#crooked teeth wide grin

[blueblend]

Help. He's too cute.

Less angst for Link, please.

[screampied]

Omg hi can I request like a loving, cozy, domestic pronebone with Suguru?? Like he’s just like “shh be quiet Satoru is in the room next door we can’t wake him up” while pressing adoring kisses to the back of your neck omg😵‍💫

trying to keep quiet with suguru ★

cw. fem! reader, prone bone, unprotected, finger sucking, dirty talk, praise

“. . . shhhh,” he’d shush against the corner of your ear, presenting you deep low strokes. a winded gasp wretches from your throat as a palm of geto’s glues against your mouth. he’s so deep, a free hand of his ghosts against the backsides of your spine. an eye roll overtakes your pupils as he’s giving you such righteous hits against your yawning core. geto’s weight just narrowly hovers over you as he’s pressed right up against you, spit slicked lips of yours gnaw and gnash together before you whine again. “gotta be quiet sweetheart. unless you want ‘toru to hear us. you want him to hear how sloppy you are f’me, hm?”

craning your head slowly, you shake a sweet little no and he chuckles, a kiss going against the crown of your head. “so cute,” he purrs in a husky tone, a hand of his gripping against the very edges of your arced hips. fingertips of his dance alongside the very curvature of your body — he takes pride in the way your body responds to him. you’re flinging back and forth, forward against the screeching mattress. geto’s skin, coated with a sweetened sheet of sweat sticks against your own m with each ruthless thrust. “ugh, h-hey, are you licking my palm? mhm, such a filthy girl.”

you were,

with the flatness of your tongue, it lathers against the very center of geto’s palm — tasting the insipid areas of his hand. it follows the creasing flexion lines that runs against his skin.

not before long, you dig your teeth into his hand as your muffled moans vibrate against his luscious tasting flesh. “ah, let me guess. you wanna suck on my fingers too, baby?”

“mmf, y- yes,” you whine as he momentarily departs his hand away. a nice trail of spit looks almost adhesive, its stickiness pastes against his hand as he pries his hand away from your wet mouth. geto’s sharpened hips still deeply drilling into you in the background. your loving hole flutters as you’re just vigorously being pounded beneath the sheets, each wheezing gasp that snatches from your lungs feels like it’s going to be its last. “pleaseee.”

“my pretty girl,” he whispers, the head of his cock never refusing to hit the right angle. with an easy direction of his fingers attaching to your hips, he makes you raise your torso upward to reach more bottomless areas. oh, your mouth forms into the letter ‘o’ at the way he’s stuffing you full of shaft. it’s almost mouth watering,

it is mouth watering.

as you bury your head into the crook of your elbow, geto leans in to place a few kisses near the indenting lines of your back. “look at this gorgeous body,” he purrs, his hips ultimately slowing its maddened pace down — yet despite his tempo suddenly losing its quickened haste, geto’s chest deflates. as he’s leaning up closer to you, his ravened locks of his dance graze up your shoulders as he moves.

back and forth, back and forth,

his rhythm was purely enticing. your jaw aches a bit from how it’s just idly hanging open before he showers you with more delicate kisses.

this time near your neck.

geto’s slow and precise. he starts by your nape, a tongue gradually rolling out to get a taste of your saline, salty skin.

“can never get enough of your taste, fuck,” he murmurs, you’re still plugged in with a good amount of his dick. geto’s so full, swollen rotund balls of his continues to cuff and cuff and cuff against your slick pussy. your ears knell from the never ending paps your own arousal sings as a response. “open wide, baby. get my fingers wet.”

not even seconds later, your lips happily part in preparation for geto to stuff his thickened fingers into your drooling mouth. he grins, already telling how eager you were—milliseconds leisurely passes by and you’re already relishing in the taste of two of his digits curling inside of your mouth.

“thaaat’s it, get it wet ‘cause i want a taste too when you’re done.”

your long lashes flutter against your own eyes as geto starts to pick up his pace again. his other hand still grips onto your waist as he feels your ass writhe against him. fuck, he’s getting closer and closer by the second. geto groans from how you stick against him — he’s already given you a sweet velvety load already. obsidian-black irises of his leer down at the lewd scene at bay. you’re trying to keep up with his pace, but his girth. the wide end stretch alone has you hearing plethora amounts of fuzz pour out of your ears. “s-shit, you’re so perfect arched over for me, sweets..”

with a tongue still lolling around, you merely prevent yourself from gagging once you feel the tips of his digits prod against the very roof of your mouth. just a few inches away from your uvula, a sheeny trail of saliva starts to dribble down your chin before he leans in to kiss you more against your neck.

geto even creates a little trail of kisses . .

numerous times, the warmth of his lips makes your cunt twitch up in total desperation.

trying your best to stay quiet, a loud roaring whimper tugs out of your throat at the head of his cock thwacks repeatedly against your g-spot. you gasp, two fingers of his falling out of your mouth before you’re just pornographically moaning again and again. “f- fuck, right there sugu. hngh.”

“this spot, yeah i know pretty,” and he’s heaving right with you. the undersides of the bed resumes to grate and screech in harmony. he pauses for a bit, popping his own two wet fingers into his mouth. he hums at your taste, relishing in it entirely. so sweet. as geto’s body lingers over you, your ass continuously rebounds against his. a sharp throaty rasp slides out of his lips and he hisses. “gonna cum, f-fuck, ‘m gonna stuff you so full again.”

“i- inside, sugu,” you whine as he gently delves his teeth into the left juncture of your collarbone. it was all exposed—he couldn’t help but leave a little piercing mark from his pearly white canines. geto loves getting carried away and smothers your entire skin with his own homemade moist, needy kisses. airy hot breath collides against your skin, sending you various shivers before you feel your pussy throb. it’s throbbing only divides and multiplies. he hits you in every angle, the curve of his dick ruptures through you and you moan as you feel the arch in your back perk upward. “don’t miss, wan’ it s’bad, want you.”

“i want you too,” he huffs, though with a deep voice — his voice sounds a bit shaky, a bit needy..

maybe your mind was playing tricks on you, but you were almost positive geto just whined for you. you had him so sensitive, his jaw tightens as he continues to ram his fat cock into your compressing, dense walls.

the bed’s sobbing from the hefty weight wringing against the furniture. the same creaking sensations reverbs throughout your ears and the room itself before within seconds. he’s dumping yet another oozy load into you.

with a sleazy wry grin, geto toots your hips up and he starts to grind against you.

your head’s pressing against the silky reddened crimson sheets before you grow quiet. huffs and puffs were the only noises that could be heard, as well as geto’s whimpering that subsides as he starts to finish his longing high. “god, you always know how to m-milk the shit out of me,” he hoarsely titters, wrapping a good amount of fingers around his twitching shaft. geto fists his cock as he’s still gushing a sizable portion of cum into your rapacious hole. still being a tease, you rub up against his lap as you’re still bent over, feeling his hands trail against the very curvature areas your ass. “huh, want more, do ya?”

“don’t stop, sugu,” you mewl out in a desperate plea, craving for more of his seed. it trickles down between your thighs, leaving you so sticky, a mess.

his mess,

geto can’t help but smear the fat of his thumb over your emitting entrance. the print of his finger ghosts against your gooey slit.

the gooey warm cum that streams down and outside your slit makes him groan. “i’ll never stop, baby. y-you can milk me for as much as you’d like,” he pants, preparing to realign himself again. “now let me,” he pants, the entirety of his lungs inhaling air from each second. his lips press against your neck for a final time before he whispers. “let me love you, baby. bend back over f’me, ‘m not done with this gorgeous body yet.”

[plutolovesyou]

Okay.. but like, loser ellie but she’s also a stoner and explains the entire lore of spider man to you while you’re trying to have seggs and she’s like stoned out of her mind and yapping about literally spider man 😭

before you read!!

☆: THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY IM CRYING LMFAO had me dying for like 10 mins straight. this is longer than intended bc im a yapper as we know, and i kinda don't know much of the spiderman lore (and you can def tell oops)…BUT I LOVE THE WAY YOUR MIND WORKS NONNIE.

◇: sfw but suggestive themes. warning: FAR from my best work, just wanted to keep momentum going ig. basically just fluff, lots of buildup as usual SORRY i have to establish a plot before we get to the good stuff…they're of age obviously, their relationship is left vague/up for interpretation so fill in the blanks w/ your own thoughts! “babe” pet name usage, consumption of weed, duh. ok i suppose that's all. OH AND SBWM REFERENCE HAHAHA (shameless self plug :3) + 1.0k wc.

One nice, regular night, chilling at Ellie’s humble abode, getting high, the usual Friday evening activities. You both were laying down in her bed, wrapped up in her dinosaur bedsheets of course, you were resting your head on her chest, occasionally coughing and swatting away the residual smoke that lingered in the air.

The weed had made your head fuzzy and your mouth drier than the Sahara desert, but despite all the not-so-great things, you loved to get high with Ellie.

Sometimes you'd fuck, sometimes you'd talk about life and reminisce about the good, the bad, and the ugly, and sometimes you'd just lay there to enjoy each other's company.

She was so warm and comfortable, you simply wished to merge bodies and become one with her, to make a home inside her ribcage even. You'd be perfectly fine just napping there on her cushiony chest, listening to her steady heartbeat and slow intakes of breath, if it wasn't for the familiar ache of need between your legs.

Shifting to look up at her, she was so incredibly zooted out of her mind, you found it hilarious. Chunky glasses covered in fingerprint smudges and sitting crooked atop her nose, eyes blood-red and so heavy lidded, you'd have thought she was asleep had you not taken a closer look.

You lifted yourself up and pressed your lips to the side of her pink cheek, repeatedly kissing her soft, smooth skin. She let out a husky giggle, her voice all hoarse and crackly from the substance. “Hiiii.”

She dragged out the vowel, grinning widely at you. Her smile was infectious, and you laughed at her state. Burying your face again in the crook of her neck, you mumbled, “Hi Ellie…you're so cute.”

Tangled up together, you kissed her some more on her neck, wanting to be as close as possible to her. She sighed, and angled her head to give you better access to more surface area. “That feels nice.” She'd slur, and you were pretty turned on at this point, to say the least.

It was worth asking. “Ellie…do you wanna fuckkk?” You whisper against her ear, and watch in delight as the bright-red blush spreads across her entire face like a wildfire, even reaching her collar, and spreading underneathyour shirt. “Um, yeah, duh. C’mere.”

You pressed a sloppy kiss to her lips, tangling your hands in her auburn locks and parting your puffy lips to invite her tongue in, not noticing the spit dribble down your chin where your faces met. Her breathing quickened immediately, and she whined into your mouth, the kisses getting even messier to the point where your teeth were clinking together, so you backed away for a breather.

The two of you shifted positions so she was now on top of you, resting her hand on your hip, thumb rubbing small circles. She moved in to initiate more lip-locking, but pulled away abruptly.

“Babe I forgot to tell you, so y’know Peter Parker, right?” And there she goes.

“Yeah, yeah I know him, can you just-” You try to rush past the beginnings of her rambling, because you knew once she got started, there was no end in sight. At least for a while.

You tried pulling her in to meet your lips again by the back of her head, but were met with lots of resistance. She seemed to look more alert now, a miracle. The power of superheroes!

She shuffled off of you and sat upright, assuming a cross-legged position, clearly not noticing your exasperated huffs and purposely obnoxious eye rolling, and the fact that there was a whole-ass human, half undressed, horny girl on her bed right there in front of her, who was slowly losing patience.

Ellie just went to her own world. Her eyes sparkled with passionate wonder as she thought about the series so dear to her heart. “Okay I rewatched all the movies a few days ago and I noticed something new…”

You were ready to give up what you originally had in mind, she was too far gone. She talked and talked endlessly, and you had to feign interest, nodding along and murmuring, “Mhm, yeah Els. Wow that's cool. Huh, never knew.” As enthusiastically as you could, so she didn't feel like she wasn't being listened to.

It was worth noting too though, when she started info-dumping about her interests she really was adorable, an excitement in her grassy eyes you never see otherwise, gesturing wildly with her hands and mapping out ideas to make it easy for someone who's never seen any of it to digest all this new information.

“...And then, in the movies Into the Spiderverse and Across the Spiderverse, there's this character called Gwen Stacy.”

She stops to cough and clear her throat, now seemingly appearing to completely forget that you were even there.

“And- oh yeah! She's also in the comics and ugh she's awesome, I really love her suit. It's got a hood on it…if I were to have a spider suit, it would be her style. Hm, it would also be mostly like, green…with red accents, ah I'm gonna show you all the sketches I made of it. But anyway…”

To be completely honest, you've been out of the mood for enough time now, and you've come to the realization that it actually didn't bother you.

This was Ellie, and you loved her for her! There was always next time you two met for a smoke session, you just loved spending time with someone so treasured such as her, and you'd be lying to say the Spiderman world wasn't a little interesting.

"That's so cool, wait. Okay can you explain the timeline of it all, oh and also how do all these different movies interact, is it the same universe, or something like the multiverse I think you mentioned?”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Nursle.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo Satoru x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 3.4k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Mentions of Pregnancy, Implied Stalking, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Lactation, Slight Breeding Kinks, Daddy Kinks, Mentions of Abusive Relationships, and Age Gaps (Gojo is 20, Reader is 35+).

[Part Two] [Part Three]

A few days into the new school year, you decided that Gojo Satoru could not be Fushiguro Megumi’s primary guardian, despite what the paperwork filed by the former claimed. Honestly, the fact that Megumi’s name had been misspelled in every conceivable way across the aforementioned paperwork should’ve been enough to make that clear, but after a decade of teaching, you’d learned to pick up on the smaller signs; a certain discomfort that passed through Megumi's expression whenever you asked about his homelife, the lapse before a half-hearted answer whenever you posed a question to Satoru as to Megumi's preferences. It didn’t necessarily mean anything bad was going on, just that something was going on - something you couldn’t ignore, not completely.

Four weeks into the new school year, you decided that Fushiguro Megumi did not like Gojo Satoru. All your students were at the age where they were suddenly eager to distance themselves from any adult they could call an authority, but Megumi was the only one still in your classroom hours after the school day ended, the only one who stayed for as long as you could afford to let him. Sometimes, Satoru would make an appearance, loiter outside of your classroom or pass time with the best attempts at small talk someone nearly two decades your junior could make, but Megumi made a habit of ignoring him and try as you might, you'd never had the heart to be very strict with your students. The only days he didn’t stay to help you (as much as a nine year old could help anyone do anything) were the days when his sister was free to pick him up and, much to your relief, Satoru was nowhere to be found.

Two months into the new school year, you found yourself on the doorstep of Gojo Satoru’s listed address which, notably, was not the dingy flat you’d dropped off Megumi in front of whenever he stayed too late to justify letting him walk home alone. Instead, you gaped openly at the skyscraper in front of you, as tall as the eye could see and pouring out the kind of people you couldn’t help but want to get away from. You’d called ahead, let Satoru know you’d be making a home visit to discuss some of your concerns about Megumi, but for as long as he’d kept you on the phone, he’d never bothered to explain why he would ask you to meet him in a place like—

“You’re early, Miss (L/n).”

