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cuntyji · 2 months ago

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PANT0NE 6969 ❤︎‬ VARIOUS JJK MEN X FEMALE READER

Synopsis: A bold color choice, a little too much free time, and way too much devotion. One question: is that really the shade they think it is?

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, MDNI. Smut & crack. Established Relationship. Geto has not deflected, Toji is a DILF/older than reader (can be just by a couple of years, but feel free to read it how you'd like), Sukuna true-form is not implied since he only has one cock, but feel free to read it as such. Reader has a vagina + bush/fem-bodied. Hair pulling, doggy-style, P in V, dirty talk, creampies [implied], oral (seperate f. and m. receiving), riding, 😺 referred to as "her", dom! Nanami, top! Toji and Geto (seperate), sub! Choso, power bottom/switch! Sukuna

Note: From @nkopurin and I with love 😍 Thank you for helping me brainstorm this idea hehe <3

✶⋆.˚ Ao3

GOJO SATORU

It started with a need.

Not a hair-related one, not initially. It began with something far more sacred and carnal. You were in bed one night, Gojo passed out like a very tall, very dumb angel after an equally dumb but impressively athletic session of “babe, let’s try standing up this time” — and your eyes, glazed but focused, landed on the thing.

Not the thing. His thing. Your phone, really, but more specifically, a photo of his dick. It wasn't anything risqué; in fact, it was borderline artistic. Backlit like a renaissance painting, his hand casually wrapped around the base like he was offering it to a museum. It was… majestic.

And pink.

Not an obnoxious pink. Not bubblegum, not fuchsia. It was a warm, flushed, expensive pink. Like blushing porcelain. The kind of pink that made you understand why entire cultures assigned gender to colors. This one? This was the tip of Gojo Satoru pink. A pink that made you feel cherished, cursed, and absolutely deranged all at once.

So you screen-shot it.

Uploaded it to a color picker site.

Hex code #F7A5B3.

Suspiciously gentle. Suspiciously perfect. Definitely suspicious, considering the site immediately tried to sell you 400 crypto coins and an NFT of someone else's nipple. But you took that code and ran.

Now, you couldn’t just buy that color in a bottle. No one in the hair dye industry had taken the noble, godly risk of bottling Gojo Satoru's dickhead hue. Cowards. And so, Saturday morning, armed with seven different pinks from a local store, a bowl, and a wildly misplaced sense of purpose, you began to mix.

“This is what God made me for,” you whispered, wrist-deep in dye, adding a smidge more ‘peach dazzle’ to your cauldron of horny alchemy.

The end result? Perfection. If a cherry blossom had an orgasm, this would be the aftermath. You smoothed it into your scalp, grinning like a lunatic as your bathroom mirror caught the glint in your eye—the kind of glint that only comes from knowing your hair now looked like your husband’s dick tip.

When Gojo walked through the door that evening, adjusting his blindfold with one hand and tossing his bag with the other, the first thing he did was stop. Blink.

And then blink again, which was impressive, considering he was blindfolded.

“Oh?” he said, already walking toward you with the cautious reverence of a man approaching a shrine. “New hair?”

You didn’t say anything. Just angled your head in the light so it caught that very specific pink, glowing like divine foreskin in the golden hour. Gojo's brows lifted, then furrowed, then lifted again.

He leaned in.

“Is this… me?”

You nodded solemnly. “Tip-inspired,” you clarified. “I color-matched.”

He said nothing for a long moment. Just took your chin gently in his hand and peered at your hair like he was identifying a long-lost artifact.

“…Baby, that’s so fucking hot.”

You snorted. “I figured you’d like it.”

“Like it? I feel seen. My dick feels celebrated.”

He kissed you hard, and somewhere between the makeout session and him half-carrying you to the bed, he muttered:

“I should return the favor.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding seriously. “Solidarity. Pubes.”

“No.”

“C’mon, I could go pastel! Lavender balls! Romantic!”

“Satoru, no.”

He was already halfway to the bathroom. You heard drawers opening. Things crashing. You had to throw a towel at him to stop the chaos. He caught it, grinning.

“You’re no fun,” he pouted, clearly half a second from ordering glitter dye off the internet.

“You’re not dying your happy trail. That’s the hill I'll die on.”

“Fine. But next time you do highlights… might I suggest the undertones of my shaft?”

You slapped him with the towel.

Your hair, though? Flawless. Divine. Blessed. And every time Gojo kissed the top of your head afterward, you could tell he knew exactly what he was kissing.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

It started with the nails.

Well—technically, it started with Toji giving you a lazy grunt of “go treat yourself or whatever” and sliding over a thick roll of cash like he was paying off a hit. And you did treat yourself. Just not in the way he expected.

Toji didn’t ask many questions when you came home, freshly manicured, tapping your newly adorned fingers against the countertop just loud enough for him to notice. You watched him squint, suspicious already. “The fuck’s that color?” he muttered.

You gave a tiny smile, tapping the pad of your thumb against your ring finger for emphasis—the ring finger that had his initials done in dark, bold lettering, sharp and crisp over the muted pink polish. “Oh, this?” you said sweetly. “Just something inspired by you.”

He blinked. Then looked again. His brow creased.

“That’s my—wait. That’s my fuckin’ d—”

“Tip,” you offered helpfully. “Yup.”

Toji clapped a hand over his face and groaned like he’d aged ten years in a second.

“You’re despicable,” he mumbled through his palm. “Absolutely insane.”

And you just shrugged. because he hadn’t not given you the money for it. And anyway, it was a lovely color—rich, dusky, masculine in that very specific flushed way. The shade that only existed when he was half hard and half annoyed and half threatening to fuck your brains out for misbehaving, which was often. But then, of course, the nails weren’t enough. Because what’s a set without a matching main event?

The next time he saw you, it was in the evening light, your freshly dyed hair catching the low amber glow. And you swore you saw his soul leave his body.

“You didn’t,” he said flatly.

“I did,” you grinned.

He stared long and hard. The color was perfect. That dusky, raw pink, slightly darker at the roots. You’d even toned it to match that exact heat-flushed, post-shower hue he sported when he was about to fuck you against the nearest surface. He didn’t ask how you explained the shade to the ladies at the salon. He refused to. The possibilities alone were giving him a headache.

“Y’need therapy,” he grunted.

“Probably,” you chirped.

He dragged a hand down his face. Muttered, “...Fuckin’ hell,” and shook his head.

Still—when the lights were out, and your ridiculous little tribute of a hairstyle was bouncing under his hand as he pounded into you from behind like he had something to prove, he didn’t complain.

His grip was punishing in your hair, the strands twisted tight around his fingers, just enough pressure to keep your head arched back perfectly so he could see your expression melt every time he shoved in deeper.

“Look at you,” he grunted, his voice ragged, his thrusts brutal and steady, “Wearin’ my fuckin’ cock like a badge.”

He tugged harder, yanked your head back until your mouth parted and your eyes fluttered. His hips snapped forward again, loud and wet and obscene.

“Crazy fuckin’ woman,” he rasped, biting down on your shoulder now, lips dragging against sweaty skin, “—gettin’ salon dye to match my dick, the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“Everything,” you choked out, nearly delirious. “I’m so gone for you, baby, fuck—”

And he laughed. Full chest, low and amused, filthy even in his exasperation. His hand smoothed over your scalp for a second—like he might show you tenderness—and then he pulled again, drove in with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs.

“You’re gonna have to go back to that salon with a limp,” he growled in your ear, “Let ‘em see what happens when you walk in smellin’ like my cum.” You moaned, shuddering, knees almost giving in.

Toji was too old for this. Too grizzled, too tired to understand your generation’s brain rot. But that didn’t mean he didn’t fuck like he was born for it. Didn’t mean he didn’t leave you twitching and trembling and ruined by the end of it.

And when he finally collapsed next to you, panting, sweat-slick and sore, he rolled over just enough to look at your hair again.

“…It is a nice color,” he muttered reluctantly.

You smiled against his chest. “I'll get the matching lipstick next.”

He groaned again, reaching over to slap your ass, hard.

“Despicable.”

“Yep.”

“…Fuck, I love you.”

“You'd better.”

CHOSO KAMO

Choso is agitated.

Not angry—no, that would’ve been easier to deal with. Choso doesn’t really do anger the way others do. He just gets… tense. Quiet. Eyes narrowed, arms crossed, head tilted slightly like he’s watching a very slow train wreck he’s emotionally invested in. He's standing at the edge of the bathroom now, shoulders stiff, gaze locked on your hair like it personally offended him.

“You didn’t tell me it would be permanent,” he says, voice calm but too calm.

You blink. “It's not?”

His whole body jerks like you just threw a bucket of ice water at him.

“...What?”

You laugh, a little confused, a little charmed. “Baby. It’s not permanent. It's semi-permanent. It’ll fade in, like, six weeks.”

He's silent. Comically silent. His eyes dart back to your hair.

Then to your face.

Then to your hair again.

