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lovebugism · 4 months

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Hi!!!

Could you write jealous!eddie x reader…🫣

I’m down so bad for this man istg

ty for requesting :D i too am down bad for this man — grump!eddie can't believe other people get to look at you (jealous!eddie, established relationship, 1.7k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Eddie thought the comic book section of Family Video was the coolest thing in the world until he met you. And it’s weird ‘cause now you’re all he can think about. He’s holding a collector’s item in his hands, but all he can see is you — and how close you’re standing to Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.

The boy lays two VHS tapes on the counter before you, each packaged in a thick plastic case. My Neighbor Totoro and The Land Before Time. He waits for you to make an impossible choice while you idle just ahead of him, elbows propped on the countertop with your head in your hands. Your wide-eyed gaze darts between the two options.

Your head shakes between your palms. “I can’t decide,” you conclude, rising to full height with a final huff. “It’s like choosing your favorite child.”

“Well, good thing you don’t have to,” Steve quips with a lopsided smirk. His nose scrunches, and it makes his honey eyes sparkle. “‘Cause you’re getting both. On the house.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell him, brows pinched in a quiet sort of protest.

He drops the tapes into a plastic bag, then shrugs like his hand slipped. “Too late.”

“Won’t your boss get mad?”

“What Keith doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“I don’t want you getting in trouble because of me,” you agonize, face twisted with every bit of it.

Steve meets your worry with a wider, pink grin. He bounces a shoulder and jostles the nametag pinned haphazardly to his emerald vest. “I’ll be fine, alright? I’m strong— I can take one of Keith’s stupid lectures.”

Your hesitant fingers brush his golden ones when you take the bag from him. “You’re so brave, Steve Harrington,” you lilt with a teasing glint in your eye, tilting your cheek to your shoulder to feign sincerity.

“The bravest, actually,” the boy jokes in return.

Eddie watches all this play out from where he lingers at the comic book stand. A whole rack of his favorite superheroes, and he isn’t paying an ounce of attention to a single one.

He was only halfway listening at first, still mostly focused on the cartoon in his hands — if only to pretend he wasn’t completely eavesdropping on your conversation. But now he’s outright staring the two of you down, with an unabashed glare pointed at the asshole flirting with his girl.

“God, he’s disgusting,” Eddie grumbles under his breath when Steve says something that makes you laugh.

He’s not talking totally to himself. Not entirely, anyway. Dustin’s crouched just beside him in search of one of the newer comics that he swears Keith is hiding from him. “He’s just being nice,” the curly-haired boy reasons with a shrug, obviously distracted as he flips through a stack of flimsy magazines.

Eddie scoffs and finally turns away from you to look at the boy below him. He blinks for the first time in several minutes as he shoots the kid a deadpan stare. “Oh, so it’s not because he thinks my girlfriend’s hot?”

“He’s definitely doing it because she’s hot,” Dustin answers without thinking twice.

“Watch it, Henderson.”

“You asked!” he argues, tilting his chin to look up at Eddie with a wide, ocean-eyed stare. “I’m just saying. Steve’s a good guy. He wouldn’t do that to you— Now, can you please help me find this stupid comic book before I lose my mind?”

Eddie huffs. He decides it might be healthier to distract himself with this metaphorical treasure hunt than stare daggers at you and Steve from across the room. “Which one are you looking for again?”

“Metamorpho— The original. Not the stupid reprint that just came out.”

The older boy stills. He closes the comic book between his palms with one pale hand until the cover of it flips down. Metamorpho, the vibrant cover reads, The Element Man. He’d been too busy looking at you, he hadn’t realized he’d been hiding the thing from Dustin for five whole minutes.

“Is this it?” Eddie murmurs, shoving the thing in the boy’s face.

Dustin’s head shoots up. He snatches the thing from the boy’s grip and gapes at it, with all his practiced teenage boy dramatics. “You had it the entire time?!” he shouts, but Eddie’s already sauntering to the front counter — where Steve’s still making you laugh.

As pretty as you are smiling (so much that it makes his chest ache), there’s a simmering anger burning orange in his chest. Making you laugh is his job. Not Harrington’s.

You seem to notice his presence before he’s even wrapped you in his arms. You flash him a beaming grin that makes his stomach whirl. He gets sick with it — with nostalgia or something equally tender.

The green of his envy starts to fade when he realizes you’re wearing his skull and cross-bones sweater, all bundled up in it like it’s yours. He feels a primal sense of ownership, knowing that you’re swaddled in something that belongs to him, knowing he has you in a way Steve doesn’t. It’s not every day the local freak gets to one-up the king.

“Ready to go?” Eddie grins, rosy and broad, as he wraps his arms around you in a loose, sideways embrace. The warmth of the proximity has your stomach doing backflips. The familiarity of his scent, musky and woody and smoky, makes your heart thud hard against your ribcage.

“Yep,” you nod, still smiling. “Steve’s letting me get the movies for free.”

Eddie’s lips smack against his teeth as his jaw drops in a feigned sense of awe. His wild curls bunch at his shoulder when his head tilts softly sideways, looking at the boy across the counter. “Aw,” he croons, high-pitched and sarcastic. “Isn’t that sweet?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Shut up before I revoke your comic stand privileges.”

Eddie squints. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me, Munson.”

Eddie, deciding to be the bigger person, chooses to abandon the petty argument. He feels like the bigger person, anyway — like he’s ten feet tall, walking out of Family Video with you under his arm. He could lose a thousand arguments and still feel like a winner as long as he gets to crawl home to you.

You can’t help but notice how weird he’s being, though. There was a foreign bite behind his words as he spat his sarcasm at Steve. The tension follows you even now, as he opens the passenger side door of his van for you.

Eddie holds onto the rusted latch with a pale, tattooed hand. You turn to face him instead of planting yourself onto the chipping pleather seat. “Are you okay?” you ask, a subtle furrow between your brows when you peer at him from beneath your lashes.

The boy scoffs a boyish laugh, obviously overcompensating. “Yeah, I’m fine— what are you talking about?”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re being weird.”

“I think you’re being weird, doll— interrogating me outta nowhere.”

He expects you to laugh. Then he could tell you how pretty you are, and you’d be so flustered by the compliment that you’d forget this entire conversation ever happened. You don’t laugh, though. You don’t even crack a smile. You just keep staring at him.

“I’m fine,” Eddie groans, wild curls billowing when a breeze rolls by. He still tries to smile, though the bright pink expression doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He shrugs and tries to play it cool because anything less than that is so not metal. “I’m just… I’m just a little annoyed. That’s all.”

Your chest stings and your stomach starts to ache. Your mind reels as you try to understand what you could’ve done because the oh-so-sensitive you feels like it must be your fault.

“Annoyed at me?” you press in a tiny voice.

“No!” Eddie booms instantly, much louder than you. He quietens, but his face still swirls with protest. He could never be annoyed at you. As far as he’s concerned, you’ve never done anything wrong in your life. “No— are you kidding? You’re perfect.”

He takes your face in his ringed hands, cradling your cheeks until they squish softly together. A perfect thing, indeed.

“Then what happened?” you mutter through your gently jutted lips.

The boy drops his chin to his chest and sighs. He hates that you care so much about him that you actually make him talk about his feelings. He’d much rather bottle them up and save ‘em for a rainy day. But no, you love him enough to pry the hidden emotion from his cold, black heart.

“I don’t know,” he answers first in an inaudible murmur, kicking at loose pebbles on the concrete because it’s easier than meeting your eyes. “Sometimes it gets annoying when… Other people look at you, I guess…”

He peeks at you beneath his long lashes, button eyes made of chocolate. They swim with a glittering emotion. Something tender and sheepish. He’s like a puppy when he looks at you this way. You can’t help but find him utterly adorable accordingly.

He’s a little surprised when his words make you laugh. He wasn’t joking, really, but he’s relieved to hear the honeyed sound. It runs over him like drops of summer rain and absolves him of all his envy.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think I can fix that,” you reply, smiling wide between his calloused palms.

“I know,” he whines, pouting softly. “And it sucks. ‘Cause you’re too pretty for your own good.”

You lean further into his warm hand. You blink at him with pretty eyes, and in a pretty voice, you wonder, “Would it make you feel better if I said that I only care when you’re looking at me? And that everyone else is basically invisible when you’re around?”

Eddie’s heart swells so much it starts to ache. You’ve awoken something in him — something that used to be dead before you came around, or something that didn’t exist at all. It’s something golden and made of velvet. Something warm and honeyed. Something that doesn’t have a name because you don’t even know you’ve invented it.

Despite trying not to smile too wide, a beam begins to pull at the corners of his mouth. A second later, and he’s grinning with all his teeth. He gets all shy, ducking his gaze as he nods at you. “Yeah, actually— that does make me feel a little better.”

You beam up at him, all lovesick and stupid. With your cheeks still in his hands, you rise to the tips of your toes and press a smacking kiss to the flushed apple of his cheek.

Eddie figures it doesn’t get more metal than this.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: bug turns one

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nana-au · 7 days

Text

Big Brother’s Best Friend!

(or BBBF for short)

Suguru Geto♡

MDNI

₊˚ପ⊹ Summary: You’re Satoru’s little sister with a hopeless crush on his best friend - Suguru. He knows this too, and promises you won’t be anything more. (You’ll just have to work harder).

₊˚ପ⊹ Warnings: unrequited love (at first), reader laying it on thick, slight age gap (4 years - adults!!), slight possessiveness, little lamb/big bad wolf metaphor, wet dream, size kink, semi-public sex, cock warming, making you watch in the mirror, m! receiving oral, breeding kink - is this list filthy enough?

₊˚ପ⊹ wc: 2.4k

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

BBBF! Sugu who has known you forever as his best friend’s little sister - nothing more. He’s been aware of the special place in your heart for him for ages now. It wasn’t that he didn’t have one for you - his was just strictly platonic.

BBBF! Sugu who treated you better than any boy when the two of you were in grade school. He walked with you in the lunch line, preferring to hold your tray for you. He lent you his jacket when you accidentally bled through your pants - promising he wouldn’t be upset if you stained it. He even punched a guy in his grade for making lewd comments about you - the suspension was no big deal. “He needed to be taught a lesson on respecting women,” he informed the principal.

BBBF! Sugu who texted you every day when he went off to college, leaving you like a lamb thrown to the wolves. He listened to you rant about your school work and every minute detail of drama between your friend group. Instead of fully appreciating his kindness you often cursed him, blubbering over Facetime about why he had to be so attentive. If he didn't like you, he needs to ignore you! It was too much for your sore heart.

BBBF! Sugu who set a boundary when he caught wind of you turning guys down for him. You were basically his little sister. Precious and fragile. He only ever wanted to protect you - but it was his job to protect you now from your delusional ideas. It was hard - but the remainder of High School you went without hearing from him.

BBBF! Sugu who spends the summer of his senior year at his friend’s mansion. He forgot how lavish it was. The shower head hung from the ceiling, his guest bedroom fit a couch, and the outdoor pool must’ve been olympic size! He spent his days poolside with Gojo, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the cool mojitos that slid down his throat so effortlessly.

BBBF! Sugu who chokes on one of his many mojitos seeing you in your little two piece. You just arrived back from your study abroad trip in Spain. Your skin was sun kissed and your hair was parted differently from what he remembered. That was among the respectful differences he noted about you… but the disrespectful ones? The ones that would have Satoru smacking him upside the head? Those were plentiful. Your plush breasts filled out your top, your pebbled buds visible through the thin material. And your ass? Your swim bottoms were swallowed whole by your plump cheeks. You grew into your form to say the least.

