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ma1dita · 7 months

Text

kiss his face with an uppercut

smutty part 2 here-> heavy hitter

words: 4k

summary: james potter is so attractive you could beat him to death with a bludger. james potter x fem!beater!reader not from gryffindor (for the plot!!)

warnings: none! james gets physically hurt multiple times by reader, multiple innuendos, enemies to lovers kinda, less serious lovey dove more sexual tension!!! probably not accurate quidditch gameplay

a/n: sorry for the hold up guys this took almost a month of on and off editing lmfao— this whole oneshot makes me think of the filipino word ‘gigil’– simply translating to cuteness aggression; i barely know jack shit about sports much less quidditch but this concept had me looking up quidditch rules to be able to provide– eat up kids

Y/S- sibling name

Y/H- house

(posted & edited 10/10/23)

—

Oh BROTHER, this guy STINKS! I mean, how has he not gotten walloped at least once during this godforsaken game? You suck your teeth at the sight of James flying around the pitch blowing kisses to his fan club and Lily Evans, who turns her nose up at the sight of him.

Merlin, when will this game end?

The Hogwarts Quidditch Semi-Finals of 1977 was a game to watch… until both teams stopped scoring what seemed like hours ago. Both Gryffindor & (Y/H) were at a stalemate, down some players due to injury and now, even lower team morale. Gryffindor team captain and chaser James Potter, notorious Marauder, and resident flirt, is not someone who likes to lose. He’s spent all season drilling his teammates, memorizing plays, and thinking of every outcome possible to ensure another Gryffindor victory. James’ affinity to be right takes precedence over anything, after all. But after beating down almost all of (Y/H)’s reserves, James was almost vibrating with confidence. He really doesn’t lose, not if he can help it.

“AND ANOTHER (Y/H) IS DOWN WITH AN INJURY— Team captain Whithall calls for a timeout as they reconvene on what to do next! Hope you’re still comfy in the stands, folks….” the student announcer grumbles.

There’s absolute chaos on the field, and like birds scuffling over a piece of bread, (Y/S), the team’s last good beater is floating on a gurney, ready to be transported to the Hospital Wing.

“Oh, here comes trouble…” Sirius murmurs, smacking James on the back to grab his attention.

You jump down from the stands to check on (Y/S), and James is too busy reveling in the idea of winning the goddamn semi-finals that he doesn’t notice you putting Quidditch gear on.

“Easy win from here on out, Pads! The little lady’s just checking the damage. Not important,” he chortles before Sirius physically grabs his head to face the girl walking towards him, currently storming across the turf to meet him and his team.

“I’m subbing in,” you say, angry at how dirty Gryffindor’s been playing, and angry that you even have to play in (Y/S)’s stead.

“Sweetheart, this game is for serious, you know that right?” James says a bit dumbly with a furrowed brow. Both of you are head to head, and James sees the twitch in your eye as you cross your arms. Hot air is seeping out of your pores but James’s lip simply quirks up in intrigue. You’re someone he hasn’t noticed before, and the only thing running through his mind besides winning the game is that you’re really pretty. But then again, he’s always found angry women to be attractive, in retrospect.

“Yeah, for the actual cup, not…for Sirius… It’s the wrong time to joke, innit?” Sirius says to break the ice, noticing the palpable tension between your glares. Your faces are inches away from each other and he’s not sure if you two are going to fight or kiss, but it makes him grimace all the same.

“Who do you think (Y/S) practices with? Unlike you and your friends, I know when to take things seriously,” You say through gritted teeth.

“She’s legit, Potter. Got added to our reserves last week.” Whithall pipes up, ready to get back to the game. The crowd has been weathered down after hours of anticipation, and they want to see the end of it, no matter the outcome.

“Much to my surprise,” you grumble, elbowing the authority in the form of a teenage boy not much older than yourself. You should’ve known your sibling was looking a little too happy as they got floated off the pitch on a gurney.

“Then let’s play. Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart.” James says condescendingly, floating away on his broomstick like it’s a walk in the park, but the way you’re slapping the bat against your palm is getting Sirius a tiny bit nervous for his precious countenance. The whistle blows and the game resumes.

“A SURPRISE ADDITION (Y/N) JOINS HER HOUSE AS BEATER! Gryffindor better watch out for her swi—” You slam the bludger in James’s direction and it hurtles toward him so fast that he almost folds in half, barrel-rolling on his broom to dodge it. The move makes Sirius and a few of their other teammates gasp to see James scrambling back onto his broom.

“Oops! Looks like I missed.” you deadpan, balancing midair as you whack another one where it rebounds off the Gryffindor seeker and back towards James, hitting both of them in the gut.

“THIS GIRL’S GOT AN ARM ON HER! Though might I say her hits look a bit targeted…” The commentator says worriedly, and everyone in the crowd is leaning in their seats trying to get a better view.

“Merlin, are you trying to kill me woman?” he yells in outrage.

“I’m trying to finish the game. Your big head is in the way,” you say with a straight face as Sirius bats towards you, and you spin on your broomstick without shifting your posture. The smile on your face as you taunt him should be considered criminal, but he’s looking at you in a new light.

Yeah, now he’s paying attention. The other Gryffindor players can’t seem to figure out your next move and you bat another bludger towards Potter’s extremely large target of a head, and all of a sudden he’s freefalling through the air as his teammates fly to catch him, one by one. His nose still makes impact with the ground before Sirius catches by the ankle like Achilles taking a dip in the River Styx.

“AND (Y/H) HAS CAPTURED THE SNITCH! Good job to their Seeker, Appleby! Congratulations on a job well done, so that we can all finally go home.” The commentator cringes as McGonagall swats at him to leave the podium.

Who even is she, taking over the game and stealing his win like that?

He’s walking up from the sidelines with a bloody nose, going to shake Whithall’s hand and you’re standing behind him, a malicious grin plastered between your rosy cheeks, windswept and almost ethereal while he looks like he got flattened by a hippogriff. Fuck, she’s pretty. You look like you floated down from the heavens, and by the looks his team gives him, he may have just crawled out of the earth.

“Congrats,” he grumbles, turning to you. Really pretty. It’s even worse that you’re devastatingly stunning up close— with sweat glistening on your brow and a pearly white smile, he takes a good moment to really look at you and memorize the flutter of your eyelashes. He’s unsure if he’s concussed or maybe it’s his astigmatism, but there are actual stars in his vision as he peers down at you. Your confidence is actually kind of sexy.

“You look…um…you ride well.” He stutters, shaking his head from his personal reverie.

“Excuse me?” you say, your little mouth agape in what he hopes is not disgust. He looks pathetic, blood sopping down to his jersey as he looks at you like he’s only seeing you for the first time, acknowledging you closely. Something about seeing him flail makes you crinkle your nose as you stifle a grin.

“I mean…Um…” Damn.

Sirius pulls his best friend away before you can bite back your laughter, all of your teammates leading you away to celebrate.

“Mate, what the shit was that? Are you alright in the head?” Sirius says, and if James’ nose wasn’t already bleeding he was going to slap him silly.

“Just…Didn’t see that coming…” he mumbles, and his mind, along with all of Gryffindor is in disarray as they walk back to their tower. He’s got a lot of thinking to do on what his next move will be.

—

James Potter goes through life in three methodical ways: 1.) creating a strategy, 2.) making a scene, 3.) and dragging his friends into it— in that particular order, every single time.

Now notice how considering consequences is not part of said process.

His ego wouldn’t let him rest after a girl, much less a very pretty one that he’d never noticed before—beat him at what he does best; quidditch! In fact, the next few nights were void of sleep and filled with thoughts of you. The way your hair looked so soft in the sunlight, how your lip turns almost Gryffindor red when you bite it in concentration, and maybe how your delicate hands would look as they tightly grasp onto his bat...ahem…your quidditch bat. Some dirty delusions aside, if looks could kill, he’d be dead seven times over, but honestly? He’d probably thank you for it.

James’ new mission was to figure you out, and if that was his mission, it meant it was the rest of the Marauders’ too. For the sake of winning the Cup, of course. That’s what he tries to tell himself until his mates catch him ogling you again at breakfast.

“So what is it with you and girls that inflict you nothing but pain and humiliation?” Remus muses, as the Marauders watch James laugh at a joke you told your friends at the (Y/H) table across the Great Hall. He looks at you like someone who stares at the sun, squinting and burning himself as he ponders on why he’s unable to look away.

James fumbles a response, shoving Remus as they all laugh. “Listen, I’ve got a bit of a masochistic streak, Moony. Just…There’s something about her…”

Your friends are pointing at him now, and as you turn to meet his eyes, you lift a brow inquisitively and flip him off. Sirius’s face pulls up in shock at James’s growing smile at the interaction as he mumbles, “Maybe you’ve met your match, Prongs…”

The boy pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, anything to try to see you clearer as he leans over to put his head in his hands, sighing dreamily. His friends are not as easily amused.

“A match made in heaven, you reckon?”

—

“Match made in hell, more like!” You spit, almost choking on your scrambled eggs at your friends’ insinuations. Your back is as stiff as a board, shoulders tight at the notion of you ever liking James Potter triggering your fight or flight response. When it comes to someone as pompous as him, only the word fight comes to mind.

“Oh come on, love… He’s popular, funny, and quite handsome…It’s James freaking Potter we’re talking about!” your roommate gushes, but you're not the least bit impressed.

“Is that supposed to do anything for me? I can think of a few F words that middle initial can stand for…” Eyes rolling, you peek back at the Gryffindor table to see said boy wiggling his fingers at you teasingly until he accidentally smacks Peter in the face with his toast. Idiot.

“Only hot people get away with stupid shit. I mean look at the four of them!” you continue, gulping down the rest of your coffee. “Potter’s the worst out of all of them though. Big ass head must compensate for a lot of things." You say, shaking your head at your friends.

"And yet, here you are, talking about him for the fourth time this morning," your roommate replies, smirking. " You’ve been Potter crazy since you helped us beat Gryffindor in the semi-finals! Are you sure you don't have a crush on him?"

"No!" you say too quickly, too loudly, that the shrill noise of your voice makes your ears hurt and the shit-eating grins on your friends’ faces reflect how desperate that came off. You slump onto the table, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You wanna kiss him, don’t you?” they tease, and you push away their puckering faces as you scoff, “With an uppercut, maybe!” Almost makes you want to stomp over there and wipe the stupid look off his face…and maybe sit on his lap. You run your fingers through your hair in frustration. All this aggression really needs to go somewhere, but unfortunately, James Potter’s lap is the only destination you have in mind.

