#is he edgy enough? i hope so

[dbphantom]

i just think he's neat but not neat enough to actually detail that minigun or you know actually finish this skdjhgkjhs my 40 year old babygirl

bonus cord because he was my warmup

anime mom hairstyle... i didn't draw his 'scouter' because i wasn't feeling it. that's all lol

my two favorite college professors are anarchists lmao... in my defense in high school (Real Life) my social studies teacher was a self proclaimed anarchist. I mean he was, tbf to him, not to make it sound like he wasn't. He'd actively go to protests and tell us stories about them and write rage against the machine lyrics on the blackboard. he was my 2nd favorite teacher even tho i was like. super socially awkward around him lol. he once talked to me about bor/derla/nds because he saw me wearing my Ze/r0 hoodie (the one with the Vau/lt/symb/ol on the shoulder) specifically T/P/S. he liked playing Cla/ptr/ap, and i mumbled something incoherent about maining At/he/na because i was freaking out lol.

my favorite teacher was actually my physics teacher... he once put on a long purple wig [because he was bald] to commemorate the start of our electricity unit. i miss physics a lot... anyway cord having purple magic and long hair totally isn't because of that wig or anything...

sometimes i forget this stuff. i don't have a lot of memories of high school, it's nice to be able to write down the parts i do remember and don't actively regret. i guess that's also how Cord feels some days.

#i didn't use a reference for this and you can TELL lol #just needed to get some RANCID dread vibes out of my system #so i drew best boy #caleb oroitz #veneer #and guess WHAT i learned how to draw the biohazard symbol THAT'S RIGHT #debating on if i prefer white accents or not for his button up/tech... let me have this one #is he edgy enough? i hope so #i added the hearts for funsies. because i think it'd bother him to have them on his outfit #caleb WANTS to be cool and badass but... he's a big softie at heart #hence the hearts all across his outfit. and also cord seeing right through him and putting his head in his hands like ''d'awwww'' #i won't lie the tiny cord was the highlight of drawing this #You just draw the radioactive hazard symbol and then draw geese flying off the edges 👍 #Also in case you're wondering why the FUCK Caleb and Cord (and Jerric) designated their group using the biohazard symbol #Well 1 it's dope. I don't care. It's cool as fuck cringe is dead it's cool and mentally I'm a 12 year old boy okay it's COOL #Two because magic spreads like a plague and since they realized they were all 'infected' by the forced opening of the portal they adopted #The symbol for their lil resistance group. For funsies. #Cord has caused like. 80% of the problems in this universe. Cord my beloved but also oh God the horrors of unrestricted scientific advances #I kid. It's Crestfall abusing Cord's work that is the real horror... #He just wanted to do it to see if he could. And then they swooped in and took all his stuff and made it their own #And abused the shit out of it #For example mass producing the wings/masks for military use. Using the portal device to enter other dimensions and [REDACTED]. #I mean they did the same with Jerric's hard light and Caleb's security system. So are we actually surprised? No! #They're assholes

[skunkes]

another thing i love about dungeon meshi along with how theres adequate time given to every character that matters! Is that like. Along with no "every single character in supporting cast gets put on the backburner in favor of MC / other character development" is that theres also no "god these characters are all so boring except that one guy who is tragic and compelling" bc they all have the same capacity for compelling tragedy (and such).

And it also doesn't feel like when ppl tack on as much Bad Things onto a characters life just to emphasize tragedy or hardship... Theres a good balance in each of em. The recent leaked izutsumi dark lore implication drop wasn't even in the main story and it doesnt feel like that quirky "i love torturing my ocs! 🤪🤪🤪🤪 (Literally just throwing everything into one pot)" sentiment i see here often if that makes sense. It doesn't feel Edgy ykwim

#i cld never do this. fully balancing individual characters alone is hard enough #but padding out individual characters with hardships that can sometimes parallel each other #or make you have to Think about it further in a show not tell way #WITHOUT also making you roll your eyes because of how edgy it is but instead giving enough for adequate enjoyment #regardless of which character u fixate on. is really good #that was my point ykwim. im here fixated on thistles tragedy because well. but its not bc he's my only option #i guess thats also the wonder of it like I can really only write from what I know (or experience thru others experiences) #so having a variety of characters #that draw in intrigue from different people in the same cast is so #i hope that makes sense? #OH WAIT MY TAGS CUT OFF #its so amazing like theres smthng there for everyone #talkys

[vyeoh]

(The Washington Post)

For those who don't know, the US Supreme Court just ruled that states are allowed to enforce trans healthcare for minors. Undoubtedly, this will trigger a wave of other states that either hope to pass or have already passed policies to do the same. This is going to kill children, and harm more in long-lasting ways.

So, how can you help?

FUCKING VOTE. I don't care if you don't like Biden, he's not the only one on the ballot. Vote representatives into your city council who will turn our city into a sanctuary city. Vote for governors and state reps who will, even if they don't pass new protections, oppose bans being pushed through. Chsllenge and kick out conservative incumbents who are banking on their races being obscure enough for people to not vote in.

Anyone telling you voting is useless is either lying to you or grossly uninformed and think saying this is the edgy new take that will make them look hip and informed. Yes, the system is broken. But short of burning the whole thing to the ground (which personally I'm not a fan of as I quite enjoy having like. Roads and the FDA) what we can do is to change it for the better, by starting with the local races and working our way up.

#vio.txt #politics #us politics #lemme tell you when i read this story and my heart sank #the supreme court has set the tone on ruling on trans healthcare #the best thing we can do is ensure those decisions never reach them #this is your reminder that state court justices are an elected position #but god. im deeply worried for the upcoming election #transgender #lgbtq #lgbt #also on another note please vote for biden????? like trump is currently in several trials we cannot give him the power to pardon?????? #also im hoping he'll keep erasing student loans

[meara-eldestofthemall]

Gee, thanks DC! You Just Turned Bruce Into An Irredeemable Ass.

So, at the end of Gotham War Bruce has officially lost everything. Alfred is still dead, Selina is "presumed dead" and Bruce is both financially and morally broke. Why, you may ask, is Bruce so much worse off this time? Let me count the ways.

He preformed a psychic lobotomy on Jason

The "it's for your own good" excuse only makes the mental rape undertaken by Jason's own father that much more heinous.

Just when you think Bruce can't sink any lower he does. When Dick recognizes that Bruce has lost it, he attempts to use a failsafe disconnect that Bruce himself built into the system. How does Nightwing get thanked for that? Well that brings us to number two on the list.

Batman attacks up his eldest son for doing what he's supposed to do when Batman has gone rouge.

Bruce beats him up because nothing proves you are in control of your sanity like hitting your children. While Dick is holding back, Bruce does no such thing. He hits Nightwing hard enough to send him flying. It could have gotten even worse if Tim hadn't shown up.

Tim arrives and attempts to talk some sense into Batman.

Tim tries to talk Bruce down. It doesn't go well. When Robin is trying to help, as he always does, Batman uses the attempt to reason with him to put the smack down on his son. Bruce could have killed Tim but apparently feels no remorse or guilt.

If there was any teeny tiny little doubt that Bruce will not win the Father of The Year award in 2023 it died a horrible screaming death when Batman abandons his children to potential arrest. Yes, he left a batarang for Dick and Tim but any glimer of possible hope associated with that action was instantly extinguished by Damian's reaction to Batman's callous betrayal.

Bruce abandons Damian.

Look at Dami; he's devastated. Since he came into Bruce's life, Damian has struggled with feelings that he can never earn his father's love and respect. Well, that negative self-image was reinforced in way that may never be repairable. Bruce just utterly destroyed a 13 year old child because of his inability to feel any kind of empathy.

And how does this all end? The best part is that Bruce takes all of his parental responsibilities and dumps them onto Dick.

Thank you Chip Zdarsky and Trini Howard. You've taken Batman from being an edgy anti-hero and made him into a callous monster. Part of me hopes that Bruce never comes back because he doesn't deserve his family.

The only positive aspect in this convoluted mess is that Damian and Tim will be far better off with Dick than with Bruce. Yes, Tim is mostly independent but he still needs guidance (particularly since Tim's first instinct is to try and save Bruce). Damian is essentially Dick's son emotionally anyway so this might help to sustain the positive character growth we've seen in him as of late.

The point of this rant is to wonder what on earth DC thinks they're doing. This story arc has been pure character destruction as far as Bruce is concerned. It's bad storytelling too; rushed, frenetic and massively disappointing.

Hasn't the popularity of Good Dad Bruce in Wayne Family Adventures proved that fans are tired of Bruce being a dark depressed and brooding edge lord? We all accept that Batman is a character with deeeeep issues who is in desperate need of therapy. I, however, draw the line at Bruce being an abusive a**hole.

In years to come when fans wonder when Batman jumped the shark, this is the plot line they'll point to.

#bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #batman #nightwing #tim drake robin #damian wayne robin #batfam #dc stands for disappoints continually

[taffywabbit]

every time dilbert gets mentioned in a conversation/post i think about how hilarious it is that scott adams turned out to be such a deranged alt-right fuckwit, considering the fact that his comics indisputably radicalized me against capitalism as a kid and probably did so earlier than anything else

like there IS some pretty iffy stuff in dilbert for sure (particularly a lot of casual misogyny and xenophobia), and it definitely increased over time as the author got more edgy and self-important. i don't think i read anything from later than like 2003 and it was already starting to get pretty unreadable by then - LONG before he started openly being a turbo-racist podcaster weirdo. but the earlier stuff (especially before there were a lot of established recurring characters or running gags) was largely just a satirical cartoon focused on how corporations are evil and exploitative, and how you'd have to be completely detached from reality to truly enjoy working for them, and how trying to climb the ladder of success is a futile pursuit within a capitalist society where the upper class needs to keep pulling that ladder up behind them to keep the rest of us in our place and maintain their own status. it was basically vent art by a guy stuck working in mind-numbing desk jobs, who barely knew how to draw but just wanted to get his thoughts out and reach other people who were frustrated in the same ways he was. it's really weird but also fascinating to compare that to how it (and adams himself) ended up in the long run

i don't think it was particularly funny most of the time, and when it did have actual jokes, they were often pretty mean-spirited and/or cynical. i don't remember more than one or two specific bits from the comic that actually ever made me laugh, and i read a LOT of them as a kid (my grandpa had a massive collection of newspaper comic compilation books at his house that he'd let me look through and borrow stuff from - this is also how i discovered garfield and calvin & hobbes). but i DO remember having it instilled in me from an early age that there was nothing really exciting or praiseworthy about grinding your life away for a company that profits off your skilled labor and gives you pennies in return - which is especially noteworthy considering i was also raised by mormons, who are famously all about that "nobility in suffering" and "work your way to heaven" type bullshit. i'm genuinely unsure how this happened

anyways i think scott adams would probably piss his pants and explode if he ever took a break from peddling his psychic penis hypnosis and killer burrito podcasts long enough to seriously think about any of this stuff. (and i hope he does. it would be funnier than anything he's ever written.)