BBBF! Sugu who after all these years still turns you down. The two of you are sitting by the firepit outside, waiting on Gojo to grab the graham crackers and marshmallows. Your voice is hardly above a whisper when you ask Geto if you were still just his best friend’s little sister - trying to play it off like a joke but you can’t hide the fat tears at the edge of your eyes when he promises that’s still all you’ll ever be.

BBBF! Sugu who maintains his composure even when you turn up the heat. He didn’t know it was possible for clothes to cover so little. How could they possibly try to sell that as a skirt? You probably weren’t helping the clothes look proper when you dropped your phone in front of him. He was sprawled lazily across the couch, manspreading while enjoying the movie playing on the big screen mounted on the wall when your phone slipped from your grasp. You were just checking if the two of them wanted any snacks for their movie when your small hands lost grip, bending down to pick it back up. You must’ve forgotten how to pick things up like a proper lady - you bent completely forward, feeling the cool air on your backside. Silly you! You stretched your arm, taking your time to check for any cracks before standing back up straight. Your phone survived the fall! Isn’t that great? Geto’s throat felt constricted as he hummed a response to you, “How fortunate.”

BBBF! Sugu who deserves an award for how good of a friend he is; Who else would turn down your advances time and time again? He looks at you deadset - your doe eyes unblinking and plump lips frowning, glossed over with a pink shimmer - as he tells you he won’t help you put away the laundry. Recalling the last time he agreed to fold your cute little panties and roll your ruffled lace socks you decided the shirt you were hanging up would look much better with your current shorts. You wasted no time plucking the shirt right off your body, exposing your bare chest to the raven haired man. He didn’t have the strength to look away and he would be cursing himself the rest of the day for allowing you to trick him.

BBBF! Sugu who doesn’t like the stupid fucking guy you brought over. He was handsy and unabashedly groping your ass while you straddled him on the couch. He was completely brazen to be doing this while Satoru was in the bathroom just down the hall - and entirely disrespectful to give your cheeks a firm SMACK!

BBBF! Sugu who throws the guy out, dragging him through the house by his ear - Giving the back of his head a firm push out the door before slamming it on him. He turns to you, “If I ever see that asshole here again he won’t be able to walk himself out.”

BBBF! Sugu who is rocking his hips into yours as you helped him through his bad dream. You didn’t mean to join him in bed, you just heard his soft cries down the hall and came to comfort him. Your hand came down on his chest, trying to shake him awake but instead he pulled you down on top of him. You immediately felt his hard on pressed against your thigh, his hips rutting into you. You noted his face was free of tears - it wasn’t a bad dream at all. His words were slurred by sleep but his moans were incredibly clear. His breath was shaky and Gosh his dick felt big. Your mouth watered at the thought of seeing it in front of your eyes. “M’pretty lil lamb,” his sleeping form murmured. You understood that clear as day. You held your breath as you waited to hear more, “Feel s’good,” Lips forming an ‘o’ and cock twitching. You wanted him so bad, wanted to pull down his sweats and suck him off right then. Have his thick cock twitching in your wet mouth. You were drooling - but you knew better. He was asleep and he would be deeply disappointed waking up to your mouth. You hated the girl he was dreaming of. Why wouldn’t it ever be you? You stayed with him until his dick stopped twitching and his body calmed. Kissing his forehead before stumbling out of his quarters.

BBBF! Sugu who woke up with wet briefs every morning. He felt like a hormonal teen all over again - cumming in his sleep over the lewd scenes that plagued his dreams.

BBBF! Sugu who was a very, very bad friend. You were the subject of every one. His best friend’s little sister. He was a sick puppy.

BBBF! Sugu who didn’t understand why you were ignoring him. Was this your new strategy? Give enough spank material for a decade and then cut off all contact? Because, fuck, was it working.

BBBF! Sugu who couldn’t take it anymore! He stopped you at the door before you were able to leave to get a drink from your favorite cafe. “What happened?” his eyes intense as he asked you. You - who played dumb. “Don’t make me sound crazy, baby. I do something?” you shake your head and shrug your shoulders. “You don’t like me. Thought I would finally leave you alone,” you sounded defeated. That made him mad. This wasn’t you.

BBBF! Sugu who wanted to punch himself seeing you cry. You couldn’t help pounding your fists into his chest and crying aloud at how this was all he ever wanted - You swallowing down your pathetic little crush on him no matter how much it hurt. How dare he act offended over something he nearly begged for. How dare he ignore you for three whole years - blocking your number. You were doing him a favor. The sound of the door you slammed in his face echoed through his skull. You were entirely right to be upset with him. He was a jerk. An asshole. Absolutely the worst. But at least he knew what he wanted now.

BBBF! Sugu who didn’t have to try too hard to convince you to sneak around Satoru with him. You took him so good anytime that obnoxious white haired idiot wasn’t looking. In Suguru’s guest suite, the hot tub next to the pool, even the couch while the three of you watched a movie. Gojo snorted at the comedic scene, pointing at the tv and turning to look at you to see if you also found it funny. Your lips were tight as you feigned humor, trying not to make what was happening obvious. You were sitting in Geto’s lap, warming his cock during the movie. Neither of you had any idea why he just accepted the fact you were in his lap, with a blanket covering the two of you. Satoru wasn’t really known for being a critical thinker after all. The earlier experience in Suguru’s bed was accurate - his cock was massive. Your tight hole clenched around him, wanting so badly for him to move. Even just a little! You wouldn’t be picky! Your slick coated his thighs, his girth making you impossibly wet. “I haven’t even moved yet, little lamb,” he teased in your ear, “S’wet.”

The first time you saw it was in his room a day after your fight. A few words were exchanged, him admitting you were right. He was an asshole - but he wanted you now.

“You’ll finally get exactly what you always wanted,” his eyes concentrated on yours. You were overcome by joy. Fighting every bone in your body telling you to jump up and down, to scream and cry out in celebration. Instead you put your mouth to good use, immediately falling to the floor and popping his dick in your mouth. You weren’t new to blowjobs or sex - you wanted to be prepared for when Geto finally caved. You wanted to impress him, to make him obsessed with how skilled your tongue was swirling around his cock. Impressed he was too, his head falling back and letting out a sweet groan. “Do I even want to know where you learned this from?”, he was devastated at your precision. How many undeserving losers did you practice on for your mouth to feel this good? Your tongue pressed flat against his vein, running it up the underside before kitten licking his tip. His pre cum was delicious, salty and bitter and perfect. “You really didn’t hesitate getting right into tasting me,” he chuckled to himself, obsessed with how you immediately began to suck his cock the moment he reciprocated feelings. “Did I make my lamb wait too long?”

BBBF! Sugu who pounds your pussy all throughout the night. He loves you in every position. He teases you in missionary, going impossibly slow and watching your eyebrows furrow as you beg him to pick up the speed. Your ass jiggles perfectly as you take backshots, your hair in his hand as he slaps his balls into your clit again and again. He loves the way you fold in half as he traps you in a mating press, listening to the sweet sounds of your sopping pussy taking his cock. It wasn’t long for you to be completely cock drunk. You would lose yourself the moment he fucked into you and would become incredibly lost the moment he pulled out.

His favorite thing of all was lifting you up and down his cock, using you like a fleshlight. He was obsessed with how much bigger he was than you. How he was able to effortlessly glide you against his cock, his meaty hands holding you up by your thighs. Sometimes he forced you to watch in the full length mirror in the corner of his room, “Eyes open, beautiful. You don’t get to cum unless you’re watching it.” Some days he would take pity on you, it was so hard to keep your eyes open while he was sooooo deep in you. Your cunt was abused day in and day out by his cock bullied deep into you. “You take me s’good. Wan’ you to have my babies - fuck. Always look so good with my load dripping out of you,” his words were filthy and animalistic. “Gonna fill that tight pussy with my children, gon’ have you looking plump n cute,” it was all you ever wanted from him. He was the perfect gentleman, even now. You didn’t have to lift a finger with him around. You would do anything to keep him obsessed with you, even if that meant carrying every child he gave you by fucking deep inside of you. It wasn’t hard to accept when it felt so good feeling his hot cum coat your walls, him not letting up even when he finished cumming. “Gotta make sure you take it all. Have ‘ta fill you completely full. You can take a few more of my loads.” His loads were huge. He emptied enough into you each orgasm you would think it was the first time he ever came.

BBBF! Sugu who made sure you were alright after every intense session. “I have to make sure I didn’t hurt my little lamb. If I did, I would be no better than the other wolves.”

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white-poppie · 3 months

Text

PILLOW TALK ⎯ f.toji x reader

SYNOPSIS ⎯ You and Toji have been friends with benefits for months.But your find yourself breaking the very first rule that Toji had set. Beneath the surface of laughter and stolen kisses, a storm of unspoken emotions brews. You have to leave this fragile arrangement...to save yourself from getting hurt from the one sided longing (or so you thought.) GENRE: angst to fluff! INFO: fem reader!, a lone '.' indicates a short timeskip!, Non jujutsu au!, Megumi doesn't exist yet (sorry 'gumi!) WARNINGS: fwb dynamics, situationship, brief mentions of Getou x reader, Gojo being a boy bsf, reader is a university student living alone, age-gap, mentions of seggs (obv but nothing happens cause we holy here.). reader feels guilty, a lot of flashback between the lines, screaming, toji being emotionally constipated, so many metaphors, "Cause I love you!" angry confession. WC: 3k+ (get comfy lol)

Your breaths come in short, hallow gasps, that familiar ache settling in your lower body as you sigh, looking at Toji who rolls down to the space next to you. Both of your breaths fogging the nipping cold.

Seconds turn to minutes, the air in the room thick with the smell of sweat and pleasure. Your frayed breaths soon return to normal, your eyes start drooping in exhaustion.

“Toji..” you mumble turning to face him. He’s lying on the bed with his hand behinds his head.

“Hm? he hums, his gravely voice knocking on the ventricles of your heart.

You don’t reply, just silently stare at his the chisel of his face, the arch of his nose, the thin lines of his lips and the scar that adorns the surface.

“What’s up?” His voice interjects your train of thoughts. He tilts his head over to look at you.

Your eyes feel heavy. Limbs are cold and his heat⏤is a magnet. "Cold." you whisper out, your fingers mindlessly pressing on the pads of his larger, thicker digits.

His onyx eyes are fixed on you. Not a twitch on his face when you play with his fingers. Toji sits up for second. Grabbing the hem of blanket that rests on both of your waists and draws it up until your shoulders, before lying down.

You could only faintly make out his expression from the nightlight. His eyes softening a sliver. But it’s gone before you can comprehend it. Makes you wonder if it ever existed at all or if it was your weary, exhausted and post dopamine rush brain playing tricks.

“You’re starin’ a lot today.” He smirks, an uncouth remark of 'did I do you so good?' Or 'I know I’m hot' just sitting on his lips, but he decides against saying it.

"Sorry." You mumble. The apology cascades down your lips so easily you wonder if it was truly for the staring or something more.

Toji nods slowly, deciding against saying anything, but flinches when your fingers brush against his forearm. He doesn't shift away repulsuvely (to your surprise).

Lays still, starting at the ceiling while your hand is just barely resting on hand⏤ for the faintest human contact. And before you know it, the exhaustion of all the physical exertion tonight, lulls you into sleep quickly.

Toji stays awake for a little longer, shifting to his side as he silently observes you. The way your lips are parted a little, hair tussled from before. He reaches to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear, before he catches himself midway. His eyebrows furrow and he stares at his own hand at the strange instinct that had bubbled in him.