“He’s just really punchable. I get so annoyed by the sight of him I just want to… ugh!” you groan, your hands shaking as you try to convince them (or yourself). Your friends cackle at the sight of you pretending to squeeze his curly-topped, mothball-filled head, but your brain changes course and you imagine what it’s like to hold his hand. Your fingers flex cautiously at the idea, wondering what his touch would feel like. Grabbing a glass of water to cool your thoughts, your peripherals reveal he’s still staring at you like you make night turn into day. His gaze is searing, and as you put your lips around your straw, he licks his lips slowly. Shit.

—

Availability bias is one hell of a mindfuck. If only they taught psychology at this magic school, maybe the wizarding world would have way fewer problems and more people would be straightforward and not.. Dead. James decides he can categorize his life now as before you, and after you.

Before you, well… he honestly wasn’t even sure if you were a student at Hogwarts until he saw you marching down the pitch, but now… You’re everywhere. He can spot your voice in a crowded hallway, and who was going to tell him you’ve had three classes with him this whole term? Even down to when he shuts his eyes, he’s convinced his eyelids are branded with the imprint of your silhouette. Every conversation he strikes with you ends with you laughing at him, and he’s unsure if that’s a step up or down from the many boisterous rejections from Lily Evans over the years. He sort of wishes you’d laugh with him, and do a number of other things, (heck he’s got a list of ideas he’s wanked off to), and well… His soul is tightly wound with thoughts of you and Godric, listen to this guy…. maybe the boys were right…. Maybe he really does need to get laid.

It’s funny how fate works, two people who’ve barely interacted in the past six years at Hogwarts are now paired together for a History of Magic essay worth 20% of the term grade. You’re trying to get this done as fast as possible, he notices, mapping out ideas and trying to discuss how to piece it all together, yet James does everything but that to get you to pay attention to him. He fills your head with mundane little questions, asking you what your favorite fruit is to the childhood bedtime story your parents told you as a kid.

“What’s your middle name, Potter?” You muse, finally entertaining him after endless chatter. His eyes trail to the exposed skin of your collarbones as you stretch in your seat, and well… you don’t look as menacing as you always do but did it seriously have to be this question? He scratches the back of his head, silent for the first time in the two hours you’ve been trying to craft this essay for the sake of both your grades.

“What? I can’t just go around calling you James Fucking Potter. Spit it out, you know too much about me already.”

He clears his throat, a blush creeping up his neck. “It’s… that’s an intimate question, love… I…”

Your laughter at his response makes his senses shut down. “Oh, so it’s bad. What is it, Franklin? Fabio? Come on, I won’t bite.” A part of him wishes you would, your face equally flushed and so close to him right now, almost leering at him for an answer. It’d be easy to just lean over…

“Fleamont.”

Your lips quirk, until they pucker like you’ve guzzled a lemon. The blush on your cheeks intensifies, and the sound explodes out of you. You laugh so loudly Madam Pince kicks you both out of the library, James carrying both your knapsacks, a hand around your waist as you rush out of there. Your body is firm under his touch, pupils unfocused and dilated looking at him now that you know his dirty little secret. James thinks that if you keep looking at him like that, hell, you can call him anything you want.

—

Fleamont.

What a prick. A really attractive, clueless prick. The memory makes you giggle as you get ready for the Quidditch Cup and your team charges out onto the field to face Gryffindor again, as you’ve both advanced to the finals. He’s not as much of an asshole as you originally thought. It’s undeniable that something pulls you towards him, whether it be hormones, concern, or the fact that it’s actually adorable the way he writes his mother back weekly, or admirable how he moved Sirius out of Black Manor himself last year. Maybe it’s endearing the way he goes out of his way to make first-years smile or heartwarming how even Filch can’t find reasons to hate him. The golden boy. You get it now, why people get trapped in his web, and why many are unwilling to leave.

You pass him outside the locker rooms, bumping shoulders as he smiles almost bashfully. The golden boy, loudmouth, ball of energy is reduced to a nervous pile of teenage ineptness at the sight of you, every time. You could take him (not in a fight). In an actual fight, maybe you could land a few solid hits before his nice muscly arms hold you do—

“Ready to finish this, darling?”

Your eyes refocus when his hand nudges the small of your back, right above your hip. “Mhmm,” you clear your throat, “Ready to lose, Potter?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He moves closer, slowly backing you into the wall.

“Eyes on the prize Potter, I’m in this to win it.” You say, looking at the closing distance between both your chests. James nods, not taking his eyes off of you for a moment, even when the announcer calls out the imminent start of the game.

“WELCOME TO THE HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH CUP OF 1977 GRYFFINDOR VS. (Y/H)! I hope you are all excited as our last match between these teams was quite thrilling at the end of it!” The announcer says, hyping up the roaring crowd as your teams parade onto the pitch.

His eyes are still on you when he shakes Whithall’s hand and the whistle blows. It’s intense, and makes you feel like you’re burning, even if the wind is blowing like crazy today. You bat the bludgers toward anything red on the field that even dares to move toward your teammates. James won’t stop staring at you, and you both lock eyes across the pitch.

“What? Flirt with me later, Potter, I’m trying to win!” you yell.

He’s got you transfixed, and it’s crazy how his timing is always wrong. You bat the bludger away from your captain but don’t notice James flying towards you to respond as you give it your hardest swing, making the impact against his huge target of a head all the more painful.

Holy shit, did you kill him?

He keels off his broom like a shot bird and then he’s falling, and you’re the one chasing the Gryffindor chaser as he flaps his arms like the idiot you know he is as you push forward to catch him before he splits his skull open.

“I’msofuckingsorryJamesareyouokay?” You blurt out as you land, soft hands moving over his broad chest and quickly swelling face. He’s wearing that stupid grin again, and you think you may have finally broken Gryffindor’s team captain.

“You know my name?” he sighs happily, comfortable in your lap and maybe it’s the brain damage you’ve caused him or the way his glasses are bent beyond repair but you will every magical predecessor you can think of to stop you from punching him in the face right now.

“Are you fucking dense?” You scream, shaking your head, and jostling him as his arms try to reach out to swipe the hair away from your face.

“Must’ve hit him so hard you knocked his filter loose..” Sirius muses after he lands next to you two on the grass.

“POTTER’S TAKEN A HIT FROM (Y/H) and it doesn’t look good ladies and gents! Gryffindor calls a timeout to check on their captain!” The announcer calls out, and there are so many eyes on the two of you as James is simply giggling like a prepubescent schoolboy. Fuck, you’ve maimed the golden boy.

“Y’know, sweetheart. You’re…really sexy when you’re on top of me like this,” he says breathily, and you really can’t hit him, so you jab Sirius in the gut instead when he tries to laugh at his best friend’s stupidity.

—

James wakes up in the hospital wing with a blinding headache until someone gently pulls the curtains closed, stroking the hair off his sweaty forehead.

“Poppy you always take such good care of me…” he mumbles. A punch lands on his chest and his eyes rip open, not expecting to see you at his bedside.

“Idiot,” you mutter. “You’re always in my way and now look, you almost got yourself killed and it would’ve been my fault! How dare you, James…” The red is crawling up your neck like a brushfire as you berate him, and he takes it with a grin as you jabber on, putting his arms behind his head.

“Were you worried about me, love?” James smiles cheesily, catching your arm at its half-hearted attempt to slap him across the face.

“I was not. Stubborn people like you are hard to kill. I’m more annoyed that I can’t morally punch your face in since you have a concussion. Madame Pomfrey’s already healed your cheekbone.”

“That you broke,” he says matter-of-factly, taking a chance to kiss the palm of your hand. This concussion is working like a bottle of Felix Felicis. It’s endearing to see you taking care of him, whether you like it or not (even with the punches he’s sure it’ll come with).

“You’re sick in the head.”

“For you. I was trying to come tell you that I never took my eyes off the prize, but then of course you bludgeoned my face in before I could get sweet on yo—”

Your lips crash down on his, and nothing about it is delicate. It’s a month’s worth of yearning, imaginations coming to fruition as he grabs the back of your head to deepen the embrace. Your lips on his are hot and heady, and he could be easily convinced that he’s stuck there, cauterized to the shape of you.

“I know. I could feel you watching.” You breathe into his mouth, leaning up on his chest. His lips chase up again to meet yours, biting down on your bottom lip as you groan. He might like that noise better than the sound of your laughter. It’ll be fun to find out.

“Who won the Cup?”

Laughter spills out of your red, kiss-swollen lips as you pat his cheek gently, fingers grazing over his healed cheekbone.

“Not Gryffindor. But listen closely James, if you be a good boy and get past this concussion, I’ll make up for it by showing you how well I ride…”

He likes the sound of that, Quidditch Cup be damned. You see, James Potter never loses, ladies and gentlemen, not really—and well... there’s always next year.

—

“I like the way

you look at me

like you are

going to talk to me

or devour me

and I am fine with either.”

-N.R. Hart

taglist: @jsjcue

#made by ma1dita ♥︎#marauders x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x reader #marauders era #james potter x you

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lady-lauren · 9 months

Text

Eye of the Storm

↬ Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

↬ Rating: Explicit, 18+ Only

↬ Word Count: 1.4k

↬ Warnings/Tags: Praise kink, body worship, mirror sex, use of “good girl”, a bit of overstimulation, Gojo is a definitely a simp, and Gojo is too pretty for his own good and so are you

↬ A/N: my first jump into jjk is Gojo and I’m not ashamed.

He is devastation—the icy bite of a raging blizzard, yet the blaze of a desert sun. There’s no escape from Satoru’s gaze, no rescue from his embrace. He sees all, feels all. And you are all he desires.

“Look at me, baby—watch me, that’s it, look at what I do to you.”

Slim fingers press into the plush of your cheeks, forcing you to gape into the full length mirror.

Satoru’s body is relentless behind yours, chest dewed with sweat as he grinds his cock into your gummy depths. You watch as his hand slides down your stomach, possessive and craving, pressing into your guts so he can feel himself inside you.

“This pretty body is mine, yeah?”

Every thrust of his hips has your knees sliding farther apart on the sheets, the force of the storm behind you overwhelming. His mouth is everywhere—tongue sliding over your shoulder, up your throat, lips trailing down your spine as he murmurs hushed praises into your skin.

“All I’ve ever wanted,” he whispers against your flesh, the fingers on your cheeks tightening selfishly.

Behind you is a man lost; he is greedy and giving, consumed by a lust you’ve long evaded.

Between the pleasurable spread of your cunt and the spray of snow-white hair against your sweaty skin, you see visions of the past. Satoru’s sloppy grin as he chases you around the grounds of Jujutsu High, the bright magenta of camellias in the wind as he prays for your attention. The desperate phone calls late at night still ring in your ears alongside his heady moans.

