#but maybe that’s just wishful thinking idk

[lostfracturess]

In the backseat? Or on the stairs?

ღ pairing satoru gojo x female reader

ღ summary you and satoru have been driving each other crazy all night with your constant teasing. just your luck, the only seat left in the car is right on his lap. with every bump and turn on the road home, you can't help grinding against him and with his moans in your ear, it's only a matter of time before something more happens right?

ღ wc 6.3 k

ღ warnings 18+ ONLY. porn without plot, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, friends), penetration, fingering, public sex, kinda breeding kink, praising, needy female lol, overstimulation, edging, oral (both male and female), satoru is a bit insane as always.

ღ author's note idk what to put here. not that people really care, we all know why you're here so enjoy. it's basically a continuation of this. & pls like or repost if you enjoyed, it means the world !! ♡

Satoru Gojo's lap was absolutely the last place you expected to find yourself tonight. Yet here you are, perched on his muscular thighs, the crowded car speeding towards your place after the party.

Trying to get comfortable, you shift your weight, accidentally brushing against his crotch. Satoru sucks in a sharp breath.

"Easy there." His hand grips your waist tighter, pulling you flush against his chest. "Or are you trying to start something?"

"You wish," you fire back.

"Oh, I do wish." He smirks, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt "Been wanting to get my hands on you all night."

You merely huff, pretending indifference even as your heart races at his words, his touch. Satoru Gojo is the biggest tease on campus, and he fucking knows it.

Tonight's party was no different.

From the moment you arrived, Satoru was there, looking infuriatingly handsome in his tight shirt that clung to his every muscle, flashing that cocky grin whenever he caught you staring. Which was often.

Now, crammed in Suguru's car, the only seat left just had to be Satoru's lap. Before you could protest, Suguru hit the gas and the car lurched forward.

Satoru's arm snakes around your waist to steady you. "Careful there," he murmurs, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. "Wouldn't want you to fall."

Biting your lip, you stare out the window, trying to focus on anything but the way your bodies are molded together. Every bump, every turn presses you against him in the most maddening way.

Heat pools in your core as you fight the urge to grind down onto him. Blame it on the alcohol, but it was damn hard to think straight when you were rubbing against his rough pants.

But then a glance at Satoru nearly makes you gasp. Head thrown back, eyes closed, lips parted. His arm tightens around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

Then, he dips his head, lips grazing your ear. "Keep squirming like that, love, and we're gonna have a situation." His other hand finds your thigh, fingertips dragging over your skin. "Not that I'm complaining. Grind on me all you want."

Your breath catches. Heat courses through your veins, and it's only partly from the alcohol. Maybe it's liquid courage, maybe it's weeks of pent-up frustration. But now it's payback time.

Slowly, deliberately, you roll your hips, relishing his sharp intake of breath.

Satoru shifts beneath you. Unmistakable proof of his hardening length brushes your backside, a whimper nearly escapes him.

"Fuck, you feel what you do to me?" Satoru's groan is quiet in your ear. "Been hard for you all damn night."

"Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?"

"Oh, I've got plenty in mind." Satoru's fingers dig into your hip. "But not sure you could handle it with an audience."

"Try me. I dare you."

"Don't tempt me. When I get you alone, you're gonna regret being such a tease."

Boldly, you rock your hips against him, teasing him just a little bit more.

His hips buck up involuntarily, seeking friction. His cock presses against your backside. He dips his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Another moan falls from his lips, this one deeper, needier, muffled against your shoulder.

"Keep moving like that and I won't be able to control myself," he warns, his words hot against your shoulder. "Gonna end up taking you right here in this car, audience be damned."

And oh, how you wanted to take him up on that challenge.

You shift again, this time with clear intent. You grind down against his hardness, rolling your hips in a slow, deliberate circle but subtly to avoid drawing attention from the others in the car, the flowing fabric of your skirt thankfully providing enough coverage to conceal your movements.

His fingers dig into your waist, a strangled groan escaping his throat. You feel him grow even harder beneath you, straining against the confines of his pants, his thick length digging into your backside.

Biting your lip, you reach back and palm him through his pants, squeezing gently. You can feel him throb through the layers of clothing separating you.

Satoru jolts, a high, needy whine catching in his throat. His head falls back against the seat, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to maintain control.

"Shit, shit, wait," he pants, fingers circling your wrist to stop your teasing touch. "Stop that."

"What's the matter, Satoru? Can't handle a little teasing?"

"You're going to regret this," he warns, voice thin with strain. "You're in so much trouble when I get you alone."

Wetness pools between your thighs, soaking through your underwear. You've never wanted him more than in this moment.

Satoru's mouth finds your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "But you know, two can play at this game, love," he rumbles against your throat. "And I play to win."

To punctuate his point, his free hand slides up your inner thigh, fingers brushing feather-light over your feverish skin. Even that small touch makes you gasp, hips pressing against his.

"Better be careful. Keep up the teasing and I might just make you come right here, audience or no."

Your breath hitches, body torn between the desire to let him do just that and the knowledge that you're very much not alone.

But Satoru seems determined to push things further. His fingers grow bolder, wandering further up your thigh, skimming over the sensitive skin with feather-light touches that have you squirming.

Higher and higher he goes, until finally, finally, he reaches your clothed core. Your pulse pounds in your ears as he traces the lacy edge of your underwear, the barest hint of a touch.

"Satoru," you whisper, half plea, half warning. You're not sure if you're begging him to stop or keep going, but it doesn't matter. He does what he wants anyway.

"Shh," he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. "Just keep quiet and let me make you feel good."

With that, he presses his fingers more firmly against you, rubbing slow, lazy strokes over your clothed clit. Biting your lip hard, you try to stifle the moan rising in your throat. But then his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your underwear, and the first direct touch of skin against skin has you shuddering in his lap.

"So wet," Satoru marvels, fingers gliding easily through your slick folds. "All this, just from a little teasing? You're going to be drenched by the time we get home."

"Satoru," you whimper. "Please..."

"Please what, love?" His fingers circle your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your head spin. "Tell me what you want."

"I want—" you start, only to cut off with a gasp when the car hits a pothole, causing his fingers to slip lower, teasing your entrance.

"Sorry guys," Suguru calls over his shoulder, "road's a bit bumpy."

"Yeah, no problem," Satoru replies, voice surprisingly steady for a man with his hand between your legs. "We're good."

Good is an understatement.

The way his fingers are moving against you, dipping just slightly into your entrance before sliding back up to your clit, has you seeing stars. Your hips rock against his touch, desperate for more.

He traces the very edge of your entrance, circling you with a barely-there pressure that makes you want to scream. Dipping just the tips of his fingers inside, he gathers the wetness before gliding back up to your clit.

His touch is maddening. You're desperate for more, for the thick slide of his fingers deep inside you, for the delicious stretch and fullness. But Satoru denies you, keeps his touches feather-light and fleeting, never quite giving you what you need.

"Please," you whimper, hips canting shamelessly against his hand. "Please, Satoru, I need..."

"What do you need, love?" he purrs in your ear, fingers continuing their torturous movements. "Use your words."

"Your fingers. Inside me. Please, I need you inside me."

Satoru hums, considering.

His fingers dip into your entrance again, just slightly deeper than before. Your breath hitches, walls fluttering around the teasing intrusion. But before you can grind down, before you can take him deeper, he withdraws, sliding back up to circle your clit.

"Satoru," you whine plaintively.

"Patience, love. I'll give you what you need. Eventually."

His fingers glide down again, tracing through your slick folds, teasing at your entrance without ever breaching. It's torturous, the ghosting pressure where you're empty and aching.

Up and down, up and down, never pushing inside but just hinting at the pleasure of it. Your core turns molten until you think you can't take it any longer.

You're so wet you can hear it, the obscene sound of his fingers gliding through your arousal seeming impossibly loud in the close confines of the car.

"Fuck, you're dripping. I've barely touched you and you're already this wet for me."

As if to emphasize his point, he circles your entrance again, dipping just the very tips of his fingers inside, stretching you open around him for a fleeting second before withdrawing.

"So desperate to be filled. You want it so bad, don't you, love?," he marvels, pressing just slightly deeper on the next pass. "Want my fingers buried deep inside you, want me stretching you open and fucking you until you scream."

"Yes," you sob, head thrashing against his shoulder. "Yes, please Satoru, please..."

He rewards your begging with another barely-there thrust, the very tips of his fingers breaching your entrance before retreating again. It's simultaneously too much and not enough, the fleeting fullness stoking your desperation to a fever pitch.

"Satoru, please. I can't... I need..."

"Shh, I know. I've got you, love. Going to give you what you need now."

Slowly, torturously, he sinks one long finger into you. The slide is smooth and easy, your body offering no resistance. You moan low in your throat, head tipping back in relief and pleasure as he bottoms out, buried to the knuckle.

"Fuck, you're tight," Satoru whispers, sounding almost pained. "And so wet, fuck. Can't wait to feel this perfect little cunt wrapped around my cock."

The thought makes you clench hard, walls rippling around his finger. Satoru groans, hips grinding up against your ass, the thick line of his cock digging into you.

Slowly, he starts to move, pumping his finger in and out of you. But it's not enough, the stretch too slight to truly satisfy the ache inside you.

"More. Please, Satoru, more."

He obeys with a second finger, the added thickness making you gasp and arch. Satoru sets a deep rhythm, fingers curling to stroke that spot inside you that make you bite down your lip.

"Fuck, Satoru. More, please, more..."

You feel his answering groan more than hear it, the vibration of it rumbling through his chest pressed against your back. "Such a greedy girl, always needin' more."

He punctuates his words with a particularly deep thrust, before you can do more than gasp, he's withdrawing, ignoring your whimper of protest. But it's only for a second, just long enough for him to add a third finger on the next plunge.

The stretch is maddening, bordering on too much. It tears a gasp from your throat before you can stop it. It's loud enough to make Suguru glance back briefly. "Everything okay back there?"

You bite down you lip to keep from whimpering. With his fingers still inside you, Satoru keeps his expression impressively neutral, even as his other hand grips your thigh hard enough to bruise.

"Yeah, we're good. Hey, can you turn up the music? I love that song."

Suguru shrugs, seemingly oblivious to what happens in the backseat. "Sure thing, man." He reaches for the volume dial, cranking up the pounding bass until it fills the car.

You've never been more grateful for loud music in your life. As the beat thrums through the vehicle, you pray it will drown out any further sounds you might make. Especially considering Choso and Kento, passed out drunk were literally sitting beside you.

Satoru bottoms out, three fingers buried as deep as they can go, stretching you impossibly full. For a moment he stays like that, let's you just feel the perfect ache of it, the way your inner walls ripple and squeeze around him.

"Oh fuck." You grind your hips down to take him even deeper. "Satoru, yes..."

"That's it, take it. Take everything I give you like a good girl."

Slowly he begins to move. It's a smooth, deep glide, his fingers stroking you from the inside with devastating precision. He curls them just right, rubbing over that sensitive spot he found as if he knew it by heart.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, mouth open in a silent moan as he works you closer and closer to the edge.

"God, the sounds you make," Satoru groans, pumping his fingers faster, harder. "Sexiest fucking thing I've ever heard. Could listen to you moan for me all damn night. I wonder why he didn't do that sooner?"

Every thrust of Satoru's fingers, every glancing brush of his thumb over your clit, drags another broken whimper from your throat. Pleasure builds rapidly fast, your body climbing higher and higher, chasing the release that shimmers just out of reach.

"Satoru, please," you gasp. "I'm so close, I need... fuck, I need..."

"I know what you need," he rasps, doubling his efforts. His fingers piston in and out of you. "Need to come, don't you? Need to soak my fingers, drench my hand in your cum until it's dripping down my wrist."

"Satoru. Need you. Please."

"Shh, I've got you," he soothes, even as his thrusts grows harder, faster. "Just let go, love. I'll catch you."

Thank god for the loud music and low lighting. If not for that, everyone in the car would be clearly aware of exactly what Satoru is doing to you right now, how you're trembling and writhing in his lap.

His fingers speed up, his thump rubbing firm circles against your clit. You're close, teetering on the knife's edge of release.

"That's it. You're being so good for me, staying quiet while I make you feel good. You gonna come for me, love? Gonna soak my fingers while trying not to scream?"

His words make you clench hard around his fingers. Your thighs start to tremble. You're so close, body drawn tight.

Satoru feels it too. "That's it. Come on my fingers, love. Wanna feel you let go."

But just as you're about to tip over the edge, just as your eyes are fluttering closed, the car rolls to a stop. Satoru's fingers still deep inside you, a frustrated groan rumbling in his chest.

"We're here," Suguru announces, glancing at you through the rearview mirror.

It takes a moment for the words to reach you through the haze clouding your mind. You blink dazedly, struggling to catch your breath as Satoru carefully withdraws his hand form you.

"Thanks for the ride, man," he says to Suguru, voice strained but level. "I'll make sure she gets in safe."

"You sure you don't need a ride too? I don't mind, it's on my way."

But Satoru is already shaking his head, one hand reaching for yours, lacing your fingers together. "Nah, I'm good. I'll walk or catch a cab later."

He doesn't wait for a response, practically yanking you out of the car and slamming the door shut behind you. Satoru's grip on your hand tightens as he drags you to the door of your house, impatient to get you inside.

You fumble with your keys, doesn't help that Satoru is pressed against your back, the hard length of him digging into you, making it difficult to concentrate.

"Hurry," he urges. His lips find your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the heated skin. You gasp, head falling back against his shoulder as he sucks at your throat.

Finally, blessedly, the door swings open.

You barely have time to step inside before Satoru is on you again, kicking the door shut and pinning you against it. His mouth on yours in a bruising kiss, tongue delving deep, claiming you.

He kisses you like a starving man at a feast, consuming you, devouring you. It's all you can do to cling to his shoulders as the onslaught continues, feeling dizzy and breathless.

Large hands roam your body, pushing your skirt up around your waist, squeezing your ass. He grinds against you, the rough fabric of his pants creating delicious friction against your sensitive core.

"Satoru," you gasp as his mouth trails down your neck, teeth nipping. "Bedroom. Now."

"Takes too long." In one swift motion, he grasps your hips and lifts you up, turning to set you down on the stairs instead.

Your breath catches as your back meets the cold wooden steps. His body covers yours, his weight on you as he settles between your thighs. You can feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing against you.

He braces a hand on the stair by your head, the other trailing down your side. "You've been teasing me all night. Strutting around in this tiny little outfit, bending over in front of me, brushing against me 'accidentally'. Driving me fucking crazy.”

He rolls his hips, grinding against your core. Even through layers of clothing, the friction is maddening. Your back arches, pressing closer.

"Maybe I like driving you crazy," you manage breathlessly. Your own hands tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin. "Maybe I like seeing you so desperate."

"Careful what you wish for, love."

Satoru's electric blue eyes burn into you, pupils blown wide. With a swift movement, he pushes you up against him and tugs your shirt over your head, tossed carelessly to the side.

You gasp as the cool air of the room hits your heated skin, goosebumps rising in its wake. But it quickly turns into a moan when his mouth is on your chest.