He gulps deeply as he stares at your sleeping self for a couple of seconds longer before he sits up, wearing his clothes that were tossed onto the floor. He stands still in the centre of your room, taking a deep breath, pushing his hair back. He looks back at you and leaves, closing the door behind him, slowly but making sure its locked.

Toji sighs and takes his phone out of his pocket, walking into the street, his dms flooded with messages of girls.

He frowns and closes his phone again, not bothering to read them. Until recently Toji would have replied to most of them...nowadays he doesn't find the energy or the will to do it.

"How did my life get so monotonous?" he says to himself as he walks home. He wonders what happened that he so fixated upon one girl. he says its monotonous, but oddly he's not complaining.

"Must be the age catchin' up." He thinks. His face and body are intact to the wind of aging, everything the same as it was a few years ago except the few greying hair on his head. Not that he minds, its bound to happen one day.

Toji closes the door of his house behind him as he flops down on the couch. Its cold. He wonders when he got used to the warmth of your bed. Its dangerous for him. He has to end this before it gets out of hand. He won't go to your apartment again he decided.

The night drowned and the day arose, the sound of your 3 consecutive alarms rang loudly in the studio apartment.

Reaching out your hand instinctively to the other side before a shiver ripples through you at the cold mattress brushing against your skin. Ah, he left again.

Getting up you decide to finish your chores, getting ready for university.

There's a faint emptiness that lingers in your chest throughout the day. The time ticks and hours continue to spend. Its uncomfortable and yet you are unable to point out where it is coming from.

"What's wrong?" A voice interjects. You look over to Gojo, sitting on the desk behind you as the professor continues in the background.

"What do you mean?" You hum mindlessly.

"Don't hit me with that bs, this is the 8th time you have sighed in the past two minutes." He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. You don't reply.

"Toji left you high and dry last night?" he snickers and you pass him a sharp look.

You and Toji first met up through Gojo on New year's eve. And it was impossible not to be drawn in by Toji's aura : scalding fire in a desolate winter. And you were moth, a moth to the flame.

"Oh so it is about Toji." He whistles lowly, looking around before he leans in. "What happened?"

You sigh. How are you supposed to explain it to him when you yourself don't know what you are feeling. Its just a sickly feeling that is leaving you so confused.

"Dunno." You whisper out and he crooks his eyebrows, wanting you to elaborate. You look at him, "Its complicated."

"Hell yeah it is," he scoffs, "I told you not to get involved with him."

“I know, Satoru.” You huff in annoyance. You did not want him to chastise you further with his words.

“But what exactly is the problem?” He ushers.

"I- don't know how to explain it, but I feel empty? I hate when it ends like I know he put on the rules and stuff about how no cuddling, no kissing...but its feeling meaningless. Its supposed to be no strings attached but now there's a ball of yarn." You groan, burying your face in your hands.

Gojo's eyebrows furrow for a second before he looks at you. "Get out of it."

"What?"

"Get rid of this dynamic before its too late." He murmurs.

"Why?"

"Y/N." He says incredulously. "You are catching feelings."

Catching feelings? Entirely impossible. There is no way you were catching feelings for Toji. There was no way you yearning for an embrace post coitus, or wanting him to tenderly caress you, to want a kiss actually meant you were catching feelings, right?

... shit

"Shit, Satoru..." you gape, slapping a hand to your mouth as your heart beat sped up. What you thought were feelings like empathy and just care, were much deeper⏤ Satoru helped you have this epiphany.

Gojo's eyes soften before he sighs, "Move on. You should go on some dates, that would help you actually get a view how many better guys are there." He pauses, "You should go on a date with Suguru."

"Suguru?" You ask quizzically. The guy was in the pol.sci major of your university⏤ him and Satoru go way back, best friends forever.

"He always seems interested in you, I can set you guys up, I’ll give him your number.” He says and you nod, almost defeatedly.

The lecture soon gets over. You pack your things and leave the campus, but your mind is adrift down the memory lane.

The first time you and Toji hooked up is a vivid memory. It was a summer night, sometime in Feb. Gojo had invited you over to his house for a party. The music was loud, the liquor pounding in your ears, your body swaying to the beats.

And his eyes.

His eyes, oh my god, they embraced you- undressed you. They called to you and you couldn't resist like Orpheus couldn't help but look at Eurydice. And before you knew you it, the two of you had ended up behind closed doors.

The way his hands burned upon your flesh, that smirk that gutted you inside out and the butterflies that erupted when he said in his hoary voice, hovering over you. “This isn’t going to be a one time thing sweetheart.” He had whispered, “But let’s set rules for this time and all the fun times to come:”

He had said and you had whined at how he started talking leaving you half naked at which he had obnoxiously laughed.

“Rule 1: no falling in love.” He murmured, the cicatrix decorating the corner of his lip, raising slightly when he spoke the words you have now come to dread.

How did it come to this, you wonder. How did you end up catching feelings for a man so brutish in his ways, so twisted in his deeds?

It must be because of how he restraints himself every time...no it must be cause of the little convos you have when you are all wound up. If you try to remember there were so many days affection and warmth for him had erupted from you.

The day he told you the story behind his scars. The way your heart cracked at the fogginess in his eyes, the coldness in his words. And before you knew it, your fingers were tracing them. He had looked at your finger, unblinking, unflinching, almost leaning into your touch before a smile graced his face that had you flushing red.

The day you somehow broke into tears in his arms after a bad day at college. How mortified you had felt when fat tears rolled down your cheeks. How he suddenly froze, asking what was wrong, the way his eyebrows had slight furrowed, worried that he had somehow hurt you. Before you shook your head and apologised, spilling everything out. Toji had sighed, his eyes softened before his hand reluctantly moved to pat your head

There were too many such incidences that you could go on listing, but it only made you realise that you had sunk a little too deep in this quicksand

You sigh closing the door of your apartment leaning against the wooden contraption.

Ping!

You sigh and check the notification on your phone

(Unknown) Hey Y/N, this is Suguru. Satoru gave me your number.

Are you free this Sunday? I was thinking do you wanna hangout? There's a really good restraunt that just opened in the city.

You bite your lip, knowing that leavin him on seen would be so goddamn rude, but you don't know what do...

(You) Hey Suguru! Sounds good, give me a little time to think about it.

(Suguru) No problem, I'll be waiting

You feel terrible, like a sick twisted woman who is playing with both Suguru and Toji and at the same time. You keep a hand over your mouth, sucking in sharp breaths to let go of the nauseating feeling.

"What am I even doing?" You laugh unhumourosly to yourself.

What do you want? You don't know what you want. Do you want a man like Toji⏤ to be irrevocably in love with you? To cherish you? A man⏤god you don't even specifically know what he does for a living, whatever it is, its not good.

His knuckles are often battered, body bruised like it suffered an impact. You had asked him before and he had said something along the lines of "A man's got to make money doll, sometimes even through dangerous work."

Do you want someone like that to love you?

No. (yes)

A soft cry leaves your mouth as you grip the flower vase next on the table, 'in a crazed female hysteria' as the books say, smashing it against the wall before it shatters into pieces, and so does a little skin of your palm.

You wince and decide to shake it off, returning to the more important work. Your uninjured hand reaches to your phone once again. Someone wise had once said, "Sometimes holding on hurts more than letting go." And what are you holding onto? Some delusions in your mind that are bound to pain you when Toji gets bored?

(You) Come over?

(Toji) I'm on my way

Toji had learned too much about you within this little span of a few months, your likes, dislikes...your body's likes and dislikes. Your tone, mood, expressions; he had observed enough to know your state of mind despite how paradoxical you can be. He knew something was wrong.

It made his stomach churn at the thought of you in discomfort. Despite how much ever he tried to deny it, you had softened him around his edges.

And despite how he had told himself otherwise, he was back in your apartment once again.

It awkward. The way he is just standing there, taking in the mood before actually doing anything. His eyes are searching yours for a signal.

What is he supposed to do? Should he just latch himself onto you wordlessly like he used to? Thats animalistic. He is not an animal.

You take a deep breath, just staring into his onyx eyes, surprised at how he is being considerate? Perhaps he all along was, you just failed to notice before.

You wordlessly walk close to him, standing in front of the behemoth man. His eyes mover to your wrist that you are clutching. Its bandaged. He looks up and sees your bottom lip trembling and his face just drops.

His hand movs to grip your wrist and he looks at you with those fricking murderous eyes. "What the hell happened?" He asks and the sudden depth of his voice startles you.

You try to free your wrist from his grasp but its too tight. "Nothing- nothing happened I just cut myself by mistake, I swear." You say and his stiff shoulders soften before he nods and lowers your hand, still holding it.

You take a shaky breath, looking at your hand and then back into his eyes. He is not helping. Acting all concerned like he wants to hurt you. Like he enjoys playing with your heart

"I am going on a date with Getou." You drop the bomb and his eyebrows furrow, grip on your hand slipping out before he nods softly, wordlessly.

You're growing annoyed at his lack of reaction. But maybe it doesn;t effect him like you want it to. It makes you all more mad. "Say something. Toji"

"What am I supposed to say?" He says out, his voice wavering so slightly that you don't notice it, but inside he feels as if someone kept a boulder on his chest. Toji was old enough to know what this was, he didn't need to be denial because he had learned that care—not the fleeting kind that you think you vibe with a person— but the kind that your hearts beat in synchrony, the painful kind.

You take a shaky breath and chuckle a bitter laugh leaving your throat, "What are we Toji?"

And Toji swears he feels like the scummiest man on earth wehn he sees those fat tears brimming in your eyes.

And he knows he's going to hurt you if he says it out loud so instead he opts for saving both of you from the hurt.

"Fooling around, we’re fooling around, that’s all. That’s what we’ve been doing all along, right?" He says but its not convincing.

"Bullshit." You scoff. "Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like...its something more than these stupid rules in this stupid mess we've gotten ourselves in." You shout out and Toji's jaw clenches.

"Fuck, what do you want me to do?" He grits out and you freeze for a second. He sees your reaction and his jaw unclenches, tone a lot softer, "You want me address this and make it worse? You want me ruin your life, baby, I can do that. I can do that well enough that why I set those rules. I set them for my sake and now I am keeping them up for your sake."

You grab the collar of his shirt, "Why are you caring?! If you want to kiss me, kiss me! Why do you care if I get hurt!"

"Cause I love you!" He shouts, his voice echoing in your apartment. "And I don't want you to get hurt. I know I have dug my grave, I don't know where it went wrong, alright? I cannot be bound to a thing, a place heck even a person and somehow, here I am, so weak for someone, its going to get me killed."

"Toji..." you whimper out, your voice cracking, you are killing him.

"You can't fix me, Y/N. I am going to hurt you and myself." He whisper and before you know it, his thumb is tracing your jaw so tenderly you feeling like its a dream.

"I don't want to fix you." You mumble out, leaning against his hand, "You are a good person Toji, deep beneath all that, I don't need to fix you, if I needed to, you wouldn't be right here."

Toji breaths out deeply, leaning his neck down to place his forehead against yours, "You make me wanna be a better man." He whispers, pressing his lips against yours.

Getou wakes up at 2 to his phone ringing. Without checking the caller he picks up the phone irritated at who disturbed his sleep.

"Hello?" he mumbles out sleepily.

"Forget about her." Says Toji's voice that makes him flinch. He checks the caller Id ihis eyes widening when he sees the name 'Y/n' on his phone...looks like Satoru clearly forgot some details.

- FANFICTIONS

A/N: My longest fic yet, phew. Guys I spent so long on this, please show some love?

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were-changing-cake-vaults · 2 months

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Doc is really, really, really tired of getting dragged into things.