You always thought that he is too selfish, too egotistical to truly love someone aside from himself. He’s a taker, a gravity well of power and pride. So you’ve kept your distance, kept pushing him away out of fear of getting sucked into him, being used by him.

Only you’re so so fucking wrong.

The deft fingers swirling against your clit are begging for you to cum, for him to give you the stars and feel weightless in his arms.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you gasp, “don’t stop—please, S-Satoru…”

He wraps an arm around your waist, straightening your bodies until he’s practically bouncing you on the thickness of his cock. A flash of the sky appears over your shoulder, white lashes heavy with desire. His smile is lazy and full of delight.

“I’ll never stop. I’ve caught you now, sweet girl.”

You’re a fly in the spider’s nest, entangled by the long limbs of an insatiable predator.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful, you know that?” he breathes over the sound of his skin sliding against yours, your cunt gushing with every plunge of him inside of you. He’s in your throat, skating up your spine, sinking into every pore as he takes you, praises you.

Your bodies meld in the reflection, your hands in his hair, his arms a gilded cage around your curves. In your eyes, you’re a darkness to his shining light, fading against his luminance. How can he find you so beautiful against his brilliance?

His fingers brush against your clit just right, blurring the edges of your vision as you mewl and buck against him. Still, you can make out how his cock splits you apart, your pussy vulnerable to his onslaught.

“That’s it,” Satoru coos, “cum for me, let me see how pretty you are when you cum on my cock.”

He takes your bouncing tit in his free hand, squeezing the fat between his fingers and pebbling your nipple under his thumb. His eyes are catlike as he watches you—eager, ready, studying every twitch of your belly your cunt becomes over sensitive to his touch.

A gentle tug to your nipple has your back arching, the responsive nerves soaring like fire down your back, tingling your toes. The pads of his index and middle fingers are fierce against your slick pussy, pressing and circling your clit until it’s puffy and swollen.

“J-just like that, oh fuck me, you feel so good, so..so..” you drift off into the headspace of sex, bemused by the feel of him against you, pushing inside of you. His muscles are tensing against your back, his thighs hot against your own. His shoulders become a safe haven as you become fucked out, your head lolling against soft skin.

“Please,” he begs, lips kissing against your neck, “so perfect, so fucking perfect.”

He’s all consuming. The smell of him, syrupy and rich, vanilla and oak; the feel of him, lithe and brawny, soft and strong, the push and pull of tidal waves against the shore of your body.

You could get used to this—addicted to the praises of the most powerful sorcerer bleeding into your skin, wrapping around the visions of your bodies in the mirror like a vice.

“Love everything about you, baby, can’t believe I finally get to fuck you and feel this perfect cunt.”

The blushing shock shows on your face and he grins, rolling your clit faster until it nearly hurts.

He mouths to you in the mirror, his lips begging do it, do it, goading you to come undone.

You focus on the shape of his words, on the peek of his hips thrusting behind your own. Every muscle is defined, from his rounded biceps down to the sublime V cresting down to the thick cock spearing between your legs.

He is truly devastating as he makes you cum, quick fingers determined to keep you spiraling over the edge as his blue eyes shine with ecstasy. You convulse and choke on air, clamping onto his cock as your world goes white. Your body and mind hum against his praises into your hair. “Good girl, god so f-fucking good, so tight, oh my god…”

In your delirium, Saturo forces your body to the bed, spent hips in the air as he takes you from behind. Your neck cranes against the mattress, bleary eyes blinking toward the shapes in the reflection.

“Gonna make you do that again, baby girl. Wanna feel that pussy suck my cock.”

Strong hands grip into the meat of your ass as he pushes your body forward with every drive of his hips, your breasts bounding against the sheets.

“Satoru I…c-can’t, too full, too…” too everything.

Your senses are exploding and imploding at once, nerve endings shot and simultaneously feeling every small touch. You can count his fingertips digging into your skin, catch his sweat trickling down your spine, feel his cockhead bullying into your spongy depths. Your puffy pussy drags along his length with every plunge, the veins of his cock throbbing against your walls, pushing against your wetness.

Every time he groans, you taste sin, the deep sound vibrating in your belly.

“You can and you will.” A hand tangles at the nape of your neck, firm fingers ensuring your head is turned to watch him behind you, taking you, pleasing you.

“This pretty body was made for me, yeah,” he affirms, tugging on your hip until you're entirely arched to take him. His cock stretches you wider, fills you to the brim until you can no longer breathe. Saturo builds a fast, staccato rhythm, losing himself to the view of your bodies melting into one being. The dazzling sun eclipsing the moon, chasing a fevered high.

“Come on, baby, milk my cock, be a good girl.”

It takes the barest of touches to set you off again, just a few simple swirls of his thumb against your clit and you’re crashing, taking him with you.

Satoru hisses through his teeth as your cunt writhes against him, pumping like a heart and sucking his soul.

“Oh that’s it, baby, oh fuck.”

You watch his neck fall back as he unloads inside of you, brilliant blue eyes finally closing in absolution as he stills. Time slows as you take in the reflection of your overworked body still connected to his, cum spilling down your inner thighs as Saturo Gojo smiles at his handiwork. Your bodies are perfect together, meant to be together.

All too quickly, you find yourself empty on your back, staring into the sun of Saturo.

“You okay?” He barely gives you a chance to answer, eating your affirmative reply as he tastes your lips, licking between your teeth.

“You’re so pretty all fucked out,” he muses, kissing over your cheeks as you blink yourself back to life.

“Mhm, I’m not—”

“Oh yeah?” His brow quirks as he settles his hips between yours, slipping an arm around the small of your back. “Then we’ll try again.”

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk x you #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojou satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujutsu gojo #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #jjk imagine #jjk smut

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wheresarizona · 1 year

Text

Priorities

summary: When you left that morning, Javier looked so innocent tucked away in bed, passed out from working late the night before. Returning home, you’re not expecting the not-so-innocent sounds of him jerking off, and with the way he’s groaning your name, it’s to thoughts of you.

rating: E (18+!! This is smut. Established relationship, accidental voyeurism, mutual masturbation, masturbation (m & f), vibrator, vaginal fingering, dirty talk (he’s helping you get off), praise kink, panty sniffing, mentions of oral sex (f receiving), Javier being a bit needy, some feelings as a treat)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

word count: 1.8k+

a/n: Can be read as a standalone or part of the Learning to Live ‘verse (it’s canon). This was requested by the lovely @theorganasolo . Thank you, bestie. 😘 Shoutout to the love of my life @juletheghoul for betaing!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are very appreciated!

Comments are answered from my side blog, @wheresarizona-writes

Series Masterlist - Masterlist

The thing about living in southern Texas is that it’s warm the majority of the year, excruciatingly hot in summer, and come winter, you’re going to need a jacket.

For a Saturday in spring, the weather is nice and mild—not too hot, not too cold, leaving that morning in a pair of leggings, your jean jacket, and Javier snug under the blankets, passed out.

He’d come to bed late the night before, too busy spending hours sitting on the couch with files strewn all over the coffee table in a chaotic mess that didn’t seem to bother him, his reading glasses on, poring over the words on the pages with a furrow in his brow.

You’re not quite sure what’s going on at his job in the Sheriff’s office, but you can tell something is consuming him; he’s so focused, bringing work home with him for the past week, and you’ve only had sex a couple of times—well below average which is frustrating because he’s spoiled you so much with orgasms on the regular, that you’re needy and aching.

He knew you were going to breakfast with your friend, but you’d left him a note on your pillow as a reminder.

It’s been a couple of hours when you return home, sliding off your shoes by the front door, hanging up your jacket, and setting your purse on the console table in the entryway, your keys going in the large bowl where Javi’s were nestled on top of his wallet.

You’re quiet in case he’s still sleeping, stopping in your tracks when you hear a gentle groan slip through the crack in the bedroom door on your way to the kitchen. Your eyes go wide because it isn’t one of Javi’s back-aching-pain-groans; no, this was the sexier kind when he’s feeling really fucking good.

It happens again, your feet taking you closer to the door, hearing him say in a rough shuddering plea, “Cielito,” and your body heats, arousal curling in your gut, now able to make out the rhythmic wet sound of skin gliding along skin, interspersed with grunts, and muffled Cielitos.

Javi is jerking off to thoughts of you, and if it isn’t the most sexily romantic thing in the entire goddamn world.

You’re wet, your pussy throbbing in tune with your pounding heart, and it’s really doing it for you thinking about him getting himself off, knowing he wouldn’t mind you watching.

A very tortured groan of your name sounds, and it has such a razor-sharp spike of arousal cutting through you, you have to stifle a moan.

You need to see him, can’t wait any longer, pushing open the door, the large bed directly across from it, the bedding bunched at the end like he'd kicked it down.

His back is cushioned by pillows against the headboard, sitting up on your side of the bed, all of his golden skin on display—his legs are slightly spread, a big hand wetly stroking his thick cock, the other pressing what looks to be the panties you wore the previous day to his nose. You take him in, the sheen of sweat glistening on his chest and forehead, the beautiful flush climbing up his gorgeous neck, the gold band on his ring finger glinting in the light as his hand moves up and down.

Fuck, he’s a sight to behold, your heart hammering in your chest.

Heavy-lidded eyes meet yours, his rolling back in his head with a rumbling groan, his dick jerking. He tosses your underwear, stopping his ministrations while he breathes heavily, looking at you with lust-filled eyes, his voice rough as he speaks, “I fucking need you, baby.”

You suck in a breath, cunt clenching hard around nothing. There’s lube on the bedside table next to him, spotting a couple of the nude polaroids he’s taken of you and a small towel.

“You look like you’re doing a great job on your own,” you reply.

He’s squeezing the base of his cock to calm himself down, his throat working as he swallows hard.

“I want you.”

It sends a thrill through you. His dick is so hard the tip’s an angry red, precum steadily leaking from it.

You smile.

“Yeah? What’s got you so worked up?”

“Sex dream—fucking your ass, woke up horny, and you weren’t here.” His tongue quickly peeks between his lips. “Wanna fuck? Please?” He’s looking at you with rounded, hopeful eyes.

You step closer to the bed.

“I want to see you make yourself come.”

He frowns, the wheels turning in his head.

“Take off your clothes,” he rasps. “Get in here with me. I’ll fuck my hand if you play with your pretty pussy next to me, and we get off together.”

Your eyes dilate, your blood searing in your veins.

“Sold,” you reply, pulling off your shirt and letting it fall to the ground, your hands moving to unhook your bra. “I’m so fucking horny.”

His eyebrows crease, noticing your eagerness.

“Shit,” he whispers, realization dawning on him. “We haven’t fucked—”

“In three days,” you finish for him, shimmying out of your leggings and panties, kicking them off, and removing your socks. “You’ve been busy with work, and I didn’t want to bother you.”