"That's for teasing me all night. Need me to mark you as mine, huh? Show everyone who you belong to?"

You moan, high and breathy, as his lips wander lower, tongue swirling against your sternum. When he reaches the edge of your bra, he doesn't hesitate, dragging the cups down to free your breasts. His large hands cup the soft mounds, squeezing gently.

"Fucking perfect." His large hands cup the soft mounds, squeezing gently, thumbs brushing over the hardened nipples. Then his mouth is on you, hot and wet, and coherent thought becomes impossible.

His tongue laves over one nipple, lapping at the sensitive bud, teeth grazing lightly. He sucks it deep into his mouth, the pull of his lips sending heat straight to your core.

Your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft white strands as you hold him to your chest. Desperate, needy sounds spill from your lips as he works you over, every swipe of his tongue, every scrape of his teeth stoking the fire within you higher.

He lavishes the same attention on your other breast, sucking and licking and biting until you're writhing against him, hips rolling restlessly, seeking friction. Your core throbs, molten heat gathering between your thighs.

"Satoru," you gasp, arching into his touch. "Feels so good."

He hums around your nipple, the vibrations making you shudder. His free hand glides down your side, skimming over your ribs and waist, before gripping your hip possessively.

Satoru releases your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air over the wet nipple before his lips trail lower, peppering open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. He sucks a mark into the curve of your hip, tongue soothing the sting.

His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, starting to tug them down. But then he pauses, looking up at you through his lashes with a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Tell me what you want, love. Tell me how you want me to pleasure you."

“Your mouth.” You swallow hard, mind hazy. "Want your mouth on me."

A slow smile spreads across his face. "As you wish."

With deliberate slowness, he drags your underwear down your legs, baring you completely to his gaze. He settles between your thighs, hands smoothing up your trembling legs to grip your hips, spreading you wider for him. Fingertips press into your skin, hard enough to leave bruises.

"Look at you. So wet for me already. Bet you've been dripping for me all night, haven't you?"

Then, he dips his head, and the first hot swipe of his tongue through your folds has you crying out, fingers scrabbling for purchase in his hair. Satoru moans at your taste, the sound vibrating against your core.

He licks a long, slow stripe up your slit, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue. Your hips buck, seeking more of his tongue on you, but his hands hold you firmly in place. He teases you with slow licks, ghosting over where you need him most.

"God, Satoru, please," you whimper. "No more teasing."

"So needy."

But he obeys, diving in like a man starved, mouth hot and wet against your core, his lips around your clit and sucking hard. Before his tongue delves deep, fucking into you with lazy, wet strokes.

Your hips buck against his face, a strangled moan rips from your throat. Satoru's hands tighten on your thighs, holding you in place as he feasts on you.

"That's it, love," he encourages, pulling back just enough to speak. "Let me hear you. Want everyone in the building to know who's making you feel this good."

Your thighs tremble around his head, the obscene wet sounds of his mouth on you filling the room. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core with every stroke of his tongue.

"Tell me, love. Tell me how desperate you've been for me, how soaked you've been all night thinking about my cock."

"So badly," you gasp out, fingers tightening in his hair. "Needed you to touch me, to fill me up. Please, Satoru, I need you to fuck me already."

He swears under his breath.

"You can't just say things like that. Gonna fucking ruin you, you know that?"

Then suddenly, without warning, he thrusts two thick fingers deep into your dripping core. A silent scream falls from your lips at the stretch, back arching off the stairs.

Satoru sets a relentless pace, pumping his fingers in and out of you, while his tongue works on your clit. "Like this? Is this what you needed?"

"Yes, yes. More."

"Fuck, I need to be inside you," Satoru growls.

He withdraws his fingers abruptly, ignoring your whine of protest. You watch through hooded eyes as he hurriedly strips off his clothes, revealing inches of toned muscle.

When Satoru finally frees himself from the confines of his pants, you mouth goes dry at the sight of him. His length is impressive, long and thick, the smooth skin flushed a deep rose color. The broad head is shiny with moisture, a bead of clear fluid leaking from the tip.

Satoru wraps a large hand around himself, giving a slow stroke from root to tip. His cock throbs in his grip, another pulse of slick pre-cum dripping from the slit. He groans low in his throat, head tipping back momentarily at the sensation after so long spent straining against his zipper.

You watch transfixed as he pumps himself lazily, putting on a show. His fist twists over the head on every upstroke, smearing the leaking liquid to ease the glide.

"See what you do to me?" Satoru rasps, blue eyes boring into yours as his hand speeds up. "See how hard I am for you, how much I'm leaking? I've been like this all fucking night."

He swipes his thumb over the weeping tip, gathering the drops of pre-cum beading there. "Been thinking about this all night. I know you wore that skirt just for me, didn't you? Wanted to rile me up, tease me until I snapped?"

Then he's bringing his thumb to your lips, painting your bottom lip with his cum, parting your lips. Your tongue flicks out to taste him, eyes never leaving him. Satoru's eyes darken as he watches you lick his cum from his fingertips.

"Mm, and what if I didn't? What if I put this skirt on for Suguru, hoping he'd be the one to take me home tonight?"

"Is that so? Well, tough luck. Couse I'm gonna stuff you so full with my cock you'll be ruined for anyone else. Gonna make it so you never forget who you belongs to."

"Oh really?" you challenge.

Licking your lips, you reach out to wrap your fingers around him, marveling at the hot, silken skin and the way he throbs against your palm. Satoru hisses through his teeth at the contact, hips canting into your fist instinctively.

"Fuck, your hand feels good." He watches intently as you start to stroke him from root to tip. "You have no idea what you do to me."

You tighten your grip, twisting your wrist on the upstroke. Satoru groans, low and guttural, as another pulse of slick pre-cum leaks from his slit. You smear it with your thumb. Satoru's abs clench, his cock kicking in your grip.

You lean in to drag your tongue along the underside of his shaft, tracing the thick vein there from base to tip. Satoru shudders, a broken moan spilling from his lips as you swirl your tongue around the leaking tip, lapping up the salty-bitter cum of his.

Desperate to be filled, you suck the broad head past your lips and tonguing at the sensitive underside.

Satoru's hips buck, forcing himself deeper into your mouth. You moan around him, relaxing your throat to take him as far as you can. Satoru's hands reach for your hair, fisting in the strands as he guides your movements. He rocks into your mouth, clearly holding back from truly fucking your face.

"So good, fuck, just like that. Taking me so well, so fucking good."

Saliva pools in your mouth, dripping down your chin as he works himself deeper into your throat. Your eyes water but you don't pull off. Just as you're starting to get lightheaded, lungs burning with the need for air, Satoru eases you off him with a groan.

A string of saliva connects your swollen lips to his cock for a heated moment before snapping. You gulp down air, staring up at him with watery eyes.

"Fuck, you're going to be the death of me," Satoru rasps, thumb swiping tenderly at the spittle on your chin. "I could spend all night fucking you and never get enough."

"Then fuck me already," you say, before giving his length a parting long lick along the underside.

"Oh, I'll fill you up alright, Gonna stuff you so full with my cock you'll feel me for days."

With that, he takes himself in hand, rubbing the thick tip through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. He's not penetrating, not yet, just teasing you with the promise of it. The broad head of his cock catches on your entrance with every pass.

"Feel that, love? Feel how hard I am for you? How much I want to bury myself in this tight little cunt?"

You can only whimper in response. But Satoru holds firm, keeping his movements shallow and teasing. He drags the thick length of his shaft up through your folds, the underside rubbing against your clit.

"Satoru, please. Stop teasing. I need you inside me."

"Patience," he coos, even as his hips stutter slightly, betraying his own desperate need. "I've been waiting for this moment for so long, dreaming about having you spread out beneath me. At least let me torture you a little bit first."

He punctuates his words with another slow drag of his cock against you, the head notching into your entrance for a breathless second before sliding up to grind against your clit.

"Please," you whimper, past the point of caring how desperate you sound. "Please, I can't take it anymore. I need you, need to fuck me."

Satoru hisses through his teeth. "Fuck, the things you say," he groans, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "You have no idea what you do to me, how crazy you make me."

Despite his words, he doesn't relent, continuing his shallow thrusts, painting your folds with your combined arousal.

"I want to savor this," he breathes, voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Want to feel every inch of you before I bury myself deep. Want you trembling and desperate, want you to fucking fall apart before I even get inside."

And oh, you're close, so dangerously close to doing just that.

Every slide of his cock against your clit sends sparks skittering up your spine, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

"Satoru, I can't... I need... oh fuck, please, please just fuck me, please."

Your desperate rambling seems to shatter the last of Satoru's restraint. He lines himself up and sinks into you in one smooth, powerful thrust, not stopping until he's buried to the hilt.

You've never felt so full, stuffed to the brim as he works himself deeper, inch by maddening inch. When he's fully seated, hips flush against yours, you both moan at the sensation. He's so deep like this, touching places inside you that have you seeing sparks.

For a moment, you just breathe together, foreheads pressed close, savoring the feeling of being connected so intimately. Then Satoru starts to move, and coherent thought becomes impossible.

He sets a deep, maddening rhythm, hips withdrawing nearly all the way before surging forward again. The drag of his cock inside you is intoxicating, hitting every sensitive spot, stroking the ache that's been building for what feels like hours.

Your nails rake down Satoru's back as he fucks you closer to the edge, leaving red lines in their wake. His pace quickens, thrusts becoming shorter and more focused, the sound of slapping skin echoing off the walls of the stairwell.

"Satoru," you moan, his name the only word you remember, the only one that matters. "Satoru, please, I'm so close…"

Bracing one hand against the stairs next to your head, he picks up speed, pounding into you faster, harder. The force of his thrusts threatens to push you up the steps, your head perilously close to banging against the hard surface.

You reach up, pushing your hands against the stairs above you for leverage, using the resistance to meet Satoru's increasingly powerful strokes.

"Fuck, just like that," he pants, blue eyes wild and heated as they bore into yours. "Take it, take every inch of me. Want to feel you come on my cock, want to feel you squeezing me so fucking tight."

His words, the relentless thrusts of his hips, the long drag of his shaft against your walls — it's all too much, too good. You can feel your orgasm building, ready to snap at any moment.

"Please," you whimper. "Please, I need… I need…"

"I know what you need, love."

He snakes a hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. He rubs your swollen clit in tight, focused circles, the added stimulation exactly what you need.

With one last deep thrust, the head of his cock kisses your cervix, and that's all it takes. Your body convulses around Satoru's plunging length.

Satoru works you through it, hips never faltering even as your spasming muscles threaten his control. He fucks you through your orgasm, grinding deep and rubbing your clit until you're shaking and sobbing.

Only when you collapse back against the stairs, boneless and spent, does he allow his own release to overtake him. With a last few erratic thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt and stills, his thick cock pulsing as he spills deep inside you.

His fingers dig into your hips, surely leaving bruises, as he rides out his orgasm, hips stuttering and jerking with each pulse of his release. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, his movements slow, then still.

Satoru collapses forward, his trembling arms barely supporting his weight as he rests his forehead against yours. You both struggle to catch your breath, chests heaving.

"Fuck, that was... incredible," he pants before capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he straightens up, his softening cock still buried inside you. His heated gaze drifts down to where your bodies are joined. He watches as his cum begins to trickle out of you, coating his length and dripping down your thighs to pool on the stairs beneath you.

"God, that's so fucking hot."

With a shuddering exhale, he slowly pulls out of you, a low hiss escaping his lips at the drag of your walls against his oversensitive cock. His eyes remain locked on your well-used sex, watching as more of his cum leaks out of you.

"Look at you. So messy and full of my cum. So perfect."

Unable to resist, Satoru settles between your thighs once more, his broad shoulders pushing them even further apart. He takes a moment to admire the view before diving in again.

A moan spills from your lips as he drags the flat of his tongue over your sensitive core, lapping up the evidence of your coupling with long strokes. He hums against your core, the vibrations making you shudder and clench around nothing.

Satoru takes his time, cleaning every inch of you. His tongue delves between your folds, circling your entrance before dipping inside to chase the lingering taste of your combined releases.

"Could spend hours just like this," Satoru murmurs between licks. "Would you like that, love? Like me to keep you full and sloppy and dripping all night?"

"Satoru," you whimper, thighs trembling around his head as he seals his lips around your clit and sucks. "I can't... it's too much..."

"Oh, I'm sure you can take one more. Just let me take care of you. I'm gonna make you feel so good."

He works his way inward, tongue tracing teasing circles around your entrance before delving inside. He laps at your walls, coaxing his own cum from your depths only to fuck it back into you with deep, sloppy strokes.

The wet sounds of his tongue between your legs fill the room, punctuated by your needy moans and gasps. Heat coils tight in your core once more despite your exhaustion.

Satoru feels you tense. "There she is. I knew my greedy girl had one more in her. Gonna give it to me, aren't you? Gonna come all over my tongue like a good girl."

His words set your blood on fire, a broken sob escaping your lips as he seals them around your clit once more. He sucks hard, tongue flicking rapidly over it as he fucks into you harder, faster.

"Ah, oh god. Satoru, please..."

Then, two thick fingers ease into you once again, curling forward to stroke that spot that makes your toes curl. He works them in tandem with his tongue, thrusting and scissoring and rubbing until you're keening his name, hips rolling mindlessly against his face.

His nose nudges against your oversensitive clit with every thrust, sending sparks shooting up your spine.

"Come on, love" he praises. "Ride my tongue, fuck yourself on my fingers. Want to feel you come all over me, want to taste you."

It only takes a few more purposeful strokes of his fingers and flicks of his tongue before you're come undone once again with a wordless cry, back bowing off the stairs as your walls clench and flutter around his fingers.

Satoru works you through it, pulling back just enough to watch your face contort. Only when the last aftershock fades does he ease his fingers free. Satoru presses a final, tender kiss to your clit before crawling up your body, pressing sloppy kisses to your sweat-dampened skin as he goes.

"You did so good for me, love, coming so hard for me. So perfect," Satoru praises, pressing kisses to your neck and chest as you try to catch your breath.

When he reaches your breasts, he palms them gently, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples and making you gasp. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to your chest as he dips his head to take one nipple into his mouth once more.

He laves it with his tongue, swirling his tongue around it before he lavishes the same attention on your other breast, alternating between soft licks and lazy swirls, while his hand starts to dip lower.

"Satoru? What are you doing?"

Eventually, Satoru releases your nipple with a wet pop, soothing the ache with a final swipe of his tongue, his hand skating over your ribs and belly with clear intent.

He grins up at you, boyish and unrepentant. "What does it look like I'm doing? Maybe you've got one more in you, hmm?"

"Absolutely not. I'm fucking done, Satoru."

He pouts playfully, fingertips still tracing feather-light patterns on your lower belly. "Aw, come on, love. Just one more? I bet if I just…"

His hand starts to dip lower, fingertips just brushing your still-tingling clit. But before he can make contact, your foot plants itself firmly in the center of his chest and pushes him away. "Hands off, Satoru."