That’s the problem with this server: he tries to do his own thing, but people cannot leave him alone. No matter what he does to deter them, whether that be harmless threat or psychological warfare, they always come back to dance on his metaphorical lawn. Or actual lawn. Or precious one-of-a-kind bush.

And at this point, he thought he had gotten used to all the shenanigans. He doesn’t want to be the grumpy old man amongst his friends and colleagues, so Doc tries to laugh it off, not take it so seriously. Occasionally, he’ll even join in on the jokes and put a little extra pizzazz into his mannerisms. Doc has his limits, of course, everyone does, but he’s been working on pushing those limits further for the past while.

So when Beef makes the joke about Big Salmon on day one, he joins in on it for the moment. It’s a good joke, really. It gets a hearty laugh out of him more than once. The joke is made, people laugh, Doc is included, he moves on and goes back to doing his own thing.

Honestly, he doesn’t even remember what he said. The joke should’ve been a one-and-done, forgotten after a week’s time. Whatever he said should’ve been inconsequential. Should be. Beef’s not one to drag out a bit for that long, usually, but here he is, dressed as a salmon and saying he got emails from a fish. Doc is utterly clueless throughout most of it- he doesn’t even understand what constituted him getting dragged in this time. And the way Beef and Skizz are talking is scaring him, just a little bit. Skizz is too aggressive, Beef is laying down the charmspeak, and both of their eyes are glossy and strange. There’s a hollow echo in the room.

But Doc, absurd as this is, plays along. Watches as one of his villagers gets killed. Lets nervous laughter through as he’s given 10 salmon heads, and leaves. When he gets back to his base out in the middle of nowhere, he realizes that these aren’t normal salmon heads, they’re worse: deformed, many-eyed, slimy and reeking of rot. And while this isn’t the strangest thing Doc has seen, as far as he knows, Beef isn’t one for game-breaking like he is. The deformities on the heads don’t even look player made. Whatever this is, it’s bizaarre, and it’s not something Doc wants to be involved in.

Then the whispers start.

He doesn’t do what he’s asked—build a shrine for whatever Big Salmon is—initially. He lets it be for a bit, shrugs it off, and keeps building. But it’s hard to focus when you can’t sleep—in his dreams he’s drowning, sinking deeper and deeper, sea life surrounding him and screaming and he’s screaming too as a pair of eyes stare him down—and when you can’t get a moment of quiet. He keeps hearing that damn slapping sound and little nothings about shrine schematics, block pallets, glorious statues. The air starts reeking of rot, far more than a swamp should. Strange slime crawls up the scaffolding that he keeps slipping on.

And this is why Doc is tired: Big Salmon is not his first rodeo. This isn’t the first time something has grabbed hold of his soul and tried to puppeteer it to his own demise. This isn’t even the scariest thing he’s come across- he still dreams of watching himself rip his own arm off. He knows gods and entities like he knows redstone, all the intricacies of magic that weave through the universe. They want to be satisfied, satiated. Doc will not give whatever Big Salmon is that satisfaction, not for long.

So he puts up with the rot, the slime, the dreams. Keeps the salmon heads, perpetually grotesque, in a chest where he can see them. Gives them a minuscule in: blueprints are crafted of the shrine he is meant to build, dying leaves are placed and waterlogged, copper is bent and formed into a worthless statue. The sky is cloudy. The sky has been cloudy all week, swamp air thick with the smell of rotting fish. He gives Beef a call, tells him to bring Skizz along.

When what should be Doc’s friend arrives, he is more fish than man. The tinnitus-like whisper of the thing trying to get him reaches a roar as he gives Beef a look over- there is no telling where the suit ends and the skin begins, all scaled, slimy and opalescent. Skizz, on the contrary, is looking relatively normal; the only strange thing about him are his glazed over eyes. Something about that makes Doc queasy about his plan, but he swallows the bile rising in his throat and steels himself, forces himself to be calm. This is not his first rodeo.

Doc’s faked smile doesn’t fail him as he leads Beef and Skizz to the statue. It doesn’t fail him as he hands the last rotting head to Beef for him to place, on top of an over-polished button. His grin only widens as Skizz counts down his boss pressing the button.

With a single button press, the voices that have taken residence in Doc’s head are wiped out, as are Skizz and Beef: bloody…fish…bits fly high into the sky when they fall into the exploding trap. There is a deafening boom, and then there is Doc, unscathed, laughing wickedly, organic eye sparkling with mania. Gods never win against him. There is no winning against the goat.

And finally, with the threat of Big Salmon defeated, Doc can finally rest. After all, he is incredibly tired.

#woosh writes #oceans calling au #docm77 #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft #FINALLY! ITS FUCKING DONE!!!!#HOLY FUCK THIS TOOK ME FOREVER #I am so sorry this took as long as it did- a bajillion irl things happened and that delayed my writing significantly #ANYWAYS. [SCREAMS]

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bobgasm · 7 months

Text

oh, admiral | b.f

pairing: robert “bob” floyd x f!reader word count: 1555 warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], role play, slight dub con, an homage to fleabag s2 [2019], superior/subordinate, admiral robert “bob” floyd, shoe riding, office sex, degradation/humiliation, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, breeding kink, excessive use of the word ‘cunt’,

summary: in which you would do anything for admiral floyd…

author’s note: based off this post by @lewmagoo about the new lew pics 🤤 tysm again for letting me write this!

oneshot | masterlist | ao3

You stand before Admiral Floyd with your head held high, despite your metaphorical tail tucked between your legs. You listen to him rant and rave about your recklessness, that two of your team are now in the med bay seriously injured.

You knew the maneuver was stupid. You knew better than to use them as a decoy so you could get behind the enemy. They’d agreed to it – they knew the risks, but you were the superior. You shouldn’t have even humoured the idea, let alone voiced it.

Admiral Floyd paced the room in front of you. You hated that he looked so good, with his hair pushed back and his stupid Navy regulated glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. The way the sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up his arms haphazardly to reveal his forearms – tanned and muscular. How the fuck were his forearms so sexy?

He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose with two thick fingers. You felt your pussy clench at the sight of his hands – his forearms. The way the muscles flexed with the slight exertion.

“I can’t let you walk out of here without some kind of punishment on your record, Captain.”

You hated how crisp his white shirt was, tucked into the waistband of his dark trousers. How his medals gleamed in the light of his office over his left breast.

“I’ll take whatever punishment you deem necessary, Sir, but I implore you not to take my wings.”

“What makes you think I give a single fuck about what you implore me to do?” He snapped. “This isn’t the first time you’ve broken protocol, Captain. I have to make an example out of you. This shit doesn’t fucking fly around here, and neither do you. You’re suspended for three months, pending further investigation.”

“Sir,” you pleaded, stepping closer to him, aware of the desperation in your voice.

Bob’s head snaps towards you, his icy gaze freezing you in place.

“Sir, I’ll do anything.” You continued, watching him slip his glasses back onto his face. “I know it was a stupid call. It should be me in the med bay, not Mayhem and Puff. I’ll do anything to make it right, just please. Please don’t suspend me.”

Admiral Floyd chuckled humourlessly and walked towards one of the armchairs in his office. You watched him walk. The way his shirt hugged his muscular back. The way his long legs made short work of closing the distance between himself and the chair.

“Come here, Captain,” he instructed, eyes trained on your own as you swallowed thickly. He caught the almost imperceptible gulp and the way your gaze dropped to his lips, then lower. And even lower.

“Sir?” You asked, cocking your head slightly once you were stood in front of him.

“On your knees, Captain. I want you to beg me not to take your wings,” he said, voice rough. He was barely able to stop himself from adjusting his throbbing cock, hands white-knuckling the arms of the chair as you slowly sunk to your knees.

“Please, Sir,” you began, aware that it was a weak effort. Seeing him before you like this, legs spread, eyes dark and lips parted as he quickly gulped in each breath. You hadn’t even started. “Admiral Floyd.”

“What?!” He hissed, voice thick and gravelly as he took in your appearance. Your hooded eyes, laboured breathing. On your knees between his legs. God, you were a sight.

“Sir, I–,” you let out an involuntary sob. “–I need this job more than anything. Flying is my life. Being a pilot is all I’ve ever dreamed of. You can’t, Sir.” You were laying it on thick with tears and trembling voice. “Please, I, the investigation will ruin me, Sir.”

“Fuck you for calling me ‘Sir’ like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it,” he growled, pressing the toe of his impeccably shiny shoe snug against the apex of your thighs. Just a little more and the point would be pressed against your clothed clit.

You gasped at the sudden feeling, clamping your legs around his shoe and staring up at him through wide eyes and wet lashes and splotchy cheeks. “I–Sir?”

“You said you’d do anything,” he continued. “Prove it, Captain.”

“I don’t–what?”

“Ride my shoe, Captain. Get yourself off. Prove to me just how desperately you don’t want the investigation to happen. If I like what I see…” He shifted slightly and your eyes dropped to his crotch where his erection strained against his trousers. “How desperate are you, Captain?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you rocked your hips against the point of his shoe, a low groan rumbling in your chest as you grazed your clothed clit against the leather. “Sir,” you whimpered, adding more pressure. Feeling your arousal dampening your underwear as you continued your ministrations. The slow rocking of your hips, your hands gripping his leg for stability.

“That’s a good girl,” he purred, watching your head fall back as you succumbed to the pleasure. “Fuck, look at you. So pretty, so desperate.”

“Sir, I–”

A moan tore through you, cutting off whatever you were about to say. Admiral Floyd reached forward to cup your cheek, tenderly at first, before roughly gripping your face and forcing your mouth open.

“Look at me when you cum all over my shoe, Captain,” he growled, earning a whimper in response. “You’re a fucking mess. Pathetic. You could’ve got your wingmen killed, Captain.”

A strangled sob sounded around the room. You squeezed your eyes shut as tears rolled down your cheeks. When you opened them again it was a struggle. A struggle to see your superior have such control over you. A struggle to hear him tell you that you’d fucked up. A struggle to cum while he goaded you with your mistakes.

But you were so close. You cried out as you came, legs clamping tighter around his shoe, body shaking with the intensity. Feeling both euphoria and disappointment was overwhelming. You’d fucked up and he’d made a spectacle out of you.

And fuck if that look in his eyes hadn’t branded it’s place in your soul for the rest of eternity.

Admiral Floyd chuckled as he dropped his hand from your face and settled back into the chair. “Look at what you’ve done, Captain.” He gestured to his crotch as he lowered his foot back to the ground. You whimpered at the loss of contact. “You’ve ruined my shoe, too.”

“I–I’m sorry, Sir.”

He clicked his tongue. You at least had the nerve to hold his gaze even as his hand brushed over his crotch.

“I should take you over my desk,” he pondered. “Make you walk out of here crying while my seed drips out of your cunt, hm?”

“Anything, Sir,” you repeated. “I’ll do anything.”

If that didn’t set him off, you didn’t know what would. He growled as he hauled you to your feet, undoing his pants just enough to get his cock out. Roughly pulling your own trousers down to your knees as he bent you over his desk and sank his cock deep into your sopping cunt.

You cried out as he roughly spanked your ass. Once, twice, three times. Each cheek stinging under the impact, tears freely flowing down your cheeks. He gripped your hips roughly, cock stretching you to the point it hurt. Giving you no time to warm to the intrusion before he pulled out and his hips snapped against your ass, bottoming out almost entirely.

“Sir!” You wailed, forearms braced on his desk. The solid mahogany roughly scraping against the floor with each relentless thrust.

“Shit, squeezing my cock so fucking good,” he praised. “Knew you’d like it rough. Reckless. It’s how you fly.”

You moaned as the tip of his cock brushed the spongy wall inside you that had you seeing stars.