“…Oh,” he says softly.

And then—

“Oh.”

He sounds heartbroken.

You watch him slowly sit down on the edge of the tub like you just told him you were dying.

“It’ll… fade?”

You nod.

“But—" he gestures vaguely at your head. “You did it for me.”

“I can touch it up,” you assure him, walking over, hands light on his shoulders. “You can even help.”

He brightens subtly. Barely. But it’s there.

“…Okay. Okay. But I wanna be there when you do it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “To help?”

“To supervise.”

“Supervise what?”

His voice drops to a mutter. “The accuracy.”

Which is how you end up here, two weeks later, with a towel around your neck, gloves on, dye ready—and Choso already pantless, sitting obediently on the closed toilet seat with his dick in his lap like a willing participant in some sort of medical study.

“You sure you’re okay like that?” you ask, flicking open the dye tube.

He nods. Quickly. “I don't wanna interfere with the process.”

He's already a little hard. You try not to giggle. Try.

You crouch, squinting, face inches away from his flushed, semi-erect cock.

“Hmm. Looks a little warmer in tone today.”

He shivers.

“C-could be the lighting,” he says, voice pitched slightly higher than normal.

You tilt your head. “Or blood flow.”

He inhales through his nose, thighs twitching. “Possible,” he says weakly.

You bring your face even closer, inspecting from another angle. Your breath ghosts over the tip and he whimpers, hands flying to his thighs like he’s trying to pin them down from shaking.

“Stop me if this is too much,” you murmur, not moving away at all. He nods quickly. Too quickly. “No, n-no, ’m good. I'm—I'm fine. I wanna help.”

You hum, pressing a kiss to the underside, featherlight. Then lick a slooow, curious stripe up the length.

He chokes. “N-not during the dye,” he says, voice paper-thin and trembling. “I-it’s not safe—what if the chemicals—”

“I'm careful,” you murmur, already taking him in. He breaks. Visibly. One hand reaches for your shoulder, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t pull—just holds, clinging like he’s about to float away.

“Oh—fuck,” he breathes, already leaking, already shaking. “Fuck, you can’t—you c-can’t focus on the color like this—”

“I don't have to,” you whisper against the head, lips slick with him now. “I already got it memorized.”

He lets out a noise so soft, so pathetic, it makes you suck harder just to hear it again.

By the time the dye’s halfway through processing in your hair, he’s slumped back, completely undone, flushed all over and breathing like he just got resuscitated. His thighs are twitching, his hands are useless, and his eyes are glassy, blinking at you like you just changed his worldview.

“That wasn’t supervising,” he mumbles, dazed.

“It was quality control,” you reply, deadpan.

He groans.

“...When’s the next touch-up?”

You grin, leaning forward to press a sloppy kiss to his lips.

“Four weeks. Mark your calendar.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

Sukuna is, at first, appreciative.

He’s lounging on his throne, fingers lazily tapping against the armrest as he watches you strut in with that smug look on your face and new hair on your head. The color hits him first. Soft, almost sugary—like the inside of a bleeding peach. Not quite natural, not quite real. A pink that seems too whimsical to exist in his world of blood and ash. He hums, raising an eyebrow as he gestures vaguely in your direction.

“An offering, is it?”

You grin. “More like a tribute.”

“Hmm,” he muses, and you can see the faintest curve of amusement on his lips. “A show of worship. How very devoted of you.”

But then he really looks at it, tilting his head as he squints.

“…What the fuck kind of color is that.”

You blink.

“It’s the color of your cock.”

The silence is immediate and violently loud. Sukuna stares at you like you just announced your intention to marry Gojo Satoru instead of him. His eye twitches, something deep and ancient inside him glitching. And then:

“What the everloving fuck does that mean, you insolent little—”

“You’re loud for someone whose tip looks like a cherry blossom, Suku.”

“It does NOT—”

He's on his feet now, pacing, hands in his hair, swearing in languages the Earth has long since forgotten. The sheer rageful fluster radiating off him is so intense, the walls tremble. He points at you, points at your hair, then points at his own crotch like he’s about to hold it up as exhibit A.

“What part of me—what part of that—makes you think it looks like that color?! Have you lost your mind?! Are you blind? Are you mocking me?!”

You’re nearly doubled over, wheezing with laughter, half in awe and half terrified that you’ve managed to turn the King of Curses into an angry little ball of embarrassment. He growls, bare-chested and barefoot and furious, stomping back to his throne with his arms crossed.

“You’re never allowed to speak again,” he grumbles, sulking. “Blasphemy. Absolute heresy. You should be punished—”

“Say less,” you chirp, tossing him a wink.

He sputters.

Later that night, the punishment is you straddling him on his throne, bouncing on his cock with your pink-stained hair swinging wildly around your face—and it turns out, for all his complaints, he has not stopped staring at it. His head’s tipped back against the throne, jaw clenched, trying to focus on anything else but the way your hair bounces perfectly with each slam of your hips.

“Fuck—quit movin’ like that,” he rasps, voice strained.

“You mean riding you?” you ask sweetly, snapping your hips a little harder, watching his hands twitch at his sides like he’s barely holding back.

“No—the hair. Your fucking hair.”

You grin.

He grabs your waist suddenly, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and slams up into you, making you squeal.

“You gonna do it again?” he huffs against your throat, panting. “You gonna keep it that color just to drive me mad, you little slut?”

“Yup,” you whisper, biting your lip, rolling your hips just right. His hands shake as his head drops to your shoulder. You feel the smallest, most pitiful groan leave his chest.

He’s losing it. Completely. Eyes hazy, body shuddering under yours, trying desperately to focus on the feel of your cunt and not the goddamn glow of your cursed hair in the dark.

“Never been more disrespected in my life,” he groans, dragging his tongue across your throat. “I hate you. Fuck, I hate you—”

“You’re gonna cum inside me again, aren’t you?”

He whimpers.

And it’s the prettiest little sound you’ve ever heard him make.

NANAMI KENTO

Nanami is speechless.

Not the stunned, dazed, jaw-dropped kind. No—this is the quietly judging, emotionally restrained, deep sigh echoing from the depths of his tired soul kind of speechless. Glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose, brow twitching, card bill in hand.

“You spent how much on what?”

You sit innocently on the couch, hair freshly dyed and glowing with that faded, strangely warm blush-pink hue, scrolling on your phone with the nonchalance of a criminal who thinks they've pulled off the perfect heist.

“...I had to match it perfectly.”

He rubs his temples.

“With my—?”

“Yup.”

He closes his eyes, breathing through his nose as he reconsiders every life decision that led him to this moment. Not that it’s entirely surprising. You’ve always had the most questionable taste in financially irresponsible love languages. This isn’t even the worst of it.

No, the worst was that one time you used the card to commission a hand-stitched, button-eyed plushie of him from a niche artist in another country. He found it tucked under your pillow one night, arms outstretched like it missed him. He didn’t say a word. Just...sat down and took a long sip of his whiskey.

But this? This has his hands in your hair more often than he consciously intends. Long fingers carding through it when you're curled up in bed beside him. Resting on your shoulders while he's driving, letting his knuckles brush the strands of your hair absently as he shifts gears. Sometimes even during mundane moments—while you’re reading, eating, brushing your teeth. He's obsessed in spite of himself.

The problem is, he notices the fading.

“Have you not been using the sulfate-free shampoo I bought you?”

You pause mid-bite of your snack.

“...There’s special shampoo?”

His eye twitches.

And now you’re here—kneeling on the bedroom floor, blinking up at him as he stands tall, sleeves rolled, belt long forgotten somewhere on the bed. His cock is heavy in his palm, leaking against the curve of your cheek, and he’s dragging the tip slowly across your flushed skin like he’s painting strokes on a blank canvas.

“Hm,” he muses, low and annoyed. “The pink’s uneven.”

You whine, shifting closer, trying to suck him in—but his other hand tightens in your hair and pulls.

“Ah-ah. Not yet. I'm still inspecting.”

“‘Nami,” you whimper, thighs pressed together. “Please—”

He swipes the tip across your cheek again, purposefully slow. “I give you a card. I tell you to be responsible. And you blow hundreds on a dye job you didn’t even bother maintaining.”

You’re panting now, needy, humiliated, as you try to squirm closer for a taste. But he’s holding you exactly where he wants you—on your knees, burning up, mouth open and empty.

“You know,” he mutters, voice dropping lower, “Maybe if you showed me how sorry you are… I'd consider booking the touch-up appointment myself.”

Your eyes sparkle. He scoffs. “Not for free, sweetheart.”

And then finally, finally, he slides the head past your lips, slow and deliberate, watching your lashes flutter and jaw slacken like you’ve just taken communion. He doesn’t fuck your mouth—no, not yet. He holds you there, just the tip resting on your tongue, sighing deeply like he's indulging your little obsession only out of obligation.

“If the color’s still uneven tomorrow,” he mutters, stroking the crown of your head with firm, possessive care, “We're going back to the salon.”