"Alright, alright, I can take a hint," he concedes, hands raised in surrender. "No more orgasms for you. For now."

"You're impossible."

Satoru grins. "You love it."

"You wish."

© lostfracturess. all rights reserved. do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my work without permission. thanks for reading and supporting my work !! ♡

[teapartyprincess4two]

Y/n and Matt get closer when it's just them 2 in the house, and i was thinking Fluff and Smut like a lot of Smut. Maybe Matt is a virgin but Y/n aint so she teaches him???

End of the World- M. Sturniolo

pairing: fem!reader x Matt

classification: Zombie Apocalypse AU, smut, fluff, angst/sad (kinda? Idk it’s a mix of everything)

inspiration: request^^

warnings: 18+, MDNI, set in modern day, use of y/n, literal sex, slight cursing, zombies & general apocalypse stuff (death, lnives, guns, killing, blood, hunger, dehydration, etc.), kinda long

summary: No one deserves to die a virgin, not even at the end of the world.

—

If anyone would’ve told you two years ago that you’d be huddled around the hood of a car, staring down at a worn out map, covered in blood, you would’ve called them crazy.

Two years ago your life was convenient. Now? Now life was simple, all you had to do was survive. All the things you wished would disappear; homework, bills, work, none of them mattered anymore. But they were easily replaced with an even greater burden, a zombie apocalypse and the end of the world.

Two years ago you wouldn’t have had even a spec of dirt under your fingernails, yet here you stand covered in blood that isn’t yours, weeks worth of dirt and grime, and sweat dripping down your forehead. Your hair is pulled back into a ponytail, exposing your shoulders to the harsh Texas heat and further working towards dehydrating you.

Two years ago you wouldn’t so much as hurt a fly. Now you wouldn’t think twice before pulling the trigger if it meant you had a chance at survival.

Two years ago you didn’t have to worry about where your next meal was coming from or if your bedroom was secure enough to sleep in. But the world has changed and so have you.

It’s been months since anyone in your group has had a good nights rest or a warm meal. All you’ve done is run from anything that threatens to harm you. Although you’ve all managed to set up a temporary moderately safe camp within the woods, it’s been difficult to stretch resources that are already scarce.

Food, water, clothing. These are all things that you wish you didn’t need. Why? Because leaving camp to retrieve them is dangerous. But, it’s been 2 days since your last run, and canned goods can only last so long, especially when there’s mouths to feed.

Chris uses his knife to point to an unmarked location on the map, “Nick and I will head south. I saw an old water tower in that direction when we passed through, maybe there’s a town nearby.” He uses the back of his arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead before returning it back to the map, tracing the blade up a road.

“Matt and Y/n, you two try looking in this area. We haven’t checked there yet and if we’re lucky it hasn’t been completely ransacked. You might find something…” Chris pauses, taking a look at the group of people not far behind. They’re chatting, all of them wearing exhausted expression and filthy clothes. “…something to get the group through the next couple of days. We can’t stay here anymore, place is crawling with infected.”

Chris became the leader of your group easily. He had a great way of talking to people, of showing them that even though the world was ending, the glass was still half full.

“You want us to split up?” Nick whisper shouts, a clear alarm evident in his tone. “Remember what happened last time? We lost a third of the group!” Nick flails his arms in desperation, almost like he’s willing Chris to realize the stupidity of his actions.

Nick was reasonable and smart, but too kind for his own good. If he wanted to, he could’ve become the leader of your group and done just as good of a job as Chris, but Nick was too empathic to take on that responsibility. He felt the needs of the group and often was led more by emotion than by reason or logic.

“You think I don’t know that?!” Chris bites back.

You stand next to Matt, watching the argument unfold. This was typical for Nick and Chris, but it stressed you out every time.

“If we had more people, we wouldn’t have to split up. But we’re low on supplies and can’t wait around for food to magically appear,” Chris says.

“If we hadn’t split up the first time, we’d have more people,” Nick snarks, storming away. Chris groans, running his hand through his hair. This was much more responsibility than he could handle, but as the youngest, strongest members of your group it was up to you all to pull the heaviest weight.

“We’ll be fine. Y/n and I are always careful,” Matt finally chimes in, placing a firm hand on Chris’s shoulder to ease any tension. “Besides, that part of town is pretty deep into the woods. I doubt any infected will be lurking and if they are, Y/n’s good with a gun and I’m fast.”

“I’m fast too,” you chuckle, knowing that Matt is trying to make light of a dark situation.

“True. I just gotta be faster,” he replies, sending you a cheeky wink. You laugh, earning a small round of laughter from Chris and Matt in return.

Chris visibly relaxes, grateful that at least one of his brothers isn’t giving him a hard time. But truth be told, Matt didn’t agree with Chris’s plan, he was just smart enough to keep it to himself. He knew that doubt created fear, and once fear infected you, you were as good as dead.

That’s what Matt was good at, being quiet. It came in handy on runs like this, especially because he was so quick on his feet. It’s your favorite characteristic of his, he’s a good listener, he’s observant, and you know that you’ll be safe as long as Matt is with you.

“Alright. Let’s head out, we’re gonna lose the light,” Chris instructs, jogging in the opposite direction of the camp to begin loading up a few trucks with guns and ammo.

“You two can take the car.”

Matt mulls the idea over. A car would be faster, but definitely much louder. Noise attracts anything looking for its next meal, especially the infected, and with only you to cover him he’s not sure he’s willing to take that risk.

“Nah. We’re walking. The town’s not too far, we’ll make it back by tomorrow morning the latest,” Matt replies, tossing a rifle in your direction. You’re quick to catch it and just as quick to respond, “Are you sure? A car would get us there and back before dinner.”

He understands your concern, but he can’t risk losing you, not after all the losses he’s already suffered. “Just trust me,” he murmurs, the look in his eyes being enough to calm your nerves.

“Whatever you have to do, Matt. Just come back,” Chris says, slamming the trunk shut.

—

Leaves and dry grass crunch under your feet with every step. It’s late summer and the Texas heat has managed to kill everything left alive that wasn’t infected.

You’ve been walking for two hours, only running into a few infected on the way, managing to take them out with nothing but your blade. Matt hates using guns, in fact you’ve only seen him use them on very rare and necessary occasions. You never understood his apprehension, I mean it’s the end of the world for Christ’s sake, but you’ve never questioned him.

“Heads up,” Matt whispers, nodding his head in the direction of a gas station.

You follow his gaze. It seemed like an easy place to loot. Apart from the few rotted corpses that roamed the exterior, only parked cars litter the parking lot, most of them still connected to the gas pumps.

“We’ll go in through the back. There’s got to be dry storage there,” Matt says, crouching and leading you towards the back of the building. You hum in response, readying yourself with your weapon and following closely behind.

Your scent must carry because as soon as you’re within 10 feet of the infected, their attention is drawn to you. Their arms are limp at their sides and their walk is more of a stagger, but it always manages to get your blood pumping.

“Hurry!” Matt whisper shouts, reaching behind him for your hand. Soon he’s pulling you into the building, shutting it securely behind you and bringing his pointer finger up to his lips to instruct you to keep quiet.

“I’ll go left. You go right,” you mouth, beginning to walk the aisles of the store while ensuring to keep your back to the wall. Matt nods, perusing the aisles as best he can while his life is in immediate danger.

Infected bite and claw at the glass windows, snarling as they watch you and Matt like prey. Sometimes you wondered what their life was like before they were bit, but the second one is close enough to harm you, all sympathy leaves and you don’t think twice before unloading the clip.

When you’re sure the building is secure you put your knife away and grab a shopping basket, securing it in the pit of your elbow as you load it with as many supplies as you can. Chips, jerky, candy, canned food, oil, rags, water, any and everything you two can carry is being thrown into these baskets.

“How are gonna get all of this back?” You ask Matt, noticing the even greater pile he’s accumulated. He scratches his head, taking a look around for something that’ll help lighten the load.

From the corner of his eye he spots a few duffel bags. Matt grabs a few and motions for you to begin packing them with as much as possible. “If they get too heavy I’ll carry them.”

“Bet you wish we had a car now,” you chuckle, neatly organizing the duffel bags.

“Not when those things are staring back at me,” Matt says, shuddering as he looks behind his shoulder to see the group of infected that have pooled at the entrance of the building.

—

You’re carrying two duffel bags full of supplies, one weighing on either one of your shoulders. Matt’s holding three, two rest on his shoulders and he’s carrying the other in his hand. He holds the straps so tight that his knuckles have managed to turn white.

The both of you are exhausted from the strength you’re using to carry this supplies back to your camp, from the long trek up-hill, and the energy you exerted to take out at least a dozen infected.

You stumble on a rock, the weight on your shoulders making it difficult for you to fix your footing. “Hey, you okay?” Matt asks, examining you with his eyes.

“I’m fine. Just tired,” you wheeze, hunching over and supporting yourself with your hands on your knees.

Matt’s tired too, of course he is, but it’s not like you two can set up camp in the middle of nowhere while surrounded by infected. He remembers seeing a few houses further up the road, it’s not a long walk and if you can make it, you’ll be able to rest there until morning.

“C’mon I think I saw a neighborhood, just push through a little longer. We’ll rest there for tonight and pick back up in the morning, okay?”

He waits for you to catch your breath, rubbing your back and comforting you, but never once letting his guard down in case something gets a jump on him.

You take a deep breath, straightening up and adjusting the duffel bag’s straps on your shoulders.

“Okay.”

—

The walk to the neighborhood was much longer than you thought, and you were starting to wonder if you were lost.

“Are you sure this is the right way?”

Matt looks at you from behind his shoulder, subtly rolling his eyes before averting his gaze forward again. “You wanna lead the way, princess?”

The nickname makes you chuckle, mostly because you knew Matt used it when his mood was starting to sour and that only ever happened when he was hungry or tired. By the looks of it, he was starting to become both.

A small town comes into view just as you’re about to reply. It looks like you’ve stumbled across the Main Street, and as packed as it is with abandoned businesses and stores, a residential home is nowhere to be seen. “Didn’t I tell you I saw a town,” Matt snarks, a hint of sass laced in his tone.

You hum. “No. You said you saw a neighborhood. There isn’t a house anywhere to be seen. We might as well season ourselves for the damn infected to eat.”

A twig snaps in the distance. Your voices, although relatively quiet, have already worked towards alerting the undead of your presence.

“Shut up,” Matt grits, pulling you close to his body. You know better than to argue, instead pressing your back against his and unsheathing your knife.

Snarling and growling echoes through the town, bouncing off the buildings and making it difficult for you to pinpoint exactly what direction they’re coming from. That doesn’t stop Matt though, instead he uses the hand that isn’t holding a knife to grab your arm.

“Stay close,” he mouths, so inaudible that you almost don’t catch it. You nod your head, taking a fleeting look at your surroundings before following Matt through a back alley between a cafe and a gym (or what used to be a cafe and a gym).

The alley is a dead end, fenced off at the end with nothing but hungry zombies reaching through the metal rods in attempt to grab you. The old you would’ve screamed and cried for help, but you’ve learned to suppress your fear in order to survive.

You take a firm hold of your knife, stabbing it into the head of as many infected as you can. Quiet grunts emit from you and Matt as you clear the path, watching undead body after body hit the ground. For a second you feel sad, but only for a second. You don’t have time for trivial things such as emotions anymore, especially not when a trail of flesh eating monsters follows closely behind.

“Through here. C’mon,” Matt ushers, opening a door that leads into a gym. Although it’s safer than being stranded outside, the brick walls can only protect you for so long. You do a quick sweep of the room, looking for anything useful while also ensuring there aren’t any hidden surprises.

Once you’re sure it’s safe, you motion for Matt to follow you with a head tilt. He locks the door behind him, barricading it with an old elliptical before following you into the next room.

You enter a changing room, lined with showers and lockers that were sure to have at least one fresh pair of clothes. You set the heavy bags you’ve been carrying down, sighing with relief as you stretch your shoulders. Matt does the same, joining you in rummaging through the lockers for a new, clean shirt.

A lot of the clothes is tucked away in backpacks, most of it being unflattering male clothing, but you weren’t big on fashion nowadays. “Here. Found this for you,” Matt says, tossing a white tank top your way. You hold it up in the light, “Cute. Thanks.”

You’re about to change your shirt, without any real warning for Matt, so he quickly looks away and fixes his gaze on the shower heads and tiled walls. His hands fiddled with an unopened bar of soap he found in one of the lockers. Matt doesn’t know why he grabbed it, it’s not like he had access to running water, but a man could dream.

“I wonder if the showers work,” he thinks out loud.

You stand behind him, wearing only your bra and underwear as you wonder the same thing. God knows you could both use a shower right now. “Hmm,” you hum, tilting your head in wonder.

“Only one way to find out,” you shrug, pushing past Matt and sauntering over to the knob. You twist it quickly, patiently waiting for even a single drop of water.

Nothing, just groaning pipes and a slap in the face for naivety.

“Guess they don’t,” you say, standing under the shower head and looking at Matt with a sad smile. He chuckles, and just as he’s about to give up too, hot water spurts out abruptly, hitting the back of your head and running down your spine.

“Holy shit that’s hot!” You gasp. In all the excitement, Matt forgets how inappropriate it would be to join you in the shower under regular circumstances, and throws his clothes off. You’ve somehow already managed to remove your remaining clothing and have started scrubbing at your skin with your bare hands, letting the water run down your face.

“Matt! Hurry before it runs out!” You say, waving your hand behind you blindly. He doesn’t skip a beat, joining you under the shower head and letting it relax his sore, aching muscles. The water draws an audible groan from his lips, bringing you back to reality. You were naked and taking a shower with Matt, someone who was a stranger to you before the end of the world.

Suddenly, he remembers the bar of soap still in his hands and he accidentally takes in your naked figure as he opens it. His dick immediately rises, a clear indicator that he’s enjoying the view.

“Turn around,” he instructs, running the soap under the water and lathering his hands up. You do as your told, immediately feeling his fingers tangle themselves in your hair as he massages your scalp. It wasn’t necessarily an in depth hair wash routine, but it would suffice for now.

Soon, you’re turning around and rinsing the soap from your hair before reaching for the bar and instructing Matt to do the same.

“Here lemme get you now.” You shuffle behind him, tip toeing to reach better. Although it was odd and unexpected, you were glad to be sharing this moment with Matt.

The rest of the shower is silent as you and Matt bask in the warm water that runs down your bruised and battered bodies. You try keeping your limbs to yourselves, save for the brief moments Matt’s erect member brushes against your thigh or butt, but it’s hard when there’s only one shower head. You want to say something, mostly because you’ve had a crush on Matt from the moment you met him and his group, but you don’t. This isn’t about pleasure, not in this world at least. It’s about survival and the second you forget that, you get hurt.

“Haven’t felt that clean in years,” Matt chuckles, shoving a shirt over his head. The shower seems to have brought his spirits up, providing both of you with a new surge of energy. Little things like running water meant so much more now, especially when you’re trudging through highly forested areas and fighting for you life on the daily.

