fabric is thin, clinging to his back from the warmth of the water, and there, just beneath the cotton, you can see them.

the outline of his dog tags. they press against his shirt every time he moves, shifting, catching just enough light to keep drawing your eyes back to them.

you were telling him some story from earlier in the day, but the words falter on your tongue, train of thought lost entirely as you watch him.

it’s when he turns slightly, reaching for another plate, that they swing—dangling just an inch away from his chest, pressing against the fabric, teasing you like they know exactly what they’re doing.

your gaze traces the silver chain around his neck, how it peeks out from the collar, disappearing beneath his shirt. your fingers twitch with the sudden need to touch, and before you even think it through, you’re pushing off from the counter, stepping closer.

your hands skim over his shoulder first, light, almost absentminded, trailing down until they brush against the beads of the chain. you barely apply any pressure, just running your nails over them, feeling the warmth they’ve absorbed from resting against his skin all day.

joaquín stills instantly.

his breath hitches just enough for you to notice, and you don’t miss the way his fingers falter under the running water for just a second.

you pull the tags from under his shirt gently, letting the metal settle against your fingers, and then you tug.

not hard—just enough to make him stumble a step, enough to force him to turn toward you, enough to have his eyes wide and blinking as he processes what you’ve just done.

you don’t give him time to recover.

your fingers curl around the tags, keeping him close as you lean in and tug him even closer, pressing your lips to his before he can so much as utter a word.

for a second, joaquín doesn’t move. he’s too caught off guard, too caught up in you, the cool press of your fingers against him, the warmth of your lips settling over his. but then he melts.

the dish towel slips from his hand, landing somewhere in the sink, forgotten. his wet palms hover at your waist, dripping, for only a second before he touches—really touches—fingertips pressing into the curve of your hips, pulling you flush against him.

he exhales into the kiss, slow and shaky, and it sends a shiver down your spine. his lips part slightly against yours, a moment’s hesitation—like he’s savouring this, like he doesn’t want to move too fast, doesn’t want to ruin the way your breath catches at the same time he does. he always kisses you like the first time.

but you don’t want slow.

you tug his dog tags again, just enough to tilt his chin down, just enough to feel the low, barely-there sound he makes against your lips.

and then he’s kissing you back in full, properly, like something in him just gave up resisting.

his hands tighten at your waist, then one slides up your back, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, pressing against warm skin as he holds you even closer.

the heat between you builds, your head spinning as he deepens the kiss, lips moving with a slow, deliberate ease—like he wants to take his time, like he’s making sure you feel every second of it.

and you do.

you feel it in the way his nose bumps against yours when he tilts his head, in the way his breath hitches when your fingers slide up, curling into his hair. you feel it in the slight, barely-there tremble in his hands, like even he can’t believe this is happening.

it all makes you smile.

when you finally break apart, your breath is uneven, your lips tingling and in a wide grin.

his face is pink, eyes still a little dazed, lips parted like he’s still trying to catch up to what just happened.

your fingers are still wrapped around his tags.

“what was that for?” he asks, voice quieter than usual like you just knocked all the air out of his lungs.

you shrug, giving the chain one last, playful tug.

“felt like it.”

[starmocha]

ok so I know we're all taken in by colonel caleb and his complexity and i'm enjoying all the smut (🙏🏻💕) but i'm looking at him and thinking about how he'd react if mc got pregnant 'cause in ny head he'd react like I think sylus would as in he'd shower her in kisses while crying but imagine him being scared of holding the baby because of his arm, terrified of hurting that tiny being but the second he holds them the fear goes away and he's planting kisses on the top of the baby's head 🥹😭

CRYING. SOBBING. YEARNING. Anon, if you've been around my blog long enough, I have mentioned numerous times how my 3-part Caleb breeding kink (and pregnancy) series will happen. With the recent revelation about his arm, I was reflecting on how to tackle this series with regards to Caleb's character. I hope his future memories will also deal with this more, so we can get a better understanding of the changes and his own mental state regarding it.

omg ok we all probably know by now I am weak to the Caleb thoughts, so...so...just a little snippet. Just a tiny short snippet...

Sweet Little You

She was safe. They were safe.

Caleb watched with relief as you slept peacefully, exhausted after the grueling 34 hours of labor. He had dedicated his whole life to keeping you safe, protect you from dangers and prevent you from ever feeling pain, but in those long, slow hours, he had felt so utterly helpless as he watched you braved through the tribulations of motherhood.

He knew you were strong, knew that you were more than capable, but it did not deter his innate desire to shelter you.

It had only been a few hours since the baby was born, he realized, as his large hand rested on your head, gently smoothing your hair. He could still see your tears, heard you crying as you poured all of your strength into delivering his baby. You had gripped his hand so tightly, and though that right hand of his could no longer feel anything, his heart still did, torn apart at every scream, every sob that passed your lips. He did his best to encourage you, reassured you that everything was going well, that soon you both would meet your little one.

He wasn’t sure if what he had said helped or not, but you had still held his hand, holding tight to him just like long ago when you two were little. Maybe you still needed him, still wanting to lean on him like you used to.

He bent down and placed a soft kiss on your temple. “Thank you, my darling.”

Caleb’s ears perked up, hearing the sudden quiet fussing of his newborn. He looked to the hospital bassinet placed close to your bed. The baby was starting to stir, waking up from a peaceful slumber.

He quickly moved closer, his paternal instinct kicking in. He bent down lower, his voice softer than normal. “Hey, hey there, little one,” he said, about to reach down for the baby, but he paused, worried.

The baby’s face scrunched up, its cries still soft, but steadily growing just a bit louder. Panic briefly passed Caleb’s features, suddenly unsure of his own ability as a father. He could hear you stirring behind him, but he didn’t want you to wake yet, knowing you still needed more rest. He pushed down his own feeling of anxiety, and he bent down again, gently scooping the baby up.

The baby was so small, he couldn’t help but think, being able to hold the baby within his two hands. He readjusted his hold, cradling the baby within his arms, and his heart felt like it was slowing in time, his breathing almost stilling entirely as it finally seemed to clicked in his mind that he was holding his baby. This little baby, conceived from the love between you and him, was now here, in his arms, and he could barely stifle the sob that almost wanted to escape, his heart suddenly overwhelmed with so many different emotions ranging from disbelief to amazement and finally profound, unconditional love.

The baby’s cries ceased, replaced by soft cooing, and Caleb let out a breathless laughter, his earlier anxiety slowly receding. He still wondered about his capability, but more than that, he wondered how it was possible to love someone you had just met. When his eyes drifted up, settling over your sleeping form, he almost laughed again, realizing he had never found the answer to that question, having always been a willing victim of “love at first sight.”

He shifted his gaze back down to the tiny baby in his arms, his lips resting over the infant’s forehead, the sweet scent of the newborn filling his nostrils, and a warmth unlike anything he had ever felt before filled his chest.

“Welcome to the world, my little one,” he whispered, “We’ve been waiting for you.”

[fvckuiloveu]

god i love pathetic men