“Fucking hell, gonna cum deep inside your cunt, Captain,” he cursed. “Beg me for it. Beg for me to finish inside you.”

“P-please,” you sobbed. “Please cum inside me, Sir. I need it. Need to feel you filling me up. Need to learn my lesson.”

“That’s fucking right.” He growled lowly. “Gonna flood your womb. Fuck, Captain. Taking my cock exactly how I always imagined.”

His grunts and moans drowned out your own whimpers and sobs. He was so close, you could feel the way his thrusts got more frantic. The way his breathing hitched and you flexed your pelvic muscles around him. He came hard, grunting out your name and praising your cunt for squeezing him so good.

No praise for you, just your cunt.

He stilled his movements, planting one more solid smack to your left cheek before pulling out.

“How was that, baby?”

“My legs feel like jelly,” you confessed with a laugh, pushing yourself up as he helped redress you. “You really got into it.”

“The tears drove me fucking wild,” he admitted, tucking himself back into his trousers before cupping your face. “Such a good girl for me.”

“Thank you, Sir,” you mewled, melting into his touch as he sweetly kissed you. Hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing away your tears. “I love you. Congratulations again on the promotion.”

“Thank you, darlin’. I love you, too.”

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #robert bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd smut #robert bob floyd smut #bob floyd fanfic #bob floyd fanfiction #robert bob floyd fanfic #robert bob floyd fanfiction #*oh admiral #lewis pullman

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matchamiko · 30 days

Note

for your writing exercise drabbles may i request 28. "Take it, take everything I've got, it's all for you, only for you" with choso (ns/fw would probably work best for this one 🤭) thank you! i can’t wait to read what you come up with

28. “Take it, take everything I’ve got, it’s all for you, only for you” + Choso

Warnings: size kink, penetration, creampie, unprotected sex, talking about anal, prone bone, half hearted degradation, one singular spank, afab reader (use of ‘girl’) .

He’s too big. Everything about Choso is too big. His arms and those bulging shoulders, cradling the crest of your head feel like tree trunks. His chest - oh his chest with a smattering of fine hair brushing your back, rocking with the motion of his hips. Those thighs, soft and giving on the days you curl into his lap to read, are mean and flexing and cut up with crescent indents from your nails.

His cock. Too big, too thick and too annoyingly curved up so he’s gotta use those too big hips to angle it just right. And his too big hands; you’re audibly crying into one of them, spanning the curve of your chin and jaw as he barely holds you up.

The only thing small about Choso, especially right now; are the kisses he whispers to the top of your head and temple. Wet with saliva and sweat but sweet with the taste of your cum on his Cupid’s bow, it’s a stark contrast to the size of him looming over you, caging you in, boxing you on the bed.

“Stop squirmin’,” he doesn’t want you to, not really. Choso loves it when you kick your legs out either side of his, trying to rearrange yourself to fit his massive frame on top of you. He’s unforgiving when he’s got you prone beneath him, pillow tucked under your belly and hips, your hand grappling for his ass as a means to anchor yourself - and make him go faster.

You don’t often use your words, too shy or too empty brained to say much aside from his name; so you resort to the claws, the teeth, the tugs and pulls of his body to where you need him. And Choso always obliges, sometimes with a soft smile and sometimes with this disgustingly dark scowl.

Like the one he wears now, drumming his hips into your ass, cock digging down, down, down into your guts at such an intense, bed rocking strength; you’re sure he’ll break you. One hand cradles your throat, keeping you above the metaphorical water, kissing the tears of your orgasms away, whispering dirty little secrets into your ear when he thinks you’re too out of it to listen,

“Maybe I’ll fuck your ass soon, I promised didn’t I? If you’re good, I’ll do it,” his hair falls around his face, sticking to the sweat on his brow and your mouth opens with a panting wail, “that’a girl, take my cock - fuck,”

You slam your hand on to the mattress, legs jerking from where he’s got you pinned between his and Choso chokes when you cum suddenly, unexpectedly, delicious and wet around his cock.

“G’on,” fists appear either side of your head, sheets crumpling under his strength and all you can do is lay there and accept the brutal thrusts of your partner, one after the other, over and over. Swinging his hips, cock long and thick and creamy, stirring you up good and sending shocks deep into your gut. Vaguely, you can hear Choso muttering above you, back straight and brows furrowed in concentration; whispering those little secrets again that he thinks you can’t hear.

“Take it all, fuck baby, s’all for you, all of it,” you’re not sure if he’s talking about the aching stretch of his cock or the warmth of his cum spilling into you, hips never stuttering and arms strong as ever. A wounded groan echoes from his chest when you reach back with shaky hands, grabbing fistfuls of your ass and spreading yourself with a whimper,

“Mmm look at you, taking everything I’m givin’ you, so good for me aren’t you?” His debilitating thrusts slow to sloppy, lazy grinds, stroking the strain of your knuckles, “so eager too, super eager for me to fuck your ass, or even just this pretty little cunt; s’cute,”

You whine out a ‘shut up’ and Choso laughs, out of breath and chestily before smacking the creased fat of your ass and you squeal, clenching hard and pearly drops of his cum shine around the fill of his cock. A big hand runs up the plane of your back, smoothing through the sticky sweat that had accumulated there from the evening, tucking round the nape of your neck and with a sickening smile, he draws you up into a kiss. You hum and arch higher, lips smacking loud and hips rolling into his, ever enticing, always enticing for him. A singular roll of his lower body has you mewling once again, breathing a wet little gasp into his mouth,

“Wanna take it again huh? Dirty little thing aren’t you? Can’t ever make you happy unless you got my cum in your belly huh?”

#this was a challenge but yay !! challenge !!#choso x reader #choso smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #miko.prompt challenge #miko.chats

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burningcomputers · 17 days

Text

Lazy Day Cuddles

Imagine you're cuddlin' with Lucy Bronze Word Count: ~550

(P.S. This is my first fanfiction ever, and at the time, I was playin’ with the poetic and metaphoric side of writin’! Let me know what y'all think!)

---

The room was bathed in a soft, golden light as the sun began to set, casting long shadows that danced upon the walls. With her head nestled in the crook between my neck and shoulder, I found tranquility in the cocoon of intimacy. Rivers of power flowed beneath her sun-kissed skin as her muscled frame lay against me. Her fingers playfully skimmed the edge of my panties where skin met fabric, a gentle reminder of the strength that lay hidden beneath her graceful exterior. Her fingers traced lazy patterns in the dip of my hips as if committing every curve and contour to memory. Her arm was loosely draped over my stomach, while the other was cradled around me, her palm gently pressed against my heart. Her legs intertwined with mine, and with each subtle movement she made, I could feel the rippling muscles that bore testament to the stories of battles won and scars that whisper of valleys crossed.

The scent of citrus and spiced whispers wafted through the air, unraveling creamy florals atop a warm, musky ghost. Her Grecian nose inhaled deeply, seeking out my own scent subconsciously. An aroma of refreshing lavender with a hint of spicy amber, tempering the other notes into a harmonious chorus, adding some woodsy elements. She murmured in her thick Scouse accent, "God, I love your scent. It's mesmerizing and peaceful but so alluring and goddamn sexy."

Invariably, she would always cuddle up to me, her nose buried into my shoulder or my head resting on her chest. Her breaths were soft and steady, lulling me into a state of serenity. The world outside seemed to fade away, replaced by the warmth of her embrace and the soothing rhythm of her heartbeat. She knew that the stress of getting older in a sport that meant everything to her was left outside of the sacred space.

As the tension in my muscles began to melt away, the tightness was replaced by a sense of peace and contentment that I had not known in a long time.

"Lucy?" I whispered.

"Hmm?" She mumbled out in a long sigh.

"I love you." She shifted just enough to press the lightest kiss on my forehead, her eyes drifting down to my lips.

I arched my neck to meet her halfway, and our lips met in the dwindling light. A symphony of passion ignites as our lips meet in the twilight. The tender touch of her lips, soft as petals in the rain, is a sweet refrain against mine. A whisper of desire and a sigh of bliss escape us both as we become entranced in this moment.

Her tongue dances with mine, a sultry waltz, as we speak a silent language of lovers entwined and lost. Our kiss tells a tale of passion and love's sweet vengeance.

A spark of fire and a burning glow ignite within us as we become one and flow together. A river of passion and a torrent of desire course through us as we become lost in this kiss. A reason to love and a reason to be, we become free in this moment.

Simplicity and domesticity enveloped us as we lost ourselves. The weight of the world seemed to lift from our shoulders, and for once, we allowed ourselves to succumb to the whims of fate.

---

Hope y'all had fun readin' this; let me know if I should do more short stories with tender moments like this!

P.S. I took inspiration from some perfumes that Lucy has mentioned and combined three of them (Baccarat Rouge by Maison Francis Kurkdjian, Colonia by Acqua di Parma, and Mojave Ghost by Byredo).

#lucy bronze #lucy bronze imagine #woso fanfics #woso appreciation #woso fanfic #woso imagine #woso fluff #england wnt

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luveline · 2 months

Note

Would you be willing to write a little blurb of Steve comforting reader who is in recovery from self harm? I know this is a very no no subject for some writers so I understand if this is a no!

fem!reader !! cw self harm (mention of the self injury, no active graphic imagery, but some details that could be evocative)

You’ve taken to curling up in whatever space he leaves. In bed, you sidle close to his side with your ear to his stomach. On the couch, you’re laying on his lap, every breath a press of ribs against his thighs. If Steve’s on a sun lounger in the backyard, you’re sitting on the ground next to him with an arm hooked over his leg and your cheek bitten by metal.

It’s sort of odd to see your arms without red cuts and welts. Curled again, you and Steve are sitting on the porch watching the sun dropping lazily to the horizon, the sky a funny shade of blue. You’re actually turned away from the sun and toward the house, Steve to the sun, like inverted commas interlinked. Your hand is on his leg, and your arm is bare and starkly uninjured.

That’s too generous, maybe. Evidence of a bad habit long to kick tracks the length of you, white and purple and red scars criss-crossed through your skin.

He’s seen them thick with dried blood and sore to the touch. Your skin aflame. Not because you’ve ever showed him of your own volition, you wouldn’t. You’ve always likened your self-injury to a contagion. “I don’t wanna put thoughts in your head,” you whispered.

It was a nice concern for you to have, but Steve isn’t at any risk of hurting himself (purposefully, at least). He has no urges. He didn’t even know people did stuff like that until he met you. Maybe that’s why it breaks his heart so much. You hurt so much. You feel terrible and you take it out on yourself and Steve just doesn’t get it, ‘cos you’re aces.

He never shied away from it, even if he didn’t like that you were doing it. He still remembers the first time he realised what you were doing, his confusion, the immediate internal recoil. How could you do that to yourself? Why would you? You’ve always been prone to that awful persisting sadness under the skin, but Steve knows a lot of sad people. He knows what it’s like to wish vehemently that you were a better version of yourself, or somebody else, or just gone.

But you’re doing better now. He resists the urge to kiss your hands whenever he sees you and you act like you aren’t doing a brave thing.

Steve’s stupid but he’s not stupid. (Or, at least he feels that way.) He knows you’re finding it hard to stop, like an addict. It’s a habit. A behaviour that takes conscious effort to break until it doesn’t. The worst bit is that you never even asked for help.

Your hand twitches on his leg.

Steve curls a hand behind your neck, kissing you softly, the silky press of your lips to his. You inhale and cut the quiet buzz of cicadas, your breath surprised but not tight.

“Sorry,” he says, “was that okay? I was just thinking about you.”