As you’re about to reply, a loud bang echoes through the locker room, followed by the sound of shuffling in your direction. You’re putting your pants on, buckling them quickly as you try to keep quiet. Your eyes are wide in fear and anticipation, watching Matt for a signal on what to do next.

He doesn’t say anything, instead grabbing the duffel bags from before and darting his eyes towards the exit. Your gun, which you hadn’t used at all today, rests in your hand. Matt holds his as well. He’s on guard, raising the weapon close to his face as he inspects the area.

You follow behind him trying to keep as quiet as possible, fully expecting him to shoot whatever lurks behind the wall. But, as you near the exit, you see it.

Tense shoulders relax, lowering your weapon and sheathing it back into your belt. A squirrel sits on the cement floor, grooming itself and chittering away. You want to approach it, maybe even pet it, but Matt stops you with a hand to your chest.

Unlike you, he’d inspected the entirety of the situation and didn’t let himself become distracted by the first cute animal that crossed his path. After recognizing that it was a squirrel, he wondered what could’ve lead it into the building in the first place, causing him to check the window it entered through. A reanimated corpse stood right outside the window, dragging its feet as it paced back and forth in search of the fluffy animal.

“Let’s go. We’re done here,” Matt ordered, pulling you back towards the exit. And just like that, you were off to find somewhere to sleep, leaving the fluffy animal to fend for itself.

“Bye little guy.”

—

“Forgot how quiet and boring the world is,” you huff, slumping down onto the worn out mattress. Whatever energy the shower provided you was now long gone. You and Matt walked for another hour before finding the initial neighborhood you were searching for. And, after that, you spent another hour finding the perfect house and clearing all its rooms.

“Quiet’s nice,” Matt replies with a soft groan, joining you on the mattress. It sinks with his weight, the coils creaking as he becomes comfortable.

“You’re just saying that cause you want me to shut up so you can fall asleep.” You kick your shoes off and unbuckle your belt, letting it fall to floor with a soft thud. A smile tugs at Matt’s lips. “Right now yes. But in general, quiet’s good. Means we’re safe,” he replies, toeing his own shoes off.

Matt shuts his eyes, fluffing the pillow under his head and willing himself to finally get a full nights rest. This house is safe. He secured all the rooms, barricaded the doors, and his weapon is on standby. He can finally rest and relax. But, of course, your mind begins to wander and when your mind wanders, your words follow. “Guess you’re right… But quiet also means you’re not learning anything about the people you care about.”

A deep breath causes Matt’s chest to rise and fall. He doesn’t understand why you’re trying to be all philosophical at the end of the world. Nonetheless, he responds, “I know you, Y/n. I know you’re strong, I know you’re a kind person, and I know you have my back. I also know you’re annoying, but I trust you and I learned all that from watching. Sometimes you just have to watch people. In quiet. Can we sleep now?” He turns onto his side facing away from you in hopes that you’ll drop the topic and fall asleep.

You stare at his back. “Those are all things you learned about me now. I was nothing like this back then.”

Matt takes another deep breath. It’s obvious you’re in the mood to talk, maybe because you finally feel safe enough to keep your voice anything above a whisper, so he decides just to give in and turn your monologue into actual dialogue.

“Back then?” He asks. Matt shuffles on the mattress, now staring at the ceiling as your eyes remain on him. “Yeah, before everything went to shit. Before the end of the stupid fucking world when the little things used to matter. You know, like first kisses and picking the perfect outfit for a date with a cute guy.”

Matt picks at his fingernails, listening to every word that escapes your lips. When you put it that way, he really didn’t know anything about you. “Okay, so tell me about yourself then. Pretend like we’re not in a strangers house, in a strangers room, on a strangers bed, and tell me all about Y/n… Before the ‘end of the stupid fucking world.’”

You chuckle, preparing yourself for the vulnerability you’re about to put on full display, but now that he’s put you on the spot it’s much harder than you thought.

“Okay so… you already know my name. Hmm. My favorite color is pink?”

Matt scoffs. “That’s the real you? C’mon, you can’t go on this whole tangent about how you were different before and then say THAT.”

“Fine fine.” You think for a second. “I was a waitress at a hotel bar. Mixing drinks was easy, the customers were nice, my coworkers made the job tolerable. Mostly only worked weekends because I was at school during the week… I went to UCLA. Go Bruins!,” you let out a breathy laugh, “My siblings were going to visit me that weekend, the weekend it all happened. They had planned the trip for a long time and finally were gonna make the drive.”

Your mind goes to a dark place, the only thing anchoring you being the hand that Matt places on yours. You clear your throat before continuing, “I had a small off campus apartment. Cleared the living room out and everything for them. Even deep cleaned.” Matt squeezes your hand.

“College was fun while it lasted. My parents worked really hard to send me off. They threw me a going away party and everything, even dressed up my dog as the school mascot,” a small pause as you recollect your thoughts, “I had a puppy named Pig. Well he wasn’t a puppy, more like an old fart, but the name suited him. Named him after my favorite animal and because he had the pinkest nose when he first adopted him.”

You feel yourself becoming increasingly sad as you reminisce on what once was. “You know what? Maybe quiet is nice,” you laugh solemnly, wiping the tears that are rolling down your face.

Matt offers you a warm smile, thinking of something, anything, to get you to smile again. But he can’t help it, he’s curious, and since you’re already on the topic he wants to pry further into your personal life. “What were you going to school for?”

“Engineering. I’m shit with numbers, but I was pretty undecided so my parents just chose for me. Brandon would help me a lot. He was really smart… really sweet… But enough about me, tell me about you. Who was Matt before all this?”

Matt ignores your question, instead posing one of his own. “Who’s Brandon? Was he your boyfriend?” He cringes slightly, both at his boldness and at his lack of awareness of your vulernable, emotional state, but his curiosity keeps getting the best of him.

You snort. “Brandon? God no. He was my best friend, sure, but I was definitely not his type. Plus, I never had time for anything serious. I made time for the fun stuff, but never the commitment.” Matt couldn’t hide the relief on his face even he tried. A relationship status meant nothing during a zombie apocalypse, yet he found himself relieved to know that your heart didn’t belong to another.

“I’m sure you had girls swarming you,” you continue jokingly, poking Matt’s sides with a teasing edge. He makes a noise, something between a groan and chuckle as he runs his hands down his face.

“I take that as a yes?”

He hums, remembering the short lived internet fame he shared with his triplet brothers before shit hit the fan. “Some would say that. If you consider subscribers and followers as swarming girls.”

You visibly cringe, “Oh God. Were you one of those thirst trappers? Bet you went to influencer parties and vlogged your morning routine.” Matt laughs loudly, a genuine laugh, one of the few you’ve heard from him since you met.

“Rent was due, okay?” He replies between laughter. Soon you’re both laughing, bodies clumsily bumping as you clutch your stomach and wipe away tears. Your bodies are impossibly close, closer than they should be on a queen sized mattress, and you only notice it once your laughter dies down.

Your eyes have locked with his and your noses even manage to graze. Neither of you make an effort to look away or even to apologize for invading the other’s space. Instead, you do the unthinkable, the one thing you didn’t allow yourself to even think about doing even when he was naked in front of you earlier. You kiss him. You lean forward and close the gap, moulding your lips onto his.

Matt doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate the kiss. His hands find a comfortable resting place on your upper thigh and lower back, using the little energy left in his body to pull you closer. One of your hands lays on his chest while the other gently weaves its way through his hair.

The kiss is sweet and innocent, and it could’ve been over by now, but because you’re both so touch starved you separate for air and dive right back in. You moan against his lips, caressing the side of his face your thumb before moving so you’re cradling his waist. Subconsciously, as if on instinct, you grind down onto him, wanting to feel and explore him further.

Matt wants to go further, and he knows you know it too, especially with the display he put on earlier in the shower, but he’s a virgin who’s afraid to disappoint. So, he pulls away from the kiss and holds your hips in place with strong hands.

“I— Give me a second,” he murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut and gulping so hard his adam’s apple bobs up and down. Matt’s mind is racing, every possible outcome for this situation playing through his mind.

You sense his apprehension, plus it’s written all over his face. You never want to push his boundaries or make him uncomfortable. So, you do the only thing you can think to do. Quickly, you shuffle off of him and off the bed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I just thought— today in the shower— I’ll sleep downstairs on the couch.”

You begin to gather your things, leaving Matt dumbstruck as he stares between you and his raging erection. If he didn’t speak up now, you were going to get the wrong idea and he’d miss his chance at a shot with you. Your face is red hot with embarrassment.

“Wait.” He reaches out and grabs your hand, gently pulling you back down onto the mattress.

Matt prepares himself for the vulnerability he’s about to display. He’s nervous, embarrassed, scared, and to top it off you’re the hottest girl he’s ever seen. And it’s not just because you’re the only one left either.

“I’m a virgin.”

Your eyes blow open in shock. “But earlier you said about the? I just thought?” He laughs at your inability to form a coherent sentence, but he gets the gist.

“It was hard to trust people when I was famous, especially girls. I never knew if they truly liked me or just wanted to have my name associated with them for the clout. But it’s different now, I know I can trust you. We took a shower together without making it weird after scavenging through old worn out clothes to find something slightly newer than what we had. You’re covered in the blood of monsters we killed to keep each other safe. You’re here with me when I have nothing permanent or safe to offer.” Matt pulls you back onto his lap, sitting up against the bed frame so your torsos are parallel.

“I should’ve said this a long time ago, but it’s hard to find the time when you’re fighting for your life on the daily… I care about you, Y/n. A lot. I’m not sure what to call it yet, but I care about you and I trust you. I trust you enough to do this.” You’re touched by his words, feeling their effect on your heartstrings and your throbbing core.

“I trust you too, Matt. So much more than you’ll ever know.” In that moment those words felt more real than an ‘i love you’ ever could. Matt leans forwards and kisses you, holding you by the neck. This kiss is different than the one from before, it’s needier and laced with lust.

His hands travel towards your tank top, tugging until he successfully untucks the fabric. You pull away from the kiss and lift your arms, allowing Matt to remove your shirt in one swift motion. The smile on his face as you slowly begin roaming your hands all over his body is genuine, filled with admiration, love and lust.

Your fingers beginning slipping his flannel over his shoulders, your mouth falling down to his broad shoulders to pepper kisses on the skin there. Soon, you’re both removing the rest of your clothes and Matt’s excitement has him flipping you over on the old, worn mattress. He gawks at the sight beneath him. You lay there completely exposed with only the soft moonlight that trickles in through the blinds to illuminate your body. Matt takes it all in, relishing in your beauty like it’s the last time, because in this world it very well might be.

A gentle hand trails from his stomach down to his penis, tracing the outside of his cock and watching intently at the way Matt’s eyes screw shut in concentration. It’s been so long since he’s touched himself and the sight of you alone is enough for him to combust, but he pulls himself together. You trace your thumb over the slit, coating his member with the natural lubrication that’s already spilling out before dragging his cock along your folds. Matt’s breath hitches at the new sensation, you already feel so warm and soft, he doesn’t know how he’s meant to last even one second once he’s actually inside you.

“We can stop if you want to.” Matt gulps, shaking his head feverishly. He doesn’t want this to stop, he’d never want this to stop, even if it hasn’t even really started yet. “No,” his voice is choked, “don’t stop.”

Your lip is caught between your teeth as you continue to guide the tip to your entrance, finally unwrapping your fingers from around him and instead wrapping your legs around his waist. Finally, Matt moves, sinking his cock into you slowly until he’s completely bottomed out. The initial feeling is euphoric, so euphoric in fact that his arms wobble as he tried to keep himself from collapsing on you. You love seeing him like this. A strong man who’d do anything to protect you, so weak and vulnerable from your touch.

His head finds the place where your neck and shoulder meet, forehead resting in the divot there as he slowly begins thrusting. Soft grunts and groans brush against your skin, sending shivers up your spine. Praises fall from your own lips as his tip continues to kiss your cervix, egging him further in helping you reach your climax. But tonight was about him, as long as the man on top of you convulsed with pleasure you’d be happy.

Matt’s hips snap against yours, picking up the pace as he chases his orgasm. It’s so close, right on the edge, and from the way he sounds and feels you’re close too. “Keep going, Matt. Don’t stop,” you moan, pulling him in closer with your legs around his waist. Matt whimpers your name, sucking and biting on the skin of your neck harder with each passing thrust.

“I’m gonna cum,” he grunts, words choppy and interrupted by pants and moans. All you can do is whimper in return, snaking a hand between your bodies to rub your clit. As soon as your fingers touch the sensitive bundle of nerves, your body goes into overdrive. Your legs are shaking, pussy fluttering around his cock as you grip his shoulders and moan his name. The feeling of your walls pushing and pulling around him, mixed with the way you chant his name, pushes Matt over the edge. His hips tremble slightly as he spills his load inside of you, his inexperience making it to where he’s unable to pull out before the wave of pleasure washed over his body.

Your bodies remain intertwined for a while, both of you trying to catch your breath. Matt reluctantly pulls out of you, relishing in the way your body chases after him. The mattress dips as he slumps into the spot next to you.

“Thank you.”

You turn to face Matt, a confused look on your face. You’re not sure where this will lead your relationship, but you never expected a thank you after sex, nor had you ever received one.

“Thank you?” You chuckle, curious to where the conversation was heading.

He hums. “Yeah, for not letting me die a virgin.” You can’t help the snort that follows.

“Well in that case, I guess you’re welcome. No one deserves to die a virgin, not even at the end of the world.”

Matt smiles again, a sight you’ll never grow tired of. He leans in for a kiss, pulling you close and keeping you there. The kiss is sloppy, mostly because you’re both exhausted from the days events, but neither of you dare pull away. You don’t know what tomorrow will bring or if there will even be a tomorrow, all you know is that this moment right here is real and you’d like to enjoy it for as long as possible.

“Get some rest, we have a long trip tomorrow.”

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

Thank you so much for this request my sweet anon. I’m currently rewatching (binging) TWD and needed to get some zombie apocalypse type story out of my system, so I hope you don’t mind that I used that idea on your request. Also, I know you requested for the reader to teach Matt and I didn’t include really any of that here. I focused on the whole Virgin!Matt aspect of it all. Hope you all enjoy, sorry for not writing a lot recently :P I’m deep in the trenches of Daryl Dixon fanfiction right now so if u need me, that’s where you’ll find me (if u can’t already tell by my reblogs lolol)

ps, I didn’t go to UCLA so if that’s not the mascot don’t kill me. A quick google search told me that much

luv u all xxx

- L.A.M.B 💗👼🏻

—

taglist: @nickgetsmewetter @sturniololovers @raysmayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07 @sturniolololover @missriddle03 @k-l-a-w-s @maryx2xx @biggesthat3r @herxyzblog @getosuckers @sturnioloarchive @tillies33ssss @fratbrochrisgf @rxeae @riasturns @sturnikitty @sturnrc @sturtriple16 @sillyfreakfanparty @imwetforyourmom @mattslovelygf @certifiednatelover @cartiiwannagotoplutoo @luvr4miya @somegirlfromasgard @l0vergrlll @pepsicolapussy333 @unbruisable @sugrhigh @khxna @wh0resstuff @jnkvivi @callsignwidow @sturnstvr @inkyray @stasiesturn @poopiepantsworld @cvnt4matty @eleanore2204 @fratbrochrisgf

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐 if your user is striked through, I wasn’t able to tag you :(

[mariasont]

I'm so glad you love writing for bimbo reader x Hotch because i love READING them so much 💕

What about reader getting jealous a witness or unsub is flirting with Hotch? Kinda like how the prostitutes are always flirting with Reid but this time it's Hotch getting all awkward and reader misreading it and thinking he's interested back?