#buny text #dilbert #capitalism

[doctorcurdlejr]

mutual 1: i hope every man in the hardcore scene dies

mutual 2: they didn't kill john lennon soon enough. would not have been the case if i was around back then, I can tell you that much.

mutual 3: [gif set of George Harrison and Paul McCartney signing Beatles dissolution papers] George and Paul look so cute here <3 #my silly guys

mutual 4: guys it's so over we're never getting mcr5...gerard i'm lost at sea without you... actually i don't even care like it's whatever... (lying)

mutual 5: if there was a god i'd be able to get bruce springsteen pregnant #sometimes it's like someone took a knife baby edgy and dull and cut a six inch valley through the middle of my skull #personal

mutual 6: the production on taylor's music for the last few years....i need jack antonoff's head on my desk by noon

mutual 7: [image of Bob Dylan stoned out of his mind] he kinda ate here

mutual 8: you wouldn't even know real punk music if it fucking slammed into you like a semi you stupid cunt [KathleenHannaScreaming.jpg]

mutual 9: NEW SABRINA CARPENTER #GIRL

mutual 10: i wish my life was like Crash (1996) dir. David Cronenberg

#a day in the life

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

Hiya there!

I have two questions,

first, what if Katsuki was whipped over a popstar reader?

Also, who's the character in your profile? i wanna maybe draw her.

Much love

-Kovu :>

hello this is LOOOOONG overdue @kovu-bunnbunn im soooo sorry ! i didnt rlly know how to get to this at first cus i've never done hc's before, but either way i hope you like it ! also tumblr just randomly ate this so i had to restart...yay.

p.s.: the character on my profile is my oc ryoko ! she's my mha oc, i'd be so super flattered if you decided to draw her ! (also idk if you couldve guessed but shes my oc x canon katsuki ship I KNOOOOW shocker)

katsuki has literally every single piece of merch he can get his hands on

vinyls, album records, posters, accesories and t-shirts but he never wears them he hides them somewhere in his room so you don't find out he has them.

(you do find out eventually.)

he gets so giddy on the inside when you give him limited edition stuff and that's always something he shows off

"woah man that's limited edition ive been LURKING for that !" "yeah well apparently you haven't been lurkin' hard enough cus I HAVE IT--"

he shows up to all your concerts and somehow he manages to be the loudest one there lmfaooo his ass is NOT on mute.

if you ever take him backstage he's so awkward cus he doesnt know anyone so he just sticks to you (not like he doesn't on the daily)

at most he'll nod at people in greeting (he's kinda scared he'll start stuttering)

but he's scary lookin so the staff n others think he's just protective over you

for sure your other bandmates / staff think he's your personal bodyguard LOLOLOLOL

but nope turns out he's just a loser lol

if you sell photocards as merch or something like that best believe has ALLL of them

collectin em like his phone isn't already filled with pictures of you

his storage about to burst and it's still not enough for 'im LOLOL

he for sure has a secret fan account that entirely revolves around you.

he defends you with his LIFE on there too he's one of them fans😭😭😭

he has a different playlist from specific albums depending on his mood, so whatever playlist he's on there's always at least one song of yours on there

he has a seperate 'bad boy playlist' that he has so you don't find out he's a hyperfan

one time you guys were sharing earbuds in the bus while his playlist was on shuffle and he'd accidently added one of your songs on his edgy dark n brooding cool guy playlist.

needless to say he was more than embarrassed, damn near MORTIFIED and didn't look at you for the whole bus ride 😭😭

gets so flustered when he finds out songs you've written were while you thought of him or were dedicated to him. he gets so blushy about it but he's such a show off

like whenever he hears a song meant for him, he smirks about it to himself and no one understands why but he really doesn't care cus they don't need to understand

cus it's something between you and him <3

all in all, he loves you and your music (and your merch) and he couldn't be prouder to call himself your boyfriend <3

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugo fluff #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you #bakugou drabble #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x female reader

[vmpiires]

﹆₊エモ‧₊˚ HEY EMO BOY ! KAMO CHOSO

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ he caught your attention so why not shoot your shot? wc, 3.49K. dark mode recommended.

␥ note. y’all see the title..i was thinking about this song and every day i say it reminds me of choso so..why NOT make a story out of it? (i was on c.ai and i made a bot for it to test the idea) AND JOIN THE DISCORD. hope ya enjoyyy. reblog to support meeee.

␥ tags. emo!choso, choso is a bass guitarist, smut, cunnilingus, smoking, female anatomy, college AU, etc. lmk if i missed anything

␥ misc. masterlist AO3

wearing all black with chains dangling from his ripped jeans and striking black boots was choso kamo. that bass player who was in one of your college classes. his ears were adorned with multiple piercings, including a cross-shaped earring hanging from his left ear.

his tongue and eyebrow were also pierced, along with a thick black choker wrapped around his neck, complimenting his edgy appearance. you noticed how slender and delicate his fingers were as he adjusted the strap on his guitar, each nail painted a glossy black to match his image.

choso was one of the rudest but most attractive people you've ever interacted with on campus. his pale skin brought out the dark rings under his eyes, making him look as if he hadn't slept a day in his life. there was a black mark running across the bridge of his nose, extending to both sides of his face and piercing violet eyes that were nearly covered by his obsidian hair that was tied back into a low ponytail.

you were always up to something of course. you wore a skirt that hugged your curves and showed your ass perfectly, guaranteeing a stare from any man you walked by. your shirt was also quite revealing. as someone as snarky and bitchy as yourself, you were confident that you could handle choso like a dog on a leash.

a smirk stretched across your lips as you slipped a sucker between your lips. it was free time, and everyone was hanging around outside on campus. of course, your target was there too. as you approached him, you could hear the sounds of his guitar as he strummed the strings with his slender fingers.

"hey, emo boy," you shouted, putting your foot up on the bench just beside choso's thigh as you removed the sucker from your mouth, a long string of saliva connecting to it. you knew what you were doing.

choso jumped a little, hearing your voice close by. his head whipped around to look at you, his expression going from a slight frown to flat nothingness. "well, well, well. if it isn't the slut."

"and if it isn't the school's jackass," you snapped back.

"whatever, slut. you should watch who you're talking to and where you stick that sucker around me." choso's gaze fell back down to his guitar as he kept plucking the strings, making sure to look at you from the corner of his eye.

a scoff escaped your lips, the smirk on your face growing wider at his words. "yeah?" you challenged, your tone dripping with sarcasm and amusement. "i guess it'll be in your mouth next if you keep it up." the playful glint in your eye matched the teasing tone of your voice as you continued to banter back and forth with the male.

those words surprised him enough to make him pause, his eyes flickering over to focus on you fully once he realized what you just said. a smile crept onto his face and his eyes glimmered a bit as he looked at you. "oh really? i wouldn't mind that."

your boisterous laughter echoes through the room, "you're definitely a freak," you exclaim with a sly smile. "but you know what? i like that about you, emo boy."

"of course you would." choso smirked, playing with the strings even faster and playing a cord with just the right amount of ferocity and finesse. you watched as his fingers moved, just wondering how they'd move when they were abusing your cunt.

choso’s gaze shifted from the guitar to your eyes, a momentary pause before returning to his instrument. "so, wanna get out of here?" he asked, his voice smooth and low like velvet.

with a smirk, you teased, "oh, the emo asshole wants to go out with the slut." despite your words, you couldn't resist the glint of mischievousness in his eyes. "well," you shrugged nonchalantly, “fine, i guess i’ll go with you."

choso let out a low chuckle, standing up. he was tall, almost 6 feet, and even in his slouching position he looked like a model. "of course you will. i wouldn't let a girl with a body like yours go just like that." he smirked as he put his guitar in its casing and pulled it over his shoulder before holding out a hand for you to take.

"you wanna hold my hand and you don't even know my name," you remarked, grabbing his hand. as you held onto his significantly larger hand, she felt how calloused and veiny they were. you could only imagine how he looked without his clothes.

"i do know your name, but not caring about it is the fun part." choso said, looking down at your interlocked hands once you took his. you were quite small compared to him. just imagining the two of you together looked absurd, it made him smile a bit.

"what's your dorm room number?" he queried, finally moving his gaze away from your hand and back to your eyes. you hummed, wondering if you should lie or lead the guy off somewhere other than your dorm room but you eventually gave in anyway.

"777," you answered briefly.

"your lucky number," choso replied. he turned, letting go of your hand and gesturing for you to follow. he led you down a path that maneuvered you through a section of trees that connected to the dorms of the main campus.

as you approached your dorm room, choso could already feel the heat radiating from your body. your presence ignited a fire within him, stirring desires he hadn't planned on acting upon. the air seemed to pulse with electricity as he walked beside you, his eyes drawn to your every move.

he couldn't deny the attraction he felt toward you, a magnetic pull that seemed to intensify with each step. choso couldn't resist the urge to take things a bit farther than he had originally intended.

"you got a roommate?" choso asked, watching as you grabbed the keycard from your skirt pocket and unlocked the door. your room was big enough for another person to move in, but you requested to be in a single room before the school year began. though, it was damn near impossible to get approved, you sure did...with your looks.

"nope," you finally say, slipping your shoes off. choso's boots made a loud clacking sound as he followed behind you, pushing the door closed and then removing his boots, just as you did.

"of course you don't," he scoffed jokingly, a smirk evident on his face. the male glanced around the room, taking in his new surroundings, excited for what was about to come next. "you probably scare every girl who tries to room with you off, huh?"