His hips shift just enough to press deeper, and you moan around him.

“After you shampoo. Twice. With what I tell you to use.”

He smiles faintly as your eyes roll back.

Finally. Some accountability.

GETO SUGURU

Geto is trying. Really, truly trying not to laugh.

He walks in, drops his keys in the bowl by the door like always, and greets you with that same low, warm “I’m home” he always does—but then he sees you. Sees the way you’re standing there, all proud and glowing, doing a little turn in your socks like you’re unveiling a whole new self.

And then he sees the hair.

He freezes.

You beam. “Surprise!”

He stares, tilting his head a little as he walks a bit closer, slow and deliberate, like he’s analyzing a cursed object.

“…You dyed your hair,” he says eventually, in that careful, measured tone he uses when he’s trying to piece together a truly confusing curse puzzle.

You nod enthusiastically. “Guess what the color is?”

He squints. Then he blinks.

Then he looks you straight in the eye and says, completely flat:

“My dick?”

Your smile turns so wide that he groans immediately and drags a hand down his face.

“Baby…”

“Don’t you love it?”

“It’s not that I don’t—I mean, the color’s nice, but… that’s what you chose to color-match?”

You puff your cheeks out. “It’s a soft, warm tone with pink undertones! It's romantic!”

“It's the color of my tip.”

“Yes!!”

And that’s when it hits him—just how absurdly hilarious this is. And how absolutely you. He tries to keep it together, he really does, but a smile breaks across his face, tired but amused, and he’s shaking his head like he’s going to lose it. “Oh my god,” he mumbles, wiping at his eyes. “I can't believe you spent money on this. I can't believe I'm involved.”

“You’re the inspiration!” you say defensively, fisting your hands by your sides like you’re presenting a noble act of sacrifice.

He loses it again.

But hours later, when he’s on his knees between your legs, the teasing is far from over. His tongue drags up your thigh slow and indulgent, and he hums like he’s appraising a piece of art. “So... she got the full treatment, huh?”

You moan softly, head falling back. “Mhmm.”

But then he pauses, finger resting just above your mound as he raises a single brow.

“Then why was she left out?”

You blink, dazed. “...What?”

He leans in closer, kisses just above your clit, right at the edge of your bush, and whispers, “She didn’t get a dye job too.”

You slap his shoulder.

“Stop calling it that!”

“Why not? She’s the one who got snubbed,” he says with an exaggerated pout, kissing lower now, slow and taunting. “All that love for my tip, and poor baby down here didn’t get a single brush of attention.”

Your thighs twitch as your face burns. You’re whining now, hips shifting, trying to chase his mouth, but he pulls back just enough to keep you squirming.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he coos, dragging a finger along your slit. “I'll make sure she gets a little pampering tonight.”

“Sugu—”

But you’re cut off by your own gasp when he licks a stripe up your folds, groaning like he’s tasting a five-star meal. His grip tightens around your thighs, spreading you wide, burying himself between your legs like he’s trying to eat the embarrassment right off of you. You’re squealing now, every moan mixed with some mortified whimper as he talks to your pussy like she’s got her own name, her own needs, her own complex about being left out.

“Mmm, she’s being shy,” he murmurs, flicking his tongue with practiced precision, “but I know what she needs.”

You buck against his face, legs shaking, trying and failing to close them around his head.

“Stop making me blush you—fuck—”

“You’re the one who dyed your whole head the color of my cock,” he says, eyes glinting as he looks up, mouth shiny and smug. “You don’t get to be shy now.”

And that’s how your plan to be sweet and romantic ends with your legs thrown over his shoulders, his tongue fucking you open while you babble apologies and try not to die from the sheer secondhand shame of being verbally roasted by your own pussy. And Geto? He’s never been more in love.

a/n: hello !! it has been many a moon since i have written smut....i even pulled out the fancy layout i used to use back in the day :PP (i post smut panels/headers on @cuntpress if you're a writer btw <3) be nice please

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madewithsilk · 3 months ago

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Sevika who stretches you out with bigger and bigger toys cw; daddy kink, size kink

Your cunt was practically clenching around nothing, head thrown back, completely nude. Your breasts fell flattened and beads of sweat developed on your tits, tummy, and everywhere visible to Sevika. She couldn’t help but groan, your pussy stretched out after taking three orgasms from three different-sized toys. The thickness and length became too much to take and by your second time cumming, you were fucked out dumb and senseless.

She enjoyed the powertrip, being able to use your body to her liking and you’d simply take it. “Can keep going, baby girl?” She asks and your head lifts slightly to stare at the new toy she added lubricant to. Your pussy was wet enough, but with the size of the dildo, she’d rather not take any chances. You whimper in reluctance, thighs shutting closed yet you nod anyway.

Sevika pryed your legs open with force, “If you wanna take it then stop running from it.” She teased your hole with the tip, slipping it in and out. Your legs were pleading to close, the stimulation too teasing and slow. “Se—“ You were ready to complain, whine, and huff but she gave you no time to. The toy was nudging at your cervix, completely filling you and giving you no time to adjust. “Sev—!” Your eyes shot open, a pornographic moan leaving your lips. Sevika was focused on the scene of your pussy clenching on the silicone cock, hardly being able to thrust it from how much you sucked it in.

“Fuck, baby, shit feels good?” She asks, beginning to pump it in and out of your cunt. The obscenely filthy squelching noises and moans echoed in the room. Your back arched off of the mattress, her pace too slow and intolerable. “Please Sev, need it,” Sevika let out an amused, deep chuckle. Her unhurried pace didn’t relent, pushing it in and out with no consideration. “Do you? Thought it wouldn’t fit, huh?” You shook your head, panting and whimpering from the lack of roughness.

“Dirty girl, like being split open on dick, that right?” Sevika’s improper words made you clench harder, hips rutting back and forth to fuck yourself onto the toy. She tuts, not moving her wrist anymore. “C’mon, say you’re a nasty girl who needs daddy’s cock.” She loved seeing how much larger her frame and the toys were compared to you, how you could hardly take them yet begged for more.

It was humiliating, begging to be fucked dumb on her considerably large dick. Yet you were too dumb on it to even process embarrassment. “Daddy’s nasty girl— Ple- ughh, please Sev’!” You squirmed as the pace quickened, her hand angling to fuck into your g-spot instead. “Ugn— daddy-“ She had you babbling with stray tears down your cheeks, pressing herself so tightly against you.

“Shit, you know I need this shit back right, baby?” She mocked and all you could do was squirm everywhere, the orgasm building in your tummy. She kept you still with her arms, pressing down on your tummy. The knot went undone, your cunt spamming and releasing cum everywhere on her. Your legs were shaking, but she didn’t stop, rubbing circles on your sensitive, swollen nub. Her lips wandered your neck and traced hot, wet kisses.

You panted, unable to move anything besides your lips. “Feels good, thank y’daddy.” Sevika hummed, taking the toy out with a moist, gross noise. “Greedy pussy,”

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eshithepetty · 2 months ago

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Learning to draw all of them.... they are all so silly and charming

ID under cut, as well as in alt text:

[ID: First page: A colored and shaded collection of drawings of the characters from ENA Dream BBQ. First is ENA and Froggy sitting cross-legged and drinking wine together, with a screenshot of Froggy's secret call that says "Maybe we could play some chess or drink a little when all of this is done" beside it; then one of Froggy placing his big hand over a grumpy ENA's head. Then comes a drawing of humanoid ENA clutching her head, wide-eyed; then of ENA during the purge event, angry, vines engulfing her; a drawing of Taski smiling and resting her head on her hands; and lastly, a drawing of ENA smiling and leaning towards Coral Glasses, who is leaning back with a blush and anxious expression. Second page: A beige page with lineart and very minimal shading featuring various characters. The following are featured: ENA jumping with one leg and both arms in the air around her head; the suspicious man grinning underneath his bell hat; ENA in a suit-like outfit, one hand to her hips and the other grasping the fedora on her head; two portraits of Coral looking shy or anxious; a drawing of a tired looking humanoid ENA; a couple doodles of smiling or grinning Taski Maiden; a drawing of ENA and Coral dancing together, smiling; one of ENA talking as Coral watches on, blushing and paper printing out of her head; a couple of doodles of ENA during the purge event; and some doodles of ENA as she normally is from different angles inbetween the other drawings. Third page: Also a beige page in the same style, only with the main subject in this one being humanoid ENA. First is a cut off shot of her sitting on the ground, hands in her lap; then a similarly cut off (head not visible) shot of her seemingly stretching, one arm above and one to her side; then one of her grasping the side of her face, looking a bit scared; Then of her looking down, wide-eyed and arm over the hole in her chest; then one of her looking up, grasping her torso, looking more 'okay' than the rest of the doodles; then one of her sitting on the ground, her hands having the qualities of her normal form (clawed and mitten-like), as she gazes up tiredly; and finally a shot of her from the back, looking hunched in, missing the hole in her torso. And inbetween the rest of the doodles, is one of normal BBQ ENA, smiling. End ID.]