Love your stuff!

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY - A.H

a/n: hi so im so glad you love bimbo reader 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 that literally makes me so happy, thank you sm for requesting i hope you like that <3

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: reader being jelly, kind of out of character for bimbo reader honestly, she’s also a little flustered in this fic which also feels out of character but i kind of like it idk lmk what yall think

wc: 1.2k

The space between her hand and Hotch's bicep was dangerously narrow. She was saying something--something that was way flirtier than the situation required. Matter of fact than any situation required. Your pink nails, the same shade as your favorite bubblegum lip gloss, dug into the flesh of your palm, your lips forming a tight line as you fought the green jealousy that bubbled up like champagne.

It was fine. You were fine.

Until it wasn't.

She flashed a smile at Hotch, one that was undeniably pretty which only served to make your blood boil a degree hotter.

She was stunning, black hair, red lips, perfect skin. You loved yourself, obviously, but it was not in your character to deny that this woman was gorgeous by nature and she was edgeding her chair closer to him.

"Thank you so much for your help today, Agent Hotchner." Her voice had climbed a few pitches in comparison than when she was talking privately with you. "Is it okay if I give you my number, just in case I think of anything else?"

"Of course." Hotch was smiling-- no beaming--at the woman, reaching into his pocket to grab his business card.

Your lashes fluttered up and down is disbelief, jealously rolling off of you in category nine waves. You folded your hands on top of your skirt, cleaning and unclenching until you started to lose feeling in your fingertips.

You're fine, just take a deep breath. Hotch was simply being polite. That's it. But the rationalized thoughts in your head did not match the quicksand feeling in your stomach.

Unfortunately for you, showing and expressing your feelings in an appropriate manner had always been a struggle. Articulating when things were bothering you was a foreign language to you. The other side to this was you had no logical reason to feel the way you did. He was your boss, and you were his assistant. He wasn't your boyfriend. But that fine distinction did nothing to dampen the primal impulse to reach across the desk and drag the woman by her hair. 

That was dramatic, really. It was unfair to project your ugly feelings onto her when in all honestly, in her position, you’d be doing the exact same.

As much as you loved your job and adored your boss, sometimes you wished you didn’t work for him so you could push the boundaries just a little bit when it came to flirting with him.

Thankfully, for the sake of your career, the woman gone before your rash instincts could manifest into action. You needed to get a grip and possibly go reapply your lipstick.

You spent the majority of the day, from that point, avoiding Hotch like the plague. You weren't quite equipped to sift through the emotional chaos brewing inside you, especially when your focus needed to be on getting your tasks done, not on who Hotch might be interested in. It didn't matter if he liked that woman. You could cope. Maybe.

When you did have to come into contact with him, you found yourself acting like a wounded animal. The sight of his face only served to replay that stupid smile he flashed at her. He was probably already in love, daydreaming about their shared life ahead. Their three kids, the white picket fence, maybe even a dog.

You flipped open your makeup mirror, dabbing powder on to your nose and forehead while mentally reminding yourself to pull it together and behave like the grown-up you were supposed to be.

No sooner had you left the bathroom had you crashed into something, legs betraying you as you lurched forward, nearly spiraling to the floor. Your hands shot out, closing around the nearest object which felt to be the lapels of a suit. 

Your gaze snapped into sharp focus. Yes, definitely the lapels of a suit, and not just any suit--It was Hotch's.

Fantastic.

You quickly retracted your hands, letting them hang limply by your sides as you took a cautious step backward.

His brows furrowed, lips tipping downward as he absently adjusted his watch. "You okay?"

"Peachy!”

That was too much.

You attempted to sidestep him, but he anticipated the move. His arm reached out with surprising speed, fastening around your wrist to keep you in place.

"Hey." It was funny how a single word in that deep voice of his was enough to make your heart beat a little faster. "You've been avoiding me all day. I don't want to pry, but if there's something I've done to upset you, I'd like to know so we can clear the air."

"What?" you responded too quickly, avoiding his gaze as your hand went to your neck. "Oh, no, no, it's not you, sir. I just... I think I might be catching a cold or something. Just feeling a bit woozy."

You were definitely coming down with something—it was a green, nasty disease that had your judgement in a clouded haze.

He smiled, making your heart go into overdrive. "You're a terrible liar."

"No idea what you mean." Your voice went up an octave too high. "But, um, there's a bunch of witnesses I need to follow up with. There's this one who was... really eager. Maybe she'd respond better to you?"

There was a pause before Hotch spoke, his voice low and certain. "I've seen many reactions from you, but jealousy? Is that what's happening here?"

You blinked rapidly, heat rising to your cheeks. "Jealous? That's... that's ridiculous."

"I'd like to think I know you better than that." He gave you a deadpan look. "You've been avoiding eye contact, you've been unusually quiet, and I didn't necessarily miss that look you gave her."

You swallowed hard, proving him right and looking anywhere but him as you fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve. 

"It's not... it's just, you know... I don't know, the smile you gave her, it seemed a bit unprofessional to me."

Your words tumbled out in a flustered rush, not capable of taking them back as you realized the absurdity of it all.

Hotch's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Unprofessional? Did it look like I was flirting? Because that would be a first."

"No, I don't think you were flirting, not exactly." You should stop yourself while you're ahead. "But she was, and you didn't exactly shut it down."

Hotch's face was unreadable. "Honestly, I didn't even realize she was flirting with me. Even so, I'm curious—why would that bother you?"

"Well, I mean, I... It doesn't, not really. I just think we should all be focused, that's all," you managed, voice faltering as you tried to be convincing.

"I assure you, my focus is on all the right places," Hotch said, taking a step closer that almost felt invasive. His gaze dropped to your lips momentarily before snapping back up to your eyes.

"O-okay."

The closeness of him was sending your body into overdrive, the room suddenly feeling too small, his presence way too intense.

"And just for the record," Hotch said over his shoulder as he turned to leave. "If I were to flirt, trust me, it would be with someone who already had all my attention."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash

[edgeray]

BENEATH THE MASK

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Have this Father's Day special oneshot.  Not a request, sorry guys, hope that's okay. Decided to take a break from requests tonight <33. Superhero AU because I've somehow never written enemies to lovers in my fanfiction career ever??? Fake fanfic writer right here🧍. (and no, dragon arlecchino x dragon hunter reader don't count). Hopefully this is good?   enemies to lovers villain arlecchino x hero reader, aka, is it gay to sleep in the same bed as your enemy? Your hero name is Rover, because heheh wuwa reference.  Might make a part 2 if someone wants it.  EDIT at 2AM: GUYS FUCKING SAVE ME I JUST SAW ONE OF THOSE CREEPY AF HOUSE CENTIPEDES WHILE I WAS WRITING AND NOW MY ENTIRE BODY IS TINGLY STOP OMG IDK WHERE IT IS SEND HELP OR ELSE I WILL BURN THE ENTIRE HOUSE DOWN. MAYBE THE POWER OF GAY WILL SCARE IT AWAY Content warnings / info - arlecchino is mean and threatens you, arlecchino's pov, gn! reader, 2.2k words

A knock sounds on the front door, making Arlecchino pause in the midst of her meal. A visitor? Certainly, there’s no one she was expecting today, especially at–Arlecchino glances at the clock– 9:18PM. Anyone who she would allow to visit her would text or call beforehand. Should she just pretend that she's not there? Frowning, she sets down the fork on the table. Damn it, she really should install cameras already but she always pushes it back. 

Cautiously peering through the eye hole, her breath hitches and her eyes widen. If she had a heart, it would have sunk into her stomach. Her hands fly to the door handle, unlocking it and flinging it open. 

At her doorstep, you stand there, blood staining your torn and ripped suit as you clutch your arm. There's a knife lodged in your shoulder, and she could see your face– scratched up and bruised. Your pupils are foggy and your expression seems far away, hardly able to direct your attention onto her. Upon seeing her, an abnormal smile finds your face, then, your knees buckle and you tumble into her arms. She catches you effortlessly, slotting her arms behind your back and tugging you into her chest. You go boneless in her grasp.

“What the hell happened to you, Rover?” She demands through gritted teeth while she glances down at you. She carries you into her house, closing the door with a swift kick, doing her best to haul you into her living room and setting you down to lay on her couch. Your blood seeps into the furniture. You wince at the new movement, sharply inhaling.

“Got… into f-fight. With some, some new guy. Real asshole he was. Fucked… fucked him up pretty good,” you force out in between your labored breathing, before you cough out more blood. Your eyes flit over her form.

“Heh… nice sleepwear,” you remark with a trembling, cunning smile. “Who would have known… the notorious Knave sleeps in Hello Kitty pants… you're a lot less scary now… you know? Nice place as well…” 

Arlecchino proceeds to ignore your comment. “How did you find me? Why did you come here? Do you have a fucking death wish, Rover?” She presses on, her hardened features showing no hint of empathy or concern. 

“I'm… smarter than you think. And… I came because… hell, if I know.” You wetly cough. “Didn't have… anywhere else.” 

The two of you know that she won't kill you, at least not now. For as often you found one another on opposite sides, the two of you have come to understand each other. 

Arlecchino breathes in deeply through her nose, processing her enemy's word. Rover has always been a major hindrance in her plans– a constant rose thorn in her side for years, but she always appreciates your grit and strength. You've battled her tens of times, and each fight she can't deny the exhilaration she feels. She's yet to beat you and the vice versa is the same. A frequent dance between players of different sides, somehow the two of you always found the other in each other's paths. It would be romantic if it wasn't outright irritating.  

Only you could truly challenge you and for that it's why the pitiful state you're in disturbs her to no end. You can't die, not here, not now, not when it's not by her hands. She will pry your last breath with her own hands, she will not allow anyone else to have that honor. She wants to see what kind of expression you'd make when she snuffs out your final bit of life. It would be so easy to end you here. To wrap her claws around your pretty neck, watch your pathetic attempts of struggle, savor the despair in your eyes, oh how easy it would be. 

But if there was anything the Knave was, it was not a freeloader. She will not take other people's efforts and use them to further her own goals, which she will strive for by herself alone. If she killed you here, her own dignity would be singed. 

There will come a day when the Rover is brought down, and the perpetrator will be clear: her. Until then, your survival is of the utmost importance, and next? To pay this scum a lesson of who can touch her angel and it is certainly not him. 

“Who is this new villain that's sprung up?”  She questions as she walks to the bathroom, grabbing her first aid kit, cotton balls, and some alcohol. 

“Get this. The Doctor…” The hero then chuckles weakly. “Massive dick.” 

“I see…” the Knave mutters as she approaches you. “Why did you come to me instead of the hospital?” 

“Closer… easier to hide…”

“He was actively hunting you?” 

“His ‘segments’ are still out there… no doubt wanting to finish the job…”

“Segments?”

“His clones.” 

“Why you?” 

“Jealous… of my good looks, maybe…?” 

Arlecchino frowns. So you don't know why. She sits down in between your legs, leaning over you as she observes you, examining any wounds she can see. A couple of cuts on your sleeves and face, a deeper laceration over your sternum, and the knife wound. At least he gave her a little keepsake, though it is just like any cheap, small knife. If he has multiple ‘segments,’ then supplying them with proper weapons would be costly… 

“Can you remove your costume?” Her finger trails over your ribs making you hiss out in agony. 

You shake your hand. “C-can't… can barely lift my arms.” 

The Knave sighs, letting her claws extend out. “I'm going to have to cut it off you.” 

 “Go ahead.”

Deliberately and precisely, she uses one claw to slice open your costume, exposing your chest to her. You flush and squirm slightly before she places the same clawed hand over your stomach, talons pricking your skin. Her fingertips feel impossibly hot, just like her blood flame abilities. Your abdomen muscles flex just from the contact and she can feel it when her frown twitches. 

“Stay still,” she gruffs, piercing red-crossed eyes bores into yours. 

“At least…take me out… to dinner first, Knave,” you snicker. 

“You're insufferable.” 

As she patches you up and tends to the various bruises and cuts you have, a silence forms between the two of you. She notices that throughout the entire interaction, you're peering at her, but not at her hands–her face. 

“Lift your hips. I need to bandage your abdomen.” 

You try to comply, but find yourself barely able to lift it past a little up. You grunt in agony, and then give her puppy eyes. The Knave is a villain. She's able to destroy the city center with the snap of her fingers, has brought down buildings with no effort, and has cremated numerous people. She is either feared by the mass or revered by scums. She would never be defeated by something as commiserable as your pleading expression.

“Do I have to do everything for you? I wonder how I've yet beat you when you're this incompetent injured,” Arlecchino huffs. Her hands grasp your hip, raising your hips until she slides your bottom over her lap, your bent knees on either side of her. The sight resembles something terribly intimate to Arlecchino, and from your flustered appearance, it seems that way to you too.

“Didn't think I would… have the Knave in between… my legs so soon,” you smirk cunningly, wiggling your hips as best as you can to further enunciate your archon-awful humor. One hand of hers finds your thigh before she grips it, claws digging through your costume and nicking into your skin. It's shallow enough to act as a warning but deep enough for you to feel it, a gesture to show that she doesn't appreciate your mouth. 

“Did you forget? We are enemies. Just because I choose not to harm you now does that mean it would be wise to provoke me.”

“Not currently.” 

That much is true. Silence fills between the two of you again. 

“You know… you would be a lot easier to look at without your mask,” you whisper. Arlecchino looks up at you, her stone cold expression betrayed by her eyes, focused intently on you. How you had the audacity to trifle with her, she's uncertain. Perhaps it's just a distraction tactic you’ve turned into a habit, though she's unaware of whether or not you use this with other villains. 

“Are you suggesting I'm rather hard to look at when I do?” She inquires.

“Quite the opposite. You would look even better, though.”

“The reason I wear a mask is the same reason you do.” Though, you don't need to wear yours right now. She already knows where you reside, and your true name. 

“We don't have to wear masks when it's just us, Arlecchino.” The villain shivers at hearing her name come from your lips; it sounds immorally ethereal, wicked to associate something so vile with something as seraphic as your voice. And that voice that's slipped past her rational, calculating thoughts whispers that she'd like to hear you say her name again. It's just as electrifying as when you bellow her villain name in fury. 

She swears that the dead heart inside her chest beats for a moment. 

She comments nothing. She doesn’t enjoy the dalliance your words seem to imply, doesn't like how the air between you becomes thick with something that inspires hunger. She physically turns away from you. 

“I've finished patching you up. Rest is the only thing you can do now. With your regeneration, you should be back to normal conditions.” 