“It’s fine.” You laugh against his lips and take a kiss, evening the score. “It’s always okay. Kiss me whenever you want.”

“You looked mopey,” he says. Foot in mouth disease forever.

“I’m not mopey, just distracted.”

“I know, it’s offensive. You come over here to hang out and spend the last hour in deep thought.” He makes it clear he’s joking through his light tone and his smile, your eyes met, his hand sliding down your shoulder and your arm. He’s especially careful as his fingers run down your forearm. You watch the path of his hand as it falls, twining your fingers weakly with his. “You can tell me anything.”

“I do tell you anything.”

“Well, just telling you again.” He kisses your cheek, then, less gentle, your lips.

You have this aversion to saying the worst part out loud. There’s always a metaphor or an omission. You can’t say cut, it’s too much, but you’ve said hurt. You’ll admit to self injury but not the action. “It’s fine,” you say now.

“I think you’re doing a good job.”

You laugh softly through your nose. “Thank you.”

“I’m not kidding.” He blows a breath up his face. “Look, can I just be honest with you?”

Your smile turns uneasy at his bluntness. “Um. Are you breaking up with me?”

Steve shakes his head. “Never,” he says, pushing your sleeve up your arm slowly, and then faster when you don’t resist. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you without them.” He doesn’t say cuts either, mostly for your sake.

“Sorry.”

He shakes his head again. “For what? I’m just saying. You’ve had them this whole time and I’ve never– they’ve never stopped me from wanting to kiss your face off.” He probably shouldn’t make jokes. He backtracks. “I mean, they don’t make a difference to me, I like you even if you can’t, uh… Even if the impulse is too much. But I’m thrilled you’re, you know, not doing it.”

“I know,” you murmur.

“I love you.”

“I know.” Your voice is nearly inaudible, “That’s why it’s easier now.”

His heart swells with pride and love and an unfightable want to hug you. He slides his arms around you from under your armpits, forcing you to hug his neck, stealing a kiss to the cheek as he squeezes you forward. “I just want you to know that I get it. Like, how hard you’re working to not do it.”

“Steve,” you admonish quietly.

“Sorry, I’ll stop talking about it if you want.”

“I mean… It's kinda nice to talk about it. It’s not in my head.”

“It’s not in your head.”

“But it feels weird ‘cos it’s like, something I should be doing anyways. It’s like getting praise for washing your hands.”

Steve thinks there’s a pretty big difference between wanting to hurt yourself but resisting it and washing your hands, but he knows what you’re saying. Doesn’t agree, but doesn’t want to invalidate you either. However you need to think about it to get through it is up to you. “I can praise you for washing your hands. I want to.”

Steve encourages you to turn into the sunshine. You lay your cheek against his shoulder. “Love you,” you say, your hand on his leg.

He stares right at the sun and blinks hurriedly. “I love you too.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington scenario #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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bby-deerling · 6 months

Text

elysium (zoro x fem!reader)

fluffiest of the fluff! you and zoro get lost on his birthday wc: 975 this is so self indulgent

Sweet lavender haze settled quietly in the clearing, overgrown with tiny wildflowers. The soft midday sun on the spring island you had stopped at for supplies was partially covered by clouds, its warmth broken up by gentle gusts of breeze. A pair of arms holds you close, back pressed against a hard chest, preventing the wind from dusting a light chill on your upper arms. The fresh spring growth is as naïve and new as your steps past a mere friendship, and as green as his mossy hair.

You both had no idea where you were or how you had gotten there.

Zoro always appreciated the way you never teased him for his lack of direction; it was out of respect and understanding on your part, but deep down it amused him that your internal compass was almost as offset as his. The rest of the crew saw him getting lost as something ranging from an annoyance to a burden, but you never seemed to mind. At times you would even drag him further away from your intended course, eager to drink in the sensations of your unfamiliar surroundings. Tiny quiet ponds, tidal pools hidden behind perilous crags of rocks, and peaceful, open clearings like this one were secret rifts in the fabric of reality where time seemingly stopped; he held these moments close to his heart.

“Looks pretty.” he says as he presses a kiss to your cheek, voice still carrying the weight of sleep. You hum a quiet thanks in return, engrossed in your work, but still flushing pink at his praise. A colorful landscape painting of the field in front of you sits, nearly finished, in the pochade box on your lap; he’s impressed that your brushstrokes hadn’t suffered despite him restricting the movement of your arms somewhat as he held you.

He leans forward and watches the side of your face with a soft, sleepy smile as you squint, concentrating on adding the finishing highlights, trying to capture the warm glow of the sun. The adorable and slightly eccentric way you scrunched your nose and bit the inside of your cheeks when you were focused was just so fun for him to watch, just as you were intoxicated by the determined look in his eyes when he trained.

Laying back against the tree trunk that served as his bed just moments ago, he admires the flow of your hair in the wind and lifts a bottle of sake to his lips. The clear liquor is expensive, rich, and smooth—you had borrowed a fortune from Nami to gift it to him. Licking his lips and setting it down, he almost feels guilty that the bottle is already nearly empty.

As you clean your brushes and wipe the paint from your palette, Zoro absentmindedly starts picking flowers in reach and placing them in your hair. By the time you start to pack up your box of supplies, he’s turned you into a sight to rival the field in front of you, a rainbow of petals tangled in your thick hair, at one time straight but turned wild and wavy with the mist of the sea. As you turn around in his lap to show him the finished piece, he nearly forgets to look, completely captivated by the excitement in your eyes; when his eyes drop to examine your work, his chest brims with pride. Decisive, impressionistic brushstrokes captured not just the physical but the emotional. One of your best.

“I’m so proud of you.” he says, unable to hide the grin on his face. In these quiet moments alone with you, he finds it easier to display his emotions without the shame of being vulnerable; he is also appreciative of the way you effortlessly can read his face during all the other times when he finds himself incapable of peeling back his shell.

He listens intently as you walk him through your process, analyzing your metaphorical leaps forward and steps back, just as you do when he informs you on the outcomes of his workouts; this was your training, and your discipline to your dream enrooted you into his heart on a visceral level. When you finally finish, he offers you the last swig of sake from the bottle.

“You’ve earned this.” he says, watching as you eagerly tip the bottle into your mouth, making sure you swallow every last drop. By the time the bottle is placed to the side, his lips are on yours, chasing the taste of liquor, and melting into your soft but passionate touch.

Pulling away to glimpse the dreamy look on your face leaves him breathless. Sun illuminating your wispy stray strands of hair, petals scattered in your hair, and barely-there freckles dusting your cheeks from too many naps in the sun, you’re a goddess of spring through and through. Worn, stamped patchwork pants straddle his thighs as he cups your cheek.

“I love you, Zoro.”

Though you often expressed your emotions through gentle looks and unspoken touches, it’s the first time it’s been spoken aloud.

“I love you too.”

He’s a demon basking in the glory of being bathed in light. Despite your divine appearance, you require no sacrifice of him, no rituals of humiliation—only a piece of his heart.

He gives it over to you whole.

In return he only asks that you stay by his side, following him to the Underworld and sacrificing your chance at salvation to walk through hell with him.

You take the lead, tugging on his hand as you stumble through the fire licking at your feet.

As Zoro begins a new turn around the sun, he counts the amount of times he’s shared sake with you and prays that twelve sinful sips are enough to keep you in his clutches for all his years to come.

#one piece x reader #zoro x reader #x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x you #roronoa zoro x you #zoro x y/n #who needs therapy when you have blorbos #god i love him #hades and persephone dynamic but make it cute

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devildomcrybaby · 3 months

Note

Chuuya Nakahara + gun play maybe? Or maybe a more vanilla kink like bondage if you’re not comfortable :)

My beloved anon you're a disgrace, I couldn't manage to think about anything else for days

Chuuya Nakahara ♡ gun play

Minors do not interact. 18+ only

Warnings: the obvious, dubcon, profanity, Chuuya shoots a rat? It's supposed to be a metaphor I'm sorry about this, reader is tied up, enemies

Your heart is pounding in your ears, you can faintly hear is the erratic pace of your breathing. Nervousness? Fear? Wouldn't that please Chuuya.

Perish the thought, fancy hat.

Your bloodshot eyes are looking at him in pure rage, your teeth biting the cloth gagging you, wet with your saliva. You wish it was his flesh instead. Oh but you'll get to it.

"What a sight", Chuuya sighs dramatically. "Harmless and quiet. I could almost bear your presence like this". You dig your fingers in your chains forcefully, chipping a few nails in doing so.

"It suits you" he proceeds "Murky, empty and moist. The natural surroundings of rats". You grunt. God if only the metal would loosen or fracture a bit. You just need a crack and you'd be able to wipe that infuriating grin off his face.

Chuuya takes a few loud steps towards you. The wet and slimy ground making the noise of each stride echo through the room. When he gets right in front of you, he pauses for a moment. He's so close that you can hear the sound of his breathing alternating with the sinister rustle in the shabby cellar.

You're taken aback when you feel the cold muzzle of his gun against your jaw. You gasp when you see his finger moving confidently on the trigger. You hear familiar noise of it being pulled.

"Boom".

It's unloaded. Piece of shit.

"God I'd pay a million dollars to see that look on your face again" he doesn't sound amused though. "Maybe I will".

Complying to Chuuya's wish, an ill-fated rat scoured from a hole in the room towards the stairs. Chuuya stretches his arm out to your side and you jump at the sudden racket. The animal's entrails splatter around the floor in a pool of blood and you snap your head back at the man in front of you.

He runs the head of his gun down your cheek. Beads of sweat slide down your neck and your heaving chest. Fucking hell.

"Do you think the soldiers of the Tsar knew the chances of a gun firing when they played Russian roulette?" he presses the gun under your jaw, right on your pulse point. "They say they did it to get distracted from the stench of the rotting corpses of their comrades. Or do you think that they just relied upon the fate?" there's a long pause. Chuuya hums, staring off. Then his eyes focus on you again. He runs the gun down your neck with unnerving sluggishness, then he uses it to move some of your hair out of the way and trace the opening of your shirt. He makes the first button pop, then the second one and another more until he could see the top of your breasts pushed up by your bra.

Chuuya is enjoying having you in thrall to him way more than he anticipated, way more than he's willing to acknowledge. He pulls down the cloth gagging you.

"Only a fresh-faced novice would expect to play Russian roulette with a pistol" you inveigh and wipe the saliva at the corners of your mouth with your tongue.

"Too bad" he utters in a distracted whisper. Chuuya pushes his gun against your lips.

"What?" you ask with a sneer that would be amused if you didn't want to rip his head off. "Are you that desperate for a little attention, Chuu-chan? Been feeling lonely?". God, each time you open your mouth he wants to bite your tongue. Insufferable stuck-up little punk thinking she's Kazuo Taoka.

"Want me to lick it so you can go home and rub one to it imagining that was your dick instead?" you lay it on thick.

You kiss the tip of his gun, then run your tongue from the rear sight to the tip, eyes set on his.

"Same way as you sitting in your empty apartment drinking 1964 Romanée-Conti pretending to be in boss' place, you fucking ratfink" he means to threaten you with the knowledge of your treacherous designs but his voice comes out breathless, a blush spreading on his cheeks and nose.

Chuuya doesn't give you time to think of another of your godawful comebacks. He swiftly reaches for your underwear ripping it in one single motion. "Be fucking still". You gasp when the cold metal meets your now bare pussy and widen your eyes when you realize that he's trying to guide it inside you. Chuuya grits his teeth, fist clenching around the handle.

You scoff. "It won't fit". Your tone is almost bored, as if you're instructing a silly child on the most basic notion imaginable. "Big ass gun. It's got to be an extension of your ego to make up for the lack of inches in other departments".