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sevsgiirl · 3 months ago

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— do the girls back home touch you like i do?

sevika x insecure!reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: having feelings for the most feared woman in zaun had more cons than it did pros - her being popular amongst women and a regular at the brothel just to name a few. it hurt because you knew with her history there’s no way she’d return your feelings… right?

word count: 5.5k words.

tags: insecure!reader, jealousy, miscommunication, public sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering, porn with feelings, top!sevika, bottom!reader.

it was silly, honestly.

you knew it was a shot in the dark for sevika to reciprocate your feelings. much or less consider you an option on her roster.

sevika gets around. there was no denying that, and you’ve come to terms with it the second you caught these stupid little feelings that just wouldn’t go away. no matter how hard you tried.

you assumed it would. back when silco hired you to be his informant, you saw the opportunity as nothing more but an upgrade from your previous jobs. it’s safe to say, you’ve gone through a lot just to get to where you are now. whether it was scrubbing the floors of a dingy, run-down diner that made jericho’s look like a michelin star restaurant, to going as far as thinking about working at babette’s.

but then silco saw some potential in you that not a lot of people have seen before, and you were grateful for it. a lot of your co-workers were tolerable, just as long as you looked past the carnage of their jobs, it was pretty easy to get by when working for silco because he never really asked you to get your hands dirty.

no, he asked sevika to do that.

you knew she was different from the others the second you laid eyes on her. she remained unyielding in the eyes of catastrophe, she gets the job done no matter how tedious the assignments were, and she navigates through life like an enigma.

you were intimidated by her at first. when she walked into a room, her presence demanded to be felt, crowds of people would always make space for her to walk through and she could silence someone with just the heat of her glare. it was then you understood why she was silco’s number two.

but despite her brooding personality, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards her. maybe it was the allure of wanting something you can’t have, but every time you were sent on a mission with her, this desire to know her better always tempted you. even though you wouldn’t know the first thing to say to strike up a conversation with the older woman, you couldn’t deny that what you felt was beyond just physical attraction. you were intrigued by everything about her.

it tethered the line of obsession but hadn’t quite got there yet, the better way to describe it was infatuation.

she’d occupy your thoughts but not so much to the point that she was all you thought about, but when you did, you had to force yourself to snap out of it before it became borderline creepy, and you wanted to justify your feelings thinking she wouldn’t feel the same in a million years.

not only that, but her reputation precedes her.

you knew your hesitation to make a move stemmed more from just being shy or thinking you wouldn’t get along with the older woman, and it was because her sexual proclivities scared the hell out of you.

again, she gets around, far more than most people. before you worked for silco, rumors regarding his second in command traveled through the streets of zaun in whispers, whether it was good or bad, it didn’t really matter.

one detail that caught the attention of many, specifically those of women, were her frequent nights spent at the gardens. you couldn’t deny that aside from being incredibly scary, so much of sevika’s appeal came from her appearance as well - her tall stature, impressive built, corded muscles, the rigged lines and hard angles of her face. she was just as beautiful as she was domineering.

that’s why it didn’t surprise you that women tend to set aside her notoriety in hopes of sleeping with her, but that doesn’t mean the thought didn’t cause your insides to flare up with jealousy.

as mentioned, you thought about working for babette at one point. when your low paying jobs in the past couldn’t suffice to get you through the week, the idea came to mind on some occasions. but you knew it wasn’t easy work, not to mention your looks paled in comparison to the girls you’d seen working there. all slim waists, toned arms, long legs, big tits and even bigger asses.

you didn’t possess any of the traits that made the girls there appealing.

you just set aside the idea because your ego wasn’t big enough to make you think you were up for the job, and knowing that’s where sevika prefers to spend most of her nights made your insecurities worse.

especially when she’d stroll through the last drop late at night littered with hickeys and bite marks around her neck that she’d let the world see without shame, and how you’d just ogle at them with the ugliest emotions churning in the pits of your stomach.

it didn’t help when silco’s men would poke fun at her for it “damn, was the night that rough? you gotta take it easy on those girls.” they’d joke as a sly grin would make its way on her face.

“they love it,” would be her response, which would earn a roar of laughter from the group meanwhile you’d walk away after eavesdropping, with a heaviness in your chest that wasn’t there minutes ago as you tried to erase the image of sevika indulging herself with countless women.

you understood the intention behind it. you knew it was her way of escaping the stress of silco’s workload, and having sex with multiple women was just as much of a coping mechanism as gambling and drinking was.

that doesn’t mean it wasn’t any less painful to think about, even though you knew you couldn’t have stood a chance.

because how could you? who even were you in the bustling, chaotic world that is sevika’s life? if simply nothing more than just her co-worker?

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

you didn’t think she’d ever acknowledge you outside of work.

you’ve had your fair share of interactions but it was all professional so those don’t count. you were delusional but you weren’t delusional enough to think that your quick conversations about paychecks and shipment were considered bonding.

it wasn’t until an incident transpired in one of her missions where silco asked you to come along, and it so happened that the firelights decided it was a good day to ambush you, sevika and the rest of the team.

you cowered away from the commotion because it’s not like you possessed any of sevika’s combative skills. you were an informant, for crying out loud.

but you weren’t quick on your feet, and when the leader of the firelights threw one of their bombs in your direction you were crystallized in place near the cargos, unable to move.

you knew the crystals would dissolve after five minutes, you were aware of how their weapons worked, but the fear of being unable to move still stressed you out, and as you kept squirming you caught sevika’s eye who was immobilized herself.

one thing led to another, silco’s daughter came up from underneath the airship and began firing at the firelights, grazing you with one of her bullets as you let out an agonizing scream in response.

suffice to say, the mission went horribly and everyone who go out was reprimanded by silco, because of course he’d never put the blame on jinx. while you on the other hand, were hunched over the bar later that night, nursing your sides that were still bleeding due to jinx’s mishap.

thieram was more than happy to help, aiding you with your injury but your pain tolerance wasn’t necessarily high, so every time he dabbed you with the wash cloth dunked in alcohol, you couldn’t help it as you let out a wince, clutching thieram’s forearm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, cringing at your pitiful state “I don’t know how-“

“move it.”

your eyes widened as the shadow of sevika’s tall silhouette casted over you, pushing past thieram while she took the bottle of alcohol and cloth from him. she nodded at you for you to raise your shirt up.

“let me see the wound,”

blushing, you were debating whether or not you should let sevika see you in such a compromising position, but she probably only wanted to help and couldn’t care less about seeing you exposed.

so you did as you were told and let her press her large palm onto your rib where a lot of the bleeding came from.

you hissed, gripping the sides of the bar and sevika cursed “fucking jinx,”

you shook your head “it’s okay, it’s not that big of a de-“

“but it is,” she grumbled “if only she did her fucking job and didn’t lose her shit, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

gulping, you tried not to overthink her choice of words and how she only focused on your injury and not the rest, considering you weren’t the only one who got the brunt of it.

“it’s fine, I’m just worried if the others are tending to their injuries.”

“don’t worry about them,” she muttered “they’re built for these kinds of things, you aren’t.”

you snickered, pretending to take offense “excuse me? are you calling me weak?”

sevika couldn’t hide her amusement, wiping away at the little blood smeared on your lower stomach.

“not weak,” she replied “I just don’t think a pretty little thing like you is meant for this kind of work. you’re not equipped for it.”

“I can look out for myself, you know.”

she hummed, her grey eyes staring up at you “maybe, but still. it’d be better if you didn’t need to.”

you tried not to let her words get to you, and calling you a pretty little thing didn’t help with your growing infatuation. perhaps she was just playing coy with you, you thought.

but then silco continued to let you join in on her missions, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart fluttered every time she’d ask you to ‘keep close behind’ or how she’d shield you with her massive frame every time danger was imminent.

if she couldn’t trust you to look out for yourself, then she did it for you.

you wanted to excuse it thinking since she’s already lost so much men she didn’t want your name to be crossed off on the list as well. but that doesn’t mean you stopped dwelling on it.

especially when on most nights where she’d catch you in the last drop, she’d ask you to have a drink with her. going as far as to teach you how to play cards when you’d watch her gamble with the rest of silco’s men and how she’d win every time.

“you’re so good at this,” you said in awe during one of her games which earned a chuckle from her.

you were seated right next to sevika, not too close but not too far apart either, that sometimes you’d feel her elbow brushing against yours.

“want me to teach you then?”

“hey, that’s not fair, how come she gets to have you as her teacher while we’re stuck here getting our asses beat?” one of the men she was playing with chided in.

she only ignored him, flipping her cards over to reveal she’s won yet again, making them groan “then play better.” she quipped, turning over to you with a smirk on her face.

you swore butterflies almost erupted out of your belly. she was so smug, but radiant in her victory that you couldn’t even bring yourself too feel bad for the others, if you’d get to see her this way all the time, you hoped she’d win all of her games.

the guy huffed, taking a swig from his beer as he looked up at her, grinning “I dropped by the gardens today, by the way. lily said she missed you.”

you froze as those words left his mouth, but sevika remained ambivalent by the information as she shuffled her cards “I’ve just had a lot on my plate,” and perhaps it was just your mind playing tricks on you, but you swore you caught her eyeing you for a brief moment.