She packs up the various medical items, slotting the items into their respective containers. She's about to get up and put them away when your hand catches her wrist, a frail grip that she can effortlessly wrench herself out. She doesn't however. 

“Do you have… anywhere else for me to rest?”

“I've tended to your wounds and you ask for more? How selfish can you be, Rover?” She frowns. 

“The blood makes it feel… sticky.” 

“You need to wash off the blood.” 

“Well… considering I can't move my arms or legs…”

You're going to make her burst a blood vessel. 

“Know that your death will be excruciating,” she sighs, and you give her a cheeky grin that she wants nothing more than to rip off your face.  

She scoops you up into her strong arms, carrying you as firmly yet tenderly as possible in order to not aggravate your wounds. She takes you upstairs to a hallway, turning to the closest door. She seats you on the edge of the bathtub and turns on the faucet, letting the tub fill with hot water. She exits the room, presumably to grab some extra clothes and towels. She returns with exactly that, setting them down on the sinker counter. 

She picks you up again, seating herself first squarely in the tub before you're placed on her lap, your back towards her. 

“I'm going to have to remove your pants.” 

“Seems unfair if I'm the only one that's going to be naked.”

“Do not make me stain my walls with your blood tonight. I prefer not having to clean up the mess.” 

“You already have to clean up the living room, what's one more?” 

She shuts you up with a loud tearing noise as she slits down the seams until finally you're left exposed to her. You gasp, squeezing your thighs. Arlecchino takes note of this, a small smile disappearing on her lips the moment it appears. Once she peels the pant sleeves off of you, she tosses them carelessly onto the bathroom floor. She retracts her claws to rub off the dried blood on your back, a long exhale escaping her as she gapes wordlessly at all the scars and faded bruises that scatter your back. 

“No bath bomb?” You whine–yes, a full grown hero whining about a bath bomb–which quickly interrupts her stare.

“I'm not wasting one on you,” she says. 

Although Arlecchino can't see it, she knows that you pout.

Thankfully for the rest of the time she cleans the blood off, you hold back on any more suggestive quips. Arlecchino shuts off the faucet and dries you off without another word, dressing you in a satin robe. She turns, quickly removing her own wet clothes and donning proper dry ones. When she returns her gaze on you, you seem oddly flustered–ah, she forgot she had an audience. If you appreciated her bare self, you had said nothing about it.

She hoists you into her arms again, marching down to the room right next to, which is a bedroom, and you’re placed onto the soft bed. You waste no time indulging in the mattress before you stop. 

“Wait, isn't this your bed?” 

“Indeed,” she says nonchalantly after she shuts the lights, sliding under the covers beside you. 

“But, wait, you, don't you, don't you… have anywhere else?” 

“What seems to be the problem?”

“Well… it's just… you're not going to kill me when I'm asleep right?” You chuckle though the unease is evident in your words. Arlecchino grasps your chin, making you face her. Your face is only a hair's breadth away from hers and she feels your hot breath against her lips. 

“Do not mistake me. When I kill you, it'd be when you're awake and beaten by me alone,” she whispers huskily. She lets go of you, and turns to the side, her back facing you. 

She can feel your eyes burrow into her. She pays no mind. 

[biolumien]

Hiiii!!!! 😊👋 So I only just started Kaiju no. 8!!! New to the fandom and not a manga reader. Idk what’s going to happen in the next episode—all I know is that Hoshina better not d*e lol.

Anyways!!! Obviously I am a huge Hoshina fan/simp!!! I really like your blog and I have enjoyed your Hoshina fics!!!!!! 🥹 And since your requests are open, I wanted to know if I could perhaps make one??? 👉👈

If so, I was wondering if you could do something sort of related to your “say it!” fic??? Like where Hoshina (+ reader) somehow bumps into the ex from operations you mentioned in the fic??? And reader gets SUPERRRRR jealous (lord knows I would be especially if said ex was really beautiful and smart) and insecure. Maybe reader acts a bit distant/moody after the encounter but once Hoshina realizes what’s up he immediately reassures reader and let’s them know how much he loves/cares for them???

Sorry if this request is weird or doesn’t make sense to you, I’ve honestly just been thinking about a similar scenario ever since reading that fic of yours 😭😭 anyways thank you so much for your time 🫶❤️ and please never stop writing, your fics are beautiful 💖💕

notes: hihi; thank you so much for your request; i hope that this is okay; you sent this in before the most recent episode but hoshina's a fairly important character to the story of kaiju no 8 overall so he'll be alright... i combined this with a slightly different ask which also surrounded jealousy but with okonogi; it's very briefly mentioned though.

jealousy as the crux

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader no warnings should apply, i think. wc: 837

hoshina always maintained rather easy conversation with a lot of people—friendly conversation that sometimes got the better of your self esteem when he teasingly doted on okonogi or otherwise. 

you’d tried not to bring it up, to not bother him—because envy and jealousy like that was an ugly emotion, of course. it wouldn’t be right to burden hoshina with them–mostly because you weren’t even sure how he’d react. he was plenty envious on his own, you think–key point on think. but it might have been for more reasonable things, surely. like the envious desire to become stronger, or something noble like that.

nothing quite like yours. 

but stumbling on hoshina’s ex was never on your list of priorities at all. 

so the fact that she was here—was her name amaya?—only made you more uncomfortable. you barely knew anything about her other than the fact that okonogi spoke her name with strained reverence, cautious to never bring it up around hoshina. hoshina seemed to be uncaring of it all, even so–as if he couldn’t be bothered to remember. 

she was smoking indoors, her eyes tired and weary. 

hoshina didn’t seem to tense up when talking to her, which strangely irked you more. 

“hoshina,” amaya says, approaching hoshina with a raised eyebrow. she pats his shoulder, and he chuckles.

“you look well,” hoshina murmurs. 

“hm. well as i’ll ever be.” her eyes flit to you, her eyes narrowing. you felt uncomfortable under her gaze, as if you were some unique kind of insect to be pinned up in a collection. “this your new partner? they’re cute.”

“hm?” hoshina laughs. “aren’t they?”

the compliment doesn’t feel good, somehow, as it usually does.

“thought you said you wouldn’t date again,” amaya says, dusting off some ash off the tip of her cigarette, taking another breath before blowing it away from the two of you. “not that we really were.” she snorts. “you were too much of a coward last time.”

“hey,” hoshina says, sounding mock-hurt. “i figured we were better off as friends.”

“hm.” amaya exhales. “whatever you say.”

“i wish you’d sound more enthusiastic about this,” hoshina retorts, laughing again. it’s the same laugh he has when he talks to okonogi, that same doting laughter–but it also wasn’t anything special. it was the same kind of laughter he had when he talked to you, though perhaps it was tinged with more fondness when he spoke to you.

if there was anything hoshina was, it might’ve just been annoyingly consistent.

"it's hard to be enthusiastic surrounding you. your sarcastic energy exhausts me," amaya drawls.

you turn away from the conversation at this point–and yet you can feel amaya staring daggers into the back of your head. 

“i’ll let the two of you finish this up,” you say, and your voice sounds far more obviously strained than you’d like for it to be. 

hoshina was allowed to talk to other people. but why did amaya irk you so much? was it just the irreverent way she spoke, the way she seemed to be watching you so intently for no reason? what the hell was her problem? as you stormed off, your footsteps grew angrier as you continued to mull over it. no, seriously! what was her problem? 

but what was yours, being jealous in the first place? you were being irrational–worried because you wanted hoshina’s attention for yourself but of course it wasn’t right to worry this badly about it to the point that envy would turn your stomach like this, create the brittling sensation in your heart. it wasn’t right, and the fact that you knew it wasn’t right made the whirling sense of bad in you feel worse.

you rub your face roughly, trying to shock yourself into trying to just be fucking normal.

“hey.”

hoshina’s voice is quiet when you turn around, and his face is contemplative, brows furrowed in worry.

“are you done? talking to amaya?” you ask.

“for now,” he says. his eyes focus on your face, concerned now. “are you okay?”

“i’m…”

the words die in your throat.

“i don’t want to be jealous,” you say weakly. “of whatever’s going on. but, i–”

hoshina’s hands are on your face before you can even finish your sentence, squishing your cheeks together.

“mm, i see.” hoshina blinks, humming. “why didn’t you just say so earlier?”

you blink.

“you’re not… mad?” you ask.

“mad?” hoshina raises an eyebrow, cocking his head. it looks cute. “should i be?”

“no,” you say. “i–or, i don’t know. maybe? yes?”

“which is it?” hoshina asks, a teasing smile on his face before his brow furrows a bit. “if you would have just told me earlier i could have easily just told you that there’s nothing going on between me and anyone else but you. i chose you. don’t forget that, okay?”

you blink.

“and i love you,” hoshina says, completely straightforwardly, with sure honesty. “don’t forget that.”

you nod, and he squeezes your face, leaning in to kiss you on the lips.

[lemongogo]

do i finish dunmesh tn ..

[sinusoidaldysfunction]

I don't think you trust in my self righteous suicide

I cry when angels deserve to die

brief rant under the cut abt them

Maybe I'm projecting but just. Hailstorm and Pyrite. He hates her because she was created just to imprison her but he also feels bad because her entire existance revolves around what her creator/parent wanted her to be and he knows how much that sucks. There's a part of him that maybe just maybe wants to get away from it all, his crumbling family, the war, the expectations. To just. Be someone else. To not exist.

But there's a part of him that loves his family and is loyal to his kingdom and wants so badly to kill the part of his brain that thinks that way. That wants to kill Pyrite. That's embarrassed and disgusted with himself for being trapped as her.

idk au maybe where Hailstorm somehow someway is able to make Pyrite into her own self rather than a mask and raises her (I think she's a dragonet?) with the duty free childhood he wished he had. Also he beats up Chameleon.

[bookobsessedfreak]

lost in translation ◦ b.c

-being an author comes with its ups and downs, when your deep in the dumps about your poetry bangchan is quick to comfort you.

Paring ◦ Bangchan x GN!Reader Words ◦ 3,045 Genre ◦ Hurt and comfort Warnings ◦ Lotsss of projecting, descriptions of blood, lots of depressing thoughts, descriptions of drowning, bad jokes, rambling ofc, mild cursing cause the reader is frustrated, bangchan being the sweetest boyfriend ever, to much crying, pretty sure I said the same damn thing like 12 times 🥲 not edited cause half my shit deleted trust this was 10 times better when I wasn't scrounging to try and remember what the fuck I had said 3 weeks ago💀 A/N ◦ This is literally just me projecting lol. I kinda wanted to write something about what it's like to experience feeling like you're an idiot because sometimes the words just aren't coming to you. idk how I feel about the poetry sorta thing at the beginning I'm still trying to find my voice so please be gentle also the beginning Is a little weird but I kind of was trying to make it look chaotic to symbolize the chaos in the readers mind idk tell me how you feel about it, also if anyone is willing to be my beta reader id literally love you forever okay enough rambling hope you enjoy reading it :) P.S the 6th line says missing but its supposed to symbolize the fact that the letter is missing just in case you don't catch that the first time around :) P.P.S(cause I never shut up) Future cookie here: ngl I'm rereading this and I'm like wtf is this I really don't even know if theirs a plot here idk Links ◦ Masterlist ◦ Taglist ◦ Rules ◦ Navigation ~CookieCreates🍪

Poetry was the language of the soul, but sometimes it felt like your words were lost in translation, living in a constant state of lethologica.

Poetry wasn't supposed to be perfect, it was supposed to make you feel something. Well, what do you do when your poetry is about as poetic as wet dirt.

Your art always felt awkward

out of place

like the letters were seemingly bent out of

s h a p e

or maybe some were

m i s i n g?

Punctuation like pretzels twisting about.

Periods,

commas?

Why couldn't your brain just work?

Why wouldn't your heart just bleed?

Synonyms were slick, slithering between your fingertips like snakes, but when you searched your soul for the sentences, it felt like they were always stuck.

The world of writing was such a confusing place.

Your words grew dull under the pressure of a pencil, always writing, always working, always saying the same damn things over and over. Your work was like a cemetery, gray ghosts of eraser marks and pencil scratches, sentences you ditched, splinters of your soul you couldn't seem to squeeze out, your writing was always faded but never forgotten. 

They mocked you, laughed at you, words with mouths, sentences with structures. 

How silly. 

How stupid. 

You stare at the paper, imagining them with mocking mouths and smiling lips. Some would think you’re crazy, but you're not crazy. No, you’re spiraling. 

Spiraling

Spiraling

Spiraling in a whirlpool

Spinning 

Spinning 

Spinning in a riptide

Sinking 

Sinking 

Sinking under the waves of words left unwritten 

Pockets filled with the sand of synonyms you sifted through too often. How much more pressure can you take as you plunged-

Deeper 

Deeper 

Deeper until you fall into the vast open ocean where the shadows dance in the sea, its marvelous, it's magnificent, it's a beautiful sight to see as your lungs fill with water, your eyes fluttering shut, the tips of your fingers touching the waves. You admire the ocean, wishing one day you could be like the sea, dancing with the shadows of your mind. 

You sigh, aggressively rubbing your eyes. Writers Block was a metaphor, but sometimes it felt like a reality, a literal cinder block resting in between the path where your heart meets your head, your hand coming up with nothing new, tired of typing the same words, the same sentences. Your vision began to blur, flickering over the work you spent hours creating. An odd sort of hatred spreads through your skin, boiling in the back of your brain. 

You feel like a kettle getting ready to… 

"Hello, my love," Chan whispers, wrapping muscular arms around your waist. He dusts his lips over your cheeks, brushing soft kisses across your skin.

Blow 

"I hate it." You shout, chucking your pen. at the wall. Chan's heart jumps against your back as he flinches.

"W-What baby? What did I do?" The panic in his voice makes guilt rush through you immediately, quickly turning around to comfort him.

"I'm sorry," you sigh, lazily locking your hands behind his back, embracing him in a tired hug, hopefully strong enough to wipe that kicked puppy dog look off his face. You nuzzle your nose into the hard planes of his chest, hoping you would just melt into him, meld your bodies together, never having to face life again.

"You didn't do anything." You whimper, digging your face deeper into his skin, wishing the world would just wash away, drip down the walls like the ink that's running down your paper, wiping away all traces of the terrible writing that plages the poor dead tree that gave his life for that pile of flaming crap you wrote.

You were suffocating. 

Suffocating in feelings you couldn't articulate, emotions you couldn't convey. You were a poet.

A poet who was drowning under words left unsaid. 

“I hate everything right now, Channie." You sniffled, tears rushing to your lash line. "Everything I write sucks! Everything!" You dig your face deeper into his chest, he squeezes you tighter, rubbing reassuring circles on your back. You sob, almost having the urge to lean your face over the page to collect your tears that are laced with the emotions you are supposed to be writing but instead are crying out into your boyfriend's chest. You stay like that for what feels like forever, sobs spilling over the silence that cloaks the room, your knees ache from staying in the same position for so long, holding onto him like he was a balloon and if you let go he was going to float away. Still, he never once scoffed, never once rolled his eyes, never once showed any sign that he was annoyed, bothered by your endless crying, even when his shirt was soaked, even when it felt like your sobs would never stop. 