You stiffened, glanced over your shoulder to find Gojo Satoru – dressed in his usual plain, black uniform and unaccompanied by the student you’d come to discuss. He greeted you with a wide grin, a lazy nod, and you returned it with a purse-lipped smile and a tightened hold on the strap of your messenger bag. “Well, I’d hate to waste your time.” You toyed with the idea of meeting his eyes, but your gaze skirted over the pitch-black lenses of his sunglasses and settled firmly on the collar of his button-up. “And you don’t have to call me that. It makes you sound like one of my students and—” A slight pause, a nervous laugh. “I think you might be a little too old to blend in.”

Satoru’s grin only widened. With only your own paranoia as warning, he strung an arm through the crook of yours, dragging you towards the entrance of his looming tower. “I think it’s got a nice ring to it, Miss.”

Something sharp pricked at the back of your throat.

In hindsight, it might’ve been easier to do this with the nine year old.

You kept your teeth grit and your smile plastered on as he led you through the lobby – all shining crystal chandeliers and glistening marble floors – and hauled you into a gold-gilded elevator, the kind that would’ve let you know you were somewhere you didn’t belong under normal circumstances. You watched in stomach-knotting, heart-stopping terror as the numbers ticked up, up, up, until the mirrored doors were sliding open and you were stepping into the living room that could’ve swallowed your shoebox of an apartment whole. Your heels (blocked, low, practical – the only pair you’d found the strength to wear since coming back from your leave) clicked against the bare tile floor as you stumbled into the remarkably open space, his furniture sparse and largely utilitarian. You spotted one of Megumi’s drawings on a low coffee table, a pile of Tsumiki’s hairbands forgotten on an otherwise empty bookshelf, but any other signs of life were either nonexistent or exceptionally well-hidden. Any hope you had that Megumi and Satoru’s situation might’ve just been that of a young, overburdened guardian and his slow-to-warm ward evaporated immediately. Those of limited means tended not to live in penthouses that cost triple your annual salary in rent.

If Satoru noticed your growing anxiety, he didn’t seem to pay it any mind. With an exaggerated yawn, he strode past you and collapsed onto a leather couch – too pristine to have been recently visited by two hyperactive children. When you stalled near the entryway, he let his head lull to the side, his tinted glasses falling low on the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have to be shy. There’s plenty of room – not that I mind the view, if you really wanna stand.”

You took a deep breath and let it out in a long, labored exhale. He’s practically a kid, you reminded yourself. You could only be thankful you hadn’t gotten him a couple of years ago – otherwise, you’d be dealing with an actual child.

Reluctantly, you squared your shoulders and perched yourself on the far edge of the sofa. Satoru immediately closed the distance, draping his lanky arms over the back of the couch, his fingertips just barely brushing against your shoulder. You pulled your messenger bag into your lap, opening your mouth as you looked for Megumi’s file, but Satoru cut in before you could start your well-practiced monologue. “This is your first year at his school, right? I’d remember if I saw a teacher as pretty as you around campus.”

“It’s my first year back,” you corrected. “I’ve noticed Megumi very introverted for a boy his—”

“Let me guess – maternity leave?”

Your lips quirked into a tight frown. Fighting the urge to cross your arms over your stomach self-consciously, you sent him a withering look out of the corner of your eye. “I’d rather not talk about my personal life, if it’s all the same to you. Like I said, I’m not here to waste your time.”

Your tone was clipped, your voice strict, but Satoru’s only response was an airy chuckle, a careless grin. “I’m not in a rush,” he said. “But you’re probably eager to get back home to your baby girl. I know you try to spend time with her on weekends.”

This time, you didn’t try to breathe. Letting your bag fall back to your side, you moved to stand, but Satoru was quick to catch you by the wrist, to pull you back down with a single, playful jerk. Your bag fell off of your shoulder, hitting the floor and spilling open at your feet, but you didn’t reach for it. He was stronger than he looked, and you already knew everything you had to about strong young men with more power than they knew what to do with. “I’d really rather not talk about myself when Megumi is—”

“Can’t be easy, leaving her all alone like that. Did you ask your neighbor to babysit again, or was it that brat of a teenager you call up on weekends?” His hand fell to your thigh, and you immediately regretted wearing a dress, let alone one that ended well before the knee. You’d wanted this to seem causal, unintrusive, but as his fingertips bit into the plush of your thigh, you regretted not going straight to the police as soon as you noticed something strange. “Can’t be easy, not having a husband to dote on you and the little princess anymore.”

You keep your eyes on your feet, on one of the manilla folders spilling out of your bag. Megumi's name was scrawled messily across the upper right corner in red pen, because red was his favorite color and you knew he would see it every time he helped you organize paperwork for your other students. “I appreciate your concern, but we’ve managed to take care of ourselves.”

“I know.” He was close, too close. You could feel his breath, hot and humid, against the shell of your ear. “It’s just that I think I might just be able to take care of you a little better.”

“I think I should leave.” You spoke slowly, your tone flat, factual. Like you were talking to a child, or a dog, or worst of all – a man in monks' clothing, ready to worship at his own alter. “Before either of us does anything we might regret.”

Satoru let his lead lull forward, his fanged smile biting into the corner of your jaw.

You tried to bolt, but it was already too late.

It happened too quickly for you to process. One second, you were writhing in your own skin, your favorite student’s neglectful guardian pressed into your side and the next, you were on your back, splayed over the length of his couch, Satoru’s knee between your open legs and his hands on either side of your head. Your body reacted before your mind, trying to run, to resist, to get away from him, but Satoru’s hand was on your chest before you could so much as sit up, keeping you trapped underneath him without a trace of effort. “You can stop working so hard, momma.” His glasses had fallen away completely, revealing eyes as blinding as the cloudless sky and as unfeeling as raw ice. It was hard to remember why you’d ever thought a man like this could ever have anything to do with a boy as sweet as Megumi. “Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you.”

You shouldn’t have been so worried about the dress. It didn’t matter how long your skirt was, not when the cheap material fell apart so easily under his eager touch – your bra and panties discarded with just as little thought. You panicked, started to kick and shove and thrash, but his hands were already locked over your hips, keeping you pinned to the couch as he bent down and buried his face between your thighs. However young you’d thought he was, he must’ve been younger; his inexperience shining through in the overzealous way he nipped at the inside of your thighs, how hastily he laved the flat of his tongue over your slit. His pace was rough, his technique nonexistent, but you couldn’t remember the last time you had time to touch yourself, and you hadn’t slept with someone else since…

This time, when your mind went blank, you were the one willing away fractured thoughts and bitter memories. You didn’t want to acknowledge the twisted pleasure Satoru was forcing onto your body either, but it would’ve been impossible to ignore the way his teeth grazed over your clit as he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud, to not hear the slick sound you just couldn’t seem to believe a part of you would make as he forced two fingers into your tight pussy. You threw your head back, clenched your eyes shut, but no amount of aversion could seem to block out his throaty laugh, to make the reverberations his deep voice sent pulsing through your cunt anything short of unbearable. “Needy little thing,” he muttered, pulling away just far enough to press a lingering kiss into the apex of your hip. “Bet he was neglecting you even before you ran off. Is that why you had to leave him? He didn’t know how to treat a pretty thing like you?”

You would’ve given anything to make him stop talking, but you didn’t have a chance to try and bargain. While his fingers pumped mercilessly into your pussy, his mouth pushed slow, wet kisses into the rounded curves of your stomach, your midriff, your chest. He noticed it before you did; saw the thin trail of thin, near-transparent fluid running down the curve of your chest before you felt the telltale soreness in your breasts, managed to draw a connection between that and the shallow, airy moan Satoru let out as he ran his tongue over your leaking nipple. He took long, agonizing seconds to lick up the spilled milk before his lips found the closest nipple and finally, he latched onto you properly.

He was worse than your newborn. It was an awful thing to think, it was a terrible thing to have to think, but it was true. He was rough, and clumsy, and noisy – groaning as he lapped and sucked, eager to swallow down anything you had to give. Drool seeped out of the corner of his mouth, whatever pain he might’ve alleviated immediately replaced as the fingertips of his free hand kneaded into your swollen tit. By the time he pulled away, he was panting, scissoring open your pussy with enough force to leave your toes curling, your thighs twitching, little involuntary whimpers slipping past your lips despite your best efforts to choke them back.

He didn’t so much earn your climax as drag it out of you, piece by fractured piece, broken moan by stuttering convulsion. Your hands shot to his head, fingers soon knotted through messy white hair, but he didn’t seem to care, didn’t seem to mind, his attention devoted entirely to spreading open your cunt and milking your chest dry even as the last of the aftershocks faded and the first pangs of overstimulation began to set in. When he did pull away from you, it was with an exaggerated smack of his lips, a teasing nudge of the heel of his palm against your clit, a cocky smirk that reminded you of the expression Megumi would sometimes draw onto his doodled stick figures as they were hit with simplistic, two-dimensional cars or torn apart by black and white wolves. That was something you’d meant to bring up during your conversation with Satoru – Megumi’s tendency towards more violent forms of creativity, how it could be an early sign of emotional unrest in children too young to properly express themselves. Now, you could only wonder why he didn’t draw Satoru more often.

You were barely conscious by the time he drew back working one arm under your back and another under the bend of your knees. You let your eyes fall shut and, by the time you found the strength to open them again, you were on your back, dark satin sheets underneath you and Satoru above, snowy hair providing a much-appreciated barrier between you and those terrible eyes. This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from meeting his prying gaze, and he welcomed your bleary stare, drinking you in for one second, then another, before dipping that much lower and slotting his lips against yours. The kiss was surprisingly gentle – all slow tenderness and delicate warmth. Your mind flitted back to dark eyes and pitch-black hair, pointed teeth and deceiving smiles and you willed yourself not to think at all.

You heard fabric shift, felt his hands curl around your thighs. With an aching sort of slowness, he pushed your knees into your chest, leaving you spread open and vulnerable below him. You felt the head of his cock press against your slick entrance, heard a raspy groan trickle past his lips as he thrust into you – bottoming out in the same stroke.

He didn’t wait for you to adjust to his size. With his face buried in the crook of your neck, he rutted into you with short, brutal thrusts; never pulling out of you entirely, never happy unless his cock was abusing the deepest pocket of your wet heat. Immediately, it was overwhelming – too much stimulation being forced onto you too quickly with too little preparation. Your hands fell to his back, your nails biting into his skin as he fucked into you with a jagged kind of desperation. His cock scraped against something soft and spongy inside of you and you cried out, arching against him. “I can’t— It hurts, Gojo, slow—”

“C’mon, baby, you can do better than that.” His voice was low, airy. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the corner of your jaw, rolled his hips and pressed himself that much deeper into you. “What’s my name? Who’s takin' care of you from now on?”

It was more an act of desperation than anything; a broken plea that you could barely recognize as your own voice. “Daddy,” you sobbed, shrinking against him. “Please, don’t cum insi—”

You were cut off by an unabashed moan, the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you. His hips pressed into yours, his thrusts growing shorter, more violent as he pumped something warm and awful into your pussy. At the same time, his thumb found your clit, pushing harsh circles into the vulnerable bundle of nerves and bringing your exhausted body to its second climax. Your vision burnt white as your cunt clenched around him, as his thrusts turned labored and languid, as collapsed against you – limp and boneless. Idly, almost lovingly, he nuzzled into the side of your neck, letting several seconds pass in silence before sighing, the pinnacle of satisfaction. Eventually, he picked himself up, resting his weight on his elbows as he cupped your face. “Pretty girl. I think the brat’s got a crush on you, too – always going on about his favorite teacher, telling me to keep my dirty hands away from you.” He laughed, shook his head. “Think he’ll be excited to have a younger sister?”

You didn’t answer, but Satoru didn’t need you to. He was already picking himself up, already pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck as he straightened his back, staring down at you with eyes that must’ve gone lifeless years ago. Eyes that, despite your best efforts to ignore their similarities, you couldn’t help but feel that you’d seen before.

“Speaking of, I think it’s about time we checked on our baby girl.”

~

Less than an hour later, you found yourself in your makeshift nursery; the corner of your bedroom occupied by a crib and a few shelves of miscellaneous supplies. You sat on the foot of your bed as Satoru held your daughter in his arms, rocking her as she sniffled and threatened to cry. You’d taken a taxi back to your apartment – called up and paid for by Satoru, of course. He’d given the driver your address before you so could so much as process where he was taking you, something you were currently choosing to ignore.

“She looks just like him.” His tone was light, his smile soft. He gestured to your daughter’s curly tufts of dark hair, her brown eyes – both only a shade away from black. “It’ll get worse as she grows up. He was always like that – couldn’t stand to let anyone else be the center of attention.”

You felt sick. Black spots still danced in the corners of your vision, and it took all your strength just to choke something coherent out. “He’ll never meet her. I’d die before I ever let him put his hands on my daughter.”

“I know, baby, I know.” He flashed you a grin, then turned back to your daughter. “I’m gonna keep both of you safe, be such a good daddy to both my pretty girls.” He pulled her that much closer to him, pressing a ginger kiss into her forehead. “You know, you really gotta open up more. I tried as hard as I could, but I don’t think I ever managed to catch her name.”

That made sense. You tended not to use it, when you could help it, when you were strong enough not to think about the man who’d given it to her – the man who’d tried to take yours, before you’d gotten away from him and and his monsters. You weren’t feeling very strong right now, though.

“Himari,” you mumbled, the sound of it alone still enough to steal the air out of your lungs, to leave the taste of blood heavy on your tongue.

“Geto Himari.”

[sturniolohouse]

Closer to you -M.S

A/N: Hiiii! Thank you for all the love on my last story. I had a lot of fun writing it. I don't know how consistent I'll be but here's a little something for now

summary: matt just wants to spend time with you after a long day.

warning: cursing? kinda suggestive comments idk grow up

word count: 1.8k

--

"Your beard tickles," I giggle with Matt lying on top of me, his face buried into my neck.

He playfully sinks his teeth into the crook of my shoulder and I squeal at the shocking gesture. He chuckles lowly at my reaction and I lightly swat his shoulder, trying to roll him off of me.

"You're crushing me. You may weigh less than me but you're heavy," I shove him off and he finally rolls off but takes me with him, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me on top of him.

"I'm going to crush you now," I protest trying to get up but he pulls me down once more.

"I think I can handle it." He wraps his arms around me, having no choice but to lay my head on his chest.

"C'mere, I barely saw you today. Just wanna lay here with you like this a little while longer." He mumbles, kissing the top of my head and running his hands up and down my back.

"Didn't you have fun with your brothers today?" I ask, mainly teasing him as we were only apart for less than a day. I had seen him in the morning before they left for their meeting at the warehouse.

"Those goofs are a pain in my fucking ass." he snarls and I poke him in the ribs.

"Be nice." I tell him and he sighs.

"I'm joking. It was nice. I guess," He corrects himself. His hands sneak their way under my sweatshirt then under my tank top.

"Matt..." I warn him and he squeezes my sides.

"Yes..." He mocks and I can hear the grin on face. 

When I lift my head he's got smirk on his face as his hands lower down past the waistband of my pants. He goes for a handful of my ass before I stop his movements and give him a stern look.

"Matthew, your brothers are home." I scold him softly.

"Don't 'Matthew' me, them being home has never stopped us before." His eyes widen playfully as he calls me out.

"Yeah, when they were asleep. But they are both very much awake right now and could god forbid walk in," I defend getting flustered, heat rising up my neck and pooling into my ears.

“You know there’s this thing called a lock? I have one on my door. Use it quite often.”

“Yeah and risk one of them hearing something?” I shudder and he smirks at my flustered appearance.