“well, better not to keep those girls waiting. you know you’re their favorite,” the table laughed and sevika couldn’t help herself from joining along.

“ain’t that right,” she said, chuckling.

you gulped, feeling a lump in your throat as you forced yourself not to spew something bitter because really, who were you to act jealous over who sevika chooses to spend her time with?

she may act flirtatious with you from time to time but it’s not like it meant anything. you wanted to set it aside, and tell yourself it was just never going to happen. spend less time with her if you need to.

but as if it fate wanted to play a joke on you both, that was thrown out the window when one night, sevika came stumbling into the last drop all battered and bruised. her prosthetic dangling from her arm in ruined wires while she tried her best to steady herself as she walked in.

instinctively, you rushed to her side and examined her state “sevika, oh my god.”

she groaned “it’s not a big de-“

“like hell it is,” you reprimanded as you told thieram to fetch the first aid kit and inform silco of sevika’s condition.

she was against it but you simply silenced her, pulling up a chair as you pushed her down “you need to be more careful.” you said.

“stop fussing over me, I’m built for these kinds of things. it’s my job.”

“just because it’s your job doesn’t mean you have to be so reckless! you’re more than just silco’s killing machine. you can’t keep putting your life on the line like this.”

sevika remained silent before soft laughter bubbled out of her, making you raise an eyebrow.

“I guess this makes us even.”

“what?”

“from when you got hit by jinx’s bullets,” she said as realization dawned on you “I guess we’re even now.“

you rolled your eyes at that “I’m not doing this because I owe it to you. you’re more than just my co-worker.”

she eyed you, curious “what am I then?”

there was a moment of silence as you knelt down in front of her, staring at the uneven lines of the wooden floorboards, refusing to meet her eye.

“a friend, if you’d let me,” you muttered.

she hummed, leaning against her seat “I don’t do much of those,”

you snickered “you don’t do much of anything really,”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

you realized your mistake but decided to keep it going anyways.

“you’re too guarded. you keep your circle too tight, and I haven’t really seen you out with anyone. romantically, I mean.”

you knew you should’ve kept your mouth shut, but you couldn’t help it.

she was silent for a minute “I didn’t know you kept tabs on whether or not I date.”

you scoffed, although it sounded unconvincing “I do not.”

then there was that god awful smirk on her face again, eating away at you as she cocked her head to the side.

“sure you don’t, princess.“

your mind immediately went haywire because oh god, did she know?

on one hand, you weren’t exactly subtle. even thieram would tease you about it. noticing the way you’d sneak glances at sevika whenever she strolled through the bar and you’d hear him let out a snort from behind the counter.

“take a picture, it’d last longer.” he’d joke while you flipped him off.

but judging by the way she teased you about the idea, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that felt a bit hopeful that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.

because if there was, it wouldn’t hurt to try and seize the opportunity.

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

when silco suggested the group had a day off and to use the bar to their liking for one night as compensation for a successful mission, you were elated. for a number of reasons.

because this is it. this is the moment that you’ve been waiting for, to finally make a move and to squash your fantasies once and for all.

you’re aware about wanting to keep your feelings at bay and to never let sevika know about them, but as the days flew by it was getting harder and harder to stay silent.

especially since the night you tended to her injuries and how she reacted at the idea of you taking an interest in her, and how she didn’t seemed fazed by it, if anything, she seemed intrigued.

it was worth a shot, because it’s better to say you tried than not at all.

so on the night of the party, you went out of your way to doll yourself up for once. your days were normally mundane and your job was tedious enough as it, so you never saw a reason to dress up. living in the under city, going out partying and sleeping with people was scarcely something you ever thought about.

but that doesn’t mean you never anticipated it, and so you went digging under your closet for the handful of dresses you’ve stolen from a couple of boutiques in topside. something you kept for special occasions and this was one of them.

you settled for a black halter dress that stopped below your thighs and also accentuated your cleavage, along with a pair of sheer dark tights that allowed you space to move around freely.

you rummaged through your drawers and pulled out a couple of broken makeup pallets, likely expired, but you didn’t really care as you meticulously dabbed silver eyeshadow on yourself and applied some red lipstick.

you inspected yourself on your mirror and let out an approving hum. you looked nice. you didn’t really consider yourself drop dead gorgeous but when you made some effort to make yourself presentable, the pay-off was worth it.

your chest swelled with hope thinking maybe this will be the day sevika sees you, really sees you. not just as a co-worker, friend, but someone worthy to replace the girls at the gardens with…

with that, you slipped on your combat boots and strode out of your apartment building, walking through the streets of zaun and not minding the lewd comments thrown your way by the men passing by you.

you showed up at the last drop and one of the bouncers, after taking a good look at you, opened the door for you while shooting you a sly grin.

perhaps you’ve outdone yourself, or maybe the people around you just weren’t used to seeing you all dressed up but either way, their reactions stroked your ego. all that’s left now was to just find sevika.

you made your way up to the bar where thieram was busy serving drinks, and he didn’t recognize you at first until you called out to him.

he blinked as he said your name “damn, is it really you?” he chuckled “you look great.”

“thanks,” you said, smiling “I never had the chance to wear something like this before but since silco is in a good mood…”

“and it suits you. everyone’s eyeing you like a piece of meat, I don’t know if you can tell.”

“yeah, well. they don’t matter,” you looked around “where’s sevika, by the way?”

because she was the only one that mattered.

she was the reason why you even showed up looking like this, why you got out of your comfort zone even though these types of settings weren’t your thing, but you tried, because you wanted to prove yourself to her.

thieram turned to the side and pointed to his left “she arrived about an hour ago.”

you stood up and were about make your way towards her when the sight that greeted you quickly stopped you dead in your tracks, all previous excitement dying as you sunk to the nearest stool.

because there, in her usual booth, sat sevika with not one, but two girls cozied up against her sides while one of them was practically sitting on her lap, and the other was kissing along her neck while a cigarillo was dangling from her mouth. making more room for them to grind against her as she whispered in one of their ears, causing the girl to giggle as she grabbed sevika’s jaw and connected their lips.

you took a step back as your chest begun to feel heavy, while the room suddenly felt ten times more crowded as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scene in front of you because of course, this just had to happen.

how dare you think you had a chance when she went out of her way to bring two of babette’s girls to this blasted party when she already visits them on a regular basis? how dare you think you ever stood a chance against these girls, with their pristine clothing, nicely styled hair and perfect bodies?

you wanted the world to swallow you whole.

“hey, you okay?” thieram asked as your breathing became shallow.

you nodded, harshly swiping the tears that threatened to spill at the corners of your eyes as you walked back to the exit.

“y-yeah, I’m just-“

in your stupor, you didn’t even realize a man was behind you not until you bumped into him, causing him to spill his drink and cuss you out as you started apologizing, creating a commotion.

“I’m so sorry!” you said, your cheeks heating up as you looked around the room before your eyes landed on her again.

but this time, sevika was staring straight at you.

swallowing nervously, you pushed past the sea of people and made your way out of the bar, not even bothering to say goodbye to thieram as you busted through the doors of the back exit, breathing heavily as you slid against the wall of the bar, with your hands on your knees and your tears ruining your makeup.

you should’ve known this was a mistake. you mentally scolded yourself over and over because who were you fooling when you thought sevika would spare a glance your way? even if you dolled yourself up, in the end sevika had countless of women to choose from, and you were never going to be an option. no matter how hard you tried.

stewing in self-pity, you wiped away at your cheeks and stood back up, planning to just head back home and forget the night even happened when the doors of the bar suddenly burst open, making you jump as you whipped around, and your breath hitched when you were met with sevika’s steely grey eyes.

she assessed your frenzied state, staring just a bit longer at your attire, scanning your legs up to your thighs until it stopped at your chest, which was heaving erratically, drawing attention to your cleavage.

“leaving so soon?” she quipped, not hiding the shameful way she was ogling at you “especially when you look this pretty?”

biting your tongue, you tried so hard not to let her words get to you. no. this is what she does, she butters you up and makes you think you have a chance then she turns around and makes you feel like utter shit. this is what she does and you’re not going to sit around making an idiot out of yourself.

“I’m just not feeling good is all.” you said as you attempted to walk past her.

but you were immediately stopped when she grabbed your arm, though her touch was gentle “let me walk you home. it’s not safe especially when you’re out here dressed like that.”

you couldn’t stop yourself, you were filled with so much unnecessary bitterness that as soon as those words left her mouth, you could only scoff before ripping away your arm, causing her to look at you with her eyebrow raised.