He stayed. 

He always stayed. 

Moments like these make you believe in the type of love you write. 

Moments like these make love look like art. 

You've spent so many days creating art out of letters, beauty out of words, and yet you could spend a million years searching for the proper terms to describe the love he filled you with, but no matter how hard you try, you will always be so grossly inept. The English language seems so flimsy.

So shallow. 

So empty. 

So you place your ear to the cavern where his heart is kept and listen to the vibrations his body is sending you instead. You sigh contently, nuzzling your face into his shirt, your sobs long forgotten, now nothing more than sniffles that rack your spine as you hiccup—a terrible feeling—crying for so long just for the echos of your sorrow to come out through your lungs, contracting in painful hiccups.

(Cookies interruptions: please tell you know what im talking about I hate crying for so long and your lungs keep like dying in a weird form of a hiccup because you've literally been crying for so long 🙄)

He chuckles, the sound echoing through his ribs as he peers down at you with soft eyes, amusement dancing on his face. You scrunch your eyebrows, partly confused and partly offended that he's laughing at you. 

“What?” you ask, reeling your head back from the comfort of his chest.

“Are you going to share?” he smirks, eyes flickering down to your hands. Heat crawls up your neck as you glance down your hands, which were indeed, kneading his chest like a cat making buiscuts. You cringe, suddenly fairly embarrassed, at the way you were acting like a pathetic pet desperately needing attention. You pull your hands away from his chest slowly, looking him dead in the eyes, cheeks hot, face blank. 

“You know I don't like sharing my food, Channie, especially my biscuits.” He grabs you by the arms, pulling you back into him. Throwing his head back in laughter, you snort, cuddling closer to him. Your cheek smooshed into his shirt.

“You know cats only knead people when they feel safe” You whisper, he stops laughing, he stops breathing, he stops moving those sweet circles down your back; you freeze, suddenly more bashful than before.

“You feel safe with me?” He breathes, his eyes warm, swirling with a mix of pride and surprise. You nod hesitantly; you've never seen anybody look at you like this, like you're the source of all their joy. His forehead crinkles in a gentle sort of appreciation. Glad that sharing even the most vulnerable parts of yourself with him.  He smiles, a toothy gummy action, tilting his head to the side before shoving your face back into his body. “It’s all I've ever wanted.” Your heart fills with an unfathomable feeling of pure unadulterated warmth, you can't help but grin.

“Do you wanna talk to me about what happened today, pretty?” He whispers, his lips hovering over your head, before ghosting a kiss on your hair.

“I don't know channie,” You tilt your head back, lifting your eyes to meet his. “I-I just hate everything I write right now. I try so hard to create something, anything, but the words just never come to me, so I’m sitting here writing junk, a bunch of useless rambles with the same fucking words over and over, cause it feels like my vocabulary diminishes to the range of about 10 words as soon as I pick up a pencil, and today I was just writing.” You scoff, annoyance at your own stupidity filling your veins. “Or the pathetic attempt to do so, and I got so mad c-cause it just felt like everything I wrote j-just...” You taper off, averting your eyes from his, shame flickering in the back of your brain. “Sucked,” You whisper, looking down at your fiddling fingers. 

You remember the first time you ever showed him a piece of your work, studying his facial expressions like an FBI agent doing an interrogation. Swarms of anxiety-flavored butterflies were fluttering in your stomach as you watched his jaw drop. You stared at him nervously, expectingly, a face waiting for failure, for him to nod awkwardly, handing you back your computer, not quite meeting your eyes before reluctantly telling you it was great. It was what you expected from such a brilliant, talented man like him; it baffled you the way he could play with words, teasing them on his tongue like smooth honey dripping from his lips. The feeling compared to a composer handing their piece to Mozart, waiting for his reply, but instead of the fleeting look of disgust that you expected, his jaw dropped almost comically, staring at you with wide eyes. You had chuckled anxiously, gripping your knees, studying his every move, hoping to gauge his reaction. You bit your lip to hold the grin that arouse when his face quickly compared to that of a cartoon character. 

“Baby,” he had beamed playfully. “You wrote this.”

“Yes,” you chuckled.

“Oh my gosh, I'm dating a genius." He stared out into space, like he was pondering some deep philosophical thought. "Who would have known such a big brain was hidden in such a beautiful body? Damn baby, your a catch," he smirked as he set your computer down to pick you up bridal style. You don't think you've ever smiled so big before in your life. 

He was always your biggest cheerleader, so why were you so ashamed to tell him you thought your writing sucked? 

But most of all, why were you scared that maybe he might agree? 

“Baby,” he leaned down to get on your level, face full of sympathy. Your bottom lip trembled as you averted your eyes. Sympathy was exactly what you needed, so why does it seem to make the wound burn more? You feel so wholly pathetic as you stare at the floor, words welling up in your chest, but you don't know which way to express them. You were so used to pouring your emotions through a pen, communicating seemed impossible. 

"You don't have-" he starts, but you interrupt him. You just can't wait for the words to marinate in your mind. Sometimes you forget you had a boyfriend who cared about you, somebody you could always count on to listen to you, so even though it's hard, even though it's scary, you take a leap of faith, knowing he'd catch you every time.  

“I-I just… Poetry is the language of the soul, Chan. It's everything to me. I speak it, breathe it, write it, love it. You don't understand how amazing it is to take such an ugly emotion and twist it into something so beautiful, like a rose sprouting from muddy, murky ground. It's just...” You stare at the floor, softly kicking your toe to the carpet, a nervous reaction to the burn of his eyes scraping across your being, studying you, judging you. You know he's not, not really, but you felt naked under his gaze, strangely vulnerable. He hooks his finger under your chin, tilting your face up. Your met with welcoming eyes and an impressed expression.

“Go on,” he encourages. “Just what?” 

You stare at him reluctantly, not liking the gross feeling you get when you share your feelings, but his smile surrounds you in security, quickly loosening your lips.

“That's what hurts the most about it, though it's apart of you, and when you look at your work and all you see in the muddy, murky ground, what does that say about you? These words are coming from your soul, and sometimes it feels like they're all just lost in translation.” You whisper, blinking away tears that swell in your eyes, shyly shuffling.

“I do understand,” he says, “I understand completely, feeling like you have to transcibe your soul, and to my listeners, your readers, you wonder if what you said got lost in translation. It's scary, it's exhausting, but you know what it also is? It's beautiful and rewarding. It's amazing being able to share such intimate pieces of yourself with the world, but it's normal to feel like you suck at what you do. That's the only way you can grow.” He leans down to kiss the tips of your nose; your eyelids flutter shut as a smile dusts on your face. “How do you think you would have grown into the amazing author you are now if you looked at the short stories you wrote when you were little and thought, Wow, this is exactly how far I want to progress.” You giggle, thinking about how horrible your writing was when you were so young. You fold your arms in front of your chest, scrounging up the best sassy face you can—popping your hip out.

“I'll have you know, sir, my 9-year-old fanfictions about Harry Styles goated.” You jest biting your lip to contain your smile, he groans, scrunching his nose up in faux disgust. “Ew Y/N, please never say goated again.”  

You glare at him playfully. “I hate you, you know." He smiles softly, but it carries weight—warmth. The previous humor washed away like rain rushing down a child's picture made of chalk. He cups your cheeks in warm hands, eyes swirling with sincerity.

“But I love you, and I can assure you, you are the most amazing writer I know, Y/N L/N. You are brilliant, you are beautiful, you can turn even some of the most ugly emotions into the most stunning writing I've ever heard. You amaze me.” He states it like he's stating the sky is blue, like it's such a well known fact that anybody who would dare to disagree is just plain stupid. 

That's certainly not what you expected.

Your bottom lip trembles as you attempt to smile. His words sound like cotton candy in your ears, but even candy floss melts when met with water, and right about now you were drowning. 

"I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do when I feel like I can't write. I want to write so badly, but everything I say is so stupid!” You gurgle, he thinks for a minute, pulling his bottom lip into his teeth before beaming, a lightbulb practically shining above his head.

 "You know what you do when you can't write?" 

“What?” you sniffle, blinking aggressively trying to dry your eyes. 

“You just do it. You just write.”  

“What?” You state, staring at him like he's the biggest dummy in the world.

“You just write.”

“Wow, how couldn't I have thought of that one?” You roll your eyes. He ignores your sass, placing a hand on the small of your back, leading you to your writing chair. He pulls it out for you, which you reluctantly sit in, not really wanting to go through this whole exercise, especially when your brain short circuits staring at your paper, filled with faded sentences you really don't want to face. He scoots your chair back, holding on to the back of the wood. 

"Become brainless,” he says, leaning his face into yours, cheeks practically touching. “Like you're not even in you're body, immerse yourself in the characters, play them, become them. Be them. Let their characteristics cover you. Don't let it be what you are going to say; let it be what they are going to say.”

“Where’d you learn this?” You ask, confused about why hes speaking like hes the author. You had asked what he did when the words weren't wording, but he's talking like he creates characters and not lyrics—not that you're complaining, of course. 

"I had a feeling something like this was going to come up with your... author-a-try?" He stops, contemplating if that was a word—it isn't, by the way—realizes he doesn't care and continues, "So I did some studying on it," he says, like it was something every boyfriend did, like it was the bare minimum. The depth of his kindness truly baffles you sometimes. 

When you are with Chan, you realize how feeble the English language really is. You could study every word in every dialect for the rest of your life and never once find a term great enough to suit the emotions that consume you when you're with him. You know you don't deserve him, but you will spend the rest of your life trying.

“Just write. You can worry about all of the rest later, baby. Don't even think about how others will perceive you. Don't even think about your word choice or your punctuation. You take that pencil, and you let your heart do the talking for you.”

 Even though sometimes your words got lost in translation on the path from your heart to your head, it was a comforting thought to know you'd never have to worry about that with Chan, for your souls spoke the same language. You peered up at him, his eyes reminding you of spills of stars that swam in a chocolate galaxy. He looks down at the paper encouragingly, gesturing for you to start, so you do.

You pick up the pencil and let your heart bleed

Poetry was the language of the soul, but sometimes it felt like your words were lost in translation, living in a constant state of lethologica.

©CookieCreates (posted: June, 16th 2024) All rights reserved. Do not translate, copy, or claim my works as yours! I only post on this platform so if any of my works are elsewhere, report and notify me immediately.

[doobea]

WORKS IN PROGRESS ᝰ.ᐟ

𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮: hi everyone!! apologies for the MIA but i'd figured i would provide a page listing all the wips and current progress for everything i have in store :3 release dates for all of these are tentative since these last few weeks have been very crazy irl !!

this page will be regularly updated from time to time, all titles / summaries are subject to change (my google docs are all over the place rn) <3 - 17JUN2024

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ memories of you [itoshi sae] — 4.2k

You've been a ghost writer for a popular publishing company in Japan for quite sometime. Your life seems to be perfect for the most part; in a long term relationship with a famous athlete, best friends with the co-founder of said company, and recently appointed to be a maid of honor. Despite it all, everything changes when you're suddenly hired to write an autobiography for your boyfriend's rival, aka your childhood best friend who ghosted you twelve years ago.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ from new york with love [itoshi rin] — 2.4k

New York City is always depicted as the place to be, known for its big hopes and even bigger dreams. But when you and Rin reunite, after being apart for two years, you're both surrounded by broken promises and empty wishes. Maybe coming here was a mistake after all. Because exs can't just be friends, right?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ born to make history pt.3 [itoshi rin] — 2k

He doesn’t mean it. Rin never means it. Both brothers have learned, long ago, when to take things at face value and when the other person means it. From playing football in their small gated backyard to performing in front of millions, crashing, burning, and being forced to do it all over again. Sae knows. Rin, caught in a moment of vulnerability under his brother’s unfazed stare, clings on to Sae’s first words of encouragement when they’ve both started out. masterlist <3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ melt bitter [between kaiser or barou] — 300

idk still loose idea: indie film director reader x rising star actor vibes? if kaiser route its just going to be a psychological angst route w no happy ending for either party. if barou route its just going to be a romcom / fluff.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ feel it [isagi yoichi] — 1.6k

Sometimes you forget that Isagi has a short attention span when it comes to everything but football. You’ve been close friends and neighbors since childhood and you would think having him attend your graduation party, over a degree you’ve been slaving over for the past six years, should be at least top five of his most important events to go to, right? Wrong. He’s lucky that he’s currently five thousand miles away or else he’ll wake up with a bald spot the next morning.

[turlord]

> Finished watching Dungeon Menshi, so I needed to post…

Chilchuck x Gender!Neutral OC/Reader?

> Idk what I am doing so eh lest go

Be aware English it’s my second language, spelling mistakes are to be expected.

The life of a librarian isn’t as quiet as everyone will though, not at all even! Especially if you live on an island and your bookshop turned into an “all your need and desire” type of shop. Nothing sketchy though! Like, if an adventurer wanted a map, there it is, a notebook. In stocks, this specific spell book? Sure, why not? Maybe it will need a few weeks to be shipped here! That weirdly specific ingredient? All eyes are closed for the right price. By that time, this place had become more than it was supposed to be. That’s how the bookshop grew enough to merge with the post office.

Mail was a huge part of the island, especially for travelers and other adventurers who needed to send or get money for research, to send their studies off or just keep in contact with their families.

Most people would minimize the importance of a well-maintained post office but a special group of adventurers knew what it meant.

Strangely enough, as if thinking about them is a way to summon them, the group so freshly mentioned enters the shop. As always, they couldn't do it quietly, as if it was part of their DNA to be as noticeable as possible.

“- What a fuss…” The thought of dealing with them was already draining all energy from the poor shopkeeper's soul. “Kids, can you behave? Isn't a toy shop here...”

Was the owner old? It was hard to tell, the dark circle around their eyes and their carved cheeks could be proof, or just an unpleasing sign of them not taking care of themself. Taller than most people of their species for sure, wish doesn't help to get an age straight away, and being tired seeing the Touden’s party wasn't a sign of old age either, just being a normal being with common sense.

At least, that was what Chilchuck thought. He never paid too much attention, the shop owner was doing their job quite well, and the half-foot never had to complain so why should he bother? They never ask him questions too. There was this silent agreement between them to never be too intimate. Just enough to be good pale, who can go take a drink together.

The shop owner knew about Chilchuck’s family and his divorce since they played the role of the mailman, and Chilchuck knew the owner had been married before but didn't ask for more details about that.

Seeing the face of his friend's thought, made Chilchuck chuckle a bit, the poor librarian seemed to have lost any will to live when Laois commented on a “Monster cooking book”. The gaze he got from the taller being made him smirk, walking toward the counter.

“- Aren't they cute at this age? Uh?” the ginger snorts at the owner taking place on the high chair in front of the counter.

“- Ah yes, very cute…” The tired faces had a smile slowly blooming at the corner of their lips at the view of Chilchuck. “What can I do for y’a Chilchuck? ‘Asnt more place on my wall for a poster of your little worker thing.” The seller held their head with a hand showing the said poster on a wall with the other hand.