"So, what I'm hearing is...later?" He raises his eyebrow and I roll my eyes, pulling away from his grasp. 

"Chris mentioned something about wanting to watch a movie tonight when you guys got in before." I change the subject, readjusting myself and sitting up on his lap instead.

"Fuck that, we're not leaving this room." He grips the tops of my thighs, playing with the string of my sweats.

"I had already told him yes..." I hesitate and fidget with my bracelets, waiting for him to blow up.

I peer up and see him with an arm over his eyes as he regulates his breathing. I stifle my laughter and watch him compose himself.

"Of course you did." He says sarcastically, waving his hand out dramatically.

"He sounded really excited," I reason with him and he rolls his eyes once more.

"You know what's gonna happen right? We're going to go into the living room, argue over which movie to watch for an hour and then Chris is gonna go on his phone the entire time, not paying attention to shit. All while you and Nick whisper and giggle and text each other from across the couch while I sit there watching a fucking movie I didn't want to watch in the first place." He rambles with wide eyes.

"C'mon it's just one movie." I rub his chest and he grabs my hands in his, halting their movement. 

"I don't care. I was with those idiots all day. I drove them all over the city, Chris wanted to thrift but then realized he was hungry, so I had to get him food, but then oh no, Nick wants happy ice first so we had to go to happy ice. And all I wanted to do was get a new pair of jeans, film our video and go home to spend time with you. But now because you feel bad for Chris, we have to sit and watch a shitty movie the kid's not even gonna see." He winds himself up and I tilt my head to the side, giving him that look.

"No, do not give me that look. You're not going to make me feel bad this time, sweetheart." He shakes his head, standing his ground. 

I continue to stare at him and pull my hands out of his grip, rubbing my hands up and down his chest again. 

"I'll...make you cookies," I smile softly, and he stares at me blankly. "Snickerdoodle..." Still nothing.

He extremely stubborn so this will take some bribing.

"Alright, I won't make you listen to Taylor Swift in the car, even though I know you secretly like her music." I say and he laughs this time, shaking his head.

"Kid, stop."

"I'll give you a kiss? A proper one. You can even touch my ass or grab my tits. Both even." I try to think of more things and he continues not to budge, though I can see his eyes shimmer with temptation.

"Wow, not even an ass grab will win you over?" I say with deep concern and he chuckles again giving me a little shrug.

"Okay, okay. Fine. I'm just gonna go out there and watch the movie and you can stay in here by yourself since you're too cool." I get off of him and his jaw drops. He sits up on his elbows.

"Hey, woah. You'd seriously leave me to go hang out with them?" His voice cracks as he looks at me in disbelief.

"Yup!"

"This is fucking ridiculous." I hear him mumble under his breath as I put my slippers on and open the door.

"Have fun sulking," I close the door behind me.

I walk out to Nick and Chris serving themselves mac and cheese in the kitchen. I greet them before grabbing some goldfish from the pantry and a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Where's Matt?" Chris asks shoveling a spoonful of mac and cheese into his mouth. Realizing it was too hot, he fans his mouth and blows out air to cool it down.

"He's in the room. What movie are we watching?" I keep it at that, walking over to the living room and taking a seat in the right corner nook of the couch.

"He's such a loser," Nick comments before sitting beside me and grabbing the TV remote.

"Nick, give me the fucking remote." Chris motions him while taking his own seat at the end of the couch.

"No, idiot, eat your food."

I was able to convince them to watch one of my favorite movies, 50 First Dates. Nick was on board right away but I had to win Chris over.

"Bro, no way. I'm not watching a chick-flick." He goes to grab the remote from Nicks hand.

"Chris shut up, you're not even going to watch it," Nick calls him out, putting the remote out of his reach.

"Yes I am," He argues back.

"Adam Sandler and Rob Schneider are in it." I speak up and he sits back.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes into the movie I hear Matt’s door open and then his footsteps down the hall. I turn my attention away from the movie to see him walking over with his black hoodie pulled over his head.

I knew he’d break eventually.

"Look who decided to join-" Chris starts.

"Shut the fuck up."

When he reaches the couch, he leans down pulling my legs up and over his lap as he takes a seat directly next to me. He wraps his arms around my middle, nuzzling his head into the crook of my neck.

Although rare, Matt has no problem cuddling or hugging me in front of others. It's usually kissing or gross sweet talk we avoid displaying. We just prefer to keep that private for everyone's peace, including our own.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders pulling him into me, scratching the nape of neck lightly with my fingernails and playing with his overgrown hair.

"Oh I’m gonna puke..." Chris comments from beside us and Matt flips him off without a word.

"Watch the goddamn movie and leave them alone." Nick snaps at him.

Matt melts into me as I continue to scratch his scalp and he draws patterns on my hip with the hand he snuck under my hoodie.

Not even halfway into the movie I look over at Chris and see he’s on his phone. I nudge Matt slightly to bring his attention to it and he shakes his head.

“What did I fucking tell you,” he says lowly and I giggle.

“Chris, you like the movie?” I call out and he snaps his head in my direction.

“What? Oh yeah, it’s great.” He puts his phone down beside him.

He gives me a tight lip smile before looking over at Nick and I could already see the idea pop into his head before he tackles him in a hug.

“Get the fuck off of me. What is wrong with you?” Nick shoves him off, his eyes wide.

“I just love you,” Chris shrugs, going to tickle Nick’s side but he catches his wrist, twisting it slightly causing Chris to cry out in pain.

“You’re an idiot. Let's keep our hands to ourselves,"

“I’m getting ice cream, do you want?” Matt whispers to me and I immediately nod. He kisses my jaw and pats my legs so I lift them off his lap.

He quietly goes into the kitchen and discreetly takes out the pints of ice cream and serving them into bowls for us.

He pads back over, tapping the bowl on my shoulder to get my attention before I grab it.

This catches both Nick and Chris’ attention.

“There’s ice cream?”

“Not for you.”

—

Everyone had gone to their rooms after the movie and Matt couldn’t get us back to his room fast enough.

"It wasn't that bad." I say pulling the comforter back and sliding in next to Matt who’s already shirtless and under the covers.

"Yeah, yeah." He puts an arm under his head and extends his arm for me, wanting me close.

"You're such a grump." I roll my eyes. turning towards him and moving to lay my head on his chest.

"I just want to be able to spend quality time with my girlfriend without our plans being infiltrated by my brothers." He wraps his arm around me, lightly stroking my shoulder with his fingertips.

"Is that such a crime?" He presses softly and I shake my head.

"I suppose not." I sigh, "We could...go away?" I suggest after a beat of silence and he hums.

"I like the sound of that, keep talking..."

"You and me, the cape, being in nature, alone in a cabin for a week, no interruptions..." I trail off, tracing patterns on his stomach.

"Sweetheart, you had me at the fucking cape."

[munsster]

hell-bent

A/N: basically… give me beefy bucky or give me death (gif creds: @vader-anakin)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: All you want is attention from your boyfriend. Though, during a life/death mission may not be the best time to crave it. 2.6k words

Warnings: smut, man handling, dirty talk, degrading, knife play/kink, blood play!!!!!, uh very mild exhibitionism, pet names (babydoll, doll, princess, minx, baby)

"Babydoll, toss my knife over." A crouching Bucky fiddles with the steel door's padlock before catching your ankle in his left palm, wrapping cooly into your exposed skin.

"Can I have a kiss first?" you coo and bat your lashes to get his blood pumping, the susurration booming in his ears and rushing between his legs. 

He barks out a laugh, face scrunched as he falls back onto his tailbone, abandoning the Fort Knox knockoff before you kick your calf from his grip and shuffle away. His breath finally catches in his windpipe when you scoff, tugging his knife from your belt. Bird-like in your grace, you flit away with a tune tumbling from your lips in a hum. Footsteps thud hard and fast until his hands clasp your abdomen. With the tip of his nose pressed to your ear, his hips shoved up against your back, and in a mumble:

"Listen, the second we're done with this, I'll fuck you until you can't walk, but right now, I need the goddamn knife." His mouth trails to the crook of your jaw as his fingers curl into your taut leather neckline. A hot puff of air fans over your skin when you spin in his arms, spine sinuous and molding into his grasp. Then the edge of his own knife meets his bust, poking at the center of his vest as he frowns.

"And I need a kiss," you say, very matter-of-fact in your own silver-tongued way. The tip of the blade glides up and over his adam's apple until he's forced to tilt his head back, stubbly jaw exposed to your hungry eyes. A blushing pink line rises in the knife's wake, pricking at his skin with ease.

Bucky likes it that way. 'That way' meaning sharp. And 'it' being his knife and his girl.

"Doll?"

Lip tucked between your teeth, you savor the flutter of his lashes when he plucks at the hip of your catsuit, grinning wide like a predator. The spandex snaps against your skin with a biting pain. "Yes, James?"

"Give me the knife. Now." The gravel in his voice has you withdrawing the blade from his skin and pouting like you're innocent. Like his hard-on isn't already strained against your thigh. He meets your gaze then, pupils blown as he sighs. Out of relief or disappointment, he does not know.

"Give me a kiss. Now," you mimic.

"Fuckin— you know what? Fine." Vibranium clamps onto your jaw, tugging you close as his lips meet your own in a searing kiss. The burning cold of his fingertips brings a certain warmth to your cheeks, spreading, curling over your bones and flooding your senses. He groans into you as he licks at your mouth and draws your breath over his tongue. His hands roam your waist, and he lets out a muffled protest when you reach for his belt.

It's worse that he hasn't had a moment alone with you for a week. Libido going haywire at your touch, he revels in it, his low moan pouring down your throat. And his hands. God, his hands. They dip into your waist like cupped palms dip into the fountain of youth after years of wear and tear. His thumbs press hard against rib until you purr into him with the heat of several suns beating down on a forgotten beach.

Then, right fingers drag down your wrist, coiling around the handle of the knife and wiggling it from your loosened grasp. You pull back with a scowl, lips chafed under the wet pressure of his own, and he winks.

"Thank you, princess," he whispers against your temple with a smirk, clapping his palm onto your ass and chuckling when you squeal and back hand his bicep.

"Bastard."

…

"You. Out," Bucky barks, ducking into the stuffy tent and squeezing your hand as he glares at a pissed Sam.

"There's no way in hell you're hogging our only shelter for sex!" Sam snaps.

"Funny, 'cause that's exactly what I'm doing. Now, get out before I strip, and you get to watch me in all my naked glory fuck my gorgeous girlfriend." You drop your forehead to the center of his back, and your face goes hot. Sam shuffles past you, grumbling about ‘horny goddamn rabbits’.

"Little much, don't you think?" But Bucky's not really listening as he zips the hatch shut and pounces on you like a frenzied jaguar, lurching with the smooth coil of his stamina.

"Minx," he growls against the hot skin of your exposed clavicle, "'m gonna go into cardiac arrest with how excited you get me." He tugs the zipper of your suit further, marking the skin with wet kisses down your navel. You clutch the seam of the bedroll beneath you in your restless grip because his teeth pinch your delicate skin and the humid tent nearly drowns you.

"You bring out the knife fiend in me." Off his tongue like a moan, like he's holding back, and when he ruts into you, it's clear he is.

The super soldier's heartbeat pumps in your ears, and you gasp when it picks up, pressing your palm to his chest. He fumbles an eager hand for his thigh pocket, pupils blown at the sound of a steel click. Dopamine floods his senses, the fading light glaring across his switchblade that he finds reflects in your gaze nicely.

"Is this payback?" you whisper. His grin is nothing but cheshire then, scheming with a racing mind as he brings the needle-sharp point to the crest of your cheekbone.

"You know I would never hurt you, princess." He trips the blade low, down your throat to the valley of your breasts where he pauses in thought. His lips hover a breath over yours, and Bucky likes the way you go soft and doe-eyed and maleable in his embrace. "D'you trust me?"

"With my life."

A flash of arrogance crosses his expression, the glint in his eye shining through his god complex. The chill of the blade scrapes over the plump of your breast as he keeps his crystal eyes trained on you. You and your ragged breathing and your fingers curling into his bicep. He just has that effect on you. The corners of his lips rise wickedly at the idea.

"Dunno if I'd be so willing, babydoll," he grumbles, pressing the serrated edge to your sternum, the skin swelling on either side; it starts to sting. "But I guess that's the epitome of trust, isn't it?"

A hiss through your bared frown when the flesh breaks for crimson. He's quick to lap at the wound, driving the blade of his knife through the base of the tent and into the dirt beside your shoulder. His palm flattens against your rib cage as he jerks your zipper fully open and peels the suit from your torso.

"Now, that wasn't so bad," he says, feeling your lungs flood with air beneath his shaking hands. Your head lulls to the side, and if he didn't know better, he would think you were pissed. He thumbs over your fresh cut, hushing you when you squirm. "What happened to my poor girl?"

"Fuck you."

"Doll," he warns.

"I hate you."

"Take it back," he huffs, kneeling between your thighs with his fingertips tweaking your pebbled nipples. While concerned, he's been turned on since noon, no thanks to you. Desperate fingers go to rake your scalp as he leans down to pepper ever present kisses over your jaw. "C'mon, lemme kiss it better."

You look to him like he's the prime suspect in your own murder, and it shatters his poor heart to nothing but ash in his sunken chest. Anger feeds your fire until you flip him off with a smirk that makes his brain do a spine-twisting somersault. Without a second thought, your wrists are pinned to the ground, tight enough to fracture, and yet he still handles you like you're porcelain.

"If you don't ease up, I'll have no choice but to fuck the attitude right outta you. Hmm? Hard to complain when you're busy moaning for me." Sweat flecks down his temple, saliva pooling in his mouth when you blink up at him, jaw unhinged, fingers ticking. He's an animal in this light.

"It's like being a douchebag is second nature to you," you mumble, and you feel him snap with a shift of his weight. An inner gearshift from benign victim to the apex predator. Or maybe he was never benign, just lying in wait.

"Oh, you've earned it now, babydoll."

He strips you of your uniform with a yank, palming for your feverish skin as he licks at your bottom lip. Some volatile form of submission. Like he's teasing you out of your husk just to rip you to shreds. But God be damned if you wouldn't offer him the very weapon of your own demise.

His tac-gear clatters to the ground while he takes your fist to curl around his cock, coated slick with precum. He huffs out a breathy chuckle against your neck when you slowly stroke him. Then his hips buck into your grip as his teeth sink into your jugular.

"See what you do to me? Been hard as a fuckin' rock since the second I saw you. Couldn't help but remember how you taste. Let alone how you feel." And nothing satisfies a super soldier's cravings like the real thing.

He hoists your thigh up and over his hip, 'round his lower back. Like a belt. Like you're his consolation prize. You push the pad of your thumb across his frenulum, tearing something gargled and ragged from his throat. Something almost sentient as he tosses his head back in earnest. Yet all you can do it stare: his eyelids drifting shut, fingers strangling the sheets beneath you, his every muscle tensed like his life depends on it. Not a bad view. Not bad at all.

Then, your fingers tighten with the pulsing vein along his cock, and he has to slip from your hold to compose his sex drive. His eyes blink open to a zig-zag scene that he can't quite register until his eyes uncross.

"Christ, woman, give your poor lover a break. I'm still recovering from just lookin' at you," Bucky sighs. And he falls head over heels for the way you thumb over his dimpled chin and kiss him like an angel, soft and sweet and ethereal like no other.