"its not my fault the girls here aren't scary and sexy like i am," you shrug nonchalantly. "they're usually either or...or they're sweeter than this stupid sucker in my mouth," you added, furrowing your eyebrows with disdain for your female schoolmates.

choso couldn't help but chuckle at the sour expression on your face before turning his head to the side for barely a moment. his eyes wandered over your body before they finally returned to your eyes. they were so bright, and so sharp that it was almost intimidating.

"you're just a narcissistic slut, huh?" he teased. your eyelids lowered, narrowing your eyes at the male as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

you flipped him off as you sat yourself down on your bed. "you're getting laid by this slut so i suggest you shut up." you snapped at him.

"and i'm gonna enjoy every second of it," he growled under his breath, a lustful smile spreading across his face. "you better not be lying about having any roommates because i'm gonna make you scream until you can't anymore."

"yeah? i'll make sure you get some sleep tonight." you sucked on your bottom lip. there was a silence between the two of you, each daring the other to do something first. choso slowly bent down to get eye level with you, his hands going to your waist as he ran the back of his fingers along your sides.

“yeah, right.” his voice was a low, husky whisper in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. the heat of his breath tickled the sensitive skin of your ear as he spoke. "i bet you're so tight," he murmured, his lips brushing against your earlobe. the intensity in his words made your cheeks flush and your heart race.

“wanna see?” you whispered back, a smirk playing on your lips once again, challenging choso to do something more.

choso smirked and wrapped one arm completely around her waist, pulling her up against his body. his other hand trailed up your thigh. with one swift motion, he lifted you up and pushed her down onto the bed. his fingers traced a line slowly across your thighs as his breath hitched.

“i can feel how wet you are,” his voice, rich and low. it was rough and thick, like velvet against your skin. you couldn't help but suck in your breath as he spoke. the air was thick with anticipation and desire, and you could feel the wetness pooling between your legs at his words.

every nerve in your body seemed to hum with need as you waited for him to make his move. his presence felt magnetic, drawing you closer until there was barely any space between you. your heart pounded in your chest as his heated gaze locked onto yours. an that moment, there was no denying the primal attraction between you two.

“i’m always wet. it’s just your first time seeing,” you replied sharply.

a smirk spread across choso’s face. the way you spoke about yourself was very cocky but he liked it. he liked it when you challenged him.

he slowly moved towards your skirt, grabbing the hem and pulling it up just enough to peek underneath, his fingers grazing the edge of your panties before they reached their way up your thigh again.

as he leaned forward, his breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers of anticipation through her body. time seemed to stand still as choso's lips finally made contact with your thigh, his kisses and sucks slow and deliberate. you couldn't help but smile as you ran your hands through his hair, pulling the ponytail out and placing it in your own hair.

a soft moan escaped from choso's lips as he pressed into your thigh, barely audible but the way his head shook told the story of his pleasure. without hesitation, he climbed on top of you, his hips pressing firmly against yours as his hands explored every inch of your body.

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently as you relished in the feeling of it between her fingers. it reminded choso of something from his past, a memory that both pained and comforted him.

his breath hitched once again when you touched his hair, a gesture that brought back memories of his mother and his broken family. but in that moment with you, he felt whole again, grateful for the pleasure you gave him and longing for more.

choso bit his lip as he closed his eyes, his hands moving frantically across your body. he was so lost in the moment that he forgot about the time, where he was, and what he was supposed to be doing. he was focused on you, only you.

"come on, stop playing around," you interrupted with a playful grin, egging him on. "i wanna see that monster in your pants." your mischievous tone was accompanied by a wink, hinting at your true intentions as you pushed him closer.

“oh, you’ll get to see it, just not right now…”

choso's lips curved into a smirk as he finally pulled away from your thigh. his breath was heavy and quick, evidence of the excitement that coursed through both of your bodies. his strong hands stayed on your hips; their grip was gentle yet possessive as they moved lower toward your skirt.

with careful precision, his fingers slipped into the waistband of your skirt and began to slowly pull it down. as the fabric fell away, his breath hitched once again at the sight of what you were hiding underneath.

a soft moan escaped his lips as his hands remained in place, admiring every inch of your exposed skin. he bit his top lip as his fingers trailed along the edge of your thong. in that moment, he couldn't help but think that you looked just as amazing as your fiery personality.

choso’s hands slipped underneath your thong as he held the edge of them, and after a few moments, they came off of you. he smirked again and then pulled his hands away, allowing himself to see you fully and take her in. his smirk grew wider at the sight.

“yeah, you definitely know what you’re doing.” his hands were shaking a bit. you were almost completely naked in front of him. his fingers traced patterns over you once again, feeling how smooth you felt.

“i bet you look so good on your knees,” he mumbled under his breath. his voice was raspier now and he had to control his breathing when he finally looked into your eyes again.

“hm…maybe. we’ll have to see about that another time,” you smiled, still running your fingers through his hair. “now hurry up before i go dry.”

choso scoffed, feeling your fingers in his hair made it impossible for him to resist you. “i’m just gonna do one thing first,” he whispered as he looked at you, his eyes still full of lust. his hands left his sides again and went to the top of your thighs, his hands resting right underneath where he knew you were sensitive.

he smirked at you as his fingers began to trace small circles around your needy core, feeling your heat as his hands lightly squeezed your thighs with his free hand.

you gasped, your breaths already growing pretty fast, which eventually turned into audible moans as your hips started to buck against choso’s fingers.

choso smirked and squeezed you just a bit firmer, not wanting to push you too far too fast. when you moaned for him, he decided to keep pushing a bit further, finally taking his fingers away, only to use his mouth to do the work.

you spread your legs a bit wider for him and put your hand down on his head again, running your fingers through his hair and tugging on his dark locks a bit harder while you tilted your head back against the pillow as more moans fell from your lips.

the male was more than happy with your actions, suddenly grabbing your wrist and moving your hand from his head. his other hand remained firmly on your thigh as he began to slowly move his head between your thighs, taking his time as he slowly made you want more and more.

he paused for a moment and then slowly let his tongue dart out of his mouth once just to give it a taste. choso groaned softly as he looked up at you, his tongue darting back to his mouth.

your cheeks were completely flushed as his tongue moved against her. “you’re not just some emo loser, you know exactly what you’re doing,” you managed to get out before another moan interrupted your sentence and your hand latching back onto his hair.

choso moved his tongue slowly around your core while his other hand remained firmly on your thigh, occasionally squeezing a bit tighter before releasing.

the feeling of you gripping his hair made him moan and move his tongue with more fervor. he bit his lip gently and sucked on you a bit before letting go and making his hands tighten up on her thighs.

“put that tongue piercing to use,” you commanded followed by a light chuckle, the sensation obviously feeling a bit ticklish to you but the best feeling you’ve ever had.

choso smirked as you mentioned his piercing. he moved his hand from your thigh to your hip and then lowered himself down to her level, so his hands were at the edge of the bed.

he took his time to line his tongue up correctly before he pressed up against her. the sensation made his eyes close slightly before they opened again, this time looking up at you and meeting your eyes.

you bit your lip at the sensation, your moans encouraging him to continue on. he smirked as he heard your noises. he moved his tongue around slowly again, using the silver ball on his tongue to his advantage before sucking on you a bit harder than he had before.

you couldn’t help but moan choso’s name as you pressed his head against your leaky core, your slick wetting his face as your hips moved faster against his lips.

“that feel good?” he whispered, his tongue going back at it again. he looked up at her and saw the way her hair was gripping his, the way your hand rested on his head, how your teeth were biting your lower lip.

you nodded your head vigorously, being unable to speak as you struggled to breathe. a smile spread across choso’s face. your whimpers and moans only reassured him that he was doing something right.

he continued to work his magic on you and kept going until you were finally panting like you were about to faint, your heart racing.

soon enough, you finished all over his face, your mess also spraying onto your thighs. you sat up a little and giggled a little, looking at your mess dripping from choso’s face and on his lips.

a smile stretched across his face, and he finally opened his eyes and looked at you. the sight of you sitting up and giggling at him made his heart flutter, his body feeling fuzzy but satisfied. his eyes went down to his lips, and he smirked as he noticed a trail of your juices dripping from them. he looked back up at her.

“you’re very messy,” he said, his voice full of amusement before he took a swipe of his tongue across his lips, not missing a single drop trying to lick your fluids from his mouth. choso looked at you for a second longer before licking his lips one last time.

"you caused it," you retorted, your voice slightly breathless as your head lolled back against the soft pillow. a content sigh escaped your lips as you gazed up at him. choso's smirk only grew wider as he studied you, taking in every inch of your form.

in his eyes, you were the most beautiful woman in the world, and he loved that you knew exactly what you wanted. he was drawn to your confidence and independence, and it only added to your allure.

slowly, choso went up to you, his face getting as close to you as he could without you pushing him away before placing a kiss on your cheek. his breath was still a bit heavy, a blush painted across his face.

“mm…you made me tired,” he groaned as he finally laid down on the bed next to you. choso crossed his arms over his chest and looked over at you, the exhaustion written all over him.

with a playful giggle, you looked over at the boy next to you and teasingly said, "told you i'd put you to sleep, emo boy." despite his initial skepticism, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. choso couldn't help but be amused by your confidence.

you playfully nudged him, knowing that he secretly enjoyed being teased. "that's exactly what you get," you added with a mischievous grin.

choso's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red and he shifted his gaze away from you, his eyes now fixed on a random spot on the wall in your room. his voice was still calm but tinged with drowsiness as he finally spoke up. "shut up…" he muttered, his irritation evident. "i can't stand you." Choso's words were laced with feigned frustration and resentment towards you.

having a sly grin on your face, you rolled over to face him and rested your head on his chest, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. "hate me all you want but that doesn't mean you don't like what's between my legs," you retorted with a playful wink.

choso's face turned even redder as he tried to come up with a response, but you could tell he was struggling to keep a straight face. "but that doesn't mean i like you. you're still a pain in the ass."

"whatever," you teased, grinning cheekily. "you'll be back for more."

© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.