“- First, it's a union worker…-” he cut himself seeing his interlocutor rolling their eyes amused, they were just teasing him like always. “Second, the usual. ‘Got sixty gold to send pleas.” he dropped a pouch of gold on the counter.

Back in the day, sending gold would most likely result in losing it, thievery was common. The only solution was to travel to your home town and give it in person or recruit transporters, resulting in spending half of the money you gain.

Because of this, a lot of people would contract assurance to protect themselves from thievery, assurance that they will soon be throwing lawyers at the post office to pay for the damage made.

The post office needed to solve these issues or they would be a memory of the past, the stolen package wasn't something great for the reputation, but stolen money was even worse and with these assurances contracted by most of the clients, the situations became critical.

With a lot of trial and error, they thought of a solution by recruiting mages, who are specialized in Transfiguration. With this, they found a way to turn the gold into a simple piece of paper, easy to send and complicated enough to prevent any idiot with little magic knowledge from turning it back into gold and stealing it.

This is how being a mailman, turned into being a “mailmage” and becoming one of the most important jobs in a city.

The shopkeeper took out all the gold coins Chilchuck gave them and started to count. Of course, they trusted the half-foot about the actual amount of gold but it was a simple procedure, for the spell and paperwork.

For the halfling, something was fascinating, seeing the librarian counting each coin by hand. Witnessing these spiderly fingers making their way through the pile of gold, one by one. Chilchuck would constantly stay still, even holding his breaths during those moments, something was hypnotizing and somewhat calming. The light metallic sound of the coin, like little bells, the song the mailmage would hum, their little quirk of making piles of ten coins, aligning them perfectly. The way they count in a language Chilchuck had only heard here. One, two… at this point, he knew how each number was pronounced.

It wasn't his favorite part yet and still, the father of three was mesmerized.

“- There is four gold too many…” They put the coins aside waiting for any comments.

" Isn't four gold the price of the shipment ?" Chilchuck tried to hide his embarrassment, he wasn't the kind to like making mistakes, especially when it came to money.

"- Actually, it's three… Forgot how to count ?" The tail of the individual waved behind them, in amusement.

"-Is it? Are you sure you aren't killing your business with these prices?" He snarked back.

"- Uh, it's the standard price, but I will take your advice and raise my price then.." They click their tongue delighted by the exchange.

"- Yeah, in the meantime take it as a tip, for your service." The ginger tries to hide his smile with a faint superiority flare, waving his hand toward the bookseller.

The owner paused at Chilchuck's manners and the half-foot glanced back at them with one eye open... Suddenly, both of them started to laugh, at the behavior behavior. This student outburst attracted the attention of Mister Tim's party. Glancing at the duo, curious of the sudden laughter. Marcille started to whisper at Fallen who put her hand on her mouth, Laois glanced at Senshi who was petting his beard.

"- For real now! do I keep it or not ?" The tail of the shop owner was wagling with excitement.

"- Sure fine, it's a tip. Who would I be if I came back on my word anyway?" he shrugs even though a part of him was kind of upset about a lost gold coin for a stupid error.

"- Don't even know if I have to add it to my taxes or not..." Thinking of the incoming tax day made the shop owner sigh, in the meantime, they were tracing some magic symbols on a piece of paper.

"- Technically speaking, yes, you should… but you know…" The ginger waves his hand as if a fly was nearby, holding his head with the other taking support in the counter.

Chilchuck finds himself looking back at the owner’s hands, captivated by it. This was his favorite part, watching how all the signs intertwined all finely calligraphed on the paper. Each movement was slow, precise, demonstrating hours of practice. In a way, it makes the halfling though of Marcille, of course Chilchuck was looking at her when she had to trace a magic circle, but never would he admit doing so, that would be a free ego boost for the blond that the old man preferred to avoid. Normally he would share a similar thought with Senshi about magic use, but when it’s something as harmless as changing gold in a contract, nothing was holding him back from appreciating this practice.

Fast enough, the second he took in his mind was rapidly shattered by the voice of the shopkeeper.

"- Are you telling me to...?" They feign an offended look from Chilchuck insinuation but playfulness was readable in their eyes.

As a response, Chilchuck shushed his interlocutor, finger on his lips. He looked left then right before leaning toward the other whispering to their ears.

“- Don’t say that out loud or the IRS may hear you…” The Halfling was holding back a laugh.

“- Oh no… not them” The librarian shivered in fear putting their free hand on their forehead, dramatically posing for the shorter man in front of them. “What would I do if they come? Would you protect me Chilchuck ?” they looked back at the half-foot crocodile tears in their eyes.

A snort escapes from Chilchuck and his interlocutor laughs at the sound, embarrassing the locksmiths. Damn, could he not snort like an old man? He’s only twenty-nine… well okay he is an old man, but not like his brother who is an old man… Still, that noise was ugly, gosh. To get his composure back, the ginger rube his face with a hand, hoping it would erase his redness.

On the other side of the shop, the party gathered to watch together this strange display. Marcille was already imagining that Chilchuck had a crush on the librarian, Senshi simply responded it was some kind of “puppy love” since he still viewed Chilchuck as a young child. Both were debating on the subject, letting Laois be perfectly clueless about the situation, Falin wasn’t seeing what the two non-tall-men were talking about and Izustumi wasn’t having any of that, who cared about Chilchuck's love life anyway?

_____________

Hope y’all liked it and that it was readable. I admit I didn't know where to stop but I think its a good place to? Eh, if people want to following then you know what to do.

I'm open to all the critics, but pleas be nice…

[fredbydawn]

actually, I'm thinking soooo many thoughts about David transitioning into Amanda.

Cuz you may be wondering "hey, wouldn't Amanda notice that the guy she's tasked with kidnapping is identical to her before she transitioned?" WELL, I think she does. And I think she maybe knows a bit about his life and circumstances. I'm thinking about the commentary from Saw III about Leigh and Shawnee coming up with Amanda's backstory and talking about how she was abused and neglected growing up and turned to self harm and later drugs to deal with her anger. Flash forward to Amanda seeing this angry young man who feels completely indifferent to whether he lives or dies (and also thinking about Adam's explicit death wish from the script and the problems he has with his family, seemingly especially with his father). I think that does stir some feelings in her. And in a weird, idk 'thread of fate' thing, I kind of feel like he kind of senses something in her that is similar to him as well. Like, this is kinda dipping into my 'Adam is an egg' theory, but I feel like in their little interaction on the stairs, Amanda represents to Adam what he could be, and Adam represents to Amanda what she was. Like I sort of imagine that maybe he would look at the picture he took of her, not even really knowing why it's so compelling to him, but a little nagging voice in his subconscious maybe says "that could be you." Meanwhile Amanda sees herself too clearly in Adam. Like, once again thinking about the Saw III commentary and Leigh said something along the lines of "Amanda rigs the traps because she can't bear to see the people in them survive what they've been through," and thinking about how her suffocating Adam was both a twisted act of mercy, but also maybe form of self harm? Like he reminds her too much of the way she was way back when, like the night she was at the clinic and indirectly started the dominos falling that would lead to the games starting in the first place, so in killing him she's maybe also trying to finally kill that old self?

OOUUUGGGHHH ACTUALLY just had a thought, what if the nightmare visions she's having of Adam are actually her being haunted by her previous self circa the night at the clinic/when she got out of prison hhhhhhhhh much to think on...

[thatonejingyuanenthusiast]

i’ve been a silent lurker for a while cause well…i’m lazy and i don’t come onto tumblr as often as i used to but i saw you’re holding a q&a so i thought i’d throw my hat in the ring since i love jing yuan an abnormal amount (as any sane person should)

how do you render hair? (i’ve been trying for ages and it just never clicks)

also also, any fun jing yuan headcanons you have?

also also also i love your art :3

good day 🦁

Hii fellow Jing Yuan enthusiast <3 tysm for the ask!! mwahs

As for rendering hair it's kinda the same as I render clothes (I wish I had my drawing tablet on me at the dorms to draw you a proper demonstration, I'm sorry ;;)

I focus mainly on how the lighting falls on the subject, and just fuck around until I like it! But mainly it's just a base layer with a lineart over, and then adding shadows/highlights and more colors with the lasso fill in tool (idk what it's actual name is at the moment) and then refine it with a softer brush

Hope my messy explanation helped a little!! Maybe I'll make a small tutorial in the future if you guys are interested <3

Now onto the juicy stuff..

Did anyone say Jing Yuan HC? :)

|☆| He loves to spoil the people he loves

like buying Yangqing the newest sword on the market, getting small but valuable trinkets for the Astral Express, not to mention always offering them a place to stay every time they are on the Luofu)

|☆| The nr. 1 most cuddly being in the universe

cuddles everywhere. At work? yessir. At home? that's a must. In an important meeting? Subtle, but they are there.

|☆| Would sacrifice a lot everything for Mimi

|☆| I'd like to think he has a sweet tooth.

|☆| Collects trinkets from where he obtained victories for the Alliance. He has an entire shelf full of them. (from very rare shards of glass to objects from outer galaxies)

|☆| Major eeper. Will 100% almost always be late.

[moraloreldeservedbetter]

Little late to the party as always but I'm here for the father's day prompt.

Geez… The fathers of Moral Orel….

First of all, I agree that I want to see Karl's character expanded.  I mean, he's a really bad father, but mostly I want to know why he's a father.  Why did Karl and Kim decide to have Doughy?  Was it an accident and they carried to term, took care of him for a while, then abandoned him because it would lead to less judgment than not keeping the baby would have?  Or did they have Doughy on purpose because it's the logical next step after getting married, and all the cutest couple have a baby because babies are cute, and then they realized that a child was a lifelong commitment and a responsibility they didn't want, so as soon as he was out of that cute baby phase and didn't make them look like an adorable couple with something helpless to nurture, they pushed him to the side?  Karl certainly doesn't like him in the house, so maybe he liked the idea of a baby before he realized a baby demands a lot of attention from its mother and he got jealous and angry and kicked him out as soon as he could?  Idk, but it's a question I would love to see answered.

Another father in the show that I think is super underrated is Sal Figurelli.  He has two kids, his wife ran out on him once, and he's part of the only black family in Moralton.  And yeah, the Figurelli's are the focus of God's Image, but it's not actually about them.  It's a criticism of using religion as an excuse to be racist, which is a good message, but I think it raises more questions than it does answers.  We know Mr. Figurelli is a hard worker and business owner who doesn't let things get to him despite the odds the town throws at him, but we don't know what his relationship is with his children beyond 'they work with him sometimes' and 'Billy trusts him enough to run to him when Susie hits him', but their mom wasn't home when that happened so who knows who he chooses when the opportunity arises.

I also wish we had seen more of Tommy's family in general, especially his dad since his mom was shown much more in "God's Blunders."  They seem to really care about their son, they're just so mired in the dogma of Moralton to actually put that love into action.  And Tommy being so smart and curious makes me wonder if his dad used to bring him home books because he asked for them.  I can really see Tommy's parents getting him the science books he asks for to make him happy, even if they think his IQ is too low to actually understand what he's reading (even though that couldn't be further from the truth).  Idk, I know the Littlers aren't the best parents to Tommy, but given the other parents of Moralton, they actually seem like some of the good ones.  I mean, they could stand to listen to their son more often, because if they did they'd realize just how brilliant he is, but at least they're willing to spend time with him and they do things to protect him when they think he might be a danger to himself.  I demand to know more about Mr. Littler.

Then, there's my obvious curiosity about Art Posabule.  If he's the Bloberta to Christina, I wonder what his brand of neglect entails.  I like to imagine that Art is largely apathetic to his family and would rather lock himself in his study and drink.  The only reason I even think Art spanks Christina the way Clay spanks Orel is because Poppet tells him to and he doesn't care enough to argue about it (my big headcanon about the Posabule household is that Poppet feels that she needs absolute control of her family, from choosing what they wear, to dictating where they go, to even wanting a lock on every door so she can control who can come in/leave rooms, and Art is a huge enabler who never says no to her because he doesn't feel the need to).

Also, Bloberta's dad.  I would say that he seemed like a good parent that was only held back by what an abusive relationship (to what extend, I don't know, but definitely emotionally), but I do think he might actually be playing favorites also.  Maybe it's out of spite; a sort of "my abuser like these children, so I'm going to choose the one she doesn't like as much" but even so, I feel like the roles would be swapped if he were the one in control instead of his wife.  He was a good dad to Bloberta, which is great!  But I feel like if he had his way, then Lunchbox and Modella would have been the miserable ones.  Maybe I'm wrong, and he would have loved them all equally, but it's hard to see, since we only see him after he's already been broken into a nervous wreck who can't even accept love from his own daughter because he's so anxious and traumatized. Kinda wonder if his choose to marry his wife was just as pressured onto him and manipulative as Bloberta was to Clay. It would be interesting because then his beloved, favorite daughter would have turned into the same monster that hurt him so much, and seeing her neglect her kids the way her mother neglected her might actually break his heart, given how much he cared for her. I'll bet he feels really sad and guilty because he couldn't get his wife to treat her better, and then Bloberta wasn't able to break the cycle. I know Bloberta is a grown woman who made those choices on her own, and there's no one to blame for her neglect towards Orel, Shapey, and Block besides herself, but I get the feeling the abuse he went through would make him think it was his fault. I just feel for the guy so much, tbh. His wife is a horrible abuser to him and Bloberta, and given the way she snapped at Modella when she thought she sang off-key, possibly all her children, and he seems to blame himself for not stepping up even though nobody, not even the viewers, knows what she might do if he does step up.

Anyway, this is far too long and SO wordy but I'm very curious about the side families in Moral Orel.  They all seem to have their own problems, so it's interesting to see fathers like Mr. Figurelli and Tommy's dad, who aren't always fantastic but do seem to genuinely love their kids.  It's a shame we didn't get to see most of them as fathers.

(Also as an extremely side note, it would have been interesting if they expanded upon Marionetta's family, since we know she has a baby sister and a dad, but we never saw her mom.  So shout out to Marionetta's dad for being the only other single father in Moralton besides Putty?)

OH MY GOD

YES

FINALLY

god this needs to be explorered more in this fandom!!

[chirpsythismorning]

Bylers when New Moon ends up being on the ST5 inspiration board

[buggachat]

(random s5 finale musings) tbh I don't think Marinette chose to keep The Secrets™ from Adrien because Gabriel asked her to. I feel like Marinette keeping secrets like that is so consistent with her character; she hates giving people bad news, she hates rocking the boat, she hates upsetting people, she always chooses to keep any 'controversial' information to herself for as long as she can get away with (examples: bubbler scarf, telling Queen Bee she was benched, confessing to Adrien, warning Chat Noir about Scarabella or Rena Furtive, never told Chat Noir about Chat Blanc, etc) that I just totally believe she would've done it either way. She was even already having nightmares about Adrien hating her for finding out she defeated his father, so I feel like Gabriel's request was moreso giving her a go-ahead than it was a primary deciding factor, yknow?

[clownblood]