“I can handle myself, just go back to those girls that were all over you. it seemed like you were having a great time with them anyways.” you spat, attempting to bristle past her.

however, you gasped when she not only blocked your path but abruptly pushed your body against the wall of the building. not too harsh but with enough force to make you look up at her in compliance.

she towered over your smaller form and took your chin using her prosthetic hand, her metal fingers making you shiver as her breath mingled with your own.

“what’s with the attitude?”

“just let me go-“

“the fuck I will,” she cut you off, her tone harsh “now, I’ll ask again, what’s with the attitude? you’re never like this.”

you clenched your jaw “never like what? you don’t even know me enough to make assumptions of how I normally act.”

“like a bitch is what I’m saying,” she said through her teeth “seriously, what crawled up your ass? you show up looking like this and you can’t even be bothered to stick around let alone have a drink,”

“why should I?” you shook your head “you looked too busy anyways. just forget it and go back to those-“

“what’s with you and the girls I brough-“

“because why waste your time on me?” the dam finally broke, and all your thoughts came flooding out as sevika blinked at you, dumbfounded “you never give me the time of the day even though we’ve been working for so long, and it had to take me getting injured for you to even strike up a conversation with me. you’re always at the gardens and I know it’s none of my business what you do with your time but just…”

you looked to your feet, regret washing in “just forget it. it’s so stupid.”

however, her grip on you only tightened “no, you’re right. it is none of your business, that’s why I want to know why you’re acting this way. I’m not a mind reader, princess. you can’t expect me to know what you want and you haven’t really made it easy either. you think I wanted to wait that long to approach you? talking goes both ways. and you avoiding me so much in the past hasn’t really given me the chance to get to know you. fuck, I even thought…”

you waited for her to finish as she faced away from you “thought what?” you said, your voice merely a whisper.

she sighed as she pressed her body closer to you “I thought you didn’t like me. you never a spoke a word to me but I’ve always noticed you. you’re so good at your job but you only kept to yourself. I just thought you found me and the others too vulgar. I get it. we’re different. but then you had a drink with me and you seemed genuinely interested…”

you inhaled sharply “I was, and still am.”

“then what’s the matter? why are you acting like you’re disgusted with me all of a sudden?”

“it’s not you! it’s just…” you let out a shaky breath “it’s just hard to be around you because I’ve always noticed you too. I was just intimidated but I’ve admired your work ethic, just everything about you really, so much that I even… god, it’s embarrassing.”

“no,” she pulled you closer “tell me,”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, looking away “it’s silly.”

she lifted her flesh hand and pushed away the strands of hair that fell over your face. leaning closer that you felt her lips brush against your cheek.

“you got a little crush on me is what you’re saying?” her mouth quirked into a teasing grin as you groaned, trying to push her away.

“you’re such an ass…” you muttered as her hands slowly maneuvered down to your thighs, and suddenly, she was lifting you by her arms and against the wall as you squealed.

her nose nudged your jaw, leaving a soft kiss underneath and your hands found purchase on her strong shoulders.

“you should’ve told me sooner…” she purred, her voice deep and enticing “it would’ve saved me a hell lot of money from visiting the gardens when I could’ve had you all this time.”

you weren’t given the chance to speak when she suddenly captured your lips in a fervent kiss, making you gasp as she lets out a growl hearing your needy whines.

eventually, you surrendered to it, moving in sync with the frenzied way she was kissing you. almost as if she was just as desperate for this as you were.

you rolled your hips against her torso and sevika lets out a chuckle at your urgency, taking your legs as she wrapped them around her waist.

she took the ends of your dress and pulled them up, tearing your tights down and you let out a whine “s-sev… we’re outside-“

“then let them hear,” her breathing was staggered from all the movement “I’ve waited for this for so long.“

you bit your lip “yeah?”

she nodded, slipping your tights off your legs and discarding them to the side “if you think whatever feelings you’ve had for me was one-sided, you thought wrong.” she kissed your lips with bruising force and you could only moan against her mouth “ever since I laid eyes on silco’s pretty little informant, you’ve always been on my mind.”

her fingers felt down your covered cunt, and you writhed against her palm as she pushed past the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them off, teasing you as your slick met her calloused fingers, making her head spin “you’ve been waiting for this haven’t you, princess?” she asked softly.

you nodded as you begun soaking her palm with your juices, riding her fingers and she parted your folds, thumbing at your clit before she slid one finger in, feeling at your gummy walls before adding a second finger and soon, she was scissoring them in you as your forehead dropped to her shoulder.

jostling in her hold as your body shook, she curled her fingers and started a slow pace that got you moaning her name, and she nodded at your desperate sounds “yeah, that’s it, baby. let everybody know how much you needed this.”

she bent her head down and nipped at your jaw while you humped her scarred hand in earnest “you should’ve fucking told me sooner. do you know how much torture it was to see you walk around the office, all pretty and shy, and not wanting to make a move because I thought you didn’t like me? when all this time your tight little pussy has been weeping for me to fill it.”

you cried out, getting closer to that awaited peak especially when she starts to piston her thick fingers inside you at a maddening speed “I needed this so much, sev. fuck.” you admitted, completely lack of shame.

“I know, baby. now that I know how much you’ve needed this I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” she said and you opened your tear stained eyes to look at her.

“do I feel better than the girls you’ve had before?” you whispered and she nodded, an urgency to it as if she wanted to drill it inside your head that she means every word.

“fuck yeah, baby. I can’t wait to have you in every way that I like. on my tongue, around my fingers…” you let out the most obscene moan at her words “and my cock.”

your orgasm tore through you like a punch to the gut, your mouth falling open into a guttural cry as you creamed against her fingers while she kept curling them inside you, already feeling overstimulated while she talked you through it.

“that’s it…” she said in awe “you feel so good, baby.”

she slowly pulled her fingers out of you and you whined at the loss. but your eyes widened when suddenly sevika planted your wobbly legs down onto the ground and knelt down in front of you and started lapping away at your soaked pussy, her pupils blown wide as she began cleaning you up.

once she was done, she stood up and helped you into your underwear, breathing heavily before connecting her lips with yours. you melted as you tasted yourself on her tongue and the kiss was warmer, gentler this time.

she pulled away, leaning her forehead against yours “let me take you out?”

it took a while for your mind to process her words, still fuzzy from the aftermath of your orgasm but once it sunk in, you could only chuckle as you smiled up at her.

“usually you’d ask that first then try to have sex with me in an alley…”

there was a playful glint in her eyes “what can I say, I couldn’t wait any longer.”

you hummed, cupping her face as you drew her in for another kiss.

“yeah, me neither.”

#sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #arcane #arcane fanfiction #arcane smut #wlw smut #lesbian #sapphic #dividers by fairytopea

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mariasont · 4 months ago

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One Clean Shot - A.H

summary: it’s a standard training session, until hotch steps behind you to adjust your stance and suddenly your biggest problem isn’t your aim pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warning tags: suggestive content, hotch accidentally touches your tits, r shooting a gun, hotch shooting a gun, r kinda objectifying hotch (i showed my friends then we high fived), dbf!hotch, age gap wc 1.6k

"Oh, for the love of —"

You bite down on the words, trapping them before they can tumble out as something truly impolite. You fire. Left. Again. Another shot. Too high. Again. Too wide.

The gun jerks in your hand, unforgiving and indifferent. Gunpowder starts to scratch at your throat, your lungs, your patience even. You were starting to believe that it was a possibility that you were just inherently biologically incapable of aiming correctly. Bad aim genes, perhaps.

You try to picture your father holding a gun, arms stiff, stance awkward, probably muttering something about how in his day, disputes were settled with a well-worded legal argument.

Yeah, okay, that might explain a lot.

Except no, you passed all your quals. You aced them.

It was just an off day.

A specific, very tall off day named Hotch, who was currently standing behind you, radiating silent judgement at a level so intense it should be considered a supernatural ability. He was probably analyzing every micro-movement, taking note of every error, mentally drafting a performance review that would start with you're doing fine and end with a perfectly professional but somehow soul-crushing but you can do better.

You try to steady your hands and you fail and you think maybe you should just hand him the gun and let him execute your dignity at point-blank range.

It's fine, you tell yourself. It's not like your entire self-worth is balancing on the edge of his nonexistent expression. There's a chance he's not even thinking about you. He could be mentally going over his grocery list or calculating how much paperwork he had left to do today.

Or there's the more terrifying chance that he is watching you and wondering why you aren't better, why you aren't like him — like your father, wondering why you aren't meeting expectations.

And it's humiliating, really. How much you want to impress him. How much you want to make him proud and maybe even—

"You're anticipating the recoil."

You turn too fast, the world tilting for just a second, your vision narrowing to the sharp angles of Hotch's face.

"Here."

The word is barely out of his mouth before his hands are everywhere, no, not everywhere, everywhere, just your vest. But they might as well be, because your nerve endings aren't capable of knowing the difference.