#𝐾𝑂𝑇𝐴 𝑊𝑅𝐼𝑇𝐸𝑆 書く #jujutsu kaisen #anime #jjk #choso kamo #jujutsu kaisen choso #jjk x reader #choso x reader #jjk choso #choso x black!reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu choso #jujutsu kaisen x reader #choso #choso smut #choso x reader smut #jujutsu hakari #hakari kinji #kamo choso #choso headcanons #jjk nanami #nanami kento #jjk geto #jujutsu geto #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #geto x you

[liyawritesss]

YOUR EARTH 42 MILES FIC WAS SO FUCKING GOOD OMFG👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾 of your taking requests can you write about how prowler miles met his girl and how he rizzed her up please? Only if you want to of course and again I only read one thing by you but your writing got me hooked!!!!

ᴀʟʟ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪꜱ ɪ ʙᴇ ʟᴏᴠɪɴ' ʏᴏᴜ

Characters: Spiderverse!Earth-42!Miles Morales x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Fic

Word Count: 3.7k

Synopsis: The sequel to i really like what you’ve done to me, Miles reflects on his first encounter with you, and how he immediately made it his mission to make you his.

Warnings: Cursing….thats about it, I think

A/N: This was a long one in the making and I think I actually like my characterization of 42!miles here. I didn’t wanna make him overly edgy or overly hood or anything, and I hope that you guys will appreciate the subtlety of his personality here. Hope you all enjoy!

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @marsfunzon22 @briology @honeybleed @romiantic @queenofthespiderverse @onlyperc @starsoirees @yasminisbroke @asensitivecookie @kdyance @sussybaka10 @famedrs-blog @milesismyhubby @foreclosure--of--a--dream

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Miles remembers the day he first talked to you so clearly. It was almost as if it were yesterday. 

The middle of the semester had always been prime time for teachers to start assigning end of semester projects, and while Miles was lucky enough for majority of his classes to have only assigned him individual projects, there was always one class that such a fortune was never the case in. 

When the teacher was calling out pairs there was a part of Miles that dreaded who his partner would be. He hoped it wasn't a slacker - he'd had his fair share of irritation and headache from those types of students who never took their schooling seriously. Then again, he didn't necessarily have to, either, considering his uncensored brilliance already, but at least he still made an effort to look like he made an effort. Others didn't have the same sentiment.

He didn't know  most of his classmates personally, but knew the ones he needed to know by name and face; due to previous instances of being paired with them for projects in this same fashion. The fact that most of his old project partners were consistently placed in the same classes as him reinforced the begrudging familiarity that came with them. Though there were a few select people out of that circle that he'd found himself knowing of due to other circumstances - clumsiness in the halls, points of contact for school activities, etc. 

So when the teacher called Miles' name and the name of his partner, it wasn't a surprise to himself when his head turned to the side to look for them. What did surprise him, however, was when he turned to the seat next to him, only to have found it empty. 

He can't recall if he's ever seen the seat empty since he's been in this class, missing the presence of the person who he deemed to be a good student. Always on time, always exact; work turned in, always complete, and always paying attention to the lectures. Their own interactions were limited to the passing of worksheets,  exchanges of pencils and the occasional conversations of how irritating the teacher was being.

Miles wouldn't consider the shared interactions to be that one friendship - it was more akin to general acquaintanceship. Though, deciphering her character from said limited interactions, he knew that this was not in normal behavior for the girl. Eyebrows furrowed at the lack of her presence, questioning where she could have been.

Since his partner wasn't there, Miles had been left with a brainstorming worksheet to fill out on his own, but his mind was not on the project. He found himself still wondering about his partner's whereabouts. He could have sworn he'd seen her that day, walking the halls with the same two girls she'd been friends with since the school year started. While the same two girls were in class, having been paired together for the project, the missing girl wasn't. So, when the ring of the bell sounded, signaling the end of the day, Miles knew what his first course of action was to be.

"Aye, yo," his voice carries over to the two girls who'd been packing their supplies up, ready to begin their after school activities of sneaking off campus to go to the mall, "where yo' friend at?"

The first girl, with soft locs pulls into a high pony and shiny lip gloss adorning her lips, who he knew by the name of Key, scrunched her face in a grimace

 "What's it to you, boy?" She says chastely, giving him a quick once over.

"C'mon, nah," Miles presses, "y'all know she my partner for this stupid project. I'm just tryna get this shit over with, a'ight?"

The other friend answers next - one of his ex-project partners Taji - her chin resting in her hand, fingers decorated with matte brown coffin shaped nails resting against her cheek. "We ain't seen her since lunch. Said she was gon' go to her locker for sumn' but ain't never come back to the table."

Miles' brow arches, as if quizzing her answer, trying to determine the validity of it. Taji catches onto this, and shoots a similar expression back to him.

"What, you thinkin' I'm lyin' to you, nigga?"

"Are you, Taj?"

"Boy, what I got to lie to you for?"

Taji and Miles had a similar acquaintanceship to that of him and (Y/N), with the former being his partner for a project for their shared arts class in their sophomore year. She was a talented artist, not to mention the one person able to reawaken his love for art, even if it was to a small degree. 

"A'ight, whatever, y'all ain't no help."

He let out a sigh, dismissing the girls’ seemingly secretive antics with a wave of his hand, before tucking the same one in his pocket, preparing to leave the classroom. He didn’t have time to entertain the two girls before him, and believed it best to leave them be and return to his dorm room to figure out the project on his own.

“Check the rooftops,” Miles heard Taji say as half of his body begins to cross the threshold of the classroom door. It makes the boy stop in his tracks, turning his head back to see the two girls as they stand as well, gathering their belongings to leave for the day as well, “or somewhere around there.”

“The rooftops are locked, dummy,” Miles corrects, “janitors here ain’t that lazy and ignorant.”

“Oh, so you weren’t just up there a week ago?” Taji replies back, a tinge of tease in her voice, knowing she’s caught him red handed when a small bulge forms on his cheek. 

“Yeah, nigga, tighten up, cuz you lackin’.”

“Shut up, big head.”

The faint echo of snickering lingers as Miles leaves the classroom, heavy footsteps carrying him down the hall to the maintenance door that leads to the rooftops. 

It’s a routine he’s done many times before, the muscle memory set into motion the second he sees the custodian cart next to the doorway, with the clip of keys attached to the lanyard hanging off the side handle. Expert fingers grab hold of the clip and slide off the first bronze colored key distinguishable for all the maintenance doors in the building - including the rooftop door. Before the custodian exits the bathroom situated next to the maintenance door, Miles is long gone and heads up the next three flights of stairs to reach the navy blue metal door to the school's rooftop. 

Miles had become well acquainted with the rooftop of Visions Academy. After the death of his father, he found solace in solitude. He couldn’t skip school and stay in his dorm or return to his apartment, because both would result in his mother worrying and stressing over him and his uncle getting on his ass about the importance of school and sending his mother into more distress than what she was already enduring. He’d come across the remote haven on accident; one morning when he arrived at school earlier than anyone else, he’d made a wrong turn into what he thought was his homeroom, but upon recognizing the darker and tinier corridor he had entered, realized he had in fact entered one of the maintenance hallways. Curiosity got the better of the dark skinned boy, and upon climbing the three flights of stairs, came across an unlocked metal door that lead to the school's rooftop.

For months, that would be his routine. Arriving a couple of hours before classes began to spend time by himself upon the school’s rooftop. He’d watch the sunrise above the Brooklyn skyline, allowing the heat to melt the cold exterior of his skin, shaking off the bitterness that came from lack of sleep and a racing mind from the night before. Miles and the morning sun became good acquaintances that way, greeting each other at each sunrise; it became one of very few things he looked forward to in those days, and continued to be his secret motivation to peel himself from his bed in the morning to attend the school his mother and father worked hard to put him in.

His hand grasps onto the door hand and twists, pushing the door outward and Miles is immediately washed in the evening sun. He steps onto the concrete ground, scanning the area in front of him for the presence of another. The corner in which he usually occupies is empty, and there’s nothing much to see at the moment but scattered leaves on top of firm grayness.

Black and white Jordan turn and trail around the side of the rooftop doorway, still searching for any sign of another's presence. Taji’s tip is proven correct when his eyes land upon a feminine figure, and there’s a slight wave of relief crosses his face upon finally finding the girl who’d been missing from class two hours before.

“Yo.” Miles calls out to her, and yet there is no reaction. With his eyebrows furrowed, he calls out again, but there is no response once again. He begins to walk further towards her, confusion beginning to settle in, but is then relieved when he notices a book in her lap; as well as earbuds that become visible the closer Miles steps towards her.

There’s a peaceful air that surrounds the girl, and there’s a part of Miles that doesn’t want to disturb her, but as much respect as he has for the other, he’ll be damned if he has to wait until next week to explain this project to her. So, with a short sigh, Miles reaches his hand out to touch her shoulder, calling out to the girl for the third time.

“Aye-” he begins, and all it takes is a touch on her shoulder for the girl to jump away from his touch in shock. A short yelp - more like a squeak, if anything - erupted from her mouth, which made Miles purse his lips tight to keep the snort he wanted to release at bay.

“Jesus, fuck-” you curse, shoulders dropping and a sigh leaving your lips the moment you realized who it was.

“You know that’s dangerous, right?” Miles asks, raising a finger to create circular motions towards his own ear before gesturing to you. “Having those things in on max; what if you was out on the street?”

A scowl forms on your lips as you take out one of your earbuds, stopping the music you had filtering into your ears as you were deep into your reading. You held the book by the spine, thumb placed in between the pages and forefinger on the hardcover spine. “I know not to do that on the street,” you reply, “I was just tryna read my book, before you decided to scare the living shit out of me.”

The boy rolls his eyes at your words, then follows your form as you take to sitting on the concrete ground, using the side of the ventilation bed to lean against. A second of silence passes between the two of you, before Miles finds himself sitting in the spot you once occupied, with wiring fans sounding behind him softly.

“You ain’t come to class today,” Miles voices, hands tucked into the pockets of his black and white Brooklyn letterman jacket as he focuses his gaze onto you. The soft click of you closing your earbud case sounds as you pocket them into your jacket to give the other male your attention, “what was that about?”

It takes you a minute to respond, and Miles isn’t sure if it was because you were coming up with an excuse that would satisfy him, or if you were buying your time for the question to be unanswered. “You know we got them projects assigned today, right?”