The illusion shatters, however, when you bring your hips to meet his in one single thrust. Relentless woman with the face of a goddess. It brings him to his knees—or in this case, elbows.

You giggle at his pinched expression, wiggling your pelvis as his tip presses deeper into you cunt. Then it's payback when your back arches and your nails dig into his flanks, baring your neck to his gaze.

"Yeah, right there, princess," he mumbles, "I know you missed me inside this pretty pussy." And the cocky bastard is right. He feels it in the way you stretch to fit his girth, the supple elasticity of your cunt clenching in unfamiliarity. The subtle rotation of his hips is evil in principle but so damn perfect when everything is so warm, so wet, how can either of you resist.

You grasp for his shoulders when he hooks your ankles around his lower back. And oh, does he know how to work at this angle. His tip drives deeper just so he can drag back out again, slow in every roll of his hips. Any protest flies out the door in heavy breaths across skin and fingertips

The dark closes in around you, suffocating as it drenches your skin and renders you undiluted beauty in his arms. With every moan, he picks up speed just to hear you against his throat.

"Bucky." It bubbles from your throat as an ode to his warm body and restless mind. “Love you.”

"I gotcha, sweetheart. I love you, too." His muscles twist around you, and he's close with the stutter of his hips, digging deeper while his metal palm flattens against your tummy. Your fingers comb his hair from his eyes; you look like an angel, blissed out, half-lidded eyes, and he smiles down at you, still so focused despite his unraveling.

The tent's zipper hisses when Sam peeks in with an awfully disgruntled, "what the hell, cyborg? A warning?"

"I think you had enough of a warning," Bucky growls, continuing his thrusts when your head tilts to the side, an embarrassed squeal from your lips.

"Jesus Christ, I thought you'd be done, old man," Sam chuckles.

"Get the fuck out!"

"Fine, fine, just try not to break your girlfriend." A loud sigh from Sam before the zipper shuts with a metallic grinding noise that echoes in your ears as static.

"Sorry, pretty baby, 'pparently someone's common sense left 'im," Bucky whispers, pressing a kiss to the broken flesh of your sternum, lashes batting as a sufficient apology. A harsh thrust then, punching the air from his chest as every fiber in his body coils and snaps to the beat of your heart, filling you with wet heat. He rubs his middle finger over your clit with a vengeful smirk when your back curls with the weight of your release.

…

"D'you always go commando under these things?" he coos, tentative and quiet while the pads of his fingers trace feather-light patterns over your damp skin. Your snug uniform and the way it hugs you hasn't left his mind. Fact, it never really does.

"Yeah, I mean kevlar is surprisingly breathable, so what's the point."

"Noted." Bucky drapes his forearm across your navel, shifting onto his palm and grinning above you like the cat that got the cream: mischievous and pleased out of his mind. "I'm one lucky sonuvabitch, huh?"

"Yeah, you are," you tease, hooking your thighs around his hips as he settles into your body with a chuckle, chest erupting with delight taut against yours. He tucks the hair plastered across your forehead to your hairline with a knuckle, lips puckered against your temple in a kiss sweet enough to give you cavities.

Your hands dive into the sleeping bag, trailing the sweat-slicked sinew in his back, dipping with the tightly-wound muscle before sinking your fingertips into the plump of his ass with a cheeky smile. 

"Little minx." Bucky hangs his head with a grin, nipping for your cupid's bow then pecking lower at your baby-soft lips. Though he knows he went far enough with the tip of his blade, he would never admit it to you. The same way you would never admit that you liked the sting of it. But now that he's left a scar on your chest—an unspoken promise of his and hers, a permanent mark in your complexion—there's truly no turning back.

And he proves it with another kiss that renders you breathless, taking in his solace with wavering consciousness. The line between asleep and awake and Bucky's hands blurr to something more than reality. Though, the noise he makes against your mouth is nothing short of sinful.

From the opposite side of the tent, Sam grumbles, "mind shutting the fuck up? Some of us are trying to sleep."

"Sorry, Sammy!" you whisper.

"No, you're not."

marvel masterlist

[kissedsuns]

keep me warm, oscar piastri.

cw: established rel, kissing, teasing . . .

it's spa, oscar's absolute favourite track and one of the most anticipated races of the season.

his excitement is obvious from the way he stares out the car window as you drive to the circuit, his lips curling into a wide, giddy smile.

now, the two of you are in the midst of preparations for the first practice session of the day. the paddock is a hive of activity, and you find yourself hurrying through it, desperately trying to reach the motorhome.

spa's weather is notoriously unpredictable, and today is no exception; the cold is biting and relentless.

once you manage to get inside, a shiver runs down your spine as the warm air from the heating system envelops you, offering a welcome respite from the frigid conditions outside.

you quickly drop your bag on the sofa in the main room, the warmth is slowly starting to seep into your body, but it's a gradual process.

when oscar finally finds you, you are already curled up on the couch, hugging your knees in a desperate attempt to conserve heat.

"feeling warm?" oscar teases, leaning casually against the doorframe.

"god, i forget how cold spa can be sometimes," you groan, rubbing your hands together furiously in an effort to acclimate to the heater inside the hub.

your cheeks are rosy, and your nose has taken on a pink hue. you're really starting to regret your wardrobe choice. from the hotel room window, the sun had been shining, and it had felt particularly warm.

while you made a smart decision to wear pants long enough to keep your legs warm, you hadn't thought to bring a jacket or anything to properly cover your arms.

"i feel like an ice cube," you admit, shivering slightly as you rub your legs up and down in a repetitive motion to generate some sort of heat.

oscar's eyes soften with concern as he notices your teeth chattering uncontrollably. without a moment's hesitation, he crosses the room and settles beside you on the couch.

he wraps one strong, comforting arm around you, pulling you close until your head rests in the crook of his neck.

a shiver runs through your body at the initial contact, and oscar chuckles softly, the sound vibrating warmly through his chest.

"well, you look a lot like one too," he teases, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head. "you'd think you'd know to dress warmer by now, seeing as we come here every year."

"i know, i know," you sigh, leaning further into his embrace.

oscar is dressed in his fireproof overalls and race suit, the thick material of his outfit seems to insulate him perfectly against the cool weather. as he moves away from you, the loss of his warmth is immediate and almost makes you whine in protest.

"wait, i think i've got something for you," oscar says before he disappears into his driver's room, leaving you both curious and a bit confused.

moments later, he reemerges, holding a long puffer jacket that looks like it could easily swallow you whole. the jacket's hemline looks like it will sag below your knees, and it's clear from oscar's smug expression that he already knows how you're going to look.

oscar gives the coat a gentle shake as he stands in front of you. "put your arms out f'me, gorgeous," he instructs.

you give him a questioning look, hesitating for a moment before sighing and lifting your arms. oscar helps you into the coat, and it's instantly apparent how oversized it is.

the sleeves hang comically past your hands, and the hood almost obscures your vision.

oscar's lips curl into a cheeky grin, and you can't help but look unimpressed.

"what?" you huff, placing your hands on your hips. oscar, however, just bursts into laughter.

"you look..." he starts, but his laughter cuts him off. he takes a moment to compose himself before continuing, "honestly, you look adorable," he finally says, his smile softening as he reaches out to gently squeeze your cheek.

you glance down at the jacket, noticing that it's meant to fall just above your knees but is now dangling very much below. you find yourself unable to contain your own giggles.

"hey, shouldn't you be getting ready for practice now?" you ask, eventually settling down and trying to shift the focus away from the jacket.

oscar glances at the clock on the wall behind you, then back at you, a sigh escaping his lips. "yeah, you're probably right," he agrees, though his reluctance is clear.

he crosses the short distance between you again, his hands cupping your face as he leans in to place a chaste kiss on your lips.

"make me proud, piastri!" you call out as he heads towards the door, giving you one final smile before exiting the team hub.

now that he's gone, you waddle over to the food and drink station in his ridiculously oversized jacket, searching for something to warm you up even more.

the aroma of freshly brewed drinks and baked goods fills the air. you make yourself a steaming cup of hot chocolate hoping it will help chase away the lingering chill.

an hour later, oscar stumbles back into the motorhome, looking utterly exhausted. his hair is slightly disheveled, a tired look in his eyes, and his movements are sluggish, reflecting his fatigue.

you're curled up on the sofa, nursing a cup of hot chocolate while focusing on your phone. wrapped in the puffer jacket with the hood pulled up. you look cozy and snug.

oscar practically collapses into the seat next to you, letting out a sigh and resting his tired head on your shoulder.

setting your mug down on the nearby coffee table, you reach out to brush your hand against his freezing, rosy cheeks. oscar lets out a satisfied hum and nuzzles his face further into your hand.

"you're freezing, babe," you say, straightening up and gently lifting his head from your shoulder to get a better look at him.

"i know," he groans, leaning into your touch, his cheek pressing warmly against your palm. the contrast between his chilled skin and his warm breath against your hand is striking.

you cradle his cheek, gently running your thumb over his skin. a giggle escapes you as you take in his rosy cheeks and red nose, trying to suppress your laughter and turn it into a more affectionate gesture.

oscar gives you a playful glare, noticing you biting back a smile. "oh, don't you start." he warns, half-serious.

"sorry, osc. you just look like rudolph the red-nosed reindeer," you tease, smiling as you press a soft kiss to his twitching nose.

he sighs dramatically. "you're so lucky i love you," he pretends to be annoyed, though he can't hide the smirk tugging at his lips.

"how about i make you some hot chocolate to warm you up?" you offer, your fingers threading through his fluffy hair.

he hums approvingly. "please."

you lean down to press yet another soft kiss on his nose. "i'll take care of you." with that, you stand up and head to where the coffee machines and food are laid out.

you grab another mug, milk and chocolate powder, carefully mixing the ingredients to make oscar one of the best hot chocolates ever. you take your time, ensuring that it's perfect. you know how much he loves hot chocolate.

oscar watches you like a puppy, admiring the look of concentration on your face. he could never tire of seeing that face, even on the brink of hypothermia.

he's quickly pulled out of his sleepy haze when he hears you calling his name and sees you approaching with a steaming mug cradled carefully in your hands.

you carry the mug to the sofa, a small smile playing on your lips. "there you go, oscar," you say softly, holding out the mug for him to take.

oscar grasps the hot mug in his hands, sighing in instant satisfaction as the heat of the liquid radiates into his pale fingers.

he brings the mug to his lips, taking a cautious sip. his eyes flutter shut, and a look of pure bliss washes over his face as the warmth spreads through him.

as he inhales the sweet, soothing aroma of the hot chocolate, the tension in his shoulders begins to ease, and a contented smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

oscar lifts his eyes from the mug to your face "thank you, baby," he murmurs, his voice a bit raspy from the cold and exhaustion.

you sit beside him with an affectionate smile, fingers gently combing through his hair as he sips the hot chocolate. "you're welcome, sweetheart." you say, your touch soft and soothing. "although, i don't think i'm giving this jacket back to you. i know i might look like a worm, but god, is it soft."

he mock groans in disapproval, his expression playfully exaggerated. "oh, really now? you little thief." he teases, taking another sip of the sweet drink.

the warmth and sugar seem to be restoring him, bit by bit, making him feel more like a normal human being again.

oscar places the mug on the small table in front of the sofa, then leans back into the cushions comfortably, a sigh of contentment escaping his lips.

you snuggle closer, lowering your head onto oscar's shoulder. "i dunno, osc," you tease. "i think it might be glued to me."

a comfortable silence follows, with you wrapped in each other's warm embrace. the occasional sound of the team chattering and entering and exiting the team hub creates a soothing background noise.

"i also don't think santa dresses his reindeers, so that's another reason why i can't give this jacket back to you,"

as soon as oscar hears you utter the word 'reindeer,' he knows you're bound to tease him again. he turns his head to look at you and gives you a faux glare. "you seriously aren't going to drop this reindeer thing, are you?"

you reply simply by pressing a kiss to his temple, and the warmth it brings him is far greater than any hot chocolate.

© kissedsuns

[patrywoso]

12. Leah Williamson

+18 smut Strap-Ons. Squirting. Vaginal Fingering. Oral Sex.

Didn't had time to proof read so sorry for the mistakes i would do it soon.

Leah’s asleep when you get home, a football file open under her snoring cheek. You poke her up and Leah smiles, even fumbling with sleep. She yawns, her jaw cracking. “What’s that?”

You hide the package behind your back. “Nothing.”

Leah’s squinted eyes narrow. “Liar.”

You twist to avoid her searching hands. “It’s a surprise. Don’t ruin it.” You shove it in your side of the dresser and close the drawer firmly. “I’ll know if you peek.”

Leah grumbles good-naturedly and casts a curious look at the dresser, so you grab her around the waist and drag her to bed. “Set the alarm,” Leah gasps, as you nip her way down her neck and across her chest. “Can’t be late.”

You flail a handout and smack at the clock until it beeps twice. “Okay?”

“Yes,” Leah says and flips you to be on top, grinning.

You wait almost a week, your heart beating too quickly when you see the edge of the package as you get dressed in the mornings. 

You wake up one morning on your back, with Leah sitting on your hips. “Hey,” you croak, still half asleep.

Leah kisses you, once. “Good morning,” she says, far too awake for your sensibilities. “Do you know what day it is?”

You squint at the bedside table. “I know what time it is,” you say, faux-sweet. “Did you know it would be your last day on earth today?”

“Don’t be a grump.”

“It is,” you say, shoving Leah off you and rolling over to smash your face back into the pillow, “five in the morning. You’re lucky I love you.”

Leah’s teeth graze your ear. “I am. I know it.” She pulls the sheets down and you groan as the cold hits your bare legs.

“Leah,” you complain, flailing a hand out blindly for the covers. “It’s our day off. Days off are for sleeping.”

Leah licks the back of your thigh. “Sleep, then.” She bites the swell of your ass, through your underwear, and you groan again, your legs parting despite you not wanting.

“You’re being distracting.”

“Am I?” Leah’s voice is all sex, rough, and fake innocence. She bites again, harder. “My deepest apologies.” She hooks her fingers in your underwear and you raise your hips, letting them slide away. Leah’s teeth sink into your skin and you shiver again, less from the cold this time.

“I don’t believe you,” you mumble into the pillow. “Where was this attitude after that fundraiser?”

Leah’s lips press against the small of your back in a pout. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

You look over your shoulder. “You fell asleep while I was going down on you. I’m never letting you live it down. I’m going to mention it in the wedding vows.”

“Hm,” Leah hums, urging her hips up and digging her hands firmly into your inner thighs, spreading you wide. “I’ll just have to try and make it up to you.”

You suck in a breath at the first teasing swipe of Leah’s tongue. “Fuck.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Leah whispers against your center, pressed close and intimate. “Have I told you that I love your cunt?”

You try to squeeze your legs together, Leah’s firm grip preventing it, and moan. “You know what swearing does to me.”

Leah licks her again, sloppy, suckling obscenely. “Love your cunt. Love fucking you.” She slips in a long finger, crooking and pressing in hard. You make a sound, sharp, when she withdraws, watching your body cling to her finger. “Love your noises.” Leah makes a buzzing sound against your clit and your arches, writhing.

“Stop teasing,” you gasp.

“Of course,” Leah murmurs, pausing to suck a mark into your inner thigh, high near the juncture of your hip. Leah lifts you up onto her knees and you can feel the flex of her forearms and her wrists. Leah licks into you from behind, her jaw working, fingers massaging. She makes soft, hungry noises, and eager growls, rumbling out from her chest and punching into you.