"Don't you worry your pretty little head. I'll give you something that will". Chuuya unhooks your chains and you rub your sore wrists, then he presses his gun against your jaw again.

"Don't bite" he warns you, then crushes his lips against yours, a hand reaching down to unzip his pants.

It's going to be a long night. If he entertains you enough to make you forget you want to blow his brains out, that is.

#chuuya smut #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #chuuya x you #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x fem!reader #bungo stray dogs smut #bsd smut #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs chuuya #eve scribbles

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shelandsorcery · 4 months

Text

Etching and Acid Baths and Surrender

(this is another classic from my personal site I'm belatedly resharing on tumblr, ftr)

Friends, I just finished teaching the last third of a course on print production, and between that and the whole thing with twitter's crop changing (somewhere? not for me but somewhere?) I've found myself thinking a lot about copper etching and my relationship with the acid bath.

So, first up, copper etching is an art form where you engrave (through various means) thin grooves into a copper plate, then squeeze thick ink into those grooves, then wipe off the ink on the face of the plate, then soak paper so it's very soft, then push it all through a press.The pressure forces the paper into the ink-lined grooves of the plate, pushing the ink onto the paper, and you thus transfer the image from your copper plate to your paper. It's a magnificent art form you've certainly seen examples of, even if you didn't know! Here, a Rembrandt:

There's a lot of ways to create these grooves in the plate; Rembrandt used a steel point and scratched them in, a technique called drypoint. Later, artists used a technique where a waxy resist would coat the plate, then drew lines in the resist, then soaked the plate in acid.

This is the acid bath of which I speak.

There's a few ways to apply resist to a plate, and they give you different effects when you etch with them. First is a hard resist, which is a thick, firm wax that coats the plate and is removed by using that steel drypoint tool to create thin line work, like this Doré hatching:

You can also use soft resist, a malleable wax that allows you to press textures into it, like Barbara Smith has in her piece "Textures" here:

(my terminology might be a bit off, I'm noticing as I google, but hopefully the metaphor will still stand)

And the third method, my fav, is aquatint; a process where you add a resist that is .. spotty. Something like a light spray, or a dusting of wax, so that the plate is covered with a rough, dithered dot pattern of resist, with exposed copper in between. Example via Wikipedia:

I decided to try out copper plate etching, also called intaglio print making, after seeing David Blackwood's work, where he works with aquatint extensively:

Aquatint lets you lay down fields of tone, which he uses in great contrast and collaboration with the linework he etches into the plate as well. It's magnificent work, but it's made all the more miraculous when you understand the whole thing with the acid bath. So, when you put a copper plate into the acid bath, anywhere on the plate that isn't protected by hard, soft or aquatint resist (also called ground) is slowly dissolved into the acid, creating little grooves. The longer it's in the bath, the deeper the grooves - kind of.

The acid is fickle, and the more copper already dissolved into it, the slower it will dissolve new copper. And that's a problem because you want to control exactly how deep those grooves go; the deeper the groove, the more ink it will hold, the darker the line will be on paper. Under-etch your plate, and your lines will be faint, hold very little ink, and be extremely hard to get ink INTO when you apply it before making a print.

But you can't know this until you take all that resist off the plate, wash it, and ink it up and print it.

OVERetch your plate, and the acid will start to eat the copper away from under your resist, widening your lines or flattening out your aquatint, so it's easy to get ink into the lines, but hard not to wipe it back out when you try and wipe ink off the un-etched face of the plate.

Again, not obvious until you go and try printing your plate.

And with intaglio, by which I mean copper plate etching, you might want lines of varying darknesses - you might want aquatint of varying darknesses - and so you will be adding and removing resists of various kinds, and etching and re-etching your plate over and over again.

And you can do various things to get the feel for the acid bath's ... acidity ... on the day you go to etch something in it, but depending on the size of your bath, you etching a large plate for a while might change the bath's acidity. Worst is if it's fresh and you didn't know.

So this whole art form, whereby people produce some of the most precise and exquisite pieces in the north western historical canon IMO, is actually an absurd collaboration with a rogue chemical that may or may not do what you want at any point in time.

And by my third year of making work like this, I had concluded that you simply had to think of the acid bath as a rogue collaborator who you handed your plate off to over and over again throughout your process. You had to just take a deep breath and accept chaos as an element.

Yes, you did your best to prepare your plate, get the right resist on it, draw the right lines where you wanted them; and yes you set a timer and kept an eye on your plate and checked the etch over and over again - but in the end you were teaming up with chaos chemistry.

And I loved it! I loved the surprises you got from acid bath, even if they went against what I had planned. I loved improvising around its unpredictability! Once I accepted that it was part of the practice, I found it exhilirating.

And for me, that's the appeal of all traditional media - I can't predict every little thing, I'm not 100% in control at all times, and artwork has to happen despite all that.

And so I expanded this concept for myself out to my larger practice. When I send a file to print? I'm collaborating with a printer; both the person, who I can maybe talk to, and the machine, that will have its own peccadillos. I prepare as best I can and still I may be surprised.I'm not saying I never threw out plates that got way out of hand, and I'm not saying I never had a print run of my work I had to send back or reprint - I'm just saying that my thought process around them has changed, so I allow for a wider range of surprises than I used to.

So when everyone was going on about the twitter crop finally changing, and I realized I didn't really care, I noticed that I had expanded this concept to publishing online as well. I prep a nice jpg and then I take a deep breath and accept twitter's chaos in collaboration.

And that's how I discovered that, to me, twitter is just another acid bath.

Read the full article

#aquatint #collaboration #drypoint #etching #Fine Art #intaglio

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4izawas · 5 months

Note

On my knees 🧎🏽‍♀️Begging🤲🏻 for more shounya fics😼

ur on ur knees n so is he!! cw hybrids, gn reader w a pussy, oral, and prev est relationships <33 also set pre eri izuku n shinsou !!

“Ohhhh fuck~”

Your breathy sighs and low moans almost echo through the rooms, your toes curling as your body soaks in the feelings being wrought out of you by the feeling of Shouta’s mouth between your legs.

A desperate fiend when it came to oral, Shouta was a greedy creature. Whenever the opportunity arose for him to have a taste of what lay between your legs, he metaphorically ( and sometimes physically ) lunged for it — like today. After a long day of you being at work, he’d been impatient for you to arrive home, and he’d been very annoyed when you’d swept past him with nothing but a grunted, “C’mon.” He’d been tempted to ignore the word, to ignore you like he hadn’t in almost a year, but begrudgingly he’d followed with his thick tail swishing angrily behind him only to be surprised by the sight of you sitting on the bed with your legs spread and your cunt bare to him.

“Make me cum, kitty,” you’d said tiredly, and he’d leapt at the opportunity. He’d taken his place between your legs, his formerly pinned-back ears pushed forward and his tail moving back-and-forth behind for an entirely different reason as he’d pressed as closely to you as possible before licking a wide stripe up the length of your slit from your taint to your clit.

That had been an hour ago, and here you still were with your cat hybrid on his knees and feasting on the slit between your legs, slobbering all over your cunt as he lapped at it like a man possessed with his thick arms hooked around your thighs as you lay back with an arm cast over your eyes, your now revealed chest heaving as you felt your fourth orgasm approaching. You’d discarded your shirt a little more than half an hour ago when things started feeling far too hot, and the sight of your bare chest had spurred on new excitement from your partner.

“More,” he slurs into your dripping cunt, “More. Mine. Mine.”

“Fuuuuuck yeah, it’s yours,” you moan, your free hand burying itself in his hair as your hips start instinctively rutting up into his face. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck — c’mon, m’gonna cum-!”

Nipping and sucking and licking and biting just the way he knows you like, Shouta moans into your sensitive pussy as a new small gush of wetness fills his mouth as you creep closer to the edge.

Mine, he thinks greedily, his pupils blown and eyes darker than usual as he attempts to bury himself in the taste of you, Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine.

His ears flick ever so slightly as the pitch of your gasps and moans shift above him, and he makes sure to keep at the pace and pressure that had gotten you here as they slowly reach a peak amd you start calling out for him, sitting up a little and clutching his face to your slick cunt. He doesn’t mind at all, more than pleased by the fact that his face is so buried in it that all he can taste and smell is you. It’s like a dream come true — his dream, anyway.

“Cumming, cumming, cumming — oh God, Sho’, please!” you wail, your entire body trembling with small convulsions as you cum again. He smiles into you, absolutely desperate for what was once again gushing from your hole and into his waiting mouth. He doesn’t stop tasting you, almost a mindless drone as the motions overtake his mind and he melts into them, and it’s only when you try to push him away while speaking that he wakes up from it.

“Shouta, I need to order dinner for us,” you finally say weakly, and he whines a little and shakes his head ‘no’.

“Wanna — Wanna be good,” he grunts into your hole, lapping at it slowly and relishing the way your thighs twitch around his head. “More. Want more. I can be good-!”

“Let me order dinner then,” you retort, unable to hide the way your thighs jump from oversensitivity as he keeps curling his rough tongue around your engorged clit, and he shakes his head in denial again.

“I have dinner,” he replies snarkily, “Right here in front of me,” before attempting to dive back into you.

You laugh softly, placing your toes and the ball of your foot against his bare chest and pushing him away just enough that he sits back on his feet. “Down boy,” you murmur, and he whines lightly. You just ignore it, sitting up and reaching for your cell-phone then tapping in your passcode as he huffs at you.

“I think American food sounds nice tonight,” you hum to yourself, and Shouta feels his mouth begin to water. You glance up at him, a playful glint in your eye that he doesn’t understand for a moment, then say, “Oh, you don’t want anything, right?”

“Huh?!”

“I mean, since you have dinner here and all,” you tease, and he groans out a growl that has you laughing. “Okay, okay — I know the drill, no getting between you and food.”

#shou_nya.♡#shouta aizawa x reader #tw hybrids #aizawa shouta x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader

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makeste · 5 months

Text

BnHA Chapter 408: Orphaned Cryptid to Billionaire Supervillain

Previously on BnHA: HE WAS BORN AN ARROGANT BABY.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi decides he’s going to cover the rest of the AFO/OFA saga in the span of just seven pages, the majority of which are mostly just filled with lovingly detailed closeups of AFO and Kudou’s eyes. Back in the present day, Kid For One takes a couple of seconds to trample the last of the “Kacchan is OFA II or is related to OFA II” theories into the dust, and is then all “fuck it, I’ll just take him out with one last spectacularly grotesque supermove.” Kacchan is all “lol you fucking dipshit”, and he says it with such confidence that it truly makes me believe he can defeat AFO’s “ALL THE QUIRKS EVER!!” attack with his piddly little exploding bloodsweat quirk. AND IT WILL BE A SIGHT TO SEE.

interesting!