“That’s exactly why I ain’t go,” you answer, finally, “there’s an odd number in that class. Was hoping that I’d just be able to do somethin’ by myself instead of being partnered with some lazy ass who don’t be doin’ shit for real.”

“Damn,” the boy breathes with a chuckle, amused by her colorful choice of words, “ain’t even give me a chance and I’m already being called lazy, that’s crazy.”

It takes you a moment to catch on to his tease, at first furrowing your brows as you deciphered what his words meant. As realization dawned on you, your brows rose apologetically, having now realized the possible severity of your words. 

“No, wait- shit, I didn’t mean like that-”

“You cool, chill,” the dark skinned boy reassures, “I know what you mean.”

He watches as another sigh leaves your lips, in relief that your words were not misunderstood, but also in response to his little joke, and he can’t help but to chuckle again. “You right, though. Don’t nobody in that class do shit for real.”

That little jest did garner a laugh from you, and Miles can tell it’s one of comfort and ease. It’s the kind of laugh his mother would share with him after a long shift at the hospital where she’d have to put up a professional front, and she finally is able to shed the protective exterior and be her cheeky self. It’s the kind of laugh that signifies the forming of bond between people; the development of a relationship; the start of something new.

“A’ight, here’s the deal,” says Miles, his hand coming from the pocket of his jacket, rubbing his nose out of habit, then leaning on his knee to grow closer to you, “we both don’t wanna do this project ‘cus it’s a waste of time-”

“A huge waste of time-”

“-but if we do this project, I can prove to you I’m not a lazy ass.”

He watches as you feign a look of thought, eyes casted upward, lips pursed together with a little hum rumbling from your throat. After a moment, your eyes geared over towards Miles, a teasing smile gracing your lips, before finally answering him; “A’ight, sure.”

You start to rise, and Miles does as well, outstretching a hand to help you up from your seating position. As you dust off the bottom of your skirt from the debris on the ground, Miles picks up your bookbag from the ground and hands it to you once you’ve adjusted yourself appropriately. 

If Miles would have been told that he would be dating the girl who was partnered with him for their end of year project, he’d look at you as if you just called him out of his name. And yet, as he glances down at his phone, eyes scanning over your good morning messages together, he finds himself secretly thanking that teacher for pairing them up; he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“Hey, Unc?” says the younger, breaking the comfortable silence shared between the two, the ambiance of the morning radio the only sound echoing throughout the car.

“Yeah?” For a second, Miles purses his lips together. He spends a few seconds looking down at the screen of his phone and at the road ahead, as if contemplating on his next words carefully. It doesn’t take much for Aaron to notice the shift in behavior. “What is it?”

The younger’s tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, creating an extrusion on the side of Miles’ face, before he speaks; “You hungry?”

It’s an odd question posed, Aaron thinks, as it’s one that’s honestly never been posed in this section of their shared routine. Once a job was finished, especially when it went well into the night, and cleanup and debriefing happened during the early morning hours, both were too exhausted to let the thought of hunger cross their minds. Aaron raises an eyebrow at the question, beckoning the younger to explain further, “Am I…hungry?”

“Yeah,” says Miles, “my girl, she uh, she made breakfast, and asked if I wanted a plate. So I was askin’ you if you wanted one too-”

The look on Aaron’s face turned from confusion to bewilderment, and the previous expression was mirrored onto Miles’ face the second his sentence finished. “Why you lookin’ like that?”

A moment passed. A smile cracks onto Aaron’s face, a chuckle falls from his thick lips, a teasing tone already etched into his voice as he begins to speak.

“Oh no-”

“Aww, shit-!”

“Please, tio, don’t-”

“She can cook, too?”

And for the next few second, Miles is sunken into the passenger seat as all he can do is allow the onslaught of teasing and pestering from his uncle to cause heat to rise up his neck at a staggering temperature. In between the questions of other endearing qualities his nephew’s girlfriend may have had, the GPS within the car directs the older to said girlfriend’s address, of which had been keyed in during Aaron’s banter. Amidst it all, the growling of their stomachs was undeniable.

After a series of turns, the pair eventually reached your block, the familiar brownstone buildings and plotted trees along the sidewalk illuminated beautifully by the morning sun. “Right here,” Miles says as he points to the specific brownstone with your address on it, the older easily slipping into the parking spot in front of the building.

The younger mumbles a ‘be right back’ before he slips from the car, leaving Aaron in his own solitude, finding amusement in the entire ordeal. Never had he thought he’d be offered a plate of food by his nephew’s girl, and yet, he finds himself reliving the almost identical situation to the time Jefferson wanted to pull up to Rio’s home for a warm plate of empanadas. It had been the first time he had met Rio, and if Miles was anything like his father, then this would be the first time he’d meet the girl that stole his nephew’s heart.

Thirty minutes pass before Miles emerges from the reddish-brown door, and Aaron would have told the boy off for having him wait for long for a plate he offered, if he hadn’t seen the young lady he’d assume to be his girlfriend trailing behind the dark skinned boy.

“Remember, the one on top is your uncles since he doesn’t like pork bacon. And be careful because the food is still hot, I don’t want y’all to burn your mouths-”

“Baby,” Miles says, his tone warm and comforting as his freehand comes to your waist, the other holding the white bag of styrofoam containers containing the breakfast you had prepared, “I know, it’s okay. I’m not gon’ steal his turkey bacon.”

“Yeah, you better not.” You mumble against the skin of his cheek before pressing your lips to the soft skin, pressing deep into the flesh as if to burn the imprint of your lips onto his skin. Once your lips parted from the first kiss, a series of pecks met Miles’ cheek, causing the boy to smile unconsciously by the softness of your touch.

Miles’ wandering eyes caught the sight of his uncle peering through the car window, snickering at the pair, but just as soon as he was caught, the older resumed his original position; though the attempt to restrain the tug on his lips proved to be a struggle. “Is that your uncle?” You ask, innocent but hesitant, not wanting to cross a boundary. Though the state of your relationship was healthy and stable, with lots of communication and expressions of love shared amongst the both of you, Miles had made it clear that easing you into meeting his mother and uncle would be something to take seriously. They were all he had left, and he wanted to make sure that what the two of you had, and were working to develop, was something long term and lasting. The last thing he wanted was for his relationship to crash and burn the second he wanted to connect the most significant people in his life together.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Miles replies, a slight tug on one side of his lips as he turns to glance at the car, then back towards you, “do you wanna say hi?”

You barely understood the words the other had asked you before nodding excitedly. Though as the two of you descended down the tan concrete stairs, across the sidewalk and to the side of the care, the revelation slowly dawned on you that you were meeting Miles’ uncle, and you had no idea why all of a sudden you felt conscious of the loungewear set you’d chosen to dawn that morning while you made breakfast, or the fact that if was through the window of his car - both being the exact opposite of how you wanted your first meeting with Miles’ family to go.

Aaron took the hint with both of you approaching the car, and rolled down the passenger window to speak to the two of you clearly.

“Unc,” Miles starts, taking his hand from your waist to gesture between you and Aaron, “this is (Y/N); and babe, this is my Uncle Aaron.”

There seemed to be a second of stalling on your end, before you took a step forward, bending at the knees slightly to meet Aaron’s eyes. His one hand rested on the steering wheel, his other arm leaning on the arm rest, propping him up.

“Hi, Mr. Davis,” you said, doing your bets to refrain from stuttering, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello to you, too, miss lady,” the older replies, “it’s nice to meet you, too. I heard you made breakfast for us?”

You nodded with a polite smile, “I was just in the mood to cook, and I figured Miles may be hungry; he said you were with him, so I only thought it right to make you a plate, too.”

Aaron purses his lips together in an expression of approval, eyes moving from yours to his nephews as his head bobbing in a slow motion. “Oh, yeah, she’s good, man.”

“Tio, please-” Miles whines, which garners a chuckle from his uncle and a giggle from you; and for a second, the feeling that formed in the pit of his stomach the first time he made you laugh returns. The kind of laughs that signifies the forming of a bond between people; the development of a relationship… the start of something new. It’s from that, that Miles knows that any worries of his family not liking you vanishes. 

#black reader #black tumblr #black marvel #black spiderman #spiderman #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman beyond the spiderverse #spiderman itsv #spiderman atsv #spiderman btsv #spiderman miles morales #miles morales spider man #earth 42 miles morales #42!miles morales #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #42!miles morales x reader #42!miles x reader #marvel x reader

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience. 

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream. 

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel. 

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside. 

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement. 

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either. 

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day. 

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price. 

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear. 

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks." 

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke. 

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes. 

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things. 

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to. 

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you." 

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not. 

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed. 

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young. 

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant. 

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick. 

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car. 

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh. 

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for. 

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old." 

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had. 

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan. 

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his. 

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away. 

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in. 

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good… 

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point. 

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest. 

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects. 

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…" 

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple. 

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want… 

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying. 

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already. 

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…" 

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull. 

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth. 

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago. 

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway." 

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed. 

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap. 

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too. 

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?" 

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say. 

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes. 

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart. 

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?" 

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco. 

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not... 

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong. 

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in. 

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream. 

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?" 

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise. 

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel… 

And Alaska. 

#john price x you #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain price x you #price x reader #captain price smut #captain price x reader #john price smut #john price #mw2 smut #captain john price #john price fanfic #cod fanfic

[kquil]

POLY MARAUDERS | HEROES IN TATTOOS PART 2

02 : THANK YOU

SUM. : you thank your heroes with home made lunch at their work place, leaving with a temporary tattoo and three men wrapped around your little finger.

TAGS. : modern au ; muggle au ; tattoo artist sirius ; tattoo artist james ; piercer remus ; innocent reader ; all three are smitten with you ; all three also being casually dominant with you ; sweetheart reader x rough tough men is the trope! ; prepare to be as obsessed as i am over these men! ; marauders with tattoos and piercings are hot

LENGTH. : 2.6k

PREV. : 01 | RESCUE

“Well there’s a familiar face,” Remus greets with a smile as you step into the shop. You timidly smile back and wait for him to wave off a customer with their care kit before stepping forward with your heavy tote strung over your shoulder, “do you have an appointment for a tattoo or a piercing?” he asks, eyes trained on the tablet at the front desk. 