His face pinches.

“Bother me? You’d never bother me. I love you. You’re my wife. Fuck, you’re so fucking wet it's dripping down your thighs.” He looks at you with pleading eyes. “Baby, let me make it up to you and really fuck you.”

You get onto the bed, your hands and knees sinking into the mattress as you crawl toward him.

“Nope,” you reply, getting between his legs. “I’m watching you jack off while I finger myself, and then you can fuck me.” Kissing him when you’re in his space, Javi moans into your mouth, the hand not touching his dick, cradling your jaw, loving the warmth of his broad palm on your face.

“We’re not leaving the bed all fucking weekend,” he murmurs into your lips.

“Thank god.”

He breaks the kiss looking you in the eyes, his dark with want.

“Use your vibrator—I’m not gonna last. Want you to come quick so I can eat your pussy.”

“Okay.” You nod, a shiver running through you at the thought of his mouth on you, reaching over him to get into the bedside table, pulling open the drawer, and taking out the small bullet vibe. Quickly kissing him, you shuffle to get over his leg to sit down beside him on his left side, Javi scooting closer so your bodies touch, feeling his warm skin against yours.

His head turns toward you, his hand grabbing your right leg to set it up over his knee, your other bent to spread yourself open.

He reaches across his body to palm your breast, his other slowly stroking himself, hearing the wet glide of his hand.

“Turn it on, baby,” he husks, rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers, making you gasp at the pleasure jolting to your center. “Want you to touch yourself.”

There’s a dull ache between your legs, the vibrator humming softly when you click it on.

“Put it on your clit,” he says.

Doing as he says, your eyes squeeze shut at the thrumming pulse that ignites sparks in your belly.

“That’s it, Cielito.” His voice has gone deeper, lower, his hand moving faster on his cock, pinching and teasing your stiff peak. “Rub it side to side—play with yourself.”

The gentle buzz, along with the motions, has sharp heat filling your core, feeling it spread up to your nipples, tightening them, soft sounds spilling from your lips. You look over to watch him working his cock, his hand twisting on the upstroke in practiced motions, it shiny from lube and precum.

“Feels so fucking good,” you moan.

Your orgasm is already making itself known, growing at the base of your spine, Javi breathing harder, low grunts coming from his throat.

“You’re doing so good, baby.” He presses his nose to your neck, breathing you in. “Can’t wait to get my mouth on you,” he groans. “Wanna taste you, feel you come on my tongue.” You see his dick twitch, precum dribbling from the tip. “Fuck, you taste so fucking good. Gonna eat your pretty little pussy until your legs are shaking.”

“God, Javi,” you gasp.

You’re getting closer and closer, the fire building and expanding in your center.

“Then I’m gonna fuck you,” he continues. The strokes of his hand getting wetter, moving quicker, hearing the slick slide. “Bury myself inside you, stretch open that tight little cunt. Start out slow, get you to beg me to go faster.” He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. “I know what you want, Cielito—you’ll want me to put you on your knees, fuck you hard and fast into the mattress to make sure you feel me tomorrow.”

You’re almost there. The end is in sight, you just need…

“Fingers,” you practically beg. “Need your fingers.”

“I’ve got you, baby.”

His hand moves from your breast to between your legs, pressing one thick finger into your soaked hole, moving in smoothly from your slickness, quickly pushing in another, moaning at the slight stretch and how he fills you, easing the ache.

You’re so close, his digits pumping in and out of you, arousal dripping out and around them, the muscles in your tummy tightening.

“I know you’re almost there,” he rasps. “You gonna come for me?”

An inferno is raging in your belly, your body clenching up, building higher and higher until you’re coming with a cry of his name, euphoria washing through your veins.

“That’s my good girl, fuck—“ a strangled groan comes from him, his body stiffening beside you, watching him fall over the edge, ropes of his come spurting onto his stomach and over his hand.

You’re both panting, Javi nuzzling his face against your cheek, turning off the vibrator and letting it fall onto the bed.

“Feel better?” you ask after catching your breath a minute later.

“Mmm, yeah,” he replies dreamily, moving his head to kiss your lips. “I’ll feel even better when I get my face between your thighs.”

“You need to eat breakfast,” you giggle, pulling away.

“I need to eat your pussy.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He turns the other way to grab the towel from the table, going about wiping himself clean.

“I’m not ridiculous,” he says.

“Uh huh,” you reply, not sounding convinced.

He drops the towel onto the floor, the bed jostling as Javi moves, letting out a back-aching-pain-groan as he gets himself settled on his stomach between your legs—his hands keeping your thighs spread, resting his chin on your mons, looking up at you with big eyes.

“I’m your husband.”

You smile.

“Yes, you are,” you agree, stroking your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “My insatiable husband.”

He smiles. “You’re my insatiable wife, who only needs to ask, and she can have my dick anytime she wants.”

Your eyebrow rises.

“Promise?”

There’s a smirk under his perfectly trimmed mustache.

“Oh, yeah,” he answers. “Getting my dick wet takes precedence over work—You take precedence—Always, Cielito.”

“Nice save.” You grin.

“I love you.”

And from the look on his face, you know it’s true, making you go all gooey.

“I love you, too.” Watching as he happily buries his face in your pussy.

Series Masterlist - Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

Tagging: @nicolethered @lola766 @nessamc @vanemando15 @fiscinthirst @melancholyy-hill @hnt-escape @sherala007 @jadesabre83 @rainbeaubrightchild @blub-senpai @pedrohoe04 @theherothesavior @captain-creampuff @javiersjeans s @zetasaturno99 @amb11 @lovedbyth3sun @siidereeus @marvelousmermaid @mrszdjarin @themarcusmoreno @woomen23 @ms-loverman-066 @star-wars-fan-2005 @kissing-stars @chloeinpink @notyourlovemonkey @unofficialavenger90 @fictionismyreality @sheetsof-lennon @damnyoupedro @katareyoudrilling @iamskyereads @enjoyourlattebitch @daddydindjarin @absurdthirst @kirsteng42 @littlemisspascal @athalien @thevoiceinyourheadx @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @mswarriorbabe80 @hansolosleftbuttcheek @deadhumourist

#pedro pascal #javier peña #javier peña/reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #wheresarizona writes #learning to live series

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comatosebunny09 · 10 months

Text

firestarter | leon k.

genre(s): romance, friends to lovers, angst warning(s): mutual pining, language, self-loathing, steaminess, terms of endearment (sweetheart), hurt feelings summary: “gimme a color,” he husks, his lips pressed to your neck as if to siphon the warmth from your skin. as if you could, his fingers tip-toeing down your sternum, stealing all coherency from your mind. music inspo: friends with benefits - tory lanez vete - bad bunny come alive - jackson wang notes: takes place in the same verse as kindle. thanks for reading, lovely! ❤️❤️❤️ part 2 coming soon!

It isn’t so much that you’ve been avoiding him. You just haven’t been able to look your partner in the eye since. Well …

The dreams started.

They began innocently enough. Sweet as cotton candy, soft like cashmere. Filled with gentle kisses and coos of I adore you pressed into the crown of your head as he stroked your back and held fast to you like you’d disappear in a plume of smoke if he let go.

However, your recent visions have taken a more sinful turn. Saturated with hot and furtive breaths against your neck and a hard, sweltering body anchoring yours to your mattress. With hands always so big, sending electricity pulsing through your extremities as they mapped out the contours of your body, stroking your thighs apart. And that goddamn smirk.

You shiver at the recollection, nearly dropping the manilla folders in your saturated palms.

Fuck. Maybe you have been avoiding him.

You chew on your lip while the carpeted floor swallows the sounds of your footsteps. Heart sits in your throat, anxiety spuming through you like a geyser as you near his office.

Leon had requested your presence earlier. Wanted to get to the bottom of your evasiveness. Was wary as he asked, placing a careful hand on the small of your back whilst you mulled over some paperwork. And naturally, you jumped some fifty feet out of your skin as if it were the first time he ever touched you—the dejected look on his face is permanently ingrained in your mind, causing you to sigh.

You’ve been jittery like this for weeks now. Been months since you and your partner regarded your relationship as anything but platonic. Because, of course, it isn’t normal for two friends to hold hands and cuddle and kiss with tongue like longtime lovers. And it for damn sure isn’t common for one friend to fantasize about the other. About their fingers and mouth and breath patterning the skin between their thighs, and—

You shake your head to ward off your reveries as the chilly metal of the door handle finds your palm. Heaving a breath, you prepare yourself for the inevitable. The inquisitive looks and prying questions. Leon can be infuriatingly persistent when he wants to be. He wouldn’t be your partner otherwise. Wouldn’t have wormed his way into your heart if not for that tenacity.

You cautiously twist the doorknob, the swell of noise from the agency fading into a dull murmur as you quietly shut the door behind you.

Of course, Leon would be seated at his desk, looking like a goddamn Adonis. Poring over some reports, concentration etched onto his features. Hair combed back in that way that makes your knees weak, tie loosened.

The soft click of his door shutting captures his interest. A smile instantaneously touches his lips, wide like he’s the proverbial kid in a candy store, and you’re the jawbreaker he’s been blessed with the rare privilege of tasting.

“Hey, you,” Leon greets, the low gravel of his voice reserved only for you.

Your back finds the glacial wood of the door, the folders clasped to your bosom as you look everywhere else but at your partner. Shiver when you feel his gaze sinking into you, stripping you down to the marrow, leaving you naked and exposed. “You wanted to see me?” you murmur, wishing you could melt into the floor.

Leon’s responding chuckle sifts through your bones. Heat overwhelms your cheeks, your heart working overtime. “What is this, a State of the Union Address?” He pokes at your formality, clearly knowing something’s amiss. The sound of his chair rolling and the rustling of fabric piques your ears. “Com’ere,” he husks, motioning to you in your peripheral, leant on the front edge of his desk.

You peer at your partner for the first time in what feels like eons. Ingest the boyish crinkle of his eyes and the muscles of his arms threatening to spill from his button-up. You swallow past the sand collecting in your throat. Drop your shoulders, conceding to your fate. Reluctantly pad over to him, the walk feeling like it stretches for miles. You take up the space he pats beside him, apprehension curdling in your chest.

The harsh edge of the oakwood digs into your buttocks. Keeps you somewhat grounded as you ingest the scent of teakwood and Bourbon, and fuck him for smelling so good. For feeling so good, the heat of his body permeating your attire, pooling in your loins. His pinky grazes the bone of your hip. A gesture of affection that causes you to jerk away from the static it invokes, sliding further toward the other end of the desk.