Yoichi’s name btw is written with the kanji 与 which means “bestow” or “give”, and 一 which means “one.” so basically “one who gives”, which is fitting as the creator of OFA, but also fits in with this new context of being the first “possession” bestowed upon AFO

oh yes and also AFO I guess has just torn his brother to shreds or something too. idk. I’m going to be honest with you guys, this panel has such a surreal vibe that I just sat here blinking stupidly at it and wasn’t even shocked or anything. like what. is he dreaming this?? or did he really just make a “STOP! IN THE NAAAAME OF LOVE” gesture and in doing so remove half of his brother’s jaw

ewww

idk what’s wrong with me today guys. AFO just disintegrated Yoichi, and Kudou and and OFA Tres (who apparently still doesn’t have a name???? freaking Kudou got named before you??) are literally RIGHT THERE and presumably horrified, and all I can think about is how fucking gross it is that they’re all hanging out in a fucking sewer

oh shit y’all it’s about to go down

he can’t kill Kudou right off the bat can he? does Kudou even know he has OFA yet? are we going to see him transfer it to OFA III? I’m so fucking excited omg

LOL WHAT

“weirdly matte” omg. so apparently he’s like All Might, where the “he’s just drawn differently” thing is something people actually acknowledge in-story. “yeah he actually has no pupils. that’s a real thing. technically that should mean he can’t see since pupils are what let light into your eyes, but don’t worry about that part. just know that his eyes canonically look weird to the story people as well, and everyone is creeped out by it, not just you”

yeah he’s actually blind

so he literally can’t see outside himself. way to lay those metaphors on thick, Horikoshi

(ETA: this is my “just in case my impeccably dry wit doesn’t translate well across the internet” ETA to assure everyone I know he’s not actually blind lol.)

now we’re cutting to some random city where AFO is broodingly staring at Yoichi’s severed hand because he’s perfected the art of always doing incredibly unsettling things

I cannot believe the fucking hands thing has an actual origin story. of course it does. this man has never done a single hinged thing in his life. it’s all unhinged or bust. am I talking about AFO or Horikoshi? YOU DECIDE

he’s sitting at a table with a bottle of wine holding his dead brother’s embalmed severed limb and thinking about fucking quirk shit

so your transformation from Orphaned Cryptid to Billionaire Supervillain happened almost completely offscreen huh. I’m kinda disappointed, ngl. I could have read a few more chapters about that. maybe a spinoff miniseries

WAIT WHAT

are you serious. we finally get a panel that’s INCREDIBLY RELEVANT to pretty much ALL OF MY BNHA THEORIES, only for that same panel to contradict itself ONE SPEECH BUBBLE LATER?? so what is the truth???

omg omg omg

so many fucking questions, omg. what the hell does “through research” even mean. how did he confirm Yoichi’s quirklessness, and why did he later change his mind? how the fuck can Yoichi have a quirk factor and yet not have an actual quirk. “it was just so weak it didn’t count or something I guess” okay??? how much of this is unreliable narrator vs. the word of god? how is it we’re getting so many answers and yet all I have is more fucking questions you guys

BRUE?CE?CEE??!

bruce

Kudou is so goddamned hot. I hope you washed the hell out of that arm wound after getting it all covered in sewage you stupid sexy man

I can’t get over Three’s name. “idk if anyone noticed, but it’s kind of a subtle homage to another very famous superhero” Horikoshi your nap wasn’t long enough, please go home

also love how Bruce is talking shit about OFA being a puny loser quirk for wimps. how the fuck do they even know what’s going on, anyway? was there a tutorial???

oh you just had a feeling huh??? that it was “something like this”, huh??? how is it that I, who knows all about OFA because I’m from the future and have read 408 chapters of this nonsense, am somehow still less in the know than this handsome clown who doesn’t know shit but just “had a feeling”

(ETA: while editing this post I noted that Bruce is sitting in front of a computer in what seems to be some sort of medical lab, so maybe they ran some tests or something? except that only makes me more confused, because it implies they didn’t actually figure out OFA’s workings via convenient plot instincts. so then how the fuck did they figure out the transfer process?? questions)

meanwhile AFO is sitting in the panel next to him whining about how someone stole Yoichi’s quirk. excuse you. he did not steal it. it was in fact a gift

these flashbacks are all jumbled up and it’s unexpectedly fun to read, but also really chaotic

I guess he’s talking to Kudou on the right and AFO on the left

so many intense closeups of eyes in this chapter oh my goodness

Horikoshi even drew the individual goddamn eyelashes. this looks like the margins of someone’s notebook from when they were really bored in middle school

oh my god the information overload!!!

so much for AFO actually feeling emotions lol. or is he just lying to himself about why he cried. that delicious ambiguity

so we don’t even get a flashback explaining how the transfer actually happened?? to either Kudou OR my beloved Bruce?? goddamn you Horikoshi. omg I would seriously kill for more of this. make a movie about it. I want the OFA origin story prequel movie damn it

I like how AFO just sits there on a throne holding court with a single tiki torch beside him for aesthetic reasons

I can’t quite figure out how he killed Banjou and I’m not sure I really want to know. it looks very violent

friendly reminder that Shinomori is Sir Not Appearing In This Flashback because he’s the only OFA user who died of natural causes! good for you Shinomori. En probably wishes he was more like you

poor En

was Nana just taking a stroll or something one day and stumbled across this epic fight with the evilest man on the planet vs some kid in a trenchcoat, and then the poor kid got bisected and he looked at her and he was all “please eat my hair” and she was just like “ok”?

OH WOW

what a transition omg

LOLLLLLLLL

you know, part of me always wondered how All Might was so certain he’d killed AFO that he apparently never bothered to confirm it. but looking at this panel now, I can understand

fjjfdzjgf

he’s sweating so much. like “okay yeah he punched the top of his face off, this is pretty bad but I’LL DO MY BEST”

BACK TO THE PRESENT DAY AWW SHUCKS

so let’s recap. over on Kacchan’s side we have “GOTTA USE THE PAIN TO WIN!!!” haha ouch. and then over here on KFO’s side we have. whatever the fuck we just experienced over these past two chapters. so basically it’s a battle between the two most deranged characters in the entire series. glorious sweet chaos

DSFJKSLDKGJL he’s now trying to figure out how the fuck they look so much alike and whether they’re actually related

“no, that can’t be it. so then maybe... this kid grows up and then somehow travels back in time...?!” HE’S JUST LIKE US FR

so now he’s saying it’s because Kacchan didn’t have character development yet the last time, but now that he does his eyes are all Full Of Determination just like Kudou’s and so we’ve basically come full circle!

transcended WHAT? :O :D :D omg I’m kidding you guys please don’t hurt me

lol

actually the more we learn about Kudou the less I personally see the resemblance now lol. because Kudou seems so calm and collected, but Kacchan is just... [gestures to literally everything about Kacchan]

so AFO’s trying to strategize, but he can’t warp Kacchan away because the only available targets are too close and he’s still got that SUPERSPEED, BOYO so it wouldn’t make a difference. lol but if you kept doing it repeatedly it might be kind of funny though

and he can’t keep fighting him either because he’s getting his ass whooped and it’s speeding up his de-aging or whatever. well you could just give up then I guess. your call, AFO

oh was that your plan?

spoiler alert for me lol. but it’s not exactly shocking or anything since he’s dying, guess he wants to abandon ship

(ETA: just FYI for anyone reading this who’s not familiar with my dumbassery, I have currently only read chapters 1 through 374 at this point in time, before skipping ahead to 403 because Kacchan came back and I lost all willpower. I am working on catching up with the rest!)

oh so now you did come up with a strategy?

lmao what the FUCK

how much of this is going to be clearer to me once I finish the chapters that I missed, and how much of it is just plain old “nope this is all brand new zero-context BnHA bullshit” lol. this looks like every single quirk AFO ever absorbed combined into one gigantic horrifying blob that forced Horikoshi to take an extra week just to draw it

oh my god!?

Kacchan hovering there bravely facing all this is giving me Gandalf “you shall not pass” vibes and I’m LIVING FOR IT

so either AFO is going to kill Kacchan for the second time right here and now, or he’s going to fail and turn back into a squishy evil baby fdslfjkls

love how All Might is all “DODGE IT YOUNG BAKUGOU!” thanks for the warning, champ. doing his part

more exploding bloodsweat closeups. are these just going to be a mainstay of Kacchan fights from now on

“are you stupid?”, when faced with [gestures to the entirety of the previous page], is possibly the best line ever uttered by anyone in the series. even better than the polite “coming through” uttered only seconds before it

ah man. you love to see it. he literally doesn’t even care. HE ALREADY DIED ONCE TODAY, AND IT CLUED HIM IN TO THE FACT THAT HE’S A MAIN CHARACTER AND ACTUALLY IMMUNE TO DEATH. sorry AFO it’s curtains for you. CURTAINS

#bnha 408 #all for one #bakugou katsuki #ofa the second #kudou (bnha)#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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swap-and-possessions · 6 months

Text

Chastity Caged by Coach

This fucking sucks!

Jack's face twisted into a deep frown when Coach Davis delivered the unexpected news that he was benched for the next football match. It wasn't entirely unexpected since Jack had a rough play last match. They've been winning match after match, and ego got into Jack's face. He thought himself invincible when he wasn't. He selfishly hogged the ball, refused to follow Coach Davis's plan, and blamed his teammates when they lost. He had an earful from Coach Davis afterward.

"Jackson Dupont! You are fucking benched, you hear me!?" Coach Davis shouted with a bright, red face. "You are fucking lucky this match won't kick us out of the championship just yet! But you are fucking benched for the next three matches. Use that free time to put your head out of your fucking ass!"

Oakdale University is one, if not the best, producer of top athletes in Canada. It's because of its high-class, state-of-the-art training facilities, former star athlete coaches, and scientifically-backed diet and regiment that ensure players are at their top form. Then there are also their unorthodox punishments to deter players from making a poor performance in their punishments. Unlike other universities, being "benched" meant something different for the star athletes at Oakdale University. It means surrendering control of your body to one of the football coaches. Coincidentally, the coordinator to the head coach happens to be Coach Davis's husband, Ryan.

"Coach, please. It was only one time. Give me another chance?"

"When I said your head is up your ass, I meant that as a metaphor. But is that really the case here? Was your head that pushed inside your ass; you forgot this was your third fucking strike! I was going to swap you with Ryan when we got home, but you've pushed me over the line, Dupont." Coach Davis said. He plucked a sealed button from his pocket and pressed it. A chill from Jack's spine spread throughout his body as the world collapsed until there was only darkness and headaches.

"Ugh…" Jack groaned. His world swirled, and his head felt like a jackhammer pounded on it all night. He seemed to be in one of the campus dorms, but the lack of decoration of a typical college student's dorm meant this was an unused room. There was a calendar and a clock on the wall. It was early in the morning, and a day had passed since Jack lost consciousness. Beside him was a night table that held his phone, a blister pack of Tylenol, biscuits, and a glass of water. Just as he was about to reach for the medicine to stop this throbbing headache, he realized his hand was different. He was a bit paler, and the weight felt strange. It didn't take him long to realize Coach Davis went through with his punishment.

"Dammit!" Jack cursed, his voice deeper and manlier. "This fucking sucks! I'm in Coach Ryan's body."

Jack wasn't the first among his teammates to be punished this way, and he won't probably be the last. Come to think of it, Coach Davis has been doling out these punishments since the season began when he and Coach Ryan started dating. There might be a hidden agenda to these punishments, but it wasn't entirely unfounded considering Jack's poor sportsmanship yesterday.

And besides, punishments were supposed to be terrible to prevent you from doing something unsatisfactory in the future. Being in coach Ryan's body was everything opposite of a punishment. He now had his thick, fucking muscles born from the years of being the top football athlete of his batch. This was his goal body, to be as stocky but agile still. And Coach Davis gave it to him freely. This wasn't a punishment. Those idiotic teammates who survived Coach Davis fucking lied! And to make things better, he hoped whatever meat lay hidden underneath these covers would make that yesterday's shitty play worth it. Hell! He could already feel it. It's so fucking tight and moist down there. Jack grabbed the edge of the covers and flipped it.

"Goddamn it!" Jack cursed. The reason why it was tight down there was because there was a fucking chastity cage locking his thick cock! It's locked tight, and it doesn't even conform to his hardening rod. "This fucking sucks!"

... Read the rest of this NSFW story at Discord.

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