You come embarrassingly fast, your hands clawing at the mattress, and you collapse and gasp for air. Leah crawls up your back and kisses your shoulder, damp from sweat. “Okay,” you pants, “I forgive you for waking me up. Worth it.”

Leah purrs against the back of your neck, satisfied. “Happy anniversary.”

You wait until Leah has fallen asleep, after breakfast in bed, feeding each other by hand chasing fruit with kisses, and letting crumbs spill everywhere. Leah yawns like a kitten until you tuck her against the mattress and urge her to take a nap. You slip off the bed, careful, quiet, and rummage in the hall closet, muttering, until you find what you’re looking for.

“Five more minutes.”Leah is boneless under you, mumbling into the pillow and pushing back against your hands. “Okay,” you say, sliding off her. You extend a hand and Leah takes it, letting you lead her into the bathroom.

“Shower sex will never work,” Leah says mildly. “We’ve talked about this.”

You sigh, heavily, stripping your clothes off and tossing them into the corner. “Stop stomping on my dreams. C’mere.” Leah steps close, pleased, and you kiss, easy and familiar. You turn the both of you around, slow, until Leah’s back leans against the counter. You meet your own eyes in the mirror and smile.

Leah is watching you, amused. “Hedonist.”

“Your fault.” you kiss Leah’s throat, watching the shivers roll up Leah’s back in the mirror. “For being so hot. Can’t help it. I’m powerless against you.”

Leah flushes faintly pink; still, after all the times they’ve kissed and all the minutes they’ve spent talking and the hours you have mapped Leah’s body with your fingers, your tongue, your skin; still Leah looks disbelieving when you whisper how beautiful she is, how strong, how brave. “Flatterer,” is all she says, almost demure. You kneel before her and nuzzle at the inside of her knee.

“I love you,” you say, and watch it roll across Leah’s face as her eyes close and her legs part; acceptance, wonder, reciprocation. You love your tongue in Leah, the taste, the textures, the way she breathes your name on a shudder, her hands in your hair. Leah bucks her hips and you urge Leah’s hands until Leah’s holding you still to grind against your chin, your cheek, your jaw, sloppy and gasping, until she cries out, once, sharp, clenching hard. You keep going until Leah tugs you up for a kiss. “You taste good,” you hum, and Leah rubs a knuckle over your panties.

“Let me,” she says, soft. “You want my mouth?”

“All I want is you.” You step closer, kissing harder, and find Leah’s fingers, guiding them to where you want them. You watch Leah’s back flex while she fucks you, leaning your forehead on Leah’s shoulder while you gasp and moans and shudder. Your knees give out and Leah catches you, sliding you both down into a puddle on the cold tile.

Leah draws a bath and settles against the back of the tub. You sigh when you slip into the steaming water, candles burning on the windowsill. Leah massages your scalp until you go boneless, suds sliding down the back of your neck, and you both sit, breathing quietly and nuzzling, until the water gets cold.

Leah pays the delivery of food and you take the opportunity to take out the parcel from your dresser drawer, hiding it under the couch. You both have dinner at the table as you both split a bottle of wine on the couch, curled around each other and giggling, spilling on the floor, the cushions, each other. “I bought something,” you say, the wine humming in your blood in the best way; warming, daring. “I’m nervous.”

“The mysterious package,” Leah says seriously, then snorts when you giggle. It’s so adorable you have to pause to kiss her before retrieving what’s under the couch. You present it and Leah takes it from you, brow furrowed. She looks at it a long time, then at you, then back at the dildo and harness. Her expression flinches, and you grab her before she can retreat, pulling Leah on top of you.

“Stop it,” you say firmly. “You know that’s not why. We could throw this away right now and our sex would still be the hottest around.”

“I have never,” Leah starts, hesitant.

“It’s not about that. It’s just… if you want. If we want.”

Leah rubs a thumb over the head of the toy. “You want to…?”

You bite your lip. “Actually, I thought you might.”

Leah's breath catches. “Oh?” Her voice comes out slightly strangled. She stands, quick, and it takes you both a minute to figure it out, but soon she has it strapped around her hips, snug. Leah looks down at herself, slightly bemused. “Is this what all the fuss is about?”

You flick it to watch it jiggle. “It looks better on you than half the dudes I’ve been with.” you go to your knees. “Can I blow you?”

Leah looks down at you, reaching out a hand to wrap your hair around her fingers. “I can’t feel it, you know.” you take the toy into your mouth, drawing it into your throat, letting your lips stretch, spit shiny.

You pull away. “No interest?”

Leah’s hands sink into your scalp, and she holds you still as she tilts her hips forward. “Maybe I spoke too soon,” she murmurs, hoarse. Leah fucks you’s face, slow and steady and careful, and you relax your throat, taking it.

You close your teeth around the toy and give a soft tug. “I need you in me,” you say, and Leah’s eyes go darker. She pulls you to your feet, eager, and kisses you, hot and filthy. You link your fingers and go to make for the bedroom.

“No,” Leah says, low. She pushes you until you bump against the dining table, knocking the wine glasses on their sides. She steps close and frowns, the height’s not quite right. “Turn around.”

“Fuck,” you say, bracing your hips against the edge, facing away. “Wait..” you yank the hoodie off and lean over, bracing your elbows and forearms flat against the table. “Okay, yeah.”

Leah’s fingers trace up the inside of your leg. “You’re so wet,” Leah says, and you shiver. Leah fingers dip in you, teasing, and then disappear. “For me?” Leah asks, and you hear her sucking on her fingers.

“Fuck,” you choke out, impossibly turned on.

“Now even wetter,” Leah murmurs. She uses her foot to knock you’s stance wider, and when you lift your hips up you hear Leah’s breath catch. Leah braces a hand against the small of your back. “Okay?” she asks.

“Yeah.” and then Leah enters you, torturously slow, and you don't exhale until she bottoms out, your hips bumping. “Oh,” you say, your breath rushing out. You suck in a lungful of air, and then another. “Oh, fuck me.”

Leah shakes in a small laugh. “I am.”

You open your mouth, for something sassy about Leah’s attitude, but Leah thrusts forward, minutely, and the words fall away. You gasp instead, your head falling forward. “More,” you beg, “harder.” Leah draws back, inch by inch, then slams in. “Yeah,” you say, your legs shaking, “c’mon Leah..”

Leah fucks you, fast and controlled, her hand keeping you flat against the table, the glasses rolling off and shattering against the floor. “Jesus,” Leah says, wrenched from her chest, “you..”

“My hair,” you rasp, your forehead pressed against your hands as you rock back into Leah’s rhythm. “LeLeah, please..” Leah grabs a handful and yanks it and you clenches, going on your tiptoes. Leah stops, suddenly, her hips still and her hand gone, and you moan, your nails scrabbling at the wood. “No…”

“Quiet,” Leah says, breathless, and you feel fabric swoop against your skin, tickling. Leah’s taken off her shirt, you realize, and when she bends low, bearing your torso flat against the table, it’s skin to skin, her breasts brushing then pressing on your back. Leah starts moving again, grinding circles and sharp snaps of her hips, too varied for you to predict, and you moan again, helpless.

“Leah,” you pants against the table, drool escaping before you can suck it back.

“You feel amazing,” Leah growls in your ear. “I didn’t think…” Leah stops for a soft noise, low and rumbly, and you clench again.

“Close,” you manage to choke out, and Leah picks up the pace even as she sneaks a hand around to press against your clit, firm and unrelenting.

“I didn’t think it would feel this good,” Leah pants. “I think I could come from just this. Just you.”

There’s pressure building inside you, unfamiliar and inevitable. “Uh,” is all you manage, just a grunt. The table legs scrape against the floor. “Uh, fuck. Fu-fuck,” you lean your head back and to the side, and Leah kisses you, almost missing your mouth, jolting you farther forward.

“I want to feel you come,” Leah is saying into your shoulder, rushed and rough. “I love you.” She bites the back of your neck, hard, and you feel it again, the full rush of wetness, waiting to overflow, the pressure unbearable.

“Wait..” you panic, abrupt, trying to pull away, “stop..” Leah stills immediately, her hands resting on your hips, but you are already coming. You feel it gush out of you, flooding; you can hear it hit the floor with a splash. You collapse onto the table, twitching violently.

Leah rubs her sides, hesitant. “My love?”

“Sorry,” you gasp when you can talk again, still shuddering, “sorry sorry, oh my god, fuck…did I just pee on you?”

There’s a pause. “No,” Leah says, gently. “Did…did you think you did?”

You flushed so hot and bright you could feel it, your cheeks on fire. “Shit. That’s never happened before.”

Leah shivers. “Hot,” she assures you. She hesitates, “You okay?”

You shudder, your body still jolting. “Yeah. It was…it was really good. Fuck.”

“Good.” Leah pulls out, careful even as she moves quickly, pulling you up and around and propping you to sit up on the table. She kneels and licks up your legs, slurping up to your cunt and licking inside.

“I cannot believe,” you pant, one hand on the back of Leah’s head to keep her close and the other leaning behind you, “that I ever thought you were vanilla.” Your whole body locks up for a second and you rock, moaning. “You’re so fucking dirty,” you say, faintly strangled.

“Made you squirt,” Leah hums, smugly self-satisfied. She gives a final lick, broad and long, and stands again. “Nobody else has ever..”

“Okay,” you say, pushing two fingers into Leah’s mouth. “Back in me before your head gets too big.” You hook your legs around Leah and pull her in, guiding Leah in even as Leah sucks at your fingers, teeth grazing. “You can..” Leah surges forward and you gasp. “You can come from this?”

Leah leans her forehead on your shoulders, her thrusts sloppy and jerky. “Yeah,” she breathes.

You lock your legs together and lean back, bracing your hands on the table over her head and shoving yourself back onto Leah’s thrusts. “C’mon,” you say, and Leah half-collapses onto you, hips pistoning erratically. “You made me come so hard,” you say softly, slipping your fingers back into Leah’s mouth. “Made me feel so good.” Leah groans, shaking. “Good girl,” you say, and when Leah’s entire body shudders up, her hips going faster, you say: “my good girl.”

“Fuck,” Leah sobs. She strains her head back, her palms slapping against the table as she fumbles for more leverage.

“Come for me,” you say, “please, baby? For me?”

“Almost,” Leah mutters, “almost..” She sounds high, breathy, and wobbly.

“Come,” you say, putting an order into it, and Leah’s body draws up tight for a few long seconds before she suddenly relaxes, tucking herself against your body and riding out her orgasm in little shivers, tiny mewls. You pet her hair and nuzzle her cheek, before shifting with a slight wince.

“Sorry,” Leah mutters. She hauls herself upright and pauses. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, and shudder when Leah pulls out with a wet noise. Leah’s fingers are fumbly on the harness and you sit up to help her. “Clean up tomorrow,” you say. Leah sways, and you both lean on each other as you stumble down the hall. “Fuck,” you sigh as you collapse facedown into your pillow. “Bedtime.”

You pat Leah on the ass. “Talk tomorrow?” Leah grunts, agreeing, and you open your eyes enough to kiss her once, stating. “Happy anniversary.”

“Made you squirt,” Leah mumbles, smashing into your shoulder. “No more fundraiser teasing.”

“We’ll fucking see about that,” you say, and passes out, Leah breathing warm against your neck.

[lovebugism]

hi bug! can I please request the dialogue prompt “Hold up, she said what?” with steve and shy!reader? maybe she is robin’s friend and robin tells steve something reader said (maybe that she thinks steve is cute or nice or something of the sort), and it leads to a cute conversation between the two?

ty for requesting angel!! — steve finds out the cute girl at the record store likes him and decides to bring her ice cream as a proclamation of love (shy!fem!reader, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, 2.3k)

blurbcember ⋆⁺₊⋆ ❄ ⁺₊⋆ ❄

“Wait, wait, wait,” Steve interjects suddenly, a metal scoop in his hand and a wild look in his eye. “She said what?”

Robin fumbles with the metal tub of Peppermint-Chip ice cream she’s refilling. It clangs when she drops it into place with haphazard care. The shop goes unusually silent without her rambling to fill the dead air. Holly, Jolly Christmas crackles quietly from the broken speakers overhead.

The girl blinks at him with a wide ocean gaze. Her rogue-tinted mouth falls softly agape. She knows she’s said the wrong thing, but she can’t remember what.

“...Huh?”

“What’d you just say?”

Her doe eyes flit to the left for a moment. It takes her a second or more to recall the words she’d only just said. She does this thing sometimes where she rambles on and on about nothing, and Steve was the first person in the whole world to let her. So it’s way too easy for her to tell him a billion things at once and forget about all of them a second later.

“That the music store just got new cassettes in?” Robin answers, her gritty voice a few octaves higher than usual.

Steve nods slow and with a crooked grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. He rests his elbow on the glass case above the ice cream and eggs her on. “After that?”

“…That you and the pretty new girl that works there have the same taste in music?”

“Before that.”

“That she said she wanted to show you the new tapes,” she says, wincing with the realization that she had, in fact, said the wrong thing. A secret she swore not to tell has just spilled from her lips without her even knowing it.

“And?” Steve lilts with a wider, rosier smile.

“Because she likes you…” Robin confesses (or rather, re-confesses) with her teeth gritted.

Even though Steve had heard her perfectly the first time, hearing it the second makes his heart skip a beat. The pulsing organ lurches into his throat. He almost forgets how to breathe.

“She likes me?” he repeats, mostly whispering, with an incredulous gape of shock. His bushy brows raise until his forehead wrinkles. His eyes go wide until the honey of them starts to glimmer.

Despite her best friend’s lovesick disposition, Robin’s freckled face hardens. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” she rumbles like a storm cloud, knocking her shoulder against his when she walks by him.

“Why?” Steve retorts like a child, following behind her just the same. 

He nearly bumps into her when she stops short at the deep freezer. She returns the cloth mits she carried the ice cream in with after spending her whole break organizing the case by color. Steve could never even be bothered to put the damn things back where they belonged in the first place.

“Because I swore to her I wouldn’t,” Robin agonizes, then whips around to face him again. Her features are twisted like a hurt puppy as she pleads. “Don’t tell her I said anything either, okay? She’ll hate me.”

Steve wasn’t planning on it. Not because he thought it might make you hate her, though. He’s not entirely sure you’re capable of that. 

He’s only known you for a few months — ever since the leaves started changing color and people traded their ice cream cones for cool music at the new record store. He spent half that time admiring you across the landing, but you’ve never been anything but gentle with him. You were soft, with a soul of sunshine. 

He didn’t know it was possible to be made of sunlight until he met you.

“Well, did you tell her I liked her back?” he presses, hoping Robin might’ve done some of the hard work for him.

Her face screws up like she’s tasted something sour. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I promised you I wouldn’t.”

Steve shoots her a deadpanned look.

Robin caves. 

“It’s not like I meant to tell you she liked you just now, okay? It just came out!” she explains, gesturing wildly with her hands. “Maybe next time I stick my foot in my mouth around the new girl, I’ll tell her that you’re obsessed with her, and the two of you can finally start dating instead of making sex eyes at each other all the time.”

He wouldn’t put that past her. Robin the Mastermind, Robin the Blabbermouth, Robin the Matchmaker. But his fluttering heart is pumping with too much adrenaline now. He feels like he could move mountains with the knowledge of your affections — knowing that all his own big, fuzzy, suffocating feelings have been reciprocated all this time.