His expression is incredulous in the corner of your eye. A mixture of hurt and irritation swimming beneath the bows of his steely blues. “Okay,” Leon sighs after some time spent in rigid silence, folding his arms over his chest. You flinch at the weightiness of his voice. At the disappointment laced within, shrinking like a scolded child. “What’s goin’ on?” Never one to beat around the bush, always straight to the point.

Feigning innocence, ignoring the waver of your tone. “What do you mean?”

Another sigh. Another rustle. Eyes scanning over you beneath furrowed brows and dispiritedness. “C’mon,” Leon murmurs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague.” The pressure surrounding you shifts whilst Leon angles himself closer, willing you to just fucking look at him. Sounds wounded as he asks, “Did I do somethin’ to piss you off?”

You scoff aloud, more upset with yourself than anything. Of course not, you will your mouth to utter. Never. But these stupid dreams make it hard to look at Leon. To stare at those sinful lips and those work-worn fingers and—

“No, Lee,” you exhale. Feel his body relax at the use of his nickname. His gaze never falters, and you have this gnarling feeling in your gut that he won’t let you leave until you open up. With a surge of confidence, you look at him. Absorb the puppyish pout of his mouth and his hands twitching to touch you. To coax out your confession and stroke your downy skin.

You gnaw on your bottom lip. It’s now or never, says the distant throb in your temples.

“You haven’t … done anything wrong, Lee. I just … I’ve been having these … weird dreams about you.” Though meager, you’re relieved that your voice decided to work.

“Dreams, huh?” Leon taps his chin, your words churning through the cogs of his brain. He relents a throaty chuckle to the air after a beat, his muscles easing as he crosses one leg over the other. Cutely cocks his head to the side, saying, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about me, sweetheart. You know I’m too stubborn to die.” Accents his words with a playful jab to your cheek.

An icy thrill shoots through your center. You’re not sure if Leon’s being intentionally oblivious or if he’s truly unaware of the weight of your words. “N-no, Lee,” you stammer, glancing at your feet. The cardstock of the folders bites into your palms as you strangle them for dear life. Try again. “I have dreams about you. Like, dream dreams.”

You can practically hear the gears turning in his head. See the confusion clinging to his visage, eventually morphing into realization. Leon’s mouth forms around a silent ‘o’. He blinks rapidly, dispelling the fog from his mind, his expression stunned as he beholds you again.

“Oh! Oh.”

You’re acutely aware of your surroundings in the following stillness. The distant buzz of your coworkers. The tick-tock of the clock mounted on his wall. The bob of Leon’s Adam’s apple as he swallows thickly, and the uptick of your heartbeat in your ears as his eyes skitter away from yours.

You shut your lids against the epinephrine flooding your bloodstream. Feel so very stupid for opening your mouth, knowing damn well your relationship hasn’t reached that threshold of intimacy yet. That making love to you probably hasn’t even crossed his mind.

Sure, you adore your partner. Would rearrange the moon and stars for him if he asked. But you’ve intentionally moved at a snail’s pace, fearful of scaring him off. He’s confided in you before that he’s been broken. Used for his status, his money, his body. You want him to know your feelings are real. That the gentle stroke of your fingers through his hair is sincere, and the emotions you pour into his mouth as you kiss him so eagerly are raw and genuine.

Feeling you’ve overstayed your welcome, you clear your throat and begin smoothing out the wrinkles of your clothing. “I should get going. Gotta get ready for my next mission,” you quietly venture, straightening up. An assignment of reconnaissance on your own, much to your dismay. It may be a blessing in disguise, given that Leon still won’t look at you. You don’t think you could bear another moment of this, feeling as if you’ve thoroughly fucked up whatever blooms between you.

Your steps are soundless as you meander toward the entrance of his office. A cloud of despondency and drooping shoulders, reaching for the handle.

“Wait,” Leon cautions at your back, halting your escape. There’s a tenderness to his timbre buried beneath a current of hesitation. An inkling of his usual smugness. An attempt at normalcy despite the uncomfortable air swelling between you. “Can I come see you when you get back?”

Your vision ebbs in and out of focus. Eyes glass over, teeth grit. You’re appreciative that he doesn’t try to pursue it. “Sure,” you offer whilst the door slides open. Before Leon can splinter your heart any further, you disappear behind the door, your hands shaky and your stomach aching with indescribable pressure.

You really fucked this one up, huh? You berate yourself on the way to the armory, the sight of a dumbfounded Leon still burned into your brain.

part 2 [ incomplete ] >>

#leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon x fem reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy x female reader #resident evil 4 x reader #re4 x reader #kindle series

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wh0re43van · 6 months

Text

Sparks (Evan Peters X Reader)

Summary: You’re a set director on American horror story’s Freakshow. Evan has been trying to convince you to ‘smoke and chill’ for months, but you’ve always rejected him in fear of jeopardizing your job. After a particularly stressful shoot, Evan finally convinces you to spark with him.

Warnings: intense smut, face fucking, choking, drug use.

Word count: 3k

A/n: This is my first time writing in awhile so I’m bit rusty

"Hey y/n I just re-upped,” Evan announces as he walks up behind me. “He's got the best homegrown around and It's cured perfect every time. Come to my place tonight and I'll let you sample," He offers as he slips an arm around my shoulder. "You don't even have to match, just give me something else in return," he says lowly in my ear. My heart skips a beat and my cheeks blush red. Evans been blatantly flirting with me since we started shooting. It's been my own personal hell having to reject such a perfect man because its 'not professional to have personal relations with the cast'.

"Evan," I sigh as I look up at his dark eyes. "I honestly would love to-" he cuts me off.

"Then consider it y/n," he simply states. I smile at him. I have to admit that he's starting to wear me down

"Evan, I have to finish my walk through before the shooting starts" I turn back to the counter to consult my mockup. He backs up and leans against the wall.

"I’ll just keep you company then," he grins.

•

‘Fuck’ I curse internally as I run from a very angry Mr. Murphy. One of my idiot crew members forgot to do their only job and set out the menus for the next scene. We’re an hour behind on filming and we’re only here for three days. The director is pissed to say the least.

I throw open the door to the storage room and start ripping open boxes. I swear I'm going to lose every last ounce of sanity I have left. We started shooting two hours ago and I've rolled my ankle, got broken glass stuck in my hand, and of course, been bitched at constantly.

"Did you find them?" Evan questions as he closes the door behind him.

"What?" I ask, not processing what he's saying as I rip haphazardly through every single cardboard box in this room, brown paper flying everywhere.

"Did you-" He begins to repeat, then pauses. I feel him grab my arm gently, stopping my whirlwind of motion. "Y/N," he says calmy.

"What Evan?" I snap at him. I can feel the stress dripping out of every pore of my body. Turns out stress smells a lot like sweat. Evan jumps a bit at my tone, then simply points his 'lobster claw' to a box of pink menus that I opened without even realizing it. I was so stressed and overwhelmed I didn't even realize I found the goddamn menus four boxes ago.

I groan and lay my head on Evans chest.

"I'm such a fucking stupid idiot." I mumble his white shirt, feeling tears well up in my eyes. Evan chuckles and clumsily lifts my chin up with his makeup bound hands. His smile immediately drops when he sees my face.

"Hey y/n don't cry," he coos, his voice laced with concern.

"Evan I'm losing my mind," I sniffle as he pulls me into a hug.

"You know what you need?" He asks I shake my head 'yes.'

"A blunt." We both say in unison. I feel his cheek stretch into a smile against mine, proud of himself for finally convincing me.

•

My hand shakes as I ring the doorbell to Evans hotel room.

“Ma’ Lady,” Evan bows as he opens the door for me. What a dork.

“Thank you good sir,” I attempt a curtsy as I walk in. I guess were both dorks.

We chuckle as he latches the door behind me.

“Right this way,” he ushers me to his balcony looking over the city. I step out onto the cool concrete, hearing Heaven Beside You by Alice in Chains playing. There's two bean bag chairs set up with a bundle of blankets on each one. Purple and white string lights hang all around the ceiling and railing of the small balcony.

“Wow Evan, this is really cool. I’m impressed with how you spend your free time,” I admit, sitting down in one of the chairs, pulling a blanket into my lap.

“Actually,” he sits down in the chair beside me as he picks up the rolling tray. “I’ve never done this before. I set all of this up as soon as I got home,” he chuckles.

“I don’t even know what to say,” I tell him honestly. I’m dumbfounded. This might seem like a small gesture, but this is one of the sweetest things anyone’s done for me. He went out of his way just for me.

“Then don’t say anything. Just grab me that bong,” he grins, pointing to the glass sitting on the ground next to the door. I stand up and bend over to pick up the simple clear bong, feeling Evans gaze burn into the back of me. When I hand him the piece, I get close enough to his face to see that his eyes are already glossy.

“Evan Peters,” I tisk. “did you start with out me?” I ask putting my hand to my chest in faux offense.

“I was a little nervous, I’ve been waiting for this for so long… I was scared if I was sober I’d mess it up,” he admits. His pale cheeks tinting pink.

“I’m flattered,” I smile. He opens the metal grinder sitting on his lap and begins to pack the bowl. “but it is rude to start a sesh before your guest arrives.” He hands me the packed bong.

“Well how’s bout you get this all to yourself and we call it even,” he wagers. I take the bong with a smile, accepting his offer. As I put the cool glass to my lips, I reach for the lighter on Evans thigh, but he snatches it, looking me in the eyes as he flicks the zippo, igniting a hot bright flame that he circles around the bowl. He begins to pull the flame away, but I grab his hand to hold the light in place for a couple more seconds. His eyes widen a bit and he smiles.

“Damn I’m glad I didn’t want any,” he chuckles, finally pulling away to spark his own joint. I pull the stem and inhale the milky smoke sharply, holding it in my lungs for bit before exhaling slowly. The smoke clouds around my face before a small gust of wind disperses it.

“Yeah, me to,” I grin softly as Evan takes another hit off his joint. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but with the past few weeks I’ve had, I’m goanna need a lot more than some weed to recover from all this stress,” I take another hit and lay my head back in the soft chair, finally feeling my muscles relax as the golden light flows through every nerve of my body. I turn my head and open my heavy eyes to look up at Evan.

“Wow that is bad,” he says, staring at something in the distance. I take this moment to truly admire the man beside me. The purple lights cascade onto his sharp features, violet pin pricks reflect in his coffee-colored eyes. The wind blows his loose brown curls around on his forehead as a rough hand holds the paper filter up to his pink lips. The end of the cone glows crimson as his chest rises, taking in a hit of hot smoke. Evan looks down at me to finish his thought. Had I been sober, I would have quickly looked away. But right now, nothing could tear my eyes from this perfect image in front of me. Evans’ eyes lock into mine as he releases the smoke slowly out through his mouth and nose. “Y/n, I-“ he begins, but before he can finish, I sit up and pull his face into mine. Gently kissing him, the smell of smoke mixed with his cologne is intoxicating all on its own. He tenses for a moment, processing what had just happened, before putting his hand on my back to bring me closer.