He grips your vest at the shoulders, jerks the straps tight, a firm pull that rocks you just slightly forward, just slightly into him. Then his fingers skate down, adjusting the collar, smoothing over the bare skin where fabric meets flesh, his knuckles barely grazing the dip between your collarbones.

And then lower. Over your chest. Between. The back of his hand ghosts along the swell of your breasts, then right where your ribs curve inward, where his palm would fit if he just, just, slid an inch lower.

It's fast. Nothing. Over in a second. But your stomach is tight, your breath is tight, you are tight. And you swear if he lingers a moment longer, you might melt into a indecipherable puddle on the floor.

Your pulse is all over the place, skipping, tripping, betraying. Heat rushes to your cheeks, slow at first, then all at once, like a delayed newsflash that your body apparently has opinions about this.

Because this is stupid. Stupid. It's not like he meant to touch you there. It's not like he noticed. Did he notice?

No, absolutely not because that would imply things, and there are not things.

This is just your problem. Your rogue nervous system. Your tragic inability to be normal about anything. You are making this a thing when it is very much not a thing.

But you felt the way your stomach knots around something you don't even have the vocabulary to name, the way your nipples pebbled like they had some vested interest in ruining your life.

It's — what? Hormones? Static electricity? Some kind of spontaneous full-body malfunction? Because you didn't want to think about it being him, a side effect to prolonged exposure to Aaron Hotchner. (Should you warn the others?)

And still, he keeps going, cinching straps, flattening fabric, all broad (very broad) hands and no-nonsense efficiency. Like you're just a piece of gear to fix. You, on the other hand, are actively considering the logistics of just dropping dead on the spot. It seemed feasible.

"Shoulders back."

The instruction comes at the same time as he moves in behind you, a hand landing between your shoulder blades, and pushes, forces your spine straighter, like you're something to be molded, adjusted, put into place.

Then his hands moves to your waist, shifting your stance just a hair, just enough to make you brutally of the size of his hands. How they fit against you.

Then, oh. His foot nudges between yours, then hooks your ankle, kicking your stance wider.

His palm finds the space between your shoulder blades again, pressing down just enough to remind you where you are, who you are, what you're supposed to be doing instead of, well, whatever this is.

"Breathe."

Oh. Right. Breathing. That's a thing.

You suck in a sharp breath, only now realizing you'd been holding it captive in your chest.

"A lot of people hold their breath when they shoot," he explains, his other hand pressing into your ribs as if to make sure you were following his instructions, as if you'd do anything else. "It feels instinctual, like bracing will make you more controlled. But if you hold your breath, you lock up. Tension works against you. Breathing through the shot keeps everything loose. It makes the release smoother."

You weren't sure when everything became so hot, pressing in from all sides. But you felt like you might be sweating because no one should be allowed to say things like that, in a voice like his, with hands like his, and with zero self-awareness of what words like release can do to a person in your position.

You try to focus, to take another breath, but even that feels like a trap, because you are suddenly mortifying aware of the way your chest rises, of the heat dissipating between you, of how close he is.

His arms come to frame yours, surrounding in a way that makes everything else feel smaller. His hands go over yours, his chest is against your shoulder, his forearm skimming yours, and his breath is now tickling your ear.

"Your thumbs need to be higher," he says, adjusting them with his own, the rough pad of his finger dragging along the side of your hand. "You're gripping too far down, which throws off your alignment. Keep them forward, parallel with the slide. It'll help keep the recoil controlled, make your follow up shot faster."

His fingers tighten over yours, making sure you feel it. "And support your hand, it's doing too much. The pressure should be between both hands. If you squeeze harder with one than the other, you'll pull your shot without realizing it."

You nod, because you always nod when he speaks. Because you listen. Because learning from him is something you like, something that makes you feel good, something that makes you feel seen. And maybe that's why your hands are shaking.

He steps back and it's immediate, the rush of air, the space, the clarity that surely wasn't there before. Your chest expands, lungs finally taking what they were denied.

"Try again."

You exhale, reposition, adjust your stance the way he taught you. His instructions replay in your head, and you obey, thumbs high, pressure even, breathing.

You fire. And it's improved, smoother, more controlled, exactly like he said.

"That's it. Better."

You smoother the feeling those two words give you, shove in into the pit of your stomach where it can't cause problems. Where it can't mean anything. You're pathetic.

"Watch."

He steps in, you step back.

You try to focus on the technical aspects, really, you do. On how he grips the gun, on how his fingers rest perfectly in place, on how his stance is exactly what he just told you to correct. But your brain is completely uncooperative.

Your brain apparently has priorities, and right now, those priorities are his arms, the way his muscles shift beneath tight sleeves, the flex of his shoulders as he raises said gun.

And then lower, corruptfully lower, to the curve of his waist, where the fabric of his shirt strains, the way his belt rests just above the curve of his —

Absolutely not.

You blink hard, inhaling sharp, mentally shoving that thought into a vault labeled inappropriate. Do not open. The worst part, however, is that you can't tell if you're more mortified by the fact that your brain went there, or by the fact that, now that is has, you're not sure how to get it to stop.

"Focus."

Your mouth opens, then closes. "I — I am."

He doesn't look at you. Not once. But the way he reloads, it's like he's giving you time to wallow in the moment. And there's something, something, in the slight pull of his mouth, in the tiniest shift of his expression that's almost, but not quite, a smirk.

"Not on the right things."

His fires. One clean shot. Straight to the heart.

The paper doesn't resist, it just takes it, the force ripping clean through the center, leaning nothing but a perfect, gaping wound. It was precise in a way that shouldn't be surprising but still is.

It's a clean shot through something inside of you, too.

And you have no idea how to patch it up.

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#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x sweetheart reader #aaron hotchner x sweethear!reader #dbf aaron hotchner #dbf!aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner one shot #🌺 maria writes

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nanaslutt · 2 years ago

Note

PLEASE write more of geto being a perv🙏🙏

“pt.1” here

Geto x reader, in showing you how sorry he is for being a creep<3

perv!geto is my obsession atm

contains: fem reader, non consensual photography (reader is kinda ok w it), pervy roomate!geto, crack, gojo makes an appearance, talk of gojo wanting reader, sexual tension, cunnilingus, masturbation(geto), degradation, soooooooo much dirty talk, sweet!geto at the end<3

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

About a week ago you were watching a scary movie with geto on your laptop, drinks placed on the table next to it; dumbly.

So of course when the scariest jump scare you’ve ever seen in your life occurred, your legs jerked into the glass of liquid, spilling it all over your laptop and absolutely ruining it.

“God- Fuck! Noooo! nonono!” you shot up to grab a blanket, pillow, anything, to soak up the liquid, “TAKE YOUR SHIRT OF NOW,” you yelled in a panic to your dark haired roommate, who; you noticed throughout this entire excursion had barely moved a muscle to help, besides the muscles used to laugh at you.

“Babe I hate to be the one to tell you this, but that shit is beyond saving,” he laughed, placing his hand over his chest while he did.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck, I use my laptop every single, and day I absolutely cannot afford to buy a new one right now.” you placed your head in your hands in defeat.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” geto said, at the end of his fit of giggles at your expense.

“Yeah right, ur broke as shit too, that’s why we’re living together.” you said, muffled into your legs as your body had now fully collapsed in on itself.

“Yeah ur right, but that kinda hurts my feelings,” he said, smirk showing through his faux pout, “thought you liked livin’ with me,”

The two of you bickered back and forth for a while. You ended up putting the laptop in a bag of rice; to no avail, it was completely ruined.

Geto had been nice enough to let you use his laptop in the meantime; only when he was with you though, which you found slightly weird but at least you had access to it to some degree.

Right now you had the house to yourself though. Satoru had picked him up half and hour ago, saying something about wanting to try some new coffee shop with word famous sweets; that meant you had free range of his laptop.

You knew how to clear search history, so you would be fine. You just wanted to watch a movie anyways, nothing criminal.

Sneaking into his room, you unplugged the silver electronic, sliding it under your arm as you took it back to your room. Placing the laptop on your bed and getting comfortable against your pillows, you cracked it open, You had accidentally seen him type in his password before, so getting in was no problem.

What was a problem is what was on the screen when the laptop came to life. An entire folder of up skirt panty shots; and not just anyone’s panty shots; they were yours.

Scrolling through the decently filled folder, you noticed ones that dated back months ago. You saw a picture of you laying on your bed, head in your hands while you kicked your feet behind you; the short skirt you were wearing gave geto the perfect view of your unobstructed ass, slight pink peaking between your cheeks.

Other too, you doing more mundane things like sitting on your knees on the barstool you had in the house, poking out your ass, once again giving that dark haired pervert the perfect shot of your clothed mound.

You were almost impressed at how many there were, and how make different angles he was able to get without your knowledge.

Trying to wrap your head around the idea that yes, your sweet roommate who has never attempted to come onto you once, had a secret folder filled with lewd photos of you.

Saving the file, you sent it to yourself. Once you heard the chime on your phone you quickly copied the link, and sent it to the culprit himself, no other message attached to it but the folder alone.