If he doesn’t talk to you now, he’s scared he’ll never work up this kind of courage again.

“No. Screw that,” he concludes with a shake of his head. He’s in King Steve mode now — feeling half as suave as he used to back when the whole town was falling at his feet — chest puffed and ego reeling. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

Robin watches, dumbfounded, as he dumps a scoop of their best-selling ice cream into a paper bowl. Another tub she’ll have to refill. Steve ducks under the counter door and heads for the exit. “Wait— what am I supposed to do?” the girl shouts across the empty store.

Now out in the bustling Starcourt mall and taking short strides towards the music store, Steve spins on his heel to face her. He shrugs and readjusts the sailor’s cap on his head. “Wait for me to get back.”

—————

You’ve been banished to the back of the store.

Not exactly. But that’s what it feels like.

You got a bit too overwhelmed working the front counter, and since Eddie’s crazy soft on you, he let you put up all the Christmas decorations he’d been putting off instead. It’s a win-win situation, really. 

You’re stringing up sparkling tinsel over the rows of records when a deep blue sailor’s uniform catches your eye. Looking over your shoulder, you find Steve in all his glorysauntering towards you. He’s wearing shorts even though it’s basically winter now in Indiana. He’s beaming at you like sunshine anyway.

Beneath the amber glow of the dimly lit store, he looks borderline angelic. Almost unfairly ethereal.

“What’s that?” you wonder with a smile you don’t even know is there, nodding to the Scoops Ahoy brandedcup in his hand. 

You can almost smell the syrup-cinnamon concoction of the ice cream he holds in his palm. Or maybe that’s just Steve, and the sugary sweetness is radiating from his pores after working in a confectionary shop during the holidays.

He looks at you even sweeter.

“New flavor,” he answers vaguely, smirking as he leans against the metal shelves. He stumbles slightly when it rocks beneath his weight. “Oops. Sorry. It’s, uh— It’s pancake chunks with maple syrup swirl. I call it Wake and Bake.” 

A giggle tumbles from your lips when he hands it to you. “Eddie’s gonna love that,” you murmur.

“Well, it’s actually called Breakfast in Bed, but— I don’t know— I thought my idea was better.”

“Way better,” you concur with a nod and a pretty smile.

Steve watches with attentive honey eyes as you spoon a bite into your mouth. He feels a bit like it’ll be his fault if you hate it. His irrational need to impress you always makes him feel hopelessly inadequate. 

“Woah,” you hum without your mouth still a little full. The cream melts softly on your tongue, tasting of a sweet and early morning. “This is really good.”

His brows raise, and his eyes widen. “Yeah?” he wonders. Your words wash over him like a compliment for a reason he can’t name. It feels good to make you feel good.

“Mhmm. I might have to come by after work and buy the rest of it, actually,” you joke with a curt shrug. It’s a feeble confession — your way of telling him that you want to see him more because you could never say the real thing out loud.

Your heart sinks when Steve shakes his head. Then swells when he smiles.

“No way,” he scoffs, lips curling into a lopsided grin. “I’m not gonna let you pay for it— that’s crazy.”

“You can’t keep giving me free ice cream, Steve—”

“What my manager doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he lilts lowly and with a cool shrug that makes you melt. He goes very distinctly soft when he looks at you, all scruffy-faced and sweet-eyed. 

It’s suffocatingly beautiful. You crack under the pressure of it. 

“Well, uh— Thanks for the— ice cream,” you stammer and motion the bowl back to him. Thanks for stopping by and keeping me company, but you’re too pretty and I’m not sure how much longer I can take it, you don’t say.

“You don’t want the rest?” he asks with pinched brows.

“I just… should probably get back to work, you know?”

“Eddie doesn’t let you take breaks?”

“No, he does,” you answer quickly, shifting your weight on your feet. It becomes virtually impossible to meet his gaze. “Just not with…”

Steve’s brows raise when you trail off. “Not with me?” he finishes with a laugh.

“Well, not with the… pretty-boy-ice-cream-slinger in the sailor’s uniform,” you correct, then quickly follow. “His words. Not mine.”

In all honesty, Steve couldn’t care less about what Eddie Munson has to say about him. If Hawkins’s local freak is the only thing standing between him and the pretty girl at the music store, he’s down to break a couple of dumb rules.

He takes a small step towards you. His pink smirk widens. You swear your heart stops when he looks at you with it. “You don’t think I’m pretty?” he teases with a twinkle in his squinted eye.

Suddenly, there’s a frog in your throat and you’re fourteen all over again. You’re flustered and drowning and totally unsure of yourself. “I didn’t say that,” you mutter, gaze flittering and smile wavering.

Steve goes to rest his elbow on the shelf again, then remembers its unsteadiness and decides against it. His arm rests awkwardly in the air for half a moment before he crosses both of them over his chest. 

“Well, I mean, you didn’t not say it, so…”

You squint up at him, busying your clammy hands with the melting ice cream in your palm. You know what he’s fishing for. Your pride urges you to stay silent even though your heart sings the sweetest songs for him. 

“You know you’re pretty, Steve,” you murmur matter of factly.

“But do you think I’m pretty?”

Your thundering heart lurches into your throat when Steve takes another small step closer. He smells like wintertime — like Christmas and nostalgia and boy. You don’t trust your voice to answer him verbally, so you nod, slow and sheepish.

“Good,” he hums with a beam he couldn’t hide if he tried. “‘Cause I think you’re pretty, too.”

Your chest gets all sparkly at his admission — the affirmation that all your girlish feelings are being reciprocated by a boy you never dreamed you could have. You don’t feel hardly deserving of the fondness dripping from his features, but you pray he never stops looking at you with it.

You grow warm with the irrational hope that he might kiss you. You think he might actually kiss you until your boss’s voice pierces the golden bubble of puppy love the both of you are basking in.

“How’s the decorating going?” Eddie announces himself, appearing suddenly between the two aisles.

Robin idles at his side. She’s in the feminine version of Steve’s sailor outfit — with silver chains around her neck and bandaids on her knees. Effortlessly endearing and totally unaware of it all.

You push Steve away from you without thinking, all but shoving the softening ice cream into his chest. Some of it smears white against the scarlet tie around his chest. “Sorry!” you exclaim in your moment of fleeting panic, then turn to Eddie with the same apologetic wince. “Sorry…” you repeat quieter.

“Robin?” Steve gapes at the sight of his best friend — apparently the second thing standing in his way, right beside the freak. “What the hell are you doing here— did you tattle on me? What are you, four?”

“I got lonely,” the brunette answers plainly. “And I knew you were around here somewhere, so I asked Eddie where you were—” She waves a pale hand your way, fingers painted with chipping maroon polish.  “—And now I’m here.”

Eddie grins wide and tilts his wild head to his shoulder. “Yeah. Can’t believe you’re trying to taint my one good employee, Steven.”

“I’m not tainting anybody, Munson,” he bites back like a bickering brother, then screws up his face and turns to Robin. “Wait. If you’re here, who’s manning the counter?”

Her freckled face falls like a child caught in a fib. Her deep blue eyes widen when she blinks at him. In a mousier voice, she confesses, “Dustin came by… And I told him he could eat all the ice cream he wanted as long as he made sure no one stole anything.”

The four of you fall silent. The soft rock of Christmas Wrapping plays weakly from the radio at the front of the store. Eddie breaks first. ‘Cause he can’t ever be serious about anything. 

The boyish sound of his laughter sends a giggle sputtering from your lips. The pretty noise makes Steve smile despite his baffled disbelief.

He turns to you with a dumbfounded grin. “You’re still stopping by after work, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer softly, nodding as your smiling face grows hot.

Eddie scoffs when Steve walks by him. “If you still have a job by then.”

[k-atsukibakugou]

w/c: 1.1k tw: needles, at home piercing (DO NOT PIERCE UR TONGUE AT HOME FOR THE LOVE OF GOD), pet names (baby doll, gorgeous) notes: inspired by this thirst hereeeee + thank u my love @ghostbeam for always helping me ilysm

"hold still."

"schorry."

"that means don't speak, idiot."

you roll your eyes in response, pointedly staring at your best friend after you do. his own tongue bar clacking against his teeth when he bites his tongue, concentrating on yours, stuck out over your lips for him to inspect. dyed black hair was all you could see as he dipped, twisted, turned and tilted his head, latex all you could taste as he lifted your tongue with a gloved hand, adjusting the muscle as necessary.

"stick it out as far as you can." you follow touya's instructions, adjusting yourself in the bathroom sink, touya subconsciously stepping further between them when your thighs slip apart, his eyes still focused on your mouth as he stares, his eyebrows drawing further down his face.

you lick your lips as soon as he turns away, attempting to ease the discomfort of your dried lips and pooling saliva from holding your tongue out for so long. touya flashes you a playfully disapproving glance, reaching for the pile of tools sat beside you on the porcelain sink.

"think you can do it?" you study your face like he'd studied your tongue, mapping every freckle, mole, vein, scar and piercing marring the face of the little boy you'd met, you love him like this, you think. so perfectly touya. just as much your touya as he'd been as a hot-headed tween, dragging you by your hand into his room to show off action figures, just as much your touya as he was at sixteen, after his first piercing (well, technically first two, he'd gotten both nostrils at once), when he'd snuck into your room after his mother had seen the gems flash the moment he walked through the door, promising he'd go back home if you watched a new horror movie with him.

"'course i can, gorgeous," you begin to fidget, growing more and more nervous the more he toyed with the tools, gathering what he needed; preparing iodine, lubricant, the needle, the taper and of course the titanium bar. picking up a tissue and something else you can't see, he turns to face you again, inching closer once more, his hips nearly bumping your own on the sink, "that's the point of being a bad influence, isn't it?"

grinning, he pokes his tongue out, metal flashing under low lights, making you hyper aware once more of what you're tucked in your bathroom to do, "alright, out all the way again."

"is that the needle?" you think your voice shakes, staring at the tool he grasped in his left hand with wide eyes, a quiet, wobbly tone like a scared child.

"marker, baby doll, gotta make sure i pierce your pretty tongue nice and straight." touya's smile is crooked, a tiny flash of pearly teeth behind pierced, pink lips.

"oh, okay." still with a wobble in your speech when you begin to fiddle with your fingers, you try to focus instead on the multitude of misshapen chips in your nail polish, trying to decide what colour you might paint them next, wondering if touya will match you with a navy blue, or if the matching tongue bars will be enough.

"i can get you a towel to squeeze? if you're scared?" his voice is low, hushed as he pats your tongue dry, glancing up to your doe eyes as you shake your head, attempting to say you were okay with your tongue out. touya had countless piercings, certain there's more than you can see right now, countless times he'd gone through this process; sanitising, marking, piercing, and not once can you imagine him squeezing something soft in his hands for comfort, digging blunt, painted nails into a plush, imagining a curious face instead, sharp eyes following the needle as you avoided it, maybe crunching his eyes closed in a wince at the very last moment, when the sharp, unforgiving needle tip forced its way through squishy flesh.

"you sure?" he taps the pen on your thoroughly dried tongue, a tiny purple dot staining the centre of your tongue, the fine marker tip making you jump, overly sensitive with adrenaline pulsing through your body, waiting to nod until after he placed the pen aside.

"if you say so, baby doll." you feel the smooth latex of the glove on your tongue again, adjusting his hold on the tip of your tongue to hold the twitching muscle still, looking up to your eyes once more, noticing how you squeezed them shut the moment his muscles twitched to reach beside you for the sterile needle.

"ready?"

"uhuh."

"breathe in." your hands twitch in your lap as you suck in a deep breath, holding it in your chest even as he chastises you for it, muttering a quiet, gentle, "you have to breathe out, too, idiot."

your hands fly to his hips the second the needle touches your tongue, not even quite piercing it yet, gripping him like your life depended on it, a soft whimper echoing from the back of your throat as the needle came out through the underside, your exhale shaky as you clutch touya's hips tighter, your body tense as he whispers soft encouragements for you to keep breathing, "go nice and slow, gorgeous, like that."

you listen as best you can, focusing on the sensation of the denim underneath your fingertips, how it feels to drag your nails over the material, how your lungs inflate and deflate, how touya's voice sounds in the shell of your ear as he comforts you, praising your stillness as he places the bar at the end of the taper.

"i'm gonna put the bar in now, baby, you ready?" you don't nod, not risking moving, instead shifting your fingers to slide under the hem of his shirt, gently tapping thrice on his hot skin, y-e-s, before tucking your fingers securely into his hemline, holding him as tightly as you could when he instructs you to breathe again, "in, 1-2-3, out. did so perfect, baby."

touya doesn't move, doesn't step out of your gravity, out of your hold on him, back three steps into safety from whatever was blooming between you the longer you held him between your thighs with saliva gathering on your swollen tongue, a minuscule amount of tears gathering in your waterline with your wobbly exhale. you make no move either, keeping your hands tucked into the hem of his faded jeans, your tongue out and your eyes closed, cracking one open only when he rests his hands on your thighs, "you will not live it down if you drool on me."

closing your mouth, you giggle before wincing, resting your head on his chest as you whined out at him, "ow, touya, don't make me laugh."

© all works belong to @k-atsukibakugou, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[madaqueue]

TEAR MY FLESH, HOLD MY HAND, FEEL MY WARMTH

the weight that lies in a pinky promise

pairing: suguru geto x gn!reader

themes/content: curse/canon au. fluff, angst. mentions of fights/difficult childhood. (wk: 3.2k)

a/n: this was originally gonna be for flufftober but it got a lil angsty teehee so here we are :) also the mouse on my computer stopped working so i did all this formatting on my phone bc i'm that dedicated to serving you guys this fic

Suguru was a soft child. Chubby hands, round cheeks, gentle steps.

He was sweet in all the ways a child ought to be, at least according to your parents - sweet in all the ways you weren’t.

You, on the other hand, were loud, jarring, unreserved. “A handful,” you were always described as by those who attempted to care for you. Perhaps that’s why they allowed you such a great extent of freedom, tugging against the length of a leash they tried to place around you, but they’d need stronger chains to tie you down.

And yet, you and Suguru found your similarities - you were both unencumbered by expectations. I am who I am. In spite of everyone, in spite of the ways they tried to dig their tight hands around you and force you into something you weren’t. You are who you are.

The first time you met him, all you saw were tiny feet kicking the air, unable to reach the ground from where he perched upon the park bench. He was the only one not screaming, something you appreciated, something novel. Your life had held such chaos, constant arguments, slamming doors. The peace that wrapped around his small frame seemed to exude a comfort you craved, even if it couldn’t be articulated by your six-year-old mind, you were drawn to it. To him.

“Hi,” you chirped, lifting yourself next to him.

“Hi.”

When you grinned widely at him, he returned a thin-lipped smile, as though he had been trained by wild dogs who took eagerness as a threat, who wouldn’t dare snarl unless as a warning.

(He noticed your absence of fear immediately - how could you approach him so easily? Had you not been taught to be wary?)

(You had been taught. “Avoid strangers, they’ll hurt you.” But you would never choose the harm of the monsters you knew. Better to take your chances in the wild.)

Averting your gaze, your dirtied fingernails began absentmindedly picking at the green paint coating the wood beneath your legs. Your eyes landed on his knees, scuffed and bloody.

“Did that hurt?”

Without looking at you, he shakes his head. “No, I’m just clumsy. I fell off my bike.”