“I’m sorry,” I pull away suddenly feeling embarrassed for being so forward. Evan looks at me with wide eyes and flushed cheeks for a second before furrowing his brow,

“Are you kidding me,” ashes fall from his joint onto his pants, reminding him of its presence. He takes small drag before finishing. “That’s all I’ve wanted since the moment I saw you.” I smile at his confession. He holds the joint to my lips offering me a hit. We hold eye contact as I pull the smoke into my mouth, then to my lungs. “You’re beyond beautiful y/n,” he compliments. I lean into kiss him, shot gunning the smoke to him. He kisses hard and inhales the smoke as if it’s his last breath. He sits the joint in the ash tray then puts his hand on the back of my head, gently but firmly, so I don’t pull away this time, Evan exhales the smoke though his nose, so he doesn’t have to break the kiss. I clumsily crawl into his lap to straddle him, and his hands instinctively grab my ass. The heat from his hands warming me through the thin fabric of my leggings. I feel hungry, starving for more and more of him. As my knees sink into the soft chair around him, I begin to grind my hips against his.

“Evan,” I breath out, begging to feel more of his skin on mine. He looks at me with lust filled eyes and kiss bruised lips as I begin to lift his shirt up. He grabs my hand gently.

“Let’s go inside, darling,” he whispers. “You never know if one of those creeps are near by.” He looks around, checking for paparazzi. I was puzzled for a second, before remembering Evans’ status. I nod and climb off him. He stands, his dark jeans tented at the crotch and his white t-shirt rising and falling quickly on his chest. He grabs my hand to guide me inside.

“Can’t forget this,” I grin, stopping to grab a fresh blunt and the zippo. He chuckles as I spark the cone. He pulls me into his lounge, locking the door and closing the blinds. After I had a few hits, I hand the joint to Evan as I sit down on the leather couch.

“We don’t have to do anything more than this if you don’t want y/n,” he almost whispers through the smoke, sitting down next to me. I look into his desperate eyes as he hands me the warm paper.

“Please,” I inhale. “Please Evan I need you,” I beg the stoned man in front of me. With that, in one swift move, he takes the cone from my hand, putting it on the side table ash tray, removes his shirt and smashes his lips to mine, laying me down on the sofa. His kisses trail from my lips to my ear. Grabbing my throat gently he whispers. “You have no idea how desperate I am for you,” all I can do is moan in response my brain too high off THC and lust to form a coherent thought. His kisses continue trailing down my neck as his fingers work with the buttons on my black flannel. He smiles like a child when he sees that I have nothing underneath the warm button up. His mouth quickly drops to one breast swirling his warm tongue around as his hand massages my other breast, sending me into a fit of pleasure. After giving the same treatment to the other side, he rips off my leggings. He grabs the waistband of my thong. “May I?” he asks with heavy bloodshot eyes.

“Please,” I nod. He wastes no time removing the flimsy fabric and spreading my already trembling legs. He dips a long finger into my heat, groaning at how slick I already am.

“All this, just for me?” He licks the fluid off his finger, just to dip it back inside of me and out once more. “Have a taste baby,” he reaches his finger up and I close my mouth around it, licking seductively, making sure to keep eye contact.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself. “Good girl,” he praises with a kiss on my nose. He quickly dips his head back down, licking from my entrance up to my clit, sucking and licking with expertise, earning a loud moan and a string of profanities from me. I quickly feel my orgasm building in my stomach, but its not enough.

“Evan, I need you to fuck me, please,” I whimper. He pulls his head up, his mouth and chin shimmering. I definitely didn’t need to ask twice. He jumps up dropping his pants and boxers allowing his perfect cock to spring free, giving himself a few good pumps. I shiver at the sight. Evan dips his head down to my core one last time, giving me a kiss then allowing a trail of warm spit to drip down and trickle to my entrance. The sight is enough to make me melt into this sticky leather couch. Evan lines his length up with me, pulling my hips up and guiding me onto his dick. Slowly filling me, stopping halfway in allowing me to adjust, but I don’t want it. I buck my hips forward, making him bottom out immediately. A string of curses leaves both our lips as he pokes at my stomach from the inside. He begins thrusting quickly, taking the hint that I’m not wanting to make love tonight. Evans’ toned body begins to shimmer with sweat as he brings a strong hand to my throat squeezing the sides, making me just lightheaded enough to intensify the pleasure. He looks down at me, biting his lip, as he watches my face contort in pleasure from what he’s doing to me. The louder I moan, the harder he pounds into me. My breathing starts to hitch with each thrust as I clench around him.

“Evan I’m going to-” before I can finish my sentence, he pulls out completely, making me groan from the sudden empty feeling. I curse and open my mouth to question him.

“Turn over,” he demands as he stands up. I obey and begin to shift on the couch. “hands and knees.” He specifies, slapping me hard on the ass, I cant help but giggle as the sting lingers on my sweaty skin. I prop myself up on my forearms on the arm of the couch and spread my legs, wiggling my ass a bit as wait for Evan to fill me back up.

“Your body is so perfect,” he says as grabs and kisses my ass before I feel him line himself up again, quickly thrusting in to satisfying the ache in the empty space he left behind in my stomach. Once he finds his rhythm, I feel his hand snake around my throat and the other around my torso as he pulls me flush against him. My shoulders press against his as I arch my back. In this new potion, he hits my g spot perfectly.

“Shit Evan! Yes please,” I pant. “just like this. Please fuck me just like this! Don’t stop,” I plead as I squeeze his strong arms that are wrapped around me. Even groans lowly at the praise.

“I need you to cum y/n,” he whispers in my ear, reaching down to rub circles on my clit. “Can you do that for me, gorgeous?” All I can do is moan and nod my head ‘yes’. His thrust propels me towards my orgasm as I scream out profanities. “That’s it, good girl,” his hot breath moans into my ear laced with the smell of stale smoke. I curl my toes and grip his forearms with all my force, leaving nail marks as my whole body tenses, then releases in pleasure.

“Evan I’m cumming!” My screams and the sound of our skin slapping together fill the room. “Fuck you make me feel so good,” I whimper as he begins to slow down his thrusts, allowing me to ride out my high.

“Good job baby,” he pulls out, pumping himself. “now get on your knees. Open your mouth.” I quickly obliged. I drop down and look up at him. The sight of his heaving, glistening chest and his brown curls sticking to his red sweaty face is enough to make me orgasm all over again. He reaches his veiny arm down and pulls my hair into a ponytail and. I happily open my mouth for him as he gently taps his rock hard tip on my lips, I moan quietly as he begins to slowly thrust in my face. I take it upon myself to press his dick as far as I can down my throat, gagging as my nose touches his abdomen.

“Holy fucking shit baby,” he pants out, now fucking my face. It doesn’t take long before he’s twitching in my deep in my throat and the salty pre cum drips into my mouth. “That’s it baby, fuck,” he swears as he grips my hair so hard I can feel a few strands snapping. It takes all of my strength to pull my head a away.

“Cum on my face, please Evan,” I gasp for breath, looking up at him with tears running from my pink eyes, as thick strands of spit string from my lips to his perfect dick. With a few pumps, and his death grip still on my hair, I open my mouth and hum in satisfaction as he releases his strings of hot liquid all over my face. He groans and curses, finally releasing my hair.

“Fuck y/n,” he sighs, looking down at the beautiful mess he’s created on my face. He brings his thumb to my mouth scooping up some of his cum and bring it to my lips. I smile around his thumb, lapping up all the liquid. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are,” he looks at me with such strong admiration in his eyes, I can’t help but blush as I lay my head into the hand he puts on my cheek. “Lets get you into the shower,” he begins guides me to the bathroom but I stop him.

“Don’t you want a cigarette first” I offer, grabbing the menthols from my flannel pocket. He grins. “Well, I’m not going to ever turn down a cigarette after sex that good,” he looks at the state of my face again. “But let me at least wipe off your face first. It’s the least I could do.” I giggle as he walks over to get a wet rag. This is absolutely worth risking my job for.

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dearsnow · 10 months

Text

TWO MONTHS

- work is taking a heavy toll on your boyfriend. (patrick verona x gn!reader, angst and slight fluff, established relationship)

word count: 657

a/n - another patrick fic :) i love him so much it’s not even funny. he’s my current hyperfixation- that being said, to all my patrick lovers out there, i’m planning a 3 part series for him <3 it’s called the summer before senior year and hopefully i get around to finishing it lol

Patrick closes the door to your apartment with a heavy sigh. The day rests heavily on his hunched shoulders, leaking through his pores as grease and dejection. You stir from your place on the couch. It’s 12:24 AM, and he is just returning from work. His hair is messy, tied up in a frizzy ponytail, and his eyes hold no sparkle. He doesn’t look like himself anymore. Your brows furrow, the weight of his condition nearly bringing tears to your eyes.

“Pat, it’s past midnight.” You murmur, reaching up to cradle his face in your hands. There is a smudge of dirt on his face, which you wipe away with delicate fingers. He melts under your touch. “This isn’t healthy.” He takes both of your hands in his, kissing each one gently.

“I have to.” He grimaces. “Rent’s gone up, baby. You know that.” You lead him to your bed. The sheets are messy, as they always are. In his exhaustion, he does not care; not like he ever did, anyways. “The boys at the car shop offered me this, and I took it.” It hurts you so badly to see him like this. He seems flat, dull, lifeless. Nothing like the Patrick you met, and nothing like you ever wish him to be again. You need him to be happy. He deserves it, if nothing else. He deserves everything good- he deserves the sunshine and tender love and a quiet kiss of calm, but you can only offer him so much.

He lays back, and you pull the sheets over his chest. “I can take a second job.” You say, tracing circles on his chest. He’s too tired to take off his clothes, and you won’t force him to. He’ll be out of the house by 5:00, and he needs all the sleep he can get. He shakes his head at your suggestion, looking at you with soft eyes.

“You have college and the diner already. You’re stretched as thin as you can be.” He whispers, threading his hand through yours again.

“I still have free hours. Not much, but enough to get you some proper rest.” You manage to say. The bags under his eyes speak for themselves. He’ll end up dead if he keeps working like this. You can’t do this without him, any of it. If he dies, if he ends up in some hospital being fed by the few coins you have left dripping through his veins, you wouldn’t be able to handle it. You would gladly work every hour of every day just to see him healthy again. That isn’t realistic, though, and you know it. He’ll never let you take on that burden. You love him for it, but sometimes, his stubborn nature takes hold of him.