“Oh, no no,” you bashfully stammer, “I’m not here for any of that, I’m scared of needles,” 

“That’s a shame,” Remus contemplates and you look up to see him leaning over with a thoughtful look, his elbows on the counter as one hand holds his chin up - he’s so handsome. He has several piercings decorating his ears and an eyebrow piercing to accentuate the angles of his brows. As he moves his chin off his palm to caress it in contemplation, he continues to take you in as you also take the opportunity to admire some of the tattoos on his arms. There are some phrases in different fonts, an impressive vision of a wolf with a full moon and a minimalist set of the moon phases alongside much more, “you’d look good with cute little piercings on your ears,” he finally comments, reaching out to point at your ear. 

“Th-thank you,” you subconsciously reach up and touch your ear, his statement making you briefly consider his suggestion.

“So what are you here for if not for a piercing or tattoo?” straightening up into his full height, Remus lets a light scowl take over his face, “Is that bastard troubling you again?”

“It’s alright, don’t worry, I told my manager and he’s been banned from the pub I work at so I haven’t had anymore bad encounters,” 

Remus smiles at your precious appearance, you really look adorable being all timid in front of him, “I’m glad,” his voice is warm and comforting, different to the roughness brought on by the ink on his arms. He was dressed in a white shirt under a sleeveless brown sweater vest, high-waisted, tailored pants with the bottoms just about reaching his Doc Martens - he’s a good balance of soft but edgy. It’s a unique charm of his, you gather.

“I-I just wanted to say thank you to you guys,” you gesture to your tote bag, “so I made you some lunch, I hope that’s okay…” 

“Free lunch, home cooked by the most beautiful lady I’ve ever seen?” Sirius interrupts, stealing your attention as he appears from a corridor to your left with a boyish grin. He reaches for your hand and brings your knuckles up to his lips for a soft kiss, “what an honour,”

Your cheeks heat up incredibly at the gesture, “it’s really nothing, you guys saved me last night, it’s the least I could do,”

Sirius smiles down at you and after sharing a look with Remus he begins to lead you down the same corridor he had just appeared from, “well, you have the most perfect timing, darling because it’s a slow day and almost our lunch break,”

“I’ll tell James and help him finish up with his last client for the day. We’ll see you in a bit,” Remus announces as he flips the sign at the door to ‘CLOSED’. You wanted to protest and say that you didn’t want to waste too much of their time but the mousy haired piercer smiled and that was enough reassurance for you to hold your tongue. 

“Let’s go love,” Sirius leads you down a corridor to a room with rock posters and varying pieces of art decorating the wall as sofas lined half of the walls with varying aesthetics, one was very much distressed but still cosy looking, as the other was of a sleek, black leather. Thankfully, there was a pretty large coffee table that you could set your tote bag on and slowly began to take out the food you had cooked. On the distressed sofa behind you, Sirius admired your tentative figure and appreciated your stark difference in aesthetic to the room around you. Your style fits close to Remus although more feminine and carefree. There was a cosy structure to Remus’s fashion but with your long flowing white skirt, chiffon blouse and delicate jewellery, you embodied a breath of fresh air under the summer sun, “what a beauty,” Sirius says to himself, arms resting along the back of the sofa as you finally settled down.

Thinking he meant the food in the tupperware, you smile, “you like the food already?”

“I’m talking about you, darling, although the food does look delicious,” Sirius chuckles under his breath as you timidly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Th-thank you but really, I hope you like the food,” 

“I’m sure I will,” silence slowly permeates the space between you as you wait for Remus and James but it was still comfortable, not awkward at all. In that time, you both take in each other’s appearance. Sirius wears a white tank that clings to his toned figure and ends just under his belly button, showcasing a majority of the tattoos that embellish his skin. He’s also in black jeans and a pair of worn combat boots. The tattoos on his arms and those that peak out from his torso and chest don’t have a visible theme but they all still go together somehow. There are many unknown symbols and long winded sentences written decoratively around said symbols and the occasional elaborate illustration. There are some doodles dedicated to music, some to inside jokes you would guess and you want to ask questions but you bite your tongue. You didn’t want to be rude. 

“Curious?” Sirius asks, having noticed your wandering eyes and smiling at your kitten-like interest. 

“A little bit…”

“Ask away,”

When James and Remus finally join the two of you a few minutes later, they see you fully turned towards Sirius on the sofa, eyes focused on a tattoo on his chest that he was explaining the meaning of, catching you in a trance with his voice. The tattoo artist has his tank top moved down and to the side as you absentmindedly reach your hand up to his tattoo, almost tracing the ink on his skin with your delicate fingers. From the grin on Sirius’s face and the love-eyes he was watching your face with, they could tell he was smitten with you, which was rare. Sirius was very much a ladies man but you’ve managed to rope him in with hardly any effort put in. Remus doesn’t blame his friend, though, you’re very captivating. 

The chuckle from both Remus and James pulls your attention away from Sirius who smirks up at them, unbothered by their interruption.  

“I heard a pretty lady was treating us to some home made lunch today,” James eagerly sits down in the space beside you as Remus sits atop the far right of the coffee table. 

“Y-yeah, I hope you like it, please dig in,”

“Don’t mind if I do!” James cheers and promptly consumes his share of food, giving the occasional groan of satisfaction from the taste in his mouth, “Sho good!”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Remus corrects with an amused smile before turning to your with an appreciative grin, “Thank you, truly, (Y/N), I was getting tired of take out,”

“Home cooking is the best,” Sirius groans from your other side, already half way through his share, which makes you giggle in happiness. Your heart swells with joy knowing that you could properly thank your heroes. Speaking off, you finally get to admire James in better lighting than the street lamps. He isn’t nearly as decorated with ink as Sirius but there was a pretty illustration of a stag on his forearm that you admired. You hadn’t wanted to feel awkward so you brought some lunch for you too and ate alongside the trio, stealing secret glances at James who remained oblivious, too engrossed in his food. He’s in much cosier attire compared to Srius and Remus. Hanging from his broad shoulders was an oversized, faded shirt and washed-out jeans with the bottoms rolled up to showcase his high converse shoes. Framing his face was a charming pair of round glasses and, matched with his unruly curls and tattoos, made him a pictured balance of casual and wild that suits only him.

Lunch passes and James was the first to finish between the trio, quickly proceeding to pull puppy eyes at his two friends in a soft plea for them to surrender some of their food to him but they firmly decline. 

“I’m not letting you have some of my lunch just because you finished yours too quickly,” Sirius huffs, pulling his tupperware closer to him. 

“Sorry Prongs,” Remus laughs, “those puppy eyes aren’t going to work on me, our dove’s cooking is too good to share,”

Unable to resist James’s pouting face, you hold up a spoonful of your meal, “it’s okay James,” you bring your spare hand to sit under the spoon and move it to James’s lips, “here, say ‘ahh’,”   

With a boyish, golden-boy grin, James happily accepts the mouthful and moans in happiness, chewing away like a happy squirrel. Enjoying his glee so much, you happily feed him the rest of your lunch, saying that you were already far too full to eat any more so that Remus and Sirius didn’t scold James too much. It was partially true though because seeing James eating was enough to make you feel full already. 

Once done, you set aside the tupperware and was completely unprepared for when James kissed your cheek as thanks for feeding him the rest of your lunch, “you’re too kind, angel, thank you,” he whispers into your ear, his breath brushing against your sensitive skin and sending a shiver down your spine. You could only muster a timid nod in response. 

When lunch ended, casual conversations started which slowly divulged into the boys wanting to give you a temporary tattoo as thanks. You wanted to protest the redundancy of their actions but were quickly convinced by the verbal pleas of Sirius and James as Remus simply stared at you with interested eyes.

“What tattoo would you like, doll?” Sirius asks, smiling at your pondering face. You're far too cute for your own good.

“Surprise me!” you finally chirp, missing the roguish grin the three men share. 

Not too long after, you were brought into a room with a computer connected to a specialised printer against one wall of the room. Remus and Sirius immediately move to prepare the temporary tattoo on the screen and set up the printer while James leads you to the tattoo bed in the middle of the room. 

“This can fold into a chair but that’s a bit of a hassle right now, do you mind sitting on the bed instead?” James asks as you shake your head and reassure that it’s alright. He loves how compliant you are and watches for a moment as you struggle to get on the high bed before offering assistance, “May I?” his hands hesitates just before they reach your figure but you pay his touch no mind and nod, moving your hands to rest on his shoulders as he secures his hold on your waist. With a small countdown, James lifts you onto the tattoo table with hardly any effort. 

Shuffling back, you smile up at James who remains taller than you on the table as he stands between your thighs, “Thank you, James,” the tattoo artist smiles when you say his name but frowns at the distance you’re sitting at the table. 

“No worries sweetheart but you we need you a little closer than that,” without another word, James grips your thighs with his large hands and pulls you with some force to sit closer to the edge of the table, which also pulls a surprised squeal from your lips, “sorry sorry,” James chuckles softly his hands still on your thighs and shudders at your proximity when he looks down to see your skirt bundled up, accentuating how close your hips were to his. Stepping away, James tidies up your skirt as you giggle and thank him once more for his assistance. He smiles at you before being called over to the computer, trading places with Sirius. 

“Where would you like your temporary tattoo, love?” he asks gently, opening a packet of sanitising wipes as the sound of the printer starts and whirrs in the background. 

“Hmmm…even though it’s temporary I want it to be easily hidden,”

“Such a shy princess aren’t you?” Sirius comments with a smile, “it’s so cute,”

Ignoring his comment, you rush to think of the perfect place for the tattoo and distract from your racing heart, “how about here?” you point to your chest, just above your breasts and below your collarbone. Sirius immediately recognises the placement and raises an amused brow. 

“Like my tattoo?”

You timidly smile, “yes please,”

“Very good choice,” Sirius praises playfully as pride swells within his chest, “but we need to get to that spot first, love,” you look down at your blouse and curse under your breath. 

“Umm…” you try to pull down the collar but it was a small cut and the fabric resists. The temporary tattoo finishes printing and Remus approaches the table with James to see you struggling with your blouse.

“Where does she want it?” James asks as Remus carefully holds the small tattoo. 