“That’s okay,” you hum, “I get bruises all the time. You must be pretty tough if it didn’t hurt.”

And this time, he giggles, crooked teeth poking through. “Anyone can get hurt, it doesn’t make me tough.”

Leaves rustle overhead as you let out a thoughtful sigh, allowing the sounds of the breeze to fill the silence. It’s comfortable, you realize, no tension hanging in the air like there always seems to be at home, no threat looming around the other side of the kitchen counter.

You tug with all the strength your muscles can muster at a large strip of paint. With a final pull, your palm catches along the fraying wood, splinters digging under your flesh as you let out a choked cry.

Immediately, the boy’s small hands wrap around your wrist, pulling it to his face. Worried eyes inspect the wound. “Are you okay?” he asks without looking up.

A small whimper falls from your throat, lower lip trembling as you hold back tears. “Y-yeah,” your voice wobbles.

You’re lying. He knows you’re lying - you aren’t particularly hard to read, he grows to learn, somehow always wearing your heart on your sleeve. It’s a trait he admires (perhaps because he’s never quite able to place his there so visibly).

When he frowns, you almost giggle at the sight - no child should frown like that. It’s endearing, the way his eyebrows furrow, mouth tugged downward.

“Can I make it better?”

It takes very little to make you trust him, but you believe he wouldn’t hurt you. Just as animals seem able to sense intent, an implicit knowledge that the human freeing them from a cage won’t inflict additional pain, you know that his stubby fingers won’t dig at your flesh and make you bleed.

So, you nod.

Determined eyes turn from your visibly pained face to your aching palm. Slowly, he removes the shards of wood from your skin. When you wince, he pauses immediately, waiting for your shoulders to relax before he continues. By the time he’s finished, your bottom lip is red from biting into it but the pain isn’t even noticeable, not when every nerve in your body seems focused on the warmth coming from his fingertips still lingering on your wrist.

“There,” he breathes through the softest smile, “all done.”

“Thanks,” and you can’t help but grin back.

“And see!” He’s beaming now. “You were very tough!”

Your laugh is brighter than the sun, more calming than the birds chirping overhead, a sound he can’t help but mirror. His desire to cheer you up, to comfort you through it all, makes your cheeks warm.

“I’m Suguru, by the way.”

He opens up easily to you, an honor you don’t quite understand yet. When you introduce yourself, he repeats your name back slowly, the vowels sweet like the flowers blooming nearby. It sounds good in his voice.

A whistle cuts through the humidity, immediately drawing Suguru’s attention.

“I gotta go,” his face draws into that adorable pout again.

“Oh.” Dropping your attention, it falls to your freshly healed hands resting in your lap. “Can you do me a favor?”

Expectant eyes meet yours.

“Promise me I’ll see you again?”

This time, he smiles so wide his cheeks push up into his eyes, crinkling at the corners. Holding out a hand, he gently grasps yours as he intertwines your fingers.

“Pinky promise,” he grins, linking them together with a shake.

Through a giggle, you mimic, “pinky promise.”

He shuffles off the bench, clumsy feet landing on the ground before he hobbles off to the waiting arms of a parent who seems to love him. Your heart aches for a moment before it stills - you’re happy he has someone to take care of him, to pull the splinters from his hands and clean off the scrapes on his knees.

It’s a miracle when you both get placed at Jujutsu Tech. It takes very little for you to abandon the place you called home, having jumped at the first chance to leave your childhood behind, but having Suguru there makes it even easier when you get approached by a strange man with dark hair and glasses who touts himself as the principal of some elusive school a few hours away. They’ll pay for your housing, your food, anything you need to survive for the next four years so long as you agree to train and work for them. It was an easy yes - you would have done more for less.

And of course, there was your so-called “power.” The two of you had danced around the subject for years, hesitantly testing each other’s experiences to not unload worry onto the other. That was the thing about Suguru - he was always looking out for you, and you, him. He never needed to ask if you were thirsty, he’d just bring you tea; you never had to ask if he was lonely, you’d just find him sitting alone on the same park bench.

It was Suguru who finally broke on his thirteenth birthday while the two of you made your way through town, snowflakes hanging in the air.

“Do you ever…see things?” he asked, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket in a futile search for warmth.

From the corner of your vision, you caught the faintest glimmer of fear in his eyes. And you understood immediately.

“Yes.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed, hot breath puffing into the air. “Thank god,” he murmured.

Again, it wasn’t a surprise, per se - the two of you had shared everything. It only seemed natural that you would share this ability to see curses, the monsters hiding in the shadows.

“Do they ever…scare you?” Your voice felt small as you asked - you hadn’t yet reached relief, or at the very least, neutrality towards these things.

And he sees it in you, too - the dread he felt when he first saw them, the pang of terror that shoots up his spine when he catches one moving in the dark. He’s grown more accustomed to their presence, but there’s still that thread of fear lingering, choking him when he gets tangled in it.

“Yes.”

Cold fingers lace through yours, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

“But I’ll always keep you safe,” he smiles that sweet, soft smile, “pinky promise.”

The training wasn’t easy. You hadn’t expected it to be, obviously, but fuck was it hard.

Suguru excelled initially, as he did with everything. The others in your small class also show great potential, Satoru in particular, but Shoko’s abilities develop in her own way, too.

It’s nice to finally feel like you have a place where you belong, to have people to return to, people who care about you, who love you. It’s nice to be here, even if it pushes you to your limits everyday, because you know you’ll always have someone to come home to - to know you’ll always have Suguru to come home to.

It hits you on a sunny day in October when you’re watching him spar with Satoru. Fists fly, a mix of black and white flashing across the grass. When Gojo lands a particularly well-timed punch, Suguru’s body lands with a thud in the dirt.

You’re on your feet in less than a second, shoving Satoru out of the way as you stand over the dazed boy on the ground. He looks beautiful like this, you think - his hair splayed out around him, blood trickling from his nose, lips tugged into an awestruck smirk - before you shake the thought aside.

“Are you okay?”

Panicked hands run over his torso, checking for injuries before they land on his face. Cupping his jaw, he can’t help but breathe a laugh at the worry painted across your features. His palms come to rest along your wrists, dark eyes meeting yours.

“I’m okay,” he sighs. Now that you’re here. “I’m tough, remember?”

Every muscle in your body releases tension just at hearing his voice, his calming aura once again blanketing you, bringing you under the warmth of his peace.

With a playful punch to his shoulder, he feigns a dramatic wince. “Just don’t get hurt again, okay?”

He knows it’s impossible - it’s the nature of the job, of the responsibilities he holds. He will be hit and bruised and battered and brought to the brink of death again and again, but right now, that’s not what you need to hear. Because you know it’s impossible too; and you also know Suguru is strong.

“I pinky promise,” he halfheartedly grins. He promises to at least try. For you.

Wrapping your finger around his, you let the heat of your bodies fill the air, vibrating in tune with the cicadas lining the trees. His hand is soft in yours. It feels like coming home - the familiar walk up the steps, the paint on the front door cracking from where palms had rubbed against it time and time again as the handle turned. The wooden floors are worn in with the path you take through each other’s lives, from the kitchen to the living room to the windows, gazing over the backyard.

Suguru had a swingset, you remember. You figured out how to use it the first time you ever sat on the sun-worn rubber, going higher and higher and higher until the toes of your shoes scraped the sky. But Suguru always struggled - he couldn’t quite move his body in the right way to grant him flight. He would get frustrated with it rather easily, until your small hands rested against his back. With a firm push, you set him free into the air, his feet kicking perfectly with all the momentum a child’s body could hold.

Maybe gravity was discovered by children on the playground. There had to be a reason they couldn’t swing forever; there had to be a reason they couldn’t reach the sun.

The problem is, though, that a star’s heat dissipates with distance. It can’t always warm you, not when your feet land back on the ground.

Over the next year, Satoru began going on more missions alone, and Shoko stayed behind to hone her healing, leaving you and Suguru in the purgatory between power and nothingness. And most days, you feel closer to nothing.

It’s eating at him, you realize. The missions, the responsibility, the whole fucking thing is taking bites out of his soul with sharpened teeth and leaving nothing behind but a bloodied mess of torn expectations. It makes him smaller and smaller, pulling pieces of him until there’s nothing left.

You can see it in the way his clothes hang loose on his body. His shoulders slump forward, the shadows beneath his eyes growing darker each night he spends with his gaze locked on the ceiling.

The foundation of his soul is crumbling, the front door barricaded closed. The windows are boarded up. You can’t see your childhood anymore. All the grass in the front yard is dead.

You miss when the sun’s rays shone through him.

You miss when he was warm.

Finding him resting on one of the old benches in the school’s courtyard, it creaks beneath your weight as you sit, the only sound breaking the stagnant silence of the summer air. That’s another thing you’ve noticed - sometimes, Suguru is so quiet you aren’t even sure he exists. If you weren’t here watching his chest rise and fall, could you even prove he was breathing?

He says nothing when you rest your head on his shoulder, not that he needs to, of course. He hasn’t said much lately, mostly responding to everyone else’s overflowing conversations with empty smiles and sad eyes.

You aren’t sure how much longer you can take it.

“Suguru?”

His body doesn’t even shift in response to hearing his name, but you feel his eyes on you even though you can’t see them, your gaze instead focused on your hands resting in his lap. Picking at the skin along your nails, you continue.

“Are you okay?”

He’s grateful you can’t hear the way his heartbeat stutters (because then you’d already have the answer to your question).

“Mhm,” he hums, his lips never parting. You miss the way they used to curl into that childlike grin, it’s been so long since you’ve seen it.

You know he’s lying, but unfortunately, you want to believe him. You want to believe him so badly it feels like you’re trapped underground, buried under your love for him, banging on the floorboards overhead, but there’s no one around to hear. There’s dirt in your lungs and you can’t breathe. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

Silently, you hold your hand in front of him, pinky raised in a question.

Would you promise?

On instinct, his own hand lifts from his side. It hovers just inches from yours, but he hesitates. The gap between them grows farther with each second they don’t intertwine, stars pushing one another apart, unable to collide. The steadiness in him wavers for a moment as you watch his fingers shake.

He can’t.

When he collapses into you, everything falls apart. Arms wrap around your frame, hands grabbing fistfuls of your uniform. He clings to you like a lifeline, the only thing keeping him from drowning. Because as a child, no one ever taught him how to swim - maybe they didn’t see the point in learning such a useless skill, or maybe they thought they were protecting him. But now, he’s been thrown into relentless waves of grief and with each breath more briney water fills his chest and he’s gasping and scared and he doesn’t know what to do except hold you. The tears falling from his eyes taste like the sea and they burn his throat, but at least for a moment his legs can stop kicking. For a moment, he has someone who can keep him afloat.

Your palms rub slow circles into his back as he cries. The sound is sharp and painful, carving into the still-beating flesh of your heart, but at least it exists. At least he’s here. At least he’s alive.

Placing your lips to the top of his head, you let them rest there as his body shakes.

“It’ll be okay, I’ve got you,” you whisper into his skin, surrounded by small strands of hair pulled loose and warm from the sun. “I promise.”

As things tend to do, they eventually get easier.

You and Suguru talk to the higher ups about changing his schedule, only going on missions with at least one other sorcerer so he’s not doing all the work by himself. They bargain and ultimately even agree to grant him dedicated days off to rest. And finally, you feel as though you’ve been granted your miracle, the scales of fate begrudgingly tipping in your favor.

(If all your pain meant that Suguru’s would be lessened for even a moment you would do it over again a million times. If all your suffering meant that Suguru wouldn’t have to endure it for a second longer, you would suffer for eternity.)

Even as fall returns and the sun shines through the sky less and less, things feel brighter. The two of you find yourselves in the school’s cafeteria making tea every night, and he learns he sleeps better with you in his arms.

When the four of you gather around a picnic table outside to recap your recent assignments, you tell some stupid joke, one that makes Satoru groan and Shoko roll her eyes through a smirk, and you hear it: Suguru laughs. And for a moment, the world stops spinning.

You all exchange glances before turning to face him, his cheeks pushed up and pink, eyes closed in bliss. You can’t contain yourselves as you join him, fits of giggles lilting through the crisp air.

That night, he welcomes you into bed with open arms waiting beneath the covers. His lips are curved into a grin as he places a gentle kiss to your forehead, a newer part of your routine, one that makes your entire body vibrate.

Snuggling against him, the warmth of his chest radiates into your skin, each beat of his heart a welcome melody.

“Hey Suguru?” you murmur.

His voice is laced with sleep as he answers into the darkness, “Yeah?”

“You’re really strong, y’know that?”

Letting out an airy chuckle, he rolls his eyes. “I’m nothing compared to Satoru-”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

You can hear the air entering his lungs with each breath. He takes in three before he responds. “I know.”

Long fingers trace circles into the bare skin of your arm.

“Suguru?”

You know what you have to tell him - you’ve been holding it for years, keeping it close to you, carrying its weight through each day until you barely notice it anymore. Maybe it’s the change of the seasons, a different density to the air, but suddenly it has begun to feel heavy in your hands.

“Yeah?”

His hands make their way up your neck until they rest along your cheek, guiding your gaze to him through the dark.

Three breaths in, three breaths out.

“I love you.”

You can’t see him smile, but you feel it. The warmth of his palm leaves your face for a moment until you feel it again along your hand. He intertwines his pinky with yours. “I love you, too.”

[murdrdocs]

coriolanus in the peacekeeper uniform + gaul's daughter 18+ (fem! implied reader)

coriolanus when he returns to the capitol, eager to be back home where the streets are neatly paved and clean. where the people are civil and speak proper. where their clothes are intricate and the complete opposite of dull. he's so ecstatic that he can't even begin to dread going to doctor gaul's as his first stop, especially not when he knows her daughter will be there.

"my kin in the only ways that matters," volumnia would always say, a proud smile on her face as she played with the neat ponytail that always sat at the back of her daughter's head.

it was sitting there when coriolanus saw you, brandished with a red bow that matched the top half of gaul's outfit, one similar to the one you wore. the ponytail and outfit are skewed now, a product of coriolanus' overeager hands.

he's had adrenaline pent up in his body. adrenaline that he usually got out by hanging out with lucy gray. but that's gone now. lucy gray isn't here.

but you are.

you're here with your legs spread, your ankles hooked behind his back, the heel of your sneakers digging into coriolanus' peacekeeper uniform. with each sloppy thrust into your sopping heat, coriolanus' cock grazes the red lace of your panties that he'd carelessly pushed aside. it's a delicious friction, it makes him shudder and dig his head into the crook of your neck. he's so deep within you, the curls at the base of his cock tickling your skin every other thrust, yet you want him deeper. you pull with your ankles, nudge at his shoulder, force your hips closer to his, all to communicate your carnal need.

coriolanus can't stop thinking about how good you feel. because you feel so good. there's no real distinction between your cunt and the one's back in the districts (pussy is pussy), yet coriolanus swears he can feel it. maybe it's because he's fucking pussy of the same socioeconomic class. maybe it's because with each thrust, he believes he's tainting you.

volumnia gaul's daughter, sweet and innocent and always quiet, now struggling to keep her moans to an appropriate volume. the two of you are already making enough noise as is, your cunt squelching at an obscene volume. the walls of gaul's lab does nothing to conceal the noises, and even if you're tucked away in a corner of the halls that rarely have traffic at all, coriolanus still can't help but tease the possibility of being found.