“No. This works, what we’re doing. We’ll be fine.” His voice is scratchy and low, but with just enough force to let you know he means it. When he looks at your face, eyes shining with unshed tears, his heart shatters. He kisses your hands again. “I promise, baby, we’ll be out of this soon enough. In two months we’ll have the money to take a break for a little bit. I’ll work lighter hours and we might even have enough saved to take you out on a proper date.” He smiles. You laugh quietly, though the sound is choked. Hot tears force themselves out of your eyes.

“Two months.” You repeat. He nods. “Two long ass fucking months.”

He starts to laugh, slowly at first, until you join. You wrap your arms around him as you giggle into his chest, and his whole body is shaking with the force of his snickering.

“Two goddamn bitches of months.” He offers, still grinning like a madman. He laughs, and you laugh in his arms, and for the first time in a long time, you think that things might end up working out.

Taglist (misc): @skeletonfromthecloset

#solar eclipse.#patrick verona #patrick verona x reader #patrick verona imagines #10 things i hate about you #10tihay #x reader #heath ledger #fanfic #fanfiction

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inbabylontheywept · 10 months

Text

"I think we underestimated the human population by eight or nine orders of magnitude."

The war room was reeling. The human population had been estimated in the mere hundred billion range. They should barely have had enough of an economy to field two light cruisers, least of all the goddamn armada that was ravaging the inner worlds. After the alpha strike, the human flotilla should’ve been completely crippled. Instead the number of ships they were fielding kept growing.

Tan-Hauser was the first target struck by a human attack, and they reported seventeen craft before they lost comms. Attican was hit just three days after that, but their reports already showed numbers above ninety. Any doubts that the fleet was growing were eliminated when Outpost Batan reported 1,217 FTL pings two days before the loss of Kira.

The number reported was so big it was written off as a sensor malfunction. Twenty-five billion souls lost, all because nobody in the war room could face reality.

They were going to face it now. The Kirarian in front of them was the primary sensor engineer for the Batan outpost, a specialist with more expertise in analyzing space lanes than warships. He’d been up for at least the last two days, poring over the sensor data, and only now was ready to begin to share his findings.

From the pain in his multifaceted eyes, it was clear he was still reeling from the loss of his homeworld.

Seeing that he had the room’s attention, he began to speak. The translation units each member of the war council had implanted experienced a moment of lag as they struggled to convert the almost musical tonal humming of the Kirarian tongue to more common galactic speech.

"The simplest data that can be analyzed from an FTL ping is the distance that the ship traveled before dropping to sublight. The contracted space in front of the craft traps small particles, even light itself for a short period, compressing its wavelength and then releasing it when the field disengages."

The war room nodded along. The explanation was mildly technical, but anyone that had traveled on an FTL shuttle before knew the hazards of exiting FTL directly in front of your home destination. Blasting your home station with a wave of alpha, beta, and ultraviolet rays was hardly a warm welcome.

The engineer continued.

“The… issue with this is that we’re used to the majority of the ping being in the UV spectrum. We aren’t entirely sure what the spectrum of the signals we got from the ships were because Batan station can only detect up into the low gamma range, but that’s still what the majority of the human’s FTL pings were detected in. That’s at least ten billion times the frequency that we’re used to. Since the frequency of the burst can be roughly modeled by multiplying the mean radiation per unit distance by the length of the path, that implies one of two things: That the human ships are either traveling through areas with ten billion times the standard background flux, or that they are traveling extragalactic distances.”

The engineer paused for a few seconds at that statement. The pain of loss still shone in his gemstone eyes, but something more immediate was beginning to take center stage: Fear.

“Because the craft is essentially throwing… well, normally it would be the next three or four days worth of cosmic background radiation at you. In our case it’s more like several decades. But because it’s just giving you an advance on your normal cosmic background radiation, you can track the void in the next several days' worth of background noise to determine the ship's approach vector. The 1,217 crafts that arrived weren’t coming from the same spot. There were actually hundreds of converging vectors, but more importantly…”

He trailed off, a small 3D model of the local space appearing in the center of the holo table. A spiked ball of vectors protruded from the galactic disk, each piercing cleanly through his former homeworld.

His voice cracked a little, the hum turning into a hiss. The translator tech paused a moment too, struggling to convey the subtle emotional cues into the message.

“They’re all coming off the galactic disk. That doesn’t just mean that we’re surrounded, that doesn’t just mean that we’re outnumbered… It means that each attack that we’ve seen up to this point is from an entirely separate group. What we’ve been mistaking for fleets, I believe, are simply the beginning trickles of their exploratory forces. Each of the sites that they’ve targeted hasn’t been of significant strategic importance; they’ve just been sites with unusually strong output signals. I think they’re just using our transmission stations as makeshift beacons for their FTL jumps." He took a deep breath to steady himself before providing his final thought. "I think we underestimated the size of the human population by eight or nine orders of magnitude.”

There was a heavy silence in the war room as that last sentence was processed. The engineer was already out the door before he heard the panic begin to set in.

Part of him felt a little guilty. It would’ve probably been kinder for them to go out not knowing what was about to hit them. Still, it wasn’t often you could force people with this much power to realize that they’d just lost everything.

There was a bitter satisfaction in that.

#hfy #humanity fuck yeah #humans are space orcs #science fiction #we are the swarm #scifi #writing #writblr #we are the cosmic horror #The goal was to imply that we have colonized hundreds of other galaxies

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love-toxin · 1 year

Note

I’d have so goddamn many of Luis’ babies istg. Resident evil is just zombies with a generous ✨sprinkling✨ of bisexual propaganda

ok ur so right!!!!! but you just put baby fever luis in my brain and now ur gonna have to deal with the consequences also </3

(cws: fem!reader, baby fever luis, pregnancy, mentions of childbirth, breeding kink)

Clearly Luis likes to paint himself as a ladies' man, but unlike the typical charismatic bachelor, he's definitely got one thing holding him back from that luxuriously free lifestyle: when he's with the right person he's got baby fever like you wouldn't believe, and it never really goes away.

It always starts slow with that initial conversation of "so how do you feel about kids?" and a positive answer may as well be a proposal to Luis when it comes to you. He starts making offhand comments about seeing the cutest baby in the park the other day or mentioning that the schools are enrolling for kindergarten this month, and "wouldn't it be nice if we had our own..." like the hints he was dropping before just weren't enough. Because then he's fantasizing about what your kids would look like and even busts out all that research on genetics he's done just for fun, illustrating what kind of genes your children might get from each of you and how adorable they would look with your features put together.

And obviously you get to hold it over him if he's being a menace on occasion. Luis might be bothering you about something or disappearing at random to go play hero again, and all it takes to rein him in is you wondering aloud about whether or not you could really trust him to be a good father. And he'll come racing in with reassurances that he is! He will be! Just give him a chance, mi amor, and he'll show you he can be the best father you've ever seen--if he could figure out how, he would even carry the baby for you just to save you the physical toll of childbirth and postpartum. He wants one so badly but at the same time, he understands the trials and tribulations of carrying a child to term better than most men, so it's definitely not a small ask from him and he certainly acknowledges that.

If and when it finally comes time for you to let him have a crack at knocking you up, Luis is downright methodical about it right up until you actually conceive. He keeps a calendar of your cycle and maps out your ovulation days to figure out the best time to try, starts giving you vitamins and other supplements to take to help boost your immune system ("healthy body, healthy baby, mi vida!"), and Luis even looks into different positions he can try in the bedroom to help the fertilization process. He's almost too scientific about it but it's so cute to watch him pore over those documents and baby books in his reading glasses, making notes and comparing information so he can make it as easy for you as possible throughout the process. He'll do all the work for you that he can--all your job includes is sitting around, being comfortable, and growing your baby until you're ready to pop. You don't have to work, or travel, or stress at all, all Luis wants you to do as your lover and in-home doctor (kinda) is to relax, indulge in your hobbies, and let your body direct you towards whatever it needs. You can do that for him, right, love?

That's not to say he's completely, ahem, sterile about the whole process. Luis doesn't mind being a little messy--and god knows he has no qualms about getting all sloppy and rough when it's time to actually make the baby. He's got a theory that his seed will take easier if you're completely relaxed, so he always starts out with the gentlest, most loving head he can manage between those sweet, pretty thighs. But it never ends that way because before long, Luis' mind clouds with lust as he gets that feverish taste of you on his tongue, and by then he's leaving finger-shaped bruises in your hips and moaning with his lips totally sealed around your clit, totally mindless as he makes your world spin. The scrape of his stubble against your skin and the pressure of his nose grinding into you when he has you ride his face is hypnotic, it's tantalizing, and Luis knows that well enough that he never skips out on going down on you even if he's got limited time. Fingers, tongue, or face, he's going to have you falling apart in his lap no matter what time of the month or how sensitive you might be about exposing yourself--Luis would never judge nor condemn you for anything because no matter what it is, it almost always turns him on more than you could ever realize. He likes his women real, we'll say that much.

And when he's got baby fever, he's just on you like a wildcat on a wounded gazelle, fierce and frisky and so loud and handsy you might just have to tie him up to keep him quiet. It's his time to show you how passionate he can really be and lord does he really show it; he doesn't stop even when both of you have already reached your end, he just hikes your legs up higher on his waist, adjusts the pillow propping up your hips, and groans out a string of babbled praises as he humps your poor, overstimulated body to coax out those last spurts of cum he's got left. He's gotta give it his all, no? No sense leaving such a pretty lady empty when he can fill you all up, and give you everything you need to make a baby for him. He can't really get over the fact that it's just that easy for him to be a part of something so beautiful, nor that someone as gorgeous as you would ever let some worthless fiend like him father your children--the feeling is just indescribable, but he knows that it's pure love. And he knows that he wouldn't ever want it with anyone else besides you.

Who knows, maybe once you have the baby you'll be the one begging him for another--but even with one, Luis will be cherishing that sweet little bundle of life and he'll be hardcore protective over them with every ounce of energy he's got. Well, maybe not every ounce....he's got to save enough to keep an eye out for his precious wife too, doesn't he?

#dont even look at me im already thinking abt leon joining the babymaking process--the competition-#luis sera #luis serra navarro #luis sera x reader #luis serra navarro x reader #spicy writing #re4make #resident evil #resident evil 4 #ellie writes #anons

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emmyrosee · 2 years

Note

Pls cute katsuki fanfic?

I honestly didn’t think my bakugo fic would do as well as it did PFFFFFFF-

—-

“Quit staring at me like that, freakshow.”

Bakugo’s protest comes from the absolute silence of morning, his voice still raspy with sleep and words still drunk with the drowsiness.