——

“Ummm ooh, I’ll also get the triple chocolate cream filled crepe cake please! What do you want suguru?” gojo chirped.

Geto started at him with disbelief, he had just ordered 5 full size deserts with the longest name he’d ever heard; all sounding like a stomach ache and a half; and they were all for himself.

“Right..uh, i’ll just get the vanilla scone and a black coffee please.” Geto politely spoke to the man taking his order.

Gojo continued conversing with the cashier, finishing up ordering any last minute items and paying.

Geto felt his phone buzz in his pants, checking it quickly while gojo finished up the interaction; both of them starting to walk to booth in the corner of the cafe.

Suguru’s heart sank to his balls when he opened your message. He knew you were mad too, because you didn’t say anything else other than a link to his private folder of your panty shots. “Fuuuuuuuuuck haha,” geto laughed, hand coming up to cover his smirk as they slid into the booth.

“Huh? let me see, what happened?” Gojo nosed, trying to peek over the table at geto’s phone when he noticed it was the source of his distress.

“I might have to sleep at your house tonight, maybe for the rest of my life I don’t know.” he said, hand dropping back into his lap as he shut his phone off.

“Did you forget to do your dishes or somethin’?” he asked, knowing how angry you got at Geto when he didn’t pick up after himself.

“Yeah maybe, or maybe my roommate just found the upskirt pics i’ve been taking of them for the past couple months.” he giggled, slight remorse in the back of his head. Not from doing it, but from being caught.

Gojo’s jaw dropped, covering his own mouth as he let out a boisterous laugh. “Hahaha oh man, you really are fucked.” the blonde slapped his own knee, “I’ll let you co-sign my lease tonight,” he said, scared that if suguru went home, he might actually get murdered.

Geto kicked satoru’s shin underneath the table, making him wince. Their giggles died down at geto’s misfortune after awhile. “So..” gojo started, “Yer’ gunna let me see the pics right?” he asked, “Already hurt you didn’t tell me about this,” he pouted,

“In your fucking dreams satoru,” geto snorted. He already saw the way gojo looked at you when he was over, always making passes at you and touching you any chance he got.

He would be damned if his bestfriend got his hands on you before he did. “WHAT???” gojo yelled a little too loud for the tiny space they were in, resulting in him getting shushed by geto, “pleaseeeee, I know how good you are at taking pictures I bet they’re soooo gooood.” gojo wined, crossing his arms on the table and laying his head against them.

“Keep dreaming satoru.” he laughed. The whine haired man kept his pouting up for awhile, calling Geto selfish and unfair, his sorrow immediately being forgot about when the massive tray of his deserts finally came out.

——

When you heard the front door to your shared apartment finally crack open open a couple hours later, you were in your bedroom.

His laptop had been tucked away in your bedside table in confiscation, while you awaited with a racing heart, for him to knock on your bedroom door.

You heard him place his keys on the table through the thin walls, then you hear his heavy footsteps as he starts to make his way to your room.

The air was still when the footsteps came to a stop in front of your door. You were feeling a lot less confident than you were before he got here, now the thought of confronting him made your mouth feel dry; heart beating out of your chest.

Finally, the knocks were being rapped on your door, you swear you died for a second when you heard his familiar voice call your name, followed by him asking politely if he could come in.

"Its open," you yelled back. When the wooden door creaked open and his frame came into view, you had to fight off all the neurons in your brain telling you to look away from his hooded eyes.

You felt like you couldn't breathe, the tension in the room was so thick it could be cut through with a knife. You had no idea why, but the current situation was admittedly arousing.

You stayed silent for a while, just staring at each other, neither one of you daring to break eye contact first, "So? What do you have to say for yourself?" you asked, voice coming out a lot less confident than you wanted.

"Im sorry." he replied, swallowing thickly, quickly sucking his lip into his mouth to wet it.

"You're sorry for what?" you asked clarifying, This wasn't going how you expected.

"I'm sorry for being a pervert and taking panty pics of my roommate." He said, taking a couple steps towards where you were sitting at the edge of the bed.

"Are you really sorry?" You asked, voice full of need, as you did your best to supress it, trying to ignore the growing heat in your stomach.

"So sorry" he answered, having made his way inches away from you, eye contact still not being broken. You both noticed how heavily you were breathing, his eyes flitting down to your lips for a second before he sucked his lip into his mouth again, and letting it slide out, dark eyes meeting yours again.

The only thing you heard was your heart beat loudly in your ears as you spoke your next words, "Show me how sorry you are."

----

"Mm so fucking sorry," geto's voice vibrated against your clit.

"F-fuck ohmygod," You moaned at the feeling of him wrapping his lips around the bud, tongue peeking through to flick at it.

"A-again-" you whined,

"'M sorry," he groaned, staring up at you with a smirk as he released your clit, flattening his tongue over the sensitive bud.

You were laid back, ass placed at the end of the bed, Geto was sitting back on his heels as he perched himself on the floor between your thighs, hand rapidly stoking over his throbbing cock.

"W-wipe that sm-ile off your face" you wined, trying to keep the little hold you had over geto.

He didnt stop smiling, but you could'nt tell when he burried his tongue inside your pussy, pressing his face hard into your wetness and shaking his head. His pointed nose rubbed your clit in the most delicious way when he did that.

"S-so fucking dirty" you chastised at how sloppily he was eating your cunt. He was trying to fuck his apology into your pussy with his tongue, really trying to prove how sorry he was.

Loud slurping noises bouncing off the walls and going straight to your head; and to his cock; making you both dizzy at the situation.

"Sorry I'm so nasty," he groaned, muffled by your folds as he tongue fucked you like his life depended on it.

Quickening the pace of his hand against his cock, he was squeezing it the same way your walls squeezed his tongue, trying to mimic the feeling. Pre was dripping steadily from his cock and onto the floor, leaving a little puddle there.

Geto was getting off on this so hard.

Every time you squeezed your thighs around his head and degraded him, his abs clenched, balls tightening with the need to blow his load.

"O-only thing youre good for is eating my pussy, f-fuck" you said meanly with a whimper, eyes dropping down to his handsome face and seeing how fucked out he looked from your words, as he nodded his head and moaned into you, agreeing with you.

He needed to you keep talking to him like that, to keep humping his face, suffocating him, treating him like a bitch, he needed it.

"Use me-" he cut himself off as he moved his mouth back up to your clit, making out with the little bud messily, "wanna show you how sorry I am." he drunkenly smiled at you.

You gripped his hair in a makeshift bun, rolling your hips against his face as he stuck his tongue out for you to get yoruself off on.

Groans of "mhm mhmm" could be heard from Geto between your legs, pumping his cock impossibly faster feeling your wetness gush out of you from his minstrations.

"Ohmygod feels so good- shit-" You wined, tipping your head back, feeling your orgasm build quicky as you rubbed against his tongue just right.

His chin was absolutely covered in your slick, pretty eyes rolling back in his head as he felt himself get pushed towards the edge as well, abandoning his hand keeping your thigh spread to join his other between his legs. He massaged his balls between his fingers, increasing the pleasure he felt while you worked towards your end together.

"Fuck t-tell me your sorry again," you whimpered out, teetering on the edge of your orgasm, "Sorry" his deep voice immediately groaned out, cock throbbing when you yanked on his hair.

"Ag-ain" your moans broke up your speech,

"Sorry, m' sorry, sorry-" He kept babbling against your pussy, sending delicious vibrations through you.

You were feeling hotter at the strange power dynamic going on, using that to your advantage as he kept mumbling the word into you, sending you straight into the most mindblowing orgasm of your life.

"Coming f-uck fuck f-" your voice getting cut off as your stomach started contracting and jerking, you rode your high out on his tongue while he groaned a lengthy moan into you.

Behind where your vision was blocked by the bed, Geto was cumming all over his hand and the bottom of your comforter.

Geto's eyes repeatedly rolled back in his head, hand massaging his cum out of his balls as he stroked himself roughly through his orgasm.

Finally being able to breathe when you loosened your legs from their hold on his neck, dropping your hands from his hair as you laid back on the sheets. Geto's hands wet with his seed came up to massage your thighs, his head rasing from between them.

You both took a second to breathe heavily into the open air, your cunt as his cock alike twitching in the aftershocks of your orgasms.

You felt his hold on you cease for a moment, a couple seconds later something was bouncing heavily next to your head. When you turned your head you were faced with a brand new, rose gold laptop, still in its packaging.

You looked back up at geto, who was now standing, running one of his damp hands through his hair, "If me eating your pussy didnt prove how sorry I am, I hope this will." He smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fuck, Geto are you serious?" you beamed, picking your limp body up from the sheets and holding the package in your hands, he smiled at you fondly, watching you tear it open like a kid on Christmas.

Peeling the plastic from the cardboard you spoke, "Still making you delete all those photos by the way," resulting in him tipping his head back in a loud groan of defeat.

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