“Where mine was,” Sirius points to just below his collar bone, “but her blouse is in the way,”

Remus nods and approaches you, “that blouse is going to have to come off, dove,” his brown eyes watches you gnaw at your lip, it’s a hesitance he’s familiar with so he knows what to do, “don’t worry, you have nothing to be scared of, okay?” he gives you a warm smile when you look up at him and soon feel assured enough to untuck your blouse and pull it over your head, “good girl,” he praises with the same soft tone. You feel silly, these men give tattoos and pierce people’s skin, you’re sure that they’ve seen plenty of shirtless women in only their bras. Remus especially…he’s an expert piercer and has probably been asked to pierce lady parts that weren’t…very common.

“I’ve got to prepare your skin, love,” Sirius holds up the wipe and once you confirm exactly where you wanted the tattoo again, he wipes the area clean. Your skin is soft and slightly bouncy as it leads down to your breasts that makes the tattoo artist wipe at your skin a little longer than normal. After Sirius finishes prepping your skin and letting it dry, Remus steps up and applies the tattoo as best as he can without wrinkles. He swipes over the tattoo with his fingers and smiles at the handiwork. Beside him, Sirius and James admire the temporary ink, all three internally screaming at what you had let them ink you with.   

“Wait a full hour before you peel off the applicator,” Remus gently instructs, “and try to avoid sweating or showering for the next 6 hours okay?” you nod and Remus pats your head in approval with a contented hum. You put your blouse back on and let James help you down, laughing brightly when he raises you up high and spins you in the air before he finally sets you down, laughing alongside you. 

The boys still have a business to run so you collect your empty tupperware and wave the three goodbye before hurrying home, excited to see what tattoo they had given you as they were adamant at keeping it a surprise from you. When you finally arrived home and got a hold of a mirror, you examined the tattoo with your blouse off and felt your cheeks gradually heat up as you trace the differing fonts of the three names decorating the space beneath your collarbone. 

Their names in their handwriting. James, Sirius, Remus.

NEXT : 03 | GROCERIES

NAVI. | HEROES IN TATTOOS SERIES

A/N : i'm becoming more and more obsessed with this au - i couldn't stop writing! if i'm going down, im bringing your darlings with me! no survivors allowed! maybe i'll make a part 3? i don't know yet. again, i've added additional tags of the people who have expressed interest in more parts for the timestamp. tell me your thoughts, lovelies!

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins ; @astonishment ; @until-i-found-you ; @goodoldfashionedluvergirl ; @tiensmamains ; @manical-heaven ; @ch3rry-pops ; @unholyhuntress ; @animeluvr99 ; @peppers-library ; @thepowerthismanhasoverme ; @buck-fics ; @bohemian-lavender-girl

#james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #marauders x reader #poly marauders x reader #poly marauders #marauders #marauders fic #sirius black #sirius black fic #sirius x reader #remus lupin #james potter #james potter x you #☆ : timestamp #𐂂 : timestamp #☽ : timestamp

[angelltheninth]

Done When I Say

Paring: Sasuke Uchiha x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, free use mention, sex to destress, overstimulation, rough sex, orgasm control, sex work, degradation, name-calling, Sasuke is an asshole but what else is new

Word count: 0.6k

A/N: Sasuke commission, god I hope this isn't too edgy and brooding. It's hard to write for him!

There was no doubt that he knew how to fuck you. With how many times he'd done so he'd learned every weak spot you had. A man like him would exploit them to his full benefit and pleasure, yours was just a bonus that he allowed to happen.

"Again." You heard his order from behind you coupled with the lightning fast smacking of his body against yours. "I'm not feel it. Didn't you hear me whore? Or did you lose your ability to understand words?" He doubled his efforts and pulled your ass a little higher, his cock at least reacting to the sight.

Feeling yourself get fucked by him was a weekly occurrence, it was routine, and so were your orgasms, happening when he deemed it necessary. "I just came. I'm still sore from it." You knew that didn't mean anything to him, he wasn't in the brothel to hear your excuses.

"Do you honestly think I care? I payed you to get fucked didn't I? I payed damn well. So you will do as I say and come around my cock." Sasuke's voice was almost deadly calm. If it weren't for him rutting into you and his cock pulsing with new waves of cum you wouldn't know if he felt good or not. Men like him were always tricky, but made you feel so good, which is why despite his attitude you looked forward to Sasuke's visits after training.

You let yourself go for him, focused on his hands, his cock, his balls slapping your clit, his cum trickling between your legs and onto the futon. The orgasm was borderline painful, ripped out of your sensitive pussyhole by him.

"Stop." The word bolted through your body so painfully. With great effort you forced your orgasm to stop, for your cunt to stop spasming around him.

"You're so cruel Sasuke." He hummed in response, if you could even call it such. He was already on the verge of ejaculation, your body responding so beautifully to him only spurred him on more.

"For someone who craves cock so much you have incredible self-control." That was as close to a compliment as Sasuke ever gave you. "Hold still, don't come." Two commands that he grunted out as he kept fucking his cock into you, the slaps echoing, probably heard by the other people in the brothel, maybe even in the street down below seeing as the window was open.

Your pussy gleefully took his thick, warm cum, as did your womb so happy that it's finally him who gets to claim it. "P-Plea-"

"Yes." That was the only word you needed to make your cunt pulse around his cock once again, finally finishing the orgasm that was interrupted before. Sasuke never moaned for you, he was fully silent even while he emptied himself inside of you, fucked you through it all and then pulled out to let the white mess spill out. "Fucking messy. Can't you even pretend not to be a free use slut? Used for the pleasure of any man who pays you." You were below him, but you served his needs so he didn't mind getting messy with you, "Close your legs, you're making it worse."

You let your body spread against the sheets and crossed your legs one over the other, your back and ass on full display for him.

"Hm. Some other time." You heard him mumble as he got dressed and tossed a coin purse beside you. "Extra. Don't ask why, just be grateful."

"O-Oh. Thank you. Thank you very much" If you had the strength you would have gotten up to greet him as he left. But you did meet his eyes right before he jumped through the window, the moonlight shining over his jet-black hair. It always looked so soft, you wondered if he'd let you touch him one of these days. He left with a nod and you were left there to catch your breath.

When you looked and counted the money you noticed there was indeed extra. More than enough to give you a break from work until he visited again next week.

#naruto x reader #sasuke uchiha x reader #sasuke uchiha x you #naruto imagines #sasuke uchiha imagine #naruto smut #sasuke uchiha smut #naruto fanfiction #sasuke uchiha fanfiction #sasuke x reader #sasuke x you #sasuke imagines #sasuke smut #sasuke fanfiction #smut blurb #smut drabble #x female reader

[yokohamapound]

Hi bestie! Great to find a new BSD blog! For starters, can we have some hcs on what kind of lingerie Dazai, Chuuya, Ranpo, Akutagawa and Fyodor would buy their fem!s/o? ;)

Hey, I hope you enjoy these!

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya, Edogawa Ranpo, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Fyodor Dostoevsky

Warnings: NSFW, lingerie

Dazai Osamu

This man is what we like to call an omniwhore. If it's on your body, he's interested in getting it off and getting you off.

Dazai's stated himself that he has quite wide-ranging tastes, so it's highly likely he'll just buy you something you'd feel sexy in, but if he had completely free reign...?

His tastes are pretty classic. He'd probably go for something black, with lace. He likes how it feels, warmed by your skin, against his hands, his tongue...

That being said, you don't need to buy anything expensive to seduce him. You could be lounging around in one of his shirts and a pair of thigh-highs and that would count as lingerie to him.

Dazai is someone who likes seeing his s/o wear his clothes, especially in a dishevelled, just-got-fucked kind of way.

Nakahara Chuuya

Chuuya's favourite colours seem to be black and red, which isn't a surprise coming from anyone in the Port Mafia. Chuuya leans towards an edgy, femme/homme fatale style if he's choosing lingerie for his lover.

Think bustiers, garters, body harnesses, edging into bondage chic, I guess you could say. These are his tastes and you don't have to subscribe to them, but if you do he'll be shoving you into closets, back seats of cars, his personal office, the club bathroom. Pretty much anywhere he can get you alone and start ripping off buttons.

There's a certain part of your body, and anything that brings his attention to it is enough to get Chuuya raring to go.

Thighs.

Stockings are great, but those little harnesses or garters that go around your thigh get him bricked up like an 18th Century window.

If you're feeling cheeky, you can lift up the hem of a skirt or let him see the outline of it under your pants. Man is gripping the edge of the table.

"You're killin' me with these, dollface."

Edogawa Ranpo

You know those candy thongs?

Jokes aside, I feel like Ranpo doesn't buy you straight-up lingerie as much as he occasionally grabs a little costume for you. Straight-up sex is probably kinda boring, even if it feels good, so why not have some fun with roleplay?

You could be a cute little nurse and he's the world's greatest detective.

Or you're a cute little maid, and he's the world's greatest detective!

These aren't cheap costumes, though—he'll get you some nice, high quality stuff and not those itchy, shiny polyester things from Shein.

If he does buy you underwear, it has cute prints and colours. I feel like he likes stripes, pastel ones. Pinks and blues and soft yellows, because it lowkey reminds him of candy wrappers.

However, one time he did just bring you a bag from the grocery store.

"Ranpo, why is there a can of whipped cream?"

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

Okay, do not send Akutagawa into a lingerie store because he will panic and he will destroy the store with Rashoumon. At first he will be highly dismissive of buying you underwear—are you not capable of buying it yourself?

Give him time to come around to the idea that he can choose what he sees on your body, the intimate garments that are going to hug your skin under your clothes, for his eyes only. Then he gets it.

Akutagawa's taste definitely runs to dark fabrics: deep burgundies, black, of course, deep purples and emerald greens if he's branching out a bit. Lace and frills, but also a touch of leather and metal. You can't take the Port Mafia out of the boy, after all.

I don't know if this is a Port Mafia-induced kink but he also likes body harnesses. The straps against your skin, especially if they're cinched a little tight against your soft flesh, remind him of when he binds you in Rashoumon and spreads you out underneath him.

This works with normal outfits too, actually. If you wear something floaty with a body harness underneath, and he sees it? Especially when you're out in public or on the job?