He’s on his back, left only in his boxers in a feeble attempt to ease any of the sleep-heat clinging to his body, but it’s in vain as you’re also clinging to him, your leg tossed over his waist and arm over his chest. Your head nuzzling against his shoulder only makes him sweat more, and the way he feels your eyes fixated on him makes his heart beat a hummingbird.

“I’m not looking at you.”

“You’re looking exclusively at me,” he grumbles. “Can always feel those goddamned peepers on me, ya creep.”

“I thought you said you always liked my eyes,” you hum, twisting his words in a way you know makes his brows furrow, but you’re quick to quell his annoyance with a loving hand that rubs his chest. “Besides, you’re too pretty not to look at, Katsuki.”

“‘M not pretty,” he grumbles. “If anything you’re gonna call me, I’m handsome. You’re the pretty one.”

“Why can’t we both be pretty?”

“Because I’m an asshole.” His own words make a smirk crack over his cheeks, and it only grows when you swat at him softly with a surprised “Katsuki!” “What! You asked.”

“You’re not an asshole,” you pout, leaning forwards to nudge your nose against his cheek, making him angle his head towards you. There’s absolute enamor in his gaze, crimson pools flitting around your face as if to mark every pore, every scar, every mark. It makes you turn into a puddle, and you’re sure it’ll never cease to amaze you just how much you love to be looked at like that. “Not to me, anyways.”

“It’s because I like you, dumbass,” he murmurs, but his eyes never leave your face, thus debunking his not-so affectionate nickname. “I’m not going to be an asshole to someone I like.”

“Do I need to pull out the list?” You tease.

“Not unless you wanna sleep on the couch tonight.”

A smile tugs at your cheeks, and you press a small kiss to his nose in an attempt to ease his playful annoyance. It does make him sigh happily, your subtle affections always manage to have him eating out of the palm of your hand. And he rolls on his side to face you, but when he sees your shit-eating grin, he clicks his tongue in amusement and regret.

“What’re you smirkin’ about?” He mumbles, closing his eyes once again.

“Just you,” you confess. “And how much you like me.”

“Dear god.”

“You looooove me.”

“I’ll literally just leave, I don’t deserve this slander.”

“No,” you whine, holding onto him tighter and burrowing your head against his warm muscles. “Want you to stay with me… in fact, let’s just live here. Maybe hire Eijiro to bring us snacks and food.”

And despite how unrealistically good that sounds to Katsuki, he’ll never let you know just how fast you make his heart race- even if it’s blatant and never has to really be said- so all he does it tighten his grip around you to hold you close, head resting on top of yours.

“Whatever,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Go back to sleep, too early for your ass to be up.” You hear the smile in his voice.

“I was admiring the view.”

“I swear to god-“

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ckret2 · 14 days

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no idea if anyhting of the sort has been asked before but i was wondering mostly based off my past experiences

would bill be the kind of guy who is just Very Aware of like . sensations in his body and have it lead to shit like having a problem with chewing off old skin and stuff. In the sense that oh crud its just a Smidgen of old skin peeling off it's going INTO the Chomper or just out of boredom because He Can Do That

maybe both

like ohh . i think i feel a corner of my lip peeling off im gnawing that off or ohhh is that a little bit of skin slash nail at the tip of my finger i see i wonder if i can bite that off . Seems Cool .

apart from that your fic is feeding me so well and it took me a week to realize "lord almighty thats the same author that wrote those really fucking funny Alastor In Situations fics". i think a small part of my brain was in denial for whatever deranged reason there was .

ALASTOR IN SITUATIONS FICS LMAO. That really is what most of my fics about him are.

I think Bill is really aware of body sensations, but the sensations he is/isn't aware of have really low correlation to what a human who's overly aware of body sensations would be aware of. Like, this is the guy who's violently nauseous trying to comb his hair but who mixes mustard with maple syrup.

You and I have an idea of what our body should look like when it's Right—when our skin is whole and healthy and smooth, when our nails are cut correctly. If a little flake of skin is peeling off, if we have a hangnail, if there's a tear or a bump or a ridge that shouldn't be there, we know that's a Little Bit Wrong, and for some people that Little Bit Wrongness gets really really irritating until they remove it.

Bill doesn't have an internal conception of a Right human body. For him there's no such thing as a Right body that's human. You can't pick/chew at individual flaws when you perceive everything as one unending flaw. A human body is all skin flakes upon skin flakes, dead cells waiting to peel and slough free, odd little bumps and ridges and pores and wrinkles and folds... He could exfoliate his entire body down to the bone and then he'd find fault with the bone's texture.

Look at this image and remove the dots that are wrong.

Do you have the slightest idea which of these dots are supposed to be "wrong"?

What criteria do you base it on? It's all just visual noise.

It's hard to even focus on any particular dots.

Even if I tell that the yellow dots are what's "wrong"...

... is it any easier to see them in the image above? Even knowing what you should be looking for, you have to hunt for them. It takes hard focus to see the yellow dots separately from their neighbors in all that noise. You'll never find all of them unless you zoom in and go pixel by pixel. They just don't stand out. And still nothing about the yellow dots really feels "wrong" to us on an instinctive, visceral level. And if you do take out all the "wrong" yellow dots—do you know which color you're supposed to fill in instead? Even knowing what's wrong isn't enough for you to figure out what's right!

That's what flaws on human skin are like to Bill. It's nonsense on a plane of more nonsense. He's still grappling with the fact that he's bones slathered in meat rather than pure energy under a foil-thin shell of electrified gold. He is NOT in an emotional place to even NOTICE a hangnail.

When his skin starts to bother him, he's less likely to pick at little bits of it and more likely to be fighting the urge to claw it clean off.

He's more often bothered by things like the sound/feeling of his own breathing and choose to stop it for a few seconds just to get some GODDAMN PEACE AND QUIET FOR ONCE before reluctantly starting to breathe again because he knows he has to, ugh. Sometimes he moves his arms and is conscious of ribs under his chest. Sometimes he turns his head instead of his whole torso and gets a queasy sensation from being reminded he has a spine rather than a hard exoskeleton. He still sticks food in his eye when he's distracted and he's uncomfortable that he can't see his food inside his mouth. THAT'S the level of "bothered by bodily sensations" he's on.

(However: if he gets a cut/scrape, he definitely licks the blood off. He's the specific kind of weirdo that fits the "licks his own blood as a deliberate conscious thing" archetype. You know the type. Adolescent pseudo-goths keen to develop morbid fascinations.)

#anonymous #ask #bill goldilocks cipher

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tired-biscuit · 1 year

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Ok but right now, all I can think about is Kiba’s incredibly attuned sense of smell. Like that dude can pick up on anything, right. I just know if you were trying to hide that you were horny or something, he’d ofc know right away. It’s all over your scent. He’s smile so devilishly. And tease the fuck outta you.

Also hope your headache goes away quickly 🤍🤍

it's all under the cut!! i went crazy over this, ahhhh....... <3

18+ mdni / fem!reader

i know i usually don't write canonverse cos i tend to pick modern au over it, but that's always been one of my fave things about him in that setting - that keen sense of smell.

i like to imagine he'd literally be able to sort of read your emotions judging by the way you'd smell. like, through the level of your hormones that would subtly alter your scent (the change is minuscule but he can catch it; he's made to catch it after all) he could tell if you're scared by how bitter your sweat would get, or how happy you are by how sweet it'd turn.

so by that logic, all of that would also include arousal.

and omg fiwnfiwjdueu, that would work so well with enemies to lovers for him. can you imagine him turning sort of dazed when he finally starts scenting want instead of pure hatred?

like, his cute lil' nose sort of lingering right at the crook of your neck when he puts an end to yet another one of your hissy fights with him, but does it differently this time around. just brings you close for a change; inhaling that sugary sweetness that is your building desire for him, the way it turns even more potent with the racing of your pulse????? there's nothing but tension in the room, he can feel it crackle like electricity on his skin; the lightning pulls it taut.

and you, well, you're so into this. that bratty mouth of yours is clamped shut as he breathes you in, for once failing to spit nasty remarks at him - what an experience. especially as the tip of his nose traces the spot that hides your treacherous, erratic heartbeat; sharp fangs hovering just a mere inch above it, but never quite touching the skin.

his voice all of a sudden sounds so strained, throat tight and dry enough to hurt as he says, "can't believe i'm saying this right now... but- fuck... i want you."

and you try to frown at that; to pull a face at his sort of a backhanded statement, but you just aren't able to when he starts to pepper kisses all over your neck. no, words simply fail you. there's nothing witty and clever about the moan that escapes your lips the moment he picks up the pace and sinks his teeth into you.

AND PLS THE WAY HE'D GO ABSOLUTELY HAYWIRE WHEN HE'D PUSH YOU TO LAY ONTO YOUR BACK THEN, AND YOU'D FINALLY PART YOUR LEGS FOR HIM?? AHHHHH

in true kiba fashion, he's all smug about it, of course. "damn. you really want me bad, too, huh, sweetheart?"

looking up at his flushed face; at the way his broad shoulders move with every inhale as he tries to process all of the information you're spilling through your pores, you're embarrassed and simply furious at your own body betraying you so obviously and so easily. so you try to save yourself by being a little bit mean.

calling him names as an attempt to distract him from the obvious, you're saying, "stop smiling like that, you dog... i'm not that turned on by you. and don't call me sweetheart."

but heat sears your face violently as you watch him tug your drenched panties down your legs a moment later, and see his cat-like pupils dilate in a way you've never seen them dilate before. sideways. big enough to eat up most of the white in his eyes.

the sight sends a shiver rolling down your spine as he looks up at you, then. still maintaining eye contact, he bunches up the delicate lace of your underwear that he now holds in his hand, and brings it up to his nose.

your toes curl when you hear him inhale. as you watch his thick eyelashes flutter and his eyelids turn heavy. goddamn, he's so fucked up, so nasty. and fine as hell during it, too.

thrill pulsates in your belly as he bites back a groan that's crawling up his throat and turns it into a mere grunt. you just smell so fucking good, it's hard to remain civil when the scent of that sweet little cunt of yours fills the room so fast; making him start behaving more like a beast than a man.

still, kiba controls himself. he reels it all back in - just like he's been doing it for years whenever he's been bound to wind up in your 'dreadful' company. puts himself on a leash.

but all of that still isn't enough to dismiss the fact that he's got that shit-eating grin plastered on his face now. the one that you hate, hate, hate as he twirls your panties around one finger and says, "aha... not sure if i ever told ya this before, sweetheart," he pauses to sneer at you with the pet name you forbade him from using.

"but scent doesn't lie, y'know."

#also thank u bb!! my headache got better during the day #took a painkiller and drank lots of water so i felt loads better <3 #naruto smut #biscuit drabbles #kiba smut #kiba x reader

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