"think their opinion of you would change? hm? like mine has?" he's facing you head on now, the slope of his nose looking even more intense under the shadows that his hat creates. you wish he'd take it off, a previous plea of yours from before the encounter got to this point. but he denied, just more proof that in this moment, like this, he had control.

you don't respond, instead letting your head fall back and knock against the concrete. coriolanus seems annoyed, a particular harsh thrust dragging you up the wall. you yelp and coriolanus grins, his perfect pearlescent teeth shining at you. his hands dig further into the flesh of your ass underneath your skirt which has been flipped up to accommodate your sinful acts.

after giving you two more drives of the same intensity, he continues.

"i never thought you'd be able to take dick like this. who's been fucking you? or have you been fucking yourself? pleasing yourself while you think of me? is that it?" when you nod, coriolanus can't help but shockingly chuckle.

his eyebrows have risen, his eyes have gone wide, but you can't see any of this. you only see the cruel curl of his lips and the flare of his nostrils as he asks, "really?"

your nails, freshly manicured, scratch at the waterproof material of his uniform. it doesn't provide any place for you to grab onto, nothing to steady yourself. you whine, starting to become frustrated, and when coriolanus mockingly coos, you become embarrassed.

"please, coriolanus. i wanna see you."

"coryo," he snaps. "how many times do i have to tell you that?"

you're quick to correct yourself, repeating your request once more with the nickname woven in there placatingly, the fear that the use of his full name will pull him away from you completely stuck to your membrane.

feeling generous, coriolanus peels his hat away from his head and drops it at his feet, leaving you to stare straight into his bright blue eyes. they seem to have gotten brighter in his absence, shining with power and authority.

with the sex driven haze in your mind, you note that it's a good look on him. it's fitting.

[michibap]

ok so im ovulating and actually fucking tweaking over how big schlatt is hold on

nsfw below the cut

-the worm that lives in my ear will not shut the FUCK up about how there’s a 97.5% chance that he’s stronger than u

-roughhousing and genuinely thinking you have the upper hand one minute, and then the next you’re firmly pinned underneath him while he laughs in your face and it’s like oh

-and maybe it’s a little nerve wracking realizing how easy it was for him to bend you to his will, especially after thinking you’d bested him

-but when you look up at him his eyes are brimming with fondness and he’s leaning down to squish an obnoxiously wet kiss to ur cheek

-giggling and trying to turn your face away, shrieking when he playfully nips at the soft skin

-but u stop laughing bc ain’t SHIT funny about the way he grabs your face to bring it back to look up at him

-big ass hand coming up to grip the sides your your face, fingers digging into your cheeks to force your mouth open so he could slip his thumb between ur spit slicked lips

-pressing the pad of his thumb against your hot, wet tongue before running over the sharp points of your teeth, knuckle grazing against the silky inner lining of your cheek, cursing to himself and bringing his other hand down to palm himself over his shorts

-strong hands easily pushing your thighs out of the way to make space for that big ass head of his

-the rug burn would go ACTUALLY fucking crazy bc that man is a messy eater and i KNOW IT

-shaking his head and shit, hungry growls muffled by your cunt

-forearm pinning your hips to the bed to keep you from squirming away when it gets to be too much, keeping you there until he’s had his fill

-motherfucker doesn’t even come up for air until you’re knotting your fingers into his hair and prying him away from you with a whimper

-he parts from you with a grin, leaning down to give her one last kiss before he’s surging back up towards you, catching your lips in a searing kiss

-smiling into it when you gasp into his mouth at the sensation of long fingers breaching your entrance, taking advantage of it and using the chance to bully his tongue into your mouth

-his groan harmonizing with your keening moan when he crooks his fingers just right

-mercilessly sending you hurtling towards another orgasm, humming with a grin as he feels you squeeze around his fingers

-laughing at you as you whine when he draws them out, wiping them off on his shirt and pressing a parting kiss to your mouth before his hands come to your hips and flip you onto your stomach

-doesn’t even give you the chance to get into position, one hand dragging your hips up while the other settles between your shoulder blades, wide palm pinning your front to the mattress, effectively keeping you arched for him

-you can’t do much more than whine into the mattress and fist your hands in the sheets as you feel his fat head pressing against your entrance, gasping when it finally pushes in

-he throws his head back with a drawn out groan as he presses in, but forces himself to pick it back up so he could set his eyes on where he’s sliding into you

-you yelp when you feel a harsh slap to your ass, whining when he grabs a mean fistful of stinging flesh, though it trails off into a moan when his hips punch forward with another brutal thrust

-once he’s bored of pistoning his hips into your ass, he’s using both hands to grab your hips, moving you back and forth on him, encouraging you to take over

“C’mon, baby-“ he’d hiss through gritted teeth, “fuckin’ take it.”

-he’s more than happy to watch you fuck yourself back on him for a while, but once you start to lose your rhythm he’s locking back in, meeting your thrusts with his own

-little grunts punched out of him every time his hips meet your ass

-usually you'd have to tear the fabric of time and space to get him to pull out, but he couldn’t be assed to grab a condom earlier, so now he’ll suffer for it

-he plays a dangerous game, teetering painfully close to the edge before he’s forcing himself to pull out

-completely disregarding how you whine as you clench around nothing, too busy frantically fisting his cock over you, knuckles bumping the fat of your ass as he struggles to catch his breath

-maybe his free hand comes to spread you open, giving himself a pleasant view before he’s spilling

-tbh idc if u finish or not TBIS ISNT ABOUT YOU

-once he’s satisfied, he’s collapsing on top of you, chest pressed to your back, squishing you into the mattress

-weighted blanket of a man.

-ignores you complaining about needing to pee as he dozes off, nuzzling his face into your hair as he gets comfortable

-whatever bitch u can pee later GOD

jschlatt PLEASE give me a chance king i’ll sign the nda no questions asked I MEAN JT

[plutolovesyou]

sigh, can't stop thinking about riding abby's thigh...mmmm. smutty yap ahead!!

abby's taught muscular thigh, slotted so perfectly in between your legs provided otherworldly pleasure, supplying the most brain-meltingly delicious pressure on your swollen bud, and she didn't even have to put in any effort. when she did put in the effort, let's just say your ability to walk was affected afterwards. ♡

"that's it, doin' so good for me." her strong hands land on the side of your hips to assist you in grinding on her, she's pulling you down forcefully, yet there's still a certain gentleness about her touches. the assuredness of her actions only making you miles wetter.

the rolling of your hips stutters as the sensations in your lower abdomen build, the blissed-out whimpers falling from your lips only increasing in volume, frequency, but most of all, desperation. you find solace in the crook of abby's neck, wrapping shaky arms around her, burying your face in her and taking her soft skin in between your teeth to quiet yourself. that earns a chuckle from her, and her hand snakes up your spine—originating waves of chills to spread throughout your body—and lands at the nape of your neck, where she takes your hair in her palm and pulls. she doesn't pull hard enough to cause pain, but firmly enough to separate you from her and make you look at her, saying through amused wavers of her voice, "nuh-uh, none of that, wanna hear your pretty voice."

and she knows the edge of her tone got to you and flew straight to your pussy, because she feels you clench around nothing and gush against her exposed skin. you resume your movements, they're growing in urgency as the relief approached, evolving from smooth ruts to noisy smacks of your sopping skin against hers while you bounced. you close your eyes and let your head fall back, no longer restricting any noises and allowing them to fill her ears freely. she grins, and watches you in awe, a blush decorating her beautiful features, a sparkle in her periwinkle eyes, and her rosy lips morphing into a wide grin. she mutters more praises and moves to aid you in riding out the high that hit you like a truck, and she commits the ethereal sight of you using her body like this to her memory.

"that's it, keep fucking yourself on me some more, yeah?"

i know two posts like not even 8 hours apart is crazy business but one's high effort (yes im plugging it. read, sillies 🤭) one took three seconds and i WANT THIS OUT MY DRAFTS ALREADY LEMME LIVE I HATE WHEN SHIT MARINATES IN THERE NEED IT GONEEEE

[diejager]

https://x.com/twtmoods/status/1738462391489138735?s=46

Nsfw link ^

Pet(of your choice)Reader x Simon and Soap.

Soap made a bet with Reader, sadly she lost. Now she has to try to keep quiet while she rides Simon….😫😫

Quiet, Pup Cw: riding, smut, unprotected smut, PinV, voyeurism, puppy!hybrid, handjob, tell me if I missed any.

You were competitive by nature, your teeth bared and ears tilted back, growling at Johnny for daring to place a bet against you. You couldn’t let him win, to let the man with puppy blue eyes beat you at your own game of chase and hunt. You, after all, were a pure bred hunting dog, hungry for something to chase and take down when Simon took you out. You expected to win, having a better nose and a better hearing, hungry for success, your adrenaline climbing so high that you couldn’t hear anything other than the heartbeat of your prey.

But your excitement all came down to a loss, leaving you whining and pouting at Simon, tail tucked between your legs while telling him how you lost the bet and that Johnny was mean about it. He only smiled a crooked grin, gazing down at you with a mean and conspiring gleam in his eyes —he knew about the bet. You whined all the way home, trailing behind a giddy Johnny and a calm Simon, ears pointing downwards at your loss, trying to waste their time to spite them for tricking you.

“A bet’s a bet, pup. You ave’t keep your word,” was all Simon told you before he closed the door behind you.

You let out a loud whine, teeth biting down on your swollen lips as you rode Simon, his cock stretching you so wide that you struggled to take him in, your walls fluttering around him. You legs burned from rocking back and forth, hips going up and down his cock with the help of his arms, hands holding you up from your ass, kneading the fat and occasionally tugging on your tail.

“Quiet,” Simon growled, sneering at you despite the jerk of his cock, tapping your gummy cervix.

You nodded dumbly, drool running down your mouth when he bottomed out, raising your hips enough to have your lips spread open by his leaky head and dropped down, head thrown back when his cock brushed your g-spot and nudging your cervix. You keened, ultimately failing at following the simplest order of your master. Simon was silent, letting out quiet grunts and small groans when you took him to the hilt without fail every time, his cock bullying your poor cunt with his veiny girth.

“What’d he say, puppy?” You hated the lightness in Johnny’s voice, the teasing and amused edge to him while he fisted his cock, pressing down on his leaky tip and cupping his heavy balls at the sight of you and Simon. You riding his LT’s cock like a champ, blonde pubes scratching your engorged clit and slick covered thighs, your hairless mound glistening under the light.

You glared at him, lips pulled back, but your growl died down in the back of your throat, giving way to a breathless mewl when Simon bucked his hips up, driving his girth into you in a rough shove. It send you tumbling down the edge, walls clenching down on him as you came, gushing around Simon with a loud moan. You shuddered, from the tip of your tensed toes to your spine, you slumped over, lashes fluttering at him.

It left Simon to chase his pleasure, gripping your hips as he thrusted up, slamming into you with deep and hard strokes of his cock, brushing against your gummy walls with every tilt. He came with a booming rumble, groaning against the sweaty skin of your shoulder as his shaft jumped and throbbed, ropes of cum spurting out of his slit, painting your walls with his load.

Johnny wasn’t far behind, the glimpse he caught of the Brit’s white cream oozing from the tight confines of your overstuffed cunt. With a last pump, he came with a tremble, shooting across his lap and staining the carpeted floor of their living room. He sunk in his seat, his cock still witching between his legs as he panted, admiring you and Simon slotted together like two piece of a puzzle —the only thing that was missing was him.

“What happened to staying quiet, puppy?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny

[evie-sturns]

skinny dip - Chris Sturniolo

summary: where a late night beach trip with your boyfriend chris turns into skinny dipping with him.

contains: fluff, swearing, skinny dipping, a bit short cause i’m busy as shit.

————————————-🌊————————————-

8:55pm

i lay a pink striped towel across the cool sand, the entire beach is completely empty except for chris and i.

chris flops down on the towel,

“chris! you’ve put sand all over it!” i groan,

he almost giggles, a stupid grin on his face as he lays back on his elbows.

i huff sarcastically before sitting down beside him,

the sun rests on the horizon, creating a glaring sunset.

“you know, this sunset is almost as beautiful as you.” he smirks,

i burst out laughing, “you are such a cornball oh my god.” i say in between laughs as i clasp a hand over his mouth.

“what!! i thought that was a good one!” he pouts, trying to hold back a smile.

i wrap my arms around his waist and cuddle close to his side, resting my head in the crook of his arm.

a peaceful silence stays between the two of us, the only sounds being the waves crashing on the shoreline, alongside seagulls squawking.

“did i ever tell you about my fear of seagulls?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“no….” i say back, my eyebrow quirking up.

“oh god, well when i was like 6 or something at this beach, matt decided to throw his whoooole lunch into the sand and all the seagulls came down and took over our setup”

“you are JOKING.” i laugh, he shakes his head

“i wish i was.”

i giggle before sitting up,

-

10:56pm

by now the sun has almost fully set

the water looks crystal clear from what i can see, and the moon is casting light on the water.

the waves are small and clean, and i’m overheating on this towel.

“chris.” i say,

he looks up at me with a small hum,

“i wanna go swimming.” i state, he shakes his head,

“we can go back to the house for swimsuits, but i didn’t bring ‘em.” he replies,

“let’s just skinny dip then i don’t know!” i grin,

he laughs it off as a joke,

“no actually, just think-“ i start but chris cuts me off

“last one in the water is a rotten egg.” he says,

“you are an ACTUAL child.” i reply with,

i look over at him and he’s frantically tugging his shirt off,

i pull mine off, discarding it on the towel, my bra follows shortly after.

i scramble up onto my feet and undo my shorts, letting them fall to my ankles, doing the same with my panties.

just then i see chris charging past me, his feet kicking up sand as he runs down the beach.

i almost fall over the towel as i run after him, catching up to him.

our loud laughs fill the empty beach as he wraps his hands around my waist, picking me up as he keeps running,

“chris!” i squeal, he throws me over his shoulder as he runs into the water with us.

the waves hit his knees forcefully, causing us both to tip over into the sea.

he finally lets me go, i float up to the surface where chris is spluttering out water.

“i think i just drank half the ocean-“ he coughs,

“that wouldn’t of happened if you didn’t snatch me up!” i laugh, looking at chris.

his features are barely lit up from the lack of light, but i can see the outline of him.

the water sloshes around my waist,

chris reaches behind me and grabs my ass, picking me up, i wrap my legs behind his back.

suddenly he launches me two meters in the opposite direction, i scream as i hit the water.

he ducks under the water as swims over to me, grabbing my leg.

i squeal, he comes up to the surface with a wide smile,

“christopher- i swear to god i thought you were a shark i’m gonna kill you.” i breathe heavily, inspecting his face as he holds back a laugh.

“i’m sorry for scaring you sweetheart.” he grins, grabbing my hand.

my teeth chatter together, “are you cold?” he asks,

i nod, he spins around and i jump on his back.

i slide down his bare back as he attempts to take us out of the water,

he finally makes it up onto the sand, and i slide fully off of him, my back hitting the sand

“oh-“ he says, looking back as i lay in the dry sand.

he flops down beside me, the sand sticking to our wet bodies.

he rolls over to me, coating himself fully in sand

“you’ve made it worse!” i smile, he pulls me close to his waist and press a kiss to my lips

“i love you” he pecks kisses all over my face,

“love you to.” i grin, taking handfuls of sand and sprinkling it on his chest

———-

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