There's gonna be a whole different kind of screaming coming from that dark alleyway.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

I'm hardly original in thinking this, but Fyodor would strikes me as the type to lean toward something clean, pure. Angelic, one might say.

White is very common, especially delicate fabrics like lace and silk. Fyodor likes to get his cold hands on you, to feel you shiver at his touch, and the contrast between warm, soft skin and cool, slippery silk pleases him.

The sight of your legs sheathed in pretty white stockings, lace clinging precariously to your upper thighs—that's a temptation he struggles to resist, especially when you sit on his lap. He's a stocking man and will ensure you always have plenty in your drawer.

Little babydoll nightdresses too, usually delicate and translucent.

Oh, and blindfolds.

He also has a lovely collection of pretty silk ropes to tie you up in.

#yokohama pound #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #Dazai Osamu #Nakahara Chuuya #Edogawa Ranpo #Akutagawa Ryuunosuke #Fyodor Dostoevsky #Dazai x Reader #Chuuya x Reader #Ranpo x Reader #Akutagawa x Reader #Fyodor x Reader #bsd smut #I got to look at pretty pictures of lingerie for this so thanks anon

[0th3rw0rldl1n3ss]

So I have a dormant scooby doo hyperfixation (that comes back now and then) and since the new Velma show is trending rn I feel the urge to tell everyone that in the Mystery Incorporated series Fred is canonically autistic with a special interest in making traps and I never see anyone mention this. It was confirmed in a video that’ll be linked at the bottom of this post.

But yeah, aside from all the other problems with the new Velma show (disclaimer: I haven’t seen the show yet but have seen some previews and have heard things about it that have given me very low hopes for how the show will be) one of the biggest icks for me so far is making Fred into a shallow and arrogant asshole popular rich boy stereotype instead of going the Mystery Inc route and making him a classic himbo and autistic who’s obsessed with building traps.

Autistic Fred Jones is the best version of Fred Jones. I love that he displays autistic characteristics without being a lazy one dimensional stereotype of autism. In the show, from what I remember (I need to give it a rewatch), he has a clear special interest in building traps to the point that it defines his life and affects his relationships, he struggles a lot with interpersonal relationships, indirect communication and social signals (especially when it comes to being oblivious to Daphne’s romantic signals, and the issues this causes in their relationship). But he’s not one dimensional, in fact he has more emotional complexity in this series than in any other rendition of Scooby Doo, in my opinion, and even though he’s autistic he’s still a conventionally attractive man and a central character who is desired by one of the main, attractive female leads in the show, which I almost NEVER see.

This Reddit post goes a bit more into the specifics of his autistic traits, for anyone interested.

Here’s the video I mentioned:

This post is about Fred, but I also wanted to mention that I have a lot of love for the Mystery Inc creators deliberately writing Velma as a lesbian who was struggling with coming to terms with her sexuality throughout the show, and giving her a canonical sapphic love interest, in a time where having a queer character in the main cast of a kids show was unheard of.

Anyway, I recommend watching Mystery Inc if you don’t want to watch the new Velma show but still want to watch something that hits the Scooby Doo nostalgia spot. It still has the fun of classic Scooby Doo that speaks to my inner child but it’s also dark and complex enough to appeal to teen and adult audiences (as well as younger audiences) without over the top edginess.

#Scooby doo #scooby doo mystery incorporated #mystery incorporated #mystery inc #hbo velma #velma 2023 #fred jones #fred scooby doo #autism #autistic characters #canon autistic character #autistic character #autistic Fred jones #autistic headcanon #🐱 #textpost #my post #autistic #actually autistic #Scooby doo fandom #Youtube #cartoons #cartoon fandoms #hyperfixation #hyperfixations #velma hbo max #Velma show

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

hello my baker gf ♡♡♡

little request for ya: our sweet, lovesick!eddie munson being shy!reader’s first kiss/boyfriend?

A/N: hey baby! hope this manages to lift your spirits, even just a tiny bit for merely a millisecond ♡

word count: 609

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist 

“Wait,” your nerves suddenly got the best of you as Eddie began to lean in, “I’m scared.”

Inching his head back just a bit, he enquired softly, “why are you scared?”

“I don’t know how to do this!” your heart was practically beating out of your chest.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed out a smile, his palm reassuringly coming up to meet the side of your flush face, “it’s not like it’s rocket science.”

“That’s easy enough for you to say,” you cursed the blush raging on your cheeks, “what if I do something wrong?”

“You won’t,” he said with tender confidence, his breath fanning across your skin and causing goosebumps to erupt.  

“You don’t know that,” you mumbled shyly, then glanced down, avoiding his mesmerizing gaze. 

“Y/n,” he suddenly leaned in and planted a swift peck on your hot cheek before repeating, “you won’t.” Blinking up at him with wide eyes, stunned by the fact that he had so casually kissed your cheek, he eventually tested, “you ready?”

Looking back at him with edgy stars in your eyes, all you could was hum in confirmation, “mhm.”

You didn’t know you could ever feel something so soft. Kissing you as if you were made of porcelain, it nearly tingled from how your lips buzzed against his gentle ones. The kiss was quick, perhaps too quick as you felt it fade away as soon as it had begun. 

“Wow…” you exhaled, eyes hastily blinking back at him from the overwhelming flutter within you, “that was weird.”

“Bad weird?” his face light-heartedly twisted into a grimace. 

“No, just-,” every word you thought to use to clarify washed away as you felt his thumb swipe over your cheek, caressing the heated skin softly, “wow…”

Biting down on his blooming grin your speechlessness triggered, he asked, “do you wanna do it again?”

“Yes,” you answered maybe a little bit too fast, “I mean, yeah,” you fumbled in an attempt to sound more cool, “if you want to, sure.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as his lips pressed against yours once more. Still just as gentle as before, though this time he didn’t just stop after only a second of kissing you, he stayed there, relishing in the sensation not yet familiar to you. His palms softly cradled your face, fingers caressing the sides of your blissful expression. 

“I thought it would be more, I don’t know, slimy,” you hazily thought out loud once his lips had left yours. 

“Oh, it can be,” he smirked, enthusiasm glinting in his warm eyes, “I just thought it would be better for you to learn how to walk before you run.”

“Oh,” your legs shifted as a tingle shot down your spine, “okay.”

“But if you want to go run a fucking marathon, then just put on your running shoes. I’ve literally dreamt of nothing else since the day I met you.”

“Wait,” growing unsure a moment by his enthusiastic words, you checked, “you’re not actually talking about running, are you?” 

“No, honey,” he chuckled, “that was just a metaphor, but if you want me to, then I’d be happy to spell it out in big, fat block letters for you,” clearing his throat dramatically, he daringly announced, “Y/n, I would really fucking love to bone you down one day,” gesticulating with his hands to prove his point, “I’m talking real nasty, just have you drip down all over me while I-”

“O-okay! Alright!” previously convinced that you couldn’t turn into even more of a tomato, you rushed to cut him off, “I-I get the picture, you don’t have to clarify anymore, I already kinda understood it with the whole running thing!”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble

#lea’s writing #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson hc #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fic #stranger things blurb #stranger things imagine #eddie munson request #eddie munson smut

[lygma-nygma]

Knowing the original reason(s) that Dick became Nightwing and then reading comics like Nightwing: Year One is just so annoying. Like what is the deal with more modern rewrites making everything surrounding Dick and Bruce super edgy and angsty when the original version of the story was perfectly fine?? It’s like DC Comics is on a mission to assassinate both of their characters to make Dick into a ‘sad boy’, it’s infuriating.

Original Pre-Crisis Nightwing Lore: Yeah I'm just kind of getting too old to be Robin. Like it or not Robin is forever and always going to be known as Batman's sidekick and I just don't feel like that fits me anymore. I'm the leader of the Teen Titans and I spend most of my time doing that and solo missions now anyway. I think I'm going to drop the mantle, take a step back, and find a new identity. Original Post-Crisis Nightwing Lore: I got shot and fell off a building during a mission and almost died right in front of Bruce. It shook him up and made him super afraid of me dying so he told me he wasn't going to run with a Robin anymore because he didn't want my death to be his fault. I was annoyed about him treating me like a kid and that he was throwing all the years we worked together away over one incident but he said it wasn't like that, he just hoped I was old enough to understand where he was coming from. I told him that there was no way I wasn't going to continue being a hero and he fully supported me saying that he would always be there to help if I needed it. I was still hurt by it all, especially when Jason showed up, but ultimately I came to understand why it happened and got over it. Edgy Retcon Nightwing Lore: I went out of my way to SAVE him and then I got PUNISHED because I didn't do it right and wasn't prioritizing Gotham enough despite my THIRTEEN THOUSAND JOBS but I'm not surprised because he's always been unreasonable and HATES ME so now I'm not Robin anymore because Batman is an awful person and emotionally abuses me. And just to be clear it's not like Dick and Bruce didn't fight before the retcon, frequently being at each other's throats is literally a core aspect of their relationship, but I'm just so tired of them retconning every interaction they have into some overdramatic spat. Way to completely strip Dick of all his agency as a character and turn Bruce into an empty cardboard cut out of himself. Hope the angst points are worth it.

EDIT: I also want to add that fights between Bruce and Dick used to have a lot more nuance than they do now. The B&D fights used to be caused by a breakdown in communication on BOTH sides, not just Bruce's. The 'Jason becoming Robin' fight comes to mind. In Batman #416 neither Dick's complaints nor Bruce's excuses made complete sense but that was the point. Bruce should have been better at reaching out but Dick was also expecting Bruce to be a mind reader and know how he was feeling without telling him. Dick left home without saying goodbye well Bruce was on a mission, Bruce assumed that meant Dick didn't want to see him and so avoided reaching out leading to the two of them not talking for a long time. Dick accepts that Bruce doesn't want him as Robin anymore in stride (he even smiles and shit about it) so Bruce doesn't realize that losing Robin actually hurt him, ex. It's that kind of fighting, the "I want to slam both your heads together" fighting, that I miss so much.

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman #nightwing #just me complaining about things again #I blame frank miller for this #Frank miller and Tom king when I GET YOU #For those of you wondering the comics referenced here are #The New Teen Titans (39) #Batman (408) #Nightwing (101) #I can't put number signs in the tags so those are all issue numbers lol